BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (44 page)

   The jeep burst through the trees and headed toward the center of the compound. Bodies littered the ground. Three vehicles smoldered dead in their tracks. The gunship was overhead. Cal must have ordered it to hold back and cover Jake. 

Damn it. Get the hell out of here!

The aircraft’s nose swiveled from side to side, looking for new targets. Its missile pods were empty, but the Gatling was still a threat. Battista’s forces had either melted into the jungle or retreated to the shelter of the buildings.

Jake floored it. The gunship followed. Its shadow sped alongside the jeep.

Battista was somewhere in the compound. He wouldn’t risk taking off with the gunship in the vicinity. And there’s no way he’d leave without the obelisk. Jake steered toward the main structure.

In the distance, a group of soldiers popped out from around a barrack. Two of them held bulky objects over their shoulders. Twin flashes—

Jake spun the wheel. The jeep fishtailed in protest, kicking clouds of dirt from its wheels. The surface-to-air missiles weren’t intended for him. Their contrails painted a straight line toward the gunship, which was directly overhead. At such a short range, they couldn’t miss.

Jake stomped on the gas. The missiles impacted the aircraft with a thunderous explosion. The fireball singed the hair on Jake’s head. The jeep surged forward, and debris rained down around him. One of the Osprey’s thirty-eight-foot-long rotors cartwheeled across his path. Jake veered to the right and barely avoided it. He steered a course that would put the main structure between him and the terrorist fire team.

That’s when he caught sight of Cal’s V-22. It was headed away from the compound, and climbing toward the mountains. If he could see it, so could the fire team. Jake turned back toward the terrorists. Even from two hundred yards away, he could see they were reloading the bulky weapons.

His eyes darted back and forth between attacker and target. The jeep flew across the dirt. Fifty—sixty—seventy miles per hour, bouncing over ruts and swales. The loaders completed their task and stepped back. The shooters swiveled their aim.

Jake couldn’t stop them in time. His mind screamed for a solution. Flashes of light. Twin contrails. A flood of panic swelled from his gut.

“Nooooo!” He slammed on the brakes.

The missiles arced in tandem as the V-22 veered hard to one side. Streams of infrared-sensitive chaff scattered in its trail as Cal tried to decoy the missiles. But the projectiles couldn’t be fooled. They didn’t waiver. Which meant—

Jake returned his focus to the shooters. Time rushed past him. His brain was already ten steps ahead of his body’s reaction. The missiles were laser-guided. The shooters needed to maintain their aim through impact. He flashed on the image from the obelisk with the humanoid figures, where the mini hovered above them and shot beams of energy into the heads of the tribesmen.

It all happened in the same beat: He jumped from the jeep, held the mini before him, aimed at the shooters, imagined the vulnerable textures of their brains. The mini warmed and pencil-thin beams of pure energy shot from it.

The shooters collapsed. So did the three soldiers beside them.

A sharp pain in Jake’s skull. The mini tumbled from his hands. He pressed his palms against his temples and dropped to his knees. Through pinched eyes he saw the missiles corkscrew into the jungle and explode harmlessly beneath the canopy.

The V-22 disappeared beyond the horizon.

Then nothing.

Chapter 78

Venezuelan rainforest

A
wave of cool air brought Jake back to his senses. He was indoors.

Battista’s gravelly voice ordered, “Over here.”

Jake tensed. The guards on either side of him felt it and tightened their grip. Each had one of his arms draped across a shoulder.

As they dragged him across the floor, he felt the bulge of the mini in one of the men’s pockets. It gouged into Jake’s side with each step. He welcomed its proximity.

They were in the main research building. A group of soldiers hammered nails into the crate they were building around the cradled obelisk. The top was still open.

Jake had been unconscious for a minute or two, but his internal clock had kept ticking. A glance toward the opposite end of the building confirmed that the bomb-assembly area was undisturbed.

Twelve minutes and counting…

Jake found his legs and used them to walk the last few paces to where Battista waited. The guards adjusted their hold. They twisted his arms behind his back and escorted him forward.

“Quite impressive, Mr. Bronson,” Battista said. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, asshole.”

“Arrogant to the end. And vulgar. Like the rest of your countrymen.”

“We just call ’em like we see ’em. And what I see is a bitter old fart with illusions of grandeur.”

Battista’s neck muscles twitched beneath his scar.

Jake pushed harder. “You think you’re quite the master strategist, don’t you? But in the end, you’ve been beaten silly by a bunch of Americans whose only claim to fame is their willingness to stand up for their friends.”

Battista’s face flushed, but he didn’t take the bait. “A familiar situation we find ourselves in, wouldn’t you say?”

Jake couldn’t disagree. He flashed on their confrontation in the sacred cavern. The similarities were unnerving: He was surrounded by Battista’s soldiers, an alien obelisk nearby, his friends heading home in the V-22. He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Except this time, my primary mission has already been accomplished. Whatever happens from this point forward cannot change that.” His expression was smug.

Jake didn’t want to reveal that he knew about the seventh canister. The best way to learn of its location was to let the man brag about it. “Yes,” Jake said tentatively. “You murdered women, children, and families while they laughed and cheered during a parade at an amusement park. You must be so proud. Such a fierce warrior.”

The words brought a smile to the terrorist’s face. “You Americans are so predictable. Because we embrace the past you think we are out of touch with the present. We honor our faith in traditional ways and you call us backward. We reject your modern technologies and you think us simple-minded.”

Keep talking, you son of a bitch.

Battista continued, “But it is you whose judgment is clouded by the rhetoric of a corrupt government, weakened by your materialistic obsessions, stifled by your neverending desire for more, and blinded by your righteous insistence on forcing your superficial values on others. The rest of the world sees you for what you are—an infection of decadence and faithlessness that threatens the fabric of our world. It must be dealt with by aggressive treatment. That you cannot see it for yourself is mystifying. It is also inexcusable. It is time to put an end to you. Once and for all.”

Jake feigned a puzzled expression.

 “Ahh,” Battista sighed. “ I see your confusion. A part of you has realized you’re not quite as smart as you thought you were. Yes, your actions have created some difficulty for me, but nothing that cannot be easily dealt with. I lost a few pawns, even a rook or two. But the match is still mine, Mr. Bronson.”

Nine minutes to go.

Jake’s nerves were on edge. Time was his enemy. He needed to discover the location of the final canister. Or, God forbid, the target it had been used against. He fought to maintain his composure. Battista’s need to gloat was his only hope.

“The deadliest blow is the one your opponent never sees coming,” Battista said. “Feint to the left, strike from the right, yes?”

“Disneyland was a feint?”

Battista’s chuckle was contemptuous. “It’s exactly the kind of attack you would expect from a backward people, isn’t it? All eyes turned to the horrifying event, making it so much easier for us to plant the seed that will lead to your annihilation. Today, the water supply of Los Angeles. Tomorrow, every major city in America.”

 “Poison in the water? That’s your grand plan?”

“Not poison. In fact, it’s nontoxic. Your high-tech, water-processing screeners will never notice it. It seems only fitting that the so-called harmless chemical is a byproduct from the manufacture of rubber and plastics—essential underpinnings to your technologically dependent society. And it’s thanks to you that its true usefulness was revealed.”

“Thanks to me?”

Seven minutes.

“The analysis of your brain allowed us to perfect the implants. The chemical was discovered by one of the recipients. You never met him. He was killed by your friends in Torrance, but not until after he uncovered its secret. You see, it has a very unique property.” He smiled in anticipation of his next words. “Once ingested, it attaches itself to the ovarian follicles in women, rendering them infertile.”

Jake’s anger was real. “You bastard.”

Battista beamed with delight.

“Interestingly,” he added with the nonchalance of a professor speaking to a group of students, “it’s being used quite effectively in Asia to control the rodent populations. We merely modified it for a more deserving demographic. By the time your scientists realize what has happened, it will be too late. The damage is irreversible. Your government will want to strike back. But against whom? You can’t kill an ideology. You will scream and shout, but the end result will be the same. No more children will be born, your population will age, and America will be no more.” Battista’s chest swelled.

“Too bad for you we blew up your supply.”

A cloud passed across Battista’s face. It disappeared just as quickly. “You caused a minor delay. That is all. In any case, enough of the chemical remained for us to prove our point with our allies. Six hundred thousand residents around Silver Lake will provide a good start, wouldn’t you say? ”

Silver Lake!
 

Time to move. Jake shifted his weight and the two guards tightened their grip. He used the opportunity to lean into the guard who had pocketed the mini. Jake felt a surge of energy.

Battista noticed. A pistol appeared in his hand, aimed at Jake’s heart.

Jake ignored it. He stomped on an instep, twisted free, yanked the mini from the pocket of one guard and a curved knife from the waistband of the other. More guards rushed forward. Then everything seemed to slow down. Sound deepened.

Jake dodged to one side. The pistol went off. Once. Twice. Like the boom of a bass drum.
Missed.
Jake spun and then he was among them. Eyes wide, teeth bared. The knife slashed. A throat. A spray of blood. A step forward. A plunge and twist through an artery. He ducked and smashed the mini into a temple. He was a killing machine. Hands reached toward him. Severed fingers tumbled away. Blood everywhere. More men. Weapons unholstered. Jake’s mind calculated angles, prioritized threats, and commanded his body to respond. He ducked, slashed, kicked, and rolled through them. Bones snapped, throats crushed, eyes pierced. Nothing could stop him—

There was a sudden staccato of automatic gunfire. Screams. Gasps. Death cries. Wounds blossomed. Men toppled around him in a twist of limbs and blood. Multiple exit wounds through a man’s back splattered gore on Jake’s face.

Then there was a white-hot fire in his shoulder and Jake was lifted off his feet. He crashed into the open crate that encased the obelisk. The mini flew from his numb fingers and tumbled across the floor. The abrupt disconnect stopped him cold. His heart was an out-of-control jackhammer. Battista stood three paces away, his face contorted in rage. The assault rifle in his hands was at waist level. It leaked smoke from its barrel. More soldiers rushed toward them from the far exit.

Not going to make it.

Battista lifted the rifle to firing position. He sighted down the barrel with deadly intent, aiming at Jake’s head. He squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The gun jammed.

Half a breath and Jake’s body would collapse on its own. There was a single desperate move still available to him. He sprang to his feet, spun around, and placed his hands on top of the obelisk.

Chapter 79

Venezuelan rainforest

S
ix minutes.

Jake placed his hands on two of the textured glyphs circling the center of the inverted pyramid. The instant he touched it, he felt the familiar surge of energy. It was accompanied by a harmonic resonance that bounced off the walls. Battista was suddenly beside him, grappling desperately at Jake’s hands, knowing what he was up to. Jake held his ground, took a deep breath, and focused his mind on a third symbol.