BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (8 page)

“Me, too,” Jake said as he accelerated out of the turn. He aimed the nose of the Jeep at a partially open chain-link gate. “Hang on tight!”

The force of the speeding two-ton frame smashed through the twin gates with a resounding screech of metal against metal. The left gate bent back around its support post. The other tore from its hinges and cartwheeled into a nearby copse of trees. The children’s screams grew into a constant shriek.

Jake spun the Jeep into a hard right. The four-wheel drive performed as advertised as the car dug into one turn after another, dodging around trees and boulders. Its thick tires churned through the turf as they throttled down the steep hill, porpoising over the uneven slope.

Jake caught the yellow flash of Papa’s truck in the rearview mirror. It swerved back and forth behind Tony’s Highlander. Jake wondered how the hell Becker was holding on in the rear bed. There was still no sign of the white vans, though he expected them to show up any second. Jake couldn’t help but smile at what was about to happen.

“What—the hell’s—so funny?” Bradley stammered through the twists and lurches of the ride.

“The vans,” Jake said as the Jeep bottomed out. He aimed it up a steep slope. The wheels kicked up rooster tails of dark soil. “They’re two-wheel drive.”

As the Jeep crested the hill, Jake spotted the two vans careening down the hill behind him. The initial slope helped them gain purchase. Climbing up the other side isn’t going to be quite as easy, Jake thought. He refocused his attention. The trickiest part of his hastily forged plan was ahead. The park’s fenced perimeter was hidden behind a thick layer of thorny bramble.

The path declined sharply and the Jeep picked up speed. Jake adjusted his aim. He knew that Barbara Street lay just beyond the thick hedge, a dead end in an older residential neighborhood. There was an eight-foot drop from the edge of the park to the street. A chain-link fence separated the two.

“Hang on!” Jake shouted. He stomped on the gas and held his breath.

The Jeep ripped through the shrubs like a charging rhino. The fence collapsed under the Jeep’s momentum. Jake felt a momentary weightlessness as the Jeep arced through the air trailing a dozen feet of fencing. The front bumper hit the pavement first, crumpling inward from the impact. The front light housings shattered. Bits of glass and plastic splattered outward.

Jake struggled to keep the vehicle on its path down the street. The rearview mirror had shifted downward from the jolt. He adjusted it and was relieved to see both of his friends still behind him. He spoke into the speakerphone, still gripped by the dashboard clip. “Beck, you up?” 

“Quite a trek, mate,” Becker said. “I think we’ve lost the wankers, at least for the moment.”

“Time for you to switch rides,” Jake said. He knew that Papa and Snake wouldn’t be going with them to the safe house. They preferred their own tough neighborhood in South Central, where no one in their right mind would attempt to follow. Becker, on the other hand, wouldn’t allow Jake to leave without him.

Jake stopped the Jeep in the center of the street. Papa’s pickup lurched to a stop on his left. Becker jumped out and piled into the backseat of the Jeep with Josh and Sarafina. The Highlander pulled up on his right. Francesca’s face was ashen but otherwise appeared okay. Jake mouthed,
I love you
, and she forced a smile.

Jake stepped on the gas. The vans were still not in sight. He needed to get to the airport before Battista’s men found their trail.

As they drove through the neighborhood, Becker focused his attention on the children. “So, how are you two ankle biters enjoying the ride?” he said with a wide grin. His Aussie accent added a kick to his words. “Quite an adventure, eh?” He mussed their hair as his customary greeting. “I haven’t had this much fun since I was chased by a pack of ’roos on walkabout.”

As usual, Becker’s presence had an immediate effect on the children. Tension leaked from their shoulders. Max lifted his head from Josh’s lap. His tail carved a tentative wag that clipped Sarafina in the chin. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve while Josh asked, “Do you mean kangaroos?”

“Right as rain, Josh. Those buggers are faster than spit and their drumsticks pack a mean wallop.” 

Sarafina smiled at the comment, her right hand twisting an endless curl in her dark hair.

Jake appreciated the calming influence Becker had on the kids, especially Sarafina. He’d marveled at her ability to bounce back after the terror she’d lived through, first at Battista’s institute near her home in Italy, and later as his hostage in Afghanistan. Since her arrival in America, she’d adapted quickly to her new lifestyle, from the clothes she wore to the ease with which she had perfected her command of English. She embraced her new life—in spite of her spectrum disorder—as if by doing so she affirmed that she was in control of her life, a life that after three years as an orphan now included a mother in Francesca and a father in Jake. But in the face of what lay before them, Jake feared that her thin veil of armor might not survive the onslaught.

Chapter 15

Zamperini Field

Torrance, California

Z
amperini Field was built by the US Army Air Corps in 1942. The airport had been an emergency landing strip for military aircraft on training flights. It had since become one of the busiest municipal airports in the state. It was home to more than five hundred based aircraft, one of which Jake had housed in a double-wide private hangar at the southeast corner of the field. He’d purchased and outfitted the 1981 ten-passenger Sabreliner 65 with the remaining money from his impromptu visit to the Grand Casino in Monte Carlo, where Jake had used his new talents to manipulate the roulette wheel in order to gain the funds necessary for the rescue mission in Afghanistan.

Jake swerved the Jeep onto the airport frontage road. The tires squealed in protest. Tony’s Highlander and Snake’s pickup were close behind. There was still no sign of the vans. Jake pulled up to the unmanned electric gate and punched in his personal code. The gate swung open and Jake gunned through.

Resembling several long lines of extremely wide storage units, each of the eleven rows of hangars stretched over six hundred feet long. The rows were situated side by side with just enough space in between to allow an aircraft to taxi to and from its private garage.

The airport was alive with early morning activity. Jake saw one plane touch down, another on approach, and several more in the traffic pattern. Aircraft were parked three-deep in the holding area at the south end of the runway, waiting their turn for takeoff clearance. Support vehicles moved back and forth along the side of the taxiways. Jake braked as a twin-engine Beechcraft taxied out from between the rows of hangars in front of him.

The Sabreliner was housed near the end of the eighth row of hangars, just two rows away. Jake had flown the plane periodically over the past few months, making sure the inspections were current, the tanks filled, and all the emergency gear was stowed and ready to go. He and Tony had taken great pains to make sure everything they needed was on the plane for a quick getaway: com-gear, weapons, ammo, ready-to-eat meals, clothes, water, even a couple of games for Sarafina and Tony’s children. Jake had prayed they’d never have to use it.

When the Beechcraft was halfway through the intersection, Jake swerved around its tail, sped up, and made a sharp turn in between rows eight and nine. What he saw next sent a slithering eel up his spine.

He slammed the brakes. A car was parked a hundred yards ahead of him—in front of his space. The vehicle was empty. All four doors were open, as was the hangar. He spoke into the speakerphone, trying to sound calm for the children’s sake. “Ah, we got company.”

“Shit,” Tony said over the phone as the Highlander pulled up behind Jake.

“Bad word!” Josh said. He rocked back and forth in his seat.

Jake heard the telltale click of the safety being released on Becker’s assault rifle.

“
Jefe
.” Papa’s voice was tense. The pickup slid in front of the Jeep. “Me and Snake will do a little drive-by. You’ve got to go to plan B.”

This
was
plan B, Jake thought. Part of his mind raced through alternatives while another part wondered how in the hell Battista’s guys continued to be one step ahead of him. The two vans had to be nearby. If they cornered him here…

“I won’t forget this, guys,” Jake said. “Show ’em what’s up and we’ll see you on the flip side.”

“Hoorah,” Papa replied.

Jake saw Papa and Snake slam full magazines into their assault rifles. The pickup laid a patch of smoking rubber on its way toward the hangar door.

Jake made a U-turn and stepped on the gas.

“Now what?” Bradley asked, bracing himself as the Jeep swerved around the end of the row of hangars.

Good question, Jake thought. Without the plane, their escape route was cut off. He said, “First step, get away from the airport.”

“Then?”

Jake’s reply froze on his lips. The two vans careened onto the taxiway at the other end of the flight line.

“Dammit!”

“Bad word, bad word!” Josh shouted.

Jake reacted instinctively to the threat. He stomped on the accelerator and angled the Jeep directly toward the holding area at the end of the runway.

“Lock ’n’ load, Tony,” Jake said into the speakerphone. “We need a new ride.”

**

Papa positioned his assault rifle outside the passenger window of Snake’s speeding pickup.

Papa had met Jake when he and his four-man fire team was hired to help rescue Francesca and Sarafina from the mountains of Afghanistan. His three younger Latino partners, Snake, Juice, and Ripper, had been part of his crew since they all ran together on the streets of South Central in L.A. When they’d joined the Marines eight years ago, as an alternative to prison after a major gang bust, there’d been seven of them. Three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan whittled them down to five. They tried going back to L.A., but when one of the boys got drilled in a drive-by, Papa pulled Snake and two others together and they went to work for an international private security company. That had been four years ago.

“Keep your speed up,” Papa said to Snake. “I don’t want to trade lead with these fools unless we have to. Ruining their ride will keep them out of the game long enough to let Jake get away.”

“Got it,” Snake said. He tightened his grip on the wheel. “But I wouldn’t mind giving these salamis the big picture.”

  Papa couldn’t agree more, but now was not the time. Snake raced forward and Papa focused the sights of his assault rifle on the other car’s wheels. At twenty yards he opened fire on full auto. The rear tires exploded and the rear end slammed into the pavement. As Snake sped past, Papa puckered the front grill with a half-dozen smoking holes.

Snake put the pedal to the floor. The customized pickup answered with a throaty roar.

“Let’s fly,” Papa said, craning his neck over his shoulder to see four men rush out of the hangar. Their automatic weapons spit fire.

Snake whipped the pickup around the far end of the hangar just as three hammer blows impacted the side of the pickup’s rear bed.

“Not even close, eh,
holmes
?” Snake said.

The two men shared an adrenaline-charged grin.

Chapter 16

Zamperini Field

Torrance, California

 
“W
hich plane?” Tony asked over the speakerphone. His Highlander sped alongside the Jeep.

“The P-750,” Jake said. “It’s second in line for takeoff.”

“Skydiving written across the fuselage?”    

“Yep.” 

Jake hoped the specialty aircraft was fully fueled. It wasn’t an ideal choice. The cruising speed and range was well below what he would have liked. But it did have one crucial thing going for it—an extremely short takeoff capability. Jake glanced back and forth between the plane and the two vans speeding toward the hangar area. Battista’s men apparently still hadn’t noticed them. That might give them just enough time—

The vans suddenly steered off the taxiway and headed directly toward him.

“They’re onto us,” Jake said.

“Bloody crawlers,” Becker mumbled from the backseat.

“I’ll head ’em off,” Tony said, steering the Highlander toward the vans.

“No!” shouted Jake, frightened for Francesca who was in the Highlander.

“
Hola, compradres!”
Papa’s voice chimed in over the speaker. “The Mexican cavalry is on it. But hurry up and get off the ground because we’re gettin’ pretty goddamn tired of pulling your asses out of the fire.”