Michael Vey 3 ~ Battle of the Ampere (8 page)

Jaime handed me a headset. “Put this on.”

Jaime and I both put on headsets, and then he nodded for me to begin. I lightly pulsed and the digital readouts on the radio lit up.

“Less electricity,” he said.

I reduced my pulse. Jaime turned a few switches, then dialed in a code. The sound of static burst over my headset. Jaime lifted the microphone to his mouth.

“Lightning Rod, this is Southern Cross. Over.”

There were three beeps, then a voice said, “Southern Cross, we read you. Please confirm.”

“Diez, uno, uno, uno, nueve, seis, dos.”

“Confirmed. One moment, please.”

There was a pause, then the voice I recognized came over the radio. “Southern Cross, please give us an update.”

“We are in the jungle, but safe.”

“Have you any jewels?”

“A diamond and a tourmaline.”

“Tourmaline? This is unexpected, but very good news.”

“Yes, it was a surprise.”

“Have you encountered any resistance?”

“We escaped an attack. We were forced to abandon our base.”

“Was protocol followed?”

“Yes, sir. Everything was destroyed or carried with us.”

“Good. We have learned that Hatch has been summoned back to the base. The chairman is very displeased with him. We believe he will be terminated.”

“Madre de Dios!”
Jaime exclaimed. “This is
mucha
reason for a fiesta.”

I grabbed the microphone. “This is Michael. Do you have my mother?”

“Do not speak your name on air,” the voice said sharply.

“Sorry,” I said.

A moment later the voice said, “She is safe.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“She’s not here. But I can arrange for you to speak.”

“Do you know anything about the rest of my friends?”

“Your friends have been captured by the Peruvian military. They are being held under tight security in Puerto Maldonado. We expect that they will be transported to Lima for trial.”

Jaime looked at me and nodded in confirmation.

“We’ve got to rescue them,” I said.

“We don’t believe that a rescue attempt is advisable. At this time, our best option is diplomacy. We have connections in the consulate.”

“You can get them released?”

The voice paused. “We’ll do our best.”

“Your best? What does that mean?”

“I’ll be honest with you; it’s a long shot. But it’s certainly not as risky as attempting to defeat an entire brigade of the Peruvian army. That would be certain suicide.”

“Suicide or not,” I said, “I have to try to save them.”

“We cannot agree to that,” the voice said. “When we brought you and your friends here, we knew we were taking a big risk. But you did it—knocked out the Elgen’s largest Starxource plant, rescued your mother, and escaped. You succeeded, but there are costs to all success. You have to accept that.”

“I can’t accept abandoning my friends. I’m going after them.”

“We forbid it,” he said. “Taking on . . .”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I took off the headset and handed it to Jaime. Jaime looked at me with an annoyed expression but continued listening. A moment later he said, “He is not listening. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Over.” Jaime switched off the radio.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said I should do my best to talk you out of it.”

“Good luck with that,” I said.

“But Michael—”

“I’m going to rescue them,” I said angrily. “Are you with me or not?”

Jaime just looked at me. Tessa looked down, avoiding my eye contact.

My face began twitching, and I held my hand up to my cheek. After a moment I said, “Fine. Then I’m going without you. Both of you.”

Jaime crossed his arms. “How will you go without me? You do not know the way.”

“I know the road is across the river. I’ll just keep walking until I find it.”

“And if they catch you?”

I looked him in the eye. “I’ll tell them everything I know about the voice.”

Jaime flinched. “You would not.”

“This is war; you’re either my friend or my enemy. There is no middle ground. So which is it?”

“We are your friend. We want the same thing as you.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

Jaime sat thoughtfully for a moment, then breathed out slowly. “I will take you to the road, and I will wait for you. But if you fail, you must promise to not speak of us.”

“Agreed,” I said. I turned to Tessa. “Are you with me?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

She didn’t answer. Angry, I walked back to the tent.

Tessa followed me. She grabbed my arm. “Michael, I’m sorry. It’s just—this isn’t my fight.”

“How is this not your fight? This is your world too, and the Elgen are trying to take it. If we’re not willing to stand up to them, who will?”

“The Elgen are big, and we’re just . . . us. We can’t stop them, we can’t even slow them down. You’re crazy if you think you can take on an entire army. You’re not Superman.”

“No. I’m just crazy. But they’re my friends. And I have to try.”

She just stood there, speechless and staring at me.

“I don’t need you,” I said, turning away. “I don’t need either of you.” I got down on my knees and crawled into the tent.

It was a while before Jaime and Tessa got in. None of us spoke. Long after Jaime started snoring, I just lay there in the dark. My stomach was tied up in knots.

The truth was, I did need Tessa. And Jaime. But most of all I needed my friends. I missed them more than I could say.

R
umors spread quickly through the Peruvian military force that the eight teenagers they were hunting in the jungle were more than just young terrorists. They were part of an occult group called the Electroclan and workers of black magic—a rumor that gained credence when it was discovered that some of them actually glowed in the dark.

Peruvian culture holds deeply founded superstitions, and even after the teens had surrendered, many of the soldiers refused to go near them. Others, in spite of their strict orders to bring the terrorists back alive, pleaded with their commanders to shoot the teens and bring back their lifeless bodies.

The Elgen’s Elite Global Guard, who were consulting with the Peruvian army, helped spread rumors of black magic among the lower and more ignorant ranks of Peruvian soldiers, hoping that if enough of them believed it, they might pressure their superiors into
turning the Electroclan over to the Elgen—which was their objective to begin with.

The chief Elgen officer working with the Peruvian military was Captain Welch, a senior member of the Elite Global Guard and third in authority to Dr. Hatch himself. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince, bribe, then threaten the brigade’s commander, General Panchez, into releasing the teens into Elgen custody. The general wouldn’t budge. His orders came from the top. The Peruvian president himself had demanded that the Electroclan be brought in for trial. The terrorists’ capture had already made international news, and the Peruvian citizens demanded justice. In actuality, justice wasn’t the president’s main concern—it was his approval rating. With the loss of their electricity, the country was in crisis and people wanted someone to answer for their suffering. Like all successful politicians, the president understood public opinion well enough to know that if someone’s head didn’t roll, his would. And the general understood that if the president’s head rolled, his would roll along with it.

*

Even though Jack and Zeus still wanted to fight, with more than five hundred armed soldiers surrounding them, there was little they could do but surrender. Taylor was the one who had made the decision, waving a torn piece of her blouse over her head.

“We give up!” she shouted. “We surrender.”

A heavily accented military officer with a megaphone shouted, “You stand up now with your handses on your head!”

“The dude can’t talk,” Jack said.

“They’re Peruvian military,” Ostin said. “They’re not Elgen.”

“That’s good, right?” Abigail asked.

“It’s not good,” Ostin said. “We’ll find out if it’s better.”

Taylor was the first to obey the order. “Don’t shoot!” she shouted. She put her hands on her head and slowly stood, followed by the rest: Ostin, Jack, Zeus, Abigail, McKenna, Ian, and Wade. Once they were all standing, the soldiers quickly closed in around them.

“Now you kneel down,” the commander said when he was near.
He was a stocky, bald man wearing a black beret and green camouflage.

“Make up your mind,” Jack said. “Stand up or kneel down.”

“Just kneel,” Taylor said.

When the Electroclan were on their knees, two patrols of Peruvian soldiers approached them carrying guns and RESAT boxes. More than a hundred soldiers held their guns on them, while the advance team—who had never seen or used the RESATs before—fastened the machines on each youth, including Ostin, Wade, and Jack.

Then their hands were cuffed behind their backs and their legs were shackled with a twelve-inch chain dangling between the two ankle manacles. Potato sacks were put over their heads, which was disorienting for everyone except Ian, whose vision was only slightly impaired by his RESAT.

A long, nylon rope was tied around all of their waists, and they were led in a single-file line out of the jungle to the waiting army vehicles. Walking roped together and blindfolded through the thick jungle was difficult. The chains between their legs caught on rocks and tree trunks, and each of them fell more than once. Ostin fell the most, eight times, leaving dark bruises and cuts on his arms and legs.

Once they were out of the jungle, the rope connecting the teens was cut, then each of them was taken to a separate vehicle—still bound, hooded, and surrounded by soldiers.

Under heavy security, which included two tanks and more than eighty armed personnel carriers, the soldiers drove in a convoy six miles to the Puerto Maldonado jail.

The army had commandeered the Puerto Maldonado city jailhouse for the purpose of holding the terrorists. They had released twelve of the jail’s fifty-seven occupants, then crowded the rest into two tiny cells so they could utilize the remaining eight cells for the new prisoners. Then they built three twelve-foot-high electric fences around the jail, which were patrolled by guard dogs and more than fifty soldiers.

The general had been warned by the Elgen that the teens had
already escaped from two high-security facilities, and Panchez was taking no chances. The young terrorists would not escape him.

*

Upon their arrival at the jail, the teens were fingerprinted and photographed, then each was taken to a different cell. Ostin was the first to be processed, and after he was locked in his cell, he sat down on the cool, concrete floor, swatting at mosquitoes, rubbing his bruises, and grumbling.

“I’ve never even been grounded before,” he mumbled. “Now I’m in jail. And I’m only in the ninth grade.”

Ostin had studied Peru in seventh-grade geography and, as usual, had learned everything he could about the subject—including the country’s history, Incan lore, the country’s invasion by Francisco Pizarro, the current political structure, national exports, and even its national anthem,
Himno Nacional del Perú,
which he still remembered. He also remembered that the country reserved the death penalty for acts of terrorism, which frightened him since the soldiers kept calling them “
terroristas
.”

“We didn’t do anything to them,” Ostin said, hitting the concrete wall with his fist—which he immediately regretted. “We attacked the stinking Elgen, not them. It’s not the same thing. What have they got against us?”

The cell he was being held in was a hot and humid ten-by-ten-foot square, with rough concrete walls and floor, both of which had fungus growing on them. There were thick rusted bars on the window, which had been boarded over by the army. In the corner of the room, there was a bucket for a toilet, and a single naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling.

“There’s got to be a way out of here. Think, think, think.” He rubbed his temples, which always made him think better. “We’ve got to escape. What do I know about escape? John Dillinger escaped from jail twice. Houdini. David Hoodoo . . .”