Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (52 page)

Alex nodded. He hadn’t spoken a word since he had connected with the grid. It didn’t matter. His son didn’t have to speak for Jake to appreciate his courage. One of his small hands clung to Jake’s shoulder harness. The other held a regulator and mouthpiece. It was a tandem connection to the tank slung on Jake’s back.

“Show me one more time,” Jake said.

Alex closed his mouth around the rubber, gripping it with his teeth. He allowed the pressurized air to fill his lungs. His eyes searched for Jake’s approval.

“That’s my boy,” Jake said. He placed Becker’s backpack inside an oversize gear bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he said, “Off we go.”

The silver reflective suit was bulky. It was designed for safety, not speed. Jake lumbered down the deserted corridor, wondering if his son could sense his apprehension. He tried to hide it behind a mask of confidence, using techniques he’d perfected long ago to keep Francesca from sensing his emotions. But he had a feeling that Alex saw through the charade.

Jake wasn’t just nervous. He was scared out of his mind. The suit was designed to protect the wearer from high temps and noxious fumes.

But it wasn’t a submarine.

The power plant was dead ahead. He pushed through the double doors and was immediately assaulted by the heat. A thick cloud of steam billowed from a grate beneath the first turbine. Moisture dripped from the tangle of catwalks overhead. The air smelled of sulfur. Jake climbed the short staircase to the walkway that spanned the twin culverts. Water continued to flow in both directions. The “once-through” cooling system was brilliant in its simplicity. It drew cool water from the pool beneath the falls, circulating it through the pipes to draw heat from the geothermal turbines, and then discharged the heated water elsewhere.

But where elsewhere?

Jake stared at the dark tunnel at the end of the discharge culvert. Doubt threatened his resolve. He’d expected the discharge flow to have cooled down somewhat—since the turbines were out of commission. Instead, steam rose from the fast-flowing canal. The water was hotter than ever. And if the heat wasn’t coming from the turbines, then something worse was going on beneath their feet. It didn’t take an enhanced brain to figure out what that was all about.

When they were over the canal, Jake removed the bundle of C-4 charges from Becker’s pack. He’d already wrapped them together with duct tape. His hand hesitated over the timer. The underwater ride from the whirlpool into the facility had taken
about three minutes. But the discharge tube shot off in a different direction. It was gravity-fed, just like the intake, which meant it didn’t flow to the waterfall. It had to exit at a lower elevation from where he stood. They were surrounded by ocean on one side and lagoon on the other. It could spill into either of them.

The designers would have taken the shortest possible route, he thought.

He did a quick calculation, considering his current location in the facility, the distance to the ocean versus the lagoon, and the speed of the water. Part of him knew there were too many unknown variables to be sure. But it was better than taking a wild-ass guess and crossing his fingers. He set the timer for four minutes, zipping the charge within the gear bag, and tossed the bulky parcel into the hot culvert. It was swept away with the current, disappearing into the tunnel.

He crossed his fingers anyway.

The plan was simple. The bag would lodge against the grate at the end of the discharge tube, assuming there was one. The blast would clear the path. Jake didn’t want to be anywhere close when it went off, so he wasn’t going into the water until the full four minutes had elapsed.

“Okay, son,” he said. “From here on out, use the regulator. I’m going to zip us up. But we’ve gotta wait four minutes before we jump. You down with that?”

Alex already had the regulator in his mouth when he nodded. His body trembled.

There was a loud spitting sound, and Jake turned to see that the plume of steam shooting from the grate had darkened. It seemed filled with soot. The base of the plume had an orange glow.

Jake donned his face mask, lowered the hood, and sealed up the suit. His mask included a built-in microphone and external speaker. “Can you hear me?” he asked. His voice sounded tinny.

He felt Alex’s head bob up and down on his chest.

Jake unhooked the chain that acted as a guardrail, staring at the waterway six feet below. Surface steam licked at his legs. He counted down the seconds.

He had two minutes to go when he felt a sharp jab in his lower back.

“Excuse me,” a voice said behind him.

Jake sucked in a breath. His muscles tightened. He turned around slowly.

Victor Brun stood before him. He held a submachine gun in a steady, two-handed grip. It was aimed at Jake’s gut. Victor smiled broadly. “Oh, please don’t leave just yet,” he said, as if Jake were a guest at a party. “I’d hate for you two to miss the grand finale.”

The surge of adrenaline in Jake’s system was so intense that he couldn’t speak.

“Nothing to say?” Victor asked. “No smart retorts?”

Jake’s brain flashed through a dozen possible moves. But the constrictive suit eliminated every option. He considered jumping backward into the culvert. But he and Alex would be riddled with holes before they hit the water.

Victor’s expression was smug. His words were laced with disgust. “You are a nuisance, Mr. Bronson. An insect. You think you’ve won here? Hah!” he snuffed. “You’ve done nothing but delay the inevitable. The world lies too close to the precipice for it to be prevented”—he raised the barrel of his weapon so that it was pointed at Alex—“by you
or
your son. Be it a thermonuclear war, global bio-attack, or simply the stupidity of man in not managing population growth, it will happen in time. And when the end is upon us, the Order will be there to rise from the chaos. Governments don’t rule countries, Mr. Bronson. They never have. It is men like me that control the ruling puppets. That will never change. In another five years, perhaps ten, it will happen, and the Order will be ready.” He tightened the grip on his weapon and added, “But you won’t.”

There was a maniacal glee in Victor’s eyes. “Still no quips? Oh, come now,” he said with an exaggerated pout. “Action-film fans would be so disappointed in you. You simply
must
say something!”

That’s when the ground shook, the grate exploded, and lava spewed into the room with the ferocity of an uncapped oil well. The roar was deafening.

The molten inferno smacked into the ceiling and splattered in every direction. Fiery globs shot toward them.

The moment stretched.

In that brief instant of time, Victor’s eyes narrowed and Jake knew that the man’s brain gave his fingers the order to fire. It happened just as a molten missile hit him from behind, penetrating his torso. His back muscles contracted reflexively. His arms spread wide, his fingers squeezed, and the gun chattered on full auto, missing Jake and Alex. Victor’s face peeled back in a rictus of pain. Smoke leaked from his gaping mouth. His wild eyes refocused for an instant, and he swung the barrel back around.

Alex shivered.

Hang on, son!

Jake lunged forward. He bear-hugged Victor and plowed him over the back rail. The gun flew into the air, and they somersaulted into the superheated water, plunging deep. The current grabbed them. Victor flailed, but Jake held on. They surfaced together, and Jake saw realization dawn on the man’s blistering face. Death was upon him.

The last thing Victor Brun heard was Jake’s rendition of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice through the fire suit’s speaker. “Hasta la vista, baby!”

Six Weeks Later

J
AKE COULDN’T HAVE
imagined a more beautiful setting. Marshall and Lacey stood beside him, ready to complete the ceremony they’d started six weeks ago. The priest stood in front of them, framed by a floral gazebo and backed by a sunny view of the Venice lagoon and the Isola di San Giorgio Maggiore.

They were on the terrace of the Hotel Danieli. Jake savored the familiar smells, the moist air, the distant calls of the gondoliers. The world had changed. He’d changed. But Venice remained the same. The ancient city had survived the worldwide panic, protected by the surrounding waters and bolstered by a heritage that knew more than its share of marauders. The Venetians had bounced back quickly, drawing on their love of the simple pleasures of life.

Other cities hadn’t fared so well. Riots and looting had taken their toll. Fires had caused the worst of the physical damage, but it could be repaired, in time. Not so the psyche of every man, woman, and child on the planet—who now faced the indisputable fact that mankind wasn’t alone in the universe. But just as fate had seen fit to grant Jake a second chance at life when it had defeated his terminal illness, so had the human race been given a second opportunity. He couldn’t speak for mankind—at least
not any longer—but, for his part, Jake planned to savor each and every day for all that it had to offer.

Being in Venice was like coming full circle. It had all started here six years ago, when he found purpose in the plight of two autistic children—and when he and Francesca had connected on the rooftop at the institute. He smiled at the memory.

As if sensing his thoughts, Francesca squeezed his hand. She stood beside him. He breathed her in. Ahmed, Sarafina, and Alex stood nearby.

My son, Jake thought. The miracle child who had saved the world. Of course, Alex didn’t see it that way. By his way of thinking, he was simply “helping my dad.” Or so he’d said. Even though Alex had started speaking, his words had been few and far between. And Jake had the keen sense that there was a lot more going on in his son’s brain than he let on.

But Jake understood that.

He had a secret of his own—one that he refused to share.

One thing was certain, he thought. He and Alex were bonded for life—in a fashion that went beyond the link of father and son.

The terrace was packed with family and friends. Francesca’s father, Mario, was in a wheelchair. The old man’s constitution had pulled him through his injuries. He wouldn’t be pushing a gondola anytime soon, but the doctor said he’d be up and around in a few months. Jake’s mother and sister had become his constant companions since their arrival in Venice three days ago.

Becker was there, too. The bullet he’d taken for Jake had missed his heart by less than an inch. His military doctors had told him he couldn’t travel; they’d said he needed two more weeks of bed rest. But he wouldn’t have it. Nothing was going to keep him from this gathering. Jonesy had come with him. The operator hadn’t found it too difficult to smuggle his boss out of the hospital.

Timmy and Doc had arrived the day before. In light of everything that he’d done, Timmy had been given a pass for
stealing the mini and hiding Jake. Doc had been instrumental in making that happen.

Cal and Kenny were there, too. They’d saved Jake’s life. Alex’s, too. After the blast doors had closed, Kenny had reprogrammed the drones to search for Jake’s RFID signal, concentrating on the shorelines. He and Cal had managed the search from the chopper. When Jake and Alex had popped up in the lagoon, his friends had been overhead in less than three minutes.

The lava flow had inundated the underground complex, and an estimated fourteen hundred Order members had perished. Those who had made it outside before the blast doors were closed—including the ones Jake had rescued—had been taken into custody by the Indonesian government. The idyllic village within the lagoon had been spared the mountain’s wrath, and there was talk of it becoming a tourist destination. Jake wasn’t planning on adding it to his vacation list.

He heard a whimper from Tony’s four-month-old baby. The child and his mother and father were seated directly behind where Jake stood.

You always have my back, don’t you, pal?

Tony’s kids Andrea and Tyler had come, too. So had Sarafina’s friend Josh, along with his guide dog Max.

Marshall shifted beside Jake. His buddy was as anxious as Lacey for this ceremony. Jake was proud to be standing next to them. Like Tony, the two of them had stood beside him through it all. Without their ingenuity, spirit, and courage, he wouldn’t be alive.

The gang’s all here.

Jake tapped the folded paper that was tucked at the bottom of his pants pocket. Tony had returned it to him when they’d reunited on the boat. He recalled the words:

Lives hinge on your ability to remain anonymous.

He blew out a soft breath, holding on to the faith that such was no longer the case.

The priest was wrapping up his introductory speech. His voice brought Jake back to the present. “You may remove the mask,” the priest said.

“Ah, that’s better,” Marshall said, removing his blindfold. Then he nudged Jake with his elbow. “Your turn, pal.”

Jake turned toward Francesca. He reached up and removed the red silk from around his own face. Francesca’s gaze pierced him where he stood—the same eyes that had lived in his dreams when every other memory had forsaken him. Her beauty took his breath away.