Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast
In Amsterdam, a
visionary scientist is laying the groundwork for a cybernetic life-extension
project that will transfer individual consciousness to a personalized avatar.
Halfway around the world, his brilliant grandson is secretly planning to use
the same technology to infiltrate the world’s most secure networks. But the
scientific advances necessary to perfect the brain-to-computer interface are
slow in coming, too slow for the aging founder of the Everlast foundation—who
may die before realizing his dream of immortality—and too slow for his ruthless
grandson, who will stop at nothing to attain the recognition that is his
birthright.
Caught in the
middle are Jake Bronson and his seven-year-old son, Alex, whose combined mental
gifts might provide the key to leapfrogging the impasse.
When Jake’s
family and closest friends are simultaneously abducted in a globally
coordinated kidnapping scheme, he races across two continents in his search for
them, unaware his hostage son and teenage siblings have crash-landed in the
jungles of South China, where they must find every ounce of their courage and
wits to survive the wilds and escape the ruthless drug lord who is hot on their
heels. Can a seven-year-old boy learn to kill to save his family?
The characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Text and cover copyright © 2014 Richard Bard
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written
permission of the publisher.
Published by Richard Bard
PO Box 107
Redondo Beach, California 90277
ISBN-13: 978-0692321362
ISBN-10: 0692321365
LCCN: 2014920042
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For
my daughter, Alex, whom I didn’t meet until after her 28
th
birthday.
Here’s what she wrote:
I
saw you first...
In
my head, a thousand times before
You
walked into an embrace
Craved
by lost days
Your
eyes floated down on me like
Wind-thrown
lace curtains
Laughing,
tickled by the sun
Familiar
in their warmth
My
amazement reflected in your face
As
we danced through tales we spun
Without
one another
And
because of one another
How
to tell you who I am?
When
I was never sure
Until
the night we finally met
With
pride, I know I’m yours
all
my love
alex
ONE
A single warrior fighting for his
home and family is deadlier than a hundred fighting for a warlord.
Veterans Administration
Medical Center
Santa Monica, California
J
AKE BRONSON THOUGHT
his life had finally
returned to normal. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Sure, he’d married the woman of his dreams, his three
children meant the world to him, and he was blessed with a cadre of friends who
had stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the face of unthinkable dangers. He
was even back in the air as an acrobatic instructor pilot. Life was perfect.
That is, until a few seconds ago, when the sixty-seven-year-old scientist
beside him had given him the news.
“Someone’s coming after you,” Doc had said, grimacing behind
his frameless spectacles. His usual blue-eyed twinkle had vanished. The former
head of the Obsidian Project—the top-secret US government division tasked with
dealing with “the Grid” of alien pyramids that had threatened Earth a year and
a half ago—now led a clandestine arm of The Defense Advanced Research Projects
Agency (DARPA). He looked tired after his rushed trip from his underground offices
in the mountains of northern Nevada, jokingly nicknamed Area 52 by those who worked
there. Doc’s shoulders slumped beneath the waves of silver hair that spilled
over his collar.
“About a month ago our monitoring system decrypted bits and
pieces of some disturbing chatter about you. It was scattered at first, popping
up between servers in Europe and Southeast Asia. We didn’t think much of it at
the time, figuring it was more conspiracy conjecture about the Grid. But in the
last few days it expanded to a point that it captured our attention.”
“They mentioned me by name?”
“Not specifically. But they’re looking for the Brainman.”
Jake cringed. He’d done everything possible to maintain a
low profile regarding his connection with the Grid event—when more than a
thousand small alien pyramids had awakened from a twenty-five-thousand-year-old
sleep, erupting from beneath the earth to circle the globe, counting down to
the point when every human on the planet would be eliminated. Doc and the
government had worked to divert attention from Jake, agreeing to keep his
involvement—and that of his friends and family—a secret. But information had
leaked out, and though Jake’s name had not been mentioned, a Swiss newspaper
had run a story about the mysterious man it called “the Brainman,” crediting
him with averting the world cataclysm. There had been a global outcry for more
information; the population wanted—
needed
—a hero to thank. But Jake hadn’t
wanted any part of it. Eventually, the topic had faded from the headlines as inquiries
continued to be met with tight lips and false trails, and the media refocused
on the knowledge that man was no longer the only sentient life form in the
universe.
Jake blew out a long breath as Doc’s warning sank in. What
he’d heard so far was worrisome but not alarming. They stood in the corner of
the physical therapy room of the Advanced Prosthetics Technology Center, located
in the basement of the main hospital on the 388-acre Veterans Affairs Medical
Center campus. Therapists were assisting several patients in the large room as
they performed exercises and tests designed to acclimate them to their new
robotic appendages.
Jake turned his back to them and lowered his voice. “There’s
more, isn’t there?” Doc wouldn’t have tracked him down to this obscure location
otherwise.
Doc sighed. “I’m afraid so—”
Gasps coming from behind Jake coincided so perfectly with
Doc’s comment that he thought someone had overheard. Instead, he turned to see
five wide-eyed therapists and their patients all focused on his seven-year-old son.
Alex was helping the US Army veteran called Mississippi Mike
take his first step in over six months. The weathered man had lost both his
legs to an improvised explosive device during his last tour of duty.
The replacement limbs reminded Jake of the robots from the
Terminator
films. Alex stood in front of the vet, his small hands grasping Mike’s, their
eyes fixed on each other. Mike’s brow furrowed in concentration as he commanded
his brain to send the signal to the nerves that would articulate his legs. He
took another tentative step, and then another, small beads of sweat forming on
his brow.
“I knew you could do it,” Alex said. He didn’t speak often,
but when he did it usually had an impact.
The corner of Mike’s lips lifted. It was the first time Jake
had seen him smile since they’d met two weeks ago. The battle trauma had taken
more than just Mike’s body parts. According to the lead therapist who had
called for Jake’s help, the soldier—who had previously been known for his
boisterous personality—had sunken into a suicidal depression. Jake had been
happy to assist. His ability to transmit thoughts into the minds of others was
limited in most cases, especially with strangers, but at least he’d developed a
knack for projecting a calming influence and mental clarity on subjects. It had
proven to be a helpful talent with patients who needed to train their brains to
control the latest evolution of thought-controlled artificial limbs. Jake had helped
out with several patients over the past year. Today was his third visit with
Mike, but progress had been slow in coming. Until a few moments ago, when Jake
had interrupted his session to speak with Doc and Alex had unexpectedly stepped
in.
The department head stood in the doorway, his mouth agape.
“That’s incredible!” he said, moving toward Alex.
Jake’s senses were already on alert based on the unsettling
news from Doc, but the developing situation before him sent his tension into afterburner
as he recognized the risk to his son. He moved forward with a feigned
casualness, sliding between Mike and Alex. Jake supported the soldier with a
firm grip on his shoulders while projecting a calm aura with his thoughts,
guiding Mike back to his chair.
Jake patted the man’s shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Mike.
Like I told you earlier, sometimes all it takes is a little distraction to let
your brain figure it out on its own.”
The department head moved forward, his focus trained on Alex,
who sidled shyly to Jake’s opposite side. The man opened his mouth to speak,
but Jake cut him off as he continued with Mike. “And you did it! The neural
pathways have been triggered. It’s all downhill from here, pal.
Congratulations.”
Mike’s glance shifted from Jake to Alex and back again. His
eyes narrowed and Jake sensed the man’s awareness of the situation. It was as
if the mental connection he’d had with Jake over the past few sessions—as well
as the one he’d just experienced with Alex—had provided him with unique insight
about father and son. He shook Jake’s hand with a firm grip. “I couldn’t have
done it without you, Mr. B,” he said with a deep Southern drawl, offering Alex
a wink in the process. “I’m in your debt and I won’t forget it. Now, didn’t you
say you were late for an appointment or something?”
“Yep,” Jake said gratefully, squeezing the man’s hand. “We
should’ve been gone twenty minutes ago. Keep up the good work, Mike. I’ll be
back to see you when I can.”
Jake turned and ushered Alex toward the door, where Doc was
already waiting.
“But Mr. Bronson—” the department head called out behind
him.
“It’ll have to wait,” Jake said over his shoulder. “Like
Mike said, I’m already late.”
The trio hurried down the hallway.
***
It had been a mistake to bring Alex
along today, Jake thought as they turned down another corridor. When Francesca had
received a phone call this morning with an unusual last-minute request to
attend a Saturday meeting at her school—and Sarafina and Ahmed had already gone
to grab breakfast burritos at the cafe down the street from the house—he’d
figured there’d be no harm in letting Alex tag along.
He should have known his son’s empathetic nature would tug
at him under the circumstances. When Alex saw a problem he could fix, he went
for it, which was fine when they were in the privacy of their home, but not in
a public situation that could draw undue attention to the boy’s gifts. Jake and
Francesca had drilled the warnings into Alex ever since they’d returned to the
US, and for the most part their son had complied. But in the case of
Mississippi Mike, where a quick connection on Alex’s part might not only help
the man walk again, but also alleviate some of his emotional pain, the
temptation to reach out had been irresistible.
Jake wasn’t angry. He was proud of his son and admired the
boy’s instincts. After all, it was that same aptitude that prevented nothing
less than the apocalypse, a fact Jake was desperate to keep secret.
If the truth ever got out…
“You know better, son,” Jake said, squeezing his hand.
Alex didn’t say anything. It wasn’t necessary. Jake’s
physical connection with him was all he needed to feel his son’s remorse, as
well as his pride for what he’d accomplished. Jake picked up the pace. He
wanted Alex out of the building. Only then could he take the time to finish his
discussion with Doc.
They were three steps into the lobby when Alex came to a
sudden stop. He let go of Jake’s hand and spun on his heels.
“There you are!” Francesca said as she emerged from a
separate corridor. Jake’s wife wore sandals and a flowing white peasant dress
that accented her thin waist. Her thick mane of auburn hair was pulled back,
and Jake smiled at the sight of her.
“Doc?” she exclaimed, rushing to give the man a hug. As she
pulled away, she patted the chest of his herringbone sport coat. “I see you’re
still armed,” she said with too much exuberance. Jake’s brow furrowed.
Doc was flustered a moment and then smiled, reaching inside
his jacket and pulling out his meerschaum pipe. It had a hand-carved face of
the wizard Gandalf from
The Lord of the Rings
. “Don’t leave home without
it!”
“You’re half an hour early,” Jake said, trying to put his
finger on what was different about his wife.
She averted her gaze, pulling Alex toward her. “The meeting
ended sooner than I expected.” She turned back to Doc. “I didn’t know you were
in town,” she said, her Italian accent coloring her words. “Are you here for a while?
Will you join us for dinner?”
“I-I flew down for a symposium at UCLA,” Doc said. “It’s
just across the freeway. But I’m only here for the day.”
Jake knew from Francesca’s expression that she’d sensed the lie
in Doc’s words. But she didn’t call him on it and that’s when Jake knew
something was wrong. He stepped forward and captured her gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“It’s just that—”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, pulling away. “Why don’t we
all go to lunch, yes?”
Jake let it slide. Right now there were more pressing
issues. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Something’s up.” He motioned subtly
toward Alex. “Doc and I need a little time alone to talk about it.”
Francesca’s jaw tightened. The mask she’d worn a moment
earlier vanished, replaced by a look of concern. Her nod was barely perceptible
as she took Alex’s hand. “Will you be long?”
“Nah,” Jake said casually, knowing full well the facade he
wore wasn’t likely to play any better than hers had—not to their gifted son. “I’ll
be home before you know it.”
