Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast (16 page)

T
HE HOSPITAL FIRE ALARM
sounded and smoke
billowed into the corridor from overhead vents. Jake focused on the small video
screen as Pete and Lacey stopped the gurney in front of the guard. Frightened
patients stumbled into the hallway, and the nurse turned away from the guard to
guide them toward the nearest stairwell. The guard was speaking urgently into
his headset when his body twitched and his hand slapped at the side of his
neck. He staggered, and Pete grabbed him from behind before he fell. Skylar and
Lacey grabbed the man’s feet and hoisted him onto the gurney just as a wave of
smoke passed in front of the camera and obscured the image.

Jake pinched the screen to view the array of thumbnail
videos. There was activity evident from nearly every camera angle as staff and
patients made their way out of the hospital. But it was the view of the three-armed
operators and their leader rushing back up the stairs that caused Jake’s heart
to leap into his throat. He enlarged the view and saw they were three flights
below and moving up fast.

Jake swung open the door just as Pete and the others rushed toward
him with the gurney.

“Service elevator at the end of the hall!” Lacey said, guiding
the gurney past him.

He knew they’d never make it there before the returning team
arrived. The smoke was already thinning. “Meet you downstairs,” he said,
starting in the opposite direction.

Pete said, “Where’re ye—?”

“Just go,” Jake said, as he switched the video images back
to thumbnail view.

“We leave in three minutes,” Pete said over his shoulder.
“With or without ye.”

Jake gave him a thumbs-up as he pushed into the stairwell
and closed the door behind him, his mind overlaying the scatter of activity
from the sixteen cameras onto the memorized facility map, tracing dozens of
possible escape routes in a fraction of a second, measuring each against the
crowds, the armed men, and the time it would take for Lacey and the others to
get away.

Heavy boot steps sounded right below his position, and he
peered around the corner just long enough for the first operator to see him.
The man hesitated, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. Jake spun around and
raced up the stairs, levering the only advantages he had—good running shoes and
the determination to save the lives of his family and friends.

“It’s him!” the guard shouted in Italian. Then a different
voice issued an urgent set of orders.

Jake charged up the steps two at a time and dodged to avoid
a collision with a doctor and two patients. He exited onto the sixth floor to
find the corridor empty. He raced down the hall and turned the far corner just
as the operators burst onto the floor.

“North wing,” one of them shouted behind him.

After pushing through a set of double doors, Jake spotted
his next target point three doors down. Another stairwell, this one empty. He
climbed the final flight to the roof and pushed through the door, weaving
around air conditioning equipment. The night sky was cloudy and the echo of
emergency vehicle sirens seemed to be converging on the building. He poured on
speed, but an urgent cry told him his pursuers had spotted him as he leaped
over the ledge separating this half of the roof from the next. He pushed
harder, his pulse pounding in his ears, checking the camera views on the phone
to confirm that the zigzag course he’d plotted was still clear. Once he made the
far end of the run, he clambered over the edge and dropped to the lower roof of
the perpendicular north wing, momentarily out of the operators’ line of sight
as he raced toward the first of two roof-access doors. He ducked inside and
yanked the door closed. Down one flight, he exited onto the sixth floor, turned
a corner, and doubled back toward the west-wing stairwell. There were confused
shouts around the corner behind him, and he felt a glimmer of hope as he tugged
open the door to the stairwell and bounded down the steps. He was alone, the
rapid pounding of his shoes on the metal steps matching the beat of his heart.
Lacey and the others would be close to the garage by now, according to Pete’s
three-minute warning.

Ninety seconds left.

He took the steps two at a time. He should be there in
thirty seconds.   

He was on the second-floor landing when he noticed the
circular camera housing embedded in the ceiling. The sight stunned him and he
slid to a stop. This wasn’t one of Pete’s throwaway cameras; it was built in.
And if there was one, there were many, which meant he wasn’t the only one with
remote eyes inside the building. He stepped down half a flight and peeked over
the rail. Sure enough, there was another camera. He blinked, wondering how he
could’ve missed all of them, imagining that his every move was being tracked. A
flush of anger swept over him. This was another reminder that his mental
abilities were degrading.

What else have I overlooked?

He dashed back up to the second-floor landing and pushed
into the corridor. Then, like a digital image losing its signal for a moment,
his memory snapped and he wasn’t certain which way to turn. He shook his head,
glancing at the thumbnail images on the phone, but they seemed to collide with
one another in his mind, confusing him further. There were pounding boot steps
in the stairwell behind him and he had no clue where to go. So he pushed into
the first doorway he saw and found himself in a long utility room lined with
lockers and shelves stocked with hospital gowns. Two laundry bags lay in the
middle of the room, as if someone had dropped them when the alarm sounded. He
skirted past them, running toward the far exit as he heard the first door click
open behind him.

 “Don’t bother, Mr. Bronson,” a breathless voice commanded
in English. “My men are waiting on the other side. If you exit first, they will
shoot.”

Jake raised his hands and slowly turned to find himself
facing the team leader, a pistol pointed at Jake’s chest as the man walked
forward.

“Don’t move,” the man said. He quickly scanned the ceiling
and corners of the room. Nodding as if pleased with the results, he unclipped a
small device attached to his lapel and stuffed it into his pocket. His earbud
went next, and Jake wondered what the hell was going on.

“Now it’s just you and me,” the man said in a lowered voice,
moving toward the center of the narrow room. He appeared to be in his fifties
and had a full head of graying hair swept back from a broad forehead. His
penetrating gaze was that of a professional who knew what he wanted and how to
get it. He wore a tie beneath his bulletproof vest and his slacks and shoes
looked expensive.

“No cameras. No microphones,” the man said. He motioned with
the pistol. “Step over here, and keep in mind that there are guards at the exit
behind me as well.”

Jake did as he was told, stopping when he was six feet from
the man, separated by the two laundry bags on the floor. He kept his hands
raised.

The man’s eyes narrowed and he aimed the pistol at Jake’s
forehead.

Jake flinched, recognizing the weapon as a 9-mm Beretta. The
safety was off. The hand was steady.

“Who. Is. Geppetto?” the man asked.

“Huh?” The question seemed so random Jake wasn’t certain
he’d heard it right.

“The man who calls himself Geppetto. The one who wants you
so badly. Who is he?”

Jake’s mind reeled. This man was the leader of an elite team
that had taken Marshall, attempted to take Lacey, and now had him cornered at
gunpoint—and he didn’t know who his boss was? Geppetto, like the puppet maker
from the Pinocchio story, the man pulling the strings. Except this Geppetto had
resources in California, Amsterdam, Rome, and God knew where else, he was the
man who had killed the professor and attempted to kill Eloise, and had gone to
extraordinary lengths to take Jake’s friends, his wife—

 
My children.                                                      

His body trembled with rage and he fought to restrain
himself, his breaths quickening as he forced his mind to focus. The man in
front of him didn’t have the answers Jake needed. He was a puppet and Jake
needed to cut his strings and get the hell out of here. His fury seemed to clarify
his thoughts. His brain absorbed the details of the room, one item in
particular forming the nucleus of a desperate plan.

I could still make it.

T
HE LEADER TOOK
A half step backward, as if
sensing Jake’s anger.

“What’s he got on you?” Jake growled, moving slowly to one
side. “Cheating on your wife? Caught with your hand in the till? Something
worse?”

A cloud passed over the man’s face. His fingers tightened on
the weapon as he moved to counter Jake’s steps, the two of them slowly circling
the laundry bags. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” the man said, jiggling the
gun.

“Shoot me,” Jake said, as he slid the toe of one foot under
the edge of one of the bags. “And Geppetto will make you
and
your family
pay. Dearly.”

A flash of uncertainty crossed the man’s features, and
that’s when Jake launched the laundry bag into his face. The leader dodged, the
gun hand wavered, and Jake lunged with a double palm strike to the chest that
slammed the slighter man into the laundry chute door, knocking the breath out
of him as he slumped to the floor. The pistol fell; Jake grabbed it and turned
it on the stunned man.

“Not a word,” Jake said. He swung open the chute door and
yanked the leader to his feet. Jake pressed the muzzle of the weapon into the
man’s forehead, urging him backward until the back of the man’s thighs touched
the bottom lip of the gaping chute. “You’re nothing more than a pawn in this
mess and that’s why I’m not going to kill you. I am, however, going to need
your help with one last thing.” He grabbed hold of the man’s vest.

The leader’s eyes widened and Jake shoved him into the
chute, discarding the pistol and clinging to the vest as he leaped in with him.
There was an instant of free fall and then a jarring crunch and a shot of pain
in his shoulder. They’d dropped into an empty laundry bin and the impact had
snapped the leader’s head into one of the spars that supported the canvas cart.
The man’s eyes glassed over. Jake pushed himself to his knees. He checked the
man’s pulse and confirmed he wasn’t dead.

“Sorry about that,” Jake muttered as he pulled himself out
of the bin. He rushed out the laundry room door and into the basement garage.

“Jake!” Lacey shouted from the back of an open ambulance
door.

He sprinted and jumped inside. He slid next to Lacey onto a
bench beside the gurney supporting the unconscious guard. Pete and Skylar
nodded from the front seat, then Skylar put the vehicle in gear and started
toward the exit ramp. Lacey gave him a relieved smile and Jake blew out a long
breath.

Maybe things are finally turning my way.

He was reaching to pull the rear doors closed when Pete’s
shout turned all eyes forward.

“Shite!”

 A large BMW sedan lurched to a stop on the street outside
the exit ramp. The passenger window rolled down and a weapon popped into view.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Skylar said, flooring the gas pedal and
swerving onto the sidewalk to avoid the car. The side panel scraped the rear
bumper of the BMW as it shot past. The ambulance jumped the curb and veered
onto the cobbled street.

“Hang on,” Jake yelled. He and Lacey struggled to keep from
tumbling from the bench as the top-heavy vehicle fishtailed, the open rear
doors swinging wildly from side to side.

Traffic was light at this late hour. Skylar turned on the
siren and emergency lights and continued flooring it. Out the open rear doors,
Jake saw the BMW spin a U-turn and race after them.

“They’re gaining on us,” Lacey cried out, one hand gripping
the gurney and the other on the bench.

“Not for long,” Skylar said, running a red light. A large
truck veered to avoid them and the BMW squealed to a stop behind it. Skylar
spun into a turn so sharp that Jake lost his balance and sprawled over the
guard, knocking the unconscious man’s glasses askew. That’s when Jake noticed
the flicker of an image on the inside of the lenses. He grabbed the glasses and
slid them on.

“Holy shit,” he said, as a HUD—heads-up display—came into
focus on the upper corner of the right lens. It was like looking through a
video camera, the image shifting as he turned his head this way and that, a red
icon indicating the device was recording. Then he noticed the full-bar signal
icon. He yanked the lenses from his face and cocked his arm toward the open
rear doors. But he stopped himself before tossing them out.

The ambulance took another sharp turn but Jake held steady,
braced by the coiled tension in his muscles.

“The bastard’s been monitoring the entire operation,” he
muttered to himself, his mind flashing on the eyewear worn by each of the teams
that had pursued him over the past twenty-four hours.

“What did you say?” Lacey asked.

He ignored her, flipping the lenses around so that they
faced him. He glowered into the lens and raised his voice so that it could be
heard over the ambulance’s siren. “Bar the doors and hold on to your ass, you
puppet-loving son of a bitch. Because I’m coming for you.” Then he located the
selector switch and toggled off the device.

“Google Glass?” Lacey asked.

“Or something like it,” he said, examining the slim frames.
“The miniaturization is beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. They look like
everyday glasses. Somebody’s holding a tight leash on his puppets.” He folded
the glasses and slipped them into his pocket. “But the tighter the leash, the
easier it is for the animal to turn around and bite you.”   

The BMW skidded from a side street a block behind them. It
was close enough that he could see the driver’s face each time the BMW passed
beneath a streetlamp.

The driver was wearing glasses.

“You can’t outrun a BMW with an ambulance,” Jake shouted.

“Sure ye can,” Pete said, his voice jerking as the ambulance
bounced over a pothole. “So long as we can get a block ahead of the wanker.”

 “Another plan?” Jake asked.

 “Just hang on tight.”

“Screw that,” Jake said. He hated not knowing what the hell
Pete had up his sleeve, and sitting still and
hanging on tight
just
wasn’t his style. The BMW was less than half a block behind them and gaining
fast. A second pair of headlights charged up behind it and now two vehicles were
chasing them. He scanned the ambulance’s interior, looking for anything he
could throw out to slow them down. But there wasn’t anything big enough.

Except...

He reached down and unlatched the gurney’s wheel locks.

“No!” Lacey cried out. She jammed her foot behind the gurney
and grabbed hold of the unconscious guard’s arm. “He’s our only chance.”

Jake pointed at the cars behind them. “What the hell good is
he if we’re in handcuffs?”

“I’m
not
letting you toss—”

She stopped when Skylar spun the vehicle onto a narrow side
street, the wheels screeching as she streaked between rows of parked cars
lining either side of the road. A pedestrian leaped to one side and pumped his
fist in anger as the ambulance sped past.

“Shut up, the both of ye,” Pete said. He grabbed Skylar’s
phone from the console and tapped an entry. “Going loopers in the middle of a
scene amn’t gonna help a thing. And we’ve only got one take at doin’ this right
so settle down. And like I said, hang on tight!”

“Coming up on it...” Skylar said with the calm authority of
a fighter pilot on a strafing run. “In three. Two. One.”

 Pete tapped the screen and suddenly two unoccupied smart
cars they’d just passed pulled from the curb and blocked the road. The BMWs
skidded to a stop, horns blaring. When the empty cars didn’t move, the lead BMW
nosed forward, its rear wheels smoking as it started to push the smaller cars
out of the way. They disappeared from view when Skylar made a sharp left at the
next intersection.

“Ten seconds, Harry,” Pete said into his phone. “Start ’er
up.”

The road forked and Skylar turned off the emergency lights
and siren, veering to the right into a quiet neighborhood of shops and
residential buildings. There was no sign of the BMWs. Then two more quick turns
and she stopped as another ambulance pulled out of a garage in front of them.
Pete jumped out and handed the bearded driver a small box. The man nodded, the other
ambulance sped away, and Skylar pulled into the garage it had just exited. She
killed the engine. Pete followed them inside and pulled the garage door closed
behind them, plunging the space into darkness.

Nobody moved, and Jake had the sense that all four of them
were holding their breaths. Ten seconds later they heard the BMWs charge past.

“And that’s a wrap,” Pete said. He switched on an overhead
fluorescent light and approached the vehicle’s open rear doors. “The tossers
are likely tracking the ambulance’s GPS, which I just passed on to Harry. He’ll
make sure they get a quick gander at him around the next corner. Then he’ll
take ’em on a good ride before he dumps the ambulance and heads for the nearest
pub. He’ll be twisted in an hour, toasting our health, and patting the bonus
wad of bills in his pocket.”

Skylar exited the driver’s seat and came around back. Framed
by the ambulance’s open doors, the two of them were an odd sight—the imposing
Irishman with an arched eyebrow and a twinkle in his eye, and the freckled-face
sprite beside him, hands on her hips and a smug smile on her face. They seemed
to be waiting for Jake to say something.

He looked from them to Lacey, who shrugged as if to say,
What
did you expect?

Jake broke into a grin and pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m
so damn glad to see you.” She hugged him back and he felt the tension leak from
her frame.

“Me, too,” she said softly, her voice catching.

They stepped out of the ambulance and Jake saw a weathered Fiat
sedan parked beside it. “Every detail,” he said. “Right down to the nondescript
getaway car.” He took Pete’s hand and the men exchanged a firm grip. “You run a
hell of a show.”

“Smoke and mirrors. It’s what we do.”

Skylar gave Jake a high five. “You didn’t do so bad yourself.
You saved our butts by drawing that team after you in the hospital.”

“Luck was on our side,” he said, knowing all too well that
whatever good luck they had wouldn’t last for long.