BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (10 page)

Though they knew the fate that awaited them, none gave any outward sign of fear.

“Up,” Battista ordered. His voice echoed in the cavernous space.

The group jumped up and snapped to attention with military precision.  

“Who shall I hold responsible?” Battista asked.

The line of men marched one step forward as a unit, each man signaling his readiness to accept the blame. They wore casual Western clothes, some in jeans and polo shirts, others in khakis and button-downs. Their brown skin only hinted at their Middle Eastern roots, and some even had surgically softened features. The only thing that separated their appearance from that of other young South Bay professionals was the ceremonial
jambia
that each man had tucked in his belt. Battista had adopted the short, crescent-shaped daggers as the bonding symbol of their cause, a reminder of their roots. He himself wore a
saifani jambia
passed down from his ancestors. Its aged rhinoceros handle glimmered with a dim yellowish luster.

He walked along the line, studying each man, searching their eyes for signs of weakness. Abbas followed close behind, his hand resting casually on the ivory pommel of his own double-edged
saifani
. Though Abbas much preferred the switchblade that lived in the front pocket of his slacks, Battista knew that he was every bit as skilled with the ancient tool.

Battista had personally selected each of the men before him for this mission. He knew their backgrounds, their capabilities, their loyalties. He had even insisted on meeting their families. They had demonstrated their willingness to die on behalf of their cause. The blood of martyrs is the fuel that will ultimately lead us to victory over the infidels, Battista thought, even if their death must come at the hands of one of their own in order to remind those who remained of the importance of Allah’s mission.

He stopped before one man. They locked eyes. Other than a slight dilation of the pupils, the
jihadist
showed no fear. Instead, he seemed to expand his chest as if he were about to receive a medal from his general. Battista forced down a wave of reluctance and gave the silent order with a slight nod of his head.

Abbas moved with the speed of a cobra. The curved blade of his
jambia
shimmered under the lights just before it left a crimson line across the man’s neck. His eyes bulged. His hands went to his throat. Blood seeped from his fingers. With a gurgling cough, he slumped to the floor. His head leaned at an awkward angle against the shoe of the man beside him. The soldier held his ground, eyes forward. So did all the other men in line.

Battista felt a surge of pride. Yes, his men had failed to apprehend the American, but their dedication to the cause was resolute. Show me this level of faith in an infidel, Battista thought. He reminded himself that capturing the American was essential, but it was still secondary to their primary mission here in Los Angeles.

One that would make 9/11 pale by comparison.

Chapter 18

One thousand feet over the Sonoran Desert, Mexico

“A
re you serious?” Francesca whispered.

Jake nodded. He sat beside her in the back of the plane. Becker had relieved him at the controls. They’d passed into Mexican airspace nearly an hour ago, using the code words that Jake had established long ago with a Mexican radar control manager who was more than willing to accept the generous
mordida
from the friendly American. The initial down payment had equaled more than two years’ salary for the controller. The follow-up payment he would receive for clearing the unregistered flight through his airspace would set him up for life. It was a small price to pay for their anonymity.

Jake squeezed Francesca’s hand. She was staring at Josh and Sarafina, her face shadowed with worry.

He followed her gaze. “It’ll be all right,” he said.

The two children had settled into the adventure. That might change when they discovered what was in store. Jake listened as Sarafina described the stark desert landscape beneath the plane to Josh. She sat next to the boy, acting as his eyes during the flight. Max was sprawled across both of their laps, his body relaxed but his eyes alert. The children had removed his guide harness and were stroking his thick mane of golden hair.

Jake marveled at Sarafina. Though she still hid behind her dewy-eyed mannerisms, he knew that the frightening experiences in Venice and Afghanistan had driven some of the child out of her. In times of stress, she seemed to exhibit the situational awareness of someone three times her age. He saw it again now, as she comforted Josh in the cooing manner of her mother figure, Francesca. It seemed to work. The boy was intent on her eloquent descriptions of what was going on around them. As long as no one used any bad language around him, the kid would cope just fine.

Lacey sat beside Sarafina with Marshall’s arm draped over her shoulders. Jake knew Sarafina idolized the striking young woman. Lacey’s spunky spirit, as well as her physical attributes as a top-notch surfer and tae kwon do master, gave her an allure that was difficult to resist. For the children’s sake, Lacey had stopped complaining about the acting gig she had been forced to abandon. But Jake still saw flits of anger flash across her face from time to time. It had been the biggest role she’d ever landed. She’d been waiting for such a break ever since she moved to L.A. nearly five years ago. Now that it had finally happened, it had been ripped away from her. Jake felt terrible about it, though a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder at the irony of it all. She’d be seeing plenty of action very soon.

Jake glanced at his watch. In fifteen minutes they’d be over the safe house.

It was time to break the news to the rest of the team.

**

Francesca’s knees were shaking. Tony stood behind her. He gave a final tug on the harness of the parachute strapped to her back.

“Looks good,” he said. “You’re all set.”

She couldn’t believe she was about to jump out of an airplane into the middle of the Mexican desert. When Jake had first explained his plan, she’d thought he was joking. How in heaven’s name could he be serious, especially with two young children? Not to mention a dog!  But here she stood, trussed up like a game hen about to go into the oven.
O Dio.

The other adults were geared up as well. The children were next. They’d be hooked to Tony’s and Becker’s chests. For Josh’s sake, they’d all remained subdued as they put on their gear.

Becker cinched a tandem harness around Sarafina. He sat beside her and whispered into her ear.

Tony knelt beside Josh. “Hey, pal. I’m going to slip a harness over your head.”

Josh crossed his arms on his chest. “How come?”

“Uh…”

“We’re going to jump, huh?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “That’s right. But I’m going to hold you the whole way.”

Josh tightened his arms across his chest. He rocked back and forth.

Tony mussed his hair. “It’s fun. I’ve done it a hundred times. It’ll be just like GI Joe.”

“I-I’m scared.”

Sarafina stepped next to him. “Hey, Josh,” she said. “You’re supposed to be a little scared. That’s what makes it fun. Besides, just wait until we tell the kids in class about it!”

The boy stopped rocking. He tilted his head, as if imagining the reaction the other kids would have to the story. After a moment, he slowly lifted his arms over his head. Tony slid the harness into place.

Francesca marveled. She wished her courage had been as easy to find.

Marshall and Becker stood in the aisle in front of her.

“Su-weeet Jesus, I hope this is over quick!” Marshall said as he tightened the straps on his own harness.

“Actually,” Becker said with a wide-toothed smile, “if it’s over too quick, then your chute didn’t open.” He patted Marshall on the shoulders and added, “No worries, mate. Get ready for the ride of your life!”

“Terrific.”

Lacey had already donned her goggles. Francesca watched her calm demeanor with envy. Lacey leaned out the door, one hand on the jump rail. The wind whipped the loose strands of blond hair that leaked from the bottom of her helmet. Her grin stretched from ear to ear. She would be the first one out, trailed by Marshall, Bradley, and then Francesca. Becker would follow with Josh. Sarafina would be next, strapped to Tony. Jake had insisted on being last. The dog was going with him, trundled within a canvas stow bag.

The yellow standby light above the jump door began to flash.

“All right, missy,” Becker whispered, placing his hand on Francesca’s shoulder from behind. “No worries. The chute will open on its own. If not, just yank on the D-ring like we rehearsed. It’s going to be fine.”

Francesca inched forward to get in line behind Bradley, willing her unstable legs to keep her upright. She recited a silent prayer and glanced over her shoulder for Jake. But he was still in the cockpit, making sure the plane was in position for the jump. As if hearing her thoughts, Jake’s voice entered her mind.

“Be brave. Love you.”

She found a small modicum of peace in his words. Lies couldn’t hide within the purity of one’s thoughts. It was why she guarded her own mind from him now.

**

Jake sensed Francesca’s resistance to his thoughts. He couldn’t blame her. She was a psychologist and schoolteacher, not a thrill seeker. All she wanted to do was help challenged children. Instead, her life had been turned upside down and she’d been forced to live as a target. Now, he was asking her to jump out of an airplane into the middle of nowhere. It’s a wonder she’d speak to me at all, Jake thought.

A wide expanse of desert scrub rushed beneath the low-flying aircraft. They were over the Sonoran Desert. The distant horizon rippled under the heat of the afternoon sun. The Sea of Cortez, which separated the Baja Peninsula from the mainland, was fifteen miles off the starboard wing.

A bead of perspiration dripped down Jake’s side under his shirt. He shifted in the pilot’s chair, unable to get comfortable under the tightly cinched straps of the parachute harness. The dry desert air whisked into the plane from the rear hatch, smelling of sage and creosote. Jake adjusted their course to follow a flood-carved ravine that abutted the remote ranch that would be their home for the next several weeks. He double-checked the GPS on the instrument panel.
Two miles.

Flicking a switch on the instrument panel, Jake turned on a yellow standby light in the rear cabin. He confirmed the settings he’d entered for the automatic pilot. Following the jump, the plane would continue on its programmed flight plan, making a number of course changes along the way. With any luck, it would remain aloft for about an hour before crashing into the southern reaches of the Sea of Cortez. If anyone tracked the aircraft to its final destination, it would be impossible to determine when or where Jake and his friends had vacated it.

He leveled off at the minimum safe jump altitude of sixteen hundred feet. He flicked the standby switch to the middle indent, causing the yellow light in the cabin to begin blinking. The ranch was dead ahead.

In its heyday over a hundred years ago, the expansive single-story adobe structure and its dilapidated outbuildings had served as a way station between southern Mexico and the American territories. According to Papa, whose family had lived nearby before moving to Los Angeles, the property had more recently been used as a narcoranch, a retreat where the local drug lord could reward his crew with wild parties filled with imported women from neighboring villages. Two years ago, it had been shut down in a rare drug bust by Mexican authorities. Apparently, the regional official in charge didn’t feel the monthly bribe he received was enough to overlook the fact that his daughter had been among the girls coerced into attending one of the parties.

The desolate property lay above a network of underground rivers and streams that originated in Arizona and eventually dumped into the Sea of Cortez. As a result of the constantly shifting aquifer, the defile that skirted the eastern edge of the property had grown to a small gorge over the years, encroaching ever closer to the main structure. Jake saw remnants of two outbuildings strewn at the bottom of the gully.

Max whimpered at Jake’s feet. He lay in an open canvas sack, his legs trussed up beneath him. A nest of parachute material lined the sack, cushioning the nervous dog. Jake reached down and scratched his head.

“Don’t worry, fella. Before you know it, you’ll be chasing long-eared jackrabbits across the sand.”

Thirty seconds to go. Jake flipped on the autopilot, placed his finger on the jump switch, and started the silent countdown. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he was going to abandon a flyable aircraft. As a pilot, that didn’t sit well with him. His only solace rested in the fact that the ploy would make it impossible for Battista and his crew to find them.

Chapter 19