BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (16 page)

He stopped and turned to face the team as they caught up to him. Marshall sucked in several wheezing breaths. He seemed to need the break more than the others. The air was thick with moisture and Tony suspected it was taking its toll on his ex-smoker buddy. It didn’t help that he also carried the fifty-pound emergency pack on his back.

Unfazed by the run, Lacey jogged in place for a moment before settling down. Bradley had kept up, cradling his injured arm.

Becker brought up the rear with Sarafina in his arms.

“We gotta tie up,” Tony said. He moved behind Marshall and unzipped his backpack with his free hand. Josh clung tight against his chest. Tony reached into the pack and pulled out an eighty-foot coil of climbing rope and a bundle of carabiners.

Lacey separated the carabiners and handed them out.

“Hook the clips to the waist straps on your life jackets like this,” Tony said. He clipped one of the aluminum rings to his vest and another to Josh’s.

“What’s this for?” Marshall asked.

 Tony ignored him for the moment.

Becker lowered Sarafina to the ground. “Hang tight, darlin’. I need both hands for a spell.”  She edged up against his leg, her eyes vacant. Her fingers danced, as if along imaginary piano keys, playing a song only she could hear.

Becker took up the coil of rope and looped a climber’s knot through Josh’s clip. Cinching it with a firm tug of his wrists, the two men exchanged a look. Neither of them spoke. Becker spanned three arm lengths in the rope and tied another knot on Tony’s clip. He continued the process until all of them were linked together, spaced at ten-foot intervals along the rope. 

The dog ambled over and nudged one of the dangling loops of rope with his nose, as if wondering why he was the only one not tethered to the leash. Lacey leaned over and scratched his head.

“What about Max?” she said.

Becker glanced at Marshall’s backpack, thoughtful.

 “I’ve got just the thing,” he said. He rummaged through the pack and pulled out a pouch labeled
neck splint
. He unrolled the clear plastic sleeve and looped it over the dog’s head and around his neck. Pressing his lips to the valve, he inflated the makeshift flotation device until it was snug.

“That’ll do it, big fella,” he said with a ruffle of Max’s fur. The dog padded backward. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable collar. “You’re gonna have to get used to it, pal.”

Becker lifted Sarafina to his chest and nodded to Tony.

Surveying the group, Tony realized he had one more thing to do before they could proceed. He unstrapped his Spare-Air canister and pressed it gently against Josh’s chest.

“What’s this?” Josh said, his fingers probing the rubber mouthpiece of the device.

“That’s for when we go swimming,” Tony said.

“Really?”

“Sure, it’s fun,” he said. He opened the safety valve. “You wrap your lips around it, grip this little rubber piece with your teeth to hold it in place, and suck in with your mouth, like when you use a straw. Give it a try.”

Josh’s eyes widened as the pressured oxygen drove into his lungs.

He pulled it free. “Cool!” he said.

Clinging to Becker’s chest, Sarafina watched the exchange. Tony splashed the mouthpiece through the stream and held the can out to her.

She nodded, tightened her mouth around the dripping mouthpiece, and drew in a breath. Her eyes revealed her surprise. She smiled around the rubber.

“What about this thing?” Lacey said, fingering a bright orange tab on the front of her vest.

“It activates a transponder,” Tony said. “It sends out an emergency signal.” 

Lacey’s eyes brightened.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Tony said. He pointed at the rock ceiling that stretched above them. “They’re worthless down here.”

He re-strapped the air canister to his vest. “Okay, we’re all set. The rope will keep us together when we get into the water.”

“When’s that going to happen?” Marshall asked. His voice cracked.

Tony glanced at the stream. In the two minutes it had taken them to tie up, it had doubled in size.

“Soon,” Tony said as he stepped forward to lead his friends into the maw. “Very soon.”

Chapter 29

Marine Corp Air Station Miramar

San Diego, California

C
al Springman’s tanned face was usually plastered with an exuberant smile. Growing up riding surfboards on the unpredictable waves of southern California beaches had taught him to enjoy whatever life threw his way.
Enjoy the wave you’re on,
he’d say,
because they may not be breakin’ tomorrow.
His no-worries attitude had followed him into the not-so-friendly skies of Afghanistan, where he’d served as a decorated combat pilot in the US Air Force. His infectious smile and cocky radio techniques in the face of life-or-death situations had earned him pats on the back from his peers and the disdain of his superiors.  

Cal wasn’t smiling now.

On loan to a specialized fighter-attack squadron temporarily based at the Marine Corp Air Station Miramar in San Diego, Cal was about to rush into the squadron commander’s office when he overheard the man’s angry discussion with his aide.

“What the hell did Springman do this time?” the colonel shouted.

Cal flattened himself against the wall just outside the office.

“Uh…I’m not sure, sir,” the aide said. “The man from the agency said they wanted him and his copilot taken into custody immediately.”

“Goddamn Air Force pukes,” the colonel said. “No discipline. That’s their damn problem. And Major Springman’s at the top of that list. If we take him and his brainy what’s-his-name sidekick into custody, what the shit are we supposed to do about the test we’re smack in the middle of? Where the hell are we on that anyway?”

“The copilot is a Captain Lyons, sir. He’s still technically on active duty, but he’s currently on loan to Northrop as a consultant. First name, Kenneth. The mini-drones are his brainchild. So far, they have definitely lived up to his promises. Our teams still haven’t figured a way around their stealth and jamming capabilities. It’s amazing technology, sir. We can really use it overseas.” He pointed out the window to the flight ramp. “Major Springman’s plane is on the flight line now. They’re scheduled to take off for the next sortie in…” He checked his watch and added, “Fifteen minutes.”

“Well, screw that!” the colonel said. “I’m not going to get my pecker twisted into a knot by some obscure government agency just because Springman and his pimple-faced buddy happen to know this Bronson character.”

Cal tensed at the mention of Jake’s name.

“Yes, sir,” the aide said.

“So what are you waiting for, Lieutenant? I want them grounded. Now!”

“Sir!”

Cal split around the corner, down the hall, and out the exit to the flight line. He flipped open his cell phone and ran toward the parked CV-22 Osprey. His phone had been off all day—in accordance with the operational guidelines of the flight tests—until ten minutes ago. That’s when he’d listened to the two voice mails from Jake. Cal had hoped to get the squadron commander’s permission for emergency leave. That wasn’t going to happen.

Considering what he’d just heard inside the colonel’s office, Cal knew the timing of Jake’s calls was no coincidence. He picked up the pace. Kenny was in the plane updating Northrop on the results of the morning test. Cal speed-dialed his number.

Kenny answered on the first ring. “Hey.”

“Start the engines,” Cal ordered. “Ignore the checklist.” 

“What the—?”

“Shut up and just do it. I’m a hundred yards out with bogies on my six. If we’re not in the air in forty-five seconds, we’re going to jail.”

The phone went dead. Cal heard the whine of the Osprey’s powerful Rolls-Royce engines power up and he knew that Kenny was asshole and elbows in the cockpit. The sixty-foot-long, high-wing aircraft was a hundred yards ahead of him. The oversized wingtip-mounted engine nacelles were tilted upward in vertical lift mode. The wide rotors spun up to speed. Cal was relieved to see that Kenny’s experimental mini-drones were still hitched to the underside of each wing. In dark slate and manta-ray designs, they were like miniature stealth bombers. With any luck, their cache of electronic equipment would give Cal and Kenny the edge they needed to make a clean getaway.

The aircraft that supported the twin drones was like a second home to Cal. He’d turned down two separate opportunities to switch to fighters, preferring the hands-on feel of the tilt-rotor Osprey, given its name more for its gull-like appearance than its ability to switch from vertical to horizontal flight. The versatile performance of the CV-22 meant more diverse missions, many of which put him in the middle of the action with ground forces. That was a hell of a lot more attractive to him than splitting the high skies at Mach 2 in a fighter, waiting for that once-in-a-lifetime dogfight that would end in the blink of an eye after a computer-assisted missile launch. Where was the fun in that?

Cal raced up the rear ramp and past the inward-facing web seats to the cockpit. Kenny was strapped into Cal’s pilot seat, one hand on the cyclic stick and the other on the throttles.

“Ramp is closing,” Kenny said. “Ready for takeoff.” 

“Get off the airplane, Kenny,” Cal said to his red-haired, freckle-faced friend. Though Kenny was a twenty-five-year-old experienced pilot, his childlike exuberance and resemblance to a skinny, sixteen-year-old video gamer engendered an overprotective attitude in Cal.

“This is going to be a one-man show,” Cal added.

“Cut the crap,” Kenny said. “I don’t know what the heck’s going on, but I’m not about to miss it.”

“This is no time to mess around, kid. I’m about to break enough laws to get me locked up forever. I’m
not
taking you down with me.”

“I ain’t moving ’til you tell me what’s up.”

“Damn it, K—” Cal stopped when he looked out the windscreen and saw the flashing lights of three security vehicles speeding toward them. They were out of time.

“Okay, listen up,” he said. “Jake’s in trouble in Mexico. Needs an evac, like, yesterday. And suddenly the Feds are here to take us into custody. It can’t be a coincidence. I’m up for doin’ the deed, but there’s no sense in both of us putting our necks in a noose. So unstrap and jump off.”

“No way,” Kenny said. He advanced the thrust-control levers. “We’re outta here.”

“This is going to end your career, you know.”

“Hah! The existence of the entire human race is at risk and you think I give a shit about my career? If Jake is in trouble, I’m going with you.” He pulled pack on the stick and the aircraft lifted into the air.

“Shit,” Cal said, as he clambered into the copilot’s seat and strapped himself in. “You know how much I hate it when you sit in my seat.”

“Whatever. Enjoy the ride.”

 Cal arched an eyebrow. “The force is strong with this one,” he said, imitating Darth Vader from the
Star Wars
trilogy. Kenny was a devout fan. Donning his flight helmet, Cal threw several switches beneath the avionics display and added, “Let’s power up your toys and show these jarheads what’s up.”

**

As soon as they cleared Miramar’s airspace, Kenny gave control of the aircraft to Cal. He knew Cal was a hell of a lot better pilot than he was—at least with manned aircraft—but he’d enjoyed the rush of taking charge during their hasty exit.

The two men met two years ago when Kenny had been assigned as Cal’s copilot. It was an unlikely alliance. Cal was an aggressive pilot who was into surfing, girls, and any outdoor adventure that would get the adrenaline pumping. Kenny was happier sitting comfortably in one of his custom-made “action” chairs playing video games—when he wasn’t at his computer tweaking the design on his latest drone. As the oldest son of a family-owned crop-dusting business in the Midwest, he’d been around airplanes his entire life. He was a decent stick, but as a
wunderkind
—that’s what Granddad always called him—he’d always been more interested in piloting and designing remote-control aircraft.

He and Cal found common ground in their love of being in the air. Cal worked his charm to get his young copilot to loosen up, getting him out on the town on a regular basis to enjoy the sweet fruits that life offered, while Kenny opened Cal’s eyes to a brave new world of unmanned aerial vehicles, or UAVs—the future of air combat.

Together they’d played a critical role in Jake’s insane rescue mission in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan earlier this year, using their individual talents to get the team safely in and out of the hotbed region. It hadn’t been their first combat mission together, and the way things were going, it sure as heck wasn’t going to be their last. But the bond the two men shared now was much more than one formed because they’d faced death together. It was the mind-scrambling knowledge they’d gleaned from Jake’s contact with the alien artifact that had made them comrades for life—what was left of it. They shared a loyalty to Jake Bronson that was absolute.