BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (22 page)

Jake dumped the contents of the medical bag onto the bed. There were three vials. Each had a different label. He rolled them in gauze and stuffed them deep into the side pocket of his cargo pants.

The voices from the hall were close. Jake searched the fallen guard’s pockets. A wave of relief washed over him when he pulled out the jeep’s keys. As he turned to leave, he noticed a spiral notebook protruding from the doctor’s rear pocket. He doubled back and picked it up, scanning the first page as he made for the exit.

What he read stopped him cold. He flipped to the next page, then the next, his mind absorbing and cataloging the notes and calculations. His breath quickened. He turned the pages with increasing speed. The doctor’s notes provided the scientific basis for a population reduction stratagem of a scale so massive that the death toll from a thermonuclear war would pale by comparison. Its goal was nothing less than the total extinction of every American residing in the continental United States. All in the name of “the one true religion.”
And it could actually work.

Jake shoved aside the wave of despair that threatened to overwhelm him, and focused on the single flaw he saw in their plan—
a flaw by the name of Jake Bronson, who now knows what you’re planning to do.

He fanned through the pages, blinking his eyes in a mimic of a camera’s shutter. It was his way of signaling his eidetic brain to commit the contents to memory. He returned the book to the doctor’s pocket, taking care not to rouse him. When the man regained consciousness, it was important that he believed his notes had not been disturbed.

Jake jumped into the jeep. Francesca huddled low in the passenger seat. She blew out a sigh of relief at his return. “Look what I found,” she said, holding out a cell phone.

“Yeah!” Jake said as he started the engine and put the vehicle into gear. “It’s about time luck turned our way. Keep your head down!”

He slammed on the gas and jerked the wheel into a sharp U-turn. It kicked up bits of gravel that plinked against the building’s aluminum siding. As they approached the panel truck, Jake laid the barrel of the AK-47 on the windowsill and squeezed the trigger. The sound of the automatic weapon was deafening. Bullet holes stitched a line across the truck’s side panel. He adjusted his aim downward and the rear tires exploded.

By the time Battista’s soldiers poured onto the tarmac, Jake and Francesca were well out of range.

Chapter 40

Beneath the Sonoran Desert, Mexico

W
armth on her skin.

A gentle rocking.

A peaceful tune filled with hope…

Lacey’s eyes fluttered open. She lay on her back. Her head was cradled in someone’s lap. Sarafina’s face hovered inches above, backlit by the sun. The soothing tune she was humming cut off and her lips broke into a wide smile.

“Lacey!” she said, leaning over to hug her. She pressed a cool cheek against Lacey’s. It was a bit of a stretch for the girl since she was still wearing the life jacket.

“How on earth—”

“Thanks for coming to get me!” Sarafina said. Her small arms clung to Lacey’s head as if it were her favorite doll. She rocked them back and forth. Lacey returned the hug with all the strength she could muster.

They were still underground. But the sun beat down on them from a hundred-foot-wide hole overhead. They were on a beach of polished pebbles on the outside curve of the fast-moving river. Lacey’s heels were still in the water. Apparently, the little girl could only pull her so far.

“How’d you do it, honey?” Lacey asked. She pulled her feet from the water’s edge and rose to a seated position. Her head spun with the effort. She winced as she pressed her hand against the golf ball-sized lump on her forehead.

“Y-you were sort of stuck,” Sarafina said. Her face scrunched up in an empathetic wince as Lacey probed her head wound. “Wrapped around a rock.” 

The tip of Sarafina’s tongue peeked from the corner of her mouth as she pictured it in her mind.

“Kind of like this.” She made a fist with one hand and cupped her other hand around it. She wiggled two of the outside fingers. “Your arms were wobbling through the water like a flag. When I banged into you, I grabbed your belt to keep us together. But then the water pushed us free.” Her eyes glazed over for a beat. “After that, it dumped us here.” She pointed to five other life vests strewn along the side of the water. “Those, too.”

“And then you pulled me out,” Lacey said, amazed.

“Well…mostly,” the little girl said, glancing at Lacey’s soggy shoes. “You’re heavy!”

Lacey grinned. “Oh yeah?” she asked playfully. “Are you calling me fat?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sarafina picked up on the joke and giggled. Lacey threw her arms around her and pulled her close.

“My darling Sarafina,” she said, blinking away tears. “You saved my life.”

As they held each other, Lacey’s gaze drifted to the distant blackness that enveloped the river’s continuing path. Jake had told her that it stretched for dozens of miles. Much of it passed through underground chutes far more deadly than the one they’d just survived. A shiver spread from her spine and she thanked God that she was alive.

They were surrounded by sheer walls. The opening to the surface was fifty feet overhead. Lacey considered how they’d ever make it out. Then she noticed that the white emergency lights on each of the life vests were flashing. She smiled at the realization that Sarafina was already several steps ahead of her.

Chapter 41

The Sonoran Desert, Mexico

J
ake skidded the vehicle into the next turn. Clouds of dust spit from the tires. A quick check in the rearview mirror confirmed there were still no signs of pursuit. The fuel gauge read near empty, but refueling with the spare three-gallon gas can strapped in the back would have to wait. They were less than a mile from the airfield and Jake wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and the terrorists. He accelerated out of the turn onto the dirt fire road that climbed the foothills above the airfield. He pushed the vintage jeep to the max. Francesca braced herself beside him in the convertible. One hand pressed against the dash and the other gripped her hair back in a ponytail. The hot desert air felt good.

 “How’re you feeling?” Jake shouted over the whine of the engine as he downshifted into a hairpin curve.

 “O—okay,” she said. Her voice stammered in time with the jeep’s bounce over a pothole. “Drive faster!”

“You got it,” Jake said. She’d changed in the last two days, he thought. Her newfound strength suited her. He punched the gas on the next straightaway. Although it was unlikely the
jihadists
would find two spares to replace the tires he’d shredded, he wasn’t about to take any chances. He’d broken off the main road toward the foothills at the first opportunity, taking advantage of the jeep’s all-terrain abilities. The fuel gauge was in the red, so there was no way they could outlast anyone in a long-distance chase. The high ground would provide them with advance warning of a pursuit and at least give them a chance to set up a defensible position. It wasn’t the best plan, especially since he only had a few rounds left in the AK’s magazine. But it was a hell of lot better than waiting for the other shoe to drop with those assholes down below.

At this point, their ultimate hope of rescue revolved around the cell phone Francesca had found. There’d been no signal on the desert floor. Jake prayed that would change as they gained altitude. He also needed to give Francesca the antidote—

The thought froze in his head. His mind raced through the details of the pages he’d memorized from the doctor’s journal and he realized his mistake: He’d taken the vial and a hypodermic needle, but the drug had to be administered slowly using an IV drip. Injecting it with a hypo would be fatal. He needed to get Francesca to a hospital.

Five minutes later, Jake pulled up at a natural overlook.

“Give me a second,” he said, squeezing Francesca’s thigh before stepping out of the jeep. He cupped his hands over his brow and scanned the valley below. The truck was still at the airfield. But his relief was cut short when he noticed the long trail of dust racing across the desert floor.

“What do you see?” Francesca asked.

“Trouble,” he said, as he studied the fast-moving caravan. “Seven vehicles, heading for the airport. It’s got to be the narcos. They’re hauling ass with a vengeance.” 

Jake panned the valley floor. His gut tightened when he noticed the ribbon of haze hanging over the fire road and snaking up to their position. It was like a neon sign that read
they went thataway
.

A thunderous roar overhead squeezed the air from Jake’s lungs and nearly knocked him from his feet. He ducked as an aircraft popped over the ridge behind him. It was flying at full bore. Its hundred-foot wingspan passed just thirty feet overhead as it dove toward the airfield. Jake recognized it as a vintage DC3. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the terrorists’ ride had just arrived. And by the looks of things, the plane would land before the narcos got close enough to draw a bead on them.

Timing couldn’t have been better for Battista’s boys.

It couldn’t have been worse for Jake and Francesca. If the fired-up narcos were denied their taste of blood at the airfield, it wouldn’t take them long to spot the jeep’s trail.

He rushed back to the vehicle and jumped in. “Try the phone again!”

Francesca flipped it open and powered it up.

“No bars.”

“Keep it open,” Jake said, pushing the jeep for all it was worth. The ridge was just ahead. The fuel gauge was solidly on Empty. He’d have to pull over soon to refuel from the spare gas can, but for now, it was balls to the wall.

The jeep leapt over the crest at top speed. It caught air before crunching back onto the road in a neck-wrenching lurch. A straightaway stretched out before them, surrounded by sagebrush-covered hills punctuated with cactus and rocky escarpments. Jake scanned the hilltops, hoping against hope for some sign of civilization.

“Signal?”

Francesca shook her head.

A flicker of reflected light in the cloudless sky caught Jake’s attention. He caught the faint outline of a small fixed-wing aircraft. It was difficult to make out its lines. It appeared to be descending in their general direction.

Francesca followed his gaze.

“Another plane?” she asked.

“Too small,” Jake said. He brought the jeep to a stop. “I think it’s a drone.”

“A what?”

“A remote-controlled surveillance aircraft.” He tensed as the approaching craft dumped its nose in preparation for what appeared to be a classic strafing run directly toward them.

“Get out now!” he shouted.

They were out of the jeep in half a breath. He grabbed her hand and they dove for cover behind a jumble of boulders. Jake wrapped himself around her to shield her from the threat.

But there was no attack. Jake risked a peek over the rocks and saw the small aircraft bank into a gentle circle fifty feet overhead.

“I’ll be damned.” He pulled Francesca up beside him. This was no run-of-the-mill Predator drone he was looking at. From the rudderless triangular shape, he recognized it immediately as one of Kenny’s modified stealth drones. The plane wagged its wings in greeting.

“What is it?” Francesca asked.

“Cal got my message, that’s what!” Jake said. He threw his arms around Francesca and spun her around in a circle. She smiled and the world was a better place. “We may just make it out of here yet. Let me have the phone.”

He accessed the phone’s cell number and then waved the device over his head so that his buddies could see he had a phone. With the equipment they had on board, they could zoom in close enough to see whether or not he’d shaved this morning. The drone’s wings wagged in acknowledgment. Jake then used his fingers to communicate the phone number, holding his hand sideways—in the universal pilot fashion—to indicate numbers six through ten.

The phone rang a moment later.

Chapter 42

The Sonoran Desert, Mexico

“
F
ine time for a picnic, pal,”
Cal’s voice said through the cell phone.