BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (31 page)

The room went dead quiet as Papa hung up the phone.

Freddie and Tony stood shoulder to shoulder, two mountains threatening to crumble as they awaited the news.

“Your momma’s fine,” Papa said to Tony. He turned to Freddie. “Juice took one in the shoulder, but he’s going to make it. They’re on their way here now.”

The men blew out a shared breath. Tension spilled from their shoulders.

“Thank God,” Francesca said.

Papa’s eyes went moist as he turned to the rest of the group. “They got Mario. Two in the chest.” 

There was an angry murmur among the bangers. Their leader, Street, didn’t blink, but Jake noticed his jaw pulsate as Street bit back his fury.

“Listen up,” Jake said. “Make no mistake. We’re going to take these bastards down. Here’s what we’re—”

The side door flew open and one of Street’s boys rushed in. “It’s Five-0!” he shouted. “Four black SUVs headed this way fast.”

Chapter 54

South Central Los Angeles, California

T
he men drew their weapons, rammed home ammo magazines, and stationed themselves at the windows and doorways of Papa’s home.

Jake peeked through a slit in the curtains. A breeze slipped through the open window. With a squeal of braking tires, four black SUVs with tinted windows and flashing dash-mounted emergency lights skidded to a stop outside. Doors flew open and dark-suited men with compact automatic weapons took up offensive positions facing the house. They had GOVERNMENT AGENTS written all over them, right down to the earpiece wires that disappeared under their collars. Jake had little doubt these men were after him. The events that had transpired in the mountains of Afghanistan had finally caught up to him, though for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how the hell they caught up with him here of all places.

A man with a crew cut and sharp military bearing stepped forward and confirmed Jake’s fears. The man raised a bullhorn to his lips and said, “Jake Bronson!”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Francesca standing beside him. She clutched at Jake’s arm with the ferocity of a mother preventing her child from dipping his hand into boiling water.

He turned toward her. “I need you to remain calm. This is about me. Not you, or Sarafina, or our friends. Stay clear of the windows.”

Her face was desperate with fear.

“Don’t worry,” he said, brushing her cheek with the palm of his hand.

“We know you’re in there, Mr. Bronson! Don’t force our hand.”

Jake turned. But before he could respond, Papa opened the front door and stormed onto the sidewalk that bisected his front lawn. He was unarmed but Street and four of his bangers spread out in his wake, all gripping weapons. The man with the bullhorn ducked behind the fender of the car. The agents around him trained their weapons on Papa’s group.

“Who in the hell do you think you are,
pendejo
?” Papa shouted, his five-foot-eight frame standing tall against the wall of weapons pointed at his head. He spit on the ground. “This is
my
turf. My home! And you threaten me?
Mi familia?
”

Setting the bullhorn on the hood of the car, the military man rose slowly. He palmed the air. “Calm down, sir. We’re not here for you or your family. But this is a matter of national security. We know Mr. Bronson’s inside, and one way or another, we’re taking him with us.”

“Again with the threats!” Papa shouted. “
Hijo de puta,
are you stupid or just anxious to die?”

The man’s face reddened. “Enough! You’re outmanned and outgunned and I’m ordering you to stand down immediately!”

Papa stood his ground. He crossed his arms, tilted his head to one side, and belted out a roar of laughter. Though Jake couldn’t see Papa’s face, he caught smiles coming from two of the bangers covering Papa’s back.

“Outmanned? Outgunned?” Papa laughed again, harder this time, as if he couldn’t contain himself. After a moment, he raised his hands palms up as if he were addressing a crowd of thousands. He shouted, “
Oye, comprades
. The
gringo
says we’re outgunned!”

Suddenly, neighboring doors opened and heavily armed gangsters spilled onto the scene. More of them streamed in from behind bushes and backyards. Windows opened and weapons peeked out from between curtains. Bandana-wrapped heads popped up in parked cars, their engines roaring to life as they lurched forward from either end of the street to corral the four SUVs.

Within seconds the government agents were hopelessly surrounded. They glanced to their stunned leader for direction. Their short-barreled weapons panned nervously from target to target as the crowd pressed in.

A tense silence enveloped the scene.

So many triggers.

So many fingers.

Papa was the first to speak. He’d stopped laughing.

“Okay, suckers,” he said. “This is what we call a Mexican standoff, South-Central style. It’s your move.”

The military man’s initial shocked expression slowly melted away. Jake stiffened when he realized the man still wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He had the composure of a seasoned combat soldier under orders—probably an officer. And it appeared as though his directive to take Jake into custody included an
at-any-cost
proviso. The man nodded to one of his men, who lifted a small handheld radio to his lips. He delivered a silent message and then nodded back at his boss.

The lead man turned to Papa. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen up.” There was a faint throbbing of a helicopter in the distance. “In a few minutes, this neighborhood is going to be crawling with LAPD.”

Jake noticed a flinch or two from the crowd of gangbangers, but none of them lowered their weapons. They weren’t about to back down from a threat in the heart of their turf.

The military man continued, “If you want a bloodbath in the meantime, so be it. But we’re not leaving without Jake Bronson in custody.”

While Papa seemed to consider the man’s words, Jake caught a subtle change in Street’s stance. It seemed as if he were coiling for action. As the current gang leader, the mob would ultimately take their orders from him.

Jake had to stop him.

“Wait!” he shouted out the window. “I’m coming out!”

Francesca’s eyes went wide with fright. Jake gave her a fierce hug and whispered, “I love you. Keep our baby safe. I’ll be back. I promise.”

He released her and moved toward the door where Tony, Marshall, and Lacey waited, each of them grim-faced.

“It’s up to you, Tony. Save your family and stop that bastard, Battista. I’m sorry I can’t go with you this time.” He motioned outside. “But at least you’ve got plenty of muscle out there to help.”

Tony nodded. His expression of determination was chilling.

“Marsh, keep Tony in check. Don’t let him go off half-cocked.”

“I’m on it.”

Lacey set the security wand on the edge of a side table by the door. She rushed forward and gave Jake a hug. “Oh, Jake. Be careful.”

Jake returned the embrace. Then, fighting down another stomach cramp, he swung open the door.

As he brushed past the side table, no one noticed the brief string of chirps that emanated from the security wand. 

Chapter 55

Torrance, California

“T
hey’ve got him,” Abbas reported as he and Kadir monitored the moving red dot on the computer screen. They were in the upstairs office of the warehouse. “From their speed it appears as though he’s on a helicopter.”

“Excellent,” Battista said, gazing absently out the office’s window. A light breeze rustled the trees that lined the street of the industrial park. Their shadows lengthened under the late afternoon sun. The parking lots beside the buildings had thinned out early as employees hurried home to start their weekend, oblivious to the storm of terror about to be unleashed upon them. By tomorrow afternoon they’d be huddled in fear around their television sets. The pieces on the chessboard were all in place. Nothing could stop them now.

“Get the ERT team ready to go,” he ordered. “I want us in position by tomorrow morning.”

“Finally!” Abbas said with a grin. He left to gather his men.

Battista joined Kadir at the desk. “You’re in charge now.”

“Thank you, my
sheikh
. It is an honor to serve.”

Battista appreciated Kadir’s humility. It had not often revealed itself since he’d received his implant. “I have every faith in you. Have you selected who shall go first?”

“All three are eager. But it was Omar who suggested it be done during the parade.”

“Perfect.” Battista appreciated the irony of the suggestion. The unusual name of the parade would take on new meaning after the attack. “Omar has earned the privilege.”

Kadir unfolded a map of the Los Angeles area and spread it across the desk. Using a magic marker, he drew an X over a spot in the center of Orange County. “The parade commences at 3 p.m. The timer on his detonator will be set for 3:05.”

Battista knew that once it was armed and locked in place, the suicide vest could not be removed—or the timer adjusted—without detonating the explosives. This insured the device’s success against the man’s interception by authorities…or a change of heart.

 “The other attacks will occur an hour later,” Kadir added. “The country will be in a state of shock.”

 Battista nodded, satisfied. “You’ve done well. Months will pass before they’ll begin to suspect what has really happened here.” 

By then, he thought, we will have duplicated the process across the country. He felt a brief urge to remain with Kadir and the men to see this part of the mission through. But he quickly brushed the thought aside. He had an even bigger priority to focus on, one that could change the world.

Chapter 56

Area 52

J
ake sat between two burly agents on the rear bench seat of the small military transport helicopter. Two more agents sat in the rear-facing seats across from him, a curtain drawn behind them, hiding the cockpit from view. The muted throb of the spinning blades overhead shook the cabin. The view out the porthole windows was practically nonexistent, but from the angle of the setting sun, he could tell they were traveling north by northeast.

He raised his plastic-cuffed wrists and checked his watch, updating the mental map he’d maintained of their likely position. They’d been in the air for about two and a half hours at a cruise speed of a hundred eighty to a hundred ninety knots. One of the men seated across from him was the leader of the team outside Papa’s home.

“When’s this joy ride going to end?” Jake asked him. The man had ignored the barrage of questions so far, but Jake had a sense he was getting under his skin.

“Not soon enough,” the man grumbled.

“What’s the big secret? I’m going to find out where we’re going sooner or later.”

“Not from me.” The man’s voice wasn’t nearly as commanding without the bullhorn.

“How about I guess and you tell me if I’m right?”

 “You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Bronson.”

“So I’ve been told.” 

“Why don’t you just sit there and shut the hell up.”

 Jake shifted his shoulders in order to gain an inch or two of space from the two linebackers who bracketed him. “I’m thinking we’re in northern Nevada, about two hundred miles south of the Idaho border.”

The man’s eyes twitched.
Definitely not a poker player.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Jake said. He knew the fuel capacity and range of this machine. Hell, from one of the nights he’d spent speed-loading data into his brain with the help of the mini, he knew the specs of virtually every aircraft in the military’s arsenal. He’d caught a glimpse of the instrument panel when they’d first boarded the helicopter. The fuel gauge had been at seventy percent. “Assuming the pilot doesn’t plan on dipping into his reserves, I figure we ought to be landing in the next ten minutes.”

“You think you’re something real special, don’t you?”

“My mom thinks so.”

The pitch of the overhead rotors shifted. The helicopter slowed. The copilot stuck his head through the curtain and said, “We’ll be landing in five minutes, sir.”