BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (41 page)

Hope.

Hope that man would embrace the sanctity of life and overcome his violent tendencies. It was a hope that Jake no longer shared. He glanced toward the darkened side of the warehouse and shook his head.
Sorry, E.T., it ain’t gonna happen.

“What are you waiting for?” Battista’s voice interrupted his thoughts. The man stood several paces back from the device.

Good question.
“Don’t rush me. I don’t want to launch the damn thing.”

Battista backed up a step. He’d been incapacitated during the previous launch. It had almost cost him his life.

Jake had been studying the device for hours, trying to unlock its secrets. He returned his attention to the group of irregular shapes that formed a circle around the center of the surface. Unlike the etched perimeter images, these shapes were embossed with various textures and vivid colors. To most people, the shapes looked nonsensical, like a child’s renderings of clouds, or snowmen, or a seemingly random scatter of raised dots and smooth indentations. But to Jake’s synesthetic brain, the texture, color, and shape of each pattern represented a distinct prime number.

He laid a hand on one of the shapes and the device responded with a shift in the harmonic vibration he felt in his head. No one else in the room sensed it. Each shape emanated a different tone. In Afghanistan he discovered that three of the shapes were mathematically and harmonically distinct from the remaining eight. Activating two of them with his hands and the third with his telekinetic ability had triggered the device. It had momentarily paralyzed him while it scanned his brain to confirm the existence of his advanced abilities. Then it had launched itself into space with its false message. Back in Area 52, he’d secretly hoped to find a way to embed this one with a different message.

“It’s like a keyboard on a computer,” he said. “One sequence of keys will launch it. There has to be another that will allow us to access its hard drive.”

“How can you be certain?”

“When the first one scanned me, there was a moment when information flowed in both directions. That’s how I learned its purpose. I felt…an intelligence. It’s artificial, like a learning computer, and the technology is way beyond our capabilities. But to my way of thinking, it’s still just a machine. That means there’s got to be a way to interface with it.”

**

Battista considered the American’s words. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was hiding something. He seemed oddly energized, even hyper. Yet he’d made no progress whatsoever with the machine. Battista’s sense of achievement at manipulating the American had been replaced with a gnawing sense of unease. He’d learned long ago to trust his senses in such circumstances. There was no room for complacency in his life. Too much was at stake. Yes, he wanted to master the secrets of the object, but not at the risk of his other plans. He’d give Bronson one final opportunity.

“You have until tomorrow at noon,” he said. “Solve it by then or you and your friends will be of no further use to me.”

The American remained silent. He returned his attention to the device.

Battista turned and made his way toward the door at the opposite end of the warehouse. Abbas and Bradley were at his side.

“You may eliminate the prisoners tomorrow,” he said.

“All of them?” Abbas asked with an eagerness that Battista understood, but didn’t appreciate.

“Yes.”

Bradley faltered, but said nothing.

It prompted Battista to reconsider. He thought of the twelve-year-old boy, Ahmed, who had been the only friend his dead son had ever known. Besides Bradley, Ahmed was the only implant subject still alive. He’d been taken into custody following his failed attempt to martyr himself in Afghanistan, and was being held in an American mental institution. That was a situation Battista would deal with soon.

“On second thought, allow the girl to live,” he said, recalling how close the two children had been when they’d lived together at the institute. “She may yet prove useful.”

“Yes,
sheikh
,” Abbas said.

As the trio continued toward the exit, Battista glanced at the darkened area of the warehouse. Prior to his arrival in the camp, it was being used to design and assemble small-yield nuclear weapons. The joint Iranian/Venezuelan plan had been simple: Iran provided the enriched materials and expertise. Venezuela provided the secure location, ancillary equipment, and personnel. The suitcase-sized weapons would be smuggled into the US amidst the thousands of illegal Mexicans who crossed the border each month. Position them in major cities and detonate them simultaneously—a glorious stroke that would cripple the American economy and permanently scar its inhabitants.

Battista had thought it a bold plan, but there was a glaring downside. What the Americans lacked in spiritual values, they more than made up for in resilience and technological resources. The risk of discovery was high, and retaliation would be unforgiving and decisive. So when the Iranian and Venezuelan leaders learned of Battista’s more subtle,
permanent
approach, they put their plans on hold. Whatever Battista needed, they would provide. By the time the Americans discovered what had been done to them, it would be too late to do anything to stop it. In time, their entire population would simply cease to exist.

The bombs need never be used.

Chapter 74

Venezuelan Rainforest

I
t was three in the morning when the guards escorted Jake out of the research area. Each step took him further from the rejuvenating effects of the mini. The day’s mental efforts with the obelisk hadn’t borne fruit. And it had taken a serious toll on his system. By the time he reached his cell, an intense weariness overtook him.

The guards shoved him into the empty cell. He stumbled to the floor. They secured the thick bamboo gate with a chain and padlock and then relieved the guards posted at either exit.

“Daddy!” Sarafina shouted from across the space. She rushed to the wall of her cell. “I knew you’d come back!” Francesca stirred beside her. They’d been moved from his cell to join the rest of his friends. There was a hushed murmur as one by one they rose to their feet. Max barked a greeting.

“Silence!” one of the guards ordered. He unslung his assault rifle and brought it to the ready position.

Everyone quieted. A few of the local prisoners at the far end of the makeshift prison stirred.

Jake pushed himself to his feet. Francesca drew Sarafina to her side, and her penetrating gaze never left him. He felt her presence in his mind and it soothed him.

Though it required more mental energy than he could spare, he queried her thoughts
. You okay?

She nodded. So did Sarafina.

Jake had to steady himself against the bamboo bars. He’d nearly lost consciousness from the simple thought transmission. He’d felt a tightness in his chest. His body was failing him. Francesca’s troubled expression told him she’d noticed. He straightened himself and offered her a reassuring smile. Then he turned his attention to the rest of the group.

They’d lined up behind the bamboo bars of their cells. Marshall and Lacey holding hands, with Becker standing beside them. Mel and her children were pressed up against Tony, while Josh held on to Max. Beneath their worn and tired exterior, Jake sensed an undercurrent of readiness, like a football team lined up for the kickoff. Even the kids seemed a part of it. Josh knelt to keep Max quiet. The rest of them watched Jake intently. It was as if they were waiting for him to drop the first domino that would lead to their escape.

He wondered if they’d really been sleeping at all, especially Tony and Becker. The two former soldiers would’ve dreamt up any number of contingency plans, waiting for the right moment or opportunity. In spite of their circumstances, they appeared hopeful. Jake wasn’t about to take that from them. A part of him was glad they were separated and unable to speak. He’d rather not lie to them in the final hours of their lives.

Tony shifted slightly and motioned toward his daughter, Andrea. She’d edged backward between him and Mel so that her hands were out of the guards’ view. Her fingers flashed three separate signals. After a brief pause, she repeated the motion. Jake recognized them as sign language, but he had no idea what each of the symbols represented. Andrea shifted her gaze toward Jake’s hands and repeated the process. He got the hint, and mimicked the motion. She nodded and transmitted three new symbols. Jake understood. She was teaching him the alphabet in sign. He motioned for her to continue. She started with the first three symbols—
A, B, C
—and kept going. He memorized them easily.

As she finished, one the guards approached and motioned them back from the bars. He mumbled something in Spanish that Jake couldn’t make out. While his back was turned, Jake flashed a quick message to Andrea. “
I got it.
”

Andrea nodded to Tony. She and the rest of them moved deeper into the cells and sat down. Jake did the same, making sure he was outside the guard’s sight line.  

And so they communicated. Jake signed and Andrea whispered a translation to her father and the others. He told them about the soldiers, Battista, and the obelisk. He fueled their hope by hinting that he had a plan, but that it depended on finding time alone with the obelisk.

“Beck says he can help with that,” she signed.

That got Jake’s attention. He signed, “How?”

“Be patient. He—”

The lights went out.

**

Starlight spilled through the screened gap between the aluminum roof and the cinder-block wall. Jake could make out the silhouette of one of the guards pacing the rows of cells. The buzz of cicadas and other jungle insects seemed to increase in volume in the still space. Someone snored in a distant cell.

Jake wondered what Becker had up his sleeve. The Aussie was the most resourceful man Jake had ever met, a Down Under MacGyver. But what the hell could he do in this situation? The last sign Jake had received from Andrea was “be patient.” Not the easiest thing to do under the circumstances. But what choice did he have? He wrapped himself in the blanket and pretended to sleep.

Thirty minutes later the
muezzin
’s call to prayer sounded over loudspeakers throughout the camp. This would be
fajr
, he thought, recalling the lessons he’d first learned from Battista’s  pupil, Ahmed. The predawn prayer. Which meant sunrise was an hour or two away. The door at the far end of the building opened and a shaft of moonlight cut through the darkness. The guards stepped outside and closed the door behind them. Each had a prayer rug under his arm.

Footsteps and a shadow outside his cell. “Good to see ya, mate,” Becker whispered. He crouched down, fiddled with the padlock, and was in Jake’s cell in less than ten seconds.

“Jesus, Beck. How’d you get a key?”

“There are always keys around, Jake. A man just has to know where to look.” He held up two twisted bobby pins. “Got these beauts from Melissa’s hair.” Becker took the blanket from Jake’s shoulder and wrapped himself in it. “They’ve bundled some clothes across the way to make it appear as if I’m still in my cell. Now I’ll play you so you can do what you gotta do. Get moving. Lock me in when you leave.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, he secured the padlock and rushed out the exit.

Keeping to the shadows, he made his way toward the central building. Other than the
muezzin
’s call over the loudspeakers, the camp was relatively quiet. A couple of jeeps patrolled the distant perimeter, more to discourage wildlife than anything else, Jake guessed. The distant roar of a tiger sent a primordial chill up his spine and seemed to confirm his analysis.

Jake reached the secure door just as prayers ended. He punched in the security code, slipped inside, and headed straight for the pyramid. The mini was on the counter where he’d left it. He grabbed it, welcoming its cool touch, savoring the surge of energy and clarity that infused him. Fatigue vanished. His senses sharpened. It was as if
life
in its purest state coursed through his veins, regenerating his organs, his bones, his muscles. He sucked in a huge breath of air. He’d never felt better.

Time to go to work.

Forty minutes later, the tactical nuke was nearly complete. His hands moved with the precision of a watchmaker—at blurring speed. He tightened the series of machine screws around the spherical beryllium pusher shell that surrounded the plutonium-239 isotope. He knew the effort was taking a toll on his heart, but so what?

He was surprised how easy it was to build a version of the most devastating weapon ever made. What was once held as one of the world’s most secure secrets was now available to anyone with Internet access. Jake had memorized every detail of the process several weeks ago. Of course, he could also recite virtually every recipe from
Joy of Cooking
by Irma Rombauer. At the time he actually thought he might be able to use that knowledge to impress Francesca. Instead, he was assembling the nuke that would kill her—and anything else within a two-mile radius.