He considered how close the human race had been to self-imposed extinction less than two years before. Sure, he’d sparked it, but it was mankind’s inherently violent nature that nearly took it down. We have to learn how to stop killing each other before worrying about a humanistic revolution.
“They encountered a roadblock,” he added. “So they came to you for help because of the work you’re doing at Area 52.” They both knew it involved way more than the simple brain-mapping project the government had publicized. Doc had asked for Jake’s help several times, and Jake had refused.
Doc nodded begrudgingly.
“They talked Eloise and the professor into assisting them under the table,” Jake continued. “She told us she did it for the science, remember? It probably started out with a relatively innocent transfer of information on the mapping project. But it’s no stretch to figure that a technically savvy group could’ve manipulated her or the professor as an unwitting accomplice to gain access to your internal network. There are a dozen ways they could’ve done it. Hell, all it would’ve taken is an infected thumb drive and they would’ve had everything on your system, including information about me.”
“I’m sorry,” Doc said, shaking his head. “We worked so damn hard to keep your identity a secret.” His expression tightened and he grabbed Jake’s smartphone off the nightstand. “I’m going to bring the full force of our government to bear—”
Jake stayed his hand, taking the phone. “No way, Doc. Not with my family and friends unaccounted for. Until we know how deep this goes, we’re on our own.”
“But what the hell can the two of us do?”
“Plenty,” Jake said, his mind still reeling over the loss of the mini. It had become his lifeline in ways he’d never revealed to anyone. Without it, his body and mind would shut down in a matter of days, which meant he needed to strike hard and fast.
He pointed a finger at Doc. “First off, you’re not going to budge from this room ’til I contact you.”
“But—”
“No buts. We’re going to do this my way, which means you need to remain off the grid for now.” He motioned toward Eloise. “Besides, she needs your help, and I need you to manage the only ops center I can trust right now.”
“Ops center?” Doc asked, glancing around the small room.
“We’ve got high-speed Internet and I’ll use cash to get you the computer equipment you need to keep up with what’s going on out there.”
“And you?”
“I’m catching the next flight to Amsterdam.”
Chapter 11
Hong Kong
JIAOLONG SETTLED INTO the elevated command chair positioned at the rear of the control room. He’d modeled the chair after the one used by Captain Kirk in the Star Trek series, and he enjoyed the feeling it gave him as he oversaw the bustle of activity in the room. His people performed their jobs well, thanks in large part to Zhin’s management style.
He watched as she and Lin shared a private conversation a few steps away. He never begrudged them their time together, especially when the third part of the whole—sister Min—was out of the country. The triplets depended on one another in unique ways he would never truly comprehend. They looked so much alike, but beneath the surface the differences they’d intentionally honed were stark. Lin—the lover—was soft and alluring. Zhin—the strategist—was rigid and relentless, a mastermind with no patience for failure. Min—the tactician—was swift and agile, a master of martial arts and a merciless competitor. He envied their closeness, and still remembered the thrill and amazement he’d felt when he was invited into their circle so many years ago. That life-defining moment had evolved into more than he could have ever hoped for.
Now they shared his vision for the future, as well as his passion for wringing vengeance from Jake Bronson and the others who had been responsible for the death and destruction on the island. He vividly recalled the despair he’d felt that day over his grandfather’s refusal to accompany him to the sanctuary. His grandfather was a senior member of the Order and good friend to its leader, Victor Brun. More importantly, Jiaolong’s father and mother had already arrived on the island, and it was important that the entire family be together during the crisis. But Grandfather had come to believe that humanity would be better served through his work at Everlast than through the isolationism professed by Brun. He would remain behind.
The news had come as a blow to Jiaolong. He’d idolized Victor Brun, but he’d loved his grandfather. He’d been tempted to abandon his plans to deliver his progress with Passcode into Brun’s hands, and instead convince his parents to travel with him to Amsterdam. But his grandfather wouldn’t have it. He’d insisted that Jiaolong proceed to the island and remain there, arguing it was the only way to ensure continuation of their family line in the event the alien grid unleashed its power on the world.
In the end, it had been the unified strength and companionship of the triplets that had convinced him to follow his grandfather’s wishes.
But the next day, everything had changed. Their boat had encountered mechanical problems less than two miles outside the cove, just as Bronson’s team began its assault. Jiaolong had witnessed the island’s destruction, listening over the radio to the screams and pleas for help from the fourteen hundred people trapped in the underground cauldron.
Including Mother and Father.
He’d watched in horror from the boat as his parents—and his dreams of a life of consequence—went up in smoke. Like his broken vessel, his world was drifting at the whim of currents beyond his control.
If not for Lin, Zhin, and Min’s compassion, he would never have been able to pull himself from his depression. Their counsel had steeled his resolve and brought clarity to a new vision. Judgment day had only been delayed by the disappearance of the alien grid. The lack of available resources on Earth would become the cause of humanity’s extinction. The math was simple and irrefutable—population growth was out of control, and within his lifetime the supply of food would become insufficient to support the masses. Global war would be unavoidable, as would the use of weapons of mass destruction, smothering the planet in a blanket of darkness and radiation that would snuff out life. The vision molded centuries ago by the Order founders remained valid. Judgment day was still coming, and it would require a leader of immense power and influence to guide humanity from the abyss.
Passcode would allow Jiaolong to become that man.
And Everlast would allow him to maintain that position forever.
He would fulfill the oath he made that day on the boat while the island burned: to mete out justice to those responsible for the murder of his parents and the vast family of Order members who’d perished before his eyes, including the triplets’ mother.
Jake Bronson would be made to suffer as he and the sisters had suffered, to feel the despair of a world lost to him, and the anguish of the violent deaths of his loved ones.
But first, Jiaolong would use Bronson and those dear to him to help with the technological leap that would turn Everlast into a reality.
And save Jiaolong’s grandfather’s life.
Lin’s gentle touch brought him out of his reverie. “They are ready. The live stream will be on the center screen.”
Earlier, he’d reviewed the recording of the Tony Johnson takedown in L.A. Pak had been correct—the man was a bear. The fight had been fearsome, and the footage was already being manipulated in the editing room. He couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of the final product.
But in the meantime, he would enjoy watching this next abduction in real time.
TurboHacker was about to meet his match.
Chapter 12
Cavalieri Hotel
Rome, Italy
11:00 p.m.
EVEN THOUGH MARSHALL had been to plenty of these kinds of events, wearing a tuxedo with Lacey on his arm, they still weren’t his favorite pastime. The plastic smiles and hidden agendas that usually accompanied the Hollywood crowd rub
bed him the wrong way. But soirées like this one were an important aspect of Lacey’s acting career so he’d never hesitated to be there for her. Besides, every once in a while—like tonight—the attendees seemed to leave their masks behind and simply dive in for a good time.
They were in the Rome Cavalieri Hotel, which in Marshall’s mind lived up to its reputation of being one of the most prestigious addresses in the city. Situated atop a rise that was enclosed by fifteen acres of lush Mediterranean parklands, the Waldorf Astoria resort was like an oasis in the heart of the Eternal City. The party was on the ninth-floor Terrazza degli Aranci, a glammed-out room dripping with elegance—richly paneled walls, subdued accent lighting, and plush inlaid carpets surrounding a parquet dance floor, where Marshall and Lacey and a dozen other couples moved to the music of a live band. The room was filled to its two-hundred-fifty-people capacity, much of the crowd spilling onto the expansive terrace with the stunning panorama of Rome.
Juxtaposed against the stylish features of the space was the boisterous film crowd. The doors had opened less than half an hour ago, but the noise level was already at a point that made Marshall pull his wife close so she could hear his words.
His lips brushed her cheeks, and her delicate perfume stirred him. “You look amazing,” he said. Her blond hair hung loose above a black cocktail dress that showed off her slim waist and flowed in soft layers to her knees. She wore the sapphire choker and matching earrings he’d given her last year on her thirty-second birthday, their sparkles accenting her Caribbean blue eyes.
“I feel amazing!” she said, spinning and making her skirt twirl.
And there was good reason for it, he thought. Her latest film had completed production today and the entire crew was here to celebrate.
“You deserve it, honey. You’ve come a long way since we met at Sammy’s eight years ago.”
“Eight years. God, it seems like yesterday.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, pulling her into his arms as the band played its first slow song.
Lacey had been a server at a Redondo Beach sports bar where Marshall, Jake, and Tony were regulars. Marshall had noticed her. Who wouldn’t have? He could tell she’d been interested in him but his head had been elsewhere, as it had been for most of his life. Sure, he’d had plenty of hookups since that unexpected first time in high school, but sex and girls had never been his primary focus. He’d always preferred the ones and zeros of the computer world over the one-night stands and threesome opportunities that had dropped into his lap because of his looks.
Everything had changed shortly after the MRI incident that had caused his best friend’s brain to become magically supercharged. Jake’s talents had gone viral and everybody had seemed to want a piece of him. Then Jake’s home had been destroyed by a gas explosion and he’d been killed. Or so they’d thought. When they’d discovered the burnt body wasn’t Jake’s—and that he’d been kidnapped and taken halfway around the world—the way Marshall and Lacey had worked together during the wild rescue on the canals of Venice had sealed the deal for Marshall. His eyes had opened to her spirit and complexity and they’d been together ever since.
He was pulled back to the present when a young guy on the edge of the dance floor—Marshall recognized him as one of the grips—gave him one of those man-to-man thumbs-up gestures that signaled his appreciation of Marshall’s gorgeous “catch.” Marshall grinned as the guy raised his cell phone and snapped a photo. The flash drew Lacey’s attention, and he led her into an arm-in-arm pose for the shot he knew the kid was hoping to capture. The camera flashed again, followed quickly by four or five other flashes from phones that suddenly appeared from pockets. He spun her into a dip and her smile was effervescent. As the song rose to a final crescendo, he pulled her into a twirl and lifted her into the cradle of his arms, their eyes locked as the room spun around them, their lips meeting with a tenderness that wasn’t staged. This was the woman of his dreams, he thought, as he carried her off the dance floor to a round of applause.
“Let’s get some air,” he said, setting her down and leading her onto the terrace.
“It’s beautiful,” she said a few moments later, leaning against the rail and taking in the view. The gentle breeze carried the scent of pine. Couples walked arm in arm along the garden pathways below, disappearing beneath the canopy of trees. A sea of twinkling lights accented the roofscape that stretched to the horizon, dominated by the illuminated dome of St. Peter’s Basilica that seemed but a stone’s throw away.
“I’ve set us up with a private tour for tomorrow,” he said.
“It’d better not be too early. I’ve been getting up at four in the morning for the last month and I’m sleeping in.”
He pulled her close and lowered his voice. “No worries. I’ve given us all morning for plenty of bed time.”
She shivered and leaned in for a kiss that was interrupted when a waiter approached bearing a tray with two flutes of champagne.
“Mi scusi, signore e signora,” the man said with an apologetic expression. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but the gentleman—il direttore—insisted.” He pointed to the film’s director, holding court with several couples in the main room. “It is a gift from his private reserve.”
Lacey’s brow lifted in surprise. “Wow,” she said, taking one of the glasses.
Marshall took the other glass and the waiter bowed and walked quickly away.
He held the glass up and examined the contents. “You think this is some of the famous stuff?” He was referring to the rumor that the director—who had a passion for fine champagne—had purchased a bottle of Cristal Brut 1990 Methuselah at an auction in 2005 for over seventeen thousand dollars.
“In your dreams,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “which you might as well stick with since you couldn’t taste the difference anyway.”
She was right about that. He’d rather get juiced on a Red Bull than be tickled by champagne. But even if the liquid he twirled in his glass didn’t originate from the rare bottle of Cristal, it likely came from one costing a couple thousand or more. That’s just how the director rolled, which meant the flute in Marshall’s hand probably cost over five hundred dollars. He clinked it against Lacey’s.
“Bottoms up.”
Her eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare!”
He grinned, she elbowed him, and they raised their glasses.
“To the director,” he said.
As if on cue, before they could take their first sip, the music suddenly stopped and the director’s voice boomed over the sound system. He had a microphone in his hand and was hurrying toward the stage. “I need everyone’s attention. Right now.”
It sounded more like a military command than a prelude to a toast.
Hollywood…
Marshall and Lacey moved inside along with the other guests. The stout director was dressed in a tux. His gray ponytail swung back and forth as he climbed the steps and marched to the center of the stage. His face was flushed, his expression stern. He raised the microphone to his mouth. “There’s been a fire.”
There was a chorus of gasps.
“Nobody was hurt,” the director added quickly, patting the air with his free hand to quiet the crowd. “It was an electrical short in the production trailer. The fire’s out but the trailer is toast.” He shook his head before adding, “We lost today’s footage.”
For a beat, everyone in the room stood frozen, eyes narrowed and mouths agape. Then heads swiveled and murmurs rose as the full meaning behind the news sank in.
“That’s right, goddamn it,” the director said. “We’ve got to reshoot.”
A clamor of groans and curses.
“Oh, crap,” Lacey said.
Marshall’s shoulders sagged.
There goes my plans for tomorrow morning.
“Listen up!” the director’s voice boomed. He pointed to a man Marshall recognized as the location manager. “Charlie, you’re on point. Notify the locals and do w
hatever the hell you have to do to get our permits extended by a day. The rest of you know what needs to get done, so get on it. We start shooting at seven in the morning.”
The lavish party broke into a brainstorming session. The director stepped offstage to face a barrage of questions from two of the producers. A crowd huddled around the location manager as he barked out orders. Guests streamed toward the exit doors, their cell phones glued to their ears. Reservations needed to be changed, equipment unpacked, bribes paid.
A small group at the bar high-fived one another. It was the stunt people. They’d played a key role in today’s scenes and the reshoot meant their earnings on this project had just jumped. One of them, a big Irishman named Pete, caught Lacey’s eye and raised a shot glass in salute. He said something Marshall couldn’t hear, and the rest of the team turned toward Lacey and lifted their glasses as well.
Marshall knew what that was all about. Lacey always insisted on performing most of her own stunts, believing the inherent danger added an edge to her performance. To Marshall’s disgruntlement, she’d take on just about anything. Except fire. As a young child she’d been trapped in her home during a blaze. If it hadn’t been for the heroic action of her older brother, she’d have never made it out alive.
Her brother had died saving her.
But the action scene being reshot tomorrow, while still dangerous, was a straightforward car chase culminating in a spinout and crash. Lacey set her untouched flute of champagne on a cocktail table and acknowledged the crew with a grand curtsy that would’ve pleased a queen. The men laughed and downed their shots. She wagged a scolding finger at them and they promptly hid the empty glasses behind their backs. It wasn’t smart to drink before a shoot.
Marshall looked longingly at the glass of champagne he still held, tempted to take a taste. Instead, as a sign of solidarity, he set his flute down beside Lacey’s and they followed the crowd out the exit.
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