“This is going to happen very fast,” Timmy yelled over the noise. He walked out of sight behind me and reappeared by the control panel. After he entered a command on the screen, his finger hovered over the Enter key.
“I wish this thing had a timer!” Timmy shouted, with a wide-eyed stare toward the trailing edge of the pallet where a row of life vests waited for him. And that’s when I realized he hadn’t set up any seat belts for himself.
I shouted, “But—!”
“Close your eyes and hang on tight!” Timmy yelled. His eyes met mine and his face was grim. He nodded, and I suddenly understood the sacrifice he was making. I gripped the straps tight but there was no way I was going to close my eyes. I nodded back, memorizing the features of his face.
Fifteen seconds.
He tapped the display.
There was a tug. The inside of the plane vanished, a rush of wind whipped across my face, and my stomach felt like I was on the first drop of a rollercoaster. Sarafina’s scream pierced the wind.
The pallet tilted sharply and one of my life vests came loose and spun out of sight. We swung in the opposite direction and the moonlit shadows of a mountain peak rushed by beneath us. Then there was a swoosh overhead and a lurch pressed me into the pallet. I looked up to see that three parachutes had blossomed above us. The pallet settled into a gentle seesaw.
“Yahoo!” Ahmed yelled.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Sarafina chanted.
I was relieved, too, but when I looked toward my feet and saw that Timmy wasn’t strapped beside us, my stomach went hollow. The sound of the airplane disappeared as I said a silent prayer for him. That’s when I felt the pallet jiggle.
“Who’s doing that?” Sarafina cried out. “Stop it!”
“It’s not me,” Ahmed said. “Alex, are you okay?”
The jiggling became more persistent. It felt like something was tugging at the bottom of the pallet. I shifted my shoulders around, peeked over the side, and my heart leaped.
“It’s Uncle Timmy!” I yelled. He was climbing up the tether attached to his harness.
“Stay where you are,” he shouted. Finally, he pulled himself onto the pallet like a drowning man into a lifeboat. “Dudes,” he said breathlessly, “I can’t believe that worked!”
A moment later, tree limbs snapped, branches lashed across us, and everything went black.
PART TWO
A woman’s expression can pierce a man’s armor more effectively than the sharpest blade.
Chapter 17
Amsterdam, Holland
USING THE INTERNET ACCESS that came with his business-class seat, Jake had taken advantage of the overnight flight to gather intel about his destination. After reading everything he could find on Everlast and its founder, Frederik de Vries, he’d flash-scrolled page after page of information, jumping from one site to the next, focusing on the maps of Amsterdam and the surrounding area. Every street, alley, canal, and square. Airline, bus, train, and boat schedules, canal tour departure times, car and motorcycle rental locations, and even average traffic conditions for various times of day—all committed to memory.
He was unsure what awaited him at the other end of this flight, but assuming the worst, he ran through plans for every possible contingency. Would someone be waiting to nab him when he landed? Or would his false ID and travel docs allow him to pass unseen? He’d know soon enough. The front door of the aircraft had just opened and passengers were gathering their luggage. He grabbed his small duffel from the overhead bin and slung it over the shoulder of his wrinkled linen sport coat. The button-up shirt, cargo pants, and rubber-soled shoes completed his disguise as a vacationing teacher. He followed the crowd down the jetway and through the terminal, one part of his mind scanning the crowd for possible threats, while another constantly updated possible escape and evade routes.
He would not be caught off guard again, he thought, patting his only piece of luggage. Yes, he’d brought a few tools along from his floor safe—toys he’d received from Kenny, Becker, and the others during their regular prep sessions—but his brain would be his ultimate weapon.
Thirty minutes later, he parked the rental car in the heart of the old city. Its intimate streets, quaint canals, and cobbled bridges spoke of a simpler time. He walked through a square that bustled with tourists who seemed to have embraced the relaxed and friendly atmosphere. The morning air was fresh, the walkways were clean, and the architecture was small but impressive. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed exploring the city’s haunts. Instead his gaze swept the area, cataloguing escape routes as he completed what would appear to be a casual stroll down both sides of the long block of attached townhomes and businesses that framed his target. Finally, he settled on a shaded park bench across the canal that fronted the five-story building’s entrance. He studied the eighteenth-century facade, checking for movement through the French-paned windows of the upper floors, wondering if his children were hidden behind the sheer curtains of the picturesque structure. People milled about near the entrance, gathered in small groups, casually conversing as they waited for the meeting Jake knew would commence shortly. Academic types, students, and a number of well-dressed elderly folks seemed to shy away from a young female reporter who bounced from group to group asking questions. The door finally opened and the group made its way up the short staircase into the building.
Time to move.
He ambled into a shadowed alley and used the rear camera of his smartphone to confirm the latex nose and false mustache were still situated properly. Thick glasses and hunched shoulders also altered his appearance to match the fake passport. Soon the disguise would be unnecessary, but not yet. He tested his senses and focus to make sure he was still operating at one hundred percent, and was relieved to discover the degeneration wasn’t apparent yet. He pulled out a pressurized hypodermic and jabbed it into his thigh. The liquid felt cool as it spread into his system.
He checked his watch—11:00 a.m. That gave him until 1:00 p.m. to get this done. He exited the alley, discarded the hypo in a sidewalk trash can, and set off to find his family.
***
He’d expected to encounter armed guards at the entrance but met no obstacles as he made his way to the small auditorium, where he found himself listening to a genteel man in a motorized wheelchair.
“Imagine a life unburdened by the knowledge that death is around the corner,” said Frederik de Vries, founder of the Everlast Institute, as he neared the end of his presentation. The frail man was on stage, a blanket covering his legs, a well-dressed woman standing at ease in the wings. An oxygen tank was attached to the rear of the chair, its supply tubes looped over his ears and beneath his nostrils. His straight white hair was swept back from a high forehead and his voice was steady. “I am eighty years old, yet my mind is sharper than ever, fueled by a lifetime of education and experience.” He pointed to his skull. “An invaluable crucible of wisdom, if I do say so myself.” There were chuckles from the packed crowd. “But it will all vanish into the ethers when my body fails.” His clear gaze settled on a cluster of older attendees near the front row. “What a waste, wouldn’t you agree?”
Several of them nodded.
Jake sat in the back row. He’d been listening for the past thirty minutes, studying the man the media had dubbed the father of a new humanity, whose lofty goal of preserving a person’s consciousness on a computer chip had caused Jake to scoff when he first heard about it from Doc. That is, until the subsequent articles he’d researched on the plane revealed the concept had attained backing from the global scientific community, with research facilities around the world working in support of the man’s efforts. And when Jake had dug deeper, he’d discovered that much of the funding came from various government sources, siphoned from the billions of dollars that had been allocated to the worldwide Brain Mapping Project. Even DARPA, the agency Doc worked for, had allocated significant funds to what was referred to as Brain Machine Interface—BMI—projects.
Of course, Jake knew such agencies were really interested in thought-control weapons and cybernetic soldiers. And that was the rub—he didn’t believe for one second that governments were interested in the for-the-good-of-mankind project the man on stage was talking about. They were in it for the military benefits.
De Vries continued, “But what if we could harness an individual’s consciousness before the body fails—the memories, emotions, cognitive abilities, everything that makes that person who he or she is—and provide it with a safe haven inside a computer?” He paused for several beats, easing his wheelchair closer to the edge of the stage, leaning forward as if he was about to share a secret. The audience stilled. “Or better yet, transfer it to a human clone, a younger version of one’s self but armed with the wisdom of a lifetime of experiences?” His eyes gleamed. “Would you do it?”
There were a few gasps but also nods, and Jake noted with some surprise that most of them came from the younger attendees, while the older group seemed taken aback by the question. Older and wiser, Jake thought, a generation that had learned long ago to think twice about things that sounded too good to be true. Of course, when it was their time to go…
Though the Everlast founder had apparently intended the news to be a surprise to the crowd—the sudden hectic note-taking by reporters suggested he’d hit the mark—Jake hadn’t been shocked by the revelation. After his research, he’d suspected that’s where Everlast was headed. It was the logical endgame. It was an outlandish concept, fraught with pitfalls and incredible technical challenges, and Jake had no doubt it would be met with fierce resistance based on the moral dilemmas it posed, but what troubled him most was the fact that a part of him believed it was possible.
That frightened him.
If he’d learned one thing from his encounter with the pyramids, it was that the human race was not equipped to handle the evolutionary leap associated with the kind of hyperadvanced technology the Everlast founder was suggesting. Mankind would blow it, one way or another.
“Imagine a world managed by people who bring the wisdom of several lifetimes to the bargaining table,” de Vries said, “sheltered from the fear of death, motivated to broaden their scope beyond their own personal comfort to see to the needs of humanity as a whole. A world dedicated to the advancement of science and the arts for its own sake rather than the refinement of methodologies for dominating and annihilating one another…”
Jake sensed the man’s sincerity, but in light of what last night’s research had uncovered about the founder’s heritage, the irony of his words were too much to swallow. The man whose ancestral family had built its fortune trading in death was now trying to provide the means for humanity to cheat it.
The man was a fraud.
Chapter 18
Amsterdam
JAKE REMOVED HIS DISGUISE and stuffed it in his pack. Then he stood up and walked down the side aisle toward the front of the room.
He was standing at the base of the wheelchair ramp when the Everlast founder finally recognized him. The old man stopped midsentence, mouth open, brows pinched. Jake offered a grim-faced nod and motioned toward the private doorway at the back of the room, half expecting de Vries to respond with an angry shout that would bring thugs rushing out to grab Jake. Instead, the man’s confused expression brightened to a look of childlike wonderment.
“L-ladies and gentleman,” de Vries said, turning toward the audience. “I want to thank you all for coming today.”
“But, sir,” one of the reporters said, standing up and waving his notepad. “There was to be a question and answer period.”
De Vries was already guiding his chair down the ramp, and the woman who’d been standing in the wings took center stage, raising her hand to stem a chorus of grumbles from the audience. “I’ll be happy to answer your questions,” she said with a smile. “But how about a round of applause for our founder?” she added, clapping. The reluctant but polite crowd followed her lead. Without slowing as he passed Jake, de Vries said, “This way, Mr. Bronson.” He tapped an icon on a tablet attached to his armrest and the secure exit opened to a wide hallway. Jake quickened his pace to keep up.
The door had barely closed behind them when de Vries abruptly spun his chair around. His face beamed with excitement. “I can barely believe you’re here!” he said, his thin hands reaching up to grasp Jake’s warmly. “Welcome, welcome! Why now? Why didn’t you call first? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. You’re here, that’s all that—”
Jake yanked his hand away. “The show is over so cut the crap. Where the hell is my family?”
De Vries cringed. “W-what?”
Jake felt an involuntary pang of remorse at the vulnerable man’s reaction, but he shook it off and pressed on. “My family. You took them in order to get my help and I’m here to get them back.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and his head shook rapidly as if the motion was helping him make sense of what he was hearing. “You are quite mistaken. I would never, ever do such a thing.”
Jake searched the man’s wrinkled expression for the lie in his words. He couldn’t find it. But the man had to be lying. The evidence was clear: The failed attempts to elicit Jake’s help through normal channels, the manipulation of Eloise to spy on behalf of the old man’s cause, the abduction of Jake’s family…
No, he wouldn’t be fooled by de Vries’s charade. But he’d play along for now and put on a show of his own.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, as if accepting the man’s words as truth. His shoulders sagged and he staggered to one side, bracing himself against the wall.
De Vries leaned forward and placed a hand on Jake’s forearm. Their eyes met, and Jake acted as though he felt the man’s kindness. The old man nodded. “I’m so sorry, but perhaps I can help. You must tell me what’s happened.” He tugged gently on Jake’s arm. “Please, please. Come with me.” He turned his chair and rolled slowly toward the double doors at the end of the hall. Jake followed, barely controlling an urge to strangle the truth out of the man.
De Vries’s office had an Asian motif. The hardwood floors were covered by an assortment of oriental rugs. The grand desk and surrounding furniture were constructed of ornately carved cherrywood and rich leathers. Bookshelves lined the walls, adorned with imported artifacts and rows of reference books that framed a life-sized oil painting of de Vries and what Jake assumed was the man’s immediate family, including his middle-aged son and Asian daughter-in-law and their young son. De Vries looked twenty years younger in the painting.
Jake’s eyes narrowed on a floor-to-ceiling partition at one end of the room that was slightly open on one side. The space beyond was dark, and he guessed an audience of armed guards waited within.
“Please tell me what’s happened, Mr. Bronson, and why it has led you here,” de Vries said as he rolled his chair into the sitting area and motioned toward the leather couch.
Jake sat to one side so he could keep an eye on the partition. His nerves were on fire, urging him to take action, but he maintained a calm front as he described the events that had brought him here. He left nothing out, playing his role to the max, watching for movement from the shadows of the adjoining room or signs of complicity from de Vries.
But the old man’s expressions only indicated a growing sense of horror. When Jake spoke of the armed attack in the VA hospital parking lot, stretching the facts to say that both the professor and Eloise had implicated Everlast right before they were shot, de Vries gasped with a sincerity that sickened Jake.
“And Doc Finnegan?” de Vries asked with an unsteady voice.
“He died from his wounds.” The lie came easily.
“No—” de Vries cried out, his voice choked off by a sudden coughing fit. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief.
The reaction seemed so damn genuine. When de Vries finally settled and Jake saw splatters of blood on the white kerchief, he once again had to quell a stab of doubt about the man’s involvement.
“I’m sorry,” de Vries said softly as he composed himself. “My body isn’t what it used to be.” He straightened his posture and seemed to study Jake for several moments. Finally he nodded and said, “I will do everything in my power to help you.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and made a call. “It’s me,” he said. “How soon can you be here? Excellent. Hurry.” Pocketing the phone, he turned to Jake and said, “Help is on the way. The kind of discreet and trusted help that few can afford. A dear friend of my grandson’s happens to be in town. She will help you find your family.”
Jake feared he was losing control of the situation. He refused to accept the man was telling the truth. If so, he’d be lost, and his visit had placed him back on the grid and exposed him to the true culprits. But if de Vries’s reactions were all part of a grand act, then the trap was about to close and perhaps he’d finally get answers. He glanced toward the darkened space behind the partition.
De Vries noticed. “I can sense your suspicion, and based on everything that has happened to you, I certainly understand. We have a few minutes before my friend arrives, so why don’t we use them to see if we can quell your fears?” He pushed a button on his armrest and the partition doors slid open. De Vries rolled toward the opening and Jake followed.
The first bank of overhead lights flickered on and the room was revealed to be a research laboratory. It was comprised of high-tech workstations supporting a variety of analytical and computer equipment. One of the walls contained a large mural of a magnified cross-section view of the human brain, each part highlighted with rows of text that identified function. As they entered, Jake noticed a viewing window into an adjoining well-lit room that housed an MRI machine. The sight of it made him shiver; it had been an accident during an MRI that had changed his life. He averted his gaze to follow de Vries into the heart of the room, which triggered the remaining bank of lights—and stopped Jake in his tracks. The padded chair that centered the space chilled him to the core, and the assortment of skullcaps that hung from the wall behind it left little doubt as to its purpose.
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