“Where are—?”
“Now, now. I have a few questions for you first. Let’s start with a simple one. Who are you?”
“I need to know where they are!”
“They’re safe, and you need to accept the fact that I’m not going to tell you where they are until after you answer my questions, starting with your name.” She sat back and crossed her arms.
“You took my family, for God’s sake. You know my name. What the hell is going on?”
The two guards stiffened at the outburst. They each took a step closer.
Min’s dark eyes flared and her voice was sharp. “Francesca. Ahmed. Sarafina. Alex. They are depending on you, Mr. Brainman,” she said, spitting the name through clenched teeth.
A clutch of fear choked him.
She pulled a smartphone from her pocket, tapped the screen, and tilted it in his direction. It showed a video of Francesca seated in the passenger compartment of a plush aircraft. Her hands were zip-tied and her eyes were at half-mast as if she was drugged, but otherwise she appeared unharmed. The woman pulled the phone back and placed it facedown on her lap. “Last chance. What is your name?”
The sight of Francesca broke something in Jake and he fought to control his breathing. Finally, he sank back in his chair. “My name is Jake Bronson.”
Her satisfied smile fueled his anger, but he checked himself. His turn would come.
She nodded to the man with the glasses and he pulled a knife, snapped open the blade, and moved toward Jake.
Jake flinched, cocking his bound hands defensively. The man hesitated.
“We’re going to remove the wrist cuffs, Mr. Bronson,” Min said. “We’ll leave the ankle restraints in place for now, but those will come off when you show us that you can behave.”
If they wanted to kill him, they could’ve easily done so before now. He held up his hands and the guard cut them free with one swipe of the blade. When the man stepped back in place, he adjusted his glasses, as if to get a clear view of whatever was coming up next. Jake rubbed his chafed wrists.
“Tell me,” she said. “Why is it that you launched the alien pyramid from the Afghan mountains eight years ago?
“W-what?” The question was so unexpected that he had difficulty wrapping his mind around it.
“In your own words, tell me what happened,” Min said, her index finger casually tapping the back of the phone on her lap.
He understood the not-so-subtle message. So, despite the fact that he had no clue as to why the topic was of any interest to her or the man pulling her strings, he thought back to his first encounter with the alien pyramid in Battista’s mountain fortress and told her what had happened. She guided the conversation, leading him like a lawyer would a witness on the stand as she jumped from one topic to the next, stopping him at one point when he’d gone into too much detail.
“We’ll get into that later,” she said. “For now, let’s stick to the highlights.”
The conversation dredged up memories he’d have preferred to keep buried. It fueled his feelings of guilt. But he continued to cooperate, hoping it would lead to answers about what was happening.
After Afghanistan, they talked about the pyramid launched from Venezuela, the nuclear explosion that had followed, and the drug that had been used to poison the water system in Los Angeles. Finally, she asked about the assault on the island, the triggering of the Grid, and the devastation it had caused around the world. He answered in general terms, freely admitting his own role but omitting any reference to the involvement of his friends and family, especially Alex’s part in saving the planet. She didn’t press those issues but he suspected that would come later. When he spoke about the explosion and volcanic eruption on the island, her gaze seemed to lose its focus for a moment.
“How many died?” she asked.
“One thousand four hundred and fifty-two.”
“You know the exact number?”
“I killed them. It was my fault.”
“You killed them?”
“I was responsible for their deaths.”
“I see,” she said, seeming to roll the answer around in her mind. “And how many do you suppose died when the remaining pyramids were launched to form the Grid?”
He exhaled deeply. “Tens of thousands.”
“And you were responsible for their deaths as well?”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.
“And do you happen to know how many died in the riots and fires afterwards?”
His shoulders sagged. “Hundreds of thousands.”
Something about the answer seemed to please her but he didn’t care. The conversation had taken a toll on the growing fragility of his psyche. Dark thoughts threatened to overwhelm him and he struggled to shove them aside.
I’ve got a job to do.
He still didn’t know what they wanted from him, but in the final analysis that didn’t really matter, did it? He’d confirmed these were the people who’d taken his family—and probably his friends—and that would have to be enough. It was time to go on the offensive. Time was running out.
Min said, “What about the mini?”
The question startled him. He clamped his mouth closed so fast that his teeth clicked.
She rose, grabbed his shoulder pack, and dumped the contents on the table. “Is it in here?”
He stood, barely catching himself when the forgotten ankle restraints held him fast. Pistols appeared in the guards’ hands, aimed at his chest, and it seemed as if the playing-nice segment of the interrogation had come to an end. He froze as she sorted through the pile, cringing when the 9-volt battery slipped out of the rolled-up baseball cap. She ignored it, but the relief he felt vanished when she picked up his smartphone. Panic drove its icy claws into his chest. He couldn’t permit her to see the text about Lacey. Then they’d know where he was heading...
Holding his breath, he shifted his jaw and bit down on the plastic tip of the pressurized ampoule.
The hiss of odorless gas felt cool on his lips, and its expansive properties spread it quickly throughout the room. The effects of the military-grade desflurane derivative were instantaneous. Eyes rolled, guns clattered, and all three of his captors slumped to the floor.
He hopped to the nearest guard, dragging the chair with him, and rifled through the man’s pockets to retrieve the knife and cut himself free. He was shoving his belongings into his pack when he heard a shout, followed by a rush of footsteps that echoed down the hall.
How the hell did they know?
Cursing himself for realizing too late that there had to be a camera somewhere in the room, he dove to one side and came up with one of the thug’s fallen pistols. His mind recognized the weapon as a Chinese model, but the normal flash recall of the make, model, and specs didn’t occur. He chambered a round and shot four chest-high holes in the door.
“The first man through that door gets his head blown off!” he yelled.
The pounding footsteps slid to a stop.
Adjusting his bag over his shoulder, he slid his finger along the underside of the strap to retrieve a tiny chip from its hidden sleeve, keeping in mind his movements were being captured by a hidden camera. He palmed the chip like a magician would a hidden coin, then made a show of searching the men’s pockets for identification. After finding nothing, he rifled through the woman’s purse, pulling out hypos, vials, makeup, and several razor-tipped throwing stars while dropping the chip in the recess of one of the interior pockets.
“You’re trapped, Mr. Bronson,” a man’s voice said outside the door. “Are you willing to risk the lives of your wife and children?”
Jake knew it was an idle threat, at least for now. They still hadn’t told him what they really wanted from him, and Min’s inquiry about the mini had only confused him further. It was missing, and if they didn’t take it, then who had? In any case, it was time for him to make a few moves of his own.
You can’t threaten a man if you can’t find him...<
br />
He heard sirens in the distance and suspected someone had reported the gunfire. He triggered five more shots at the door, tracing a tight circular pattern at groin height, then opened the window, stepped onto the ledge, and lowered himself down the drainpipe. He hit the ramp running, his mind sweeping through the memorized maps and transportation schedules, grateful his short-term memory was still intact. Using several modes of travel would make it next to impossible for them to follow, especially if the transfer times were minimal. He calculated a route and stepped into an alley. Then he opened his pack, plugged the 9-volt battery into its compartment under his baseball cap, and pulled it over his head.
Chapter 20
Hong Kong
WITNESSING THE SCENE on several live video feeds in the Hong Kong control room, Jiaolong bolted to his feet when the American disappeared over the sill. “He jumped out the window,” he shouted into his headset to the guards hunkering down in the hallway outside the room. “After him, you idiots.”
The images jiggled and bounced as the three guards scrambled down the stairs and out the front door. They panned left and right but there was no sign of Bronson.
“Split up and find him!” Jiaolong ordered. He ripped off the headset and tossed it into his command chair. The techs and engineers averted their gazes. Even Lin stepped back. But sister Zhin kept her cool and took control of the situation.
“Activate Passcode,” she ordered. “Tap into the city’s surveillance and facial recognition systems. I want every camera in Amsterdam looking for him.” Hands blurred over keyboards and the large wall screen split into dozens of smaller views of people on sidewalks, cafes, parks, plazas, and public transportation areas, digital squares jumping from face to face as each was analyzed against the blueprint of Jake Bronson’s features.
The speed with which the Passcode system had penetrated the secure system was astounding, Jiaolong thought, and the fact that its owners would be unaware their system had been hijacked brought a smile to his face.
All because of his video game.
Zhin added, “Have one of our Interpol teams input a BOLO for the Netherlands, and be prepared to expand it to neighboring countries if we don’t locate him within the hour.”
“Should we include an order to apprehend?” Pak asked.
Zhin took a moment to consider. “Yes, but only as a person of interest, a key witness. We don’t want someone to shoot him by mistake.”
Jiaolong stopped pacing and nodded his approval. Lin moved beside him. “You are truly brilliant,” she said softly, motioning toward the video wall. “Look at what your system allows you to do. And this is only a single facet of the jewel that you have created.”
“I am pleased,” he admitted. “But my grandfather—”
“Mr. Bronson will be in our hands soon enough, my love. And from what we witnessed earlier, he can save him.”
He nodded, recalling the interaction they’d watched between Bronson and his grandfather, captured from various angles by the hidden cameras Jiaolong’s people had installed throughout the Everlast facility. When his grandfather had revealed the true nature of his health condition, Jiaolong had seen the flicker of compassion in Bronson’s expression, and when the two of them had been mentally linked, his grandfather had responded like never before, his artificial voice remaining calm throughout the process. His grandfather had come out of it convinced Bronson could make it happen. But something had frightened the American and he’d shrunk back from the prospect of helping, leaving Jiaolong’s dying grandfather without so much as a backward glance.
You will pay for that.
“The video footage was useful, was it not?” Lin asked.
“It was outstanding,” he agreed. He thought back to the interrogation. “Though sister Min’s methods could use a little work.”
Her question about the Grid had bothered him; it hadn’t been part of the script. And her outburst of violence had been another sign that Min didn’t share his passion for his plan to reap vengeance on Bronson. She’d rather kill him and his family and be done with it. Jiaolong suspected that Zhin might share her doubts to some degree, though she’d have never allowed her emotions to get the better of her as Min had. But despite the sisters’ feelings, he knew they’d not stray from the plan. They’d been loyal to him since they’d met so many years ago. They were family. He wrapped a hand around Lin’s waist and she responded by subtly melding her body against his.
He sighed, recognizing that Bronson’s escape was nothing more than a bold move in a game the American had no chance to win. Marshall Erickson, aka TurboHacker, would be delivered here soon, and Jiaolong’s team would finally discover how he’d penetrated the Passcode firewall. The hole would be patched and then nothing could stop them. Of course, the fact that Marshall’s wife had been tragically injured would have to be kept from him. The man would likely spiral out of control at the news. Jiaolong understood the sentiment. Long before the networks broadcast the story, he’d witnessed the actress’s disfigurement from the live feeds his team streamed from the scene. He’d cringed at the sight, as he did again now just thinking about it.
The thought lingered for a moment as he considered how that same news would impact Bronson. Turning to sister Zhin, he said, “I need to speak to the leader of our team in Rome.”
One way or another Bronson would be brought to heel. After all, the man’s closest friends and family were already in custody and en route to Jiaolong’s ancestral village. What father could refuse an order when knives were held against his children’s delicate necks?
Chapter 21
Fujian Province
THE FIRST THING I FELT was the tingle from the mini, prying open a locked memory.
I’m in the underground facility on the island, standing on the special chair with a bulky skullcap on my head, connected to the grid of pyramids that ringed the planet. My brain is being bombarded with images and information, and I’m overwhelmed as hundreds—no, thousands of drawers in my mind are being filled. I slam them closed one after another, doing my best to send a message of my own to the pyramids’ makers, trying to convince them to leave us alone. But it’s a losing battle. My brain feels like it’s on fire and I know the overload is killing me.
Then my dad’s mind is suddenly there, his thoughts joined with mine, his energy fueling me.
In the end, it works. My message is received. The pyramids disappear into space and the threat to our planet vanishes with them, but the packed drawers in my mind are still there, ready to burst open. I seal them tight, because a part of me knows they contain something bad.
“Alex,” Sarafina’s voice was soft, as was her hand brushing my forehead. “Please wake up.”
I opened my eyes to find my head cradled in her lap. Her expression brightened and her lips parted in a smile.
“He’s awake,” she said, and Ahmed and Timmy entered my frame of vision. I was thrilled to see them. It was still night, and the thick umbrella of foliage beyond their faces flickered and danced from the flames of a campfire.
“You okay?” Ahmed asked.
I wiggled my arms and legs. “Uh-huh,” I said, sitting up too fast. It made me dizzy. I reached back and felt a tender lump behind my ear.
“Take it slow,” Timmy said. “You just survived a heck of a drop.” He examined the lump. “It’s not bleeding. Do you remember what happened?” He was looking at me the same way the nurse had when I fell off the jungle gym at school. She’d asked me a bunch of questions. I didn’t say much because I rarely did, and she’d told Mom on the phone that I might’ve had a concussion. I’d felt fine but Mom made me stay home for two days anyway. The worst part was, I hadn’t been allowed to play video games.
“We’re in China,” I said. “A hundred and fifty miles from where they took Mom and Tony, and maybe Dad. The plane was going to crash so we went skydiving on a pallet. We hit the trees, end of story.” I wasn’t sure Timmy was convinced, so I pushed to my feet, picked up my backpack, and ad
ded, “Oh, and next time try not to be late to the party. Climbing up the rope kinda rocked the boat.”
It had been a long time since I said that much in a single stretch, but sometimes words were necessary.
Timmy sighed. Sarafina rose and gave me a long hug while I took in our surroundings.
“The plane crashed a few seconds after we dropped through the trees,” she said. “We heard the explosion.”
My first thoughts went to the pilots and guards. They’d been bad men, but did they deserve to die? Were their families wondering about them right now? We didn’t mean to kill them but we still made it happen. My stomach felt queasy. I thought back to the stories I’d overheard about Dad and Tony and the others and how many people had died because of them. If the deaths had left scars on them, I hadn’t noticed, though sometimes during our get-togethers the adults would move to the den and have a quiet drink together. They’d seem a little sad afterward but it always went away soon enough. Somehow they’d put it behind them, and I hoped I’d be able to do the same. I put the memory of the four dead men in a drawer of its own, but for some reason it wouldn’t close all the way. At least for now.
Even though it was the middle of the night, it was warm and humid. The ground wasn’t damp but it felt soft. I heard the gurgle of a stream nearby. There was lush vegetation everywhere and the trees were higher than a three-story building, their upper branches intertwined to block out the moonlight. Clouds of insects danced just out of reach of the flames from the campfire.
“I told you he’d be all right,” Ahmed said with a pat on my shoulder. He had a mosquito bite on his chin. “Now let’s get back to checking out the cargo.”
Four of the six plastic crates were already hinged open. There were a few pieces of straw packing material on the ground around them, and even more around the perimeter of the campfire, which must’ve been started with the straw. The open containers contained military supplies, which the others had lined up on the tarp that had been used to cover the cargo. There were canteens, belts, vests, backpacks, flashlights, binoculars, flares, and a few other things I didn’t recognize. Timmy had already exchanged his loafers for a pair of boots. A smaller wooden crate had been nestled among the others. The lid had been pried off and six bottles of whiskey were inside, plus a bunch of CDs.
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