No Refuge

by Richard Bard

  And then it was gone.

  The mini dropped into his palm, ice cold against his skin. He stared at it in wonder. What other secrets did it hold?

  And who—or what—is the presence linked to it?

  He sucked in a lungful of air. The vision had seemed to last for several moments, but he sensed it had begun and ended in the space between heartbeats. Nevertheless, there was no denying what he’d seen and felt, and he was certain Alex had sensed it, too. But where was he? And who were the girls with him?

  He closed his eyes and recalled the scene, sorting through the details: the aged condition of the buildings across the street, the streetlamps, an alley, a quaint building on the corner, the colorful head scarf worn by one of the girls, and the five Avianca Airlines Unaccompanied Minor ID tags suspended on lanyards from the window latch. Alex’s tag was on top, the photo sporting the same crooked grin as Jake’s. But the name was Zachary Dawson. The destination airport designation was BOG.

  What the hell is going on?

  ***

  “Did you see that?” Ghazi said over the comm net.

  Jamal said, “It floated in midair.”

  Even Farhad was astonished, and it was Hadi who broke through his shock.

  “It’s a piece of the pyramid from our sacred mountain,” Hadi said. “The defiler stole it from us.”

  “Then it will be ours once again,” Farhad said as he watched the American pocket the artifact and exit the bathroom. “And you will get it for us. Along with the boy.”

  ***

  “Bogota, Colombia?” Francesca asked.

  Jake nodded. It was a lot to digest.

  “That’s nuts,” Tony said. “How the hell could the kid—” His jaw went slack. “Oh, yeah…”

  “Exactly,” Marshall said over his shoulder. He was flashing through search screens at his workstation. “Give him access to a computer and who’s to stop him? He still has the Spider headset, right?”

  Sarafina nodded.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Francesca said.

  “I don’t want to believe it, either,” Jake said. “But it’s true. I saw it.”

  Francesca sank deeper into the couch.

  Lacey asked, “But why Bogota of all places?”

  “It’s got something to do with the girls,” Ahmed said.

  “One of them wore a head scarf,” Jake said. “But it rode above her hairline enough that I could tell she had no hair. Probably lost it from chemo or radiation.” He thought back to his own encounter with the big C eighteen years ago, and the chemo cocktail that had taken his mop. He’d worn a baseball cap.

  Marshall said, “Found it! Headway Tours. The buses were leased by a school in Ojai.” He used the touchscreen to enlarge a lengthy article. “Hang on,” he said as he read.

  “Let me.” Jake stepped over to speed read the article. It took him four seconds. He swiped it away, read the next post, and the next, until he’d digested them all. Then he clicked on the school’s website and flashed through each of the pages.

  Marshall pushed his chair back and shook his head. “Dude, I wish I had your talents.”

  “No, you don’t. Trust me.” He turned to the others. “It’s a private school for terminally ill children. They’re all orphans.”

  Sarafina’s hand went to her mouth.

  Marshall said, “There’s no mention of any scheduled trip to Colombia.”

  “So the kid up and decided out of the blue he wanted to go to Bogota, Colombia?” Tony asked. “What the hell for?”

  “To get as far away from us as possible,” Ahmed said.

  “To protect us,” Sarafina said.

  “But why take the girls with him?” Lacey asked. “What’s that about? And how could they get on the flight in the first place? They’re minors.”

  “None of that matters,” Francesca said, looking at Jake.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, wondering about the fact Colombia was two-thirds of the way to Brazil. He doubted that was a coincidence. “Either way, I’m going to find him and bring him back.”

  Tony stepped forward. “Not alone, you’re not.”

  Lacey said, “He’s right. You can’t do this on your own. Tony’s too hot right now after what happened in Tahoe. But I could—”

  “It should be me,” Ahmed said.

  “Stop it,” Jake said. “All of you. Any one of you would be easily recognized.” He motioned at himself. “Nobody knows this face. I’m going alone. End of discussion.”

  Marshall looked up from his computer. “There’s a red-eye out of LAX tonight that connects out of Mexico City. Leaves at eleven thirty.”

  Jake pulled out his wallet and handed Marshall his fake passport and credit card. “Book it.”

  Marshall handed him a printout of his reservations. “You’re also going to need this.” He picked up one of several smartphones from the equipment table. “It’s clean. There’s one for each of us. I’ve already added our numbers into your contacts.”

  The phones had been part of Marshall’s contribution to the bug-out list they put together when they’d first set up this safe house. Besides the top-of-the-line computer equipment and satellite internet access, there were a number of drives, connectors, hubs, and other gadgets, plus sat phones, and even a solar-powered, hand-crank phone charger. Marshall had been very thorough.

  Jake reached for the smartphone, but before Marshall released it, he said, “It’s heavily encrypted. Communicate with this and we’re safe. Use anything else and you put us all at risk. Got it?”

  “Clear as day.” Jake placed the phone in one of the outside pockets of a backpack. He’d already transferred the contents of his go-bag into the pack, including a change of clothes. Thinking about what he might face in the Brazilian jungles, he grabbed one of the sat phones. “But I’ll take one of these anyway.”

  He said his good-byes to Marshall and Lacey, and Sarafina gave him a last hug. “Find him, Dad.”

  He smiled. Back to Dad. She’d be fourteen soon. A young woman. She’d been through more in her life than others twice her age. He lowered his voice. “I’m counting on you to watch over your mom while I’m gone. She needs you more than ever right now.”

  Sarafina drew her lower lip through her teeth. Nodded. Ahmed stood nearby, arms crossed, and the stern look on his face prompted Jake to add, “And while you’re at it, keep your brother in check.”

  “I heard that,” Ahmed said, extending a hand.

  Jake hid his surprise. Ahmed had never fully overcome his touch phobia, and Jake could count on one hand how many times his son had hugged him. It only happened in times of extreme shock or stress, and the embraces never lasted more than a few seconds. But Ahmed had never offered to shake hands, the skin-to-skin contact making the act far more difficult for the boy than a hug.

  Jake took his son’s hand in a firm grip. Ahmed returned the squeeze. It was as if the shared experiences of their lives passed between them. Jake’s mind flashed to the child he’d met in Battista’s palace in Venice, and all the trials they’d suffered through since. Jake realized the boy had become a man.

  “I’m very proud of you,” Jake said.

  “I should be going with you.”

  “Think it through, son. After what happened in Tahoe, it’s likely you’d be recognized. I won’t.”

  “Even so…” Ahmed pulled his hand away and rested it on the Glock still tucked in his belt.

  Jake’s gut turned at the sight of it. “You shouldn’t be—”

  “Never mind that,” Tony said, stepping forward. “I’ll handle it.”

  His friend’s face told Jake there was more to this story. Normally Tony wouldn’t even consider stepping between father and son. But since the father had been “dead” for the past few days, Tony had obviously stepped up. Jake nodded, and Tony pulled him in for a quick hug.

  “Watch your six out there,” Tony said. He patted Jake on the back before pulling away.

  “And you keep an eye on thin
gs here.” He handed over his Colt .45. He could pack his knife in his checked bag, but he wouldn’t be able take the pistol on the flight. “It was my grandpa’s. Take good care of it.”

  As he took the weapon, Tony said, “If you disappear on us again, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

  “You’ll have to get in line for that,” Francesca said. She opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. She’d pulled herself together since his arrival, her spirits buoyed by hope.

  He grabbed his backpack, stepped outside, and walked with her down the steps to the Harley. He swept her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. She clutched him, and he reveled in the moment. When he finally pulled away, he simply said, “I love you.” He strapped on his pack, looked at the others who had now crowded onto the porch, and wondered if this was the last time he’d ever see any of them. “I love all of you, and I swear to you, nothing on this earth will keep me from returning with Alex.”

  He donned his helmet, climbed on the bike, and sped away.

  ***

  Farhad watched as the motorcycle sped away. His mind grappled with the question of what to do next. An hour earlier the plan had been simple: kill everyone in the lodge and then return to base and prepare for the first of their primary attacks. Then Bronson had shown up.

  “The only certainty in battle is uncertainty,” he said softly, repeating one of Hadi’s mantras.

  Hadi watched him but remained silent.

  We can’t risk mission success by allowing our attention to be diverted, Farhad thought. But Bronson and his son were far more than a diversion, weren’t they? The Independence Day slaughter, and the attacks leading up to it, were critical elements of the team’s plan. They were the opening salvos of a war, tactics in support of their overall strategy to bring America to its knees by bringing fear into their homes, the same culture of fear that resided in Farhad’s homeland and elsewhere in the world, thanks to US aggression and interference. The American populace had been immune to the violence for too long. They watched world events unfold on their nightly news, witnessed the horror, the devastation, the drone strikes, and then switched channels to the latest sitcom. That will only change when death and ruin are wrought in their hometowns. When they realize government authorities were powerless to prevent further attacks, they would finally rise up and demand change.

  What better way to fuel that fear than to have unlimited access to every secure network in the country? Didn’t that make the boy invaluable? Farhad imagined the possibilities. As a plan took shape in his mind, he recalled the comment the big cop had made about the US government’s plan to capture the boy: “Because with that tech in their hands, they could change the face of the world.”

  And track us down with ease once we commence our attacks. He couldn’t allow that boy to fall into the American government’s hands.

  He clicked his microphone and told the others what they must do, finishing by saying, “When the final preparations have been triple-checked, we will let the Americans know we’re here.”

  Hadi nodded his approval.

  Chapter 19

  Bogota, Colombia

  The previous day

  THE CLOSER WE GOT to our destination, the more worried I got. What the heck was I doing anyway? Two days ago I was with my family and friends in California, and we were protected by an armed government escort. Now I was riding in a dilapidated passenger van heading toward downtown Bogota, Colombia, with four kids I barely knew. On top of that, our driver was a seedy character I’d hired on the darknet. The middle-aged man had been nice enough when he first met us at the airport security lounge, dressed in his fancy suit and posing as a family friend who’d been—as he’d told the immigration agent—given the honor of escorting us to the five-star hotel where our fake, wealthy parents waited for us. He’d had all the necessary documents, and from the not-so-secret looks he’d exchanged with both the agent and one of the security officers manning the exit, it was clear he’d done this sort of thing before. He’d told me during our online chat that he needed money for bribes, which was part of his justification for the ten thousand dollars he’d demanded. Of course, I’d never done anything like this before, so I had no clue whether the price was fair or not. But we’d needed to move fast so I’d agreed to his terms and wired half the fee in advance.

  He had distinguished features, a manicured haircut and mustache, and an easy smile. Until he slammed his door closed, started the engine, and pulled out of the airport parking lot, at which point his friendly demeanor vanished. Deondre, Ellie, and I sat in the row behind him. Ellie was in the middle, I was on her left, and Deondre on her right. Strawberry and Simon were in the back, and after we pulled onto the highway leading into town, the driver checked us out through the rearview mirror. His eyes lingered on Ellie and it made me uneasy. When he focused his attention on Deondre, the man’s eyes flattened like a cobra’s appraising its prey.

  “It’s time for you to transfer the rest of the money,” the man said, a bit too casually. His English was good but heavily accented. He directed the question toward Deondre, which was good. Deondre looked oldest, and we’d all decided it should look like he was in charge. Deondre had stepped up to the role with little difficulty. At some points during the trip he’d gone a bit overboard with a bossy demeanor that I guessed he copied from one or more of his foster parents. But the rest of us had taken it in stride because we’d seen behind his mask.

  Deondre’s brow knitted at the driver’s question. He was buying time as he waited for a signal from me. That’s when I realized I’d messed up. I had so many other things to worry about I hadn’t gone over when the final payment would be made during my online negotiations with the driver. Now that he was asking for it, I worried that paying him before we arrived at our hotel wasn’t such a good idea. On the other hand, everything had gone well so far, and arguing the point meant I’d have to take a lead role in the discussion since Deondre didn’t know what had been discussed. I nodded at Deondre.

  “Sure,” Deondre said to the man. “Give me a minute.” He pulled out his smartphone and pretended to make some entries. At the same time, I held my new phone low on my lap—we’d left our phones at the home and bought prepaid ones at the airport—and made the transfer. I gave another quick nod. Deondre pocketed his phone and looked up at the driver. “The money’s in your account.”

  The man’s dash-mounted phone chimed. He tapped the screen, checked that the funds were there, and then swerved onto an exit ramp so fast that Ellie was shoved into me and I was squished against the door. There were surprised yelps from Simon and Strawberry in the back.

  “Hey,” Deondre yelled, “what the hell are you doing?”

  “Change of plans, kids,” the man sneered. He gunned the engine, ran the stop sign, and made a sharp turn into an alley. The car screeched to a stop, jerking me forward against my seat belt.

  Deondre’s face went crimson. “You bastard,” he said, unlatching his belt. He was about to launch himself forward when the man spun around and pointed a pistol in his face. It was a small revolver, kind of like the entry-level pistols in some of my first-person shooter games. It stopped Deondre cold. Ellie squeaked, leaning as far away from the weapon as possible, making a point of shielding me in the process. It was an instinctual move and I loved her for it.

  Deondre sat back in his seat, and the man relaxed his grip on the pistol. He was in charge.

  At least that’s what he thinks.

  “You have two choices,” the man said. “Transfer another ten thousand and get dropped off at your hotel without any problem. Or,” he snickered, “you get kicked to the curb right here.”

  Simon said, “You can’t—”

  “Don’t speak unless I tell you to!” the man spat. “Take a look around. Is this where you want to get out?”

  The alley was strewn with garbage, and the dirty walls were covered with gang-style graffiti.

  “There are thirty murders in Bogota every week, and most of t
hem occur in this district. How long do you think five children will last?”

  Ellie quivered beside me. After what she’d been through less than a week ago, I had no doubt she was terrified.

  That made me mad. I may have been the smallest of us, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t throw a big punch. At the same time Ellie and Jazz had been abducted last week, I’d killed thirty-one soldiers to save my family. Of course, I didn’t have a swarm of death drones at my disposal this time around. But I still had my phone.

  And my memory.

  I’d been around my dad and his friends in a few tough situations, and I’d heard all their stories about the challenges they’d faced down before I was born. That had taught me a lot of things, including how important it was to gather as much information as possible before launching into a plan. It was no different than some of the online games I played. If you wanted to win, you had to study the environment, know your weapons, and learn your opponents’ weaknesses.

  Keeping the phone low, I silenced it, then sent a text.

  Me: ur wifes name is angela. u live on calle 49b in the tierra buena district

  The driver’s phone chimed, and he did a double take when he glanced at the screen. He pulled the phone from its dash mount, and as he looked away to reply, I noticed Deondre tense like he was about to make a move on the guy. My eyes went wide but Deondre’s focus was dead ahead. He coiled. Ellie stopped him with a jab of her elbow. When he snapped his head around, he saw the panic on my face. I shook my head and mouthed, “Wait,” just as the driver’s reply appeared on my screen.

  Driver: who is this?

  Me: deliver the children immediately

  Driver: WHO IS THIS?

  Me: pray u never find out

  The driver fidgeted in his seat. Finally he sniffed and thumbed his screen.

  Driver: another 10K first

  I had expected the man to back down immediately after I revealed his wife’s name and home address. Was he bluffing, or did he really not care about her welfare? A part of me considered transferring the funds, even though it would leave us with next to nothing. But if I sent the money, what would stop him from asking for more? I’d read that kidnapping tourists for cash was a common practice in South America, and now that I’d introduced a phony third party to the equation, I was afraid I’d just opened the door to an entirely new option for the man, one that involved kidnapping us.