by Richard Bard
“She’s okay,” Deondre said. “She got back on her feet and stared the witch down. The woman’s in front of your dad now, and he looks very pissed off.”
“Is Jazz still wearing the scarf?”
“Yep.”
That brought a smile to my face.
***
The woman locked eyes with Jake. “Did you know we opened two auctions for you? One for those who wish you to be handed over alive, and another for those who simply want your head.”
The lieutenant picked up Jake’s Bowie knife and pretended to slit his throat. “A messy business,” he said. “But the plastic sheeting surrounding you will make for an easy cleanup.”
“At last count, the bids are neck and neck.” The woman chuckled at her own joke. “You have quite the reputation, Mr. Bronson. As does your son. Is he truly the cyber warrior we’ve been led to believe he is?”
Jake wanted to spit in her face, but when he noticed the girl behind her chewing her lip as she looked expectantly toward the door, he knew he needed to play it cool. For now. There was obviously a plan in motion, and he suspected it would happen as soon as the girl’s sister arrived. He would keep the woman distracted until then. “Lady, and I use that term loosely, you’re making the mistake of your life here. Why don’t you let me go, let the girls go, and call it a day?”
She raised an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”
“Because if you believe half of what you’ve heard about me, then you know I’m not a man to be trifled with. Mass murder, bedlam, apocalypse—all at my hands—and you think I won’t punish you for holding me here?” The menace he projected wasn’t feigned, and it made her eyes twitch. He leaned forward and whispered, “Release me now and I’ll kill you fast. You’ll hardly feel a thing. Otherwise…” He clucked his tongue and sat back.
He could tell he’d unnerved her, but then there was movement outside the door and it broke the spell. The smaller guard walked in with the girl’s sister in tow. Except for the street clothes she was wearing, she was the spitting image of her twin. The woman nodded, the guard released her, and the sisters collided in a fierce embrace. Maintaining their hold, they pulled back enough to stare into each other’s faces, and Jake watched them commune like only twins can. The sister who’d just arrived had a questioning expression, and the other narrowed her gaze as if signaling her to follow her lead. They blinked at exactly the same moment, then turned to face the woman and the two cops.
The lieutenant replaced the knife on the table and scratched his chin. He pointed at the sister who’d been locked up downstairs. “So, you are Ellie after all. We weren’t sure in all the commotion. Thought you might have switched clothes as part of your failed ruse. We placed bets.” He winked at his partner. “You owe me thirty-thousand pesos.”
The sergeant chuckled.
The lieutenant continued, motioning at the other girl. “And you, Jazz, couldn’t stay away.” He reached up to touch her cheek, but Ellie batted his hand away.
“Don’t touch her, you filthy bastard!”
“Ha! Such spirit. The both of you shall make one of our clients very happy indeed.”
“Afraid not,” Jazz said. “We’re making a trade.” Pulling a confused Ellie with her, she stepped a couple of paces closer to Jake and pointed at him. “For his son.”
Jake felt a doubling of the mini’s energy now that Jazz was closer. It still wasn’t close enough, but soon…. He readied himself. The woman seemed unusually calm as she watched the girls, as if savoring the moment.
“Who’s he?” Ellie asked.
“The Global Terrorist himself,” Jazz said.
Ellie’s eyes widened. “Alex’s dad? But—”
“Yeah,” Jazz said. “And we’re turning the brat over and getting out of here.”
Ellie pressed her lips into a thin line.
The woman hiked an eyebrow.
“And so?” the lieutenant asked. “Where is the boy?”
“I’ll give you his location as soon as we’re all in a public place,” Jazz said. “But first…” She began to untie the scarf around her neck. She was acting fierce but barely disguising her fear. Jake could sense it, and when the woman frowned, he figured she knew it, too.
His mind screamed, Come on, girl. Make your move.
Jazz forced her face into a scowl, reaching behind her neck to remove the scarf—and the mini hidden in its folds. She quickly bundled it between her palms, as if she was packing a snowball, and stomped toward him. “My grandparents are dead because of you!”
He analyzed everyone’s positions and the room’s contents—weapons, angles, distances.
The woman grabbed the girl’s arm. “Enough of this charade!” She yanked Jazz around to face her, pulling her hands apart in the process. The bundle came loose, Jazz’s eyes went wide, and she scrambled to catch it with her free hand.
The woman’s grip held her fast. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But the trade?” Jazz protested, her confident façade abandoned. She had a white-knuckled grip around the partially unwound bundle, the scarf’s tail dangling as she positioned it behind her.
“There was never going to be a trade, you stupid child. Ten minutes alone with Lieutenant Garcia and you will tell us everything you know.”
The lieutenant motioned to the guards. “Grab them.”
“Run!” Jazz screamed to her sister. With a hook shot that would’ve made Lebron James proud, she tossed the bundled scarf.
Time slowed as Jake followed its trajectory—tumbling in an arc that would drop it right in his lap, the unwinding scarf streaming behind it like the tail of a comet—
The woman snatched the tail out of the air and whipped it to one side. The mini ripped free, diverted into the wall behind Jake. It ricocheted and skittered across the floor, and came to rest half a room away at the tech’s feet. The tech stared at it in triumph, and Jake realized the kid recognized its value.
Jake sucked in every iota of the mini’s energy he could gather and embraced its power. He jerked his body backward, crashing the chair into the wall. The wooden frame shattered. Jake folded to the floor in a tangle of splintered wood, his brain capturing the scene in front of him: the guards moving in, one toward the woman, the other toward Ellie, who was staring wide-eyed at the mini, Jazz fighting against the woman’s hold, the tripod toppling over in the scuffle, the red light on the camera flashing on, the lieutenant racing toward the door and shouting for more guards, the sergeant—eyes on Jake—pulling a handgun from under his coat that Jake’s brain automatically catalogued as a SIG SAUER classic P220 .45ACP.
***
“Don’t follow me,” I screamed, dropping the tablet and running as fast as I could toward the street.
“No way!” Simon said, running after me.
“I mean it. Stay hidden. Trust me!” I spared a glance over my shoulder.
Simon’s face was pinched in concern but he stopped. I kept moving. Traffic was heavier now and I had to weave to get across, triggering a screech of tires. A man shouted at me. I ignored it all. My mind was on fire as I tried to figure out what the heck I could possibly do. If I got caught, it would only make matters worse. My brain went on autopilot, taking everything in, sorting through choices.
Then I spotted the rock garden two houses down.
Chapter 30
BLAZING FAST, Jake swept up a broken chair leg and hurled it at the sergeant. It hit the man in the forehead and toppled him like a felled tree. The pistol clattered away. The two guards moved as one toward Jake. The bigger guard’s eyes gleamed.
Jake leaped up. Stubborn sections of chair still clung to his wrists and ankles, and he felt his energy waning. But adrenaline revved his heart rate, and he charged like a rampaging gorilla, flailing his arms in figure-eight strokes that slashed across both men’s faces. The smaller guard fell back with a howl, his hands over his lacerated eyeballs. The larger guard bled from deep gashes on his face and forehead, but he snarled and kept coming.<
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“Get up here!” the lieutenant shouted out the doorway to the men downstairs. He unholstered his pistol and drew a bead on Jake. Footsteps sounded from the staircase.
“For God’s sake, don’t kill him,” the woman said. She was getting the better of Jazz as they struggled on the floor.
The lieutenant adjusted his aim toward Jake’s legs.
Jake fended off a vicious kick from the remaining guard, barely holding his balance against the force of it. He shifted to one side to keep the man’s bulk between him and the lieutenant’s pistol, all the while fighting off a wave of dizziness. He glanced at the mini but it was out of reach. The guard lunged and Jake dodged an uppercut, countering with a knee to the groin that doubled the guard over. But only for a beat. The guard straightened up and clenched his fists.
“Get it, El!” Jazz shouted. She was held firmly in the woman’s grasp.
The tech was reaching down for the artifact, but Ellie was flying through the air, diving toward it like a baseball runner reaching for second base.
An explosion of breaking glass echoed from downstairs, and the footfalls racing up the staircase stopped. A distant voice shouted in Spanish, “It’s the boy!”
The lieutenant glanced from Jake to the hallway and back again, and Jake could tell he was considering going after Alex.
Nooo!
He turned to see Ellie stretched prone as she grabbed the mini from under the tech’s chair. She cocked her arm to toss it to him, but the tech smashed his foot on her shoulder and the mini tumbled from her hand. Ellie screamed. She pushed to her feet and launched herself at the tech.
The distraction was all the remaining guard needed. The man’s ham fist struck Jake square in the jaw. Jake reeled backward, and as he went down he saw the lieutenant disappear down the hall.
Jake hit the floor hard and rolled, scrambling desperately toward the mini. Each foot closer to it brought a new surge of energy that cleared his head and strengthened his muscles. He was five feet away from it when the big guard grabbed him by the foot and yanked him backward. Jake rolled again, twisting free of the man’s grasp, but then the beast landed his full weight on Jake, knocking the breath from his lungs when Jake’s outstretched hand was only a yard from the artifact. He was pinned, both arms splayed outward. As the guard began to squeeze the life out of Jake, all he could do was stare at Ellie in front of him.
The tech had gripped her from behind and lifted her into the air. Her feet flailed inches above the mini. She screamed in frustration, her wild eyes zeroed in on Jake’s, and sank her teeth into the tech’s forearm. The kid yelped, yanking his arm away. He tried to shove Ellie away as she broke free, but she held her ground and kicked the mini toward Jake, her bloody teeth bared in victory.
Jake scooped it up, and time slowed:
Energy erupted into him, as if the mini had needed him as much as he needed it, a symbiotic relationship that had allowed him to live long after his original expiration date eight years earlier. It would keep him alive now, and his son as well. Because they had an appointment with fate that must be kept.
He exploded upward, shoving the three-hundred-pound brute on top of him to one side. The man grunted in surprise, but like a dog with a bone, he refused to loosen his hold on Jake’s neck. Until Jake grabbed the man’s fingers and snapped them back like they were twigs. Jake broke free, jumped to his feet, and ripped the remaining shreds of wood from his wrists and ankles. The guard sprang up as well, surprisingly agile despite his girth. The man’s left hand was a mess but he wasn’t out of the fight. His eyes went flat and he lowered himself into a crouch—arms wide, feet spread—as if prepping for a wrestling match.
Jake pocketed the mini, and moved so fast the guard had no chance to react. Jake hit him in the chest with a flying front kick that sent the man smashing into the wall so hard, his neck snapped. He spilled to the floor and didn’t move.
Jake spun around and saw the tech sprinting for the door, cradling his laptop like a football. Jake hurled a lamp from a side table. The lamp slammed into the back of the tech’s skull. His body flew forward, sliding several feet on the polished floor to lie still.
Jake turned to the woman. She still held Jazz. The two of them were on the floor, frozen in shock as they stared at Jake.
The woman’s face drained of color. She released Jazz, rolled onto her butt, and patted the air with her palms. “P-please…”
Jazz ran to her sister, but Jake’s focus remained on the woman. She sells little kids into sex slavery. He stepped forward and towered over her cowering form, as she must’ve done so many times with her victims. “Besides the lieutenant, how many more guards are there downstairs?” he asked.
“Only two. I swear it.”
He knew the truth when he heard it, and with that intel, he had no further use for her. The world would be better off without her. He clenched his fists, but hesitated to finish her. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t killed a woman before; he’d done it no more than a week earlier in the South China jungles. He’d been given little choice in the matter, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t haunt him. He flashed on Francesca and her forgiving nature, and his body shook in frustration.
Two booming gunshots sounded behind him, and twin blossoms of blood sprouted from the woman’s chest. He spun around to see the smoking SIG in Jazz’s hand. Her eyes were huge, and all the air seemed to leave her as she realized what she’d just done.
But then Ellie’s hand was on her shoulder. “Right on, sister. She deserved it. Besides, remember what Grandfather told us? In Colombia, you must erase one hundred percent of the threat, or face a life of looking over your shoulder.” She took the pistol from her sister and walked over to the groaning guard with the lacerated eyes in the corner. She pinched her eyes closed, and with both hands, squeezed a round into the man’s face. She staggered from the recoil, turning her back on the guard before opening her eyes. Her lips quivered. “He was the one who killed our parents.”
Jake thought he would’ve been sickened at the cold-blooded nature of what she had done. But he couldn’t blame her, and admired the solidarity she’d shown her sister, who otherwise would have been alone in being haunted by having taken a life.
Ellie held back a sniffle. Jazz hurried over and took her hand. They approached Jake and Ellie handed him the pistol. “Thank you for saving us.”
Jazz said, “Alex and the others are hiding in the park across the street.”
He nodded, shoved his belongings into his backpack, threw on his bomber jacket, and fastened his belt and knife. He ran toward the door, pointing at the laptop next to the tech’s body. “Grab the laptop and follow me!”
Jake bounded down the stairs, leading with the pistol. He slowed as he reached the ground floor, signaling the girls to remain still behind him. The lieutenant and two guards were still unaccounted for. He peeked around the corner but there was no sign of them. The small lobby was empty, and shards of glass covered the floor where a sidelight had been.
“Quickly,” he whispered. He checked corners as he went around the glass and pushed out the door. A steady stream of traffic crisscrossed the well-lit four-lane road between them and the park, and beyond that the low-lying clouds shone in the lights of an outside event. The air pulsed with music.
We’re sitting ducks out here.
He pulled the girls behind a hedge and surveyed the area.
Jazz pointed across the street. “Just past that thick bunch of trees there. You can see the glint of my motorcycle.”
He saw it, maybe twenty yards into the park. When he expanded his heightened senses into the surrounding trees, he clocked movement. He was still riding high on the energy from the mini, but it wouldn’t last long. He needed to move, but carefully. The last thing he needed was a bunch of curious onlookers with cell phones, especially now that his deformed face had been displayed on the internet. “Stay here,” he whispered.
He slipped the pistol into his belt, stepped to the curb, and w
aited for a break in traffic.
Three rapid gunshots rang out from across the street, the muzzle flashes illuminating the copse of trees like camera flashes. Shadowed forms scattered, one smaller figure toppling to the ground.
Alex!
Jake burst across the street—dodging and leaping, narrowly avoiding disaster, too fast for drivers to react in time. Wheels veered, brakes locked, and cars rear-ended one another. He ignored the crashes and angry shouts, skimming over the hood of the final car in his path before racing into the trees.
The mini responded to his needs. Its energy fused with his adrenaline to supercharge his senses. He saw through the shadows like he was wearing night vision goggles, the figures vague but apparent: two men, pistols raised as they approached two crouched children hovering over a third who lay in the grass beneath a sprawling tree.
Jake drew the SIG from his waist without slowing and fired four shots, two into each skull of the armed men. Their heads exploded. Jake disregarded them, as he did the shouts from the roadway behind him, signaling that onlookers were scattering from the sound of gunfire.
One round remaining. One bad guy left.
He panned the park, slipping past two parked motorcycles, and sliding to a crouch beside the trio of kids. The lieutenant was nowhere in sight.
“Dad!” Alex said. He and a bald, sweet-faced girl spun around from their kneeling position beside the prone victim. It wasn’t him but another boy who’d been shot in the shoulder. Thankfully, the wound appeared superficial, the boy down more from shock than injury. Alex threw his arms around Jake’s neck, and it was like being cradled in a warm blanket.
The downed boy’s eyes went wild. “Behind you!”
Jake twitched to spin, but stopped when the cold steel of a pistol pressed against the back of his neck. The lieutenant must’ve been hiding behind the tree. Jake had missed it by allowing himself to be swept up by the mini’s influence, euphoric in the belief nothing could stop him.