It was time to channel his inner Luke Skywalker, time to switch off his targeting computer. He may have never bullseyed womp rats in Beggar’s Canyon as young Skywalker had done, but he was not without his skill.
Girdler and the president had wished him Godspeed. If that wasn’t the equivalent of, “May the Force be with you,” nothing was. But if the Force was ever going to be with him, now was the time.
“Five,” he began. “Four. Three. Two. One . . . mark!”
Before he was even aware that the EMP Cannon had been fired, two stealth drones suddenly flashed into full view above them, exactly where Hall had thought they would be, hovering within twenty feet of one another. They were absolutely identical, as expected, except that the one on the left had video equipment suspended below it, and the other a canister.
Then everything happened at once. The drones both began to fall from the sky, plummeting toward the stadium below like sacks of cement, while the pilot pivoted sixty degrees to give Plaskett the perfect line of fire on his target. He was only vaguely aware that the Falcon had been released and was hurtling toward both drones, only a second or two away from choosing one at random.
And then the world disappeared from Plaskett’s awareness.
His entire universe became a plunging octocopter sent to film an atrocity. For just an instant, time seemed to stop. His focus was so complete, an alien could have eaten through his chest and it wouldn’t have affected his aim in the slightest. He lined up the falling target and squeezed off fifteen rounds, six of which hit the video drone and tore it to smaller pieces.
The Falcon made an almost imperceptible course correction as it dove toward the two drones, its sights now firmly set on the one bringing poison. It fired its net and then began swooping upwards again, not even waiting for the tethered line to go taut or feel the weight of its captured prey before preparing to lift it to a greater altitude.
The captured octocopter continued to fall inside the massive net to a low point of six hundred and forty feet, but then rose higher, its poison contained. The Falcon continued to climb steadily, picking up speed and leaving the airspace above the stadium behind on its way to the wide open ocean.
The shrapnel from the other drone and its video equipment had already slammed into the ground, but the force of Plaskett’s high-caliber rounds had pushed it enough off center that it fell onto the empty field, missing the stands and the large podium on the fifty-yard line.
Plaskett fell to his back onto the floor of the helo, his heart pounding wildly, enough adrenaline coursing through his veins to jumpstart a herd of elephants. Cheers, whoops, and congratulations came from his three-man team and through his earpiece.
Turned out his job hadn’t only been supervisory, after all.
President Cochran didn’t share in the celebration. Instead, his voice boomed over the loudspeaker below, calming the crowded stadium and improvising wild excuses and tall tales to account for the gunshots they so clearly heard and saw, and for falling shrapnel that could have killed or maimed one or more in attendance.
Plaskett didn’t envy the president on this one. He would have to eat a lot of crow for ordering a helo to perform dangerous maneuvers above a packed stadium. He would be pilloried by his enemies for his foolish and reckless stunt, and would have to apologize over and over again for putting little girls in harm’s way.
But Joey Plaskett knew that while President Cochran was taking his lumps, he’d be tranquil on the inside, knowing that this was a far better outcome than having to console a nation over the loss of so many of its beloved daughters.
24
Hall blacked out, only to be startled back to life from the painful impact of his head on the floor, lucky that he was already on the ground so his skull had only fallen a short distance.
Stay with us, Nick, thought Kevin Wellman. Come on! Stay with us!
Hall shook his head like a dog, which should have drawn the full attention of the two terrorists in the cabin with them, but they were otherwise preoccupied. Unfortunately, they continued to carry automatic weapons and remain well out of range of their prisoners, so an attempt to overpower them in a moment of inattention would be suicidal.
The ISIS soldiers were also clearly unraveling, nearly losing their minds. They had been pacing the floor now for almost fifteen minutes, watching multiple computer and television screens, each tuned to a different cable news channel.
Yet news of a terror attack in San Diego was nowhere to be found. Impossible.
Both men knew something must have gone terribly wrong. If the attack had succeeded, no matter what the target had been, it would preempt any other programming and would be plastered over every screen.
They were now in full panic mode. How had the attack failed? Had they done something wrong? Could they somehow be held responsible?
Rehmani was certain that if his uncle decided that he and Salam had been at fault, no matter how twisted the logic, they would pay a terrible price, regardless of any blood he might share with the man. He glanced one last time at the screens and then turned to face Nick Hall, who was spread across the floor, looking like he had already spent an eternity in hell.
It was time to interrogate this enigmatic figure. Time to learn how he had come into possession of knowledge he shouldn’t possibly have. The accuracy with which he had called out Rehmani’s sexual fantasies was uncanny, and almost as troubling as the failure of the attack.
He said a few words to Salam so that he, too, would turn his full attention to Hall. The man may have been going through hell already, but this was nothing compared to the hell they would soon put him through. They were in no mood to be merciful. Their attack had failed, and they would take this out on their prisoners—they would test the very limits of human suffering.
The powerful assault rifles both men had been clutching were now pointed at Hall and Wellman as they began to move closer.
Hall read the rage in their minds and their sadistic intentions but couldn’t bring himself to care what happened to him. He felt nothing but immense pain, and immense relief. The attack had been stopped, that was all that was important. It was time to give in to oblivion. All he had to do was stop going to heroic efforts to ward off the unconsciousness that fought to consume him.
“Nick!” shouted Megan in his head. “Nick! Answer me! Don’t quit now! Please!” she pleaded, and the terror in her telepathic tone finally broke through his stupor.
He was vaguely aware that she had been shouting his name for some time, beginning just before he had blacked out.
“Megan?” he sent back weakly. “Where are you?”
“Come on, Nick! Shake it off! You know where I am: still hovering fifteen thousand feet above you. We did it! The sarin attack was stopped. A medic is with Floyd now. But this isn’t over. Not until the three of you are back with us.”
He didn’t respond.
“Nick, goddammit! Snap out of it! Just hang on for a few more minutes. The general scrambled two men to help you. Remember? From the ground. They just reported they found the 4Runner with Arizona plates. They’re approaching the front door of the cabin you’re in now. They’ve been told to follow my commands. Nick, we need you to coordinate! Come on! You told me when we landed that having me in your life gives you more strength than you thought was possible. Prove it to me!”
Hall shook his head like a dog a second time, desperate to remain awake just a few minutes longer. He wouldn’t let her down. He couldn’t let her down.
“Is this situation boring you?” spat Rehmani, eager to begin the festivities. “If you’re getting sleepy, I can help you with that.”
“Nick!” screamed Megan. “Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God!” she replied. “What’s the situation inside?”
“Not good. Your guys charge in here and we’re likely dead.”
“I have an idea. Hold on. Need to check something with them.”
Rehmani’s upper lip
curled into a snarl as he faced Hall. “Now, I need you to tell me what makes you so special,” he said. “Why this man,” he continued, gesturing toward Wellman with his gun, “was willing to trade his life for yours. Tell me or I’ll carve out your left eye with my knife.”
“Find a way to get these shitheads in front of the door,” broadcast Megan. “Your rescuers tell me it doesn’t appear to be hardened or reinforced. They’re shooting high-caliber armor-piercing rounds, which will go through it like it’s tissue paper.”
“Got it,” replied Hall as he struggled to rise from the floor, his hands still cuffed behind him and his face twisted in pain. Wellman began to rise to his feet as well, but Hall caught his eye and shook his head, and he returned to a seated position.
“Need fresh air,” he mumbled drunkenly at Rehmani, motioning toward the front door. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”
The two terrorists glanced at each other in disbelief. Fresh air? This man defied logic at every turn. “Take a single step toward that door and you’re dead!” barked Rehmani.
“Look,” said Hall, “I can help you in ways you can’t imagine. I’m a mind reader. I can tell you everything your enemies are thinking.”
They both snorted in derision at this ridiculous claim, but in less than a minute of Hall parroting back the exact words they were thinking the truth of it became undeniable. Once he read that they were both convinced of his talent, and fantasizing about the possibilities of exploiting it, he began moving to the door, shaking his head imperceptibly at Wellman once again to ensure he didn’t move.
“Have your men spray the door, chest height, on my order,” he broadcast, continuing to inch his way toward the door while Megan confirmed receipt of his instructions.
“Freeze!” demanded Rehmani, his finger now on the trigger.
Hall ignored him. “Are you really going to shoot the golden goose?” he asked as he continued creeping slowly toward the door.
Rehmani had never heard of a golden goose, more familiar with methods of butchering innocents than with Aesop’s Fables, but Hall read that he had no intention of shooting his newfound prize.
“I need some air,” repeated Hall. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”
He was about to add that they could come with him if they wanted, but they were already rushing forward to do just this.
“Get ready, Megan!” he broadcast.
Just when his captors were about to reach him he gave his final command. “Now!”
Hall paused for just a moment and then collapsed to the floor, having calculated that there would be a brief delay while Megan relayed the command to the men outside.
He almost waited too long. Before he even finished his fall, all hell broke loose. The machine-gun thunder of automatic fire almost ruptured his eardrums as the men outside sprayed so many chest-high rounds through the door that its bottom half was cleanly severed from its top half.
The same was nearly true for the two terrorists, who were so riddled with holes they were almost cut cleanly in two before gravity took over and they fell to the ground beside Hall, showering him with blood and chunks of flesh.
Hall was too far gone to even know that he was now covered in gore. He had been clinging to consciousness by torn, bloodied fingertips for so long now that he felt relief bordering on elation as he released his grip and instantly plunged into the abyss.
And only Kevin Wellman’s quick actions prevented him from drowning in a thick pool of blood that continued to gush from his fallen captors.
PART 3
Lucas
25
Victor sat beside Eduardo Alvarez, his closest friend and most trusted lieutenant, on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. He gazed off in the distance to where a glowing red ball was slowly inching its way toward the edge of the world. Sundown was less than an hour away and the setting sun was already spectacular.
The sea air was invigorating and birds that had somehow colonized this giant ugly rock ages ago were making their vocal presence known, sounds that were pleasing to the ear in an indefinable way.
Both men had their legs hanging down over the edge of the cliff and sipped margaritas that one of Victor’s underlings had prepared, although these were the authentic version, so the only resemblance they bore to the fruitier, more feminized variety popular in the States was the presence of tequila.
Victor and his son had already spent a full week on the island along with a number of trusted rank-and-file associates from within his vast organization. Alvarez had joined them only a few hours previously. While he and Lucas would be leaving in the morning, his right-hand man would be staying behind for several days to attend to cleanup and a few other projects, and then he and Victor would decide where he needed to be from there.
“So you finally gave Lucas a crash course on killing,” said Alvarez in Spanish. “He seems to have taken it well.”
Victor frowned. “I only wish it wasn’t necessary, my friend. But we both know I can’t let a lamb become part of a business that deals only with wolves.”
“I know you were concerned this would be a difficult hurdle.”
“I was. But it turned out to be just the opposite. He showed more strength than I ever would have believed.”
Alvarez shook his head in amusement. “Did you really have him kill for the first time by shooting a man in the throat, through the jugular?” he said. “That’s a high degree of difficulty for the uninitiated.”
“That’s a high degree of difficulty even for the initiated,” replied Victor with a smile. “Even I’ve never done this, not at point-blank range. And I thought a knife kill could be messy,” he added, his smile widening further. “In my defense, I did give him the option of shooting the bastard in the heart. I have to say, I was proud of Lucas for not taking the easier way out.”
“That kid is truly something special, Victor. Since the time he was three and he taught himself how to read, we knew how brilliant he was. But he’s tough as well. The whole package. Like you.”
Victor smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”
Coming from anyone else he would have been suspicious of such praise, but he and Eduardo had become closer than brothers over the years and he knew it to be sincere. At least he thought he did.
“Have you given his idea any further consideration?” asked Alvarez.
“Which one?”
“Striking a deal with ISIS to supply experimental subjects in bulk.”
“I have,” replied Victor. “We churned through all fourteen of the prisoners I imported to this island in ten days. If we want to get anywhere in my lifetime, we need to experiment on several subjects in parallel, and turn this into more of an assembly line.”
“Which means you’ll need a lot more guinea pigs a lot faster,” said Alvarez.
“Yes,” said Victor. “I’ve come up with other ideas, but Lucas’s idea does make the most sense. The only thing that was holding me back is having to deal with Sayed Nazry again. Highly unstable and highly dangerous isn’t a great combination.” He raised his eyebrows. “Speaking of which, he called me just before you arrived.”
“That’s a strange coincidence,” said Alvarez. “What’s the matter? Upset that he hasn’t heard from you in so long?”
Victor shook his head. “Remember the ten Omega Drones he bought last year?”
“Yes. He paid a huge sum for us to take the tech off the board.”
“That’s right. Says he finally went to use them last night in an attack in America and they failed. Blames me. Wants his money back and an apology for selling him shoddy technology.”
Alvarez laughed. “Hard to be surprised by any move this barbarian makes,” he said. “I assume you reminded him that he tested the shit out of those drones before he bought them, and no doubt just before his attempted attack as well. And that any failure is certainly his.”
“I did. And Nazry knows this is true. Just lashing out however he can. Must have really been excited for the drone
s’ maiden journey, which somehow went horribly wrong.”
“I wonder how many people he beheaded to satisfy his anger,” said Alvarez.
“Good question,” replied Victor. “I’m just glad to know we won’t be two of them,” he added, thankful once again that he had always taken such great care to ensure that their enemies, and their business associates, had no idea how to find them.
“So how did you leave it with Nazry?”
“If I told you I said he could go fuck himself, would you believe me?”
Alvarez considered. “If this happened two weeks ago, absolutely,” he replied. “I’d be shocked if you hadn’t. But given that you see the merit in Lucas’s idea, you wouldn’t want to burn this bridge. Might even want to strengthen it.”
“Excellent,” said Victor. “You’re right, of course. I told him I would think about his request and get back to him tomorrow. But that was just so I didn’t seem easy. I’ve already decided to refund his money.”
“If memory serves, this was fifty million US dollars.”
“That’s right,” said Victor. “But since the refund means the technology will no longer be exclusive, we can make most of this back by selling it to the many other parties sure to be interested.”
“We’ll have to disclose that the Americans are most likely aware of these drones now and are working on countermeasures,” noted Alvarez.
“True. But no other country knows they exist, or the technology they carry. And even the Americans won’t be able to come up with ways to stop them right away. Like I said, we’ll get far less per drone selling them non-exclusively, but we’ll sell enough to get close to the fifty million. And I’ll tell Nazry we’ll give him his refund, but only if he also agrees to enter a lucrative contract to supply us with human subjects.”
“Sounds like a win-win to me,” said Alvarez.
“Which means that soon I’ll need you to scout out locations for a new experimental facility, Eduardo. One we can turn into more of an industrial strength assembly line, making this a much larger and better organized operation.”
MindWar (Nick Hall Book 3) Page 13