Megan lowered the gun in horror as Browning’s eyes shut and he stopped moving altogether.
“I didn’t have any choice,” she stammered at Victor, her voice thick with emotion.
“I know,” he replied as he finished severing his last restraint. “Trust me, it’s for the best,” he added, and his face reflected nothing but relief. “We need to leave before one of Browning’s men decide to bust in here.”
Megan nodded, still shaking from what had just happened. “Take this,” she said, handing him the gun. “You have more experience.”
“Where did you get it?” he said, taking the offered weapon.
“From the body of the man they killed in my room.”
Victor nodded. “We’ll leave through that bookcase,” he said, gesturing toward a floor-to-ceiling model in the southwest corner of his office. “It swivels out to reveal a hidden doorway into a system of branching tunnels.”
He hovered over Hall’s unconscious body on the couch. “Help me lift him up so we can drag him with us.”
Megan did as he requested. “A hidden passageway behind a bookcase?” she said, grunting from the exertion of lifting Hall to his feet. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”
“Would you have guessed it was there?” replied Victor as they began to haul their precious cargo toward the tall oak bookcase, one on each side.
Megan allowed the flicker of a smile to cross her face. “You might be right,” she said. “It’s so obvious that it isn’t obvious anymore.”
63
The moment the bookcase slid back into place, Troy Browning flung the small Wi-Fi disruptor device away from him. Being shot twice at near point-blank range had caused him to stumble backwards before falling in close proximity to the device once again.
The advanced vest he was wearing, impossible to spot, had saved his life. But while it had prevented the bullets from penetrating, and had bled convincingly enough to sell that he was dead, no tech could nullify the enormous force of the blows. The shots had felt like two sledge hammers crashing into his chest. He was certain several of his ribs were broken, and the vest hadn’t protected his leg at all.
Playing dead when all he wanted to do was either shriek or moan had required extraordinary willpower, and he was proud he had the courage to charge the girl when he knew she would shoot him—knew he had to force her to shoot him. At all costs.
If she had refused to kill him as Victor had been insisting, the tech merchant would have taken matters into his own hands—this was as clear as day in his mind. And Victor was seconds away from freeing himself. Unlike her, Victor would have shot him in the head.
Browning fought to pull himself together and get his mind working again, but the pain was all-consuming, excruciating, the worst he had ever experienced by a considerable measure. He contacted his men using his implants and directed them to come inside and administer first aid, even though this would only be a stopgap. He had lost considerable blood and needed expert medical attention.
But that could wait. If he could keep his head, fight through the agony, he could go for several more hours, making sure his goals were still met.
He contacted the two helicopters that comprised his second assault wave, about the time they had expected, but for a different purpose. Instead of commencing a devastating air assault on the compound he had rendered defenseless, he ordered them to land nearby and await further orders.
Browning’s four mercenary soldiers rushed into the room to find him propped up against a wall, grimacing in pain. One had been trained as a medic and removed a first aid kit from his rucksack and began to work on his boss’s leg.
“Go after them!” Browning instructed the other three mercs, wincing in pain from the effort of speaking. “And kill them!”
Browning changed tactics. Instead of speaking out loud to his men, he decided to think words at his implants and have them transmit a facsimile of his voice into their earpieces. “They went through a hidden passageway behind the bookcase,” he continued. “Press down on the onyx bookend, the one shaped like a horse’s head.”
Browning told them that Victor and Megan were dragging an unconscious Nick Hall along, but decided against warning them that Hall would be conscious and reading minds any second, or that they were armed. Why make them hesitant? If one or more of them lost their lives while exterminating their quarry, these were acceptable losses.
“They’re unarmed,” continued Browning. “I can read their minds and direct you. In a few minutes our two other helos will land, each with four reinforcements. If you haven’t finished the job by the time our friends land, I’ll send them into the tunnels from the other side.”
The three soldiers headed for the bookcase.
“Last thing,” said Browning, just before they left the room. “No mercy. Especially for Sleeping Beauty. I want all of their heads on a platter, and I want that bitch to suffer most of all.”
As Browning’s men cautiously slipped into the tunnel, the medic continued to work on his leg, cleaning the wound, spraying wound-healing foam, and applying compressed bandages. There wasn’t much that could be done about his broken ribs.
Browning did his best to ignore the stabs of pain that accompanied his every breath, despite the painkillers he had been given, and digest what had happened.
Megan Emerson had been a wildcard he couldn’t have possibly seen coming. She wasn’t just window dressing after all, but some kind of mutant who was resistant to mind reading.
How did the reality of humans who were resistant to ESP alter his plans? Even beyond this, he needed to consider this current reversal of fortune in a broader context. Should he rethink his entire strategy? Was Victor right that releasing mind reading to the world would do the opposite of what he thought? Was this fate’s way of telling him he was on the wrong course?
Impossible, he quickly decided. This couldn’t be true. More likely it had happened because this had all fallen into his lap too easily. Fate wanted to test his mettle, have him prove himself.
What was the point in being superior if you never faced a challenge that was worthy of this superiority? How could a savior be fully respected if he hadn’t overcome grueling obstacles worthy of his divinity? Hercules had faced twelve labors. Even Jesus’ run hadn’t been a walk in the park.
Browning’s brilliant move in forcing a woman to shoot him to stay alive would become the stuff of legend. Effortless victories wouldn’t be what defined him, it would be the challenges he had overcome, the struggles and sacrifices he had endured to create an improved, united humanity.
He had much to ponder, but was in no shape to do so now. At the moment he needed to devote all of his ebbing energy to staying alive.
And to finishing the job he had come here to do.
64
Hall came awake with a start to find himself being dragged by Megan and Victor through an unfinished, dimly lit tunnel, about nine feet wide.
Highly charged emotional thoughts battered at him from everywhere, all fighting to be heard at the same time. It was like waking from a sound sleep into the middle of a raging warzone.
He gasped and fell to the ground, slipping through the grasp of the two people transporting him.
“Nick? Are you okay?” said Megan anxiously, but he held out a forestalling hand, and both she and Victor remained silent as he began to assimilate the situation. So much to catch up on, so many perspectives to examine, and so little time.
Megan and Victor? Working together? How had they come to see each other as allies?
Hall reached out to read all of the minds in his vicinity and was stunned by how much had changed since Victor had knocked him unconscious. One mind jumped out from the rest, a mind he didn’t recognize, but one that stood in stark relief to all others, like a blazing neon red in a sea of pastel watercolors.
Troy Browning, the ex-NSA scientist he had learned about while reading Victor earlier.
He was now a mind reader himself!
He
had used the data Victor had stolen from Dennis Sargent. He had demonstrated that Hall’s psionic abilities were repeatable, that the recipe worked as expected.
And the man’s aura was neon for a reason. Hall could read in Browning’s mind that Hall stood out just as starkly to him, a beacon in the night. Apparently, this is how one mind reader appeared to another.
Hall raced through Browning’s mind, eerily aware as he did that the ex-NSA scientist was doing the same thing to him. He could read Browning reading him reading Browning, like multiple reflections in a row of funhouse mirrors.
But Hall was doing it better. He could explore a mind much faster and more efficiently than Browning. He was the more experienced at mining thoughts, and Browning was injured and suffering, hanging on by a thread.
Hall wasted no time on details, skimming through pertinent information like a speed reader turning a page every few seconds. Victor hadn’t known Browning’s motivations, but Hall discovered them in a horrifying flash.
He sucked out the essentials of Browning’s capture of the compound. Of his encounter with Victor. Of Megan’s heroic intervention.
He read how Victor had come to be working with Megan and THT, and how Browning had fooled Megan and Victor into leaving him for dead just minutes earlier.
Hall gasped once again. “Fire your gun!” he whispered frantically to Victor. “Anywhere! Now!”
Victor fired several shots straight down into the hard clay of the tunnel floor.
“Follow me,” whispered Hall, having read the tunnel layout in Victor’s mind. “I’m taking us to the nearest exit. We need to get topside quickly. I’ll explain while we move.”
Hall rushed off into the left branch of the tunnel with the other two in tow, taking care to move as quietly as possible. “Browning is wearing a high-tech vest,” he whispered softly as they continued. “Body armor. He’s alive. He sent three men after us, but told them we were unarmed. They were closing in.”
“So you had me fire to make sure they knew we had a gun,” whispered Victor. “Make them think twice about blindly turning corners.”
“Exactly.”
“Why not ambush them?” asked Victor.
“It would still be three men with automatic weapons against one man with a handgun,” replied Hall, still in hushed tones. “Safer to slow them down, make them think twice. Browning is trying to get them to continue on now, insisting that we only have a handgun. Given that we proved his previous assurances a lie, they aren’t inclined to blindly take his word.”
They hit an incline and after a gradual nine-foot increase in elevation they emerged from the tunnel in a thickly wooded section of the forest behind a wall of spruce trees. Along with a sprinkling of oaks, their leaves having just turned a striking orange color, the forest was thick with towering conifers, many that would have made spectacular Christmas trees for a race of giants.
“Let’s move,” said Hall as he began to hurriedly pick his way through the trees.
“So you and Browning can read each other’s minds?” said Victor.
“That’s right,” said Hall.
He paused, as though listening. “Browning’s almost managed to convince the three mercs in the tunnel to keep coming. Eight more of his men will be landing any minute.”
“How do you see our chances?” asked Victor.
“Not good,” replied Hall with a frown. “Browning is injured and fading—not at full mental strength, by any means—but he can’t be underestimated. He has twelve men armed to the teeth and can direct them after reading our minds. I’m at full mental strength, but there are only seven of us, and we currently only have a single gun. Of our seven, we only have three experienced warriors—Girdler, Campbell, and you.”
“At this point, I’d put you and Megan into that category,” said Victor.
“Hold up,” said Hall. “We’ve gained breathing room from the mercs after us, but the one who stayed behind to patch Browning is running through the woods now. He’ll be closing in on Girdler and the others soon. I have to warn them.”
Hall read that his friends were all wearing earpieces and the frequency he needed to use to reach them. “Hello to all,” he transmitted to the group.
They were relieved to hear his implant-generated voice and greeted him enthusiastically.
“There’s a hostile approaching your position from the south,” he told them. “He has a machine gun, but his orders are to capture you if possible. The mind reader leading their side, Troy Browning, hopes to use you as leverage against me, but this makes things more challenging for them.”
“Troy Browning who worked for the NSA, Troy Browning?” said Altschuler in shock.
“Yes,” said Hall. “You know him?”
“Yes. So does Drew. He does what we do. He’s one of the best in the world. Not as good as he thinks he is, but since he has delusions of grandeur and a god complex, that would be impossible.”
“That’s him,” said Hall. “More deluded and dangerous than ever. I’ll direct you so you can avoid the merc Browning sent after you, but he’ll be sending others as soon as they land. I’ll know what all of his people are thinking and where they’re going, but he’ll know the same about us. This is going to get complicated.”
He paused. “We do have some advantages, at least for now,” he continued. “Like I said, their orders are to kill me and Megan, but only to capture you—provided we’re still at large. And it’s easier for me to track the thoughts of one man than it is for Browning to track four. He’s also badly wounded, so his mind’s not nearly at full capacity. He’ll be slower and sloppier than me, less able to juggle multiple thoughts and men.”
“That sounds promising,” said Campbell.
“It isn’t. We’ll soon be hopelessly outmanned and outgunned.”
Hall continued to feel the presence of Browning in his head as he directed the team away from the incoming soldier. This would be a battle for the history books. Two mind readers intercepting the thoughts of every player on the field and moving them around the forest like two grandmasters playing a twisted game of multi-dimensional chess.
“Browning’s reinforcements are now on the ground,” Hall announced out loud, so Victor and Megan would hear this news as well. “General, can I assume you’ve already contacted the president and filled him in?”
He could have read the answer from Girdler’s mind, but he was trying to keep track of Browning and any number of friendlies and hostiles alike, and his abilities couldn’t have been more overtaxed.
“Yes, just a few minutes ago,” replied the general. “Right after we landed and put some distance between us and the helo.”
“What’s the ETA on the cavalry?” asked Hall, glancing sidelong at Megan as he used this term.
“Thirty-five to forty minutes,” replied Girdler gravely.
“Are you kidding me!” shouted Hall. “We’re never going to last that long!”
“My fault,” said the general. “I discussed contingencies with the president and Admiral Siegel before leaving. You can read that discussion from my mind, but there were more complications than you’d think, and I didn’t press it.”
Hall realized that Browning had eavesdropped on the discussion to which Girdler was referring, so was more knowledgeable about the situation than Hall.
“And I ruled out air power and missile strikes myself,” continued Girdler. “You’d think the president could get troops to any place on the map in minutes, but it can be trickier than that, especially since we didn’t put any forces on high alert. A guerrilla war in the woods against a force led by someone other than Victor wasn’t something I imagined could happen.”
“I can’t fault you for that,” admitted Hall.
“To be honest, given what I know, the president is outdoing himself to get reinforcements here in less than an hour.”
“That’s great,” said Hall sarcastically. “Too bad they’re going to find nothing but our dead bodies when they get here.”
Hall made sure his friends were out of harm’s way and signed off. He then brought Victor and Megan up to speed on Girdler’s end of the conversation, which he could do very quickly. They were screwed. Their would-be rescuers were apparently taking the scenic route.
“Nick, I need to go off on my own,” declared Megan when he had finished.
“What are you talking about?”
“I have to do it. I’m Browning’s only blind spot. But if I’m in sight of anyone on our team, he can pinpoint my location through them. I’ll be more effective on my own. I’m the only one in the game he can’t locate—for himself or his mercs. Including you, Nick.”
Hall’s stomach clenched. His emotions were demanding that he not let her go, but her logic was unassailable. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he said.
“Yes,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye, despite the circumstances. “Several times in front of Victor, even. He just stopped trying to kill you,” she added with a grin, “but one more time and he might just change his mind.”
This brought a smile to both men’s faces.
Nick became somber once more. “You’d better get going,” he said. “But be careful. And don’t try to be a hero.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid that the hero thing is the whole point of this,” she said with a wistful smile. She turned to Victor. “I need the gun back. Since I’m the invisible girl, I can make the best use of it.”
Victor thought for just a moment and carefully handed her the weapon.
“Thanks,” she said, and seconds later disappeared behind a large maple with bright red leaves and kept on moving.
“I can see why you’re in love with her,” said Victor. “She really is something special.”
MindWar (Nick Hall Book 3) Page 35