Jack Be Nimble: A Lion About to Roar Book 4

by Ben English

  Somehow he was back to thinking about guns again.

  Raines was safe, that was the most important thing. Securely squirreled away in the lodge, rewriting the trigger code. That he could do so from memory was impressive in and of itself; that Raines could reconstruct such a complex script while under pressure of time was superhuman.

  Without the simple program, they wouldn’t be able to turn the signal off, or send additional instructions. It was more than a trigger.

  Trigger. He sighed mentally. Back to guns again.

  They reached another locked door. Marduk typed in the long code, carefully watched by Whitaker, and the door slid into the wall. They proceeded through, leaving it open behind them.

  It was the third such door they’d traversed, and the third time Marduk had entered a different code. It was also the third time he’d used a door panel to send an instant message to the security center.

  The universe was still aligned in their behalf, it seemed. Whitaker had been so anxious to get to the generators that he ignored the rest of the lodge. Raines remained sequestered behind the closed doors of his office, and the outer building was big enough to feel empty.

  Whitaker’s single-minded insistence to get to the end of the hallway also worked against him—there was an electric transport, about the size of a golf cart, parked in a charging nook beside the elevator. He hadn’t even noticed it. All the time they spent strolling down the long hall gave more opportunity for Marduk’s men to prepare at the far end.

  Marduk wondered if he should send a message to Raines as well, but decided against it. Best if he left the master of the house alone to complete the program. When Raines finished, he would seek out Marduk anyway, to review the code. Would probably use the same messaging system to do so.

  Marduk was glad for the instant messaging system. Pretty much zero cost, zero maintenance, and it was the only form of communication that worked over the local network while the generators were running at full power. Good thing he’d insisted on it.

  They paused at the final door. Marduk tapped in the code. He hoped the FBI man lived long enough to answer a few questions. For instance, he had always wondered if it were possible to scale the outside of the mountain between the lodge and the lowlands. That must have been interesting.

  But the idiots on the other side of the door weren’t being quiet enough. A voice echoed through the doorway, jovial, amiable.

  Ian hesitated. “Ollie?”

  Jack Flynn stood in the middle of the next room, just in the act of handing a pair of handguns over to one of the junior security guards. At least half a dozen guards stood loosely around him, armed but hesitant. Most obviously not shooting anyone.

  They’d captured Flynn, at least. “Finally. Flynn, I was beginning to think you’d swum off the island.”

  Jack ignored him. “Hey, buddy,” he said to Whitaker. He took a few steps toward the other man.

  One of the guards came to his senses sufficiently to drive a rifle butt into his lower back. Jack dropped to his knees with a gasp. Whitaker gave up his gun to help his friend stand.

  “Give me a weapon,” Marduk said to the two security men by the side of the door. Both shrugged—what? Neither one had a gun? Both had security zip ties on their belts, so Marduk gestured for them to bind the two. They couldn’t think of that themselves?

  So tiresome being the only one in the room who knew what the hell he was doing.

  Jack had gotten enough of his wind back to speak. “Sorry, they got the drop on me,” he said to Whitaker. For his part, Whitaker looked embarrassed, holding his fists out for the zip tie.

  The security squad leader stepped forward. “Not that easy,” he said. “Cross your arms first.” He bound their wrists himself.

  “Nice handcuffs,” said Jack. “Look strong.”

  Only when the plastic straps were digging deep furrows in either man’s forearms did the guard look for orders.

  “We’ll hold them nearby,” Marduk decided. “Mr. Raines will be here soon. Put them in the violent patient room, and have all your men watch them, from a distance. Keep your weapon safeties off.”

  But Jack was already strolling toward the steel doors of the generator room. Relaxed as can be. “What’s over here?” he asked no one in particular.

  Marduk felt his face redden. Before he could think of an order, the armed guards—Whitaker included—had reformed around Flynn.

  He opened his mouth to speak, and barely heard the whisper of fabric as Mercedes rounded the corner. She was running, moving at close to a full sprint, and he flinched back—but she darted past him and entered the access tunnel, the old lava tube leading up to the lodge.

  The two unarmed guards reacted first, diving through the doorway right behind the woman. Marduk yelled for them to stop her, and realized too late that doing so only made him look like an ass.

  Jack Flynn chuckled.

  He looked at Marduk. Finally looked him right in the eye. And was smiling that same self-satisfied—Marduk finished that train of thought by pulling a palm-sized device from his pocket and brandishing it in front of Jack’s face. This would cut through the bravado. He needed a reason to fear, the fool. The injector held five doses of the microcapsules. In a few moments, Jack would be a different man.

  “You think you’re different from everyone else?” Marduk demanded. His voice sounded shrill in his ears.

  “George, when you think back on this moment, I want you to remember just one thing.” Jack glanced at Whitaker.

  They spoke together. “We mean no harm to your planet.”

  The Verge

  From his vantage point near the tire treads, Alonzo could see the whole field of operations. A large stand of reeds broke up his profile, and when he stood he could see the ridgeline (where a large group of Colombian mercenaries still hunted him and Allison) and the slopes and meadows leading down to the compound. An old, Quonset-style storage barn with galvanized steel walls and roof stood a few hundred yards off; anyone not slithering through the grass on their stomach would have to ambush him from there.

  Allison was somewhere in the dark green mass of a hillock, probably already looking through her long scope at the guards below. The steel barn and the green clump formed an isosceles triangle before Alonzo, the apex pointing right through the open gate in the compound wall toward the large, modern greenhouse where the hostages were.

  The Tanners were already in there somewhere lying low and scoping out the building, having gone over the wall some time earlier while Alonzo and Allison were being plinked at by hillbilly Colombians and a mobile mortar unit.

  His earpiece clicked. It was Steve.

  “We’ve totally lost contact with Ollie and Chico. Their signals are just gone.”

  Alonzo shook his head. Sounded like a repeat performance of what happened in the Illuminatus Tower. “Bet you it’s interference. Do you have any instruments that can read the energy output from the transmitter on the mountain? “

  “Look for yourself.”

  Alonzo didn’t need the binoculars to see the disk looming above them all. Even in the bright tropical morning it gleamed brighter than—no, it was definitely glowing. Casting its own radiance.

  “That can’t be good for us,” he said. “Have you figured out the mortar’s fire control system yet?”

  Steve was eating something on the other end. “That’s a hard one. It’s military grade software, which is the good news. The problem is, the code is in different pieces all over their network, I can’t gain full control of any part of it.”

  “So minus the geek speak—”

  “We can aim it, but we can’t fire it. And there’s no way to tell when it’s going to fire, either.”

  They couldn’t hijack it for use against the enemy troops. Alonzo considered the mountaintop again. Maybe there was some hope, after all. “Can you target the transmitter?”

  “Nope. That’s a failsafe built in to the system. The computer can’t target any of the man-ma
de structures on the island. That takes a human operator.”

  Somebody like that silver-haired sonofa— Alonzo had an idea. “Does that include the lighthouse?”

  He waited while Steve checked the database, or did whatever it was he did. Cast the bones, consulted tea leaves, read Pop-Tart wrappers.

  Alonzo panned his binoculars slowly over the area around the metal barn. Looked like movement over there. Might just be the breeze. He mentally bookmarked that area, and turned to scan the grass and trees behind the Major’s position.

  “Hot damn,” said Steve. “Looks like the lighthouse hill is safe.” He laughed with relief.

  “Yes, congratulations. Glad you’re safe. Now: what can we do with the mortar? There’s no use in directing it against groups of the enemy. They’re all moving around too fast if we have to feed in a single set of coordinates and wait for the damn thing to fire.”

  “And we’ll have one shot, maybe two before they catch on to us,” added Steve. “But I can do more than just set it to aim at a set of coordinates. If I have a powerful enough transmitter signal, I can set it to fire on that signal. Doesn’t matter if the signal is moving or not.”

  Alonzo used the field glasses again on the area around the barn. “Let me think about that a minute. Radio silence until I break it.”

  The mortar was a problem he just didn’t have a solution for. If Jack were with him or at least available on the radio, they could figure it out between the two of them.

  He imagined Jack’s voice, and that didn’t work, so he tried Victoria’s.

  Stick with what you know, Alonzo.

  The heaviest artillery the team carried was the grenade launcher on his M4, and he was down to the last shell. Alonzo looked at the tread marks in the grass and tried to picture the mortar’s transport system. It would be an armored, wheeled vehicle, he decided. Six oversized tires, so taking one of them out might slow it, but wouldn’t stop it. Where was the fuel tank on such a vehicle?

  It would have high clearance, in order to deal with the terrain. He pictured himself rolling underneath it as it prepared to fire. Mobile mortars could fire within 30 seconds of stopping. He’d have that much time to figure out where the gas tank was, then snug the barrel of his grenade launcher up against the armor-class steel of the tank.

  And commit suicide.

  Maybe Steve would have another idea. He fished his phone out of his pocket and stared at it a full ten seconds before what he realized what he was looking at. A phone. A transmitter.

  Maybe suicide was the answer after all. “Hey Steve, listen to this idea.”

  He froze. Definitely movement on the other side of the barn. Another gaggle of Colombians, creeping through the tall grass toward the Major. They were using the barn as cover, closing the distance between themselves and the hillock. Alonzo’s position gave him the angle required to see their approach. Whoever was feeding these guys tactics didn’t count on Alonzo and the Major splitting up.

  If the Bad Guys could use the barn to hide their approach, so could he. Alonzo crouched and ran as fast as he could toward a point between the Major and the steel building, then straightened and ran straight for it, cursing the bright sky. He’d have to hurry if he was to reach the building before the enemy.

  Something in the long grass that had no business being there reached up and tripped him. Alonzo swore aloud, losing his grip on the M4 and falling flat on his face.

  It was the remains of a low wire fence, corroded and fallen. The green fingers of the jungle wove through the wires, but it was a fence nonetheless, and in three sections. The space he’d just run through was flat—unnaturally so, as if it had been graded and sculpted into an even plain. But who in their right mind needed a short-run, curved fence out here?

  He found his rifle and dashed for the barn. Behind him came a distinctive cracking sound, the tiny sonic boom made when a bullet exits a barrel. Allison had begun picking off targets below; her concentration would be completely given to whatever she could find in her rifle scope. The rest of the world was her blind spot. Alonzo would have to defend her position by himself.

  Vertical Sprint

  Mercedes felt the guards lunge for her the instant she passed Marduk, but threw herself into the dim tunnel regardless. Momentum lent her a head start, and by the time she hit ground in the paved lava tube she was two steps ahead at a full run. More than one man followed, grunting with the effort of closing the gap.

  A few more steps and she found her rhythm, running for speed rather than staying power. She leaned forward, elbows in tight, working the full length of her stride. The tunnel was a long, straight stretch, slightly inclined. It stank of concrete long underground.

  When they didn’t bring her down after the first fifty steps, she began to plan her life past the next ten steps, then the next twenty. She actually started to wonder what would happen next, and was tempted to grin at the absurd realization she wasn’t going to miss out on the day’s morning run after all.

  An explosion of light and sound engulfed her from behind like a thunderclap, and for just a moment she saw her pursuers’ black outlines cast on the ground before her. Their shadows were the same size. Two men, barely over her shoulder.

  One of them cursed into her ear, and she poured on the speed, certain that she’d be brought down, one of the pounding figures leaping on her from behind, driving her flat against the rough cement.

  The lights flickered and the world went black. Mercedes gulped and swallowed a mouthful of air. Impossible to run this fast in absolute darkness—but she did anyway. There was a long, straight path before her; she could see it in her mind’s eye. Nothing about the tunnel could change, only she could. Keep to the path, she told herself.

  Banks of emergency lights buzzed and clicked on, one by one, gradually illuminating the hall in a muddy ochre glow.

  The sounds of feet and labored breathing jostled each other, reverberating without sense and meaning in the gray tunnel. She couldn’t tell for sure if the men were immediately behind her, or had fallen back. Maybe they could radio ahead to another guard station. If that was the case, she might as well stop now.

  Mercedes ran on.

  Every few meters she passed under an amber light, and she watched her shadow with great interest, expecting to see a second shadow immediately follow hers. Pool of light, no extra shadow. Pool of light, only her. Pool of light—and she ducked and jinked to the side as a black figure hurled at her from behind. He hit the ground with a whoosh of breath, and Mercedes saw he’d shucked off his body armor and helmet before starting pursuit.

  That’s why the other fellow was so noisy. He was carrying extra weight. Made her glad she’d left the ammo belt, combat baton, and all her other equipment behind.

  Coming up on a decision point. The tunnel terminated in a flight of steel stairs and an elevator. The elevator was a blank steel face, inscrutable, and she almost completely ignored it and went for the stairs, but chanced a look back the way she’d run.

  The room with Jack and Marduk and Ian might as well be on a distant planet. If any light came through that far doorway, it was much too distant to reach her.

  The man who tried to bring her down with a flying tackle was back up and running, though not as fast. Blood streamed from cuts on his forehead. The other guard had fallen behind and was struggling out of a heavy layer of body armor.

  Mercedes started to veer toward the stairs, then skidded to a stop in front of the elevator. What the hell, she thought, and slapped the elevator call button.

  Nothing. She spun on the ball of her foot to take the stairs.

  Ping. The door opened.

  *

  Jack was all for remaining upright and alive, pink and vertical, for as long as he possibly could, but the goal of the next few seconds was distraction. Tweak Marduk’s attention long enough, get the guards to follow him, and give Ian some time to figure out the device he’d slipped the FBI man when he’d helped Jack up from the floor.

  Hi
s back hurt from the rifle strike, but the guard had missed his kidney, at least. He’d prepared for it, but it still hurt like hell.

  The ziptie handcuffs weren’t much better. Made from strips of a thick polycarbonate resin, they pinched enough to draw blood. Probably rated for 150 pounds; most of them were. When the leader of the security team zipped him in, Jack followed instructions, crossing his wrists—but turning them so that the widest sections of his bones were aligned with one another. As the man yanked the ziptie tight, Jack slid his upper wrist toward his elbow a few inches. The plastic band bit hard into his skin, but that was good; he even pulled his wrists apart so the band cut deeper than the restraints normally would have. He hoped he was giving them a good show.

  Mercedes burst through the room and nearly knocked Marduk down. She looked highly pissed, and Jack felt sure that she’d make it out alive.

  That thought buoyed him suddenly, and he laughed aloud. Marduk reacted predictably, and Jack took a deep breath as the other man shouted in his face. A guard stood immediately behind him, as big or bigger than himself. He noted the man kept his hands free.

  The other guards shuffled position slightly, a few moving closer, one moving back. The kid holding his and Ian’s guns—Bolotski—remained stationary. Still wore a look of confusion.

  Ian sighed. Jack hoped that meant he was ready.

  Everyone stood as close to the right position as they were likely to get. Jack bounced lightly on his feet and held his bound hands up, chest level. Finally looked Marduk hard in the eye. “I want you to remember just one thing.”

  Ian took his cue. “We mean no harm to your planet,” they said, simultaneously.

  Ian opened his fists, and tossed the flash-bang into the air over their heads. Jack ducked straight down as the guard behind him roared and clapped his hands around Jack’s throat, falling forward over him. Jack had enough time to wonder if the concussive force in the enclosed space would kill them—