Jack Be Nimble: A Lion About to Roar Book 4

by Ben English

  With the door open, she could hear the tone again, clearly. It was louder.

  Mercedes placed the mop handle against the floor and carefully lined up the mop head with the six strands of wire above the circuit panel. Making sure she only touched the rubber mop handle, she touched the metal head to the wires, very gently.

  The instant everything touched, a fountain of sparks blew down the mop and gushed out from behind the six tissue-wrapped circuit breakers. The mop immediately burst into flame, followed by the rolls of paper (they proved unsurprisingly flame retardant), and the damage was done. The toilet snake held the circuit breakers open, and Mercedes had to clap her hands over her ears as the electrical system stepped up to meet the unexpected high demand. The surging mass of sparks crested and abruptly receded. With a sharp buzz and a click, the panel went dead.

  As did the lights overhead and the green EXIT sign over the door. Klaxons sounded and flashing red strobes burst out of the darkness immediately around the set of electrical panels in the middle of the room.

  A light blue haze played over everything at the corners of her vision, and Mercedes ran for the door.

  Grandfather’s Cello

  The crafting of this particular day was so dazzling it took the breath away. Light breeze off the water, the sun playing hide-and-seek behind perfect clouds, and a gorgeous, athletic woman at arm’s length. Alonzo suspected he had every reason to thank some Grand Designer for these blessings, had the air immediately around them been made of something other than pure fire, tumult, and noise.

  The high-order detonation of the mortar created enough of a pressure wave to liquefy all the bits of Alonzo’s body he formerly considered solid, if he had been standing up. Thankfully he was already face down in the loam and mud when the last shell tumbled straight back out of the sky. It exploded in the crater where the mortar transport had rested before being rudely kicked into a higher energy quantum and scattered all over the damn place.

  The mortar was indeed dead, and it took Alonzo a few minutes to register that fact, or even remember who he was. War games couldn’t be good for a person. His bones felt all compressed and slippery, like something you’d find priced for quick sale in the jelly and preserves aisle of a supermarket.

  As soon as they could stand, he and Allison took stock. The incipient brushfire which only moments earlier threatened to overtake them had been blown out by the mortar shells. Various bits of the mortar transport were still burning, and Alonzo marveled that the ammunition magazine hadn’t been damaged enough to ignite. He didn’t know how many unfired mortar shells remained in the superheated wreckage, and definitely didn’t want to get close enough to count them.

  Men’s voices, shouting, sounded from a world away. A thick, greasy-gray haze hung in the air, blotting much of the sun and reducing their view. They could be standing a hundred yards from a full platoon and not see it.

  The outline of the ancient baseball diamond was much more obvious, now that the grass stood in ratty clumps.

  Allison dumped the last of her water into a pair of handkerchiefs and passed him one. She wiped her face and then breathed through it. Belatedly Alonzo coughed, then began to choke.

  Allison pitched her voice low. “What’s next? The hostages?”

  The hostages. Right: support to the Tanners and the civilians as they extracted to Lighthouse Hill. According to the plan, the brothers would use a narrow pocket-canyon to approach the hill and stay out of sight. Two people in the right place in that canyon could hold it against the likes of the Colombians. Made as fine a place as any for a last stand.

  Allison checked the load in her magazine and sat back a measure, clearly exhausted. “What would it take for you to carry me up the hill?” she asked with a grin. She sat where she could survey the area behind Alonzo and he could do the same for her. Overlapping cover.

  He checked his weapon. “Depends. I charge by the pound. And luggage is extra.” She didn’t reply. Something he couldn’t see held Allison’s attention.

  Leaning forward, elbows and rifle against her knees, Allison cocked her head to one side and made a curious face. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  He did not. Probably her imagination. Their eardrums had taken a beating today (along with every other part of them, come to think of it) and it was no surprise if both of them heard phantom tones. No, there was nothing to hear but the distant sounds of men in pain.

  Above, on the mountain, the transmitter pulsed, sending spears of light through the dust and smoke. Allison reacted. Can a person listen to light as if it were sound, Alonzo wondered.

  “Surely you can hear that,” she said.

  “What’s it sound like?”

  She considered. “A deep musical note. Rather like my grandfather’s cello.”

  Her eyes were bright with memory. And maybe more. “Allison, do you feel alright?”

  “I don’t feel any different. I feel really good, actually.”

  “You look good,” he said, perhaps a shade too quickly. “Rested, I mean. Not like you’ve been running around all morning, playing in the mud.”

  Her smile lingered a bit longer than he expected. “Tell you one thing, I’d be right as rain if we come across a spot of proper coffee.” She laughed. “Now, those would be some long odds.”

  Before he could stop himself, Alonzo handed over his last coffee-flavored cough drop. Surprised, Allison took it, and tapped him lightly on the knee.

  She really likes me, he realized.

  Adrenaline had a funny effect on people. Odds were, as soon as they’d quit the island and made this day into a mutual history, neither the American or the British woman would experience the same frisson. Alonzo had played through the story of such sizzling sparks frequently enough to know—

  Her posture changed, and now she really was hearing something. Allison cupped her hand over her ear, and nodded. “That’s well and good, Groucho. Here he is.” She handed her earbud to Alonzo.

  Steve was excited. “I need some help up here. Where are you?”

  “Second base with the Major.”

  “What? You’ve got time for that? There are bad guys moving all around down below.”

  “Are the Claymores rigged?”

  There was a long pause. Steve was probably nodding. “Oh. Yes. Should I—”

  “Not yet. The hostages should be coming up the ravine any minute now. We’ll get into position to provide cover, but they should be okay as long as the opposition stays out of the ravine.”

  “Have you seen Jack or anyone else?”

  “You see all this light up on the hill? He’s got to be raising hell somewhere in the tunnel complex. You still have access to the surveillance cameras and the security system?”

  “I can get in again.”

  “Do it. See if you can lend Jack a hand.”

  Allison made a chopping motion with one hand.

  Alonzo dropped the phone into her hand, spun, and brought up his weapon.

  The Center Cannot Hold

  Success! Failure at last! After all their effort, something in the console broke—though Jack couldn’t be sure what, exactly. An entire bank of instruments suddenly went from green to red, and he couldn’t tell why. All the console markings were number-coded. Might very well have taken down the system governing the satellite TV.

  Unsteady, jumbled blue light dancing over everything made him feel like he was inside a pool. Or beneath the surface of another world.

  The sensation didn’t leave off with the illumination. A hungry crackle, almost a growl, slowly rose from each of the lighted pillars, overlaying everything, pitched so low Jack couldn’t decide if it was real or a result of his imagination.

  Ian grumbled. “Should have studied electrical engineering. At least one semester.”

  The operating manuals provided no clue as to how to shut off the generator. They’d partly disassembled two of the instrument columns to no avail, and neither one wanted to climb back down to the second level, cons
idering the amount of live wires and exposed cables thrashing about down there.

  This was taking too long. They’d spent minutes in the generator room, minutes too long. Ian had already begun whaling about with a hammer, and Jack just about decided to try the virtues of bolt cutters when the steel doors burst open. Raines and Miklos came through fast, shooting.

  Bullets chewed through the instrument panels and tore across the metal and ceramic surfaces. Jack dove for cover amidst a flurry of loose pages; color technical specifications and data tables sailed about him.

  He heard Ian grunt and curse.

  “You hit?”

  No answer. Jack reached his gun up and over, firing blindly toward the gangway, hoping to at least deter the men from advancing further. It was a bad angle, and he doubted any of his shots went in the direction he intended.

  He was adjusting rapidly to the idea of Raines using a weapon. It was a submachine gun, probably an MP9. It had a double banana clip, each side holding forty rounds of 9 millimeter. It was set to full automatic, and Jack hoped the other man didn’t know how to thumb the fire selector to another setting. Not only would this help Raines quickly deplete his ammunition, but the MP9 could be a bear to control if you weren’t accustomed to firing it. At full auto the weapon tended to walk off-target, and even a skilled user had to muscle it back on.

  Blue and white light swirled wildly all around them. Shadows whipped the wall.

  Raines’ voice filled the room, punctuated by the crackling electrical cables on the lower platform. “You deserve another chance, Jack. Everyone deserves another chance.”

  Footsteps sounded on the steel gangway. One set of expensive leather soles, one set of boots.

  Jack used a piece of metal as a mirror, finding a poor reflection of Raines and Miklos not twenty feet away as they stepped onto the platform. Definitely an MP9, complete with a forward grip, so he’d have a nice steady shot. “And here I thought you didn’t know how to use a gun.”

  Jack fired again, blindly, but this time not so far off target. Raines twitched, and fired three quick bursts, taking great wild bites from the edges of Jack’s concealment. So much for getting him to empty his magazine in one long burst.

  “Just trying to follow your example,” Raines said. “Stay alert, keep adapting. You adjust remarkably well.” He sent a single round into the ceramic flooring a few inches from Jack’s thigh. The ceramic clove cleanly; damn. Tungsten core bullets.

  This just gets better and better, he thought.

  “Come out, Flynn,” called Miklos. “Consider the odds you’re playing. We could kill you now. The guards will be here in a few minutes, but we don’t have to wait.”

  “And there’s something I want to show you,” added Raines. “Jack?”

  He kept his mouth shut, forcing his attention outward, bludgeoning his senses. There had to be something here, some advantage to be seized.

  Miklos fired again, a shotgun by any guess. It completely obliterated the upper half of the instrument panel Jack knelt behind. Before the roar died away he kicked over a stack of books and rolled in the opposite direction, dancing quickly sideways on hands and feet.

  Ian lay in a fetal position a few consoles away, nearer to Raines. A bit of blood pooled underneath his body, just above his belt.

  Jack checked the magazine in his pistol. Three bullets left. He drove the magazine home and worked the slide, seating a round in the chamber.

  The Albanian was right. He didn’t have to wait. They were both playing smart tactics against Jack, letting him figure out the game was done rather than coming at him head on, while he still believed there was a chance at victory.

  Raines sounded amused. “This is all monitoring equipment, in any case. You couldn’t have accomplished anything in here.”

  Jack’s eyes tracked his surroundings one last time, left-right. As he scanned over the brilliance of the crystal tube, he was startled to see symmetry in the whirling matter within. It wasn’t exactly a human face, and it was gone faster than he could register exactly what he saw, but he couldn’t shake the impression that there was something pressing against the glass, glaring out for an instant.

  A capacitor inside a nearby control panel burst, scattering sparks and making all kinds of racket. “What was that?” Raines’ voice held the barest note of alarm.

  All three columns of light flared briefly, grew brighter by an order of magnitude, and then returned to their whirling, shifting cadence.

  When he looked back to the left, Ian was slowly sitting up, pinching his waist. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “Passed right through the fat.”

  Behind Ian, a thin spiderweb of cracks extended upwards through the crystal tube. That was the pillar nearest where the Claymore detonated, if memory served.

  The light pulsed again—it could have been imagination, but did the cracks just grow?

  Jack wet his lips. “What do you want me to do?” He tried to sound exhausted. A man at the end of his rope. Didn’t dare put too much fear into his voice. Didn’t want to oversell it.

  “I want you to throw me the clip from your gun,” said Raines, “And then we’ll talk.”

  Jack reversed his grip on the gun, finger on the mag release and far from the trigger. He led with the weapon, pushing himself to his feet, preparing himself as best he could for the shock of being gunshot.

  Raines stood in the center of the cluster of control panels, like a high priest behind a podium. In one hand he held a machine pistol, in the other his computer. Miklos flanked Jack, covering him with the shotgun. Very deliberately, Jack ejected the magazine and made as if to throw it over.

  “Wait,” said Miklos. He shook his head. “You are too clever for this.” To Raines, he said, “He still has a bullet left in the weapon. He’s planning to shoot you while you are trying to catch an empty clip.”

  “It’s an old trick,” Jack agreed. “Without a bullet in the pipe, it’s a five hundred dollar brick.” He handed the weapon to Miklos, and took a few steps closer to Raines. As long as all eyes remained on him, and not Ian.

  “Thank you, Miklos. You’ve admirably served your purpose.” Raines did something to his computer without looking at the screen. His eyes went wide, exultant.

  Jack paid very close attention to the dark hole at the end of the shotgun barrel—but not so close that he missed the odd tone in Raines’ voice when he spoke again.

  “Like I said before, Jack. You deserve a second chance. We all do. You are adapting, minute by minute, in spite of everything you know and your prodigious memory, you still live in the present. I admire that.” He took a step closer.

  “I’m asking you to adapt a bit more.” Raines smiled, as earnest as Jack had ever seen another human being. “It’s a better world today. As soon as I activate the trigger, the work is done and the world sings. You deserve a place in it.”

  Miklos shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

  Raines continued. “Some of them tell me, when the nanodevices activate, that they hear music.”

  “Did the people who lived on Cayo Verad hear music?” asked Jack. “And why London? Why use what you know to eliminate the world’s governments and tip the whole mess into chaos? Your tech can heal.”

  Raines smiled and made a dismissive gesture. “We are doing more than just healing people. I realized early on that when I earned the ability to heal the body, there would be more to do.” Under the heavy light his face took on a blue sheen. “Humanity deserves to have the slate wiped clean. Get rid of everything that stands in the way of the species. Do away with all the meaningless attachments that distract and enslave us.”

  “Things like families and governments.” Jack said.

  “Obsolete,” said Raines. “Your republic has failed. No one knows what it means anymore. And the family? Please. Look at how the world chooses to live. ‘Things fall apart, the center cannot hold.’”

  Miklos perspired heavily. The faintest scent of hot metal touched the air.

  “In a
few weeks,” said Raines, “Once the chaos dies down, my companies will step in and start rebuilding. We have everything we need. The old ways won’t be necessary, once we’ve finished re-educating the human genome.”

  “You’ve lowered your gun,” Jack noted.

  “I don’t need it. Don’t think I ever really needed it at all.” He moved closer. “You know what you need to do, Jack.”

  Raines placed a palm-sized injector on the corner of the podium nearest them. “Adapt. Grow.” He looked at Miklos. “Evolve.”

  The Albanian jerked and burst into flame. At least, his chest did. Screaming, Miklos released his weapon to tear at the front of his vest. A computer, identical to the one in Raines’ hand, burned, sparked, and smoked. The odor of hot metal vanished under a stink of burned flesh.

  Miklos flung it away just as Raines charged into him, shoving the taller man toward the edge of the platform. “No one threatens me,” shouted Raines. “My life in your hands. My life?”

  Miklos fell, and Raines kicked him, smoldering, over the edge.

  He turned back to Jack. “Wasn’t that amazing? I’m adapting, like you. I overclocked his computer remotely, shut off the cooling system, and—well, you saw what happened! I conceived of the whole thing in an instant. Is this what it feels like?” He chuckled.

  Raines had positioned himself near the cracked pillar. Jack wondered if he noticed the damage. The other man seemed to be enraptured, held in some kind of transcendent daze, but fully possessed of his powers of observation.

  Behind Jack, the steel doors opened. “A question,” said Raines, beckoning for those at the entrance to join. “How on earth did you set off all those explosions this morning, as if you were blasting your way through the building section by section to get to the operations center?”

  Jack shrugged. What the hell. “I arrived on the island a great deal earlier than my friends. Spent a few hours walking around your building. Plenty of time to conceal a few explosives and work out how to swap your old computer for the one you have now.”