“Our guardian angels,” said Hassan. He risked a glance at Alexis.
“Sure,” said Alexis. “But a guardian angel that won’t be able to do a damned thing if you get caught.”
“Not planning on getting caught,” said Jonah.
“Name one thing you’ve done that ever went according to plan,” said Hassan.
Ignoring Hassan’s crack, Jonah stepped onto the ladder to begin the climb towards the lockout chamber in the conning tower. “Onwards and upwards,” he said. “Alexis, you’re in command until I’m back.”
“Holding station thirty feet below surface,” said Vitaly. “You clear to exit.”
Hassan followed behind Jonah, glancing up as he put a hand on a rung of the ladder. He grimaced and looked away.
Jonah opened the door to the lockout chamber and climbed into the closet-sized space. Hassan squeezed himself in next to the American and sealed the hatch behind him. Alexis followed up the ladder, finding her station at the controls, watching them through a narrow portal.
“This is going to be a cinch,” said Jonah. “We flood the lockout chamber, open the exterior door, and swim out. There’s a lot of air in the waterproof bag, it’s going to rocket us straight to the surface. Just hold on.”
“I’ll have you know I nearly died the last time I attempted this,” said Hassan.
“Just remember to slowly exhale as you ascend.”
Hassan combed through his brain for a moment to come up with an answer. “The air in our lungs will be expanding as we rise to the surface. Unless we release that pressure, we risk pulmonary embolism and death.”
“Bingo,” said Jonah. “Let’s not pop a lung if we don’t have to.”
Outside the chamber, Alexis shot a twitchy thumbs-up through the portal window, her reservations painted across her face.
“I suppose we should just get this over with,” said Hassan.
“Unless you want to stick around and snap each other with gym towels.”
Ignoring Jonah, Hassan gave the thumbs-up to Alexis. Air hissed and cold seawater rushed up from vents in the deck, flooding the chamber. Jonah and the doctor floated up to the top of the chamber and filled their lungs with one final breath.
Jonah ducked underneath the surface and released the outer hatch door. Both he and Hassan took hold of the waterproof bag and pushed themselves out of the chamber. The massive jetway floated above them, shadowing the submarine from the moonlight of the predawn hour. Jonah and Hassan rose through the thirty feet of water separating themselves from the surface, drawn upward by the buoyant bag, each exhaling a tiny trail of silver bubbles.
The bag broke the surface at the foot of a massive concrete pillar next to the floating aircraft runway. Jonah hefted the bag over his shoulder and dragged himself up a ladder onto the runway, Hassan close behind. The two dressed themselves in fatigues and pulled ballcaps low over their eyes and wet hair. Jonah drew two pistols from the bag—his pearl-handled .45 and Hassan’s Moroccan military-issue 9mm—checked them and handed the smaller to the doctor. They stood up and straightened their disguises. Jonah nodded, stuck a small radio into his ear and kicked the empty waterproof bag off the side of the runway and into the ocean. It quietly burbled and slipped beneath the surface with a trail of bubbles.
The two men casually walked towards a massive reinforced hangar door built into one the circular pylon holding the superstructure aloft. Jonah scanned the stolen security badge against a reader. The hangar doors slid open, revealing an immaculately clean white vault filled with rows of warm, humming computer servers.
“Security pass worked,” whispered Jonah, holding a finger to his earpiece. “Entering the vault.”
“Good,” crackled Alexis’s voice from the other end of the connection. “Vitaly has control of the hacked security feed. I’m watching your every move, anybody else is going to see a pre-recorded loop. Find the command and control terminal at the far end of the room.”
Jonah led the way to a computer console at the opposite side of the circular room, the doctor following closely behind. He sat down at the console and booted up the computer while Hassan stood guard, pistol in hand.
“We’re there,” said Jonah. “What now?”
“Take the memory drive out and plug it into the command terminal,” ordered Alexis. “Vitaly says it will mimic a scheduled software update and bypass the lockout protocols. When the island experiences the power-loss event, the updated programming will have Anconia’s servers dump to the whistleblower drop-box servers instead of the corporate remote site.”
Jonah drew a solid-state memory drive out of his pocket and plugged it into the terminal. The screen flashed, loading Vitaly’s hacked software update. Completing the process, the terminal automatically shut down and restarted with the new programming.
“Done,” said Jonah.
“Now we crash the power management server,” said Alexis. “Remember to get out before the barn doors fly off.”
“Easy enough,” said Jonah, getting up from his chair. “Hell, we could be in Oman by breakfast, catch the fallout on CNN from a swanky hotel room.”
“Don’t get cocky,” said Alexis. “But I’m definitely up for room service—if you’re buying. From a separate room. In a different hotel.”
“Which server are we looking for?” asked Jonah.
“I’m watching you over the cameras,” said Alexis. “I want you to go one row to your left—strike that, your right. Then down three servers. Yes, that’s the one.”
Jonah and Hassan looked at the blinking black server, then at each other. It seemed indistinguishable from every other identical unit.
“Are you certain?” said Hassan into the radio. “They may not have noticed the software update, but they will definitely notice this.”
“Plug in the second memory drive I gave you,” said Alexis over the radio.
Hassan and Jonah looked over the server, pushing and prodding at it.
“I don’t see a place to plug this in,” said Jonah.
“An off-switch would probably work just as well,” said Alexis. “Keep looking. Hold on—I’m getting activity. I see security personnel and mercenaries mobilizing. It’s disorganized, but something is definitely happening. They may be on to you.”
“How much time do we have?” demanded Hassan.
“I don’t know,” said Alexis. “Just hurry.”
The doctor frantically circled the matte-black server, feeling over the sides, the top, circling it trying to find a switch or a port, anything that would allow him access into the computer itself.
Hassan looked up, just in time to see Jonah run towards him with a fire axe raised high over his head. The doctor tripped over his own feet and fell back as Jonah yelled a war cry, swung the axe and buried the metal head into the server. Yanking the blade out of the blinking machine, Jonah swung again into the now-smoking face of the computer, smashing glass and sending plastic and metal shavings scattering across the clean white floor.
The doctor hopped to his feet, yanked a fire extinguisher off the wall and joined Jonah, bashing the computer server over and over again as the metal casing crumpled underneath the assault.
“Seriously?” shouted Alexis over the radio. “This is the solution? You guys are a couple of Neanderthals.”
“Did she … say something?” said Hassan, short of breath.
“She called us cave men.”
“I’ll have … you both … know,” wheezed Hassan between blows with the butt of the fire extinguisher. “I’m a … highly skilled … surgeon!”
The server made one last long, sorrowful grinding sound and expired. The floodlights around the clean room flickered and died. Dull, lifeless emergency lighting faded to life. The axe and fire extinguisher clattered as Jonah and Hassan dropped their blunt instruments onto the dark floor. The two men ran over to the main terminal computer just in time to see the download bar budge, the first few percentage points of progress as the massive data stream shot up int
o the dedicated satellite overhead. Vitaly’s software update was working—Anconia Island’s computer servers began to spill their secrets to activist organizations across the world.
“Shit, just lost video feed,” said Alexis over the radio. “Probably due to the power interruption. Nothing more you guys can do. Get out of there!”
Jonah and Hassan drew their pistols and sprinted towards the hangar door. As they drew close, the door opened on its own, the first rays of the dawn spilling through. Dark shapes moved on the other side—mercenaries. A hulking man stepped out from behind the door with an automatic rifle in hand. The massive figure fired, sending bullets ricocheting into the floor, inches from Jonah’s feet, driving him back into the room.
“Go to the backup escape. The ventilation shaft,” shouted Alexis through the radio. “Far side of the room! Now!”
Jonah fired his pearl-handled pistol twice over his shoulder as he and the doctor retreated, neither shot striking true. Behind them, Colonel Westmoreland’s bulky form stepped into the emergency interior lighting, radiant in his sadistic glory. He shot just below Jonah and Hassan’s ankles, ricocheting bullets off the deck and pushing the retreating intruders further into the server farm.
Jonah caught Hassan by the collar, dragging him behind a server, forcing the pair to bob and weave through the forest of computers as the colonel and his heavilyarmed mercenaries stacked up at the hangar-door entrance, ready to move in.
“Go to the main terminal!” hissed Jonah. “Run!”
Hassan followed Jonah as both men sprinted the last length of the room, throwing themselves to the ground and sliding to a stop underneath the desk. Jonah risked a quick glance at the progress bar. The download had been interrupted less than ten percent into the process. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
Hassan ripped the vent-cover off the wall to reveal an opening that wouldn’t fit a five year old.
“Now this is a proper cock-up,” said the doctor.
“We’re not getting out this way,” Jonah said into the radio. “Alexis—you know what to do.”
Alexis started to speak, but Jonah ripped out his earphone and stomped it to bits before she had a chance to say anything.
“The vent looked big enough according to the building plans,” said Hassan.
“But it’s not,” said Jonah. “We’d probably just get shot in the ass while crawling away anyway.”
“This is bad.”
“It gets worse,” agreed Jonah. “They’ve got us cornered and they know it. We should be dead already—they’re trying to take us alive.”
Hassan grimaced and pointed to his gun and then to Jonah. “We could … you know … each other …” said the doctor.
“Are you shitting me?” said Jonah. “No, I’m not going to let you shoot me. Let’s play this out. Jesus, man.”
Footsteps approached, combat boots clicking on the white plastic floor.
“Jonah fucking Blackwell, I presume,” boomed Colonel Westmoreland’s voice. “No doubt joined by your tagalong doctor. You’re a couple of tenacious bastards, I’ll give you that. What was that old ruse you pulled with the submarine? The junk shot?”
“Thought you’d want your men back,” shouted Jonah at the unseen mercenary as he played for time. “Sorry they were in so many little pieces.”
Colonel Westmoreland laughed. “That’s the problem with using a seventy-year-old trick,” he boomed. “Body parts and a fake oil slick. I knew I’d been had when I inspected a severed arm you sent floating to the surface. But by then it was too late. I’ve only seen one tattoo that reads ‘Rats get fat while bastards die’. Nice coloration, really great fucking artwork with the death’s head. Of course, I liked it a lot better when it was attached to a friend of mine. Begs the question—are you a rat or a bastard? Because right now, you’re hiding like a fucking rat.”
Jonah shook his head and didn’t answer. In the cover of darkness under the desk, his body pressed up to Hassan, his pistol covered the room, searching for a target. The colonel’s voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
“I want to make sure your situation is perfectly fucking clear,” continued the colonel. “First—whatever you were trying to accomplish, my nerds have already stopped it. Second—I can shoot the left nut off a cat’s ballsack at a hundred yards. That means I had to go far out of my fucking way to avoid shooting you as you ran off like a couple of little fucking schoolgirls.”
“Much obliged,” shouted Jonah back to him.
“So here’s the deal,” said the colonel. “If I give the order, my men are going to come in shooting and put you both the fuck down. It will be for keeps this time, that much I promise. Or—toss the peashooters and we’ll settle this like fucking men. Fight it out hand-to-hand. In fact, I’m feeling so generous this fine morning, I’ll let you both take me on. If you tap out, I’m throwing you in zip-cuffs and hauling you upstairs to meet the boss. And let me tell you—he’s pissed. But if I tap out … you’re free to leave.”
“Utter nonsense!” exclaimed Hassan. “What will Charles Bettencourt have to say about that?”
“This is between us,” said the colonel. “He can blow it right out his fancy ass. This is the fairest deal you’ll ever get.”
“The two of us against him,” Hassan whispered. “How hard could it be?”
“Hard,” answered Jonah, taking Hassan’s handgun from him. “Assuming the deal is legit to begin with. But I don’t see another fucking option at this point. You ever do any fighting?”
“Not since primary school,” admitted Hassan.
“This won’t be a schoolyard throw-down,” said Jonah. “Aim for soft points. Don’t bother playing fair. And for Christ’s sake, keep your thumbs on the outside of your fists.”
Jonah took his pearl-handled 1911 and Hassan’s military pistol and threw them across the floor, sliding them to the other side of the long white room. Colonel Westmoreland emerged from the shadows, stepping on the 1911 to stop it. The colonel picked the weapon up and inspected it, nodding in approval before handing it to an associate along with his personal assault rifle and customized H&K pistol. With a sinister grin, he stepped forward, massive in his body armor, arms wide open and inviting Jonah and Hassan to attack. The other mercenaries backed out of the server room, holding Jonah and the doctor in their iron sights until the hangar doors slid shut, locking the three men in the impromptu gladiatorial arena.
“End it fast,” whispered Jonah. “Go for the legs. I go left, you go right. Take him off his feet. I’ll hold him, you kick his face in.”
Jonah and Hassan crossed each other, picking up speed as they ran to intercept. Their adversary hunched down and charged like a linebacker. Colonel Westmoreland grunted in surprise as both legs were knocked out from underneath him. He slammed against the ground chest first, arms splaying. Before he could flip himself over, Jonah jumped on his back and wound an arm around his neck with a vicious chokehold.
But before the doctor could strike, Colonel Westmoreland jumped to his feet, Jonah hanging onto his back like a rodeo cowboy. Hassan stood in stunned silence, the mercenary towering over him.
Westmoreland raised his right leg and kicked Hassan square in the solar plexus, sending him flying back into a server, knocking both over with the brutal, crashing impact and the tinkle of broken glass. Reaching behind his head, he smashed Jonah in the face with a fist and threw him to the ground with both hands. Jonah rolled away just as the man stomped the ground where his face had just been.
Hassan drew himself to his feet, moaning and clutching his chest. Grimacing, he adopted a fighting stance, unwilling to let the pain slow him down.
“Motherfucker, you are fast for a drunk,” said Jonah, whipping a fleck of blood off his lower lip.
“And you’ve got a smart fucking mouth for a dead man,” came the retort. “And you, Doc Haji—what are you so pissed about?”
“You killed my mother and my cousin,” said Hassan, jutting his chin out in anger. �
��And I promise you this—you’re not leaving this room alive.”
On their feet, Hassan and Jonah circled Westmoreland like a pair of hyenas, flanking the colonel on either side. Jonah snapped a nod to Hassan and both men prepared to charge.
“You two are off to a shitty start,” barked Westmoreland, cracking his neck and his knuckles. “I’ve had better fights from women.”
The colonel absorbed the full force of the doctor’s flying tackle as he simultaneously caught Jonah by the throat. Using Jonah like a battering ram, the colonel pinned Hassan against a server, repeatedly punching Jonah in the face with a free hand, sending the back of Jonah’s head smashing into Hassan’s unprotected face.
Jonah managed to wiggle free and jumped on Colonel Westmoreland’s back a second time. The mercenary grabbed Jonah’s wrist, wrenching it as he flipped Jonah over his shoulder and to the ground. Before Jonah could react, the mercenary thrust a shinbone into his face.
Jonah stumbled to his feet, allowing one glance over to Hassan’s unconscious, crumpled form.
Shit, thought Jonah. The doctor wouldn’t be much help going forward. Without a third man in the fight, it would turn into a straight-up boxing match.
“Well, now I’m fucking bored,” said the colonel.
Face and hands a mess of cuts and blood, the mercenary swung at Jonah, easily breaking through the block and catching him on the chin. Jonah felt the fight leave him as he hit the blood-splattered floor, stars dancing in his blurry vision. Westmoreland violently kicked him in the side of the head, the final coup de grâce knocking Jonah into the sweet release of unconsciousness. Somewhere deep in his battered mind, Jonah felt a small spark of happiness. He hadn’t won the fight—but stalling Charles Bettencourt was the next best thing.
Jonah stirred to life just as the cloudy glass panels to the penthouse elevator faded to clear. The elevator soared like a gondola over Anconia Island, rising high above the oceanic city. Jonah pushed himself to his knees, blood draining from his mouth. Beside him, Hassan had managed to push his battered body against the corner of the elevator, staring at him with empty eyes. Jonah looked back at him with a glance that said more than a thousand empty words. Their victorious captor stood above them, bulky arms crossed, tapping a steel-toed combat boot in impatience.
The Wrecking Crew Page 30