What he said made sense, she thought. She took comfort from the logic. “So if they find us, they will have even more leverage,” she said.
“Exactly.” He paused before adding, “We cannot let that happen.”
They sat in silence for a while. There was a chill in the air.
“We can’t stay here,” she finally said.
“I know.”
“We can’t go home.”
“No.”
Her frustration got the better of her. She raised her voice. “So what the heck are we going to do?”
Ahmed didn’t answer right away, but she could sense that the wheels of his brain were in full motion. When he finally replied, his first words were slow and calculated, as if he were still formulating the balance of a plan in his mind.
“There was a man in the old city,” he began, “who was a good friend to Signor Battista…”
Mention of the terrorist’s name brought quivers to her skin.
“He was an artist,” he continued, “and a photographer. He created documents for the signor. Passports. Identification. They were friends. He even dined with us on occasion. Once, we visited him in his home on the canal. He will remember me.”
“What use is he to us?”
“Don’t you see? He will provide us with everything we need for our trip.”
“Our trip? Where are we going?”
“To the safe house, of course. To meet up with Jake and the rest of them.”
“What are you talking about? Father is at a safe house? Where?”
The voice that answered came from Alex’s tablet. It was robotic. “Avenue de Miremont.”
Both of them gawked at the device. A Google satellite image of Geneva filled the screen.
Alex smiled.
Chapter 43
Geneva, Switzerland
“I HOPE YOU like it strong,” Tony said, pouring a steaming cup of coffee. “You may wish you made this yourself.”
It was 10:30 a.m. They were in the Geneva safe house. They’d made it off the mountain in less than an hour. A rental car from the village brought them into the city. Timmy drove. The rest of them napped for the two-hour drive.
“Not likely,” Lacey said, reaching for the cup. “Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere near the kitchen.”
“No kidding,” Marshall said from the other side of the room.
“Shut up!” Lacey said. “My vows never said anything about cooking. Besides, I like a man who knows how to take care of a lady.” She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Uh…what else are you serving?”
Tony pulled a pastry out of a bag. “Here, I baked it myself.”
“I’ll bet.”
He placed the glazed croissant on the plate and slid it across the kitchen counter. The two-bedroom apartment wasn’t big, but it had everything they needed—including a hidden closet with weapons, comm units, and reconnaissance gear. The main room included a kitchen, living room, and dining area. The curtains were closed.
“You saved my butt out there,” Tony said.
“Mine, too,” Timmy chimed in. He and Marshall were huddled over a laptop at the dining room table. A city map was spread out beside them.
“Hey, I didn’t have much choice,” Lacey said with a deadpan expression. “We can’t very well have a wedding without a best man.” She took a bite of the pastry.
Tony shook his head. She was somethin’, he thought. Kinda like one of those Russian nesting dolls. Layers beneath layers. “If you ever decide you wanna give up acting and join up with LAPD SWAT, you let me know.”
The comment inspired a smile. She wiped a crumb from her lip and said, “Yeah, and when you decide to give up being a cop, we could always use a good pastry chef on the set.”
“Hey, you two want to get a room, or what?” Marshall said. “While you guys are flirting, we’re starving over here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled. He placed a few assorted pastries on a serving dish. He’d purchased them from a shop across the street. “Comin’ right up, boss.” He was glad for the friendly banter. They needed the stress relief. Because as soon as Marsh and Timmy isolated the location of Victor’s residence, they’d be going in guns blazing.
Chapter 44
Venice, Italy
THEY APPEARED TO be tourists—two teens with backpacks and a boy clicking photographs with his tablet—just like the hundreds of others who crowded the Venice train station. They wore T-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes. Ahmed had a black sweatshirt draped over his shoulders and a baseball cap on his head. Sarafina’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her sweatshirt was tied around her waist.
She lowered her oversize designer sunglasses to get a better view. “That way,” she said, pointing to the train on track number 4. She held Alex’s hand as they maneuvered through the throng of people. He wore a child-size Bavarian fedora adorned with pins from a dozen locales across Europe. He’d been drawn to it like a magnet when they’d met the old man yesterday.
“It was my son’s, may he rest in Paradise,” the man had said, pulling the keepsake from an upper shelf in his living room. “But I think it will suit you well on your journey.”
After hitching a water-taxi ride from San Michelle to San Polo the night before, they’d rung the buzzer at the old man’s home at midnight. Lights had flicked on, and a hunched-over, gray-bearded man had cracked open the door. It had taken only a moment for Battista’s former associate to recognize Ahmed. His sleepy eyes had widened in fear. After furtive glances in either direction, he’d rushed them into his apartment.
The man had worked through the night and most of the morning on their documents. They were perfect, right down to the notarized letter from Alex’s fake parents authorizing him to travel with his older brother and sister. He’d also given them a bundle of euros. They’d used some of it this morning to buy clothes, backpacks, prepaid cell phones, and personal items. He’d been very friendly, but Sarafina had sensed his relief when they’d waved good-bye.
It was late afternoon. The setting sun cast a rusty glow on the few clouds that hung over the skylight stretching over the tracks. They boarded the train and settled in their private compartment. The 6:05 p.m. train was scheduled to arrive at 8:35 p.m. in the Milano Centrale station, where they’d wait to switch trains.
Ahmed studied their tickets. “We’ll arrive at the downtown station in Geneva at nine eighteen a.m.,” he said. “From there it will be a short taxi ride.”
Which would take them to the apartment building on Avenue de Miremont, Sarafina thought. She wasn’t surprised that Alex had recalled the address of the safe house. She’d learned to expect the unexpected from him. This time it had been a blessing. He’d been on the couch playing with his tablet when Jake and the rest of them had discussed their plans. She suspected he remembered every detail.
The train had been delayed for nearly two hours while crossing the Alps. They arrived in Geneva at 11:00 a.m. A late-season snowstorm had blanketed the surrounding mountains through the night, but the sun was back in command. The remnants of snow on the city streets and sidewalks had melted under the assault. Water dripped from the snow-covered eaves of the train station.
The taxi took them over the Rhône River and into the Champel district within the city. They passed rows of luxurious apartment structures, each separated by well-kept parks and open spaces. Trees lined the streets and greenbelts in the posh neighborhood. They pulled to a stop in front of a pair of six-story apartments with gabled roofs, pristine landscaping, and tons of old-world charm.
“It’s the building in the back,” Ahmed said.
They paid the driver and donned their backpacks. Traffic was light, but there were plenty of people out and about. Couples sauntered arm in arm. Others filled a pastry shop across the street. A group of teens gathered at a park bench. The pace was easy. It felt good to Sarafina. Alex held her hand and Ahmed led the way. The walkway leading to the rear building was lined with ivy-covered lampposts. The path ope
ned onto a manicured greenbelt that stretched between the two structures. A family enjoyed a snack at one of four picnic tables. Beyond them, trees towered over three sides of the second building. It appeared as though the woodland behind it stretched back for an acre or more. The chalet-like lines of the structure reminded her of a gingerbread house—but a lot bigger. She guessed there were three dozen apartments inside. Staring at the dormer windows on the upper floor, she wondered, was Father looking down at them even now? She felt Alex cross his fingers within her grip.
It was an unusual gesture from him. To her knowledge, he’d never done it before. “Yes,” she said with a smile. “I hope he’s there, too.” But doubt nagged at her. In the past she’d been able to sense when Jake was nearby. She’d felt it during their reunion on San Michelle.
She didn’t feel it now.
Two awning-covered staircases led up to split lobbies at the front of the building. Each of the entrance doors was protected by a touch-pad entry system. There was a video camera mounted beside each one.
Ahmed led them to one of the picnic tables. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He did a quick reconnaissance of each of the doorways and returned to join them.
“Apartment 6B is on the right. Top floor. I didn’t recognize the name on the tag. We need a code to get in.”
Alex turned his tablet around so they could read the number he’d entered on the screen: 7-5-2-3-8.
“Way to go,” Ahmed said. “Wait here.”
He went to the entrance, entered the code, and tried the door. It didn’t open. He tried again, with the same results. Then he tried the other entrance. Nothing.
“Wrong code,” he said, slumping down beside them.
They both looked to Alex. All they got in return was a blank stare.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Let me think.” Ahmed pulled out his pocketknife and twirled it on the table. His eyes narrowed on the spinning handle as it moved faster and faster.
After a few moments, Alex slapped his hand over it. His gaze was focused on a woman and two children who approached the door. When the woman reached toward the keypad, Alex tilted an ear in her direction. He closed his eyes. The tones were faint. The door clicked open and the family disappeared inside. Alex was halfway up the steps before Sarafina and Ahmed caught up to him. The keypad was an image on a touch screen. Alex stood on tiptoes to reach it. He tapped each of the digits sequentially, 1 through 9, and then 0. Each responded with a different two-note chord.
Sarafina smiled at her brother’s ingenuity. She patted him on the shoulder. He’d memorized the tonal sequence he’d heard from the woman. She knew his mind was now matching it to the numbers on the screen. He entered the code. The door clicked open.
Chapter 45
Palais des Nations
Geneva, Switzerland
THE FACT THAT they hadn’t removed his restraints was Jake’s first clue that something wasn’t quite right.
Dr. Strauss replaced the IV bag, switched off the chair, and left the room. The pyramid rotated on the video monitor. The computer techs and two guards were still in the room. The techs were talking about how glad they were to be finally leaving the cramped confines of this cellar after two months. He ignored their banter. His mind was on the black satchel.
The object inside the metallic container had scared the crap out of him. He’d experienced an overwhelming sense of foreboding as soon as Hans had removed the box from the bag. Some distant part of him didn’t want anything to do with it.
Until its energy unlocked the memory of the in-flight emergency.
He nurtured it and details clarified: the familiarity of cockpit controls and instrumentation, the tightness around his abdomen and thighs from the G suit, the sudden impacts from the flock of birds. He’d been scared then, too. His initial impulse had been to pull the ejection handle and save his ass. But his training had taken over.
That’s what needed to happen now.
He studied the two guards. Earlier, they’d seemed so…nice. Just like Victor and his doctor. Had he actually thought that? These dudes had him strapped to a chair, for Christ’s sake. That didn’t make them nice! But thinking they were sure as hell made him a weak-minded pansy.
Pansy?
That was an American colloquialism, Jake thought. And that’s when it dawned on him that he was actually thinking in English. The tantrum prompted by the exposure to the mini had dislodged a blockage in his brain. His language ability had returned. Not just English, but French, German, Spanish, and others. They were back. Just like that. And the contact with the mini had been brief. The lid on the lead-lined container had been lifted for only a few seconds.
Imagine what could happen if…
The fog in his head was clearing. The new IV seemed to be helping. Allahu Akbar, he said to himself, recalling Ahmed’s request that he speak to him in Dari. That had been two days ago in Venice. Other memories cleared as well. There was nothing more from his distant past, from pilot training, or otherwise. But the events of the previous four months—and especially the last couple days—clarified like a defrosted windscreen.
The guards in front of him wore the same rubber-soled boots as the men who had first tried to kill him in Focette—the same guys who had murdered the girl at the beach. They were Victor’s men. He’d been behind it all along. The haze lifted further, and he remembered the details of the confrontation in Victor’s office. He and Lacey had been drugged. A shiver crawled up his back when he thought of her. She and Tony and the others had waved to him from the castle courtyard. But they’d been surrounded by Victor’s men…
Victor and Strauss walked into the room.
Jake glared at them.
“Ah,” Victor said. “I see you’re back with us.”
“Where are my friends?”
“How intriguing. You’re speaking English.”
“Where. Are. My. Friends.”
Victor’s English accent was cultured. “Buried beneath twenty feet of snow, I should think.”
The words vaporized Jake’s hopes. His mouth hung open, but no air could get in. Victor’s face revealed no reaction to the news he’d just delivered. No satisfaction. No concern.
No regret.
Jake clamped his jaw closed. He drew a long, hissing breath across bared teeth. His eyes bore into the man.
“Now, now, Mr. Bronson. Don’t despair. They would have been dead by tomorrow in any case.”
Jake didn’t know what he meant by that. And he didn’t care. Right now all he could think about was getting his hands around the man’s throat. That was impossible as long as he was tied in this chair, so he played along. He didn’t bother to disguise the anger beneath his words. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m in a bit of a hurry, so I’ll give you the short version. I wouldn’t bother except for the fact that it was you who started it all. And depending upon what happens in the next few minutes, you may play an even more important role in the next few days. In fact, you might possibly end up being responsible for saving the lives of thousands of people. Including one or two that are important to you.”
That last tidbit stoked the fires. Francesca and the children were still hidden in Venice. Whatever Victor had planned would likely impact them. Jake needed to keep them safe. He kept his mouth shut and listened. He needed intel.
Victor gazed upon him as a scientist would a lab rat. “You don’t remember everything yet, do you?” Victor asked. He pointed to the pyramid on the video display. “Judgment Day is upon us, Mr. Bronson. The men and women of the Order have known the glorious day was coming for over a thousand years. We’ve prayed for it. Prepared for it. And thanks to you, it has all but arrived. The planet balances on the brink, and all we need to do is tip the scales.”
Jake didn’t like where this was heading. He knew about the implied threat from above—not from his personal recollection, but from what his friends had recently told him: an alien race was going to wipe out m
ankind if they determined that we posed a threat to the universe. But Victor hinted at something more. Jake sensed the fanaticism beneath the man’s neutral facade. It was disturbing. It needed to be dealt with like a poisonous spider underfoot.
“Tip the scales?” Jake asked, hoping to learn more.
“Yes. A series of events that will cleanse the planet and set the stage for a new world order of peace, culture, and prosperity.”
A new world order, Jake thought. Isn’t that what Hitler had said?
“And I suppose you and your pals will be in charge, right?”
Victor didn’t take the bait. He was at his lectern, and Jake’s heckling wasn’t going to interrupt him. The speech was one that Jake suspected he had practiced many times.
“It’s too late for mankind as a whole,” Victor continued. “We are doomed. It’s only a matter of time. Even without the involvement of an alien species, the world as we know it will not last much longer. The population grows at a staggering pace. People die of starvation in record numbers. Already, in many regions of the world, the food stores cannot supply the masses. Soaring prices have left a third of parents unable to properly feed their children. One in six skips school in order to work for food. In the next fifteen years, half a billion will grow up physically and mentally stunted. Already fourteen percent of the world population suffers from malnutrition. That will double and double again. By 2050 population growth will outstrip food output. Food riots and global war will follow. No one will be immune. Our world will end.”
He added, “That is unacceptable.” He struck his palm with a fist for emphasis. Then he tensed for a moment as if he regretted the act. He rubbed his hands together and lowered them to his side. His face was impassioned but not angry. He was the picture of the peacemaker. A Swiss Mother Teresa. It was creepy.
Jake wanted to keep him talking. The more he learned, the better. “And you have a way to prevent it?”
Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment Page 16