Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment

by Bard, Richard

  “We’ve just received close-up footage of one of the orbs.” A single video filled the screen. It was a video of the object as it shot upward. It looked like a glowing ball of light with a rotating dark blur at its core. It jiggled and danced on the screen as the camera zoomed tighter. The reporter continued in voice-over.

  “This footage was taken with a super-high-speed camera. Here’s what was discovered under freeze-frame.”

  The image froze. The darkness within the glow was no longer a blur.

  It was a pyramid.

  Victor disregarded the reporter’s ongoing ramblings. He stared spellbound at the object. After several moments he began to laugh—softly at first—as the realization hit him. Bronson had done it! His rage had triggered the end more efficiently than all of Victor’s plans put together. Nothing can stop us now, he thought.

  “…huge death toll. Widespread panic in the streets…” the reporter announced.

  Victor laughed louder.

  The driver couldn’t help but relax. Color returned to his face. “What does it mean, sir?”

  Victor spoke between chuckles. “It means that traffic is about to get very bad. So we better get going!” He burst out in laughter. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so good.

  “Yes, sir!” the driver said. He turned around, raised the privacy barrier, and accelerated onto the road.

  Victor pursed his lips in an attempt to hold back a renewed bout of laughter. But when he glanced at his watch and realized that the attack at the palace was less than three minutes away, he erupted into a full-out, belly-jerking guffaw.

  Chapter 53

  Palais des Nations

  Geneva, Switzerland

  THE EIGHT-INCH-THICK STEEL door swung closed behind him, and Jake heard a series of hydraulic bolts slide into place. The Klaxon alarm no longer sounded, at least not here in the bunker. The scene before him was pandemonium. The buzz of loud voices and exclamations reminded Jake of an angry hornet’s nest. The main floor was the size of a high-school gymnasium. Men and women worked feverishly at computer stations that fanned out around a central platform. Dignitaries and their military countertypes gathered on the balconies that skirted three sides of the room. Several of them appeared to be in heated arguments. A movie theater–size screen on the far wall streamed videos that Jake knew instantly were an intended message of peace to the pyramids above. Armed security personnel were everywhere.

  But Jake’s gaze was fixed on the holographic image that hovered over the center dais. It was a three-dimensional real-time view of Earth. The eight-foot-wide planet—cloud patterns and all—rotated slowly overhead. Hundreds of bright missiles rocketed outward from all points around the planet’s surface, like a slow-motion exploding firework.

  A woman’s voice sounded from a loudspeaker. “The final count is one thousand twelve objects, not including the two already in orbit.”

  Jake’s stomach tightened.

  “Out of my way!” a man shouted in French. He pushed toward the door Jake had just entered through. He was well dressed and flanked by two bodyguards with bulges under their jackets. Three soldiers blocked the door. Two of them raised their assault rifles to port arms. The third held his hand out like a stop sign. “I’m sorry, sir. No one is permitted to leave.”

  “That’s preposterous. I’m the president of France!”

  “Respectfully, sir, it doesn’t matter who you are. We are on lockdown.”

  “But the door was just open!”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  The man seemed about to explode when he noticed Jake. His eyes narrowed and he pointed a trembling finger at Jake’s chest. “It’s you!” He spoke in English. “You’re the American.” The French president hesitated a moment. His face reddened. His lips twitched as if searching for which words to form next. He reeked of fear.

  Finally, as if throwing all of his energy into the act might ease his pain, the president of France lunged forward with outstretched hands. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “This is your fault!”

  Jake shrank back, his escort stepped forward, and the president’s bodyguards restrained their furious boss.

  A rush of footsteps sounded from a staircase leading to the balcony. A white-haired scientist led the pack, and the crowed parted before him. His blue eyes twinkled behind frameless glasses. He wore a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves—and a Santa Claus smile. “Jake, my boy,” he said, throwing his arms around him. “It’s really you!”

  “Hi, Doc,” Jake said. He was genuinely pleased to finally see a friendly face. He and Doc went way back to the Area 52 days. He’d saved the man’s life. And Doc had then been instrumental in rescuing Jake and his friends from the jungles in Venezuela—not to mention keeping him alive for the past six years.

  Jake said, “I’d shake your hand, but…” He held up his cuffed wrists.

  “Get those off of him!” Doc ordered.

  One of Jake’s escorts produced a zip-cutter and snipped through the plastic. Jake rubbed his wrists and offered his hand.

  “Oh, come here, son!” Doc said as he pulled Jake into another embrace.

  After a pat on the back, Jake broke the hold. “We need to stop Victor Brun.”

  Doc seemed startled by the statement.

  Jake continued, “That son of a bitch—”

  “Not here,” Doc interrupted. He motioned at the crowd.

  Jake got the point.

  “Follow me,” Doc said. He led Jake up the stairs.

  As they moved off, Jake noticed a man rush to the French president’s side. He whispered something into the leader’s ear, and the president immediately relaxed. The aide pointed to a door at the far corner of the room. The Frenchman nodded, and he and his bodyguards hurried in that direction.

  When Jake reached the mezzanine balcony, Doc motioned toward several of the dignitaries who stood at the rail, watching the hologram. He whispered, “That’s the general secretary of the Communist Party of China, the prime minister of India, the president of the Russian Federation, the prime minister of the United Kingdom…” A few of the men and women glanced at Jake as he walked past. Some seemed to recognize him. One high-ranking Russian military officer appraised him warily. He maintained his stare as he whispered something to his aide. But the bulk of the group wasn’t interested in Jake. They couldn’t peel their focus from the holographic scene that unfolded in the center of the room.

  The missiles had been launched from all corners of the globe. From their speed and trajectories, it was apparent that they’d taken off simultaneously. Jake’s gut went hollow when he realized that must have been when the Klaxons had first sounded. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that he’d been the cause.

  “They’re exact duplicates of the pyramid from Area 52,” Doc said. “They were buried everywhere. Something triggered them.”

  Make that someone…

  The singular stream on the huge video wall suddenly split into eight separate screens. Each contained television broadcast coverage of the event. Footage flowed in from around the globe. The pyramids had bored upward from their underground resting places—many in populated areas—leaving death and destruction in their wake.

  Jake felt his knees go weak. Alex and Sarafina were out there somewhere. Alone.

  He felt Doc’s hands on his shoulders. His friend must have sensed his despair. “Don’t lose it now, man. We need your help to fix this.” A few of the men and woman around him turned to follow the exchange. He felt the burden of their combined stares.

  World leaders were looking to him for answers? What the hell could he do?

  Doc grew excited. “Don’t you see? You can communicate with them. Reason with them. We’ve built a device precisely with that purpose in mind. You may be our only hope!”

  Jake shook his head. They had no clue about what had happened earlier. “Then we’re in deep shit,” he said. The words came out of his mouth before he had the sense to stop them.

  He was saved from imm
ediate reproach by a loudspeaker announcement: “The objects are slowing.”

  Everyone turned toward the center of the room. The chamber quieted. The rocketing pyramids slowed abruptly. Within a few seconds they came to a complete stop. Each was at the same altitude as the original two. The symmetry of their spacing was exact. The entire globe was enveloped.

  Everyone stared in awe—except the Russian officer, who dared a quick glance at his watch before bracing himself on the rail to see what happened next. It was an odd gesture, Jake thought, to say the least. What appointment could possibly be so important as to distract him at a time like this? Alarm bells went off in Jake’s gut.

  He allowed his mind to step away from the immediacy of the scene and to instead take in the room as a whole. Everyone appeared transfixed on the rotating 3-D image. He studied the leaders who stood around him, connecting the faces to the few introductions he’d heard earlier. They were all there except for the British prime minister. He’d disappeared. Many others stood nearby whom Jake hadn’t met yet. They each wore a name tag bearing the emblem of the flag of their home country: Pakistan, South Africa, Colombia, Venezuela, Iran, Azerbaijan, Indonesia, North Korea, Syria, Jordan…

  And then it hit him. There wasn’t a NATO ally among them. Or even any non-NATO countries that had been granted MNNA—major non-NATO ally—status. Where was Japan, Canada, Israel, or the good old USA? What about Italy, Germany, Fr—

  France!

  Movement at the far end of the chamber drew his attention. Jake saw the British prime minister and a small entourage being escorted out the same door that the French president had gone through earlier. Then he remembered Victor’s question. What would you conclude if a group of NATO-allied countries miraculously survived an attack that killed every one of their enemies?

  The Russian officer checked his watch again. His gaze suddenly lost focus—and he and his aide simultaneously placed fingers just below their left ears. Jake’s heart dropped. He flashed on Victor’s boast. People are in place…

  The Russian officer’s eyes locked on Jake’s. The man seemed to be holding his breath. He pulled a silver pen from his pocket that Jake recognized as a duplicate of those that Strauss and the lab techs had carried. The Russian plunged it into his thigh as if it were a hypodermic.

  Jake’s brain went into hyperdrive. Meeting rooms circled the balcony. He pointed to the nearest one.

  “Everybody needs to get into the conference room now!” he shouted.

  The people around him exchanged confused glances.

  But none of them heeded the warning…

  …Until several people on the opposite balcony grabbed their throats and collapsed to their knees.

  Chapter 54

  Palais des Nations

  Geneva, Switzerland

  PEOPLE STAMPEDED THE doorway to the conference room. A Syrian woman fell to the floor. Jake shouldered two men out of the way and stooped to help her up. The Chinese communist leader noticed. He nodded to Jake, took the woman’s hand, and helped her inside. Jake stood by the door as the throng pressed past him. When he saw that Doc was waiting beside him, he grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Brun is behind this!” Jake whispered. Then he shoved the older man into the stream of people. Over their heads he shouted, “Everyone hold your breath as long as you can. Once you’re inside, lie on the floor!”

  Jake felt a tickle of irritation at his throat. It began to swell. He tightened his lips and stopped breathing. Then he scanned the perimeter of the crowd, found his target, and charged.

  The Russian aide was oblivious to Jake’s onrush. He appeared to be fumbling to remove the cap from the end of his silver pen. His face was red. The cap snapped loose and he raised the fisted pen, now open, over his thigh. Jake tackled him just as he started his downward thrust. They landed in a tumble, and Jake grabbed the man’s wrist. The Russian twisted loose, but Jake kneed him in the groin just as the aide plunged the pen through his pant leg. The man gasped, and Jake ripped the pen from his grasp. Liquid dripped from the tip of the half-inch needle. Jake jabbed it into his own thigh, pressed the plunger the rest of the way, and felt a cool rush spread across his skin. He’d received a half dose at most, but it would have to do. He rolled away and pushed to all fours. The Russian rose to his feet, his back to the balcony rail—he reached under his jacket for a weapon. Jake stayed low, launching himself like a blitzing linebacker. The pistol came into view just as Jake’s arms bear-hugged the Russian’s thighs. He heaved upward and the man flew back-first over the rail.

  His scream ended abruptly.

  Jake’s lungs told him to breathe, but he refused to open his mouth. He’d already ingested some of the gas. His throat was nearly closed, and he worried that any more would be the end of him. He raced toward the staircase.

  His mind blazed through a jungle of possible solutions to the disaster that unfolded around him. Victor had loosed a deadly gas into the facility. The pens provided an antidote for Order members. No one else was safe.

  Except the NATO folks who were taken to another area.

  Which meant the gas was being selectively delivered to some rooms but not others, he thought. That could be managed only through ventilation-control systems.

  Computer operated.

  He leaped down the staircase three steps at a time.

  Men and woman collapsed around him. Eyes bulged, hands clasped throats, and bodies writhed in agony. Some didn’t move at all. A number of people had dodged into the meeting rooms on the perimeter of the main floor. Several watched him with wild-eyed expressions, apparently unaffected by the gas in the enclosed rooms. Jake suspected their reprieve was temporary. If he didn’t do something to prevent it, the gas would invade the salons any second.

  His mind continued to flash-sort solutions. This was a fallout shelter. Which meant it had to contain extensive fire-suppression systems. That would include the ability to isolate areas within the facility that were divorced from the building proper, and to provide a separate source for respirable air.

  One computer station was still manned. The tech cast a furtive glance toward Jake. He entered a command into his keyboard and then ran toward the far exit—where Jake saw a group of five or six people slipping through an open doorway. The Russian officer was at the head of the pack.

  Bastards.

  Jake sprinted toward the tech’s station. His lungs felt as if they were going to burst. He couldn’t ignore their demands much longer. When he reached the screen, he knew it was all over. He skipped to the next station, and then the next. But every screen was the same. The cursor flashed inside an empty space that read ENTER PASSWORD.

  He was out of options.

  His body trembled. It demanded oxygen. In the end, he knew he’d have no choice but to unclench his jaw, suck in the poisonous air, and pray that the dose he’d received would be enough. He looked up at the 3-D hologram that hung suspended in the air. One thousand fourteen pyramids hovered overhead. He knew their purpose, but he wondered how it would be accomplished. Would they suck the oxygen from the atmosphere? Melt the ice caps and flood civilization? Or would they simply blow them all to hell?

  As if in answer to his question, each of the pyramids started to glow. And in a sudden flash, they burst forth with laser beams of light that connected one to the other—until together they formed a geodesic envelope of light that imprisoned the globe.

  The world was out of options.

  He staggered at the base of the platform, horrified by the immensity of what he’d caused. It had all started with an accident during an MRI, he thought. The changes in his brain had seemed magnificent at first, but they’d come with a heavy price tag. Everyone he cared about had been drawn into the deadly vortex that surrounded him. And now the entire world was at risk.

  He dropped to his knees.

  God forgive me.

  That’s when he noticed the fire panel embedded in the platform wall. The placard was in English. Foggy brain or not, Jake saw t
hat the instructions couldn’t have been simpler. There were two buttons. One was red. One was blue. Each had a hinged Plexiglas cover. They were labeled ALARM and SPRINKLERS.

  Jake flipped open the covers, pressed both buttons, and prayed.

  Chapter 55

  Geneva, Switzerland

  AHMED HAD BEEN gone only ten minutes when Sarafina heard the noises.

  Doors slammed in the hallway outside the apartment. There were anxious voices and rushing footsteps. She looked through the peephole and saw a family run past. They were headed toward the staircase. She heard the blare of several automobile horns in the distance. Then an emergency-vehicle siren.

  She and Alex rushed to the window. A throng of people gathered in the park out front. More flowed from their apartments to join them. Others stood on balconies in the opposing building. They all looked upward, many pointing at the sky. It was the sort of scene she’d have expected to see if someone were about to jump from the rooftop. She slid open the window and heard astonished outcries drifting up from the crowd. She leaned out and looked up.

  It wasn’t a jumper.

  It was the sky.

  A series of intersecting beams of light stretched from one horizon to the other, creating a symmetrical pattern of triangles that lit up the sky. It was as if God had used neon lights to paint the heavens.

  Fear gripped her throat. She grabbed Alex’s hand, moved to the couch, and switched on the TV.

  The woman reporter’s voice was frantic. “Reports are coming in from stations all over the world. The phenomenon circles the globe. The grid—that’s what scientists are calling it—appeared just minutes ago after hundreds of missiles exploded from beneath the earth and were launched into the atmosphere. This footage was taken in Tokyo.”

  The screen split. The video beside the reporter centered on a busy downtown intersection. The image began to jiggle as if the ground shook under the cameraman’s feet. Suddenly, a spinning black orb burst from the pavement. The camera barely caught up with its track as it rocketed into the sky and disappeared. The only exhaust plume in its wake was a brief rippling of the air. When the camera panned back down, there was a six-foot-wide hole in the street. Steam issued forth. A motorcycle and its rider skidded too late and disappeared from sight. Cars swerved to avoid the hole. Traffic came to a standstill. Just as it appeared that the worst was over, the entire intersection caved in on itself.