Jake understood. There’s only so much a mind can handle. It wasn’t man’s arrogance that led him to believe that he was the sole form of life in the universe. It was his inability to grasp the alternative.
Jake felt better. His airways had cleared, his strength had returned, and his rage had a target.
Two targets.
But first, he needed to use them to get clear of the palace…and the authorities.
The two men led him across the grass toward a tented care center. But instead of stopping, they kept walking. He sensed an increase in tension through the grips on his arms, but he didn’t resist. His shoulders were slumped, his feet dragged, and he still wore the oxygen mask.
I’m not a threat.
They approached a copse of trees. The road beyond was lined with parked vehicles. Traffic in either direction was bunching up. A siren sounded as an ambulance tried to push through. A Swiss motorcycle cop dismounted and waved traffic aside. A man exited a parked SUV on the opposite side of the street. Cars passed slowly in front of him. He stood beside his vehicle and glanced from Jake to the cop and back again. One of the men holding him gave the man a subtle nod.
Jake readied himself. He absorbed the scene, sorting out the angles, the moves, the timing. The ambulance weaved its way toward the SUV. The copse was dead ahead. The trio crossed into the shadows of the stand of trees at the same moment that the ambulance blocked the view of the man by the SUV.
Jake faked a stumble, leaning to the left. The guard on that side brought his other hand around to catch him. Jake twisted his torso and thrust the oxygen tank upward in a savage strike to the base of the man’s chin. Bone cracked. The man toppled backward like a felled tree. The motion caused the other guard to lose his grip. Jake reversed direction to face him. He ripped off his oxygen mask, freed the cylinder strap from his shoulder, and swung the steel tank like a mace. The startled guard dodged backward to avoid the blow, but Jake pressed forward, whipping the tank around in a figure eight. The guard was ready for it. He blocked it with a forearm. But by then Jake had already abandoned the weapon, releasing it midflight as he initiated his next strike. It came from below—under the man’s guard—as he drove his heel into the man’s knee. The joint gave way. The man spilled to the grass with a howl.
That’s when a third man stepped from behind a tree and leveled a silenced pistol at Jake’s head. He stood less than three paces away. “We were told to kill you if we couldn’t—”
He cut off when a teen on a bicycle streaked into the trees from Jake’s right. The cycle rocketed straight at the man with the gun. By the time he realized that the cyclist was an active threat, it was too late. He swung to face the bike just as the front wheel struck him between the legs. His eyes went wide, he folded in half, and the teen went flying over the bars.
It was Ahmed.
Jake rushed forward, overlaying the new chess pieces onto the evolving tactical schematic in his mind. He grabbed the pistol from the stunned gunman and swiped its butt across the man’s temple. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell still. Jake spun around toward the guard with the ruined knee. The man was still on the ground, a finger pressed to one ear. He spoke urgently to someone on the other end of the connection. Jake’s aim was instant and instinctual. He squeezed the trigger. The pistol spit, and the man’s ear and finger disappeared in a spray of blood. A part of Jake’s mind marveled at the fact that the bullet had impacted at the exact spot that his mind had been trained on. He may have lost his super reflexes, but his brain-and-body coordination was better than ever. He fired again, and the man spun from the slug that entered his shoulder, eliminating him as an immediate threat. The first guard was out cold, so Jake didn’t worry about him. He turned to Ahmed as he unscrewed the suppressor from the end of the pistol. The kid had pushed to his feet. He had a bloody nose and an eager expression.
“You ready to run?” Jake asked.
Ahmed nodded.
Jake pointed the pistol at the sky and squeezed off three rounds. Ahmed flinched at the first shot, but not the second two. The gunshots echoed across the grounds. Jake dropped the pistol beside the gunmen, grabbed Ahmed by the arm, and took off at a sprint.
There were shouts from the park. Several people pointed in their direction.
“Stay close,” Jake said as they exited the tree line. On the other side of the street, the man by the SUV spotted them immediately. He had his hand inside his windbreaker, craning his neck from one side to the other as traffic passed in front of him. Jake ignored him. The motorcycle cop had heard the shots. He moved in a crouch down the sidewalk. His gun was drawn. Jake saw two more policemen running his way from down the street. Then he heard another cop’s whistle from the park. The alert had been sounded. He and Ahmed ran toward the motorcycle officer.
“Help!” Jake shouted, waving his hands back and forth.
The cop spotted them and hesitated. He held the pistol in both hands. It was pointed at the ground.
Jake whispered to Ahmed, “Act scared.”
Jake skidded to a stop in front of the cop, ducking down between two parked cars. He pulled Ahmed down beside him. The kid was crying. “Some guy’s shooting people!” Jake screeched. He pointed to the trees. “Over there!”
The policeman crouched beside them. He bought the act without question. “How many?”
“One shooter,” Jake said, panting. “Two bodies. S-so much blood!” Then his eyes rolled, his shoulders drooped, and he collapsed into the cop. The officer braced himself and steadied Jake. Ahmed’s sobs seemed to take on an edge of panic at the sight.
“You’re going to be all right,” the cop said. “Just stay down.” Then he relayed the information into his helmet microphone and ran toward the copse of trees.
As soon as the policeman’s back was turned, Jake grabbed Ahmed and took off. They ran in a crouch in the opposite direction, being careful to keep the line of parked cars between them and Victor’s last gunman. A quick glance confirmed that the man mirrored their track on the opposite side of the street. Jake caught a glimpse of a weapon beneath his jacket.
But I bet you don’t have one of these, Jake said to himself, squeezing the set of keys he’d lifted from the cop’s belt ring.
The motorcycle was parked in front of the next car. He grabbed the handlebars, released the kickstand, and jumped onboard. By the time he turned the key and started her up, Ahmed had his arms locked around Jake’s waist. Horns honked, and Jake saw the gunman in the bike’s mirror. The man raced between traffic. He held a machine pistol.
“Hang on!” Jake shouted. He kicked it in gear, revved the engine, and popped the clutch. The BMW R1200RT motorcycle leaped across the sidewalk and onto the grass. Bullets ripped into the parked car behind them. Jake opened the throttle and steered a course that paralleled the walkway. He and Ahmed ducked low on the seat. They were at sixty mph in 3.5 seconds. He saw the jittering image of the gunman receding in the mirror. The muzzle of his weapon flashed, and Jake felt the disturbance of air as bullets whizzed past them. There was a deep thud in the rear saddle, and Jake reacted with a skidding turn across the sidewalk and into traffic. He rode the centerline between opposing vehicles, speeding past startled drivers. He didn’t slow until the gunman was out of sight.
“Are you okay?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes!” Ahmed said. There was no fear in his voice. Jake wondered at the boy’s courage.
“You did really good back there,” Jake said.
It seemed as if Ahmed sat taller in response to the comment. But his words were humble. “Allah was with us.”
“I’m grateful.”
“It was my duty. We are family,” Ahmed said.
Jake was proud as hell of the kid. Ahmed was right, he thought. They were family. In fact, Jake was the only family Ahmed and Sarafina and Alex had left now. He dreaded that he was going to have to break the news about Francesca to them. But first things first. “Where are Sarafina and Alex?”
&
nbsp; “At the safe house.”
Jake breathed a sigh of relief. He thanked God they were safe. He remembered the address from his visit there two days ago with Tony and the rest of them.
Also dead.
He entered the location into the bike’s nav system.
“It’s good to have you back,” Ahmed said. “There aren’t many around me these days that can speak Dari with me.”
Jake hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking in Ahmed’s native language. It had come naturally to him.
Ahmed added, “Are you all back, Jake? I mean, are you back to the way you were? Do you remember everything?”
Am I all back? Jake asked himself. Sure, if you don’t count the huge hole in my gut from the loss of the woman I love and my best friends in the world. He flashed on Victor’s nonchalant manner when he had shared the news of their deaths. Jake’s blood boiled at the thought of it.
“Yeah, Ahmed,” he said. “I remember everything.”
Chapter 58
Thirty-Two Thousand Feet over Northern Italy
VICTOR GAZED THROUGH the porthole window of the luxurious Gulfstream IV. It climbed toward its cruising altitude of thirty-two thousand feet. Beneath him, a scattering of white clouds stretched to the horizon. Above, the blue sky was stitched with a network of glowing lines of light. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Cæli Regere, he recited to himself, absently rubbing the fabric that covered his tattooed shoulder.
The heavens shall rule.
A thousand years of preparation had finally come to a head, he thought. All doubt could now be buried. The events unfolding around the world were proof positive that all their planning had been justified. Mankind’s judgment was at hand. The alert had gone out to Order members everywhere. The gathering time was upon them. Many were already settled on the island. The rest were en route.
The birthplace of the new world.
Hans sat stoically beside him. He seethed. The American had escaped him. Even worse, he’d escaped the gas attack and severely reduced the death toll of those in attendance. To Hans, such failure was inexcusable. He’d not rest until he righted it. Victor had shared his anger at first, at least inwardly. But it had dissipated quickly in light of what had happened since. They may have lost the American, he thought, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t control him.
He recalled the urgent phone call he’d received while waiting for Hans and his men to load the chair into the cargo hold. It had been the leader of the backup team that he’d sent to the residence—one of his agents from Interpol. His report had been brief and to the point. By the time they’d arrived on scene, police and firefighters were there. The blaze in the garage had been extinguished. The guards stationed at the house were dead. The old gondolier had been critically wounded and rushed to a hospital. There was no sign of the Italian woman.
Then the man had given Victor the good news. He and the backup team were en route to the plane—and they weren’t coming empty-handed.
Victor turned to look at the two young guests seated in the lounge area at the rear of the cabin. They stared back at him. The young girl was the picture of defiance. Her jaw was clamped, her lips pursed, and her eyes shot daggers. But it was a transparent veneer. He sensed her fear. Her fingers tapped a rhythmic pattern on the armrests.
The young boy was another matter. He resembled his father in more than physical features. He exuded a calm confidence that was disturbing. The boy tilted his head to one side, and it felt to Victor as if his eyes bore right through him. Then, as if the child realized he’d won the staring contest, his lips turned up in a crooked smile.
Victor turned away.
The boy’s expression chilled him.
Part III
Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius—and a lot of courage—to move in the opposite direction.
—Albert Einstein
Chapter 59
Geneva, Switzerland
JAKE DUCKED OUT of view of the peephole. Ahmed did the same. They were in the hallway outside the door to the safe house. Voices inside the room had startled them. They flattened themselves on either side of the doorway and listened. The voices were muffled. Male and female. Jake edged forward in a crouch and placed his ear against the wood. It took a second for his belief system to acknowledge what he was hearing. He stared wide-eyed at Ahmed.
Then he rose and knocked on the door.
There was a woman’s yelp inside, pounding feet, a man’s warning shout, and then the door flew open.
Jake was stunned. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. Francesca stood framed in the doorway. Her gaze had been aimed downward, as if she’d been expecting someone shorter. When she realized it was him, the hopeful expression on her tear-streaked face turned to shock. Her body tensed and her eyes darted to Ahmed. She lurched forward and looked down either side of the hall. Then she grabbed Ahmed and drew him into a desperate embrace.
“I thought you were dead!” she said. Ahmed stiffened under the assault, but he didn’t push her off. “Where are Sarafina and Alex?” she asked.
“They’re not here?” Ahmed replied.
Francesca’s face turned pale. She turned to Jake. Her expression pleaded for an answer.
Jake shook his head, tight-lipped.
She rushed into his arms and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her shoulders hitched from silent sobs. The rest of his friends stood in a semicircle behind her. He could hardly believe it. He’d thought everyone in this room had been killed. He took them in one by one, awash with an overwhelming sense of hope. Tony nodded, Marshall grinned, and Lacey wiped away a tear. Timmy fidgeted like he wanted to exchange a high five.
Jake’s next words were intended for Francesca, but he spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We’ll find them. I promise.”
The words stilled her. She sniffled once and pulled back. Her eyes narrowed.
“Y-you spoke in English,” she said in a throaty voice.
“That’s right!” Ahmed said, pushing into the room. “Jake is back!” He stepped clear as everyone else surged forward with hand pats and hugs.
Francesca’s emotions roiled like opposing tidal wives. The only man she had ever loved stood next to her. He remembered everything. She clung to his arm. It should have been a joyful moment. Instead, her elation was smothered by concern for her father and fear for Sarafina and Alex.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Ahmed said. He paced back and forth among the group. He stared at the floor and shook his head from side to side as he spoke. “I told them to stay. Why would they leave? Where would they go? Why didn’t they listen? I told them I’d call. It’s not my fault. I shared my pastry. They should be here. It was my job to take care—”
He stopped abruptly when Francesca stepped forward and blocked his path. She knew he was reverting. She’d witnessed it many times before. Stress took him back to a time when he was a child.
He sidestepped her. “How come they could hear Jake but I couldn’t? It’s not fair. I’m the first one he ever talked to that way. I taught him Dari. Why—”
She moved in front of him again. He started to move around her.
“Flip it,” she said softly.
Ahmed stopped midstride. He lifted his gaze and glanced awkwardly at each of them. It was Tony who spoke first.
“I’m proud of you, pal,” he said, leading Ahmed toward the sitting area. “Let’s chill a minute over here.” The rest of them followed, except Timmy, who returned to the dining room table to examine the laptop and backup drive they’d taken from Victor’s residence.
Tony said, “How about you start by telling us how you got out of Venice?” He settled into one of the overstuffed chairs. His posture and demeanor made him appear relaxed and patient, but Francesca sensed the boiling anxiousness beneath the facade. The former special-ops sergeant knew a thing or two about interrogation, she thought. The others had picked
up on it, too. Tension leaked from their expressions as they took their seats. She and Jake sat on the couch. Lacey and Marshall pulled up chairs from the dining room.
Ahmed preferred to stand. Sometimes, being center stage seemed to help him collect his thoughts.
“Start at the beginning,” Tony said.
Ahmed blew out a breath. Then he gave them the highlights of everything that had happened: the tale of their harrowing escape from the fire in the cellar, the old man who’d helped them with money and fake IDs, the train ride to the safe house. Francesca was amazed at their ingenuity. She’d always been proud of their intellect, but the determination and courage they’d exhibited went beyond her expectations. She remembered something her father had told her long ago. A person’s true character is revealed in the face of great danger.
Ahmed turned toward Jake. “We’d only been here a few minutes when Alex and Sarafina felt you…in their heads. They knew you were in trouble.”
Jake seemed to tense at the comment. Ahmed didn’t notice. Francesca did.
“Somehow Alex knew you were at the Palace of Nations,” Ahmed continued. “That’s why I left. I told them to stay here…” His voice trailed off. His head dropped.
“You saved my life,” Jake said. Ahmed looked up and locked eyes with him. Francesca felt his swell of pride.
Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment Page 22