by Richard Bard
In a blur of motion, Battista pulled up his 9mm Makarov and shot Abdullah in the forehead. The man’s head snapped backward, and he slumped to the floor. The crack of the weapon froze everyone in place; the ping of the shell casing as it hit the floor was the only sound in the room. Battista holstered the pistol. He motioned to Carlo. “What are you waiting for? Get that locator on the child immediately.”
Carlo nodded and left the room.
Battista grabbed Abdullah’s communicator from the floor and issued a series of orders that stopped most of his men from continuing up the narrow pass toward the clearing. He ordered fifty of them to backtrack into the lower caverns to use a little-known tunnel that led to the upper caverns. Most of the remaining men—over one hundred of them—would take various paths up and over the mountain to surround the clearing. It would take much longer, but they would not likely be ambushed in getting there. Only twenty of his men would continue up the narrow pass, where the Americans were surely expecting them.
Battista turned to one of his subcommanders. “Get ten men and meet me in the security room.”
***
3:10 a.m.
Jake held back his panic, his thoughts embracing Francesca as he squeezed through the narrow opening.
Twin violent explosions shook the ground, stopping him cold. He heard the faint rumble of what sounded like a cave-in up ahead. Pebbles danced on the rock floor in front of his face. A thin mist of dust filled the space. Just as the shaking began to subside, a boulder dislodged itself from the ceiling behind him, pinning his feet.
Jake’s heart leaped.
From a place that he’d prayed had been long dead and buried, Jake let out a shrieking cry. “Francesca!”
Jake?
Her voice in his head? Francesca?
Jake, I feel you.
I’m coming!
They know you’re—
Her voice faded away.
Francesca! Can you hear me?
The brief connection was lost. Jake drowned his fears in a flood of determination. She was alive!
Using his elbows, fingers, and toes, Jake crawled out from under the boulder and snaked his way down the narrowing walls of the tube. At its tightest point, he had to exhale in order to collapse his girth enough to wriggle through.
After that, the tunnel widened.
A glow of light shone from an opening in the floor about five yards ahead. He switched off the flashlight and inched forward. Peeking through the dust-filled air of the opening, he found himself looking at a loose pile of rocks and dirt on the floor of an earthen corridor carved out of the rock. Its ceiling was covered with air ducts, conduit, and fluorescent lighting that stretched in both directions.
The cave-in had provided Jake his way in.
He needed to find the security room.
Chapter 40
Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan - 3:12 a.m.
JAKE DROPPED TO THE FLOOR of the tunnel. The natural sweep of the walls and ceiling told him it was not man-made. The floor and walls had been cleared and smoothed by man’s hand, but the basic structure had been Mother Nature’s doing. The interior diameter was about the same as a commuter bus, and Jake had the sense that the curving corridor snaked a fair distance in either direction. Fluorescent fixtures suspended from the ceiling drove away the shadows. Jake tasted moistness in the air.
An echo of angry voices and pounding feet rushed at him from around the bend ahead. He turned to run but thought better of it. He’d never make it out of sight by the time the source of the voices cleared the corner. Resisting the temptation to grab his Beretta from the folds of his dishdashah, he dropped his hands to his sides and walked toward the noise with an air of authority.
It was time to put his new skills to the test.
The group of men running toward him looked like they had just escaped the bowels of hell and the devil was still on their heels. Most of them were covered in dark soot. Several bled from a score of minor lacerations. One man had blistering burns on his nose and forehead; his beard was scorched. They were all heavily armed. Jake figured they were the remnants of the group that had tried to flank the team through the upper exit. He prayed the explosions he heard had sealed it.
Stepping in their path, Jake held his palm in front of him. The group skidded to a stop. One man pushed his way to the front, his expression furious.
Jake shouted in the man’s face in his native tongue. “What has taken you so long?”
The man’s initial expression of anger wilted under the force of Jake’s words. “But—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. You should be there already. We are under attack!”
“Yes, sir!”
Pointing at two men toward the back of the pack, Jake said, “You two, come with me to the security room. The rest of you, on your way while there is still time. Move. Now!”
Jake glared at the first group of men as they ran by. None of them met his gaze. The last two waited for his lead. He motioned with his head for them to move out in front of him. “Quickly!”
The two men hurried down the tunnel toward the security room with Jake on their heels. So far, so good.
At the first fork the larger group split to the right. From their comments, Jake suspected they were going to reinforce the troops at the main entrance. Jake and his two recruits took the left branch, which sloped down to a lower level.
He overheard one of the men asking the other if he knew Jake’s identity. Before the other man answered, Jake barked at them. “Pick up the pace. Lives are at stake!” Jake laced his words with a focused stream of embedded emotion. He mentally attacked the two men, sending tendrils of fear into their thoughts, willing them to avoid upsetting the demon behind them. One of them sped up. The other staggered for an instant and then sprinted to catch up with his partner.
As the passageway leveled out, they passed several open rooms with laboratory and medical equipment. One room held a surgical table surrounded by an array of support equipment. Jake could imagine it being used by Battista’s doctors to insert the brain implants into their subjects. He wondered how many jihadists had received the improved devices in the last couple of days. Were some of them already on their way to America?
They passed room after room. The size of the underground facility was mind-boggling. Although the rooms were empty at this late hour, there were signs everywhere that they were actively used: water bottles left on a counter, patient folders stacked in vertical trays, the equipment clean and dust-free. According to Ahmed, the technicians and doctors would be in the lower caverns near the village getting a good night’s sleep before continuing their grisly work in the morning.
Not if I can help it.
They passed an arched opening that widened to an expansive natural cavern. Jake slowed his pace to look inside. It was about the size of a high school gymnasium. A subterranean pond occupied the center of the chamber. Its mirrored surface rippled in expanding circles from drops of water slipping from one of several large stalactites that hung down from the forty-foot-high ceiling. A string of incandescent lights along the walls illuminated the room, reflecting off thousands of sparkling quartz crystals embedded in the walls and ceiling.
But it wasn’t the natural beauty of the room that drew his attention. What caught his breath were the stacks upon stacks of weapons, ammo, and explosives that lined the perimeter, all stored on neat rows of industrial shelves pressed against the walls.
Like a Costco for terrorists.
There were enough explosives here to obliterate a small city.
Jake turned his attention back to the two soldiers, hurrying to catch up before he fell too far behind. There was much more to this facility than Jake had ever imagined.
After two more twists in the tunnel, the out-of-breath guards stopped at a heavy steel door. Anxious to be free of Jake, the first guard looked into a camera over the door, pressed a button on the wall, and said, “Azul, open up!”
The door swung ope
n. A security technician popped his head out. “I was told that the sheikh was coming too. Is he with you?”
Jake pushed by the surprised technician, glaring at the tech and the two guards. “The three of you stay put. Don’t let anyone pass without my authority.” Jake grabbed the comm unit clipped on the technician’s belt, stalked into the room, and closed the heavy steel door behind him.
Whoever the sheikh was, Jake wanted to be gone before he arrived. At this point, any hopes of installing the flash drive secretly had vanished. The best he could accomplish was to plant the drive in order to give Marshall access to the system—at least for a few minutes—and then get the hell out of there to find the girls.
Three computer stations lined the perimeter of the small room. Each station had twin twenty-four-inch monitors. The overhead lights were dimmed, so the soft light from the computer screens lent an ethereal glow to the room. A wispy layer of cigarette smoke hung in the air.
A young technician, barely out of his teens, stared at Jake from a seat at the center console. He crushed a half-smoked cigarette in a dirty ashtray next to his keyboard. Having overheard Jake’s barking command to the men outside the door, he stood and faced Jake with a worried expression.
“Seal the door,” Jake said. “The Americans are just outside!”
The technician’s eyes went wide. He sat down and spun to his keyboard. After a few keystrokes, Jake heard a soft click from the door latch. The tech spun around in his chair to find himself staring down the silenced barrel of Jake’s Beretta.
“Don’t even twitch. Stand up very slowly.”
The tech stood, his hands extended to his sides, his shoulders slumped in submission. But the kid’s eyes betrayed his intent. Jake saw his pupils dilate from the surge of adrenaline. The technician lunged forward to grab the gun. Jake dodged to the left and squeezed the trigger twice.
Both rounds hit center mass. The young man’s surprised gasp turned to a blood-filled gurgle as he collapsed to the floor. Jake placed his finger on the man’s neck to check his pulse. After the third beat, it stopped.
A surge of bile rose to Jake’s throat. He was out of his element. Taking a life was wrong; he knew it. But the circumstances forced him to banish his self-doubt, at least for now. Many more lives would be taken before this night was over.
He uncoiled the fifteen-foot Ethernet cable he had wrapped around his waist under his clothes, stepped over the body, and ducked down under the console to study the layout of the CPUs.
The key to the “hack-proof” nature of the Zodar security system was that the server was physically and electronically isolated from the rest of the world. It couldn’t be hacked because it couldn’t be accessed. But the software program still needed to be updated online periodically. That meant an Internet server had to be nearby.
Jake sorted through the wires behind the CPUs and identified the Internet server. Using his cable, he connected it to the primary CPU and slipped Marshall’s flash drive into a USB port at the back of the machine. As expected, Marshall’s password screen popped up. Jake sat at the terminal and started typing, recalling Marshall’s detailed instructions perfectly.
He watched the monitor as he typed, his confidence boosted with each response to his commands. The program reacted as Marshall had predicted. Jake’s fingers moved faster. If Marshall’s plan worked as advertised, he would be able to reestablish communication by hitchhiking on the mountain’s hardwired internal system. The key to Marshall’s hacking program was that it opened a portal, giving Marshall remote access to the system. Once in, Marshall could monitor and manipulate the system.
After making his final entry, Jake adjusted the frequency on the comm unit that he had taken from the tech. He hit the transmit button.
“Marsh?”
Silence.
He hit the transmit button a second time. “Marsh, come in.”
The speaker crackled with Marshall’s voice. “It took you long enough. I’m in, but I need a second. Hold on.”
A surge of relief swept over Jake. He counted the seconds as he waited, watching the display as Marshall’s remote entries caused a series of commands and images to flash across the screen. At last, the screen filled with a three-dimensional map of the facility. Two locations on the map were highlighted.
“Jake, memorize this map. It’s your ticket out of there. I’ve highlighted your current location and the area where the prisoners are held. It’s one level down. When you leave—”
Marshall stopped midsentence. When his voice came back, he shouted, “Jake, get out of there now. There’s a large group headed your way!”
The chair he was sitting on flipped over as Jake lunged for the exit. He pulled out his Beretta and yanked on the door.
It wouldn’t budge.
He yelled into the comm unit, “Marsh, the door!”
After a beat, the lock clicked open, and Jake heaved the door inward, bursting into the corridor.
He ran headfirst into a shocked Luciano Battista, the impact knocking Jake’s Beretta to the floor.
Chapter 41
Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan - 3:20 a.m.
SURPRISED BY JAKE’S CHARGE out the door, Battista stumbled backward into the first of a dozen men standing behind him. Recognition twisted his features into a murderous scowl. His dark eyes ignited with rage. “You!”
Jake cast a desperate glance at his Beretta on the floor at Battista’s feet.
The crowd of men behind Battista moved forward, their weapons trained on Jake. Battista held up his hand as he kicked Jake’s Beretta farther out of reach. “I want the infidel taken alive. But only barely. Make the bastard pay for his insolence.”
Jake recognized Mineo’s massive bulk at the front of the pack, a head taller than the rest of the men and wide as a city block. A cocky smile revealed his crooked yellow teeth. Leaning his AK-47 against the wall, he moved forward in a crouch, his hands spread wide. Two men behind him followed suit while the rest watched in anticipation.
Jake readied himself, counting on his speed to make a difference. Either way, with more than a dozen men against him he knew things were going to end badly for him. But he wasn’t going down alone.
He launched himself forward.
Jake dodged to the left to avoid Mineo’s right cross, slapping the beefy forearm up and away with his right hand. Continuing his forward momentum, he planted his left foot and kicked sideways with his right heel into the big man’s knee. It folded like a snapped girder, and Mineo crumbled onto his other knee with a howl.
“That’s for the poor homeless dude you murdered,” Jake shouted.
The man’s tree-trunk neck was now level with Jake’s chest.
“And this is for blowing up my house!” Leading with his right shoulder, Jake brought the stiffened edge of his right hand around in a sweeping arc and smacked it deep into the man’s Adam’s apple. Jake felt the crunch of cartilage.
Mineo’s hands rushed reflexively to his throat, his face pinched in shock as he struggled in vain to suck air through his crushed windpipe. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, his mouth agape.
The two men behind Mineo hesitated, neither one wanting to share their comrade’s fate.
Jake rushed them, betting his speed against their fear.
Feinting toward the one on the left, Jake rammed the heel of his right hand upward into the other man’s nose. Even as the man’s head snapped backward in an eruption of blood, Jake ducked under the groping hands of the first guard and landed a powerful uppercut knee to the man’s groin. The man doubled over with a groan, both hands rushing instinctively to his genitals.
The shock on the faces of the men watching was gratifying. The devastation he wrought was both exhilarating and frightening.
The guard with the broken nose edged forward, his eyes filled with fury. A fourth man stepped up beside him and pulled a short, curved blade from his belt.
Jake shifted his weight to prepare for the dual attack.
The
loud crack of Battista’s Makarov filled the narrow corridor. The heavy round took a chunk out of the stone floor at Jake’s feet.
“Enough!” Battista leveled the gun at Jake’s chest. “Are you faster than a speeding bullet, Mr. Bronson?”
Jake studied Battista. A thin stream of smoke drifted from the barrel of the pistol. It would be worth the risk, but only if he could take Battista with him. And that didn’t look likely. Not yet, anyway.
Jake lowered his arms, and the man with the knife stepped forward. His breath was as sour as curdled milk. He twisted Jake’s left arm high behind his back and pressed the tip of the curved blade between two of his ribs. Broken Nose rushed over and grabbed Jake’s other arm, his fingers digging deep into Jake’s forearm.
Battista lowered his pistol.
A clean-shaven man with a black leather satchel and a white lab coat shouldered his way through the group, nodding with respect to Battista. He studied Jake with the clinical detachment of a scientist looking at a lab rat.
Jake felt an involuntary shudder creep up his back when the man opened his bag.
The doctor pulled a hypodermic from his bag and filled it with the all-too-familiar amber drug. He spoke in Dari while he worked. “So, you’re the American everyone has made such a fuss about.”
He held up the syringe and squirted a small stream into the air. “We are finally going to get a look into that unusual brain of yours. A shame you won’t be alive to hear the results.” He nodded to the guards holding Jake’s arms. They tightened their grips. The doctor moved to the side, flashing a sadistic smile. He drew his wrist back and jabbed the needle through Jake’s layers of clothing, deep into the muscle of his shoulder.
It felt like a red-hot wire had sliced into his bone.
A storm of rage exploded in Jake’s head. He glared into the doctor’s eyes. “Hey, Doc. Why don’t we take a look at your brain first?”
“Yes, yes, my young American hero,” the doctor said. “Whatever you say.” He started to push the thick drug through the needle.