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 open. 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 cock
y 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.
Jake bunched the muscles of his neck and gathered all the force of his being into a malignant bolt of mental energy, releasing it directly into the man’s eyes to boil his filthy brain.
The doctor staggered back with an agonizing scream, his palms clamped to his temples. His eyes seemed to expand in size as they bulged outward from the pressure of his swelling brain, blood leaking from around their edges. With a sickening pop, one of them pushed through the socket and dangled to the man’s cheek. The doctor dropped to the floor, his body jerking in the final throes of death.
The half-full syringe sagged from Jake’s shoulder; his arm burned as the needle levered against his muscle. He jerked his shoulder, trying to shake it free. But the guard on his left dug the point of his knife deeper into Jake’s ribs to immobilize him. Still gripping Jake’s other arm, Broken Nose used his free hand to reach for the syringe.
Jake focused on this new threat and repeated his mental attack. But his mind was already clouded from the strong drug. He strained to focus his thoughts, his eyes boring into a small freckle on the bridge of the guard’s swollen nose.
Nothing happened. The partial dose of the drug didn’t knock him out, but it was enough to block his enhanced abilities. As the drug coursed through his body, one by one each of his senses dulled. He could still think and move but no better than anyone else.
Normal didn’t feel right anymore. Until now, he hadn’t appreciated the magnitude of the changes that his mind and body had gone through in the past week. His connection to the world around him had expanded in amazing ways, as though his brain had skipped forward a thousand generations on the evolutionary scale. Now that his power was gone, he felt hollow, incomplete. Even the siren call of the mountain’s incessant vibration faded to nothing.
Jake sagged in submission. Broken Nose grasped the syringe and was about to send the rest of the drug into Jake’s shoulder when a dull black canister about the size of a soda can soared over his head from behind and bounced off the shin of one of the men standing next to Battista.
Even before the stun grenade rolled to a stop, Jake heard the cough of a suppressed weapon from behind him. Broken Nose’s forehead exploded outward in a spray of bone and brain. Two more quick coughs followed the first. The guard pressing the knife into Jake’s ribs arched his back and was flung to the ground.
The grenade exploded in an ear-splitting white flash. The corridor lights went out, throwing the tunnel into pitch-blackness.
Jake fell to his knees, shaken and disoriented from the blast. The only sound he could hear was the rapid thumping of his heart. He blinked several times to clear his vision, but the darkness was complete.
There was a movement beside him. He felt the syringe being plucked from his shoulder. Two strong arms yanked him up and lifted him off his feet. He was flung over a thick shoulder, and he went bouncing off down the tunnel.
He heard a muffled voice through his ringing ears. “I got you, pal.”
“Tony? How—”
“Shut up and don’t fidget. The emergency lights will be on any second.”
Tony’s breathing was labored under the load, but he still seemed to be running at full speed down the dark tunnel. After a couple of twists in the corridor, he stopped and lowered Jake to the floor. He heard the soft rip of Velcro. A shuffle of movement told him Tony was working on something next to him.
Tony flicked on his flashlight. From its dim reflection, Jake saw a golf ball-sized lump on Tony’s forehead. Dried blood caked the entire side of his face. Jake was amazed that his friend had found a way to follow him after the accident on the cliff face.
Tony’s night vision goggles dangled from his neck. He crouched over a softball-sized mound of C4 plastic explosive that he had molded into a c
one-shaped charge pressed against the wall of the tunnel. The force of the blast would be directed straight into the wall.
The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the tunnel in a dull glow. Jake heard Battista’s enraged shout over a confused tangle of voices from down the tunnel. “After them, you fools!”
The clap of boots echoed from around the corner.
Tony set the fuse. “Get moving—fast!”
Jake scrambled to his feet. A sudden head rush forced him to brace himself against the wall. The drug was taking its toll. Tony looped his arm around him and yanked him forward.
After the first bend in the passageway, they ducked into the natural cavern Jake had passed earlier. Tony pulled them both to the floor, their backs against the wall just inside the entrance. “Cover your ears and exhale!” Tony shouted.
Jake’s hands flew to his ears. He emptied his lungs just as the walls of the cavern shook from the violent concussion. Dust puffed up from the ground. Pallet racks shook around them. Jake’s eardrums popped from the wave of overpressure. A slender stalactite broke free from the cavern ceiling and crashed to the floor. Another impaled a wooden crate on the rack behind them. The crate burst, and a dozen fragmentation grenades spilled to the floor. Jake snapped his foot away when one of them rolled against his boot.
Tony grinned. He grabbed the grenade and shoved it into the pocket of Jake’s wool vest. “For good luck.”
Jake looked at him like he was nuts.
Tony peered into the dust-filled tunnel to check his handiwork. “It’s sealed tight. That should buy us a few minutes while they backtrack to an alternate route. Which way to the girls?”
Jake hesitated, squeezing his eyes closed as he concentrated. He’d memorized the 3-D map on the display in the computer room, but he couldn’t recall it through his dulled senses. He opened his eyes. “Damn, I can’t remember.”
“Oh, shit,” Tony said.
Jake pulled the confiscated comm unit up to his lips and pressed the transmit button. “Marsh, are you up?”
“Yeah, man. I’ve been watching you two through the surveillance cameras. You can thank me later for dousing the lights.”