Brainrush 05 - Everlast 02: Ephemeral (14 page)

Little Star’s mother gave Sarafina the same welcome hug, and
my sister sighed at the warmth of the woman’s embrace. Ahmed was next. He’d had
a phobia about being touched when he was younger, but he accepted the woman’s hug.
After she pulled away, she turned to the kitchen and started setting the table.

The rest of us moved to a cozy family area, where a boy
about my age sat engrossed in a first-person-shooter game on a big-screen TV. My
jaw dropped when I realized he was wearing a Spider just like mine. He glanced
over when we stepped into view, and his surprised expression said he hadn’t
realized there were visitors in his home. His face went glum for a moment, his
eyes darting to the screen then back again, and I knew from experience that he was
reluctant to quit in the middle of the game. He was currently at the top of the
leader board. Even so, he sighed and removed the headset. On the screen, his
avatar was shot dead by another player. The boy grimaced, then rose, turned his
back on the screen, and bowed to his guests.

“This is my nephew, Ping,” Little Star said. He returned the
boy’s bow.

I sensed Little Star’s pain and realized Ping must’ve been
the boss man’s son, being raised here by his grandmother. If so, he was about
to learn his father was dead. The thought sent a chill across my skin. We all
bowed, too, and Ping sat back down. My brother and sister plopped into
overstuffed chairs; their sore butts were probably happy at the change. I laid
my backpack on the floor and sat beside Ping on the couch.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“Yes. Most of the village has learned English out of respect
for Mr. de Vries.” Ping seemed proud of the fact.

“That’s cool,” I said, nodding toward the TV. “Sorry about
your game. You were winning.”

Ping’s face lit up. “Do you play?”

“A little.” I don’t know why I lied. I guess it had
something to do with Uncle Marshall telling me to keep it a secret. But I felt
bad about lying. “Actually, I’ve played plenty. I love this game.”

“Me, too! All the kids in the village got the game as part
of a beta test, but I can beat most of them. Do you want to play?”

I glanced back to the kitchen, where Little Star was urging
his mother to sit down with him at the table. Sarafina and Ahmed followed my
gaze; they too knew what was going on. My sister motioned toward the screen and
nodded. I turned back to Ping. “Let’s play.”

“I
CAN’T STAND IT ANY
LONGER!
” Jonesy yelled, sweeping his arm across the counter to send the
empty soup bowls flying across the kitchen and shattering to the floor.

Francesca jumped from the couch, clutching her throat. Even
though she’d been expecting the outburst, it still startled her. Becker lurched
toward the kitchen.

“Who the hell are these bastards?” Jonesy continued. “And
what do they
really
want from us?” He kicked an open cupboard door clean
off its hinges. Becker dodged.

“Operator Jones!” Becker shouted. “Get a hold of yourself,
man. That’s an order!”

“Screw that,” Jonesy said. He stood his ground, his face
red, chest heaving.

Francesca noticed the guards’ shadows shifting outside the
front windows, but it didn’t seem as though they were preparing to barge in.

“What’s goin’ on out there?” Tony’s voice sounded muffled
from behind the bathroom door. He’d been in and out of the room for several
long stretches, pretending to be dealing with stomach issues.

“Bugger off, you bloody seppo,” Jonesy yelled, “and squeeze
that foul crap out of you once and for all, because it’s smelling worse than a
dead carcass in a swamp out here. For mercy’s sake, open the damn window.”

“Jonesy,” Becker said. “You need to settle—”

“To hell with that,” Jonesy said. He kicked through the
shattered glassware and stormed down the hall. “I’ve had it!” He charged into
the bedroom and slammed the door. Then the real noise began as his tantrum went
into full swing. From the sounds, Francesca could imagine him tossing lamps,
kicking walls, and heaving furniture on end.

And destroying the hidden camera.

She moved to Becker and took his arm. “Is he going to be
alright?”

“He’s a bushie. Same as me. Raised in the outback with
nothing but open space. Being confined between four walls doesn’t sit well with
him. But he’s a good digger. He’ll get over it.”

The bathroom door slammed and Tony marched into the room. He
pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s got into him?”

“Stir crazy,” Becker said, wincing at a loud thud. “Best to steer
clear.”

“You feeling better?” she asked Tony.

“Yeah. Much.”

She knew what that meant.

Five minutes later the three of them stood at the end of the
hall outside the bedroom door. There was a lens hidden in the shadows of a
ceiling vent directly overhead so they kept up the act. Jonesy had quieted.
Becker knocked on the door. “We’re coming in, mate.”

“Understood...sir,” Jonesy said contritely. They entered to
see him standing in the middle of a room so trashed that it would’ve made the
Tasmanian Devil proud. Jonesy held up a broken pinhole camera and winked. His
satisfied expression belied the somber tenor of his voice. “I’m terribly sorry
if I offended you, Mrs. Bronson. My behavior was unacceptable.”

They were off camera now, but that didn’t mean their voices
weren’t still being monitored by the camera in the hallway.

“Your conduct was unbefitting an operator in the regiment,”
Becker said. He was speaking of the Australian Special Air Service Regiment,
considered the best of the best.

“Yes, sir,” Jonesy said.

Tony crouched by the doorway and motioned Francesca to his
side. As the others stacked up behind him, he said, “I’m gonna give you a
one-and-only pass for the cracks you’ve been throwin’ in my direction. Next
time there’s gonna be consequences.”

“Understood,” Jonesy said. “There won’t be a next time.”

Becker said, “Let’s cut the jabbering and get this place
cleaned up. I suspect we’re going to be here a while, like it or not.” He gave
a terse nod.

The clock was ticking. It would be only minutes before
someone got suspicious about the sudden silence. Staying low, Tony hugged the
back wall to remain out of view of the overhead vent camera, and slipped into
the darkened bathroom. The others followed.  Once inside, Jonesy closed the
door behind them and Tony pulled aside the window curtain. Moonlight spilled
into the room, and Francesca saw that the bottom half of the glass window had
been slid open. The rotting wood had been dug out from around all four bolts
securing the bars. Tony reached through the opening and grabbed the bars, his
legs positioned like a grappling wrestler. With a muffled grunt he shoved
outward, and the frame came free with barely a sound. He leaned over the ledge,
laid the bars on the ground, and crawled through.

Ten seconds later, the four of them were huddled in the
shadows of the narrow alley. Tony was about to peek his head around the corner
when a lowered voice spoke from behind them.

“Ye sure made me life a lot easier,” Pete said.

Francesca’s lungs seized, and they all spun at the same time
to see a hulking shape step from the shadows. Her mind struggled with the
disconnect between the friendly Irish accent and the Chinese brute who stood
before them. He was every bit as bulky as Tony and carried a submachine gun
with a long silencer on its muzzle. But that didn’t stop Tony from stepping
between them in a defensive stance, the paring knife gripped in his meaty fist.

Pete snorted, lowering his weapon. “It appears as though ye
brought a wee blade to a gunfight. But ye won’t be needing it, big fella. Here,
try this.” He reached under his tunic and his hand came out holding a pistol, butt
first. “Greetings from Jake and the gang,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“I’ll be damned,” Tony said, accepting the weapon. He passed
the knife to Becker.

“Gee, thanks,” Becker said, inspecting the tiny blade.

“Jake?” Francesca said.

“Ye betcha, lass. And Marshall and Lacey, too.” He pulled
out his smartphone and showed them a satellite image of the village, pointing
to two flashing icons on a nearby ridge. “That’s them there. That’s our egress
point. And this here is Jake.” The flashing icon appeared to be inside a large
structure outside the village. “He’s confirming the location of yer children,
and then he’s going to meet back up with us.” He put the phone away. “Follow me.”

“The children—?”

 “That’s all the time we have for explanations. Stay close.”
Pete crept up to the end of the alley, looked both ways, and slid around the
corner. Tony followed, with Francesca and the others close on his heels. They
raced across the street and slipped into the next alleyway, the aroma of rice
and fish assaulting her nostrils. Pete held up at the end of the next alley.
The upcoming street was much wider than the previous one and the shadows were
fewer. Becker moved forward and pointed at a large cloud moving toward the half
moon. Pete nodded, then held up a fist to indicate they should wait.

She counted the seconds, her heart racing at the prospect of
seeing Jake and her children.

That’s when the shouts sounded behind them.

B
Y
THE TIME I UNZIPPED
my backpack to retrieve my Spider, Ping had already
pulled an extra one from beneath the end table. He handed it to me. “I’ll go back
to the main menu,” he said, “so you can tune your headset to the game.” He donned
his own and focused on the screen.

I watched as the game closed and the TV displayed a desktop
menu. An icon glowed, an application opened, then a submenu flashed, and
finally
Ready
to Tune
was displayed on the screen. Ping had made the rash of entries
using his headset. I was impressed. This was different from what I was used to
back home, where the thought-control interface was limited to the game program
only. Ping had used it to manipulate the operating system as well. What a great
idea, I thought. Why bother with the hassle of a keyboard or a touch screen? I
lowered the borrowed Spider onto my head and allowed my brain to do its thing.

Tuning the device itself took only a fraction of a second,
though the built-in timer bar continued to count down from its thirty-second
minimum. I used the extra time to scan through the folders and files on the
computer. I wasn’t snooping or anything; it was just my brain’s way of getting
adjusted to a new environment. I’d done the same thing during game play back home,
when I’d recognized that a subliminal code of some sort was streaming from game
headquarters. A part of my mind had automatically backtracked the signal to
wherever the server was located. I’d arrived there instantaneously, but that
didn’t necessarily mean the server was close to Redondo Beach. It could have
been anywhere on the planet. I guessed it was a speed-of-light kind of thing. I
hadn’t discovered anything interesting at the other end of the line, so I’d ignored
it and gone back to playing the game. The point is, that was the same thing I
was doing now, allowing my mind to roam through Ping’s computer, which turned
out to be connected to a network that included the entire village and the
nearby building that Little Star had called the Center.

I stopped breathing when I heard my dad’s thoughts in the
system.

And then a screeching alarm sounded outside.

***

Jiaolong sat enthralled as he
listened to Jake speak with his grandfather three floors below. He and the
sisters were holed up in the expansive control room on the top floor of the
Center, their focus locked on the wall screen. Pak and his techs were also there,
plus a half dozen guards. The rest of his soldiers were on standby in the
barracks. Jake had taken the bait, and Jiaolong was immensely pleased that he’d
been able to predict the American’s moves after all.

He’d admitted to himself that the unexpected turn of events
in Hong Kong had shaken him, but it hadn’t deterred him from his plan. He’d
been certain the two greens would tell the American about this location, and he
knew from the man’s history that nothing would stop him from following that
lead to find his family and friends.

It’s your predictable nature, Mr. Bronson, that will cost
you this game.

It had been a simple matter to lead the villagers to believe
he and his people had departed in this morning’s caravan. It was all about
bread crumbs, moving his pieces around the board in such a fashion as to lead
the American down the only obvious path. To give Bronson hope, Jiaolong had held
the adult captives in the village, where Bronson could easily discover their
location. Then Jiaolong had laid the groundwork that would lead Bronson to
believe his children were being held in the Center. Bronson would go there
first.

After that, Jiaolong had trusted the plight of his ailing
grandfather to convince Bronson to do the right thing—to help Grandfather complete
the transition into his new body. Hadn’t Jake wanted to help him in Amsterdam,
before a cell phone message had spooked him? Jiaolong leaned forward as his
grandfather’s tone softened.

“I promise,”
Grandfather’s voice said over the
speaker.
“There is no danger to you here.”

 Jiaolong read the hesitation in Bronson’s eyes and his
stomach churned in anticipation. This was his only chance to save his last
remaining blood relative. Admittedly, this was the part of the plan he wasn’t
certain would pan out the way he hoped. It was a daunting task at best, even
for someone with Bronson’s unusual abilities, so the man’s cooperation could
mean the difference between success and failure. Of course, if Bronson refused
to help, Jiaolong now had all the human leverage he needed to force the issue, including
the new associates the American had brought with him on this amateurish attempt
at a clandestine rescue. Jiaolong’s people would round them up soon enough. And
Bronson’s wife and three friends who were already prisoners had provided Jiaolong
with some amazing video footage. The editing crew had already weaved it into
the final video. All that was left to do was post it.

I own you, Jake Bronson.

Without removing his gaze from the screen, Jiaolong said, “I
want the full array of monitoring equipment tasked to what’s about to happen.
We mustn’t miss a single bit of data if we hope to be able to duplicate this
process.”

“Already done, sir,” Pak said.

Lin edged closer and placed a hand on his arm. She’d been
huddled with her sisters until now, and a part of him wondered if they’d worked
out the details of the surprise they had planned for him.

On screen Jake said,
“Okay, I’m willing to give it a
try,”
and Jiaolong let out a long-held breath.
History is about to be
made
and the world will never be the same. And the icing on the cake,
dear Mother and Father, is that the man responsible for taking your lives will
soon face justice
.

Bronson lowered the skullcap onto his head. Jiaolong closed
his eyes. Neither Bronson’s nor his grandfather’s voice sounded from the
speaker.

“What’s happening?” Jiaolong asked, turning to Pak.

Pak’s computer screens were alive with streaming data.
“Nothing unusual, sir. It’s presenting as if they are still communicating.”

A tickle of concern wedged its way into Jiaolong’s thoughts.

Zhin stepped forward, her brows furrowed. She still carried
the shoulder bag with the backup drive strapped across her chest, refusing to
let it from her sight until Bronson and the others were in their grasp. “Communicating
about what?” she asked.

“There’s no way to tell. It must be a thought transference
of some sort.”

“I don’t like it,” Zhin said.

“Give it a moment,” Jiaolong said, ignoring his own
discomfort. “But tell the team to prepare to breach.”

“This must be stopped immediately,” Zhin said. She turned to
Pak. “Order the breach.”

“Hold, I said!” Jiaolong glared at her. “How dare you
attempt to countermand me?”

Her nostrils flared, and for a moment Jiaolong thought she
wanted to lash out at him. But Min placed a hand on her shoulder and Zhin held her
tongue. Jiaolong turned back to the wall screen.

***

It took less than a few seconds for
de Vries to burst-transmit the multistep process Jake would have to take to end
the man’s existence. Neither of them was certain it would work, and Jake
suspected he’d have to improvise a bit to make it happen.

Before commencing, de Vries insisted on data-dumping on Jake
what he’d learned as a result of his unfettered access to Jiaolong’s network.
It happened in just a few beats, and Jake suddenly knew everything about the Spider,
Passcode, and the targets around the world. He reeled at the implications. World
gold reserves altered, stock prices manipulated, bank deposits stripped away—the
global economy could be ground to a halt at the push of a button. And what
about the havoc that would spread when the utility companies were hacked?
Massive power outages, natural gas pipelines breached, oil and gasoline
production shut down? High-level military networks were also on the list of
Passcode targets. Jake didn’t even want to think about that. The scenarios were
all doable, but such leverage in the hands of one man was inconceivable.

And Jiaolong already has the passwords.

De Vries had also told Jake about the link he’d discovered
between Jiaolong’s network and a paramilitary compound less than ten kilometers
away, managed under the direction of de Vries’s age-old nemesis, Wong Huang-Fu,
the triplets’ grandfather. The two men had met over fifty years ago in Hong
Kong, when de Vries had inherited his father’s arms-dealing empire and Wong had
been the “straw sandal” liaison officer of the powerful triad that managed the
black-market side of the business. They’d become fast friends. Both had been
masters of the ancient game of Go, and de Vries explained that their weekly
matches had been the things of legend among their families and associates. But
as de Vries grew older, his desire to legitimize the family business had driven
a wedge between the two men. Triad profits plummeted and Wong had lost face
with his superiors, which forced him several rungs down on the triad’s
political ladder.

The man had visions of grandeur,
de Vries had explained,
picturing himself one day as the head of the most powerful triad in the world
before the age of forty, an unprecedented accomplishment. I was responsible for
crushing those dreams. Obviously, he’s never forgiven me for that and has used
his granddaughters to finally reap his revenge. From what I’ve learned, he has
been siphoning technology from Jiaolong’s operation to advance the triad’s research
into thought-controlled weaponry. Between that and control of the Passcode
system, plus access to the alien technology that
you
bring to the table,
there is little that could prevent him from becoming the most powerful man on
the planet.

Mention of the alien technology stunned Jake. He should’ve
suspected that was the final piece to the puzzle.

It was time to get moving. But first he’d keep his promise.

Following the instructions de Vries had given him, he stepped
over to the resuscitator that was keeping the old man’s body alive. He posed
his final questioning thought to de Vries as he hovered his finger over the
shut-off switch.

***

Jiaolong leaped to his feet. “What’s
he doing? That will kill—”

“Sir,” Pak shouted behind him. “The prisoners have escaped.”

Jiaolong snapped his head around. “What?” He jerked his
focus back to the screen. “No!”

Zhin charged forward. “Breach, breach, breach,” she ordered
into her headset microphone. Then to Pak she said, “Sound the alarm.”

Jiaolong ripped off his headset and threw it against the
screen.

***

I need to know where your
grandson is holding my children,
Jake asked de Vries.

Your children? He doesn’t have your children.

Jake’s mind reeled.
Are you sure?

Give me a second.
A beat later de Vries said
, Yes,
I’m certain. There’s no record of your children being held here or anywhere
else.

But they were taken. They must be—

A klaxon sounded from the overhead speakers.

De Vries’s transmitted thoughts were like a shout in Jake’s
head.
Your wife and friends have escaped. You must leave!

In the same instant, the emergency stairwell door burst open
and armed guards swarmed in. Just before one of the men yanked the skullcap
from Jake’s head, he heard one final thought through the device.
Dad?