Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (22 page)

“Less than five minutes.”

“Very well. In that case, we shall give Mr. Bronson one last chance to cooperate. However, this time we’ll use more conventional means to convince him.”

Victor caught the glimmer of a smile from Hans.

He shared the sentiment.

Swiss Alps

T
HE TACTICAL SITUATION
had done a 180, Tony thought. The clearing weather had allowed Victor’s men to call in air support. The thrum of the helicopter’s rotors echoed off the distant slopes. There was no telling if it was right around the corner or three minutes away. Whenever it arrived, the copter would spot them easily with infrared. They were outmanned and outgunned. There was no way to escape without a fight.

Unless…

He rushed down the metal staircase. Marshall and Lacey had just started off on their skis. “Hold up!” he shouted. “Change of plans!”

Ninety seconds later, Tony’s snowmobile steered around the crossed posts and nosed into the bowl. He was in plain view of Pit Bull and his pals, who peered down from the opposing ridge. He angled the snowmobile toward the apex of the bowl and poured on the gas. The treads dug in, the machine leaped forward, and a rooster tail of powder trailed in his wake. Three sleds dropped down the other side and accelerated on an intersecting course.

The bowl was four football fields in length from cliff to apex. Tony was two-thirds of the way to the top when he entered the shadow of the outcrop that towered above it. His headlights pierced the darkness. The slope steepened, and he stood forward
on the sled to keep from flipping backward. When he felt the snow loosen beneath the treads, he switched off his lights and made a ninety-degree turn to the left. The deep shadows hid the change in direction from his pursuers.

He dropped the first of the C-4 charges and accelerated across the top of the bowl. The three attack sleds continued toward his original position. But after three or four seconds, they turned back in his direction. They sped into the mountain’s shadow, and their silhouettes were replaced by three pairs of headlights.

Tony dropped the second package.

Then he faced the sled downhill and raced directly for the approaching headlights. He crouched low and opened the throttle to the max. He’d been tempted to bring along the assault rifle, but he knew if it came to a shoot-out, he and his friends would be done for. Instead, he brought a walkie-talkie. It was duct-taped to the handlebars. The talk button was locked in the
ON
position.

“Get ready!” He shouted the order to make sure Timmy would hear him over the rushing wind.

The handlebars vibrated. The speedometer indicated seventy mph. He shot through the oncoming trio faster than a stock-car driver past a checkered flag. Heads swiveled. He steered down the center of the bowl. When he broke from the shadow, four more sleds dropped from the ridge and took up the chase. They’d be on him in thirty seconds.

Then the helicopter popped up from the cliff ahead. It dipped its nose and flew directly at him. Its spotlight illuminated Tony like a Broadway star. Gunfire would follow any second.

“Now!” Tony shouted into the walkie-talkie.

The high-velocity plastic explosives blasted deep into the overloaded snowpack. It sounded like twin thunderclaps. The air trembled, the ground shook, and Tony’s heart climbed into his throat.

He angled the snowmobile toward the jump, checking the scene behind him in the jiggling side mirror.

It takes only a pebble to start an avalanche, which meant that two quarter-pound bricks of C-4 were more than overkill. Twin spouts of snow blasted into the air. The shock waves loosened the hardpack, and a thundering white tidal wave barreled down the mountain. It sounded like the deep rumble of a hundred bass drums.

Then a thousand.

The three snowmobiles chasing him were overwhelmed in seconds. Those on his right skidded into 180-degree turns. The helicopter veered away.

Tony’s sled hit the natural ramp, but this time around he was ready for it. He launched himself to one side as soon as the machine was airborne. He hit the snow and rolled. He was three feet outside the guardrail that encircled the crevasse. The sled’s sky-bound momentum ended abruptly. It vanished tailfirst into the abyss.

Tony scrambled over the guardrail. The ground shook, the air filled with snow crystals, and visibility dropped to inches. His hands searched desperately for what his eyes could no longer see. The roar intensified.

A yank on his ankle startled him.

“This way!” Marshall shouted.

Swiss Alps

T
HEY WAITED FOUR
hours before digging out of the snow. Tony figured that by then any of Victor’s men who had survived the avalanche would presume them dead. The lack of infrared signals on the chopper’s scope would have confirmed it.

They’d huddled on the shelf near the top of the cleft. The rope that Marshall had secured to the guardrail had provided access. When the mountain of snow rushed past overhead, a raging torrent had poured through the gap. But the huddled foursome had been spared the worst of it. Within seconds the opening above had clogged and their world had been plunged into silence.

And safety.

Marshall and Lacey had grabbed some additional gear from the ranger station—including hand warmers, snowshoes, and more rope, plus hand and foot ascenders to simplify the climb back up. They’d also brought a folding shovel. Tony used it now to burrow a forty-five-degree tunnel through the snowpack. When he broke the surface, he squinted against the brightness of the rising sun. The sky was clear and blue.

He popped his head over the lip and did a quick 360. The slide had contained itself within the bowl. There was no movement on either ridgeline.

“Looks clear,” he whispered to Marshall.

He pulled himself to the surface and brought the assault rifle to the ready position. He scanned for threats. When he was satisfied they were alone, he said, “Shoes first.”

Marshall passed up four sets of snowshoes. Tony donned a set. “Give me sixty seconds to get to the tree line. I’ll cover you from there.”

Tony made it there with time to spare. He breathed easier. It appeared as if their ruse had worked. Lacey was the first out of the tunnel. She donned her snowshoes as Timmy crawled out. By the time Marshall made it to the surface, she was crouched beside Tony in the trees.

“Boy, am I glad to be out of that hole!” she said.

“You and me both.”

Timmy appeared to be struggling with the buckles on his snowshoes. Marshall knelt down beside him to give him a hand.

Tony motioned toward the ranger station. “Why don’t you go on ahead and see if you can rustle us up some coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Sure,” she said. She hesitated a second. “Hey, I hope you’re not trying to stereotype me with that request.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. But keep your eyes peeled for a bagel and cream cheese while you’re at it.”

She harrumphed, winked, and trudged off. A minute later, Marshall and Timmy crested the ridge.

“Breakfast is thataway,” Tony said, motioning with his thumb.

Marshall grinned. Timmy breathed a sigh of relief. They made their way past him.

That’s when Tony noticed the flash of reflected sunlight from the overhang above the bowl.

He reacted instinctively. “Sniper!” he shouted, tackling his friends. They landed in a heap as the first round dug a fist-size chunk out of the tree in front of them.

“Run!” Tony shouted. He spun around and pulled the trigger even before the G36’s reflex sight came to bear on his target. He
loosed three short bursts. The weapon’s effective range was eight hundred meters. The rocks above the overhang were only four hundred meters.

That was the good news.

But the tango was firing from an elevated position. And he likely had a scope. Tony triggered one more burst and dodged behind a tree. He felt the disturbance of air beside his ear before the sound of the rifle shot registered in his brain.

Dammit!

At least he’d drawn the fire away from his friends, he thought. He saw them stick to the trees as they ran a dodge-and-weave pattern toward the cabin.

Tony jerked around the side of the tree and triggered two more bursts into the rocks. He somersaulted forward to get behind the next tree. By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late. His bulk was bigger than the tree he now crouched behind.

That’s the bad n—

The bullet grazed his shoulder blade and impacted something solid in his backpack. It jackhammered him backward into the snow. His stomach leaped when he saw the clear sight line between him and the rocky ridge. He opened up on full auto.

The magazine clicked empty after two rounds.

He was a sittin’ duck. His shocked brain froze for the fraction of time that it took for the faces of his wife and kids to flash before him.

There was a booming retort from behind him, and the stand of rocks surrounding the sniper exploded from the Howitzer’s 105mm round. Boulders and body parts flew into the air. The blast echoed between the alpine summits. Tony rolled onto his stomach and stared at the cannon platform behind him.

Lacey waved back.

Isola di San Michele

“T
HE SHOOTING STOPPED
,” Sarafina whispered. Ahmed nodded. He sat beside her in the cramped space. They each had an ear pressed against the panel. Alex sat cross-legged behind them.

“What’s going to happen?” Sarafina asked.

“Nothing good.”

“How long before they get us out?”

Ahmed remained silent.

“How long?” she insisted.

Ahmed pulled away from the door, and she turned to face him. Her grandfather’s flashlight was dim, but she could still see the grim expression on his face.

“You’re asking me questions,” he said softly. “But you already know the answers.”

Her eyes moistened, but she shook her head, refusing to allow her mind to go there. Neither spoke for several moments.

She pressed her ear against the panel. The wood felt cool. She closed her eyes and listened. When they’d first entered, she’d heard her mother shout, “Don’t shoot!” But the thick door and their location deep in the storage room made it impossible to discern the faint sounds Sarafina had heard since. All she knew for sure
was that the shooting was over. But what did that mean? She stifled a sob.

Ahmed whispered to her. “It smells like something died in here.”

She screwed her face into a question mark. “W-what?” He seemed to be studying her. That’s when she realized his words were intended as a distraction. She appreciated the effort, but he could’ve picked a better topic. “Don’t remind me,” she said.

“There are dead people buried all around us.”

“You said that before. Grandfather told you to show respect.”

“It’s like we’re in a coffin.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Did you ever read ‘The Cask of Amontillado’ by Edgar Allan Poe?”

“You’re sick.”

“What? Creepy is the new cool, right? And this place is definitely creepy.” He still had the folded knife in his hand. His fingers absently rolled it over and over again against his palm. It was one of his tells.