Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (49 page)

Victor had discounted the Australian commandos as a nonissue. Even if a few of them had avoided the gauntlet of remote guns, all of the back entrances to the facility had been sealed. Hundreds of meters of tunnels had been collapsed. There was no way in. Or so he’d been assured by his people. No one had considered the underground waterway. It had been a costly oversight.

But it wasn’t fatal.

“Where are they now?” he asked.

“The last report has them—” He held a hand in the air. His eyes narrowed as he listened to an incoming communication.

“Sir,” he said urgently. “The American has been sighted in the level-three cafeteria. His children are with him.”

Victor’s insides quaked. If Jake Bronson was alive, then Hans was not. The realization brought a rush of sadness. The man had been his only real friend.

“Dispatch the reserve teams to the cafeteria,” Victor ordered angrily. “The Australian commandos will likely link up with him there. Shoot to kill.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. He issued a series of orders into his headset.

Victor weighed the situation. The American was loose in the facility. He’d rescued his two children. But what else could he do?
Victor and his people were safe in this sector. It was impenetrable. So Bronson’s recourse would be to escape. He and the commandos would die trying, Victor thought. Even if they somehow made it through the open blast doors, they’d be torn to shreds by the army of defenders that waited outside. One way or another, Jake Bronson would soon be dead. Victor only wished he could be there to savor the expression on the infuriating man’s face when the end was upon him. It was a regret he suspected he would long carry.

“Sir!” one of the lieutenants at the console said, then reported, “An unidentified vessel has entered the inlet.”

The knot in Victor’s stomach tightened.

He glanced at the operational wall monitor. The grid countdown was still paused. He scanned the faces of the men and woman around him. They shared his concern. But, like him, they knew what must be done. The Russian general was the first to nod. The rest followed suit in short order.

Victor took pride in their resolve. He’d known each of them since childhood. Their fathers—and a long line of ancestors before them—had groomed them well. This was his family. This was the future of mankind.

Victor stepped up to the console. He reached down the collar of his shirt and pulled out a lanyard that was suspended around his neck. He unsnapped the key affixed to its end. The Russian general stood at the second console, his own key already in hand. Each of them flipped open a plastic cover, inserted their key, and twisted. Then, responding to computerized prompts, they confirmed their identities with iris scans and keypad entries.

“
Codes accepted
,” the computer voice responded. “
Flash orders transmitted. Launch sequence will commence in eight minutes.
”

Victor felt a dark thrill rush up his spine.

Grid Countdown: 0h:42m:00s and Holding

The Island
7:10 a.m.

O
NE HUNDRED FORTY
men, women, and children were stacked behind Jake at the double doorway. A child sobbed. Others were hushed by parents. The air was thick with tension. Seven of the adults were armed. Four were posted at the back of the pack as a rear guard. The other three were beside Jake, including Eloise. Francesca and Ahmed were behind them. Alex had latched onto Ahmed’s hand. A group of young teens had crowded around Sarafina.

“You ready?” Jake said to Lacey. She stood beside him.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. She’d removed the rest of the padding from around her torso, knotting the leading edges of her button-down blouse snug around her slim waist. Her hair was loose, her glasses were gone, and her expression was fierce. She held Jake’s pistol in a comfortable grip.

Jake had procured a submachine gun from one of the more nervous teachers. It was an MP7 personal defense weapon, with a forty-round mag and a reflex sight. He extended the telescoping buttstock, tucked it into his shoulder, and pried open the door.

The shadowed corridor was empty—and uncomfortably warm. He motioned the group forward, moving swiftly.

So far, so good.

The line of people behind Jake was so long that when he approached the door to the private stairwell, only half the group was out of the cafeteria. He reached for the keypad. That’s when the screaming began. A man shouted, children cried out, and an exchange of gunfire echoed from within the cafeteria. Security teams must have entered from the back door.

Jake’s adrenaline spiked. One of the armed men beside him ran toward the sounds. Jake swiveled to follow when angry shouts drew his attention toward the T-shaped intersection ahead. There was a heavy pounding of footsteps around the corner to his right. A lot of them.

“Get them into the stairwell!” he said to Eloise. “The code is seven-seven-four-six-two.”

Jake raced past the door, sliding to his belly as he neared the intersection. A snap glance around the corner confirmed the worst. A squad of heavily armed guards trotted toward him. They were led by the teacher who had left the cafeteria during Victor’s video. Jake flipped the MP7’s selector switch to full auto. He stuck the barrel around the corner and sprayed the hallway with lead.

There were cries of pain and the heavy thuds of bodies toppling to the floor. “Cover!” someone ordered.

One of the armed teachers stood over Jake. He followed Jake’s lead, firing blindly around the corner. Return fire sounded, and chunks of the corner wall exploded over Jake’s head. There was a guttural moan, and the teacher’s weapon clattered to the floor. He fell into the intersection, and his body danced and jiggled as more rounds impacted.

Jake cringed. He sent more lead downrange, and another man took the place of his dead associate. He held his weapon around the corner and opened fire. The weapon shook and kicked in the
man’s inexperienced grip. The rounds went wild. But damn, Jake thought, he sure as hell appreciated the courage of these men.

Behind him Jake heard Eloise shout, “Up the stairs. Hurry!” A corner of his mind prayed that Francesca and the children were among the first inside. Gunfire from the cafeteria still sounded. He wondered at the slaughter.

Around the corner, someone issued a series of sharp orders. Jake couldn’t make out what was said, but he imagined the man was coordinating with other teams. They’d converge on Jake’s group from all sides. Distant noises around the left corner seemed to confirm his suspicion. He glanced over his shoulder. Lacey knelt down beside him, backlit by the emergency light behind her. Families ducked into the stairwell as fast as they could, but there was still a thick line behind them. They’d be easy targets. “Shoot out those lights!” Jake said, motioning behind Lacey.

Lacey swiveled in her crouch, bringing the pistol around in a steady two-handed grip. Jake knew she drew on the lessons she’d learned as an action star on the big screen. But it wasn’t just the moves that made her look like a pro. She could shoot. She fired three quick shots. Each one took out a light, and a blanket of darkness fell over the refugees.

The man above Jake stopped shooting. “I’m out!” he said, pulling back from the corner.

“Go help the others,” Jake said. “Hurry ’em up!” The teacher ran off. That’s when Jake noticed that the gunfire within the cafeteria had ceased. He didn’t know if that was good news or bad. He hoped for the best, but he feared the worst. In any case, he had his hands full here.

Jake loosed another burst around the corner. His mag clicked empty after three rounds. “We can’t hold ’em much longer,” he said to Lacey, discarding the weapon and grabbing the MP7 that the first teacher had dropped. “See if you can get them moving faster back there.”

“Bullshit,” Lacey said. “I’m not leaving until you do.” Light spilled from the two adjacent hallways, but with the lights out behind them, their position was shadowed.

“Count your rounds,” Jake said.

“Did that when you first handed me the gun,” she said. “Eight rounds then. Just used three. Five left.”

“Make ’em count.”

“No problem. Five bullets. Five assholes.”

Jake checked the magazine on the teacher’s weapon. He was down to eight rounds.

A hushed order from their right. Pounding footsteps. Jake readied himself, set to plunge his weapons around the corner at the last second. Lacey huddled beside him, the pistol ready.

Suddenly, there were several simultaneous spits from the left hallway. All of the emergency lights within the intersecting hallway seemed to go out at once. The charging footsteps faltered. Suppressed, controlled bursts from the left. Yelps of pain on the right. Heavy thuds. Weapons clattered to the floor. The gunfire ceased for a second. A moan. Twin spits. Then dead silence.

Jake braced himself. Lacey nudged against him. Padded steps approached from their left.

“Raider One, clear,” someone whispered from around the corner.

Then Becker’s voice said, “I sure as hell hope that’s you, Jake.”

Jesus!

“Beck?”

“Too right,” Becker said, stepping around the corner. It was too dark to make out anything but a vague shadow. A flashlight flicked on, pointed toward the ceiling. “You’re a tough bloke to follow!”

Becker flipped up the night vision goggles he was wearing. Jonesy did the same. “Enough lounging around on the floor,” Becker said, extending a hand to help Jake to his feet. “We better keep this parade moving.”

“We were flanked,” Jake said.

“No worries—Sergeant Fletcher and Sam took care of them,” Becker said. He pointed to a hand radio stuffed under his combat harness. A wire connected it to his comm pack. “One of Brun’s men donated this. We’ve been listening in.”

“Only four of you?” Jake asked, fearing the worst. There’d been nine of them when he’d dived into the pool.

Becker nodded, his expression grim. “Tony and Andrew were wounded. But they’ll be okay. Philly, Hollister, and Karch didn’t make it.”

Two flashlights shone at the rear of the line of families. “That’s the last of them,” Sergeant Fletcher reported.

Becker’s eyes went distant. He was listening to something on his headset.

“Move it!” he shouted, motioning toward the door. “Two large groups headed our way.”

Sam brought up the rear, closing the door behind them. The stairwell was packed with people. Those who wouldn’t fit on the single flight above were lined up on the lower staircases. Several of them were talking.

“Quiet!” Becker said in an urgent whisper. The space went silent.

Jake shouldered to the upper landing. Becker, Jonesy, and Lacey followed. They bunched at the top door. Ahmed, Francesca, and the children were already there.

“We have less than five minutes to get topside,” Becker said. “The power outage prevented them from closing the blast doors automatically. But they’ve got a crew working on a manual override. In the meantime, they’ve deployed heavily armed fire teams outside to guard against incursion.”

Jake gritted his teeth. Beads of sweat dripped down his cheeks. “It’s like a sauna in here,” he said absently. His mind was elsewhere, racing through options. None of them were good.

“Yeah,” Becker said, wiping his brow. “That’s because we broke something downstairs during our infil.”

Jake ignored the comment. A plan was taking form. When he noticed Francesca and Alex both studying him, he closed off his mind. He couldn’t allow them to know what he was contemplating. Sarafina crossed her arms as if she knew something was up.

Jake ignored them. This was on him. No time for a family conference. Step one, he needed eyes outside. He shouldered the MP7. Then he buttoned his shirt to the collar and tucked the tails into his trousers. “Don’t move until I give you the signal,” he said to Becker, avoiding Francesca’s gaze. “Three raps on the door. Then get everybody moving out the front exit as fast as you can. Make for the nearest boat. There was a hundred-footer on the dock less than an hour ago. Load ’em up and get the hell out.”

“Understood,” Becker said, ushering the group away from the door.

Jake was reaching for the handle when the first explosions sounded from outside the facility.