Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment (7 page)

There was much to do, he thought, and it bothered him that Hans had not awaited him here as instructed. Victor felt a tug of irritation. But a quick glance at a mirror revealed a calm expression. The reflection nodded back at him.

A distant hammering issued through a vent in the floor, reminding him of what was happening down below. The noise from the dungeons wouldn’t have been heard hundreds of years ago, but the addition of a heating and ventilation system provided acoustic avenues for sound to travel in unusual directions. He made his way downstairs. The stone steps were worn smooth. They spiraled into the depths of the mountain. Sconce lights replaced ancient torch holders. Their illumination revealed a thin sheen of moisture on the rock. He felt the chill to his bones, but he didn’t mind. He imagined his forefathers experiencing the same sensations, shrugging them off against the magnitude of their calling.

The reinforced steel door closed behind him, and a dozen men in heavy coveralls and hooded ski jackets jumped to attention. Heels clicked together with military precision. They stood among a stack of crates of various shapes and sizes. A few of them had yet to be sealed. Gears turned overhead in the cavernous space. Thick steel cable fed around a huge flywheel before disappearing through a wide gap in the cliff face. A gust of snow whipped into the room.

“As you were,” Victor said, as he donned one of the fur-lined coats from a rack by the door. The men relaxed and continued their work. One of them stepped forward. He gave a slight bow and pointed at the receding gondola.

“That will be the last load today,
Mein Herr
,” he reported. “We must wait for the storm to subside.”

Victor watched as the last of the precious items was prepared for shipment. He knew that similar crates were being packed all over the world. Preserving mankind’s culture was integral to their mission. “How many more loads?” he asked.

“Three more will take care of everything you see here.” He motioned toward a secured double door at the far side of the room. “And one more…”

Victor nodded his approval. Everything was on track.

The entrance door opened. Hans rushed in. He didn’t bother with a coat. “There’s been a development,” he said.

The surge of adrenaline Victor felt was no threat to his composure. His visage remained impassive. A glance at the guard, and the man turned on his heel and returned to work with the rest of the men.

“What is it?” Victor asked.

Hans explained.

Victor welcomed the news with a calculated expression that offered no hint of the excitement he felt inside.

“This changes everything,” he said.

Venice, Italy

J
AKE’S FACE WAS
everywhere.

Francesca stifled a sob. Marshall had used an application to snap-share the media from the camera to the personal devices in the room, including Alex’s tablet. She watched as her son held the locket beside the displayed image. His fingers traced the outline of Jake’s face on the screen. Alex was content. She envied the serenity he emanated. It was a stark contrast with the anxious emotions that otherwise filled the room.

Tony and her father huddled in a corner with two men from the Gondoliers’ Guild. One of the gondoliers issued a string of orders into his phone. Marshall’s fingers danced on his smartphone. Lacey hovered beside him. She was still in her wedding dress. The veil was on the floor. Her eyes were red, but her expression was determined. Sarafina played a haunting melody on a sixteenth-century clavichord at the other side of the salon. Her downturned face was hidden by her shoulder-length hair.

The fabric of Francesca’s world unraveled with each passing thought. How could Jake have allowed her to go on believing he was dead? He’d been gone for six years. Yet still she woke every morning with an emptiness that was only partly filled by her children. Had everything she’d felt been one-sided? Had he ever loved her at all?

She watched as Alex flipped from one image to the next—the cameras had captured four shots of Jake’s face. She wondered at the thoughts that must be traveling through her son’s mind—and she fought to control a surge of anger.

Had he not cared about his own son?

The answer was in the question. The revelation startled her. She’d known of Jake’s regrets over the turn of events in his life. Of his remorse at how his presence placed those close to him in danger. Of his belief that they’d all be better off if he had died in the MRI accident in the first place. She recalled his parting words in the jungles of Venezuela.
Instead of death, I offer you life!
he’d said. The words had haunted her. Only now did she fully understand their meaning. He’d chosen to disappear, to allow everyone to believe him dead, for their own sake. In his mind it would have been the ultimate act of love.

She hated him for it.

She loved him for it.

An elevation of tension from Marshall and Lacey brought her thoughts back to the present. The couple was focused on Marshall’s phone. There was urgency in the whispers they shared. They moved toward Tony and her father, passing them the phone.

Tension doubled.

Francesca rose to join them. Her father was tight-lipped when he angled the device so she could see the screen. Marshall edged closer and tapped the
PLAY
button. The video focused on the two men racing after Jake. A passerby bumped into one of the men, causing him to stumble. As he caught himself, Marshall tapped the screen. The image froze. He zoomed in.

Francesca’s breath caught. The man’s jacket had flapped open. A pistol with an unusually long barrel was holstered underneath.

“It’s a silencer,” Tony said. “So he ain’t a cop.”

“Which means Jake is in trouble,” Lacey said.

“He needs our help,” Marshall added.

“Big surprise there,” Tony said. He sounded disgusted. “Where Jake goes, trouble follows.” He squeezed his hands into fists. His knuckles cracked. “Dammit, anyway!” he growled under his breath. “He shoulda told us he was alive.”

“Take it easy, man,” Marshall said.

“I’m pissed!” he said.

“
You’re
pissed?” Lacey said, motioning to her gown.

A moment passed as each of them absorbed the enormity of the situation. Knowing looks were exchanged. Tony sighed, Mario nodded, and Lacey pointed an accusing finger at Marshall.

“Don’t think for a minute that this is going to keep us from getting married!” she said.

Marshall pulled her close. “An early release of the latest iPad couldn’t keep me away.”

Lacey smiled despite herself. “But first we gotta pull our missing groomsman’s butt out of the fire,” she said.

“She is right, of course,” Mario said. His English was good, though heavily accented. “We will help him.”

Francesca mimicked their nods before catching herself. “But it’s not safe!” she said, glancing at the children.

“We’re past that,” Tony said. “Because whoever is after him knows we’re here. It’s no stretch to figure they were watching us in case Jake showed up.” He hesitated. His voice softened. “They already know where you live.”

Her hand went to her throat. The truth of his words struck like a hammer blow.

Tony grasped her shoulders to steady her. “No worries, darlin’. Your pops and I already have a plan.”

Francesca nodded dully. It was happening again, she thought.

Jake was back.

And her world was spiraling out of control.

Venice, Italy

R
ENZO RACED DOWN
one alley after another. He avoided the more crowded thoroughfares, hesitating at the next canal crossing, peering right and left before proceeding. The rumble of motorboats had faded, but he knew the chase was far from over. He suspected his pursuers had unloaded teams behind him. Others likely waited ahead.

The San Polo district was primarily residential. Though tourists still explored the area, most of those he passed appeared to be locals. He kept moving, recalling from the map how to make his way back to the Hotel Danieli. He hoped it was the last place they’d expect him to go. The next alley opened onto a small piazza where a group of young boys passed a soccer ball in front of a small church. Men played cards beneath an umbrella at an outdoor café. Two mothers rocked strollers as they chatted on a park bench. Renzo slowed. Foot traffic was lighter here, but there were still plenty of locals who would be more than happy to point the way to a crazy man sprinting past.

He was halfway across the piazza when the church bell rang. The reverberations stunned him, resonating in his skull, each clang like a doorbell on a locked memory. His feet kept moving, but his mind felt suspended in time. The sounds, the piazza, the church—they were all familiar, as if he’d been here before.
He grappled for the memory, startling when an image actually resolved itself. He remembered standing on a rooftop deck, a moment of peace as he watched the woman from his dreams through a pair of binoculars…

Renzo stopped midstride and turned toward a building at the opposite side of the square. A wreath of bougainvilleas framed the rooftop gazebo that he knew would be there. The sight of it shocked him. The doctor had said his memory might come back all of a sudden. Was that happening now? The possibility was intoxicating.

A startled shout, and the memory vanished like smoke in a breeze. Two men had bumped into a couple as they entered the far side of the piazza. They spotted him immediately.

Renzo swore to himself. He took off like a sprinter on a track. Any advantage he’d gained was lost. His brain’s betrayal fueled a boiling rage. It spurred him forward. He ran blindly, numb to the scowls from those he rushed past. He ducked down the nearest walkway and poured on speed. Two more turns and the path dead-ended on a canal. An intersecting waterway stretched straight ahead. A gondola glided toward him. It slowed as it approached the turn into the waterway that blocked his path. The gondolier did a double take as Renzo skidded to a stop.

Renzo glanced both ways, immediately realizing his mistake. Buildings stretched up the sides of both canals. There were no sidewalks. He’d been corralled. A boat engine revved from the distance to his right, and a speedboat surged toward him. The man seated beside the driver pulled a pistol from under his jacket. The boat swerved around a second gondola, nearly swamping the slighter boat in its wake. The gondolier’s angry fist stopped waving when he spotted Renzo. He pulled a phone to his cheek as the boat raced past.

The pad of running footsteps behind Renzo told him the jaws of the trap were closing. The gondolier in front of him confirmed the only choice he had left.

“
Vieni!
” the man shouted, motioning for Renzo to dive into the water. His boat had just entered the intersection.

Renzo plunged headfirst into the canal. He shallowed his arc to avoid any hidden pilings. His legs scissored, and he pulled through the murky water. He passed beneath the length of the gondola, broke the surface, and swam another twenty meters to the next dock. As he pulled himself out of the water, he took in the scene behind him. The gondolier’s back was to him. He waved his hands about amidst a frenzy of angry shouts. His gondola wobbled kitty-corner in the intersection, blocking the speedboat. The man had bought him the time he needed.

Renzo’s smile collapsed when he turned and saw two more men standing before him. Rubber-soled shoes. Dark glasses. Out of breath. Each of them held a pistol trained on his face.

“Good-bye,” the shorter man said.

The life that flashed before Renzo’s eyes was only four months long.

The squeak of a hinge bought him a few more seconds.

The taller man before him spun around at the sound. Green shutters swung open three stories above. A woman placed a basket of damp clothes on the sill. A clothesline stretched above the alley. She waved to two teenage boys standing on an opposing balcony. One of them aimed his cell phone down on the scene.

The two men in front of Jake were cut from the same cloth as those who had chased him in Focette. They were professionals. The taller man lowered his weapon. He flashed a badge upward.