Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast (3 page)

J
IAOLONG MOVED WITH
purpose but he wasn’t
rushed.

Everything is in place.

Lin glided beside him, a hint of her jasmine perfume
spurring a familiar yearning.

Heads turned as the couple made their way between rows of
computer stations that filled the vast space on the twenty-fourth floor of a
converted high-rise factory in Kowloon. Though many bowed their heads in
deference to Jiaolong’s position, and his mixed heritage elicited admiring
glances, he knew most eyes were on Lin. Her beauty was mesmerizing. She had
dark almond eyes, porcelain skin, and cherry-blossom lips. Her jet-black hair
was pulled back from her face, the bulk held in a bun by elastic rows of baby
pearls while the remainder flowed over her Western-style dress to the middle of
her back.

There were nearly one hundred and fifty employees on the
floor and they operated with unparalleled efficiency. Each had been handpicked,
plucked from the scores of state-sponsored cyber training schools scattered
throughout China’s interior, where most of the employees had begun their indoctrination
before their fifth birthday. The average age of the men and women on the floor
was nineteen. In America they’d be called “geeks.”

In China they were workers.

They lived in lavish dormitories on two of the lower floors,
where they enjoyed professionally prepared food, a fully stocked gymnasium, an
evening lounge that featured live entertainment, and a computer-game room that
Jiaolong suspected rivaled any other in the world. There was even a plush movie
theater. Jiaolong’s employees wanted for nothing—except the freedom to leave
the building. 

“He’s on,” the lead engineer reported as Jiaolong and Lin arrived
at a row of padded reclining chairs facing a series of large wall-mounted LED
displays. Four techs sat back in the chairs, immersed in the action on their
respective screens, their Spider headsets in place as they guided their avatars
through intense first-person battles. Other techs sat at consoles behind them,
recording and analyzing the data streams generated within the game. One of the
players cursed softly as his avatar went down. Another squeezed his fists in
frustration when the same happened to him.

Jiaolong shook his head as he watched the action on the
screens. The player doing all the killing was known as TurboHacker, and the
speed with which he moved through the game was far superior to that of the
other players. Even on occasions when Jiaolong participated, he’d been unable
to keep up with the man, a fact that he—creator of the game—
still
had
trouble accepting. Even more disconcerting was the fact that TurboHacker was
the only player impervious to the Spider’s subliminal programs. The techs had had
zero success bleeding information from him. Worse yet, there had been subtle
hints that TurboHacker had penetrated their firewalls, though Jiaolong’s best
programmers couldn’t figure out how or prove it had happened at all. It was
something that had to be fully investigated before the system could be launched.

TurboHacker’s real name was Marshall Erickson. Because of
his status as a security consultant for some of the top corporations and
government facilities in America, he had been selected by Zhin—one of Lin’s triplet
sisters—as a primary target. But it was Erickson’s connection to “the Brainman,”
aka Jake Bronson, that had stirred the demons in Jiaolong’s gut, making Erickson
a key player in an entirely different game, one that was about to unfold.

As the game play intensified, Jiaolong allowed his mind to
drift, considering the lifelong string of events that had brought him to this
point.

His Christian name was Daniel de Vries but he preferred Jiaolong,
the nickname his mother had given him. It was derived from a mythological
creature called the
chiao
that was capable of changing into many forms.
It was usually regarded as a kind of
lung
, or dragon. Sometimes it was
manlike, and sometimes it was a reptile or fish, and all of its manifestations
were interchangeable.

It suited him.

Children at school used to spit the nickname as an insult
because of his mixed heritage. They’d called him other names as well, like chonky
and rice cracker. He had memories of tearful nights despairing over that which
could not be changed.

That’s when his love for video games had become an obsession,
not only because they provided him with a world without criticism, but because
he’d discovered he was an exceptional player. His mind seemed to be wired
differently than other people’s and game play came naturally to him. It wasn’t
long before he rose to the top of the standings on some of the most popular
games on the market. That had gotten him noticed by game designers, and before
his seventh birthday he’d become a paid consultant to the largest game maker in
the world, providing them with valuable input on how to improve the next
generation of games. By the time he turned twelve he was programming his own
game applications. His online persona found “friends” he could never find in
the real world, and it gave him purpose. But he’d still kept the two worlds
separated, never using his real name online, and refusing to share his
notoriety with his schoolmates for fear they would find a way to ruin it for
him.

Then the triplets had arrived at school—Lin, Min, and Zhin.
Even as teens their beauty had been historic. Boys got tongue-tied and girls
seemed unable to peel their eyes away. Though the triplets had been a year
older than Jiaolong, they’d been drawn to him like groupies to a rock star,
marveling at the same mix of features others had teased him about. After that,
everyone had wanted to be his friend, and his eyes finally opened to life’s
possibilities.

Encouraged by the examples set by his Chinese mother and
Dutch father, he’d learned to embrace the fact that he’d inherited far more
than mixed blood and a lavish lifestyle from his parents. From his father, he’d
come to understand the nature of international politics and business, the soft
lines between right and wrong when pursuing a goal, the importance of surrounding
yourself with people whose skill sets were beyond your own, and risking
whatever resources necessary to stay ahead of the competition. From his mother
he’d learned patience, calculation, and the ancient Chinese game of Go. Her
father had been a champion, like his father and grandfather before him—and the
rich strategies learned from its mastery had guided Jiaolong’s mother’s family
for generations.

Pursuing seemingly opposing objectives simultaneously is
the key to victory.

Lin placed a hand on his arm, interrupting his reverie. “It
is time,” she whispered.

He nodded. The game he played now had begun long ago when
Jake Bronson and his allies killed his parents. Though he would have preferred
to wait until the entire Passcode network was fully in place before making the
move that would hint at his true purpose, his grandfather’s declining health
dictated otherwise. He pulled out his smartphone, tapped an icon that dialed
the control room on the secure floor above, and issued the order.

F
RANCESCA DIDN’T ANSWER
so Jake left a quick voice
mail telling her to call him ASAP. He and Doc had just exited the main entrance
of the hospital. The summer sun brightened the day but not his mood. A group of
wheelchair-bound vets smoked cigarettes beneath a sprawling shade tree. 

“Slow down, my boy,” Doc pleaded as they hurried down the
walkway. “There’s no immediate danger.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said about the pyramids, Doc,” he
said, referring to the government’s assessment that Earth’s ancient alien
visitors couldn’t return for at least forty years. “Remember how that had
turned out?” He picked up his pace, opening a text window on his phone as he
made his way toward the parking lot. He was about to thumb in a message for
Francesca when someone called out from the other side of the street.

“Doctor Finnegan!” The stout woman waved frantically. She
looked fiftyish, her hair in a bun, and she was wearing a khaki hunting vest
over slacks and sneakers. The silver-haired man beside her was dressed like a
college professor. Jake recognized the couple as he and Doc hurried toward
them.

Professor Thompson was a physicist and the woman, Eloise,
was a brilliant biologist. Jake had met them on the island sanctuary that was meant
to become the birthplace of a new world, the one location on the planet that
was supposed to have been spared from an alien-induced Armageddon. The path to
humanity’s extinction had been triggered by a group known as the Order. Eloise
and the professor had been unwitting but devout followers—until Jake had
infiltrated their midst and revealed the horrendous truth beneath their
leader’s plan. With their help, Jake and his allies had rescued scores of
children from the volcanic eruption that destroyed their underground enclave.
Afterward, the couple had been instrumental in helping Doc’s team manage the
relocation and rehabilitation of the children, most of whom had been orphaned
by the cataclysm. Eloise and her husband had also provided a wealth of
information about the Order, which had been critically helpful in weeding out
many of the leftover factions. Add to that their unique scientific skill sets
and it hadn’t taken long for Doc to bring them into the fold at Area 52.

“What are you doing here?” Doc asked. “How did you even know
I was here?”

“No time for that now,” Eloise said breathlessly. Her cherub
cheeks were flushed, beads of sweat had formed on her brow. “Timmy’s been
taken.” She turned to Jake. “And you’re next.”

“This way,” the professor said. He took Doc’s arm and urged the
group down the line of cars. “We don’t have much time.”

This was it—the threat Jake and his family and friends had
been preparing for ever since their narrow escape from the island. Instead of
following the others, he stopped to compose the group text that would change
their lives forever.

A shot rang out.

The bullet split the air beside his cheek. It impacted the
professor between the shoulder blades, launching the man forward with the force
of a charging bull. The professor crashed to the ground between rows of cars
and Doc toppled beside him. Eloise screamed, both hands to her mouth, her eyes
wide. Jake raced toward her and pulled her roughly down with the others.

More shots rang out, hitting the opposite side of the car
like hammer blows. The professor lay motionless, the underside of his clothing
soggy from an expanding pool of blood. Doc placed his finger on the man’s neck
and grimaced. “My God, he’s dead!”

“Nooo!” cried Eloise, draping herself on her husband’s limp
form, her body hitching with sobs.

“There’s no time for that,” Jake said, grabbing her arm. He
pulled her to her knees, gripped her shoulders, and trapped her gaze. “Your
death will not honor him, Eloise,” he growled. “Find your strength and trust
me.” Two more slugs slammed into the car, her eyes widening further with each
blow. She trembled but nodded rapidly and rose to a crouch. 

“Attagirl,” Jake said, focusing his thoughts and wrapping
her in a mantle of determination.

He pulled out the keys to his Jeep. “Stay low but move fast.
My car is three rows over.” He took off in a crouched run, zigzagging between the
first row of cars. Doc and Eloise were close behind. More shots sounded, but
the impacts were behind them. For the moment, they were hidden from their
pursuers.

Then a man’s voice shouted from dead ahead, “Fan out!”

Jake skidded to a stop.

They’d never make it to his Jeep before this new group
reached that same row. “Where’s your car?” he asked Doc.

“Two rows over. Follow me!” Doc hurried to their left,
moving quickly despite his age. Eloise was right behind him.

Jake hesitated, holding his key fob just above the tops of
the cars as he pressed the lock button. His Jeep’s horn chirped.

“There!” a voice shouted.

The ruse would buy Jake and his friends a few seconds while
the assassins converged on the wrong car.

He caught up to Doc and Eloise as Doc was cracking open the
door on his Ford Mustang GT rental car. “I’ll drive,” Jake whispered, taking
the keys. “You two get in the back. Heads down. Don’t slam your doors.”

Once inside, he spotted four armed Asian men moving toward
his Jeep, one with a rifle, the others with pistols. They slowed, glancing
around, apparently unsure whether or not their prey was in the vehicle. Jake held
his Jeep key out the window and pushed the remote-start button. Even from two
rows away, he heard the deep-throated rumble of the Hemi V8 come to life. All
four men turned in unison toward the Jeep, moving quickly.

“Hang on!” Jake cranked the engine on the Mustang, backed
out of the space, and floored it, thankful for the GT model’s extra horsepower.
The tires squealed, the car leaped forward, and Eloise whimpered from the rear
seat.

He avoided the single paved exit of the large lot, veering
instead toward a short rise and stand of trees dead ahead. The car lurched hard
over the curb, fishtailing as it climbed the soft dirt. In the rearview mirror
he saw three of the men racing toward a black SUV. The fourth stood his ground
and raised the rifle to his shoulder. The muzzle flashed and two slugs hit the
trunk with heavy thunks. Jake jinked the Mustang from side to side, sliding
through a narrow gap in the trees, bounding down the opposite side of the embankment,
and bouncing onto the road that bisected the VA campus.

As he sped toward the freeway, he dug his phone from his
pocket and handed it over the seat to Doc. “Take this,” he shouted. “I need you
to send a group text.”