Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast (6 page)

T
HE TWO-BEDROOM SUITE
of the Manhattan Beach
motel was small but clean. It was the last unit on the bottom floor of the
L-shaped structure, offset from Pacific Coast Highway by a drive-through
portico, the kind of place locals drive by hundreds of times a year without
really noticing it. The parking lot surrounded a fenced swimming pool. It was
only five minutes from the airport and featured free high-speed Internet. Jake
had paid with cash for a week’s stay.

It was as good a place as any to hole up while he figured
out what the hell he was going to do. The text he’d received from his buddy in air
traffic control hadn’t been much help. Seven private flights had departed from
the two FBOs—fixed base operators—at LAX during the timeframe immediately
following the kids’ abduction, three with US destinations, one in Brazil, two
in Europe, and one in Tokyo, and there was no way to isolate which flight the
kids had been on. It was a dead end, at least for now.

In the meantime, he’d have to get medical help for Eloise.
She lay unconscious on the king-size bed. Doc sat beside her, swabbing her
forehead with a damp washcloth. The gash had stopped bleeding, but the skin
surrounding it was bruised and swollen.

“She should be in a hospital,” Doc said.

“No hospital will check her in without ID, and we can’t drop
her off as a Jane Doe because her fingerprints are in the system since she
works with you at Area 52. They’d know her identity in less than an hour and she’d
be dead before the day was out.”

Doc caressed her hair. “She’s been unconscious for too long,
Jake.”

“I know. There’s an emergency clinic just down the street.
I’ll bring—”

He stopped when he saw Eloise’s eyelids flutter open. Her
brow creased and her gaze darted this way and that as she tried to push through
the fog. She attempted to lift her head from the pillow, but sank back with a
pained expression.

“You’re going to be all right,” Jake said, sitting beside
her and taking her hand. “You took a bad lump to the head during the crash.”

“C-crash.” Her voice was barely audible.

Jake had been in her position more often than he’d like to
remember—waking in a strange place in a blanket of mental fog, with pain
racking his body—and he knew that the single most important thing in such
circumstances was to have a clear understanding of what the hell had happened.
He leaned closer. “You followed Doc to the VA hospital. Warned us. There were
men waiting in the parking lot but we got away.” He paused as her brain sorted
itself out.

She blinked several times. “Car chase?” she asked.

“That’s right. Then the crash.”

Her eyes widened.

“It’s okay, we’re safe here,” he said.

Her grip tightened around his hand. “Your f-family?”

“They were taken,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know
where.”

Eloise pursed her lips and concern flashed on her face. The
emotion took a toll and Jake sensed she was about to pass out again. He patted
her hand and projected a calmness he hoped would help her. But instead of
relaxing, her expression intensified. She grabbed his shirt, pulled him close,
and whispered, “Everlast.” Then her eyes rolled back and she was unconscious
once again.

Doc’s expression tightened and the two men exchanged a
worried glance.

Jake’s mind worked quick time as he recalled the name of the
company Doc had approached him about last year.

“It can’t be,” Doc said. “I know the founder, Frederik de Vries.
He’s a brilliant and generous man, and the work he’s dedicated himself to has
been instrumental in helping us in our own projects. Some of the top thinkers
of the world scientific community have rallied in support of his cause. I can’t
believe that de Vries would ever resort to—”

“Stop,” Jake said, glad to finally have a target on which to
focus his anger. “I’ve heard it all before, Doc. Another fanatic with a noble
cause.” He indexed data from his memories, thinking out loud as the pieces
started to fall into place. “Think about it. Everlast claimed to be on the
verge of a major breakthrough on a project intended to create human avatars,
all of which hinges on their ability to transfer a person’s consciousness to a
nonbiological carrier. They want to transfer the contents of a person’s brain
to a computer, and then to a cybernetic robot. They call it the path to the
next evolution of humanity. I call it lunacy because the world isn’t ready for
it.”

He considered how close the human race had been to self-imposed
extinction less than two years before. Sure, he’d sparked it, but it was
mankind’s inherently violent nature that nearly took it down.
We have to
learn how to stop killing each other before worrying about a humanistic
revolution
.

 “They encountered a roadblock,” he added. “So they came to
you for help because of the work you’re doing at Area 52.” They both knew it involved
way more than the simple brain-mapping project the government had publicized.
Doc had asked for Jake’s help several times, and Jake had refused.

Doc nodded begrudgingly.

“They talked Eloise and the professor into assisting them under
the table,” Jake continued. “She told us she did it for the science, remember?
It probably started out with a relatively innocent transfer of information on
the mapping project. But it’s no stretch to figure that a technically savvy
group could’ve manipulated her or the professor as an unwitting accomplice to
gain access to your internal network. There are a dozen ways they could’ve done
it. Hell, all it would’ve taken is an infected thumb drive and they would’ve had
everything on your system, including information about me.”

“I’m sorry,” Doc said, shaking his head. “We worked so damn
hard to keep your identity a secret.” His expression tightened and he grabbed
Jake’s smartphone off the nightstand. “I’m going to bring the full force of our
government to bear—”

Jake stayed his hand, taking the phone. “No way, Doc. Not
with my family and friends unaccounted for. Until we know how deep this goes,
we’re on our own.”

“But what the hell can the two of us do?”

“Plenty,” Jake said, his mind still reeling over the loss of
the mini. It had become his lifeline in ways he’d never revealed to anyone.
Without it, his body and mind would shut down in a matter of days, which meant
he needed to strike hard and fast.

He pointed a finger at Doc. “First off, you’re not going to
budge from this room ’til I contact you.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’re going to do this my way, which means you
need to remain off the grid for now.” He motioned toward Eloise. “Besides, she
needs your help, and I need you to manage the only ops center I can trust right
now.”

“Ops center?” Doc asked, glancing around the small room.

“We’ve got high-speed Internet and I’ll use cash to get you
the computer equipment you need to keep up with what’s going on out there.”

“And you?”

“I’m catching the next flight to Amsterdam.”

J
IAOLONG SETTLED INTO
the elevated command
chair positioned at the rear of the control room. He’d modeled the chair after
the one used by Captain Kirk in the
Star Trek
series, and he enjoyed the
feeling it gave him as he oversaw the bustle of activity in the room. His
people performed their jobs well, thanks in large part to Zhin’s management
style.

He watched as she and Lin shared a private conversation a
few steps away. He never begrudged them their time together, especially when
the third part of the whole—sister Min—was out of the country. The triplets
depended on one another in unique ways he would never truly comprehend. They
looked so much alike, but beneath the surface the differences they’d
intentionally honed were stark. Lin—the lover—was soft and alluring. Zhin—the
strategist—was rigid and relentless, a mastermind with no patience for failure.
Min—the tactician—was swift and agile, a master of martial arts and a merciless
competitor. He envied their closeness, and still remembered the thrill and
amazement he’d felt when he was invited into their circle so many years ago.
That life-defining moment had evolved into more than he could have ever hoped
for.

Now they shared his vision for the future, as well as his
passion for wringing vengeance from Jake Bronson and the others who had been
responsible for the death and destruction on the island. He vividly recalled
the despair he’d felt that day over his grandfather’s refusal to accompany him
to the sanctuary. His grandfather was a senior member of the Order and good
friend to its leader, Victor Brun. More importantly, Jiaolong’s father and
mother had already arrived on the island, and it was important that the entire
family be together during the crisis. But Grandfather had come to believe that
humanity would be better served through his work at Everlast than through the isolationism
professed by Brun. He would remain behind.

The news had come as a blow to Jiaolong. He’d idolized
Victor Brun, but he’d loved his grandfather. He’d been tempted to abandon his
plans to deliver his progress with Passcode into Brun’s hands, and instead convince
his parents to travel with him to Amsterdam. But his grandfather wouldn’t have
it. He’d insisted that Jiaolong proceed to the island and remain there, arguing
it was the only way to ensure continuation of their family line in the event the
alien grid unleashed its power on the world.

In the end, it had been the unified strength and
companionship of the triplets that had convinced him to follow his grandfather’s
wishes.

But the next day, everything had changed. Their boat had encountered
mechanical problems less than two miles outside the cove, just as Bronson’s team
began its assault. Jiaolong had witnessed the island’s destruction, listening
over the radio to the screams and pleas for help from the fourteen hundred
people trapped in the underground cauldron.

Including Mother and Father.

He’d watched in horror from the boat as his parents—and his
dreams of a life of consequence—went up in smoke. Like his broken vessel, his
world was drifting at the whim of currents beyond his control.

If not for Lin, Zhin, and Min’s compassion, he would never
have been able to pull himself from his depression. Their counsel had steeled
his resolve and brought clarity to a new vision. Judgment day had only been
delayed by the disappearance of the alien grid. The lack of available resources
on Earth would become the cause of humanity’s extinction. The math was simple
and irrefutable—population growth was out of control, and within his lifetime
the supply of food would become insufficient to support the masses. Global war
would be unavoidable, as would the use of weapons of mass destruction, smothering
the planet in a blanket of darkness and radiation that would snuff out life. The
vision molded centuries ago by the Order founders remained valid. Judgment day
was still coming, and it would require a leader of immense power and influence
to guide humanity from the abyss.

Passcode would allow Jiaolong to become that man.

And Everlast would allow him to maintain that position
forever.

He would fulfill the oath he made that day on the boat while
the island burned: to mete out justice to those responsible for the murder of
his parents and the vast family of Order members who’d perished before his eyes,
including the triplets’ mother.

 Jake Bronson would be made to suffer as he and the sisters had
suffered, to feel the despair of a world lost to him, and the anguish of the
violent deaths of his loved ones.

But first, Jiaolong would use Bronson and those dear to him to
help with the technological leap that would turn Everlast into a reality.

And save Jiaolong’s grandfather’s life.

Lin’s gentle touch brought him out of his reverie. “They are
ready. The live stream will be on the center screen.”

Earlier, he’d reviewed the recording of the Tony Johnson
takedown in L.A. Pak had been correct—the man was a bear. The fight had been
fearsome, and the footage was already being manipulated in the editing room. He
couldn’t help but smile in anticipation of the final product.

But in the meantime, he would enjoy watching this next
abduction in real time.

TurboHacker was about to meet his match.

E
VEN THOUGH MARSHALL
had been to plenty of
these kinds of events, wearing a tuxedo with Lacey on his arm, they still
weren’t his favorite pastime. The plastic smiles and hidden agendas that
usually accompanied the Hollywood crowd rubbed him the wrong way. But soirées
like this one were an important aspect of Lacey’s acting career so he’d never
hesitated to be there for her. Besides, every once in a while—like tonight—the
attendees seemed to leave their masks behind and simply dive in for a good
time.

They were in the Rome Cavalieri Hotel, which in Marshall’s
mind lived up to its reputation of being one of the most prestigious addresses
in the city. Situated atop a rise that was enclosed by fifteen acres of lush
Mediterranean parklands, the Waldorf Astoria resort was like an oasis in the
heart of the Eternal City. The party was on the ninth-floor Terrazza degli
Aranci, a glammed-out room dripping with elegance—richly paneled walls, subdued
accent lighting, and plush inlaid carpets surrounding a parquet dance floor,
where Marshall and Lacey and a dozen other couples moved to the music of a live
band. The room was filled to its two-hundred-fifty-people capacity, much of the
crowd spilling onto the expansive terrace with the stunning panorama of Rome.

Juxtaposed against the stylish features of the space was the
boisterous film crowd. The doors had opened less than half an hour ago, but the
noise level was already at a point that made Marshall pull his wife close so
she could hear his words.

His lips brushed her cheeks, and her delicate perfume
stirred him. “You look amazing,” he said. Her blond hair hung loose above a
black cocktail dress that showed off her slim waist and flowed in soft layers
to her knees. She wore the sapphire choker and matching earrings he’d given her
last year on her thirty-second birthday, their sparkles accenting her Caribbean
blue eyes.

“I feel amazing!” she said, spinning and making her skirt
twirl.

And there was good reason for it, he thought. Her latest
film had completed production today and the entire crew was here to celebrate.

“You deserve it, honey. You’ve come a long way since we met
at Sammy’s eight years ago.”

“Eight years. God, it seems like yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, pulling her into his
arms as the band played its first slow song.

Lacey had been a server at a Redondo Beach sports bar where Marshall,
Jake, and Tony were regulars. Marshall had noticed her.
Who wouldn’t have?
He could tell she’d been interested in him but his head had been elsewhere, as
it had been for most of his life. Sure, he’d had plenty of hookups since that
unexpected first time in high school, but sex and girls had never been his
primary focus. He’d always preferred the ones and zeros of the computer world
over the one-night stands and threesome opportunities that had dropped into his
lap because of his looks.

Everything had changed shortly after the MRI incident that
had caused his best friend’s brain to become magically supercharged. Jake’s
talents had gone viral and everybody had seemed to want a piece of him. Then
Jake’s home had been destroyed by a gas explosion and he’d been killed. Or so
they’d thought. When they’d discovered the burnt body wasn’t Jake’s—and that
he’d been kidnapped and taken halfway around the world—the way Marshall and
Lacey had worked together during the wild rescue on the canals of Venice had
sealed the deal for Marshall. His eyes had opened to her spirit and complexity
and they’d been together ever since.

He was pulled back to the present when a young guy on the
edge of the dance floor—Marshall recognized him as one of the grips—gave him
one of those man-to-man thumbs-up gestures that signaled his appreciation of Marshall’s
gorgeous “catch.” Marshall grinned as the guy raised his cell phone and snapped
a photo. The flash drew Lacey’s attention, and he led her into an arm-in-arm
pose for the shot he knew the kid was hoping to capture. The camera flashed
again, followed quickly by four or five other flashes from phones that suddenly
appeared from pockets. He spun her into a dip and her smile was effervescent.
As the song rose to a final crescendo, he pulled her into a twirl and lifted
her into the cradle of his arms, their eyes locked as the room spun around
them, their lips meeting with a tenderness that wasn’t staged. This was the
woman of his dreams, he thought, as he carried her off the dance floor to a
round of applause.

“Let’s get some air,” he said, setting her down and leading
her onto the terrace.

“It’s beautiful,” she said a few moments later, leaning
against the rail and taking in the view. The gentle breeze carried the scent of
pine. Couples walked arm in arm along the garden pathways below, disappearing
beneath the canopy of trees. A sea of twinkling lights accented the roofscape
that stretched to the horizon, dominated by the illuminated dome of St. Peter’s
Basilica that seemed but a stone’s throw away.

“I’ve set us up with a private tour for tomorrow,” he said.

“It’d better not be too early. I’ve been getting up at four
in the morning for the last month and I’m sleeping in.”

He pulled her close and lowered his voice. “No worries. I’ve
given us all morning for plenty of bed time.”

She shivered and leaned in for a kiss that was interrupted
when a waiter approached bearing a tray with two flutes of champagne.

“
Mi scusi, signore e signora
,” the man said with an
apologetic expression. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but the gentleman—
il
direttore
—insisted.” He pointed to the film’s director, holding court with
several couples in the main room. “It is a gift from his private reserve.”

Lacey’s brow lifted in surprise. “Wow,” she said, taking one
of the glasses.

Marshall took the other glass and the waiter bowed and
walked quickly away.

He held the glass up and examined the contents. “You think
this is some of the famous stuff?” He was referring to the rumor that the
director—who had a passion for fine champagne—had purchased a bottle of Cristal
Brut 1990 Methuselah at an auction in 2005 for over seventeen thousand dollars.

“In your dreams,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “which
you might as well stick with since you couldn’t taste the difference anyway.”

She was right about that. He’d rather get juiced on a Red
Bull than be tickled by champagne. But even if the liquid he twirled in his glass
didn’t originate from the rare bottle of Cristal, it likely came from one
costing a couple thousand or more. That’s just how the director rolled, which
meant the flute in Marshall’s hand probably cost over five hundred dollars. He
clinked it against Lacey’s.

“Bottoms up.”

Her eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare!”

He grinned, she elbowed him, and they raised their glasses.

“To the director,” he said.

As if on cue, before they could take their first sip, the
music suddenly stopped and the director’s voice boomed over the sound system.
He had a microphone in his hand and was hurrying toward the stage. “I need
everyone’s attention. Right now.”

It sounded more like a military command than a prelude to a
toast.

Hollywood…

Marshall and Lacey moved inside along with the other guests.
The stout director was dressed in a tux. His gray ponytail swung back and forth
as he climbed the steps and marched to the center of the stage. His face was
flushed, his expression stern. He raised the microphone to his mouth. “There’s
been a fire.”

There was a chorus of gasps.

“Nobody was hurt,” the director added quickly, patting the
air with his free hand to quiet the crowd. “It was an electrical short in the
production trailer. The fire’s out but the trailer is toast.” He shook his head
before adding, “We lost today’s footage.”

For a beat, everyone in the room stood frozen, eyes narrowed
and mouths agape. Then heads swiveled and murmurs rose as the full meaning
behind the news sank in.

“That’s right, goddamn it,” the director said. “We’ve got to
reshoot.”

A clamor of groans and curses.

“Oh, crap,” Lacey said.

Marshall’s shoulders sagged.

There goes my plans for tomorrow morning.

 “Listen up!” the director’s voice boomed. He pointed to a man
Marshall recognized as the location manager. “Charlie, you’re on point. Notify
the locals and do whatever the hell you have to do to get our permits extended
by a day. The rest of you know what needs to get done, so get on it. We start
shooting at seven in the morning.”

The lavish party broke into a brainstorming session. The
director stepped offstage to face a barrage of questions from two of the
producers. A crowd huddled around the location manager as he barked out orders.
Guests streamed toward the exit doors, their cell phones glued to their ears.
Reservations needed to be changed, equipment unpacked, bribes paid.

A small group at the bar high-fived one another. It was the
stunt people. They’d played a key role in today’s scenes and the reshoot meant
their earnings on this project had just jumped. One of them, a big Irishman named
Pete, caught Lacey’s eye and raised a shot glass in salute. He said something
Marshall couldn’t hear, and the rest of the team turned toward Lacey and lifted
their glasses as well.

Marshall knew what that was all about. Lacey always insisted
on performing most of her own stunts, believing the inherent danger added an
edge to her performance. To Marshall’s disgruntlement, she’d take on just about
anything. Except fire. As a young child she’d been trapped in her home during a
blaze. If it hadn’t been for the heroic action of her older brother, she’d have
never made it out alive.

Her brother had died saving her.

But the action scene being reshot tomorrow, while still
dangerous, was a straightforward car chase culminating in a spinout and crash. Lacey
set her untouched flute of champagne on a cocktail table and acknowledged the
crew with a grand curtsy that would’ve pleased a queen. The men laughed and
downed their shots. She wagged a scolding finger at them and they promptly hid
the empty glasses behind their backs. It wasn’t smart to drink before a shoot.

Marshall looked longingly at the glass of champagne he still
held, tempted to take a taste. Instead, as a sign of solidarity, he set his
flute down beside Lacey’s and they followed the crowd out the exit.

The producers had rented the entire seventh floor of rooms
for key guests attending the celebration, so the hallway was crowded with
activity as Marshall and Lacey exited the elevators and made their way to Lacey’s
room. Once inside, she kicked off her heels and started stuffing things into a roller
bag.

“The makeup team will be knocking at my trailer door at four
a.m.”

He knew all the reasons she liked to sleep in her trailer
the night before an early shoot, but he wasn’t about to let her get away that
easily, especially as hot as she looked tonight. He slipped off his shoes and
socks and then removed his jacket, bow tie, and shirt and threw them across a
chair.

She was grabbing underwear from the dresser drawer when he
moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you have to go right
away?” he whispered, his lips finding her neck.

Her reaction was instantaneous. They’d played this game
before; it was one of her favorites. The linen slipped from her hand as she
reached over her left shoulder and slid her fingers into the folds of his hair.
She melted into him and they both felt his body respond. His breathing
quickened and he turned her to face him, lowering his hands to her butt and
lifting her onto his hips. Her lips caressed his neck, legs clinging to him as
he walked to the adjoining room and lowered her onto the bed. He unzipped her
dress and slid it over her head. Her eyes were hungry.

“The makeup people will be knocking at my trailer door at four
a.m.,” she repeated breathlessly, unbuckling his pants.

 “That’s almost six hours from now.”

“Yesss,” she moaned as his mouth found her breasts.

The doorbell rang, followed by raps on the door. They both
heard it but their bodies demanded that they ignore it. The knocks came again,
louder.

Lacey’s body stiffened.

“Go away!” Marshall shouted.

Lacey placed a finger across his lips.

“I-I’m so sorry, Lacey,” a young woman’s voice said from the
other side of the door.

“Crap,” Marshall muttered, recognizing Penny’s voice. The
twenty-two-year-old was Lacey’s assistant and constant companion during
filming. They’d become the closest of friends over the past few years. His
shoulders sagged as he got out of bed, yanked on his pants, and opened the
door.

Penny cringed when she saw him standing there bare chested
and disheveled. Words rushed out of her. “Oh, God. It’s not my fault. The
director called an emergency meeting and he wants her there.” She had a pained
expression on her freckled cherubic face, as if waiting for him to forgive her
for the embarrassing intrusion.

“It’s okay,” he said with a sigh. “Come on in.”

She hustled past him and beelined toward Lacey, who had
already slipped on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers.

“We’re supposed to be downstairs in two minutes,” Penny
said, zipping up Lacey’s bag. She extended the handle and rolled it toward the
door.

Lacey threw her arms around her husband and kissed him hard
on the mouth. When they broke free, she whispered, “To be continued.”

Then she and Penny whisked past him and hurried down the
hall, and the sight of her leaving made his heart ache. She offered him a pouty
lip and a wave before disappearing into the elevator with several others. The bustle
of activity outside the rooms hadn’t waned, as others grabbed their belongings
and headed out. He recognized most of them from the party, including the
champagne-serving waiter—now dressed in street clothes—who appeared to be
having a heated conversation with two other men as they hovered near the
stairwell exit. Marshall shook his head in resignation and moved back into the
room, finding little solace in the fact that he wasn’t the only one whose plans
went awry tonight.