Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (5 page)

“So, you’re counting on me.”

“At some point, we must raid their facility, anyway, and attempt to rescue as many hostages we can. It’s just that the element of surprise will save many lives. That place is sure to be like a fortress, so whatever help this key Weller can give us will be crucial.”

“You really think this is going to work?”

“Like I said, we have no choice.” Jax laid the papers on Sunny’s lap. “I’ll give you a few minutes to study the report. And there’s a time constraint. Our remote viewers did a future view and agreed unanimously on a second point. If we’re not successful and out of here by sunrise tomorrow, we’ll
all
be dead. That includes Dan, this guy Weller and all the hostages.”

Jax stepped away leaving Sunny gaping momentarily. She recovered quickly and began leafing through the twenty-some pages.

Chapter 3

I opened the shower door and poked my head through to look about the bathroom. An intruder couldn’t have slipped past Michelle through the bedroom without being seen. The crank-out casement window above our Jacuzzi tub was the only other access into the master bath. Even without my glasses, the window was close enough for me to see that its locks and inside screen were in place. No possible hiding places existed, except . . . the small towel closet across from the shower. There would be just enough room inside for someone to stand between the shelves and the door.

As my pulse accelerated, I snatched the back brush hanging from another suctioned hook on the tile wall of the shower and cautiously stepped out.

Harvey came back.
Nice, Superman. Whata weapon. No gunman or knife-brandishing maniac’ll mess with you. Not and risk getting whacked with that mean back brush you’re wielding. Uh-huh, boy. They’ll be shakin’ in their boots for sure —

“Shut up,” I whispered. I was a little surprised when Harvey did as told.

I quickly seized my glasses from the vanity countertop and put them in place. Feeling vulnerable in my nakedness, I covered my manhood and tiptoed to the closet with water running down my back and legs and dripping onto the floor. Then, holding my breath, I placed my ear against the closet door. No suspicious noises. No breathing. No sound. After not hearing a thing for several seconds, I began to feel totally stupid. What if Michelle came in and saw me standing there, naked, back brush raised offensively, dripping water, with my head against the towel-closet door?

Still, I should check the closet quickly to satisfy my own curiosity and then get back into the shower where I was supposed to be. But as I grasped the doorknob, I
did
hear a noise, although faint. Could it have been a raspy gasp, the intruder on the other side taking a chance breath — or my own imagination, perhaps Harvey shifting around in his rabbit costume while nibbling on a carrot somewhere in the recesses of my mind? I couldn’t tell for sure.

Now my heart hammered inside my chest, sending adrenaline-laced blood throughout my body, pumping it past my eardrums, its visceral pounding drowning out any sound from inside the closet.

Ready to quickly shoulder-slam the door back into place if the need arose, I yanked it open.

Inside were towels, washcloths, extra soap and shampoo
— and a small, odd-looking rodent.

Mickey Mouse,
Harvey said.

From atop a stack of folded bath towels, it gazed at me with large, black eyes while sitting back on its haunches. Its hind feet were large in comparison to the rest of the thing and its tail disproportionately long. It watched me without alarm, as if we were old roommates. The more I gazed at it the better I recognized what this small beast was
— some sort of gerbil, much like the ones I’d seen in pet stores. I couldn’t remember that our son Will had ever owned a gerbil, and Colorado certainly wasn’t their natural habitat. Someone’s escaped pet, perhaps — on the lam, scavenging for handouts.

My glasses had steamed over. I swiped my finger across the lenses. “Where’d you come from?” I asked the rodent as if expecting it to strike up a conversation with me
— maybe answer,
Well, my ancestral heritage is Africa and the Far East; however, presently, I’ve taken up residence in this small homestead you call your towel closet
.

The little creature watched me curiously, sniffing the air, and then glanced up at my raised back brush. I wasn’t about to use the thing on the innocent-looking rat. I could try throwing a towel on it and, if successful, contain it in a trashcan until I got dressed. But the little fellow would probably get away and terrorize Michelle. I should leave this job to professionals.

“You won’t poop on the towels, will you, Mickey?” I asked as I hid the brush behind me.

It gazed back, still sniffing.

I blew out an extended breath, but before I closed the door, I took a fresh towel from the shelf above the rat, remembering I hadn’t gotten one earlier for after my shower. I closed the door hoping the gerbil would stay put. Later this morning, I would call the exterminator and request he use a live trap to capture our houseguest so he could be released somewhere more suitable.

Great
, I thought as I tiptoed back over the wet floor to the shower. Now I had Harvey the imaginary rabbit inhabiting my head and Mickey Mouse living in my closet. What next? Would Donald Duck be my chauffeur?

I hung the fresh towel on the outside of the shower door, hooked my glasses over it, and stepped inside. While placing the brush back onto its hook, I glanced around for the remains of the tissue note. Evidently, it had disappeared down the drain. Now, I remembered something my doctor had said. Trauma from my Friday morning fall had caused some brain swelling. It wasn’t unusual for someone who’d had such an injury to be confused and for their mind to play tricks on them. My increasingly vocal alter ego might be proof of that. The note could have been imagined
— hell, who knows, even the closet rat.

“Nuts,” I said aloud, “I’m going nuts.”

*  *  *

Jax checked their perimeter carefully as he waited for Sunny to peruse the report. His team had found an excellent spot for concealment: a small clearing nestled in the scrubs with groundcover spotty and sparse, mostly low-growing weeds in the rocky soil between tall evergreens.

He glanced back at the dry creek bed running along one side that facilitated the DPVs. The vehicles were snugged in nicely. He’d had Lieutenant Carpenter switch on their reactive camouflage, making them appear as only shimmering mirages, like transparent mounds of bent light. Sunny and the weapons affixed to the DPVs were the only things that could be clearly seen.

Jax nodded as he scanned the rest of the area. It was a fine place to operate from
— now they needed a lot of luck.

Only six hours earlier, Major Jackson had spoken with his Commander-in-Chief. United States President Francis Allen Mason admitted he didn’t completely comprehend the situation, nor did his cabinet. The many Presidential advisors offered little help. They only recognized something diabolical was happening, something far beyond normal reason. Still, these irresolute advisors had convinced the President to wait
— that
another
rescue mission, like the last stab in the dark three days ago, was not in the country’s best interest.

The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency seemed confident his organization had a better handle on this state of affairs than the rest of the world. Through information gained from the Defense Intelligence Agency’s team of five remote viewers of the
Thousand Eyes
project, the CIA found concern for much more than the disappearances of three dozen
special
citizens and the safety of a couple hundred hostages. Without tangible intelligence to go on, they were left to rely solely on the remote viewers’ findings — and it was obvious no one completely trusted the RVs.

The last thing President Mason told the major was to stand down until more hard intelligence became available.

Major Jackson’s refusal to tell President Mason where this most recent operation was taking place seemed to be the thing that burned the President’s butt the most. However, Jackson did not regret his disobedience. President Mason’s concern for the
big
picture
was misguided as was his distrust of the
soft intelligence
the RVs were giving him. The President was forgetting that he was not just a politician, and this thing was much deadlier than political polls.

Jackson tried to clear his head of the who and the why, attempting to focus only on the tactics of the awesome task before him. But he found little success
— his involvement too personal.

As he knelt next to Staff Sergeant Chambers, Jax wondered how many men he would lose today. He allowed himself this distraction, agonizing over what would happen if they were unsuccessful
— if they were found out and caught. Would all of his men take the little red pill? Would they be tortured — or just executed? Would Sunny? He wished, if only for this moment,
he
could remote view and look into the near future to see what might be. He shook his head.

Chambers glanced at him. “Sir?” There was no hint of fear on the young sergeant’s face
— only a sort of faithful determination and trust.

Jax knew that this man and the three dozen other warriors who had accompanied him this far would follow his orders to the letter, without hesitation, without questioning him even for a second. Where did such men come from? How did he gain and control their unquestioning trust? He could not explain it. And perhaps it was better he wasn’t able to foresee the outcome of this mission
— it could be tragic, and there was no turning back now.

Jax wouldn’t allow these doubts to seep into his thoughts again.

He finally answered Chambers, “Nothing, sergeant.” He gave the young man a slight smile and patted his shoulder.

Five minutes passed before Jax returned to Sunny’s side with a topographical map.

As he approached the DPV, the lieutenant with the SatCom unit called to him, “Sir, I think you should see this.”

“Bring it,” Jax said pointing to the driver’s seat next to Sunny.

“Jax,” Sunny said, frowning as she flipped back through the pages, “this is too much, unbelievable. It’s like a nightmare.” Sunny stared at the top page, and Jax could see her emotions building. He had a good idea of what she would say next.

Her eyes didn’t leave the report on her lap. “Let’s talk about Dan a minute, Jax. Tell me the truth. They think he’s a traitor, don’t they? They think Dan’s responsible for this mess
— in charge, even?”

The lieutenant slipped behind the steering wheel and turned the laptop’s screen so that both Jax and Sunny could see it. “It’s an image from Doctor Ultar. He says this drawing is typical of what he’s getting now from his remote viewers.”

Relieved by Lieutenant Carpenter’s interruption, still Jax knew he would have to answer Sunny soon. He studied the jpeg image before him — a simple pencil drawing. It seemed to depict a small town, rectangles representing buildings. Above it was a large mass that could have been either a nuclear cloud or perhaps a huge brain. Lines had been drawn attaching the thing to the buildings. Within the brain-like cloud were the words
Daniel McMaster
and
Chairman
.
Gold Rush
was printed below the town.

Sunny frowned at the image, obviously confused. “What’s this telling us?”

“Dr. Ultar says the people at
Thousand Eyes
believe it means Mr. McMaster is in control of the town,” the lieutenant said. “Or at least — ”

Jax filled in Lieutenant Carpenter’s pause. “Or his brain is.”

It took a long moment of astonishment before Jax reined in his thoughts — picturing his best friend’s brain being enlarged to the size of the Goodyear Blimp and hardwired to an entire small city. He brought focus back to the mission, the more reasonable facts they knew to be true. He reached over Sunny and turned the laptop’s screen away from her frozen stare.

“That will be enough, lieutenant,” Jax said and gently took Sunny by the chin to look her face to face. Her eyes were bloodshot, confusion obvious, worry lines enhanced by the miles of dust from their journey. “It’s only a drawing, Sunny. You know how these second protocol RVs work. They draw pictures after viewing, then they’re interviewed and their thoughts are interpreted. Those drawings are only symbols.”

She pulled his hand away from her face. “You mean, we’re not going to find Dan’s disembodied brain tethered and pumped up to the size of Snoopy at Macy’s parade? Or do you mean that Dan isn’t the one behind all this — the
chairman
?”

“That speculation is obvious,” Jax said and nodded toward the laptop. “Some of the RVs have been relating Dan to the term
chairman
all along, as if he were somehow the leader, perhaps in control of these Biotronics people. I’m not going along with it, though. I won’t — I can’t. If Dan is somehow involved, I’m sure it’s against his will.”

Sunny shook her head. “This is ridiculous
— the
chairman
thing. Dan was chairman of the board of McMaster’s Nonlethal Solutions. That’s what these RVs of theirs are hitting on.”

“Maybe.”

Sunny sighed. “And if we can’t rescue Dan and the hostages, they’re going to be killed, aren’t they?”

“Sunny, all of us are expendable. We must understand that. Prior to embarking last night, I spoke to President Mason again. He was . . . let’s say, pissed. If we’re not successful, the danger will be too great
— immediate. I can’t believe that our own President would order a strike against us. But as soon as Biotronics finds out we’re here, I’d guess they’ll destroy their facility as well as the town. That is unless we can gain the President’s support and he sends in help. And the only way we can get his support is if it appears we’re going to be successful. We can’t fail. And I’ll promise you this —
I
won’t leave here without Dan.”