BRAINSTORM Page 36

  I said, “Leave Xiang to me.”

  “No,” Jax said. “Absolutely not, sir!”

  I turned my back on him, dropped from the doorway and walked briskly toward the desert patrol vehicle.

  “Damn it,” he said and gave in. He called out, “All right, then. Sanders and Finney are with the DPV. Tell ‘em to go with you.” I looked over my shoulder and gave him a thumbs up. Jax frowned back, then nodded to the pilot and the big helicopter’s engines sparked to life, its huge rotor starting to slowly turn.

  “Hang on, son,” Chief Dailey said, his heavy footfalls hustling up from behind. “I’ll help ya. We’ll make short work of Xiang and then you can take me to the dozer.”

  As Jax and the helicopter lifted, Sarge leapt to the ground from the open doorway. He ran toward the tunnel.

  Sampson called out, “Sarge! Get back here, boy.”

  “No time for that, now,” Jax said. “Too many lives in the balance. He can find his own way down to the runway.”

  The helicopter rose until the heavy cable attached to the ambulance became taut, and they hovered directly above it. Then they took off, slowly at first, but accelerated rapidly with the van swaying underneath. They headed for the airstrip where the first jumbo jet now began its takeoff run.

  Dailey and I were sprinting, about halfway to the DPV, when my fast-forward double vision returned. I figured it came to me instinctively, some sort of defensive measure from my subconscious. In the ghost view, I saw Wu step up from behind a bush on one side of the trail. My premonition startled me, and I stopped in my tracks as I continued to view it. Wu gave me one of his intense stares, and with the element of surprise, I had no time to defend myself. I folded to my knees and quickly fell dead.

  The future view evaporated from before my eyes and in the present view, I saw the two soldiers who had been guarding the DPV. They lay twisted, and most likely dead, beside it.

  Dailey caught up to me and I grabbed his shoulder. “Stay back, Chief,” I said, then cautiously proceeded, hoping he’d understand the danger and obey.

  A few yards later, I came upon the bush I’d seen in my premonition and focused on it as I approached. I counted on getting the jump on Wu this time, gain the upper hand.

  Twenty feet in front of me, he stepped out as I’d expected. He looked surprised that I’d already brought my energy to bear on him, the top of my spine tingling, sharp pains stabbing my temples. I could think of nothing else but to fake him out, to “psych” him.

  As he glared at me, his returned force caused a burning from inside of me, and the energy between us increased. I held the heels of my hands out in front of me and advanced toward him. Blood trickled from his nose, then from mine. I gave him a karate yell and pedaled my arms. His eyes widened from my display of BS, and momentarily, I thought I had him.

  But the intense heat of his power soon grew overwhelming. The ground around us trembled. We came to within eight feet of each other and stopped. I felt the dominance of power shift to his side and he smiled. His force became too great, as I was driven to one knee.

  “Who are you to think you can overpower me?” he said, standing with his hands on his hips like some kind of comic book super villain.

  I knew it would be a split second before I would topple over dead. I could not move my lips to even curse him. Then, I thought of Sunny—I didn’t know why. I felt not only a great sorrow build inside of me, but also a matching anger. It was Dr. Xiang and Wu’s fault Sunny was dead—as well as the hundreds of others who had died and would soon die. I wanted to call him a bastard, wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and watch him die—make him die. But I felt my consciousness dwindling, the earth beneath me seeming to spin as his words echoed inside my head Who are you to think you can overpower me?

  Then, the last entity in the world I would have ever expected popped into my thoughts—Harvey. But his presence did not distract me this time, he did not harass me with his comments, try to persuade me one way or another. This time Harvey’s presence seem to bring with it an incredible energy, refueling and adding to my own. I thought of Sunny again and my anger built with a new resolve. I finally was able to strain out an answer to Wu’s question.

  “I’m . . . Superman,” I blurted, then reached into my pocket, pulled out Sunny’s .32 caliber pistol and put her last bullet between his eyes.

  The speed and finality of the action stunned even me as Wu fell backward onto the ground with incredible surprise on his face.

  I pocketed Sunny’s empty pistol. It would be my only souvenir of her. And now for Xiang. I went to the DPV.

  “Hot damn,” Chief Dailey said, trotting sideways by Wu’s body, gaping at him in amazement. “Hot damn, that was slick. You don’t mess around, do ya, son?”

  I checked Major Jax’s two men. They were both dead.

  Below us the first 747 turned onto a strip parallel to Xiang’s plane, both planes taxiing on the other end of the airfield. Jax’s helo was speeding toward the first jumbo jet, as planned. If we could get through the rugged terrain about six hundred yards to our right before Xiang took off, he’d fly directly over us. I fired up the DPV as Dailey swung into the passenger’s side, and we shot off through the snow and rough landscape toward the spot Xiang was sure to pass over.

  We’d covered considerable ground when Dr. Xiang’s jet began its takeoff run, a mile on the opposite end of the strip. It approached, gaining speed. I stopped the DPV about halfway downhill from the tunnel as we came in line with the jet’s departure, and I got out.

  “Stay here, Chief,” I said, and he complied as I jogged away.

  Seventy-five feet from our vehicle, I stood in the open and waited. Below, I could see Jax’s big rotorcraft landing directly in front of the first 747. He had it and the second jumbo jet pinned in.

  About two-thirds of the way down the airstrip, Xiang’s smaller jet left the tarmac and gained altitude sharply to avoid the rocky slope we were on.

  * * *

  As I focus my energy, the double vision returns. I see inside the jet in the phantom view. This time, I realize both visions are real time, the same time but different space. The first, opaque view, is from my own physical eyes. The phantom view is a close up, a peek from inside the cockpit.

  But I suddenly find myself embodied inside the plane, standing behind Xiang as he watches the ground over the pilots’ shoulders. Time shifts to slow motion again, and no one seems aware of me inside the plane. I look at my hands and forearms and they are translucent, phosphorescent. My body seems to have become pure energy. But looking past Xiang, I see myself on the approaching hillside, and I realize my ability to remote view has transcended another step.

  My point of view shifts instantaneously back to the ground to my physical body. My spine, the base of my head tingle again.

  Suddenly, back in the plane, I move around Xiang, passing through the copilot’s body and seat, and I turn back to glare at Xiang. He jerks his head back and his eyes widen with panic.

  “Impossible,” he whispers.

  I smile at him. “This might hurt,” I say, and back out of the cockpit to the nose of the plane, only my glowing, phantomlike head protruding inside through the windscreen.

  The pilots’ faces contort, and Xiang hunches over in pain between their seats.

  My conscience shifts back to the ground, sharp pains bolt through my temples as the small jet flies nearer, now only two hundred yards away.

  Seeing inside the plane again, Xiang’s face grimaces incredibly as he stares at me, my ghostly being.

  Shifting back to the hillside, the hurt grows stronger, radiates throughout my skull.

  In the plane, Xiang’s hands claw at his temples from the terrible pain. I move inside the cockpit once again, toward Xiang. He reaches out, grabs for me angrily, and his hand passes through my phantomlike body.

  On the hillside, static electricity builds around me as if I am a giant glass rod, and I feel the energy from the very ground I stand on as it course
s through my legs. I smell ozone before blood spurts from my nose. The force builds inside my chest and upper body as if my trunk were a huge capacitor, storing an intense power.

  Suddenly, violently, the center of my body jolts, releasing a discharge of electricity, flashing like a lightning strike to the jet.

  Inside the plane, Xiang screams in anguish, and my self-apparition pops like a bubble, disappearing from the cockpit, and my double vision melds together.

  In that instant, I fall limply onto the ground as Xiang’s jet torches above me. A hundred yards uphill, it spirals into the mountainside in a conflagration of flames, sparks and streamers.

  * * *

  I lay, sprawled out on scrub brush, my head foggy, spinning. From behind, I heard the chief’s rapid footfalls. The chief came quickly to my side and helped me up. I felt drained, my body limp and uncooperative from exhaustion after such terrific spending of energy.

  “You are one bad mutha, ain’t you?” he said, leading me by the arm. “Now we gotta get down to the airfield so I can get that dozer.”

  At the DPV, Dailey got behind the wheel. As my head cleared, he busted the tires loose, and we set off wildly down the slope.

  “Chief,” I said, “what are hundreds of American POWs—or MIAs—doing here?”

  “Don’t you get it, boy? This whole town ain’t nothin’ but a farce. Xiang made this place over thirty-five years ago. Brought all of us to it, all the POWs—many of us MIAs. He had the perfect plan. We’d work for him and not try’n escape. In return, he’d give us a home, a wife, a job and let us raise a family as near to what we had back home as possible, maybe even better in a lot of ways.”

  “But right under our noses in Gold Rush? And what about everyone else?”

  In front of us, a large boulder seemed to emerge from the waning shadows and darkness in the early morning light. Dailey swerved and our vehicle tipped slightly, slammed back onto all fours, then lurched and found purchase. He spat tobacco out the side, his foot back firmly on the accelerator. “Damn, that was close,” he said, then continued, “Xiang used a bunch of his own people for hard labor, buildin’ and maintainin’ and even a few as guinea pigs.”

  I thought of the people I had found in Residence A.

  “He used us POWs to help get the town right. He wanted it to have as much of a ‘good ol’ hometown’ feel to it as possible. Hell, he’d brought in big trees and all sorts of plants and animals to make it complete. They used material and products that were standard—stuff you’d expect to see in Gold Rush, Colorado. Built all the cozy cottages, quaint stores, the white picket fences.”

  We made the tarmac and sped more smoothly toward the hanger where the bulldozer was parked. When we swerved to a stop in front of it, the chief got out, and I slipped in behind the wheel.

  “Good luck, Chief,” I said.

  “Same to ya, boy,” he said as he climbed onto the D-9 Cat bulldozer. He started the big diesel engine. “And by the way, that little rodent of yours? Yesterday afternoon, I caught up with the kid they had actin’ as your son—Li’s his name, I believe. Gave him the little critter. He was as happy as a bloodhound eatin’ possum.”

  I smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up before taking off toward Major Jackson five hundred yards away. I hoped I hadn’t smashed my furry friend in Li’s pocket when I’d hugged the boy about an hour earlier.

  Jax already had the crew and few original passengers of both jets out of the planes and wrangled into a circle off to the side. They’d pulled in a fuel truck and was fueling up the helicopter.

  There might have been three dozen of the original crew and passengers lying prone, all but one with their arms extended. That one, a small, rotund Oriental with a bandaged hand, seemed to be unconscious. Major Jax and two of his men guarded the group while the rest of his soldiers were unloading the cargo to make room for more passengers.

  I parked within twenty feet of Jax and asked, “How many do you think we can take?”

  “I figure, if we clear the baggage compartment, make room in even the unpressurized areas, and load them in there, also, we might cram in as many as eight hundred people in each plane. But we’ll have to stay below ten thousand feet so that they’ll be able to breath.”

  “What if we tear out the seats, hell, even the commodes? Make it standing room only.”

  “Never thought of that. Might be able to nearly double the number. Still, we’ll be overloaded. That’s a lot of weight.”

  “Jax, we have no choice. We can’t leave anyone behind.”

  Jax shook his head. “Jesus . . . you’re right. We have to try.” He looked to the airman next to him. “Get every boarding stairway and loading ramp they have out of the hangers and put them up to all of the passenger and cargo doors on both planes, and get it done.” As his man trotted away toward the rest of the group unloading the planes, Jax said, “I’ll find the specs on these behemoths, get a quick guesstimate of weight and how much fuel we’ll need to get to safety. We’ll dump all the fuel we don’t need.”

  We both looked back up the mountain. Dailey had reached the tunnel’s entrance.

  I asked, “Have you seen Sunny’s husband?”

  He looked at me from the corner of his eyes. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he know about the affair Sunny and I’d had? Maybe her husband and I had actually fought over her. Perhaps all of us—Jax, Sunny’s husband and I—were all good friends at one time.

  “I know already, Jax. Sunny told me that Dan and I didn’t get along. But I certainly don’t wish him any harm.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “If Dan’s here, he’ll be fine if we can get the hell out.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes.”

  Chapter 38

  Jax had ordered one of his men to get the spec books out of the cockpit of one of the 747s and to bring them to him. After a quick review of the plane’s capacities and load limits, his eyes found the ambulance that was still hooked up by four cables to the chopper. “We’re going to have to do something about the van. It’s probably three tons loaded like it is.”

  “Do you have a cargo net we can put the records in?”

  “We could do that.”

  The major signaled to two soldiers to relieve him of the guard duty, and he, Rajiv and I began work on transferring Yumi’s absconded records from the ambulance to the cargo net.

  As we placed the boxes and bags of incriminating evidence in the net, I noticed a thin bracelet on Jax’s right wrist. It had a small arrowhead on it like the one I’d seen on the spirit-like beauty who led me to the universal matrix.

  “Moonfeather,” I said aloud, almost involuntarily.

  Jax turned to me with a frown. “What did you say?”

  “Moonfeather,” I said. “Someone in a dream had a necklace exactly like your bracelet.”

  “And her name was Moonfeather?”

  “Yeah, she saved our lives.”

  Jax smiled, the tall man’s eyes beginning to water, but we both kept working as we talked.

  “Jax, she said something about telling her lover it wasn’t his fault, and she’d be waiting for him when it was his time. But that he had a lot to do in the material world first.”

  He grinned at me as if he’d just won the lottery as we both carried boxes from the van to the net. “She was my wife.” His happiness left and a grim pal replaced it. “Always loved to explore underwater caves. Four years ago, we were down about eighty feet off Waikiki. She was so excited about finding a cave she hadn’t explored before. The currents around there shift without notice and an unusually strong one grabbed us out of nowhere. I got hooked up on a rock, ripped my airline open. She was swept away. Out of air, I had no choice but to surface fast. I found help, but by the time we got back, all I could find was her necklace hooked on a rock.” He set his box down in the cargo net and raised his arm to gaze at the small arrowhead. “I wear it on my wrist so I can always see it.” He dropped his arm. “We never found her body. I got a bad case of the be
nds, nearly died.” He looked up at me and smiled. “You were there.”

  I stared at him, shocked.

  He continued. “You came to my hospital room nearly every day—gave me as much support as you could.” He turned to go back to the van for more of the boxed files and records, but then he paused with his back to me. “I can still see her, being pulled backwards into that cave, her arms out to me—begging me for help.”

  I found honesty in Jax’s voice, and for the first time, I really believed it, no doubt—100 percent—that none of what I thought of as my world, as my reality, was true. I wished I could remember this man, Moonfeather, Sunny and her husband. I sensed a great bond between us, and it made me dreadfully sad.

  By the time we were finished, lights shone from the tunnel entrance halfway up Mt. Rainy. We had twenty minutes left.

  Dailey’s bulldozer pulled to the side to let the faster cars by and down the trail toward us. They came quickly in a long stream of headlights that seemed never ending. We were going to get all of these people out, someway. I didn’t know how.

  Several soldiers began directing traffic, having the cars park to one side. They pointed the citizens of Gold Rush toward the planes, warning them of not taking any personal items with them, there would be no room.

  “There they are!” Rajiv yelled. He glanced at me and then looked gleefully at the crowd of people moving toward the planes. He sprinted as best he could toward a group of five who came away from the rest and greeted him with big smiles and cries of joy.

  The next sight gave me as much pleasure—Korean War veteran George Washington Banks and his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Former U.S. Marine Corporal George Washington Banks gave me a toothy grin and a big thumbs-up as they passed. I realized he was one of the Korean War POWs of which Dailey had spoken.

  I waved back at Banks as several people rushed by his family to get farther up in line. A couple more boarded the helicopter, and one man stepped by quickly holding his head as if in tremendous pain. He turned his face from me as he got near, and I thought it was odd. But I was distracted when Sampson came up to us.