No Refuge
Back Cover Text
No Refuge
(Brainrush 6)
#1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author Richard Bard, who entertained fans with his wildly successful Brainrush thriller series, now unleashes the heart-pounding series finale in a two-book ride that will take your breath away.
Jake Bronson’s family and friends are mourning him. They’d watched as he sacrificed himself so their lives could return to normal. But normal wasn’t to be. The megalomaniac whom Jake had killed during his suicide assault left a legacy of videos that damn Jake and everyone associated with him, leading to a price being put on their heads, dead or alive. They go to ground, unaware their every move is being tracked by a new breed of young, tech-savvy jihadists about to unleash vengeance on America’s homeland—with Jake’s family and the unsuspecting citizens of Los Angeles in their crosshairs.
As the jaws of the terrorist trap begin to close, Jake’s eight-year-old son, Alex, faces a threat of his own. He carries a deadly secret that endangers the world, and now that his father is dead, Alex is the only one who can deal with it. He slips away to heed the call of unearthly visions that demand his presence, and his journey draws him to the back alleys of Bogota, Colombia, where he encounters a group of terminally ill orphans. One of their siblings has been abducted by child traffickers. Alex can’t ignore their cry for help, and the unlikely alliance plans a nothing-to-lose rescue mission that has little chance of success.
But the bloodthirsty outcry against Alex’s family and friends reaches beyond those who wish them harm, as do the visions that reveal their dark secrets to Alex. Help is on the way…
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text and cover copyright © 2017 Richard Bard
Revised cover copyright © 2017 Richard Bard
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Richard Bard
PO Box 107
Redondo Beach, California 90277
Smashwords Edition
eBook License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy at any online eBook retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the price of this book, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Back Cover Text
Dedication
Title Page
The Brainrush Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Author’s Note
Against All Odds
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Author Bio
Dedication
For my nephews Dylan and Ryan
No Refuge
Brainrush 6
Richard Bard
The Brainrush Series
Brainrush is a story about second chances, and embracing every day as though it’s your last. Called “a terrifically entertaining thriller” by Publishers Weekly, Book 1 of the series was named The Wall Street Journal’s #1 bestselling action/adventure in its “Guide to Self-Published Big Sellers,” while Book 2 stayed in the top 10 of Amazon’s top-rated mystery/thriller list for fifty-three straight weeks.
This set the stage for the blockbuster release of the third book in the series, which was heralded by Suspense Magazine as “part science fiction, part thriller, part suspense, part love story, and part mystery. It’s got it all and that’s what makes this novel one of the best.”
Books 4 & 5 were released in 2014, and met with rave reviews that outpaced even those from the first three books. Smoke & Mirrors (book 5) was named one of the best books of the year by IndieReader.com.
The final two books in the series, No Refuge and Against All Odds, promise to keep you on the edge of your seat in a fashion that lives up to what the series is all about. It’s a thought-provoking, soulful, and satisfying rush that will keep you gasping long after the final page.
Chapter 1
South Lake Tahoe, California
I’D KILLED THIRTY-ONE PEOPLE the previous week, and I still couldn’t wash the smell out of my nose.
I’m talking about real people with homes and families and hopes and dreams, not video game avatars that respawn after ten seconds. In that world I’d killed tens of thousands. Well, the actual number was 45,268. It’s not that I made a point of keeping an exact count. My brain just did it for me. It was the same for pretty much everything else I saw or heard. The data got dumped into various drawers in my head, and I could recall it whenever I wanted. Trust me, that was not always a good thing. There were plenty of memories I wanted to forget forever, including the expressions of terror of the people I killed.
And the look on my mom’s face as she watched me do it.
And the smell.
I hadn’t had much choice in the matter since it had been the only way to save my family and friends, but that didn’t make the shame go away.
Yesterday was my eighth birthday. We hadn’t celebrated.
“It’s not fair!” my brother Ahmed said, interrupting my thoughts. He paced in front of the small couch by the TV. He was eighteen years old. The brain implant that controlled most aspects of his autism didn’t prevent his rants.
“We didn’t do anything to deserve this,” he continued. “What about school? What about my short board? What about simply walking down the street without worrying somebody is going to kill us?”
My thirteen-year-old sister, Sarafina, stiffened at that last comment. She tucked her legs beneath her and sank further into her corner of the couch. When her eyes closed I knew she was disappearing into the music streaming from her earphones. Music was her thing. If we’d been back home, she would’ve found comfort in her piano. But she’d never see that piano again. We couldn’t go home. Ever.
The three of us couldn’t have looked more different. Ahmed had strong Afghan features and a stern gaze that tended to put people on
guard, while Sarafina’s soft face and big brown eyes made you want to smile. She was Italian. Me, I was just an average-looking American kid with a mop of light brown hair and a crooked smile. Mom and Dad weren’t my siblings’ biological parents, but so what? The three of us were brothers and sister in every way that mattered, especially after everything we’d been through.
“It’s all fake,” Ahmed said, shaking his fist at the TV, where a photo of our dad was embedded beside the newscaster. The banner across the top of the screen read Global Terrorist. The volume was muted but we’d heard it all before. “It didn’t go down that way,” Ahmed said. “Dad wasn’t responsible for any of it. If it hadn’t been for him, the world would’ve been decimated. It’s not fair! What about—?”
I followed my sister’s lead and tuned him out. Ahmed was frustrated. And scared. We all were, and each of us had different ways of dealing with it. Ahmed ranted, my sister escaped into her music, and I stuffed my emotions into drawers in my head and slammed them closed. At least I tried to.
We were in one of two adjoining mini-suites at a roadside motel on the south end of Lake Tahoe, California. It hadn’t been a planned stop on our road trip from a secret government facility in Nevada to a new hideaway in California, but a huge wildfire had closed down the I-80 freeway, and the government men leading our caravan had detoured toward the lake in hopes of getting around the fire.
It would’ve worked if it hadn’t been for a second blaze that shut down Highway 50, stranding us and thousands of other motorists at the lake. Thanks to the quick thinking of Doc, who was a close family friend and in charge of the government escort, we’d grabbed a couple of rooms on the outskirts of town before late afternoon traffic had come to a standstill. Other travelers hadn’t been so lucky.
I opened a slit in the closed blinds of our second-story window and gazed at the crowds milling below. It was a bright summer morning, and there were so many cars and people outside, the scene reminded me of a tailgate party at a sporting event. The motel’s parking lot was full, and ten times as many vehicles occupied the golden fields of a closed-for-the-season snowmobile park on the other side of the road. Cars and RVs were parked this way and that, intermingled with tents, lawn chairs, spread-out blankets, and even a few portable barbecues. People mingled, chatted, and shared food, and a group of teens sat in a circle as one played a guitar. Kids were laughing and goofing off, one group of them running every which way, playing dodgeball in the field beyond. There were even a few hobby drones overhead. All in all, folks were making the best of a frustrating situation.
Well, not all of them. A long-haired burly man wearing a leather vest and silver-tipped boots stormed back and forth beside an old-style motorcycle parked in front of the motel’s coffee shop. He had a phone pressed to his ear and was barking into it. Folks nearby edged away. After several moments the man stopped pacing. His back was to me but I saw him nodding like he’d gotten his point across to whomever he was speaking. Finally, he pocketed the phone and climbed on the bike.
But before starting the engine, his head turned slowly around and he stared up at my window. His eyes narrowed, and I swear he was looking right at me. He sneered and it made my heart jump. I pulled away from the blinds and slid to one side, my heart pounding in my ears. Two breaths later I heard the deep-throated rev of the motorcycle’s engine. It kicked into gear and faded into the distance. By the time I found the courage to peek back outside, the man was gone. I blew out a breath and calmed myself. I guess Ahmed wasn’t the only one on edge right now.
My eyes were drawn to a group of boys and girls near a couple of tour buses in the motel’s parking lot. Two or three adults watched over them. The kids looked like they were dressed for summer camp, wearing colorful T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers. Many of them wore baseball caps sporting deer antlers that wiggled as they walked, and I guessed they’d just come off a weekend of fun at the lake.
One group stood off by themselves, and something felt off about them. Smiles were forced, and I sensed their longing as a couple of them watched the dodgeball game across the road. I understood the feeling. What I wouldn’t give to be able to run outside and play instead of being trapped in this motel room surrounded by what Doc had called a protection detail.
Several of the kids headed toward the motel’s coffee shop and gift store. I wondered why there was no bounce in their steps, and that’s when I noticed a few of them wore head scarves beneath their caps.
Chemotherapy.
The realization sent a chill up my back, and my heart went out to them. Two of them were holding hands, providing each other some small comfort in the face of a difficult circumstance. I wasn’t surprised I was drawn to them. I got that from my mom. She—
My stomach went hollow when I heard the faint sound of my mom sobbing. I moved to the adjoining door between our rooms and cracked it open.
Chapter 2
FRANCESCA CURLED INTO THE CORNER of the couch. Emptiness gnawed at her insides. It was her new state of being, and nothing in the world could change it. Her husband was dead, the world thought she and her friends were terrorists, and—
She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it.
Lacey placed a hand on hers. “It’s going to be okay.”
Francesca sensed the lack of conviction in her friend’s words, and that made her feel even worse. At thirty-three, Lacey was six years younger than Francesca, and despite the emotional and physical torment they’d faced the past week, the blond actress still looked like a college coed. Her zest for life and fearless determination made it seem as if nothing fazed her. Usually that was the case, but not now. Francesca’s empathic gift allowed her to see beyond Lacey’s facade, and they both knew it. They were wearing casual clothes but felt like they were at a funeral.
Lacey sighed. “I’m scared, too.”
Marshall and Tony rose from the dining table to join them. Jake’s best friends both looked worn out. They felt the pain of Jake’s loss as deeply as Francesca did.
“We’re all scared,” Marshall said as he sat next to his wife.
Tony sat across from them. The seasoned cop’s New York accent was thicker than usual. “But that don’t mean we ain’t gonna get through it,” he said. His wife and two kids had been at the airport to meet them when they returned from Hong Kong. Francesca had envied their long group hug, until Tony’s relief at seeing his family vanished when the video of Jake was splashed across the TV monitors.
It had been doctored to appear as if Jake had admitted guilt to the very string of terrorist acts he and his friends had prevented. When similar videos appeared featuring Tony and the others, Tony had pulled out all the stops to move his family to a safe house. His wife had been furious, insisting they stay together. But Tony wouldn’t have it. The target was on his back, not theirs, and he wasn’t about to place them in harm’s way. Again.
Francesca had wanted to send her children with them, but Doc had convinced her otherwise. They’d been part of what had happened in Hong Kong, and he’d insisted the kids would be safer in his care along with the rest of them. She’d finally agreed, but since then she’d had a growing sense it might have been a mistake. It was why she’d just agreed to Tony’s plan.
She followed Tony’s glance at the open bedroom door at the rear end of the suite. The sliding glass door was open, and Doc stood on the walkway overlooking the pool. Sixty-eight-year-old Dr. Albert Finnegan headed up a clandestine arm of The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) stationed in a secret underground facility, nicknamed Area 52, in Northern Nevada. Doc had met Jake eight years ago, shortly after the first alien pyramid had been launched, and he’d been a close family friend ever since. He knew the videos were a lie and was doing everything in his power to protect Francesca and her friends. But he still worked for the government, and that meant he bore the brunt of the pressure from those in power who weren’t convinced of their innocence.
It was the same around the world. The outcry against Jake and his
friends was brutal, fueled by radicals who claimed vindication for their beliefs that America was the true Satan, spawning its own form of terror across the globe. The faked video admission by Jake—that he’d been responsible for the launch of the alien grid that nearly destroyed the planet—was all the proof they needed. The voices from the few who knew better, like Doc, were quickly drowned out. But that didn’t shake Doc’s determination to keep them safe until the world could be made to see the truth.
So when Doc’s team first saw the anonymous postings featuring photos of the secret blast doors at Area 52, accompanied by claims that Jake and the rest of them were being housed there, he’d been quick to react. He’d feared someone in his organization had leaked the information, and when he learned a team was en route from Washington, DC, “to take the terrorists off your hands,” he’d decided to move them to a new location that even his superiors didn’t know existed. Doing so without approval would likely cost him his job, but he hadn’t hesitated.
Doc was speaking to someone on the phone, and the deep furrow between his bushy white eyebrows told Francesca the conversation wasn’t going his way. When he noticed her concerned stare, he turned away. He was a good man who’d been fiercely loyal to Jake. The thought of betraying his trust didn’t sit well with her.
“This traffic rift could be just the thing,” Tony whispered. “It might be a hell of a lot easier to break away here than waiting until we get to the new location.”