BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy by Richard Bard Read Free Book Online

He managed a slight smile, but his seemingly calm exterior belied the anger that roiled within him. Tariq’s actions made it necessary to advance the timetable. As a result, the cornerstone of their ancillary mission—Jake Bronson—had slipped from his grasp. Not to mention the fact that three of Battista’s followers had been killed in the process. Make that four, if he included the traitor Tariq. Despite all the benefits the brain implant had given Tariq, it had done little to help him control his emotions. The fool could have ruined everything. 
    Battista understood Tariq’s desire for vengeance, if not his timing. He slid his hand unconsciously across the blisters and craters that scarred the left side of his neck and lower face, remnants of a fragmentation grenade that the American had dropped in his lap in Afghanistan. Had one of Battista’s loyal followers not sacrificed himself by grabbing the grenade and falling on it, Battista would have been killed.
    Yes, he would make certain the American suffered a hundred deaths before he left this world.
    But not yet.
    Abbas pulled his chair around from the front of the desk and sat beside his leader. Both men focused on the image of Kadir on the video monitor on the desk.
    He was downstairs in the clean-room laboratory, carefully pouring the phosphorescent liquid from a tall beaker into a mixing vat. The automated stirring paddles slowly churned through the syrupy mixture, the bright yellow additive disappearing in gentle swirls.
    Battista clicked a button on the keyboard and spoke into the monitor’s microphone. “How much longer?” he asked.
    “Forty-eight hours,” Kadir said. His focus never wavered from the half-empty beaker.
    “Well done,” Battista said.
    “But we won’t have enough for all of the targets.”
    “We shall make do,” Battista said before he flicked off the monitor. They had two days, perhaps three, to get the job done. Bronson and his friends still had no idea what was going on. They knew someone was after him; that was all. They had their own reasons for hesitating in bringing in the authorities, at least for the moment. Battista had learned that they’d all kept their lips sealed following their illegal attack in Afghanistan. Military authorities were still unaware of exactly what occurred there and the parties involved. Battista worried that the group’s reticence to dredge up such questions might fall by the wayside now that they’d uncovered a threat in their own backyard. But Battista intended to round them up before they could do anything about it.
    “Prepare the teams,” he said.
    “Right away,” Abbas said, rising.
    Battista sensed his eagerness. “We need him alive.”
    “Yes, sheikh .” Abbas hurried from the room.
    Battista clenched his jaw, embracing the spasm of pain it sent down the length of his wound. His frustrations mounted over the seemingly endless complications caused by the American. He gazed at the scene outside the window.
    There was a beehive of activity along the row of warehouses and office buildings that lined the street. Cars filled the parking lots and much of the street. He heard the warning beeps of a tractor-trailer rig as it backed up to a loading dock. Forklifts moved into view in practiced formation as they arranged heavy pallets of boxed goods for transport. Two well-dressed businessmen finished their outdoor conversation with a handshake before moving to their respective Mercedes sedans.
    “Americans,” Battista said to himself. “An anathema to Islam. Their decadence blocks the path to the sacred purity of the life we are commanded to follow by Allah.”
    A trio of women walked briskly up the sidewalk across the street, apparently taking advantage of their lunch break to get a little exercise. One of the women was pregnant. The corners of Battista’s lips lifted slightly. The genius of his plan brought a flush of pride to his calloused face. “The key to extermination is patience,”