Free Council of Evil by Andy Briggs Page A

acceleration and couldn’t move. His ears popped painfully—and then Basilisk stopped the ascent.
    But Jake kept rising.
    Momentum flipped him off the hood like a pancake. He screamed in horror as he soared several feet above the aircraft, which looked like a small toy below him. Then he reached his zenith, arms and legs frantically scrambling in the air like a cartoon character—before plummeting back toward the SkyKar.
    The vehicle looked too small a target to hit. But in a second it consumed Jake’s vision and he slammed onto the roof, causing the entire aircraft to wobble. He rolled on impact, and the open gull-wing door saved him from falling off the edge.
    Jake sat up, rubbing his stinging ribs. He saw the missile had failed to lock onto the flares Basilisk had deployed,and was heading straight for them. Jake didn’t think—he just raised his hands and hoped.
    Something sprang from his fingers. It looked like liquid glass and it struck its target—the missile suddenly froze in the air, as if Jake had pressed “pause.” Then it dropped like a rock.
    Jake didn’t have time to gloat as tracer fire sliced by six feet away, the bullets screaming. He spun around to see a Typhoon blasting toward him. He opened his mouth and screamed.
    Jake felt his teeth jangle as he emitted an unearthly howl. The sky shimmered from the sonic blast waves that came out of his mouth. They shredded portions of the Typhoon’s thin fuselage and ripped a wing off.
    Jake ducked as the fighter shot overhead, spiraling out of control. It fell toward the sea. The canopy flew off and the two pilots ejected. Jake watched, transfixed, as the ejector seats shot away from the stricken fighter and parachutes deployed.
    â€œJake!” came Basilisk’s muffled voice. “Stop messing about and hurry up!”
    Jake glowered. He was doing his best.
    He turned back as the surviving Typhoon lost altitude and passed beneath them, afterburners booming. It took a few moments for him to realize that the aircraft was retreating back to the mainland. Jake boldly swung back through the gull-wing door, the rush of adrenalinemaking him oblivious to the fifteen-thousand-foot drop beneath him. He yanked the door closed.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œThey’re freaking out. They probably don’t want to risk losing another fighter. We need to get out of here while we can.”
    Jake felt sick. “If they’re on to us, does that mean they know who I am?”
    â€œHopefully not yet.”
    Not yet?
The words were not very comforting. Jake felt a rare pang of concern for his family. Were they safe? What would happen to them if the authorities found out who he was? Perhaps he should get out of this situation before it got any worse.
    As the SkyKar accelerated Jake figured now was not the time to express his doubts. He quickly fastened his seat belt. “Where are we going now?”
    â€œStage two.”
    Several hours later the clouds had vanished to reveal a deep blue ocean as the SkyKar started to descend.
    â€œOne of the perks of the job is having an impressive office. Behold, my island.”
    Basilisk dipped the nose of the SkyKar so Jake could see. Sparkling turquoise water filled the horizon. Straight ahead was an island covered in verdant jungleand fringed by pure white-sand beaches. At the center of the island sat a steep volcano, blowing thin black vapors that caught the gentle breeze.
    Jake grinned. “That’s so cool! Where are we?”
    â€œThe Pacific Ocean.”
    â€œAnd you own this island?”
    â€œEvery inch. My base is deep beneath the volcano. See the entrance?”
    Jake noticed a circular metal platform poking from the jungle at the bottom of the volcano, held aloft on a hydraulic pole so it resembled a waiter’s arm holding a serving tray.
    Basilisk skillfully landed the SkyKar without the slightest bump and opened the doors. Jake could feel the tropical