Free BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy by Richard Bard Page A

slapped his palm against the throttle, making sure the powerful engine had every ounce of fuel it could handle. Though he’d never piloted a P-750, he knew it was touted for its abilities to perform where other planes cannot.
    Sweat dripped down his brow. Rows of aircraft filled the windscreen. The speed indicator inched upward. At the last possible moment, Jake yanked the stick to his chest and the plane leapt into the air, clearing the vertical stabilizers of the parked aircraft with only inches to spare. He banked the plane starboard to avoid the double-tall hangars behind the lot. The stall-warning buzzer filled the cockpit. Jake lightened the load on the stick and the warning lights flickered out. The plane swept abreast of the control tower’s bank of windows. The controller behind the glass was screaming into his microphone as he shook his fist above his head.
    It took a moment for Jake to realize that Marshall had wailed through the entire event. He sucked in a long breath and gawked out the side window at the receding van.
    “What the hell are we going to do now?” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
    Jake worked the controls to keep the plane above stall speed while they climbed.
    “Shit!” Marshall gasped, his palm pressed against the Plexiglas window. “Flashes from the van!”
    Jake jinked the plane from side to side, thankful for the responsive controls. A staccato of metallic plunks signaled a few lucky strikes from the ground fire.
    Francesca screamed.
    God, no!
    “Sweet Jesus,” Marshall said. He unstrapped and rushed to the back.
    Jake dove the plane behind a row of commercial buildings skirting the east end of the airport—beneath the van’s sight line. The aircraft picked up speed as drivers on the street below swerved and braked at the sight of an airplane screaming toward them less than a hundred feet off the ground. In the distance Jake saw a column of police cars and emergency vehicles racing up the boulevard. Their emergency lights flashed as they carved a serpentine line through traffic.
    With miles of congested traffic to his left, and the Palos Verdes mountain range to his right, Jake didn’t hesitate. He pulled the P-750 into a turn up a ravine that led into the mountains. He allowed his training to take over as he banked back and forth up a twisting network of forested ravines and high-end horse properties. He turned off the transponder and flew the aircraft as close to the ground as possible. Radar was their enemy. 
    Another part of his brain was numb with fear for Francesca. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Marshall and Tony blocked the view. Wind from the open jump door swirled around them as they worked over someone on the portside seats. Jake gritted his teeth and returned his gaze forward.
    Everyone would have been better off if he had just died months ago from the brain tumor, he thought. Instead, the goddamn freak accident in the MRI had cured his cancer while giving him mental and physical abilities that were the envy of one of the top terrorists in the world. His life had spiraled out of control—like an F-16 in an unrecoverable flat spin. But there was no ejection seat to save him, to pull him out of the inevitable crash that would obliterate him and everyone he loved. It seemed that no matter how desperately he tried to live a normal life, he was destined to play out a role that put him dead center in the middle of a terrorist confrontation. And if that wasn’t enough, the grim specter of the alien pyramid increased the stakes a billionfold, with nothing less than the survival of the human species at stake. He shook his head in disgust at the irony of it all. If he had simply died, the entire world would be a safer place.
    Jake bit off his concern. He needed to fly the aircraft.
    The plane crested the peak and Jake pushed the nose downward. Hovering close to the ground, he steered a route that would avoid pockets of hillside homes on the windward side of