Brainrush 03 - Beyond Judgment Read Free Page B

from the other direction wouldn’t be here in time. He moved even before the decision had fully formed in his mind.
    The kid yelped as Renzo dropped him to the ground and ran toward the parked sedan.
    “Wait…
Alto
!” the kid shouted.
    But Renzo couldn’t stop. Seconds counted if he was to draw the threat away. He jumped in the car and floored it. The vehicle fishtailed in the gravel, and Renzo had to slow to avoid hitting his new friend. As he drove past, the kid yelled, “Piazza San Marco,
domani, mezzogiorno
, Danielle!”
    Renzo didn’t have time to wonder at the kid’s words. He skidded onto the road and sped toward the sirens. The other BMW broke through traffic and shot after him. A man leaned out the passenger window. There were muzzle flashes, and the rear window exploded. Renzo jerked the wheel from side to side to throw off the man’s aim. Hammer blows impacted the rear trunk. He jinked too hard, and the passenger side—starting with the fender—swiped a traffic pole. A gut-wrenching screech of metal against metal. Sparks flew and the side mirror went airborne. He centered the steering wheel, stomped on the accelerator, and let out a long growl through his burning throat.
    A string of flashing emergency lights appeared ahead. Two police vehicles wound through the oncoming traffic. The car in the rearview mirror suddenly slowed. It turned east and disappeared toward the hills.

Chapter 3

    Swiss Alps
    J AKE B RONSON WAS alive after all, Victor Brun thought. He’d suspected as much. The American had been reported dead four months ago—his comatose body consumed in a fire. But Victor’s assassin who’d sparked the blaze at the secret US facility that housed the American had never seen the body. That wouldn’t be the case in this instance. The team in Italy should report soon with confirmation.
    He propped his feet on the ottoman and allowed himself a rare opportunity to enjoy the comfort of the castle’s great room. A white Persian cat jumped up and curled on his lap. He stroked its fur. The pet was his constant companion.
    The crackle of burning logs from the grand fireplace, the plush furnishings and ancient tapestries, the dim lighting, and even the dampness that spilled from the stone walls combined to embrace him in a cocoon of harsh memories that would chill the bones of most men. He drew strength from them.
    Château Brun had been built in the tenth century. But it was relatively new compared to the ancient maze of tunnels and caverns that burrowed beneath the mountain that supported it. The mansion was hidden among the alpine peaks of Switzerland. Thanks to its obscure location and crenellated battlements, it had never been breached.
    Feathers of snow drifted across the French panes of the picture window across the room. Another late-season storm grayed the sky, obscuring the view of Mont Blanc. Victor swirled cognac in a snifter. His other hand stroked the cat. The pet purred under the attention.
    Victor’s gaze drifted to the tall man standing across from him. “Two more days, Hans,” Victor said in English. His Swiss-German accent was refined. He spoke seven languages. But of late he’d preferred to practice English. It would become the language of choice.
    “
Jawohl, Mein Herr
,” his confidant said with a slight nod. Hans had a military bearing—solidly built with a protruding jaw, a blond flattop, and an ice-blue stare. The knots and calluses of his hands testified to his daily training regimen. “All is ready.”
    A hammering from a nearby room quieted, and a pair of white-gloved workers entered the room. They offered a deferential bow to the lord of the château.
    Victor acknowledged them with a smile. By all public accounts he was a gentle man. Like his father before him, he was renowned for his generosity and old-world charm, garnering standing invitations to the elite circles of European upper-crust society. His Swiss heritage shone through his broad forehead, high