BRAINRUSH, a Thriller Read Online Free
Author: Richard Bard
vain.
He continued to monitor the screen, hopeful. This subject had lasted a week, thanks to clues they had gleaned after studying the brain of another one of the autistic children. Unfortunately, the exam had proved fatal to the child, as had happened before. Battista knew that such sacrifices were unavoidable, but it still tore at his heart, reminding him of his own son.
“Imagine it, Carlo, an army of our brothers able to perfect their command of the English language in less than a week, to adopt its nuances, its slang, its mannerisms.”
Battista clenched his fists as he continued. “Let the Americans use their racial profiling to try to stop us. These new soldiers will talk circles around their underpaid and complacent screening employees. Their confidence is their weakness, Carlo. Their belief that we are a backward people is the blindfold that will bring them to their knees.”
Carlo twitched his thumb, and the knife blade snapped back into its slender, contoured handle. He slid the knife into his pocket.
“Believe it, Carlo, for it will soon be upon us. One final hurdle and our research will be complete. Then, within a few months we will introduce more than one hundred such soldiers into America, any one of whom will be capable of unleashing his own personal brand of terror without guidance from us, or help from the others.” He took a step forward and focused on the young man on the screen. “Here is our future, a single soldier of Allah with the mind of Einstein, multiplied by a hundred, and later a thousand.”
It happened suddenly. The subject on the monitor leapt up from the table. The chair behind him fell backwards. His hands shot up, palms pressing hard against his temples as if to keep his head from exploding. His eyes squeezed closed, his mouth agape in a silent scream. The young man’s body twisted violently and he fell hard to the floor, curled into a fetal position, shaking uncontrollably. After several seconds, there was one final spasmodic jerk, and he lay still.
Battista didn’t allow the flush of anger to overtake him. Instead, a dark calm spread over him.
Carlo knew to keep his mouth shut.
Battista’s eyes never left the monitor. After several moments three men in white lab coats stepped into view and stood in a semicircle around the body, facing the camera, shifting uneasily.
One of the doctors said, “We are close, signore . Very close. But I’m afraid we’ll need to examine another autistic subject before the next implant.”
Battista was irritated by the doctor’s cavalier attitude regarding an exam that would surely prove fatal to the child subject. But he chose to ignore the man’s absence of compassion, at least for now. The more serious problem lay in the fact that finding the ideal set of traits in a candidate was getting more and more difficult.
They were running out of children.
Chapter 4
Redondo Beach, California
T he bar and restaurant was called Sam’s Cyber Sports Bar. The locals called it Sammy’s, no doubt because of the neon blue fluorescent Sammy’s sign suspended high above the oval racetrack bar in the center of the space. The walls were adorned with an eclectic mix of sports and rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia and century-old photographs of Redondo Beach in a quieter time. Flat-screen TVs were positioned strategically above the bar and tables so that every seat in the house was front row center for the games.
Sammy’s featured a collection of over one hundred different beers on tap, simple but good food, and a serving crew that relished the growing crowds of one of the newest hot spots in the South Bay. But it wasn’t just sports and food that drew people in. It was the addition of small computer terminals along the bar and at each table that allowed patrons to surf the web through fiber optic lines at speeds many times faster than most can experience at home. This allowed patrons to interact in real time with sports-network
He continued to monitor the screen, hopeful. This subject had lasted a week, thanks to clues they had gleaned after studying the brain of another one of the autistic children. Unfortunately, the exam had proved fatal to the child, as had happened before. Battista knew that such sacrifices were unavoidable, but it still tore at his heart, reminding him of his own son.
“Imagine it, Carlo, an army of our brothers able to perfect their command of the English language in less than a week, to adopt its nuances, its slang, its mannerisms.”
Battista clenched his fists as he continued. “Let the Americans use their racial profiling to try to stop us. These new soldiers will talk circles around their underpaid and complacent screening employees. Their confidence is their weakness, Carlo. Their belief that we are a backward people is the blindfold that will bring them to their knees.”
Carlo twitched his thumb, and the knife blade snapped back into its slender, contoured handle. He slid the knife into his pocket.
“Believe it, Carlo, for it will soon be upon us. One final hurdle and our research will be complete. Then, within a few months we will introduce more than one hundred such soldiers into America, any one of whom will be capable of unleashing his own personal brand of terror without guidance from us, or help from the others.” He took a step forward and focused on the young man on the screen. “Here is our future, a single soldier of Allah with the mind of Einstein, multiplied by a hundred, and later a thousand.”
It happened suddenly. The subject on the monitor leapt up from the table. The chair behind him fell backwards. His hands shot up, palms pressing hard against his temples as if to keep his head from exploding. His eyes squeezed closed, his mouth agape in a silent scream. The young man’s body twisted violently and he fell hard to the floor, curled into a fetal position, shaking uncontrollably. After several seconds, there was one final spasmodic jerk, and he lay still.
Battista didn’t allow the flush of anger to overtake him. Instead, a dark calm spread over him.
Carlo knew to keep his mouth shut.
Battista’s eyes never left the monitor. After several moments three men in white lab coats stepped into view and stood in a semicircle around the body, facing the camera, shifting uneasily.
One of the doctors said, “We are close, signore . Very close. But I’m afraid we’ll need to examine another autistic subject before the next implant.”
Battista was irritated by the doctor’s cavalier attitude regarding an exam that would surely prove fatal to the child subject. But he chose to ignore the man’s absence of compassion, at least for now. The more serious problem lay in the fact that finding the ideal set of traits in a candidate was getting more and more difficult.
They were running out of children.
Chapter 4
Redondo Beach, California
T he bar and restaurant was called Sam’s Cyber Sports Bar. The locals called it Sammy’s, no doubt because of the neon blue fluorescent Sammy’s sign suspended high above the oval racetrack bar in the center of the space. The walls were adorned with an eclectic mix of sports and rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia and century-old photographs of Redondo Beach in a quieter time. Flat-screen TVs were positioned strategically above the bar and tables so that every seat in the house was front row center for the games.
Sammy’s featured a collection of over one hundred different beers on tap, simple but good food, and a serving crew that relished the growing crowds of one of the newest hot spots in the South Bay. But it wasn’t just sports and food that drew people in. It was the addition of small computer terminals along the bar and at each table that allowed patrons to surf the web through fiber optic lines at speeds many times faster than most can experience at home. This allowed patrons to interact in real time with sports-network
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