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Chapter 7: The Surrender of the Magicians

Rumors spread quickly through the Peruvian military force that the eight teenagers they were hunting in the jungle were more than just young terrorists. They were part of an occult group called the Electroclan and workers of black magic—a rumor that gained credence when it was discovered that some of them actually glowed in the dark.

Peruvian culture holds deeply founded superstitions, and even after the teens had surrendered, many of the soldiers refused to go near them. Others, in spite of their strict orders to bring the terrorists back alive, pleaded with their commanders to shoot the teens and bring back their lifeless bodies.

The Elgen’s Elite Global Guard, who were consulting with the Peruvian army, helped spread rumors of black magic among the lower and more ignorant ranks of Peruvian soldiers, hoping that if enough of them believed it, they might pressure their superiors into turning the Electroclan over to the Elgen—which was their objective to begin with.

The chief Elgen officer working with the Peruvian military was Captain Welch, a senior member of the Elite Global Guard and third in authority to Dr. Hatch himself. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince, bribe, then threaten the brigade’s commander, General Panchez, into releasing the teens into Elgen custody. The general wouldn’t budge. His orders came from the top. The Peruvian president himself had demanded that the Electroclan be brought in for trial. The terrorists’ capture had already made international news, and the Peruvian citizens demanded justice. In actuality, justice wasn’t the president’s main concern—it was his approval rating. With the loss of their electricity, the country was in crisis and people wanted someone to answer for their suffering. Like all successful politicians, the president understood public opinion well enough to know that if someone’s head didn’t roll, his would. And the general understood that if the president’s head rolled, his would roll along with it.

Even though Jack and Zeus still wanted to fight, with more than five hundred armed soldiers surrounding them, there was little they could do but surrender. Taylor was the one who had made the decision, waving a torn piece of her blouse over her head.

“We give up!” she shouted. “We surrender.”

A heavily accented military officer with a megaphone shouted, “You stand up now with your handses on your head!”

“The dude can’t talk,” Jack said.

“They’re Peruvian military,” Ostin said. “They’re not Elgen.”

“That’s good, right?” Abigail asked.

“It’s not good,” Ostin said. “We’ll find out if it’s better.”

Taylor was the first to obey the order. “Don’t shoot!” she shouted. She put her hands on her head and slowly stood, followed by the rest: Ostin, Jack, Zeus, Abigail, McKenna, Ian, and Wade. Once they were all standing, the soldiers quickly closed in around them.

“Now you kneel down,” the commander said when he was near. He was a stocky, bald man wearing a black beret and green camouflage.

“Make up your mind,” Jack said. “Stand up or kneel down.”

“Just kneel,” Taylor said.

When the Electroclan were on their knees, two patrols of Peruvian soldiers approached them carrying guns and RESAT boxes. More than a hundred soldiers held their guns on them, while the advance team—who had never seen or used the RESATs before—fastened the machines on each youth, including Ostin, Wade, and Jack.

Then their hands were cuffed behind their backs and their legs were shackled with a twelve-inch chain dangling between the two ankle manacles. Potato sacks were put over their heads, which was disorienting for everyone except Ian, whose vision was only slightly impaired by his RESAT.

A long, nylon rope was tied around all of their waists, and they were led in a single-file line out of the jungle to the waiting army vehicles. Walking roped together and blindfolded through the thick jungle was difficult. The chains between their legs caught on rocks and tree trunks, and each of them fell more than once. Ostin fell the most, eight times, leaving dark bruises and cuts on his arms and legs.

Once they were out of the jungle, the rope connecting the teens was cut, then each of them was taken to a separate vehicle—still bound, hooded, and surrounded by soldiers.

Under heavy security, which included two tanks and more than eighty armed personnel carriers, the soldiers drove in a convoy six miles to the Puerto Maldonado jail.

The army had commandeered the Puerto Maldonado city jailhouse for the purpose of holding the terrorists. They had released twelve of the jail’s fifty-seven occupants, then crowded the rest into two tiny cells so they could utilize the remaining eight cells for the new prisoners. Then they built three twelve-foot-high electric fences around the jail, which were patrolled by guard dogs and more than fifty soldiers.

The general had been warned by the Elgen that the teens had already escaped from two high-security facilities, and Panchez was taking no chances. The young terrorists would not escape him.

Upon their arrival at the jail, the teens were fingerprinted and photographed, then each was taken to a different cell. Ostin was the first to be processed, and after he was locked in his cell, he sat down on the cool, concrete floor, swatting at mosquitoes, rubbing his bruises, and grumbling.

“I’ve never even been grounded before,” he mumbled. “Now I’m in jail. And I’m only in the ninth grade.”

Ostin had studied Peru in seventh-grade geography and, as usual, had learned everything he could about the subject—including the country’s history, Incan lore, the country’s invasion by Francisco Pizarro, the current political structure, national exports, and even its national anthem, Himno Nacional del Perú, which he still remembered. He also remembered that the country reserved the death penalty for acts of terrorism, which frightened him since the soldiers kept calling them “terroristas.” “We didn’t do anything to them,” Ostin said, hitting the concrete wall with his fist—which he immediately regretted. “We attacked the stinking Elgen, not them. It’s not the same thing. What have they got against us?” The cell he was being held in was a hot and humid ten-by-ten-foot square, with rough concrete walls and floor, both of which had fungus growing on them. There were thick rusted bars on the window, which had been boarded over by the army. In the corner of the room, there was a bucket for a toilet, and a single naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling.

“There’s got to be a way out of here. Think, think, think.” He rubbed his temples, which always made him think better. “We’ve got to escape. What do I know about escape? John Dillinger escaped from jail twice. Houdini. David Hoodoo . . .” Five years earlier, when Ostin was ten, on a summer vacation trip to his aunt’s home in Las Vegas, his parents had taken him to a magic show where the magician, the Magnificent David Hoodoo, had escaped from a bank vault suspended thirty feet in the air. He had also made a fully grown African elephant disappear onstage. While the crowd applauded wildly at the illusion, it vexed Ostin that he couldn’t figure out how either trick was done. He had resolved to figure them out but never got around to it. After he returned home, he was distracted by Shark Week and a new interest in robotics.

“That won’t work. The thing was staged. This isn’t.” He pounded on his RESAT. As the teens were checked into the jail, the Peruvian soldiers had removed their hoods, handcuffs, and foot shackles but had left the RESATs connected.

“Idiots,” Ostin said, looking at the box fastened to his chest. “They don’t even know what the thing does. It doesn’t work on normal people. It’s not a Taser—it’s the opposite of a Taser.” He examined the box. “Wait a minute. . . . Does this thing work like a Taser?” He reached around and unfastened the box from his chest, which was no more difficult than removing a backpack. Red and green diodes began flashing wildly on the plastic-coated box, followed by a soft, high-pitched squeal. The RESAT was designed to activate if it was tampered with, but for a normal human, it was as pointless as trying to drown a fish. He used the metal clip of the RESAT’s buckle to pry off its back, then set the plate aside and examined the circuitry.

“Yep, there’s the capacitor. It’s huge. I bet it holds a million volts. What’s this . . . oh right, of course. Hmm, I bet if I . . .” It took him less than half an hour to figure out how to rewire the machine. When he was done he held the wires two inches apart and electricity sparked between them.

“Mega-epic voltage,” he said. “This will blow them out of their boots.” He thought for a moment, then said, “No, it needs to do more than shock them.” He carefully reexamined the circuitry. After another five minutes he smiled. “So that’s how it does that. Clever. If I divert this right here . . . Now we’re talking.” He grinned. “Now I just need someone to test it on.”