Sherlock said, “Hey, we’re really glad you got the duct tape off your mouth. No heaven for any of us yet.”
Cully Gwyn, amazingly, laughed. “I knew you guys would come here when you didn’t see me at the Chevron station and I didn’t answer my cell. Please tell me you’ve spoken to Bernie.”
“No, we haven’t,” Savich said. “We don’t have his cell number. Okay, Cully, I won’t try to get you free until we see what’s going on with this bomb.”
Sherlock dropped to her knees beside an ancient pine dresser, vintage Goodwill. “Okay, just eyeballing it first. What we’ve got is a large black metal box about the size and shape of a small suitcase. There’s a wire running from inside it across the floor over to the bedroom door and another to you, Cully, so don’t move a whisker.”
Cully said, “There’s no bomb squad in Winnett, no surprise there. Please tell me you guys know about bombs.”
Savich said, “Stop hyperventilating, Cully, it’ll be all right. Sherlock took a course at Quantico. She knows enough not to set the sucker off. How did Victor and Lissy get you?”
“Bernie and I were close to the empty house just down the street, the one that’s been deserted for only a few months, we were told, but the grass looks ready to take up residence it grows so fast here. We were hunkered down in trees a bit beyond the house, close enough to keep an eye on Victor’s end apartment, but not too close to spook them if they showed up.” He sighed. “Bernie had to use the john, so he went into the house, through the back. I never looked away from the apartment building. I swear to you, I never heard a thing, not even a whisper of movement. One minute I was wondering why Bernie was taking so long and the next I felt a gun stuck in my ear, and a girl giggled, told me I was the easiest fed she’d ever got. I couldn’t believe it, Savich. I have no clue how she snuck up on me. I didn’t hear a thing.”
Dillon said, “She and Victor were probably behind you, watching, for a good long time, waiting for their chance. When Bernie went into the house, you had no one covering your back.” Easy, Savich thought, so easy.
Cully sighed again. “I tried for her, twisted around, sent my elbow at her face, but she jumped back, waved the gun at me, and told me if I tried anything again, she’d shoot me. Then Victor comes up and tells me we’re going to his apartment, he’s hungry, and he wants to see if the bologna in his fridge is still good.
“First though, Lissy went into the house where Bernie was. I didn’t hear anything, not a yell from Bernie, nothing. When she comes out, she’s popping bubble gum. I asked her what she did with Bernie, but she just gives me a sneer and hits my ribs real hard with the butt of her gun. ‘That’s for trying to hit me in the face,’ she says.
“There was no one around, and believe me, I looked hard. They marched me over here to the apartment building, then Victor ties me up here in the bedroom while she’s got the gun on me. I watched Victor hook up the bomb. I asked him where Bernie was, and Lissy just laughs again, tells me to shut up.”
“You’re very lucky she didn’t just shoot you when you tried to take her down,” Sherlock said. “That’s what she does, Cully.”
“Yeah, I know. Fortunately for me, I think she wanted a show; she was hoping you guys would come. She laughed and laughed, and wondered if they’d ever figure out what body part went with what fed.”
“I recommend you forget that thought, Cully,” Savich said. “Okay, I can’t get you free until Sherlock disarms the bomb. Don’t move.”
Savich went down on his knees next to Sherlock. She’d gotten the lid of the black box open. “Okay, it’s definitely homemade, not sophisticated—thank you, God—nice and straightforward. Victor probably got this off the Internet, or out of a book, which is very good for us. Dillon, give me your Swiss Army Knife.”
He handed it to her without a word.
Sherlock looked down at a pair of wires, red and green twisted together, leading to a—timer. Why a timer? The bomb was supposed to explode if someone hit the trip wire across the bedroom doorway, or if Cully pulled out his wire. Why a timer? Had they tried to rig the front door too?
Sherlock cupped her hand around the small screen and read out 00:34 seconds. She sucked in her breath, forced herself to calm.
“We’re on a timer here, guys, not much time left before the sucker explodes.”
Savich looked at the timer over her shoulder.
Thirty seconds, twenty-nine. He saw his son’s face clear as glass in his mind, bouncing a basketball, and then saw Sherlock leaning over him, tucking a sheet around his chest.
Eighteen seconds, seventeen.
He watched Sherlock untwist the wires, follow each one to its lead.
Thirteen seconds, twelve.
Time compressed itself into a moment, yet Savich felt each ticking second as a separate unit, each second a universe of time, yet each second somehow disappeared into the next. He couldn’t guess how many people were right now in the building, how many could die because of Victor and Lissy. He thought of the children they’d heard arguing. He heard Cully talking softly—maybe he was praying, but he wasn’t moving, and that was good since the wire connected to the duct tape around his ankles.
Seven seconds, six.
No more time.
He wanted to tell Sherlock he loved her, and he opened his mouth—
“Here we go,” Sherlock said, and he watched her slice cleanly through a yellow wire.
His heart thudded, and his breath eased out of his mouth.
He reached out and wiped away the line of sweat streaking down her cheek. “You did it, sweetheart, you did it.”
Cully gave a shout. “Good going, Sherlock. Hey, I can get this duct tape off—”
There was a loud pop.
Sherlock said, “Hold that thought, Cully. What’s going on now?”
59
PEAS RIDGE, GEORGIA
Kjell was tall, well over six feet, angular, and good-looking. His shaved head glistened in the stark white light. He wore glasses.
He bowed from the waist to Blessed, and said in a clipped British accent, “Keeper, we did not know if you would come. I see you have the little girl. Excellent. But the man and woman?”
“The sheriff and the child’s mother.”
“Keeper, we have never before brought outsiders here. It is a danger. Are you certain you were not followed here?”
“I am very certain.”
“But why did you bring them here? Why did you not rid us of them?”
Blessed said, “I could not stymie them because of the child. I needed them to get her here.
“Do not look away from the sheriff, Kjell. He is dangerous. As I said, no one followed us, I made very certain of that. Twilight will remain a secret. Kjell, I must see the Father immediately. There is news I must give him.”
“Where is Grace?”
“I must see the Father,” Blessed said again. “Take them to see the Master. Be careful with the sheriff.”
Kjell gave him a small bow, drew a revolver from his loose pants. “The child, Keeper, she will come to embrace us, you will see.”
Blessed gave Ethan and Joanna one last look, then smiled down at Autumn. “All will be well,” he told her, and walked through the same door as Kjell. The door closed soundlessly behind him.
Autumn stood perfectly still and looked up at Kjell.
He said, “Sheriff, you and the woman back up against that wall.” He came down on his knees in front of Autumn. He lifted his hand and touched her face. Autumn didn’t move, merely stared at him in his eyes.
“What can you do?” she asked.
Kjell smiled. “I am a student.”
“Of what?”
“All who are here are students. We study with the Father and with the Master. We study miracles of the mind that reach back many hundreds of years. We watch and we learn. This is an amazing place, Autumn. I also protect Twilight from anyone who would try to harm us.”
He rose again and turned to Ethan and Joanna.
>
Ethan said, “Blessed is the Keeper. What is your title, Kjell?”
“I? I am the Master’s right hand.”
“I can’t say I care much for all the white.”
Kjell said, “White is the essence of light, it is peace and tranquility, it is life to the devout. That is enough, Sheriff. I believe you are both small-minded, incapable of understanding something so sublime as what we are.”
Ethan said, “We’re the small-minded people who are going to bring you down, Kjell.”
Kjell laughed. “Dream your little dreams, Sheriff. All of you will follow me. We will see what the Master wishes to do with you.”
Joanna asked, “Where are all the cult members? You call them the devout?”
“The devout are here, but you will not see them. We do not wish them to be disrupted by outside corruption. You need know nothing more. Let us go. You will meet the Master.”
60
THEY STEPPED INTO a wide corridor, its walls white, the ceiling lower here than in the large room, the low hum of air-conditioning the only sound other than that of their footsteps. Every several feet there were framed photographs, all of them of the sky, each an evocative moment of time. Ethan thought there was real talent here: a magnificent sunset, a slash of lightning with a dying sun behind it, moments he’d tried to capture himself.
Kjell walked soundlessly behind them, Joanna in front, Autumn pressed against her side, her hand held tightly in her mother’s. Ethan knew he had a gun pointed at the back of his head.
They passed doors with glass windows and brass door handles, most of them with their blinds pulled tight. He saw a flash as one of the blinds fell, and caught a glimpse of a beautiful young woman’s face through the window before she disappeared. One of the devout? Or someone else? Had they been warned to remain in their rooms to avoid being corrupted by the outsiders? Or did the leaders not want them to know what was happening?
Corridors veered off to the right and left as they walked. It seemed to be a huge place. They walked another twenty feet before Kjell said, “Knock on this door, Sheriff.”
Ethan knocked.
“Enter.”
“Open the door, Sheriff.”
There was no window in this imposing door. Ethan opened it and stepped into a library that held books floor to ceiling on all four of its walls. It was twenty feet deep, and against the back wall there was a large mahogany desk, and behind it stood a man wearing a white robe belted at the waist with a gold-link chain. He was a fine-looking man, in his fifties, tall, slim, his eyes a deep, shocking blue, eyes that pinned you. He held a small pistol in his hand.
Joanna wanted to tell him he looked ridiculous, but the truth was he didn’t. He looked like a biblical prophet. She saw a strange pendant hanging from the belt. She wasn’t close enough to see what it was.
Ethan said, “Caldicot Whistler, I presume?”
“Yes.” Whistler held the gun in an elegant hand, an artist’s hand, long-fingered and graceful. If Ethan wasn’t mistaken, it was a Colt-style 1911 .45 semiautomatic aimed at him, not Joanna or Autumn, and for that he was grateful.
“Blessed told me you were bringing them to me, Kjell. Please stay close. You will be needed again.”
Kjell gave Whistler a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Whistler stepped from behind his desk, but he didn’t come close enough for Ethan to make a try for him. Smart man. He said, staring down at Autumn for a long moment, “So this is the child.”
Autumn pressed harder against Joanna’s side.
“Her name is Autumn Backman,” Joanna said.
Whistler ignored her. “I did not know if Blessed would manage it. He is immensely powerful, but there were obviously problems for him this time, and so the two of you are here with her.”
Ethan said, “Did Blessed tell you that Grace is dead?”
Whistler paled. “Yes,” he whispered. “Blessed gave me that tragic news. And it is you who brings it up, Sheriff? You kill a great man, and you think to mock me with it?”
“If I indeed killed him, I have no memory of it, since Blessed had stymied both me and Joanna.”
Whistler closed his eyes an instant, then stared again at Ethan. “Blessed was so upset he ran to see the Father with the news. I knew Blessed was shot in the shoulder by that FBI agent, but this—it is too terrible.”
Joanna said, “What’s terrible is murdering an innocent man and kidnapping a child.”
“Shut up, woman, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Ah, this is unbearable. Grace was incredibly powerful. He was unique; nothing like his talent has ever before been recorded.” He waved a graceful white hand at the shelves of books.
“How could you possibly get close enough to shoot Grace?”
“As I told you, I have no memory of anything.”
Whistler’s face went hard. “It doesn’t matter.” He raised his gun hand.
Joanna said, “The child is watching you, Caldicot. What will happen if you shoot Ethan? What will this Father person think of you then?”
Whistler slowly lowered the gun. “You are alive, Sheriff, only as long as it suits the Father. You need to remember that.” He fell silent, shook his head back and forth. “It is hard to believe Grace is dead. What a huge loss for all of us. The devout will miss him. And the Father will be desolate.”
Ethan said, “Even the powerful die, you know that.”
Whistler looked at each of them, his eyes coming to rest on Autumn. “Blessed knew I would want to see you, speak to you. I fear you cannot take your uncle’s place; no one can. It is a pity, child, that you will never know your uncle’s devotion, his loyalty to his family, his infinite patience with our people. He held such high hopes for you, but now he will never see what you become. He hoped that in the fullness of time you would achieve powers that will astound everyone, as he knew his did. He died for you.”
Ethan said, “No, he died because he tried to kidnap her and murder us. Whatever else he was, he was a criminal.”
“It would give me infinite pleasure to shoot you, Sheriff.”
Ethan decided he just might, despite Autumn’s being there. He gave Whistler a big smile. “Your room is quite professorial. Is that your role here? To teach all the people who sign on here?”
“Like all the devout, I am also a student. I learn as they learn, pray for powers as they pray. In addition, I am the financial officer of Twilight.”
“It must have cost very big bucks to build this underground bunker.”
“Indeed, but then, money is very easy to come by for us, Sheriff. Even with Grace’s passing, it will not be a problem. Blessed can simply walk into a bank and walk out with whatever amount is available. If one is accepted among us, poor or rich, money isn’t necessary.”
Joanna said slowly, “You mean people contact you through your blog and you interview them? You decide if they’re worthy to be buried in this white tomb? They actually come?”
Whistler looked enraged at what she’d said, Ethan thought, but he held himself in check. Whistler looked down at Autumn, saw she was staring up at him, and said, “Naturally they are screened. We are serious about our secrecy here. Those who witness Blessed and Grace’s gifts are enthralled. They eagerly accept our rules. They come to learn about all those who came before us, hoping they might come to understand those gifts from God. When they see unlimited wealth and the promise of psychic powers, the problem is to select among them, to keep the unworthy out.”
Ethan said, “Do you enthrall them as well, Caldicot? Do you have a gift?”
“I will be given what is rightfully mine—”
“—in the fullness of time?” Joanna finished.
He swung the gun at her. Ethan was an instant away from jumping at him when Whistler took a quick step back. “Stop, Sheriff. I will kill you. Believe me.”
Ethan said, “I do indeed believe you, Caldicot. Do you know, I think you could be a model for Jesus except for the gun in you
r hand, and the blue eyes.”
“Ah, Jesus. I believe he was a good man, but I prefer the prophet Corinth. He is the Alpha and the Omega; he is the one we worship.”
Ethan’s eyebrow went up. “Corinth?”
“His was a magnificent power, not in the same way as Grace, but remarkable nonetheless. Perhaps Corinth did not have the goodness of Jesus and Grace, but he was a chaste man, a man of infinite wisdom, a man who could control those around him with a click of his fingers.” He snapped his fingers in their faces.
“I’ve never heard of a prophet named Corinth,” Joanna said.
He scarcely gave her a glance. “You are a woman. Why would you have heard of anything important?”
“I haven’t heard of him either,” Ethan said. “So this Corinth had a psychic ability that astounded people?”
“Corinth could read the secrets in men’s minds, knew what they truly wanted and how to manipulate them to gain whatever he wished. He was powerful and he was feared; no one dared touch him. All of us are here to try to understand the source of his powers, and of those who are gifted here among us. I wish Corinth were here, but he is not. Like poor Grace, Corinth is no longer of this earth.”
“Where did he do all these things to manipulate his fellow man?” Joanna asked.
“Corinth was an intimate of the Medici—first Cosimo, then Piero, and finally Lorenzo. He was their confidant, their adviser. It is written he left Italy after Lorenzo’s death in 1492. His death marked the end of the Golden Age of Florence. After came strife and war.”
Ethan said, “And you believe everything fell apart because Corinth was no longer there as the power behind the throne?”
“Yes, of course. It is said he died, that his time was at an end.”
“Where is all this written?” Joanna asked.
“You will ask no more stupid questions, woman.”
Joanna said, her face expressionless, “All right. Are we to assume that you seek to make yourself into this Corinth? Peas Ridge, Georgia—not exactly Florence, is it? Where’s your Lorenzo?”
KnockOut Page 27
