KnockOut

by Catherine Coulter

  Whistler looked as if he would explode.

  “I never heard of him either,” Autumn said.

  Whistler calmed at her voice. He smiled down at her. “You will, child, you will. It is believed by many, the Father included, that Corinth did not die. Father believes Corinth went to Spain after he left Florence, that he joined a cult of psychics that eventually ran afoul of Torquemada. They were called Los Niños en el Atardecer. Children of Twilight. Torquemada murdered them. He wrote of it, in great detail. He called them Adoradores del Diablo—devil worshippers.

  “It is a concern that Torquemada did not write of Corinth’s capture along with the cult members in Spain, since the lunatic wrote about everything.

  “The Father believes his incredible family descends from Corinth.” Whistler shrugged. “Who can say? It is appealing.”

  Ethan said, “I thought you said Corinth was chaste.”

  “He was. It was written that he had no family, but who knows?”

  “So you see yourself as re-creating this group in fifteenth-century Spain? Who is this Father you keep mentioning?”

  Whistler nodded. “You will find that out if he wishes it, Sheriff.” He looked again at Autumn, and his voice softened. “We have made great strides here at Twilight. This is a place of peace and seeking. It is a place where you will be happy, child.”

  Autumn didn’t answer him. She didn’t look happy yet.

  Ethan said quickly, “How many people are here now, Caldicot?”

  “We have only twelve here at present. One is from Spain. Of course all who are admitted to Twilight vow secrecy, just as the Children of Twilight did so long ago. But it did not save them. Torquemada heard of them, hunted them down, and destroyed them. That will not happen to us. We have always known we must be careful, we must guard our secrecy well. Very few people know of this place, and it will remain that way.”

  “How can you be certain they don’t tell others of this place once they leave?”

  Whistler shrugged. “Some doubtless do. But it hardly profits them. They all agree to arrive blindfolded and leave the same way. And always at night. They do not know our location. And if they did know and were unwise enough to try to lead someone back here, they know our reaction would be—extreme.”

  Joanna asked, “What do they all do here?”

  “All those who come witness incredible powers. They seek to understand and to learn if perhaps they can develop these powers in themselves.”

  “Have you found another Blessed?” Ethan asked.

  “No, not as yet, but it is early. Today Autumn will join our ranks; she will become one of us. It will take time to find other gifted ones, the ones who will stand beside Blessed and the Father. Eventually we will become more powerful than your common minds can imagine. Perhaps the boy from Spain is right. Perhaps Corinth will appear again.”

  Ethan hadn’t noticed the phone on Caldicot’s desk until it rang. Whistler picked it up, listened. When he hung it up, he said, “It is time for you to return to the meeting hall with Kjell. Autumn, you will remain here with me.”

  Autumn went nuts. She screamed, “No, I won’t leave my mother, I won’t leave Ethan! I won’t!”

  Whistler looked ready to blow. Then he pressed a button on the side of his desk.

  They’d come to a decision, Ethan thought, and he knew what it was. He had to be ready.

  A moment later, Kjell appeared. He motioned them all back into the corridor. “I will see you soon, child,” Caldicot called to Autumn.

  Autumn turned around and said, “I don’t think you look like Jesus at all. Jesus wasn’t crazy.”

  61

  WINNETT, NORTH CAROLINA

  Another popping sound came from the black metal box and sounded like a gunshot in the small room. None of them breathed.

  Sherlock bent down and examined the disarmed bomb and casing. She looked up. “One of the leads, it sparked. I’m going to remove it entirely away from the pack of dynamite.” She lifted the wire, touched her fingers to the tip, felt the heat, held it until it was cool, and laid it on the floor. “I think that’s what that noise was. I’m sure there’s nothing left in there to send us to heaven.” She held up the two detached wires.

  Once Savich got the duct tape off Cully, he jumped up and stomped his feet to get feeling back into them. When he could hold his own weight, Cully walked over to look at the now harmless bomb case. “Thanks, Sherlock. Do you know when the next bomb course is at Quantico?”

  Sherlock laughed, then she looked down at the remains of the bomb at her feet. “Homemade, professional—they’re all scary. My heart’s still pumping out of my chest.”

  Cully said, “I knew if I couldn’t get that duct tape off my mouth, it was all over. I heard you guys kick the front door open and I’ll tell you, I never chewed and worked my jaws so hard in my life. I found out duct tape doesn’t taste anything like chicken. Damn, we’ve got to find Bernie.”

  Bernie was probably dead, Savich thought, murdered silently by Lissy and stuffed into a closet. They were out of Victor Nesser’s apartment building in under a minute, running toward the deserted house.

  Bernie wasn’t anywhere in the house, dead or alive, and they didn’t see any blood. It was one of those good news/bad news deals, Savich thought. If Bernie wasn’t dead, it meant he was a hostage, and they all knew it.

  “We’ve gotta think positive here,” Cully said. “As long as he’s a hostage, he’s got a chance. Damn, that sounds lame. Why couldn’t he have peed against the oak tree right behind us? No, he had to go be civilized and use the toilet in the house.” Cully slammed his fist into the hallway wall and crumpled the thin wallboard. “Okay, they cold-cocked Bernie, tied him up, stuck him in a closet. After they left me to explode, they came back here, collected Bernie, and took him somewhere. Where?”

  Savich said matter-of-factly, “They took him to a spot where they could see the explosion. There’s no way they’d want to miss that—all three of us history. As for the other apartment tenants, they didn’t care about them. Okay, Cully, you’ve got to think back and concentrate. Did Lissy and Victor give any indication about what they were going to do when they left you? Anything about where they were headed, where they’d been hiding before they came up behind you?”

  Cully leaned against the peeling wallpaper in the small living room and closed his eyes. He said finally, “They were talking while Victor duct-taped me, like I wasn’t even there, they were that sure I was going to be blown up, you guys along with me—if they were lucky. Lissy starting chanting, ‘I’m going to be lucky,’ over and over again until Victor told her to shut up.”

  Sherlock said, “Let me interrupt a minute, Cully. I’m wondering how they knew Dillon and I would be coming to Winnett.”

  Cully looked blank, then he shook his head, sighed. “If they were watching me and Bernie—and they were—they must have been close enough to listen to me talking to you guys on my cell, just figured you’d be coming here.”

  Sherlock nodded. “Okay, go on. What else do you remember?”

  Cully said, “Before they left me, she leaned down and kissed me—not just a peck, she Frenched me. I nearly fainted. She laughed. Then they waltzed out. As far as I could tell, Victor left all his stuff in the apartment, didn’t take a thing. Maybe he’d already taken what he wanted.

  “On their way out I heard Victor’s voice, but I couldn’t make out what he said, but then Lissy said real loud like they were arguing, ‘I’m going to kill that bastard who murdered her, or my mama will never forgive me.’ And you know what? She burst into tears, sobbed her heart out. It was weird. I heard Victor consoling her, soothing words. Then they left, and Lissy yelled out right before they closed the apartment door, ‘Bada-boom!’ Then she was laughing her head off, right after she was crying her eyes out. She’s crazier than a loon, guys. You know what? I think Victor knows it.”

  Cully paused, looked like he was trying to make sense of things. “You know, I’m not really sure, bu
t one minute Victor’s bossing her around, and the next it’s like he’s afraid she’ll turn on him. But when she Frenched me, I knew he was mad, really mad.”

  Savich said, “But he didn’t do anything. Say anything?”

  “No, he turned away, like he wasn’t interested. And then Lissy ran after him, laughing. Who was she talking about killing? It wasn’t you; I mean, she wanted to blow you up in Victor’s apartment.”

  Savich said, “She was talking about Buzz Riley, the security guard at the bank in Georgetown they tried to rob. He’s the one who saved my life, killed Lissy’s mother, Jennifer Smiley. Buzz is safe; he took a long-overdue vacation in the Caribbean. Lissy was probably nagging Victor about trying to get down there.”

  Sherlock nodded. “Even if they thought of it, no way could they manage it. Victor knows that. They’ve got to plan on waiting until Buzz comes home.”

  “For sure killing Buzz is on Lissy’s to-do list. Sherlock’s right, they’ll simply wait for him to come home.” Savich fell silent. He stared at his hands, thinking.

  Sherlock, who knew her husband as well as she knew herself, was content to wait. She lightly laid her hand on Cully’s forearm when he would have spoken.

  Savich looked up. “I’m thinking Victor and Lissy stayed close enough to see the apartment building blow. They probably watched to see Sherlock and me go in, then they saw all of us running over here a few minutes later to look for Bernie.”

  Sherlock said slowly, “But they didn’t try to shoot us when we ran out of the building. We were all in the open, running, sure, but we were open targets.”

  Savich said, “We must have come out faster than they expected. Remember, we were running flat out. Maybe they were still dealing with Bernie.

  “Bottom line, we’ve got to assume Victor and Lissy are still out there waiting for us to waltz out this front door, then they’ll try to kill us all.”

  “Now there’s a happy thought,” Sherlock said. She walked to the front living room window and scanned the surrounding trees. “We’re at the very edge of town, all trees and hills out there. They could be anywhere. You really think they’re watching us, Dillon?”

  “Oh, yeah, I would be,” he said, “watching and waiting.”

  Cully said, “There’s only two of them. You think they’d split up—one watching the back and one watching the front?”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Savich said.

  Sherlock said, “Agreed. Now, what are we going to do?”

  Savich pulled out his cell. “I’m going to call in the cavalry.”

  62

  PEAS RIDGE, GEORGIA

  They were walked back to the meeting hall, Kjell’s gun shoved against Ethan’s back.

  The door slid silently open.

  “Go in, Sheriff, Mrs. Backman.”

  At the last instant, Kjell tried to grab Autumn, but she jumped out of the way. She ran behind Ethan.

  Kjell stood there, obviously uncertain what to do. Then he called over his shoulder, “Keeper, I need your assistance.”

  Blessed came into the room behind him. He looked haggard, his eyes red from weeping.

  “Stymie them, Keeper.”

  “No!” Autumn jerked away and faced Blessed, her arms out, trying to cover both her mother and Ethan. “No, no, Blessed, don’t you dare stymie them!”

  Blessed grabbed her and lifted her into his arms. “Be quiet, Autumn. You will be quiet.”

  Autumn sank her teeth into Blessed’s arm.

  Kjell said when Blessed moaned, “Give her to her mother before she chews your arm off.”

  Blessed lowered a flailing Autumn to the floor. She ran to her mother, wrapped her arms around Joanna’s waist, and pressed her face into her stomach. She was crying huge, deep sobs that sounded—fake.

  Kjell crossed his arms over his chest and merely looked at each of them in turn, but his focus, his real interest, was Autumn. Blessed pressed his fingers to his arm where she’d bitten him. There was blood on his fingers. He looked at them, his eyes angry. He was panting. “No more of this. It’s time.”

  Autumn screamed, “No!” She ran at Blessed, hitting his stomach with her fists. Blessed grabbed her wrists and stared down at her, and then something very strange happened.

  Blessed didn’t talk, didn’t seem to be able to move.

  Suddenly, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor.

  Kjell was at Blessed’s side in an instant. He dropped to his knees and shook him. “Keeper! Wake up!” He reached out to grab Autumn. “What did you do to him? What?”

  Kjell realized the danger too late. He leaped to his feet, brought up his gun, but Ethan was on him. He kicked the gun from his hand.

  Ethan had wondered if Kjell was trained to fight, and he was. But Ethan had learned karate and some of the dirtiest street fighting on the planet—in the Philippines. He’d gotten himself stomped before he learned being vicious could be the only way to stay alive. He went after Kjell with everything he knew, with all the rage he felt. Joanna pulled Autumn to her, her hand over her eyes so she couldn’t see the violence, but she knew Autumn heard the slamming of fists against flesh, the grunts, the brief silences, which were worse, and knew the instant Ethan broke Kjell’s nose and his glasses. Blood flew out to streak down the white wall behind him.

  She watched Kjell, blood pouring down his face, land a kick in Ethan’s kidney, watched him stumble back and fall, then roll back onto his feet. He went at Kjell furiously, his fist to his jaw, a kick to his belly, his other fist hard into his broken nose. Kjell, utterly silent to this point, fell back and moaned.

  Joanna’s heart nearly stopped when Kjell jumped at Ethan, dragged him down to the white floor. They rolled over and over, grunting, hitting each other in the head, each trying to gain leverage.

  And then it was over. Ethan, on top, reared back and sent the heel of his hand into Kjell’s broken nose, sending droplets of his blood flying. Kjell didn’t make a sound. His eyes rolled back and he went limp. Ethan shook his hand, rubbed his bloody knuckles.

  Joanna’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t find the spit to speak. Finally she whispered, “Is he dead?”

  “Yes.” Ethan got slowly to his feet and stared down at the young man. What had Caldicot Whistler promised him if Kjell obeyed him? Great wealth? Power? Had Kjell killed the people Autumn had seen the Backmans burying? Now nothing mattered to him. He was dead. Ethan picked up Kjell’s gun and put it in his belt.

  Blessed moaned and sat up. He clapped his hands to his head and began to weave back and forth. He looked at Ethan, then at Joanna, looked hard, but he didn’t look at Autumn. He clutched his forehead in his hands and whispered, “This cannot be, it cannot,” and he fell onto his side again and began crying.

  Ethan said, “Autumn, what did you do to Blessed?”

  Autumn was deathly pale. Ethan went down on his knees and pulled her against him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s bad, but I need you to pay attention to me right now, okay? This is super-important. Tell me what you did to Blessed.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Ethan, I only—”

  The door in the wall suddenly closed again.

  Ethan knew they didn’t have much time. He said, “We’re going to get out of here. We’ll go back the way we came.”

  “Ethan.”

  He turned to see Joanna staring down low on the wall. He heard gas snaking out from a small white vent not six inches above the floor. He cursed under his breath. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  He scooped Autumn up in his arms and ran to where they’d first entered the white room, Joanna right behind him. Even though he could see the outline of the sliding door, he couldn’t see how to open it.

  “There has to be something,” Joanna said. “There has to be.” Ethan went on his knees in front of Autumn. “We’re going to run our palms over this wall, look for a button, anything. Breathe real light; try not to let the gas get to you.”

  They couldn’t find a w
ay out. Ethan slammed his shoulder against the door, but it was solid. He could smell the gas, feel it against his skin. He ripped off his shirt, ran back to the low vent in the wall, and dropped to his knees. He stuffed his shirt as best as he could between the narrow slats. But to do any good at all, he had to hold the shirt in place.

  Joanna fell to her knees beside him, shoved up her shirt, and unclipped her bra. “Move your shirt.” As she stuffed her bra between the slats, Ethan yelled, “Autumn, go over by the far wall and pull your T-shirt up over your nose and mouth!”

  Joanna pulled off her sneakers and stripped off her socks. He did the same. They stuffed the socks in, trying to hold their breath as they worked.

  Objectively, Ethan knew there would be no stopping the gas, and there wasn’t. “Sorry, Joanna, this isn’t going to cut it. We’ve got to find the way out of this place. There’s got to be some mechanism.”

  “Yes, there has to be something,” Joanna said. “There has to be.”

  But there wasn’t. Ethan felt the world spin, felt as if he were rising off the floor. He passed out.

  63

  WINNETT, NORTH CAROLINA

  Eight minutes passed before Savich’s cell phone rang.

  “Savich.” After a moment, he nodded. “Good.” And he punched off his phone.

  He said to Cully and Sherlock, “The cavalry’s here. The chief of police and every single deputy Winnett has on the payroll are in position. They can’t cover the woods, but they’ve got Pulitzer Prize Road blocked on both ends. They’re forming a big perimeter, hunkering down where there are breaks in the trees, but trying to stay out of sight.

  “The chief said he posted a couple of marksmen on top of Victor’s apartment building, came in through the back and up the stairs to the roof. The chief assures me everyone did their best to keep Victor and Lissy from knowing they’re there. We didn’t hear any cars from here, so maybe they didn’t either. They’re looking for Victor and Lissy’s car or, rather, for a car that’s hidden, since we don’t know what car Victor and Lissy are driving right now.”