by Harlan Coben
Locked.
Anthony saw him look at the alarm pad. He turned to his friend, who shrugged. Adam started pounding on the door.
"Open up!"
The tone, Anthony thought. There was more than impatience in that tone--there was pure desperation. Fear even. Anthony moved closer.
"Come on, open up!"
He kept pounding harder and harder. A few seconds later, the door opened. One of those goths stood there. Anthony had seen him around. He was a little older than the others and the quasi-leader for that band of full-fledged losers. He had a strip across his nose, like it'd been broken. Anthony wondered if he was one of the kids who jumped Mike and decided that, yeah, he probably was.
So what should he do?
Should he stop Adam from going in? That might work, but then again it might backfire in a big way. The kid would probably run. Anthony could grab him and hold him, but if they all made enough of a fuss, what good would that do?
Anthony slid closer to the door.
Adam hurried inside, disappearing entirely, and it seemed to Anthony as if the building had swallowed him whole. Adam's friend with the varsity jacket entered behind him, slower. From where he stood, Anthony could see the goth let the door close. As he did, as the door began to slowly swing shut, the goth turned his back.
And Anthony saw it.
There was a gun sticking out of the back waist of his pants.
And right before the door closed entirely, it looked like maybe the goth was reaching for it.
M O sat in the car and worked those damn numbers.
CeeJay8115.
He started with the obvious. Turn Cee into C or the third letter. Three. He took the Jay or J, the tenth number. So what did he have? 3108115. He added the numbers together, tried dividing them, searched for patterns. He looked at Adam's IM handle--Hockey Adam1117. Mike had told him that 11 was Messier's number, 17 was Mike's old Dartmouth number. Still he added them to 8115 and then 3108115. He turned HockeyAdam into numbers, did more equations, tried to solve the problem.
Nothing.
The numbers were not random. He knew that. Even Adam's numbers, while not telling, were not random. There was a pattern here. Mo just had to find it.
Mo had been doing the math in his head, but now he opened the glove compartment and grabbed a sheet of paper. He started jotting down number possibilities when he heard a familiar voice shout, "Open up!"
Mo looked through the windshield.
Adam was banging on the front door of Club Jaguar.
"Come on, open up!"
Mo reached for the handle as the front door of the club opened. Adam vanished inside. Mo wondered what to do here, what move to make, when he saw something else weird.
It was Anthony, the black bouncer Mike had visited earlier in the day. He was sprinting toward the Club Jaguar door. Mo rolled out of the car and started toward him. Anthony got to the door first and twisted the knob. It wouldn't budge.
"What's going on?" Mo asked.
"We gotta get in," Anthony said.
Mo put his hand on the door. "It's steel enforced. No way we can kick it down."
"Well, we better try."
"Why, what's up?"
"The guy who let Adam in," Anthony said. "He was pulling a gun."
CARSON kept the gun hidden behind his back.
"Is my father here?" Adam asked.
"He's in Rosemary's office."
Adam started past him. There was a sudden commotion from down the hall.
"Adam?"
The voice belonged to Mike Baye.
"Dad?"
Baye turned the corner right as Adam was arriving. Father and son met up near the corridor and embraced.
Aw, Carson thought, isn't that sweet.
Carson gripped the gun and raised it in front of him.
He did not call out. He did not warn them. There was no reason to. He had no choice here. There was no time to negotiate or make requests. He needed to end this.
He needed to kill them.
Rosemary shouted, "Carson, don't!"
But there was no way he was listening to that bitch. Carson aimed the gun toward Adam, got him in his sights, and prepared to fire.
EVEN as Mike hugged his son--even as he felt the wonderful substance of his boy and nearly collapsed in relief that he was okay-- Mike saw it out of the corner of his eye.
Carson had a gun.
There weren't seconds to consider his next move. There was no conscious thought in what he did next--just a primitive, base response. He saw Carson aiming the gun at Adam and he reacted.
Mike pushed his son.
He pushed him very hard. Adam's feet actually left the ground. He flew through the air, his eyes widening in surprise. The gun exploded, the bullet shattering the glass behind him, right where Adam had been standing less than a second earlier. Mike felt the shards rain down on him.
But the push had not only surprised Adam--it had surprised Carson. He had clearly figured that they would either not see him or react as most people do when faced with a gun--freeze or put their hands up.
Carson recovered quickly. He was already swinging his gun to the right, toward where Adam had landed. But that was why the push had been so hard. Even in that reactionary state, there had been a method to Mike's madness. He needed not only to get his son out of the way of the incoming bullet, but he needed to give him distance. And he got it.
Adam landed down the corridor, behind a wall.
Carson aimed but he had no angle to shoot Adam. That left him with one other alternative--shooting the father first.
Mike felt a strange sense of peace then. He knew what had to be done here. There was no choice. He needed to protect his son. As Carson began to swing the gun back in the father's direction, Mike knew what that meant.
He would need to make a sacrifice.
He didn't think this out. It just was. A father saves his son. That was the way it should be. Carson was going to be able to shoot one of them. There seemed no way around that. So Mike did the only thing he could.
He made sure that it was him.
Working on instinct, Mike charged Carson.
He flashed back to hockey games, to going for the puck, and realized that even if Carson shot him, he might still have enough. He might still have enough to reach Carson and stop him from doing more harm.
He would save his son.
But as he got closer, Mike realized that the heart was one thing, reality another. The distance was too great. Carson already had the gun raised. Mike wouldn't be able to make it before taking at least one bullet, maybe two. There was very little chance of survival or even doing much good.
Still there was no choice. So Mike closed his eyes and lowered his head and churned his legs.
THEY were still a good fifteen feet away, but if Carson let him get just a little closer, he couldn't miss.
He lowered his aim a little, pointed the gun at Mike's head and watched the target grow bigger and bigger.
ANTHONY pushed his shoulder against the door, but it wouldn't budge.
Mo said, "All those complicated calculations--and that's it?"
"What are you mumbling about?"
"Eight-one-one-five."
"Come again?"
There was no time to explain. Mo pressed 8115 into the alarm pad. The red light turned green, signaling that the door was now unlocked.
Anthony pulled open the door and both men dived inside.
CARSON had him in his sights now.
The gun was aimed at the top of Mike's charging head. Carson was surprised by how calm he felt. He thought that he might panic, but his hand was steady. Firing the first time had felt good. This would feel even better. He was in the zone now. He wouldn't miss. No way.
Carson started to pull the trigger.
And then the gun was gone.
A giant hand came from behind him and snatched the gun away. Just like that. One second it was there, the next gone. Carson turned and saw the big
black bouncer from down the street. The bouncer was holding the gun and smiling.
But there was no time to even register much surprise. Something powerful--another guy--hit Carson low and hard in the back. Carson felt pain in his entire body. He cried out and jerked forward where he ran into Mike Baye's shoulder coming in the other direction. Car- son's body nearly snapped in half from the impact. He landed as if someone had dropped him from a great height. His wind was gone. His ribs felt like they'd caved in.
Standing over him, Mike said, "It's over." Then turning back to where Rosemary now stood, he added, "No deals."
Chapter 39.
NASH kept his hold on either side of the girls' necks.
His grip was light, but these were pressure-point-sensitive areas. He could see Yasmin, the one who had started all the trouble by being rude in Joe's class, grimacing. The other girl--the daughter of the lady who had stumbled in on all this--quaked like a leaf.
The woman said, "Let them go."
Nash shook his head. He felt giddy now. The crazy was running through him like a live wire. Every neuron had been switched into high gear. One of the girls started crying. He knew that should have an effect on him, that as a human being their tears should move him in some way.
But they just heightened the sensation.
Is it still crazy when you know it's crazy?
"Please," the woman said. "They're just children."
She stopped talking then. So maybe she saw it. Her words were not reaching him. Worse, they seemed to give him pleasure. He admired the woman. He wondered again if she was always this way, brave and feisty, or had she turned into the mother bear protecting her cub?
He would have to kill the mother first.
She would be the most trouble. He was sure of it. There was no way she would stand idly by while he hurt the girls.
But then a new thought aroused him. If this was going to be it, if this was going to be his final stand, would there be any greater high than making the parents watch?
Oh, he knew that was sick. But once the thought was voiced in his head, Nash couldn't let it go. You can't help who you are. Nash had met a few pedophiles in prison and they always tried so hard to convince themselves that what they did was not depraved. They talked about history and ancient civilizations and earlier eras where girls were married when they were twelve and all the while Nash wondered why they bothered. It was simpler. This was how you're hardwired. You have an itch. You have a need to do what others find reprehensible.
This was how God made you. So who was really to blame?
All those pious freaks should understand that if you really thought about it, you were criticizing God's work when you condemned such men. Oh, sure they would counter about temptation, but this was more than that. They knew that too. Because everybody has some itch. It isn't discipline that keeps it in check. It is circumstances. That was what Pietra didn't understand about the soldiers. The circumstances didn't force them to relish in the brutality.
It gave them the opportunity to.
So now he knew. He would kill them all. He would grab the computers and be gone. When the police arrived, the bloodbath would occupy them. They would assume a serial killer. Nobody would wonder about some video made by a blackmailing woman to destroy a kind man and good teacher. Joe could very well be off the hook.
First things first. Tie up the mother.
"Girls?" Nash said.
He turned them so that they could look at him.
"If you run away, I will kill Mommy and Daddy. Do you understand?"
They both nodded. He moved them away from the basement door anyway. He let go of their necks--and that was when Yasmin let out the most piercing scream he had ever heard. She darted toward her father. Nash leaned that way.
That would prove to be a mistake.
The other girl sprinted straight for the steps.
Nash quickly spun to follow, but she was fast.
The woman yelled, "Run, Jill!"
Nash leaped toward the stairs, his hand outstretched to grab her ankle. He touched the skin, but she pulled away. Nash tried to get up but he felt a sudden weight on him.
It was the mother.
She had jumped on his back. She bit down hard into his leg. Nash howled and kicked her away.
"Jill!" Nash called out. "Your mommy will be dead if you don't come down here right now!"
The woman rolled away from him. "Run! Don't listen to him!"
Nash rose and took out the knife. For the first time he was not sure what to do. The telephone box was across the room. He could knock it out, but the girl probably had a cell phone.
Time was running out.
He needed the computers. That was the key thing. So he would kill them, grab the computers, and get out. He would make sure that the hard drives were destroyed.
Nash looked toward Yasmin. She jumped behind her father. Guy tried to roll, tried to sit up, tried to do anything to make himself something of a protective wall for his daughter. The effort, what with him hog-tied with duct tape, was almost comical.
The woman got up too. She moved toward the little girl. Not even hers this time. Brave. But now all three were in one spot. Good. He could take care of them quickly. It would take very little time.
"Jill!" Nash called out again. "Last chance!"
Yasmin screamed again. Nash moved toward them, knife raised, but a voice made him pull up.
"Please don't hurt my mommy."
The voice came from behind him. He could hear her sobs.
Jill had come back.
Nash looked at the mother and smiled. The mother's face collapsed in anguish.
"No!" screamed her mother. "Jill, no! Run!"
"Mommy?"
"Run! God, honey, please run!"
But Jill didn't listen. She came down the stairs. Nash turned toward her and that was when he realized his mistake. He wondered for a second if he had intentionally let Jill make it to the stairway in the first place. He had let go of their necks, hadn't he? Had he been careless or was there something more? He wondered if somehow he had been directed by someone, someone who had seen enough and wanted him at peace.
He thought that he saw her standing next to the girl.
"Cassandra," he said out loud.
A minute or two earlier, Jill had felt the man's hand press down on her neck.
The man was strong. He didn't seem to be trying at all. His fingers found a spot and it really hurt. Then she saw her mom and the way Mr. Novak was tied up on the floor. Jill was so scared.
Her mom said, "Let them go."
The way she said it calmed Jill a little. It was horrible and scary, but her mother was here. She would do anything to save Jill. And Jill knew that it was time to show that she would do anything for her.
The man's grip tightened. Jill gasped a little and glanced up at his face. The man looked happy. Her eyes moved toward Yasmin. Yasmin was looking directly at Jill. She managed to tilt her head a little. That was what Yasmin did in class when the teacher was looking but she wanted to get Jill a message.
Jill didn't get it. Yasmin started looking down at her own hand.
Puzzled, Jill followed her eyes and saw what Yasmin was doing.
She was making a gun with her forefinger and thumb.
"Girls?"
The man holding them by the neck squeezed and turned a little so that they would have to look at him.
"If you run away, I will kill Mommy and Daddy. Do you understand?"
They both nodded. Their eyes met again. Yasmin opened her mouth. Jill got the idea. The man released them. Jill waited for the diversion. It didn't take long.
Yasmin screamed and Jill ran for her life. Not her life, actually. All their lives.
She felt the man's fingertips on her ankle but she pulled away. She heard him howl, but she didn't look back.
"Jill! Your mommy will be dead if you don't come down here right now!"
No choice. Jill ran up the stairs. She thought about
the anonymous e-mail she'd sent to Mr. Novak just earlier today:
Please listen to me. You need to hide your gun better.
She prayed that he hadn't read it or if he had, that he hadn't had time to do anything about it. Jill dived into his bedroom and pulled the drawer all the way out. She dumped the contents on the floor.
The gun was gone.
Her heart fell. She heard screaming coming from downstairs. The man could be killing them all. She started tossing his things around when her hand hit something metallic.
The gun.
"Jill! Last chance!"
How did she get rid of the safety? Damn it. She didn't know. But then Jill remembered something.
Yasmin had never put it back on. The safety was probably still off.
Yasmin screamed.
Jill scrambled back to her feet. She wasn't even down the stairs when she called out in the littlest, baby-est voice she could muster: "Please don't hurt my mommy."
She hurried down to the basement level. She wondered if she would be able to apply enough pressure to make the gun fire. She figured that she'd hold the gun with both hands and use two fingers.
Turns out, that was pressure enough.
NASH heard the sirens.
He saw the gun and smiled. Part of him wanted to make a leap, but Cassandra shook her head. He didn't want that either. The girl hesitated. So he moved a little closer to her and raised the knife over her head.
When Nash was ten, he asked his father what happens to us when we die. His father said that Shakespeare probably said it best, that death was "the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns."
In sum, how can we know?
The first bullet hit him square in the chest.
He staggered closer to her, keeping the knife raised, waiting.
Nash didn't know where the second bullet would take him, but he hoped it would be to Cassandra.
Chapter 40.
MIKE sat in the same interrogation room as before. This time he was with his son.
Special Agent Darryl LeCrue and U.S. Assistant Attorney Scott Duncan had been trying to put together the case. Mike knew that they were all here somewhere--Rosemary, Carson, DJ Huff and probably his father, the other goths. They separated them out, hoping to cut deals and file charges.
