Nine

52

Malibu, California

Thursday, May 22, 9:00 P.M.

Everett hesitated when they reached the door of the bell tower.

“Now that’s interesting,” he said. “An unbarred door.” He looked behind him-a little nervously, Alex thought.

He saw Alex watching him and smiled. “I recently made a little change to this door. You see the brackets that I welded on? They allow the door to be locked and barred on the outside. I have the lock with me, but I left the bar on-I’m sure of it. And of course, if you take that bar off and enter the building, you can’t put the bar back in place, can you? At least, not while you’re still inside.”

Alex started to look over his shoulder, toward the rooftops of the buildings behind them, then suddenly looked forward again, as if he had belatedly realized he was giving a confederate’s position away.

Everett quickly looked between Alex and the rooftops. He narrowed his gaze. “Unless you only want someone to believe you’re still inside.” He pulled the door open and stood aside. “All the same, I think I’ll let you walk in first.”

Alex stepped into the darkened tower. Everett moved in slowly behind him. Alex heard the click of a switch, and lights came on-one set of bright ones, illuminating part of the first floor, and along a wooden staircase railing, a long string of bare bulbs that went about three-quarters of the way up the tower. They stopped abruptly there. The railing enclosed a series of platforms and stairs. Here and there, small shedlike structures protruded onto the platforms.

A pair of thick ropes hung down the center of the tower. They ended about eight feet above the ground. A familiar rappelling rope hung between them, one end attached to a power winch, from where its length rose up into the tower and then back down, its end at the edge of an inner circle that was clear of sandbags. A short stepladder lay folded on the floor of the circle.

“The rappelling rope goes over a pulley,” Everett said, his voice echoing. “The bell ropes are simply tied to a beam. As Ciara told you, there are no bells at the moment. You won’t be able to raise an old-fashioned alarm.” His voice echoed around them.

But Alex was staring at the sandbags, remembering what Hamilton said about explosives.

“Tamping,” Everett said.

Alex felt himself break out in a cold sweat. Tamping was a way of directing the force of an explosion. With this many bags, he could only wonder at the size of the charge that must lay beneath them. He realized he was holding his breath, and slowly let it out.

Soft ticking sounds from one side of the tower drew his attention to a tall, almost L-shaped box made of a thick, clear material. It was attached to the wall, about four feet off the concrete floor. At first glance, it appeared to be the strange marriage of an oversize, tilted pinball machine and a grandfather clock.

At the top was a clock face. Beneath the clock was a clear, narrow cylinder filled with eight shiny metal balls about the size of billiard balls. The balls were stacked within the cylinder, one on top of the other.

At the end of the cylinder, and to its left, was a trough that sat at a slight angle, so that a ball entering it would roll onto a tilted strip. The strip opened on to nine channels, the channels also tilted down at a slight angle. Metal tabs could be seen at the end of each of these channels. They reminded Alex of the tabs that touch the ends of batteries in a battery-powered device. A ninth silver ball was in the first slot.

Alex saw then that there were thin metal gates at the tops of the channels. The gate above the channel holding the ball was closed. The gate for the channel next to it was the only one in an open position. The next ball to be released could fall only into that channel.

This whole platform of channels appeared to be supported from beneath by a thick pipe, but then he saw that it was not a stand but a conduit, and that it bent at the floor and continued toward the sandbags.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Everett said with pride. “I built it myself. But I see we really are running late.”

To Alex’s dismay, Everett blindfolded him. They were alone now, Alex thought. It might be best just to try to take him out. If he moved that close again…

“We’re going to walk over these bags,” Everett said. “The trick will be to do so without tripping a number of pressure-sensitive devices I have hidden beneath them. You understand, I’m sure, the need to move exactly as I guide you.”

“Maybe I’ll just set one off and send us both to meet our Maker. I think I’d come out better in the long run, don’t you?”

“Really? I hope your nephew has led an equally pure life, then. I did a little remodeling near the top of the tower. Once my guests were installed in their suite, I had fun with an electric saw. They slept through it all, poor dears. I did consider turning them into morphine addicts, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time for every form of revenge that occurs to me.”

“Chase?” Alex called, lifting his face. He heard his voice echo, and silence.

But then a distant, faint voice called back, “Uncle Alex?”

He felt his hopes rise.

There was another voice now, raised in sharp reprimand, and a brief argument. He heard it more clearly a moment later. “If you’re really his uncle Alex, shut up, okay? He’s too dizzy to stand out here. He’ll fall and crack his head open again.”

“Spooky?”

“You know Kit?”

Behind him, Everett suddenly screamed, “Put out that match, you idiot!”

Alex paled. “Yes. Spooky, honey, put the match out, okay?”

“Don’t call me ‘honey,’ you macho asshole.”

But apparently she blew the match out, because Everett sighed in relief. “I wish I had known she was a girl,” he said.

“Who said that?” she asked. “Is he the one who called me an idiot?”

“The man who put you up there. Listen-there are explosives in here, so no more matches, okay, Spooky?”

She was quiet.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I want down from here. Where’s Kit? Where’s Meghan?”

Before he could answer, he heard the sound of a small chime. In the quiet that followed, he heard a click and the sound of a silver ball rolling. It seemed to him as loud as a gutter ball in a bowling alley. It came to a halt with a snap.

“Where the hell is that woman?” Everett said angrily. He jabbed Alex’s back with the barrel of the gun. “We’re wasting time. I simply wanted you to be aware of the risks.” Alex felt a painful grip on his shoulder. “Now, Detective Brandon, step up onto the sandbag directly in front of you.”

He continued to call directions, and Alex followed them, trying to memorize them. The nervousness in Everett’s voice forced him to abandon any hope that there were no pressure-sensitive devices, that it was only a ruse. He could smell the sharp scent of Everett’s sweat, feel the other man’s palm dampening on his shoulder. Alex tried to rid himself of his own dread of tripping over the uneven surfaces of the bags by telling himself that he had a better sense of balance than most and that Everett wouldn’t risk a fall. But the fear of setting off an explosion was never far away.

When he stepped down into the cleared section, Alex found that he was shaking with relief. He forced himself to breathe more evenly. Everett turned him around several times, like a child playing blind man’s bluff. Then Everett removed the blindfold.

As Alex blinked up at him in surprise, Everett smiled.

“Take the end of the rappelling rope and sit down on the floor,” Everett ordered. “Tie that around your ankles.”

“How am I supposed to do that with my hands bound?” he asked.

“Don’t take me for a fool. You can do it. Hurry.”

He took hold of the rappelling rope and awkwardly sat down. This, he realized, was why Everett had insisted on his being handcuffed in front. As he tied the knots, he felt his hands trembling, his fingers growing clumsy and numb with fear. In the next instant, he again felt a surge of anger and bitterness overpowering that fear, raw fury at being made to do Everett’s bidding. But he thought of Chase and Spooky, and kept himself in check. If he could delay long enough for Kit to come in through that door, or bring help…

When he had finished, Everett took something that looked like a television remote control and aimed it toward the winch. There was a click, and suddenly he felt a sharp pull on his ankles-the winch had been turned on.

He quickly lay flat on his back to avoid being yanked off balance, and felt the slow, inexorable pull of the rope as it began to lift him. His heart hammered.

Get a grip, he told himself, and felt himself calming. You can get out of this. You will get out of this. Think.

“I thought Ciara wanted you to wait for her to have all this fun,” he said, as his hips began to feel the pull of the rope.

“She’ll get her turn with Kit,” Everett said absently. He was staring up at the staircase.

The rope went higher, and Alex’s hips left the floor. Change fell out of his pockets, jangling as the coins struck the concrete floor below him. Then his spine and shoulders lifted, and with his blood already rushing to it, his head. His jacket fell around his shoulders and neck, covering his face and dropping pens and his PDA to the floor with a crack. The scent of dried blood on the jacket came to him with every breath. He had visions of being dropped onto the floor headfirst. Let the rope hold. Let the knots hold. Let them hold.

He felt as if he were on the rack, felt the pull of his weight on joints that weren’t meant to sustain it in this direction for long. The rope pinched and abraded his skin, and his injured shoulder began to throb as his arms stretched beneath him. He gritted his teeth as he was pulled higher. The rope began to slowly twist and spin, he with it, in a motion that soon became dizzying.

He heard the winch stop.

Everett had to dodge him-Alex was swaying slowly like a human pendulum, and still spinning as well, about three feet above the sandbags. Alex’s blood had already rushed to his head. He felt the strain on all his joints and was certain that his ankles were going to rip away from his feet. They burned from the pressure of the rope.

“What are you doing to him?” Spooky called.

“I’m okay,” he called back. “Don’t worry.”

“Kit!” Spooky shouted frantically. “Kit!”

For a brief moment, Alex wondered if Kit and his rifle were inside the tower. But the echoes of her shouts faded into silence.

But her cries had distracted Everett, who lost track of Alex swinging near him.

“Look out!” Alex yelled.

Everett quickly ducked to avoid being hit. “God damn it! Don’t!” he screamed.

“What the fuck do you think I can do about it?” Alex shouted, already swinging back toward him.

Everett ducked again and then quickly stood and tucked the gun into a holster at his hip. He planted his feet a little apart, grabbed onto one of the bell ropes, and as Alex came by this time, grabbed onto him. Alex felt the impact and Everett’s loss of balance, felt the young man’s strength as he used his grip on the other rope and Alex’s body to both halt the sway and prevent himself from tumbling over. They tottered back and forth together for what seemed to Alex an eternity. When they finally came to a halt, he was so dizzy, the room still seemed to spin. He clamped down on an urge to vomit. Everett stepped away from him and looked into his reddened face.

“Have a headache yet? Maybe I should kick you in the face for almost knocking me over.” He glanced up.

Alex lifted his head and saw a camera. The red recording indicator light was on. He thought of the videotape from Oaxaca.

Everett pulled a knife from his military-style belt. Alex felt himself go cold. Terrified of the style of torture he had seen inflicted on Everett’s other victims, he considered trying to disarm Everett. Everett had been cautious until now, but he was now within range of Alex’s hands, and Alex might be able to do it. But unless he killed Everett with one blow, Everett was likely to be able to recover a weapon, and Spooky and Chase would remain in danger. Or he might knock Everett onto one of the pressure devices. He prayed that Kit, who had been smart enough to see the trap, would somehow set them free before Everett blew them all to hell. Or before Everett decided to play surgeon with him.

Everett grabbed hold of Alex’s jacket and cut it off of him in a few swift strokes. The knife was sharp. He did the same with his shirt. Alex tried to keep himself still, but when Everett grabbed hold of his belt, he brought his fists up hard toward Everett’s groin.

Everett anticipated it just in time, shoving Alex away from him so that the blow landed on his thigh. Still, he doubled over in pain, his face twisted in anger.

“You stupid asshole!” he shouted as Alex began to swing wildly again. “You stupid fucking asshole!”

Alex closed his eyes. Even if he managed, as he had hoped, to grab onto Everett before he fell onto any of the sandbags, what good would it have done? If Everett took his time killing him, maybe that would allow Kit to get reinforcements here to save Spooky and Chase. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Kit would try to reach the former soldiers who guarded his house-genuine soldiers, not boys playing dress-up like Everett-to help them. He had to keep his head until then and not put Spooky and Chase at risk.

Everett grabbed him roughly and brought the swinging to a halt again. Alex tried to prepare himself for what was to come, to put himself mentally far away. He thought of his last climb, of conquering the hardest part of it, of clinging by his fingertips and nearly nonexistent toeholds. Then he heard a chime and the steady rolling of the next silver ball, and was back in the tower.

But instead of threatening him with the knife, Everett started to set up the stepladder, carefully placing it on marks that Alex could now see beneath him. Everett wiped his hands nervously and again glanced at his watch. He grabbed one of the bell ropes, then looked undecided. It occurred to Alex that he had not planned to be alone when he did this. “Cameron was the rock climber,” he said.

Everett frowned, then climbed down, folded the ladder, and set it on the floor. He stood behind Alex and took hold of Alex’s belt at the back, placed a booted foot on the chain of the handcuffs, and pressed down, so that Alex’s already strained joints felt an even harder pull. His shoulders and elbows were on fire. Alex opened his mouth and exhaled hard, trying not to groan or make a sound that would distress Chase or Spooky. He heard the knife leave the sheaf again, and sweat began stinging his eyes. He felt the prick of the blade between his shoulders, a small, burning cut.

“A little deeper and you could spend the last hour of your life being paralyzed-you understand?” Everett said. “So don’t go talking to me about what I can and cannot do. I can do what I want.”

Alex felt a trickle of blood dampening the hair on the back of his head. He stayed silent.

Everett lifted his foot away and released his hold. He quickly made his way back over the sandbags. Alex tried but couldn’t see the pattern of his steps.

Everett suddenly seemed distracted, as if he had heard a noise. He frowned and pulled the gun out again. He aimed it directly at Alex as he moved nearer to the door and opened it. He stood on the threshold, listening.

Alex heard the same sound Everett must have heard a moment before. Gunfire.