Takedown (14 page)

G
avin checked his watch for the tenth time as he endured an interminable wait, along with the usual zoo visitors, in the admission-ticket
line. He considered flashing his badge to get to the front of the line but wasn’t sure what explanation he’d give for his
pushiness. Telling the truth would be the first step toward an early retirement and a padded room. Half an hour of fidgeting
in line and eleven dollars later he had a ticket and a special-events bulletin about the new Congo gorilla forest. He hurried
up the long, winding blacktop path through the African plains and baboon reserve, and was nearly out of breath by the time
he reached the Reptile House.

Some two years had passed since his last visit to the Reptile House, but it felt like only a week. He stopped at the entrance
briefly before going in at a brisk pace.

Samantha the python was in her usual spot, the first glass cage on the right as he entered the eerily dark corridor. Gavin
continued a few more feet before slowing and then coming to a complete stop. The corridor was eerie all right, but not quite
eerie enough. He wasn’t cold. He should have been trying to shake off a deep shiver about now. Over the last year he’d convinced
himself that the cold he and Amy used to feel had all been psychosomatic. He’d even made fun of himself for believing in such
child’s tales. Now he would welcome the cold. He wanted it so badly, he was trying to
think
cold. To will it into being with the same brain that couldn’t make it go away the last time he was here. Shaking his head
in frustration, he continued on.

The hallway emptied into the large room where two life-size bronze tortoises faced each other, something Jeremy would never
allow another tortoise to do with him without attacking it. The attendant spotted him staring at the statue. It was the same
elderly guy who had been there the last time. The man waved an abbreviated salute as Gavin walked by him.

“Been a while, but I see you couldn’t stay away forever,” the man said, surprising Gavin that he’d chosen to speak to him.

“I came to see the tortoise,” Gavin said in passing.

“That’s right. You were Jeremy’s biggest fan.”

“Is it still in the same cage?” Gavin asked, half looking back as he rounded the corner to the tortoise’s hallway.

“Nope.”

Gavin stopped, gave the attendant a puzzled glance, then hurried the rest of the way down the hall to the cage Jeremy had
been in. Maybe the old man had misunderstood the question.

Empty! But why? Maybe Jeremy was simply someplace else.

A moment later Gavin was back asking the attendant, “Where is it?”

The elderly man frowned, probably confused by Gavin’s intensity. “It… it died. I’m sorry.”

“Died? Are you sure?”

The attendant nodded slowly. “Sure, I’m sure.”

“When?”

“Why, just the other day.”

“How?” The answers were coming way too slowly.

The old man looked at him narrowly. “Are you sure you’re all right, mister?”

Gavin pulled out his badge and held it open for the old man to examine. “I
need
to know how the tortoise died.”

The attendant found a pair of glasses and frowned as he carefully read the badge. “Detective… Nassau County. Why do the Nassau
County police care how a tortoise at the Bronx Zoo dies?” He chuckled. “Was Jeremy under some kind of house arrest?”

“All I can tell you is that a crime has been committed in Nassau that could possibly connect with this tortoise. More information
than that could jeopardize the investigation.” Gavin knew he was way out on a limb here, but he wasn’t very good at lying,
and the truth was more unbelievable than any lie.

The attendant massaged his chin, and then returned his glasses to his pocket. “I used to watch you come in here every Sunday
and go straight to Jeremy’s cage with a woman who had no more desire to be in here than the rats they feed ol’ Samantha over
there. Now you tell me Jeremy was under investigation. I don’t understand what this is all about, but I’ll tell you what happened
… not because I believe a word you’re saying, but because you could’ve read it for yourself in the newspaper.”

“Newspaper?” Gavin couldn’t remember reading a paper since the day before the train wreck.

“
Daily Post,
in the middle somewhere.”

“When?”

“Day before yesterday. Or was it the day before that? Not sure.”

“So how, then? How did Jeremy die?”

“Strangest thing. That’s why it was in the paper. Lester kidnapped him, and then got into a car accident. They were both killed.”

“Lester?”

“Lester Davis. Wildlife keeper of tortoises. Jeremy’s daddy. A good man. Gave Jeremy a lot of attention.”

Gavin looked toward the ground for a moment, then back up to the attendant. “Was anyone else involved in the accident?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know. The road was wet. He skidded off and flipped over a rail going from the Cross Bronx Expressway
to the Major Deegan. It’s a bad turn there. Looks like he was heading upstate.”

“Buck’s?” Gavin wondered aloud.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

An hour later Gavin was heading north on his way upstate to see Buck, hoping to wake up from his nightmare. He stuffed in
the last bite of a salted pretzel he’d bought from an outdoor vendor at the zoo.
Breakfast and lunch,
he thought. He’d been in too much of a hurry to find something to drink. Now water sounded good—a cool, clear glass with
ice. But even his tugging thirst couldn’t keep his mind occupied for more than a few moments.

“Coincidence?” he said into the high winds sweeping around his convertible. “Coincidence?” he repeated. “How many coincidences
does one have to experience before one decides one is not experiencing a coincidence?” He wanted to sit down with the HBO
producers and ask them to explain what he was going through. They seemed to have all the answers. Right. He might as well
add Chris and the lieutenant to that list while he was at it. How was he going to explain his theories to them?

His beeper vibrated. He arched his back, dug the beeper out of his pocket, read the number. Chris. He slowed down to where
the winds were just less than the usual roar and called Chris on his cell phone.

“Gav? Where are you? I called the hospital, but they told me you’d left.”

“Were your ears burning? I was just thinking about you.”

“Did you hear?” Chris said urgently.

“What?”

“Where are you, in a cave? There’s been another attack.”

Gavin’s throat tightened with fear. Did something else happen to Amy?

“The ferry flipped.”

“What ferry?”

“It’s been on every radio station for the last hour.”

“What ferry?”

“The
Sachacus
.”

“Chris… I don’t know what the
Sachacus
is.”

“The high-speed ferry that goes from Glen Cove to New London, Connecticut. The casino ferry.”

“The jet boat?”

“Bingo.”

“My God! Any survivors?”

“More than you might think looking at it, but the casualties are high. Most of the crew lived, and thanks to them, what could
have been a total disaster was minimized.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. It’s complicated.”

“How did it flip?”

“I don’t exactly know yet, but it looks like our boy again.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The same blue-collar, hardware-store workmanship we saw at the train wreck. No explosives. And guess what else?”

“He left a business card.”

“Minus the phone number. This one written with red crayon on the bottom of the hull. Easy to read with the boat on its back.”

“What does it say?”

“Micah five-fifteen. Another Bible verse.”

“I figured that, but what does the verse say?” Gavin said, amazed that the Bible had a book called Micah.

“‘I will execute vengeance and wrath on the nations which have not obeyed.’”

Gavin took a moment to let the words sink in. “And this ferry brought who to where?”

“Exactly. It’s hard to believe this garbage found its way to Long Island. Guess he feels there’s a lot of targets here.”

“Like a shark in a swimming pool.”

“Oh, by the way, the Feds wanted the prints we found on the Camel pack.”

“Just make sure someone stays on them. You know how they can be. We’ll find out who this guy is in the newspaper before they
call us back.”

“Hey, speaking of the newspaper, guess who showed up with the media?”

“Senator Bruce Sweeney, giving blood, promising to fight terrorism and pointing to the debris as an example of how the current
administration isn’t doing enough.”

“How’d you know?”

“I can read your squeaky mind.”

Chris chuckled. “Right. Say, how’s Amy doing?”

“She’s moment to moment right now. She needs to stay put and listen to the doctors. Otherwise…”

“What about you, Gav?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. Do you have a place to sleep tonight, or are you going to move into the hospital permanently?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, I won’t. But we need to get together ASAP. We’ve got a few leads to follow up on, and the clock’s a-tickin’.
Who knows what he’s got planned next. Where are you now?”

“Driving.”

“I figured
that
. Where? I’ll come to you.”

Gavin closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. “That won’t work, Chris. I’m headed… north.”

“North? What the heck does north mean? I’m on the North Shore right now.”

“I’m going upstate.”

“Upstate?”

“I’m going to see Buck. You know, the black preacher. I thought he might know something about the crash,” he lied.

There was a moment of silence. “What would he know about the crash? Isn’t he in the hospital with a bad heart?”

Gavin didn’t know what to say. He was thinking hard, but like Amy, Chris always knew when he was lying. “Just a thought, Chris.”

“Just a
thought?
” Chris’s tone was one Gavin had rarely heard directed at him. “Your house gets mowed down by some diabolical copycat, your
wife was almost killed and is in the hospital, and you’re driving four hours away to see a guy who you know hasn’t left the
hospital in almost a week and—”

“Chris, stop. There’s more, but I can’t get into it over the phone. I’ll be back soon. See you tonight at your house. If Amy’s
still stable, I’ll spend the night in your basement apartment.” It was all he could think of to calm his partner, whom he
often referred to as his Saint Bernard. Chris always felt better when he was saving someone.

“Okay, okay, just get back here as soon as you can.”

Gavin hung up the phone and hit the gas, knowing Chris thought he was either crazy or lying. Then he wondered the same about
himself.
Was
he crazy? He remembered Buck’s words to him over two years ago when he had told the old man he needed to see in order to
believe. He’d never forgotten the deliverance minister’s response: “In my business, Detective, you often have to
believe
in order to
see
.” Gavin contemplated those words afresh for the next two hours.

W
hen Gavin peeked into Buck’s hospital room, the reverend appeared to be asleep. He was propped up by pillows, his bed cranked
up at a forty-five-degree angle, oxygen tubes in his nose, intravenous bag dripping clear liquid, a monitor beeping slowly.
Thank God it was still beeping.

Before going any further, Gavin ducked into the room’s lavatory to relieve himself, then downed six paper cupfuls of water.
It wasn’t very cold and had a weird taste that lingered on his tongue, but at least it was wet. He caught a glimpse of himself
in the mirror and sighed. He was wearing the same clothes he’d put on before the visit from the cement truck the day before.
He wondered if he owned any others or if they were now just part of the rubble. He could definitely use a shower and a shave.
He sniffed under his arm and frowned before leaving.

He was glad to find that Buck had been moved out of the coronary care unit into a room. He was, however, not thrilled to see
that Buck shared the room with another patient, another old man with a tracheotomy tube in his neck. He was wide awake and
waved as Gavin walked back to Buck’s bed.

Gavin nodded at him, then stood over Buck. He reached to nudge his shoulder but felt awkward about waking the old preacher.
Behind him was a chair, but he instantly rejected the idea of sitting down. He had to talk to Buck now and get back.

“He had a bad night,” said the other patient in a strange voice, holding the hole in his neck closed in order to speak. “I
think they gave him something to make him sleep.”

Not answering, Gavin looked up at the intravenous bag. Drip, drip, drip. He considered how wrong it would be to mess with
whatever they were giving him.

“Buck,” Gavin heard himself say. The other patient gave him a frown. “Buck.” This time a little louder.

“Did I mention he had a bad night?”

Gavin ignored the other patient and was reaching for Buck’s privacy curtain when he heard…

“Detective?” Buck’s voice was dry and weak.

“Yes,” Gavin said, quickly back at his side. “I’m right here.”

“Are you alone?” His eyelids were cracking open.

Gavin took a quick glance at the other patient. “Yes.”

“Hmm. Have you been praying for Jeremy?”

Gavin searched for words, then finally said, “That wouldn’t have mattered.”

Buck’s eyes opened with alarm.

“The guy taking care of Jeremy kidnapped him.”

“Lester?”

“Yes. He’s dead,” Gavin said, then leaned closer. “A car wreck. What else is new? Happened on the entrance ramp to the thruway.
Looks like he might have been coming up to see you with the tortoise. Probably the fault of Krogan’s demon friends, right?”

Buck’s eyes closed. “Krogan will be back. You will be contacted.”

“You might say I’ve already been contacted,” Gavin said, and then told him about the cement truck, the decorator, and Amy
in the hospital. He noticed the other patient staring at them, unblinking, and said to him, “You didn’t know demons drove
cars, did you?”

The old man’s expression was a cross between astonishment and irritation as Gavin grabbed for the privacy curtain and closed
him off from view.

“This time it’s you who must stop him, Detective,” Buck urged Gavin under his breath. “You must get to him before he gets
to you.”

“Me? You must be kidding. How am I supposed to do that? He knows me and I don’t know him. Besides, I don’t even believe this
demon stuff is real half the time. Buck, is this really happening? Please tell me there is a chance you’re wrong.”

“You know it’s real when it’s happening, Detective, or you wouldn’t be here with me.”

“Yeah, I know, there are no atheists in foxholes. But at least they know who’s shooting at them. Agghhh, I can’t do what you
do… I don’t know what you know… and frankly, I don’t want to.”

“This is not about ‘want,’ Detective. We’re dealing with life and death, light and darkness. You must call on God and learn
from Him in the light,” Buck said, opening his eyes wider, “and never doubt in the darkness what God has given you in the
light.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“You
have
to remember that.”

“Can’t you just give a name of someone already involved in this stuff?”

“Yes. His name is Detective Gavin Pierce.”

Before Gavin could answer, his beeper vibrated. Chris again.

“You don’t mind?” Gavin picked up Buck’s room phone.

“Dial nine first,” Buck said.

Gavin nodded and dialed. “What’s up?”

“You didn’t, by any chance, read today’s
Daily Post
?” Chris asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Why?”

“You follow wrestling?”

“The WWX?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, there’s a full-page ad about a thing there starting tonight called Armageddon.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Chris, I’m here in the hospital with Buck. We’re in the middle of—”

“Fine, fine, I’ll chat with you later about the main attraction of the show, who just happens to be a guy named Krogan.”

“What?”

“Thought you might be interested. And get this…” Chris laughed. “The WWX is offering a million dollars to anyone who beats
him in a five-minute bout. Not
our
Krogan, of course, but quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you say he’s not our guy?” Gavin demanded, then immediately realized what Chris’s answer would be.

“Hello? Our guy’s in the big house, remember?”

“Right. I keep forgetting.”

“Ever hear of Jackhammer Hoban?”

“Well, yeah, who hasn’t? But like I said—”

“You don’t follow, I know, I know,” Chris finished for him. “Anyway, it seems this guy Hoban has had a sudden resurgence.
He won a title fight on Monday, and the ad claims he started calling himself Krogan after Monday night’s fight.”

After the tortoise died,
Gavin thought, a shudder trickling down his back.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later. Sooner the better. We’ve got a lot to go over.”

“Later,” Gavin said, hanging up the phone and turning back to Buck. The old man’s eyes were closed again. Again, Gavin was
tempted to turn off the IV. How was he ever going to get Buck to help him in this condition?

“Buck.”

“Yes?” The old preacher opened his eyes.

“I guess at this point we can consider the tortoise route a failure.”

Buck sighed and nodded slowly. “Lester could never tell the zoo the truth… and now he’s dead. It’s my fault. I should never
have asked him to even consider such a task.”

“Hmm. So let’s say we find that Krogan lives inside… a professional wrestler, for example. What would be the first thing
to do?”

“The first thing is always the same as the last thing.”

“Dial nine-one-one?”

“I guess you could say that—only, a heavenly emergency line. It’s prayer, young man! The first thing to do is pray for Krogan’s
host.”

“Krogan’s host? You mean the guy that drove through my house with a cement truck and put my wife in the hospital!
You
pray for him! Pray I don’t kill him!”

“Detective, when are you going to realize that your fight is not against flesh and blood, but against the spirit that influences
its decisions and, in Krogan’s case, possesses his life?”

“So what kind of prayer do you pray for someone like Krogan’s host?”

“Mercy, forgiveness, and ultimately, surrender. And then you need to pray for Krogan to be bound. You must understand that
God’s heart is for the man and against the demon. When the demon is bound, the man will be weak. That’s when the man must
be seized or the demon cast out.”

“If I recall, Buck, this is a battle you almost lost against Krogan
on Ellis Island. I was there, remember? We were fortunate to get out of there with our lives. How am I supposed to do this
alone?”

“You won’t be alone, Detective. When you pray you are never alone. And to come against the likes of Krogan you must also fast.”

“What good does that do?”

“It helps you become weak, surrender to God. It is when you are weak that you will be strongest.”

“I want you to know that nothing you say makes any sense to me.”

“Pray first, then understanding will come, Detective.”

“I know who Krogan is.”

“That is why you must know who God is.”

“No, I mean I know
who
Krogan is.”

Buck reflexively lifted his head off his pillow. “You do?”

“I think so. A drugged-out alcoholic WWX wrestler has just reappeared on the scene big-time, and he’s changed his name to
Krogan. This all happened just after our tortoise died. Can a repossession happen that fast?” Gavin said, wondering if
repossession
was the correct word. It was all so out of this world.

“When a demon leaves a host it reenters the spirit world it was originally born into. Jesus called it ‘the waterless place,’
a desert-like wilderness, if you will, because demons can no longer nourish themselves there. Ever since the resurrection,
it has been a place saturated with the light of God, and the demons cannot hide. They are exposed to the light, tortured by
it, and want to leave as quickly as possible. In agony, they search in haste for their next home, usually human. In our time,
this can happen very quickly. Once in its new home, the demon seeks to control, dominate. In Krogan’s case, the overpowering
of the new host can be swift. He gives them more of what they already want, then destroys them with it.”

“Buck… do you think Krogan will come up here… for you?”

“Not if you stop him first,” the old man said with a weak smile.

Gavin glanced at his watch. 2:44. If he left now he could be back on the Island by six—oh, but then there was rush hour. Make
that seven or seven-thirty.

“Gotta go, Buck. Sorry for being the bearer of bad news, but I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“What will you do now?”

“Krogan sent me a message. I think it’s about time I sent him one.”