Takedown (3 page)

“He showed up for us, Chris. We should be there for him.” Gavin hoped his friend would be satisfied with that excuse.

He wasn’t. Chris now wore his skeptical detective face. “Gav, I don’t really get it. But look, we’ve been bustin’ our butts
here. Let’s take showers, have a bite to eat, and I’ll ride up there with you. We can—”

“
No.
I mean… no thanks. Your wife’s going to be jealous for your time as it is, and I need you to help me here tomorrow.”

Chris nodded suspiciously. “Yeah, right. Okay, you win. I’ll put in another hour or two after lunch, and by the end of tomorrow
we should have most of the shell wrapped up.”

Gavin stopped, not liking the idea of Chris working without his help.

“Go on, get out of here.” Chris waved Gavin on. “I get more done with you not getting in my way anyway.”

Gavin turned the ignition key and hoped. The Sunbeam Tiger cranked and cranked. He pumped the gas pedal and tried again. The
engine started with a throaty rumble, then settled into a deep purr.

As he backed out of his driveway, he paused for a moment to take in the new shape of his home. It looked just the way Amy
had sketched it out for the architect. The project would be a good diversion from this sudden crisis with Buck. The reality
was that someday the old man was going to die, whether now or five, ten
years from now. He was not going to allow his wife to live the rest of her life in fear of that day, based on one man’s religious
theories, and he certainly was not going to let it affect his new and growing family.

The sudden sound of a circular saw cutting through new lumber broke into his thoughts and reassured him of the positive direction
his life was really going.

L
ester Davis, Wildlife Keeper of Tortoises at the Bronx Zoo, could feel the nervous sweat from his armpits roll down his sides.
The day he’d hoped would never come was upon him. The day he would have to give account to his superiors of Jeremy’s very
strange behavior. Jeremy, the young Galapagos Island tortoise, who up until two and a half years ago, had been completely
normal.

Brian Kormoski, President of Wildlife at the zoo and Chairman of the American Zoological Alliance, massaged his trimmed goatee
as he gazed through the thick glass of an isolated cage. In front of the glass was a sign that read:

GALAPAGOS GIANT TORTOISE
Geochelone Elephantopus

The Galapagos Tortoise is the largest living tortoise. It can weigh over 700 pounds and measure over 6 feet from head to tail.
It is a very slow-moving animal, moving only 0.16 miles per hour. The giant tortoise leads a generally peaceful, lazy life.

Spending most of his time at meetings and benefit dinners, Kormoski wore a suit and tie and trailered a rump more accustomed
to an office chair than a walk around the park. His presence in the Reptile House was extremely rare. In fact, Zookeeper Davis
could not remember ever seeing him in there. But when a growing conflict over what proper action should be taken on an “insane”
Galapagos Island tortoise reached his ears, Kormoski had decided his next meeting would be with all parties involved, including
the tortoise.

Kormoski took off his thick wire-rimmed glasses, cleaned them with a white handkerchief, and slid them back into the worn
grooves in front of his ears. “How odd,” he said to the two people he had called there to meet with him. “That son of a gun
seems to be staring at me.”

“That’s because he
is
staring at you, sir,” answered Susan Cocchiola, the zoo’s chief veterinarian. Cocchiola was the best in her field as far
as the zoo was concerned. She stood with clipboard in hand, tall and trim with short, wavy red hair, reading glasses draped
over her white overcoat. Her normally pleasant demeanor was masked by her now serious countenance. Where the well-being of
her animals was concerned, she was known to be pure business.

Kormoski moved a few steps aside and the tortoise’s glare followed him.

“Why do you suppose he’s looking at me?” he asked. “It’s a little eerie.”

“I don’t know,” Cocchiola replied dryly.

Lester Davis said nothing but figured the demon in the tortoise knew Kormoski had the authority to have Jeremy shipped out
of the zoo, where the animal’s demise might be more likely. Buck had warned Davis to guard the tortoise with his life because
if it ever died, the vengeful demon would escape and surely repay anyone who’d had anything to do with its captivity. At the
time, saving the
next three or four generations from the likes of Krogan seemed to Lester Davis the only right thing to do. And keeping a tortoise
healthy in the Bronx Zoo would be an easy task—or so he’d thought. But as soon as Buck had returned Jeremy to the zoo, Davis
knew there were going to be complications. The tortoise had changed—more than he had ever dreamed possible.

“Okay, besides the fact Jeremy likes to stare at fat guys in suits, what exactly do you see as the problem here, Susan?” Kormoski
demanded, his chin held high.

Cocchiola sighed. “Problems, sir. For one, the tortoise no longer acts like a tortoise. It can’t even be kept with the other
tortoises. That’s why we have it isolated.”

“What does it do when it’s with the other tortoises?”

“It attacks… quickly. And not just tortoises. Jeremy attacks anything it sees, including us.”

“Hmm. And when you say quickly—”

“I mean in every sense of the word, sir,” she interrupted. “Not only does it attack immediately, but it scurries to do it.
I’ve never seen a giant tortoise move half as fast as Jeremy does. And it doesn’t fight like a tortoise, either. It fights
more like… like a tiger.”

Kormoski frowned. “A tiger?” he asked doubtfully.

“Have you ever seen one tortoise battle another?”

“Not firsthand, but I hear they go at it rather slowly.”

“To put it mildly, sir. They face off and charge toward each other at a blazing two-tenths of a mile per hour. That’s just
slightly faster than crabgrass grows. When they finally ram—and I use the word loosely—you might imagine you’re not going
to hear the
clack
of mountain sheep. More like a war of opposing hand-cranked car jacks. Their feet dig in and it’s neck against neck until
one retreats. Except for some fatigue and muscle soreness, the dominated tortoise is usually unharmed.”

“But not when Jeremy attacks,” Kormoski said.

“No, sir. Jeremy has been known to plow into full-grown giants, three times his size, flipping them over onto their backs
and biting at their exposed flesh. When they pull in their head and feet for fear of their lives, he gnaws on their shells
until someone separates them. A dangerous task in itself.”

“How long has this behavior been going on?”

“I don’t know, sir. I became aware of it through one of my techs a few months ago after a routine checkup. Jeremy nearly bit
his finger off while being inspected for ticks.”

“I remember hearing something about that,” Kormoski said, nodding.

“But he was already in isolation.”

With a furrowed brow, Kormoski turned to Davis. “Lester?”

“Jeremy’s been under my care for four years, Mr. Kormoski. I admit he’s been going through some growing pains lately, but
that’ll pass. He just needs a little special attention right now. He’s healthy. I’ll see to it he gets everything he needs,
sir. I promise.”

Cocchiola rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, sir, but the kind of attention Jeremy needs we can’t provide here in the Bronx. Keeping
giants at this location was an experiment that, in my opinion, has failed. I think we should send the lot of them to a more
southerly location where they can be outside year round. Then they’ll benefit from the symbiotic relationships that naturally
form between them and say, finches, for example, which clean them of ticks daily in their natural environment.”

“Lester? You seem troubled by that suggestion.”

“Nobody knows Jeremy like I do, sir. I don’t mind if you send the rest of them south, but Jeremy needs me.”

Kormoski frowned again.

“Jeremy needs Honolulu, sir,” Cocchiola interjected. “Theirs is the absolute best facility in the world for giants, and they’ve
been at it the longest. It’s giant heaven. The animals all have remarkable
dispositions and breed readily there. Jeremy may still need special attention, but if he’s going to have a chance to assimilate
anywhere, it would be in Hawaii.”

Davis felt a sensation like an army of ants crawling down his back as he saw Kormoski nod approvingly at Cocchiola’s suggestion.
From what Buck had told him, the tortoise would do anything to die and would have outside help if left in the open. Davis
had spent the last two years fearfully speculating on how long it would take for Krogan to hunt him down once freed. No. There
was no way he could let Jeremy out of his protection.

“Mr. Kormoski. Jeremy’s gonna be fine. He’s already on the mend. If you can just give me a little more time with him I—”

“I anticipated this type of resistance, sir,” Cocchiola interrupted. “Lester is as capable a wild-animal keeper as I know,
but for some reason, he keeps fighting me on this one. So I’ve arranged a little demonstration.” She took out a small radio
and spoke into it. “Karen, please bring in the rat.”

G
avin drove over the Throgs Neck Bridge in light traffic, convertible top down, afternoon sky high and bright, Long Island
dwindling in his rearview mirror. To his left was the New York skyline, what was left of it. The events of that fateful September
Tuesday and the heartbreak of the following days flashed before him. The giant buildings swallowing commercial airliners.
The media replaying the catastrophic implosions over and over. The faces of the cops and firefighters Gavin had worked with
and the grief at dozens of funeral services. Grown men crying, recounting stories of people in midstride guillotined by falling
glass. The beginning of a war, but not the beginning. Not to Buck.

Evil? Absolutely and completely. But demons? For the first time in a long while, Gavin allowed himself to think about Buck—not
the man, but his beliefs.

Did Buck think all terrorists and serial killers were influenced by demons? Yes. Did Buck believe a demon could really gain
control of a human? Absolutely. Was Buck nuts? Well, yes, a fanatic at the very least, but not dangerously so. He was extreme,
where reality and fantasy merge. It had to have been over a year ago that Gavin had asked himself if there really was any
such thing as a demon. And more important, if there really was such a thing as a demon named Krogan—a name he had struggled
to put out of his mind since the killer had been thrown into jail for life. But now, try as he might to
ignore it, the name kept coming to him. The more it came, the faster he drove. The speed helped refocus his attention to the
road.

Gavin continued north into the Catskills on roads of lesser and lesser importance. Winding through dairy country, the smell
of manure and fresh-cut hay in the air, he thought about what Buck would say to him. Assuming he was still alive and able
to say anything. A dying man securing a future he wouldn’t be around for. Not exactly someone Gavin wanted to argue his faith,
or lack of faith, with. And why bother? Let the old guy die in peace. Agree with him. Why not? Whom would it hurt? If only
Amy weren’t pregnant, she really would have been the better person to speak to Buck at a time like this. The old man was the
theological heavyweight, and Amy believed in him. She would’ve been asked to pray some kind of battle prayers and would have
agreed and pounded on heaven’s doors with all her heart. She would feel better for it, even if in the end nothing was actually
accomplished. With demons, nothing could ever be proven. Everything had to be faith. If they didn’t show up, which of course
they couldn’t because they were never there in the first place, the prayers were answered.

Gavin cruised into Delhi, asked the first person he saw for directions, and two minutes later pulled into a newly paved parking
lot. His legs were still stiff from a three-hour ride where he had averaged better than seventy from curb to curb, and over
a hundred on the highways. He walked through the hospital’s automated glass doors and found himself in the ER waiting room.
He hated hospitals—too many bad memories. Get in, get out, and get home to Amy with a report that would calm her fears. Looking,
looking, his eyes darted about and found a reception desk where a woman was on the phone. Women and phones. He approached
her and flashed his badge.

“Gotta go,” she said. “How can I—”

“Reverend Buchanan. Where is he? ICU?”

“Uh, no,” she said after taking what seemed like a very long second and a half to answer. “He’s in the CCU.”

“Where is that?”

“Around the corner, up the ramp, and down the hall,” she said to his back as he left her.

He soon came to another, much smaller, waiting room with another receptionist. He recognized a young black girl in one of
the seats. Buck’s granddaughter, Samantha. She would be thirteen now. Sitting next to her, holding her hand, was a blonde
woman in her thirties. They were the only two visitors in the room.

“Hello, Samantha,” Gavin said.

The young girl looked up. Her eyes were wet, swollen and pink, like the ribbons her grandfather allowed her to put on all
the cows at the farm, where the farmhouse looked like a life-size dollhouse with lace and flowers everywhere. Her grandfather
was now the only family she had left since Krogan had killed her parents and grandmother seven years ago in a collision. Only
she and Buck had survived. Buck had taken her in, sold everything, and bought a small, working dairy farm simply because she
loved animals. He had done everything he could for her to try to make up for her loss. A loss Buck believed his ministry was
indirectly responsible for. A loss he feared could someday include Samantha’s life as well.

“I’m Gavin Pierce. I met you two years ago. I left New York right after you called.”

Samantha nodded. “I remember. You and the pretty lady… Amy. She was very nice.”

“She wanted to come, but she’s going to have a baby soon and had to stay home and rest. I guess you know what I’m talking
about, taking care of those cows,” he said awkwardly. Talking to thirteen-year-old girls had never been his strength, even
when he’d been thirteen. As Gavin spoke, Samantha’s eyes wandered to a set of
double doors with a sign that read Coronary Care Unit. He immediately felt stupid for mentioning the cows. He knew absolutely
nothing about cows or farming, much less what kind of rest, if any, a pregnant cow required.

“Is my grandfather going to be all right, Mr. Pierce?”

Her question caught Gavin off guard, reminding him of the same question he had asked a doctor two years ago regarding his
own grandfather. He wanted to tell her something to comfort her, but could not think of anything and didn’t want to shoot
from the hip and come out with another dumb cow remark.

“What did the doctor say?” Gavin asked, looking to both Samantha and the blonde woman.

“The doctor said the surgery saved his life and that he needs to rest,” the woman replied before Samantha could answer. “I’m
Mary Quinn, Samantha’s next-door neighbor.” The look in her blue eyes made him wonder if there was more she was trying to
say.

“Will Samantha be with you while her grandfather… gets some rest?”

Mary nodded and put her arm around the young girl. “Samantha knows she’s welcome to stay over anytime she wants. My twin daughters,
Michele and Jackie, are her best friends, and she knows our home is her home. Don’t you, dear?”

Samantha gave a distant nod as Mary welcomed the girl’s head against her shoulder.

Everything seemed okay, but Gavin knew he would be paying the Quinn home a visit for Buck’s sake. The old preacher might trust
in his prayers for his granddaughter’s needs, but there was nothing like seeing things firsthand to put Gavin’s mind at ease
that she was being properly cared for.

Just then a nurse came through the CCU doors next to the receptionist.

“I’ll be back,” Gavin said.

Samantha reached out and grabbed Gavin’s hand. “Grandpa wants you to pray,” she said with blinking saucer eyes.

“I know… I will,” he consoled her, his words carrying more conviction in his reassuring expression than in his heart. The
way she held on to his hand before finally letting it go made him wonder if Samantha knew what Buck’s prayer request was really
for.

Gavin walked up to the receptionist, an older woman with a name tag that read VOLUNTEER over a long, unpronounceable last
name. “I’m Detective Pierce, and it’s very important I speak to Reverend Buchanan,” Gavin said, showing his shield. The woman’s
eyebrows rose at the sight of the badge.

A moment later a nurse appeared through the double doors and escorted Gavin into the CCU. In the center of the large rectangular
room was a raised counter, thirty feet in diameter, with several people behind it, all busy. Around the room’s perimeter were
partitions separating hospital beds, mostly occupied, some with curtains drawn. The air was clean and cool, filled with soft
mechanical sounds—hisses, pings, beeps—he assumed all rhythmically keeping beat with vital body functions.

The nurse stopped at a closed curtain and peeked in. “You can go inside in a minute, Detective. He’s being lined with a new
IV.”

Gavin scanned the room as he waited. There were no plants or flowers anywhere. This was not a place to rest and heal as much
as it was a place to survive. He tried, unsuccessfully, to forget past hospital visits caused by Krogan. Indirectly, this
was one of them.

The curtain opened all the way. “You can come in now, Detective, but you can’t stay long. If you need me I’ll be…” The nurse
continued to speak but Gavin was no longer listening. The sight of Buck seized him. He had not seen him in two years and the
man had somehow aged twenty. His white hair was thinner and his black, cracked skin was paler. Not that the oxygen tubes in
his nose and the IV lines in his veins helped his appearance any.

As though he had no control over his actions, Gavin felt himself move closer until he was leaning over him. “Buck?” he whispered.
“Buck.” He noticed the watchful eye of the nurse on him and wished she had stationed herself out of earshot.

The old man’s eyes slowly opened to mere slits. Gavin took a step back. After a long moment of squinting and blinking, Buck
said something like, “Do I know you?”

“It’s Pierce, Buck. Gavin Pierce.”

Buck smiled weakly. “Detective… what’s the occasion?” His voice was deep but hushed.

“Nothing special. I was just passing by the coronary care unit on my way to the deli, so I thought I’d stop by, say hello.
How do you feel?”

“I’ve felt worse.”

Gavin took in his eye contact and nodded. “I know.” Gavin knew he was referring to the time he had barely survived a Krogan
car crash that had killed his family—all but Samantha.

“Hmm…” Buck said, licking his parched lips. “How is Amy?”

“She’s, well, eight months’ pregnant.”

“Pregnant?”

“We’re married.”

Buck nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyelids heavy. “Congratulations. You belong together,” he whispered.

“Thank you. I agree.… Samantha looks well,” Gavin lied.

“Is she still here?”

“Yes.”

“With Mary?”

“Uh, yes.”

“She’s a good woman, Detective. You needn’t worry about her.”

Gavin nodded, wondering how Buck even knew he was concerned.

“But she doesn’t know, of course. Neither does Sammy.”

Gavin had wondered if Samantha knew of Buck’s belief about Krogan. Thank God he hadn’t laid that demon-hunting trip on the
young girl. “Everything will be fine, Buck.”

Buck closed his eyes. “You and Amy need to take over for me. I’m not going to be around much longer.”

“Nonsense. Bypass surgery can extend your life for decades.”

“They did what they could, but the damage was already done.”

“I’ll argue with you later… when you’re better informed. What do you mean, take over?”

“In prayer. Prayer is the key to spiritual warfare. Without faithful prayer, you’ll be doomed, and so will Sammy.”

Gavin took another glance at the nurse, who stood just outside the curtain like a sentry. “Don’t worry about a thing, Buck.
I’ll tell Amy and we’ll pray about the situation every day.”

Buck frowned but said nothing.

“And I don’t want to hear any more about you not being around. You’re not going to get off your knees that easy. This ain’t
the old days, you know.”

Buck was still frowning. “You have no intention of praying at all, do you?”

Gavin tried in vain not to let his shoulders slump. He absolutely hated this. He was a terrible liar and an even worse actor.
And standing before Buck, he felt as see-through as glass. Time to come clean… or at least cleaner. “Buck, I do pray sometimes,
but to be honest, most of the time I don’t know why. Amy is the one you should be talking to. She’s the real believer in this
family.”

Buck continued to look at Gavin for a long, silent moment, his expression giving nothing away. He finally closed his eyes
and spoke. “So in hindsight, you’ve come up with a more reasonable explanation for what happened?”

Careful now,
Gavin thought. Being honest with Buck might just
stop the beep machine from beeping. “Not… really,” he said, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

“But you no longer believe there is a demon imprisoned in the tortoise?”

“It’s a lot to ask, Buck.”

“There’s a lot at risk, Detective,” Buck said, then paused to catch his breath. “We are engaged in a constant, relentless
war that I can’t fight in this condition. My time has…”

As Buck continued, Gavin focused less on what he was saying and more on that steel-eyed glare that could send shivers down
the spine of a grizzly bear. The same glare he’d had when he commanded the supposed demon into the tortoise. What kind of
suggestive power—or better put, hypnotic influence—did this old black preacher possess? If Gavin stayed around this guy any
longer, he would probably go back to believing this… this nonsense. That’s what it was. The more he thought about it, the
crazier it sounded. He didn’t want to think about it, or how he’d ever been convinced enough to go along with the charade
in the first place. That had been a different time, full of rage over Grampa’s death, chasing a serial killer who had the
whole city guessing. A time when fears of terrorism had been raw and new. He’d been vulnerable and looking for answers anywhere
he could find them, and it was just his dumb luck that Amy had come up with the Reverend Buck as a lead. And Amy… Wasn’t
it bad enough that Amy believed it and was now worrying herself sick
and
probably the baby, too, through some maternal connection?

“… and if we let down our guard and fall into complacency, the ground we have gained will be lost, and need I remind you what
that would mean?” Buck went on, but Gavin was not really listening. He had heard this warning so many times before that it
all seemed like one long, never-ending sentence.

“Why don’t you just give me names of some other people,
Buck? People who have faith like you. People who can pray the way you need them to. I’ll make sure they know your story.”