Takedown (4 page)

“But you’ve seen with your own eyes, Detective. No one else will have the faith or the urgency.”

Gavin wanted to roll his eyes at this urgency he was supposed to share with Buck. Urgency, if anything, was what he was trying
to get Amy away from. “What have I seen with my own eyes, Buck? I’ve seen fear, sickness, murder, pain—in every color of the
rainbow. Are you gonna tell me it’s all from demons?”

“No! I never said that. People sin. Sometimes badly, without any help from demons. Sickness happens, and so does fear. I’m
afraid of something every day. Jesus was afraid in the Garden of Gethse-mane, and who knows when else? A storm doesn’t need
a demon to become a hurricane. But make no mistake, Detective… demons are real. The world is full of them. And there is one
named Krogan, whose path we’ve crossed.”

“And my prayers will keep him away?”

Buck looked up at the ceiling, then whispered, “The Good Shepherd protects His sheep.”

“Sheep?”

“Completely dependent beings, Detective. We all are. We ask and we receive. Ask in faith. The prayer of faith is a key to
lock and unlock doors.”

“Faith. I have no faith. You’re the one with all the faith, Buck. I’m just a cop looking to mind my own business.”

“And I’m just an old, sick dairy farmer. Unfortunately, this
is
your business, and if you don’t mind it, it will fold in on you. Faith builds faith just as lies build doubt. Don’t allow
the enemy to lie to you.”

You’re the enemy,
Gavin almost said. He noticed the beeping machine picking up its pace and thought for a second it had somehow found
his
pulse.

“Surrender, Detective. You must surrender,” the old man barely uttered, then coughed.

The nurse was instantly there. “That’s enough, Detective. He needs to rest now,” she said firmly.

Buck put his hand on Gavin’s and opened his eyes wide, leaning toward him. “Samantha. You need to protect her from Krogan.
You need to protect yourself. You must pray, you must… surrender,” he said, then closed his eyes and settled back.

He died! Did Buck die?
No, the rhythmic blip and beep of the monitor told him otherwise.

“You’re done, Detective,” the nurse said and meant it.

I
’m sorry, Susan, but did you say ‘rat’?” Kormoski asked.

“Yes, sir. Any other giant tortoise in the world would look upon a rat as nonthreatening and would completely ignore it. Being
herbivores, they certainly would not consider a rodent to be food. Consequently, rats are not afraid of tortoises and haven’t
been for millions of years.”

Kormoski nodded knowingly, then looked at Lester Davis to see if he had any reaction to this strange demonstration.

Davis had nothing to say. At this point he would gladly fabricate a lie to keep Jeremy under his care, but what possible explanation
could he offer? Certainly not the truth. To speak the truth would mean he would find
himself
in an isolation cage.

At that moment Cocchiola’s radio sounded.

“Is the door clear?” asked a female voice.

Cocchiola brought the small black radio to her mouth. “He’s in his usual corner.”

A door that blended in perfectly with the rear of the isolation cage opened. Karen, one of Susan Cocchiola’s young veterinary
assistants, stepped inside and shut the door behind her, keeping a watchful eye on the tortoise in the rear corner of the
cage. Karen was petite with several shiny silver earrings in each ear and short blue hair. She had been on staff for only
about three months. She briskly moved away from the tortoise to the middle of the cage,
carrying with her what appeared to be a shoebox. Crouching down to the floor, she opened the box and emptied out a large white
rat that had originally been planned as a meal for the snakes.

Jeremy the tortoise, who had not taken his eerie glare off Kormoski the entire time, suddenly moved forward.

Cocchiola used her radio. “Come over near us, Karen. I don’t want you to distract Jeremy.”

Karen immediately complied, hurrying to the thick glass wall that separated her from the three onlookers outside the cage.

The rat moved quickly back and forth across the barren sandy floor, sniffing, scurrying, stopping, sniffing. Jeremy continued
to move toward it, punching the sand as he advanced, his neck long and his head high and bold.

“How is that big clumsy tortoise going to catch that fast little rat?” Kormoski asked with a smirk.

“That’s just it, sir. You’ll find that when Jeremy attacks—and I do mean
attacks
—he will demonstrate a speed and agility completely foreign to his species.”

“And you think it’s stress?” Kormoski massaged his goatee again.

“I don’t know what it is, but he will demonstrate a rage more like a crocodile than the docile tortoise he’s supposed to be.”

“A crocodile, Susan?” Kormoski mused, giving her a brief glance.

“You’ll see.”

All Lester Davis could do was pray. He knew stress had little to do with Jeremy’s behavior and at the moment was not the least
concerned for the rat and Cocchiola’s little demonstration. He had seen Jeremy attack other tortoises and living reptile food
for the last two years. But now Jeremy had an audience that would be able to separate him from his guardian. Yes, the tortoise
had bigger things on its mind than a simple rat.

Jeremy stopped at the white rodent, still staring at his spectators.
The rat, busily darting its wiggling nose in every direction, seemed naturally unconcerned with the large rocklike mass standing
over it.

Davis closed his eyes.

“Come on, Jeremy,” Cocchiola said. “I don’t understand. He’s usually more predictable than this, sir.”

After another long moment of nothing, Kormoski looked at his wristwatch. “Well, maybe Jeremy’s not angry today. Anyway, I’ve
got to get—”

In that instant, with the speed of a raptor, the tortoise stabbed at the rat with its beak, killing it instantly. Jeremy picked
up the limp body, momentarily displaying the kill before whipping his neck and hurling the dead rat at the glass partition,
where it hit with a hard thud, six inches from Kormoski’s startled face. Both Cocchiola and her tech inside the cage shrieked.
The rat fell off the glass, leaving remnants of fur, flesh, and dripping blood.

Kormoski slowly looked at Cocchiola. “What in the name of God is going on here, Susan?” he asked quietly. “Is this your idea
of a demonstration?”

Not her idea,
Davis thought, keeping his eye on the tortoise.

“I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea Jeremy would—”

Kormoski held up his hand to interrupt. “Let’s forget for the moment that tortoises
don’t
throw things. Let’s also put aside the speed and accuracy this particular tortoise has in throwing recently deceased animals.
What I would like to know is
Why did he throw the rat at me?
” Kormoski’s voice grew louder as he spoke. “It behaved like a gorilla. It stared me down and threw a rat at me.”

“Get her out of there, Susan,” Davis said softly.

“Sir, I suggest we waste no time in shipping—”

“I said you have to get her out of there, Susan,” Davis interrupted, louder this time.

“Excuse me?” Cocchiola turned to Davis.

“Karen!” Davis now shouted angrily to Cocchiola. “You have to get Karen out of the cage. Radio for someone to help her now.”

Cocchiola snapped her attention to her tech, who was still on the other side of the glass. Jeremy was motionless but staring
at Karen. Susan depressed the button on her radio. “Karen, get out of there. Move around to your left.”

Karen nodded, but before she could move a muscle, Jeremy quickly moved in the direction Karen had been instructed to go. The
tech froze.

“Radio someone else for help, Susan,” Davis said. “There’s a net in the rear hall. Don’t say anything Jeremy can hear.”

Cocchiola looked at Davis in disbelief. “You’re not trying to tell us Jeremy understands English?”

“Yes.”
And every other language on the planet also,
Davis thought.

“But that’s preposterous,” Kormoski said.

“There’s no time to talk about it,” Davis yelled as he ran away from them, down the hall.

The tortoise watched Davis disappear, then looked back at the tech.

“Just go around the other way,” Cocchiola radioed, motioning with her hands.

Karen looked scared. She took a step to the right and Jeremy immediately compensated, moving more like a lizard than a tortoise.

Davis lugged a heavy net the size of a blanket with him as he hurried to the rear door of Jeremy’s cage. He had made this
net especially for Jeremy and had used it on several other occasions to separate him from other tortoises. He could hear someone
coming from behind at the far end of the hall. He glanced to see two other techs running toward him. Cocchiola had apparently
called for help. He heard muffled screams as he crashed open the door. To his horror, the tech was facedown on the floor of
the cage, the tortoise over her with the weight of its front leg on the back of her thin
neck, pecking at her back and hand-covered head. “Krogan! Stop! In the name of Jesus, stop!” Davis yelled as he rushed at
Jeremy, not caring who heard him. He threw the thick netting like a lasso spinning through the air. The tortoise stopped its
attack and glared at Davis as the net landed on target. Cocchiola and Kormoski, their hands pressed on the thick glass, mouths
moving, stared helplessly. Davis quickly gathered the back of the net in his hands and pulled as hard as he could.

The two male techs ran to Karen’s side, each taking an armpit and dragging her to the other side of the cage, where they immediately
wrapped her bleeding hands. She was crying spasmodically, the back of her white jacket torn and bloodstained.

Davis pulled back on the netting until Jeremy’s wild eyes met his own and spoke so no one else could possibly hear. “I know
your plan, Krogan, and it’s not going to work. You and I are going to take a little trip to the country to see an old friend.”
He was going to say more but suddenly felt strange, dizzy. He tried to turn away but couldn’t. Couldn’t even blink. Fear rushed
through his chest as he remembered Buck’s many warnings against intentional eye contact with the beast.
I’ll be back for you,
he heard inside his head and then laughter… coarse, mocking laughter. He wanted to call for help but couldn’t speak either.
Paralyzed. The thing had him, and there was nothing he could do.

“Mr. Davis?” called the familiar voice of another tech. “Excuse me, sir. Do you need some help?”

Davis wanted to answer, but the only movement he could feel was a pounding heart.

“Mr. Davis? Are you all right?” the tech asked, getting closer.

Davis suddenly felt a release and fell away from the tortoise as if he’d just woken up from a nightmare where nothing worked.
But the laughter was still coming. Mocking laughter. He had to deal with this thing—and now… before it was too late.

G
avin adjusted the volume on Amy’s favorite Vanessa-Mae Storm CD, then fluffed up a couple of down pillows at the end of the
sofa. “Here,” he ordered sternly, patting the pillows for emphasis. “Lay—down—now.”

“It’s too soft. And so’s the music volume. Besides, if I lay down I’ll never get back up,” Amy said stubbornly.

“It’s classical violin. It’s more relaxing quiet.”

“Not to me. I want to hear every note.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, told himself not to argue, and turned the volume up a notch.

“Better, but that doesn’t help the pillow.”

“Please,” Gavin said. He hated that word, but had used it more since Amy’s pregnancy than in the whole of his life.

Amy sighed and complied, awkwardly easing herself down on her side.

“That better?”

“Yes. I’m fine, really. Tell me more about Buck.”

Gavin took a seat at the other end of the sofa and pulled Amy’s feet onto his lap. “You have to be careful not to overdo it.
This is your first baby, and the next month is extremely critical.”

“I know, I know. You’ve been telling me that every month for the last eight months.”

“That’s because it’s true every month. Everything is new territory.”

Amy struggled to rearrange herself, rolled onto her back, and smoothed her hands around her basketball-sized belly. “I
look
like a new territory.”

“You look great, but I’m serious about you getting some more rest,” he said, sensing his words were fighting an uphill struggle.
There she was, reclined in down pillows, feet up, getting a massage, yet about as peaceful as a rabbit in a dog race. He reminded
himself that Amy was a hormonal minefield.
Peaceful words. Calming suggestions. Smooth out the rough. Be positive, caring, interested, supportive. Avoid pushing the
wrong buttons… like talking about how fictitious demons would like to end her and her family’s life.

“But there’s so much to do before the baby gets here, and there’s not much time left.”

“There’s not
that
much to get done. You’re just seeing through the eyes of a bird building a nest. Soon your brain will be back to normal…
so I’m told.”

“Do you realize you just called me abnormal and a birdbrain?”

Bad move. Be smart. Smooth out the rough.
“You misunderstand me. Subconsciously, you are looking at me, and probably Chris, too, as enemies, because we’re messing
up your… nest… so to speak. But soon… your subconscious…”

“Shut up.”

“Huh?”

“Zip the amateur psychobabble or you’ll get a foot in your face.”

“Very nice.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “If you want me to relax, you’d better find different analogies, or better yet, no analogies. Just because
I look like an oven stuffer doesn’t mean I think like one. But
you,
on the other hand,
you
think that just because you’re building an extension, the rest of the house is
fine
.”

Gavin looked around the living room and shrugged. “It is fine.”

“Gavin, you’ve lived here so long you don’t see the problem.”

“What problem?”

“You.”

“Me? What? I should leave?”

“No, silly. You decorated the house.”

“Well, they don’t decorate themselves, you know. Who was I to get to do it—Gus at the deli?”

“You may as well have. The house is too masculine. It needs to be redecorated.”

“Redecorated?”

“Utterly.”

“You’ve been talking to your sister again. Last year it was our yard, now it’s our house.”

“Amber’s away on vacation with Eric,” Amy said, reminding Gavin of Amber’s new love. This one was serious, according to Amy.
Amy’s twin sister, Amber, had not been interested in dating since awaking from a coma two and a half years ago to find that
a serial killer named Krogan had decapitated her fiancé. “And you had corn in your flower beds and pumpkins on the front lawn.”

“What’s wrong with pumpkins?” he said, motioning toward her abdomen.

“Gavin.”

“Fine. If you want to redecorate a little, I’ll go with that, but not while you’re pregnant. Not while you’re seeing through
a hormonal kaleidoscope.”

Amy paused. “Then we’ll have to get a decorator.”

Gavin eyed her suspiciously. “I wouldn’t suppose you have her card or phone number handy now, would you?”

“Well, since you brought it up.”

“I knew it.”

“His name’s Larry.”

“Larry? A guy? I thought you said the house is too masculine?”

“Larry isn’t… very masculine.”

“Oh no. Forget it. Not my house.”

“It’s our house.”

“Absolutely not. No way.”

“Then let’s get the old Johnson place next door.”

“You’ve been talking to Chris.”

“My father said he’d help us with it.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need help. And we don’t need a decorator.”

“The Johnson house has a nice pool.”

“And so does the gym.”

“This one’s closer. Or… we could just get a decorator.”

Gavin gave her a long look, then peered about the room they were in. What was wrong with the house? Masculine? He didn’t understand
what was so overwhelmingly masculine. He had two pictures on the wall he was facing—a Bob Ross mountain scene he’d found a
few years ago at a mall while Christmas shopping for his usual short list, and an island beach sunset scene with a sailboat
in the background. Okay, so there were no flowers, but they were real paintings, not posters. The floor was carpeted in multiple
earth tones so dirt wouldn’t show. Smart, that’s all. No gender there. What else? The ship-hatch coffee table? Okay, that
was maybe a little on the rustic side and therefore a little masculine, but a flowered curtain design could counterbalance
that.

“Decorators are for people who don’t know how to decorate,” he said.

“Well,
you
obviously don’t know how, and you’re not letting
me.
”

Another long look. “Well, whatever,” he said, taking one of her bare feet into his hands, kneading it gently. “Anything to
keep you off these feet. Just promise me you won’t let Lenny swing the pendulum too far in the other direction.”

“Larry.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said— Never mind. Anyway, now that
that’s
settled, tell me more about Buck.”

“I thought Asians were supposed to have small feet.”

“I’m half Jewish and my feet are just fine. Besides, you’re thinking of the Chinese, and that was a long time ago. They made
little girls’ feet small and, I might add, deformed, by binding them with cloth so they could fit into painfully tiny shoes.”

“Ouch.”

“They thought it was feminine.”

“Feminine?”

“Stop! You keep changing the subject. All you’ve told me about Buck is that he didn’t look good and that Samantha was going
to stay with some neighbor.”

No scary demon stuff, remember.
“Well, that’s most of it.”

“I want all of it. Details. I didn’t send you all the way up there for just that.”

Thinking, thinking.
Gavin’s massaging hands slowed; he exhaled. He didn’t want to lie, but there was no need to make Amy any more anxious than
she already was with this stuff. “He’s really concerned for Samantha. He’s asking everyone he trusts to keep her in prayer
should something happen to him.”

He kept his eyes on her feet as he reminded himself that Buck’s fanatical belief in demons and spiritual warfare was based
on a highly active imagination and desire for the spirit world to be more than it really was. Gavin remembered that documentary
on HBO. Amy hadn’t watched it. She’d insisted they had some kind of axe to grind. He’d watched anyway and was glad he had.
A very thorough, and scientific, inside look at faith. How it calms and excites. How people like Buck go off the deep end
and see things that aren’t there. Impressive. Scary for some, he figured, but a relief for him.
Pretty much explained the whole thing psychologically. And to think Buck had him convinced two years ago of all that craziness.
Gavin still believed in God, but… thank God for HBO.

“He didn’t mention anything about the tortoise?” Amy finally asked, incredulous.

“Only in passing.”

“In passing? Well, then, what did he say, in passing?”

“Almost nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“He’s really mellowed on his position. You probably won’t even believe me.”

“Try me.”

“He said we shouldn’t worry about the tortoise. He’s convinced after all this time that it’s safe, and if something should
happen to Buck, he’s set up the proper steps to keep the animal safe.”

“Ha… Yeah, right!”

“I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“He didn’t say
anything
about
us
praying? I mean, wasn’t that what Samantha called about?”

“He wanted us to personally know he had everything under control. He didn’t want to die and have us all freaked. Again, his
main concern was for his granddaughter.”

Pause. “Liar.”

“Liar? That’s not a very nice thing to call your husband.”

“Liar, liar, liar.”

Gavin shook his head. “I don’t fight with pregnant people.”

Amy stared at him, and he looked away, again finding her feet a convenient place to focus. Rubbing, rubbing. After a short
while he glanced back at her. Still staring.

“What?” he finally said.

“I can’t believe you won’t tell me, your wife, the truth. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“First you call me names and now you’re trying the guilt-trip method. Very becoming,” Gavin said, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.
“How do you know I’m not telling you the truth?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, for one, I know Buck, two, I know you, and three, my foot is about to catch on fire. So you’re
lying.”

Gavin eased up, sighed. “Did you ever think he might have other trusted believers who know a little more about this stuff
than we do, and that he has entrusted them with the task of praying?”

Amy said nothing, which meant she was at least considering what he said.

“And, oh yeah, I also told him we were married now and expecting a baby. He was pleased. Very pleased.”

Amy paused for what appeared to be a pleasant moment. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said we made the right decision and that God would bless our marriage.”

“Really?” Amy said, her smile bright, wide. “What else?”

“Nothing else. Like I said, he was very weak. And the nurse was standing right there. We really couldn’t have had a private
conversation if we’d wanted to.”

Amy stared at the ceiling for a long time. She seemed to look more like the picture of a person at rest. Maybe she was finally
relaxing from the foot massage and the mellow classical violin music in the background.

“I think I’ll give Buck a call tomorrow,” Amy said, her lips pursed, her gaze settling into that confident “I can get to the
bottom of this myself” look. She was playing with him, and he was fine with that, as long as that dangerously stressful fear
was gone from her eyes. He had read how bad a mother’s stress could be for the baby.

“That’s a good idea,” Gavin agreed, knowing full well Buck would not be allowed any calls in the CCU.

“Or maybe I’ll just take a ride up there.”

“Sure. I suppose you’ll want to borrow my badge, too?”

Amy frowned and went back to the ceiling to think. He didn’t like it when she spent too much time thinking.