The Knight pbf-3

by Steven James

  I found her in the master bedroom where she was on the phone, leaning over the bed, and checking someone’s pulse. I couldn’t see who it was, only that his shirt had been removed. Then I realized she was talking with 911 and I stepped around her. And saw who was on the bed.

  “Calvin!” I rushed to his side.

  “He’s unconscious,” Cheyenne said, “but his pulse is steady.” She had the phone to her ear but was talking to me. “They’re sending an ambulance.”

  Why aren’t those squads here yet?

  Eight Chantel candles flickered on the dresser. Two had winked out.

  Gently, I touched Calvin’s forehead, and as I did wondered if the killer might have left him alive as some kind of trap, a way of toying with the mouse-of toying with me.

  The closet door was slightly ajar.

  Cheyenne saw me glancing at it. “I checked inside. It’s clear.”

  I took a look. Six dresses on the carpet. A metal hanger with a straightened hook.

  I headed for the hall.

  “What is it?” Cheyenne asked.

  “I’m going to have one more look around.” I spoke softly. “I’ll be right back.”

  And as she monitored Calvin, I left the room to make sure no one was waiting for us anywhere else in the house. Or in the garage.

  Dora and Tessa were in the living room with the cops. Martha had stepped into the kitchen, and Tessa saw her discreetly pick up the phone.

  Tessa was still distracted, thinking of how furious Patrick was going to be when he arrived, and she didn’t realize that she was nervously toying with her necklace until she felt Dora’s hand on her arm.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  But she didn’t let go of the necklace’s black stone.

  “I need to tell you something,” Dora said. “I was gonna tell you upstairs, but then the cops came in.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your mom tells why at the end of the diary, why she bought you that jewelry box when you were a kid.”

  Tessa stopped fiddling with the necklace. “Tell me.”

  “To remind her of the day she changed her mind.”

  And then Dora told Tessa about the last three entries in her mother’s diary.

  106

  I finished a careful inspection of the house and found no one. Amy Lynn’s purse was in the kitchen. I took a quick inventory of its contents and saw that the last text message had been sent to her husband’s cell.

  I returned to the master bedroom, where I saw that Calvin was still unconscious. Taking slow, shallow breaths.

  Cheyenne was laying a blanket across his chest.

  I knelt beside the bed. “How is he?”

  “He seems stable. His breathing is steady. Paramedics should be here any minute.”

  “When they get here they need to do blood work right away and a complete tox screen.”

  “It’s all in play,” she said. “They’re bringing a doctor with them.”

  I glanced at the candles.

  Based on the negligible amount of wax flow, I could see they hadn’t been burning long at all.

  The oven had heated up to 440 degrees…

  I heard a car stop outside the house, then a car door slammed. I unholstered my SIG and called to Cheyenne, “Stay with Calvin.”

  I hadn’t quite made it to the front door when it flew open.

  “FBI!” I yelled.

  “Don’t move!” the man hollered.

  I knew that voice.

  “Jake, it’s me. It’s Pat.”

  Jake Vanderveld stepped into the room, and although I never thought I’d hear myself say it, I added, “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too, Pat. What do we know?”

  We were in the bedroom and Cheyenne and I had just finished filling Jake in. “For now,” she concluded, “it looks like Calvin is doing OK.”

  “Do we know if Amy Lynn was even here?” Jake asked.

  “Her purse is here, but not her keys. And her car is gone,” I said, then pointed toward the closet door. “Drag marks from the bedroom door to the closet, but not away from it. John had her in there, but then he led or carried her away.”

  “Any idea where?”

  I shook my head. “Her car doesn’t have GPS, and her Blackberry is still in her purse.” Then a thought. “Cheyenne, let’s get an APB on her and send some patrol cars to Daniels’s ranch, just in case-”

  I was interrupted when Jake’s phone came to life. He answered it and then stared at me in surprise. “He’s standing right here,” he said, then he offered me the cell. “For you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Police headquarters.”

  I took the phone. “Special Agent Bowers.”

  “Agent Bowers?” A woman’s voice, and she sounded even more surprised than Jake had been. “We’ve been unable to reach your pilot or your cell number. We thought Agent Vanderveld might be able to-”

  “My pilot? What are you talking about?”

  A slight pause. “Sir, your helicopter took off three minutes ago without-”

  Oh, not good. “I didn’t request a helicopter.”

  “You didn’t-”

  “Who boarded the chopper?”

  Another pause.

  “Who!”

  “I’m not sure, sir. But we need a flight plan and-”

  “Listen to me.” I realized I was yelling into the phone, but at that point I didn’t care. “The second chopper, is it there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A pilot, is there a pilot available?”

  “Sir, I don’t understand; you’re telling me you’re not in the heli-”

  “A pilot! Is Cliff there?”

  “Colonel Freeman is in the helicopter that you-or that someone.. .” She couldn’t seem to collect her thoughts. “Cody Howard’s here.”

  Cody was Cheyenne’s ex-husband, the pilot she refused to fly with, but I could deal with that in a minute. “Get him to the heli-pad and have him fire up the chopper. I’ll be there in five minutes. And tell air traffic control at Denver International Airport to get the transponder codes for the chopper that just took off. We need to know where it is. Do it.”

  The longest pause yet. “Yes, sir.” End call.

  I tossed the phone to Jake. “John’s got a chopper, but he’s only a few minutes out. We’ve got him. Cheyenne, you’re with me.”

  Jake nodded toward Calvin. “I’ll stay here with him until the paramedics arrive.”

  “Good.”

  “Be careful,” Jake said.

  That’s not exactly my specialty, but I decided not to bring that up. “I will.”

  Cheyenne and I bolted to the car.

  107

  Through his headphones, Giovanni heard that Agent Bowers had requested the second chopper. Perfect. Things were going to work out after all.

  Five minutes earlier, when Giovanni had appeared on the helipad with the razor blade against Amy Lynn’s throat, Cliff Freeman had just stared at him in shock, but he’d finally climbed into the cockpit when Giovanni removed the woman’s gag and she pleaded for her life.

  Now, they were roaring over the Rockies, just a few minutes from Bearcroft Mine.

  Giovanni sat in the backseat beside the woman. Her hands were still bound behind her back.

  He snapped the straight razor open and held it close to her face to make sure that he had her undivided attention. “Do you remember at the house when I told you I wasn’t going to kill you, that you were going to kill yourself instead?”

  She shrank back against the seat.

  “Well, that time has come.”

  “Leave her alone,” Cliff yelled from the cockpit, “you son of a-”

  Giovanni swiped the blade against the man’s right forearm deep enough to make him cry out but not deep enough to disable him. “Please,” Giovanni said. “Do not interrupt us again.”

  Then, he turned to Amy Lynn and began to unbutton the top of her shir
t.

  Amy Lynn tried to lean away from him, but there wasn’t any place to go. “Please, no,” she begged.

  He unbuttoned the second, then the third buttons. “I told you before, I’m not going to touch you. Now, please, sit still.”

  “No, don’t-” But she was too terrified to finish her sentence. He was picking up the cloth bag he’d brought with him, the one he’d taken briefly to the other helicopter on the helipad before making her get into this one.

  The thick, coiled contents of the bag stirred.

  “Officially,” Giovanni said, “you’re supposed to jump from a window, but I don’t think we’ll attempt that at this point. I can always toss your body out later, so-”

  Suddenly, the chopper pitched to the right as Colonel Freeman let go of the control stick. He reached back and tried to wrench the razor from Giovanni’s hand, but Giovanni sliced the man’s wrist. A deep cut. Blood spurt across the cockpit.

  “Get the stick or I’ll slit her throat!” He noticed that the colonel had-thankfully-leaned his leg against the control stick to keep the helicopter from crashing.

  Freeman shook his head. “No! Put down-”

  Giovanni held the blade to Amy Lynn’s neck. “Do it or she dies.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then finally faced forward, blood spurting from his wrist, leveled off the helicopter, cursed, and threatened Giovanni, but Giovanni didn’t mind.

  “And press your knee against that cut or you’ll bleed out.”

  Giovanni waited until Freeman obeyed, then he untied the string that was cinched around the bag’s opening. He would bandage the man’s wrist in a minute, but first he needed to take care of Amy Lynn.

  He lifted the sack toward the top of her shirt.

  “No!” she cried.

  “Remember, I’m not going to kill you. In this story you have to kill yourself. Rattlesnakes are attracted to movement. So, if you don’t want to die, you’ll want to sit very still.”

  He nudged the fabric of her shirt away from her skin so there’d be enough room, then he tipped the three-foot-long rattlesnake down the front of Amy Lynn’s shirt.

  She screamed.

  And as she felt the dry, muscular body of the rattlesnake flex against her bare stomach and glide across her abdomen, Amy Lynn Greer did not stay still.

  Not at all.

  108

  Air traffic control told us the location of the other chopper, and when I heard the coordinates in my headphones I told Cody, “I think he’s going to Bearcroft Mine. I know where it is. Head toward the southern edge of Clear Creek County.”

  “Roger that.”

  He tilted the chopper to the southwest, and we flew into the dying sunlight.

  Cheyenne and Cody still hadn’t spoken to each other. Even though I had no idea how messy their divorce had been, from the tense silence I got the impression it’d been tough on both of them.

  For a moment, I was reminded of my own troubles with Lien-hua, but before I could give those much thought, I saw movement on the floor next to the first aid kit And I realized what it was.

  “Be still!” I yelled.

  The rattlesnake glided across Cheyenne’s shoe and began to entwine her ankle.

  She froze.

  I would have grabbed something to attract the snake’s attention, but it cocked its head back, and I was afraid it might strike, so I flashed my hand toward its face so it would bite me instead of her. It bared its fangs and rattled, but with my other hand I was able to grab it just below the head before it decided to strike.

  The snake’s ropey body writhed wildly in my hand, but I held on.

  With my free hand, I went for my knife. I didn’t really want to kill the snake, but considering the circumstances, I thought even Tessa would forgive me.

  There comes a time for all things to die…

  The rattler hissed and thrashed. Tried to twist its head toward my arm.

  And this snake’s time had come.

  I pulled out the Wraith. Flicked out the blade. And took care of the rattlesnake.

  Its body flopped to the floor of the helicopter, I dropped the head beside it and ended its misery with the heel of my shoe.

  Cheyenne swallowed. “Thank you.”

  “Lift your feet. There might be more.”

  She propped her feet against the seat in front of her. “I saw that,” she said. “You were going to let it bite you instead of-”

  “Shh. Please. Help me look.”

  And together we scoured the cabin, hunting for more snakes.

  Giovanni left Amy Lynn’s body on the helicopter.

  He’d warned her to sit still. If she had, the rattler might not have struck the front of her neck, and her throat might not have swollen shut in less than a minute.

  Having a hostage would make it easier to lure Agent Bowers into the tunnel, so he decided to let the pilot live for the time being. He made sure he could control the man’s bleeding, and then took him into Bearcroft Mine.

  I didn’t find any more snakes in the cabin and I was about to check the cockpit when I heard Cody cry out in pain.

  The helicopter dipped toward the mountains, pitching me forward.

  “It bit me!” he cried.

  “Get the stick!” I hollered, but he wasn’t listening. I scrambled forward and grabbed the control stick but only managed to momentarily stop our descent. “You have to-”

  “Cody, get the controls!” Cheyenne cried. She dove toward the cockpit, and I slid to the right as she took the stick, then I scoured the floor for the snake. Saw nothing.

  “It got me!” Cody yelled. Thankfully, he’d kept his left hand on the collective pitch lever, but he was holding his right hand against his thigh.

  Cheyenne was trying to level us off. Two days ago she’d told me she was taking helicopter flight lessons. I really hoped she knew how to land.

  “Where’s the snake?” I yelled. Cody just shook his head.

  Based on where he was pressing his hand against his leg, I guessed the rattler had struck him on the inside of his thigh near his femoral artery-a terrible location for a bite.

  With every beat of his heart, the venom was pumping through his body, destroying more tissue, causing more bleeding, slowing his respiration.

  The more his heart races, the quicker he’ll lose consciousness.

  “Relax, Cody.” I was still searching for the snake. “Try to stay calm.” He was shaking. I let my eyes tip toward the window for a moment, and I recognized the surrounding mountains. We were close to Bearcroft Mine, less than a mile away.

  I scanned the floor again.

  And saw the snake weaving beneath the control pedals.

  “Everyone be still.”

  But Cody followed my gaze, and then shrieked and yanked his feet off the pedals. The helicopter pivoted sideways through the air and started to drop.

  “No!” Cheyenne hollered.

  The world was whipping around, spinning. A blur. I saw the snake slide across the floor toward me.

  I grabbed for its neck. Missed. Got the body.

  Cheyenne shoved Cody against the door to get her feet to the pedals.

  Another rotation, another, and then finally, somehow, Cheyenne pulled us out of the tailspin, but we were less than a hundred meters from the ground and falling fast.

  “Level us off!” I yelled.

  Still holding the snake I reached for the knife but realized I must have dropped it when I rushed to grab the controls.

  I felt the snake’s body tense for a strike.

  OK. Drastic measures.

  Rattlers can strike faster than the human eye, but not faster than a speeding bullet.

  109

  I drew my SIG.

  The chopper was so wobbly and the snake was wavering its head so much that I wasn’t sure I could hit it, but I could definitely shoot something else.

  Even though the cockpit wasn’t pressurized, with the downward force of air from the rotors I figured there’d be enough suc
tion.

  I fired at the window to my right.

  As the glass exploded outward, the air in the cockpit rushed after it, tugging the snake’s body with it.

  I let go.

  No more snake.

  “I’m taking us down!” Cheyenne yelled.

  I was cool with that.

  A pair of sunglasses and a storm of papers shot out the broken window.

  I studied the terrain below us.

  The road leading to Bearcroft Mine was just a few hundred meters north of us. A meadow that looked flat enough for Cheyenne to land in lay beside it.

  “There!” I pointed.

  About half a mile further up the mountain, the other helicopter was already on the ground near the entrance to the mine.

  Good enough. I could run from here.

  As Cheyenne took us down, I radioed for backup and requested an ambulance for Cody, and then, remembering the mine’s deep, narrow shafts and the killer’s intention to bury someone-me- alive, I told them to call in the Arapaho National Forest’s high angle rescue team. I sometimes climb with the guys on the team, and if we needed a vertical rescue, they were the ones to do it.

  We were twenty meters from the ground.

  Cheyenne fought to keep us steady.

  Cody was drifting into and out of consciousness.

  Ten meters.

  I swept my eyes across the floor, looking for more snakes.

  All clear.

  Five meters.

  And then we were settling onto the field. A small jostling, but that was all.

  “Beautiful landing,” I said. We were alive. We were on the ground. “Perfect.”

  A breath.

  A small moment.

  A chance to think.

  Both Cheyenne and I were OK, but Cody appeared to be only partially conscious. I tried rousing him. No response. I felt his pulse. Thready. Gauged his breathing, considered the EMS response time. It didn’t look good. “Cheyenne, I’m not sure he’s going to make it unless we can get him to a hospital.” We still had our headphones on; the rotors were still spinning overhead.

  She stared at me. “How?”

  “Fly him.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”