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 i

“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 cha

Alex saw then that there were thin metal gates at the tops of the cha

This whole platform of cha

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

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…