The Paladin Prophecy

  “I felt something else, too,” said Will, studying her. “A couple of times with you.” He held her eyes and thought:

  Do you know what I’m thinking right now?

  She held his eyes steadily: Of course I do, dummy.

  Will gasped. “Damn. What is up with that?”

  “Don’t know, but it sure beats the hell out of texting,” she said, grinning slyly.

  They both heard voices in Nick’s room next door and saw lights under the door.

  “Don’t worry, I know the drill,” said Elise, whispering. “Mum’s the word. An explosion knocked everybody out and we don’t know what caused it. Maybe the bad guys set it up ahead of time—”

  “You are good,” said Will.

  “You’re dismissed,” said Elise, settling into the bed. “I’m going back to my Sleeping Beauty act. I’m pretty worn out from the effects of my, uh, ‘explosion.’ ”

  I know what that’s like, too, thought Will.

  I know you do, she thought. Then she said, “And that’s deeply weird, isn’t it?”

  “Nothing’s weirder than the truth,” said Will.

  “Hmm. Okay. I’ll ponder upon that,” she said. Elise squeezed his hand one more time, closed her eyes, and let him go.

  Will went back to the door, gathered himself, and then walked through it. Dr. Robbins, Dr. Geist, Dr. Kujawa, and Headmaster Rourke stood over Nick’s bed. Eloni and another security guard stood by the door to the hallway. Rourke wore his shearling coat and held his black cowboy hat in his hand.

  “There you are,” said Dr. Robbins. “Will, what are you doing out of bed?”

  “I wanted to make sure everyone was okay,” he said.

  “Come sit over here, please, Will,” said Rourke, calmly patting the empty bed next to Nick’s. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Making sure that all of you are okay is my first order of business, not yours. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Will sat on the bed. Dr. Kujawa checked his pulse and gave him a quick once-over. As Kujawa worked, Will exchanged a look with Nick over his shoulder. Nick nodded subtly: We got this.

  Kujawa looked back at Rourke: He’s okay.

  Rourke pulled up a chair, turned it backward, and sat astride it, between the beds, so he could see them both.

  “Dr. Robbins and Mr. McBride have brought me up to date about some earlier conversations,” said Rourke, “in which you raised concerns about this secret club called the Knights of Charlemagne. Let’s hear your side, Will.”

  Will told them about the Paladin’s threats against Brooke. He apologized to Robbins for leaving against her orders, but he’d felt they had no choice. What he’d seen in the message told him they’d find Brooke at the boathouse and that it was his decision, alone, to try and free her. An explosion had gone off when they got there. A trap set, they assumed, by the kidnappers. He explained how he chased the Paladin—who turned out to be Lyle—up to the ridge and that shots had been fired at him. He’d cornered Lyle near the caves where they’d found him with the helicopter.

  And that was all that he remembered.

  Rourke looked at him, then took something from his coat. “I found these in your pockets, Will.”

  His Swiss Army knife, dark glasses, and a pair of black dice. Normal, six-sided black dice, like you’d find in a Monopoly game. Will tried to mask his alarm: Regular dice? Are these the same ones from Dave’s glass cube?

  Then Rourke turned to Nick and asked for his account.

  Nick echoed Will’s version, adding that they changed coats so the Knights would mistake him for Will. He’d gone to the Barn to create a distraction while Will and the others went for Brooke.

  We’re home free, thought Will with relief. Then Nick kept going.

  “And when I got there, a bunch of masked dudes, like six of ’em, were trying to steal the statue of the school mascot. They’d already knocked it off its pedestal and dragged it to the locker room, and I didn’t know if they were gonna deface it or something, right, so I made some citizen arrests. All of a sudden, this ginormous animal charges in—I guess ’cause they’d left the doors open and it was trying to get out of the storm? And I know this sounds totally shwhacked, but I think that maybe it was … a bear?”

  Dead silence.

  “So, next thing I know, my leg’s busted up real bad and I somehow call the operator and I have this voodoo nightmare that there’s a giant squid talking to me.… Then I woke up here. You know, pretty confused and all.”

  Will tried not to wince.

  “There was an animal down there,” someone said from behind Will.

  Everyone turned. Coach Jericho had come into the room while Nick was speaking.

  “I was in my office when I heard it,” said Jericho evenly. “Luckily, I was able to open a few doors and keep away from it until it chased me outside.”

  “A bear?” asked Rourke.

  “Judging by the tracks, it might have been a bear,” said Jericho. “But to be honest, Stephen, it was dark and I didn’t turn around to take a look.”

  “What happened to your arm?” asked Robbins.

  “I slipped on the ice outside, after I made it out of the building. Nothing serious.”

  “A bear,” said Rourke, looking at Nick again.

  “Unlikely as it sounds,” said Jericho, “I’ve seen Mr. McLeish part company with the facts before, but I think he’s telling the truth. Those kids did drag the statue to the locker room and vandalize it. That’s where we found what was left.”

  “Thank you, Coach,” said Rourke.

  Jericho met Will’s eye, then stepped out of the room. Nick exhaled slowly and glanced at Will. Will silently mouthed, A giant squid?

  Nick shrugged and nodded. Rourke stood up and ran a hand through his thick hair.

  “We found three rifles, abandoned at the base of the ridge,” said Rourke. “Target guns used by the biathlon team and stolen from a locked cabinet in the field house. We also found spent shells and four snowmobiles from the motor pool.

  “Obviously, Will, your concerns were well founded: A small group of students appears to have revived the Knights of Charlemagne, an organization that was banned here seventy years ago. These are deadly serious crimes, and ten students are in custody. Their families have been notified, and arrests are forthcoming. The safety of our students is a sacred trust, and we’re going to conduct a full investigation to get to the bottom of how and why this happened.”

  Rourke paused as another of Will’s teachers entered the room: It was Sangren, the little civics professor. He took Rourke aside and whispered urgently.

  “Excuse me,” said Rourke. He gestured for Dr. Geist to follow him. Both hurried outside.

  Sangren turned to Will. “Will, come with me, please. In here.”

  Will followed Sangren into his own room. Sangren pointed to the bed. “Sit down, please, Will.”

  Will did as he asked. Sangren went back to the adjoining door and spoke quietly to Dr. Robbins and Dr. Kujawa. Something he said caused Robbins to involuntarily raise a hand to her mouth and gasp, then glance at Will. Kujawa looked at Will and immediately left the room. Sangren braced Robbins’s arms with his for a moment as she composed herself; then both walked over to Will.

  “What is it?” asked Will, his heart sinking before he heard a word.

  Dr. Robbins knelt and took Will’s hand. “Will, Dan McBride just called,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  “There’s been an accident.”

  THE ACCIDENT

  He insisted they take him there. When they resisted, he raised his voice, just once, to let them know it was nonnegotiable. They left an hour before dawn, in the school’s helicopter, lifting off from the roof of the medical center. Will sat in back between Dr. Robbins and Coach Jericho. Headmaster Rourke, they’d told him, had gone up ahead to meet with authorities.

  They touched down on the tarmac in Madison a few minutes after six, as the sky turned light gray in the e
ast. Headmaster Rourke and Dan McBride were waiting beside a large black SUV driven by Eloni. They climbed in and followed two Wisconsin state patrol cars, flashing their light bars, for a mile to the west. When they parked near the site and climbed out, Headmaster Rourke put his arm gently but firmly around Will’s shoulder and quietly talked him through it.

  The pilot had radioed air traffic control that they’d lost power just after beginning their descent. The storm severely limited visibility. There had been hope they could coast to a landing but the landing gear clipped some treetops well short of the runway. The plane tumbled and crashed and then caught fire.

  There had been four people on board, including the two-man crew. No survivors.

  As they walked toward the woods, Will saw firefighters and rescue teams wrapping up. Investigators were setting up lights focused on a charred twisted mass among burned evergreens at the end of a long debris field.

  One section of the fuselage and tail remained intact. On its side was the writing Will had come here expecting to find: N497TF. A Bombardier Challenger 600. The same private twin-engine passenger jet his parents had rented in Oxnard three days earlier.

  Will had gone cold inside when Dr. Robbins told him the news. He’d felt that way all night, and seeing this for himself didn’t change it; Will still felt nothing, numb.

  Rourke explained there were some officials in the terminal who had asked to speak with him, but that if he didn’t feel up to it, he could postpone it to another day.

  “Let’s get it over with,” said Will.

  They met in a conference room at Dane County Regional Airport, in the general aviation offices. Headmaster Rourke insisted on staying with Will. Two troopers manned the door outside. Two suits waited inside, local detectives.

  They made polite attempts at expressing sympathy. They reported that efforts to identify the passengers were under way and they were hoping he could help. They showed Will the blackened remnant of a wallet and a partially destroyed California driver’s license in a plastic bag and asked him if he recognized the photo.

  “My father,” said Will. “Jordan West.”

  They showed him a scorched woman’s leather handbag. Will recognized it as one that belonged to his mother, Belinda West. They asked if it was true, as had been reported to them, that his parents had been flying in to visit him at his new school.

  “Yes,” he said.

  They asked Will if he knew the name of his family’s dentist back in California. He said they hadn’t yet found one in Ojai to his knowledge. He realized they were looking for dental X-rays to identify the bodies.

  Their interview was winding down when a man in a black suit entered. Will felt his blood run cold when he took off his hat.

  It was the Bald Man. Lyle’s Mr. Hobbes.

  He showed a badge, identifying him as Inspector Dan O’Brian from the Federal Aviation Administration, then addressed Will. “I’ve been tracking your parents for the last three days,” he said. His voice was cold, almost robotic. “When was the last time you spoke to them?”

  Will stared him right in the eye. “Two or three days ago.”

  “Did they tell you they planned to rent a private jet for this trip?”

  “No.”

  “Had they ever rented a private jet before?” asked Mr. Hobbes.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Hobbes stepped closer; he was big and wiry, much bigger than he’d looked from a distance. He had dark, dead eyes and gleaming white teeth. Will couldn’t read him, but he remembered this and it helped him:

  He doesn’t know that I know who he is.

  “Can you explain why they went looking for you in Phoenix if they knew you were here in Wisconsin?” asked Hobbes.

  Will glanced at Rourke, who stepped to his defense. “Sir, you may have a job to do, but this young man just lost his parents.”

  Hobbes never took his lifeless black eyes off Will. “The Wests chartered that jet last Wednesday in Oxnard. They flew to Phoenix and spent the night searching YMCAs and youth centers. Instead of returning to Oxnard the next day, they took off without filing a flight plan or notifying the owner. The plane disappeared from the FAA’s grid for the next two and a half days.”

  Rourke looked at Will, who shook his head, mystified.

  “The day before they chartered the jet, Mr. West set off an explosive device that destroyed a hotel room registered to him in San Francisco. He fled the scene before he could be questioned. That night, Mr. West’s offices at the University of California at Santa Barbara were broken into; files and valuable equipment, including two computers, were stolen. Mr. West remains the prime suspect—”

  “Why would he steal his own computers?” asked Will.

  “Two days ago,” the man said, talking over him, “a house rented by the Wests in Ojai, California, for the last four months burned to the ground under circumstances that triggered an arson investigation—”

  “Will, did you know about this?” asked Rourke.

  “No, sir.”

  Hobbes took out a pair of handcuffs. “An impressive crime spree. The theft of a private airplane is no ordinary Class One felony; it’s the kind that attracts the interest of Homeland Security.” Hobbes smiled for the first time, but not with his eyes. “I’m taking Mr. West into custody for questioning. Social Services is waiting outside. Come with me.”

  The sun crested the horizon, flooding the room with bright morning light. Through the window, Will saw a black SUV parked outside with four men in black caps waiting beside it. Hobbes pulled Will to his feet and prepared to cuff him.

  Rourke grabbed the man’s wrist. “Take your hands off him,” he said.

  Hobbes scowled. “I’m a federal officer—”

  “And I’m his legal guardian,” said Rourke, raising his voice. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  Eloni and Coach Jericho burst into the room, flanked by two Wisconsin state troopers, who made it clear they were ready to back Rourke’s play. The other detectives showed no interest in interfering.

  “Do we have a problem?” asked Rourke.

  Rourke put on his cowboy hat. Eloni and Jericho stepped closer to Hobbes. The man’s eyes burned hot. For a moment Will thought he might yell to the Black Caps and try to take him by force. But he didn’t.

  Will shook Hobbes off and stepped next to Rourke, who put a hand on Will’s shoulder and guided him toward the door. Will followed but stopped at the door, turned, and slipped on Dave’s sunglasses.

  A nimbus of light flared around Hobbes the Bald Man … and beneath his flesh Will saw a freakish armature of solid bone covering his entire head and neck, with overlapping scales as thick as armor plating.

  Will’s numbed indifference fell away, and a blind fury for everything he’d been through, everything his parents had endured, ripped through him. Without Will’s even directing it, his anger coalesced into the shape of a war hammer and Will sent it scudding toward the man’s alabaster skull.

  And if you can hear me, thought Will, that’s for my parents, you ugly son of a bitch!

  Hobbes gasped as his head snapped back, hit by the invisible blow. Blood trickled from his nose and ear.

  Will turned and followed Rourke out of the room. Eloni, Jericho, and the troopers fell into step around them, a protective phalanx that cleared the hall as they exited the building.

  Will spoke quietly to Eloni when they stepped outside. “Sorry I ditched out on you, man.”

  “S’okay, Will,” said Eloni softly. “For Miss Springer, I’d’ve done the same.”

  “Mr. Rourke?” asked Will as they crossed the parking lot. “Are you really my legal guardian?”

  “We’ll look into that, Will,” said Rourke, then winked. “But it didn’t hurt to let him think so.”

  Within minutes, they were back in the Center’s helicopter, soaring above snow-covered forests and hills, a bright sun rising in a clear blue morning sky. Cerulean blue. Will noticed that the pilot was another Samoan from the Cen
ter. Rourke rode next to him. Will sat in back with Dr. Robbins, Mr. McBride, and Coach Jericho.

  “What day is it?” asked Will, feeling shell-shocked.

  “Sunday,” said McBride.

  Coach Jericho laid his good hand on Will’s shoulder. Dr. Robbins took Will’s right hand between hers. Will caught a glimpse of the crash site—a vivid black scar in the white fields below—as they banked up and away.

  If they were on that plane, I’ve lost my parents. I’ve probably lost Dave, too. He put his hand in his pocket and found the black dice. He had nothing else to hold on to.

  Always and forever, Will. Always and more than anything.

  “What should I do?” asked Will, to no one in particular. “I don’t know … what am I supposed to do?”

  Will’s grief rose up with tidal force, all his anger and terror and grief washing out of him in racking, gut-wrenching sobs.

  “It’s all right, Will,” said Robbins. “It’s all right.”

  But it wasn’t all right. No one said another word until they touched down forty-five minutes later on a parking lot, near a flat, busy stretch of interstate. A cadre of state troopers had cleared out their landing area. Will was confused as they climbed out, until he looked over and saw the red neon sign. Rourke put on his hat, nodded at Dan McBride, and put an arm around Will’s shoulder.

  “You need a good meal, Will,” said Rourke kindly. “As strange as it sounds, you have to eat at a time like this.”

  They were at Popski’s.

  IT’S ABOUT US

  It was almost noon when they returned to the Center. Rourke drove them to Greenwood Hall and walked him to the door.

  “Stay close to people who care about you,” said Rourke. “Tell them how you feel. They can’t help you if you don’t. That’s where you have to start.”

  Dr. Robbins walked Will inside to the elevator. A line of yellow tape sealed the open doorway to Lyle’s rooms. Lots of uniformed officers were working inside.

  “Are there any friends or relatives we should notify, Will?” asked Robbins. “We could have them flown in. I’m sure they’d like to be here for you as well.”