Part 16 (1/2)

Brett reported with a dark, feigned sincerity, indicating Elijah, ”He tried to take over. Didn't like Alex's leaders.h.i.+p, so ... he attacked him-when he wasn't looking.”

Elijah wilted, so disappointed. ”Ah, Brett, come on.”

Elisha was by her brother's side. ”That's not the way it was! Jerry was protecting me.”

Ms. Fitzhugh nodded her head as if she really understood what had happened, eyeing Elijah with disdain. ”Oh. So it's all over a girl! Of course. A young stallion kicking another over his mare.”

Alex managed to speak. ”I was just talking to her. I don't know what he had to get so upset about.”

Elijah sighed. ”Does anyone want to know the truth?”

Chisholm stepped forward, grabbing Elijah's arm. ”We've seen plenty, young man. Come on.”

”Hey! ”

”No!” Elisha cried. ”What are you doing? You've got it all wrong! ”

Now Bateman and Johnson moved in, surrounding Elijah, forcing him along. ”This campus has had enough trouble. It's time to clean house.”

Elijah, still hoping to find an ounce of reason in any of these people, spoke calmly, ”You're making a mistake. If you'll just let me explain my side of it ...”

Elisha grabbed Mr. Johnson's arm. ”Will you listen to me? He's innocent! He was defending himself! He was defending me!”

Johnson sneered at that. ”Right. It looks like it.”

Ms. Fitzhugh grabbed Elisha by the arm and held her back. ”And you, young lady, are going to your room and staying there.”

”What are you doing?” she cried, watching them take Elijah away like a prisoner. ”Where are you taking him?”

She heard an ominous clanking of steel, and then, as if by itself, like the jaws of a patient, sinister monster, the big iron gate began to swing open.

A searing pang of fear coursed through Elisha like deadly voltage. She knew, she just knew that something horrible lay beyond that gate. ”NOOO!”

She broke free from Ms. Fitzhugh's grasp and ran after her brother. ”No, no, don't take him! He didn't do anything!”

Johnson turned back and blocked her path. He grabbed her, held her. She broke his grip, got around him. He grabbed her by her blazer and held on even as she kicked him, slapped at him, tried to get away.

Ms. Fitzhugh caught up and also took hold of her. ”That's quite enough, young lady!”

Bateman and Chisholm took Elijah through the gate and the big iron jaw began to swing shut with a low, electric hum.

With one last twist of judo, one final kick to a s.h.i.+n, Elisha broke away from Fitzhugh and Johnson and ran for what opening remained. 'Jerry!”

Through the bars of the swinging gate, Elijah, being hurried along by his two captors, looked over his shoulder and called, ”I'll be all right.” Then he mouthed the words, ”You go! Go!” as he nodded toward the unseen road.

The heavy, electronic latch clanged into place the instant Elisha reached it and she fell against the iron bars, gripping them, wis.h.i.+ng, praying she could pa.s.s through. ”Take me! Don't take him, take me!” The bars were cold, cruel, immovable. The gate didn't even rattle when she tugged at it.

The two men were hurrying, nearly dragging Elijah up the long walkway. He looked over his shoulder one last time to give her a rea.s.suring look, to let his eyes say, ”I'll be okay,” and then, like a curtain closing on the final act, the limbs of overhanging trees closed over the sight of him and he was gone.

As Fitzhugh and Johnson hemmed her in against the bars, she reached through as if she could grab her brother and pull him back, any pretending banished by her anguish. ”Elijah!”

They grabbed her, tightly. Weakened by despair and sorrow, she let them take her away.

Chapter 11: The Mansion and the Monster.

lijah couldn't help but be Fascinated, looking up at the towering white facade of the mansion as Mr. Bateman and Mr. Chisholm led him down a concrete stairway and through an imposing, oversized bas.e.m.e.nt door. When the metal door clanged shut behind them, a deep rumble rolled up and down the tight, dimly lit hallway like an echo in a mine tunnel. They were deep beneath the mansion now, and Elijah could sense the weight of rock, concrete, and the multistory structure stacked above him.

This was no ordinary hallway. It seemed to Elijah they were in the heart of a huge machine. Thick cl.u.s.ters of electrical wire ran along the ceiling; waterlines, gas lines, air lines, hydraulic lines, and tubing of unknown purpose ran along the base of the walls on both sides. There was a low, electrical hum ringing in the walls. He could hear compressed air moving, water running, fluid surging. ”Wow,” he said. ”What do you guys do down here, anyway?”

They didn't answer, but took him through a doorway into a small bedroom, a slightly nice prison cell. They pushed him down so that he sat on the narrow bed, then let go. ”Stay here until we come for you,” said Chisholm. He pointed to another doorway at one end of the room. ”The bathroom's through there.”

”But ... what's supposed to happen?” Elijah asked. ”I mean, do I get to talk to someone, or explain things, or what?”

They didn't answer him. They went out the door, locked it, and left him alone.

All around him-in the walls, in the air, in the floor-was a low, steady, rumbling life, much like being aboard a s.h.i.+p or an airliner. This building isn't just sitting, it's running like a big machine. It is alive.

If this mansion's a monster, he thought, then I'm in the stomach.

Nate and Sarah landed in Coeur d'Alene, in the northern panhandle of Idaho, and parked the airplane in front of Resort Aviation, an aviation service center providing fuel, aircraft rental, scenic tours, and generally anything having to do with aviation or traveling aviators. Inside the office, a young gal with curly blond locks was working behind the counter. Rental rates for Cessnas and Pipers were posted on the wall; navigational charts, airport directories, and tourist brochures were on display. Occasionally, the chatter of pilots would squawk from a radio at the far end of the counter, tuned to monitor the airport frequency.

”Hi,” said Nate. ”We'd like to tie our plane down for a few days.”

”Are you the Springfields?” she asked.

That scared them. For secrecy's sake, they hadn't called ahead. How did she know their names?

”Is someone expecting us?” Sarah asked.

”Your ride's here now”

She pointed out the window toward the parking lot. A black car was waiting. The man behind the wheel gave them a subtle wave.

It was Morgan.

They acted pleased to see him to hide the fact that they were alarmed. They hurried out the door and climbed into the car.

”What is it?” Sarah demanded. ”What's happened?”

”Easy,” said Morgan. ”No bad news yet. But it's time for a faceto-face. Go ahead and bring your luggage. I got us some rooms.”

The motel was small, one-story, built thirty years ago. The rooms were simple: one bed, two chairs by the window, a small television, a bathroom with a stained sink and a drippy shower.

Sarah took the bed, aching and tired. Nate and Morgan sat by the window after closing the blinds.

”Okay,” said Nate, ”what've you got?”