Hamilton found the gun and had just bent to retrieve it when a loud shot rang out. He made a grunting sound and fell.

Alex felt confused-why had Hamilton been shot? The answer occurred to him almost immediately: for the same reason Whitfield and Addison had been shot.

Alex listened, and not hearing any other sounds, moved on his belly to where the FBI man lay on his side. A large stain was spreading on Hamilton’s shoulder and back. “Get out of here,” Hamilton whispered.

“Save your breath for the jury,” Alex whispered back. He loosened Hamilton’s tie and pulled his jacket off, causing Hamilton to groan. He tore the shirt away from the wound. There was a small entry wound, a messy exit at the back, but it had missed Hamilton’s heart, lungs, and spine. “You lucked out. If I can stop the bleeding, that is.” He found two gauze pads in his first aid kit and applied pressure to the wounds. Hamilton groaned again.

“Keep quiet if you don’t want your friends to finish what they started.” He found some scissors and tape.

“Friends?” He clenched his teeth, fighting pain. “I’m not with them.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Explosives,” Hamilton gritted out in a low voice. He closed his eyes.

Alex’s hands stilled. “What explosives?”

“Maybe…timing device…” He was mumbling, drifting off.

“Where?” Alex said urgently. “Where?”

“Tower,” Hamilton said, then passed out.

Alex did his best to stanch the bleeding. He heard someone moving through the woods, though, and decided to find better cover. He covered Hamilton’s white shirt with the ruined dark jacket, both to keep him warmer and to make him less of a target. Alex crept as quietly as he could to heavier brush.

A tall figure clad in dark clothing cautiously emerged from the trees, a man carrying a rifle. He stood still, listening.

Cameron Burgess. He had grown taller and more muscular in the years since his father’s death, Alex thought.

A sound came from Alex’s right. Cameron turned quickly toward it, rifle raised. Alex took out his own weapon. But Cameron was staying near the trees, and at this distance, Alex wasn’t going to chance a shot that would probably only reveal his own location.

Another sound, near the same place. Alex found a stone and threw it hard to his left.

Cameron spun on his heel and faced the place where it had landed.

The baseball field lights went out.

Cameron called out, “Everett?”

There was no answer.

Alex felt a rush of relief. Maybe Hamilton’s shot missed Kit after all.

Cameron disappeared into the woods.

Alex followed carefully, doing his best both to keep track of the sounds of Cameron’s movements and to avoid giving away his own position.

He could not proceed with any speed-in the darkness, without Kit to guide him, he was afraid of tripping over roots, or cracking his head on low-lying branches. But he wasn’t going to use the flashlight and risk making a target of himself.

The sounds in front of him stopped. He waited.

Minutes passed. He thought of the explosives. He thought of Chase being held under Everett Corey’s control. He made himself wait.

He heard a rustle of leaves and other sounds and was no longer sure that Cameron was alone. Was Kit nearby? Or had Everett overcome his dislike of the woods?

Suddenly there was a whiplike snap, a startled cry, the sound of what might have been a brief struggle, and then silence. A moment later, he saw light near the place where the sounds had been made. He heard a soft laugh.

He moved cautiously and quietly. He forced away thoughts of Hamilton’s talk of explosives, and of the hostages and what might be happening to them.

One thing at a time, he told himself. Get safely out of these woods.

The light, he was certain, was nothing more than a lure. A flashlight, its beam pointing up through the tree branches. He considered ignoring it, but the sounds he had heard could only mean that someone was in trouble. Before long, he was near enough to see what the flashlight was illuminating: Kit, hanging upside down.

He appeared to have been caught in a snare, but someone had obviously set to work on him after that. His wrists were bound and dangled below his head-his fingertips were only a few inches above the ground. His ankles were bound together with a second length of rope, tied to the black one, which held him suspended. A piece of silver duct tape covered his mouth. His jaw was swollen, his forehead scraped and bleeding. His eyes were closed, but it seemed to Alex that he was holding them closed, almost as if he were meditating-or perhaps the light bothered him.

Alex looked for Cameron, but saw only darkness between the tree trunks. He listened but heard nothing. Kit opened his eyes, and Alex now wondered if he had been trying to adjust them to see something in the darkness. Alex waited for a chance to attract his attention, but he seemed to be looking up into the trees.

A sound came from above him, too late to provide real warning. Cameron dropped down from a tree branch, landing on Alex’s back and shoulders, tackling him hard to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. The sound had given Alex time to tighten his grip on his gun, and he held on to it for dear life. Cameron’s first objective would be to disarm him, he thought-then Alex felt the wire wrap painfully around his throat.

Immediately, he couldn’t breathe. The wire cut into his windpipe. His ears rang, his vision began to dim. He tried to strike and claw at Cameron with his left hand. He tried to kick, to turn, to free his right arm. He tried to think, fighting his rising panic. He could feel Cameron’s hot breath near his right ear. Cameron laughed. Alex switched his gun to his left hand and pulled the trigger.

Cameron give a cry of pain, but there was only an infinitesimal slackening of the garrote. Alex felt consciousness slipping from him. Cameron took Alex’s right earlobe into his teeth and bit as he pulled sharply harder on the wire. One chance, Alex thought. He fired the gun into Cameron’s face.

Cameron fell forward, further pinning Alex. The world went black.

50

Malibu, California

Thursday, May 22, 8:10 P.M.

He heard his own breathing, rapid and harsh, before he was aware of anything else. The wire, although still around his neck, was no longer cutting into his skin.

He didn’t think he had been out for long. Cameron’s body was still warm as it lay heavily over him. Alex felt a sticky dampness on his neck, but thought that was probably from the wound to his ear. He rolled Cameron off his back without strangling himself in the process. He managed it, then glanced at Kit, who was looking at him with relief. For a guy who was hanging upside down, Alex thought dizzily, he was remarkably calm.

Alex holstered his automatic, then unwrapped the garrote from his neck. He moved to his hands and knees, then sat up slowly. His throat and neck hurt like hell, but each breath made him feel stronger. He glanced at Cameron’s ruined eye and lifeless face, the wound in his shoulder, then looked away. Alex felt his ear and was relieved to discover that most of it was still firmly attached.

“I’ll get you down,” he said to Kit in a low, rasping voice that didn’t seem to be his. “Any traps between you and me?”

Kit shook his head.

Alex forced himself to search Cameron’s body, and he found a knife. His strength returning now, he hurried to Kit. He saw that the ground was littered with the contents of Kit’s pockets-milagros and the stone tortoise. He pulled the tape away as quickly but gently as possible. Kit took big gulps of air, then said, “Thanks.”

Alex cut through the binding on his wrists.

“The light,” Kit said.

“I need to see what I’m doing here. I don’t want to drop you on your head.” But he moved the flashlight so that it was no longer providing a beacon through the trees.