Knightley and Son (9781619631540) (14 page)

“You play soccer in
those
shoes?”

Darkus looked down at his flawlessly polished brogues and realized the game was up.

Tilly returned from the back garden empty-handed. “We must have the wrong house,” she said, until the suspect grabbed her, gagging her with his massive forearm.

“Who sent you?” he demanded, forcibly restraining her.

Darkus answered calmly, “You can cooperate, or we can make life difficult for you. Your decision.”

“
You?
Make life difficult?”

Darkus turned toward the wall of the living room and waved at it. The suspect watched, baffled.

In the van, Bill saw the brightly colored shape waving on the monitor and instantly barked into his earpiece, “Go, go, go!”

In the living room, Darkus turned to see the suspect manhandling Tilly move forward in order to ensnare them both. The catastrophizer was already flicking through potential self-defense scenarios. He remembered the diagram of the fist and the upturned hand from the Knowledge, but now, in the heat of the moment, the surge of adrenaline had left his limbs feeling leaden. Before he could settle on a solution, the front door burst open, and the workman from the white van walked straight into the living room. Darkus stood back as the man took a device from his construction belt and aimed it at the suspect. Tilly stamped her boot down on the suspect’s foot, dislodging his grip, and stepped to one side. The workman fired, and a pair of Taser wires shot across the room, attaching to the suspect’s mesh tank top, and hitting him with several thousand volts of electricity. The suspect fell with a static, clattering sound.

Outside, a black Fairway cab swung around the corner and skidded to a halt. Knightley jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran inside, breathless, to find Darkus and Tilly standing over the suspect. He took a moment to examine them.

“You okay?” he gasped.

They nodded.

Darkus took a moment to process his father’s features again, hardly believing his eyes. “You’re back.” A childlike smile crossed Darkus’s face. But his father appeared more interested in processing the crime scene. Darkus reminded himself that they had a job to do, and both he and his father had to remain professional.

“It would appear a good deal has happened in my absence,” Knightley began.

Uncle Bill appeared behind him, filling the doorway.

Knightley turned to face him. “Bill, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Bill shrugged repentantly. “Aye, Alan, I know.”

Knightley pointed at Darkus. “What’s he doing here?”

Bill pouted and shifted on his feet.

“He’s
thirteen
,” said Knightley.

“He’s already building a case,” replied Bill.

“Is that right?” Knightley demanded.

“It’s too early to say,” said Darkus. “But I’m confident I’ll find an explanation for the facts.”

Knightley examined his son again, finding him hard to argue with.

“Aye, he’s a chip off the old block, Alan.”

“And what’s she doing here?” He pointed to Tilly.

“Helping you find your precious hard drive,” she answered. “This is one of the cops who took it.” She nudged the suspect in the ribs with her boot. The suspect grunted. “In return, I want the Combination, on a plate,” she continued. “Served cold.”

“I’ve got enough on my plate without you, Tilly. Go home. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Not until I find the truth.”

“I don’t negotiate with teenagers,” said Knightley.

“She’s useful, Dad . . .”

Knightley looked from Darkus to Tilly, possibly wishing he’d stayed asleep. His brows furrowed deeply, doing battle with each other, then he winced and swallowed, coming to a decision.

“Okay. I’ll agree to this coalition of the willing,” he announced, “on a trial basis only. And on one condition . . .” He addressed Tilly directly: “The moment you adversely affect this investigation, in any way, is the moment you cease to be involved in it. Are we clear?”

Tilly nodded. “Crystal.”

The suspect began to stir, finding the Taser wires still attached.

Knightley knelt beside him. “Where’s the Knowledge?” The suspect twitched but didn’t answer. “The hard drive—what have you done with it?” The suspect kept his mouth shut. Knightley moved back and grimly nodded to the workman, who prepared to use the Taser again.

“Wait!” shouted the suspect. “It’s in the garden.” He gestured toward the smoke drifting past the back door.

Knightley followed the trail outside to a makeshift bonfire, which was by now only a collection of dimly glowing embers. Darkus arrived behind him and immediately recognized the leather carrying case discarded nearby. In the center of the funeral pyre were the cremated remains of the hard drive, its circular disk melted beyond repair, its contents rising into the sky along with the last wisps of smoke.

“No . . . ,” whispered Knightley, defeated. He turned back to the house, his eyes glittering.

Darkus returned to the living room and stood over the suspect. “Who told you to do it?” he asked. “Who are you working for?”

“The
book
. . . ,” muttered the suspect. “The book told me to do it.”

Knightley cocked his head and leaned in next to his son. “
What
book?”

“
The Code
. . .”

Darkus went over to one of the cardboard boxes and lifted the lid, taking out a brand-new copy of the book from the top of the pile. Tilly opened another box, finding another batch of copies.

“We found the same thing at the bank robber’s house,” Darkus explained.

“Aye,” confirmed Bill.

“I read it myself, last night,” said Darkus. His father’s eyes went wide. “Don’t worry, it had no effect.”

“Singular,” said Knightley, and stared off into the middle distance, entering his customary state of complete absorption.

“Is he all right?” Tilly asked Darkus. “He’s not going to sleep again, is he?”

Knightley raised a finger to shush her.

“Strange forces are at work . . . And only one organization comes to mind: the Combination. At first it was only supposition. Now it’s probability.” Knightley looked down at the suspect lying prone on the floor. “Did the book talk to your partner as well?”

“No,” replied the suspect. “He never read it. He said he only takes orders from the top.”

Darkus and his father exchanged a look. Darkus turned to Bill. “Where is Bogey Two now?”

Less than a minute later, the white van arrived at the edge of an urban park, and the Knightleys quietly exited the rear of the vehicle with Tilly in tow.

They approached the center of the park and found the second suspect in plain view, standing by a paved recreation area. Knightley raised his hand to signal a halt, and they took cover under an elm tree. He then reached into his pocket and took out a small pair of binoculars, focusing them on the scene. Darkus reached into his own pocket, took out his own pair, and did the same. Tilly looked at the two of them, identically posed, their faces pressed against the eyecups.

“What can you see?” she asked.

Through the binoculars, they saw Bogey Two approach a group of half a dozen teenagers in hoodies loitering by the wire fence. The group exchanged words with him, obviously warning him off, but instead of leaving he unslung his sports bag and knelt down.

“He’s opening the bag,” observed Darkus.

Bogey Two unzipped the bag and reached inside. Darkus and his father both tensed up behind their lenses as the suspect’s gloved hand took out a copy of
The Code
.

“It’s the book again,” said Darkus.

The suspect took out another half-dozen copies and began distributing them to the teenagers, who turned them over in their hands uncertainly. Before the teens could react, they were interrupted by a piercing, high-pitched whistle. Knightley’s binoculars panned wildly to locate the source. Darkus’s lenses zeroed in on a nine-year-old boy standing lookout on a park bench, who was now stabbing an accusing finger in their direction.

“We’ve been spotted,” said Darkus.

The hoodies looked in the direction of the Knightleys, then scattered. Meanwhile, Bogey Two zipped up his sports bag, slung it over his shoulder, and sprinted away across the park.

“Come on!” shouted Knightley, and took off after the suspect, but almost instantly lagged behind, clutching a stitch in his side. Darkus and Tilly quickly overtook him. “Wait!” he shouted after them.

Bogey Two approached a children’s playground, hurdled a seesaw, and continued toward the main road. Darkus and Tilly deviated around the playground and moved to cut him off, with Knightley loping hopelessly after them.

Bogey Two turned back to see them in pursuit, tripped, nearly lost his footing, then pressed on and swung himself over the fence onto the sidewalk by the main road.

He looked left and right, weighing his options.

The white van accelerated out of an intersection, taking up position at one end of the street, marking its territory. The Ford sedan pulled up at the other end, blocking the way.

Darkus and Tilly reached the fence, unsure of what to do next.

“Wait!” wheezed Knightley, catching up with them.

Bogey Two looked right, looked left, looked right again, then ran straight across the road—not seeing a large London bus that was barreling down its own lane, in the blind side behind the van. Bogey Two felt a gust of wind, heard an almighty screech of brakes and a horn blast; he looked up at the red double-decker, then glanced down at the brown asphalt—which meant he was in a bus lane—then looked up again for the last time.

Knightley instinctively held out his hands to cover Darkus and Tilly’s eyes as a dull
whump
accompanied the suspect’s disappearance under the vehicle.

The bus barely registered the obstacle and lumbered to a halt at the side of the road. Darkus and Tilly parted Knightley’s fingers and peered out at the scene.

Bogey Two had been reduced to little more than a crumpled suit, blessedly facedown in the road. The body was intact, and there was a remarkable lack of blood visible, but there was no doubt he was dead. His sports bag was almost a hundred yards away, its contents discarded on the sidewalk, the book pages ruffling in the wind.

Darkus felt a rush of fear again. It was a definite, physical response: a prickling sensation across the back of his neck, accompanied by an increased pulse in his chest and ears. He controlled himself, remembering that although this was the first dead body he’d been unfortunate enough to encounter, he had spent a good part of the last four years in the presence of his father, who, to all intents and purposes, had been dead too.

“Stay here,” ordered Knightley.

Tilly looked nauseous, finding herself unexpectedly jarred. Passengers started spilling out of the bus to see what had happened.

“We mustn’t let them corrupt the scene,” said Darkus.

“What about
it
corrupting
you
?”

Darkus ignored his father and walked toward the body through the growing crowd of bystanders.

“Doc!” Knightley went after him, while Tilly waited on the sidelines.

Bogey Two’s pockets had been emptied by the force of the impact, spewing keys, cash, and bits of paper across the street, as if his whole person had been turned inside out and scattered for all to see.

Darkus knelt by the body, completely focused on the job at hand. He didn’t want to admit it, but the feeling of fear wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

“Don’t touch,” said Knightley.

“I won’t,” replied Darkus, taking out a pair of tweezers and carefully combing through the detritus that had formed a circle around the body.

“Careful.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” Darkus kept following the trail of paper with his tweezers, finding supermarket receipts, wadded-up money, and candy wrappers, until he paused, locating a rolled-up piece of paper with something scrawled on it. He gently unrolled it to reveal a note that said:

Star lot, Regency. 7:30 p.m.

Chapter 12

Gone to the Man in Black

As clues go, this one needed little unraveling. The world-famous Regency Auction House, located in South Kensington, was holding a special event starting at seven thirty that evening. The event was a charity gala auction to raise money for a London children’s hospital. Only hours earlier, the surprise “star lot” of the evening had been unveiled: a signed first edition of the bestselling book
The Code
,
by Ambrose Chambers—the only known signed copy in existence. Regrettably, Ambrose Chambers himself was unavailable to attend due to travel and work commitments. All proceeds from the event would go toward pediatric research into the most virulent of childhood afflictions, a cause whose merit few could deny.