Driven (19 page)

Amy looked at Gavin, as if to acknowledge she had missed something in her research. “We’re not the media, Buck.”

“It doesn’t matter. I know nothing that would help you get who you’re looking for.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?” Gavin said quickly, his natural intensity difficult to mask.

“Did you know Karianne was going to be in another… accident, Buck?” Amy said gently.

“I hoped not. I’m glad she owned a car with modern safety devices.”

“Who said it was her car?” Gavin said.

“I just assumed.”

“I understand,” Amy said quickly, before Gavin could say anything. Her look told him to lighten up.

“How bad were the others hurt?” Buck said with concern.

“Who said there were any others?” Gavin said.

“There’re always others,” Buck said. His eyes briefly lost focus and Gavin was suddenly unsure if this was a conversation
Buck was having with him or with himself.

“This Ghost Driver,” Buck said. “How long have you been chasing him, Detective?”

“Personally, about a month. Though the calendar seems to be a bit blurry right now.”

“And how many other suspicious accidents have there been in that time?” Buck asked, now curious.

“It’s starting to get hard to count. Firsthand, I know of four— and one outright murder with an arrow—but I’ve heard of others,”
Gavin said, wondering who was questioning whom. “What else do you want to know?”

Buck closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Once you start there’s no place to stop,” he said softly.

On paper, interviews always look so logical, so simple. Painless. See Reverend Buchanan and get information. If he resists,
press on until resistance breaks down. Use whatever tool works. Real life wasn’t so simple. Buck leaned on a post looking
like a man who had just been dropped into a room where every exit read “Do Not Enter.”

“Please,” Amy said. “We need your help.”

“You want me to tell you Norway’s problem is now New York’s problem?” Buck said.

“If it’s true, that’s exactly what we want,” Gavin said. “And anything else you could tell us.”

Buck paused for a long moment before answering. “I’m sorry,
Detective. I can’t do this. The information I have is not information you can use. Believe me when I tell you what I know
can only get you hurt.”

“Bull!” Gavin snapped. The lack of sleep had worn his patience and tact clean away. The man before him was a witness and he
was ready to dig through granite with a toothpick if need be.

“Easy,” Amy said.

“Detective, you don’t know what you’re asking of me. I have to think of my granddaughter first.”

“Your granddaughter? What does she have to do with anything?” Gavin asked. “If she’s in danger, we can protect her a lot better
than you can, hiding up here.”

Buck closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not you or your whole department can protect her from him.”

“Why?” Gavin demanded. Again, maybe the fatigue was responsible, but he felt tears waiting to spill and knew he was losing
it. He wasn’t familiar with the interrogation procedures of the Norwegian police department, but he knew for sure that if
Krogan had killed a cop’s family member, Buck wouldn’t have gotten out of there alive without telling what he knew.

“Look Rev— Mr.— Buck. I’m not just some cop investigating a murder. This psycho scum killed my grandfather, my friend, and
a reporter that was working with me to hunt him down. He also killed Amy’s brother-in-law and put her twin sister in the hospital,
where she’s been in a coma for the last couple of weeks. And thanks to him, my partner’s in the hospital, too. Not to mention
the dozens of others that just happened to get in his way in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know what you think
you can’t tell us, but if it can give us even the slightest edge, I want it, and I want it now.”

He took a deep, shaky breath and felt Amy’s hand slip into his and squeeze.

Buck’s poker face seemed to soften as he stared at them. “You won’t believe me,” he said.

“Try me,” Gavin said. “After what I’ve seen and heard in the last twenty-four hours, I can believe anything.”

Buck looked down at the ground and spoke softly. “Don’t you think I would tell you if I thought it would do any good?”

Gavin shrugged. “Can it do any harm? He doesn’t know we’re here. Nobody does. We left spontaneously after spending all night
interrogating Karianne.”

Buck quickly looked up. “Did you mention my name to her? Where I was? That I’m still alive?”

Gavin and Amy looked at each other.

“I don’t think so,” Amy said with a confused frown.

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person, Buck?” Gavin said, wondering how in the world anyone could be afraid of
Karianne.

“It’s not her I’m concerned with.”

Gavin closed his eyes. It was the lack of sleep, he decided. It had to be that. He seemed to be missing something.

“Detective, if I tell you what I know, you will at some point want me to get involved. You’ll want me to come with you.”

“That’s crazy,” Gavin said. “All we want from you is facts, not physical help.”

“It’s not the physical help I mind,” Buck said.

“I promise you that you will have nothing to worry about.”

“You promise what you can’t.”

“Hi, Grandpa!” said a cheery voice from behind Buck.

Buck turned and opened his arms. “Hello, Precious,” he said lovingly as a young girl skipped energetically to his embrace.
The strands of hay weaved into her thick, pony-tailed brown hair, the smudges of dirt on her white T-shirt and cut-off jeans,
along with the dried clay on the knees of her skinny legs were all glaring evidence
she had just been out in the field somewhere, probably playing with her cows and chickens. This place was an eleven-year-old
girl’s dream come true. Gavin was suddenly saddened by the thought of shattered dreams and priceless memories whispered into
the ears of her oversized pets.

“Samantha, this is Mr. Pierce and… Miss Kirsch, is it?”

“Yes,” Amy said, giving the little girl a big smile.

“This is my granddaughter, Samantha,” Buck continued. “She’s the boss here, aren’t ya, honey?”

“Yup,” she said with pretty, saucer-shaped eyes and a wide grin that showed off perfect white teeth.

Gavin was amazed at how Buck’s demeanor changed upon seeing his granddaughter. All the concern that had a moment ago carved
his face was now replaced with bright eyes and dimples.

“It sounds like the cows agree,” Amy said, commenting on the stir the little girl produced when the cows heard her young voice.

“Yessirree! What she says, goes,” Buck said. “Sammy, why don’t you check on Gregory—make sure he’s doing a good job. I’m going
to show our guests up to the house for a drink of iced tea.”

G
avin didn’t know he liked the rustic, farmhouse look until he sat down in Buck’s kitchen. The wide-planked pine floors, the
butcher’s block counters, the black-iron stove, and the age-darkened
hemlock walls brought to mind thoughts of things like fresh apple pie and homemade vanilla ice cream. Not that Gavin had ever
had homemade ice cream. He found himself suddenly craving it, wondering what it would taste like. He shook his head. He really
needed a nap.

“I’d do anything for her,” Buck was saying, placing a large pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen table. The tea was amber in
color, with lemons floating in it. “After the crash, I was the only one left to look after her. She liked animals, so we moved
to a farm.”

“Lots of people like animals, Buck. Why not stay in New Jersey, get a cat?” Gavin said.

Buck gazed into the distorted reflections of the ice-tea pitcher. “To be honest, the crash and all the attention it drew caused
me to reevaluate my situation. I… we lost so much. I needed to get away for a while. Maybe longer than a while.”

“It must have been very hard for you,” Amy said warmly.

Buck nodded, then broke his gaze and retrieved three glasses. “I’ve heard it said death is natural; it’s part of life. I tend
to think not. God didn’t create us to die. He created us to live. Dealing well with death wasn’t included in the equipment
God originally created us with…” He realized he was rambling. “I’m sorry, I guess I could have just said yes. I’ve a habit
of giving long answers to short questions.”

“Well, how about a long answer to this?” Gavin unrolled the newspaper with Krogan’s name and face on the cover and held it
before Buck. “You said you’d never heard of the Ghost Driver. Do you recognize this man?” he asked.

Buck stared for what seemed like a full minute without taking his eyes off the page or saying a word. Then, finally, he looked
up and said, “I’m very acquainted with the name, but I’ve never seen that face before.”

Gavin frowned. “Are you sure? Your accident was five years ago
and this is only an artist’s rendering. You might have to use your imagination a bit.”

Buck smiled compassionately. “I am sorry, Detective, but I’m certain I’ve never seen this face. I may be old, but I have a
good memory for names and faces.”

Gavin straightened. He snatched the newspaper off the table and dangled it in Buck’s face. “This isn’t Krogan?” he said, his
voice raising.

“Well, no, but—”

“But you’re saying Krogan is the correct name?”

“Yes,” Buck said. “Krogan
is
the name of the one you’re after. I really can’t imagine how you found out, but Krogan is the name of the one behind the
killings. But you—”

“We’ve had this face on the front page of a million newspapers. Karianne said she was with Krogan and was extremely confident
this was him. And the bartender also described this guy as the one whom she was with,” Gavin said, frustrated. “Are you sure
this isn’t him?”

Buck sat forward. “Miss Stordal told you the name?”

“Yes,” Amy said.

“She didn’t remember at first, but under hypnosis she clearly indicated the man she was with was Krogan,” Gavin pointed out.

“Hypnosis. I see,” Buck said, nodding knowingly. “Before I tell you any more, would you two please tell me more of what’s
been happening with you.”

Gavin shrugged. “Of course. To make a long story short—”

“No,” Buck interrupted. “I was a preacher. I like the long story.”

Gavin took Buck through everything step by step. He spared Buck some of the bloody details because Amy was there; he’d never
painted more than a vague picture of her brother-in-law’s death and saw no reason to upset her further. Buck listened intently,
nodding occasionally as if he already knew what Gavin was going to say.
Gavin told him about the lobster-claw roach clips and the unbelievably high alcohol content found in the blood of those who
rode with Krogan and how they always turned out to be the vehicle’s owner. Through all the talk of destruction, Buck never
once so much as raised an eyebrow, not even when he was told of the premeditated attack on the Learjet with the bucket truck.
Curiously, he seemed familiar with the ancient word,
shadahd.
Only when he was told of the hypnotic sessions with Katz did his expression change—he was clearly amused by Katz’s explanation
of reincarnation regarding Karianne’s transmillennial encounters with Krogan.

“Thank you, Detective, for divulging what certainly must be some extremely confidential information. I promise to respect
your trust,” Buck said sincerely. “You’ve gathered an impressive array of data, but you’re still missing the most important
ingredient: truth.”

“Tell me about it,” Gavin said. “Every time I think I’m about to lay hold of the truth, I get ancient history and riddles.
Truth is exactly what I’m here for, Buck. Plain, old-fashioned truth.”

“You have pieces of truth, Detective. Krogan is not the man’s real name.”

“Come again?” Gavin said. “We shouldn’t be looking for someone named Krogan?”

“Yes and no. Krogan controls the man you have sketched here.”

“Controls? I don’t understand. Are we dealing with organized crime or some kind of terrorist cell?” Gavin said, suddenly wondering
if this old preacher had been involved in espionage. The details of destruction hadn’t fazed him. What connections did this
old guy have and with whom? That could explain his reasons for not wanting to talk.

“Terrorists? Absolutely,” Buck said with a brief laugh. “You’re dealing with devils, Detective. Concerned only with their
own agenda.”

Gavin wasn’t sure if he understood what Buck was saying. Krogan was part of another terrorist plot? An operative? Could the
FBI have been so wrong? Could he have? With the escalation of all the germ-agents and nuclear threats, who would have thought
that an alcohol-crazed killer could actually turn out to be a terrorist?

“So Krogan is in control?” Gavin said.

“Yes, very much so.”

“Then who is this?”Amy said, pointing to the newspaper. “If this is not the man who crashed into you, who is he?”

Buck poured the tea. “I don’t know. The man who crashed into me is dead,” he said sadly.

Buck’s answer was as surprising as his concern for Karianne. Gavin looked at Amy and then back at Buck. “We thought Krogan
was the one who crashed into you in Norway.”

“It was Krogan. I know for sure now. We had eye contact while he was escaping the scene and I had been warned he would retaliate.
I couldn’t stop him then and he saw I was dying. If he had known I was going to live he would have finished me off before
leaving. Payback for messing with his friends.”

Gavin sat back and slowly massaged his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the tea. Maybe one of my coffees was drugged. But I’m
having a hard time following this. I thought you said the man who crashed into you was dead. Is Krogan dead or alive?”

“If Krogan is now in control of the man you have sketched here, the man who collided with us in Norway is now dead. Krogan
cannot control more than one person at a time.”

Gavin nodded, although he had no idea why. He was as confused as ever. Was Buck saying the terrorist chain of command was
only connected to one person at a time? “Krogan is not able to control more than one person at a time?”

“No, thank God. Not any more than it can die.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Krogan can’t die?”

“It?”
Amy said.

“Yes, my dear,
it.
I told you, you’re dealing with devils. They’re immortal. You can’t kill them. They can’t die.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Devils as in… demons?” Amy said.

“Yes, demons.”

“Real demons?” Gavin said incredulously. “The terrorists you’re talking about are demons? As in evil spirits, horns, the devil?”
He brought his index fingers to his head and mocked a set of horns.

“Gavin,” Amy said, pulling down his arms.

“It’s all right, my dear,” Buck said. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me. But you wanted the truth.”

Gavin took a moment to let everything sink in. If he hadn’t been so tired and far from home he would have simply thanked the
preacher and left. But under the bizarre circumstance he had somehow allowed himself to fall into and with the colossal waste
of time so completely unredeemable, all he could do was reveal a rare smile while shaking his head. “May I?” he said, reaching
for the pitcher of iced tea.

“By all means, help yourself, my son.”

“Thank you,” Gavin said and filled his glass, then motioned it toward Amy. She nodded and he topped off her glass as well.
“Excellent iced tea, Buck.”

“The secret is to not use more than two teabags per gallon and to not squeeze the lemons. Just let them sit and float overnight
in the fridge.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Gavin said, then looked at Amy. If Chris Grella had been sitting in her seat, he would never
have let him forget this. But Amy wasn’t Chris. She was someone whom Gavin had allowed to enter into an arena she had no experience
in. This was not her fault as much as it was his. It was a lesson for both of them and maybe next time she wouldn’t be so
headstrong.

“Now, Krogan…” Amy said, apparently wanting to proceed anyway.

“Yes.”

“If he’s… I mean, if
it’s
busy controlling the guy in the sketch…”

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose there’s another demon talking to us through Karianne.”

“Exactly.”

“Buck, I don’t suppose you have anything stronger than tea?” Gavin said, too tired to get mad at Amy for continuing. The smart
thing would be to surrender for now and let her finish without interruption, if he could bear it. He would just have to refocus
when they got back to the island.

“Wine?”

“I was thinking more like scotch.”

“Sorry.”

“Does the demon speaking to us through Karianne have a name?” Amy said.

Funny question, Gavin thought. Would Buck’s delusion be so complete he could readily provide another demon’s name? Or would
he have to think about it? Gavin then tried to think of what he would name a demon if he were asked on the spot to produce
one. Nothing came to mind.

“Yes, but you must promise me not to speak it in her presence,” Buck said.

He’s buying time to think, Gavin thought.

“Why?” Amy asked, as if she was actually interested.

“If you speak to a demon without the proper authority they tend to act badly.”

Amy nodded. Gavin rolled his eyes.

“You must not take this warning lightly.”

“We won’t,” Amy said reassuringly.

Buck looked at both of them for a long moment. “Sabah. You’ve been speaking to Sabah. Under hypnosis, Sabah has been talking
through Miss Stordal.”

Gavin had just lifted his tea to his mouth, but pulled it back down. “Saahhbaaahhh?” he said, exaggerating Buck’s pronunciation.
He was sure he could have done better.

“Yes.”

“Karianne is really a demon named Sabah?” Gavin said.

“No. Of course not. Haven’t you been listening? Karianne is Karianne. Sabah is Sabah. Sabah is no more Karianne than the man
on the cover of that newspaper is Krogan.”

“Because Krogan’s really a demon controlling the man,” Amy said.

“That’s right.”

“Excuse me, but how could you possibly know the name of a demon in Karianne?” Gavin said.

Buck paused thoughtfully before answering. “Detective, have you ever been involved in deliverance?”

“Deliverance?”

“Yes. You might know it better as exorcism, thanks to a particular horror movie in the seventies that sensationalized something
that for thousands of years has been treated very seriously by those who know and serve the Lord.”

First Katz and his reincarnation, now this, Gavin thought. “I’m listening.”

“Three days before the night of the crash in Norway, I was ministering deliverance at what you might call a church meeting,
as I often did back then. Many were getting freed from demons of fear, depression, suicide, sarcasm, anger, bitterness, and
a host of addictions. It was toward the end of the meeting that a young man pleaded with me to deliver him from a spirit of
alcoholism.”

“A spirit of alcoholism,” Gavin said flatly. He wondered how many patients in psychiatric wards thought they could see and
talk to demons. He was also wondering about Amy. Was she just playing psychologist or did she really believe this interview
was getting them somewhere?

“That’s correct.”

“I thought alcoholism was a disease.”

“It is a disease, but sometimes it’s more.”

“Go on, Buck,” Amy said.

“I prayed for the young man and commanded the spirit to reveal its name.”

“Now why would you do that?” Gavin interrupted.

“One, so I know what I’m dealing with, and two, because demons happen to be very legalistic; not unlike lawyers, they can
be very exacting and deceptive. I find that by speaking to them by name, they are easier to deal with.”

“If it doesn’t want to tell you its name, why doesn’t it just not tell you?” Gavin said, thinking this was perhaps even more
ridiculous than Katz’s explanations.

“Simple, Detective. Because I speak to them in the name of my Lord and they have no choice but to obey, albeit sometimes with
quite a bit of kicking and screaming, so to speak. Try to think in terms of what your badge can do for you when it’s shown.
People obey you because of the authority behind your badge. The name of God carries supreme authority. He is my badge.”

“Buck, I’m a Christian. I mean, I’m not beating the church door down every week, but I believe in God. But real demons controlling
real lives… in this day and age? Come on! This isn’t a movie!”

“Jesus spoke about demons all the time, Detective.”

“Jesus lived two thousand years ago.” Gavin’s patience was wearing thin. Amy gave him a warning look.

“Please continue,” she said to Buck.

“Well, the demon told me its name was Sabah. The young man had no way of knowing the words that came out of his mouth actually
meant ‘heavy drinker’ in ancient Hebrew.”