We followed the Range Rover west through Los Angeles. Rudolph finally turned onto Sunset Drive and took it all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway. Then he headed north on U.S. Highway 1. I noticed that he was careful to keep the Range Rover at the speed limit inside L.A. But once he hit the open road, he started to fly.

"Where the heck is he going? My heart's in my throat," Kate finally admitted.

"We'll be okay. It seems scary chasing him at night," I said. It did feel as if we were alone with him. Where the h.e.l.l was he going? Was he hunting? If his pattern held, he was due for another killing soon. He had to be in heat.

It turned out to be a very long ride. We watched the stars brighten the coastal California night. Six hours later, we were still tacking on Highway 1. The Range Rover finally pulled off at a quaint, wooden signpost that read Big Sur State Park, among other things.

As if to validate that we were really in Big Sur, we pa.s.sed an antique van with a b.u.mper sticker: VISUALIZE INDUSTRIAL COLLAPSE.

"Visualize Dr. Will Rudolph having a ma.s.sive stroke," Kate growled softly.

I checked my watch as we left the main highway. "It's past three. Getting late for him to get into any serious trouble tonight." I hoped that was the case.

"If there was ever any doubt, this may prove prove he's a bloodsucking vampire," Kate muttered. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and had been for most of the long ride. "He's going off to sleep in his favorite coffin." he's a bloodsucking vampire," Kate muttered. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and had been for most of the long ride. "He's going off to sleep in his favorite coffin."

"Right. That's when we drive a wooden stake through his heart," I told her. We were both a little groggy. I had taken a pill during the ride. Kate declined. She said she knew too much about drugs and was leery of most of them.

We pa.s.sed a complex of directional signs: Point Sur, Pfeiffer Beach, Big Sur Lodge, Ventana, the Esalen Inst.i.tute. Will Rudolph headed in the direction of Big Sur Lodge, Sycamore Canyon, Bottchers Gap Campgrounds.

"I was hoping he would go to Esalen," Kate quipped. "Learn to meditate, deal with his inner turmoil."

"What in h.e.l.l in h.e.l.l is he up to tonight?" I wondered out loud. What were he and Casanova doing? So far it was impossible to figure out. "His is he up to tonight?" I wondered out loud. What were he and Casanova doing? So far it was impossible to figure out. "His hideaway hideaway might be up here in the woods, Kate," I offered a thought. "Maybe he has a house of horror just like Casanova's." might be up here in the woods, Kate," I offered a thought. "Maybe he has a house of horror just like Casanova's."

Twinning, I thought again. It made a lot of sense. They would be providing support systems for each other. Parallel tracks for the two monsters. Where did they meet, though? Did the two of them ever hunt together? I suspected that they had. I thought again. It made a lot of sense. They would be providing support systems for each other. Parallel tracks for the two monsters. Where did they meet, though? Did the two of them ever hunt together? I suspected that they had.

The white Range Rover was winding along a hilly and rather rambunctious side road that branched east from the ocean. Ancient, somber redwoods flashed on either side of the narrow ribbon of highway. A pale full moon seemed to be moving directly above the Rover, following it.

I let him get a safe distance ahead-so that he was actually out of our sight. The huge fir trees seemed to float past out car on either road shoulder. Dark shadows in real life. A bright yellow sign in the headlights read: Impa.s.sable in wet weather. Impa.s.sable in wet weather.

"He's right there, Alex." Kate's warning came a little too late. Kate's warning came a little too late. "He's stopped!" "He's stopped!"

The Gentleman's hooded eyes glared at our car as we pa.s.sed him and the Range Rover.

He had seen us.

Chapter 66.

DR. WILL Rudolph had turned into a rutted, dirt-and-gravel driveway hidden from the main road. He was stooped down inside the Rover, and was gathering an armful of who-knew-what from the backseat. He stared up at pa.s.sing car with a cold, questioning look in his eyes.

I kept speeding along on the blacktop road that was accentuated by overhanging, gnarled black branches. A few hundred yards farther, just around a curve, I eased over onto the narrow shoulder. I stopped in front of a dented metal road sign that promised more dangerous twists and turns in the road up ahead.

"He's stopped at a cabin," I said into the FBI car's two-way radio. "He's on foot, out of the Rover."

"We saw that. We've got him, Alex." John Asaro's voice came back over the two-way radio. "We're on the other side of the cabin now. Looks dark inside. He's turning on lights. El pais grande del sur. El pais grande del sur. That's what the Spanish called this place way back when. Beautiful spot to catch this f.u.c.ker." That's what the Spanish called this place way back when. Beautiful spot to catch this f.u.c.ker."

Kate and I got out of the car. She looked a little pale, understandably so. The temperature was probably in the forties, maybe even the thirties, and the mountain air was bracing. But Kate wasn't shivering just from the damp cold.

"We're going to get him soon," I said to her. "He's starting to make mistakes."

"It could be another house of horror. You were right," she said in a low voice. Her eyes stared straight ahead. I hadn't seen her this unsettled since I'd first met her in the hospital. "It feels feels like it, Alex... feels almost the same. Feels creepy. I'm not being very brave, am I?" like it, Alex... feels almost the same. Feels creepy. I'm not being very brave, am I?"

"Believe me, Kate, I'm not feeling particularly brave right now, either."

The thick coastal fog seemed to roll on forever. My stomach felt icy and sour. We had to get moving.

Kate and I went into the dark screen of woods, heading toward the cabin. The north wind whistled and howled loudly through the towering redwood and fir trees. I had no idea what to expect from here on.

"s.h.i.t," Kate whispered her summation of the night's experience. "I'm not kidding, Alex."

"You've got that right."

El pais grande del sur at three o'clock in the morning. Rudolph had come to a lonely outpost on the edge of the earth. Casanova had a house in the South, in the deep woods, too. A "disappearing" house where he kept a collection of young women. at three o'clock in the morning. Rudolph had come to a lonely outpost on the edge of the earth. Casanova had a house in the South, in the deep woods, too. A "disappearing" house where he kept a collection of young women.

I thought of the spooky diaries in the Los Angeles Times. Los Angeles Times. Could Naomi have been moved out here for some crazy, psychopathic reason? Maybe she was being kept in the cabin, or somewhere nearby? Could Naomi have been moved out here for some crazy, psychopathic reason? Maybe she was being kept in the cabin, or somewhere nearby?

I stopped walking suddenly. I could hear wind chimes, which sounded particularly creepy under the circ.u.mstances. Up ahead, a small cabin was visible. It was pink, with white doors and white window trim. It looked like a pleasant-enough summer place.

"He left a light for us," Kate whispered behind me. "I remember that Casanova used to play loud rock 'n' roll music when he was in the house."

I could tell it was painful for her to be thinking about her captivity again, to be reliving it. "You see any similarities to this cabin?" I asked her. I was trying to be very still inside, trying to get ready for the Gentleman.

"No. I only saw the inside inside of the other place, Alex. Let's hope it won't disappear on us." of the other place, Alex. Let's hope it won't disappear on us."

"I'm hoping for a lot of things right now. I'll put that on the list."

The cabin was an A-frame, and probably built to be a vacation home or weekend retreat. There were three or four bedrooms from the look of it.

I took out my Glock as we got closer. The Glock was the weapon of choice these days in the inner city; it weighed a little over a pound when loaded and was easily concealed. It would probably work fine in el pais grande del sur, el pais grande del sur, too. too.

Kate kept behind me as we moved toward a clearing in the trees that served as a backyard. There were actually two lights glittering and drawing bugs to the house. One was the front-porch lamp. The second was in the back of the cabin. I made my way toward the second, dimmer light in back. I gestured for Kate to stay back, which she did.

This could be the Gentleman Caller, I warned myself. I warned myself. Take it very slow. This could also be a trap. Anything could happen here. There's no predicting from here on. Take it very slow. This could also be a trap. Anything could happen here. There's no predicting from here on.

I could see into a rear bedroom window. I was less than ten steps away from the cabin walls, and probably the ma.s.s murderer who was terrifying the West Coast. Then I saw him. Then I saw him.

Dr. Will Rudolph was pacing around the small wood-paneled room and he was talking to himself. He appeared to be highly agitated. He was hugging himself with both arms. As I moved closer, I could see that he was perspiring heavily. Not in good shape at all. The scene reminded me of "quiet rooms" in mental hospitals, where patients sometimes go to act out their problems and volatile emotions.

Rudolph suddenly screamed at someone... but there was no one else in the room. but there was no one else in the room.

His face and his neck were bright crimson red as he screamed again... at absolutely no one! at absolutely no one!

He was screaming at the top of his lungs. His veins looked ready to burst.

Seeing him like this chilled me, and I slowly backed away from the cabin.

I could still hear his voice, hear the words ringing in my ears: "G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Casanova! Kiss the girls! you, Casanova! Kiss the girls! Kiss the f.u.c.king girls yourself from now on! Kiss the f.u.c.king girls yourself from now on!"

Chapter 67.

"WHAT THE h.e.l.l is Cross doing?" Agent John Asaro asked his partner. They were in the thick woods on the other side of the cabin at Big Sur. The cabin reminded Asaro of The Band's first alb.u.m, Music from Big Pink. Music from Big Pink. He half expected flower children and hippies to step out of the fog. He half expected flower children and hippies to step out of the fog.

"Maybe Cross is a peeping Tom, Johnny. What do I know? He's a guru, a squirrel profiler. He's Kyle Craig's boy," Ray Cosgrove said with a shrug.

"So that means he can do whatever he wants to do?"

"Probably." Cosgrove shrugged a second time. He had seen far too many crazy situations, too many "special accommodations," in his Bureau career to let this one bother him.

"First of all," Cosgrove said, "whether we like it or not, he has Washington's blessing."

"I hate Washington with a freaking pa.s.sion that just won't quit," Asaro said.

"Everybody hates Washington, Johnny. Second, Cross strikes me as a pro at least. He's not just some glory hound. Third," the older, more experienced partner continued, "and most important, what we have on Dr. Rudolph is hardly conclusive evidence that he's our squirrel. Otherwise, we would have called in the LAPD, army, navy, and marines."

"Maybe the late Ms. Lieberman made a mistake when she logged his name into her computer?"

"She definitely made some kind of mistake somewhere, Johnny. Maybe Maybe her hunch was all wrong." her hunch was all wrong."

"Maybe Will Rudolph was an ex-boyfriend of hers? She was just doodling his name on her PC?"

"Doubtful. But a possibility," Cosgrove said.

"So we watch Dr. Rudolph, and we watch Dr. Cross watch Dr. Rudolph?" Agent Asaro said.

"You got it, partner."

"Maybe Dr. Cross and Dr. McTiernan will provide us with a little entertainment at least."

"Hey, you never know about these things," Raymond Cosgrove said. He was smiling now. He thought this whole thing was probably a wild goose chase, but it wouldn't be his first one. This was a huge, nasty case no matter what. It was interstate now, and every possible lead was being chased down with a vengeance. A coast-to-coast serial squirrel connection!

So he and his partner, and two other FBI agents, were going to hang around in the dark woods of Big Sur all night and into the morning, if need be. They would dutifully watch the summer cabin of a plastic surgeon from L.A., who maybe was a real bad killer, but maybe was just a plastic surgeon from L.A.

They would watch Alex Cross and Dr. McTiernan, and speculate about the two of them. Cosgrove wasn't really in the mood for any of this. On the other hand, it was a big case. And if he did happen to catch the Gentleman Caller, he might just become a glory hound himself. He wanted Al Pacino to play him in the movie. Pacino did Spanish guys, right?

Chapter 68.

KATE AND I moved back a safe distance from the cabin. We ducked behind a stand of thick fir trees.

"I heard him scream," Kate said when we got into the deeper woods. "What did you see back there, Alex?"

"I saw the devil." I told her the truth. "I saw an absolutely crazy and evil man talking to himself. If he isn't the Gentleman, he does a great imitation."

The two of us took shifts watching Rudolph's hideaway over the next several hours. That way, we both got some rest. Around six in the morning I met with the FBI team, and they gave me a pocket-sized walkie-talkie in case we needed to talk in a hurry. I still wondered how much they'd told me of what they knew.

When Dr. Will Rudolph eventually made another appearance outside, it was past one o'clock on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. The silver-blue nimbus of sea mist had finally burned off. Scrub jays swooped and hollered over-head. Under different circ.u.mstances, it would have been a nice setting for a weekend in the mountains.

Dr. Rudolph cleaned up in a whitewashed outdoor shower behind the house. He was muscular, with a washboard stomach, and looked agile and fit. He was extremely handsome. He cavorted and danced around in the nude. His bearing seemed a little formal. The Gentleman. The Gentleman.

"He's so unbelievably sure of himself, Alex," Kate said as we watched Rudolph from the woods. "Just look at him."

Everything seemed very odd and ritualistic. Was the dance part of his act? His pattern?

When he finished his shower, he walked across the backyard to a small wildflower garden. He picked about a dozen flowers and brought them into the house. The Gentleman had his flowers! What now? The Gentleman had his flowers! What now?

At four in the afternoon, Rudolph came out of the back screen door of the cabin again. He was dressed in tight black jeans, a plain white pocket T, black leather sandals. He hopped in the Range Rover and drove toward Highway 1.

About two miles south on the coast road, he pulled into a restaurant and cafe called Nepenthe. Kate and I waited on the sandy road shoulder, then we followed the Range Rover into a large, crowded parking lot. Jimi Hendrix's "Electric Ladyland" was playing loudly from speakers hidden in the trees.

"Maybe he's just your average h.o.r.n.y Los Angeles doctor," Kate said as we finally entered the parking area and searched for a s.p.a.ce.

"No. He's the Gentleman, all right. He's our California butcher boy." I was sure of it after watching him the night before, and now today.

Nepenthe was busy, filled mostly with good-looking people in their twenties and thirties, but also a sprinkling of aging hippies, some of whom were sixty or more. Stone-washed jeans, the latest West Coast swimsuit creations, colorful flip-flops, expensive hiking boots were everywhere.

So were a lot of attractive women, I noticed. All ages, all sizes, all ethnic castes. Kiss the girls. Kiss the girls.

I had heard of Nepenthe, actually. It had been hot and famous in the sixties, but, even before that, Orson Welles had bought the desirable, breathtakingly beautiful property for Rita Hayworth.

Kate and I watched how Dr. Rudolph operated at the bar. He was polite. A smile for the bartender. Shared laughter. He looked around and seriously checked out several attractive women. Apparently they weren't attractive enough, though.

He ventured out onto a large fieldstone terrace overlooking the Pacific. Rock music from the seventies and eighties was playing from an expensive sound system. The Grateful Dead. The Doors. The Eagles. This was was Hotel California. Hotel California.

"It's a beautiful spot for it, Alex. Whatever in h.e.l.l he's up to."

"He's up to six. He's looking for victim number seven," I said.

Far below, on an inaccessible beach, we could see sea lions, brown pelicans, cormorants. I wished that Damon and Jannie were here to see them, and I wished the circ.u.mstances of my being here were completely different.

Out on the terrace, I took Kate's hand. "Makes us look like we belong," I said and winked at her.

"Maybe we do." Kate gave an exaggerated wink back.