The Tree of Knowledge, Daniel Miller [unputdownable books txt] 📗

entrance to slow whoever was coming around the doorway. With seemingly inhuman strength, he threw the tall blonde woman over his shoulder and ran out the side door. The barn went black, and Albert coughed as the smoke filled his lungs. They’ve cut the power.

“Now,” screamed Brick.

Turner, Ying, and Albert hurled themselves through the back door. The field in back issued a vacant, haunting silence in contrast to the cluttered chaos inside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but peering through the darkness, Albert could see the fence surrounding the backyard with a small gate at its center and, beyond, silhouettes of hay bales. The stars and moon shone bright across the lawn. Albert wished they’d taken the night off to give them cover. The group tiptoed through the straw grass toward the gate, each crunch of earth under their feet louder than the one before.

As Ying opened the latch on the gate door, the creak of old wood and stiff hinges screeched through the crisp night air.

“Freeze,” shouted a deep male voice.

Before Albert could freeze, Turner shoved him through the swinging gate and down to the ground.

“Albert, listen to me,” Turner whispered as they lay, faces buried into the ground. “Take Ying out to the range and hide behind the hay bales. Brick, Gabe, and I will grab the van from the maintenance shed and pick you up there in a minute.”

“What about Salazar and Ariel?”

“Trust me. They can take care of themselves.”

Albert couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Professor. I’m not leaving y—”

“Puddles, now is not the time for debate.”

Albert lifted his face off the cool, prickly blades of grass, grabbed Ying, and the two of them sprinted down toward the hay bales. He shuffled behind her but then looked back and stopped. He could smell a faint whiff of tear gas as it billowed from the farmhouse. It was dark, but Albert could make out Turner backed up against the fence, both hands clutching his walking stick parallel to the ground.

The nose of an FBI agent’s gun poked out through the gate door.

Albert braced himself to shout a warning to Turner, but before the words could leave his mouth, Turner snapped his stick against the butt of the gun, launching both the gun and FBI agent attached to it forward toward the ground. The one opening that the professor needed. He grabbed the gun from the agent’s hand and used it to hurl him against the fence. The agent’s black-uniform-clad body sent wood planks scattering to the ground.

“Freeze,” said another agent from behind Turner. “Put your hands—”

In one seamless motion, Turner jammed the butt of the assault weapon into the agent’s helmet and then swiveled back to the other man he had just tossed against the fence.

The aging academic then looked up and noticed Albert staring at him from the field.

Turner took a deep breath, adjusted his sport coat, and brushed his hair back into position. With the same leisurely composure that he adopted to offer lemonade to guests at his home, Turner said through clenched teeth, “Dr. Puddles, I would greatly appreciate it if you would adjourn to the firing range. I will meet you out there after I speak with our friend from the FBI.”

Chapter 2

“What the hell is taking so long?” snapped Eva to Agent Beel.

The two of them were stashed inside a black Suburban while the rest of the FBI team assaulted the farmhouse. Eva was not used to being a bystander, but the bureau had demanded that she be excluded from any tactical operations as a condition of her involvement. A condition that she was rapidly regretting. The stale air in the air-conditioning-less SUV stifled Eva, and the presence of Beel and his aura of Axe body spray exacerbated her claustrophobia.

“Would you relax,” said Beel, loudly slurping on a Diet Coke, his fifth of the day. “It’s a big farm, so it’s going to take them a little while to track everybody down. Trust me, within five minutes, they’re going to be coming out either the door on the left or the door on the right in handcuffs.” He pointed to the east and west side of the main house, each of which was guarded by an agent.

At that moment, two agents exited the east side of the house with a short, stocky man in a cowboy hat and a tall blonde woman in tow. Eva couldn’t help but notice that the man in the cowboy hat seemed to possess a knowing smirk.

“See, I told you they’d be fine.” Beel ran his palm against his over-gelled hair in self-satisfaction.

Eva suspected Beel was right, but she couldn’t ignore the nausea that had crept over her since they arrived at the Travis Farm. She folded her arms across her stomach and stiffened in the black leather seat. It’s too easy. Turner’s too smart to go out this way.

“I don’t like it. It feels like the riddle of the two guards,” she mumbled to herself.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just talking to myself.” The last thing Eva wanted was more conversation with Beel.

“What’s the riddle of the two guards?” Beel asked, taking another slurp from his can.

“Nothing. It’s just a logic puzzle I liked when I was a kid.” Eva looked out the tinted passenger window into the darkness, attempting to signal that the conversation was over.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Can we focus on the operation?”

“Oh, c’mon. We’re just sitting here with our thumbs up our asses. We might as well entertain ourselves.” Beel crushed the pop can, tossed it on the floor in the back seat, and pivoted toward Eva. He wasn’t going away.

Eva sighed and spat out the riddle. “You are trapped in a room with two doors—not unlike how I’m trapped in this car with you right now—each being protected by a guard.”

“OK.”

“One door leads to certain death, the other to freedom. You don’t know which door, but the guards do. Here’s the catch . . . one of