"That's a terrible thought," Selena said.
The taxi let them off at the foot of the broad steps leading up to the museum. Huge banners hung on the front of the building, announcing a special exhibition in Impressionist art. They climbed the steps and Nick handed over seventy-five dollars for three tickets. Inside, the cavernous entrance hall echoed with footsteps and voices. An octagonal marble information desk with literature and maps sat front and center. The many wings and galleries of the museum lay beyond.
Nick got maps from the desk and a handout on the Impressionist exhibition. He kept one of the maps and handed the others to Selena and Ronnie.
Ronnie looked at his map. "There are hundreds of rooms in here. How do we find him?"
"We can't look in every room," Selena said. "It would take all day."
"You have any ideas where to start?" Nick said.
"Where are the most people going to be?"
"Probably at that special exhibition."
"Then let's start there."
Nick consulted the handout. "It's on the second floor."
They took the stairs to the second floor. Signs pointed to the left for the exhibition. They passed through a room displaying drawings and prints from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The next gallery was hung with photographs. They turned right through another gallery of photographs and entered the special exhibition hall.
"How are we going to take him, if he's in here?" Selena asked. "The room's full of people."
"Carefully," Nick said. "Very carefully."
They scanned the room.
"I don't see him," Selena said.
"Let's check out the far side."
They worked their way through the crowd.
"I think that's him," Ronnie said. "In front of that painting over there."
Schmidt stood in front of a large canvas by Vincent van Gogh. His hands were out of sight, clasped in front of him. The painting was alive with inner light. There wasn't much on the canvas. A few dark lines suggested a plowed field. Dark birds circled in the sky. A vibrant sun blazed down with white heat from an endless sky.
Nick came up to Schmidt and stood next to him, looking at the canvas. Ronnie and Selena were a few steps away on either side.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Schmidt said. "This is one of van Gogh's last paintings. He was mad by then, almost at the end. The crows in the sky tell you that. I know who you are, Carter. I saw you and the others come in."
Nick suppressed his surprise. "Then you know why I'm here."
"You're here for this."
Schmidt held up a silver aerosol canister he'd been concealing in his hands. His thumb covered a red button on the side of the can.
"You can't stop me, you know. The contents of this can are under extremely high pressure. If I press the button or drop the can it will discharge. You know what happens when someone coughs or sneezes? Microscopic droplets explode from the nostrils and mouth at over two hundred miles an hour. This is more powerful than that. Everyone in this room will be exposed."
"So will you," Nick said.
How do I get it away from him?
"But I'm protected. You aren't."
He held the can up.
"Mister, are you going to make graffiti on that picture?"
The disapproving voice came from a young girl, about ten years old.
For just an instant, Schmidt was distracted. It was long enough. Nick delivered a hard upward chop to Schmidt's wrist. The lethal can flew high into the air, tumbling in a lazy arc as it started down toward the floor. Ronnie dove headlong and caught it just as it was about to land.
Schmidt cursed and drove his elbow into Nick's gut, doubling him over. The girl screamed.
Selena moved in. Schmidt launched a kick toward her hip. He caught her off balance and knocked her down. Around them, people backed away. Schmidt ran for the door and Selena bounded to her feet and ran after him. She caught him at the entrance with a sweeping kick that took his legs out from under him. Schmidt rolled, pulled out a pistol and fired at her. She swept the gun from his hand with her leg and kicked the side of his head with the steel toe of her shoe. Something cracked, the sound loud and ugly. Schmidt's eyes rolled back. Blood trickled from his mouth.
People were screaming and running out of the hall.
Nick ran up to her. "You all right?"
"He missed. I'm all right, but he isn't."
On the floor, Schmidt's body convulsed. His feet beat a short tattoo on the floor. He let out a gurgling sound and died.
"I wish you hadn't killed him," Nick said.
"I didn't mean to. I went on automatic."
"Don't worry about it."
Ronnie came over, holding the canister as if it were a bomb about to explode.
"Nice catch," Nick said.
"I used to play center field."
"You haven't lost the touch."
"He was really going to let that stuff go, wasn't he?" Selena said.
"He was. If that little girl hadn't come up, I don't think I could've stopped him."
The vast exhibition hall was almost empty, except for museum guards watching them and keeping their distance. The guards weren't armed. It would be only minutes before the police arrived.
"We better get out of here while we can," Ronnie said, "unless you want to answer a lot of questions."
"Too late," Selena said. "The cops are here."
"FREEZE!" The shout echoed in the empty hall. Half a dozen police had their guns out and pointed in their direction.
"Harker is going to hate this," Ronnie said.
CHAPTER 59
"Can't you ever do something without making a public spectacle out of yourselves?"
Elizabeth looked cool and efficient in her tailored black pants suit and white blouse. Her cat-like green eyes flashed with annoyance.
"We didn't have much of a choice, Director," Nick said. He rubbed his chin, feeling a two-day stubble. There hadn't been time to shave.
They were back in Virginia. It had taken serious pressure and the invocation of the magic words National Security before the NYPD would let them go.
"I sent the canister down to CDC in Atlanta. Now that they have a sample it will be easier to find a way to defeat it. That's the good news. The bad news is that Gutenberg is still out there. He's not going to quit just because Schmidt didn't succeed."
"I can guess what you're going to say next," Nick said.
"He must have more of the plague stashed somewhere and we need to find it. You're going to Switzerland. Gutenberg is holed up in his château. "
"Here are the satellite shots," Stephanie said. The wall monitor lit.
"Fancy digs," Ronnie said.
The château was four stories high, set on a bump of land sticking out like a thumb into the Rhône. Tall, pointed towers and spires gave it a fairytale quality. It looked as if it belonged in a movie about arrogant nobles and men with plumed hats and long swords.
A tree-lined drive led to a high, stone wall and an iron gate that opened into a large, paved courtyard. There was a guardhouse outside the gate and a large fountain in the middle of the courtyard. The wall was topped with jagged pieces of glass and ran all the way around the building. In the back, the wall descended past ground level to the river's edge. A heavy retaining wall foundation kept the château from crumbling into the river.
"It was built early in the eighteenth century," Stephanie said. "There are over a hundred and fifty rooms."
"Perfect for that casual weekend get-together," Ronnie said.
"Here are the original plans," Stephanie said. She touched her keyboard and architectural drawings filled the screen. "I found them in the archives of the local city hall. The Swiss are obsessive about keeping records."
The drawings showed three separate chapels, a grand ballroom, a large room that was probably for dining, a drawing room and library and many smaller rooms on the ground floor. A sweeping staircase led to the upper stories. Servant's stairs were hidden away out of sight of the main rooms. A maze of concealed passages went behind the walls, allowing servants to move about the house unobtrusively, where they wouldn't annoy the nobility. Steps led down from a huge kitchen to arched vaults of stone built under the château.