“D’Agosta here,” came the tense voice. “Listen, Coffey—”
“Where have you been? I told you—”
“Shut up and listen, Coffey. You were making too much noise, I had to shut you off. We’re on our way to the subbasement. There’s a creature loose somewhere in Cell Two. I’m not kidding you, Coffey, it’s a fucking monster. It killed Ippolito and ran into the Hall. We had to get out.”
“A what?You’re losing it, D’Agosta. Get a grip, you hear me? We’re sending men in through the roof.”
“Yeah? Well, they’d better have some heavy shit ready if they plan on meeting up with this thing.”
“D’Agosta, let me handle it. What’s this about Ippolito?”
“He’s dead, slashed open, just like all the other stiffs.”
“And a monster did this. Okay, sure. Any other police officers with you, D’Agosta?”
[348] “Yeah, there’s Bailey.”
“I’m relieving you of duty. Put Bailey on.”
“Fuck you. Here’s Bailey.”
“Sergeant,” Coffey barked, “You’re in charge now. What’s the situation?”
“Mr. Coffey, he’s right. We had to leave the Hall of the Heavens. We went down the back stairwell near the service area. There’s over thirty of us, including the Mayor. No shit, there’s really something in here.”
“Give me a break, Bailey. Did you see it?”
“I’m not sure what I saw, sir, but D’Agosta saw it, and Jesus, sir, you should see what it did to Ippolito—”
“Listen to me, Bailey. Are you gonna calm down and take over?”
“No sir. As far as I’m concerned, he’s in charge.”
“I just put youin charge!”
Coffey snorted and looked up, enraged. “The son of a bitch just cut me off.”
Outside in the rain, Greg Kawakita stood motionless amid a cacophony of yelling, sobbing, and cursing. He remained oblivious to the pelting rain that plastered his black hair to his forehead; the emergency vehicles that passed by, sirens shrieking; the panicky guests that jostled him as they ran past. Again and again he replayed in his mind what Margo and Frock had barked at him. He opened and closed his mouth, moved forward as if to reenter the Museum. Then, slowly, he turned, pulled his sodden tuxedo closer around his narrow shoulders, and walked thoughtfully into the darkness.
= 50 =
Margo jumped as a second gunshot echoed down the hall.
“What’s happening?” she cried. In the darkness, she felt Frock’s grip tighten.
Outside, they heard running steps. Then the yellow glow of a flashlight streaked by beneath the doorframe.
“That smell is growing fainter,” she whispered. “Do you think it’s gone?”
“Margo,” Frock replied quietly, “you saved my life. You risked your own life to save mine.”
There came a soft knocking at the door. “Who is it?” Frock asked in a steady tone.
“Pendergast,” a voice said, and Margo rushed to open the door. The FBI agent stood outside, a large revolver in one hand and crumpled blueprints in the other. His crisp well-tailored black suit contrasted with his dirt-streaked face. He shut the door behind him.
“I’m pleased to see you both safe and sound,” he said, shining his light first on Margo and then Frock.
[350] “Not half as pleased as we are!” Frock cried. “We came down here searching for you. Were those shots yours?”
“Yes,” Pendergast said. “And I assume it was you I heard calling my name?”
“Then you didhear me!” Frock said. “That’s how you knew to look for us in here.”
Pendergast shook his head. “No.” He handed Margo a flashlight as he started unfolding his crumpled blueprints. Margo saw they were covered with handwritten notes.
“The New York Historical Society will be very unhappy when they see the liberties I’ve taken with their property,” the agent observed dryly.
“Pendergast,” Frock hissed, “Margo and I have discovered exactly what this killer is. You mustlisten. It isn’t a human being or any animal we know. Please, let me explain.”
Pendergast looked up. “I don’t need any convincing, Doctor Frock.”
Frock blinked. “You don’t? You will? I mean, you will help us stop the opening upstairs, get the people out?”
“It’s too late for that,” Pendergast said. “I’ve been talking by police radio to Lieutenant D’Agosta and others. This power failure isn’t just affecting the basement, it’s affecting the entire Museum. The security system has failed, and all the emergency doors have come down.”
“You mean—” Margo began.
“I mean the Museum has been compartmentalized into five isolated cells. We’re in Cell Two. Along with the people in the Hall of the Heavens. And the creature.”
“What happened?” Frock asked.
“There was a panic even before the power went out and the doors came down. A dead body was discovered inside the exhibition. A police officer. Most of the guests managed to get out, but thirty or forty are trapped inside the Hall of the Heavens.” He smiled ruefully. “I was in [351] the exhibition myself, just a few hours before. I wanted to get a look at this Mbwun figurine you mentioned. If I’d gone in by the rear exit instead of the front, perhaps I would have found the body myself, and prevented all this. However, I did get a chance to see the figurine, Doctor Frock. And it’s an excellent representation. Take it from somebody who knows.”
Frock stared, his mouth open.
“You’ve seen it?” Frock managed to whisper.
“Yes. That’s what I was shooting at. I was down around the corner from this storeroom when I heard you call my name. Then I noticed an awful smell. I ducked into a room and watched it go by. I came out after it and got off a shot, but it grazed off the thing’s scalp. Then the lights went out. I followed it around the corner and saw it grasping at this door, snuffling.” Pendergast flicked open the revolver’s cylinder, and replaced the two spent cartridges. “ That’show I knew you were in here.”
“My God,” Margo said.
Pendergast holstered his gun. “I got off a second shot at it, but I was having trouble aiming my weapon, and I missed. I came down this way to look for it, but the thing had vanished. It must have gone into the stairwell at the end of the corridor. There’s no other way out from this cul-de-sac.”
“Mr. Pendergast,” Frock said urgently. “Tell me, please: what did it look like?”
“I saw it only briefly,” Pendergast said slowly. “It was low, extremely powerful looking. It walked on all fours, but could rear upright. It was partially covered with hair.” He pursed his lips, nodded. “It was dark. But I’d say whoever made that figurine knew what he was doing.”
In the glow of Pendergast’s light, Margo saw a strange mix of fear, exhilaration, and triumph cross Frock’s face. Then a series of muffled explosions echoed and [352] reechoed above them. There was a brief silence, and then more reports, sharper and louder, boomed nearby.
Pendergast looked upward, listening intently. “D’Agosta!” he said. Drawing his gun and dropping the blueprints, he raced out into the corridor.
Margo ran to the door and shined the flashlight down the hallway. In its thin beam, she could see Pendergast rattling the stairwell door. He knelt to inspect the lock, then, standing, he gave the door a series of savage kicks.
“It’s jammed shut,” he said when he returned. “Those shotgun blasts we heard sounded like they came from inside the stairwell. Some of the shells must have bent the doorframe and damaged the lock. It won’t budge.” He holstered the gun and pulled out his radio. “Lieutenant D’Agosta! Vincent, can you hear me?” He waited a moment, then shook his head and replaced the radio in his jacket pocket.
“So we’re stuck here?” Margo asked.
Pendergast shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve spent the afternoon down in these vaults and tunnels, trying to determine how the beast was able to elude our searches. These blueprints were drafted well before the turn of the century, and they are complicated and contradictory, but they seem to show a route out of the Museum through the subbasement. With everything sealed off, there’s no other feasible way out for us. And there are several ways to access the subbasement from this section of the Museum.”