“That means we can meet up with the people still upstairs, then escape together!” Margo said.
Pendergast looked grim. “But that also means the beast can find its way back into the subbasement. Personally, I think that while these emergency doors may prevent our own rescue, they won’t hamper the beast’s movement much. I believe it’s been around long enough to find its own secret ways, and that it can move throughout the Museum—or, at least, the lower levels—practically at will.”
[353] Margo nodded. “We think it’s been living in the Museum for years. And we think we know how and why it came here.”
Pendergast looked searchingly at Margo for a long moment. “I need you and Doctor Frock to tell me everything you know about this creature, as quickly as possible,” he said.
As they turned to enter the storeroom, Margo heard a distant drumming, like slow thunder. She froze, listening intently. The thunder seemed to have a voice: crying or shouting, she wasn’t sure which.
“What was that?” she whispered.
“That,” Pendergast said quietly, “is the sound of people in the stairwell, running for their lives.”
= 51 =
In the faint light filtering in through the barred laboratory window, Wright could barely make out the old filing cabinet. It was damned lucky, he thought, that the lab was inside the perimeter of Cell Two. Not for the first time, he was glad he’d kept this old laboratory when he’d been promoted to Director. It would provide them with a temporary safe haven, a little breathing room. Cell Two was now completely cut off from the rest of the Museum, and they were effectively prisoners. Everything, all the emergency bars, shutters, and security gates, had come down during the loss of power. At least that’s what he’d heard that incompetent police officer, D’Agosta, say.
“Someone is going to pay dearly for this,” Wright muttered to himself. Then they all fell quiet. Now that they had stopped running, the enormity of the disaster began to sink in.
Wright moved gingerly forward, pulling out one [355] file-cabinet drawer after another, fishing behind the folders until at last he found what he was looking for.
“Ruger .357 magnum,” he said, hefting it in his hands. “Great pistol. Excellent stopping power.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to stop whatever killed Ippolito,” said Cuthbert. He was standing near the laboratory door, a still figure framed in black.
“Don’t worry, Ian. One of these speedball bullets would perforate an elephant. I bought this after old Shorter was mugged by a vagrant. Anyway, the creature isn’t coming up here. And if he does, this door is solid oak two inches thick.”
“What about that one?” Cuthbert pointed toward the rear of the office.
“That goes into the Hall of Cretaceous Dinosaurs. It’s just like this one—solid oak.” He tucked the Ruger into his belt. “Those fools, going into the basement like so many lemmings. They should have listened to me.”
He rummaged in the file drawer again and pulled out a flashlight. “Excellent. Haven’t used this in years.”
He snapped it on and a feeble beam shot out, wavering as his hand shook a little.
“Not much juice left in that torch, I’d say,” Cuthbert murmured.
Wright turned it off. “We’ll only use it in an emergency.”
“Please!” Rickman spoke suddenly. “Please leave it on. Just for a minute.” She was sitting on a stool in the center of the room, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Winston, what are we going to do? We must have a plan.”
“First things first,” said Wright. “I need a drink, that’s Plan A. My nerves are shot.” He made his way to the far side of the lab and shone the light in an old cabinet, finally pulling out a bottle. There was a clink of glass.
“Ian?” asked Wright.
“Nothing for me,” Cuthbert replied.
[356] “Lavinia?”
“No, no, I couldn’t.”
Wright came back and sat down at a worktable. He filled the tumbler and drank it off in three gulps. Then he refilled it. Suddenly, the room was full of the warm, peaty scent of single-malt scotch.
“Easy there, Winston,” said Cuthbert.
“We can’t stay here, in the dark,” Rickman said nervously. “There must be an exit somewhere on this floor.”
“I’m telling you, everything’s sealed off,” Wright snapped.
“What about the Dinosaur Hall?” said Rickman, pointing to the rear door.
“Lavinia,” said Wright, “the Dinosaur Hall has only one public entrance, and that’s been sealed by a security door. We’re completely locked in. But you don’t need to worry, because whatever killed Ippolito and the others won’t be after us. It’ll go after the easy kill, the group blundering around in the basement.”
There was a swallowing sound, then the loud snackof glass hitting the table. “I say we stay here for another half-hour, wait it out. Then, we’ll go back down into the exhibition. If they haven’t restored power and unsealed the doors by then, I know of another way out. Throughthe exhibition.”
“You seem to know all kinds of hiding places,” Cuthbert said.
“This used to be my lab. Once in awhile I still like to come down here, get away from the administrative headaches, be near my dinosaurs again.” He chuckled and drank.
“I see,” said Cuthbert acidly.
“Part of the Superstitionexhibition is mounted in what used to be the old Trilobite Alcove. I put in a lot of hours down there many years ago. Anyway, there was a passageway to the Broadway corridor behind one of the old trilobite displays. The door was boarded up years ago to make room for another display case. I’m sure that [357] when they were building Superstition, they just nailed a piece of plywood over it and painted it. We could kick it in, shoot off the lock with this if necessary.”
“That sounds feasible,” said Rickman eagerly.
“I don’t recall hearing about any such door in the exhibition,” Cuthbert said dubiously. “I’m sure Security would have known about it.”
“It was years ago, I tell you,” Wright snapped. “It was boarded over and forgotten.”
There was a long silence while Wright poured another drink.
“Winston,” Cuthbert said, “put that drink down.”
The Director took a long swig, then hung his head. His shoulders slumped.
“Ian,” he murmured finally. “How could this have happened? We’re ruined, you know.”
Cuthbert was silent.
“Let’s not bury the patient before the diagnosis,” said Rickman, in a desperately bright voice. “Good public relations can repair even the worst damage.”
“Lavinia, we aren’t talking about a few poisoned headache tablets here,” Cuthbert said. “There’s half a dozen dead people, maybe more, lying two floors below us. The bloody Mayoris trapped down there. In a couple of hours, we’ll be on every late news show in the country.”
“We’re ruined,” Wright repeated. A small, strangled sob escaped from his throat, and he laid his head down on the table.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Cuthbert, reaching over for Wright’s bottle and glass and putting them back in the cabinet.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Wright moaned without raising his head.
“Yes, Winston, it’s over,” said Cuthbert. “Frankly, I’ll be happy just to get out of here with my life.”
“Please, Ian, let’s leave here? Please?”Rickman pleaded. She stood up and walked over to the door [358] Wright had closed behind them and swung it open slowly.
“This wasn’t locked!” she said sharply.
“Good Lord,” Cuthbert said, jumping up. Wright, without lifting his head, fished in his pocket and held out a key.
“Fits both doors,” he said in a muffled voice. Rickman’s shaking hand rattled the key loudly in the lock.
“What did we do wrong?” Wright asked plaintively.