“I believe the anterior limbs of the creature are more vulnerable,” Frock continued. “The Extrapolator described them as being less robust. The metacarpals and the carpals should both be vulnerable to a direct hit.”
“The front knee and the lower leg,” Pendergast said, nodding. “The shots you’ve described already are hardly garden variety. To what extent would the creature have to be broken down to immobilize it?”
“Difficult to say. Both front legs and at least one rear leg, I’m afraid. Even then, it could crawl.” Frock coughed. “Can you do it?”
“To have a chance, I’d need at least a hundred and fifty feet of shooting space if the creature were charging. Ideally, I’d get the first shot in before the creature knew what was happening. That would slow it down.”
Frock thought for a moment. “The Museum contains several straight, long corridors, three or four hundred feet long. Unfortunately, most of them are now cut in half by these damned security doors. I believe that there’s at least one unobstructed corridor within Cell Two, however. On the first floor, in Section Eighteen, around the corner from the Computer Room.”
Pendergast nodded. “I’ll remember that,” he said. “In case this plan fails.”
“I hear something!” Margo hissed.
They fell silent. Pendergast moved closer to the door.
“A shadow just passed across the light at the end of the hall,” she whispered.
There was another long silence.
“It’s here,” Margo breathed, “I can see it.” Then, even softer: “Oh, my God.”
Pendergast murmured in Margo’s ear: “Move away from the door!”
[390] She backed up, hardly daring to breathe. “What’s it doing?” she whispered.
“It’s stopped at the door to the Secure Area,” Pendergast replied quietly. “It went in for a moment, and then backed out very fast. It’s looking around, smelling the air.”
“What does it look like?” Frock asked, an urgency in his voice.
Pendergast hesitated a moment before answering. “I’ve got a better view of it this time. It’s big, it’s massive. Wait, it’s turning this way ... Good Lord, it’s a horrible sight, it’s ... Flattened face, small red eyes. Thin fur on the upper body. Just like the figurine. Hold on ... Hold on a minute ... it’s coming this way.”
Margo suddenly realized she had moved back to the far wall. A snuffling sound came through the door. And then the rank, fetid smell. She slid to the floor in the heavy darkness, the peephole in the cardboard wavering like a star. Pendergast’s flashlight shone feebly. Starlight... A small voice in Margo’s head was trying to speak.
And then a shadow fell over the peephole and everything went black.
There was a soft muffled thud against the door, and the old wood creaked. The doorknob rattled. There was a long silence, the sound of something heavy moving outside, and a sharp cracking as the creature pressed against the door.
The voice inside Margo’s head suddenly became audible.
“Pendergast, turn on your miner’s lamp!” she burst out. “Shine it at the beast!”
“What are you talking about!”
“It’s nocturnal, remember? It probably hates light.”
“That’s absolutely correct!” cried Frock.
“Stay back!” Pendergast shouted. Margo heard a small click, then the brilliance of the miner’s light blinded her momentarily. As her vision returned, she saw [391] Pendergast on one knee, his gun leveled at the door, the bright circle of light focused directly on its center.
There was another crunching noise, and Margo could see splinters spray into the room from a widening split in the upper panel. The door bowed inward.
Pendergast stayed steady, sighting along the levelled barrel.
There was another tremendous splintering sound and the door broke inward in pieces, swinging crazily on bent hinges. Margo pressed herself against the wall, forcing herself into it until her spine creaked in protest. She heard Frock shout in amazement, wonder, and fear. The creature squatted in the doorway, a monstrous silhouette in the bright light; then, with a sudden throaty roar, it shook its head and backed out.
“Keep back,” Pendergast said. He kicked the broken door aside and moved cautiously out into the hall. Margo heard a sudden shot, then another. Then, silence. After what seemed an eternity, Pendergast returned, motioning them forward. A trail of small red droplets led down the hallway and around the corner.
“Blood!” Frock said, bending forward with a grunt. “So you wounded it!”
Pendergast shrugged. “Perhaps. But I wasn’t the first. The droplets originate from the direction of the subbasement. See? Lieutenant D’Agosta or one of his men must have wounded it earlier but not disabled it. It moved away with amazing speed.”
Margo looked at Frock. “Why didn’t it take the bait?”
Frock returned her gaze. “We’re dealing with a creature possessed of preternatural intelligence.”
“What you’re saying is that it detected our trap,” Pendergast said, a note of disbelief in his voice.
“Let me ask you, Pendergast. Would youhave fallen for that trap?”
Pendergast was silent. “I suppose not,” he said at length.
[392] “Well, then,” said Frock. “We underestimated the creature. We muststop thinking of it as a dumb animal. It has the intelligence of a human being. Did I understand correctly that the body they found in the exhibition was hidden?The beast knew it was being hunted. Obviously, it had learned to conceal its prey. Besides—” he hesitated. “I think we’re dealing with more than simply hunger now. Chances are, it’s been temporarily sated by this evening’s human diet. But it’s also been wounded. If your analogy of the cape buffalo is correct, this creature may not only be hungry, but angry.”
“So you think it’s gone hunting,” Pendergast said quietly.
Frock remained motionless. Then he gave a barely perceptible nod.
“So who’s it hunting now?” Margo asked. No one answered.
= 55 =
Cuthbert checked the door again. It was locked and rock solid. He flicked on the flashlight and shined it in the direction of Wright, slumped in his chair and looking morosely at the floor. Cuthbert switched off the flashlight. The room reeked of whisky. There was no noise except for the rain splattering and drumming against the barred window.
“What are we going to do with Wright?” he asked in a low tone.
“Don’t worry,” Rickman replied, her voice tight and high. “We’ll just tell the press he’s sick and pack him off to the hospital, then schedule a press conference for tomorrow afternoon—”
“I’m not talking about afterwe get out. I’m talking about now. If the beast comes up here.”
“Please, Ian, don’t talk like that. It scares me. I can’t imagine the animal is going to do that. For all we know, it’s been in the basement for years. Why would it come up here now?”
[394] “I don’t know,” said Cuthbert. “That’s what worries me.” He checked the Ruger once again. Five shots.
He went over to Wright and shook the Director’s shoulder. “Winston?”
“Are you still here?” Wright asked, looking up hazily.
“Winston, I want you to take Lavinia and go into the Dinosaur Hall. Come along.”
Wright slapped Cuthbert’s arm away. “I’m fine just where I am. Maybe I’ll take a nap.”
“The devil with you, then,” said Cuthbert. He sat down in a chair opposite the door.
There was a brief noise—a rattle—at the door, as if the doorknob had been turned, then released.
Cuthbert jumped up, gun in hand. He walked close to the door and listened.
“I hear something,” he said quietly. “Get into the Dinosaur Hall, Lavinia.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me go in there alone.”
“Do as I say.”
Rickman walked over to the far door and opened it. She hesitated.
“Go on.”
“Ian—” Rickman pleaded. Behind her, Cuthbert could see the huge dinosaur skeletons looming out of the darkness. The great black ribs and yawning rows of teeth were suddenly illuminated by a streak of livid lightning.