4
The moment Balenger noticed her, she ran toward the corridor beyond the reading room’s entrance. Balenger’s urgent footsteps startled people at the other tables. He charged past the guard, who scowled at the commotion.
In the corridor, Balenger looked in one direction and then the other. No sign of Karen Bailey. Other people scowled as he ran to the stairway. Again, no sign of her.
“Hey,” he said to a man with a nylon book bag, “did you see a woman in a navy dress? Prim? Around forty? Her hair in a bun?”
The man looked at Balenger’s distraught appearance and stepped back, suspecting he was dangerous.
“All of you!” Balenger called to the half-dozen people in the corridor. “Did anybody see a woman in a navy dress?”
The guard came out of the reading room. “Keep your voice down.”
Balenger rushed along the corridor, checking various exhibition rooms. He reached a women’s room and didn’t think twice about shoving at the door, hurrying inside. At a sink, a woman turned and gaped. Balenger peered under the doors to the stalls. Jeans. Slacks. Nobody in a navy dress.
He bolted from the women’s room and dodged past the guard who tried to grab him.
“Karen Bailey!” Balenger yelled. “Stop!”
Pursued by the guard, Balenger reached the stairs and leapt down two at a time. The next level had closed doors to what looked like offices. Hearing the guard chasing him, Balenger continued to rush downward, only to stop at the sight of Ortega climbing toward him.
“I saw her!” Balenger exclaimed. “Karen Bailey! She’s in the building!”
The guard reached Balenger. “Sir, I need to ask you to leave.”
Ortega pulled out his police identification. “He’s with me.”
“I saw her at the entrance to the reading room,” Balenger said. “The same navy dress. Hair in a bun. Then she ran.”
“I didn’t see anyone who matches that description when I came into the building.” Ortega turned toward the guard. “Tell your security staff to block all the exits. Be careful. She might be dangerous.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call for backup.”
As Balenger and Ortega ran down the stairs, Ortega blurted instructions into his phone. Then he glared at Balenger. “Ducking away from me in the crowd. Leaving me to report to the fire team on my own. Maybe you’d like to get arrested for obstructing an investigation.”
“I didn’t have a choice. I told you there wasn’t time. I couldn’t wait.”
“I was forced to lie and claim you’d gone for medical treatment.”
“Thanks. If I can ever repay you—”
“You made me feel like a damned fool. Don’t play games with someone who’s trying to help.”
“I think that might be what’s going on. A game.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Karen Bailey leaves a piece of paper for me at the theater, but I need to find the theater before I get to read what’s on the paper. A stamp on it leads me to this branch of the library, where I need to pass another test and learn where the paragraph on the paper comes from. It turns out to be from The Hound of the Baskervilles. When I get a copy of the novel, I find words stamped next to the paragraph.”
“Words?”
“The Sepulcher of Worldly Desires.”
“The what?”
“I think I’m supposed to find out what it is. This branch of the library doesn’t lend books, so she could be sure I’d find the message on the page. Step by step, I’m being led through some kind of game. The moor the paragraph refers to is Dartmoor in England. When I Googled Dartmoor, I learned about a hide-and-hunt game invented there a long time ago, a game called letterboxing that sounds like the game I’m being made to play — hidden messages leading to other hidden messages. Some aspects of letterboxing even sound like time capsules. Everything’s related.”
“But why would anybody do this? Do you have enemies? Someone who hates you enough to put you through this?”
“I told you before, the only person I can think of who’d be sick enough to do this is dead.” Balenger hesitated. “Time capsules.”
“Something occur to you?”
“When I was a kid, I found a time capsule in part of a school that was being torn down. The local newspaper made a big deal about it. My photograph was on the front page. It showed me holding the rusted metal box.”
The skin tightened around Ortega’s eyes. “You’re saying someone went to the trouble of researching your past all the way back to when you were a kid? To find the bait that would make you go to the lecture at that house?”
“In the attic, we found two video game cases,” Balenger said. “One was for Grand Theft Auto. You told me you’d never heard of the other one. Do you remember its title?”
Ortega thought for a moment. “Scavenger.”
LEVEL FOUR
AVALON
1
As the roar of the explosion echoed off the distant mountains, Amanda stayed kneeling. Her chest was racked with sobs. Before her, the blood mist continued to drift in the breeze. The sandy depression was red with body parts. She smelled something pungent and sickening. “Bethany,” she murmured. Shock so overwhelmed her that she was hardly aware of the sharp stones under her knees.
“Go back to the others,” the sonorous voice said through Amanda’s headset. The words were distorted by a persistent painful ringing that the explosion caused in Amanda’s ears.
“Bethany,” Amanda said louder. She mourned not only her lost companion but herself and the others in the group. We’re all going to die, she thought.
No, she told herself. I survived the Paragon Hotel, and by God, I’ll survive this.
But in the Paragon Hotel, you had Frank to help you. She realized that again she disassociated, referring to herself as “you.”
She wanted to scream.
“Your friends are waiting for you,” the voice said. “You don’t want to deprive them of your company.” The voice paused. “As Bethany did.”
Amanda nodded. Responding to the threat, she stood painfully. Frank, she thought. Again, she had the premonition that he was dead. She felt the increasing certainty that if, impossibly, she was going to survive this nightmare, she would need to do it alone. Tears clouded her vision. After pawing her eyes, she took one last look at what remained of Bethany and turned away.
A hundred yards from her, past rocks, sagebrush, and the stunted pine tree, Ray, Derrick, and Viv gaped. Despite the distance, Amanda saw that their faces were drawn and pale. The combination of their green, red, and brown coveralls looked even more unnatural.
Amanda plodded toward them. Her throat felt raw from shouting. Hunger contracted her stomach. But mostly, what she felt was a thick-tongued, dry-lipped thirst.
All the while she approached, her three companions fixed their attention solely on the crimson area beyond Amanda. Only when she finally reached them, did anybody speak.
“Are you okay?” Derrick managed to ask.
The most Amanda could do was nod.
“How did…” Viv sounded stunned. She turned toward Ray. “You’re the military expert. Was it a rocket? How was it possible?”
“No,” Ray said. “Not a rocket. We’d have seen and heard it coming.”
“Some kind of bomb she was standing on?”
“No. The ground didn’t erupt.”
“Then…?”
Ray looked down at his jumpsuit. “Plastic explosive. I think it’s in our clothes.”
A moment lengthened as the implication had its impact.
“Our clothes?” Derrick too looked down.
“Jesus,” Viv said.
“Or our shoes,” Ray added. “Or our headsets.”