Pendergast shook his head.
Nora hesitated. “I can’t just leave the Museum. I’ve got work to do.”
“We won’t be long, Dr. Kelly. Time is of the essence.”
“What’s this all about?”
But he was already out of her office, striding on swift silent feet down the long corridor. She followed, unable to think of what else to do, as the agent led the tortuous back way down a series of staircases, through Birds of the World, Africa, and Pleistocene Mammals, arriving at last in the echoing Great Rotunda.
“You know the Museum pretty well,” she said as she struggled to keep up.
“Yes.”
Then they were out the bronze doors and descending the vast sweep of marble stairs to Museum Drive. Agent Pendergast stopped at the base and turned in the bright fall light. His eyes were now white, with only a hint of color. As he moved, she suddenly had the impression of great physical power beneath the narrow suit. “Are you familiar with the New York Archaeological and Historic Preservation Act?” he asked.
“Of course.” It was the law that stopped digging or construction in the city if anything of archaeological value was uncovered, until it could be excavated and documented.
“A rather interesting site was uncovered in lower Manhattan. You’ll be the supervising archaeologist.”
“Me? I don’t have the experience or authority—”
“Fear not, Dr. Kelly. I’m afraid we’ll find your tenure all too brief.”
She shook her head. “But why me?”
“You’ve had some experience in this, ah, particularkind of site.”
“And just what kind of site is that?”
“A charnel.”
She stared.
“And now,” he said, gesturing toward a ’59 Silver Wraith idling at the curb, “we must be on our way. After you, please.” FOUR
NORA STEPPED OUT of the Rolls-Royce, feeling uncomfortably conspicuous. Pendergast closed the door behind her, looking serenely indifferent to the incongruity of the elegant vehicle parked amid the dust and noise of a large construction site.
They crossed the street, pausing at a high chain-link fence. Beyond, the rich afternoon light illuminated the skeletal foundations of a row of old buildings. Several large Dumpsters full of bricks lined the perimeter. Two police cars were parked along the curb and Nora could see uniformed cops standing before a hole in a brick retaining wall. Nearby stood a knot of businessmen in suits. The construction site was framed by forlorn tenements that winked back at them through empty windows.
“The Moegen-Fairhaven Group are building a sixty-five-story residential tower on this site,” said Pendergast. “Yesterday, about four o’clock, they broke through that brick wall, there. A worker found the skull I showed you in a barrow inside. Along with many, many more bones.”
Nora glanced in the indicated direction. “What was on the site before?”
“A block of tenements built in the late 1890s. The tunnel, however, appears to predate them.”
Nora could see that the excavator had exposed a clear profile. The old retaining wall lay beneath the nineteenth-century footings, and the hole near its base was clearly part of an earlier structure. Some ancient timbers, burned and rotten, had been piled to one side.
As they walked along the fence, Pendergast leaned toward her. “I’m afraid our visit may be problematic, and we have very little time. The site has changed alarmingly in just the last few hours. Moegen-Fairhaven is one of the most energetic developers in the city. And they have a remarkable amount of, ah, pull. Notice there are no members of the press on hand? The police were called very quietly to the scene.” He steered her toward a chained gate in the fence, manned by a cop from whose belt dangled cuffs, radio, nightstick, gun, and ammunition. The combined weight of the accoutrements pulled the belt down, allowing a blue-shirted belly to hang comfortably out.
Pendergast stopped at the gate.
“Move on,” said the cop. “Nothing to see here, pal.”
“On the contrary.” Pendergast smiled and displayed his identification. The cop leaned over, scowling. He looked back up into the agent’s face, then back down, several times.
“FBI?” He hiked up his belt with a metallic jangle.
“Those are the three letters, yes.” And Pendergast placed the wallet back in his suit.
“And who’s your companion?”
“An archaeologist. She’s been assigned to investigate the site.”
“Archaeologist? Hold on.”
The cop ambled across the lot, stopping at the knot of policemen. A few words were exchanged, then one of the cops broke away from the group. A brown-suited man followed at a trot. He was short and heavyset, and his pulpy neck bulged over a tight collar. He took steps that were too big for his stubby legs, giving his walk an exaggerated bounce.
“What the hell’s this?” he panted as he approached the gate, turning to the newly arrived cop. “You didn’t say anything about the FBI.”
Nora noticed that the new cop had gold captain’s bars on his shoulders. He had thinning hair, a sallow complexion, and narrow black eyes. He was almost as fat as the man in the brown suit.
The captain looked at Pendergast. “May I see your identification?” His voice was small and tight and high.
Pendergast once again removed his wallet. The captain took it, examined it, and handed it back through the gate.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pendergast, the FBI has no jurisdiction here, particularly the New Orleansoffice. You know the procedure.”
“Captain—?”
“Custer.”
“Captain Custer, I am here with Dr. Nora Kelly, of the New York Museum of Natural History, who has been placed in charge of the archaeological survey. Now, if you’ll let us in—”
“This is a construction site,” broke in the brown-suited man. “We’re trying to build a building here, in case you hadn’t noticed. They’ve already got a man looking at the bones. Christ Almighty, we’re losing forty thousand dollars a day here, and now the FBI?”
“And who might you be?” Pendergast asked the man, in a pleasant voice.
His eyes flickered from side to side. “Ed Shenk.”
“Ah, Mr. Shenk.” In Pendergast’s mouth, the name sounded like some kind of crude implement. “And your position with Moegen-Fairhaven?”
“Construction manager.”
Pendergast nodded. “Of course you are. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Shenk.” Immediately, he turned back to the captain, ignoring Shenk completely.
“Now, Captain Custer,” he continued in the same mild voice, “am I to understand that you will not open the gate and allow us to proceed with our work?”
“This is a very important project for the Moegen-Fairhaven Group, and for this community. Progress has been slower than it should be, and there’s concern at the very highest levels. Mr. Fairhaven visited the site himself yesterday evening. The last thing they want is more delays. I’ve had no word about FBI involvement, and I don’t know anything about any archaeological business—” He stopped. Pendergast had taken out his cell phone.
“Who’re you calling?” Custer demanded.
Pendergast said nothing, the smile still on his face. His fingers flew over the tiny buttons with amazing speed.
The captain’s eyes darted toward Shenk, then away again.
“Sally?” Pendergast spoke into the phone. “Agent Pendergast here. May I speak with Commissioner Rocker?”
“Now, look—” began the captain.
“Yes, please, Sally. You’re a treasure.”
“Perhaps we could discuss this inside.” There was a rattling of keys. Captain Custer began to unlock the gate.
“If you could kindly interrupt him for me, I’d be so grateful.”
“Mr. Pendergast, there’s no need for this,” said Custer. The gate swung open.
“Sally? I’ll call back,” said Pendergast, snapping the phone shut.
He stepped past the gate, Nora at his side. Without pausing or speaking, the FBI agent took off across the rubbled ground, trotting directly toward the hole in the brick wall. The others, taken by surprise, began to follow. “Mr. Pendergast, you have to understand—” the captain said as he struggled to keep up. Shenk followed angrily, like a bull. He stumbled, cursed, kept coming.