Gentry spent the early afternoon catching up on sleep. His “power naps” used to amaze the hell out of Bernie Michaelson. Because Gentry never knew when it would be necessary to work undercover for several days and nights at a stretch, he had trained himself not only to sleep anywhere anytime but also to get into and out of it fast.
After resting, he pulled his radio from the desk drawer, turned it on low so he could hear what was going on with the bats, then went back to reading accident reports. There were dozens of them, some bat-related, including fender benders due to a bat flying in a car window; a newsstand owner clocking a pedestrian while using a broom to shoo away a bat; window boxes dislodged by people trying to dislodge roosting bats. Gentry wondered how many people were going to be supremely unhappy when they discovered that these came under the “act of God” clauses in most insurance policies.
Several times during the day Gentry had to stop himself from calling Nancy. He knew she’d be busy with the big bat, and he hoped she’d let him know when she was finished or when she found something. It had been a long time since Gentry had been preoccupied with anything. The fact that it was a woman was surprising, exciting, and a little disturbing. He had become comfortable with the uncomplicated simplicity of his life.
He checked the central computer from time to time, and as of early evening the last missing persons report Gentry had heard about was the woman who vanished from the elevator at the World Trade Center. Investigators had followed the trail of blood up the elevator shaft but lost it around the fiftieth floor. A call to Marius Page confirmed that OEM was centering the search for the large bat in the downtown area between the financial district and the West Village. Despite the fact that there were more than five hundred police and transit officers taking part in the military-style maneuvers, progress was extremely slow. No one moved an inch without every section of tunnel being inspected.
And then came word that the giant bat and tens of thousands of small bats had ripped their way north along the B and D subway line. Gentry heard about it when a Times Square squad car called into division central, calls that were monitored by the station house. He turned up the volume.
“South Adam Patrol Sergeant!” said the caller. “We’re on Broadway and Forty-second Street, and we have a major bat infestation here. They’re attacking from the south. They’re coming up Broadway and Seventh Avenue and converging in Times Square.”
Gentry sat up and listened. He could hear the screams and car horns through his open office window. He went back to the radio.
The dispatcher said, “Sergeant, we’ve just been given a standard operating procedure notice. Have your officers get people inside. They’ll stand a better chance in enclosed areas.”
“Understood, but I need backup. People are running… being trampled. Looters are on the job.”
“Sergeant, backup is being notified. I repeat: the priority is to get people inside.”
The sergeant got off the radio for a moment. Though the box was silent, Gentry could still hear the cries and shattering glass outside his window. He got his 9-mm pistol from the desk and slipped it in his shoulder holster. He rose and pulled on his jacket. He’d go out and help in a moment. First he wanted to hear where the giant bat was headed.
The patrol sergeant came back on. “Central, I’ve told my people to set up posts at three sites: the Palace Theater, the Virgin Megastore, and the Marriott Marquis Hotel. You got that?”
“Got it. Backup will be directed there.”
“But it’s a real madhouse here,” the patrol sergeant said, “and it’s getting worse by the second. All you can see are bats. They’re shooting down like hawks-everyone outside is getting blitzed, including my people. If we can get inside, I’m hoping we can hold the interiors and get people to safety. I’m going out to try and-Jesus!Jesus! ”
There was a short silence. Then Gentry heard and felt an explosion. He turned to the window as the distant blast lit the night.
“Get everyone away from there!”the sergeant yelled.
“What’s happening?” demanded the dispatcher. “Sergeant, what’s going on out there?”
“A cab just hit the liquid nitrogen air tanks on the-backthose other cars the hell away!-on the west side of the office tower going up on Broadway and Forty-third-”
Silence.
“Shit-” the sergeant cried. “Oh, shit. God!”
“Sergeant?”
“Central, the construction platform’s breaking-the crane’s coming down!It’s coming down! ”
Gentry stood there feeling helpless. He heard the metal groan from ten blocks away. He heard the screams of the men and women in Times Square. He felt and then he heard the crash. The overhead lights danced. Books slipped from a shelf behind him, and pictures fell from the walls outside his office. People were shouting all over the station house.
The radio was silent.
There were eleven channels on Gentry’s radio. His brain was numb, his body shaking as he tuned in to Midtown North. The bats had reached the west side of Central Park South, though they hadn’t strayed past Columbus Circle. They were obviously sticking to the subway route.
Central was also receiving reports of events farther north, in the twentieth precinct. The dispatcher reported that so far three officers had been killed and seventy-eight wounded as the animals moved quickly along the subway line to the Eighty-first Street station. They stopped there.
At the American Museum of Natural History.
Immediately, Gentry was back. His mind kicked into drive as he stuck his radio in his jacket pocket and yelled for Detective Jason Anthony to come with him. They ran down the block to where the car was parked. Anthony turned on the siren and dashboard light and they sped off to the museum.
Thirty-Three
The door of Professor Lowery’s laboratory shuddered violently, and the room grew dark as more and more black shapes covered the frosted glass. The back wall of the lab was coming apart, and Nancy Joyce looked up while she screamed at God to give her a break. She continued to look up when she saw something. Then she took a quick look at the lab table and ran toward it.
“Yes,” she said.
“Nannie, come back!” Lowery yelled.
“In a minute!”
“What are you going to do?” Ramirez yelled.
She snatched the burner from the lab table. “I’m going to set the coat on fire!”
“The coat?” Ramirez said.
“Don’t!” Lowery said. “The smoke will-”
“Start the sprinklers on the ceiling,” she interrupted. “The spray will put the fire out before we choke. The cold and the wet should also ground the little vespers if they get in.”
“You totally rule,” Ramirez said.
Joyce fired up the etna and crouched by the door. The rattling on the frosted glass pane and the mousy squealing of the bats were maddening, but at least they drowned out the sound of the crumbling plaster. She touched the flame to the lab coat.
It didn’t burn.
“You fire-resistant son of a bitch!” she yelled.
Bats began to poke through and around the fabric. Muzzles, claws, wings. Joyce pulled over the swivel chair, stood under the sprinkler sensor, and held the flame to it.
“Comeon!”
The first three bats made it under the door. They flew at Ramirez and he jumped under the desk, startling Heidi; he nearly impaled himself on her scalpel before she was able to pull it back. Snuggling toward her, Ramirez reached up around the front of the desk, slipped off the mouse pad, and held it almost like a Ping-Pong paddle. He used it to swat at the bats as they attacked. Heidi was bravely trying to slash at the bats as they darted in.