F. Paul Wilson - Nightworld

"We didn't get any reading. A glitch in the receiver, that's all."

Bill allowed himself a quick shot of relief. He wanted very much for Nick to find the bottom of that hole. He wanted Glaeken to be wrong, just once. Not out of animosity or envy, but because Glaeken had been right about everything so far, and everything he was predicting was bad. Bill felt he'd be able to rest a little better at night if just once Glaeken was proven wrong.

And then a thought struck him like an icy wind, carrying off any sense of relief.

"Wait a minute, Nick. You said you didn't receive any signal. Isn't that what would happen if the hole was bottomless?"

"It's not bottomless, Fa—"

"Isn't that what would happen?"

"Well…yes. But that's not the only reason. There are scores of reasons why we wouldn't get a signal back."

"But one of them is that the beam didn't find anything to bounce off, and so therefore it never came back. Am I right?"

Nick sighed. "You're right." Suddenly he sounded tired. "But the hole's not bottomless. It can't be. Nothing's bottomless."

One of the grad students rushed up to Nick with a green-striped printout. Bill could tell from Nick's expression that he didn't like what he saw there. He handed the slip back to the student.

"Do it again. And do it right."

"But we are," the student said, looking offended. "Everything checks out a hundred percent. The beam and the receiver are working perfectly."

Nick tapped the printout. "Obviously not."

"Maybe something down there's absorbing the beam."

"Absorbing the beam," Nick said slowly. He seemed to like the idea. "Let's look into that." He turned to Bill. "I'm going to be tied up for awhile, Father, but hang around. We'll crack this yet." He winked and walked away.

Bill headed back to the apartment in mid-afternoon to grab a bite and make a pit stop before Nick started his descent.

He had to hand it to Nick—he was as inventive as he was stubborn. He wouldn't admit defeat. When Nick had heard there was a working diving bell on display down at South Street Seaport, he made a few calls and arranged to rent it. His plan was to get in that thing and ride it as far down into the hole as the cable would allow, then take another laser reading from down there. Bill wanted to be back in time to see him off.

He had to fight through the crowd on Central Park West. The area around the lower end of the park had become an impromptu street festival. Well, why not? The sun was out and the area was jammed with curious people. Anyone with anything to sell, from hot dogs to shishkebab, to balloons, to knock-off Rolexes was there. The air was redolent of a variety of ethnic foods wide enough to shame the U.N. cafeteria. He spotted someone hawking "I saw the Central Park Hole" tee-shirts, still wet from the silk screener.

In the apartment he found Glaeken, as expected, at the picture window.

"What have they decided down there?" the old man said without turning.

"They've decided that due to various technical glitches they can't figure out how deep it is at this time."

Even at noon, with the sun shining directly into the hole, they hadn't been able to see the bottom. The blackness had been driven further down, but it was still there, obscuring the bottom.

Now Glaeken turned. His smile was rueful.

"They've constructed these fabulous instruments for exact measurements, yet they refuse to believe the data they're receiving. Amazing how the mind resists the truth when the truth conflicts with preconceptions."

"I can't really blame them. It's not easy to accept the impossible."

"I suppose. But impossible is a useless word now." He turned back to the window. "What's that they're rigging up?"

"A derrick. Nick going down into the hole to—"

Glaeken spun and faced Bill. His eyes wide.

"You're talking about your young friend? He's going down into the hole?"

"Yes. As soon as the bell is set up."

Glaeken grabbed Bill's upper arms. His grip was like iron.

"Don't let him do it. You've got to stop him. Don't let him go into that hole!"

The look on his face made Bill afraid for Nick. Very afraid. He turned and ran for the door. Out in the hall, he pressed the elevator button. When the door didn't open immediately, he ran for the stairs. No time to wait for it. He made it down and out to the street in a few minutes, but there his progress came to a grinding halt. The crowd was even thicker. Pressing through them was like wading through taffy.

He fought a rising panic as he roughly pushed and shoved people aside, leaving an angry wake. He hadn't waited around to ask Glaeken what might happen to Nick down in that hole. The look on the old man's perpetually dead-pan face told him more than he wanted to know. He'd never seen Glaeken react that way.

As he inched his way toward the Sheep Meadow, he remembered Nick saying how lucky he felt to be here. But Bill couldn't help thinking what had happened to all those other people he cared about.

His gut writhed with the thought that perhaps luck had nothing to do with it.

"Lights, camera, action!" Nick said as the diving bell lurched into motion.

Dr. Dan Buckley gave him a wan smile and gripped one of the hand rungs. Buckley was an older gent, balding, white haired, sixty at least, from Geology. He had his video camcorder hooked up and directed out one of the forward ports; a 35mm Nikon hung from his neck. He was sweating. Nick wondered if Buckley was prone to panic attacks. The bell, named Trident, was the size of a small, low-ceilinged bathroom. Not a happy place for a claustrophobe.

His stomach did a little spin as the bell swung out over the hole. He'd never liked amusement park rides and this was starting out like one. He looked out the aft port to his right to double-check the laser range-finder mounted there. Everything looked secure. He glanced out the other port toward the crane and the crowd of cops and workers and various city officials and the other members of the teams from the university. He saw Father Bill push his way to the front and start jumping and waving and shouting. He'd been late coming back but at least he'd made it. Nick was glad to have him here to see this. He waved back and gave him a thumbs-up through the glass, then settled down for the ride.

This was great. This was fabulous. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

"All set in there?" said a tinny voice from the speaker overhead.

"All set," Nick said. Buckley echoed the same.

There came a sick second of freefall, then they were on their way, lowered into the depths on a steel cable. They were soon out of the sunlight and into shadow. The alternating floodlights and spotlights ringing the bell's equator were already on, illuminating the near wall. Buckley was glued to his porthole snapping shot after shot of the passing strata with his Nikon.

"Can you hear us up there?" Nick said.

"Loud and clear, Trident," came the reply. "How's it going down there?"

"Smooth as can be. And fascinating. The city ought to consider buying this rig and making it into an amusement ride. Might keep taxes down."

He heard appreciative laughter from above and smiled. That sounded pretty cool and collected, didn't it? He hoped so. Cynthia Hayes was up there, watching and waiting with the others from the university. He hoped she'd heard it, hoped she was impressed. This little jaunt was going to make Nicholas Quinn, PhD. into a big name. The press would see to that. A mob of reporters was waiting up top, and he knew as soon as he stepped out of the bell they'd be all over him with a million questions. He'd be on all the news shows tonight, both the early and late. Maybe even the networks. Most guys in his spot would be figuring out how they could parlay this into a major step up in their career—