Douglas Preston - Relic

“Who? I didn’t know—”

“Some cop—what’s his name? Waters?—on duty in the Computer Room, thought he saw something, fired a couple of shotgun rounds into the main electrical switching box.”

“Look, Allen, I want to send a team in to evacuate those people trapped in the Hall of the Heavens. The Mayor’s in there, for Chrissake. How can we get in? Should we cut through the east door into the Hall?”

“Those doors are designed to retard cutting. You could do it, but it would take forever.”

“What about the subbasement? I’ve heard it’s like a frigging catacomb down there.”

“There might be ingress points from where you are, but on-line charts are down. And the area isn’t fully mapped. It would take time.”

“The walls, then. How about going through the walls?”

“The lower load-bearing walls are extremely thick, three feet in most places, and all the older masonry walls have been heavily reinforced with rebar. Cell Two only has windows on the third and fourth floor, and they’re reinforced with steel bars. Most of them are too small to climb through, anyway.”

“Shit. What about the roof?”

“All the cells are closed off, and it would be pretty tough—”

“Goddammit, Allen, I’m asking you the best way to get some men inside.”

There was a silence.

“The best way to get in would be through the roof,” came the voice. “The security doors on the upper floors are not as heavy. Cell Three extends above the Hall of the Heavens. That’s the fifth floor. You can’t enter there, though—the roof is shielded because of the radiography labs. But you could come in through the roof of Cell [346] Four. In some of the narrower halls you might be able to blow a security door to Cell Three with one charge. Once you were in Cell Three you could go right through the ceiling of the Hall of the Heavens. There’s an access port for servicing the chandelier in the Hall ceiling. It’s sixty feet to the floor, though.”

“I’ll get back to you. Coffey out.”

He punched at the radio and shouted, “Ippolito! Ippolito, you copy?” What the hell was happening inside that Hall? He switched to D’Agosta’s frequency. “D’Agosta! This is Coffey. Are you reading me?”

He ran frantically through the bands.

“Waters!”

“Waters here, sir.”

“What happened, Waters?”

“There was a loud noise in the electrical room, sir, and I fired as per regulations, and—”

“Regulations? You fucking turkey, there’s no regulation for firing at a noise!”

“Sorry, sir. It was a loud noise, and I heard a lot of screaming and running in the exhibition and I thought—”

“For this, Waters, you’re dead. I’m gonna have your ass roasted and sliced up like luncheon meat on a platter. Think about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside there was a cough, sputter, and a roar as a large portable generator started up. The rear door to the Mobile Command Unit opened and several agents ducked in, their suits dripping. “The rest are on their way, sir,” one of them said.

“Okay. Tell them we’re having a crisis-control meeting here in the MCU in five minutes.”

He stepped out into the rain. Emergency services workers were moving bulky equipment and yellow acetylene tanks up the Museum steps.

Coffey ran back through the rain and up the steps into the debris-laden Rotunda. Medics clustered at the metal [347] emergency door blocking the east entrance to the Hall of the Heavens. Coffey could hear the whine of a bone saw.

“Tell me what you’ve got,” Coffey asked the leader of the medical team.

The doctor’s eyes looked strained above his blood-flecked mask. “I don’t know the full extent of the injuries yet, but we’ve got several criticals here. We’re performing some field amputations. I think a few others might be saved if you can get this door open in the next half hour.”

Coffey shook his head. “Doesn’t look like that will happen. We’re gonna have to cut through it.”

An emergency worker spoke up. “We’ve got some heat-proof blankets we can lay across these people as we work.”

Coffey stepped back and raised his radio. “D’Agosta! Ippolito! Come in!”

Silence. Then, he heard a hiss of static.

“D’Agosta here,” came the tense voice. “Listen, Coffey—”

“Where have you been? I told you—”

“Shut up and listen, Coffey. You were making too much noise, I had to shut you off. We’re on our way to the subbasement. There’s a creature loose somewhere in Cell Two. I’m not kidding you, Coffey, it’s a fucking monster . It killed Ippolito and ran into the Hall. We had to get out.”

“A what? You’re losing it, D’Agosta. Get a grip, you hear me? We’re sending men in through the roof.”

“Yeah? Well, they’d better have some heavy shit ready if they plan on meeting up with this thing.”

“D’Agosta, let me handle it. What’s this about Ippolito?”

“He’s dead, slashed open, just like all the other stiffs.”

“And a monster did this. Okay, sure. Any other police officers with you, D’Agosta?”

[348] “Yeah, there’s Bailey.”

“I’m relieving you of duty. Put Bailey on.”

“Fuck you. Here’s Bailey.”

“Sergeant,” Coffey barked, “You’re in charge now. What’s the situation?”

“Mr. Coffey, he’s right. We had to leave the Hall of the Heavens. We went down the back stairwell near the service area. There’s over thirty of us, including the Mayor. No shit, there’s really something in here.”

“Give me a break, Bailey. Did you see it?”

“I’m not sure what I saw, sir, but D’Agosta saw it, and Jesus, sir, you should see what it did to Ippolito—”

“Listen to me, Bailey. Are you gonna calm down and take over?”

“No sir. As far as I’m concerned, he’s in charge.”

“I just put you in charge!”

Coffey snorted and looked up, enraged. “The son of a bitch just cut me off.”

Outside in the rain, Greg Kawakita stood motionless amid a cacophony of yelling, sobbing, and cursing. He remained oblivious to the pelting rain that plastered his black hair to his forehead; the emergency vehicles that passed by, sirens shrieking; the panicky guests that jostled him as they ran past. Again and again he replayed in his mind what Margo and Frock had barked at him. He opened and closed his mouth, moved forward as if to reenter the Museum. Then, slowly, he turned, pulled his sodden tuxedo closer around his narrow shoulders, and walked thoughtfully into the darkness.

= 50 =

Margo jumped as a second gunshot echoed down the hall.

“What’s happening?” she cried. In the darkness, she felt Frock’s grip tighten.

Outside, they heard running steps. Then the yellow glow of a flashlight streaked by beneath the doorframe.

“That smell is growing fainter,” she whispered. “Do you think it’s gone?”

“Margo,” Frock replied quietly, “you saved my life. You risked your own life to save mine.”

There came a soft knocking at the door. “Who is it?” Frock asked in a steady tone.

“Pendergast,” a voice said, and Margo rushed to open the door. The FBI agent stood outside, a large revolver in one hand and crumpled blueprints in the other. His crisp well-tailored black suit contrasted with his dirt-streaked face. He shut the door behind him.

“I’m pleased to see you both safe and sound,” he said, shining his light first on Margo and then Frock.

[350] “Not half as pleased as we are!” Frock cried. “We came down here searching for you. Were those shots yours?”

“Yes,” Pendergast said. “And I assume it was you I heard calling my name?”