Douglas Preston - Relic

“Christ, Pendergast, be careful.”

“I intend to. Now, listen carefully. Are you in a long, straight passage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Where the hall forks, go right. The hall should fork a second time in another hundred yards or so. When you get to the second fork, radio me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good luck. Pendergast out.”

Pendergast quickly switched frequencies. “Coffey, this is Pendergast. Do you copy?”

“Coffey here. Goddammit, Pendergast, I’ve been trying to reach you for—”

“No time for that now. Are you sending a rescue team in?”

“Yes. They’re preparing to leave now.”

“Then make sure they’re armed with heavy-caliber automatic weapons, flak helmets, and bulletproof vests. There’s a powerful, murderous creature in here, Coffey. I saw it. It has the run of Cell Two.”

“For Chrissakes, you and D’Agosta! Pendergast, if you’re trying to—”

Pendergast spoke rapidly into the radio. “I’ll only warn you once more. You’re dealing with something monstrous here. Underestimate it at your peril. I’m signing off.”

“No, Pendergast, wait! I order you to—”

Pendergast switched off the radio.

= 52 =

They slogged into the water, dim flashlight beams licking the low ceiling in front and behind. The flow of air in the tunnel continued to blow gently into their faces. D’Agosta was alarmed now. The beast could come up behind them unannounced, its stench wafted away from them.

He paused a moment to let Bailey catch up. “Lieutenant,” said the Mayor, catching his breath, “are you certain there’s a way out through here?”

“I can only go by what Agent Pendergast said, sir. He’s got the blueprints. But I sure as hell know we don’t want to go back.”

D’Agosta and the group started forward again. Dark, oily drops were falling from a ceiling of arched herringbone bricks. The walls were crusted with lime. Everyone was silent except for one woman, who was quietly weeping.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” said a voice. The young, lanky guy. Smithback.

[366] “Yes?”

‘Would you mind telling me something?”

“Shoot.”

“How does it feel to have the lives of forty people, including the Mayor of New York City, in your hands?”

“What?” D’Agosta stopped a moment, glared over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me we’ve got a fucking journalist with us!”

“Well, I—” began Smithback.

“Call downtown and make an appointment to see me at headquarters.”

D’Agosta played the light ahead and found the fork in the tunnel. He took the right-hand passage, as Pendergast had directed. It had a slight downhill grade, and the water began to move faster, tugging on his pants legs as it rushed past into the blackness beyond. The wound in his hand throbbed. As the group moved around the corner behind him, D’Agosta noted with relief that the breeze was no longer blowing in their faces.

A bloated dead rat came floating past, bumping against people’s legs like a lazy, oversized billiard ball. One person groaned and tried to kick it away, but no one complained.

“Bailey!” called D’Agosta behind him.

“Yeah?”

“See anything?”

“You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

“Gotcha. I’m going to call in upstairs, see if they’ve made any progress in restoring power.”

He grabbed his radio. “Coffey?”

“Reading. Pendergast just shut me off. Where are you?”

“We’re in the subbasement. Pendergast has a blueprint. He’s leading us out by radio. When are the lights coming on?”

“D’Agosta, don’t be an idiot. He’ll get you all killed. It doesn’t look as if we’ll be getting power back any time soon. Go back to the Hall of the Heavens and wait [367] there. We’ll be sending the SWAT team in through the roof in a couple of minutes.”

“Then you should know that Wright, Cuthbert, and the Public Relations Director are upstairs somewhere, the fourth floor, probably. That’s the only other exit point for that stairwell.”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t take them with you?”

“They refused to come along. Wright cut out on his own and the others followed him.”

“Sounds like they had more sense than you did. Is the Mayor all right? Let me talk to the him.”

D’Agosta handed the radio over. “Are you all right, sir?” Coffey asked urgently.

“We’re in capable hands with the Lieutenant.”

“It’s my strong opinion, sir, that you should head back to the Hall of the Heavens and wait there for assistance. We’re sending in a SWAT team to rescue you.”

“I have every confidence in Lieutenant D’Agosta. As should you.”

“Yes, of course, sir. Rest assured that I’m going to get you safely out of there, sir.”

“Coffey?”

“Sir?”

“There are three dozen people in here besides me. Don’t forget that.”

“But I just want you to know, sir, we’re being extra—”

“Coffey! I don’t think you understood me. Every life down here is worth all the effort you’ve got.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Mayor handed the radio back to D’Agosta. “Am I wrong, or is that fellow Coffey a horse’s ass?” he muttered.

D’Agosta holstered the radio and proceeded down the passage. Then he stopped, playing his flashlight over an object that loomed out of the blackness in front of them. [368] It was a steel door, closed. The oily water rushed through a thickly barred grating in its bottom panel. He waded closer. It was similar to the door at the base of the stairwell: thick, double-plated, studded with rusty rivets. An old copper lock, covered with verdigris, was looped through a thick metal D ring along the door’s side. D’Agosta grabbed the lock and pulled, but it held fast.

“Pendergast?” said D’Agosta, removing his radio once again.

“Reading.”

“We’re past the first fork, but we’ve hit a steel door, and it’s locked.”

“A locked door? Between the first and second forks?”

“Yes.”

“And you took a right at the first fork?”

“Yes.”

“One minute.” There was a shuffling sound. “Vincent, go back to the fork and take the left-hand tunnel. Hurry.”

D’Agosta wheeled around. “Bailey! We’re heading back to that last fork. All of you, let’s go. On the double!”

The group turned wearily, murmuring, and started moving back through the inky water.

“Wait!” came the voice of Bailey, from the head of the group. “Christ, Lieutenant, do you smell it?”

“No,” said D’Agosta; then “shit!” as the fetid stench enveloped him. “Bailey, we’re going to have to make a stand! I’m coming up. Fire at the son of a bitch!”

Cuthbert sat on the worktable, absently tapping its scarred surface with a pencil eraser. At the far end of the table, Wright sat motionless, his head in his hands. Rickman stood on her tiptoes by the small window. She was angling the flashlight through the bars in front of the glass, switching it on and off with a manicured finger.

[369] A brief flash of lightning silhouetted her thin form, then a low rumble of thunder filled the room.

“It’s pouring out,” she said. “I can’t see a thing.”

“And nobody can see you,” said Cuthbert wearily. “All you’re doing is wearing out the battery. We may need it later.”

With an audible sigh, Rickman switched off the light, plunging the lab once again into darkness.

“I wonder what it did with Montague’s body,” came the slurred voice of Wright. “Ate him up?” Laughter spluttered out of the gloom.

Cuthbert continued tapping the pencil.

“Ate him up! With a little curry and rice, maybe! Montague pilaf!” Wright chuckled.