Douglas Preston - Relic

“Let me worry about him,” Coffey snapped. “Who developed these plans?”

“We did, with the assistance of Security Command. That guy Allen has the cell layouts down cold. Anyway, according to the specs of this security system—”

“You did. And who’s in charge here?”

“Sir, as you know, in emergency situations the SWAT team commander—”

“I want you to go in there and kill the son of a bitch. Got it?”

[380] “Sir, our first priority is to rescue hostages and save lives. Only then can we deal with—”

“Calling me stupid, Commander? If we kill the thing in there, all our other problems are solved. Right? This is not your typical situation, commander, and it requires creative thinking.”

“In a hostage situation, if you take away the killer’s hostages, you’ve removed his base of power—”

“Commander, were you asleep during our crisis-control briefing? We may have an animal in there, not a person.”

“But the wounded—”

“Use some of your men to get the damn wounded out. But I want the rest of you to go after what’s in there and kill it. Then we rescue any stragglers at leisure, in safety and comfort. Those are your direct orders.”

“I understand, sir. I would recommend, however—”

“Don’t recommend jack shit, Commander. Go in the way you planned, but do the job right. Kill the motherfucker.”

The commander looked curiously at Coffey. “You sure about this thing being an animal?”

Coffey hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. “I don’t know a hell of a lot about it, but it’s already killed several people.”

The Commander looked steadily at Coffey for a moment.

“Yeah,” he finally said, “well, whatever it is, we’ve got enough firepower to turn a herd of lions into a fine red mist.”

“You’re going to need it. Find the thing. Take it out.”

Pendergast and Margo looked down the narrow service tunnel into the subbasement. Pendergast’s flashlight sent a circle of light onto a sheet of black, oily water roiling past beneath them.

“It’s getting deeper,” Pendergast said. Then he turned [381] to Margo. “Are you sure the creature can make it up this shaft?” he asked.

“I’m nearly certain,” Margo said. “It’s highly agile.” Pendergast stepped back and tried once again to raise D’Agosta on the radio. “Something’s happened,” he said. “The Lieutenant has been out of contact for fifteen minutes. Ever since they hit that locked door.” He glanced down again through the shaft that sloped toward the subbasement below. “How are you planning to lay a scent with all this water?” he asked.

“You estimate they passed beneath here some time ago, right?” Margo asked.

Pendergast nodded. “The last time I spoke to him, D’Agosta told me the group was between the first and second forks,” he said. “Assuming they haven’t backtracked, he’s well beyond this spot.”

“The way I see it,” Margo continued, “if we sprinkle some fibers on the water, the flow should carry them to the creature.”

“That’s assuming the creature’s smart enough to realize the fibers came floating from upstream. Otherwise, he might just chase them further downstream.”

“I think it’s smart enough,” Frock said. “You mustn’t think of this creature as an animal . It may be nearly as intelligent as a human being.”

Using the handkerchief, Pendergast carefully removed some fibers from the bundle and sprinkled them along the base of the shaft. He dropped another handful into the water below.

“Not too much,” Frock warned.

Pendergast looked at Margo. “We’ll sprinkle a few more fibers to establish a good upwater trail, then drag the bundle back to the Secure Area and wait. Your trap will be set.” After scattering a few more fibers, he secured the bundle.

“At the rate this water is moving,” he said, “it should take only a few minutes to reach the creature. How fast do you expect the thing to respond?”

[382] “If the extrapolation program is correct,” Frock said, “the creature can move at a high rate of speed. Perhaps thirty miles an hour or greater, especially when in need. And its need for the fibers seems overpowering. It won’t be able to travel at full speed down these corridors—the residual scent trail we leave will be harder to track—but I doubt the water will slow it much. And the Secure Area is close by.”

“I see,” Pendergast said. “How unsettling. ‘ He that has a mind to fight, let him fight, for now is the time .’ ”

“Ah,” said Frock, nodding. “Alcaeus.”

Pendergast shook his head. “Anacreon, Doctor. Shall we go?”

= 54 =

Smithback held the light, but it hardly seemed to penetrate the palpable darkness. D’Agosta, slightly in front, held the gun. The tunnel went on and on, black water rushing past and vanishing into the low-vaulted darkness. Either they were still descending, or the water was getting higher. Smithback could feel it pushing against his thighs.

He glanced at D’Agosta’s face, shadowy and grim, his thick features smeared with Bailey’s blood.

“I can’t go any farther,” someone wailed from the rear. Smithback could hear the Mayor’s familiar voice—a politician’s voice—reassuring, soothing, telling everyone what they wanted to hear. Once again, it seemed to work. Smithback stole a glance backward at the dispirited group. The lean, gowned, bejeweled women; the middle-aged businessmen in their tuxedos; the smattering of yuppies from investment banks and downtown law firms. He knew them all now, had even given them names and occupations in his head. And here they all [384] were, reduced to the lowest common denominator, wallowing around in the dark of a tunnel, covered with slime, pursued by a savage beast.

Smithback was worried, but still rational. Early on, he’d felt a moment of sheer terror when he realized the rumors about a Museum Beast were true. But now, tired and wet, he was more afraid of dying before he wrote his book than he was of dying itself. He wondered if that meant he was brave, or covetous, or just plain stupid. Whatever the case, he knew that what was happening to him down here was going to be worth a fortune. Book party at Le Cirque. Good Morning America , the Today Show , Donahue , and Oprah .

No one could do the story like he could, no one else had his first-person perspective. And he’d been a hero. He, William Smithback, Jr., had held the light against the monster when D’Agosta went back to shoot off the lock. He, Smithback, had thought of using the flashlight to brace the door. He’d been Lieutenant D’Agosta’s right-hand man.

“Shine the light up to the left, there.” D’Agosta intruded upon his thoughts, and Smithback dutifully complied. Nothing.

“I thought I saw something moving in the darkness,” D’Agosta muttered. “Must’ve been a shadow, I guess.”

God, Smithback thought, if only he lived to enjoy his success.

“Is it just my imagination, or is the water getting deeper?” he asked.

“It’s getting deeper and faster,” said D’Agosta. “Pendergast didn’t say which way to go from here.”

“He didn’t?” Smithback felt his guts turn to water.

“I was supposed to radio from the second fork,” D’Agosta said. “I lost my radio somewhere back before the door.”

Smithback felt another surge against his legs, a strong one. There was a shout and a splash.

“It’s all right,” the Mayor called out when Smithback [385] aimed the flashlight to the rear. “Someone fell down. The current’s getting stronger.”

“We can’t tell them we’re lost,” Smithback muttered to D’Agosta.