Dance Of Death

"We don't have a lot of time to jawbone," said Rabiner. "Let's get on with the particulars of evidence transfer."

Hayward glanced at Singleton. His face was flushed. "If it wasn't for Captain Hayward," he said, "there wouldn't be any manhunt."

"We're all just as pleased as punch at Captain Hayward's police work," said Coffey. "But the bottom line is, this is no longer an NYPD matter."

"Just give them what they need, please, Captain," Commissioner Rocker said, a note of exasperation in his voice.

Hayward glanced at him and realized he was pissed as hell at this development, but could do nothing about it.

She should have seen it coming. The federal boys were going for the gold, and on top of that, this Coffey seemed to have a personal animosity toward Pendergast. God help him and D'Agosta when the feds finally caught up with them.

Hayward knew she ought to feel outraged at all this. But through the numbness, all she could bring herself to feel was an upwelling of weariness. That, and a feeling of revulsion so strong that she simply could not bear to spend another moment in the same room with Coffey. And so, abruptly, she stood up.

"Fine," she said briskly. "I'll initiate the paperwork. You'll get your evidence as soon as the chain-of-evidence transfers are signed. Anything else?"

"Captain?" said Rocker. "I'm very grateful to you for your fine work."

She nodded, turned, and left the room.

She walked quickly toward the elevator, head lowered, breathing fast. As she did so, her cell phone rang.

She waited, getting her breathing under control. After a minute or two, the cell phone rang again.

This time she answered. "Hayward."

"Laura?" came the voice. "It's me. Vi

Despite herself, she felt her heart rise into her throat. "Vincent, for God's sake. What the hell are you-?"

"Just listen, please. I have something very important to tell you."

Hayward took a deep breath. "I'm listening."

SIXTY-SEVEN

D'Agosta followed Pendergast into Pe

They were headed, D'Agosta noted with a certain grimness, for track 13.

Pendergast had barely spoken a word in the last half hour. As the appointed time drew nearer-as they came closer to seeing Viola and, inevitably, Diogenes-the agent had grown more and more tight-lipped and withdrawn.

The tracks were almost deserted, just a few maintenance men sweeping up trash and two uniformed cops at a security station, chatting and blowing on cups of coffee. Pendergast led the way to the far end of the platform, where the tracks disappeared into a dark tu

"Be ready," Pendergast murmured as his pale eyes roved the tracks.

They waited for a moment. The two cops turned and walked into the security station.

"Now!" Pendergast said under his breath.

They jumped lightly off the platform onto the tracks and jogged away into the dimness. D'Agosta glanced back at the receding platform, ensuring nobody had noticed.

It was warmer belowground, hovering just around freezing, but it was a much damper cold, and it seemed to cut effortlessly through D'Agosta's purloined sports jacket. After another minute of jogging, Pendergast stopped, fished in his pocket, and pulled out a flashlight.

"We have some way to go," he said, shining the light down the long, dark tu

The agent set off again at a fast walk, his long legs striding down the middle of the tracks. D'Agosta followed, listening a little nervously for any sound of an approaching train. But all he could hear were their hollow footsteps, his own breathing, and the sound of water dripping from icicles in the ancient brick roof.

"So the Iron Clock is a railroad turntable?" he asked after a moment. He spoke more to break the strained silence than anything else.

"Yes. A very old one."

"I didn't know there were any turntables under Manhattan."

"It was built to manage the flow of train traffic in and out of the old Pe

"And you know how to find it?"

"Remember the subway murders we worked on some years back? I spent quite a bit of time then, studying the underground landscape of New York City. I still recall much of the layout beneath Manhattan, at least the more common routes."

"How do you think Diogenes knows about it?"

"That is an interesting fact, Vincent, and it has not escaped my attention."

They came to a metal door, set into an alcove in the tu

A stone staircase led down, exhaling a smell of mold and rot.

"How far down is it?"

"Actually, we're already at the grade of the Iron Clock. This is merely a shortcut."

The staircase was slippery, and as they descended, the air grew warmer still. After a long descent, the steps leveled out, broadening into an old brick tu

D'Agosta paused. "Lights ahead. And voices."

"Homeless," Pendergast replied.

As they continued, D'Agosta began to smell woodsmoke. Shortly, they came across a group of ragged men and women sitting around a rudely built fire, passing around a bottle of wine.

"What's this?" one of them called out. "You fellows miss your train?"

The laughter subsided as they passed. From the darkness behind the group came the sudden crying of a baby.

"Jeez," D'Agosta muttered. "You hear that?"

Pendergast merely nodded.

They came to another metal door, from which someone had already cut away the lock. Opening the door, they climbed back up a long, wet staircase, dodging streams of water, and emerged onto a new set of tracks.

Pendergast paused, checking his watch. "Eleven-thirty."

More rats scurried away as they walked wordlessly down the tu

At last, Pendergast halted, switched off his flashlight, and nodded ahead. Peering into the darkness, D'Agosta saw that the tu

"That's the Iron Clock up ahead," Pendergast said in a low voice.

D'Agosta removed his Glock 29, slid open the magazine, checked it, and slipped it back into place.

"You know what to do?"

D'Agosta nodded.

They moved forward slowly and silently, Pendergast in front, D'Agosta close behind. He checked his watch, holding it mere inches from his nose: twelve minutes to midnight.

"Remember," Pendergast whispered. "Cover me from here."

D'Agosta flattened himself against the wall. From this vantage point, he had a good view into the enormous space ahead. What he saw almost took his breath away. It was a huge circular vault built of granite blocks streaked with limestone and grime, an incredible Romanesque underground massing. The floor of the vault was spa