Relic

Sept. 16. Stayed late in camp this morning, repacking gear. Maxwell now insists on returning with his “find.” Idiotic fellow, nuisance is that almost everyone else is returning also. They turned back with all but two of our guides just after lunch. Crocker, Carlos, and I press on. Almost immediately, stopped to repack crate. Specimen jar had broken inside. While I repacked, Crocker wandered off trail, came upon ruined hut ...

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Smithback said.

... brought gear down to investigate, reopened crate, retrieved toolbag—before we could investigate hut, old native woman wanders out from brush, staggering—sick or drunk, impossible to tell—points to crate, wailing loudly. Breasts down to her waist—no teeth, nearly bald—great sore on her back, like a boil. Carlos reluctant to translate, but I insist:

Carlos: She says, devil, devil.

Myself: Ask her, what devil?

Carlos translates. Woman goes into hysterics, wailing, clutching chest.

Myself: Carlos, ask her about the Kothoga.

Carlos: She say you come to take devil away.

Myself: What about the Kothoga?

Carlos: She say, Kothoga gone up mountain.

Myself: Up mountain! Where?

More caterwauling from woman. Points at our open crate.

Carlos: She say you take devil.

Myself: What devil?

[250] Carlos: Mbwun. She say you take devil Mbwun in box.

Myself: Ask her more about Mbwun. What is it?

Carlos talks to woman, who calms down a little, and speaks for an extended period of time.

Carlos: She says that Mbwun is son of devil. The foolish Kothoga sorcerer who asked devil Zilashkee for his son to help them defeat their enemies. Devil made them kill and eat all their children—then sent Mbwun as gift. Mbwun helps defeat Kothoga enemies, then turns on Kothoga, starts killing everyone. Kothoga flee to tepui, Mbwun follow. Mbwun not ever die. Have to rid Kothoga of Mbwun. Now white man come and take Mbwun away. Beware, Mbwun curse will destroy you! You bring death to your people!

I am flabbergasted, and elated—this tale fits into myth cycles we had only heard secondhand. I tell Carlos to get more details about Mbwun—woman breaks away—great strength for one so old—melts into brush. Carlos follows her, comes back empty-handed—he looks frightened, I don’t push matters. Investigate hut. When we return to trail, guides gone.

“She knew they were going to take the figurine back!” Smithback said. “That must have been the curse she was talking about!”

He read on.

Sept. 17. Crocker missing since last night. I fear the worst. Carlos very apprehensive. I will send him back after Maxwell, who must be halfway to the river by now—can’t afford to lose this relic, which I believe priceless. I will continue on in search of Crocker. There are trails throughout these woods that must be Kothogan—how civilization [251] can harness this kind of landscape is beyond me—perhaps the Kothoga will be saved after all.

That was the end of the journal.

Smithback closed the book with a curse. “I can’t believe it! Nothing we didn’t already know. And I sold my soul to Rickman ... for this!”

= 36 =

Behind his desk in the command post, Pendergast was fiddling with an ancient Mandarin puzzle made of brass and knotted silken cord. He seemed totally absorbed. Behind him, the learned sounds of a string quartet emerged from the speakers of a small cassette player. Pendergast did not look up as D’Agosta walked in.

“Beethoven’s String Quartet in F Major, Opus 135,” he said. “But no doubt you knew that, Lieutenant. It’s the fourth movement Allegro, known as Der schwer gefaßte Entschluß—the ‘Difficult Resolution.’ A title that could be bestowed on this case, as well as the movement, perhaps? Amazing, isn’t it, how art imitates life.”

“It’s eleven o’clock,” D’Agosta said.

“Ah, of course,” Pendergast said, rolling his chair back and standing up. “The Security Director owes us a guided tour. Shall we go?”

The door of Security Command was opened by Ippolito himself. To D’Agosta, the place looked like the control [253] room of a nuclear power plant, all dials and buttons and levers. Across one wall was a vast miniature city of lighted grids, arranged in intricate geometries. Two guards monitored a battery of closed-circuit screens. In the center, D’Agosta recognized the relay box for the repeater stations used to ensure strong signals for the radios the police and Museum guards carried.

“This,” said Ippolito, spreading his hands and smiling, “is one of the most sophisticated security systems in any museum in the world. It was designed especially for us. It cost us a pretty pe

Pendergast looked around. “Impressive,” he said.

“It’s state of the art,” said Ippolito.

“No doubt,” Pendergast said. “But what concerns me right now, Mr. Ippolito, is the safety of the five thousand guests who are expected here tonight. Tell me how the system works.”

“It was primarily designed to prevent theft,” the security director went on. “A large number of the Museum’s most valuable objects have small chips attached in inconspicuous places. Each chip transmits a tiny signal to a series of receivers located around the Museum. If the object is moved even one inch, an alarm goes off, pinpointing the location of the object.”

“And then what happens?” asked D’Agosta.

Ippolito gri

“The interior of the Museum,” Ippolito continued, “is divided into five cells. Each cell includes a number of exhibit halls and storage areas. Most of these run from basement to roof, but, because of the Museum’s structural framework, the perimeters in cells two and three are a little more complicated. When I flick a switch on this panel here, thick steel doors drop down from the ceilings to seal off the interior passages between cells. The Museum windows are all barred. Once we’ve sealed off a certain cell, the burglar is trapped. He can move [254] around within one section of the Museum, but he can’t get out. The grid was laid out in such a way that the exits are external to it, making monitoring easy.” He moved over to the layouts. “Let’s say someone manages to steal an object, and by the time the guards arrive, he’s left the room. It won’t make any difference. Within a few seconds, the chip will have sent a signal to the computer, instructing it to seal off that entire cell. The whole process is automatic. The burglar is trapped inside.”

“What happens if he takes the chip off before he runs?” D’Agosta asked.

“The chips are motion sensitive,” Ippolito continued. “That would set off the alarm, too, and the security doors would instantly descend. A burglar couldn’t move fast enough to get out.”

Pendergast nodded. “How do you reopen the doors once the burglar has been caught?”

“We can open any set of doors from this control room, and each security door has a manual override on it. It’s a keypad, actually. Punch in the right code, and the door comes up.”

“Very nice,” Pendergast murmured. “But the entire system is geared toward preventing someone from getting out. What we’re dealing with here is a killer who wants to stay in. How will all this help keep tonight’s guests safe?”

Ippolito shrugged. “No big deal. We’ll just use the system to create a secure perimeter around the reception hall and the exhibition. All the festivities are taking place inside Cell Two.” He pointed to the schematic. “The reception is taking place in the Hall of the Heavens, here. That’s just outside the entrance to the Superstition exhibition, which is itself within Cell Two. All the steel doors for this cell will be closed. We’ll be leaving only four doors open: the East Door of the Great Rotunda—which is the gateway to the Hall of the Heavens—and three emergency exits. All will be heavily guarded.”