Relic

“Yes, sir.”

The exhibition was filling up quickly now. Twenty minutes had gone by and Wright and the Mayor were deep inside the exhibition, near the locked rear exit. They’d moved quickly at first, keeping to the central halls and avoiding the secondary passages. But now, [310] Wright had stopped at a particular exhibit to explain something to the Mayor, and people were streaming past them into the exhibition’s farthest recesses.

“Keep near the front,” D’Agosta said to Bailey and McNitt, the two men on advance duty.

He skipped ahead and did a quick visual through two side alcoves. Spooky exhibition, he thought. A very sophisticated haunted house, with all the trimmings. The dim lighting, for instance. Not so dim, though, that you couldn’t make out nasty little details. Like the Congo power figure, with its bulging eye sockets and torso riddled with sharp nails. Or the nearby mummy, vertical in a freestanding case, that was streaked with dripped blood. Now that, thought D’Agosta, is a little overdone.

The crowd continued to spread out, and he ducked into the next set of alcoves. All clear.

“Walden, how’d you make out?” D’Agosta radioed.

“Lieutenant, I can’t find Spenser. He doesn’t seem to be around, and I can’t leave the entrance to find him with the crowd the way it is.”

“Shit. Okay, I’m calling Drogan and Frazier over to help you.”

D’Agosta radioed one of the two plainclothes units patrolling the party. “Drogan, you copy?”

A pause. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

“I want you and Frazier to back up Walden at the exhibition entrance, on the double.”

“Ten-four.”

He looked around. More mummies, but none with blood all over them.

D’Agosta stopped, frozen. Mummies don’t bleed.

Slowly, he turned around and started pushing past the eager phalanx of gawkers. It was just some curator’s sick little idea. Part of the exhibit.

But he had to be sure.

The case was surrounded by people, as were all the others. D’Agosta made his way through the crowd and glanced at the label: “Anasazi burial from Mummy Cave, Canyon del Muerto, Arizona.”

[311] The streaks of dried blood on the head and chest of the mummy looked like they had come from above. Trying to remain inconspicuous, he leaned as close to the case as possible and peered up.

Above the mummy’s head, the top of the case was open, exposing a ceiling crawling with steam pipes and ductwork. A hand, a watch, and the cuff of a blue shirt protruded over the edge of the case. A small icicle of dried blood hung from the middle finger.

D’Agosta backed into a corner, looked around, and spoke urgently into his radio.

“D’Agosta calling Security Command.”

“This is Garcia, Lieutenant.”

“Garcia, I’ve got a dead body in here. We’ve got to get everybody out. If they see it and panic, we’re fucked.”

“Jesus,” said Garcia.

“Get in touch with the guards and Walden. Nobody else is to be allowed into the exhibition. You got that? And I want the Hall of the Heavens cleared in case there’s a stampede. Get everyone out, but don’t cause any alarm. Now get Coffey for me.”

“Roger.”

D’Agosta looked around, trying to spot Ippolito. His radio squawked.

“Coffey here. What the hell is it, D’Agosta?”

“We got a dead body in here. It’s lying on top of a case. I’m the only one who’s spotted it, but that could change at any moment. We’ve got to get everyone out while there’s still time.”

As he opened his mouth to speak again, D’Agosta heard, over the noise of the crowd, “That blood looks so real.”

“There’s a hand up there,” D’Agosta heard someone else say.

Two woman were backing away from the case, looking up.

“It’s a body!” one said loudly.

[312] “It’s not real,” the other replied. “It’s a gimmick for the opening, it has to be.”

D’Agosta held up his hands, moving up to the case. “Please, everyone!”

There was a brief, terrible, listening silence. “A body!” someone else screamed.

There was a brief movement of the crowd, followed by a sudden stillness. Then, another scream: “He’s been murdered!”

The crowd peeled back in two directions, and several people stumbled and fell. A large woman in a cocktail dress toppled backward onto D’Agosta, slamming him up against the case. The air was slowly forced out of his chest as the weight of more bodies pressed against him. Then he felt the case behind him start to give.

“Wait!” he gasped.

From the darkness above, something big slid off the top of the case and flopped onto the tight mass of people, knocking several more down. From his awkward angle, D’Agosta could only tell that it was bloody, and that it had been human. He didn’t think it had a head.

Utter pandemonium broke out. The close space filled with screaming and shouting, and people started to run, clawing at each other, stumbling. D’Agosta felt the case topple. Suddenly, the mummy fell to the floor, with D’Agosta on top. As he grabbed the side of the case he felt glass slice into his palm. He tried to stand, but was knocked back into the case by the surging crowd.

He heard the hiss from his radio, found it was still in his right hand, and raised it to his face.

“This is Coffey. What the hell is going on, D’Agosta?”

“We’ve got a panic on our hands, Coffey. You’re going to have to evacuate the Hall immediately, or—

“Shit!” he roared as the radio was knocked from his hand by the surging crowd.

= 45 =

Margo watched dispiritedly as Frock shouted into an internal phone set in the granite walls of the Great Rotunda. Wright’s amplified speech poured out of the Hall of the Heavens, preventing Margo from hearing a word Frock said. Finally, Frock reached up, slamming the phone onto its cradle. He wheeled himself around to face her. “This is absurd. Apparently, Pendergast is in the basement somewhere. Or at least, he was. He radioed in about an hour ago. They refuse to contact him without authorization.”

“In the basement? Where?” Margo asked.

“Section 29, they said. Why he’s down there, or was down there, they refuse to say. My guess is they don’t know. Section 29 covers a lot of ground.” He turned to Margo. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Go down to the basement, of course,” Frock replied.

“I don’t know,” Margo said dubiously. “Perhaps we [314] should get the authorization they need to summon him up.

Frock moved impatiently in his wheelchair. “We don’t even know who could give such authorization.” He stared at her, becoming aware of her uncertainty. “I don’t think you need worry about the creature confronting us, my dear,” he said. “If I’m right, it will be drawn to the concentration of people here at the exhibition. It’s our obligation to do whatever we can to prevent a catastrophe; we took that on when we made these discoveries.”

Still Margo hesitated. It was one thing for Frock to speak in grandiose terms. He hadn’t been inside that exhibition. He hadn’t heard the stealthy padding of feet. He hadn’t run blindly in the screaming dark ...

She took a deep breath. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Since Section 29 was inside the Cell Two security perimeter, Margo and Frock had to show their IDs twice on their way to the proper elevator. Apparently, the curfew being suspended for the evening, guards and police officers were more concerned about detaining suspicious or unauthorized characters than restricting the movement of Museum employees.

“Pendergast!” Frock shouted as Margo wheeled him out of the elevator into the dim basement corridor. “This is Doctor Frock. Can you hear me?”

His voice echoed and died.

Margo knew a little of the history behind Section 29. When the Museum’s powerplant had been located nearby, the area housed steam pipes, supply tu