Relic

Margo wheeled Frock down the low-ceilinged hallways. Every so often, Frock would bang on a door or [315] call Pendergast’s name. Each time, his shouts were greeted by silence.

“We’re getting nowhere,” Frock said as Margo stopped for a breather. Frock’s white hair was in disarray, and his tuxedo jacket was rumpled.

Margo looked nervously around. She knew approximately where they were: somewhere, at the far end of the confusion of passages, lay the vast, silent space of the old powerhouse: a lightless, subterranean pantheon now used to hold the Museum’s collection of whale bones. Despite Frock’s predictions of the creature’s behavior, the shouting made her nervous.

“This could take hours,” Frock said. “He may not be here anymore. Perhaps he never was.” He sighed deeply. “Pendergast was our last hope.”

“Maybe the noise and confusion will frighten the creature, keep it in hiding, away from the party,” Margo said with a hope she didn’t feel.

Frock rested his head in his hands. “Not likely. The beast must be driven by smell. It may be intelligent, it may be cu

Frock sat up, his eyes filled with renewed vigor.

“Pendergast!” he shouted again. “Where are you?”

Waters stood listening, his body tensed. He could feel his heart pounding, and he couldn’t seem to gulp enough air into his lungs.

He’d been in plenty of dangerous situations before, been shot at, knifed, even had acid thrown at him once. Every time he’d been cool, almost detached, when he’d had to be. Now, one little thump and I’m panicking. He clawed at his collar. The air’s stuffy in this damn room. He willed himself to breathe slowly and deeply. I’ll just call Garcia. We’ll investigate together. And find nothing.

Then he noticed that the rustling of feet overhead had changed its rhythm. Instead of the scraping and sliding he’d heard before, now he heard a constant drumming, [316] like the sound of ru

There was another thump in the electrical room.

Sweet Jesus, something big’s happening.

He grabbed his radio. “Garcia? You copy? Requesting backup to investigate suspicious noises in the electrical systems room.”

Waters swallowed. Garcia wasn’t responding on the regular frequency. As Waters holstered his radio, he noticed that the geek had stood up and was heading for the electrical room.

“What are you doing?” Waters asked.

“I want to see what that noise is,” the geek said, opening the door. “I think the air conditioner might have failed again.” He put his hand around the doorframe, feeling for a light switch.

“Wait a minute, you,” Waters said. “Don’t—”

Waters’s radio burst into static. “We got a stampede in here!” There was more static. “... All units, mobilize for emergency evacuation!” More static. “Can’t hold this crowd, we need backup now, now ...”

Jesus. Waters grabbed his radio, punched buttons. In an instant, all bands had been taken. He could hear something terrible happening right over his head. Shit.

Waters looked up. The geek was gone, and the door to the electrical room was open, but the light inside was still off. Why was the light still off? Without taking his eyes from the open door, he carefully unshouldered his shotgun, pumped a slug into the chamber, and started forward.

Carefully, he moved up to the edge of the door, looked around. Blackness.

“Hey, you,” he said. “You in there?” As he moved inside the darkened room, he felt his mouth go dry.

There was a sudden loud thump to his left, and Waters instinctively dropped to his knee and pumped three rounds, each one a flash of light and a deafening blast.

There was a shower of sparks and a gout of flame [317] licked upward, briefly illuminating the room with lambent orange light. The geek was on his knees, looking up at Waters.

“Don’t shoot!” the geek said, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t shoot anymore!”

Waters raised himself on trembling legs, ears ringing. “I heard a sound,” he cried. “Why didn’t you answer me, you stupid shit?”

“It was the air conditioner,” the geek said, tears streaming down his face. “It was the air-conditioner pump failing, like before.”

Waters backed up, feeling behind him for the wall switch. Gunpowder hung in the air like a blue fog. On the far wall, a large mounted box of metal was smoking from three large, ragged holes in its front casing.

Waters hung his head, sank back against the wall.

With a sudden pop, an electrical arc sliced across the ruined box, followed by a crackling and another shower of sparks. The acrid air grew foul. The lights in the Computer Room flickered, dimmed, brightened. Waters heard one alarm go off, and then another.

“What’s happening?” he shouted. The lights dimmed again.

“You destroyed the central switching box,” the geek cried, rising to his feet and ru

“Oh, shit,” Waters breathed.

The lights went out.

= 46 =

Coffey shouted again into the radio. “D’Agosta, come in!” He waited. “Shit!”

He switched to the Security Command cha

“I don’t know, sir,” Garcia said nervously. “I think Lieutenant D’Agosta said there was a body in ...” There was a pause. “Sir, I’m getting reports of panic in the exhibition. The guards are—”

Coffey cut him off and switched the bands, listening. “We got a stampede in here!” the radio squawked.

The agent switched back to Security Command. “Garcia, get the word out. All units, prepare for emergency evacuation procedures.” He turned to look across the Great Rotunda, through the east door into the Hall of the Heavens.

A visible ripple passed through the crowd, and the background chatter began to die away. Over the sounds of the band, Coffey could hear clearly now the sound of muffled screams and the low thunder of ru

Coffey unbuttoned his jacket, and turned toward the agents in the forward station. “Emergency crowd control procedures. Move out.”

Suddenly the crowd surged backward, and a frenzy of shouting and screaming broke from the open door of the Hall. The band faltered, then fell silent. In an instant, everyone was ru

“Go, you son of a bitch!” said Coffey, shoving one of his men in the back, holding his radio in his fight hand. “D’Agosta, you copy?”

As the crowd began to pour out of the Hall, the agents collided with the surging mass and were forced back. Thrusting himself from the roiling mass of bodies, Coffey backed away slightly, panting and cursing.

“It’s like a tidal wave!” one of his men yelled. “We’ll never make it in!”

Suddenly the lights dimmed. Coffey’s radio crackled again.

“Garcia here. Listen, sir, all the security lights have gone red, the board’s lit up like a Christmas tree. The perimeter alarms are all coming on.”

Coffey moved forward again, fighting to stand his ground against the crowd streaming past him. He could no longer see the other agents. The lights flickered a second time, and then he felt a low rumble from the direction of the Hall. Coffey looked up and saw the thick edge of the metal security door descending from a slot in the ceiling.

“Garcia!” Coffey shouted into the radio. “The east door is coming down! Shut it off! Get it back up, for Chrissake!”

[320] “Sir, their controls indicate it’s still up. But something’s happening down here. All the systems are—”