Dance Of Death

Smithback climbed into the front seat and helped Pendergast pull off the cheap, stained brown polyester top, revealing a dress shirt and tie underneath.

"Hand me my jacket back there, if you'd be so kind."

Smithback pulled a beautifully pressed suit coat off a rack hanging behind the front seat. Pendergast slid into it quickly.

"You pla

Pendergast turned onto East 138th Street. "This is a case where advance preparation meant the difference between life and death."

All at once, Smithback understood the plan. "That guy who was after us-you lured him into the one place he couldn't follow. There's no way around that impound facility."

"There is a way around, yes, involving three miles of driving through congested side streets." Pendergast turned north, heading for the Sheridan Expressway.

"So who the hell was that? The man you say is trying to kill me?"

"As I said, the less you know, the better. Although I must say that the high-speed chase and the use of firearms were uncharacteristically crude of him. Perhaps he saw his opportunity evaporating and became desperate." He looked over at Smithback with a laconic expression. "Well, Mr. Smithback? Convinced?"

Smithback nodded slowly. "But why me? What'd I do?"

"That is, unfortunately, the very question I can't answer."

Smithback's heart was only now slowing down, and he felt as wrung out and limp as a dishrag. He'd been in tight spots with Pendergast before. Deep down, he knew the man wouldn't do something like this unless it was absolutely necessary. All of a sudden, his career at the Times seemed a lot less important.

"Hand me your cell phone and wallet, please."

Smithback did as requested. Pendergast shoved them in the glove compartment and handed him an expensive leather billfold.

"What's this?"

"Your new identity."

Smithback opened it. There was no money, only a Social Security card and a New York driver's license.

"Edward Murdhouse Jones?" he read off.

"Correct."

"Yes, but Jones? Come on, what a cliché."

"That's precisely why you'll have no trouble remembering it… Edward."

Smithback shoved the wallet in his back pocket. "How long is this going to last?"

"Not long, I hope."

"What do you mean not long? A day or two?"

No answer.

"Where the hell are you taking me, anyway?"

"River Oaks."

"River Oaks? The millionaire fu

"You are now the troubled son of a Wall Street investment banker, in need of rest, relaxation, a bit of undemanding therapy, and isolation from the hectic world."

"Hold on, I'm not checking into any mental hospital-"

"You'll find River Oaks to be quite luxurious. You'll have a private room, gourmet food, and elegant surroundings. The grounds are beautiful-pity they are buried in two feet of snow at the moment. There's a spa, library, game room, and every imaginable comfort. It's housed in a former Vanderbilt mansion in Ulster County. The director is a very sympathetic man. He'll be most solicitous, I assure you. Most important, it is utterly secure from the killer who is determined to end your life. I am sorry I can't tell you more, I really am."

Smithback sighed. "This director, he'll know all about me, right?"

"He's got all the information he could possibly need. You will be well treated. Indeed, you are guaranteed special treatment."

"No force-fed meds? Straitjackets? Shock therapy?"

Pendergast smiled faintly. "Nothing like that, trust me. You'll be waited on hand and foot. An hour of counseling a day, that's all. The director is fully informed, he has all the necessary documents. I've purchased some clothes that I think will fit you."

Smithback was silent a moment. "Gourmet food, you say?"

"As much as you could wish."

Smithback sat forward. "But Nora. She'll worry about me."

"As I mentioned, she'll be led to understand you are on a special assignment for the Times. Given the work she's doing for the opening, she'll hardly have time to think about you at all."

"If they're after me, she'll be in danger. I need to be there to protect her."

"I can tell you that Nora is in absolutely no danger at present. However, she will be in danger if you remain near her. Because you are the target. It is for her sake as much as yours that you must go into hiding. The farther away you are, the safer she'll be."

Smithback groaned. "This is going to be a disaster for my career."

"Your career will suffer more from your untimely death."

Smithback could feel the lump of the wallet in his back pocket. Edward Murdhouse Jones. "I'm sorry, but I don't like this at all."

"Like it or not, I'm saving your life."

Smithback did not reply.

"Are we clear on that, Mr. Smithback?"

"Yes," Smithback said, with a dreadful sinking feeling.

TWENTY-TWO

Nora Kelly tried to shut out the din of the exhibition hall and focus her attention on the box of sand in front of her. On one side, she had laid out the objects to be arranged: a skeleton in plasticine, along with a suite of grave goods-priceless objects in gold, jade, polychrome ceramics, bone, and carved shell. On the other side of the large box, she had set up a photograph of a real tomb, a photo taken only moments after its astonishing discovery. It was the grave of a ninth-century Mayan princess named Chac Xel, and Nora's job was to re-create it-in painstaking detail-for the Sacred Images exhibition.

As she contemplated the work, she could hear, over her shoulder, the heavy breathing from one very a

But Nora wouldn't allow herself to be rushed. This was one of the most important exhibits in the entire exhibition. The artifacts to be arranged were extraordinarily delicate and demanded the utmost attention and care. Once again, she tried to shut out the uproar of construction, the growl of drills and the whine of Skilsaws, the shoutings back and forth, the furious comings and goings of curators, designers, and assistants. And on top of that, with the museum's security system being beefed up for the umpteenth time in preparation for the new opening, they had to drop everything and leave the exhibition now and then as sensors were installed and software tested. It was pure bedlam.

Nora refocused her attention on the sandbox in front of her. She began by arranging the bones, laying them in the sand after their original placement in the photograph. The princess had not been laid out flat, Western style; rather, her body had been bound into a mummy bundle, knees drawn up to the face, arms folded in front, the whole wrapped up like a package in beautiful woven blankets. The rotting of the bundle had caused the skeleton to fall open, spilling the bones in a crazy pattern on the floor of the tomb, which Nora carefully replicated.

Next came the placement of the objects found in the tomb. Unlike the bones, these were the real thing-and virtually priceless. She slipped on a pair of cotton gloves and lifted the largest object, a heavy pectoral in beaten electrum depicting a jaguar surrounded by glyphs. She held it up, momentarily spellbound by the dazzle of light off its golden curves. She laid it with care on the skeleton's chest. Next came a gold necklace, which she placed around the cervical vertebrae. Half a dozen gold rings were slipped onto the bony fingers. A solid-gold tiara set with jades and turquoises went atop the skull. She carefully arranged pots in a semicircle, filled with offerings of polished jade, turquoises, and glossy pieces of black obsidian. Next came a ceremonial obsidian knife, almost a foot long with many barbs, still sharp enough to make a nasty cut if not handled just so.