Dance Of Death

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nearer-as they came closer to seeing Viola and, inevitably, Diogenes-the agent had grown more and more tight-lipped and withdrawn.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

So that's the Iron Clock, he thought.

His dad had been a railroad buff, and D'Agosta knew something about railroad turntables. The revolving carousels were usually found at a railroad's terminus: a single track led into the turntable, and lying beyond would be a semicircular roundhouse with bays for locomotive storage. Here, however, hard by Pe

The sound of dripping water echoed in the vast space, and he could see, far above, icicles on the upper vaulting. The drops came spi

He wondered if-out there somewhere, in the darkness of one of the other eleven railroad tu

Just then he heard a faint rumble, followed by a growing rush of air. Pendergast retreated back into the tu

The tu

All fell silent again. D'Agosta saw the dark shapes of rats-some the size of small dogs-scurrying along the shadows at the far edge of the roundhouse. Water dripped steadily. The place smelled of rot and decay.