Blue Labyrinth

Constance knew that the greenhouse beyond was large, and even in the dark she could tell it was crowded with vegetation. If she could see two men from her lone vantage point, there would surely be others, perhaps several more, that remained hidden from view. Why were they all concentrated in this location?

Clearly, Barbeaux was set on preventing anyone from getting the plant. He wanted to ensure that Pendergast suffered the longest, most lingering, most painful, most apt death possible. But this just raised another question. Why were there men here at all? It would have been far easier to simply remove or destroy the specimen of Hodgson’s Sorrow, and then leave. Why the ambush?

There could be only one answer: because they knew what building the plant was in, but they didn’t know the name of the plant. Their information, however it had been gained, was incomplete.

Mentally reviewing the map of the garden, she recalled there was a second, higher level to the Aquatic House, gained via a staircase in the lobby, which allowed visitors to gaze out over the swampy jungle. She considered going upstairs to reco

There were too many men. She could never confront them all at once. She would have to sneak in, remove the plant from under their very eyes, and sneak back out. She would deal with Barbeaux later. It was a disagreeable option… but it was the only one.

Stealth was now paramount. That meant her backpack had become an impediment. Slipping the glass cutter and suction cup into a pocket of her dress, she secreted the nylon bag underneath a visitor’s bench. Then she crept back to the double doors of glass and tried to construct a picture of where Barbeaux’s men were hiding. If the men weren’t there, she could have found the plant in minutes.

Now it wouldn’t be so simple.

She retreated along the i

She crouched and listened. Nothing. Attaching the suction cup to a nearby pane, she started to cut it free. As she did so, the blade made a sharp noise against the glass. Immediately she paused. There was plenty of Brooklyn background noise: distant cars honking, jets passing overhead, the beating heart of the city. But still, the scritch of the cutter had been too prominent — and no doubt sounded even louder inside.

As if in answer, she saw a shadowy figure moving stealthily within, coming to check out the sound. He peered about this way and that, weapon at the ready. She knew he couldn’t see her waiting in the darkness outside. After a moment, he melted back into the foliage, satisfied it was nothing.

Constance waited, rethinking how she was going to get in. If she could find a way to do so without breaking or cutting any glass, it would greatly lessen her chances of being discovered.

She crawled along the edge of the long glass wall, her fingers probing against the panes as she moved. Some were a little loose. The bronze frames were corroded, especially where they met the low concrete foundation.

Still crawling, she tried one pane after another until she found a piece of glass that was looser than the rest. Inspecting its frame, she found the bronze almost completely corroded along the bottom edge.

She worked her glass cutter under the thin frame and began to pry outward. The bronze bent readily, its crust of oxidation flaking and falling off. Slowly, careful not to put so much pressure on the glass as to break it, she worked the cutter around the inside of the frame, bending it out. After several minutes the frame had been so thoroughly loosened that she risked applying the suction cup to the pane and pulling gently. It held fast, but now only one area of the frame remained to be bent. A few more seconds with the cutter, and she was able to remove the pane of glass. A stream of humid, flower-scented air flowed over her.

She crawled inside.

A dense wall of hanging orchids separated her from the men. This, she recalled from the map, was the Orchid Collection, which occupied the far end of the Aquatic House. Beyond it lay a curving walkway with a double railing, and beyond that was the large indoor pool in which Hodgson’s Sorrow would be found.

Constance paused, thinking. The foliage around and ahead of her was extremely dense. Her choice of a long black dress with white accents had been appropriate for camouflage. However, for the kind of crawling in close quarters that lay ahead, it would prove an obstacle. Worse yet, it might tear on a protruding branch and create unwanted noise. With a frown of displeasure, she worked the dress off her shoulders and slid it from her body. Beneath, she was wearing a black chemise. Then she took off her shoes and stockings, reducing herself to bare feet. Balling the dress up, she stowed it, the stockings, and the shoes behind a bush and crawled forward, slipping a hand into the thick curtain of orchids with infinite slowness and drawing it half an inch aside.

The visitors’ path lay bathed in moonlight, but the moon was low and deep shadows stretched across the shrubbery. There was no other way to approach the central pond — she would have to cross this path. As she paused, considering the situation, she was able to identify three additional men, standing in the darkness. They were utterly silent. The only things moving were their heads, which turned first one way and then the other, watching, listening.

These gentlemen were not going to be easily evaded. But evade them she must, or Pendergast would die.

The ground beneath her was wet and muddy. While her chemise was black, the exposed parts of her body were pale and could be easily detected. She scooped up the mud and methodically smeared it over her face, arms, and legs. When she was satisfied that she was fully covered, Constance crept forward again, inch by inch, parting the orchids with infinite caution. The smell of wet soil, flowers, and vegetation was pervasive. She paused after each move. As a little girl, down on the docks by Water Street, she had often stolen fish this way, moving so incrementally that no one noticed her. But back then she had been a waif. Now she was a full-grown woman.

In a few minutes, she had managed to move ten feet ahead and was now lying among a border of tropical ferns. Next, she had to cross a low railing and then the walkway. From her vantage point she could see several of the watchers, but there were no doubt others she could not see. She did have one advantage: they did not know she was already inside and among them. Their attention seemed to be focused on the entrance and an emergency exit in the rear.

More stealthy movement brought her up behind a large plaque, still in deep shadow. Getting across the walkway was going to be the crux. She could not crawl over it in slow motion. She would have to flit across at the moment when no one was looking.

She watched and waited. And then she heard the faint hiss of a radio, a murmured voice. And then another, coming from a different place; and then a third. It was exactly nine forty-five. They were checking in with each other.

In a minute they had revealed their locations — at least, those at the near end of the greenhouse. Constance counted a total of five. But she estimated that only three of them were in a position to notice her scurry across the open walkway.