“That goes into the Hall of Cretaceous Dinosaurs. It’s just like this one—solid oak.” He tucked the Ruger into his belt. “Those fools, going into the basement like so many lemmings. They should have listened to me.”
He rummaged in the file drawer again and pulled out a flashlight. “Excellent. Haven’t used this in years.”
He snapped it on and a feeble beam shot out, wavering as his hand shook a little.
“Not much juice left in that torch, I’d say,” Cuthbert murmured.
Wright turned it off. “We’ll only use it in an emergency.”
“Please!” Rickman spoke suddenly. “Please leave it on. Just for a minute.” She was sitting on a stool in the center of the room, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Winston, what are we going to do? We must have a plan.”
“First things first,” said Wright. “I need a drink, that’s Plan A. My nerves are shot.” He made his way to the far side of the lab and shone the light in an old cabinet, finally pulling out a bottle. There was a clink of glass.
“Ian?” asked Wright.
“Nothing for me,” Cuthbert replied.
“Lavinia?”
“No, no, I couldn’t.”
Wright came back and sat down at a worktable. He filled the tumbler and drank it off in three gulps. Then he refilled it. Suddenly, the room was full of the warm, peaty scent of single-malt scotch.
“Easy there, Winston,” said Cuthbert.
“We can’t stay here, in the dark,” Rickman said nervously. “There must be an exit somewhere on this floor.”
“I’m telling you, everything’s sealed off,” Wright snapped.
“What about the Dinosaur Hall?” said Rickman, pointing to the rear door.
“Lavinia,” said Wright, “the Dinosaur Hall has only one public entrance, and that’s been sealed by a security door. We’re completely locked in. But you don’t need to worry, because whatever killed Ippolito and the others won’t be after us. It’ll go after the easy kill, the group blundering around in the basement.”
There was a swallowing sound, then the loud snack of glass hitting the table. “I say we stay here for another half-hour, wait it out. Then, we’ll go back down into the exhibition. If they haven’t restored power and unsealed the doors by then, I know of another way out. Through the exhibition.”
“You seem to know all kinds of hiding places,” Cuthbert said.
“This used to be my lab. Once in awhile I still like to come down here, get away from the administrative headaches, be near my dinosaurs again.” He chuckled and drank.
“I see,” said Cuthbert acidly.
“Part of the Superstition exhibition is mounted in what used to be the old Trilobite Alcove. I put in a lot of hours down there many years ago. Anyway, there was a passageway to the Broadway corridor behind one of the old trilobite displays. The door was boarded up years ago to make room for another display case. I’m sure that when they were building Superstition, they just nailed a piece of plywood over it and painted it. We could kick it in, shoot off the lock with this if necessary.”
“That sounds feasible,” said Rickman eagerly.
“I don’t recall hearing about any such door in the exhibition,” Cuthbert said dubiously. “I’m sure Security would have known about it.”
“It was years ago, I tell you,” Wright snapped. “It was boarded over and forgotten.”
There was a long silence while Wright poured another drink.
“Winston,” Cuthbert said, “put that drink down.”
The Director took a long swig, then hung his head. His shoulders slumped.
“Ian,” he murmured finally. “How could this have happened? We’re ruined, you know.”
Cuthbert was silent.
“Let’s not bury the patient before the diagnosis,” said Rickman, in a desperately bright voice. “Good public relations can repair even the worst damage.”
“Lavinia, we aren’t talking about a few poisoned headache tablets here,” Cuthbert said. “There’s half a dozen dead people, maybe more, lying two floors below us. The bloody Mayor is trapped down there. In a couple of hours, we’ll be on every late news show in the country.”
“We’re ruined,” Wright repeated. A small, strangled sob escaped from his throat, and he laid his head down on the table.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Cuthbert, reaching over for Wright’s bottle and glass and putting them back in the cabinet.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Wright moaned without raising his head.
“Yes, Winston, it’s over,” said Cuthbert. “Frankly, I’ll be happy just to get out of here with my life.”
“Please, Ian, let’s leave here? Please?” Rickman pleaded. She stood up and walked over to the door Wright had closed behind them and swung it open slowly.
“This wasn’t locked!” she said sharply.
“Good Lord,” Cuthbert said, jumping up. Wright, without lifting his head, fished in his pocket and held out a key.
“Fits both doors,” he said in a muffled voice. Rickman’s shaking hand rattled the key loudly in the lock.
“What did we do wrong?” Wright asked plaintively.
“That’s clear enough,” said Cuthbert. “Five years ago, we had a chance to solve this thing.”