Bailey dropped to one knee, aiming the shotgun up the staircase. D’Agosta quickly turned to the group waiting below him. “Everybody,” he hissed, “down to the next landing. Quick!”
There was a series of low murmurs. “We can’t go down there!” somebody cried. “We’ll be trapped underground!”
D’Agosta’s response was drowned by the blast of Bailey’s shotgun. “The Museum Beast!” somebody screamed, and the group turned, stumbling and falling down the stairs. “Bailey!” D’Agosta shouted, his ears ringing from the blast. “Bailey, follow me!”
Walking backward down the stairs, one hand holding his handgun, the other feeling its way against the wall, D’Agosta noticed the surface of the stairwell turn to damp stone as he moved below the level of the basement. Farther up the stairwell, he could see the dim form of Bailey following, gasping and cursing under his breath. After what seemed an eternity, D’Agosta’s foot hit the subbasement landing. All around him, people held their breaths; then Bailey bumped into him gently.
“Bailey, what the fuck was it?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” came the response. “There was that horrible smell, then I thought I saw something. Two red eyes in the dark. I fired.”
D’Agosta shone his flashlight up the stairwell. The light showed only shadows and rough-hewn yellow rock, crudely carved. The smell lingered.
He shone the flashlight toward the group, and did a quick head count. Thirty-eight, including himself and Bailey. “Okay,” he whispered to the group. “We’re in the subbasement. I’m gonna go in first, then you follow at my signal.”
He turned and shined his light over the door. Christ, he thought, this thing belongs in the Tower of London. The blackened metal door was reinforced with horizontal strips of iron. When he pushed it open, cool, damp, moldy air rushed into the stairwell. D’Agosta started forward. At the sound of gurgling water, he stepped back, then played the light downward.
“Listen, everybody,” he called. “There’s running water down here, about three inches deep. Come forward one at a time, quickly but carefully. There are two steps down on the far side of the door. Bailey, take up the rear. And, for God’s sake, close the door behind you.”
Pendergast counted the remaining bullets, pocketed them, then looked in Frock’s direction. “Truly fascinating. And a clever bit of detection on your part. I’m sorry I doubted you, Professor.”
Frock gestured magnanimously. “How were you to know?” he asked. “Besides, it was Margo here who discovered the most important link. If she hadn’t tested those packing fibers, we never would have known.”
Pendergast nodded at Margo, huddled on top of a large wooden crate. “Brilliant work,” he said. “We could use you in the Baton Rouge crime lab.”
“Assuming I let her go,” Frock said. “And assuming we get out of here alive. Dubious assumptions, at best.”
“And assuming I’m willing to leave the Museum,” Margo said, surprising even herself.
Pendergast turned to Margo. “I know you understand this creature better than I do. Still, do you truly believe this plan you’ve described will work?”
Margo took a deep breath, nodded. “If the Extrapolator is correct, this beast hunts by smell rather than sight. And if its need for the plant is as strong as we think it is—” She paused, shrugged. “It’s the only way.
Pendergast remained motionless a moment. “If it will save those people below us, we have to try.” He pulled out his radio.
“D’Agosta?” he said, adjusting the channel. “D’Agosta, this is Pendergast. Do you read?”
The radio squealed static. Then: “D’Agosta here.”
“D’Agosta, what’s your status?”
“We met up with that creature of yours,” came the response. “It got into the Hall, killed Ippolito and an injured guest. We moved into the stairwell, but the basement door was jammed. We had to go to the subbasement.”
“Understood,” Pendergast said. “How many of your weapons were you able to take?”
“We only had time to grab one twelve-gauge and a service revolver.”
“What’s your current position?”
“In the subbasement, maybe fifty yards from the stairwell door.”
“Listen closely, Vincent. I’ve been speaking with Professor Frock. The creature we’re dealing with is extremely intelligent. Maybe even as smart as you or I.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“If you see it again, don’t aim for the head. The slugs will just bounce off the skull. Aim for the body.”
There was silence for a moment, then D’Agosta’s voice returned. “Look, Pendergast, you need to tell Coffey some of this. He’s sending some men in, and I don’t think he has any idea of what’s waiting for him.”
“I’ll do my best. But first let’s talk about getting you out of here. That beast may be hunting you.”
“No shit.”