Her shrieks echoed toward them, growing fainter as she was swept farther downstream. Some of the guests were shouting and crying directions to her, others sobbing uncontrollably.
“Quick, everybody!” D’Agosta yelled. “Stay against the wall! Let’s move forward, and, whatever you do, don’t break the chain.” Under his breath, he muttered to Smithback, “Tell me you’ve still got the flashlight.”
“Here it is,” Smithback said, testing it.
“We have to keep going, or we’ll lose everybody,” D’Agosta muttered. Then he laughed a short, mirthless laugh. “Looks like I saved your life this time. That makes us even, Smithback.”
Smithback said nothing. He was trying to shut out the horrifying, anguished screams, fainter now and distorted by the tunnel. The sound of roaring water grew clearer and more menacing.
The event had demoralized the group. “We’ll be all right if we just hold hands!” Smithback heard the Mayor shout. “Keep the chain intact!”
Smithback gripped D’Agosta’s hand as hard as he could. They waded downstream in the darkness.
“Light,” said D’Agosta.
Smithback switched on the beam. And the bottom dropped out of his world.
A hundred yards ahead, the high ceiling of the tunnel sloped downwards to a narrow semicircular funnel. Beneath it, the roiling water writhed and surged thunderously, then plummeted abruptly into a dark chasm. Heavy mist rose, bearding the mossy throat of the pit with dark spray. Smithback watched, slackjawed, as all his hopes for a best-seller, all his dreams—even his wish to stay alive—disappeared into the whirlpool.
Dimly, he realized that the screaming behind him wasn’t screaming, but cheering. He looked back, and saw the bedraggled group staring upward, above his head. At the point where the curved brickwork of the ceiling met the wall of the tunnel, a dark hole yawned, perhaps three feet square. Poking out of it was the end of a rusty iron ladder, bolted to the ancient masonry.
The cheering rapidly died away as the awful truth dawned.
“It’s too fucking far to reach,” D’Agosta said.
= 58 =
They moved away from the Secure Area and stealthily climbed a stairwell. Pendergast turned to Margo, put a finger to his lips, then pointed to the crimson splashes of blood on the floor. She nodded: the beast had gone this way when it ran from their lights. She remembered that she’d been up this staircase just the day before with Smithback, evading the guard. She followed Pendergast as he flicked off the miner’s lamp, cautiously opened the first floor door, and moved out into the darkness beyond, the bundle of fibers clasped over his shoulder.
The agent stopped a moment, inhaling. “I don’t smell anything,” he whispered. “Which way to Security Command and the Computer Room?”
“I think we go left from here,” Margo said. “And then through the Hall of Ancient Mammals. It’s not too far. Just around the corner from Security Command is the long hallway Dr. Frock told you about.”
Pendergast switched on the flashlight briefly and shone it down the corridor. “No blood spoor,” he murmured. “The creature headed straight upstairs from the Secure Area-past this landing and right toward Dr. Wright, I’m afraid.” He turned toward Margo. “And how do you propose we lure it here?”
“Use the fibers again,” she replied.
“It didn’t fall for that trick last time.”
“But this time we’re not trying to trap it. All we want to do is lure it around the corner. You’ll be at the other end of the hallway, ready to shoot. We’ll just leave some fibers at one end of the hall. We’ll make a—a what do you call it?—at the far end.”
“A blind.”
“Right, a blind. And we’ll be hiding there, in the dark. When it comes, I’ll train the miner’s light onto it and you can start shooting.”
“Indeed. And how will we know when the creature has arrived? If the hallway is as long as Dr. Frock says it is, we may not be able to smell it in time.”
Margo was quiet. “That’s tough,” she finally admitted.
They stood for a moment in silence.
“There’s a glass case at the end of the hall,” Margo said. “It’s meant to display new books written by the Museum staff, but Mrs. Rickman never bothered to have it filled. So it won’t be locked. We can put the bundle in there. The creature may be out for blood, but I doubt it’ll be able to resist that. It’ll make some noise prying open the case. When you hear the noise, you shoot.”
“Sorry,” Pendergast said after a moment, “but I think it’s too obvious. We have to ask the question again: If I came across a setup like this, would I know it was a trap? In this case, the answer is yes. We need to think of something a little more subtle. Any new trap that uses the fibers as bait is bound to arouse its suspicions.”
Margo leaned against the cold marble wall of the corridor. “It has an acute sense of hearing as well as smell,” she said.
“Yes?”