mist.”
“You’re going to need it. Find the thing. Take it out.”
Pendergast and Margo looked down the narrow service tunnel into the subbasement. Pendergast’s flashlight sent a circle of light onto a sheet of black, oily water roiling past beneath them.
“It’s getting deeper,” Pendergast said. Then he turned [381] to Margo. “Are you sure the creature can make it up this shaft?” he asked.
“I’m nearly certain,” Margo said. “It’s highly agile.” Pendergast stepped back and tried once again to raise D’Agosta on the radio. “Something’s happened,” he said. “The Lieutenant has been out of contact for fifteen minutes. Ever since they hit that locked door.” He glanced down again through the shaft that sloped toward the subbasement below. “How are you planning to lay a scent with all this water?” he asked.
“You estimate they passed beneath here some time ago, right?” Margo asked.
Pendergast nodded. “The last time I spoke to him, D’Agosta told me the group was between the first and second forks,” he said. “Assuming they haven’t backtracked, he’s well beyond this spot.”
“The way I see it,” Margo continued, “if we sprinkle some fibers on the water, the flow should carry them to the creature.”
“That’s assuming the creature’s smart enough to realize the fibers came floating from upstream. Otherwise, he might just chase them further downstream.”
“I think it’s smart enough,” Frock said. “You mustn’t think of this creature as an
Using the handkerchief, Pendergast carefully removed some fibers from the bundle and sprinkled them along the base of the shaft. He dropped another handful into the water below.
“Not too much,” Frock warned.
Pendergast looked at Margo. “We’ll sprinkle a few more fibers to establish a good upwater trail, then drag the bundle back to the Secure Area and wait. Your trap will be set.” After scattering a few more fibers, he secured the bundle.
“At the rate this water is moving,” he said, “it should take only a few minutes to reach the creature. How fast do you expect the thing to respond?”
[382] “If the extrapolation program is correct,” Frock said, “the creature can move at a high rate of speed. Perhaps thirty miles an hour or greater, especially when in need. And its need for the fibers seems overpowering. It won’t be able to travel at full speed down these corridors—the residual scent trail we leave will be harder to track —but I doubt the water will slow it much. And the Secure Area is close by.”
“I see,” Pendergast said. “How unsettling. ‘
“Ah,” said Frock, nodding. “Alcaeus.”
Pendergast shook his head. “Anacreon, Doctor. Shall we go?”
= 54 =
Smithback held the light, but it hardly seemed to penetrate the palpable darkness. D’Agosta, slightly in front, held the gun. The tunnel went on and on, black water rushing past and vanishing into the low-vaulted darkness. Either they were still descending, or the water was getting higher. Smithback could feel it pushing against his thighs.
He glanced at D’Agosta’s face, shadowy and grim, his thick features smeared with Bailey’s blood.
“I can’t go any farther,” someone wailed from the rear. Smithback could hear the Mayor’s familiar voice—a politician’s voice—reassuring, soothing, telling everyone what they wanted to hear. Once again, it seemed to work. Smithback stole a glance backward at the dispirited group. The lean, gowned, bejeweled women; the middle-aged businessmen in their tuxedos; the smattering of yuppies from investment banks and downtown law firms. He knew them all now, had even given them names and occupations in his head. And here they all [384] were, reduced to the lowest common denominator, wallowing around in the dark of a tunnel, covered with slime, pursued by a savage beast.
Smithback was worried, but still rational. Early on, he’d felt a moment of sheer terror when he realized the rumors about a Museum Beast were true. But now, tired and wet, he was more afraid of dying before he wrote his book than he was of dying itself. He wondered if that meant he was brave, or covetous, or just plain stupid. Whatever the case, he knew that what was happening to him down here was going to be worth a fortune. Book party at Le Cirque.
No one could do the story like he could, no one else had his first-person perspective. And he’d been a hero. He, William Smithback, Jr., had held the light against the monster when D’Agosta went back to shoot off the lock. He, Smithback, had thought of using the flashlight to brace the door. He’d been Lieutenant D’Agosta’s right-hand man.
“Shine the light up to the left, there.” D’Agosta intruded upon his thoughts, and Smithback dutifully complied. Nothing.
“I thought I saw something moving in the darkness,” D’Agosta muttered. “Must’ve been a shadow, I guess.”
God, Smithback thought, if only he lived to enjoy his success.
“Is it just my imagination, or is the water getting deeper?” he asked.
“It’s getting deeper
