Relic

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me go in there alone.”

“Do as I say.”

Rickman walked over to the far door and opened it. She hesitated.

“Go on.”

“Ian—” Rickman pleaded. Behind her, Cuthbert could see the huge dinosaur skeletons looming out of the darkness. The great black ribs and yawning rows of teeth were suddenly illuminated by a streak of livid lightning.

“Damn you, woman, get in there.”

Cuthbert turned back, listening. Something soft was rubbing against the door. He leaned forward, pressing his ear against the smooth wood. Maybe it was the wind.

Suddenly he was slammed backward into the room by a tremendous force. Cuthbert could hear Rickman screaming within the Dinosaur Hall.

Wright stood unsteadily. “What was that?” he said.

His head ringing, Cuthbert picked the gun off the floor, scrambled to his feet, and ran to the far corner of [395] the room. “Get into the Dinosaur Hall!” he shouted at Wright.

Wright sagged heavily against the chair. “What’s that disgusting smell?” he asked.

There was another savage blow to the door, and the crack of splitting wood sounded like a rifle shot. Cuthbert’s finger instinctively tightened on the trigger, and the gun fired unexpectedly, bringing down dust from the ceiling. He lowered the weapon momentarily, his hands shaking. Stupid, one wasted bullet. Bloody hell, he wished he knew more about handguns. He raised it again and tried to take aim, but his hands were shaking uncontrollably now. Got to calm down, he thought. Take a few deep breaths. Aim for something vital. Four shots.

The room gradually returned to silence. Wright was slumped against his chair, as if frozen into place.

“Winston, you idiot!” Cuthbert hissed. “Get into the Hall!”

“If you say so,” Wright said, and shuffled toward the door. He seemed finally frightened enough to move.

Then Cuthbert heard that soft sound again, and the wood groaned. The thing was pressing against the door. There was another horrible cra-ack and the door split wide open, a piece of wood spinning crazily end over end into the room. The table was thrown to one side. Something appeared in the gloom of the hallway, and a three-tined claw reached through the opening and gripped the broken wood. With a tearing noise the remainder of the door was pulled back into the darkness, and Cuthbert saw a dark shape in the doorway.

Wright lurched into the Dinosaur Hall, almost toppling Rickman, who had appeared in the doorway, choking and sobbing.

“Shoot it, Ian, oh please, please kill it!” she screamed.

Cuthbert waited, sighting down the barrel. He held his breath. Four shots.

?

The commander of the SWAT team moved along the roof, a catlike shape against the dark indigo of the sky, while the spotter on the street below guided his progress. Coffey stood next to the spotter, under a tarp. They both held rubberized waterproof radios.

“Dugout to Red One, move five more feet to the east,” the spotter said into his radio, peering upward through his night-vision passive telescope. “You’re almost there.” He was studying Museum blueprints spread out on a table under a sheet of Plexiglas. The SWAT team’s route had been marked in red.

The dark figure moved carefully across the slate roof, the lights of the Upper West Side twinkling around him; below, the Hudson River, the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles on Museum Drive, the high-rise apartment buildings laid out along Riverside Drive like rows of glowing crystals.

“That’s it,” the spotter said. “You’re there, Red One.”

Coffey could see the Commander kneel, working swiftly and silently to set the charges. His team waited a hundred yards back, the medics directly behind them. On the street, a siren wailed.

“Set,” said the Commander. He stood up and walked carefully backward, unrolling a wire.

“Blow when ready,” murmured Coffey.

Coffey watched as everyone on the roof lay down. There was a brief flash of light, and a second later the sharp slap of sound reached Coffey. The Commander waited a moment and then eased forward.

“Red One to Dugout, we’ve got an opening.”

“Proceed,” said Coffey.

The SWAT team dropped in through the hole in the roof, followed by the medics.

“We’re inside,” came the voice of the Commander. “We’re in the fifth-floor corridor, proceeding as advised.”

[397] Coffey waited impatiently. He looked at his watch: nine-fifteen. They’d been stuck in there, without power, for the longest ninety minutes of his life. An unwelcome vision of the Mayor, dead and gutted, kept plaguing him.

“We’re at the Cell Three emergency door, fifth floor, Section Fourteen. Ready to set charges.”

“Proceed,” said Coffey.

“Setting charges.”