Relic (Pendergast, Book 1)

by Preston, Douglas

  “What are you talking about!”

  “It’s nocturnal, remember? It probably hates light.”

  “That’s absolutely correct!” cried Frock.

  “Stay back!” Pendergast shouted. Margo heard a small click, then the brilliance of the miner’s light blinded her momentarily. As her vision returned, she saw Pendergast on one knee, his gun leveled at the door, the bright circle of light focused directly on its center.

  There was another crunching noise, and Margo could see splinters spray into the room from a widening split in the upper panel. The door bowed inward.

  Pendergast stayed steady, sighting along the levelled barrel.

  There was another tremendous splintering sound and the door broke inward in pieces, swinging crazily on bent hinges. Margo pressed herself against the wall, forcing herself into it until her spine creaked in protest. She heard Frock shout in amazement, wonder, and fear. The creature squatted in the doorway, a monstrous silhouette in the bright light; then, with a sudden throaty roar, it shook its head and backed out.

  “Keep back,” Pendergast said. He kicked the broken door aside and moved cautiously out into the hall. Margo heard a sudden shot, then another. Then, silence. After what seemed an eternity, Pendergast returned, motioning them forward. A trail of small red droplets led down the hallway and around the corner.

  “Blood!” Frock said, bending forward with a grunt. “So you wounded it!”

  Pendergast shrugged. “Perhaps. But I wasn’t the first. The droplets originate from the direction of the subbasement. See? Lieutenant D’Agosta or one of his men must have wounded it earlier but not disabled it. It moved away with amazing speed.”

  Margo looked at Frock. “Why didn’t it take the bait?”

  Frock returned her gaze. “We’re dealing with a creature possessed of preternatural intelligence.”

  “What you’re saying is that it detected our trap,” Pendergast said, a note of disbelief in his voice.

  “Let me ask you, Pendergast. Would you have fallen for that trap?”

  Pendergast was silent. “I suppose not,” he said at length.

  “Well, then,” said Frock. “We underestimated the creature. We must stop thinking of it as a dumb animal. It has the intelligence of a human being. Did I understand correctly that the body they found in the exhibition was hidden? The beast knew it was being hunted. Obviously, it had learned to conceal its prey. Besides—” he hesitated. “I think we’re dealing with more than simply hunger now. Chances are, it’s been temporarily sated by this evening’s human diet. But it’s also been wounded. If your analogy of the cape buffalo is correct, this creature may not only be hungry, but angry.”

  “So you think it’s gone hunting,” Pendergast said quietly.

  Frock remained motionless. Then he gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “So who’s it hunting now?” Margo asked.

  No one answered.

  55

  Cuthbert checked the door again. It was locked and rock solid. He flicked on the flashlight and shined it in the direction of Wright, slumped in his chair and looking morosely at the floor. Cuthbert switched off the flashlight. The room reeked of whisky. There was no noise except for the rain splattering and drumming against the barred window.

  “What are we going to do with Wright?” he asked in a low tone.

  “Don’t worry,” Rickman replied, her voice tight and high. “We’ll just tell the press he’s sick and pack him off to the hospital, then schedule a press conference for tomorrow afternoon—”

  “I’m not talking about after we get out. I’m talking about now. If the beast comes up here.”

  “Please, Ian, don’t talk like that. It scares me. I can’t imagine the animal is going to do that. For all we know, it’s been in the basement for years. Why would it come up here now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Cuthbert. “That’s what worries me.” He checked the Ruger once again. Five shots.

  He went over to Wright and shook the Director’s shoulder. “Winston?”

  “Are you still here?” Wright asked, looking up hazily.

  “Winston, I want you to take Lavinia and go into the Dinosaur Hall. Come along.”

  Wright slapped Cuthbert’s arm away. “I’m fine just where I am. Maybe I’ll take a nap.”

  “The devil with you, then,” said Cuthbert. He sat down in a chair opposite the door.

  There was a brief noise—a rattle—at the door, as if the doorknob had been turned, then released.

  Cuthbert jumped up, gun in hand. He walked close to the door and listened.

  “I hear something,” he said quietly. “Get into the Dinosaur Hall, Lavinia.”

  “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 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.”

  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.”

  D’Agosta and his group hadn’t reported in for over half an hour. God, if something happened to the Mayor, no one would care whose fault it really was. Coffey would be the one that caught the blame. That’s the way things worked in this town. It had taken him so long to get where he was, and he’d been so careful, and now the bastards were just going to take it away from him. It was all Pendergast’s fault. If he hadn’t started messing around on other people’s turf …

  “Charges set.”

  “Blow when ready,” Coffey said again. Pendergast had fucked up, not him. He himself had only taken over yesterday. Maybe they wouldn’t blame him, after all. Especially if Pendergast wasn’t around. That son of a bitch could talk the hind legs off a mule.

  There was a long silence. No sound of explosion reached Coffey’s ears as he waited outside beneath the sodden tarp.

  “Red One to Dugout, we’re clean,” the Commander said.

  “Proceed. Get inside and kill the son of a bitch,” said Coffey.

  “As discussed, sir, our first priority is to evac the wounded,” said the Commander in a flat voice.

  “I know! But hurry it up, for God’s sake!”

  He punched savagely at his transmit button.

  * * *

  The Commander stepped out of the stairwell, looking carefully around before motioning the teams to follow him. One by one, the dark figures emerged, gas masks pushed high on their foreheads, fatigue uniforms blending into the shadows, their M-16s and Bullpups equipped with full-tang bayonets. In the rear, a short, stubby officer was carrying a 40mm six-shot grenade launcher, a big-bellied weapon that looked like a pregnant tommy gun. “We’ve gained the fourth floor,” the Commander radioed the spotter. “Laying down an infrared beacon. Hall of Lesser Apes directly ahead.”

  The spotter spoke into his radio. “Proceed south seventy feet into the Hall, then west twenty feet to a door.”

  The Commander took a small black box from his belt and pressed a button. A ruby laser shot out, pencil-thin. He moved the beam around until he had the distance reading he needed. Then he moved forward and repeated the procedure, shining the laser toward the west wall.

  “Red One to Dugout. Door in sight.”

  “Good. Proceed.”

  The Commander moved ahead to the door, motioning his men to follow.

  “The door’s locked. Setting charges.”

  The team quickly moulded two small bars of plastique around the doorknob, then stepped back, unrolling more wire.

  “Charges set.”

  There was a low whump as the door flew open.

  “The trapdoor should be directly in front of you, in the center of the storage room,” the spotter directed.

  By moving aside several flats of scenery, the Commander and his men exposed the trapdoor. Undoing the latches, the Commander grasped the iron ring and heaved upward. Stale air rushed up to greet them. The Commander leaned forward. In the Hall of the Heavens below, everything was still.

  “We’ve got an opening,” he said into the radio. “Looks good.”

  “Okay,” came Coffey’s voice. “Secure the Hall. Send down the medics and evac the injured, fast.”

  “Red One, roger that, Dugout.”

  The spotter took over. “Tear out the drywall in the center of the north wall. Behind it you’ll find an eight-inch I-beam to anchor your ropes to.”

  “Will do.”

  “Careful. It’s a sixty-foot drop.”

  The Commander and his team worked swiftly, punching through the drywall, looping two chains around the I-beam, attaching locking carabiners, a block and tackle. A team member hooked a rope ladder to one of the chains and dropped it through the hole.

  The Commander leaned over once again, shining his powerful light down into the gloom of the hall.

  “This is Red One. We’ve got some bodies down here,” he said.

  “Any sign of the creature?” Coffey asked.

  “Negative. Looks like ten, twelve bodies, maybe more. Ladder’s in place now.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  The Commander turned to the medic team. “We’ll signal when ready. Start lowering the collapsible stretchers. We’ll take ’em out one by one.”

  He grabbed the rope ladder and started down, swinging over the vast empty space. The men followed, one by one. Two fanned out to provide suppressing fire as necessary, while two others set up tripods with clusters of halogen lamps, hooking them to the portable generators being lowered by ropes. Soon the center of the hall was flooded with light.

  “Secure all ingress and egress!” shouted the Commander. “Medic team, descend!”

  “Report!” Coffey cried over the radio.

  “We’ve secured the Hall,” the Commander said. “No sign of any animal. Medic team deploying now.”

  “Good. You’ll need to find the thing, kill it, and locate the Mayor’s party. We believe they went down the stairwell back by the service area.”

  “Roger, Dugout,” said the Commander.

  As the Commander’s radio buzzed into silence, he heard a sudden report, muffled but unmistakable.

  “Red One to Dugout, we just heard a pistol shot. Sounded like it was coming from above.”

  “Dammit, go after it!” cried Coffey. “Take your men and go after it!”

  The Commander turned to his men. “All right. Red Two, Red Three, finish up and secure here. Take the grenade launcher. The rest of you come with me.”

  56

  The viscous water was now lapping at Smithback’s waist. Just keeping his balance was exhausting. His legs had long since gone numb, and he was shivering.

  “This water is rising awful damn fast.” D’Agosta said.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about that creature anymore,” Smithback said hopefully.

  “Maybe not. You know,” D’Agosta told him slowly, “You were pretty quick back there, jamming the door with the flashlight like that. I guess you saved all our lives.”

  “Thanks,” said Smithback, liking D’Agosta more and more.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” D’Agosta said over the rush of the water.

  “Everyone okay?” D’Agosta turned back to the Mayor.

  The Mayor looked haggard. “It’s touch and go. There are a few who are slipping into shock or exhaustion, maybe both. Which way from here?” His eyes searched them.

  D’Agosta hesitated. “Ah, I really can’t say anything conclusively,” he said at las
t. “Smithback and I will try the right fork first.”

  The Mayor looked back at the group, then moved closer to D’Agosta. “Look,” he said, in a low, pleading tone. “I know you’re lost. You know you’re lost. But if those people back there learn about it, I don’t think we’d get them to go any farther. It’s very cold standing here, and the water is getting higher. So why don’t we all try it together? It’s our only chance. Even if we wanted to retrace our steps, half these people would never make it against the current.”

  D’Agosta looked at the Mayor for a moment. “All right,” he said at last. Then he turned to the group. “Listen up now,” he shouted. “We’re gonna be taking the right tunnel. Everyone join hands, form a line. Hold on tight. Stay against the wall—the current’s getting too strong in the center. If anyone slips, give a yell, but don’t let go under any circumstances. Everybody got that? Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The dark shape moved slowly through the broken door, stepping catlike over the splintered wood. Cuthbert felt pins and needles in his legs. He wanted to shoot, but his hands refused to obey.

  “Please go away,” he said, so calmly he surprised himself.

  It stopped suddenly and looked directly at him. Cuthbert could see nothing in the dim light but the huge, powerful silhouette and the small red eyes. They looked, somehow, intelligent.

  “Don’t hurt me,” Cuthbert pleaded.

  The creature remained still.

  “I’ve got a gun,” Cuthbert whispered. He aimed carefully. “I won’t shoot if you go away,” he said quietly.

  It moved slowly sideways, keeping its head turned toward Cuthbert. Then there was a sudden movement and it was gone.

  Cuthbert backed away in a panic, his flashlight skittering wildly across the floor. He spun around frantically. All was silent. The creature’s stench filled the room. Suddenly he found himself stumbling into the Dinosaur Hall, and then he was slamming the door behind him.

  “The key!” he cried. “Lavinia, for God’s sake!”

  He looked wildly around the darkened hall. Before him, a great tyrannosaurus skeleton reared up from the center. In front of it squatted the dark form of a triceratops, its head lowered, the great black horns gleaming in the dull light.