“And it’s wounded, which may slow it down.”

“Yes, it’s wounded. I think D’Agosta shot it, and the SWAT team may have gotten one or two additional rounds into it. Maybe I hit it, as well; there’s no way to be sure. But, Margo, being wounded makes it infinitely more dangerous. I would rather stalk ten healthy lions than one wounded one.” He straightened his shoulders and felt for his gun. “Lead on, please. Standing here in [419] the dark with this bundle on my back makes me very uneasy. From now on, we use only the flashlight. Be very careful.”

“Why don’t you give me the miner’s light, so you’ll be free to use the gun?” Margo suggested. “If we meet up with the beast unexpectedly, we’ll have to drive it away with the light.”

“If it’s badly wounded, I doubt anything will drive it away,” replied Pendergast. “But here it is.”

They moved quietly down the corridor, around a corner, and through a service door leading into the Hall of Ancient Mammals. It seemed to Margo that her stealthy footsteps echoed like gunshots across the polished stone floor. Row upon row of glass cases gleamed dully in the glow of the flashlight: giant elk, saber-toothed cats, dire wolves. Mastodon and wooly mammoth skeletons reared in the center of the gallery. Margo and Pendergast moved cautiously toward the Hall’s exit, Pendergast’s gun at the ready.

“See that door at the far end, the one marked STAFF ONLY?” Margo whispered. “Beyond that is the corridor housing Security Command, Staff Services, and the Computer Room. Around the corner is the hallway where you can set up your blind.” She hesitated. “If the creature is already there ...”

“... I’ll wish I’d stayed in New Orleans, Ms. Green.” Stepping through the staff entrance into Section 18, they found themselves in a narrow hallway lined with doors. Pendergast swept the area with his flashlight: nothing.

“That’s it,” said Margo, indicating a door to their left. “Security Command.” Margo could briefly hear the murmur of voices as they passed. They passed another door marked CENTRAL COMPUTER.

“They’re sitting ducks in there,” Margo said. “Should we—?”

“No,” came the response. “No time.”

[420] They turned the corner and stopped. Pendergast played his light down the hallway.

“What’s that doing there?” he asked.

Halfway down the hall, a massive steel security door flashed mockingly at them in the glow of the flashlight.

“The good Doctor was mistaken,” Pendergast said. “Cell Two must cut this corridor in half. That’s the edge of the perimeter, there.”

“What’s the distance?” Margo said in a monotone.

Pendergast pursed his lips. “I’d guess a hundred, a hundred and twenty-five feet, at the most.”

She turned to the agent. “Is that enough room?”

Pendergast remained motionless. “No. But it’ll have to do. Come on, Ms. Green, let’s get into position.”

The Mobile Command Unit was getting stuffier. Coffey unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie with a savage tug. The humidity had to be 110 percent. He hadn’t seen rain like this in twenty years. The drains were bubbling like geysers, the tires of the emergency vehicles up to their hubcaps in water.

The rear door swung open, revealing a man wearing SWAT fatigues.

“Sir?”

“What do you want?”

“The men would like to know when we’re going back

“Going back in?” Coffey yelled. “Are you out of your mind? Four of your men were just killed in there, torn apart like frigging hamburger!”

“But sir, there are people still trapped in there. Maybe we could—”

Coffey rounded on the man, eyes blazing, mouth spewing saliva. “Don’t you get it? We can’t just go busting back in there. We sent men in not knowing what we were up against. We’ve got to get the power restored, get the systems back on line before we—”

A policeman stuck his head inside the door of the van. [421] “Sir, we’ve just had a report of a dead body floating in the Hudson River. It was spotted down at the Boat Basin. Seems like it was flushed out of one of the big storm drains.”

“Who the fuck cares about—”

“Sir, it’s a woman wearing an evening gown, and it’s been tentatively identified as one of the people missing from the party.”

“What?” Coffey was confused. It wasn’t possible. “Someone from the Mayor’s group?”

“One of the people trapped inside. The only women still unaccounted for inside apparently went down into the basement two hours ago.”

“You mean, with the Mayor?”

“I guess that would be right, sir.”

Coffey felt his bladder weakening. It couldn’t be true.

That fucking Pendergast. Fucking D’Agosta. It was all their fault. They disobeyed him, compromised his plan, sent all those people to their deaths. The Mayor, dead. They were going to have his ass for that.

“Sir?”

“Get out,” Coffey whispered. “Both of you, get out.” The door closed.

“This is Garcia, over. Does anyone copy?” the radio squawked. Coffey spun around and jabbed the radio with his finger.

“Garcia! What’s going on?”

“Nothing, sir, except the power’s still out. But I have Tom Allen here. He’s been asking to speak with you.”

“Put him on, then.”

“This is Allen. We’re getting a little concerned in here, Mr. Coffey. There’s nothing we can do until power’s restored. The batteries are failing on Garcia’s transmitter, and we’ve been keeping it off to conserve juice. We’d like you to get us out.”

Coffey laughed, suddenly, shrilly. The agents manning the consoles looked uneasily at one another. “You’d like me to get you out? Listen, Allen, you [422] geniuses created this mess. You swore up and down the system would work, that everything had a backup. So you get your own asses out. The Mayor’s dead, and I’ve already lost more men than I—hello?”

“This is Garcia again. Sir, it’s pitch-black in here and we only have two flashlights. What happened to the SWAT team that was being sent in?”

Coffey’s laughter stopped abruptly. “Garcia? They got themselves killed. You hear me? Killed. Got their guts hung up like birthday ribbons in there. And it’s Pendergast’s fault, and D’Agosta’s fault, and fucking Allen’s fault, and your fault, too, probably. Now, we’ve got men on this side working to restore the power. They say it can be done, it just may take a few hours. Okay? I’m gonna take that goddamn thing in there, but in my way, in my own sweet time. So you just sit tight. I’m not going to have more men killed to save your sorry asses.”

There was a rap on the rear door. “Come in,” he barked, switching off the radio.

An agent stepped inside and crouched beside Coffey, the glow of the monitors throwing his face into sharp relief. “Sir, I just got word that the Deputy Mayor is on his way over now. And the Governor’s office is on the phone. They want an update.”

Coffey closed his eyes.

Smithback looked up at the ladder, its rusty lower rung hanging a good four feet above his head. Maybe if there was no water he could have jumped it, but with the current nearing his chest it was impossible.

“See anything up there?” D’Agosta asked.

“Nope,” replied Smithback. “This light’s weak. I can’t tell how far the thing extends.”

“Turn off the light, then,” D’Agosta gasped. “Give me a minute to think.”

There was a long silence. Smithback felt another surge against his waist. The water was still rising fast. Another [432] foot, and they would all be floating downstream toward—Smithback shook his head, angrily dispelling the thought.

“Where the hell is all this water coming from?” he moaned to no one in particular.

“This subbasement is built below the Hudson River water table,” D’Agosta replied. “It leaks whenever there’s a heavy rain.”

“Leaks, sure—maybe it even floods a foot or two,” Smithback panted. “But we’re being inundated. They must be building arks out there.”