Pendergast [07] The Book of the Dead(117)

It took only fifteen seconds. There came a faint click and the doors sprang open noiselessly.

She stepped into a dimly lit corridor that ended in doors of polished stainless steel. They opened simultaneously, revealing a heavily muscled man in a warm-up suit emblazoned with the logo of Harvey Mudd College. “This way,” he said, and turned unceremoniously.

She followed him through a cavernous room to an industrial elevator, which led via a short ascent to a maze of white corridors, finally ending up at a pair of polished cherry doors. They opened onto a small, elegant conference room.

Standing at the far end was Vincent D’Agosta.

“Hi, Laura,” he managed after a moment.

Hayward suddenly found herself at a loss for words. She’d been so intent on getting to see him that she hadn’t thought ahead to what she would say if she succeeded. D’Agosta, too, was silent. It seemed that beyond a greeting, he was also unable to speak.

Hayward swallowed, found her voice. “Vincent, I need your help.”

Another long silence. “My help?”

“At our last meeting, you spoke about Diogenes planning something bigger. You said, ‘He’s got a plan which he’s put in motion.’ ”

Silence. Hayward found herself coloring; this was a lot harder than she’d thought. “That plan is tonight,” she went on. “At the museum. At the opening.”

“How do you know?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling—a pretty damn strong gut feeling.”

D’Agosta nodded.

“I think Diogenes works at the museum, in some kind of alter ego. All the evidence shows the diamond theft had inside help, right? Well, he was the inside help.”

“That isn’t what you and Coffey and all the others concluded—”

She waved her hand impatiently. “You said Viola Maskelene and Pendergast were romantically involved. That’s why Diogenes kidnapped her. Right?”

“Right.”

“Guess who’s at the opening.”

Another silence—this one not awkward, but surprised.

“That’s right. Maskelene. Hired at the last minute to be Egyptologist for the show. To replace Wicherly, who died in the museum under very strange circumstances.”

“Oh, Jesus.” D’Agosta glanced at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty.”

“The opening’s going on as we speak. We need to go right now.”

“I—” D’Agosta hesitated again.

“Come on, Vinnie, there’s no time to waste. You know the place better than I do. The brass isn’t going to do anything—I have to do it myself. That’s why I need you there.”

“You need more than me,” he said, his voice now quiet.

“Who else did you have in mind?”

“You need Pendergast.”

Hayward laughed mirthlessly. “Brilliant. Let’s send a chopper up to Herkmoor and see if we can’t borrow him for the evening.”

Another silence. “He isn’t at Herkmoor. He’s here.”

Hayward stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Here?” she repeated at last.

D’Agosta nodded.

“You busted him out of Herkmoor?”

Another nod.

“My God, Vinnie. Are you frigging crazy? You’re already hip-deep in shit… and now this?” Without thinking, she sank into one of the chairs at the conference table, then sprang immediately back to her feet. “I can’t believe it.”

“What are you going to do about it?” D’Agosta asked.

Hayward stood there, staring at him. Slowly the enormity of the choice she had to make became clear to her. It was a choice between playing it by the book—taking Pendergast into custody, calling in backup and transferring custody, then getting back to the museum—or…

Or what? There was no other option. That was what she should do—what she had to do. Everything she had learned as a cop, every fiber of her cop’s soul, told her so.

She took out her radio.

“Calling for backup?” D’Agosta asked in a low voice.

She nodded.

“Think about what you’re about to do, Laura. Please.”

But fifteen years of training had already thought for her. She raised the radio to her lips. “This is Captain Hayward calling Homicide One, come in.”

She felt D’Agosta’s hand gently touch her shoulder. “You need him.”

“Homicide One? This is a Code 16. I’ve got a fugitive and need backup…” Her voice trailed off.

In the silence, she could hear the dispatcher’s inevitable question. “Your location, Captain?”

Hayward said nothing. Her eyes met D’Agosta’s.

“Captain? I need your location.”