Pendergast [07] The Book of the Dead(140)

“Look out!” Smithback cried as the man abruptly lunged at Pendergast. The agent stepped aside deftly, tripping the stumbling figure and pushing him to one side. The man fell heavily to the ground and rolled, unable to get up.

They moved into a third room, Pendergast following the lines of molding with his flashlight. They appeared to all converge at a fake half-pilaster set into the far wall. Beneath stood a large XX Dynasty chest, gilded and intricately carved. It was set within a glass display case, unbroken despite the carnage.

“There!” Pendergast walked over, picked up a broken chariot wheel, and swung it into the case, shattering the glass. He stepped back and, raising his gun again, shot the ancient bronze lock off the chest. After holstering his weapon, he swept away the lock and the broken glass and lifted the lid from the heavy chest. Inside, a large generator hummed and vibrated. Pendergast slipped a knife out of his pocket, reached in, and cut a wire; the generator coughed, choked, and died—plunging the tomb into utter darkness and silence.

And yet the silence was not complete. Smithback could now hear a cacophony of cries and shrieks from the front section of the tomb: a moblike hysteria. He stood up, probing the darkness with his own flashlight.

“Nora!” he cried out. “Nora!”

Suddenly the beam of his light was arrested by a figure standing, half hidden, in a far alcove. Smithback stared in surprise. Although the man was dressed in impeccable white tie and tails, he wore a black mask over his face, and a set of headphones covered his ears. A small device that looked like a remote control was in his hand. He was standing so still Smithback wondered if perhaps he was just another holographic projection, but then, as if on cue, he reached up and pulled off the mask.

Pendergast had been staring at the man, and the effect of his unmasking was remarkable. He stiffened and jerked, like a man who has received an electric shock. His face, normally so pale, flushed crimson.

It seemed to Smithback that the tuxedoed figure’s reaction was even stronger. He went into a sudden, instinctive crouch, like a man poised to spring. Then he gathered himself together and slowly rose to his full height.

“You!” he said. For a moment, he went still again. And then—with a long, spidery hand—he removed the headphones and earplugs, and slowly and deliberately dropped them to the floor.

Fresh surprise blossomed over Smithback. He recognized this man: it was Nora’s boss, Hugo Menzies. And yet he looked so different. His eyes were flaming red, his limbs quivered. His face was flushed as deeply as Pendergast’s was—he was filled with rage.

Pendergast’s hand went for his gun. Then he stopped, weapon half drawn, as if paralyzed.

“Diogenes…” he said in a strangled voice.

At the same time, Smithback heard his own name being called from a far corner. He looked over to see Nora staggering to her feet, supported by Viola Maskelene. Pendergast glanced over, noticing them as well.

In that moment, Menzies darted to one side with incredible speed and vanished into the darkness. Pendergast turned, tensed for pursuit—and then he turned back again toward Viola, face contorted with indecision.

Smithback dashed over to the two women and helped them to their feet. A moment later, Pendergast was beside him, taking Viola into his arms.

“Oh my God,” she said, gasping and half weeping. “Oh my God, Aloysius…”

But Smithback barely heard. His arms were around Nora, one hand caressing her smudged and bloodied face. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She winced. “A headache. A few scratches. It was so horrible.”

“We’ll get you out.” Smithback turned back to Pendergast. The agent was still holding Viola in his embrace, his hands resting on her shoulders, but again, his gaze had darted toward the darkness into which Hugo Menzies had vanished.

Behind, from the burial chamber, Smithback heard the muffled blaring of police radios. Flashlight beams lanced through the murk, and the police were there, a dozen or more uniformed officers looking confused, moving into the Hall of the Chariots, guns drawn.

“What the hell’s going on?” said the commander, a lieutenant. “What is this place?”

“You’re in the Tomb of Senef,” said Pendergast.

“What about the explosion?”

“Necessary to gain entry, Lieutenant,” said Captain Hayward, walking toward them and showing her shield. “Now, listen carefully. We have injured in here, and a lot more up ahead. We’re going to need EMTs, mobile first-aid stations, ambulances. Do you understand? Lieutenant D’Agosta is in the front of the tomb, about to escort the trapped victims back here to the exit. He needs help.”