“Can I ask, lad, what's so remarkable about Charley hear
ing Sonnenberg?”
“He's not supposed to. That's why you got all that gib
berish in Tanner's bathroom when you tried to ask about
him.”
“Then you and Charley have been programmed, I take it,
not to eavesdrop on the man.”
“It's not hard to do,” Baker told him. “Any stage hypno
tist can suggest a block like that. If Charley hears him now it's because Sonnenberg wants to be heard. The old bastard
is still manipulating me.” Baker paced several steps toward
the obelisk's base, restraining himself from kicking over a
waste can. He stalked back to Harrigan. “You wanted to
know how we found Tanner so easily in a town this size. The
answer is we didn't find her. Sonnenberg gave her to us. From where we drove into Manhattan, there's no practical
way to get where Sonnenberg told us to go without passing
within a few blocks of Levy's building.” He turned to Tan
ner. “Sonnenberg knew that if you had anything at all on
y
our mind, it would be me or Tina and Charley would hear you. Now I'm about to walk into that museum, not just be
cause I want my daughter, but because Sonnenberg wants
me in that museum up against Tortora.”
“Could all this be a test of some kind, lad?”
“What for?” Baker threw up his hands. “After today, Son
nenberg has to know I wouldn't cross the street for him.”
An excellent point, Harrigan thought, and yet
...
“Think,
lad. The man's a behaviorist. Everything he does is an ex
periment of one kind or another. He manipulates you, you
saw how he manipulated Duncan Peck and his people, he
probably even tested Tanner's ability to send and your abil
ity to free her .. ”
Baker waved off the discussion wearily. ”I just want my daughter, Harrigan.” He rubbed his eyes and rocked mo
mentarily with the loss of vision balance. “Tanner, I'd like
you to wait here.”
“Like hell.” She stepped toward him. “You're so tired you can hardly stand.”
“We'll go together, lad.” Harrigan touched his shoulder and steered him toward the museum. “We'll find your little
girl together.”
On the north end of the museum, where the glass wall of
the American Wing borders on the Eighty-fifth Street
transverse, Harrigan spotted the outlines of a car partly
hidden in a stand of junipers. One car, he nodded to him
self. Not an ambush fleet. And Baker seemed to feel no
other presence. But Harrigan could not shake the feeling
that there was more to this night's danger than whatever
Sonnenberg and that crowd had in mind. It was the mu
seum itself. Something about the museum. The buzz in the
back of his head had not stopped since they'd fled from Sonnenberg's well. There was an answer there. He'd al
most had it, he thought, in the car with Baker before the
Tanner Burke business started. But it fell back, just out of
reach.
Simplify, Connor. See first to the business at hand.
“There's a door.” He pointed. It was set belowground, to be
reached by a short flight of steps. “My old eyes can't read
the sign on it.”
“Staff Only,” Tanner told him.
“The administrative section.” Harrigan clapped his
hands. “As quiet a route as any.”
“How do we get in?” Tanner asked. “Won't there be an
alarm?”
“Not tonight, lass. I think not tonight.”
Tina was close, Baker knew. After all this time, a distance he
could count in yards. Tanner slipped her hand into his. It
kept him from lacking in the door that Harrigan was quietly forcing. It squeaked open. Harrigan entered first, a penlight
in his hand, and cast its dim glow on a clutter of desks and
card files, rows of binders and catalogues. On the far wall he
found what he was looking for. A floor plan. A visitor's map
mounted and framed. He stepped closer, beckoning Baker
and Tanner Burke to follow.
On the map, the administrative section appeared only as
a general gray mass. Harrigan tapped a finger against a spot
that approximated their position and traced a route to a nar
row set of stairs that led to the Great Hall on the floor above.
He moved off in that direction. Tanner tightened her grip on
Baker's hand and fell in behind.
The Great Hall, the immense high-ceilinged chamber that
greets visitors from the main entrance on Fifth Avenue, seemed all the more cavernous in the darkness. No light
reached it from the streetlamps outside, but a dim glow washed over the marble walls and columns. It came from
pairs of small, recessed bulbs that marked the sides of por
tals and corridors at the edges of the hall. They cast no beam but reflected off the ornamental gilt of the ceiling and off the
glass of the information booth and the display cases of the
gift shop. Baker followed the pair of lights nearest the quiet
breath of his daughter. She must have come this way, he was
sure. Floated this way, she said. That meant carried. He
wondered vaguely who could have carried her if Stanley
Levy was as small and weak as Tanner remembered.
Baker saw the Egypt that Tina had passed. Hooded fig
ures carved in stone. A sarcophagus, several of them, some the size of a child. The smell of death was long gone from them, but the sight made Baker move more quickly. More
recessed lights were set high in the walls. Those would be
the desert stars Tina saw. Harrigan stopped at a standing sign
and flicked on his penlight. The Temple of Dendur, it said, a
larger tomb brought intact from the Nile's flooding banks,
was ahead of them. The Hall of Arms and Armor was to their
left. Knights. Baker nodded. Yes.
”Yes
y
Daddy. In through where the knights and swords
are.”
She was dozing, Baker knew. Her eyes were opening in
fits. But through the fog of drugs she could hear him. She
knew he was there and she was not frightened for him. Even
Abel seemed to feel no sense of danger. He was quiet. And Harrigan. Baker looked at him. His gun was in his hand, but
it dangled carelessly at his side. He looked not at all like
someone about to face a man who'd almost killed him. To
say nothing of Domenic Tortora and whatever help he'd
brought.
“Daddy? Come on, Daddy.”
The Hall of Armor was still more dimly lit. A single set of night-lights glistened faintly off the polished steel of the
weapons and suits of armor that lined the walls. In the mid
dle of the floor a mounted knight was frozen in midcharge
upon a horse also clad in steel from head to flanks. Ivanhoe.
Baker moved past it, Tanner with him. Harrigan took the op
posite wall. On Baker's side, his fingers brushed over a dis
play of halberds, long poles with spear points and axes at their ends. It crossed his mind to choose a weapon. An ax
would not help against guns if guns were waiting. Let Abel
choose what weapons he might need. Still no warning came from him.
Near the end of the Hall of Armor, Harrigan stopped and waited. There was a smaller room off to the left, Baker saw.
The room was short, more like a foyer. Rifles and pistols,
long useless, were displayed on its walls in glass cases. Be
yond it was a much larger space bathed in a soft bluish light.
Now Baker could see potted trees outlined against the high
glass wall and backlit by the park lamps outside. Harrigan
padded quietly to one side of the entrance. He motioned
Tanner back and Baker to the other side. Tanner ignored
him.
“Williamsburg, Daddy”
The huge room looked like a garden to Harrigan. An
atrium. Park lights brighter than the moon filtered through tinted glass and spread over shrubs, sculptures, and stone
benches placed against marble planters. He tensed at the
sight of a human shape, then another. The pistol in his hand crept up and swept the room as his pupils opened and found a focus. Statues, he realized. Naked guys with swords reel
ing backward like they'd just been belted. A woman, also naked, drawing a bow against another figure in a tall stone
carving that looked like a church pulpit. A preacher, maybe.
Dressed in black. Or a judge. A Cotton Mather type.
Baker's eye too was drawn to the sculptures, but they
were familiar to him from Sunday visits long ago. Rimmer's
Falling Gladiators.
Saint-Gaudens's
Diana the Huntress.
Only the pulpit was new to him. To his right, covering a full wall, was the two-story stone facade of a nineteenth-century
bank. The Federal Gallery, he knew, would be behind it.
Williamsburg. Baker had already taken a step in that direc
tion when Harrigan reached to touch his arm and pointed.
The figure in the pulpit, the man all in black, had moved.
He was standing now. Another man, smaller, appeared at the
pulpit's base. Harrigan recognized Stanley Levy. A small
startled cry came from Tanner. Harrigan, his eyes now ac
customed to the light, allowed them to sweep the room. In
the far corner he saw a third man, barely visible against a
potted shrub. Harrigan could make out a scope-mounted
rifle across his lap. He knew the man. Notre Dame. Harrigan
touched his fingers to his head in an acknowledging salute.
Notre Dame answered with his own.
Baker saw him too. Roger Hershey, he was sure. The
small man would be the one who took Tina. And the man in
black would be the man who ordered her abduction. But
why Hershey? He wondered. Why would Roger Hershey be
with them?
“Come closer, Mr. Baker.” The man in the pulpit leaned
forward, his voice high and rasping. And Connor Harrigan smiled at the sound.
“Tortora?” Baker squinted.
“Mr. Tortora,” the man corrected. His hands clutched his
lapels, making fists against his cheeks. “Come, Baker. It is time that you gave an account of yourself.”
“Jesus Christ!” Harrigan swore softly through a set of his
mouth that began to look like a grin. The grin reached his
eyes and then, in an odd response, he folded his arms in the
attitude of an amused spectator. Baker glanced at him, con
fused for a beat, then shook it off and took several steps
toward the pulpit.
“I'll take my daughter now, Tortora.”
“Hold it a minute.” Harrigan raised a hand and took a step
closer, again stopping Baker. He looked up at the man in the
black hat. ”I bet I know your next line. It goes something
like, ‘First you have my son to answer for.’ How's that?
Pretty close, right?”
The man in the pulpit blinked rapidly. Bewilderment
clouded Baker's face as well. Stanley Levy straightened, his expression one of stunned disbelief at Harrigan's insolence.
Only Tanner, though clearly frightened, seemed to know the
meaning of Harrigan's behavior. Harrigan saw that.
“You want to tell him or should I?” he asked.
She shook her head, hugging herself against a new chill.
Baker stared at Harrigan uncomprehendingly.
“What's the matter?” he asked Baker. “Not enough light
for you in here or are you as batty as he is? Look.” Harrigan pointed. “Look real close and tell me if you see anyone you
know.”
Baker, with Tanner Burke holding his elbow, moved
across the marble floor to a set of four steps that led into the
atrium's center pit. He took them past the Diana, whose
arrow seemed aimed at the heart of the man he approached.
At a distance of several yards he slowed and stopped, his
head cocked to one side, in utter confusion as he peered up at the man now turning away from him slightly.
“That's close enough.” Stanley Levy drifted into Baker's
p
ath, his right hand fingering the ice pick at the other wrist.
He too seemed befuddled. Baker barely glanced at him.
“Doctor?” he asked softly.