The Cabinet of Curiosities

by Douglas Preston

  Leng reappeared in his field of vision, a slender plastic tube in one hand. Placing his fingers on Smithback’s jaw, Leng pulled the mouth wide. Smithback felt the tube knock roughly against the back of his throat, slide down his trachea. How awful to feel the intense, undeniable desire to retch—and yet be unable to make even the slightest movement. There was a hiss as the ventilating machine filled his lungs with air.

  For a moment, the relief was so great Smithback momentarily forgot his predicament.

  Now the gurney was moving. A low, brickwork ceiling was passing by overhead, punctuated occasionally by naked bulbs. A moment later, and the ceiling changed, rising into what seemed a cavernous space. The gurney swung around again, then came to rest. Leng bent down, out of sight. Smithback heard four measured clicks, one after the other, as the wheels were locked in place. There were banks of heavy lights, a whiff of alcohol and Betadine that covered a subtler, far worse, smell.

  Leng slid his arms beneath Smithback, raised him up once again, and moved him from the gurney to another steel table, wider and even colder. The motion was gentle, almost loving.

  And then—with a completely different motion, economical and amazingly strong—he turned Smithback over onto his stomach.

  Smithback could not close his mouth, and his tongue pressed against the metal gurney, unwillingly sampling the sour chlorinated taste of disinfectants. It made him think about who else might have been on this table, and what might have happened to them. A wave of fear and nausea washed over him. The ventilator tube gurgled inside his mouth.

  Then Leng approached and, passing his hand across Smithback’s face, shut his eyelids.

  The table was cold, so cold. He could hear Leng moving around. There was a pressure on his elbow, a brief sting as an intravenous needle was inserted near his wrist, the ripping sound of medical tape being pulled from its canister. He could smell the eucalyptus breath, hear the low voice. It spoke in a whisper.

  “There will be some pain, I’m afraid,” the voice said as straps were fixed to Smithback’s limbs. “Rather a lot of pain, in fact. But good science is never really free from pain. So do not discompose yourself. And if I may offer a word of advice?”

  Smithback tried to struggle, but his body was far away. The whisper continued, soft and soothing: “Be like the gazelle in the jaws of the lion: limp, accepting, resigned. Trust me. That is the best way.”

  There was the sound of water rushing in a sink, the clink of steel on steel, instruments sliding in a metal basin. The light in the room grew abruptly brighter. Smithback’s pulse began to race wildly, faster and faster, until the table beneath him seemed almost to rock in time with the frantic beating of his heart.

  SIX

  NORA SHIFTED IN the uncomfortable wooden chair, glanced at her watch for what had to be the fifth time. Ten-thirty. This was like the questioning she’d endured after finding Puck’s body, only worse—much worse. Though she’d deliberately kept her story brief, reduced her answers to mere one-liners, the questions kept coming in an endless, moronic stream. Questions about her work at the Museum. Questions about being chased by the Surgeon in the Archives. Questions about the typewritten note Puck—or rather the murderer, pretending to be Puck—had sent her, which she’d given to the police long before. All questions she had already answered two or three times, to more intelligent and thoughtful police officers than these. Worse, the two cops sitting opposite her—one a beefed-up little troll, the other decent-looking but full of himself—showed no signs of reaching the end of their list. They kept interrupting each other, darting angry looks back and forth, competing for heaven only knew what reason. If there was bad blood between these two, they shouldn’t be working together. God, what a performance.

  “Dr. Kelly,” said the short one, Finester—looking for the thousandth time at his notes—”we’re almost through here.”

  “Praise be to God.”

  This comment was met with a short silence. Then O’Grady waded in once again, looking at a freshly scribbled sheet that had just been handed to him.

  “You are familiar with a Mr. William Smithback?”

  Nora felt her annoyance giving way to a sudden wariness. “Yes.”

  “What is your relationship to Mr. Smithback?”

  “Ex-boyfriend.”

  O’Grady turned the paper over in his hands. “We have a report here that earlier today, Mr. Smithback impersonated a security officer and gained unauthorized clearance to some high-security files in the Museum. Would you know why?”

  “No.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Smithback?”

  Nora sighed. “I don’t remember.”

  Finester sat back in his seat, folded his beefy arms. “Take your time, please.” He had a shiny, paste-colored dome of a head, topped by a tuft of hair so thick and coarse it looked like a hairy island in the middle of his bald head.

  This was intolerable. “Maybe a week.”

  “Under what circumstances?”

  “He was harassing me in my office.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to tell me that Agent Pendergast had been stabbed. Museum security dragged him away. They’ll have a record of it.” What the hell was Smithback doing back in the Museum? The guy was incorrigible.

  “You have no idea what Mr. Smithback was looking for?”

  “I believe I just said that.”

  There was a short silence while O’Grady checked his notes. “It says here that Mr. Smithback—”

  Nora interrupted impatiently. “Look, why aren’t you pursuing some real leads here? Like those typewritten notes of the killer’s, the one sent to me and the one left on Puck’s desk? Obviously, the killer is somebody with access to the Museum. Why all these questions about Smithback? I haven’t spoken to him in a week. I don’t know anything about what he’s up to and, frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

  “We have to ask you these questions, Dr. Kelly,” O’Grady replied.

  “Why?”

  “They’re on my list. It’s my job.”

  “Jesus.” She passed a hand over her forehead. This whole episode was Kafkaesque. “Go ahead.”

  “After a warrant was put out on Mr. Smithback, we found his rented car parked on upper Riverside Drive. Would you know why he rented the car?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I haven’t spoken to him in a week.”

  O’Grady turned over the sheet. “How long have you known Mr. Smithback?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “In Utah.”

  “Under what circumstances?”

  “On an archaeological expedition.” Nora was suddenly having trouble paying attention to the questions. Riverside Drive? What the hell was Smithback doing up there?

  “What kind of an archaeological expedition?”

  Nora didn’t answer.

  “Dr. Kelly?”

  Nora looked at him. “Where on Riverside Drive?”

  O’Grady looked confused. “I’m sorry?”

  “Where was Smithback’s car found on Riverside Drive?”

  O’Grady fumbled with the paper. “It says here upper Riverside. One hundred thirty-first and Riverside.”

  “One hundred thirty-first Street? What was he doing up there?”

  “That’s just what we were hoping you could tell us. Now, about that archaeological expedition—”

  “And you say he came in this morning, gained access to some files? What files?”

  “Old security files.”

  “Which ones?”

  O’Grady flipped through some other sheets. “It says here it was an old personnel file.”

  “On who?”

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “Well, it doesn’t say, and—”

  “For God’s sake, can’t you find out?”

  Pink anger blossomed across O’Grady’s face. “May we get back to the questions
, please?”

  “I know something about this,” Finester suddenly broke in. “I was on duty earlier today. When you were out getting donuts and coffee, O’Grady. Remember?”

  O’Grady turned. “In case you’ve forgotten, Finester, we’re supposed to be the ones asking the questions.”

  Nora gave O’Grady her coldest stare. “How can I answer if you don’t give me the information I need?”

  O’Grady’s rose-colored face grew redder. “I don’t see why—”

  “She’s right, O’Grady. She has a right to know,” Finester turned to Nora, pug face lit up by an ingratiating smile. “Mr. Smithback lured one of the security guards away with a phony telephone call, allegedly from the Human Resources office. Then he pretended to be from Human Resources himself and persuaded the remaining guard to unlock certain filing cabinets. Said he was conducting some kind of file inspection.”

  “He did?” Despite her concern, Nora couldn’t help smiling to herself. It was vintage Smithback. “And what were those files, exactly?”

  “Security clearances, dating back over a hundred years.”

  “And that’s why he’s in trouble?”

  “That’s the least of it. The guard thought he saw him take some papers out of one drawer. So you can add theft to—”

  “Which file drawer?”

  “It was the 1870 personnel file drawer, I believe,” Finester recollected with obvious pride. “And after the guard’s suspicions were aroused, they cross-checked the files and found that one of them was missing its cover sheets. It had been virtually emptied.”

  “Which one?”

  “It was that one on the nineteenth-century serial killer, what’s-his-name. The one written about in the Times. Clearly that’s what he was after, more information on—”

  “Enoch Leng?”

  “Yeah. That’s the guy.”

  Nora sat, stunned.

  “Now, can we please get back to the questions, Dr. Kelly?” O’Grady interrupted.

  “And his car was found up Riverside Drive? At 131st Street? How long had it been there?”

  Finester shrugged. “He rented it right after he stole the file. It’s staked out. As soon as he picks it up, we’ll know.”

  O’Grady broke in again. “Finester, now that you’ve managed to reveal all the confidential details, maybe you can keep quiet for a minute. Now, Dr. Kelly, this archaeological expedition—”

  Nora reached into her purse for her cell phone, found it, pulled it out.

  “No cell phones, Dr. Kelly, until we’re finished.” It was O’Grady again, his voice rising in anger.

  She dropped the phone back into her purse. “Sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  “You can go as soon as we finish the questions.” O’Grady was livid. “Now, Doctor Kelly, about that archaeological expedition…”

  Nora didn’t hear the rest. Her mind was racing.

  “Dr. Kelly?”

  “But can’t we, ah, finish this later?” She tried to smile, tried to put on her most pleading look. “Something really important has just come up.”

  O’Grady didn’t return the smile. “This is a criminal investigation, Dr. Kelly. We’ll be done when we get to the end of the questions—not before.”

  Nora thought for a moment. Then she looked O’Grady in the eye. “I’ve got to go. Go, go to the bathroom, I mean.”

  “Now?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to accompany you, then. Those are the rules.”

  “Into the bathroom?”

  He blushed. “Of course not, but to the facilities. We’ll wait outside.”

  “Then you’d better hurry. I’ve really got to go. Bad kidneys.”

  O’Grady and Finester exchanged glances.

  “Bacterial infection. From a dig in Guatemala.”

  The policemen rose with alacrity. They crossed the Rockefeller Great Room, past the dozens of tables and the endless overlapping recitations of other staff members, out into the main library. Nora waited, biding her time, as they made their way toward the entrance. No point in sounding more of an alarm than was necessary.

  The library itself was silent, researchers and scientists long since gone. The Great Room lay behind them now, the back-and-forth of questions and answers inaudible. Ahead were the double doors leading out into the hall and the rest rooms beyond. Nora approached the doors, the two cops trailing in her wake.

  Then, with a sudden burst of speed, she darted through, swinging the doors behind her, back into the faces of the officers. She heard the thud of an impact, something clattering to the ground, a yelp of startled surprise. And then came a loud barking sound, like a seal giving the alarm, followed by shouts and running feet. She glanced back. Finester and O’Grady were through the doors and in hot pursuit.

  Nora was very fit, but Finester and O’Grady surprised her. They were fast, too. At the far end of the hall, she glanced back and noticed that the taller sergeant, O’Grady, was actually gaining ground.

  She flung open a stairwell door and began flying down the stairs, two at a time. Moments later, the door opened again: she heard loud voices, the pounding of feet.

  She plunged downward even more quickly. Reaching the basement, she pushed the panic bar on the door and burst into the paleontological storage area. A long corridor ran ahead, arrow-straight, gray and institutional, illuminated by bare bulbs in wire cages. Doors lined both sides: Probiscidia, Eohippii, Bovidae, Pongidae.

  The thudding of approaching feet filled the stairwell behind her. Was it possible they were still gaining? Why couldn’t she have gotten the two porkers at the table to her left?

  She sprinted down the hallway, veered abruptly around a corner, and ran on, thinking fast. The vast dinosaur bone storage room was nearby. If she was going to lose these two, her best chance lay in there. She dug into her purse as she ran: thank God she’d remembered to bring her lab and storage keys along that morning.

  She almost flew past the heavy door, fumbling with the keys. She turned, jammed her key into the lock, and pushed the door open just as the cops came into view around the corner.

  Shit. They’ve seen me. Nora closed the door, locked it behind her, turned toward the long rows of tall metal stacks, preparing to run.

  Then she had an idea.

  She unlocked the door again, then took off down the closest aisle, turning left at the first crossing, then right, angling away from the door. At last she dropped into a crouch, pressing herself into the shadows, trying to catch her breath. She heard the tramp of feet in the corridor beyond. The door rattled abruptly.

  “Open up!” came O’Grady’s muffled roar.

  Nora glanced around quickly, searching for a better place to hide. The room was lit only by the dim glow of emergency lighting, high up in the ceiling. Additional lights required a key—standard procedure in Museum storage rooms, where light could harm the specimens—and the long aisles were cloaked in darkness. She heard a grunt, the shiver of the door in its frame. She hoped they wouldn’t be stupid enough to break down an unlocked door—that would ruin everything.

  The door shivered under the weight of another heavy blow. Then they figured it out: it was almost with relief that she heard the jiggling of the handle, the creak of the opening door. Warily, silently, she retreated farther into the vast forest of bones.

  The Museum’s dinosaur bone collection was the largest in the world. The dinosaurs were stored unmounted, stacked disarticulated on massive steel shelves. The shelves themselves were constructed of steel I-beams and angle iron, riveted together to make a web of shelving strong enough to support thousands of tons: vast piles of tree-trunk-thick legbones, skulls the size of cars, massive slabs of stone matrix with bones still imbedded, awaiting the preparator’s chisel. The room smelled like the interior of an ancient stone cathedral.

  “We know you’re in here!” came the breathless voice of Finester.

  Nora receded deeper into the shadows. A rat scurried in front of he
r, scrambling for safety within a gaping allosaurus eye socket. Bones rose on both sides like great heaps of cordwood, shelves climbing into the gloom. Like most of the Museum storage rooms, it was an illogical jumble of shelves and mismatched rows, growing by accretion over the last century and a half. A good place to get lost in.

  “Running away from the police never did anyone any good, Dr. Kelly! Give yourself up now and we’ll go easy on you!”

  She shrank behind a giant turtle almost the size of a studio apartment, trying to reconstruct the layout of the vault in her head. She couldn’t remember seeing a rear door in previous visits. Most storage vaults, for security purposes, had only one. There was only one way out, and they were blocking it. She had to get them to move.

  “Dr. Kelly, I’m sure we can work something out! Please!”

  Nora smiled to herself. What a pair of blunderers. Smithback would have had fun with them.

  Her smile faded at the thought of Smithback. She was certain now of what he’d done. Smithback had gone to Leng’s house. Perhaps he had heard Pendergast’s theory—that Leng was alive and still living in his old house. Perhaps he’d wheedled it out of O’Shaughnessy. The guy could have made Helen Keller talk.

  On top of that, he was a good researcher. He knew the Museum’s files. While she and Pendergast were going through deeds, he’d gone straight to the Museum and hit paydirt. And knowing Smithback, he’d have run right up to Leng’s house. That’s why he’d rented a car, driven it up Riverside Drive. Just to check out the house. But Smithback could never merely check something out. The fool, the damned fool…

  Cautiously, Nora tried dialing Smithback on her cell phone, muffling the sound with the leather of her purse. But the phone was dead: she was surrounded by several thousand tons of steel shelves and dinosaur bones, not to mention the Museum overhead. At least it probably meant the radios of the cops would be equally useless. If her plan worked, that would prove useful.