Relic

= 36 =

Behind his desk in the command post, Pendergast was fiddling with an ancient Mandarin puzzle made of brass and knotted silken cord. He seemed totally absorbed. Behind him, the learned sounds of a string quartet emerged from the speakers of a small cassette player. Pendergast did not look up as D’Agosta walked in.

“Beethoven’s String Quartet in F Major, Opus 135,” he said. “But no doubt you knew that, Lieutenant. It’s the fourth movement Allegro, known as Der schwer gefaßte Entschluß—the ‘Difficult Resolution.’ A title that could be bestowed on this case, as well as the movement, perhaps? Amazing, isn’t it, how art imitates life.”

“It’s eleven o’clock,” D’Agosta said.

“Ah, of course,” Pendergast said, rolling his chair back and standing up. “The Security Director owes us a guided tour. Shall we go?”

The door of Security Command was opened by Ippolito himself. To D’Agosta, the place looked like the control [253] room of a nuclear power plant, all dials and buttons and levers. Across one wall was a vast miniature city of lighted grids, arranged in intricate geometries. Two guards monitored a battery of closed-circuit screens. In the center, D’Agosta recognized the relay box for the repeater stations used to ensure strong signals for the radios the police and Museum guards carried.

“This,” said Ippolito, spreading his hands and smiling, “is one of the most sophisticated security systems in any museum in the world. It was designed especially for us. It cost us a pretty penny, I can tell you.”

Pendergast looked around. “Impressive,” he said.

“It’s state of the art,” said Ippolito.

“No doubt,” Pendergast said. “But what concerns me right now, Mr. Ippolito, is the safety of the five thousand guests who are expected here tonight. Tell me how the system works.”

“It was primarily designed to prevent theft,” the security director went on. “A large number of the Museum’s most valuable objects have small chips attached in inconspicuous places. Each chip transmits a tiny signal to a series of receivers located around the Museum. If the object is moved even one inch, an alarm goes off, pinpointing the location of the object.”

“And then what happens?” asked D’Agosta.

Ippolito grinned. At a console, he pressed some buttons. A large screen illuminated floor plans of the Museum.

“The interior of the Museum,” Ippolito continued, “is divided into five cells. Each cell includes a number of exhibit halls and storage areas. Most of these run from basement to roof, but, because of the Museum’s structural framework, the perimeters in cells two and three are a little more complicated. When I flick a switch on this panel here, thick steel doors drop down from the ceilings to seal off the interior passages between cells. The Museum windows are all barred. Once we’ve sealed off a certain cell, the burglar is trapped. He can move [254] around within one section of the Museum, but he can’t get out. The grid was laid out in such a way that the exits are external to it, making monitoring easy.” He moved over to the layouts. “Let’s say someone manages to steal an object, and by the time the guards arrive, he’s left the room. It won’t make any difference. Within a few seconds, the chip will have sent a signal to the computer, instructing it to seal off that entire cell. The whole process is automatic. The burglar is trapped inside.”

“What happens if he takes the chip off before he runs?” D’Agosta asked.

“The chips are motion sensitive,” Ippolito continued. “That would set off the alarm, too, and the security doors would instantly descend. A burglar couldn’t move fast enough to get out.”

Pendergast nodded. “How do you reopen the doors once the burglar has been caught?”

“We can open any set of doors from this control room, and each security door has a manual override on it. It’s a keypad, actually. Punch in the right code, and the door comes up.”

“Very nice,” Pendergast murmured. “But the entire system is geared toward preventing someone from getting out. What we’re dealing with here is a killer who wants to stay in. How will all this help keep tonight’s guests safe?”

Ippolito shrugged. “No big deal. We’ll just use the system to create a secure perimeter around the reception hall and the exhibition. All the festivities are taking place inside Cell Two.” He pointed to the schematic. “The reception is taking place in the Hall of the Heavens, here. That’s just outside the entrance to the Superstition exhibition, which is itself within Cell Two. All the steel doors for this cell will be closed. We’ll be leaving only four doors open: the East Door of the Great Rotunda—which is the gateway to the Hall of the Heavens—and three emergency exits. All will be heavily guarded.”

[255] “And what parts of the Museum exactly does Cell Two consist of?” asked Pendergast.

Ippolito pushed some buttons on the console. A large central section of the Museum glowed green on the panels.

“This is Cell Two,” Ippolito said. “As you can see, it reaches from the basement to the ceiling, as do all the cells. The Hall of the Heavens is here. The computer lab and the room we’re in now, Security Command, are both inside this cell. So is the Secure Area, the central archives, and a variety of other high-security areas. There will be no exit from the Museum except through the four steel doors, which we’ll keep open on override. We’ll seal the perimeter an hour before the party, drop all the other doors, and set up guards at the access points. I’m telling you, it’ll be more secure than a bank vault.”

“And the rest of the Museum?”

“We thought about sealing all five cells, but decided against it.”

“Good,” said Pendergast, eyeing another panel. “In the event of a crisis, we wouldn’t want any emergency personnel to be hampered.” He pointed at the illuminated panel. “But what about the subbasement? The basement areas of this cell may well connect with it. And that subbasement could lead almost anywhere.”

“Nobody would dare try to use that,” Ippolito snorted. “It’s a maze.”

“But we’re not talking about an ordinary burglar. We’re talking about a killer that’s eluded every search you, I, or D’Agosta here have mounted. A killer that seems to call the subbasement home.”

“There is only one stairwell connecting the Hall of the Heavens to other floors,” Ippolito explained patiently, “and it’ll be guarded by my men, just like the emergency exits. I’m telling you, we’ve got this figured out. The entire perimeter is going to be secure.”

Pendergast examined the glowing map for some time [256] in silence. “How do you know this schematic is accurate?” he asked finally.

Ippolito looked a little flustered. “Of course it’s accurate.”

“I asked: how do you know?”

“The system was designed straight off the architectural drawings from the 1912 reconstruction.”

“No changes since then? No doors knocked open here, sealed off there?

“All changes were taken into account.”

“Did those architectural drawings cover the Old Basement and subbasement areas?”

“No, those are older areas. But, like I told you, they’ll either be sealed or guarded.”

There was a long silence while Pendergast continued to look at the panels. Finally, he sighed and turned to face the Security Director.

“Mr. Ippolito, I don’t like it.”

A throat was cleared behind them. “What doesn’t he like now?”

D’Agosta didn’t have to turn around. That abrasive Long Island accent could belong only to Special Agent Coffey.

“I’m just reviewing the security procedures with Mr. Pendergast,” said Ippolito.

“Well, Ippolito, you’re gonna have to review them all over again with me.” He turned his narrow eyes on Pendergast. “Remember in the future to invite me to your private parties,” he said irritably.

“Mr. Pendergast—” Ippolito began.

“Mr. Pendergast is up here from the Deep South to give us a little help here and there when we need it. I’m running the show now. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Ippolito. He reviewed the procedures again while Coffey sat in an operator’s chair, twirling a set of earphones around his finger. D’Agosta wandered around the room, looking at the control panels. Pendergast listened carefully to Ippolito, looking for all the [257] world as if he hadn’t heard the speech before. When the Security Director finished, Coffey leaned back in his chair.

“Ippolito, you got four holes in this perimeter.” He paused for effect. “I want three of them plugged. I want only one way in and one way out.”

“Mr. Coffey, fire regulations require—”

Coffey waved his hand. “Let me worry about the fire regulations. You worry about the holes in your security net. The more holes we have, the more trouble we have waiting to happen.”

“That, I’m afraid, is precisely the wrong way to go,” Pendergast said. “If you close these three exits, the guests are going to be locked in. Should something happen, there would be only one way out.”

Coffey spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Hey, Pendergast, that’s just the point. You can’t have it both ways. Either you have a secure perimeter or you don’t. Anyway, according to Ippolito here, each security door has an emergency override. So what’s your problem?”

“That’s right,” said Ippolito, “the doors can be opened using the keypad in an emergency. All you need is the code.”

“May I ask what controls the keypad?” asked Pendergast.

“The central computer. The computer room is right next door.”

“And if the computer goes down?”

“We’ve got backup systems, with redundancies. Those panels on the far wall control the backup system. Each panel has its own alarm.”

“That’s another problem,” said Pendergast quietly.

Coffey exhaled loudly and spoke to the ceiling. “He still doesn’t like it.”

“I counted eighty-one alarm lights on that bank of controls alone,” Pendergast continued, oblivious to Coffey. “In a true emergency, with multiple system failure, [258] most of those alarms would be blinking. No team of operators could deal with that.”

“Pendergast, you’re slowing me down,” Coffey snapped. “Ippolito and I are going to work out these details, okay? We’ve got less than eight hours to show-time.”

“Has the system been tested?” Pendergast asked.

“We test it every week,” said Ippolito.

“What I mean is, has it ever been put to the test in a real situation? An attempted theft, perhaps?”

“No, and I hope it never is.”

“I regret to say it,” said Pendergast, “but this strikes me as a system designed for failure. I’m a great advocate of progress, Mr. Ippolito, but I’d strongly recommend an old-fashioned approach here. In fact, during the party, I would disable the whole system. Just turn it off. It’s too complex, and I wouldn’t trust it in an emergency. What we need is a proven approach, something we are all familiar with. Foot patrols, armed guards at every ingress and egress point. I’m sure Lieutenant D’Agosta will provide us with extra men.”

“Just say the word,” said D’Agosta.

“The word is no.” Coffey began to laugh. “Jesus, he wants to disable the system right at the moment when it’s most needed!”

“I must register my strongest objections to this plan,” said Pendergast.

“Well, you can write up your objections, then,” said Coffey, “and send them by slow boat to your New Orleans office. Sounds to me like Ippolito here’s got things pretty well under control.”

“Thank you,” Ippolito said, swelling visibly.

“This is a very unusual and dangerous situation,” Pendergast continued. “It’s not the time to rely on a complex and unproven system.”

“Pendergast,” said Coffey, “I’ve heard enough. Why don’t you just head down to your office and eat that catfish sandwich your wife put in your lunchbox?”

[259] D’Agosta was startled at the change that came over Pendergast’s face. Instinctively, Coffey took a step back. But Pendergast simply turned on his heel and walked out the door. D’Agosta moved to follow him.

“Where’re you going?” asked Coffey. “You better stick around while we work out the details.”

“I agree with Pendergast,” D’Agosta said. “This isn’t the time to start messing with video games. You’re talking about people’s lives here.”

“Listen up, D’Agosta. We’re the big boys, we’re the FBI. We’re not interested in the opinions of a traffic cop from Queens.”

D’Agosta looked at Coffey’s sweaty red face. “You’re a disgrace to law enforcement,” he said.

Coffey blinked. “Thank you, and I will note that gratuitous insult in my report to my good friend, Chief of Police Horlocker, who will no doubt take appropriate action.”

“You can add this one, then: you’re a sack of shit.”

Coffey threw back his head and laughed. “I love people who slit their own throats and save you the trouble. It’s already occurred to me that this case is much too important to have a lieutenant acting as NYPD liaison. You’re gonna be pulled off this case in twenty-four hours, D’Agosta. Did you know that? I wasn’t going to tell you until after the party-didn’t want to spoil your fun—but I guess now’s a good time after all. So put your last afternoon on this case to good use. And we’ll see you at the four o’clock briefing. Be on time.”

D’Agosta said nothing. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.