From this vantage, the building on which they had become ensnared was indistinguishable from all the others. Hobbs could see the spires of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings above neighboring rooftops, but everything else was generic glass and stone. One thing was certain, however. They were still more than thirty stories above the ground. While their impact had left a distinct outline of spider web fractures in the exterior of the building, it had not been sufficient to afford entry into the edifice. Hobbs enumerated his options; there weren’t many, but he still had one enormous advantage.
In addition to providing its wielder with a nearly invincible envelope of energy, the Staff could also levitate those within its protective bubble, but only if so directed. Hobbs had not thought to use it for that purpose, but now, as he and the burglar dangled at the end the parachute line, he imagined himself floating and immediately began to rise. A flick of a thought caused a tiny violet arc of electricity to slice through the entangled cords, freeing them from the chute and allowing them to fly unencumbered in the night.
With altitude, the storm’s fury increased exponentially, but strangely the assault of precipitation on the force field diminished. High above the ground, the fat drops of rain were either suspended as vapor or congealed into ice crystals, neither of which were quite as reactive as liquid water. Savoring the momentary respite from danger, Hobbs spared a thought for the bigger picture.
The instincts which had prompted him to regard Professor Pendleton’s strange summons as a possible diversion and threat to the Staff were now tingling once more. He had come to the secret laboratory in the Empire State Building thinking only to secure the relic and bring it along to that rendezvous. That he had caught the burglar red-handed seemed serendipitous on the surface, but he sensed that he had only exposed the tip of the iceberg. He was now certain that the theft of the Staff had only been one prong of a multi-faceted attack. The meeting with Pendleton then, was almost certainly a trap.
A trap that Molly, Hurricane, and Dodge are all rushing headlong into.
His decision was made. He fixed his attention on the dark void of Central Park and immediately began moving toward it. The trip took only a few minutes and, following a bracing passage through the downpour that culminated in a spectacular and mildly painful dance of sparks against the force field, he settled onto the roof the American Museum of Natural History. Relieved to be on relatively solid ground, he let the unconscious form of the blond burglar slump onto the slick gravel. The energy bubble dispersed as soon as he let go.
For the first time since intercepting her in midair, Hobbs checked to see if she was still alive. Her skin, though damp and clammy, did not have the gray pallor of the recently dead and when he put his face close to her mouth, he could feel her breath. With a slightly disappointed frown, he hefted her onto his shoulder, as one might a sack of potatoes and headed for the access door.
As the door clicked shut behind him, shutting out the howl of the hurricane, Hobbs felt as though a tombstone had been moved into place, sealing him in a crypt of darkness. He took a deep breath and willed himself into a state of preternatural calm. To an uninitiated observer, he might simply have been praying, but Father Nathan Hobbs’ knowledge and skills extended far beyond what was taught in seminary.
For a moment, all he could hear in the darkness was his own heart thumping in his chest, but soon other sounds began to emerge from the aural tableau. He heard the burglar’s slow breath sounds, but that was only the beginning. His vision too began to penetrate the shadows cloaking the stairwell and with cat-like stealth Hobbs began descending into the heart of the museum.
With each successive floor, the flow of barely audible noise grew into a cascade. By the time he reached the main floor, he had drawn a mental map of the museum, marked with all the places where he was able to distinguish the sounds of movement, breathing and heartbeats — strangely, there was very little whispering. He could only make out… Molly!
He quickened his pace, rushing through the exhibits and connecting hallways as if he knew every inch of the place by heart. He paused at one information desk long enough to obtain a flashlight. He didn’t need the additional illumination, but reckoned it would serve as a beacon to guide his friends to him; if as he feared the other bodies moving through the museum were hostile, then Molly and the others would certainly be operating from a defensive posture.
He kept his eyes closed as he switched on the lamp, mindful of not blinding himself with the sudden glare. Squinting through barely opened eyelids, he pushed onward into a large hall filled with taxidermies and sculpted likenesses of fish and other sea creatures. He swept the beam to and fro, but the whispering had ceased, making it difficult to pinpoint their exact location. Cautiously, he advanced a step, but a sound of footsteps from behind caught his attention. Their unknown enemy was closing in.
He did a swift about face and was heading back toward the entrance to the exhibit when a shriek erupted from the darkness. "Here! They’re right here!"
Hurley twisted in the awkward space, hastily clapping a hand over Pendleton’s mouth, but the damage was already done. Molly gasped as the flashlight beam swung around and stabbed into the crevice where they were hiding.
"Oww," snarled Hurley, abruptly wrenching his hand away from the professor’s mouth. Pendleton’s teeth were bloody, but the stain was not his own; he had bitten Hurricane, tearing a chunk of flesh from the big man’s palm.
"Here!" screamed the archaeologist, fighting his captor’s embrace. "They’re here. Help me!"
Despite his earlier fatigue, Pendleton now seemed like a berserker. With a strength that seemed impossible for such a bookish man, he broke from Hurricane’s grasp and squirmed past Molly.
Hurley’s response was unequivocal. Launching himself from the place of concealment, he pounced on Pendleton, wrestling him to the floor and with what seemed like an act of pure savagery, twisted his head violently around. There was a sickening crack as the man’s vertebrae separated and then silence. Hurricane sprang to his feet, ready to meet the newly arrived enemy with similar prejudice, but a familiar voice cut through the blinding extremes of light and darkness. "Hurricane! It’s me!"
Molly recognized the voice instantly and rushed from the recess behind the display case. "Dad!"
Hurley’s fury was instantly sublimated into horror and guilt as he stared down at Pendleton’s lifeless corpse. "My God. I’ve killed him."
"He was one of them." The priest gripped his friend’s shoulder and it was only then that the big man realized Hobbs was carrying another body over his shoulder.
"Who, Padre? Who the Hell are they?"
"I don’t know yet, but they hit the lab."
Molly, likewise confused, noticed the one detail about the form slumped over her father’s shoulder that had escaped Hurricane’s notice. "Who’s your date, Dad?"
Her half-hearted quip failed to lighten the mood. "Long story," answered the priest, tersely. "I’ll tell you all about it, but by now, every one of them in the museum knows where we are. We’ve got to get moving?"
"What about Dodge?"
Hobbs and Hurley both stopped short. It was the big man that finally answered. "If they didn’t already get him, then the best thing we can do for him is to get moving. Draw them off."
"I agree," concurred Hobbs. "Something tells me they are going to be a lot more interested in getting the Staff back than in chasing after Dodge."
"The Staff?" Hurley shook his head. "Never mind. You’re right. There are a bunch of them, but it’s like they’re…"