Dodge took a backward step, his back to Fuller’s. "So what was your brilliant escape plan?"
"Sorry," was the only answer. Fuller’s light flashed back and forth, illuminating faces that were all the more menacing for their blank expressions. Each pair of eyes winced a little as the bright beam momentarily blinded them, but the charging horde did not relent.
"That’s it! The light — shine it in their eyes!" Dodge did not wait to see if Fuller would comprehend his strategy, instead taking the initiative to grip the agent’s hand and sweep the light around the hall. Although it did nothing to slow the attack, Dodge’s guttering flame of hope began to burn with new intensity. "This just might work. Switch it off and drop."
Fuller at last understood and the room was plunged into absolute darkness. Dodge couldn’t see a thing, but he was on equal footing with his attackers, whose night vision had temporarily been blinded by the brief exposure to the high-intensity flashlight. "Get to the exit," Fuller shouted. "I’ll meet you at the car."
Dodge didn’t waste breath on a reply, but threw himself to the floor and began scrambling toward the perimeter of the exhibition. He crashed into the disoriented mob, knocking legs out from underneath bodies before any of the blinded assailants could think to take action against him. His wounded leg throbbed painfully, but the adrenaline surge evoked by the desperate flight was a powerful analgesic.
He abruptly bumped into something less yielding than the flesh and bones of the former passengers of Flight 19; it was a museum fixture, probably a display case. He had only a vague idea of the room’s layout, but followed the simple logic of the labyrinth: keep moving forward with one hand always touching a wall. He took the risk of rising from his crawl, presenting a bigger target for any of the attackers lucky enough to encounter him, but reckoned it was a worthwhile risk. He could cover a lot more ground on his feet.
He increased his pace as his vision improved knowing too well that his foes would also be able to see better, but avoided any further contact. The sounds surrounding him were indecipherable; he heard no outcry or noise of a struggle, which he took to be a good sign. Fuller was evidently having similar luck avoiding any encounters with the mob. Dodge soon found a main wall and from there made his way out of the Hall of Ocean Life.
"Mr. Dalton!" A light flashed twice off to his left. "This way."
Dodge grimaced. Fuller should have known better; his signal was going to erase whatever advantage they had gained, but without a better option, he simply adjusted course and ran pell-mell toward the now extinguished beacon. Miraculously, his luck held and a few seconds later, Fuller flagged him again, this time from further down the corridor. "I’m here!" Dodge shouted, returning the second call. "Keep going!"
The next few minutes was a period of interminable darkness periodically broken by the sporadic flashes of Fuller’s light. Dodge did not wonder at how the G-man had so quickly gained the exit, he was merely grateful for the fact. At length, he saw Fuller’s light illuminating the revolving door at the main entrance directly ahead and put on a burst of speed. The lawman saw him in the same moment.
"Hurry, Dalton. They’re on your heels." To punctuate the urgency of his warning, he raised his revolver and fired a shot into the darkness behind Dodge. The noise echoed thunderously in the cavernous environment of the museum. Dodge’s pace slowed only enough to negotiate the door, then he was running again, this time through the windswept night with Fuller right behind.
"Get to my car!"
Dodge risked a glance over his shoulder and saw a stream of bodies exiting the castle-like structure, perhaps twenty steps behind Fuller and put on a fresh burst of speed which did not end until he nearly bounced off of the parked sedan. Diving into the driver’s seat he hastily worked the starter and revved the throttle until the engine was roaring throatily. Fuller dove into the back seat behind him. "Go!"
Dodge threw the car into gear and stomped the accelerator pedal to the floor. The tires squealed on the slick pavement, but the Studebaker lurched forward plowing headlong into the unrelenting crowd of pursuers. Hands and faces slapped against the windshield, accompanied by the thump of bodies rolling from the fenders and then they were free, racing north on Central Park West.
Dodge began to shiver uncontrollably as the urgency of their flight diminished, a condition that did not escape Fuller’s notice as he climbed over the seatback and settled in beside him. "You’d better pull over. Your leg is bleeding pretty badly."
The G-man got no argument from Dodge, only a weak nod as the sedan coasted to a stop and the latter wearily shifted into the passenger seat as Fuller circled around to enter through the door. When they were underway again, Fuller spoke.
"Mr. Dalton, I don’t know where to begin asking questions about all that’s happened tonight, but something tells me this is only the beginning."
"You have no idea." The enormity of the agent’s statement was only beginning to settle in. The relic stolen, his friends’ fate unknown….
"You’re right and that’s a problem. I’ve helped you — probably saved your life — and yet you’ve barely told me anything. I’m here to help, Mr. Dalton, but I can’t do that if you don’t trust me."
Dodge felt weary, defeated. "I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. They’ve won; whoever they are, they beat us."
"You don’t strike me as the sort who gives up easily. What about this Outpost? If that’s what they’re really after, maybe we could head them off — set an ambush and hit them when they show up."
"Maybe." He rubbed his temples, willing away the headache that was beginning to blossom behind his eyeballs. "Whoever did this…? I don’t see how they could know where the Outpost is. Only the four of us know the actual location."
"Maybe that was the reason for the trap at the museum. We have to assume that our enemies have captured your friends and will compel them to talk."
"They would never tell." Dodge’s tone was unequivocal, but he knew in his heart that his certitude counted for little. Their foe had somehow gained control of an entire planeload of people; it wasn’t a stretch to believe that even the stalwart Hurley and Father Hobbs might be swayed, especially by a threat to Molly. However, what he did not tell Fuller was that knowing the exact location of the Outpost was superfluous. The technology they had recovered from the Antarctic base employed a sort of autopilot that drew anyone using it in like a homing pigeon to its roost. If the enemy learned this and grasped how to use the Staff, then all was lost. He sat up straighter. "But you’re right. We have to act. I need to get to Washington."
Fuller drew a sharp breath. "Are you sure that’s wise? We don’t know who to trust."
"I know who to trust. Believe me, we won’t be going anywhere if we don’t stop in Washington first."
Fuller nodded reluctantly. "You’re the boss."
The Fallen Angel hovered in darkness, listening…waiting.
"She has the Staff!"
Ah, yes. The bauble at the center of this charade. It still rested in the deep pocket on her thigh. She resisted the impulse to slide a hand down to explore the odd metallic artifact. Hurricane's hearing was just sharp enough that he might hear the rustle of fabric.
Her efforts to free herself had begun even before Hobbs had finished tying the knots in the rope that bound her to the chair. Feigning sleep, she had managed to expand the muscles of her arms as the bonds were pulled tight. She had in fact been awake much longer than they realized, almost from the time Hobbs arrived at the museum, biding her time for an opportunity to escape. Yet, it had not been until Hobbs cut the puppet strings holding her in thrall that she had begun rebuilding her memories — memories that were far more extensive than she had led her captors to believe. And as her grasp of what had been lost improved, she realized that escaping her captors might not be the most prudent course of action. When her interrogator left the room, affording her the long-awaited chance to flee, she had elected to hide. The opened window had been merely a bit of theatre to fool the others.