The change of environments was as dramatic as being sealed in a tomb. Even in the relative shelter of the hospital, Molly had not felt so cut off from the outside world; the massive stone blocks that formed the walls of the Natural History museum effectively muffled the noise of the storm raging outside. The sudden silence only added to her apprehension, as did the demeanor of the security guard.
"We’re here to meet Prof. Pendleton," Hurricane ventured.
"You’re expected. Follow me."
"Are we the first to arrive?" Molly’s voice was pitched louder than she realized and she started at the echo of her own voice in the spacious lobby.
"No ma’am. The professor is already here. He’s waiting." The guard’s flashlight beam leaped ahead of them to show the way. Although Molly had previously visited the sprawling campus, the darkness and ominous atmosphere made it seem entirely foreign to her experience. It didn’t help that their guide led them immediately through a door marked "Museum Staff Only."
"How long have you been without power?" Hurley asked conversationally, but the watchman only grunted in reply, as if making small talk fell outside the scope of his duties.
Hurley abruptly skipped a step, causing Molly to crash into him. As she recoiled from the collision, she heard him whisper in her ear. "Something’s not right. Stay close to me, but be ready to run if I give the word."
The part of the museum into which they were led was reserved for offices and storerooms for items no longer on display. None of these proved to be their destination. Instead, the guard led them to a stairwell at the end of the corridor and then descended. Molly’s grip on the banister rail was white-knuckle tight as she brought up the rear of the group. Hurricane’s warning still echoed in her head.
The door on the landing of the lower level, what Molly took to be the basement, seemed ominously cold and as the watchman opened it, the howl of distant wind became once more audible. Beyond was an austere concrete walled room that appeared in the beam of the flashlight to be some kind of warehouse or loading dock. The uniformed man stood to one side and waved them on. "He’s right down there."
Hurley stopped in his tracks once more, this time drawing Molly close. "There’s no light. You’ll need to walk with us and show us the way."
Molly peered into the shadows wreathing the watchman’s face, looking for some hint of duplicity. She saw nothing to indicate malice or even anxiety. Instead, the man’s face was as bland and expressionless as if he were sleepwalking. Without another word, he turned and began walking in the direction he had indicated. Hurley held back a few paces, warily looking into the surrounding blackness for any signs of an ambush, but there was just enough light from the guard’s handheld beam to prevent his eyes from adapting to the dark conditions.
Their escort traveled only a dozen paces before stopping in front of an opened garage door. Rainwater was dripping down from the edges of the frame, but directly beyond the opening was an enclosed area which Molly correctly assumed to be the bed of a delivery truck. The cone of illumination from the guard’s light flashed into the mostly vacant space to reveal not cargo, but a lone passenger — a man with bushy gray hair and a mustache seated on the floor with his back to one wall. He started at the unexpected arrival and jumped to his feet.
"What the devil…?" Despite his own admonition, this unexpected revelation caught Hurley off guard. He whirled to face the watchman and his inquiry fell silent as he found himself staring into the barrel of a .38 caliber police service revolver.
The watchman’s face remained completely expressionless as he jabbed the gun forward meaningfully. "Get in."
Molly's gaze was transfixed on the pistol, but in the corner of her eye, she saw Hurley seeming to cower from the firearm as he gripped her protectively. However, his uncharacteristic timidity was merely a ploy. Molly abruptly found herself prone on the damp floor and, when she looked up, Hurricane had both of his enormous pistols drawn and aimed at the man's head.
"Don't," he warned. "I'm faster and you're not cocked."
The guard's dull gaze flickered toward the pistol in his hand and a quizzical look flashed over his countenance betraying unfamiliarity with the operation of the pistol. Then his thumb came up to draw down the hammer.
"Don't…"
Three guns fired simultaneously, but the pop of the little police special was lost in the thunder of Hurley's custom made fifty-caliber semi-automatics. The guard was knocked backward into the darkness and did not fire again. Hurricane, however, remained standing, both pistols poised for action. Molly's ears were ringing from the deafening concussion, but she felt something warm dripping on her hand and gave a little yelp. "You're hit!"
"I've had worse," the big man replied, holstering the guns and lifting her off the floor. He turned back to the figure huddled inside the truck. "Are you Prof. Pendleton?"
The gray-haired man raised his head. "They made me send for you."
"You're safe now. We'll get you out of…Wait a minute. They?"
Molly turned back to the loading dock. In the semi-circle of light cast by the fallen watchman's discarded flashlight, she saw several more figures emerging from places of concealment along the perimeter of the room. "Hurricane!"
"I see 'em." Hurley hoisted Pendleton to his feet. "Let's go, Doc!"
He brandished one of his pistols at the approaching horde, but none of the men and women appeared to be armed. It did not escape Molly's notice that each one of them wore the same emotionless expression as the guard; it was like they weren't really there.
Half-dragging the professor, Hurricane skirted the wall, guiding them back toward the stairwell. The others followed, but made no move to close the gap, almost as if attempting to herd them.
Hurley thrust Pendleton and Molly into the stairwell and then snapped off a single warning shot into the gloom before following them. "Care to give me a quick summary of what's going on, Professor? Who are those folks and what do they want?"
Pendleton, wheezing from the exertion of climbing the stairs only shook his head, evincing ignorance.
"They wanted us here," Molly intoned. "You, me, Dad, Dodge… And did you see their faces?"
"They didn't look like killers," Hurricane replied. "They looked almost like they were…"
"On vacation?"
"You saw it, too?" He stopped them from exiting the stairwell long enough to check the corridor for signs of an ambush. Below, the slap of footsteps on the stair treads was audible.
"Professor, what does any of this have to do with the Outpost?"
"I…Outpost…" Pendleton shook his head again, unable to catch his breath.
"So what now?" Molly asked.
"Let's keep moving." Hurley gestured to the hallway. "Professor, has anyone else been here tonight? Mr. Dalton or Father Hobbs?"
"No…see…any…"
"They might be coming here. We have to warn them!"
The big man nodded. "We will, little lady. We'll get to the bottom of…shhh!"
Molly froze in her tracks. Directly ahead, at the far end of the corridor, a faint light was visible. Hurley pulled them back and stopped in front of a locked office. He gave the door what looked like a gentle kick and it burst open. "Inside. Quickly!"
Molly fumbled through the dark space, barking her shins on a low table, but ultimately found the back wall. She continued probing the flat surface until her fingers found a familiar bulbous shape. "There's another door here."
Beyond the office was another corridor, which, like a secret passage in a gothic manor, permitted museum personnel to quickly get around the labyrinth of exhibition halls without going the long way. Neither she nor Hurley had any idea which direction to follow and the professor who probably knew the museum like the back of his hand wasn't much help. They chose to follow the passage to the left, hoping that it would bring them back around to the Central Park West entrance. A few moments later, the hall ended at a door, which opened into a cavernous room in which strange silhouettes seemed to hover in mid-air. One of these loomed overhead like an airplane coming in for a landing.