“What?” she mumbled.
“Wake up. Go into the bathroom.” He prayed that the flies were not already in there, too. “Lock the door.”
“Why?” she said, raising her head a few inches from the mattress.
“Do it.”
Then, looking around, she must have taken in the horror surrounding them. He heard a fast intake of breath, saw her back stiffen with fear.
“Don’t make any noise. Just go.”
She slid off the far side of the bed, but must have stumbled over the clothes strewn on the floor. As if it were all one organism, the tide of flies shifted from the walls and ceiling, and Simone screamed as they descended upon her naked body.
Lucas leapt over the bed. She was down on all fours, trying to swat them away, but there were too many, and they were too intent. Grabbing her under one arm, he dragged her toward the bathroom and shoved her inside. Her hands covering her head, she scuttled under the pedestal sink, but before he could follow her in, the door banged shut in his face, so hard it nearly broke his nose.
“Lucas!”
Answering her was impossible — the flies had descended upon him now, coating his cheeks and lips and forcing him to close his one good eye. He staggered backward, blind, around the foot of the bed, and groped for the door to the hall. But the wall was so carpeted by the horde that he couldn’t even find the handle. Opening his mouth to catch a breath, he was instantly choked by a clutch of flies. He spat them out, and wiping his eye and holding his head down, lurched across the room, bumping into the room-service cart and sending it careening into the bedside table. Though the light stayed on, the lamp toppled to the floor, emitting a sinister glow as it rolled back and forth on the rim of its dented shade.
The wooden desk chair was covered, too, but Lucas picked it up and slung it at the window, shattering the glass. The chair clattered out onto the fire escape, as the curtains billowed out in the night wind.
The index card under the sash fluttered in a circle, then flew away as if it were a bat taking wing.
Instead of entering the room, the wind drew the air out in a kind of vortex, sucking out the flies in a swirling black funnel that enveloped Lucas, churning around his shoulders, over his head, under his arms, and between his legs. It was all he could do to remain upright. Once above the moonlit street, the flies, like an army deserting en masse, dispersed in every direction.
Lucas planted his hands on his knees, and took deep, labored breaths. He heard the bathroom door creak open, and a moment later felt Simone’s arms around him.
“Are you all right?” she asked, but all he could do was nod.
With the curtains rustling and the overturned lamp casting its eerie glow, they stayed just as they were, holding each other tight, naked and cold and alone. Adam and Eve, expelled.
A tattered remnant of the blue folder blew across the floor, stopping at Simone’s ankle.
Though not a word passed between them, Lucas knew what Simone was thinking. Just as she had predicted, their ancient adversary had assumed one of its countless disguises, and paid them a visit. He, too, knew that it wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Back when he was in training in Fort Meade, Maryland, Ray Taylor had earned the nickname Hawkeye. His eyesight was exceptional — his scores on the rifle range were among the highest ever recorded — and his hearing was equally acute. Even when sleeping, as he was now, he remained more aware of his surroundings than some people were when they were wide-awake.
At the sound of a car pulling up outside now, he abruptly lifted his head from the pillow. In his T-shirt and boxer shorts, he went to the window; crouching down, he pulled the curtain to one side and saw the back door of a cab swing open and Lucas get out. A second later, a girl got out, too — that Egyptian girl who’d shown up in several of Brandt’s photos, the one who worked at the university. Simone Rashid. He’d been sent a thorough report on her from headquarters, and he’d read it twice. An impressive résumé, especially for such a knockout.
Right now, however, she didn’t look so hot. Right now, she looked like she was barely holding herself together.
After unloading a couple of suitcases from the trunk of the cab and leaving them at the curb, Lucas put an arm around her shoulder and escorted her unsteadily up the front steps. The front door closed behind them as softly as possible, and as they mounted the staircase to Lucas’s apartment at the top of the house, he could hear their footsteps passing his own room. By the time Lucas had crept back down to retrieve the suitcases, Taylor had thrown on some clothes and followed him outside. From force of habit, he’d also slung his shoulder holster and gun under his Windbreaker. The cab was long gone.
It was cold and dark, with a wet wind blowing, and Taylor had to come up right behind him and put a hand on his shoulder before Lucas even knew he was there. The man whipped around, fists clenched, head down, ready for a fight.
Taylor lifted his hands and took a step back. “Whoa there, pardner. I came to help with the bags.”
Lucas raised a dubious eyebrow.
Taylor picked up one of the bags by its handle — judging from the weight, it had to be filled with more books than clothing — and carted it to the front steps. When Lucas arrived with the rest, Taylor stopped him before going inside, and said in a low tone, “So, you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Simone had a problem at the hotel. She’s staying here tonight.”
“What kind of problem?”
“They overbooked.”
“Yeah, right.” He’d pursue this tomorrow, with a stop at the hotel desk. There was something else more important. “What about the bones? Did you find a safe place to store them?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Delaney’s lab. Half the time, he sleeps there.”
From what he’d seen of the guy shambling around the campus, Taylor could believe it. “Anything else you want to tell me? Before I find out later?”
Lucas shrugged and mounted the steps, then turned.
“Yes,” he said. “Keep a close eye on Einstein’s place.”
“I already do.”
“Keep it closer.”
“Why?”
“You asked for my advice,” Lucas said, opening the door and holding it with his foot while he wrestled the suitcases inside. “Now you have it.”
The door swung closed behind him.
Taylor was in no mood to go back to bed now, and he sure as shootin’ didn’t believe the warning had been issued for no reason. Lucas was still laboring under the mistaken impression that Taylor was there to guard Einstein. Guard duty had most certainly not been J. Edgar Hoover’s intention in dispatching his agent to Princeton. Hoover wanted Taylor to shadow the man and dig up any dirt he could find.
“The man’s a Red,” Hoover had blustered from behind his immense desk. “Anything he knows, and anything he learns about our top-secret projects, he’s going to share with Moscow.”
“But the Russians are our allies,” Taylor had managed to get out, before Hoover blew his top.
“If you believe that, you believe in the Easter bunny, and you have no business serving in the bureau.”
Taylor had fallen silent; he’d worked too long and hard for this job.
“Once we’re done with the Nazis — and trust me, we will be — we’ll deal with the Soviets.” He’d stopped to growl an order into his intercom, then resumed where he’d left off. “And we’ll also deal with their sympathizers here in the United Sates. I’ve got a list ten yards long.”
Taylor didn’t doubt it, and lest he wind up on Hoover’s shit list himself, he had hunkered down in the boardinghouse right across from Einstein’s home on Mercer Street. In all the time he’d been there, the only thing he’d seen of a remotely suspicious nature was a car carrying what looked like J. Robert Oppenheimer. Hoover didn’t trust Oppenheimer, either; everyone in the bureau knew that. Taylor sometimes wondered if it wasn’t because both men were Jews. Anyway, he’d dutifully relayed the license plate number to headquarters, but they had never even bothered to let him know if his guess had been correct.