Chapter 39 Section thirty-eight

The Buick drove away, and Pendergast walked up the steps of the side entrance of the museum, holding two cardboard tubes with a trembling arm, and showed his ID to the guard guarding the door. Back at the temporary command post, he closed the door of his office, took out a few yellowed blueprints from the paper tube, and spread them out on the desk. For the next hour, he sat there almost motionless, forming a triangle with his hands and propping his forehead, quietly studying the drawings.He occasionally scribbles in his notebook, or consults a printout on the corner of his desk. He stood up suddenly, looked at the curled blueprint for the last time, moved his fingers slowly from one point to another, and pursed his lips tightly.Then he put away most of the drawings, carefully inserted them back into the cardboard tube, and put the cardboard tube into the wardrobe.He carefully folded the remaining few sheets and put them in a bag on the table.He opened the drawer and took out a Colter Four or Five Python revolver.Long, narrow and menacingly shaped, it fit nicely into a holster under his left arm. It wasn't standard FBI equipment, but it was a good addition to courage.He grabbed a handful of bullets and stuffed them into his pocket, and took out a large yellow object from the drawer and put it in the cloth pocket.Pendergast tidied up his black suit, straightened his tie, put his notebook in his breast pocket, picked up the cloth bag, and walked out of the office.

New York City is oblivious to the violence, and the museum's large public spaces are once again full of tourists.Children surrounded the exhibits in groups, sticking their noses to the glass, pointing, talking and laughing.Parents loitering around their children, maps and cameras in hand.The tour guide walked slowly, reciting the commentary; the security guard guarded the door vigilantly.Pendergast passed quietly, no one noticed him. He walked slowly into the sky hall.Potted palm trees lined the sides of the vast hall, and legions of workers made the final adjustments.Two technicians check the sound system on a podium where imitation Aboriginal fetishes are placed on white linen table tops.The hum of people drifted over the Corinthian colonnades and up to the great circular vaults.

Pendergast looked at his watch: it was four o'clock.All agents are attending Coffey's briefing.He walked briskly across the hall, towards the sealed entrance to the Superstition Exhibition.He talked to the patrolman on duty, and the patrolman unlocked the door for him. A few minutes later, Pendergast appeared in the exhibition hall.He paused, thought for a moment, then turned back across the hall and out into a corridor outside. Pendergast ventured into the quiet backstage of the museum, away from the public space.He was in a storage and laboratory area off-limits to tourists.High ceilings and wide ornamental hallways give way to drab cinder-brick corridors lined with cupboards.Steam pipes rumbled and hissed overhead.Pendergast stopped at the top of a metal staircase, looked around, checked his notebook, loaded his pistol.Then he descended into the narrow labyrinth, the dark heart of the museum.