would be a good time for someone to go looking for it.”
There was a pregnant silence as his audience pondered his words. And then the ringing of the bell brought them all back to the present.
ELEVEN
VERNON THIELMAN was smiling to himself as he took a deep breath of the cool night air. It was Friday night and he was glad he wasn’t working the graveyard shift. He pushed the light button on his watch.
Ten-thirty. Almost done and the night is still young
.
The full moon was making his job as night watchman a breeze. From the top of the roof of the Smithsonian, he could see anyone entering the parking lot that flanked the back two sides of the building. As he moved diagonally across the roof to the other corner, he could see 5th Street, which ran north and south, and Milford Boulevard, which ran east and west. The traffic was light for a Friday night.
After the violent death of two night watchmen and the theft of one section of Moses’ Brazen Serpent from the Parchments of Freedom Foundation, a security guard had been placed on the roof. Despite the anxietythe deaths had engendered, the roof duty was regarded as relatively safe. His job tonight, after all, was to see and report, not to confront anybody or put himself in harm’s way. Given that the security staff had negotiated extra danger payments, Thielman thought he had a pretty good deal.
It was hard to believe, but it appeared that the two guards had been killed by birds. Peregrine falcons to be exact. Birds of prey that had been trained to use their razor-sharp talons and beaks on man, instead of their usual quarry, pigeons and crows. It seemed pretty unlikely that such a bizarre incident could ever happen again, but Thielman was taking no chances. Every time he heard a squawk or a flutter of wings, his hand went straight to the security baton in his belt—ready to beat off any feathered attacker. And he had already checked the roof area several times for any lurking falcons.
Tonight, happily, he hadn’t seen so much as a sparrow.
He did, however, see a dark-green Jeep drive slowly down 5th Street and turn right onto Milford. The Jeep stopped across the street from the foundation and a large man eased himself out. He looked in both directions as if he were going to cross the street, but then just stood by the Jeep. Then the man looked up at the roof and Thielman had the uncanny feeling he knew he was there. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but something about the situation sent a shiver up his spine.
Thielman stepped closer to the edge of the roof to get a better look, but the man’s face remained in shadow.
Suddenly the man by the Jeep raised his hand, held it in midair for a few moments, then snapped it downagainst his thigh. Instantly Thielman heard an earsplitting shriek behind him and swiveled to see a dark shape arrowing down toward his face. Fumbling at his belt, he instinctively took a step backward and tripped over a taut monofilament line stretched between two steel air outlets. Turning awkwardly, he managed to break his fall by gripping the guardrail surrounding the roof.
For a second he congratulated himself on his swift reactions.
Not so bad for an old guy
, he thought.
And then the rail snapped in two like a stale breadstick and he was plummeting through space, spinning crazily as the ground rushed up to meet him in a crushing embrace.
By the time the stranger had ambled over to Thielman’s body, with its crazy arrangement of limbs sticking out at odd angles, the last muscle spasms had finished their grisly dance, and everything was still. He paused for a moment to savor the pungent aromas of violent death, then dragged the corpse around to the back of the building and heaved it into the bushes.
He looked up as a starling gently settled on his shoulder and began to preen itself. He bared his teeth in a sickly smile. Starlings were mischievous birds and great mimics.
“You seem to have scared our friend here out of his wits, little
There was a pregnant silence as his audience pondered his words. And then the ringing of the bell brought them all back to the present.
ELEVEN
VERNON THIELMAN was smiling to himself as he took a deep breath of the cool night air. It was Friday night and he was glad he wasn’t working the graveyard shift. He pushed the light button on his watch.
Ten-thirty. Almost done and the night is still young
.
The full moon was making his job as night watchman a breeze. From the top of the roof of the Smithsonian, he could see anyone entering the parking lot that flanked the back two sides of the building. As he moved diagonally across the roof to the other corner, he could see 5th Street, which ran north and south, and Milford Boulevard, which ran east and west. The traffic was light for a Friday night.
After the violent death of two night watchmen and the theft of one section of Moses’ Brazen Serpent from the Parchments of Freedom Foundation, a security guard had been placed on the roof. Despite the anxietythe deaths had engendered, the roof duty was regarded as relatively safe. His job tonight, after all, was to see and report, not to confront anybody or put himself in harm’s way. Given that the security staff had negotiated extra danger payments, Thielman thought he had a pretty good deal.
It was hard to believe, but it appeared that the two guards had been killed by birds. Peregrine falcons to be exact. Birds of prey that had been trained to use their razor-sharp talons and beaks on man, instead of their usual quarry, pigeons and crows. It seemed pretty unlikely that such a bizarre incident could ever happen again, but Thielman was taking no chances. Every time he heard a squawk or a flutter of wings, his hand went straight to the security baton in his belt—ready to beat off any feathered attacker. And he had already checked the roof area several times for any lurking falcons.
Tonight, happily, he hadn’t seen so much as a sparrow.
He did, however, see a dark-green Jeep drive slowly down 5th Street and turn right onto Milford. The Jeep stopped across the street from the foundation and a large man eased himself out. He looked in both directions as if he were going to cross the street, but then just stood by the Jeep. Then the man looked up at the roof and Thielman had the uncanny feeling he knew he was there. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but something about the situation sent a shiver up his spine.
Thielman stepped closer to the edge of the roof to get a better look, but the man’s face remained in shadow.
Suddenly the man by the Jeep raised his hand, held it in midair for a few moments, then snapped it downagainst his thigh. Instantly Thielman heard an earsplitting shriek behind him and swiveled to see a dark shape arrowing down toward his face. Fumbling at his belt, he instinctively took a step backward and tripped over a taut monofilament line stretched between two steel air outlets. Turning awkwardly, he managed to break his fall by gripping the guardrail surrounding the roof.
For a second he congratulated himself on his swift reactions.
Not so bad for an old guy
, he thought.
And then the rail snapped in two like a stale breadstick and he was plummeting through space, spinning crazily as the ground rushed up to meet him in a crushing embrace.
By the time the stranger had ambled over to Thielman’s body, with its crazy arrangement of limbs sticking out at odd angles, the last muscle spasms had finished their grisly dance, and everything was still. He paused for a moment to savor the pungent aromas of violent death, then dragged the corpse around to the back of the building and heaved it into the bushes.
He looked up as a starling gently settled on his shoulder and began to preen itself. He bared his teeth in a sickly smile. Starlings were mischievous birds and great mimics.
“You seem to have scared our friend here out of his wits, little
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