Part 16 (1/2)

Kelly Wickstrom was sleeping when George McNeely knocked on his door. The noise from the other room woke him and he opened his eyes to find a white face hovering above his own, staring down at him with a sort of mindless, detached interest, like a man in an asylum watching an ant crawl across a wall.

Wickstrom started, his eyes opened wide, and the face disappeared, shut off like a suddenly extinguished light. Wickstrom relaxed and rubbed the dust of sleep from his eyes. Dreams, he thought. G.o.dd.a.m.ned place is full of nightmares. He didn't think it odd that he couldn't remember what the dream had been about. He was thankful he couldn't.

There was another knock at the door. He slipped on his old terrycloth bathrobe and went into the living room, but paused when his hand touched the k.n.o.b. He had locked the door before he lay down, and wondered now if he should open it so freely to whatever might be on the other side.

But then he heard McNeely's voice call his name, and he flung it wide. The moment he saw McNeely's face he knew that something had happened. It was alive and open, quite unlike the friendly but guarded countenance McNeely'd worn before. Only now did Wickstrom think that there was a possibility of going behind the mask and knowing George McNeely. Something had happened-it was either Gabrielle Neville or the house, and for the first time Wickstrom hoped that McNeely was sleeping with Gabrielle. The alternative was unthinkable.

McNeely looked at Wickstrom and gave a small laugh. ”Good G.o.d, what's wrong with me?”

”Huh?”

”The way you're looking at me. Like I was ... a ghost.” The last word sounded choked, as if McNeely wished he weren't going to say it just as it left his mouth.

Wickstrom realized that his own mouth was open, and that he was staring goggle-eyed at McNeely. ”I'm sorry,” he said. ”I was sleeping. I guess I'm just not awake yet.”

”Sorry for waking you. But since you're up, would you want to come down to the kitchen? Gabrielle and I were talking about what our plans should be and we need you in on it.”

It's Gabrielle. Thank G.o.d it's Gabrielle. The way McNeely said ”our plans” had given it away. It sounded too much like a fiance planning a future to be coincidental.

”We need you in on it”-almost as if Wickstrom were an afterthought. A third wheel.

”Let me get dressed,” Wickstrom said, and walked back into the bedroom. When he returned, McNeely was relaxing on the sofa, whistling softly. On the way to the kitchen he told Wickstrom of Gabrielle Neville's decision to let them retain the money no matter what happened from that point on.

”She figures we earned it,” McNeely said.

Sure. Anyway, you earned it, stud. But Wickstrom's thought lacked vitality and conviction. It was as though the jealousy he had felt before at mere suspicion had been feigned, and he could only see it now that certainty was here. Even when he entered the kitchen and saw the cat-and-cream look on Gabrielle's face, there was no flare of anger, only a natural wish that he had gotten there first. But he hadn't, and he felt strangely at peace nonetheless.

McNeely made corned beef sandwiches and tomato soup, and they sat and ate, and drank orange juice, and tried to think of possible avenues of escape. ”What about the ventilation system?” Wickstrom suggested.

McNeely shook his head. ”The ducts are too small.”

”You sure?”

”I checked the day we got here.” McNeely swallowed the last of his sandwich. ”I don't think we can force the plates either. If we had a crowbar, maybe, but there's nothing like that here. No tools at all.”

”What about the bed frames,” said Wickstrom. ”Could we tear any of them apart for metal?”

”They're all wooden,” Gabrielle reminded him. ”But how about the refrigerator, or the other appliances? There's metal there.”

McNeely frowned. ”Nothing big enough or strong enough. We're talking about heavy steel plates here. And the real b.i.t.c.h is that they're in four-inch-deep slots. Like I said, I'm not even sure a crowbar would work.”

”Then the h.e.l.l with the windows and doors.” Wickstrom turned his chair around and straddled it. ”What about the walls-or the roof? Is there a cellar entrance we don't know about? And how about the doors to the sun room?”

”Forget those doors,” said Gabrielle. ”They have the same steel plating as the rest. The walls are thick, though it might be worth a try. As for the roof, I don't even know where the attic entrance is.”

”If there is one,” Wickstrom a.s.serted, ”we can find it and go from there.”

”Walls or roof, we've got to have something to pry or dig with.” McNeely stood and leaned against the sink. ”So what can we use?”

The three of them frowned and thought for a long moment. Then Gabrielle's eyes brightened. ”The telescope,” she said with a thrill in her voice. ”The telescope in the observatory. It's got bra.s.s fittings, and the mount is either iron or steel. We could break it apart!”

The two men caught her excitement, and Wickstrorn jumped up. ”Let's see.” They took the stairs two at a time and practically ran into the high-domed room. The light revealed the huge scope, its lens still fixed on the metallic dome overhead.

”Jesus!” shouted Wickstrom. ”The dome!” he turned to the others. ”We can get out through the dome! The mechanism's locked, but we can bust it easy enough. With some of these fittings-”

”No, Kelly,” Gabrielle said. ”It won't work. The dome is locked, but even if we get it open, there's a steel plate over it on the outside.”

”s.h.i.+t,” Wickstrom snarled. ”Didn't miss a f.u.c.king trick around here.”

”At least the telescope looks promising,” said McNeely. ”Some of the parts of the mount could be used as pry irons if we can shape them a little, though it seems a shame to break this apart.” He gazed admiringly at the eight-inch reflector, still gleaming brightly and untarnished after seventy years.

”I'd vandalize the Louvre to get us out of here,” Gabrielle said. ”Let's take what we need.”

The three of them worked the scope loose from its mounting, then attempted to lower it gently to the floor. As Wickstrom looked up its tall smooth length, his arms wrapped around it like a Scot about to toss the Caber, it suddenly reminded him of something, something that meant escape quite apart from the iron fittings that had held the shaft in place. And as it came to him, his grip relaxed slightly, so that the poorly distributed weight settled precisely where Gabrielle was supporting the scope. It tipped too far, and despite McNeely and Wickstrom's frantic grab, the top end came cras.h.i.+ng down on the hard wooden floor, splintering the objective lens into hundreds of tiny shards.

”Oh, Jesus,” Gabrielle moaned. ”Oh, s.h.i.+t!”

”What happened to vandalizing the Louvre?” asked McNeely. ”Don't take it so hard. At least the fittings are free.”

”It wasn't your fault, Gabrielle,” Wickstrom said. ”I lost my grip. I just had a thought and there it went.”

”A thought?” McNeely's face went serious, concerned. It seemed as if sudden thoughts in this house were mostly a danger.

”The long tube,” Wickstrom went on. ”It reminded me of the chimney.”

”The chimney?”

He turned to Gabrielle. ”Yes. The chimney wasn't shut off-we've built fires in it. Is there anything over the top?”

”I-I don't know. But, Kelly, it's three stories high and only a bit over a foot in diameter. Besides, it's copper. Nothing to grab hold of. It'd be like climbing up a soda straw.”

”There's got to be a way,” Wickstrom said. ”I'll bet anything there's no plate over the top. Neville never would have imagined anyone trying to go out that way.”

”He imagined everything else,” Gabrielle said, almost defensively. ”Windows, doors, dome . . . what makes you think he'd miss the chimney?”

”It's just too unbelievable that we'd try to escape that way. You're the only one small enough to fit up there, and you were in his camp, not ours.”

”Wait a minute, Kelly.” McNeely frowned. ”You want Gabrielle to try and get up that chimney?”

”We can't,” said Wickstrom.

”There's no way. How could she climb it? There's not enough room to maneuver even if there was something to hold on to. Christ, even if we had pitons, she couldn't hammer them in. Besides, what if she gets to the top and finds out it's hooked up to the ventilation system?”

Wickstrom shook his head. ”I know,” he said dejectedly. ”I know you're right, but what else can we do?”

”We can try the walls,” said McNeely. ”We can try the plates, we can try to find the attic. We'll get through somehow.”

”And if we don't,” Gabrielle said, smiling grimly, ”I'll try the chimney. Santa Claus in reverse.”