When Lamont Jackson finally put away his tools and left the air handler room, intending to pay his visit to Dr. Lukacs, he was surprised to see the Institute apparently empty. At least on the ground floor. The museum was open, and it normally had plenty of visitors.
When he wandered into the front entrance area, heading for the stairs leading to the floors above, moderate surprise turned into sharp apprehension. A half drunk cup of coffee sat on the counter of the Suq, the Oriental Institute's gift shop. The glass display case in the center was open, and a beautiful piece of onyx jewelry was lying on the counter.
Lamont wasn't stupid. The Institute wasn't "empty." It had been evacuated. He had no idea why, but there was only one place he was going—out of here.
Then, after dancing back and forth for a moment, he decided to postpone his own evacuation. Very briefly. It would only take him two minutes to grab his tools and the boombox from the air handler room. That coffee had already scummed over. They hadn't just left. No sense in running out on his personal possessions. Still, it was spooky . . .
Hearing a voice calling out as he emerged from the air handler room, Lamont turned right and ran across Dr. Lukacs standing in front of the Assyrian Bull. As usual, the visiting professor looked vaguely puzzled. Lamont liked Jerry Lukacs, but he sometimes thought the professor only touched the real world now and again.
Lukacs smiled at him. "Hi. I'm relieved to see you. Where the hell has everyone gone?"
Just then they heard voices. Voices that sounded oddly loud in the strange silence. Lamont repressed a strong and irrational urge to look for somewhere to hide. There was no logic in it. They were just ordinary American voices. All except for one, and that was female.
"The place looks like it's been evacuated already, Lieutenant Salinas," said a male voice.
"Well, well, what a surprise. Shall we go on getting lost, and try somewhere else?" That was a woman's voice. Despite the foreign accent, Lamont recognized the tone. When his wife Marie spoke like that, it was time to start looking for cover.
The person who replied was obviously not as experienced. "We haven't been lost . . . "
Jerry cleared his throat. "In here!" he announced.
Lamont was glad that the decision had been taken away from him. Sighing with resignation, he set down the toolbox. No reason to keep lugging that heavy thing around for the moment.
Seconds later, when an armed and testy-looking group of soldiers piled in, he was less glad. Paratroopers, no less. Lamont recognized the insignia of the 101st. But it only took a few seconds for him to figure out that they were actually mad at the police officer in their midst.
"The United States government requires your services!" the policeman boomed. "We need an historian. Bring them along, men!"
Jerry blinked owlishly. "Er . . . I'm Professor Jerry Lukacs. I'm a mythographer, I work on comparative mythology."
Lamont chuckled. "And I'm the maintenance man. Is the government short of those again?"
Another two minutes, and the woman's going to tear that cop's head off his shoulders, thought Cruz. She wasn't American and sure as hell wasn't much on respect for pompous authority. Nor did she seem fazed in the least by the sight of soldiers in BDUs walking around a city with loaded weapons. She acted as if it was kind of normal. That was . . . odd.
Liz repressed a slight chuckle. This errand-boy policeman was a right royal pain in the backside. Arse-licking those above him and arse-kicking those below. His face, at being told the black guy—who looked the smarter of the two—was a mechanic, was quite a study. The other guy looked like a typical "nocturnal" arts major. Weedy. Slightly confused looking. The kind that always turned out to be at the top of some esoteric field of no use to man or beast.
More with the intent to irritate Salinas than in any real expectations of getting any worthwhile information, Liz introduced herself and began explaining. To her surprise the little man tensed like a terrier scenting rats when she got to mentioning what the survivor had actually said.
"He used the words: 'Black ship'?"
"No, sir," corrected the dark-skinned, powerful-looking soldier named Cruz. "Actually he said, 'black galley.' "
"Tell me what else he said. As much and as precisely as you can remember." The little guy was just about quivering.
The sergeant hauled out his notebook. "I wrote it down, sir."
"A man of intelligence, eh, Lamont?" The little mythographer's eyes were bright. "Read it, please. I just may be able to help you."
He listened in intent silence as Cruz read from his notebook. Then he shook his head.
Salinas snorted in disgust "Well, ma'am, now that you've wasted our time, we'd better get moving."
Jerry Lukacs cleared his throat. "Sorry. That headshake was—'this is too unbelievable.' "
Liz looked at him grimly. "I've seen the evidence."
Lukacs' eyes were bright with excitement. "It's got to be Scylla. Somehow—somewhere—the myth must have a basis in truth."
Liz shook her head "Scylla? Look, I saw those bites. The biggest crab in the world couldn't have done that."
The mythographer looked puzzled. "Who said anything about crabs?"
It was her turn to look mystified. "I thought you just did. Swimming crabs. Scylla. A big one will take fingers off. But not legs."
Salinas cleared his throat loudly. "It appears that all this is not getting us anywhere . . . "
The black mechanic chuckled. "Lieutenant Ra-Ra-Ra doesn't understand what you're getting at, Dr. Lukacs."
"Amon's got to think, Lamont." Jerry grinned.
Liz groaned. Die-hard punsters would make torturing language take precedence over matters of life and death. "Look you two, I don't understand, never mind this silly ass. And if you don't explain, Dr. Lukacs, I shall give you capital punishment by pulling your head off."
"Couldn't you just get that soldier"—Lamont pointed at McKenna—"to beat us up instead, ma'am? Then it'd just be corporal punishment."
The wild-haired academic groaned appreciatively. You could almost see his mind hunting links to "corporal."
By the look Salinas directed at Lamont, he did not enjoy this. Not one damn bit! He was plainly a humorless man. It looked as if there was only one thing he really hated more than being excluded from the joke—and that was being the butt of one. The big black guy had certainly pushed both sets of those buttons. The last time Liz had seen a look like that was when some Afrikaaner Weerstand Beweeging guys had found themselves in close contact with a visiting Nigerian professor. That had been ugly. She tensed. It was all sort of her fault. She had better try and move it all along. "Tell. Please."
The small mythographer assumed the posture of an orator. "Ahem, I quote: 'It is the home of Scylla, the creature with the dreadful bark. It is true that her yelp is no louder than a newborn pup's, but she is a horrible monster nevertheless, and one whom nobody could look at with delight, not even a god if he passed that way. She has twelve feet, all dangling in the air, and six long necks, each ending in a grisly head with triple rows of teeth, set thick and close, and darkly menacing death.' "
He relaxed his professorial stance. "It's from the 1946 Rieu translation of the Odyssey. Consider that the hero's name was Odysseus, that he was sailing what is described as a 'black ship' and that section of the Odyssey describes sailing between Scylla and the dreadful whirlpool, Charybdis. It all fits rather well, doesn't it?" The man smiled. He looked rather like a child who is showing you a puzzle that he's just put together and hopes you'll applaud.
It was apparent that Salinas was not going to cheer. "I've had enough! I'm putting both of you under arrest. We'll see how funny you are at the precinct!"
"Taking them to see Professor Tremelo would make more sense to me," Liz snapped.
Salinas' authoritarian instincts were now in full evidence. "If I need any further comments from you, ma'am, I'll ask for them. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut. This is a police matter now."
Lamont did not seem in the least intimidated. In fact, he laughed aloud. "I can't think what Silenius' donkey was called, Dr. Lukacs. But all this war talk Mars Lieutenant RaRaRa's complexion. It quite dis-Troys . . . "
And then it all happened very fast. Something in Salinas seemed to snap. He yanked out his pistol and grabbed Lamont. Something in Liz did snap. She grabbed the cop's wrist and shoved the gun upward. In what seemed like two seconds, she and Salinas and Lamont and Jerry Lukacs and Sergeant Cruz and Corporal McKenna and Privates Hooper and Dietz were all in contact with one another, shouting and wrestling.
The Krim device sensed a valuable one. Highly charged with emotion. A low personal credulity level. Perfect for the application of prukrin transfer. It responded.