Relic (Pendergast, #1)

by Douglas Preston

Wait a minute, she thought. The journal had said they encountered the old woman before entering the deserted hut. And yet, the letter she found wedged in the lid of the crate clearly stated that Whittlesey discovered the figurine inside the hut. He didn’t enter the hut until after the old woman ran away. The old woman was not looking at the figurine when she cried out that Mbwun was in the crate! She must have been looking at something else in the crate and calling it Mbwun! But nobody had realized that, because they hadn’t found Whittlesey’s letter. They’d only had the journal for evidence, so they’d assumed Mbwun was the figurine. But they were wrong.

Cripes, Margo! What did you put in here? I don’t even know if this is an animal or plant. And you won’t believe how much CPU time it took to figure that out!

Smithback, wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo with the twin faux pas of wide, spiked lapels and a frilled shirt,

psychohistorian,

Perspiration broke across his brow. Instinctively, Waters raised an arm to wipe it off. But he made no move toward the electrical room door.

gurney

He looked around. More mummies, but none with blood all over them. D’Agosta stopped, frozen. Mummies don’t bleed.

Mummy Cave, Canyon del Muerto, Arizona.”

Above the mummy’s head, the top of the case was open, exposing a ceiling crawling with steam pipes and ductwork. A hand, a watch, and the cuff of a blue shirt protruded over the edge of the case. A small icicle of dried blood hung from the middle finger.

troglodyte

The lights went out.

The screaming was continuous now, a strange, banshee-like keening noise that raised the hair on a person’s neck. Coffey had never seen anything like it, never: smoke, emergency lights blinking, people running over other people, glassy panic in their eyes.

withers,

Pendergast was the most rational of men, but he barked a brief laugh of disbelief as he saw the creature claw for the doorknob.

Crackers and Camembert went flying. He grabbed crackers and cheese off his frilled shirt and started eating.

The lights dimmed. Smithback quickly shoved a wedge of Camembert into his mouth, holding it between his teeth, realizing suddenly that he was eating while the biggest event he’d ever seen was being handed him on a silver platter.

The lights flickered again. A hundred thousand for the advance, he wasn’t going to take a dime less. He was here, he’d covered the story from the beginning. Nobody could touch his access. The lights flickered for a third time, then went out. “Son of a bitch!” yelled Smithback. “Somebody turn on the lights!”

The smell was growing overpowering, the earthy, rotting odor of a swamp, mixed with the sweet smell of warm raw hamburger. Margo heard a wet snuffling.

There was a scraping on the door, soft at first, then louder and more insistent. Margo shrank away, banging her shoulder against the frame of the wheelchair. In the dark, she felt Frock gently take her hand.

“Bailey!” he shouted. “Officer down! Who is this man?” Bailey came over, his face pale in the dim light. “Hard to say. But I think Fred Beauregard had a big old Academy ring like that.”

Ippolito stepped from around the far corner, talking into his radio. D’Agosta’s respect for the Security Director went up a notch. He may not be the brightest guy, but he’s got balls when it comes to the pinch.

We also need a volunteer to help collect some candles.” A young, lanky fellow in a wrinkled tuxedo came out of the gloom. He finished chewing, swallowed. “I’ll help with that,” he said. “Name?” “Smithback.” “Okay, Smithback. You got matches?” “Sure do.”

However, I did get a chance to see the figurine, Doctor Frock. And it’s an excellent representation. Take it from somebody who knows.” Frock stared, his mouth open.

In the glow of Pendergast’s light, Margo saw a strange mix of fear, exhilaration, and triumph cross Frock’s face.

The Mayor handed the radio back to D’Agosta. “Am I wrong, or is that fellow Coffey a horse’s ass?” he muttered.

D’Agosta grasped Smithback’s shoulder briefly, then started back. For a journalist, the guy had guts.

“Alcaeus.”

“Anacreon,

Donahue,

a .375 nitro express rifle.

cannons

From merriam-webster.com a bone in hoofed mammals that extends from the knee or hock to the fetlock especially : the enlarged metacarpal or metatarsal of the third digit of a horse. https://aboutbone.com/the-versatile-cannon-bone-what-is-it/

pasterns

Coffey surged to his feet and turned to an agent standing behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He read his own terror in the agent’s eyes. “Red One!” he yelled

“It knows,” Cuthbert said. “Knows what?” “It knows what’s going on, it knows exactly what’s happening.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It hates us,” said Cuthbert.

change.” “No,” said Margo. “You can’t do it by yourself.” “Perhaps not, Ms. Green, but I plan on making a fairly good imitation of it.”

Smithback watched, slackjawed, as all his hopes for a best-seller, all his dreams—even his wish to stay alive—disappeared into the whirlpool.

ptarmigan,

Zurbarán

Bruckner

In the close, listening darkness, he heard somebody behind him start to pray.

cheek,

That is likely to crack his cheekbone. I have only fired a 20-gauge, my grandmother's gun, but it kicks hard enough I would not want it near my face.

The bodies farthest from him had hung there the longest; they seemed more skeleton than flesh. He turned away, but not before his brain processed the final horror: on the meaty wrist of the nearest corpse was an unusual watch in the shape of a sundial. Moriarty’s watch.

“We made it,” D’Agosta said through his laughter. “Smithback! We made it! Kiss me, Smithback—you fucking journalist, I love you and I hope you make a million on this.”

“Call me Margo. And it was Mr. Pendergast who fired the shot.” “Ah, but Margo, you told me where to place the shot. I never would have thought of it. All big game—lion, water buffalo, elephant—have eyes on the sides of their head. If they’re charging, you’d never consider the eye. It’s just not a viable shot.” “But the creature,” Margo explained to Allen, “had a primate’s face. Eyes rotated to the front for stereoscopic vision. A direct path to the brain. And with that incredibly thick skull, once you put a bullet inside the brain, it would simply bounce around until it was spent.”

cladistic

Proof, rather, that the monster was Whittlesey.

apotheosis,

reovirus

It was beautiful. In fact, it was sublime. The possibilities for genetic engineering were endless. And already, Kawakita had ideas for improvements. New genes the reovirus could insert into its host. Human genes as well as animal genes. He controlled what genes the reovirus would insert into its host. He controlled what the host would become. Unlike the primitive, superstitious Kothoga, he was in control—through science.