Blue Labyrinth by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page A

out the door toward a room across the hall. “That’s where visiting scientists examine bones. They’re coming in and out all the time. We get scientists from all over the world. Marsala didn’t usually work with them, though—his attitude problem and all that. In fact, this was the first scientist he’d worked for in almost a year.”
    “Did Marsala say what kind of research it was?”
    “No. But at the time, he’d seemed pretty pleased with himself. As if he anticipated a feather in his cap or something.”
    “You recall this scientist’s name?”
    Sandoval scratched his head. “I think it was Walton. But it might have been Waldron. They have to sign in and out, get credentialed. Frisby keeps a list. You could find out that way.”
    D’Agosta looked around the room. “Anything else I should know about Marsala? Anything unusual, or odd, out of character?”
    “No.” Sandoval blew his nose with a mighty honk.
    “His body was found in the Gastropod Alcove off the Hall of Marine Life. Can you think of any reason why he should have been in that section of the Museum?”
    “He never went there. Bones—this lab—was all he cared about. That’s not even on the way out.”
    D’Agosta made another notation.
    “Any other questions?” Sandoval asked.
    D’Agosta glanced at his watch. “Where can I find Frisby?”
    “I’ll take you there.” And Sandoval led the way out of the lab and up the corridor—heading back into the foulest section of the department.

D r. Finisterre Paden backed away from the X-ray diffraction machine he had been hunched over, only to find himself ricocheting off what appeared to be a pillar of black cloth. He recoiled with a sharp expostulation and found himself staring up at a tall man clad in a black suit, who had somehow materialized behind him and must have been hovering, inches away, as he worked.
    “What on
earth
?” Paden said furiously, his small, portly frame jiggling with affront. “Who let you in here? This is my office!”
    The man did not react, and continued gazing down at him with eyes the color of white topaz and a face so finely modeled that it could have been carved by Michelangelo.
    “Look here, who are you?” Paden asked, regaining his curatorial equilibrium. “I’m trying to get some work done and I can’t have people barging in!”
    “I’m sorry,” said the man in a soothing voice, taking a step back.
    “Well, so am I,” said Paden, somewhat mollified. “But this is really an imposition. And where’s your visitor’s badge?”
    The man reached into his suit and removed a brown leather wallet.
    “That’s no badge!”
    The wallet fell open, revealing a dazzle of blue and gold.
    “Oh,” said Paden, peering closely. “FBI? Good Lord.”
    “The name is Pendergast, Special Agent A. X. L. Pendergast. May I sit down?”
    Paden swallowed. “I suppose so.”
    With a graceful flourish, the man parked himself in the only chair in the office other than Paden’s and crossed his legs, as if readying himself for a long stay.
    “Is this about the murder?” Paden asked breathlessly. “Because I wasn’t even in the Museum when that happened. I don’t know anything about it, never met the victim. On top of that, I’ve no interest in gastropods. In my twenty years here, never been in that hall, not even once. So if that’s what…”
    His voice trailed off as the man slowly raised a delicate hand. “It isn’t about the murder. Won’t you sit, Dr. Paden? It is your office, after all.”
    Paden took a wary seat at the worktable, folded and unfolded his arms, wondering what this was about, why Museum security hadn’t notified him, and if he should answer questions or perhaps call a lawyer. Except he had no lawyer.
    “Really, Dr. Paden, I do ask your forgiveness for the sudden intrusion. I have a small problem I need your help with—informally, of course.”
    “I’ll do what I can.”
    The man extended one hand, closed. Like a magician, he opened it