Chapter 48, Part 2

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They glanced up at the billboard. The red “Stop” button glowed ominously.

“You remember what you have to say?” Chad shouted, over the roar of the crowd.

Shilah’s lip quivered. “Uh-huh.”

He gripped her arm like an iron vise. “Are you sure?”

Shilah whimpered. “I’m sure.”

They stepped through a small opening in the police barricade and into the deafening tumult of Times Square.

It was 10:30 pm.

*****

Will stopped, gasping for breath. The silence of Central Park was enormous.

“Laura,” he breathed, “we’ve got to stop for a minute, or I really am going to have a heart attack.”

Laura, flushed and rosy, jogged in place. “Come on, Will! We can’t stop now. . .we’re nearly there!”

“I must breathe.”

Laura swallowed. “Thank God you thought of cutting through the Park. There’s nobody here! We would’ve never made it if we had stuck to the streets.”

Suddenly, a strangely anachronistic sound reached their ears: the clip-clopping of horse’s hooves.

Laura pointed down the road.

“Will, look! A carriage! A barouche, if you will!”

Will stood erect. “I have an idea.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Heeelp! Help! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop, please stop!”

The carriage driver slowed the horse, a hundred feet away from them.

*****

Chad and Shilah had finally fought their way through the crowds to the battalion of police, security officers, and technicians at the base of One Times Square.

“’Scuse me,” Shilah said meekly to one of the police officers.

The cop glanced at her.

“I have a message for Miss Shillington.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“Miss Shillington.” Shilah pointed up at the billboard. “The fine-looking lady who’s up there with Simon Waterbury. I’m her,” Shilah wriggled proudly, “personal assistant.”

The cop guffawed. “Oh, shit. Another one, huh?” He gestured toward a squat, harried-looking redhead wearing a headset. “Go talk to Jackie.”

“So far so good,” Chad growled into Shilah’s ear as they approached the control table.

******

“Please,” Will gasped to the carriage driver, “you’ve got to help us. We’ve got to get to Times Square as soon as possible.”

The driver, clad in a shabby-looking top hat and tails, frowned. “Are you out of your bleeding mind?” he brogued furiously, “I’m not going anywhere near Times Square tonight.”

“You don’t understand,” Will pleaded. “This is a matter of extreme importance. We--”

A small scream erupted from the little girl huddled in the back of the carriage with her mother. Laura had bounded into the carriage. She snatched up the child, who shrieked and flailed at her with ineffectual fists. Laura hurled the child to the gritty roadway. Its mother began screaming.

“I’m very sorry for this,” Laura shot out at the woman, as she shoved her out of the carriage.”

“What the hell do you think you’re--” The driver’s question was cut short as Laura’s right hook slammed into his face. He toppled off the carriage seat.

“Way to go, Dial!” Will bellowed as he climbed into the carriage. “Yah, horsey! Yah!”

Laura, who despite her prairie upbringing had never been behind a horse in her life, brought the reins down on its back, as hard as she could. The horse bounded forward and into a furious gallop.

“Get the portable siren out of the knapsack, Will,” Laura shouted, as they careened through the pastoral darkness of the park. “We may as well use the props Simon provided.”

*****

“Who are you?” the production manager demanded.

“My name is Shilah,” Shilah said sweetly, “and I have a very important message for Miss Shillington.”

Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the message?”

Shilah began to tremble. “I have to give the message directly to Miss Shillington.”

Chad pressed a finger to her side.

“Just tell Miss Shillington,” Shilah quavered, “that I have a very important message from Mr. Takamoto.”

*****

The Man in Armani stood at the juncture of Seventh Avenue and Central Park South, arguing with a diminutive police officer. Behind him stood the dark expanse of Central Park, ahead of him, a mere twelve blocks away, he could see the shimmering lights of Times Square. All that lay between him and the billboard were a few hundred thousand people.

“You’ve got to let me in,” Armani demanded. “I work for Simon Waterbury.”

“That’s nice,” the cop said blandly, blinking slowly. “I’ve been instructed not to let any additional people into this area. You’re not getting in here.”

“You goddamned short pig, let me--”

The wail of an approaching siren rose over the roar of the crowd. The Man in Armani turned to see a horse-drawn carriage rocketing out of the park.

The police officer beamed broadly.

*****

Simon’s face was pasty white as he edged down the catwalk to where Vesper sat huddled and pouting.

“Vesper, your maid is down below. She says she has a message for you that she has to deliver in person.”

Vesper’s brow knit. “Shilah? Shilah is here?” Oh, God, what did Shilah want? Was the poor ninny trying to rescue her?

“She says she has a message from a Mr. Takamoto.”

Vesper blanched. Her mouth moved wordlessly.

Simon sighed. “You know, I’ve always had a soft spot for that child.” He looked out into the brilliant night. “This isn’t at all what I planned. . .but it could be very interesting. Very theatrical.” He shrugged strangely.

Vesper thought she was going to faint.

“Simon, let me go down to her.”

Simon’s eyes blazed. “Absolutely not, my dear. She will come to us.”

“But--”

Simon pressed his walkie-talkie. “Send her up the ladder.”

*****

Will couldn’t believe his eyes. Bracing himself on the sides of the violently rocking carriage, he peered ahead and saw the unmistakable, boyish figure of Officer Jack Thibodaux standing at the roadblock stretched across Seventh Avenue.

“Officer Jack!” Will called. He pounded on Laura’s taut arm. “Laura! Look! It’s Jack! Fate is so kind!”

Will motioned furiously with his arms. Jack saw him, and with the slightest of nods, swiftly and suddenly pulled the barricade blocking Seventh Avenue down flat onto the sidewalk. A narrow alleyway was visible between the corrals of revelers.

As they lurched out of the park and across Central Park South, the carriage wheel struck the curb, sending up a geyser of sparks.

Laura closed her eyes, hoping the horse’s instincts would guide it down the narrow fire lane.

As they hurtled past the fallen roadblock, Will screamed out, “I love you, Jack!”

In the melee, Officer Jack hadn’t noticed that the man who had screamed at him had vanished into the crowd.

*****

“Go up the ladder, Shilah.”

Chad stood beneath Shilah on the second rung of the ladder which led up to the Waterbury billboard.

“I can’t go up, Mr. Chad! I’m scared of heights!”

“Go up the ladder, Shilah,” he growled menacingly.

Shilah clutched the ladder and closed her eyes. “Oh, sweet Jesus, help me! Oh, God--”

Chad rammed his shoulder against her round little rump. Shilah scampered up one rung, squealing, then stopped.

Chad glanced at his watch. It was 11:17.

*****

Will’s and Laura’s hansom had reached 49th Street before a band of New York’s Finest had grabbed the horse’s halter and brought their wild ride to a screeching halt. The horse reared and whinnied, rising on its hind legs and pawing at the air. Will and Laura were dumped unceremoniously onto the street, and in the near-panic scene around the carriage, they managed to escape down one of the narrow alleyways between the crowds.

The cops were well-prepared for a terrorist attack, but not quite ready for horse-drawn barouches with wailing sirens.

Will and Laura made their way a few blocks towards the billboard before they were stopped by an imposing police officer.

“Folks,” he boomed, not sensing their grander purpose, “Either you get into a pen, like everyone else here, or you’re going to jail.”

They were ungraciously shoved into a corral with 600 other screaming partygoers. They could barely breathe or move from the pressure of the bodies around them.

“We are not oxen!” Will screamed into the wild night. He fished into Laura’s knapsack.

“What are you doing?” Laura wailed.

“I need the cell phone,” he shouted. “Where are we?”

“Broadway,” Laura shouted, between 45th and 46th Streets.”

Will furiously snatched the cell phone from Laura’s bag and dialed. “Hello?” He screamed. “911? There’s a bomb in Times Square between 45th and 46th Streets!”

He turned off the phone and hurled it to the urine-soaked sidewalk, where it was promptly crushed beneath the feet of their fellow pen-members.

“We are SO going to jail,” Laura shouted, her mittened hand over her mouth.

Will pointed at the flashing “Stop” button on the Waterbury billboard. “But look, my little horsewoman . . . the end is in sight!”

******

“GOD DAMN IT, SHILAH! GO UP THE GODDAMNED LADDER!”

Shilah’s Nike-clad foot kicked angrily in the direction of Chad’s face.

“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain, Mr. Chad!” she shouted down at him.

They had made it about thirty feet up the ladder, Chad guessed. Had they been closer to the ground, he would have pulled Shilah off of it and ascended alone.

“You stupid little twat, MOVE!”

Shilah sobbed, then climbed up two more rungs.

*****

Bedlam had broken loose between 45th and 46th Streets. The screams of those awaiting the new millennium were turning to panic-stricken cries. What began as an orderly evacuation of a portion of Times Square had quickly dissolved into pandemonium. The police were losing control.

“Move, Dial, move!” Will urged Laura as they made their way down yet another alleyway, ignored by the police, who were tending to the hysteria of the bomb scare.

The alleyway snaked ahead of them to the right side of One Times Square. On the ground floor of the building which housed the Waterbury billboard was the country’s most overpriced Warner Brothers Studio Store.

Emblazoned on the eastern wall of the store was a gigantic bas-relief sculpture of Foghorn Leghorn.

The Sign of the Cock.

*****

“Look!” breathed Faye, glued to their window at the Double Tree Guest Suites, “there’s some sort of evacuation going on over there.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” vampyr bellowed, in an uncharacteristically loud and animated voice. “Look at the Warner Brothers store! There, on the wall!”

Faye’s eyes widened. Her champagne glass slipped from her hands. “It looks like Will and Laura. . .” She snatched a pair of binoculars from vampyr’s hands. “It is! It is Will and Laura!”

vampyr glanced at the bedside clock. It was 11:38 pm. The roars emanating from the crowd twenty stories below them visibly shook the thick windows of their hotel room.

*****

Laura’s hand shook as she gently inserted the bejeweled key from the Centralia bunker into a jagged opening beneath Foghorn Leghorn’s wing.

“Hurry,” Will said needlessly, “there’s a whole gang of police headed for us.”

She turned the key, and felt the tumblers of a mammoth lock give.

A man suddenly bounded around the corner of the Warner Brothers Store, red-faced and panting, and clad in a rumpled Armani suit.

“You guys gave me a hell of a run!” he huffed.

“Open the door, Laura,” Will commanded.

The man turned to Will. “You’re Will Gilbert and Laura Dial. You’re here to claim the treasure. I work for Simon Waterbury in security and events planning.”

Laura, ignoring the man, tugged at the key. The sculpture pulled away from the building, revealing a concrete stairwell in a fluorescent-lit hallway.

“Get in, honey.” Will pushed Laura into the hallway, and followed. The Man in Armani was close on their heels.

“I have to escort you,” Armani shouted. “For insurance purposes.”

Will began tugging the door shut, but Armani stood in the way.

“I understand that you don’t trust me,” he breathed. “I really do work for Simon Waterbury.” A flood of realization swept across the man’s face. “You just got out of that underground cave in Centralia, didn’t you? And you drove down that abandoned mine shaft to get out.”

“All right, get in here,” Laura hissed. The Man in Armani entered, and the chicken sculpture slammed shut with a thud. They were inside One Times Square, and eleven stories below the Waterbury billboard.

It was 11:42.

*****

Vesper tentatively scuttled across the catwalk to the top of the ladder from the sidewalk below. Ten rungs from the top of the ladder, she saw Shilah’s dark hair blowing in the chilly breeze.

To her horror, several rungs below Shilah, she saw Chad Bismarck.

She recoiled, leaning back against the base of the billboard.

Simon waddled to her side. “Is everything all right, Vesper?”

She pointed at the top of the ladder. “I. . . I . . .Simon, I have to get out of here. . .there’s a man coming up the ladder with Shilah. . . Simon, please,” her voice cracked, “I’m begging you. . .I can’t--”

Simon’s hand closed on her wrist. “You’re staying put, you murdering witch.”

She screamed, realizing that there was no way out of facing Chad, and that unequivocally, Simon knew everything.

Simon smiled at her, mercilessly. “It’s Judgment Day, my dear.”

*****

Will, Laura, and the Man in Armani ran up the flight of stairs inside One Times Square, perhaps two stories, until they reached a closed and locked stainless steel door. Beside the door was a computerized screen illuminated by red LED lights.

The screen read:

THE TIME IS NOW 11:45 PM, DECEMBER 31, 1999.

IN THE NOVEL SOONER THAN NEVER, THE CHARACTERS OF LADY VIOLET TRENT AND HARLOWE LUFTON ARE BASED UPON WHOM?

A) VESPER SHILLINGTON AND SIMON WATERBURY
B) LILY BAKER WATERBURY AND SIMON WATERBURY
C) PHILIP HUFFMANN AND SIMON WATERBURY
D) LILY BAKER WATERBURY AND PHILIP HUFFMANN

“My God,” shouted Will, “It’s Who Wants to Be A Millionaire!”

“Try billionaire,” the Man in Armani corrected lamely.

“It’s ‘D,’” Laura said definitely. “It’s ‘D.’”

“Is that your final answer?” the Man in Armani remarked caustically.

“You’d better shut up, Mr. Insurance Man,” Will threatened. He put his hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Yes, Laura. It’s ‘D.’”

Laura stretched a trembling finger to the screen and pressed ‘D.’

An air lock hissed and the door popped open.

Will, Laura, and the Man in Armani dashed through it.

*****

At last, Shilah had reached the top of the ladder. She carefully swung her legs onto the catwalk, shielding her eyes from the dizzying view of the street eleven stories below her.

Vesper grabbed her maid. “Shilah, what is the message from Takamoto? Is there a message from Takamoto?”

Shilah’s eyes welled up with tears. “Oooo, Miss Shillington, there. . .there isn’t a message!”

Vesper’s gloved hand slammed across Shilah’s face. “You fiendish, double-crossing bitch!” she hissed.

Shilah clasped her cheek and squealed. “Miss Shillington, you’ve got to watch out . . . Mr. Chad is coming, and he wants to ruin you!”

Chad’s gloved hand appeared at the top of the ladder.

*****

The trio had run up the staircase until they reached another locked door. Again, an LED display stood beside it.

THE TIME IS NOW 11:48 PM

SIMON WATERBURY WAS IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING A BOOK AT THE TIME OF LILY BAKER WATERBURY’S DISAPPEARANCE. WHAT WAS THE TITLE OF THE BOOK, AND WHAT DID THE BOOK DESCRIBE?

A) SOONER THAN NEVER, ABOUT THE MISAPPROPRIATION OF CANCER RESEARCH FUNDS.
B) STARSTRUCK, ABOUT GOVERNMENT COVER-UP OF ALIEN ABDUCTIONS.
C) AMBER WAVES OF GREED, ABOUT THE GOVERNMENT EXPORT AND SALE
OF RADIOACTIVE GRAIN.
D) WOOL OVER THE EYES, ABOUT CHILD LABOR IN THE US.

“These questions are cinchy,” Will remarked. “Clearly, it’s ‘C.’”

“Clearly,” Laura agreed.

“You’re running out of time,” the Man in Armani urged.

Laura turned to the man. “Shut up!”

Will pushed the button labeled ‘C,’ and the door sprang open.

****

“Who’s that woman up there with Simon and Vesper?” Faye questioned, pressing her nose to the glass of the hotel room window. “She looks like a teenager.” She covered her eyes momentarily. “Oh, God, Will and Laura, hurry.”

vampyr was intently studying the building across the street. It was the Marriott Marquis Hotel. “look,” he said suddenly. “something is fishy on the fifteenth floor of that hotel.”

Faye’s eyes scanned up the hotel. “What? What’s fishy?”

vampyr peered through the binoculars. “i think that man has a gun.”

“Where?”

“he does. he does have a gun. and he’s pointing it at Simon.”

Faye vaulted over the bed to the telephone.

“Hello? 911? I have an emergency. There is a man on the fifteenth floor of the Marriott Marquis Hotel aiming a gun at Simon Waterbury.”

*****

Will’s heart was pounding in his ears. His entire body was shaking by the time he, Laura, and the Man in Armani reached the next closed and locked door.

The LED display winked at them, mockingly.

THE TIME IS NOW 11:52 PM, DECEMBER 31, 1999

LILY BAKER WATERBURY DISCOVERED THE MANUSCRIPT OF AMBER WAVES OF GRAIN WHILE SEQUESTERED AT SIMON WATERBURY’S MOUNTAIN RETREAT AT BEAVER CREEK, COLORADO. SHE WAS THERE FOR THE BIRTH OF A BABY CONCEIVED WITH PHILIP HUFFMANN. HOW OLD WOULD THAT BABY BE THIS NEW YEAR’S EVE?

A) 24
B) 25
C) 26
D) 27

“Shit!” Laura fumed. “We never learned any details of the baby’s birth! It was in 1974 or 1975.”

“That would make the baby either 25 or 26 years old,” the Man in Armani volunteered.

“Thank you,” Laura spat.

“Didn’t she disappear in 1974?” Will was beginning to panic. “Was she very pregnant when she left?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Laura half-sobbed.

“What’s going to happen if we make a wrong choice?” Will asked, wringing his hands.

“The floor will probably open up and swallow us.” Laura closed her eyes. “Think, Laura, think!”

The LED display beeped and clicked to 11:53 pm.

“Go with 26,” Will advised hurriedly. “I’ve got a gut feeling.”

“Why?” Laura demanded. “Why 26?”

Will let loose a bloodcurdling scream. “I don’t know! I don’t know! It may be 25!”

“I think 25,” Laura said, her brows knitting and unknitting.

The Man in Armani grabbed her arm. “How old are you?”

Laura blinked at him, tears running down her face. “I’m twenty-five.”

“I’d say go with it,” the Armani man said, “It’s your lucky number.”

Will looked at the man sideways. “Why are you giving us advice?”

“I just--”

The door clicked open.

Laura had pushed choice B: 25 years old.

****

David Nimoy stood on his newscaster’s chair, screaming his news report.

“There are now four people on the catwalk in front of the Waterbury billboard. We have no confirmed reports of who these two additional people may be.” He glanced at his watch. “There are now six minutes until midnight!”

****

Chad stood on the catwalk at the top of the ladder, arms akimbo. Shilah stood behind Simon, who had his hand firmly clamped on Vesper’s wrist.

“--and once I kicked my addiction, the addiction you gave me, I began to put things together. And now, you evil bitch, I’m here to claim my prize. I’m going to push that ‘Stop’ button and all your plans will be crushed. The pity of it all makes me want to cry.”

He stepped towards them. Shilah screamed.

Suddenly, a series of light bulbs on the billboard shattered, raining down a shower of glass on them. Vesper felt a slight breeze on her face, and a bullet-hole suddenly pockmarked the billboard behind them.

“Get down,” Simon bellowed, “Someone’s shooting at us!”

All four people on the catwalk crouched to the narrow walkway.

Chad began crawling towards Simon and Vesper.

******

“I’ve got to reload,” Dick Geary spat. “I’ve run out of bullets. The Devil is a wily foe, Judy.”

Judy wailed in reply.

******

They stood at a final doorway. A chilling wind crept in under it, and a thin line of brilliant light shown on the concrete floor.

One questioned remained, on an LED display the same size as the others.

THE TIME IS 11:57 PM, DECEMBER 31, 1999.

HOW DID LILY BAKER WATERBURY DIE?

A) SHE DIED IN CHILDBIRTH
B) PHILIP HUFFMANN MURDERED HER
C) SIMON WATERBURY MURDERED HER
D) LOUISE HUFFMANN MURDERED HER

Laura turned to face the Man in Armani. “Before I answer this, I want you to go down at least three flights of stairs. Move.”

He looked at her incredulously. “But I am here as a part of the Waterbury Company. I thought you understood that.”

“Move.”

The clock beeped forward to 11:58.

“Just answer the question,” he whined.

“I will wait until you leave,” Laura said icily.

“Laura, honey, don’t let’s play games,” Will begged. “We know the answer.”

“I’m waiting.”

*****

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