Jewel Trade - Act 2 The museum held an entire wing of administrative offices, including a portion of a hallway for the offices of visiting administrators. Chumbay Jokssari's office was there. On the way, Mike and Vicki passed a large ornate display called the Royal Patrons' Circle donor wall, thanking all their largest contributors. Vicki stopped, scanning it.
"What?" Mike asked.
"Just looking for someone."
Mike raised his eyebrows, but joined her in scanning the names.
"Okay," Vicki said and they continued on.
Unlike the offices of many academics, Chumbay Jokssari's office was meticulously neat, as was the man himself. He greeted them politely, shook both their hands, and invited them to sit. Mike introduced Vicki as his "associate," and started in.
"Dr. Jokssari, we're investigating a homicide that happened three nights ago near the museum.
"How unfortunate. How can I help?"
"Have you noticed anything unusual or out of the ordinary in the museum operations lately?"
"As you know, Detective, I and my staff are not the regulars here. We came from Vancouver with the exhibit. I'm not sure how familiar any of us would be with the ordinary versus the not ordinary."
As Mike asked the routine police questions, Vicki looked around the room. On the man's wall he had hung framed diplomas and other awards and honors from the historical and archeological communities. There were newspaper headlines trumpeting the find of the sunken Chinese ship, and the small article about Dr. Jokssari being hired as head curator for the exhibit of the ship's contents. There were also family photos and a beautiful painting of wind-swept snowy mountains. Vicki stood to go closer and admire it.
"You're from Tibet, is that right?" Vicki asked, making it sound like a polite question inspired by the painting.
"Yes," Jokssari said, "my family and I fled to Vancouver in '59 after the rebellion."
Vicki's gaze wandered to the old-fashioned book cabinet below the painting. On top of the cabinet was a black, cone-shaped hat, with the bottom edge turned up. The topmost shelf of the cabinet had its wooden door closed, covering the contents. Only that shelf was hidden. Vicki, who had always believed that being nosy was a big help to detective work, calmly attempted to lift the door of the shelf, and, finding it locked, turned the key.
"Ms. Nelson," cried Jokssari. "What are you doing?"
On the shelf were four glass jars, each with an ornate metal lid, and each holding a skull. "What have we here?" she asked.
"They are skulls, Ms. Nelson," Jokssari said with annoyance. "Human skulls if you must know." He looked back at Mike. "Since you are investigating a homicide, I suppose I should tell you, those are the skulls of my parents, an uncle, and my older sister. In Tibet it is our custom after the funeral to make a shrine of our loved ones' skulls. Since I know such a thing is rather abhorrent in this country, I'd rather not have to explain it." His gaze at Vicki was unquestionably hostile.
Vicki stared right back. "Then maybe you should have left them in Vancouver," she said.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?" Jokssari asked, while still looking at Vicki.
Mike ignored the dismissal, and flipped through his notebook. "Do you know a man named Tsepon Gyaltsen?" he asked.
Now Jokssari did look at him. "No. Should I?"
Mike put his notebook away and stood. Vicki joined him.
"One more thing, Dr. Jokssari," she said. "Have you ever heard of a wish-fulfilling jewel?"
At that, Jokssari stared at her, color slowly fading from his face. "No," he said. "Such a thing sounds very useful. Where did you hear of it?"
"Just heard it somewhere. Thank you for your time."
After the detectives had left his office, Jokssari picked up his phone and dialed.
Outside, in the hallway, Vicki said, "Well, he's hiding something."
"Oh yeah," Mike replied.
End scene
Vicki went to the main branch of the public library and waited in the small, seldom visited room Mary had specified. She didn't show. Vicki checked any other room Mary could have meant instead, but saw no one who looked likely. She studied her cell phone, but the number Mary had called from was blocked. After an hour and a half she headed for her office.
Vicki came through the door with two coffees in her hands. "Coreen, tell me you've found something. I've lost my informant."
Coreen looked up from the computer. "About a wish-fulfilling jewel? I've got something. The Dalai Lama. His followers refer to him as the wish-fulfilling jewel. They say when you see him you can make a wish."
Vicki set coffee down on the desk with a frown. "So I'm looking for the Dalai Lama," she said disbelievingly.
Coreen smiled. "I'm thinking, no. I'm not the expert, but he doesn't seem like the murderer type."
"And, since he's not in the country, I'm guessing he has an alibi."
Coreen nodded, still smiling. "He's not the only one, though. Lots of lesser Lama types get called that. And sometimes Buddhism in general is called the wish-fulfilling jewel. It seems to stand for anything really good. Like, 'My teacher is better than having a jewel that grants wishes.'"
"I see," Vicki said and sipped her coffee. "Toronto has some high-ranking Buddhist leaders," she mused, "but Mary said the museum has it. And she didn't think I'd believe her, which makes it sound . . ."
Coreen brightened. "Magical. Supernatural."
Vicki took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "Yeah. Of course." She raised her head and replaced her glasses. "Wait a minute. How widespread is this saying? Would any Buddhist know it?"
Coreen looked thoughtful, and glanced absently at her screen. "Maybe not everyone. Lots would, though, I think. Especially in Tibetan Buddhism."
"Tibetan Buddhism." Vicki pressed her lips together, nodding. "I just talked to a man, a scholar, a world-recognized expert in medieval China, who is originally from Tibet, and when I asked him if he'd heard of a wish-fulfilling jewel, he said no. No mention of the Dalai Lama, nothing."
"That's kind of funny," Coreen said. "I mean, even if he had something to hide, there'd be nothing wrong in admitting he'd heard the saying. It's pretty common."
Vicki smiled. "One of the first lessons of interrogation, Coreen. If your suspect is surprised by a question, they'll deny more than they need to. Big clue there."
"So, what is the wish-fulfilling jewel? I didn't find any other references to it on the internet. Just as a metaphor."
"Don't metaphors usually refer to something everyone knows about? Maybe at some time in the past, there was a legend or something. Or even, I hate to say it, a real magical jewel."
"In the past!" Coreen jumped up and pointed more or less in the direction of the museum. "The past! And it ended up on a wrecked ship from China. A wrecked medieval ship from China."
Vicki nodded at her. "You just earned your pay for the week," she said. "Now find me a description. A legend, something. And some reason why young men are disappearing and then turning up dead."
As she spoke, a second body appeared in the same alley as the first, at the same location.
End scene
Mike and Dave were in the car when they got the call to report to a homicide scene in an alley near the museum—the same alley where Luc Johnson's body had been found. When they arrived, Crowley was on the scene, as well as a small army of forensics and police crowd control. TV cameras were rolling.
Crowley met them at the crime scene tape, as they ducked under. "Can't keep this quiet, anymore," she said tersely. "Your operation didn't work. I’m calling it off."
"Wait, Captain," Mike said. "Can you just withhold the information that the men have gone missing from this general area? That might be enough."
She shook her head, her gaze on the TV reporters. "This is costing a lot in overtime, Detective, since you insisted on doing it at night. And that information will come out." She looked at him, and chewed a lipstick-free lip. "One more night, but that's all."
As Mike and Dave approached the group surrounding the corpse, Dave said, "I suppose you'll want me in my own car again, so you can partner up with Victory?"
"I told you," Mike said, "I just want more coverage. I don't even know if Vicki's coming tonight."
"Sure," Dave said. "I get it, brother."
End scene
Vicki and Henry walked toward the museum in a light rain, Henry holding an umbrella over them both, which gave him an excuse to stay close within Vicki's personal space. "The ROM has one of the best collections of Tibetan manuscripts in the world," Henry said. "I remember when they acquired them."
"I checked, you know," Vicki said. "The only kind of membership that lets you bring a guest is the highest level of patronage."
Henry smiled.
"$1500 a year or more."
Henry nodded. "And I'm allowed to browse their archives," he said, as they mounted the stairs to the VIP entrance. "I called ahead to get you access."
"But I looked for your name. You're not on their patrons' wall."
"I wouldn't let them put it up." He looked at her with eyes glinting with mischief. "Influence is worth the price; too much notice can be dangerous."
"Is that why you won't come with me? I thought you didn't want to be seen with me because you're playing bait and we have some suspicions about the exhibit."
Henry smiled at her. "Vicki, I love being seen with you," he said. "But I'd rather not meet the upper level administrators. I don't mind the ticket takers, but you'll be escorted by Gina Trelane, an Assistant Director. Those people stay on the job long enough to notice I don't look old enough to be me."
"Mike was right. You could use his help."
Henry frowned. "I don't need his help."
"But you won't turn it down, right?"
"I have to go," Henry said, turning the umbrella over to her. "I'm meeting your ex-partner for tonight's adventures. Here's my card. Ask for Gina Trelane."
"Be careful," Vicki said.
Henry looked pleased. "Thank you," he said.
Vicki shook her head and continued to the VIP entrance. There, she was ushered into a comfortable lounge, where an attendant took her umbrella. The man gave Vicki's leather jacket a glance but Vicki waved him away from taking her coat. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets.
A well-dressed woman in a skirt suit approached with a professional smile. "Ms. Nelson," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Gina Trelane. Mr. Fitzroy told me to expect you. So nice to meet you."
Vicki shook her hand. "Vicki, please," she said. Gina Trelane gave Vicki a more muted version of the look of speculation she'd received from the ticket taker the evening they'd come to the museum before.
"I understand you're interested in books and manuscripts that deal with Tibetan folklore and mythology." She led the way into a "staff only" hallway. "Our collection has some of the best source documents . . ." She continued extolling the virtues of the ROM's Tibetan collection until they stood within a storage room with metal shelves full of books and papers.
"Now over here are the books on—" Trelane stopped, staring. Before her was an empty metal shelf, its businesslike bracket bookend tipped on its side. "They're gone. All of them." She sounded shocked.
Vicki stepped around her, scanning the shelf's vicinity, comparing the dust on it to the dust elsewhere. "How often do you inventory this place?" she asked. "And how often do they clean?"
"I'm sure they're here, somewhere," Trelane said, with a not-quite successful attempt at sounding reassuring. "No one comes in here but administrative staff."
"These were taken recently," Vicki concluded, and looked around the room. "And you don't even keep security cameras in here."
Trelane lost some of her professional demeanor. "Well, what would we need them here for?" she snapped. "I'm sorry, Ms. Nelson, I need to speak to some people. Would you like to wait in the lounge while I—"
"That's all right," Vicki said. "Here's my card. If you should happen to find them, call me right away."
End scene
While she waited for a cab, Vicki called Mike. She got his voice-mail and left a message.
"Mike, I’m going back to the bakery. All the books on Tibetan legends have gone missing from the ROM. Probably today. It has to have been Jokssari, tipped off when I asked about the jewel. There's something in those books. I'm worried now about Mary. Whoever she is, she's the one who gave me the tip about the jewel. I thought she just got cold feet, but she might be in danger."
Vicki snapped her phone shut and waved to the taxi that pulled into the museum's winding drive. She got in, gave the address of Gyaltsen's bakery, and asked the driver to wait for her.
The business was closed, so Vicki went around to a side door and banged loudly on it. Eventually it was answered by the elderly woman she'd seen there before. "Yes? We're closed," she said in heavily accented English.
"I need to speak to Mr. Gyaltsen," Vicki said firmly.
"He not here," the woman said, and started to close the door.
Vicki blocked her. "Then let me see Mary."
"No Mary here."
"You mean she's not home?"
"No Mary here."
Vicki forced her way into the small entryway. "Hey!" yelled the woman. "You go. Go away!" She grabbed Vicki's arm. Vicki shrugged her off.
Vicki looked up and down the hallway in the part of the house that was behind the store. She headed for the door where she had seen the woman with the autistic man earlier. Behind her, the woman started yelling in what Vicki assumed was Tibetan. The door opened as she reached it, and there stood the old man, holding a baseball bat.
"Whoa," Vicki said, putting up her arms. "I'm just looking for Mary. Mr. Gyaltsen's niece." Behind him, in the room, was the autistic man Vicki had seen before. And sitting on the floor, staring, a second young man in the same state.
"He doesn't have a niece," the man said, waving the bat. "Now get out of here. I'll call the police!"
"No," Vicki said with confidence, "you won't. You don't want the police. And if you try to hit me with that, I promise you'll get more than you bargained for. What's going on here? If she's not his niece, where is the young woman who was here when I came before?"
The man came forward, lowering the bat, but with an eerily menacing expression on his face. "There is no young woman. No Mary. No niece. Now you'd better leave or I promise you, you'll get more than you bargained for."
From the floor above came the sound of feet and male voices, and then the footsteps began to clatter down the stairs. Pushing past the old woman, Vicki left.
End scene
Safe in the departing taxicab, on her way to join Mike, Vicki got out her phone. There was a message from Coreen. She called her back.
"Coreen, it's Vicki. Have you got something?"
"I've got these books from the museum—" Coreen began.
"Wait a minute, you've got the books? The stolen books? Coreen!"
"They're just borrowed. I told you, I have a friend—"
"Yeah, your klepto friend at the museum. I remember. Coreen, he stole an entire shelf full of books. This is a police affair, now."
"No, he didn't. He only borrowed the two books that were in English. What good would the ones in Tibetan do us?"
Vicki blinked. "You're sure he only took two books?"
"Sure, I'm sure. I've got them right here. He said he left the others."
"Good grief," Vicki sighed. "That means your thief was faster than Jokssari's thief. Well, be grateful for small blessings. What did you find out?"
"Okay, there was a Tibetan legend about a wish-fulfilling jewel. But it only answers certain wishes."
"What kind of wishes?"
"It's a love story. There's this girl who is in love with this goatherd she's known since childhood, but her father betroths her to a rich man."
"Coreen, what kind of wishes?"
"Okay, I'll skip the middle part. Eventually, after a lot of unimportant stuff, the lovers marry, but then he goes off to war and gets killed. She's devastated of course, and the sound of her weeping bothers the gods. They send a sorcerer to find out what her problem is and shut her up. The thing is, the sorcerer falls in love with her, so he tells her he'll give her a way to get her husband back but then she has to marry him as payment. She agrees and he collects her fallen tears and does some magic to make them into a beautiful clear jewel. All she has to do is wish on the jewel for her husband to return to her, and if his soul hasn't been reincarnated yet, he'll come back to her."
"Why do I have a feeling I know how this ends," Vicki said.
"It's not as bad as you think," Coreen said. "For her anyway. Her husband comes back, body and soul, and she marries the sorcerer. Later she figures out how to ditch the sorcerer, but that's another story. They keep the jewel in the family, where it will always bring young men back from the dead, if they haven't been reincarnated yet."
"What if they have?"
"Ah ha," said Coreen. "That story's in the other book, and it's every bit as bad as you think."
Vicki's taxi pulled up to the corner near, but not too near, Mike's stakeout location. "We're here," the driver said.
"Coreen, I'll call you back," Vicki said. She hung up and paid the cab driver. She walked around two corners, every nerve on edge, and found Mike parked in a backstreet parking lot for a copy business. She slid into his passenger seat.
"Nothing so far," Mike told her.
"Mike, where is Henry?" Vicki asked, peering at the little tracking screen. "I'm calling this off."
"What? Why?"
"It was one thing when we thought it was the mob or some white slavery ring. But it's gotten—complicated. Again."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Oh God, what is it this time? Ghosts? Zombies?"
Vicki told him what Coreen found. "And Mary's gone missing. Her people are denying she ever even existed. I'm canceling our contract. Henry's safe from thugs, but he's got no special protection from—this stuff."
"Now, Vicki, wait. Will you hear me out? You're jumping into Tales from the Crypt when all you've got is a legend and a voice on the phone with a crazy tip. You don't even know for sure that this Mary is the woman you saw, let alone that she's not just a highly imaginative prankster."
The police radio crackled. " . . . lost contact. Can you confirm?"
"What's that?" Vicki asked, holding up a hand for quiet.
"Affirmative," said a different voice. "I've lost him, too. 213, do you copy?"
The small screen which had held a blue dot indicating Henry's location, was blank. Mike grabbed his radio. "This is 213. I copy. All units close in," he ordered. "I'm calling Broken Hook. Broken Hook." He reached to change the broadcast frequency. "Henry, do you hear me? Henry, answer me, dammit. Where are you?"
Vicki swore and pounded the dashboard as Mike started the car.
"Finally, we've got something," Mike said, pulling into the alley at hazardous speed.
Vicki gave him a glare. "You mean, finally something's got Henry."
End scene
Henry heard the footsteps and heartbeats behind him, but, since he hadn't heard them just moments before that, he was curious about where they'd come from so he decided to let them grab him. A rope net dropped over him and a second later someone shoved a towel soaked in some chemical over his face. He struggled for a moment, then went limp.
Three men dragged him like a vampire's meal into the deeper shadows of the alley side of a building. Just beyond the three walls enclosing a trash dumpster was a low door, nondescript and barely noticeable. Henry was carried through it like the day's catch, in the net, while the men spoke in a language he didn't know. The tiny passageway beyond the door led steeply down underground. The temperature rose sharply as they descended, and the air smelled of gas fires and yeast.
His captors carried him into a chamber with banks of glowing ovens on either side, unlocked a side door and dumped him inside. They followed and began disentangling him from the net. One man bound his ankles and wrists with duct tape while another affixed a new towel to his face with a strap; Henry was meant to stay drugged. A woman spoke to them in pleading tones from somewhere over Henry's right shoulder. They responded shortly in this other language, then left the room and locked the door.
Henry rolled onto his back as if he'd just fallen over. From under his cracked eyelids he could see the room. It was small and square, with a chair, a little table, and a mattress on the floor. The only other person there was the young woman who had watched him from the fire escape. She sat in the chair with her hands duct-taped in front of her.
It took little effort to scrape the towel from his face against the floor, and Henry sat up. The woman widened her eyes and glanced nervously at the door. "You're not drugged?" she said.
"Apparently not," Henry said. "Was that ammonia?"
The look she gave him was disbelieving. "My uncle uses it in his bakery," she said. "It made the others very sick." She continued to stare at him.
"Good thing I didn't breathe it, then." Henry shoved the towel into a corner with his taped hands. He smiled confidently at the woman. "I'm Henry. What's your name?"
"Mary," she said. "Are you a policeman?"
"Not exactly," Henry replied. He pulled out his electronics and peered at them. "I suppose these don't work from underground." He looked more keenly at her. "Why? Was there a policeman here?"
Mary looked distressed. "I—I can't say. I should yell, you know, and tell them you're not unconscious."
"Why?" Henry asked. "You're a prisoner, too."
"Not—they won't—I'm just being punished."
"What for?" Henry ripped his hands apart, easily shredding the duct tape, but leaving gray cuffs on his wrists. Mary gasped. Henry split the bonds on his feet too, with just the strength in his legs.
Mary began to cry. "I am in so much trouble," she said.
Henry was at her side in an instant, crouched comfortably beside her chair. "It will be all right, Mary, trust me. Where are we and what's going on?"
"No, I can't," she cried, rising to her feet. She rushed to the door with a cry in another language. In a twinkling Henry stood before her, blocking her way. Mary froze.
"You want to tell me everything," he said in a stronger voice. "You can trust me, and you know it will make you feel so much better to tell me."
Mary looked dazed as she yielded to Henry's persuasion.
"Now, why was I kidnapped?"
"They want to use you to balance the scales when they bring back old George's son." Mary spoke in a rush. "Someone has to die, you see. A life for a life. In the old days it was someone in the family, another young man, but now this ngagspa, this sorcerer, has found a way to make it other people. He's brought back my two brothers. I never knew them. They were killed years ago in Tibet. Now everyone wants their sons back. But another man close to the same age has to die, for each one returned."
"They might be disappointed to try using me," Henry said.
"Do you—believe me?" Mary asked.
"Of course I do," Henry said with his most winning smile. "You're too pretty to lie." Henry pressed his ear against the door for a moment.
"But," Mary blinked, "that's what the sorcerer said. I saw you last night, walking where his men could easily get you here, but he said you weren't suitable."
"Who is the sorcerer?"
"His name is Dr. Jokssari."
"Ah, yes. And what does your uncle have to do with him?"
"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Mary wondered.
Henry met her eyes and said deliberately, "But you are telling me."
"Yes," she said, yielding again. "My uncle owns this bakery with these underground ovens, right beneath the street. That passage you came through used to be a vent, but we don't use coal anymore, they're all gas ovens and they vent somewhere else. So my uncle lets the sorcerer's men use this place to take men off the street."
"And then what happens to them?"
"Somehow Dr. Jokssari makes sure when we wish on the jewel that these men are taken instead of young men from our families. I suppose he does some magic with them."
"And the jewel kills them."
Mary nodded. "If you cause trouble you'll be next. You'll go for Old George's son the monk who the Chinese worked to death. Old George sold everything he had to pay for it."
Henry wrinkled his nose. "Jokssari does this for money?"
"Oh, yes. My uncle gets a cut."
Henry took her wrists and ripped the duct tape between them. He had a little more difficulty than he had had with his own, since her wrists couldn't take the stress his own could.
"Why do their bodies show up near the ROM?"
"Because that's where the jewel is. It's in the exhibit. The sons appear in their families' homes. My brothers—my brothers have no souls anymore but my parents don't care." She shook her head, released from Henry's influence as he turned toward the door. "What are you going to do?" she asked, looking at her freed wrists in amazement.
"I'm not going to wait to be part of some magic ceremony. We're going through this door." Henry turned back to her, spotted her coat on the back of the chair and went to fetch it. She watched with wide eyes as he put her coat on her and smoothed her long hair out from under the collar. Then he wiped a tear from her face and left his hand there.
Speaking gently he said, "Mary, listen to me. As soon as we're out, you go straight up to the street. It should be crawling with police about now. I'll come if I can, but you go anyway. I may have to stay and deal with the sorcerer's men. Understand?"
Mary nodded, new tears on her cheeks. "I've betrayed my family," she said.
"Believe me," Henry said, "there are worse things."
End scene
Mike, Vicki and a dozen other police officers converged on the alley. Mike hardly had to give the order. "Look everywhere. Under everything. And knock on every door. Stay together!"
"Mike, look." Vicki pointed. "It's that bakery." She clenched her jaw. "Gyaltsen better be home this time." His raincoat flapping around his legs, Mike trotted to catch up to her.
End scene
Henry kicked the door down, not hiding the face of his vampire nature as he used his superhuman strength. The door slammed into the dirt floor with enough force to make dust rise in a cloud from the floor.
He stood in a room sweltering with the heat leaking from banks of glowing ovens, each with a red digital display. To his left were the steep narrow stairs he'd been brought down and to his right the startled faces of Tsepon Gyaltsen and three other Tibetan men. Two of the men made warding gestures with their hands, but Henry had them both incapacitated before they recovered from the shock of seeing him. The third man swung a heavy iron bar at him with great force, but Henry, faster than a human, ducked it and tackled the man, slamming his head against the metal door of an oven.
Henry turned to the fourth man, Gyaltsen, who stood with his back pressed to the wall, as far from Henry as he could get. Beside him, on the floor, two more men lay in a heap, hands and feet duct-taped together, and towels stinking of ammonia strapped across their faces.
"What have you done?" Henry demanded, his darker voice filling the room. Behind him Mary moved, not leaving as he had ordered her to, but he didn't turn his face toward her. He stepped to the bound men and started removing the towels from their faces.
"What are you?" Gyaltsen asked, making similar protective motions with his hands. "A demon?"
"You're the demon here," Henry said, starting on the duct-taped bonds. "You and Jokssari. This is murder. And bringing back the dead? It's an abomination."
"So you know we can bring back the dead," Gyaltsen said in a shaking voice "Your dead. There must be someone you've lost, someone you'd give anything to see again. A man. A friend, a brother. Stand with us and you'll have him again, I swear it by all my ancestors. There must be someone whose loss meant the end of your world."
"Dozens," Henry said. "And they all have their reward in Paradise. Only evil would tear them back from that." He turned, glaring at Gyaltsen, curling his lips back from his fangs.
"No, no . . ." Gyaltsen cried, features gone slack with terror. Henry moved toward him.
"Leave him alone," Mary yelled. Henry turned to her, but not fast enough to see the weighted net she hurled at him. It wrapped him again as it had on the street, but this time he had nothing to gain by pretending it could hold him. He ripped it apart.
But in the few seconds it took him to free himself, Mary and her uncle acted. Mary rushed by Henry to stand with Gyaltsen. "Not that way," she said. "There are police."
Still shaking, Gyaltsen pulled an electronic device out of his coat pocket and pressed some buttons. Then he and Mary fled through another door—this one ordinary sized—that was oriented toward the bakery building.
Henry freed himself just as the door closed behind them, but he hesitated. Every digital readout on the ovens had cleared and then reset to the number ten. Now they were counting down to zero. Henry turned back as fast as he could, to pick up the unconscious men. Gas hissed into the room as the readouts reached two.
Henry had managed to haul the two men to the door when the displays reached zero and the entire chamber beneath the alley blew up.
In the city above, the alley exploded, sending policemen and asphalt rubble flying into walls. A column of burning gas lit the whole area.