The Last Oracle by James Rollins Page B

Lincoln’s top hat to Dorothy’s ruby slippers. The museum had been closed to the public for the past two years but was due to open next month.
    From the look of things as Gray entered the museum’s central atrium, the grand reopening might be delayed. Plastic sheeting draped almost every surface; scaffolding climbed the three-story core of the renovation. Grand staircases swept from the first floor to the second. Directly overhead a massive skylight was still sheeted with paper.
    Gray grabbed the nearest worker, a carpenter whose face was half covered by a respirator. “The exit! Where’s the nearest exit?”
    The man squinted at him. “The Constitution Avenue exit is closed. You’ll have to climb to the second level. Head out the main Mall entrance.” He pointed to the staircase.
    Gray glanced to Elizabeth, who nodded. They walked out as a group. Gray checked his radio again. Still nothing. Something or someone had to be blocking his signal.
    They raced to the stairs and pounded up to the second level. It was less chaotic up here. The green marble floor looked freshly mopped, highlighting the silver stars embedded therein. Gray had a clear view from the central atrium to the glass doors of the Mall exit. He needed to make it out before—
    Too late.
    A knot of men bearing assault rifles swept into view outside the doors. They wore dark uniforms with patches at their shoulders.
    Gray forced Kowalski and Elizabeth back.
    Behind them, a growled bark echoed up from the first floor. Workers shouted in surprise.

    “What now?” Kowalski asked.
    From the Mall entrance, a bullhorn blasted. “HOMELAND SECURITY! THE BUILDING IS TO BE EVACUATED IMMEDIATELY! EVERYONE TO THE MAIN EXIT!”
    “This way,” Gray said.
    He led them off to the side, toward the largest piece of art on this floor’s gallery. The installation was an abstract flag, made up of fifteen ribbons of mirrored polycarbonate.
    “We can’t keep running,” Elizabeth said.
    “We’re not.”
    “So we’re hiding?” Kowalski asked. “What about their dogs?”
    “We’re not running or hiding,” Gray assured them.
    He passed the shimmering flag. Its mirrored surface reflected a prismatic view of the museum. In bits and pieces, Gray saw the armed detail take up an impenetrable cordon across the only exit.
    Passing one of the scaffoldings stacked with supplies and spare coveralls, Gray grabbed what he needed. He passed a few bundles to Kowalski. He kept what he needed himself: a can of paint and a plastic gallon of paint thinner. He headed into the hallway under the abstract flag. Kowalski read the gallery sign at the entrance and whistled under his breath.
    “Pierce, what are you planning on doing?”
    Gray led the way into the heart of the museum’s most treasured exhibits. It was the main reason for the entire renovation. They entered a long darkened hall. Seats lined one side opposite a wall of paneled glass on the other. Even the chaos behind them seemed to muffle under the weight of the historical treasure preserved behind the glass, one of the nation’s most important icons. It lay unfurled on a sloped display, a tatter of cotton and wool a quarter the size of a football field. Its dyes had faded, but it remained a dramatic piece of American history, the flag that inspired the national anthem.
    “Pierce…?” Kowalski moaned, beginning to comprehend. “That’s the Star-Spangled Banner.”
    Gray placed the can of paint on the floor and began to twist open the cap on the gallon of highly flammable paint thinner.
    “Pierce…you can’t mean to…not even as a distraction.”

    Ignoring him, Gray turned to Elizabeth. “Do you still have your lighter?”
    8:32 P.M.
    Sitting in the security office of the National Zoo, Yuri felt the weight of his seventy-seven years. All the androgens, stimulants, and surgeries could not mask the heaviness of his heart. A numbing fear had turned his limbs to aching lead; worry etched deeper lines in his