Free Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) by F. Paul Wilson

further developments from Glaeken’s window or on the tube. He looked around for Nick and saw him walking his way, his expression troubled.
    “What’s wrong, Nick?”
    “‘Technical difficulties,’ as they say on TV. We’ll have it straightened out in a few minutes.”
    Bill watched Nick’s face closely. His upper lip was beaded with perspiration.
    “You didn’t get the reading you expected, did you.”
    “We didn’t get any reading. A glitch in the receiver, that’s all.”
    Bill allowed himself a quick shot of relief. He wanted very much for Nick to find the bottom of that hole. He wanted Glaeken to be wrong, just once. Not out of animosity or envy, but because Glaeken had been right about everything so far, and everything he was predicting was bad. Bill felt he’d be able to rest a little better at night if just once Glaeken was proven wrong.
    And then a thought struck him like an icy wind, carrying off any sense of relief.
    “Wait a minute, Nick. You said you didn’t receive any signal. Isn’t that what would happen if the hole was bottomless?”
    “It’s not bottomless, Fa—”
    “ Isn’t that what would happen?”
    “Well … yes. But that’s not the only reason. There are scores of reasons why we wouldn’t get a signal back.”
    “But one of them is that the beam didn’t find anything to bounce off, and so therefore it never came back. Am I right?”
    Nick sighed. “Technically, yes, but…” Suddenly he sounded tired. “But the hole’s not bottomless. It can’t be. Nothing’s bottomless.”
    One of the grad students rushed up to Nick with a green-striped printout. Bill could tell from Nick’s expression that he didn’t like what he saw there. He handed the slip back to the student.
    “Do it again. And do it right.”
    “But we are,” the student said, looking offended. “Everything checks out a hundred percent. The beam and the receiver are working perfectly.”
    Nick tapped the printout. “Obviously not.”
    “Maybe something down there’s absorbing the beam.”
    “Absorbing the beam,” Nick said slowly. He seemed to like the idea. “Let’s look into that.” He turned to Bill. “I’m going to be tied up for a while, Father, but hang around. We’ll crack this yet.” He winked and walked away.

     
    At midafternoon Bill headed back to the apartment to grab a bite and make a pit stop before Nick started his descent.
    He had to hand it to Nick—he was as inventive as he was stubborn. Wouldn’t admit defeat. When he’d learned of a working diving bell on display down at South Street Seaport, he made a few calls and arranged to rent it. His plan was to get in that thing and ride it as far into the hole as the cable would allow, then take another laser reading from down there. Bill wanted to be back in time to see him off.
    He had to fight through the crowd on Central Park West. The area around the lower end of the park had become an impromptu street festival. Well, why not? The sun was out and the area was jammed with curious people. Anyone with anything to sell, from hot dogs to shish kebab, from balloons to knock-off Rolexes was there. The air was redolent of an array of ethnic foods wide enough to shame the UN cafeteria. He spotted someone hawking “I saw the Central Park Hole” T-shirts, still wet from the silk screener.
    In the apartment he found Glaeken, as expected, at the picture window.
    “What have they decided down there?” the old man said without turning.
    “They’ve decided that due to various technical glitches they can’t figure out how deep it is at this time.”
    Even at noon, with the sun shining directly into the hole, they hadn’t been able to see the bottom. The blackness had been driven farther down, but it remained, obscuring the bottom.
    Now Glaeken turned. His smile was rueful.
    “They’ve constructed these fabulous instruments for exact measurements, yet they refuse to believe the data they’re receiving. Amazing how the mind