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

resists the truth when the truth conflicts with preconceptions.”
    “I can’t really blame them. It’s not easy to accept the impossible.”
    “I suppose. But impossible is a useless word now.” He turned back to the window. “What’s that they’re rigging up?”
    “A derrick. Nick’s going down into the hole to—”
    Glaeken spun and faced Bill, his eyes wide.
    “You’re talking about your young friend? He’s going down into the hole?”
    “Yes. As soon as the bell is set up.”
    Glaeken grabbed Bill’s upper arms. His grip was like iron.
    “Don’t let him do it. You’ve got to stop him. Don’t let him go into that hole!”
    The look on his face made Bill afraid for Nick. Very afraid. He turned and ran for the door. Out in the hall, he pressed the elevator button. When the doors didn’t open immediately, he ran for the stairs. No time to wait. He made it down and out to the street in a few minutes, but there his progress came to a grinding halt. The crowd had grown even thicker. Pressing through them was like wading through taffy.
    He fought a rising panic as he roughly pushed and shoved people aside, leaving an angry wake. He hadn’t waited around to ask Glaeken what might happen to Nick down in that hole. The look on the old man’s perpetually deadpan face told him more than he wanted to know. He’d never seen Glaeken react that way.
    As he inched toward the Sheep Meadow he remembered Nick saying how lucky he felt to be here. But Bill couldn’t help thinking about the awful fates that had befallen all those other people he cared about.
    His gut writhed with the thought that perhaps luck had nothing to do with it.

     
    “Lights, camera, action!” Nick said as the diving bell lurched into motion.
    Dr. Dan Buckley gave him a wan smile and gripped one of the hand rungs. Buckley was an older gent from geology, balding, white-haired, sixty at least. He had his camcorder hooked up and directed out one of the forward ports; a digital Nikon hung from his neck. He was sweating. Nick wondered if Buckley was prone to panic attacks. The bell, named Triton, was the size of a small, low-ceilinged bathroom. Not a happy place for a claustrophobe.
    His stomach did a little spin as the bell swung out over the hole. He’d never liked amusement park rides and this was starting out like one.
    He peered through the aft port to his right to double-check the laser range finder mounted there. Everything looked secure. He glanced out the other port toward the crane and the crowd of cops, workers, various city officials, and the other members of the teams from the university. He saw Father Bill push his way to the front and start jumping and waving and shouting. He’d been late coming back but at least he’d made it. Nick was glad to have him here to see this. He waved back and gave him a thumbs-up through the glass, then settled down for the ride.
    This was great. This was fabulous. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.
    “All set in there?” said a tinny voice from the speaker overhead.
    “All set,” Nick said. Buckley echoed the same.
    A sick second of free fall, then they were on their way, sinking into the depths on a steel cable. The sunlight changed to shadow. The alternating floodlights and spotlights ringing the bell’s equator were already on, illuminating the near wall. Buckley pressed his camera against his porthole, snapping shot after shot of the passing strata with his Nikon.
    “Can you hear us up there?” Nick said.
    “Loud and clear, Triton,” came the reply. “How’s it going?”
    “Smooth as can be. And fascinating. The city ought to consider buying this rig and making it into an amusement ride. Might keep taxes down.”
    He heard appreciative laughter from above and smiled. That sounded pretty cool and collected, didn’t it? He hoped so. Cynthia Hayes was up there, watching and waiting with the others from the department. He hoped she’d heard it, hoped she was