Worry about that later. Now her main concern was getting into that scoreboard clock. Take the first step and go from there. And the first step was this security guard, who was smiling politely at her. Change that politeness to sympathy or empathy.

“Hi.” She beamed at the security guard, carefully noting his name on his badge. “I wonder if you could help me, Officer Warren? I’m Margaret Simpson, and my daddy is head of maintenance at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. Well, actually, he was head of it, but he was laid off a few weeks ago. I thought I’d talk to the maintenance head here and get an application for him to fill out. Daddy’s always been so impressed with what a great team you all have up here in Chicago.” She gazed up at him pleadingly. “Do you suppose that would be possible, sir?”

*   *   *

“YOU CAN’T STAY HERE very long,” Tom Foster, the maintenance engineer, said testily as he frowned at Margaret. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into bringing you up here. I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for this.”

“You brought me here because you’re a kind man, and you know that we all have to help each other,” she said quietly. “I can’t tell you how grateful my daddy will be that you took your valuable time and gave me that application. Even if you all can’t find it in your heart to give him a job, I’ll tell him how nice you were to me. He’s always wanted to see the workings behind this scoreboard. Wrigley is a part of history.” She held up her iPhone. “I’ll just take a few pictures and make a few notes to take home to him. Will that be okay, Mr. Foster?”

“I guess it will have to be,” he said sourly. “We’re up here now.”

“Don’t let me get in your way. I’m sure you have things you have to check,” Margaret said as she curled up on the floor beside a huge metal support beam. The area was cramped in this old, iconic scoreboard. “I’ll just stay here and make my notes.”

He gazed at her uncertainly, then muttered something beneath his breath as he turned and walked away.

She’d probably have fifteen or twenty minutes tops, she thought. Foster impressed her as being hardworking and conscientious, and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity to accomplish his work now that he was here. He’d been hard to convince to bring her up to the scoreboard clock, but he’d finally relented.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the sounds of the crowd and the announcer, the clicks of the scoreboard …

Open your mind.

Life. There was always so much life surrounding you if you let it into your consciousness.

Pigeons. Lots of pigeons.

Nothing there.

A feral cat. Maybe …

No, he was young and more accustomed to haunting the downtown restaurants than the stadium. A visitor, not a regular.

A raccoon? Unusual.

She spent five minutes on him before she gave up. Intense but not a decent memory.

Okay, the rats.

And she didn’t have much time. She’d have to throw open her mind and do a general scan. Not pleasant. With rats, it was like having your brain devoured.

She drew a deep breath and tried to armor herself.

Then she opened her mind.

And was swept away by impressions.

Darkness.

Hunger.

Yellow teeth gnawing, biting. Some short, some long. Try to isolate the rats with the long teeth. They would be the oldest. Rat’s teeth continued to grow until the day they died.

Savage, hunting, scavenging.

Where?

Dark hallways, a hole near the scoreboard. Across the field and behind the kitchens of the refreshment stands.

Where else?

By the river, plastic, death. But not any longer.

Why?

Doesn’t matter. Only the cold. Only the cold …

Running.

Clock.

Wires. Eat the wires.

Run.

Eat.

Eat …

*   *   *

“YOU’RE PALE,” TREVOR SAID as Margaret strolled across the parking lot toward their rental car. “Something go wrong?”

“Nah, I guess I’m a little tired.” Margaret jumped into the backseat. “Was it a good game? Did the Cubs win?”

“We wouldn’t know,” Jane said. “Do you really think that we’d be able to concentrate on a ball game? Not likely, Margaret.”

“Did Caleb call? Anything on Harriet?”

“She went back to the hotel after she left the bank. No other calls or visitors,” Trevor said as he started the car. “And why are you asking questions instead of answering them?”

“I’m trying to get my head together.” She shrugged. “I’m a little … scattered. I feel…” She tried to find the right word. “Chewed.”

“Pleasant,” Trevor said.

“No, it wasn’t. Believe me, it wasn’t.” She was silent a moment. “But it was productive. At least, I think it was.” She added. “The nuke is not in that field scoreboard and clock or anywhere around it. I didn’t think it could be when I saw the interior, but there’s always a possibility. But the rats know that scoreboard and surrounding areas inside and out, and they’re not familiar with anyplace that could house a device.”

Trevor’s brows lifted. “They told you so?”

“Trevor,” Jane said. “She’s having enough trouble with this.”

Margaret smiled. “Thanks. I don’t like rats much. I have a hard time dealing with them. They … drain me.”

“And it was all for nothing?”

“I didn’t say that. I said the nuke wasn’t at Wrigley Field.” She paused. “But there’s a good chance it might be at the other clock tower.”

Jane stiffened. “What?”

“There are a couple of the older rats that evidently commute back and forth between the baseball field and the other clock tower. The pickings are richer here during the summer and fall. But when the stadium closes up, and it gets cold, the office complex is the place of choice for the winter.”

“So?”

“There’s a death memory in the lower level, near the river. Several rats were killed when they tried to gnaw through the wires surrounding a box that had been slid into a cavity in the walls.”

“How long ago?”

She shook her head. “I only get impressions. It’s lucky there’s a memory at all. But rats don’t necessarily always learn from their mistakes. Those old rats keep going back when they’re hungry. There’s plastic that they gnaw at … and some kind of circular-tube-type gadget.”

“If they ate the wires, maybe they actually disconnected the bomb,” Jane said.

“Or if they were outside the box, maybe the wires were meant to be an alarm system,” Trevor said. “That seems more likely. Kevin would have wanted to protect his treasure. Could you tell what else was in the room, Margaret?”

“No.” She thought about it. “But the circular tube had a WR—and the rest has been eaten. The only reason that made any impression on them was that it was on the wall.”

“They’re into wall art?” Trevor asked.

Margaret gave him a disgusted glance. “No, haven’t you noticed that you seldom see a rat in the middle of the room? That’s because they have terrible vision, and they feel uneasy unless they can hug the wall.”

“It never occurred to me,” Jane said. “But the nuke device is tucked away in the wall, and, therefore, it’s rat fodder?”

“It’s possible. I guess it could be some other box that’s been hidden there,” Margaret said. “But no one goes to that room. It’s deserted whenever the rats decide to raid.”

“Then it’s worth a shot,” Trevor murmured. “Let’s get back to the hotel and get a schematic of the Wrigley building and see if we can figure out where that room is located.” He smiled at Margaret. “Of course, we could send you back and have the rat third degree continue.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Margaret said flatly. “I’m done. It’s up to you now.” She leaned back on the seat. “Take me back to the hotel. I need a hot shower and a long nap.” She closed her eyes. “Then I’ll be fine. Too many rats … I just have to get away from them…”

*   *   *

“HERE’S THE WRIGLEY floor plan.” Caleb turned his iPad around on the room-service table. “It’s a damn big building.”