The Metro stop and freedom from the babbling shaman were little more than a block away, just a little past the gallery and garden compound of the Smithsonian Castle. Andy walked a little faster, but when they reached the corner of the Freer Gallery, he stopped, stunned to see the source of the buzzing sound he’d been hearing since he awoke in the city had a source. He’d thought that it was some kind of mechanical noise pollution, the rattle of heavy-duty ventilators perhaps. Now, through the gap between walls and buildings at Twelfth Street, he saw the source of the sound.