margo and pendergast exit. the cold air is like a slap in the face.
all is quiet.
cabs and limousines tangle outside the west entrance. a huge rotating spotlight is now turned on. elegantly dressed men in dinner jackets and women in gowns rush to get out of the pelting rain, umbrellas jousting.
as hundreds of the guests emerge into the pounding rain.  crying, terrified, unclear what exactly happened. these are the lucky ones. among them we find ippolito. his walkie talkie is squawking. the windows of the museum behind him are black.
police cars are pulling up outside the museum. sirens wail. torrents of rain limit the number of onlookers. crowds of people are scattered about. there's disbelief on everyone's faces. many people are in shock. ippolito sprints through the pelting rain to a guard station near the gate. he yanks the door open and jumps inside.
there are cops and journalists, ambulances, and medivacs all over the place. greg kawakita, wet and bedraggled as a rat, runs up from columbus ave. behind him the mayor and d'agosta help the rest of the company to the ambulances.