mreilly.icestation-第45节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　Snake。　
　The　mere　concept　was　too　bizarre　for　Schofield　to　prehend。　Snake　was　a　highly　decorated　Marine。　One　of　the　longest…serving　members　in　the　Corps；　let　alone　Schofield's　unit。　Why　would　he　throw　it　all　away　by　doing　something　like　this？　Why　would　he　kill　his　own　men？　
　And　then　Schofield　thought　about　Mother。　
　Snake　was　down　on　E…deck　with　Mother。　
　It　made　sense。　Snake　had　already　killed　Samurai；　the　weakest　member　of　Schofield's　team。　Mother…with　one　leg　and　heavily　dosed　up　on　methadone…would　be　another　easy　target。　
　Schofield　hit　the　B…deck　catwalk　on　the　fly。　He　ran　for　the　rung…ladder　and　slid　down　it　fast　C…deck。　He　slid　down　the　next　rung…ladder…D…deek…and　then　the　next。　
　He　was　on　E…deck　now。　He　ran　across　the　pool　deck；　past　the　lapping　waves　of　the　pool；　and　headed　for　the　south　tunnel。　
　He　entered　the　south　tunnel　and　saw　the　door　to　Mother's　storeroom。　
　Schofield　approached　the　open　doorway　to　the　storeroom　cautiously。　He　unholstered　his　Maghook…he　still　couldn't　use　his　pistol　in　the　gaseous　environment　of　the　station…and　held　it　out　in　front　of　him　like　a　gun。　
　He　approached　the　doorway；　came　to　it。　Then　he　took　one　last　deep　breath　and　then。。。　
　。。。　he　turned　fast　into　the　doorway；　his　Maghook　up　and　ready。　
　He　saw　the　scene　inside。　
　And　his　jaw　dropped。　
　〃Holy　shit；〃　he　breathed。　
　
　They　were　on　the　floor　of　the　storeroom。　
　Mother　and　Snake。　
　At　first；　Schofield　just　stared　at　them；　stared　at　the　scene。　
　Mother　was　stretched　out　on　the　floor；　with　her　back　up　against　one　of　the　walls。　She　had　her　good　leg　extended　across　the　room；　pressed　up　against　Snake's　throat；　pinning　him　to　a　thick　wooden　shelf　filled　with　scuba　tanks。　Her　boot　was　pressed　hard　against　his　throat；　pushing　his　chin　upward；　squeezing　his　face　back　against　the　sturdy　wooden　shelf。　She　also　held　her　Colt　automatic　pistol　cupped　in　her　hands；　extended　in　the　perfect　shooting　position。　Pointed　right　at　Snake's　face。　
　The　gaseous　environment　of　the　station　obviously　didn't　bother　her。　
　Mother　glared　at　Snake　down　the　barrel　of　her　gun。　Blood　dripped　freely　from　two　deep　gashes　above　her　left　eye。　It　dripped　down　off　her　eyebrow；　smacking　down　onto　her　left　cheek　like　droplets　of　water　from　a　leaking　tap。　Mother　didn't　notice　the　blood…she　just　stared　right　through　it；　into　the　eyes　of　the　man　who　had　tried　to　kill　her。　
　For　his　part；　Snake　was　pinned　to　the　wooden　shelf。　Every　now　and　then　he　would　attempt　to　struggle；　but　Mother　had　all　the　leverage。　Whenever　he　tried　to　wriggle　out　of　her　hold；　she　would　press　down　hard　on　his　Adam's　apple　with　her　big　Size　12。　Mother　was　choking　him　with　her　foot。　
　The　room　around　them　looked　like　a　bomb　had　hit　it。　
　Wooden　shelves　lay　twisted　on　the　floor；　splintered　and　shattered。　Scuba　tanks　rolled　aimlessly　across　the　floor。　A　knife…Snake's…lay　on　the　floor。　Blood　dripped　off　its　blade。　
　Slowly；　Mother　turned　her　head　and　looked　over　at　Schofield；　who　was　still　just　standing　in　the　doorway；　stunned。　
　Her　chest　heaved　up　and　down。　She　was　still　breathing　hard　from　the　fight。　
　〃Well；　Scarecrow；〃　she　said；　taking　another　breath。　〃You　think　this　was　easy？　Are　you　just　gonna　fucking　stand　there；　or　what？〃　
　
　
　
　Pete　Cameron　pulled　his　Toyota　to　a　stop　outside　14　Newbury　Street；　Lake　Arthur；　New　Mexico。　
　Fourteen　Newbury　was　a　pleasant…looking　white　weatherboard　cottage。　Its　front　garden　was　immaculate…perfectly　cut　grass；　a　rock　garden；　even　a　small　pond。　It　looked　like　the　home　of　a　retiree…the　home　of　someone　who　had　the　time；　and　the　inclination；　to　take　loving　care　of　it。　
　Cameron　looked　at　the　business　card　again。　〃All　right；　Andrew　Wilcox；　let's　see　what　you've　got　to　say。〃　
　
　Cameron　stepped　up　onto　the　porch　and　knocked　on　the　screen　door。　
　Thirty　seconds　later；　the　inner　door　opened　and　a　man　of　about　thirty…five　appeared　behind　the　screen。　He　looked　young　and　fit；　clean…shaven。　He　smiled　pleasantly。　
　〃Mornin'；〃　the　young　man　said。　〃How　can　I　help　you？〃　He　had　a　broad　Southern　drawl。　When　he　said　〃I〃　it　sounded　like　〃Ah〃…How　can　ah　help　you？　
　Cameron　said；　〃Yes；　hi。　I'm　looking　for　a　Mr。　Andrew　Wilcox。〃　Cameron　held　up　the　business　card。　〃My　name　is　Peter　Cameron。　I'm　a　writer　for　the　Washington　Post。　Mr。　Wilcox　sent　me　his　card。〃　
　The　smile　on　the　young　man's　face　vanished　instantly。　
　His　eyes　swept　Cameron's　body　as　if　evaluating　him。　Then　they　swept　the　street　outside　as　if　to　see　whether　anyone　was　watching　the　house。　
　And　then　suddenly　the　man's　attention　returned　to　Cameron。　
　〃Mr。　Cameron；〃　he　said；　opening　the　screen　door。　〃Please；　e　inside。　I　was　hoping　you'd　e；　but　I　didn't　expect　to　see　you　so　soon。　Please；　please；　e　inside。〃　
　Cameron　stepped　through　the　doorway。　
　It　didn't　occur　to　him　until　he　was　fully　inside　the　house　that　the　man's　Southern　accent　had　pletely　disappeared。　
　
　〃Mr。　Cameron；　my　real　name　is　not　Andrew　Wilcox；〃　the　young　man　now　sitting　opposite　him　said。　The　drawl　was　gone；　replaced　by　a　voice　that　was　clear　and　precise；　educated。　East　Coast。　
　Pete　Cameron　had　his　pad　and　pen　out。　〃Can　you　tell　me　your　real　name？〃　he　asked　gently。　
　The　young　man　seemed　to　think　about　that　for　a　moment；　and　as　he　did　so；　Cameron　got　a　better　look　at　him。　He　was　a　tall　man；　handsome；　too；　with　blond　hair　and　a　square　jaw。　He　had　broad　shoulders　and　he　looked　physically　fit。　But　there　was　something　wrong　about　him。　
　It　was　the　eyes；　Cameron　realized。　
　They　were　tinged　with　red。　Heavy　black　sacks　hung　beneath　both　of　them。　He　looked　like　a　man　on　the　edge；　a　man　who　hadn't　slept　in　days。　
　And　then；　at　last；　the　man　spoke。　〃My　real　name；〃　he　said；　〃is　Andrew　Trent。〃　
　
　
　
　〃I　used　to　be　a　First　Lieutenant　in　the　Marines；〃　Andrew　Trent　explained；　〃in　mand　of　an　Atlantic…based　Reconnaissance　unit。　But　if　you　examine　the　official　USMC　records；　you'll　find　that　I　died　in　an　accident　in　Peru　in　March　1997。〃　
　Trent　spoke　in　a　low；　even　voice；　a　voice　tinged　with　bitterness。　
　〃So；　you're　a　dead　man；〃　Pete　Cameron　said。　〃Nice；　very　nice。　OK；　first　question：　why　me？　Why　did　you　contact　me？〃　
　〃I've　seen　your　work；〃　Trent　said。　〃I　like　it。　Mother　Jones。　The　Post。　You　tell　it　straight。　You　also　don't　just　write　down　the　first　thing　you　hear。　You　check　things　out　and　because　of　that；　people　believe　you。　I　need　people　to　believe　what　I'm　going　to　tell　you。〃　
　〃If　it's　worth　telling　in　the　first　place；〃　Cameron　said。　〃All　right；　then；　how　is　it　that　according　to　the　United　States　Government　you　are　officially　dead？〃　
　Trent　offered　Cameron　a　half…smile；　a　smile　totally　devoid　of　humor。　〃If　it's　worth　telling　in　the　first　place；〃　he　repeated。　〃Mr。　Cameron；　what　if　I　were　to　tell　you　that　the　government　of　the　United　States　of　America　ordered　that　my　whole　unit　be　killed？〃　
　Cameron　was　silent。　
　〃What　if　I　were　to　tell　you　that　our　government…yours　and　mine…planted　men　inside　my　unit　for　the　sole　purpose　of　killing　me　and　my　men　in　the　event　that　we　found　something　of　immense　technological　value　during　a　mission？　
　〃What　if　I　were　to　tell　you　that　that　was　exactly　what　happened　in　Peru　in　March　1997？　What　would　you　think　then；　Mr。　Cameron？　If　I　told　you　all　that；　then　do　you　think　my　story　would　be　worth　telling？〃　
　
　Trent　then　told　Cameron　about　what　had　happened　inside　the　ruins　of　the　Incan　temple　high　in　the　mountains　of　Peru　in　March　of　1997。　
　A　team　of　university　researchers　who　had　been　working　inside　the　temple　had　apparently　discovered　a　series　of　frescoes　chiseled　into　its　stone　walls。　Magnificent　coloured　frescoes　that　depicted　scenes　from　Incan　history。　
　One　of　the　frescoes　in　particular　had　captured　their　attention。　
　It　depicted　a　scene　not　unlike　the　famous　painting　of　the　Incan　king；　Atahuallpa；　meeting　the　Spanish　conquistadors。　
　On　the　left…hand　side　of　the　fresco　stood　the　Incan　king；　in　full　ceremonial　dress；　surrounded　by　his　people。　He　was　holding　a　golden　chalice　in　his　outstretched　hands。　A　gift。　
　On　the　right…hand　side　of　the　fresco　stood　four　strange…looking　men。　Unlike　the　olive…skinned　Incans；　their　skin　was　bone　white。　And　they　were　thin；　unnaturally　thin…tall；　emaciated。　They　had　large　black　eyes　and　round…domed　foreheads。　They　also　had　pointed；　narrow　chins　and…bizarrely…　no　mouths。　
　In　the　carved　stone　picture；　the　leader　of　this　delegation　of　tall　white　〃men〃　was　holding　a　silver　box　in　his　outstretched　hands；　reciprocating　the　gesture　of　the　Incan　king　in　front　of　him。　
　It　was　an　exchange　of　gifts。　
　〃How　long　did　it　take　them　to　find　it？〃　Cameron　asked　dryly。　
　〃Not　long；〃　Trent　said。　
　As　Trent　explained；　they　found　the　object　of　their　search　mounted　on　a　pedestal　not　far　from　the　fresco　itself；　a　small　stone　pedestal　sunken　into　the　wall　of　the　temple。　
　It　just　sat　there。　All　on　its　own。　It　was　about　the　size　of　a　shoe　box　and　the　color　of　chrome。　
　It　was　the　silver　box　from　the　fresco。　
　〃Those　scientists　couldn't　believe　their　luck；〃　Trent　said。　〃They　called　their　university　back　in　the　States　right　away　and　told　them　what　they'd　found。　Told　them　that　they　may　have　discovered　a　gift　from　an　alien　civilization。〃　
　Trent　shook　his　head。　〃Stupid　bastards。　They　did　it　over