pdouglas.thecodex-第14节

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　〃This　is　Sally　Colorado；〃　she　said。　〃You　remember　us？〃
　Pause。
　〃I　wanted　to　ask　you　a　question　about　Barnaby　and　Fenton's　death。〃
　Another　pause。
　〃Why　did　they　go　up　there　to　the　ski　basin？〃
　A　very　long　wait。　Tom　found　himself　trying　to　listen；　although　he　felt　it　was　a　waste　of　time。
　〃Yes；　it　was　tragic；〃　Sally　said。　〃And　where　were　they　about　to　go　on　this　fishing　trip？〃
　A　final　silence。
　〃Thanks。〃
　Sally　slowly　shut　the　phone　and　looked　at　Tom。　Tom　felt　a　knot　in　his　stomach；　her　face　had　gone　pale。
　〃They　went　up　to　the　ski　basin　to　check　on　a　report　of　vandalism。　Turned　out　to　be　phony。　Their　brakes　failed　on　the　way　down。　They　tried　to　slow　themselves　down　by　banking　off　the　guard　rails；　but　the　road　was　just　too　steep。　When　they　reached　Nun's　Corner　they　were　going　close　to　ninety。〃
　〃Jesus。〃
　〃There　wasn't　much　left　of　the　car　after　the　four…hundred…foot　drop　and　explosion。　No　foul　play　is　suspected。　It　was　especially　tragic；　ing　as　it　did　the　day　before　Barnaby　and　Fenton　were　about　to　go　on　the　tarpon…fishing　trip　of　a　lifetime。〃
　Tom　swallowed　and　asked　the　question　he　didn't　want　to　ask。　〃Where？〃
　〃Honduras。　A　place　called　Laguna　de　Brus。〃
　Tom　slowed；　checked　his　rearview　mirror；　and　with　a　screech　of　tires；　manipulating　both　the　brakes　and　the　gas；　pulled　a　one…eighty。
　〃Are　you　crazy？　What　are　you　doing？〃
　〃Going　to　the　nearest　airport。〃
　〃Why？〃
　〃Because　someone　who　would　kill　police　officers　could　sure　as　hell　kill　my　two　brothers。〃
　〃You　think　someone　found　out　about　the　hidden　inheritance？〃
　〃Absolutely。〃　He　accelerated　toward　the　vanishing　point　on　the　horizon。　〃Looks　like　we're　going　to　Honduras。　Together。〃
　
　13
　
　Philip　Broadbent　shifted　his　position；　trying　to　get　fortable　in　the　bottom　of　the　dugout；　arranging　some　of　the　softer　bundles　of　gear　for　the　fourth　or　fifth　time　to　form　a　chair　of　sorts。　The　boat　slid　upriver　between　two　silent　walls　of　green　vegetation；　the　engine　humming；　the　prow　cutting　the　smooth　black　water。　It　was　like　traveling　through　a　hot　green　cave；　echoing　with　the　unholy　screeches；　hoots；　and　whistles　of　jungle　animals。　The　mosquitoes　formed　a　permanent　whining　cloud　around　their　boat；　trailing　behind。　The　air　was　dense；　muggy；　sticky。　It　was　like　breathing　mosquito　soup。
　Philip　removed　the　pipe　from　his　pocket；　reamed　out　the　dottle；　rapped　it　on　the　side　of　the　boat；　and　refilled　it　from　the　Dunhill　can　he　had　stored　in　one　of　the　pockets　of　his　Barbour　safari　khakis。　He　took　his　time　lighting　it；　then　blew　a　stream　of　smoke　into　the　mosquito　cloud；　watching　it　cut　a　clear　area　in　the　whining　mass；　which　instantly　closed　up　as　the　smoke　drifted　away。　The　Mosquito　Coast　had　lived　up　to　its　name；　and　even　the　deet　that　Philip　slathered　on　his　skin　and　clothes　provided　less　than　adequate　protection。　On　top　of　that　it　was　oily　and　smelled　frightful；　and　it　was　probably　leaching　into　his　bloodstream　and　poisoning　him　to　boot。
　He　muttered　a　curse　and　took　another　hit　off　the　pipe。　Father　and　his　ridiculous　tests。
　He　adjusted　himself；　unable　to　get　fortable。　Hauser；　carrying　a　Discman；　came　back　from　the　prow　of　the　dugout　and　eased　himself　down　next　to　him。　He　smelled　of　cologne　instead　of　bug　juice；　and　he　looked　as　cool　and　fresh　as　Philip　felt　hot　and　sticky。　He　removed　the　earphones　to　speak。
　〃Gonz　has　been　picking　up　traces　of　Max's　passage　all　day。　We'll　learn　more　when　we　get　to　Pito　Solo　tomorrow。〃
　〃How　can　they　follow　a　trace　on　a　river？〃
　Hauser　smiled。　〃It's　an　art；　Philip。　A　cut　vine　here；　a　landing　place　there；　the　mark　of　a　barge　pole　on　a　submerged　sandbar。　The　river　is　so　sluggish　that　marks　on　the　bottom　persist　for　weeks。〃
　Philip　sucked　irritably　on　his　pipe。　He　would　endure　this　one　last　torture　of　his　father's　and　then　he　would　be　free。　Free；　finally；　to　live　the　life　he　wanted　to　live　without　that　old　bugger　interfering；　criticizing；　doling　out　niggardly　parcels　of　money　like　Scrooge。　He　loved　his　father　and　at　one　level　felt　bad　about　his　cancer　and　his　death；　but　that　didn't　change　his　feelings　about　this　scheme。　His　father　had　done　many　asinine　things　in　his　life；　but　this　took　the　cake。　It　was　vintage　Maxwell　Broadbent；　this　parting　beau　geste。
　He　smoked　and　watched　the　four　soldiers　in　the　front　of　the　boat　gambling　with　a　greasy　pack　of　cards。　The　other　boat　with　its　plement　of　eight　soldiers　was　fifty　yards　ahead　of　them；　laying　a　foul　trail　of　blue　exhaust　over　the　water。　Gonz；　the　lead　〃tracker；〃　lay　on　his　belly　in　the　prow；　staring　down　into　the　dark　water；　occasionally　dipping　a　finger　into　the　water　to　taste　it。
　Suddenly　a　shout　went　up　from　one　of　the　soldiers　in　the　front　of　their　dugout。　He　had　stood　up　and　was　pointing　excitedly　at　something　swimming　in　the　water。　Hauser　winked　at　Philip　and　leapt　to　his　feet；　withdrawing　the　machete　he　kept　strapped　to　his　waist；　and　scrambled　to　the　bow。　The　boat　angled　toward　the　swimming　animal　while　Hauser　positioned　himself；　legs　apart；　in　the　prow。　As　the　boat　drew　alongside　the　now　desperately　swimming　animal　he　leaned　over　and；　with　a　sudden　movement；　slashed　into　the　water　with　his　machete；　then　reached　down　and　pulled　out　an　animal　that　looked　like　a　two…foot…long　rat。　It　had　almost　been　decapitated　by　the　blow；　its　head　hanging　by　a　flap　of　skin。　It　gave　one　convulsive　jerk　and　then　went　still。
　Philip　watched　with　a　vague　sense　of　horror　as　Hauser　tossed　the　dead　animal　toward　him。　It　landed　with　a　thud　on　the　bottom；　the　head　jouncing　free；　rolling　to　a　stop　at　Philip's　feet；　mouth　open；　yellow　rat's　teeth　gleaming；　blood　still　draining　out。
　Hauser　rinsed　the　machete　in　the　river；　stuck　it　back　in　his　belt；　and　walked　back　to　Philip；　stepping　over　the　dead　animal。　He　grinned。　〃Ever　eaten　agouti？〃
　〃No；　and　I'm　not　sure　I　care　to　begin。〃
　〃Skinned；　gutted；　split；　and　roasted　over　the　coals…it　was　one　of　Maxwell's　favorites。　Tastes　a　bit　like　chicken。〃
　Philip　said　nothing。　That's　what　Hauser　claimed　about　all　the　revolting　bush　meat　they　had　been　forced　to　eat…tastes　like　chicken。
　〃Oh！〃　said　Hauser；　looking　at　Philip's　shirt。　〃I　beg　your　pardon。〃
　Philip　glanced　down。　A　single　drop　of　fresh　blood　had　struck　his　shirt　and　was　now　soaking　into　the　material。　Philip　wiped　at　it；　which　only　spread　it。　〃I'd　appreciate　it　if　you　were　a　little　more　careful　when　tossing　around　decapitated　animals；〃　he　said；　dipping　his　handkerchief　into　the　water　and　giving　the　spot　a　scrubbing。
　〃It's　so　difficult　to　keep　one's　hygiene　in　the　jungle；〃　Hauser　said。
　Philip　scrubbed　a　little　more　and　then　gave　up。　He　wished　Hauser　would　leave　him　in　peace。　The　man　was　starting　to　give　him　the　creeps。
　Hauser　slid　a　couple　of　CDs　out　of　his　pocket。　〃And　now；　to　stave　off　the　ever　encroaching　savagery　surrounding　us；　would　you　care　to　hear　some　Bach；　or　some　Beethoven？〃
　
　14
　
　Tom　Broadbent　wallowed　on　an　overstuffed　sofa…chair　in　the　〃executive　suite〃　in　the　Sheraton　Royale　de　San　Pedro　Sula；　examining　a　map　of　the　country。　Maxwell　had　flown　with　all　his　cargo　to　the　town　of　Brus　Laguna　on　the　Mosquito　Coast；　at　the　mouth　of　the　Rio　Patuca。　And　then　he　had　disappeared。　They　said　he　had　gone　upriver；　which　was　the　only　route　into　the　vast；　mountainous；　and　wild　interior　of　southern　Honduras。
　He　followed　the　wandering　blue　line　of　the　river　on　the　map　with　his　finger；　through　swamps　and　hills　and　high　plateaus　until　it　vanished　in　a　web　of　tributaries　pouring　out　of　a　rugged　line　of　parallel　mountain　ranges。　The　map　showed　no　roads　or　towns；　it　was　truly　a　lost　world。
　Tom　had　discovered　they　were　at　least　a　week　behind　Philip　and　almost　two　weeks　behind　Vernon。　He　was　deeply　worried　about　his　brothers。　It　took　balls　to　kill　two　police　officers；　and　do　it　so　quickly　and　successfully。　The　killer　was　clearly　a　professional。　His　two　brothers　were　surely　next　on　the　killer's　list。
　Sally；　wrapped　in　a　towel；　came　out　of　the　bath　humming　to　herself　and　crossed　their　sitting　room；　her　glossy　wet　hair　spilling　down　her　back。　Tom　followed　her　with　his　eyes　as　she　disappeared　into　her　bedroom。　She　was　even　taller　than　Sarah　。。。
　He　stepped　down　hard　on　that　thought。
　In　ten　minutes　she　was　back　out；　dressed　in　lightweight　khakis；　a　long…sleeved　shirt；　a　canvas　hat　with　mosquito　netting　rolled　down　around　her　face；　and　a　pair　of　heavy　gloves；　all　bought　during　a　shopping　expedition　that　morning。
　〃How　do　I　look？〃　she　asked；　turning　around。
　〃Like　you're　in　purdah。〃
　She　rolled　up　the　mosquito　netting　and　took　off　the　hat。
　〃That's　better。〃
　She　tossed　the　hat　and　gloves　on　the　bed。　〃I　have　to　admit　I'm　very　curious　about　this　father　of　yours。　He　must've　been　a　real　eccentric。〃
　〃He　was。〃
　〃What　was　he　like？　If　you　don't　mind　me　asking。〃
　Tom　sighed。　〃When　he　walked　into　a　room；　every　head　turned。　He　radiated　something…authority；　power；　assurance。　I'm　not　sure　what。　People　were　awed　by　him；　even　if　they　had　no　idea　who　he　was。〃
　〃I　know　the　type。〃
　〃Wherever　he　went；　whatever　he　did；　journalists　chased　him　around。　There　were　sometimes　paparazzi　waiting　outside　the　gate　to　our　house。　I　mean；　here　we　were　going　to　school　and　the　damn　paparazzi　are　chasing　us　down　the　Old　Santa　Fe　Trail　like　we're　Princess　Di