pdouglas.thecodex-第6节

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re　in　the　dust　of　the　tomb；　where　it　had　been　for　two　thousand　years。
　Philip　snorted。　〃The　joys　of　theft。〃
　He　put　the　piece　back　down。　For　two　thousand　years　it　had　rested　there…an　object　of　such　exquisite　beauty　it　makes　you　want　to　cry。　I　wish　I　could　tell　you　my　feelings　when　I　saw　that　flawless　jade　head　just　lying　there　in　the　dust。　It　wasn't　created　to　vegetate　in　the　darkness。　I　rescued　it　and　brought　it　back　to　life。
　His　voice　cracked　with　emotion。　He　paused；　cleared　his　throat；　put　the　head　down。　Then　he　fumbled　for　the　back　of　his　chair　and　sat　down；　laying　his　cigar　aside　in　the　ashtray。　He　turned　back　to　face　the　camera；　leaning　forward　on　the　desk。
　I'm　your　father。　I've　watched　you　three　grow　up。　I　know　you　better　than　you　know　yourselves。
　〃Not　likely；〃　said　Philip。
　As　I've　watched　you　grow　up；　I've　been　dismayed　to　see　in　you　a　feeling　of　entitlement。　Privilege。　A　rich…kid's　syndrome。　A　feeling　that　you　don't　have　to　work　too　hard；　study　too　hard；　exert　yourselves…because　you're　the　sons　of　Maxwell　Broadbent。　Because　someday；　without　lifting　a　goddamn　finger；　you'll　be　rich。
　He　rose　again；　restless　with　energy。　Look；　I　know　it's　mostly　my　fault。　I've　catered　to　your　whims；　bought　you　everything　you　wanted；　sent　you　to　all　the　best　private　schools；　dragged　you　around　Europe。　I　felt　guilty　about　the　divorces　and　all　that。　I　wasn't　born　to　be　a　married　man；　I　guess。　But　what　have　I　done？　I've　raised　three　kids　who；　instead　of　living　splendid　lives；　are　waiting　for　their　inheritance。　Great　Expectations　redux。
　〃Bullshit；〃　said　Vernon　angrily。
　Philip；　you're　an　assistant　professor　of　art　history　at　a　junior　college　on　Long　Island。　Tom？　A　horse　vet　in　Utah。　And　Vernon？　Well；　I　don't　even　know　what　you're　doing　now；　probably　living　in　some　ashram　somewhere；　giving　your　money　to　a　fraudulent　guru。
　〃Not　true！〃　said　Vernon。　〃Not　true！　Go　to　hell！〃
　Tom　could　say　nothing。　He　felt　a　nauseous　tightening　somewhere　in　his　gut。
　And　on　top　of　that；　the　father　went　on；　you　three　don't　get　along。　You　never　learned　to　cooperate；　to　be　brothers。　I　started　to　think：　What　have　I　done？　What　have　I　done？　What　kind　of　father　have　I　been？　Have　I　taught　my　sons　independence？　Have　I　taught　them　the　value　of　work？　Have　I　taught　them　self…reliance？　Have　I　taught　them　to　take　care　of　each　other？
　He　paused　and　fairly　shouted　out；　No！
　After　all　this；　after　everything；　the　schools；　Europe；　the　fishing　and　camping　trips；　I've　raised　three　quasi…failures。　Christ；　it's　my　fault　that　it　ended　up　this　way；　but　there　it　is。　And　then　I　found　out　I　was　dying；　and　that　put　me　in　a　panic。　How　was　I　going　to　fix　things？
　He　paused；　turned。　He　was　breathing　hard　now；　and　his　face　was　flushed。
　Nothing　like　having　death　poke　his　stinking　mug　into　your　face　to　make　you　think　about　things。　I　had　to　figure　out　what　to　do　with　my　collection。　I　sure　as　hell　wasn't　going　to　give　it　to　a　museum　or　some　university　for　a　bunch　of　tweedy…dums　to　gloat　over。　And　I　wasn't　going　to　let　some　scummy　auction　house　or　dealer　get　rich　from　all　my　hard　work；　break　it　up　and　disperse　it　to　the　four　corners　after　I'd　spent　a　lifetime　assembling　it。　Absolutely　not。
　He　mopped　his　brow；　wadded　up　the　handkerchief　in　a　fist；　and　gestured　at　the　camera　with　it。
　I　had　always　planned　to　leave　it　to　you。　But　when　it　came　down　to　it；　I　realized　it　would　be　the　very　worst　thing　I　could　do　to　you。　No　way　was　I　going　to　hand　over　to　you　half　a　billion　dollars　that　you　hadn't　earned。
　He　went　back　behind　the　desk；　eased　his　enormous　frame　into　the　chair；　and　took　another　cigar　from　a　leather　box。
　Look　at　me；　still　smoking。　Too　late　now。
　He　clipped　the　end；　lit　it。　The　cloud　of　smoke　confused　the　automatic　focus　on　the　camera；　and　it　went　blurry；　shifting　back　and　forth；　trying　to　find　its　focus。　When　the　smoke　drifted　leftward　out　of　the　frame；　Maxwell　Broadbent's　square；　handsome　face　leapt　back　into　focus。
　And　then　it　came　to　me。　It　was　brilliant。　All　my　life　I'd　been　excavating　tombs　and　dealing　in　grave　goods。　I　knew　all　the　tricks　for　hiding　tombs；　every　booby　trap；　everything。　I　suddenly　realized　that　I；　too；　could　take　it　with　me。　And　then　I　could　do　something　for　you　that　would　really　be　a　legacy。
　He　paused；　clasped　his　hands；　and　leaned　forward。
　You're　going　to　earn　this　money。　I've　arranged　to　bury　myself　and　my　collection　in　a　tomb　somewhere　in　the　world。　I　challenge　you　to　find　me。　If　you　do；　you　can　rob　my　tomb　and　have　it　all。　That's　my　challenge　to　you；　my　three　sons。
　He　inhaled；　tried　to　smile。
　I　warn　you：　It's　going　to　be　difficult　and　dangerous。　Nothing　in　life　worth　doing　is　easy。　And　here's　the　kicker：　You'll　never　succeed　unless　you　cooperate。
　He　brought　his　massive　fist　down　on　the　desk。
　That's　it　in　a　nutshell。　I　didn't　do　much　for　you　in　life；　but　by　God　I'm　going　to　fix　that　with　my　death。
　He　got　up　again　and　walked　over　to　the　camera。　His　arm　reached　out　to　turn　it　off；　and　then；　as　an　afterthought；　he　paused；　his　blurry　face　looming　gigantically　on　the　screen：
　I've　never　been　much　on　sentiment；　so　I'll　just　say　to　you；　good…bye。　Good…bye；　Philip；　Vernon；　and　Tom。　Good…bye　and　good　luck。　I　love　you。
　The　screen　went　dead。
　
　5
　
　Tom　remained　on　the　sofa；　momentarily　unable　to　move。　Hutch　Barnaby　was　the　first　to　react。　He　rose　and　coughed　delicately　by　way　of　breaking　the　shocked　silence。
　〃Fenton？　Seems　we're　not　needed　here　any　longer。〃
　Fenton　nodded；　rising　awkwardly；　actually　blushing。
　Barnaby　turned　to　the　brothers　and　politely　touched　the　brim　of　his　cap。　〃As　you　can　see；　this　isn't　a　police　matter。　We'll　leave　you　to；　ah；　sort　things　out　on　your　own。〃　They　began　edging　toward　the　door　archway　that　led　to　the　hall。　They　couldn't　wait　to　get　away。
　Philip　rose。　〃Officer　Barnaby？〃　His　voice　was　half　choked。
　〃Yes？〃
　〃I　trust　you　won't　mention　this　to　anybody。　It　wouldn't　be　helpful　If　。。。　if　the　whole　world　started　looking　for　the　tomb。〃
　〃Good　point。　No　reason　to　mention　it　to　anyone。　No　reason　at　all。　I'll　call　off　the　SOC　boys。〃　He　backed　out；　and　disappeared。　A　moment　later　they　could　hear　the　sound　of　the　great　front　door　of　the　house　clanking　shut。
　The　three　brothers　remained。
　〃The　son　of　a　bitch；〃　Philip　said　quietly。　〃I　can't　believe　it。　The　son　of　a　bitch。〃
　Tom　glanced　at　his　brother's　white　face。　He　knew　that　he'd　been　living　rather　well　on　his　assistant　professor's　salary。　He　needed　the　money。　And　no　doubt　he　had　already　been　spending　it。
　Vernon　said；　〃What　now？〃
　The　word　hung　in　the　silence。
　〃I　can't　believe　the　old　bastard；〃　Philip　said。　〃Taking　a　dozen　old　master　paintings　to　the　grave　like　that；　not　to　mention　all　that　priceless　Mayan　jade　and　gold。　I'm　floored。〃　He　slipped　a　silk　handkerchief　out　of　his　vest　pocket　and　dabbed　his　brow。　〃He　had　no　right。〃
　〃So　what　do　we　do？〃　Vernon　repeated。
　Philip　stared　at　him。　〃We　go　find　the　tomb；　of　course。〃
　〃How？〃
　〃A　man　can't　bury　himself　with　half　a　billion　dollars　of　art　without　help。　We　find　out　who　helped　him。〃
　〃I　don't　believe　it；〃　Tom　said。　〃He　never　trusted　anybody　in　his　life。〃
　〃He　couldn't　have　done　it　on　his　own。〃　。　：
　〃It's　so　。。。　him；〃　said　Philip　suddenly。
　〃Maybe　he　left　clues。〃　Vernon　strode　over　to　the　breakfront　drawers；　jerked　one　open；　and　rummaged　through　it；　swearing。　He　pulled　out　a　second；　and　a　third；　being　so　agitated　that　the　drawer　came　out　all　the　way；　spilling　its　contents　to　the　floor…playing　cards；　Parcheesi；　chess；　Chinese　checkers。　Tom　remembered　them　all…the　old　games　of　their　childhood；　now　yellowed　and　shabby　with　age。　He　felt　a　cold　knot　in　his　chest；　this　is　what　it　had　e　to。　Vernon　cursed　and　gave　the　scattered　mess　a　kick；　sending　pieces　all　over　the　room。
　〃Vernon；　trashing　the　house　is　pointless。〃
　Vernon；　ignoring　him；　kept　opening　drawers；　sweeping　their　contents　onto　the　floor；　moving　on。
　Philip　slipped　his　pipe　out　of　his　trouser　pocket　and　lit　it　with　a　shaking　hand。　〃You're　wasting　your　time。　I　say　we　go　talk　to　Marcus　Hauser。　He's　the　key。〃
　Vernon　paused。　〃Hauser？　Father　hasn't　been　in　contact　with　him　in　forty　years。〃
　〃He's　the　only　one　who　really　knew　Father。　They　spent　two　years　together　in　Central　America。　If　anyone　knows　where　Father　went；　it's　him。〃
　〃Father　hates　Hauser。〃
　〃I　expect　they　had　a　reconciliation；　with　Father　sick　and　all。〃　Philip　flicked　open　a　gold　lighter　and　sucked　the　flame　into　the　bowl　of　his　pipe　with　a　gurgle。
　Vernon　moved　into　the　den。　Tom　could　hear　cupboards　being　opened　and　shut；　books　being　pulled　from　shelves；　things　crashing　to　the　floor。
　〃I'm　telling　you；　Hauser's　involved。　We've　got　to　move　fast。　I've　got　debts…I've　got　obligations。〃
　Vernon　came　back　from　the　den　carrying　a　boxful　of　papers；　which　he　slammed　down　on　the　coffee　table。　〃It　figures　you'd　already　be　spending　your　inheritance。〃
　Philip　turned　to　him　coolly。　〃Who　was　it　took　twenty　grand　from　Father　just　last　year？〃
　〃That　was　a　loan。〃　Vernon　started　shuffling　through　the　papers；　rifling　folders；　scattering　them　on　the　floor。　Tom　saw　their　old　elementary　school　report　cards　spilling　from　a　file。　It　surprised　him　that　their　father　had　bothered　to　save　those…particularly　when　he　had　been　none　too　pl