p&c.brimstone-第49节

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　out　and　talk　to　every　nut　who's　shaking　a　Bible。　You've　touched　a　nerve；　now　you've　got　to　keep　the　pressure　on；　keep　the　story　building。　And　bring　in　a　couple　of　colorful　personalities。　Find　the　leader　of　this　rabble。〃　
　〃What　if　there　isn't　a　leader？〃　
　〃Thenmake　one。　Set　him　up　on　a　pedestal；　pin　a　damn　medal　on　him。　I　smell　something　big　here。　And　you　know　what？　In　thirty　years；　I've　never　called　a　bad　one。〃　
　〃Yes；　sir。　Thank　you；　Mr。　Ritts。〃　Harriman　tried　to　keep　the　contempt　out　of　his　voice。　He　would　do　what　Ritts　wanted；　but　he　would　do　it　in　his　own　way。　
　Ritts　sucked　deep　on　his　cigarette；　tobacco　hissing　and　spitting。　Then　he　tossed　the　butt　onto　the　floor　and　ground　it　out　again　with　his　foot。　He　coughed　and　smiled；　displaying　a　rack　of　uneven　teeth　as　yellowed　as　the　stem　of　a　corncob　pipe。　
　〃Go　get　'em；　Harriman！〃　he　cackled。　
　　　
　42　
　
　Vasquez　worked　off　a　piece　of　green　chile　beef　jerky；　chewed　itmeditatively；　swallowed；　and　took　a　swig　of　bottled　water。　He　went　back　to　the　cryptic　crossword　from　theTimes　of　London；　pondered；　made　another　entry；　erased　an　earlier　one；　then　set　the　puzzle　aside。　
　He　sighed。　He　always　felt　a　little　nostalgic　at　the　close　of　an　operation：　knowing　he　would　have　to　leave；　that　all　his　preparations　and　deliberations　and　the　cozy　little　world　he　had　created　would　quickly　bee　ancient　history；　pawed　over　by　police　officers　and　photographers。　At　the　same　time；　he　looked　forward　to　seeing　sunlight　again；　breathing　fresh　air；　and　listening　to　the　thunder　of　surf。　Funny；　though；　how　he　never　felt　quite　so　free　and　alive　outside　as　he　did　within　a　cramped　kill　nest；　on　the　brink　of　a　kill。　
　He　checked　his　equipment　yet　again。　He　looked　through　the　scope；　made　an　infinitesimal　correction　with　the　windage　adjuster；　then　raised　his　eye　to　examine　the　flash　hider。　Just　a　few　minutes　now。　The　box　magazine　held　four　rounds；　with　another　in　the　chamber。　All　he'd　need　was　two。　Once　again　he　shed　his　clothes　and　put　on　his　disguise。　
　Five　minutes　to　one。　He　glanced　regretfully　around　his　nest；　at　everything　he　would　have　to　leave　behind。　How　many　times　had　he　actually　had　the　opportunity　to　finish　a　Times　cryptic？　He　rested　his　eye　against　the　scope　and　watched。　The　minutes　ticked　past。　
　Once　again　the　door　to　the　porte…cochère　opened。　Vasquez　slowed　his　breathing；　slowed　his　heart　rate。　Once　again　Pendergast's　head　and　shoulders　appeared　in　the　reticle。　This　time　Vasquez　couldn't　make　out　the　butler；　who　must　have　been　standing　too　far　inside　the　door　to　be　seen；　but　he　was　clearly　there；　because　Pendergast　was　faced　back　toward　the　doorway；　obviously　talking　to　somebody。　So　much　the　better：　an　off…center　shot　to　the　back　of　the　head　would　be　just　as　hard　to　analyze　later。　
　His　breath　suspended；　timing　his　shots　between　heartbeats；　Vasquez　pressed　his　cheek　against　the　pebbled　stock　and　squeezed　the　trigger　slowly。　The　weapon　bucked　in　his　hands；　in　a　flash；　he'd　drawn　the　bolt；　resighted；　and　fired　again。　
　The　first　shot　had　been　perfectly　placed。　It　spun　the　target　in　exactly　the　right　way；　the　next　shot　ing　a　split　second　later；　entering　just　above　the　ear；　the　head　exploding　in　all　directions。　Pendergast　fell　back　into　the　shadows　of　the　door　frame　and　disappeared。　
　Vasquez　now　moved　with　a　swiftness　born　of　years　of　practice。　Leaving　the　lights　out；　he　threw　the　gun　and　laptop　into　a　duffel；　slung　it　over　his　shoulder；　and　snugged　on　the　night…vision　goggles　that　would　help　him　to　get　out　the　back　of　the　darkened　building。　He　plugged　the　shooting　hole；　strode　to　the　door；　and　with　the　battery…powered　screwdriver　backed　out　the　four　screws　that　held　the　door　shut。　Then　he　stripped　off　the　gaffing　tape　sealing　the　jambs　and　quietly　opened　the　door；　stepping　noiselessly　into　the　hall。　
　A　flash　of　light　overloaded　his　goggles；　blinding　him；　he　tore　them　off；　reaching　down　to　pull　out　a　sidearm；　but　a　figure　in　the　hallway　moved　too　fast；　he　was　slammed　into　the　wall；　still　blinded；　and　the　gun　went　skittering　down　the　passage。　
　Vasquez　swung　wildly　at　his　attacker；　barely　connecting；　and　received　a　tremendous　blow　to　the　ribs　in　return。　He　swung　again；　this　time　connecting　solidly；　dropping　his　assailant。　It　was　the　Southampton　cop。　In　a　fury；　Vasquez　yanked　out　his　knife　and　leaped　on　him；　aiming　for　the　heart。　A　foot　lashed　out　from　one　side；　he　felt　it　connect　with　his　forearm；　heard　the　snap；　fell　to　the　floor；　and　was　immediately　pinned。　
　The　cop　was　on　him。　And　there；　beyond　the　brilliant　glow　of　the　lamp；he　stood。　Pendergast。　The　man　he　had　just　killed。　
　Vasquez　stared；　his　mind　instantly　rearranging　the　facts。　
　It　had　been　a　setup。　They　must've　known　almost　from　the　start　what　was　going　on。　Pendergast　had　played　his　part　perfectly。　Vasquez　had　shot　some　dummy；　some　special…effects　dummy。　Mother　of　God。　
　He　had　failed。　Failed。　
　Vasquez　couldn't　quite　believe　it。　
　Pendergast　was　staring　at　him　closely；　frowning。　Suddenly　his　eyes　widened；　as　if　in　understanding。　〃His　mouth！〃　he　said　sharply。　
　D'Agosta　shoved　something　wooden　between　his　teeth；　as　he　would　for　a　dog　or　an　epileptic。　But　it　wouldn't　do　any　good；　Vasquez　thought　as　the　pain　began　to　build　in　his　broken　arm。　That　wasn't　where　he　carried　his　cyanide。　The　needle　had　been　in　the　tip　of　his　pinkie　finger；　shot　off　many　years　ago　and　now　harnessed　to　another　purpose。　He　pressed　the　prosthetic　fingertip　hard　into　his　palm；　felt　the　ampoule　break；　pressed　the　needle　into　his　skin。　The　pain　died　away　as　numbness　began　stealing　up　his　arm。　
　The　day　I　fail　is　the　day　I　die　。　。　。　
　　　
　43　
　
　The　cab　pulled　up　at　the　grand　courtyard　of　the　HelmsleyPalace。　D'Agosta　hastened　around　the　cab　and　opened　the　door　for　Hayward；　who　got　out；　looking　around　at　the　fanciful　topiaries　covered　with　lights；　the　Baroque　facade　of　the　Helmsley　Palace　rising　around　her。　
　〃This　is　where　we're　having　dinner？〃　
　D'Agosta　nodded。　〃Le　Cirque　2000。〃　
　〃Oh　my　God。　When　I　said　a　nice　dinner；　I　didn't　mean　this。〃　
　D'Agosta　took　her　arm　and　led　her　to　the　door。　〃Why　not？　If　we're　going　to　start　something；　let's　start　it　right。〃　
　Hayward　knew　that　Le　Cirque　2000　was　possibly　the　most　expensive　restaurant　in　New　York　City。　She　had　always　felt　unfortable　when　men　spent　a　pile　on　her；　as　if　money　was　somehow　the　way　to　her　heart。　But　this　time　it　felt　different。　It　said　something　about　Vinnie　D'Agosta；　about　how　he　looked　at　their　relationship；　that　boded　well　for　the　future。　
　Future？　She　wondered　why　that　word　had　even　entered　her　mind。　This　was　a　first　date…sort　of。　D'Agosta　wasn't　even　divorced；　had　a　wife　and　kid　in　Canada。　True；　he　was　interesting；　and　he　was　a　damn　good　cop。Take　it　easy　and　see　where　it　goes…that's　all。　
　They　entered　the　restaurant…jammed；　even　on　a　Sunday　night…and　were　met　by　one　of　those　ma？tre　d's　who　managed　to　convey　an　outward　expression　of　groveling　subservience　while　simultaneously　projecting　inner　contempt。　He　regretted　to　inform　them　that；　despite　their　reservation；　the　table　wasn't　ready；　if　they　would　care　to　make　themselves　fortable　in　the　bar；　it　shouldn't　be　more　than　thirty　minutes；　forty　at　the　outside。　
　〃Excuse　me。　Did　you　say　forty　minutes？〃　D'Agosta　spoke　in　a　quiet　yet　menacing　way。　
　〃There's　a　large　party　。　。　。　I'll　see　what　I　can　do。〃　
　〃You'll　see　what　you　can　do？〃　D'Agosta　smiled　and　took　a　step　closer。　〃Or　you'll　do　it？〃　
　〃I'll　do　what　I　can；　sir。〃　
　〃I　have　no　doubt　that　what　youcan　do　is　get　us　a　table　in　fifteen　minutes；　and　that　is　what　youwill　do。〃　
　〃Of　course。　Naturally；　sir。〃　Now　the　ma？tre　d'　was　in　full　retreat。　〃And　in　the　meantime；〃　he　went　on；　voice　artificially　high　and　bright；　〃I'll　have　a　bottle　of　champagne　sent　to　your　table；　pliments　of　the　house。〃　
　D'Agosta　took　her　arm　and　they　went　into　the　bar；　which　was　decorated　with　a　confusion　of　neon　lights　Hayward　figured　must　somehow　represent　the　〃circus〃　theme　of　the　restaurant。　It　was　fun…if　you　didn't　have　to　spend　too　long　in　there。　
　They　sat　down　at　a　table；　and　a　waiter　soon　appeared　unbidden　with　menus；　two　glasses；　and　a　chilled　bottle　of　Veuve　Clicquot。　
　She　laughed。　〃That　was　pretty　effective；　the　way　you　handled　that　ma？tre　d'。〃　
　〃If　I　can't　intimidate　a　waiter；　what　kind　of　a　cop　am　I？〃　
　〃I　think　he　was　expecting　a　tip。〃　
　D'Agosta　glanced　at　her　quickly。　〃You　do？〃　
　〃But　you　managed　it　all　right　and　saved　yourself　some　money。〃　
　D'Agosta　grunted。　〃Next　time　I'll　give　him　a　fiver。〃　
　〃That　would　be　worse　than　nothing　at　all。　The　going　rate　is　at　least　twenty。〃　
　〃Jesus。　Life　is　plicated　at　the　top。〃　He　raised　his　glass。　〃Toast？〃　
　She　raised　hers。　
　〃To　。　。　。〃　He　hesitated。　〃To　New　York's　finest。〃　
　She　felt　relieved　he　hadn't　said　what　she　expected。　They　clinked　glasses。　She　sipped；　looking　at　him　while　he　studied　the　menu　the　waiter　had　left。　It　seemed　he'd　slimmed　down　a　bit　since　she　first　ran　into　him　at　Cutforth's　apartment。　He'd　mentioned　something　about　working　out　every　day；　and　it　was　pretty　evident　he　wasn't　kidding。　Working　out　and　shooting　at　the　27th　Precinct　range。　She　took　in　his　hard；　clean　jawline；　jet…black　hair；　soft　brown　eyes。　He　had　a　nice　face；　a　really　nice　face。　He　seemed　to　be　that　ra