p&c.brimstone-第65节

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g　left　out。　The　stakes　were　greater　than　his　life…because；　it　seemed；　the　consequences　would　not　end　with　his　death。　
　He　paused；　preparations　almost　plete。　It　would　not　be　long　now。　It　would　be　over　and　then　he　could　begin　again。　There　would　be；　of　course；　minor　loose　ends　to　take　care　of：　the　disappearance　of　Pendergast　and　D'Agosta；　for　example；　the　Chinese　and　what　had　happened　in　Paterson。　But　it　would　be　a　relief　to　return　to　business　as　usual。　Those　problems；　as　tricky　as　they　were；　belonged　to　the　real　world；　and　he　could　handle　them。　They　were　small　potatoes　pared　tothis　。　
　He　went　over　the　manuscript　page　again；　then　yet　again；　making　sure　he　had　missed　nothing。　Then；　almost　against　his　will；　his　gaze　shifted　to　the　old　rectangular　box　sitting　on　the　table。　Now　it　was　time　forthat　。　
　He　reached　out；　undid　the　brass　latch。　He　caressed　the　polished　surface　of　the　box　and　then…with　a　terrible　reluctance…opened　it。　A　faint　scent　of　antique　wood　and　horsehair　wafted　upward。　He　breathed　it　in：　this　ancient　perfume；　this　priceless　scent。　With　a　trembling　hand；　he　reached　into　the　darkness　of　the　box；　stroked　the　smooth　object　inside。　He　did　not　dare　take　it　out…handling　it　had　always　frightened　him　a　little。　It　was　not　made　for　him　at　all。　It　was　made　for　others。　Others　who；　if　he　was　successful；　would　never　see　it　again　。　。　。　
　A　sudden　rush　of　regret；　anger；　fear；　and　helplessness　staggered　him。　He　was　almost　overwhelmed　by　the　sheer　force　of　it。　Incredible　that　a　thought　could　virtually　bring　him　to　his　knees。　He　gasped　again；　breathing　hard；　took　a　firm　grip　on　the　heavy　table。　What　had　to　be　done；　had　to　be　done。　
　He　carefully　closed　the　box；　latched　it；　and　placed　it　on　the　ground　inside　the　smaller；　broken　circle。　He　wouldn't　look　at　it　again；　wouldn't　torture　himself　further。　With　a　troubled　heart；　he　glanced　over　at　the　clock。　It　responded　by　chiming　out　the　quarter　hour；　the　bell…like　tones　a　strange　counterpoint　to　the　oppressive　darkness　of　the　room。　Bullard　swallowed；　worked　his　jaw；　and　finally；　with　a　supreme　effort；　spoke　the　words　he　had　memorized　so　carefully。　
　It　was　the　work　of　ninety　seconds　to　plete　the　incantation。　
　At　first；　nothing　happened。　He　strained；　listening；　but　there　was　not　a　sound；　not　a　sigh；　nothing。　Had　he　said　it　incorrectly？　With　the　help　gone；　the　place　was　as　quiet　as　the　tomb。　
　His　eye　drifted　back　to　the　manuscript　page。　Should　he　recite　it　again？　But　no…the　ceremony　had　to　be　performed　precisely；　without　deviation。　Repetition　could　have　disastrous；　unimaginable　consequences。　
　As　he　waited；　there　in　the　faint　light；　he　wondered　if　perhaps　it　wasn't　true；　after　all：　that　it　was　all　hollow　superstition。　But　at　this　thought；　such　a　desperate　mixture　of　hope　and　uncertainty　rose　within　him　that　he　forced　himself　to　push　it　aside。　He　was　not　wrong。　There　could　be　no　other　answer　。　。　。　
　Then　he　felt；　or　thought　he　felt；　a　strange　shifting　of　the　air。　A　faint　smell　came　to　him；　drifting　across　thesalone　。　It　was　the　acrid　odor　of　sulfur。　
　A　breeze　shifted　the　curtains　of　the　window。　The　room　seemed　to　grow　dimmer；　as　if　a　great　darkness　was　encroaching　from　all　directions。　He　felt　himself　go　rigid　with　fear　and　anticipation。It　was　happening。　The　incantation　was　working；　just　as　promised。　
　He　waited；　almost　afraid　to　breathe。　The　smell　got　stronger；　and　now　it　almost　seemed　as　if　tendrils　of　smoke　were　drifting　in　the　lazy　air　of　the　room；　tendrils　that　licked　about　the　windows　and　curled　in　the　corners。　He　felt　a　strange　sense　of　apprehension；　of　physical　dread。　Yes；　it　was　aphysical　sensation；　a　harbinger　of　what　was　to　e；　and　the　air　seemed　to　congeal　with　a　rising　warmth。　
　Bullard　stood　within　the　greater　circle；　his　heart　pounding；　his　eyes　straining　to　see　beyond　the　darkened　doorway。　A　vague　outline　。　。　。　a　lumbering；　slow…moving　shape　。　。　。　
　He'd　done　it！　He'd　succeeded！He　was　ing！He　was　really　ing　。　。　。　！　
　　　
　57　
　
　D'Agosta　felt　numb。　The　shot；　the　silence；　and　the　finalsplash…this　was　really　it。　
　〃e　on；〃　his　minder　said；　giving　him　a　push。　
　D'Agosta　couldn't　move；　he　couldn't　believe　what　was　happening。　
　〃Move！〃　The　man　jabbed　D'Agosta　in　the　back　of　the　head　with　his　gun　barrel。　
　He　stumbled　forward；　mechanically　trying　to　keep　his　footing　among　discarded　pieces　of　stone。　The　moldy　breath　of　the　open　shaft　washed　over　him。　Six　steps；　eight；　a　dozen。　
　〃Stop。〃　
　Now　he　could　feel　the　foul　air　tickling　his　nose；　stirring　his　hair。　Everything　seemed　abnormally　clear；　and　time　had　slowed　to　a　crawl。Jesus；　what　a　way　to　go　out。　
　The　gun　barrel　pressed　hard　against　his　skull。　D'Agosta　squeezed　his　eyes　tightly　closed　behind　the　blindfold；　prayed　for　a　quick　end。　
　He　took　a　shallow　breath；　another。　Then　came　a　deafening　gunshot。　He　fell　forward　into　space　。　。　。　
　。　。　。　Vaguely；　as　if　at　a　great　distance；　he　sensed　a　steel　arm　shooting　out　from　behind　and　hauling　him　back　from　the　utter　brink。　The　hand　let　go；　and　D'Agosta　collapsed　immediately　onto　the　rock…strewn　grass。　A　moment　later　he　heard　a　body…not　his…hitting　the　water　far　below。　
　〃Vincent？〃　
　It　was　Pendergast。　
　A　snick　and　his　blindfold　was　removed；　another　snick　and　Pendergast　had　cut　off　his　gag。　D'Agosta　lay　where　he　had　fallen；　stunned。　
　〃Wake　up；　Vincent。〃　
　Slowly；　D'Agosta　came　back。　Pendergast　was　standing　to　one　side；　gun　trained　on　his　own　minder；　binding　him　to　a　tree。　D'Agosta's　man　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　
　D'Agosta　stumbled　woodenly　to　his　feet。　He　felt　a　strange　wetness　on　his　face。　Tears？　Dew　from　the　grass？　It　seemed　a　miracle。　He　swallowed；　managed　to　croak；　〃How　。　。　。　？〃　
　But　Pendergast　simply　shook　his　head　and　glanced　into　the　yawning　mouth　of　the　shaft。　〃I　think　his　shoe　troubles　are　over。〃　Then　he　glanced　at　the　remaining　guard　and　flashed　him　a　brief；　chilling　smile。　
　The　man　paled　and　mumbled　something　through　his　gag。　
　Pendergast　turned　to　D'Agosta。　〃Show　me　your　finger。〃　
　D'Agosta　had　forgotten　all　about　it。　Pendergast　took　his　hand；　examined　it。　〃Done　with　a　sharp　knife。　You're　lucky：　neither　the　bone　nor　the　root　of　the　nail　was　affected。〃　He　tore　a　strip　of　cloth　from　the　hem　of　his　black　shirt　and　bandaged　it。　〃It　might　be　wise　to　get　you　to　a　hospital。〃　
　〃The　hell　with　that。　We're　going　after　Bullard。〃　
　Pendergast　raised　his　eyebrows。　〃I'm　delighted　to　hear　that　we　are　of　the　same　opinion。　Yes；　now　is　a　good　opportunity。　As　for　your　finger…〃　
　〃Forget　the　finger。〃　
　〃As　you　wish。　Here's　your　service　piece。〃　
　Pendergast　handed　him　the　Glock　9mm；　then　turned　to　his　minder　and　aimed　his　own　Les　Baer　at　the　man's　temple。　〃You　have　one　chance…only　one…to　tell　us　the　best　route　out。　I　already　know　a　great　deal　about　the　layout　of　this　place；　so　any　attempt　to　deceive　will　be　detected　and　instantly　answered　with　a　bullet　to　the　parietal　lobe。　Understand？〃　
　The　man　couldn't　talk　fast　enough。　
　An　hour　later；　Pendergast　and　D'Agosta　were　driving　south　of　Florence　on　the　Via　Volterrana；　a　dark；　stone…walled　road　that　curved　along　the　hilltops　south　of　the　city。　A　faint　scattering　of　lights　winked　from　the　surrounding　hills。　
　〃How　did　you　do　it？〃　D'Agosta　asked。　He　could　still　hardly　believe　it。　〃I　thought　we　were　about　to　buy　the　farm。〃　
　They　were　still　in　their　black　stealth　outfits；　and　only　Pendergast's　hands　and　face　could　be　seen。　In　the　dim　light　of　the　dashboard；　his　expression　was　hard　and　flat。　〃I　have　to　admit　a　moment　of　disfort　back　there　myself。　We　were　lucky　they　decided　to　separate；　to　kill　us　one　at　a　time。　That　was　their　first　mistake。　The　second　was　overconfidence　and　inattention。　The　third　was　my　man　keeping　his　gun　pressed　into　me…which；　of　course；　revealed　exactly　where　the　weapon　was　at　all　times。　I　always　carry　a　few　small　tools　in　my　shirt　cuff；　the　hem　of　my　trousers；　other　places。　It's　an　old　magicians'　trick。　I　used　these　to　pick　the　lock　of　my　cuffs。　Luckily；　the　Italian　locks　were　rather　crude。　When　we　halted　at　the　pit；　I　disarmed　my　opponent　with　a　blow　to　the　solar　plexus；　removed　my　blindfold　and　gag。　I　then　shot　the　gun　into　the　air　while　pushing　a　heavy　rock　into　the　quarry　with　my　foot。　Next　I　instructed　my　guard　to　order　you　brought　forward…which　he　did　as　soon　as　he　recovered　his　wind。　I　regret　shooting　your　guard；　but　there　would　have　been　no　way　to　manage　both　of　them　。　。　。　I　do　not　care　for　killing　people　in　cold　blood；　but　there　was　no　help　for　it。〃　
　He　fell　silent。　
　D'Agosta　felt　his　own　anger　grow。He　had　no　sense　of　regret。　His　finger　was　throbbing　painfully　again；　in　time　to　the　beat　of　his　heart。Bullard。　Pendergast　had　been　correct：　the　man　would　pay　dearly。　
　The　car　swung　around　a　curve；　and　there；　a　half　mile　ahead；　D'Agosta　could　see　the　outline　of　a　villa　silhouetted　against　the　faint　glow　of　the　night　sky；　a　crenellated　tower　on　one　end　framed　by　cypress　trees。　
　〃Machiavelli's　place　of　exile；〃　murmured　Pendergast。　
　The　car　dipped　into　a　valley；　cruising　along　an　ancient　wall。　Pendergast　slowed　as　they　approached　an　iron　gate；　then　turned　off　the　road。　They　hid　the　car　in　an　olive　grove　and　approached　the　gate。　
　〃I　was　expecting　heavy　security；〃　Pendergast　said　after　quickly　examining　the　lock。　〃Instead；　this　gate's　open。〃　H