p&c.brimstone-第68节

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glow；　and　the　air　was　redolent　with　frankincense　and　myrrh。　He　resisted　the　impulse　to　go　down　on　his　knees。　He　reminded　himself　he　was　a　policeman；　this　was　a　crime　scene；　and　the　idea　that　the　devil　had　e　and　claimed　Bullard's　soul　was　ridiculous。　
　And　yet；　in　the　perfumed　darkness；　it　didn't　feel　the　least　bit　ridiculous。　His　hand　shook　as　it　clutched　the　cross。　
　Now　the　carabinieri　burst　into　thesalone　。　D'Agosta　heard　a　gasp；　some　muffled　expostulations　of　shock；　what　sounded　like　a　prayer　being　quickly　intoned。　Then　came　the　familiar　sounds　of　a　crime　scene　being　secured　and　floodlights　being　set　up。　A　moment　later　the　room　beyond　was　bathed　in　almost　unbearably　bright　light。　A　beam　lanced　into　the　chapel；　striking　the　marble　Christ　behind　the　altar　and　setting　it　aglow。　
　A　man　appeared　in　the　doorway；　casting　a　long　shadow。　He　was　dressed；　not　in　uniform；　but　in　a　tailored　gray　suit；　a　couple　of　gold　leaves　on　his　lapel　signifying　rank。　He　paused；　staring。　To　D'Agosta；　he　seemed　no　more　than　an　outline；　framed　in　brilliant　light；　a　short…barreled　9mm　Beretta　Parabellum　in　his　hand。　
　〃Rimanete　seduti；　mani　in　alto；　per　cortesìa；〃he　said　calmly。　
　〃Remain　seated；　hands　in　view；〃　translated　Pendergast。　〃We're　policemen…〃　
　〃Tacete！〃　
　D'Agosta　suddenly　remembered　they　were　dressed　in　black；　their　faces　still　half　painted。　God　only　knew　what　this　police　officer　was　thinking。　
　The　man　advanced；　gun　in　hand；　not　exactly　aimed　at　them　but　not　quite　aimed　away；　either。　〃Who　are　you？〃　he　asked　in　lightly…accented　English。　
　〃Special　Agent　Pendergast；　Federal　Bureau　of　Investigation；　United　States　of　America。〃　Pendergast's　wallet　was　in　his　hand；　and　it　fell　open　to　reveal　his　shield　on　one　side；　his　ID　on　the　other。　
　〃And　you？〃　
　〃Sergeant　Vincent　D'Agosta；　Southampton　Police　Department；　FBI　liaison。　We're…〃　
　〃Basta。〃The　man　stepped　forward。　He　reached　for　Pendergast's　wallet；　looked　at　the　badge；　the　ID　card。　〃Are　you　the　one　who　called　in　the　homicide？〃　
　〃Yes。〃　
　〃What　are　you　doing　here？〃　
　〃We　are　investigating　a　series　of　murders　in　the　United　States；　which　that　man〃…Pendergast　nodded　out　into　the　great　room…〃was　connected　to。〃　
　〃Mafiosi？〃　
　〃No。〃　
　The　man　looked　visibly　relieved。　〃You　know　the　identity　of　the　deceased？〃　
　〃Locke　Bullard。〃　
　The　man　handed　back　the　wallet；　gestured　at　their　outfits。　〃Are　these　the　newest　uniforms　among　the　FBI？〃　
　〃It's　a　long　story；　Colonnello。〃　
　〃How　did　you　get　here？〃　
　〃You　will　find　our　car…if　you　haven't　already…in　the　olive　grove　across　the　street。　A　black　Fiat　Stylo。　I　will；　of　course；　prepare　a　formal　report　for　you　on　all　the　particulars：　who　we　are；　why　we're　here。　Some　of　it　is　already　on　file　at　the　Questura。〃　
　〃God；　no。　No　reports。　It　is　so　inconvenient　when　facts　get　written　down。　At　the　proper　time；　we　will　talk　about　it　over　an　espresso；　like　civilized　human　beings。〃　The　man　moved　out　of　the　glaring　backlight。　For　the　first　time；　D'Agosta　could　see　his　features：　prominent　cheekbones；　cleft　chin；　and　deep…set　eyes。　He　was　about　sixty；　and　he　moved　with　a　stiff　military　bearing；　his　graying　hair　brushed　back；　restless　eyes　taking　in　everything。　
　〃I　am　Colonnello　Orazio　Esposito。　Forgive　me　for　not　introducing　myself　earlier。〃　He　shook　their　hands。　〃Who　is　your　liaison　at　the　Questura？〃　
　〃missario　Simoncini。〃　
　〃I　see。　And　what　do　you　make　of　this　。　。　。〃　He　nodded　again　toward　the　great　room。　〃This　。　。　。casino　？〃　
　〃It　is　the　third　in　a　series　of　murders；　the　first　two　of　which　took　place　in　New　York。〃　
　A　cynical　smile　grew　on　Esposito's　face。　〃I　can　see　we're　going　to　have　quite　a　lot　to　talk　about；　Special　Agent　Pendergast。　Listen。　There　is　a　nice　littlecaffè　in　Borgo　Ognissanti；　just　two　doors　down　from　the　church　and　very　near　our　headquarters。　Shall　we　meet　there　at　eight　this　morning？　Unofficially；　of　course。〃　
　〃It　would　be　my　pleasure。〃　
　〃And　now　it　would　be　better　if　you　leave。　We'll　make　no　note　of　your　presence　in　the　official　report。　To　have　the　American　FBI　reporting　a　crime　on　Italian　soil　。　。　。〃　His　smile　broadened。　〃It　just　wouldn't　do。〃　
　He　briskly　shook　their　hands　and　turned　on　his　heel；　crossing　himself　so　rapidly　as　he　passed　the　altar　D'Agosta　wasn't　sure　if　he　had　done　it　at　all。　
　　　
　60　
　
　D'Agosta　had　seen　a　lot　of　police　headquarters　in　his　time；　butthe　so…called　barracks　of　the　carabinieri　in　Florence　beat　them　all。　It　wasn't　a　barracks　at　all；　but　rather　a　decaying　Renaissance　building…D'Agosta　thought　it　was　Renaissance；　anyway…facing　a　narrow　medieval　street。　It　was　huddled　up　beside　the　famous　Ognissanti　Church；　its　gray　limestone　facade　streaked　with　dirt；　every　ledge　and　projection　covered　with　needle…like　spikes　to　ward　off　pigeons。　Florence　itself　was　nothing　like　what　he'd　imagined：　even　in　the　warm；　mid…October　light；　the　city　seemed　austere；　its　crooked　streets　always　in　shadow；　the　rough…cut　stone　facades　of　its　buildings　almost　grim。　The　air　smelled　of　diesel　fumes；　and　the　impossibly　narrow　sidewalks　were　clogged　with　slow…moving　tourists　dressed　in　floppy　hats　and　khaki　shorts；　with　packs　on　their　backs　and　water　bottles　strapped　to　their　waists；　as　if　they　were　on　an　expedition　into　the　Sahara　rather　than　walking　around　perhaps　the　most　civilized　city　in　the　world。　
　They　had　met　thecolonnello　in　the　nearby　café；　as　planned；　and　Pendergast　had　quickly　brought　him　up　to　speed　on　their　investigation…omitting；　D'Agosta　noticed；　certain　small　but　critical　details。　Now　they　were　following　him　back　to　his　office；　single　file；　fighting　a　steady　stream　of　Japanese　tourists　ing　in　the　opposite　direction。　
　Thecolonnello　turned　into　the　grand　arched　entryway　of　the　barracks；　over　which　hung　a　limp　Italian　flag…the　first　D'Agosta　had　seen　since　arriving　in　Italy。　They　passed　through　a　colonnaded　corridor　and　into　a　vast　interior　courtyard。　Once　elegant；　the　courtyard　itself　had　been　turned　into　a　parking　lot　and　was　wall…to…wall　with　police　vans　and　cars；　packed　together　with　such　mathematical　precision　it　seemed　impossible　to　move　one　without　moving　them　all。　The　windows　looking　down　on　the　courtyard　were　all　open；　and　from　them　issued　a　continuous　clamor　of　ringing　telephones；　voices；　and　slamming　doors；　magnified　and　distorted　by　the　confined　space。　
　They　turned　into　another　vaulted　corridor　lined　with　stone　pillars…the　crumbling　remains　of　religious　frescoes　still　visible…past　a　battered　statue　of　a　saint；　then　up　a　massive　flight　of　stone　stairs　and　into　a　warren　of　modern　cubicles　constructed　haphazardly　out　of　what　had　once　been　a　single　pillared　room。　
　〃Thecaserma；　〃　said　Esposito　as　they　walked；　〃was　once　the　monastery　connected　to　the　Ognissanti　Church。　That　large　room　is　the　secretarial　pool；　and　beyond〃…he　waved　his　hand　at　a　series　of　small　but　massive　oaken　doors　giving　onto　tiny　offices…〃are　the　work　spaces　of　the　officers；　built　in　the　former　cells　of　the　monks。〃　
　They　turned　a　corner　and　proceeded　down　yet　another　vaulted　corridor。　〃The　refectory；　where　the　monks　used　to　eat；　has　an　important　fresco　by　Ghirlandaio　that　nobody　ever　sees。〃　
　〃Indeed。〃　
　〃Here　in　Italy；　we　make　do　with　what　we　have。〃　
　Reaching　the　far　end　of　the　corridor；　they　went　up　another　flight　of　stairs。　From　the　landing；　they　passed　through　what　D'Agosta　realized　must　have　once　been　a　secret　door　in　the　wall；　mounted　a　tiny　circular　staircase；　passed　through　crowded　rooms　smelling　of　mold　and　overheated　fax　machines…and　then　suddenly　arrived　at　a　small；　grimy　door　bearing　nothing　but　a　number。　Here　Esposito　stopped　with　a　smile。　Then　he　pushed　the　door　open　and　ushered　them　in。　
　D'Agosta　stepped　into　a　light…flooded　room　that　ended　in　a　wall　of　glassed…in　columns　and　arches。　Beyond　lay　a　sweeping　view　southward；　over　the　Arno　River。　Almost　despite　himself；　he　was　drawn　toward　the　view。　
　From　above；　finally；　Florence　looked　like　he　had　imagined　it：　a　city　of　church　domes　and　towers；　red…tile　roofs；　gardens；　and　piazze；　surrounded　by　steep　green　hills　covered　with　fairy…tale　castles。　There　was　the　Ponte　Vecchio　and　the　Pitti　Palace；　the　Boboli　Gardens；　the　dome　of　San　Frediano　in　Cestello；　and；　beyond；　the　hill　of　Bellosguardo。　It　was　a　moment　before　he　could　shift　his　attention　back　to　the　room　itself。　
　It　was　large　and　open；　filled　with　rows　of　old　mahogany　desks。　The　floor；　polished　by　five　hundred　years　of　feet；　was　inlaid　in　a　striking　array　of　colored　marbles；　and　on　the　stuccoed　walls　hung　giant　paintings　of　old　men　in　armor。　There　was　a　tense　air　in　the　room；　and　a　number　of　men　in　suits　at　the　desks　were　glancing　nervously　in　their　direction。　The　killing…and　its　bizarre　particulars　especially…were　clearly　on　everyone's　mind。　
　〃Wele　to　the　Nucleo　Investigativo；　the　elite　unit　of　the　carabinieri　of　which　I　am　in　charge。　We　investigate　the　major　crimes。〃　Esposito　looked　at　D'Agosta　sideways。　〃Is　this　your　first　visit　to　Italy；　Sergeant　D'Agosta？〃　
　〃It　is。〃　
　〃And　how　do　you　find　it？〃　
　〃It's　。　。　。　not　quite　what　I　expected。〃　
　He　could　see　a　faint　look　of　amusement　in　the　man's　eyes。　Esposito's　hand　swept　over　the　skyline。　〃Beautiful；　no？〃　
　〃From　up　here。〃　
　〃The　Florentines　。　。　。〃　He　rolled　his　eyes。　〃They　live　in　the　past。　The