sk.runningman-第35部分

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　　〃Sit　down；〃　Killian　said；　and　his　voice　was　as　cold　as　the　deep　space　between　planets。　〃It's　time　you　remembered　who　pays　your　salary；　Mr。　Chief　Hunter。〃
　　〃I'm　going　to　the　Council　President　with　this！　〃　McCone　was　raving　now。　Spittle　flew　from　his　lips。　〃You're　going　to　be　chopping　cotton　when　this　is　over；　nig！　You　goddam　worthless　night…fighting　sonofabitch…〃
　　〃Please　throw　your　gun　on　the　floor；〃　a　new　voice　said。　Richards　looked　around；　startled。　It　was　Donahue；　the　navigator；　looking　colder　and　deadlier　than　ever。　His　greased　hair　gleamed　in　the　cabin's　indirect　lighting。　He　was　holding　a　wire…stock　Magnum/Springstun　machine　pistol；　and　it　was　trained　on　McCone。　〃Robert　S。　Donahue；　old…timer。　Games　Council　Control。　Throw　it　on　the　floor。〃
　　
　　Minus　015　and　COUNTING
　　McCone　looked　at　him　for　a　long　second；　and　then　the　gun　thumped　on　the　heavy　pile　of　the　carpet。　〃You…〃
　　〃I　think　we've　heard　all　the　rhetoric　we　need；〃　Donahue　said。　〃Go　back　into　second　class　and　sit　down　like　a　good　boy。〃
　　McCone　backed　up　several　paces；　snarling　futilely。　He　looked　to　Richards　like　a　vampire　in　an　old　horror　movie　that　had　been　thwarted　by　a　cross。
　　When　he　was　gone；　Donahue　threw　Richards　a　sardonic　little　salute　with　the　barrel　of　his　gun　and　smiled。　〃He　won't　bother　you　again。〃
　　〃You　still　look　like　a　queer…stomper；〃　Richards　said　evenly。
　　The　small　smile　faded。　Donahue　stared　at　him　with　sudden；　empty　dislike　for　a　moment；　and　then　went　forward　again。
　　Richards　turned　back　to　the　Free…Vee　screen。　He　found　that　his　pulse　rate　had　remained　perfectly　steady。　He　had　no　shortness　of　breath；　no　rubber　legs。　Death　had　bee　a　normality。
　　〃Are　you　there；　Mr。　Richards？〃　Killian　asked。
　　〃Yes　I　am。〃
　　〃The　problem　has　been　handled？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃Good。　Let　me　get　back　to　what　I　was　saying。〃
　　〃Go　ahead。〃
　　Killian　sighed　at　his　tone。　〃I　was　saying　that　our　knowledge　of　your　bluff　makes　your　position　worse；　but　makes　our　credibility　better。　Do　you　see　why？〃
　　〃Yes；〃　Richards　said　detachedly。　〃It　means　you　could　have　blown　this　bird　out　of　the　sky　anytime。　Or　you　could　have　had　Holloway　set　the　plane　down　at　will。　McCone　would　have　bumped　me。〃
　　〃Exactly。　Do　you　believe　we　know　you　are　bluffing？〃
　　〃No。　But　you're　better　than　McCone。　Using　your　planted　houseboy　was　a　fine　stroke。〃
　　Killian　laughed。　〃Oh；　Richards。　You　are　such　a　peach。　Such　a　rare；　iridescent　bird。　〃　And　yet　again　it　sounded　forced；　tense；　pressured。　It　came　to　Richards　that　Killian　was　holding　information　which　he　wanted　badly　not　to　tell。
　　〃If　you　really　had　it；　you　would　have　pulled　the　string　when　McCone　put　the　gun　to　your　head。　You　knew　he　was　going　to　kill　you。　Yet　you　sat　there。〃
　　Richards　knew　it　was　over；　knew　that　they　knew。　A　smile　cracked　his　features。　Killian　would　appreciate　that。　He　was　a　man　of　a　sharp　and　sardonic　turn　of　mind。　Make　them　pay　to　see　the　hole　card；　then。
　　〃I'm　not　buying　any　of　this。　If　you　push　me；　everything　goes　bang。〃
　　〃And　you　wouldn't　be　the　man　you　are　if　you　didn't　spin　it　out　to　the　very　end。　Mr。　Donahue？〃
　　〃Yes；　sir。　〃　Donahue's　cool；　efficient；　emotionless　voice　came　over　the　voice　and　out　of　the　Free…Vee　almost　simultaneously。
　　〃Please　go　back　and　remove　Mrs。　Williams's　pocketbook　from　Mr。　Richards's　pocket。　You're　not　to　harm　him　in　any　way。〃
　　〃Yes；　sir。　〃　Richards　was　eerily　reminded　of　the　plastipunch　that　had　stenciled　his　original　ID　card　at　Games　headquarters。　Clitter…clitter…clitter。
　　Donahue　reappeared　and　walked　toward　Richards。　His　face　was　smooth　and　cold　and　empty。　Programmed。　The　word　leaped　into　Richards's　mind。
　　〃Stand　right　there；　pretty　boy；〃　Richards　remarked；　shifting　the　hand　in　his　coat　pocket　slightly。　〃The　Man　there　is　safe　on　the　ground。　You're　the　one　that's　going　to　the　moon。〃
　　He　thought　the　steady　stride　might　have　faltered　for　just　a　second　and　the　eyes　seemed　to　have　winced　the　tiniest　uncertain　bit；　and　then　he　came　on　again。　He　might　have　been　promenading　on　the　Cote　d'Azur　。　。　。　or　approaching　a　gibbering　homosexual　cowering　at　the　end　of　a　blind　alley。
　　Briefly　Richards　considered　grabbing　the　parachute　and　fleeing。　Hopeless。　Flee？　Where？　The　men's　bathroom　at　the　far　end　of　the　third　class　was　the　end　of　the　line。
　　〃See　you　in　hell；〃　he　said　softly；　and　made　a　pulling　gesture　in　his　pocket。　This　time　the　reaction　was　a　little　better。　Donahue　made　a　grunting　noise　and　threw　his　hands　up　to　protect　his　face　in　an　instinctive　gesture　as　old　as　man　himself。　He　lowered　them；　still　in　the　land　of　the　living　looking　embarrassed　and　very　angry。
　　Richards　took　Amelia　Williams's　pocketbook　out　of　his　muddy；　torn　coat　pocket　and　threw　it。　It　struck　Donahue's　chest　and　plopped　at　his　feet　like　a　dead　bird。　Richards's　hand　was　slimed　with　sweat。　Lying　on　his　knee　again；　it　looked　strange　and　white　and　foreign。　Donahue　picked　up　the　bag；　looked　in　it　perfunctorily；　and　handed　it　to　Amelia。　Richards　felt　a　stupid　sort　of　sadness　at　its　passage。　In　a　way；　it　was　like　losing　an　old　friend。　〃Boom；〃　he　said　softly。
　　
　　Minus　014　and　COUNTING
　　〃Your　boy　is　very　good；〃　Richards　said　tiredly；　when　Donahue　had　retreated　again。　〃I　got　him　to　flinch；　but　I　was　hoping　he'd　pee　his　pants。〃　He　was　beginning　to　notice　an　odd　doubling　of　his　vision。　It　came　and　went。　He　checked　his　side　gingerly。　It　was　clotting　reluctantly　for　the　second　time。　〃What　now？〃　he　asked。　〃Do　you　set　up　cameras　at　the　airport　so　everyone　can　watch　the　desperado　get　it？〃
　　〃Now　the　deal；〃　Killian　said　softly。　His　face　was　dark；　unreadable。　Whatever　he　had　been　holding　back　was　now　just　below　the　surface。　Richards　knew　it。　And　suddenly　he　was　filled　with　dread　again。　He　wanted　to　reach　out　and　turn　the　Free…Vee　off。　Not　hear　it　anymore。　He　felt　his　insides　begin　a　slow　and　terrible　quaking…an　actual；　literal　quaking。　But　he　could　not　turn　it　off。　Of　course　not。　It　was；　after　all；　Free。
　　〃Get　thee　behind　me；　Satan；〃　he　said　thickly。
　　〃What？〃　Killian　looked　startled。
　　〃Nothing。　Make　your　point。〃
　　Killian　did　not　speak。　He　looked　down　at　his　hands。　He　looked　up　again。　Richards　felt　an　unknown　chamber　of　his　mind　groan　with　psychic　presentiment。　It　seemed　to　him　that　the　ghosts　of　the　poor　and　the　nameless；　of　the　drunks　sleeping　in　alleys；　were　calling　his　name。
　　〃McCone　is　played　out；〃　Killian　said　softly。　〃You　know　it　because　you　did　it。　Cracked　him　like　a　soft…shelled　egg。　We　want　you　to　take　his　place。〃
　　Richards；　who　thought　he　had　passed　the　point　of　all　shock；　found　his　mouth　hanging　open　in　utter；　dazed　incredulity。　It　was　a　lie。　Had　to　be。　Yet…Amelia　had　her　purse　back　now。　There　was　no　reason　for　them　to　lie　or　offer　false　illusions。　He　was　hurt　and　alone。　Both　McCone　and　Donahue　were　armed。　One　bullet　administered　just　above　the　left　ear　would　put　a　neat　end　to　him　with　no　fuss；　no　muss；　or　bother。
　　Conclusion：　Killian　was　telling　God's　truth。
　　〃You're　nuts；〃　he　muttered。
　　〃No。　You're　the　best　runner　we've　ever　had。　And　the　best　runner　knows　the　best　places　to　look。　Open　your　eyes　a　little　and　you'll　see　that　The　Running　Man　is　designed　for　something　besides　pleasuring　the　masses　and　getting　rid　of　dangerous　people。　Richards；　the　Network　is　always　in　the　market　for　fresh　new　talent。　We　have　to　be。〃
　　Richards　tried　to　speak；　could　say　nothing。　The　dread　was　still　in　him；　widening；　heightening；　thickening。
　　〃There's　never　been　a　Chief　Hunter　with　a　family；　〃　he　finally　said。　〃You　ought　to　know　why。　The　possibilities　for　extortion…〃
　　〃Ben；〃　Killian　said　with　infinite　gentleness；　〃your　wife　and　daughter　are　dead。　They've　been　dead　for　over　ten　days。〃
　　
　　Minus　013　and　COUNTING
　　Dan　Killian　was　talking；　had　been　perhaps　for　some　time；　but　Richards　heard　him　only　distantly；　distorted　by　an　odd　echo　effect　in　his　mind。　It　was　like　being　trapped　in　a　very　deep　well　and　hearing　someone　call　down。　His　mind　had　gone　midnight　dark；　and　the　darkness　served　as　the　background　for　a　kind　of　scrapbook　slide　show。　An　old　Kodak　of　Sheila　wiggling　in　the　halls　of　Trades　High　with　a　loose…leaf　binder　under　her　arm。　Micro　skirts　had　just　e　back　into　fashion　then。　A　freeze…frame　of　the　two　of　them　sitting　at　the　end　of　the　Bay　Pier　（Admission：　Free）；　backs　to　the　camera；　looking　out　at　the　water。　Hands　linked。　Sepia…toned　photo　of　a　young　man　in　an　ill…fitting　suit　and　a　young　woman　in　her　mother's　best　dress…specially　taken　up…standing　before　a　J。　P。　with　a　large　wart　on　his　nose。　They　had　giggled　at　that　wart　on　their　wedding　night。　Stark　black　and　white　action　photo　of　a　sweating；　bare…chested　man　wearing　a　lead　apron　and　working　heavy　engine　gear…levers　in　a　huge；　vaultlike　underground　chamber　lit　with　arc　lamps。　Soft…toned　color　photo　（soft　to　blur　the　stark；　peeling　surroundings）　of　a　woman　with　a　big　belly　standing　at　a　window　and　looking　out；　ragged　curtain　held　aside；　watching　for　her　man　to　e　up　the　street。　The　light　is　a　soft　cat's　paw　on　her　cheek。　Last　picture：　another　old…timey　Kodak　of　a　thin　fellow　holding　a　tiny　scrap　of　a　baby　high　over　his　head　in　a　curious　mixture　of　triumph　and　love；　his　face　split　by　a　huge　winning　grin。　The　pictures　began　to　flash　by　faster　and　faster；　whirling；　not　bringing　any　sense　of　grief　and　love　and　loss；　not　yet；　no；　bringing　only　a　cool　Novocain　numbness。
　　Killian　assuring　that　the　Network　had　nothing　to　do　with　their　deaths；　all　a　horrible　accident。　Richards　supposed　he　believed　him…not　only　because　the　story　sounded　too　much　like　a　lie　not　to　be　the　truth；　but　because　Killian　knew　that　if　Richards　agreed　to　the　job　offer；　his　first　stop　would　be　Co…Op　City；　where　a　single　hour　on　the　streets　would　get　him　the　straight　of　the　matter。
　　Prowlers。　Three　of　them。　（Or　tricks？　Richards　wondered；　suddenly　agonized。　She　had　sounded　slightly　furtive　on　the　telephone；　as　if　holding　something　back…）　They　had　been　hopped　up；　probably。　Perhaps　they　had　made　some　threatening　move　toward　Cathy　and　Sheila　had　tried　to　protect　her　daughter。　They　had　both　died　of　puncture　wounds。
　　That　had　snapped　him　out　of　it。　〃Don't　feed　me　that　shit！〃　He　screamed　suddenly。　Amelia　flinched　backward　and　suddenly　hid　her　face。　〃What　happened？　Tell　me　what　hap