p&c.brimstone-第51部分

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en　he　at　last　turned　in；　was　exceptionally　fortable　with　fresh；　clean　sheets。　The　pillows　had　been　aired　and　fluffed　by　some　invisible　housekeeper；　the　forter；　when　he　drew　it　up；　was　a　luxuriously　thick　eiderdown。　Everything　about　the　room　seemed　guaranteed　to　provide　an　ideal　night's　sleep。　
　And　yet　sleep　did　not　e　quickly　to　D'Agosta。　He　lay　in　bed；　eyes　on　the　ceiling；　thinking　of　Diogenes　Pendergast；　for　a　long；　long　time。　
　　　
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　Locke　Bullard　sat　in　the　rear　of　the　Mercedes　as　it　cruisedalong　the　Viale　Michelangelo　above　Florence；　the　great　eighteenth…century　villas　of　the　wealthiest　Florentines　invisible　behind　enormous　walls　and　massive　iron　gates。　As　the　limousine　passed　the　Piazzale；　Bullard　barely　glanced　out　at　the　stupendous　view：　the　Duomo；　the　Palazzo　Vecchio；　the　Arno　River。　The　car　descended　to　the　ancient　gate　of　the　Porta　Romana。　
　〃Cut　through　the　old　city；〃　said　Bullard。　
　The　driver　flashed　hispermesso　at　the　policemen　on　duty　at　the　gate；　and　the　limo　eased　into　the　crooked　streets；　heading　first　north；　then　west；　passing　back　through　another　gate　in　the　ancient　walls　surrounding　the　city。　The　Renaissance　palazzi　turned　into　modest　nineteenth…century　apartment　houses；　these　in　turn　gave　way　to　anonymous　blocks　of　apartments；　built　midcentury；　and　finally　to　hideous　projects　and　high…rises　of　gray　concrete。　There　were　no　highways；　just　a　maze　of　jammed　streets　and　decaying　factories；　punctuated　here　and　there　by　tiny　kitchen　gardens　or　a　few　hundred　square　feet　of　vineyard。　
　In　half　an　hour；　the　limousine　was　crawling　through　the　shabby　streets　of　Signa；　one　of　the　ugliest　of　the　industrial　suburbs；　a　gray　expanse　of　buildings　spread　out　in　the　floodplains　of　the　Arno。　Laundry　hung　on　concrete　balconies　in　the　listless；　dead　air。　The　only　reminder　that　this　was　Bella　Tuscany　was　the　distant　green　hills　of　Carmignano；　the　tallest　topped　by　the　barest　outline　of　a　castle。　
　Bullard　saw　nothing　beyond　the　smoked　windows；　said　nothing　to　the　chauffeur。　His　craggy　face　was　utterly　blank；　his　deep…set　eyes　cold　beneath　the　great　jutting　brows。　The　only　sign　of　the　great　turmoil　within　were　the　slowly　bulging　muscles　of　his　jaw；　tensing　and　relaxing；　again　and　again。　
　At　last；　the　limo　turned　down　an　anonymous　dead…end　lane；　arrived　at　a　shabby　chain…link　fence　with　a　gate　and　guardhouse。　Beyond；　the　endless　suburb　stopped　and　a　surprising　new　world　began：　a　strange　world　of　dark　trees；　vines；　and　a　riot　of　ivy…covered　mounds　and　shapes。　
　The　limo　was　checked；　then　waved　forward　into　the　darkly　fantastical　landscape。　From　this　closer　vantage　point；　the　green　shapes　could　be　descried　as　ruined　buildings；　so　sunken　in　creepers　as　to　look　like　natural　cliffs。　And　yet　these　were　not　ancient　ruins；　like　those　so　often　seen　in　Italy。　These　heaps　of　fallen　masonry　were　never　visited　by　tourists。　The　ruins　dated　only　back　to　the　early　decades　of　the　twentieth　century。　As　the　limousine　moved　like　a　shark　through　the　ruins；　it　passed　old　dormitories；　treelined　boulevards　passing　through　rows　of　once…fine　houses；　past　overgrown　railroad　sidings　and　wrecked　laboratories…and；　dominating　it　all；　a　brick　smokestack　that　rose　thirty　stories　into　the　blue　Tuscan　sky。　The　only　clue　as　to　what　all　this　had　once　been　was　the　faded　remains　of　a　sign　painted　on　the　stack；　whereNOBEL　S。G。E。M。　could　still　barely　be　discerned。　
　Security　seemed　deceptively　slack。　The　chain…link　fence　along　the　outer　perimeter　was　old　and　decrepit。　A　determined　group　of　teenagers　could　have　easily　entered。　And　yet　the　ruined　pound　showed　no　sign　of　casual　human　trespass。　There　was　no　litter；　no　graffiti；　no　sign　of　campfires　or　broken　wine　bottles。　
　The　limousine　wound　its　way　slowly　along　a　maze　of　weed…choked　roads；　curving　past　a　row　of　giant　warehouses；　now　empty；　windows　like　dead　eyes；　fields　of　wild　strawberries　growing　around　the　cracked　walls。　The　car　continued　through　an　archway　in　an　old　brick　wall；　past　more　ruins　and　heaps　of　brick　and　broken　concrete；　until　it　hit　a　second　gate。　This　gate　was　far　more　modern　than　the　first：　attached　to　a　sophisticated　double　perimeter　of　blastproof　chain…link；　topped　with　glittering　coils　of　concertina；　and　surrounded　by　a　wide　motion…sensor　field。　
　Again　the　limousine　was　inspected；　this　time　much　more　thoroughly；　before　the　gate　opened　electronically　on　well…oiled　hinges。　
　And　now　a　shocking　contrast　met　the　eye。　Beyond　one　last　ruined　facade…drowning　in　vegetation…lay　a　manicured　lawn；　sweeping　up　to　a　gleaming　building　dressed　in　titanium　and　glass；　an　architectural　masterpiece　hidden　among　the　ruins。　It　was　framed　by　shrubbery　that　had　been　trimmed　and　shaped　to　perfection。　An　automatic　sprinkler　system　cast　an　arc　of　water　that　glittered　rainbows　in　the　strong　Florentine　sunlight。　
　In　front　of　the　building　stood　three　men。　As　the　black　car　pulled　up；　one　of　them；　clearly　agitated　but　making　a　strong　effort　to　suppress　it；　came　over　and　opened　the　door。　
　〃Bentornato；　Signor　Bullard；〃he　said。　
　Bullard　got　out；　his　enormous　frame　swelling　as　he　stood　up。　Ignoring　the　proffered　hands；　he　arched　his　back；　stretched　his　arms。　He　seemed　to　be　looking　over　the　heads　of　the　men　as　if　they　didn't　exist。　His　massive；　ugly；　knotted　face　was　an　impenetrable　mask。　
　〃We　should　be　pleased　if　you　could　lunch　with　us；　sir；　before…〃　
　〃Where　is　it？〃　Bullard　cut　him　off。　
　There　was　a　dismayed　silence。　〃This　way。〃　
　The　small　group　turned；　and　Bullard　followed　them　down　the　limestone　walkway　into　the　cool　interior　of　the　building。　They　passed　down　a　corridor　through　two　sets　of　automatic　doors；　each　requiring　a　retinal　scan　from　the　leader　of　the　group。　
　At　one　point；　Bullard　stopped　and　looked　into　a　room　leading　off　the　corridor。　The　others　paused　expectantly。　The　room　was　a　laboratory；　full　of　equipment　and　whiteboards　covered　with　formulas。　
　He　stepped　into　the　room；　glanced　at　a　nearby　table　covered　with　what　appeared　to　be　aircraft　nose　cones。　Each　was　painted　a　different　color；　and　a　pin　was　stuck　into　each；　bearing　a　label　of　notes　and　chemical　formulas。　In　a　sudden　blind　rage；　Bullard　raised　his　arm　and　swept　the　nose　cones　from　the　table。　Then　he　turned　back　and；　without　a　word；　continued　down　the　corridor。　
　They　came　to　a　third　door；　thicker　and　smaller　than　the　others；　made　of　stainless　steel　and　brass。　
　There　was　a　shout　from　behind。　Everyone　turned。　
　An　elegantly　dressed　man　was　striding　toward　them；　his　face　white　with　anger。　〃Stop；〃　he　said。　〃Io　domando　una　spiegazione；　Signor　Bullard；　anche　da　Lei。I　demand　an　explanation；　even　from　you。〃　The　man　blocked　their　way；　half　the　size　of　Bullard；　almost　noble　in　his　outraged　dignity。　
　There　was　a　flash　of　movement；　a　grunt；　and　the　man　sank　to　the　ground；　punched　in　the　gut。　He　clutched　his　midriff；　groaning；　and　Bullard　gave　him　a　vicious　kick　with　the　toe　of　his　shoe；　so　hard　the　snapping　of　the　ribs　was　audible　to　all。　The　man　gasped　and　rolled　in　agony。　
　Bullard　turned　to　one　of　the　men。　〃I　fired　this　man。　Martinetti　was　trespassing。　I　deeply　regret　that　he　resisted　apprehension；　assaulted　a　security　officer；　and　had　to　be　subdued　by　that　officer。〃　
　He　turned　to　one　of　the　security　officers　escorting　them。　〃Did　you　hear　what　I　said？〃　
　〃Yes；　sir；〃　the　man　said　in　an　American　accent。　
　〃Make　it　so。〃　
　〃Yes；　sir。〃　
　〃Call　a　detail　to　remove　this　man　and　prefer　charges　against　him　for　trespassing。〃　Bullard　stepped　over　the　prostrate　form　and　looked　into　the　retinal　scan　himself。　There　was　a　click　of　disengaging　metal；　then　the　vault　door　swung　open；　exposing　machined　stainless　steel　and　brass。　Beyond　lay　a　small　vault。　On　one　side　were　several　hard　drives；　locked　in　transparent　plastic　cases　and　carefully　stacked　atop　plastic　filing　cabinets。　On　the　other　was　a　small；　rectangular　box　of　polished　walnut；　surrounded　by　a　cluster　of　sophisticated　electronics：　climate…control　sensors；　humidity　readouts；　a　seismograph；　gas　analyzer；　barometers；　and　temperature　gauges。　Bullard　strode　over　to　the　box；　picked　it　up　gently　by　the　handle。　It　was　so　light　that　in　Bullard's　massive　grip　it　seemed　weightless。　He　turned。　
　〃Let's　go。〃　
　〃Mr。　Bullard；　perhaps　you　might　care　to　check　the　contents？〃　
　Bullard　turned　to　the　man　who'd　spoken。　〃I'll　check　soon　enough。　If　it　isn't　there；　losing　your　jobs　will　be　the　least　of　your　worries。〃　
　〃Yes；　sir。〃　
　The　tension　in　the　room　was　palpable。　The　men　shifted　uneasily；　apparently　reluctant　to　leave。　Bullard　brushed　past　them；　started　to　duck　through　the　vault　door；　turned　back。　〃You　ing？〃　
　The　men　followed　him　out　of　the　vault。　The　door　hissed　shut　behind。　Bullard　stepped　over　Martinetti　again　and　walked　through　the　three　sets　of　doors；　the　men　in　his　wake；　the　only　sound　the　clicking　of　heels　on　the　polished　corridors。　In　another　few　minutes；　he　was　back　at　the　curb；　where　the　limousine　sat　idling。　The　men　stood　on　the　sidewalk　uncertainly；　looking　at　Bullard。　There　was　no　more　mention　of　lunch。　
　Without　a　backward　glance；　Bullard　got　in　the　car；　slammed　the　door。　〃To　the　villa；〃　he　said；　placing　the　wooden　box　very　carefully　on　his　lap。　
　　　
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　D'Agosta　stood　at　the　windows　of　his　suite　in　the　Lungarno　Hotel；　looking　out　over　the　deep　green　of　the　Arno；　the　pale　yellow　palaces　of　Florence　lining　both　banks；　the　Ponte　Vecchio　with　its　crooked　little　buildings　perched　out　over　the　water。　He　felt　strangely　expectant；　even　a　little　light…headed。　He　wasn't　sure　if　it　was　jet　lag；　the　opulence　of　his　surroundings；　or　the　fact　that　he　was　in　his　country　of　origin　for　the　first　time　in　his　life。　
　D'Agosta's　father　had　left　Naples　as　a　boy　with　his　parents；　right　after　the　war；　to　escape　the　terrible　famine　of　'44。　They　settled　on　Carmine　Street　in　New　York　City。　His　father；　Vito；　outraged　by　the　rising　power　of　the　Mafia；　had　fought　back　by　being　a　New　York　City　cop；　and　a　damn　good　one。　His　shield　and　awards　still　stood　in　a　glass　case　on　the　mantel　like　holy　relics：　police　bat　cross；　medal　of　honor。　D'Agosta　had　grown　up　on　Carmine　Street；　surrounded　by　Italian　immigrants　from　Naples　and　Sicily；　immersed　in　the　language；　the　religion；　the　cycles　of　saints'　days　and　celebrations。　From　childhood；　Italy　had　for　him　taken　on　the　air