p&c.brimstone-第59部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　〃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。〃　He　peered　through。　〃And　the　guardhouse　appears　to　be　unoccupied。〃　
　〃Are　you　sure　we're　at　the　right　villa？〃　
　〃Yes。〃　He　slowly　eased　the　gate　open；　and　they　stepped　into　the　darkness　of　the　villa's　great　park。　Two　rows　of　cypresses　lined　a　drive　that　led　up　a　hill　covered　with　more　olive　groves。　Pendergast　paused；　dropping　to　his　hands　and　knees　to　examine　faint　tread　marks　in　the　gravel　of　the　drive。　Then　he　stood；　looked　around；　and　nodded　toward　a　dense　forest　of　umbrella　pines　that　lay　to　one　side。　〃That　way。〃　
　They　moved　through　the　pines；　Pendergast　stopping　every　now　and　then；　apparently　looking　for　guards　or　other　signs　of　security。　〃Odd；〃　he　murmured　to　himself。　〃Very　odd。〃　
　Soon　they　reached　a　thick　hedge　of　laurel；　immaculately　clipped　and　impenetrable。　They　walked　along　the　hedge　to　a　locked　gate；　which　Pendergast　deftly　picked。　Beyond　lay　a　formal　Italian　garden；　low　boxwood　hedges　laid　in　rectangular　shapes；　bordered　by　beds　of　lavender　and　marigolds。　In　the　center　stood　a　marble　statue　of　a　faun　playing　panpipes；　water　pouring　from　the　pipes　and　splashing　into　a　mossy　pool　below。　Beyond　rose　the　dark　facade　of　the　villa。　
　They　paused　to　examine　the　huge　structure。　It　was　stuccoed　in　a　pale　yellow。　A　loggia　ran　across　the　fourth　floor；　just　under　the　tiled　roof：　a　row　of　columns　topped　by　Roman　arches。　The　only　sign　of　life　was　a　faint；　flickering　glow　through　the　open　leaded　windows　of　what　appeared　to　be　a　grandsalone　on　the　second　floor。　
　Pendergast　moved　forward　again　and　D'Agosta　followed；　the　burbling　fountain　masking　their　footsteps。　In　another　few　minutes；　they　reached　the　outer　wall　of　the　villa　itself。　There　was　still　no　sign　of　any　security。　
　〃Strange；〃　whispered　Pendergast。　
　〃Maybe　Bullard　isn't　home。〃　
　They　passed　under　one　of　the　great　windows　of　thesalone　。　That　was　when　the　smell　hit　D'Agosta。　It　was　just　a　fleeting　whiff；　yet　it　felt　like　a　physical　blow。　Instantly　his　anger　turned　to　disbelief；　then　to　creeping　dread。　
　〃Sulfur。〃　
　〃Indeed。〃　
　Fumbling　half　unconsciously　for　his　cross；　D'Agosta　followed　Pendergast　around　the　side　of　the　house　to　the　greatportone　of　the　villa。　
　〃It's　open；〃　Pendergast　said；　slipping　inside。　
　After　the　briefest　of　hesitations；　D'Agosta　followed。　They　paused　in　the　entryway；　examining　the　great　vaulted　spaces　of　thepiano　terra　；　dark　with　ancient　frescoes　and　trompe　l'oeil。　
　The　smell　was　stronger　here。　Sulfur；　phosphorus…and　burned　grease。　
　Now　Pendergast　moved　up　the　great　sweep　of　stairs　leading　to　the　second　floor　and　thesalone　。　D'Agosta　followed　him　down　a　vaulted　hallway　to　a　massive　set　of　wooden　doors；　bolted　and　banded　in　iron。　One　was　ajar；　and　a　flickering　light　came　from　beyond。　
　Pendergast　pushed　it　wide。　
　It　took　D'Agosta　a　moment　to　register。　The　light　came；　not　from　a　burning　candle　or　the　great　fireplace　in　the　far　wall；　but　from　the　middle　of　the　room。　There；　in　the　center　of　a　crude　circle；　something　was　in　the　last　stages　of　burning；　just　a　few　licks　of　flame　rising　from　charred　lumps。　
　It　was　the　outline　of　a　human　being。　
　With　horror　and　disbelief；　D'Agosta　took　in　the　smoldering；　greasy　outline；　the　ashy　remnants　of　the　skeleton；　every　fire…cracked　bone　in　place；　spread…eagled　on　the　floor。　There　in　its　proper　place　was　the　belt　buckle；　there　were　the　three　metal　buttons　of　a　jacket。　Where　one　of　the　pockets　had　been　was　now　a　fused　lump　of　euros。　The　remains　of　a　gold　pen　rested　among　the　ashes　of　the　upper　ribs。　The　burned　bones　of　one　hand　still　sported　a　pair　of　familiar…looking　rings。　
　But　not　all　had　burned。　A　single　foot　was　perfectly　preserved；　burned　only　as　far　as　the　ankle。　It　looked　absurdly　like　a　movie　prop；　still　encased　in　a　beautifully　polished　handmade　wing　tip。　And　there　at　the　other　end　was　another　piece　of　the　body：　just　the　side　of　the　face；　with　one　staring　eye；　a　lock　of　hair；　and　a　perfect　pink　ear；　all　intact；　as　if　the　fire　that　had　consumed　this　person　had　suddenly　ceased　at　a　line　drawn　down　the　side　of　the　head。　The　other　half　was　mere　skull；　blackened；　split　and　crumbled　by　heat。　
　Enough　of　the　face　remained　to　leave　no　doubt　who　this　was。　Locke　Bullard。　
　D'Agosta　found　he'd　been　holding　his　breath。　He　let　it　out　with　a　shudder；　took　in　a　lungful　of　what　stank　of　sulfur　and　burned　roast。　As　his　faculties　began　to　return；　he　noticed　that　the　silk…draped　walls　and　ceiling　were　covered　with　a　greasy　film。　The　large　circle　the　body　lay　within　appeared　to　have　been　incised　into　the　floor；　surrounded　by　mysterious　symbols；　the　whole　enclosed　in　a　double　pentagram。　Nearby　was　a　smaller　circle…but　this　second　circle　was　empty。　
　D'Agosta　couldn't　find　the　energy　to　turn　away。　He　felt　a　snap　and　realized　he'd　been　gripping　his　cross　so　hard　he'd　broken　the　chain。　He　looked　down　at　the　object　in　his　hand；　so　familiar　and　reassuring。　It　seemed　incredible　that　it　could　be　true；　that　everything　the　sisters　had　told　him　so　many　years　ago　was；　in　fact；　real：　but　at　this　moment；　there　wasn't　the　slightest　doubt　in　his　mind　that　this；th