dk.watchers-第16部分

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　Hudston's　eyes　seemed　to　sink　back　into　his　damp；　pasty　face。　〃Jimmy？　Oh；　not　Jimmy；　really；　no。〃
　〃Your　boy　is　dead；〃　Vince　insisted。　〃I　blew　his　brains　out。〃
　At　the　mention　of　his　son；　Hudston　broke。　He　did　not　burst　into　tears；　did　not　begin　to　keen；　nothing　as　dramatic　as　that。　But　his　eyes　went　dead…　blink…just　that　abruptly。　Like　a　light　going　out。　He　stared　at　Vince；　but　there　was　no　fear　or　anger　in　him　any　more。
　Vince　said；　〃What　you've　got　here　is　two　choices：　die　easy　or　die　hard。　You　tell　me　what　I　want　to　know；　and　I　let　you　die　easy；　quick　and　painless。　You　get　stubborn　on　me；　and　I　can　draw　it　out　for　five　or　six　hours。〃
　Dr。　Hudston　stared。　Except　for　bright　ribbons　of　fresh　blood　that　banded　his　face；　he　was　very　white；　wet　and　sickly　pale　like　some　creature　that　swam　eternally　in　the　deepest　reaches　of　the　sea。
　Vince　hoped　the　guy　wasn't　catatonic。　〃What　I　want　to　know　is　what　you　have　in　mon　with　Davis　Weatherby　and　Elisabeth　Yarbeck。〃
　Hudston　blinked；　focused　on　Vince。　His　voice　was　hoarse　and　tremulous　〃Davis　and　Liz？　What　are　you　talking　about？〃
　〃You　know　them？〃
　Hudston　nodded。
　〃How　do　you　know　them？　Go　to　school　together？　Live　next　door　at　one　time？〃
　Shaking　his　head；　Hudston　said；　〃We。　。　。　we　used　to　work　together　at　Banodyne。〃
　〃What's　Banodyne？〃
　〃Banodyne　Laboratories。〃
　〃Where's　that？〃
　〃Here　in　Orange　County；〃　Hudston　said。　He　gave　an　address　in　the　city　of　Irvine。
　〃What'd　you　do　there？〃
　〃Research。　But　I　left　ten　months　ago。　Weatherby　and　Yarbeck　still　work　there；　but　I　don't。〃
　〃What　sort　of　research？〃　Vince　asked。
　Hudston　hesitated。
　Vince　said；　〃Quick　and　painless…or　hard　and　nasty？〃
　The　doctor　told　him　about　the　research　he　had　been　involved　with　at　Banodyne。　The　Francis　Project。　The　experiments。　The　dogs。
　The　story　was　incredible。　Vince　made　Hudston　run　through　some　of　the　details　three　or　four　times　before　he　was　finally　convinced　the　story　was　true。
　When　he　was　sure　he　had　squeezed　everything　out　of　the　man；　Vince　shot　Hudston　in　the　face；　point…blank；　the　quick　death　he'd　promised。
　Ssssnap。
　Back　in　the　van；　driving　down　the　night…draped　Laguna　Hills；　away　from　the　Hudston　house；　Vince　thought　about　the　dangerous　step　he　had　taken。　Usually；　he　knew　nothing　about　his　targets。　That　was　safest　for　him　and　for　his　employers。　Ordinarily　he　didn't　want　to　know　what　the　poor　saps　had　done　to　bring　so　much　grief　on　themselves；　because　knowing　would　bring　him　grief。　But　this　was　no　ordinary　situation。　He　had　been　paid　to　kill　three　doctors…not　medical　doctors；　as　it　turned　out　now；　but　scientists…all　of　them　upstanding　citizens；　plus　any　members　of　their　families　who　happened　to　get　in　the　way。　Extraordinary。　Tomorrow's　papers　weren't　going　to　have　enough　room　for　all　the　news。　Something　very　big　was　going　on；　something　SO　important　that　it　might　provide　him　with　a　once…in…a…lifetime　edge；　with　a　shot　at　money　so　big　he　would　need　help　to　count　it。　The　money　might　e　from　selling　the　forbidden　knowledge　he　had　pried　out　of　Hudston。　。　。　if　he　could　figure　out　who　would　like　to　buy　it。　But　knowledge　was　not　only　saleable；　it　was　also　dangerous。　Ask　Adam。　Ask　Eve。　If　his　current　employers；　the　Sexy…voiced　lady　and　the　other　people　in　L。A。；　learned　that　he　had　broken　the　most　basic　rule　of　his　trade；　if　they　knew　that　he　had　interrogated　one　of　his　victims　before　wasting　him；　they　would　put　out　a　contract　on　Vince。　The　hunter　would　bee　the　hunted。
　Of　course；　he　didn't　worry　a　lot　about　dying。　He　had　too　much　life　stored　up　in　him。　Other　people's　lives。　More　lives　than　ten　cats。　He　was　going　to　live　forever。　He　was　pretty　sure　of　that。　But　。　。　。　well；　he　didn't　know　for　certain　how　many　lives　he　had　to　absorb　in　order　to　insure　immortality。　Sometimes　he　felt　that　he'd　already　achieved　a　state　of　invincibility；　eternal　life。　But　at　other　times；　he　felt　that　he　was　still　vulnerable　and　that　he　would　have　to　take　more　life　energy　into　himself　before　he　would　reach　the　desired　state　of　godhood。　Until　he　knew；　beyond　doubt；　that　he　had　arrived　at　Olympus；　it　was　best　to　exercise　a　little　caution。
　Banodyne。
　The　Francis　Project。
　if　what　Hudston　said　was　true；　the　risk　Vince　was　taking　would　be　well…rewarded　when　he　found　the　right　buyer　for　the　information。　He　was　going　to　be　a　rich　man。
　　
　　
　8
　Wes　Dalberg　had　lived　alone　in　a　stone　cabin　in　upper　Holy　Jim　Canyon　on　the　eastern　edge　of　Orange　County　for　ten　years。　His　only　light　came　from　Coleman　lanterns；　and　the　only　running　water　in　the　place　was　from　a　hand　pump　in　the　kitchen　sink。　His　toilet　was　in　an　outhouse　with　a　quarter…moon　carved　on　the　door　（as　a　joke）；　about　a　hundred　feet　from　the　back　of　the　cabin。
　Wes　was　forty…two；　but　he　looked　older。　His　face　was　wind…scoured　and　sun…leathered。　He　wore　a　neatly　trimmed　beard　with　a　lot　of　white　whiskers。　Although　he　appeared　aged　beyond　his　true　years；　his　physical　condition　was　that　of　a　twenty…five…year…old。　He　believed　his　good　health　resulted　from　living　close　to　nature。
　Tuesday　night；　May　18；　by　the　silvery　light　of　a　hissing　Coleman　lantern；　he　sat　at　the　kitchen　table　until　one　in　the　morning；　sipping　homemade　plum　wine　and　reading　a　McGee　novel　by　John　D。　MacDonald。　Wes　was；　as　he　put　it；　〃an　antisocial　curmudgeon　born　in　the　wrong　century；〃　who　had　little；　use　for　modern　society。　But　he　liked　to　read　about　McGee　because　McGee　swam　in　that　messy；　nasty　world　out　there　and　never　let　the　murderous　currents　sweep　him　away。
　When　he　finished　the　book　at　one　o'clock；　Wes　went　outside　to　get　more　wood　for　the　fireplace。　Wind…swayed　branches　of　sycamores　cast　vague　moonshadows　on　the　ground；　and　the　glossy　surfaces　of　rustling　leaves　shone　dully　with　pale　reflections　of　the　lunar　light。　Coyotes　howled　in　the　distance　as　they　chased　down　a　rabbit　or　other　small　creature。　Nearby；　insects　sang　in　the　brush；　and　a　chill　wind　soughed　through　the　higher　reaches　of　the　forest。
　His　supply　of　cordwood　was　stored　in　a　lean…to　that　extended　along　the　entire　north　side　of　the　cabin。　He　pulled　the　latch…peg　out　of　the　hasp　on　the　double　doors。　He　was　so　familiar　with　the　arrangement　of　the　wood　in　the　storage　space　that　he　worked　blindly　in　its　lightless　confines；　filling　a　sturdy　tin　hod　with　half　a　dozen　logs。　He　carried　the　hod　out　in　both　hands；　put　it　down；　and　turned　to　close　the　doors。
　He　realized　the　coyotes　and　the　insects　had　all　fallen　silent。　Only　the　wind　still　had　a　voice。
　Frowning；　he　turned　to　look　at　the　dark　forest　that　encircled　the　small　clearing　in　which　his　cabin　stood。
　Something　growled。
　Wes　squinted　at　the　night…swaddled　woods；　which　suddenly　seemed　less　well　illuminated　by　the　moon　than　they　had　been　a　moment　ago。
　The　growling　was　deep　and　angry。　Not　like　anything　he　had　heard　out　there　before　in　ten　years　of　nights　alone。
　Wes　was　curious；　even　concerned；　but　not　afraid。　He　stood　very　still；　listening。　A　minute　ticked　by；　and　he　heard　nothing　further。
　He　finished　closing　the　lean…to　doors；　pegged　the　latch；　and　picked　up　the　hod　full　of　cordwood。
　Growling　again。　Then　silence。　Then　the　sound　of　dry　brush　and　leaves　crackling；　crunching；　snapping　underfoot。
　Judging　by　the　sound；　it　was　about　thirty　yards　away。　Just　a　bit　west　of　the　outhouse。　Back　in　the　forest。
　The　thing　grumbled　again；　louder　this　time。　Closer；　too。　Not　more　than　twenty　yards　away　now。
　He　could　still　not　see　the　source　of　the　sound。　The　deserter　moon　continued　to　hide　behind　a　narrow　filigree　band　of　clouds。
　Listening　to　the　thick；　guttural；　yet　ululant　growling；　Wes　was　suddenly　uneasy。　For　the　first　time　in　ten　years　as　a　resident　of　Holy　Jim；　he　felt　he　was　in　danger。　Carrying　the　hod；　he　headed　quickly　toward　the　back　of　the　cabin　and　the　kitchen　door。
　The　rustling　of　displaced　brush　grew　louder。　The　creature　in　the　woods　was　moving　faster　than　before。　Hell；　it　was　running。
　Wes　ran；　too。
　The　growling　escalated　into　hard；　vicious　snarls：　an　eerie　mix　of　sounds　that　seemed　one　part　dog；　part　pig；　part　cougar；　part　human；　and　one　part　something　else　altogether。　It　was　almost　at　his　heels。
　As　he　sprinted　around　the　corner　of　the　cabin；　Wes　swung　the　hod　and　threw　it　toward　where　he　judged　the　animal　to　be。　He　heard　the　cordwood　flying　loose　and　slamming　to　the　ground；　heard　the　metal　hod　clanging　end　Over　end；　but　the　snarling　only　grew　closer　and　louder；　so　he　knew　he　had　missed。
　He　hurried　up　the　three　back　steps；　threw　open　the　kitchen　door；　stepped　inside；　and　slammed　the　door　behind　him。　He　slipped　the　latch　bolt　in　place；
　a　security　measure　he　had　not　used　in　nine　years；　not　since　he　had　grown　accustomed　to　the　peacefulness　of　the　canyon。
　He　went　through　the　cabin　to　the　front　door　and　latched　it；　too。　He　was　Surprised　by　the　intensity　of　the　fear　that　had　overe　him。　Even　if　a　hostile　animal　was　out　there…perhaps　a　crazed　bear　that　had　e　down　from　the
　mountains…it　could　not　open　doors　and　follow　him　into　the　cabin。　There　was　no　need　to　engage　the　locks；　yet　he　felt　better　for　having　done　so。　He　was　operating　on　instinct；　and　he　was　a　good　enough　outdoorsman　to　know　that　instincts　ought　to　be　trusted　even　when　they　resulted　in　seemingly　irrational　behavior。
　Okay；　so　he　was　safe。　No　animal　could　open　a　door。　Certainly；　a　bear　couldn't；　and　it　was　most　likely　a　bear。
　But　it　hadn't　sounded　like　a　bear。　That's　what　had　Wes　Dalberg　so　spooked：
　it　had　not　sounded　like　anything　that　could　possibly　be　roaming　those　woods。　He　was　familiar　with　his　animal　neighbors；　knew　all　the　howls；　cries；　and　other　noises　they　made。
　The　only　light　in　the　front　room　was　from　the　fireplace；　and　it　did　not　dispel　the　shadows　in　the　corners。　Phantoms　of　reflected　firelight　cavorted　across　the　walls。　For　the　first　time；　Wes　would　have　weled　electricity。
　He　owned　a　Remington　12…gauge　shotgun　with　which　he　hunted　small　game　to　supplement　his　diet　of　store…bought　foods。　It　was　on　a　rack　in　the　kitchen。　He　considered　getting　it　down　and　loading　it；　but　now　that　he　was　safely　behind　locked　doors；　he　was　beginning　to　be　embarrassed　about　having　panicked。　Like　a　greenhorn；　for　God's　sake。　Like　some　lardass　suburbanite　shrieking　at　the　sight　of　a　fieldmouse。　If　he　had　just　shouted　and　clapped　his　hands；