preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第74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！


　Despite　her　best　efforts；　she　felt　the　terror　begin　to　rise　again；　overwhelming　her　mind。　There　hadn't　been　any　sounds　from　outside　for　several　minutes。　She　stifled　another　sob。　〃Bill…〃
　Pendergast's　cool；　dry　hand　slipped　over　hers。　〃Whatever　has　happened；　has　happened。　Now；　I　want　you　to　listen　to　me　very　carefully。　Respond　yes　by　squeezing　my　hand。　Do　not　speak　further。〃
　Nora　squeezed　his　hand。
　〃I　need　you　to　be　strong。　I　must　tell　you　that　I　believe　Smithback　is　now　dead。　But　there　are　two　other　lives　here；　yours　and　mine；　that　need　to　be　saved。　And　we　must　stop　this　man；　whoever　he　is；　or　many　more　will　die。　Do　you　understand？〃
　Nora　squeezed。　Hearing　her　worst　fears　stated　so　baldly　seemed　almost　to　help；　a　little。
　〃I've　made　a　small　tool　out　of　a　piece　of　metal　from　the　sole　of　your　shoe。　We　will　escape　from　this　cell　in　a　moment…the　lock　is　no　doubt　quite　primitive。　But　you　must　be　ready　to　do　exactly　as　I　tell　you。〃
　She　squeezed。
　〃You　need　to　know　something　first。　I　understand　now；　at　least　in　part；　what　Enoch　Leng　was　doing。　He　wasn't　prolonging　his　life　as　an　end　in　itself。　He　was　prolonging　his　life　as　a　means　to　an　end。　He　was　working　on　a　project　that　was　even　bigger　than　extended　life…a　project　he　realized　would　take　several　lifetimes　to　plete。　That　is　why　he　went　to　the　trouble　of　prolonging　his　life：　so　that　he　could　acplish　this　other　thing。〃
　〃What　could　be　bigger　than　extended　life？〃　Nora　managed　to　say。
　〃Hush。　I　don't　know。　But　it　is　making　me　very；　very　afraid。〃
　There　was　a　silence。　Nora　could　hear　Pendergast's　quiet　breathing。　Then　he　spoke　again。　〃Whatever　that　project　is；　it　is　here；　hidden　in　this　house。〃
　There　was　another；　briefer　silence。
　〃Listen　very　carefully。　I　am　going　to　open　the　door　of　this　cell。　I　will　then　go　to　Leng's　operating　room　and　confront　the　man　who　has　taken　his　place。　You　will　remain　hidden　here　for　ten　minutes…no　more；　and　no　less…and　then　you　will　go　to　the　operating　room　yourself。　As　I　say；　I　believe　Smithback　to　be　dead；　but　we　need　to　make　sure。　By　that　time　the　impostor　and　I　will　be　gone。　Do　not　pursue　us。　No　matter　what　you　hear；　do　not　try　to　help。　Do　not　e　to　my　aid。　My　confrontation　with　this　man　will　be　decisive。　One　of　us　will　not　survive　it。　The　other　one　will　return。　Let　us　hope　that　person　is　me。　Do　you　understand　so　far？〃
　Another　squeeze。
　〃If　Smithback　is　still　alive；　do　what　you　can。　If　he's　beyond　help；　you　are　to　get　out　of　the　basement　and　the　house　as　quickly　as　possible。　Find　your　way　upstairs　and　escape　from　a　second…story　window…I　think　you　will　find　all　the　exits　on　the　first　floor　to　be　impenetrable。〃
　Nora　waited；　listening。
　〃There　is　a　chance　that　my　plan　will　fail；　and　that　you　will　find　me　dead　on　the　floor　of　the　operating　room。　In　that　case；　all　I　can　say　is　you　must　run　for　your　life；　fight　for　your　life…and；　if　necessary；　take　your　life。　The　alternative　is　too　terrible。　Can　you　do　that？〃
　Nora　choked　back　a　sob。　Then　she　squeezed　his　hand　once　again。
　
　THREE
　　
　THE　MAN　EXAMINED　the　incision　that　ran　along　the　resource's　lower　spine　from　L2　to　the　sacrum。　It　was　a　very　fine　piece　of　work；　the　kind　he　had　been　so　well　appreciated　for　in　medical　school…back　before　the　unpleasantness　began。
　The　newspapers　had　nicknamed　him　the　Surgeon。　He　liked　the　name。　And　as　he　gazed　down；　he　found　it　particularly　appropriate。　He'd　defined　the　anatomy　perfectly。　First；　a　long　vertical　incision　from　the　reference　point　along　the　spinal　process；　a　single　steady　stroke　through　the　skin。　Next；　he　had　extended　the　incision　down　into　the　subcutaneous　tissue；　carrying　it　as　far　as　the　fascia；　clamping；　dividing；　and　ligating　the　larger　vessels　with　3…0　vicryl。　He'd　opened　the　fascia；　then　used　a　periosteal　elevator　to　strip　the　muscle　from　the　spinous　processes　and　laminae。　He'd　been　enjoying　the　work　so　much　that　he　had　taken　more　time　at　it　than　intended。　The　paralyzing　effects　of　the　succinyl　choline　had　faded；　and　there　had　been　rather　a　lot　of　struggling　and　noise　at　this　point；　yet　his　tie　work　remained　as　fastidious　as　a　seamstress's。　As　he　cleared　the　soft　tissue　with　a　curette；　the　spinal　column　gradually　revealed　itself；　grayish　white　against　the　bright　red　of　the　surrounding　flesh。
　The　Surgeon　plucked　another　self…retaining　retractor　from　the　instrument　bin；　then　stood　back　to　examine　the　incision。　He　was　pleased：　it　was　a　textbook　job；　tight　at　the　corners　and　spreading　out　slightly　toward　the　middle。　He　could　see　everything：　the　nerves；　the　vessels；　all　the　marvelous　inner　architecture。　Beyond　the　lamina　and　ligamentum　flavum；　he　could　make　out　the　transparent　dura　of　the　spinal　cord。　Within；　bluish　spinal　fluid　pulsed　in　time　to　the　respiration　of　the　resource。　His　pulse　quickened　as　he　watched　the　fluid　bathe　the　cauda　equina。　It　was　undoubtedly　his　finest　incision　to　date。
　Surgery；　he　reflected；　was　more　an　art　form　than　a　science；　requiring　patience；　creativity；　intuition；　and　a　steady　hand。　There　was　very　little　ratiocination　involved；　very　little　intellect　came　into　play。　It　was　an　activity　at　once　physical　and　creative；　like　painting　or　sculpture。　He　would　have　been　a　good　artist…had　he　chosen　that　route。　But　of　course；　there　would　be　time；　there　would　be　time　。　。　。
　He　thought　back　once　again　to　medical　school。　Now　that　the　anatomy　had　been　defined；　the　next　step　would　normally　be　to　define　the　pathology；　then　correct　that　pathology。　But；　of　course；　this　was　the　point　at　which　his　work　departed　from　the　course　of　a　normal　operation　and　became　something　closer　to　an　autopsy。
　He　looked　back　toward　the　nearby　stand；　making　sure　that　everything　he　needed　for　the　excision…the　chisels；　diamond　burr　drill；　bone　wax…was　ready。　Then　he　looked　at　the　surrounding　monitors。　Although；　most　regrettably；　the　resource　had　slipped　into　unconsciousness；　the　vitals　were　still　strong。　New　strides　could　not　be　taken；　but　the　extraction　and　preparation　should　be　successful　nonetheless。
　Turning　toward　the　Versed　drip　inserted　into　the　saline　bag　hung　from　the　gurney；　he　turned　the　plastic　stopcock　to　stop　the　flow：　tranquilization；　like　the　intubation；　was　no　longer　necessary。　The　trick　now　would　be　to　keep　the　resource　alive　as　far　into　the　surgery　as　possible。　There　was　still　much　to　do；　starting　with　the　bony　dissection：　the　removal　of　the　lamina　with　a　Kerrison　rongeur。　The　goal　at　this　point　was　to　have　the　vitals　still　detectable　when　the　operation　was　plete；　with　the　cauda　equina　removed　and　lying　intact　in　the　special　chilled　cradle　he　had　designed　to　receive　it。　He　had　reached　that　goal　only　twice　before…with　the　slender　young　woman　and　the　policeman…but　this　time　he　felt　a　swell　of　confidence　in　himself　and　his　skills。　He　knew　that　he　would　achieve　it　again。
　So　far；　everything　had　gone　according　to　plan。　The　great　detective；　Pendergast；　whom　he　had　so　feared；　had　proven　less　than　formidable。　Using　one　of　the　many　traps　in　this　strange　old　house　against　the　agent　had　proven　ridiculously　easy。　The　others　were　minor　irritants　only。　He　had　removed　them　all；　swept　them　aside　with　so　little　effort　it　was　almost　risible。　In　fact　it　wasrisible；　how　pathetic　they　all　were。　The　colossal　stupidity　of　the　police；　the　moronic　Museum　officials：　how　delightful　it　had　all　been；　how　very　diverting。　There　was　a　certain　justice　in　the　situation；　a　justice　that　only　he　could　appreciate。
　And　now　he　had　almost　achieved　his　goal。　Almost。　After　these　three　had　been　processed；　he　felt　sure　he　would　be　there。　And　how　ironic　it　was　that　it　would　be　these　three；　of　all　people；　who　helped　him　reach　it　。　。　。
　He　smiled　slightly　as　he　bent　down　to　set　another　self…retaining　retractor　into　place。　And　that　was　when　he　saw　a　small　movement　at　the　extreme　edge　of　his　peripheral　vision。
　He　turned。　It　was　the　FBI　agent；　Pendergast；　casually　leaning　against　a　wall　just　inside　the　archway　leading　into　the　operating　room。
　The　man　straightened；　controlling　the　highly　unpleasant　surprise　that　rose　within　him。　But　Pendergast's　hands　were　empty；　he　was；　of　course；　unarmed。　With　one　swift；　economical　movement；　the　Surgeon　took　up　Pendergast's　own　gun…the　two…tone　Colt　1911；　lying　on　the　instrument　table…pushed　down　on　the　safety　with　his　thumb；　and　pointed　the　weapon　at　the　agent。
　Pendergast　continued　to　lean　against　the　wall。　For　the　briefest　of　moments；　as　the　two　exchanged　glances；　something　like　astonishment　registered　in　the　pale　cat's　eyes。　Then　Pendergast　spoke。
　〃So　it's　you　who　tortured　and　killed　Enoch　Leng。　I　wondered　who　the　impostor　was。　I　am　surprised。　I　do　not　like　surprises；　but　there　it　is。〃
　The　man　aimed　the　gun　carefully。
　〃You're　already　holding　my　weapon；〃　said　Pendergast；　showing　his　hands。　〃I'm　unarmed。〃　He　continued　leaning　casually　against　the　wall。
　The　man　tightened　his　finger　on　the　trigger。　He　felt　a　second　unpleasant　sensation：　internal　conflict。　Pendergast　was　a　very　dangerous　man。　It　would　no　doubt　be　best　to　pull　the　trigger　now　and　have　done　with　it。　But　by　shooting　now；　he　would　ruin　a　specimen。　Besides；　he　needed　to　know　how　Pendergast　had　escaped。　And　then；　there　was　the　girl　to　consider　。　。　。
　〃But　it　begins　to　make　sense；〃　Pendergast　resumed。　〃Yes；　I　see　it　now。　You're　building　that　skyscraper　on　Catherine　Street。　You　didn't　just　discover　those　bodies　by　accident。　No…you　were　looking　for　those　bodies；　weren't　you？　You　already　knew　that　Leng　had　buried　them　there；　130　years　ago。　And　how　did　you　learn　about　them？　Ah；　it　all　falls　into　place：　your　interest　in　the　Museum；　your　visits　to　the　Archives。　You　were　the　one　who　examined　the　Shottum　material　before　Dr。　Kelly。　No　wonder　it　was　all　in　such　disarray…you'd　already　removed　anything　you　felt　useful。　But　you　didn't　know　about　Tinbury　McFadden；　or　the　elephant's…foot　box。　Instead；　you　first　learned　about　Leng　and　his　work；　about　his　lab　notebooks　and　journals；　from　Shottum's　personal　papers。　But　when　you　ultimately　tracked　down　Leng；　and　found　him　alive；　he　wasn't　as　talkative　as　you　would　have　liked。　He　didn't　give　you　the　formula。　Even　under　torture；　did　he？　So　you　had　to　fall　back　on　what　Leng　had　left　behind：　his　victims；　his　lab；　perhaps　his　journals；　buried　beneath　Shottum's　Cabinet。　And　the　only　way　to　get　to　those　was　to　buy　th