preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第75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！


　to　buy　the　land；　tear　down　the　brownstones　above；　and　dig　a　foundation　for　a　new　building。〃　Pendergast　nodded；　almost　to　himself。　〃Dr。　Kelly　mentioned　missing　pages　in　the　Archives　logbook；　pages　removed　with　a　razor。　Those　pages　were　the　ones　with　your　name　on　them；　correct？　And　the　only　one　who　knew　you　had　been　a　frequent　visitor　to　the　Archives　was　Puck。　So　he　had　to　die。　Along　with　those　who　were　already　on　your　own　trail：　Dr。　Kelly；　Sergeant　O'Shaughnessy；　myself。　Because　the　closer　we　came　to　finding　Leng；　the　closer　we　came　to　finding　you。〃
　A　pained　expression　came　over　the　agent's　face。　〃How　could　I　have　been　so　obtuse　not　to　see　it？　It　should　have　bee　clear　when　I　first　saw　Leng's　corpse。　When　I　realized　Leng　had　been　tortured　to　death　before　the　Catherine　Street　bodies　were　found。〃
　Fairhaven　did　not　smile。　The　chain　of　deduction　was　astonishingly　accurate。　Just　kill　him；　a　voice　in　his　head　said。
　〃What　is　it　the　Arab　sages　call　death？〃　Pendergast　went　on。　〃The　destroyer　of　all　earthly　pleasures。　And　how　true　it　is：　old　age；　sickness；　and　at　last　death　es　to　us　all。　Some　console　themselves　with　religion；　others　through　denial；　others　through　philosophy　or　mere　stoicism。　But　to　you；　who　had　always　been　able　to　buy　everything；　death　must　have　seemed　a　dreadful　injustice。〃
　The　image　of　his　older　brother；　Arthur；　came　unbidden　to　the　Surgeon's　mind：　dying　of　progeria；　his　young　face　withered　with　senile　keratoses；　his　limbs　twisted；　his　skin　cracked　with　hideously　premature　age。　The　fact　that　the　disease　was　so　rare；　its　causes　so　unknown；　had　been　no　fort。　Pendergast　didn't　know　everything。　Nor　would　he。
　He　forced　the　image　from　his　mind。　Just　kill　the　man。　But　somehow　his　hand　would　not　act…not　yet；　not　until　he　had　heard　more。
　Pendergast　nodded　toward　the　still　form　on　the　table。　〃You're　never　going　to　get　there　that　way；　Mr。　Fairhaven。　Leng's　skills　were　infinitely　more　refined　than　yours。　You　will　never　succeed。〃
　Not　true；　Fairhaven　thought　to　himself。　I　have　already　succeeded。　I　am　Leng　as　he　should　have　been。　Only　through　me　can　Leng's　work　attain　its　truest　perfection　。　。　。
　〃I　know；〃　Pendergast　said。　〃You're　thinking　I'm　wrong。　You　believe　you　have　succeeded。　But　you　have　not　succeeded；　and　you　never　will。　Ask　yourself：　Do　you　feel　any　different？　Do　you　feel　any　revivification　of　the　limbs；　any　quickening　of　the　life　essence？　If　you're　honest　with　yourself；　you　can　still　feel　the　terrible　weight　of　time　pressing　on　you；　that　awful；　relentless；　bodily　corruption　that　is　happening　constantly　to　us　all。〃　He　smiled　thinly；　wearily；　as　if　he　knew　the　feeling　all　too　well。　〃You　see；　you've　made　one　fatal　mistake。〃
　The　Surgeon　said　nothing。
　〃The　truth　is；〃　Pendergast　said；　〃you　don't　know　the　first　thing　about　Leng；　or　his　real　work。　Work　for　which　life　extension　was　just　a　means　to　an　end。〃
　Years　of　self…discipline；　of　high…level　corporate　brinksmanship；　had　taught　Fairhaven　never　to　reveal　anything：　not　in　the　facial　expression；　not　in　the　questions　asked。　Yet　the　sudden　stab　of　surprise　he　felt；　followed　immediately　by　disbelief；　was　hard　to　conceal。　What　real　work？　What　was　Pendergast　talking　about？
　He　would　not　ask。　Silence　was　always　the　best　mode　of　questioning。　If　you　remained　silent；　they　always　talked　out　the　answer　in　the　end。　It　was　human　nature。
　But　this　time　it　was　Pendergast　who　remained　silent。　He　simply　stood　there；　leaning　almost　insolently　against　the　doorframe；　glancing　around　at　the　walls　of　the　chamber。　The　silence　stretched　on；　and　the　man　began　to　think　of　his　resource；　lying　there　on　the　gurney。　Gun　on　Pendergast；　he　glanced　briefly　at　the　vitals。　Good；　but　starting　to　flag。　If　he　didn't　get　back　to　work　soon；　the　specimen　would　be　spoiled。
　Kill　him；　the　voice　said　again。
　〃What　real　work？〃　Fairhaven　asked。
　Still；　Pendergast　remained　silent。
　The　merest　spasm　of　doubt　passed　through　Fairhaven；　quickly　suppressed。　What　was　the　man's　game？　He　was　wasting　his　time；　and　there　was　no　doubt　a　reason　why　he　was　wasting　his　time；　which　meant　it　was　best　just　to　kill　him　now。　At　least　he　knew　the　girl　could　not　escape　from　the　basement。　He　would　deal　with　her　in　good　time。　Fairhaven's　finger　tightened　on　the　trigger。
　At　last；　Pendergast　spoke。　〃Leng　didn't　tell　you　anything　in　the　end；　did　he？　You　tortured　him　to　no　avail；　because　you're　still　thrashing　about；　wasting　all　these　people。　But　I　do　know　about　Leng。　I　know　him　very　well　indeed。　Perhaps　you　noticed　the　resemblance？〃
　〃What？〃　Again　Fairhaven　was　taken　off　guard。
　〃Leng　was　my　great…grand…uncle。〃
　It　hit　Fairhaven　then。　His　grip　on　the　weapon　loosened。　He　remembered　Leng's　delicate　white　face；　his　white　hair；　and　his　very　pale　blue　eyes…eyes　that　regarded　him　without　begging；　without　pleading；　without　beseeching；　no　matter　how　hideous　it　had　bee　for　him。　Pendergast's　eyes　were　the　same。　But　Leng　had　died　anyway；　and　so　would　he。
　So　would　he；　the　voice　echoed；　more　insistently。　His　information　is　not　as　important　as　his　death。　This　resource　is　not　worth　the　risk。　Kill　him。
　The　man　reapplied　pressure　to　the　trigger。　At　this　distance；　he　could　not　miss。
　〃It's　hidden　here　in　the　house；　you　know。　Leng's　ultimate　project。　But　you've　never　found　it。　All　along　you've　been　looking　for　the　wrong　thing。　And　as　a　result；　you　will　die　a　long；　slow；　wasting　death　of　old　age。　Just　like　the　rest　of　us。　You　cannot　succeed。〃
　Squeeze　the　trigger；　the　voice　in　his　head　insisted。
　But　there　was　something　in　the　agent's　tone。　He　knew　something；　something　important。　He　wasn't　just　talking。　Fairhaven　had　dealt　with　bluffers　before；　and　this　man　was　not　bluffing。
　〃Say　what　you　have　to　say　now；〃　said　Fairhaven。　〃Or　you　will　die　instantly。〃
　〃e　with　me。　I'll　show　you。〃
　〃Show　me　what？〃
　〃I'll　show　you　what　Leng　was　really　working　on。　It's　in　the　house。　Here；　right　under　your　nose。〃
　The　voice　in　his　head　was　no　longer　little；　it　was　practically　shouting。　Do　not　allow　him　to　continue　talking；　no　matter　how　important　his　information　may　be。　And　Fairhaven　finally　heeded　the　wisdom　of　that　advice。
　Pendergast　was　leaning　against　the　wall；　off　balance；　his　hands　clearly　in　view。　It　would　be　impossible　for　the　man；　in　the　time　it　took　to　squeeze　off　one　shot；　to　reach　inside　his　suit　and　pull　out　a　backup　weapon。　Besides；　he　had　no　such　weapon；　Fairhaven　had　searched　him　thoroughly。　He　took　a　fresh　bead　on　Pendergast；　then　held　his　breath；　increasing　the　pressure　on　the　trigger。　There　was　a　sudden　roar　and　the　gun　kicked　in　his　hand。　And　he　knew　instantly：　it　had　been　a　true　shot。
　
　FOUR
　　
　THE　CELL　DOOR　stood　open；　allowing　a　faint　light　to　filter　in　from　the　passageway　beyond。　Nora　waited；　shrinking　back　into　the　pool　of　darkness　behind　the　cell　door。　Ten　minutes。　Pendergast　had　said　ten　minutes。　In　the　dark；　with　her　heart　pounding　like　a　sledgehammer；　every　minute　seemed　an　hour；　and　it　was　almost　impossible　to　tell　the　passage　of　time。　She　forced　herself　to　count　each　second。　A　thousand　one；　a　thousand　two　。　。　。　Each　count　made　her　think　of　Smithback；　and　what　might　be　happening　to　him。　Or　had　happened　to　him。
　Pendergast　had　told　her　he　thought　Smithback　was　dead。　He　had　said　this　to　spare　her　the　shock　of　discovering　it　for　herself。　Bill　is　dead。　Bill　is　dead。　She　tried　to　absorb　it；　but　found　her　mind　would　not　accept　the　fact。　It　felt　unreal。　Everything　felt　unreal。　A　thousand　thirty。　A　thousand　thirty…one。　The　seconds　rolled　on。
　At　six　minutes　and　twenty…five　seconds；　the　sound　of　a　gunshot　came；　deafening　in　the　confined　spaces　of　the　cellar。
　Her　whole　body　kicked　in　fear。　It　was　all　she　could　do　not　to　scream。　She　crouched；　waiting　for　the　absurd　skipping　of　her　heart　to　slow。　The　terrible　sound　echoed　and　re…echoed；　rumbling　and　rolling　through　the　basement　corridors。　Finally；　silence…dead　silence…returned。
　She　felt　her　breath　ing　in　gasps。　Now　it　was　doubly　hard　to　count。　Pendergast　had　said　to　wait　ten　minutes。　Had　another　minute　passed　since　the　shot？　She　decided　to　resume　the　count　again　at　seven　minutes；　hoping　the　monotonous；　repetitive　activity　would　calm　her　nerves。　It　did　not。
　And　then　she　heard　the　sound　of　rapid　footsteps　ringing　against　stone。　They　had　an　unusual；　syncopated　cadence；　as　if　someone　was　descending　a　staircase。　The　footfalls　quickly　grew　fainter。　Silence　returned　once　again。
　At　ten　minutes；　she　stopped　counting。　Time　to　move。
　For　a　moment；　her　body　refused　to　respond。　It　seemed　frozen　with　dread。
　What　if　the　man　was　still　out　there？　What　if　she　found　Smithback　dead？　What　if　Pendergast　was　dead；　too？　Would　she　be　able　to　run；　to　resist；　to　die；　rather　than　be　caught　herself　and　face　a　fate　far　worse？
　Speculation　was　useless。　She　would　simply　follow　Pendergast's　orders。
　With　an　immense　effort　of　will；　she　rose　from　her　crouch；　then　stepped　out　of　the　darkness；　easing　her　way　around　the　open　door。　The　corridor　beyond　the　cell　was　long　and　damp；　with　irregular　stone　floor　and　walls；　streaked　with　lime。　At　the　far　end　was　a　door　that　opened　into　a　bright　room：　the　lone　source　of　light；　it　seemed；　in　the　entire　basement。　It　was　in　that　direction　Pendergast　had　gone；　that　direction　from　which　the　shot　had　e；　that　direction　from　which　she'd　heard　the　sound　of　running　feet。
　She　took　a　hesitant　step　forward；　and　then　another；　walking　on　trembling　legs　toward　the　brilliant　rectangle　of　light。
　
　FIVE
　　
　THE　SURGEON　COULD　hardly　believe　his　eyes。　Where　Pendergast　should　have　been　lying　dead　in　a　pool　of　blood；　there　was　nothing。　The　man　had　vanished。
　He　looked　around　wildly。　It　was　inconceivable；　a　physical　impossibility　。　。　。　And　then　he　noticed　that　the　section　of　wall　Pendergast　had　been　leaning　against　was　now　a　door；　swiveled　parallel　to　the　stone　face　that　surrounded　it。　A　door　he　never　knew　existed；　despite　his　diligent　searches　of　the　house。
　The　Surgeon　waited；　stilling　his　mind　with　a　great　effort　of　will。　Deliberation　in　all　things；　he　had　found；　was　absolutely　necessary　for　success。　It　had　brought　him　this　far；　and　with　it　he　would　prevail　now。
　He　stepped　forward；　Pendergast's　gun　at　the　ready。　On　the　far　side　of　the　opening；　a　stone　staircase　led　downward　into　blackness。　The　FBI　agent　obviously　wanted　him　to　fol