p&c.brimstone-第37部分

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　〃We　are　talking　about　it。〃　
　〃I'm　sorry；　Vincent。　That's　tough。　Is　the　marriage　worth　saving？〃　
　〃It　was　over　half　a　year　ago。　We've　just　been　in　denial　stage。〃　
　〃Kids？〃　
　〃One。　Lives　with　his　mom。　Going　to　college　next　year　on　scholarship。　Great　kid。〃　
　〃How　long　were　you　married？〃　
　〃Twenty…five　years。　Married　right　out　of　high　school。〃　
　〃God。　You　sure　there　isn't　something　there　worth　holding　on　to？〃　
　〃Some　good　memories。　But　nothing　now。　It's　over。〃　
　〃Well　then；　Bullard　just　did　you　a　favor。〃　She　extended　her　hand　and　laid　it　on　his；　fortingly。　
　D'Agosta　looked　at　her。　She　was　right：　in　a　way；　Bullard　had　done　him　a　favor。　Maybe　a　really　big　favor。　
　　　
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　Midnight。　The　boat　was　still　in　its　slip；　the　crew　aboard；　everythingready　for　a　departure　at　first　light。　Bullard　stood　on　deck；　breathing　the　night　air；　looking　across　the　bay　toward　Staten　Island。　There　was　one　last　thing　he　had　to　take　care　of　before　weighing　anchor。　He　had　made　two　serious　mistakes；　and　they　had　to　be　corrected。　The　first　was　impulsively　hiring　those　goons　to　cap　D'Agosta。　Damn　stupid　thing：　he　knew　better　than　that。　If　you　were　going　to　kill　a　cop；　you　had　to　do　it　right。　The　bastard　had　mouthed　off　with　a　few　empty　threats；　and　in　his　nervous　state　he'd　allowed　himself　to　be　spooked。　Christ；　he　was　jumpy　these　days。　He　wasn't　thinking　clearly。　The　fact　was；　that　fat　fuck　was　not　his　real　enemy。　He　was　just　a　gumshoe。　The　real　enemy　was　the　FBI　agent；　Pendergast。　That　man　was　dangerous　as　an　adder：　coiled　up；　cool；　smooth；　ready　to　strike。　Pendergast　played　for　keeps；　and　he　was　the　brains　in　that　team。　Kill　the　brain　and　the　body　will　die。　Get　Pendergast　and　the　investigation　would　go　away。　
　The　same　rule　about　cops　was　even　truer　for　FBI　agents。　You　didn't　kill　them　unless　there　was　no　other　way。　It　almost　never　made　things　better。　But　there　were　exceptions　to　every　rule；　and　this　was　one　of　them。　Bullard　could　allow　nothing…nothing…to　interfere　with　what　he　had　to　do。　
　He　went　belowdecks。　All　was　quiet。　He　slipped　into　a　soundproofed　room；　locked　the　door　behind　him；　checked　his　watch。　Still　a　few　minutes。　He　pressed　a　few　buttons；　and　a　videoconferencing　screen　came　to　life。　Pendergast　had　made　off　with　one　CPU　and　some　of　his　files；　but　all　his　puters　were　networked；　their　business…related　data　folders　encrypted。　He　used　public　encryption　with　2；048…bit　keys；　unbreakable　even　by　the　most　powerful　puters　in　the　world。　He　wasn't　worried　about　what　Pendergast　might　find。　He　was　worried　about　the　man　himself。　
　He　pressed　a　few　more　keys；　and　a　dim　face　appeared　on　the　screen。　It　was　a　face　as　smooth　and　tight　as　a　drum；　so　thin　it　looked　as　if　the　wet　skin　had　been　stretched　over　the　bones　and　allowed　to　dry。　His　head　was　shaved　so　smooth　there　wasn't　even　a　five　o'clock　shadow　on　the　scalp。　It　gave　Bullard　the　creeps。　But　the　man　was　good。　More　than　good：　he　was　the　best　there　was。　He　called　himself　Vasquez。　
　The　man　said　nothing；　offered　no　greeting；　just　stared；　hands　folded；　his　face　expressionless。　Bullard　eased　back　in　his　chair；　smiled；　although　the　smile　made　no　difference。　The　image　Vasquez　was　seeing　on…screen　was　the　puter…generated　face　of　a　nonexistent　person。　
　Bullard　spoke。　〃The　target　is　Pendergast；　first　name　unknown。　Special　Agent　with　the　FBI。　Lives　at　891　Riverside　Drive。　I　want　two　in　the　brainpan。　I'll　give　you　a　million　per　bullet。〃　
　〃I　require　full　payment　in　advance；〃　Vasquez　said。　
　〃What　if　you　fail？〃　
　〃I　don't。〃　
　〃Bullshit。　Everyone　fails。〃　
　〃The　day　I　fail　is　the　day　I　die。　Now；　do　you　agree？〃　
　Bullard　hesitated。　Still；　if　you　were　going　to　do　something；　do　it　right。　
　〃Very　well；〃　he　said　curtly。　〃But　time　is　of　the　essence　here。〃　If　Vasquez　screwed　him；　there　were　other　Vasquezes　out　there；　willing　to　finish　the　job　and　reduce　the　petition；　two　killings　wouldn't　cost　much　more　than　one。　
　Vasquez　held　up　a　piece　of　paper　with　a　number　on　it。　He　waited　a　moment；　giving　Bullard　time　to　jot　it　down。　〃When　the　two　million　shows　up　in　this　account；　I　will　undertake　the　assignment。　We　need　never　speak　again。〃　
　The　screen　went　black。　Bullard　realized　Vasquez　must　have　cut　the　transmission。　He　wasn't　used　to　people　hanging　up　on　him。　He　felt　a　momentary　irritation；　then　took　a　deep　breath。　He　had　worked　with　artists　before；　and　they　were　all　cut　from　the　same　cloth：　egotistical；　flamboyant；　greedy。　
　And　Vasquez　was　the　best　kind　of　artist：　the　kind　that　truly　loved　his　work。　
　　　
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　D'Agosta　pulled　his　Ford　Taurus　up　to　the　iron　gates；　thenstopped；　wondering　if　he　might　have　gotten　the　directions　wrong。　He　was　at　least　an　hour　late…the　paperwork　from　the　previous　day's　blowup　with　Bullard　had　taken　all　morning。　Cops　these　days　couldn't　fire　their　gun；　couldn't　question　a　suspect；　couldn't　even　break　wind　without　having　to　fill　out　reports　after　the　fact。　
　The　rusty　gates　hung　open；　as　if　abandoned；　mounted　on　two　crumbling　stone　pillars。　The　graveled　drive　beyond　was　carpeted　with　sprouting　ragweed　well　over　a　foot　high；　recently　smashed　down　by　the　passage　of　a　vehicle。　But　no；　this　had　to　be　the　place：　a　stone　plaque　mortared　into　one　of　the　pillars　bore　the　name；　abraded　by　time　and　weather　but　still　legible：Ravenscry。　
　D'Agosta　got　out　of　the　car　and　shoved　the　groaning　gate　open　a　little　farther；　then　got　behind　the　wheel　again　and　headed　down　the　drive。　He　could　see　where　the　other　car　or　cars　had　gone；　flattening　the　weeds　in　two　vague　stripes。　The　drive　wandered　through　an　ancient　beechwood　forest；　massive　warped　tree　trunks　rising　on　both　sides；　until　at　last　it　broke　out　into　sunlight…a　meadow　dotted　with　wildflowers　that　had　once　evidently　been　a　lawn。　At　the　far　end　of　the　meadow　rose　a　gaunt　stone　mansion：　shaded　by　elms；　shuttered　tight；　its　roofs　topped　by　at　least　twenty　chimneys；　a　real　haunted　pile　if　ever　there　was　one。　D'Agosta　shook　his　head　slowly。　Then；　glancing　at　the　directions　Pendergast　had　given　him；　he　followed　the　carriageway　around　the　massive　house　and　turned　onto　another　road　that　led　on　through　ancient　gardens　toward　a　stone　millhouse　on　the　banks　of　a　stream。　Pendergast's　Rolls　was　parked　here　and　he　pulled　in　beside　it。　Pendergast's　chauffeur；　Proctor；　was　arranging　something　in　the　car's　trunk；　as　D'Agosta　got　out　of　the　car　and　approached；　he　bowed　politely；　then　nodded　in　the　direction　of　the　stream。　
　D'Agosta　began　following　a　stone　path　that　led　down　from　the　road。　Farther　ahead　now；　he　could　see　two　figures　strolling　along　the　path；　dappled　in　shade；　intent　in　conversation。　One　had　to　be　Pendergast…the　black　suit　and　slim　bearing　gave　him　away。　The　other；　who　was　wearing　a　sunbonnet　and　holding　a　parasol；　could　only　be　the　girl　staying　in　Pendergast's　house。　What　was　her　name　again？　Constance。　
　As　he　approached　the　stream；　he　could　hear　the　purling　of　water；　hear　the　birds　rustling　in　the　beechwood。　Pendergast　turned　and　waved　him　over。　〃Vincent；　you　made　it。　Very　good　of　you　to　e。〃　
　Constance　turned；　too；　smiling　gravely　and　holding　out　her　hand。　D'Agosta　took　it；　mumbling　a　greeting。　For　some　reason　she　made　him　eager　to　be　on　his　best　behavior；　just　the　way　his　grandmother　had　done　when　he　was　a　child。　Her　unusual　eyes　were　concealed　by　a　pair　of　very　dark　sunglasses。　
　He　glanced　down　the　shade…dappled　path。　The　mill　was　no　longer　turning；　but　the　shunt　of　water　had　been　directed　into　a　curious　series　of　stone　sluice　tanks。　〃What　is　this　place？〃　
　〃The　estate　belongs　to　my　great…aunt　Cornelia；　who；　alas；　is　not　well　and　is　confined　to　a　home。　I've　begun　bringing　Constance　up　here　to　take　the　air。〃　
　〃To　plete　my　rehabilitation；〃　said　Constance　with　a　faint　smile。　〃Mr。　Pendergast　thinks　I'm　in　delicate　health。〃　
　〃Quite　a　spread；〃　D'Agosta　said。　
　〃The　mill　here　was　converted　into　a　trout　farm　in　the　late　nineteenth　century；〃　Pendergast　replied。　〃Every　year　they　stocked　Dewing　Brook　with　thousands　of　trout　and　kept　the　forest　full　of　wild　turkey；　deer；　pheasant；　grouse；　quail；　and　bear。　e　Sunday　there　was　quite　a　massacre　around　these　parts；　as　my　relations　and　their　sporting　friends　took　to　the　field。〃　
　〃A　hunting　preserve。　I'll　bet　the　fishing　was　fantastic。〃　D'Agos