p&c.brimstone-第63部分
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ly those who had met untimely ends。 As he grew older…and as he realized he was being watched with increasing vigilance…he abandoned these pastimes and withdrew into himself。 He poured forth his black dreams and his terrible creative energies into a series of locked journals。 He kept these journals well hidden。 Very well hidden； in fact： it took me two years of stealthy surveillance as an adolescent to discover them。 I read only one page； but that was enough。 I will never forget it； not as long as I live。 The world was never quite the same for me after that。 Needless to say； I immediately burned all the journals。 He had hated me before； but this act earned his undying rage。〃
Pendergast took another sip； then pushed the snifter away； unfinished。
〃The last time I saw Diogenes was the day he turned twenty…one。 He had just e into his fortune。 He said he was planning a terrible crime。〃
〃A single crime？〃 D'Agosta repeated。
〃He gave no hint of the details。 All I can go on is his use of the wordterrible 。 For something to be terrible tohim 。 。 。〃 Pendergast's voice trailed off； and then he resumed briskly。 〃Suffice to say； it will be anathema to rational contemplation。 Only he； in his limitless madness； could prehend its evil。 How； when； where； against whom…I have no idea。 He disappeared that very day； taking his fortune with him； and I have not seen or heard from him since…until now。 This is his second notice to me。 The first had the same date on it。 I wasn't sure what it meant。 It arrived exactly six months ago…and now this。 The meaning is now obvious。〃
〃Not to me。〃
〃I am being put on notice。 The crime will occur in ninety…one days。 It is his challenge to me； his hated sibling。 I suspect his plans are now plete。 This note is equivalent to his flinging the gauntlet at my feet； daring me to try and stop him。〃
D'Agosta stared at the folded letter in horror。 〃What are you going to do？〃
〃The only thing I can do。 I will wrap up this current case of ours as quickly as possible。 Only then can I deal with my brother。〃
〃And if you find him？ What then？〃
〃Imust find him；〃 Pendergast said with quiet ferocity。 〃And when I do…〃 He paused。 〃The situation will be addressed with appropriate finality。〃
The look on the agent's face was so terrible D'Agosta looked away。
For a long moment； the library was silent。 Then； at last； Pendergast roused himself。 One glance told D'Agosta the subject was closed。
Pendergast's voice changed back into its usual efficient； cool tone。 〃As liaison with the Southampton P。D。； it seemed logical to suggest you as FBI liaison with the NYPD。 This case began in the United States； and it may well end here。 I've arranged for you； working with Captain Hayward； to be that liaison。 It will require you to be in touch with her on a regular basis； via phone and e…mail。〃
D'Agosta gave a nod。
Pendergast was looking at him。 〃I trust you'll find that a satisfactory arrangement？〃
〃Fine with me。〃 D'Agosta hoped he wasn't blushing。Is there anything this guy doesn't know？
〃Very good。〃 Pendergast rose。 〃And now I must pack for the trip and speak briefly with Constance。 She'll be remaining behind； of course； to manage the collections and do any additional research we may require。 Proctor will see that you're fortable。 Feel free to ring if you need anything。〃
He rose； offering his hand。 〃Buona notte。And pleasant dreams。〃
The room D'Agosta was shown to was on the third floor； facing the rear。 It was exactly what he'd dreaded most： dimly lit and tall…ceilinged； with dark crushed…velvet wallpaper and heavy mahogany furniture。 It smelled of old fabric and wood。 The walls were covered with paintings in heavy gilt frames： landscapes； still lifes； and some studies in oil that were strangely disturbing if you looked at them too closely。 The wooden shutters were closed tight against the casements； and no external noise filtered through the heavy stonework。 Yet the room； like the rest of the house； was spotlessly clean； the fixtures were modern； and the huge Victorian bed； when he at last turned in； was exceptionally fortable with fresh； clean sheets。 The pillows had been aired and fluffed by some invisible housekeeper； the forter； when he drew it up； was a luxuriously thick eiderdown。 Everything about the room seemed guaranteed to provide an ideal night's sleep。
And yet sleep did not e quickly to D'Agosta。 He lay in bed； eyes on the ceiling； thinking of Diogenes Pendergast； for a long； long time。
49
Locke Bullard sat in the rear of the Mercedes as it cruisedalong the Viale Michelangelo above Florence； the great eighteenth…century villas of the wealthiest Florentines invisible behind enormous walls and massive iron gates。 As the limousine passed the Piazzale； Bullard barely glanced out at the stupendous view： the Duomo； the Palazzo Vecchio； the Arno River。 The car descended to the ancient gate of the Porta Romana。
〃Cut through the old city；〃 said Bullard。
The driver flashed hispermesso at the policemen on duty at the gate； and the limo eased into the crooked streets； heading first north； then west； passing back through another gate in the ancient walls surrounding the city。 The Renaissance palazzi turned into modest nineteenth…century apartment houses； these in turn gave way to anonymous blocks of apartments； built midcentury； and finally to hideous projects and high…rises of gray concrete。 There were no highways； just a maze of jammed streets and decaying factories； punctuated here and there by tiny kitchen gardens or a few hundred square feet of vineyard。
In half an hour； the limousine was crawling through the shabby streets of Signa； one of the ugliest of the industrial suburbs； a gray expanse of buildings spread out in the floodplains of the Arno。 Laundry hung on concrete balconies in the listless； dead air。 The only reminder that this was Bella Tuscany was the distant green hills of Carmignano； the tallest topped by the barest outline of a castle。
Bullard saw nothing beyond the smoked windows； said nothing to the chauffeur。 His craggy face was utterly blank； his deep…set eyes cold beneath the great jutting brows。 The only sign of the great turmoil within were the slowly bulging muscles of his jaw； tensing and relaxing； again and again。
At last； the limo turned down an anonymous dead…end lane； arrived at a shabby chain…link fence with a gate and guardhouse。 Beyond； the endless suburb stopped and a surprising new world began： a strange world of dark trees； vines； and a riot of ivy…covered mounds and shapes。
The limo was checked； then waved forward into the darkly fantastical landscape。 From this closer vantage point； the green shapes could be descried as ruined buildings； so sunken in creepers as to look like natural cliffs。 And yet these were not ancient ruins； like those so often seen in Italy。 These heaps of fallen masonry were never visited by tourists。 The ruins dated only back to the early decades of the twentieth century。 As the limousine moved like a shark through the ruins； it passed old dormitories； treelined boulevards passing through rows of once…fine houses； past overgrown railroad sidings and wrecked laboratories…and； dominating it all； a brick smokestack that rose thirty stories into the blue Tuscan sky。 The only clue as to what all this had once been was the faded remains of a sign painted on the stack； whereNOBEL S。G。E。M。 could still barely be discerned。
Security seemed deceptively slack。 The chain…link fence along the outer perimeter was old and decrepit。 A determined group of teenagers could have easily entered。 And yet the ruined pound showed no sign of casual human trespass。 There was no litter； no graffiti； no sign of campfires or broken wine bottles。
The limousine wound its way slowly along a maze of weed…choked roads； curving past a row of giant warehouses； now empty； windows like dead eyes； fields of wild strawberries growing around the cracked walls。 The car continued through an archway in an old brick wall； past more ruins and heaps of brick and broken concrete； until it hit a second gate。 This gate was far more modern than the first： attached to a sophisticated double perimeter of blastproof chain…link； to
