p&c.brimstone-第76部分

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　〃I'm　still　working　it　out；〃　he　finally　said。　How　had　he　allowed　Buck　to　set　the　agenda　like　this？　Who　was　in　charge　of　this　interview；　anyway？　
　〃What's　there　to　work　out？　The　decision　is　simple。　Remember　what　Jesus　said　to　the　wealthy　man　who　desired　eternal　life：Sell　all　that　thou　hast；　and　distribute　unto　the　poor　。　。　。　For　it　is　easier　for　a　camel　to　go　through　a　needle's　eye；　than　for　a　rich　man　to　enter　into　the　kingdom　of　God。　Are　you　ready　to　give　away　your　earthly　goods；　Mr。　Harriman；　and　join　me？　Or　will　you　walk　away；　like　that　rich　man　in　the　Gospel　of　Luke？〃　
　Harriman　thought　about　this。　Had　Jesus　really　said　that？　Something　must　have　been　lost　in　the　translation。　
　Maybe　another　tack　would　break　this　impasse。　〃So　when；　Reverend；　is　all　this　going　to　happen？〃　
　〃If　everybody　knew　when　the　Day　of　Judgment　would　dawn；　we'd　have　a　whole　lot　of　converts　the　night　before。　It　will　ewhen　the　world　least　expects　it　。〃　
　〃Butyou　expect　it。　And　very　soon。〃　
　〃Yes。　Because　God　has　sent　his　faithful　a　sign；　and　that　sign　was　the　death　that　took　place　right　across　the　street。〃　
　Harriman　noted　that　the　group　of　policemen　in　the　distance　had　grown　a　little　bigger。　They　were　talking　and　taking　notes。　He　realized　abruptly　this　little　Shangri…La　wasn't　going　to　last。　If　Christ　didn't　e　soon；　the　police　would。　You　couldn't　have　hundreds　of　people　shitting　in　the　bushes　of　Central　Park　forever。　And　e　to　think　of　it；　therewas　an　odd　smell　wafting　on　the　air　。　。　。　
　〃What　will　you　do　if　the　police　move　in　to　evict　you？〃　he　asked。　
　Buck　paused；　his　face　betraying　another　fleeting　glimpse　of　uncertainty；　but　it　was　gone　as　quickly　as　it　had　appeared。　The　serene　expression　returned。　
　〃God　will　be　my　guide；　Mr。　Harriman。　God　will　be　my　guide。〃　
　　　
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　D'Agosta　heard　the　sirens　first；　shattering　the　peace　of　the　Tuscan　countryside　with　their　dissonant　two…note　ditty。　Next　came　the　headlights　of　two　vehicles　speeding　around　a　nearby　hill　and　sweeping　up　the　drive。　They　ground　to　a　halt　before　the　villa　with　an　audible　spray　of　gravel。　Police　lights　cartwheeled　across　the　ceiling　of　the　salone　。　
　Pendergast　rose　from　his　crouch。　The　tweezers　that　had　magically　appeared　from　his　clothing　just　as　magically　disappeared。　
　He　glanced　at　D'Agosta。　〃Shall　we　retire　to　the　chapel？　We　wouldn't　want　these　good　gentlemen　to　think　we've　been　tampering　with　their　crime　site。〃　
　D'Agosta；　still　gripped　with　fear　and　dread；　nodded　dumbly。　The　chapel。　That　seemed　like　a　good　idea。　A　really　good　idea。　
　The　chapel　was　in　the　traditional　location　at　the　far　end　of　thesalone　；　a　tiny　but　exquisite　Baroque　room　which　could　fit　little　more　than　a　priest　and　half　a　dozen　family　members。　There　didn't　seem　to　be　any　electric　lights；　so　Pendergast　lit　a　votive　candle　in　a　red　glass　holder；　and　they　settled　on　the　hard　wooden　benches　to　wait。　
　Almost　immediately　there　was　the　sound　of　a　door　booming　open；　boots　echoing　in　the　downstairs　hall；　police　radios　blaring。　D'Agosta　was　still　holding　his　cross；　his　eyes　on　the　small　marble　altar。　The　candle　gave　out　a　flickering　reddish　glow；　and　the　air　was　redolent　with　frankincense　and　myrrh。　He　resisted　the　impulse　to　go　down　on　his　knees。　He　reminded　himself　he　was　a　policeman；　this　was　a　crime　scene；　and　the　idea　that　the　devil　had　e　and　claimed　Bullard's　soul　was　ridiculous。　
　And　yet；　in　the　perfumed　darkness；　it　didn't　feel　the　least　bit　ridiculous。　His　hand　shook　as　it　clutched　the　cross。　
　Now　the　carabinieri　burst　into　thesalone　。　D'Agosta　heard　a　gasp；　some　muffled　expostulations　of　shock；　what　sounded　like　a　prayer　being　quickly　intoned。　Then　came　the　familiar　sounds　of　a　crime　scene　being　secured　and　floodlights　being　set　up。　A　moment　later　the　room　beyond　was　bathed　in　almost　unbearably　bright　light。　A　beam　lanced　into　the　chapel；　striking　the　marble　Christ　behind　the　altar　and　setting　it　aglow。　
　A　man　appeared　in　the　doorway；　casting　a　long　shadow。　He　was　dressed；　not　in　uniform；　but　in　a　tailored　gray　suit；　a　couple　of　gold　leaves　on　his　lapel　signifying　rank。　He　paused；　staring。　To　D'Agosta；　he　seemed　no　more　than　an　outline；　framed　in　brilliant　light；　a　short…barreled　9mm　Beretta　Parabellum　in　his　hand。　
　〃Rimanete　seduti；　mani　in　alto；　per　cortesìa；〃he　said　calmly。　
　〃Remain　seated；　hands　in　view；〃　translated　Pendergast。　〃We're　policemen…〃　
　〃Tacete！〃　
　D'Agosta　suddenly　remembered　they　were　dressed　in　black；　their　faces　still　half　painted。　God　only　knew　what　this　police　officer　was　thinking。　
　The　man　advanced；　gun　in　hand；　not　exactly　aimed　at　them　but　not　quite　aimed　away；　either。　〃Who　are　you？〃　he　asked　in　lightly…accented　English。　
　〃Special　Agent　Pendergast；　Federal　Bureau　of　Investigation；　United　States　of　America。〃　Pendergast's　wallet　was　in　his　hand；　and　it　fell　open　to　reveal　his　shield　on　one　side；　his　ID　on　the　other。　
　〃And　you？〃　
　〃Sergeant　Vincent　D'Agosta；　Southampton　Police　Department；　FBI　liaison。　We're…〃　
　〃Basta。〃The　man　stepped　forward。　He　reached　for　Pendergast's　wallet；　looked　at　the　badge；　the　ID　card。　〃Are　you　the　one　who　called　in　the　homicide？〃　
　〃Yes。〃　
　〃What　are　you　doing　here？〃　
　〃We　are　investigating　a　series　of　murders　in　the　United　States；　which　that　man〃…Pendergast　nodded　out　into　the　great　room…〃was　connected　to。〃　
　〃Mafiosi？〃　
　〃No。〃　
　The　man　looked　visibly　relieved。　〃You　know　the　identity　of　the　deceased？〃　
　〃Locke　Bullard。〃　
　The　man　handed　back　the　wallet；　gestured　at　their　outfits。　〃Are　these　the　newest　uniforms　among　the　FBI？〃　
　〃It's　a　long　story；　Colonnello。〃　
　〃How　did　you　get　here？〃　
　〃You　will　find　our　car…if　you　haven't　already…in　the　olive　grove　across　the　street。　A　black　Fiat　Stylo。　I　will；　of　course；　prepare　a　formal　report　for　you　on　all　the　particulars：　who　we　are；　why　we're　here。　Some　of　it　is　already　on　file　at　the　Questura。〃　
　〃God；　no。　No　reports。　It　is　so　inconvenient　when　facts　get　written　down。　At　the　proper　time；　we　will　talk　about　it　over　an　espresso；　like　civilized　human　beings。〃　The　man　moved　out　of　the　glaring　backlight。　For　the　first　time；　D'Agosta　could　see　his　features：　prominent　cheekbones；　cleft　chin；　and　deep…set　eyes。　He　was　about　sixty；　and　he　moved　with　a　stiff　military　bearing；　his　graying　hair　brushed　back；　restless　eyes　taking　in　everything。　
　〃I　am　Colonnello　Orazio　Esposito。　Forgive　me　for　not　introducing　myself　earlier。〃　He　shook　their　hands。　〃Who　is　your　liaison　at　the　Questura？〃　
　〃missario　Simoncini。〃　
　〃I　see。　And　what　do　you　make　of　this　。　。　。〃　He　nodded　again　toward　the　great　room。　〃This　。　。　。casino　？〃　
　〃It　is　the　third　in　a　series　of　murders；　the　first　two　of　which　took　place　in　New　York。〃　
　A　cynical　smile　grew　on　Esposito's　face。　〃I　can　see　we're　going　to　have　quite　a　lot　to　talk　about；　Special　Agent　Pendergast。　Listen。　There　is　a　nice　littlecaffè　in　Borgo　Ognissanti；　just　two　doors　down　from　the　church　and　very　near　our　headquarters。　Shall　we　meet　there　at　eight　this　morning？　Unofficially；　of　course。〃　
　〃It　would　be　my　pleasure。〃　
　〃And　now　it　would　be　better　if　you　leave。　We'll　make　no　note　of　your　presence　in　the　official　report。　To　have　the　American　FBI　reporting　a　crime　on　Italian　soil　。　。　。〃　His　smile　broadened。　〃It　just　wouldn't　do。〃　
　He　briskly　shook　their　hands　and　turned　on　his　heel；　crossing　himself　so　rapidly　as　he　passed　the　altar　D'Agosta　wasn't　sure　if　he　had　done　it　at　all。　
　　　
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　D'Agosta　had　seen　a　lot　of　police　headquarters　in　his　time；　butthe　so…called　barracks　of　the　carabinieri　in　Florence　beat　them　all。　It　wasn't　a　barracks　at　all；　but　rather　a　decaying　Renaissance　building…D'Agosta　thought　it　was　Renaissance；　anyway…facing　a　narrow　medieval　street。　It　was　huddled　up　beside　the　famous　Ognissanti　Church；　its　gray　limestone　facade　streaked　with　dirt；　every　ledge　and　projection　covered　with　needle…like　spikes　to　ward　off　pigeons。　Florence　itself　was　nothing　like　what　he'd　imagined：　even　in　the　warm；　mid…October　light；　the　city　seemed　austere；　its　crooked　streets　always　in　shadow；　the　rough…cut　stone　facades　of　its　buildings　almost　grim。　The　air　smelled　of　diesel　fumes；　and　the　impossibly　narrow　sidewalks　were　clogged　with　slow…moving　tourists　dressed　in　floppy　hats　and　khak