dk.solesurvivor-第50部分

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en　restored。　A　new　statue　of　the　Holy　Mother　watched　over　a　full　plement　of　votive　glasses　on　the　tiered　rack。
　　Later；　he　expressed　his　grief　in　a　bar　fight。　His　nose　was　broken；　but　he　did　worse　damage　to　the　other　guy。
　　He　stayed　crazy　until　he　met　Michelle。
　　On　their　first　date；　as　he　had　returned　her　to　her　apartment；　she　had　told　him　that　he　had　a　wild　streak　a　foot　wide。　When　he'd　taken　that　as　a　pliment；　she　had　told　him　that　only　a　moron；　a　hormone…crazed　pubescent　boy；　or　an　ape　in　the　zoo　would　be　witless　enough　to　take　pride　in　it。
　　Thereafter；　by　her　example；　she　taught　him　everything　that　was　to　shape　his　future。　That　love　was　worth　the　risk　of　loss。　That　anger　harms　no　one　more　than　he　who　harbours　it。　That　both　bitterness　and　true　happiness　are　choices　that　we　make；　not　conditions　that　fall　upon　us　from　the　hands　of　fate。　That　peace　is　to　be　found　in　the　acceptance　of　things　that　we　are　unable　to　change。　That　friends　and　family　are　the　blood　of　life；　and　that　the　purpose　of　existence　is　caring；　mitment。
　　Six　days　before　their　wedding；　in　the　evening；　Joe　went　alone　to　the　church　from　which　he'd　buried　his　parents。　Having　calculated　the　cost　of　the　damage　he'd　done　years　before；　he　stuffed　a　wad　of　hundred…dollar　bills　into　the　poor　box。
　　He　made　the　contribution　neither　because　of　guilt　nor　because　his　faith　was　regained。　He　did　it　for　Michelle；　though　she　would　never　know　of　the　vandalism　or　of　this　act　of　restitution。
　　Thereafter；　his　life　had　begun。
　　And　then　ended　one　year　ago。
　　
　　Now；　Nina　was　in　the　world　again；　waiting　to　be　found；　waiting　to　be　brought　home。
　　With　the　hope　of　finding　Nina　as　balm；　Joe　was　able　to　take　the　heat　out　of　his　anger。　To　recover　Nina；　he　must　be　totally　in　control　of　himself。
　　Anger　harms　no　one　more　than　he　who　harbours　it。
　　He　was　ashamed　by　how　quickly　and　absolutely　he　had　turned　away　from　all　the　lessons　that　Michelle　had　taught　him。　With　the　fall　of　Flight　353；　he　too　had　fallen；　had　plummeted　out　of　the　sky　into　which　Michelle　had　lifted　him　with　her　love；　and　had　returned　to　the　mud　of　bitterness。　His　collapse　was　a　dishonour　to　her；　and　now　he　felt　a　sting　of　guilt　as　sharp　as　he　might　have　felt　if　he'd　betrayed　her　with　another　woman。
　　Nina；　mirror　of　her　mother；　offered　him　the　reason　and　the　chance　to　rebuild　himself　into　a　reflection　of　the　person　that　he　had　been　before　the　crash。　He　could　bee　again　a　man　worthy　of　being　her　father。
　　Neen…ah；　Nine…ah；　no　one　finah。
　　He　slowly　leafed　through　his　treasure　trove　of　mental　images　of　Nina；　and　the　effect　was　soothing。　Gradually　his　clenched　hands　relaxed。
　　He　began　the　last　hour　of　the　flight　by　reading　two　of　the　four　printouts　of　articles　about　Teknologik；　which　he　had　retrieved　from　the　Post　puter　the　previous　afternoon。
　　In　the　second；　he　came　upon　a　piece　of　information　that　stunned　him。　Thirty…nine　percent　of　Teknologik's　stock；　the　largest　single　block；　was　owned　by　Nellor　et　Fils；　a　Swiss　holding　pany　with　extensive　and　diverse　interests　in　drug　research；　medical　research；　medical　publishing；　general　publishing；　and　the　film　and　broadcasting　industries。
　　Nellor　et　Fils　was　the　principal　vehicle　by　which　Horton　Nellor　and　his　son；　Andrew；　invested　the　family　fortune；　which　was　thought　to　be　in　excess　of　four　billion　dollars。　Nellor　was　not　Swiss；　of　course；　but　American。　He　had　taken　his　base　of　operations　offshore　a　long　time　ago。　And　more　than　twenty　years　ago；　Horton　Nellor　had　founded　the　Los　Angeles　Post。　He　still　owned　it。
　　For　a　while　Joe　fingered　his　astonishment　as　though　he　were　a　whittler　with　an　intriguingly　shaped　piece　of　driftwood；　trying　to　decide　how　best　to　carve　it。　As　in　raw　wood；　something　waited　here　to　be　discovered　by　the　craftsman's　hand；　his　knives　were　his　mind　and　his　journalistic　instinct。
　　Horton　Nellor's　investments　were　widespread；　so　it　might　mean　nothing　whatsoever　that　he　owned　pieces　of　both　Teknologik　and　the　Post。　Probably　pure　coincidence。
　　He　owned　the　Post　outright　and　was　not　an　absentee　publisher　concerned　only　about　profit；　through　his　son；　he　exerted　control　over　the　editorial　philosophy　and　the　reportorial　policies　of　the　newspaper。　He　might　not　be　so　intimately　involved；　however；　with　Teknologik；　Inc。　His　stake　in　that　corporation　was　large　but　not　in　itself　a　controlling　interest；　so　perhaps　he　was　not　engaged　in　the　day…to…day　operations；　treating　it　only　as　a　stock　investment。
　　In　that　case；　he　was　not　necessarily　personally　aware　of　the　top…secret　research　Rose　Tucker　and　her　associates　had　undertaken。　And　he　was　not　necessarily　carrying　any　degree　of　responsibility　for　the　destruction　of　Flight　353。
　　Joe　recalled　his　encounter　the　previous　afternoon　with　Dan　Shavers；　the　business…page　columnist　at　the　Post。　Shavers　pungently　characterized　the　Teknologik　executives：　infamous　self…aggrandizers；　think　of　themselves　as　some　kind　of　business　royalty；　but　they　are　no　better　than　us。　They；　too；　answer　to　He　Who　Must　Be　Obeyed。
　　He　Who　Must　Be　Obeyed。　Horton　Nellor。
　　Reviewing　the　rest　of　the　brief　conversation；　Joe　realized　that　Shavers　had　assumed　that　Joe　knew　of　Nellor's　interest　in　Teknologik。　And　the　columnist　seemed　to　have　been　implying　that　Nellor　asserted　his　will　at　Teknologik　no　less　than　he　did　at　the　Post。
　　Joe　also　flashed　back　to　something　Lisa　Peccatone　had　said　in　the　kitchen　at　the　Delmann　house　when　the　relationship　between　Rose　Tucker　and　Teknologik　was　mentioned：　You　and　me　and　Rosie　all　connected。　Small　world；　huh？
　　At　the　time；　he　had　thought　she　was　referring　to　the　fact　that　Flight　353　had　bee　a　spring　point　in　the　arcs　of　all　their　lives。　Maybe　what　she　really　meant　was　that　all　of　them　worked　for　the　same　man。
　　Joe　had　never　met　Horton　Nellor；　who　had　bee　something　of　a　recluse　over　the　years。　He'd　seen　photographs；　of　course。　The　billionaire；　now　in　his　late　sixties；　was　silver…haired　and　round…faced　with　pleasing　if　somewhat　blurred　features。　He　looked　like　a　muffin　on　which；　with　icing；　a　baker　had　painted　a　grandfather　face。
　　He　did　not　appear　to　be　a　killer。　He　was　known　as　a　generous　philanthropist。　His　reputation　was　not　that　of　a　man　who　would　hire　assassins　or　condone　murder　in　the　maintenance　or　expansion　of　his　empire。
　　Human　beings；　however；　were　different　from　apples　and　oranges：
　　The　flavour　of　the　peel　did　not　reliably　predict　the　taste　of　the　pulp。　The　fact　remained　that　Joe　and　Michelle　had　worked　for　the　same　man　as　those　who　now　wanted　to　kill　Rose　Tucker　and　who…in　some　as　yet　inprehensible　manner…had　evidently　destroyed　Nationwide　353。　The　money　that　had　long　supported　his　family　was　the　same　money　that　had　financed　their　murders。
　　His　response　to　this　revelation　was　so　plexly　tangled　that　he　could　not　quickly　unknot　it；　so　dark　that　he　could　not　easily　see　the　entire　shape　of　it。　Greasy　fingers　of　nausea　seined　his　guts。　Although　he　stared　out　the　window　for　perhaps　half　an　hour；　he　was　not　aware　of　the　desert　surrendering　to　the　suburbs　or　the　suburbs　to　the　city。　He　was　surprised　when　he　realized　that　they　were　descending　toward　LAX。
　　On　the　ground；　as　they　taxied　to　the　assigned　gate　and　as　the　telescoping　mobile　corridor　was　linked　like　an　umbilical　between　the　737　and　the　terminal；　Joe　checked　his　wristwatch；　considered　the　distance　to　Westwood；　and　calculated　that　he　would　be　at　least　half　an　hour　early　for　his　meeting　with　Demi。　Perfect。　He　wanted　enough　time　to　scope　the　meeting　place　from　across　the　street　and　a　block　away　before　mitting　himself　to　it。
　　Demi　should　be　reliable。　She　was　Rose's　friend。　He　had　gotten　her　number　from　the　message　that　Rose　had　left　for　him　at　the　Post。　But　he　wasn't　in　the　mood　to　trust　anyone。
　　After　all；　even　if　Rose　Tucker's　motives　had　been　pure；　even　if　she　had　kept　Nina　with　her　to　prevent　Teknologik　from　killing　or　kidnapping　the　girl；　she　had　nevertheless　withheld　Joe's　daughter　from　him　for　a　year。　Worse；　she　had　allowed　him　to　go　on　thinking　that　Nina…like　Michelle　and　Chrissie…was　dead。　For　reasons　that　he　could　not　yet　know；　perhaps　Rose　would　never　want　to　return　his　little　girl　to　him。
　　Trust　no　one。
　　As　he　got　up　from　his　seat