cc.floodtide-第64部分

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n　inside　the　metal…walled　hangar。　A　surge　of　satisfaction　swept　through　him　as　he　heard　the　thud　of　a　body　against　the　concrete　floor。　Reckoning　the　second　assassin　would　be　expecting　him　to　hide　by　throwing　himself　under　the　car；　he　stretched　out　horizontal　on　the　wide　running　board　and　waited　for　a　hail　of　gunfire。　It　never　came。
　
　The　second　killer　failed　to　react　because　he　was　searching　for　Pitt　inside　an　antique　Putfman　coach　parked　at　one　side　of　the　hangar　on　a　pair　of　rails。　The　car　had　once　been　part　of　the　crack　express　train　called　the　Manhattan　Limited　that　ran　between　New　York　and　Quebec；　Canada；　between　1912　and　1914。　Pitt　had　acquired　the　old　coach　after　finding　it　in　a　cave。　The　killer　barely　perceived　the　brief　flash　of　light　through　a　glass　window　of　the　Pullman　before　hearing　the　explosive　roar　of　the　shotgun。　By　the　time　he　rushed　to　the　rear　platform；　the　hangar　had　been　plunged　back　into　blackness。　He　was　too　late　to　hear　the　impact　on　the　floor　of　his　acplice's　body　or　know　what　target　to　fire　at。　He　crouched　behind　a　massive　Daimler　convertible　and　panned　his　night…vision　goggles　around　and　beneath　the　maze　of　parked　cars。　As　he　peered　through　the　binocular　eyepiece　connected　to　a　single　objective　lens　that　was　attached　to　his　head　with　straps；　giving　him　the　look　of　a　robotic　Cyclops；　the　pitch…black　interior　of　the　hangar　appeared　bathed　in　a　green　light　that　distinguished　surrounding　objects。　Twenty　feet　ahead　of　him　he　spotted　the　body　of　his　acplice　crumpled　on　the　cold；　hard　floor；　a　pool　of　blood　spreading　around　the　head。　Any　confusion　as　to　why　their　prey　had　willingly　and　knowingly　walked　into　the　trap　evaporated。　He　now　realized　Pitt　had　somehow　armed　himself　with　a　weapon。　They　were　warned　that　their　target　was　a　dangerous　man；　and　yet　they　had　still　badly　underestimated　him。
　
　It　was　essential　for　Pitt　to　make　a　move　while　he　had　an　advantage；　and　move　as　quickly　as　possible　before　the　remaining　killer　pinpointed　his　location。　Pitt　made　no　attempt　at　stealth。　Speed　was　what　counted。　He　scrambled　around　the　front　end　of　the　cars　toward　the　entrance　door；　keeping　low　and　using　the　wheels　and　tires　to　shield　his　movement　from　the　view　of　a　night　scope　probing　the　floor　beneath。　He　reached　the　door；　threw　it　open　and　fell　back　behind　a　car　as　bullets　sped　through　the　opening　into　the　night　outside。　Then　Pitt　crawled　along　the　wall　of　the　hangar　until　he　could　huddle　against　the　wheel　of　a　1939　540…K　Mercedes…Benz　sedan。
　
　The　move　was　foolhardy　and　reckless；　but　he　only　paid　a　small　price。　Pitt　could　feel　blood　streaming　from　his　left　forearm　where　the　flesh　had　been　nicked　by　a　bullet。　Had　the　remaining　assassin　been　given　five　long　seconds　to　divine　Pitt's　intention；　he　would　have　never　rushed　headlong　toward　the　door　in　the　certain　belief　that　his　quarry　had　tried　to　escape　from　the　hangar。
　
　Pitt　heard　the　soft　drumming　of　supple　rubber　soles　against　concrete。　Then　a　figure　dressed　from　the　top　of　the　head　to　his　feet　in　black　became　outlined　in　the　doorway　by　the　dim　light　outside　on　the　electrical　pole。　All's　fair　in　love　and　war；　Pitt　thought；　as　he　pulled　the　trigger　and　cut　down　the　killer　with　a　shotgun　blast　through　the　back　below　the　right　shoulder。
　
　The　arms　flew　upward　and　outward；　his　tactical　machine　pistol　clattering　to　the　walkway　in　front　of　the　hangar。　The　killer　stood　there　a　moment；　tore　off　his　night…vision　goggles　and　slowly　turned。　He　stared　disbelievingly　into　Pitt's　face　as　the　hunted　approached　the　hunter　and　saw　the　muzzle　of　vicious…looking　shotgun　aimed　at　his　chest。　The　shocked　realization　of　his　deadly　blunder；　the　awareness　that　his　death　was　only　seconds　away；　seemed　more　to　anger　than　frighten　him。　The　bitter；　stunned　expression　in　his　now　visible　eyes　gave　Pitt　a　chill。　It　was　not　the　look　of　a　man　afraid　to　die；　it　was　the　desperate　look　of　a　man　who　had　failed　his　mission。　He　staggered　toward　Pitt　in　a　hopeless　gesture　of　tenacity；　the　lips　that　were　faintly　visible　through　the　open　slit　in　his　black　hood　hideous　in　a　blood…flecked　snarl。
　
　Pitt　did　not　send　another　burst　from　the　shotgun　into　the　assassin's　body。　Nor　did　he　use　his　gun　as　a　club。　He　stepped　forward　and　lashed　out　with　one　foot；　kicking　the　man's　legs　out　from　under　him　and　sending　him　crashing　heavily　to　the　ground。
　
　Picking　up　the　killer's　weapon；　Pitt　did　not　immediately　recognize　it　as　Chinese…manufactured；　but　he　was　impressed　with　its　advanced　innovations：　a　plastic　frame　with　integral　electro…optics；　a　fifty…round　magazine　in　line　with　the　bore；　and　cased；　telescoped　cartridges　with　the　ballistics　of　a　rifle　shell。　It　was　a　handgun　for　the　twenty…first　century。
　
　He　stepped　back　inside　the　hangar　and　switched　on　the　lights　again。　Despite　the　harrowing　ordeal；　Pitt　felt　strangely　unaffected。　He　walked　the　aisle　separating　the　cars　until　he　stood　below　the　balcony　of　his　apartment。　Then　he　stared　down　at　the　second　killer's　body。　The　partner　of　the　man　he　dropped　in　the　doorway　was　as　dead　as　a　rat　in　a　sprung　trap。　One　of　Pitt's　shots　had　missed；　but　the　other　had　taken　off　the　top　of　the　killer's　head。　Not　a　sight　to　remember　at　the　dinner　table。
　
　Wearily；　Pitt　climbed　a　circular　metal　staircase　and　entered　his　apartment。　There　was　no　sense　in　calling　911。　He　expected　federal　marshals　to　e　bounding　up　the　road　any　minute。　Methodically；　he　rinsed　a　glass　with　water；　shook　it　partially　dry　and　inverted　it　in　a　bowl　of　salt。　Then　he　added　crushed　ice；　a　sliced　lime；　and　two　shots　from　a　bottle　of　Don　Julio　silver　tequila。　Relaxing　in　a　leather　sofa；　he　savored　the　drink　like　a　thirst…stricken　bedouin　who　staggered　onto　an　oasis。
　
　Five　minutes　and　a　second　tequila　later；　Admiral　Sandecker　arrived　with　a　team　of　marshals。　Pitt　came　down　to　the　hangar　floor　and　met　them；　drink　in　hand。　〃Good　evening；　Admiral；　always　good　to　see　you。〃
　
　Sandecker　grunted　something　appropriate　and　then　nodded　at　the　body　beneath　the　apartment。　〃You　really　must　leam　to　pick　up　after　yourself。〃　The　voice　was　caustic；　but　there　was　no　mistaking　the　concern　in　his　eyes。
　
　Pitt　smiled　and　shrugged。　〃The　world　needs　murderers　like　it　needs　cancer。〃
　Sandecker　noticed　the　streak　of　blood　on　Pitt's　arm。　〃You　took　a　hit。〃　〃Nothing　a　Band…Aid　won't　fix。〃
　〃Let's　have　the　story；〃　demanded　Sandecker；　all　preliminaries　over。　〃Where　did　they　e　from？〃
　〃I　haven't　a　clue。　They　were　waiting　for　me。〃
　〃A　miracle　they　didn't　kill　you。〃
　〃They　didn't　plan　on　me　ing　to　the　party　prepared　after　I　saw　that　my　security　system　had　been　tampered　with。〃
　Sandecker　looked　at　Pitt　cautiously。　〃You　might　have　waited　until　I　arrived　with　the　marshals。〃
　
　Pitt　motioned　through　the　door　toward　the　road　and　barren　land　outside　the　hangar。　〃If　I　made　a　run　for　it；　they'd　have　cut　me　down　before　I　got　fifty　yards。　Better　to　go　on　the　offensive。　I　felt　my　only　chance　was　to　do　something　quickly　and　catch　them　off　balance。〃
　Sandecker　stared　at　Pitt　shrewdly。　He　knew　his　special　projects　director　would　never　attempt　anything　without　a　solid　reason。　His　eyes　took　in　the　bullet…riddled　doorway。　〃I　hope　you　know　a　good　handyman。〃
　At　that　moment　a　man　wearing　casual　clothes　and　a　wind…breaker　over　a　ballistic　armor　vest　with　a　Smith　&　Wesson　model　442　。38　revolver　in　a　shoulder　holster　approached。　In　one　hand　he　held　a　hooded　mask　worn　by　the　killer　whom　Pitt　had　dropped　in　the　doorway。　〃Won't　be　easy　to　ID　them。　They　were　probably　imported　for　the　hit。〃
　Sandecker　made　the　introduction。　〃Dirk；　this　is　Mr。　Peter　Harper；　executive　associate　missioner　of　field　operations　for　the　Immigration　and　Naturalization　Service。〃
　Harper　shook　Pitt's　hand。　〃A　pleasure　to　meet　you；　Mr。　Pitt。　It　seems　you　had　an　unexpected　homeing。〃
　〃A　dubious　surprise　I　wasn't　counting　on。〃　Pitt　was　not　at　all　sure　he　could　warm　to　Harper。　The　associate　missioner　of　the　INS　struck　him　as　a　man　who　spent　his　spare　time　working　algebra　problems。　Despite　the　fact　he　carried　a　weapon；　Harper　looked　benign　and　scholastic。　〃There　is　a　van　parked　a　short　distance　from　the　hangar。〃
　〃We　already　checked　it　out；〃　said　Harper。　〃It　belongs　to　a　　rental…car　agency。　The　name　on　the　agreement　is　fictitious