rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第6部分

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　〃Basta！　We　fulfilled　the　contract。　If　the　Swiss　gnome　wants…〃
　His　words　were　cut　off　by　the　oarsman's　exclamation。　〃The　devil's　own！〃
　The　second　gunman　twisted　around　in　the　direction　his　friend　was　pointing。　His　mouth　fell　open　at　the　sight　of　the　victim's　partner　pounding　down　the　walkway　alongside　the　canal。
　〃Shoot　the　figlio　di　putana！〃　he　screamed。
　The　oarsman　brought　out　a　large…caliber　handgun。　〃With　pleasure。〃
　Smith　saw　the　oarsman's　arm　e　up；　saw　the　pistol　waver　as　the　gondola　rocked。　He　realized　the　insanity　of　what　he　was　doing；　chasing　armed　killers　without　so　much　as　knife　to　protect　himself。　But　the　image　of　Danko　kept　his　legs　churning。　Less　than　thirty　feet　and　closing；　because　the　oarsman　could　not　steady　himself　to　take　the　shot。
　Twenty　feet。
　〃Tommaso…〃
　The　oarsman；　Tommaso；　wished　that　his　partner　would　shut　up。　He　could　see　the　demented　one　closing　in；　but　what　did　it　matter？　Obviously　he　had　no　weapon；　otherwise　he　would　have　used　it　by　now。
　Then　he　saw　something　else；　partially　exposed　beneath　the　floor　planks　of　the　gondola：　a　hint　of　a　battery　and　multicolored　wires。。。　the　kind　he　himself　had　used　often　enough。
　Tommaso's　scream　was　cut　off　by　the　explosion　and　the　fireball　that　consumed　the　gondola；　heaving　it　thirty　feet　into　the　air。　For　an　instant；　there　was　nothing　but　black；　acrid　smoke。　Hurled　against　the　brick　wall　of　a　glass　factory；　Smith　saw　nothing　after　the　flash；　but　he　smelled　the　burning　wood　and　blackened　flesh　as　they　began　to　rain　down　from　the　sky。
　
　Amid　the　terror　and　fearful　uncertainty　that　gripped　the　square；　one　man；　hidden　behind　the　pillar　supporting　one　of　the　granite　lions　of　St。　Mark's；　remained　calm。　At　first　glance；　he　appeared　to　be　in　his　early　fifties。　But　possibly　it　was　the　mustache　and　goatee　that　made　him　look　older。　He　wore　a　French…cut　sport　coat　in　window…pane　check　with　a　yellow　rosette　in　the　lapel。　A　paisley　cravat　was　nestled　against　his　throat。　To　the　casual　observer；　he　appeared　a　dandy；　perhaps　a　tenured　academic　or　a　genteel　retiree。
　Except　that　he　moved　very　quickly。　Even　as　the　echoes　of　gunfire　caromed　around　the　piazza；　he　was　already　heading　in　the　direction　of　the　fleeing　gunmen。　A　choice　had　to　be　made：　follow　them　and　the　American　who　was　in　pursuit；　or　go　to　the　wounded　man。　He　didn't　hesitate。
　〃Dottore！　Let　me　pass！　I'm　a　doctor！〃
　Cowering　tourists　responded　instantly　to　his　perfect　Italian。　In　seconds；　he　was　kneeling　by　the　bullet…ridden　body　of　Yuri　Danko。　One　glance　told　him　that　Danko　was　beyond　anyone's　help　except　perhaps　God's。　Still；　he　pressed　two　fingers　to　the　man's　throat　as　though　feeling　for　a　pulse。　At　the　same　time；　his　other　hand　was　busy　inside　Danko's　jacket。
　People　were　beginning　to　stand　up；　look　around。　Look　at　him。　Some　were　moving　his　way。　As　shell…shocked　as　they　were；　they　would　still　ask　questions　that　he　would　rather　avoid。
　〃You　there！〃　the　doctor　said　sharplv；　addressing　a　young　man　who　looked　like　a　college　student。　〃Get　over　here　and　help　me。〃　He　grabbed　the　student　and　forced　him　to　hold　Danko's　hand。　〃Now　squeeze。。。　I　said　squeeze！〃
　〃But　he's　dead！〃　the　student　protested。
　〃Idiot！〃　the　doctor　snapped。　〃He's　still　alive。　But　he　will　die　if　he　doesn't　feel　any　human　contact！〃
　〃But　you…〃
　〃I　must　get　help。　You　stay　here！〃
　The　doctor　pushed　his　way　through　the　crowd　gathering　around　the　slain　men。　He　was　not　concerned　about　the　eyes　that　darted　to　meet　his。　Most　witnesses　were　notoriously　unreliable　under　the　best　of　circumstances。　Under　these　conditions；　not　a　single　person　would　be　able　to　describe　him　accurately。
　The　first　hee…haw　of　police　klaxons　reached　him。　Within　minutes；　the　entire　square　would　be　overrun　by　carabinieri　and　cordoned　off。　Potential　witnesses　would　be　rounded　up；　the　interrogations　would　go　on　for　days。　The　doctor　could　ill　afford　to　be　caught　in　the　dragnet。
　Without　seeming　to；　he　moved　swiftly　to　the　Bridge　of　Sighs；　crossed　it；　went　past　the　stalls　where　hawkers　peddled　souvenirs　and　T…shirts；　and　slipped　into　the　lobby　of　the　Danieli　Hotel。
　〃Good　afternoon；　Herr　Doktor　Humboldt；〃　the　concierge　said。
　〃A　good　day　to　you；〃　replied　the　man　who　was　neither　a　doctor　nor　Humboldt。　To　the　few　who　needed　to　know；　his　name　was　Peter　Howell。
　Howell　wasn't　surprised　that　word　of　the　massacre　hadn't　yet　reached　the　august　oasis　of　the　Danieli。　Very　little　of　the　outside　world　was　permitted　to　penetrate　this　fourteenth…century　palace　built　for　the　Doge　Dandolo。
　Howell　turned　left　into　the　magnificent　living　room　and　headed　for　the　small　bar　in　the　corner。　He　ordered　a　brandy　and；　when　the　bartender's　back　was　to　him；　closed　his　eyes　for　an　instant。　Howell　had　seen　his　share　of　dead　men；　had　initiated　and　been　on　the　receiving　end　of　extreme　violence。　But　the　cold；　stark　killing　in　St。　Mark's　still　managed　to　sicken　him。
　He　drank　half　the　brandy　in　a　single　swallow。　When　the　liquor　hit　his　bloodstream　and　he　felt　himself　relax；　he　reached　into　his　coat　pocket。
　Decades　had　passed　since　Howell　had　been　taught　the　pickpocket's　skill。　Feeling　Danko's　notepaper　between　his　fingers；　he　was　glad　to　see　that　he　hadn't　lost　his　touch。
　He　read　the　sentence　once；　then　a　second　time。　In　spite　of　knowing　better；　he　had　hoped　that　something　on　the　page　would　give　a　clue　as　to　why　Danko　had　been　slaughtered。　And　who　might　be　responsible。　But　none　of　the　words　made　any　sense　except　one：　Bioaparat。
　Howell　refolded　the　page　and　tucked　it　away。　He　drained　the　remains　of　his　brandy　and　signaled　the　bartender　for　a　refill。
　〃Is　everything　all　right；　signore？〃　the　bartender　asked　solicitously　as　he　served　up　the　drink。
　〃Yes；　thank　you。〃
　〃If　there's　anything　you　need；　please　don't　hesitate　to　ask。〃
　The　bartender　retreated　before　Howell's　icy　gaze。
　There's　nothing　you　can　held　me　with；　old　boy。　You're　not　the　one　I　need。
　
　When　Smith　opened　his　eyes；　he　was　startled　to　see　grotesque　faces　gazing　down　at　him。　As　he　pulled　himself　back；　he　discovered　that　he　was　slumped　in　the　recess　of　a　doorway　to　a　mask　and　costume　shop。　Slowly；　he　staggered　to　his　feet；　instinctively　checking　for　injuries。　Nothing　was　broken；　but　his　face　stung。　He　passed　a　hand　across　his　cheek　and　his　fingers　came　away　bloody。
　At　least　I'm　alive。
　He　couldn't　say　that　about　the　killers　who　had　tried　to　flee　in　the　gondola。　The　explosion　that　had　caused　the　craft　to　disintegrate　had　also　taken　its　occupants'　identities　to　eternity。　Even　if　the　police　corralled　eyewitnesses；　they　would　be　worthless：　professional　killers　were　often　masters　of　disguise。
　It　was　the　thought　of　police　that　got　Smith　moving。　Because　of　the　holidays；　all　the　shops　along　the　canal　were　closed。　There　were　no　people　around。　But　the　telltale　sound　of　the　police　launch　Klaxon　was　growing　louder。　The　authorities　couldn't　have　helped　but　connect　the　massacre　at　St。　Mark's　with　the　explosion　in　the　canal。　Witnesses　would　tell　them　that　the　assassins　had　run　in　that　direction。
　Where　they'll　find　me。。。　The　same　witnesses　will　connect　me　to　Danko。
　The　police　would　want　to　know　about　Smith's　relationship　to　the　dead　man；　why　they　had　met；　and　what　they　had　talked　about。　They　would　seize　on　the　fact　that　Smith　belonged　to　the　American　military　and　the　interrogation　would　bee　even　more　intense。　Yet；　in　the　end；　Smith　could　tell　them　nothing　that　would　explain　the　massacre。
　Smith　steadied　himself；　wiped　his　face　as　best　he　could；　and　brushed　off　his　suit。　He　took　a　few　tentative　steps；　then　walked　as　quickly　as　he　could　to　the　end　of　the　sidewalk。　There；　he　crossed　a　bridge　and　slipped　into　the　shadows　of　a　boarded…up　sequero；　a　gondola　construction　yard。　Half　a　block　up；　he　entered　a　small　church；　drifted　among　the　shadows；　and　emerged　through　another　set　of　doors。　Several　minutes　later；　he　was　on　the　promenade　next　to　the　Grand　Canal；　lost　among　the　throngs　that　moved　ceaselessly　along　the　waterfront。
　St。　Mark's　Square　was　cordoned　off　by　the　time　Smith　reached　it。　Grim…faced　carabinieri；　submachine　guns　held　at　port　arms；　created　a　human　barrier　between　the　granite　lions。　Europeans；　particularly　Italians；　were　well　versed　in　what　to　do　in　the　aftermath　of　what　was　cle