preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第1部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


f　America；　most　especially　those　who　have　made　a　difference　in　our　own　lives。
　ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
　Lincoln　Child　would　like　to　thank　Lee　Suckno；　M。D。；　Bry　Benjamin；　M。D。；　Anthony　Cifelli；　M。D。；　and　Traian　Parvulescu；　M。D。；　for　their　assistance。　Thanks　also　to　my　family；　nuclear　and　extended；　for　their　love　and　support。　Special　thanks　to　Nancy　Child；　my　mother；　for　operatic　advice。
　Douglas　Preston　expresses　his　great　appreciation　to　Christine　and　Selene　for　their　invaluable　advice　on　the　manuscript；　and；　as　always；　would　like　to　give　his　thanks　to　Aletheia　and　Isaac。　He　would　also　like　to　thank　James　Mortimer　Gibbons；　Jr。；　M。D。；　for　his　very　helpful　medical　expertise。
　We'd　like　to　thank　Jon　Couch　for　his　tireless　and　painstaking　work　on　the　firearms　details　of　the　book。　Thanks　also　to　Jill　Nowak　for　her　careful　reading　of　the　manuscript。　And　we　owe　a　particularly　great　debt　to　Norman　San　Agustin；　M。D。；　surgeon　extraordinaire；　for　his　extensive　assistance　on　surgical　technique　and　his　review　of　the　manuscript。　And；　as　always；　our　deep　appreciation　to　those　who　make　the　Preston…Child　novels　possible；　in　particular　Betsy　Mitchell；　Jaime　Levine；　Eric　Simonoff；　and　Matthew　Snyder。
　Although　we　have　employed　actual　Manhattan　street　names；　past　and　present；　in　this　novel；　the　public　institutions；　police　stations；　residences　and　other　structures　mentioned　herein　are　all　fictitious；　or　are　used　fictitiously。　We　have　also；　in　places；　altered　the　topography　of　New　York　City　to　suit　the　demands　of　the　story。
　
　Boneyard
　
　ONE
　　
　PEE…WEE　BOXER　SURVEYED　the　jobsite　with　disgust。　The　foreman　was　a　scumbag。　The　crew　were　a　bunch　of　losers。　Worst　of　all；　the　guy　handling　the　Cat　didn't　know　jack　about　hydraulic　excavators。　Maybe　it　was　a　union　thing；　maybe　he　was　friends　with　somebody；　either　way；　he　was　jerking　the　machine　around　like　it　was　his　first　day　at　Queens　Vo…Tech。　Boxer　stood　there；　beefy　arms　folded；　watching　as　the　big　bucket　bit　into　the　brick　rubble　of　the　old　tenement　block。　The　bucket　flexed；　stopped　suddenly　with　a　squeal　of　hydraulics；　then　started　again；　swinging　this　way　and　that。　Christ；　where　did　they　get　these　jokers？
　He　heard　a　crunch　of　footsteps　behind　him　and　turned　to　see　the　foreman　approaching；　face　caked　in　dust　and　sweat。　〃Boxer！　You　buy　tickets　to　this　show；　or　what？〃
　Boxer　flexed　the　muscles　of　his　massive　arms；　pretending　not　to　hear。　He　was　the　only　one　on　the　site　who　knew　construction；　and　the　crews　resented　him　for　it。　Boxer　didn't　care；　he　liked　keeping　to　himself。
　He　heard　the　excavator　rattle　as　it　carved　into　the　solid　wall　of　old　fill。　The　lower　strata　of　older　buildings　lay　open　to　the　sun；　exposed　like　a　fresh　wound：　above；　asphalt　and　cement；　below；　brick；　rubble；　then　more　brick。　And　below　that；　dirt。　To　sink　the　footings　for　the　glass　apartment　tower　well　into　bedrock；　they　had　to　go　deep。
　He　glanced　out　beyond　the　worksite。　Beyond；　a　row　of　Lower　East　Side　brownstones　stood　starkly　in　the　brilliant　afternoon　light。　Some　had　just　been　renovated。　The　rest　would　soon　follow。　Gentrification。
　〃Yo！　Boxer！　You　deaf？〃
　Boxer　flexed　again；　fantasizing　briefly　about　sinking　his　fist　into　the　guy's　red　face。
　〃e　on；　get　your　ass　in　gear。　This　isn't　a　peepshow。〃
　The　foreman　jerked　his　head　toward　Boxer's　work　detail。　Not　ing　any　closer；　though。　So　much　the　better　for　him。　Boxer　looked　around　for　his　shift　crew。　They　were　busy　piling　bricks　into　a　Dumpster；　no　doubt　for　sale　to　some　pioneering　yuppie　around　the　corner　who　liked　crappy…looking　old　bricks　at　five　dollars　each。　He　began　walking；　just　slowly　enough　to　let　the　foreman　know　he　wasn't　in　any　hurry。
　There　was　a　shout。　The　grinding　of　the　excavator　ceased　suddenly。　The　Cat　had　bit　into　a　brick　foundation　wall；　exposing　a　dark；　ragged　hole　behind　it。　The　operator　swung　down　from　the　idling　rig。　Frowning；　the　foreman　walked　over；　and　the　two　men　started　talking　animatedly。
　〃Boxer！〃　came　the　foreman's　voice。　〃Since　you　ain't　doing　squat；　I　got　another　job　for　you。〃
　Boxer　altered　his　course　subtly；　as　if　that　was　the　way　he'd　already　been　going；　not　looking　up　to　acknowledge　he　had　heard；　letting　his　attitude　convey　the　contempt　he　felt　for　the　scrawny　foreman。　He　stopped　in　front　of　the　guy；　staring　at　the　man's　dusty　little　workboots。　Small　feet；　small　dick。
　Slowly；　he　glanced　up。
　〃Wele　to　the　world；　Pee…Wee。　Take　a　look　at　this。〃
　Boxer　gave　the　hole　the　merest　glance。
　〃Let's　see　your　light。〃
　Boxer　slipped　the　ribbed　yellow　flashlight　out　of　a　loop　in　his　pants　and　handed　it　to　the　foreman。
　The　foreman　switched　it　on。　〃Hey；　it　works；〃　he　said；　shaking　his　head　at　the　miracle。　He　leaned　into　the　hole。　The　guy　looked　like　an　idiot；　standing　daintily　on　tiptoe　atop　a　fallen　pile　of　brick；　his　head　and　torso　invisible　within　the　ragged　hole。　He　said　something　but　it　was　too　muffled　to　make　out。　He　withdrew。
　〃Looks　like　a　tunnel。〃　He　wiped　his　face；　smearing　the　dust　into　a　long　black　line。　〃Whew；　stinks　in　there。〃
　〃See　King　Tut？〃　someone　asked。
　Everyone　but　Boxer　laughed。　Who　the　hell　was　King　Tut？
　〃I　sure　as　shit　hope　this　isn't　some　kind　of　archaeological　deal。〃　He　turned　to　Boxer。　〃Pee…Wee；　you're　a　big；　strong　fella。　I　want　you　to　check　it　out。〃
　Boxer　took　the　flashlight　and；　without　a　glance　at　the　weenies　around　him；　hoisted　himself　up　the　collapsed　pile　of　bricks　and　into　the　hole　the　excavator　had　cut　into　the　wall。　He　knelt　atop　the　broken　bricks；　shining　his　light　into　the　cavity。　Below　was　a　long；　low　tunnel。　Cracks　doglegged　up　through　the　walls　and　across　the　ceiling。　It　looked　just　about　ready　to　collapse。　He　hesitated。
　〃You　going　in；　or　what？〃　came　the　voice　of　the　foreman。
　He　heard　another　voice；　a　whiny　imitation。　〃But　it's　not　in　my　union　contract。〃　There　were　guffaws。
　He　went　in。
　Bricks　had　spilled　down　in　a　talus　to　the　floor　of　the　tunnel。　Boxer　half　scrambled；　half　slid　in；　raising　clouds　of　dust。　He　found　his　feet　and　stood　up；　shining　the　light　ahead。　It　lanced　through　the　dust；　not　getting　far。　From　inside；　the　place　seemed　even　darker。　He　waited　for　his　eyes　to　adjust　and　the　dust　to　settle。　He　heard　conversation　and　laughter　from　above；　but　faintly；　as　if　from　a　great　distance。
　He　took　a　few　steps　forward；　shining　the　beam　back　and　forth。　Threadlike　stalactites　hung　from　the　ceiling；　and　a　draft　of　foul…smelling　air　licked　his　face。　Dead　rats；　probably。
　The　tunnel　appeared　to　be　empty；　except　for　a　few　pieces　of　coal。　Along　both　sides　were　a　long　series　of　arched　niches；　about　three　feet　across　and　five　high；　each　crudely　bricked　up。　Water　glistened　on　the　walls；　and　he　heard　a　chorus　of　faint　dripping　sounds。　It　seemed　very　quiet　now；　the　tunnel　blocking　all　noise　from　the　outside　world。
　He　took　another　step；　angling　the　flashlight　beam　along　the　walls　and　ceiling。　The　network　of　cracks　seemed　to　grow　even　more　extensive；　and　pieces　of　stone　jutted　from　the　arched　ceiling。　Cautiously；　he　backed　up；　his　eye　straying　once　again　to　the　bricked…up　niches　along　both　walls。
　He　approached　the　closest　one。　A　brick　had　recently　fallen　out；　and　the　others　looked　loose。　He　wondered　what　might　be　inside　the　niches。　Another　tunnel？　Something　deliberately　hidden？
　He　shined　the　light　into　the　brick…hole；　but　it　could　not　penetrate　the　blackness　beyond。　He　put　his　hand　in；　grasped　the　lower　brick；　and　wiggled　it。　Just　as　he　thought：　it；　too；　was　loose。　He　jerked　it　out　with　a　shower　of　lime　dust。　Then　he　pulled　out　another；　and　another。　The　foul　odor；　much　stronger　now；　drifted　out　to　him。
　He　shined　the　light　in　again。　Another　brick　wall；　maybe　three　feet　back。　He　angled　the　light　toward　the　bottom　of　the　arch；　peering　downward。　There　was　something　there；　like　a　dish。　Porcelain。　He　shuffled　back　a　step；　his　eyes　watering　in　the　fetid　air。　Curiosity　struggled　with　a　vague　sense　of　alarm。　Something　was　definitely　inside　there。　It　might　be　old　and　valuable。　Why　else　would　it　be　bricked　up　like　that？
　He　remembered　a　guy　who　once　found　a　bag　of　silver　dollars　while　demolishing　a　brownstone。　Rare；　worth　a　couple　thousand。　Bought　himself　a　slick　new　Kubota　riding　mower。　If　it　was　valuable；　screw　them；　he　was　going　to　pocket　it。
　He　plucke