preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第68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！


　The　door　was　opened　by　the　remaining　security　officer。　He　looked　young；　barely　old　enough　to　be　out　of　high　school。　He　was　already　spooked。　〃Yes；　how　can　I　help　you？〃
　Smithback　grasped　the　man's　surprised；　limp　hand　while　stepping　inside　at　the　same　time。
　〃O'Neal？　I'm　Maurice　Fannin　from　Human　Resources。　They　sent　me　down　here　to　straighten　things　out。〃
　〃Straighten　things　out？〃
　Smithback　slid　his　way　inside；　looking　at　the　rows　of　old　metal　filing　cabinets；　the　scarred　table　covered　with　foam　coffee　cups　and　cigarette　butts；　the　piss…yellow　walls。
　〃This　is　a　disgrace；〃　he　said。
　There　was　an　unfortable　silence。
　Smithback　drilled　his　eyes　into　O'Neal。　〃We've　been　doing　a　little　looking　into　your　area　here；　and　let　me　tell　you；　O'Neal；　we　are　not　pleased。　Not　pleased　at　all。〃
　O'Neal　was　immediately　and　utterly　cowed。　〃I'm　sorry；　sir。　Maybe　you　should　talk　to　my　supervisor；　Mr。　Bulger…〃
　〃Oh；　we　are。　We're　having　a　long　discussion　with　him。〃　Smithback　looked　around　again。　〃When　was　the　last　time　you　had　a　file　check；　for　example？〃
　〃A　what？〃
　〃A　file　check。　When　was　the　last　time；　O'Neal？〃
　〃Er；　I　don't　know　what　that　is。　My　supervisor　didn't　tell　me　anything　about　a　file　check…〃
　〃Strange；　he　thought　you　knew　all　about　the　procedure。　Now；　that's　what　I　mean　here；　O'Neal：　sloppy。　Very　sloppy。　Well；　from　now　on；　we　will　be　requiring　a　monthly　file　check。〃　Smithback　narrowed　his　eyes；　strode　over　to　a　filing　cabinet；　pulled　on　a　drawer。　It　was；　as　he　expected；　locked。
　〃It's　locked；〃　said　the　guard。
　〃I　can　see　that。　Any　idiot　can　see　that。〃　He　rattled　the　handle。　〃Where's　the　key？〃
　〃Over　there。〃　The　poor　guard　nodded　toward　a　wall　box。　It；　too；　was　locked。
　It　occurred　to　Smithback　that　the　climate　of　fear　and　intimidation　the　new　Museum　administration　had　fostered　was　proving　most　helpful。　The　man　was　so　terrified；　the　last　thing　he　would　think　of　doing　was　challenging　Smithback　or　asking　for　his　ID。
　〃And　the　key　to　that？〃
　〃On　my　chain。〃
　Smithback　looked　around　again；　his　quick　eyes　taking　in　every　detail　under　the　pretense　of　looking　for　further　violations。　The　filing　cabinets　had　labels　on　them；　each　with　a　date。　The　dates　seemed　to　run　back　to　1865；　the　founding　year　of　the　Museum。
　Smithback　knew　that　any　outside　researchers　who　were　issued　a　pass　to　the　collections　would　have　to　have　been　approved　by　a　mittee　of　curators。　Their　deliberations；　and　the　files　the　applicant　had　to　furnish；　should　still　be　in　here。　Leng　almost　certainly　had　such　a　collections　pass。　If　his　file　were　still　here；　it　would　contain　a　wealth　of　personal　information：　full　name；　address；　education；　degrees；　research　specialization；　list　of　publications…perhaps　even　copies　of　some　of　those　publications。　It　might　even　contain　a　photograph。
　He　rapped　with　a　knuckle　on　the　cabinet　marked　1880。　〃Like　this　file。　When　was　the　last　time　you　file…checked　this　drawer？〃
　〃Ah；　as　far　as　I　know；　never。〃
　〃Never？〃　Smithback　sounded　incredulous。　〃Well；　what　are　you　waiting　for？〃
　The　guard　hustled　over；　unlocked　the　wall　cabinet；　fumbled　for　the　right　key；　and　unlocked　the　drawer。
　〃Now　let　me　show　you　how　to　do　a　file　check。〃　Smithback　opened　the　drawer　and　plunged　his　hands　into　the　files；　rifling　them；　stirring　up　a　cloud　of　dust；　thinking　fast。　A　yellowed　index　card　was　poking　from　the　first　file；　and　he　whipped　it　out。　It　listed　every　file　in　the　drawer　by　name；　alphabetized；　dated；　cross…referenced。　This　was　beautiful。　Thank　God　for　the　early　Museum　bureaucrats。
　〃See；　you　start　with　this　index　card。〃　He　waved　it　in　the　guard's　face。
　The　guard　nodded。
　〃It　lists　every　file　in　the　cabinet。　Then　you　check　to　see　if　all　the　files　are　there。　Simple。　That's　a　file　check。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　Smithback　quickly　scanned　the　list　of　names　on　the　card。　No　Leng。　He　shoved　the　card　back　and　slammed　the　drawer。
　〃Now　we'll　check　1879。　Open　the　drawer；　please。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　Smithback　drew　out　the　1879　index　card。　Again；　no　Leng　was　listed。　〃You'll　need　to　institute　much　more　careful　procedures　down　here；　O'Neal。　These　are　extremely　valuable　historical　files。　Open　the　next　one。　'78。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　Damn。　Still　no　Leng。
　〃Let's　take　a　quick　look　at　some　of　the　others。〃　Smithback　had　him　open　up　more　cabinets　and　check　the　yellow　index　cards　on　each；　all　the　while　giving　O'Neal　a　steady　stream　of　advice　about　the　importance　of　file…checking。　The　years　crept　inexorably　backward；　and　Smithback　began　to　despair。
　And　then；　in　1870；　he　found　the　name。　Leng。
　His　heart　quickened。　Forgetting　all　about　the　guard；　Smithback　flipped　quickly　through　the　files　themselves；　pausing　at　the　Ls。　Here　he　slowed；　carefully　looked　at　each　one；　then　looked　again。　He　went　through　the　Ls　three　times。　But　the　corresponding　Leng　file　was　missing。
　Smithback　felt　crushed。　It　had　been　such　a　good　idea。
　He　straightened　up；　looked　at　the　guard's　frightened；　eager　face。　The　whole　idea　was　a　failure。　What　a　waste　of　energy　and　brilliance；　frightening　this　poor　guy　for　nothing。　It　meant　starting　over　again；　from　scratch。　But　first；　he'd　better　get　his　ass　out　of　there　before　Bulger　returned；　disgruntled；　spoiling　for　an　argument。
　〃Sir？〃　the　guard　prompted。
　Smithback　wearily　closed　the　drawer。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　〃I　have　to　be　getting　back。　Carry　on。　You're　doing　a　good　job　here；　O'Neal。　Keep　it　up。〃　He　turned　to　go。
　〃Mr。　Fannin？〃
　For　a　moment　Smithback　wondered　who　the　man　was　talking　to。　Then　he　remembered。　〃Yes？〃
　〃Do　the　carbons　need　a　file　check　also？〃
　〃Carbons？〃　Smithback　paused。
　〃The　ones　in　the　vault。〃
　〃Vault？〃
　〃The　vault。　Back　there。〃
　〃Er；　yes。　Of　course。　Thank　you；　O'Neal。　My　oversight。　Show　me　the　vault。〃
　The　young　guard　led　the　way　through　a　rear　door　to　a　large；　old　safe　with　a　nickel　wheel　and　a　heavy　steel　door。　〃In　here。〃
　Smithback's　heart　sank。　It　looked　like　Fort　Knox。　〃Can　you　open　this？〃
　〃It's　not　locked　anymore。　Not　since　the　high…security　area　was　opened。〃
　〃I　see。　What　are　these　carbons？〃
　〃Duplicates　of　the　files　back　there。〃
　〃Let's　take　a　look。　Open　it　up。〃
　O'Neal　wrestled　the　door　open。　It　revealed　a　small　room；　crammed　with　cabinets。
　〃Let's　take　a　look　at；　say；　1870。〃
　The　guard　glanced　around。　〃There　it　is。〃
　Smithback　made　a　beeline　for　the　drawer；　yanking　it　open。　The　files　were　on　some　early　form　of　photocopy　paper；　like　glossy　sepia…toned　photographs；　faded　and　blurred。　He　quickly　pawed　through　to　the　Ls。
　There　it　was。　A　security　clearance　for　Enoch　Leng；　dated　1870：　a　few　sheets；　tissue…thin；　faded　to　light　brown；　covered　in　long　spidery　script。　With　one　swift　stroke　Smithback　slipped　them　out　of　the　file　and　into　his　jacket　pocket；　covering　the　motion　with　a　loud　cough。
　He　turned　around。　〃Very　good。　All　this　will　need　to　be　file…checked；　too；　of　course。〃
　He　stepped　out　of　the　vault。　〃Listen；　O'Neal；　other　than　the　file　check；　you're　doing　a　fine　job　down　here。　I'll　put　in　a　good　word　for　you。〃
　〃Thank　you；　Mr。　Fannin。　I　try；　I　really　do…〃
　〃Wish　I　could　say　the　same　for　Bulger。　Now　there's　someone　with　an　attitude。〃
　〃You're　right；　sir。〃
　〃Good　day；　O'Neal。〃　And　Smithback　beat　a　hasty　retreat。
　He　was　just　in　time。　In　the　hall；　he　again　passed　Bulger；　striding　back；　his　face　red　and　splotchy；　thumbs　hooked　in　his　belt　loops；　lips　and　belly　thrust　forward　aggressively；　keys　swaying　and　jingling。　He　looked　pissed。
　As　Smithback　made　for　the　nearest　exit；　it　almost　felt　as　if　the　pilfered　papers　were　burning　a　hole　in　the　lining　of　his　jacket。
　
　The　Old；　Dark　House
　
　ONE
　　
　SAFELY　ON　THE　street；　Smithback　ducked　through　the　Seventy…seventh　Street　gate　into　Central　Park　and　settled　on　a　bench　by　the　lake。　The　brilliant　fall　morning　was　already　warming　into　a　lovely　Indian　summer　day。　He　breathed　in　the　air　and　thought　once　again　of　what　a　dazzling　reporter　he　was。　Bryce　Harriman　couldn't　have　gotten　his　hands　on　these　papers　if　he　had　a　year　to　do　it　and　all　the　makeup　people　of　Industrial　Light　and　Magic　behind　him。　With　a　sense　of　delicious　anticipation；　he　removed　the　three　sheets　from　his　pocket。　The　faint　scent　of　dust　reached　his　nose　as　sunlight　hit　the　top　page。
　It　was　an　old　brown　carbon；　fain