preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第94部分

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　best　just　to　kill　him　now。　At　least　he　knew　the　girl　could　not　escape　from　the　basement。　He　would　deal　with　her　in　good　time。　Fairhaven's　finger　tightened　on　the　trigger。
　At　last；　Pendergast　spoke。　〃Leng　didn't　tell　you　anything　in　the　end；　did　he？　You　tortured　him　to　no　avail；　because　you're　still　thrashing　about；　wasting　all　these　people。　But　I　do　know　about　Leng。　I　know　him　very　well　indeed。　Perhaps　you　noticed　the　resemblance？〃
　〃What？〃　Again　Fairhaven　was　taken　off　guard。
　〃Leng　was　my　great…grand…uncle。〃
　It　hit　Fairhaven　then。　His　grip　on　the　weapon　loosened。　He　remembered　Leng's　delicate　white　face；　his　white　hair；　and　his　very　pale　blue　eyes…eyes　that　regarded　him　without　begging；　without　pleading；　without　beseeching；　no　matter　how　hideous　it　had　bee　for　him。　Pendergast's　eyes　were　the　same。　But　Leng　had　died　anyway；　and　so　would　he。
　So　would　he；　the　voice　echoed；　more　insistently。　His　information　is　not　as　important　as　his　death。　This　resource　is　not　worth　the　risk。　Kill　him。
　The　man　reapplied　pressure　to　the　trigger。　At　this　distance；　he　could　not　miss。
　〃It's　hidden　here　in　the　house；　you　know。　Leng's　ultimate　project。　But　you've　never　found　it。　All　along　you've　been　looking　for　the　wrong　thing。　And　as　a　result；　you　will　die　a　long；　slow；　wasting　death　of　old　age。　Just　like　the　rest　of　us。　You　cannot　succeed。〃
　Squeeze　the　trigger；　the　voice　in　his　head　insisted。
　But　there　was　something　in　the　agent's　tone。　He　knew　something；　something　important。　He　wasn't　just　talking。　Fairhaven　had　dealt　with　bluffers　before；　and　this　man　was　not　bluffing。
　〃Say　what　you　have　to　say　now；〃　said　Fairhaven。　〃Or　you　will　die　instantly。〃
　〃e　with　me。　I'll　show　you。〃
　〃Show　me　what？〃
　〃I'll　show　you　what　Leng　was　really　working　on。　It's　in　the　house。　Here；　right　under　your　nose。〃
　The　voice　in　his　head　was　no　longer　little；　it　was　practically　shouting。　Do　not　allow　him　to　continue　talking；　no　matter　how　important　his　information　may　be。　And　Fairhaven　finally　heeded　the　wisdom　of　that　advice。
　Pendergast　was　leaning　against　the　wall；　off　balance；　his　hands　clearly　in　view。　It　would　be　impossible　for　the　man；　in　the　time　it　took　to　squeeze　off　one　shot；　to　reach　inside　his　suit　and　pull　out　a　backup　weapon。　Besides；　he　had　no　such　weapon；　Fairhaven　had　searched　him　thoroughly。　He　took　a　fresh　bead　on　Pendergast；　then　held　his　breath；　increasing　the　pressure　on　the　trigger。　There　was　a　sudden　roar　and　the　gun　kicked　in　his　hand。　And　he　knew　instantly：　it　had　been　a　true　shot。
　
　FOUR
　　
　THE　CELL　DOOR　stood　open；　allowing　a　faint　light　to　filter　in　from　the　passageway　beyond。　Nora　waited；　shrinking　back　into　the　pool　of　darkness　behind　the　cell　door。　Ten　minutes。　Pendergast　had　said　ten　minutes。　In　the　dark；　with　her　heart　pounding　like　a　sledgehammer；　every　minute　seemed　an　hour；　and　it　was　almost　impossible　to　tell　the　passage　of　time。　She　forced　herself　to　count　each　second。　A　thousand　one；　a　thousand　two　。　。　。　Each　count　made　her　think　of　Smithback；　and　what　might　be　happening　to　him。　Or　had　happened　to　him。
　Pendergast　had　told　her　he　thought　Smithback　was　dead。　He　had　said　this　to　spare　her　the　shock　of　discovering　it　for　herself。　Bill　is　dead。　Bill　is　dead。　She　tried　to　absorb　it；　but　found　her　mind　would　not　accept　the　fact。　It　felt　unreal。　Everything　felt　unreal。　A　thousand　thirty。　A　thousand　thirty…one。　The　seconds　rolled　on。
　At　six　minutes　and　twenty…five　seconds；　the　sound　of　a　gunshot　came；　deafening　in　the　confined　spaces　of　the　cellar。
　Her　whole　body　kicked　in　fear。　It　was　all　she　could　do　not　to　scream。　She　crouched；　waiting　for　the　absurd　skipping　of　her　heart　to　slow。　The　terrible　sound　echoed　and　re…echoed；　rumbling　and　rolling　through　the　basement　corridors。　Finally；　silence…dead　silence…returned。
　She　felt　her　breath　ing　in　gasps。　Now　it　was　doubly　hard　to　count。　Pendergast　had　said　to　wait　ten　minutes。　Had　another　minute　passed　since　the　shot？　She　decided　to　resume　the　count　again　at　seven　minutes；　hoping　the　monotonous；　repetitive　activity　would　calm　her　nerves。　It　did　not。
　And　then　she　heard　the　sound　of　rapid　footsteps　ringing　against　stone。　They　had　an　unusual；　syncopated　cadence；　as　if　someone　was　descending　a　staircase。　The　footfalls　quickly　grew　fainter。　Silence　returned　once　again。
　At　ten　minutes；　she　stopped　counting。　Time　to　move。
　For　a　moment；　her　body　refused　to　respond。　It　seemed　frozen　with　dread。
　What　if　the　man　was　still　out　there？　What　if　she　found　Smithback　dead？　What　if　Pendergast　was　dead；　too？　Would　she　be　able　to　run；　to　resist；　to　die；　rather　than　be　caught　herself　and　face　a　fate　far　worse？
　Speculation　was　useless。　She　would　simply　follow　Pendergast's　orders。
　With　an　immense　effort　of　will；　she　rose　from　her　crouch；　then　stepped　out　of　the　darkness；　easing　her　way　around　the　open　door。　The　corridor　beyond　the　cell　was　long　and　damp；　with　irregular　stone　floor　and　walls；　streaked　with　lime。　At　the　far　end　was　a　door　that　opened　into　a　bright　room：　the　lone　source　of　light；　it　seemed；　in　the　entire　basement。　It　was　in　that　direction　Pendergast　had　gone；　that　direction　from　which　the　shot　had　e；　that　direction　from　which　she'd　heard　the　sound　of　running　feet。
　She　took　a　hesitant　step　forward；　and　then　another；　walking　on　trembling　legs　toward　the　brilliant　rectangle　of　light。
　
　FIVE
　　
　THE　SURGEON　COULD　hardly　believe　his　eyes。　Where　Pendergast　should　have　been　lying　dead　in　a　pool　of　blood；　there　was　nothing。　The　man　had　vanished。
　He　looked　around　wildly。　It　was　inconceivable；　a　physical　impossibility　。　。　。　And　then　he　noticed　that　the　section　of　wall　Pendergast　had　been　leaning　against　was　now　a　door；　swiveled　parallel　to　the　stone　face　that　surrounded　it。　A　door　he　never　knew　existed；　despite　his　diligent　searches　of　the　house。
　The　Surgeon　waited；　stilling　his　mind　with　a　great　effort　of　will。　Deliberation　in　all　things；　he　had　found；　was　absolutely　necessary　for　success。　It　had　brought　him　this　far；　and　with　it　he　would　prevail　now。
　He　stepped　forward；　Pendergast's　gun　at　the　ready。　On　the　far　side　of　the　opening；　a　stone　staircase　led　downward　into　blackness。　The　FBI　agent　obviously　wanted　him　to　follow；　to　descend　the　staircase　whose　end　was　hidden　around　the　dark　curve　of　the　stone　wall。　It　could　easily　be　a　trap。　In　fact；　it　could　only　be　a　trap。
　But　the　Surgeon　realized　he　had　no　choice。　He　had　to　stop　Pendergast。　And　he　had　to　find　out　what　lay　below。　He　had　a　gun；　and　Pendergast　was　unarmed；　perhaps　even　wounded　by　the　shot。　He　paused；　briefly；　to　examine　the　pistol。　The　Surgeon　knew　something　about　weapons；　and　he　recognized　this　as　a　Les　Baer　custom；　。45　Government　Model。　He　turned　it　over　in　his　hands。　With　the　tritium　night　sights　and　laser　grips；　easily　a　three…thousand…dollar　handgun。　Pendergast　had　good　taste。　Ironic　that　such　a　fine　weapon　would　now　be　used　against　its　owner。
　He　stepped　back　from　the　false　wall。　Keeping　a　watchful　eye　on　the　stairway；　he　retrieved　a　powerful　flashlight　from　a　nearby　drawer；　then　darted　a　regretful　glance　toward　his　specimen。　The　vital　signs　were　beginning　to　drop　now；　the　operation　was　clearly　spoiled。
　He　returned　to　the　staircase　and　shone　the　flashlight　down　into　the　gloom。　The　imprint　of　Pendergast's　footsteps　was　clearly　visible　in　the　dust　that　coated　the　steps。　And　there　was　something　else；　something　besides　the　footsteps：　a　drop　of　blood。　And　another。
　So　he　had　hit　Pendergast。　Nevertheless；　he　would　have　to　redouble　his　caution。　Wounded　humans；　like　wounded　animals；　were　always　the　most　dangerous。
　He　paused　at　the　first　step；　wondering　if　he　should　go　after　the　woman　first。　Was　she　still　chained　to　the　wall？　Or　had　Pendergast　managed　to　free　her；　as　well？　Either　way；　she　posed　little　danger。　The　house　was　a　fortress；　the　basement　securely　locked。　She　would　be　unable　to　escape。　Pendergast　remained　the　more　pressing　problem。　Once　he　was　dead；　the　remaining　resource　could　be　tracked　down　and　forced　to　take　the　place　of　Smithback。　He'd　made　the　mistake　of　listening　to　Pendergast　once。　When　he　found　him；　he　wouldn't　make　that　mistake　again。　The　man　would　be　dead　before　he　even　opened　his　mouth。
　The　staircase　spiraled　down；　down；　corkscrewing