p&c.brimstone-第84章

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k；　looked　around　the　room。　No　mistake：　this　was　the　right　place。　
　〃The　count　has　covered　it　up。　Disguised　it　somehow。There　was　a　door　here。　〃　
　Another；　longer；　silence　fell。　Esposito's　eyes　met　D'Agosta's；　then　looked　away。　
　Seeing　the　speculative　look；　D'Agosta　felt　a　renewed　sense　of　steely　determination　settle　over　him。　〃Let's　join　your　men。　Search　the　whole　goddamned　place。〃　
　An　hour　later；　D'Agosta　found　himself　back　in　the　central　gallery。　They　had　explored　more　passages；　salons；　rooms；　vaults；　basements；　and　tunnels　than　he'd　ever　imagined　one　castle　could　hold。　The　castle　was　so　large；　so　sprawling；　it　was　impossible　to　know　whether　or　not　they　had　covered　all　its　drafty　spaces　and　dank　stairwells。　All　his　muscles　quivered　with　weariness。　The　canvas　bag　with　the　microwave　weapon　hung　like　a　dead　weight　by　his　side。　
　As　the　search　progressed；　Esposito　had　grown　increasingly　quiet。　Throughout　it　all；　Fosco　had　stayed　by　their　side；　solicitous；　patient；　unlocking　every　door；　even　suggesting　new　routes　of　inquiry　from　time　to　time。　
　Now；　the　count　cleared　his　throat。　〃Could　I　suggest　we　return　to　my　library？　We　can　talk　more　fortably　there。〃　
　As　they　seated　themselves　around　the　fire；　one　of　the　carabinieri　came　in　and　whispered　in　Esposito's　ear。　Thecolonnello　nodded；　then　dismissed　the　man　with　a　gesture；　his　expression　unreadable。　Fosco　once　again　offered　him　a　cigar；　and　this　time　Esposito　accepted。　D'Agosta　watched　all　this　with　a　sense　of　growing　disbelief。　He　felt　rage　taking　over　now；　almost　beyond　his　ability　to　control；　bined　with　a　sense　of　horror　and　grief。　It　was　unreal；　a　nightmare。　
　Esposito　spoke　at　last；　his　voice　neutral。　〃My　men　looked　into　the　Stylo。　It　was　returned　to　Eurocar　at　13：00　yesterday。　The　chit　was　signed　by　A。　X。　L。　Pendergast；　paid　for　with　an　American　Express　card　belonging　to　Pendergast。　A　Special　Agent　A。　X。　L。　Pendergast　had　a　reservation　on　a　flight　to　Palermo　at　14：30　from　Firenze　Peretola。　We're　still　trying　to　find　out　whether　he　was；　in　fact；　on　that　flight。　The　airlines　these　days　are　so　difficult　。　。　。〃　
　〃Of　courseit　will　appear　he　was　on　the　flight！　Can't　you　see　what　Fosco's　game　is？〃　
　〃Sergeant…〃　
　〃It's　allbullshit！　〃　D'Agosta　said；　rising　from　his　chair。　〃Orchestrated　by　Fosco！　Just　like　he　walled　up　the　passageway；　disguised　the　apartment。　Just　like　he's　plannedevery　fucking　thing！　〃　
　〃Sergeant；　please；〃　Esposito　said　quietly。　〃Control　yourself。〃　
　〃You　said　yourself　we　were　dealing　with　a　determined　man！〃　
　〃Sergeant。〃　The　voice　was　firmer。　
　D'Agosta　stood；　almost　out　of　his　mind　with　rage；　frustration；　and　grief。　Fosco　had　Pendergast's　credit　card。　What　did　it　mean？　And　now　the　bastard　was　slipping　through　his　fingers。　Pendergast　was　gone；　vanished。　He　made　an　almost　superhuman　struggle　at　control…if　he　lost　it；　he　would　never　have　another　chance。　He　had　to　find　a　chink　in　the　count's　armor。　〃He's　not　in　the　castle；　then。　They've　taken　him　into　the　woods；　up　on　the　mountain。　We've　got　to　search　the　area。〃　
　Esposito　puffed　thoughtfully　on　the　cigar；　waiting　for　D'Agosta　to　finish。　Then　he　spoke。　〃Sergeant　D'Agosta。　In　your　story；　you　claim　the　count　killed　four　people　to　get　back　a　violin…〃　
　〃At　leastfour　people。　We're　just　wasting　time　here！　We　have　to…〃　
　Esposito　raised　a　hand　for　silence。　〃Excuse　me。　You　claim　the　count　killed　these　men　with　that　device　you're　carrying。〃　
　〃Yes。〃　D'Agosta　tried　to　control　his　breathing。　
　〃Why　don't　you　show　it　to　the　count？〃　
　D'Agosta　pulled　the　microwave　device　from　the　bag。　
　〃My　goodness；〃　Fosco　said；　staring　with　great　interest。　〃What　is　that？〃　
　〃The　sergeant　tells　us　it　is　a　microwave　weapon；〃　Esposito　said。　〃Designed　by　you；　and　used　by　you；　to　burn　to　death　Mr。　Locke　Bullard；　a　peasant　from　Abetone；　and　two　other　people　back　in　the　United　States。〃　
　Fosco　looked　first　at　thecolonnello　；　then　at　D'Agosta；　astonishment　and　then…pity？…on　his　face。　〃The　sergeant　says　this？〃　
　〃Correct。〃　
　〃A　machine；　you　say？　That　zaps　people；　turns　them　into　smoking　piles　of　ash？　That　I　built？〃　He　spread　his　hands；　astonishment　on　his　face。　〃I　should　like　to　see　a　demonstration。〃　
　〃Sergeant；　perhaps　you'd　care　to　demonstrate　the　device　for　us　and　the　count？〃　
　D'Agosta　looked　down　at　the　weapon；　turned　it　over　in　his　hands。　Fosco's　skeptical　tone　went　unrefuted　by　thecolonnello　；　and　no　wonder：　the　device　looked　almost　cartoonish；　a　Flash　Gordon　confection。　
　〃I　don't　know　how　to　use　it；〃　D'Agosta　said。　
　〃Try；〃　said　Esposito；　an　edge　of　sarcasm　in　his　voice。　
　It　occurred　to　D'Agosta　that　if　he　could　get　it　working；　it　might　be　his　only　chance　to　turn　the　tide。　It　was　his　last　chance。　
　He　pointed　it　toward　the　fireplace　hearth；　where…as　if　placed　as　a　deliberate　challenge…sat　a　fresh　pumpkin。　He　tried　to　clear　his　mind；　tried　to　remember　precisely　what　Fosco　had　done　before。　He　turned　a　knob；　pulled　the　trigger。　
　Nothing　happened。　
　He　spun　more　dials；　pressed　a　button；　aimed；　pulled　the　trigger。　
　Still　nothing。　
　For　all　he　knew；　it　had　been　damaged　during　the　escape；　when　he　tossed　it　into　the　bushes。　He　fiddled　with　the　dials；　pulling　the　trigger　again　and　again；　hoping　for　the　low　hum　he'd　heard　during　the　demonstration。　But　the　machine　remained　silent；　cold。　
　〃I　think　we've　seen　enough；〃　said　Esposito　quietly。　
　Slowly；　very　slowly；　D'Agosta　replaced　it　in　the　canvas　bag。　He　could　hardly　bring　himself　to　look　at　thecolonnello。　The　man　was　staring　at　him；　his　face　a　mask　of　skepticism。　No；　not　just　skepticism：　pure　disbelief；　anger…and　pity。　
　From　over　Esposito's　shoulder；　Fosco　also　stared。　Then…very　slowly　and　deliberately…Fosco　reached　into　his　collar；　drew　out　a　chain　with　a　medallion　at　the　end；　and　draped　it　carefully　over　his　shirtfront；　patting　it　familiarly　with　a　plump　hand。　
　With　a　sudden；　burning　shock　of　recognition；　D'Agosta　recognized　the　medallion：　the　lidless　eye　over　a　phoenix　rising　from　the　ashes。　Pendergast's　own　chain。　Fosco's　private　message　was　all　too　terribly　clear。　
　〃You　bastard…！〃　And　D'Agosta　lunged　for　the　count。　
　In　a　moment；　the　carabinieri　leaped　on　D'Agosta　and　pulled　him　back；　restraining　him　against　a　far　wall　of　the　library。　Thecolonnello　quickly　placed　himself　between　D'Agosta　and　Fosco。　
　〃The　son　of　a　bitch！　That's　Pendergast's　chain！　There's　your　proof！He　killed　Pendergast　and　took　it！　〃　
　〃Are　you　all　right？〃　Esposito　asked　the　count；　ignoring　D'Agosta。　
　〃Quite　all　right；　thank　you；〃　Fosco　said；　sitting　back　and　smoothing　his　capacious　front。　〃I　was　startled；　that　is　all。　To　settle　the　question　once　and　for　all；　so　there　can　beno　doubt　…〃　He　turned　the　disc　over；　and　there；　on　the　reverse　of　the　medallion；　evidently　worn　by　time；　was　an　intricate　engraving　of　the　count's　own　crest。　
　Esposito　looked　at　the　crest；　then　turned　to　stare　at　D'Agosta；　dark　eyes　glittering。　D'Agosta；　clamped　in　the　arms　of　six　men；　could　barely　move。　He　tried　to　regain　control　of　himself；　his　voice。　The　way　the　count　had　saidSo　there　can　be　no　doubt；　with　that　peculiar　emphasis　on　the　wordsno　doubt　。　。　。　It　was　a　message　aimed　directly　at　D'Agosta。　It　was　a　message　that　told　him　he　was　too　late。　Those　twelve　hours　maneuvering　for　the　warrant　had　proved　fatal。　The　desperate　hope　D'Agosta　had　been　fighting　to　hold　on　to…that　the　count　might　have　kept　Pendergast　alive；　a　prisoner…guttered　and　died。　Pendergast　was　dead。So　there　can　be　no　doubt　。　。　。　
　Esposito　extended　his　hand　to　Fosco。〃Abbiamo　finito　qui；　Conte。　Chiedo　scusa　per　il　disturbo；　e　la　ringrazio　per　la　sua　pazienza　con　questa　faccenda　piuttosto　spiacevole。〃　
　The　count　inclined　his　head　graciously。〃Niente　disturbo；　Colonnello。　Prego。〃　He　glanced　in　D'Agosta's　direction。〃Mi　dispiace　per　lui。〃　
　Esposito　and　Fosco　shook　hands。　〃We'll　be　going　now；〃　Esposito　said。　〃There　is　no　need　to　show　us　out。〃　And　with　this　he　bowed　deeply　to　Fosco　and　left　the　room；　ignoring　D'Agosta。　
　The　carabinieri　holding　D'Agosta　released　him。　D'Agosta　picked　up　the　canvas　bag　and　headed　for　the　door。　A　red　mist　hung　before　his　eyes。　In　the　doorway；　he　stopped　to　look　back　at　Fosco。　〃You're　a　dead　man；〃　he　said；　barely　managing　to　speak。　〃You…〃　
　But　the　words　died　in　his　throat　as　Fosco　swiveled　to　stare　at　him　in　turn；　his　large　features　and　wet　lips　spreading　into　a　horrible　grin。　It　was　like　nothing　D'Agosta　had　ever　seen　before…malevolent；　triumphant；　a　grotesque　leer　of　exultation。　If　the　count　had　spoken　the　words　out　loud；　the　message　couldn't　have　been　clearer。He　had　murdered　Pendergast。　
　And　then　the　smile　was　gone；　hidden　behind　a　cloud　of　cigar　smoke。　
　Colonnello　Esposito　said　nothing　during　the　walk　back　along　the　gallery；　across　the　manicured　lawn；　through　the　gate　of　the　inner　ward。　He　remained　silent　as　the　cars　made　their　way　down　the　narrow　road；　past　the　cypress　trees　and　olive　groves。　It　was　not　until　they　were　on　the　main　road　back　to　Florence　that　he　turned　to　D'Agosta。　
　〃I　misjudged　you；　sir；〃　he　said　in　a　low；　chill　voice。　〃I　weled　you　here；　gave　you　credentials；　cooperated　with　you　in　every　way。　In　return；　you　disgraced　yourself　and　humiliated　me　and　my　men。　I　will　be　lucky　if　the　count　doesn't　bring　adenuncia　against　me　for　this　invasion　of　his　home　and　insult　to　his　person。〃　
　He　leaned　a　little　closer。　〃You　may　consider　all　your　official　privileges　revoked　from　this　moment　on。　The　paperwork　to　have　you　declared　persona　non　grata　in　Italy　will　take　a　little　time…but　if　I　were　you；signore；　I　would　leave　this　country　by　the　next　available　flight。〃　
　Then　he　sat　back；　stared　stonily　out　the　window；　and　spoke　no　more。　
　　　
　86　
　
　It　was　approaching　midnight　when　Count　Fosco　finished　hisevening　constitutional　and；　puffing　slightly；　returned　to　the　main　diningsalotto　of　the　castle。　Whether　in　town　or　country；　it　was　his　habit；　before　turning　in；　to　take　a　short　stroll　for　his　health's　sake。　And　the　long　galleries　and　corridors　of　Castel　Fosco　offered　an　almost　endless　variety　of　perambulations。　
　He　took　a　seat　in　a　chair　facing　the　vast　stone　fireplace；　warming　his　hands　before　the　merry　blaze；　dispelling　the　damp　embrace　of　the　castle。　He'd　take　a　glass　of　port　and　sit　here　awhile　before　retiring：　sit　here；　and　contemplate　the　end　of　a　successful　day。　
　The　end；　in　fact；　of　a　successful　undertaking。　
　His　men　had　been　paid　off　and　had　all　melted　away；　back　into　the　huts　and　tenant　farmhouses　of　his　estate。　The　small　detachment　of　police　had　gone；　along　with　Sergeant　D'Agosta　and　his　fire　and　bluster。　The　man　would　soon　be　on　a　flight　back　to　New　York。　The　servants　would　not　return　until　the　next　morning。　The　castle　seemed　almost　watchful　in　its　silence。　
　Fosco　rose；　poured　himself　a　glass　of　port　from　a　bottle　on　an　ancient　sideboard；　then　returned　to　his　fortable　chair。　For　the　past　few　days；　the　walls　of　the　castle　had　rung　with　noise　and　excitement。　Now；　by　parison；　they　seemed　preternaturally　quiet。　
　He　sipped　the　port；　found　it　excellent。　
　It　was　a　great　pity；　not　having　Pinketts；　or　rather　Pinchetti；　here　to　anticipate　his　every　need。　It　was　a　great　pity；　to　think　of　him　at　rest　in　an　unmarked　tomb　within　the　family　vault。　The　man　would　be　difficult；　even　impossible；　to　replace。　Truth　to　tell；　sitting　here　by　himself；