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！
r； sharp； free of distraction。 He tried to focus on that corner through the thickening fog of pain； tried to observe and understand what lay around him。
Titration and distillation apparatuses； beakers and retorts； burners； a vast thicket of glassware and metal。 And yet； despite the extent of the equipment； there seemed to be few clues to the project Leng had been working on。 Chemistry was chemistry； and you used the same tools and equipment； regardless of what chemicals you were synthesizing or isolating。 There were a larger number of hoods and vintage glove boxes than Pendergast expected； implying that Leng had been handling poisons or radioactive substances in his laboratory。 But even this merely corroborated what he had already surmised。
The only surprise had been the state of the laboratory。 There was no mass spectrometer； no X…ray diffraction equipment； no electrophoresis apparatus； and certainly no DNA sequencer。 No puters； nothing that seemed to contain any integrated circuits。 There was nothing to reflect the revolution in biochemistry technology that had occurred since the 1960s。 Judging by the age of the equipment and its neglected condition； it looked； in fact； as if all work in the lab had ceased around fifty years before。
But that made no sense。 Leng would certainly have availed himself of the latest scientific developments； the most modern equipment； to help him in his quest。 And； until very recently； the man had been alive。
Could Leng have finished his project？ If so； where was it？ What was it？ Was it somewhere in this vast basement？ Or had he given up？
The flicker of Fairhaven's light was licking closer now； and Pendergast ceased speculating and forced himself onward。 There was a door in the far wall； and he dragged himself toward it through an overwhelming wash of pain。 If this was Leng's laboratory； there would be no more than one； perhaps two； final workrooms beyond。 He felt an almost overpowering wave of dizziness。 He had reached the point where he could barely walk。 The endgame had arrived。
And still he didn't know。
Pendergast pushed the door ajar； took five steps into the next room。 He uncloaked the lantern and tried to raise it to get his bearings； examine the room's contents； make one final attempt at resolving the mystery。
And then his legs buckled beneath him。
As he fell； the lantern crashed to the floor； rolling away； its light flickering crazily across the walls。 And along the walls； a hundred edges of sharpened steel reflected the light back toward him。
TEN
THE SURGEON SHONE the light hungrily around the chamber as the echoes of the second shot died away。 The beam illuminated moth…eaten clothing； ancient wooden display cases； motes of disturbed dust hanging in the air。 He was certain he had hit Pendergast again。
The first shot； the gut shot； had been the more severe。 It would be painful； debilitating； a wound that would grow steadily worse。 The last kind of wound you wanted when you were trying to escape。 The second shot had hit a limb…an arm； no doubt； given that the FBI agent could still walk。 Exceedingly painful； and with luck it might have nicked the basilic vein； adding to Pendergast's loss of blood。
He stopped where Pendergast had fallen。 There was a small spray of blood against a nearby cabinet； and a heavier smear where the agent had obviously rolled across the ground。 He stepped back； glancing around with a feeling of contempt。 It was another of Leng's absurd collections。 The man had been a neurotic collector； and the basement was of a piece with the rest of the house。 There would be no arcanum here； no philosopher's stone。 Pendergast had obviously been trying to throw him off balance with that talk of Leng's ultimate purpose。 What purpose could be more grand than the prolongation of the human life span？ And if this ridiculous collection of umbrellas and walking sticks and wigs was an example of Leng's ultimate project； then it merely corroborated how unfit he was for his own discovery。 Perhaps with the long； cloistered years had e madness。 Although Leng had seemed quite sane when he'd first confronted him； six months before…as much as one could tell anything from such a silent； ascetic fellow…appearances meant nothing。 One never knew what went on inside a man's head。 But in the end； it made no difference。 Clearly； the discovery was destined for him。 Leng was only a vessel to bring this stupendous advancement across the years。 Like John the Baptist； he had merely paved the way。 The elixir was Fairhaven's destiny。 God had placed it in his path。 He would be Leng； as Leng should have been…perhaps would have been； had it not been for his weaknesses； his fatal flaws。
Once he had achieved success； he； Fairhaven； would not hole up like a recluse in this house to let the years roll endlessly by。 Once the transformation was plete…once he had perfected the elixir； absorbed all Leng had to give into himself…he would emerge； like a butterfly from a pupa。 He would put his long life to wonderful use： travel； love； learning； pleasure； exotic experiences。 Money would never be a problem。
The Surgeon forced himself to put aside these reflections and once again take up Pendergast's irregular path。 The footprints were growing smudged at the heels： the man was dragging his feet along the ground。 Of course； Pendergast could be faking the gravity of his wound； but Fairhaven sensed he wasn't。 One couldn't fake that heavy loss of blood。 And the man couldn't fake that he had been hit…not once； but twice。
Following the trail of blood； he crept through the archway in the far wall and entered the next room。 His flashlight revealed what looked like an ancient laboratory： long tables set up with all manner of strange glassware； racked into fantastic shapes； tubes and coils and retorts mounting almost to the ceiling of undressed rock。 It was old and dusty； the test tubes caked with rust…colored deposits。 Leng clearly hadn't used the place in years。 On the nearest table； one of the racks had rusted through； causing glassware to fall and shatter into pieces on the dark woodwork。
Pendergast's ragged steps went straight through this lab； without stopping； to a door on the far side。 Fairhaven followed more quickly now； gun raised； steady pressure on the trigger。 It's time； he thought to himself as he approached the door。 Time to finish this。
ELEVEN
AS HE ENTERED the room； Fairhaven immediately saw Pendergast： on his knees； head drooping； in a widening pool of blood。 There was to be no more hiding； no more evading； no more clever dissembling。
The man reminded Fairhaven of the way an animal died when gut…shot。 It didn't instantly keel over dead。 Instead； it happened in stages。 First； the animal stood there； shocked； trembling slightly。 Then it slowly kneeled； holding the position for a minute or more； as if praying。 Then its rear legs collapsed into a sitting position。 And there it might remain for several minutes before suddenly rolling onto its side。 The slow…motion ballet always ended with a spasm； that violent jerk of the legs at the moment of death。
Pendergast was in the second stage。 He could survive as much as a few more hours…helpless as a baby； of course。 But he wasn't going to live that long。 The chase had been diverting； but pressing business remained upstairs。 Smithback was spoiled by now； but the girl was waiting。
The Surgeon approached Pendergast； gun hand extended； allowing himself to briefly savor the triumph。 The clever； the diabolically cunning Special Agent Pendergast lay before him： stuporous； unresisting。 Then he stepped back to give himself room for the final shot and； without much curiosity； raised his light to illuminate the room。 He wouldn't want to spoil anything with his bullet； on the remote chance this room contained anything useful。
He was amazed at what he saw。 Yet another bizarre collection of Leng's。 Only this one was different。 This was all weapons and armor。 Swords； daggers； crossbows and bolts； harquebuses； lances； arrows； maces were mixed higgledy…piggledy with more modern guns； rifles； blackjacks； grenades； and rocket launchers。 There were also medieval suits of armor； iron helmets； chain…mail； Crimean； Spanish…American； and World War I army helmets； early bulletproof vests and stacks of ammunition…a veritable arsenal； dating from Roman times to the early twentieth century。
The Surgeon shook his head。 The irony was incredible。 If Pendergast had been able to get here a few minutes earlier； in better condition； he could have armed himself with enough firepower to fight off a battalion。 The contest might have gone very differently。 But as it was； he'd spent too much time browsing the earlier collections。 He'd arrived here a little too late。 Now he lay there in his own blood； half dead； lantern near his feet。 Fairhaven barked a laugh； his voice ringing off the vaults； and raised the gun。
The sound of laughter seemed to rouse the agent； who looked up at him； eyes glassy。 〃All I ask is that you make it quick；〃 he said。
Don't let him speak； the voice said。 Just kill him。
Fairhaven aimed the gun； placing Pendergast's head squarely before the center dot of the tritium sights。 A solid hit with a hollow…point bullet would effectively decapitate the FBI agent。 It would be about as quick as you could get。 His finger tightened on the trigger。
And then something occurred to him。
Quick was a lot more than Pendergast deserved。 The man had caused him a lot of grief。 Pendergast had dogged his trail； ruined his latest specimen； brought him anxiety and suffering at the very moment of triumph。
As he stood over the agent； he felt a hatred rise within him； the hatred he had felt for the other one； Leng； who had looked so similar。 The hatred he had felt for the trustees and professors of his medical school； who had refused to share his vision。 Hatred for the pettiness and small…mindedness that kept people like him from achieving their true greatness。
So Pendergast wanted it quick？ Not with this arsenal at his disposal。
He walked over to Pendergast and once again searched the unresisting man carefully； recoiling a little from the warm sticky blood that soaked his side。 Nothing。 The man had not been able to slip a weapon from the surrounding walls。 In fact； he could see that Pendergast's faltering footsteps led directly to the center of the room； where he had collapsed。 But it would do to be careful。 Pendergast； even in this pathetic state； was dangerous。 If he tried to talk； it would be best to just shoot him。 Words； in the mouth of this man； were subtle and pernicious。
He looked around again； more carefully this time。 There was every weapon imaginable on the walls。 He had read histories of some of them； studied others in museums。 The choice would prove amusing。
The word fun came to mind。
Always keeping Pendergast in his field of vision； Fairhaven shone his light around； finally selecting a bejeweled sword。 He plucked it from the wall； hefted it； turned it around in the beam of the flashlight。 It would have served his purpose； except it was rather heavy； and the blade was so rusty it looked as if it wouldn't cut butter。 Besides； the handle was sticky and unpleasant。 He hung it back up on the shelf； wiping his hands on his surgical cloth。
Pendergast was still sitting； watching him with pale； cloudy eyes。 Fairhaven grinned。 〃Got any preferences？〃
There was no reply； but Fairhaven could see a look of profound distress cross the agent's face。
〃That's right； Agent Pendergast。 'Quick' is no longer in the cards。〃
A slight； terrified widening of the eyes was Pendergast's only response。 It was enough。 The Surgeon felt a swell of satisfaction。
He moved along the collections； picked up a dagger with a handle of gold and silver； turned it over； laid it down。 Next to it was a helmet shaped like a man's head； with spikes inside that you could screw closed； driving the spikes bit by bit through the skull。 Too primitive； too messy。 Hanging on the wall nearby was an oversized leather funnel。 He'd heard of this： the torturer would jam it into the victim's mouth； then pour water down the victim's throat until the poor wretch either drowned or exploded。 Exotic； but too time…consuming。 Nearby was a large wheel on which peopl