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woman loaded with shopping bags most likely never gave a thought to thereal value of life。 Most likely none of them evenbelieve in an afterlife。 They're like the Romans who stood blindly aside while our Lord was crucified。 If they ever do stop to think about the afterlife； they probably just tell themselves that they'll die and be put in a coffin and buried； and that's it。
〃Except； my brothers and sisters； that isnot it。 I've held a lot of jobs in my life； and one of them was a mortuary assistant。 So I speak to you with confidence。 When you die； that isnot the end。 It is just the beginning。I've seen what happens to the dead with my own eyes。 〃
Harriman noticed that the crowd； though growing all the time； had fallen utterly silent。 Nobody seemed to move。 Harriman realized he； too； was almost holding his breath； waiting to hear what the man would say next。
〃Perhaps our important young man with the cell phone will be lucky enough to be buried in the middle of winter。 That tends to slow things down a piece。 But sooner or later…usually sooner…the dinner guests arrive。 First e the blowflies；Phormia regina ； to lay their eggs。 In a fresh corpse； there's a population explosion of sorts。 That kind of population growth…we're talking half a dozen generations here…adds up to tens of thousands of maggots； always moving； always hungry。 The larvae themselves generate so much heat that those at the center must crawl out to the edges to cool before burrowing back in again to the task at hand。 In time…lapse photography； it all bees a boiling； churning storm。 And； of course； the maggots are only the first arrivals。 In time； the fragrance of deposition brings a host of others。 But I see no reason to trouble you with all the details。
〃So much； my friends； for resting in peace。
〃Perhaps； then； our young fellow with the cell phone might decide cremation is the way to go。 This leaves no corpse behind to be violated； over slow years； by the beetles and the worms。 Surely cremation is a quick； a dignified end to our human form。 Aren't we told as much？
〃Then let me be the one to tell you； my brothers and sisters； no death is dignified that befalls us outside the sight of God。 I've witnessed more cremations that I can count。 Do you have any idea how hard it is to burn a human body？ How much heat is required？ Or what happens when the body es in contact with a six…hundred…degree flame？ I will tell you； my friends； and forgive me if I do not spare you。 You will learn there is a reason I do not spare you。
〃First the hair； from head to toe； crisps in a blaze of blue smoke。 Then the body snaps to attention； just like a cadet in a parade review。 And then the body tries tosit up 。 Doesn't matter that there's a casket lid in the way； it tries to sit up all the same。 The temperature rises； maybe to eight hundred degrees。 And it is now that the marrow boils and the bones themselves begin to burst； the backbone exploding just like a string of Black Cats。
〃And still the temperature goes up。 A thousand degrees； fifteen hundred； two thousand。 The eruptions keep on； rattling the retort oven like gunshots…but again I will refrain from naming just what is exploding at this point。 Leave me only say that this goes on for as long as three hours before the mortal remains are reduced to ash and fragments of bone。
〃Why have I not spared you more of these details； my brothers and sisters？ I will tell you why。 Because Lucifer； the Prince of Darkness； who never sleeps in his tireless pursuit of corruption； will not spare you； either。 And the fires of that crematorium burn far cooler； and far briefer； than the fires to which that important young man's soul is surely destined。 Two thousand degrees or ten thousand； three hours or three centuries…these are nothing to Lucifer。 These are but a warm spring wind passing for the briefest of moments。 And when you try to sit up in that burning lake of brimstone…when you bump your head on the roof of hell and fall back into that unquenchable flame； burning so hot it surpasses all powers of my poor tongue to describe it…who will hear your prayers？ Nobody。 You already had a lifetime to pray； tragically squandered。
〃And that is why I am here； my friends。 Up in that beautiful building； towering so high over our puny heads； Lucifer showed his face to this great city and seized the soul of a man。 A man named Cutforth。 Revelation tells us that in the End Days； Lucifer will openly walk the earth。 He has arrived。 The death out on Long Island； the death right here： these are but the beginning。 We have been given a sign； and we must act。 And act now。 It is not too late。 The crypt or the crematorium urn； the maggot or the flame…you must all of you understand that it makes no difference。 When your soul is laid bare before the judge of all； what will be your account？ I ask you to look into yourself now； in silence； and in silence to judge yourself。 And then； in a little while； we will pray together。 Pray for forgiveness； and for the time still upon this earth； and in this doomed city； in which to find redemption。〃
Almost mechanically； without taking his eyes from Buck； Harriman slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and called the photo department； speaking very softly。 It was Klein's shift； and he understood exactly what Harriman wanted。 No caricature of a Bible…thumping preacher here。 Just the opposite。 Harriman would make the Reverend Buck look like a man the readers of thePost would respect： a man who seemed the most reasonable； thoughtful person alive。
And if you heard him speak； you might believe it yourself。
Harriman slipped the phone back into his pocket。 This Reverend Buck might not know it yet； but soon…very soon…he was going to be page one news。
52
The night was humid and fragrant。 Crickets trilled in the close darkness。 D'Agosta followed Pendergast along an abandoned railroad track between squalid…looking concrete apartments。 It was midnight and the moon had just set； lowering a velvety cloak over the city。
The tracks ended； leaving only the railroad grade； which was crossed by a sagging chain…link fence running off into darkness on both sides。 On the far side of the fence lay blackness； with just the faintest outline of large trees silhouetted against the night。
Following Pendergast； D'Agosta turned and walked along the fence for a few hundred yards until they reached a cluster of trees。 In the center was a tiny clearing； carpeted with dead leaves and old chestnut burrs。
〃We'll prep here；〃 said Pendergast； setting down the bag he'd been carrying。
D'Agosta put down his own bag and took a few deep breaths。 He was glad he'd begun working out after the chase through Riverside Park but wished he'd thought of it sooner。 Pendergast didn't even seem winded。
Pendergast stripped off his suit； folding it up into neat packets which he stowed in his bag。 Underneath he was wearing black pants and shirt。 D'Agosta stripped down to a similar costume。
〃Here。〃 Pendergast tossed D'Agosta a jar of face paint； taking another for himself； and began blackening his face with the tips of his fingers。
D'Agosta began to apply the paint as he examined the perimeter fence。 It looked about as low…security as you could get： rusty and leaning； with numerous rends and tears。 He took off his shoes and pulled on another pair Pendergast had supplied him with： black and tight…fitting； with smooth soles。
Pendergast slipped out his Les Baer and began applying blacking to the gun。 D'Agosta winced； it was a hell of a thing to do to such a beautiful firearm。
〃You need to do the same； Vincent。 A single glint； no matter how small； would be all their spotters need。〃
D'Agosta reluctantly removed his weapon and began blacking it。
〃Undoubtedly you are wondering if all this is really necessary。〃
〃The thought had crossed my mind。〃
Pendergast tugged on a pair of black gloves。 〃The fence； as you've surely guessed； is deceptive。 There are several rings of security。 The first is purely psychological； which no doubt is one reason Bullard chose this site to begin with。〃
〃Psychological？〃
〃The site was once Il Dinamitificio Nobel； one of Alfred Nobel's dynamite factories。〃 Pendergast checked his watch。 〃One of the great ironies of history is that Nobel； who established the Nobel Peace Prize； made his fortune with what at the time was the cruelest invention in human history。〃
〃Dynamite？〃
〃Exactly。 Seventeen times more powerful than gunpowder。 It revolutionized warfare。 We're so used to mass killing； Vincent； that we've forgotten what war was like with only black powder； cannon； and bullets。 A terrible thing； to be sure； but nothing like what it would bee。 Now a single bomb； instead of killing two or three； could kill hundreds。 Shells and bombs could blow up entire buildings； bridges； and factories。 With the invention of the airplane； bombs could level entire city blocks； burn cities to the ground； murder thousands。 We tend to focus on the terror of nuclear weapons； but the fact is； dynamite and its derivatives have killed and maimed millions more than the atomic bomb ever did； or probably ever will。〃 He slipped a clip into his weapon and quietly racked the slide。
〃Right。〃
〃Alfred Nobel had a patent on modern warfare。 At the height of his success； he had hundreds of factories all over Europe making dynamite。 These factories had to be built on large campuses like this one； because no matter how carefully they handled their materials； once in a while it went off； killing hundreds。 He sited his factories in impoverished areas which would provide an endless source of desperate； expendable workers。 This factory was one of his largest。〃 He swept his hand toward the darkness beyond the fence。
〃Nobel might have gone down in history as a thoroughly evil man had not a curious thing happened。 In 1888 his brother died； and the newspapers of Europe mistakenly reported his brother's death as his own。 'The Merchant of Death Is Dead；' ran the headlines。 Reading his own obituary shocked Nobel deeply； and made him realize how history would see him。 His reaction was to establish the Nobel prizes…including the famed Peace Prize…as a way to redirect what would certainly have been the dreadful judgment of history on his life。〃
〃Seems to have worked；〃 muttered D'Agosta。
〃Which brings me to the point。 By the time this factory closed； hundreds of people had been killed in explosions。 On top of that； many thousands had been devastated by some of the chemicals used in the manufacture of dynamite； chemicals that affected the brain。 As a result； this is a cursed place。 It is shunned by the locals。 Except for the visits of a caretaker； the area saw no human beings until Bullard bought the property seven years ago。〃
〃So Bullard's letting the rep of the place handle security for him；〃 D'Agosta said。 〃Clever。〃
〃It's a clever deterrent； at least for the locals。 Nevertheless； there will be security； and probably quite sophisticated security at that。 I can only speculate as to its nature…my inquiries； as you know； have not been fruitful。 But I have a few tools that should aid us。〃
Pendergast removed a haversack from his bag and slung it over one shoulder。 Reaching back into the bag； he removed several pieces of aluminum tubing and fitted them together； affixing a small disc to one end。 He approached the fence； slowly moving the device back and forth。 Reaching the fence； he bent down； sweeping the ground before him carefully。 A small red light glowed faintly on the small disc。
Pendergast rose； stepped back。 〃As I suspected。 There is a sixty…hertz alternating electromagnetic field； indicating electric current。〃
〃You're saying that fence is electrified？〃 D'Agosta asked。 〃That old thing？〃
〃Not the fence itself。 A pair of sensor wires are buried just inside to alert security if anyone passes over them。〃
〃So how do we deactivate it？〃
〃We don't。 Follow me。〃
Stowing their bags in the thicket； they crept along the fence until they reached a weak spot； where several large holes had been crudely patched with baling wire。 Pendergast knelt and； with a few deft twists； unwired the largest。 Then； carefully extending the detector through the hole； he scanned the ground inside the fence