pdouglas.thecodex-第11部分

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ather　had　even　tried　to　select　their　girlfriends…disastrously。
　He　ventured　a　glance　at　Sally。　A　cool　night　breeze　was　stirring　her　hair；　and　her　face　was　turned　into　the　moonlight；　her　lips　slightly　parted　in　pleasure　and　awe　at　the　stupendous　view。　One　hand　lay　on　her　thigh；　her　slender　body　resting　lightly　in　the　saddle。　God；　she　was　beautiful。
　He　angrily　pushed　that　out　of　his　mind。　His　life　was　now　pretty　much　how　he　wanted　it。　He　hadn't　managed　to　bee　a　paleontologist…his　father　had　scotched　that…but　being　a　vet　in　Utah　was　the　next　best　thing。　Why　screw　it　up？　He'd　been　down　that　road　before。　〃Yes；〃　he　finally　responded。　〃I'm　giving　it　up。〃
　〃Why？〃
　〃I'm　not　sure　I　can　explain　it。〃
　〃Try。〃
　〃You　have　to　understand　my　father。　All　my　life；　he　tried　to　control　everything　my　two　brothers　and　I　did。　He　managed　us。　He　had　big　plans　for　us。　But　no　matter　what　I　did；　what　any　of　us　did；　it　was　never　good　enough。　We　were　never　good　enough　for　him。　And　now　this。　I'm　not　going　to　play　his　game　any　longer。　Enough　is　enough。〃
　He　paused；　wondering　why　he　was　telling　her　so　much。
　〃Go　on；〃　she　said。
　〃He　wanted　me　to　bee　a　doctor。　I　wanted　to　be　a　paleontologist；　to　hunt　for　dinosaur　fossils。　Father　thought　that　was　ridiculous…'infantile；'　he　called　it。　We　promised　on　vet　school。　Naturally；　he　expected　me　to　go　to　Kentucky　and　doctor　million…dollar　racehorses　and　maybe　bee　an　equine　medical　researcher；　making　great　discoveries　and　putting　the　Broadbent　name　in　the　history　books。　Instead　I　came　out　here　to　the　Navajo　reservation。　This　is　what　I　want　to　do；　this　is　what　I　love　doing。　These　horses　need　me　and　these　people　need　me。　And　this　landscape；　southern　Utah；　is　the　most　beautiful　in　the　world；　with　some　of　the　greatest　Jurassic　and　Cretaceous　fossil　beds　anywhere。　But　my　father　thought　that　me　ing　out　here　to　the　rez　was　a　huge　failure　and　disappointment。　There　was　no　money　in　it；　no　prestige；　nothing　splendid　about　it。　Here　I'd　taken　his　money　to　go　to　vet　school　and　cheated　him　by　ing　out　here。〃
　He　stopped。　Now　he'd　really　said　too　much。
　〃And　so　that's　it？　You're　just　going　to　let　the　whole　inheritance　go；　Codex　and　all？〃
　〃That's　right。〃
　〃Just　like　that？〃
　〃Most　people　live　their　lives　without　a　legacy。　My　vet　practice　isn't　a　bad　living。　I　love　this　life；　this　country。　Look　around。　What　more　could　you　want？〃
　He　found　Sally　looking　at　him　instead；　her　hair　faintly　luminous　in　the　silvery　light　of　the　moon。　〃How　much　are　you　giving　up；　if　I　may　ask？〃
　He　felt　a　twinge；　not　for　the　first　time；　at　the　sheer　size　of　it。　〃A　hundred　million；　give　or　take。〃
　Sally　whistled。　There　was　a　long　silence。　A　coyote　howled　somewhere　in　the　canyons　below　them；　answered　by　a　further　howl。　She　finally　said；　〃Jesus；　you've　got　guts。〃
　He　shrugged。
　〃And　your　brothers？〃
　〃Philip's　joined　with　my　father's　old　partner　to　go　find　the　hidden　tomb。　Vernon's　going　it　alone；　I　hear。　Why　don't　you　team　up　with　one　of　them？〃
　He　found　her　looking　at　him　rather　intently　in　the　dark。　Finally　she　said；　〃I　already　tried。　Vernon　left　the　country　a　week　ago；　and　Philip's　also　disappeared。　They　went　to　Honduras。　You　were　my　last　choice。〃
　Tom　shook　his　head。　〃Honduras？　That　was　fast。　When　they　return　with　the　loot；　you　can　get　the　Codex　from　them。　I'll　give　you　my　blessing。〃
　Another　long　silence。　〃I　can't　risk　it。　They　have　no　idea　what　it　is；　what　it's　worth。　Anything　could　happen。〃
　〃I'm　sorry；　Sally；　I　can't　help　you。〃
　〃Professor　Clyve　and　I　need　your　help。　The　world　needs　your　help。〃
　Tom　stared　into　the　dark　cottonwood　groves　in　the　floodplain　of　the　San　Juan　River。　An　owl　called　from　a　distant　juniper。
　〃My　mind　is　made　up；〃　he　said。
　She　remained　looking　at　him；　her　hair　in　heavy　disarray　down　her　shoulders　and　back；　her　lower　lip　firmly　set。　The　cottonwoods　were　casting　a　dappled　moonlight　over　her　body；　the　fuzzy　silver　spots　of　light　rippling　and　shifting　with　the　breeze。　〃Really？〃
　He　sighed。　〃Really。〃
　〃At　least　give　me　a　little　help　here。　I'm　not　asking　for　much；　Tom。　e　to　Santa　Fe　with　me。　You　can　introduce　me　to　your　father's　lawyers；　his　friends。　You　can　tell　me　about　his　travels；　his　habits。　Give　me　two　days。　Help　me　do　this。　Just　two　days。〃
　〃No。〃
　〃Ever　had　a　horse　die　on　you？〃
　〃All　the　time。〃
　〃A　horse　you　loved？〃
　Tom　immediately　thought　of　his　own　horse　Pedernal；　who　died　from　an　antibiotic…resistant　strain　of　strangles。　He　would　never　again　own　a　horse　as　beautiful。
　〃Would　better　drugs　have　saved　it？〃　Sally　asked。
　Tom　looked　toward　the　distant　lights　of　Bluff。　Two　days　wasn't　much；　and　she　did　have　a　point。　〃All　right。　You　win。　Two　days。〃
　9
　Lewis　Skiba；　CEO　of　Lampe…Denison　Pharmaceuticals；　sat　motionless　at　his　desk；　looking　down　the　file　of　gray　skyscrapers　along　Avenue　of　the　Americas　in　midtown　Manhattan。　A　late…afternoon　rain　was　darkening　the　city。　The　only　sound　in　his　paneled　office　was　the　mutter　of　a　real　wood　fire　in　an　eighteenth…century　Siena　marble　fireplace；　a　sad　reminder　of　fatter　times。　It　was　not　a　cold　day；　but　Skiba　had　cranked　up　the　A/C　in　order　to　have　the　fire。　He　found　it　soothing。　It　reminded　him　somehow　of　his　childhood；　of　the　old　stone　fireplace　in　the　battenboard　cabin　by　the　lake；　with　the　crossed　snowshoes　over　the　mantelpiece　and　the　loons　calling　off　the　water。　God；　if　only　he　could　be　there　now　。。。
　Almost　without　knowing　it；　his　hand　unlocked　the　little　front　drawer　of　his　desk　and　closed　on　a　cool　plastic　bottle。　He　popped　the　top　off　with　his　thumbnail；　fished　out　a　dry　little　ovoid；　put　it　in　his　mouth；　and　chewed。　Bitter；　but　it　cut　the　wait。　That　and　a　scotch　chaser。　Skiba　reached　to　his　left；　slipped　open　a　wall　panel　and　took　out　a　bottle　of　sixty…year…old　Macallan　and　a　whiskey　glass；　and　poured　himself　a　good　slug。　It　was　the　color　of　rich　mahogany。　A　dash　of　cool　Evian　released　the　flavor；　and　he　brought　it　to　his　lips；　sucked　in　a　goodly　amount；　savoring　the　taste　of　peat；　hops；　the　cold　sea；　the　Highland　moors；　fine　Spanish　Amontillado。
　As　the　feeling　of　peace　stole　over　him　he　thought　longingly　of　the　big　swim；　of　floating　away　on　a　sea　of　light。　If　it　came　to　that；　all　it　would　take　would　be　two　dozen　more　of　those　tablets　followed　by　the　rest　of　the　Macallan　and　he'd　be　sinking　forever　into　the　blue　deep。　No　pleading　the　Fifth　before　Congress；　no　claiming　to　be　just　another　poor　misled　inpetent　CEO　before　the　SEC；　none　of　that　Kenneth　Lay　shit。　He'd　be　his　own　judge；　jury；　and　executioner。　His　father；　an　army　sergeant；　had　taught　him　the　value　of　honor。
　The　one　thing　that　could　have　saved　the　firm；　but　had　sunk　it　instead；　was　that　big　breakthrough　drug　they　thought　they　had。　Phloxatane。　With　that　in　hand；　the　bean　counters　figured　it　was　safe　to　start　cutting　long…term　R&D　to　jack　up　current　profits。　They　said　the　analysts　would　never　notice；　and　at　first　they　didn't。　It　worked　like　a　dream；　and　their　stock　price　shot　through　the　roof。　Then　they　started　shifting　current　marketing　costs　to　amortizable　R&D；　and　still　the　analysts　didn't　notice　and　still　the　stock　price　rose。　Then　they　assigned　losses　to　paper…thin；　off…the…books　partnerships　in　the　Cayman　Islands　and　Netherland　Antilles；　booked　loans　as　profits；　and　blew　whatever　cash　was　left　over　to　buy　back　pany　stock　to　innate　the　price　even　more…also　inflating　（naturally）　the　value　of　executive　stock　options。　The　stock　soared；　they　cashed　out；　they　made　millions。　God；　it　had　been　a　heady　game。　They　broke　every　law；　rule；　and　regulation　on　the　books　and　had　a　creative　genius　of　a　CFO　who　invented　new　ones　to　break。　And　all　those　high…flying　stock　pickers…they　turned　out　to　be　about　as　perceptive　as　Br'er　Bear；　he　a…earnin'a　dollah　a　minute。
　Now　they'd　e　to　the　end　of　the　line。　There　were　no　more　rules　to　bend　or　break。　Finally　the　market　woke　up；　the　stock　crashed；　and　they　had　no　more　tricks　up　their　sleeve。　The　carrion　crows　were　circling　above　the　Lampe　Building　at　725　Avenue　of　the　Americas；　cawing　his　name。
　A　shaking　hand　slipped　the　key　into　the　lock；　the　drawer　slid　open。　Skiba　chewed　up　another　bitter　pill；　took　a　second　slug　of　scotch。
　There　came　a　buzz；　announcing　Graff。
　Graff；　the　CFO　genius　who　had　gotten　them　to　this　point。
　Skiba　took　a　swig　of　Evian；　swilled　it　around；　swallowed；　took　another　swig；　and　a　third。　He　swept　his　hand　over　his　hair；　leaned　back　in　the　chair；　and　posed　his　face。　He　was　already　feeling　that　creeping　lightness　of　being　that　started　in　his　chest　and　moved　outward　to　his　fingertips；　buoying　him　up；　filling　him　with　a　golden　glow。
　He　swiveled　his　chair；　his　eyes　falling　briefly　on　the　photographs　of　his　three　bright　little　children　smiling　from　their　silver　frames。　Then　his　eye　reluctantly　traveled　from　the　desk　to　rest　on　the　face　of　Mike　Graff；　who　had　just　entered　the　room。　The　man　stood　before　Skiba；　oddly　delicate；　encased　from　head　to　toe　in　impeccable　worsted　wool；　silk；　and　cotton。　Graff　had　been　Lampe's　rising　young　protégé；　profiled　in　Forbes；　courted　by　analysts　and　investment　bankers；　his　wine　cellar　featured　in　Bon　Appétit　and　his　house　in　Architectural　Digest。　Now　his　protégé　was　no　longer　rising：　He　was　holding　hands　with　Skiba　as　they　swan…dived　off　the　edge　of　the　Grand　Canyon