p&c.brimstone-第60部分

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　〃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　extend