p&c.brimstone-第49章

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！


eted　on　the　van　and　what　was　going　on　inside。　They　seemed　ready　for　something。Too　ready。　And　there　was　the　cameraman；　still　lining　up　the　kids；　as　if　he；　too；　was　expecting　something　to　happen　at　any　moment。　
　D'Agosta　felt　an　almost　unbearable　sense　of　apprehension。　He　asked　himself　why　Bullard's　men　had　gone　to　such　trouble　to　place　themselves　in　the　midst　of　these　kids。　They　had　no　inkling　they　were　under　surveillance。　The　tension　was　between　them　and　their　customers；　the　Chinese。　He'd　gathered　as　much　from　the　wiretap；　and　now　it　was　playing　out　here。　
　He　started　to　calculate　what　would　happen　if　the　Chinese　thugs　pulled　out　weapons　and　opened　fire　on　the　van。　The　kids　would　be　caught　in　cross　fire。　That's　what　it　was　all　about：　the　kids　were　protection。　Bullard's　men　wereexpecting　a　firefight：　the　cameraman　was　lining　up　the　kids　as　a　human　shield。　
　D'Agosta　dropped　his　coffee　and　donut　and　rose　from　the　bench；　hand　on　his　piece。　At　the　same　moment；　the　back　doors　of　the　van　flew　open；　and　the　little　Chinese　man　got　out　as　quickly　and　lightly　as　a　bird。　He　began　striding　across　the　baseball　diamond。　He　flicked　his　hand　toward　the　two　thugs…just　the　barest　gesture…and　broke　into　a　run。　
　D'Agosta　saw　the　two　reach　for　their　weapons。　
　Immediately；　he　dropped　to　one　knee；　steadied　his　grip　on　his　handgun；　and　aimed。　As　soon　as　a　weapon　appeared…an　Uzi；　by　the　look　of　it…he　squeezed　off　a　round；　and　just　missed。　
　Abruptly；　all　hell　broke　loose。　There　was　thepop！　pop！　pop！　of　semiautomatic…weapons　fire。　Kids　scattering；　grown…ups　yelling；　grabbing　their　kids　and　running　in　terror　or　throwing　themselves　to　the　ground。　An　Uzi　appeared　in　the　cameraman's　hand；　too；　but　before　he　could　fire；　he　was　struck　in　the　chest　by　a　hail　of　gunfire　and　flew　backward；　slamming　against　the　side　of　the　van。　
　D'Agosta　fired　a　second　time　at　the　goon　he'd　missed；　stopping　him　with　a　well…placed　round　to　the　knee。　The　other　turned　toward　the　unexpected　fire；　swinging　his　Uzi　and　spraying　automatic　fire　across　the　outfield；　Pendergast；　shielding　two　children　with　his　own　body；　coolly　dropped　the　man　with　a　shot　to　the　head。　As　the　man　went　down；　his　Uzi　swung　wildly；　still　firing；　small　clouds　of　dirt　erupted　in　the　grass　before　Pendergast；　then　the　agent　fell　sharply　back；　pushing　the　children　out　of　harm's　way　as　a　spray　of　blood　suddenly　darkened　his　arm。　
　〃Pendergast！〃　D'Agosta　screamed。　
　The　goon　D'Agosta　hit　refused　to　stay　down。　Now　the　man　had　rolled　over　and　was　firing　on　the　van；　the　rounds　whanging　its　side　and　sending　chips　of　paint　flying。　A　burst　of　fire　came　from　its　front　seat；　the　Chinese　goon　went　down　again；　and　the　van　pulled　away　with　a　squeal　of　tires。　
　〃Stop　them！〃　D'Agosta　yelled　at　the　two　agents。　They　were　already　up　and　running；　firing　futilely；　their　shots　ringing　off　the　van's　armored　sides。　
　Now　the　head　Chinese　had　reached　the　black　Mercedes。　As　it　roared　to　life；　the　two　agents　turned　their　fire　toward　it；　blowing　out　the　back　tires　as　the　car　swerved　into　the　lane。　A　round　hit　the　gas　tank；　and　the　vehicle　went　up　with　a　muffled　thump；　a　ball　of　fire　roiling　skyward　as　the　car　left　the　lane　and　rolled　gently　into　a　grove　of　trees。　The　door　flew　open　and　a　burning　man　got　out；　took　a　few　halting　steps；　paused；　and　slowly　toppled　forward。　In　the　distance；　the　television　van　was　careening　out　of　the　park；　vanishing　into　the　warren　of　streets　to　the　west。　
　The　park　was　bedlam：　kids　and　adults　scattered　across　the　ground；　cowering　and　screaming。　D'Agosta　rushed　to　where　Pendergast　had　fallen；　relieved　beyond　measure　when　he　saw　the　FBI　agent　was　sitting　up。　The　two　Chinese　were　dead；　and　the　cameraman；　who'd　practically　been　torn　in　half；　was　obviously　on　his　way　out；　too。　But　no　civilians　had　been　so　much　as　scratched。　It　seemed　a　miracle。　
　D'Agosta　knelt　in　the　grass。　〃Pendergast；　you　all　right？〃　
　Pendergast　waved；　face　ashen；　temporarily　unable　to　speak。　
　One　of　the　other　FBI　agents　came　running　up。　〃Wounded？　We　got　wounded？〃　
　〃Agent　Pendergast。　The　cameraman's　beyond　help。〃　
　〃Backup　and　medical　are　on　the　way。〃　And；　in　fact；　D'Agosta　could　now　hear　sirens　converging　on　the　park。　
　Pendergast　helped　one　of　the　children　he'd　protected…a　boy　of　about　eight…to　a　standing　position。　His　father　rushed　over　and　clasped　the　child　in　his　arms。　〃You　saved　his　life；〃　he　said。　〃You　saved　his　life。〃　
　D'Agosta　helped　Pendergast　up。　Blood　was　soaking　through　one　side　of　his　dirty　shirt。　
　〃That　fellow　winged　me；〃　Pendergast　said。　〃It's　nothing；　a　flesh　wound。　I　lost　my　wind；　that's　all。〃　
　Slowly；　hesitantly；　people　began　converging　on　the　park　from　the　surrounding　houses；　crowding　around　the　burning　hulk　of　the　Mercedes　and　the　nearby　corpse。　Newly　arrived　cops　were　shouting；　covering　the　corners；　setting　up　a　cordon；　yelling　at　the　gathering　crowd　to　keep　back。　
　〃Damn；〃　said　D'Agosta。　〃Those　fuckers　from　BAI　were　expecting　a　firefight。〃　
　〃Indeed　they　were。　And　no　wonder。〃　
　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　
　〃I　overheard　just　enough　to　learn　Bullard's　men　were　calling　the　deal　off。〃　
　〃Calling　the　dealoff　？〃　
　〃On　the　very　eve　of　success；　apparently。　Now　you　can　see　the　reason　for　the　elaborate　setup…the　park；　the　children。　They　knew　the　Chinese　would　not　be　pleased。　This　was　their　attempt　to　avoid　being　shot　to　pieces。〃　
　D'Agosta　glanced　around　at　the　carnage。　〃Hayward's　gonna　love　this。〃　
　〃She　should。　If　we　hadn't　run　that　wiretap　and　been　here　to　take　down　those　shooters；　I　hate　to　think　what　might　have　happened。〃　
　D'Agosta　shook　his　head　and　looked　at　the　burning　Mercedes；　now　being　hosed　down　by　a　fire　truck。　〃You　know　what？　This　case　just　keeps　getting　weirder　and　weirder。〃　
　　　
　36　
　
　The　Reverend　Wayne　P。　Buck　Jr。　sat　at　the　counter　of　the　LastGasp　truck　stop　in　Yuma；　Arizona；　stirring　skim　milk　into　his　coffee。　Before　him　lay　the　remains　of　his　usual　breakfast：　white　toast　with　a　little　marmalade；　oatmeal　without　milk　or　sugar。　Outside；　beyond　the　flyspecked　window；　there　was　a　grinding　of　gears：　a　large　semi　pulled　off　the　apron；　its　steel　tank　flashing　in　the　brilliant　sun；　heading　west　toward　Barstow。　
　Reverend　Buck…the　title　was　honorary…took　a　sip　of　the　coffee。　Then；　methodical　in　everything　he　did；　he　finished　his　breakfast；　carefully　cleaning　the　bowl　with　the　edge　of　his　spoon　before　setting　it　aside。　He　took　another　sip　of　coffee；　replaced　the　cup　gently　in　its　saucer。　And　then　at　last　he　turned　to　his　morning　reading：　the　ten…inch　stack　of　periodicals　that　lay　tied　in　heavy　twine　on　the　far　end　of　the　counter。　
　As　Buck　cut　the　twine　with　a　pocketknife；　he　was　aware　of　a　sense　of　anticipation。　His　morning　reading　was　always　a　high　point　of　the　day：　a　trucker；　whom　he'd　cured　of　fits　at　a　camp　revival　several　months　before；　always　left　a　bundle　of　outdated　newspapers　for　him　outside　the　truck　stop　every　morning。　The　papers　varied　from　day　to　day；　and　Buck　never　knew　what　he'd　find。　Yesterday　there'd　been　a　copy　of　theNew　Orleans　Times…Picayune　in　among　the　more　monPhoenix　Sun　andLos　Angeles　Times　。　But　his　tingle　of　anticipation；　he　knew；　extended　beyond　the　selection　of　reading　material。　
　Reverend　Buck　had　been　in　the　vicinity　of　Yuma　almost　a　year　now；　ministering　to　the　truckers；　the　waitresses　and　busboys；　the　migrant　workers；　the　broken　and　wandering　and　uncertain　souls　that　passed　through　on　their　way　to　some　place　and　rarely　lingering　long。　The　work　was　its　own　reward；　and　he　never　plained。　The　reason　there　were　so　many　sinners　in　the　world；　he　knew；　was　that　nobody　had　ever　bothered　to　sit　down　and　talk　to　them。　Buck　did　just　that：　he　talked。　Read　to　people　from　the　Good　Book；　let　them　know　how　to　prepare　for　what　was　ing；　and　ing　soon。　He'd　talk　to　the　drivers；　one　at　a　time　here　at　the　counter；　long…haul　truckers　just　stopping　in　for　a　leak　and　a　sandwich。　He'd　talk　to　groups　of　two　or　three　regulars　in　the　evenings；　out　back　by　the　picnic　tables。　On　Sunday　mornings；　fifteen；　maybe　twenty；　at　the　old　Elks　lodge。　When　he　could　get　a　ride　to　the　reservation；　he'd　preach　there。　Most　people　were　receptive。　Nobody　had　explained　the　nature　of　sin　to　them；　the　terrifying　implacable　promise　of　the　End　Days。　When　people　were　sick；　he'