AT NIGHT, THE CONSERVATORY1 WAS magically illuminated2: every golden nimbus, starry3 twinkle, and silken scarf of faux moonlight as enchanting4 as the finest Hollywood wizards of stage lighting5 could design. After sunset, with the flip6 of a switch, a mere7 pocket jungle became this tropical Shangri-la.
Entering, pistol in a two-hand grip, Ethan didn’t call out to Fric. The blip he’d seen on the motion-sensor display in the library might not have been the boy.
He was unable to imagine how the estate grounds and then the house could have been penetrated8 without setting off numerous alarms. But the idea of an intruder getting into Palazzo Rospo astonished him far less than other things he’d witnessed lately.
The loose pebbles9 in the decomposed-granite pathways crunched10 under him, making a stealthy search impossible. He stepped carefully to minimize noise. The tiny, shifting bits of stone provided unstable12 footing.
He didn’t like the shadows, either. Shadows, shadows everywhere in layered complexity13, calculated for dramatic effect, unnatural14 and therefore double deceiving.
Nearing the center of the jungle, Ethan heard a strange sound, [573] thhhup, and then again, thhhup, and heard greenery click-rustle-snap, but he didn’t realize that he was being shot at until the bole of a palm tree took a bullet inches in front of his face, spraying him with flecks15 of its green tissue.
He dropped fast and flat. He rolled off the path and crawled through ferns and pittosporum, through mimulus drenched16 with red-purple flowers, into sheltering gloom where he was grateful for all shadows, natural and not.
The jakes arrived before the ambulance, and after Hazard briefed them and told them where to send the paramedics, he went upstairs to look after Maxwell Dalton.
The withered17 man, more hideously18 emaciated19 on third sight than he had appeared to be on first and second, rolled his sunken eyes and grimaced20, greatly agitated22, struggling to cough up barbed words from his no doubt cracked and bleeding throat.
“Easy, easy now,” Hazard said. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right now. You’re safe now, Professor.”
The hooked edges of the words pained Dalton as he spat23 them out, but he insisted on saying, “He’s ... coming ... back.”
“Good,” Hazard said, grateful to hear the ambulance siren rising in the night beyond the broken window. “We know just what to do with the sick son of a bitch when he shows up.”
Greatly distressed24, Dalton managed to roll his head side to side and produce an anguished25 mewling.
Thinking Dalton might be worried about his wife and daughter, Hazard revealed that he had just sent a pair of uniformed officers to their house not only to inform Rachel that her husband had been found alive but also to give her and Emily protection until Laputa could be located and arrested.
In a hiss-and-hack voice, Dalton said, “Coming back with,” and winced26 in pain as his throat seized up.
[574] “Don’t stress yourself,” Hazard advised. “You’re pretty fragile right now.”
At the end of the block, the shrieking27 ambulance turned the corner. The rainy night licked away and swallowed the last shrill28 note of the siren as the brakes barked on the blacktop in front of the house.
“Bringing back ... a boy,” Dalton said.
“A boy?” Hazard asked. “You mean Laputa?”
Dalton managed a nod.
“He told you?”
Another nod.
“Said he was bringing a boy back here tonight?”
“Yes.”
As he heard the paramedics thundering up the steps, Hazard leaned closer to the withered man and said, “What boy?”
Crouching29 among mimulus and Mauna Loa spaths and ferns, Ethan heard a second burst of fire, three or four shots, from a weapon fitted with a sound suppressor, and after half a minute of silence, a third burst.
None of these rounds seemed to come near him. The gunman must have lost track of him. Or maybe the guy had never known where Ethan was, had fired blindly through the jungle, and had come close with the first spray of bullets solely30 by chance.
Gunman—singular. Guy—one.
Common sense argued that an assault against this estate required teamwork, that one man couldn’t jump the wall, deceive the electronic security measures, disable the guards, and breach32 the house. That was Bruce Willis on the big screen. That was Tom Cruise in makeup33. That was Channing Manheim playing a role from the dark side. That wasn’t anyone real.
If a coordinated34 team of kidnappers35 had gotten inside Palazzo Rospo, however, there would be more than one gunman squeezing off [575] short bursts of suppressing fire. They would have chopped at Ethan with one, two, three fully11 automatic carbines. Uzis or worse. By now he would be down, dead, and dancing in paradise.
When silence persisted after the third brief volley, he rose from cover and eased warily37 through the ferns, between the palms, to the edge of the pathway.
In any jungle movie, stillness like this always signaled the wilderness-savvy characters that villainy in one form or another had stepped into the natural world, silencing cricket and crocodile alike.
Green-juice smell of crushed vegetation rising from underfoot.
Muffled38 voice of a heating-system fan purring in the walls.
A gnat39, a midge, hovering40 in the air before him, hovering.
Taste of blood in his mouth, the discovery that he’d pinched tongue with teeth when he dropped to the ground, the throb41 just now arising in the bite.
A flutter of foliage42 spun43 him around, and he brought the pistol toward the sound.
Not foliage. Wings. Through the jungle, high above the pathway, flew a flock of brightly colored parrots, blue and red and yellow and the iridescent44 green of certain strange sunsets.
No birds made their home in the conservatory. Neither a flock of parrots nor a single sparrow.
Plummeting45 in front of Ethan but then swooping47 high again, the colorful birds passed without one screech48 or squawk, and became white doves on the rise.
This was the phantom49 in the steam-clouded mirror. This was the impossible set of bells in his hand outside the flower shop. This was the heavy fragrance50 of Broadway roses in his study when no roses had been there, the precious voice of his lost wife speaking of ladybugs in the white room. This was the hand of some supernatural force held out to him and eager to lead.
After spiraling high in a frenzied51 flapping, down again came the swarming52 doves, feathering the air, toward him, past him, with a [576] thrum that both exhilarated and frightened him, that plucked notes of wonder from his heart but also struck hard the jungle-drum terror of the primitive53 within.
They flew. He ran. They led. He followed.
“Wait,” Hazard told the paramedics as they came quickly to the bed in spite of the vile54 stink55, as they stood wide-eyed and gaping56 in spite of all the horrors that they had seen day after day in the conduct of their vital work.
“Boy,” Dalton croaked57.
“What boy?” Hazard asked, having taken the withered man’s hand once more, holding it in both of his.
“Ten, “said Dalton.
“Ten boys?”
“Ten ... years.”
“A ten-year-old boy,” Hazard said, failing to understand why Dalton thought Laputa meant to return here with a boy, not sure that he was correctly interpreting what the wracked man meant to tell him.
Dalton strained to speak in spite of throat pain that threatened to convulse him: “Said ... famous.”
“Famous?”
“Said ... famous boy.”
And Hazard knew.
In the elevator, Moloch dropped Fric, and Fric tumbled in a loose heap on the floor, not sure what had happened to him. No mere pepper in that pepper spray. He could see but could not turn his eyes with the usual quickness, could blink but only slowly. He was able to move his arms and legs, but as though straining against the pressure [577] of deep water, like a weary swimmer being pulled down by a relentless58 undertow. He couldn’t strike a blow in self-defense, couldn’t even fully close his hand into a fist.
As they descended59 toward the garage, Moloch grinned at Fric and brandished60 the little aerosol61 can at him. “Short-acting semiparalytic inhalant developed by a colleague with the help of a generous grant from the Iranian secret police. I wanted you docile62 but alert.”
Fric heard himself breathing. Not an asthmatic wheeze64.
“That gazebo didn’t appear on the architectural plans,” said Moloch. “But the moment I saw it, I knew. I’m still in touch with the child in me, the wild spirit that we are when we’re born, and I knew.”
Fric didn’t hear the sound of healthy breathing, either. Clear but shallow, a faint whistle in his throat.
With scary face-twitching spasms65 of glee that would have caused Fric’s bladder to empty in a rush if he had not such a short time ago relieved himself on the potted palm, Moloch said, “I wanted you alert to experience all the terror of being snatched out of your posh digs, knowing that your big-shot daddy can’t swoop46 down in cape66 and tights or on a flying motorcycle like you once thought he could. Not all the muscled movie stars in the world, certainly not all the supermodels, not even all the beefed-up bodyguards67 in Bel Air can save your pampered68 ass31.”
Fric knew then that he was going to die. No chance to sneak69 off to Goose Crotch, Montana. No hope of someday leading a real life. But maybe at last some peace.
As the shepherd to the sheep, as the hound to the posse, as the scout70 to the cavalry71, the doves showed Ethan the way, bird by bird, out of the conservatory, into the east hall, past the indoor pool, to the north hall and then westward72 toward the rotunda73.
Such a sight: thirty or forty luminous-white birds flowing along [578] the corridor, a feathered river in this canyon74 of sumptuous75 decor, as might a party of freed spirits soar toward Valhalla.
Into the entry rotunda they flew, and circled there as if caught in the whirlpool currents of a forming cyclone76, until Ethan caught up with them, whereupon the many birds swarmed77 closer to one another, closer, until they knitted together in one turbulent entity78. They flowed down from the three-story heights to the floor, changing color as they came, changing form again, becoming that friend of childhood who had lost his way.
Standing79 but ten feet from Ethan, the apparition80 that was Dunny Whistler said, “If you die this time, I can’t bring you back. I am at the limits of my authority. He’s taking Fric down to the garage. He’s almost out of here.”
Before Ethan could speak, dead Dunny was not Dunny anymore, but doves again, exploding in a glory of radiant wings, knifing straight at the enormous Christmas tree. They fled not into the needled boughs81 but into the silvery and scarlet82 shine of the ornaments83, no longer birds but only the shadows of birds, darkening across the glimmering84 curves, then gone.
By a fistful of his shirt, semiparalytic Fric was dragged across the garage floor, facing away from his captor, watching the elevator alcove85 recede86 into the distance.
Moloch had snared87 car keys from the pegboard, where every set hung under a label citing the make, model, and year. The kidnapper36 seemed to know his way around as well as if he had lived in Palazzo Rospo.
Also receding88 from Fric was his medicinal inhaler, his precious asthma63 drug. The device had come unclipped from his belt. He tried to grab the inhaler when first it rattled89 loose, but his limbs were jelly.
Moloch might be insane or just evil. But Fric couldn’t imagine what the Iranian secret police had against him.
[579] In his ten years, he had known fear. In fact it had been nearly a constant. The fear familiar to him for so long, however, had been of the quiet variety, a nagging90 rather than threatening force, more like the persistent91 pecking of small birds than like the rending92 ferocity of a pterodactyl. Worry that his father’s absences would grow ever longer, until they stretched into years, like those of his mother. A gnawing93 concern that he would forever be the geek that he was now, that he would never figure out what to do with life or with himself, that he would grow old and still be more than anything else the son of Channing Manheim, the Face. During every second of the journey between the conservatory and the garage, however, a great dark terror thrashed its leathery wings in the cage of his heart, swooped94 through the hollows of body and soul, shivered flesh and blood, and bone.
For his getaway, Moloch could have chosen from the collection any of the older classic cars worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Instead he selected a more recent model, a favorite of Fric’s: the cherry-red 1951 Buick Super 8, with chromed fins95 and fender wings.
He heaved Fric into the front passenger’s seat, slammed the door, hurried around the Buick, and got in behind the wheel. The engine started at once because every vehicle in the collection was maintained in perfect condition.
Guardian96 angels apparently97 could not be relied on in a pinch. Mysterious Caller had never seemed much like an angel, anyway: too spooky looking, his style too ominous98, and such sorrow in his eyes.
As Moloch backed out of the parking stall, Fric wondered what had happened to Mr. Truman. He must be dead. When he focused on the thought of Mr. Truman dead, Fric discovered that the semiparalytic inhalant didn’t prevent him from crying.
Entering the upper garage by way of the stairs, Ethan heard the growl99 of an engine, smelled exhaust fumes100.
[580] The Buick was poised101 for flight at the foot of the exit ramp102, where the garage door had almost finished rolling up and out of its way.
A man behind the wheel. One man. No accomplices103 in the backseat. No gunmen elsewhere in the garage.
The passenger’s side of the car was nearest to Ethan as he ran toward it. Against the side window at the front, Fric’s tousled head was tipped against the glass. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, but the head seemed to loll, as if Fric were unconscious.
Ethan almost reached the Buick before the rising door provided clearance104. Then the car jumped toward the door and the ramp beyond at such acceleration105 that a man on foot couldn’t catch it.
Stepping from a run into an isosceles shooting stance, squarely facing the target, right leg quartering back for balance, left knee flexed106, both hands on the weapon, Ethan risked three quick shots, aiming low in fear of hitting Fric with a ricochet, targeting the rear tire on the passenger’s side.
The fender skirt shielded almost half the wheel, giving him a narrow window in which to place the shot. One round pocked metal, one went wide, but one popped the tire.
The car sagged107 back and to one side. Kept going. Still too fast to be chased down. The slap-slap-slap of loose rubber marked its ascent108 along the lower half of the ramp.
The quartzite paving provided good traction109, dry or wet, but the Buick’s rear tires spun briefly110, churning up a spray of dirty water and blue smoke, maybe because of the cant111 to the right.
As Ethan closed the gap once more, the Buick found its footing, lunged forward, upward. Spin-shredded rubber flapped louder than before, and the exposed wheel rim21 bit at the quartzite with a sound like a stone saw cutting cobbles.
When Ethan reached the top of the ramp, he saw the car following the driveway along the side of the mansion112. Heading toward the front. Forty feet away. Making speed in spite of being crippled. Nothing to stop it from grinding all the way to the distant gate, [581] which opened automatically from the inside when sensors113 buried in the pavement of the exit lane detected traffic.
Ethan gave chase. He couldn’t catch the car. No hope.
He pursued anyway because he could do nothing else. Too late to go back, get keys, another car. By the time he was driving out of the garage, the Buick would have cleared the main gate and vanished. He ran, ran, splashing through cold puddles114, ran, pumping his arms and trying to compensate115 for the weight, the bulk, of the pistol in his right hand, because running well was a matter of balance, ran, ran, because if Fric were killed, then Ethan Truman would be a dead man, too, dead inside, and would spend the rest of his time in this world looking for a grave, a walking corpse116 as sure as Dunny Whistler ever had been.
收听单词发音 |
1
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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coordinated
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| adj.协调的 | |
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kidnappers
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| n.拐子，绑匪( kidnapper的名词复数 ) | |
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kidnapper
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| n.绑架者，拐骗者 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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gnat
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| v.对小事斤斤计较，琐事 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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plummeting
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| v.垂直落下，骤然跌落( plummet的现在分词 ) | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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48
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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52
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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53
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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56
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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57
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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aerosol
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| n.悬浮尘粒，气溶胶，烟雾剂，喷雾器 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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64
wheeze
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| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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65
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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66
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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67
bodyguards
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| n.保镖，卫士，警卫员( bodyguard的名词复数 ) | |
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68
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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70
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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71
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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72
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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73
rotunda
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| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
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74
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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75
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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76
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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77
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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78
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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79
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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80
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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81
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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82
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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83
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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85
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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86
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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87
snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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89
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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90
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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91
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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92
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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93
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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94
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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96
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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97
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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98
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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99
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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100
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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101
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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102
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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103
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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104
clearance
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| n.净空；许可(证)；清算；清除，清理 | |
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105
acceleration
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| n.加速，加速度 | |
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106
flexed
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| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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107
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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108
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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109
traction
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| n.牵引；附着摩擦力 | |
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110
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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111
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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112
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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113
sensors
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| n.传感器，灵敏元件( sensor的名词复数 ) | |
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114
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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115
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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116
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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