Chapter 29 36/37

36 On Monday evening, the weather finally became milder and less hot.It was the setting sun at this time, and Randall was sitting in the Dhoney Cafe next to Venice Boulevard, waiting for Robert LeBlanc's arrival. He was casually playing with the glass of drink on the table in front of him. He didn't take a sip, but his head kept turning from left to right and then from right to left, as if he was watching a tennis match.He watched the customers coming and going on the sidewalk among the rows of tables. Looking forward so anxiously is very tiring.He told himself that LeBlanc would come at the time he promised, and he relaxed, massaging the muscles on the back of his neck that were stretched as tight as a cable, so that he could use the leisure time to let himself go. recall.

The period between breaking up with LeBlanc on Saturday evening and making an appointment to meet Monday afternoon would have been unbearable if he hadn't driven himself to work hard.He didn't do much on Saturday night, it's true, because after LeBlanc was gone, especially after the fight with Wheeler on the phone, he was upset and couldn't do anything meaningful, and at that time, he ate in the room After a snack, start thinking about what's to come.What if—and despite Wheeler's taunts about the forgery—LeBlanc had brought enough evidence of the forgery?What's the next step?Should he go to Wheeler, Deckhard, or other publishers, put the evidence before them, and force them to admit the undeniable truth?On the other hand, what if they willfully deny the truth?What then?It is unlikely that they would be indifferent to the real evidence of the forgery, but what if they were?

Randall had thought carefully about other options, but saw them only as possibilities.The only thing that confuses him is his own affairs. What else can he get but the bleak feeling when he finds out the truth?The longing for the truth can only bring about the destruction of one's own rebuilt beliefs.Whether it is bleak or not, as long as you have a clear conscience is enough. Yesterday, most of the day and night, he was actually doing his job.His name is still listed on the payroll for The Second Resurrection, and he believes that what he is doing is his responsibility.But that was a slow, painstaking activity.All praise for the International New Testament will be worthless once his investigations are compared with what is to be published.He found his job—promoting the International New Testament—inconceivable.For he was engaging in what he considered a shady trick.

Also, he made or took half a dozen calls to Amsterdam—almost frozen—to discuss publicity work with his public relations colleagues.Oh, they're all there - it's Sunday - but they're all working hard, O'Neill, Alexander, Taylor, and Helen DeBoer.They read him the prepared release, and he made suggestions, corrections, and gave them final instructions.At the same time, he also read to them the content of the release he had prepared, and asked them to make the final compilation and printing. Jessica Taylor told him—as a bystander had casually mentioned—that Angela Monti had returned from Rome.She was puzzled that Randall hadn't returned to Rome, and asked about Randall's current situation.After hearing this, Randall asked Miss Taylor to tell Angela that he was in Rome and was caught up in some interviews and appointments, but he must go back before Tuesday.Is there anything else to tell her?No more, nothing to do but keep her at her desk ready for a call from Rome.

Unlike Wheeler, none of Randall's colleagues asked him what he was doing in Rome when he was so busy. There are two more things, the first of which is very important, the second of which is decisive. The first thing was to call the lawyer Thad Crawford, wake him up from his New York apartment, and order him to call the bank to offer twenty thousand dollars in his lawyer's right to Randall in Rome, and finally Well, it's cash in US dollars. The decisive thing—only because Randall had been discouraged by Wheeler's talk of LeBlanc's unreliability—was to get a closer look at the identity of the ex-con he was about to confront.An old friend of Randall's—they went into the publicity business together—had given up public relations long ago to return to his old career as a Paris correspondent for the Associated Press, and had lived on the Rue Boli for many years.His name was Sam Hussey, and his mind was sharp, and the routine repeated every day did not make him numb.Randall cherishes his friendship with him. Whenever Sam returns to New York for vacation, they will have a drink and share their friendship.

So the second thing is to get in touch with Sam immediately.Fortunately, Randall found him right away.He was sitting alone at the desk of the Associated Press. Randall said he needed help—it was an investigation—and hoped to have an answer by the next afternoon.Wondering if anyone around Sam could help.Sam asks what Randall needs.Randall wondered if in 1915 the French Army organized an expedition called Devil's Island.And to find out whether the judiciary's files record that a young Frenchman, Robert LeBlanc, was arrested in 1912 for forgery and sent to Devil's Island.Sam's curiosity was piqued, and he offered to do it himself the next morning and call Randall back.

Today, Monday morning, and the second half of the afternoon, Randall was not working for The Second Resurrection, on the contrary, and if Wheeler knew, he would point out that Randall was working with The Second Resurrection. "The employers are against it. Thad Crawford's money arrives, he's brought what Wheeler—damn Wheeler again—says another "30 bucks," Randall's at the American Express near Biasa Take out $20,000.The cash was in large bills, and it was placed in the safe of the Jinhua Hotel, ready to exchange with LeBlanc for evidence of his forgery. Before withdrawing the money, Randall received two calls from Sam in Paris.The first call reported that, after a bout of bullying and tit-for-tat, the Ministry of Defense Press Service spokesman reluctantly allowed Sam to go to Van Sany's Army Historical Service to look it up.There, management is cooperative.The administrators went through many old documents with Sam, and he confirmed that a battalion of volunteer Guyanese prisoners had indeed fought in 1915.There is no "Robert LeBlanc" in the list, the closest one is "Robert La Forgue".But Sam didn't stop there, he was going to the DOJ for some more investigation, and an answer would come within hours.

Within an hour, Sam called again.Nor does the name "Robert LeBlanc" appear in the dusty 1912 files of the Justice Department.But Sam's nose was in search of another similar name—"Robert LaForge." "And, Steve, we succeeded - the forger had five aliases. One of them was - listen, my sir - Robert LeBlanc. Sentenced to the colony of French Guiana in 1912 for life Sentence." LeBlanc couldn't be fake anymore, unlike Wheeler, LeBlanc wasn't lying at all.Randall's trust in that forger's story and the evidence to come is restored. Confident, Randall arrived at Dhoney's at 10 to 5 and waited for LeBlanc to show up.

Randall withdrew his thoughts and returned to reality, back to the person he was about to meet.He looked at his watch and suddenly became nervous.It is already 5:26!He cast his gaze around, searching.The sidewalk was crowded, so many strangers, so many different faces, none of whom matched the information in his head. The appointed time has passed half an hour.Robert LeBlanc was not on time for his appointment. Randall paid attention to the constantly moving stream of customers, the men and old men among them, expecting to get a sudden surprise, he described the appearance of LeBlanc in his mind: old, with a limp, with yellow hair, Glittering iron-rimmed spectacles, a cunning face wrinkled with age, like a dried plum; carries two items for sale: first a small bag containing a ruined and missing fragment, covered with an invisible Ink filled with intriguing words, and a larger bag containing a tin box containing the missing piece of an ancient jigsaw puzzle—Requiem for James and Petronas.

Minute by minute passed, and such a person has not yet appeared. The drink that hadn't moved began to move until the whole glass was drained to the bottom. Still no sign of Robert LeBlanc. Randall's heart sank slowly.His hopes began to crumble.By 6:05, his hope was completely gone. Wheeler had warned him: LeBron won't see you, Steve. LeBron really didn't come. Feeling hopeless, then cheated, Randall was furious, what the hell happened to the son of a bitch?Did he change his mind because he was afraid of losing his trump card?Did he call back the business because he thought he couldn't trust his new partner?Or did he have a better buyer to bargain with?Or did he know he was just running a scam and had last-minute doubts?

Whatever the answer, Randle must figure out why Robert LeBlanc failed to do what was agreed.If LeBlanc doesn't come, then -- damn it, he's going to LeBlanc's.Or at least he was going to try to get to LeBlanc. Randall tossed 500 lire and a tip on the table and got up to find his LeBlanc expert—his personal advisor at Dhoni—Jolio—the Café's foreman. Joliot was standing between the cafe outside and the restaurant inside, arranging his bow tie.He greeted Randall warmly: "Is everything done, Mr. Randall?" "It's not all done," Randall said grimly. "I'm going to meet our friend here—you know, that guy you call Totti or the Duke of the Hollow—Robert LeBlanc. It’s good to meet at 5 o’clock to discuss business. But now it’s past 6 o’clock, and he hasn’t shown up yet. Is it possible that he came before 5 o’clock?” Joliot shook his head. "No one who comes to the coffee shop can escape my eyes." "You told me the day before yesterday that he always comes to Dhoni's on foot, as far as you know. You said he has a false leg and he can't walk very far. He probably lives somewhere around here, then." "I'm just guessing." "Giolio, think about it. Do you remember where you heard he might live?" The class leader looked dazed. "I've never heard of it, I've never even thought of it. Don't forget, Mr. Randall, there are so many customers, and so many regulars." He tried to be helpful to Randall. "Of course, there are no private residences nearby, at least not many. Even if there were, Totti-Leblanc would certainly not be able to afford one. In my impression, he is very poor." "Yes, he is poor." "So he can't afford to stay in a hotel for a long time. There are a few cheap hotels in the area, mostly street girls' places, but such hotels are too expensive for our friends .I'm sure he must have a trick. There are many low-end apartments not far from here, and you can walk to Dhoney's Cafe. But the problem is, where is the address? I can't tell." Randall reached into his wallet.Even in Italy, where locals are more personable and helpful than people from other countries, money often inspires full cooperation.Randall put 3,000 lilaser in the hands of Joliot. "Jolio, I need more help from you." "Mr. Randall, that's very kind of you," said the squad leader, pocketing the bill. "Or—is there anyone else who can help me. You brought me to LeBlanc, maybe you can." The team leader frowned, thinking. "There's a small possibility, but I can't guarantee it. I'll take a look, please wait a while." He quickly walked down the side steps to the sidewalk, snapped his fingers loudly to the waiters on the right, and shouted: "Per piacere! Facciamo, presto!" On the left, the phrase is repeated. The waiters on both sides hurried over to surround their squad leader.Randall checked and there were 7 of them.Joliot spoke to them briskly, supplemented by gestures that imitated LeBlanc's stiff gait when he walked on his prosthetic leg.When he finished, several waiters shrugged exaggeratedly.Two or three scratched their scalps, trying to think.But all were silent.Finally, Joliot waved them off resignedly.Six of the waiters went back to their original positions, leaving only one with his chin in his hand, pacing up and down thinking. Joliot had begun to turn and walk towards Randall.There was an expression on his swarthy face, that of a sadly missed hound.He was about to speak when suddenly the waiter behind him jumped up excitedly. "Giolio!" cried the waiter, grabbing his captain's elbow.Giorio tilted his head and put his ear close to the waiter's mouth, and the waiter whispered to him.The waiter raised an arm and pointed across the street, and Giorio kept nodding, a small smile on his face. "Very good!" said Joliot, patting the waiter on the back. "Excellent." Randall stood on the passage, puzzled.Joliot hurriedly turned around and walked over. "Mr. Randall, it's possible, it's possible. But LeBlanc will never give the address to our waiters," Giorgio said. "These waiters, they all know that Totti knows most of the Italian street girls -Young whores. Like the rest of Europe, there are prostitutes everywhere in Italian cities—in the Caracalla parking lot in the Pancio Gardens, in Via Sistina in Piazza—but the most beautiful They all come to Via Venetto to show off to passers-by and do business. At this time, many people come to sit and wait for an opportunity—some are in the Café Dhoni, but more are staying in the Paris Café opposite, our competition Opponent, sometimes it's a bit more lively there. So Gino, the waiter just now, told me he remembered Totti being friends with a lot of whores. Gino said he once even wanted to marry one of them..." Randall nodded eagerly. "Yes, I've heard of it." "Gino says that the prostitute whom LeBlanc intends to marry when he is rich has a roommate who always sits at a fixed table in the Café de Paris at this hour. Her name is Maria, and I know this person too. Gino thinks she'll know where LeBlanc lives. She probably won't tell, but," he rubbed his dry fingers—"a little money will get her to talk, won't it? Gino thinks she'll tell now There. I'll show you there." "Can you go now, Joliot?" Joliot grinned. "For an Italian, there is no problem leaving work to have a few words with a beautiful girl, it's a pleasure." Joliot led Randall through the crowds and out onto the sidewalk.They walked past Jinhua Hotel to the intersection and waited for the traffic light to change color.Across the street, directly across from Café Dhoney, Randall could see the lettering on the red awning: Café Paris.The tables are half-hidden by flowers and bushes, and it looks like there are more customers than Dhoni's Cafe. The traffic lights changed.They started dodging cars coming around the corner and crossed the street.Joliot said: "I'm going to just introduce you as an American friend, want to get to know her, and then I'll leave you there, which is the best way. You can tell her what you want. They all speaks English, and so does Maria." As they passed a magazine kiosk across the way, Randall held Joliot for a moment. "How much should I give her?" "If it was to an Italian guy, Maria - a nicer girl - would ask for about 10,000 lire, or $15. But if a tourist, especially an American, wears expensive clothes and doesn't know how to bargain, She might ask for 20,000 lire, or $30, or less. That amount is the highest price for half an hour in bed—probably in a roadside hotel. What you pay for is time, even if you just want Talk, the price is the same. But"—Giolio snickered—"sometimes you can talk while you're making love. These girls, half an hour is usually ten minutes, and they can deal with a man in ten minutes, They're smart. Well, let's see if she's there." Giorio squeezed his way through the throng of readers in front of the magazine kiosk, and stopped under the red awning, facing the rows of tables that lined Via Vidondo.Randall followed, but kept a short distance.Joliot scanned the customers at the table, his face suddenly brightened, and he waved to Randall, walking down the middle of the table to the back row, where Randall was a few feet behind him. follow him. She's a pretty stunner, swishing a peeled lemon in a martini glass.She extended a hand to welcome Joliot.Her long hair made her face like a Madonna, and if you didn't look at her full breasts and knee-length skirt in the low neckline, you would think she was innocent and pure. "Maria," said Joliot softly, making a gesture to kiss the back of her hand. "Mr. Joliot!" The girl issued a pleasant surprise. Giorio stood, bent down, and whispered to her in rapid Italian.She listened, nodded twice, then stared straight at Randall.Randall felt extremely embarrassed and uncomfortable. "Maria, this is Mr. Randall, my American friend. You have to be nice to him." He straightened up and smiled at Randall, "She will treat you very considerately, please sit down, goodbye." The squad leader left, and Randall took a chair and sat beside Maria.He still doesn't feel natural. Maria moved her chair toward Randall, her half-exposed breasts quivering seductively.She crossed her legs and smiled slightly, saying, "Mi fa piacere di vederla, Da dove viene?" Randall apologized, saying, "I don't understand Italian." "Excuse me," Maria said, "I mean it's nice to meet you, where is your home?" "I'm from New York, nice to meet you, Maria," "Jolio said that you are also a friend of Duke Kong." Her smile broke out, "Is it true?" "Yes, we are friends." "A nice old man. He wants to marry my good friend Gravina, but he can't afford it, too bad." "He'll have some money soon." "Oh really? I hope so. I'm going to tell Gravina." She looked into Randall's eyes. "Do you like me? Do you think I'm pretty?" "You are beautiful, Maria." "So, do you want to have sex with me now? I can do anything for you. Premium sex, regular sex, French sex, as long as you like it, you will be happy. Only charge you 2000 lire, which is a very good price for one time Good sex isn't expensive. Do you want to go out with Maria now?" "Oh no, Maria, apparently Joliot didn't tell you—I want something more important from you." She blinked at him like Randall was crazy. "Is it more important than sex?" "Yes, Maria, you know LeBlanc—the Duke—the Duke of Hollow—do you know where he lives?" She immediately became alert. "Why do you ask that?" "I used to have his address, but I lost it. I thought I'd see him an hour ago, and Joliot thought you'd help me." "That's why you came to me?" "It matters." "Important to you, isn't it? Not to me. I'm sorry. I know his address, but I won't give it to you. He made me and my girlfriend swear not to give his address to outsiders, and I can't break that oath. So now you still have time to make love to Maria." "I've got to see him right away, Maria. If you're his friend, I can tell you I want to help him." Remembering Joliot's words, he fished his wallet from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "You say you'll pay 2,000 lire for sex. Yes, but if you can please me in another way, I think it's worth 2,000 lire too." He pulled out several large bills, and Maria looked around nervously, pushing the wallet away. "Please don't do that here." "I'm sorry." He put the wallet back in his pocket, but kept the bills in his hand. "For me, it's worth it. You don't have to force yourself to do something, just show me where he lives." Maria looked at the half-exposed banknote in Randall's hand, and she looked at Randall timidly. "I swore I wouldn't say it, but are you doing him a favor by making him rich?" Randall was ready to agree to any questions Maria had. "yes." "If it's for him, I'd like to show you where he lives. His apartment is not far from here." He breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Thank you so much." He paid her bill without delay, got up, and left the Café de Paris together.They walked through the magazine kiosk to the intersection, waited for the green light, and then walked to the corner of Via Venedo to the Jinhua Hotel. She pointed to a broad avenue on one side of the hotel. "Punkampani Avenue," she said. "He lives on this avenue, but it's only three or four blocks. We can walk across it." She put one arm lollingly around Randall, and they began walking briskly down Penkampani Avenue.Maria hummed as she walked.But just after walking a block, she stopped suddenly and held out her palm to Randall, "You give me the money now." He put those big bills in her hand.Maria let go of Randall's hand, counted the number, and put it in her white leather bag with satisfaction. "I'll take you to your friend," she said. She started to walk, humming again, and he walked beside her. Walking into the third block, he said, "How do you know he lives here?" "I'll tell you, don't tell him. He has a lot of pride, but sometimes Gravina or I, or one or two of our other sisters, if the hotel is full and we can't find a room, we talk to him about it." Use his room to pick up guests. We give him half of his income for it, and we don't care. He's fine, and it'll help pay his rent." "How much is his rent?" "Including a bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, a total of 50,000 lire per month." "50,000? About $80, can he afford it?" "He lived here for many years, he said because he used to be rich." They crossed the intersection with Piedmont Avenue and began entering the fourth block. "Since when was he rich?" Randall asked. "Four years ago, maybe five years ago, he said." Things were on point, Randall thought, five years ago LeBlanc had gotten a job in the money that Monty had found in Ostia Antica. "Right here," Maria called. They stopped in front of a six-story apartment building of unknown age, its stone facade covered in soot.On both sides of the entrance of the building are a transportation company run by an Iranian and a barber shop with a colorful pillar of a barber logo. There are two words chiseled on the stone above the entrance: apartment. There were two huge wooden doors at the entrance, and after pushing them open, they found that there was another glass door. Behind the door was a hallway with a separate small room, and behind it was a yard. Maria held out her hand in a gesture. "Here by yourself, I have to get back to work." Randall shook her hand and said, "Thanks, but where am I—" "You go in, and you just saw that the small room on the right is where the porter puts his letters. On the left is the elevator, and there are also stairs. But you have to go to the porter first and tell him that you want to see him. If the porter is not in the small room, you can Look in the yard. The house with flowers and plants in front of the window in the yard is where the caretaker and his wife live. They will take you to your friend. Good luck." She wanted to leave, but remembered something , "Mr. Randall, when you see your friend, don't say that Maria brought you here." "I won't, Maria, I promise." Randall watched Maria walk toward Via Venedo, her white leather bag swaying from side to side with tight hips.He turned and walked into the apartment. Robert LeBlanc, he thought, I've found you at last. Randall walked across a cobbled sidewalk, across the dirty marble floor of the entrance, pushed open the glass door, and entered.The janitor's closet was empty, and Randall stepped into the dusty courtyard. In the center of the yard was a large rubber tree, and on the left side of the yard a young-looking man—dark, like a Sicilian—was watering the flowers and plants on the window sill.He stopped watering and looked at Randall curiously. "Hello," Randall called, "do you speak English?" "Yes, understand a little bit." "Where's the gatekeeper?" "I am, what's the matter with you?" "A friend of mine lives here. I think..." "Wait a moment." The gatekeeper stepped past the window and came out from the side door.He is short but spry, in a blue shirt and patched jeans.He looked at Randall with his hands behind his back, "Who do you want to find?" "A friend." Randall didn't know which name to say.He regretted not asking Maria what the bloody old man's name was here.Maybe it's the Italian name! "Totti," he said. "Totti, I'm sorry, no. There's no Totti here." "He has a nickname. The Duke of Hollow." "Duke?" The janitor shook his head vigorously, "There is no one with that name." Well, it must be LeBlanc.Randall decided. "Actually, he's a Frenchman—a lot of people know him as Robert Leblanc." The janitor stared at Randall. "There is a Robert—a Frenchman—but not Leblanc. Do you mean it might be Laforgue, too, Robert Laforgue?" La Forgue, that's him.The name was found by the Associated Press correspondent in Paris, Sam Hasey, from the catalog of the French Army Historical Service.LeBlanc's real name. "That's him!" Randall exclaimed. "That's the one. I keep getting his last name mixed up. Robert LaForge is the man I'm looking for." The janitor looked at Randall strangely, "Are you his relative?" "I'm a good friend of his. He's waiting for me to negotiate an important business with me!" "But that's out of the question," said the porter. "He had a big accident yesterday noon in front of Austins Station. A driver hit him with a car and ran away. He died instantly, sir. Poor friend, he will never see you again." A young police officer took Steve Randall out of the information office of the Rome Police Headquarters, flagged a taxi for him, and said to the driver, "Quick, take him to the University District!" After a few words, repeated, "Hurry up!" and precisely, "38 Verano Street, University District!" The taxi driver quickly shifted gears, and they set off towards the University District, where the dead body was identified in Rome. Randall swayed from side to side in the cab.Still in a state of numbness from the excessive horror, he gradually regained consciousness. Randall thought that many people would never encounter a few major shocking things in their lives, but he himself was terrified one after another for more than a month-first his father had a stroke, then he learned that Judy was taking drugs, and Barbara was shocked again. to divorce him.What followed was his being told that Angela was a traitor to the whole plan.Later he learned of the mistake Bogardes pointed out, and Monty was sent to a madhouse.Horror seemed to have become a way of life for him when Froome told him in the elevator that he had seen forgers of the Gospel of James and the Parchment of Petronas, among other things. But none of the above had been more shocking than when the janitor had told him, two hours earlier, that LeBlanc was dead. ------------------ 37 The blow was so unexpected that it left him speechless. All he could remember—as if in a dream, the porter continued to tell him about Sunday—was what had happened yesterday afternoon.The police showed up at the apartment on Pencompany Avenue and asked if a man named Robert Laforgue lived there.When it was confirmed that Laphrogue-LeBlanc lived in the building, the police informed the janitor that he had been killed in an accident three hours earlier. The victim was walking across the square from the Pyramid of Keo Cestio to the Pota San Paolo railway metro station, actually to a station called Ostián, when a large black car - a witness thought It was an American-made Pontiac, which another eyewitness believed was a British-made Aston Martin—rushed into the square, hit the victim at least 10 meters away, and then went straight to the square. Drive forward until it is out of sight.The victim was seriously injured, bloody and bloody, and died instantly. The police explained to the gatekeeper that the victim's private papers had Robert LaForgue's name and this address, but nothing else to name his relatives, friends, or insurance company.They asked the janitor if they knew the names of relatives or friends of the victim so that they could be notified of the disposal of the body, but the janitor could not recall anyone close to the victim.The police checked LeBlanc's room as a matter of routine, but of course they found nothing. Randall remembered asking to see LeBlanc's room. He followed the doorman into the elevator like a night-walker.There is a slot in the elevator for coin insertion -- the person who uses the elevator has to pay -- and the doorman puts in 10 lire and presses a button for the third floor. On the third floor, to the left of the elevator, the doorman opened a green door with a key.It was really a small and humble dwelling, and the furnishings inside were just like the house.He searched everywhere, under the watchful eye of the porter, but found not even a letter, as if he lived alone. "Nothing," Randall said wearily. "No photographs, no notes, nothing written by him." "He has some girlfriends out there. Otherwise, he'd be a hermit living here." "Looks like someone came here and took his papers." "As far as I know, there is no one else except the police and you." "So all LeBlanc left was the body," Randall said sadly. "Where is his body now?" "The police only told me that if he had any relatives and friends coming, he said that the body would be kept in the morgue for a month, waiting for relatives and friends to claim it, otherwise, the police would bury him in a mass grave. " "I think I'm going to look at the body, I really need to find out," Randall said. "Although the police found the identification on him, maybe his ID card was borrowed by someone else." Randall had to see it for himself. "How do I get there?" "You have to go to the police to get permission before you go to the morgue to identify the body." So Randall went to the Rome Police Headquarters.He explained his purpose to the police and filled out several forms before he got a written identification certificate.As for his relationship with LeBlanc, he only said that he met him in Paris before, and whenever he came to Rome, he would visit him for a while.The policeman called a taxi for him because he was panicked, and told the driver to take him to the morgue to identify his body. At this moment, the speed of the taxi has slowed down.Randall looked out the window and saw that they were driving slowly among the buildings and finally stopped.The driver pointed to a three-story building made of yellow bricks behind the two green iron gates. "That's the morgue," the driver said softly. Randall paid for the ride, plus a generous tip.The driver crossed himself again gratefully, and drove away after Randall left. Pushing open the green iron gate, Randall was in a courtyard enclosed by three buildings. There was a guard standing at the entrance of the central building. Randall went there and showed the police headquarters issued After giving him his identification card, the guard took him inside to a bearded Italian officer in uniform. When Randall walked over, the Italian official looked up and spoke Italian as if asking something. "Sorry, I only speak English," Randall said. "I can speak some English, but not very well," said the morgue official.His tone of voice was as full of the respect and solemnity his profession demands as any funeral director anywhere in the world. "My name is Randall. I came to identify the body. He is a friend of mine. His name is LeBlanc. He was brought in here yesterday." "Do you have a permit from the Police Headquarters?" “有。”他伸手送了过去。 那位身穿制服的官员看了一遍，然后朝桌上的对讲机很快以意大利语说着，说完以后，他起来走到兰德尔的身前。 “请跟我来。”他说。 兰德尔跟在那位意大利官员之后沿走道向右边走去，来到一扇安着毛玻璃的门前，只见那门是锁着的，而且门上还写了两个字，兰德尔猜想那一定是未经许可不得擅入之意。那官员打开门以后，兰德尔只觉得前面的走廊上恶臭扑鼻，那显然是尸体的气味。若以他的本能来说，真想溜之大吉。本来嘛，这次前来认尸是毫无意义的。人都死了，他又还能得到什么呢？可是那官员紧紧地抓着他的手臂拉着他一直向前走去。 来到走廊尽头，只见一个值班警员站在一个房间的门前。 "What is this place?" “这是认尸问。你也就是在这儿认尸。” 那警员将门打开。而兰德尔则以手遮着鼻子硬着头皮走进去。那是一个很小的房间，天花板上装着明亮的日光灯。房间对面也有两扇玻璃门，此刻已经大开，一个勤快的工人正推着一张上覆白布的车床进来。 那官员向床上一点头，兰德尔则像机器人一样跟着他走到床前。 那官员捏着白布的角向右掀开了一点。 “看看这个是不是你的莱布朗？” 当兰德尔俯身察看时，他几乎呕吐了出来。他只瞄了一眼便疾然后退。 那颜色像纸草一样，多皱脸孔上，被撞击得青一块紫一块的，一点都不错，这正是莱布朗的尸体。 “是的。”兰德尔悄悄地说，同时极力压抑了自心头泛起的恶心之感。 “你看准，没有问题了吗？” "Absolutely no problem." 那官员又把白布盖上，向工人摆摆手，然后转向兰德尔。 “先生，多谢你，我们就到此为止了。” 当他们离开认尸间步上走道的时候，兰德尔所能嗅到的不仅是死尸的恶臭，而且也闻到了另外一种气息。 他还清楚地记得，当他在阿姆斯特丹想看一看纸草纸第九号的原稿时，它碰巧失踪了。当他想看一看爱德隆的底片时，那位摄影师的底片却惨遭了火灾。而当他在罗马准备接收伪造的证据时，这位伪造者则偏偏在昨天被汽车撞死。这些是巧合吗？或者还是预谋？ 那位停尸所的官员又开口了。 “先生，你知不知道死者会有什么亲属来认领他的尸体？” "I'm afraid not." “既然你是唯一前来认尸的人，你的决定便是合法的，”他满怀期望地注视着兰德尔，“你愿不愿作个决定呢？” “决定什么？” “既然你已认明尸体无误，我们就必须决定怎样对他加以处理。若是你不认领，我们就把他埋在乱葬岗上。” “哦，我听说过了。那是你们堆骨灰罐子的地方。” “如果你愿意负责，我们就请专门办理丧葬的公司把尸首运走，涂敷香料，送进教堂，然后埋在天主教的墓地里。一切按照仪式办理，而且还有墓碑。如果你愿意付钱，我们就给他一个很体面的教堂葬礼。先生，这一切都随你的便。” 他们说着已回到那官员的办公室。兰德尔毫不迟疑地便做了决定。莱布朗，不管是好人还是个歹徒，已经准备与兰德尔合作。虽然他没有机会试一试，他也总该得到一点补偿。至少，对于人类的尊敬也该如此。 “好吧，我来付一切丧葬的费用，”兰德尔说，“给他一个适当的埋葬。不过有一点你该注意——”他想起了莱布朗，禁不住脸上浮现出一丝笑意。 “不要宗教的仪式，而且也不要埋葬在天主教的墓地里。我的朋友是——他不信教。” 这位停尸所的官员做了个了解的姿势，然后走到办公桌的后面。 “会按照你的意思做就是。在丧葬公司涂敷好香料以后，就把他埋葬在非天主教的墓地。这件事一定会办理得很好。先生，你愿意现在就付款吗？” 兰德尔付了款，接受了收据，签了最后一份文件。他高兴把这件事了结而且就可以离开了。 当他转身离去的时候，那位官员在他身后喊叫着，“先生，请等一下。” 兰德尔心里奇怪还会有什么事，便又回到那官员的办公室内。而那官员则拿出了一个塑料袋来放在桌子上。 “既然你已认领了尸体，你便可以把死者的遗物拿去。” “你是说在他的公寓的东西吗？你把他所有的东西送给一些非宗教的慈善机构好了。” “好的——不过，我是说这个袋子里的东西——他个人的财物。这是当他被送到这儿的时候从他身上取下来的。” 那官员把袋子解开，同时把里面的东西倒了出来。 “随便拿点什么作个纪念吧。” 这时电话铃声响了起来。 “对不起。”那官员说，然后便匆忙地去接电话了。 兰德尔看着莱布朗最后所留下的一些东西，半晌都未发一言。 那些东西实在少得可怜。而这也就是令他感到痛心的。他把每一样东西都拿起来放到一边去。一只表壳压弯的手表上，指针正指在2点23分。半盒香烟。一盒火柴。一些10里拉的意大利硬币。最后一个便是一个廉价的、快磨坏的人造皮夹子。 兰德尔把皮夹子拿在手里，打开来，然后把东西倒出。 一张身份证。 4张1000里拉面值的钞票。 一张折叠起来的硬纸片。 还有一张粉红色长方形的火车票。 他把身份证和钞票留在空皮夹子旁边，却把那张折叠着的纸片打开来。在纸的正中央，画着一条被矛刺穿的小鱼。那条鱼和蒙蒂画的差不多，只是稍圆一点，可能是莱布朗自己画的。在纸的右下角上写着两行宁，不过他却不认识。 现在他又把那粉红色的火车票拿起来，车票共分为三部分，虽然上面的字兰德尔也看不懂，但是他的太阳穴已开始跳动。 那官员已接完电话回来。 “对不起，”他说，“你有没有找到什么东西？” 兰德尔把那张火车票展开来。 "what is this?" 那官员瞄了一眼。 “是火车票。上面已轧过了昨天的日期，但是还没有用。上面一联是从罗马三波罗车站到奥斯蒂亚的，下面一联是回程票，是同一天用的，而第三联是收据。这张票是昨天买的，但是没用，因为去和回来的两张票都还没有撕去。” 兰德尔的太阳穴仍在跳。在他混乱的脑子里他想理出一个头绪来：莱布朗昨天曾去了三波罗车站，买好了去奥斯蒂亚的当天来回票。他可能因距离火车开车的时间还早，便走出车站到外面的广场上走走。等他再穿过广场返回车站的时候，便被车子撞死了，因而那两张还没有用的车票仍然在皮夹子里。 他是要赶往奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡，也就是蒙蒂教授在那儿有过重大发现的地方去取证据，以证明那个发现是伪造的。 兰德尔把那两张车票插进西装的上衣口袋里去，然后又把那张纸上所画的鱼和右下角的暗号揣摩了一会儿。He looked up. “波塔马里纳是什么？” “波塔马里纳？那也是奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡。是奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡古代废墟的一部分。那儿很好玩，你该去看一下。” 兰德尔心想，不用你说我也非得去看看不可。 他把那张纸又折叠起来，也装进放有车票的那个口袋里。 “其余的你来处理好了。”他向那位官员说。 “谢谢，谢谢你。先生，我为你失去一位朋友感到难过。” 兰德尔在离开停尸所的时候，心想，是的，我也为失去一位朋友而难过。不过，也得感谢这位朋友，从他的遗物中提供了一点线索。 走进罗马热烘烘的夜色之中，兰德尔深知他必须走完莱布朗刚刚开始的路程。在他口袋中那粉红的车票还没用过，但是明天上午另一张粉红色车票则非用掉不可。 至于以后的事情，等到明天再说吧。 时间过得太慢，昨天的夜晚终于变成了今天。 那张新的粉红色车票装在兰德尔的口袋里，上面轧的日期是7月2号，那也是星期二的上午。此刻，他正挤在一列车声隆隆的慢车之中，缓缓地开往一半埋在地下的古代废墟——奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡。那儿是蒙蒂教授铲子下的“第二次复活”的发源地，但在莱布朗所埋藏的伪造的证据被发现后，“第二次复活”也可能就在那儿结束。 昨天晚上对兰德尔来说是非常忙碌的时刻。他在旅馆服务台那儿问清楚了从罗马开往奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡的火车时间表，据说那只不过是25分钟的路程。然后他又到外面的书店里买了些有关奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡的英文书籍和地图。等回到旅馆以后，便一直研究到深夜，可以说不管在中学或大学的过程中，他读书从来没有这么专心过。到了今晨两点钟的时候，他已把历史上的奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡研究的差不多了。他对莱布朗在画了鱼的那张纸上所注记的暗号也摸到了点头绪，只是远还不敢确定，那只有等到了那儿再说。 今天早晨兰德尔带着那张地图和莱布朗画有鱼的那张纸，乘出租汽车到罗马三波罗车站，然后便搭上火车往奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡进发。 这时，兰德尔看了看手表，他已挤在车厢里17分钟之久，再过8分钟目的地就到了。 若在正常的情形下，坐这种火车是他难以忍受的。车上的木凳子既不干净，也不算太脏，只是太破旧了。车上挤满了穿着简陋的穷苦的意大利人，他们都是从罗马回到乡下去，因而充满了令人窒息的汗臭味。此外，那些意大利人的唠叨不停，声音震人耳鼓，也是他很不习惯的事。不过，谢天谢地，火车在猛地一拉以后，减慢了速度，并且缓慢停了下来。奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡终于到了。 他连忙从木凳上跳起来，挤进走道上那些汗流浃背的人群里，然后推推撞撞地走下了火车。 离开车站的月台，行人都涌向一处地下道。兰德尔跟着他们，穿过那凉风习习的水泥地下道后便达到火伞高涨的出口了。 正当他站在骄阳下企图辨别一下方位的时候，一个戴着宽边草帽，长相滑稽的出租车司机笑着向他这边走来。 那司机表示敬意地扶了扶草帽，说：“先生您好，我叫卢波，在奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡没有不认识我的。我有辆车子菲亚特，你要不要坐？” 兰德尔也微笑着摇了摇头。“我不要坐，我只是到那些考古挖掘过的地方看看。” “噢，是了。到考古挖掘过的地方，那很近。先过桥再过公路，看到一个大铁门就到了。” "Thank you." “别在那呆太久，太热了，看完以后你也许要坐车去海水浴场。我卢波开车送你去。” “我还不知道有没有时间呢！” “也许有时间，你看着办就是了。如果你要车子，我卢波就在这儿。我有时也在那边的水果摊子附近。你只要招呼一声就好了。” “卢波，谢谢你。如果我需要，我会找你的。” 天气烤得厉害。当兰德尔走过桥，越过公路，在一片隆起的坡地上走着的时候，已感到那湿透的衬衫贴在后背了。他于是把那张地图取出来，一面和现场地点对照了一下，一面继续前进。又走了没有多远，果然看到了一个上面写着黄字，完全敞开的铁门。 一旦进门以后，那里面的景物和外面的荒芜大不相同了，他感到犹如处身幻境一样。在他前面是一片公园，或者至少看起来像公园的样子。在蔽日的浓荫中，阵阵凉风自不远处的海上吹来，他不禁精神为之一振。 这时，在左边的一个小亭子里的老年肥胖妇人看到了他。她举起一卷门票来，大叫道：“喂，那位先生，您还没有买票！” 兰德尔这才知道得先买票才能进去参观。在他走过去买了票以后，又看到另一处写着黄字的告示，他以询问的眼光看着那售票员。 “那上面说参观的人不能走近挖掘过的地方，”她解释说，“你可以参观废墟，因为挖掘过的地方有几种不同的土质，走近那儿相当危险。” “我会小心的。”兰德尔答应道。 然后他又一面对照着地图，向里面走去。他沿着上面铺有鹅卵石的古代大街，先后经过谷仓、剧场、寺院等地方，一直走完废墟2/3的地方以后都没有看到一个人影。 现在他又把莱布朗所画的那张图片拿出来，那右下角的暗号他已经看懂了，首先，他得找到波塔马里纳，然后再看看距离那儿600公尺的地方。 就在他展开地图与实地对照的时候，只见从很远处一个水果摊那儿飞奔来一条人影。那人一面跑一面喊叫着，等他快跑近的时候，兰德尔已看清是个光着上身只穿了一条黄卡呢短裤和破旧的网球鞋的男孩子。 “喂！先生！”他喊叫着向着兰德尔跑过来。然后把双手放在屁股后面喘着气说，“你是不是英国人？” “美国人。”兰德尔回答。 “我会说英文，”那孩子得意地说，“我在学校里学过，还有跟观光客也学了不少。我来向您介绍一下，我叫塞巴斯蒂安诺。” “哦，塞巴斯蒂安诺。” “你要向导吗？我是个很好的向导。我曾帮忙过很多美国人。我带他们到奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡的每一个地方参观，一小时只要1000里拉就行了。你要我带你去那些主要的废墟吗？” “那些废墟我已经看过了。我现在正在找点别的地方看看。也许你能够帮忙？” “我一定可以帮得上忙。”塞巴斯蒂女诺很热心地说。 “我听说这附近在6年前有过一处挖掘过的地方。不知道你……” “你是说蒙蒂教授挖掘的地方吗？”那孩子打断他的话说。 兰德尔不禁大为惊奇。“你知道？我以前听说那个现在仍然还是一项秘密。” “不错，那件事很少人知道，因此也没有人听过或去那看过。那附近的标志上写着不准人去看，是因为里面还有许多坑洞，很危险。不过因为我们住在附近，所以每个地方都看过。你想去那儿看看吗？” “可是不准去怎么办？” 塞巴斯蒂安诺耸了耸肩，“反正又没有人看守着。你愿不愿意花1000里拉去看一下？” “好的，”他记起了口袋中莱布朗的字条，“我想看的是离波塔马里纳600公尺的地方。” “那容易得很，”他说，“跟我来。等我们一面走的时候我来量600公尺。你是位考古学家吗？” “我是位地质学家。我想来查看一下这儿的土壤。” “没问题，我们走吧。我在心里数600公尺，我知道那是什么地方。” 10分钟以后，他们已来到一个深的入口处，从那个深井又向两面挖了很多井和坑。而井的上面则架了很多木桩以作为顶盖之用。 “这上面写的是什么？”兰德尔指着一个破旧的木牌子说。 塞巴斯蒂安诺蹲下身子。“我来翻译给你听。'蒙蒂考古挖掘地区，危险。不得进入'。”他站起身来，笑着说，“这个我不是早就告诉你了吗？” “好啦。”他眯着眼向坑道内看了一下。“这里面有灯吗？” “只有太阳光，不过足够了。这井上面的木桩排得不密，太阳光可以从木桩缝内照进去。这条并通向一座古代的别墅，不过只挖掘了一半。你要我带你去看一看吗？” “不要，”兰德尔赶快说，“我不需要进去看，我只到这井里看一会儿就好了。”他摸出一张1000里拉的钞票放到那个孩子的手里。“谢谢你的好意。不过我在查看的时候不希望别人打扰，你懂吗？” 那孩子一本正经地举起手来。“我不会告诉任何人的。你是我的顾客，如果你还需要我，想再看别的地方，你可以到那边水果摊旁边来找我。” 塞巴斯蒂安诺转身走了，走过一段路以后又回过头来向兰德尔摇了摇手，在他转过一个小土匠之后便消失不见了。而兰德尔这才向坑道的入口走去。 他迟疑了一下，突然之间，他感到这种举动愚蠢鲁莽而可笑。以一位美国大公司公共关系部门的元老和“第二次复活”宣传部主任的身份，他这算是干嘛？ 然而，好像在冥冥之中有一双手在推他这么去做似的，也许是莱布朗的手吧。他在两天以前不是便曾想到这儿来吗？ 于是，他立刻踏下了第一步，那在6年前安的木桩台阶，踏在上面有些摇摇晃晃的。他小心翼翼一步步地走下去，直到脚下踏着了坚硬的泥土。 坑道内虽然经木桩的空隙透进了一些阳光，但是仍然显得相当黑暗，所以他只是谨慎地向前迈着步子。 在快走到坑道尽头的时候，上面有些木桩断掉或者被拿开了，因此里面大为光亮了些，他可以清楚地看到那地下别墅的部分景物，他于是聚精会神地在那四下去墙壁上搜寻着。根据莱布朗所写的暗语，他还要必须找到两种东西：一是被矛所刺穿的那条鱼；一是地下墓穴。以他的大脑推断，莱布朗那伪造的证据可能藏在墓穴里。除此之外，再也没有其它可能的解释了。 在他刚刚走了没有几步，便第一次看到了墙上的雕刻。虽然有些模糊不清，仍可辨认出那是船上所用的锚，在早期的基督社会里，锚是十字架的秘密符号。再继续看下去。他又发现了χ和ρ两个希腊文字母，那也是表示基督的暗语。然后还看到了雕刻极为粗糙的鸽子和橄榄枝，那则是早期基督象征和平的东西。 兰德尔弯着腰，有时得蹲下去，沿着墙仔细地搜索着，现在他已看到代表基督的鱼了，而且还不只一条。那些鱼都是刻画得瘦瘦细细的，有点像鲸鱼的样子。 毫无疑问的，这些石灰岩的墙壁内一定隐藏有地下墓穴。那里是改信基督教的罗马人家庭埋葬死亡家属的地方，而且还在岩石上留下了代表他们信仰的符号。 兰德尔上身向后退了一点，企图辨识出更多的墙上雕刻。在他的目光从这道墙移向前面一堵石灰岩的墙壁时，突然之间，在墙壁的最下方，距离坑道的地面只有一尺来光景，他看到了。 他连忙冲上前蹲下身子以便仔细地看个清楚。他的眼睛投注在一个雕刻的图案上，这个图案比方才的那些清晰得多了，可以断定绝不是古代留下的遗迹。 那是一条鱼，像莱布朗所画在纸片上的那张一样，圆圆胖胖的，而且一只矛刚好在鱼身的中央穿过。 兰德尔连忙从口袋中把那张纸拿出来，展开以后，他以双手拿着放在墙上，两条鱼的大小、形状简直是一般无二。 这一发现使他大为兴奋因而呼吸也变得急促起来。兰德尔蹲在地上，自言自语地说：我找到了。这是上帝的意思。我现在可能便是处身于“第二次复活”的墓地里。 他小心地思索了一下，当他感到满意之后，便急忙站起来，转身向坑道外走去。 爬出了那荫凉的隧道，又已处身在炽热阳光之下。他很快地越过一片田野，转过一个土丘，已可看见那不远处的水果摊。他已看到了那个小向导，塞巴斯蒂安诺，正在那拍着球，另外一个熟识的人影便是那出租汽车司机——卢波，他好像正在摊子前面喝着什么东西。 兰德尔一面大叫那孩子的名字，一面摇动着双臂企图吸引他的注意，终于塞巴斯蒂安诺看到了他，丢下球，如飞地向他这边奔跑。兰德尔本想向塞巴斯蒂安诺借一辆推车，一把鹤嘴锄和一把圆锹，但继而一想这不是那孩子所可能办得到的，而且纵然弄到，也必引起别人的怀疑，因而反把事情弄糟。 兰德尔已掏出3张1000里拉的票子等着，他先亮出两张来。“塞巴斯蒂安诺，你想不想赚这2000里拉？” 那孩子一双眼睛都几乎跳到眼眶子外面来了。 “我想从坑道内取出一些泥土来带回去试验，”兰德尔匆匆地说，“我需要一个尖尖的圆锹。你知道可以在哪儿借一把吗？” “我可以找一把圆锹给你。”塞巴斯蒂安诺急切地说，“我家房子后面的菜园里就有一把。” “我只是想借来用用，”兰德尔重复着。“我在离开时一定还你，你是不是要花很长时间才能拿来？” “最多15分钟就够了。” 兰德尔把那2000里拉交给他，然后又摇晃着第三张钞票。“另外再给你1000，别把这件事对人家乱说，好不好？” 塞巴斯蒂安诺又把第三张钞票接过去。“我不会对别人讲，这是我们的秘密。你不信我可以发誓。”他神情严肃地说。 "Let's go then." 塞巴斯蒂安诺一溜烟似地跑了，他没有再回水果摊，而是向右面的路上奔去。 兰德尔耐心地等着，竭力不去想身后坑道里的事情。还不到15分钟，塞巴斯蒂安诺提着个圆锹再度出现了。那圆锹理想极了，前面尖尖的，就是军队用来挖战壕的那一种。兰德尔向他道了谢，然后又向他说过个把小时他就会将圆锹还到水果摊那儿去。 当那孩子离去以后，兰德尔又匆忙地回到坑道口，小心翼翼地下到里面去，直奔原来那堵墙下，然后脱下西装上衣，举起圆锹“嚓”地一声，向那条被刺穿的鱼砍去。岂料那些石灰岩竟相当坚硬，他用了全身气力才挖下来一小块。然而在挖墙根下面的时候，则感到轻松得多。他一时没能想出这是什么原因来。