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imself to leap forward。
But then he hesitated。 Though the man was dressed in peasant garb； he seemed different from the rest of Fosco's men。 He was very tall and slender； perhaps four inches taller than Pendergast； and he wore a closely trimmed beard。 There was something strange about his eyes。 They were different colors： the left was hazel； the right an intense blue。
Maybe he's a local；D'Agosta thought。Or a poacher； or something。 Great fucking time to be out for a stroll。
Suddenly； he became aware of the dogs again。 They were still baying： a regular； measured sound； as before。
No more time to waste。 The man had turned calmly away from him； uninterested。 D'Agosta began descending slowly； waiting for the change in the dogs' cry。 He glanced back once and saw the stranger； still motionless； looking intently downslope。
D'Agosta turned back and continued slowly and carefully down through the forest。Forget him。 The important thing now was Pendergast。 He would escape。 He had to； hehad to 。 。 。
And then； suddenly； off to his right and below； he heard a single dog barking hysterically； its voice sounding a much higher； more urgent note than before。 He paused； listening。 Another took up the cry； then a third。 In a moment； the whole line had taken it up。 D'Agosta could hear them converging on a single spot with a babel of high…pitched barking。 Then came the report of a gun； the shriek of a dog。 The frenzy increased in pitch。 It was a terrifying sound； interrupted by a second shot； then a third。 These were followed in turn by the lower boom…boomof an old； heavy…caliber carbine。 D'Agosta could see nothing through the dense brush； but he could hear what was happening all too clearly。
This was his chance。 Hugging the machine close to him； D'Agosta ran downhill as hard and fast as he could； leaping； ripping through brambles； stumbling； recovering； running on and on。 He broke through a small clearing； and there…far off to his right now…he caught one last glimpse of Pendergast： a lone figure in black； surrounded by a boiling pack of dogs； a dozen or more men converging from two sides and below； each with heavy rifles trained on him。 The din was incredible； the frenzied ring of dogs closing in； the bolder ones dashing forward； attempting to tear out chunks of flesh。
D'Agosta kept running； running…and then he was past the line； the dogs' terrible ravening cry now behind and above him。 He kept on going； the nightmarish shrieking of the dogs； the cursing and shouting of the handlers； ringing ever more faintly in his ears。 The hunt was over； the quarry cornered…only it wasn't a boar； it was a human being。 Pendergast。 And he wasn't going to escape： not this time； he wasn't。
83
Buck sat on the cot in his cell at the Manhattan Detention Center； listening and waiting。 It was a modern； sterile facility； all white walls and fluorescent lighting； the lights recessed behind caged glass。 Despite the fact that it was past midnight； he could hear a lot of noise from the other prisoners； who were banging on the bars； yelling； arguing； demanding lawyers。 Some were shouting in unintelligible languages that sounded harsh； almost barbarous。
He'd been processed； fingerprinted； photographed； showered； given a change of clothes。 He'd been fed； given a copy of theTimes ； been offered a phone to call a lawyer…and told absolutely nothing。 It seemed he'd been in the cell forever。 Every hour that passed turned the screw another notch。 When would it begin？ Is this what Christ felt； waiting to be brought before Pontius Pilate？ He would have preferred almost anything…beating； torture； abuse…to this interminable wait。 And this environment was sterile； suffocating。 What was worse； he'd been given a cell to himself。 His treatment was almost cruel in its courtesy。 He wondered how much longer he could stand these people ing and going with his food： these people who never answered his questions； never looked him in the eye； never said a word。
He knelt to pray。 When wouldit happen？ When would the walls shake； the voices sound on high； the ground open to swallow the unclean？ When would the screams of the damned fill the air； the kings and princes run to hide among the rocks； the four horsemen of the Apocalypse appear in the sky？ He didn't even have a window to look out of； no way to see anything。
The suspense was literally killing him。
Yet another guard appeared： a large black man in a blue uniform； carrying a tray。
〃What's this？〃 Buck asked； looking up。
No answer。 The man opened the sliding tray in the bars； set it down； slid it in； shut the slot； turned； and walked away。
〃What's happening out there？〃 Buck cried。 〃What's…？〃
But the orderly had disappeared。
Buck rose and sat down again on the bunk。 He looked at the food： a bagel with cream cheese and jelly； a chicken breast sitting in some congealed gravy； some grayish green beans and carrots； a dollop of hardening mashed potatoes。 The sheer banality of it made him sick。
Now； above the usual prison sounds； he heard something else： voices； a clang； a sudden burst of shouting from the other prisoners。 Buck stood up。
Was it starting？ Was it starting at last？
Four police officers appeared down the hall； heavily armed； billy clubs swinging from their hips； swaggering in formation。 For him： they were ingfor him 。 He felt a tingle of anticipation。 Something would happen now。 It might be very hard。 It would no doubt test him to the utmost。 But whatever it was； he would accept it。 It was part of God's great plan。
They halted outside his cell。 He stared back at them； waiting。 One stepped forward and read from a card clipped to a green folder。
〃Wayne Paul Buck？〃
He nodded； stiffening。
〃You're to e with us。〃
〃I'm ready；〃 he said； defiantly but with quiet dignity。
The man unlocked the cell。 The others stood back； guns at the ready。
〃Step out； please。 Turn around and place your hands behind your back。〃
He did as he was told。 It was going to be bad； very bad： he could feel it。 The cold steel of the cuffs went around his wrists； and there was a click： a portent of things to e。
〃This way； sir。〃
Sir。The mocking was beginning。
They marched him silently down the hall to an elevator； rose a few floors； then down another sterile corridor to a gray metal door。 They knocked。
〃e in；〃 said a feminine voice。
The door opened； and Buck found himself in a small office with a metal desk； a single window looking out over the nightscape of lower Manhattan。 Sitting at the desk wasthat one； the female cop who had led the centurions in to arrest him。
He stood proudly before her； unbowed。 She was his Pontius Pilate。
She accepted the folder from the lead cop。 〃Have you had access to a lawyer？〃 she asked。
〃I don't need a lawyer。 God is my advocate。〃 He noticed； for the first time； how pretty she was…and how young。 She had a discreet bandage above her ear； where she had been hit with the rock。 He had saved her from death。
The devil has many faces。
〃As you wish。〃 She rose； pulled her jacket off a hook； slid into it； then nodded to the policemen。 〃Is the marshal ready？〃
〃Yes； Captain。〃
〃Let's go； then。〃