ung on his wall。
He scrambled back from the stone wall； running along it in a low crouch； praying his back wasn't exposed。 As he ran； he popped the clip from the gun； peering at it in the dim light。 Empty。 That left him only two shots in the chamber 。 。 。 thirteen rounds wasted。
Suddenly he saw something e into view through the trees up ahead： the bridge over the 110th Street off…ramp。 The whole thing was chain…linked like a cage。 If he got caught in there； he'd be the proverbial fish in a barrel。
But turning back…jumping back over the stone wall and crossing the open walkway…meant running right into the arms of his pursuers。 And that would be suicide。
He glanced down to his right。 There was only one other choice。 It was the highway or nothing。 Get out on the West Side Highway； stop traffic； create a snarl； radio for help。 They wouldn't pursue him or shoot at him out there。
Without waiting to reconsider； he charged down the steep embankment； clawing through the brambles and sumac and poison ivy； half falling； half rolling。 The branches tore cruelly through the fabric of his uniform； and the sharp rocks of the embankment bruised his shoulders and knees。
Whang！sounded the shot。
Ahead； the embankment dropped away steeply。 He fell； rolled as far as he could； forced himself back onto his feet； and began running again； casting one brief look back。 He could hear them crashing through the brush not thirty feet above him。 In desperation； he wheeled； squeezed off a shot at the closest figure。 It ducked to the side； then charged forward again。 D'Agosta turned and ran with all his might。 His heart was racing dangerously。 The rush of cars was suddenly louder； the lights flashing through the trees； flashing on him for a moment。
Whang！ Whang！
He ducked； zigzagged。 The highway was just fifty feet ahead。 The headlights were now flashing across him； making a clear target。
Thirty more feet。 The trees were thinning； giving way to garbage and weeds。
Whang！
The embankment leveled out。 Twenty more feet to the edge of the trees and the highway。 He ran flat out； making a beeline…
Boom。And he was thrown back。
D'Agosta lay there for a moment； stunned； thinking he'd been hit； that it was over。 Then he realized he'd run full tilt into the chain…link fence that ran just above the highway。 His eyes took it in within the space of a heartbeat： the concertina wire at the top； the crappy fence all mangled and twisted by junkies； the skeletons of cars lying on the verge below the far side。Of course。 In the old days； he had driven that highway a million times； seen that fence leaning dangerously above him； stuffed with trash and decaying leaves。 One more thing he'd forgotten in those years in British Columbia。 He was trapped。
This was it。 He rose on one knee and turned to make his stand。One round； two men。
The math wasn't good。
15
A low fire burned in the grate； casting a ruddy light on the wallsof books and chasing the damp chill from the air。 Two wing chairs occupied the space on either side of the fire。 In one sat Special Agent Pendergast； and in the other Constance Greene； pale and slender in a beautifully pressed and pleated dress。 To one side sat the remains of an evening tea service： cups and saucers； strainer； creamer； digestive biscuits。 The still air smelled of wood polish and buckram； and on all sides the bookshelves climbed； row after row； toward the high ceiling； the old leather…bound books that lined them gleaming with gold stamping in the firelight。
Pendergast's silvery eyes glanced toward a clock above the mantelpiece； then flickered back to the old newspaper he was reading。 His murmured voice picked up where it had left off。
〃'August 7； 1964。 Washington…In an 88…4 vote today； the U。S。 Senate authorized President Johnson the use of 〃all necessary measures〃 to repel armed attacks against U。S。 forces in Vietnam。 The vote was in response to the shelling of two U。S。 Navy ships by North Vietnam in the Gulf of Tonkin' 。 。 。〃
Constance listened intently as he went on。 There was a rustle as Pendergast gently turned the fragile； yellowed page。
The girl held up her hand； and Pendergast paused。
〃I'm not sure I can bear another war。 Will it be a bad one？〃
〃One of the worst。 It will tear apart the country。〃
〃Let us save this war for tomorrow； then。〃
Pendergast nodded； carefully folding up the newspaper and putting it aside。
〃I can scarcely believe the cruelty of the last century。 It staggers the soul。〃
Pendergast inclined his head in agreement。
She shook her head slowly； and the glow of the flames reflected in her dark eyes and straight black hair。 〃Do you think this new century will be as barbarous？〃
〃The twentieth century showed us the evil face of physics。 This century will show us the evil face of biology。 This will be humanity's last century； Constance。〃
〃So cynical？〃
〃May God prove me wrong。〃
A bank of embers collapsed； opening a glowing wound in the fire。 Pendergast stirred。 〃And now； perhaps； shall we move on to the results of your search？〃
〃Certainly。〃 Constance rose and walked toward one wall of bookshelves； returning with several octavo volumes。 〃The abbot Trithemius； theLiber de Angelis ； the McMaster text；The Sworn Book of Honorius ； theSecretum Philosophorum ； and； of course；Ars Notorium 。 Treatises on selling one's soul； raising the devil； and the like。〃 She placed the volumes on a side table。 〃All alleged eyewitness accounts。 Latin； Ancient Greek； Aramaic； Old French； Old Norse； and Middle English。 Then there are the grimoires。〃
〃Textbooks of magic；〃 Pendergast said； nodding。
〃The Key of Solomonis the best known。 Many of these documents belonged to secret societies and orders； which were mon among the nobility of the Middle Ages。 Apparently； these societies were often active in satanic practices。〃
Pendergast nodded again。 〃I am particularly interested in accounts of the devil claiming his due。〃
〃There are many。 For example〃…she indicated the wormy cover of theArs Notorium with a faint look of distaste…〃the Tale of Geoffrey； magister of Kent。〃
〃Go on。〃
〃The tales don't vary greatly from the Faustian theme； except in the details。 A highly learned man； restless and dissatisfied； a manuscript； raising the devil； promises made； promises broken； a warm end。 In this case； Magister Geoffrey was a doctor of philosophy at Oxford in the early 1400s； a chemist and mathematician。 His great passion was the mystery of the prime numbers。 He spent years in his studio； calculating the primes out to five digits。 Some of the calculations involved more than a year of work； and they say he needed a little help to finish them。 Hence； the pact with Lucifer。 There was talk in Oriel College of chanting； ugly smells； unexplained noises； and strange lights burning in the scholar's chambers long after midnight。 The magister continued to teach and do his alchemical experiments。 His fame spread far and wide。 He was said to have discovered the arcanum for transforming lead into gold； and he was admitted into the Order of the Golden Chalice by King Henry VI himself。 He published his great workThe Nyne Numbers of God and was known across Europe for his wisdom and learning。
〃But then things began to change。 At the height of his fame； he became nervous； suspicious； strange。 He was often ill； confined to his chambers。 He jumped at every noise。 He seemed to grow thin； his eyes staring 'like the great hollow eyes of a calf in the slaughter。' He ordered brass locks and had his doors clad and banded in iron。
〃And then one day his students missed him at breakfast。 They went to his chambers。 The door was locked； the iron hot to the touch。 There was a smell of phosphorus and sulfur。 Only with great effort could they break it down。
〃They beheld a terrible sight。 Geoffrey； magister of Kent； lay on his wooden pallet； fully dressed； as if laid out for burial。 There were no cuts on his skin； no breaks； no bruising。 And yet his heart lay next to the body； partially burned and still smoking。 They said it wouldn't stop beating until it had been sprinkled with holy water。 Then it burst。 The details are rather 。 。 。 unpleasant。〃
Pendergast glanced at the girl。 She leaned forward； took a sip of tea； replaced the cup； smiled。
〃And do the texts describe just how the Prince of Darkness was conjured？〃
〃They drew circles around themselves。 Generally； nine feet in diameter。 They were usually drawn with anarthame ； or ceremonial knife。 Frequently； there were smaller circles or pentacles within the larger one。 Above all； it was critical that the circle not be broken during the ceremony…as long as he remained within the circle； the conjurer was safe from the demons he summoned。〃
〃And once the demons were summoned？〃
〃A contract was made。 The usual： wealth； power； knowledge； in return for one's immortal soul。 Faust； of course； is the prototypical story…particularly in the way it ends。〃
Pendergast nodded encouragingly。
〃After making his personal deal with the devil； Faust had all the power； earthly and unearthly； he had always craved。 But he had other things as well。 He plained of never being alone： of eyes in the w