Infernal_ A Repairman Jack Novel Part 41

"That's got the answers?"

"Charlie doesn't know. He can't pierce its covers."

Then what good is he? Jack wanted to say, but bit it back.

"Well, maybe I I can. Just tell me where the d.a.m.n thing is and-" can. Just tell me where the d.a.m.n thing is and-"

"Charlie says you already know. In fact, you've seen it."

Jack stared at Lyle, blinking in confusion. What the-?

And then he realized what Charlie meant.

4.

-65:55.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Tom said.

Jack ground his teeth, thinking about what a jerk he'd been. But then, he hadn't heard the whole story until it was too late. If Tom had told him about the Lilitongue's supposedly magical powers, if he'd told him about the girl and the dog, Jack wouldn't have allowed Vicky within ten miles of that thing.

He glanced at his brother the shmegege shmegege and thought about a quick chop to his Adam's apple-not hard enough to crush his larynx, just enough to shut him up. But knowing how that mark was growing larger on Vicky's back, he wasn't sure he could pull the punch. and thought about a quick chop to his Adam's apple-not hard enough to crush his larynx, just enough to shut him up. But knowing how that mark was growing larger on Vicky's back, he wasn't sure he could pull the punch.

"Not exactly. So can the chatter and let me think."

On either side of the two-lane blacktop, evergreens stood tall among the bare branches of their deciduous neighbors. The dull, overcast sky threatened snow. He hoped it held off-prayed it held off. The last thing he needed was to get stuck with the shmegege shmegege in the mountains of upstate New York during a blizzard. Talk about a nightmare. in the mountains of upstate New York during a blizzard. Talk about a nightmare.

Jack had been to this area twice last month. But both times at night-once with a pa.s.senger who knew the way, and the other following someone-so he was feeling his way.

"I'm still not clear on this: We've come out to the middle of nowhere to sneak into a house you might not be able to find so that we can search for a book that might or might not be there?"

"I have it on good authority that it exists, and that it belongs to the owner of this place we're looking for."

Jack hadn't wanted to bring the shmegege shmegege along, but he didn't know if he'd need an extra pair of hands at the cabin-if he could find it. He'd told him about his meeting with Dr. Buhmann, but not about Charlie. He didn't want to have to explain his connection to the disgraced Luther Brady either. along, but he didn't know if he'd need an extra pair of hands at the cabin-if he could find it. He'd told him about his meeting with Dr. Buhmann, but not about Charlie. He didn't want to have to explain his connection to the disgraced Luther Brady either.

Jack rounded a curve then and slowed his Crown Vic.

"What's wrong?"

"This looks familiar."

He eased ahead until he saw the uphill gravel driveway. On impulse he pulled in and climbed the grade.

"This the place?"

"No, but if it's the place I think it is, then we're almost there."

Halfway up the driveway he looked for traces of the explosion that had ripped a man apart last month, but found none. A cleanup squad-whether human or the carnivores among the local fauna, he couldn't say-had come through and left no trace.

As the house hove into view he slammed on the brakes. The tires skidded on the gravel.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t."

"Wow," Tom said, craning his neck for a better look through the winds.h.i.+eld. "Somebody sure had their fun with this place."

Not exactly the traditional idea of fun: The front door stood open, its off-kilter storm door swayed back and forth, and someone had smashed every window in sight.

Tom snorted. "Vandals. The jerk who built the place probably thought he'd leave their kind behind when he came up here. But they're everywhere."

Jack hoped the destruction was due to garden-variety vandalism. Not a h.e.l.l of a lot to do in these parts: Add drugs or booze to boredom and just about anything could happen. If that had been the case, fine. But he feared the destruction might have been motivated by something else.

Seized with a sudden urgency to find Brady's cabin, Jack put the Vic in reverse and started turning it around. Took him four moves before he could nose back into the driveway again.

"Jesus, what are you doing driving a tank like this? It's a cop car. Or a retirement-village car. And you're neither."

Jack could have told the shmegege shmegege that this black Crown Victoria was the exact match-right down to the license plates-of a car belonging to a big shot in the outfit's Brooklyn wing. But then he'd have to go into a long explanation of why he'd want something like this. that this black Crown Victoria was the exact match-right down to the license plates-of a car belonging to a big shot in the outfit's Brooklyn wing. But then he'd have to go into a long explanation of why he'd want something like this.

He turned back onto the blacktop and continued west. Now he had an idea of where he was going. He just hoped that Brady's cabin hadn't suffered the same fate.

A few miles farther on he found a similar driveway and turned into it. The rear wheels kicked up gravel as he spurred the car uphill. Hurrying wouldn't change things-if damage had been done, it was done.

When he saw the place he slowed to a stop.

"s.h.i.+t!" He pounded on the steering wheel. "s.h.i.+t! s.h.i.+t! s.h.i.+t!"

Only charred timbers remained of the north wall of Brady's woodsy A-frame. The rest of the house looked almost as bad-not an intact pane in sight.

Jack jumped out and hurried across the dead gra.s.s to the smashed front door. Tom tailed him.

The inside was consistent with the outside, maybe worse. Looked like someone had taken an ax to everything before starting the fire. Splintered furniture-some of it used as kindling, maybe-smashed framed photos, slashed paintings, books reduced to confetti. Rain was.h.i.+ng in through the ruined roof had added to the damage.

But Jack didn't care about this-his interest lay below. He knew a trapdoor lay somewhere near the center of the main room, but he couldn't see where.

He dropped to his hands and knees and began searching the knotty pine planks.

He heard Tom say, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for the edge of a trapdoor."

"What makes you think there's a trapdoor?"

"I just do. Help me look."

He couldn't tell Tom that he'd been peeking through one of these windows when Luther Brady had swung up a section of the floor and disappeared below... carrying a book... a large, old-looking book.

Jack was counting on that being the Compendium Compendium. Herta had told him Brady had it. And Charlie had said Jack had seen it. If they were right, this had to be the place.

Tom walked around in a wavering circle.

"I don't see anything."

Neither did Jack. But he knew it was here. He tried to remember if the trapdoor's opening edge had been irregular. If so, he wouldn't find an obvious seam cutting across the boards. He stretched himself flat for an ant's-eye view.

There-a tiny depression running along one of the planks. He rose to his knees and ran his finger along the edge. Yeah, definitely a s.p.a.ce here.

Jack pictured Brady lifting the door. It had opened toward the rear of the house. He searched for a ring embedded in a plank. Had to be one. Brady couldn't have lifted it without- One of the knots two planks away looked different. He touched it and noticed it didn't feel like wood. He worked his thumbnail along its edge and up popped a metal ring, painted to look like wood. Jack hauled back on it and a section of the floor angled upward.

"Jesus!" he heard Tom say. "How did you know?"

He ignored the question as he threw the trapdoor back. A wooden stairway led below.

Jack started down. "Wait here."

"No problem."

5.

-65:26.

At the bottom Jack found himself in a dark, tiny cube of a room, maybe eight by eight. Daylight through the door above provided faint illumination. Probably should have gone back to the car for the flashlight, but hadn't wanted to waste the time. The enlarging of Vicky's mark had filled him with a desperate urgency.

He looked around. Shelves lined the s.p.a.ce, stacked with envelopes and magazines and books of all sizes. The one he'd seen had been large, somewhere between sixteen and twenty inches on a side.

He stepped to the nearest shelf and began pulling things off it. They felt soggy-water must have seeped through and worked its way down here. He caught sight of photos in the magazines as he tossed them on the floor-naked boys. No surprise there.

He worked his way along the shelves until he came to a steel cabinet, like a fuse box. He tugged on the handle. Locked.

Well, he'd fix that.

Jack pulled his Spyderco folder from his back pocket and snapped out the blade. He worked it along the edge, wiggling and pus.h.i.+ng until he had a third of the blade inside, just above the lock. Then he leaned against the knife, prying... prying...

The door popped open.

Blessed be the man who invented tempered steel.

Jack pulled open the door and squinted into its dim interior. Only one thing inside: a book-big like the one he'd seen Brady bring down here. Had to be the same.

But was it the the book? book?

Jack pulled it out and hefted it. Heavy. The covers and spine seemed to be made of stamped metal. He stepped to the center of the s.p.a.ce and held it in the shaft of light under the trapdoor.

Markings embossed on the cover... he squinted at them... looked like random squiggles at first, then they swam into focus... words... in English...

Was this what the prof had talked about... the text changing to the reader's native language?

Compendium ran across the upper half in large serif letters; and below it, half size: ran across the upper half in large serif letters; and below it, half size: Srem Srem.

Jack felt his throat constrict. He'd found it. G.o.dd.a.m.n it, he'd found it. But was it what he needed?

He pounded up the steps to the main floor where he'd found Tom standing by the rear wall with a shocked look on his face.

"Got it!"

Tom didn't seem to hear. He clutched a couple of torn, water-stained eight-by-ten photos. He held one up and looked at Jack.

"Here's a picture of some guy with Oprah." He held up the other. "And here's the same guy with President Clinton. I know I've seen him before but I just can't place him."

Might as well tell him, Jack thought. Sooner or later it'll come to him.

"That's Luther Brady."

Tom's eyes widened. "The Luther Brady? The Dormentalist? The pedophile?" Luther Brady? The Dormentalist? The pedophile?"

"The same. Look-"

"The indicted-for-murder Luther Brady?"

"Yes."

And you're talking to the guy who put him there.

"This must be his place!" Tom pointed to the open trapdoor. "How did you know about that?"

"I know about a lot of things." Jack jerked his thumb toward the front door. "We're getting out of here. And you're driving."

6.