Brimstone

{ 85 }

D'Agosta sat silently in the backseat of the car as it moved up the winding mountain road. The countryside was as beautiful as it had been two days before: the hills clad in autumn raiment, shining rust and gold under the early morning sun. D'Agosta barely noticed. He was staring up at the cruel-looking keep of Castel Fosco, just now rising into view above its spar of gray rock. Merely seeing the castle again brought a chill not even the convoy of police cars could allay.

He shifted the weight of the canvas bag from one leg to the other. Inside was Fosco's diabolical weapon. The chill evaporated before the furious, carefully controlled anger that burned within him. D'Agosta tried to cha

Colo

"A most formidable residence," he said.

D'Agosta nodded.

Esposito pulled out a fresh cigarette, reconsidered, replaced it, and turned to D'Agosta. "This Fosco you describe seems a shrewd character. It will be necessary to catch him red-handed, secure the evidence ourselves. We will therefore go in fast."

"Yes. Good."

Esposito ran a hand over his brushed-back gray hair. "He is also clearly one who leaves nothing to chance. I worry that Pendergast may be .    " His voice trailed off.

"If we hadn't waited twelve hours-"

The colo

"What?"

"Let me do the talking, if you please. I will make sure the conversation is in English. Fosco speaks English well?"

"Perfectly."

D'Agosta was more exhausted than he ever remembered being. Every limb ached, and his skin was scratched and torn in countless places. Only his iron resolve to rescue Pendergast, his fear about what his friend might be undergoing at the hands of the count, kept him going. Maybe he's still alive, he thought. Back in the same cell. Of course he is. He must be.

D'Agosta prayed briefly, fervently, that this would prove the case. The alternative was too dreadful to contemplate.

The cars pulled into the graveled parking area just outside the i

"The Fiat," he said. "Our rented car. It's gone."

"What model?" Esposito asked.

"A Stylo, black. License IGP 223."

Esposito turned to one of his men and barked an order.

The castle seemed deserted, almost preternaturally quiet. The colo

This time, the doors to the i

"Why, my heavens! It's Sergeant D'Agosta. How are you finding Italy?"

D'Agosta did not reply. Just the sight of the grotesque count brought on a rush of loathing. Keep it cool, he reminded himself.

Fosco was puffing just a bit but otherwise seemed his jovial, unflappable self. "Please excuse my delay in responding. I wasn't expecting any company today." Then he turned toward the colo

"I am Colo

"A warrant!" Surprise bloomed on the count's face. "What's it about?"

Esposito ignored him, walking past, barking orders to his men. He turned to the count. "My men will need access to all parts of the castle."

"Of course!" The count hastened across the lawn of the i

D'Agosta maintained a stony silence, keeping his canvas bag well away from Fosco. He noticed that, this time, none of the massive doors scraped closed behind them.

The count led the way down the central gallery and into a room D'Agosta hadn't seen before: a large and elegant library, its walls covered with ancient volumes, leather spines stamped and gilded. A fire crackled merrily on the hearth.

"Please, gentlemen," Fosco said, ushering them in. "Have a seat. Can I offer you sherry? A cigar?"

"I'm afraid there is no time for pleasantries," Esposito said. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a sheet of paper bearing official stamps, laid it on the table. "Here is the warrant. We will search the basements and cellars first, then work our way up."

The count had taken a cigar from a carved wooden box. "Of course I shall cooperate, but I'd like to know what it's about."

"Sergeant D'Agosta has leveled very grave charges against you."

"Against me ?" the count said. He glanced at D'Agosta. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"Kidnapping, attempted murder-and the accusation that you are still holding Pendergast."

The surprise on Fosco's face deepened. "But this-this is outrageous!" He lowered the cigar, looking from D'Agosta to Esposito and back again. "Sergeant, is this true? Do you make such accusations?"

"Let's go," said D'Agosta impatiently. Although he kept his tone level, he seethed inwardly at the masterful acting. The count truly looked like a man struggling with shock and disbelief.

"Well. If that is the case, who am I to protest?" Fosco examined the cigar, snipped off the end with a tiny silver clipper, lit it. "But you may put away that warrant, Officer. I give you and your men free run of the castle. Every door is open to you. Search where you will. Please allow me to assist you in any way I can."

Esposito turned briskly to some of the carabinieri, speaking in Italian. The men saluted, fa

Esposito turned back to D'Agosta. "Sergeant, perhaps you could take us to the room where you were incarcerated for the night. Count, you will accompany us."

"I would insist upon it. The Focus are an ancient and noble family, and we value our honor above all else. These charges must be addressed, and settled, immediately." He glanced back at D'Agosta with just a trace of indignation.

D'Agosta led the way down the gallery, through the drawing room, and into the long procession of elegant chambers. The count followed, walking in his peculiar light-footed way, pointing out various works of art and sights of interest for the colo