Dance Of Death

'I already know his motive.'

Glinn ignored this. 'Second: our forensic profile will have predictive power. It will tell you, within a limited range of options, what Diogenes Pendergast's next actions will be. We offer follow-up services- if you have specific questions about the target's future actions, we will run them through our system and provide you with reliable answers.'

'I question whether that's possible with any human being, let alone someone like Diogenes.'

'I do not wish to bandy philosophical questions with you, Mr. Pendergast. Human beings are disgustingly predictable, and this is as true of psychopaths as it is of grandmothers. We shall do what we say.'

'Have you ever failed?'

'Never. There is one assignment that remains-shall we say- open.'

'The one involving the thermonuclear device?'

If Glinn was surprised by this question, he did not show it. 'What thermonuclear device is that?'

'The one you are designing downstairs. I saw several equations on a whiteboard relating to the curve of binding energy. On a nearby table lay a paper with the design for machining a piece of H.E. that could only be used to compress a core.'

'I shall have to speak to my chief engineer about his carelessness with regard to our other project.'

'I also see you're developing a genetically engineered plant mosaic virus. Does that also relate to that other project?'

'We offer the same guarantee of confidentiality to our other clients that we offer you. Shall we return to the subject of Diogenes? In particular, the question of his motive.'

'Not quite yet,' said Pendergast. 'I do not speak frivolously. Your entire manner-your speech, your movements, your very intensity, Mr. Glinn-speaks of someone with an overriding obsession. I have also noted that, at least if the scar on your face is an indication, your injuries are recent. When I weigh that with what I saw downstairs, I find myself growing concerned.'

Glinn raised his eyebrows. 'Concerned?'

'Concerned that a man such as you, wrestling with a problem far greater than my own, wouldn't be able to devote his full attention to mine.'

Glinn remained very still, not answering. Pendergast looked across the table at him, equally motionless.

A minute went by, then two, without either man speaking. Watching, waiting, D'Agosta grew increasingly alarmed. It was as if the two men were fighting a duel, waging a battle of turn and counterturn, all without speaking or even moving.

Suddenly, without preamble, Glinn began to speak again in the same calm, neutral voice. 'If you ever decide to leave the FBI, Mr. Pendergast, I believe I could find a place for you here. There is no obsession on my part, however-only the simple fulfillment of our guarantee of success. You see, we don't make that guarantee just for our clients: we make it for ourselves. I intend to complete that other project successfully, although the original client is no longer in a condition to appreciate it. That project involves a severe seismic dislocation at a certain site in the South Atlantic that requires a, ah, nuclear adjustment. And that is more than you need to know. It is true that I am taking on your little problem chiefly because I find myself embarrassed for funds. However, I will devote all my energy to seeing your project through, because to fail would mean having to return your money and to suffer personal humiliation. And, as I said, EES does not fail. Clear enough?'

Pendergast nodded.

'And now, let us return to your brother's motive-the fountain-head of his hatred. Something happened between you and him, and I must know what it is.'

'It's all described in that folder. He always hated me. The final straw was when I burned my brother's journals.'

'Tell me about it.'

'I was fourteen, and he was twelve. We had never gotten along. He was always cruel and strange-much more so after the scarlet fever.'

'When was that?'

'When he was seven.'

'Are there any medical records?'

'None. He was treated by the private family physician.'

'Proceed.'

'One day I came across his journals, which were filled with the most vile things ever put on paper- abominations beyond the reach of any normal mind. He'd been keeping them for years. I burned them-and that was the precipitant. Some years later, our home burned, and our parents died in the fire. I was away at school, but Diogenes saw it all, heard their cries for help. That drove him over the edge.'

A cold smile played at the corners of Glinn's lips. 'I think not.'

'You think not?'

'I have no doubt that he was jealous of you and that the destruction of his journals infuriated him. But that happened far too late to produce such a deep, pathological, obsessive hatred. Nor can a mere bout with scarlet fever create hatred out of thin air. No, Mr. Pendergast: this hatred stems from something else that happened between you and your brother at a much earlier age. That is the information we lack. And you are the only person who can supply it.'

'Everything of relevance that happened between me and my brother is in that file, including our recent encounter in Italy. I can assure you there is no single incident, no smoking gun, which explains his hatred.'

Glinn picked up the file, leafed through it. Three minutes passed, then five. Then Glinn put the folder down. 'You're right. There is no smoking gun here.'

'Just as I said.'

'It's quite possible you've repressed it.'

'I repress nothing. I have an exceptional memory going back to before my first birthday.'

'Then you are deliberately withholding something.'

Pendergast went very still. D'Agosta watched the two men, surprised. He had never seen anyone challenge Pendergast in quite this way before.

As he eyed Pendergast, Glinn had become, if possible, even more expressionless. 'We can't proceed without this information. I need it, and I need it now.' He glanced at his watch. 'I'm going to call in several of my trusted associates. They'll be here within the hour. Mr. Pendergast, there's a small room with a bed behind that door in the back; please make yourself comfortable and await further instructions. Lieutenant, your presence here is no longer required.'

D'Agosta looked at Pendergast. For the first time in his memory, the agent's face wore a look of something like apprehension.

'I'm not going anywhere,' D'Agosta said immediately, irritated at Glinn's arrogance.

Pendergast smiled thinly, shook his head. 'It's all right, Vincent- much as I loathe the idea of rummaging around in my past for something that probably doesn't exist, I see the necessity for doing so. I will meet you back at our prearranged place.'

'Are you sure?'

Pendergast nodded. 'And never forget: you are the one named next by Diogenes. January 28 is less than three hours away. Vincent: be transcendentally cautious.'

FORTY

Laura Hayward paced the small room like a caged lioness, glancing frequently at the ugly clock behind her desk. She felt that, if she didn't work off her nervous energy, she would explode. And since she couldn't leave her office, she paced.

She had spent almost the entire evening organizing the evidence from the Duchamp and Green killings, and cross-comparing it to evidence she had cajoled, pried, and bludgeoned out of the New Orleans and D.C. police departments. She had cleared her cork wall of all other cases and had divided it into four cantons, one for each