Page 60 of Angel of Vengeance
D’Agosta looked up at him in surprise. “Mary?”
“Yes. Those ashes in the urn were just a cruel deception.”
“Christ.” D’Agosta shook his head. “So now that your plans have succeeded and we’re all under one roof, what next?”
“Now we are tortured in an attempt to force us to give up the secret—not that there’s any to give—of accessing the portal.”
D’Agosta grimaced. “In other words, we have him just where he wants us.”
“You’re forgetting that three of us put this plan together, not just me. One person’s job includes watching our alley, just in case… Well, I need not spell it out. More to the point is the third person’s assignment, which, now that we are all here, is to get Binky and Joe free.”
“You mean, Constance?”
“She knows the house better than anyone—including me and Leng. And she is extremely capable and stealthy, as you know. Although certain variables I did not consider have been introduced to the equation.”
“Such as Mary?”
“That—and precisely how clever and intuitive Leng is. I fear he may have guessed, or will guess shortly, that he has an uninvited guest.”
D’Agosta could imagine this all too well. “How nice for Binky. How nice for Joe. What about us?”
“Constance has a devilishly difficult task merely freeing her siblings.”
“I see. So it’s up to us to free ourselves.”
“Speaking of that—may I see your left shoe?”
“What?”
“Indulge me.”
D’Agosta, still struggling to absorb what he’d just heard, and in any case no longer surprised at any of Pendergast’s enigmatic demands, took off his shoe and handed it over. Pendergast turned it around in his hands, examining it. He then flipped it over and, with a jerk, removed the heel, exposing a pattern of small tacks. Another series of yanks peeled back the sole. He managed to pull out one of the tacks, which he examined with a frown.
“This won’t do,” he said.
He reseated the tack, pressed the sole back on, and reattached the heel. He stared at the shoe a bit longer. Then he unlaced it, extracting the lace and testing its strength with a few jerks.
“Better,” he murmured, weaving it inside his waistband. He handed D’Agosta back his ruined shoe. “Try not to draw attention to its condition.”
“Planning on strangling someone?”
“I fear the lace is too short for that purpose.”
“What’s it for, then?”
“Better you should not know. I’ll gladly replace the shoes with another pair when we get back.”
“If we get back,” D’Agosta said, putting the shoe back on.
“I feel, Vincent, that I owe you a rather profound apology for dragging you here.”
D’Agosta waved his hand. “Why, exactly, is Leng keeping us alive—even just for the time being? I mean, he could kill us and be rid of the problem permanently.”
“Because we’re invaluable to him. As I said, he doesn’t know the time machine might be ruined for good. He anticipates needing our help.”
“Why does he care so much about the machine?”
“Think of the questions he asked you. His goal has moved beyond the Arcanum, although that is still of intense interest. Extending his life is only a proximate goal. His ultimate ambition is to—”