Two Graves (Pendergast, Book 12)
Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child
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For twelve years, he believed she died in an accident. Then, he was told she'd been murdered. Now, FBI Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast discovers that his beloved wife Helen is alive. But their reunion is cut short when Helen is brazenly abducted before his eyes. And Pendergast is forced to embark on a furious cross-country chase to rescue her.
But all this turns out to be mere prologue to a far larger plot: one that unleashes a chillingly-almost supernaturally-adept serial killer on New York City. And Helen has one more surprise in store for Pendergast: a piece of their shared past that makes him the one man most suited to hunting down the killer.
His pursuit of the murderer will take Pendergast deep into the trackless forests of South America, to a hidden place where the evil that has blighted both his and Helen's lives lies in wait . . . a place where he will learn all too well the truth of the ancient proverb:
Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.
older levels of the fortress, he found a tunnel that ran along the inside of the outer perimeter wall. He moved along it, briefly shining the flashlight on the masonry, testing the joints with the point of the purloined knife. The mortar was as rotten as wet soil, but the blocks here were well dressed and fitted together too tightly to be shifted. In some areas there were cracks in the masonry, but they were too small to be serviceable, and the masonry too stable for his purposes. As he
you’ll excuse me?” The physician took one final, exasperated look at Pendergast, then turned on his heel and left the room, followed by the doctor who had admitted D’Agosta. Now Pendergast turned to D’Agosta as if seeing him for the first time. “Vincent.” D’Agosta quickly approached the bedside. “Pendergast. My God. I’m so sorry—” “Why aren’t you with Constance?” “She’s safe. Mount Mercy redoubled their security measures. I had to…” He paused a moment to control his voice. “To check up on
hotel room. He approached, hand extended, the phoniest of smiles on his face. Pendergast took the hand. “You look like you’ve been in a rumble,” said Gibbs with a chuckle, looking over Pendergast’s muddied suit. “Indeed.” “I’m curious,” said Gibbs, “how you and the lieutenant managed to get to the crime scene just, what, minutes after the perp arrived? The lieutenant said it was your idea, something about a number sequence?” “Fibonacci,” Pendergast said. Gibbs frowned. “Fibonacci? Who’s
don’t know what to believe. Pendergast’s wife just died under terrible circumstances. The man’s come as near to cracking up as anyone I’ve ever seen.” Singleton shook his head. “Lieutenant, when I asked you for information about this case, I wanted real information.” He sat back. “I mean, this sounds ridiculous. I didn’t even know Agent Pendergast had a son.” “Neither did I, sir.” “There’s nothing else you want to tell me?” “There is nothing else I can tell you. It’s like I said—everything
would never come. For one brief day she had been afire with the hope of seeing Aloysius again, of restarting their lives, of finally living once more like a normal human being. Then in a moment it was snatched away, her brother murdered, her husband shot and perhaps dead as well. And now she felt like an empty vessel. Better to have never hoped at all. She heard the creak of an opening door, and she was guided over a sill and into a room. The air smelled musty and close. The hand led her across