rl.thebourneultimatum-第15章

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ng　and　an　even　odder　unwritten　contract。　After　that；　respect　returned　in　the　form　of　sufficient　money　for　decent　food　and　acceptable　wine；　for　clothes　that　fit；　making　his　woman　look　pretty　again；　and；　most　important；　for　the　doctors　who　made　his　woman　feel　better。　The　suit　and　shirt　he　wore　today　had　been　dug　out　of　a　closet。　In　many　ways　he　and　his　woman　were　like　the　actors　in　a　provincial　touring　pany。　They　had　costumes　for　their　various　roles。　It　was　their　business。　。。。　Today　was　business。　This　morning；　with　the　bells　of　the　Angelus；　was　business。
　The　old　man　awkwardly；　only　partially；　genuflected　in　front　of　the　holy　cross　and　knelt　down　in　the　first　seat　of　the　sixth　row　from　the　altar；　his　eyes　on　his　watch。　Two　and　a　half　minutes　later　he　raised　his　head　and；　as　unobtrusively　as　possible；　glanced　around。　His　weakened　sight　had　adjusted　to　the　dim　light　of　the　cathedral；　he　could　see；　not　well　but　clearly　enough。　There　were　no　more　than　twenty　worshipers　scattered　about；　most　in　prayer；　the　others　staring　in　meditation　at　the　enormous　gold　crucifix　on　the　altar。　Yet　these　were　not　what　he　was　looking　for；　and　then　he　saw　what　he　was　seeking　and　knew　that　everything　was　on　schedule。　A　priest　in　a　priestly　black　suit　walked　down　the　far　left　aisle　and　disappeared　beyond　the　dark　red　drapes　of　the　apse。
　The　old　man　again　looked　at　his　watch；　for　everything　now　was　timing；　that　was　the　way　of　the　monseigneur…that　was　the　way　of　the　Jackal。　Again　two　minutes　passed　and　the　aged　courier　got　unsteadily　up　from　his　pew；　sidestepped　into　the　aisle；　genuflected　as　best　his　body　would　permit；　and　made　his　way；　step　by　imperfect　step；　to　the　second　confessional　booth　on　the　left。　He　pulled　back　the　curtain　and　went　inside。
　〃Angelus　Domini；〃　he　whispered；　kneeling　and　repeating　the　words　he　had　spoken　several　hundred　times　over　the　past　fifteen　years。
　〃Angelus　Domini；　child　of　God；〃　replied　the　unseen　figure　behind　the　black　latticework。　The　blessing　was　acpanied　by　a　low　rattling　cough。　〃Are　your　days　fortable？〃
　〃Made　more　so　by　an　unknown　friend　。。。　my　friend。〃
　〃What　does　the　doctor　say　about　your　woman？〃
　〃He　says　to　me　what　he　does　not　say　to　her；　thanks　be　for　the　mercy　of　Christ。　It　appears　that　against　the　odds　I　will　outlive　her。　The　wasting　sickness　is　spreading。〃
　〃My　sympathies。　How　long　does　she　have？〃
　〃A　month；　no　more　than　two。　Soon　she　will　be　confined　to　her　bed。　。。。　Soon　the　contract　between　us　will　be　void。〃
　〃Why　is　that？〃
　〃You　will　have　no　further　obligations　to　me；　and　I　accept　that。　You've　been　good　to　us　and　I've　saved　a　little　and　my　wants　are　few。　Frankly；　knowing　what's　facing　me；　I'm　feeling　terribly　tired…〃
　〃You　insufferable　ingrate！〃　whispered　the　voice　behind　the　confessional　screen。　〃After　all　I've　done；　all　I've　promised　you！〃
　〃I　beg　your　pardon？〃
　〃Would　you　die　for　me？〃
　〃Of　course；　that's　our　contract。〃
　〃Then；　conversely；　you　will　live　for　me！〃
　〃If　that's　what　you　want；　naturally　I　will。　I　simply　wanted　you　to　know　that　soon　I　would　no　longer　be　a　burden　to　you。　I　am　easily　replaced。〃
　〃Do　not　presume；　never　with　me！〃　The　anger　erupted　in　a　hollow　cough；　a　cough　that　seemed　to　confirm　the　rumor　that　had　spread　through　the　dark　streets　of　Paris。　The　Jackal　himself　was　ill；　perhaps　deathly　ill。
　〃You　are　our　life；　our　respect。　Why　should　I　do　that？〃
　〃You　just　did。　。。。　Nevertheless；　I　have　an　assignment　for　you　that　will　ease　your　woman's　departure　for　both　of　you。　You　will　have　a　holiday　in　a　lovely　part　of　the　world；　the　two　of　you　together。　You　will　pick　up　the　papers　and　the　money　at　the　usual　place。〃
　〃Where　are　we　going；　if　I　may　ask？〃
　〃To　the　Caribbean　island　of　Montserrat。　Your　instructions　will　be　delivered　to　you　there　at　the　Blackburne　Airport。　Follow　them　precisely。〃
　〃Of　course。　。。。　Again；　if　I　may　ask；　what　is　my　objective？〃
　〃To　find　and　befriend　a　mother　and　two　children。〃
　〃Then　what？〃
　〃Kill　them。〃
　Brendan　Prefontaine；　former　federal　judge　of　the　first　circuit　court　of　Massachusetts；　walked　out　of　the　Boston　Five　Bank　on　School　Street　with　fifteen　thousand　dollars　in　his　pocket。　It　was　a　heady　experience　for　a　man　who　had　lived　an　impecunious　existence　for　the　past　thirty　years。　Since　his　release　from　prison　he　rarely　had　more　than　fifty　dollars　on　his　person。　This　was　a　very　special　day。
　Yet　it　was　more　than　very　special。　It　was　also　very　disturbing　because　he　had　never　thought　for　an　instant　that　Randolph　Gates　would　pay　him　a　sum　anywhere　near　the　amount　he　had　demanded。　Gates　had　made　an　enormous　error　because　by　acceding　to　the　demand　he　had　revealed　the　gravity　of　his　endeavors。　He　had　crossed　over　from　ruthless；　albeit　nonfatal；　greed　into　something　potentially　quite　lethal。　Prefontaine　had　no　idea　who　the　woman　and　the　children　were　or　what　their　relationship　was　to　Lord　Randolph　of　Gates；　but　whoever　they　were　and　whatever　it　was；　Dandy　Randy　meant　them　no　good。
　An　irreproachable　Zeus…like　figure　in　the　legal　world　did　not　pay　a　disbarred；　discredited；　deniable　alcoholic　〃scum〃　like　one　Brendan　Patrick　Pierre　Prefontaine　an　outrageous　sum　of　money　because　his　soul　was　with　the　archangels　of　heaven。　Rather；　that　soul　was　with　the　disciples　of　Lucifer。　And　since　this　was　obviously　the　case；　it　might　be　profitable　for　the　scum　to　pursue　a　little　knowledge；　for　as　the　bromide　declared；　a　little　knowledge　is　a　dangerous　thing…frequently　more　so　in　the　eyes　of　the　beholder　than　in　the　one　possessing　scant　tidbits　of　information；　so　slanted　as　to　appear　many　times　more。　Fifteen　thousand　today　might　well　bee　fifty　thousand　tomorrow　if…if　a　scum　flew　to　the　island　of　Montserrat　and　began　asking　questions。
　Besides；　thought　the　judge；　the　Irish　in　him　chuckling；　the　French　sector　in　minor　rebellion；　he　had　not　had　a　vacation　in　years。　Good　Christ；　it　was　enough　keeping　body　and　soul　together；　who　thought　of　an　unenforced　suspension　of　the　hustle？
　So　Brendan　Patrick　Pierre　Prefontaine　hailed　a　taxi；　which　he　had　not　done　sober　for　at　least　ten　years；　and　directed　the　skeptical　driver　to　take　him　to　Louis's　men's　store　at　Faneuil　Hall。
　〃You　got　the　scratch；　old　man？〃
　〃More　than　enough　to　get　you　a　haircut　and　cure　the　acne　on　your　pubescent　face；　young　fellow。　Drive　on；　Ben　Hur。　I'm　in　a　hurry。〃
　The　clothes　were　off　the　racks；　but　they　were　expensive　racks；　and　after　he　had　shown　a　roll　of　hundred…dollar　bills；　the　purple…lipped　clerk　was　extremely　cooperative。　A　midsized　suit　case　of　burnished　leather　soon　held　casual　apparel；　and　Prefontaine　discarded　his　worn…out　suit；　shirt　and　shoes　for　a　new　outfit。　Within　the　hour　he　looked　not　unlike　a　man　he　had　known　years　ago：　the　Honorable　Brendan　P。　Prefontaine。　（He　had　always　dropped　the　second　P。；　for　Pierre；　for　obvious　reasons。）
　Another　taxi　took　him　to　his　rooming　house　in　Jamaica　Plains；　where　he　picked　up　a　few　essentials；　including　his　passport；　which　he　always　kept　active　for　rapid　exits…preferable　to　prison　walls…and　then　delivered　him　to　Logan　Airport；　this　driver　having　no　concern　regarding　his　ability　to　pay　the　fare。　Clothes；　of　course；　never　made　the　man；　thought　Brendan；　but　they　certainly　helped　to　convince　dubious　underlings。　At　Logan's　information　desk　he　was　told　that　three　airlines　out　of　Boston　serviced　the　island　of　Montserrat。　He　asked　which　counter　was　the　nearest　and　then　bought　a　ticket　for　the　next　available　flight。　Brendan　Patrick　Pierre　Prefontaine　naturally　flew　first　class。
　The　Air　France　steward　rolled　the　wheelchair　slowly；　gently　through　the　ramp　and　onto　the　747　jet　in　Paris's　Orly　Airport。　The　frail　woman　in　the　chair　was　elderly　and　overly　made…up　with　an　imbalance　of　rouge；　she　wore　an　outsized　feather　hat　made　of　Australian　cockatoo。　She　might　have　been　I a　caricature　except　for　the　large　eyes　beneath　the　bangs　of　gray　hair　imperfectly　dyed　red…eyes　alive　and　knowing　and　filled　with　humor。　It　was　as　if　she　were　saying　to　all　who　observed　her；　Forget　it；　mes　amis；　he　likes　me　this　way　and　that's　all　I　care　about。　I　don't　give　a　pile　of　merde　about　you　or　your　opinions。　The　he　referred　to　the　old　man　walking　cautiously　beside　her；　every　now　and　then　touching　her　shoulder；　lovingly　as　well　as　perhaps　for　balance；　but　in　the　touch　there　was　a　volume　of　poetry　that　was　theirs　alone。　Closer　inspection　revealed　a　sporadic　welling　of　tears　in　his　eyes　that　he　promptly　wiped　away　so　she　could　not　see　them。
　〃Il　est　ici；　mon　capitaine；〃　announced　the　steward　to　the　senior　pilot；　who　greeted　his　two　preboarding　passengers　at　the　aircraft's　entrance。　The　captain　reached　for　the　woman's　left　hand　and　touched　his　lips　to　it；　then　stood　erect　and　solemnly　saluted　the　balding　gray…haired　old　man　with　the　small　Legion　d'honneur　medal　in　his　lapel。
　〃It　is　an　honor；　monsieur；〃　said　the　captain。　〃This　aircraft　is　my　mand；　but　you　are　my　mander。〃　They　shook　hands　and　the　pilot　continued。　〃If　there's　anything　the　crew　and　I　can　do　to　make　the　flight　most　fortable　for　you；　don't　hesitate　to　ask；　monsieur。〃
　〃You're　very　kind。〃
　〃We　are　all　beholden…all　of　us；　all　of　France。〃
　〃It　was　nothing；　really…〃
　〃To　be　singled　out　by　Le　Grand　Charles　himself　as　a　true　hero　of　the　Résistance　is　hardly　nothing。　Age　cannot　dull　such　glory。〃　The　captain　snapped　his　fingers；　addressing　three　stew　ardesses　in　the　still…empty　first…class　cabin。　〃Quickly；　mesdemoiselles！　Make　everything　perfect　for　a　brave　warrior　of　France　and　his　lady。〃
　So　the　killer　with　many　aliases　was　escorted　to　the　wide　bulkhead　on　the　left；　where　his　woman　was　gently　transferred　from　the　wheelchair　to　the　seat　on　the　aisle；　his　was　next　to　the　window。　Their　trays　were　set　up　and　a　chilled　bottle　of　Cristal　was　brought　in　their　honor　and　for　their　enjoyment。　The　captain　raised　the　first　glass　and　toasted　the　couple；　he　returned　to　the　flight　deck　as　the　old　woman　winked　at　her　man；　the　wink　wicked　and　filled　with　laughter。　In　moments；　the　passengers　began　boarding　the　plane；　a　number　of　whom　glancing　appreciatively　at　the　elderly　〃man　and　wife〃　in　the　front　row。　For　the　rumors　had　spread　in　the　Air　France　lounge。　A　great　hero　。。。　Le　Grand　Charles　himself　。。。　In　the　Alps　he　held　off　six　hundred　Boche…or　was　it　a　thousand？
　As　the　enormous　jet　raced　down　the　runway　and　with　a　thump　lumbered　off　the　ground　into　the　air；　the　old　〃hero　of　France〃…whose　only　heroics　he　could　recall　from　the　Résistance　were　based　on　theft；　survival；　insults　to　his　woman；　and　staying　out　of　whatever　army　or　labor　force　that　might　draft　him…reached　into　his　pocket　for　his　papers。　The　passport　had　his　picture　duly　inserted；　but　that　was　the　only　item　he　recognized。　The　rest…name；　date　and　place　of　birth；　occupation…all　were　unfamiliar；　and　the　attached　list　of　honors；　well；　they　were　formidable。　Totally　out　of　character；　but　in　case　anyone　should　ever　refer　to　them；　he　had　better　restudy　the　〃facts〃　so　he　could　at　least　nod　in　self…effacing　modesty。　He　had　been　assured　that　the　individual　originally　possessing　the　name　and　the　achievements　had　no　living　relatives　and　few　friends；　and　had　disappeared　from　his　apartment　in　Marseilles　supposedly　on　a　world　trip　from　which　he　presumably　would　not　return。
　The　Jackal's　courier　looked　at　the　name…he　must　remember　it　and　respond　whenever　it　was　spoken。　I