rl.thebourneultimatum-第52章

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e　guard　followed；　sandwiching　Panov　between　them。　The　two　men　held　the　psychiatrist　as　the　one　who　had　been　inside　yanked　Mo's　seersucker　jacket　off　his　shoulder　and　shoved　up　the　short　sleeve　of　his　summer　shirt。　He　plunged　a　hypodermic　needle　into　Panov's　arm。
　〃Good　night；　Doctor；〃　said　the　soldier　with　the　insignia　of　the　Medical　Corps　on　the　lapels　of　his　uniform。　〃Call　New　York；〃　he　added。
　
　19
　The　Air　France　747　from　Martinique　circled　Orly　Airport　in　the　early　evening　haze　over　Paris；　it　was　five　hours　and　twenty…two　minutes　behind　schedule　because　of　the　severe　weather　patterns　in　the　Caribbean。　As　the　pilot　entered　his　final　approach　the　flight　officer　acknowledged　their　clearance　to　the　tower；　then　switched　to　his　prescribed　sterile　frequency　and　sent　a　last　message　in　French　to　an　off　limits　munications　room。
　〃Deuxième；　special　cargo。　Please　instruct　your　interested　party　to　go　to　his　designated　holding　area。　Thank　you。　Out。〃
　〃Instructions　received　and　relayed〃　was　the　terse　reply。　〃Out。〃
　The　special　cargo　in　question　sat　in　the　left　rear　bulkhead　seat　in　the　first…class　section　of　the　aircraft；　the　seat　beside　him　was　unoccupied；　on　orders　of　the　Deuxième　Bureau　in　cooperation　with　Washington。　Impatient；　annoyed　and　unable　to　sleep　because　of　the　constricting　bandage　around　his　neck；　Bourne；　close　to　exhaustion；　reflected　on　the　events　of　the　past　nineteen　hours。　To　put　it　mildly；　they　had　not　gone　as　smoothly　as　Conklin　had　anticipated。　The　Deuxième　had　balked　for　over　six　hours　as　phone　calls　went　back　and　forth　feverishly　between　Washington；　Paris　And；　finally；　Vienna；　Virginia。　The　stumbling　block；　and　it　was　more　of　a　hard　rock；　was　the　CIA's　inability　to　spell　out　the　covert　operation　in　terms　of　one　Jason　Bourne；　for　only　Alexander　Conklin　could　release　the　name　and　he　refused　to　do　so；　knowing　that　the　Jackal's　penetrations　in　Paris　extended　to　just　about　everywhere　but　the　kitchens　of　the　Tour　d'Argent。　Finally；　in　desperation　and　realizing　it　was　lunchtime　in　Paris；　Alex　placed　ordinary；　unsafe　overseas　telephone　calls　to　several　cafés　on　the　Rive　Gauche；　finding　an　old　Deuxième　acquaintance　at　one　on　the　rue　de　Vaugirard。
　〃Do　you　remember　the　tinamou　and　an　American　somewhat　younger　than　he　is　now　who　made　things　a　little　simpler　for　you？〃
　〃Ah；　the　tinamou；　the　bird　with　hidden　wings　and　ferocious　legs！　They　were　such　better　days；　younger　days。　And　if　the　somewhat　older　American　was　at　the　time　given　the　status　of　a　saint；　I　shall　never　forget　him。〃
　〃Don't　now；　I　need　you。〃
　〃It　is　you；　Alexander？〃
　〃It　is　and　I've　got　a　problem　with　D。　Bureau。〃
　〃It　is　solved。〃
　And　it　was；　but　the　weather　was　insoluble。　The　storm　that　had　battered　the　central　Leeward　Islands　two　nights　before　was　only　a　prelude　to　the　torrential　rain　and　winds　that　swept　up　from　the　Grenadines；　with　another　storm　behind　it。　The　islands　were　entering　the　hurricane　season；　so　the　weather　was　not　astonishing；　it　was　merely　a　delaying　factor。　Finally；　when　clearance　for　takeoff　was　around　the　chronological　corner；　it　was　discovered　that　there　was　a　malfunction　in　the　far　starboard　engine；　no　one　argued　while　the　problem　was　traced；　found　and　repaired。　The　elapsed　time；　however；　was　an　additional　three　hours。
　Except　for　the　churning　of　his　mind；　the　flight　itself　was　uneventful　for　Jason；　only　his　guilt　interfered　with　his　thoughts　of　what　was　before　him…Paris；　Argenteuil；　a　café　with　the　pro　vocative　name　of　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat；　The　Soldier's　Heart。　The　guilt　was　most　painful　on　the　short　flight　from　Montserrat　to　Martinique　when　they　passed　over　Guadeloupe　and　the　island　of　Basse…Terre。　He　knew　that　only　a　few　thousand　feet　below　were　Marie　and　his　children；　preparing　to　fly　back　to　Tranquility　Isle；　to　the　husband　and　father　who　would　not　be　there。　His　infant　daughter；　Alison；　would；　of　course；　know　nothing；　but　Jamie　would；　his　wide　eyes　would　grow　larger　and　cloud　over　as　words　tumbled　out　about　fishing　and　swimming　。。。　and　Marie…Christ；　I　can't　think　about　her！　It　hurts　too　much！
　She'd　think　he　had　betrayed　her；　run　away　to　seek　a　violent　confrontation　with　an　enemy　from　long　ago　in　another　far…off　life　that　was　no　longer　their　life。　She　would　think　like　old　Fontaine；　who　had　tried　to　persuade　him　to　take　his　family　thousands　of　miles　away　from　where　the　Jackal　prowled；　but　neither　of　them　understood。　The　aging　Carlos　might　die；　but　on　his　deathbed　he　would　leave　a　legacy；　a　bequest　that　would　hinge　on　the　mandatory　death　of　Jason　Bourne…David　Webb　and　his　family。　I'm　right；　Marie！　Try　to　understand　me。　I　have　to　find　him；　I　have　to　kill　him！　We　can't　live　in　our　personal　prison　for　the　rest　of　our　lives！
　〃Monsieur　Simon？〃　said　the　stoutish　well…tailored　Frenchman；　an　older　man　with　a　close…cropped　white　chin　beard；　pronouncing　the　name　Seemohn。
　〃That's　right；〃　replied　Bourne；　shaking　the　hand　extended　to　him　in　a　narrow　deserted　hallway　somewhere　in　Orly　Airport。
　〃I　am　Bernardine；　Fran？ois　Bernardine；　an　old　colleague　of　our　mutual　friend；　Alexander　the　Saint。〃
　〃Alex　mentioned　you；〃　said　Jason；　smiling　tentatively。　〃Not　by　name；　of　course；　but　he　told　me　you　might　bring　up　his　sainthood。　It　was　how　I'd　know　you　were…his　colleague。〃
　〃How　is　he？　We　hear　stories；　of　course。〃　Bernardine　shrugged。　〃Banal　gossip；　by　and　large。　Wounded　in　the　futile　Vietnam；　alcohol；　dismissed；　disgraced；　brought　back　a　hero　of　the　Agency；　so　many　contradictory　things。〃
　〃Most　of　them　true；　he's　not　afraid　to　admit　that。　He's　a　cripple　now；　and　he　doesn't　drink；　and　he　was　a　hero。　I　know。〃
　〃I　see。　Again　stories；　rumors；　who　can　believe　what？　Flights　of　fancy　out　of　Beijing；　Hong　Kong…some　concerning　a　man　named　Jason　Bourne。〃
　〃I've　heard　them。〃
　〃Yes；　of　course。　。。。　But　now　Paris。　Our　saint　said　you　would　need　lodgings；　clothes　purchased　en　scène；　as　it　were；　French　to　the　core。〃
　〃A　small　but　varied　closet；〃　agreed　Jason。　〃I　know　where　to　go；　what　to　buy；　and　I　have　sufficient　money。〃
　〃Then　we　are　concerned　with　lodgings。　A　hotel　of　your　choice？　La　Trémoille？　George　Cinq？　Plaza…Athénée？〃
　〃Smaller；　much　smaller　and　far　less　expensive。〃
　〃Money　is　a　problem；　then？〃
　〃Not　at　all。　Only　appearances。　I'll　tell　you　what；　I　know　Montmartre。　I'll　find　a　place　myself。　What　I　will　need　is　a　car…registered　under　another　name；　preferably　a　name　that's　a　dead　end。〃
　〃Which　means　a　dead　man。　It's　been　arranged；　it　is　in　the　underground　garage　on　the　Capucines；　near　the　Place　Vend？me。〃　Bernardine　reached　into　his　pocket；　pulled　out　a　set　of　keys；　and　handed　them　to　Jason。　〃An　older　Peugeot　in　Section　E。　There　are　thousands　like　them　in　Paris　and　the　license　number　is　on　the　tab。〃
　〃Alex　told　you　I'm　traveling　deep？〃
　〃He　didn't　really　have　to。　I　believe　our　saint　scoured　the　cemeteries　for　useful　names　when　he　worked　here。〃
　〃I　probably　learned　it　from　him。〃
　〃We　all　learned　things　from　that　extraordinary　mind；　the　finest　in　our　profession；　yet　so　self…effacing；　so　。。。　je　ne　sais　quoi　。。。　so　'why　not　try　it；'　yes？〃
　〃Yes；　why　not　try　it。〃
　〃I　must　tell　you；　though；〃　said　Bernardine；　laughing。　〃He　once　chose　a　name；　admittedly　from　a　tombstone；　that　drove　the　Sыreté　fou…crazy！　It　was　the　alias　of　an　ax　murderer　the　authorities　had　been　hunting　for　months！〃
　〃That　is　funny；〃　agreed　Bourne；　chuckling。
　〃Yes；　very。　He　told　me　later　that　he　found　it　in　Rambouillet…in　a　cemetery　on　the　outskirts　of　Rambouillet。〃
　Rambouillet！　The　cemetery　where　Alex　had　tried　to　kill　him　thirteen　years　ago。　All　traces　of　a　smile　left　Jason's　lips　as　he　stared　at　Alex's　friend　from　the　Deuxième　Bureau。　〃You　know　who　I　am；　don't　you？〃　he　asked　softly。
　〃Yes；〃　answered　Bernardine。　〃It　was　not　so　difficult　to　piece　together；　not　with　the　rumors　and　the　gossip　out　of　the　Far　East。　After　all；　it　was　here　in　Paris　where　you　made　your　mark　on　Europe；　Mr。　Bourne。〃
　〃Does　anyone　else　know？〃
　〃Mon　Dieu；　non！　Nor　will　they。　I　must　explain；　I　owe　my　life　to　Alexander　Conklin；　our　modest　saint　of　les　opérations　noires…the　black　assignments　in　your　language。〃
　〃That's　not　necessary；　I　speak　French　fluently　。。。　or　didn't　Alex　tell　you　that？〃
　〃Oh；　my　God；　you　doubt　me；〃　said　the　Deuxième　man；　his　gray　eyebrows　arched。　〃Take　into　account；　young　man…younger　man…that　I　am　in　my　seventieth　year；　and　if　I　have　lapses　of　language　and　try　to　correct　them；　it　is　because　I　mean　to　be　kind；　not　subreptice。〃
　〃D'accord。　Je　regrette。　I　mean　that。〃
　〃Bien。　Alex　is　several　years　younger　than　I　am；　but　I　wonder　how　he's　handling　it。　The　age；　that　is。〃
　〃Same　as　you。　Badly。〃
　〃There　was　an　English　poet…a　Welsh　poet；　to　be　exact…who　wrote；　'Do　not　go　gently　into　that　good　night。'　Do　you　remember　it？〃
　〃Yes。　His　name　was　Dylan　Thomas　and　he　died　in　his　mid…thirties。　He　was　saying　fight　like　a　son　of　a　bitch。　Don't　give　in。〃
　〃I　mean　to　do　that。〃　Bernardine　again　reached　into　a　pocket　and　pulled　out　a　card。　〃Here　is　my　office…merely　consultant　status；　you　understand…and　on　the　back　I've　written　down　my　home　phone；　it　is　a　special　telephone；　actually　unique。　Call　me；　whatever　you　need　will　be　provided。　Remember；　I　am　the　only　friend　you　have　in　Paris。　No　one　else　knows　you　are　here。〃
　〃May　I　ask　you　a　question？〃
　〃Mais　certainement。〃
　〃How　can　you　do　the　things　you're　doing　for　me　when　for　all　intents　and　purposes　you've　been　put　out　to　pasture？〃
　〃Ah；〃　exclaimed　the　consultant　to　the　Deuxième　Bureau。　〃The　younger　man　grows　older！　Like　Alex；　I　carry　my　credentials　in　my　head。　I　know　the　secrets。　How　is　it　otherwise？〃
　〃You　could　be　taken　out；　neutralized…have　an　accident。〃
　〃Stupide；　young　man！　What　is　in　both　our　heads　we　say　is　written　down；　locked　away；　to　be　revealed　should　such　unnatural　acts　occur。　。。。　Of　course；　it's　all　nonsense；　for　what　do　we　really　know　that　could　not　be　denied；　labeled　as　the　ramblings　of　old　men；　but　they　do　not　know　that。　Fear；　monsieur。　It　is　the　most　potent　weapon　in　our　profession。　Second；　of　course；　is　embarrassment；　but　that　is　usually　reserved　for　the　Soviet　KGB　and　your　Federal　Bureau　of　Investigation；　both　of　which　fear　embarrassment　more　than　their　nations'　enemies。〃
　〃You　and　Conklin　e　from　the　same　street；　don't　you？〃
　〃But　of　course。　To　the　best　of　my　knowledge；　neither　of　us　has　a　wife　or　a　family；　only　sporadic　lovers　to　fill　our　beds；　and　loud；　annoying　nephews　and　nieces　to　fill　our　flats　on　certain　holidays；　no　really　close　friends　except　now　and　then　an　enemy　we　respect；　who；　for　all　we　know　and　in　spite　of　our　truce；　might　shoot　us　or　poison　us　with　a　drink。　We　must　live　alone；　you　see；　for　we　are　the　professionals…we　have　nothing　to　do　with　the　normal　world；　we　merely　use　it　as　a　couverture…as　we　slink　around　in　dark　alleys；　paying　or　promising　people　for　secrets　that　mean　nothing　where　summit　conferences　are　concerned。〃
　〃Then　why　do　you　do　it？　Why　not　walk　away　if　it's　so　useless？〃
　〃It's　in　the　blood　rushing　through　our　veins。　We've　been　trained。　Beat　the　enemy　in　the　deadly　game…he　takes　you　or　you　take　him；　and　it　is　better　that　you　take　him。〃
　〃That's　dumb。〃
　〃But　of　course。　It's　all　dumb。　So　why　does　Jason　Bourne　go　after　the　Jackal　here　in　Paris？　Why　doesn't　he　walk　away　and　say　Enough。　plete　protection　is　yours　for　the　asking。〃
　〃