rl.thebourneultimatum-第116节

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nt　art　galleries。
　Through　a　series　of　nods；　Dominique　Lavier　maneuvered　Krupkin　to　a　corner　of　the　large　room。　Their　graceful　smiles；　arched　brows　and　intermittently　mimed　laughter　covered　their　quiet　conversation。
　〃The　word　passed　among　the　old　men　is　that　the　monseigneur　will　be　away　for　a　few　days。　However；　they　are　all　to　continue　searching　for　the　tall　American　and　his　crippled　friend　and　list　wherever　they　are　seen。〃
　〃You　must　have　done　your　job　well。〃
　〃As　I　relayed　the　information　he　was　utterly　silent。　In　his　breathing；　however；　there　was　utter　loathing。　I　felt　my　bones　grow　cold。〃
　〃He's　on　his　way　to　Moscow；〃　said　the　Russian。　〃No　doubt　through　Prague。〃
　〃What　will　you　do　now？〃
　Krupkin　arched　his　neck　and　raised　his　eyes　to　the　ceiling　in　false；　silent　laughter。　Leveling　his　gaze　on　her；　he　answered；　smiling。　〃Moscow；〃　he　said。
　
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　Bryce　Ogilvie；　managing　partner　of　Ogilvie；　Spofford；　Crawford　and　Cohen；　prided　himself　on　his　self…discipline。　That　was　to　say；　not　merely　the　outward　appearance　of　posure；　but　the　cold　calm　he　forced　upon　his　deepest　fears　in　times　of　crisis。　However；　when　he　arrived　at　his　office　barely　fifty　minutes　ago　and　found　his　concealed　private　telephone　ringing；　he　had　experienced　a　twinge　of　apprehension　at　such　an　early　morning　call　over　that　particular　line。　Then　when　he　heard　the　heavily　accented　voice　of　the　Soviet　consul　general　of　New　York　demanding　an　immediate　conference；　he　had　to　acknowledge　a　sudden　void　in　his　chest　。。。　and　when　the　Russian　instructed　him…ordered　him…to　be　at　the　Carlyle　Hotel；　Suite　4C；　in　one　hour；　rather　than　their　usual　meeting　place　at　the　apartment　on　Thirty…second　and　Madison；　Bryce　felt　a　searing…hot　pain　filling　that　void　in　his　chest。　And　when　he　had　mildly　objected　to　the　suddenness　of　the　proposed；　unscheduled　conference；　the　pain　in　his　chest　had　burst　into　fire；　the　flames　traveling　up　to　his　throat　at　the　Soviet's　reply：　〃What　I　have　to　show　you　will　make　you　devoutly　wish　we　never　knew　each　other；　much　less　had　any　occasion　to　meet　this　morning。　Be　there！〃
　Ogilvie　sat　back　in　his　limousine；　as　far　back　as　the　upholstery　could　be　pressed；　his　legs　stretched；　rigid　on　the　carpeted　floor。　Abstract；　swirling　thoughts　of　personal　wealth；　power　and　influence　kept　circling　in　his　mind；　he　had　to　get　hold　of　himself！　After　all；　he　was　Bryce　Ogilvie；　the　Bryce　Ogilvie；　perhaps　the　most　successful　corporate　attorney　in　New　York；　and　arguably　second　only　to　Boston's　Randolph　Gates　in　the　fast　track　of　corporate　and　antitrust　law。
　Gates！　The　mere　thought　of　that　son　of　a　bitch　was　a　wele　diversion。　Medusa　had　asked　a　minor　favor　of　the　celebrated　Gates；　an　inconsequential；　perfectly　acceptable　staff　appointment　on　an　ad　hoc　government…oriented　mission；　and　he　had　not　even　answered　their　phone　calls！　Calls　put　through　by　another　perfectly　acceptable　source；　the　supposedly　irreproachable；　impartial　head　of　Pentagon　procurements；　an　asshole　named　General　Norman　Swayne；　who　only　wanted　the　best　information。　Well；　perhaps　more　than　information；　but　Gates　could　not　have　known　about　that。　。。。　Gates？　There　was　something　in　the　Times　the　other　morning　about　his　bowing　out　of　a　hostile　takeover　proceeding。　What　was　it？
　The　limousine　pulled　up　to　the　curb　in　front　of　the　Carlyle　Hotel；　once　the　Kennedy　family's　favored　New　York　City　address；　now　the　temporary　clandestine　favorite　of　the　Soviets。　Ogilvie　waited　until　the　uniformed　doorman　opened　the　left　rear　door　of　the　car　before　he　stepped　out　onto　the　pavement。　He　normally　would　not　have　done　so；　believing　the　delay　was　an　unnecessary　affectation；　but　this　morning　he　did；　he　had　to　get　hold　of　himself。　He　had　to　be　the　Ice…Cold　Ogilvie　his　legal　adversaries　feared。
　The　elevator's　ascent　to　the　fourth　floor　was　swift；　the　walk　over　the　blue…carpeted　hallway　to　Suite　4…C　far　slower；　the　distance　much　closer。　The　Bryce　Ogilvie　breathed　deeply；　calmly；　and　stood　erect　as　he　pressed　the　bell。　Twenty…eight　seconds　later；　irritatingly　clocked　by　the　attorney　as　he　silently　counted　〃one　one…thousand；　two　one…thousand；〃　ad　nauseam；　the　door　was　opened　by　the　Soviet　consul　general；　a　slender　man　of　medium　height　whose　aquiline　face　had　taut　white　skin　and　large　brown　eyes。
　Vladimir　Sulikov　was　a　wiry　seventy…three…year…old　full　of　nervous　energy；　a　scholar　and　former　professor　of　history　at　Moscow　University；　a　mitted　Marxist；　yet　oddly　enough；　considering　his　position；　not　a　member　of　the　munist　Party。　In　truth；　he　was　not　a　member　of　any　political　orthodoxy；　preferring　the　passive　role　of　the　unorthodox　individual　within　a　collectivist　society。　That；　and　his　singularly　acute　intellect；　had　served　him　well；　he　was　sent　to　posts　where　more　conformist　men　would　not　have　been　half　so　effective。　The　bination　of　these　attributes；　along　with　a　dedication　to　physical　exercise；　made　Sulikov　appear　ten　to　fifteen　years　younger　than　his　age。　His　was　an　unsettling　presence　for　those　negotiating　with　him；　for　somehow　he　radiated　the　wisdom　acquired　over　the　years　and　the　vitality　of　youth　to　implement　it。
　The　greetings　were　abrupt。　Sulikov　offered　nothing　but　a　stiff；　cold　handshake　and　a　stiffly　upholstered　armchair。　He　stood　in　front　of　the　suite's　narrow　mantel　of　white　marble　as　though　it　were　a　classroom　blackboard；　his　hands　clasped　behind　him；　an　agitated　professor　about　to　question　and　lecture　simultaneously　an　annoying；　disputatious　graduate　student。
　〃To　our　business；〃　said　the　Russian　curtly。　〃You　are　aware　of　Admiral　Peter　Holland？〃
　〃Yes；　of　course。　He's　the　director　of　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency。　Why　do　you　ask？〃
　〃Is　he　one　of　you？〃
　〃No。〃
　〃Are　you　quite　sure？〃
　〃Of　course　I　am。〃
　〃Is　it　possible　he　became　one　of　you　without　your　knowledge？〃
　〃Certainly　not；　I　don't　even　know　the　man。　And　if　this　is　some　kind　of　amateurish　interrogatory；　Soviet　style；　practice　on　someone　else。〃
　〃Ohh；　the　fine　expensive　American　attorney　objects　to　being　asked　simple　questions？〃
　〃I　object　to　being　insulted。　You　made　an　astonishing　statement　over　the　phone。　I'd　like　it　explained；　so　please　get　to　it。〃
　〃I'll　get　to　it；　Counselor；　believe　me；　I'll　get　to　it；　but　in　my　own　fashion。　We　Russians　protect　our　flanks；　it's　a　lesson　we　learned　from　the　tragedy　and　the　triumph　of　Stalingrad…an　experience　you　Americans　never　had　to　endure。〃
　〃I　came　from　another　war；　as　you　well　know；〃　said　Ogilvie　coolly；　〃but　if　the　history　books　are　accurate；　you　had　some　help　from　your　Russian　winter。〃
　〃That's　difficult　to　explain　to　thousands　upon　thousands　of　frozen　Russian　corpses。〃
　〃Granted；　and　you　have　both　my　condolences　and　my　congratulations；　but　it's　not　the　explanation…or　even　the　lack　of　one…that　I　requested。〃
　〃I'm　only　trying　to　explain　a　truism；　young　man。　As　has　been　said；　it's　the　painful　lessons　of　history　we　don't　know　about　that　we　are　bound　to　repeat。　。。。　You　see；　we　do　protect　our　flanks；　and　if　some　of　us　in　the　diplomatic　arena　suspect　that　we　have　been　duped　into　international　embarrassment；　we　reinforce　those　flanks。　It's　a　simple　lesson　for　one　so　erudite　as　yourself；　Counselor。〃
　〃And　so　obvious；　it's　trivial。　What　about　Admiral　Holland？〃
　〃In　a　moment。　。。。　First；　let　me　ask　you　about　a　man　named　Alexander　Conklin。〃
　Bryce　Ogilvie　bolted　forward　in　the　chair；　stunned。　〃Where　did　you　get　that　name？〃　he　asked；　barely　audible。
　〃There's　more。　。。。　Someone　called　Panov；　Mortimer　or　Moishe　Panov；　a　Jewish　physician；　we　believe。　And　finally；　Counselor；　a　man　and　a　woman　we　assume　are　the　assassin　Jason　Bourne　and　his　wife。〃
　〃My　God！〃　exclaimed　Ogilvie；　his　body　angled　and　tense；　his　eyes　wide。　〃What　have　these　people　got　to　do　with　us？〃
　〃That's　what　we　have　to　know；〃　answered　Sulikov；　staring　at　the　Wall　Street　lawyer。　〃You're　obviously　aware　of　each　one；　aren't　you？〃
　〃Well；　yes…no！〃　protested　Ogilvie；　his　face　flushed；　his　words　spilling　over　one　another。　〃It's　an　entirely　different　situation。　It　has　nothing　to　do　with　our　business…a　business　we've　poured　millions　into；　developed　for　twenty　years！〃
　〃And　made　millions　in　return；　Counselor；　may　I　be　permitted　to　remind　you　of　that？〃
　〃Venture　capital　in　the　international　markets！〃　cried　the　attorney。　〃That's　no　crime　in　this　country。　Money　flows　across　the　oceans　with　the　touch　of　a　puter　button。　No　crime！〃
　〃Really？〃　The　Soviet　consul　general　arched　his　brows。　〃I　thought　you　were　a　better　attorney　than　that　statement　suggests。　You've　been　buying　up　panies　all　over　Europe　through　mergers　and　acquisitions　using　surrogate　and　misleading　corporate　entities。　The　firms　you　acquire　represent　sources　of　supply；　often　in　the　same　markets；　and　you　subsequently　determine　prices　between　former　petitors。　I　believe　that's　called　collusion　and　restraint　of　trade；　legal　terms　that　we　in　the　Soviet　Union　have　no　problems　with；　as　the　state　sets　prices。〃
　〃There's　no　evidence　whatsoever　to　support　such　charges！〃　declared　Ogilvie。
　〃Of　course　not；　as　long　as　there　are　liars　and　unscrupulous　lawyers　to　bribe　and　advise　the　liars。　It's　a　labyrinthine　enterprise；　brilliantly　executed；　and　we've　both　profited　from　it。　You've　sold　us　anything　we've　wanted　or　needed　for　years；　including　every　major　item　on　your　governm