rl.thebourneultimatum-第118节

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heir　minimal　sentences　playing　tennis　and　backgammon　while　still　possessing　fortunes。　Try　it。〃
　〃How？〃　said　the　lawyer；　looking　up　at　the　Russian；　his　eyes　red；　pleading。
　〃The　where　es　first；〃　explained　Sulikov。　〃Find　a　neutral　country　that　has　no　extradition　treaty　with　Washington；　one　where　there　are　officials　who　can　be　persuaded　to　grant　you　temporary　residence　so　you　can　carry　on　your　business　activities…the　term　'temporary'　is　extremely　elastic；　of　course。　Bahrain；　the　Emirates；　Morocco；　Turkey；　Greece…there's　no　lack　of　attractive　possibilities。　All　with　rich　English…speaking　settlements。　。。。　We　might　even　be　able　to　help　you；　very　quietly。〃
　〃Why　would　you？〃
　〃Your　blindness　returns；　Mr。　Ogilvie。　For　a　price；　naturally。　。。。　You　have　an　extraordinary　operation　in　Europe。　It's　in　place　and　functioning；　and　under　our　control　we　could　derive　considerable　benefits　from　it。〃
　〃Oh　。。。　my　。。。　God；〃　said　the　leader　of　Medusa；　his　voice　trailing　off　as　he　stared　at　the　consul　general。
　〃Do　you　really　have　a　choice；　Counselor？　。。。　e　now；　we　must　hurry。　Arrangements　have　to　be　made。　Fortunately；　it's　still　early　in　the　day。〃
　It　was　3：25　in　the　afternoon　when　Charles　Casset　walked　into　Peter　Holland's　office　at　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency。　〃Breakthrough；〃　said　the　deputy　director；　then　added　less　enthusiastically；　〃Of　sorts。〃
　〃The　Ogilvie　firm？〃　asked　the　DCI。
　〃From　left　field；〃　replied　Casset；　nodding　and　placing　several　stock　photographs　on　Holland's　desk。　〃These　were　faxed　down　from　Kennedy　Airport　an　hour　ago。　Believe　me；　it's　been　a　heavy　sixty　minutes　since　then。〃
　〃From　Kennedy？〃　Frowning；　Peter　studied　the　facsimiled　duplicates。　They　prised　a　sequence　of　photographs　showing　a　crowd　of　people　passing　through　metal　detectors　in　one　of　the　airport's　international　terminals。　The　head　of　a　single　man　was　circled　in　red　in　each　photo。　〃What　is　it？　Who　is　it？〃
　〃They're　passengers　heading　for　the　Aeroflot　lounge；　Moscow　bound；　Soviet　carrier；　of　course。　Security　routinely　photographs　U。S。　nationals　taking　those　flights。〃
　〃So？　Who　is　he？〃
　〃Ogilvie　himself。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃He's　on　the　two　o'clock　nonstop　to　Moscow。　。。。　Only　he's　not　supposed　to　be。〃
　〃e　again？〃
　〃Three　separate　calls　to　his　office　came　up　with　the　same　information。　He　was　out　of　the　country；　in　London；　at　the　Dorchester；　which　we　know　he　isn't。　However；　the　Dorchester　desk　confirmed　that　he　was　booked　but　hadn't　arrived；　so　they　were　taking　messages。〃
　〃I　don't　understand；　Charlie。〃
　〃It's　a　smoke　screen　and　pretty　hastily　contrived。　In　the　first　place；　why　would　someone　as　rich　as　Ogilvie　settle　for　Aeroflot　when　he　could　be　on　the　Concorde　to　Paris　and　Air　France　to　Moscow？　Also；　why　would　his　office　volunteer　that　he　was　either　in　or　on　his　way　to　London　when　he　was　heading　for　Moscow？〃
　〃The　Aeroflot　flight's　obvious；〃　said　Holland。　〃It's　the　state　airline　and　he's　under　Soviet　protection。　The　London…Dorchester　bit　isn't　too　hard；　either。　It's　to　throw　people　off…my　God；　to　throw　us　off！〃
　〃Right　on；　master。　So　Valentino　did　some　checking　with　all　that　fancy　equipment　in　the　cellars　and　guess　what？　。。。　Mrs。　Ogilvie　and　their　two　teenage　children　are　on　a　Royal　Air　Maroc　flight　to　Casablanca　with　connections　to　Marrakesh。〃
　〃Marrakesh？　。。。　Air　Maroc…Morocco；　Marrakesh。　Wait　a　minute。　In　those　puter　sheets　Conklin　had　us　work　up　on　the　Mayflower　hotel's　registers；　there　was　a　woman…one　of　three　people　he　tied　to　Medusa…who　had　been　in　Marrakesh。〃
　〃I　mend　your　memory；　Peter。　That　woman　and　Ogilvie's　wife　were　roommates　at　Bennington　in　the　early　seventies。　Fine　old　families；　their　pedigrees　ensure　a　large　degree　of　sticking　together　and　giving　advice　to　one　another。〃
　〃Charlie；　what　the　hell　is　going　on？〃
　〃The　Ogilvies　were　tipped　off　and　have　gotten　out。　Also；　if　I'm　not　mistaken　and　if　we　could　sort　out　several　hundred　accounts；　we'd　learn　that　millions　have　been　transferred　from　New　York　to　God　knows　where　beyond　these　shores。〃
　〃And？〃
　〃Medusa's　now　in　Moscow；　Mr。　Director。〃
　
　34
　Louis　DeFazio　wearily　dragged　his　small　frame　out　of　the　taxi　in　the　boulevard　Masséna；　followed　by　his　larger；　heavier；　far　more　muscular　cousin　Mario　from　Larchmont；　New　York。　They　stood　on　the　pavement　in　front　of　a　restaurant；　its　name　in　red…tubed　script　across　a　green…tinted　window：　Tetrazzini's。
　〃This　is　the　place；〃　said　Louis。　〃They'll　be　in　a　private　room　in　the　back。〃
　〃It's　pretty　late。〃　Mario　looked　at　his　watch　under　the　wash　of　a　street　lamp。　〃I　set　the　time　for　Paris；　it's　almost　midnight　here。〃
　〃They'll　wait。〃
　〃You　still　haven't　told　me　their　names；　Lou。　What　do　we　call　them？〃
　〃You　don't；〃　answered　DeFazio；　starting　for　the　entrance。　〃No　names…they　wouldn't　mean　anything　anyway。　All　you　gotta　do　is　be　respectful；　you　know　what　I　mean？〃
　〃I　don't　have　to　be　told　that；　Lou；　I　really　don't；〃　reprimanded　Mario　in　his　soft…spoken　voice。　〃But　for　my　own　information；　why　do　you　even　bring　it　up？〃
　〃He's　a　high…class　diplomatico；〃　explained　the　capo　supremo；　stopping　briefly　on　the　pavement　and　looking　up　at　the　man　who　had　nearly　killed　Jason　Bourne　in　Manassas；　Virginia。　〃He　operates　out　of　Rome　from　fancy　government　circles；　but　he's　the　direct　contact　with　the　dons　in　Sicily。　He　and　his　wife　are　very；　very　highly　regarded；　you　understand　what　I'm　saying？〃
　〃I　do　and　I　don't；〃　admitted　the　cousin。　〃If　he's　so　grand；　why　would　he　accept　such　a　menial　assignment　as　following　our　targets？〃
　〃Because　he　can。　He　can　go　places　some　of　our　pagliacci　can't　get　near；　you　know　what　I　mean？　Also；　I　happen　to　let　our　people　in　New　York　know　who　our　clients　were；　especially　one；　capisce？　The　dons　all　the　way　from　Manhattan　to　the　estates　south　of　Palermo　have　a　language　they　use　exclusively　between　themselves；　did　you　know　that；　cugino？　。。。　It　es　down　to　a　couple　of　orders：　'Do　it'　and　'Don't　do　it。'　〃
　〃I　think　I　understand；　Lou。　We　render　respect。〃
　〃Respect；　yes；　my　fancy　rendering　cousin；　but　not　no　weakness；　capisce？　No　weakness！　The　word's　got　to　go　up　and　down　the　line　that　this　is　an　operation　Lou　DeFazio　took　control　of　and　ran　from　beginning　to　end。　You　got　that？〃
　〃If　that's　the　case；　maybe　I　can　go　home　to　Angie　and　the　kids；〃　said　Mario；　grinning。
　〃What？　。。。　You　shut　up；　cugino！　With　this　one　job　you　got　annuities　for　your　whole　passel　of　bambinos。〃
　〃Not　a　passel；　Lou；　just　five。〃
　〃Let's　go。　Remember；　respect；　but　we　don't　take　no　shit。〃
　The　small　private　dining　room　was　a　miniature　version　of　Tetrazzini's　decor。　The　ambience　was　Italian　in　all　things。　The　walls　were　papered　with　dated；　now　faded　murals　of　Venice；　Rome　and　Florence；　the　softly　piped…in　music　was　predominantly　operatic　arias　and　tarantellas；　and　the　lighting　indirect　with　pockets　of　shadows。　If　a　patron　did　not　know　he　was　in　Paris；　he　might　think　he　was　dining　on　Rome's　Via　Frascati；　at　one　of　the　many　mercialized　family　ristoranti　lining　that　ancient　street。
　There　was　a　large　round　table　in　the　center　covered　by　a　deep　red　tablecloth；　with　a　generous　overhang；　and　four　chairs　equidistant　from　one　another。　Additional　chairs　were　against　the　walls；　allowing　for　an　expanded　conference　of　principals　or　for　the　proper　location　of　secondary　subalterns；　usually　armed。　Seated　at　the　far　end　of　the　table　was　a　distinguished…looking　olive…skinned　man　with　wavy　dark　hair；　on　his　left　was　a　fashionably　dressed；　well…coiffed　middle…aged　woman。　A　bottle　of　Chianti　Classico　was　between　them；　the　crude　thick…stemmed　wineglasses　in　front　of　them　not　the　sort　one　would　associate　with　such　aristocratic　diners。　On　a　chair　behind　the　diplomatico　was　a　black　leather　suitcase。
　〃I'm　DeFazio；〃　said　the　capo　supremo　from　New　York；　closing　the　door。　〃This　is　my　cousin　Mario；　of　who　you　may　have　heard　of…a　very　talented　man　who　takes　precious　time　away　from　his　family　to　be　with　us。〃
　〃Yes；　of　course；〃　said　the　aristocratic　mafioso。　〃Mario；　il　bola；　esecuzione　garantito…deadly　with　any　weapon。　Sit　down；　gentlemen。〃
　〃I　find　such　descriptions　meaningless；〃　responded　Mario；　approaching　a　chair。　〃I'm　skilled　in　my　craft；　that's　all。〃
　〃Spoken　like　a　professional；　signore；〃　added　the　woman　as　DeFazio　and　his　cousin　sat　down。　〃May　I　order　you　wine；　drinks？〃　she　continued。
　〃Not　yet；〃　replied　Louis。　〃Maybe　later…maybe。　。。。　My　talented　relative　on　my　mother's　side；　may　she　rest　in　the　arms　of　Christ；　asked　a　good　question　outside。　What　do　we　call　you；　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Paris；　France？　Which　is　by　way　of　saying　I　don't　need　no　real　names。〃
　〃Conte　and　Contessa　is　what　we're　known　by；〃　answered　the　husband；　smiling；　the　tight　smile　more　appropriate　to　a　mask　than　a　human　face。
　〃See　what　I　mean；　cugino？　These　are　people　of　high　regard。　。。。　So；　Mr。　Count；　bring　us　up　to　date；　how　about　it？〃
　〃There's　no　question　about　it；　Signor　DeFazio；〃　replied　the　Roman；　his　voice　as　tight　as　his　previous　smile；　which　had　pletely　disappeared。　〃I　will　bring　you　up　to　date；　and　were　it　in　my　powers　I　would　leave　you　in　the　far　distant　past。〃
　〃Hey；　what　kind　of　fuckin'　talk　is　that？〃
　〃Lou；　please！〃　intruded　Mario；　quietly　but　firmly。　〃Watch　your　language。〃
　〃What　about　his　language？　What　kind　of　language　is　that？　He　wants　to　leave　me　in　some