rl.thebourneultimatum-第26节

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ife　whose　scabbard　he　threaded　into　his　belt；　a　dual…chambered　CO2　pistol；　encased　in　a　nylon　shoulder　holster；　that　silently　shot　immobilizing　darts　into　attacking　animals；　such　as　pit　bulls；　two　flares　designed　to　assist　stranded　drivers　in　broken…down　cars　to　attract　or　deter　other　motorists；　a　pair　of　small　Zeiss　Ikon　8x10　binoculars　attached　to　his　trousers　by　a　Velcro　strip；　a　penlight；　raw…hide　laces；　and　finally；　pocket…sized　wire　cutters　in　case　there　was　a　metal　fence。　Along　with　the　automatic　supplied　by　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency；　the　gear　was　either　lashed　to　his　belt　or　concealed　in　his　clothing。　The　darkness　came　and　Jason　Bourne　walked　into　the　woods。
　The　white　sheet　of　ocean　spray　burst　up　from　the　coral　reef　and　appeared　suspended；　the　dark　blue　waters　of　the　Caribbean　serving　as　a　backdrop。　It　was　that　hour　of　early　evening；　a　long　sundown　imminent；　when　Tranquility　Isle　was　bathed　in　alternating　hot　tropical　colors；　pockets　of　shadows　constantly　changing　with　each　imperceptible　descent　of　the　orange　sun。　The　resort　plex　of　Tranquility　Inn　had　seemingly　been　cut　out　of　three　adjacent　rock…strewn　hills　above　an　elongated　beach　sandwiched　between　huge　natural　jetties　of　coral。　Two　rows　of　balconied　pink　villas　with　bright　red　roofs　of　terra…cotta　extended　from　each　side　of　the　resort's　central　hub；　a　large　circular　building　of　heavy　stone　and　thick　glass；　all　the　structures　overlooking　the　water；　the　villas　connected　by　a　white　concrete　path　bordered　by　low…cut　shrubbery　and　lined　with　ground　lamps。　Waiters　in　yellow　guayabera　jackets　wheeled　room…service　tables　along　the　path；　delivering　bottles　and　ice　and　canapés　to　Tranquility's　guests；　the　majority　of　whom　sat　on　their　individual　balconies　savoring　the　end　of　the　Caribbean　day。　And　as　the　shadows　became　more　prominent；　other　people　unobtrusively　appeared　along　the　beach　and　on　the　long　dock　that　extended　out　over　the　water。　These　were　neither　guests　nor　service　employees；　they　were　armed　guards；　each　dressed　in　a　dark　brown　tropical　uniform　and…again　unobtrusively…with　a　MAC…10　machine　pistol　strapped　to　his　belted　waist。　On　the　opposite　side　of　each　jacket　and　hooked　to　the　cloth　was　a　pair　of　Zeiss　Ikon　8x10　binoculars　continuously　used　to　scan　the　darkness。　The　owner　of　Tranquility　Inn　was　determined　that　it　live　up　to　its　name。
　On　the　large　circular　balcony　of　the　villa　nearest　the　main　building　and　the　attached　glass…enclosed　dining　room；　an　elderly　infirm　woman　sat　in　a　wheelchair　sipping　a　glass　of　Chateau　Carbonnieux　'78　while　drinking　in　the　splendors　of　sundown。　She　absently　touched　the　bangs　of　her　imperfectly　dyed　red　hair　as　she　listened。　She　heard　the　voice　of　her　man　talking　with　the　nurse　inside；　then　the　sound　of　his　less　than　emphatic　footsteps　as　he　walked　out　to　join　her。
　〃My　God；〃　she　said　in　French。　〃I'm　going　to　get　pissed！〃
　〃Why　not？〃　asked　the　Jackal's　courier。　〃This　is　the　place　for　it。　I　see　everything　through　a　haze　of　disbelief　myself。〃
　〃You　still　will　not　tell　me　why　the　monseigneur　sent　you　here…us　here？〃
　〃I　told　you；　I'm　merely　a　messenger。〃
　〃And　I　don't　believe　you。〃
　〃Believe。　It's　important　for　him　but　of　no　consequence　for　us。　Enjoy；　my　lovely。〃
　〃You　always　call　me　that　when　you　won't　explain。〃
　〃Then　you　should　learn　from　experience　not　to　inquire；　is　it　not　so？〃
　〃It　is　not　so；　my　dear。　I'm　dying…〃
　〃We'll　hear　no　more　of　that！〃
　〃It's　true　nevertheless；　you　cannot　keep　it　from　me。　I　don't　worry　for　myself；　the　pain　will　end；　you　see；　but　I　worry　about　you。　You；　forever　better　than　your　circumstances；　Michel…　No；　no；　you　are　Jean　Pierre；　I　must　not　forget　that。　。。。　Still；　I　must　concern　myself。　This　place；　these　extraordinary　lodgings；　this　attention。　I　think　you　will　pay　a　terrible　price；　my　dear。〃
　〃Why　do　you　say　that？〃
　〃It's　all　so　grand。　Too　grand。　Something's　wrong。〃
　〃You　concern　yourself　too　deeply。〃
　〃No；　you　deceive　yourself　too　easily。　My　brother；　Claude；　has　always　said　you　take　too　much　from　the　monseigneur。　One　day　the　bill　will　be　presented　to　you。〃
　〃Your　brother；　Claude；　is　a　sweet　old　man　with　feathers　in　his　head。　It's　why　the　monseigneur　gives　him　only　the　most　insignificant　assignments。　You　send　him　out　for　a　paper　in　Montparnasse　he　ends　up　in　Marseilles　not　knowing　how　he　got　there。〃　The　telephone　inside　the　villa　rang；　interrupting　the　Jackal's　man。　He　turned。　〃Our　new　friend　will　get　it；〃　he　said。
　〃She's　a　strange　one；〃　added　the　old　woman。　〃I　don't　trust　her。〃
　〃She　works　for　the　monseigneur。〃
　〃Really？〃
　〃I　haven't　had　time　to　tell　you。　She　will　relay　his　instructions。〃
　The　uniformed　nurse；　her　light　brown　hair　pulled　severely　back　into　a　bun；　appeared　in　the　doorway。　〃Monsieur；　it　is　Paris；〃　she　said；　her　wide　gray　eyes　conveying　an　urgency　missing　in　her　low；　understated　voice。
　〃Thank　you。〃　The　Jackal's　courier　walked　inside；　following　the　nurse　to　the　telephone。　She　picked　it　up　and　handed　it　to　him。　〃This　is　Jean　Pierre　Fontaine。〃
　〃Blessings　upon　you；　child　of　God；〃　said　the　voice　several　thousand　miles　away。　〃Is　everything　suitable？〃
　〃Beyond　description；〃　answered　the　old　man。　〃It　is　。。。　so　grand；　so　much　more　than　we　deserve。〃
　〃You　will　earn　it。〃
　〃However　I　may　serve　you。〃
　〃You'll　serve　me　by　following　the　orders　given　to　you　by　the　woman。　Follow　them　precisely　with　no　deviation　whatsoever；　is　that　understood？〃
　〃Certainly。〃
　〃Blessings　upon　you。〃　There　was　a　click　and　the　voice　was　no　more。
　Fontaine　turned　to　address　the　nurse；　but　she　was　not　at　his　side。　Instead；　she　was　across　the　room；　unlocking　the　drawer　of　a　table。　He　walked　over　to　her；　his　eyes　drawn　to　the　contents　of　the　drawer。　Side　by　side　were　a　pair　of　surgical　gloves；　a　pistol　with　a　cylindrical　silencer　attached　to　the　barrel；　and　a　straight　razor；　the　blade　recessed。
　〃These　are　your　tools；〃　said　the　woman；　handing　him　the　key；　her　flat；　expressionless　gray　eyes　boring　into　his　own；　〃and　the　targets　are　in　the　last　villa　on　this　row。　You　are　to　familiarize　yourself　with　the　area　by　taking　extended　walks　on　the　path；　as　old　men　do　for　circulatory　purposes；　and　you　are　to　kill　them。　You　are　to　do　this　wearing　the　gloves　and　firing　the　gun　into　each　skull。　It　must　be　the　head。　Then　each　throat　must　be　slit…〃
　〃Mother　of　God；　the　children's？〃
　〃Those　are　the　orders。〃
　〃They're　barbaric！〃
　〃Do　you　wish　me　to　convey　that　judgment？〃
　Fontaine　looked　over　at　the　balcony　door；　at　his　woman　in　the　wheelchair。　〃No；　no；　of　course　not。〃
　〃I　thought　not。　。。。　There　is　a　final　instruction。　With　whosesoever　blood　is　most　convenient；　you　are　to　write　on　the　wall　the　following：　'Jason　Bourne；　brother　of　the　Jackal。'　〃
　〃Oh；　my　God。　。。。　I'll　be　caught；　of　course。〃
　〃That's　up　to　you。　Coordinate　the　executions　with　me　and　I'll　swear　a　great　warrior　of　France　was　in　this　villa　at　the　time。〃
　〃Time？　。。。　What　is　the　time？　When　is　this　to　be　done？〃
　〃Within　the　next　thirty…six　hours。〃
　〃Then　what？〃
　〃You　may　stay　here　until　your　woman　dies。〃
　
　9
　Brendan　Patrick　Pierre　Prefontaine　was　again　astonished。　Though　he　had　no　reservation；　the　front　desk　of　Tranquility　Inn　treated　him　like　a　visiting　celebrity；　then　only　moments　after　he　had　secured　a　villa　told　him　that　he　already　had　a　villa　and　asked　How　was　the　flight　from　Paris？　Confusion　descended　for　several　minutes　as　the　owner　of　Tranquility　Inn　could　not　be　reached　for　consultation；　he　was　not　at　his　residence；　and　if　he　was　on　the　premises　he　could　not　be　found。　Ultimately　hands　were　thrown　up　in　frustration　and　the　former　judge　from　Boston　was　taken　to　his　lodgings；　a　lovely　miniature　house　overlooking　the　Caribbean。　By　accident；　hardly　by　design；　he　had　reached　into　the　wrong　pocket　and　given　the　manager　behind　the　desk　a　fifty…dollar　American　bill　for　his　courtesy。　Prefontaine　instantly　became　a　man　to　be　reckoned　with；　fingers　snapped　and　palms　hit　bells　rapidly。　Nothing　was　too　splendid　for　the　bewildering　stranger　who　had　suddenly　flown　in　on　the　seaplane　from　Montserrat。　。。。　It　was　the　name　that　had　thrown　everyone　behind　Tranquility's　front　desk　into　confusion。　Could　such　a　coincidence　be　possible？　。。。　Still　the　Crown　governor…　Err　on　the　safe　side。　Get　the　man　a　villa。
　Once　settled；　his　casual　clothes　distributed　in　the　closet　and　the　bureau；　the　craziness　continued。　A　chilled　bottle　of　Chateau　Carbonnieux　'78　acpanied　fresh…cut　flowers；　and　a　box　of　Belgian　chocolates　arrived；　only　to　have　a　confused　room…service　waiter　return　to　remove　them；　apologizing　for　the　fact　that　they　were　for　another　villa　down　the　line…or　up　the　line…he　thought；　mon。
　The　judge　changed　into　Bermuda　shorts；　wincing　at　the　sight　of　his　spindly　legs；　and　put　on　a　subdued　paisley　sport　shirt。　White　loafers　and　a　white　cloth　cap　pleted　his　tropical　outfit；　it　would　be　dark　soon　and　he　wanted　a　stroll。　For　several　reasons。
　〃I　know　who　Jean　Pierre　Fontaine　is；〃　said　John　St。　Jacques；　reading　the　register　behind　the　front　desk；　〃he's　the　one　the　CG's　office　called　me　about；　but　who　the　hell　is　B。　P。　Prefontaine？〃
　〃An　illustrious　judge　from　the　United　States；〃　declared　the　tall　black　assistant　manager　in　a　distinct　British　accent。　〃My　uncle；　the　deputy　director　of　immigration；　phoned　me　from