rl.thebourneultimatum-第65节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　〃That's　crazy！〃
　〃It　gets　crazier　and　scarier。　The　head　floor　nurse　said　an　army　doctor；　a　surgeon；　came　to　the　desk；　showed　his　ID；　and　instructed　her　to　tell　Dr。　Panov　that　there　was　a　change　of　routing　for　him；　that　he　was　to　use　the　east…wing　exit　because　of　an　expected　protest　march　at　the　main　entrance。　The　east　wing　has　a　different　hallway　to　the　psych　area　than　the　one　to　the　main　lobby；　yet　the　army　surgeon　used　the　main　doors。〃
　〃e　again？〃
　〃He　walked　right　past　our　escort　in　the　hallway。〃
　〃And　obviously　out　the　same　way　and　around　to　the　east…wing　hall。　Nothing　on…scene　unusual。　A　doctor　with　clearance　in　a　restricted　area；　in　and　out；　and　while　he's　in；　he　delivers　false　instructions。　。。。　But；　Christ；　Alex；　who？　Carlos　was　on　his　way　back　here；　to　Paris！　Whatever　he　wanted　in　Washington　he　got。　He　found　me；　he　found　us。　He　didn't　need　any　more！〃
　〃DeSole；〃　said　Conklin　quietly。　〃DeSole　knew　about　me　and　Mo　Panov。　I　threatened　the　Agency　with　both　of　us；　and　DeSole　was　there　in　the　conference　room。〃
　〃I'm　not　with　you。　What　are　you　telling　me？〃
　〃DeSole；　Brussels　。。。　Medusa。〃
　〃All　right；　I'm　slow。〃
　〃It's　not　he；　David；　it's　they。　DeSole　was　taken　out；　our　connection　removed。　It's　Medusa。〃
　〃To　hell　with　them！　They're　on　my　back　burner！〃
　〃You're　not　on　theirs。　You　cracked　their　shell。　They　want　you。〃
　〃I　couldn't　care　less。　I　told　you　yesterday；　I've　only　got　one　priority　and　he's　in　Paris；　square　one　in　Argenteuil。〃
　〃Then　I　haven't　been　clear；〃　said　Alex；　his　voice　faint；　the　tone　defeated。　〃Last　night　I　had　dinner　with　Mo。　I　told　him　everything。　Tranquility；　your　flying　to　Paris；　Bernardine　。。。　everything！〃
　A　former　judge　of　the　first　circuit　court；　residing　in　Boston；　Massachusetts；　United　States　of　America；　stood　among　the　small　gathering　of　mourners　on　the　flat　surface　of　the　highest　hill　on　Tranquility　Isle。　The　cemetery　was　the　final　resting　place…in　voce　verbatim　via　amicus　curiae；　as　he　legally　explained　to　the　authorities　on　Montserrat。　Brendan　Patrick　Pierre　Prefontaine　watched　as　the　two　splendid　coffins　provided　by　the　generous　owner　of　Tranquility　Inn　were　lowered　into　the　ground　along　with　the　absolutely　inprehensible　blessings　of　the　native　priest；　who　no　doubt　usually　had　the　neck　of　a　dead　chicken　in　his　mouth　while　intoning　his　benediction　in　voodoo　language。　〃Jean　Pierre　Fontaine〃　and　his　wife　were　at　peace。
　Nevertheless；　barbarism　notwithstanding；　Brendan；　the　quasi…alcoholic　street　lawyer　of　Harvard　Square；　had　found　a　cause。　A　cause　beyond　his　own　survival；　and　that　in　itself　was　remarkable。　Randolph　Gates；　Lord　Randolph　of　Gates；　Dandy　Randy　of　the　Courts　of　the　Elite；　was　in　reality　a　scumball；　a　conduit　of　death　in　the　Caribbean。　And　the　outlines　of　a　scheme　were　forming　in　Prefontaine's　progressively　clearer　mind；　clearer　because；　among　other　inhumane　deprivations；　he　had　suddenly　decided　to　do　without　his　four　shots　of　vodka　upon　waking　up　in　the　morning。　Gates　had　provided　the　essential　information　that　led　the　would…be　killers　of　the　Webb　family　to　Tranquility　Isle。　Why？　。。。　That　was　basically；　even　legally；　irrelevant；　the　fact　that　he　had　supplied　their　whereabouts　to　known　killers；　with　prior　knowledge　that　they　were　killers；　was　not。　That　was　acplice　to　murder；　multiple　murder。　Dandy　Randy's　testicles　were　in　a　vise；　and　as　the　plates　closed；　he　would…he　had　to…reveal　information　that　would　assist　the　Webbs；　especially　the　glorious　auburn…headed　woman　he　wished　to　almighty　God　he　had　met　fifty　years　ago。
　Prefontaine　was　flying　back　to　Boston　in　the　morning；　but　he　had　asked　John　St。　Jacques　if　he　might　return　one　day。　Perhaps　not　with　a　prepaid　reservation。
　〃Judge；　my　house　is　your　house〃　was　the　reply。
　〃I　might　even　earn　that　courtesy。〃
　Albert　Armbruster；　chairman　of　the　Federal　Trade　mission；　got　out　of　his　limousine　and　stood　on　the　pavement　before　the　steep　steps　of　his　town　house　in　Georgetown。　〃Check　with　the　office　in　the　morning；〃　he　said　to　the　chauffeur；　holding　the　rear　door。　〃As　you　know；　I'm　not　a　well　man。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃　The　driver　closed　the　door。　〃Would　you　like　assistance；　sir？〃
　〃Hell；　no。　Get　out　of　here。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃　The　government　chauffeur　climbed　into　the　front　seat；　the　sudden　roar　of　his　engine　was　not　meant　as　a　courteous　exit　as　he　sped　down　the　street。
　Armbruster　climbed　the　stone　staircase；　his　stomach　and　chest　heaving　with　each　step；　cursing　under　his　breath　at　the　sight　of　his　wife's　silhouette　beyond　the　glass　door　of　their　Victorian　entrance。　〃Shit…kicking　yapper；〃　he　said　to　himself　as　he　neared　the　top；　gripping　the　railing　before　facing　his　adversary　of　thirty　years。
　A　spit　exploded　out　of　the　darkness　from　somewhere　within　the　grounds　of　the　property　next　door。　Armbruster's　arms　flew　up；　his　wrists　bent　as　if　trying　to　locate　the　bodily　chaos；　it　was　too　late。　The　chairman　of　the　Federal　Trade　mission　tumbled　back　down　the　stone　staircase；　his　thumping　dead　weight　landing　grotesquely　on　the　pavement　below。
　Bourne　changed　into　the　French　denim　trousers；　slipped　on　a　dark　short…sleeved　shirt　and　the　cotton　safari　jacket；　put　his　money；　his　weapon　and　all　his　IDs…authentic　and　false…into　his　pockets　and　left　the　Pont…Royal。　Before　doing　so；　however；　he　stuffed　the　bed　with　pillows；　and　hung　his　traveling　clothes　in　clear　view　over　the　chair。　He　walked　casually　past　the　ornate　front　desk；　and　once　outside　on　Montalembert　ran　to　the　nearest　telephone　kiosk。　He　inserted　a　coin　and　dialed　Bernardine's　home。
　〃It's　Simon；〃　he　said。
　〃I　thought　so；〃　replied　the　Frenchman。　〃I　was　hoping　so。　I've　just　heard　from　Alex　and　told　him　not　to　tell　me　where　you　were；　one　cannot　reveal　what　one　does　not　know。　Still；　if　I　were　you；　I'd　go　to　another　place；　at　least　for　the　night。　You　may　have　been　spotted　at　the　airport。〃
　〃What　about　you？〃
　〃I　intend　to　be　a　canard。〃
　〃A　duck？〃
　〃The　sitting　variety。　The　Deuxième　has　my　flat　under　watch。　Perhaps　I'll　have　a　visitor；　it　would　be　convenient；　n'est…ce　pas？〃
　〃You　didn't　tell　your　office　about…〃
　〃About　you？〃　interrupted　Bernardine。　〃How　could　I；　monsieur；　when　I　don't　know　you？　My　protective　Bureau　believes　I　had　a　threatening　call　from　an　old　adversary　known　to　be　a　psychopath。　Actually　I　removed　him　in　the　Maritimes　years　ago　but　I　never　closed　the　file…〃
　〃Should　you　be　telling　me　this　on　your　telephone？〃
　〃I　thought　I　mentioned　that　it　was　a　unique　instrument。〃
　〃You　did。〃
　〃Suffice　it　to　say　it　cannot　be　tapped　and　still　function。　。。。　You　need　rest；　monsieur。　You　are　no　good　to　anyone；　least　of　all　yourself；　without　it。　Find　a　bed；　I　cannot　help　you　there。〃
　〃　'Rest　is　a　weapon；'　〃　said　Jason；　repeating　a　phrase　he　had　e　to　believe　was　a　vital　truth；　vital　for　survival　in　a　world　he　loathed。
　〃I　beg　your　pardon？〃
　〃Nothing。　I'll　find　a　bed　and　call　you　in　the　morning。〃
　〃Tomorrow　then。　Bonne　chance；　mon　ami。　For　both　of　us。〃
　He　found　a　room　at　the　Avenir；　an　inexpensive　hotel　on　the　rue　Gay…Lussac。　Registering　under　a　false　name；　promptly　forgotten；　he　climbed　the　stairs　to　his　room；　removed　his　clothes；　and　fell　into　the　bed。　〃Rest　is　a　weapon；〃　he　said　to　himself；　staring　at　the　ceiling；　at　the　flickering　lights　of　the　Paris　streets　as　they　traveled　across　the　plaster。　Whether　rest　came　in　a　mountain　cave　or　a　rice　paddy　in　the　Mekong　Delta；　it　did　not　matter；　it　was　a　weapon　frequently　more　powerful　than　firepower。　That　was　the　lesson　drummed　into　his　head　by　d'Anjou；　the　man　who　had　given　his　life　in　a　Beijing　forest　so　that　Jason　Bourne　might　live。　Rest　is　a　weapon；　he　considered；　touching　the　bandage　around　his　neck　yet　not　really　feeling　it；　its　constricting　presence　fading　as　sleep　came。
　He　woke　up　slowly；　cautiously；　the　noise　of　the　traffic　in　the　streets　below　pounding　up　to　his　window；　the　metallic　horns　like　the　erratic　cawing　of　angry　crows　amid　the　irregular　bursts　of　angry　engines；　full　bore　one　moment；　abrupt　quiet　the　next。　It　was　a　normal　morning　in　the　narrow　streets　of　Paris。　Holding　his　neck　rigid；　Jason　swung　his　legs　to　the　floor　from　the　inadequate　bed　and　looked　at　his　watch；　startled　at　what　he　saw；　wondering　for　an　instant　whether　he　had　adjusted　the　watch　for　Paris　time。　Of　course　he　had。　It　was　10：07　in　the　morning…Paris　time。　He　had　slept　nearly　eleven　hours；　a　fact　confirmed　by　the　rumbling　in　his　stomach。　Exhaustion　was　now　replaced　by　acute　hunger。
　Food；　however；　would　have　to　wait；　there　were　things　to　take　care　of；　and　first　on　the　list　was　to　reach　Bernardine；　and　then　to　learn　the　security　status　of　the　Pont…Royal　hotel。　He　got　to　his　feet；　stiffly；　unsteadily；　numbness　momentarily　invading　his　legs　and　arms。　He　needed　a　hot　shower；　which　was　not　to　be　had　at　the　Avenir；　then　mild　exercise　to　limber　up　his　body；　therapies　unnecessary　only　a　few　years　ago。　He　removed　his　wallet　from　his　trousers；　pulled　out　Bernardine's　card　and　returned　to　the　bed　to　use　the　telephone　beside　it；　he　dialed。
　〃Le　canard　had　no　visitors；　I'm　afraid；〃　said　the　Deuxième　veteran。　〃Not　even　the　hint　of　a　hunter；　which　I　presume　is　favorable　news。〃
　〃It's　not　until　we　find　Panov…if　we　find　him。　The　bastards！〃
　〃Yes；　that　must　be　faced。　It's　the　ugliest　part　of　our　work。〃
　〃Goddamn　it；　I　can't　dism