rl.thebourneultimatum-第7节

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ion。　It　was　the　Dionaea　muscipula；　the　Venus　flytrap。
　Conklin　stood　in　the　narrow；　dimly　lit　lobby　of　his　apartment　house　and　looked　at　his　watch；　squinting　to　read　the　dial。　It　was　precisely　2：35　in　the　morning；　he　opened　the　heavy　door　and　limped　out　into　the　dark　street；　which　was　devoid　of　any　signs　of　life。　According　to　their　plan　he　turned　left；　maintaining　the　pace　agreed　upon；　he　was　to　arrive　at　the　er　as　close　to　2：38　as　possible。　Suddenly；　he　was　alarmed；　in　a　shadowed　doorway　on　his　right　was　the　figure　of　a　man。　Unobtrusively　Alex　reached　under　his　jacket　for　his　Beretta　automatic。　There　was　nothing　in　the　strategy　that　called　for　someone　to　be　in　a　doorway　on　this　section　of　the　street！　Then；　as　suddenly　as　he　had　been　alarmed；　he　relaxed；　feeling　equal　parts　of　guilt　and　relief　at　what　he　understood。　The　figure　in　shadows　was　an　indigent；　an　old　man　in　worn…out　clothes；　one　of　the　homeless　in　a　land　of　so　much　plenty。　Alex　kept　going；　he　reached　the　corner　and　heard　the　low；　single　click　of　two　fingers　snapped　apart。　He　crossed　the　avenue　and　proceeded　down　the　pavement；　passing　an　alleyway。　The　alleyway。　Another　figure　。。。　another　old　man　in　disheveled　clothing　moving　slowly　out　into　the　street　and　then　back　into　the　alley。　Another　derelict　protecting　his　concrete　cave。　At　any　other　time　Conklin　might　have　approached　the　unfortunate　and　given　him　a　few　dollars；　but　not　now。　He　had　a　long　way　to　go　and　a　schedule　to　keep。
　Morris　Panov　approached　the　intersection　still　bothered　by　the　curious　telephone　conversation　he　had　had　ten　minutes　ago；　still　trying　to　recall　each　segment　of　the　plan　he　was　to　follow；　afraid　to　look　at　his　watch　to　see　if　he　had　reached　a　specific　place　within　a　specific　time　span…he　had　been　told　not　to　look　at　his　watch　in　the　street　。。。　and　why　couldn't　they　say　〃at　approximately　such　and　such〃　rather　than　the　somewhat　unnerving　term　〃time　span；〃　as　if　a　military　invasion　of　Washington　were　imminent。　Regardless；　he　kept　walking；　crossing　the　streets　he　was　told　to　cross；　hoping　some　unseen　clock　kept　him　relatively　in　tune　with　the　goddamned　〃time　spans〃　that　had　been　determined　by　his　striding　back　and　forth　between　two　pegs　on　some　lawn　behind　a　garden　apartment　in　Vienna；　Virginia。　。。。　He　would　do　anything　for　David　Webb…good　Christ；　anything　…　but　this　was　insane。　。。。　Yet；　of　course；　it　wasn't。　They　would　not　ask　him　to　do　what　he　was　doing　if　it　were。
　What　was　that？　A　face　in　shadows　peering　at　him；　just　like　the　other　two！　This　one　hunched　over　on　a　curb；　raising　wine…soaked　eyes　up　at　him。　Old　men…weather…beaten；　old；　old　men　who　could　barely　move…staring　at　him！　Now　he　was　allowing　his　imagination　to　run　away　with　him…the　cities　were　filled　with　the　homeless；　with　perfectly　harmless　people　whose　psychoses　or　poverty　drove　them　into　the　streets。　As　much　as　he　would　like　to　help　them；　there　was　nothing　he　could　do　but　professionally　badger　an　unresponsive　Washington。　。。。　There　was　another！　In　an　indented　space　between　two　storefronts　barricaded　by　iron　gates…he；　too；　was　watching　him。　Stop　it！　You're　being　irrational。　。。。　Or　was　he？　Of　course；　he　was。　Go　on；　keep　to　the　schedule；　that's　what　you're　supposed　to　do。　。。。　Good　God！　There's　another。　Across　the　street。　。。。　Keep　going！
　The　vast　moonlit　grounds　of　the　Smithsonian　dwarfed　the　two　figures　as　they　converged　from　intersecting　paths；　joining　each　other　and　proceeding　to　a　bench。　Conklin　lowered　himself　with　the　aid　of　his　cane　while　Mo　Panov　looked　around　nervously；　listening；　as　if　he　expected　the　unexpected。　It　was　3：28　in　the　predawn　morning；　the　only　noises　the　subdued　rattle　of　crickets　and　mild　summer　breezes　through　the　trees。　Guardedly　Panov　sat　down。
　〃Anything　happen　on　the　way　here？〃　asked　Conklin。
　〃I'm　not　sure；〃　replied　the　psychiatrist。　〃I'm　as　lost　as　I　was　in　Hong　Kong；　except　that　over　there　we　knew　where　we　were　going；　whom　we　expected　to　meet。　You　people　are　crazy。〃
　〃You're　contradicting　yourself；　Mo；〃　said　Alex；　smiling。　〃You　told　me　I　was　cured。〃
　〃Oh；　that？　That　was　merely　obsessive　manic…depression　bordering　on　dementia　praecox。　This　is　nuts！　It's　nearly　four　o'clock　in　the　morning。　People　who　aren't　nuts　do　not　play　games　at　four　o'clock　in　the　morning。〃
　Alex　watched　Panov　in　the　dim　wash　of　a　distant　Smithsonian　floodlight　that　illuminated　the　massive　stone　structure。　〃You　said　you　weren't　sure。　What　does　that　mean？〃
　〃I'm　almost　embarrassed　to　say…I've　told　too　many　patients　that　they　invent　unfortable　images　to　rationalize　their　panic；　justify　their　fears。〃
　〃What　the　hell　does　that　mean？〃
　〃It's　a　form　of　transference…〃
　〃e　on；　Mo！〃　interrupted　Conklin。　〃What　bothered　you？　What　did　you　see？〃
　〃Figures　。。。　some　bent　over；　walking　slowly；　awkwardly…not　like　you；　Alex；　incapacitated　not　by　injuries　but　by　age。　Worn　out　and　old　and　staying　in　the　darkness　of　storefronts　and　side　streets。　It　happened　four　or　five　times　between　my　apartment　house　and　here。　Twice　I　almost　stopped　and　called　out　for　one　of　your　men；　and　then　I　thought　to　myself；　My　God；　Doctor；　you're　overreacting；　mistaking　a　few　pathetic　homeless　people　for　what　they're　not；　seeing　things　that　aren't　there。〃
　〃Right　on！〃　Conklin　whispered　emphatically。　〃You　saw　exactly　what　was　there；　Mo。　Because　I　saw　the　same；　the　same　kind　of　old　people　you　saw；　and　they　were　pathetic；　mostly　in　beat　up　clothes　and　who　moved　slower　than　I　move。　。。。　What　does　it　mean？　What　do　they　mean？　Who　are　they？〃
　Footsteps。　Slow；　hesitant；　and　through　the　shadows　of　the　deserted　path　walked　two　short　men…old　men。　At　first　glance　they；　indeed；　appeared　to　be　part　of　the　swelling　army　of　indigent　homeless；　yet　there　was　something　different　about　them；　a　sense　of　purpose；　perhaps。　They　stopped　nearly　twenty　feet　away　from　the　bench；　their　faces　in　darkness。　The　old　man　on　the　left　spoke；　his　voice　thin；　his　accent　strange。　〃It　is　an　odd　hour　and　an　unusual　place　for　two　such　well…dressed　gentlemen　to　meet。　Is　it　fair　for　you　to　occupy　a　place　of　rest　that　should　be　for　others　not　so　well　off　as　you？〃
　〃There　are　a　number　of　unoccupied　benches；〃　said　Alex　pleasantly。　〃Is　this　one　reserved？〃
　〃There　are　no　reserved　seats　here；〃　replied　the　second　old　man；　his　English　clear　but　not　native　to　him。　〃But　why　are　you　here？〃
　〃What's　it　to　you？〃　asked　Conklin。　〃This　is　a　private　meeting　and　none　of　your　business。〃
　〃Business　at　this　hour　and　in　this　place？〃　The　first　aged　intruder　spoke　while　looking　around。
　〃I　repeat；〃　repeated　Alex。　〃It's　none　of　your　business　and　I　really　think　you　should　leave　us　alone。〃
　〃Business　is　business；〃　intoned　the　second　old　man。
　〃What　in　God's　name　is　he　talking　about？〃　whispered　the　bewildered　Panov　to　Conklin。
　〃Ground　zero；〃　said　Alex　under　his　breath。　〃Be　quiet。〃　The　retired　field　agent　turned　his　head　up　to　the　two　old　men。　〃Okay；　fellas；　why　don't　you　go　on　your　way？〃
　〃Business　is　business；〃　again　said　the　second　tattered　ancient；　glancing　at　his　colleague；　both　their　faces　still　in　shadows。
　〃You　don't　have　any　business　with　us…〃
　〃You　can't　be　sure　of　that；〃　interrupted　the　first　old　man；　shaking　his　head　back　and；　forth。　〃Suppose　I　were　to　tell　you　that　we　bring　you　a　message　from　Macao？〃
　〃What？〃　exclaimed　Panov。
　〃Shut　up！〃　whispered　Conklin；　addressing　the　psychiatrist　but　his　eyes　on　the　messenger。　〃What　does　Macao　mean　to　us？〃　he　asked　flatly。
　〃A　great　taipan　wishes　to　meet　with　you。　The　greatest　taipan　in　Hong　Kong。〃
　〃Why？〃
　〃He　will　pay　you　great　sums。　For　your　services。〃
　〃I'll　say　it　again。　Why？〃
　〃We　are　to　tell　you　that　a　killer　has　returned。　He　wants　you　to　find　him。〃
　〃I've　heard　that　story　before；　it　doesn't　wash。　It's　also　repetitious。〃
　〃That　is　between　the　great　taipan　and　yourselves；　sir。　Not　with　us。　He　is　waiting　for　you。〃
　〃Where　is　he？〃
　〃At　a　great　hotel；　sir。〃
　〃Which　one？〃
　〃We　are　again　to　tell　you　that　it　has　a　great…sized　lobby　with　always　many　people；　and　its　name　refers　to　this　country's　past。〃
　〃There's　only　one　like　that。　The　Mayflower。〃　Conklin　directed　his　words　toward　his　left　lapel；　into　a　microphone　sewn　into　the　buttonhole。
　〃As　you　wish。〃
　〃Under　what　name　is　he　registered？〃
　〃Registered？〃
　〃Like　in　reserved　benches；　only　rooms。　Who　do　we　ask　for？〃
　〃No　one；　sir。　The　taipan's　secretary　will　approach　you　in　the　lobby。〃
　〃Did　that　same　secretary　approach　you　also？〃
　〃Sir？〃
　〃Who　hired　you　to　follow　us？〃
　〃We　are　not　at　liberty　to　discuss　such　matters　and　we　will　not　do　so。〃
　〃That's　it！〃　shouted　Alexander　Conklin；　yelling　over　his　shoulder　as　floodlights　suddenly　lit　up　the　Smithsonian　grounds　around　the　deserted　path；　revealing　the　two　startled　old　men　to　be　Orientals。　Nine　personnel　from　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency　walked　rapidly　into　the　glare　of　light　from　all　directions；　their　hands　under　their　jackets。　Since　there　was　no　apparent　need　for　them；　their　weapons　remained　hidden。
　Suddenly　the　need　was　there；　but　the　realization　came　too　late。　Two　high…powered　rifle　shots　exploded　from　the　outer　darkness；　the　bullets　ripping　open　the　throats　of　the　two　Oriental　messengers。　The　CIA　men　lunged　to　the　ground；　rolling　for　cover　as　Conklin　grabbed　Panov；　pulling　him　down　to　the　path　in　front　of　th