rl.thebourneultimatum-第75节

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earing　an　American　field　jacket。　Jason　started　to　get　off　the　barstool。　〃Sit；　sit！〃　cried　his　new　friend；　leaning　forward　to　be　heard　through　the　crowds　and　the　music。　〃I　brought　us　a　virgin。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃You　forgot　so　quickly？　He's　on　his　way　to　being　a　Legion　recruit。〃
　〃Oh；　that；〃　laughed　Bourne；　covering　his　gaffe。　〃I　wondered　in　a　place　like　this…〃
　〃In　a　place　like　this；〃　broke　in　Tank　Shirt；　〃half　will　take　it　or　give　it　either　way　as　long　as　it's　rough。　But　that's　neither　here　nor　there。　I　thought　he　should　talk　to　you。　He's　American　and　his　French　is　grotesque；　but　if　you　speak　slow；　he'll　catch　on。
　〃No　need　to；〃　said　Jason　in　faintly　accented　English。　〃I　grew　up　in　Neufchвtel；　but　I　spent　several　years　in　the　States。〃
　〃That's　nice　to　heah。〃　The　American's　speech　was　distinctly　Deep　South；　his　smile　genuine；　his　eyes　wary　but　unafraid。
　〃Then　let　us　start　again；〃　said　the　Belgian　in　heavily　accented　English。　〃My　name　is　。。。　Maurice；　it's　as　good　a　name　as　any。　My　young　friend　here　is　Ralph；　at　least　he　says　it　is。　What's　yours；　my　wounded　hero？〃
　〃Francois；〃　replied　Jason；　thinking　of　Bernardine　and　wondering　briefly　how　he　was　doing　at　the　airports。　〃And　I'm　no　hero；　they　died　too　quickly。　。。。　Order　your　drinks；　I'm　paying。〃　They　did　and　Bourne　did；　his　mind　racing；　trying　to　recall　the　little　he　knew　about　the　French　Foreign　Legion。　〃A　lot　has　changed　in　nine　years；　Maurice。〃　How　very　easily　the　words　came；　thought　the　Chameleon。　〃Why　are　you　enlisting；　Ralph？〃
　〃Ah　figure　it's　the　wisest　thing　I　can　do…kinda　disappear　for　a　few　years；　and　I　understand　five　is　the　minimum。〃
　〃If　you　last　the　first；　mon　ami；〃　interjected　the　Belgian。
　〃Maurice　is　right。　Listen　to　him。　The　officers　are　tough　and　difficult…〃
　〃All　French！〃　added　the　Belgian。　〃Ninety　percent；　at　least。　Only　one　foreigner　in　perhaps　three　hundred　reach　the　officer　corps。　Have　no　illusions。〃
　〃But　Ah'm　a　college　man。　An　engineer。〃
　〃So　you'll　build　fine　latrines　for　the　camps　and　design　perfect　shit　holes　in　the　field；〃　laughed　Maurice。　〃Tell　him；　Fran？ois。　Explain　how　the　savants　are　treated。〃
　〃The　educated　ones　must　first　know　how　to　fight；〃　said　Jason；　hoping　he　was　right。
　〃Always　first！〃　exclaimed　the　Belgian。　〃For　their　schooling　is　suspicious。　Will　they　doubt？　Will　they　think　when　they　are　paid　only　to　follow　orders？　。。。　Oh；　no；　mon　ami；　I　would　not　emphasize　your　érudition。〃
　〃Let　it　e　out　gradually；〃　added　Bourne。　〃When　they　need　it；　not　when　you　want　to　offer　it。〃
　〃Bien！〃　cried　Maurice。　〃He　knows　what　he's　talking　about。　A　true　légionnaire！〃
　〃Can　you　fight？〃　asked　Jason。　〃Could　you　go　after　someone　to　kill　him？〃
　〃Ah　killed　mah　feeancee　and　her　two　brothers　and　a　cousin；　all　with　a　knife　and　my　bare　hands。　She　was　fuckin'　a　big　banker　in　Nashville　and　they　were　coverin'　for　her　because　he　was　payin'　all　of　'em　a　lot　of　money。　。。。　Yeah；　I　can　kill；　Mr。　Fran？ois。〃
　Manhunt　for　Crazed　Killer　in　Nashville
　Young　engineer　with　promising　future　escapes　dragnet。　。。。
　Bourne　remembered　the　newspaper　headlines　of　only　weeks　ago；　as　he　stared　at　the　face　of　the　young　American。　〃Go　for　the　Legion；〃　he　said。
　〃If　push　es　to　shove；　Mr。　Fran？ois；　could　I　use　you　as　a　reference？〃
　〃It　wouldn't　help　you；　young　man；　it　might　only　hurt。　If　you're　pressed；　just　tell　the　truth。　It's　your　credentials。〃
　〃Aussi　bien！　He　knows　the　Legion。　They　will　not　take　maniacs　if　they　can　help　it；　but　they…how　do　you　say　it；　Fran？ois？〃
　〃Look　the　other　way；　I　think。〃
　〃Oui。　They　look　the　other　way　when　there　are…encore；　Francois？〃
　〃When　there　are　extenuating　circumstances。〃
　〃See？　My　friend　Francois　also　has　brains。　I　wonder　how　he　survived。〃
　〃By　not　showing　them；　Maurice。〃
　A　waiter　wearing　about　the　filthiest　apron　Jason　had　ever　seen　clapped　the　Belgian　on　the　neck。　〃Votre　table；　René。〃
　〃So？〃　shrugged　Tank　Shirt。　〃Just　another　name。　Quelle　différence？　We　eat　and　with　good　fortune　we　will　not　be　poisoned。〃
　Two　hours　later；　with　four　bottles　of　rough　vin　ordinaire　consumed　by　Maurice　and　Ralph；　along　with　suspicious　fish；　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat　settled　in　for　its　nightly　endurance　ritual。　Fights　occurred　episodically；　broken　up　by　muscular　waiters。　The　blaring　music　marshaled　memories　of　battles　won　and　lost；　engendering　arguments　between　old　soldiers　who　had　basically　been　the　assault　troops；　cannon　fodder；　at　once　resentful　and　filled　with　the　pride　of　survival　because　they　had　survived　the　blood　and　horror　their　gold…braided　superiors　knew　nothing　about。　It　was　the　collective　roar　of　the　underprivileged　foot　soldiers　heard　from　the　time　of　the　Pharaoh's　legions　to　the　grunts　of　Korea　and　Vietnam。　The　properly　uniformed　officers　decreed　from　far　behind　the　lines；　and　the　foot　soldiers　died　to　preserve　their　superiors'　wisdom。　Bourne　remembered　Saigon　and　could　not　fault　the　existence　of　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat。
　The　head　bartender；　a　massive　bald　man　with　steel…rimmed　glasses；　picked　up　a　telephone　concealed　below　the　far　end　of　the　bar　and　brought　it　to　his　ear。　Jason　watched　him　between　the　roving　figures。　The　man's　eyes　spun　around　the　crowded　room…what　he　heard　appeared　to　be　important；　what　he　saw；　dismissible。　He　spoke　briefly；　plunged　his　hand　below　the　bar　and　kept　it　there　for　several　moments；　he　had　dialed。　Again；　he　spoke　quickly；　then　calmly　replaced　the　phone　out　of　sight。　It　was　the　kind　of　sequence　described　by　old　Fontaine　on　Tranquility　Isle。　Message　received；　message　relayed。　And　at　the　end　of　that　receiving　line　was　the　Jackal。
　It　was　all　he　wanted　to　see　that　evening；　there　were　things　to　consider；　perhaps　men　to　hire；　as　he　had　hired　men　in　the　past。　Expendable　men　who　meant　nothing　to　him；　people　who　could　be　paid　or　bribed；　blackmailed　or　threatened　into　doing　what　he　wanted　them　to　do　without　explanation。
　〃I　just　spotted　the　man　I　was　to　meet　here；〃　he　said　to　the　barely　conscious　Maurice　and　Ralph。　〃He　wants　me　to　go　outside。〃
　〃You're　leaving　us？〃　whined　the　Belgian。
　〃Hey；　man；　you　shouldn't　do　thay…at；〃　added　the　young　American　from　the　South。
　〃Only　for　tonight。〃　Bourne　leaned　over　the　table。　〃I'm　working　with　another　légionnaire；　someone　who's　on　to　something　that　involves　a　lot　of　money。　I　don't　know　you；　but　you　seem　like　decent　men。〃　Bourne　pulled　out　his　roll　of　bills　and　peeled　off　a　thousand　francs；　five　hundred　for　each　of　his　panions。　〃Take　this；　both　of　you…shove　it　in　your　pockets；　quickly！〃
　〃Holy　shee…itt！〃
　〃Merde！〃
　〃It's　no　guarantee；　but　maybe　we　can　use　you。　Keep　your　mouths　shut　and　get　out　of　here　ten　or　fifteen　minutes　after　I　leave。　Also；　no　more　wine。　I　want　you　sober　tomorrow。　。。。　When　does　this　place　open；　Maurice？〃
　〃I'm　not　sure　it　closes。　I　myself　have　been　here　at　eight　o'clock　in　the　morning。　Naturally；　it　is　not　so　crowded…〃
　〃Be　here　around　noon。　But　with　clear　heads；　all　right？〃
　〃I　shall　be　le　caporal　extraordinaire　of　La　Légion。　The　man　that　I　once　was！　Should　I　wear　my　uniform？〃　Maurice　belched。
　〃Hell；　no。〃
　〃Ah'll　wear　a　suit　and　a　tie。　I　got　a　suit　and　a　tie；　honest！〃　The　American　hiccupped。
　〃No。　Both　of　you　be　like　you　are　now；　but　with　your　heads　straight。　Do　you　understand　me？〃
　〃You　sound　Très　américain；　mon　ami。〃
　〃He　sure　do。〃
　〃I'm　not；　but　then　the　truth's　not　a　modity　here；　is　it？〃
　〃Ah　know　what　he　means。　I　learned　it　real　well。　You　kinda　fib　with　a　tie　on。〃
　〃No　tie；　Ralph。　See　you　tomorrow。〃　Bourne　slid　out　of　the　booth；　and　suddenly　a　thought　struck　him。　Instead　of　heading　for　the　door；　he　cautiously　made　his　way　to　the　far　end　of　the　bar　and　the　huge　bald　bartender。　No　seats　were　available；　so；　again　cautiously；　politely；　he　squeezed　sideways　between　two　customers；　ordered　a　Pemod　and　asked　for　a　napkin　on　which　to　write　a　message；　ostensibly　personal；　to　no　one　who　might　concern　the　establishment。　On　the　back　of　the　napkin's　crude　coat　of　arms；　he　wrote　the　following　with　his　ballpoint　pen　in　French：
　The　nest　of　a　blackbird　is　worth　a　million　francs。　Object：　confidential　business　advice。　If　interested；　be　at　the　old　factory　around　the　corner　in　thirty　minutes。　Where　is　the　harm？　An　additional　5000　F　for　being　there　alone。
　Bourne　palmed　the　napkin　along　with　a　hundred…franc　note　and　signaled　the　bartender；　who　adjusted　his　steel…rimmed　glasses　as　if　the　unknown　patron's　gesture　were　an　impertinence。　Slowly　he　moved　his　large　body　forward；　and　leaned　his　thick　tattooed　arms　on　the　bar。　〃What　is　it？〃　he　asked　gruffly。
　〃I　have　written　out　a　message　for　you；〃　replied　the　Chameleon；　his　eyes　steady；　focused　on　the　bartender's　glasses。　〃I　am　by　myself　and　hope　you　will　consider　the　request。　I　am　a　man　who　carries　wounds　but　I　am　not　a　poor　man。〃　Bourne　quickly　but　gently…very　gently…reached　for　the　bartender's　hand；　passing　the　napkin　and　the　franc　note。　With　a　final　imploring　look　at　the　astonished　man；　Jason　turned　and　headed　for　the　door；　his　limp　pronounced。
　Outside；　Bourne　hurried　up　the　cracked　pavement　toward　the　alley's　entrance。　He　judged　that　his　interlude　at　the　bar　had　taken　between　eight　and　twelve　minutes。　Knowing　the　bartender　was　watching　him；　he　had　purposely　not　tried　to　see　if　his　two　panions　were　still　at　the　table；　but　he　assumed　they　were。　Tank　Shirt　and　Field　Jac