rl.thebourneultimatum-第84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！


　〃I　missed　that。　I　heard　it；　but　it　didn't　make　any　sense　to　me。　
　〃Why　should　it；　Mr。　Aleksei　Konsolikov？〃　Holland　smiled。　〃Underneath　that　Anglo…Saxon　exterior；　education　and　all；　beats　the　heart　of　a　Russian。　You're　not　sensitive　to　what　some　of　us　have　to　endure。〃
　〃Huh？〃
　〃I'm　a　WASP；　and　'blondie　fruits'　is　but　one　more　pejorative　description　given　us　by；　I　must　admit；　other　trampled…upon　minorities。　Think　about　it。　Armbruster；　Swayne；　Atkinson；　Burton；　Teagarten…'blondies'　all。　And　Wall　Street；　certain　firms　in　that　originally　WASP　financial　bastion；　at　any　rate。〃
　〃Medusa；〃　said　Alex；　nodding。　〃Medusa　and　the　Mafia。　。。。　Holy　Christ。〃
　〃We've　got　a　telephone　number！〃　Peter　leaned　forward　on　the　couch。　〃It　was　in　the　ledger　Bourne　brought　out　of　Swayne's　house。〃
　〃I've　tried　it；　remember？　It's　an　answering　machine；　that's　all　it　is。〃
　〃And　that's　enough。　We　can　get　a　location。〃
　〃To　what　end？　Whoever　picks　up　the　messages　does　it　by　remote；　and　if　he　or　she　has　half　a　brain；　it's　done　from　a　public　phone。　The　relay　is　not　only　untraceable　but　capable　of　erasing　all　other　messages；　so　we　can't　tap　in。〃
　〃You're　not　very　into　high　tech；　are　you；　Field　Man？〃
　〃Let's　put　it　this　way；〃　replied　Conklin。　〃I　bought　one　of　those　VCRs　so　I　could　watch　old　movies；　and　I　can't　figure　out　how　to　turn　off　the　goddamn　blinking　clock。　I　called　the　dealer　and　he　said；　'Read　the　instructions　on　the　interior　panel。'　I　can't　find　the　interior　panel。〃
　〃Then　let　me　explain　what　we　can　do　to　an　answering　machine。　。。。　We　can　jam　it　externally。〃
　〃Gee　willikers；　Sandy；　what's　next　for　Orphan　Annie？　What　the　hell　is　that　going　to　do？　Other　than　kill　the　source。〃
　〃You're　forgetting。　We　have　the　location　from　the　numbers。〃
　〃Oh？〃
　〃Someone　has　to　e　and　repair　the　machine。〃
　〃Oh。〃
　〃We　take　him　and　find　out　who　sent　him　there。〃
　〃You　know；　Peter；　you've　got　possibilities。　For　a　neophyte；　you　understand；　your　current　outrageously　undeserved　position　notwithstanding。〃
　〃Sorry　I　can't　offer　you　a　drink。〃
　Bryce　Ogilvie；　of　the　law　firm　Ogilvie；　Spofford；　Crawford　and　Cohen；　was　dictating　a　highly　plex　reply　to　the　Justice　Department's　antitrust　division　when　his　very　private　telephone　line　rang；　it　rang　only　at　his　desk。　He　picked　up　the　phone；　pressed　the　green　button　and　spoke　rapidly。　〃Hold　on；〃　he　ordered；　looking　up　at　his　secretary。　〃Would　you　excuse　me；　please？〃
　〃Certainly；　sir。〃　The　secretary　got　out　of　her　chair；　walked　across　the　large　impressive　office　and　disappeared　beyond　the　door。
　〃Yes；　what　is　it？〃　asked　Ogilvie；　returning　to　the　phone。
　〃The　machine　isn't　working；〃　said　the　voice　on　the　sacrosanct　line。
　〃What　happened？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　All　I　get　is　a　busy　signal。〃
　〃That's　the　best　equipment　available。　Perhaps　someone　was　calling　in　when　you　called。〃
　〃I've　been　trying　for　the　past　two　hours。　There's　a　glitch。　Even　the　best　machines　break　down。〃
　〃All　right；　send　someone　up　to　check　it　out。　Use　one　of　the　niggers。〃
　〃Naturally。　No　white　man　would　go　up　there。〃
　
　25
　It　was　shortly　past　midnight　when　Bourne　got　off　the　métro　in　Argenteuil。　He　had　divided　the　day　into　segments；　splitting　the　hours　between　the　arrangements　he　had　to　make　and　looking　for　Marie；　going　from　one　arrondissement　to　another；　scouting　every　café；　every　shop；　every　large　and　small　hotel　he　could　recall　having　been　a　part　of　their　fugitive　nightmare　thirteen　years　ago。　More　than　once　he　had　gasped；　seeing　a　woman　in　the　distance　or　across　a　café…the　back　of　a　head；　a　quick　profile；　and　twice　a　crown　of　dark　red　hair；　any　of　which　from　a　distance　or　in　a　café's　dim　light　might　have　belonged　to　his　wife。　None　of　these　had　turned　out　to　be　Marie；　but　he　began　to　understand　his　own　anxiety　and；　by　understanding　it；　was　better　able　to　control　it。　These　were　the　most　impossible　parts　of　the　day；　the　rest　was　merely　filled　with　difficulty　and　frustration。
　Alex！　Where　the　hell　was　Conklin？　He　could　not　reach　him　in　Virginia！　Because　of　the　time　difference；　he　had　counted　on　Alex　to　take　care　of　the　details；　swiftly　expediting　the　transfer　of　funds；　primarily。　The　business　day　on　the　eastern　seaboard　of　the　United　States　began　at　four　o'clock；　Paris　time；　and　the　business　day　in　Paris　stopped　at　five　o'clock　or　before；　Paris　time。　That　left　barely　an　hour　to　release　and　transfer　over　a　million　American　dollars　to　one　Mr。　Simon　at　his　chosen　bank　in　Paris；　and　that　meant　said　Mr。　Simon　had　to　make　himself　known　to　the　aforementioned；　as　yet　unchosen；　Paris　bank。　Bernardine　had　been　helpful。　Helpful；　hell！　He　had　made　it　possible。
　〃There's　a　bank　on　the　rue　de　Grenelle　that　the　Deuxième　frequently　uses。　They　can　be　acmodating　in　terms　of　hours　and　the　absence　of　an　authentic　signature　or　two；　but　they　give　nothing　for　nothing；　and　they　trust　no　one；　especially　anyone　associated　with　our　benevolent　socialist　government。〃
　〃You　mean　regardless　of　the　teletypes；　if　the　money's　not　there　you　don't　get　it。〃
　〃Not　a　sou。　The　president；　himself；　could　call　and　he　would　be　told　to　pick　it　up　in　Moscow；　where　they　firmly　believe　he　belongs。〃
　〃Since　I　can't　reach　Alex；　I've　bypassed　the　bank　in　Boston　and　called　our　man　in　the　Cayman　Islands；　where　Marie　put　the　bulk　of　the　money。　He's　Canadian　and　so's　the　bank。　He's　waiting　for　instructions。〃
　〃I'll　make　a　phone　call。　Are　you　at　the　Pont…Royal？〃
　〃No。　I'll　call　you　back。〃
　〃Where　are　you？〃
　〃I　suppose　you　could　say　I'm　an　anxious　and　confused　butterfly　going　from　one　vaguely　remembered　place　to　another。〃
　〃You　are　looking　for　her。〃
　〃Yes。　But　then　that　wasn't　a　question；　was　it？〃
　〃Forgive　me；　but　in　some　ways　I　hope　you　do　not　find　her。〃
　〃Thanks。　I'll　call　you　back　in　twenty　minutes。〃
　He　had　gone　to　yet　another　point　of　recall；　the　Trocadéro；　and　the　Palais　de　Chaillot。　He　had　been　shot　at　in　the　past　on　one　of　the　terraces；　there　had　been　gunfire　and　men　running　down　the　endless　stone　steps；　intermittently　obscured　by　the　huge　gilded　statues　and　the　great　sprays　of　the　fountains；　disappearing　into　the　formal　gardens；　finally　out　of　sight；　out　of　range。　What　had　happened？　Why　did　he　remember　the　Trocadéro？　。。。　But　Marie　had　been　there…somewhere。　Where　had　she　been　in　that　enormous　plex？　Where？　。。。　A　terrace！　She　had　been　on　a　terrace。　Near　a　statue…what　statue？　。。。　Descartes？　Racine？　Talleyrand？　The　statue　of　Descartes　came　to　his　mind　first。　He　would　find　it。
　He　had　found　it　and　there　was　no　Marie。　He　had　looked　at　his　watch；　it　had　been　nearly　forty…five　minutes　since　he　had　talked　to　Bernardine。　Like　the　men　in　his　inner　screen；　he　had　raced　down　the　steps。　To　a　telephone。
　〃Go　to　the　Banque　Normandie　and　ask　for　Monsieur　Tabouri。　He　understands　that　a　Monsieur　Simon　intends　to　transfer　over　seven　million　francs　from　the　Caymans　by　way　of　voice　authorization　through　his　private　banker　in　the　islands。　He　is　most　happy　to　let　you　use　his　phone；　but　believe　me；　he'll　charge　you　for　the　call。〃
　〃Thanks；　Fran？ois。〃
　〃Where　are　you　now？〃
　〃The　Trocadéro。　It's　crazy。　I　have　the　damnedest　feelings；　like　vibrations；　but　she's　not　there。　It's　probably　the　things　I　can't　remember。　Hell；　I　may　have　taken　a　bullet　here；　I　simply　don't　know。〃
　〃Go　to　the　bank。〃
　He　had　done　so；　and　within　thirty…five　minutes　after　his　call　to　the　Caymans；　the　olive…skinned；　perpetually　smiling　Monsieur　Tabouri　confirmed　that　his　funds　were　in　place。　He　re　quested　750；000　francs　in　the　largest　notes　possible。　They　were　delivered　to　him；　and　the　grinning　obsequious　banker　took　him　confidentially　aside；　away　from　the　desk…which　was　rather　foolish；　as　there　was　no　one　else　in　the　office…and　spoke　quietly　by　a　window。
　〃There　are　some　marvelous　real　estate　opportunities　in　Beirut；　believe　me；　I　know。　I　am　the　expert　on　the　Middle　East　and　these　stupid　conflagrations　cannot　last　much　longer。　Mon　Dieu；　no　one　will　be　left　alive！　It　will　once　again　rise　as　the　Paris　of　the　Mediterranean。　Estates　for　a　fraction　of　their　value；　hotels　for　a　ridiculous　price！〃
　〃It　sounds　interesting。　I'll　be　in　touch。〃
　He　had　fled　the　Banque　Normandie　as　if　its　confines　held　the　germs　of　a　lethal　disease。　He　had　returned　to　the　Pont…Royal；　and　again　tried　to　reach　Alex　Conklin　in　the　United　States。　It　was　then　close　to　one　o'clock　in　the　afternoon　in　Vienna；　Virginia；　and　still　all　he　had　heard　was　an　answering　machine　with　Alex's　disembodied　voice　instructing　the　caller　to　leave　a　message。　For　any　number　of　reasons；　Jason　had　chosen　not　to　do　so。
　And　now　he　was　in　Argenteuil；　walking　up　the　steps　of　the　métro　to　the　pavement；　where　he　would　slowly；　cautiously　make　his　way　into　the　uglier　streets　and　the　vicinity　of　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat。　His　instructions　were　clear。　He　was　not　to　be　the　man　he　was　last　night；　no　limp；　no　ragged　cast…off　army　clothing；　no　image　that　anyone　might　recognize。　He　was　to　be　a　simple　laborer　and　reach　the　gates　of　the　old　closed…down　refinery　and　smoke　cigarettes　while　leaning　against　the　wall。　This　was　to　take　place　between　12：30　and　one　o'clock　in　the　morning。　No　sooner　and　no　later。
　When　he　had　asked　Santos's　messengers…after　giving　them　several　hundred　francs　for　their　inconvenience…the　reason　for　these　late…night　precautions；