rl.thebourneultimatum-第99节

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r。〃
　Holland　angrily　reached　for　the　recorder；　snapping　it　off。　〃You're　on　your　way　to　Hatteras；　you　son　of　a　bitch！〃
　〃Hey；　you　get　your　info　your　way；　I　give　it　mine；　okay？　There　was　a　map…there's　always　a　map…and　each　of　us　has　to　take　those　cockamamy　back　roads　to　the　joint　like　we　were　driving　the　president　or　even　a　don　superiore　to　an　Appalachian　meet。　。。。　You　gimme　that　message　pad　and　the　pencil；　I'll　give　you　the　location　right　down　to　the　brass　plate　on　the　stone　gate。〃　The　mafioso　raised　his　uncased　right　arm　and　jabbed　his　index　finger　at　the　DCI。　〃It'll　be　accurate；　Mr。　Big　Shot；　because　I　don't　wanna　sleep　with　no　fishes；　capisce？〃
　〃But　you　won't　put　it　on　tape；〃　said　Holland；　a　disturbed　inflection　in　his　voice。　〃Why　not？〃
　〃Tape；　shit！　What　did　you　call　it？　An　interagency　master　bullshit？　What　do　you　think　。。。　our　people　can't　tap　into　this　place？　Hoo…hah！　That　fuckin'　doctor　of　yours　could　be　one　of　us！〃
　〃He's　not；　but　we're　going　to　get　to　an　army　doctor　who　is。〃　Peter　Holland　picked　up　the　message　pad　and　pencil　from　the　bedside　table；　handing　both　to　Dellacroce。　He　did　not　bother　to　switch　on　the　tape　recorder。　They　were　beyond　props　and　into　hardball。
　
　In　New　York　City；　on　138th　Street　between　Broadway　and　Amsterdam　Avenue；　the　hard　core　of　Harlem；　a　large　disheveled　black　man　in　his　mid…thirties　staggered　up　the　sidewalk。　He　bounced　off　the　chipped　brick　wall　of　a　run…down　apartment　building　and　slumped　down　on　the　pavement；　his　legs　extended；　his　unshaven　face　angled　into　the　right　collar　of　his　torn　army…surplus　shirt。
　〃With　the　looks　I'm　getting；〃　he　said　quietly　into　the　miniaturized　microphone　under　the　cloth；　〃you'd　think　I'd　invaded　the　high　colonic　white　shopping　district　of　Palm　Springs。〃
　〃You're　doing　beautifully；〃　came　the　metallic　voice　over　the　tiny　speaker　sewn　into　the　back　of　the　agent's　collar。　〃We've　got　the　place　covered；　we'll　give　you　plenty　of　notice。　That　answering　machine's　so　jammed　it's　sending　out　whistling　smoke。〃
　〃How　did　you　two　lily　boys　get　into　that　trap　over　there？〃
　〃Very　early　this　morning；　so　early　no　one　noticed　what　we　looked　like。〃
　〃I　can't　wait　to　watch　you　get　out；　it's　a　needle　condo　if　I　ever　saw　one。　Speaking　of　which；　which　we　are　in　a　way；　are　the　cops　on　this　beat　alerted？　I'd　hate　like　hell　to　get　hauled　in　after　growing　this　bristle　on　my　face。　It　itches　like　crazy　and　my　new　wife　of　three　weeks　doesn't　dig　it。〃
　〃You　should　have　stayed　with　the　first　one；　buddy。〃
　〃Funny　little　white　boy。　She　didn't　like　the　hours　or　the　geography。　Like　in　being　away　for　weeks　at　a　time　playing　games　in　Zimbabwe。　Answer　me；　please？〃
　〃The　blue　coats　have　your　description　and　the　scenario。　You're　part　of　a　federal　bust；　so　they'll　leave　you　alone。　。。。　Hold　it！　Conversation's　over。　This　has　to　be　our　man；　he's　got　a　telephone　satchel　strapped　to　his　belt。　。。。　It　is。　He's　heading　for　the　doorway。　It's　all　yours；　Emperor　Jones。〃
　〃Funny　little　white　boy。　。。。　I've　got　him　and　I　can　tell　you　now　he's　a　soft　chocolate　mousse。　He's　scared　shitless　to　go　into　this　palace。〃
　〃Which　means　he's　legitimate；〃　said　the　metallic　voice　in　the　collar。　〃That's　good。〃
　〃That's　bad；　junior；〃　countered　the　black　agent　instantly。
　〃If　you're　right；　he　doesn't　know　anything；　and　the　layers　between　him　and　the　source　will　be　as　thick　as　Southern　molasses。〃
　〃Oh？　Then　how　do　you　read　it？〃
　〃On…scene　tech。　I　have　to　see　the　numbers　when　he　programs　them　into　his　troubleshooter。〃
　〃What　the　hell　does　that　mean？〃
　〃He　may　be　legit；　but　he's　also　been　frightened　and　not　by　the　premises。〃
　〃What　does　that　mean？〃
　〃It's　all　over　his　face；　man。　He　could　enter　in　false　numbers　if　he　thinks　he's　being　followed　or　watched。〃
　〃You've　lost　me；　buddy。〃
　〃He　has　to　duplicate　the　digits　that　correspond　to　the　remote　so　the　beeps　can　be　relayed…〃
　〃Forget　it；〃　said　the　voice　from　the　back　of　the　collar。　〃That　high…tech　I'm　not。　Besides；　we　got　a　man　down　at　that　pany；　Reco…something…or…other；　now。　He's　waiting　for　you。〃
　〃Then　I've　got　work　to　do。　Out；　but　keep　me　monitored。〃　The　agent　rose　from　the　pavement　and　unsteadily　made　his　way　into　the　dilapidated　building。　The　telephone　repairman　had　reached　the　second　floor；　where　he　turned　right　in　the　narrow；　filthy　corridor；　he　had　obviously　been　there　before；　as　there　was　no　hesitation；　no　checking　the　barely　legible　numbers　on　the　doors。　Things　were　going　to　be　a　little　easier；　considered　the　CIA　man；　grateful　because　his　assignment　was　beyond　the　purview　of　the　Agency。　Purview；　shit；　it　was　illegal。
　The　agent　took　the　steps　three　at　a　time；　his　soft　double…soled　rubber　shoes　reducing　the　noise　to　the　inevitable　creaks　of　an　old　staircase。　His　back　against　the　wall；　he　peered　around　the　corner　of　the　trash…filled　hallway　and　watched　the　repairman　insert　three　separate　keys　into　three　vertical　locks；　turning　each　in　succession　and　entering　the　last　door　on　the　left。　Things；　reconsidered　the　agent；　might　not　be　so　easy　after　all。　The　instant　the　man　closed　the　door；　he　ran　silently　down　the　corridor　and　stood　motionless；　listening。　Not　wonderful；　but　not　the　worst；　he　thought　as　he　heard　the　sound　of　only　one　lock　being　latched；　the　repairman　was　in　a　hurry。　He　placed　his　ear　against　the　peeling　paint　of　the　door　and　held　his　breath；　no　echo　from　his　lungs　disturbing　his　hearing。　Thirty　seconds　later　he　turned　his　head；　exhaled；　then　took　a　deep　breath　and　went　back　to　the　door。　Although　muffled；　he　heard　the　words　clearly　enough　to　piece　together　the　meaning。
　〃Central；　this　is　Mike　up　on　a　Hundred　Thirty…eighth　Street；　section　twelve；　machine　sixteen。　Is　there　another　unit　in　this　building；　which　I　wouldn't　believe　if　you　said　there　was。〃　The　following　silence　lasted　perhaps　twenty　additional　seconds。　。。。　We　don't；　huh？　Well；　we　got　a　frequency　interference　and　it　don't　make　no　sense　to　me。　。。。　The　what？　Cable　TV？　Ain't　no　one　in　this　neighborhood　got　the　bread　for　that。　。。。　Oh；　I　gotcha；　brother。　Area　cable。　The　drug　boys　live　high；　don't　they？　Their　addresses　may　be　shit；　but　inside　them　homes　they　got　theyselves　a　pile　of　fancy　crap。　。。。　So　clear　the　line　and　reroute　it。　I'll　stay　here　until　I　get　a　clean　signal；　okay；　brother？〃
　The　agent　again　turned　away　from　the　door　and　again　breathed；　now　in　relief。　He　could　leave　without　a　confrontation；　he　had　all　he　needed。　One　Hundred　Thirty…eighth　Street；　section　twelve；　machine　sixteen；　and　they　knew　the　firm　that　installed　the　equipment。　The　Reco…Metropolitan　pany；　Sheridan　Square；　New　York。　The　lily…whites　could　handle　it　from　there。　He　walked　back　to　the　questionable　staircase　and　lifted　the　collar　of　his　army…surplus　shirt。　〃In　case　I　get　run　over　by　a　truck；　here's　the　input。　Are　you　reading　me？〃
　〃Loud　and　clear；　Emperor　Jones。〃
　〃It's　machine　sixteen　in　what　they　call　section　twelve。〃
　〃Got　it！　You've　earned　your　paycheck。〃
　〃You　might　at　least　say；　'Outstanding；　old　chap。'　〃
　〃Hey；　you're　the　guy　who　went　to　college　over　there；　not　me。〃
　〃Some　of　us　are　overachievers。　。。。　Hold　it！　I've　got　pany！〃
　Below　on　the　bottom　of　the　staircase　a　small　pact　black　man　appeared；　his　dark　eyes　bulging；　staring　up　at　the　agent；　a　gun　in　his　hand。　The　CIA　man　spun　behind　the　edge　of　the　wall　as　four　successive　gunshots　shattered　the　corridor。　Lunging　across　the　open　space；　his　revolver　ripped　from　its　holster；　the　agent　fired　twice；　but　once　was　enough。　His　assailant　fell　to　the　floor　of　the　soiled　lobby。
　〃I　caught　a　ricochet　in　my　leg！〃　cried　the　agent。　〃But　he's　down…deep　dead　or　not　I　can't　tell。　Sweep　up　the　vehicle　and　get　us　both　out。　Pronto。〃
　〃On　its　way。　Stay　put！〃
　It　was　shortly　past　eight　o'clock　the　next　morning　when　Alex　Conklin　limped　into　Peter　Holland's　office。　The　guards　at　the　CIA　gates　were　impressed　with　his　immediate　access　to　the　director。
　〃Anything？〃　asked　the　DCI；　looking　up　from　the　papers　on　his　desk。
　〃Nothing；〃　answered　the　retired　field　officer　angrily；　heading　for　the　couch　against　the　wall　rather　than　a　chair。　〃Not　a　goddamned　thing。　Jesus；　what　a　fucked…up　day　and　it　hasn't　even　begun！　Casset　and　Valentino　are　down　in　the　cellars　sending　out　queries　all　over　the　Paris　sewers　but　so　far　nothing。　。。。　Christ；　look　at　the　scenario　and　find　me　a　thread！　Swayne；　Armbruster；　DeSole…our　mute　son　of　a　bitch；　the　mole。　Then　for　God's　sake；　Teagarten　with　Bourne's　calling　card；　when　we　know　damned　well　it's　a　trap　for　Jason　set　by　the　Jackal。　But　there's　no　logic　anywhere　that　ties　Carlos　to　Teagarten　and　by　extension　to　Medusa。　Nothing　makes　sense；　Peter。　We've　lost　the　spine…everything's　gone　off　the　wire！〃
　〃Calm　down；〃　said　Holland　gently。
　〃How　the　hell　can　I？　Bourne's　disappeared…I　mean　really　disappeared；　if　he　isn't　dead。　And　there's　no　trace　of　Marie；　no　word　from　her；　and　then　we　learn　that　Bernardine　was　killed　in　a　shoot…out　only　hours　ago　on　the　Rivoli…Christ；　shot　in　broad　daylight！　And　that　means　Jason　was　there…he　had　to　be　there！〃
　〃But　since　none　of　the　dead　or　wounded　fits　his　description；　we　can　assume　he　got　away；　can't　we？〃
　〃We　can　hope；　yes。〃
　〃You　asked　for　a　thread；〃　mused　the　DCI。　〃I'm　not　sure　I　can　actually　provide　one；　but　I　can　give　you　something　like　it。
　〃New　York？〃　Conkl