rl.thebourneidentity-第13节

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　'What？　Who　are　you？'
　'I'm　a　friend　of　Walther　Apfel！　Listen　to　me！　The　man　wearing　gold…rimmed　glasses；　in　a　black　raincoat。　Over　there！'
　Bureaucratic　mentality　had　not　changed　in　several　millennia。　At　the　mention　of　a　superior　officer's　name；　one　followed　orders。
　'Herr　Apfel　I'　The　Gemeinschaft　receptionist　turned　to　the　guard。　'You　heard　him！　The　man　wearing　glasses。　Gold…rimmed　glasses！'
　'Yes；　sir！'　The　guard　raced　forward。
　Jason　edged　past　the　receptionist　to　the　glass　doors。　He　shoved　the　door　on　the　right　open；　glancing　behind　him；　knowing　he　had　to　run　again；　but　not　knowing　if　a　man　outside　on　the　pavement；　waiting　by　a　brown　Peugeot；　would　recognize　him　and　fire　a　bullet　into　his　head。
　The　guard　had　run　past　a　man　in　a　black　raincoat；　a　man　walking　more　slowly　than　the　panicked　figures　around　him；　a　man　wearing　no　glasses　at　all。　He　accelerated　his　pace　towards　the　entrance；　towards　Bourne。
　Out　on　the　pavement；　the　growing　chaos　was　Jason's　protection。　Word　had　gone　out　of　the　bank；　wailing　sirens　grew　louder　as　police　cars　raced　up　the　Bahnhofstrasse。　He　walked　several　yards　to　the　right；　flanked　by　pedestrians；　then　suddenly　ran；　wedging　his　way　into　a　curious　crowd　taking　refuge　in　a　shop…front；　his　attention　on　the　cars　at　the　kerb。　He　saw　the　Peugeot；　saw　the　man　standing　beside　it；　his　hand　ominously　in　his　overcoat　pocket。　In　less　than　fifteen　seconds；　the　driver　of　the　Peugeot　was　joined　by　the　man　in　the　black　raincoat；　now　replacing　his　gold…rimmed　glasses；　adjusting　his　eyes　to　his　restored　vision。　The　two　men　conferred　rapidly；　their　eyes　scanning　the　Bahnhofstrasse。
　Bourne　understood　their　confusion。　He　had　walked　with　an　absence　of　panic　out　through　the　Gemeinschaft's　glass　doors　into　the　crowd。　He　had　been　prepared　to　run；　but　he　had　not　run；　for　fear　of　being　stopped　until　he　was　reasonably　clear　of　the　entrance。　No　one　else　had　been　permitted　to　do　so　…　and　the　driver　of　the　Peugeot　had　not　made　the　connection。　He　had　not　recognized　the　target　identified　and　marked　for　execution　in　Marseilles。
　The　first　police　car　reached　the　scene　as　the　man　in　the　gold…rimmed　spectacles　removed　his　raincoat；　shoving　it　through　the　open　window　of　the　Peugeot。　He　nodded　to　the　driver；　who　climbed　in　behind　the　wheel　and　started　the　engine。　The　killer　took　off　his　delicate　glasses　and　did　the　most　unexpected　thing　Jason　could　imagine。　He　walked　rapidly　back　towards　the　glass　doors　of　the　Bank；　joining　the　police　who　were　racing　inside。
　Bourne　watched　as　the　Peugeot　swung　away　from　the　kerb　and　sped　off　down　the　Bahnhofstrasse。　The　crowd　in　the　shop…front　began　to　disperse；　many　edging　their　way　towards　the　glass　doors；　craning　their　necks　around　one　another；　rising　on　the　balls　of　their　feet；　peering　inside。　A　police　officer　came　out；　waving　the　curious　back；　demanding　that　a　path　be　cleared　to　the　kerb。　As　he　shouted；　an　ambulance　careened　around　the　north…west　corner；　its　horn　joining　the　sharp；　piercing　notes　from　its　roof；　warning　all　to　get　out　of　its　way；　the　driver　nosed　his　outsized　vehicle　to　a　stop　in　the　space　created　by　the　departed　Peugeot。　Jason　could　watch　no　longer。　He　had　to　get　to　the　Carillon　du　Lac；　gather　his　things　and　get　out　of　Zurich；　out　of　Switzerland。　To　Paris。
　Why　Paris？　Why　had　he　insisted　that　the　funds　be　transferred　to　Paris！　It　had　not　occurred　to　him　before　he　sat　in　Walther　Apfel's　office；　stunned　by　the　extraordinary　figures　presented　him。　They　had　been　beyond　anything　in　his　imagination　…　so　much　so　that　he　could　only　react　numbly；　instinctively。　And　instinct　had　evoked　the　city　of　Paris。　As　though　it　were　somehow　vital。　Why？
　Again；　no　time。。。　He　saw　the　ambulance　crew　carry　a　stretcher　through　the　doors　of　the　bank。　On　it　was　a　body；　the　head　covered；　signifying　death。　The　significance　was　not　lost　on　Bourne；　save　for　skills　he　could　not　relate　to　anything　he　understood；　he　was　the　dead　man　on　that　stretcher。
　He　saw　an　empty　taxi　at　the　corner　and　ran　towards　it。　He　had　to　get　out　of　Zurich；　a　message　had　been　sent　from　Marseilles；　yet　the　dead　man　was　alive。　Jason　Bourne　was　alive。　Kill　him。　Kill　Jason　Bourne！
　God　in　heaven；　why！
　He　was　hoping　to　see　the　Carillon　du　Lac's　assistant　manager　behind　the　front　desk；　but　he　was　not　there。　Then　he　realized　that　a　short　note　to　the　man　…　what　was　his　name？　Stossel？　Yes；　Stossel　…　would　be　sufficient　An　explanation　for　his　sudden　departure　was　not　required　and　five　hundred　francs　would　easily　take　care　of　the　few　hours　he　had　accepted　from　the　Carillon　du　Lac　…　and　the　favour　he　would　ask　of　Heir　Stossel。
　In　his　room　he　threw　his　shaving　equipment　into　his　suitcase；　checked　the　pistol　he　had　taken　from　the　Frenchman；　leaving　it　in　his　overcoat　pocket；　and　sat　down　at　the　desk；　he　wrote　out　the　note　for　Herr　Stossel。　In　it　he　included　a　sentence　that　came　easily　…　almost　too　easily。
　。。。　he　may　be　in　contact　with　you　shortly　relative　to　messages　I　expect　will　have　been　sent　to　me。　I　trust　it　will　be　convenient　for　you　to　keep　an　eye　out　for　them；　and　accept　them　on　my　behalf。
　If　any　munication　came　from　the　elusive　Treadstone　Seventy…one；　he　wanted　to　know　about　it。　This　was　Zurich；　he　would。
　He　put　a　five…hundred…franc　note　between　the　folded　stationery　and　sealed　the　envelope。　Then　he　picked　up　his　suitcase；　walked　out　of　the　room；　and　went　down　the　hall　to　the　bank　of　lifts。　There　were　four；　he　touched　a　button　and　looked　behind　him；　remembering　the　Gemeinschaft。　There　was　no　one　there；　a　bell　pinged　and　the　red　light　above　the　third　lift　flashed　on。　He　had　caught　a　descending　machine。　Fine。　He　had　to　get　to　the　airport　just　as　fast　as　he　could；　he　had　to　get　out　of　Zurich；　out　of　Switzerland。　A　message　had　been　delivered。
　The　lift　doors　opened。　Two　men　stood　on　either　side　of　an　auburn…haired　woman；　they　interrupted　their　conversation；　nodded　at　the　newer　…　noting　the　suitcase　and　moving　to　the　side　…　then　resumed　talking　as　the　doors　closed。　They　were　in　their　mid…thirties　and　spoke　French　softly；　rapidly；　the　woman　glancing　alternately　at　both　men；　alternately　smiling　and　looking　pensive。　Decisions　of　no　great　import　were　being　made。　Laughter　intermingled　with　semi…serious　interrogation。
　'You'll　be　going　home　then　after　the　summations　tomorrow？'　asked　the　man　on　the　left
　'I'm　not　sure。　I'm　waiting　for　word　from　Ottawa；'　the　woman　replied。　'I　have　relations　in　Lyons；　it　would　be　good　to　see　them。'
　'It's　impossible；'　said　the　man　on　the　right；　'for　the　steering　mittee　to　find　ten　people　willing　to　summarize　this　Godforsaken　conference　in　a　single　day。　We'll　all　be　here　another　week。'
　'Brussels　will　not　approve；'　said　the　first　man　grinning。　The　hotel's　too　expensive。'
　Then　by　all　means　move　to　another；'　said　the　second　with　a　leer　at　the　woman。　'We've　been　waiting　for　you　to　do　just　that；　haven't　we？'
　'You're　a　lunatic；'　said　the　woman。　'You're　both　lunatics；　and　that's　my　summation。'
　'You're　not；　Marie；'　interjected　the　first。　'A　lunatic；　I　mean。　Your　presentation　yesterday　was　brilliant。'
　'It　was　nothing　of　the　son；'　she　said。　'It　was　routine　and　quite　dull。'
　'No；　no！'　disagreed　the　second。　'It　was　superb；　it　had　to　be。　I　didn't　understand　a　word。　But　then　I　have　other　talents。'。　'Lunatic。。。'
　The　lift　was　braking；　the　first　man　spoke　again。　'Let's　sit　in　the　back　row　of　the　hall。　We're　late　anyway　and　Bertinelli　is　speaking　…　to　little　effect；　I　suggest。　His　theories　of　enforced　cyclical　fluctuations　went　out　with　the　finances　of　the　Borgias。'
　'Before　then；'　said　the　auburn…haired　woman；　laughing。　'Caesar's　taxes。'　She　paused；　then　added；　'If　not　the　Punic　Wars。'
　The　back　row　then；　said　the　second　man；　offering　his　arm　to　the　woman。　'We　can　sleep。　He　uses　a　slide　projector；　it'll　be　dark。'
　'No；　you　two　go　ahead；　I'll　join　you　in　a　few　minutes。　I　really　must　send　off　some　cables　and　I　don't　trust　the　telephone　operators　to　get　them　right。'
　The　doors　opened　and　the　threesome　walked　out　of　the　lift　The　two　men　started　diagonally　across　the　lobby　together；　the　woman　towards　the　front　desk。　Bourne　fell　in　step　behind　her；　absently　reading　a　sign　on　a　triangular　stand　several　feet　away。
　Wele　To：　Members　of　The　Sixth　World　Economic　Conference
　Today's　Schedule：　1：00　P。M。：　The　Hon。　James　Frazier；　M。　P。　United
　Kingdom。　Suite　12　6：00　P。M。：　Dr　Eugenia　Bertinelli；　Univ。　of　Milan；
　Italy。　Suite　7。　9：00　P。M。：　Chairman's　Farewell　Dinner。　Hospitality　Suite。
　'Room　Five…zero…seven。　The　operator　said　there　was　a　cablegram　for　me。'
　English。　The　auburn…haired　woman　now　beside　him　at　the　counter　spoke　English。　But　then　she　had　said　she　was　'waiting　for　word　from　Ottawa'。　A　Canadian。
　The　desk　clerk　checked　the　slots　and　returned　with　the　cable。　'Doctor　St　Jacques？'　he　asked；　holding　out　the　envelope。
　'Yes。　Thanks　very　much。'
　The　woman　turned　away；　opening　the　cable；　as　the　clerk　moved　in　front　of　Bourne。　'Yes；　sir？'
　'I'd　like　to　leave　this　note　for　Herr　Stossel。'　He　placed　the　Carillon　du　Lac　envelope　on　the　counter。
　'Herr　Stossel　will　not　return　until　six　o'clock　in　the　morning；　sir。　In　the　afternoons；　he　leaves　at　four。　Might　I　be　of　service？'
　'No；　thanks。　Just　make　sure　he　gets　it；　please。'　Then　Jason　remembered：　this　was　Zurich。