rl.thebourneidentity-第13部分

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　He　could　not　let　them　get　near　him　I　He　backed　away；　thoughts　racing　through　his　mind；　outrage　paramount　How　dared　they？　What　made　them　think　he　would　not　run　for　protection；　scream　for　the　police！　And　then　the　answer　was　clear；　as　numbing　as　the　question　itself。　The　killers　knew　with　certainty　that　which　he　could　only　surmise。　He　could　not　seek　that　kind　of　protection　…　he　could　not　seek　the　police。　For　Jason　Bourne；　all　the　authorities　had　to　be　avoided。。。　Why？　Were　they　seeking　him！
　Jesus　Christ；　why？
　The　two　opposing　doors　were　opened　by　outstretched　hands；　other　hands　hidden；　around　steel。　Bourne　turned；　there　were　lifts；　doorways；　corridors　…　a　roof　and　cellars；　there　had　to　be　a　dozen　ways　out　of　the　hotel；
　Or　were　there？　Did　the　killers　now　threading　their　way　through　the　crowds　know　something　else　he　could　only　surmise？　Did　the　Carillon　du　Lac　have　only　two　or　three　exits？　Easily　covered　by　men　outside；　easily　used　as　traps　themselves　to　cut　down　the　lone　figure　of　a　running　man。
　A　lone　man；　a　lone　man　was　an　obvious　target　But　suppose　he　was　not　alone？　Suppose　someone　was　with　him？　Two　people　were　not　one；　but　for　one　alone　an　extra　person　was　camouflage　…　especially　in　crowds；　especially　at　night；　and　it　was　night。　Determined　killers　avoided　taking　the　wrong　life；　not　from　passion　but　for　practicality；　in　any　ensuing　panic　the　real　target　might　escape。
　He　felt　the　weight　of　the　gun　in　his　pocket　but　there　was　not　much　fort　in　knowing　it　was　there。　As　at　the　bank；　to　use　it　…　to　even　display　it　…　was　to　mark　him。　Still；　it　was　there。　He　started　back　towards　the　centre　of　the　lobby；　then　turned　to　his　right　where　there　was　a　greater　concentration　of　people。　It　was　the　pre…evening　hour　during　an　international　conference；　a　thousand　tentative　plans　being　made；　rank　and　courtesan　separated　by　glances　of　approval　and　rebuke；　odd　groupings　everywhere。
　There　was　a　marble　counter　against　the　wall；　a　clerk　behind　it　checking　pages　of　yellow　paper　with　a　pencil　held　like　a　paintbrush。　Cablegrams。　In　front　of　the　counter　were　two　people；　an　obese　elderly　man　and　a　woman　in　a　dark　red　dress；　the　rich　colour　of　the　silk　plementing　her　long　titian　hair。。。　Auburn　hair。　It　was　the　woman　in　the　lift　who　had　joked　about　Caesar's　taxes　and　the　Punic　Wars；　the　doctor　who　had　stood　beside　him　at　the　hotel　desk；　asking　for　the　cable　she　knew　was　there。
　Bourne　looked　behind　him。　The　killers　were　using　the　crowds　well；　excusing　themselves　politely　but　firmly　through；　one　on　the　right；　one　on　the　left；　closing　in　like　two　prongs　of　a　pincer　attack。　As　long　as　they　kept　him　in　sight；　they　could　force　him　to　keep　running　blindly；　without　direction；　not　knowing　which　path　might　lead　to　a　dead　end　where　he　could　run　no　longer。　And　then　the　muted　spits　would　e；　pockets　blackened　by　powder　burns。。。
　Kept　him　in　sight？
　The　back　row　then。。。　We　can　sleep。　He　uses　a　slide　projector；　it'll　be　dark。
　Jason　turned　again　and　looked　at　the　auburn…haired　woman。　She　had　pleted　her　cable　and　was　thanking　the　clerk；　removing　a　pair　of　tinted；　horn…rimmed　glasses　from　her　face；　placing　them　in　her　purse。　She　was　no　more　than　eight　feet　away。
　Bertinelli　is　speaking；　to　little　effect　I　suggest。
　There　was　no　time　for　anything　but　instinctive　decisions。　Bourne　shifted　his　suitcase　to　his　left　hand；　walked　rapidly　over　to　the　woman　at　the　marble　counter；　and　touched　her　elbow；　gently；　with　as　little　alarm　as　possible。
　'Doctor？。。。'
　'I　beg　your　pardon？'
　'You　are　Doctor？。。。'　He　released　her；　a　bewildered　man。
　'St　Jacques；'　she　pleted；　using　the　French　Sech　for　Saint　'You're　the　one　in　the　lift。'
　'I　didn't　realize　it　was　you；'　he　said。　'I　was　told　you'd　know　where　this　Bertinelli　is　speaking。'
　'It's　right　on　the　board。　Suite　Seven。'
　'I'm　afraid　I　don't　know　where　it　is。　Would　you　mind　showing　me？　I'm　late　and　I've　got　to　take　notes　on　his　talk。'
　'On　Bertinelli？　Why？　Are　you　with　a　Marxist　newspaper？'
　'A　neutral　pool；'　said　Jason；　wondering　where　the　phrases　came　from。　'I'm　covering　for　a　number　of　people。　They　don't　think　he's　worth　it。'
　'Perhaps　not；　but　he　should　be　heard。　There　are　a　few　brutal　truths　in　what　he　says。'
　'I　lost　so　I've　got　to　find　them。　Maybe　you　can　point　them　out！
　I'm　afraid　not　I'll　show　you　the　room；　but　I've　a　phone　call　to　make。'　She　snapped　her　purse　shut
　'Please。　Hurry！
　'What？'　She　looked　at　him；　not　kindly。
　'Sorry；　but　I　am　in　a　hurry。'　He　glanced　to　his　right；　the　two　men　were　no　more　than　twenty　feet　away。
　'You're　also　rude；'　said　the　St　Jacques　woman　coldly。
　'Please。'　He　restrained　his　desire　to　propel　her　forward；　away　from　the　moving　trap　that　was　closing　in。
　'It's　this　way。'　She　started　across　the　floor　towards　a　wide　corridor　carved　out　of　the　left　rear　wall。　The　crowds　were　thinner；　prominence　less　apparent　in　the　back　regions　of　the　lobby。　They　reached　what　looked　like　a　velvet…covered　tunnel　of　deep　red；　doors　on　opposite　sides；　lighted　signs　above　them　identifying　Conference　Room　One；　Conference　Room　Two。　At　the　end　of　the　hallway　were　double　doors；　the　gold　letters　to　the　right　proclaiming　them　to　be　the　entrance　to　Suite　Seven。
　There　you　are；'　said　Marie　St　Jacques。　'Be　careful　when　you　go　in；　it's　probably　dark。　Bertinelli　lectures　with　slides。
　'Like　a　movie；'　mented　Bourne；　looking　behind　them　at　the　crowds　at　the　far　end　of　the　corridor。　He　was　there；　the　man　with　gold…rimmed　spectacles　was　excusing　himself　past　an　animated　trio　in　the　lobby。　He　was　walking　into　the　hallway；　his　panion　right　behind　him。
　'。。。　a　considerable　difference。　He　sits　below　the　stage　and　pontificates。'　The　St　Jacques　woman　had　said　something　and　was　now　leaving　him。
　'What　did　you　say？　A　stage？'
　'Well；　a　raised　platform。　For　exhibits　usually。'
　They　have　to　be　brought　in；'　he　said。
　'What　does？'
　'Exhibits。　Is　there　an　exit　in　there？　Another　door？〃
　'I　have　no　idea；　and　I　really　must　make　my　call。　Enjoy　the　professors。'　She　turned　away。
　He　dropped　the　suitcase　and　took　her　arm。　At　the　touch；　she　glared　at　him。　Take　your　hand　off　me；　please。'
　'I　don't　want　to　frighten　you；　but　I　have　no　choice。'　He　spoke　quietly；　his　eyes　over　her　shoulder；　the　killers　had　slowed　their　pace；　the　trap　sure；　about　to　close。　'You　have　to　e　with　me。'
　'Don't　be　ridiculous　I'
　He　viced　the　grip　around　her　arm；　moving　her　in　front　of　him。　Then　he　pulled　the　gun　out　of　his　pocket；　making　sure　her　body　concealed　it　from　the　men　thirty　feet　away。
　'I　don't　want　to　use　this。　I　don't　want　to　hurt　you；　but　I'll　do　both　if　I　have　to。'　〃My　God。。。'
　'Be　quiet。　Just　do　as　I　say　and　you'll　be　fine。　I　have　to　get　out　of　this　hotel　and　you're　going　to　help　me。　Once　I'm　out；　I'll　let　you　go。　But　not　until　then。　e　on。　We're　going　in　there。'　'You　can't。。。'
　'Yes；　I　can。'　He　pushed　the　barrel　of　the　gun　into　her　stomach；　into　the　dark　silk　that　creased　under　the　force　of　his　thrust　She　was　terrified　into　silence；　into　submission。　'Let's　go。'　He　stepped　to　her　left；　his　hand　still　gripping　her　arm；　the　pistol　held　across　his　chest　inches　from　her　own。　Her　eyes　were　riveted　on　it；　her　lips　parted；　her　breath　erratic。　Bourne　opened　the　door；　propelling　her　through　it　in　front　of　him。　He　could　hear　a　single　word　shouted　from　the　corridor。　'Schnell！
　They　were　hi　darkness；　but　it　was　brief；　a　shaft　of　white　light　shot　across　the　room；　over　the　rows　of　chairs；　illuminating　the　heads　of　the　audience。　The　projection　on　the　faraway　screen　on　the　stage　was　that　of　a　graph；　the　grids　marked　numerically；　a　heavy　black　line　starting　at　the　left；　extending　La　a　jagged　pattern　through　the　lines　to　the　right　A　heavily　accented　voice　was　speaking；　amplified　by　a　loudspeaker。
　'You　will　note　that　during　the　years　of　'seventy　and　'seventy…one；　when　specific　restraints　in　production　were　self…imposed　…I　repeat；　self…imposed　…　by　these　leaders　of　industry；　the　resulting　economic　recession　was　far　less　severe　than　in　…　Slide　Twelve；　please　…　the　so…called　paternalistic　regulation　of　the　marketplace　by　government　interventionists。　The　next　slide；　please。'
　The　room　went　dark　again。　There　was　a　problem　with　the　projector；　no　second　shaft　of　light　replaced　the　first　'Slide　Twelve；　please　I'
　Jason　pushed　the　woman　forward；　in　front　of　the　figures　standing　by　the　back　wall；　behind　the　last　row　of　chairs。　He　tried　to　judge　the　size　of　the　lecture　hall；　looking　for　a　red　light　that　could　mean　escape。　He　saw　it！　A　faint　reddish　glow　in　the　distance。　On　the　stage；　behind　the　screen。　There　were　no　other　exits；　no　other　doors　but　the　entrance　to　Suite　Seven。　He　had　to　reach　it；　he　had　to　get　them　to　that　exit。　On　that　stage。
　'Marie！　Id！'　The　whisper　came　from　their　left；　from　a　seat　in　the　back　row。
　'Non；　ma　cherie！　Je　suis　tout　pres。'　The　second　whisper　was　delivered　by　the　shadowed　figure　of　a　man　standing　directly　in　front　of　Marie　St　Jacques。　He　had　stepped　away　from　the　wall；　intercepting　her。
　Bourne　pressed　the　gun　firmly　into　the　woman's　rib　cage；　its　message　unmistakable。　She　whispered　without　breathing；　Jason　grateful　that　her　face　could　not　be　seen　clearly。　'Please；　let　us　by；'　she　said　in　French。　'Please。'
　'What's　this？　Is　he　your　cablegram；　my　dear？！
　'An　old　friend；'　whispered　Bourne。
　A　shout　rose　over　the　increasingly　louder　hum　from　the　audience。　'May　I　please　have　Slide　Twelve！　Per　cortesia！'
　'We　have　to　see　someone　at　the　end　of　the　row；'　continued　Jason；　looking　behind　him。　The　right…hand　door　of　the　entrance　opened；　in　the　middle　of　a　shadowed　face；　a　pair　of　gold…rimmed　glasses　reflected　the　dim　light　of　the　corridor。　Bourne　edged　the　girl　past　her　bewildered　friend；　forcing　him　back　into　the　wall；　whispering　an　apology。
　'Sorry；　but　we're　in　a　hurry！'
　'You're　damned　rude；　too！！
　'Yes；　I　know。'
　'Slide　Twelve！　Che　cosa！　Impossibile！
　The　beam　of　light　shot　out　from　the　projector；　it　vibrated　under　the　nervous　hand　of　the　operator。　Another　graph　appeared　on　the　screen　as　Jason　and　the　woman　reached　the　far　wall；　the　start　of　the　narrow　aisle　that　led　down　the　length　of　the　hall　to　the　stage。　He　pushed　her　into　the　corner；　pressing　his　body　against　hers；　his　face　against　her　face。
　I'll　scream'　she　whispered。
　'I'll　shoot；'　he　said。　He　peered　around　the