rl.thebourneidentity-第14部分

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　I'll　scream'　she　whispered。
　'I'll　shoot；'　he　said。　He　peered　around　the　figures　leaning　against　the　wall；　the　killers　were　both　inside；　both　squinting；　shifting　their　heads　like　alarmed　rodents；　trying　to　spot　their　target　among　the　rows　of　faces。
　The　voice　of　the　lecturer　rose　like　the　ringing　of　a　cracked　bell；　his　diatribe　brief　but　strident。　'Ecco！　For　the　sceptics　I　address　here　this　evening　…　and　that　is　most　of　you　…　here　is　statistical　proof　I　Identical　in　substance　to　a　hundred　other　analyses　I　have　prepared。　Leave　the　marketplace　to　those　who　live　there。　Minor　excesses　can　always　be　found。　They　are　a　small　price　to　pay　for　the　general　good。'
　There　was　a　scattering　of　applause；　the　approval　of　a　definite　minority。　Bertinelli　resumed　a　normal　tone　and　droned　on；　his　long　pointed　stabbing　at　the　screen　emphasizing　the　obvious　…his　obvious。　Jason　leaned　back　again；　the　gold　spectacles　glistened　in　the　harsh　glare　of　the　projector's　side　light；　the　killer　who　wore　them　touching　his　panion's　arm；　nodding　to　his　left；　ordering　his　subordinate　to　continue　the　search　on　the　left　side　of　the　room；　he　would　take　the　right。　He　began；　the　gold　rims　growing　brighter　as　he　sidestepped　his　way　in　front　of　those　standing；　studying　each　face。　He　would　reach　the　corner；　reach　them；　in　a　matter　of　seconds。　Stopping　the　killer　with　a　gunshot　was　all　that　was　left；　and　if　someone　along　the　row　of　those　standing　moved；　or　if　the　woman　he　had　pressed　against　the　wall　went　into　panic　and　shoved　him。。。　or　if　he　missed　the　killer　for　any　number　of　reasons；　he　was　trapped。　And　even　if　he　hit　the　man；　there　was　another　killer　across　the　room；　certainly　a　marksman。
　'Slide　Thirteen；　if　you　please。'
　That　was　it。　Now！
　The　shaft　of　light　went　out。　In　the　blackout；　Bourne　pulled　the　woman　from　the　wall；　spun　her　in　her　place；　his　face　against　hers。　'If　you　make　a　sound；　I'll　kill　you！'
　'I　believe　you；'　she　whispered；　terrified。　〃You're　a　maniac。'
　'Let's　go！'　He　pushed　her　down　the　narrow　aisle　that　led　to　the　stage　fifty　feet　away。　The　projector's　light　went　on　again；　he　grabbed　the　girl's　neck；　forcing　her　down　into　a　kneeling　position　as　he；　too；　knelt　down　behind　her。　They　were　concealed　from　the　killers　by　the　rows　of　bodies　sitting　in　the　chairs。　He　pressed　her　flesh　with　his　fingers；　it　was　his　signal　to　keep　moving；　crawling。。。　slowly；　keeping　down；　but　moving。　She　understood；　she　started　forward　on　her　knees；　trembling。
　The　conclusions　of　this　phase　are　irrefutable；'　cried　the　lecturer。　The　profit　motive　is　inseparable　from　productivity　incentive；　but　the　adversary　roles　can　never　be　equal。　As　Socrates　understood；　the　inequality　of　values　is　constant。　Gold　simply　is　not　brass　or　iron；　who　among　you　can　deny　it？　Slide　Fourteen；　if　you　please！'
　The　darkness　again。　Now。
　He　yanked　the　woman　up；　pushing　her　forward；　towards　the　stage。　They　were　within　three　feet　of　the　edge。
　'Che　cosa？　What　is　the　matter；　please？　Slide　Fourteen？
　It　had　happened！　The　projector　was　jammed　again；　the　darkness　was　extended　again。　And　there　on　the　stage　in　front　of　them；　above　them；　was　the　red　glow　of　the　exit　sign。　Jason　gripped　the　girl's　arm　viciously。　'Get　up　on　that　stage　and　run　to　the　exit！　I'm　right　behind　you；　you　stop　or　cry　out；　I'll　shoot。'
　'For　God's　sake；　let　me　go！'
　'Not　yet。〃　He　meant　it；　there　was　another　exit　somewhere；　men　waiting　outside　for　the　target　from　Marseilles。　'Go　on！　Now。'
　The　St　Jacques　woman　got　to　her　feet　and　ran　to　the　stage。　Bourne　lifted　her　off　the　floor；　over　the　edge；　leaping　up　as　he　did　so；　pulling　her　to　her　feet　again。
　The　blinding　light　of　the　projector　shot　out；　flooding　the　screen；　washing　the　stage。　Cries　of　surprise　and　derision　came　from　the　audience　at　the　sight　of　the　two　figures；　the　shouts　of　the　indignant　Bertinelli　heard　over　the　din。
　Affronte！　Insultante！　Ecco；　unisti！'
　And　there　were　other　sounds　…　three　…　lethal；　sharp；　sudden。　Cracks　of　a　muted　weapon　…　weapons；　wood　splintered　on　the　moulding　of　the　proscenium　arch。　Jason　hammered　the　girl　down　and　lunged　towards　the　shadows　of　the　narrow　wing　space；　pulling　her　behind　him。
　'Da　ist　err
　'Der　Projektionsapparat！'
　A　scream　came　from　the　centre　aisle　of　the　hall　as　the　light　of　the　projector　swung　to　the　right；　spilling　into　the　wings　…　but　not　pletely。　Its　beam　was　intercepted　by　receding　upright　flats　that　masked　the　offstage　area；　light；　shadow；　light；　shadow。　And　at　the　end　of　the　flats；　at　the　rear　of　the　stage；　was　the　exit。　A　high；　wide　metal　door　with　a　crush　bar　against　it。
　Glass　shattered；　the　red　light　exploded；　a　marksman's　bullet　blew　out　the　sign　above　the　door。　It　did　not　matter；　he　could　see　the　gleaming　brass　of　the　crush　bar　clearly。
　The　lecture　hall　had　broken　out　in　pandemonium。　Bourne　grabbed　the　woman　by　the　cloth　of　her　blouse；　yanking　her　beyond　the　flats　towards　the　door。　For　an　instant；　she　resisted；　he　slapped　her　across　the　face　and　dragged　her　beside　him　until　the　crush　bar　was　above　their　heads。
　Bullets　spat　into　the　wall　to　their　right；　the　killers　were　racing　down　the　aisles　for　accurate　sightlines　They　would　reach　them　in　seconds；　and　in　seconds　other　bullets；　or　a　single　bullet；　would　find　its　mark。　There　were　enough　shells　left；　he　knew　that。　He　had　no　idea　how　or　why　he　knew；　but　he　knew。　By　sound　he　could　visualize　the　weapons；　extract　the　clips；　count　the　shells。
　He　smashed　his　forearm　into　the　crush　bar　of　the　exit　door。　It　flew　open　and　he　lunged　through　the　opening；　dragging　the　kicking　St　Jacques　woman　with　him。
　'Stop　it！'　she　screamed。　'I　won't　go　any　farther！　You're　insane！　Those　were　gunshots！'
　Jason　slammed　the　large　metal　door　shut　with　his　foot。　'Get　up！'
　No！'
　He　lashed　the　back　of　his　hand　across　her　face；　'Sorry；　but　you're　ing　with　me。　Get　up　I　Once　we're　outside；　you　have　my　word。　I'll　let　you　go。'　But　where　was　he　going　now？　They　were　in　another　tunnel；　but　there　was　no　carpet；　no　polished　doors　with　lighted　signs　above　them。　They　were。。。　in　some　kind　of　deserted　loading　area；　the　floor　was　concrete；　and　there　were　two；　pipe…framed　freight　dollies　next　to　him　against　the　wall。　He　had　been　right：　exhibits　used　on　the　stage　of　Suite　Seven　had　to　be　brought　in　by　lorry；　the　exit　door　high　enough　and　wide　enough　to　acmodate　large　displays。
　The　door　I　He　had　to　block　the　door）　Marie　St　Jacques　was　on　her　feet；　he　held　her　as　he　grabbed　the　first　dolly；　pulling　it　by　its　frame　in　front　of　the　exit　door；　slamming　it　with　his　shoulder　and　knee　until　it　was　lodged　against　the　metal。　He　looked　down：　beneath　the　thick　wooden　base　were　footlocks　on　the　wheels。　He　jammed　his　heel　down　on　the　front　lever　lock；　and　then　the　back　one。
　The　girl　spun；　trying　to　break　his　grip　as　he　stretched　his　leg　to　the　end　of　the　dolly；　he　slid　his　hand　down　her　arms；　gripped　her　wrist；　and　twisted　it　inward。　She　screamed；　tears　in　her　eyes；　her　lips　trembling。　He　pulled　her　alongside　him；　forcing　her　to　the　left；　breaking　into　a　run；　assuming　the　direction　was　towards　the　rear　of　the　Carillon　du　Lac；　hoping　he'd　find　the　exit。　For　there　and　only　there　he　might　need　the　woman；　a　brief　few　seconds　when　a　couple　emerged；　not　a　lone　man　running。
　There　was　a　series　of　loud　crashes；　the　killers　were　trying　to　force　the　stage　door　open　but　the　locked　freight　dolly　was　too　heavy　a　barrier。
　He　yanked　the　girl　along　the　cement　floor；　she　tried　to　pull　away；　kicking　again；　twisting　her　body　again　from　one　side　to　the　other；　she　was　over　the　edge　of　hysteria。　He　had　no　choice；　he　gripped　her　elbow；　his　thumb　on　the　inner　flesh；　and　pressed　as　hard　as　he　could。　She　gasped；　the　pain　sudden　and　excruciating；　she　sobbed；　expelling　breath；　allowing　him　to　propel　her　forward。
　They　reached　a　cement　staircase；　the　four　steps　edged　in　steel；　leading　to　a　pair　of　metal　doors　below。　It　was　the　loading　dock；　beyond　the　doors　was　the　Carillon　du　Lac's　rear　parking　area。　He　was　almost　there。　It　was　only　a　question　of　appearances　now。
　'Listen　to　me；'　he　said　to　the　rigid；　frightened　woman。　'Do　you　want　me　to　let　you　go？'
　'Oh　God；　yes！　Please！'
　Then　do　exactly　as　I　say。　We're　going　to　walk　down　these　steps　and　out　of　that　door　like　two　perfectly　normal　people　at　the　end　of　a　normal　day's　work。　You're　going　to　link　your　arm　in　mine　and　we're　going　to　walk　slowly；　talking　quietly；　to　the　cars　at　the　far　end　of　the　parking　area。　And　we're　both　going　to　laugh　…　not　loudly；　just　casually　…　as　if　we　were　remembering　funny　things　that　happened　during　the　day。　Have　you　got　that？'
　'Nothing　funny　at　all　has　happened　to　me　during　the　past　fifteen　minutes；'　she　answered　in　barely　audible　monotone。
　'Pretend　that　it　has。　I　may　be　trapped；　if　I　am　I　don't　care。　Do　you　understand？'
　'I　think　my　wrist　is　broken。'
　'It's　not。'
　'My　left　arm；　my　shoulder。　I　can't　move　them；　they're　throbbing。'
　'A　nerve　ending　was　depressed；　it'll　pass　in　a　matter　of　minutes。　You'll　be　fine。'
　'You're　an　animal。'
　'I　want　to　live；'　he　said。　'e　on。　Remember；　when　I　open　the　door；　look　at　me　and　smile；　tilt　your　head　back；　laugh　a　little。'
　'It　will　be　the　most　difficult　thing　I've　ever　done。'
　'It's　easier　than　dying。'
　She　put　her　injured　hand　under　his　arm　and　they　walked　down　the　short　flight　of　steps　to　the　platform　door。　He　opened　it　and　they　went　outside；　his　hand　in　his　topcoat　pocket　gripping　the　Frenchman's　pistol；　his　eyes　scanning　the　loading　dock。　There　was　a　single　bulb　encased　in　wire　mesh　above　the　door；　its　spill　defining　the　concrete　steps　to　the　left　that　led　to　the　pavement　below；　he　led　his　hostage　towards　them。
　She　performed　as　he　had　ordered；　the　effect　macabre。　As　they　walked　down　the　steps；　her　face　was　turned　to　his；　her　terrified　features　caught　in　the　light　Her　generous　lips　were　parted；　stretched　over　her　white　teeth　in　a　false；　tense　smile；　her　wide　eyes　were　two　dark　orbs；　reflecting　primordial　fear；　her　tear…stained　skin　taut　and　pale；　marred　by　the　reddish　splotches　where　he　had　hit　her。　He　was　looking　at　a　face　of　chiselled　stone；　a　mask　framed　by　dark　red　hair　that　cascaded　over　her　shoulders；　swept　back　by　the　night　breezes　…　moving；　the　only　living　thing　about　the　mask。
　Choked　laughter　came　from　her　throat；　the　veins　hi　her　long　neck　pronoun