rl.thebourneidentity-第15部分

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　Choked　laughter　came　from　her　throat；　the　veins　hi　her　long　neck　pronounced。　She　was　not　far　from　collapsing；　but　he　could　not　think　about　that　He　had　to　concentrate　on　the　space　around　them；　on　whatever　movement　…　however　slight　…　he　might　discern　hi　the　shadows　of　the　large　parking　area。　It　was　obvious　that　these　back；　unlit　regions　were　used　by　the　Carillon　du　Lac's　employees；　it　was　nearly　6：30；　the　night　shift　well　immersed　in　its　duties。　Everything　was　still；　a　smooth　black　field　broken　up　by　rows　of　silent　vehicles；　ranks　of　huge　bisects；　the　dull　glass　of　the　headlamps　a　hundred　eyes　staring　at　nothing。
　A　scratch。　Metal　had　scraped　against　metal。　It　came　from　the　right；　from　one　of　the　cars　in　a　nearby　row。　Which　row！　Which　car！　He　tilted　his　head　back　as　if　responding　to　a　joke　made　by　his　panion；　letting　his　eyes　roam　across　the　windows　of　the　cars　nearest　to　them。　Nothing。。。
　Something？　It　was　there　but　it　was　so　small；　barely　seen。。。　so　bewildering。　A　tiny　circle　of　green；　an　infinitesimal　glow　of　green　light。　It　moved。。。　as　they　moved。
　Green。　Small。。。　light！　Suddenly；　from　somewhere　in　a　forgotten　past　the　image　of　crosshairs　burst　across　his　eyes。　His　eyes　were　looking　at　two　thin　intersecting　lines　I　Crosshairs！　A　scope。。。　the　infra…red　scope　of　a　rifle。　How　did　the　killers　know？　Any　number　of　answers。　A　hand…held　radio　had　been　used　at　the　Gemeinschaft；　one　could　be　in　use　now。　He　wore　an　overcoat；　his　hostage　wore　a　thin　silk　dress　and　the　night　was　cool。　No　woman　would　go　out　like　that
　He　swung　to　his　left；　crouching；　lunging　into　Marie　St　Jacques；　his　shoulder　crashing　into　her　stomach；　sending　her　reeling　back　towards　the　steps。　The　muffled　cracks　came　in　staccato　repetition；　stone　and　asphalt　exploded　all　around　them。　He　dived　to　his　right；　rolling　over　and　over　again　the　instant　he　made　contact　with　the　pavement；　yanking　the　pistol　from　his　overcoat　pocket　Then　he　sprang　again；　now　straight　forward；　his　left　hand　steadying　his　right　wrist；　the　gun　centred；　aimed　at　the　window　with　the　rifle。　He　fired　three　shots。
　A　scream　came　from　the　dark　open　space　of　the　stationary　car；　it　was　drawn　out　into　a　cry；　then　a　gasp；　and　then　nothing。　Bourne　lay　motionless；　waiting；　listening；　watching；　prepared　to　fire　again。　Silence。　He　started　to　get　up。。。　but　he　could　not　something　had　happened。　He　could　barely　move。　Then　the　pain　spread　through　his　chest；　the　pounding　so　violent　he　bent　over；　supporting　himself　with　both　hands；　shaking　his　head；　trying　to　focus　his　eyes；　trying　to　reject　the　agony。　His　left　shoulder；　his　lower　chest　…　below　the　ribs。。。　his　left　thigh　…above　the　knee；　below　the　hip；　the　locations　of　his　previous　wounds；　where　dozens　of　stitches　had　been　removed　over　a　month　ago。　He　had　damaged　the　weakened　areas；　stretching　tendons　and　muscles　not　yet　fully　restored。　Oh；　Christ！　He　had　to　get　up；　he　had　to　reach　the　would…be　killer's　car；　pull　the　killer　from　it；　and　get　away。
　He　whipped　his　head　up；　grimacing　with　the　pain；　and　looked　over　at　Marie　St　Jacques。　She　was　getting　slowly　to　her　feet；　first　on　one　knee；　then　on　one　foot；　supporting　herself　on　the　outside　wall　of　the　hotel。　In　a　moment　she　would　be　standing；　then　running。　Away。
　He　could　not　let　her　go　I　She　would　race　screaming　into　the　Carillon　du　Lac；　men　would　e；　some　to　take　him。。。　some　to　kill　him。　He　had　to　stop　her！
　He　let　his　body　fall　forward　and　started　rolling　to　his　left；　spinning　like　a　wildly　out…of…control　manikin；　until　he　was　within　four　feet　of　the　wall；　four　feet　from　her。　He　raised　his　gun；　aiming　at　her　head。
　'Help　me　up；'　he　said；　hearing　the　strain　in　his　voice。
　'What？'
　〃You　heard　me！　Help　me　up'　'You　said　I　could　go！　You　gave　me　your　word　I'　'I　have　to　take　it　back。。。！　'Wo；　please：
　This　gun　is　aimed　directly　at　your　face；　Doctor。　You　e　here　and　help　me　get　up　or　I'll　blow　it　off。
　He　pulled　the　dead　man　from　the　car　and　ordered　her　to　get　behind　the　wheel　Then　he　opened　the　rear　door　and　crawled　into　the　back　seat　out　of　sight。　'Drive；'　he　said。　'Drive　where　I　tell　you。'
　Whenever　you're　in　a　stress　situation　yourself…and　there's　time；　of　course　…　do　exactly　as　you　would　do　when　you　project　yourself　into　one　you're　observing。　Let　your　mind　fall　free；　let　whatever　thoughts　and　images　that　surface　e　cleanly。　Try　not　to　exercise　any　mental　discipline。　Be　a　sponge；　concentrate　on　everything　and　nothing。　Specifics　may　e　to　you；　certain　repressed　conduits　electrically　prodded　into　functioning。
　Bourne　thought　of　Washburn's　words　as　he　adjusted　his　body　into　the　corner　of　the　seat；　trying　to　restore　some　control。　He　massaged　his　chest；　gently　rubbing　the　bruised　muscles　around　his　previous　wound；　the　pain　was　still　there；　but　not　as　acute　as　it　had　been　minutes　ago。
　'You　can't　just　tell　me　to　drive！'　cried　the　St　Jacques　woman。　'I　don't　know　where　I'm　going！！
　'Neither　do　I。'　said　Jason。　He　had　told　her　to　stay　on　the　lakeshore　drive；　it　was　dark　and　he　had　to　have　time　to　think。　If　only　to　be　a　sponge。
　'People　will　be　looking　for　me；'　she　exclaimed。
　'They're　looking　for　me；　too。'
　'You've　taken　me　against　my　will。　You　struck　me。　Repeatedly。'　She　spoke　more　softly　now；　imposing　a　control　on　herself。　'That's　kidnapping；　assault。。。　those　are　serious　crimes。　You're　out　of　the　hotel；　that's　what　you　said　you　wanted。　Let　me　go　and　I　won't　say　anything。　I　promise　you！'
　'You　mean　you'll　give　me　your　word？'
　'Yes'
　'I　gave　you　mine　and　took　it　back。　So　could　you。'
　'You're　different　I　won't。　No　one's　trying　to　kill　me；　Oh　God！　Please　I'
　'Keep　driving。'
　One　thing　was　clear　to　him。　The　killers　had　seen　him　drop　his　suitcase　and　leave　it　behind　in　his　race　for　escape。　That　suitcase　told　them　the　obvious：　he　was　getting　out　of　Zurich；　undoubtedly　out　of　Switzerland。　The　airport　and　the　station　would　be　watched。　And　the　car　he　had　taken　from　the　man　he　had　killed　…　who　had　tried　to　kill　him　…　would　be　the　object　of　a　search。
　He　could　not　go　to　the　airport　or　to　the　station；　he　had　to　get　rid　of　the　car　and　find　another。　Yet　he　was　not　without　resources。　He　was　carrying　100；000　Swiss　francs；　and　more　than　16；000　French　francs；　the　Swiss　currency　in　his　passport　case；　the　French　in　the　wallet　he　had　stolen　from　the　Marquis　de　Chambord。　It　was　more　than　enough　to　buy　him　secretly　to　Paris。
　Why　Paris？　It　was　as　though　the　city　were　a　magnet；　pulling　him　to　her　without　explanation。
　You　are　not　helpless。　You　will　find　your　way。。。　Follow　your　instincts；　reasonably；　of　course。
　To　Paris。
　'Have　you　been　to　Zurich　before？'　he　asked　his　hostage。
　'Never。'
　〃You　wouldn't　lie　to　me；　would　you？'
　'I've　no　reason　to！　Please。　Let　me　stop。　Let　me　go！'
　'How　long　have　you　been　here？'
　'A　week。　The　conference　was　for　a　week。'
　Then　you've　had　time　to　get　around；　do　some　sightseeing。'
　'I　barely　left　the　hotel　There　wasn't　time。'
　The　schedule　I　saw　on　the　board　didn't　seem　very　crowded。　Only　two　lectures　for　the　entire　day。'
　They　were　guest　speakers；　there　were　never　more　than　two　a　day。　The　majority　of　our　work　was　done　in　conference。。。　small　conferences。　Ten　to　fifteen　people　from　different　countries；　different　interests。'
　'You're　from　Canada？！
　'I　work　for　the　Canadian　government。。。'
　The　〃doctor〃　is　not　medical　then。'
　〃Economics。　Mcgill　University。　Pembroke　College；　Oxford。'
　I'm　impressed。'
　Suddenly；　with　controlled　stridency；　she　added；　'My　superiors　expect　me　to　be　in　contact　with　them。　Tonight。　If　they　don't　hear　from　me；　they'll　be　alarmed。　They'll　make　inquiries；　they'll　call　the　Zurich　police。'
　'I　see；'　he　said。　That's　something　to　think　about；　isn't　it？'　It　occurred　to　Bourne　that　throughout　the　shock　and　the　violence　of　the　last　half　hour；　the　St　Jacques　woman　had　not　let　her　handbag　out　of　her　hand。　He　leaned　forward；　wincing　as　he　did　so；　the　pain　in　his　chest　suddenly　acute　again。　'Give　me　your　bag。'
　'What？'　She　moved　her　hand　quickly　from　the　wheel；　grabbing　the　bag　in　a　futile　attempt　to　keep　it　from　him。
　He　thrust　his　right　hand　over　the　seat；　his　fingers　grasping　the　leather。　'Just　drive；　Doctor；'　he　said　as　he　lifted　the　purse　off　the　seat　and　leaned　back　again。
　'You　have　no　right。。。'　She　stopped；　the　foolishness　of　her　remark　apparent。
　'I　know　that；'　he　replied；　opening　the　handbag；　turning　on　the　reading　lamp；　moving　the　bag　into　its　spill。　As　befitted　the　owner；　it　was　well　organized。　Passport；　wallet；　a　purse；　keys　and　assorted　notes　and　messages　in　the　rear　pockets。　He　looked　for　a　specific　message；　it　was　in　a　yellow　envelope　given　to　her　by　the　clerk　at　the　Carillon　du　Lac's　front　desk。　He　found　it；　lifted　the　flap；　and　took　out　the　folded　paper。　It　was　a　cablegram　from　Ottawa。
　Daily　reports　first　rate。　Leave　granted。　Will　meet　you　at　airport　Wednesday　26th。　Call　or　cable　flight。　In　Lyons；　do　not　miss　Beau　Meuniere。　Cuisine　superb。
　Love；　Peter
　Jason　put　the　cable　back。　He　saw　a　small　book　of　matches；　the　cover　a　glossy　white；　scroll　writing　on　the　front。　He　picked　it　out　and　read　the　name。　Kronehalle。　A　restaurant。。。　A　restaurant。　Something　bothered　him；　he　did　not　know　what　it　was　but　it　was　there。　Something　about　a　restaurant。　He　kept　the　matches；　closed　the　bag　and　leaned　forward；　dropping　it　on　the　front　seat。　〃That's　all　I　wanted　to　see；'　he　said；　settling　back　into　the　corner；　staring　at　the　matches。　'I　seem　to　remember　your　saying　something　about　〃word　from　Ottawa〃。　You　got　it；　the　twenty…sixth　is　over　a　week　away。'　'Please。。。'
　The　supplication　was　a　cry　for　help；　he　heard　it　for　what　it　was　but　could　not　respond。　For　the　next　hour　or　so　he　needed　this　woman；　needed　her　as　a　lame　man　needed　a　crutch　or；　more　aptly；　as　one　who　could　not　function　behind　a　wheel　needed　a　driver。　But　not　in　this　car。　Turn　around；'　he　ordered。　'Head　back　to　the　Carillon。！　To　the。。。　hotel？'
　'Yes；'　he　said；　his　eyes　on　the　matches；　turning　them　over　and　over　in　his　hand　under　the　light　of　the　reading　lamp。　'We　need　another　car。'
　'We？　No；　you　can't＇　I　won't　go　any。。。'　Again　she　stopped　before　the　statement　was　made；　before　the　thought　was　pleted。　Another　thought　had　obviously　struck　her；　she　was　abruptly　silent　as　she　swung　the　wheel　until　the　car　was　facing　the　opposite　direction　on　the　dark　lakesbore　road。　She　p