rl.thebourneidentity-第39部分

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　'You　can't　leave　negotiable　certificates　worth　over　a　million　dollars　in　a　Paris　hotel　room。　You've　got　to　get　a　deposit　box。'
　'We　can　do　it　tomorrow。'　He　released　her；　turning　for　the　door。　'While　I'm　out　look　up　Les　Classiques　in　the　phone　book　and　call　the　regular　number。　Find　out　how　late　it's　open。'　He　left　quickly。
　Bourne　sat　in　the　back　seat　of　a　stationary　taxi；　watching　the　front　of　the　bank　through　the　windscreen。　The　driver　was　humming　an　unrecognisable　tune；　reading　a　newspaper；　content　with　the　fifty…franc　note　he　had　received　in　advance。　The　cab's　motor；　however；　was　running；　the　passenger　had　insisted　upon　that
　The　armoured　van　loomed　in　the　right　rear　window；　its　radio　antenna　shooting　up　from　the　centre　of　the　roof　like　a　tapered　bowsprit　It　parked　in　a　space　reserved　for　authorized　vehicles　directly　in　front　of　Jason's　taxi。　Two　small　red　lights　appeared　above　the　circle　of　bullet…proof　glass　in　the　rear　door。　The　alarm　system　had　been　activated。
　Bourne　leaned　forward；　his　eyes　on　the　uniformed　man　who　climbed　out　of　the　side　door　and　threaded　his　way　through　the　crowds　on　the　pavement　towards　the　entrance　of　the　bank。　He　felt　a　sense　of　relief；　the　man　was　not　one　of　the　three　well…dressed　men　who　had　e　to　the　Valois　yesterday。
　Fifteen　minutes　later　the　courier　emerged　from　the　bank；　the　leather　attaché　case　in　his　left　hand；　his　right　covering　an　unlatched　holster。　The　jagged　rip　on　the　side　of　the　case　could　be　seen　clearly。　Jason　felt　the　fragment　of　leather　in　his　shirt　pocket；　if　nothing　else　it　was　the　primitive　bination　that　made　a　life　beyond　Paris；　beyond　Carlos；　possible。　If　there　was　such　a　life　and　he　could　accept　it　without　the　terrible　labyrinth　from　which　he　could　find　no　escape。
　But　it　was　more　than　that。　In　a　man…made　labyrinth　one　kept　moving；　running；　careening　off　walls；　the　contact　itself　a　form　of　progress；　if　only　blind。　His　personal　labyrinth　had　no　walls；　no　defined　corridors　through　which　to　race。　Only　space；　and　swirling　mists　in　the　darkness　that　he　saw　so　clearly　when　he　opened　his　eyes　at　night　and　felt　the　sweat　pouring　down　his　face。　Why　was　it　always　space　and　darkness　and　high　winds？　Why　was　he　always　plummeting　through　the　air　at　night？　A　parachute。　Why？　Then　other　words　came　to　him；　he　had　no　idea　where　they　were　from；　but　they　were　there　and　he　heard　them。
　What's　left　when　your　memory's　gone？　And　your　identity；　Mr　Smith？
　Stop　it　I
　The　armoured　van　swung　into　the　traffic　on　rue　Madeleine。　Bourne　tapped　the　driver　on　the　shoulder。　'Follow　that　truck；　but　keep　at　least　two　cars　between　us；'　he　said　in　French。
　The　driver　turned；　alarmed。　'I　think　you　have　the　wrong　taxi；　monsieur。　Take　back　your　money。'
　'I'm　with　the　pany；　you　damn　fool。　It's　a　special　assignment'
　'Regrets；　Monsieur。　We　will　not　lose　it。'　The　driver　plunged　diagonally　forward　into　the　bat　of　traffic。
　The　van　took　the　quickest　route　to　the　Seine；　going　down　side　streets；　turning　left　on　the　Quai　de　la　Rapee　towards　the　Pont　Neuf。　Then　within　what　Jason　judged　to　be　three　or　four　blocks　of　the　bridge；　it　slowed　down；　hugging　the　kerb　as　if　the　courier　had　decided　he　was　too　early　for　his　appointment。　But；　if　anything；　Bourne　thought；　he　was　running　late。　It　was　six　minutes　to　three；　barely　enough　time　for　the　man　to　park　and　walk　the　one　prescribed　block　to　the　bridge。　Then　why　had　the　van　slowed　down？　Slowed　down？　No；　it　had　stopped；　it　wasn't　moving！　Why？
　The　traffic？。。。　Good　God；　of　course；　the　traffic！
　'Stop　here；'　said　Bourne　to　the　driver。　'Pull　over　to　the　kerb。　Quickly！'
　'What　is　it。　Monsieur？'
　'You're　a　very　fortunate　man；'　said　Jason。　'My　pany　is　willing　to　pay　you　an　additional　one　hundred　francs　if　you　simply　go　to　the　front　window　of　that　van　and　say　a　few　words　to　the　driver。　Do　you　want　the　hundred？〃
　'What；　Monsieur？'
　'Frankly；　we're　testing　him。　He's　new。　Do　you　want　the　hundred？〃
　'I　just　go　to　the　window　and　say　a　few　words？〃
　'That's　all。　Five　seconds　at　the　most；　then　you　can　go　back　to　your　taxi　and　drive　off。'
　'There's　no　trouble？　I　don't　want　trouble。'
　'My　firm's　among　the　most　respectable　in　France。　You've　seen　our　trucks　everywhere。'
　'I　don't　know。。。'
　'Forget　it！'　Bourne　reached　for　the　handle　of　the　door。
　'What　are　the　words？'
　Jason　held　out　the　hundred　francs。　'Just　these：　〃Herr　Koenig。
　Greetings　from　Zurich。〃　Can　you　remember　those？'　'　〃Koenig。　Greetings　from　Zurich。〃　What's　so　difficult？'
　'Good。　Let's　go。　I'll　be　right　behind　you。'
　'You？　Behind　me？'
　That's　right'　They　walked　rapidly　towards　the　van；　hugging　the　right　side　of　their　small　alley　in　the　traffic　as　cars　and　trucks　passed　them　in　starts　and　stops　on　their　left　The　van　was　Carlos's　trap；　thought　Bourne。　The　assassin　had　bought　his　way　into　the　ranks　of　the　armed　couriers。　A　single　name　and　a　rendezvous　revealed　over　a　monitored　radio　frequency　could　bring　an　underpaid　messenger　a　great　deal　of　money。　Bourne。　Pont　Neuf。　So　simple。　This　particular　courier　was　less　concerned　with　being　prompt　than　in　making　sure　the　soldiers　of　Carlos　reached　the　Pont　Neuf　in　time。　Paris　traffic　was　notorious；　anyone　could　be　late。　Jason　stopped　the　taxi　driver；　holding　in　his　hand　two　additional　two…hundred　franc　notes；　the　man's　eyes　were　riveted　on　them。
　'Monsieur？'
　'My　pany's　going　to　be　very　generous。　This　man　must　be　disciplined　for　gross　infractions。　After　you　say　〃Herr　Koenig。　Greetings　from　Zurich；〃　simply　add；　〃The　schedule's　changed。　There's　a　fare　in　my　taxi　who　must　see　you。〃　Have　you　got　that？'
　The　driver's　eyes　returned　to　the　franc　notes。　'What's　difficult？'　He　took　the　money。
　They　edged　their　way　along　the　side　of　the　van；　Jason's　back　pressed　against　the　wall　of　steel；　his　right　hand　concealed　beneath　his　overcoat；　gripping　the　gun　in　his　belt　The　driver　approached　the　window　and　reached　up；　tapping　the　glass。
　'You　inside！　Herr　Koenig！　Greetings　from　Zurich'　he　yelled。
　The　window　was　rolled　down；　no　more　than　an　inch　or　two。　'What　is　this？'　a　voice　yelled　back。　'You're　supposed　to　be　at　the　Pont　Neuf；　Monsieur　I！
　The　driver　was　no　idiot；　he　was　also　anxious　to　leave　as　rapidly　as　possible。　'Not　me；　you　jackass！'　he　shouted　through　the　din　of　the　surrounding；　perilously　close　traffic。　'I'm　telling　you　what　I　was　told　to　say！　The　schedule's　been　changed。　There's　a　man　back　there　who　says　he　has　to　see　you！'
　Tell　him　to　hurry；'　said　Jason；　holding　a　final　fifty…franc　note　in　his　hand；　beyond　sight　of　the　window。
　The　driver　glanced　at　the　money；　then　back　up　at　the　courier。　'Be　quick　about　it！　If　you　don't　see　him　right　away　you'll　lose　your　job！'
　'Now；　get　out　of　here！'　said　Bourne。　The　driver　turned　and　ran　past　Jason；　grabbing　the　franc　note　as　he　raced　back　to　his　taxi。
　Bourne　held　his　place；　suddenly　alarmed　by　what　he　heard　through　the　cacophony　of　pounding　horns　and　gunning　engines　in　the　crowded　street。　There　were　voices　from　inside　the　van；　not　one　man　shouting　into　a　radio；　but　two　shouting　at　each　other。　The　courier　was　not　alone；　there　was　another　man　with　him。
　〃Those　were　the　words！　You　heard　them！'
　'He　was　to　e　up　to　you。　He　was　to　show　himself。'
　'Which　he　will　do。　And　present　the　piece　of　leather　which　must　fit　exactly！　Do　you　expect　him　to　do　that　in　the　middle　of　the　street　filled　with　traffic？'
　'I　don't　like　it！'
　'You　paid　me　to　help　you　and　your　people　find　someone。　Not　to　lose　my　job　I　I'm　going！'
　'It　must　be　the　Pont　Neuf！'
　'Kiss　my　ass！'
　There　was　the　sound　of　heavy　footsteps　on　the　metal　floorboards。　'I'm　ing　with　you！'
　The　panel　door　opened；　Jason　spun　behind　it；　his　hand　still　under　his　coat。　Below　him　a　child's　face　was　pressed　against　the　glass　of　a　car　window；　the　eyes　squinting；　the　young　features　contorted　into　an　ugly　mask；　fright　and　insult　the　childish　intent。　The　swelling　sound　of　angry　horns；　blaring　in　counterpoint；　filled　the　street；　the　traffic　had　e　to　a　standstill。
　The　courier　stepped　off　the　metal　ledge；　the　attaché　case　in　his　left　hand。　Bourne　was　ready；　the　instant　the　courier　was　on　the　street；　he　slammed　the　panel　back　into　the　body　of　the　second　man；　crashing　the　heavy　steel　into　a　descending　kneecap　and　an　outstretched　hand。　The　man　screamed；　reeling　backwards　inside　the　van。　Jason　shouted　at　the　courier；　the　jagged　scrap　of　leather　in　his　free　hand。
　'I'm　Bourne！　Here's　the　fragment！　And　you　keep　that　gun　in　its　holster　or　you　won't　just　lose　your　job；　you'll　lose　your　life；　you　son　of　a　bitch！！
　'I　meant　no　harm；　Monsieur！　They　wanted　to　find　you！　They　have　no　interest　in　your　delivery；　you　have　my　word　on　it！'
　The　door　crashed　open；　Jason　slammed　it　again　with　his　shoulder；　then　pulled　it　back　to　see　the　face　of　Carlos's　soldier；　his　hand　on　the　weapon　in　his　belt。
　What　he　saw　was　the　barrel　of　a　gun；　the　black　orifice　of　its　opening　staring　him　in　the　eyes。　He　spun　back；　aware　that　the　split…second　delay　in　the　gunshot　that　followed　was　caused　by　a　burst　of　shrill　ringing　that　exploded　out　of　the　armoured　van。　The　alarm　had　been　tripped；　the　sound　deafening；　riding　over　the　dissonance　in　the　street；　the　gunshot　seemed　muted　by　parison；　the　eruption　of　asphalt　below　not　heard。
　Once　more　Jason　hammered　the　panel。　He　heard　the　impact　of　metal　against　metal；　he　had　made　contact　with　the　gun　of　Carlos's　soldier。　He　pulled　his　own　from　his　belt；　dropped　to　his　knees　in　the　street；　and　pulled　the　door　open。
　He　saw　the　face　from　Zurich；　the　killer　they　had　called　Johann；　the　man　they　had　brought　to　Paris　to　recognize　him。　〃　Bourne　fired　twice；　the　man　arched　backwards；　blood　spreading　across　his　forehead。
　The　courier！　The　attaché　case！
　Jason　saw　the　man；　he　had　ducked　below　the　tailgate　for　protection；　his　weapon　in　his　hand；　screaming　for　help。　Bourne　leaped　to　his　feet　and　lunged　for　the　extended　gun；　gripping　the　barrel；　twisting　it　out　of　the　courier's　hand。　He　grabbed　the　attaché　case　and　shouted。
　'No　harm；　right！　Give　me　that；　you　bastard！'　He　threw　the　man's　gun　under　the　van；　got　up；　and　plunged　into　the　hysterical　crowds　on　the　pavement。
　He　ran　wildly；　blindly；　the　bodies　in　front　of　him　the　movable　walls　of　his　labyrinth。　But　there　was　an　essential　difference　between　this　gauntlet　and　one　he　lived　in　every