rl.thebourneidentity-第57部分

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…　were　fed　his　name：　embassies；　listening　posts；　entire　intelligence　networks　were　repeatedly　funnelled　reports　that　concentrated　on　Cain's　rapidly　expanding　activities。　His　〃kills〃　were　mounting　every　month；　sometimes　it　seemed　weekly。　He　was　everywhere。。。　and　he　was。　In　all　ways。'　'You　mean　this　Bourne　was？'
　'Yes。　He　spent　months　learning　everything　there　was　to　learn　about　Carlos；　studying　every　file　we　had；　every　known　and　suspected　assassination　with　which　Carlos　was　involved。　He　pored　over　Carlos's　tactics；　his　methods　of　operation；　everything。　Much　of　that　material　has　never　seen　the　light　of　day　and　probably　never　will。　It's　explosive　…　governments　and　international　bines　would　be　at　one　another's　throats。　There　was　literally　nothing　Bourne　did　not　know　…　that　could　be　known　…　about　Carlos。　And　then　he'd　show　himself；　always　with　a　different　appearance；　speaking　any　of　several　languages；　talking　about　things　to　selected　circles　of　hardened　criminals　that　only　a　professional　killer　would　talk　about。　Then　he'd　be　gone；　leaving　behind　bewildered　and　often　frightened　men　and　women。　They　had　seen　Cain；　he　existed；　and　he　was　ruthless。　That　was　the　image　Bourne　conveyed。'
　'He's　been　underground　like　this　for　three　years？'　asked
　Stevens。
　'Yes。　He　moved　to　Europe；　the　most　acplished　white　assassin　in　Asia；　graduate　of　the　infamous　Medusa；　challenging　Carlos　in　his　own　backyard。　And　in　the　process　he　saved　four　men　marked　by　Carlos；　took　credit　for　others　Carlos　had　killed；　mocked　him　at　every　opportunity。。。　always　trying　to　force　him　out　in　the　open。　He's　spent　nearly　three　years　living　the　most　dangerous　sort　of　life　a　man　can　live；　the　kind　of　existence　few　men　ever　know。　Most　would　have　broken　under　it；　and　that　possibly　can　never　be　ruled　out。'
　'What　kind　of　man　is　he？'
　'A　professional；'　answered　Gordon　Webb。　'Someone　who　had　the　training　and　the　capability；　who　understood　that　Carlos　had　to　be　found；　stopped。'
　'But　three　years。。。？'
　'If　that　seems　incredible；'　said　Abbott；　'you　should　know　that　he　submitted　to　surgery。　It　was　like　a　final　break　with　the　past；　with　the　man　he　was　in　order　to　bee　a　man　he　wasn't。　I　don't　think　there's　any　way　a　nation　can　repay　a　man　like　Bourne　for　what　he's　done。　Perhaps　the　only　way　is　to　give　him　the　chance　to　succeed；　and；　by　God；　I　intend　to　do　that。'　The　Monk　stopped　for　precisely　two　seconds；　then　added；　'If　it　is　Bourne。'
　It　was　as　if　Elliot　Stevens　had　been　struck　by　an　unseen　hammer。　'What　did　you　say？'　he　asked。
　'I'm　afraid　I've　held　this　to　the　end。　I　wanted　you　to　understand　the　whole　picture；　before　I　described　the　gap。　It　may　not　be　a　gap；　we　just　don't　know。　Too　many　things　have　happened　that　make　no　sense　to　us；　but　we　don't　know。　It's　the　reason　why　there　can　be　absolutely　no　interference　from　other　levels；　no　diplomatic　sugar　pills　that　might　expose　the　strategy。　We　could　condemn　a　man　to　death；　a　man　who's　given　more　than　any　of　us。　If　he　succeeds；　he　can　go　back　to　his　own　life；　but　only　anonymously；　only　without　his　identity　ever　being　revealed。'
　'I'm　afraid　you'll　have　to　explain　that；'　said　the　astonished　presidential　aide。
　'Loyalty；　Elliot　It's　not　restricted　to　what's　monly　referred　to　as　the　〃good　guys〃。　Carlos　has　built　up　an　army　of　men　and　women　who　are　devoted　to　him。　They　may　not　know　him　but　they　revere　him。　If　Bourne　is　exposed；　that　army　will　spread　out　and　kill　him。　However；　if　he　can　take　Carlos　…　or　trap　Carlos　so　we　can　take　him　…　then　vanish；　he's　home　free。'
　'But　you　say　he　may　not　be　Bourne！'
　'I　said　we　don't　know。　It　was　Bourne　at　the　bank；　the　signatures　were　authentic。　But　is　it　Bourne　now？　The　next　few　days　will　tell　us。'
　'If　he　surfaces；'　added　Webb。
　'It's　delicate；'　continued　the　old　man。　There　are　so　many　variables。　If　it　isn't　Bourne　…　or　if　he's　turned　…　it　could　explain　the　call　to　Ottawa；　the　killing　at　the　airport。　From　what　we　can　gather；　the　woman's　expertise　was　used　to　withdraw　the　money　in　Paris。　All　Carlos　had　to　do　was　make　a　few　inquiries　at　the　Canadian　Department　of　Finance。　The　rest　would　be　child's　play　for　him。　Kill　her　contact；　panic　her；　cut　her　off　and　use　her　to　contain　Bourne。'
　'Were　you　able　to　get　word　to　her？'　asked　the　major。　'I　tried　and　failed。　I　had　Mac　Hawkins　call　a　man　who　also　worked　closely　with　the　St　Jacques　woman；　a　man　named　Alan　somebody…or…other。　He　instructed　her　to　return　to　Canada　immediately。　She　hung　up　on　him。'　'Goddamn　it！'　exploded　Webb。
　'Precisely。　If　we　could　have　got　her　back；　we　might　have　learned　so　much。　She's　the　key。　Why　is　she　with　him？　Why　he　with　her？　Nothing　makes　sense。'
　'Less　so　to　me！'　said　Stevens；　his　bewilderment　turning　into　anger。　'If　you　want　the　President's　co…operation　…　and　I　promise　nothing　…　you'd　better　be　clearer。'
　Abbott　turned　to　him。　'Six　months　ago　Bourne　disappeared；'　he　said。　'Something　happened；　we're　not　sure　what；　but　we　can　piece　together　a　probability。　He　got　word　into　Zurich　that　he　was　on　his　way　to　Marseilles；　Later　…　too　late　…　we　understood。　He'd　learned　that　Carlos　had　accepted　a　contract　on　Howard　Leland；　and　Bourne　tried　to　stop　it。。。　Then　nothing：　he　vanished。　Had　he　been　killed？　Had　he　broken　under　the　strain？　Had　he。。。　given　up？'
　'I　can't　accept　that；'　interrupted　Webb。　'I　won't　accept　it。'　'I　know　you　won't；'；　said；　the　Monk。　'It's　why　I　want　you　to　go　through　that　file。　You　know　his　codes；　they're　all　in　there。　See　if　you　can　spot　any　deviations　in　Zurich。'
　'Please！'　broke　in　Stevens。　'What　do　you　think〃！　You　must　have　found　something　concrete；　something　on　which　to　base　a　judgment！　I　need　that；　Mr　Abbott。　The　President　needs　it。'
　'I　wish　to　heaven　I　had；〃　replied　the　Monk。　'What　have　we　found？　Everything　and　nothing。。。　Two　years　and　ten　months　of　the　most　carefully　constructed　deception　in　our　records。　Every　false　act　documented；　every　move　defined　and　justified；　each　man　and　woman　informants；　contacts；　sources　…　given　faces；　voices；　stories　to　tell。　And　every　month；　every　week　just　a　little　bit　closer　to　Carlos。。。　Then　nothing。　Silence。　Six　months'　vacuum。'
　'Not　now；'　countered　the　President's　aide。　'That　silence　was　broken。　By　whom？'
　That's　the　basic　question；　isn't　it？'　said　the　old　man；　his　voice　tired。　'Months　of　silence；　then　suddenly　an　explosion　of　unauthorized；　inprehensible　activity。　The　account　penetrated；　the　fiche　altered；　millions　transferred　…　by　all　appearances；　stolen。　Above　all；　men　killed　and　traps　set　for　other　men。　But　for　whom；　by　whom？'　The　Monk　shook　his　head　wearily。　'Who　is　the　man　out　there？'
　The　limousine　was　parked　between　two　street　lamps；　diagonally　across　from　the　heavy　ornamental　doors　of　the　brownstone　house。　In　the　front　seat　sat　a　uniformed　chauffeur；　such　a　driver　at　the　wheel　of　such　a　vehicle　was　not　an　unmon　sight　on　the　tree…lined　street。　What　was　unusual；　however；　was　the　fact　that　two　other　men　remained　in　the　shadows　of　the　deep　back　seat；　neither　making　any　move　to　get　out。　Instead；　they　watched　the　entrance　of　the　brownstone；　confident　that　they　could　not　be　picked　up　by　the　infra…red　beam　of　a　scanning　camera。
　One　man　adjusted　his　glasses；　the　eyes　beyond　his　thick　lenses　owl…like；　flatly　suspicious　of　most　of　what　they　surveyed。　Alfred　Gillette；　Director　of　Personnel　Screening　and　Evaluation　for　the　National　Security　Council；　spoke。　'How　gratifying　to　be　there　when　arrogance　collapses。　How　much　more　so　to　be　the　instrument。'
　'You　really　dislike　him；　don't　you？'　said　Gillette's　panion；　a　heavy…shouldered　man　in　a　black　raincoat　whose　accent　derived　from　a　Slavic　language　somewhere　in　Europe。
　'I　loathe　him。　He　stands　for　everything　I　hate　in　Washington。　The　right　schools；　houses　in　Georgetown；　farm　in　Virginia；　quiet　meetings　at　their　clubs。　They've　got　their　tight　little　world　and　you　don't　break　in　…　they　run　it　all。　The　bastards。　The　superior；　self…inflated　gentry　of　Washington。　They　use　other　men's　intellects；　other　men's　work；　wrapping　it　all　into　decisions　bearing　their　imprimatures。　And　if　you're　on　the　outside；　you　bee　part　of　that　amorphous　entity；　a　〃damn　fine　staff〃。'
　'You　exaggerate；'　said　the　European；　his　eyes　on　the　brown…stone。　'You　haven't　done　badly　there。　We　never　would　have　contacted　you　otherwise。'
　Gillette　scowled。　'If　I　haven't　done　badly；　it's　because　I've　bee　indispensable　to　too　many　like　David　Abbott。　I　have　in　my　head　a　thousand　facts　they　couldn't　possibly　recall。　It's　simply　easier　for　them　to　place　me　where　the　questions　arc；　where　problems　need　solutions。　Director　of　Personnel　Screening　and　Development！　They　created　that　title；　that　post；　for　me。　Do　you　know　why？'
　'No；　Alfred；'　replied　the　European；　looking　at　his　watch；　'I　don't　know　why。'
　'Because　they　don't　have　the　patience　to　spend　hours　poring　over　thousands　of　resumes　and　dossiers。　They'd　rather　be　dining　at　Sans　Souci；　or　preening　in　front　of　Senate　mittees；　reading　from　pages　prepared　by　others　…　by　those　unseen；　unnamed　〃damn　fine　staffs〃。'
　'You're　a　bitter　man；'　said　the　European。
　'More　than　you'll　know。　A　lifetime　doing　the　work　those　bastards　should　have　done　for　themselves。　And　for　what？　A　title　and　an　occasional　lunch　where　my　brains　are　picked　between　the　shrimps　and　the　entree。　By　men　like　the　supremely　arrogant　David　Abbott；　they're　nothing　without　people　like　me。'
　'Don't　underestimate　the　Monk。　Carlos　doesn't
　'How　could　he？　He　doesn't　know　what　to　evaluate。　Everything　Abbott　does　is　shrouded　in　secrecy；　no　one　knows　how　many　mistakes　he's　made。　And　if　any　e　to　light；　men　like　me　are　blamed　for　them。'
　The　European　shifted　his　gaze　from　the　window　to　Gillette。　'You're　very　emotional；　Alfred；'　he　said　coldly；　'You　must　be　careful　about　that'
　The　bureaucrat　smiled。　'It　never　gets　in　the　way；　I　believe　my　contributions　to　Carlos　bear　that　out。　Let's　say　I'm　preparing　myself　for　a　confrontation　I　wouldn't　avoid　for　anything　in　the　world。'
　'An　honest　statement；'　said　the　heavy…shouldered　man。
　'What　about　you？　You　found　me。'
　'I　knew　what　to　look　for。'　The　European　returned　to　the　window。　'I　mean　you。　The　work　you　do。　For　Carlos。'
　'I　have　no　such　plicated　reasoning。　I　e　out　of　a　country　where　educated　men　are　promoted　at　the　whim　of　morons　who　recite　Marxist　litany　by　rote。　Carlos；　too；　knew　wha