rl.thebourneidentity-第68部分

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　now　in　the　centre　of　the　sky。　He　reached　the　area；　it　was　feasible。　The　shoulder　was　wide；　bordering　a　pasture；　which　meant　that　both　cars　could　be　pulled　off　the　road。　The　immediate　objective；　however；　was　to　get　Villiers　to　stop。　The　general　was　old　but　not　feeble；　if　the　tactic　were　suspect；　he　would　break　over　the　grass　and　race　away。　Everything　was　timing；　and　a　totally　convincing　moment　of　the　unexpected。
　Bourne　swung　the　Renault　around　in　a　U…turn；　waited　until　he　saw　the　headlights　in　the　distance；　then　suddenly　accelerated；　swinging　the　wheel　violently　back　and　forth。　The　car　careened　over　the　road　…　an　out…of…control　driver；　incapable　of　finding　a　straight　line；　but　nevertheless　speeding。
　Villiers　had　no　choice；　he　slowed　down；　as　Jason　came　racing　insanely　towards　him。　Then　abruptly；　when　the　two　cars　were　no　more　than　twenty　feet　from　colliding；　Bourne　spun　the　wheel　to　the　left；　braking　as　he　did　so；　sliding　into　skid；　tyres　screeching。　He　came　to　a　stop；　the　window　open；　and　raised　his　voice　in　an　undefined　cry。　Half　shout；　half　scream；　it　could　have　been　the　vocal　explosion　of　an　ill　man　or　a　drunken　man；　but　the　one　thing　it　was　not　was　threatening。　He　slapped　his　hand　on　the　frame　of　the　window　and　was　silent；　crouching　in　the　seat；　his　gun　on　his　lap。
　He　heard　the　door　of　Villiers's　saloon　open　and　peered　through　the　steering　wheel。　The　old　man　was　not　visibly　armed；　he　seemed　to　suspect　nothing；　relieved　only　that　a　collision　had　been　avoided。　The　general　walked　through　the　beams　of　the　headlights　to　the　Renault's　left　window；　his　shouts　anxious；　his　French　the　interrogating　mands　of　Saint　Cyr。
　'What's　the　meaning　of　this？　What　do　you　think　you're　doing！　Are　you　all　right？'　His　hands　gripped　the　base　of　the　window。
　'Yes；　but　you're　not；'　replied　Bourne　in　English；　raising　the　gun。
　'What？。。。'　The　old　man　gasped；　standing　erect。　'Who　are　you　and　what　is　this？'
　Jason　got　out　of　the　Renault；　his　left　hand　extended　above　the　barrel　of　the　weapon。　'I'm　glad　your　English　is　fluent。　Walk　back　to　your　car。　Drive　it　off　the　road。'
　'And　if　I　refuse？'
　'I'll　kill　you　right　now。　It　wouldn't　take　much　to　provoke　me。'
　'Do　these　words　e　from　the　Red　Brigades？　Or　the　Paris　branch　of　the　Baader…Meinhof？'
　'Why？　Could　you　countermand　them　if　they　did？'
　'I　spit　at　them！　And　you！'
　'No　one's　ever　doubted　your　courage；　General。　Walk　to　your　car。'
　'It's　not　a　matter　of　courage'　said　Villiers；　without　moving。　'It's　a　question　of　logic。　You'll　acplish　nothing　by　killing　me；　less　by　kidnapping　me。　My　orders　are　firm；　fully　understood　by　my　staff　and　my　family。　The　Israelis　are　absolutely　right！　There　can　be　no　negotiations　with　terrorists。　Use　your　gun；　garbage！　Or　get　out　of　here！'
　Jason　studied　the　old　soldier；　suddenly　profoundly　uncertain；　but　not　about　to　be　fooled。　It　would　be　in　the　furious　eyes　that　stared　at　him。　One　name　soaked　in　filth　coupled　with　another　name　heaped　with　the　honours　of　his　nation　would　cause　another　kind　of　explosion；　it　would　be　in　the　eyes。
　'Back　at　that　restaurant；　you　said　France　shouldn't　be　a　lackey　to　anyone。　But　a　general　of　France　became　someone's　lackey。　General　Andrel　Villiers；　messenger　for　Carlos。。。　Carlos's　contact；　Carlos's　soldier；　Carlos's　lackey。'
　The　furious　eyes　did　grow　wide；　but　not　in　any　way　Jason　expected。　Fury　was　suddenly　joined　by　hatred；　not　shock；　not　hysteria；　but　deep；　unpromising　abhorrence。　The　back　of　Villiers's　hand　shot　up；　arching　from　his　waist；　the　crack　against　Bourne's　face　sharp；　accurate；　painful。　It　was　followed　by　a　forward　slap；　brutal；　insulting；　the　force　of　the　blow　reeling　Jason　back　on　his　feet。　The　old　man　moved　in；　blocked　by　the　barrel　of　the　gun　but　unafraid；　undeterred　by　its　presence；　intent　only　on　inflicting　punishment。　The　blows　came　one　after　another；　delivered　by　a　man　possessed。
　'Pig！'　screamed　Villiers。　'Filthy；　detestable　pig！　Garbage！'
　'I'll　shoot！　I'll　kill　you！　Stop　it！'　But　Bourne　could　not　pull　the　trigger。　He　was　backed　into　the　small　car；　his　shoulders　pressed　against　the　roof。　Still　the　old　man　attacked；　his　hands　flying　out；　swinging　up；　crashing　down。
　'Kill　me　if　you　can；　if　you　dare！　Dirt！　Filth！'　Jason　threw　the　gun　to　the　ground；　raising　his　arms　to　fend　off　Villiers's　assault。　He　lashed　his　left　hand　out；　grabbing　the　old　man's　right　wrist；　then　his　left；　gripping　the　left　forearm
　that　was　slashing　down　like　a　broadsword。　He　twisted　both　violently；　bending　Villiers　into　him；　forcing　the　old　soldier　to　stand　motionless；　their　faces　inches　from　each　other；　the　old　man's　chest　heaving。
　'Are　you　telling　me　you're　not　Carlos's　man？　Are　you　denying　it？'
　Villiers　lunged　forward；　trying　to　break　Bourne's　grip；　his　barrel…like　chest　smashing　into　Jason。　'I　revile　you！　Animal！'
　'Goddamn　you；　yes　or　no！
　The　old　man　spat　in　Bourne's　face；　the　fire　in　his　eyes　now　clouded；　tears　welling。　'Carlos　killed　my　son；'　he　said　in　a　whisper。　'He　killed　my　only　son　on　the　rue　du　Bac。　My　son's　life　was　blown　up　with　five　sticks　of　dynamite　on　the　rue　du　Bac'
　Jason　slowly　reduced　the　pressure　of　his　fingers。　Breathing　heavily；　he　spoke　as　calmly　as　he　could。
　'Drive　your　car　into　the　field　and　stay　there。　We　have　to　talk；　General。　Something's　happened　you　don't　know　about；　and　we'd　both　better　learn　what　it　is。'
　'Never！　Impossible！　It　could　not　happen！'
　'It　happened；'　said　Bourne；　sitting　with　Villiers　in　the　front　seat　of　his　car。
　'An　incredible　mistake　has　been　made！　You　don't　know　what　you're　saying！'
　'No　mistake；　and　I　do　know　what　I'm　saying　because　I　found　the　number　myself。　It's　not　only　the　right　number；　it's　a　magnificent　cover。　Nobody　in　his　right　mind　would　connect　you　with　Carlos；　especially　in　light　of　your　son's　death。　Is　it　mon　knowledge　he　was　Carlos's　kill？'
　'I　would　prefer　different　language；　Monsieur。'
　'Sorry。　I　mean　that'
　'mon　knowledge？　Among　the　Surete；　a　qualified　yes。　Within　military　intelligence　and　Interpol；　most　certainly。　I　read　the　reports。〃
　'What　did　they　say？'
　'It　was　presumed　that　Carlos　did　a　favour　for　his　friends　from　his　radical　days。　Even　to　the　point　of　allowing　them　to　appear　silently　responsible　for　the　act。　It　was　politically　motivated；　you　know。　My　son　was　a　sacrifice；　an　example　to　others　who　opposed　the　fanatics。'
　'Fanatics？'
　'The　extremists　were　forming　a　false　coalition　with　the　socialists；　making　promises　they　had　no　intention　of　keeping。　My　son　understood　this；　exposed　it　and　initiated　legislation　to　block　the　alignment。　He　was　killed　for　it'
　'Is　that　why　you　retired　from　the　army　and　stood　for　election？'
　'With　all　my　heart。　It　is　customary　for　the　son　to　carry　on　for　the　father。。。'　The　old　man　paused；　the　moonlight　illuminating　his　haggard　face。　'In　this　matter；　it　was　the　father's　legacy　to　carry　on　for　the　son。　He　was　no　soldier；　nor　I　a　politician；　but　I　am　no　stranger　to　weapons　and　explosives。　His　causes　were　moulded　by　me；　his　philosophy　reflected　my　own；　and　he　was　killed　for　these　things。　My　decision　was　clear　to　me。　I　would　carry　our　beliefs　into　the　political　arena　and　let　his　enemies　contend　with　me。　The　soldier　was　prepared　for　them。'
　'More　than　one　soldier；　I　gather。'
　'What　do　you　mean？'
　Those　men　back　there　at　the　restaurant。　They　looked　as　if　they　ran　half　the　armies　in　France。'
　They　did。　Monsieur。　They　were　once　known　as　the　angry　young　manders　of　Saint　Cyr。　The　Republic　was　corrupt；　the　army　inpetent；　the　Maginot　a　joke。　Had　they　been　heeded　in　their　time；　France　would　not　have　fallen。　They　became　the　leaders　of　the　Resistance；　they　fought　the　Boche　and　Vichy　all　through　Europe　and　Africa。'
　'What　do　they　do　now？'
　'Most　live　on　pensions；　many　obsessed　with　the　past。　They　pray　to　the　Virgin　that　it　will　never　be　repeated。　In　too　many　areas；　however；　they　see　it　happening。　The　army　is　reduced　to　a　sideshow。　munists　and　socialists　in　the　Assembly　are　for　ever　eroding　the　strength　of　the　services。　The　Moscow　apparatus　runs　true　to　form：　it　does　not　change　with　the　decades。　A　free　society　is　ripe　for　infiltration　and；　once　infiltrated；　the　changes　do　not　stop　until　that　society　is　remade　in　another　image。　Conspiracy　is　everywhere；　it　cannot　go　unchallenged。'
　'Some　might　say　that　sounds　pretty　extreme　itself。'
　'For　what？　Survival？　Strength？　Honour？　Are　these　terms　too　anachronistic　for　you？'
　'I　don't　think　so。　But　I　can　imagine　a　lot　of　damage　being　done　in　their　names。'
　'Our　philosophies　differ　and　I　don't　care　to　debate　them。　You　asked　me　about　my　associates　and　I　answered　you。　Now；　please；　this　incredible　misinformation　of　yours。　It's　appalling。　You　don't　know　what　it's　like　to　lose　a　son》　to　have　a　child　killed。'
　The　pain　es　back　to　me　and　I　don't　know　why。　Pain　and　emptiness；　a　vacuum　in　the　sky。。。　from　the　sky。　Death　in　and　from　the　skies。　Jesus；　it　hurts。　It。　What　is　it？
　'I　can　sympathize；'　said　Jason；　his　hands　gripped　to　stop　the　sudden　trembling。　'But　it　fits。'
　'Not　for　an　instant！　As　you　said；　no　one　in　his　right　mind　would　connect　me　to　Carlos；　least　of　all　the　killer　pig　himself。　It's　a　risk　he　would　not　take。　It's　unthinkable。'
　'Exactly。　Which　is　why　you're　being　used；　it　is　unthinkable。　You're　the　perfect　relay　for　final　instructions。'
　'Impossible！　How？'
　'Someone　at　your　number　is　in　direct　contact　with　Carlos。　Codes　are　used；　certain　words　spoken；　to　get　that　person　on　the　line。　Probably　when　you're　not　there；　possibly　when　you　are。　Do　you　answer　the　telephone　yourself？'
　Villiers　frowned。　'Actually；　I　don't。　Not　that　number。　There　are　too　many　people　to　be　avoided　and　I　have　a　private　line。'
　'Who　does　answer　it？'
　'Generally　the　housekeeper；　or　her　husband　who　serves　as　part　butler；　part　chauffeur。　He　was　my　driver　during　my　last　years　in　the　army。　If　not　either　of　them；　my　wife；　of　course。　Or　my　aide；　who　often　works　at　my　office　at　the　house；　he　was　my　adjutant　for　twenty　years。'
　'Who　else？'
　'There　is　no　one　else。'
　'Maids？'
　'None　permanent；　if　they're　needed；　they're　hired　for　an　occasion。　There's　more　wealth　in　the　Villiers　name　than　in　the　banks。'
　'Cleaning　woman？'
　'Two。　They　e　twice　a　week　and　not　always　the　same　two。'
　'You'd　better　take　a　closer　look　at　your　chauffeur　and　the　adjutant。'
　'Prepo