rl.thebourneidentity-第78部分

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　'All　day；　if　you　wish；　Monsieur。'
　Jason　pulled　up　the　lapels　of　his　overcoat；　pushed　his　hat　forward　and　put　on　the　tortoise…shell　glasses。　He　walked　alongside　a　couple　towards　a　religious　pavement　stall；　breaking　away　to　stand　behind　a　mother　and　child　at　the　counter。　He　had　a　clear　view　of　the　grey　Citroen；　the　taxi　which　had　been　summoned　to　Pare　Monceau　was　no　longer　there；　dismissed　by　Villiers's　wife。　It　was　a　curious　decision　on　her　part；　thought　Bourne；　cabs　were　not　that　readily　available。
　Three　minutes　later；　the　reason　was　clear。。。　and　disturbing。　Villiers's　wife　came　striding　out　of　the　church；　walking　rapidly；　her　tall　statuesque　figure　drawing　admiring　glances　from　passers…by。　She　went　directly　to　the　Citroen；　spoke　directly　to　the　men　in　front；　then　opened　the　rear　door。
　The　bag。　A　white　bag！　Villiers's　wife　was　carrying　the　bag　that　only　minutes　ago　had　been　clutched　in　the　hands　of　Jacqueline　Lavier。　She　climbed　into　the　Citroen's　back　seat　and　pulled　the　door　shut。　The　car's　engine　was　switched　on　and　gunned；　the　prelude　to　a　quick　and　sudden　departure。　As　the　vehicle　rolled　away；　the　shiny　metal　rod　that　was　the　vehicle's　antenna　became　shorter　and　shorter；　retracting　into　its　base。
　Where　was　Jacqueline　Lavier？　Why　had　she　given　her　bag　to　Villiers's　wife？　Bourne　started　to　move；　then　stopped；　instinct　warning　him。　A　trap？　If　Lavier　was　followed；　those　following　her　might　also　be　trailed　…　and　not　by　him。
　He　looked　up　and　down　the　street；　studying　the　pedestrians　on　the　pavement；　then　each　car；　each　driver　and　passenger；　watching　for　a　face　that　did　not　belong；　as　Villiers　had　said　the　two　men　in　the　Citroen　had　not　belonged　in　Pare　Monceau。
　There　were　no　breaks　in　the　parade；　no　darting　eyes　or　hands　concealed　in　outsized　pockets。　He　was　being　over　cautious；　Neuilly…sur…Seine　was　not　a　trap　for　him。　He　moved　away　from　the　stall　and　started　for　the　church。
　He　stopped；　his　feet　suddenly　clamped　to　the　pavement。　A　priest　was　ing　out　of　the　church；　a　priest　in　a　black　suit；　a　starched　white　collar　and　a　black　hat　that　partially　covered　his　face。　He　had　seen　him　before。　Not　long　ago；　not　in　a　forgotten　past；　but　recently。　Very　recently。　Weeks；　days。。。　hours；　perhaps。　Where　was　it？　Where？　He　knew　him！　It　was　in　the　walk；　in　the　tilt　of　his　head；　in　the　wide　shoulders　that　seemed　to　glide　in　place　above　the　fluid　movement　of　his　body。　He　was　a　man　with　a　gun！　Where　was　it？
　Zurich？　The　Carillon　du　Lac？　Two　men　breaking　through　the　crowds；　converging；　brokering　death。　One　wore　gold…rimmed　glasses；　it　was　not　he。　That　man　was　dead。　Was　it　that　other　man　in　the　Carillon　du　Lac？　Or　on　the　Guisan　Quai？　An　animal；　grunting；　wild…eyed　in　rape。　Was　it　he？　Or　someone　else。　A　dark…coated　man　in　the　corridor　at　the　Auberge　du　Coin　where　the　lights　had　shorted；　the　spill　from　the　staircase　illuminating　the　trap。　A　reverse　trap　where　that　man　had　fired　his　weapon　in　darkness　at　shapes　he　thought　were　human。　Was　it　that　man？
　Bourne　did　not　know；　he　only　knew　that　he　had　seen　the　priest　before；　but　not　as　a　priest。　As　a　man　with　a　gun。
　The　killer　in　the　priestly　dark　suit　reached　the　end　of　the　stone…path　and　turned　right　at　the　base　of　a　concrete　saint；　his　face　briefly　caught　in　the　sunlight。　Jason　froze；　the　skin。　The　killer's　skin　was　dark；　not　tanned　by　the　sun　but　by　birth；　A　Latin　skin；　its　hue　tempered　generations　ago　when　ancestors　lived　beside　the　Mediterranean　Forebears　who　migrated　across　the　globe。。。　across　the　seas。
　Bourne　stood　paralysed　by　the　shock　of　his　own　certainty。　He　was　looking　at　Ilyich　Ramirez　Sanchez。
　Get　Carlos。　Trap　Carlos。　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。
　Jason　tore　at　the　front　of　his　coat；　his　right　hand　grasping　the　handle　of　the　gun　in　his　belt。　He　started　running　on　the　pavement；　colliding　with　the　backs　and　chests　of　strollers；　shouldering　a　pavement　vendor　out　of　his　way；　lurching　past　a　beggar　digging　into　a　wire　rubbish。。。　The　beggar　I　The　beggar's　hand　surged　into　his　pocket：　Bourne　spun　in　time　to　see　the　barrel　of　an　automatic　emerge　from　the　threadbare　coat；　the　sun's　rays　bouncing　off　the　metal。　The　beggar　had　a　gun！　His　gaunt　hand　raised　it；　weapon　and　eyes　steady。　Jason　lunged　into　the　street；　careening　off　the　side　of　a　small　car。　He　heard　the　spits　of　the　bullets　above　him　and　around　him；　piercing　the　air　with　sickening　finality。　Screams；　shrill　and　in　pain；　came　from　unseen　people　on　the　pavement。　Bourne　ducked　between　two　cars　and　raced　through　the　traffic　to　the　other　side　of　the　street。　The　beggar　was　running　away；　an　old　man　with　eyes　of　steel　was　racing　into　the　crowds；　into　oblivion。
　Get　Carlos。　Trap　Carlos。　Cain　is。。。！
　Jason　spun　again　and　lurched　again；　propelling　himself　forward；　throwing　everything　in　his　path　out　of　his　path；　racing　in　the　direction　of　the　assassin。　He　stopped；　breathless；　confusion　and　anger　welling　in　his　chest；　sharp　bolts　of　pain　returning　to　his　temples。　Where　was　he？　Where　was　Carlos？　And　then　he　saw　him；　the　killer　had　climbed　behind　the　wheel　of　a　large　black　saloon。　Bourne　ran　back　into　the　traffic；　slamming　bonnets　and　boots　as　he　threaded　his　way　insanely　towards　the　assassin。　Suddenly　he　was　blocked　by　two　cars　that　had　collided。　He　spread　his　hands　on　a　glistening　chrome　grille　and　leaped　sideways　over　the　impacted　bumpers。　He　stopped　again；　his　eyes　searing　with　pain；　knowing　it　was　pointless　to　go　on。　He　was　too　late。　The　large　black　car　had　found　a　break　in　the　traffic　and　Ilyich　Ramirez　Sanchez　sped　away。
　Jason　crossed　back　to　the　far　pavement　as　the　shrieking　of　police　whistles　turned　heads　everywhere。　Pedestrians　had　been　grazed　or　wounded　or　killed；　a　beggar　with　a　gun　had　shot　them。
　Lavier！　Bourne　broke　into　a　run　again；　not　back　towards　the　Church　of　the　Blessed　Sacrament。　He　reached　the　stone　path　under　the　eye　of　the　concrete　saint　and　spun　left；　racing　towards　the　arched；　sculptured　doors　and　the　marble　steps。　He　ran　up　and　entered　the　Gothic　church；　facing　racks　of　flickering　candles；　fused　rays　of　coloured　light　streaming　down　from　the　stained…glass　windows　high　in　the　dark　stone　walls。　He　walked　down　the　centre　aisle；　staring　at　the　worshippers；　looking　for　streaked　silver　hair　and　a　mask　of　a　face　laminated　in　white。
　The　Lavier　woman　was　nowhere　to　be　seen；　yet　she　had　not　left；　she　was　somewhere　in　the　church。　Jason　turned；　glancing　up　the　aisle；　there　was　a　tall　priest　walking　casually　past　the　rack　of　candles。　Bourne　sidestepped　his　way　through　a　cushioned　row；　emerged　on　the　far　right　aisle　and　intercepted　him。
　'Excuse　me；　Father；'　he　said。　'I'm　afraid　I've　lost　someone。'
　'No　one　is　lost　in　the　house　of　God；　sir；〃　replied　the　cleric；　smiling。
　'She　may　not　be　in　spirit；　but　if　I　don't　find　the　rest　of　her；　she'll　be　very　upset。　There's　an　emergency　at　her　place　of　business。　Have　you　been　here　long；　Father？〃
　'I　greet　those　of　our　flock　who　seek　assistance；　yes。　I've　been　here　for　the　better　part　of　an　hour。'
　Two　women　came　in　a　few　minutes　ago。　One　was　extremely　tall；　quite　striking；　wearing　a　light…coloured　coat；　and　I　think　a　dark　kerchief　over　her　hair。　The　other　was　an　older　lady；　not　so　tall；　and　obviously　not　in　good　health。　Did　you　by　any　chance　see　them？'
　The　priest　nodded。　'Yes。　There　was　sorrow　in　the　older　woman's　face；　she　was　pale　and　grieving。'
　'Do　you　know　where　she　went？　I　gather　her　younger　friend　left。'
　'A　devoted　friend；　may　I　say。　She　escorted　the　poor　dear　to　confession；　helping　her　inside　the　booth。　The　cleansing　of　the　soul　gives　us　all　strength　during　the　desperate　times。'
　To　confession？'
　'Yes；　the　second　booth　from　the　right　She　has　a　passionate　father　confessor；　I　might　add。　A　visiting　priest　from　the　archdiocese　of　Barcelona。　A　remarkable　man；　too；　I'm　sorry　to　say　this　is　his　last　day。　He　returns　to　Spain。。。〃　The　tall　priest　frowned。　'Isn't　that　odd？　A　few　moments　ago　I　thought　I　saw　Father　Manuel　leave。　I　imagine　he　was　replaced　for　a　while。　No　matter；　the　dear　lady　is　in　good　hands。'
　'I'm　sure　of　it；'　said　Bourne。　Thank　you；　Father。　I'll　wait　for　her。'　Jason　walked　down　the　aisle　towards　the　row　of　confessional　booths；　his　eyes　on　the　second；　where　a　small　strip　of　white　fabric　proclaimed　occupancy；　a　soul　was　being　cleansed。　He　sat　down　in　the　front　row；　then　knelt　forward；　angling　his　head　slowly　round　so　he　could　see　the　rear　of　the　church。　The　tall　priest　stood　at　the　entrance；　his　attention　on　the　disturbance　in　the　street。　Outside；　sirens　could　be　heard　wailing　in　the　distance；　drawing　closer。
　Bourne　got　up　and　walked　to　the　second　booth。　He　parted　the　curtain　and　looked　inside；　seeing　what　he　expected　to　see。　Only　the　method　had　remained　in　question。
　Jacqueline　Lavier　was　dead；　her　body　slumped　forward；　rolled　to　the　side；　supported　by　the　prayer　stall；　her　mask　of　a　face　upturned；　her　eyes　wide；　staring　in　death　at　the　ceiling。　Her　coat　was　open；　the　cloth　of　her　dress　drenched　in　blood。　The　weapon　was　a　long；　thin　letter　opener；　plunged　in　above　her　left　breast。　Her　fingers　were　curled　around　the　handle；　her　lacquered　nails　the　colour　of　her　blood。
　At　her　feet　was　a　bag　…　not　the　white　one　she　had　clutched　in　her　hands　ten　minutes　ago；　but　a　fashionable　Yves　St　Laurent；　the　precocious　initials　stamped　on　the　fabric　an　escutcheon　of　haute　couture。　The　reason　for　it　was　clear　to　Jason。　Inside　were　papers　identifying　this　tragic　suicide；　this　overwrought　woman　so　burdened　with　grief　she　took　her　own　life　while　seeking　absolution　in　the　eyes　of　God。　Carlos　was　thorough；　brilliantly　thorough。
　Bourne　closed　the　curtain　and　stepped　away　from　the　booth。
　From　somewhere　high　in　a　tower；　the　bells　of　the　morning　Angelus　rang　splendidly。
　The　taxi　wandered　aimlessly　through　the　streets　of　Neuilly…sur…Seine；　Jason　in　the　back　seat；　his　mind　racing。
　It　was　pointless　to　wait；　perhaps　deadly　to　do　so。　Strategies　changed　as　conditions　changed；　and　they　had　taken　a　deadly　turn。　Jacqueline　Lavier　had　been　followed；　her　death　inevitable　but　out　of　sequence。　Too　soon；　she　was　still　valuable。　Then　Bourne　understood。　She　had　not　been　killed　because　she　had　been　disloyal　to　Carlos；　rather　because　she　had　disobeyed　him。　She　had　gone　to　Pare　Monceau；　that　was　her　indefensible　error。
　There　was　another　known