rl.thebourneidentity-第79部分

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ror。
　There　was　another　known　relay　at　Les　Classiques；　a　grey…haired　switchboard　operator　named　Philippe　d'Anjou；　whose　face　evoked　images　of　violence　and　darkness　and　shattering　flashes　of　light　and　sound。　He　had　been　in　Bourne's　past；　of　that　Jason　was　certain；　and　because　of　that；　the　hunted　had　to　be　cautious；　he　could　not　know　what　that　man　meant　to　him。　But　he　was　a　relay；　and　he；　too；　would　be　watched；　as　Lavier　had　been　watched；　additional　bait　for　another　trap；　dispatch　demanded　when　the　trap　closed。
　Were　these　the　only　two？　Were　there　others？　An　obscure；　faceless　clerk；　perhaps；　who　was　not　a　clerk　at　all　but　someone　else？　A　supplier　who　spent　hours　in　Saint…Honore　legitimately　pursuing　the　cause　of　haute　couture；　but　with　another　cause　far　more　vital　to　him。　Or　her。　Or　the　muscular　designer；　Rene　Bergeron；　whose　movements　were　so　quick　and。。。　fluid。
　Bourne　suddenly　stiffened；　his　neck　pressed　back　against　the　seat；　a　recent　memory　triggered。　Bergeron。　The　darkly…tanned　skin；　the　wide　shoulders　accentuated　by　tightly　rolled　up　sleeves。。。　shoulders　that　floated　in　place　above　a　tapered　waist；　beneath　which　strong　legs　moved　swiftly；　like　an　animal's；　a　cat's。
　Was　it　possible？　Were　the　other　conjectures　merely　phantoms；　pounded　fragments　of　familiar　images　he　had　convinced　himself　might　be　Carlos？　Was　the　assassin　…　unknown　to　his　relays　…　deep　inside　his　own　apparatus；　controlling　and　shaping　every　move？　Was　it　Bergeron？
　He　had　to　get　to　a　telephone　right　away。　Right　away！　Every　minute　he　lost　was　a　minute　removed　from　the　answer；　and　too　many　meant　there　would　be　no　answer　at　all。　But　he　could　not　make　the　call　himself；　the　sequence　of　events　had　been　too　rapid；　he　had　to　hold　back；　store　his　own　information。
　'The　first　telephone　box　you　see；　pull　over；'　he　said　to　the　driver；　who　was　still　shaken　by　the　chaos　at　the　Church　of　the　Blessed　Sacrament。
　'As　you　wish；　Monsieur。　But　if　Monsieur　will　please　try　to　understand；　it　is　past　the　time　when　I　should　report　to　the　fleet　garage。　Way　past　the　time！'
　'I　understand。'
　There's　a　telephone！'
　'Good。　Pull　over。'
　The　red　telephone　box；　its　quaint　panes　of　glass　glistening　in　the　sunlight；　looked　like　a　large　doll's　house　from　the　outside　and　smelled　of　urine　on　the　inside。　Bourne　dialled　the　Terrasse；　inserted　the　coins　and　asked　for　room　Four…twenty。　Marie　answered。
　'What　happened？'
　'I　haven't　time　to　explain。　I　want　you　to　call　Les　Classiques　and　ask　for　Rend　Bergeron。　D'Anjou　will　probably　be　on　the　switchboard；　make　up　a　name　and　tell　him　you've　been　trying　to　reach　Bergeron　on　Lavier's　private　line　for　the　past　hour　or　so。　Say　it's　urgent；　you've　got　to　talk　to　him。'
　'When　he　es　on；　what　do　I　say？'
　'I　don't　think　he　will；　but　if　he　does；　just　hang　up。　And　if　d'Anjou　es　on　the　line　again；　ask　him　when　Bergeron's　expected。　I'll　call　you　back　in　three　minutes。'
　'Darling；　are　you　all　right？'
　'I've　had　a　profound　religious　experience。　I'll　tell　you　about　it　later。'
　Jason　kept　his　eyes　on　his　watch；　the　infinitesimal　jumps　of　the　thin；　delicate　sweep　hand　too　agonizingly　slow。　He　began　his　own　personal　count　down　at　thirty　seconds；　calculating　the　heartbeat　that　echoed　in　his　throat　as　somewhere　around　two　and　a　half　per　second。　He　started　dialling　at　ten　seconds；　inserted　the　coins　at　four；　and　spoke　to　the　Terrasse's　switchboard　at　minus…five。　Marie　picked　up　the　phone　the　instant　it　began　to　ring。
　'What　happened？'　he　asked。　'I　thought　you　might　still　be　talking。'
　'It　was　a　very　short　conversation。　I　think　d'Anjou　was　wary。
　He　may　have　a　list　of　names　of　those　who've　been　given　the　private　number；　I　don't　know。　But　he　sounded　withdrawn；　hesitant。'
　〃What　did　he　say？'
　'Monsieur　Bergeron　is　on　a　fabric　search　in　the　Mediterranean。　He　left　this　morning　and　isn't　expected　back　for　several　weeks。'
　'It's　possible　I　may　have　just　seen　him　eight　hundred　miles　from　the　Mediterranean。'
　'Where？'
　'In　church。　If　it　was　Bergeron；　he　gave　absolution　with　the　point　of　a　very　sharp　instrument。'
　'What　are　you　talking　about？'
　'Lavier's　dead。'
　'Oh；　my　God！　What　are　you　going　to　do？'
　'Talk　to　a　man　I　think　I　knew。　If　he's　got　a　brain　in　his　head；　he'll　listen。　He's　marked　for　extinction。'
　'D'Anjou。'
　'Delta？　I　wondered　when。。。　I　think　I'd　know　your　voice　anywhere。'
　He　had　said　it！　The　name　had　been　spoken！　The　name　that　meant　nothing　to　him；　and　yet　somehow；　everything。　D'Anjou　knew。　Philippe　d'Anjou　was　part　of　the　unremembered　past　Delta。　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain！　Delta。　Delta。　Delta！　He　had　known　this　man　and　this　man　had　the　answer！　Alpha；　Bravo；　Cain；　Delta；　Echo；　Foxtrot。。。
　Medusa！
　'Medusa；'　he　said　softly；　repeating　the　name　that　was　a　silent　scream　in　his　ears。
　'Paris　is　not　Tarn　Quan；　Delta。　There　are　no　debts　between　us　any　longer。　Don't　look　for　payment　We　work　for　different　employers　now。'
　'Jacqueline　Lavier's　dead。　Carlos　killed　her　in　Neuilly…sur…Seine　less　than　thirty　minutes　ago。'
　'Don't　even　try。　As　of　two　hours　ago　Jacqueline　was　on　her　way　out　of　France。　She　called　me　herself　from　Orly　Airport。　She's　joining　Monsieur　Bergeron。。。'
　'On　a　fabric　search　in　the　Mediterranean？'　interrupted　Jason。
　D'Anjou　paused。　'The　woman　on　the　line　asking　for　Ben。。。　I　thought　as　much。　It　changes　nothing。　I　spoke　with　her；　she　called　from　Orly。〃
　'She　was　told　to　tell　you　that。　Did　she　sound　in　control　of　herself？'
　'She　was　upset　and　no　one　knows　why　better　than　you。　You've　done　a　remarkable　job　down　here。　Delta。　Or　Cain。　Or　whatever　you　call　yourself　now。　Of　course　she　wasn't　herself。　It's　why　she's　going　away　for　a　while。'
　'It's　why　she's　dead。　You're　next。'
　'The　last　twenty…four　hours　were　worthy　of　you。　This　isn't。'
　'She　was　followed；　you're　being　followed。　Watched　every　moment。'
　'If　I　am　it's　for　my　own　protection。〃
　'Then　why　is　Lavier　dead？〃
　'I　don't　believe　she　is。'
　'Would　she　mit　suicide？'
　'Never。'
　'Call　the　rectory　at　the　Church　of　the　Blessed　Sacrament　in　Neuilly…sur…Seine。　Ask　about　the　woman　who　killed　herself　while　making　confession。　What　have　you　got　to　lose？　I'll　call　you　back。'
　Bourne　hung　up　and　left　the　box。　He　stepped　off　the　kerb；　looking　for　a　cab。　The　next　call　to　Philippe　d'Anjou　would　be　made　a　minimum　of　ten　blocks　away。　The　man　from　Medusa　would　not　be　convinced　easily　and；　until　he　was；　Jason　would　not　risk　electronic　scanners　picking　up　even　the　general　location　of　the　call。
　Delta？　I　think　I'd　know　your　voice　anywhere。　Paris　is　not　Tarn　Quan。　Tarn　Quan。。。　Tarn　Quan；　Tarn　Quan！　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。　Medusa！
　Stop　it！　Do　not　think　of　things　that。。。　you　cannot　think　about。　Concentrate　on　what　is。　Now。　You。　Not　what　others　say　you　are　…　not　even　what　you　may　think　you　are。　Only　the　now。　And　the　now　is　a　man　who　can　give　you　answers。
　We　work　for　different　employers。。。
　That　was　the　key。
　Tell　me！　For　Christ's　sake；　tell　me！　Who　is　it？　Who　is　my　employer；　d'Anjou？
　A　taxi　swerved　to　a　stop　perilously　close　to　his　kneecaps。　Jason　opened　the　door　and　climbed　in。　'Place　Vendome；'　he　said；　knowing　it　was　near　Saint…Honoree〃。　He　must　be　as　close　as　possible　to　put　in　motion　the　strategy　that　was　rapidly　ing　into　focus。　He　had　the　advantage；　it　was　a　matter　of　using　it　for　a　dual　purpose。　D'Anjou　had　to　be　convinced　that　those　following　him　were　his　executioners。　But　what　those　men　could　not　know　was　that　another　would　be　following　them。
　The　Vendome　was　crowded　as　usual；　the　traffic　wild　as　usual　Bourne　saw　a　telephone　box　on　the　corner　and　got　out　of　the　taxi。　He　went　inside　and　dialled　Les　Classiques：　it　had　been　fourteen　minutes　since　he　had　called　from　Neuilly…sur…Seine。
　'D'Anjou？'
　'A　woman　took　her　own　life　while　at　confession；　that's　all　I　know。'
　'e　on；　you　wouldn't　settle　for　that。。；　Medusa　wouldn't　settle　for　that。'
　'Give　me　a　moment　to　put　the　board　on　hold。'　The　line　went　dead　for　roughly　four　seconds。　D'Anjou　returned。　'A　middle…aged　woman　with　silver　and　white　hair；　expensive　clothing；　and　a　St　Laurent　bag。　I've　just　described　ten　thousand　women　in　Paris。　How　do　I　know　you　didn't　take　one；　kill　her；　make　her　the　basis　of　this　call？'
　'Oh；　sure；　I　carried　her　into　the　church　like　a　pieta；　blood　dripping　in　the　aisles　from　her　open　stigmata。　Be　reasonable；　d'Anjou。　Let's　start　with　the　obvious。　The　bag　wasn't　hers；　she　carried　a　white　leather　handbag。　She'd　hardly　be　likely　to　advertise　a　peting　house。'
　'Lending　credence　to　my　belief。　It　was　not　Jacqueline　Lavier。'
　'Lends　more　to　mine。　The　papers　in　that　bag　identified　her　as　someone　else。　The　body　will　be　claimed　quickly；　no　one　touches　Les　Classiques。'
　'Because　you　say　so？'
　'No。　Because　it's　the　method　used　by　Carlos　in　five　kills　I　can　name。〃　He　could。　That　was　the　frightening　thing。　'A　man　is　taken　out；　the　police　believing　he's　one　person；　the　death　an　enigma；　killers　unknown。　Then　they　find　out　he's　someone　else；　by　which　time　Carlos　is　in　another　country；　another　contract　fulfilled。　Lavier　was　a　variation　of　that　method；　that's　all。'
　'Words；　Delta。　You　never　said　much；　but　when　you　did；　the　words　were　there。'
　'And　if　you　were　in　Saint…Honoree　three　or　four　weeks　from　now　…　which　you　won't　be　…　you'd　see　how　it　ends。　A　plane　crash；　or　a　boat　lost　in　the　Mediterranean。　Bodies　charred　beyond　recognition；　or　simply　gone。　The　identities　of　the　dead；　however；　clearly　established。　Lavier　and　Bergeron。　But　only　one　is　really　dead；　Mme　Lavier。　Monsieur　Bergeron　is　privileged　…　more　than　you　ever　knew。　Bergeron　is　back　in　business。　And　as　for　you；　you're　a　statistic　in　the　Paris　morgue。'
　'And　you？'
　'According　to　the　plan　I'm　dead　too。　They　expect　to　take　me　through　you。〃
　'Logical。　We're　both　from　Medusa；　they　know　that　…　Carlos　knows　that。　It's　to　be　assumed　you　recognized　me。'
　'And　you　me？'
　D'Anjou　paused。　'Yes；'　he　said。　'As　I　told　you；　we　work　for　different　employers　now。'
　'That's　what　I　want　to　talk　about。'
　'No　talking。　Delta。　But　for　old　times'　sake　…　for　what　you　did　for　us　all　in　Tam　Quan　…　take　the　advice　of　a　Medusan。　Get　out　of　Paris；　or　you're　that　dead　man　you　just　mentioned。'
　'I　can't　do　that。'
　'You　should。　If　I　have　the　opportunity；　I'll　pull　the　trigger　myself　and