rl.thebourneidentity-第86部分

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　He　stopped；　taking　cigarettes　and　matches　from　his　pockets；　then；　striking　a　match；　he　cupped　his　hands　and　angled　his　head　to　protect　the　flame。　In　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　could　see　a　shadow　…　square…shaped；　stocky；　the　man　had　once　more　lowered　himself；　now　behind　the　boot　of　a　nearer　car。
　Jason　dropped　to　a　crouch；　spun　to　his　left；　and　lunged　out　of　the　aisle　between　two　adjacent　cars；　breaking　his　fall　with　the　palms　of　his　hands；　the　manoeuvre　made　in　silence。　He　crawled　around　the　rear　wheels　of　the　vehicle　on　his　right；　arms　and　legs　working　rapidly；　quietly　down　the　narrow　alley　of　cars；　a　spider　scurrying　across　a　web。　He　was　behind　the　man　now；　he　crept　forward　towards　the　aisle　and　got　to　his　knees；　inching　his　face　along　smooth　metal；　and　peered　beyond　a　headlight。　The　heavy…set　man　was　in　full　view；　standing　erect。　He　was　evidently　bewildered；　for　he　moved　hesitantly　closer　towards　the　Renault；　his　body　low　again；　squinting　to　see　beyond　the　windscreen。　What　he　saw　frightened　him　further；　there　was　nothing；　no　one。　He　gasped；　the　audible　intake　of　breath　a　prelude　to　running。　He　had　been　tricked；　he　knew　it　and　was　not　about　to　wait　around　for　the　consequences　…　which　told　Bourne　something　else。　The　man　had　been　briefed　on　the　driver　of　the　Renault；　the　danger　explained。　He　began　to　race　towards　the　exit　ramp。
　Now。　Jason　sprang　up　and　ran　straight　ahead　across　the　aisle；　between　the　cars　to　the　second　aisle；　catching　up　with　the　running　man；　hurling　himself　at　the　man's　back　and　throwing　him　to　the　concrete　floor。　He　hammer…locked　the　man's　thick　neck；　crashing　the　outsized　skull　into　the　pavement；　the　fingers　of　his　left　hand　pressed　into　the　man's　eye　sockets。
　'You　have　exactly　five　seconds　to　tell　me　who's　outside；'　he　said　in　French；　remembering　the　grimacing　face　of　another　Frenchman　in　a　lift　in　Zurich。　There　had　been　men　outside　then；　men　who　wanted　to　kill　him　then；　on　the　Bahnhofstrasse。　'Tell　me！　Now！'
　'A　man；　one　man；　that's　all！'
　Bourne　relocked　the　neck；　digging　his　fingers　deeper　into　the　eyes。　'Where？'
　'In　a　car；'　spat　out　the　man。　'Parked　across　the　street。　My　God；　you're　choking　me！　You're　blinding　me！'
　'Not　yet。　You'll　know　it　when　and　if　I　do　both。　What　kind　of　car？'
　'Foreign。　I　don't　know。　Italian；　I　think。　Or　American。　I　don't　know。　Please！　My　eyes！'
　'Colour！'
　'Dark！　Green；　blue；　very　dark。　Oh　my　God！'
　'You're　Carlos's　man；　aren't　you？〃
　'Who？'
　Jason　yanked　again；　pressed　again。　'You　heard　me！　You're　from　Carlos！'
　'I　don't　know　any　Carlos。　We　call　a　man；　there　is　a　number。　That's　all　we　do。'
　'Has　he　been　called？'　The　man　did　not　reply；　Bourne　dug　his　lingers　deeper。　'Tell　me！'
　'Yes。　I　had　to。'
　'When？'
　'A　few　minutes　ago。　The　coin　telephone　on　the　second　ramp。　My　Cod　I　I　can't　see。'
　'Yes；　you　can。　Get　up！'　Jason　released　the　man；　pulling　him　to　his　feet。　'Get　over　to　the　car。　Quickly！'　Bourne　pushed　the　man　back　between　the　stationary　vehicles　to　the　Renault's　aisle。　The　man　turned；　protesting；　helpless。　'You　heard　me。　Hurry！'　shouted　Jason。
　'I'm　only　earning　a　few　francs。〃
　'Now　you　can　drive　for　it。'　Bourne　shoved　him　again　towards　the　Renault。
　Moments　later　the　small　black　vehicle　careened　down　an　exit　ramp　towards　a　glass　booth　with　a　single　attendant　and　the　cash　register。　Jason　was　in　the　back　seat；　his　gun　pressed　against　the　man's　bruised　neck。　Bourne　shoved　a　note　and　his　dated　ticket　out　of　the　window；　the　attendant　took　both。
　'Drive！'　said　Bourne。　'Do　exactly　what　I　told　you　to　do！'
　The　man　pressed　the　accelerator　and　the　Renault　sped　out　through　the　exit。　The　man　made　a　screeching　U…turn　in　the　street；　ing　to　a　sudden　stop　in　front　of　a　dark　green　American　Chevrolet　A　car　door　opened　behind　them；　running　footsteps　followed。
　'Jules！　Qu'est…ce　que　c'est　que　ca？　Vous　conduisez？'　A　figure　loomed　in　the　open　window。
　Bourne　raised　his　automatic；　pointing　the　barrel　at　the　man's　face。　'Take　two　steps　back；'　he　said　in　French。　'No　more；　just　two。　And　then　stand　still。'　He　tapped　the　head　of　the　man　named　Jules。　'Get　out。　Slowly。'
　'We　were　only　to　follow　you！'　protested　Jules；　stepping　out　into　the　street。　'Follow　you　and　report　your　whereabouts！'
　'You'll　do　better　than　that；'　said　Bourne；　getting　out　of　the　Renault；　taking　his　map　of　Paris　with　him。　'You're　going　to　drive　me。　For　a　while。　Get　in　your　car；　both　of　you！'
　Five　miles　outside　Paris　on　the　road　to　Chevreuse；　the　two　men　were　ordered　out　of　the　car。　It　was　a　dark；　poorly　lighted；　third…grade　highway。　There　had　been　no　shops；　buildings；　houses　or　telephones　for　the　past　three　miles。
　'What　was　the　number　you　were　told　to　call？'　demanded　Jason。　'Don't　lie。　You'd　be　in　worse　trouble。'
　Jules　gave　it　to　him。　Bourne　nodded　and　climbed　into　the　seat　behind　the　wheel　of　the　Chevrolet
　The　old　man　in　the　threadbare　overcoat　sat　huddled　in　the　shadows　of　the　empty　booth　by　the　telephone。　The　small　restaurant　was　closed；　his　presence　there　an　acmodation　made　by　a　friend　from　the　old　days；　the　better　days。　He　kept　looking　at　the　instrument　on　the　wall；　wondering　when　it　would　ring。　It　was　only　a　question　of　time；　and　when　it　did　he　would　in　turn　make　a　call　and　the　better　days　would　return　permanently。　He　would　be　the　one　man　in　Paris　who　was　the　link　to　Carlos。　It　would　be　whispered　among　the　other　old　men；　and　respect　would　be　his　again。
　The　high…pitched　sound　of　the　bell　burst　from　the　telephone；　echoing　off　the　walls　of　the　deserted　restaurant。　The　beggar　climbed　out　of　the　booth　and　rushed　to　the　phone；　his　heart　pounding　with　anticipation。　It　was　the　signal。　Cain　was　cornered！　The　days　of　patient　waiting　merely　a　preface　to　the　fine　life。　He　lifted　the　phone　from　its　curved　recess。
　'Yes？'
　'It's　Jules！'　cried　the　breathless　voice。
　The　old　man's　face　turned　ashen；　the　pounding　in　his　chest　growing　so　loud　he　could　barely　hear　the　terrible　things　being　said。　But　he　had　heard　enough。
　He　was　a　dead　man。
　White　hot　explosions　joined　the　vibrations　that　took　hold　of　his　body。　There　was　no　air；　only　white　light　and　deafening　eruptions　surging　up　from　his　chest　to　his　head。
　The　beggar　sank　to　the　floor；　the　cord　stretched　taut；　the　phone　still　in　his　hand。　He　stared　up　at　the　horrible　instrument　that　carried　the　terrible　words。　What　could　he　do？　What　in　the　name　of　God　could　he　do！
　Bourne　walked　down　the　path　between　the　graves；　forcing　himself　to　let　his　mind　fall　free　as　Washburn　had　manded　a　lifetime　ago　in　Port　Noir。　If　ever　he　had　to　be　a　sponge；　it　was　now；　the　man　from　Treadstone　had　to　understand。　He　was　trying　with　all　his　concentration　to　make　sense　out　of　the　unremembered；　to　find　meaning　in　the　images　that　came　to　him　without　warning。　He　had　not　broken　whatever　agreement　they　had；　he　had　not　turned；　or　run。。。　He　was　a　cripple；　it　was　as　simple　as　that。
　He　had　to　find　the　man　from　Treadstone。　Where　inside　those　fenced　acres　of　silence　would　he　be？　Where　did　he　expect　him　to　be？　Jason　had　reached　the　cemetery　wall　before　1：00；　the　Chevrolet　a　faster　car　than　the　broken…down　Renault　He　had　passed　the　gates；　driven　several　hundred　yards　down　the　road；　pulled　off　on　to　the　shoulder　and　parked　the　car　reasonably　out　of　sight　On　his　way　back　to　the　gates　it　had　started　to　rain。　It　was　a　cold　rain；　a　March　rain；　but　a　quiet　rain；　little　intrusions　upon　the　silence。
　He　passed　a　cluster　of　graves　within　a　plot　bordered　by　a　low　iron　railing；　the　centrepiece　an　alabaster　cross　rising　eight　feet　out　of　the　ground。　He　stood　for　a　moment　before　it。　Had　he　been　here　before？　Was　another　door　opening　for　him　in　the　distance？　Or　was　he　trying　too　desperately　to　find　one？　And　then　it　came　to　him。　It　was　not　this　particular　grouping　of　gravestones；　not　the　tall　alabaster　cross；　nor　the　low　iron　railing。　It　was　the　rain！　A　sudden　rain。　Crowds　of　mourners　gathered　in　black　around　a　burial　site；　the　snapping　of　umbrellas。　And　two　men　ing　together；　umbrellas　touching；　brief；　quiet　apologies　muttered；　as　a　long　brown　envelope　exchanged　hands；　pocket　to　pocket；　unnoticed　by　the　mourners。
　There　was　something　else。　An　image　triggered　by　an　image；　feeding　upon　itself；　seen　only　minutes　ago。　Rain　cascading　down　white　marble；　not　a　cold；　light　rain；　but　a　downpour；　pounding　against　the　wall　of　a　glistening　white　surface。。。　and　columns。。。　rows　of　columns　on　all　sides；　a　miniature　replica　of　an　ancient　treasure。
　On　the　other　side　of　the　hill！　Near　the　gates！　A　white　mausoleum；　someone's　scaled…down　version　of　the　Parthenon。　He　had　passed　it　less　than　five　minutes　before；　looking　at　it　but　not　seeing　it。　That　was　where　the　sudden　rain　had　taken　place；　where　two　umbrellas　had　touched　and　an　envelope　been　delivered。　He　squinted　at　the　radium　dial　of　his　watch。　It　was　fourteen　minutes　past　one；　he　started　running　back　up　the　path。　He　was　still　early；　there　was　time　left　to　see　a　car's　headlights；　or　the　striking　of　a　match　or。。。
　The　beam　of　a　torch。　It　was　there　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill　and　it　was　moving　up　and　down；　intermittently　swinging　back　at　the　gates　as　though　the　holder　was　concerned　that　someone　might　appear。　Bourne　had　an　almost　uncontrollable　urge　to　race　down　between　the　rows　of　graves　and　statuary；　shouting　at　the　top　of　his　voice。　I'm　here！　It's　me。　I　understand　your　message。　I've　e　back！　I　have　so　much　to　tell　you。。。　and　there　is　so　much　you　must　tell　me！
　But　he　did　not　shout　and　he　did　not　run。　Above　all　else；　he　had　to　show　control；　for　what　afflicted　him　was　so　uncontrollable。　He　had　to　appear　pletely　lucid　…　sane　within　the　boundaries　of　his　memory。　He　began　walking　down　the　hill　in　the　cold　light　rain；　wishing　his　sense　of　urgency　had　allowed　him　to　remember　a　torch。
　The　torch。　Something　was　odd　about　the　beam　of　light　five　hundred　feet　below。　It　was　moving　in　short　vertical　strokes；　as　if　in　emphasis。。。　as　if　the　man　holding　it　was　speaking　emphatically　to　another。
　He　was。　Jason　crouched；　peering　through　the　rain；　his　eyes　struck　by　a　sharp；　darting　reflection　of　light　that　shot　out　whenever　the　beam　hit　the　object　in　front　of　it。　He　crept　forward；　his　body　close　to　the　ground；　covering　well　over　a　hundred　feet　in　seconds；　his　gaze　still　on　the　beam　and　the　strange　reflection。　He　could　see　more　clearly　now；　he　stopped　and