rl.thebourneidentity-第87部分

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y　now；　he　stopped　and　concentrated。　There　were　two　men；　one　holding　the　torch；　the　other　a　short…barrelled　rifle；　the　thick　steel　of　the　gun　known　only　too　well　to　Bourne。　At　distances　of　up　to　thirty　feet　it　could　blow　a　man　six　feet　into　the　air。　It　was　a　very　odd　weapon　for　an　officer…of…record　sent　by　Washington　to　have　at　his　mand。
　The　beam　of　light　shot　over　to　the　side　of　the　white　mausoleum；　the　figure　holding　the　powerful；　short…barrelled　rifle　retreated　quickly；　slipping　behind　a　column　no　more　than　twenty　feet　away　from　the　man　holding　the　torch。
　Jason　did　not　have　to　think；　he　knew　what　he　had　to　do。　If　there　was　an　explanation　for　the　deadly　weapon；　so　be　it；　but　it　would　not　be　used　on　him。　Kneeling；　he　judged　the　distance　and　looked　for　points　of　sanctuary；　both　for　concealment　and　protection。　He　started　out；　wiping　the　rain　from　his　face；　feeling　the　gun　in　his　belt　that　he　knew　he　could　not　use。
　He　scrambled　from　gravestone　to　gravestone；　statue　to　statue；　heading　to　his　right；　then　angling　gradually　to　his　left　until　the　semi…circle　was　nearly　plete。　He　was　within　fifteen　feet　of　the　mausoleum；　the　man　with　the　murderous　weapon　was　standing　by　the　left　corner　column；　under　the　short　portico　to　avoid　the　rain。　He　was　fondling　his　gun　as　though　it　were　a　sexual　object；　cracking　the　breach；　unable　to　resist　peering　inside。　He　ran　his　palm　over　the　inserted　shells；　the　gesture　obscene。
　Now。　Bourne　crept　out　from　behind　the　gravestone；　hands　and　knees　propelling　him　over　the　wet　grass　until　he　was　within　six　feet　of　the　man。　He　sprang　up；　a　silent；　lethal　panther　hurling　dirt　in　front　of　him；　one　hand　surging　for　the　barrel　of　the　rifle；　the　other　for　the　man's　head。　He　reached　both；　grabbed　both；　clasping　the　barrel　in　the　fingers　of　his　left　hand；　the　man's　hair　in　his　right。　The　head　snapped　back；　throat　stretched；　sound　muted。　He　smashed　the　head　into　the　white　marble　with　such　force　that　the　expulsion　of　breath　that　followed　signified　a　severe　concussion。　The　man　went　limp；　Jason　supporting　him　against　the　wall；　permitting　the　unconscious　body　to　slip　silently　to　the　ground　between　the　columns。　He　searched　the　man；　removing　a。357　Magnum　automatic　from　a　leather　case　sewn　into　his　jacket；　a　razor…sharp　scaling　knife　from　a　scabbard　on　his　belt　and　a　small。22　revolver　from　an　ankle　holster。　Nothing　remotely　government　issue；　this　was　a　hired　killer；　an　arsenal　on　foot。
　Break　his　fingers；　the　words　came　back　to　Bourne；　they　had　been　spoken　by　a　man　in　gold…rimmed　glasses　in　a　large　saloon　car　racing　out　of　the　Steppdeckstrasse。　There　was　reason　behind　the　violence。　Jason　grabbed　the　man's　right　hand　and　bent　the　fingers　back　until　he　heard　the　cracks；　he　did　the　same　with　the　left；　the　man's　mouth　blocked。　Bourne's　elbow　jammed　between　the　teeth。　No　sound　emerged　above　the　sound　of　the　rain；　and　neither　hand　could　be　used　for　a　weapon　or　as　a　weapon；　the　weapons　themselves　placed　out　of　reach　in　the　shadows。
　Jason　stood　up　and　edged　his　face　around　the　column。　The　Treadstone　officer　now　angled　the　light　directly　into　the　earth　in　front　of　him。　It　was　the　stationary　signal；　the　beam　a　lost　bird　was　to　home　into；　it　might　be　other　things　also；　the　next　few　minutes　would　tell。　The　man　turned　towards　the　gate　taking　a　tentative　step　as　though　he　might　have　heard　something　and　for　the　first　time　Bourne　saw　the　cane；　observed　the　limp。　The　officer…of…record　from　Treadstone　Seventy…one　was　a　cripple。。。　as　he　was　a　cripple。
　Jason　dashed　back　to　the　first　gravestone；　spun　behind　it　and　peered　around　the　marble　edge。　The　man　from　Treadstone　still　had　his　attention　on　the　gates。　Bourne　glanced　at　his　watch；　it　was　1：27。　Time　remained。　He　pushed　himself　away　from　the　grave；　hugging　the　ground　until　he　was　out　of　sight；　then　stood　up　and　ran；　retracing　the　arch　back　to　the　top　of　the　hill。　He　stood　for　a　moment；　letting　his　breathing　and　his　heartbeat　resume　a　semblance　of　normality；　then　reached　into　his　pocket　for　a　book　of　matches。　Protecting　it　from　the　rain；　he　tore　off　a　match　and　struck　it。
　'Treadstone？'　he　said　loud　enough　to　be　heard　from　below。
　'Delta！'
　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。　Why　did　the　man　from　Treadstone　use　the　name　Delta　rather　than　Cain？　Delta　was　no　part　of　Treadstone；　he　had　disappeared　with　Medusa。　Jason　started　down　the　hill；　the　cold　rain　whipping　his　face；　his　hand　instinctively　reaching　beneath　his　jacket；　pressing　the　automatic　in　his　belt。
　He　walked　onto　the　stretch　of　lawn　in　front　of　the　white　mausoleum。　The　man　from　Treadstone　limped　towards　him；　then　stopped；　raising　his　flashlight；　the　harsh　beam　causing　Bourne　to　squint　and　turn　his　head　away。
　'It's　been　a　long　time；'　said　the　crippled　officer；　lowering　the　light。　'The　name's　Conklin；　in　case　you've　forgotten。'
　'Thank　you。　I　had。　It's　only　one　of　the　things。'
　'One　of　what　things？'
　〃That　I've　forgotten。'
　'You　remembered　this　place；　though。　I　guessed　you　would；　I　read　Abbott's　logs；　it　was　here　you　last　met；　last　made　a　delivery。　During　a　state　burial　for　some　minister　or　other；　wasn't　it？'
　'I　don't　know。　That's　what　we　have　to　talk　about　first　you　haven't　heard　from　me　in　over　six　months。　There's　an　explanation。'
　'Really？　Let's　hear　it。'
　The　simplest　way　to　put　it　is　that　I　was　wounded；　shot；　the　effects　of　the　wounds　causing　a　severe。。。　dislocation。　Disorientation　is　a　better　word；　I　guess。'
　'Sounds　good。　What　does　it　mean？'
　'I　suffered　a　memory　loss。　Total。　I　spent　over　five　months　on　an　island　in　the　Mediterranean　…　south　of　Marseilles　…　not　knowing　who　I　was　or　where　I　came　from。　There's　a　doctor；　an　Englishman　named　Washburn；　who　kept　medical　records。　He　can　verify　what　I'm　telling　you。'
　'I'm　sure　he　can；'　said　Conklin；　nodding。　'And　I'll　bet　those　records　are　massive。　Christ；　you　paid　enough。'
　'What　do　you　mean？'
　'We've　got　a　record；　too。　A　bank　officer　in　Zurich　who　thought　he　was　being　tested　by　Treadstone　transferred　three　million　Swiss　francs　to　Marseilles　for　an　untraceable　collection。　Thanks　for　giving　us　the　name。'
　That's　part　of　what　you　have　to　understand。　I　didn't　know。　He'd　saved　my　life；　put　me　back　together。　I　was　damn　near　a　corpse　when　I　was　brought　to　him。'
　'So　you　decided　a　million…odd　dollars　was　a　pretty　fair　ballpark　figure；　is　that　is？　Courtesy　of　the　Treadstone　budget。'
　'I　told　you；　I　didn't　know。　Treadstone　didn't　exist　for　me；　in　many　ways　it　still　doesn't。'
　'I　forgot。　You　lost　your　memory。　What　was　the　word？　Disorientation？'
　'Yes；　but　it's　not　strong　enough。　The　word　is　amnesia。'
　'Let's　stick　to　disorientation。　Because　it　seems　you　oriented　yourself　straight　into　Zurich；　right　to　the　Gemeinschaft。'
　There　was　a　negative　surgically　implanted　near　my　hip。'
　'There　certainly　was；　you　insisted　on　it。　A　few　of　us　understood　why。　It's　the　best　insurance　you　can　have。'
　'I　don't　know　what　you're　talking　about。　Can't　you　understand　that！'
　'Sure。　You　found　the　negative　with　only　a　number　on　it　and　right　away　you　assumed　the　name　of　Jason　Bourne。'
　'It　didn't　happen　that　way！　Each　day　it　seemed　I　learned　something；　one　step　at　a　time；　one　revelation　at　a　time。　A　hotel　clerk　called　me　Bourne；　I　didn't　learn　the　name　Jason　until　I　went　to　the　bank。'
　'Where　you　knew　exactly　what　to　do；'　interrupted　Conklin。　'No　hesitation　at　all。　In　and　out；　four　million　gone。'
　'Washburn　told　me　what　to　do！'
　Then　a　woman　came　along　who　just　happened　to　be　a　financial　whiz　kid　to　tell　you　how　to　squirrel　away　the　rest　I　And　before　that　you　took　out　Chernak　in　the　Lowenstrasse；　and　three　men　we　didn't　know　but　figured　they　sure　as　hell　knew　you。　And　here　in　Paris；　another　shot　in　a　bank　transfer　truck。　Another　associate？　You　covered　every　track；　every　goddamned　track。　Until　there　was　only　one　thing　left　to　do。　And　you　…　you　son　of　a　bitch　…　you　did　it。〃
　'Will　you　listen　to　me！　Those　men　tried　to　kill　me；　they've　been　hunting　me　since　Marseilles。　Beyond　that；　I　honestly　don't　know　what　you're　talking　about！。。。　Things　e　to　me　at　times。　Faces；　streets；　buildings；　sometimes　just　images　I　can't　place；　but　know　they　mean　something；　only　I　can't　relate　to　them。　And　names　…　there　are　names；　but　then　no　faces。　Goddamn　you！　I'm　an　amnesiac　I　That's　the　truth！'
　'One　of　those　names　wouldn't　be　Carlos；　would　it？'
　'Yes；　and　you　know　it！　That's　the　point；　you　know　much　more　about　it　than　/　do！　I　can　recite　a　thousand　facts　about　Carlos；　but　/　don't　know　why。　I　was　told　I　had　an　agreement　with　Treadstone　by　a　man　who's　halfway　back　to　Asia　by　now；　a　man　who　worked　for　Carlos；　He　said　Carlos　knows。　That　Carlos　was　closing　in　on　me；　that　you　put　out　the　word　that　I'd　turned。　He　couldn't　understand　the　strategy；　and　I　couldn't　tell　him。　You　thought　I'd　turned　because　you　didn't　hear　from　me；　and　I　couldn't　reach　you　because　I　didn't　know　who　you　were；　I　still　don't　know　who　you　are。'
　'Or　the　Monk；　I　suppose。'
　'Yes；　yes。。。　the　Monk。　His　name　was　Abbott。'
　'Very　good。　And　the　Yachtsman？　You　remember　the　Yachtsman；　don't　you？　And　his　wife？'
　'Names。　They're　there；　yes。　No　faces。'
　'Elliot　Stevens？'
　'Nothing。'
　'Or。。。　Gordon　Webb。'　Conklin　said　the　name　quietly。
　'What？'　Bourne　felt　the　jolt　in　his　chest；　then　a　stinging；　searing　pain　that　drove　through　his　temples　to　his　eyes。　His　eyes　were　on　fire！　Fire！　Explosions　and　darkness；　high　winds　and　pain。。。　Almanac　to　Delta！　Abandon；　abandon！　You　will　respond　as　ordered。　Abandon！　'Gordon。。。'　Jason　heard　his　own　voice；　but　it　was　far　away　in　a　faraway　wind。　He　closed　his　eyes；　the　eyes　that　burned　so；　and　tried　to　push　the　mists　away。　Then　he　opened　his　eyes　and　was　not　at　all　surprised　to　see　Conklin's　gun　aimed　at　his　head。
　'I　don't　know　how　you　did　it；　but　you　did。　The　only　thing　left　to　do　and　you　did　it！　You　got　back　to　New　York　and　blew　them　all　away。　You　butchered　them；　you　son　of　a　bitch。　I　wish　to　Christ　I　could　bring　you　back　and　see　you　strapped　into　an　electric　chair；　but　I　can't；　so　I'll　do　the　next　best　thing。　I'll　take　you　myself。'
　'I　haven't　been　in　New　York　for　the　past　six　months。　Before　then；　I　don't　know；　but　not　in　the　last　six　months。'
　'Liar！　Why　didn't　you　do　it　really　right？　Why　didn't　you　time　your　goddamn　stunt　so　you　could　get　to　the　funerals？　The　M