rl.thebourneidentity-第88部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　'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　Monk's　was　just　the　other　day；　you　would　have　seen　a　lot　of　old　friends！　And　your　brother's'。　Jesus　God　Almighty＇　You　could　have　escorted　his　wife　down　the　aisle　of　the　church；　maybe　delivered　the　eulogy；　that'd　be　the　kicker！　At　least；　speak　well　of　the　brother　you　killed！'
　'Brother？。。。　Stop　it！　For　Christ's　sake；　stop　it！'
　'Why　should　I？　Cain　alive！　We　made　him　and　he　came　to　life！'
　〃I'm　not　Cain。　He　never　was！　I　never　was！'
　〃So　you　do　know！　Liar！　Bastard！'
　'Put　that　gun　away。　I'm　telling　you；　put　it　down。'
　'No　chance。　I　swore　to　myself　I'd　give　you　two　minutes　because　I　wanted　to　hear　what　you'd　e　up　with。　Well；　I've　heard　it　and　it　smells。　Who　gave　you　the　right？　We　all　lose　things；　it　goes　with　the　job；　and　if　you　don't　like　the　goddamned　job　you　get　out！　If　there's　no　acmodation　you　fade；　that's　what　I　thought　you　did　and　I　was　willing　to　pass　on　you；　to　persuade　the　others　to　let　you　fade！　But　no；　you　came　back　and　turned　your　gun　on　us！'
　'I　didn't　turn　my　gun　on　you。'
　'Tell　that　to　the　laboratory　techs　who　have　eight　fragments　of　glass　that　spell　out　two　prints。　Third　and　index　fingers；　right　hand。　You　were　there　and　you　butchered　five　people！　You　…　one　of　them　…　took　out　your　guns　…　plural　…　and　blew　them　away！　Perfect　set…up。　Discredited　strategy。　Varied　shells；　multiple　bullets；　infiltration。　Treadstone's　aborted　and　you　walk　out　free！'
　'No；　you're　wrong！　It　was　Carlos！　Not　me；　Carlos。　If　what　you're　saying　took　place　on　Seventy…first　Street；　it　was　him！　He　knows！　They　know！　A　residence　on　Seventy…first　Street。　Number　One　hundred　and　forty。　They　know　about　it！'
　Conklin　nodded；　his　eyes　clouded；　the　loathing　in　them　seen　in　the　dim　light；　through　the　rain。　'So　perfect；'　he　said　slowly。　〃The　prime　mover　of　the　strategy　blows　it　apart　by　making　a　deal　with　the　target。　What's　your　take　beside　the　four　million　plus？　Carlos　gave　you　immunity　from　his　own　particular　brand　of　persecution？　You　two　make　a　lovely　couple！'
　That's　crazy！'
　'And　accurate；'　pleted　the　man　from　Treadstone。　'Only　eight　people　knew　that　address　before　seven…thirty　last　Friday　night。　Three　of　them　were　killed；　and　we're　two　of　the　other　five。　If　Carlos　found　it；　there's　only　one　person　who　could　have　told　him。　You！'
　'How　could　I？　I　didn't　know　it！　I　don't　know　it！'
　'You　just　said　it。'　Conklin's　left　hand　gripped　the　cane；　it　was　a　prelude　to　firing；　steadying　a　crippled　foot。
　'Don't；'　shouted　Bourne；　knowing　the　plea　was　useless；　spinning　to　his　left　as　he　shouted；　his　right　foot　lashing　out　at　the　wrist　that　held　the　gun。　Che…sah　was　the　unknown　word　that　was　the　silent　scream　in　his　head。　Conklin　fell　back　firing　wildly　in　the　air；　tripping　over　his　cane。　Jason　spun　around　and　down；　now　hammering　his　left　foot　at　the　weapon；　it　flew　out　of　the　hand　that　held　it。
　Conklin　rolled　on　the　ground；　his　eyes　on　the　far　columns　of　the　mausoleum；　expecting　an　explosion　from　the　gun　that　would　blow　his　attacker　into　the　air。　No！　The　man　from　Treadstone　rolled　again！　Now　to　the　right；　his　features　in　shock；　his　wild　eyes　focused　on。。。　There　was　someone　else！
　Bourne　crouched；　diving　diagonally　backwards　as　four　gunshots　came　in　rapid　succession；　three　screeching　ricochets　spinning　off　beyond　sound。　Jason　rolled　over　and　over　and　over；　pulling　the　automatic　from　his　belt。　He　saw　the　man　in　the　rain；　a　silhouetted　figure　rising　above　a　gravestone。　He　fired　twice；　the　man　collapsed。
　Ten　feet　away　Conklin　was　thrashing　on　the　wet　grass；　both　hands　spreading　frantically　over　the　ground；　feeling　for　the　steel　of　a　gun。　Bourne　sprang　up　and　raced　over；　he　knelt　beside　the　Treadstone　man；　one　hand　grabbing　the　wet　hair；　the　other　holding　his　automatic；　its　barrel　pressed　into　Conklin's　skull。　From　the　far　columns　of　the　mausoleum　came　a　prolonged；　shattering　scream。　It　grew　steadily；　eerily　in　volume；　then　stopped。
　That's　your　hired　shotgun；'　said　Jason；　yanking　Conklin's　head　to　the　side。　Treadstone's　taken　on　some　very　strange　employees。　Who　was　the　other　man？　What　death　row　did　you　spring　him　from？〃
　'He　was　a　better　man　than　you　ever　were；〃　replied　Conklin；　his　voice　strained；　the　rain　glistening　on　his　face；　caught　in　the　beam　of　the　fallen　torch　six　feet　away　on　the　ground。　〃They　all　are。　They've　all　lost　as　much　as　you　lost；　but　they　never　turned。　We　can　count　on　them。'
　'No　matter　what　I　say；　you　won't　believe　me。　You　don't　want　to　believe　me！'
　'Because　I　know　what　you　are；　what　you　did。　You　just　confirmed　the　whole　damn　thing！　You　can　kill　me；　but　they'll　get　you。　You're　the　worst　kind。　You　think　you're　special！　You　always　did！　I　saw　you　after　Phnom…Penh　…　everybody　lost　out　there；　but　that　didn't　count　with　you！　It　was　only　you；　just　you！　Then　in　Medusa！　No　rules　for　Delta！　The　animal　just　wanted　to　kill。　And　that's　the　kind　that　turns！　Well；　I　lost；　too；　but　I　never　turned。　Go　on！　Kill　me！　Then　you　can　go　back　to　Carlos。　But　when　I　don't　e　back；　they'll　know！　They'll　e　after　you　and　they　won't　stop　until　they　get　you。　Go　on！　Shoot！'
　Conklin　was　shouting；　but　Bourne　could　hardly　hear　him。　Instead；　he　had　heard　two　words　and　the　jolts　of　pain　hammered　at　his　temples。　Phnom…Penh！　Phnom…Penh。　Death　in　the　skies；　from　the　skies。　Death　of　the　young　and　the　very　young。
　Screeching　birds　and　screaming　machines　and　the　deathlike　stench　of　the　jungle。。。　and　a　river。　He　was　blinded　again；　on　fire　again。
　Beneath　him　the　man　from　Treadstone　had　broken　away。　His　crippled　figure　was　crawling　in　panic；　lunging；　his　hands　surging　through　the　wet　grass。　Jason　blinked；　trying　to　force　his　mind　to　e　back　to　him。　Then　instantly　he　knew　he　had　to　point　the　automatic　and　fire。　Conklin　had　found　his　gun　and　was　raising　it！　But　Bourne　could　not　pull　the　trigger。
　He　dived　to　his　right；　rolling　on　the　ground；　scrambling　towards　the　marble　columns　of　the　mausoleum。　Conklin's　gunshots　were　wild；　the　crippled　man　unable　to　steady　his　leg　or　his　aim。　Then　the　firing　stopped　and　Jason　got　to　his　feet；　his　face　against　the　smooth　wet　stone。　He　looked　out；　his　automatic　raised；　he　had　to　kill　this　man　for　this　man　would　kill　him；　kill　Marie；　link　them　both　to　Carlos。
　Conklin　was　hobbling　pathetically　towards　the　gates；　turning　constantly；　the　gun　extended；　his　destination　a　car　outside　in　the　road。　Bourne　raised　his　automatic；　the　crippled　figure　in　his　gunsight。　A　split　half　second　and　it　would　be　over；　his　enemy　from　Treadstone　dead；　hope　found　with　that　death；　for　there　were　reasonable　men　in　Washington。
　He　could　not　do　it；　he　could　not　pull　the　trigger。　He　lowered　the　gun；　standing　helpless　by　the　marble　column　as　Conklin　climbed　into　his　car。
　The　car。　He　had　to　get　back　to　Paris。　There　was　a　way。　It　had　been　there　all　along。　She　had　been　there！
　He　rapped　on　the　door；　his　mind　racing；　facts　analysed；　absorbed　and　discarded　as　rapidly　as　they　came　to　him；　a　strategy　evolving。　Marie　recognized　the　knock；　she　opened　the　door。
　'Dear　God；　look　at　you！　What　happened？'
　'No　time；'　he　said；　rushing　towards　the　telephone　across　the　room。　'It　was　a　trap。　They're　convinced　I　turned；　sold　out　to　Carlos。'
　'What？'
　'They　say　I　flew　into　New　York　last　week；　last　Friday。　That　I　killed　five　people。。。　among　them　a　brother。'　Jason　closed　his　eyes　briefly。　'There　was　a　brother　…　is　a　brother。　I　don't　know；　I　can't　think　about　it　now。'
　'You　never　left　Paris　I　You　can　prove　it！'
　'How？　Eight；　ten　hours；　that's　all　I'd　need。　And　eight　or　ten　hours　unaccounted　for　is　all　they　need　now。　Who's　going　to　e　forward？'
　'I　will。　You've　been　with　me！〃
　'They　think　you're　part　of　it；'　said　Bourne；　picking　up　the　telephone　and　dialling。　'The　theft；　the　turning；　Port　Noir；　the　whole　damn　thing。　They've　locked　you　into　me。　Carlos　engineered　this　down　to　the　last　fragment　of　a　fingerprint。　Christ！　Did　he　put　it　together！'
　'What　are　you　doing？　Who　are　you　calling？'
　'Our　back…up；　remember？　The　only　one　we've　got。　Villiers。　Villiers's　wife。　She's　the　one。　We're　going　to　take　her；　break　her；　put　her　on　a　hundred　racks　if　we　have　to。　But　we　won't　have　to；　she　won't　fight　because　she　can't　win。。。　Goddamn　it；　why　doesn't　he　answer？'
　'The　private　phone's　in　his　office。　It's　three　in　the　morning。　He's　probably。。。'
　'He's　on！　General？　Is　that　you？'　Jason　had　to　ask；　the　voice　on　the　line　was　oddly　quiet；　but　not　the　quiet　of　interrupted　sleep。
　'Yes；　it　is　I；　my　young　friend。　I　apologize　for　the　delay。　I've　been　upstairs　with　my　wife。'
　'That's　who　I'm　calling　about。　We've　got　to　move。　Now。　Alert　French　Intelligence；　Interpol　and　the　American　Embassy；　but　tell　them　not　to　interfere　until　I've　seen　her；　talked　to　her。　We　have　to　talk。'
　'I　don't　think　so；　Mr。。　Bourne。。。　Yes；　I　know　your　name；　my　friend。　As　for　your　talking　to　my　wife；　however；　I'm　afraid　that's　not　possible。　You　see；　I've　killed　her。'
　Jason　stared　at　the　hotel　room　wall；　at　the　flock　paper　with　the　faded　designs　that　spiralled　into　one　another　in　meaningless　contortions　of　worn　fabric。　'Why？'　he　said　quietly　into　the　phone。　'I　thought　you　understood。'
　'I　tried；　my　friend；'　said　Villiers；　his　voice　beyond　anger　or　sorrow。　The　saints　know　I　tried；　but　I　could　not　help　myself。　I　kept　looking　at　her。。。　seeing　the　son　she　did　not　bear　behind　her；　killed　by　the　pig　animal　that　was　her　mentor。　My　whore　was　someone　else's　whore。。。　the　animal's　whore。　It　could　not　be　otherwise　and；　as　I　learned；　it　was　not。　I　think　she　saw　the　outrage　in　my　eyes；　heaven　knows　it　was　there。'　The　general　paused；　the　memory　painful　now。　'She　not　only　saw　the　outrage；　but　the　truth。　She　saw　that　I　knew。　What　she　was；　what　she　had　been　during　the　years　we'd　spent　together。　At　the　end；　I　gave　her　the　chance　I　told　you　I　would　give　her。'
　'To　kill　you？'
　'Yes。　It　wasn't　difficult。　Between　our　beds　is　a　night　stand　with　a　weapon　in　the　drawer。　She　lay　on　her　bed；　Goya's　Maja；　splendid　in　her　arrogance；　dismissing　me　with　her　private　thoughts　as　I　was　consumed　by　my　own。　I　opened　the　drawer　for　a　book　of　matches　and　walked　back　to　my　chair　and　my　pipe；　leaving　the　drawer　open；　the　handle　of　the　gun　very　much　in　evidence。
　'It　was　my　silence；　I　imagine；　and　the　fact　tha