rl.thebourneidentity-第97部分

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on；　black　night　and　bursting　dawn。　Something　was　happening　to　him；　he　gripped　his　wrist　harder；　desperately　trying　to　control　the　almost　uncontrollable　impulse　to　jump　out　of　the　taxi　and　race　across　the　street　to　that　monstrous；　silent　structure　of　jagged　stone　and　deep　blue　glass。　He　wanted　to　leap　up　the　steps　and　hammer　his　fist　against　the　heavy　black　door。
　Let　me　in！　I　am　here！　You　must　let　me　in！　Can't　you　understand？
　I　AM　INSIDE！
　Images　welled　up　in　front　of　his　eyes；　jarring　sounds　assaulted　his　ears。　A　jolting；　throbbing　pain　kept　exploding　at　his　temples。　He　was　inside　a　dark　room　…　that　room　…　staring　at　a　screen；　at　other；　inner　images　that　kept　flashing　on　and　off　in　rapid；　blinding　succession。
　Who　is　he？　Quickly。　You're　too　late！　You're　a　dead　man。　Where　is　this　street？　What　does　it　mean　to　you？　Who　did　you　meet　there？　What？　Good。　Keep　it　simple；　say　as　little　as　possible。　Hare's　a　list：　eight　names。　Which　are　contacts？　Quickly！　Here's　another。　Methods　of　matching　kills。　Which　are　yours？。。。　No；　no；　no！　Delta　might　do　that；　not　Cain！　You　are　not　Delta；　you　are　not　you！　You　are　Cain。　You　are　a　man　named　Bourne。　Jason　Bourne！　You　slipped　back。　Try　again。　Concentrate！　Obliterate　everything　else。　Wipe　away　the　past。　It　does　not　exist　for　you。　You　are　only　what　you　are　here；　became　here！
　Oh；　God。　Marie　had　said　it。
　Maybe　you　just　know　what　you've　been　told。。。　Over　and　over　and　over　again。　Until　there　was　nothing　else。。。　Things　you've　been　told。。。　but　you　can't　re…live。。。　because　they're　not　you。
　The　sweat　rolled　down　his　face；　stinging　his　eyes；　as　he　dug　his　fingers　into　his　wrist；　trying　to　push　the　pain　and　the　sounds　and　the　flashes　of　light　out　of　his　mind。　He　had　written　to　Carlos　that　he　was　ing　back　for　hidden　documents　that　were　his。。。'　final　protection'。　At　that　time；　the　phrase　had　struck　him　as　weak；　he　had　nearly　crossed　it　out；　wanting　a　stronger　reason　for　flying　to　New　York。　Yet　instinct　had　told　him　to　let　it　stand；　it　was　a　part　of　his　past。。。　somehow。　Now　he　understood。　His　identity　was　inside　that　house。　His　identity。　And　whether　Carlos　came　after　him　or　not；　he　had　to　find　it　He　had　to！
　It　was　suddenly　insane！　He　shook　his　head　violently　back　and　forth；　trying　to　suppress　the　pulsion；　to　still　the　screams　that　were　all　around　him　…　screams　that　were　his　screams；　his　voice。　Forget　Carlos。　Forget　the　trap。　Get　inside　that　house！　It　was　there；　it　was　the　beginning！
　Stop　it！
　The　irony　was　macabre。　There　was　no　final　protection　in　that　house；　only　a　final　explanation　for　himself。　And　it　was　meaningless　without　Carlos。　Those　who　hunted　him　knew　it　and　disregarded　it；　they　wanted　him　dead　because　of　it。　But　he　was　so　close。。。　he　had　to　find　it。　It　was　there。
　Bourne　glanced　up；　the　long…haired　driver　was　watching　him　in　the　rear…view　mirror。　'Migraine；'　said　Jason　curtly。　'Drive　around　the　block。　To　this　block　again。　I'm　early　for　my　appointment。　I'll　tell　you　where　to　let　me　off。'
　'It's　your　wallet；　Mister。'
　The　brownstone　was　behind　them　now；　passed　quickly　in　a　sudden；　brief　break　in　the　traffic。　Bourne　swung　around　in　the　seat　and　looked　at　it　through　the　rear　window。　The　seizure　was　receding；　the　sights　and　sounds　of　personal　panic　fading；　only　the　pain　remained；　but　it　too　would　diminish；　he　knew　that。　It　had　been　an　extraordinary　few　minutes。　Priorities　had　bee　twisted；　pulsion　had　replaced　reason；　the　pull　of　the　unknown　had　been　so　strong　that　for　a　moment　or　two　he　had　nearly　lost　control。　He　could　not　let　it　happen　again；　the　trap　itself　was　everything。　He　had　to　see　that　house　again；　he　had　to　study　it　again。　He　had　all　day　to　work；　to　refine　his　strategy；　his　tactics　for　the　night；　but　a　second；　calmer　appraisal　was　in　order　now。　Others　would　e　during　the　day；　closer　appraisals。　The　chameleon　in　him　would　be　put　to　work。
　Sixteen　minutes　later　it　was　obvious　that　whatever　he　intended　to　study　no　longer　mattered。　Suddenly；　everything　was　different；　everything　had　changed。　The　line　of　traffic　in　the　block　slower；　another　hazard　added　to　the　street　A　removal　van　had　parked　in　front　of　the　brownstone　house；　men　in　overalls　stood　smoking　cigarettes　and　drinking　coffee；　putting　off　that　moment　when　work　was　to　mence。　The　heavy　black　door　was　open　and　a　man　in　a　green　jacket；　the　moving　pany's　emblem　above　the　left　pocket；　stood　in　the　foyer；　a　clipboard　in　his　hand。　Treadstone　was　being　dismantled！　In　a　few　hours　it　could　be　gutted；　a　shell！　It　couldn't　be。　They　had　to　stop　I
　Jason　leaned　forward；　money　in　his　hand；　the　pain　gone　from　his　head；　all　was　movement　now。　He　had　to　reach　Conklin　in　Washington。　Not　later　…　not　when　the　chess　pieces　were　in　place　…　but　right　now！　Conklin　had　to　tell　them　to　stop！　His　entire　strategy　was　based　on　darkness。。。　always　darkness。　The　beam　of　a　torch　shooting　out　of　first　one　alleyway　then　another；　then　against　dark　walls　and　up　at　darkened　windows。　Orchestrated　properly；　swiftly；　darting　from　one　position　to　another。　An　assassin　would　be　drawn　to　a　stone　building　at　night。　At　night。　It　would　happen　at　night！　Not　now！
　'Hey；　Mister！'　yelled　the　driver　through　the　open　window。
　Jason　bent　down。　'What　is　it？'
　'I　just　wanted　to　say　thanks。　This　makes　my。。。'
　A　spit。　Over　his　shoulder　I　Followed　by　a　cough　that　was　the　start　of　a　scream。　Bourne　stared　at　the　driver；　at　the　stream　of　blood　that　had　erupted　over　the　man's　left　ear。　The　man　was　dead；　killed　by　a　bullet　meant　for　his　fare；　fired　from　a　window　somewhere　in　that　street。
　Jason　dropped　to　the　ground；　then　sprang　to　his　left；　spinning　towards　the　kerb。　Two　more　spits　came　in　rapid　succession；　the　first　embedded　in　the　side　of　the　taxi；　the　second　exploding　the　asphalt。　It　was　unbelievable！　He　was　marked　before　the　hunt　had　begun　I　Carlos　was　there。　In　position！　He　or　one　of　his　men　had　taken　the　high　ground；　a　window　or　a　rooftop　from　which　the　entire　street　could　be　observed。　Yet　the　possibility　of　indiscriminate　death　caused　by　a　killer　in　a　window　or　on　a　rooftop　was　crazy；　the　police　would　e；　the　street　blocked　off；　even　a　reverse　trap　aborted。　And　Carlos　was　not　crazy！　It　did　not　make　sense。　Nor　did　Bourne　have　the　time　to　speculate；　he　had　to　get　out　of　the　trap。。。　the　reverse　trap。　He　had　to　get　to　that　phone。　Carlos　was　here！　At　the　doors　of　Treadstone！　He　had　brought　him　back。　He　had　actually　brought　him　back！　It　was　his　proof！
　He　got　to　his　feet　and　began　running；　weaving　in　and　out　of　the　groups　of　pedestrians。　He　reached　the　corner　and　turned　right；　the　box　was　twenty　feet　away；　but　it　was　also　a　target。　He　could　not　use　it。
　Across　the　street　was　a　delicatessen；　a　small　rectangular　sign　above　the　door。　Telephone。　He　stepped　off　the　kerb　and　started　running　again；　dodging　the　lurching　cars。　One　of　them　might　do　the　job　Carlos　had　reserved　for　himself。　That　irony；　too；　was　macabre。
　The　Central　Intelligence　Agency；　sir；　is　fundamentally　a　fact…finding　organization；'　said　the　man　on　the　line　condescendingly。　'The　sort　of　activities　you　describe　are　the　rarest　part　of　our　work；　and　frankly　blown　out　of　proportion　by　films　and　misinformed　writers。'
　'Goddamn　it；　listen　to　me！'　said　Jason；　cupping　the　mouthpiece　in　the　crowded　delicatessen。　'Just　tell　me　where　Conklin　is。　It's　an　emergency！'
　'His　office　already　told　you；　sir。　Mr。。　Conklin　left　yesterday　afternoon　and　is　expected　back　at　the　end　of　the　week。　Since　you　say　you　know　Mr。。　Conklin；　you're　aware　of　his　service…related　injury。　He　often　goes　for　physical　therapy。。。'
　'Will　you　stop　it！　I　saw　him　in　Paris　…　outside　Paris　…　two　nights　ago。　He　flew　over　from　Washington　to　meet　me。〃
　'As　to　that；'　interrupted　the　man　in　Langley；　'when　you　were　transferred　to　this　office；　we'd　already　checked。　There's　no　record　of　Mr。。　Conklin　having　left　the　country　in　over　a　year。'
　'Then　it's　buried！　He　was　there！
　'You're　looking　for　codes；'　said　Bourne　desperately。　'I　don't　have　them。　But　someone　working　with　Conklin　will　recognize　the　words。　Medusa；　Delta；　Cain。。。　Treadstone！　Someone　has　to！'
　〃No　one　does。　You　were　told　that。'
　'By　someone　who　doesn't。　There　are　those　who　do。　Believe　me！'
　'I'm　sorry。　I　really。。。'
　'Don't　hang　up！'　There　was　another　way；　one　he　did　not　care　to　use　but　there　was　nothing　else。　'Five　or　six　minutes　ago　I　got　out　of　a　taxi　on　Seventy…first　Street　I　was　spotted　and　someone　tried　to　take　me　out。'
　'Take。。。　you　out？'
　'Yes。　The　driver　spoke　to　me　and　I　bent　down　to　listen。　That　movement　saved　my　life；　but　the　driver's　dead；　a　bullet　in　his　skull。　That's　the　truth　and　I　know　you　have　ways　of　checking。　There　are　probably　half　a　dozen　police　cars　on　the　scene　by　now。　Check　it　out。　That's　the　strongest　advice　I　can　give　you。'
　There　was　a　brief　silence　from　Washington。　'Since　you　asked　for　Mr。。　Conklin　…　at　least　used　his　name　…　I'll　follow　this　up。　Where　can　I　reach　you？'
　'I'll　stay　on。　This　call's　on　an　international　credit　card。　French　issue；　name　of　Chambord。'
　'Chambord？　You　said。。。'
　'Please。'
　'I'll　be　back。'
　The　waiting　was　intolerable；　made　worse　by　a　stem　Hassidim　glaring　at　him；　fingering　coins　in　one　hand；　a　roll　in　another；　and　crumbs　in　his　stringy；　unkempt　beard。　A　minute　later　the　man　in　Langley　was　on　the　line；　anger　replacing　promise。
　'I　think　this　conversation　has　e　to　an　end；　Mr。　Bourne　or　Chambord；　or　whatever　you　call　yourself。　The　New　York　police　were　reached；　there's　no　such　incident　as　you　described　on　Seventy…first　Street。　And　you　were　right。　We　do　have　ways　of　checking。　I　advise　you　that　there　are　laws　about　such　calls　as　this；　strict　penalties　involved。　Good　day；　sir。'
　There　was　a　click；　the　line　went　dead。　Bourne　stared　at　the　dial　in　disbelief。　For　six　months　the　men　in　Washington　had　searched　for　him；　wanted　to　kill　him　for　the　silence　they　could　not　understand。　Now；　when　he　presented　himself　…　presented　them　with　the　sole　objective　of　his　three…year　agreement　…　he　was　dismissed。　They　still　would　not　listen！。。。　But　that　man　had　listened。　And　he　had　e　back　on　the　line　denying　a　death　that　had　taken　place　only　minutes　ago。　It　could　not　be。。。　it　was　insane。　It　had　happened！
　Jason　put　the　phone　back　on　the　hook；　tempted　to　bolt　from　the　crowded　delicatessen。　Instead；　he　walked　calmly　towards　the　door　excusing　himsel