rl.thebourneultimatum-第87部分

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　She　put　down　the　Paris　Tribune　and　poured　herself　a　third　cup　of　black　coffee；　glancing　over　at　the　French　doors　that　led　to　a　small　balcony　overlooking　the　rue　de　Rivoli。　It　disturbed　her　that　the　once　bright　morning　had　turned　into　a　dismal　gray　day。　Soon　the　rain　would　e；　making　her　search　in　the　streets　even　more　difficult。　Resigned；　she　sipped　her　coffee　and　replaced　the　elegant　cup　in　the　elegant　saucer；　annoyed　that　it　was　not　one　of　the　simple　pottery　mugs　favored　by　David　and　her　in　their　rustic　country　kitchen　in　Maine。　Oh；　God；　would　they　ever　be　back　there　again？　Don't　think　about　such　things！　Concentrate！　Out　of　the　question。
　She　picked　up　the　Tribune；　aimlessly　scanning　the　pages；　seeing　only　isolated　words；　no　sentences　or　paragraphs；　no　continuity　of　thought　or　meaning；　merely　words。　Then　one　stood　out　at　the　bottom　of　a　meaningless　column；　a　single　meaningless　line　bracketed　at　the　bottom　of　a　meaningless　page。
　The　word　was　Memom；　followed　by　a　telephone　number；　and　despite　the　fact　that　the　Tribune　was　printed　in　English；　the　French　in　her　switchable　French…thinking　brain　absently　translated　the　word　as　Maymohm。　She　was　about　to　turn　the　page　when　a　signal　from　another　part　of　her　brain　screamed　Stop！
　Memom　。。。　mommy…turned　around　by　a　child　struggling　with　his　earliest　attempts　at　language。　Meemom！　Jamie…their　Jamie！　The　funny　inverted　name　he　had　called　her　for　several　weeks！　David　had　joked　about　it　while　she；　frightened；　had　wondered　if　their　son　had　dyslexia。
　〃He　could　also　just　be　confused；　memom；〃　David　had　laughed。
　David！　She　snapped　up　the　page；　it　was　the　financial　section　of　the　paper；　the　section　she　instinctively　gravitated　to　every　morning　over　coffee。　David　was　sending　her　a　message！　She　pushed　back　her　chair；　crashing　it　to　the　floor　as　she　grabbed　the　paper　and　rushed　to　the　telephone　on　the　desk。　Her　hands　trembling；　she　dialed　the　number。　There　was　no　answer；　and　thinking　that　in　her　panic　she　had　made　an　error　or　had　not　used　the　local　Paris　digit；　she　dialed　again；　now　slowly；　precisely。
　No　answer。　But　it　was　David；　she　felt　it；　she　knew　it！　He　had　been　looking　for　her　at　the　Trocadéro　and　now　he　was　using　a　briefly　employed　nickname　only　the　two　of　them　would　know！　My　love；　my　love；　I've　found　you！　。。。　She　also　knew　she　could　not　stay　in　the　confining　quarters　of　the　small　hotel　suite；　pacing　up　and　down　and　dialing　every　other　minute；　driving　herself　crazy　with　every　unanswered　ring。　When　you're　stressed　out　and　spinning　until　you　think　you'll　blow　apart；　find　someplace　where　you　can　keep　moving　without　being　noticed。　Keep　moving！　That's　vital。　You　can't　let　your　head　explode。　One　of　the　lessons　from　Jason　Bourne。　Her　head　spinning；　Marie　dressed　more　rapidly　than　she　had　ever　done　in　her　life。　She　tore　out　the　message　from　the　Tribune　and　left　the　oppressive　suite；　trying　not　to　run　to　the　bank　of　elevators　but　needing　the　crowds　of　the　Paris　streets；　where　she　could　keep　moving　without　being　noticed。　From　one　telephone　kiosk　to　another。
　The　ride　down　to　the　lobby　was　both　interminable　and　insufferable；　the　latter　because　of　an　American　couple…he　laden　with　camera　equipment；　she　with　purple　eyelids　and　a　peroxide　bouffant　apparently　set　in　concrete…who　kept　plaining　that　not　enough　people　in　Paris；　France；　spoke　English。　The　elevator　doors　thankfully　opened　and　Marie　walked　out　rapidly　into　the　crowded　Meurice　lobby。
　As　she　crossed　the　marble　floor　toward　the　large　glass　doors　of　the　ornate　filigreed　entrance；　she　suddenly；　involuntarily　stopped　as　an　elderly　man　in　a　dark　pin…striped　suit　gasped；　his　slender　body　lurching　forward　in　a　heavy　leather　chair　below　on　her　right。　The　old　man　stared　at　her；　his　thin　lips　parted　in　astonishment；　his　eyes　in　shock。
　〃Marie　St。　Jacques！〃　he　whispered。　〃My　God；　get　out　of　here！〃
　〃I　beg　your　。。。　What？〃
　The　aged　Frenchman　quickly；　with　difficulty；　rose　to　his　feet；　his　head　subtly；　swiftly；　jerking　in　short　movements　as　he　scanned　the　lobby。　〃You　cannot　be　seen　here；　Mrs。　Webb；〃　he　said；　his　voice　still　a　whisper　but　no　less　harsh　and　manding。　〃Don't　look　at　me！　Look　at　your　watch。　Keep　your　head　down。〃　The　Deuxième　veteran　glanced　away；　nodding　aimlessly　at　several　people　in　nearby　chairs　as　he　continued；　his　lips　barely　moving。　〃Go　out　the　door　on　the　far　left；　the　one　used　for　luggage。　Hurry！〃
　〃No！〃　replied　Marie；　her　head　down；　her　eyes　on　her　watch。　〃You　know　me　but　I　don't　know　you！　Who　are　you？〃
　〃A　friend　of　your　husband。〃
　〃My　God；　is　he　here？〃
　〃The　question　is　why　are　you　here？〃
　〃I　stayed　at　this　hotel　once　before。　I　thought　he　might　remember　it。〃
　〃He　did　but　in　the　wrong　context；　I'm　afraid。　Mon　Dieu；　he　never　would　have　chosen　it　otherwise。　Now；　leave。〃
　〃I　won't！　I　have　to　find　him。　Where　is　he？〃
　〃You　will　leave　or　you　may　find　only　his　corpse。　There's　a　message　for　you　in　the　Paris　Tribune…〃
　〃It's　in　my　purse。　The　financial　page。　'Memom…'　〃
　〃Call　in　several　hours。〃
　〃You　can't　do　this　to　me。〃
　〃You　cannot　do　this　to　him。　You'll　kill　him！　Get　out　of　here。　Now！〃
　Her　eyes　half　blinded　with　fury　and　fear　and　tears；　Marie　started　toward　the　left　side　of　the　lobby；　desperately　wanting　to　look　back；　but　just　as　desperately　knowing　she　could　not　do　so。　She　reached　the　narrow　set　of　glass　double　doors；　colliding　with　a　uniformed　bellhop　carrying　suitcases　inside。
　〃Pardon；　madame！〃
　〃Moi　aussi；〃　she　stammered；　maneuvering　again　blindly　around　the　luggage　and　out　to　the　pavement。　What　could　she　do…what　should　she　do？　David　was　somewhere　in　the　hotel…in　the　hotel！　And　a　strange　man　recognized　her　and　warned　her　and　told　her　to　get　out…get　away！　What　was　happening？　。。。　My　God；　someone's　trying　to　kill　David！　The　old　Frenchman　had　said　as　much…who　was　it。。。　who　were　they？　Where　were　they？
　Help　me！　For　God's　sake；　Jason；　tell　me　what　to　do。　Jason？　。。。　Yes；　Jason　。。。　help　me！　She　stood；　frozen；　as　taxis　and　limousines　broke　off　from　the　noonday　traffic　and　pulled　up　to　the　Meurice's　curb；　where　a　gold…braided　doorman　under　the　huge　canopy　greeted　newers　and　old　faces　and　sent　bellboys　scurrying　in　all　directions。　A　large　black　limousine　with　a　small　discreet　religious　insignia　on　its　passenger　door；　the　cruciform　standard　of　some　high　office　of　the　Church；　inched　its　way　to　the　canopied　area。　Marie　stared　at　the　small　emblem；　it　was　circular　and　no　more　than　six　inches　in　diameter；　a　globe　of　royal　purple　surrounding　an　elongated　crucifix　of　gold。　She　winced　and　held　her　breath；　her　panic　now　had　a　disturbing　new　dimension。　She　had　seen　that　insignia　before；　and　all　she　remembered　was　that　it　had　filled　her　with　horror。
　The　limousine　stopped；　both　curbside　doors　were　opened　by　the　smiling；　bowing　doorman　as　five　priests　emerged；　one　from　the　front　seat；　four　from　the　spacious　rear　section。　Those　from　the　back　immediately；　oddly；　threaded　their　way　into　the　noonday　crowds　of　strollers　on　the　pavement；　two　forward　in　front　of　the　vehicle；　two　behind　it；　one　of　the　priests　whipping　past　Marie；　his　black　coat　making　contact　with　her；　his　face　so　close　she　could　see　the　blazing　unpriestly　eyes　of　a　man　who　was　no　part　of　a　religious　order。　。。。　Then　the　association　with　the　emblem；　the　religious　insignia；　came　back　to　her！
　Years　ago；　when　David…when　Jason…was　in　maximum　therapy　with　Panov；　Mo　had　him　sketch；　draw；　doodle　whatever　images　came　to　him。　Time　and　again　that　terrible　circle　with　the　thin　crucifix　appeared　。。。　invariably　torn　apart　or　stabbed　repeatedly　with　the　pencil　point。　The　Jackal！
　Suddenly；　Marie's　eyes　were　drawn　to　a　figure　crossing　the　rue　de　Rivoli。　It　was　a　tall　man　in　dark　clothes…a　dark　sweater　and　trousers…and　he　was　limping；　dodging　the　traffic；　a　hand　shielding　his　face　from　the　drizzle　that　soon　would　turn　into　rain。　The　limp　was　false！　The　leg　straightened　if　only　for　an　instant　and　the　swing　of　the　shoulder　that　pensated　was　a　defiant　gesture　she　knew　only　too　well。　It　was　David！
　Another；　no　more　than　eight　feet　from　her；　also　saw　what　she　saw。　A　miniature　radio　was　instantly　brought　to　the　man's　lips。　Marie　rushed　forward；　her　extended　hands　the　claws　of　a　tigress　as　she　lunged　at　the　killer　in　priest's　clothing。
　〃David！〃　she　screamed；　drawing　blood　from　the　face　of　the　Jackal's　man。
　Gunshots　filled　the　rue　de　Rivoli。　The　crowds　panicked；　many　running　into　the　hotel；　many　more　racing　away　from　the　canopied　entrance；　all　shrieking；　yelling；　seeking　safety　from　the　murderous　insanity　that　had　suddenly　exploded　in　the　civilized　street。　In　the　violent　struggle　with　the　man　who　would　kill　her　husband；　the　strong　Canadian　ranch　girl　ripped　the　automatic　out　of　his　belt　and　fired　it　into　his　head；　blood　and　membranes　were　blown　into　the　air。
　〃Jason！〃　she　screamed　again　as　the　killer　fell；　instantly　realizing　that　she　stood　alone　with　only　the　corpse　beneath　her…she　was　a　target！　Then　from　certain　death　there　was　the　sudden　possibility　of　life。　The　old　aristocratic　Frenchman　who　had　recognized　her　in　the　lobby　came　crashing　out　of　the　front　entrance；　his　automatic　weapon　on　repeat　fire　as　he　sprayed　the　black　limousine；　stopping　for　an　instant　to　switch　his　aim　and　shattering　the　legs　of　a　〃priest〃　whose　weapon　was　leveled　at　him。
　〃Mon　ami！〃　roared　Bernardine。
　〃Here！〃　shouted　Bourne。　〃Where　is　she？〃
　〃A　votre　droite！　Auprès　de…〃　A　single　gunshot　exploded　from　the　glass　double　doors　of　the　Meurice。　As　he　fell　the　Deuxième　veteran　cried　out；　〃Les　Capucines；　mon　ami。　Les　Capucines！〃　Bernardine　slumped　to　the　pavement；　a　second　gunshot　ended　his　life。
　Marie　was　paralyzed；　she　could　not　move！　Everything　was　a　blizzard；　a　hurricane　of　iced　particles　crashing　with　such　force　against　her　face　she　could　neither　think　nor　find　meaning。　Weeping　out　of　control；　she　fell　to　her　knees；　then　collapsed　in　the　street；　her　screams　of　despair　clear　to　the　man　who　suddenly　was　above　her。　〃My　children　。。。　oh　God；　my　children！〃
　〃Our　children；〃　said　Jason　Bourne；　his　voice　not　the　voice　of　David　Webb。　〃We're　getting　out　of　here；　can　you　understand　that？〃
　〃Yes　。。。　yes！〃　Marie　awkwardly；　painfully；　swung　her　legs　behind　her　and　lurched　to　her　feet；　held　by　the　husband　she　either　knew　or　did　not　know。　〃David？〃
　〃Of　course　I'm　David。　e　on！〃
　〃You　frighten