rl.thebourneidentity-第105章

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ime　when　you　tell　him　the　Treadstone　officer　has　arrived　in　Paris　and　will　meet　with　him。'
　'What　will　that　acplish？'　asked　the　embassy　man。
　'He'll　keep　moving。。。　if　he's　not　ours。　There　are　half　a
　dozen　known　deep…cover　Soviet　agents　in　Paris；　all　with　tripped　phones。　If　he's　working　with　Moscow；　the　chances　are　he'll　use　at　least　one　of　them。　We'll　be　watching。　And　if　that's　the　way　it　turns　out；　I　think　you'll　remember　the　time　you　spent　all　night　at　the　embassy　for　the　rest　of　your　life。　Presidential　mendations　have　a　way　of　raising　a　career　man's　grade　level。　Of　course；　you　don't　have　too　much　higher　to　go。。。'
　'There's　higher；　Mr。　Conklin；〃　interrupted　the　First　Secretary。
　The　conversation　was　over；　the　embassy　man　would　call　back　after　hearing　from　Bourne。　Conklin　got　up　from　the　chair　and　limped　across　the　room　to　a　grey　filing　cabinet　against　the　wall。　He　unlocked　the　top　panel。　Inside　was　a　stapled　folder　containing　a　sealed　envelope　bearing　the　names　and　locations　of　men　who　could　be　called　upon　in　emergencies。　They　had　once　been　good　men；　loyal　men；　who　for　one　reason　or　another　could　no　longer　be　on　a　Washington　payroll。　In　all　cases　it　had　been　necessary　to　remove　them　from　the　official　scene；　relocate　them　with　new　identities　…　those　fluent　in　other　languages　frequently　given　citizenship　by　co…operating　foreign　governments。　They　had　simply　disappeared。
　They　were　the　outcasts；　men　who　had　gone　beyond　the　laws　in　the　service　of　their　country；　who　often　killed　in　the　interests　of　their　country。　But　their　country　could　not　tolerate　their　official　existence；　their　covers　had　been　exposed；　their　actions　made　known。　Still；　they　could　be　called　upon。　Monies　were　constantly　funnelled　to　accounts　beyond　official　scrutiny；　certain　understandings　intrinsic　to　the　payments。
　Conklin　carried　the　envelope　back　to　his　desk　and　tore　the　marked　tape　from　the　flap；　it　would　be　reseated；　re…marked。　There　was　a　man　in　Paris；　a　dedicated　man；　who　had　e　up　through　the　officer　corps　of　Army　Intelligence；　a　lieutenant…colonel　by　the　time　he　was　thirty…five。　He　could　be　counted　on；　he　understood　national　priorities。　He　had　killed　a　left…wing　cameraman　in　a　village　near　Hue　a　dozen　years　ago。
　Three　minutes　later　he　had　the　man　on　the　line；　the　call　un…logged；　unrecorded。　The　former　officer　was　given　a　name　and　a　brief　sketch　of　defection；　including　a　covert　trip　to　the　United　States　during　which　the　defector　in　question　on　special　assignment　had　eliminated　those　controlling　the　strategy。
　'A　double　entry？'　asked　the　man　in　Paris。　'Moscow？'
　'No；　not　the　Soviets；'　replied　Conklin；　aware　that　if　Delta　requested　protection　there　would　be　conversations　between　the　two　men。
　'It　was　a　long…range　deep　cover　to　snare　Carlos。'
　The　assassin？〃
　'That's　right。'
　'You　may　say　it's　not　Moscow；　but　you　won't　convince　me。　Carlos　was　trained　in　Novgorod　and　as　far　as　I'm　concerned　he's　still　a　dirty　gun　for　the　K。G。B。'
　'Perhaps。　The　details　aren't　for　briefing；　but　suffice　it　to　say　we're　convinced　our　man　was　bought　off；　he's　made　a　few　million　and　wants　an　unencumbered　passport。'
　'So　he　took　out　the　controls　and　the　finger's　pointed　at　Carlos；　which　doesn't　mean　a　damn　thing　but　give　him　another　kill。'
　That's　it。　We　want　to　play　it　out。　let　him　think　he's　home　free。　Best；　we'd　like　an　admission；　whatever　information　we　can　get；　which　is　why　I'm　on　my　way　over。　But　it's　definitely　secondary　to　taking　him　out。　Too　many　people　in　too　many　places　were　promised　to　put　him　where　he　is。　Can　you　help？　There'll　be　a　bonus。'
　'My　pleasure。　And　keep　the　bonus；　I　hate　fuckers　like　him。　They　blow　whole　networks。'
　'It's　got　to　be　airtight；　he's　one　of　the　best。　I'd　suggest　support；　at　least　one。'
　'I've　got　a　man　from　the　St…Gervais　worth　five。　He's　for　hire。'
　'Hire　him。　Here　are　the　particulars。　The　control　in　Paris　is　an　embassy　blind；　be　knows　nothing；　but　he's　in　munication　with　Bourne　and　may　request　protection　for　him。'
　'I'll　play　it；　said　the　former　intelligence　officer。　'Go　ahead。'
　There's　not　much　more　for　the　moment。　I'll　take　a　jet　out　of　Andrel。　My　E。T。A。　in　Paris　will　be　anywhere　between　ten　and　one　your　time。　I　want　to　see　Bourne　within　an　hour　or　so　after　that；　and　be　back　here　in　Washington　by　tomorrow。　It's　tight；　but　that's　the　way　it's　got　to　be。'
　That's　the　way　it'll　be　then。'
　'The　blind　at　the　embassy　is　the　First　Secretary。　His　name　is。。。'
　Conklin　gave　the　remaining　specifics　and　the　two　men　worked　out　basic　ciphers　for　their　initial　contact　in　Paris　Code　words　that　would　tell　the　man　from　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency　whether　or　not　any　problems　existed　when　they　spoke　Conklin　hung　up。　Everything　was　in　motion　exactly　the　way　Delta　would　expect　it　to　be　in　motion。　The　inheritors　of　Treadstone　would　go　by　the　book；　and　the　book　was　specific　where　collapsed　strategies　and　strategists　were　concerned。　They　were　to　be　dissolved；　cut　off；　no　official　connection　or　acknowledgment　permitted。　Failed　strategies　and　strategists　were　an　embarrassment　to　Washington。　And　from　its　manipulative　beginnings；　Treadstone　71　had　used；　abused；　and　manoeuvred　every　major　unit　in　the　United　States　Intelligence　munity　and　not　a　few　foreign　governments。　Very　long　poles　would　be　held　when　touching　any　survivors。
　Delta　knew　all　this；　and　because　he　himself　had　destroyed　Treadstone；　he　would　appreciate　the　precautions；　anticipate　them；　be　alarmed　if　they　were　not　there。　And　when　confronted　he　would　react　in　false　fury　and　artificial　anguish　over　the　violence　that　had　taken　place　in　Seventy…first　Street。　Alexander　Conklin　would　listen　with　all　his　concentration；　trying　to　discern　a　genuine　note；　or　even　the　outlines　of　a　reasonable　explanation；　but　he　knew　he　would　hear　neither。　Irregular　fragments　of　glass　could　not　beam　themselves　across　the　Atlantic　only　to　be　concealed　beneath　a　heavy　curtain　in　a　Manhattan　brownstone；　and　fingerprints　were　more　accurate　proof　of　a　man　having　been　at　a　scene　than　any　photograph。　There　was　no　way　they　could　be　doctored。
　Conklin　would　give　Delta　the　benefit　of　two　minutes　to　say　whatever　came　to　his　facile　tongue。　He　would　listen；　and　then　he　would　pull　the　trigger。
　'Why　are　they　doing　it？'　said　Jason；　sitting　down　next　to　Marie　in　the　packed　cafe。　He　had　made　the　fifth　telephone　call；　five　hours　after　having　reached　the　embassy。　They　want　me　to　keep　running。　They're　forcing　me　to　run；　and　I　don't　know　why。'
　'You're　forcing　yourself；'　said　Marie。　'You　could　have　made　the　calls　from　the　room。'
　'No；　I　couldn't。　For　some　reason；　they　want　me　to　know　that。　Each　time　I　call；　that　son　of　a　bitch　asks　me　where　I　am　now；　am　I　in　〃safe　territory〃？　Silly　goddamn　phrase；　〃safe　territory〃。　But　he's　saying　something　else。　He's　telling　me　that　every　contact　must　be　made　from　a　different　location；　so　that　no　one　outside　or　inside　could　trace　me　to　a　single　phone；　a　single　address。　They　don't　want　me　in　custody；　but　they　want　me　on　a　string。　They　want　me；　but　they're　afraid　of　me；　it　doesn't　make　sense！'
　'Isn't　it　possible　you're　imagining　these　things？　No　one　said　anything　remotely　like　that。'
　'They　didn't　have　to。　It's　in　what　they　didn't　say。　Why　didn't　they　just　tell　me　to　e　right　over　to　the　embassy。　Order　me。　No　one　could　touch　me　there；　it's　U。　S。　territory。　They　didn't。'
　The　streets　are　being　watched；　you　were　told　that。'
　'You　know；　I　accepted　that　…　blindly　…　until　about　thirty　seconds　ago　when　it　struck　me。　By　whom？　Who's　watching　the　streets？'
　'Carlos；　obviously。　His　men。'
　'You　know　that　and　I　know　that　…　at　least　we　can　assume　it　…　but　they　don't　know　that。　I　may　not　know　who　the　hell　I　am　or　where　I　came　from；　but　I　know　what's　happened　to　me　during　the　past　twenty…four　hours。　They　don't。'
　'They　could　assume　too；　couldn't　they？　They　might　have　spotted　strange　men　in　cars；　or　standing　around　too　long；　too　obviously。'
　'Carlos　is　brighter　than　that。　And　there　are　lots　of　ways　a　specific　vehicle　could　get　quickly　inside　an　embassy's　gates。　Marine　contingents　everywhere　are　trained　for　things　like　that。'
　'I　believe　you。〃
　'But　they　didn't　do　that；　they　didn't　even　suggest　it。　Instead；　they're　stalling　me；　making　me　play　games。　Goddamn　it；　wh