rl.thebourneultimatum-第118章

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od　second…rate　mind；　better　than　eighty　percent　of　the　clowns　in　our　business；　but　he's　got　a　problem。　He's　fundamentally　on　the　wrong　side；　in　the　wrong　society。　His　parents　should　have　e　over　with　mine　when　the　Bolsheviks　took　the　throne。〃
　〃I　forget。　Your　family　was　Russian。〃
　〃Speaking　the　language　helps　with　Kruppie。　I　can　nail　his　nuances。　He's　the　quintessential　capitalist。　Like　the　economic　ministers　in　Beijing；　he　doesn't　just　like　money；　he's　obsessed　with　it…and　everything　that　goes　with　it。　Out　of　sight　and　out　of　sanction；　he　could　be　bought。〃
　〃You　mean　by　the　Jackal？〃
　〃I　saw　him　bought　in　Athens　by　Greek　developers　selling　additional　airstrips　to　Washington　when　they　knew　the　munists　were　going　to　throw　us　out。　They　paid　him　to　shut　up。　Then　I　watched　him　broker　diamonds　in　Amsterdam　between　the　merchants　on　the　Nieuwmarkt　and　the　dacha…elite　in　Moscow。　We　had　drinks　one　night　in　the　Kattengat　and　I　asked　him；　'Kruppie；　what　the　fuck　are　you　doing？'　You　know　what　he　said？　He　said　in　clothes　I　couldn't　afford；　'Aleksei；　I'll　do　everything　I　can　to　outsmart　you；　to　help　the　supreme　Soviet　to　gain　world　dominance；　but　in　the　meantime；　if　you'd　like　a　holiday；　I　have　a　lovely　house　on　the　lake　in　Geneva。'　That's　what　he　said；　Mo。〃
　〃He's　remarkable。　Of　course；　you　told　your　friend　Casset　all　this…〃
　〃Of　course　I　didn't；〃　broke　in　Conklin。
　〃Good　God；　why　not？〃
　〃Because　Krupkin　obviously　never　told　Charlie　that　he　knew　me。　Casset　may　have　the　deal；　but　I'm　dealing。〃
　〃With　what？　How？〃
　〃David…Jason…has　over　five　million　in　the　Caymans。　With　only　a　spit　of　that　amount　I'll　turn　Kruppie　so　he'll　be　working　only　for　us；　if　we　need　him　or　want　him　to。〃
　〃Which　means　you　don't　trust　Casset。〃
　〃Not　so；〃　said　Alex。　〃I　trust　Charlie　with　my　life。　It's　just　that　I'm　not　sure　I　want　it　in　his　hands。　He　and　Peter　Holland　have　their　priorities　and　we　have　ours。　Theirs　is　Medusa；　ours　are　David　and　Marie。〃
　〃Messieurs？〃　The　hostess　returned　and　addressed　Conklin。　〃Your　car　has　arrived；　sir。　It　is　on　the　south　platform。〃
　〃You're　sure　it's　for　me？〃　asked　Alex。
　〃Forgive　me；　monsieur；　but　the　attendant　said　a　Mr。　Smith　had　a　difficult　leg。〃
　〃He's　certainly　right　about　that。〃
　〃I've　called　a　porter　to　carry　your　luggage；　messieurs。　It's　a　rather　long　walk。　He'll　meet　you　on　the　platform。〃
　〃Thanks　very　much。〃　Conklin　got　to　his　feet　and　reached　into　his　pocket；　pulling　out　money。
　〃Pardon；　monsieur；〃　interrupted　the　hostess。　〃We　are　not　permitted　to　accept　gratuities。〃
　〃That's　right。　I　forgot。　。。。　My　suitcase　is　behind　your　counter；　isn't　it？〃
　〃Where　your　escort　left　it；　sir。　Along　with　the　doctor's；　it　will　be　at　the　platform　within　minutes。〃
　〃Thanks　again；〃　said　Alex。　〃Sorry　about　the　tip。〃
　〃We　are　well　paid；　sir；　but　thank　you　for　the　thought。〃
　As　they　walked　to　the　door　that　led　into　the　main　terminal　of　Orly　Airport；　Conklin　turned　to　Panov。　〃How　did　she　know　you　were　a　doctor？〃　he　asked。　〃You　soliciting　couch　business？〃
　〃Hardly。　The　muting　would　be　a　bit　strenuous。〃
　〃Then　how？　I　never　said　anything　about　your　being　a　doctor。〃
　〃She　knows　the　security　escort　who　brought　me　into　the　lounge。　In　fact；　I　think　she　knows　him　quite　well。　She　said　in　that　delectable　French　accent　of　hers　that　he　was　'verry　attractiefe。'　〃
　Looking　up　at　the　signs　in　the　crowded　terminal；　they　started　toward　the　south　platform。
　What　neither　of　them　saw　was　a　distinguished…looking　olive…skinned　man　with　wavy　black　hair　and　large　dark　eyes　walk　quickly　out　of　the　diplomatic　lounge；　his　steady　gaze　directed　at　the　two　Americans。　He　crossed　to　the　wall；　rushing　past　the　crowds　until　he　was　diagonally　in　front　of　Conklin　and　Panov　near　the　taxi　platform。　Then；　squinting；　as　if　unsure；　he　removed　a　small　photograph　from　his　pocket　and　kept　glancing　at　it　as　he　raised　his　eyes　and　looked　up　at　the　departing　passengers　from　the　United　States。　The　photograph　was　of　Dr。　Morris　Panov；　dressed　in　a　white　hospital　gown；　a　glazed；　unearthly　expression　on　his　face。
　The　Americans　went　out　on　the　platform；　the　dark…haired　man　did　the　same。　The　Americans　looked　around　for　a　taxi；　the　dark…haired　man　signaled　a　private　car。　A　driver　got　out　of　a　cab；　he　approached　Conklin　and　Panov；　speaking　quietly；　as　a　porter　arrived　with　their　luggage；　the　two　Americans　climbed　into　the　taxi。　The　stranger　who　followed　them　slipped　into　the　private　car　two　vehicles　behind　the　cab。
　〃Pazzo！〃　said　the　dark…haired　man　in　Italian　to　the　fashionably　dressed　middle…aged　woman　behind　the　wheel。　〃I　tell　you　it's　crazy！　For　three　days　we　wait；　all　ining　American　planes　watched；　and　we　are　about　to　give　up　when　that　fool　in　New　York　turns　out　to　be　right。　It's　them！　。。。　Here；　I'll　drive。　You　get　out　and　reach　our　people　over　there。　Tell　them　to　call　DeFazio；　instruct　him　to　go　to　his　other　favorite　restaurant　and　await　my　call　to　him。　He　is　not　to　leave　until　we　speak。〃
　〃Is　this　you；　old　man？〃　asked　the　hostess　in　the　diplomatic　lounge；　speaking　softly　into　the　telephone　at　her　counter。
　〃It　is　I；〃　replied　the　quavering　voice　at　the　other　end　of　the　line。　〃And　the　Angelus　rings　for　eternity　in　my　ears。〃
　〃It　is　you；　then。〃
　〃I　told　you　that；　so　get　on　with　it。〃
　〃The　list　we　were　given　last　week　included　a　slender　middle…aged　American　with　a　limp；　possibly　acpanied　by　a　doctor。　Is　this　correct？〃
　〃Correct！　And？〃
　〃They　have　passed　through。　I　used　the　title　'Doctor'　with　the　cripple's　panion　and　he　responded　to　it。〃
　〃Where　have　they　gone？　It's　vital　that　I　know！〃
　〃It　was　not　disclosed；　but　I　will　soon　learn　enough　for　you　to　find　out；　old　man。　The　porter　who　took　their　luggage　to　the　south　platform　will　get　the　description　and　the　license　of　the　car　that　meets　them。〃
　〃In　the　name　of　God；　call　me　back　with　the　information！〃
　Three　thousand　miles　from　Paris；　Louis　DeFazio　sat　alone　at　a　rear　table　in　Trafficante's　Clam　House　on　Prospect　Avenue　in　Brooklyn；　New　York。　He　finished　his　late　afternoon　lunch　of　vitello　tonnato　and　dabbed　his　lips　with　the　bright　red　napkin；　trying　to　look　his　usual　jovial；　if　patronizing；　self。　However；　if　the　truth　were　known；　it　was　all　he　could　do　to　stop　from　gnawing　on　the　napkin　rather　than　caressing　his　mouth　with　it。　Maledetto！　He　had　been　at　Trafficante's　for　nearly　two　hours…two　hours！　And　it　had　taken　him　forty…five　minutes　to　get　there　after　the　call　from　Garafola's　Pasta　Palace　in　Manhattan；　so　that　meant　it　was　actually　over　two　hours；　almost　three；　since　the　gumball　in　Paris；　France；　spotted　two　of　the　targets。　How　long　could　it　take　for　two　bersaglios　to　get　to　a　hotel　in　the　city　from　the　airport？　Like　three　hours？　Not　unless　the　Palermo　gumball　drove　to　London；　England；　which　was　not　out　of　the　question；　not　if　one　knew　Palermo。
　Still；　DeFazio　knew　he　had　been　right！　The　way　the　Jew　shrink　talked　under　the　needle　there　was　no　other　route　he　and　the　ex…spook　could　take　but　to　Paris　and　their　good　buddy；　the　fake　hit　man。　。。。　So　Nicolo　and　the　shrink　disappeared；　went　poof…zam；　so　what　the　fuck？　The　Jew　got　away　and　Nicky　would　do　time。　But　Nicolo　wouldn't　talk；　he　understood　that　bad　trouble；　like　a　knife　in　the　kidney；　was　waiting　for　him　wherever　he　went　if　he　did。　Besides；　Nicky　didn't　know　anything　so　specific　the　lawyers　couldn't　wipe　away　as　secondhand　horseshit　from　a　fifth…rate　horse's　ass。　And　the　shrink　only　knew　he　was　in　a　room　in　some　farmhouse；　if　he　could　even　remember　that。　He　never　saw　anybody　but　Nicolo　when　he　was　〃pass　mantis；〃　as　they　say。
　But　Louis　DeFazio　knew　he　was　right。　And　because　he　was　right；　there　were　more　than　seven　million　big　ones　waiting　for　him　in　Paris。　Seven　million！　Holy　Christ！　He　could　give　the　Palermo　gumballs　in　Paris　more　than　they　ever　expected　and　still　walk　away　with　a　bundle。
　An　old　waiter　from　the　old　country；　an　uncle　of　Trafficante；　approached　the　table　and　Louis　held　his　breath。　〃There's　a　telephone　call　for　you；　Signor　DeFazio。〃
　As　was　usual；　the　capo　supremo　went　to　a　pay　phone　at　the　end　of　a　narrow　dark　corridor　outside　the　men's　room。　〃This　is　New　York；〃　said　DeFazio：
　〃This　is　Paris；　Signor　New　York。　This　is　also　pazzo！〃
　〃Where've　you　been？　You　pazzo　enough　to　drive　to　London；　England？　I'