rl.thebourneultimatum-第21章

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en's　store　at　Faneuil　Hall。
　〃You　got　the　scratch；　old　man？〃
　〃More　than　enough　to　get　you　a　haircut　and　cure　the　acne　on　your　pubescent　face；　young　fellow。　Drive　on；　Ben　Hur。　I'm　in　a　hurry。〃
　The　clothes　were　off　the　racks；　but　they　were　expensive　racks；　and　after　he　had　shown　a　roll　of　hundred…dollar　bills；　the　purple…lipped　clerk　was　extremely　cooperative。　A　midsized　suit　case　of　burnished　leather　soon　held　casual　apparel；　and　Prefontaine　discarded　his　worn…out　suit；　shirt　and　shoes　for　a　new　outfit。　Within　the　hour　he　looked　not　unlike　a　man　he　had　known　years　ago：　the　Honorable　Brendan　P。　Prefontaine。　（He　had　always　dropped　the　second　P。；　for　Pierre；　for　obvious　reasons。）
　Another　taxi　took　him　to　his　rooming　house　in　Jamaica　Plains；　where　he　picked　up　a　few　essentials；　including　his　passport；　which　he　always　kept　active　for　rapid　exits…preferable　to　prison　walls…and　then　delivered　him　to　Logan　Airport；　this　driver　having　no　concern　regarding　his　ability　to　pay　the　fare。　Clothes；　of　course；　never　made　the　man；　thought　Brendan；　but　they　certainly　helped　to　convince　dubious　underlings。　At　Logan's　information　desk　he　was　told　that　three　airlines　out　of　Boston　serviced　the　island　of　Montserrat。　He　asked　which　counter　was　the　nearest　and　then　bought　a　ticket　for　the　next　available　flight。　Brendan　Patrick　Pierre　Prefontaine　naturally　flew　first　class。
　The　Air　France　steward　rolled　the　wheelchair　slowly；　gently　through　the　ramp　and　onto　the　747　jet　in　Paris's　Orly　Airport。　The　frail　woman　in　the　chair　was　elderly　and　overly　made…up　with　an　imbalance　of　rouge；　she　wore　an　outsized　feather　hat　made　of　Australian　cockatoo。　She　might　have　been　I a　caricature　except　for　the　large　eyes　beneath　the　bangs　of　gray　hair　imperfectly　dyed　red…eyes　alive　and　knowing　and　filled　with　humor。　It　was　as　if　she　were　saying　to　all　who　observed　her；　Forget　it；　mes　amis；　he　likes　me　this　way　and　that's　all　I　care　about。　I　don't　give　a　pile　of　merde　about　you　or　your　opinions。　The　he　referred　to　the　old　man　walking　cautiously　beside　her；　every　now　and　then　touching　her　shoulder；　lovingly　as　well　as　perhaps　for　balance；　but　in　the　touch　there　was　a　volume　of　poetry　that　was　theirs　alone。　Closer　inspection　revealed　a　sporadic　welling　of　tears　in　his　eyes　that　he　promptly　wiped　away　so　she　could　not　see　them。
　〃Il　est　ici；　mon　capitaine；〃　announced　the　steward　to　the　senior　pilot；　who　greeted　his　two　preboarding　passengers　at　the　aircraft's　entrance。　The　captain　reached　for　the　woman's　left　hand　and　touched　his　lips　to　it；　then　stood　erect　and　solemnly　saluted　the　balding　gray…haired　old　man　with　the　small　Legion　d'honneur　medal　in　his　lapel。
　〃It　is　an　honor；　monsieur；〃　said　the　captain。　〃This　aircraft　is　my　mand；　but　you　are　my　mander。〃　They　shook　hands　and　the　pilot　continued。　〃If　there's　anything　the　crew　and　I　can　do　to　make　the　flight　most　fortable　for　you；　don't　hesitate　to　ask；　monsieur。〃
　〃You're　very　kind。〃
　〃We　are　all　beholden…all　of　us；　all　of　France。〃
　〃It　was　nothing；　really…〃
　〃To　be　singled　out　by　Le　Grand　Charles　himself　as　a　true　hero　of　the　Résistance　is　hardly　nothing。　Age　cannot　dull　such　glory。〃　The　captain　snapped　his　fingers；　addressing　three　stew　ardesses　in　the　still…empty　first…class　cabin。　〃Quickly；　mesdemoiselles！　Make　everything　perfect　for　a　brave　warrior　of　France　and　his　lady。〃
　So　the　killer　with　many　aliases　was　escorted　to　the　wide　bulkhead　on　the　left；　where　his　woman　was　gently　transferred　from　the　wheelchair　to　the　seat　on　the　aisle；　his　was　next　to　the　window。　Their　trays　were　set　up　and　a　chilled　bottle　of　Cristal　was　brought　in　their　honor　and　for　their　enjoyment。　The　captain　raised　the　first　glass　and　toasted　the　couple；　he　returned　to　the　flight　deck　as　the　old　woman　winked　at　her　man；　the　wink　wicked　and　filled　with　laughter。　In　moments；　the　passengers　began　boarding　the　plane；　a　number　of　whom　glancing　appreciatively　at　the　elderly　〃man　and　wife〃　in　the　front　row。　For　the　rumors　had　spread　in　the　Air　France　lounge。　A　great　hero　。。。　Le　Grand　Charles　himself　。。。　In　the　Alps　he　held　off　six　hundred　Boche…or　was　it　a　thousand？
　As　the　enormous　jet　raced　down　the　runway　and　with　a　thump　lumbered　off　the　ground　into　the　air；　the　old　〃hero　of　France〃…whose　only　heroics　he　could　recall　from　the　Résistance　were　based　on　theft；　survival；　insults　to　his　woman；　and　staying　out　of　whatever　army　or　labor　force　that　might　draft　him…reached　into　his　pocket　for　his　papers。　The　passport　had　his　picture　duly　inserted；　but　that　was　the　only　item　he　recognized。　The　rest…name；　date　and　place　of　birth；　occupation…all　were　unfamiliar；　and　the　attached　list　of　honors；　well；　they　were　formidable。　Totally　out　of　character；　but　in　case　anyone　should　ever　refer　to　them；　he　had　better　restudy　the　〃facts〃　so　he　could　at　least　nod　in　self…effacing　modesty。　He　had　been　assured　that　the　individual　originally　possessing　the　name　and　the　achievements　had　no　living　relatives　and　few　friends；　and　had　disappeared　from　his　apartment　in　Marseilles　supposedly　on　a　world　trip　from　which　he　presumably　would　not　return。
　The　Jackal's　courier　looked　at　the　name…he　must　remember　it　and　respond　whenever　it　was　spoken。　It　should　not　be　difficult；　for　it　was　such　a　mon　name。　And　so　he　repeated　it　silently　to　himself　over　and　over　again。
　Jean　Pierre　Fontaine；　Jean　Pierre　Fontaine；　Jean　Pierre　。。。
　A　sound！　Sharp；　abrasive。　It　was　wrong；　not　normal；　not　part　of　a　hotel's　routine　noise　of　hollow　drumming　at　night。　Bourne　grabbed　the　weapon　by　his　pillow　and　rolled　out　of　bed　in　his　shorts；　steadying　himself　by　the　wall。　It　came　again！　A　single；　loud　knock　on　the　bedroom　door　of　the　suite。　He　shook　his　head　trying　to　remember。　。。。　Alex？　I'll　knock　once。　Jason　lurched　half　in　sleep　to　the　door；　his　ear　against　the　wood。
　〃Yes？〃
　〃Open　this　damn　thing　before　somebody　sees　me！〃　came　Conklin's　muffled　voice　from　the　corridor。　Bourne　did　so　and　the　retired　field　officer　limped　quickly　into　the　room；　treating　his　cane　as　if　he　loathed　it。　〃Boy；　are　you　out　of　training！〃　he　exclaimed　as　he　sat　on　the　foot　of　the　bed。　〃I've　been　standing　there　tapping　for　at　least　a　couple　of　minutes。〃
　〃I　didn't　hear　you。〃
　〃Delta　would　have；　Jason　Bourne　would　have。　David　Webb　didn't。〃
　〃Give　me　another　day　and　you　won't　find　David　Webb。〃
　〃Talk。　I　want　you　better　than　talk！〃
　〃Then　stop　talking　and　tell　me　why　you're　here…at　whatever　time　it　is。〃
　〃When　last　I　looked　I　met　Casset　on　the　road　at　three…twenty。　I　had　to　gimp　through　a　bunch　of　woods　and　climb　over　a　goddamned　fence…〃
　〃What？〃
　〃You　heard　me。　A　fence。　Try　it　with　your　foot　in　cement。　。。。　You　know；　I　once　won　the　fifty…yard　dash　when　I　was　in　high　school。〃
　〃Cut　the　digression。　What　happened？〃
　〃Oh；　I　hear　Webb　again。〃
　〃What　happened？　And　while　you're　at　it；　who　the　hell　is　this　Casset　you　keep　talking　about？〃
　〃The　only　man　I　trust　in　Virginia。　He　and　Valentino。〃
　〃Who？〃
　〃They're　analysts；　but　they're　straight。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃Never　mind。　Jesus；　there　are　times　when　I　wish　I　could　get　pissed…〃
　〃Alex；　why　are　you　here？〃
　Conklin　looked　up　from　the　bed　as　he　angrily　gripped　his　cane。　〃I've　got　the　books　on　our　Philadelphians。〃
　〃That's　why？　Who　are　they？〃
　〃No；　that's　not　why。　I　mean　it's　interesting；　but　it's　not　why　I'm　here。〃
　〃Then　why？〃　asked　Jason；　crossing　to　a　chair　next　to　a　window　and　sitting　down；　frowning；　perplexed。　〃My　erudite　friend　from　Cambodia　and　beyond　doesn't　climb　over　fences　with　his　foot　in　cement　at　three　o'clock　in　the　morning　unless　he　thinks　he　has　to。〃
　〃I　had　to。〃
　〃Which　tells　me　nothing。　Please　tell。〃
　〃It's　DeSole。〃
　〃What's　the　soul？〃
　〃Not　'the；'　DeSole。〃
　〃You've　lost　me。〃
　〃He's　the　keeper　of　the　keys　at　Langley。　Nothing　happens　that　he　doesn't　know　about　and　nothing　gets　done　in　the　area　of　research　that　he　doesn't　pass　on。〃
　〃I'm　still　lost。〃
　〃We're　in　deep　shit。〃
　〃That　doesn't　help　me　at　all。〃
　〃Webb　again。〃
　〃Would　you　rather　I　took　a　nerve　out　of　your　neck？〃
　〃All　right；　all　right。　Let　me　get　my　breath。〃　Conklin　dropped　his　cane　on　the　rug。　〃I　didn't　even　trust　the　freight　elevator。　I　stopped　two　floors　below　and　walked　up。〃
　〃Because　we're　in　deep　shit？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃Why？　Beca