rl.thebourneultimatum-第83章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


id　Marie　think　she　was　doing？　Flying　over　to　Paris！　It　wasn't　just　foolish；　it　was　stupid…yet　his　wife　was　neither　a　fool　nor　an　idiot。　She　was　a　very　bright　lady　with　reserves　of　control　and　a　quick；　analytical　mind。　That　was　what　made　her　decision　so　untenable；　what　could　she　possibly　hope　to　acplish？　She　had　to　know　he　was　far　safer　working　alone　rather　than　worrying　about　her　while　tracking　the　Jackal。　Even　if　she　found　him；　the　risk　was　doubled　for　both　of　them；　and　that　she　had　to　understand　pletely。　Figures　and　projections　were　her　profession。　So　why？
　There　was　only　one　conceivable　answer；　and　it　infuriated　him。　She　thought　he　might　slip　back　over　the　edge　as　he　had　done　in　Hong　Kong；　where　she　alone　had　brought　him　to　his　senses；　to　the　reality　that　was　uniquely　his　own；　a　reality　of　frightening　half　truths　and　only　partial　remembrances；　episodic　moments　she　lived　with　every　day　of　their　lives　together。　God；　how　he　adored　her；　he　loved　her　so！　And　the　fact　that　she　had　made　this　foolish；　stupid；　untenable　decision　only　fueled　that　love　because　it　was　so…so　giving；　so　outrageously　unselfish。　There　were　moments　in　the　Far　East　when　he　had　craved　his　own　death；　if　only　to　expunge　the　guilt　he　felt　at　putting　her　in　such　dangerous…untenable？…positions。　The　guilt　was　still　there；　always　there；　but　the　aging　man　in　him　recognized　another　reality。　Their　children。　The　cancer　of　the　Jackal　had　to　be　ripped　out　of　all　their　lives。　Couldn't　she　realize　that　and　leave　him　alone？
　No。　For　she　was　not　flying　to　Paris　to　save　his　life…she　had　too　much　confidence　in　Jason　Bourne　for　that。　She　was　ing　to　Paris　to　save　his　mind。　I'll　handle　it；　Marie。　I　can　and　will　handle　it！
　Bernardine。　He　could　do　it。　The　Deuxième　could　find　her　at　Orly　or　De　Gaulle。　Find　her　and　take　her；　put　her　under　guard　at　a　hotel　and　claim　no　one　knew　where　he　was。　Jason　ran　from　the　Pont　de　Solferino　to　the　Quai　des　Tuileries　and　to　the　first　telephone　he　could　find。
　〃Can　you　do　it？〃　asked　Bourne。　〃She's　only　got　one　updated　passport　and　it's　American；　not　Canadian。〃
　〃I　can　try　on　my　own；〃　answered　Bernardine；　〃but　not　with　any　help　from　the　Deuxième。　I　don't　know　how　much　Saint　Alex　told　you；　but　at　the　moment　my　consultant　status　has　been　canceled　and　I　think　my　desk　has　been　thrown　out　the　window。〃
　〃Shit！〃
　〃Merde　to　the　triple；　mon　ami。　The　Quai　d'Orsay　wants　my　underwear　burned　with　me　in　it；　and　were　it　not　for　certain　information　I　possess　regarding　several　members　of　the　Assembly；　they　would　no　doubt　revive　the　guillotine。〃
　〃Can　you　pass　around　some　money　at　immigration？〃
　〃It　would　be　better　if　I　acted　in　my　former　official　capacity　on　the　assumption　that　the　Deuxième　does　not　so　swiftly　advertise　its　embarrassments。　Her　full　name；　please。〃
　〃Marie　Elise　St。　Jacques　Webb…〃
　〃Ah；　yes；　I　recall　now；　at　least　the　St。　Jacques；〃　broke　in　Bernardine。　〃The　celebrated　Canadian　economist。　The　newspapers　were　filled　with　her　photograph。　La　belle　mademoiselle。〃
　〃It　was　exposure　she　could　have　done　without。〃
　〃I'm　certain　it　was。〃
　〃Did　Alex　say　anything　about　Mo　Panov？〃
　〃Your　doctor　friend？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃I'm　afraid　not。〃
　〃Goddamn　it！〃
　〃If　I　may　suggest；　you　must　think　of　yourself　now。〃
　〃I　understand。〃
　〃Will　you　pick　up　the　car？〃
　〃Should　I？〃
　〃Frankly；　I　wouldn't　if　I　were　you。　It's　unlikely；　but　the　invoice　might　be　traced　back　to　me。　There's　risk；　however　minor。〃
　〃That's　what　I　thought。　I　bought　a　métro　map。　I'll　use　the　trains。　。。。　When　can　I　call　you？〃
　〃Give　me　four；　perhaps　five　hours　to　get　back　here　from　the　airports。　As　our　saint　explained；　your　wife　could　be　leaving　from　several　different　points　of　embarkation。　To　get　all　those　passenger　manifests　will　take　time。〃
　〃Concentrate　on　the　flights　arriving　early　tomorrow　morning。　She　can't　fake　a　passport；　she　wouldn't　know　how　to　do　it。〃
　〃According　to　Alex；　one　does　not　underestimate　Marie　Elise　St。　Jacques。　He　even　spoke　French。　He　said　she　was　formidable。〃
　〃She　can　e　at　you　from　the　outer　limits；　I'll　tell　you　that。〃
　〃Qu'est…ce　que　c'est？〃
　〃She's　an　original；　let's　leave　it　there。〃
　〃And　you？〃
　〃I'm　taking　the　subway。　It's　getting　dark。　I'll　call　you　after　midnight。〃
　〃Bonne　chance。〃
　〃Merci。〃
　Bourne　left　the　booth　knowing　his　next　move　as　he　limped　down　the　Quai；　the　bandage　around　his　knee　forcing　him　to　assume　a　damaged　leg。　There　was　a　métro　station　by　the　Tuileries　where　he　would　catch　a　train　to　Havre…Caumartin　and　switch　to　the　Regional　Express　north　line　past　St。…Denis…Basilique　to　Argenteuil。　Argenteuil；　a　town　of　the　Dark　Ages　founded　by　Charlemagne　in　honor　of　a　nunnery　fourteen　centuries　ago；　now　fifteen　hundred　years　later　a　city　that　housed　the　message　center　of　a　killer　as　brutal　as　any　man　who　roamed　the　bloody　fields　with　a　broadsword　in　Charlemagne's　barbaric　days；　then　as　now　celebrating　and　sanctifying　brutality　in　the　shadows　of　religiosity。
　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat　was　not　on　a　street　or　a　boulevard　or　an　avenue。　Instead；　it　was　in　a　dead…end　alleyway　around　the　corner　and　across　from　a　long…since…closed　factory　whose　faded　signs　indicated　a　once　flourishing　metallurgical　refining　plant　in　what　had　to　be　the　ugliest　part　of　the　city。　Nor　was　the　Soldat　listed　in　the　telephone　directory；　it　was　found　by　innocently　asking　strangers　where　it　was；　as　the　inquirer　was　to　meet　une　grosse　secousse　at　this　undiscoverable　pissoir。　The　more　dilapidated　the　buildings　and　the　filthier　the　streets；　the　more　cogent　were　the　directions。
　Bourne　stood　in　the　dark　narrow　alley　leaning　against　the　aged　rough　brick　of　the　opposing　structure　across　from　the　bistro's　entrance。　Above　the　thick　massive　door　in　square　block　letters；　several　missing；　was　a　dull　red　sign：　L　C　eur　d　Soldat。　As　the　door　was　sporadically　opened　for　entering　or　departing　clientele；　metallic　martial　music　blared　forth　into　the　alley；　and　the　clientele　were　not　candidates　for　an　haute　couture　cotillion。　His　appearance　was　in　keeping；　thought　Jason；　as　he　struck　a　wooden　match　against　the　brick；　lighting　a　thin　black　cigar　as　he　limped　toward　the　door。
　Except　for　the　language　and　the　deafening　music；　it　might　have　been　a　waterfront　bar　in　Sicily's　Palermo；　reflected　Bourne　as　he　made　his　way　to　the　crowded　bar；　his　squinting　eyes　roaming；　absorbing　everything　he　could　observe…briefly　confused；　wondering　when　he　had　been　in　Palermo；　Sicily。
　A　heavyset　man　in　a　tank　shirt　got　off　a　stool；　Jason　slid　on　top　of　it。　The　clawlike　hand　gripped　his　shoulder；　Bourne　slapped　his　right　hand　up；　grabbing　the　wrist　and　twisting　it　clockwise；　pushing　the　barstool　away　and　rising　to　his　full　height。　〃What's　your　problem？〃　he　asked　calmly　in　French　but　loud　enough　to　be　heard。
　〃That's　my　seat；　pig！　I'm　just　taking　a　piss！〃
　〃So　maybe　when　you're　finished；　I'll　take　one；〃　said　Jason；　his　gaze　boring　into　the　man's　eyes；　the　strength　of　his　grip　unmistakable…emphasized　by　pressing　a　nerve　with　his　thumb；　which　had　nothing　to　do　with　strength。
　〃Ah；　you're　a　fucking　cripple　。。。　！〃　cried　the　man；　trying　not　to　wince。　〃I　don't　pick　on　invalids。〃
　〃I'll　tell　you　what；〃　said　Bourne；　releasing　his　thumb。　〃You　e　back；　we'll　take　turns；　and　I'll　buy　you　a　drink　each　time　you　let　me　get　off　this　bum　leg　of　mine；　okay？〃
　Looking　up　at　Jason；　the　heavyset　man　slowly　grinned。　〃Hey；　you're　all　right。〃
　〃I'm　not　all　right；　but　I'm　certainly　not　looking　for　a　fight；'　either。　Shit；　you'd　hammer　me　to　the　floor。〃　Bourne　released　the　muscular　Tank　Shirt's　arm。
　〃I'm　not　so　sure　of　that；〃　said　the　man；　now　laughing　and　holding　his　wrist。　〃Sit；　sit！　I'll　take　a　piss　and　e　back　and　buy　you　a　drink。　You　don't　look　like　you're　loaded　with　francs。〃
　〃Well；　like　they　say；　appearances　are　deceiving；〃　replied　Jason；　sitting　down。　〃I've　got　different；　better　clothes　and　an　old　friend　told　me　to　meet　him　here　but　not　to　wear　them。　。。。　I　just　got　back　from　good　money　in　Africa。　You　know；　training　the　savages…〃
　Cymbals　crashed　in　the　metallic；　deafening　martial　music　as　Tank　Shirt's　eyes　widened。　〃Africa？〃　interrupted　the　stranger。　〃I　knew　it！　That　grip…LPN。〃
　What　remained　of　the　Chameleon's　memory　data　banks　expanded　into　the　code。　LPN…Legion　Patria　Nostra。　France's　For