rl.thebourneultimatum-第92章

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Your　arm；　Doctor。〃
　Suddenly；　there　was　a　muted　flashing　of　green　light　reflected　on　the　ceiling。　The　curtain　parted　electronically　several　feet；　revealing　the　bed；　the　patient　and　the　doctor。　Walsh　took　his　finger　off　a　bedside　button　and　looked　at　them；　gesturing　slowly　with　his　hands　as　if　to　say；　There's　no　one　else　here。　Confirmed？
　Both　witnesses　nodded；　at　first　mesmerized；　then　repelled　at　the　sight　of　Panov's　grimacing　pale　face　and　the　tears　that　began　to　flow　from　his　wide…open　eyes。　Then；　as　one；　they　saw　the　white　straps　that　emerged　from　under　the　white　sheet；　holding　Mo　in　place；　the　order　had　to　be　his。
　〃The　arm；　Doctor。　We　have　to　begin　with　the　physically　invasive　procedure；　don't　we？　Because　you　know　what　it　does；　Doctor；　don't　you？　It　leads　to　another　invasive　procedure　that　you　cannot　permit。　You　must　stop　its　progression。〃
　The　ear…shattering　scream　was　a　prolonged　shriek　of　defiance　and　horror。　〃No；　no！　I　won't　tell　you！　I　killed　him　once；　I　won't　kill　him　again！　Get　away　from　meeeee　。。。　！〃
　Alex　slumped；　falling　to　the　floor。　Peter　Holland　grabbed　him　and　gently　the　strong；　broad…shouldered　admiral；　a　veteran　of　the　darkest　operations　in　the　Far　East；　led　Conklin　silently　through　the　door　to　the　nurse。　〃Get　him　away　from　here；　please。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　〃Peter；〃　coughed　Alex；　trying　to　stand；　collapsing　on　his　false　foot。　〃I'm　sorry；　Christ；　I'm　sorry！〃
　〃What　for？〃　whispered　Holland。
　〃I　should　watch　but　I　can't　watch！〃
　〃I　understand。　It's　all　too　close。　If　I　were　you；　I　probably　couldn't　either。〃
　〃No；　you　don't　understand！　Mo　said　he　killed　David；　but　of　course　he　didn't。　But　I　meant　to；　I　really　wanted　to　kill　him！　I　was　wrong；　but　I　tried　with　all　the　expertise　in　my　bones　to　kill　him！　And　now　I've　done　it　again。　I　sent　him　to　Paris。　。。。　It's　not　Mo；　it's　me！〃
　〃Put　him　against　the　wall；　miss。　Let　him　sink　to　the　floor　and　leave　us　alone。〃
　〃Yes；　sir！〃　The　nurse　did　as　she　was　ordered　and　fled；　leaving　Holland　and　Alex　alone　in　the　antiseptic　maze。
　〃Now；　you　listen　to　me；　Field　Man；〃　whispered　the　gray…haired　director　of　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency；　kneeling　in　front　of　Conklin。　〃This　fucking　merry…go…round　of　guilt　had　better　stop…has　got　to　stop…or　nobody's　going　to　be　any　good　to　anybody。　I　don't　give　a　good　goddamn　what　you　or　Panov　did　thirteen　years　ago；　or　five　years　ago；　or　now！　We're　all　reasonably　bright　people；　and　we　did　what　each　of　us　did　because　we　thought　they　were　the　right　moves　at　the　time。　。。。　Guess　what；　Saint　Alex？　Yes；　I've　heard　the　term。　We　make　mistakes。　Fucking　inconvenient；　isn't　it？　Maybe　we're　not　so　brilliant　after　all。　Maybe　Panov　isn't　the　greatest　behavioral　whatever…the…hell…it…is；　maybe　you're　not　the　shrewdest　son　of　a　bitch　in　the　field；　the　one　who　got　canonized；　and　maybe　I'm　not　the　superjock　behind…the…lines　strategist　they've　made　me　out　to　be。　So　what？　We　take　our　baggage　and　go　where　we　have　to　go。〃
　〃Oh；　for　Christ's　sake；　shut　up！〃　yelled　Conklin；　struggling　against　the　wall。
　〃Shhh！〃
　〃Oh；　shit！　The　last　thing　I　need　is　a　sermon　from　you！　If　I　had　a　foot；　I'd　take　you。〃
　〃Now　we're　physical？〃
　〃I　was　Black　Belt。　First　class；　Admiral。〃
　〃Golly；　gee。　I　don't　even　know　how　to　wrestle。〃
　Their　eyes　met　and　Alex　was　the　first　to　laugh　quietly。　〃You're　too　much；　Peter。　I　got　your　message。　Help　me　up；　will　you？　I'll　go　back　to　the　lounge　and　wait　for　you。　e　on；　give　me　a　hand。〃
　〃The　hell　I　will；〃　said　Holland；　getting　to　his　feet　and　standing　over　Conklin。　〃Help　yourself。　Someone　told　me　that　the　Saint　made　it　back　through　a　hundred　and　forty　miles　in　enemy　territory；　through　rivers　and　streams　and　jungle；　and　arrived　at　the　Foxtrot　base　camp　asking　if　anybody　had　a　bottle　of　bourbon。〃
　〃Yeah；　well；　that　was　different。　I　was　a　hell　of　a　lot　younger　and　I　had　another　foot。〃
　〃Pretend　you　got　one　now；　Saint　Alex。〃　Holland　winked。　〃I'm　going　back　inside。　One　of　us　has　to　be　there。〃
　〃Bastard！〃
　For　an　hour　and　forty…seven　minutes　Conklin　sat　in　the　lounge。　His　attachable　footless　foot　never　throbbed；　but　it　was　throbbing　now。　He　did　not　know　what　the　impossible　feeling　meant；　but　he　could　not　dismiss　the　beat　that　surged　through　his　leg。　If　nothing　else；　it　was　something　to　think　about；　and　he　thought　wistfully　of　the　younger　days；　when　he　had　both　feet；　and　before。　Oh；　how　he　had　wanted　to　change　the　world！　And　how　he　had　felt　so　right　in　a　destiny　that　forced　him　to　bee　the　youngest　valedictorian　in　his　high　school's　history；　the　youngest　freshman　ever　accepted　at　Georgetown；　a　bright；　bright　light　that　shimmered　at　the　end　of　the　tunnels　of　academe。　His　decline　started　when　someone；　somewhere；　found　out　that　his　name　at　birth　was　not　Alexander　Conklin　but　Aleksei　Nikolae　Konsolikov。　That　now　faceless　man　had　casually　asked　him　a　question；　the　answer　to　which　had　changed　Conklin's　life。
　〃Do　you　by　any　chance　speak　Russian？〃
　〃Of　course；〃　he　had　replied；　amused　that　his　visitor　would　even　think　he　might　not。　〃As　you　obviously　know；　my　parents　were　immigrants。　I　grew　up　not　only　in　a　Russian　home　but　in　a　Russian　neighborhood…at　least　in　the　early　years。　You　couldn't　buy　a　loaf　of　bread　at　the　ovoshchnoi　otdel　if　you　didn't。　And　at　church　school　the　older　priests　and　nuns；　like　the　Poles；　held　ferociously　on　to　the　language。　。。。　I'm　sure　it　contributed　to　my　leaving　the　faith。〃
　〃Those　were　the　early　years；　however；　as　I　believe　you　mentioned。〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃What　changed？〃
　〃I'm　sure　it's　in　your　government　report　somewhere　and　will　hardly　satisfy。　your　iniquitous　Senator　McCarthy。〃
　The　face　came　back　to　Alex　with　the　memory　of　those　words。　It　was　a　middle…aged　face　and　it　had　suddenly　bee　expressionless；　the　eyes　clouded　but　with　suppressed　anger　in　them。　〃I　assure　you；　Mr。　Conklin；　I　am　in　no　way　associated　with　the　senator。　You　call　him　iniquitous；　I　have　other　terms；　but　they're　not　pertinent　here。　。。。　What　changed？〃
　〃Quite　late　in　his　life　my　father　became　what　he　had　been　in　Russia；　a　highly　successful　merchant；　a　capitalist。　At　last　count　he　owned　seven　supermarkets　in　upscale　malls。　They're　called　Conklin's　Corners。　He's　over　eighty　now；　and　although　I　love　him　dearly；　I　regret　to　say　he's　an　ardent　supporter　of　the　senator。　I　simply　consider　his　years；　his　struggles；　his　hatred　of　the　Soviets；　and　avoid　the　subject。〃
　〃You're　very　bright　and　very　diplomatic。〃
　〃Bright　and　diplomatic；〃　Alex　had　agreed。
　〃I've　shopped　at　a　couple　of　Conklin's　Corners。　Kind　of　expensive。〃
　〃Oh；　yes。〃
　〃Where　did　the　'Conklin'　e　from？〃
　〃My　father。　My　mother　says　he　saw　it　on　a　billboard　advertising　motor　oil；　she　thinks；　about　four　or　five　years　after　they　got　here。　And；　of　course；　the　Konsolikov　had　to　go。　As　my　considerably　bigoted　father　once　said；　'Only　the　Jews　with　Russian　names　can　make　money　over　here。'　Again；　I　avoid　the　subject。〃
　〃Very　diplomatic。〃
　〃It's　not　difficult。　He　has　his　share　of　good　points　as　well。〃
　〃Even　if　he　didn't；　I'm　sure　you　could　be　convincing　in　your　diplomacy；　in　the　concealment　of　your　feelings。〃
　〃Why　do　I　think　that's　a　leading　statement？〃
　〃Because　it　is；　Mr。　Conklin。　I　represent　a　government　agency　that's　extremely　interested　in　you；　and　one　in　which　your　future　would　be　as　unlimited　as　that　of　any　potential　recruit　I've　spoken　to　in　a　decade。　。。。〃
　That　conversation　had　taken　place　nearly　thirty　years　ago；　mused　Alex；　his　eyes　drifting　up　once　again　to　the　inner　door　of　Sterile　Five's　waiting　lounge　in　its　own　private　medical　center。　And　how　crazy　the　intervening　years　had　been。　In　a　stress…defying　bid　for　unrealistic　expansion；　his　father　had　overextended　himself；　mitting　enormous　sums　of　money　that　existed　only　in　his　imagination　and　in　the　minds　of　avaricious　bankers。　He　lost　six　of　his　seven　supermarkets；　the　smallest　and　last　supporting　a　life…style　that　he　found　unacceptable；　so　he　conveniently　had　a　massive　stroke　and　died　as　Alex's　own　adult　life　was　about　to　begin。
　Berlin…East　and　West。　Moscow；　Leningrad；　Tashkent　and　Kamchatka。　Vienna；　Paris；　Lisbon　and　Istanbul。　Then　back　across　the　world　to　stations　in　Tokyo；　Hong　Kong；　Seoul；　Cambodia；　Laos；　and　finally　Saigon　and　the　tragedy　that　was　Vietnam。　Over　the　years；　with　his　facile　master