rl.thebourneultimatum-第116部分

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！


hone　munication　they　employed；　but　every　precaution　had　to　be　taken。　The　Jackal；　as　always；　demanded　a　public　place；　with　crowds；　and　numerous　available　exits；　where　he　could　circle　like　a　hawk；　never　showing　himself　until　his　professional　eyes　were　satisfied。　Two　calls　later；　from　two　different　locations；　the　rendezvous　was　set。　St。　Basil's　Cathedral　in　Red　Square　during　the　height　of　the　early　evening's　summer　tourist　onslaught。　In　a　darkened　corner　to　the　right　of　the　altar　where　there　were　outside　exits　through　the　curtained　walkways　to　the　sacristy。　Done！
　Then；　during　that　third　telephone　call；　like　a　crack　of　thunder　over　the　Black　Sea；　Grigorie　Rodchenko　was　struck　by　an　idea　so　dramatically　bold；　yet　so　patently　obvious　and　simple；　that　he　had　momentarily　lost　his　breath。　It　was　the　solution　that　would　totally　distance　the　Soviet　government　from　any　involvement　or　plicity　with　either　the　Jackal　or　Medusa's　Ogilvie　should　such　distance　be　necessary　in　the　eyes　of　the　civilized　world。
　Quite　simply；　unknown　to　each　other；　bring　the　Jackal　and　Ogilvie　together；　if　only　for　an　instant；　just　long　enough　to　get　photographic　evidence　of　their　being　seen　within　the　same　frame。　It　was　all　that　was　needed。
　He　had　gone　to　Diplomatic　Relations　yesterday　afternoon；　having　requested　a　short　routine　meeting　with　Ogilvie。　During　the　extremely　innocuous　and　very　friendly　conference；　Rodchenko　had　waited　for　his　opening…an　opening　he　had　engineered　with　precision；　having　done　his　research。
　〃You　spend　summers　on　Cape　Cod；　da？〃　the　general　had　said。
　〃For　me　it's　weekends　mainly。　My　wife　and　the　children　are　there　for　the　season。〃
　〃When　I　was　posted　in　Washington；　I　had　two　great　American　friends　on　Cape　Cod。　I　spent　several　lovely；　as　you　say；　weekends　with　them。　Perhaps　you　know　my　friends；　the　Frosts…Hardleigh　and　Carol　Frost？〃
　〃Of　course　I　do。　Like　myself；　he's　an　attorney；　specializes　in　maritime　law。　They　live　down　the　shore　road　in　Dennis。〃
　〃A　very　attractive　lady；　the　Frost　woman。〃
　〃Very。〃
　〃Da。　Did　you　ever　attempt　to　recruit　her　husband　for　your　firm？〃
　〃No。　He　has　his　own。　Frost；　Goldfarb　and　O'Shaunessy；　they　cover　the　waterfront；　as　it　were；　in　Massachusetts。〃
　〃I　feel　I　almost　know　you；　Mr。　Ogilvie；　if　only　through　mutual　friends。〃
　〃I'm　sorry　we　never　met　at　the　Cape。〃
　〃Well；　perhaps；　I　can　take　advantage　of　our　near　meeting…through　mutual　friends…and　ask　of　you　a　favor；　far　less　than　the　convenience　I　understand　my　government　willingly　affords　you。〃
　〃I've　been　given　to　understand　the　convenience　is　mutual；〃　said　Ogilvie。
　〃Ahh；　I　know　nothing　of　such　diplomatic　matters；　but　it　is　conceivable　that　I　could　intervene　on　your　behalf　if　you　would　cooperate　with　us…with　my　small；　although　not　insignificant；　department。〃
　〃What　is　it？〃
　〃There　is　a　priest；　a　socially　oriented　militant　priest；　who　claims　to　be　a　Marxist　agitator　well　known　to　the　courts　of　New　York　City。　He　arrived　only　hours　ago　and　demands　a　clandestine　meeting　only　hours　from　now。　There　is　simply　no　time　to　verify　his　claims；　but　as　he　insists　he　has　a　history　of　legal　'persecutions'　in　the　courts　of　New　York；　as　well　as　many　photographs　in　the　newspapers；　you　might　recognize　him。〃
　〃I　probably　could；　if　he　is　who　he　says　he　is。〃
　〃Da！　And　one　way　or　another；　we　will　certainly　let　it　be　known　how　you　cooperated　with　us。〃
　It　had　been　arranged。　Ogilvie　would　be　in　the　crowds　at　St。　Basil's　Cathedral　close　to　the　meeting　ground。　When　he　saw　Rodchenko　approach　a　priest　in　the　far　corner　to　the　right　of　the　altar；　he　was　to　〃e　across〃　the　KGB　general　casually；　as　if　surprised。　Their　greeting　would　be　brief　to　the　point　of　discourtesy；　so　rapid　and　blurred　as　to　be　meaningless；　the　sort　of　encounter　civilized　but　hostile　acquaintances　cannot　avoid　when　they　run　into　one　another　in　a　public　place。　Close　proximity　was　also　required；　as　the　light　was　so　dim　and　so　cluttered　with　shadows　that　the　attorney　might　not　get　a　good　look　at　the　priest。
　Ogilvie　had　performed　with　the　expertise　of　an　acplished　trial　lawyer　verbally　trapping　a　prosecution's　witness　with　an　objectionable　inquiry　and　then　shouting　〃I　withdraw　the　question；〃　leaving　the　prosecutor　speechless。
　The　Jackal　had　instantly　turned　away　furiously　but　not　before　an　obese　elderly　female；　using　a　miniature　camera　that　was　the　handle　of　her　purse；　had　snapped　a　series　of　automatically　advanced　photographs　with　ultra　high…speed　film。　That　evidence　was　now　in　a　vault　in　Rodchenko's　office。　The　file　was　titled　Surveillance　of　the　American　Male　B。　Ogilvie。
　On　the　page　below　the　photograph　showing　the　assassin　and　the　American　attorney　together　was　the　following：　Subject　with　as　yet　unidentified　contact　during　covert　meeting　at　St。　Basil's　Cathedral。　Meeting　covered　eleven　minutes　and　thirty…two　seconds。　Photographs　sent　to　Paris　for　any　possible　verification。　It　is　believed　that　the　unidentified　contact　may　be　Carlos　the　Jackal。
　Needless　to　say；　Paris　was　working　up　a　reply　that　included　several　photographic　posites　from　the　Deuxième　Bureau　and　the　Sыreté。　The　answer：　Confirmed。　Definitely　the　Jackal。
　How　shocking！　And　on　Soviet　soil。
　The　assassin；　on　the　other　hand；　had　proved　to　be　less　acmodating。　After　the　brief；　awkward　confrontation　with　the　American；　Carlos　had　resumed　his　ice…cold　inquisition；　his　burning　savage　self　just　below　the　frozen　surface。
　〃They're　closing　in　on　you！〃　said　the　Jackal。
　〃Who　is？〃
　〃The　Komitet。〃
　〃I　am　the　Komitet！〃
　〃Perhaps　you're　mistaken。〃
　〃Nothing　goes　on　in　the　KGB　without　my　knowledge。　Where　did　you　get　this　information？〃
　〃Paris。　Krupkin's　the　source。〃
　〃Krupkin　will　do　anything　to　further　himself；　including　the　spreading　of　false　information；　even　where　I　am　concerned。　He's　an　enigma…one　moment　an　efficient　multilingual　intelligence　officer；　the　next　a　gossiping　clown　in　French　feathers；　still　again　a　pimp　for　traveling　ministers。　He　can't　be　taken　seriously；　not　where　serious　matters　are　concerned。〃
　〃I　hope　you're　right。　I'll　reach　you　tomorrow；　late　in　the　evening。　Will　you　be　at　home？〃
　〃Not　for　a　phone　call　from　you。　I'll　dine　alone　at　the　Lastochka；　a　late　supper。　What　will　you　be　doing　tomorrow？〃
　〃Making　certain　you　are　right。〃　The　Jackal　had　disappeared　into　the　crowds　of　the　cathedral。
　That　was　over　twenty…four　hours　ago　and　Rodchenko　had　heard　nothing　to　upset　the　schedule。　Perhaps　the　psychopath　had　returned　to　Paris；　somehow　convinced　that　his　paranoid　suspicions　were　groundless；　his　need　to　keep　moving；　racing；　flying　all　over　Europe　superseding　his　momentary　panic。　Who　knew？　Carlos；　too；　was　an　enigma。　Part　of　him　was　a　retarded　sadist；　a　savant　perhaps　in　the　darkest　methods　of　cruelty　and　killing；　yet　another　part　revealed　a　sick；　twisted　romantic；　a　brain…damaged　adolescent　reaching　for　a　vision　that　wanted　nothing　to　do　with　him。　Who　knew？　The　time　was　approaching　when　a　bullet　in　his　head　was　the　answer。
　Rodchenko　raised　his　hand　for　the　waiter；　he　would　order　coffee　and　brandy…the　decent　French　brandy　reserved　for　the　true　heroes　of　the　Revolution；　especially　the　survivors。　Instead　of　the　waiter；　the　manager　of　Lastochka　came　rushing　to　the　table；　carrying　a　telephone。
　〃There　is　an　urgent　call　for　you；　General；〃　said　the　man　in　the　loose…fitting　black　suit；　placing　the　phone　on　the　table　and　holding　out　the　plastic　knob　of　the　extension　cord　that　was　to　be　placed　into　the　walled　receptacle。
　〃Thank　you。〃　The　manager　left　and　Rodchenko　inserted　the　device。　〃Yes？〃
　〃You're　being　watched　wherever　you　go；〃　said　the　voice　of　the　Jackal。
　〃By　whom？〃
　〃Your　own　people。〃
　〃I　don't　believe　you。〃
　〃I've　been　watching　all　day。　Would　you　like　me　to　describe　the　places　you've　been　for　the　past　thirty　hours？　Starting　with　drinks　at　a　café　on　the　Kalinin；　a　kiosk　in　the　Arbat；　the　Slavyanky　for　lunch；　an　afternoon　walk　along　the　Luznekaya？〃
　〃Stop　it！　Where　are　you？〃
　〃e　outside　the　Lastochka。　Slowly；　casually。　I'll　prove　it　to　you。〃　The　line　went　dead。
　Rodchenko　hung　up　and　signaled　the　waiter　for　his　check。　The　aproned　man's　instant　response　was　due　less　to　the　general's　status　than　to　the　fact　that　he　was　the　last　diner　in　the　restaurant。　Leaving　his　money　on　top　of　the　bill；　the　old　soldier　said　good　night；　walked　through　the　dimly　lit　foyer　to　the　entrance　and　let　himself　out。　It　was　nearly　1：30　in　the　morning；　and　except　for　a　few　stragglers　with　too　much　vodka　in　them；　the　street　was　deserted。　In　moments　an　upright　figure；　silhouetted　in　the　wash　of　a　streetlamp；　emerged　from　a　storefront；　perhaps　thirty　meters　away　on　the　right。　It　was　the　Jackal；　still　in　the　black　cloth　and　the　white　collar　of　a　priest。　He　beckoned　the　general　to　join　him　as　he　walked　slowly　to　a　dark　brown　car　parked　directly　across　the　street。　Rodchenko　caught　up　with　the　assassin；　now　standing　on　the　curb　side　of　the　vehicle；　which　faced　the　direction　of　the　Lastochka　restaurant。
　Suddenly；　the　Jackal　snapped　on　a　flashlight；　its　powerful　beam　shooting　through　the　open　window　of　the　car。　The　old　soldier　momentarily　stopped　breathing；　his　heavy…lidded　eyes　scanning　the　horrible　scene　in　front　of　him。　Across　the　seat；　the　KGB　agent　behind　the　wheel　was　arched　back；　his　throat　cut；　a　river　of　blood　drenching　his　clothes。　Immediately　beyond　the　window　was　the　second　surveillance；　his　wrists　and　feet　bound　by　wire；　a　thick　rope　strapped　around　his　face；　yanked　taut　against　his　gaping　mouth；　gagging　him；　permitting　only　a　rattling；　gasping　cough。　He　was　alive；　his　eyes　wide　in　terror。
　〃The　driver　was　trained　at　Novgorod；〃　said　the　general；　no　ment　in　his　voice。
　〃I　know；〃　replied　Carlos。　〃I　have　his　papers。　That　training's　not　what　it　was；　rade。〃
　〃This　other　one　is　Krupkin's　liaison　here　in　Moscow。　The　son　of　a　good　friend；　I'm　told。〃
　〃He's　mine　now。〃
　〃What　are　you　going　to　do？〃　asked　Rodchenko；　staring　at　the　Jackal。
　〃Correct　a　mistake；〃　answered　Carlos　as　he　raised　his　gun；　the　silencer　in　place；　and　fired　three　bullets　into　the　general's　throat。
　
　37
　The　night　sky　was　angry；　the　storm　clouds　over　Moscow　swirling；　colliding；　promising　rain　and　thunder　and　lightning。　The　brown　sedan　sped　down　the　country　road；　racing　past　overgrown　fields；　the　driver　maniacally