rl.thebourneultimatum-第28部分

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owners　who　knew　too　well　the　price　of　feeding　the　animals　who　guarded　their　minuscule　fiefdoms　of　survival。　Train　a　few；　as　few　as　possible；　to　protect　their　separated　areas　from　thieves；　and　if　alarms　were　raised　the　others　would　converge。　Oriental。　Vietnam。　。。。　Medusa。　It　was　ing　back　to　him！　Vague；　obscure　outlines…images。　A　young；　powerful　man　in　uniform；　driving　a　Jeep；　stepping　out；　and…through　the　mists　of　Jason's　inner　screen…yelling　at　what　was　left　of　an　assault　team　that　had　returned　from　interdicting　an　ordnance　route　paralleling　the　Ho　Chi　Minh　Trail。　That　same　man；　older；　larger；　had　been　in　his　binoculars　only　moments　ago！　And　years　ago　that　same　man　had　promised　supplies。　Ammunition；　mortars；　grenades；　radios。　He　had　brought　nothing！　Only　plaints　from　mand　Saigon　that　〃you　fucking　illegals　fed　us　crap！〃　But　they　hadn't。　Saigon　had　acted　too　late；　reacted　too　late；　and　twenty…six　men　had　been　killed　or　captured　for　nothing。
　As　if　it　were　an　hour　ago；　a　minute　ago；　Bourne　remembered。　He　had　yanked　his　。45　out　of　his　holster　and；　without　warning；　jabbed　the　barrel　into　the　approaching　non's　forehead。
　〃One　more　word　and　you're　dead；　Sergeant。〃　The　man　had　been　a　sergeant！　〃You　bring　us　our　requisitions　by　O…five…hundred　tomorrow　morning　or　I'll　get　to　Saigon　and　personally　blow　you　into　the　wall　of　whatever　whorehouse　you're　frequenting。　Do　I　make　myself　clear　or　do　you　care　to　save　me　a　trip　to　publicity　city？　Frankly；　in　light　of　our　losses；　I'd　rather　waste　you　now。〃
　〃You'll　get　what　you　need。〃
　〃Très　bien！〃　had　yelled　the　oldest　French　member　of　Medusa；　who　years　later　would　save　his　life　in　a　wildlife　sanctuary　in　Beijing。　〃Tu　es　formidable；　mon　fils！〃　How　right　he　was。　And　how　dead　he　was。　D'Anjou；　a　man　legends　were　written　about。　Jason's　thoughts　were　abruptly　shattered。　The　long…haired　attack　dog　was　suddenly　circling　in　the　road；　its　snarls　growing　louder；　its　nostrils　picking　up　the　human　scent。　Within　seconds；　as　the　animal　found　its　directional　bearings；　a　frenzy　developed。　The　dog　lunged　through　the　foliage；　its　teeth　bared；　the　snarls　now　the　throated　growls　of　a　kill。　Bourne　sprang　back　into　the　fence；　pulling　the　CO2　pistol　out　of　its　nylon　shoulder　holster　with　his　right　hand；　his　left　arm　crooked；　extended；　prepared　for　a　vital　counterassault　that　if　not　executed　properly　would　cost　him　the　night。　The　crazed　animal　leaped；　a　hurling　mass　of　rage。　Jason　fired；　first　one　cartridge　and　then　the　second；　and　as　the　darts　were　embedded；　he　whipped　his　left　arm　around　the　attack　dog's　head；　yanking　the　skull　counterclockwise；　slamming　his　right　knee　up　into　the　animal's　body　to　ward　off　the　lashing　sharp…nailed　paws。　It　was　over　in　moments…moments　of　raging；　panicked；　finally　disintegrating　fury…without　the　howling　sounds　that　might　have　carried　across　the　lawn　of　the　general's　estate。　The　long…haired　dog；　its　narcotized　eyes　wide；　fell　limp　in　Bourne's　arms。　He　lowered　it　to　the　ground　and　once　again　waited；　afraid　to　move　until　he　knew　that　no　converging　inhuman　alarms　had　been　sent　to　the　other　animals。
　There　were　none；　there　was　only　the　constant　murmuring　of　the　forest　beyond　the　prohibiting　fence。　Jason　replaced　the　CO2　pistol　in　his　holster　and　crept　forward；　back　to　the　graveled　road；　beads　of　sweat　rolling　down　his　face　and　into　his　eyes。　He　had　been　away　too　long。　Years　ago　such　a　feat　as　silencing　an　attack　dog　would　have　rolled　off　him…un　exercise　ordinaire；　as　the　legend　d'Anjou　would　have　said…but　it　was　no　longer　ordinary。　What　permeated　his　being　was　fear。　Pure；　unadulterated　fear。　Where　was　the　man　that　was？　Still；　Marie　and　the　children　were　out　there；　that　man　had　to　be　summoned。　Summon　him！
　Bourne　stripped　out　the　binoculars　and　raised　them　to　his　eyes　again。　The　moonlight　was　sporadic；　low…flying　clouds　intercepting　the　rays；　but　the　yellow　wash　was　sufficient。　He　focused　on　the　shrubbery　that　fronted　the　stockade　fence　that　bordered　the　road　outside。　Pacing　back　and　forth　on　a　bisecting　dirt　path　like　an　angry；　impatient　panther　was　the　black　Doberman；　stopping　now　and　then　to　urinate　and　poke　its　long　snout　into　the　bushes。　As　he　had　been　programmed　to　do；　the　animal　roamed　between　the　opposing　closed　iron　gates　of　the　enormous　circular　drive。　At　each　halting　checkpoint　it　snarled；　spinning　around　several　times　as　if　both　expecting　and　loathing　the　sharp　electrical　shock　it　would　receive　through　its　collar　if　it　transgressed　without　cause。　Again；　the　method　of　training　went　back　to　Vietnam；　soldiers　disciplined　the　attack　dogs　around　ammunition　and　materiel　depots　with　such　remote…signaling　devices。　Jason　focused　the　binoculars　on　the　far　side　of　the　expansive　front　lawn。　He　zeroed　in　on　a　third　animal；　this　a　huge　Weimaraner；　gentle　in　appearance　but　lethal　in　attack。　The　hyperactive　dog　raced　back　and　forth；　aroused　perhaps　by　squirrels　or　rabbits　in　the　brush；　but　not　by　human　scent；　it　did　not　raise　a　throated　growl；　the　signal　of　assault。
　Jason　tried　to　analyze　what　he　observed；　for　that　analysis　would　determine　his　moves。　He　had　to　assume　that　there　was　a　fourth　or　a　fifth；　or　even　a　sixth　animal　patrolling　the　perimeters　of　Swayne's　grounds。　But　why　this　way？　Why　not　a　pack　roaming　at　will　and　in　unison；　a　far　more　frightening　and　inhibiting　sight？　The　expense　that　concerned　the　Oriental　farmer　was　no　object。　。。。　Then　the　explanation　struck　him；　it　was　so　basic　it　was　obvious。　He　shifted　the　binoculars　back　and　forth　between　the　Weimaraner　and　the　Doberman；　the　picture　of　the　longhaired　German　shepherd　still　all　too　clear　in　his　mind。　Beyond　the　fact　that　these　were　trained　attack　dogs；　they　were　also　something　else。　They　were　the　top　of　their　breeds；　groomed　to　a　fare…thee…well…vicious　animals　posing　as　champion　show　dogs　by　day；　violent　predators　at　night。　Of　course。　General　Norman　Swayne's　〃farm〃　was　not　unrecorded　property；　not　concealed　real　estate；　but　very　much　out　in　the　open　and　undoubtedly；　jealously　perhaps；　visited　by　friends；　neighbors　and　colleagues。　During　the　daylight　hours；　guests　could　admire　these　docile　champions　in　their　well…appointed　kennels　without　realizing　what　they　really　were。　Norman　Swayne；　Pentagon　Procurements　and　alumnus　of　Medusa；　was　merely　a　dog　aficionado；　attested　to　by　the　quality　of　his　animals'　bloodlines。　He　might　very　well　charge　stud　fees；　but　there　was　nothing　in　the　canon　of　military　ethics　that　precluded　the　practice。
　A　sham。　If　one　such　aspect　of　the　general's　〃farm〃　was　a　sham；　it　had　to　follow　that　the　estate　itself　was　a　sham；　as　false　as　the　〃inheritance〃　that　made　its　purchase　possible。　Medusa。
　One　of　the　two　strange　three…wheeled　carts　appeared　far　across　the　lawn；　out　of　the　shadows　of　the　house　and　down　the　exit　road　of　the　circular　drive。　Bourne　focused　on　it；　not　surprised　to　see　the　Weimaraner　romp　over　and　playfully　race　beside　the　vehicle；　yapping　and　seeking　approval　from　the　driver。　The　driver。　The　drivers　were　the　handlers！　The　familiar　scent　of　their　bodies　was　calming　to　the　dogs；　reassuring　them。　The　observation　formed　the　analysis　and　the　analysis　determined　his　next　tactic。　He　had　to　move；　at　least　more　freely　than　he　was　moving　now；　about　the　general's　grounds。　To　do　so　he　had　to　be　in　the　pany　of　a　handler。　He　had　to　take　one　of　the　roving　patrols；　he　raced　back　in　the　cover　of　the　pine　trees　to　his　point　of　penetration。
　The　mechanized；　bulletproof　vehicle　stopped　on　the　narrow　path　at　midpoint　between　the　two　front　gates　nearly　obscured　by　the　shrubbery；　Jason　adjusted　his　binoculars。　The　black　Doberman　was　apparently　a　favored　dog；　the　driver　opened　the　right　panel　as　the　animal　sprang　up；　placing　his　huge　paws　on　the　seat。　The　man　chucked　biscuits　or　pieces　of　meat　into　the　wide；　anticipating　jaws；　then　reached　over　and　massaged　the　dog's　throat。
　Bourne　knew　instantly　that　he　had　only　moments　to　put　his　uncertain　strategy　together。　He　had　to　stop　the　cart　and　force　the　driver　outside　but　without　alarming　the　man；　without　giving　him　any　reason　whatsoever　to　use　his　radio　and　call　for　help。　The　dog？　Lying　in　the　road？　No；　the　driver　might　assume　it　had　been　shot　from　the　other　side　of　the　fence　and　alert　the　house。　What　could　he　do？　He　looked　around　in　the　near…total　darkness　feeling　the　panic　of　indecision；　his　anxiety　growing　as　his　eyes　swept　the　area。　Then；　again；　the　obvious　struck　him。
　The　large　expanse　of　close…cropped　manicured　lawn；　the　precisely　cut　shrubbery；　the　swept　circular　drive…neatness　was　the　order　of　the　general's　turf。　Jason　could　almost　hear　Swayne　manding　his　groundskeepers　to　〃police　the　area！〃
　Bourne　glanced　over　at　the　cart　by　the　Doberman；　the　driver　was　playfully　pushing　the　dog　away；　about　to　close　the　shielded　panel。　Only　seconds　now！　What？　How？
　He　saw　the　outlines　of　a　tree　limb　on　the　ground；　a　rotted　branch　had　fallen　from　the　pine　above　him。　He　crossed　quickly　to　it　and　crouched；　yanking　it　out　of　the　dirt　and　debris　and　dragged　it　toward　the　paved　asphalt。　To　lay　it　across　the　drive　might　appear　too　obvious　a　trap；　but　partially　on　the　road…an　intrusion　on　the　pervasive　neatness…would　be　offensive　to　the　eye；　the　task　of　removing　it　better　done　now　than　later　in　the　event　the　general　drove　out　and　saw　it　upon　his　return。　The　men　in　Swayne's　pound　were　either　soldiers　or　ex…soldiers　still　under　military　authority；　they　would　try　to　avoid　reprimands；　especially　over　the　inconsequential。　The　odds　were　on　Jason's　side。　He　gripped　the　base　of　the　limb；　swung　it　around　and　pushed　it　roughly　five　feet　into　the　drive。　He　heard　the　panel　of　the　cart　slam　shut；　the　vehicle　rolled　forward；　gathering　speed　as　Bourne　raced　back　into　the　darkness　of　the　pine　tree。
　The　driver　steered　the　vehicle　around　the　dirt　curve　into　the　drive。　As　rapidly　as　he　had　accelerated；　he　slowed　down；　his　single　headlight　beam　picking　up　the　new　obstruction　protruding　on　the　road。　He　approached　it　cautiously；　at　minimum　speed；　as　if　he　were　unsure　of　what　it　was；　then　he　realized　what　it　was　and　rushed　forward。　Without　hesitation；　he　opened　his　side　door；　the　tall　Plexiglas　shield　swinging　forward　as　he　stepped　out　on　the　drive　and　walked　around　the　front　of　the　cart。
　〃Big　Rex；　you're　one　bad　dog；　buddy；〃　said　the　driver　in　a　half…loud；　very　Southern　voice。　〃What'd　you　dra