rl.thebourneultimatum-第47部分

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　〃Yes；　of　course；　General。〃
　Inside　the　office；　Jason　took　out　his　automatic　and　tore　off　the　uniform　as　he　separated　the　pile　of　clothing　Marie's　brother　had　brought　for　him。　He　slipped　on　a　pair　of　knee…length　gray　Bermuda　walking　shorts；　chose　a　red…and…white…striped　guayabera　jacket；　and　the　widest…brimmed　straw　hat。　He　removed　his　socks　and　shoes；　put　on　the　sandals；　stood　up　and　swore。　〃Goddamn　it！〃　He　kicked　off　the　sandals　and　shoved　his　bare　feet　back　into　his　heavy　rubber…soled　shoes。　He　studied　the　various　cameras　and　their　accessories；　choosing　the　lightest　but　most　plicated；　and　crossed　the　straps　over　his　chest。　John　St。　Jacques　walked　into　the　room　carrying　a　small　hand…held　radio。
　〃Where　the　hell　did　you　e　from？　Miami　Beach？〃
　〃Actually；　a　little　north…say；　Pompano。　I'm　not　that　gaudy。　I　won't　stand　out。〃
　〃Actually；　you're　right。　I've　got　people　out　there　who'd　swear　you　were　old…time　Key　West　conservative。　Here's　the　radio。〃
　〃Thanks。〃　Jason　put　the　pact　instrument　into　his　breast　pocket。
　〃Where　to　now？〃
　〃After　Ishmael；　the　kid　I　had　you　nod　at。〃
　〃Ishmael？　I　didn't　nod　at　Ishmael；　you　simply　said　I　should　nod　my　head　at　the　entrance。〃
　〃Same　thing。〃　Bourne　squeezed　the　automatic　under　his　belt　beneath　the　guayabera　and　looked　at　the　equipment　brought　from　the　tackle　shop。　He　picked　up　the　reel　of　one…hundred…test　line　and　the　scaling　knife；　placing　both　in　his　pockets；　then　opened　an　empty　camera　case　and　put　the　two　distress　flares　inside。　It　was　not　everything　he　wanted；　but　it　was　enough。　He　was　not　who　he　was　thirteen　years　ago　and　he　was　not　so　young　even　then。　His　mind　had　to　work　better　and　faster　than　his　body；　a　fact　he　reluctantly　accepted。　Damn！
　〃That　Ishmael's　a　good　boy；〃　said　Marie's　brother。　〃He's　pretty　smart　and　strong　as　a　prize　Saskatchewan　steer。　I'm　thinking　of　making　him　a　guard　in　a　year　or　so。　The　pay's　better。〃
　〃Try　Harvard　or　Princeton　if　he　does　his　job　this　afternoon。〃
　〃Wow；　that's　a　wrinkle。　Did　you　know　his　father　was　the　champion　wrestler　of　the　islands？　Of　course；　he's　sort　of　getting　on　now…〃
　〃Get　the　hell　out　of　my　way；〃　ordered　Jason；　heading　for　the　door。　〃You're　not　exactly　eighteen；　either！〃　he　added；　turning　briefly　before　he　let　himself　out。
　〃Never　said　I　was。　What's　your　problem？〃
　〃Maybe　it's　the　sandbar　you　never　saw；　Mr。　Security。〃　Bourne　slammed　the　door　as　he　ran　out　into　the　hallway。
　〃Touchy；　touchy。〃　St。　Jacques　slowly　shook　his　head　as　he　unclenched　his　thirty…four…year…old　fist。
　Nearly　two　hours　had　passed　and　Ishmael　was　nowhere　to　be　found！　His　leg　locked　in　place　as　if　crippled；　Jason　limped　convincingly　from　one　end　of　Tranquility　Inn's　property　to　the　other；　his　eye　focused　through　the　mirrored　lens　of　the　camera；　seeing　everything；　but　no　sign　of　young　Ishmael。　Twice　he　had　gone　up　the　path　into　the　woods　to　the　isolated　square　structure　of　logs；　thatched　roof　and　stained　glass　that　was　the　multidenominational　chapel　of　the　resort；　a　sanctuary　for　meditation　built　more　for　its　quaint　appearance　than　for　utility。　As　the　young　black　steward　had　observed；　it　was　rarely　visited　but　had　its　place　in　vacation　brochures。
　The　Caribbean　sun　was　growing　more　orange；　inching　its　way　down　toward　the　water's　horizon。　Soon　the　shadows　of　sundown　would　crawl　across　Montserrat　and　the　out　islands。　Soon　thereafter　darkness　would　e；　and　the　Jackal　approved　of　darkness。　But　then；　so　did　the　Chameleon。
　〃Storage　room；　anything？〃　said　Bourne　into　his　radio。
　〃Rien；　monsieur。〃
　〃Johnny？〃
　〃I'm　up　on　the　roof　with　six　scouts　at　all　points。　Nothing。〃
　〃What　about　the　dinner；　the　party　tonight？〃
　〃Our　meteorologist　arrived　ten　minutes　ago　by　boat　from　Plymouth。　He's　afraid　to　fly。　。。。　And　Angus　tacked　a　check　for　ten　thousand　on　the　bulletin　board；　signature　and　payee　to　be　entered。　Scotty　was　right；　all　seven　couples　will　be　there。　We're　a　society　of　who…gives…a…shit　after　an　appropriate　few　minutes　of　silence。〃
　〃Tell　me　something　I　don't　know；　Bro。　。。。　Out。　I'm　heading　back　to　the　chapel。〃
　〃Glad　to　hear　somebody　goes　there。　A　travel　bastard　in　New　York　said　it'd　be　a　nice　touch；　but　I　haven't　heard　from　him　since。　Stay　in　touch；　David。〃
　〃I　will；　Johnny；〃　replied　Jason　Bourne。
　The　path　to　the　chapel　was　growing　dark；　the　tall　palms　and　dense　foliage　above　the　beach　hastening　nature's　process　by　blocking　the　rays　of　the　setting　sun。　Jason　was　about　to　turn　around　and　head　for　the　tackle　shop　and　a　flashlight　when　suddenly；　as　if　on　photoelectric　cue；　blue　and　red　floods　came　alive；　shooting　their　wide　circles　of　light　up　from　the　ground　into　the　palms　above。　For　a　moment　Bourne　felt　that　he　had　abruptly；　too　abruptly；　entered　a　lush　Technicolor　tunnel　cut　out　of　tropical　forest。　It　was　disorienting；　then　disturbing。　He　was　a　moving；　illuminated　target　in　a　garishly　colored　gallery。
　He　quickly　walked　into　the　underbrush　beyond　the　border　of　floodlights；　the　nettles　of　the　wild　shrubbery　stinging　his　bare　legs。　He　went　deeper　into　the　enveloping　foliage　and　continued　in　the　now　semidarkness　toward　the　chapel；　his　pace　slow；　difficult；　the　moist　branches　and　vines　tangling　about　his　hands　and　feet。　Instinct。　Stay　out　of　the　light；　the　gaudy　bombastic　lights　that　belonged　more　properly　to　an　island　carnivale。
　A　blunt　sound！　A　thud　that　was　no　part　of　the　shoreline　woods。　Then　the　start　of　a　moan　growing　into　a　convulsion…stopped；　thwarted　。。。　suppressed？　Jason　crouched　and　foot　by　foot　broke　through　the　inhibiting；　succeeding　walls　of　bush　until　he　could　see　the　thick　cathedral　door　of　the　chapel。　It　was　partially　open；　the　soft；　pulsating　glow　of　the　electric　candles　penetrating　the　wash　of　the　red　and　blue　floods　on　the　outside　path。
　Think。　Memory。　Remember！　He　had　been　to　the　chapel　only　once　before；　humorously　berating　his　brother…in…law　for　spending　good　money　on　a　useless　addition　to　Tranquility　Inn。
　At　least　it's　quaint；　St。　Jacques　had　said。
　It　ain't；　Bro；　Marie　had　replied。　It　doesn't　belong。　This　isn't　a　retreat。
　Suppose　someone　gets　bad　news　You　know；　really　bad…
　Get　him　a　drink；　David　Webb　had　said。
　e　on　inside。　I've　got　symbols　of　five　different　religions　in　stained　glass；　including　Shinto。
　Don't　show　your　sister　the　bills　on　this　one；　Webb　had　whispered。
　Inside。　Was　there　a　door　inside？　Another　exit？　。。。　No；　there　was　not。　Only　five　or　six　rows　of　pews；　then　a　railing　of　some　sort　in　front　of　a　raised　lectern；　beneath　primitive　stained…glass　windows　done　by　native　artisans。
　Inside。　Someone　was　inside。　Ishmael？　A　distraught　guest　of　Tranquility？　A　honeymooner　who　had　sudden；　deep　reservations　embarrassingly　too　late？　He　again　reached　into　his　breast　pocket　for　the　miniaturized　radio。　He　brought　it　to　his　lips　and　spoke　softly。
　〃Johnny？〃
　〃Right　here　on　the　roof。〃
　〃I'm　at　the　chapel。　I'm　going　inside。〃
　〃Is　Ishmael　there？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　Someone　is。〃
　〃What's　wrong；　Dave？　You　sound…〃
　〃Nothing's　wrong；〃　interrupted　Bourne。　〃I'm　just　checking　in。　。。。　What's　behind　the　building？　East　of　it。〃
　〃More　woods。〃
　〃Any　paths？〃
　〃There　was　one　several　years　ago；　it's　overgrown　by　now。　The　construction　crews　used　it　to　go　down　to　the　water。　。。。　I'm　sending　over　a　couple　of　guards…〃
　〃No！　If　I　need　you；　I'll　call。　Out。〃　Jason　replaced　the　radio　and；　still　crouching；　stared　at　the　chapel　door。
　Silence　now。　No　sound　at　all　from　inside；　no　human　movement；　nothing　but　the　flickering　〃candlelight。〃　Bourne　crept　to　the　border　of　the　path；　removed　the　camera　equipment　and　the　straw　hat　and　opened　the　case　holding　the　flares。　He　removed　one；　inserted　it　under　his　belt；　and　took　out　the　automatic　beside　it。　He　reached　into　the　left　pocket　of　his　guayabera　jacket　for　his　lighter；　gripping　it　in　his　hand　as　he　got　to　his　feet；　and　walked　quietly；　rapidly；　to　the　corner　of　the　small　building…this　unlikely　sanctuary　in　the　tropical　woods　above　a　tropical　beach。　Flares　and　the　means　to　light　them　went　back　long　before　Manassas；　Virginia；　he　considered；　as　he　inched　his　way　around　the　corner　toward　the　chapel's　entrance。　They　went　back　to　Paris…thirteen　years　ago　to　Paris；　and　a　cemetery　in　Rambouillet。　And　Carlos。　。。。　He　reached　the　frame　of　the　partially　opened　door　and　slowly；　cautiously　moved　his　face　to　the　edge　and　looked　inside。
　He　gasped；　his　breath　suspended；　the　horror　filling　him　as　disbelief　and　fury　spread　within　him。　On　the　raised　platform　in　front　of　the　rows　of　glistening　wood　was　the　young　Ishmael；　his　body　bent　forward　over　the　lectern；　his　arms　hanging　down；　his　dark　face　bruised　and　lacerated；　blood　trickling　out　of　his　mouth　onto　the　floor。　The　guilt　overwhelmed　Jason；　it　was　sudden　and　plete　and　devastating；　the　words　of　the　old　Frenchman　screaming　in　his　ears：　Others　may　die；　innocent　people　slaughtered。
　Slaughtered！　A　child　had　been　slaughtered！　Promises　were　implied；　but　death　had　been　delivered。　Oh；　Christ；　what　have　I　done？　。。。　What　can　I　do？
　Sweat　pouring　down　his　face；　his　eyes　barely　focusing；　Bourne　ripped　the　distress　flare　out　of　his　pocket；　snapped　the　lighter　and；　trembling；　held　it　to　the　red　tip。　Ignition　was　instant；　the　white　fire　spewed　out　in　white　heat；　hissing　like　a　hundred　angry　snakes。　Jason　threw　it　into　the　chapel　toward　the　far　end；　leaped　through　the　frame；　pivoted；　and　slammed　the　heavy　door　shut　behind　him。　He　lunged　to　the　floor　below　the　last　row；　pulled　the　radio　from　his　pocket　and　pushed　the　Send　button。
　〃Johnny；　the　chapel。　Surround　it！〃　He　did　not　wait　for　St。　Jacques's　reply；　that　there　was　a　voice　was　enough。　The　automatic　in　his　hand；　the　hissing　flare　continuously　erupting　as　shafts　of　color　shot　down　from　the　stained…glass　windows；　Bourne　crept　to　the　far　aisle；　his　eyes　moving　constantly；　seeking　out　everything　he　no　longer　remembered　about　Tranquility　Inn's　chapel。　The　one　place　where　he　could　not　look　again　was　the　lectern　that　held　the　body　of　the　child　he　had　killed。　。。。　On　both　sides　of　the　raised　platform　were　narrow　draped　archways；　like　scenic　doors　on　a　stage　leading　to　minimum　wing　space；　entrances　both　left　and　right。　Despite　the　anguish　he　felt；　there　welled　up　in　Jason　Bourne　a　deep　sense　of　satisfaction；　even　of　morbid　elation。　The　lethal　game　was　his　for　the　winning。　Carlos　had　mounted　an　el