rl.thebourneultimatum-第53部分

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nse　of　bare　skin　above　burned　by　the　sun。　He　was　gone！
　The　boat's　motors　screamed　in　unison　as　the　craft　breached　a　precarious　opening　in　the　reef　and　burst　out　into　open　water。　Then　the　words　in　heavily　accented　English；　metallically　spewing　from　the　distant　loudspeaker；　echoed　within　the　tropical　cove。
　〃Paris；　Jason　Bourne！　Paris；　if　you　dare！　Or　shall　it　be　a　certain　minor　university　in　Maine；　Dr。　Webb？〃
　Bourne；　his　neck　wound　ripped　open；　collapsed　in　the　lapping　waves；　his　blood　trickling　into　the　sea。
　
　18
　Steven　DeSole；　keeper　of　the　deepest　secrets　for　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency；　forced　his　overweight　frame　out　of　the　driver's　seat。　He　stood　in　the　deserted　parking　lot　of　the　small　shopping　center　in　Annapolis；　Maryland；　where　the　only　source　of　light　was　the　storefront　neons　of　a　closed　gas　station；　with　a　large　German　shepherd　sleeping　in　the　window。　DeSole　adjusted　his　steel…rimmed　glasses　and　squinted　at　his　watch；　barely　able　to　see　the　radium　hands。　As　near　as　he　could　determine；　it　was　between　3：15　and　3：20　in　the　morning；　which　meant　he　was　early　and　that　was　good。　He　had　to　adjust　his　thoughts；　he　was　unable　to　do　so　while　driving；　as　his　severe　night　blindness　necessitated　plete　concentration　on　the　road；　and　hiring　a　taxi　or　a　driver　was　out　of　the　question。
　The　information　was　at　first　。。。　well；　merely　a　name　。。。　a　rather　mon　name。　His　name　is　Webb；　the　caller　had　said。　Thank　you；　he　had　replied。　A　sketchy　description　was　given；　one　fitting　several　million　men；　so　he　had　thanked　the　informer　again　and　hung　up　the　phone。　But　then；　in　the　recesses　of　his　analyst's　mind；　by　profession　and　training　a　warehouse　for　both　essential　and　incidental　data；　an　alarm　went　off。　Webb；　Webb　。。。　amnesia？　A　clinic　in　Virginia　years　ago。　A　man　more　dead　than　alive　had　been　flown　down　from　a　hospital　in　New　York；　the　medical　file　so　maximum　classified　it　could　not　even　be　shown　to　the　Oval　Office。　Yet　interrogation　specialists　talk　in　dark　corners；　as　often　to　relieve　frustration　as　to　impress　a　listener；　and　he　had　heard　about　a　recalcitrant；　unmanageable　patient；　an　amnesiac　they　called　〃Davey〃　and　sometimes　just　a　short；　sharp；　hostile　〃Webb；〃　formerly　a　member　of　Saigon's　infamous　Medusa；　and　a　man　they　suspected　of　feigning　his　loss　of　memory。　。。。　Loss　of　memory？　Alex　Conklin　had　told　them　that　the　Medusan　they　had　trained　to　go　out　in　deep　cover　for　Carlos　the　Jackal；　an　agent　provocateur　they　called　Jason　Bourne；　had　lost　his　memory。　Lost　his　memory　and　nearly　lost　his　life　because　his　controls　disbelieved　the　story　of　amnesia！　That　was　the　man　they　called　〃Davey〃　。。。　David。　David　Webb　was　Conklin's　Jason　Bourne！　How　could　it　be　otherwise？
　David　Webb！　And　he　had　been　at　Norman　Swayne's　house　the　night　the　Agency　was　told　that　poor　cuckolded　Swayne　had　taken　his　own　life；　a　suicide　that　had　not　been　reported　in　the　papers　for　reasons　DeSole　could　not　possibly　understand！　David　Webb。　The　old　Medusa。　Jason　Bourne。　Conklin。　Why？
　The　headlights　of　an　approaching　limousine　shot　through　the　darkness　at　the　far　end　of　the　parking　lot；　swerving　in　a　semicircle　toward　the　CIA　analyst；　causing　him　to　shut　his　eyes…the　refracted　light　through　his　thick　lenses　was　painful。　He　had　to　make　the　sequence　of　his　revelations　clear　to　these　men。　They　were　his　means　to　a　life　he　and　his　wife　had　dreamed　of…money。　Not　bureaucratic　less…than…money；　but　real　money。　Education　at　the　best　universities　for　their　grandchildren；　not　the　state　colleges　and　the　begged…for　scholarships　that　came　with　the　government　salary　of　a　bureaucrat…a　bureaucrat　so　much　better　than　those　around　him　it　was　pitiful。　DeSole　the　Mute　Mole；　they　called　him；　but　would　not　pay　him　for　his　expertise；　the　very　expertise　that　prohibited　him　from　going　into　the　private　sector；　surrounding　him　with　so　many　legal　restrictions　that　it　was　pointless　to　apply。　Someday　Washington　would　learn；　that　day　would　not　e　in　his　lifetime；　so　six　grandchildren　had　made　the　decision　for　him。　The　empathetic　new　Medusa　had　beckoned　with　generosity；　and　in　his　bitterness　he　had　e　running。
　He　rationalized　that　it　was　no　more　an　unethical　decision　on　his　part　than　those　made　every　year　by　scores　of　Pentagon　personnel　who　walked　out　of　Arlington　and　into　the　corporate　arms　of　their　old　friends　the　defense　contractors。　As　an　army　colonel　once　said　to　him；　〃It's　work　now　and　get　paid　later；〃　and　God　knew　that　one　Steven　DeSole　worked　like　hell　for　his　country；　but　his　country　hardly　reciprocated　in　kind。　He　hated　the　name　Medusa；　though；　and　rarely　if　ever　used　it　because　it　was　a　symbol　from　another　time；　ominous　and　misleading。　The　great　oil　panies　and　railroads　sprang　from　the　chicanery　and　the　venality　of　the　robber　barons；　but　they　were　not　now　what　they　were　then。　Medusa　may　have　been　born　in　the　corruption　of　a　war…ravaged　Saigon；　its　early　funding　may　have　been　a　result　of　it；　but　that　Medusa　no　longer　existed；　it　had　been　replaced　by　a　dozen　different　names　and　panies。
　〃We're　not　pure；　Mr。　DeSole；　no　American…controlled　international　conglomerate　is；〃　said　his　recruiter；　〃and　it's　true　that　we　seek　what　some　might　call　unfair　economic　advantage　based　on　privileged　information。　Secrets；　if　you　like。　You　see；　we　have　to　because　our　petitors　throughout　Europe　and　the　Far　East　consistently　have　it。　The　difference　between　them　and　us　is　that　their　governments　support　their　efforts…ours　doesn't。　。。。　Trade；　Mr。　DeSole；　trade　and　profits。　They're　the　healthiest　pursuits　on　earth。　Chrysler　may　not　like　Toyota；　but　the　astute　Mr。　Iacocca　does　not　call　for　an　air　strike　against　Tokyo。　At　least　not　yet。　He　finds　ways　to　join　forces　with　the　Japanese。〃
　Yes；　mused　DeSole　as　the　limousine　came　to　a　stop　ten　feet　away　from　him。　What　he　did　for　the　〃corporation；〃　which　he　preferred　to　call　it；　as　opposed　to　what　he　did　for　the　pany；　might　even　be　considered　benevolent。　Profits；　after　all；　were　more　desirable　than　bombs　。。。　and　his　grandchildren　would　go　to　the　finest　schools　and　universities　in　the　country。　Two　men　got　out　of　the　limousine　and　approached　him。
　〃What's　this　Webb　look　like？〃　asked　Albert　Armbruster；　chairman　of　the　Federal　Trade　mission；　as　they　walked　along　the　edge　of　the　parking　lot。
　〃I　only　have　a　description　from　the　gardener；　who　was　hiding　behind　a　fence　thirty　feet　away。〃
　〃What　did　he　tell　you？〃　The　unidentified　associate　of　the　chairman；　a　short　stocky　man　with　penetrating　dark　eyes　and　dark　eyebrows　beneath　dark　hair；　looked　at　DeSole。　〃Be　precise；〃　he　added。
　〃Now；　just　a　minute；〃　protested　the　analyst　defensively　but　firmly。　〃I'm　precise　in　everything　I　say；　and；　frankly；　whoever　you　are；　I　don't　like　the　tone　of　your　voice　one　bit。〃
　〃He's　upset；〃　said　Armbruster；　as　if　his　associate　was　dismissible。　〃He's　a　spaghetti　head　from　New　York　and　doesn't　trust　anybody。〃
　〃Who's　to　trust　in　New　York？〃　asked　the　short；　dark　man；　laughing　and　poking　his　elbow　into　the　wide　girth　of　Albert　Armbruster。　〃You　WASPs　are　the　worst；　you　got　the　banks；　amico！〃
　〃Let's　keep　it　that　way　and　out　of　the　courts。　。。。　The　description；　please？〃　The　chairman　looked　at　DeSole。
　〃It's　inplete；　but　there　is　a　long…ago　tie…in　with　Medusa　that　I'll　describe…precisely。〃
　〃Go　ahead；　pal；〃　said　the　man　from　New　York。
　〃He's　rather　large…tall；　that　is…and　in　his　late　forties　or　early　fifties　and…〃
　〃Has　he　got　some　gray　around　his　temples？〃　asked　Armbruster；　interrupting。
　〃Well；　yes；　I　think　the　gardener　said　something　to　that　effect…graying；　or　gray　in　his　hair；　or　something　like　that。　It's　obviously　why　he　judged　him　to　be　in　his　forties　or　fifties。〃
　〃It's　Simon；〃　said　Armbruster；　looking　at　the　New　Yorker。
　〃Who？〃　DeSole　stopped；　as　the　other　two　stopped　and　looked　at　him。
　〃He　called　himself　Simon；　and　he　knew　all　about　you；　Mr。　CIA；〃　said　the　chairman。　〃About　you　and　Brussels　and　our　whole　thing。〃
　〃What　are　you　talking　about？〃
　〃For　starters；　your　goddamn　fax　machine　exclusively　between　you　and　that　fruitcake　in　Brussels。〃
　〃It's　a　buried；　dedicated　line！　It's　locked　up！〃
　〃Someone　found　the　key；　Mr。　Precision；〃　said　the　New　Yorker；　not　smiling。
　〃Oh；　my　God；　that's　terrible！　What　should　I　do？〃
　〃Make　up　a　story　between　you　and　Teagarten；　but　do　it　from　public　phones；〃　continued　the　mafioso。　〃One　of　you　will　e　up　with　something。〃
　〃You　know　about　。。。　Brussels？〃
　〃There's　very　little　I　don't　know。〃
　〃That　son　of　a　bitch　conned　me　into　thinking　he　was　one　of　us　and　he　had　me　by　the　balls！〃　said　Armbruster　angrily；　continuing　to　walk　along　the　edge　of　the　parking　lot；　the　other　two　joining　him；　DeSole　hesitantly；　apprehensively。　〃He　seemed　to　know　everything；　but　when　I　think　back；　he　only　brought　up　bits　and　pieces…damned　big　bits　and　pieces　like　Burton　and　you　and　Brussels…and　I；　like　a　fucking　idiot；　filled　in　a　hell　of　a　lot　more。　Shit！〃
　〃Now；　just　wait　a　minute！〃　cried　the　CIA　analyst；　once　again　forcing　the　others　to　stop。　〃I　don't　understand…I'm　a　strategist；　and　I　don't　understand。　What　was　David　Webb　Jason　Bourne；　if　he　is　Jason　Bourne…doing　at　Swayne's　place　the　other　night？〃
　〃Who　the　hell　is　Jason　Bourne？〃　roared　the　chairman　of　the　Federal　Trade　mission。
　〃He's　the　tie…in　with　Saigon's　Medusa　that　I　just　mentioned。　Thirteen　years　ago　the　Agency　gave　him　the　name　Jason　Bourne；　the　original　Bourne　a　dead　man　by　then；　and　sent　him　out　in　deep　cover　on　a　Four　Zero　assignment…a　termination　with　extreme　prejudice；　if　you　like…〃
　〃A　hit；　if　you　want　to　speak　English；　paisan。〃
　〃Yes；　yes；　that's　what　it　was。　。。。　But　things　went　wrong；　he　had　a　loss　of　memory　and　the　operation　collapsed。　It　collapsed；　but　he　survived。〃
　〃Holy　Christ；　what　a　bunch　of　zucchinis！〃
　〃What　can　you　tell　us　about　this　Webb　。。。　or　Bourne…this　Simon　or　the　'Cobra'？　Jesus；　he's　a　walking　vaudeville　act！〃
　〃Apparently　that's　what　he　did　before。　He　assumed　different　names；　different　appearances；　different　personalities。　He　was　trained　to　do　that　when　he　was　sent　out　to　challenge　the　assassin　called　the　Jackal…to　draw　him　out　and　kill　him。〃
　〃The　Jackal？〃　asked　the　astonished　capo　supremo　of　the　Cosa　Nostra。　〃Like　in　the　movie？〃
　〃No；　not　the　movie　or　the　book；　you　idiot…〃
　〃Hey；　easy；　amico。〃
　〃Oh；　shut　up。　。。。　Ilich　Ramirez　Sanchez；　o