rl.thebourneultimatum-第66部分

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othing　but　trees　and　the　coarse　underbrush　of　a　distinctly　backcountry　road；　one　he　doubted　was　on　too　many　maps。　〃There　we　are；〃　continued　Mo；　raising　his　loosely　bound　hands　to　the　capo's　mouth；　his　eyes；　however；　not　on　that　mouth　but　on　the　road　ahead。　〃Oh；　my　God！〃　cried　Panov。
　〃What？〃　screamed　the　guard。
　〃Pus。　Pockets　of　pus　everywhere。　In　the　upper　and　lower　mandibles。　The　worst　sign。〃
　〃Oh；　Christ！〃　The　car　swerved　wildly；　but　it　did　not　swerve　enough。
　A　huge　tree。　Up　ahead。　On　the　left…hand　side　of　the　deserted　road！　Morris　Panov　surged　his　bound　hands　over　to　the　wheel；　lifting　his　body　off　the　seat　as　he　propelled　the　steering　wheel　to　the　left。　Then　at　the　last　second　before　the　car　hit　the　tree；　he　hurled　himself　to　the　right；　curling　into　a　fetal　position　for　protection。
　The　crash　was　enormous。　Shattered　glass　and　crushed　metal　acpanied　the　rising　mists　of　steam　from　burst　cylinders；　and　the　growing　fires　of　viscous　fluids　underneath　that　would　soon　reach　a　gas　tank。　The　guard　was　moaning；　semiconscious；　his　face　bleeding；　Panov　pulled　him　out　of　the　wreck　and　into　the　grass　as　far　as　he　could　until　exhaustion　overtook　him；　just　before　the　car　exploded。
　In　the　moist　overgrowth；　his　breath　somewhat　restored　but　his　fear　still　at　the　forefront；　Mo　released　his　loosely　bound　hands　and　picked　the　fragments　of　glass　out　of　his　guard's　face。　He　then　checked　for　broken　bones…the　right　arm　and　the　left　leg　were　candidates…and　with　stolen　stationery　from　a　hotel　he　had　never　heard　of　from　the　capo's　pocket；　he　used　the　guard's　pen　to　write　out　his　diagnosis。　Among　the　items　he　removed　was　a　gun…what　kind；　he　had　no　idea…but　it　was　heavy　and　too　large　for　his　pocket　and　sagged　in　his　belt。
　Enough。　Hippocrates　had　his　limits。
　Panov　searched　the　guard's　clothing；　astonished　at　the　money　that　was　there…some　six　thousand　dollars…and　the　various　driver's　licenses…five　different　identities　from　five　different　states。　He　took　the　money　and　the　licenses　to　turn　them　over　to　Alex　Conklin；　but　he　left　the　capo's　wallet　otherwise　intact。　There　were　photographs　of　his　family；　his　children；　grandchildren　and　assorted　relatives…and　somewhere　among　them　a　young　surgeon　he　had　put　through　medical　school。　Ciao；　amico；　thought　Mo　as　he　crawled　over　to　the　road；　stood　up　and　smoothed　his　clothes；　trying　to　look　as　respectable　as　possible。
　Standing　on　the　hard　coarse　surface；　mon　sense　dictated　that　he　continue　north；　in　the　direction　the　car　was　heading；　to　return　south　was　not　only　pointless　but　conceivably　dangerous。　Suddenly；　it　struck　him。
　Good　God！　Did　I　just　do　what　I　just　did？
　He　began　to　tremble；　the　trained　psychiatrically　oriented　part　of　him　telling　him　it　was　posttraumatic　stress。
　Bullshit；　you　asshole。　It　wasn't　you！
　He　started　walking；　and　then　kept　walking　and　walking　and　walking。　He　was　not　on　a　backcountry　road；　he　was　on　Tobacco　Road。　There　were　no　signs　of　civilization；　not　a　car　in　either　direction；　not　a　house…not　even　the　ruins　of　an　old　farmhouse…or　a　primitive　stone　wall　that　would　at　least　have　proved　that　humans　had　visited　the　environs。　Mile　after　mile　passed　and　Mo　fought　off　the　effects　of　the　drug…induced　exhaustion。　How　long　had　it　been？　They　had　taken　his　watch；　his　watch　with　the　day　and　date　in　impossible　small　print；　so　he　had　no　idea　of　either　the　present　time　or　the　time　that　had　elapsed　since　he　had　been　taken　from　Walter　Reed　Hospital。　He　had　to　find　a　telephone。　He　had　to　reach　Alex　Conklin！　Something　had　to　happen　soon！
　It　did。
　He　heard　the　growing　roar　of　an　engine　and　spun　around。　A　red　car　was　speeding　up　the　road　from　the　south…no；　not　speeding；　but　racing；　with　its　accelerator　flat　on　the　floor。　He　waved　his　arms　wildly…gestures　of　helplessness　and　appeal。　To　no　avail；　the　vehicle　rushed　past　him　in　a　blur　。。。　then　to　his　delighted　surprise　the　air　was　filled　with　dust　and　screeching　brakes。　The　car　stopped！　He　ran　ahead　as　the　automobile　actually　backed　up；　the　tires　still　screaming。　He　remembered　the　words　his　mother　incessantly　repeated　when　he　was　a　youngster　in　the　Bronx：　Always　tell　the　truth；　Morris。　It's　the　shield　God　gave　us　to　keep　us　righteous。
　Panov　did　not　precisely　subscribe　to　the　admonition；　but　there　were　times　when　he　felt　it　had　socially　interactive　validity。　This　might　be　one　of　them。　So；　somewhat　out　of　breath　he　approached　the　opened　passenger　window　of　the　red　automobile。　He　looked　inside　at　the　woman　driver；　a　platinum　blonde　in　her　mid…thirties　with　an　overly　made…up　face　and　large　breasts　encased　in　décolletage　more　fitting　to　an　X…rated　film　than　a　backcountry　road　in　Maryland。　Nevertheless；　his　mother's　words　echoed　in　his　ears；　so　he　spoke　the　truth。
　〃I　realize　that　I　look　rather　shabby；　madam；　but　I　assure　you　it's　purely　an　exterior　impression。　I'm　a　doctor　and　I've　been　in　an　accident…〃
　〃Get　in；　for　Christ's　sake！〃
　〃Thank　you　so　very　much。〃　No　sooner　had　Mo　closed　the　door　than　the　woman　slammed　the　car　into　gear；　gunned　the　engine　to　its　maximum；　and　seemingly　launched　off　the　rough　pavement　and　down　the　road。　〃You're　obviously　in　a　hurry；〃　offered　Panov。
　〃So　would　you　be；　pal；　if　you　were　me；　I　gotta　husband　back　there　who's　puttin'　his　truck　together　to　e　after　my　ass！〃
　〃Oh；　really？〃
　〃Stupid　fuckin'　jerk！　He　rolls　across　the　country　three　weeks　outta　the　month　layin'　every　broad　on　the　highways；　then　blows　his　keister　when　he　finds　out　I　had　a　little　fun　of　my　own。〃
　〃Oh；　I'm　terribly　sorry。〃
　〃You'll　be　a　hell　of　a　lot　sorrier　if　he　catches　up　with　us。〃
　〃I　beg　your　pardon？〃
　〃You　really　a　doctor？〃
　〃Yes；　I　am。〃
　〃Maybe　we　can　do　business。〃
　〃I　beg　your　pardon？〃
　〃Can　you　handle　an　abortion？〃
　Morris　Panov　closed　his　eyes。
　
　22
　Bourne　walked　for　nearly　an　hour　through　the　streets　of　Paris　trying　to　clear　his　head；　ending　up　at　the　Seine；　on　the　Pont　de　Solferino；　the　bridge　that　led　to　the　Quai　des　Tuileries　and　the　gardens。　As　he　leaned　against　the　railing　absently　watching　the　boats　lazily　plowing　the　waters　below；　the　question　kept　assaulting　him：　Why；　why；　why？　What　did　Marie　think　she　was　doing？　Flying　over　to　Paris！　It　wasn't　just　foolish；　it　was　stupid…yet　his　wife　was　neither　a　fool　nor　an　idiot。　She　was　a　very　bright　lady　with　reserves　of　control　and　a　quick；　analytical　mind。　That　was　what　made　her　decision　so　untenable；　what　could　she　possibly　hope　to　acplish？　She　had　to　know　he　was　far　safer　working　alone　rather　than　worrying　about　her　while　tracking　the　Jackal。　Even　if　she　found　him；　the　risk　was　doubled　for　both　of　them；　and　that　she　had　to　understand　pletely。　Figures　and　projections　were　her　profession。　So　why？
　There　was　only　one　conceivable　answer；　and　it　infuriated　him。　She　thought　he　might　slip　back　over　the　edge　as　he　had　done　in　Hong　Kong；　where　she　alone　had　brought　him　to　his　senses；　to　the　reality　that　was　uniquely　his　own；　a　reality　of　frightening　half　truths　and　only　partial　remembrances；　episodic　moments　she　lived　with　every　day　of　their　lives　together。　God；　how　he　adored　her；　he　loved　her　so！　And　the　fact　that　she　had　made　this　foolish；　stupid；　untenable　decision　only　fueled　that　love　because　it　was　so…so　giving；　so　outrageously　unselfish。　There　were　moments　in　the　Far　East　when　he　had　craved　his　own　death；　if　only　to　expunge　the　guilt　he　felt　at　putting　her　in　such　dangerous…untenable？…positions。　The　guilt　was　still　there；　always　there；　but　the　aging　man　in　him　recognized　another　reality。　Their　children。　The　cancer　of　the　Jackal　had　to　be　ripped　out　of　all　their　lives。　Couldn't　she　realize　that　and　leave　him　alone？
　No。　For　she　was　not　flying　to　Paris　to　save　his　life…she　had　too　much　confidence　in　Jason　Bourne　for　that。　She　was　ing　to　Paris　to　save　his　mind。　I'll　handle　it；　Marie。　I　can　and　will　handle　it！
　Bernardine。　He　could　do　it。　The　Deuxième　could　find　her　at　Orly　or　De　Gaulle。　Find　her　and　take　her；　put　her　under　guard　at　a　hotel　and　claim　no　one　knew　where　he　was。　Jason　ran　from　the　Pont　de　Solferino　to　the　Quai　des　Tuileries　and　to　the　first　telephone　he　could　find。
　〃Can　you　do　it？〃　asked　Bourne。　〃She's　only　got　one　updated　passport　and　it's　American；　not　Canadian。〃
　〃I　can　try　on　my　own；〃　answered　Bernardine；　〃but　not　with　any　help　from　the　Deuxième。　I　don't　know　how　much　Saint　Alex　told　you；　but　at　the　moment　my　consultant　status　has　been　canceled　and　I　think　my　desk　has　been　thrown　out　the　window。〃
　〃Shit！〃
　〃Merde　to　the　triple；　mon　ami。　The　Quai　d'Orsay　wants　my　underwear　burned　with　me　in　it；　and　were　it　not　for　certain　information　I　possess　regarding　several　members　of　the　Assembly；　they　would　no　doubt　revive　the　guillotine。〃
　〃Can　you　pass　around　some　money　at　immigration？〃
　〃It　would　be　better　if　I　acted　in　my　former　official　capacity　on　the　assumption　that　the　Deuxième　does　not　so　swiftly　advertise　its　embarrassments。　Her　full　name；　please。〃
　〃Marie　Elise　St。　Jacques　Webb…〃
　〃Ah；　yes；　I　recall　now；　at　least　the　St。　Jacques；〃　broke　in　Bernardine。　〃The　celebrated　Canadian　economist。　The　newspapers　were　filled　with　her　photograph。　La　belle　mademoiselle。〃
　〃It　was　exposure　she　could　have　done　without。〃
　〃I'm　certain　it　was。〃
　〃Did　Alex　say　anything　about　Mo　Panov？〃
　〃Your　doctor　friend？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃I'm　afraid　not。〃
　〃Goddamn　it！〃
　〃If　I　may　suggest；　you　must　think　of　yourself　now。〃
　〃I　understand。〃
　〃Will　you　pick　up　the　car？〃
　〃Should　I？〃
　〃Frankly；　I　wouldn't　if　I　were　you。　It's　unlikely；　but　the　invoice　might　be　traced　back　to　me。　There's　risk；　however　minor。〃
　〃That's　what　I　thought。　I　bought　a　métro　map。　I'll　use　the　trains。　。。。　When　can　I　call　you？〃
　〃Give　me　four；　perhaps　five　hours　to　get　back　here　from　the　airports。　As　our　saint　explained；　your　wife　could　be　leaving　from　several　different　points　of　embarkation。　To　get　all　those　passenger　manifests　will　take　time。〃
　〃Concentrate　on　the　flights　arriving　early　tomorrow　morning。　She　can't　fake　a　passport；　she　wouldn't　know　how　to　do　it。〃
　〃According　to　Alex；　one　does　not　underestimate　Marie　Elise　St。　Jacques。　He　even　spoke　French。　He　said　she　was　formidable。〃
　〃She　can　e　at　you　from　the　outer　limits；　I'll　tell　you　that。〃
　〃Qu'est…ce　que　c'est？〃
　〃She's　an　original；　let's　leave　it　there。〃
　〃And　you？〃
　〃I'm　taking　the　subw