rl.thebourneultimatum-第67部分

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　〃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　subway。　It's　getting　dark。　I'll　call　you　after　midnight。〃
　〃Bonne　chance。〃
　〃Merci。〃
　Bourne　left　the　booth　knowing　his　next　move　as　he　limped　down　the　Quai；　the　bandage　around　his　knee　forcing　him　to　assume　a　damaged　leg。　There　was　a　métro　station　by　the　Tuileries　where　he　would　catch　a　train　to　Havre…Caumartin　and　switch　to　the　Regional　Express　north　line　past　St。…Denis…Basilique　to　Argenteuil。　Argenteuil；　a　town　of　the　Dark　Ages　founded　by　Charlemagne　in　honor　of　a　nunnery　fourteen　centuries　ago；　now　fifteen　hundred　years　later　a　city　that　housed　the　message　center　of　a　killer　as　brutal　as　any　man　who　roamed　the　bloody　fields　with　a　broadsword　in　Charlemagne's　barbaric　days；　then　as　now　celebrating　and　sanctifying　brutality　in　the　shadows　of　religiosity。
　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat　was　not　on　a　street　or　a　boulevard　or　an　avenue。　Instead；　it　was　in　a　dead…end　alleyway　around　the　corner　and　across　from　a　long…since…closed　factory　whose　faded　signs　indicated　a　once　flourishing　metallurgical　refining　plant　in　what　had　to　be　the　ugliest　part　of　the　city。　Nor　was　the　Soldat　listed　in　the　telephone　directory；　it　was　found　by　innocently　asking　strangers　where　it　was；　as　the　inquirer　was　to　meet　une　grosse　secousse　at　this　undiscoverable　pissoir。　The　more　dilapidated　the　buildings　and　the　filthier　the　streets；　the　more　cogent　were　the　directions。
　Bourne　stood　in　the　dark　narrow　alley　leaning　against　the　aged　rough　brick　of　the　opposing　structure　across　from　the　bistro's　entrance。　Above　the　thick　massive　door　in　square　block　letters；　several　missing；　was　a　dull　red　sign：　L　C　eur　d　Soldat。　As　the　door　was　sporadically　opened　for　entering　or　departing　clientele；　metallic　martial　music　blared　forth　into　the　alley；　and　the　clientele　were　not　candidates　for　an　haute　couture　cotillion。　His　appearance　was　in　keeping；　thought　Jason；　as　he　struck　a　wooden　match　against　the　brick；　lighting　a　thin　black　cigar　as　he　limped　toward　the　door。
　Except　for　the　language　and　the　deafening　music；　it　might　have　been　a　waterfront　bar　in　Sicily's　Palermo；　reflected　Bourne　as　he　made　his　way　to　the　crowded　bar；　his　squinting　eyes　roaming；　absorbing　everything　he　could　observe…briefly　confused；　wondering　when　he　had　been　in　Palermo；　Sicily。
　A　heavyset　man　in　a　tank　shirt　got　off　a　stool；　Jason　slid　on　top　of　it。　The　clawlike　hand　gripped　his　shoulder；　Bourne　slapped　his　right　hand　up；　grabbing　the　wrist　and　twisting　it　clockwise；　pushing　the　barstool　away　and　rising　to　his　full　height。　〃What's　your　problem？〃　he　asked　calmly　in　French　but　loud　enough　to　be　heard。
　〃That's　my　seat；　pig！　I'm　just　taking　a　piss！〃
　〃So　maybe　when　you're　finished；　I'll　take　one；〃　said　Jason；　his　gaze　boring　into　the　man's　eyes；　the　strength　of　his　grip　unmistakable…emphasized　by　pressing　a　nerve　with　his　thumb；　which　had　nothing　to　do　with　strength。
　〃Ah；　you're　a　fucking　cripple　。。。　！〃　cried　the　man；　trying　not　to　wince。　〃I　don't　pick　on　invalids。〃
　〃I'll　tell　you　what；〃　said　Bourne；　releasing　his　thumb。　〃You　e　back；　we'll　take　turns；　and　I'll　buy　you　a　drink　each　time　you　let　me　get　off　this　bum　leg　of　mine；　okay？〃
　Looking　up　at　Jason；　the　heavyset　man　slowly　grinned。　〃Hey；　you're　all　right。〃
　〃I'm　not　all　right；　but　I'm　certainly　not　looking　for　a　fight；'　either。　Shit；　you'd　hammer　me　to　the　floor。〃　Bourne　released　the　muscular　Tank　Shirt's　arm。
　〃I'm　not　so　sure　of　that；〃　said　the　man；　now　laughing　and　holding　his　wrist。　〃Sit；　sit！　I'll　take　a　piss　and　e　back　and　buy　you　a　drink。　You　don't　look　like　you're　loaded　with　francs。〃
　〃Well；　like　they　say；　appearances　are　deceiving；〃　replied　Jason；　sitting　down。　〃I've　got　different；　better　clothes　and　an　old　friend　told　me　to　meet　him　here　but　not　to　wear　them。　。。。　I　just　got　back　from　good　money　in　Africa。　You　know；　training　the　savages…〃
　Cymbals　crashed　in　the　metallic；　deafening　martial　music　as　Tank　Shirt's　eyes　widened。　〃Africa？〃　interrupted　the　stranger。　〃I　knew　it！　That　grip…LPN。〃
　What　remained　of　the　Chameleon's　memory　data　banks　expanded　into　the　code。　LPN…Legion　Patria　Nostra。　France's　Foreign　Legion；　the　mercenaries　of　the　world。　It　was　not　what　he　had　in　mind；　but　it　would　certainly　do。　〃Christ；　you　too？〃　he　asked；　again　coarsely　but　innocently。
　〃La　Légion　étrangère！　'The　Legion　is　our　Fatherland'！〃
　〃This　is　crazy！〃
　〃We　don't　announce　ourselves；　of　course。　There's　great　jealousy；　naturally；　because　we　were　the　best　and　we　were　paid　for　it；　but　still　these　are　our　people。　Soldiers！〃
　〃When　did　you　leave　the　Legion？〃　asked　Bourne；　sensing　a　cloud　that　could　be　troublesome。
　〃Ah；　nine　years　ago！　They　threw　me　out　before　my　second　conscription　for　overweight。　They　were　right　and　they　probably　saved　my　life。　I'm　from　Belgique；　a　corporal。〃
　〃I　was　discharged　a　month　ago；　before　my　first　term　was　over。　Wounds　during　our　incursion　into　Angola　and　the　fact　that　they　figured　I　was　older　than　my　papers　said。　They　don't　pay　for　extended　recoveries。〃　How　easily　the　words　came。
　〃Angola？　We　did　that？　What　was　the　Quai　d'Orsay　thinking　about。〃
　〃I　don't　know。　I'm　a　soldier；　I　follow　orders　and　don't　question　those　I　can't　understand。〃
　〃Sit！　My　kidneys　are　bursting。　I'll　be　right　back。　Maybe　we　know　friends。　。。。　I　never　heard　of　any　Angola　operation。〃
　Jason　leaned　forward　over　the　bulging　bar　and　ordered　une　bière；　grateful　that　the　bartender　was　too　busy　and　the　music　too　loud　for　the　man　to　have　overheard　the　conversation。　However；　he　was　infinitely　more　grateful　to　Saint　Alex　of　Conklin；　whose　primary　advice　to　a　field　agent　was　to　〃get　in　bad　with　a　mark　first　before　you　get　in　good；〃　the　theory　being　that　the　reversal　from　hostility　to　amiability　was　far　stronger　for　the　change。　Bourne　swallowed　the　beer　in　relief。　He　had　made　a　friend　at　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat。　It　was　an　inroad；　minor　but　vital；　and　perhaps　not　so　minor。
　Tank　Shirt　returned；　his　thick　arm　around　the　shoulders　of　a　younger　man　in　his　early　twenties；　of　medium　height　and　with　the　physique　of　a　large　safe；　he　was　wearing　an　American　field　jacket。　Jason　started　to　get　off　the　barstool。　〃Sit；　sit！〃　cried　his　new　friend；　leaning　forward　to　be　heard　through　the　crowds　and　the　music。　〃I　brought　us　a　virgin。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃You　forgot　so　quickly？　He's　on　his　way　to　being　a　Legion　recruit。〃
　〃Oh；　that；〃　laughed　Bourne；　covering　his　gaffe。　〃I　wondered　in　a　place　like　this…〃
　〃In　a　place　like　this；〃　broke　in　Tank　Shirt；　〃half　will　take　it　or　give　it　either　way　as　long　as　it's　rough。　But　that's　neither　here　nor　there。　I　thought　he　should　talk　to　you。　He's　American　and　his　French　is　grotesque；　but　if　you　speak　slow；　he'll　catch　on。
　〃No　need　to；〃　said　Jason　in　faintly　accented　English。　〃I　grew　up　in　Neufchвtel；　but　I　spent　several　years　in　the　States。〃
　〃That's　nice　to　heah。〃　The　American's　speech　was　distinctly　Deep　South；　his　smile　genuine；　his　eyes　wary　but　unafraid。
　〃Then　let　us　start　again；〃　said　the　Belgian　in　heavily　accented　English。　〃My　name　is　。。。　Maurice；　it's　as　good　a　name　as　any。　My　young　friend　here　is　Ralph；　at　least　he　says　it　is。　What's　yours；　my　wounded　hero？〃
　〃Francois；〃　replied　Jason；　thinking　of　Bernardine　and　wondering　briefly　how　he　was　doing　at　the　airports。　〃And　I'm　no　hero；　they　died　too　quickly。　。。。　Order　your　drinks；　I'm　paying。〃　They　did　and　Bourne　did；　his　mind　racing；　trying　to　recall　the　little　he　knew　about　the　French　Foreign　Legion。　〃A　lot　has　changed　in　nine　years；　Maurice。〃　How　very　easily　the　words　came；　thought　the　Chameleon。　〃Why　are　you　enlisting；　Ralph？〃
　〃Ah　figure　it's　the　wisest　thing　I　can　do…kinda　disappear　for　a　few　years；　and　I　understand　five　is　the　minimum。〃
　〃If　you　last　the　first；　mon　ami；〃　interjected　the　Belgian。
　〃Maurice　is　right。　Listen　to　him。　The　officers　are　tough　and　difficult…〃
　〃All　French！〃　added　the　Belgian。　〃Ninety　percent；　at　least。　Only　one　foreigner　in　perhaps　three　hundred　reach　the　officer　corps。　Have　no　illusions。〃
　〃But　Ah'm　a　college　man。　An　engineer。〃
　〃So　you'll　build　fine　latrines　for　the　camps　and　design　perfect　shit　holes　in　the　field；〃　laughed　Maurice。　〃Tell　him；　Fran？ois。　Explain　how　the　savants　are　treated。〃
　〃The　educated　ones　must　first　know　how　to　fight；〃　said　Jason；　hoping　he　was　right。
　〃Always　first！〃　exclaimed　the　Belgian。　〃For　their　schooling　is　suspicious。　Will　they　doubt？　Will　they　think　when　they　are　paid　only　to　follow　orders？　。。。　Oh；　no；　mon　ami；　I　would　not　emphasize　your　érudition。〃
　〃Let　it　e　out　gradually；〃　added　Bourne。　〃When　they　need　it；　not　when　you　want　to　offer　it。〃
　〃Bien！〃　cried　Maurice。　〃He　knows　what　he's　talking　about。　A　true　légionnaire！〃
　〃Can　you　fight？〃　asked　Jason。　〃Could　you　go　after　someone　to　kill　him？〃
　〃Ah　killed　mah　feeancee　and　her　two　brothers　and　a　cousin；　all　with　a　knife　and　my　bare　hands。　She　was　fuckin'　a　big　banker　in　Nashville　and　they　were　coverin'　for　her　because　he　was　payin'　all　of　'em　a　lot　of　money。　。。。　Yeah；　I　can　kill；　Mr。　Fran？ois。〃
　Manhunt　for　Crazed　Killer　in　Nashville
　Young　engineer　with　promising　future　escapes　dragnet。　。。。
　Bourne　remembered　the　newspaper　headlines　of　only　weeks　ago；　as　he　stared　at　the　face　of　the　young　American。　〃Go　for　the　Legion；〃　he　said。
　〃If　push　es　to　shove；　Mr。　Fran？ois；　could　I　use　you　as　a　reference？〃
　〃It　wouldn't　help　you；　young　man；　it　might　only　hurt。　If　you're　pressed；　just　tell　the　truth。　It's　your　credentials。〃
　〃Aussi　bien！　He　knows　the　Legion。　They　will　not　take　maniacs　if　they　can　help　it；　but　they…how　do　you　say　it；　Fran？ois？〃
　〃Look　the　other　way；　I　think。〃
　〃Oui。　They　look　the　other　way　when　there　are…encore；　Francois？〃
　〃When　there　are　extenuating　circumstances。〃
　〃See？　My　friend　Francois　also　has　brains。　I　wonder　how　he　survived。〃
　〃By　not　showing　them；　Maurice。〃
　A　waiter　wearing　about　the　filthiest　apron　Jason　had　ever　seen　clapped　the　Belgian　on　the　neck。　〃Votre　table；　René。〃
　〃So？〃　shrugged　Tank　Shirt。　〃Just　another　name。　Quelle　différence？　We　eat　and　with　good　fortune　we　will　not　be　poisoned。〃
　Two　hours　later；　with　four　bottles　of　rough　vin　ordinaire　consumed　by　Maurice　and　Ralph；　along　with　suspicious　fis