rl.thebourneultimatum-第77部分

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pporting　a　variety　of　flowering　vines；　a　barrage　of　color　in　the　French　moonlight。
　〃That's　quite　a　sight；〃　mented　Jason。　〃It　didn't　e　about　through　neglect。〃
　〃Ah；　it　is　a　passion　with　Santos！　No　one　understands　it；　but　no　one　touches　a　single　flower；　either。〃
　Fascinating。
　Bourne　was　led　to　a　small　outside　elevator　whose　steel　frame　was　attached　to　the　stone　wall　of　the　building。　There　was　no　other　access　in　sight。　The　conveyance　barely　held　the　three　of　them；　and　once　the　iron　gate　was　closed；　the　silent　messenger　pressed　a　button　in　the　darkness　and　spoke。　〃We　are　here；　Santos。　Camellia。　Bring　us　up。〃
　〃Camellia？〃　asked　Jason。
　〃He　knows　everything　is　all　right。　If　not；　my　friend　might　have　said　'lily'　or　'rose。'　〃
　〃What　would　happen　then？〃
　〃You　don't　want　to　think　about　it。　I　don't　care　to　think　about　it。〃
　〃Naturally。　Of　course。〃
　The　outside　elevator　stopped　with　a　disturbing　double　jerk；　and　the　quiet　messenger　opened　a　thick　steel　door　that　required　his　full　weight　to　open。　Bourne　was　led　into　the　familiar　room　with　the　tasteful；　expensive　furniture；　the　bookcases　and　the　single　floor　lamp　that　illuminated　Santos　in　his　outsized　armchair。　〃You　may　leave；　my　friends；〃　said　the　large　man；　addressing　the　messengers。　〃Pick　up　your　money　from　the　faggot；　and　for　God's　sake；　tell　him　to　give　René　and　the　American　who　calls　himself　Ralph　fifty　francs　apiece　and　get　them　out　of　here。　They're　pissing　in　the　corners。　。。。　Say　the　money's　from　their　friend　from　last　night　who　forgot　about　them。〃
　〃Oh；　shit！〃　exploded　Jason。
　〃You　did　forget；　didn't　you？〃　Santos　grinned。
　〃I've　had　other　things　on　my　mind。〃
　〃Yes；　sir！　Yes；　Santos！〃　The　two　messengers；　instead　of　heading　for　the　back　of　the　room　and　the　elevator；　opened　a　door　in　the　left　wall　and　disappeared。　Bourne　looked　after　them；　bewildered。
　〃There　is　a　staircase　leading　to　our　kitchen；　such　as　it　is；〃　said　Santos；　answering　Jason's　unspoken　question。　〃The　door　can　be　opened　from　this　side；　not　from　the　steps　below　except　by　me。　。。。　Sit　down；　Monsieur　Simon。　You　are　my　guest。　How　is　your　head？〃
　〃The　swelling's　gone　down；　thank　you。〃　Bourne　sat　on　the　large　couch；　sinking　into　the　pillows；　it　was　not　an　authoritative　position；　nor　was　it　not　meant　to　be。　〃I　understand　you　have　peace　in　your　heart。〃
　〃And　a　desire　for　three　million　francs　in　the　avaricious　section　of　that　heart。〃
　〃Then　you　were　satisfied　with　your　call　to　London？〃
　〃No　one　could　have　programmed　that　man　into　reacting　the　way　he　did。　There　is　a　Snake　Lady　and　she　instills　extraordinary　devotion　and　fear　in　high　places…which　means　that　female　serpent　is　not　without　power。〃
　〃That's　what　I　tried　to　tell　you。〃
　〃Your　word　is　accepted。　Now；　let　me　recapitulate　your　request；　your　demand；　as　it　were…〃
　〃My　restrictions；〃　interrupted　Jason。
　〃Very　well；　your　restrictions；〃　agreed　Santos。　〃You　and　you　alone　must　reach　the　blackbird；　correct？〃
　〃It's　an　absolute。〃
　〃Again；　I　must　ask　why？〃
　〃Speaking　frankly；　you　already　know　too　much；　more　than　my　clients　realize；　but　then　none　of　them　was　about　to　lose　his　own　life　on　the　second　floor　of　a　café　in　Argenteuil。　They　want　nothing　to　do　with　you；　they　want　no　traces；　and　in　that　area　you're　vulnerable。〃
　〃How？〃　Santos　crashed　his　fist　against　the　arm　of　the　chair。
　〃An　old　man　in　Paris　with　a　police　record　who　tried　to　warn　a　member　of　the　Assembly　that　he　was　to　be　assassinated。　He　was　the　one　who　mentioned　the　blackbird；　he　was　the　one　who　spoke　of　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat。　Fortunately；　our　man　heard　him　and　silently　passed　the　word　to　my　clients；　but　that's　not　good　enough。　How　many　other　old　men　in　Paris　in　their　senile　delusions　may　mention　Le　Coeur　du　Soldat…and　you？　。。。　No；　you　can　have　nothing　to　do　with　my　clients。〃
　〃Even　through　you？〃
　〃I　disappear；　you　don't。　Although；　in　all　honesty；　I　believe　you　should　think　about　doing　so。　。。。　Here；　I　brought　you　something。〃　Bourne　sat　forward　on　the　couch　and　reached　into　his　back　pocket。　He　pulled　out　a　roll　of　tightly　wound　franc　notes　held　together　by　a　thick　elastic　band。　He　threw　it　over　to　Santos；　who　caught　it　effortlessly　in　midair。　〃Two　hundred　thousand　francs　on　account…I　was　authorized　to　give　this　to　you。　On　a　best…efforts　basis。　You　give　me　the　information　I　need；　I　deliver　it　to　London；　and　whether　or　not　the　blackbird　accepts　my　clients'　offer；　you　still　receive　the　balance　of　the　three　million。〃
　〃But　you　could　disappear　before　then；　couldn't　you？〃
　〃Have　me　watched　as　you've　been　doing；　have　me　followed　to　London　and　back。　I'll　even　call　you　with　the　names　of　the　airlines　and　the　flight　numbers。　What　could　be　fairer？〃
　〃One　thing　more　could　be　fairer；　Monsieur　Simon；〃　replied　Santos；　pushing　his　immense　frame　out　of　the　chair　and　baronially　striding　to　a　card　table　against　the　lacquered　brick　wall　of　his　flat。　〃If　you　will；　please　e　over　here。〃
　Jason　rose　from　the　couch　and　walked　over　to　the　card　table；　instantly　astonished。　〃You're　thorough；　aren't　you？〃
　〃I　try　to　be。　。。。　Oh；　don't　blame　the　concierges；　they　belong　to　you。　I'm　much　further　below　scale。　Chambermaids　and　stewards　are　more　to　my　liking。　They're　not　so　spoiled　and　nobody　really　misses　them　if　they　don't　show　up　one　day。〃
　Spread　across　the　table　were　Bourne's　three　passports；　courtesy　of　Cactus　in　Washington；　as　well　as　the　gun　and　the　knife　taken　from　him　last　night。　〃You're　very　convincing；　but　it　doesn't　solve　anything；　does　it？〃
　〃We'll　see；〃　answered　Santos。　〃I'll　accept　your　money　now…for　my　best　efforts…but　instead　of　your　flying　to　London；　have　London　fly　to　Paris。　Tomorrow　morning。　When　he　arrives　at　the　Pont…Royal；　you'll　call　me…I'll　give　you　my　private　number；　of　course…and　we'll　play　the　Soviets'　game。　Exchange　for　exchange；　like　walking　across　a　bridge　with　our　respective　prisoners　in　tow。　The　money　for　the　information。〃
　〃You're　crazy；　Santos。　My　clients　don't　expose　themselves　that　way。　You　just　lost　the　rest　of　the　three　million。〃
　〃Why　not　try　them？　They　could　always　hire　a　blind；　couldn't　they？　An　innocent　tourist　with　a　false　bottom　in　his　or　her　Louis　Vuitton　carryon？　No　alarms　are　set　off　with　paper。　Try　it！　It　is　the　only　way　you'll　get　what　you　want；　monsieur。〃
　〃I'll　do　what　I　can；〃　said　Bourne。
　〃Here　is　my　telephone。〃　Santos　picked　up　a　prearranged　card　from　the　table　with　numbers　scrawled　across　it。　〃Call　me　when　London　arrives。　In　the　meantime；　I　assure　you；　you　will　be　watched。〃
　〃You're　a　real　swell　guy。〃
　〃I'll　escort　you　to　the　elevator。〃
　Marie　sat　up　in　bed；　sipping　hot　tea　in　the　dark　room；　listening　to　the　sounds　of　Paris　outside　the　windows。　Not　only　was　sleep　impossible；　but　it　was　intolerable；　a　waste　of　time　when　every　hour　counted。　She　had　taken　the　earliest　flight　from　Marseilles　to　Paris　and　had　gone　directly　to　the　Meunce　on　the　rue　de　Rivoli；　the　same　hotel　where　she　had　waited　thirteen　years　ago；　waited　for　a　man　to　listen　to　reason　or　lose　his　life；　and　in　doing　so；　losing　a　large　part　of　hers。　She　had　ordered　a　pot　of　tea　then；　and　he　had　e　back　to　her；　she　ordered　tea　now　from　the　night　floor　steward；　absently　perhaps；　as　if　the　repeated　ritual　might　bring　about　a　repetition　of　his　appearance　so　long　ago。
　Oh；　God；　she　had　seen　him！　It　was　no　illusion；　no　mistake；　it　was　David！　She　had　left　the　hotel　at　midmorning　and　begun　wandering；　going　down　the　list　she　had　made　on　the　plane；　heading　from　one　location　to　another　without　any　logical　sequence　in　mind；　simply　following　the　succession　of　places　as　they　had　e　to　her…that　was　her　sequence。　It　was　a　lesson　she　had　learned　from　Jason　Bourne　thirteen　years　ago：　When　running　or　hunting；　analyze　your　options　but　remember　your　first。　It's　usually　the　cleanest　and　the　best。　Most　of　the　time　you'll　take　it。
　So　she　had　followed　the　list；　from　the　pier　of　the　Bateau　Mouche　at　the　base　of　the　avenue　George　V　to　the　bank　on　the　Madeleine　。。。　to　the　Trocadéro。　She　had　wandered　aimlessly　along　the　terraces　of　the　last；　as　if　in　a　trance；　looking　for　a　statue　she　could　not　remember；　jostled　by　the　intermittent　groups　of　tourists　led　by　loud；　officious　guides。　The　huge　statues　all　began　to　look　alike；　she　had　felt　light…headed。　The　late　August　sun　was　blinding。　She　was　about　to　sit　down　on　a　marble　bench；　remembering　yet　another　dictate　from　Jason　Bourne：　Rest　is　a　weapon。　Suddenly；　up　ahead；　she　saw　a　man　wearing　a　cap　and　a　dark　V…necked　sweater；　he　had　turned　and　raced　toward　the　palatial　stone　steps　that　led　to　the　avenue　Gustave　V。　She　knew　that　run；　that　stride；　she　knew　it　better　than　anyone！　How　often　had　she　watched　him…frequently　from　behind　bleachers；　sight　unseen…as　he　had　pounded　around　the　university　track；　ridding　himself　of　the　furies　that　had　gripped　him。　It　was　David！　She　had　leaped　up　from　the　bench　and　raced　after　him。
　〃David！　David；　it's　me！　。。。　Jason！〃
　She　had　collided　with　a　tour　guide　leading　a　group　of　Japanese。　The　man　was　incensed；　she　was　furious；　so　she　furiously　pummeled　her　way　through　the　astonished　Orientals；　the　majority　shorter　than　she　was；　but　her　superior　sight　lines　were　no　help。　Her　husband　had　disappeared。　Where　had　he　gone？　Into　the　gardens？　Into　the　street　with　the　crowds　and　the　traffic　from　the　Pont　d'Iéna？　For　Christ's　sake；　where？
　〃Jason！〃　she　had　screamed　at　the　top　of　her　voice。　〃Jason；　e　back！〃
　People　had　looked　at　her；　some　with　the　empathetic　glances　of　lovers　burned；　most　simply　disapproving。　She　had　run　down　the　never…ending　steps　to　the　street；　spending…how　long　a　time　she　could　not　recall…searching　for　him。　Finally；　in　exhaustion；　she　had　taken　a　taxi　back　to　the　Meurice。　In　a　daze；　she　reached　her　room　and　fell　on　the　bed；　refusing　to　let　the　tears　e。　It　was　no　time　for　tears。　It　was　a　time　for　a　brief　rest　and　food；　energy　to　be　restored；　the　lessons　of　Jason　Bourne。　Then　back　into　the　streets；　the　hunt　to　continue。　And　as　she　lay　there；　staring　at　the　wall；　she　felt　a　swelling　in　her　chest；　in　her　lungs　perhaps；　and　it　was　acpanied　by　a　sense　of　passive　elation。　As　she　was　looking　for　David；　he　was　looking　for　her。　Her　husband　had　not　run　away；　even　Jason　Bourne　had　not　run　away。　Neither　part　of　the　same　man　could　have　seen　her。　There　had　been　another　unknown　reason　for　the　sudden；　hurried　exit　from　the　Tro