rl.thebourneidentity-第106部分

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　'I　believe　you。〃
　'But　they　didn't　do　that；　they　didn't　even　suggest　it。　Instead；　they're　stalling　me；　making　me　play　games。　Goddamn　it；　why？'
　'You　said　it　yourself；　Jason。　They　haven't　heard　from　you　in　six　months。　They're　being　very　careful。'
　'Why　this　way？　They　get　me　inside　those　gates；　they　can　do　whatever　they　want。　They　control　me。　They　can　throw　me　a　party　or　throw　me　into　a　cell。　Instead；　they　don't　want　to　touch　me；　but　they　don't　want　to　lose　me；　either。'
　〃They're　waiting　for　the　man　flying　over　from　Washington。'
　'What　better　place　to　wait　for　him　than　in　the　embassy？'　Bourne　pushed　back　his　chair。　'Something's　wrong。　Let's　get　out　of　here。'
　It　had　taken　Alexander　Conklin；　inheritor　of　Treadstone；　exactly　six　hours　and　twelve　minutes　to　cross　the　Atlantic。　To　go　back　he　would　take　the　first　Concorde　flight　out　of　Paris　in　the　morning；　reach　Dulles　by　7：30　Washington　time　and　be　at　Langley　at　9：00。　If　anyone　tried　to　phone　him　or　asked　where　he　had　spent　the　night；　an　acmodating　major　from　the　Pentagon　would　supply　a　false　answer。　And　a　First　Secretary　at　the　embassy　in　Paris　would　be　told　that　if　he　ever　mentioned　having　had　a　single　conversation　with　the　man　from　Langley；　he'd　be　descaled　to　the　lowest　attaché　on　the　ladder　and　shipped　to　a　new　post　in　Tierra　del　Fuego。　It　was　guaranteed。
　Conklin　went　directly　to　a　row　of　pay　phones　against　the　wall　and　called　the　embassy。　The　First　Secretary　was　filled　with　a　sense　of　acplishment。
　'Everything's　according　to　schedule；　Conklin；'　said　the　embassy　man；　the　absence　of　the　previously　employed　Mister　a　sign　of　equality。　The　pany　executive　was　in　Paris　now；　and　turf　was　turf。　'Bourne's　edgy。　During　our　last　munication；　he　repeatedly　asked　why　he　wasn't　being　told　to　e　in。'
　'He　did？'　At　first；　Conklin　was　surprised；　then　he　understood。　Delta　was　feigning　the　reactions　of　a　man　who　knew　nothing　of　the　events　on　Seventy…first　Street。　If　he　had　been　told　to　e　to　the　embassy；　he　would　have　bolted。　He　knew　better；　there　could　be　no　official　connection。　Treadstone　was　an　anathema；　a　discredited　strategy；　a　major　embarrassment。　'Did　you　reiterate　that　the　streets　were　being　watched？'
　'Naturally。　Then　he　asked　me　who　was　watching　them。　Can　you　imagine？'
　'I　can。　What　did　you　say？'
　'That　he　knew　as　well　as　I　did；　and　all　things　considered　I　thought　it　was　counter…productive　to　discuss　such　matters　over　the　telephone。'
　'Very　good。'
　'I　rather　thought　so。'
　'What　did　he　say　to　that？　Did　he　settle　for　it？'
　'In　an　odd　way；　yes。　He　said；　〃I　see；〃　that's　all。'
　'Did　he　change　his　mind　and　ask　for　protection？'
　'He's　continued　to　refuse　it。　Even　when　I　insisted。'　The　First　Secretary　paused　briefly。　'He　doesn't　want　to　be　watched；　does　he？'　he　said　confidentially。
　'No；　he　doesn't。　When　do　you　expect　his　next　call？〃
　'In　about　fifteen　minutes。'
　Tell　him　the　Treadstone　officer　has　arrived。'　Conklin　took　the　map　from　his　pocket；　it　was　folded　to　the　area；　the　route　marked　in　blue　ink。　'Say　the　rendezvous　has　been　set　for　one…thirty　on　the　road　between　Chevreuse　and　Rambouillet；　seven　miles　south　of　Versailles　at　the　Cimetiere　de　Noblesse。'
　'One…thirty；　road　between　Chevreuse　and　Rambouillet。。。　the　cemetery。　Will　he　know　how　to　get　there？〃
　'He's　been　there　before。　If　he　says　he's　going　by　taxi；　tell　him　to　take　the　normal　precautions　and　dismiss　it。'
　'Won't　that　appear　strange？　To　the　driver；　I　mean。　It's　an　odd　hour　for　mourning。'
　'I　said　you're　to　〃tell　him〃　that。　Obviously；　he　won't　take　a　taxi。'
　'Obviously；'　said　the　First　Secretary　quickly；　recovering　by　volunteering　the　unnecessary。　'Since　I　haven't　called　your　man　here；　shall　I　call　him　now　and　tell　him　you've　arrived？'
　'I'll　take　care　of　that。　You've　still　got　his　number？'
　'Yes；　of　course。'
　'Burn　it；'　ordered　Conklin。　'Before　it　burns　you。　I'll　call　you　back　in　twenty　minutes。'
　A　train　thundered　by　in　the　lower　level　of　the　Metro；　the　vibrations　felt　throughout　the　platform。　Bourne　hung　up　the　pay　phone　on　the　concrete　wall　and　stared　for　a　moment　at　the　mouthpiece。　Another　door　had　partially　opened　somewhere　in　the　distance　of　his　mind；　the　light　too　far　away；　too　dim　to　see　inside。　Still；　there　were　images。　On　the　road　to　Rambouillet。。。　through　an　archway　of　iron　latticework。。。　a　gently　sloping　hill　with　white　marble。　Crosses　…　large；　larger；　mausoleums。。。　and　statuary　everywhere。　La　Cimetiere　de　Noblesse。　A　cemetery；　but　far　more　than　a　resting　place　for　the　dead。　A　drop；　but　even　more　than　that　A　place　where　conversations　took　place。。。　amid　burials　and　the　lowering　of　caskets。　Two　men　dressed　somberly　as　the　crowds　were　dressed　sombrely；　moving　between　the　mourners　until　they　met　among　the　mourners　and　exchanged　the　words　they　had　to　say　to　each　other。
　There　was　a　face；　but　it　was　blurred；　out　of　focus；　he　saw　only　the　eyes。　And　that　unfocused　face　and　those　eyes　had　a　name。　David。。。　Abbott。　The　Monk。　The　man　he　knew　but　did　not　know。　Creator　of　Medusa　and　Cain。　And　now　himself　dead；　part　of　a　cemetery　somewhere。
　Jason　blinked　several　times　and　shook　his　head　as　if　to　shake　the　sudden　mists　away。　He　glanced　over　at　Marie　who　was　fifteen　feet　to　his　left　against　the　wall；　supposedly　scanning　the　crowds　on　the　platform；　watching　for　someone　possibly　watching　him。　She　was　not；　she　was　looking　at　him　herself；　a　frown　of　concern　across　her　face。　He　nodded；　reassuring　her；　it　was　not　a　bad　moment　for　him。　Instead；　images　had　e　to　him。　He　had　been　to　that　cemetery；　somehow　he　would　know　it。　He　walked　towards　Marie；　she　turned　and　fell　in　step　beside　him　as　they　headed　for　the　exit。
　'He's　here；'　said　Bourne。　'Treadstone's　arrived。　I'm　to　meet　him　near　Rambouillet。　At　a　cemetery。'
　〃That's　a　ghoulish　touch。　Why　a　cemetery？'
　'It's　supposed　to　reassure　me。'
　'Good　God；　how？'
　'I've　been　there　before。　I've　met　people　there。。。　a　man　there。　By　naming　it　as　the　rendezvous　…　an　unusual　rendezvous　…　Treadstone's　telling　me　he's　genuine。'
　She　took　his　arm　as　they　climbed　the　steps　towards　the　street　'I　want　to　go　with　you。'
　'Sorry。'
　'You　can't　exclude　met！'
　'I　have　to；　because　I　don't　know　what　I'm　going　to　find　there。　And　if　it's　not　what　I　expect；　I'll　want　someone　on　my　side。'
　'Darling；　that　doesn't　make　sense！　I'm　being　hunted　by　the　police。　If　they　find　me；　they'll　send　me　back　to　Zurich　on　the　next　plane：　you　said　so　yourself。　What　good　would　I　be　to　you　in　Zurich？'
　'Not　you。　Villiers。　He　trusts　us；　he　trusts　you。　You　can　reach　him　if　I'm　not　back　by　daybreak；　or　haven't　called　explaining　why。　He　can　make　a　lot　of　noise；　and　God　knows　he's　ready　to。　He's　the　one　back…up　we've　got；　the　only　one。　To　be　more　specific；　his　wife　is　…　through　him。'
　Marie　nodded；　accepting　his　logic。　'He's　ready；〃　she　agreed。　'How　will　you　get　to　Rambouillet？'
　'We　have　a　car；　remember？　I'll　take　you　to　the　hotel；　then　head　over　to　the　garage。'
　He　stepped　inside　the　lift　of　the　garage　plex　in　Montmartre　and　pressed　the　button　for　the　third　floor。　His　mind　was　on　a　cemetery　somewhere　between　Chevreuse　and　Rambouillet；　on　a　road　he　had　driven　over　but　had　no　idea　when　or　for　what　purpose。
　Which　was　why　he　wanted　to　drive　there　now；　not　wait　until　his　arrival　corresponded　more　closely　to　the　time　of　rendezvous。　If　the　images　that　came　to　his　mind　were　not　pletely　distorted；　it　was　an　enormous　cemetery。　Where　precisely　within　those　acres　of　graves　and　statuary　was　the　meeting　ground？　He　would　get　there　by　1：00；　leaving　a　half　hour　to　walk　up　and　down　the　paths　looking　for　a　pair　of　headlights　or　a　signal。　Other　things　would　e　to　him。
　The　lift　door　scraped　open。　The　floor　was　three…quarters　filled　with　cars；　deserted　otherwise。　Jason　tried　to　recall　where　he　had　parked　the　Renault；　it　was　in　a　far　corner；　he　remembered　that；　but　was　it　on　the　right　or　the　left？　He　started　tentatively　to　the　left；　the　lift　had　been　on　his　left　when　he　had　driven　the　car　up　several　days　ago。　He　stopped；　logic　abruptly　orienting　him。　The　lift　had　been　on　his　left　when　he　had　entered；　not　after　he　had　parked　the　car；　it　had　been　diagonally　to　his　right　then。　He　turned；　his　movement　rapid；　his　thoughts　on　a　road　between　Chevreuse　and　Rambouillet
　Whether　it　was　the