rl.thebourneidentity-第116部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ntation　stopped；　the　assassin's　mind　racing　to　the　practical。　'Did　Villiers　have　any　idea　when　Bourne　left　his　house？'
　'He　didn't　know。　I　told　you；　he　was　barely　lucid；　in　as　much　a　state　of　shock　as　with　his　telephone　call。'
　'It　doesn't　matter。　The　first　flights　to　the　United　States　began　within　the　past　hour。　He'll　be　on　one。　I'll　be　in　New　York　with　him；　and　I　won't　miss　this　time。。。　My　knife　will　be　waiting；　its　blade　a　razor。　I'll　peel　his　face　away；　the　Americans　will　have　their　Cain　without　a　face！　They　can　give　this　Bourne；　this　Delta；　whatever　name　they　care　to。'
　The　blue…striped　telephone　rang　on　Alexander　Conklin's　desk。　Its　bell　was　quiet；　the　understated　sound　lending　an　eerie　emphasis。　The　blue…striped　telephone　was　Conklin's　direct　line　to　the　puter　rooms　and　data　banks。　There　was　no　one　in　the　office　to　take　the　call。
　The　Central　Intelligence　executive　suddenly　rushed　limping　through　the　door；　unused　to　the　cane　provided　him　by　G…Two；　SHAPE；　Brussels　last　night；　when　he　had　mandeered　a　military　transport　to　Andrel　Field；　Virginia。　He　threw　the　cane　angrily　across　the　room　as　he　lurched　for　the　phone。　His　eyes　were　bloodshot　from　lack　of　sleep；　his　breath　short；　the　man　responsible　for　the　dissolution　of　Treadstone　was　exhausted。　He　had　been　in　scrambler…munication　with　a　dozen　branches　of　clandestine　operations　…　in　Washington　and　overseas　…　trying　to　undo　the　insanity　of　the　past　twenty…four　hours。　He　had　spread　every　scrap　of　information　he　could　cull　from　the　files　to　every　post　in　Europe；　placed　agents　in　the　Paris…London…Amsterdam　axis　on　alert。　Bourne　was
　alive　and　dangerous；　he　had　tried　to　kill　his　D。　C。　control；　he　could　be　anywhere　within　ten　hours　of　Paris。　All　airports　and　train　stations　were　to　be　covered；　all　underground　networks　activated。　Find　him！　Kill　him！
　'Yes？'　Conklin　braced　himself　against　the　desk　and　picked　up　the　phone。
　'This　is　puter　Dock　Twelve；〃　said　the　male　voice　efficiently。　'We　may　have　something。　At　least；　State　doesn't　have　any　listing　on　it。'
　'What；　for　Christ's　sake？'
　The　name　you　gave　us　four　hours　ago。　Washburn。'
　'What　about　it？'
　'A　George　P。　Washburn　was　pre…cleared　out　of　Paris　and　into　New　York　on　an　Air　France　flight　this　morning。　Wash…burn's　a　fairly　mon　name；　he　could　be　just　a　businessman　with　connections；　but　it　was　flagged　on　the　readout；　and　since　the　status　was　N。　A。　T。　O。…diplomatic；　we　checked　with　State。　They　never　heard　of　him。　There's　no　one　named　Wash…burn　involved　with　any　ongoing　N。　A。　T。　O。　negotiations　with　the　French　government　from　any　member　nation。〃
　Then　how　the　hell　was　he　pre…cleared？　Who　gave　him　the　diplomatic？〃
　'We　checked　back　through　Paris；　it　wasn't　easy。　Apparently　it　was　an　acmodation　of　the　Brevet　Militaire。　They're　a　quiet　bunch。'
　〃The　Brevet？　Where　do　they　get　off　clearing　our　people？〃
　'It　doesn't　have　to　be　〃our〃　people　or　〃their〃　people；　it　can　be　anybody。　Just　a　courtesy　from　the　host　country　and　that　was　a　French　carrier。　It's　one　way　to　get　a　decent　seat　on　an　overbooked　plane。　Incidentally；　Washburn's　passport　wasn't　even　U。　S。　It　was　British。〃
　There's　a　doctor；　an　Englishman　named　Washburn。。。　It　was　him！　It　was　Delta；　and　France's　Brevet　had　co…operated　with　him！　But　why　New　York？　What　was　in　New　York　for　him！　And　who　placed　so　high　in　Paris　would　acmodate　Delta？　What　had　he　told　them？　Oh；　Christ！　How　much　had　he　told　them？
　'When　did　the　flight　get　in？'　asked　Conklin。
　Ten　thirty…seven　this　morning。　A　little　over　an　hour　ago。'
　'All　right；'　said　the　man　whose　foot　had　been　blown　of　in　Medusa；　as　he　slid　painfully　around　the　desk　into　his　seat。　'You've　delivered；　and　now　I　want　this　scratched　from　the　reels。　Delete　it。　Everything　you　gave　me。　Is　that　clear？〃
　'Understood；　sir。　Deleted；　sir。〃
　Conklin　hung　up。　New　York。　New　York？　Not　Washington　but　New　York！　There　was　nothing　in　New　York　any　longer。　Delta　knew　that。　If　he　was　after　someone　in　Treadstone　…if　he　was　after　him　…　he　would　have　taken　a　flight　directly　to　Dulles。　What　was　in　New　York？
　And　why　had　Delta　deliberately　used　the　name　Washburn？　It　was　the　same　as　telegraphing　a　strategy；　he　knew　the　name　would　be　picked　up　sooner　or　later。。。　Later。。。　After　he　was　inside　the　gates！　Delta　was　telling　whatever　was　left　of　Tread…stone　that　he　was　dealing　from　strength。　He　was　in　a　position　to　expose　not　only　the　Treadstone　operation；　but　could　go　God　knows　how　much　further。　Whole　networks　he　had　used　as　Cain；　listening　posts　and　ersatz　consulates　that　were　no　more　than　electronic　espionage　stations。。。　even　the　bloody　spectre　of　Medusa。　His　connection　inside　the　Brevet　was　his　proof　to　Treadstone　how　high　he　had　travelled。　His　signal　that　if　he　could　reach　within　so　rarefied　a　group　of　strategists；　nothing　could　stop　him。　Goddamn　it；　stop　him　from　what！　What　was　the　point？　He　had　the　millions；　he　could　have　faded。'
　Conklin　shook　his　head；　remembering。　There　had　been　a　time　when　he　would　have　let　Delta　fade；　he　had　told　him　so　twelve　hours　ago　in　a　cemetery　outside　of　Paris。　A　man　could　take　only　so　much；　and　no　one　knew　that　better　than　Alexander　Conklin；　once　among　the　finest　covert　field　officers　in　the　intelligence　munity。　Only　so　much；　the　sanctimonious　bromides　about　still　being　alive　grew　stale　and　bitter　with　time。　It　depended　on　what　you　were　before；　what　you　became　with　your　deformity。　Only　so　much。。。　But　Delta　did　not　fade！　He　came　back　with　insane　statements；　insane　demands。。。　crazy　tactics　no　experienced　intelligence　officer　would　even　contemplate。　For　no　matter　how　much　explosive　information　he　possessed；　no　matter　how　high　he　penetrated；　no　sane　man　walked　back　into　a　minefield　surrounded　by　his　enemies。　And　all　the　blackmail　in　the　world　could　not　bring　you　back。。。
　No　sane　man。　No　sane　man。　Conklin　sat　slowly　forward　in　his　chair。
　I'm　not　Cain。　He　never　was。　I　never　was！　I　wasn't　in　New　York。。。It　was　Carlos！　Not　me；　Carlos！　If　what　you're　saying　took　place　on　Seventy…first　Street；　it　was　him！　He　knows！
　But　Delta　had　been　at　the　brownstone　on　Seventy…first　Street。　Prints　…　third　and　index　fingers；　right　hand。　And　the　method　of　transport　was　now　explained。　Air　France；　Brevet　cover。。。　Fact：　Carlos　could　not　have　known。
　Things　e　to　me。。。　faces；　streets；　buildings。　Images　I　can't　place。。。I　know　a　thousand　facts　about　Carlos；　but　I　don't　know　why！
　Conklin　closed　his　eyes。　There　was　a　phrase；　a　simple　code　phrase　that　had　been　used　at　the　beginning　of　Treadstone。　What　was　it？　It　came　from　Medusa。。。　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。　That　was　it。　Cain　for　Carlos。　Delta…Bourne　became　the　Cain　that　was　the　decoy　for　Carlos。
　Conklin　opened　his　eyes。　Jason　Bourne　was　to　replace　Ilyich　Ramirez　Sanchez。　That　was　the　entire　strategy　of　Tread…stone　Seventy…one。　It　was　the　keystone　to　the　whole　structure　of　deception；　the　parallax　that　would　draw　Carlos　out　of　position　into　their　sights。
　Bourne。　Jason　Bourne。　The　totally　unknown　map；　a　name　buried　for　a　decade；　a　piece　of　human　debris　left　in　a　jungle　ten　years　ago。　But　he　had　existed；　that；　too；　was　part　of　the　strategy。
　Conklin　separated　the　folders　on　his　desk　until　he　found　the　one　he　was　looking　for。　It　had　no　title；　only　an　initial　and　two　numbers　followed　by　a　black　X；　signifying　that　it　was　the　only　folder　containing　the　origins　of　Tread…stone。
　T…7　X　The　birth　of　Treadstone　71。
　He　opened　it；　almost　afraid　to　see　what　he　knew　was　there。
　Date　of　execution。　Tarn　Quan　Sector。　25　March。。。
　Conklin's　eyes　moved　to　the　calendar　on　his　desk。
　24　March。
　'Oh；　my　God；'　he　whispered；　reaching　for　the　telephone。
　Dr　Morris　Panov　walked　through　the　double　doors　of　the　psychiatric　ward　on　the　third　floor　of　Bethesda's　Naval　Annex　and　approached　the　nurses'　counter。　He　smiled　at　the　uniformed　aide　shuffling　index　cards　under　the　stern　gaze　of　the　Head　Boor　Nurse　standing　beside　her。　Apparently　the　young　trainee　had　misplaced　a　patient's　file　…　if　not　a　patient　…　and　her　superior　was　not　going　to　let　it　happen　again。
　'Don't　let　Annie's　whip　fool　you；'　said　Panov　to　the　flustered　girl　'Underneath　those　cold；　inhuman　eyes　is　a　heart　of　sheer　granite。　Actually；　she　escaped　from　the　fifth　floor　two　weeks　ago　but　we're　all　afraid　to　tell　a