rl.thebourneidentity-第24部分

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why　are　you　here　now？'
　Because　I　have　to　know。　Because　I'm　going　out　of　my　mind。　I　see　things　and　I　hear　things　I　do　not　understand。　I'm　a　skilled；　resourceful。。。　vegetable！　Help　me！
　Bourne　moved　away　from　the　chair；　he　walked　aimlessly　towards　a　bookcase　where　there　were　several　upright　photographs　recessed　against　the　wall。　They　explained　the　man　behind　him。　Groups　of　German　soldiers；　some　with　alsatians；　posing　outside　barracks　and　by　fences。。。　and　in　front　of　a　high…wire　gate　with　part　of　a　name　showing。　DACH。。。Dachau。
　The　man　behind　him。　He　was　moving！　Jason　turned；　the　legless　Chernak　had　his　hand　in　the　canvas　bag　strapped　to　his　chair；　his　eyes　were　on　fire；　his　ravaged　face　contorted。　The　hand　came　out　swiftly；　in　it　a　short…barrelled　revolver；　and　before　Bourne　could　reach　his　own；　Chernak　fired。　The　shots　came　rapidly；　the　icelike　pain　filling　his　left　shoulder；　then　head　…　oh　God　I　He　dived　to　his　right；　spinning　on　the　rug；　shoving　a　heavy　floor　lamp　towards　the　cripple；　spinning　again　until　he　was　at　the　far　side　of　the　wheelchair。　He　crouched　and　lunged；　crashing　his　right　shoulder　into　Chernak's　back；　sending　the　legless　man　out　of　the　chair　as　he　reached　into　his　pocket　for　the　gun。
　'They'll　pay　for　your　corpse！　Screamed　the　deformed　man；　writhing　on　the　floor；　trying　to　steady　his　slumped　body　long　enough　to　level　his　weapon。　'You　won't　put　me　in　a　coffin！　I'll　see　you　there！　Carlos　will　pay！　By　Christ；　he'll　pay！'
　Jason　sprang　to　the　left　and　fired。　Chernak's　head　snapped　back；　his　throat　erupting　blood。　He　was　dead。
　A　cry　came　from　the　door　of　the　bedroom。　It　grew　in　depth；　low　and　hollow；　an　elongated　wail；　fear　and　revulsion　weaved　into　the　chord。　A　woman's　cry。。。　of　course；　it　was　a　woman！　His　hostage；　his　conduit　out　of　Zurich！　Oh；　Jesus；　he　could　not　focus　his　eyes！　His　temple　was　in　agony！
　He　found　his　vision；　refusing　to　acknowledge　the　pain。　He　saw　a　bathroom；　the　door　open；　towels　and　a　basin　and　a。。。　mirrored　cabinet。　He　ran　in；　pulled　the　mirror　back　with　such　force　that　it　jumped　its　hinges；　crashing　to　the　floor；　shattered。　Shelves。　Rolls　of　gauze　and　plaster　and。。。　they　were　ad　he　could　grab。　He　had　to　get　out。。。　gunshots；　gunshots　were　alarms。　He　had　to　get　out；　take　his　hostage；　and　get　away！　The　bedroom；　the　bedroom。　Where　was　it？
　The　cry；　the　wail。。。　follow　the　cry！　He　reached　the　door　and　kicked　it　open　The　woman。。。　his　hostage　…　what　the　hell　was　her　name！　…　was　pressed　against　the　wall；　tears　streaming　down　her　face；　her　lips　parted。　He　rushed　in　and　grabbed　her　by　the　wrist；　dragging　her　out。
　'My　God；　you　killed　him！'　she　cried。　'An　old　man　with　no。。。'
　'Shut　up'。'　He　pushed　her　towards　the　door；　opened　it　and　shoved　her　into　the　hallway。　He　could　see　blurred　figures　in　open　spaces；　by　railings；　inside　rooms。　They　began　running；　disappearing；　he　heard　doors　slam；　people　shout。　He　took　the　woman's　arm　with　his　left　hand；　the　grip　caused　shooting　pains　in　his　shoulder。　He　propelled　her　to　the　staircase　and　forced　her　to　descend　with　him；　using　her　for　support；　his　right　hand　holding　the　gun。
　They　reached　the　lobby　and　the　heavy　door。　'Open　it！'　he　ordered；　she　did。　They　passed　the　row　of　letterboxes　to　the　outside　entrance。　He　released　her　briefly；　opening　the　door　himself；　peering　out　into　the　street；　listening　for　sirens。　There　were　none。　'e　on！'　he　said；　pulling　her　out　to　the　stone　steps　and　down　to　the　pavement。　He　reached　into　his　pocket；　wincing；　taking　out　the　car　keys。　'Get　in！'
　Inside　the　car　he　unravelled　the　gauze；　bunching　it　against　the　side　of　his　head；　blotting　the　trickle　of　blood。　From　deep　inside　his　conscious；　there　was　a　strange　feeling　of　relief。　The　wound　was　a　graze；　the　fact　that　it　had　been　his　head　had　sent　him　into　panic；　but　the　bullet　had　not　entered　his　skull。　It　had　not　entered；　there　would　be　no　return　to　the　agonies　of　Port　Noir。
　'Goddamn　it；　start　the　car！　Get　out　of　here！'
　'Where？　You　didn't　say　where。'　The　woman　was　not　screaming；　instead　she　was　calm。　Unreasonably　calm。　Looking　at　him。。。　was　she　looking　at　him？
　He　was　feeling　dizzy　again；　losing　focus　again。　Steppdeckstrasse。。。〃　He　heard　the　word　as　he　spoke　it；　not　sure　the　voice　was　his。　But　he　could　picture　the　doorway。　Faded　dark…red　paint；　cracked　glass。。。　rusted　iron。　'Steppdeckstrasse；'　he　repeated。
　What　was　wrong？　Why　wasn't　the　engine　running？　Why　'　didn't　the　car　move　forward。　Didn't　she　hear　him？
　His　eyes　were　closed；　he　opened　them。　The　gun＇　It　was　on　his　lap；　he　had　set　it　down　to　press　the　bandage。。　she　was　hitting　it；　hitting　it！　The　weapon　crashed　to　the　floor；　he　reached　down　and　she　pushed　him；　sending　his　head　into　the　window。　Her　door　opened　and　she　leaped　out　into　the　street　and　began　running。　She　was　running　away！　His　hostage；　his　conduit　was　racing　up　the　Lowenstrasse！
　He　could　not　stay　in　the　car；　he　dared　not　try　to　drive　it。　It　was　a　steel　trap；　marking　him。　He　put　the　gun　in　his　pocket　with　the　roll　of　plaster；　and　grabbed　the　gauze；　clutching　it　in　his　left　hand；　ready　to　press　it　against　his　temple　at　the　first　recurrence　of　blood。　He　got　out　and　limped　as　fast　as　he　could　down　the　pavement。
　Somewhere　there　was　a　corner；　somewhere　a　taxi。　Steppdeckstrasse。
　Marie　St　Jacques　kept　running　in　the　middle　of　the　wide；　deserted　avenue；　in　and　out　of　the　spills　of　the　street　lamps；　waving　her　arms　at　the　cars　in　the　Lowenstrasse。　They　sped　by　her。　She　turned　in　the　wash　of　headlights　behind　her；　holding　up
　her　hands；　pleading　for　attention；　the　can　accelerated　and　passed　her　by。　This　was　Zurich；　and　the　Lowenstrasse　at　night　was　too　wide；　too　dark；　too　near　the　deserted　park　and　the　river　Sihl。
　The　men　in　one　car；　however；　were　aware　of　her。　Its　headlights　were　off；　the　driver　inside　having　seen　the　woman　in　the　distance。　He　spoke　to　his　panion　in　Schweitzerdeutsch。
　〃It　could　be　her。　This　Chernak　lives　only　a　block　or　so　down　the　street。！
　'Stop　and　let　her　e　closer。　She's　supposed　to　be　wearing　a　silk。。。　it's　her。！
　'Let's　make　certain　before　we　radio　the　others。〃
　Both　men　got　out　of　the　car；　the　passenger　moving　discreetly　around　the　boot　to　join　the　driver。　They　wore　conservative　business　suits；　their　faces　pleasant；　but　serious；　businesslike。　The　panicked　woman　approached；　they　walked　rapidly　into　the　middle　of　the　street。　The　driver　called　out。
　'Frauleint　Was　ist　lot？'
　'Help　me！〃　she　screamed。　'I。。。　I　don't　speak　German。　Richt　sprechen。　Call　the　police！　The。。。　Polizei　I'
　The　driver's　panion　spoke　with　authority；　calming　her　with　his　voice。　'We　are　with　the　police；'　he　said　in　English。　'Züriche　Sicherheit。　We　weren't　sure；　Miss。　You　are　the　woman　from　the　Carillon　du　Lac？'
　'Yes！'　she　cried。　'He　wouldn't　let　me　go！　He　kept　hitting　me；　threatening　me　with　his　gun！　It　was　horrible！'
　'Where　is　he　now？'
　'He's　hurt。　He　was　shot。　I　ran　from　the　car。。。　he　was　in　the　car　when　I　ran！！　She　pointed　down　the　Lowenstrasse。　'Over　there。　Two　blocks；　I　think　…　in　the　middle　of　the　block。　A　coupe；　a　grey　coupe！　He　has　a　gun。！
　'So　do　we；　Miss；'　said　the　driver。　'e　along；　get　in　the　back　of　the　car。　You'll　be　perfectly　safe；　we'll　be　very　careful。　Quickly；　now。'
　They　approached　the　grey　coupe；　coasting；　headlights　extinguished。　There　was　no　one　inside。　There　were；　however；　people　talking　excitedly　on　the　pavement　and　up　the　stone　steps　of　Number　37。　The　driver's　associate　turned　and　spoke　to　the　frightened　woman　pressed　into　the　corner　of　the　rear　seat。
　'This　is　the　residence　of　a　man　named　Chernak。　Did　he　mention　him？　Did　he　say　anything　about　going　in　to　see　him？'
　'He　did　go；　he　made　me　e　with　him！　He　killed　him！　He　killed　that　crippled　old　man！'
　'Radioapparat！　Schnell；'　said　the　associate　to　the　driver；　as　he　grabbed　a　microphone　from　the　dashboard。　The　car　bolted　forward；　the　woman　gripped　the　front　seat。
　'What　are　you　doing！　A　man　was　killed　back　there！'
　'And　we　must　find　the　killer；'　said　the　driver。　'As　you　say；　he　was　wounded；　he　may　still　be　in　the　area。　This　is　an　unmarked　vehicle　and　we　could　spot　him。　We'll　wait；　of　course；　to　make　sure　the　inspection　team　arrives；　but　our　duties　are　quite　separate。'　The　car　slowed　down；　sliding　into　the　kerb　several　hundred　yards　from　Number　37