rl.thebourneidentity-第40部分

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his　age；　but　striving　to　look　younger。　His　thinning　dark　hair　was　singed　and　brushed　to　obscure　the　bald　spots；　his　eyes　were　encased　in　small　rolls　of　flesh；　attesting　to　long　hours　with　good　wine。　Those　same　eyes　were　cold；　darting　eyes；　evidence　of　a　demanding　man　wary　of　his　surroundings。　He　barked　a　question　to　his　secretary；　she　twisted　in　her　chair；　doing　her　best　to　maintain　her　posure。
　D'Amacourt　went　back　inside　his　office　without　closing　the　door；　the　cage　of　an　angry　cat　left　open。　Another　minute　passed；　the　secretary　kept　glancing　to　her　right；　looking　at　something　…　for　something。　When　she　saw　it；　she　exhaled；　closing　her　eyes　briefly　in　relief。
　From　the　far　left　wall；　a　green　light　suddenly　appeared　above　two　panels　of　dark　wood；　a　lift　was　in　use。　Seconds　later　the　door　opened　and　an　elderly　elegant　man　walked　out　carrying　a　small　black　case　not　much　larger　than　his　hand。　Marie　stared　at　it；　experiencing　both　satisfaction　and　fear；　she　had　guessed　right。　The　black　case　had　been　removed　from　a　confidential　file　inside　a　guarded　room；　and　signed　out　by　a　man　beyond　reproach　or　temptation　…　the　elderly　figure　making　his　way　past　the　ranks　of　desks　towards　d'Amacourt's　office。
　The　secretary　rose　from　her　chair；　greeted　the　senior　executive；　and　escorted　him　into　d'Amacourt's　office。　She　came　out　immediately；　closing　the　door　behind　her。
　Marie　looked　at　her　watch；　her　eyes　on　the　sweep…second　hand。　She　wanted　one　more　fragment　of　evidence；　and　it　would　be　hers　shortly　if　she　could　get　beyond　the　gate；　with　a　clear　view　of　the　secretary's　desk。　If　it　was　going　to　happen；　it　would　happen　in　moments；　the　duration　brief。
　She　walked　to　the　gate；　opening　her　bag；　and　smiling　vacuously　at　the　receptionist　who　was　speaking　into　her　phone。　She　mouthed　the　name　d'Amacourt　with　her　lips　to　the　bewildered　receptionist；　reached　down　and　opened　the　gate。　She　moved　quickly　inside；　a　determined　if　not　very　bright　client　of　the　Valois　Bank。
　'Pardon；　Madame。'　The　receptionist　held　her　hand　over　the　telephone；　rushing　her　words　in　French；　'Can　I　help　you？〃
　Again　Marie　pronounced　the　name　with　her　lips　…　now　a　courteous　client　late　for　an　appointment　and　not　wishing　to　be　a　further　burden　to　a　busy　employee。　'Monsieur　d'Amacourt。　I'm　afraid　I'm　late。　I'll　just　go　and　see　his　secretary。'　She　continued　up　the　aisle　towards　the　secretary's　desk。
　'Please；　Madame；'　called　out　the　receptionist。　'I　must　announce。。。！
　The　hum　of　electric　typewriters　and　subdued　conversations　drowned　her　words。　Marie　approached　the　stern…faced　secretary；　who　looked　up；　as　bewildered　as　the　receptionist。
　'Yes？　May　I　help　you？'
　'Monsieur　d'Amacourt；　please。〃
　'I'm　afraid　he's　in　conference；　Madame。　Do　you　have　an　appointment？'
　'Oh；　yes；　of　course；'　said　Marie；　opening　her　bag　again。
　The　secretary　looked　at　the　typed　schedule　on　her　desk。　'I'm　afraid　I　don't　have　anyone　listed　for　this　time。'
　'Oh；　my　word！'　exclaimed　the　confused　client　of　the　Valois　Bank。　'I　just　noticed。　It's　for　tomorrow；　not　today！　I'm　so　sorry。'
　She　turned　and　walked　rapidly　back　to　the　gate。　She　had　seen　what　she　wanted　to　see；　the　last　fragment　of　evidence。　A　single　button　was　lighted　on　d'Amacourt's　telephone；　he　had　bypassed　his　secretary　and　was　making　an　outside　call。　The　account　belonging　to　Jason　Bourne　had　specific；　confidential　instructions　attached　to　it　which　were　not　to　be　revealed　to　the　account　holder。
　Bourne　looked　at　his　watch　in　the　shade　of　the　canopy；　it　was　eleven　minutes　to　three。　Marie　would　be　back　by　the　telephone　at　the　front　of　the　bank；　a　pair　of　eyes　inside。　The　next　few　minutes　would　give　them　the　answer；　perhaps　she　already　knew　it。
　He　edged　his　way　to　the　left　side　of　the　shop　window；　keeping　the　bank's　entrance　in　view。　A　clerk　inside　smiled　at　him；　reminding　him　that　all　attention　should　be　avoided。　He　pulled　out　a　packet　of　cigarettes；　lit　one　and　looked　at　his　watch　again。　Eight　minutes　to　three。
　And　then　he　saw　them。　Him。　Three　well…dressed　men　walking　rapidly　up　rue　Madeleine；　talking　to　one　another；　their　eyes；　however；　directed　straight　ahead。　They　passed　the　slower　pedestrians　in　front　of　them；　excusing　themselves　with　a　courtesy　that　was　not　entirely　Parisian。　Jason　concentrated　on　the　man　in　the　middle。　It　was　him。　A　man　named　Johann！
　Signal　Johann　to　go　inside。　We'll　e　back　for　them。　A　tall　gaunt　man　wearing　gold…rimmed　spectacles　had　said　the　words　in　the　Steppdeckstrasse。　Johann。　They　had　sent　him　here　from　Zurich；　he　had　seen　Jason　Bourne。　And　that　told　him　something：　There　were　no　photographs。
　The　three　men　reached　the　entrance。　Johann　and　the　man　on　his　right　went　inside；　the　third　man　stayed　by　the　door。　Bourne　started　back　to　the　telephone　box；　he　would　wait　four　minutes　and　place　his　last　call　to　Antoine　d'Amacourt。
　He　dropped　his　cigarette　outside　the　box；　crushed　it　under　his　foot；　and　opened　the　door。
　'Regarded'　A　voice　came　from　behind。
　Jason　spun　around；　holding　his　breath。　A　nondescript　man　with　a　stubble　of　a　beard　pointed　at　the　box。　'Pardon？'
　'Le　telephone。　II　n'opere　pas。　La　corde　est　en　noeud。'
　'Oh？　Merci。　Maintenant；　fessayerais。　Merci　bien。'
　The　man　shrugged　and　left　Bourne　stepped　inside；　the　four　minutes　were　up。　He　took　the　coins　from　his　pocket　…　enough　for　two　calls　…　and　dialled　the　first。
　'La　Banque　de　Valois。　Bonjaur。'
　Ten　seconds　later　d'Amacourt　was　on　the　phone；　his　voice　strained。　'It　is　you；　Monsieur　Bourne？　I　thought　you　to　say　you　were　on　your　way　to　my　office。'
　'A　change　of　plans；　I'm　afraid。　I'll　have　to　call　you　tomorrow。'　Suddenly；　through　the　glass　panel　of　the　booth；　Jason　saw　a　car　swing　into　a　space　across　the　street　in　front　of　the　bank。　The　third　man　who　was　standing　by　the　entrance　nodded　to　the　driver。
　'。。。　I　can　do？'　d'Amacourt　had　asked　a　question。
　'I　beg　your　pardon？'
　'I　asked　if　there　was　anything　I　can　do。　I　have　your　account；　everything　is　in　readiness　for　you　here。〃
　I'm　sure　it　is；　Bourne　thought；　the　ploy　was　worth　a　try。　'Look；　I　have　to　get　over　to　London　this　afternoon。　I'm　taking　one　of　the　shuttle　flights；　but　I'll　be　back　tomorrow。　Keep　everything　with　you；　all　right？〃
　To　London；　Monsieur？'
　'I'll　call　you　tomorrow。　I　have　to　find　a　cab　to　Orly。'　He　hung　up　and　watched　the　entrance　of　the　bank。　In　less　than　half　a　minute；　Johann　and　his　panion　came　running　out；　they　spoke　to　the　third　man；　then　all　three　climbed　into　the　waiting　car。
　The　killers'　escape　car　was　still　in　the　hunt；　on　its　way　now　to　Orly　Airport。　Jason　memorized　the　number　on　the　licence　plate；　then　dialled　his　second　call。　If　the　pay　phone　in　the　bank　was　not　in　use；　Marie　would　pick　it　up　before　the　ring　had　barely　started。　She　did。
　'Yes？'
　'See　anything？'
　'A　great　deal。　D'Amacourt's　your　man。'
　They　moved　about　the　shop；　going　from　counter　to　counter。　Marie；　however；　remained　near　the　wide　front　window　keeping　a　perpetual　eye　on　the　entrance　of　the　bank　across　rue　Madeleine。
　'I　picked　out　two　scarves　for　you；'　said　Bourne。
　'You　shouldn't　have；'　answered　Marie。　〃The　prices　are　far　too　high。'
　'It's　almost　four　o'clock。　If　he　hasn't　e　out　by　now；　he　won't　until　the　end　of　office　hours。'
　'Probably　not。　If　he　were　going　to　meet　someone；　he　would　have　done　so　by　now。　But　we　had　to　know。'
　Take　my　word　for　it；　his　friends　are　at　Orly；　running　from　shuttle　to　shuttle。　There's　no　way　they　can　tell　whether　I'm　on　one　or　not；　because　they　don't　know　what　name　I'm　using。'
　They'll　depend　on　the　man　from　Zurich　to　recognize　you。'
　'He's　looking　for　a　dark…haired　man　with　a　limp；　not　me。　e　on；　let's　go　into　the　bank。　You　can　point　out　d'Amacourt。'
　'We　can't　do　that；〃　said　Marie；　shaking　her　head。　'The　cameras　on　the　ceilings　have　wide…angle　lenses。　If　they　ran　the　tapes　they　could　spot　you。'
　'A　blond…haired　man　with　glasses？'
　'Or　me。　I　was　there；　the　receptionist　or　his　secretary　could　identify　me。〃
　'You're　saying　it's　a　regular　cabal　in　there。　I　doubt　it'
　They　could　think　up　any　number　of　reasons　to　run　the　tapes。'　Marie　stopped；　she　clutched　Jason's　arm；　her　eyes　on　the　bank　beyond　the　window。　'There　he　is！　The　one　in　the　overcoat　with　the　black　velvet　collar；　d'Amacourt。'
　'Pulling　at　his