rl.thebourneidentity-第48部分

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Dennis　Corbelier。　Cigarette　smoke　curled　up　from　an　ashtray　next　to　her　notebook；　she　was　writing　down　Corbelier's　information。　When　he　had　finished；　she　thanked　him　and　hung　up　the　phone。　She　remained　motionless　for　two　or　three　seconds；　the　pencil　still　in　her　hand。
　'He　doesn't　know　about　Peter；'　she　said；　turning　to　Jason。　'That's　odd。'
　'Very；'　agreed　Bourne。　'I　thought　he'd　be　one　of　the　first　to
　know。　You　said　they　looked　over　Peter's　telephone　logs；　he'd　placed　a　call　to　Paris；　to　Corbelier。　You'd　think　someone　would　have　followed　up　on　it。'
　'I　hadn't　even　considered　that。　I　was　thinking　about　the　newspapers；　the　wire　services。　Peter　was。。。　was　found　eighteen　hours　ago；　and　regardless　of　how　casual　I　may　have　sounded；　he　was　an　important　man　in　the　Canadian　government。　His　death　would　be　news　in　itself；　his　murder　infinitely　more　so。。。　It　wasn't　reported。'
　'Call　Ottawa　tonight。　Find　out　why。'
　'I　will。'
　'What　did　Corbelier　tell　you？'
　'Oh；　yes。'　Marie　shifted　her　eyes　to　the　notebook。　'The　licence　plate　in　rue　Madeleine　was　meaningless；　a　car　rented　at　De　Gaulle　airport　to　a　Jean…Pierre　Larousse。。。'
　'John　Smith；'　interrupted　Jason。
　'Exactly。　He　had　better　luck　with　the　telephone　number　d'Amacourt　gave　you　but　he　can't　see　what　it　could　possibly　have　to　do　with　anything。　Neither　can　I；　as　a　matter　of　fact〃
　'It's　that　strange？'
　'I　think　so。　It's　a　private　line　belonging　to　a　fashion　house　on　Saint…Honore。　Les　Classiques。'
　'A　fashion　house？　You　mean　a　studio？'
　'I'm　sure　it's　got　one；　but　it's　essentially　an　elegant　dress　shop。　Like　the　House　of　Dior；　or　Givenchy。　Haute　couture。　In　the　trade；　Corbelier　said；　it's　known　as　the　〃House　of　Ren！〃。　That's　Bergeron。'
　'Who？'
　'Rene　Bergeron；　a　designer。　He's　been　around　for　years；　always　on　the　fringes　of　a　major　success。　I　know　about　him　because　my　little　lady　back　home　copies　his　designs。'
　'Did　you　get　the　address？〃
　Marie　nodded。　'Why　didn't　Corbelier　know　about　Peter？　Why　doesn't　everybody？'
　'Maybe　you'll　learn　when　you　call。　It's　probably　as　simple　as　time　zones；　too　late　for　the　morning　editions　here　in　Paris。　I'll　pick　up　an　afternoon　paper。'　Bourne　went　to　the　wardrobe　for　his　overcoat；　conscious　of　the　hidden　weight　in　his　belt。　'I'm　going　back　to　the　bank。　I'll　follow　the　courier　to　the　Pont　Neuf。'　He　put　on　the　coat；　aware　that　Marie　was　not　listening。　'I　meant　to　ask　you；　do　these　fellows　wear　uniforms？'
　'Who？'
　'Bank　couriers。'
　That　would　account　for　the　newspapers；　not　the　wire　services。'
　'I　beg　your　pardon？'
　'The　difference　in　time。　The　papers　might　not　have　picked　it　up；　but　the　wire　services　would　have。　And　embassies　have　teletypes；　they　would　have　known　about　it。　It　wasn't　reported；　Jason。'
　'You'll　call　tonight；'　he　said。　Tin　going。'
　'You　asked　about　the　couriers。　Do　they　wear　uniforms？'　！　I　was　curious。'
　'Most　of　the　time；　yes。　They　also　drive　armoured　vans；　but　I　was　specific　about　that。　If　a　van　was　used　it　was　to　be　parked　a　block　from　the　bridge；　the　courier　to　proceed　on　foot。'
　'I　heard　you；　but　I　wasn't　sure　what　you　meant。　Why？'
　'A　bonded　courier's　bad　enough；　but　he's　necessary；　bank　insurance　requires　him。　A　van　is　simply　too　obvious；　it　could　be　followed　too　easily。　You　won't　change　your　mind　and　let　me　go　with　you？'
　'No。'
　'Believe　me；　nothing　will　go　wrong；　those　two　thieves　wouldn't　permit　it！
　Then　there's　no　reason　for　you　to　be　there。'
　'You're　maddening。'
　I'm　in　a　hurry。'
　'I　know。　And　you　move　faster　without　me。！　Marie　got　up　and　came　to　him。　'I　do　understand。'　She　leaned　into　him；　kissing　him　on　the　lips；　suddenly　aware　of　the　weapon　in　his　belt　She　looked　into　his　eyes。　'You　are　worried；　aren't　you？'
　'Just　cautious。！　He　smiled；　touching　her　chin。　'It's　an　awful　lot　of　money。　It　may　have　to　keep　us　for　a　long　time。'
　'I　like　the　sound　of　that'
　The　money？'
　'No。　Us。'　Marie　frowned。　'A　safety　deposit　box。'
　'You　keep　talking　in　non…sequiturs。'
　'You　can't　leave　negotiable　certificates　worth　over　a　million　dollars　in　a　Paris　hotel　room。　You've　got　to　get　a　deposit　box。'
　'We　can　do　it　tomorrow。'　He　released　her；　turning　for　the　door。　'While　I'm　out　look　up　Les　Classiques　in　the　phone　book　and　call　the　regular　number。　Find　out　how　late　it's　open。'　He　left　quickly。
　Bourne　sat　in　the　back　seat　of　a　stationary　taxi；　watching　the　front　of　the　bank　through　the　windscreen。　The　driver　was　humming　an　unrecognisable　tune；　reading　a　newspaper；　content　with　the　fifty…franc　note　he　had　received　in　advance。　The　cab's　motor；　however；　was　running；　the　passenger　had　insisted　upon　that
　The　armoured　van　loomed　in　the　right　rear　window；　its　radio　antenna　shooting　up　from　the　centre　of　the　roof　like　a　tapered　bowsprit　It　parked　in　a　space　reserved　for　authorized　vehicles　directly　in　front　of　Jason's　taxi。　Two　small　red　lights　appeared　above　the　circle　of　bullet…proof　glass　in　the　rear　door。　The　alarm　system　had　been　activated。
　Bourne　leaned　forward；　his　eyes　on　the　uniformed　man　who　climbed　out　of　the　side　door　and　threaded　his　way　through　the　crowds　on　the　pavement　towards　the　entrance　of　the　bank。　He　felt　a　sense　of　relief；　the　man　was　not　one　of　the　three　well…dressed　men　who　had　e　to　the　Valois　yesterday。
　Fifteen　minutes　later　the　courier　emerged　from　the　bank；　the　leather　attaché　case　in　his　left　hand；　his　right　covering　an　unlatched　holster。　The　jagged　rip　on　the　side　of　the　case　could　be　seen　clearly。　Jason　felt　the　fragment　of　leather　in　his　shirt　pocket；　if　nothing　else　it　was　the　primitive　bination　that　made　a　life　beyond　Paris；　beyond　Carlos；　possible。　If　there　was　such　a　life　and　he　could　accept　it　without　the　terrible　labyrinth　from　which　he　could　find　no　escape。
　But　it　was　more　than　that。　In　a　man…made　labyrinth　one　kept　moving；　running；　careening　off　walls；　the　contact　itself　a　form　of　progress；　if　only　blind。　His　personal　labyrinth　had　no　walls；　no　defined　corridors　through　which　to　race。　Only　space；　and　swirling　mists　in　the　darkness　that　he　saw　so　clearly　when　he　opened　his　eyes　at　night　and　felt　the　sweat　pouring　down　his　face。　Why　was　it　always　space　and　darkness　and　high　winds？　Why　was　he　always　plummeting　through　the　air　at　night？　A　parachute。　Why？　Then　other　words　came　to　him；　he　had　no　idea　where　they　were　from；　but　they　were　there　and　he　heard　them。
　What's　left　when　your　memory's　gone？　And　your　identity；　Mr　Smith？
　Stop　it　I
　The　armoured　van　swung　into　the　traffic　on　rue　Madeleine。　Bourne　tapped　the　driver　on　the　shoulder。　'Follow　that　truck；　but　keep　at　least　two　cars　between　us；'　he　said　in　French。
　The　driver　turned；　alarmed。　'I　think　you　have　the　wrong　taxi；　monsieur。　Take　back　your　money。'
　'I'm　with　the　pany；　you　damn　fool。　It's　a　special　assignment'
　'Regrets；　Monsieur。　We　will　not　lose　it。'　The　driver　plunged　diagonally　forward　into　the　bat　of　traffic。
　The　van　took　the　quickest　route　to　the　Seine；　going　down　side　streets；　turning　left　on　the　Quai　de　la　Rapee　towards　the　Pont　Neuf。　Then　within　what　Jason　judged　to　be　three　or　four　blocks　of　the　bridge；　it　slowed　down；　hugging　the　kerb　as　if　the　courier　had　decided　he　was　too　early　for　his　appointment。　But；　if　anything；　Bourne　thought；　he　was　running　late。　It　was　six　minutes　to　three；　barely　enough　time　for　the　man　to　park　and　walk　the　one　prescribed　block　to　the　bridge。　Then　why　had　the　van　slowed　down？　Slowed　down？　No；　it　had　stopped；　it　wasn't　moving！　Why？
　The　traffic？。。。　Good　God；　of　course；　the　traffic！
　'Stop　here；'　said　Bourne　to　the　driver。　'Pull　over　to　the　kerb。　Quickly！'
　'What　is　it。　Monsieur？'
　'You're　a　very　fortunate　man；'　said　Jason。　'My　pany　is　willing　to　pay　you　an　additional　one　hundred　francs　if　you　simply　go　to　the　front　window　of　that　van　and　say　a　few　words　to　the　driver。　Do　you　want　the　hundred？〃
　'What；　Monsieur？'
　'Frankly；　we're　testing　him。　He's　new。　Do　you　want　the　hundred？〃
　'I　just　go　to　the　window　and　say　a　few　words？〃
　'That's　all。　Five　seconds　at　the　most；　then　you　can　go　back　to　your　taxi　and　drive　off。'
　'There's　no　trouble？　I　don't　want　trouble。'
　'My　firm's　among　the　most　respectable　in　France。　You've　seen　our　trucks　everywhere。'
　'I　don't　know。。。'
　'Forget　it！'　Bourne　reached　for　the　handle