rl.thebourneidentity-第83部分

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ains　on　a　high…angle　post；　was　caught　in　the　spill。
　L'Arbalete。　The　general　was　meeting　someone　for　dinner　at　an　out…of…the…way　restaurant；　not　in　the　suburb　of　Nanterre　but　close　by。　In　the　country。
　Bourne　drove　past　the　entrance　and　pulled　off　the　shoulder　of　the　road；　the　right　side　of　the　car　covered　by　foliage；　he　had　to　think　things　out。。。　he　had　to　control　himself。　There　was　a　fire　in　his　mind；　it　was　growing；　spreading。　He　was　suddenly　consumed　by　an　extraordinary　possibility。
　Considering　the　shattering　events　…　the　enormity　of　the　embarrassment　experienced　by　Carlos　last　night　at　the　motel　in　Montrouge；　it　was　more　than　likely　that　Andrel　Villiers　had　been　summoned　to　an　out…of…the…way　restaurant　for　an　emergency　meeting。　Perhaps　even　with　Carlos　himself。　If　that　was　the　case；　the　premises　would　be　guarded；　and　a　man　whose　photograph　had　been　distributed　to　those　guards　would　be　shot　the　instant　he　was　recognized。　On　the　other　hand；　the　chance　to　observe　a　nucleus　belonging　to　Carlos　…　or　Carlos　himself　…was　an　opportunity　that　might　never　e　again。　He　had　to　get　inside　L'Arbalete。　There　was　a　pulsion　within　him　to　take　the　risk。　Any　risk！　It　was　crazy！　But　then　he　was　not　sane。　Sane　as　a　man　with　a　memory　was　sane。　Carlos。　Find　Carlos！　Cod　in　heaven；　why？
　He　felt　the　gun　in　his　belt；　it　was　secure。　He　got　out　and　put　on　his　overcoat；　covering　the　jacket　with　the　lettering　across　the　back。　He　picked　up　a　narrow…brimmed　hat　from　the　seat；　the　cloth　soft；　angled　down　on　all　sides；　it　would　cover　his　hair。　Then　he　tried　to　remember　if　he　had　been　wearing　the　tortoise…shell　glasses　when　the　photograph　was　taken　in　Argenteuil。　He　had　not；　he　had　removed　them　at　the　table　when　successive　bolts　of　pain　had　seared　through　his　head；　brought　on　by　words　that　told　him　of　a　past　too　familiar；　too　frightening　to　face；　He　felt　his　shirt　pocket；　the　glasses　were　there　if　he　needed　them。　He　pressed　the　door　closed　and　started　for　the　woods。
　The　glare　of　the　restaurant　floodlights　filtered　through　the　trees；　growing　brighter　with　each　several　yards；　less　foliage　to　block　the　light。　Bourne　reached　the　edge　of　the　short　patch　of　forest；　the　gravelled　parking　area　in　front　of　him。　He　was　at　the　side　of　the　rustic　restaurant；　a　row　of　small　windows　running　the　length　of　the　building；　flickering　candles　beyond　the　glass　illuminating　the　figures　of　the　diners。　Then　his　eyes　were　drawn　to　the　first　floor　…　although　it　did　not　extend　the　length　of　the　building　but　only　halfway；　the　rear　section　an　open　terrace。　The　enclosed　part；　however；　was　similar　to　the　ground　floor。　A　line　of　windows；　a　bit　larger；　perhaps；　but　still　in　a　row；　and　again　glowing　with　candles。　Figures　were　milling　about；　but　they　were　different　from　the　diners　below。
　They　were　all　men。　Standing；　not　sitting；　moving　casually；　glasses　in　hands；　cigarette　smoke　spiralling　over　their　heads。　It　was　impossible　to　tell　how　many　…　more　than　ten；　less　than　twenty；　perhaps。
　There　he　was；　crossing　from　one　group　to　another；　the　white　beard　a　beacon；　switching　on　and　off　as　it　was　intermittently　blocked　by　figures　nearer　the　windows。　General　Villiers　had；　indeed；　driven　out　to　Nanterre　for　a　meeting；　and　the　odds　favoured　a　conference　that　dealt　with　the　failures　of　the　past　forty…eight　hours；　failures　that　permitted　a　man　named　Cain　to　remain　alive。
　The　odds。　What　were　the　odds？　Where　were　the　guards？　How　many；　and　where　were　their　stations？　Keeping　behind　the　edge　of　the　woods；　Bourne　side…stepped　his　way　towards　the　front　of　the　restaurant；　bending　branches　silently；　his　feet　over　the　underbrush。　He　stood　motionless；　watching　for　men　concealed　in　the　foliage　or　in　the　shadows　of　the　building。　He　saw　none；　and　retraced　his　path；　breaking　new　ground　until　he　reached　the　rear　of　the　restaurant
　A　door　opened；　the　spill　of　light　harsh；　and　a　man　hi　a　white　jacket　emerged。　He　stood　for　a　moment；　cupping　his　hands；　lighting　a　cigarette。　Bourne　looked　to　the　left；　to　the　right；　above　to　the　terrace；　no　one　appeared。　A　guard　stationed　in　the　area　would　have　been　alarmed　by　the　sudden　light　ten　feet　below　the　conference。　There　were　no　guards　outside。　Protection　found　…　as　it　had　to　be　at　Villiers's　house　in　Pare　Monceau　…　within　the　building　itself。
　Another　man　appeared　in　the　doorway；　also　wearing　a　white　jacket；　but　with　the　addition　of　a　chef's　hat。　His　voice　was　angry；　his　French　laced　with　the　guttural　dialect　of　Gascony。　'While　you　piss　off；　we　sweat！　The　pastry　cart　is　half　empty。　Fill　it。　Now；　you　bastard！'
　The　pastry　man　turned　and　shrugged；　he　crushed　out　his　cigarette　and　went　back　inside；　closing　the　door　behind　him。　The　light　vanished；　only　the　wash　of　the　moon　remained；　but　it　was　enough　to　illuminate　the　terrace。　There　was　no　one　there；　no　guard　patrolling　the　wide　double　doors　that　led　to　the　inside　room。
　Carlos。　Find　Carlos。　Trap　Carlos。　Cain　is　for　Charlie；　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。
　Bourne　judged　the　distance　and　the　obstacles。　He　was　no　more　than　forty　feet　from　the　rear　of　the　building；　ten　or　twelve　below　the　railing　that　bordered　the　terrace。　There　were　two　vents　in　the　exterior　wall；　vapour　escaping　from　both　and　next　to　them　a　drainpipe　that　was　within　reach　of　the　railing。　If　he　could　scale　the　pipe　and　manage　to　get　a　toehold　in　the　lower　vent；　he　would　be　able　to　grab　a　rung　of　the　railing　and　pull　himself　up　to　the　terrace。　But　be　could　do　none　of　this　wearing　the　overcoat；　he　took　it　off；　placing　it　at　his　feet；　the　soft…brimmed　hat　on　top；　and　covered　both　with　undergrowth。　Then　he　stepped　to　the　edge　of　the　woods　and　raced　as　quietly　as　possible　across　the　gravel　to　the　drainpipe。
　In　the　shadows　he　tugged　at　the　fluted　metal；　it　was　strongly　in　place。　He　reached　as　high　as　he　could；　then　sprang　up；　gripping　the　pipe；　his　feet　pressed　into　the　wall；　pedalling　one　on　top　of　the　other　until　his　left　foot　was　parallel　to　the　first　vent。　Holding　on；　he　slipped　his　foot　into　the　recess；　and　propelled　himself　further　up　the　drain。　He　was　within　eighteen　inches　of　the　railing；　one　surge　launched　from　the　vent　and　he　could　reach　the　bottom　rung。
　The　door　crashed　open　beneath　him；　white　light　shooting　across　the　gravel　into　the　woods。　A　figure　plummeted　out；　weaving　to　maintain　its　balance；　followed　by　the　white…hatted　chef　who　was　screaming。
　'You　piss…ant！　You're　drunk；　that's　what　you　are！　You've　been　drunk　the　whole　shit…filled　night！　Pastries　all　over　the　dining…room　floor。。。　everything　a　mess。　Get　out；　you'll　not　get　a　sou！'
　The　door　was　pulled　shut；　the　sound　of　a　bolt　unmistakably　final。　Jason　held　onto　the　pipe；　arms　and　ankles　aching；　rivulets　of　sweat　breaking　out　on　his　forehead。　The　man　below　staggered　backwards；　making　obscene　gestures　repeatedly　with　his　right　hand　for　the　benefit　of　the　chef　who　was　no　longer　there。　His　glazed　eyes　wandered　up　the　wall；　settling　on　Bourne's　face。　Jason　held　his　breath　as　their　eyes　met；　the　man　stared；　then　blinked；　and　stared　again。　He　shook　his　head；　closing　his　lids；　then　opened　them　wide；　taking　in　the　sight　he　was　not　entirely　sure　was　there。　He　backed　away；　lurching　into　a　sideslip　and　a　forward　walk；　obviously　deciding　that　the　apparition　halfway　up　the　wall　was　the　result　of　his　pressured　labours。　He　weaved　around　the　corner　of　the　building；　a　man　more　at　peace　with　himself　for　having　rejected　the　foolishness　that　had　assaulted　his　eyes。
　Bourne　breathed　again；　letting　his　body　slump　against　the　wall　in　relief。　But　it　was　only　for　a　moment；　the　ache　in　his　ankle　had　descended　to　his　foot；　a　cramp　forming。　He　lunged；　grabbing　the　iron　bar　that　was　the　base　of　the　railing　with　his　right　hand；　whipping　his　left　up　from　the　drainpipe；　joining　it。　He　pressed　his　knees　into　the　tiles　and　pulled　himself　slowly　up　the　wall　until　his　head　was　over　the　edge　of　the　terrace。　It　was　deserted。　He　kicked　his　right　leg　up　to　the　ledge；　his　right　hand　reaching　for　the　wrought…iron　top；　balanced；　he　swung　over　the　railing。
　He　was　on　a　terrace　used　for　dining　in　the　spring　and　summer　months；　a　tiled　floor　that　could　acmodate　ten　to　fifteen　tables。　In　the　centre　of　the　wall　separating　the　enclosed　section　from　the　terrace　were　the　wide　double　doors　he　had　seen　from　the　woods。　The　figures　ins