rl.thebourneidentity-第86部分

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　'Cleaning　woman？'
　'Two。　They　e　twice　a　week　and　not　always　the　same　two。'
　'You'd　better　take　a　closer　look　at　your　chauffeur　and　the　adjutant。'
　'Preposterous！　Their　loyalty　is　beyond　question。'
　'So　was　Brutus's；　and　Caesar　outranked　him。'
　'You　can't　be　serious。。。'
　'I'm　goddamned　serious！　And　you'd　better　believe　it　Everything　I've　told　you　is　the　truth。'
　'But　then　you　haven't　really　told　me　very　much；　have　you？　Your　name；　for　instance。'
　'It's　not　necessary。　Knowing　it　could　only　hurt　you。'
　'In　what　way？'
　'In　the　very　remote　chance　that　I'm　wrong　about　the　relay　…and　that　possibility　barely　exists。'
　The　old　man　nodded　the　way　old　men　do　when　repeating　words　that　have　stunned　them　to　the　point　of　disbelief。　His　lined　face　moved　up　and　down　in　the　moonlight。　'An　unnamed　man　traps　me　on　a　road　at　night；　holds　me　under　a　gun　and　makes　an　obscene　accusation　…　a　charge　so　filthy　I　wish　to　kill　him　…　and　he　expects　me　to　accept　his　word。　The　word　of　a　man　without　a　name；　with　no　face　I　recognize；　and　no　credentials　offered　other　than　the　statement　that　Carlos　is　hunting　him。　Tell　me　why　should　I　believe　this　man？'
　'Because；'　answered　Bourne。　'He'd　have　no　reason　to　e　to　you　if　he　didn't　believe　it　was　the　truth。'
　Villiers　stared　at　Jason。　'No；　there's　a　better　reason。　A　while　ago　you　gave　me　my　life。　You　threw　down　your　gun；　you　did　not　fire　it　You　could　have。　Easily。　You　chose；　instead；　to　plead　with　me　to　talk。'
　'I　don't　think　I　pleaded。'
　'It　was　in　your　eyes；　young　man。　It's　always　in　the　eyes。　And　often　in　the　voice；　but　one　must　listen　carefully。　Supplication　can　be　feigned；　not　anger。　It　is　either　real　or　it's　a　posture。　Your　anger　was　real。。。　as　was　mine。'　The　old　man　gestured　towards　the　small　Renault　ten　yards　away　in　the　field。　'Follow　me　back　to　Pare　Monceau。　We'll　talk　further　in　my　office。　I'd　swear　on　my　life　that　you're　wrong　about　both　men；　but　then　as　you　pointed　out；　Caesar　was　blinded　by　false　devotion。　And　indeed　he　did　outrank　me。'
　'If　I　walk　into　that　house　and　someone　recognizes　me；　I'm　dead。　So　are　you。'
　'My　aide　left　shortly　past　five　o'clock　this　afternoon；　and　the　chauffeur；　as　you　call　him；　retires　no　later　than　ten　to　watch　his　interminable　television。　You'll　wait　outside　while　I　go　in　and　check。　If　things　are　normal；　I'll　summon　you；　if　they're　not；　I'll　e　back　out　and　drive　away。　Follow　me　again。　I'll　stop　somewhere　and　we'll　continue。'
　Jason　watched　closely　as　Villiers　spoke。　'Why　do　you　want　me　to　go　back　to　Pare　Monceau？'
　'Where　else？　I　believe　in　the　shock　of　unexpected　confrontation。　One　of　those　men　is　lying　in　bed　watching　television　in　a　room　on　the　second　floor。　And　there's　another　reason。　I　want　my　wife　to　hear　what　you　have　to　say。　She's　an　old　soldier's　woman　and　she　has　antennae　for　things　that　often　escape　the　officer　in　the　field。　I've　e　to　rely　on　her　perceptions；　she　may　recognize　a　pattern　of　behaviour　once　she　hears　you。'
　Bourne　had　to　say　the　words。　'I　trapped　you　by　pretending　one　thing；　you　can　trap　me　by　pretending　another。　How　do　I　know　Pare　Monceau　isn't　a　trap？'
　The　old　man　did　not　waver；　'You　have　the　word　of　a　general　of　France；　and　that's　all　you　have。　If　it's　not　good　enough　for　you；　take　your　weapon　and　get　out。'
　'It's　good　enough；'　said　Bourne。　'Not　because　it's　a　general's　word；　but　because　it's　the　word　of　a　man　whose　son　was　killed　on　the　rue　du　Bac。'
　The　drive　back　into　Paris　seemed　far　longer　to　Jason　than　the　journey　out。　He　was　fighting　images　again；　images　that　caused　him　to　break　out　into　sweat。　And　pain；　starting　at　his　temples；　sweeping　down　through　his　chest；　forming　a　knot　in　his　stomach　…　sharp　bolts　pounding　until　he　wanted　to　scream。
　Death　in　the　skies。。。　from　the　skies。　Not　darkness；　but　blinding　sunlight。　No　winds　that　batter　my　body　into　further　darkness；　but　instead　silence　and　the　stench　of　jungle　and。。。　riverbanks。　Stillness　followed　by　the　screeching　of　birds　and　the　screaming　pitch　of　machines。　Birds。。。　machines。。。　racing　downwards　out　of　the　sky　in　blinding　sunlight。　Explosions。　Death。　Of　the　young　and　the　very　young。
　Stop　it！　Hold　the　wheel！　Concentrate　on　the　road　but　do　not　think！　Thought　is　too　painful　and　you　don't　know　why。
　They　entered　the　tree…lined　street　in　Pare　Monceau。　Villiers　was　a　hundred　feet　ahead；　facing　a　problem　that　had　not　existed　several　hours　ago。　There　were　many　more　cars　in　the　street　now；　parking　at　a　premium。
　There　was；　however；　one　sizeable　space　on　the　left；　opposite　the　general's　house；　it　could　acmodate　both　their　cars。　Villiers　thrust　his　hand　out　of　the　window；　gesturing　for　Jason　to　pull　in　behind　him。
　And　then　it　happened。　His　eyes　were　drawn　by　a　light　in　a　doorway；　his　focus　suddenly　rigid　on　the　figures　in　the　spill；　the　recognition　of　one　so　startling　and　so　out　of　place　he　found　himself　reaching　for　the　gun　in　his　belt
　Had　he　been　led　into　a　trap　after　all？　Had　the　word　of　an　Officer　of　France　been　worthless？
　Villiers　was　manoeuvring　his　car　into　place。　Bourne　spun　round　in　the　seat；　looking　in　all　directions；　there　was　no　one　ing　towards　him；　no　one　closing　in。　It　was　not　a　trap。　It　was　something　else；　part　of　what　was　happening　about　which　the　old　soldier　knew　nothing。
　For　across　the　street　at　the　top　of　the　steps　of　Villiers's　house　stood　a　youngish　woman　…　a　striking　woman　…　in　the　doorway。　She　was　talking　rapidly；　with　small　anxious　gestures；　to　a　man　standing　on　the　top　step；　who　kept　nodding　as　if　accepting　instructions。　That　man　was　the　grey…haired；　distinguished…looking　switchboard　operator　from　Les　Classiques。　The　man　whose　face　Jason　knew　so　well；　yet　did　not　know。　The　face　that　had　triggered　other　images。。。　images　as　violent　and　as　painful　as　those　which　had　ripped　him　apart　during　the　past　half　hour　in　the　Renault。
　But　there　was　a　difference。　This　face　brought　back　the　darkness　and　torrential　winds　in　the　night　sky；　explosions　ing　one　after　another；　sounds　of　a　staccato　gunfire　echoing　through　the　myriad　tunnels　of　a　jungle。
　Bourne　pulled　his　eyes　away　from　the　door　and　looked　at　Villiers　through　the　windscreen。　The　general　had　switched　off　his　headlights　and　was　about　to　get　out　of　the　car。　Jason　released　the　clutch　and　rolled　forward　until　he　made　contact　with　the　saloon's　bumper。　Villiers　whipped　around　in　his　seat。
　Bourne　extinguished　his　own　headlights　and　turned　on　the　small　inside　roof　light　He　raised　his　hand　…　palm　downward　…then　raised　it　twice　again；　telling　the　old　soldier　to　stay　where　he　was。　Villiers　nodded；　and　Jason　switched　off　the　light
　He　looked　back　at　the　doorway。　The　man　had　taken　a　step　down；　stopped　by　a　last　mand　from　the　woman；　Bourne　could　see　her　clearly　now。　She　was　hi　her　middle　to　late　thirties；　with　short　dark　hair；　stylishly　cut；　framing　a　face　that　was　bronzed　by　the　sun。　She　was　a　tall　woman；　statuesque；　actually；　her　figure　tapered；　the　swell　of　her　breasts　accentuated　by　the　sheer；　close…fitting　fabric　of　a　long　white　dress　that　heightened　the　tan　of　her　skin。　Villiers　had　not　mentioned　her；　which　meant　she　was　not　part　of　the　household。　She　was　a　visitor　who　knew　when　to　e　to　the　old　man's　home；　it　would　fit　the　strategy　of　relay…removed…from…relay。　And　that　meant　she　had　a　contact　in　Villiers's　house。　The　old　man　had　to　know　her；　but　how　well？　The　answer　obviously　was　not　well　enough。
　The　grey…haired　switchboard　operator　gave　a　final　nod；　descended　the　steps　and　walked　rapidly　down　the　street。　The　door　closed；　the　light　of　the　carriage　lamps　shining　on　the　deserted　staircase　and　the　glistening　black　door　with　its　brass　metalwork。
　Why　did　those　steps　and　that　door　mean　something　to　him？　Images。　Reality　that　was　not　real。
　Bourne　got　out　of　the　Renault；　watching　the　windows；　looking　for　the　movement　of　a　curtain；　there　was　nothing。　He　walked　quickly　to　Villiers's　car；　the　front　window　was　rolled　down；　the　general's　face　turned　up；　his　thick　eyebrows　arched　in　curiosity。
　'What　in　heaven's　name　are　you　doing？'　he　asked。
　'Over　there；　at　your　house；'　said　Jason；　crouching　on　the　pavement。　'You　saw　what　I　just　saw。'
　'I　believe　so。　And？'
　'Who　was　the　woman？　Do　you　know　her？'
　'I　would　hope　to　God　I　did。　She's　my　wife。'
　'Your　wife？'　Bourne's　s