rl.thebourneidentity-第92部分

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　bitch　downstairs。'
　The　clerk　was　transfixed；　his　panic　suspended　in　silent　hysteria。　'What？'
　'You've　got　the　key；〃　said　Bourne。　'Open　up　and　get　inside。'
　'It's　bolted；'　replied　Oreale。　'It's　always　bolted　at　these　times。'
　'You　damn　fool；　we　had　to　reach　you！　We　had　to　get　you　here　without　anyone　knowing　why。　Open　that　door　Quickly！'
　Like　the　terrified　rabbit　he　was；　Claude　Oreale　fumbled　in　his　pocket　and　found　the　key。　He　unlocked　the　door　and　pushed　it　open　as　a　man　might　enter　a　storage　vault　filled　with　mutilated　corpses。　Bourne　propelled　him　through　the　doorframe；　stepped　inside　and　closed　the　door。
　What　could　be　seen　of　the　flat　belied　the　rest　of　the　building。　The　fair…sized　living　room　was　filled　with　sleek；　expensive　furniture；　dozens　of　red　and　yellow　velvet　pillows　scattered　about　on　couches；　chairs　and　the　floor。　It　was　almost　an　erotic　room；　a　luxurious　sanctuary　in　the　midst　of　debris。
　'I've　only　got　a　few　minutes；'　said　Jason。　'No　time　for　anything　but　business。'
　'Business？'　asked　Oreale；　his　expression　paralysed。　'This。。。　this　darkroom？　What　darkroom？'
　'Forget　it。　You　had　something　better　going。'
　'What　business！'
　'We　received　word　from　Zurich；　and　we　want　you　to　get　it　to　your　friend　Lavier'
　'Madame　Jacqueline？　My　friend？'
　'We　can't　trust　the　phones。'
　'What　phones？　The　word？　What　word？'
　'Carlos　is　right。'
　'Carlos？　Carlos　who？'
　The　assassin。'
　Claude　Oreale　screamed。　He　brought　his　hand　up　to　his　mouth；　bit　the　knuckle　of　his　index　finger；　and　screamed。　'What　are　you　saying？'
　'Why　are　you　saying　it　to　me！'
　'You're　number　five。　We're　counting　on　you。'
　'Five　what？　For　what？'
　To　help　Carlos　escape　the　net　they're　closing　in　tomorrow；　the　next　day；　perhaps　the　day　after　that。　He's　to　stay　away；　he's　got　to　stay　away。　They'll　surround　the　shop；　marksmen　every　ten　feet。　The　crossfire　will　be　murderous；　if　he's　in　there；　it　could　be　a　massacre。　Every　one　of　you。　Dead。'
　Oreale　screamed　again；　his　knuckle　red。　'Will　you　stop　this！　I　don't　know　what　you're　talking　about！　You're　a　maniac　and　I　won't　hear　another　word　…　I　haven't　heard　anything。　Carlos；　crossfire。。。　massacres！　God；　I'm　suffocating。。。　I　need　air！'
　'You'll　get　money。　A　lot　of　it；　I　imagine。　Lavier　will　thank　you。　Also　d'Anjou。'
　'D'Anjou。　He　loathes　me！　He　calls　me　a　peacock；　insults　me　every　chance　he　gets。'
　'It's　his　cover；　of　course。　Actually；　he's　very　fond　of　you　…perhaps　more　than　you　know。　He's　number　six。'　'What　are　these　numbers！　Stop　talking　numbers！'　'How　else　can　we　distinguish　between　you；　allocate　assignments？　We　can't　use　names。'　'Who　can't？'
　'All　of　us　who　work　for　Carlos。'
　The　scream　was　ear　shattering　as　the　blood　trickled　from　Oreale's　finger。　'I　won't　listen！　I'm　a　couturier；　an　artist！'
　'You're　number　five。　You'll　do　exactly　as　we　say　or　you'll　never　see　this　passion　pit　of　yours　again。'　'Aunghunn！'
　'Stop　screaming！　We　appreciate　you；　we　know　you're　all　under　a　strain。　Incidentally；　we　don't　trust　the　bookkeeper。'　Trignon？'
　'First　names　only。　Obscurity's　important'　'Pierre；　then。　He's　hateful。　He　deducts　for　telephone　calls。'　'We　think　he's　working　for　Interpol。〃　'Interpol？'
　'If　he　is；　you　could　all　spend　ten　years　in　prison。　You'd　be　eaten　alive；　Claude。'　'Aunghunn！'
　'Shut　up！　Just　let　Bergeron　know　what　we　think。　Keep　your　eyes　on　Trignon；　especially　during　the　next　two　days。　If　he　leaves　the　store　for　any　reason　watch　out。　It　could　mean　the　trap's　closing。'　Bourne　walked　to　the　door；　his　band　in　his　pocket。　'I've　got　to　get　back；　and　so　do　you。　Tell　numbers　one　to　six　everything　I　told　you。　It's　vital　the　word　is　spread。'
　Oreale　screamed　again；　hysterically　again。　'Numbers！　Always　numbers　What　number！　I'm　an　artist；　not　a　number　I'
　'You　won't　have　a　face　unless　you　get　back　there　as　fast　as　you　got　here。　Reach　Lavier；　d'Anjou；　Bergeron。　As　quickly　as　you　can。　Then　the　others。'
　'What　others？'
　'Ask　number　two。'
　'Two？'
　'Dolbert。　Janine　Dolbert。'
　Canine。　Her　too？'
　'That's　right。　She's　two。'
　The　salesman　flung　his　arms　wildly　above　him　in　helpless　protest。　This　is　madness。　Nothing　makes　sense！'
　'Your　life　does；　Claude；'　said　Jason　simply。　'Value　it。。。　I'll　be　waiting　across　the　street。　Leave　here　in　exactly　three　minutes。　And　don't　use　the　phone；　just　leave　and　get　back　to　Les　Classiques。　If　you're　not　out　of　here　in　three　minutes　I'll　have　to　return。'　He　took　his　hand　out　of　his　pocket。　In　it　was　his　gun。
　Oreale　expunged　a　lungful　of　air；　his　face　ashen　as　he　stared　at　the　weapon。
　Bourne　let　himself　out　and　closed　the　door。
　The　telephone　rang　on　the　bedside　table。　Marie　looked　at　her　watch；　it　was　8：15　and　for　a　moment　she　felt　a　sharp　jolt　of　fear。　Jason　had　said　he　would　call　at　9：00。　He　had　left　La　Terrasse　after　dark；　around　7：00；　to　intercept　a　salesgirl　named　Monique　Brielle。　The　schedule　was　precise；　to　be　interrupted　only　in　emergency。　Had　something　happened？
　'Is　this　room　Four…twenty？'　asked　the　deep　male　voice　on　the　line。
　Relief　swept　over　Marie；　the　man　was　Andrel　Villiers。　The　general　had　called　late　in　the　afternoon　to　tell　Jason　that　panic　had　spread　throughout　Les　Classiques；　his　wife　had　been　summoned　to　the　phone　no　less　than　six　times　over　the　span　of　an　hour　and　a　half。　Not　once；　however；　had　he　been　able　to　listen　to　anything　of　substance；　whenever　he　had　picked　up　the　phone；　serious　conversation　had　been　replaced　by　innocuous　banter。
　'Yes；'　said　Marie。　This　is　Four…twenty。'
　'Forgive　me；　we　did　not　speak　before。〃
　'I　know　who　you　are。〃
　'I'm　also　aware　of　you。　May　I　take　the　liberty　of　saying　thank　you。〃
　'I　understand。　You're　wele。'
　To　substance。　I'm　telephoning　from　my　office；　and；　of　course；　there's　no　extension　for　this　line。　Tell　our　mutual　friend　that　the　crisis　has　accelerated。　My　wife　has　taken　to　her　room；　claiming　nausea；　but　apparently　she's　not　too　ill　to　be　on　the　phone。　On　several　occasions；　as　before；　I　picked　up　only　to　realize　that　they　were　alert　for　any　interference。　Each　time　I　apologized　rather　gruffly；　saying　I　expected　calls。　Frankly；　I'm　not　at　all　sure　my　wife　was　convinced；　but　of　course　she's　in　no　position　to　question　me。　I'll　be　blunt；　Mademoiselle。　There　is　unspoken　friction　building　up　between　us；　and　beneath　the　surface　it　is　violent。　May　God　give　me　strength。'
　'I　can　only　ask　you　to　remember　the　objective；'　broke　in　Marie。　'Remember　your　son。〃
　'Yes；'　said　the　old　man　quietly。　'My　son。　And　the　whore　who　claims　to　revere　his　memory。。。　I'm　sorry。'
　'It's　all　right　I'll　convey　what　you've　told　me　to　our　friend。　He'll　be　calling　within　the　hour。'
　'Please；'　interrupted　Villiers。　There's　more。　It's　the　reason　I　had　to　reach　you。　Twice　while　my　wife　was　on　the　telephone　the　voices　held　meaning　for　me。　The　second　I　recognized；　a　face　came　to　mind　instantly。　He's　on　a　switchboard　in　Saint…Honoree。'
　'We　know　his　name。　What　about　the　first？'
　'It　was　strange。　I　did　not　know　the　voice；　there　was　no　face　to　go　with　it；　but　I　understood　why　it　was　there。　It　was　an　odd　voice；　half　whisper；　half　mand；　an　echo　of　itself。　It　was　the　mand　that　struck　me。　You　see；　that　voice　was　not　having　a　conversation　with　my　wife；　it　had　issued　an　order。　It　was　altered　the　instant　I　got　on　the　line；　of　course；　a　pre…arranged　signal　for　a　swift　good…bye；　but　the　residue　remained。　That　residue；　even　the　tone；　is　well　known　to　any　soldier；　it　is　his　means　of　emphasis。　Am　I　being　clear？'
　'I　think　so；'　said　Marie　gently；　aware　that　if　the　old　man　was　implying　what　she　thought　he　was；　the　strain　on　him　had　to　be　unbearable。
　'Be　assured　of　it；　Mademoiselle；'　said　the　general；　'it　was　the　killer　pig。'　Villiers　stopped；　his　breathing　audible；　the　next　words　drawn　out；　a　strong　man　close　to　weeping。　'He　was。。。　instructing。。。　my。。。　wife。'　The　old　soldier's　voice　cracked。　'Forgive　me　the　unforgivable。　I　have　no　right　to　burden　you。'
　'You　have　every　right；〃　said　Marie；　suddenly　alarmed。　'What's　happening　has　to　be　terribly　painful　for　you；　made　worse　because　you　have　no　one　to　talk　to。'
　'I　am　talking　to　you；　Mademoiselle。　I　shouldn't；　but　I　am。'
　'I　wish　we　could　keep　talking。　I　wish　one　of　us　could　be　with　you。　But　that's　not　possible　and　I　know　you　unde