rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第5部分

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　Danko's　reaction　was　akin　to　that　of　a　penitent　who　has　finally　been　cleansed　of　his　burden　of　sin。　He　agreed　to　provide　Smith　with　information　he　thought　the　United　States　should　have。　There　were　only　two　caveats：　he　would　deal　only　with　Smith；　not　with　anyone　from　the　U。S。　intelligence　munity；　second；　he　wanted　Smith's　word　that　Smith　would　look　after　his　family　in　the　event　that　anything　happened　to　him。
　〃Nothing's　going　to　happen　to　you；　Yuri；〃　Smith　had　said　at　the　time。　〃You'll　die　in　your　own　bed；　surrounded　by　your　grandchildren。〃
　Observing　the　crowds　streaming　out　of　the　Doge's　Palace；　Smith　reflected　on　these　words。　At　the　time；　he　had　meant　them　sincerely。　But　now；　with　Danko　twenty…four　hours　late；　they　tasted　like　ashes　in　his　mouth。
　But　you　never　once　mentioned　Klein；　Smith　thought。　That　you　already　had　a　contact　in　the　United　States。　Why；　Yuri？　Is　Klein　your　ace　in　the　hole？
　New　arrivals　were　ing　in　by　gondola　and　launch　that　tied　up　at　the　wharves　in　front　of　the　lions　of　St。　Mark's。　More　exited　the　majestic　basilica；　glassy…eyed　from　the　landmark's　overwhelming　grandeur。　Smith　watched　them　all…　the　young　couples　holding　hands；　the　fathers　and　mothers　herding　their　children；　the　tour　groups　clustered　around　guides　who　shouted　above　the　din　in　a　dozen　different　languages。　He　held　his　newspaper　at　eye　level；　but　his　gaze　roamed　ceaselessly　above　the　masthead；　scanning　faces；　trying　to　find　that　special　one。
　Where　are　you？　What　did　you　find　that　was　so　terrible　you　had　to　promise　your　secrets　and　risk　your　life　to　bring　it　out？
　The　questions　gnawed　at　Smith。　Since　Danko　had　severed　all　contact；　there　were　no　answers　to　be　had。　According　to　Klein；　the　Russian　would　be　ing　across　war…scarred　Yugoslavia；　hiding　in　and　moving　through　the　chaos　and　misery　of　that　region　until　he　reached　the　coast。　There　he　would　find　a　ship　to　ferry　him　across　the　Adriatic　to　Venice。
　Just　get　here　and　you'll　be　safe。
　The　Gulfstream　was　on　standby　at　Venice's　Marco　Polo　Airport；　a　fast　launch　was　moored　at　the　dock　next　to　the　Palazzo　delle　Prigioni　on　the　Rio　di　Palazzo。　Smith　could　have　Danko　on　the　boat　within　three　minutes　of　spotting　him。　They　would　be　airborne　an　hour　later。
　Where　are　you？
　Smith　was　reaching　for　his　coffee　when　something　drifted　across　his　peripheral　vision：　a　heavyset　man　skirting　the　edge　of　a　tour　group。　Maybe　a　part　of　it；　maybe　not。　He　wore　a　weatherproof　nylon　jacket　and　a　golfer's　cap；　a　thick　beard　and　large　wraparound　sunglasses　concealed　his　face。　But　there　was　something　about　him。
　Smith　continued　to　watch；　then　saw　it…　a　slight　limp　in　the　left　leg。　Yuri　Danko　had　been　born　with　a　left　leg　one　inch　shorter　than　his　right。　Even　a　custom…made　platform　shoe　could　not　fully　disguise　the　limp。
　Smith　shifted　in　his　chair　and　adjusted　his　newspaper　so　that　he　could　follow　Danko's　movements。　The　Russian　was　using　the　tour　group　very　effectively；　drifting　alongside；　close　enough　to　be　mistaken　for　belonging；　not　so　close　as　to　get　the　leader's　attention。
　Slowly；　the　group　turned　away　from　the　basilica　and　headed　in　the　direction　of　the　Doge's　Palace。　In　less　than　a　minute　it　was　abreast　the　outer　row　of　tables　and　chairs　of　the　Florian　Café。　A　few　tourists　broke　away　from　the　group；　heading　for　the　small　snack　bar　next　to　the　café　next　door。　Smith　did　not　stir　as　they　passed　his　table；　chattering　to　one　another。　Only　when　Danko　was　passing　by　did　he　look　up。
　〃No　one's　using　this　chair。〃
　Smith　watched　as　Danko　turned；　clearly　recognizing　Smith's　voice。
　〃Jon？〃
　〃It's　me；　Yuri。　Go　on；　sit　down。〃
　The　Russian　slipped　into　the　chair；　bewilderment　etched　across　his　face。
　〃But　Mr。　Klein。。。　He　sent　you？　Do　you　work…？〃
　〃Not　here；　Yuri。　And　yes；　I　came　to　bring　you　over。〃
　Shaking　his　head；　Danko　flagged　a　passing　waiter　and　ordered　coffee。　He　tapped　out　a　cigarette　and　lit　it。　Smith　noticed　that　not　even　the　beard　could　hide　how　gaunt　Danko's　face　had　bee。　His　fingers　trembled　as　he　worked　to　light　the　cigarette。
　〃I　still　can't　believe　it's　you。。。。〃
　〃Yuri…〃
　〃It's　all　right；　Jon。　I　wasn't　followed。　I'm　clean。〃　Danko　leaned　back　in　his　chair　and　stared　at　the　pianist。　〃Wonderful；　isn't　it？　The　music；　I　mean。〃
　Smith　leaned　forward。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃
　Danko　nodded。　〃I　am　now。　Getting　here　wasn't　easy；　but…〃
　Danko　broke　off　as　the　waiter　brought　his　coffee。　〃It　was　very　difficult　in　Yugoslavia。　The　Serbs　are　a　paranoid　bunch。　I　was　carrying　a　Ukrainian　passport　but　even　that　was　closely　checked。〃
　Smith　was　straining　to　still　the　hundreds　of　questions　swirling　in　his　mind；　trying　to　focus　on　what　had　to　be　done　next。
　〃Is　there　anything　you　want　to　tell　me；　or　give　me…　right　now？〃
　Danko　appeared　not　to　have　heard　him。　His　attention　was　on　a　pair　of　carabinieri…　Italian　militiamen…　who　were　walking　slowly　among　the　tourists；　their　submachine　guns　slung　across　their　chests。
　〃Lots　of　police；〃　he　murmured。
　〃It's　the　holidays；〃　Smith　replied。　〃They　always　add　extra　patrols。　Yuri。。。〃
　〃I　have　something　to　tell　Mr。　Klein；　Jon；〃　Danko　leaned　across　the　table。　〃What　they're　going　to　do…　I　never　would　have　believed　it。　It's　insanity！〃
　〃What　are　they　going　to　do？〃　Smith　demanded；　trying　to　control　his　tone。　〃Who's　they？〃
　Danko　looked　around　nervously。　〃Have　you　made　the　arrangements？　Can　you　get　me　away　from　here？〃
　〃We　can　leave　right　now。〃
　As　Smith　dipped　into　his　pocket　for　his　billfold；　he　noticed　the　two　carabinieri　moving　between　the　café　tables。　One　laughed　as　though　the　other　had　made　a　joke；　then　motioned　in　the　direction　of　the　sandwich　bar。
　Smith　counted　out　some　lire；　placed　the　bills　under　a　plate；　and　was　about　to　push　back　his　chair　when　the　universe　exploded。
　〃Jon！〃
　Danko's　scream　was　cut　short　by　the　brutal　sound　of　automatic　weapons　fired　at　point…blank　range。　After　passing　the　table；　the　two　carabinieri　had　whirled　around；　guns　blazing。　Death　spat　from　the　two　barrels；　riddling　Danko's　body；　the　force　of　the　bullets　slamming　him　into　the　back　of　his　chair；　then　flinging　it　over。
　Smith　had　barely　enough　time　to　register　the　carnage　before　he　threw　himself　in　the　direction　of　the　small　grandstand。　Bullets　stitched　the　stone　and　wood　around　him。　The　pianist　made　the　fatal　mistake　of　trying　to　stand　up；　a　fusillade　cut　him　in　half。　Seconds　seemed　to　move　as　though　trapped　in　honey。　Smith　could　not　believe　that　the　killers　were　taking　so　much　time；　working　with　deadly　impunity。　What　he　did　know　was　that　the　grand　piano；　its　glossy　black　frame　and　white　keys　horribly　splintered；　was　saving　his　life；　absorbing　burst　after　burst　of　military…grade　bullets。
　The　killers　were　professionals；　they　knew　when　they　had　run　out　of　time。　Dropping　their　weapons；　they　crouched　behind　an　overturned　table　and　ripped　off　their　military　jackets。　Underneath；　they　wore　gray　and　tan　windbreakers。　From　the　pockets；　they　pulled　out　fishermen's　caps。　Using　the　bystanders'　panic　as　cover；　they　broke　and　raced　toward　the　Florian　Café。　As　they　burst　through　the　front　doors；　one　of　them　yelled：　〃Assassini！　They　are　killing　everyone！　For　the　love　of　God；　call　the　polizia！〃
　Smith　raised　his　head　just　in　time　to　see　the　killers　plunge　into　the　screaming　crowd　of　café　patrons。　He　looked　back　at　Danko；　lying　on　his　back；　his　chest　shredded。　A　low　animal　growl　rose　in　Smith's　throat　as　he　leaped　off　the　grandstand　and　elbowed　his　way　into　the　café。　The　herd　swept　him　away　to　the　service　doors　and　into　the　alley　at　the　back。　Gasping；　Smith　looked　frantically　in　both　directions。　On　the　left；　he　caught　a　glimpse　of　gray　jackets　disappearing　around　a　corner。
　The　killers　knew　the　area　very　well。　They　cut　down　two　twisting　alleys；　then　reached　a　narrow　canal　where　a　gondola　was　tied　to　a　pier　post。　One　jumped　in　and　grabbed　the　oar；　the　other　slipped　the　rope。　In　seconds　they　were　moving　down　the　canal。
　The　killer　who　was　oaring　paused　to　light　a　cigarette。
　〃A　simple　enough　day's　work；〃　he　said　to　his　partner。
　〃For　twenty　thousand　American　dollars；　it　was　almost　too　simple；〃　the　second　replied。　〃But　we　should　have　killed　the　other　one　too。　The　Swiss　gnome　was　very　specific：　the　target　and　any　contact　with　him。〃
　〃Basta！　We　fulfi