rl.thebourneultimatum-第117部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　Holland　leaned　forward　in　his　chair。　〃I　told　Conklin　I'd　help　him　any　way　I　could　as　long　as　it　didn't　promise　our　going　after　Medusa。　。。。　He'll　be　landing　in　Paris　within　the　hour。　Shall　I　leave　instructions　at　the　diplomatic　counter　for　him　to　reach　you？〃
　〃Tell　him　to　call　Charlie　Bravo　Plus　One；〃　said　Casset；　getting　up　and　dropping　the　puter　printout　on　the　desk。　〃I　don't　know　how　much　I　can　give　him　in　an　hour；　but　I'll　go　to　work。　I've　got　a　secure　channel　to　our　Russian；　thanks　to　an　outstanding　'consultant'　of　ours　in　Paris。〃
　〃Give　him　a　bonus。〃
　〃She's　already　asked　for　one…harassed　me　is　more　appropriate。　She　runs　the　cleanest　escort　service　in　the　city；　the　girls　are　checked　weekly。〃
　〃Why　not　hire　them　all？〃　asked　the　director；　smiling。
　〃I　believe　seven　are　already　on　the　payroll；　sir；〃　answered　the　deputy　director；　his　demeanor　serious；　in　contrast　to　his　arched　eyebrows。
　Dr。　Morris　Panov；　his　legs　unsteady；　was　helped　down　the　metal　steps　of　the　diplomatically　cleared　jet　by　a　strapping　marine　corporal　in　starched　summer　khakis　carrying　his　suitcase。　〃How　do　you　people　manage　to　look　so　presentable　after　such　a　perfectly　horrendous　trip？〃　asked　the　psychiatrist。
　〃None　of　us　will　look　this　presentable　after　a　couple　of　hours　of　liberty　in　Paris；　sir。〃
　〃Some　things　never　change；　Corporal。　Thank　God。　。。。　Where's　that　crippled　delinquent　who　was　with　me？〃
　〃He　was　vehicled　off　for　a　diplograph；　sir。〃
　〃e　again？　A　noun's　a　verb　leading　to　the　inprehensible？〃
　〃It's　not　so　hard；　Doctor；〃　laughed　the　marine；　leading　Panov　to　a　motorized　cart　plete　with　a　uniformed　driver　and　a　stenciled　American　flag　on　the　side。　〃During　our　descent；　the　tower　radioed　the　pilot　that　there　was　an　urgent　message　for　him。〃
　〃I　thought　he　went　to　the　bathroom。〃
　〃That；　too；　I　believe；　sir。〃　The　corporal　put　the　suitcase　on　a　rear　rack　and　helped　Mo　into　the　cart。　〃Easy　now；　Doctor；　lift　your　leg　up　a　little　higher。〃
　〃That's　the　other　one；　not　me；〃　protested　the　psychiatrist。　〃He's　the　one　without　a　foot。〃
　〃We　were　told　you'd　been　ill；　sir。〃
　〃Not　in　my　goddamned　legs。　。。。　Sorry；　young　man；　no　offense。　I　just　don't　like　flying　in　small　tubes　a　hundred　and　ten　miles　up　in　the　sky。　Not　too　many　astronauts　e　from　Tremont　Avenue　in　the　Bronx。〃
　〃Hey；　you're　kidding；　Doc！〃
　〃What？〃
　〃I'm　from　Garden　Street；　you　know；　across　from　the　zoo！　The　name's　Fleishman；　Morris　Fleishman。　Nice　to　meet　a　fellow　Bronxite。〃
　〃Morris？〃　said　Panov；　shaking　hands。　〃Morris　the　Marine？　I　should　have　had　a　talk　with　your　parents。　。。。　Stay　well；　Mo。　And　thank　you　for　your　concern。〃
　〃You　get　better；　Doc；　and　when　you　see　Tremont　Avenue　again；　give　it　my　best；　okay？〃
　〃I　will；　indeed；　Morris；〃　replied　Morris；　raising　his　hand　as　the　diplomatic　cart　shot　forward。
　Four　minutes　later；　escorted　by　the　driver；　Panov　entered　the　long　gray　corridor　that　was　the　immigration…free　access　to　France　for　government　functionaries　of　nations　accredited　by　the　Quai　d'Orsay。　They　walked　into　the　large　holding　lounge　where　men　and　women　were　gathered　in　small　groups；　conversing　quietly；　the　sounds　of　different　languages　filling　the　room。　Alarmed；　Mo　saw　that　Conklin　was　nowhere　in　sight；　he　turned　to　the　driver…escort　as　a　young　woman　dressed　in　the　neutral　uniform　of　a　hostess　approached。
　〃Docteur？〃　she　asked；　addressing　Panov。
　〃Yes；〃　replied　Mo；　surprised。　〃But　I'm　afraid　my　French　is　pretty　rusty　if　not　nonexistent。〃
　〃It's　of　no　matter；　sir。　Your　panion　requested　that　you　remain　here　until　he　returns。　It　will　be　no　more　than　a　few　minutes；　he　was　quite　sure。　。。。　Please；　sit　down。　May　I　bring　you　a　drink？〃
　〃Bourbon　with　ice；　if　you'd　be　so　kind；〃　answered　Panov；　lowering　himself　into　the　armchair。
　〃Certainly；　sir。〃　The　hostess　retreated　as　the　driver　placed　Mo's　suitcase　beside　him。
　〃I　have　to　get　back　to　my　vehicle；〃　said　the　diplomatic　escort。　〃You'll　be　fine　here。〃
　〃I　wonder　where　my　friend　went；〃　mused　Panov；　glancing　at　his　watch。
　〃Probably　to　an　outside　phone；　Doctor。　They　e　in　here；　get　messages　at　the　counters；　then　go　like　hell　into　the　terminal　to　find　public　pay　phones；　they　don't　like　the　ones　in　here。　The　Russkies　always　walk　the　fastest；　the　Arabs；　the　slowest。〃
　〃Must　be　their　respective　climates；〃　offered　the　psychiatrist；　smiling。
　〃Don't　bet　your　stethoscope　on　it。〃　The　driver　laughed　and　brought　his　hand　up　for　an　informal　salute。　〃Take　care；　sir；　and　get　some　rest。　You　look　tired。〃
　〃Thank　you；　young　man。　Good…bye。〃　I　am　tired；　thought　Panov　as　the　escort　disappeared　into　the　gray　corridor。　So　tired；　but　Alex　was　right。　If　he'd　flown　here　alone；　I　would　never　have　forgiven　him。　。。。　David！　We've　got　to　find　him！　The　damage　to　him　could　be　incalculable…none　of　them　understands。　With　a　single　act　his　fragile；　damaged　mind　could　regress　years…thirteen　years…to　where　he　was　a　functioning　killer；　and　for　him　nothing　else！　。。。　A　voice。　The　figure　above　was　talking　to　him。　〃I'm　sorry；　forgive　me。　。。。　Your　drink；　Doctor；〃　said　the　hostess　pleasantly。　〃I　debated　whether　to　wake　you；　but　then　you　moved　and　sounded　as　though　you　were　in　pain…〃
　〃No；　not　at　all；　my　dear。　Just　tired。〃
　〃I　understand；　sir。　Sudden　flights　can　be　so　exhausting；　and　if　they　are　long　and　unfortable；　even　worse。〃
　〃You　touched　on　all　three　points；　miss；〃　agreed　Panov；　taking　his　drink。　〃Thank　you。〃
　〃You　are　American；　of　course。〃
　〃How　could　you　tell？　I'm　not　wearing　cowboy　boots　or　a　Hawaiian　shirt。〃
　The　woman　laughed　charmingly。　〃I　know　the　driver　who　brought　you　in　here。　He's　American　security；　and　quite　nice；　very　attractive。〃
　〃Security？　You　mean　like　in　'police'？〃
　〃Oh；　very　much　so；　but　we　never　use　the　word。　。。。　Oh；　here's　your　panion　ing　back　inside。〃　The　hostess　lowered　her　voice。　〃May　I　ask　quickly；　Doctor？　Does　he　require　a　wheelchair？〃
　〃Good　heavens；　no。　He's　walked　like　that　for　years。〃
　〃Very　well。　Enjoy　your　stay　in　Paris；　sir。〃　The　woman　left　as　Alex；　limping；　weaved　around　several　groups　of　chattering　Europeans　to　the　chair　next　to　Panov。　He　sat　down　and　leaned　forward　awkwardly　in　the　soft　leather。　He　was　obviously　disturbed。
　〃What's　the　matter？〃　asked　Mo。
　〃I　just　talked　to　Charlie　Casset　in　Washington。〃
　〃He's　the　one　you　like；　the　one　you　trust；　isn't　he？〃
　〃He's　the　best　there　is　when　he　has　personal　access；　or；　at　least；　human　intelligence。　When　he　can　see　and　hear　and　look　for　himself；　and　not　simply　read　words　on　paper　or　a　puter　screen　without　asking　questions。〃
　〃Are　you；　perchance；　moving　into　my　territory　again；　Doctor　Conklin？〃
　〃I　accused　David　of　that　last　week　and　I'll　tell　you　what　he　told　me。　It's　a　free　country；　and　your　training　notwithstanding；　you　don't　have　a　franchise　on　mon　sense。〃
　〃Mea　culpa；〃　agreed　Panov；　nodding。　〃I　gather　your　friend　did　something　you　don't　approve　of。〃
　〃He　did　something　he　wouldn't　approve　of　if　he　had　more　information　on　whom　he　did　it　with。〃
　〃That　sounds　positively　Freudian；　even　medically　imprudent。〃
　〃Both　are　part　of　it；　I　guess。　He　made　an　outside　unsanctioned　deal　with　a　man　named　Dimitri　Krupkin　at　the　Russian　embassy　here　in　Paris。　We'll　be　working　with　the　local　KGB…you；　me；　Bourne　and　Marie…if　and　when　we　find　them。　Hopefully；　in　Rambouillet　in　an　hour　or　so。〃
　〃What　are　you　saying？〃　asked　Mo；　astonished　and　barely　audible。
　〃Long　story；　short　time。　Moscow　wants　the　Jackal's　head；　the　rest　of　him　separated　from　it。　Washington　can't　feed　us　or　protect　us；　so　the　Soviets　will　act　as　our　temporary　paterfamilias　if　we　find　ourselves　in　a　bind。〃
　Panov　frowned；　then　shook　his　head　as　though　absorbing　very　strange　information；　then　spoke。　〃I　suppose　it's　not　your　run…of…the…mill　development；　but　there's　a　certain　logic；　even　fort；　to　it。〃
　〃On　paper；　Mo；〃　said　Conklin。　〃Not　with　Dimitri　Krupkin。　I　know　him。　Charlie　doesn't。〃
　〃Oh？　He's　one　of　the　evil　people？〃
　〃Kruppie　evil？　No；　not　really…〃
　〃Kruppie？〃
　〃We　go　way　back　as　young　hustlers　to　Istanbul　in　the　late　sixties　and　Athens　after　that；　then　Amsterdam　later。　。。。　Krupkin's　not　malevolent；　and　he　works　like　a　son　of　a　bitch　for　Moscow　with　a　damn　good　second…rate　mind；　better　than　eighty　percent　of　the　clowns　in　our　business；　but　he's　got