rl.thebourneidentity-第107部分

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e　embassy；　she's　aware　of　the　First　Secretary；　probably　Conklin　by　now。　He　may　have　to　take　the　fall　himself。　Stay　out　of　it。'
　'You　just　told　me　to　play　it　out。'
　'Not　this　way。　You're　a　decent　man；　so　am　I。　We're　professionals。'
　'You　don't　understand！　We　have　photographs；　yes；　but　they　may　be　useless。　They're　three　years　old；　and　Bourne's　changed；　changed　drastically。　It's　why　Conklin's　on　the　scene　…　where　I　don't　know　…　but　he's　there。　He's　the　only　one　who's　seen　him；　but　it　was　night；　raining。　She　may　be　our　only　chance。　She's　been　with　him　…　living　with　him　for　weeks；　she　knows　him。　It's　possible　that　she'd　recognize　him　before　anyone　else。'
　'I　don't　understand。'
　'I'll　spell　it　out。　Among　Bourne's　many；　many　talents　is　the　ability　to　change　his　appearance；　melt　into　a　crowd　or　a　field　or　a　cluster　of　trees　…　be　where　you　can't　see　him。　If　what　you　say　is　so；　he　wouldn't　remember；　but　we　used　to　have　a　word　for　him　in　Medusa。　His　men　used　to　call　him。。。　a　chameleon。'
　'That's　your　Cain；　General。'
　'It　was　our　Delta。　There　was　no　one　like　him。。。　And　that's　why　the　girl　can　help。　Now。　Clear　me！　Let　me　see　her；　talk　to　her。'
　'By　clearing　you；　we　acknowledge　you。　I　don't　think　we　can　do　that。'
　'For　God's　sake；　you　just　said　we　were　decent　men！　Are　we？　We　can　save　his　life！　Maybe。　If　she's　with　me　and　we　find　him；　we　can　get　him　out　of　there！'
　'There？　Are　you　telling　me　you　know　exactly　where　he's　going　to　be？'
　'Yes。'
　'How？'
　'Because　he　wouldn't　go　anywhere　else。'
　'And　the　time　span？'　asked　the　incredulous　director　of　Consular　Operations。　'You　know　when　he's　going　to　be　there？'
　'Yes。　Today。　It's　the　date　of　his　own　execution。'
　Rock　music　blared　from　the　transistor　radio　with　tin…like　vibrations　as　the　long…haired　driver　of　the　Yellow　Cab　slapped　his　hand　against　the　rim　of　the　steering　wheel　and　jolted　his　jaw　with　the　beat。　The　taxi　edged　east　on　Seventy…first　Street；　locked　into　the　line　of　cars　that　began　at　the　exit　on　the　East　River　Drive。　Tempers　flared　as　engines　roared　in　place　and　cars　lurched　forward　only　to　slam　to　sudden　stops；　inches　away　from　bumpers　in　front。　It　was　8。45　in　the　morning；　New　York's　rush　hour　traffic　as　usual　a　contradiction　in　syntax。
　Bourne　wedged　himself　into　the　corner　of　the　back　seat　and　stared　at　the　tree…lined　street　beneath　the　rim　of　his　hat　and　through　the　dark　lenses　of　his　sun　glasses。　He　had　been　there；　it　was　all　indelible。　He　had　walked　the　pavements；　seen　the　doorways　and　the　shopfronts　and　the　walls　covered　with　ivy　…so　out　of　place　in　the　city；　yet　so　right　for　this　street。　He　had　glanced　up　before　and　had　noticed　the　roof　gardens　before；　relating　them　to　a　gracious　garden　several　blocks　away　towards　the　park；　beyond　a　pair　of　elegant　French　doors　at　the　far　end　of　a　large。。。　plicated。。。　room。　That　room　was　inside　a　tall；　narrow　building　of　brown；　jagged　stone；　with　a　column　of　wide；　lead…paned　windows　rising　three　storeys　above　the　pavement。　Windows　made　of　thick　glass　that　refracted　light　both　inside　and　out　in　subtle　flashes　of　purple　and　blue。　Antique　glass；　perhaps；　ornamental　glass。。。　bullet…proof　glass。　A　brown　stone　residence　with　a　set　of　thick　outside　steps。　They　were　odd　steps；　unusual　steps；　each　level　criss…crossed　with　black　ridges　that　protruded　above　the　surface；　protecting　the　descender　from　the　elements。　Shoes　going　down　would　not　slip　on　ice　or　snow。。。　and　the　weight　of　anyone　climbing　up　would　trigger　electronic　devices　inside。
　Jason　knew　that　house；　knew　they　were　ing　closer　to　it　The　echo　in　his　chest　accelerated　and　became　louder　as　they　entered　the　block。　He　would　see　it　any　moment；　and　as　he　held　his　wrist　he　knew　why　Pare　Monceau　had　struck　such　chords　in　his　mind's　eye。　That　small　part　of　Paris　was　so　much　like　this　short　stretch　of　the　upper　east　side。　Except　for　an　isolated　intrusion　of　an　unkempt　stoop　or　an　ill…conceived　white…washed　facade；　they　could　be　identical　blocks。
　He　thought　of　Andrel　Villiers。　He　had　written　down　everything　he　could　remember　since　a　memory　had　been　given　him　in　the　pages　of　a　notebook　hastily　purchased　at　Orly　Airport。　From　the　first　moment　when　a　living；　bullet…ridden　man　had　opened　his　eyes　in　a　humid；　dingy　room　on　lie　de　Port　Noir　through　the　frightening　revelations　of　Marseilles；　Zurich　and　Paris　…　especially　Paris；　where　the　spectre　of　an　assassin's　mantle　had　fallen　over　his　shoulders；　the　expertise　of　a　killer　proven　to　be　his。　By　any　standards；　it　was　a　confession；　as　damning　in　what　it　could　not　explain　as　in　what　it　described。　But　it　was　the　truth　as　he　knew　the　truth；　infinitely　more　exculpatory　after　his　death　than　before。　In　the　hands　of　Andrel　Villiers　it　would　be　used　well；　the　right　decisions　would　be　made　for　Marie　St　Jacques。　That　knowledge　gave　him　the　freedom　he　needed　now。　He　had　sealed　the　pages　in　an　envelope　and　mailed　it　to　Pare　Monceau　from　Kennedy　Airport。　By　the　time　it　reached　Paris　he　would　be　alive　or　he　would　be　dead；　he　would　kill　Carlos　or　Carlos　would　kill　him。　Somewhere　on　that　street　…　so　like　a　street　thousands　of　miles　away　…　a　man　whose　shoulders　floated　rigidly　above　a　tapered　waist　would　e　after　him。　It　was　the　only　thing　he　was　absolutely　sure　of；　he　would　do　the　same。　Somewhere　on　that　street。。。
　There　it　was！　It　was　there；　the　morning　sun　bouncing　off　the　black　enamelled　door　and　the　shiny　brass；　penetrating　the　thick；　lead…paned　windows　that　rose　like　a　wide　column　of　glistening；　purplish　blue；　emphasizing　the　ornamental　splendour　of　the　glass；　but　not　its　resistance　to　the　impacts　of　high…powered　rifles　and　heavy　calibred　automatic　weapons。　He　was　here；　and　for　reasons　…　emotions　he　could　not　define；　his　eyes　began　to　tear　and　there　was　a　swelling　in　his　throat。　He　had　the　incredible　feeling　that　he　had　e　back　to　a　place　that　was　as　much　a　part　of　him　as　his　body　or　what　was　left　of　his　mind。　Not　a　home；　there　was　no　fort；　no　serenity　in　looking　at　that　elegant　east…side　residence。　But　there　was　something　else　…an　overpowering　sensation　of　…　return。　He　was　back　at　the　beginning；　the　beginning；　at　both　departure　and　creation；　black　night　and　bursting　dawn。　Something　was　happening　to　him；　he　gripped　his　wrist　harder；　desperately　trying　to　control　the　almost　uncontrollable　impulse　to　jump　out　of　the　taxi　and　race　across　the　street　to　that　monstrous；　silent　structure　of　jagged　stone　and　deep　blue　glass。　He　wanted　to　leap　up　the　steps　and　hammer　his　fist　against　the　heavy　black　door。
　Let　me　in！　I　am　here！　You　must　let　me　in！　Can't　you　understand？
　I　AM　INSIDE！
　Images　welled　up　in　front　of　his　eyes；　jarring　sounds　assaulted　his　ears。　A　jolting；　throbbing　pain　kept　exploding　at　his　temples。　He　was　inside　a　dark　room　…　that　room　…　staring　at　a　screen；　at　other；　inner　images　that　kept　flashing　on　and　off　in　rapid；　blinding　succession。
　Who　is　he？　Quickly。　You're　too　late！　You're　a　dead　man。　Where　is　this　street？　What　does　it　mean　to　you？　Who　did　you　meet　there？　What？　Good。　Keep　it　simple；　say　as　little　as　possible。　Hare's　a　list：　eight　names。　Which　are　contacts？　Quickly！　Here's　another。　Methods　of　matching　kills。　Which　are　yours？。。。　No；　no；　no！　Delta　might　do　that；　not　Cain！　You　are　not　Delta；　you　are　not　you！　You　are　Cain。　You　are　a　man　named　Bourne。　Jason　Bourne！　You　slipped　back。　Try　again。　Concentrate！　Obliterate　everything　else。　Wipe　away　the　past。　It　does　not　exist　for　you。　You　are　only　what　you　are　here；　became　here！
　Oh；　God。　Marie　had　said　it。
　Maybe　you　just　know　what　you've　been　told。。。　Over　and　over　and　over　again。　Until　there　was　nothing　else。。。　Things　you've　been　told。。。　but　you　can't　re…live。。。　because　they're　not　you。
　The　sweat　rolled　down　his　face；　stinging　his　eyes；　as　he　dug　his　fingers　into　his　wrist；　trying　to　push　the　pain　and　the　sounds　and　the　flashes　of　light　out　of　his　mind。　He　had　written　to　Carlos　that　he　was　ing　back　for　hidden　documents　that　were　his。。。'　final　protection'。　At　that　time；　the　phrase　had　struck　him　as　weak；　he　had　nearly　crossed　it　out；　wanting　a　stronger　reason　for　flying　to　New　York。　Yet　instinct　had　told　him　to　let　it　stand；　it　was　a　part　of　his　past。。。　somehow。　Now　he　understood。　His　identity　was　inside　that　house。　His　identity。　And　whether　Carlos　came　after　him　or　not；　he　had　to　find　it　He　had　to！
　It　was　suddenly　insane！　He　shook　his　head　violently　back　and　forth；　trying　to　suppress　the　pulsion；　to　still　the　screams　that　were　all　around　him　…　screams　that　were　his　screams；　his　voice。　Forget　Carlos。　Forget　the　trap。　Get　inside　that　house！　It　was　there；　it　was　the　beginning！
　Stop　it！
　The　irony　was　macabre。　There　was　no　final　protection　in　that　house；　only　a　final　explanation　for　himself。　And　it　was　meaningless　without　Carlos。　Those　who　hunted　him　knew　it　and　disregarded　it；　they　wanted　him　dead　because　of　it。　But　he　was　so　close。。。　he　had　to　find　it。　It　was　there。
　Bourne　glanced　up；　the　long…haired　driver　was　watching　him　in　the　rear…view　mirror。　'Migraine；'　said　Jason　curtly。　'Drive　around　the　block。　To　this　block　again。　I'm　early　for　my　appointment。　I'll　tell　you　where　to　let　me　off。'
　'It's　your　wallet；　Mister。'
　The　brownstone　was　behind　them　now；　passed　quickly　in　a　sudden；　brief　break　in　the　traffic。　Bourne　swung　around　in　the　seat　and　looked　at　it　through