rl.thebourneidentity-第112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！


the　line　of　assault　directly　at　his　stomach。　Jason　sprang　back　off　the　ground；　crossing　his　wrists；　slashing　downward；　blocking　the　dark　arm　that　was　an　extension　of　the　handle。　He　twisted　his　fingers　inward；　yanking　his　hands　together；　vicing　the　forearm　beneath　his　blood…soaked　neck　and　wrenched　the　arm　diagonally　up。　The　knife　creased　the　cloth　of　his　field　jacket　and；　once　above　his　chest；　Bourne　spiralled　the　arm　downward；　twisting　the　wrist　now　in　his　grip；　crashing　his　shoulder　into　the　assassin's　body；　yanking　again　as　Carlos　plunged　sideways　off　balance；　his　arm　pulled　half　out　of　its　socket
　Jason　heard　the　clatter　of　the　knife　on　the　floor；　he　lurched　towards　the　sound；　at　the　same　time　reaching　into　his　belt　for　his　gun。　It　caught　on　the　cloth；　he　rolled　on　the　floor；　but　not　quickly　enough。　The　steel　toe　of　a　shoe　crashed　into　the　side　of　his　head　…　his　temple　…　and　shock　waves　bolted　through　him。　He　rolled　again；　faster；　faster；　until　he　smashed　into　the　wall；　coiling　upward　on　his　knee；　trying　to　focus　through　the　weaving；　obscure　shadows　in　the　near　total　darkness。　The　flesh　of　a　hand　was　caught　in　the　thin　line　of　light　from　the　window；　he　lunged　at　it；　his　own　hands　now　claws；　his　arms　battering　rams。　He　gripped　the　hand；　snapping　it　back；　breaking　the　wrist　A　scream　filled　the　room。
　A　scream　and　the　hollow；　lethal　spit　of　a　gunshot。　An　ice…like　incision　had　been　made　in　Bourne's　upper　left　chest；　the　bullet　lodged　somewhere　near　his　shoulder　blade。　In　agony；　he　crouched　and　sprang　again；　pummelling　the　killer　with　a　gun　into　the　wall　above　a　sharp…edged　piece　of　furniture；　Carlos　lunged　away　as　two　more　muted　shots　were　fired　wildly。　Jason　dived　to　his　left；　freeing　his　gun；　levelling　it　at　the　sounds　in　the　darkness。　He　fired；　the　explosion　deafening；　useless。　He　heard　the　door　crash　shut；　the　killer　had　raced　out　into　the　hallway。
　Trying　to　fill　his　lungs　with　air；　Bourne　crawled　towards　the　door。　As　he　reached　it；　instinct　manded　him　to　stay　at　the　side　and　smash　his　fist　into　the　wood　at　the　bottom。　What　followed　was　the　core　of　a　terrifying　nightmare。　There　was　a　short　burst　of　automatic　gunfire　as　the　panelled　wood　splintered；　fragments　flying　across　the　room。　The　instant　it　stopped；　Jason　raised　his　own　weapon　and　fired　diagonally　through　the　door；　the　burst　was　repeated。　Bourne　spun　away；　pressing　his　back　against　the　wall；　the　eruption　stopped　and　he　fired　again。　There　were　now　two　men　inches　from　each　other；　wanting　above　all　to　kill　each　other。　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。　Get　Carlos。　Trap　Carlos。　Kill　Carlos！
　And　then　they　were　not　inches　from　each　other。　Jason　heard　racing　footsteps；　then　the　sounds　of　a　railing　being　broken　as　a　figure　lurched　down　the　staircase。　Carlos　was　racing　below；　the　pig…animal　wanted　support；　he　was　hurt。　Bourne　wiped　the　blood　from　his　face；　from　his　throat；　and　moved　in　front　of　what　was　left　of　the　door。　He　pulled　it　open　and　stepped　out　into　the　narrow　corridor；　his　gun　levelled　in　front　of　him。　Painfully　he　made　his　way　towards　the　top　of　the　dark　staircase。　Suddenly　he　heard　shouts　below。
　'What　the　hell　you　doing　man！　Pete！　Pete！'
　Two　spits　filled　the　air。
　'Joey！　Joey！'
　A　single　spit　was　heard；　bodies　crashed　to　a　floor　somewhere　below。
　'Jesus！　Jesus；　Mother　of。。。！'
　Two　spits　again；　followed　by　a　guttural　cry　of　death。　A　third　man　was　killed。
　What　had　that　third　man　said？　Two　wise…ass　stiffs　and　four　crumb　balls　now。　The　moving　van　was　a　Carlos　operation！　The　assassin　had　brought　two　soldiers　with　him　…　the　first　three　crumb　balls　from　the　shape　up。　Three　men　with　weapons；　and　he　was　one　with　a　single　gun。　Cornered　on　the　top　floor　of　the　brownstone。　Still　Carlos　was　inside。　Inside。　If　he　could　get　out；　it　would　be　Carlos　who　was　cornered！　If　he　could　get　out。　Out！
　There　was　a　window　at　the　front　end　of　the　hall；　obscured　by　a　black　blind。　Jason　veered　towards　it；　stumbling；　holding　his　neck；　creasing　his　shoulder　to　blunt　the　pain　in　his　chest　He　ripped　the　blind　from　its　spindle；　the　window　was　small；　the　glass　here；　too；　thick；　prismatic　blocks　of　purple　and　blue　light　shooting　through　it；　it　was　unbreakable；　the　frame　riveted　in　place；　there　was　no　way　he　could　smash　a　single　pane。　And　then　his　eyes　were　drawn　below　to　Seventy…first　Street。　The　removal　van　was　gone。　Someone　must　have　driven　it　away。。。　one　of　Carlos's　soldiers！　That　left　two。　Two　men；　not　three。　And　he　was　on　the　high　ground；　there　were　always　advantages　on　the　high　ground。
　Grimacing；　bent　partially　over；　Bourne　made　his　way　to　the　first　door　on　the　left；　it　was　parallel　to　the　top　of　the　staircase；　He　opened　it　and　stepped　inside。　From　what　he　could　see　it　was　an　ordinary　bedroom；　lamps；　heavy　furniture；　pictures　on　the　walls。　He　grabbed　the　nearest　lamp；　ripped　the　cord　from　the　wall　and　carried　it　out　to　the　railing。　He　raised　it　above　his　head　and　hurled　it　down；　stepping　back　as　metal　and　glass　crashed　below。　There　was　another　burst　of　gunfire；　the　bullets　shredding　the　ceiling；　cutting　a　path　in　the　plaster。　Jason　screamed；　letting　the　scream　fade　into　a　cry；　the　cry　into　a　prolonged　desperate　wail；　and　then　silence；　he　edged　his　way　to　the　rear　of　the　railing。　He　waited。　Silence。
　It　happened。　He　could　hear　the　slow；　cautious　footsteps；　the　killer　bad　been　on　the　first…floor　landing。　The　footsteps　came　closer；　became　louder；　a　faint　shadow　appeared　on　the　dark　wall。　Now。　Bourne　sprang　out　of　his　recess　and　fired　four　shots　in　rapid　succession　at　the　figure　on　the　staircase；　a　line　of　bullet　holes　and　eruptions　of　blood　appeared　diagonally　across　the　man's　collar。　The　killer　spun；　roaring　in　anger　and　pain　as　his　neck　arched　back　and　his　body　plummeted　down　the　steps　until　it　was　still；　sprawled　face…up　across　the　bottom　three　steps。　In　his　hands　was　a　deadly　automatic　field　machine…gun　with　a　rod　and　brace　for　a　stock。
　Now。　Jason　ran　over　to　the　top　of　the　staircase　and　raced　down；　holding　the　railing；　trying　to　keep　whatever　was　left　of　his　balance。　He　could　not　waste　a　moment；　he　might　not　find　another。　If　he　was　going　to　reach　the　first　floor　it　was　now；　in　the　immediate　aftermath　of　the　soldier's　death。　And　as　he　leaped　over　the　dead　body；　Bourne　knew　it　was　a　soldier；　it　was　not　Carlos。　The　man　was　tall；　and　his　skin　was　white；　very　white；　his　features　Nordic；　or　northern　European；　in　no　way　Latin。
　Jason　ran　into　the　hallway　of　the　first　floor；　seeking　the　shadows；　hugging　the　wall。　He　stopped；　listening。　There　was　a　sharp　scrape　in　the　distance；　a　brief　scratch　from　below。　He　knew　what　he　had　to　do　now。　The　assassin　was　on　the　ground　floor。　And　the　sound　had　not　been　deliberate；　it　had　not　been　loud　enough　or　prolonged　enough　to　signify　a　trap。　Carlos　was　injured　…　a　smashed　kneecap　or　a　broken　wrist　could　disorient　him　to　the　point　where　he　might　collide　with　a　piece　of　furniture　or　brush　against　a　wall　with　a　weapon　in　his　hand；　briefly　losing　his　balance　as　Bourne　was　losing　his。　It　was　what　he　needed　to　know。
　Jason　dropped　to　a　crouch　and　crept　back　to　the　staircase；　to　the　dead　body　sprawled　across　the　steps。　He　had　to　pause　for　a　moment；　he　was　losing　strength；　too　much　blood。　He　tried　to　squeeze　the　flesh　at　the　top　of　his　throat　and　press　the　wound　in　his　chest；　anything　to　stem　the　bleeding。　It　was　futile；　to　stay　alive　he　had　to　get　out　of　the　brownstone　house；　away　from　the　place　where　Cain　was　born。　Jason　Bourne。。。　there　was　no　humour　in　the　word　association。　He　found　his　breath　again；　reached　out　and　pried　the　automatic　weapon　from　the　dead　man's　hands。　He　was　ready。
　He　was　dying　and　he　was　ready。　Get　Carlos。　Trap　Carlos。。。　Kill　Carlos！　He　could　not　get　out；　he　knew　that。　Time　was　not　on　his　side。　The　blood　would　drain　out　of　him　before　it　happened。　The　end　was　the　beginning：　Cain　was　for　Carlos　and　Delta　was　for　Cain。　Only　one　agonizing　question　remained：　who　was　Delta？　It　did　not　matter。　It　was　behind　him　now；　soon　there　would　be　the　darkness；　not　violent　but　peaceful。。。　freedom　from　that　question。
　And　with　his　death　Marie　would　be　free；　his　love　would　be　free。　Decent　men　would　see　to　it；　led　by　a　decent　man　in　Paris　whose　son　had　been　killed　on　the　rue　du　Bac；　whose　life　had　been　destroyed　by　an　assassin's　whore。　Within　the　next　few　minutes；　thought　Jason；　silently　checking　the　clip　in　the　automatic　weapon；　he　would　fulfil　his　promise　to　that　man；　carry　out　the　agreement　he　had　with　men　he　did　not　know。　By　doing　both；　the　proof　was　his。　Jason　Bourne　had　died　once　on　this　day；　he　would　die　again　but　would　take　Carlos　with　him。　He　was　ready。
　He　lowered　himself　to　a　prone　position　and　crept；　hands　over　elbows；　towards　the　top　of　the　staircase。　He　could　smell　the　blood　beneath　him；　the　sweet；　bland　odour　penetrating　his　nostrils；　informing　him　of　a　practicality。　Time　was　running　out。　He　reached　the　top　step；　pulling　his　legs　up　under　him；　digging　into　his　pocket　for　one　of　the　road　flares　he　had　purchased　at　the　army…navy　store　on　Lexington　Avenue。　He　knew　now　why　he　had　felt　the　pulsion　to　buy　them。　He　was　back　in　the　unremembered　Tarn　Quan；　forgotten　except　for　brilliant；　blinding　flashes　of　light。　The　flares　had　reminded　him　of　that　fragment　of　memory；　they　would　light　up　a　jungle　now。
　He　uncoiled　the　wa