rl.thebourneidentity-第12部分

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　'It's　your　property；'　replied　Apfel。　'I　can　assure　you　it　has　remained　intact。'
　The　patient　removed　the　envelope　and　turned　it　over。　A　Gemeinschaft　seal　was　pressed　over　the　borders　of　the　flap；　none　of　the　raised　letters　had　been　disturbed。　He　tore　the　flap　open；　took　out　the　card；　and　read：
　Owner：
　Address：
　Citizenship：
　Jason　Charles　Bourne
　Unlisted
　U。S。A。
　Jason　Charles　Bourne。
　Jason。
　The　J　was　for　Jason！　His　name　was　Jason　Bourne。　The　Bourne　had　meant　nothing；　the　I。　Bourne　still　meaningless；　but　in　the　bination　Jason　and　Bourne；　obscure　tumblers　locked　into　place。　He　could　accept　it；　he　did　accept　it。　He　was　Jason　Charles　Bourne；　American。　Yet　he　could　feel　his　chest　pounding；　the　vibration　in　his　ears　was　deafening；　the　pain　in　his　stomach　more　acute。　What　was　it？　Why　did　he　have　the　feeling　that　he　was　plunging　into　the　darkness　again；　into　the　black　waters　again？
　'Is　something　wrong？'　asked　Walther　Apfel。
　Is　something　wrong；　Herr　Bourne？
　'No。　Everything's　fine。　My　name's　Bourne。　Jason　Bourne。'
　Was　he　shouting？　Whispering？　He　could　not　tell。
　'My　privilege　to　know　you；　Mr。　Bourne。　Your　identity　will　remain　confidential。　You　have　the　word　of　an　officer　of　the　Bank　Gemeinschaft'
　Thank　you。　Now；　I'm　afraid　I've　got　to　transfer　a　great　deal　of　this　money；　and　I'll　need　your　help。'
　'Again；　my　privilege。　Whatever　assistance　or　advice　I　can　render；　I　shall　be　happy　to　do　so。'
　Bourne　reached　for　the　glass　of　Perrier。
　The　steel　door　of　Apfel's　office　closed　behind　him；　within　seconds　he　would　walk　out　of　the　tasteful　ante…room　cell；　into　the　reception　room　and　over　to　the　lifts。　Within　minutes　he　would　be　on　the　Bahnhofstrasse　with　a　name；　a　great　deal　of　money　and　little　else　but　fear　and　confusion。
　He　had　done　it　Dr　Geoffrey　Washburn　had　been　paid　far　in　excess　of　the　value　of　the　life　he　had　saved。　A　teletype　transfer　in　the　amount　of　3；000；000　Swiss　francs　had　been　sent　to　a　bank　in　Marseilles；　deposited　to　a　Coded　account　that　would　find　its　way　to　lie　de　Port　Noir's　only　doctor；　without　Wash…burn's　name　ever　being　used　or　revealed。　All　Washburn　had　to　do　was　to　get　to　Marseilles；　recite　the　Codes；　and　the　money　was　his。　Bourne　smiled　to　himself；　picturing　the　expression　on　Wash…burn's　face　when　the　account　was　turned　over　to　him。　The　eccentric；　alcoholic　doctor　would　have　been　overjoyed　with　ten　or　fifteen　thousand　pounds；　he　had　more　than　a　million　dollars。　It　would　either　ensure　his　recovery　or　his　destruction；　that　was　his　choice；　his　problem。
　A　second　transfer　of　4；000；000　francs　was　sent　to　a　bank　in　Paris　on　the　rue　Madeleine；　deposited　in　the　name　of　Jason　C。　Bourne。　The　transfer　was　expedited　by　the　Gemeinschaft's　twice…weekly　pouch　to　Paris；　signature　cards　in　triplicate　sent　with　the　documents。　Herr　Koenig　had　assured　both　his　superior　and　the　client　that　the　papers　would　reach　Paris　in　three　days。
　The　final　transaction　was　minor　by　parison。　One　hundred　thousand　francs　in　large　bills　were　brought　to　Apfel's　office；　the　withdrawal　slip　signed　in　the　account　holder's　numerical　signature。
　Remaining　on　deposit　in　the　Gemeinschaft　Bank　were　3；215　Swiss　francs；　a　not　inconsequential　sum　by　any　standard。　How？　Why？　From　where？
　The　entire　business　had　taken　an　hour　and　twenty　minutes；　only　one　discordant　note　intruding　on　the　smooth　proceedings。　In　character；　it　had　been　delivered　by　Koenig；　his　expression　a　mixture　of　solemnity　and　minor　triumph。　He　had　rung　Apfel；　was　admitted；　and　had　brought　a　small；　black…bordered　envelope　to　his　superior。　'Une　fiche；'　he　had　said　in　French。
　The　banker　had　opened　the　envelope；　removed　a　card；　studied　the　contents；　and　had　returned　both　to　Koenig。　'Procedures　will　be　followed；'　he　had　said。　Koenig　had　left。
　'Did　that　concern　me？'　Bourne　had　asked。　'Only　in　terms　of　releasing　such　large　amounts。　Merely　house　policy。'　The　banker　had　smiled　reassuringly。
　The　lock　clicked。　Bourne　opened　the　frosted　glass　door　and　walked　out　into　Herr　Koenig's　personal　fiefdom。　Two　other　men　had　arrived；　seated　at　opposite　ends　of　the　reception　room。　Since　they　were　not　in　separate　cells　behind　opaque　glass　windows；　Bourne　presumed　that　neither　had　a　three…zero　account　He　wondered　if　they　had　signed　names　or　written　out　a　series　of　numbers；　but　he　stopped　wondering　the　instant　he　reached　the　lift　and　pressed　the　button。
　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　perceived　movement；　Koenig　had　shifted　his　head；　nodding　at　both　men。　They　rose　as　the　lift　door　opened。　Bourne　turned；　the　man　on　the　right　had　taken　a　small　radio　out　of　his　overcoat　pocket；　he　spoke　into　it　…　briefly；　quickly。
　The　man　on　the　left　had　his　right　hand　concealed　beneath　the　cloth　of　his　raincoat。　When　he　pulled　it　out　he　was　holding　a　gun；　a　black。38　calibre　automatic　pistol　with　a　perforated　cylinder　attached　to　the　barrel。　A　silencer。
　Both　men　converged　on　Bourne　as　he　backed　into　the　deserted　lift。　The　madness　began。
　5
　The　lift　doors　started　to　close；　the　man　with　the　hand…held　radio　was　already　inside；　the　shoulders　of　his　armed　panion　angling　between　the　moving　panels；　the　weapon　aimed　at　Bourne's　head。
　Jason　leaned　to　his　right　…　a　sudden　gesture　of　fear　…　then　abruptly；　without　warning；　swept　his　left　foot　off　the　floor；　pivoting；　his　heel　plunging　into　the　armed　man's　hand；　sending　the　gun　upwards；　reeling　the　man　backwards　out　of　the　enclosure。　Two　muted　gunshots　preceded　the　closing　of　the　doors；　the　bullets　embedding　themselves　in　the　thick　wood　of　the　ceiling。　Bourne　pleted　his　pivot；　his　shoulder　crashing　into　the　second　man's　stomach；　his　right　hand　surging　into　the　chest；　his　left　pinning　the　hand　with　the　radio。　He　hurled　the　man　into　the　wall。　The　radio　flew　across　the　lift；　as　it　fell　words　came　out　of　its　speaker。
　'Henri！　？a　va？　Maintenant；　rascenseur？
　The　image　of　another　Frenchman　came　to　Jason's　mind。　A　man　on　the　edge　of　hysteria；　disbelief　in　his　eyes；　a　would…be　killer　who　had　raced　out　of　Le　Bouc　de　Mer　into　the　shadows　of　the　rue　Sarasin　less　than　twenty…four　hours　ago。　That　man　had　wasted　no　time　sending　his　message　to　Zurich：　the　one　they　thought　was　dead　was　alive。　Very　much　alive。　Kill　him！
　Bourne　grabbed　the　Frenchman　in　front　of　him　now；　his　left　arm　around　the　man's　throat；　his　right　hand　tearing　at　the　man's　left　ear。　'How　many！'　he　asked　in　French。　'How　many　are　there　down　there？　Where　are　they？'
　'Find　out；　pig！'
　The　lift　was　halfway　to　the　ground…floor　lobby。　Jason　angled　the　man's　face　down；　ripping　the　ear　half　out　of　its　roots；　smashing　the　man's　head　into　the　wall。　The　Frenchman　screamed；　sinking　to　the　floor。　Bourne　rammed　his　knee　into　the　man's　chest；　he　could　feel　the　holster。　He　yanked　the　overcoat　open；　reached　in；　and　pulled　out　a　short…barrelled　revolver。　For　an　instant；　it　occurred　to　him　that　someone　had　deactivated　the　scanning　machinery　in　the　lift。　Koenig。　He　would　remember；　there'd　be　no　amnesia　where　Herr　Koenig　was　concerned。　He　jammed　the　gun　into　the　Frenchman's　open　mouth。
　Tell　me　or　I'll　blow　the　back　of　your　skull　off！　The　man　expunged　a　cry；　the　weapon　was　withdrawn；　the　barrel　now　pressed　into　his　cheek。
　Two。　One　by　the　lifts；　one　outside　on　the　pavement；　by　the　car。'
　'What　type　of　car？'　'Peugeot'
　'Colour？'　The　lift　was　slowing　down；　ing　to　a　stop。
　'Brown。'
　The　man　in　the　lobby。　What's　he　wearing！'
　'I　don't　know。。。'
　Jason　cracked　the　gun　across　the　man's　temple。　'You'd　better　remember！'
　'A　black　coat　I'
　The　lift　stopped；　Bourne　pulled　the　Frenchman　to　his　feet；　the　doors　opened。　To　the　left；　a　man　in　a　dark　raincoat　and　wearing　an　odd…looking　pair　of　gold…rimmed　spectacles；　stepped　forward。　The　eyes　beyond　the　lenses　recognized　the　circumstances；　blood　was　trickling　down　across　the　Frenchman's　cheek。　He　raised　his　unseen　hand；　concealed　by　the　wide　pocket　of　his　raincoat；　another　silenced　automatic　levelled　at　the　target　from　Marseilles。
　Jason　propelled　the　Frenchman　in　front　of　him　through　the　doors。　Three　rapid　spits　were　heard；　the　Frenchman　shouted；　his　arms　raised　in　a　final；　guttural　protest。　He　arched　his　back　and　fell　to　the　marble　floor。　A　woman　to　the　right　of　the　man　with　the　gold…rimmed　spectacles　screamed；　joined　by　several　men　who　called　to　no　one　and　everyone　for　help；　for　the　police。
　Bourne　knew　he　could　not　use　the　revolver　he　had　taken　from　the　Frenchman。　It　had　no　silencer；　the　sound　of　a　gunshot　would　mark　him。　He　shoved　it　into　his　topcoat　pocket；　side…stepped　the　screaming　woman　and　grabbed　the　uniformed　shoulders　of　the　lift　attendant；　whipping　the　bewildered　man　around；　throwing　him　into　the　figure　of　the　killer　in　the　dark　raincoat。
　The　panic　in　the　lobby　mounted　as　Jason　ran　towards　the　glass　doors　of　the　entrance。　The　boutonniere　greeter　who　had　mistaken　his　language　an　hour　and　a　half　ago　was　shouting　into　a　wall　telephone；　a　uniformed　guard　at　his　side；　weapon　drawn；　barricading　the　exit；　eyes　riveted　on　the　chaos；　riveted　suddenly　on　him。　Getting　out　was　instantly　a　problem。　Bourne　avoided　the　guard's　eyes；　directing　his　words　to　the　guard's　associate　on　the　telephone。
　The　man　wearing　gold…rimmed　glasses！'　he　shouted。　'He's　the　one！　I　saw　him！'
　'What？　Who　are　you？'
　'I'm　a　friend　of　Walther　Apfel！　Listen　t