rl.thebourneidentity-第23部分

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　'There's　a　restaurant；　the　Drei　Alpenhauser；　and　a　large　fat　man　who　was　frightened　to　death。。。'　Marie　St　Jacques　recounted　everything　she　could　remember。　From　time　to　time　the　police　official　interrupted；　questioning　her　about　a　phrase　or　reaction；　or　a　sudden　decision　on　the　part　of　the　killer。　Intermittently　he　removed　his　gold　spectacles；　wiping　them　absently；　gripping　the　frames　as　if　the　pressure　controlled　his　irritation。　The　interrogation　lasted　nearly　twenty…five　minutes；　then　the　official　made　his　decision。　He　spoke　to　his　driver。
　'Drei　Alpenhauser。　Schnell！'　He　turned　to　Marie　St　Jacques。　'We'll　confront　that　man　with　his　own　words。　His　incoherence　was　quite　intentional。　He　knows　far　more　than　he　said　at　the　table。'
　'Incoherence。。。'　She　said　the　word　softly；　remembering　her　own　use　of　it。　'Steppdeck。。。　SteppdecksIraMe。　Cracked　windows；　rooms。'
　'What？'
　'　〃A　boarding　house　in　the　Steppdeckstrasse。〃　That's　what　he　said。　Everything　was　happening　so　fast　but　he　said　it。　And　just　before　I　jumped　out　of　the　car；　he　said　it　again。　Steppdeckstrasse。'
　The　driver　spoke。　'Der　Alto　ist　verruckt。　Steppdeckstrasse　gibt　est'
　'I　don't　understand；'　said　Marie　St　Jacques。
　'It's　a　rundown　section　that　has　not　kept　up　with　the　times；'　replied　the　official。　'The　old　fabric　mills　used　to　be　there。　A　haven　for　the　less　fortunate。。。　and　others。　Los！'　he　ordered。
　They　drove　off。
　A　crack。　Outside　the　room。　Snaplike；　echoing　off　into　a　sharp　Gods；　the　sound　penetrating；　diminishing　in　the　distance。　Bourne　opened　his　eyes。
　The　staircase。　The　staircase　hi　the　filthy　hall　outside　his　room。　Someone　had　been　walking　up　the　steps　and　had　stopped；　aware　of　the　noise　his　weight　had　caused　on　the　warped；　cracked　wood。　A　normal　boarder　at　the　Steppdeckstrasse　rooming　house　would　have　no　such　concern。
　Silence。
　Crack。　Now　closer。　A　risk　was　taken；　timing　paramount；　speed　the　cover。　Jason　spun　off　the　bed；　grabbing　the　gun　that　was　by　his　head；　and　lunged　to　the　wall　by　the　door。　He　crouched；　hearing　the　footsteps　…　one　man　…　the　runner；　no　longer　concerned　with　sound；　only　with　reaching　his　destination。　Bourne　had　no　doubt　what　it　was；　he　was　right。
　The　door　crashed　open；　he　smashed　it　back；　then　threw　his　full　weight　into　the　wood；　pinning　the　intruder　against　the　doorframe；　pummelling　the　man's　stomach；　chest　and　arm　into　the　recessed　edge　of　the　wall。　He　pulled　the　door　back　and　lashed　the　toe　of　his　right　foot　into　the　throat　below　him；　reaching　down　with　his　left　hand；　grabbing　blond　hair　and　yanking　the　figure　inside。　The　man's　hand　went　limp；　the　gun　in　it　fell　to　the　floor；　a　long…barrelled　revolver　with　a　silencer　attached。
　Jason　closed　the　door　and　listened　for　sounds　on　the　staircase。　There　were　none。　He　looked　down　at　the　unconscious　man。　Thief？　Killer？　What　was　he？
　Police？　Had　the　Vermieter　of　the　boarding　house　decided　to　overlook　the　Code　of　the　Steppdeckstrasse　in　search　of　a　reward？　Bourne　rolled　the　intruder　over　and　took　out　a　wallet。　Second　nature　made　him　remove　the　money；　knowing　it　was　ludicrous　to　do　so；　he　had　a　small　fortune　on　him。　He　looked　at　the　various　credit　cards　and　driver's　licence；　he　smiled；　but　then　his　smile　disappeared。　There　was　nothing　funny；　the　names　on　the　cards　were　different　names；　the　name　on　the　licence　matching　none。　The　unconscious　man　was　no　police　officer。
　He　was　a　professional；　e　to　kill　a　wounded　man　in　the　Steppdeckstrasse。　Someone　had　hired　him。　Who？　Who　could　possibly　know　he　was　there！
　The　woman？　Had　he　mentioned　the　Steppdeckstrasse　when　he　had　seen　the　row　of　neat　houses；　looking　for　Number　37？。。。　No；　it　was　not　she；　he　may　have　said　something；　but　she　would　not　have　understood。　And　if　she　had；　there'd　be　no　professional　killer　in　his　room；　instead；　the　rundown　boarding　house　would　be　surrounded　by　police。
　The　image　of　a　large　fat　man　perspiring　above　a　table　came　to　Bourne。　That　same　man　had　wiped　the　sweat　from　his　protruding　lips　and　had　spoken　of　the　courage　of　an　insignificant　goat　…　who　had　survived。　Was　this　an　example　of　his　survival　technique？　Had　he　known　about　the　Steppdeckstrasse？　Was　he　aware　of　the　habits　of　the　patron　whose　sight　terrified　him？　Had　he　been　to　the　filthy　rooming　house？　Delivered　an　envelope　there？
　Jason　pressed　his　hand　to　his　forehead　and　shut　his　eyes。　Why　can't　I　remember？　When　will　the　mists　clear？　Will　they　ever　clear？
　Don't　crucify　yourself。。。
　Bourne　opened　his　eyes；　fixing　them　on　the　blond　man。　For　the　briefest　of　moments　he　nearly　burst　out　laughing；　he　had　been　presented　with　his　exit　visa　from　Zurich；　and　instead　of　recognizing　it；　he　was　wasting　time　tormenting　himself。　He　put　the　wallet　in　his　pocket；　wedging　it　behind　the　Marquis　de　Chambord's；　picked　up　the　gun　and　shoved　it　into　his　belt；　then　dragged　the　unconscious　figure　over　to　the　bed。
　A　minute　later　the　man　was　strapped　to　the　sagging　mattress；　gagged　by　a　torn　sheet　wrapped　around　his　face。　He　would　remain　where　he　was　for　hours；　and　in　hours　Jason　would　be　out　of　Zurich；　pliments　of　a　perspiring　fat　man。
　He　had　slept　in　his　clothes。　There　was　nothing　to　gather　up　or　carry；　except　his　overcoat。　He　put　it　on；　and　tested　his　leg。　somewhat　after　the　fact；　he　reflected。　In　the　heat　of　the　past　few　minutes　he　had　been　unaware　of　the　pain；　it　was　there；　as　the　limp　was　there；　but　neither　immobilized　him。　The　shoulder　was　not　in　as　good　shape。　A　slow　paralysis　was　spreading；　he　had　to　get　to　a　doctor。　His　head。。。　he　did　not　want　to　think　about　his　head。
　He　walked　out　into　the　dimly　lit　hallway；　pulled　the　door　closed　and　stood　motionless；　listening。　There　was　a　burst　of　laughter　from　above；　he　pressed　his　back　against　the　wall；　gun　poised。　The　laughter　trailed　off；　it　was　a　drunk's　laughter　…　incoherent；　pointless。
　He　limped　to　the　staircase；　held　onto　the　railing；　and　started　down。　He　was　on　the　top　floor　of　the　four…storey　building；　having　insisted　on　the　highest　room　when　the　phrase　high　ground　had　e　to　him　instinctively。　Why　had　it　e　to　him？　What　did　it　mean　in　terms　of　renting　a　filthy　room　for　a　single　night？　Sanctuary？
　Stop　it！
　He　reached　the　first…floor　landing；　creaks　in　the　wooden　staircase　acpanying　each　step。　If　the　Vermieter　came　out　of　his　flat　below　to　satisfy　his　curiosity；　it　would　be　the　last　thing　he　satisfied　for　several　hours。
　A　noise。　A　scratch。　Soft　fabric　moving　briefly　across　an　abrasive　surface。　Cloth　against　wood。　Someone　was　concealed　in　the　short　stretch　of　hallway　between　the　end　of　one　staircase　and　the　beginning　of　another。　Without　breaking　the　rhythm　of　his　walk；　he　peered　into　the　shadows；　there　were　three　recessed　doorways　in　the　right　wall；　identical　to　the　floor　above。　In　one　of　them。。。
　He　took　a　step　closer。　Not　the　first；　it　was　empty。　And　it　would　not　be　the　last；　the　bordering　wall　forming　a　cul　de　sac；　no　room　to　move。　It　had　to　be　the　second；　yes；　the　second　doorway。　From　it　a　man　could　rush　forward；　to　his　left　or　right；　or　throwing　a　shoulder　into　an　unsuspecting　victim；　sending　his　target　over　the　railing；　plunging　down　the　staircase。
　Bourne　angled　to　his　right；　shifting　the　gun　to　his　left　hand　and　reaching　into　his　belt　for　the　weapon　with　a　silencer。　Two　feet　from　the　recessed　door；　he　heaved　the　automatic　in　his　left　hand　into　the　shadows　as　he　pivoted　against　the　wall。
　'Was？。。。'　An　arm　appeared；　Jason　fired　once；　blowing　the　hand　apart　'Ahh！'　The　figure　lurched　out　in　shock；　incapable　of　aiming　his　weapon。　Bourne　fired　again；　hitting　the　man　in　the　thigh；　he　collapsed　on　the　floor；　writhing；　cringing。　Jason　took　a　step　forward　and　knelt；　his　knee　pressing　into　the　man's　chest；　his　gun　at　the　man's　head。　He　spoke　in　a　whisper。
　'Is　there　anyone　else　down　there？！
　'Nein！'　said　the　man　wincing　in　pain。　'Zwei。。。　two　of　us　only。　We　were　paid。'
　'By　whom？'
　'You　know。〃
　'A　man　named　Carlos？'
　'I　will　not　answer　that　Kill　me　first'
　'How　did　you　know　I　was　here？'
　'Chernak。'
　'He's　dead。'
　'Now。　Not　yesterday。　Word　reached　Zurich：　you　were　alive。　We　checked　everyone。。。　everywhere。　Chernak　knew。'
　Bourne　gambled。　'You're　lying！'　He　pushed　the　gun　into　the　man's　throat　'I　never　told　Chernak　about　the　Steppdeckstrasse。'
　The　man　winced　again；　his　neck　arched。　'Perhaps　you　did　not　have　to。　The　Nazi　pig　had　informers　everywhere。　Why　should　the　Steppdeckstrasse　be　any　different？　He　could　describe　you。　Who　else　could？'
　'A　man　at　the　Drei　Alpenhauser。'
　'We　never　heard　of　any　such　man。'
　'Who's　〃we〃？'
　The　man　swallowed；　his　lips　stretched　in　pain。　'Businessmen。。。　only　businessmen。'
　'And　your　service　is　killing。'
　'You're　a　strange　one　to　talk。　But；　nein。　You　were　to　be　taken；　not　killed。'
　'Where？'
　'We　would　be　told　by　radio。　Car　frequency。！　'Terrific；'　said　Jason　flatly。　'You're　not　only　second…rate；　you're　acmodating。　Where's　your　car？'　'Outside。'　'Give　me　the　keys。'　The　radio　would　identify　it。
　The　man　tried　to　resist；　he　pushed　Bourne's　knee　away　and　started　to　roll　into　the　wall。　'Nein！'
　'You　haven't　got　a　choice。'　Jason　brought　the　handle　of　the　pistol　down　on　the　man's　skull。　The　Swiss　collapsed。
　Bourne　found　the　keys　…　there　were　three　in　a　leather　case　…took　the　man's　gun；　and　put　it　into　his　pocket。　It　was　a　smaller　weap