rl.thebourneidentity-第86部分

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　'But　of　course；　Monsieur。　It　is　the　most　beautiful　church　in　the　district。'
　'Get　there　quickly　and　there'll　be　another　fifty　francs。'
　'We　shall　fly　on　the　wings　of　blessed　angels；　Monsieur！'
　They　flew；　the　flight　plan　jeopardizing　most　of　the　traffic　in　their　path。
　There　are　the　spires　of　the　Blessed　Sacrament；　Monsieur；'　said　the　victorious　driver　twelve　minutes　later；　pointing　at　three　soaring　towers　of　stone　through　the　windscreen。　'Another　minute；　perhaps　two　if　the　idiots　who　should　be　taken　off　the　streets　will　permit。。。'
　'Slow　down；'　interrupted　Bourne；　his　attention　not　on　the　spires　of　the　church　but　on　a　car　several　vehicles　ahead。　They　had　taken　a　corner　and　he　had　seen　it　during　the　turn；　it　was　a　grey　Citroen；　two　men　in　the　front　seat。
　They　came　to　a　traffic　light；　the　cars　stopped。　Jason　dropped　a　second　fifty…franc　note　over　the　seat　and　opened　the　door。　'I'll　be　right　back。　If　the　light　changes；　drive　forward　slowly　and　I'll　jump　in。'
　Bourne　got　out；　keeping　his　body　low；　and　rushed　between　the　cars　until　he　saw　the　letters。　NYR；　the　numbers　following　768；　but　for　the　moment　they　were　inconsequential。　The　taxi　driver　had　earned　his　money。
　The　light　changed　and　the　row　of　vehicles　lurched　forward　like　an　elongated　insect　pulling　its　shelled　parts　together。　The　taxi　drew　alongside；　Jason　opened　the　door　and　climbed　in。　'You　do　good　work；'　he　said　to　the　driver。
　'I'm　not　sure　I　know　the　work　I　am　doing。'
　'An　affair　of　the　heart　One　must　catch　the　betrayer　in　the　act。'
　'In　church；　Monsieur？　The　world　moves　too　swiftly　for　me。'
　'Not　in　traffic；'　said　Bourne。　They　approached　the　final　corner　before　the　Church　of　the　Blessed　Sacrament。　The　Citroen　made　the　turn；　a　single　car　between　it　and　a　taxi；　the　passengers　indistinguishable。　Something　bothered　Jason。　The　surveillance　on　the　part　of　the　two　men　was　too　open；　far　too　obvious。　It　was　as　if　Carlos's　soldiers　wanted　someone　in　that　taxi　to　know　they　were　there。
　Of　course！　Madame　Villiers　was　in　that　cab。　With　Jacque…line　Lavier。　And　the　two　men　in　the　Citroen　wanted　Villiers's　wife　to　know　they　were　behind　her。
　There　is　the　Blessed　Sacrament；'　said　the　driver；　entering　the　street　where　the　church　rose　in　minor　medieval　splendour　in　the　centre　of　a　manicured　lawn　criss…crossed　by　stone　paths　and　dotted　with　statuary。　'What　shall　I　do；　Monsieur？'
　'Pull　into　that　space；'　ordered　Jason；　gesturing　at　a　break　in　the　line　of　parked　cars。　The　taxi　with　Villiers's　wife　and　the　Lavier　woman　stopped　in　front　of　a　path　guarded　by　a　concrete　saint。　Villiers's　stunning　wife　got　out　first；　extending　her　hand　for　Jacqueline　Lavier；　who　emerged　ashen　on　the　pavement。　She　wore　large；　orange…rimmed　sunglasses　and　carried　a　white　bag；　but　she　was　no　longer　elegant。　Her　crown　of　silver…streaked　hair　fell　in　straight；　disassociated　lines　down　the　sides　of　her　death…white　mask　of　a　face；　and　her　stockings　were　torn。　She　was　at　least　three　hundred　feet　away　but　Bourne　felt　he　could　hear　the　erratic　gasping　for　breath　that　acpanied　the　hesitant　movements　of　the　once…regal　figure　stepping　forward　in　the　sunlight
　The　grey　Citroen　had　proceeded　beyond　the　taxi　and　was　now　pulling　to　the　kerb。　Neither　man　got　out；　but　a　thin　metal　rod；　reflecting　the　glare　of　the　sun；　began　rising　out　of　the　boot。
　The　radio　antenna　was　being　activated；　codes　sent　over　a　guarded　frequency。　Jason　was　mesmerized；　not　by　the　sight　and　the　knowledge　of　what　was　being　done；　but　by　something　else。　Words　came　to　him；　from　where　he　did　not　know　but　they　were　there。
　Delta　to　Almanac；　Delia　to　Almanac。　We　will　not　respond。
　Repeat；　negative；　brother。
　Almanac　to　Delta。　You　will　respond　as　ordered。　Abandon；　abandon。　That　is　final。
　Delta　to　Almanac。　You're　final；　brother。　Co　fuck　yourself。　Delta　out；　equipment　damaged。
　Suddenly　the　darkness　was　all　around　him；　the　sunlight　gone。　There　were　no　soaring　towers　of　a　church　reaching　for　the　sky；　instead　there　were　black　shapes　of　irregular　foliage　shivering　beneath　the　light　of　iridescent　clouds。　Everything　was　moving；　everything　was　moving；　he　had　to　move　with　the　movement。　To　remain　immobile　was　to　die！　Move！　For　Christ's　sake；　move！
　And　take　them　out。　One　by　one。　Crawl　in　closer；　overe　the　fear　…　the　terrible　fear　…　and　reduce　the　numbers。　That　was　all　there　was　to　it！　Reduce　the　numbers！　The　Monk　had　made　that　clear！　Knife；　wire；　knee；　thumb；　you　know　the　points　of　damage。　Of　death。
　Death　is　a　statistic　for　the　puters。　For　you　it　is　survival。
　The　Monk。
　The　Monk！
　The　sunlight　came　again；　blinding　him　for　a　moment；　his　foot　on　the　pavement；　his　gaze　on　the　grey　Citroen　a　hundred　yards　away。　But　it　was　difficult　to　see；　why　was　it　so　difficult？　Haze；　mist。。。　not　darkness　now　but　impenetrable　mist。　He　was　hot；　no；　he　was　cold。　Cold！　He　jerked　his　head　up；　suddenly　aware　of　where　he　was　and　what　he　was　doing。　His　face　had　been　pressed　against　the　window；　his　breath　had　fogged　the　glass。
　'I'm　getting　out　for　a　few　minutes；'　said　Bourne。　'Stay　here。'
　'All　day；　if　you　wish；　Monsieur。'
　Jason　pulled　up　the　lapels　of　his　overcoat；　pushed　his　hat　forward　and　put　on　the　tortoise…shell　glasses。　He　walked　alongside　a　couple　towards　a　religious　pavement　stall；　breaking　away　to　stand　behind　a　mother　and　child　at　the　counter。　He　had　a　clear　view　of　the　grey　Citroen；　the　taxi　which　had　been　summoned　to　Pare　Monceau　was　no　longer　there；　dismissed　by　Villiers's　wife。　It　was　a　curious　decision　on　her　part；　thought　Bourne；　cabs　were　not　that　readily　available。
　Three　minutes　later；　the　reason　was　clear。。。　and　disturbing。　Villiers's　wife　came　striding　out　of　the　church；　walking　rapidly；　her　tall　statuesque　figure　drawing　admiring　glances　from　passers…by。　She　went　directly　to　the　Citroen；　spoke　directly　to　the　men　in　front；　then　opened　the　rear　door。
　The　bag。　A　white　bag！　Villiers's　wife　was　carrying　the　bag　that　only　minutes　ago　had　been　clutched　in　the　hands　of　Jacqueline　Lavier。　She　climbed　into　the　Citroen's　back　seat　and　pulled　the　door　shut。　The　car's　engine　was　switched　on　and　gunned；　the　prelude　to　a　quick　and　sudden　departure。　As　the　vehicle　rolled　away；　the　shiny　metal　rod　that　was　the　vehicle's　antenna　became　shorter　and　shorter；　retracting　into　its　base。
　Where　was　Jacqueline　Lavier？　Why　had　she　given　her　bag　to　Villiers's　wife？　Bourne　started　to　move；　then　stopped；　instinct　warning　him。　A　trap？　If　Lavier　was　followed；　those　following　her　might　also　be　trailed　…　and　not　by　him。
　He　looked　up　and　down　the　street；　studying　the　pedestrians　on　the　pavement；　then　each　car；　each　driver　and　passenger；　watching　for　a　face　that　did　not　belong；　as　Villiers　had　said　the　two　men　in　the　Citroen　had　not　belonged　in　Pare　Monceau。
　There　were　no　breaks　in　the　parade；　no　darting　eyes　or　hands　concealed　in　outsized　pockets。　He　was　being　over　cautious；　Neuilly…sur…Seine　was　not　a　trap　for　him。　He　moved　away　from　the　stall　and　started　for　the　church。
　He　stopped；　his　feet　suddenly　clamped　to　the　pavement。　A　priest　was　ing　out　of　the　church；　a　priest　in　a　black　suit；　a　starched　white　collar　and　a　black　hat　that　partially　covered　his　face。　He　had　seen　him　before。　Not　long　ago；　not　in　a　forgotten　past；　but　recently。　Very　recently。　Weeks；　days。。。　hours；　perhaps。　Where　was　it？　Where？　He　knew　him！　It　was　in　the　walk；　in　the　tilt　of　his　head；　in　the　wide　shoulders　that　seemed　to　glide　in　place　above　the　fluid　movement　of　his　body。　He　was　a　man　with　a　gun！　Where　was　it？
　Zurich？　The　Carillon　du　Lac？　Two　men　breaking　through　the　crowds；　converging；　brokering　death。　One　wore　gold…rimmed　glasses；　it　was　not　he。　That　man　was　dead。　Was　it　that　other　man　in　the　Carillon　du　Lac？　Or　on　the　Guisan　Quai？　An　animal；　grunting；　wild…eyed　in　rape。　Was　it　he？　Or　someone　else。　A　dark…coated　man　in　the　corridor　at　the　Auberge　du　Coin　where　the　lights　had　shorted；　the　spill　from　the　staircase　illuminating　the　trap。　A　reverse　trap　where　that　man　had　fired　his　weapon　in　darkness　at　shapes　he　thought　were　human。　Was　it　that　man？
　Bourne　did　not　know；　he　only　knew　that　he　had　seen　the　priest　before；　but　not　as　a　priest。　As　a　man　with　a　gun。
　The　killer　in　the　priestly　dark　suit　reached　the　end　of　the　stone…path　and　turned　right　at　the　base　of　a　concrete　saint；　his　face　briefly　caught　in　the　sunlight。　Jason　froze；　the　skin。　The　killer's　skin　was　dark；　not　tanned　by　the　sun　but　by　birth；　A　Latin　skin；　its　hue　tempered　generations　ago　when　ancestors　lived　beside　the　Mediterranean　Forebears　who　migrated　across　the　globe。。。　across　the　seas。
　Bourne　stood　paralysed　by　the　shock　of　his　own　certainty。　He　was　looking　at　Ilyich　Ramirez　Sanchez。
　Get　Carlos。　Trap　Carlos。　Cain　is　for　Charlie　and　Delta　is　for　Cain。
　Jason　tore　at　the　front　of　his　coat；　his　right　hand　grasping　the　handle　of　the　gun　in　his　belt。　He　started　running　on　the　pavement；　colliding　with　the　backs　and　chests　of　strollers；　shouldering　a　pavement　vendor　out　of　his　way；　lurching　past　a　beggar　digging　into　a　wire　rubbish。。。　The　beggar　I　The　beggar's　hand　surged　into　his　pocket：　Bourne　spun　in　time　to　see　the　barrel　of　an　automatic　emerge　from　the　threadbare　coat；　the　sun's　rays　bouncing　off　the　metal。　The　beggar　had　a　gun！　His　gaunt　hand　raised　it；　weapon　and　eyes　steady。　Jason　l