rl.thebourneidentity-第62章
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ice in an undefined cry。 Half shout； half scream； it could have been the vocal explosion of an ill man or a drunken man； but the one thing it was not was threatening。 He slapped his hand on the frame of the window and was silent； crouching in the seat； his gun on his lap。
He heard the door of Villiers's saloon open and peered through the steering wheel。 The old man was not visibly armed； he seemed to suspect nothing； relieved only that a collision had been avoided。 The general walked through the beams of the headlights to the Renault's left window； his shouts anxious； his French the interrogating mands of Saint Cyr。
'What's the meaning of this？ What do you think you're doing！ Are you all right？' His hands gripped the base of the window。
'Yes； but you're not；' replied Bourne in English； raising the gun。
'What？。。。' The old man gasped； standing erect。 'Who are you and what is this？'
Jason got out of the Renault； his left hand extended above the barrel of the weapon。 'I'm glad your English is fluent。 Walk back to your car。 Drive it off the road。'
'And if I refuse？'
'I'll kill you right now。 It wouldn't take much to provoke me。'
'Do these words e from the Red Brigades？ Or the Paris branch of the Baader…Meinhof？'
'Why？ Could you countermand them if they did？'
'I spit at them！ And you！'
'No one's ever doubted your courage； General。 Walk to your car。'
'It's not a matter of courage' said Villiers； without moving。 'It's a question of logic。 You'll acplish nothing by killing me； less by kidnapping me。 My orders are firm； fully understood by my staff and my family。 The Israelis are absolutely right！ There can be no negotiations with terrorists。 Use your gun； garbage！ Or get out of here！'
Jason studied the old soldier； suddenly profoundly uncertain； but not about to be fooled。 It would be in the furious eyes that stared at him。 One name soaked in filth coupled with another name heaped with the honours of his nation would cause another kind of explosion； it would be in the eyes。
'Back at that restaurant； you said France shouldn't be a lackey to anyone。 But a general of France became someone's lackey。 General Andrel Villiers； messenger for Carlos。。。 Carlos's contact； Carlos's soldier； Carlos's lackey。'
The furious eyes did grow wide； but not in any way Jason expected。 Fury was suddenly joined by hatred； not shock； not hysteria； but deep； unpromising abhorrence。 The back of Villiers's hand shot up； arching from his waist； the crack against Bourne's face sharp； accurate； painful。 It was followed by a forward slap； brutal； insulting； the force of the blow reeling Jason back on his feet。 The old man moved in； blocked by the barrel of the gun but unafraid； undeterred by its presence； intent only on inflicting punishment。 The blows came one after another； delivered by a man possessed。
'Pig！' screamed Villiers。 'Filthy； detestable pig！ Garbage！'
'I'll shoot！ I'll kill you！ Stop it！' But Bourne could not pull the trigger。 He was backed into the small car； his shoulders pressed against the roof。 Still the old man attacked； his hands flying out； swinging up； crashing down。
'Kill me if you can； if you dare！ Dirt！ Filth！' Jason threw the gun to the ground； raising his arms to fend off Villiers's assault。 He lashed his left hand out； grabbing the old man's right wrist； then his left； gripping the left forearm
that was slashing down like a broadsword。 He twisted both violently； bending Villiers into him； forcing the old soldier to stand motionless； their faces inches from each other； the old man's chest heaving。
'Are you telling me you're not Carlos's man？ Are you denying it？'
Villiers lunged forward； trying to break Bourne's grip； his barrel…like chest smashing into Jason。 'I revile you！ Animal！'
'Goddamn you； yes or no！
The old man spat in Bourne's face； the fire in his eyes now clouded； tears welling。 'Carlos killed my son；' he said in a whisper。 'He killed my only son on the rue du Bac。 My son's life was blown up with five sticks of dynamite on the rue du Bac'
Jason slowly reduced the pressure of his fingers。 Breathing heavily； he spoke as calmly as he could。
'Drive your car into the field and stay there。 We have to talk； General。 Something's happened you don't know about； and we'd both better learn what it is。'
'Never！ Impossible！ It could not happen！'
'It happened；' said Bourne； sitting with Villiers in the front seat of his car。
'An incredible mistake has been made！ You don't know what you're saying！'
'No mistake； and I do know what I'm saying because I found the number myself。 It's not only the right number； it's a magnificent cover。 Nobody in his right mind would connect you with Carlos； especially in light of your son's death。 Is it mon knowledge he was Carlos's kill？'
'I would prefer different language； Monsieur。'
'Sorry。 I mean that'
'mon knowledge？ Among the Surete； a qualified yes。 Within military intelligence and Interpol； most certainly。 I read the reports。〃
'What did they say？'
'It was presumed that Carlos did a favour for his friends from his radical days。 Even to the point of allowing them to appear silently responsible for the act。 It was politically motivated； you know。 My son was a sacrifice； an example to others who opposed the fanatics。'
'Fanatics？'
'The extremists were forming a false coalition with the socialists； making promises they had no intention of keeping。 My son understood this； exposed it and initiated legislation to block the alignment。 He was killed for it'
'Is that why you retired from the army and stood for election？'
'With all my heart。 It is customary for the son to carry on for the father。。。' The old man paused； the moonlight illuminating his haggard face。 'In this matter； it was the father's legacy to carry on for the son。 He was no soldier； nor I a politician； but I am no stranger to weapons and explosives。 His causes were moulded by me； his philosophy reflected my own； and he was killed for these things。 My decision was clear to me。 I would carry our beliefs into the political arena and let his enemies contend with me。 The soldier was prepared for them。'
'More than one soldier； I gather。'
'What do you mean？'
Those men back there at the restaurant。 They looked as if they ran half the armies in France。'
They did。 Monsieur。 They were once known as the angry young manders of Saint Cyr。 The Republic was corrupt； the army inpetent； the Maginot a joke。 Had they been heeded in their time； France would not have fallen。 They became the leaders of the Resistance； they fought the Boche and Vichy all through Europe and Africa。'
'What do they do now？'
'Most live on pensions； many obsessed with the past。 They pray to the Virgin that it will never be repeated。 In too many areas； however； they see it happening。 The army is reduced to a sideshow。 munists and socialists in the Assembly are for ever eroding the strength of the services。 The Moscow apparatus runs true to form： it does not change with the decades。 A free society is ripe for infiltration and； once infiltrated； the changes do not stop until that society is remade in another image。 Conspiracy is everywhere； it cannot go unchallenged。'
'Some might say that sounds pretty extreme itself。'
'For what？ Survival？ Strength？ Honour？ Are these terms too anachronistic for you？'
'I don't think so。 But I can imagine a lot of damage being done in their names。'
'Our philosophies differ and I don't care to debate them。 You asked me about my associates and I answered you。 Now； please； this incredible misinformation of yours。 It's appalling。 You don't know what it's like to lose a son》 to have a child killed。'
The pain es back to me and I don't know why。 Pain and emptiness； a vacuum in the sky。。。 from the sky。 Death in and from the skies。 Jesus； it hurts。 It。 What is it？
'I can sympathize；' said Jason； his hands gripped to stop the sudden trembling。 'But it fits。'
'Not for an instant！ As you said； no one in his right mind would connect me to Carlos； least of all the killer pig himself。 It's a risk he would not take。 It's unthinkable。'
'Exactly。 Which is why you're being used； it is unthinkable。 You're the perfect relay for final instructions。'
'Impossible！ How？'
'Someone at your number is in direct contact with Carlos。 Codes are used； certain words spoken； to get that person on the line。 Probably when you're not there； possibly when you are。 Do you answer the telephone yourself？'
Villiers frowned。 'Actually； I don't。 Not that number。 There are too many people to be avoided and I have a private line。'
'Who does answer it？'
'Generally the housekeeper； or her husband who serves as part butler； part chauffeur。 He was my driver during my last years in the army。 If not either of them； my wife； of course。 Or my aide； who often works at my office at the house； he was my adjutant for twenty years。'
'Who else？'
'There is no one else。'
'Maids？'
'None permanent； if they're needed； they're hired for an occasion。 There's more wealth in the Villiers name than in the banks。'
'Cleaning woman？'
'Two。 They e twice a week and not always the same two。'
'You'd better take a closer look at your chauffeur and the adjutant。'
'Preposterous！ Their loyalty is beyond question。'
'So was Brutus's； and Caesar outranked him。'
'You can't be serious。。。'
'I'm goddamned serious！ And you'd better believe it Everything I've told you is the truth。'
'But then you haven't really told me very much； have you？ Your name； for instance。'
'It's not necessary。 Knowing it could only hurt you。'
'In what way？'
'In the very remote chance that I'm wrong about the relay …and that possibility barely exists。'
The old man nodded the way old men do when repeating words that have stunned them to the point of disbelief。 His lined face moved up and down in the moonlight。 'An unnamed man traps me on a road at night； holds me under a gun and makes an obscene accusation … a charge so filthy I wish to kill him … and he expects me to accept his word。 The word of a man without a name； with no face I recognize； and no credentials offered other than the statement that Carlos is hunting him。 Tell me why should I believe this man？'
'Because；' answered Bourne。 'He'd have no reason to e to you if he didn't believe it was the truth。'
Villiers stared at Jason。 'No； there's a better reason。 A while ago you gave me my life。 You threw down your gun； you did not fire it You could have。 Easily。 You chose； instead； to plead with me to talk。'
'I don't think I pleaded。'
'It was in your eyes； young man。 It's always in the eyes。 And often in the voice； but one must listen carefully。 Supplication can be feigned； not anger。 It is either real or it's a posture。 Your anger was real。。。 as was mine。' The old man gestured towards the small Renault ten yards away in the field。 'Follow me back to Pare Monceau。 We'll talk further in my office。 I'd swear on my life that you're wrong about both men； but then as you pointed out； Caesar was blinded by false devotion。 And indeed he did outrank me。'
'If I walk into that house and someone recognizes me； I'm dead。 So are you。'
'My aide left shortly past five o'clock this afternoon； and the chauffeur； as you call him； retires
