rl.thebourneidentity-第46部分

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　That　lack　of　interruption　was　as　disturbing　to　Jason　as　it　was　bewildering。　He　was　convinced　the　woman　walking　beside　him　was　the　carrier　of　lethal　mands　that　had　been　aborted　by　gunfire　an　hour　ago；　the　orders　having　been　issued　by　a　faceless　man　who　demanded　obedience　or　death。　But　there　was　not　the　slightest　indication　that　a　strand　of　her　perfectly　groomed　hair　had　been　disturbed　by　nervous　fingers；　no　pallor　on　the　chiselled　mask　that　might　be　taken　for　fear。　Yet　there　was　no　one　higher　at　Les　Classiques；　no　one　else　who　would　have　a　private　number　in　a　very　private　office。　Part　of　an　equation　was　missing。。。　but　another　had　been　disturbingly　confirmed。
　Himself。　The　chameleon。　The　charade　had　worked；　he　was　in　the　enemy's　camp　convinced　beyond　doubt　that　he　had　not　been　recognized。　The　whole　episode　had　a　deja　vu　quality　about　it。　He　had　done　such　things　before；　experienced　the　feelings　of　similar　acplishment　before。　He　was　a　man　running　through　an　unfamiliar　jungle；　yet　somehow　instinctively　knowing　his　way；　sure　of　where　the　traps　were　and　how　to　avoid　them。　The　chameleon　was　an　expert。
　They　reached　the　staircase　and　started　up　the　steps。　Below；　on　the　right；　the　conservatively　dressed；　middle…aged　operator　was　speaking　quietly　into　the　extended　mouthpiece；　nodding　his　grey…haired　head　almost　wearily；　as　if　assuring　the　party　on　the　line　that　their　world　was　as　serene　as　it　should　be。
　Bourne　stopped　on　the　seventh　step；　the　pause　involuntary。　The　back　of　the　man's　head；　the　outline　of　the　cheekbone；　the　sight　of　the　thinning　grey　hair　…　the　way　it　fell　slightly　over　the　ear；　he　had　seen　that　man　before！　Somewhere。　In　the　past；　in　the　unremembered　past；　but　remembered　now　in　darkness。。。　and　with　flashes　of　light。　Explosions；　mists；　buffeting　winds　followed　by　silences　filled　with　tension。　What　was　it？　Where　was　it？　Why　did　the　pain　e　to　his　eyes　again？　The　grey…haired　man　began　to　turn　in　his　swivel　chair；　Jason　looked　away　before　they　made　contact。
　'I　see　Monsieur　is　taken　by　our　rather　unique　switchboard；'　said　Madame　Lavier。　'It's　a　distinction　we　feel　sets　Les　Classiques　apart　from　the　other　shops　on　Saint…Honore。'
　'How　so？'　asked　Bourne；　as　they　proceeded　up　the　steps；　the　pain　in　his　eyes　causing　him　to　blink。
　'When　a　client　calls　Les　Classiques；　the　telephone　is　not　answered　by　a　vacuous　female；　but　instead　by　a　cultured　gentleman　who　has　all　our　information　at　his　fingertips。'　'A　nice　touch。'
　'Other　gentlemen　think　so；'　she　added。　'Especially　when　making　telephone　purchases　they　would　prefer　to　keep　confidential。　There　are　no　spoors　in　our　forest；　Monsieur。'
　They　reached　Jacqueline　Lavier's　spacious　office。　It　was　the　lair　of　an　efficient　executive；　scores　of　papers　in　separate　piles　on　the　desk；　an　easel　against　the　wall　holding　water…colour　sketches；　some　boldly　initialled；　others　left　untouched；　obviously　unacceptable。　The　walls　were　filled　with　framed　photographs　of　the　Beautiful　People；　their　beauty　too　often　marred　by　gaping　mouths　and　smiles　as　false　as　the　one　on　the　mask　of　the　inhabitant　of　the　office。　There　was　a　bitch　quality　in　the　perfumed　air；　these　were　the　quarters　of　an　ageing；　pacing　tigress；　swift　to　attack　any　who　threatened　her　possessions　or　the　sating　of　her　appetites。　Yet　she　was　disciplined；　all　things　considered；　an　estimable　liaison　to　Carlos。
　Who　was　that　man　on　the　switchboard？　Where　had　he　seen　him？
　He　was　offered　a　drink　from　a　selection　of　bottles；　he　chose　brandy。
　'Do　sit　down；　Monsieur。　I　shall　enlist　the　help　of　Rene　himself；　if　I　can　find　him。'
　'That's　very　kind；　but　I'm　sure　whatever　you　choose　will　be　satisfactory。　I　have　an　instinct　about　taste；　yours　is　all　through　this　office。　I'm　fortable　with　it'
　'You're　too　generous。'
　'Only　when　it's　warranted；'　said　Jason；　still　standing。　'Actually；　I'd　like　to　look　at　the　photographs。　I　see　a　number　of　acquaintances；　if　not　friends。　A　lot　of　these　faces　pass　through　the　Bahamian　banks　with　considerable　frequency。'
　'I'm　sure　they　do；'　agreed　Lavier；　in　a　tone　that　bespoke　regard　for　such　avenues　of　finance。　'I　shan't　be　long；　Monsieur。'
　Nor　would　she；　thought　Bourne；　as　Les　Classiques'　partner　swept　out　of　the　office。　Mme　Lavier　was　not　about　to　allow　a　tired；　wealthy　mark　too　much　time　to　think。　She　would　return　with　the　most　expensive　designs　she　could　gather　up　as　rapidly　as　possible。　Therefore；　if　there　was　anything　in　the　room　that　could　shed　light　on　Carlos's　intermediary　…　or　on　the　assassin's　operation　…　it　had　to　be　found　quickly。　And；　if　it　was　there　it　would　be　on　or　around　the　desk。
　Jason　circled　behind　the　imperial　chair　in　front　of　the　wall；　feigning　amused　interest　in　the　photographs；　but　concentrating　on　the　desk。　There　were　invoices；　receipts　and　overdue　bills；　along　with　dunning　letters　of　reprimand　awaiting　Lavier's　signature。　An　address　book　lay　open；　four　names　on　the　page；　he　moved　closer　to　see　more　clearly。　Each　was　the　name　of　a　pany；　the　individual　contacts　bracketed；　his　or　her　positions　underlined。　He　wondered　if　he　should　memorize　each　pany；　each　contact。　He　was　about　to　do　so　when　his　eyes　fell　on　the　edge　of　an　index　card。　It　was　only　the　edge；　the　rest　was　concealed　under　the　telephone　itself。　And　there　was　something　else　…　dull；　barely　discernible。　A　strip　of　transparent　tape；　running　along　the　edge　of　the　card；　holding　it　in　place。　The　tape　itself　was　relatively　new；　recently　stuck　over　the　heavy　paper　and　the　gleaming　wood；　it　was　clean；　no　smudges　or　coiled　borders　or　signs　of　having　been　there　very　long。
　Instinct。
　Bourne　picked　up　the　telephone　to　move　it　aside。　It　rang；　the　bell　vibrating　through　his　hand；　the　shrill　sound　unnerving。　He　replaced　it　on　the　desk　and　stepped　away　as　a　man　in　shirtsleeves　rushed　through　the　open　door　from　the　corridor。　He　stopped；　staring　at　Bourne；　his　eyes　alarmed　but　nonmittal。　The　telephone　rang　a　second　time；　the　man　walked　rapidly　to　the　desk　and　picked　up　the　receiver。
　'Allo？'　There　was　silence　as　the　intruder　listened；　head　down；　concentration　on　the　caller。　He　was　a　tanned；　muscular　man　of　indeterminate　age；　the　sun…drenched　skin　disguising　the　years。　His　face　was　taut；　his　lips　thin；　his　close…cropped　hair　thick；　dark　brown　and　disciplined。　The　sinews　of　his　bare　arms　moved　under　the　flesh　as　he　transferred　the　phone　from　one　hand　to　the　other；　speaking　harshly。　'Pas　id　maintenant。　Je　ne　sais　pas　la　expanse。　Appelez　encore。'　He　hung　up　and　looked　at　Jason。　'Oil　est　Jacqueline？'
　4A　little　slower；　please；'　said　Bourne；　lying　in　English。　'My　French　is　limited。'
　'Sorry；'　replied　the　bronzed　man。　〃I　was　looking　for　Madame　Lavier。'
　The　owner？'
　'The　title　will　suffice。　Where　is　she？'
　'Depleting　my　funds。'　Jason　smiled；　raising　his　glass　to　his　lips。
　'Oh？　And　who　are　you；　Monsieur？'
　'Who　are　you？'
　The　man　studied　Bourne。　'Rone〃　Bergeron。'
　'Oh；　Lord！'　exclaimed　Jason。　'She's　looking　for　you。　You're　very　good；　Mr　Bergeron。　She　said　I　was　to　look　upon　your　designs　as　the　work　of　an　emerging　master。'　Bourne　smiled　again。　'You're　the　reason　I　may　have　to　wire　the　Bahamas　for　a　great　deal　of　money。'
　'You're　most　kind；　Monsieur。　And　I　apologize　for　barging　in。'
　'Better　that　you　answered　that　phone　than　me。　Berlitz　considers　me　a　failure。'
　'Buyers；　suppliers；　all　screaming　idiots。　To　whom；　Monsieur；　do　I　have　the　honour　of　speaking？'
　'Briggs；'　said　Jason；　having　no　idea　where　the　name　came
　from；　astonished　that　it　came　so　quickly；　so　naturally。　'Charles　Briggs。'
　'A　pleasure　to　know　you。'　Bergeron　extended　his　hand；　the　grip　was　firm。　'You　say　Jacqueline　was　looking　for　me？'
　'On　my　behalf；　I'm　afraid。'
　'I　shall　find　her。'　The　designer　left　quickly。
　Bourne　moved　quickly　to　the　desk；　his　eyes　on　the　door；　his　hand　on　the　telephone。　He　moved　it　to　the　side；　exposing　the　index　card。　There　were　two　telephone　numbers；　the　first　recognizable　as　a　Zurich　exchange；　the　second　obviously　Paris。
　Instinct。　He　had　been　right；　a　strip　of　transparent　tape　the　only　sign　he　had　needed。　He　stared　at　the　numbers；　memorizing　them；　then　moved　the　telephone　back　into　place；　and　stepped　away。
　He　had　barely　managed　to　clear　the　desk　when　Madame　Lavier　swept　back　into　the　room；　a　hall　dozen　dresses　over　her　arm。　'I　met　Rene　on　the　steps。　He　approves　of　my　selections　most　enthusiastically。　He　also　tells　me　your　name　is　Briggs；　Monsieur。'
　'I　would　have　told　you　myself；'　said　Bourne；　smiling　back；　countering　the　pout　in　Lavier's　voice。　'But　I　don't　think　you　asked。'
　'〃Spoors　in　the　forest〃；　Monsieur。　Here；　I　bring　you　a　feast！'　She　separated　the　dresses；　placing　them　carefully　over　several　chairs。　'I　truly　believe　these　are　among　the　finest　creations　Rene　has　brought　us。'
　'Brought　you？'　replied　Jason。　'He　doesn't　work　here　then？'
　'A　figure　of　speech：　his　studio's　at　the　end　of　the　corridor；　but　it　is　a　holy　sacristy。　Even　I　tremble　when　I　enter。'
　'They're　magnificent；'　continued　Bourne；　going　from　one　to　another。　'But　I　don't　want　to　overwhelm　her；　just　pacify　her；'　he　added；　pointing　out　three　garments。　I'll　take　these。'
　'A　fine　selection；　Monsieur　Briggs！'
　'Box　them　with　the　others；　if　you　will。'
　'Of　course。　She　is；　indeed；　a　fortunate　lady。'
　'A　good　panion；　but　a　chi