按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
It was 7：35 in the evening； the March night cold； the sky clear and the chameleon dressed for the occasion。 Bourne's blond hair was covered by a cap； his neck concealed beneath the collar of a jacket that spelled out the name of a messenger service across the back。 Slung over his shoulder was a canvas strap attached to a nearly empty satchel； it was the end of this particular messenger's run。 He had two or three stops to make； perhaps four or five if he thought they were necessary； he would know in a moment。 The envelopes were not really envelopes at all； but brochures advertising the pleasures of the Bateau Mouche； picked up from a hotel lobby。 He would select at random several houses near General Villiers's residence and deposit the brochures in letterboxes。 His eyes would record everything they saw； one thing sought above everything else。 What kind of security arrangements did Villiers have？ Who guarded the general and how many were there？
And because he had been convinced he would find either men in cars or other men walking their posts； he was startled to realize there was no one。 Andrel Francois Villiers； militarist； spokesman for his cause； and the prime connection to Carlos； had no external security arrangements whatsoever。 If he was protected； that protection was solely within the house。 Considering the enormity of his crime； Villiers was either arrogant to the point of carelessness or a damn fool。
Jason climbed the steps of an adjacent residence； Villiers's door no more than twenty feet away。 He deposited the brochure in the slot； glancing up at the windows of Villiers's house； looking for a face； a figure。 There was no one。
The door twenty feet away suddenly opened。 Bourne crouched； thrusting his hand beneath his jacket for his gun； thinking he was a damn fool； someone more observant than he had spotted him。 But the words he heard told him it wasn't so。 A middle…aged couple … a uniformed maid and a dark…jacketed man … were talking in the doorway。
'Make sure the ashtrays are clean；' said the woman。 'You know how he dislikes ashtrays that are stuffed full。'
'He drove this afternoon；' answered the man。 'That means they're full now。'
'Clean them in the garage； you've got time。 He won't be down for another ten minutes。 He doesn't have to be in Nanterre until eight…thirty。〃
The man nodded； pulling up the lapels of his jacket as he started down the steps。 Ten minutes；' he said aimlessly。
The door closed and silence returned to the quiet street。 Jason stood up； his hand on the railing； watching the man hurry down the pavement。 He was not sure where Nanterre was； only that it was a suburb of Paris。 And if Villiers was driving there himself； and if he was alone； there was no point in postponing confrontation。
Bourne shifted the strap on his shoulder and walked rapidly down the steps； turning left on the pavement Ten minutes。
Jason watched through the windscreen as the door opened and General Andrel Fracois Villiers came into view。 He was a medium…sized； barrel…chested man in his late sixties； perhaps early seventies。 He was hatless； with close…cropped grey hair and a meticulously groomed white chin beard。 His bearing was unmistakably military； imposing his body on the surrounding space； entering it by breaking it； invisible walls collapsing as he moved。
Bourne stared at him； fascinated； wondering what insanities could have driven such a man into the obscene world of Carlos。 Whatever the reasons； they had to be powerful； for he was powerful。 And that made him dangerous … for he was respected and had the ears of his government。
Villiers turned； speaking to the maid and glancing at his wristwatch。 The woman nodded； closing the door； as the general walked briskly down the steps and around the bonnet of a large saloon to the driver's side。 He opened the door and climbed in； then started the engine and rolled slowly out into the middle of the street。 Jason waited until the saloon reached the corner and turned right； he eased the Renault away from the kerb and accelerated； reaching the intersection in time to see Villiers turn right again a block east。
There was a certain irony in the coincidence； an omen if one could believe in such things。 The route General Villiers chose to the outlying suburb of Nanterre included a stretch of back road in the countryside nearly identical to the one in St Germain…en…Laye where twelve hours ago Marie had pleaded with Jason not to give up … his life or hers。 There were stretches of pasture land； fields that fused into the gently rising hills； but instead of being crowned by early light； these were washed in the cold； white rays of the moon。 It occurred to Bourne that this stretch of isolated road would be as good a spot as any on which to intercept the returning general。
It was not difficult for Jason to follow at distances up to a quarter of a mile； which was why he was surprised to realize he had practically caught up with the old soldier。 Villiers had suddenly slowed down and was turning into a gravelled drive cut out of the woods； the parking area beyond illuminated by floodlights。 A sign； hanging from two chains on a high…angle post； was caught in the spill。
L'Arbalete。 The general was meeting someone for dinner at an out…of…the…way restaurant； not in the suburb of Nanterre but close by。 In the country。
Bourne drove past the entrance and pulled off the shoulder of the road； the right side of the car covered by foliage； he had to think things out。。。 he had to control himself。 There was a fire in his mind； it was growing； spreading。 He was suddenly consumed by an extraordinary possibility。
Considering the shattering events … the enormity of the embarrassment experienced by Carlos last night at the motel in Montrouge； it was more than likely that Andrel Villiers had been summoned to an out…of…the…way restaurant for an emergency meeting。 Perhaps even with Carlos himself。 If that was the case； the premises would be guarded； and a man whose photograph had been distributed to those guards would be shot the instant he was recognized。 On the other hand； the chance to observe a nucleus belonging to Carlos … or Carlos himself …was an opportunity that might never e again。 He had to get inside L'Arbalete。 There was a pulsion within him to take the risk。 Any risk！ It was crazy！ But then he was not sane。 Sane as a man with a memory was sane。 Carlos。 Find Carlos！ Cod in heaven； why？
He felt the gun in his belt； it was secure。 He got out and put on his overcoat； covering the jacket with the lettering across the back。 He picked up a narrow…brimmed hat from the seat； the cloth soft； angled down on all sides； it would cover his hair。 Then he tried to remember if he had been wearing the tortoise…shell glasses when the photograph was taken in Argenteuil。 He had not； he had removed them at the table when successive bolts of pain had seared through his head； brought on by words that told him of a past too familiar； too frightening to face； He felt his shirt pocket； the glasses were there if he needed them。 He pressed the door closed and started for the woods。
The glare of the restaurant floodlights filtered through the trees； growing brighter with each several ya