Chapter 2 Chapter One

In the suburbs of Baltimore, the playground built in the countryside was crowded with people, and the harsh noise was almost uproarious.In the scorching heat of summer nights, everyone in the playground is sweating almost everywhere, except for a few tourists: they ride the roller coaster screaming over the top of the slope, or sit on the torpedo-shaped sled and shout. Xiaoming, rushing down with the rapids in the curved and narrow waterway.Accompanied by the frantically flashing dazzling lights on both sides of the central aisle of the playground, strong rhythmic music erupted from a large number of loudspeakers like smashing pots and irons, deafening—the carpier organ played presto, and the march played more presto.The cries of the peddlers jumped out amidst the noise, and they used nasal voices one by one to promote their products with the same old-fashioned rhetoric.The fireworks that exploded here and there in the air lit up the night, and sprinkled countless sparks like waterfalls on the small dark lake not far away.Firework bombs spewed out dazzling fireballs that arced across the night sky.

A row of "Hercules" game consoles attracted a group of strong men with distorted expressions and bulging veins on their thick necks.This gang of men who try to prove their manhood here are often disappointed; they throw heavy wooden bludgeons at the flat plate, but the prankster often just refuses to send the little red ball. At the top, touch the bell.Across the aisle, bumper car drivers yelled menacingly and slammed into other bumper cars as they circled around.Every hit is a victory, proving that you're stronger than the others; everyone involved in the battle feels like a movie star for a moment, against all odds.It's like a "Duel in OK" at 9:27 p.m., with the conflict that gave rise to the duel meaningless.

Further on there is a shooting range, which is simply a small memorial dedicated to "Wonderful Death".The place bears no resemblance to the innocuous, thin-barreled target game at state fairs and rural carnivals.Instead, the deadliest gear in the modern arsenal is here: fake MAC10 and Uzi submachine guns, with steel frames, hefty missile reflectors and anti-tank bazookas, and finally, a terrifying fake flamethrower Device: It spews billowing black smoke, and shoots straight, dazzling beams of light.The place, too, was crowded with sweaty faces, streams of perspiration trickling from maddened eyes and down stretched necks—husbands, wives, and children—with hideous faces and features Distorted and out of shape, everyone seems to be firing fiercely at their hated enemies - "enemies" are also wives, husbands, parents and children.All are locked in a senseless, never-ending war—at 9:29 p.m. in a violently themed playground.There is no softness, no need for reason, man is fighting with himself, fighting with all the hostility in his heart; of course, the most terrible hostility among them is his own fear.

A thin figure with a cane in his right hand walked past the game booth with a limp.Angry and agitated tourists in the kiosk hurled pointed darts at the balloons, which were emblazoned with the faces of public figures.Once these rubber heads exploded, there were heated arguments over the deflated, huddled wreckage of political idols and who killed them by throwing darts.The limping man continued down the aisle, his eyes peering ahead through the labyrinthine wandering crowd, as if searching for a particular spot in the hectic, crowded, and unfamiliar urban area.Dressed casually but neatly in a jacket and sweatshirt, he seemed unaffected by the relentless heat; the jacket seemed essential.He was a kindly, middle-aged man, with early wrinkles and dark circles under his eyes, but that was more a result of his lifestyle than age.His name was Alexander Conklin, and he was a retired CIA covert officer.At this moment, he was also nervous and full of anxiety.He did not want to be in this place at this time, and he could not imagine what catastrophic event had happened to compel him to be here.

He had just approached the noisy shooting range when he gasped suddenly and froze.He fixed his eyes on a tall, bald man about his own age who wore a seersucker jacket over his shoulders.Maurice Panov was coming from the direction opposite him, towards the noisy counter of the shooting range.How could this be?What happened?Conklin quickly turned his head to look around, his eyes swept over the faces and bodies of the people around him, and instinctively realized that someone was watching him and the psychiatrist Panov.It's too late to stop the Doctor from walking into the heart of the meeting area, but maybe it's not too late for the two of them to get out!The retired intelligence officer reached into his jacket, grasped the Beretta miniauto that was always with him, and staggered forward quickly.He limped through the crowd, swung his cane, slammed people on their knees, or poked them in the stomach, chest, or lower back, until passers-by screamed in shock and anger, There's going to be a riot.Then he hurried forward, slamming his weak body against the unknowing Panov, shouting at the doctor amidst the din of the crowd.

"What are you doing here?" "Same as you, I guess. David, or should it be Jason? That's the name in the telegram." "This is a trap!" A piercing scream drowned out the surrounding chaos.Both Conklin and Panov immediately looked towards the shooting range only a few meters away from them.A fat woman was shot in the neck, her face was full of pain.The crowd exploded.Conklin turned to see where the bullet was coming from, but that was when everyone was most panicked; he couldn't see anything but figures running around.He grabbed Panov and wheeled him down the hallway among screaming, panicked people, then through a crowd of wandering tourists, to the bottom of the huge roller coaster track at the end of the fairground.

"My God!" Panov yelled, "Is it after us?" "Maybe...or maybe not..." the ex-intelligence officer replied breathlessly.They heard sirens and whistles in the distance. "You just said it was a trap!" "Because we both got a crazy telegram from David with the same name he hasn't used in five years - Jason Bourne! If I'm not mistaken, the telegram you got That's what it says: we can't call him home under any circumstances." "That's right." "It's a trap. . . Morris, you're better off than I am, so get out of here. Get out of here--run, run like a son of a bitch, and get a phone. Get a pay phone, don't be traced! "

"What are you doing?" "Call his home! Tell David, take Mary and the children and leave!" "what?!" "We've been tracked down, Doc! This man's been looking for Jason Bourne - for years - and he won't stop without putting a gun on Jason... When you were in charge of David's messed up mind , I mobilized all the connections I could get in Washington, and got him and Mary out of Hong Kong alive... The rules are broken, someone found us, Morris. You and me! If you want to find the address, occupation Unavailable Jason Bourne, we are the only contact on official record."

"Do you know what you're talking about, Alexander?" "Of course I know...it's Carlos. Carlos the Jackal. Get out of here, doctor. Find your old patient and tell him to disappear!" "Then what should he do?" "I don't have many friends, and I don't have a single person I trust, but you do. Tell David his name, like one of your buddies in the hospital, the kind of person who always gets emergency calls from patients. I This is how I contacted you before. Tell David to contact him or her after he is safe. Give him a password." "signal?"

"My God, Morris, use your brains! Get an alias, Jones or Smith or something—" "These names are so common—" "Then Schickelgruber, or Moskowitz, whatever you like! Just tell David, let us know where he is." "Understood." "Go away, don't go home! . . . Get a room at the Buckeye Hotel in Baltimore, under the name—Morris, Philip Morris. I'll meet you there later." "Then what are you going to do?" "I've got to do something I really hate... I'm going to buy a ticket to ride this goddamn roller coaster without a cane. Nobody's going to run on this thing to find a cripple. Although the roller coaster scares me Hell, but it's a logical escape, even if I have to sit on top of the goddamn thing all night... Get out of here! Quick!"

On a New Hampshire country road, a station wagon sped south through the mountains toward the Massachusetts border.The driver was a tall man, his sharp-edged face showed tension, the muscles in his jaw twitched, and his bright light blue eyes were full of anger.Sitting next to him is his beautiful wife, whose reddish brown hair stands out even more under the light of the dashboard.In her arms was an infant, an eight-month-old girl; in the first row in the back seat, a blond-haired five-year-old boy, curled up asleep under a blanket.Portable rails attached to the seat shielded him in case the car came to a sudden stop.His father's name is David Weber, a professor of Oriental Studies, but he was once a member of the notorious and never-mentioned Medusa organization, and he has twice acted as a legendary figure-the killer Jason Bourne. "We knew this was going to happen," said Mary St. James Webb.She was born in Canada and was an economist, but accidentally saved David Webb, "it was just a matter of time." "This is crazy!" David whispered, so as not to wake the two children.But his nervousness didn't lessen in the slightest by lowering his voice. "Everything is well hidden, files are top secret, wait, what a load of bullshit! How could anyone find out about Alexander and Morris?" "We don't know that, but Alexander will start looking. No one is stronger than Alexander, and you said it yourself—" "He's being targeted now—he's dead," Webber cut her off. "It's too early to say, David. 'He's the best of them all,' those are your exact words." "The only time he lost to anyone else was thirteen years ago, in Paris." "That's because you're better than him—" "No! Because I didn't know who I was at that time, and he acted based on the information he had in advance; I didn't know the information at all. He probably was the one who was active outside, but I didn't know who I was. So I wouldn't have been able to do what he envisioned...he's still the best. He saved both of our lives in Hong Kong." "Then you say the same thing as I say, right? They keep us safe." "Alexander, no problem. Not Morris. Pity, the good man is dead. Those people will catch him and break him!" "He would rather go to his grave than reveal anything about us." "He'll have no choice then. They'll inject him with Amitol, and he'll have a dream; They'll kill him and come to me...to us, so you and the boys have to go south, far south. To the Caribbean." "I'll take the kids there, my dear. I won't." "Could you please stop arguing! We agreed on this when Jamie was born. That's why we bought the house over there, and pretty much bought your brother's soul to look after it for us... And he's done a damn good job. On a small island, at the end of a dirt road, we own a thriving little hotel that we two now own half of; Little profiteers from Canada landed there in seaplanes." "John's always been that type of guy. Daddy said he'd have a knack for selling sick heifers as prime bulls and the buyers wouldn't check the parts." "The point is that your brother loves you . . . and the two children. I'm still counting on this crazy boy—forget it, anyway, I can trust John." "You trust my brother so much, but don't trust your sense of direction too much. You just missed the turn to the cottage." "Damn!" David yelled, stepped on the brakes and turned the car around. "Tomorrow! You and Jamie and Alison have to go to Logan Airport, to the island!" "Let's discuss it again, David." "There's nothing to discuss." Weber took a few deep and gentle breaths, and then forced himself to restrain himself a little strangely. "I've experienced this kind of situation before." He said calmly. Mary looked at her husband, his suddenly indifferent face was outlined by the faint light of the dashboard.Compared with the ghost named "Jackal", she felt that the person she saw was much more terrifying.What she saw was no longer the genial scholar David Webb.They had both thought that the man she was looking at had disappeared from their lives forever. Clutching his cane, Alexander Conklin limped into the conference room of the CIA in Langley, Virginia, and stood before a long, imposing table.The huge table was large enough to seat thirty people, but now there were only three of them, with the gray-haired director of the CIA sitting at the top.Neither he nor the other two high-ranking deputy directors seemed very happy to see Conklin.The greetings among several people were completely perfunctory, and Conklin did not take the seat obviously reserved for him next to the CIA officer on the left of the director; he pulled out a chair from the far end of the long table and sat down, then With a "snap", he leaned his cane against the edge of the table. "The greeting has already been said, let's save the nonsense, everyone?" "Your opening is neither polite nor friendly, Mr. Conklin," said the Commissioner. "Sir, politeness and friendliness are not in my consideration. I just want to know why the bureau ignored the airtight '40' regulations, why the top secret information was leaked, and several people were threatened with their lives , including myself!" "That's too much to say, Alexander!" interjected a deputy chief. "There is no such thing at all!" another deputy director added. "This cannot happen, and you know that!" "I didn't know, and the leaks did happen. I'll tell you how outrageous it is," Conklin said angrily. "There was a man who fled with his wife and two children. Our country, and the whole world Many countries in the world owe him a debt, and no one can repay this debt. He is running for his life and hiding; he and his family have become targets, which will drive him crazy. We owe this man Promise, all of us, that the official records of him will never see the light of day unless we can establish one thing beyond a doubt: Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, also known as Carlos 'The Jackal', has Killed... Yes, I've heard rumors as much as you, probably from the same or more reliable sources; that the 'Jackal' was killed here, and that he was executed there, but No one -- I repeat, no one -- can present incontrovertible evidence ... But a part of that official document has been leaked, a vital part. I am deeply concerned because I Own name on it...my name, and Dr. Maurice Panoff, the official chief psychiatrist. This unknown man, alias Jason Bourne, is in many ways—more than we all Too many to count - all seen as rivals to Carlos in the killing game; Dr. Panov and I are the only two on official records who have had close contact with him - I repeat , only two people... But this information is hidden here, buried deep in Langley's vault. How could it be leaked? According to the regulations, if anyone wants to view any content of this file-no matter who Whether it's from the White House, the State Department, or the superior Joint Chiefs of Staff—it all goes through this place, the Office of the Director and Chief Analyst at Langley. All details of access to the application must be communicated to them; After the last step: I. I must be contacted before the inspection permission can be signed; in case I am no longer alive, Dr. Panov must be found, both of us have the legal authority to categorically refuse the inspection application... Gentlemen, That's the thing, no one knows the rules better than I do, because I wrote them--precisely in Langley, because that's where I know best. Twenty-eight years I've been doing twists and turns work, these rules are my final contribution — I have the full authority of the President of the United States and have been approved by the Select Committee on Intelligence Affairs of the House and Senate." "What a blast, Mr. Conklin," said the gray-haired chief.He sat motionless, his flat voice devoid of emotion. "I had every reason to push the cannon out." "I guess so. A sixteen-inch naval gun hit me." "You're absolutely right. Now it's time to talk about accountability. I want to know how this information surfaced and, most importantly, who got it." The two deputy directors spoke at the same time, and they were as angry as Conklin.But the chief, holding a pipe in one hand and a lighter in the other, stopped them by touching their arms. "Mr. Conklin, please slow down and calm down." The director lit his pipe and said gently, "It seems that you know my two assistants, but you and I have never met, right?" "Yes. I retired four and a half years ago, and you took office a year after that." "There's a lot of people who think I'm in this position because of the old chap - I don't think there's anything wrong with that - don't you think so?" "That's obviously how you came up, but I'm okay with that. You seem to be a good leader. As far as I know, you were an admiral who hated politics at the Naval Academy in Annapolis and was in charge of naval intelligence. Work. During the Vietnam War, you happened to work with a Marine Colonel in the Fleet Marine Corps who went on to become President. When you got promoted, other people got sidelined, but that happens a lot. Nothing wrong with it of." "Thank you. But, do you have any 'difficulties' with the two deputy chiefs?" "That's old stuff, but I gotta say, neither of them would have been a field agent's best friend. They're analysts, not field personnel." "Isn't your emotion inherently disgusting and commonplace hostility?" "Of course. They use computers and data to analyze the situation thousands of kilometers away, but we don't know who programmed the computer, and we didn't pass the data over. You're absolutely right, this is a kind of Inherent antipathy. We’re dealing with the human element, they’re not. They’re dealing with little green letters on a computer screen and often making decisions that shouldn’t be made.” "That's because people like you must be controlled," interjected the deputy sitting on the director's right. "How many times have men and women like you done things with no big picture in mind? It's still the same today! Overall strategy, It’s not just the one you manage yourself!” "Then when we start to act, you should provide a more complete situation, at least a general introduction; so that we can judge which things make sense and which things do not make sense." "How far should this introduction go, Alexander?" asked the deputy on the left of the director. "At what point can we say, 'We can't disclose this situation...it's for everyone's benefit'?" "I don't know. You're an analyst, I'm not. I guess it depends on the situation, but if you do this, the communication must be better than when I was in the field... Wait a minute. Today's discussion It's not me, it's you." Conklin stared at the director, "very clever, sir. But I don't like changing the subject. I'm here to find out who got what and how Yes. If you'd rather me make it big, I'll go to the White House or Congress with my papers and wait to see who gets killed. I want answers. I want to know what to do!" "I don't mean to change the subject, Mr. Conklin, I just want to go off the subject for a moment to make a point. Obviously, you strongly disapprove of the previous methods and compromises of my two colleagues, but have they misled You, or lied to you?" Conklin glanced at the two deputy directors. "Only when they have to lie to me. That has nothing to do with field operations." "That's a bit strange." "If they hadn't told you... they should have said, I was an alcoholic five years ago—I'm still an alcoholic, I just stopped drinking. No one will tell me what's going on. Just don't tell me." "One thing you should know: All my colleagues here told me you were sick and therefore not doing as well as you used to before retiring." Conklin looked at the two deputy chiefs for a moment longer, nodded at them, and said, "Thank you, Cassett, and you, Valentino. But you don't have to. I'm a drunk; , or anyone else, the situation shouldn't be kept secret. It's the dumbest thing you two have ever done here." "Alexander, we heard that you did a great job in Hong Kong. This book was written before Hong Kong's handover." The deputy director named Cassett said softly, "We don't want to take away your outstanding achievements." "You've been such a pain in the ass for so long I don't even bother to think about it," Valentino added, "but we can't hang you up just because you've had a problem drinking. .” "Come on. Let's get back to Jason Bourne. That's why I'm here; that's why you have to see me." "Mr. Conklin, that is why I have temporarily diverted the subject. You and my two deputy chiefs have disagreements about their work, but I don't think you will doubt their loyalty." "If it was anyone else, I would be suspicious. But I don't doubt Cassett and Valentino. Personally, we are all doing our jobs; the mess is the system - it hides In a cloud of fog. But this can't be kept under wraps, not today. The rules of secrecy are clearly set and never changed; since no one informed me, the rules must have been broken and I've been misled , and was literally lied to, so to speak. I ask again: how did this happen? Who got the information?" "That's exactly what I want to hear," said the chief, picking up the telephone on the table. "Please inform Mr. Desso over the hall to come to the meeting room." The chief hung up the phone and turned to Conklin, "I suppose you know Steven Desso?" "'Dumb Mole' Deso?" Conklin nodded. "What did you say?" "It's an old joke around here," Cassett explained to the chief, "that Steven knows where the bureau's dark secrets are, but he won't let go even if he sees God at the end of his life, unless God Can come up with a '40' classified permission order." "So the three of you, Mr. Conklin in particular, consider Mr. Desault to be a complete professional?" "I'll answer that," Conklin said. "He'll tell you everything you need to know, but that's all. Besides, he won't lie. He'll keep his mouth shut, or say he can't tell you, but he I won't lie to you." "That's what I want to hear too." Someone knocked on the door briefly, and the director called for people from outside to come in.A medium-sized, slightly obese man walked into the conference room and closed the door behind him.He wears metal-rimmed glasses that make his big eyes look bigger behind the lenses.He glanced casually toward the conference table and saw that Alexander Conklin was there; he was clearly taken aback by the sight of the retired intelligence officer.But he quickly turned his startled reaction into one of surprise, and walked across the conference room to Conklin's chair, holding out his hand. "Nice to see you, old chap. We haven't seen each other for two or three years, have we?" "Looks like four years, Steven," Conklin replied, shaking his hand. "Analyst of analysts, who holds the keys, how's your brother doing?" "There's not much to analyze these days, not much to lock up. The White House is a leaky sieve, and Congress isn't any better. I should be getting half my salary, but you don't tell anyone that." "We still have things we can't tell others, right?" the chief interjected with a smile. "At least that's how it used to be. Maybe you were paid twice as much then as you are now." "Oh, I guess so," Desso let go of Conklin's hand and nodded humorously, "But the days of having someone to watch over the files and escorting them to the underground warehouse with guns and live ammunition are over. It's all computerized photography now." The pictures are scanned and entered by those computers up there. I can no longer go on those wonderful journeys with military escorts, imagining that I will have a briefcase chained to my wrist by Mata Hari, this kind of I can’t remember how many years I haven’t done it.” "It's much safer that way," Conklin said. "But man, I don't have any stories to tell my grandkids...'Grandpa, what did you do when you were a great spy?'...'Honestly, boy, the last few years I'm doing crossword puzzles.'" "Be careful, Mr. De Sole," the director said with a smile, "I don't want to suggest that your superiors cut your salary... Anyway, I can't do it, because I never believe your nonsense." "I don't believe it either," Conklin said quietly, but there was anger in his words. "You have arranged this." He glared at the fat analyst and added. "That's a bit of a strong word, Alexander," Desso protested. "Can you explain?" "You know why I'm here, don't you?" "I didn't even know you were here." "Oh, I see. How easy it is that you happen to be 'over the hall,' ready to be in the conference room." "My office is just down the hall. It's a long way from here, I might add." Conklin looked at the director, "This move is also very clever, sir. You have hired such three people, and I guess I have no fundamental conflict with them except for the system itself; you think I basically trust these three people, so I'll believe what they say." "You're basically right, Mr. Conklin, because what you're going to hear is the truth. Sit down, Mr. Desso... better sit at this side of the table so that while we're explaining to this former colleague , so he can study us well. I know, this is a method that field agents like to use." "I don't have a damn thing to explain," said the analyst, walking towards the chair next to Cassett, "but since our former colleague said something so offensive, I'd like to study him... you're all right Right, Alexander?" "He's all right," replied the Deputy Commissioner, Valentino, "he's got the wrong guy with this rant, but he's all right." "Without the consent and assistance of the few of us in this room, those information will never surface!" "What information?" Deso asked, looking at the director, the big eyes behind the glasses suddenly opened wider, "Oh, it's that top secret thing you asked me this morning?" The chief nodded, then looked at Conklin. "Let's recap what happened this morning... Seven hours ago, just after nine o'clock, I got a call from Edward McAllister. He's from the State Department and he's now the head of the National Security Agency. I It is true that Mr. McAllister went to Hong Kong with you, Mr. Conklin?" "Mr. McAllister was with us," Conklin replied dryly. "He flew to Macau with Jason Bourne on a covert operation, and was shot there and nearly died. He was very Smart, kind of eccentric, and one of the bravest people I've ever met." "He didn't give any details except that he'd been there; he also said that even if I had to put my schedule in a shredder, I'd have to treat my meeting with you as a red-level emergency . . . and we got a whole lot of fire from you, Mr. Conklin." "Again: I had every reason to push the cannon out." "Apparently...Mr. McAllister has given me several top-secret codes that will allow us to find out what the status of this document you are referring to—the record of the Hong Kong operation—is. Next, I Just give the codes to Mr. De Sole, so let him tell you what he found." "The file has not been touched, Alexander," Desso said calmly, looking directly at Conklin, "as of nine-thirty this morning, it has been dusty for four years, five months, twenty-one days, eleven hours, four Thirteen minutes, never intruded on. There is a reason why the state of document secrecy is so perfect, but I don't know if you know it yourself." "As long as it's about documents, there's nothing I don't know about!" "Maybe, maybe not," Desso said mildly. "Your problem is well known, and Dr. Panov is not very experienced in confidential matters." "what do you want to say in the end?" "A third name was added to the access process for the official records of the Hong Kong operation...Edward McAllister, at his own insistence and authorized by the President and Congress. He was instrumental in facilitating this thing." "Oh, my God," Conklin said softly, with some hesitation, "I called him from Baltimore last night and he said leaking was out of the question. Then he said I'd have to figure it out myself, so it was arranged. This meeting... my God, what happened?" "I'd say we're going to look elsewhere for answers," said the Commissioner, "but Mr. Conklin, you've got to make a decision before we do that. You see, no one at this table Know what's in that top secret file... of course we've talked about it, and Mr. Cassett just said you did a great job in Hong Kong, but we don't know what that job is We have heard many rumors from various intelligence stations in the Far East. To be honest, most of us feel that these things are getting more and more exaggerated. The most important point in the rumors is two names: you, and the killer Jason Burr Well, it was rumored at the time that you had captured and executed the killer we know as Bourne; but just now, in a fit of rage, you said, 'This unknown man was named Jason Bourne', And that he's still alive and in hiding. We're kind of baffled to hear this sequence of events—or at least I'm, God knows." "You didn't call out the file?" "No," Desso replied, "I didn't intend to. Here's something you may or may not know: Once someone hacks into a top-secret file, the date and time the file was hacked is automatically recorded...  The Director told me that the NSA has always been a big enemy of hacking files, so I decided it would be better to leave it intact. The file hadn't been hacked for nearly five years, so nobody Having seen it, no one will even know it exists; therefore, this document will never be handed over to any nefarious personage, whatever they may be." "You protect your butt so tightly that it doesn't show a bit." "Of course, Alexander. That document has the White House stamp on it. Things are relatively stable in Langley right now, and it's not in anyone's interest to cause trouble in the Oval Office. There's a new guy behind that desk, but the previous president is still there."活得好好的，而且那家伙固执得很。新人会去征求他的意见，所以我们干吗要惹祸上身？” 亚历山大·康克林端详着每一个人的脸，然后轻声说：“那你们确实不知道这段故事，是吗？” “确实如此，亚历山大。”卡塞特副局长说。 “百分之百的事实，你这个可恶的家伙。”瓦伦蒂诺附和说，脸上露出了一丝笑意。 “我可以为此起誓。”史蒂文·德索加上一句。他那双清亮的大眼睛紧紧盯着康克林。 “如果你希望我们帮忙，我们就应该了解一些实情，而不是那些自相矛盾的谣言。”局长往椅子上一靠，继续说道，“我不知道我们是否能帮上忙，但我知道一点：如果完全蒙在鼓里，我们什么也干不了。” 康克林又逐一把几个人打量了一遍，皱纹在他那神情痛苦的脸上变得愈发明显，仿佛抉择之艰难一时间让他难以承受。“我不能把他的名字告诉你们，因为我对他发过誓——以后也许会说，但现在不行。这名字在文件里也找不到，那上面也没有记载；文件是一种掩护——这一点我也是发誓要保密的。其他情况我可以告诉你们，因为我确实希望你们帮忙，也希望那份文件能永远不见天日……我从哪儿说起？” “就从这次会晤开始？”局长建议说，“引起它的是什么事？” “好吧，这说起来很快，”康克林若有所思地盯着桌面，心不在焉地握住自己的拐杖，然后抬起眼来，“昨天晚上，有个女人在巴尔的摩郊外的游乐场被杀了。” “这事儿我今早在《邮报》上看到了。”德索点着头插话说，肥嘟嘟的脸蛋直颤，“我的天，你是不是——” “我也看到了。”卡塞特插了一句，一双沉着的棕色眸子盯着康克林，“在一个射击场前面出的事。他们把那些枪都封起来了。” “那篇文章我瞧见了，还以为是什么可怕的事故呢，”瓦伦蒂诺缓缓摇了摇头，“我都没怎么细读。” “我今天照例拿到了厚厚一叠新闻剪报。不管是什么人，一早上这么多报道都够他看的，”局长说，“我不记得有这么一篇文章。” “老伙计，这事跟你有瓜葛么？” “要是没瓜葛，那个女人就是白白地送了命……我应该说，如果跟我们没有瓜葛的话。” “我们？”卡塞特警觉地皱起眉头。 “莫里斯·帕诺夫和我从杰森·伯恩那里收到了两封一模一样的电报，要我们昨天晚上九点三十分到游乐场去。电报说情况紧急，我们得在射击场前面和他碰头，但无论如何我们都不能给他家里打电话，也不能和其他任何人联系……我们俩各自都以为他这是不想吓着妻子，可能他有什么不愿让她知道的事，要单独跟我们说……我们同时到达接头地点，但我先看到了帕诺夫，就觉得情况不妙。无论怎么分析，尤其是从伯恩的角度来看，接头之前我们两个人本应该互相联络，通过气之后再去游乐场；可是，电报上却告诉我们不要这么做。情况很不对头，所以我竭尽所能，让我们两个尽快离开那里。当时惟一的办法似乎就是分散注意力。” “你把人群弄惊了。”卡塞特说。他这话是陈述，不是疑问。 “我只能想到这一个办法。除了能让我站直之外，这根该死的拐杖没什么别的本事，不过拿它轰人还挺好使。我照着游客的小腿和膝盖就敲，还猛戳了不少人的肚皮和奶子。我们俩跑出了圈子，但那个可怜的女人给打死了。” “这事你怎么看——你现在怎么看？”瓦伦蒂诺问道。 “我不知道啊，瓦伦蒂诺。这是个圈套，毫无疑问；但它究竟是个什么样的圈套？如果我当时和现在的想法没有错，一个受雇杀人的神枪手在那种距离上怎么可能打不中？子弹从我左上方射来——这倒不是我听出来的——但从那个女人的位置，还有她满脖子的血来看，她是在转身时躯体摆动的瞬间碰上了那一枪。子弹不可能来自射击场；那里的枪全固定在链子上，而让她脖子上鲜血狂涌的那颗子弹，口径比射击场的那些玩具要大得多。如果杀手当时想干掉我或是莫里斯·帕诺夫，他瞄准镜里的十字线不会偏离目标那么远。这么干肯定是另有企图，如果我所料不错的话。” 局长插话说，“康克林先生，你的'所料不错'指的是那个杀手——'胡狼'卡洛斯？” “卡洛斯？”德索惊呼，“天哪，'胡狼'和巴尔的摩的一桩枪杀案能有什么关系？” “杰森·伯恩。”卡塞特说。 “对，我想到了，但这一切简直就是乱七八糟！伯恩是个来自亚洲的杀手、人渣；他跑到欧洲去挑战卡洛斯，结果失败了。局长刚才说过，他后来回到远东地区，四五年前被人干掉了；可是听亚历山大说话的口气，这家伙好像还活着；他和一个叫帕诺夫的又接到了此人发来的电报……天哪，一个是已经死掉的混球，一个是全世界最难抓的杀手，他们跟昨天晚上的事能有什么关系？” “刚才你还不在这儿，史蒂文，”卡塞特平静地答道，“显然，他们和昨天晚上的事大有关系。” “那就请再解释一下。” “康克林先生，我觉得你应该从头说起。”局长说，“杰森·伯恩是个什么人？” “对这个世界而言，他是个从来不曾存在的人。”前任情报官康克林回答说。 3 “杰森·伯恩的真身是个人渣，他来自塔斯马尼亚，是个四处游荡的妄想狂。他想法子投身越战，参与了一项直到今天都没人愿意承认的行动。那支行动队里汇集着杀手、格格不入者、走私犯和窃贼，大都是逃出来的罪犯，许多人还背着死刑。但他们对东南亚地区了如指掌，并且在敌人的战线后方开展行动——由我们来资助。” “梅杜莎，”史蒂文·德索低声说，“这些事都给深深掩盖起来了。他们是一帮禽兽，不分情由、不经授权地随便杀人，还窃取了数百万美元。全是些野蛮残暴的家伙。” “大部分人是，但并非全部，”康克林说，“但伯恩的这位真身确实符合你所能想到的每一条卑劣特征，他甚至还出卖过自己人。有一次他们去执行非常危险的行动——危险，见鬼，简直就是自杀——行动指挥发现伯恩在用无线电向北越部队报告他们的位置。他当场处决了那家伙，还把尸首铲进淡关的一个沼泽，让它在丛林之中腐烂。杰森·伯恩从此在世上消失。” “他显然又重现了，康克林先生。”局长往桌前倾了倾身。 “换了另一副躯壳，”康克林·亚历山大点头表示赞同，“为了另一个目的。在淡关处决伯恩的那个人用了他的名字，同意接受训练，参与一项被我们称为'踏脚石七十一'的行动。它得名于纽约第七十一街上的一座建筑。他在那座房子里经历了一套极为残酷的训练计划。这项行动写在纸面上的时候很棒，但最终却失败了，因为发生了一些没有人预料到，甚至没有人考虑过的情况。在将近三年的时间里，他扮演着全世界第二号致命杀手的角色，并转入欧洲地区——德索刚才说的一点不错——到'胡狼'自己的地盘上向他发起挑战。这之后我们的人受了伤，失去了记忆。有人发现他半死不活地漂在地中海上，后来一个渔夫把他带到了黑港岛。他根本不知道自己是谁，是干什么的，只知道自己精通各种功夫，会说几门东方语言，而且教育程度显然很高。靠着一位英国医生的帮助——那医生是个给放逐到黑港岛的酒鬼——这个身心都已支离破碎的人，开始把自己的生活——自己的身份——一点点重新拼凑起来。那是一段炼狱般的可怕经历……而我们这些发起行动的人，我们这些杜撰出传言的人，却根本没有给他任何帮助。我们不知道出了什么事，还以为他已经变节，当真成为了那个我们为诱捕卡洛斯而凭空杜撰出来的杀手。而我呢，我本人曾试图在巴黎干掉他；他那时满可以一枪把我的头轰掉，但却下不了手。最后他好不容易才找到我们，这全都是因为他在苏黎世结识的一位了不起的加拿大女人，现在她成了他的妻子。这位女士的勇气和智慧，我认识的所有女性里谁也比不上。如今，她和丈夫还有两个孩子又陷入了噩梦之中，又得仓皇逃命了。” 局长那张颇有贵族气派的嘴张得老大，手里的烟斗悬在胸前的半空中。他说：“你坐在那儿讲了这么一通，难道当真是在说，我们认为名叫杰森·伯恩的那个杀手是杜撰出来的？他不是我们以为的那个杀手？” “为了活命，他也在迫不得已时杀过人，但他并不是什么杀手。我们杜撰这个传言，是为了把他塑造成挑战卡洛斯的终极对手，以诱使这只'胡狼'现身。” “我的天哪！”卡塞特惊呼，“你们是怎么干的？” “在整个远东地区散布大量虚假情报。不管是东京、香港、澳门还是首尔，无论在什么地方，但凡有重要人物被杀，伯恩就会被飞机送往那里；他会声称对事件负责，故意留下证据，再把当局耍弄一番——直到他成为一个传奇人物。三年间，我们的人生活在一个充斥着种种肮脏的世界里——毒品、军阀、犯罪；他一点点深入其中，只为了一个目的：到欧洲给卡洛斯布下诱饵，威胁他顶级杀手的地位，迫使这只'胡狼'现身，哪怕只有短短的一刻——只要能把子弹射进他的脑袋就行。” 一桌人如遭电击，震惊得说不出话来。德索打破了沉默，他的声音几乎和耳语差不多，“什么样的人会去接受这样的任务？” 康克林看了看分析师，然后以平板的语气答道：“一个觉得生活已经没有什么意义的人，也许是一个想寻死的人……一个正派的人，在仇恨与失望的驱使下披上了梅杜莎这样的外衣。”前任情报官说到这儿停住了，痛苦之情溢于言表。 “接着说啊，亚历山大，”瓦伦蒂诺轻声说，“你可不能讲到这儿就算完了吧。” “没有，当然没完，”康克林眨了几下眼，把自己拉回现实，“我刚才在想，如今这一切对他来说是多么可怕——那些回忆，他所能记起的事情。有个该死的相似之处我原先没有想到。妻子，还有孩子。” “什么相似之处？”卡塞特问道。他弓着身子往前倾，盯住康克林。 “多年以前在越战期间，我们的人还是个派驻金边的年轻外事官员。他是一位学者，娶了个泰国妻子，是他在国内读研究生时认识的。他们有两个孩子，一家人就住在一条河的岸边……有一天早晨他妻子和孩子正在河里游泳，一架从河内偏航飞来的喷气机对那一带进行了低空扫射，母子三人都死了。我们的人发了狂；他抛下一切，跑到西贡加入了梅杜莎。他一心想着要杀人。他成了代号'三角洲一号'——梅杜莎内部从来不用姓名——并且被视为战争期间作战效率最高的游击队领袖。他不光带着暗杀小队与敌人作战，而且还屡屡违抗西贡司令部的命令。” “不过，他显然还是支持战争的。”瓦伦蒂诺说。 “他对西贡和南越军队很厌恶，除此之外我觉得他根本就不在乎谁赢谁输。他有他自己的仗要打；他的战争地点是在深入敌后很远的地方，越靠近河内越好。我觉得，他其实一直是想找到那个害死他家人的飞行员……相似之处就在这里。多年以前他有一个妻子，两个孩子，他们就在他的眼前惨遭杀害。现在他又有了一个妻子，两个孩子，而'胡狼'则在步步逼近，不抓到他绝不罢休。这肯定都让他快要崩溃了。真他妈该死！” 会议桌另一头的四个人彼此对视了一下，让康克林突然爆发的情绪平静下来。局长又开口了，语气还是很温和，“考虑到时间跨度的问题，”他说道，“诱捕卡洛斯的行动想必是在十多年前开始的，但香港的事件离现在却要近得多。这两件事有关联吗？在这个当口，如果不向我们透露某个人或某些人的姓名，香港的事你觉得可以告诉我们多少？” 康克林答话时将拐杖紧紧攥在手里，指节都发白了。“香港的事，是华盛顿筹划过的最为卑劣的秘密行动，无疑也是我听说过的最为出格的行动。有一点令我深感宽慰：身在兰利的我们和行动最初的策划毫无干系。为这个计划喝彩赞美的人都该下地狱。我到了后期才加入行动，结果发现的情况直叫我恶心。麦卡利斯特也是如此，因为他从一开始就参与其中。他之所以甘愿搭上自己的性命，也就是出于这个原因。兼具道德与智慧的他，决不能坐视一个正派的人因为行动策略而被牺牲。” “你这番控诉很严厉啊。”卡塞特说，“出了什么事？” “我们自己的人，找人绑架了伯恩的妻子，那个引导着丧失了全部记忆的伯恩找到我们的女人。他们一路留下踪迹，逼着他来找她——到香港去找。” “天哪，为什么？”瓦伦蒂诺喊道。 “为了那个行动策略；它可谓完美无瑕，但也是极为卑劣的……我刚才告诉你们，名叫杰森·伯恩的'杀手'在亚洲成了传奇人物。他在欧洲失踪了，但这反而让他在远东地区更具传奇色彩。后来，不知从哪儿突然又冒出了一个野心勃勃的新杀手；他从澳门开始行动，让这个传奇起死回生。他用的是'杰森·伯恩'的名字，受雇杀人的事件再度出现。不出一周，甚至才几天工夫，就会有人被杀；杀手留下的是相同的证据，也会照样把警察耍弄一番。一个假冒的伯恩重新干起了杀人的行当，而且还研究过真身用过的每一种手段。” “要追踪冒牌货，谁也比不上那个凭空编造出这些手段的人——真身，你们的那个真身，”局长插话说，“要迫使伯恩的真身前去追捕，最好的办法当然是把他的妻子绑走。但为什么要这么干？华盛顿怎么会如此不择手段？这事跟我们已经没有任何关系了啊。” “出现了非常糟糕的情况。新杰森·伯恩的主顾之中有一个狂人，他是个丧心病狂的家伙，打算把远东地区变成一片火海。他决意破坏中英香港协定，封锁香港，让整个地区陷入混乱。” “陷入战争。”卡塞特轻声说，“北京会把军队开进香港，接管那里。到时候我们这些国家都得选择各自的立场……战争。” “而且是在核子时代，”局长加了一句，“康克林先生，这件事当时发展到了什么地步？” “一位政要在九龙被秘密刺杀。冒牌货留下了自己的记认：'杰森·伯恩'。” “我的天，一定得阻止这家伙！”紧攥着烟斗的局长大声喊道。 “确实阻止了，”康克林说道，他松开了手中的拐杖，“完成这项任务的，就是惟一有本领追踪他的那个人，我们的杰森·伯恩……我现在能告诉你们的就是这些，但有一点我还要重复一遍：我们的人现在带着妻子儿女回到了国内，卡洛斯则在步步逼近。这世界上能认出'胡狼'的人只剩下他一个，不把他置于死地'胡狼'决不会罢休。所以，巴黎、伦敦、罗马、马德里这些地方，凡是有人欠着我们的情，就赶快和他们联系——特别是巴黎。肯定有人知道点什么情况。卡洛斯安插在美国的探子都是谁？他现在人在哪里？华盛顿这里就有他的眼线，不管这些人是谁，他们查到了我和帕诺夫！”前任情报官又心不在焉地抓住了拐杖，两眼盯着窗户。“难道你们还不明白？”他轻声又说了一句，仿佛是在自言自语，“我们不能让这种事发生。哦，我的天啊，我们不能让这种事发生！” 在这个情绪激动的时刻，众人又一次陷入沉默。中央情报局的几个人交换了一下眼色，仿佛一言不发地达成了共识；三双眼睛都落在卡塞特身上。他点点头，表示他明白自己是在场者之中和康克林关系最亲近的人，然后开口说道： “亚历山大，我也认为所有的线索都指向卡洛斯；但我们在欧洲采取行动之前，必须要做到确定无疑。我们可不能错拉警报，因为那样就等于拱手送给'胡狼'一个他肯定会紧追不放的目标，向他表明与杰森·伯恩有关的事是中情局易受攻击的软肋。根据你告诉我们的情况，十多年来中情局没有任何一位特工和下线接近过卡洛斯的地盘，因此我们现在如果有所动作，他仅凭这一点就会回忆起那项已沉寂多年的'踏脚石七十一'行动。” 已经退休的康克林，紧盯着查尔斯·卡塞特那张轮廓分明、透着忧虑的面孔，“你是说，如果我搞错了，这事不是'胡狼'干的，那么我们就等于撕开了一道十三年前的旧伤疤，也为他提供了一个必欲杀之而后快的猎物？” “我想大致就是这个意思。” “我觉得你这么想很有道理，查尔斯……我这是在根据表面迹象来行动，对不对？它们确实能激起人的直觉，但终归只是些表象啊。” “我倒是宁愿相信你的那些直觉，任何测谎仪都比不过它们——” “我也是，”瓦伦蒂诺插话说，“你曾在五六次区域性危机中拯救过我方人员，虽说当时所有的迹象似乎都表明你的判断不对。但是，查尔斯提出的这个质疑合情合理。假如不是卡洛斯呢？我们不仅会向欧洲发去错误的信息，更重要的是还会白白浪费时间。” “那就别管欧洲，”康克林若有所思地轻声说，仿佛又是在自言自语，“至少现在别去管那边……先对付国内的混蛋，引他们出洞。把这些家伙抓进来，让他们招供。既然我是目标，就让他们来找我好了。” “康克林先生，如果这么干，我想为你和帕诺夫医生安排的保护措施可就得放松许多。”局长沉着声音说。 “那就不要那么安排了，长官，”康克林看看卡塞特，又看看瓦伦蒂诺，突然间提高了嗓门，“如果你们俩肯听我的，让我来开展行动，这事我们就能干成！” “我们处在灰色地带，”卡塞特指出，“这事儿虽说主要发生在国外，但做起来却得归国内管。应该让联邦调查局知道——” “绝对不行，”康克林大声说，“除了这间屋子里的人，谁也不能知道！” “得了吧，亚历山大，”瓦伦蒂诺缓缓摇着头，温和地说，“你已经退休了。你在这儿可不能发号施令。” “行，好啊！”康克林喊道。他笨拙地从椅子上站起来，用拐杖撑直了身子，“下回咱们就在白宫见，去找那个国安局局长麦卡利斯特！” “坐下。”局长沉声说。 “我已经退休了！你没权力对我发号施令。” “不敢，我只是担心你的生命安全。照我对局面的判断，你这个提议的基础只是个假设——昨晚无论朝你开枪的人是谁，他都是故意射偏的，而且根本不在乎是否会伤到别人；他一心只想着在枪响之后的混乱中把你活捉。我觉得这个假设值得商榷。” “你这是跳跃式的结论——” “我作出结论的基础，是自己参与过的几十次行动！有的在中情局，有的在海军部，还有好些地方的名字你念都念不出来、听都没听说过！”局长的胳膊肘紧紧压在椅子扶手上，声音突然变得凌厉起来，充满了威严。“我告诉你，康克林，我可不是一步登天就穿上镶金边的将军制服，去主管海军情报事务的。我在海豹突击队干过几年，然后上了潜艇，到开城K执行任务，后来又跑过海防港，梅杜莎的那帮混蛋我倒是也认识几个，可这种人我见了就想朝着他脑袋来上一枪！现在你跟我说有这么一个梅杜莎成员，他成了你们的'杰森·伯恩'，而你宁可丢掉自己的卵蛋，或是把心挖出来，也要保证他好好活着，远离'胡狼'枪口的威胁……所以废话咱们还是省省吧，亚历山大。你到底想不想跟我合作？” 康克林慢悠悠地坐回自己的椅子里，唇边渐渐展露出一丝笑容，“我说过，我对你当上局长没什么过不去的，长官。这只是一种直觉，不过现在我明白是为什么了。你是个搞外勤的人……我会跟你合作的。” “行，好啊。”局长说，“我们要搞出一个控制监视方案，还得祈求老天保佑你所料不错，那帮人确实是想把你活捉。因为我们不可能照顾到每一扇窗户，每一个屋顶。这其中的风险你最好想想清楚。” “我很清楚。要引食人鱼上钩，往池子里扔两块饵总比一块好，所以我想跟帕诺夫医生谈谈。” “你不能要求他参与这种事，”卡塞特反对说，“他和我们不一样，亚历山大。他凭什么要冒这个险？” “因为他其实和我们是一样的，而且我觉得最好还是让他参加进来。这事我如果不跟他讲，以后他给我打流感疫苗时说不定会换上满满一针管士的宁士，你知道，他当时也在香港——他去那儿的原因和我没多大区别。多年以前，我在巴黎试图杀掉自己最亲密的朋友，因为我犯下个可怕的错误，认为他已经变节，其实他是失去了记忆。没过几天，莫里斯·帕诺夫——国内最著名的心理医师之一，一位无法忍受时下流行的那些胡说八道心理学的医生，拿到了一份'基于假设'的心理档案，而且必须马上作出评估。档案描述的是一名失控的潜伏特工，一个定时炸弹般的人物；他脑袋里装着上千个秘密，已经精神错乱。由于莫里斯当场对那份假设档案作出的评估——几个小时之后他产生了怀疑，觉得这份档案根本就不是什么假设，而是和坎贝尔牌汤罐头一样实实在在的东西——一个全然无害的失忆者险些在纽约第七十一街政府设下的伏击中被打死。这个只剩下半条命的男人活了下来，后来莫里斯就要求担任他惟一的心理医生。他始终都不能原谅自己。假设你们之中的任何一个人是他，如果这会儿我们正在讨论的事我根本没告诉你，你会怎么办？” “老伙计，我就跟你说针管里是流感疫苗，然后给你猛打士的宁。”德索点头回答说。 “莫里斯·帕诺夫这会儿在哪里？”卡塞特问道。 “在巴尔的摩的布克榭酒店，用的名字是莫里斯，菲利普·莫里斯。今天的病人预约他已经取消——他说自己得了流感。” “那咱们就开干吧。”局长一面说，一面把一本黄色拍纸簿摆在面前，“顺便说一句，亚历山大，一个称职的外勤人员并不在意级别高低，而且不会随便信任别人，除非这个人见到他能诚恳地直呼其名。你想必知道，我姓霍兰，名字是彼得。从现在起咱俩就以亚历山大和彼得相称，明白了吧？” “明白了——彼得。你在海豹突击队的时候，肯定是个很厉害的家伙。” “既然我能坐在这儿——我说的是地理位置，不是这把椅子——应该说我还是蛮称职的。” “而且是个搞外勤的。”康克林咕哝着表示赞同。 “还有，既然我们已经扔掉了搞这种工作的人常会说的一大堆废话，你就得明白一点：我可是个务实的家伙。我要求你拿出专业的东西来，亚历山大，而不是感情用事。清楚了没有？” “我行动的时候正是如此，彼得。作出一个承诺也许是基于感情，这没什么不对；但实施行动的时候必须得冷若冰霜……你这个务实的家伙，我虽然没在海豹突击队待过，但就地理位置而言我也坐在这里，只不过跛着脚；所以这说明我应该也是称职的。” 彼得·霍兰咧嘴一笑；那是年轻人的笑容，不过被缕缕灰发道破了真相；那是专业人士的笑容，他可以暂时摆脱行政上的种种顾虑，重归自己最熟悉的领域之中。“说不定我们还能交上朋友呢。”局长说。然后，仿佛是为了放下最后的一点局长架子，他把烟斗搁到桌子上，伸手从口袋里摸出一包香烟，叼上一根，用打火机啪地一下点着，在拍纸簿上写开了。“让调查局见鬼去吧，”他接着说，“我们这次只用自己的人，而且得抓紧时间把每个人都审查一遍。” 身材瘦削、一脸精明的查尔斯·卡塞特，显然是接任中情局局长职位的人选。他往椅背上一靠，叹了口气，“我怎么有种感觉，这次对你们两位先生都得严加看管呢？” “因为你骨子里还是个分析师，查尔斯。”霍兰答道。 控制监视的目标，是要让跟踪他人者暴露出来，以确定他们的身份或是加以拘留，采取何种具体措施要视行动而定。当前这个行动的目标，是诱捕“胡狼”手下将康克林和帕诺夫骗到巴尔的摩游乐场的那些人。一整晚和次日的大半天时间，中情局的人都在忙，他们组成了一支包括八名经验丰富的外勤人员的小队，还反复研究了接下来二十四小时之内康克林和帕诺夫两人要单独和共同行走的路线，一路上都有携带武器的专门人员暗中掩护，他们会迅速进行轮换；最后，中情局的人定下了一个极有诱惑力的约会地点，从时间和位置来看都可谓独一无二：凌晨时分的史密森学院1846年创建于美国华盛顿的博物馆机构，其主建筑前方视野开阔，有大片绿地……这简直就像一株维纳斯捕蝇草——是女神为昆虫设下的陷阱。 康克林站在自己那间公寓房窄小昏暗的门厅里，看了看手表。他眯缝着眼睛，好认清表盘上的指针。时间正是凌晨两点三十五分；他打开沉重的大门，跛着脚走进黑魆魆的街道，空荡荡的街上杳无人迹。他按照计划向左边走去，一直保持着约定的速度；他得在尽可能接近两点三十八分的时候到达街角。突然，他一下子紧张起来；右边昏暗的门洞里有个人影。康克林尽可能不引人注意地把手伸进夹克，去拿他那把伯莱塔自动手枪。行动方案可没在这一段街道的门洞里安排人！随后，就和刚才突然变得紧张一样，他又一下子放松下来，对自己意识到的情况既感到释然，又有些内疚。阴影里的人原来是个穷汉——一个身穿破衣烂衫的老头，在这片富足土地上流离失所的许多人之一。康克林继续往前走；来到街角的时候，他听到有人低低地打了个响指。他穿过大街，沿着人行道一路前行，经过了一条小巷。小巷。又一个人影……也是个衣衫不整的老头，他慢慢地走到街上，然后又缩回了巷子里。又一个无家可归的人，他这是在把守自己居住的混凝土洞穴。假如是在其他时间，康克林可能就会走到那个不走运的人跟前，掏几块钱给他；但现在可不行。他还有很长的一段路要走，而且得按预定时间到达。 走近十字路口时，莫里斯·帕诺夫还在为