Chapter 7 Chapter Six

"You'll get what you need." "Excellent!" exclaimed the oldest Frenchman in the Medusa.Years later, the French saved his life in some eastern game reserve. "You're great, boy!" He was right.He was really dead too.His name is Dangru, and he is a figure who has left many legends.Bourne's thoughts were suddenly interrupted. The long-haired attack dog suddenly circled the road, its barking became louder, and its nose smelled the smell of people.It took only a few seconds for the beast to determine the direction of attack, and then went berserk.The hound leaped through the bushes, its fangs flashing, and a low, lethal growl came out of its throat.Bourne leaped back against the barbed wire, drawing his air pistol from its nylon holster with his right hand; You have to risk your life here.The frenzied animal jumped up, and its huge body rushed over aggressively.Bourne fired a dart, followed by another.At the same time that the dart hit the dog's body, he suddenly wrapped his left arm around the attacking dog's head, twisted the dog's head counterclockwise, and raised his right knee against the dog's body to block the dancing sharp claw.The fight was over in a split second—a moment of violence so violent and frantic that it was almost crushing at the end—without the long howl that might have rang through the lawn of the general's compound.The paralyzed long-haired hound opened its eyes wide and limply in Bourne's arms.He put the dog on the ground and waited there.He dared not move unless he was sure that the beast hadn't alerted the other companions to gather.

No alarm was sounded; the only sound came from beyond the forbidding barbed wire, a constant small noise in the woods.Bourne holstered the air pistol and crawled forward, back to the gravel road, beads of sweat rolling down his face and into his eyes.He has been away for too long.Years ago, this ability to silence attack dogs would have been a breeze for him—ordinary practice, according to the legendary Donjou—but it is no longer ordinary.He was full of fear.Pure, unadulterated fear.Where did the old one go?Mary and the children were still on the run; the man must be called back.Call him back!

Bourne took off the binoculars and raised the eyepiece to his eyes again.The flickering moonlight was always obscured by low-hanging clouds, but the dim yellow light was enough.He watched the bushes ahead of the fence on the outer road.A black Doberman strutted up and down the branching dirt road like an angry, impatient jaguar.It stopped to pee now and then, and stuck its long nose into the bushes.The route the dog walked back and forth was on the huge circular driveway, between two closed iron gates facing each other, which was set by someone.When the dog walks to the checkpoints on both sides, it will stop for a while, growl a few times, and turn around a few times, as if anticipating and hating the electric shock-if it runs out of range for no reason, it will be passed by the collar. The incoming current hit me hard.This was a common training method in Vietnam back then; soldiers used this type of remote-controlled signal equipment to train attack dogs to patrol around munitions and material warehouses.Bourne adjusted the focus of the binoculars and observed the far end of the wide lawn in front of the house.His eyes were fixed on a third dog, a large Weimaraner, seemingly mild-natured, but deadly when it struck.This hyperactive dog scuttled about, probably more excited by the sight of squirrels or rabbits in the bushes than by the smell of people; it didn't make a low growl from its throat, it was a dog Sign of an attack.

Bourne tried to analyze what he observed, because the results of the analysis would determine his next move.He had to assume that there was a fourth or fifth dog, maybe a sixth, patrolling the perimeter of the Swayne house.But why?Why not have these dogs roaming around in packs, wouldn't that be a more horrific and more forbidding sight?The expenditures that Eastern farmers have to consider are not a problem here... Then, the answer suddenly occurred to him; the answer was so simple that it was almost obvious.He looked back and forth between the Weimaraner and the Doberman through the binoculars, and the image of the long-haired German Shepherd was still vivid in his mind.These dogs are indeed trained attack dogs, but they are something else.They're the finest thoroughbred dogs, trained to send you to hell - a pack of vicious dogs who pretend to be show champions by day and become vicious predators by night.Of course it would be, and General Norman Swayne's "farm" was neither an unregistered property nor a hidden one, but it was open to the public; his friends, neighbors and colleagues would undoubtedly visit Visiting, maybe I was quite jealous in my heart.During the day, guests will admire a group of tame award-winning dogs accompanied by dog ​​trainers, and visit the luxurious kennels, never knowing what hides under those shiny fur.Norman Swayne, the head of the Pentagon's acquisition department and a former member of the Medusa, is really just an avid dog lover; the excellent pedigree of his dogs is enough to prove it.He could have collected money by lending his stud dogs, and there was nothing in Army code that said he couldn't.

This is an illusion.If this part of the General's "farm" was a sham, so was the whole property, as was the so-called "inheritance" that had allowed him to buy the farm.It's Medusa. One of the two odd tricycles appeared across the lawn.It came out of the shadow of the house and came down the road out of the circular drive.Bourne pointed the binoculars at the car, and sure enough, he saw the Weimaraner lightly jumping out, bouncing and following beside the car.It ran and barked, wanting to be praised by the driver.driver.These two drivers are dog trainers!The familiar body odor on them can calm dogs down and put them at ease.Observation leads to analysis, and analysis determines his next strategy.He had to move, at least run a little more than he was doing now, and move around the general's compound.To do this, he had to have a dog handler by his side.He had to catch a man on patrol in his car; he sprinted into the sheltered pines and returned to the point where he had entered the farm.

The bulletproof car with the engine came to a halt on the narrow road, halfway between the two front doors, almost completely hidden by bushes; Bourne adjusted the binoculars.The black Doberman was clearly more favored; as soon as the driver opened the glass panel on the right side of the car, the dog jumped up and rested its huge front paws on the seat.The man driving threw a piece of biscuit or meat into the hound's expectant mouth, and then reached out to rub its neck. Byrne realized at once that he had only a short time to implement his half-baked strategy.He had to stop the car and force the driver out of the car without disturbing him or giving him any reason to pick up the radio and call for help.that dog?Let it lie across the road?No, the driver might think that someone killed it from outside the barbed wire and warn the people in the house.What should he do?He looked around in the almost pitch-black darkness, panicked by indecision; his eyes scanned his surroundings with growing anxiety.Then, he suddenly thought of an obvious solution.The large stretch of low lawn was neatly cut, the bushes were trimmed neatly, and the circular driveway was swept clean—tidyness is the rule on the general’s territory.Byrne could almost hear Swayne ordering to the farm man, "Clean up this place!"

Bourne glanced at the small car parked next to the Doberman; the driver playfully pushed the dog away and was about to close the bulletproof glass panel.Only seconds to go!for what?what to do? He vaguely saw a branch on the ground; it was a rotten branch that had fallen from the pine above him.He walked quickly, crouched, and pulled the branch out of the dirt and debris, then dragged it toward the tarmac.Leaving a tree branch in the middle of a driveway would be too conspicuous and a trap; but if left halfway out of the way--destroying the ubiquitous cleanliness of the farm--it would be so uncomfortable for others to see it that it would be better to remove it immediately. It was removed so that the general who had gone out in the car would not find it when he returned.The people in the Swayne compound were soldiers, or had been soldiers, and were still under military command; they avoided reprimands from their superiors as much as possible, especially for trivial matters.With the odds in Bourne's favor, he grabbed the branch by the base and spun it around, then pushed it about a meter or two up the driveway.He heard the panel of the car slam shut; the car moved forward, faster and faster, and Bourne hurried back into the shadows under the pines.

The driver turned the curve of the dirt road into the driveway.He slowed down abruptly as if he had accelerated suddenly just now, and the beam of the single headlight illuminated the new obstacle that appeared on the road.He steered the car forward carefully, at the slowest possible speed, as if wondering what it was; then he saw it, and he sped off.He opened the side door without hesitation, and the tall plexiglass panels swung forward.He stepped onto the driveway and walked toward the front of the car. "Big Rex, buddy, you're such a bad dog." The driver's voice was not too loud, with a strong southern accent. "Stupid, what did you drag out? That gold star-carrying bastard will have your skin ripped off if he finds out you messed with his territory!  … Rex? Rex, give it to me Come here, you bloody dog!" The man grabbed the branch and dragged it out of the road, dragging it all the way into the shadows under the pine tree. "Rex, do you hear me?! Fucking in a tree hole, you rutted stud dog!"

"Stand still and put your arms out in front of you," Jason Bourne said as he stepped out. "My God! Who are you?" "A man who doesn't care whether you live or die." The intruder replied calmly. "You have a gun! I see it!" "You have it too. Your gun is in the holster. Mine is in your hand, pointing to your head." "The dog! Where is the dog?" "It's not in good health." "what?" "That dog looks pretty good. It can do what the dog trainer wants it to do. You can't blame the dog, you have to blame the dog trainer."

"what are you talking about?" "I guess it boils down to one sentence: I would rather kill people than kill dogs. Is it clear?" "I don't know anything! All I know is that I don't want to be slaughtered." "Then let's talk, how about?" "Sir, I have many words, but only one life." "Put your right arm down, and get your gun out—with your fingers, sir." The guard obeyed, gripping the pistol between his thumb and forefinger. "Throw the gun over here, please." The man obediently obeyed.Byrne picked up the gun.

"What the hell is going on here?" the guard pleaded. "I want to know something. Someone sent me here to find out." "If you let me out of here, I'll tell you all I know. I don't want to be in this place again! I always think something will happen one day. That's what I told Barbie Yo, you ask her Well! I told her someday people would come up here and ask this and that. But I didn't expect it to be like this, like you! Didn't expect someone to put a gun to our heads." "I guess Barbie Yo is your wife." "more or less." "Then let's start with why 'they' come here and ask this and that. My superior wants to know why. Don't worry, you won't be involved, no one is interested in you. You're just a security guard." "I'm really just a security guard, sir!" interrupted the terrified guard. "Then why would you say that to Barbie Yo? Said that one day someone would come here and ask this and that." "Damn it, I don't really know... probably because there are too many weird things, you understand?" "I don't understand. Like?" "Like that guy with the gold star and the rant, the general. He's a big shot, right? The Pentagon gives him a car, a driver, and he can have a helicopter if he wants it, right? This place is his, Right?" "so what?" "That big fat Irish sergeant - just a lousy sergeant major - calling the general around like he can't even poop himself, you know what I mean? The general's big boobed wife and big fat man Having an affair, that woman doesn't care if other people know about it. These things are all inexplicable, you know what I mean?" "I think it's just a mess of housework, but it doesn't seem to have anything to do with others, right? Why do people come here to ask this and that?" "Dude, why did you come here? You thought there was a meeting tonight, didn't you?" "Meeting?" "Those limousines, the chauffeurs, all the big shots, right? Well, you picked the wrong time to come tonight. The dogs are out now, never at meetings." Bourne paused, then walked up to the guard and said, "Let's talk in the car," his voice sounded authoritative, "I'm going to get down, and you have to do exactly what I tell you to do." "You promised me to get out of here!" "You can go, and you will. You and the other patrolman can go. Those two doors over there, are they alarmed?" "There's no alarm when the dogs are released. If the hounds see something in the road outside, they'll jump around with excitement and bang the alarm." "Where's the console for the alarm?" "There are two. One is in the sergeant's quarters and the other is in the vestibule of the house. You can turn the alarm on as long as the door is shut." "Quick, let's go." "Where are you going?" "I want to meet every dog ​​in this place." Twenty-one minutes later, the remaining five attack dogs were also stumped and dragged into the kennel.Bourne unbolted the entrance door and let the two guards out.He gave them three hundred dollars each. "This should cover your lost wages," he said. "Hey, what about my car?" the second guard asked. "Although it's not a good car, it can carry me around anyway. Willy and I came here by car." "Do you have the key?" "Yes, in my pocket. The car is parked in the back, by the kennel." "Come and get it tomorrow." "Can't I drive now?" "You're making too much noise in your car, and my superiors will be here in a minute. Better not let them see you. Trust me." "Jesus! Jim, what did I tell you? Like I told Barbie Yo. Dude, this place is weird!" "Three hundred dollars is no wonder, Willy. Come on, let's get a lift on the road. It's not too late, and there must be some buddies on the road... Hey, sir, when the hounds wake up, there will be a Who's going to look after them? The dogs have to be taken out for a walk and fed before the morning shift. They'll be torn to pieces if any stranger comes near them." "How about General Swayne's sergeant major? He can handle the dogs, can't he?" "They don't like him very much," said the guard named Willie, "but they obey his orders. They get on better with the General's wife, those whores." "What about the general?" Bourne asked. "He'd freak the shit out of him when he saw the dogs," replied Jim. "Thank you for the information. Come on, walk a little further up the road and get a ride. My superiors will come from the other direction." "You know what," the second guard winked at Bourne in the moonlight, "I didn't expect to have such a weird night. You come here and dress like a goddamn horror But you talk and act like a hard-boiled officer. You keep talking about your 'bosses'; and you're so pissed off that you paid three hundred dollars each to let us go. I'm I don't understand at all!" "You shouldn't understand either. Anyway, if I'm really a terrorist, you're both dead by now, aren't you?" "He's right, Jim. Let's go!" "What the hell are we supposed to tell people?" "Whoever asks, tell the truth. Describe what happened tonight. You may add that the code name is 'Cobra.'" "My God!" Willie yelled, and the two fled down the road. Bourne closed the door and walked back to the patrol car, knowing that no matter what happened in the next few hours, one of Medusa's subordinate organizations would become increasingly anxious.Someone will ask a question impatiently, but get no answer.nothing.Totally a mystery. He climbed in, shifted gear, and drove down the gravel road that branched off from the spotless circular drive toward the cottage at the end. He stood by the window and peered in, his face against the edge of the glass.The big fat sergeant major was sitting in a big leather armchair with his feet on the footstool, watching the TV.Judging from the movement through the window, especially the fast and high-pitched voice of the commentator, the general's adjutant was engrossed in enjoying the baseball game.Bourne scanned the interior of the room as much as possible. The furnishings were in a typical country style. From the dark furniture to the plaid curtains, most of the things in the room were brown and red, which looked comfortable and masculine. It's the kind of hut that country men live in.But there were no weapons to be seen in the room, not even the antique rifles that used to stand over the fireplace; the standard .45 was neither on the sergeant nor on the table by the chair.The adjutant is not worried about his immediate safety at all, so why should he worry?General Norman Swayne's property is absolutely secure - fenced, iron gates, patrols, and trained attack dogs patrolling every entrance.Through the glass, Bourne stared at the sergeant major's tough, fat face.What secrets are held in that big head?He wants to find out.Even if the skull was to be cut open, Medusa's Delta One would still have to find out the secret.Bourne backed away from the window and walked around the cabin to the front door.He raised his left hand and tapped his knuckles twice; in his right held the untraceable automatic pistol—a weapon supplied by Alexander Conklin, the king of covert operations. "Rachel, the door's open!" cried the gruff voice from inside. Bourne turned the handle and pushed the door in; the hinged door swung open and banged against the wall.He went in. "My God!" The sergeant major yelled, and suddenly pulled down the pair of fat legs resting on the footstool, and twisted his fat body to stand up from the chair. "You! . . . you're a fucking ghost! You're dead!" "Take another guess," said Medusa's Delta. "Your name is Flanagan, isn't it? I think so." "You are dead!" the general's adjutant shouted again, his eyes widened in panic, "You were hooked in Hong Kong! You were killed in Hong Kong... four or five years ago!" "You remember clearly—" "We know... I know!" "So, you are quite well-connected and well-informed." "You are Bourne!" "Born, back from the dead. You can say that." "I do not believe!" "Trust me, Flanagan. We've got to talk about this 'we'. Gorgon, to be precise." "You're the one—the one Swayne called 'Cobra'!" "'Cobra' is a type of snake." "I do not understand--" "It's kind of confusing." "You're with us!" "It used to be, and I put it aside. It can be said that I 'drilled' back." The sergeant looked at the door in alarm, then at the window. "How did you get in? Where are the guards? Where are the dogs? My God! Where are they?" "The dogs are sleeping in the kennels, so I'm taking the guards off duty tonight." "You let...the dogs are outside!" "It's gone, I advise them to rest." "Guards—those two goddamn guards!" "I persuaded them to leave. What happened tonight seemed even more confusing to them." "What have you done—what do you want to do?" "I think I just said that. We've got to talk, Sergeant Flanagan. I want to catch up with some old chaps." The panicked sergeant backed away awkwardly from the chair, "You're that madman they called Delta, and then you defected and started working on your own!" He growled in a rough voice, "There's a picture, a Photos - you lying on a mortuary bed with blood from bullet holes all over the sheets; your face exposed, eyes wide open, blood still bleeding from the bullet holes in your forehead and neck...they asked me Who are you, I said, 'He's Delta. Delta One from Motley Fool.' They said, 'No, he's not. His name is Jason Bourne, he's a killer, he's an assassin.' So I said : 'Then they're the same guy, because this guy is Delta—I know him.' They thanked me and let me go back and be with the other guys." "'Who are they?" "It's a gang from Langley. The man who's been talking is crippled; he's carrying a cane." "What about the 'others'? The ones they asked you to go back to with?" "It's a group of people who worked in Saigon, about twenty-five to thirty." "Saigon Command?" "right." "Have they worked with us, with our 'motley crew'?" "Yes, mostly." "When is this?" "My God, I already told you!" shouted the panicked adjutant. "Four or five years ago! I saw the picture—you're dead!" "Just that one photo," Byrne interrupted him calmly, his eyes fixed on the sergeant major, "Your memory is really good." "You pointed a gun to my head. I have been in the army for thirty-three years, fought two major battles, and went abroad to fight twelve times. No one has ever pointed a gun to my head—except you...no one Wrong. My memory is pretty good." "I think I get it." "I don't get it! I don't get a damn thing! You're dead!" "You said that. But I'm not dead, am I? Maybe I really am. Maybe it's a nightmare that found you after twenty years of deception." "What the fuck are you talking about? You fucking—" "do not move!" "I didn't move!" Suddenly, there was a loud noise in the distance.It's gunshots!Bourne turned around abruptly... Immediately afterwards, his intuition ordered him to continue turning, a full circle!The bulky general's adjutant lunged at him, his huge hands brushing past Bourne's shoulders like a battering hammer; At the same time, the barrel of his automatic pistol smashed hard on the sergeant's neck.Flanagan staggered forward, sprawled on the floor; Byrne lifted his left foot and kicked the sergeant across the head without a cry.There was silence. The silence was broken by the continuous, hysterical screams of a woman who was running from outside towards the open door of the cabin.Within seconds, General Norman Swayne's wife burst into the house.Seeing the scene in front of her, she backed away in fright, clutching the back of the chair next to her tightly, unable to control her panic at all. "He's dead!" screamed the woman, sprawled on the floor, pulling the chair beside her and reaching out to her lover. "He shot himself, Flanagan! Oh, my God." ! He committed suicide!" Jason Bourne, who was squatting, stood up and walked towards the door of this strange house that hides many secrets.He looked at his two captives and closed the door calmly.The woman began to cry, sobbing loudly, shaking, but not from grief, but from fear.The sergeant blinked, shook his huge head, and looked up.If there was any emotion to be discerned from his expression, it was a mixture of anger and confusion. 11 Eddie Flanagan and Rachel Swayne, who walked in the lead, entered the general's study full of photographs hesitantly. "Don't touch anything," Bourne ordered.The old soldier's corpse was leaning back on the chair behind the table, holding an ugly gun in his outstretched hand, and the back of his head was blown away by bullets, messing up the place behind him.Seeing this scene, the general's wife trembled all over, her legs softened and she knelt down, as if she was about to vomit.The sergeant major grabbed her arm and lifted her off the floor.His vacant eyes fixed on the mutilated body of General Norman Swayne. "The bastard is crazy," Flanagan whispered.His nervous voice was barely audible.He stood motionless, the muscles in his jaw twitching, and roared, "You bloody madman, you bastard! How could you do such a thing—why? What shall we do now?" "Sergeant, call the police," Bourne replied. "What did you say?!" the adjutant yelled, turning around sharply. "No!" screamed Mrs. Swayne, jumping up. "We can't call the police!" "I see you have no choice. You didn't kill him. Maybe you made him commit suicide, but you didn't." "What the hell are you talking about?" Flanagan asked gravely. "It's better to have a simple — and maybe a bit tricky — family tragedy than a sweeping investigation, don't you think? I don't think it's a secret what you two are going to — well, not a secret .” "It's no secret that he doesn't care what we 'intend' at all." "He pushed us every chance he got," Rachael Swayne added.She straightened her skirts hesitantly, regaining her composure quickly in a strange way.She was talking to Bourne, but her eyes moved involuntarily to her lover. "He keeps bringing the two of us together, often for days at a time... Do we have to stay here? My God, I've been married to that man for twenty-six years! I think you can understand... It's just too scary for me!" "We have something to talk about," Byrne said. "Don't talk here, please. Go to the drawing room, just across the hall. Let's talk over there." Mrs. Swain suddenly collected herself and walked out of the study; His face twitched, and he followed her out.Bourne looked at them and yelled, "Stay where I can see in the aisle, and hold still!" He walked to the table, looking quickly from one thing to another, to see what was the last thing Norman Swayne saw before he stuffed the automatic into his mouth.Something doesn't seem quite right.On the wide green blotting table, to the right is a special Pentagon blotter, with Swayne's rank and name printed below the U.S. Army badge.Next to the blotter, to the left of the edge of the blotter, was a gold ballpoint pen with a pointed silver tip sticking out, as if it had just been used and the writer forgot to screw it in.Bourne leaned over the table to carefully examine the notepad. He was only a few centimeters away from the dead body, and the pungent smell of detonated gunpowder and burnt flesh was still very strong in the air.The blotter was empty, but Bourne carefully tore off the top few pages and put them in his trousers pocket.He took a few steps back, still a little puzzled... What exactly is it?He was looking around the room, his eyes wandering over the furniture, when Sergeant Flanagan appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing?" Flanagan asked suspiciously. "We were waiting for you." "Your friend may find it too uncomfortable to be here, but I'm not like her. I can't be so pretentious. There's a lot to know." "I think you said that we can't touch anything." "Sargeant, 'seeing' is not the same as 'touching'. Unless you take something away, then no one will know that someone has touched it, because it is no longer there." Byrne suddenly looked at a piece of richly styled brass Walk over to the coffee table, which is often found in Indian and Middle Eastern bazaars.It stood in front of the small fireplace in the study, with two armchairs on either side.Not in the middle of the table was an ashtray made of corrugated glass, the bottom of which was full of half-smoked cigarettes.Bourne stooped to pick up the ashtray; he held it in his hand and turned to Flanagan. "Sergeant, like this ashtray. I've touched it, and my fingerprints are on it, but no one will know; because I'm going to take it away." "What are you doing with it?" "Because I've 'sniffed' something—I mean actually smelled it. I'm using my nose, not my intuition." "What the hell are you talking about?" "Cigarette smoke, that's what I'm talking about. It stays in the air longer than you think. Ask someone who can't remember how many times he's quit smoking." "so what?" "Then let's go and talk to the general's wife. Let's all talk. Come on, Flanagan, let's play and talk." "You think you're brave with a gun in your pocket, don't you?" "Come on, Sergeant!" Rachael Swayne tilted her head to the left, flung her long mottled black hair behind her shoulders, and sat upright in her chair. "That sounds very unpleasant," she said loudly, fixing Bourne with large, reproachful eyes. "Of course it's unpleasant," Bourne nodded approvingly, "and it happens to be true. There are five cigarette butts in this ashtray, each with lipstick on it." Bourne sat down across from her and set the ashtray down. to the little table next to the chair. "You were in the house when he committed suicide, right as he was putting the gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. Maybe you thought he couldn't do it; maybe you thought it was just another hysterical threat from him—anyway, you Didn't tell him to stop, didn't say a word. Why stop? It's a logical and sensible solution for you and Eddie." "absurd!" "You know, Mrs. Swayne, to put it bluntly, that's not the word you should use. You can't get people to say it, and 'very unpleasant' is not convincing either... Those expressions aren't your style, Rachael. You're imitating someone else—probably a young hairdresser in Honolulu who used to hear those words from rich, brainless customers. " "How dare you..." "Come on, Rachael, this is ridiculous. Don't even say 'how dare you', it's useless. Are you going to issue a royal order in your country accent to have my hair cut off?" head?" "Don't pester her like that!" cried Flanagan, who was standing beside Mrs. Swayne. "You don't have to do it, though you have a gun! . . . All the junkies in this place treat her like a slut." "How could it be? She is the general's wife, the mistress of the house, isn't she? She is still there now?" "She was used by—" "I'm being laughed at, always being laughed at, Mr. Delta!" exclaimed Rachael Swain, gripping the arm of her chair. Joking at you. Would you like to be handed around as a special piece of meat? Served like a special dessert to the most special guests after a full meal?" "I don't think I'd like it at all. I'd even say no." "I can't say no! He's making me do it!" "Nobody can force someone else to do that." "Mr. Delta, of course they can," the general's wife leaned forward, her ample breasts pressed against the thin material of the blouse, and her long hair half covered her aging but still soft and sexy face, "Think of a girl from the West Virginia coal basin who didn't finish elementary school. The company closed the mine and nobody got to eat—sorry, nobody got to eat. You gotta bring yourself All the money, far away, that's what I did. I slept with men all the way from Alquipa to Hawaii, but once I got to Hawaii, I learned my trade. That's where I met the General and married him , but I haven't had any illusions since the first day of our marriage. Especially after he came back from Vietnam, you know what I mean?" "I don't seem to understand, Rachel." "Baby, you don't have to explain anything!" Flanagan yelled. "No, Eddie, I want to explain! I can't stand this shit, okay?" "Be careful what you say!" "Mr. Delta, the point is that I don't know anything. But I can figure it out, you know what I mean?" "Stop it, Rachel!" shouted the dead general's aide-de-camp. “埃迪，滚一边去！你自己也不是很聪明。这位三角洲先生也许就是我们的出路……我们可以回到岛上去，对吗？” “完全正确，斯韦恩夫人。” “你知道这儿是什么地方吗……？” “住嘴！”弗拉纳根边吼边笨拙地向前挪动；他突然又停住了——伯恩的枪发出一声震耳欲聋的巨响，炙热的子弹钻进了军士两腿之间的地板。 女人尖叫起来。等她叫完，伯恩接着问道：“这儿是什么地方，斯韦恩夫人？” “等一等。”军士长又打断了她，但他这次并没有吼叫着表示反对；相反，他这是一种恳求，一个壮汉的恳求。他看了看将军的妻子，然后又回过头看着伯恩，“伯恩，不管你是伯恩、三角洲还是什么人，听我说：瑞切尔说得对，你可能就是我们的出路——这里已经没有任何属于我们的东西——所以，你能开出什么价来？” “我开价能买到什么？” “比如说，这个地方的情况只要是我们知道的，就全告诉你……我还会告诉你该到哪里打探更多的情况。你能怎么帮我们？我们怎么才能离开这儿回到太平洋群岛，不至于碰到任何麻烦，我们的名字和照片也不会登在报纸上？” “这条件开得很高啊，军士。” “该死的，她又没杀那家伙——我们没杀他，这话可是你自己说的！” “这我同意，至于你们究竟有没有杀他，是不是该对他的死负责，我一点儿也不在乎。我还有别的要紧事。” “比如'和几个老伙计叙叙旧'，或者是别的什么鬼玩意儿？” “你说得对，他们欠我的情。” “我还是搞不明白你——” “你不需要明白。” “你已经死了！”困惑不已的弗拉纳根打断了他，一连串话脱口而出，“来自杂牌军的三角洲一号就是伯恩，伯恩已经死了，是兰利证明给我们看的！可你没死——” “我被抓走了，军士！你知道这个就行了——还有，我现在是一个人单干。我可以找到几个欠我情的人，但我行动时绝对是单独的。我需要了解情况，马上就要！” 弗拉纳根迷惑地摇摇头，“那么……这我也许可以帮你，”他的话说得很快，是试探的口吻，“而且我帮你最合适不过。有人交给我一项特殊任务，所以我必须打探情况，一些像我这样的人通常不可能知道的情况。” “军士，听起来这好像是骗子的开场白啊。你的特殊任务是什么？” “当保姆。两年前，诺曼开始精神崩溃。我得管着他；要是我管不住，就可以打他们给我的一个电话号码，在纽约。” “这个号码，就是你所能给我的一部分帮助。” “对，还有几个车牌号。是我记下来的，以防万一——” “以防万一，”伯恩接着说道，“万一有人认为不再需要你这个保姆来服务。” “差不多吧。那帮混球从来都不喜欢我们——诺曼没看出来，但我可知道。” “我们？你、瑞切尔和诺曼？” “我们这些穿军装的。那帮穿便服的不把我们放在眼里，就好像我们是一堆必不可少的垃圾。必不可少，这可没错。他们需要诺曼。那帮人看他的眼神里透着蔑视，可他们需要他。” 小当兵的跟不上形势。阿尔伯特·安布鲁斯特，联邦贸易委员会的主席。梅杜莎——继承它的一帮平民。 “你刚才说你记下了车牌号码，我估计这意味着你没参加常在这里召开的会议。也就是说，你不和客人们混在一起；你不是他们之中的一分子。” “你疯了吗？”瑞切尔·斯韦恩尖声叫道，这是她回答伯恩问题时独有的简练方式，“每次他们要召开正经的会议，而不是那种醉醺醺的餐会，诺曼就会让我待在楼上；如果我愿意，也可以到埃迪这儿来看电视，埃迪不能离开小木屋，我们俩配不上他那些上档次的混蛋朋友！许多年来一直是这样……我说过的，他老把我们俩往一块儿凑。” “我开始有点明白了，至少我觉得是这样。可你却抄下了车牌号码，军士。你怎么抄的？开会时你好像得在营房里关禁闭吧？” “我没去抄，是我的守卫抄的。我就跟他们说这是个秘密的安全措施。谁也不会反对。” “明白了。你刚才说斯韦恩几年前开始精神崩溃。是怎么回事？怎么个崩溃法？” “就像今晚这样。一碰到什么不正常的事，他就僵住了；他不愿去作决定。只要有一丁点儿蛇发女的迹象，他都想把脑袋扎进沙里，直到事情过去。” “那今晚是怎么了？我看见你们俩在吵……我觉得军士好像是给将军下了命令，叫他开步走。” “你说的一点不错。诺曼大发惊慌——是因为你，一个被他们叫做眼镜蛇的人，扯出了二十年前有关西贡的重大事件。他希望你来的时候我能陪着他，我跟他说没戏。我说我不是个疯子；我要是陪着他，那可就是疯了。” “为什么？一位副官陪同自己的上级军官，这怎么会是发疯呢？” “金星银杠们在情况室里商量策略的时候不会让士官进屋，这也是同样的道理。我们不在一个层次上；那么干不合规矩。” “也就是说，你所能了解的情况是有限度的。” "That's right." “但是，二十年前你是西贡的一分子，蛇发女的一分子——见鬼，军士，你以前是梅杜莎的成员，现在也是。” “三角洲，我干的只是些微不足道的小事。我负责清理善后之类的工作，他们对我也挺照顾，可我只不过是一个穿军装的清洁工。等到该上缴这身军装的时候，我会找个远远的好地方安安静静地退休，把嘴闭紧，否则就得躺在运尸袋里离开。这再清楚不过了。我是个可以被牺牲的人。” 伯恩仔细观察着军士长说话时的样子，他注意到弗拉纳根时不时会向将军的妻子瞟一眼，仿佛是在指望她鼓掌赞同，或是用一个眼神示意他闭嘴。这个大胖子副官要么是在说实话，要么就是个非常令人信服的演员。“然后我想到，”伯恩最后说，“你趁这个时候提前退休完全合情合理。军士，这一点我可以办到。你闭上嘴，静悄悄地消失，还可以带上你搞清扫所得的全部报酬。一位将军的忠诚副官，已在军队服役三十多年；他的上级兼朋友悲剧性地结束了自己的性命，于是他选择退休。谁也不会质疑你……这就是我开的价。” 弗拉纳根又看了看瑞切尔·斯韦恩，她用力点了一下头，然后盯着伯恩，“你能给我们什么保证，让我们可以安全地收拾好东西离开这里？”那女人问道。 “你们是不是还有点小事要处理？比如弗拉纳根军士的退休手续和军队的退休金？” “那些文件一年半之前我就让诺曼签好了，”副官插话说，“我的永久岗位是他在五角大楼的办公室，驻地就在他的住处。我只要填进日期，签上我自己的名字，再列出瑞切尔和我早就想好的一个存局候领邮寄地址就行了。” “这样就完了？” “剩下的事大概也就是打三四个电话。我要找诺曼的律师，他会处理这儿的所有善后事宜；给那些狗联系养狗场；还要通知五角大楼配车的调度员——最后再给纽约打个电话。然后我俩就去杜勒斯机场。” “这一切你们肯定琢磨了很长时间，很多年——” “我们净琢磨这个了，三角洲先生，”将军老婆插的这句话证实了伯恩的想法，“就像他们说的那样，我们已经付出了代价。” “但在我签文件、打电话之前，”弗拉纳根补充说，“我必须得知道我们能摆脱干系——就是现在。” “这意味着不找警察、不上报纸，和今晚扯不上任何关系——事发时你们俩根本就不在这里。” “你刚才说这条件开得很高。别人欠你的情有多高？” “你们俩根本就不在这里。”伯恩慢慢地轻声重复了一遍，他的眼睛盯着身旁桌上的瓦楞玻璃烟灰缸，那里头装着沾有口红的烟蒂。他把目光又转到将军的副官身上，“你们没碰过那间屋里的任何东西；没有任何物证能把你们和这起自杀联系起来……你们真的做好离开的准备了吗？可能过几个小时就得走。” “给我们三十分钟就行，三角洲先生。”瑞切尔答道。 “我的天，你可是一直在这儿生活，你们俩都是——” “除了我们自己的东西，这儿的生活我们什么都不想要。”弗拉纳根说得很坚决。 “这儿的房产是你的，斯韦恩夫人——” “见鬼，才不是呢。房产会移交给什么基金会，你问律师就知道了。不管我能得到什么——如果能得到的话——律师都会转交给我。我只想离开——我们俩想离开。” 伯恩来回打量着这对奇怪的男女，这两个被奇妙的际遇吸引到一起的情侣，“那你们就没有任何障碍了。” “我们怎么能确定呢？”弗拉纳根向前迈了一步，追问道。 “从你们那方面讲得有点信任。不过，相信我，这事我能办成。另一方面，你们可以想想其他的选择。比如说你们留在这儿。不管你们怎么摆弄他，明天、后天或者大后天他都不可能再到阿灵顿现身。迟早会有人过来找他。会有一大堆问题、搜索和调查；老天爷可是创造了一大堆专揭丑闻的小鲍比·伍德沃德，媒体肯定会带着各种各样的猜测突然来访。用不了多久，你们的'打算'就会被发现——见鬼，连那两个看守都在说这事——报纸、杂志和电视可全都要大做文章了……你们希望这样吗？或者说，这一切会不会招来你刚才提到的运尸袋？” 军士长和他的女人面面相觑。“他说得对，埃迪，”女人说道，“跟着他我们还有机会，要不然我们就完了。” “你说得倒简单。”弗拉纳根说着朝门口望去，呼吸也变得急促起来，“你打算怎么处理这一切？” “那是我的事，”伯恩答道，“把电话号码给我，所有的号码；你只打一个电话就行了——纽约的那个。如果我是你，这个电话我就会从太平洋上的某个小岛打。” “你疯了！这事只要一捅出去，我就会被梅杜莎抓起来——瑞切尔也跑不掉！他们肯定想知道发生了什么。” “跟他们实话实说，最起码也得避重就轻地说一部分。我觉得你们说不定还能领到赏呢。” “该死的，你这个反复无常的家伙！” “我在越南可没有反复无常，军士。在香港也没有，现在当然更不会……你和瑞切尔回到家里，看到了发生的事，收拾好东西就走了——因为你们不想被人盘问，而死人既不会开口，也不会把自己绕进去。把你那些文件上的日期提前一天，寄走，其他的事就交给我好了。” "I have no idea--" “你没得选择，军士！”伯恩把他的话堵了回去，从椅子上站起身，“我也不想再浪费时间了！你们要是想让我走，我就走——你们自己想办法去吧。”伯恩怒气冲冲地朝门口走去。 “别，埃迪，快拦住他！我们必须照他的法子办，必须冒这个险！要不然就只有死路一条，你知道的。” “好吧，好吧！……消消气，三角洲。我们照你说的办。” 伯恩停下脚步，转过身来，“一切都得照我说的办，军士，一个字都不能差。” "no problem." “首先，咱们俩到你的屋里去，瑞切尔上楼收拾东西。你得把知道的所有情况告诉我——电话号码、车牌号，还有你能记起的每一个名字；不管我要了解什么，你只要知道就得告诉我。怎么样？” "Row." “咱们走。斯韦恩夫人，我知道你恐怕有一大堆小玩意儿想带走，但是——” “得了吧，三角洲先生。我什么纪念物都没有。我真正想要的那些东西，很早以前就从这鬼地方运走了。它们都在一万公里以外的地方存着呢。” “哦，你准备得还真充分啊，是吧？” “这可用不着你告诉我。你瞧，这一天总会来的，无论是以什么方式。你知道我的意思吧？”瑞切尔快步从两个男人旁边走过，进了大厅；她又停了下来，回到弗拉纳根军士长身旁，伸出手贴在他脸上；她唇边挂着微笑，两眼闪闪发亮。“嗨，埃迪，”她轻声说，“真的要成了。我们要开始生活了，埃迪。明白我的意思吧？” “对，宝贝，我明白。” 两人出了房子，在黑暗中朝小木屋走去。伯恩开口了：“刚才我说不想再浪费时间，可是当真的。你开始讲吧。关于斯韦恩的这个地方，你有什么要告诉我的？” "Are you ready?" “这话是什么意思？我当然有准备。”可是他并没有。听到弗拉纳根这番话，他突然在草地上停住了。 “首先，这是个坟场。” 亚历山大·康克林向后靠在桌旁的椅子上，手里举着电话；他目瞪口呆，眉头紧蹙，无法对杰森·伯恩那令人震惊的情报作出理性的反应。他只说出了一句话：“我不信！” “哪个部分不信？” “我不知道。全都不信，我觉得……从坟场起的所有内容。但我必须得相信，对吗？” “查出伦敦和布鲁塞尔那两个人时你也不愿相信，还有第六舰队的指挥官，还有兰利拿着秘密钥匙的那个家伙。我只是在往你的单子上添加项目……关键是，一旦你查出他们的身份，我们就能行动了。” “你得从头开始再跟我说一遍；我的脑袋都给搅晕了。纽约的那个电话号码，车牌号——” “还有一具尸体，亚历山大！弗拉纳根和将军的老婆！他俩已经走了；我们达成了交易，你可得盯好了。” “就这么简单？斯韦恩自杀了，而他那地方能回答问题的两个人，咱们说声拜拜就让他们出国去了？比起你刚才说的那些情况，这简直更疯狂！” “我们没时间玩讨价还价的游戏——另外，你再问他也答不出来了。他们不在一个层次上。” “哦，我的天，这还真清楚啊。” “你就这么办吧。让他们走。这两个人以后我们也许都能用到。” 康克林叹了口气，显然很犹豫，“你能肯定吗？这可是非常复杂。” “去办吧！老天，亚历山大，我他妈的才不在乎什么复杂、什么违规，我才不管你要琢磨出多少巧妙的手段来。我要的是卡洛斯！我们在编织一张网，而且我们能把他抓住——我能把他抓住！” “好吧，好吧。福尔斯彻奇有个医生，以前我们在特别行动中用过他。我来找他，他知道该怎么办。” “好的，”伯恩的脑子转得飞快，“现在你给我录音。我把弗拉纳根说的情况全部告诉你。快点，我还有好多事要做。” “开始录音了，三角洲一号。” 伯恩照着刚才在弗拉纳根小木屋里写下的名单念了起来，他读得虽快，吐字却清清楚楚，这样录音带上就不会含混不清。他报出的七个名字，是经常参加将军餐会的显要人物。名字准确与否、拼写得对不对都没有保证，只是个粗略的描述；接下来是车牌号码，全是在每月两次开会的时候抄来的，这些会要正式得多。倒数第二项列出的电话号码则是斯韦恩的律师、宅院中所有的守卫、养狗场，还有五角大楼负责派车的分机号；最后就是那个未在黄页上列出的纽约号码。它没有登记姓名，只是一部记录留言的答录机。“这个号一定得优先去查，亚历山大。” “我们会破获它的，”康克林在录音带上留下了自己的声音，“我来给养狗场打电话，还要扯扯五角大楼的官腔——就说将军被飞机送到一个严格保密的地点去了；我们得出双倍的价钱，让养狗场一大早就把狗弄走。顺便再打开大门……文件没有问题，我会让卡塞特用计算机搜索他俩的名字，得背着德索。” “斯韦恩怎么办？自杀的消息我们得隐瞒一段时间。” “瞒多久？” “见鬼，我哪知道？”伯恩恼怒地回答说，“等到我们查出这些人是谁，我怎么才能找到他们——或者由你去找——我们就可以共同掀起恐慌的浪潮了。那也是我们给卡洛斯下饵的时候。” “你就会说，”康克林说话的语气一点也不讨人喜欢，“你说的这些事要花好几天，也许得一周，甚至更久。” “那我说的就是这么长时间。” “那我们他妈的最好让彼得·霍兰也加入——” “不行，现在还不行。我们不知道他会干什么，我可不能让他有机会碍我的事。” “除了我之外你也得信任信任其他人，杰森。那个医生我可以蒙上二十四或四十八小时——也许可以——但时间再长恐怕就蒙不住了。他会要求得到更高级别的授权。为了德索的事，卡塞特还总是盯着我不放——” “给我两天，帮我争取两天！” “我一边要追查这么多情况，一边要跟卡塞特拖时间，一边还得红口白牙地跟彼得扯谎，说我们在五月花酒店追踪'胡狼'信使的工作正在向前推进——我们觉得是在推进……当然，追踪的事我们根本就没干，因为我们已经深深地陷进了一起离奇古怪、有二十年历史的西贡阴谋之中。它究竟牵扯着什么谁也不知道——我们要是知道就该倒霉了——只知道相关人物的来头大得吓人。我们还没进入情况呢，现在又被告知这帮人拥有自己的私家坟场，就设在五角大楼负责采办的那位将军的庄园里，结果此人碰巧开枪轰掉了自己的脑袋，不过这个小小的事件我们得先搁一段时间……天哪，三角洲，退两步吧你！导弹都撞到一块儿去了！” 虽然伯恩站在斯韦恩的桌前，将军的尸体就仰在旁边的椅子上，他脸上还是慢慢浮现出一丝微笑，“我们指望的就是这个，对不对？这个事态简直就跟咱们敬爱的圣人亚历山大自己编出来的一样。” “我只是在跟着你走，方向不归我控制——” “那个医生呢？”伯恩打断了他，“你都快五年没搞行动了。你怎么知道他还在干这个？” “我时不时会碰到他，我们俩都是博物馆专家。几个月前他在科克伦艺术馆冲我发牢骚，说近来他们没交给他多少事。” “今天晚上就给他来个变化。” “我试试看。你打算怎么办？” “以微妙的动作，拆开这屋里的每一样东西。” “戴手套？” “当然是外科用的那种。” “别碰尸体。” “只摸口袋——以非常微妙的动作……斯韦恩的老婆从楼梯上下来了。等他们走了我再打给你。快去找那个医生！” 伊万·贾克斯是耶鲁大学医学院的医学博士，在马萨诸塞州总医院接受外科培训并住院实习，任职于美国外科医师学会，出生在牙买加；多承一位黑人同胞卡克特斯（竟然有人会起名叫“仙人掌”，真受不了）帮忙，他还曾担任中央情报局的“顾问”。他驱车来到弗吉尼亚马纳萨斯，驶进了斯韦恩将军庄园的大门。贾克斯心想，有些时候他宁愿自己从没碰上老卡克特斯，今晚就是这样；但尽管今晚他心里这么想，他却从来没有因为卡克特斯进入他的生活而感到后悔。多亏了这位老人制作的“魔法文件”，贾克斯在曼利政府压迫民众的几年间把弟弟妹妹弄出了牙买加，那段时期知名专业人员的移民几乎被完全禁止，想带上个人存款出去更是绝对不行。 然而，卡克特斯却利用精心仿造的政府签证，把两个年轻人都弄出了牙买加，而且他们还带着可以在里斯本银行兑现的转账支票。这位造假老手所需的，只是几张偷来的空白官方文件，包括进口、出口货物的单据；两个人的护照、单人照片，还有政府某几个部门官员的签名——政府控制之下的新闻界发出了数以百计的官僚布告，因此这些签名很好搞。贾克斯的弟弟如今在伦敦，是一位富有的出庭律师；他的妹妹则在剑桥当研究员。 贾克斯医生开着旅游车拐过一个弯，来到屋前。他想，没错，他欠卡克特斯的情。七年前，老头子请他为“兰利的几个朋友”当“顾问”，他也帮了这个忙。好一个顾问啊！不过，贾克斯与情报局秘而不宣的合作关系此后还给他带来了更多额外的好处。他的故乡岛国牙买加推翻了曼利政府，西加上台执政，被“挪用”的财产纷纷物归原主，而最先归还的一批中就有贾克斯家在蒙特哥贝和安东尼奥港的土地。那是亚历山大·康克林促成的。但是如果没有卡克特斯，贾克斯也就不会认识康克林，他交友的圈子里没有康克林这样的人……可亚历山大干吗非要赶在今晚打电话来？今晚是他结婚十二年的纪念日，孩子们已经送到邻居家跟小朋友过夜去了，家里就他和妻子两个人，露台上的牙买加风味肋排烤得正香——这道菜的做法可只有一个人知道，也就是今晚操刀的伊万大厨——上好的欧弗顿黑朗姆酒管够，外加游泳池中裸身嬉水的动情节目。该死的亚历山大！这个狗娘养的老光棍，真是该死之极！听到结婚纪念日这样的大事件，这家伙惟一的反应就是：“有什么关系？这一年你都熬下来了，一天又算个啥？明天再快活去吧，今晚我需要你。” 所以他就骗了妻子——她以前是马萨诸塞州总医院的护士长。他对她说，有个病人要活不成了——本来应该活得下来，但现在情况很糟糕。她回答道，也许她的下一任丈夫会更在意她活得怎么样，不过她透着难过的笑容和善解人意的眼神却告诉他这只是个玩笑。她知道死亡是怎么一回事。赶快去吧，亲爱的！ 贾克斯熄掉引擎，抓起医疗包下了车。他刚绕过车头门就开了，一个高个儿男子的身影在门框中映出来，好像穿了一套黑色紧身衣。“我就是你要找的医生，”贾克斯说着走上了台阶，“我们都认识的那位朋友没说你叫什么，不过我觉得我也不该知道。” “我觉得也是。”伯恩说道。他向走上前来的贾克斯伸出了一只戴着外科手套的手。 “我觉得我们俩说得都对，”贾克斯和陌生人握握手，“你手上戴的东西我可很熟悉。” “我们都认识的那位朋友，他没告诉我你是个黑人。” “你有意见吗？” “我的天，当然没有。我反倒更喜欢咱们的朋友了。他很可能根本就没想到要提这个。” “我看咱们应该能处得挺好。走吧，无名氏。” 伯恩站在桌子右侧三米开外的地方，贾克斯迅速而又专业地处理着尸体，还不失慈悲地用纱布把尸体的头包了起来。没做任何解释他就剪掉了将军身上的几块衣服，检查布料之下的部位。最后，他小心地把裹着头部的尸体推下椅子，再滚到地板上。“你这儿搞完了吗？”他望着伯恩问道。 “我已经都擦干净了，医生。如果你说的'搞完'是这个意思的话。” “通常是这个意思……这间屋子得封起来。我们走了以后谁也不能进，除非咱们都认识的那位朋友发话。” “这我肯定没法保证。”伯恩说。 “那就让他去想办法。” "why?" “无名氏，你的这位将军没有自杀。他是被谋杀的。” 12 “是那个女人！”亚历山大·康克林在电话上说，“从你告诉我的所有情况来判断，这肯定是斯韦恩的老婆干的。天哪！” “这并没有改变什么，但看来真是她干的，”伯恩不太热衷地表示同意，“她有足够的理由这么做，天晓得——不过，如果真是她下的手，她却没有告诉弗拉纳根，这就有点讲不通了。” “对，是讲不通……”康克林停了一下，然后快速说道，“让我跟伊万说话。” “伊万？你的那个医生？他叫伊万？” "What's wrong?" “没什么。他在外面……'收拾货物'，这是他的说法。” “在他那辆旅行车里？” “没错。我们把尸体——” “他凭什么肯定这不是自杀？”康克林打断了他。 “斯韦恩给人下了药。他说他过会儿给你打电话解释。他想离开这儿，我们走了之后——我走了之后——不能让任何人进这间屋子，直到你向警方报讯。这事他也要在电话里跟你说的。” “天哪，那屋子