The Ghost(英文版)-第44章

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　　east；　gusting　off　the　river；　carrying　on　its　cold；　industrial　edge　the　sickly　tang　of　aviation　fuel。　I　can　still　taste　it　at　the　back　of　my　throat　whenever　I　think　of　it；　and　that；　for　me；　will　always　be　the　taste　of　fear。

　　“Don’t　I　need　to　have　a　cover　story？”　I　said。　“What　am　I　supposed　to　tell　Lang？”

　　“You’ve　done　nothing　wrong；”　said　Rycart。　“You’re　just　following　up　your　predecessor’s　work。　You’re　trying　to　research　his　Cambridge　years。　Don’t　act　so　guilty。　Lang　can’t　know　for　sure　that　you’re　on　to　him。”

　　“It’s　not　Lang　I’m　worried　about。”

　　We　both　lapsed　into　silence。　After　a　few　minutes　the　nighttime　Manhattan　skyline　came　into　view；　and　my　eyes　automatically　sought　out　the　gap　in　the　glittering　fa。ade；　even　though　we　were　at　the　wrong　angle　to　see　it。　Strange　how　an　absence　can　be　a　landmark。　It　was　like　a　black　hole；　I　thought：　a　tear　in　the　cosmos。　It　could　suck　in　anything—cities；　countries；　laws；　it　could　certainly　swallow　me。　Rycart

　　seemed　equally　oppressed　by　the　journey。

　　“Close　the　window；　would　you？”　he　said。　“I’m　freezing　to　death。”

　　I　did　as　he　asked。　Frank　had　turned　the　radio　on；　a　jazz　station；　playing　softly。

　　“What　about　the　car？”　I　said。　“It’s　still　at　Logan　Airport。”

　　“You　can　pick　it　up　in　the　morning。”

　　The　station　switched　to　playing　the　blues。　I　asked　Frank　to　turn　it　off。　He　ignored　me。

　　“I　know　Lang　thinks　it’s　personal；”　Rycart　said；　“but　it’s　not。　All　right；　there’s　an　element　of　getting　my　own　back；　I’ll　admit—who　likes　to　be　humiliated？　But　if　we　carry　on　licensing　torture；　and　if　we　judge　victory　simply　by　the　number　of　the　enemy’s　skulls　we　can　carry　back　to　decorate　our　caves—well；　what　will　become　of　us？”

　　“I’ll　tell　you　what　will　become　of　us；”　I　said　savagely。　“We’ll　get　ten　million　dollars　for　our　memoirs　and　live　happily　ever　after。”　Once　again；　I　found　that　my　nervousness　was　making　me　angry。　“You　do　know　this　is　pointless；　don’t　you？　In　the　end　he’ll　just　retire　over　here　on　his　CIA　pension　and　tell　you　and　your　bloody　war　crimes　court　to　go　screw　yourselves。”

　　“Maybe　he　will。　But　the　ancients　thought　exile　a　worse　punishment　than　death—and　boy；　will　Lang　be　an　exile。　He　won’t　be　able　to　travel　anywhere　in　the　world；　not　even　the　handful　of　shitty　little　countries　that　don’t　recognize　the　ICC；　because　there’ll　always　be　a　danger　that　his　plane　may　have　to　put　in　somewhere　with　engine　trouble　or　to　refuel。　And　we’ll　be　waiting　for　him。　And　that’s　when　we’ll　get　him。”

　　I　glanced　at　Rycart。　He　was　staring　straight　ahead；　nodding　slightly。

　　“Or　the　political　climate　may　change　here　one　day；”　he　went　on；　“and　there’ll　be　a　public　campaign

　　to　hand　him　over　to　justice。　I　wonder　if　he’s　thought　of　that。　His　life　is　going　to　be　hell。”

　　“You　almost　make　me　feel　sorry　for　him。”

　　Rycart　gave　me　a　sharp　look。　“He’s　charmed　you；　hasn’t　he？　Charm！　The　English　disease。”

　　“There　are　worse　afflictions。”

　　We　crossed　the　Triborough　Bridge；　the　tires　thumping　on　the　joints　in　the　road　like　a　fast　pulse。

　　“I　feel　as　though　I’m　in　a　tumbril；”　I　said。

　　It　took　us　a　while　to　make　the　journey　downtown。　Each　time　the　traffic　came　to　a　stop；　I　thought　of　opening　the　door　and　making　a　run　for　it。　The　trouble　was；　I　could　imagine　the　first　part　well　enough—darting　through　the　stationary　cars　and　disappearing　down　one　of　the　cross　streets—but　then　it　all　became　a　blank。　Where　would　I　go？　How　would　I　pay　for　a　hotel　room　if　my　own　credit　card；　and　presumably　the　false　one　I’d　used　earlier；　were　known　to　my　pursuers？　My　reluctant　conclusion；　from　whichever　angle　I　examined　my　predicament；　was　that　I　was　safer　with　Rycart。　At　least　he　knew　how　to　survive　in　this　alien　world　into　which　I　had　blundered。

　　“If　you’re　that　worried；　we　can　arrange　to　have　a　fail…safe　signal；”　said　Rycart。　“You　can　call　me　using　the　phone　Frank　gave　you；　let’s　say　at　ten　past　every　hour。　We　don’t　have　to　speak。　Just　let　it　ring　a　couple　of　times。”

　　“What　happens　if　I　don’t　make　the　call？”

　　“I　won’t　do　anything　if　you　miss　the　first　time。　If　you　miss　a　second；　I’ll　call　Lang　and　tell　him　I　hold　him　personally　responsible　for　your　safety。”

　　“Why　is　it　that　I　don’t　find　that　very　reassuring？”

　　We　were　almost　there。　I　could　see　ahead；　on　the　opposite　side　of　Park　Avenue；　a　great；　floodlit　Stars　and　Stripes；　and　beside　it；　flanking　the　Waldorf’s　entrance；　a　Union　Jack。　The　area　in　front　of　the　hotel　was　cordoned　off　by　concrete　blocks。　I　counted　half　a　dozen　police　motorcycles　waiting；　four　patrol　cars；　two　large　black　limousines；　a　small　crowd　of　cameramen；　and　a　slightly　larger　one　of　curious　onlookers。　As　I　eyed　it；　my　heart　began　to　accelerate。　I　felt　breathless。

　　Rycart　squeezed　my　arm。　“Courage；　my　friend。　He’s　already　lost　one　ghost　in　suspicious　circumstances。　He　can　hardly　afford　to　lose　another。”

　　“This　can’tall　be　for　him；　surely？”　I　said　in　amazement。　“Anyone　would　think　he　was　still　prime　minister。”

　　“It　seems　I’ve　only　made　him　even　more　of　a　celebrity；”　said　Rycart。　“You　people　should　be　grateful　to　me。　Okay；　good　luck。　We’ll　talk　later。　Pull　over　here；　Frank。”

　　He　turned　up　his　collar　and　sank　down　in　his　seat；　and　there　was　pathos　as　well　as　absurdity　in　the　precaution。　Poor　Rycart：　I　doubt　if　one　person　in　ten　thousand　in　New　York　would　have　known　who　he　was。　Frank　pulled　up　briefly　on　the　corner　of　East　Fiftieth　Street　to　let　me　out　and　then　eased　deftly　back　into　the　traffic；　so　that　the　last　view　I　ever　had　of　Rycart　was　of　the　back　of　his　silvery　head　dwindling　into　the　Manhattan　evening。

　　I　was　on　my　own。

　　I　crossed　the　great　expanse　of　road；　yellow　with　taxis；　and　made　my　way　past　the　crowds　and　the　police。　None　of　the　cops　standing　around　challenged　me；　seeing　my　suitcase；　they　must　have　assumed　I　was　just　a　guest　checking　in。　I　went　through　the　art　deco　doors；　up　the　grand　marble　staircase；　and　into　the　Babylonian　splendor　of　the　Waldorf’s　lobby。　Normally　I　would　have　used　my　mobile　to　contact　Amelia；　but　even　I　had　learned　my　lesson　there。　I　went　over　to　one　of　the　concierges　at　the　front　desk　and　asked　him　to　call　her　room。

　　There　was　no　reply。

　　Frowning；　he　hung　up。　He　was　just　starting　to　check　his　computer　when　a　loud　detonation　sounded　on　Park　Avenue。　Several　guests　who　were　checking　in　ducked；　only　to　straighten　ruefully　when　the　explosion　turned　into　a　cannonade　of　gunning　motorcycle　engines。　From　the　interior　of　the　hotel；　across　the　immense　expanse　of　the　golden　lobby；　came　a　wedge　of　security　men；　Special　Branch　and　Secret　Service；　with　Lang　enclosed　among　them；　marching　purposefully　in　his　usual　rolling；　muscular　way。　Behind　him　walked　Amelia　and　the　two　secretaries。　Amelia　was　on　the　phone。　I　moved　toward　the　group。　Lang　swept　by　me；　his　eyes　fixed　straight　ahead；　which　was　unlike　him。　Usually　he　liked　to　connect　with　people　when　he　passed　them：　flash　them　a　smile　they’d　remember　always。　As　he　began　descending　the　staircase；　Amelia　saw　me。　She　appeared　flustered　for　once；　a　few　blonde　hairs　actually　out　of　place。

　　“I　was　just　trying　to　call　you；”　she　said　as　she　went　by。　She　didn’t　break　step。　“There’s　been　a　change　of　plan；”　she　said　over　her　shoulder。　“We’re　flying　back　to　Martha’s　Vineyard　now。”

　　“Now？”　I　hurried　after　her。　“It’s　rather　late；　isn’t　it？”

　　We　started　descending　the　stairs。

　　“Adam’s　insisting。　I’ve　managed　to　find　us　a　plane。”

　　“But　why　now？”

　　“I’ve　no　idea。　Something’s　come　up。　You’ll　have　to　ask　him。”

　　Lang　was　below　and　ahead　of　us。　He’d　already　reached　the　grand　entrance。　The　bodyguards　opened　the　doors　and　his　broad　shoulders　were　suddenly　framed　by　a　halogen　glow　of　light。　The　shouts　of　the　reporters；　the　fusillade　of　camera　shutters；　the　rumble　of　the　Harley…Davidsons—it　was　as　if　someone　had　rolled　back　the　doors　to　hell。

　　“What　am　I　supposed　to　do？”　I　asked。

　　“Get　into　the　backup　car。　I　expect　Adam　will　want　to　talk　to　you　on　the　plane。”　She　saw　my　look　of　panic。　“You’re　very　odd。　Is　there　something　the　matter？”

　　Now　what　am　I　supposed　to　do？　I　wondered。　Faint？　Plead　a　prior　engagement？　I　seemed　to　be　trapped　on　a　moving　walkway　with　no　means　of　escape。

　　“Everything　seems　to　be　happening　in　a　rush；”　I　said　weakly。

　　“This　is　nothing。　You　should　have　been　with　us　when　he　was　prime　minister。”

　　We　emerged　into　the　tumult　of　noise　and　light；　and　it　was　as　if　all　the　controversy　generated　by　the　war　on　terror；　year　after　year　of　it；　had　briefly　converged　on　one　man　and　rendered　him　incandescent。　The　door　to　Lang’s　stretch　limousine　was　open。　He　paused　to　wave　briefly　at　the　crowd　beyond　the　security　cordon；　then　ducked　inside。　Amelia　took　my　arm　and　propelled　me　toward　the　second　car。　“Go　on！”　she　shouted。　The　motorbikes　were　already　pulling　away。　“Don’t　forget；　we　can’t　stop　if　you’re　left　behind。”

　　She　slipped　in　beside　Lang；　and　I　found　myself　stepping　into　the　second　limo；　next　to　the　secretaries。　They　shifted　cheerfully　along　the　bench　seat　to　make　room　for　me。　A　Special　Branch　man　climbed　in　the　front；　next　to　the　driver；　and　then　we　were　away；　with　an　accompanyingwhoop　whoop　from　one　of　the　motorbikes；　ringing　out　like　the　cheerful　whistle　of　a　little　tugboat　escorting　a　big　liner　out　to　sea。

　　IN　DIFFERENT　CIRCUMSTANCES；　Iwould　have　relished　that　journey：　my　legs　stretched　out　before　me；　the　Harley…Davidsons　gliding　past　us　to　hold　back　the　traffic；　the　pale　faces　of　the　pedestrians；　glimpsed　through　the　smoked　glass；　turning　to　watch　us　as　we　hurtled　by；　the　noise　of　the　sirens；　the　vividness　of　the　flashing　lights；　the　speed；　theforce　。　I　can　think　of　only　two　categories　of　human　being　who　are　transported　with　such　pomp　and　drama：　world　leaders　and　captured　terrorists。

　　In　my　pocket；　I　surreptitiously　fingered　my　new　mobile　phone。　Ought　I　to　alert　Rycart　to　what　was　happening？　I　decided　not。　I　didn’t　want　to　call　him　in　front　of　witnesses。　I　would　have　felt　too　uncomfortable；　my　guilt　too　obvious。　Treachery　needs　privacy