The Bourne Identity (13 page)

could not function behind a wheel needed a driver. But not in this car.

"Turn around," he ordered. "Head back to the Carillon."

"To the ... hotel?"

"Yes," he said, his eyes on the matches, turning them over and over in his hand under the light of the reading lamp. "We need another car."

"We? No, you
can't!
I won't go any--" Again she stopped before the statement was made, before the thought was completed. Another thought had obviously struck her, she was abruptly silent as she swung the wheel until the sedan was facing the opposite direction on the dark lakeshore road. She pressed the accelerator down with such force that the car bolted; the tires spun under the sudden burst of speed. She depressed the pedal instantly, gripping the wheel, trying to control herself. Bourne looked up from the matches at the back of her head, at the long dark red hair that shone in the light. He took the gun from his pocket and once more leaned forward directly behind her. He raised the weapon, moving his hand over her shoulder, turning the barrel and pressing it against her cheek.

"Understand me clearly. You're going to do exactly as I tell you. You're going to be right at my side and this gun will be in my pocket. It will be aimed at your stomach, just as its aimed at your head right now. As you've seen, I'm running for my life, and I won't hesitate to pull the trigger. I want you to understand."

"I understand." Her reply was a whisper. She breathed through her parted lips, her terror complete. Jason removed the barrel of the gun from her cheek; he was satisfied. Satisfied and revolted.

Let your mind fall free
. ... The matches. What was it about the matches? But it was not the matches, it was the restaurant--not the Kronenhalle, but a restaurant. Heavy beams, candlelight, black ... triangles on the outside. White stone and black triangles. Three? ... Three black triangles. Someone was there ... at a restaurant with three triangles in front. The image was so clear, so vivid ... so disturbing. What was it? Did such a place even exist?

Specifics may come to you ... certain repressed conduits ... prodded into functioning.
Was it happening now?
Oh, Christ, I can't stand it!

He could see the lights of the Carillon du Lac several hundred yards down the road. He had not fully thought out his moves, but was operating on two assumptions. The first was that the killers had not remained on the premises. On the other hand, Bourne was not about to walk into a trap of his own making. He knew two of the killers; he would not recognize others if they had been left behind. The main parking area was beyond the circular drive, on the left side of the hotel. "Slow down," Jason ordered. "Turn into the first drive on the left."

"It's an exit," protested the woman, her voice strained. "We're going the wrong way."

"No one's coming out. Go on! Drive into the parking lot, past the lights."

Page 64

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

The scene at the hotel's canopied entrance explained why no one paid attention to them. There were four police cars lined up in the circular drive, their roof lights revolving, conveying the aura of emergency. He could see uniformed police, tuxedoed hotel clerks at their sides, among the crowds of excited hotel guests; they were asking questions as well as answering them, checking off names of those leaving in automobiles.

Marie St. Jacques drove across the parking area beyond the floodlights and into an open space on the right. She turned off the engine and sat motionless, staring straight ahead.

"Be very careful," said Bourne, rolling down his window. "And move slowly. Open your door and get out, then stand by mine and help me. Remember, the window's open and the gun's in my hand. You're only two or three feet in front of me; there's no way I could miss if I fired."

She did as she was told, a terrified automaton. Jason supported himself on the frame of the window and pulled himself to the pavement. He shifted his weight from one foot to another; mobility was returning. He could walk. Not well, and with a limp, but he could walk.

"What are you going to do?" asked the St. Jacques woman, as if she were afraid to hear his answer.

"Wait. Sooner or later someone will drive a car back here and park it. No matter what happened in there, it's still dinnertime. Reservations were made, parties arranged, a lot of it business; those people won't change their plans."

"And when a car does come, how will you take it?" She paused, then answered her own question. "Oh, my God, you're going to kill whoever's driving it."

He gripped her arm, her frightened chalk-white face inches away. He had to control her by fear, but not to the point where she might slip into hysterics. "If I have to I will, but I don't think it'll be necessary. Parking attendants bring the cars back here. Keys are usually left on the dashboard or under the seats. It's just easier."

Headlight beams shot out from the fork in the circular drive; a small coupe entered the lot, accelerating once into it, the mark of an attendant driver. The car came directly toward them, alarming Bourne until he saw the empty space nearby. But they were in the path of the headlights; they had been seen.
Reservations for the dining room. ... A restaurant
. Jason made his decision; he would use the moment.

The attendant got out of the coupe and placed the keys under the seat. As he walked to the rear of the car, he nodded at them, not without curiosity. Bourne spoke in French.

"Hey, young fellow! Maybe you can help us."

"Sir?" The attendant approached them haltingly, cautiously, the events in the hotel obviously on his mind.

"I'm not feeling so well, too much of your excellent Swiss wine."

"It will happen, sir." The young man smiled, relieved.

"My wife thought it would be a good idea to get some air before we left for town."

Page 65

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"A good idea, sir."

"Is everything still crazy inside? I didn't think the police officer would let us out until he saw that I might be sick all over his uniform."

"Crazy, sir. They're everywhere. ... We've been told not to discuss it."

"Of course. But we've got a problem. An associate flew in this afternoon and we agreed to meet at a restaurant, only I've forgotten the name. I've been there but I just can't remember where it is or what it's called. I do remember that on the front there were three odd shapes ... a design of some sort, I think. Triangles. I believe."

"That's the Drei Alpenhauser, sir. The ... Three Chalets. It's in a sidestreet off the Falkenstrasse."

"Yes, of course, that's it! And to get there from here we ..." Bourne trailed off the words, a man with too much wine trying to concentrate.

"Just turn left out of the exit, sir. Stay on the Uto Quai for about one hundred meters, until you reach a large pier, then turn right. It will take you into the Falkenstrasse. Once you pass Seefeld, you can't miss the street or the restaurant. There's a sign on the corner."

"Thank you. Will you be here a few hours from now, when we return?"

"I'm on duty until two this morning, sir."

"Good. I'll look for you and express my gratitude more concretely."

"Thank you, sir. May I get your car for you?"

"You've done enough, thanks. A little more walking is required." The attendant saluted and started for the front of the hotel. Jason led Marie St Jacques toward the coupe, limping beside her. "Hurry up. The keys are under the seat."

"If they stop us, what will you do? That attendant will see the car go out; he'll know you've stolen it."

"I doubt it. Not if we leave right away, the minute he's back in that crowd."

"Suppose he
does?"

"Then I hope you're a fast driver," said Bourne pushing her toward the door. "Get in." The attendant had turned the corner and suddenly hurried his pace. Jason took out the gun and limped rapidly around the hood of the coupe, supporting himself on it while pointing the pistol at the windshield. He opened the passenger door and climbed in beside her. "Goddamn it--I said get the
keys!"

"All right ... I can't
think
."

"Try harder!"

"Oh,
God
..." She reached below the seat, stabbing her hand around the carpet until she found the small leather case.

Page 66

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Start the motor, but wait until I tell you to back out." He watched for headlight beams to shine into the area from the circular drive; it would be a reason for the attendant to have suddenly broken into a near run; a car to be parked. They did not come; the reason could be something else. Two unknown people in the parking lot. "Go ahead. Quickly. I want to get out of here." She threw the gear into reverse; seconds later they approached the exit into the lakeshore drive. "Slow down," he commanded. A taxi was swinging into the curve in front of them.

Bourne held his breath and looked through the opposite window at the Carillon du Lads entrance; the scene under the canopy explained the attendant's sudden decision to hurry. An argument had broken out between the police and a group of hotel guests. A line had formed, names checked off for those leaving the hotel, the resulting delays angering the innocent.

"Let's go," said Jason, wincing again, the pain shooting through his chest. "We're clear."

It was a numbing sensation, eerie and uncanny. The three triangles were as he had pictured them: thick dark wood raised in bas-relief on white stone. Three equal triangles, abstract renditions of chalet roofs in a valley of snow so deep the lower stories were obscured. Above the three points was the restaurant's name in Germanic letters:DREI ALPENHAUSER . Below the baseline of the center triangles was the entrance, double doors that together formed a cathedral arch, the hardware massive rings of iron common to an Alpine chateau.

The surrounding buildings on both sides of the narrow brick street were restored structures of a Zurich and a Europe long past. It was not a street for automobiles; instead one pictured elaborate coaches drawn by horses, drivers sitting high in mufflers and top hats, and gas lamps everywhere. It was a street filled with the sights and sounds of forgotten memories, thought the man who had no memory to forget. Yet he
had
had one, vivid and disturbing. Three dark triangles, heavy beams and candlelight. He had been right; it was a memory of Zurich. But in another life.

"We're here," said the woman.

"I know."

"Tell me what to do!" she cried. "We're going past it."

"Go to the next corner and turn left. Go around the block, then drive back through here."

"Why?"

"I wish I knew."

"What?"

"Because I said so."
Someone was there ... at that restaurant. Why didn't other images come?

Another image. A face
.

They drove down the street past the restaurant twice more. Two separate couples and a foursome went inside; a single man came out, heading for the Falkenstrasse. To judge from the cars parked on the curb,
Page 67

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

there was a medium-sized crowd at the Drei Alpenhauser. It would grow in number as the next two hours passed, most of Zurich preferring its evening meal nearer ten-thirty than eight. There was no point in delaying any longer; nothing further came to Bourne. He could only sit and watch and hope something
would
come.
Something
. For something had; a book of matches had evoked an image of reality. Within that reality there was a truth he had to discover.

"Pull over to your right, in front of the last car. We'll walk back."

Silently, without comment or protest, the St. Jacques woman did as she was told. Jason looked at her, her reaction was too docile, inconsistent with her previous behavior. He understood. A lesson had to be taught. Regardless of what might happen inside the Drei Alpenhauser, he needed her for a final contribution. She had to drive him out of Zurich.

The car came to a stop, tires scraping the curb. She turned off the motor and began to remove the keys, her movement slow, too slow. He reached over and held her wrist; she stared at him in the shadows without breathing. He slid his fingers over her hand until he felt the key case.

"I'll take those," he said.

"Naturally," she replied, her left hand unnaturally at her side, poised by the panel of the door.

"Now get out and stand by the hood," he continued. "Don't do anything foolish."

"Why should I? You'd kill me."

"Good." He reached for the handle of the door, exaggerating the difficulty. The back of his head was to her; he snapped the handle down.

The rustle of fabric was sudden, the rush of air more sudden still; her door crashed open, the woman half out into the street. But Bourne was ready; a lesson had to be taught. He spun around, his left arm an uncoiling spring, his hand a claw, gripping the silk of her dress between her shoulder blades. He pulled her back into the seat, and, grabbing her by the hair, yanked her head toward him until her neck was stretched, her face against his.

"I won't do it again!" she cried, tears welling at her eyes. "I swear to you I won't!"

He reached across and pulled the door shut, then looked at her closely, trying to understand something in himself. Thirty minutes ago in another car he had experienced a degree of nausea when he had pressed the barrel of the gun into her cheek, threatening to take her life if she disobeyed him. There was no such revulsion now; with one overt action she had crossed over into another territory. She had become an enemy, a threat; he could kill her if he had to, kill her without emotion because it was the practical thing to do.

"
Say
something!" she whispered. Her body went into a brief spasm, her breasts pressing against the dark silk of her dress, rising and falling with the agitated movement. She gripped her own wrist in an attempt to control herself; she partially succeeded. She spoke again, the whisper replaced by a monotone. "I said I wouldn't do it again and I won't."