按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
Silence。 A minute and a half later： 〃The whole fuckin' jaw？ Half the face？〃
〃It's either that or the whole of the patient's life。〃 Thirty seconds later： 〃You think I could have something like that？〃
〃I'm a doctor； not an alarmist。 I merely noted a symptom； I did not make a diagnosis。〃
〃So bullshit！ So make a dagassnossis！〃
〃I'm not qualified。〃
〃Bullshit！ You're a doctor； ain't you？ I mean a real doctor； not a fasullo who says he is but ain't got no shingle that's legit。〃
〃If you mean medical school； yes； I'm that kind of doctor。〃
〃So look at me！〃
〃I can't。 I'm blindfolded。〃 Panov suddenly felt the guard's thick strong hand clawing at his head； yanking the kerchief off him。 The dark interior of the automobile answered a question for Mo： How could anyone travel in a car with a blindfolded passenger？ In that car it was no problem； except for the windshield； the windows were not merely tinted； they were damn near opaque； which meant from the outside they were opaque。 No one could see inside。
〃Go on； look！〃 The capo subordinato； his eyes on the road； tilted his large head grotesquely toward Panov； his thick lips were parted and his teeth bared like those of a child playing monster in the mirror； he shouted again。 〃So tell me what you see！〃
〃It's too dark in here；〃 replied Mo； seeing essentially what he wanted to see in the front window； they were on a country road； so narrow and so country the next step lower was dirt。 Wherever he was being taken； he was being driven there by an extremely circuitous route。
〃Open the fuckin' window！〃 yelled the guard； his head still twisted； his eyes still on the road； his gaping mouth approaching a caricature of Orca； the about…to…vomit whale。 〃Don't hold nothin' back。 I'll break every goddamn finger in that prick's hands！ He can do his fuckin' surgery with his elbows！ 。。。 I told that stupid sister of mine he was no fuckin' good； that fairy。 Always readin' books； no action on the street； y'know what I mean？〃
〃If you'll stop shouting for a few seconds； I can get a closer look；〃 said Panov； having lowered the window at his side； seeing nothing but trees and the coarse underbrush of a distinctly backcountry road； one he doubted was on too many maps。 〃There we are；〃 continued Mo； raising his loosely bound hands to the capo's mouth； his eyes； however； not on that mouth but on the road ahead。 〃Oh； my God！〃 cried Panov。
〃What？〃 screamed the guard。
〃Pus。 Pockets of pus everywhere。 In the upper and lower mandibles。 The worst sign。〃
〃Oh； Christ！〃 The car swerved wildly； but it did not swerve enough。
A huge tree。 Up ahead。 On the left…hand side of the deserted road！ Morris Panov surged his bound hands over to the wheel； lifting his body off the seat as he propelled the steering wheel to the left。 Then at the last second before the car hit the tree； he hurled himself to the right； curling into a fetal position for protection。
The crash was enormous。 Shattered glass and crushed metal acpanied the rising mists of steam from burst cylinders； and the growing fires of viscous fluids underneath that would soon reach a gas tank。 The guard was moaning； semiconscious； his face bleeding； Panov pulled him out of the wreck and into the grass as far as he could until exhaustion overtook him； just before the car exploded。
In the moist overgrowth； his breath somewhat restored but his fear still at the forefront； Mo released his loosely bound hands and picked the fragments of glass out of his guard's face。 He then checked for broken bones…the right arm and the left leg were candidates…and with stolen stationery from a hotel he had never heard of from the capo's pocket； he used the guard's pen to write out his diagnosis。 Among the items he removed was a gun…what kind； he had no idea…but it was heavy and too large for his pocket and sagged in his belt。
Enough。 Hippocrates had his limits。
Panov searched the guard's clothing； astonished at the money that was there…some six thousand dollars…and the various driver's licenses…five different identities from five different states。 He took the money and the licenses to turn them over to Alex Conklin； but he left the capo's wallet otherwise intact。 There were photographs of his family； his children； grandchildren and assorted relatives…and somewhere among them a young surgeon he had put through medical school。 Ciao； amico； thought Mo as he crawled over to the road； stood up and smoothed his clothes； trying to look as respectable as possible。
Standing on the hard coarse surface； mon sense dictated that he continue north； in the direction the car was heading； to return south was not only pointless but conceivably dangerous。 Suddenly； it struck him。
Good God！ Did I just do what I just did？
He began to tremble； the trained psychiatrically oriented part of him telling him it was posttraumatic stress。
Bullshit； you asshole。 It wasn't you！
He started walking； and then kept walking and walking and walking。 He was not on a backcountry road； he was on Tobacco Road。 There were no signs of civilization； not a car in either direction； not a house…not even the ruins of an old farmhouse…or a primitive stone wall that would at least have proved that humans had visited the environs。 Mile after mile passed and Mo fought off the effects of the drug…induced exhaustion。 How long had it been？ They had taken his watch； his watch with the day and date in impossible small print； so he had no idea of either the present time or the time that had elapsed since he had been taken from Walter Reed Hospital。 He had to find a telephone。 He had to reach Alex Conklin！ Something had to happen soon！
It did。
He heard the growing roar of an engine and spun around。 A red car was speeding up the road from the south…no； not speeding； but racing； with its accelerator flat on the floor。 He waved his arms wildly…gestures of helplessness and appeal。 To no avail； the vehicle rushed past him in a blur 。。。 then to his delighted surprise the air was filled with dust and screeching brakes。 The car stopped！ He ran ahead as the automobile actually backed up； the tires still screaming。 He remembered the words his mother incessantly repeated when he was a youngster in the Bronx： Always tell the truth； Morris。 It's the shield God gave us to keep us righteous。
Panov did not precisely subscribe to the admonition； but there were times when he felt it had socially interactive validity。 This might be one of them。 So； somewhat out of breath he approached the opened passenger window of the red automobile。 He looked inside at the woman driver； a platinum blonde in her mid…thirties with an overly made…up face and large breasts encased in décolletage more fitting to an X…rated film than a backcountry road in Maryland。 Nevertheless； his mother's words echoed in his ears； so he spoke the truth。
〃I realize that I look rather shabby； madam； but I assure you it's purely an exterior impression。 I'm a doctor and I've been in an accident…〃
〃Get in； for Christ's sake！〃
〃Thank you so very much。〃 No sooner had Mo closed the door than the woman slammed the car into gear； gunned the engine to its maximum； and seemingly launched off the rough pavement and down the road。 〃You're obviously in a hurry；〃 offered Panov。
〃So would you be； pal； if you were me； I gotta husband back there who's puttin' his truck together to e after my ass！〃
〃Oh； really？〃
〃Stupid fuckin' jerk！ He rolls across the country three weeks outta the month layin' every broad on the highways； then blows his keister when he finds out I had a little fun of my own。〃
〃Oh； I'm terribly sorry。〃
〃You'll be a hell of a lot sorrier if he catches up with us。〃
〃I beg your pardon？〃
〃You really a doctor？〃
〃Yes； I am。〃
〃Maybe we can do business。〃
〃I beg your pardon？〃
〃Can you handle an abortion？〃
Morris Panov closed his eyes。
22
Bourne walked for nearly an hour through the streets of Paris trying to clear his head； ending up at the Seine； on the Pont de Solferino； the bridge that led to the Quai des Tuileries and the gardens。 As he leaned against the railing absently watching the boats lazily plowing the waters below； the question kept assaulting him： Why； why； why？ What did Marie think she was doing？ Flying over to Paris！ It wasn't just foolish； it was stupid…yet his wife was neither a fool nor an idiot。 She was a very bright lady with reserves of control and a quick； analytical mind。 That was what made her decision so untenable； what could she possibly hope to acplish？ She had to know he was far safer working alone rather than worrying about her while tracking the Jackal。 Even if she found him； the risk was doubled for both of them； and that she had to understand pletely。 Figures and projections were her profession。 So why？
There was only one conceivable answer； and it infuriated him。 She thought he might slip back over the edge as he had done in Hong Kong； where she alone had brought him to his senses； to the reality that was uniquely his own； a reality of frightening half truths and only partial remembrances； episodic moments she lived with every day of their lives together。 God； how he adored her； he loved her so！ And the fact that she had made this foolish； stupid； untenable de