The Ghost(英文版)-第23部分

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es；　dressed　in　their　standard　non…uniform　uniform　of　gray　zippered　jacket　and　black　tie。　His　eyes　sought　mine　in　the　mirror　and　he　observed　that　it　was　all　a　very　bad　business。　I　replied　briefly　that　it　was；　indeed；　a　bad　business；　and　then　pointedly　stared　out　of　the　window　to　avoid　having　to　talk。

　　We　were　quickly　into　the　flat　countryside。　A　deserted　cycle　track　ran　beside　the　road。　Beyond　it　stretched　the　drab　forest。　My　frail　body　might　be　on　Martha’s　Vineyard　but　my　mind　was　in　the　South　Pacific。　I　was　thinking　of　Rick　in　Fiji　and　all　the　elaborate　and　humiliating　ways　I　could　fire　him　when　he　got　back。　The　rational　part　of　me　knew　I　would　never　do　it—why　shouldn’t　he　go　fishing？—but　the　irrational　was　to　the　fore　that　morning。　I　suppose　I　was　afraid；　and　fear　distorts　one’s　judgment　even　more　than　alcohol　and　exhaustion。　I　felt　duped；　abandoned；　aggrieved。

　　“After　I’ve　dropped　you　off；　sir；”　said　the　policeman；　undeterred　by　my　silence；　“I’ve　got　to　pick　up　Mr。　Kroll　from　the　airport。　You　can　always　tell　it’s　a　bad　business　when　the　lawyers　start　turning　up。”　He　broke　off　and　leaned　in　close　to　the　windscreen。　“Oh；　fuck；　here　we　go　again。”

　　Up　ahead　it　looked　as　though　there　had　been　a　traffic　accident。　The　vivid　blue　lights　of　a　couple　of　patrol　cars　flashed　dramatically　in　the　gloomy　morning；　illuminating　the　nearby　trees　like　sheet　lightning　in　a　Wagner　opera。　As　we　came　closer　I　could　see　a　dozen　or　more　cars　and　vans　pulled　up　on　either　side　of　the　road。　People　were　standing　around　aimlessly；　and　I　assumed；　in　that　lazy　way　the　brain　sometimes　assembles　information；　that　they　had　been　in　a　pileup。　But　as　the　minivan　slowed　and　indicated　to　turn　left；　the　bystanders　started　grabbing　things　from　beside　the　road　and　came　running　at　us。　“Lang！　Lang！　Lang！”　a　woman　shouted　over　a　bullhorn。　“Liar！　Liar！　Liar！”　Images　of　Lang　in　an　orange　jumpsuit；　gripping　prison　bars　with　bloodied　hands；　danced　in　front　of　the　windscreen。　“WANTED！　WAR　CRIMINAL！　ADAM　LANG！”

　　The　Edgartown　police　had　blocked　the　track　down　to　the　Rhinehart　compound　with　traffic　cones　and　quickly　pulled　them　out　of　the　way　to　let　us　through；　but　not　before　we’d　come　to　a　stop。　Demonstrators　surrounded　us；　and　a　fusillade　of　thumps　and　kicks　raked　the　side　of　the　van。　I　glimpsed　a　brilliant　arc　of　white　light　illuminating　a　figure—a　man；　cowled　like　a　monk。　He　turned　away　from　his　interviewer　to　stare　at　us；　and　I　recognized　him　dimly　from　somewhere。　But　then　he　vanished　behind　a　gauntlet　of　contorted　faces；　pounding　hands；　and　dripping　spit。

　　“They’re　always　the　really　violent　bastards；”　said　my　driver；　“peace　protesters。”　He　put　his　foot　down；　the　rear　tires　slithered　uselessly；　then　bit；　and　we　shot　forward　into　the　silent　woods。

　　AMELIA　MET　ME　INthe　passage。　She　stared　contemptuously　at　my　single　piece　of　luggage　as　only　a　woman　could。

　　“Is　that　really　everything？”

　　“I　travel　light。”

　　“Light？　I’d　saygossamer　。”　She　sighed。　“Right。　Follow　me。”

　　My　suitcase　was　one　of　those　ubiquitous　pull…alongs；　with　an　extendable　handle　and　small　wheels。　It　made　an　industrious　hum　on　the　stone　floor　as　I　trailed　after　her　down　the　passage　and　around　to　the　back　of　the　house。

　　“I　tried　to　call　you　several　times　last　night；”　she　said　without　turning　round；　“but　you　didn’t　answer。”

　　Here　it　comes；　I　thought。

　　“I　forgot　to　charge　my　mobile。”

　　“Oh？　What　about　the　phone　in　your　room？　I　tried　that　as　well。”

　　“I　went　out。”

　　“Until　midnight？”

　　I　winced　behind　her　back。　“What　did　you　want　to　tell　me？”

　　“This。”

　　She　stopped　outside　a　door；　opened　it；　and　stood　aside　to　let　me　go　in。　The　room　was　in　darkness；　but　the　heavy　curtains　didn’t　quite　meet　in　the　middle；　and　there　was　just　enough　light　for　me　to　make　out　the　shape　of　a　double　bed。　It　smelled　of　stale　clothes　and　old　ladies’　soap。　She　crossed　the　floor　and　briskly　pulled　back　the　curtains。

　　“You’ll　be　sleeping　in　here　from　now　on。”

　　It　was　a　plain　room；　with　sliding　glass　doors　that　opened　directly　onto　the　lawn。　Apart　from　the　bed；　there　was　a　desk　with　a　gooseneck　lamp；　an　armchair　covered　in　something　beige　and　thickly　woven；　and　a　wall…length　closet　with　mirrored　doors。　I　could　also　see　into　a　white…tiled　en　suite　bathroom。　It　was　neat　and　functional；　and　dismal。

　　I　tried　to　make　a　joke　of　it。　“So　this　is　where　you　put　the　granny；　is　it？”

　　“No；　this　is　where　we　put　Mike　McAra。”

　　She　slid　back　one　of　the　doors　to　the　closet；　revealing　a　few　jackets　and　shirts　on　hangers。　“I’m　afraid　we　haven’t　had　a　chance　to　clear　it　yet；　and　his　mother’s　in　a　home　for　the　elderly　so　she　doesn’t　have　the　space　to　store　it。　But　as　you　say　yourself；　you　travel　light。　And　besides；　it　will　only　be　for　a　few　days；　now　that　publication　has　been　brought　forward。”

　　I’ve　never　been　particularly　superstitious；　but　I　do　believe　that　certain　places　have　an　atmosphere；　and　from　the　moment　I　stepped　into　that　room；　I　didn’t　like　it。　The　thought　of　touching　McAra’s　clothes　filled　me　with　something　close　to　panic。

　　“I　always　make　it　a　rule　not　to　sleep　in　a　client’s　house；”　I　said；　attempting　to　keep　my　voice　light　and　offhand。　“I　often　find；　at　the　end　of　a　working　day；　it’s　vital　to　get　away。”

　　“But　now　you　can　have　constant　access　to　the　manuscript。　Isn’t　that　what　you　want？”　She　gave　me　her　smile；　and　for　once　there　was　genuine　merriment　in　it。　She　had　me　exactly　where　she　wanted　me；　literally　and　figuratively。　“Besides；　you　can’t　keep　running　the　media　gauntlet。　Sooner　or　later　they’ll　discover　who　you　are；　and　then　they’ll　start　pestering　you　with　questions。　That　would　be　horrid　for　you。　This　way　you　can　work　in　peace。”

　　“Isn’t　there　another　room　I　could　use？”

　　“There　are　only　six　bedrooms　in　the　main　house。　Adam　and　Ruth　have　one　each。　I　have　one。　The　girls　share。　The　duty　policemen　have　the　use　of　one　for　the　overnight　shift。　And　the　guest　block　is　entirely　taken　over　by　Special　Branch。　Don’t　be　squeamish：　the　sheets　have　been　changed。”　She　consulted　her　elegant　gold　watch。　“Look；　Sidney　Kroll　will　be　arriving　any　minute。　We’re　due　to　get　the　ICC　announcement　in　less　than　thirty　minutes。　Why　don’t　you　settle　in　here　and　then　come　up　and　join　us。　Whatever’s　decided　will　affect　you。　You’re　practically　one　of　us　now。”

　　“I　am？”

　　“Of　course。　You　drafted　the　statement　yesterday。　That　makes　you　an　accomplice。”

　　After　she’d　gone；　I　didn’t　unpack。　I　couldn’t　face　it。　Instead　I　sat　gingerly　on　the　end　of　the　bed　and　stared　out　of　the　window　at　the　wind…blasted　lawn；　the　low　scrub；　and　the　immense　sky。　A　small　blaze　of　brilliant　white　light　was　traveling　quickly　across　the　gray　expanse；　swelling　as　it　came　closer。　A　helicopter。　It　passed　low　overhead；　shaking　the　heavy　glass　doors；　and　then；　a　minute　or　two　later；　reappeared；　hovering　a　mile　away；　just　above　the　horizon；　like　a　sinister　and　portentous　comet。　It　was　a　sign　of　how　serious　things　had　become；　I　thought；　if　some　hard…pressed　news　manager　on　a　trimmed　budget　was　willing　to　hire　a　chopper　in　the　hope　of　catching　a　fleeting　shot　of　the　former　British　prime　minister。　I　pictured　Kate；　smugly　watching　the　live　coverage　in　her　office　in　London；　and　was　seized　by　a　fantastic　desire　to　run　out　and　start　twirling；　like　Julie　Andrews　at　the　start　ofThe　Sound　of　Music　：　Yes；　darling；　it’s　me！　I’m　here　with　the　war　criminal！　I’m　anaccomplice　！

　　I　sat　there　for　a　while；　until　I　heard　the　noise　of　the　minivan　pulling　up　to　the　front　of　the　house；　followed　by　a　commotion　of　voices　in　the　hall；　and　then　a　small　army　of　footsteps　thudding　up　the　wooden　staircase：　I　reckoned　that　must　be　the　sound　of　a　thousand　dollars　an　hour　in　legal　fees　on　the　hoof。　I　gave　Kroll　and　his　client　a　couple　of　minutes　for　handshakes；　condolences；　and　general　expressions　of　confidence；　then　wearily　left　my　dead　man’s　room　and　went　up　to　join　them。

　　KROLL　HAD　FLOWN　INby　private　jet　from　Washington　with　two　young　paralegals：　an　exquisitely　pretty　Mexican　woman　he　introduced　as　Encarnacion　and　a　black　guy　from　New　York　called　Josh。　They　sat　on　either　side　of　him；　their　laptops　open；　on　a　sofa　that　placed　their　backs　to　the　ocean　view。　Adam　and　Ruth　Lang　had　the　couch　opposite；　Amelia　and　I　an　armchair　each。　A　cinema…size　flat…screen　TV　next　to　the　fireplace　was　showing　the　aerial　shot　of　the　house；　as　relayed　live　from　the　helicopter　we　could　hear　buzzing　faintly　outside。　Occasionally　the　news　station　cut　to　the　waiting　journalists　in　the　large　chandeliered　room　in　The　Hague　where　the　press　conference　was　due　to　be　held。　Each　time　I　saw　the　empty　podium　with　its　ICC　logo　in　tasteful　UN　blue—laurel　boughs　and　scales　of　justice—I　felt　a　little　more　sick　with　nerves。　But　Lang　himself　seemed　cool。　He　was　jacketless；　wearing　a　white　shirt　and　a　dark　blue　tie。　It　was　the　sort　of　high…pressure　occasion　his　metabolism　was　built　for。

　　“So　here’s　the　score；”　said　Kroll；　when　we’d　all　taken　our　places。　“You’re　not　being　charged。　You’re　not　being　arrested。　None　of　this　is　going　to　amount　to　a　hill　of　beans；　I　promise　you。　All　that　the