The Ghost(英文版)-第58章

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lightly　drunk。　I　sensed　this　was　my　moment。

　　“In　what　way；”　I　asked；　“was　Mike　McAra　na。ve？”

　　“Never　mind；”　muttered　Lang。　He　nursed　his　drink；　his　chin　on　his　chest；　brooding。　He　suddenly　jerked　up　again。　“I　mean；　take　for　instance　all　this　civil　liberties　crap。　You　know　what　I’d　do　if　I　were　in　power　again？　I’d　say；　okay　then；　we’ll　have　two　queues　at　the　airports。　On　the　left；　we’ll　have　queues　to　flights　on　which　we’ve　done　no　background　checks　on　the　passengers；　no　profiling；　no　biometric　data；　nothing　that　infringed　anyone’s　precious　civil　liberties；　used　no　intelligence　obtained　under　torture—nothing。　On　the　right；　we’ll　have　queues　to　the　flights　where　we’ve　done　everything　possible　to

　　make　them　safe　for　passengers。　Then　people　can　make　their　own　minds　up　which　plane　they　want　to　catch。　Wouldn’t　that　be　great？　To　sit　back　and　watch　which　queue　the　Rycarts　of　this　world　wouldreally　choose　to　put　their　kids　on；　if　the　chips　were　down？”

　　“And　Mike　was　like　that？”

　　“Not　at　the　beginning。　But　Mike；　unfortunately；　discovered　idealism　in　his　old　age。　I　said　to　him—it　was　our　last　conversation；　actually—I　said；　if　our　Lord　Jesus　Christ　was　unable　to　solve　all　the　problems　of　the　world　when　he　came　down　to　live　among　us—and　he　was　the　son　of　God！—wasn’t　it　a　bit　unreasonable　of　Mike　to　expect　me　to　have　sorted　out　everything　in　ten　years？”

　　“Is　it　true　you　had　a　serious　row　with　him？　Just　before　he　died？”

　　“Mike　made　certain　wild　accusations。　I　could　hardly　ignore　them。”

　　“May　I　ask　what　kind　of　accusations？”

　　I　could　imagine　Rycart　and　the　special　prosecutor　sitting　listening　to　the　tape；　straightening　in　their　chairs　at　that。　I　had　to　swallow　again。　My　voice　sounded　muffled　in　my　ears；　as　if　I　was　talking　in　a　dream；　or　hailing　myself　from　a　great　distance。　On　the　tape；　the　pause　that　followed　is　quite　short；　but　at　the　time　it　seemed　endless；　and　Lang’s　voice　when　it　came　was　deadly　quiet。

　　“I’d　prefer　not　to　repeat　them。”

　　“Were　they　to　do　with　the　CIA？”

　　“But　surely　you　already　know；”　said　Lang　bitterly；　“if　you’ve　been　to　see　Paul　Emmett？”

　　And　this　time　the　pause　is　as　long　on　the　recording　as　it　is　in　my　memory。

　　Delivered　of　his　bombshell；　Lang　gazed　out　of　the　window　and　sipped　his　drink。　A　few　isolated　lights　had　begun　to　appear　beneath　us。　I　think　they　must　have　been　ships。　I　looked　at　him　and　I　saw　that　the　years　had　caught　up　even　with　him　at　last。　It　was　in　the　droop　of　the　flesh　around　his　eyes　and　in　the　loose　skin　beneath　his　jaw。　Or　perhaps　it　wasn’t　age。　Perhaps　he　was　simply　exhausted。　I　doubt　he　could　have　had　much　sleep　for　weeks；　probably　not　since　McAra　had　confronted　him。　Certainly；　when　at　last　he　turned　back　to　me；　there　wasn’t　anger　in　his　expression；　merely　a　great　weariness。

　　“I　want　you　to　understand；”　he　said　with　heavy　emphasis；　“that　everything　I　did；　both　as　party　leader　and　as　prime　minister—everything—I　did　out　of　conviction；　because　I　believed　it　was　right。”

　　I　mumbled　a　reply。　I　was　in　a　state　of　shock。

　　“Emmett　claims　you　showed　him　some　photographs。　Is　that　true？　May　I　see？”

　　My　hands　shook　slightly　as　I　removed　them　from　the　envelope　and　pushed　them　across　the　table　toward　him。　He　flicked　through　the　first　four　very　quickly；　paused　over　the　fifth—the　one　that　showed　him　and　Emmett　onstage—then　went　back　to　the　beginning　and　started　looking　at　them　again；　lingering　over　each　image。

　　He　said；　without　raising　his　eyes　from　the　pictures；　“Where　did　you　get　them？”

　　“McAra　ordered　them　up　from　the　archive。　I　found　them　in　his　room。”

　　Over　the　intercom；　the　copilot　asked　us　to　fasten　our　seat　belts。

　　“Odd；”　murmured　Lang。　“Odd　the　way　we’ve　all　changed　so　much　and　yet　also　stayed　exactly　the　same。　Mike　never　mentioned　anything　to　me　about　photographs。　Oh；　that　bloody　archive！”　He　squinted　closely　at　one　of　the　riverbank　pictures。　It　was　the　girls；　I　noticed；　rather　than　himself　or　Emmett；　who　seemed　to　fascinate　him　the　most。　“I　remember　her；”　he　said；　tapping　the　picture。　“And　her。　She　wrote　to　me　once；　when　I　was　prime　minister。　Ruth　was　not　pleased。　Oh；　God；”　he　said；　and　passed　his　hand　across　his　face。　“Ruth。”　For　a　moment；　I　thought　he　was　about　to　break　down；　but　when　he　looked　at　me　his　eyes　were　dry。　“What　happens　next？　Is　there　a　procedure　in　your　line　of　work　to　deal　with　this　sort　of　situation？”

　　Patterns　of　light　were　very　clear　in　the　window　now。　I　could　see　the　headlamps　of　a　car　on　a　road。

　　“The　client　always　has　the　last　word　about　what　goes　in　a　book；”　I　said。　“Always。　But；　obviously；　in　this　case；　given　what　happened—”

　　On　the　tape；　my　voice　trails　away；　and　then　there　is　a　loud　clunk；　as　Lang　leans　forward　and　grabs　my　forearm。

　　“If　you　mean　what　happened　to　Mike；　then　let　me　tell　you　I　was　absolutely　appalled　by　that。”　His　gaze　was　fixed　unwaveringly　on　me；　he　was　putting　everything　he　had　left　within　him　into　the　task　of　convincing　me；　and　I’ll　freely　confess；　despite　everything　I’d　discovered；　he　succeeded：　to　this　day；　I’m　sure　he　was　telling　the　truth。　“If　you　believe　nothing　else；　you　must　please　believe　that　his　death　had　nothing　to　do　with　me；　and　I　shall　carry　that　image　of　Mike　in　the　morgue　until　my　own　dying　day。　I’m　sure　it　was　an　accident。　But　okay；　let’s　say；　for　the　sake　of　argument；　it　wasn’t。”　He　tightened　his　grip　on　my　arm。　“What　was　he　thinking　of；　driving　up　to　Boston　to　confront　Emmett？　He’d　been　around　politics　long　enough　to　know　that　you　don’t　do　something　like　that；　not　when　the　stakes　are　this　high。　You　know；

　　in　a　way；　he　did　kill　himself。　It　was　a　suicidal　act。”

　　“That’s　what　worries　me；”　I　said。

　　“You　can’t　seriously　think；”　said　Lang；　“that　the　same　thing　could　happen　to　you？”

　　“It　has　crossed　my　mind。”

　　“You　need　have　no　fears　on　that　score。　I　can　guarantee　it。”　I　guess　my　disbelief　must　have　been

　　obvious。　“Oh；　come　on；　man！”　he　said　urgently。　Again；　the　fingers　clenched　on　my　flesh。　“There　are　four　policemen　traveling　on　this　plane　with　us　right　now！　What　kind　of　people　do　you　think　we　are？”

　　“Well；　that’s　just　it；”　I　said。　“What　kind　of　peopleare　you？”

　　We　were　coming　in　low　over　the　treetops。　The　lights　of　the　Gulfstream　gleamed　across　dark　waves　of　foliage。

　　I　tried　to　pull　my　arm　away。　“Excuse　me；”　I　said。

　　Lang　reluctantly　let　go　of　me　and　I　fastened　my　seat　belt。　He　did　the　same。　He　glanced　out　of　the　window　at　the　terminal；　then　back　at　me；　appalled；　as　we　dipped　gracefully　onto　the　runway。

　　“My　God；　you’ve　already　told　someone；　haven’t　you？”

　　I　could　feel　myself　turning　scarlet。　“No；”　I　said。

　　“You　have。”

　　“I　haven’t。”　On　the　tape　I　sound　as　feeble　as　a　child　caught　red…handed。

　　He　leaned　forward　again。　“Who　have　you　told？”

　　Looking　out　at　the　dark　forest　beyond　the　perimeter　of　the　airport；　where　anything　could　be　lurking；　it　seemed　like　the　only　insurance　policy　I　had。

　　“Richard　Rycart；”　I　said。

　　That　must　have　been　a　devastating　blow　to　him。　He　must　have　known　then　that　it　was　the　end　of　everything。　In　my　mind’s　eye　I　see　him　still；　like　one　those　once　grand　but　now　condemned　apartment　blocks；　moments　after　the　demolition　charges　have　been　exploded：　for　a　few　seconds；　the　fa。ade　remains　bizarrely　intact；　before　slowly　beginning　to　slide。　That　was　Lang。　He　gave　me　a　long　blank　look　and　then　subsided　back　into　his　seat。

　　The　plane　came　to　a　halt　in　front　of　the　terminal　building。　The　engines　died。

　　AT　THIS　POINT；　ATlong　last；　I　did　something　smart。

　　As　Lang　sat　contemplating　his　ruin；　and　as　Amelia　came　hurrying　down　the　aisle　to　discover　what　I’d　said；　I　had　the　presence　of　mind　to　eject　the　disk　from　the　minirecorder　and　slip　it　into　my　pocket。　In　its　place　I　inserted　the　blank。　Lang　was　too　stunned　to　care　and　Amelia　too　fixated　on　him　to　notice。

　　“All　right；”　she　said　firmly；　“that’s　enough　for　tonight。”　She　lifted　the　empty　glass　from　his　unresisting　hand　and　gave　it　to　the　steward。　“We　need　to　get　you　home；　Adam。