you are," said Marie St. Jacques. "Be careful when you go in; it's probably dark. Bertinelli lectures with slides."
"Like a movie," commented Bourne, looking behind him at the crowds at the far end of the corridor. He was there; the man with gold-rimmed spectacles was excusing himself past an animated trio in the lobby. He was walking into the hallway, his companion right behind him.
"... a considerable difference. He sits below the stage and pontificates." The St. Jacques woman had said something and was now leaving him.
"What did you say? A stage?"
"Well, a raised platform. For exhibits usually."
"They have to be brought in," he said.
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"What does?"
"Exhibits. Is there an exit in there? Another door?"
"I have no idea, and I really must make my call. Enjoy the professore ." She turned away. He dropped the suitcase and took her arm. At the touch, she glared at him. "Take your hand off me, please."
"I don't want to frighten you, but I have no choice." He spoke quietly, his eyes over her shoulder, the killers had slowed their pace, the trap sure, about to close. "You have to come with me."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
He viced the grip around her arm, moving her in front of him. Then he pulled the gun out of his pocket, making sure her body concealed it from the men thirty feet away. "I don't want to use this. I don't want to hurt you, but I'll do both if I have to."
"My God ..."
"Be quiet. Just do as I say and you'll be fine. I have to get out of this hotel and you're going to help me. Once I'm out, I'll let you go. But not until then. Come on. We're going in there."
"You can't ..."
"Yes, I can." He pushed the barrel of the gun into her stomach, into the dark silk that creased under the force of his thrust. She was terrified into silence, into submission. "Let's go."
He stepped to her left, his hand still gripping her arm, the pistol held across his chest inches from her own. Her eyes were riveted on it, her lips parted, her breath erratic. Bourne opened the door, propelling her through it in front of him. He could hear a single word shouted from the corridor.
"Schnell!"
They were in darkness, but it was brief; a shaft of white light shot across the room, over the rows of chairs, illuminating the heads of the audience. The projection on the faraway screen on the stage was that of a graph, the grids marked numerically, a heavy black line starting at the left, extending in a jagged pattern through the lines to the right. A heavily accented voice was speaking, amplified by a loudspeaker.
"You will note that during the years of seventy and seventy-one, when specific restraints in production were self-imposed--I repeat, self -imposed--by these leaders of industry, the resulting economic recession was far less severe than in--slide twelve, please--the so-called paternalistic regulation of the marketplace by government interventionists. The next slide, please."
The room went dark again. There was a problem with the projector; no second shaft of light replaced the first.
"Slide twelve, please!"
Jason pushed the woman forward, in front of the figures standing by the back wall, behind the last row Page 55
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of chairs. He tried to judge the size of the lecture hall, looking for a red light that could mean escape. He saw it! A faint reddish glow in the distance. On the stage, behind the screen. There were no other exits, no other doors but the entrance to Suite Seven. He had to reach it; he had to get them to that exit. On that stage.
"Marie--par ici!" The whisper came from their left, from a seat in the back row.
"Non, cherie. Reste avec moi." The second whisper was delivered by the shadowed figure of a man standing directly in front of Marie St. Jacques. He had stepped away from the wall, intercepting her. "On nous a separe. I'l n'y a plus de
"Like a movie," commented Bourne, looking behind him at the crowds at the far end of the corridor. He was there; the man with gold-rimmed spectacles was excusing himself past an animated trio in the lobby. He was walking into the hallway, his companion right behind him.
"... a considerable difference. He sits below the stage and pontificates." The St. Jacques woman had said something and was now leaving him.
"What did you say? A stage?"
"Well, a raised platform. For exhibits usually."
"They have to be brought in," he said.
Page 54
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"What does?"
"Exhibits. Is there an exit in there? Another door?"
"I have no idea, and I really must make my call. Enjoy the professore ." She turned away. He dropped the suitcase and took her arm. At the touch, she glared at him. "Take your hand off me, please."
"I don't want to frighten you, but I have no choice." He spoke quietly, his eyes over her shoulder, the killers had slowed their pace, the trap sure, about to close. "You have to come with me."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
He viced the grip around her arm, moving her in front of him. Then he pulled the gun out of his pocket, making sure her body concealed it from the men thirty feet away. "I don't want to use this. I don't want to hurt you, but I'll do both if I have to."
"My God ..."
"Be quiet. Just do as I say and you'll be fine. I have to get out of this hotel and you're going to help me. Once I'm out, I'll let you go. But not until then. Come on. We're going in there."
"You can't ..."
"Yes, I can." He pushed the barrel of the gun into her stomach, into the dark silk that creased under the force of his thrust. She was terrified into silence, into submission. "Let's go."
He stepped to her left, his hand still gripping her arm, the pistol held across his chest inches from her own. Her eyes were riveted on it, her lips parted, her breath erratic. Bourne opened the door, propelling her through it in front of him. He could hear a single word shouted from the corridor.
"Schnell!"
They were in darkness, but it was brief; a shaft of white light shot across the room, over the rows of chairs, illuminating the heads of the audience. The projection on the faraway screen on the stage was that of a graph, the grids marked numerically, a heavy black line starting at the left, extending in a jagged pattern through the lines to the right. A heavily accented voice was speaking, amplified by a loudspeaker.
"You will note that during the years of seventy and seventy-one, when specific restraints in production were self-imposed--I repeat, self -imposed--by these leaders of industry, the resulting economic recession was far less severe than in--slide twelve, please--the so-called paternalistic regulation of the marketplace by government interventionists. The next slide, please."
The room went dark again. There was a problem with the projector; no second shaft of light replaced the first.
"Slide twelve, please!"
Jason pushed the woman forward, in front of the figures standing by the back wall, behind the last row Page 55
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
of chairs. He tried to judge the size of the lecture hall, looking for a red light that could mean escape. He saw it! A faint reddish glow in the distance. On the stage, behind the screen. There were no other exits, no other doors but the entrance to Suite Seven. He had to reach it; he had to get them to that exit. On that stage.
"Marie--par ici!" The whisper came from their left, from a seat in the back row.
"Non, cherie. Reste avec moi." The second whisper was delivered by the shadowed figure of a man standing directly in front of Marie St. Jacques. He had stepped away from the wall, intercepting her. "On nous a separe. I'l n'y a plus de
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