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Authors: Robert Ludlum
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wrote the name as naturally as he could, letting his mind fall free, allowing whatever thoughts or images that might be triggered come through. None did; he was merely signing an unfamiliar name. He felt nothing.
"You had me worried, mein Herr," said the clerk. "I thought perhaps I'd made a mistake. It's been a busy week, a busier day. But then, I was quite certain."
And if he had? Made a mistake? Mr. J. Bourne of New York City, U.S.A., did not care to think about the possibility. "It never occurred to me to question your memory ... Herr Stossel," replied the patient, glancing up at the On-Duty sign on the left wall of the counter; the man behind the desk was the Carillon du Lac's assistant manager.
"You're most kind." The assistant manager leaned forward. "I assume you'll require the usual conditions of your stay with us?"
"Some may have changed," said J. Bourne. "How did you understand them before?"
"Whoever telephones or inquires at the desk is to be told you're out of the hotel, whereupon you're to be informed immediately. The only exception is your firm in New York. The Treadstone Seventy-One Corporation, if I remember correctly."
Another name! One he could trace with an overseas call. Fragmentary shapes were falling into place. The exhilaration began to return.
"That'll do. I won't forget your efficiency."
Page 38
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"This is Zurich," replied the polite man, shrugging. "You've always been exceedingly generous, Herr Bourne. Page--hierher, bitte!"
As the patient followed the page into the elevator, several things were clearer. He had a name and he understood why that name came so quickly to the Carillon du Lac's assistant manager. He had a country and a city and a firm that employed him-- had employed him, at any rate. And whenever he came to Zurich, certain precautions were implemented to protect him from unexpected, or unwanted, visitors. That was what he could not understand. One either protected oneself thoroughly or one did not bother to protect oneself at all. Where was any real advantage in a screening process that was so loose; so vulnerable to penetration? It struck him as second-rate, without value, as if a small child were playing hide-and-seek. Where am I? Try and find me. I'll say something out loud and give you a hint. It was not professional, and if he had learned anything about himself during the past forty-eight hours it was that he was a professional. Of what he had no idea, but the status was not debatable.
The voice of the New York operator faded sporadically over the line. Her conclusion, however, was irritatingly clear. And final.
"There's no listing for any such company, sir. I've checked the latest directories as well as the private telephones and there's no Treadstone Corporation--and nothing even resembling Treadstone with numbers following the name."
"Perhaps they were dropped to shorten ..."
"There's no firm or company with that name, sir. I repeat, if you have a first or second name, or the type of business the firm's engaged in, I might be of further help."
"I don't. Only the name, Treadstone Seventy-One, New York City."
"It's an odd name, sir. I'm sure if there were a listing it would be a simple matter to find it. I'm sorry."
"Thanks very much for your trouble," said J. Bourne, replacing the phone. It was pointless to go on; the name was a code of some sort, words relayed by a caller that gained him access to a hotel guest not so readily accessible. And the words could be used by anyone regardless of where he had placed the call; therefore the location of New York might well be meaningless. According to an operator five thousand miles away it was.
The patient walked to the bureau where he had placed the Louis Vuitton billfold and the Seiko chronograph. He put the billfold in his pocket and the watch on his wrist; he looked in the mirror and spoke quietly.
"You are J. Bourne, citizen of the United
"You had me worried, mein Herr," said the clerk. "I thought perhaps I'd made a mistake. It's been a busy week, a busier day. But then, I was quite certain."
And if he had? Made a mistake? Mr. J. Bourne of New York City, U.S.A., did not care to think about the possibility. "It never occurred to me to question your memory ... Herr Stossel," replied the patient, glancing up at the On-Duty sign on the left wall of the counter; the man behind the desk was the Carillon du Lac's assistant manager.
"You're most kind." The assistant manager leaned forward. "I assume you'll require the usual conditions of your stay with us?"
"Some may have changed," said J. Bourne. "How did you understand them before?"
"Whoever telephones or inquires at the desk is to be told you're out of the hotel, whereupon you're to be informed immediately. The only exception is your firm in New York. The Treadstone Seventy-One Corporation, if I remember correctly."
Another name! One he could trace with an overseas call. Fragmentary shapes were falling into place. The exhilaration began to return.
"That'll do. I won't forget your efficiency."
Page 38
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"This is Zurich," replied the polite man, shrugging. "You've always been exceedingly generous, Herr Bourne. Page--hierher, bitte!"
As the patient followed the page into the elevator, several things were clearer. He had a name and he understood why that name came so quickly to the Carillon du Lac's assistant manager. He had a country and a city and a firm that employed him-- had employed him, at any rate. And whenever he came to Zurich, certain precautions were implemented to protect him from unexpected, or unwanted, visitors. That was what he could not understand. One either protected oneself thoroughly or one did not bother to protect oneself at all. Where was any real advantage in a screening process that was so loose; so vulnerable to penetration? It struck him as second-rate, without value, as if a small child were playing hide-and-seek. Where am I? Try and find me. I'll say something out loud and give you a hint. It was not professional, and if he had learned anything about himself during the past forty-eight hours it was that he was a professional. Of what he had no idea, but the status was not debatable.
The voice of the New York operator faded sporadically over the line. Her conclusion, however, was irritatingly clear. And final.
"There's no listing for any such company, sir. I've checked the latest directories as well as the private telephones and there's no Treadstone Corporation--and nothing even resembling Treadstone with numbers following the name."
"Perhaps they were dropped to shorten ..."
"There's no firm or company with that name, sir. I repeat, if you have a first or second name, or the type of business the firm's engaged in, I might be of further help."
"I don't. Only the name, Treadstone Seventy-One, New York City."
"It's an odd name, sir. I'm sure if there were a listing it would be a simple matter to find it. I'm sorry."
"Thanks very much for your trouble," said J. Bourne, replacing the phone. It was pointless to go on; the name was a code of some sort, words relayed by a caller that gained him access to a hotel guest not so readily accessible. And the words could be used by anyone regardless of where he had placed the call; therefore the location of New York might well be meaningless. According to an operator five thousand miles away it was.
The patient walked to the bureau where he had placed the Louis Vuitton billfold and the Seiko chronograph. He put the billfold in his pocket and the watch on his wrist; he looked in the mirror and spoke quietly.
"You are J. Bourne, citizen of the United
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