Read Online The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Ludlum
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States, resident of New York City, and it's entirely possible that the numbers 'zero-seven--seventeen-twelve--zero-fourteen--twenty-six-zero' are the most important things in your life."
The sun was bright, filtering through the trees along the elegant Bahnhofstrasse, bouncing off the Page 39
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windows of the shops, and creating blocks of shadows where the great banks intruded on its rays. It was a street where solidity and money, security and arrogance, determination and a touch of frivolity all coexisted; and Dr. Washburn's patient had walked along its pavements before. He strolled into the Burkli Platz, the square that overlooked the Zurichsee, with its numerous quays along the waterfront, bordered by gardens that in the heat of summer became circles of bursting flowers. He could picture them in his mind's eye; images were coming to him. But no thoughts, no memories. He doubled back into the Bahnhofstrasse, instinctively knowing that the Gemeinschaft Bank was a nearby building of off-white stone; it had been on the opposite side of the street on which he had just walked; he had passed it deliberately. He approached the heavy glass doors and pushed the center plate forward. The right-hand door swung open easily and he was standing on a floor of brown marble; he had stood on it before, but the image was not as strong as others. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the Gemeinschaft was to be avoided.
It was not to be avoided now.
" Bonjour, monsieur. Vous desirez ...?" The man asking the question was dressed in a cutaway, the red boutonniere his symbol of authority. The use of French was explained by the client's clothes; even the subordinate gnomes of Zurich were observant.
"I have personal and confidential business to discuss," replied J. Bourne in English, once again mildly startled by the words he spoke so naturally. The reason for the English was twofold: he wanted to watch the gnome's expression at his error, and he wanted no possible misinterpretation of anything said during the next hour.
"Pardon, sir," said the man, his eyebrows arched slightly, studying the client's topcoat. "The elevator to your left, second floor. The receptionist will assist you."
The receptionist referred to was a middle-aged man with close-cropped hair and tortoise-shell glasses; his expression was set, his eyes rigidly curious. "Do you currently have personal and confidential business with us, sir?" he asked, repeating the new arrival's words.
"I do."
"Your signature, please," said the official, holding out a sheet of Gemeinschaft stationery with two blank lines centered in the middle of the page.
The client understood; no name was required. The handwritten numbers take the place of a name ... they constitute the signature of the account holder. Standard procedure . Washburn. The patient wrote out the numbers, relaxing his hand so the writing would be free. He handed the stationery back to the receptionist, who studied it, rose from the chair, and gestured to a row of narrow doors with frosted glass panels. "If you'll wait in the fourth room, sir, someone will be with you shortly."
"The fourth room?"
"The fourth door from the left. It will lock automatically."
"Is that necessary?"
Page 40
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The receptionist glanced at him, startled. "It is in line with your own request, sir," he said politely, an undertone of surprise beneath his courtesy. "This is a three-zero account. It's customary at the Gemeinschaft for holders of such accounts to telephone in advance so that a private entrance can be made available."
"I know that," lied Washburn's patient with a casualness he did not feel. "It's just that I'm in a hurry."
"I'll convey that to Verifications, sir."
"Verifications?" Mr. J. Bourne of New York City, U.S.A., could not help himself; the word had the sound of an
The sun was bright, filtering through the trees along the elegant Bahnhofstrasse, bouncing off the Page 39
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
windows of the shops, and creating blocks of shadows where the great banks intruded on its rays. It was a street where solidity and money, security and arrogance, determination and a touch of frivolity all coexisted; and Dr. Washburn's patient had walked along its pavements before. He strolled into the Burkli Platz, the square that overlooked the Zurichsee, with its numerous quays along the waterfront, bordered by gardens that in the heat of summer became circles of bursting flowers. He could picture them in his mind's eye; images were coming to him. But no thoughts, no memories. He doubled back into the Bahnhofstrasse, instinctively knowing that the Gemeinschaft Bank was a nearby building of off-white stone; it had been on the opposite side of the street on which he had just walked; he had passed it deliberately. He approached the heavy glass doors and pushed the center plate forward. The right-hand door swung open easily and he was standing on a floor of brown marble; he had stood on it before, but the image was not as strong as others. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the Gemeinschaft was to be avoided.
It was not to be avoided now.
" Bonjour, monsieur. Vous desirez ...?" The man asking the question was dressed in a cutaway, the red boutonniere his symbol of authority. The use of French was explained by the client's clothes; even the subordinate gnomes of Zurich were observant.
"I have personal and confidential business to discuss," replied J. Bourne in English, once again mildly startled by the words he spoke so naturally. The reason for the English was twofold: he wanted to watch the gnome's expression at his error, and he wanted no possible misinterpretation of anything said during the next hour.
"Pardon, sir," said the man, his eyebrows arched slightly, studying the client's topcoat. "The elevator to your left, second floor. The receptionist will assist you."
The receptionist referred to was a middle-aged man with close-cropped hair and tortoise-shell glasses; his expression was set, his eyes rigidly curious. "Do you currently have personal and confidential business with us, sir?" he asked, repeating the new arrival's words.
"I do."
"Your signature, please," said the official, holding out a sheet of Gemeinschaft stationery with two blank lines centered in the middle of the page.
The client understood; no name was required. The handwritten numbers take the place of a name ... they constitute the signature of the account holder. Standard procedure . Washburn. The patient wrote out the numbers, relaxing his hand so the writing would be free. He handed the stationery back to the receptionist, who studied it, rose from the chair, and gestured to a row of narrow doors with frosted glass panels. "If you'll wait in the fourth room, sir, someone will be with you shortly."
"The fourth room?"
"The fourth door from the left. It will lock automatically."
"Is that necessary?"
Page 40
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The receptionist glanced at him, startled. "It is in line with your own request, sir," he said politely, an undertone of surprise beneath his courtesy. "This is a three-zero account. It's customary at the Gemeinschaft for holders of such accounts to telephone in advance so that a private entrance can be made available."
"I know that," lied Washburn's patient with a casualness he did not feel. "It's just that I'm in a hurry."
"I'll convey that to Verifications, sir."
"Verifications?" Mr. J. Bourne of New York City, U.S.A., could not help himself; the word had the sound of an
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