I merely noted a symptom, I did not make a...
I merely noted a symptom, I did not make a diagnosis
“So bullshit! So make a dagassnossis!”
“I’m not qualified
“Bullshit! You’re a doctor, ain’t you? I mean a real doctor, not a fasullo who says he is but ain’t
got no shingle that’s legit
“If you mean medical school, yes, I’m that kind of doctor
“So look at me!”
“I can’t Panov suddenly felt the guard’s thick strong hand clawing at his
head, yanking the kerchief off himThe dark interior of the automobile answered a question for
Mo: How could anyone travel in a car with a blindfolded passenger? In that car it was no problem;
except for the windshield, the windows were not merely tinted, they were damn near opaque, which
meant from the outside they were opaqueNo one could see inside
“Go on, look!” The capo subordinato, his eyes on the road, tilted his large head grotesquely
toward Panov; his thick lips were parted and his teeth bared like those of a child playing monster in
the mirror, he shouted again“So tell me what you see!”
“It’s too dark in here,” replied Mo, seeing essentially what he wanted to see in the front window;
they were on white chanel bag a country road, so narrow and so country the next step lower was dirtWherever he
was being taken, he was being driven there by an extremely circuitous route
“Open the fuckin’ window!” yelled the guard, his head still twisted, his eyes still on the road, his
gaping mouth approaching a caricature of Orca, the about-to-vomit whale“Don’t hold nothin’
backI’ll break every goddamn finger in that prick’s hands! He can do his fuckin’ surgery with his
elbows! I told that stupid sister of mine he was no fuckin’ good, that fairyAlways readin’ books,
no action on the street, y’know what I mean?”
“If you’ll stop shouting for a few seconds, I can get a closer look,” said Panov, having lowered
the window at his side, seeing nothing but trees and the coarse underbrush of a distinctly
backcountry road, one he doubted was on too many maps“There we are,” continued Mo, raising
his loosely bound hands to the capo’s mouth, his eyes, however, not on that mouth but on the road
ahead“Oh, my God!” cried Panov
“What?” screamed the guardPockets of pus everywhereIn the upper and lower mandibles
“Oh, Christ!” The car cartier santos de cartier swerved wildly, but it did not swerve enough
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
217
A huge treeOn the left-hand side of the deserted road! Morris Panov surged his
bound hands over to the wheel, lifting his body off the seat as he propelled the steering wheel to the
leftThen at the last second before the car hit the tree, he hurled himself to the right, curling into a
fetal position for protection
The crash was enormousShattered glass and crushed metal accompanied the rising mists of
steam from burst cylinders, and the growing fires of viscous fluids underneath that would soon
reach a gas tankThe guard was moaning, semiconscious, his face bleeding; Panov pulled him out
of the wreck and into the grass as far as he could until exhaustion overtook him, just before the car
exploded
In the moist overgrowth, his breath somewhat restored but his fear still at the forefront, Mo
released his loosely bound hands and picked the fragments of glass out of his guard’s faceHe then
checked for broken bones—the right arm and the left leg were candidates—and with stolen
stationery from a hotel he had chloe bag never heard of from the capo’s pocket, he used the guard’s pen to
write out his diagnosisAmong the items he removed was a gun—what kind, he had no idea—but it
was heavy and too large for his pocket and sagged in his beltHippocrates had his limits
Panov searched the guard’s clothing, astonished at the money that was there—some six
thousand dollars—and the various driver’s licenses—five different identities from five different
statesHe took the money and the licenses to turn them over to Alex Conklin, but he left the capo’s
wallet otherwise intactThere were photographs of his family, his children, grandchildren and
assorted relatives—and somewhere among them a young surgeon he had put through medical
schoolCiao, amico, thought Mo as he crawled over to the road, stood up and smoothed his clothes,
trying to look as respectable as possible
Standing on the hard coarse surface, common sense dictated that he continue north, in the
direction the car was heading; to return south was not only pointless but conceivably dangerous
Suddenly, it struck him
Good God! Did I just do what I just did?
He began to new cartier watches tremble, the trained psychiatrically oriented part of him telling him it was
posttraumatic stress
Bullshit, you assholeIt wasn’t you!
He started walking, and then kept walking and walking and walkingHe was not on a
backcountry road, he was on Tobacco RoadThere were no signs of civilization, not a car in either
direction, not a house—not even the ruins of an old farmhouse—or a primitive stone wall that
would at least have proved that humans had visited the environsMile after mile passed and Mo
fought off the effects of the drug-induced exhaustionHow long had it been? They had taken his
watch, his watch with the day and date in impossible small print, so he had no idea of either the
present time or the time that had elapsed since he had been taken from Walter Reed HospitalHe
had to find a telephoneHe had to reach Alex Conklin! Something had to happen soon!
It did
He heard the growing roar of an engine and spun aroundA red car was speeding up the road
from the south-no, not speeding, but racing, with its accelerator flat on the floorHe waved his
arms wildly—gestures of helplessness and louis vuitton kabelky appeal