The Ghost(英文版)- 第12部分

　　“Right。　How　long　do　you　need　from　me？”

　　“Full　time？”　I　sipped　my　drink　and　tried　not　to　wince　at　the　sweet　taste。　“If　we　work　really　hard　we　should　be　able　to　break　the　back　of　it　in　a　week。”

　　“A　week？”　Lang　performed　a　little　facial　mime　of　alarm。

　　I　resisted　the　temptation　to　point　out　that　ten　mllion　dollars　for　a　week’s　work　wasn’t　exactly　the　national　minimum　wage。　“I　may　need　to　come　back　to　you　to　plug　any　holes；　but　if　you　can　give　me　till　Friday；　I’ll　have　enough　to　rewrite　most　of　this　draft。　The　important　thing　is　that　we　start　tomorrow　and　get　the　early　years　out　of　the　way。”

　　“Fine。　The　sooner　we　get　it　done　the　better。”　Suddenly　Lang　was　leaning　forward；　a　study　in　frank　intimacy；　his　elbows　on　his　knees；　his　glass　between　his　hands。　“Ruth’s　going　stir…crazy　out　here。　I　keep　telling　her　to　go　back　to　London　while　I　finish　the　book；　see　the　kids；　but　she　won’t　leave　me。　I　love　your　work；　I　have　to　say。”

　　I　almost　choked　on　my　tea。　“You’ve　read　some　of　it？”　I　tried　to　imagine　what　footballer；　or　rock　star；　or　magician；　or　reality　game　show　contestant　might　have　come　to　the　attention　of　a　prime　minister。

　　“Sure；”　he　said；　without　a　flicker　of　doubt。　“There　was　some　fellow　we　were　on　holiday　with—”

　　“Christy　Costello？”

　　“Christy　Costello！　Brilliant。　If　you　can　make　sense　out　of　his　life；　you　might　even　be　able　to　make　sense　out　of　mine。”　He　jumped　up　and　shook　my　hand。　“It’s　good　to　meet　you；　man。　We’ll　make　a　start　first　thing　tomorrow。　I’ll　get　Amelia　to　fix　you　a　car　to　take　you　back　to　your　hotel。”　And　then　he　suddenly　started　singing：

　　“Once　in　a　lifetime

　　You　get　to　have　it　all

　　But　you　never　knew　you　had　it

　　Till　you　go　and　lose　it　all。”

　　He　pointed　at　me。　“Christy　Costello；　‘Once　in　a　Lifetime；’　nineteen　seventy”—he　wobbled　his　hand　speculatively；　his　head　cocked；　his　eyes　half　closed　in　concentration—“seven？”

　　“Eight。”

　　“Nineteen　seventy…eight！　Those　were　the　days！　I　can　feel　it　all　coming　back。”

　　“Save　it　for　tomorrow；”　I　said。

　　“HOelia　as　she　showed　me　to　the　door。

　　“Pretty　well；　I　think。　It　was　all　very　friendly。　He　kept　calling　me　‘man。’”

　　“Yes。　He　always　does　that　when　he　can’t　remember　someone’s　name。”

　　“Tomorrow；”　I　said；　“I’ll　need　a　private　room　where　I　can　do　the　interviewing。　I’ll　need　a　secretary　to　transcribe　his　answers　as　we　go　along—every　time　we　break　I’ll　bring　the　fresh　tapes　out　to　her。　I’ll　need　my　own　copy　of　the　existing　manuscript　on　disk—yes；　I　know；”　I　said；　holding　up　my　hand　to　cut　off　her　objections；　“I　won’t　take　it　out　of　the　house。　But　I’m　going　to　have　to　cut　and　paste　it　into　the　new　material；　and　also　try　to　rewrite　it　so　that　it　sounds　vaguely　like　it　was　produced　by　a　human　being。”

　　She　was　writing　all　this　down　in　her　black　and　red　book。　“Anything　else？”

　　“How　about　dinner？”

　　“Good　night；”　she　said　firmly　and　closed　the　door。

　　One　of　the　policemen　gave　me　a　ride　back　to　Edgartown。　He　was　as　morose　as　his　colleague　on

　　the　gate。　“I　hope　you　get　this　book　done　soon；”　he　said。　“Me　and　the　lads　are　getting　pretty　brassed　off　stuck　out　here。”

　　He　dropped　me　at　the　hotel　and　said　he’d　pick　me　up　again　in　the　morning。　I　had　just　opened　the　door　to　my　room　when　my　cell　phone　rang。　It　was　Kate。

　　“Are　you　okay？”　she　said。　“I　got　your　message。　You　sounded　a　bit…odd。”

　　“Did　I？　Sorry。　I’m　fine　now。”　I　fought　back　the　impulse　to　ask　her　where　she’d　been　when　I　called。

　　“So？　Have　you　met　him？”

　　“I　have。　I’ve　just　come　from　him。”

　　“And？”　Before　I　could　answer；　she　said；　“Don’t　tell　me：　charming。”

　　I　briefly　held　the　phone　away　from　my　ear　and　gave　it　the　finger。

　　“You　certainly　pick　your　moments；”　she　went　on。　“Did　you　see　yesterday’s　papers？　You　must　be　the　first　recorded　instance　of　a　rat　actually　boarding　a　sinking　ship。”

　　“Yes；　of　course　I　saw　them；”　I　said　defensively；　“and　I’m　going　to　ask　him　about　it。”

　　“When？”

　　“When　the　moment　arises。”

　　She　made　an　explosive　noise　that　somehow　managed　to　combine　hilarity；　fury；　contempt；　and　disbelief。　“Well；　yes；do　ask　him。　Ask　him　why　he　illegally　kidnaps　British　citizens　in　another　country　and　hands　them　over　to　be　tortured。　Ask　him　if　he　knows　about　the　techniques　the　CIA　uses　to　simulate　drowning。　Ask　him　what　he　plans　to　say　to　the　widow　and　children　of　the　man　who　died　of　a　heart　attack—”

　　“Hold　on；”　I　interrupted。　“You　lost　me　after　drowning。”

　　“I’m　seeing　someone　else；”　she　said。

　　“Good；”　I　said　and　hung　up。

　　After　that　there　didn’t　seem　much　else　to　do　except　go　down　to　the　bar　and　get　drunk。

　　It　was　decorated　to　look　like　the　kind　of　place　Captain　Ahab　might　fancy　dropping　into　after　a　hard　day　at　the　harpoon。　The　seats　and　tables　were　made　out　of　old　barrels。　There　were　antique　seine　nets　and　lobster　traps　hanging　on　the　roughly　planked　walls；　along　with　schooners　in　bottles　and　sepia　photographs　of　deep…sea　anglers　standing　proudly　beside　the　suspended　corpses　of　their　prey：　the　fishermen　would　now　all　be　as　dead　as　their　fish；　I　thought；　and　such　was　my　mood　that　the　notion　pleased　me。　A　big　television　above　the　bar　was　showing　an　ice　hockey　game。　I　ordered　a　beer　and　a　bowl　of　clam　chowder　and　sat　where　I　could　see　the　screen。　I　know　nothing　about　ice　hockey；　but　sport　is　a　great　place　to　lose　yourself　for　a　while；　and　I’ll　watch　anything　available。

　　“You’re　English？”　said　a　man　at　a　table　in　the　corner。　He　must　have　heard　me　ordering。　He　was　the　only　other　customer　in　the　bar。

　　“And　so　are　you；”　I　said。

　　“Indeed　I　am。　Are　you　here　on　holiday？”

　　He　had　a　clipped；　hello…old…chap…fancy…a…round…of…golf　sort　of　a　voice。　That；　and　the　striped　shirt　with　the　frayed　collar；　the　double…breasted　blazer；　the　tarnished　brass　buttons；　and　the　blue　silk　handkerchief　in　the　top　pocket；　all　flashed　bore；　bore；　bore　as　clearly　as　the　Edgartown　Lighthouse。

　　“No。　Working。”　I　resumed　watching　the　game。

　　“So　what’s　your　line？”　He　had　a　glass　of　something　clear　with　ice　and　a　slice　of　lemon　in　it。　Vodka　and　tonic？　Gin　and　tonic？　I　was　desperate　not　to　be　trapped　into　conversation　with　him。

　　“Just　this　and　that。　Excuse　me。”

　　I　got　up　and　went　to　the　lavatory　and　washed　my　hands。　The　face　in　the　mirror　was　that　of　a　man　who’d　slept　six　hours　out　of　the　past　forty。　When　I　returned　to　the　table；　my　chowder　had　arrived。　I　ordered　another　drink　but　pointedly　didn’t　offer　to　buy　one　for　my　compatriot。　I　could　feel　him　watching　me。

　　“I　hear　Adam　Lang’s　on　the　island；”　he　said。

　　I　looked　at　him　properly　then。　He　was　in　his　middle　fifties；　slim　but　broad　shouldered。　Strong。　His　iron…gray　hair　was　slicked　straight　back　off　his　forehead。　There　was　something　vaguely　military　about　him　but　also　unkempt　and　faded；　as　if　he　relied　on　food　parcels　from　a　veterans’　charity。　I　answered　in　a　neutral　tone；　“Is　he？”

　　“So　I　hear。　You　don’t　happen　to　know　his　whereabouts；　do　you？”

　　“No。　I’m　afraid　not。　Excuse　me　again。”

　　I　started　to　eat　my　chowder。　I　heard　him　sigh　noisily　and　then　the　clink　of　ice　as　his　glass　was　set　down。

　　“Cunt；”　he　said　as　he　passed　my　table。

　　SIX

　　I　have　often　been　told　by　subjects　that　by　the　end　of　the　research　process；　they　feel　as　if　they　have　been　in　therapy。

　　Ghostwritin　g

　　THERE　WAS　NO　SIGNof　him　when　I　came　down　to　breakfast　the　next　morning。　The　receptionist　told　me　there　was　no　other　guest　apart　from　me　in　residence。　She　　that　she　hadn’t　seen　a　British　man　in　a　blazer。　I’d　already　been　awake　since　four—an　improvement　on　two；　but　not　much—and　was　groggy　enough　and　hungover　enough　to　wonder　if　I　hadn’t　hallucinated　the　whole　encounter。　I　felt　better　after　some　coffee。　I　crossed　the　road　and　walked　around　the　lighthouse　a　couple　of　times　to　clear　my　head；　and　by　the　time　I　returned　to　the　hotel　the　minivan　had　arrived　to　take　me　to　work。

　　I’d　anticipated　that　my　biggest　problem　on　the　first　day　would　be　physically　getting　Adam　Lang　into　a　room　and　keeping　him　there　for　long　enough　to　start　interviewing　him。　But　the　strange　thing　was　that　when　we　reached　the　house；he　was　already　waiting　forme　。　Amelia　had　decided　we　should　use　Rhinehart’s　office；　and　we　found　the　former　prime　minister；　wearing　a　dark　green　tracksuit；　sprawled　in　the　big　chair　opposite　the　desk；　one　leg　draped　over　the　arm。　He　was　flicking　through　a　history　of　World　War　Two　that　he’d　obviously　just　taken　down　from　the　shelf。　A　mug　of　tea　stood　on　the　floor　beside　him。　His　trainers　had　sand　on　their　soles：　I　guessed　he　must　have　gone　for　a　run　on　the　beach。

　　“Hi；　man；”　he　said；　looking　up　at　me。　“Ready　to　start？”

　　“Good　morning；”　I　said。　“I　just　need　to　sort　out　a　few　things　first。”

　　“Sure。　Go　ahead。　Ignore　me。”

　　He　went　back　to　his　book　while　I　opened　my　shoulder　bag　and　carefully　unpacked　the　tools　of　the　ghosting　trade：　a　Sony　Walkman　digital　tape　recorder　with　a　stack　of　MD…R　74　minidisks　and　a　mains　lead　（I’ve　learned　the　hard　way　not　to　rely　solely　on　my　batteries）；　a　metallic　silver　Panasonic　Toughbook　laptop　computer；　which　is　not　much　larger　than　a　hardcover　novel　and　considerably　lighter；　a　couple　of　small　black　Moleskine　notebooks　and　three　brand…new　Jetstream　rollerball　pens；　made　by　the　Mitsubishi　Pencil　Co。；　and　finally　two　white　plastic　adapters；　one　a　British　multipoint　plug　and　one　a　converter　to　fit　an　American　socket。　It’s　a　superstition　with　me　always　to　use　the　same　items；　and　to　lay　them　out　in　the　proper　sequence。　I　also　had　a　list　of　questions；　culled　from　the　books　I’d　bought　in　London　and　my　reading　of　McAra’s　first　draft　the　previous　day。

　　“Did　you　know；”　said　Lang　suddenly；　“that　the　Germans　had　jet　fighters　in　1944？　Look　at　that。”　He　held　up　the　page　to　show　the　photograph。　“It’s　a　wonder　we　won。”

　　“We　have　no　floppy　disks；”　said　Amelia；　“only　these　flash　drives。　I’ve　loaded　the　manuscript　onto　this　one　for　you。”　She　handed　me　an　object　the　size　of　a　small　plastic　cigarette　lighter。　“You’re　welcome　to　copy　it　onto　your　own　computer；　but　I’m　afraid　that　if　you　do；　your　laptop　must　stay　here；　locked　up；　overnight。”

　　“And　apparently　Germany　declared　war　on　America；　not　the　other　way　round。”

　　“Isn’t　this　all　a　bit　paranoid？”

　　“The　book　contains　some　potentially　classified　material　that　has　yet　to　be　approved　by　the　Cabinet　Office。　More　to　the　point；　there’s　also　a　very　strong　risk　of　some　news　organization　using　unscrupulous　methods　to　try　to　get　hold　of　it。　Any　leak　would　jeopardize　our　newspaper　serialization　deals。”

　　Lang　said；　“So　you’ve　actually　got　my　whole　book　on　that？”

　　“We　could　get　a　hundred　books　on　that；　Adam；”　said　Amelia；　patiently。

　　“Amazing。”　He　shook　his　head。　“You　know　the　worst　thing　about　my　life？”　He　closed　the　book　with　a　snap　and　replaced　it　on　the　shelf。　“You　get　so　out　of　touch。　You　never　go　in　a　shop。　Everything’s　done　for　you。　You　don’t　carry　any　money—if　I　want　some　money；　even　now；　I　have　to