MARY ALICE PAES Barreto

CIP-Brazil. Cataloging-in-source. National Association of Book Publishers, RJ.

L975u
Ludlum, Robert, 1927
The Bourne ultimatum / Robert Ludlum; translation Aulyde Soares Rodrigues. - Rio de Janeiro: Rocco,
1990.
Translation: The Bourne Ultimatum.
ISBN 85-325-0062-5
I. American Fiction. I. Rodrigues, Aulyde Soares. II. Title.
90-0614 CDD-813
CDU-820 (73) -3
Bobbi and Leonard Raichert,
two lovely people who
enriched our lives,
thank you very much.
PROLOGUE
NIGHT involved Manassas, Virginia, the field with his mysterious nightlife when Bourne silently crossed
the grove near the property of General Norman Swayne. Frightened birds fled from their hideouts,
crows awoke in the trees, and then croaked, verifying that it was a fellow conspirator in search of food,
shut up yourself.
Manassas! Ali was the key to everything! The key of the door leading to underground Carlos the Jackal,
the assassin who wanted only to eliminate David Webb and his family ...Webb! Get away from me,
David exclaimed Jason Bourne in the silence of your mind. Allow me to be murdered- in you can not be!
Each movement of the metal cutter in high fence was evidence of the inevitable, yet confirmed by
panting and sweat coming down his forehead. As great as was his fitness, he was fifty years old and
could do with ease, which was in Paris 13 years ago, when, obeying orders, tocaiava the Jackal. It was
something to think about, not to ruminate. Now Marie and had children - the wife of David, the children
of David - and there was nothing he could not do since it was solved! David Webb began to fade from his
mind, giving rise to the predator Jason Bourne. was going! crawled under the opening and stood on the
other hand, instinctively checking the equipment carrying. Weapons: an automatic, a gun with darts
CO2. A binocular Zeiss Ikon, a hunting knife in its sheath. It was all the predator needed, because I was
now behind enemy lines that lead to Carlos.
Medusa. Battalion stray Vietnam, the roving band, unauthorized, unknown, of killers and misfits, who
overthrew the jungles of Southeast Asia under the orders of Command Saigon, the first death squad that
provided more information than all the Saigon search teams and joint destruction. When Jason Bourne
came out of Medusa, David Webb was just a memory - a teacher with another woman, other children,
all eliminated. General Norman Swayne was a member of the elite
Command Saigon, the sole provider of the former Medusa. And now there was a new Medusa: different,
massive, the very incarnation of evil b mantle under a temporary respectability, he sought and
destroyed segments of the global economies for the benefit of the few, funded by the profits acquired
through a battalion old and stray , and unknown wanderer - completely out of the story. This modern
Medusa was the bridge to Carlos the Jackal. No doubt a customer would be irresistible to the killer and
the two sides would require the death of Jason Bourne. This had to happen! For that, I needed to
discover the secrets stored on the property of General Swayne, head of maintenance at the Pentagon, a
man frightened with a tattoo on the inside of the arm. A member of the Medusa.
Silently and surprise, a black doberman jumped into the bushes with fury and force totals. Jason
withdrawn CO2 pistol from the holster when the dog salivating and bared teeth jumped to it. Shot the

animal's head and the dart takes effect in a few seconds. Jason Bourne straightened the dog
unconscious on the ground.
Cut his throat! screamed Jason Bourne in silence. No, I answered your other, David Webb. Guilt is the
coach, not the animal.
Get away from me, David!
1
CROWD INVADED amusement park near downtown Baltimore, an uncontrolled noise. It was a hot
summer night and the sweat flowed from the necks and faces, except those who descended and
ascended screaming on the roller coaster or dipped with their sleds like fish in the fast water of the
rapids. The lights flickered wildly vivid colors in the center of the park, the harsh metallic sound of music
from countless speakers calliopes presto, marches prestissimo. men at the doors of stalls shouted, more than the uproar,
announcing their merchandise in monotonous chants, while momentary explosions lit up the dark sky,
sending cascades of bright sparks on the black pond. The fireworks drew arches glare. In front of the row
of machines "hit the gong," men with contorted faces and necks veined with insistence and frustration
trying to prove his own masculinity, the hammers hitting the boards hard addicts who refused to send
the red circles until the bell . On the other hand, drivers of
"Car crash" shouted enthusiastically threatening, throwing their vehicles on the other, each collision a
triumph of aggressive superiority, each combatant a hero of cinema that overcomes all
difficulties. Shootout at the OK Corral At 9:27 PM, a conflict without no meaning. Later there was a small
monument to sudden death, a shooting gallery that was nothing like the galleries with innocent size
requirements common to amusement parks. It was a microcosm of the most lethal weapons modern
equipment. There were imitations of submachine guns and MAC-10 UZI, missile launchers with steel
frames, anti-tank bazookas, and finally, a replica of a daunting flamethrower spewing their deadly rays
straight from huge clouds of smoke. There, too, the sweat dripped in frantic eyes, necks craned down by
men, women and children, with grotesque expressions on the faces twitching, destroying enemies hated
- wives, husbands, parents and children. All prisoners in the shackles of a war without end, without
meaning - at 9:29 PM, an amusement park whose theme was violence. The man, tirelessly and without
reason, against himself and against all hostilities against their fears. A thin man with a cane in his right
hand went limp stand where the darts with sharp points were thrown angrily into the balloons with
drawings of faces of public figures. When a balloon burst began theheated debates about the merits and
shortcomings of political idols reduced to tatters. The man followed the central passage, with watchful
eye, as anyone looking for an address in a noisy neighborhood and unknown. He was dressed simply,
with jacket and sports shirt, as if he felt the heat and the jacket was, in a sense, a necessity. It seemed a
pleasant man of middle age, with premature wrinkles and dark circles deep, result more from life than
that led age. His name was Alexander Conklin, the retired CIA spy operations. At that moment a man
was also apprehensive and overwhelmed by anxiety. Do not want to be there at that hour, and could
not imagine what a disaster that had forced him to go to the amusement park.
Approached the pandemonium of the shooting gallery and suddenly stopped with a gasp and her eyes
fixed on a tall, balding, his age, with a sport coat cotton shoulder. Morris Panov was coming from the
opposite direction and drove to his to the counter noisy gallery! Why? What was happening? Conklin
looked around quickly, scanning faces and bodies, knowing instinctively that he and the psychiatrist
were being watched. It was too late to prevent Panov entered the center of the arena, but perhaps not
too late to escape the two! The retired agent intelligence picked up the Beretta under his jacket, his
inseparable companion, and invested quickly limped away from the people with his cane, smashing
kneecaps, jabbing bellies, breasts and back, almost to cause disorder among indignant cries. Then threw
himself on the body's fragile medical stunned, screaming louder than the screams of the crowd.
- What the hell are you doing here?

- I suppose the same as you, David, or should I say Jason? was what the telegram said.
- It's a trap!
A shriek rang in the middle of the hubbub cluttered. Conklin and Panov looked immediately to the
shooting gallery. An obese woman had just been shot in the neck. The crowd went wild. Conklin
voltouse, trying to discover the direction of the shot, but in the midst of panic saw only figures
fleeing. Grabbed Panov and led him away once again facing the raucous crowd and terrified the central
passage to the other mob that ran in the opposite direction of the side of the roller coaster at the end of
the park, towards the shooting range.
- My God - yelled Panov. - That was for one of us?
- Maybe ... maybe not - replied Conklin
panting, listening to the sirens and police whistles in the distance.
- You said it was a trap!
- Because we both received a telegram wacky David using the name that does not use five years ago Jason Bourne! And if I'm not mistaken, your message also stated that in no way should call to his home.
- That's right.
- It's a trap ... You're faster than me, Mo, so use your legs. Get out - run like a motherfucker to the first
phone. A public telephone- co, anything that can be located!
- For what?
- Call his house! Tell that to David and Marie have children far away.
- What?
- Someone found us, doctor! Someone who is
looking for Jason Bourne - the demand for years and only
will stop when you have the sights of your gun ... You took care of the mind shaken David and I used all
my influence in Washington to take David and Marie live in Hong Kong ...The rules were violated and
they found us, Mo. You and I! We are the only official connection with Jason Bourne, address and
occupation unknown.
- You know what you're saying, Alex?
- You can be sure so ... Is Carlos. Carlos the Jackal. Exit here, doctor. Talk to his former patient and tell
him to go away!
- Then, what should he do?
- I have many friends, in whom no
can trust, but you have. Give it the name of someone
- For example, one of his colleagues who receive urgent calls like mine to you at that time. Send David
call him - or her - when you're in a safe place. Invent a code.
- A code?
- Jesus Christ, Mo, use the head! A nickname, Jones or Smith ...
- They are very common names ...
- Tom Schicklgruber or Moskowitz, what you
prefer. Tell him to tell us where it is.
- Okay.
- Now get out of here and not go home ... Stay at Brookshire in Baltimore, under the name of ... Morris,
Phillip Morris. I'll meet you there later.
- What will you do?
- One thing I hate ... Without my cane, I'll buy a ticket for that damn roller coaster. No one will look a
thing like a cripple. I'm terrified, but my logical way of escape, even if I have to stay in that car all night
... Now, get out of here quick!
The truck followed swiftly south on road that crosses the mountains of New Hampshire, in the direction
of the currency of Massachusetts, led by a tall man with strong features and intense expression, the

muscles of the face and pulsating light blue eyes furious. The light panel accented tones of reddish
brown hair extremely attractive woman who was at his side, carrying a girl on his lap eight months. In
the first backseat was a blond boy of about five years sleeping under the blanket, protected by a
portable grill. His father was David Webb, professor of Oriental studies, but in the past a member of the
infamous and never mentioned Medusa, twice the legendary Jason Bourne - killer.
- We knew it would happen - said St. Marie
Jacques Webb, a Canadian economist, who had saved the life of David Webb by accident. It was only a matter of time.
- It's crazy - David said quietly, not to wake the children, without the tone of voice diminish its
intensity. - Everything was buried files, maximum security and all that nonsense! As they could find Alex
and Mo?
- Do not know, but Alex will seek to discover. You said yourself that there is no one better than him ...
- Alex is marked now - is a dead man
- Webb interrupted with dark voice.
- It is too early to say that, David. He is the
"Best there ever was," like you always said.
- Only once he was not the best. In Paris, there
13 years.
- Because you were better than him ...
- No! Because I did not know who I was, and he was operating based on previous information I did not
know. He thought it was me, but I do not I know, why not act like he expected ... Alex is still
the best. Saved our lives in Hong Kong.
- So you're saying what I'm saying, right? We are in good hands.
- Alex maybe. Mo, no. That poor man is dead and beautiful. They will catch him and make him talk.
- Mo rather die than give any information about us.
- Do not have a choice. Go fill it with amytal and your entire life will be an open book. So they kill and
come after me ... behind us. So I'm taking you and the kids to the south, andto the south. To the
Caribbean.
- I'll send the children, dear. I will not
- Would you stop it? Agree when Jamie was born. So we bought the house, so almost bought the soul of
his younger brother to take care of her ... What he is doing very well.Today we own half of a very
prosperous inn on a dirt road, on an island, unknown until the day a Canadian businessman landed on its
beaches with a seaplane.
- Johnny was always the aggressive kind. Dad said he was able to sell a cow to calf old first quality, no
one would notice the difference.
- The important thing is that he loves you ... and loves children. I am also counting on that wild man
... Nevermind, I trust Johnny.
- While going trusting Johnny, do not trust
also in its sense of direction. Just passed the entrance to the house in the woods.
- Damn! - Exclaimed Webb, braking and making
one full turn. - Tomorrow! You, Jamie and Alison board at Logan Airport. To the island!
- Let's talk about it, David.
- We have nothing to talk about. - Webb breathed deeply, trying to control himself. - I've been through
this before - he said quietly.
Marie looked passively to her husband's face, outlined by the dim light of the panel. What she saw
scared her more than the specter of the Jackal. Was not looking at David Webb, professor speaks
softly. Looked for a man who both thought to have disappeared forever from their lives.
2

ALEXANDER CONKLIN entered the conference room of the Central Intelligence Agency, Virginia, leaning
on his stick. He stopped in front of the three men at the table long and solid with place for 30 people. At
the head was the grizzled CIA director. Neither he nor the two senior assistants Agency seemed pleased
to see him. After the formal greetings, Conklin, instead of occupying the place assigned to him, next to
one of the directors, the right of the general manager, sat at the other end and hit with the cane on the
table edge.
- Now that we greet, we can exclude the amenities, gentlemen?
- Not being very friendly, Mr. Conklin noted the director.
- I'm not thinking of kindness or courtesy at this time, sir. Just want to know why the secret regulations
Four Zero were ignored, allowing leakage of ultra-sensitive information that endanger some lives,
including mine!
- It is an offense, Alex - broke one of the assistants.
- Completely wrong! - Said another. - It can not happen and you know it!
- No, I do not know if it happened and I will tell you what is outrageously correct - Conklin said angrily. A man is out there with his wife and two children, a man whom this country and much of the world owe
more than they can afford, fleeing, hiding, terrified at the idea that he and his family are now
targets. We gave him our word, we all, that no part of the official files would never be revealed until
acknowledged, without a shadow of a doubt, the death of Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, also known as Carlos
the Jackal ... Okay, I heard the same rumors you have heard, probably from the same sources or other
better, that the Jackal was killed here or run there, but no one - I repeat, no one - had definitive proof
... However, a portion of that file was leaked, a part of vital importance that concerns me very closely
because it contained my name ... The mine and Dr. Morris Panov, the psychiatrist. We are the only
people
- I repeat, the single - closely associated with the man who took the name of Jason Bourne, considered
in all official sectors as the rival of Charles in the game of death ... But that information is buried in the
vaults here in Langley. How was it leaked? Under the rules, those who wish to share these files whether the White House, the State Department or the sacred heads of the armed forces - have to pass
through the offices of the director and his leading analysts - here at Langley. Should be informed about
all the details of the request, and after all there is a final step. I. Any request must be approved before
having my endorsement, or, if I is not found, should seek Dr. Panov, the only two people with legal
power to deny the request ... This is how it works, masters, and no one knows the rules better than me
because I helped them drafted right here in Langley, because it was the place I co-nhecia better. After 28 years in this difficult
profession, was my last contribution - with the highest authority of the President of the United States
and the consent of Congress, through the special committees of the Senate and House Intelligence.
- That's heavy artillery, Mr. Conklin - said director gray without making a move, his voice neutral.
- There were reasons for using heavy cannons.
- I'm seeing. One of the 16-inch hit me.
- Right. Now we have the issue of liability. I want to know how the information came to light,
and who was given.
The two assistant directors began talking at the same time as furious as Alex, but were interrupted by
the DCI dabbed their arms with his pipe in one hand and lighter in the other.
- Slow down and get back a bit ago, Mr.
Conklin - he said calmly, lighting his pipe.
- Of course my teammates know, but we both never met before, right?
- No. I left the agency for four and a half years and you were appointed a year later.
- How many - rightly, I

right - think I was appointed by nepotism?

- No doubt it was, but that did not bother me. The
You seem qualified for the position. As I understand it, has always been apolitical, Admiral formed in
Annapolis, head of Naval Intelligence who, incidentally, worked with a Marine colonel during the
Vietnam War, who later became president. Passed over many others, is
true, but it happens. No scolding.
- Thank you. But does have some
quarrel with my two assistant directors?
- This is now history, but can not say I have been best friends a field agent ever had. Analysts were not
men of fieldwork.
- Not talking about a natural aversion a
conventional hostility?
- Of course I am. They analyzed the situation thousands of miles away with computers programmed by
men we have never met and data not supplied by us. Of course it is a natural aversion. We treated with
human quotients, they do not. Green worked with little letters on the computer screen and made
decisions that we never would take.
- This is because people like you had to be
controlled - noted the director assistant of the head to the right.
- How many times, even today, men and women
as you are unaware of the total picture of a mission?
The strategy overall and not just a part of it?
- So should we give a general framework, or at least a general idea, so we can say what made sense and
what was not right.
- Where does an overview, Alex? - Asked the assistant director to the left. - When do we say, "We can
prove it ... for the good of all "?
- I do not know, analysts are you, not me. According to each case, I suppose, but anyway with a
communication more fully than I received in the field ... Wait a minute. I am not in discussion
are, you are. - Alex looked at the director. - Very clever, sir, but I will not let you change the subject. I'm
here to find out who got the information and how. If you prefer, take my credentials to the White House
or Congress and some heads will roll. I want answers. I want to know what I'll do!
- I was not trying to change the subject, Mr.
Conklin only deflect it slightly to reinforce my opinion. You, of course, was against the methods and
arrangements used by my companions, but some of these men ever cheated, lied to you?
Alex glanced at the two assistant directors.
- Just when you needed to lie to me, what
had nothing to do with the field operation.
- A strange observation.
- If they told you, they should have told ... Five years ago I was an alcoholic - still am, but do not drink
anymore. I was shortening the time of my retirement and no one informed me of this, what was the
right thing.
- For your information, what they all said was that you got sick, was not working at the level of its real
capacity until the end of their service. Conklin looked again at the two assistants, nodding to both as he
said:
- Thanks, Casset, and you too, Valentino, but need not do so. I was a drunk and this should not be a
secret, as it is me or anyone else. It's the biggest nonsense that can do here.
- We understand that you did a beautiful job
Hong Kong, Alex - Casset said quietly. - We did not want to deprive him of what he deserved.
- You have been a thorn in from the beginning

- Valentino added. - But we could not leave you hanging like an accident drink.
- Forget it. Let us return to Jason Bourne. So here I am, so you agreed to talk to me.
- This was one of the reasons that made me change
the subject for a moment, Mr. Conklin. You have certain professional differences with my assistants, but
I'm sure it does not question his integrity.
- Of other yes, but not Casset and Val As concerns me, they did their job and I did mine. The system was
flawed - steeped in fog. But now there is today no longer. The rules are clear and absolute, well, since I
was not looking, they were broken and I cheated, to tell the truth, lied to me. Again. How it happened
and who obtained the information?
- That's all I wanted to hear - the director said, picking up the phone. - Please call Mr. DeSole in across
the hall and ask to come to the conference room. - Hung up and turned to Conklin. - I suppose you know
who Steven DeSole.
- DeSole the mole changes.
- Say what?
- An old joke in the agency - Casset explained.
- Steve knows where the bodies are buried, but when the time comes he does not count for God, if you
do not order release Four Zero.
- I can say then that the three, especially Mr. Conklin, Mr. DeSole consider a professional perfect.
- Let me say - said Alex. - He
says everything one needs to know and nothing more. Moreover, he does not mind. Keep your mouth
shut and says he can not reveal, but not mind.
- That's another thing I wanted to hear.
Knocked on the door and the director had come. A
chubby man, of medium height, with eyes raised through the lens of wire-rimmed glasses came into the
room and closed the door. Casually looked at the three men sitting on the nightstand and then, with
evident astonishment, saw Alexander Conklin. In a moment his expression changed to one of pleasant
surprise and approached the old agent with hand outstretched.
- Good to see you, old friend. Makes two or
three years, right?
- Nearly four, Steve - Alex said, shaking the newcomer. - How will the analyst analysts, the keeper of the
keys?
- Not much to analyze or to save today. The White House and Congress is a sieve is not far behind. I
should be getting half of what I get, but do not tell anyone.
- Still keep some secrets, right? - The director interrupted with a smile. - At least the old
operations. Maybe at the time you deserve double the salary.
- Yes, I think we deserved. - DeSole gestured
yes and humorous, dropping the hand of Conklin.
- But eventually the day keepers of the files and transfers with armed guards for the underground
warehouses. Today everything is done with computers powered by analyzes of more specialized
machines. Do not do those long trips with military escort, pretending that he could be attacked by some
deliciously Mata Hari. I do not know how long it hold a briefcase to your wrist with a chain and padlock.
- Much safer - said Alex.
- But just to tell my grandchildren, mate ... "What did you do as a Great Spy, grandpa?" ... "In fact, in
recent years, many crosswords."
- Be careful, Mr. DeSole - warned the director, smiling. - I recommend cutting your salary by half ... In
hindsight, I can not do this because I do not believe one iota what you're saying.
- I do not - said Conklin, angry and
without raising his voice. - This is a scam - continued, staring at the fat one analyst.

- A striking observation, Conklin. Not

want to explain? - DeSole said.
- You know why I'm here, do not you?
- I did not know you were here.
- I understand. Just happened to be conveniently "across the aisle" waiting to be called.
- My office is across the hall. Well later, I might add.
Conklin looked at the director.
- It was again very clever, sir. Three men with whom I never had important contacts outside the system,
in which three men knew piamen I trust you, thus ensuring that I will believe whatever you say.
- Basically're right, Mr. Conklin, because what you hear is true. Sit down, Mr. DeSole ... Maybe this end
of the table, where his former colleague in the study may explain while. I heard it's a technique used by
field agents.
- I do not have to give any explanation - the analyst said, addressing himself to the chair beside Casset. But considering the observations somewhat coarse of my former colleague, I wish I could study it
... You're right, Alex?
- He's right - said the assistant Valentino. - Is growling at shadows wrong, but is
as well.
- That information could not be released without the consent and cooperation of the people in this
room!
- What information? - DeSole asked, his eyes widening to the director. - Oh, I know, that thing about the
ultra-secret which I spoke this morning?
The director nodded and then looked at Conklin.
- Let's go back to this morning ... Seven hours ago, a little after nine, I received a call from Edward
McAllister, a former State Department official, now president of the National Security Agency. They told
me that McAllister was with you in Hong Kong, Mr. Conklin, is this correct?
- Mr. McAllister was with us - agreed
Conklin dryly. - Flew undercover with Jason Bourne to Macau, where the bullet was seriously injured
and almost died. It is an intellectual eccentric and one of the bravest men I have ever met.
- He did not mention the circumstances, said only that it was there and it was not necessary to tear my
schedule, this conversation with you should have highest priority ... Heavy artillery, Mr. Conklin.
- Again. We have reasons to heavy cannons.
- So it seems ... Mr. McAllister gave me
ultra-secret codes to identify the exact file that you're talking about - the record of the operation in
Hong Kong. I passed the information to Mr. DeSole, so I'll let him tell you what he discovered.
- It was not touched, Alex - DeSole said calmly, looking at Conklin. - Until 9:30 this morning, the file
remained a black hole for four years, five months, twenty one days eleven hours and forty three minutes
without any penetration. And there's good reason for that status to be pure, but do not know if you
have knowledge of it or not.
- With regard to that report, I know everything!
- Maybe, maybe not - DeSole said softly. - Everyone knew you had a problem and Dr. Panov not have
much experience in security matters.
- Where devil want to get?
- A third name was added to the clearance procedures of that official report on Hong Kong ... Edward
Newington McAllister, at the insistence of his own and with the permission of the President and the
Congress. He provided all
- Oh, my God - said Conklin softly and hesitantly. - Last night I called him, re-Baltimore, and McAllister
said it was impossible. then said I would have to understand it myself, so marked this date ... Jesus,
what happened?

- I would say that we must look elsewhere

- Said the director. - But before that, you need to make a decision. You see, none of us know what was in
that file ultra-secret ... It
course and talked like Mr. Casset said, we know who did a magnificent job in Hong Kong, but we do not
know what. Heard something of our posts in the Far East, to be honest, we think it should be overkill
and all reports his name and appeared prominently Jason Bourne. What they said was that the two were
responsible for the capture and execution of the killer we know as Bourne, but there
bit you said "the unknown man who adopted the name of Jason Bourne, "declaring that he is alive and
in hiding. To be specific, we are lost - at least I am.
- You did not remove the files?
- No - replied DeSole. - It was my decision. As you may or may not know, any encroachment of a
confidential file is automatically marked up with the time and date of the penetration ... Since the
director informed me of the claim of the Security Agency on illegal entry, I decided to leave everything
exactly as it was. No penetration for almost five years, so no one had read or even knew of its existence,
therefore, not given the bad guys, whoever they are.
- You were protecting your ass down to the last millimeter.
- You can be sure of that, Alex. Those data have a flag in the White House. At the moment things are
relatively stable here and is not suitable for anyone to stroke in the opposite direction of the Oval
Office. We have a new man in charge, but expresidente is still very much alive and active. It would be
consulted, so why risk it?
Conklin examined the four faces in front of her and said quietly:
- So you actually do not know the story, right?
- That's the truth, Alex - said the assistant director Casset.
- Nothing but the truth, its boring - Valentino said, allowing himself a slight smile.
- I give you my word - added Steven DeSole with clear eyes fixed on Conklin.
- And if you want our help, we need to know anything more than vague rumors - the director continued,
leaning back in his chair. - I do not know if we can help, but I know that well in the dark, we can do
nothing. Alex looked again at each of them, the lines on his face tired deeper than ever, as if the
decision was agonizing for him.
- I will not say his name because I gave my
word - maybe later, not now. And he's not in the report, is a secret name - gave my word on it too. The
rest I'll tell you why I need your help and want to keep the file in your black hole ... Where should I start?
- For this meeting, perhaps? - Suggested director. What motivated you?
- Well, it'll be quick. - Conklin looked
thoughtfully to the table, clutching the handle of cane and then looked up. - Last night a woman was
murdered in an amusement park near Baltimore ...
- Li the case in the post this morning - stopped DeSole with a nod, smiling slightly. My God, you were ...
- I also read - Casset said, her brown eyes fixed on Alex. - It happened in front of a shooting gallery,
which was closed.
- I saw the news and thought it was a terrible accident. - Valentino nodded. - I have not read the details.
- I received the customary clippings of newspaper journalism which is enough for anyone, in the
morning - said the director. - I do not remember seeing this case.
- You were involved, old man?
- If it was not, it was a terrible waste of human life ... I would say if we were not involved.
- We? - Casset frowned alarmed.

- Morris Panov and I received identical telegrams from Jason Bourne asking if we were at the
amusement park at 9:30 pm last night. Was urgent and should meet with him in front of the shooting
gallery, but we should not, under any circumstances, call him at home or anyone else ... We had the
same intuition. He did not want to scare the woman did not want her to know what was going to tell usally peopl ... We arrived at the same time, but I saw Panov first and figured that something was
wrong. The right thing would be to talk before we meet, but we were warned not to do so. The thing
smelled bad, why did everything we could to get out of there as soon as possible. The only way was
using a diversionary tactic.
- So you attacked - said Casset in affirmative tone.
- It was the only thing that came to mind, and a
the few that stick can do well, and help me stand. Parti all shins and knees that were in front of me and I
stuck some bellies and breasts. We left the circle, but the poor woman was murdered.
- What do you think happened, come to any conclusion? - asked Valentino.
- I just do not know, Val was a trap, that I am sure, but what kind of trap? If what I thought then and
think now is right, as an experienced shooter could have missed that distance? The shot came from my
left, from the top - not that I necessarily heard - but the position of women and the blood on her neck
indicated that when she turned was reached. It could not have come from the gallery, the weapons are
secured with chains and massive hemorrhage in the neck was caused by a weapon of much higher
caliber than all of them. If the killer wanted to hit me or Mo Panov, his telescopic sight could not be so
far away from the target. Not what I think is right.
- You are right, Mr. Conklin - said the director - is wondering killer Carlos the Jackal.
- Carlos? - DeSole exclaimed. - What the hell the Jackal has to do with the death in Baltimore?
- Jason Bourne - Casset answered.
- Yes, I know, but it is extremely confusing!
Bourne was a paltry professional assassin, who was from Asia to Europe to challenge Carlos and lost. As
the director just said, he returned to the Far East and was killed four or five years ago, but Alex speaks as
if he is alive, saying he and a man named Panov received telegrams Bourne ... What the hell a
degenerate and more mysterious killer have to do with what happened last night?
- You were not here a few minutes ago, Steven
- Answered again Casset a calm voice. - Apparently they have a lot in common with what happened last
night.
- Sorry, but I did not.
- I think we should start from the beginning, Mr. Conklin
- Said the director. - Who is Jason Bourne?
- As the world knows, a man who never existed - replied the former intelligence agent. 3
- THE REAL JASON BOURNE was garbage, paranoid wanderer Tasmania that could take part in an
operation of the Vietnam War, about which no one likes to talk about today. It was a group of killers,
misfits, smugglers and thieves, most of them fleeing criminals, many sentenced to death, but they knew
every inch of land in Southeast Asia and operated behind enemy lines - sponsored by us.
- Medusa - Steven DeSole murmured. - You
all buried. Animals that were killed for killing without reason or authorization and stole millions. Selvagens.
- Most, not all - said Conklin. - But
Bourne true corresponded to all pejorative adjectives you can imagine, including the fact that he
betrayed his own men. The head of a particularly dangerous mission - more than that, suicide - surprised
Bourne transmitting its position to the North Vietnamese and summarily executed, releasing the body in
a swamp to rot in the jungles of Tam Quan.Jason Bourne disappeared from the earth.
- Of course he reappeared, Mr. Conklin -

observed the director, leaning forward.

- In another body - Alex agreed, with a
nod. - For other purposes. The man who executed Bourne in Tam Quan adopted his name and agreed to
be trained for an operation called Rolling Stone and Seventy One, because it was a building of the
Seventy-first Street A, New York, he was subjected to the most brutal indoctrination program . On paper
it was a brilliant strategy, but actually ended up crashing because of something that no one could
predict or even imagine. After living the role of the second most lethal killer in the world for three years
and moved to Europe
- As Steven noted, correctly - to challenge the Jackal in his own territory, our man was wounded and lost
his memory. Was found half dead in the Mediterranean and taken by a fisherman to the island of Port
Noir. He did not know who or what it was - only that it was a master in various martial arts, who spoke
some oriental languages and it was evidently a very learned man. With the help of a British doctor, an
alcoholic, exiled in Point Noir, our man began to rebuild his life - his identity - through fragments of
memory physically and mentally. It was a hellish journey ... and we, who had mounted the operation,
which invented the myth, we could not help it. Not knowing what had happened, thought he had
become the mythical killer created for us to catch Carlos. I tried to kill him in Paris, but when he had the
opportunity to blow my brains failed. Finally returned to us only thanks to the talents of a Canadian
woman he met in Zurich and is
Today his wife. This woman has more courage and more intelligence than any other I have ever
met. Now she, her husband and two children plunged into the nightmare again, fleeing for their lives.
With startled expression on his face aristocratic secure the pipe at breast height, the director said:
- Are you saying that the killer we know
as Jason Bourne was an invention? That he was not the killer we all thought we?
- He was killed when necessary, not to be killed, but it was killer. We have created a myth as an extreme
challenge to Carlos in order to lure him into the open field.
- Jesus Christ - Casset exclaimed. - How?
- Misinformation massive throughout the Far East. Whenever there was a major crime, was in Tokyo,
Hong Kong, Macau and Korea - anywhere - Bourne was flown to the site and claimed credit, falsifying
evidence, causing the authorities to become a legend. For three years our man lived in a filthy world drugs, gang leaders, crime, making their way underground to the single goal. Reach Europe and serve as
bait for Carlos, threaten their contracts, forcing the Jackal out into the open even for a moment, long
enough to put a bullet in your head. An electric silence enveloped the room. DeSole broke with a
murmur.
- What kind of man accepts a mission of this kind? Conklin turned to the analyst and said flatly:
- A man who had little reason to live,
a man dominated by the desire for death, perhaps ... a decent human being brought to the group
Medusa by feelings of anger and frustration. - Conklin paused, visibly distressed.
- Come on, Alex - Valentino said softly. - You can not leave us alone with this.
- No, of course not - Conklin blinked several times, returning to the present. - I was thinking how it must
be awful for it now - the memories, all he can remember yet. I had not thought a terrible parallel. The
wife and children.
- What parallel? - Casset asked, leaning forward with his eyes fixed on Conklin.
- Years ago, during the Vietnam War, our man was a young member of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in
Phnom Penh, a scholar married to a woman tahi, who met at the undergraduate level. They had two
children and lived in the high bank of a river ... One morning, when the woman and the children were
swimming, a jet of Hanoi, off course, strafed the area, killing three. Our man went crazy. Dropped
everything, went to Saigon and joined the Medusa

- Which was considered the most effective guerrilla leader of the entire war, fighting against both the
orders of Command Saigon as p against enemy squads with mortals.
- Still, he evidently endured war - Valentino noted.
- Unless the fact dislike Saigon and the ARVN, I think he did not care about anything. He had his private
war far behind enemy lines, the closer to Hanoi, the better. I think that subconsciously he was looking
for the driver who had eliminated his family ... This is the parallel. Years ago I had a wife and two
children who were eliminated in front. Now another woman and two other children and the Jackal is
tightening the siege, hunting them. This can lead you to something very close to madness. Damn!
The four men at the other end of the table
looked at each other briefly, expecting to spend that moment of emotion. So, the director said, his voice
quiet and low.
- Considering the time - he said
- The operation mounted to attract Carlos must have happened more than ten years, however, what
happened in Hong Kong was much more recent. Is there any relationship between the two
events? Without saying names, what you think you can tell about Hong Kong?
With his knuckles whitened by force that shook the stick, Alex replied:
- The operation of Hong Kong was the filthiest and
black ever held in that city and undoubtedly the most extraordinary I have ever seen. And to my
profound relief, we here at Langley, had nothing to do with the initial strategy, to hell with the
applause. I arrived later and found it turned my stomach. McAllister was also shocked because
he saw the beginning. So I was willing to risk his own life, so almost ended up dead on the other side of
the Chinese border in Macau. His morality intellectualized not allow him to let a man be killed by the
strategy.
- It is an indictment damned - Casset noted. What happened?
- Our people arranged the kidnapping of the wife of Bourne, the woman who had returned in the
memory of the man. Left clues that forced him to look for her in Hong Kong.
- Jesus, why? - Valentino said.
- A strategy. It was perfect and also disgusting ... I said that the killer called Jason Bourne had become a
legend in Asia. He disappeared in Europe, but no longer a legend in the Middle East. Then, out of
nowhere comes a killer based in Macau that revives the legend. It adopted the name
"Jason Bourne" and hired killings resumed. Rarely a week went by, usually a few days without another
crime was committed, they falsified evidence, the same provocation against the police. A false Bourne
was back to work and knew every trick Bourne true.
- So, who better than the man who
invented the tricks - the original, its unique, to discover the fake? - Noted the director. - And the best
way to force the original Bourne to launch the hunt was to kidnap his wife. Butwhy? Why Washington
was so engaged? There was nothing linking him to us.
- There was something much worse. Among the customers of the new Jason Bourne was crazy Beijing, a
traitor to the Kuomintang government was to transform the Far East into a firestorm. He wanted to
destroy Agreements Sino-British Hong Kong, close the colony and launch the country into chaos.
- War - Casset said quietly. - Beijing march on Hong Kong and conquer. We would have to choose one
side ... War.
- In the nuclear age - said the director. - Up
where the plan had already arrived, Mr. Conklin?
- A deputy prime minister of the Republic was killed in a massacre private Kowloon. The impostor left his
business card. "Jason Bourne."
- My God, this man needed to be stopped! -

exploded the director, twitching fingers on his pipe.

- He was - Alex said, relaxing his hand on the handle of cane. - For the only man able to follow his trail
and find it. Our Jason Bourne ... That's all I'll tell you for now, but I want to repeat that man is out there
with his wife and children, and Carlos is cracking down. The Jackal will not rest until you are sure that
the only person in the world able to identify him dead. So, start charging all we need in Paris, London,
Rome, Madrid. - Especially in Paris. Someone has to know something. Where is Carlos now? Who are
your contactshere? He has spies here in Washington and these spies found Panov and me! - The former
field agent again pressed his fingers on his cane and looked out the window. - Do not you realize? Added softly, as if talking to himself. - We can not let that happen. Oh, my God, we can not let
that happen!
Again the emotional moment passed in silence while men of the Central Intelligence Agency exchanged
glances. As if they had reached a tacit consensus, three pairs of eyes turned to Casset. Nodding, he
accepted the choice, as the man closest to Conklin and said:
- Alex, I agree that everything seems to point to
Carlos, but before we turn our gear in Europe, we need to be sure. We can not afford to be a false alarm
because we will be delivering the Jackal prey he must pursue, if we show our vulnerability with regard to
Bourne. From what you say, Carlos goes from an old operation called Rolling Stone and Seventy One,
because none of our agents was next to him in the last ten years. Conklin looked for a moment the face
of serious
strong features Charles Casset.
- Are you saying that if I'm not mistaken it is the Jackal, will be reopening a wound of 13 years and giving
it as a present, a prey irresistible.
- Yes, I think that's what I'm saying.
- Well I think it's a perfect reasoning, Charlie ... I am operating with external points, right? Are activating
my instincts, but remain external.
- I trust your instincts more than any polygraph ...
- I also - interrupted Valentino. - You
saved our team in five or six sectoral crises, when it appeared that he was wrong. However, doubt
Charles is valid. Suppose that is not Carlos? Not only we will be sending the wrong message to Europe,
but also, what is more important, we will lose time.
- So let Europe - said Alex thoughtfully and quietly. - At least for now ... Try the
miserable here. Get all the rings. Catch all and find out all they know. I am the target, let them come
after me.
- This would require a much stronger protection than we had planned for you and Dr. Panov - said the
director firmly.
- Then make another schedule, sir. - Alex
Casset looked for Valentino and suddenly raised his voice.
- We can make you two hear what I say and leave me to organize the plan!
- We are in a sensitive area - said Casset.
- The last thing may be abroad, but belongs to our infield. The FBI should take part ...
- Absolutely no - said Conklin. - Nin- GUEM more. Only five of us!
- Come on, Alex - Valentino said softly, shaking his head. - You're retired. Can not give orders here.
- Very well Great! - shouted Conklin, erguendose chair with difficulty, leaning on his stick. - Proxima stop, the White House, to speak with a certain president of the National Security Agency, called
McAllister.
- Sit down - said the director firmly.
- I'm retired! Can not give me orders.

- I do not even think about it, I'm just worried about your life. The way I see things, your suggestion is
based on the questionable assumption that the person who shot you missed last night on purpose, not
caring who could reach, in order to take him alive through the confusion .
- You are going too far in their conclusions ...
- Based on a dozen operations in which I took part here and the Navy Department and in plac-ing whose
names you would not even know to pronounce and which has ever heard. - The director leaned his
elbows on the chair arms and continued hoarsely and authoritative. - For your information, Conklin, I do
not desabrochei suddenly as an admiral of gold braid to the command of Naval Intelligence. I was part of
the SEALs for some time and took part in raids in Kaesong, where we came submarine and later, in the
port of Haiphong. knew some of those wretched Medusa and not remember any that did not deserve a
bullet in the head! Now you're telling me that there was one, who became hisJason Bourne and you are
willing to give everything you have and more to keep you alive and out of reach of the Jackal ... So let's
not talk, Alex. Want to work with me or not?Conklin sat back slowly with a smile.
- I said I had no quarrel against
your statement, sir. was just intuition, but now I know why. You was a field agent ... I will work with you.
- Very good. Great - said the director. - We will work with vigilance controlled and hope the theory that
they want to catch live're right, because we have no way of covering all the windows and all the roofs. I
better understand the risk they are running.
- I understand. And since two baits work better than one in a tank of piranhas, I want to talk to Mo
Panov.
- You can not ask him to take part in it Casset noted. - He is not of us, Alex. Why do you think that would take?
- Why is our and is best to talk to him. Otherwise Panov can give me an injection against influenza filled
with strychnine. You understand, he was in Hong Kong too - for reasons very different from mine. Years
ago I tried to kill my best friend in Paris for thinking that he had become a murderer, when in fact he had
lost his memory. A few days later, presented the Morris Panov, a leading psychiatrists in the country, a
doctor who does not support the nonsense of psychoanalysis so popular currently a psychiatric profile
"hypothetical" to which he responded immediately. Panov described a dangerous intelligence agent, a
bomb walking with thousands of secrets in his head, he had suffered a nervous breakdown ... Based on
the assessment of immediate Mo that profile "hypothetical" - which, a few hours after he was sure that
he had nothing hypothetical - an innocent man suffering from amnesia was nearly eliminated in a trap
set by the government at the Seventy-first Street A, in New York. When the remains of the man
survived, Panov asked to be designated as single psychiatrist. He never forgave himself. If you were in
his shoes, what would you do if I had not told what counted now?
- I'd say it was an injection against influenza and filled with strychnine, old man - DeSole concluded,
shaking his head affirmatively.
- Where is Panov now? - Asked Casset.
- In Brookshire Hotel in Baltimore, registered as Morris, Phillip Morris. Warned that it would not work
today - has the flu.
- Then we go to work - said the director, taking a notepad. - By the way, Alex, competent field agent
gives no importance to patents, and does not rely on a man unable to call him by his first name
naturally. As you know, my last name is Holland and my name is Peter. Hereafter are Alex and Peter,
right?
- All right, Peter. You must have been a son of
mother in SEAL.
- Since I'm here - geographically,
not in this chair - it can be assumed that I was competent.
- A field agent - Conklin grunted approvingly.

- Furthermore, since abandoned the useless diplomatic inherent to my office, must understand that I
was a motherfucker too stubborn. I want professional cooperation, Alex, unemotional. Is that clear?
- Otherwise do not operate, Peter. The mission can be based on emotion, there is nothing wrong with
that, but the execution of the strategy is as cold as ice ... I've never been in SEAL, his stubborn son of a
bitch, but I'm also here geographically, limping and everything else, indicating that I was competent. The
youth's smile Holland, contrasting with gray hair, revealing a professional executives of the problems
momentarily released to return to what he knew best.
- We can get along - said the director.
Then How to remove the last traces of the image of the director, put his pipe on the table, pulled out a
pack of cigarettes and lit one, starting to write in Notepad. - To hell with the FBI
- Continued. - We only use our own men, after examining each of the most powerful
microscope. Charles Casset, the slim and smart heir apparent to the post of CIA Director leaned back in
his chair with a sigh.
- Why do I have the impression that I have to
take account of the two gentlemen?
- Because you're essentially an analyst Charlie - said Holland. The purpose of surveillance is controlled to
expose those who are following someone, in order to establish their identities or stop them, depending
on the strategy. In this case, the purpose was to get agents Coyote had attracted Conklin and Panov
amusement park in Baltimore. Working all night and most of the next day, the CIA men formed a team
of eight experienced field agents, defined and redefined the ways that Conklin and Panov should follow,
separated or together, within 12 hours - roads covered by professional armed in relays progressive - and
finally ordered a meeting irresistible, unique in terms of time and place. The early morning hours at the
Smithsonian Institute. It was the Dionaea muscipula, the web of Venus.
Conklin stopped in the narrow, dimly lit lobby of his apartment building and looked at his wristwatch. It
was exactly 2:30 in the morning. He opened the heavy door, and limped out into the seemingly deserted
street. According to the plan, was to the left, keeping pace combined. Should reach the corner closest to
das2: 38h. Suddenly, a scare. In the shadow of a door stood a man. Alex held his mind-disguised Beretta
automatic under his jacket. Nothing in the plan determined the presence of someone in that part of the
street! But then, with the same promptness, relaxed, with a mixture of guilt and relief. Man leaning on
the door was a beggar, an old evil-ajambrado, one devoid of the land of plenty. Alex went on his
way. Reached the corner and heard a snap of the fingers. Crossed the boulevard and walked down the
sidewalk, passing through an alley. In the alley, another figure ... another old ragged coming slowly up
the street and back into the alley. Another beggar, protecting your concrete cave. At any other time,
Conklin would have approached the man to give you a few dollars, but not now. Had a long way to go
and a plan to execute.
Morris Panov approached the intersection, still puzzled by the strange conversation I just had on the
phone, trying to remember every detail of the plan, afraid to check to see if the clock had reached the
particular place at the right time - was advised not see the clock when you were on the street ... and why
could not have said "about the many hours"
instead of using the expression unnerving "time interval" as if it were an imminent invasion of
Washington. Kept walking, crossed the street that had been sent through, hoping some unseen clock
kept relatively in tune with the damned
"Intervals", calculated by various comings and goings between two landmarks in the garden of an
apartment building in Vienna, Virginia ... Panov do anything for David Webb -anything! - but this was
lou-healing ... No, of course it was not. If it were, would not ask him to do what he was doing.
What was that? A face in the dark, looking intently at him, as the other two! Este, sloped to the gutter,
with bloodshot eyes lifted to him. Old - weather-beaten, old men, old they could barely move staring at him!

Was now leaving dominate the imagination - the cities were full of these beggars, completely harmless
people whose psychoses poverty took them to the streets. As much as we wanted to help them, the
only thing he could do was blame the indifference of Washington ... There was another! In the space
between two stores, flanked by iron gates - he also watched! Stop it! 're being irrational ... Or not? It
is of course yes. Keep, keep on schedule, that's what you have to do ... My God! Another one! Across the
street ... Keepwalking!
The two figures converging paths that
crossed seemed insignificant in the vast area of the Smithsonian Institute, illuminated by the moon. Met
and drove to a bank. Conklin sat down with the help of a cane while Mo Panov looked around nervously,
aware as those who expect the unexpected. 3 were: 28h am and only heard the trill of crickets and the
summer breeze in the trees. Always on guard, Panov sat.
- Something happened on your way? asked Conklin.
- I'm not sure - the psychiatrist replied.
- I'm as lost as in Hong Kong, only that there
knew where we were going and who hoped to find. Their staff is crazy.
- You are contradicting yourself, Mo. - Alex said. He said I was cured.
- Oh, that? It was just a case manacodepressivo very close to early dementia. But this is
madness! 's almost 4:00 in the morning. Only crazy people make jokes at 4:00 AM.
Alex Panov watched the dim light of a spotlight
distant illuminated the massive structure of the Institute.
- You said you were not sure. To
mean?
- I'm almost ashamed to say - knows that
many patients invent strange images to justify their panic, their fears.
- What the hell do you mean?
- It is a way to transfer ...
- Come on, Mo! - Interrupted Conklin. What was the case? What did you see?
- Figures ... some leaning forward, walking slowly, with difficulty - not like you, Alex, because of an old
wound but incapacitated by age. Slaughtered, old, hiding in the shadows of the facades and alleyways. I
saw four or five of my apartment here. Twice he almost stopped and called one of our men, but then I
thought, my God, Doctor, is overreacting, confusing some pathetic beggars with what they are not
seeing things that do not exist.
- Exactly! - whispered emphatically Conklin.
- You saw exactly what was there, Mo. Because I saw the same thing, the same kind of people
who you saw, all pathetic, ragged, with slower movements than my ... What does that mean? What
do they mean? Who are they?
Slow steps. Hesitant, and the shadows of the deserted road, two men appeared low - old. In
first glance seemed no doubt members of the growing army of destitute homeless, but with a
difference, look who has a goal, maybe. Stopped about twenty feet from the bank, their faces invisible in
the dark. The old left-pitched voice and spoke with strange accent.
- It's an odd time and place unusual
for the meeting of two gentlemen so well dressed. They think just occupy the space that should be
reserved for the less fortunate?
- There are many empty seats - Alex said gently.
- This is reserved?

- There are no reserved seats here - answered

another man, in good English, which was evidently not their native language. - But why you are here?
- What do you want to know? - Asked Conklin. It is a private meeting and not your account.
- Handling business at this time, in this place?
- Asked the first old, looking around.
- I told you - Alex replied. - None of your
account and think they should leave us alone.
- Business is business - said the second man.
- What the hell are you talking about? - muttered Panov surprised.
- Field zero - Alex said softly. - Be quiet. - He turned to the two men. - All right, fellas, why not leave?
- Business is business - the old tattered repeated, glancing at his companion, whenever both their faces
in shadow.
- You do not have any business with us ...
- Do not be so sure - the first man interrupted, shaking his head. - Suppose I told you that we bring a
message of Macau?
- What! - said Panov.
- Shut up! - Conklin murmured, never taking his eyes of the messenger. - What Macao mean to us?
- Asked flatly.
- A great taipan wants to chat with you. The
great taipan in Hong Kong.
- Why?
- It will give you a lot of money. For their services.
- I ask again, why?
- We say that a murderer returned. He
whatever you find.
- I've heard this story before, it takes more. Moreover, very repetitive c.
- This is among the great taipan and you, sir. Not us. He is waiting.
- Where?
- In a large hotel, sir.
- What?
- We say that has a large lobby always full of people, and its name refers to the past of this country.
- There is only one the sim, the Mayflower - Conklin spoke with his mouth close to the microphone sewn
into the lapel of his jacket.
- As you wish.
- He is registered with that name?
- Registered?
- How in the reserved seats, I'm only talking about rooms. Who should we look for?
- No, sir. The secretary of taipan talk
with you in the lobby.
- This same clerk spoke to you?
- Say what?
- Who hired to follow us?
- We are not allowed to talk about it, so we will not talk.
- That's it - shouted Alexander Conklin looking over his shoulder when the spotlight lit up, illuminating
the area around the deserted path, revealing that the two men were amazed oriental .. Nine men CIA
quickly arose in the circle of light coming from all directions, hands inside the jackets. As apparently did
not need them and took no weapons of holsters.

Suddenly become necessary, but only realized too late. Two shots from long range rifle, coming from the
dark, broke up the necks of two messengers Eastern. The CIA men threw themselves on the ground,
rolling looking for protection while Conklin grabbed Panov pulling it down in front of the bank. The unit
of Langley, formed by former combatants, including former command chief Peter Holland, immediately
got up and everyone ran, zigzagging, one after the other, in the direction from which the shots came,
brandishing their weapons, seeking to protect themselves. After a few moments a cry angrily cut
through the silence.
- Damn - Holland bellowed, directing the light from his flashlight into the trees. - They got away!
- How do you know?
- The grass, the son, the marks of the feet. Those bastards were overqualified. Arrived, each fired a shot
and left - see the marks on the lawn. These feet were running. Forget it!No use anything else now. If
they had stopped to have a second position in nailed walls of the Institute.
- An agent field - Alex said, getting up with the help of a cane, with frightened Panov at his side.
Then the doctor turned quickly and, with wide eyes, ran to the two eastern.
- Oh, my God, are dead! - cried, kneeling beside the bodies, looking at the mangled necks. Jesus The
amusement park! The same thing!
- A message - agreed Conklin, nodding and grimacing. Stones SALT on track - added enigmatically.
- What do you mean? - Asked the psychiatrist,
turning quickly to the former intelligence agent.
- We do not take the necessary precautions.
- Alex! - Holland roared, rushing to the bank.
- I heard your message, but it eliminates the hotel - he said, panting.
- You can not go there now, I can not allow.
- Eliminates - neutralizes - more than the hotel.
This is not the Jackal. This is Hong Kong! external signs were right, but my instincts were wrong. Wrong!
- Which way now wants to follow? - Asked
director quietly.
- I do not know - said Conklin, his voice plaintive.
- I cheated ... Contact our man, of course, as soon as possible.
- I spoke with David - I spoke to him about an hour ago - Panov said, correcting himself immediately.
- You spoke with him? - Alex exclaimed. - It is
afternoon and you were at home. How?
- Have you seen my answering machine - the doctor said. - If I meet all called crazy after midnight, never
will arrive to the office in the morning. So let him touch and as I prepared for this meeting with you, I
heard the call. All he said was "Please contact me", and when I got the phone had disconnected. So I
called him.
- She called him? From your phone?
- Well .. yes - Panov said, hesitating. He spoke very quickly, very carefully. Just wanted to know what was happening, that "M" - he called her
"M" - would travel with the kids this morning. Only this, and hung up.
- At this time they have the name and address of
your man - said Holland. - Probably the message too.
- A location, yes. The message, perhaps - said
Conklin, speaking quickly and quietly. - No address, no name.
- In the morning they will have ...
- In the morning it will be the way to Tierra del Fuego, if necessary.
- Christ, what have I done? - said the psychiatrist.

- Nothing that anyone else in his place would have done - said Alex. - Receives a message from a friend
in trouble at 2:00 am. Naturally calls for it as soon as possible. Now we need to reach you
immediately. Not Carlos, but someone with a lot of firepower is cracking down, doing things we thought
impossible.
- Use the phone in my car - said Holland.
- I'll pass it to direct call, so nothing will be recorded or registered.
- Come on! - With all speed possible Conklin
across the lawn, limping toward the car Agency.
- David, Alex is.
- He chose a strange hour, friend, we're leaving. If Jamie did not need to go to the bathroom would be in
the car now.
- At this hour?
- Mo did not tell you? No one answered at home, so I called him.
- Mo is a little shocked. Tell yourself.
What is happening?
- This phone is safe? I was not sure
as the Mo.
- Perfectly safe.
- I'm sending Marie and the children to the south
- well to the south. She is complaining as hell, but rented a jet Rockwell out of Logan Airport, perfectly
safe, thanks to the measures taken by you
four years ago. The computers worked and everyone cooperated. Must leave at 6:00 am, before the sun
rises - want you to stay out of it.
- And you, David? What will you do?
- Actually, I thought about going to Washington and stay with you. If the Jackal is looking for me, after so
many years, I know what you will do. Maybe can help ... I arrive at noon.
- No, David. Not today and not here. Go with Marie and children. Get out of the country. Stay with your
family and Johnny St. Jacques on the island.
- I can not do this, Alex, and my place you
Nor would. My family will never be free - really free - not while Carlos out of our lives ...
- There is Carlos - interrupted Conklin.
- What? Yesterday you said ...
- Forget what I said, I was wrong. This comes from Hong Kong, Macau.
- It makes no sense, Alex! Hong Kong is finished, Macau is finished. Dead and forgotten and there
anyone living with reason to come after me.
- Is there somewhere. A large taipan "the
greatest taipan in Hong Kong ", according to the latest source and exterminated.
- They disappeared. Whoever house of cards collapsed Kuomintang. No one left!
- I repeat, there is someone, somewhere.
David Webb was silent for a moment and
Jason Bourne then said coldly.
- Tell me everything you know, with all the details. Something happened tonight. What?
- All right, with details - Conklin said.
He then described the surveillance controlled CIA. He explained how he and Morris Panov realized they
were being followed by ragged old who took turns in pursuit, until they reach the Institute where the
messenger spoke of Macau and Hong Kong and a large taipan. Finally, he described the shots that
silenced the two old Eastern.
- Is Hong Kong, David. The reference to Macau

confirms this. It was the basis of the man who passed himself off for you.
David was again silent and only listened to the quiet breathing of Jason Bourne.
- You are mistaken, Alex - he said finally, his voice
that seemed to float away. - Is the Jackal - via Hong Kong and Macau, but it is the Jackal.
- David, now is you that makes no sense. Carlos had nothing to do with taipans, Hong Kong or Macao
messages. The old men were Chinese, not French, German or anything else. This comes from
Asia, not Europe.
- It only relies on old - David continued
Webb, his voice low and cold, the voice of Jason Bourne. "The old Paris", as they are called. They were in their network formations, their messengers throughout
Europe. Who will suspect old men, beggars can barely move? No one will think of questioning them,
much less torture them. But even if they did, they would say nothing. His business was done are made - and move with impunity. For Carlos.
Hearing the voice strange and distant friend, Conklin for a moment looked at the dashboard, not
knowing what to say.
- David, I do not understand. I know you're upset, but we all are. Can not be any clearer?
- What? ... Sorry, Alex, I was returning to the past. Carlos looked all over Paris old men who were dying
or knew they had little time left, all blacklisted in the police and with little or nothing to show for their
lives, their crimes. In general we forget that these men have loved ones and children, legitimate or not,
they love. The
Jackal promised to take care of these people that their messengers sentenced to death left behind since
they pledged to dedicate the rest of my life to it. In their place, with nothing to bequeath to our
survivors unless suspicion and poverty, would not do the same?
- They believed in him?
- They had good reason to believe - have yet. Every month, Swiss banks send checks of different secret
accounts to heirs, the Mediterranean to the Baltic. It is impossible to discover the source of these
payments, but the people who receive them know by whose orders are sent and why. Forget your file
buried, Alex. Carlos tried in Hong Kong. It was there that he left this penetration was there that he found
his name and Mo.
- So we also do a job penetration. Can infiltrate all the eastern neighborhoods, all bankers Chinese
game, all the restaurants in all the cities within 80 miles of Washington, DC
- Do not do anything until I get there. You do not know what to look for, I know ... Indeed, it is
remarkable. The Jackal does not know who still can not remember much, but he assumed that I forgot
the old Paris.
- Maybe not, David. Maybe he's counting on the fact that you remember. Maybe this is all a prelude to
the real trap set up for you.
- Then he made another mistake.
- What?
- I'm better than that. Jason Bourne is better than that.
4
DAVID WEBB came from National Airport to the platform crowded. After checking the pointers, went to
the parking lots. According to the plan, should go to the last passage on the right, turn left and continue,
following the line of parked cars to find the Pontiac-gray metallic 1986 with a crucifix hanging on the
rearview. The
driver would be with a white cap and with the window down. Webb had to approach him and say, "The
flight was very quiet." If the man took off his cap and turned the engine, David would come in the back
seat. Nothing more to be said. Nothing was said, nothing between David and the driver. However, this

took a microphone under the panel and spoke quietly and clearly, "Our cargo is on board. Please start
moving the vehicle coverage. "
For David, everything was almost ridiculous, but once Alex Conklin be bothered to find it on Logan
Airport, the launch area of the jet Rockwell, and what was more, using the telephone and direct
particular director Peter Holland, rather think that they both knew what they were doing. No doubt, he
thought, had something to do with the call from Mo Panov, nine hours ago. Everything was confirmed
when the very Holland, on the phone, insisted that he would drive to Hartford and embark on a
commercial flight from Bradley to Washing-ton, adding cryptically that does not want any more
telephone communication private plane or government.
The private car-of-government hastened to leave the national airport. David had the impression that in
just a few minutes were crossing the fields and in time a little smaller, the suburbs of Virginia. Reached
the gates of an elegant complex of apartment buildings called Vienna Villas, in the district of the same
name. The guard obviously recognized the driver and raised the bar, giving passage. Just then the man
spoke directly to David Webb.
- This complex has five separate sections, built on a large plot, sir. Four condos are normal, with normal
owners, but the fifth, the farthest gates, belongs to the Agency and has its own entrance and
security. Could not be healthier, sir.
- I'm not feeling any ill.
- Could not be. You are responsible
direct CIA director and his health is very important to him.
- It's good to know, but how do you know?
- I am part of the team, sir.
- If so, what's it called?
The man was silent for a moment and when
said, David had the strange feeling of returning to the past, a past that he knew he had to relive.
- We have no names, sir. You do not have and
I have not.
Medusa.
- I understand - said Webb.
- We arrived.
The car turned around in the circular driveway and vehicle stopped in front of a two-story colonial
building with columns that seemed Carrara marble.
- Sorry, sir, just noticed now. You have no luggage.
- No, I have - David said, opening the car door.
- What about my temporary refuge? - Asked
Alex, extending both hands to the room elegantly decorated.
- Very neat and very clean for an old
bachelor cantankerous - David said. - Since when do you like curtains with floral color daisies pink and
yellow?
- Wait until you see the wallpaper in my room with roses print.
- I do not want to see.
- Your room has hyacinths .. Of course I would not know a hyacinth or he jumped down my throat, but it
was what the maid said.
- The maid?
- Almost fifty and looks like a fighter
Sumo. Also has two air guns under clothing and, according to rumors, several razors.
- A maid and both.
- A patrol powerful. Does not allow

a soap or a roll of paper that does not come from Langley. You know, it is ordained grade ten and some
clowns leave tips.
- Are they in need of waiters?
- This is very good. Our scholar, Webb, the waiter.
- Jason Bourne was waiter.
After a pause, Conklin said, seriously:
- Let's talk about it. - Was limping up
a chair. - By the way, you had a busy day and it's not even noon, so if you want a drink, there
a full bar behind those doors purplish beside the window ... Do not look at me, our black Brunhilde
I said that are purplish.
With a laugh frank and relaxed, Webb looked at his friend.
- It makes no difference to you, do, Alex?
- No, what the hell, you know very well. Some
drink once hid from me when I visited them at home?
- We were not under stress ...
- Voltage has nothing to do with it - interrupted Conklin. - I made the decision because he had no
choice. Take your drink, David. We need to talk and want you to be calm. Your eyes tell me it's on fire.
- You once said that everything is in the eye Webb noted, opening wooden doors and picking up a purple bottle. - You can still see, right?
- I said I was behind the eyes. Do not accept the first plan ever ... How are Marie and children?
I hope you have gone without problems.
- I studied ad nauseam the flight plan until the pilot said to leave it alone or take his place. Webb poured drink and sat in the chair in front of Conklin.
- Where are we, Alex? - Asked.
- Exactly where we were last night.
Nothing moved and nothing has changed, except that Mo refusing to abandon their patients. This
morning they caught him in his apartment, which is now in Fort Knox, and an escort took him to the
office. Later will bring him here with four changes of vehicles, all held in underground car parks.
- So it's ostensible protection, no longer hiding?
- It would be useless. We set a trap at the Institute and our men were too obvious.
- So maybe it works, right? The unexpected?
Reservations of a protection unit instructed to make mistakes.
- The unexpected works, David, not "automatons".
- Conklin shook his head quickly. - I take that back. Bourne can turn men into automatons efficient, but
not a surveillance team officially assembled. The complications are many.
- I do not understand.
- As good as they are, these men only
concerned with protecting lives, maybe save them, but they also have to work together and make
reports. Are career men, not shooters with advance payment, not mob killer with a knife in the neck, if
you make a mistake.
- This sounds very melodramatic - said Webb
quietly, leaning back in his chair and took a sip of the drink. - I think I was operating, it is not
Really?
- It was more image than reality, but it was real for people you wore.
- Well then I'll look for these people and use them again. - David leaned forward, holding the cup with
both hands. - He is forcing me to go, Alex. The Jackal paid to see my game and I have to show.
- Now shut up - Conklin said irritably. -

Now it's you who's being melodramatic. Speaks as if in a Western movie degree Z. You and Marie is
shown without her husband and children without a father. Such is the reality, David.
- It's wrong - Webb shook his head, looking at the glass. - He is behind me, so I have to leave behind
him. He's trying to make me "go", so I have to take it out of play first. It's the only thing that can happen,
the only way to get it out of our lives. Ultimately Carlos is against Bourne. We are at the point where we
left off 13 years ago. "Alpha, Bravo, Cain, Delta ... Cain is for Carlos and Delta is for Cain. "
- A code wacky Paris, 13 years ago! - Alex said dryly. - Delta of Medusa and her powerful challenge to the
Jackal. But this is not Paris and is 13 years more late.
- And five years from now will be 18, five years later, 23. What on earth do I do? Want to live with the
ghost of that bastard hanging over my family, scaring me every time my wife or my children leave home,
trembling with fear for life? ... No, shut up you, field agent! It is
tired of knowing. Analysts can provide dozens of strategies, we use six pieces of them, more or less, and
appreciate, but when it comes to the dirty business is between me and the Jackal ... And I'm with
advantage. I have you by my side.
Conklin gulped and blinked his eyes rapidly.
- That's very flattering, David, maybe too much. Function best in my element, a few miles away from
Washington. I always felt a bit stuffy in here.
- Not when I saw that plane landed
Hong Kong five years ago. At that time you have
had pitched almost half of the equation.
- It was easy. It was a dirty operation typical of cod DC that reeked of rotten, so rotten that offended my
sense of smell. This is different, that is Carlos.
- Exactly, Alex. 's Carlos, not an unfamiliar voice on the phone. We are dealing with a known quantity,
with a predictable person.
- Predictable? - Conklin said, frowning. - This is also crazy. In what way?
- It is the hunter. Will be guided by scent.
- But before going to examine a very experienced nose, then check the traces with a microscope.
- In this case, we need to be authentic, right?
- I prefer the safe thing. What you have in mind?
- In the gospel according to St. Alex is written
that to attract the prey need to use a large part of the truth, even if it is a dangerous amount.
- This chapter and verse refers to a microscopic target. I think I just mentioned them. What is the
connection with the case?
- Medusa - Webb said quietly. - I
use the Medusa.
- Now you 're mad - Conklin said, without raising his voice. - This name is so forbidden matter how much
you - let's be frank, much more.
- There were rumors, Alex, stories throughout Southeast Asia who crossed the China Sea to Kowloon
and Hong Kong, according to which the majority of those motherfuckers fled with the money. Medusa
was not exactly evil organization that you think.
- Rumors, true, stories, of course - stopped the former agent. - What those animals did not lay a knife or
a gun to the head of tens or hundreds of victims in what they called "tours"? Ninety percent of
murderers, thieves, death squads original. Peter Holland said that when he was a SEAL operations in the
north, never met a member of that group that does not deserve a shot in the head.
- And without them, the 58 thousand casualties could have been more than sixty thousand. Recognize
the merit of animals, Alex. They knew every inch of the territory, every square inch of the jungle
triangle. They - we sent more important than all the units together Saigon.

- David, I'm looking to accentuate the fact that there can never be a connection between Medusa and
the U.S. government. Our involvement was never officially recorded, much less recognized. The pro-prio
name was kept secret as far as possible. There is no statute of limitations for war crimes, and Medusa
was essentially a private organization, a group of misfits violent in order to make Southeast Asia back to
the state of corruption they knew and used. If it were discovered connecting Washington with Medusa,
the reputation of many White House and State Department would be ruined. Today they are
representatives of global power, but twenty years earlier were subordinate to men impulsive Command
Saigon ... We can accept questionable tactics in time of war, but never complicity in the extermination of
non-combatants and the diversity of backgrounds representing million, all paid by the people, not
knowing what I was paying. It's like those sealed files that describe in detail the financing of Nazis by our
bankers. There are things we do not want to ever remove their black holes and Medusa is one of
them. Webb leaned back in the chair again - now
however, tense, staring at his friend in the past and for a moment outside his mortal enemy.
- If I'm not mistaken, Bourne was identified as a former member of the Medusa.
- It was a perfectly acceptable and perfect disguise - agreed Conklin, returning the gaze of Webb. - We
returned to Tam Quan and "discovered" that Bourne was an adventurer who disappeared paranoid
Tasmania in the jungles of North Vietnam. Nowhere in that file we created is no hint of a connection to
Washington.
- But it's all a lie, is not it, Alex? There was a connection and the Jackal know that now. He knew when he
found you and Mo in Hong Kong - when their names found in the ruins of that safe house on Victoria
Peak where Jason Bourne was supposedly settled. The
fact send messengers to you and Mo confirms that, plus what you just said, that "our men were too
obvious." The Jackal was finally sure that the suspected 13 years ago. The member of the Medusa called
Delta was Jason Bourne, Jason Bourne and was a creation of the U.S. intelligence - and is still alive. Alive,
hidden and protected by their government. Conklin hit the arm of the chair with his fist.
- How did he find us, as I found? Everything, everything was perfectly and secretly hidden. McAllister
and I made sure of that!
- I can imagine several ways, but we can postpone the solution of this problem, we have no time
now. We need to act based on what we know Carlos knows ... Medusa, Alex.
- What? Act like?
- If Bourne was a member of Medusa, it logically follows that our secret operations were working with it
- with them. Otherwise, how could they have done replacing Bourne?What the Jackal did not know, or
not filed yet, is how far this government - especially certain people this government is willing to go to keep the secret of his connection with Medusa. As you said, a lot of people in the
White House and the State Department could be burned, and very pejorative labels would put on the
foreheads of the representatives of global power, I think that was the phrase that you used.
- Then suddenly have our Waldenheim Conklin shook his head affirmatively frowning, deep in thought.
- Nuy Dap Rahn - Webb said very quietly. Alex looked up quickly at him and David continued. - That's the
key, is not it? Nuy Dap Rahn - The Snake Woman.
- You remembered.
- Just this morning - said Jason Bourne
cool look. - When the plane with Marie and the children disappeared in the fog on the port of Boston,
suddenly I was there. On another plane, in another time, the words sounding on the radio, in the middle
of static. "Woman Snake, Snake Woman, aborting ... Snake Woman, hear me? Abort! " answered the
damn thing off and then looked at the men in the cabin that seemed about to split in half with the
turbulence. I watched every man wondering, I guess, which one would come out alive, wondering if I

would live and if we can not, as we were going to die ... Then I saw two of them raising his shirt sleeves,
comparing those ugly tattoos, those symbols that horrible obsessed ...
- Nuy Dap Rahn - Conklin said flatly. - A woman's face with hair made of snakes. Snake Woman. You
refused to do the tattoo ...
- I never thought it was a mark of distinction interrupted David Webb, his eyes blinking rapidly. - Actually, for me it was the opposite.
- In the beginning, it was an ID, not a banner or a flag that could confer distinction. Complex a tattoo on
the inside of the forearm, design and colors unique to a single artist Saigon. No one could imitate him.
- That old won a lot of money in those
years. He was special.
- All officers of the Command Center Operation Medusa had linked to one. Boys were like maniacs who
had found a secret code in a box of corn flakes.
- There were boys, Alex. Maniacs, you can bet they were, but not boys. Were contaminated by a virus
called gross irresponsibility and that ubiquitous Command Saigon made many millionaires. The real boys
were being destroyed and killed in the jungles while a portion of officers elegant, impeccably uniformed,
in the south, had personal messengers in Switzerland to handle their business on the banks of the
Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich.
- Watch out, David. We may be talking about
very important in our government.
- Who? - Webb asked quietly.
- After the fall of Saigon arranged for
to disappear discreetly all who were buried up to their necks in the trash. But I was away working for a
couple of years before that, and nobody talks much about that time and nothing about the Snake Lady.
- Likewise, should have an idea.
- I have, but nothing concrete, nothing that can be
proved. Just possibilities based livelihoods in properties that they could not have, that they could not
travel often or who occupied or occupy positions in companies that justifies high salaries and
shareholder rights, when nothing in his career warranted or justified these jobs .
- You are describing a network operation David said, in a strained voice, the voice of Jason Bourne.
- If it is a network, it is very closed - agreed
Conklin. - Very unique.
- Make a list, Alex.
- It will be a list full of holes.
- So, to start, limit yourself to the important people in our government who had some connection with
the Command Saigon. Might relate after all who possess it should not possess or have civilian jobs well
paid, they should not have.
- Again, a list would be useless.
- Not with your instincts.
- David, what the hell does this have to do with Carlos?
- A part of the truth, Alex. A dangerous, to be sure, but genuine and irresistible to the Jackal. Alex looked
stunned at his friend.
- How?
- This is where your creativity. Let's say between 15 or twenty names, you hit three or four targets
against which we can get proof one way or another. When we are sure of who they are, we began
applying various forms of pressure with the basic message: a former member of the Medusa has gone
mad, a man who has been detained for years is ready to blow his head Snake Lady and he has the
ammunition needed - names, crimes, exact location of the accounts in Swiss banks, the mixed salad

complete. Then - and this will be a test for the talents of the old Saint Alex we all know and respect - we
run the rumor that someone is more interested in than they get their hands on this dangerous traitor
and rebel.
- Ilich Ramirez Sanchez - completed Conklin
quietly. - Carlos the Jackal. What follows is also possible. Somehow - God knows how - spreads the
information that the two parties will meet. This means, interested in a murder set in which one of the
parties can not actively participate due to the sensitive nature of his official position, is it?
- Almost. Missed say that these powerful men in Washington can have access to the identity and
whereabouts of this much desired future victim.
- But of course - Alex agreed, shaking his
head in disbelief. - For them, simply lift the wand to undo all restrictions applicable to confidential files
and get the maximum information.
- Exactly - David said firmly. Because the person - or people - designated to speak to Carlos must occupy a high position, has to be as
authentic as the Jackal will have no choice but to accept it. He must have no doubt that it can not even
suspecting a trap.
- I would also make roses bloom during a snowstorm in Montana?
- Pretty much. Everything must happen within a
or two days, while Carlos is still recovering from what happened at the Institute.
- Impossible! .. . Alright, I'll try. I will settle here my work center and ask Langley everything I
need. Safety Four Zero, of course ... I hate the idea of losing anyone who is staying at the Mayflower.
- You may not be accurate. Whoever will not give up so quickly. The Jackal does not usually leave any
hole so obvious,
- The Jackal? Do you think that is Carlos?
- Not him, of course, but someone paid for it, so unlikely that anyone can hang a sign around his neck
with the name of the Jackal that nobody will believe.
- Chinese?
- Could be. He can use it, and can not use. The
Jackal is geometric, all they do is logical and by your logic seems illogical.
- I hear the voice of a man of the past, a man who never existed.
- Ah, but he existed, Alex. Really existed. And
is now back.
Conklin looked at the apartment door, with
a new idea provoked by the words of Webb.
- Where is your bag? - Asked. - Brought
some clothes, did not bring?
- No, and they will be thrown in a sewer of Washington as soon as I give others. But before that, I need
to see another old friend, another genius, who lives on the wrong side of town.
- Let me guess - said the former agent. - A
elderly black man with the amazing name of Cactus, a genius in the field of false papers, such as
passports and credit cards.
- That's right. Him
- The Agency can handle it.
- Not so well and with a lot of bureaucracy. I want nothing whose origin can be discovered even safely
Four Zero. This is a personal work.
- Okay. And then what?
- Start working, field agent. Tomorrow
soon want a lot of people in this town are terrified.

- Tomorrow morning ...? This is impossible!

- Not for you. Not to Saint Alex, Prince of covert operation.
- You can say what you want, I'm untrained.
- It comes back quickly, such as gender and cycling.
- And you? What you will pleasure?
- After my consultation with Cactus, I'll book a room at the Mayflower Hotel - replied Jason Bourne.
Culver Parnell, hotel mogul from Atlanta, appointed to the position of Chief of Protocol of the White
House under the twenty-year reign in the hotel business, angrily hung up the phone while writing the
sixtieth dirty word in her notepad. With election will change and the staff of the White House, Parnell
had now an administrator of a good family, who knew nothing of the political implications of 1. 600
names on the guest list. Then, to his profound irritation, found himself at war with his first assistant, a
middle-aged, also formed by one of the universities in the elegant east, and to make matters worse, a
lady very popular in Washington society who contributed part of his salary for a very unique dance
company whose members went everywhere with her underwear when used.
- Damn! Crap! - Parnell shouted, rubbing his gray hair. He picked up the phone, entered four numbers
on your console and said, exaggerating the accent fairly marked Georgia: - Call the Red, sweet thing.
- Yes, sir - said the secretary, flattered.
- He's on another line, but I'll stop. Please wait a second, Mr. Parnell.
- You're the most beautiful thing in the world, child.
- Wow! Much obliged! Now, just a second. It never failed, Culver thought. Some oil
soft magnolia worked much better than the bark of an old oak. That bitch his first assistant should learn
from his superiors in the south. She spoke as if a dentist Yankee'd just weld your teeth with permanent
cement.
- Are you, Cull? - Red on the phone said, interrupting the thought of Parnell, who wrote the seventy
expletive in Notepad.
- You are more than right, kid, and we have a pro- lem! Bitch fricassee is doing another one of his. I
marked the names of our friends on Wall Street for a table at the front desk that we offer to the French
ambassador, on the 25th, and she said we have to replace them with a fresh core-dee-ballet - saying she
and first lady are crazy for them. Meeer-da!Men money have many investments in France and this
White House reception can be very important. All the "Frogs" of Bol-sa Securities will think they have
influence with the government!
- Forget it, Cull - said the anxious Red. - I think we have a bigger problem and not even know what it
means.
- What problem?
- When we returned to Saigon, by chance heard of something or someone called Snake Woman?
- Heard a lot on "snake eyes 1 "- diss and Parnell with a laugh - but nothing Snake Woman. Why?
- The guy I just talked about - will call again in five minutes - it seems he was threatening me. I
mean, threatening really, Cull!
Saigon mentioned, hinted that something terrible happened at that time and repeated several times
Snake Lady, as if expecting me to go running scared ...
- Leave this motherfucker with me! - Parnell roared, interrupting. - I know exactly what the miserable're
talking about! Is that prim bitch my first assistant - it is the drug Snake Lady! Give
my phone to the worm and say that I know everything about your shit!
- Will you please me tell you, Cull?
- What the hell, you were there, Red ... Very well, we had some games running, even some minicassinos
clowns and some lost their shirts 1 Snake eyes - snake eyes. In the dice game, two points, a result
loser. (N. of T.)

in the game, but nothing that the soldiers have not done since I threw manure in the clothes of Christ!
... Only thing we did at a higher level and hired some housewives that in any way would be offering in
the street ... No, Red, that ass classy, calling first assistant, think you have something against me - so was
first to you, because everyone knows we're friends ... Send this crap call me that I hit his face and that
stupid bitch! Well, well, she did the wrong game! My men are in Wall Street and their tails are out!
- Okay, Cull, so I just send
talk to you - said the Red, also known as the Vice President of the United States, hanging up the phone.
Four minutes later the phone rang and it
Parnell was heard:
- Snake Lady, Culver, we are all fried!
- No, look here, your-head catfish, I'll tell you who is fried! She is not a woman is a whore. One of his
thirty or forty husbands eunuchs should have taken a 'snake eye' in the data, was Saigon, and lost some
of that easy money she announces as well, but no one gave a shit and nobody is giving a shit
now. Especially a Marine colonel who enjoyed a poker game high one time or another, and this time
he's sitting in the Oval Office. Moreover, his scrotum bagless, when he knows that she is trying to
further defame the brave boys who just wanted a little rest in the middle of a war ungrateful ... In
Vienna, Virginia, Alexander Conklin hung up. shot off target one, target two out ... and he never heard of
Culver Parnell.
The chairman of the Federal Trade Commission, Albert Armbruster, turned off the shower and cursed
aloud when he heard the shrill voice of women in the steamy bathroom.
- What the hell is happening, Mamie? I can not even take a shower without hearing their ber- ros?
- You can be the White House, Al! You know how it is
they talk so low and slow and always saying it's urgent.
- Meerda! - cried the president, opening the glass door and walked naked to the telephone wall jack. Armbruster talking. What is it?
- A crisis that requires your immediate attention.
- It's 1600?
- No, and I hope I never get that far,
- So, who the hell are you?
- Someone as concerned as you will get. After so many years - oh, Christ!
- Worried about what? ' What are you talking about?
- The Snake Lady, Mr. President.
- Oh, my God! -'s low voice Armbruster was an instinctive cry of panic. Soon controlled, but it was too
late. First shot on the fly. - I have no idea what you're talking about ... What is this serpent not know
what?
Never heard of it.
- Well then, listen now, Mr. Medusa. Someone got all the information. Dates, material deviations, banks
in Geneva and Zurich - even the names of half a dozen messengers in Saigon - and worse
... Jesus, the worst! Other names - missing in action ever engaged in combat ... eight investigators from
the office of inspector general. Everything.
- None of this makes sense! Is saying nonsense!
- And your name is on the list, Mr. Chairman. A man must have spent 15 years collecting stuff and now
want to pay all those years of work, otherwise will expose everything - everything and everyone.
- Who? For the love of God, who is he?
- We are investigating. All we know is that
was in the protection program for ten years and no one gets rich that way. Certainly was excluded from
the action in Saigon and now wants to recover the lost time. Stay alert.Soon we will contact you
again. With one click, the man hung up,

With all the heat and steam that enveloped him, Albert Armbruster, chairman of the Federal Trade
Commission, still naked, shivered with cold sweat running down his face. He hung up and looked at the
small tattoo and ugly on the inside of your arm. In Vienna, Virginia, Alex Conklin stared at the phone.
Shot number one on the fly.
General Norman Swayne, head of maintenance
Pentagon stepped back, satisfied with his long putt on the extensive lawn. The ball would roll to an
optimal position, allowing a good launch with taco number five for the seventh field.
- I think this solves - said, turning to his golf partner.
- Undoubtedly, Norman - answered the young vice-president of Calco Technologies. - This afternoon you
're taking my shirt. I'll end must three hundred bucks. Twenty dollars a hole, only got four more.
- Is your curveball, friend, need to improve.
- Okay, Norman - agreed the executive
Calco, in charge of marketing, approaching the support of the ball. Suddenly they heard the harsh sound
of a car horn golf and three-wheeled vehicle appeared on the ramp passage number 16 in speed.
- Is your chauffeur general - says the seller of weapons, immediately regretting having used the formal
title of the play mate.
- You are right. It's weird. He never stops
my game. - Swayne walked toward the car rapidly approaching, lying with him thirty feet from where
she was the executive. - What is it? - Asked the sergeant middle-aged currencies in the tunica, which 15
years ago was his chauffeur.
- I think that is something very rotten - the sergeant replied grimly, clutching the direction of the small
car.
- This is quite spectacular ...
- As far as the bastard who called. I had to meet within the club, a telephone audience. said I would not
interrupt your game and he said it was much better for me to stop treating. Of course, I asked who was
speaking, his rank and all that nonsense, but what he said scared me more than anything. "Tell the
general I'm calling to talk about Saigon and on some reptiles that crawled through the city for nearly
twenty years." That's exactly what he said ...
- Jesus Christ - interrupted Swayne. Serpent ...?
- He said he will call again in half an hour - 18 minutes now. Get in there, Norman, I am also in this
business, remember?
Stunned and frightened, General stammered.
- I. .. need an excuse. I can not go out like that, no more no less.
- So be quick. And Norman, you are short-sleeved, you fucking idiot! Bend the arm.
Swayne stared wide-eyed at the small tattoo and immediately bent his arm to his chest like a British
brigadier, with tentative steps back to the partner, feigning a calmness she did not feel.
- Damn, my boy, the army calls me.
- Well, damn it, Norman, but I have to pay the
I owe you. I insist!
Stunned, the general accepted without payment
count the money, not realizing that it was much more than a man should. Thanked confusedly and
walked quickly to the golf car, sitting next to the sergeant.
- There goes my hook, soldier - he said the armaments firm to support the ball and sent a shot needs a
little ball in a straight flight of the ball too far ahead of the general and a much better position.
- A business of 400 million, his boss motherfucker.
Second shot on the fly.
- But then what the hell are you talking about? -

the senator asked with a laugh. - Or should I say what's up Armbruster? He does not need my support
for the new bill would not be needed. It was a donkey in Saigon and is an ass now, but has the most
votes.
- We're not talking about votes, Senator. We are talking about Snake Lady.
- The only snakes I knew in Saigon were jerks like Alby who crawled through town pretending to know all
the answers when there was no ... Who the hell are you, anyway?
In Vienna, Virginia, Alex Conklin hung up. third shot off target. Phillip Atkinson, ambassador to the Court
of St. James, answered the phone in London, assuming the anonymous man, code "DC messenger"
brought some instruction extremely confidential State Department and automatically obeying orders,
called her "mixer" rarely used. The device caused static on the lines of intelligence and later he would
smile complacently for friends in Connaught bar when asked if there was any news from Washington,
knowing that either had "relatives" in MI-Five.
- Yes, messenger of the district?
- Mr. Ambassador, I suppose this conversation can not be heard by anyone else - said a low, tense voice
in Washington.
- That's right, unless they have invented a new kind of puzzle, which is unlikely;
- Great ... I want you to come back mentally Saigon, an operation that is never mentioned or
commented on ...
- Who is speaking? - Atkinson interrupted, leaning forward with a brusque gesture.
- Men never wore that group names, Mr. Ambassador, and not used to reveal our commitments, right?
- What the hell, who is you? I know?
- Nope, Phil, but I'm not surprised
recognize my voice.
Eyes wide Atkinson toured the room quickly, without seeing anything, just trying to remember, trying
desperately to put a face on that voice.
- Is that you, Jack - believe me, we are in the mixer!
- It's hot, Phil ...
- The Sixth Fleet, Jack. A simple Morse Code
inverted. Then things bigger, much bigger. It's you, is not it?
- Let's say it is possible, but that's not the
case. The point is that we are in the middle of a storm, a storm very heavy ...
- It is you!.
- Shut up and listen. A frigate mother daughter
broke free from the shackles and is hitting everywhere, affecting many sandbars.
- Jack, I worked on land, not at sea. I do not understand.
- Some miserable must have been away from the action in Saigon and, as I said, has been under
protection do not know why, and now joined all the pieces. He has everything,Phil. Everything.
- Good God!
- He is ready to launch ...
- Stop it man!
- That's the problem. We do not know for sure who
he is. The secret was well protected in Langley.
- My God, man, in his position you can
have to stop everything! Say it's an archive of the Department of Defense, which was never completed ie, was made to spread misinformation! document is a fake!
- This could be the same as facing a barrage ...
- Have you talked to Jimmy T. Brussels? - Interrupted the ambassador. - He is a good friend of the head
of Langley.

- At the moment I do not want to pass something on. Not before doing a little missionary work.
- You know best, Jack. You are running the show.
- Keep your halyards taut, Phil.
- If you mean that I should keep my mouth shut, do not worry! - Atkinson said, bending the elbow,
wondering if there was anyone in London can take the ugly tattoo on your arm.
Across the Atlantic, in Vienna, Virginia, Alex Conklin hung up and leaned back in his chair very
scared. Was following his instincts as he had done twenty years of field work, words that led to other
words, phrases to other phrases, innuendos clawed the air to confirm assumptions, even
conclusions. Conklin knew it was a competent professional in this chess game of instant invention
- Sometimes too competent. Certain things should stay in their black holes, as an undiagnosed cancer
buried in history, and what he had discovered might be in that category.well-aimed Shots Three, Four
and Five.
Phillip Atkinson, ambassador to Britain. James Teagarten, supreme commander of NATO. Jonathan
"Jack" Burton, a former admiral of the Sixth Fleet currently President of the General Staff of the Armed
Forces. Snake Woman. Medusa.
A network operations.
5
WAS LIKE if nothing had changed, thought Jason Bourne, aware that his other self, David Webb, was
receding. The taxi took him to the neighborhood once elegant, now depleted in northeast Washington,
and as five years ago, the driver refused to wait. Passed by way slabs overgrown leading to the old
house that, like the first time, it seemed very old, very frail and in need of repairs. He rang the bell,
wondering if Cactus still be alive. Yes, it was. The
Black man and slender face and kind eyes friend appeared at the door just as five years ago, squinting
protected by the brim of his cap. Until his first words were a slight variation of it was used at that time.
- Has ice in your car, Jason?
- No car, no cab, he would not wait.
- You must have heard the lies of fascist press. I have torpedo the windows just to impress this
neighborly friendly and gentle. BTW, I think of you often. Why not call for this man?
- Your phone is not listed, Cactus.
- Certainly careless. - Bourne entered and
old man closed the door. - You have a few gray hairs, Br'er Rabbit - added, examining his friend. - Other
than that, not much has changed. Maybe one or two more lines on his face, but it gives more
personality.
- I also have a wife and two children, Uncle Remus. A boy and a girl.
- I know that. Mo Panov keeps me informed
though he could not say where you are living - what I do not want to know, Jason.
Bourne blinked, shaking his head slowly.
- I still forget things, Cactus. Sorry. I forgot you and Mo are friends.
- Oh, the good doctor calls me at least one
once a month and says, "Cactus, you rascal, view one of his suits Pierre Cardin, Gucci put on your shoes
and let's have lunch." So I say, "Where will this old black get these things?" And he says, "You probably
owns a shopping center in the best spot in town ..."
Now this is an exaggeration, God knows. I have one or two pieces of real estate, but never go near
them. They both laughed and Jason looked at the dark face and black eyes and affectionate.
- I just remembered something else. 13 years ago, at the hospital in Virginia ... you came to visit
me. Besides Marie and those motherfuckers government, was the only visit I received.
- Grasped Panov, Br'er Rabbit. When you worked on in Europe, in my capacity as unofficial, I told Morris
that is not studied the face of a man with lenses without learning something about that face on that

man. I wanted you to talk of things that I could not find the lenses and Morris liked the idea ... Now it's
past time of confession, I must say it is very good to see you again, Jason, but to tell the truth, I'm not
too happy to see him, if you know what I mean.
- I need your help, Cactus.
- This is the reason for my unhappiness. You have
been through a lot and would not be here if I was not looking for more trouble, and if you want my
professional opinion scrutinizing lenses, it is not very healthy thing.
- You have to help me.
- So, you better have a good reason, approved by the good doctor, because I will not get into anything
that could bring more harm to you ... I found your lovely woman with red hair a few times in the hospital
- she is special, Br'er, and their children should be too, so understand that I can not take part in anything
that might harm them. Forgive me, but you are like relatives of another time, a time about which we do
not speak, but that is my thought.
- Because of them need your help.
- Be more clear, Jason.
- The Jackal is cracking down. He found us in Hong Kong and I and my family are in their sights
fire. Please help me.
The old man's eyes widened under his baseball cap with a tremendous fury in dilated pupils.
- The good doctor know that?
- He's at it too. You may not approve of what I'm doing, but if it is honest with himself, he knows that
the end of it all and I will be the Jackal. Help me, Cactus. The old man watched for a moment his client in
the shadows of the late afternoon.
- You're in good shape, Br'er Rabbit? - Asked. - Still has good physical layout?
- I run ten kilometers every morning and lift weight at least twice a week in the gym of the university ...
- I did not hear anything. I do not want to know anything about colleges or universities ...
- So you have not heard.
- Of course not. But I can say that you seem in good condition.
- I try to keep it that way, Cactus - Jason said quietly. - Sometimes it is just the phone's ringer or Marie is
delayed or out with the kids and do not know where to find it ... or a stranger stops me to ask where is a
street, and everything back - he returns. The Jackal. While there is a possibility of him being alive to be
prepared because they will not give up looking for me. The irony of it all is that the hunt is based on an
assumption that may or may not be true. The Jackal thinks that we can identify you, but I'm not sure
that actually nothing is perfectly in focus yet.
- Have you thought about sending him a message?
- With all the money he has, I can put an ad in the Wall Street Journal. "Dear Old Friend Carlos: Boy, I got
news for you ..."
- Do not play, Jason, is not impossible. His friend Alex might find a way. The leg no effect on his mind. I
think the word is elegant serpentine.
- Exactly why, if he did not try yet, must have a good reason.
- I guess I can not deny it ... Then we go to work, Br'er Rabbit. What do you want?
Passing through an archway and through a door, Cactus led to the living room full of old furniture and
bedspreads yellow.
- My studio is not as elegant as it was before, but all the equipment is here. You understand, I'm kind of
retired. My financial planners created a hell of a retirement program with great benefits of tax
exemption, so the pressure is not too intense.
- You are simply amazing - said Bourne.
- Yeah, I think some may think that all
who are not serving time in jail. What you have in mind?

- Actually, myself. Not Europe or Hong

Kong, of course. Only papers.
- So the Chameleon retreats to another outfit. Himself.
Jason stopped near the door.
- Another thing that I had forgotten. It was so they called me, was not it?
- Chameleon? ... Yes, they called, not without reason, as they say. Six people could see the faces of our
men and Bourne would have six different descriptions. And
without a glass makeup.
- Everything starts again, Cactus.
- Honestly, I'd rather you did not need, but if you must, make sure that everything is back ... Come to
magical room.
Three hours twenty minutes after the magic was made. David Webb, master of Eastern subjects and
three years Jason Bourne, the assassin, had two names on her passport, driver's licenses and voter
registration, to confirm identification. And since no taxi ventured in "field operations" of Cactus, a
neighbor unemployed, with several gold chains around his neck and wrists, took the Cactus client to
downtown Washington in his new Cadillac Allant. The payphone department store Garfinkel, Jason
called Alex, Virginia, informing him of his two new names and chose one for the Mayflower
Hotel. Conklin was officially reserve a room for the case to be few places in the summer season. Langley
would activate a Four Zero imperative to provide all necessary material Bourne, delivering it to your
room at the hotel, as soon as possible. The estimate was at least three hours with no guarantee of
authenticity nor time. Still, Jason thought, while Alex reconfirmed the information with the CIA, a
second straight line, could only be at the hotel within three hours. Needed to buy clothes. The
Chameleon returning to activity.
- Steven DeSole said he will start working on the computer, making a cross-reference collection of
information between databases Army and Naval Intelligence - Conklin said, turning to talk to him. Peter Holland can do it, he is the President plate.
- Plate? I've never heard you use that old word.
- How in agreement plate.
- Oh? ... Thank you, Alex. And you? Any progress? Conklin was silent for a moment and when respon-ded
there was fear in his voice controlled, but was afraid.
- Say ... I'm not equipped for that
discovered. I've been away for a long time, Jason
- Sorry ... David.
- Said the name right the first time. Has talked about ...
- Say no name - interrupted exagente field quickly, firmly.
- I understand.
- Can not understand - Alex countered. I did not understand. In touch. - With these enigmatic words, Conklin hung bruscamente.Bourne hung
up slowly, frowning. It was Alex who was being melodramatic now, and it did not suit him. Your keyword
was controlling, discretion was his persona. Whatever it was, was deeply shaken by what they had
discovered ... as to give the impression that no longer trusted the procedures he himself had given and
not the people with whom I was working. If it were not so, it would have been clearer, more explicit. For
reasons that Jason did not know, Alexander Conklin did not want to talk about Medusa and not on what
he had learned when he began to lift the cloak of twenty years of cheating ... Would it be possible?
No time! No use now, thought
Bourne, scanning the lobby of the department store. Alex was not just a doer of his word, he lived for it,
since they were not an enemy. With a slight chuckle, Jason remembered Paris, 13

years ago. He knew this side of Alex too. If it were not for the protection of the slabs of the graves in the
cemetery in Rambouillet, his best friend would have murdered. But that was then, not now. Conklin said
he would
"Keep in touch". Certainly would. And at this point the Chameleon would have created various disguises
protectors. From the inside out, from underwear to suit and everything that was in the middle. Without
the danger of a laundry brand, no proof of a microscopic chemical detergent local use - nothing. had
given much. If needed to kill to protect the family of David ... Oh, my God, to my family! ... refused to live
with the consequences of such death or deaths. In the place where he was going now there were no
rules. The innocent victim could die Crossfire. It had to be. David Webb would oppose it fiercely, but
Jason Bourne could not care less. Been there before, knew the statistics. Webb knew nothing.
Marie, I'll finish him. I promise I'll get it out of our lives forever. Glean the Jackal and leave one man
dead. He can never touch her again
- You'll be free.
Oh, Christ, who am I? Mo, help me! ... No, Mo, do not do this I am I have to be. I'm cold and getting
colder. Soon I will be ice ... ice clear and transparent, so pure that I can move around anywhere without
being seen. Do not you understand, Mo - and you too, Marie - I have to do this! David has to
disappear. Can no longer stand by me.
Forgive me, Marie, and you, Doctor, forgive me, but I'm thinking actually. A truth that must be
considered at this time. I'm no fool and I'm not fooling myself. You two want me to dispose of my life
Jason Bourne, the release to infinity, but what I have to do now is the opposite. David has to leave, at
least for a while.
Do not bother me with these considerations! I
much to do.
Where the hell is the men's department store? When finished shopping, all paid in cash as many
different vendors as possible, trade all the clothes in the men's bathroom.Then would look on the
streets of Washington a grid of discrete sewer entrance. The Chameleon also was back.
At 7:35 pm the evening Bourne finished the job with the razor. Had removed all labels from new
clothes. Everything hung in the closet, except the shirts wet with steam in the bathroom to get the smell
of fabric not used. Went to the table where they were bottle of scotch, soda and ice bucket that had
asked. As he passed the phone stopped. Intensely wished to speak with Marie on the island, but it was
not prudent, not hotel room. The most important thing was that they had come to know well, as John
St. Jacques assured when David called from another pay phone in Garfinkel.
- Hi, Davey, they are exhausted. They had to wait nearly four hours on the Big Island until the opening
time. I agree the mana, if you want, but after breastfeeding Alison she simply erased.
- All right, I'll call later. Tell me I'm right and take care of them, Johnny.
- All right, buddy. Now, I want to know. You are
well?
- I told you I am.
- I know, you can say this and it may mean well, but apart from being the only, Marie is my favorite
sister, and I know when it is shaken.
- So you will take care of her.
- I will also talk to her.
- Go slow, Johnny.
For a few moments out David Webb again
Jason thought, preparing a drink. Did not like it, it seemed wrong. But an hour later, Jason Bourne was
back. When he reached the hotel that night, the receptionist Mayflower hastened to call the manager.

- Ah, yes, Mr. Simon - the man greeted enthusiastically. - We know you're here to oppose the terrible
restrictions of taxes on business and fun. Good luck These politicians want to ruin us! ... We had rooms
with two beds, so we took the liberty of reserving a suite at no additional price, of course.
All this was two hours ago and since then he had removed the labels, soaked shirts and rubbed the
rubber soles of the shoes on the windowsill. With glass in hand, Bourne sat staring at the wall. Now it
was just wait and think.
The wait is over in a few minutes with a
discreet knock at the door. Jason crossed the room quickly and brought in the man who had met him at
the airport. The CIA gave Bourne the folder he carried.
- It's all there, including a gun and a box of bullets.
- Thank you.
- Want to check?
- I have all night to do this.
- It's almost 8:00 - the agent said. - Your control should arrive around 11:00. This will give you time to
prepare.
- My control ...?
- That's what he is, right?
- Yes, you're right - Jason replied quietly. - I forgot. Thank you. When the man left, Bourne opened the
briefcase. Took first automatic and ammunition box, then hundreds of sheets of computer printouts in a
file folder. Somewhere in those pages, was the name that linked a man or woman to Carlos the
Jackal. Were about all hotel guests, including those who had left in the last 24 hours. Contained
everything contained in the database of the CIA, the Army G2 and Naval Intelligence. Was likely that it
was useless, but it was a place to start. Began to hunt.
The eight hundred kilometers away in another hotel suite on the third floor of the Ritz-Carlton, someone
knocked quietly on the door. The huge man with an elegant suit of chalk-stripe, which made him look
bigger than his six feet, rushed out of the bathroom. The bald head with a fringe of gray hair perfectly
combed over the ears, seemed sacred skull of a gray eminence whose word undoubtedly made with
eagle eye and the booming voice of a prophet, was accepted and followed by kings, princes and
pretenders to the throne.The anxiety of their movements in the least lessen the impression of
dominance and superiority. It was important and powerful and he knew it. All this contrasted with the
older man who was at the door. There was nothing striking in that old man, small and emaciated, the
true image of the vanquished.
- Come in. Hurry! brought the information?
- Oh, yes, of course - said the pale man.
His rumpled suit and wide collar had seen better days long ago. - You look great, Randolph - continued
weakly, watching the other man and opulent suite. - And what this magnificent place here, so suitable
for a famous teacher.
- Please, information - insisted Dr. Randolph Gates of Harvard antitrust law expert and highly paid
consultant to numerous industries.
- Give me a moment, my old friend. There
long time did not enter a hotel suite, and not I stay in a ... How things have changed. I always read about
her co see on TV. You're so - erudite, Randolph, that's the word, but does not say anything. That's what I
said before, "great", is what you are. And great scholar. So loud and imperious.
- You could be in the same position, you know that
- Gates said impatiently. - Unfortunately sought shortcuts that do not exist.
- Oh, there are many. Only it did not choose the right ones.
- I suppose that things were not well
for you ...

- Do not "supposed" Randy, you know. If not reported his spies, no doubt you can see.
- I was just trying to find it.
- Yes, that's what you said on the phone, which
many people told me, on the street - people who have a lot of questions that had nothing to do with my
house, so to speak.
- I had to know if you could. You can not blame me for that.
- God forbid, of course not. Especially considering what you asked me to do what I think you made me
do.
- Just be a confidential messenger, nothing
more. Undoubtedly not object to money.
- Objection? - Said the visitor with a laugh
shaky and shrill. - I tell you, Randy. You can be expelled from advocacy to thirty or 32 years and still get
something, but when it expelled the fifty years in the international trial, with a prison sentence, it is
shocking to see how the options go away - even for a learned man. You become untouchable, and I was
never very good to sell anything you were not my expertise. Incidentally, I gave a proof of this in the last
twenty or so years. Alger Hiss did better with postcards.
- I have not had time to reminiscences. The
information, please.
- Oh, yes, of course ... Okay, I received the first sum on the corner of Commonwealth and Dartmouth
with of course, I wrote down the names and specs you gave me by phone ...
- You wrote? - Gates asked harshly.
- I got burned logo decorating - learned a few things from my difficulties. I contacted the engineer of a
telephone company that was enchanted with her - forgive - to my generosity and relayed the
information that the private eye repulsive, the most common I've seen, Randy, and considering his
methods, someone who actually can make use of my talents.
- Please - interrupted the renowned legal expert. - The facts, not your opinion.
- Opinions often contain important facts, teacher. Certainly understands this.
- If I want to build a case, ask your opinion. But not now. The man discovered?
- Based on what you told me, a woman
alone with children - do not know how - and with data provided by a mechanic underpaid telephone
company, namely, an area limited by the code and the first three phone numbers, Detective vulgar and
without any ethics began work at a price absurd hour. To my amazement, it was a productive
job. Actually, what's left of my knowledge of law, we can form a society discreet and nothing on paper.
- Get on with it, what was it discovered?
- Well, as I said, its price per hour was amazing, I mean, practically invaded the corpus of my reserve
funds much deserved, so I think we should talk about compensation, do not you agree?
- Who the hell do you think you are? deliver I sent him $ 3000! Five hundred to man the telephone
company and 1,500 for that miserable spy keyholes that says private detective ...
- Just because it is no longer on the payroll of the police department, Randolph. Like me, he fell into
disgrace, but definitely does a great job. Deal or I'm leaving?
The balding law professor glared at the old lawyer expelled profession.
- How is atrevei
- Well, well, Randy, even if you believe the press, is not it? Okay, I'll tell you how I dare, my old friend
and arrogant. I have read what you write, I've seen your picture exposing their esoteric interpretations
of complex legal issues, attacking all the decent things that the courts of this country have enacted over
the last thirty years when he has no idea what it is to be poor, hungry or having a mass in the stomach
undesirable and unexpected, for which there can achieve a lifetime. You are the darling of realistic
surface my friend, and will end up forcing ordinary citizens to live in a country where privacy has

become obsolete, free thought was deleted by the censor, where the rich get richer and the poor which
have leaving all potential early life to survive. And you expose these medieval concepts and unoriginal
just to promote themselves, to create the image of a brilliant defender - the disaster. Want me to
continue Dr. Gates? Frankly, I think I chose the wrong loser to do his dirty work.
- How to ... if you dare? - repeated teacher stunned and furious, driving up to the window. - I do not
have to hear it!
- No, of course not, Randy. But when I taught in law school and you were one of my students - one of
the best, but not the brightest you had to listen. Therefore, I suggest you listen now.
- What the hell do you want? - roared Gates, voltandose for another man.
- What you want, right? The information for which it paid very little. It is important for you, is not it?
- I need it.
- You always got overly anxious before a test ...
- Stop it I paid. information I require.
- In this case, I have to demand more money. Whoever is paying, you can spend more.
- Not one more dollar!
- So now I will.
- Wait ... More five hundred, that's all.
- Five thousand or go now.
- Ridiculous!
- I see you in another twenty years ...
- Alright ... All right ! Five thousand.
- Oh, Randy, you are so transparent! Therefore
was never the brightest, just someone who knows how to make use of language to look bright, and I
think these last few days have seen and heard more than enough of that language ... Ten thousand, Dr.
Gates, or go to the court more sensational to find.
- You can not do that!
- Of course I can. Now I'm legal advisor
confidential. Ten thousand dollars. How do you prefer to make payment? I imagine you do not have
much money with you, so how will honor its debt - for the information?
- My word ...
- Forget it, Randy.
- Very well. Mando send to Boston Five,
in the morning. In your name. A check.
- A lot of their delicacy. But if your superiors have the idea to stop payment of the check, please tell
them that an unknown person, an old friend from the streets, has a letter in which I describe everything
that happened between us, which will be sent to the Public Prosecutor Massachusetts, with receipt
request, if I have an accident.
- This is absurd. The information, please.
- Right. Very well, I think, in short, need to know what is involved in what appears to be a very sensitive
operation of government ... Based on the assumption that anyone who wants to get from one place to
another with great urgency makes use of means of transport quicker, our strange detective went to
Logan Airport, I do not know under what guise.Anyway, got a list of all matches of Boston yesterday
morning, since the first flight at 6:30 pm, by ten. As should be remembered, that corresponds to the
parameters of their instructions - "starting in the early hours of the morning."
- And then?
- Patience, Randolph. You told me not to
write anything, so I need to go slowly. Where was I?

- A relationship.
- Ah, yes. Well, according to Detective Vulgar, 11 unaccompanied children followed in several flights,
and eight women, two of them nuns, who had reservations for minors. Of these eight, including nuns,
who took nine orphans to California, the other six were identified as follows. - The man pulled out, with
trembling hand, a sheet of paper typed. - Obviously, I did not write this. I can not write the
machine. Vulgar is the work of the Fhrer.
- Give me the list! - Gates ordered, adding to the man with his hand outstretched.
- Okay - said the lawyer seventy years, expelled from the profession, handing the paper to his former
student. - It will not do much - he added. - Our Vulgar checked all the names, more to bill more hours of
work than anything else. Not only are all "clean" as well as the work he did after we got the
information real.
- What? - Gates exclaimed, looking away
the list. - What information?
- An information nor vulgar, nor I would write anywhere. The first clue was given by the receptionist in
the morning of the Pan American Air Lines. He told our detective ignorant among its problems, the day
before, was one powerful politician, or a man of the same arrogance that needed diapers few minutes
before our receptionist entering service, at 5:45 pm. Did you know that diapers have different sizes and
are locked in the stock of emergency supplies companies areas9
- What are you trying to say?
- All airport shops were closed. Only open at 7:00 am
- So what?
- Then someone in a hurry, I forgot something. A woman with a five year old boy and a baby going to
leave Boston in a private jet on the runway next to the rental desk of Pan Am The receptionist answered
the request and mother personally thanked. You know, he's a young father and understands the
importance of diapers. Achieved three packages of different sizes.
- For God's sake, you want to go straight to the subject, Judge?
- Judge? - The old man's eyes widened in
emaciated face. - Thank you, Randy. With the exception of my friends in various bars in the second
category, there
many years no one calls me judge. Must be the aura that surrounds me.
- It was the memory of your circumlocution tedious wearing both in court and in the classroom.
- Impatience has always been his weak point. I attributed it to the annoyance caused her opinions that
interfered with their conclusions ... Well, anyway, our Major Vulgar is able to recognize a rotten fruit
when a worm spits on his nose, so ran to the control tower at Logan Airport, where he found a venal
traffic controller who checked the schedules Morning yesterday. The jet in question had read computer
Zero Four, which was said to our haunted Captain Vulgar means government clearance and maximum
confidentiality.Nothing manifesto, no names of the passengers or crew, only the route indicated to
avoid commercial aircraft and the place of destination.
- What was it?
- Blackburne, Montserrat.
- What the hell is that?
- The Blackburne Airport on the island of Montserrat in the Caribbean.
- The plane was there? Is it?
- Not necessarily. Cable according to
Vulgar, which, I must say, is their reasoning, there is a small air connection to a dozen or more islands off
the coast.
- That 's all?

- That's all, sir. Considering the fact that the jet in question had a classification Zero Four of government,
which, by the way, I accentuated in my letter to the Prosecutor, I think I got my $ 10,000.
- Your trash drunk ...
- Wrong again, Randy - interrupted the judge.
- Alcoholic undoubtedly drunk, almost never. Remain on the border of sobriety. It's my only reason for
living. You know, with all my knowledge, always enjoy - with men like you.
- Get out of here - said Professor menacingly.
- You will not even offer me a drink for my help this horrible habit? ... My God, there must be half a
dozen bottles on that table.
- Take one and go.
- Thank you. Will do. - The old judge went to the table cherry against the wall with two silver trays full of
bottles of whiskey and brandy. Let's see - he said, wrapping two bottles in various white napkins and then a third. - If I carry under the
arm may think that I'm carrying laundry.
- Will you hurry up?
- Would you please open the door for me? I hate to bring down one of these bottles. If one break will
not be very good for your image, too. If I remember correctly, no one ever saw him drink.
- Get out of here! - Gates insisted, opening the door for the old judge.
- Thank you, Randy - he said, coming out into the hallway and turned to the door. - Do not forget the
check in Five Boston tomorrow morning. Fifteen thousand.
- Fifteen ...?
- Ever wondered what the Prosecutor will say when you know you had business with me? Goodbye,
Counselor.
Randolph Gates slammed the door shut and ran to the phone beside the bed. The smaller room was
more reassuring, preventing itself was exposed to the scrutiny of large areas - the room was more
private, more personal, less open to invasion. I was so nervous about the connection that would make
barely understood the instructions for the international call. In his anxiety, dialed calling the operator.
- I want to make a link to Paris - he said. 6
EYE aching with the effort, Bourne studied the papers scattered on the table beside the couch. Leaning
forward, analyzed data for nearly four hours, forgetting time, forgetting that his "control" should've
come, absorbed in looking for something that would link the Mayflower Hotel the Jackal.
The first group that first he was left out of foreigners, British, Italian, Swedish, East German, Japanese
and Taiwanese. The credentials of all had been examined, as well as personal or professional reasons
your entry. The State Department and the CIA had done a good job. Each person had personal and
professional endorsement of at least five individuals or companies above suspicion. All of them have
long maintained communication with these people and firms in Washington. There was no record of any
misrepresentation on their part. If the Jackal's man was among these foreigners - and could be - should
have much more information than those provided by the computers, before Jason examine the
list. Perhaps we should return to their group, but the time needed to continue reading. Had so little
time!
Of about five hundred other guests, 212
were registered in the databases of intelligence, almost all for having business with the government. In
the meantime, had leaves 78 races in the archives. Thirty-one cases were the Internal Revenue Service,
which meant they were suspected of destroying or falsifying financial documents and / or had their tax
havens without bank accounts in Switzerland or the Cayman Islands. Were zero, not only rich thieves
and not very clever, and further, the sort of "messenger" to avoid Carlos as if leprosy. Thus, remaining
47 possibilities. Men and women - in 11 cases, ostensibly husbands and wives - with extensive
connections in Europe, mostly working with technology firms and related to the nuclear industry and

space, all under the microscope of the Intelligence Service as potential sellers of sensitive information
agents of the Eastern bloc and therefore to Moscow.Of these 47 possibilities, including two of the 11
couples, 12 had recently been in the Soviet Union - are all out. The Komitet Gosudarstvennoi
Bezopasnosti, also known as KGB, had less interest in Coyote than the Pope. Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, later
Carlos the murderer, had been trained in a complex American in Novgorod, with numerous American
gas stations, department stores, boutiques and eateries and where everyone spoke English with
American dialects - was not allowed to speak Russian and only those who were passed the course could move to the next level of infiltrators. The Jackal had
doubtless approved, but when Komitet found that the young Venezuelan revolutionary solved
everything and everyone who disliked, eliminating them violently, was too much even for the heirs of
brutal OGPU. Sanchez was expelled and was born Carlos the Jackal. Forget the quaran-ta people who
were in the Soviet Union. The killer did not touch even with a stick of miles, it was a general in all
branches of the Russian Intelligence to eliminate him if he showed up. Novgorod must be protected at
any cost.
Thus, the possibilities were reduced to 35 registered at the hotel as nine couples, four single women and
13 single men. The forms of the database described in detail the facts and suggestions that led to the
negative evaluation of each individual. In fact, the assumptions were in much greater numbers than the
facts and generally based on reviews hostile enemies or competitors, but each needed to be studied,
because between the information could be a word or a phrase, a place or an act that was the link with
Carlos.
The phone rang, interrupting his concentration. Jason blinked as if trying to locate the source of the
noise harsh and shrill, then got up going to the table, picked up on the third ring.
- Yes?
- Alex. I am calling here the street.
- Going up?
- Not the lobby. I made some arrangements with service entrance with a guard assigned temporarily this
afternoon.
- You are covering all the bases, right?
- Not as much as I wanted - said Conklin. - This is not your normal game. We see in a few minutes. Knock
once on the door. Bourne hung up the phone and returned to the documents, separating three who had
called his attention, not that they had anything that could involve the Jackal. There were some
seemingly unimportant information that perhaps they meant a connection between three people who
at first had nothing to do with each other. According to their passports, these three Americans had
landed at Philadelphia International Airport with a span of six days between them, there
eight months. Two women and a man, women of Marrakech and Lisbon, the man from East
Germany. The first wife was an interior decorator in professional research trip in the old city of
Morocco, was the second executive of Chase Bank, the Foreign Office, the man was a space engineer
lent by the Air Force McDonnell-Douglas. Why three people with different professions as converged to
the same city with the space of six days between them?
Coincidence? Quite possible, but considering the number of international airports in the country,
including the busiest - New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Miami - the coincidence of Philadelphia seemed
implausible. Stranger still was the fact that they were all three in the same hotel hosted in Washington,
at the same time, eight months later. Jason wondered what Alex Conklin would say that.
- I'm investigating the three - Alex said, sitting in the chair in front of the couch and computer
documents.
- You know?
- It was not hard. Of course it was much easier with the computer doing the screening.
- I should have included a note! I'm working on these things since 8:00 am.

- I only found out after nine and did not want to call Virginia.
- It is a different story is not it? - Asked
Bourne, sitting on the couch, leaning forward eagerly.
- Yes, it is. A dreadful story.
- Medusa?
- It's worse than I thought and nothing can be worse than that.
- Somewhat dramatic.
- More than that. Where do I begin ... Supplies the Pentagon? The Federal Trade Commission?
Our ambassador in London, or rather the supreme commander of NATO?
- My God ...!
- I can still rise. What do you think of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs Supreme?
- Christ, what is it? A kind of cabal?
- You're being too academic, Mr. Professor. Now, how about a conspiracy, but deeply buried alive still,
still breathing? They keep in touch in the higher ranks. Why?
- What is the purpose? What is the purpose?
- Exactly what I just said, or rather to ask.
- There must be a reason!
- Let's talk about a motive. I've said it too and
can be as simple as hiding sins of the past. Not exactly what we're looking for? A collection of
exmedusianos who fled and hid themselves at the prospect of seeing exposed his past?
- So that's it.
- No it is not. These are the instincts of St. Alex looking for the right word. Reactions were too
immediate, too active, too loaded with the present, not the past twenty years.
- Now I've lost.
- I'm lost too. It is something different from
I expected and I am more than tired of making mistakes ... But this is not a mistake. When you said this
morning, it seemed a network operation, I thought I was far from reality. I thought maybe we could find
some important people who would not be harmed by things that were done there
twenty, or did not want to embarrass the government, people whose collective fear could be used to
reveal things we wanted to know. But this is different. This is today, and I do not understand. It's more
than fear, is
panic, are mad with terror ... Unwittingly stumble on something, Mr. Bourne, and to use the language of
minstrel their rich friend Cactus, "In the center, may be bigger than both of us."
- For me, there is nothing bigger than the Jackal! The rest can go to hell!
- I'm on your side and hill stating this. Only
wanted to know what I think ... Except for a very brief period of time and very dirty, never had secrets
from each other, David.
- Jason currently prefer.
- Yes, I know - said Conklin. - I hate it,
but I understand.
- Understands the same?
- Yes - Alex said quietly, closing
eyes. - I would do anything for it were not so, but I can not do anything.
- Then listen. serpentinada With his mind - the definition is Carlos - try to imagine the worst possible
scenario, these miserable lean on the wall, tell to stay tight-lipped waiting for his instructions, who
should look and how.
Conklin looked worriedly at his friend, feeling guilty.

- There may be a scenario that is already armed out of my reach - Alex said softly. - I will not make
another mistake, not in this area. I need more than I have now.
Bourne clasped her hands tightly in a gesture of
frustration. With a furrowed brow and face muscles tense looked at the papers scattered on the desk in
front. However, shortly thereafter, relaxed, leaned back in his chair and said in a calm voice:
- Okay. Will have what you need. Quickly.
- How?
- I'll get it for you. Need
names, addresses, schedules and security systems, favorite restaurants, habits. Put his men to
work. Tonight. All night if necessary.
- What the hell do you think you will do? - Conklin said, flipping the frail body forward in the chair.
- Breaking into their homes? Stick needles in their butts between the appetizer and the main course?
- Had not thought of this last possibility Jason said, smiling grimly. - You even have a fantastic imagination.
- And you're a fool! ... Sorry, did not mean it ...
- Why not? - Jason interrupted quietly.
- I'm not giving a lesson on the rise of the Manchu and Ching dynasties. Considering the real state of my
mind and my memory, fits well an allusion to mental health. - After a pause, he continued, leaning
slightly forward. - But I will say one thing, Alex. Maybe I do not remember everything, but part of my
mind created by you and Treadstone is complete.tasted this in Hong Kong, Beijing and Macau, and will
prove again. need. There's nothing left for me anymore unless do it now ... Okay, get the
information. You mentioned some people who should be here in Washington. Provision or provisions of
the Pentagon ...
- Stewardship - corrected Conklin. - It is very
more extensive and more costly and is in charge of a general named Swayne. We then Armbruster, head
of the Federal Trade Commission, and Burton, the ...
- Acting President of the Joint Command Bourne completed. - Admiral "Joltin 'Jack Burton, commander of the Sixth Fleet.
- The same. In the past, the scourge of the South China Sea, now the most powerful in the military.
- I repeat - Jason said. - Put your men
to work. Peter Holland will provide all necessary help. Discover everything about each of them.
- I can not.
- What?
- I can get information on our three
Philadelphia as part of the project Mayflower ie, the Jackal. I can not play in 5:00 to 5:00 for now - heirs of Medusa.
- For God's sake, why not? have to do this. We can not waste time.
- The time will not mean anything if you're dead. Marie will not help nor children.
- What the hell are you talking about?
- I mean the reason for my delay. By
would not call it Virginia. Why I communicated with Charles Casset to pick me up at the property in
Vienna and that, by the time he arrived, I was not sure who would live there.
- Replace it for kids, field agent.
- Okay ... I did not tell anyone that he was investigating the former members of the Medusa - only we
both knew, no one else.
- I found odd. When you speak this afternoon
was very mysterious. Very careful, considering the place where it was and the equipment he was using.
- The place and equipment were safe. Casset

told me later that the Agency did not want any record of what is happening there and that is the best
guarantee we can have. No microphones, no interceptors phone lines, nothing. Believe me, I breathed
better when I said it.
- So what's the problem? Why are you pa- rando?
- Because I have to check another admiral before penetrating more into the territory of Medusa
... Atkinson, in-so impeccable WASP ambassador at the Court of St. James in London was very clear. In
his panic, he unmasked Burton and Teagarten in Brussels.
- So what?
- He said he could control Teagarten Agency if anything about Saigon came to light - because he is a
close friend of the boss at Langley.
- And then?
- Godfather is what they call in Washington, private security maximum, and Langley is in charge
Director of Central Intelligence ... That is also Peter Holland.
- This morning you said that he would have no problem to destroy a member of the Medusa.
- Anyone can say anything. But what will you say?
Across the Atlantic, in the old suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine, in Paris, an old man with a shabby suit,
walked down the concrete path leading to the sixteenth century cathedral, called the Church of the
Blessed Sacrament. In the tower, the bells tolled the Angelus, the man stopped in the morning sun and
made the sign Dacruz with eyes raised to heaven.
"Angelus domini nuntiavit Mariae," he murmured. With the fingertips threw a kiss to the crucifix in basrelief, the arched entrance, and headed for the massive cathedral doors, noticing the disapproving looks
of two priests. "Forgive me for desecrating its rich parish, their snobby assholes , " he thought, lighting a
candle placed between the other, "but Christ made it clear that he prefers to me and not to you. 'The
meek shall inherit the earth'
- Or what you did not steal it. "
The old man walked slowly down the center aisle, resting his right hand on the seat backs, while with
the left he checked the oversized collar and tie. His wife was so weak she could barely bend her clothes
but, like the old days, insisted on putting the finishing touches on his appearance when he left for
work. It was still a good woman and the two laughed remembering that day, twenty years ago, when
she was angry that others have put gum in her husband's shirt. That night so long, she wanted him to
look like a perfect bureaucrat when he left for the headquarters of Oberfhrer on rue Ste Lazare, with
its executive folder - the folder, left the barracks, had blown up half a block. And twenty years later a
winter afternoon, it was with difficulty that she straightened his overcoat expensive and robbed on his
shoulders, as he prepared to assault the Grande Banque Louis XI, the Madeleine, directed by a former
member of the Resistance, educated but ungrateful that he had refused a loan. Those good times
followed by bad times and bad health, which led to worse times in fact, times of extreme poverty. Until a strange man with a strange mission and a written contract
even weirder. After that, the came about in the form of money for decent food and a wine acceptable
for clothes the right size, that made his wife look beautiful again and, most importantly, to the doctors
who made him feel better . The suit and shirt he was wearing had come out of a closet special. In a way,
he and his wife were traveling actors in a provincial company. Had different costumes for various
roles. It was his profes-sion ... What I was doing was working today. This morning, with the bells of the
Angelus, he was working. With partially hesitant and awkward gestures, the old man did kneel in front
of the cross and knelt in the front pew of the sixth row from the altar, her eyes on the clock. Two and a
half minutes later he raised his head and looked around with the utmost discretion. His weak eyes had
adjusted to the dim light of the cathedral, and he could see, not perfectly, but enough. There were over
twenty faithful scattered throughout the church, some praying, others meditating with eyes on the
enormous gold crucifix from the altar. But it was not what he wanted. Then he saw what he expected to

see and made sure everything was according to plan. A priest priestly black suit with crossed side
passage left and disappeared behind the red curtains after the altar. The old man looked at his watch
again, because now everything depended on the exact calculation of time. Monsignor was so worked this was the method of the Jackal. Two more minutes passed and the old messenger rose with difficulty
from the bank, went to the central passage, did kneel in that it allowed her old body and walked with
unsteady steps to the second confessional left. He opened the curtain and into the cockpit.
- Angelus Dominum - muttered, kneeling and
repeating the words he had said hundreds of times in the past 15 years.
- Angelus Dominum, the son of God - answered
the figure invisible behind the grille. The words were accompanied by a cough rough and low. - Her days
have been good?
- Much improved by an unknown friend ... my friend.
- What the doctor said about your wife?
- To me it says that it does not count, thanks to
mercy of Christ. Apparently, against all expectations, I will survive it. The disease is progressing.
- My feelings. How old is she living?
- One month, no more than two. Therefore can not be
More out of bed ... Soon our contract will be void.
- Why?
- There will be no further obligation to me
and I understand that. The Lord has been good to us, I saved a bit and I'm not picky. To be honest,
knowing what awaits me, I feel very weak ...
- What a ungrateful - whispered the voice from the other side of the confessional. - After all I've done
everything I promised!
- What are you talking about?
- You would die for me?
- Of course, it's in the contract.
- So, instead, you will live with me!
- If that's what you want, of course I will. Just wanted you to know that soon I will not be a burden to
you. Can be replaced easily.
- Never make assumptions, not about me! Fury exploded in a cavernous cough that seemed to confirm the rumors heard in the dark streets of
Paris. The
Jackal was sick, perhaps mortally ill.
- The Lord is our life, our respect. Why would I do such a thing?
- Well, just do ... Still have a
mission for you that will facilitate the imminent separation of the two of you. Go spend a few days in a
beautiful place in the world, both together. Take the documents and money in the usual place.
- Can I ask where are we going?
- To the island of Montserrat in the Caribbean. Receive
instructions in Blackburne Airport. Should be followed strictly.
- Of course ... I ask again, what is
my goal?
- Find and make friends with a woman and
his two sons.
- Then what?
- Kill three.

Brendan Prefontaine, a former federal judge of the first circuit court of Massachusetts, Boston Five
came off the bench in street School, with $ 15,000 in his pocket. It was a heady experience for a man
who lived frugally in the last thirty years. Since it was out of prison, rarely had more than fifty dollars. It
was a very special day.
But it was more than special. It was also very disturbing because I had never thought that Randolph
Gates would pay what he had asked. Given your requirement, Gates made a big mistake because so
revealed the importance of the mission. Had passed greed rude, but not fatal, for something potentially
lethal. Prefontaine had no idea of the identity of the woman and children, or what your relationship
with Randolph Gates, but whoever they were and wherever they were, the intentions of Randolph, the
Almo-fairy, were nothing boas.Uma image of Zeus the legal world, as Gates was not paid a ludicrous
amount to a "junk" thrown out of the profession, as discredited and alcoholic Brendan Patrick Pierre
Prefontaine because his soul was with the archangels of heaven. Rather, that soul was with the disciples
of Lucifer. And since this was the case, would undoubtedly be beneficial to the poor former judge
seeking some information because as the old saying goes, a little knowledge is dangerous almost always more to the viewer's eye than for those with few items of information, so inaccurate that
seem worth much more. Fifteen thousand today could turn into 50,000 tomorrow if - if a "human
garbage" flew to the island of Montserrat and began asking questions.
Moreover, the judge thought, with his irony Irish, with the full support of his French side for years never
took a vacation. Cristo, barely staying alive, who could imagine a suspension unforced that fight?
Thus, Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine hailed a cab, which was not there at least ten years, and had to
take him to the men's clothing store Louis's in Faneuil Hall.
- You have money, man? - The driver asked suspiciously.
- More than enough to pay you a haircut and a treatment for acne from your face beardless, young
man. Go ahead, Ben Hur. I am in a hurry.
Were clothing, but clothing guys and after seeing a wad of hundred dollar bills, the seller purplish lips
showed extreme willingness. With shopping bag in leather medium sized Prefontaine swapped clothes
she wore something entirely new. Within an hour seemed again the man who had for years: the
Honorable Brendan P. Prefontaine. (For obvious reasons, had eliminated the second P, Pierre). Another
taxi took him to the board in Jamaica Plains, where he picked up some essential objects, including the
passport always kept updated to quick exits
- To avoid the prison walls - and then left Logan Airport, this time without the driver to worry about the
payment of the race. Of course, clothes do not make the man, thought Brendan, but certainly helps
convince certain people below. At the airport he was informed that three airlines were the route
BostonMontserrat. Asked where was the nearest counter and bought a ticket for the first flight. Brendan
Patrick Pierre Prefontaine, of course, traveled first class. The commissioner of Air France pushed slowly
and carefully by the wheelchair ramp to the door of the 747 jet in Orly Airport in Paris. The woman in
the chair was old and frail, with excess of rouge on her face and a huge hat with feathers macaw
Australian. It would be a travesty if not for the big eyes under the fringe of gray hair badly dyed red very much alive and watchful eyes, full of humor. It was as if to say to everyone who watched,
"Forget, mes amis, he likes me as well and that's all that matters. Do not give even a handful
of merde for their opinions. " He was the old man who walked cautiously beside the chair, touching the
woman's shoulder one time or another, either by affection as to maintain the proper balance, but that
was a touch volume full of poetry that belonged only to two. A closer examination revealed occasional
tears in the eyes of man, he wiped quickly. Il est ici, mon capitaine, announced Commissioner. The first
pilot, who hoped the two passengers in the plane door, took his wife's hand to his lips and then,
straightening up, saluted the old balding which boasted the medal of the Legion of Honour in his
buttonhole.

- It's an honor, monsieur - the captain said. - This plane is my command, but you are my commander. They shook hands and the captain continued. - If me and my crew can do anything to make your trip
more comfortable, just say, monsieur.
- It is very kind of you.
- We all owe him a lot - we all, the whole of France.
There was nothing really ...
- You can not say that there is nothing to be chosen by Charles himself as a true hero of the Resistance,
sir. Age can not get the brightness of that glory. - The captain snapped his fingers for the three
commissioners who were still empty cab in the first class. Fast, mademoiselles! See that everything is perfect for a brave warrior and his lady of France. Thus, the
killer with multiple aliases was
driven to the left side of the plane, where the woman was gently passed from the wheelchair to the
chair beside the walkway. The man sat by the window. The trays were installed and opened one gar-rafa
champagne in honor of the couple. The captain toasted them and returned to the flight deck. The
woman winked at her man with a funny expression and mischievous. Soon began arriving passengers
and some looked appreciatively for "couple" in the front row, because the rumor had spread in the
waiting room of Air France. A great hero ... The very great Charles ... In the Alps, he repelled the attack
six hundred Boche - or were a thousand?
When the enormous jet raced on the track and with a
thud rose from the ground, the old "hero of France"
- Whose only heroics in the Resistance had been stolen, survival, fight back insults to his wife, and the
art of avoiding any workforce that could require their services - took out the documents he had
received. The passport had his photograph, but it was the real thing. The rest - name, date and place of
birth, profession - everything was new to him, plus the list of honors received that it was simply formidable, even absurd, but suited to study it carefully, to be able to respond with due modesty if someone
would refer to them.Had ensured that the individual in question had no living relatives and few friends,
and had disappeared from his apartment in Marseille supposedly a journey of no return.
The messenger of the Jackal read the name - needed to remember and respond when you call him by
it. It would not be difficult, because a name was extremely common. Even so, repeated several times in
silence. Jean Pierre Fontaine, Jean Pierre Fontaine, Jean Pierre ... A sound! Agudo, rough. Odd, is not
sound normal night sounds not common to a hotel. Bour-ne took the gun next to his pillow and rolled
off the bed, leaning against the wall. Again! A knock on the door and unique sound of the suite. He
shook his head, trying to remember ... Alex? 'll hit only once. Not all agreed, Jason put his ear to the
door.
- Yes?
- Open the damn door before you see me! said Conklin's muffled voice in the hallway.
Bourne obeyed and former field agent entered
quickly into the room, leaning on his stick as if it were an object hateful.
- Dude, you 're even untrained! - Exclaimed, sitting on the edge of the bed. - I'm knocking nearly two
minutes.
- I have not heard.
- Delta would have heard. Jason Bourne well. David Webb did not hear.
- Give me one more day and you will not find more
David Webb.
- You only talk! want more than that!
- Then stop talking and tell me why you're here whatever the time of night.

- The last time I looked was meeting with Casset, in the street, at 3: 20h. I had to limp for a good piece of
wood and jump a damn about ...
- What?
- That's right. A fence. Try doing that with
her foot stuck in a cement block ... You know, the gym I won the race fifty meters.
- Forget the story. What happened?
- Oh, I think I hear Webb again.
- What happened? And by the way, who is this guy Casset?
- The only man I can trust in Virginia. He and Valentino.
- Who?
- Are analysts, but they are legal.
- What?
- Let it go. Jesus! Sometimes I wish I could blow ...
- Alex, why are you here?
Conklin looked up and held tightly to
cane.
- I got the information about our men
Philadelphia.
- So that's why? Who are they?
- No, not really. I mean, it's interesting, but that's not why I'm here.
- So why? - Jason asked, sitting
in the chair beside the window, frowning. - My learned friend of Cambodia and other more distant
places does not jump about a foot in cement at 3:00 am
if you do not find it absolutely necessary.
- It was necessary.
- What tells me nothing. Please tell.
- It DeSole.
- What has the sole?
- Not the sole. DeSole.
- Connect cut.
- He is the keeper of the keys in Langley. Not
nothing happens that he does not know and nothing you do in research without his order.
- I still lost.
- We're up to your neck in shit.
- That does not help me at all.
- Webb again.
- Would you rather I draw a nerve in your neck?
- All right, all right. Let me breathe first. - Conklin dropped his cane on the rug. - I did not trust or the
freight elevator. I went down two floors before and climbed the stairs.
- Because we are sunk in deep shit?
- That's right.
- Why? Because of this DeSole?
- Mail, Mr. Bourne. Steven DeSole. Man
who has his finger on every computer Langley. The only person who can spin the disks and play your
virginal Aunt Grace in jail as a prostitute, if you give him head.
- What is the case?
- It is the connection to Brussels with Teagarten,

NATO. Casset knew the holds that it is the only connection - they even have an access code that
surpasses all others.
- What does that mean?
- Casset not know, but he's furious.
- How much did you tell him?
- The minimum. I was working on some possibilities and Teagarten name appeared in a strange way more like a diversion used by someone to impress someone - but I wanted to know with whom he spoke
in the Agency, almost sure it would have been with Peter Holland. Asked Charlie to play in the dark.
- What, I suppose, means confidence.
- Ten times that. Casset is the sharpest blade of Langley. I did not need to say anything more. He got the
message. Now he also has a problem that was not yesterday.
- What will he do?
- I asked you to do nothing for a couple of days and it was exactly the time that he gave me. Forty-eight
hours, to be exact, and then he will face DeSole.
- You can not do that - Bourne said firmly. - Whatever it is that people are hiding, we use to take the
Jackal's lair. Use these men to lure him to others like they did to me there
13 years.
Conklin looked at the floor, then to Jason
Bourne.
- It's all about the almighty ego, right?
- He said. - The bigger the ego, the greater the fear ...
- The bigger the bait, the bigger the fish - Jason interrupted. - A long time ago you said that the "spine"
of the Jackal was as big as his head, which had to be extreme and disproportionately swollen for him to
do what he did. That was true then and is
truth now. If we can make one of these men important government send a message that is, to come after me, to kill - he will grab the opportunity. Do you know why?
- I just said. Ego.
- Okay, that too, but there's something else. It
the respect he tries to win thirty years since the Moscow expelled, with orders to disappear. He earned
millions, but your customers have always been the dung of the earth. With all the fear he inspires, still
be-ing a psychopath dirty. No legend was created with your name, only contempt, and at this point, it
must be leading him to insanity. The fact that he comes in my pursuit after 13 years confirms this ... I am
vital for it - take my life is vital for it - because I am the product of our covert operations. He wants to
show that he is better than us all together.
- It may also be because he still thinks
you can identify it.
- I also thought that, in the beginning, but after
13 years without me having done nothing - well, I had to think of something else.
- So, you went to the field of Mo Panov
and discovered a psychiatric profile.
- It's a free country.
- Yes, compared to most countries, but
where it takes us?
- Because I know I'm right.
- This is no answer.
- Nothing can be false or fabricated - Bourne insisted, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on knees,
hands clasped. - Carlos discover the deception. It would be the first thing he would seek. Our Medusans
must be genuine and your panic has to be genuine.

- I told you, this is the case.

- The point really consider the advisability of making contact with someone like the Jackal.
- That I do not know ...
- We'll never know - Jason interrupted - until we discover what they are hiding.
- But if we put the disks to rotate in Langley, DeSole will discover. And if it is part of whatever they are
involved, will warn others.
- So, there will be research in Langley. I already have enough to act. I want only the addresses and phone
numbers not listed. You can do that, can not you?
- Of course, it is the lower level. What will you do? With a smile, Bourne said quietly and calmly
- How about invading their homes or stick needles in their butts between the appetizers and the main
course?
- Now I'm listening to Jason Bourne.
- Well, so be it.
7
MARIE ST. JACQUES Webb received the morning in the Caribbean stretching in bed and looking at the
cradle, at the other end of the room. Alison slept deeply, as opposed to four or five hours. The little girl
had made a noise of hell, to the point of Marie's brother, Johnny, fill up the courage, knock on the door
and come in, asking if she could do something, longing she said no.
- What about your practice to change a dirty diaper?
- Do not even want to think about it - said St. Jacques, leaving hastily. Now, Marie heard his brother's
voice out there and knew that he intended her to hear. Johnny defied her son, Jamie, for a race in the
pool, loudly, as if daring the entire island of Montserrat. Marie got out of bed, went to the bathroom,
and four minutes later, completed his morning ablutions, with auburn hair brushed and wrapped in a
robe, went out to the patio overlooking the pool.
- Hi, Marie! - Shouted his younger brother, sun tan, beautiful, black-haired, alongside Jamie. I hope I did not wake you. We just wanted to take a swim.
- So he decided to inform the fact patrols
Coastal British in Plymouth.
- Oh, come on, are almost 9: 00pm. It's very late here in the islands.
- Hi, Mommy. Uncle John was teaching me
scare away sharks with a stick!
- His uncle has a huge wealth of information
important, I hope you never have to put into practice.
- There's a pot of coffee on the table, Mare. And Mrs.
Cooper does what you want now.
- Coffee is enough, Johnny. I heard the phone
last night. - It was David?
- Himself - said Johnny. - And we'll have
a conversation ... Come on, Jamie, let's go. Hold the ladder.
- And the sharks?
- You got all buddy. Help yourself to a drink.
- Johnny!
- Orange juice. Have a jar in the kitchen.
John St. Jacques walked around the pool and climbed up to the balcony of the room Marie while Jamie
went into the house.
Marie watched him, noting the similarities between

him and her husband. They were both tall and muscular, the two had a way of walking relaxed but
where David usually won, Johnny, in most cases, lost, and she did not know why. Also did not know why
David so confident in his younger brother, when the two older seemed much more responsible. David
- Or was it Jason Bourne? - Had never spoken seriously about it. Just laugh saying that Johnny had
something that pleased him - that pleased Bourne?
- Let's speak plainly - said St. Jacques More
boy sitting beside her, with the water dripping wet body. - What trouble is David now?
He could not talk on the phone and you were very tired last night. What happened?
- The Jackal ... The Jackal, that's what happened.
- Christ - Johnny exploded. - After all these years?
- After all these years - Marie repeated.
- As far as that bastard came?
- David is in Washington trying to figure out.
We only know that he found the names of Alex Conklin and Mo Panov between the horrors of Hong
Kong and Kowloon. - Marie told the telegrams and the snare at the amusement park in Baltimore.
- I suppose Alex placed them under protection or whatever they call it.
- Twenty-four hours a day, I'm sure. Besides us and McAllister, Alex and Mo are the only people alive
who know that David was - oh, Jesus, I can not even say that name! - Marie hit the bottom of the cup on
the table.
- Calm, mana - St. Jacques put his hand on the
her.
- Conklin knows what he is doing. David told me that Alex was the best - "field agent", as he called it who has worked for the Americans.
- You do not understand, Johnny! - Marie exclaimed, trying to control her voice and emotions revealed
by large eyes. - David never said that, David Webb never knew that! Jason Bourne said, and he's back!
... That cold, calculating monster they created in the head-ence of David. You can not imagine what it
is! Just look at those eyes that see distant things I can not see - or hear her voice calm and cold I do not
know - to feel the presence of a stranger. St. Jacques raised his hand.
- Come on, stop it - he said softly.
- Children? Jamie ...? - He looked around, terrified.
- No, you. What do you expect David to do? That
hide inside a vase from the Ming dynasty or Wing and pretend that his wife and children are not in
danger he is the only target? You want to or not, we men, we still think it is our obligation to keep predators
away from the cave. We firmly believe that we are better equipped for it. We go back to that kind of
force, the uglier it exists, of course, because it takes. That's what David is doing.
- Since when little brother began to philosophize well? - Marie asked, staring intently at the face of
Johnny.
- Nothing in philosophy, girl, just know things. Almost all men know - apologies to feminists.
- Do not apologize. Most women prefer that. Do you believe that your sister studious, with many works
on economics in Ottawa, still screaming hysterically when she sees a mouse in the kitchen of the
cottage, and panics when he sees a mouse?
- Some brilliant women are more frank
than others.
- I accept what you say, Johnny, but is not the point. David was doing so well in the last five years,
improving every month. We know he will never be completely healed - the damage was too extensive
- But the furies, their private furies had almost disappeared. The solitary walks in the woods, from which
he returned with the wounded hands of both attack the trees, and silent tears disguised in work room,

late at night when he could not remember who he was or what he had done, thinking the worst yourself
all this had disappeared, Johnny! Was already showing the true light of the sun, you know what I mean?
- Yes, I know - Johnny said solemnly.
- What is happening now can bring it all back, so I'm so scared!
- So hopefully end soon!
Again Marie watched his brother carefully.
- Hold on, little brother, I know
very well. You're hiding something.
- I'm not hiding anything.
- Yes, it is ... You and David - I never understood. Our two older brothers, so solid, so successful, perhaps
not intellectually but certainly pragmatically. However, he turned to you.Why, Johnny?
- Let's not talk about it now - St. Jacques said dryly, dropping her sister's hand.
- But I have to speak. This is my life. He is my life! There can be no more secrets to me about it - I can
not stand it anymore! ... Why you?
St. Jacques leaned back in his chair with his forehead. He looked up with a plea change.
- All right, I know where you are coming from.
Remember six or seven years ago, when I left our farm, saying he wanted to do something alone?
- Of course. I think we broke the hearts of Mommy and Daddy. Let's be honest, you have always been
the favorite ...
- I was always the youngest! - interrupted the youngest St. Jacques. - Playing the role of
a Bonanza where my retarded brothers with over thirty years blindly obeyed the orders of a FrenchCanadian prejudiced and authoritarian, whose only merit was his money and his land.
- There was more than that in it, but I will not discuss now - from the point of view of a "kid".
- Can not argue, Mare. You did the same thing, and sometimes it was more than a year without showing
up at home.
- I was busy.
- Me too.
- What did you do?
- I killed two men. Two animals killed
my friend - they raped her and killed her.
- What?
- Speak Low ...
- My God, what happened?
- I did not ask for help at home, so I tried her husband ... My friend David, who did not treat me like a
retarded kid. At the time it seemed the most logical thing and it was the best decision I ever made in my
life. The government should favor to David. A discreet staff of brilliant men of Washington and Ottawa
flew to St. James Bay and I was acquitted. Self-defense, and was exactly what happened.
- He never told me anything.
- I asked you not to tell.
- So that's why ... But still do not understand!
- It is not difficult, Mare. A part of him knows what I'm capable of killing, which can kill if necessary. The
phone rang inside the house and before Marie, stunned, had time to say something, a black woman old
appeared at the kitchen door.
- It's for you, Mr. John. Is that pilot of the Big Island. He said it was important, mon.
- Thank you, Mrs. Cooper - said St. Jacques, standing and walking quickly to the extent poolside. He
spoke for a few moments, he looked up at Marie hung up the phone and turned to his sister.
- Pack your bags. You will leave here.

- Why? was the pilot who brought us ...?

- Has just returned from Martinique and learned
someone walked by asking questions at the airport last night. About a woman and two children. None of
the crew said nothing, but that may not last. Quickly.
- My God, where are we going?
- For the hotel, until I think of something else. Has only one road and my Tontons Macoutes individuals
to watch. No one gets in or out. Mrs. Cooper to help
with Alison. Hurry!
Marie ran to the room and the phone started ringing again. St. Jacques returned to the extension
poolside reaching it when Mrs. Cooper once again out of the kitchen.
- Is the Government House in Serrat, Mr. John.
- What the hell they want ...?
- Want me to ask?
- You can leave, I'll get it. Help my sister with
children and take all her luggage for Rover. Are coming out right now!
- Oh, a bad time is a pity, mon. I was getting to know the children.
- Bad weather is too bad, you're right - St. Jacques muttered, picking up the phone. - Yes?
- How are you, John? - Said the aide-de-camp
Governor of the Crown, a man who had helped the Canadian to settle on the island, facilitating
processes required by Territorial Regulations.
- Can I call later, Henry? I'm a bit rushed at the moment.
- I will not give, my dear. This comes straight from the Foreign Ministry. Want our cooperation
immediately and it will not be bad for you too.
- What is it?
- It looks like an old man and woman arrive on the flight
Air France from 10: 30pm, coming from Antigua and Whitehall wants VIP treatment for two. Apparently
the old one has a splendid record of war, with a collection of medals, and worked with several of our
friends on the other side of the canal.
- Henry, I'm really in a hurry. The
it all has to do with me?
- Well, I thought you might understand that better than us. Probably one of his rich Canadian guests,
maybe a French Resistance who was in Montreal and thought of you ...
- With only insults will win a bottle of wine over French-Canadian. What do you want?
- Host the hero and his lady the best of your hotel accommodation with a room for the nurse who
speaks French, which highlight for them.
- With an hour's notice?
- Well, my dear, our men can get
a collective strike, if you know what I mean - and your phone service so vital and erratic depends on a
degree of intervention of the Crown, it is also known what I mean.
- Henry, you are a great negotiator. Know
gently hit the kick in place that hurts the most. What's your hero? Hurry, please!
- Us and Regine Jean Pierre Fontaine, Monsieur le Directeur, and here are our passports - said the softspoken man in the glass booth immigration, with the aide-de-camp of the Governor of the Crown to his
side. - You can see my wife here - he added, pointing to the window glass. - You're talking
to Mademoiselle white uniform.
- Please, Monsieur Fontaine - protested the immigration officer, a black man, stocky, with a strong
British accent. - It's just a formality, informal, a registration process, if you want.Also to avoid the
harassment of his admirers. Ran the news that would come a great man.

- Really? - Fontaine smiled pleasantly.

- Oh, but do not worry, sir. The press has
was barred. We know you want complete privacy, and will have.
- Really? - The smile faded from her lips
of man. - I should find myself with someone here, a partner, so to speak, with whom I need to talk
confidentially. I hope their actions bemintencionadas not prevent me to find it.
- A small group selected to receive the genuine credentials in the room of the guest of
honor, Monsieur Fontaine - said the deputy governor of the Crown. - Can we go? I can guarantee that
the receive queue is not too long.
- Really? Too short?
Actually it did not take more than five minutes
five seconds, but it would have been sufficient. The first person that the messenger-killer found Jackal
was the governor of the Crown. When the representative of the Queen embraced the hero in the French
fashion, whispered in the ear of Jean Pierre Fontaine:
- We know where they were taken his wife and children. We're sending you there. The nurse has his
instructions. The rest was somewhat anticlimactic to the old, especially the absence of the press. He had
never had his picture in the newspaper, unless the crimes section. Morris Panov, physician, was very
angry. Always looking to control their tantrums because they never helped him or his clients. But at that
moment, sitting at his desk in the office, was having trouble mastering your emotions. I had not heard of
David Webb. needed to know him, he needed to speak with him. What was happening could negate 13
years of therapy, does not understand that? ... There is
clear that they could not understand. There were interested parties, had other priorities and did not
want to worry about problems that were not his sphere. But he had to worry about. A damaged mind
was so fragile, so subject to relapses, the horrors of the past were able to master this. This should not
happen with David!
He was as close to normal as was possible (and who can say what is "normal" in this crazy world?). David
could work wonderfully as a teacher, had almost completely recovered the memory of their academic
knowledge, and each year more remembered. But all that could be destroyed with a single act of
violence, because violence was the way of life of Jason Bourne. Damn!
It was damaging the fact allow David to take part in the action. Alex Panov tried to explain the
possibilities of damage, but Conklin gave an irrefutable answer, we can not stop it.At least so we can
watch over it, protect it. Maybe. "They" made no economy when it came to protection - guards in the
hallway of his office and on the roof of the building, not to mention the receptionist and armed with a
strange computer. But it would be much better for David to take some sedatives and be flown to his
island retreat, leaving the hunt for the Jackal professionals ... Panov suddenly stopped his reasoning,
assailed by the idea that there was no better pro than Jason Bourne.
The phone interrupted his thoughts. Hoped that security procedures were activated to meet. A tracker
was connected to trace the call, an analyzer checked if there was interference on the line, and finally the
identity of the person named was approved by the Panov. The island in its intercom buzzed and he
pressed the button.
- Yes?
- All systems are checked, sir announced a temporary receptionist, the only person in the office who could know that. - The man said
he called Treadstone, Mr. D. Treadstone.
- I got it - Mo Panov said firmly.
- And can remove any other system that your machine. Es- ta is a confidential discussion between doctor
and patient.
- Yes, sir. Monitor finished.

- Monitor what? Now ... nevermind. - The psychiatrist picked up the phone and the cost if managed not
to scream. - Why do not you call me before, you bastard!
- Do not want to cause a cardiac arrest, it is
enough?
- Where are you and what are you doing?
- At the moment?
- Yes it can be.
- Let's see, I rented a car and now I'm half a block from a house in the city of Georgetown, owned by the
chairman of the Federal Trade Commission, speaking to you from a payphone.
- For God's sake, why?
- Alex will give you the details, but I want you to call Marie on the island. I tried a few times after I left
the hotel, but I can not. Tell me I'm right, I'm perfectly fine and she does not worry. Get it?
- Got it, but not convinced myself. You do not seem yourself.
- You can not tell her doctor. If you're my friend, can not say anything.
- Stop it, David. This nonsense mdicoe monster no longer works.
- If you are my friend, do not tell her that.
- You are entering into a tailspin, David. Do not let this happen. Come here, talk to me.
- No time, Mo. The limo Fat Cat
is standing in front of his house. I need to work.
- Jason! Bourne hung up.
Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine down the metal stairs of the jet to the scorching sun of the
Caribbean, the Blackburne Airport in Montserrat. It was just after three in the afternoon, and were it not
for the dollars they took would have felt lost. It was remarkable how a stock of hundred, scattered
multiple pockets, gave such assurance. Actually needed to be always remembering that less money fifty eight ten p.m. - was in the front pocket of his pants, not to cheat and look ostentatious or draw
attention to any opportunist. Above all, you should keep a low profile, seeking to nullify the fullest. Had
done so insignificant, significant questions at the airport, about a woman and two small children who
had arrived that afternoon, the flight anterior.Por it was with astonishment and alarm that heard the
lovely black immigration official said, after hanging Phone:
- Would you be kind enough to accompany me, sir,
please?
The pretty face, a melodious voice and perfect smile did nothing to alleviate the fear of the former
judge. Many extremely guilty criminals possessed these qualities.
- Something wrong with my passport, Miss?
- Not that I know of, sir.
- So why the delay? Why not just stamp and let me out?
- Oh, and is stamped with an entry permit, sir. No problem.
- So why?
- Please, come with me, sir.
Reached a large cubicle with glazed
golden letters in the left window indicating that it is the office of the ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF
IMMIGRATION SERVICE. The beautiful servant opened the door, smiling again, with a gesture invited the
visitor to enter. Prefontaine came suddenly terrified at the thought that was going to be searched, they
would find the money and accuse him of all sorts of misdemeanor. He did not know which islands that
were involved with narcotics, but if this was one of them thousands of dollars in their pockets made him
a perfect suspect.Thousand explanations went through his mind as the clerk handed over his passport to
the immigration director squat. With a sparkling smile she left the room and closed the door.
- Mr. Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine - read the director with singing voice, looking at the passport.

- Not that it matters - Brendan said with

delicacy, but with clear authority. - However, the
"Sir" is often replaced by "Judge" - as
said, I do not think is important, given the circumstances, or perhaps, in fact, I do not know. One of my
employees made a mistake? In that case, I'll come by plane all my legal team of advisors to apologize.
- Oh, by no means, Lord Judge - replied the black uniform and wide belt and narrow, with a pronounced
British accent, standing up and reaching across the table. - Actually, the mistake was mine.
- Come on, Colonel, we all falter one
time or another. - Brendan shook hands with the assistant director. - So maybe I can go? Someone has
to
waiting.
- That's exactly what he said! Brendan gave the man's hand.
- Forgiveness?
- I think I should apologize ... The secret, of course. - What? You want to go straight to the point, please?
- I understand that privacy - continued
official, pronouncing the word as privissy - is of utmost importance - it was explained in - but whenever
we can, we try to please the Crown.
- Extremely commendable, Brigadier, but I think
I do not understand.
The man lowered his voice unnecessarily.
- This afternoon arrived here a great man, p
You know that?
- I am sure that many important people come to your beautiful island. In fact, she was highly
recommended.
- Ah, yes, the privissy!
- Yes, of course, privissy - agreed the former judge convicted, wondering if the clerk had all the screws
tight. - Could it be any clearer?
- Well, he said he was going to meet someone, a partner with whom they needed to talk, but after a
short receiving line - without the press, of course
- Was taken directly to the charter that led to another island, and apparently did not find the person
who was to meet privately. now I'm being clear?
- As the Boston harbor in a storm,
general.
- Very well. I understand. Privissy ... So, all our staff are alerted to the fact that the friend of the great
man was looking for him here at the airport - confidentially, of course.
- Of course. - Not a screw tight, thought Brendan.
- Then I considered another possibility - the official said with a slight air of triumph. - And if the friend of
the great man was also flying to our island to the secret meeting with the great man?
- Brilliant.
- Not entirely devoid of logic. then had the idea to get the list of passengers who landed on the island,
concentrating, of course, first class, which would be more suitable for a friend of the great man.
- Clairvoyance - growled the former judge. - And you chose me?
- The name, my good man! Pierre Prefontaine!
- My late mother pious and would no doubt be offended by the omission of "Brendan Patrick." Like the
French, the Irish are very sensitive in these matters.
- But it was all in the family. understood this immediately!
- Realized it?

- Pierre Prefontaine! ... Jean Pierre Fontaine. 'm an expert in immigration procedures, the method
studied in several countries. His name is a fascinating example, your honor judge. Wave after wave of
immigrants entered the United States, the melting pot of nations, races and languages. In the process,
names have been changed, combined or simply misunderstood by a veritable army of officials confused
and overwhelmed at work. But the roots usually survive, as in your case. The family Fontaine
became Prefontainein America and a member of the great man is actually a very honored member of
the American branch!
- Positively amazing - Brendan muttered, looking at the man as if expecting to see the emergence of a
horde of nurses muscular with defora-shirts. - But it may be mere coincidence?
Fontaine is a very common name throughout France, but I know the Prefontaine essentially come from
the Alsace-Lorraine.
- Yes, of course - the director said, lowering his voice again instead of giving a wink. - However, without
warning, we received a call from the Quay d'Orsay in Paris, after the Foreign Office of Great Britain also
call with instructions - a great man is to fall from the sky Get it decent-mind with honors, leads him to a
hotel renowned for its privacy withdrawn - as this is also
of utmost importance. The great man must have privissy full ... However the great warrior himself is
concerned. Was to meet privately with a friend and can not find it. Perhaps the great man has secrets all great men have, you know. Suddenly, thousands of dollars in the pockets of Prefontaine were very
heavy. Four Zero security of Washington in Boston, the Quay d'Orsay in Paris, the Foreign Office in
London - Randolph Gates unnecessarily paying a huge amount of sheer panic. There was a strange
pattern of convergence, the strangest being the inclusion of a very frightened and unscrupulous lawyer
named Gates. It would be an inclusion or an aberration? What all this meant?
- You are an extraordinary man - said
Brendan quickly to disguise his thoughts.
- Your perception is simply brilliant, but understands that privacy is of utmost importance.
- No need to say anything else, Your Honor Judge!
- Exclaimed the director. - Except to assure me your appreciation to my skills come to the attention of
my superiors.
- This will be clear, you can be sure ... Exactly where my cousin was not far and very different?
- For a small island where the seaplanes descend into the water. Called Tranquility Isle and the hotel
called Tranquility Inn.
- His superiors send their thanks in person, you can be sure.
- And I personally will arrange your passage through customs.
When he left the Blackburne Airport, with its shiny leather valise, Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine
was vaguely confused. Vaguely was little confusing, Brendan was astonished! Do not know if he took the
first flight back to Boston or went to ... his feet were apparently deciding for him. Suddenly he was in
front of the counter under the white letters that said AIR BRIDGE BETWEEN-ISLANDS. It would do no
hurt to ask, he thought, then buy a ticket to Boston.
On the wall behind the counter had a list of islands off the coast, next to the most famous names of the
Leeward Islands and the Windward Islands from St. Kitts and Nevis, south of the Grenadines. Tranquility
was among Canada Cay and Turtle Rock. Two employees, both young, a black woman and a man talking
to the bay side of the counter. The woman asked:
- Can I help you, sir?
- I'm not sure - Brendan said, hesitating. - My plans are somewhat disorganized, but it seems I have a
friend in Tranquility Isle.
- At the hotel, sir?
- Yes, I think so. It's a very long trip?
- With clear weather, no more than 15 minutes

Flying an amphibian. I think we have no flight until tomorrow morning.

- Of course we have, darling - Interrupted
young blonde with golden wings attached white shirt. - Should I make a delivery to Johnny St. Jay in a
moment.
- He is not scheduled for today.
- It's from an hour ago. Immediate delivery. At that moment he saw with astonishment two Prefontaine
piles of cardboard boxes moving in the luggage carousel-Between Islands in the direction of the external
load. Even if he had time to weigh the pros and cons, I knew that the decision was taken.
- If possible, I want a ticket on this flight
- He said, looking at the boxes of baby food and diapers size medium that disappeared at the end of the
carousel. Just found the unknown woman and two children.
8
AN INVESTIGATION routine in the Federal Trade Commission confirmed the fact that its president,
Albert Armbruster, suffered from ulcers and high blood pressure, and medical orders, left the office and
went home when not feeling well. So Alex Conklin telephoned him after lunch quite lengthy - this
research also confirmed as a habit - with a "refresh" of the news about the crisis Snake Lady. As I said in
the first call, when Armbruster was in the shower, Alex, without identifying himself, said that someone
would contact him later that day - the office or in your home. The contact would identify simply as
Cobra ("Use the code words most banal I can remember," was part of the Gospel according to
Conklin).Until then, Armbruster was not to talk to anyone. "are orders of Sixth Fleet " .
- Oh, Christ!
Thus, Albert Armbruster sent his car and was taken home, feeling bad. Expected the greatest
discomfort. Jason Bourne was waiting.
- Good afternoon, Mr. Armbruster - said the stranger
kindly, when the chairman of the limo dropped.
- Yes, what? - Armbruster's reaction was immediate and hesitant.
- I just said "good afternoon". My name is Simon. We were introduced by the front desk at the White
House to the Heads of the Armed Forces a few years ago ...
- I was not there - Armbruster interrupted emphatically.
- Really? - The stranger raised his eyebrows doubtfully.
- Mr. Armbruster? - The driver closed the door
car and turned politely to the boss. - You will need ...
- No, no - Armbruster said, interrupting him.
- I will not need you anymore today ... tonight.
- Same time tomorrow, sir?
- Yes, tomorrow - be warned if I change my mind. I'm not feeling very well. Phone prior to my office.
- Yes, sir. - Taking two fingers to the brim of
cap, the man climbed into the car.
- I'm sorry you're not feeling well said the stranger, when the limo pulled away.
- What? ... Oh, you. I have not been in that damned White House reception!
- Maybe I was wrong ...
- Yes, all right, it was a pleasure to see him - said
Armbruster anxious and impatient, heading for the stairs in front of his home in Georgetown.
- But I'm sure we were presented by Admiral Burton ...
- What? - Armbruster turned quickly. What did you say?
- We're wasting time - Jason continued

Bourne, disappearing all the kindness of her voice and eyes. - I'm Cobra.
- Oh, Jesus! ... I'm not feeling too well
- Armbruster said in a hoarse whisper, glancing at the windows and door of your home.
- You'll feel a lot worse if we do not talk Jason said, watching the man's gaze. - It may be there in your home?
- No, - said Armbruster. - She is always wanting to know everything about everyone, then chattering
over town exaggerating everything you hear.
- I suppose you're talking about his wife.
- All of them! Do not know when to stay
his mouth shut!
- Looks like they're hungry for a good conversation.
- What the ...?
- Forget it. I have a car just ahead. Whether
take a walk?
- I think even better. Can we stop at the corner drugstore. They have my recipe ... Who the hell is
You?
- I've said - said Bourne. - Cobra. It
a snake.
- Oh, J esus! - Albert Armbruster moaned. The pharmacist aviou revenue quickly and Jason went to a bar
nearby that had chosen an hour ago. It was a dark, shadowy, with discrete reserved. The environment
was important because Jason wanted to look coldly and authority in the eyes of the president of the
commission, when did your questions.Delta was back, Cain also. Jason Bourne was in command, David
Webb, forgotten.
- We need to protect ourselves - said the Cobra
low voice, as they reached the drinks orders. - In terms of damage control, we need to know the damage
that each of us can cause under amytal.
- What the hell means that? - Asked Armbruster, taking a generous sip of gin and tonic and then, putting
his hand to her stomach with a grimace of pain.
- Drugs, truth serum,
- The what?
- This is not your normal game - Bourne said, remembering the words of Conklin. - We have to discover
all the bases because there is no constitutional right in this series.
- So, who are you? - The chairman of the Federal Trade Commission belched and brought the glass to his
lips with a trembling hand. - A kind of team imple- mentation formed by one man? Guy knows
something, why is murdered in an alley?
- Do not be ridiculous. Anything like this would be counterproductive. Would only give more power to
those who are looking for us, we would leave a trail to be followed ...
- So from what you're talking about?
- I'm talking about saving our lives, including our reputation and our lifestyle.
- You're a cool guy. How do we do this?
- Take your case, right? ... Is not in good health, as just stated. May resign by medical order and we take
care of you - Medusa takes con-ta you. - Imagination Jason floated with rapid inroads in alternate reality
and fantasy, searching for the words of the Gospel according to Saint Alex. Everyone knows you're a rich man, so we can buy a village in his name, or maybe an island in the
Caribbean, where it will be completely safe. No one can reach it, no one can talk to you without your
consent, which would mean interviews predetermined and guaranteed results harmless until
even favorable. These things are not impossible.
- A completely sterile existence, in my opinion - Armbruster said. - Me and the woman only

both of us? I would kill her.

- None of this - the Cobra continued. - There would be
constant distractions. Guests chosen by you
would be flown from anywhere in the world. Other women - chosen by you or by people who respect
their tastes. Life goes on as before, some inconveniences, some pleasant surprises. The case is that will
be protected, inaccessible, so we 'll also be protected, we all ... But, as I said, is an option only
hypothetical in these circumstances. In my case, frankly, is a necessity because I know almost
everything. I leave in a few days. To
then I determined who goes and who stays ... As you know, Mr. Armbruster?
- I am not involved with the day-delays, of course. Deal with the general picture. Like others, I get a
monthly telex, in code, the banks of Zurich with the ratio of deposits and companies that we control that's all.
- For the moment do not deserve a village.
- Hell, I do not want any village, and when you want, I buy it. I have about one hundred million
Americans in Zurich. Controlling his astonishment, Bourne just stared at the man.
- I would not repeat it - he said.
- Who will tell? For talker?
- How many others know him personally? asked the Cobra.
- Virtually no team work,
but they did not know me. Hell, they do not know anyone ... And while we're at it, you see, for example,
never heard of you. I guess that works for the board because I was told to expect his visit, but I do
not know.
- I was hired on very special. My specialty is private security.
- As I said, I thought ...
- And the Sixth Fleet? - Interrupted Bourne, diverting the conversation from himself.
- I see him once or twice, but I think the
whole, not exchanged more than a dozen words. He is
military, I'm civil - very civil.
- But it was not always so. Not when everything
began.
- Humph not. No uniform ever made
and a soldier was exactly like me.
- What about the two generals, one in Brussels, the other at the Pentagon?
- They were soldiers, were on their weapons. I was not and I was not.
- We must provide information leaks,
rumors - Bourne said, somewhat vaguely, looking around uneasily. - But we can not allow the slightest
hint of military orientation.
- You mean like the style of the joint?
- Never - Bourne said, looking again to Armbruster. - This kind of thing causes swirls ...
- Forget it - whispered the chairman of the Federal Trade Commission, interrupting angrily. - The Sixth
Fleet, as you call it, just give the orders here and as a matter of convenience. He is an admiral in body
and soul with a magnificent record of service and a lot of influence in the places that interest us, but this
is
in Washington, nowhere else.
- I know that and you know - Jason said emphatically, trying to disguise his amazement - but someone
who has been in the protection program in the last 15
years are creating your own scenario and it comes directly from Saigon - Command Saigon.

- It may have come out of Saigon, but certainly not

stayed there. The soldiers will not make it work, we all know that ... But I know what you mean. You turn
the Pentagon with a big thing as us, and soon the monsters are on the street and those fagots sensitive
Congress make a real party. Suddenly formase a dozen subcommittees.
- What we can not afford - said Bourne.
- I agree - Armbruster noted. - We have
some clue to the name of the son of a mother who is setting the stage on their own?
- We are closer, but not close. He contacted Langley but we do not know what wavelength.
- Langley? For God's sake, have someone inside. He can find out who is the son of a bitch.
- DeSole? - Risked simply Cobra.
- That's right - Armbruster leaned to
front. - You know almost everything. It is a connection very discreet. What DeSole said?
- Nothing. We can not touch him - said Jason, looking for a logical answer. Long ago was living as David
Webb! Conklin was right, had trouble thinking quickly. Then find the words ... part of the truth, a
dangerous but could be accepted and he could not lose credibility.
- He thinks he's being watched and we should stay away from him, do not look no contact until he gives
us
permission.
- What happened? - Armbruster grabbed his glass and stared.
- Someone in the cellars found that Teagarten,
Brussels has a code on fax directly with DeSole, overtaking traffic confidential routine.
- Damn stupid soldiers! - snapped Armbruster. - Once you get the golden currencies, begin to strut like
debutantes and want all the new toys that appear in the city! ... Faxes,code access! Jesus, he probably
pressed the wrong numbers and called ANDPC, the Association National Development of People of Color
- DeSole says it is creating a good disguise coverage and can get the job done, but it's time to start asking
questions, especially in this area. Will discreetly check that everything is possible, if you find something
tells us, but we should not look for it.
- Imagine, being a soldier had to jerk to ruin everything. If not for that ass with your code access, we
would not have any problem. Everything would be controlled.
- But it is the problem - the crisis - not
will resolve itself - Bourne said dryly. Again, we need to protect ourselves. Some are from disappear for a while at least. For the good of all.
The chairman of the Federal Trade Commission leaned back on the bench with unpleasant expression
and thoughtful.
- That's fine, I'll tell you one thing, Simon, or whatever it's called. You are investigating the wrong
people. We are businessmen, some rich enough or sufficiently selfish, or otherwise willing to work for
the government, but above all we are businessmen with investments throughout. We are also
appointed, not elected, which means that nobody demands full declaration of goods from us. Realize
where I'm going?
- I'm not sure - said Jason, fearing
be losing control, losing the strength of his threat. 've been away too long ... and Albert Armbruster was
nothing silly. He let himself be overcome by panic at first, but now is more controlled, much more
analytical. - Where are you going?
- Get rid of the soldiers. Villages to buy them or a couple of islands in the Caribbean and
put everyone out of reach. Give them their small cuts and let the kings play. After all, that's exactly what
they do.
- Operate without them? - Bourne asked, trying to hide his astonishment.

- You said, and I agree. Any trace of high rank and have problems. The title is "military-industrial
complex," which, loosely translated, means commercial and military collusion. - Armbruster leaned
forward on the table. - Do not need them anymore. Get rid of the soldiers.
- There can be very strident objections.
- Impossible. We have them by the balls their patents!
- I have to think about it.
- There's nothing to think about. In six months we will have the controls we need in Europe. Jason
Bourne looked at the president of the Federal Trade Commission. Which controls? thought. Why?
Why?
- I'll take you home - said Jason.
- I spoke with Marie - said Conklin's apartment agency in Virginia. - She is in the hotel, not in your home.
- Why? - Jason asked to phone a gas station near Manassas.
- She did not explain very well ... I think it was lunch time or nap time - one of those times when mothers
are somewhat vague. I heard the voices of his children. Man, they are noisy!
- What did she say, Alex?
- It seems that the decision was his brother. She did not elaborate and did not seem to be the fact that
exactly one busy mom, Marie was normal that I know and love - which means that all she wanted to
know was if you were okay.
- Meaning that you said I'm perfectly fine, right?
- What the hell, oh yeah! I said you're
hidden and guarded by examining a portion of computer printouts, a sort of variation of the truth.
- Johnny must have talked to her. Marie told him what happened and he took to his bunker unique.
- Your what?
- You never saw the Tranquility Inn, see?
Frankly, I do not remember if you were there or not.
- Panov and I saw only the plants and place four years ago. Not returned after that, at least I did not go
back. Nobody invited me.
- I will pass this note because you
standing invitation has since built the hotel ... Anyway, you know that is on the beach and the only
access, except for water, a dirt road is so full of rocks that no ordinary car can pass. Everything is
transported by plane or by boat. Almost nothing of the city.
- And the beach is patrolled - interrupted Conklin.
- Johnny does not want to risk anything.
- So I sent them there. I call her later.
- And what do you say now? - Alex asked. What about the Armbruster?
- Well, say the following - Bourne replied,
looking up at the ceiling plastic of the phone booth. - What does a man who has hundreds of millions of
dollars to tell me that Medusa - point of origin Command Saigon, with emphasis on "command", which
has nothing civilian - must get rid of the military because the Snake Lady does not need more of them?
- I do not believe - the former agent said in a low voice - He did not say that.
- Ah, said yes. Even called soldiers, and not with the intention of eternalize them in a song. Qualified
Admirals and Generals debutantes with golden currency they want all the new toys that appear in the
city.
- Some senators Armed Services Committee agree with that assessment - Alex noted.
- There's more. When I remembered that the woman
Snake came from Saigon - Command Saigon - he was very clear. Said may have come but certainly did
not end there because - and I am quoting verbatim -

"The soldiers did not know how to handle it."

- A provocative statement. He said that they did not know how to handle it?
- No, and I did not ask. Supposedly I should know the answer.
- I wish you had asked. Increasingly less like what I'm hearing. It is large and very ugly ... As he spoke in
100 million?
- I said that Medusa could buy a villa
for him, out of the country, where he could not be found, if necessary. He did not seem very interested
and said he wanted a village could afford. It has 100
million in American money in Zurich - a fact that I think he expected me to know too.
- That's all? Only 100 million?
- No. He said that like everyone else receives a telex monthly - in code - Zurich banks with the ratio of
deposits. Obviously they are growing.
- Big, ugly and growing - Conklin added. - Anything else? Not that I really want to hear, I'm quite scared.
- Two more things and you'd better have some fear in reserve ... Armbruster said that with the cables of
deposits also receive a list of companies on which they are gaining control.
- Which companies? From what he was talking about? ... My God!
- If I had asked my wife and my children would have to attend a funeral without a coffin, because I
would not be present.
- Tell me the rest.
- Our illustrious president of the Federal Trade Commission said that "we" can get rid of the ubiquitous
military because in six months "we" have all the controls you need in Europe ... Alex, who
controls? What are we dealing with?
Jason Bourne did not interrupt the silence on the line. David Webb wanted to scream, frustrated and
confused, but it was no use. It did not exist as a person. Finally, Conklin said.
- I think we're dealing with something
we can not solve - said very quietly.
- This has to go to a higher level, David. We can not keep to ourselves.
- Damn it, Alex. You're not talking to
David! - Bourne did not raise his voice. Not needed. This is not going anywhere until I give the order and maybe it never happens. Try to understand, field
agent, I owe nothing to anyone, especially not to the bigwigs of the city. They fairly shook my wife and
me so that I can make any concessions regarding our lives and those of our children. I want to find out
everything that is possible for a single order.Taking the Jackal's lair and kill him, so we can leave this
private hell and live our lives ... I know now that this is the way to do it. Armbruster said hard, and
probably he is tough, but is actually scared. All of them are scared - panicked, as you said and he was
right. Give them the idea of the Jackal, which will not refuse the solution. Give Carlos a client as rich and
powerful as our current Medusa, he can not resist - will get the respect of large, not just the dung of the
world, fanatics of the right or left ... Do not get in my way, do not do it, for God's sake!
- It is a threat, is not it?
- Stop it Alex. Do not wanna talk this way.
- But he spoke. It is the inverse of Paris for 13 years, is not it? Only you now I kill because I'm the one
who has no memory, the memory of what we did to you and Marie.
- I'm talking about my family - David Webb said in a strained voice, his forehead damp with sweat, his
eyes filled with tears. - You are thousands of miles away and hidden. could not be otherwise because I
do not want take any chances! ... I do not want my wife and children are murdered, Alex, because that is
what will be the Jackal figure. This week is
an island, what will be the next? How many more miles away? After that, where will - where do we
go? Knowing what we know we can not stop

- He's behind me, that damn filthy psychopath is behind me and all I know about it indicates that it will
require the ultimate sacrifice. His ego demands and that includes my family! ... No, field agent, do not
overload with issues that do not interest me - not when they interfere with Marie and the kids - I
deserve it.
- I'm hearing - said Conklin. - I do not know if
I hear David or Jason Bourne, but I'm listening. Okay, nothing inverse of Paris, but we must act quickly
and now I'm talking to Bourne. What do we do? Where are you?
- Reckon that about nine or ten miles from the
home of General Swayne - Jason said, taking a deep breath, anxiety controlled, the coldness returning. You took the phone call?
- Two hours.
- I'm still the Cobra?
- Why not? It is a snake.
- That's what I told Armbruster. He did not
liked.
- Swayne will like even less, but I have a
intuition I can not explain.
- What do you mean?
- I'm not sure, but I have the impression that he is accountable to someone.
- At the Pentagon? Burton?
- I think so, but I do not know. In his partial paralysis, he reacted as if it were a mere observer, someone
who is involved, but not in the middle of the game. He betrayed sometimes saying things like, "We have
to think about it" and "We need to see". Look who? was a private conversation with my usual warning
that he should not speak toanyone. indecisive His answer was a "we" editorial, meaning that the
illustrious general had to refer to himself. I did not buy this.
- I do not - Jason agreed. - I
changing clothes. I have everything in the car.
- What? Bourne turned to the plastic wall of the cabin and looked at the gas station. Saw what you were
looking, the men's room.
- You said Swayne lives on a farm
great west of Manassas ...
- Correction - Alex interrupted. - He calls the farm. Neighbors and tax tables call a property of 28
acres. Not bad for a career soldier, from a humble family from Nebraska who married a hairdresser in
Hawaii thirty years ago, and who allegedly bought the mansion for ten years with the heritage of a
mysterious benefactor, a rich uncle and obscure that I I could not locate. That's what piqued my
curiosity. Swayne led the Quartermaster Corps-in Saigon and have supported the Medusa ... What has to
do his home with his change of clothes?
- I want to take a look. I will arrive before the evening to see how, from the road, then when it is dark, I
will make a surprise visit.
- Very efficient. But why take a look
first?
- I like farms. Are so extensive, so much land. I can not imagine a career officer, who can be sent to
anywhere from one moment to another, risking such a large investment and definitive.
- Exactly what I thought, just what I was worried about the "how", not the "why." His approach is
perhaps more interesting.
- We'll see.
- Be careful. There may be alarms and dogs, things like that.
- I'm ready - said Jason Bourne. - I

some shopping when I left Georgetown.

The summer sun was low in the west, when he slowed the car down and rented the display not to be
dazzled by the light of the fireball. Soon he would disappear behind the mountains and Shenandoah
would transition uncertain light, foreshadow the night. Jason Bourne hoped the night, his friend and
ally, the darkness into which he moved quickly, with safe steps and hands were the impediments
sensors against nature. In the past, the jungle had received, knowing that although he was an intruder,
he respected and used as a part of himself. Jason was not afraid of the jungle and hugged because she
protected him and allowed its passage in implementing its goal. He and the jungle were one as it would have to be closed with the woods that flanked the estate of General Norman Swayne. The
main house kept at a distance of two football fields of the road. A palisade separated the entrance, to
the right, exit left, both with iron gates, giving entrance to the long U-shaped vehicles, flanked by a
profusion of trees and shrubs that was a natural extension of the palisade, both the left and right. Only
missing the houses of the guard at the entrance and exit.
Jason remembered of China, Beijing, and wild bird sanctuary where he had cornered the killer who
passed himself off as Jason Bourne. There was a guardhouse and a number of armed patrols in the
dense forest ... and a madman, a butcher who controlled an army of killers, the most important of Jason
Bourne. He had entered that sanctuary deadly unusable a small fleet of trucks and cars sticking the
blade of your knife in the tires after each assault was taking patrol in the Jing Shan forest until you find
the clearing lit by torches, where was the manic and his brigade of fanatics. Could do the same thing
today? Bourne thought, going for the third time, slowly, the front of the house Swayne, observing the
smallest details. Five years later, 13
years after Paris? Tried to assess the reality. It was no longer the young Paris, or mature man from Hong
Kong, Macau and Beijing. Now he felt his fifty years each. Do not want to think about it. Had other
things to solve and 28 acres of General Norman Swayne were not the primeval forest of the sanctuary of
Jing Shan.
However, as he had done in primitive surroundings of Beijing, took the car to a shelter of tall grass and
foliage. Down and covered vehicle with broken branches. The night came quickly would complete the
camouflage and then he would begin to act. In the bathroom of the gas station Jason had changed
clothes and now wore black pants, a sweater fair-sleeved, black sneakers with thick soles. It was his
work clothes. Spread on the ground the equipment purchased after he left Georgetown. A long-bladed
knife, which he held in his belt sheath. A CO2 pistol, double barrel, a nylon holster, whose darts pinned
any animal, as guard dogs. Two flags for lost drivers on the road with stalled cars, Zeiss Ikon binoculars 8
x 10, attached to the pants with a Velcro strap. A flashlight pen type, strips of rawhide and finally wire
cutters pocket size, in case there is any metal fence. With automatic provided by the CIA, all equipment
was attached to your belt or concealed under clothing. Night came and Jason Bourne entered the
woods.
The white sheet foam exploded against the coral reef and hung in the air, on the background of the dark
blue water of the Caribbean Sea. It was the time of the early evening, along with the setting of the sun
announcing when the Tranquility Isle was bathed prays for tropical colors, sometimes by shadows that
constantly varied format with the movement of the sun descended in the sky orange . Hotel Complex
Tranquility seemed cut in stone mountain above the long beach, framed by huge pontoons natural
coral.Two rows of villas color pink with terraces and red roofs of terrace-ta stretched on both sides of
the main building, large and circular, made of heavy stone and thick glass. All structures were toward
the sea and the villages were connected to it by a passage of white cement lined with bushes and lit by
several lamps. Waiters with yellow jackets pushed tables on wheels, serving drinks with ice and canaps
guests Tranquility, almost all sitting on the terraces of their villages, savoring the end of the day in the
Caribbean.With the descent of the night, other figures appeared quietly on the beach and long dock that

came into the sea. There were guests or hotel employees, but armed guards with uniforms and tropical
brown - too quietly - with his MAC-10 submachine guns
trapped in leather belts. On the other side of the tunic, attached to the fabric, had a binocular Zeiss Ikon
8 x 10 that used to constantly monitor the dark. The owner of Tranquility was willing to do justice to the
name of the hotel. In the large circular terrace of the village closest to the main building and restaurant
glazing, the sick and elderly woman in wheelchair, slowly took his Chteau Carbonnieux '78, while
enjoying the splendor of the setting sun. Absently touched the fringe badly dyed red, as he
listened. Heard the voice of her man talking to the nurse within the village, then the sound of him
walking tentative steps onto the terrace.
- My God! - She said. - I think I'll stay
windsock.
- Why not? - Said the messenger of the Jackal.
- This is the ideal place for this. I myself am seeing everything through a haze of disbelief.
- I still have not said why the Monsignor
sent
- Sent us here.
- I told you. I'm just a messenger.
- I do not believe.
- Believe it. It is important to him, but it means nothing to us. Enjoy my beautiful.
- You always calls me when they want
explain things.
- So, should have known from experience that should not insist, right?
- No, there is right, my dear. I'm dying ...
- Do not want to hear it!
- But it is true, can not hide from me. Do not worry for me, is the end of pain, but I worry about
you. You, always better than circumstances, Michel
- No, no, you are Jean Pierre, I must not forget ... But I have to worry about. This place, this extraordinary
hotel, all this attention. Guess who will pay a terrible price, my dear.
- Why is that?
- Something is wrong.
- You worry too much.
- No, you're wrong easily. My brother,
Claude always said that you accept a lot of monsignor. Someday will get the bill.
- His brother Claude is a sweet old man with cobwebs in the head. So the monsignor only gives him the
most insignificant tasks. You have you buy newspaper in Montparnasse and he ends up in Marseille,
without knowing what you're doing there. - The phone rang inside the village, stopping the Jackal's
man. - Our new friend will meet.
- It is a strange woman. Do not trust her.
- Works for the monsignor.
- Really?
- Do not have time to tell you. She will send us his instructions. The nurse uniform, with dark brown hair
stuck under the cap, appeared at the door of the terrace.
- Monsieur, is Paris. - Big eyes expressed the urgency that was not heard in his voice.
- Thank you. - The messenger came and the Jackal
followed the nurse to the phone that she picked up from the table and handed it to him. - Speaks Jean
Pierre Fontaine.
- Blessed be the son of God - said the voice, thousands of miles away. - All is well?
- In addition to any description - the old man replied. - It's so ... wonderful, much more than we deserve.

- You deserve it.

- How can I serve you?
- Following the orders given by the woman. Follow to the letter, without any modification, understand?
- Certainly.
- My blessing. - One click and the line went dead. Fontaine turned to speak to the nurse, but the woman
was no longer at his side but on the other end of the room, opening with a key to the desk drawer. He
came over and looked inside the drawer. Saw a pair of surgical gloves, a pistol with a silencer and a
straight razor with a retractable blade.
- These are your instruments - the woman said, holding the key, with the penetrating eyes fixed on the
man - and the targets are the last village on this side. You
should familiarize yourself with the area taking long walks, as do the old to activate circulation, and then
to kill them. Will do this by using gloves and giving a head shot of each.has to be in the head. Then
should cut the necks ...
- Mother of God, the children?
- Those are the orders.
- It is a barbaric thing!
- Want me to convey this opinion?
Fontaine looked at the door to the terrace, to the woman in the wheelchair.
- No, no, of course not.
- I thought so ... There is a final statement. With the blood must write the following on the wall: "Jason
Bourne, brother of the Jackal".
- Oh, my God! I will be caught, of course.
- That depends on you. Coordinate the execution
me and I will swear a great warrior of France was in this village at the time of the crime.
- At the time? ... What time? When should I do this?
- Within 36 hours.
- And then what?
- You can stay here until his wife died.
9
BRENDAN PATRICK PIERRE PREFONTAINE was stunned again. He had no reservation, but the reception
of Tranquility Inn treated him like a celebrity. Moments after he asks a village, was informed that
already had a village and asked if they had a good trip in Paris. There was a moment of confusion
because they could not find the owner of Tranquility to clarify things. He was not at the residence and, it
seemed, or at the hotel. Finally, hands went up in frustration and former judge of Boston was led to
miniature house overlooking the Caribbean Sea. By chance, not by prior determination, Brendan
reached into the wrong pocket and gave the manager receiving a fifty dollars. Immediately Prefontaine
has become a man worthy of attention. Fingers and hands cracked down on the bells. Nothing was too
much for the splendid magnificent stranger who had just disembarked from the seaplane coming
Montserrat ... It was the name that created confusion at the reception of Tranquility. Could such a
coincidence? ... However, the governor of the Crown thought it best to err on the safe side. Get a village
to man.
Once installed, your clothes stored in the closet and dresser, the madness continued. Got a bottle of '78
Chteau Carbonnieux cold recmcolhidas with flowers and a box of Belgian chocolates. Soon the servant
returned confused, to remove the gifts, apologizing, saying that champagne, flowers and chocolates
were on the ward to another village - or the other - he was not sure, mon.
The judge wore a pair of shorts, with a grimace to thin legs, and a shirt emblazoned discreetly. Tennis
and white cloth cap completed the ensemble. Would soon darken and he wanted to walk a bit. For
several reasons.

- I know who Jean Pierre Fontaine - said

John St. Jacques, reading the register at the front desk. - Is the man recommended by the governor of
the Crown, but who the hell is BP Prefontaine?
- A distinguished judge of the United States - said the assistant manager with his black strong British
accent.
- My uncle, the assistant director of immigration, called the airport for a couple hours. Unfortunately I
was up there when there was confusion, but our staff did the right thing.
- A judge? - Asked the owner of Tranquility, when the assistant manager touched his arm away from the
counter and employees. - What did your uncle?
- Total privissy should be guaranteed these two guests.
- And why would not they? What does that mean?
- My uncle was very discreet, but said he saw the judge to buy the ticket at the counter of the interisland flights. He also said that he knew was right. The judge and the French war hero and relatives are
expected to meet to discuss matters highly confidential.
- In that case, why the honorable judge had not
reservation?
- Apparently there are two possible explanations,
sir. According to my uncle, they should meet at the airport, but the reception committee of the governor
stopped the meeting to take place.
- What is the second possibility?
- They made a mistake in the judge's office in Boston, Massachusetts. According to my uncle, there was
a brief conversation about the people who work for the judge, and he said he had made a mistake with
your passport would all tickets to apologize.
- Then the judges earn much more in the U.S. than in Canada. He was lucky to have a vague village.
- It is the summer season, mister. Generally
We have vacancies in these months.
- No need to tell me ... Okay, so we have two distinguished relatives wishing to meet privately, but do
things very strange way. Perhaps it is best to call and inform the judge that village is Fontaine. Or
Prefontaine - whatever that is.
- Lord, I suggested that courtesy to my uncle and he was decisive. We should not do anything. According
to my uncle, all great men have secrets and he would not want his brilliant deduction was revealed,
especially to stakeholders.
- Say what?
- If we gave the call, the judge would know that information could only take advantage of my uncle, the
assistant director of immigration in Montserrat.
- Christ, do what you want, I have other things to attend to ... By the way, I ordered double patrols on
the road and on the beach.
- Come stay with little security at the hotel, sir.
- I removed some of the internal paths. I know
who is here, but do not know who will want to enter.
- Expect trouble, sir?
John St. Jacques looked at the assistant manager.
- Not now - he said. - I've been checking
every inch of the beach and the land. By the way, I'm staying with my sister and my nephews in Vila
Twenty. The hero of the Resistance War, known as Jean Pierre Fontaine, walked slowly down the
concrete walkway towards the last village in front of the sea. Was equal to the other, with walls painted
pink and red roof, but the lawn was higher, the hedge taller and thicker. A place for prime ministers and
presidents, foreign secretaries and secretaries of state, men and women of international stature looking

for peace and seclusion exquisite. Fontaine reached the end of the road where stood a white wall with
four feet tall and behind the impenetrable forest, on the hillside leading down to the beach. The wall
stretched in both directions, making a curve around the hill, down the terraces of the villages, serving as
demarcation and protection. The iron gate of the Village Twenty was painted pink. Inside, the man saw a
child in a bathing suit, running on the lawn. Then a woman appeared at the front door.
- Come, Jamie - she called. - It's time
dinner.
- Alison eaten, Mom?
- I ate and slept, dear. She will not yell at you.
- Like most of our house. Why can not we go home, Mommy?
- Because Uncle John wants us to stay here ... The boats are here, Jamie. You can go fishing and sailing
with him as the last holiday of April.
- But we were on vacation at home.
- Yeah, well, Dad was with us ...
- And so much fun strolling truck!
- Dinner, Jamie. Come on now.
Mother and son entered the house and trembled thinking Fontaine orders of the Jackal, the bloody
execution he had sworn to perpetrate. Then he remembered the boy's words,why can not we go home,
ma, mom? ... On vacation we were at home. And the mother answers, Because Uncle John wants us to
stay here ... Yeah, well, Dad was with us.
There could be several explanations for these words, but Fontaine had the ability to sense danger with
more certainty than most men, because his life was always full of dangerous situations. Sensed the
danger now and for this reason an old do several night walks to "activate circulation."
Turning his back to the wall white again by
concrete walkway so absorbed in his thoughts that almost collided with a guest about his age, with a
white cap and white sneakers idiot.
- Excuse me - said the stranger, turning away
to the side.
- Pardon, monsieur - said the embarrassed hero of France, using his native tongue without feeling. J and regrette - I mean, I who should apologize.
- Oh! - The stranger looked at him quickly,
as if looking disguise the fact recognized him.
- Not at all.
- Pardon, 've met, monsieur?
- I do not think - said the man with the cap
idiot.
- But we've all heard the news. A great
French hero is among the guests.
- Nonsense. Accidents of war, when we were all much younger. My name is Fontaine. Jean Pierre
Fontaine.
- What is my ... Patrick. Brendan Patrick ...
- It is a pleasure to meet you, monsieur. ' - They shook hands. - It's a beautiful place, do not you think?
- Simply wonderful. - The stranger seemed to study it again, thought Fontaine, but avoiding direct eye
contact. - Well, I'm going - said the guest white tennis again. - Doctor's orders.
- Moi aussi - Jean Pierre said in French, which of course caused some impression. - Toujours leaverage decin the notre ge, n'est-ce-pas?
- True, true - replied the man

thin legs, and waving a farewell, walked quickly through the passage. Fontaine stood watching the man
walked away, waiting, knowing what was going to happen. And then it happened. The stranger stopped
and slowly turned. By far their eyes met. It was enough. Jean Pierre smiled, then returned to her
village. Another warning, he thought, and more lethal. For three things were evident. First, the man with
the right-bo idiot spoke French. Second, he knew that "Jean Pierre Fontaine" was actually another
person - sent by someone to Montserrat. Third ... he had the mark of the Jackal eyes. Mon Dieu! Typical
of Monsignor. Plan the crime, ensure their implementation, then remove anything that might betray his
method of operation, especially his private army of old men. No wonder what the nurse had said. They
could stay in that paradise until his wife's death, a date very vague. The generosity of the Jackal was not
as big as it looked. The woman's death as well as his, were due date. John St. Jacques answered the
phone in his office.
- Yes?
- They found, sir! - Said Assistant euphoric, speaking reception.
- Who found?
- The big man and his illustrious kinsman of Boston, Massachusetts. I would have called immediately, but
there was confusion with a box of Belgian chocolates ...
- Do what you're talking about?
- I saw through the window a few minutes ago, sir. They were talking on the way. My dear uncle, the
assistant director, was right at all!
- This is great.
- The office of the governor of the Crown will be pleased and I will definitely be commended, as well as
my uncle brilliant, of course.
- Great for all of us - said St. Jacques, tired. - Now we no longer need to worry about them, right?
- In general, I would say no, sir ... But while we are talking, the judge walks into the hotel with hurried
steps. I think it will go.
- I think he does not bite, probably want
thank you. Do what he asks. A storm approaches Basse-Terre and we need the service of communication
coastguard if our phones enguiarem.
-'ll Answer any request him personally,
sir!
- Well, within certain limits. Do not brush his teeth.
Brendan Prefontaine came quickly in the glassed lobby of the hotel. Only after the old French entered
the first village that ward, turned around and hurried to dirigiuse central building. As he had done so
many times in the last thirty years, had to think quickly while riding - usually while running - inventing
plausible explanations for certain possibilities obvious and some not so obvious. I'd just make a mistake
inevitable, but still stupid. Inevitable because it was not prepared to give a false name to the hotel
register, if necessary identification, and stupid because it gave a false name to the hero of France
... Well, not so stupid, the similarity of their surnames could cause unwanted complications for the
purpose of your trip to Montserrat, which was simply extortion - find out what had scared Randolph
Gates the point that he pay an absurd amount, and after discovering, maybe get more. No, the stupidity
was not the precaution that would take now. Came near the reception counter and the thin man behind
him.
- Good evening, sir - the receptionist almost screamed, causing the judge looked around, thanking the
fact that there were few guests around. - Whatever it is, you can be sure of the perfection of my service!
- Preferred to speak lower, young man.
- I'll whisper - the man said, his voice inaudible.
- What did you say?
- How may I help you? - Said the receptionist, now sotto voce.

- Let's just talk calmly, right?

- Of course. I'm flattered.
- Really?
- Of course!
- Well - said Prefontaine. - I want to ask you a favor ...
- Anything!
- Shhh!
- Of course.
- Like most men of my age,
I usually forget things, you understand that, do not you understand?
- I doubt that a man of his wisdom forget something.
- What? ... Let it go. I'm traveling incognito, you know what I mean.
- Certainly, sir.
- I registered with my name, Prefontaine ...
- Undoubtedly enrolled, sir - the man interrupted. - I know.
- It was a mistake. My office and the people who are looking for me will ask for "Mr. Patrick ", my second
name. It is an innocent subterfuge to ensure my much needed rest.
- I understand - the man said confidently, leaning on the counter.
- Do you understand?
- Of course. If you know that an eminent person
like you're staying here, will not let him rest. How else, can have privissy complete! You can be sure that
I understand.
- Privissy? Oh, God almighty! ...
- I will personally correct the record book, Judge.
- Judge? ... I never said I was a judge.
The man was quite upset. -.
An oversight due to the enthusiasm serve him, sir.
- And to serve else - another person.
- I give you my word, no one here but the hotel owner, knows the confidentiality of your visit, sir - the
man murmured, leaning on the counter again. - Everything is privissy full!
- Santa Maria, one jerk at the airport ...
- My cunning uncle - the receptionist continued,
without hearing the words spoken softly Prefontaine
- Made it clear that it is a great privilege for us to receive the illustrious men who demand total
discretion. You see, he called me for that.
- All right, all right, young man, I now understand and appreciate everything you are doing. Do not forget
to change the name to Patrick in the registry and if anyone asks for me, must give that name. Are we
clear?
- With foresight, His Honor Judge!
- I hope not.
Four minutes later the receptionist answered the phone nervous.
- Reception - said singing voice as if giving a blessing.
- Here is Monsieur Fontaine in Vila Eleven.
- Yes, sir. The honor is mine ... our ... for everyone!
- Merci. Could you help me? I met a charming American is about 15 minutes, a man about my age, with a
white cap. I thought to invite you for an aperitif in one of these days, but I did not hear his name
correctly.

Are testing me, thought the receptionist. Great men not only have secrets, but if you care about those
who share them.
- For description, sir, I would say it is the charming Mr. Patrick.
- Ah, yes, I think that was the name he gave. An Irish name, but he's American, is not it?
- A very American scholar, sir, Boston, Massachusetts. Fourteen is the Village. Just call for Seven-a-fours.
- Yes, well, thank you. If you see Mr. Patrick, do not say anything. As you know, my wife is not well and I
hope you feel better to make the invitation.
- Never say nothing, great lord, unless they receive orders. With respect to you and the learned Mr.
Patrick, follow to the letter the instructions of the Governor of the Crown confidential.
- Really? That is very commendable ... Adieu.
I got! Thought the receptionist hung up. Great men understand the subtleties and he was subtle in a
way that his brilliant uncle would like. Not only giving immediately the name Patrick, but also using the
word scholar, indicating a learned man
- Or judge. Finally, saying he did not say anything without prior instructions from the Governor of the
Crown. Subtly he had hinted in the intimacy of the two great men. It was a breathtaking experience and
he needed to call his uncle and share this triumph. Sitting in bed with the phone in her lap, motionless,
Fontaine looked at the woman on the terrace. She was in a wheelchair, in profile to him, the glass of
wine on the table, his head bowed in a fit of pain ... Pain! All this horrible world was full of pain! And he
was responsible for a part of it. He understood that. Do not expect mercy, but his wife had nothing to do
with it. It was not part of the contract. His life, of course, but not hers, as she had not a spark of life in
the frail body, Non, monseigneur. Je refus! Ce n'est pas le con- trat!
Then the army of old men of the Jackal now stretched to America - was expected. An old Irish with a cap
idiot, a man worship that, for some reason, had embraced terrorism, would be his executor. A man who
had observed carefully, pretending not to understand French, which had the mark of the Jackal
eyes. Concerning the Lord and worship Mr.Patrick, follow the instructions of the Governor of the
Crown. Governor of the Crown he received instructions from his master's death in Paris.
Ten years ago, after five very productive years with Monsignor, had given him a phone number in
Argenteuil, eight kilometers north of Paris, which should only be used in case of extreme emergency. He
had used only once before, and was going to use it now. Examined the international codes, picked up
the phone and dialed. After nearly two minutes attended.
- Le Coeur du Soldat - said a male voice
expressionless, with martial music in the background.
- I need to speak with a blackbird - said Fontaine,
in French. - My identity is Paris Five.
- If you can fulfill your order, where the bird can find it?
- In the Caribbean. - Fontaine gave the area code, telephone number and extent of Vila Eleven. He hung
up and waited motionless and downcast. I knew deep down that these could be the last hours of his life
and his wife. In that case, could face his God and tell the truth. Yes, he had killed, but had never done
harm to people who had not committed a crime or other with the exception of a few innocents caught in the crossfire or killed in an explosion. All life is pain, not
what the scriptures say? ... On the other hand, what kind of God could allow such brutality? Merde!
Do not think of these things! Are beyond your comprehension. The phone rang and Fontaine led to the
ear.
- Here is Paris Five - he said.
- Son of God, which can be so urgent for you to use the number only used once before?
- Your generosity has been absolute, Monsignor, but I think we need to redefine our contract.
- In what way?
- My life is yours to do whatever you want with mercy, if you want, but that does not include my wife.

- The what?
- There is a man here, a learned man city
Boston to watch me with strange look, with eyes that tell me that he has bad intentions.
- The arrogant jerk Montserrat was due to pro- pria. He does not know anything.
- Obviously he knows, and I ask, will obey
their orders, but let us go back to Paris ... I implosion ro. Allow her to die in peace. I ask nothing more.
- You make me beg? I gave you my word!
- So why this learned man of America
here is following me with his expressionless face and curious eyes, Monsignor?
The cavernous cough and rough filled the silence, and then said the Jackal.
- The great teacher of law transgressed my law intruded where it should not meddle. He's a dead man.
Edith Gates, wife of the famous professor and lawyer, quietly opened the door to the workroom of his
elegant townhouse on Louisburg Square. Her husband sat motionless in the heavy leather armchair in
front of the fireplace, staring at the crackling fire, a fire that he insisted on, despite the warm night
outside Boston and central air conditioning indoors,
Looking at him, Mrs. Gates once again thought sadly there were ... certain things ... about the husband
she would never understand. Gaps in his life that would never be filled, empty at the thought of him
that she could not understand. I just knew that at times he felt a terrible pain that did not share with
anyone. 33 years ago, a woman relatively attractive with some money, had married a very tall, awkward,
brilliant but poor, who had just graduated in law and whose anxiety and desire to please him had closed
the doors of the largest and most reputable firms in the cold season and contained '50s. The veneer of
sophistication and demand security had more value than a brilliant mind, but disorganized, especially
when it belonged to a man disheveled, in clothes that were cheap imitations of J. Press and Brooks
Brothers, which seemed worse because your bank account does not allow him to pay any necessary
reform and its size was difficult to find in stores. However, the new Mrs. Gates had many ideas to
improve the lives of the two.Among them was her husband immediately abandon a career in law - it was
better not to work in any firm that belongs to a firm bottom, or, what was worse, having a private office
with clients that he would draw on the right, ie, those who could not afford good lawyers. It was better
to use your natural gifts, his height and intelligence agile, its great power of understanding, combined
with an active spirit, facilitated any academic work. Using their modest savings, Edith built the outer
frame of your man. Bought the right clothes and hired a teacher who taught elocution to speak and
perform in public. The clumsy new lawyer soon acquired an aura Lincolniana with flashes of John
Brown.Furthermore, on his way to become a legal expert. Continued to attend college, collecting
diplomas and certificates, while teaching at the undergraduate level, to acquire a detailed knowledge
and specific areas of the incontestable right. And then began to be sought by firms that had rejected
before.
The strategy took nearly ten years to deliver concrete results, which, though not remarkable at first, at
the level of money they represented progress. The journals have begun to publish their articles that
provoked some controversy, both for style as for the content, because the young substitute teacher
knew how to use the written word, while being interesting and esoteric, delicate and incisive. But what
caught the attention of the community their opinions were innovative. The spirit of the nation was
changing, the crust of the Benevolent Society began to leave, following the first crack caused by code
created by
"Boys" Nixon, such as beggars and Sustained Silent Majority Government and pejorative them. A petty
meanness stood the ground and spread, without the perceptive and decent Ford could stop her, as she
was weakened by injuries Watergate . Too strong for the brilliant Carter also very concerned with
minutiae to exercise a leadership com-prehensive. The phrase "... what you can do for your country "out
of fashion and was replaced by" what can I do for me. "

Dr. Randolph Gates discovered a relentless wave to surf a mellifluous voice and a vocabulary
increasingly acerbic that matched the new era that arose. In your opinion now learnedly refined legal, economic and social - higher was better, and always preferable to less. Attacked laws that
supported the competition in the market, defining them as roadblocks to schedule more extensive
industrial growth, which flowed all kinds of benefits for all well, pretty much for everyone. After all, it was a Darwinian world, and like it or not, the fittest always
survive. The drums and cymbals rufaram tolled and financial manipulators found a champion
a scholar of law, which gave respectability to their dreams honest fusion and consolidation. Buy, take
out, and sell, all for the sake of the majority, of course.Randolph Gates was summoned and ran for
their arms with alacrity, haunting a court after another with his fitness elocutria. He had succeeded,
but Edith Gates was not sure what that meant. Had dreamed of a comfortable life, of course, but not
millions, not private jets flying around the world, from Palm Springs to the south of France. Neither felt
fine when articles and lectures husband were used to support causes she considered contradictory or
plainly unjust. Randolph gave little attention to the arguments of women, stating that the cases in
question were legitimate intellectual parallel. Above all, there are more than six years since we shared
the same bed or the same room. Edith entered the room and stopped suddenly heard the gasp and the
look of wonder and surprise her husband.
- Sorry, did not mean to scare you.
- You always knock on the door. Why not hit?
You know how I am when I'm concentrating.
- I apologize. I was thinking about something and not thought.
- This is a contradiction.
- I thought of knocking, I mean.
- What were you thinking? - asked the famous lawyer, as if he doubted that she was able to think.
- Please do not get smart with me.
- What is, Edith?
- Where were you last night?
Gates raised his eyebrows in surprise ironic.
- My God, you suspect me? I've already said. At the Ritz. Conference with someone I met there
few years, someone I did not want to bring home here. If, at your age, you want confirmation, call the
Ritz. Edith Gates was silent for a few moments, looking at her husband.
- My dear - she said. - Not a damn
if you went to see a more voluptuous whore Zone Combat. Probably someone had to give her a stiff
drink to restore their confidence.
- Not bad, bitch.
- In this department, you is not exactly a
stallion, you bastard.
- Is there any goal in this conversation?
- I think so. About an hour ago, one
just before you reach the office, a man knocked on the door. Denise was cleaning the silver, so I
answered. I must admit it was an impressive figure, with very expensive clothes and his car was a black
Porsche ...
- And then? - Gates interrupted, leaning forward in his chair with his eyes wide, his body rigid.
- Ordered tell you that le grand professeur owes him $ 20,000 and that "he" was not where he said he
would be last night, I suppose, would be the Ritz.
- There was. An unexpected thing happened ... Oh, Christ, he does not understand. What was that you
said?
- I did not like the language or his attitude.

He said he had no idea where you might be. He knew I was lying, but could do nothing.
- Great. Lying is one thing he knows
as well.
- I can not imagine that 20 000 are a big problem for you ...
- It is not money, is the form of payment.
- Of what?
- Nothing.
- I think this is what you call a contradiction, Randy.
- Oh, shut up!
The phone rang. Gates jumped up, but stood still, looking at the device. Said the woman, hoarsely.
- Whoever, say that I'm not ... I'm traveling out of town ... do not know when I will return. Edith went to
the phone.
- It is your particular line - she said, picking up the phone on the third ring. - Gates Residence - she said, a
trick used for years. Friends knew that she was, others did not matter anymore. - Yes .. Yes? I'm sorry,
he's traveling and do not know when you will return.
- Edith looked at the phone and then hung up. - The operator was in Paris ... It's weird. Someone wanted
to talk to you, but when I said that you were not even asked where he could find it. She just hung up very sharply.
- Oh, my God! - Gates said, visibly shaken. - Something happened ... Something went wrong,
someone mentiu1. - With these enigmatic words, the lawyer turned abruptly and began to pace the
room, searching for something in his pants pocket. Reached a part of the bookcase that reached the
ceiling transformed into a small closet with the door fitted in carved wood frame steel brown. In a panic,
as if only then remembered, he turned to the woman and shouted:
- Get out of here! Get out, get out of here!
Edith Gates walked slowly to the door and
then turned and said, in a calm voice:
- It all comes back to Paris, there is Randy? Seven years ago, in Paris. was there that something
happened, right? You
back terrified, a man with a pain that can not share.
- Get out! - shouted shrilly the famous law professor, upset.
Edith went out and closed the door, but he was holding the handle. Moments later, she opened a little
and watched her husband.
The shock was beyond anything she could imagine. The man who lived 33 years ago, the giant cool not
smoke or drink a drop of alcohol, was sticking a hypodermic needle in the arm. 10
NIGHT involved Manassas, Virginia, the field with his mysterious nightlife when Bourne silently crossed
the grove near the property of General Norman Swayne. Frightened birds fled from their hideouts,
crows awoke in the trees, and then croaked, verifying that it was a fellow conspirator in search of food,
shut up yourself.
Bourne reached it actually wondering if she would be there. A fence - high, with interlocking links
embedded in green plastic, more rolls of barbed wire leaning forward. Entry prohibited. Beijing. The
Jing Shan Sanctuary. had hidden things inside that eastern wildlife reserves, so it was protected by
an impenetrable barrier officer. But why a general office, who lived of service pay, needed a palisade like
that around his "ranch" in Manassas, Virginia, an obstruction that must have cost thousands of
dollars? There was to surround the cattle, but to prevent the entry of human life. As the sanctuary of
China, there should be no electrical alarms among the links of the fence as the animals and the birds
would soar endlessly.Nor would the rays of invisible light for the same reason. They should be close to
the ground near the house and at waist height, if there were any. Bourne took the small wire cutters
from his pocket and began to cut the lower links.

Cutting the metal links, Jason again

understood the message of his heavy breathing and sweat that flowed in his forehead. As much as he
tried
- Not rabidly, but with a certain constancy to keep in shape, was fifty years old and his body knew it. It was something that should be recognized
but not considered a problem. The important were Marie and children, hisfamily. Through them, would
do whatever was necessary. David Webb was no longer with him, only the predator Jason Bourne. was
going! The parallel vertical links were cut and the wires lying on the ground. Jason grabbed the fence
with both hands and pulled her out, every inch of open space a real struggle. Crept into that strange
land fortified and stood with ears, eyes scanning the almost complete darkness. Saw - filtered through
the tangle of branches of tall pines that surrounded the land - a flash of light coming from the main
house. Slowly walked to the circular entrance of vehicles in front of the house. Reached the edge of the
asphalt and lay face down under the protection of a pine, resuming his breath and rearranging thoughts
while studying the terrain ahead. Suddenly a light flashed in the distance, on your right, at the end of a
gravel coming out of the circular vehicle.
A door opened into what appeared to be a large hut or a small house and stayed open. Two men and a
woman came out of the house talking ... no, were not talking, they were arguing heatedly. Bourne took
the binoculars to his eyes. Focused on the trio, whose voices were becoming louder and louder. Not
distinguish the words, but the anger was evident. Jason watched the three people, realizing immediately
that the man of average height and size upright was General Swayne Pentagon and woman large
breasts, dark hair with reflexes was his wife, but what caught his attention - which fascinated him - was
the huge man who stood by the open door. Jason knew! Could not remember where or when, which
was natural, but his visceral reaction to the sight of man there was natural. It was a feeling of deep
hatred and he did not know why. No memory helped him, just the feeling of disgust and
revulsion. Where were the images, brief flashes of time or circumstance that often lit up the screen of
your mind? None. Jason only knew the man through his binoculars focused was his enemy. Then the big
man did an extraordinary thing. With a protective gesture, put his left arm over her shoulders muscular
woman Swayne and the right hand finger-wagging snapped with the general. Swayne reacted with a
mixture of stoic decision and feigned indifference. He turned around and step military went to the back
door of the house, disappearing into the dark of night. Bourne turned the binoculars for the two figures
illuminated. The big man took his hand and obese shoulder Swayne's wife and said something. With a
nod, she lightly kissed his lips and ran behind her husband. The man entered the small house, slammed
the door shut and turned out the light.
Jason held the binoculars again on leg
pants and stopped to think about what had just seen. It was like a silent movie without subtitles, with
gestures genuine and not overly dramatic. It was evident that den-tro that fortress worked
one threesome, but this did not explain the security measure. There was another reason, a reason that
he needed to find.
His instinct told him that whatever it was, was related to the big man who had just entered furiously at
the little house. Jason had to come to the house, get to the man who had been a part of his forgotten
past. He got up slowly and protecting themselves behind the trunks of pine trees, has reached the end
of the circular driveway for vehicles and continued following the narrow passage of gravel.
Stopped by shooting rapidly down to hear a sound that did not belong to the murmur of the woods. It
was the sound of wheels kneading and moving the gravel. Jason rolled under the low branches of a pine
tree and spread, turning the body to locate the source of noise. Thus, out of the shadows, appeared on
the gravel road a strange vehicle. It was a mixture of three-wheeled motorcycle and a car miniature golf,
with wide tires, a vehicle capable of running at great speed and with perfect balance. It was also, in a
way, threatening, because in addition to Long and flexible antenna, a shield of bulletproof glass

protecting the driver at the same time could warn whoever was inside the house, in case of invasion or
robbery. The "farm" of General Norman Swayne was certainly strange ... Then, suddenly became grim.
Another tricycle like the first appeared from the shadows, behind the wooden house - it was a house
made of logs - and stopped beside the first in the gravel. Both drivers turned the fit-dren for small house
like robots in a public gallery and then rang the words in invisible speaker.
- Lock gates - said the voice expanded and
authoritarian. - Release the dogs and continue his round. In a perfect choreography, the two vehicles did
turn back, each to one side, the engines roared in unison and strange cars plunged rapidly at
night. When you hear about dogs, Jason instinctively picked up the CO2 pistol from his pocket and
crawled with quick movements, among the bushes, to a distance of one or two meters from the
continuation of the fence. If dogs were all together, would have to jump to the other side of the barbed
wire fence. The dart gun could paralyze two animals at once, and that was all he would not have time to
recharge it. Waited crouched, ready to jump the fence, with a clear vision of the branches
intertwined.Suddenly a black dobermann appeared on the gravel path, advancing without any
hesitation, without appearing to be following the scent, but only dirigindose to a particular place. Then
came other, a German shepherd longhaired. He slowed his pace and instinctive gesture, as if
programmed to do so, stopped in the middle of the gravel road.Standing motionless, Bourne
understood. Dogs were trained to attack, each with its particular territory, marked by animal urine,
always acting in their own field. It was a discipline behavior adopted by eastern farmers and small
landowners who knew very well how much it cost to feed the animals guarding their little fiefdoms
survival. Trained a few, as few as possible to protect their properties from thieves, and when the alarm
was activated, all converging on the same point. East. Vietnam ... Medusa. Began to remember! Traces
vague, obscure - pictures! A strong young man in uniform in the direction of a jeep. Go down the jeep
and - through the fog of memory of Jason - begins screaming for what's left of a group assault after he
returned to interdict an access road parallel to the ordnance
Ho Chi Minh Trail. The same man, older, fatter, he had seen with his binoculars a few moments. And
years ago, this same man had promised supplies. ammunition, mortars, grenades, radios. But it came
back with nothing. Only complaints Command Saigon that "you, your illegal shit, gave us wrong
information!" But it was not truth. Saigon had acted too late, reacted too late and 26 men were killed or
captured, for nothing!
As if it had happened an hour ago, there
minute, Bourne said. He took 45 of his holster and without warning, struck his forehead sergeant with
the gun barrel.
- One more word and you're dead, Sergeant! - The man was a sergeant. - Bring our requests tomorrow
at 5:00 in the morning and I go to Saigon and personally I spread her pieces through the wall of the
brothel you frequent. I am speaking course or prefer to avoid my trip to the city of publicity? Frankly,
considering our losses, I'd rather end up with you right here.
- You will get what you need.
- Trs bien! - shouted the older French group Medusa, the same year that later saved his life in a wildlife
sanctuary in Beijing. - Tu es for- midable, mon fils!
He was absolutely right. And now absolutely dead. D'Anjou, a man legendary. Jason's memories were
interrupted violently. The attack dog, longhaired, began to spin on the road, growling louder, nostrils
sniffing the presence of a human being. In a few seconds, so identified the exact direction the animal
went into action. He ran to the foliage with teeth bared, growling now warning Husky deadly
attack. Bourne leaned against the fence, taking the gun CO2 nylon holster with his right hand, his left
arm in front of him, ready to counter-attack if it was not perfectly executed, cost him his life. The animal
jumped furious a vibrating mass of anger. Jason threw the first dart, then the other and at the same
time, with one blow of his left arm turned the dog's head to the side, attacking the middle of his body

violently with the knee, to avoid the claws. In a few moments it was all over - moments of rage, panic,
finally disintegration - without the whining that would be heard in the general's house. The body of the
animal drugged, with open eyes, limp in the arms of Bourne. Jason put it on the floor and waited,
motionless, until you are sure that no alarm warning was sent to other animals. Nothing, except the
constant murmur of the forest on the other side of the fence. Jason kept the pistol CO2
holstered and trace back to the gravel road with his face covered in sweat. was away for a long
time. Years ago, silencing a dog would have been just un exercise ordinaire, like say the legendary
D'Anjou - but it was not so simple. What he felt was fear. Fear pure and real. Where was the man who
existed before? But Marie and the children were in danger and that man had to be summoned. Call
Now!
Bourne again took the binoculars to his eyes. Low clouds and rapid covering and discovered the
moonlight, but the yellow light was sufficient. Observed the hedge that lined the road outside. Walking
from one side to the other in the dirt track, like a panther furious and impatient, the black dobermann
stopped once or twice to pee and sniff the bushes with a long snout. As had been programmed to do, he
walked from one side to the other, between the gates of the circular vehicle. At every given point
stopped, growled and turned the body several times, as if waiting for the hated electric shock through
the collar would receive if transgressed orders. It was also the training method adopted in Vietnam. The
soldiers disciplined dogs guarding the ammunition depots through remote control devices. Jason
focused his binoculars on the other end of the huge lawn in front of the house. There was the third
animal, a huge weimaraner, docile appearance, but deadly in attack. The hyperactive dog ran from one
side to the other, excited perhaps with the movement of squirrels or rabbits in the bushes, but not with
the presence of a human being, because it was growling softly, the sign of the deadly attack.
Jason tried to analyze what I was seeing, as it depended on the success of his mission. Must assume the
presence of one or two dogs, perhaps a third, patrolling the property Swayne. But why separates
from? Why not a pack, which would be much more frightening? The cost of maintenance, which limited
the number of guard dogs of Eastern was not the case ... Then Jason realized. A basic explanation and
obvious. Moved the binoculars focusing now the dobermann, now weimaraner, with the image of the
shepherd longhaired still very much alive in his mind. Besides dogs trained to attack, those animals were
something else. They were champions of their races, treated, brushed and combed to perfection animal killers, playing the role of dogs awarded during the day and violent predators, the
overnight. It is clear. A "farm" of General Norman Swayne was not a property illegal, unregistered or
hidden, but completely open and no doubt visited by friends, neighbors and colleagues. During the day,
guests could admire the champions docile in their kennels without suspicious than they really
were. Norman Swayne, chief quartermaster of the Pentagon and former student of Medusa, was just a
lover of dogs, which proved the purity of the breed of their animals. Perhaps levied a fee to give their
animals for breeding but nothing in the code of military ethics forbade it. A disguise. If this aspect of the
"farm" the general was a sham, certainly throughout the property concealed anything, it was all as false
as the supposed
"Inheritance" with which he had purchased. Medusa.
A foreign tricycles appeared at the other end of the lawn, out of the shadow of the house and keeping
track of outgoing circular path. Bourne, with his binoculars, he saw the weimaraner running happily
beside the vehicle, barking, trying to draw the driver's attention. The driver. Drivers were the drivers!
The familiar smell of their bodies calmed dogs, transmitting security. This observation completed the
analysis and the analysis determined their tactics. Needed to move with greater freedom than was
moving now. It needed to be in the company of one of the controllers. Needed to get hold of one of the
cars. Returned to the place where he had cut the fence. The mechanized vehicle flak stopped at the
narrow track between the two gates almost hidden by bushes. Jason set the binoculars. Apparently the
black dobermann was a favorite. The man in the vehicle opened the shield on the right and the animal

leaped forward, supporting huge paws on the car seat. The man reached biscuits or pieces of meat to
the dog's open mouth, then patted the animal's neck. Bourne realized he had a few moments
to execute its strategy unclear. Had to stop the car and forcing the man to leave him without alarming
him, without giving any reason to use the radio and call for help. The dog?
Put it on the way? No. The man could think that someone had shot him on the other side of the fence
and give the alarm. What could I do? looked into the darkness, feeling the panic of uncertainty, his
anxiety growing every second. Then, once again discovered obvious.
The vast expanse of lawn, the hedge trimmed to perfection, the circular entrance for vehicles - was the
order of keyword domains of General. Jason could hear Swayne sending guards "police the
area". Looked at the car and the dobermann. Man
pushing the dog as one who plays, ready to close the shield. Just a few seconds now. What. How?
He saw the outline of a tree branch on the ground, a branch fallen rotted pine. Jason took the branch
and took it to the paved road. Leave it halfway would clearly a trap, but if you put only a part of the
branch in the road - would be a breach of the order that reigned on the property - no doubt think of the
guard take it out of the way now, before the General passed by and saw that disorder. The men of the
fortress of Swayne should be soldiers or ex-soldiers, still under military authority. In some reprimands
avoided, especially by unimportant things. The advantage was on the side of Jason. Held the end of the
branch and dragged him to one side of the driveway. He heard the door being closed and the noise of
the engine in motion. Bourne returned to his hiding among the trees. The vehicle entered the ring
road. As quickly as it had accelerated, slowed down when your only lighthouse illuminated the
obstruction of the way. Approached cautiously, as if not sure what it was. After seeing what it was, came
closer. Without hesitation, opened the side door of the vehicle, lifting it out, and walked to the branch
by the wayside.
- Big Rex, you're a dog very misbehaving - the man said aloud, with a strong southern accent. - What you
dragged onto the road, you bastard? The asshole boss can flay you alive for making clutter in your
property ... Rex? Rex, come on, your pet miserable! - Grasped the end of the branch and dragged near a
tree in the dark. - Rex, come on! You idiot, you horny stud!
- Do not move and put your hands in front of body - said Jason Bourne, emerging from the dark.
- Damn shit! Who are you?
- Someone who does not care if you live or
dies - the intruder replied in a calm voice.
- He's armed!
- You too. But your gun is in the holster. The
mine is pointed at his head.
- The dog! Where the hell is the dog?
- You are sick. - The what?
- Sounds like a good dog. It may be what the coach wants it to be. Do not blame the animal, blame the
man who trained him.
- What are you talking about?
- To summarize, I guess I'm saying I'd rather kill a man than the animal, it is clear to you?
- Nothing is clear! Just know that this man does not want to be killed.
- So let's talk, right?
- I have many words, but only a life, man.
- Lower the right arm and pull the gun from the holster with the fingertips, face.
The guard obeyed, holding the gun with his thumb and forefinger.
- Play for me, please.
The man did as he commanded and took Bourne

the weapon.
- What the hell is happening? - cried the tone of supplication.
- I want information. For that sent me here.
- I say what I know if you let me out of here! I want nothing more from this place! I always thought this
would happen, you can ask for Barbie Jo. I said, someday someone will come up asking questions. But
not this way, not your way! Not with a gun to my head.
- I suppose Barbie Jo is his wife.
- More or less.
- So let's start with "why" people would come asking questions. My superiors want to know. Do not
worry, it will not get into any trouble, nobody is interested in you. You are
just a security guard.
- Is all that I am, man! - Confirmed the man, terrified.
- Then why did you say that for Barbie Jo? That someday someone would come asking questions?
- Hell, I'm not sure ... It's just that I see so much crazy, you know?
- No, I do not know. How?
- Well, as one who lives only Milico screaming, General. It is important, right? Pentagon uses chauffeur
cars and helicopters whenever you need, right? It
owner of this place, right?
- So what?
- Then that great asshole sergeant crap Sergeant - send it as a child who does not yet know to go to the bathroom, you know what I
mean? And that woman busty him - has an affair with the monster and not hiding from anyone. It's all
crazy, you know what I mean?
- I see a domestic confusion, but I think
is not nobody's business. Why would people ask questions?
- Why are you here, man? Knew it would be a meeting tonight, right?
- A meeting?
- Those luxury limousines with chauffeurs and the big guys, right? Well, picked the wrong night. The
dogs are loose and always get stuck when there is a meeting.
After a moment, Bourne said, approaching the guard.
- Let's continue the conversation in the car - said
with authority. - I get down and you do exactly what I say.
- Prometheus that will let me out of here!
- You can go out and go out. You and the other guy that makes the rounds. Those gates have an alarm?
- Not when the dogs are loose. If they see something strange on the road, jumping over the gates and
turn on the alarm.
- Where is the alarm panel?
- They are two. A sergeant in the house, the other in
entrance hall of the house. Behind closed doors can be connected.
- Come on then.
- Where?
- I want to see all the dogs out there.
Twenty minutes later, with the remaining five dogs anesthetized and imprisoned in kennels, Bourne
opened the gate and brought out the two guards. Gave three hundred U.S. dollars each.
- This is the sort that will not receive.
- Hey, what about my car? - Asked the second
guard. - Not a big deal, but it suits me just fine. Willie and I usually come together to work on my car.
- You got the keys?

- Yes, in my pocket. The car is behind the kennels.

- Take tomorrow.
- Why not now?
- I was making too much noise and my superiors should arrive anytime. It is better that they do not see
them. Believe me.
- What the hell! What did I say, Jim-Bob?
Exactly what I said to Jo Barbie. This place is creepy, man.
- Three hundred bucks is not chilling, Willie. Come on, we hitchhike. There is late and still people on the
road ... Hey man, who will take care of the dogs when they wake up?Need to exercise and eat before
the arrival of the morning class and shred any stranger that comes near them.
- What about the sergeant Swayne? He can deal with them, can not you?
- Do not like him very much - said Willie - but
obey his orders. Like most of the general's wife, Stallions shameless.
- And the general? - Asked Bourne.
- He pisses all when it comes near them said Jim-Bob.
- Thanks for the info. Will now walk
a good piece before you start hitchhiking. My superiors should come from the other direction.
- Want to know something? - Jim-Bob said, narrowing his eyes and watching Jason in the moonlight. This is the craziest night I could imagine. You
come here dressed like a fucking terrorist, but talks and acts as an army officer. Is talking to his
superiors, put the dogs to sleep and paid three hundred bucks to go away. I do not understand anything.
- Not to understand. On the other hand, even if I were a terrorist you would probably be dead, right?
- He's right, Jim-Bob. Let 's get out of here!
- What the hell are we going to say?
- If anyone asks, tell the truth. Describe what happened tonight. They can also add that my code name is
Cobra.
- My God - Willie shouted.
The two men ran into the road.
Bourne locked the door and returned to the car sure that anything that happened that night still help to
create a state of extreme anxiety in a branch of the Medusa. Questions hysterical would be made - for
which there were no answers. None. Enigma. Standing beside the window, his face pressed against the
glass, he looked inside. Sergeant obese watching television sitting in the chair with his feet on a stool. By
sound heard from outside, especially the fast pace of the presenter's voice, the general's aide was
watching a baseball game. Jason examined with care all that he could see the room, rustic style, with a
multitude of shades of brown and red, dark furniture, curtains plaid, comfortable and masculine a nice
villa. Saw no weapon, nor the typical old rifle over the fireplace, no automatic 45 common with the
sergeant or near the armchair. The aide was not worried about their immediate safety, which was easy
to understand. The estate of General Norman Swayne was totally safe - fence, gates, patrols and dogs
trained to attack at all entry points. Bourne examined the fat face of Sgt. What secrets hide that huge
head? Would find out. A Delta of Medusa would find out, if he had given that skull open.Jason turned
away from the window and went to
the door of the house. Knocked twice with his left hand holding the right to automatically unregistered,
provided by Alex Conklin, the crown prince of covert operations.
- Is open, Rachel! - Shouted a rough voice .. Bourne turned the knob and pushed the door hard to hit the
wall. Entered the room.
- Jesus Christ - roared the sergeant, taking heavy legs of the stool and lifting the massive body of the
chair. - You! ... You're a fucking ghost you

dead!
- Try again - A Delta said the Medusa.
- The name is Flannagan, right? It is the name that comes to
mind.
- You are dead! - repeated the general's aide, screaming, eyes wide with panic. You were dead in Hong Kong! ... there are four or five years!
- I see you have your records ...
- We know ... I know.
- So have contacts in the right places.
- You is Bourne!
- Evidently risen, can say so.
- I do not believe it!
- Believe me, Flannagan. Let's talk about "we". Snake on Women, to be exact.
- It is you! The man who calls Swayne Cobra!
- A snake.
- I do not understand ...
- It's confusing.
- You're one of us!
- I was. I have also been expelled. We can say
I came back like a snake.
The sergeant looked terrified at the door, then to the windows.
- How did you get here? Where are the guards? The
dogs? Jesus Where they are?
- The dogs are sleeping in the kennels, so I gave the night off to the guards.
- Did you give ...? The dogs are loose?
- There are more. Were persuaded to stand
slightly.
- The Watchmen - the damn guards!
- Were persuaded to go. What they
think is happening here tonight is even more confusing.
- What did you - what are you doing?
- I just said. Let's talk, Sergeant
Flannagan. I want recent news about former companheiros.O terrified man stepped away from the
chair.
- You're the maniac they called Delta
before starting to act on their own! - He cried in a hoarse whisper. - There was a photograph you were lying on a slab, covered by a bloodstained sheet all the bullet wounds. The face was
uncovered, his eyes open, the bullet holes still bleeding on his forehead and neck ... They asked me who
I was and said, "Is Delta. Delta One illegal, "and they said," No, it is not. Is Jason Bourne, the killer, the
killer ", so I said," So the two are the same person because this man is Delta - I met him. " They thanked
me and sent me back to others.
- "They" who?
- Staff of Langley. What spoke was lame, and walks with a cane.
- And "others" - for which they sent back?
- Some 25 or thirty of the former group of Saigon.
- Command Saigon?
- That's right.
- Men who worked with our group, the

"Illegal"?
- Most, yes, that's right.
- When was that?
- For God's sake, I said! - roared helper panicked. - Four or five years! I saw the picture - you were dead.
- Just a picture - Bourne said in a voice
low, staring at the sergeant. - You have a good memory.
- You put a gun in my head.
Thirty-three years, two wars and 12 combat missions and nobody has ever done this to me - no one but
you ... And, believe me, I have a good memory.
- I think I understand.
- Because I do not understand a damn thing! You were dead!
- I've said it. But I'm not, what do you think? Or maybe. Perhaps this is a nightmare that haunts him after
twenty years of lies.
- What kind of talk is this idiot? What the hell ...
- Do not move!
- Not 'm moving!
Suddenly they heard a bang in the distance. A ti- ro! Jason whirled ... and instinct did keep turning! A
back full! Huge general's aide fell on him, and his big hands reached shoulder Delta One as battering
rams. Jason hit a kick
above the kidneys of thugs, the tip of your shoe penetrating the flesh, and at the same time hit the
man's neck with the barrel of the automatic. Flannagan fell forward and sprawled on the floor. Jason
kicked the fallen man's head, silencing him. The silence was broken by hysterical screams and ushers the
woman who ran to the home of Sgt. The wife of General Norman Swayne entered the room and stood
stunned, grabbing the back of her chair, unable to control the panic.
- He's dead - she cried shrilly, falling forward and knocking the chair, with arms outstretched for lover. He killed himself, Eddie. Oh, my God, he killed himself!
Jason Bourne, who was crouched, stood up and walked to the door of that strange house that held so
many secrets. Quietly, looking at his two prisoners, he closed it. The woman cried and trembled, but not
pain, fear. The sergeant blinked and lifted his massive head. If there was an expression on his face was a
mixture of anger and confusion.
11
- DO NOT TOUCH anything - ordered Bourne to Flannagan and Rachel Swayne, when the general
entered the room, with the walls covered with photographs. Seeing the old fallen soldier's body back in
the chair, gun still in his outstretched hand, and the horror of the back of his head torn off by the bullet,
the woman fell to her knees, with seizures, like throwing up. The sergeant grabbed by the arm, with
haggard eyes fixed on the remains of General Norman Swayne.
- Cretin crazy - with whispered Flannagan
tense and voice barely audible. After motionless, face muscles pulsing, roared. - You crazy son of
a bitch! So that did this, why? What do we do now?
- You call the police, Sergeant - Jason replied.
- What? - Yelled the man, turning to
Bourne.
- No! - cried Mrs. Swayne, rising. We can not do this!
- I guess I have no choice. You did not kill him. May have led him to suicide, but not killed.
- What the hell is this? - Asked Flannagan angry.
- Is one better than dirty domestic tragedy

a broader investigation, do not you think? It is no secret that you have a case that - well, that there is no
secret.
- He did not give a damn "our case" and it also was no secret to anyone.
- He encouraged us whenever he could - said
Rachel Swayne, with a hesitant gesture smoothing the skirt of her dress and slowly recovering
calm. Bourne told with eyes fixed on the lover. - He was always encouraging us, leaving us alone
sometimes for days ... We have to stay here? My God, I've been married to this man for 26
years. Probably should understand ... this is horrible for me!
- We hit some things - said Bourne.
- Not here, please. In the living room. It is on the other side of the aisle. We can talk in the room.
Mrs. Swayne suddenly controlled left the workroom. The general's aide looked at the bloody body,
grimaced and went well.
Jason watched.
- Stay in the hallway, where I can see them and do not move! - He cried, approaching the table,
examining an object after another, mentally noting the last things Swayne had seen before taking the
automatic mouth. Something was wrong. To the right of the green sheet of blotting paper had a
notepad Pentagon, with the name and rank of Swayne printed under the guns of the United States
Army, for
left edge leather blotter was a gold pen, which appeared recently used, but without collecting the silver
tip. Bourne leaned on the table, feeling the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning flesh, and examined
the notepad. There was nothing written, but Jason took the first three leaves and put it in his pants
pocket. He stepped back, still thinking that there was something strange ... What was it? He looked
around and this time Sergeant Flannagan appeared in the doorway.
- What are you doing? - He asked suspiciously. - We are waiting for you.
- Your friend may find it difficult to stay here, but I do not think. I can not find it, I have to consider a lot.
- I thought I told you not to touch anything.
- Looking is not touching, Sgt. Unless you take something, in which case no one will know because she
will not be here. - Bourne approached a coffee table topped with copper, the kind you buy in the
bazaars of India and the Middle East. The table was between two armchairs in front of the small
fireplace, and on it was a crystal ashtray full of cigarette butts. Jason picked up the ashtray and turned to
Flannagan. For example, Sergeant, this ashtray. I touched him, my fingerprints are on the glass, but no one will
know because I will take you with me.
- For what?
- Because I smelled something ... I mean, really smelled, nothing to do with instincts.
- What the hell is this?
- Cigarette smoke, that's what I'm talking about. Stays in the air much longer than you think. Ask
someone who tried to quit smoking several times.
- So what?
- Then we'll have a conversation with the woman
General. Let's all talk. Come, Flannagan, let's play show and tell.
- Feels very bold with that gun in your pocket, right?
- Walking, Sergeant!
Rachel Swayne straightened up in his chair and with a head movement threw back her dark hair with
reflections.
- It is an offense - she said, fixing his eyes on Bourne accusers.
- No doubt - Jason agreed, shaking his

head affirmatively. - It turns out that it is also true. There are five cigarette butts in the ashtray, all with
lipstick. - Sitting in front of her, put the ashtray on the table beside the chair. - Were you there when he
killed himself when he took the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger. Maybe he thought he was not
going to end, it was one of his hysterical threats - either way, did nothing to stop it. Why would you
do? To you and Eddie was the logical and sensible.
- Nonsense!
- You know, Mrs. Swayne, to be frank, this is not the right word. Unconvincing as unconvincing when he
says "is an offense" ... None of these phrases suits you, Rachel. Is imitating others
- Probably rich people, freguesas futile hair salon where she worked for many years in Honolulu.
- How dare you ...?
- Come on, this is ridiculous, Rachel. Or try this "how dare you", does not work. With his nasal drawl will
have my head cut off by a royal decree?
- Leave her alone! - yelled Flannagan, standing next to Mrs. Swayne. - Do you have a gun, but need not
do that! ... She is a good woman, a damn good and was treated like dirt by all the artists of this fucking
town.
- How is it possible? She was the wife of the general, the mistress of the mansion, was not it? Is not it?
- It has been used ...
- Always ridiculed me, always laughed at
me, Mr. Delta - cried Rachel Swayne, clutching the armrest. - When they were not looking for me to
conquer. What do you think of being a special piece of meat offered as dessert very special at the end of
dinner?
- I would not like it one bit. I
I refuse.
- Because I could not refuse! He obliged me.
- No one can force someone to do something, such.
- Of course you can, Mr. Delta - said the general's wife, leaning forward, with the farm blouse stretched
the breasts, hair partly hiding her face no longer young, but still sensual and smooth.
- Imagine a young woman who did not finish primary school, West Virginia, when companies closed coal
mines and one had no food - sorry, no one had food. You take what you can and run away and that's
what I did. I slept with dozens of men, of Aliquippa to Hawaii, but I got there and learned a profession. It
was where I met the great man and married him, but I never had any illusions, ever. Especially after he
returned from Vietnam, understand?
- I'm not sure, Rachel.
- You do not need to explain anything, girl! - Roared Flannagan.
- No, but I want you, Eddie! I'm sick of all this shit, right?
- Watch your mouth!
- The case is that I do not know anything, Mr. Delta. But I can see things, if you understand me.
- Stop it, Rachel! - Exclaimed the general's aide.
- Well, Eddie, fuck! You are also not very
intelligent. This Mr. Delta can find a way out for us ... Back to the islands, right?
- Absolutely right, Mrs. Swayne.
- You know what this place is ...?
- Shut up! - Yelled Flannagan, interrupting the clumsy movement forward when a bullet grazed the floor
between his feet.
The woman screamed. When it stopped, Bourne said:
- What is this place, Mrs. Swayne?
- Stop it - again interrupted the sergeant, but without shouting. It was a plea, a plea for a strong man. He
looked at the woman and then Jason.

- Listen, Bourne or Delta, or whoever, Rachel is right. You could be our salvation - there is nothing more
for us here - so what you have to offer?
- In exchange for what?
- Let's say we can tell you everything we know about this place ... and I 'll tell you where you can learn
more. How can we help? How can we get out of here and back to the Pacific islands without our names
and our pictures appear in all the papers?
- You're asking a lot, Sgt.
- What the hell, she's not the kill - we did not kill him, you said!
- Right, and I do not care if they killed or
not, whether they were responsible or not. I have other priorities.
- As "see old mates" or
whatever that is?
- That's right. I have to collect a debt.
- I do not understand ...
- No need to understand.
- You were dead! - Said Flannagan, confused, speaking rapidly. - One of the Delta was illegal Bourne and
Bourne was dead. Langley proved it in!
But you 're not dead!
- I was caught, Sergeant! It's everything you need to know
- That and the fact that I'm working alone. I have to collect some debts, but I am completely alone. I
need information and quickly!
Flannagan shook his head in amazement.
- Well .. maybe I can help it - he said quietly and hesitantly - better than anyone. I was assigned to a
special mission, I had to become aware of many things, things that normally would reveal to someone
like me.
- It seems the first notes of the song of a convict, Sgt. What is your special mission?
- From nursemaid. Two years ago, Norman began
disintegrate. I managed and gave me a phone number in New York in case of any problem.
- Since this number is part of the information you can give me.
- That and some license plates noted that in case of need.
- In case someone decides that their services nursemaid were no longer needed - added Bourne.
- More or less. These emproados ever
liked us - Norman did not, but I do.
- We? You and Rachel Swayne?
- The uniform. they look at us from the top of their civilian status as if we need a dump, and there is no
doubt that we are needed. They needed Norman. All despised but needed him. The soldiers could not
drive the thing. Albert Arm- bruster, president of the Federal Trade Commission. Medusa - the heirs
civilians.
- When you say you wrote down the license plate numbers,
means not taking part in the meetings that took place - takes place - here regularly. I mean, you were
not one of the guests.
- Are you crazy? - Rachel Swayne cried shrilly, answering the question Jason. - Whenever there was a
meeting of truth, not a fucking dinner drunk, Norman told me to get up there, or if I wanted to go watch
TV in the house of Eddie. Eddie could not leave the house. We were not very good for your friends and
emproados cretins! It has always been so for many years ... Like I said, he threw in each other.
- Beginning to understand - at least I think
I understand. But you have the license plate numbers, Sgt. How did? If he was confined in his house?
- I could not, my guards noted for

Me. I said it was a confidential procedure security. None opposed.

- I understand. You said Swayne began
to disintegrate a few years ago. How? In what way?
- How tonight. Whenever that happened some
something out of the ordinary, he was immobilized. Did not want to make decisions. Any reference,
however distant it was, the Snake Woman and he stuck his head in the sand until you pass the danger.
- And this night? I saw you two arguing ... seemed to me that the sergeant was giving orders to General.
- That's right. I was. Norman panicked - because of you, because of the man he called Cobra, that was
reliving what had happened in Saigon, twenty years ago. He wanted me to be with him when you came,
and I refused. Said I was not crazy and would only do so if it were.
- Why? Why a helper must be crazy to stand beside his general?
- For the same reason that the sergeants are not
invited to the situation rooms, where high-ranking elaborated strategies. We are at different levels, that
is.
- Which means that there are limits to what you know.
- That's right.
- But you were part of Saigon twenty years ago, the Snake Lady - heck, Sergeant, you were Medusa, you
are Medusa.
- It is worth nothing, Delta. I cleaned the floor and they take care of me. I'm just a janitor in
uniform. When the time comes to take off this uniform, I silently for retirement with your mouth closed,
or leave here in a plastic bag. Everything is very clear. 'm Disposable.
Sergeant Bourne watched closely, noting the quick glances he threw for Swayne's wife, as if expecting to
be applauded or receive the silent command to shut up. The general's aide was telling the truth or he
was a great actor.
- So it seems to me - said Jason finally this is the time for you to retire. I can do that, Sergeant. You can quickly disappear with his mouth closed
and all who won for his work janitor. A devoted helper general, with over thirty years of service, decides
to retire when his superior and friend tragically commits suicide. Nobody will ask you questions ... This is
my offer. Flannagan again looked at Rachel Swayne. She nodded and turned to Bourne.
- What guarantee do we have that can make our bags and go? - Asked.
- No need to deal with low sergeant and fixation of their pension?
- Norman I sign the papers 18 months ago said the sergeant. - I have been appointed to the permanent post in his office at the Pentagon and
assigned to work at his residence. Just missing date, sign and indicate a mailbox address that Rachel and
I have already decided where you will be.
- That's all?
- Maybe three or four calls. For the lawyer Norman that will handle everything here, tele-nar to the
pound to come get the dogs to the vehicles section of the Pentagon - and a last one to New York. After
that, the Dulles Airport.
- Must be thinking about it long ago, there
many years ...
- We have thought of something else, Mr. Delta confirmed the general's wife. - As he said, we're even.
- But before you sign the papers and take phone calls - added Flannagan - I know that we will be free to
leave now.
- I mean no police, no newspapers, no
involvement with what happened tonight - you just were not here.
- You said I was asking too much. What is the strength of collection you gonna do?

- You just were not here - repeated Bourne in slow and low voice, looking at the crystal ashtray with
cigarette butts smeared with lipstick. Turned to the general's aide. - You did not touch anything. Nothing
binds physically to this suicide ... Are really ready to go - say, within two hours?
- Thirty minutes, Mr. Delta - Rachel replied.
- My God you lived here, the two ...
- Do not want anything beyond this life we have - Flannagan said firmly.
- This property is yours, Mrs. Swayne.
- None of that. Will go to a foundation. Ask the lawyer. What I receive, is receiving something, he sends
for me. Just want out - leave. Jason looked at that couple so strangely combined.
- So, nothing prevents them from leaving.
- How do we know this? - Insisted Flannagan, taking a step forward.
- You'll have to trust me, but believe me,
I can do this. Moreover, the alternative look. Say stay here. Can not make it to appear in Arlington
tomorrow or ever. Sooner or later someone will come looking for him. There will be questions, and
investigations can be sure the media will fall all over you with their dangerous assumptions. Your "case"
will be discovered - heck, even the guards commented - and newspapers, magazines and television will
get enough ... You want it? Or everything will end within the plastic bag you mentioned?
The sergeant and his beloved exchanged glances.
- He's right, Eddie. With them we have a chance, without it, we have none.
- It seems so easy - Flannagan said breathlessly, staring at the door. - How do you get it?
- This is my business - said Bourne. Give me all phones, so only have to call New York and in his place I would telephone of this Pacific island
where they want to go.
- You are crazy! Once you know everything, I'm on mat Medusa - Rachel too! Will want to know what
happened.
- Tell the truth, at least a variation of
truth, and is capable of winning a prize.
- You're crazy!
- I was not crazy in Vietnam, Sgt. Not in
Hong Kong and also I'm not now ... You and Rachel came home, saw what had happened, packed up and
left - because they would not be interrogated and because the dead can not speak. Sign your papers
with yesterday's date, put in the mail and leave the rest to me.
- I do not ...
- No choice, Sergeant - said Jason angry, standing up. - And do not want to waste any more time! If I go
away, I 'll - you arrange that.
- Bourne walked to the door.
- No, Eddie, do not let go! We have to do things his way, we have to risk it! Otherwise we're dead, you
know.
- You are right! Okay ... Stay calm, Delta. Let's do what you want.
Jason stopped and turned to him.
- Everything I say, Sergeant, literally.
- That's right.
- First, let's you and me to his house, while Rachel goes to pack. You give me all the information that has
- phone numbers and plates, all the names I can remember, all I ask.Is that right?
- You are.
- Come on then. Mrs. Swayne, I know you will want to take a lot, but ...
- Forget it, Mr. Delta. I have nothing you want to remember. All I really wanted was already taken out of
this hole and is saved thousands of miles away.

- You were even prepared!

- Of course we were. You see, the time had come, one way or another, you know what I mean? - Rachel
passed quickly by the two men and out into the hallway. He stopped and turned to Sergeant Flannagan
with a smile, bright eyes, and laid her hand on his cheek. - Hey, Eddie - she said quietly. - Will the same
happen. Let's live, Eddie. You know what I mean?
- I know, honey, I know.
When they walked in the dark to the house
Flannagan, Bourne said:
- I meant it when I said I can not waste time, Sgt. Start talking. What I will say about this fortress
Swayne?
- Are you ready?
- What do you mean? Of course I'm ready. But it was not. Stopped suddenly on the field when Flannagan began.
For starters, it's a cemetery.
Alex Conklin leaned back in his chair behind his desk with phone in hand, stunned, frowning, without
finding a rational response to the astonishing information Jason. All he could say was:
- I do not believe it!
- What part do not you believe?
- I do not know. In all, I think ... the cemetery. But I have to believe, right?
- You do not want to believe also in London or Brussels, or the commander of the Sixth Fleet or the
guardian of the secret codes in Langley. I'm just adding to the list ... The question is, when you find out
who they are. can act.
- You have to go back to the beginning, my head
is a mess. The phone number in New York, the plates ...
- The body, Alex! Flannagan and wife of General!
They are on the way, that was the deal and you must provide your safety.
- So, no more no less? Swayne commits
suicide and say goodbye to the only two people who can answer some questions. It's more whimsical
than anything you've told me!
- No time for negotiations - in addition, it can no longer answer any questions. Acting at different levels.
- Wow, man, this is really enlightening.
- Do what I said. Let it go. We need the two later. Conklin sighed with obvious indecision.
- Are you sure? It's very complicated.
- Do it! Alex, do not give a damn about complications or violations, or for all manipulations you can
imagine! I want Carlos! We are extending a network and we can catch them - I can fish it!
- All right, all right. Is there a doctor in Falls
Church that has worked for us in special operations. I'll look it up. He knows what to do.
- Great - Bourne said working with the mind racing. - Now turn on the recorder. I'll tell you all Flannagan
told me. Quickly, I have a lot to do.
- Is connected, Delta One
Reading the list he had made in the house of Flannagan, Jason spoke rapidly, enunciating carefully so
that there was no confusion in the recording. There were seven names frequently invited to dinners
General, without any warranty as to the accuracy or
spelling but with extensive and detailed descriptions. Came after the license plate numbers of cars, all
recorded during the fortnightly meetings at the home of the most serious Swayne. Then the telephone
numbers of the attorney Swayne, all guards of property, the shelter dogs and the extent of the Pentagon
in charge of disposing of their vehicles.Finally, the phone number does not cataloged in New York, no
name, just an answering machine,

- This has to be priority number one, Alex.

- Let's find out - said Conklin, entering the
recording. - I'll call the kennels and talk pentagons - General will leave for a post secret and we pay
double to take the animals from the property tomorrow morning. By the way, open the gates ... The
boards are no problem and will ask Casset to examine the names on your computer, without DeSole
know.
- E Swayne? We have to keep the secret of the
suicide for some time.
- How long?
- How the hell do I know? - Jason said irritably.
- Until we know who they are and I can reach them
- Or you reach them - and together we can roll the wave of panic. At this point imagine the solution to
Carlos.
- Words - Conklin said without enthusiasm. You may be speaking of days, a week maybe, maybe more.
- So that's what I'm talking about.
- So you better talk to Peter Holland ...
- No, not yet. We do not know what he can
do and will not give you a chance to get in my way.
- You have to trust someone besides me, Jason.
Can fool the doctor for 24 or 48 hours - perhaps
- But no more than that. It will require authorization from the top. Do not forget, I will have Casset
complaining because of DeSole.
- Give me two days, get two days!
- While I try to clarify all this information safe and Charlie, and a portion of the invention lies to Peter,
saying that we are making progress, locating possible messengers of the Jackal at the Mayflower Hotel we think ... Of course we're not doing any of that because 're risking our credentials dealing with a
completely crazy conspiracy engineered twenty years ago in Saigon, which involves God
knows what, though those are awesome. Without touching "statuses" - or is statae - now we learn that
they have a private cemetery on the grounds of the house of the chief quartermaster general of the
Pentagon, which has just taken a shot in the brain, one minor incident that we are hiding. .. Jesus, Delta,
slow down! The missiles are colliding!
Though beside the body of General
Swayne. Jason smiled.
- That's what they're telling, is not it? A scenario that could have been created by our own beloved Saint
Alex.
- I'm just in it for the ride, I'm not driving the car ...
- And what about the doctor? - Interrupted
Bourne. - You're out of the operations for nearly five years. How do you know he is still on active duty?
- I see him once or twice. We are fanatics
by museums. About two months ago, at the Corcoran Gallery, he complained of not having much to do
lately.
- Fix it tonight.
- I'll try. What will you do?
- I'll look delicate and thoroughly this room.
- Gloves?
- Surgical, of course.
- Do not touch the body.

- Only in pockets - very carefully ... Swayne's wife is coming down the stairs. Telefono again when they
leave. Please contact one medical- co!
Ivan Jax, graduated from the Faculty of Medicine at Yale University, with residency and surgical practice
at Massachusetts General, College of Surgeons, born in Jamaica and "consultant" CIA by referral from a
friend with the black stranger name Cactus, passed the car through the gates of the property of General
Swayne in Manassas, Virginia. There were certain moments, Jax thought, that wished never have known
Cactus, and this was one of them, but other than that, never regretted that Cactus had come into his
life.Thanks to the "magic paper" the old man, Jax managed to get the brother and sister of Jamaica
during the years of government oppression Manley, when professionals were forbidden to leave the
country, and even taking some dinheiro.Cactus by permissions through the artistically falsified, had
taken the two adults in the country, while transferring your money to a bank in Lisbon. The
old forger only took several blank forms stolen, including bills of lading, import-export, the passports of
two people, separate photographs and copies of signatures of several men who held important
positions - easily achieved through thousands of bureaucratic edicts published by governmentcontrolled media. Ivan's brother was now a wealthy lawyer in London and sister worked in research at
Cambridge.
Yes, he owed Cactus, thought Dr. Jax stopping his truck in front of the house, and when his old friend
asked him to be "consultant" Langley, seven years ago, he accepted. A great consulting work! However,
there were other highlights resulting from the association of Ivan silent with the Agency. When your
island overthrew Manley and Seaga came to power, one of the first properties "seized" were returned
to the owners of the family Jax in Mondego Bay and Port Antonio. It was the work of Conklin, but no
Cactus, Conklin would never part of the circle of friends of Ivan ... But Alex had to call him tonight? was
its 12th anniversary and the kids were at a friends house so that the couple could be alone, celebrating
with grilled chops, stylish Jamaica - prepared by one who knew, or Chief Ivan - very dark rum Overton
and a bath erotic, naked, in the pool. Damn Alex! The damn bachelor who could only react to a wedding
anniversary saying, "What the hell! You have completed another year, does it have a day or two more or
less? Celebrate tomorrow, I need you tonight. "
So Ivan lied to his wife, former chief nurse at Massachusetts General. Said a patient's life hung in the
balance - was, but he hung the wrong way. She replied that maybe his next husband had more regard
for the life of her, but the smile and the words denied knowing look. She knew death. Go quickly, my
dear! Jax turned off the engine, took the doctor's bag and left the car. The door opened and showed the
silhouette of a tall man in dark clothes lackluster.
- I'm your doctor - said Ivan, climbing the front steps. - Our mutual friend did not tell me his name, but I
do not think I know.
- I think not - agreed Bourne, extending gloved hand surgery.
- And I think we're both right - Jax said, shaking hands with the stranger. - The glove that is not using me
is strange.
- Our mutual friend did not tell me that you were
black.
- Is that a problem for you?
- Christ, no! Like most of our friend so. Probably never occurred to him to talk about it.
- I think we'll get along. We will then
nameless.
Bourne stood ten feet from the table while Jax skillfully and quickly did what he had to do in the body,
after bandaging the head with gauze Swayne. Without explaining, cut pieces of clothes general to
examine parts of the body. Finally rolled over the chair to the floor.
- Have you finished what he had to do here? asked, looking at Jason.

- I did some cleaning, doctor, if that's what you mean.

- It is usually what you do ... I want this room sealed. Nobody goes after we leave here until our friend to
order otherwise.
- I can not guarantee it - said Bourne.
- Then he will have to ensure.
- Why?
- Your general did not commit suicide, no-name.
He was assassinated.
12
- WOMAN - said Alex Conklin, on the phone. - Everything you told me, you must be the woman
Swayne. Jesus!
- Does not change anything, but it seems true
- Bourne agreed, without enthusiasm. - The woman had no reason to kill him. But it killed him, did not
tell Flannagan. and it makes no sense.
- No, do not ... - After a pause, Conklin said quickly: - I want to talk with Ivan.
- Ivan? Your doctor? His name is Ivan?
- So what?
- Nothing. He's out there packing the "goods" as he said.
- In the truck?
- That's right. Carry the body ...
- Why is he so sure that it was not suicide? - Alex interrupted.
- Swayne was drugged. He said after phoning for you and explain everything. Want to get away, and
gave orders that no one enters this room after we left - after I leave - until you tell the police. Will tell
you that too.
- Christ must be a horrible spectacle.
- It's not pretty. What do you want me to do?
- Close the curtains, if any, check the windows and, if possible, lock the door. If you can not lock up, look
...
- Found on a keychain pocket Swayne Jason interrupted. - One of the keys used in the door.
- Great. When you wipe out all impressions
digital port. Looking for some furniture polish or spray dust.
- This will not prevent it from coming here.
- No, but if someone comes, we can get
some prints.
- You perfecting the minutiae ...
- Of course I am - the former agent agreed. I also have to find a way to seal the entire property without using men from Langley, and in addition , to
circumvent the Pentagon, in the case of one of those 20,000 or so trying to talk Swayne and that
includes the staff of his office and probably a hundred buyers and sellers of businesses dealing with
it every day ... Christ, it is impossible!
- It's perfect - Bourne watched and saw Dr. Ivan Jax appears at the door. - Our little game of
"destabilization" will start right here in the "farm". You
Cactus has the phone?
- Not here. I think it is stored in a box
shoes at home.
- Call Mo Panov. He has. Then say
the Cactus to call from a public phone here.

- What the hell are you thinking? Every time I hear the name of that old get nervous.
- You said I needed to trust someone else, but you. I'm doing this. Talk to him, Alex. - Jason hung up the
phone. - Excuse me, Doctor ... or perhaps, given the circumstances I can use your name. How are you,
Ivan?
- How are you, nameless. I prefer to remain so.
Especially now that I heard another name.
- Alex? ... No, of course not, Alex was not our mutual friend. - Bourne laughed quietly, away from the
table. - Cactus, right?
- I just got to ask if you want me to close the gates - Jax said, ignoring the question.
- I would be offended if I said I only remembered it when you came in the door?
- Certain associations are fairly obvious. The gates, please?
- Should the Cactus much as I should, doctor? Jason did not move, staring at the Jamaican.
- I owe him so much I can never think of wrapping it in a situation like this. For God's sake, he is an old
man, and as much as Langley wants to forge a conclusion to what happened, it is murder, a crime with
refinements of brutality. No, I do not involve this.
- But I'm not you. Understand, I have to do this. Cactus never forgive myself if I did.
- There is a lot of value to yourself, right?
- Please close the gates, doctor. Are closed when I activate the alarm control panel. Jax hesitated, as if
unsure of what to say.
- Listen - began, speaking slowly - most normal people have reasons to say things to do things. My opinion is that you are sane. Call Alex if you need me - if the ve-cil Cactus need me. - Jax
hurried away. Bourne turned and scanned the room. After the departure of Rachel and Flannagan, three
hours ago, he had searched every inch of working room of the general, as well as the bedroom of the old
soldier, upstairs. Examined carefully as he wanted to take and who was now on the coffee table. Three
spiral notebooks with covers of brown leather, a set of desks. The first was a calendar and the second a
particular book with names and phone numbers written in ink. The latter was a daily expenditure,
almost unused. There were also 11 errands office, noted on plain paper block notices that Jason had
found in the pocket of Swayne, a marker of golf and several memoranda written at the Pentagon. Finally
there was the general's portfolio with a profusion incredible credentials and little money. Bourne
wanted to give everything for Alex, hoping to find new clues, but from what I could see, there was
nothing important, nothing dramatically linked to modern jellyfish. That worried him. There had to
be something. This was the home of the old soldier, his sanctum sanctorum had to be in there! Jason
knew, felt, but could not find! Resumed the magazine, not inch by inch now, but inch by inch.
Fourteen minutes later, when I was pulling out and turning the photos on the wall behind the table, the
right of the curved window overlooking the lawn, lembrouse than Conklin had said about checking the
windows and close the curtains so anyone outside could see inside the room.
Christ, it must be horrible!
There is very beautiful.
Was not. The central window panes were stained with blood and brain matter. And
... small locking metal? And the window was open too - just a little, but was open. Kneeling on the couch
in front of the window, Bourne scrutinized the frame glossy covers and glasses. It looked like someone
had come to hand between the fillets dry of blood and tissue, widening and tapering stains to form
irregular designs. Then he saw, just below the parapet, which prevented the window from closing. The
left edge of the curtain was pulled out. Jason stepped back, intrigued, but not surprised. It was exactly
what I was looking for the missing piece to the complex puzzle that was the death of Norman Swayne.

Someone had gone through that window, after the shooting that broke the head of General. Someone
who could not risk being seen going out the front door. Someone who knew the house and the land
... and dogs. A brutal killer of Medusa. Damn!
Who? Who was there? Flannagan ... Swayne's wife! They should know, they had to know! Bourne
reached for the phone, he started playing before it reached him.
- Alex?
- No, Br'er Rabbit, just an old friend, and I did not know what we're saying names so freely.
- We are not, we should not be - said Jason
quickly controlling himself with difficulty. - Something happened a few times - I found something.
- Easy, boy. What can I do for you?
- I need you - here, where I am. Can you come?
- Well, let's see - Cactus said with a laugh
mocking. - I should attend several board meetings, and the White House who invited me to breakfast
the powerful ... When and where Br'er Rabbit?
- Not alone, friend. I want three or four more with you. Is it possible?
- I do not know. What are you thinking?
- That guy who took me to the city. No
other citizens like him in the vicinity?
- To be honest, most are serving time, but I think I can get a peek into the trash and find some. For
what?
- Service guard. In fact, very simple. You take the phone and they are behind locked gates, saying that it
is a private property, that visitors are not welcome. Especially some bigwigs in their limousines.
- Now that I think will please the brothers.
- Phone then I say how to reach
herein. Bourne hung up and immediately took up the receiver again. She dialed the phone number of
Conklin in Vienna.
- Yes? - Alex answered.
- The doctor was right and I let out our killer hired by the Snake Lady.
- I mean the woman Swayne?
- No, but she's smart and knows his sergeant
who was - had d and knowing who was here! Take two and stop. They lied to me, so the agreement is
canceled. Who set the stage for this "suicide" Bloody was obeying orders from high-ranking Medusa. I
want this man. It is our shortcut to where we want to go.
- It is also beyond our reach.
- What are you talking about?
- The Sergeant and his beloved are out of our reach. They disappeared.
- This is crazy! If I know Saint Alex - and I
I know - you kept them under surveillance since they left here.
- Electronics, not physical. Remember, you insisted to keep Langley and Peter Holland away from
Medusa.
- What did you do?
- I sent out an APB for computers
core of all international air transport. At 8:20 h this evening both had reservations at the Pan Am flight,
from 10:00 to London ...
- London! - interrupted Bourne. - They went to the other side of the Pacific. To Hawaii!
- Well, it's probably where you are going,
because they do not appeared in Pam Am Who knows?
- Damn, you should know.

- How? Two U.S. citizens flying to Hawaii do not need a passport to enter our fiftieth state. A driver's
license or voter registration card is sufficient. You said that they were preparing that escape long ago. A
sergeant with more than 30 years of service would not have any difficulty to get some driver's licenses
with different names.
- But why?
- To throw off whoever was behind them - like us, or maybe some Medusans very powerful.
- Shit!
- Would you please not to appeal to the Vulgate, professor? It Vulgate, right?
- Shut up, I need to think.
- So you think we are with the rear dipped in the Arctic with no heater. It's time to look for Peter
Holland, we need it. We need to Langley.
- No, still no! You're forgetting one thing. Holland took an oath, and everything we know tells us that it
takes very seriously. It can deviate from a rule, here or there, but if you have to face the Medusa, with
hundreds of people in Geneva buying whatever
what they buy in Europe, he is able to say, "Hold, enough!"
- It's a risk we have to take. need it, David.
- David does not, what the hell I'm Bourne, Jason Bourne, his creation, and I am your lender! My family
too! I will not accept anything different!
- And kill me if I do anything against you.
Silence. After all, Delta One of Saigon's Medusa
said:
- Yes, Alex, I'll kill you. Not because you tried to kill me in Paris, but because of the same assumptions
blind you made at that time, which led to the
decision to liquidate me. Do you understand?
- I understand - Conklin said in a barely audible voice. - The Arrogance of Ignorance, his favorite subject
on Washington. You always make it sound so oriental. But there will come a time when you will also
need to be less arrogant. There is a limit to what we can do alone.
- On the other hand, much can be destroyed if not we're alone. See the progress we have made. From
zero to two-digit numbers, how long
- 48, 72 hours? Give me two days, Alex, please. We are very close to what we find, what we want to
know about Medusa. A stroke of luck and we can present to them the perfect solution to eliminate
me. The Jackal.
- I'll do my best. Cactus called?
- Telephoned. Will turn again and come here. I'll explain later.
- I should have said. He and our doctor are friends.
- I know. Ivan told me ... Alex, I have
some things for you - the phone book of Swayne, agenda, things like that. I'll make a package and ask
one of the men of Cactus to deliver there, for the security gate. Put everything on your computer and
see what you can find.
- Men Cactus? What are you doing?
- Obeying an item on its agenda. I'm sealing this place. No one can come in and see who will try.
- Could be interesting. The kennel staff will pick up the dogs at about 7:00 am, so do not paste other
seals.
- That reminds me, you have to act officially again. Call the guards from other shifts. Say that your work
is no longer necessary, but each will receive one month's salary in the mail, instead of being fired.
- Who the hell is going to pay? We have Langley,
remember? Neither Peter Holland, and I'm not rich.

- I am. I'll call my bank in Maine, and have issue a payment order on your behalf. Ask your friend Casset
to pick it up at your apartment tomorrow morning.
- It's funny - Conklin said thoughtfully
- I forgot money. Actually, I never think of him. I think the idea has been locked in my mind.
- It is possible - said Bourne, with a hint
irony. - What is official you can imagine a bureaucrat telling Marie: "By the way, Mrs. Webb or Bourne or
whatever it is, when he worked for the government of Canada, the lady disappeared with five million
dollars belong to me. "
- It was just brilliant, David - Jason. They owed you more than that.
- Do not insist on this point, Alex. She assured him it was at least double.
- And she was right. So everyone was tight-lipped ... What will you do now?
- Expect a call from Cactus and then make a private call.
- Particular?
- To my wife.
Sitting on the terrace in the village Tranquility Inn staring at the Caribbean sea lit by the moon, Marie
tried to control the most of their instincts to not go crazy with fear. Strangely, perhaps dangerously
stupid or what she felt was not fear of physical attack. Lived in Europe and the Far East with the killing
machine that was Jason Bourne. Knew what he was capable stranger and knew his brutal efficiency. No,
it was Bourne, David was - what Jason Bourne was doing for David Webb. Had to put a stop- end of it!
... Could go somewhere far, a safe haven and start new life, with other names, creating a world that
Carlos could never invade. They had all the money they needed, they could do it! So many people did hundreds of men, women and children were protected by their governments. And if there was anyone
who deserved the protection of the government, that someone was David Webb ... Thoughts created by
despair, Marie thought, standing up and walking to the porch railing. None of this would happen
because David would never accept such a solution. When it was the Jackal, was directed by David Webb
Jason Bourne and Bourne was able to destroy the body which hosted. Oh, God, what's happening with
us?
The phone rang. Marie stiffened, then ran to the room and answered.
- Yes?
- Hi sis, is Johnny.
- Oh ..
- Which means no news of David.
- No, and I think I'm going crazy, Johnny.
- He'll call as soon as you can, you know.
- But you did not call to tell me that.
- No, I'm just checking if everything is in order. I'm stuck here on the Big Island and I think I'll take a little
while. I'm at the government palace with Henry, hoping the personal thanks of the governor by the
Crown to grant the request of the Foreign Ministry.
- I do not understand anything ...
- Oh, sorry. Henry Sykes is the governor's aide-deordens Crown. He asked me to take care of that French
war hero who is the village near her. When the governor wants to thank someone, we wait until it thank
- when phones enguiam, cowboys like me need government help.
- I still do not understand anything, Johnny.
- A storm coming from Basse-Terre, come
here within a few hours.
- Coming of whom?
- Where, not who, but I must be back before then. Send the maid to prepare the sofa for me.

- John, you do not need to be here. It's full of armed men on the other side of the fence, on the beach
and do not know where.
- And that's exactly where they should be. See you later, and give the kids a hug for me.
- They're sleeping - said Marie, when Brother
hung. She looked at the phone and turning it off slowly, said aloud: - I know so little about you, little
brother ... our favorite Johnny and incorrigible. And my husband knows more.You two make me furious!
The phone rang again, startling her.
- Hello?
- I am.
- Thank God!
- He 's out of town, but everything is great. I'm great and we are making progress.
- You do not need to do that! We do not!
- Yes, we do - said Jason Bourne, with no sign of David Webb. - I want you to know that I love her,
that he loves her ...
- Stop it! Is going on! ...
- Sorry. I apologize - forgive me.
- Are you David!
- Of course I'm David. I was joking ...
- No, it was not.
- You've been talking to Alex, that's all. We discussed, nothing more.
- No, no! want you back. I want you
here!
- So I can not say more. I love her.
Jason hung and Marie threw herself on the bed, the blanket muffling sobs useless.
With bloodshot eyes tired, Alexander Conklin working at the computer, typing the data contained in the
books sent by Bourne house of General Norman Swayne. Two whistles treble cut the silence of the
room. The machine had just announced that calculate another double reference. Conklin found the
answer presented. RG Which meant? Again and enter anything. Continued to hit the keys beige, faster
and faster. beeps Four ... five ... six. Back - stop go forward. RGRGRGRG What the hell was RG?
Compared the data with the three books sent
by Bourne. A common number appeared in green on the screen: 617-202-0011. A phone. Conklin picked
up the phone Langley, called the watchman of the night and sent the CIA locate the telephone number.
- Not in the catalog, sir. It is one of the numbers in the same residence in Boston, Massachusetts.
- The name, please.
- Gates, Randolph. The residence is ...
- Okay, operator - stopped Alex, sure have got the essential information. Randolph Gates, teacher,
lawyer of the privileged, advocate of the bigger the better, the bigger the better.No wonder he was
involved in hundreds of millions of dollars in Europe, controlled by American interests ... No, wait a
minute. It was not right, was wrong was completely illogical any connection with the great lawyer is an
extremely dubious indeed illegal, like Medusa. It made no sense! It was not necessary to admire the
famous counsel to know that he had a record completely clean and honest occupation. He was known
for its strictness everything connected with the law. Often wore the wiles of the profession to obtain
favorable decisions, but no one has ever dared question his integrity. His philosophy was so contrary to
the principles of the brightest lawyers liberals, who would have been discredited long ago if they could
discover the slightest slip in your life. However, his name appeared six times on the agenda of a
Medusan responsible for millions of dollars spent to defend the nation. A member of unstable Medusa

whose apparent suicide was actually murder. Conklin found on the screen that the date of the last entry
of Swayne RG was referring to August 2, there
least one week. He picked up the diary with leather cover and opened that day. Hitherto was
concentrating on names, not commitments, unless the information was relevant - for what, he was not
sure, but trust the instincts themselves. If I had discovered before anyone was RG, would have noticed
the abbreviated notation and handwriting beside the name.
RG does not accept desig. Maj. CRFT. Need CRFT in your team. Open. Paris - seven years ago. Two takefile and enter zip.
The reference to Paris should have called your attention before, thought Alex. But Swayne's notes
contained many names of exotic places and strange, as if the general wanted to impress whoever
happens to be interested in their particular observations. Furthermore, Conklin acknowledged, was
extremely tired. If not for the computer, it probably would not have discovered Dr. Randolph Gates, the
Olympian god of law. Paris - seven years ago. Two take file and bury. The first part was clear, the second,
obscure, but not unbreakable. "Two" referring to a section of Intelligence. G-2 and "archive" meant a
fact or a revelation uncovered by intelligence personnel in Paris
- Seven years ago and removed from databases. It was an amateur attempt to use the language of
intelligence so wrong. "Open" meant key - Jesus, Swayne was an idiot! Alex wrote the note in full.
"Randolph Gates does not want to consider the appointment of Major Craft or Croft, or even Christopher, it could be one of s. But we need CRFT your team. The key is to use the information contained in
our archive G-2 on Gates in Paris seven years ago, that file has been removed and is in our power. " If it
was not the exact translation, it was pretty rough for action, thought Conklin, glancing at his watch. It
was 3:20 am, a time when the ringing phone startles the person more controlled. Why not? David Jason - had reason.counted Every hour now. Alex picked up the phone and dialed the number of the
house in Boston, Massachusetts. The phone kept ringing and the bitch would not meet in your room! So
Gates looked at the light on the machine and the blood froze in his veins. Their number was not on the
list, a number that few knew. Stirred in bed, eyes wide. The more I thought of the strange phone call
from Paris, the more nervous. Montserrat was over, he knew! The information he had passed
was wrong ... Prefontaine lied to him and now Paris wanted to make things right. My God!
They would come after him, they denounce! There was a way out, a perfect explanation, the truth. liars
He deliver to Paris, Paris to man here in Boston. Prefontaine would oblige the drunk and dirty detective
to confess his lies to the only man who could absolve them ... The phone! Needed to meet. Should not
let them think I was hiding something! Took the phone to the ear instrument insistent.
- Yes?
- Seven years ago, adviser - started to say his voice quiet. - Need I remind you that we have all the
data. The Deuxime Bureau was very cooperative, much more than you.
- For God's sake, they lied to me! - Gates exclaimed hoarsely, sitting on the edge of the bed. - Can not
believe I had passed the information wrong! Not that I was crazy!
- We know it can be very stubborn. We
a simple request ...
- I answered, I swear I answered. Christ paid $ 15,000 to ensure that everything was done quietly,
without a trace - not that money is important, of course ...
- You paid. ..? - Interrupted the calm voice.
- I can show proof of withdrawal!
- You paid what?
- The information, of course. Hired a former judge who has contacts ...
- Information about Craft?
- What?
- Croft ... Christopher.

- Who?
- Our major, advisor. The Major.
- If this is your code name, then yes, I paid!
- Code Name?
- The woman. Two children. They flew to the island of Montserrat. I swear that's what I said!
Gates heard a click and the phone went off in the other line.
13
WITH HAND still on the phone, Conklin started sweating. He rose from his chair, walked away limping,
looking at the computer as if it were a monstrous thing that had led to a forbidden land where nothing
was what it seemed to be, or what should be. What happened?
How was that Randolph Gates knew about Montserrat on Marie and children? Why?
Alex sat on the couch with my heart racing, her thoughts a mess with no answers, only chaos. He held
his right wrist with his left hand, sticking nails in the flesh. Needed to control, thinking
- Needed to act! By the wife of David and the children!
Associations of ideas. What were the possible combinations? It was difficult to see Gates as a member of
the Medusa - even if it was against their will
- But it was impossible to think that you were connected to Carlos the Jackal. Impossible! However, this
seemed to be the truth. The connection existed! Carlos would also be part of the Medusa Swayne? All
they knew about the Jackal denied this hypothesis. The strength of the killer was in fact never join any
structured entity. Jason Bourne had proved it 13 years ago in Paris. No group could get to him. They
could only send messages and he sought. The only organization that accept international assassin was
his army of old men, from the Mediterranean to the Baltic, misfits, lost, criminals whose poverty was
relieved by the generosity of the killer, who demanded loyalty unto death. Where a man like Randolph
Gates fit in this scheme?
Did not fit, concluded Alex Conklin, while farthest limits of your imagination explored old territories
... Be wary of appearances. The famous lawyer had nothing to do with Carlos, nor with Medusa. He was
the aberration, the defect in the lens, an honorable man with a single weakness was discovered by two
separate parts, both with immense resources.Everyone knew that the Jackal had the means to
penetrate the Surete and Interpol and not have to be clairvoyant to know that Medusa could penetrate
the Army G-2. It was the only explanation possible, because Gates was too combative, too powerful to
work how it worked spectacularly, it was easy to discover his vulnerability. No, it would take a predator
like the Jackal and Medusa as to penetrate the depths of a secret so devastating as to turn Randolph
Gates into a valuable chess piece. Evidently, Carlos had caught him first. Conklin actually thought it was
always confirmed. The world of corrupt was actually a small neighborhood with many layers, geometric
design, with the avenues of corruption irregular crisscrossing. How could it be otherwise? The residents
of those streets were lethal services to offer their clients were special - the trash desperate
humanity. Extortion, commitment, murder. The Jackal and the men of Medusa belonged to the same
fraternal order. The Fellowship of the I Have Mine.
A discovery. A discovery that Jason Bourne could use - but not David Webb - Webb and was still a very
important part of Bourne. In addition, both parties were the same man over a thousand miles of
Montserrat, the coordinates of certain death by Carlos. Montserrat? ... Johnny St. Jacques! The
"Little brother" who had proved what he could do in a small town in northern Canada, without the
knowledge and understanding of their own family, especially her sister
dear. A man can kill when provoked
- Who had killed a moment of anger - and would kill again if he saw his sister and nephews threatened
by the Jackal. David believed him - Jason Bourne as well, which was much more important now. Alex
looked at the console of the phone, then got up quickly. He sat behind the desk and pressed the button

on the recorder to the point I wanted.Walking from one side to the other, heard the voice terrified
Gates.
"... Christ paid 15,000 ... "
Was not there, he thought Conklin. Later.
"... can show proof of withdrawal ... "
Later!
"... hired a former judge who has contacts ... " That was it. A judge.
"They flew to the Island of Montserrat ..."
Alex took the drawer where the paper had noted all phone numbers he had used in the last two
days. Saw the number of Tranquility Inn, the Caribbean, picked up the phone and dialed. After playing
many times, a voice full of sleep answered.
- Tranquility ...
- This is an emergency - interrupted Conklin.
- I need to speak urgently with John St. Jacques. Hurry up, please.
- I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. St. Jacques is not here.
- I need to find it. Again, it is urgent. Where is he?
- On the Big Island ...
- Montserrat?
- Yes ..
- Where? My name is Conklin. He wants to talk to me - he needs to talk to me. Please!
- A strong wind is blowing from Basseterre and all flights were canceled until tomorrow morning.
- A what?
- A tropical depression ...
- Oh, a storm.
- DT prefer one, sir. Mr. Jacques left a phone number in Plymouth.
- What is your name? - Alex interrupted. The
man said Pritchard and Conklin continued. - I'll make a very delicate question, Mr. Pritchard. It is
important to give me the right answer, but if not, should do what I say. Mr. St. Jacques confirm
everything I say when I can talk to him. But I can not waste time. Do you understand?
- What is your question? - Asked the man
with dignity. - I'm not a child, mon.
- Sorry. Did not mean to ...
- The question, Mr. Conklin. You must hurry.
- Yes, of course ... The sister of Mr. St. Jacques and the children are in a safe place? Mr. St. Jacques took
some precautions?
- As armed guards in the village and our
guards always at the beach? - Said the man. - The answer is yes.
- It is the right answer. - Alex took a deep breath, still nervous. - Now, what is the phone number of Mr.
St. Jacques?
The man said and added:
- Many phones are stalled, sir. It would be convenient to leave a telephone number where you can be
found. The wind is still strong, but Mr. Q St. Jay will be here with the first light of day if you can.
- Right. - Alex said the phone number "barren" in the apartment in Vienna and made man again.
- That's it - he said. - I'll try to Plymouth now.
- How do you spell your name, please. Is Co-nc-h ...
- Conk - Alex interrupted, by turning immediately to the number in Plymouth, the capital of Montserrat.
Again a startled voice, sleepy and almost incoherent answer.
- Who is speaking? - Conklin asked impatiently.

- Who the hell is this - you? - an Englishman replied angrily.

- I want to talk to John St. Jacques. It is an emergency and Tranquility Hotel receptionist gave me this
number.
- Even though their phones are good ...
- Looks like it. Please, John is there?
- It is, of course. On the other side of the aisle. I'll call you. Who wants to ...
- "Alex", no longer need.
- Only "Alex"?
- Hurry, please!
Twenty seconds later he heard the voice of St. Jacques.
- Conklin, are you?
- Listen. They know that Marie and the children were tickets to Montserrat.
- We heard that someone has been asking questions
at the airport about a woman with two children ...
- So you took them to the hotel.
- Exactly.
- Who's been asking questions?
- Do not know. Were made by phone ... I
did not want to leave them, but I was ordered to present myself to the governor and when the bastard
governor appeared, the storm was here.
- I know. I spoke with his receptionist who gave me this number.
- It is a consolation to know that the phones are still working. Generally, with a storm, they do not work,
so we have to treat well the Crown.
- Your man said you put guards ...
- You bet! - Exclaimed St. Jacques.
- The problem is that I do not know what I should defend myself, unless of strangers at some boat on the
beach. If you do not meet the order to stop and identify yourself, my men shoot.
- Maybe I can help ...
- Then talk!
- We got some information - do not ask me how. It seems unbelievable, but you can be sure it's real. The
man who discovered that Marie was hired to Montserrat a judge who has contacts, supposedly on the
island.
- A judge! - exploded the owner of Tranquility Inn. - My God, he's there! I'll kill that bastard, that trash ...
- Stop it, Johnny! Control yourself. Who's there?
- A judge who insists on using a name different!
I did not think it was important - two old fools with names like ...
- Old ...? Slowly, Johnny, this is important. Two old?
- That you spoke of, Boston ...
- That's right - Alex confirmed.
- The other came from Paris ...
- Paris? Christ. The old Paris!
- What the ...?
- The Jackal! Carlos has his old on the island!
- Now, you go slower, Alex - St. Jacques said breathlessly. - Now you must speak more clearly.
- Do not have time, Johnny. Carlos has an Army- to - your army - the old will die for him, by
killing him. There will be no stranger at the beach, they are already there! You can return to the island?
- In a way, yes! I'll call
my staff. Those two piles of trash will be thrown in the dungeon!

- Quick, Johnny!
St. Jacques pulled the hook from the old phone, released him, and heard the line noise. Dialed the
Tranquility Inn.
"Sorry," said the recorded voice. "Due to bad weather, the lines are defective in the area you are
calling. The government is working hard to restore communications. By please try again later. A good
day. " St. John Jacques hung with such force that broke the phone into two pieces.
- A boat! - he shouted. - Get me a boat fast!
- Are you crazy - said the deputy governor of the Crown, on the other side of the room. - With these
waves?
- A boat offshore, Henry! - Said the devoted brother, taking an automatic belt. - Or am I forced to do
something that I do not want to think. I want a boat.
- I can not believe it, pal.
- Me neither, Henry ... But I'm serious. Nurse Jean Pierre Fontaine straightened blond hair in front of the
vanity mirror, holding it under the black hat waterproof. He checked his watch, remembering every
word of the strange phone call he had received a few daughters of Argenteuil, France, the great man
who made it all possible.
- An American lawyer who says judge is
staying close to you.
- I know nothing about this person, Msgr.
- But it is there. Our hero complained of his presence, with good reason, and a phone call to his home in
Boston, confirmed its presence on the island.
- It means that this presence is not desirable?
- This presence is abhorrent to me. He says
that owes much to me - a huge debt, a fact that can destroy him - but his actions tell me it is a thankless
one, you want to cancel this debt with a betrayal and cheating on me he is cheating on you too.
- He's a dead man.
- Exactly. In the past it was useful to me, but the past is no more. Find and kill this man. Make it look like
a tragic accident ... Finally, as we will no longer communicate to you
back to Martinique, everything is ready for the final act that commanded?
- You, my Lord. The two injections were prepared by the surgeon at the hospital in Fort-de-France. He
asked me to give you their devotion.
- And you're right. He is alive, unlike dozens of his patients.
- Do not know anything about his other life in Martinique.
- I am aware that ... Administer doses in 48 hours, when chaos begins to decrease. Knowing that the
hero was my invention - which will provide you to know - would be the envy of a chameleon.
- Everything will be done. Will be here soon?
- The time for shock waves. I'm leaving
within an hour and then I will be in Antigua and before noon on Montserrat, tomorrow. If everything is
processed as calculated, should arrive in time to observe the extreme agony of Jason Bourne before
leaving my signature, a bullet in his throat. Americans will then know who won. Adieu.
The nurse, as a suppliant in ecstasy, bowed his head in front of the mirror remembering the words the
Lord mystical omniscient. It was almost time, she thought, picking between their collars in the dresser
drawer, the garrote metal encrusted with diamonds, a gift from his mentor. Would be so simple. I knew
who he was and where the judge was staying - the old gaunt, the third village after his. Everything now
depended on the accuracy, the "tragic accident" would be the prelude to the horror that would occur in
Vila Twenty in less than an hour. All villages of Tranquility had kerosene lamps for light and the
generator was missing when enguiava. A scared old man with loose bowels, or panicked, like a storm
that night, I could try to light the lamp to feel safer. Tragically could fall on kerosene spilled and burned

down the neck, eliminating brands tourniquet. Do this, said the voices in your mind. should obey. Carlos
No you would be a headless body, in Algeria. Ia do
- Going to do now.
The strong and steady beat of the rain on the roof and windows and the roar of the wind were
interrupted by a blinding flash and the deafening thunder.
"Jean Pierre Fontaine" wept silently, kneeling beside the bed, his face almost touching the woman's
tears falling on the cold flesh of her arm. She was dead and the note in the right hand, rigid,
said: Maintenant nous sommes deux libres, mon amour. were both free. It's terrible pain, it's required by
Monsignor price, a price that he had not told, but the woman was sure that would be terrible. For
months he knew his wife had access to pills that could end his life quickly if the pain became
unbearable. Often he had searched extensively, but never managed to find. Now understand why,
seeing the tin of pellets favorite wife, the bullets that years ago she took to her mouth with a satisfied
smile.
- You should thank, mon cher. Could be caviar or one of those expensive drugs that the rich use!
There was caviar, but it was drugs, drugs lethal. He heard footsteps. Nurse! She should not see his
wife! Fontaine stood up, wiped his eyes and ran for the door. When opened, the woman was with her
arm raised and fist, ready to hit.
- Monsieur! ... You scared me!
- I think we both scared. - Jean Pierre left the room, closing the door quickly. - Regine finally slept whispered, bringing the finger to his lips. - This horrible storm prevented her from sleeping most of the
night.
- But it's a godsend for us - for you - is not it? Sometimes I think Monsignor sends in nature.
- So, I doubt it's a gift from heaven. The
sky is not the source of his influence.
- Let's go to work - said the nurse, without
amused, away from the door. - Are you prepared?
- Am in a few minutes - said
Fontaine, driving up to the table where his instruments of death. He took the key from his pocket. Want to pass on what I should do? - Asked, turning to the woman. - For me, of course. At my age,
sometimes the details are somewhat confused.
- Yes, I do, because there was a small change.
- Is it? - The old man raised his eyebrows. Last minute changes are also not good at my age.
- It's only a matter of time, no more than
quarter of an hour, maybe less.
- An eternity in this type of work - Fontaine said when another lightning cut the sky, followed almost
immediately by thunder, interrupting the beat of the rain on the roof and windows. - It is dangerous to
go out tonight. This lightning was close.
- If you think so, imagine how they must feel
guards.
- Please, the "small change". And also
explanation.
- I will not give any explanation. I will only say
which is an order of Argenteuil and you are responsible.
- The Judge?
- Draw your own conclusions.
- So he not been sent ...

- I will not say anything more. The change is as follows. Instead of running to the guards and ask Vila
Twenty urgent assistance to his wife, I will say that I was coming back from the reception, where I
complain about the phone, and saw fire in Villa Fourteen, after our fourth. No doubt there will be great
confusion, with the storm and everyone for help. This will be your signal. Enjoy the confusion between
the village and take out whoever is still there. Do not forget the muffler. Then go back inside and do
what you swore to do.
- So, I hope the fire, and I hope that you and
guards back to the number 11.
- Exactly. Stay on the porch with the door closed, of course.
- Of course.
- Can I take five minutes or maybe twenty,
but you is here.
- Naturally ... May I ask, ma'am - or
perhaps mademoiselle, although I do not see any evidence ...
- What is?
- It will take five or twenty minutes to do what?
- You are an old fool. Do what has to be done.
- Of course.
The woman opened the door, it hit the wall with the force of the wind, left to torrential rain, closing
it. Stunned and confused, the old Frenchman stood motionless, trying to understand the
inexplicable. Everything was happening too fast for him, in the midst of the agony of the death of his
wife. He had no time to cry, no time to feel ... Just think and think fast. One thing overlapped the other,
leaving questions unanswered, questions had to be answered so that the whole was understood - so
Montserrat made sense!
The nurse was more than a messenger of instructions Argenteuil. The angel of mercy was actually the
angel of death, a killer. So why had done traveling all that way to do what the other could do without
the complications of his disguise of hero and everything else? An old hero of France ... all so
unnecessary. And as for your age, there was another - another old man who was not a
murderer. Perhaps he had made a terrible mistake, thought the fake Jean Pierre Fontaine. Perhaps the
other man, instead of coming to kill him, was there to warn him of the danger he was!
"Mon Dieu," murmured the Frenchman. "The old Paris! The army of the Jackal! Many unanswered
questions! "Fontaine strode into the room and the nurse came. With the speed efficiently acquired
through years of practice, hampered only slightly by age, began methodically searching the room suitcase, closet, clothes, pillows, mattress, dresser, chest of drawers, desk ... the desk. A locked drawer
in his desk - one locked drawer in the room. The
"Equipment". Nothing mattered now! His wife was dead and he needed lots of answers!
He picked up the heavy brass lamp, which was
on the table, pulled the cord, unplugging it from the outlet, and slammed it into the drawer to break the
timber and lock. He opened the drawer and looked inside with a mixture of horror and understanding.
In a plastic box lined injection were two syringes with a yellow liquid. Fontaine did not need to know
what chemical was. There were many, very efficient. Death net veins. There also needed to be told
whom intended. Cote a Cote dans le lit. Two bodies side by side in bed. He and his wife, a death
pact. The monsignor had planned everything very well!He would be dead!
An old Army Jackal, after overcoming all the security measures, killed and mutilated people dearest
enemy of Charles, Jason Bourne. And in-turalmente behind all this evil plan was himself Jackal!
Ce n'est pas le contrat! I, yes, but my wife does not! You promised! A nurse. Angel, not mercy, but
death! The man known as the Tranquility Inn Jean Pierre Fontaine hurried back to the room. To pick up
your equipment. The huge speedboat with two large

motor sailing in rough sea, most of the time the crest of the waves and not within them. In the small
lower deck, John St. Jacques maneuvered the boat among the dangerous coral reefs, the location of
which he knew by heart, aided by the spotlight that illuminated the turbulent waters, sometimes five,
sometimes five hundred meters from the bow.Johnny screamed into the microphone swinging in front
of your face wet, trying desperately, against all logic, communicate with someone on Tranquility Isle. It
was now about four miles from the island, whose proximity was announced by an elevation volcaniccovered bushes in the middle of the sea. The Tranquility Isle was nearer Plymouth than to Blackburne
Airport and for those who know the reefs and shoals, was achieved faster boat than a seaplane, which
had left the eastern part of Blackburne to harness the winds of enabling it amerissar west near the
island. Johnny did not know why these calculations now interfered with his concentration, except for
the fact they give you the certainty of doing the best possible. Damn Why you had to always be the best
and not just the best? could not fail more, not now, not tonight! Christ, he owed everything to Mare and
David!Perhaps more to the crazy bastard who was his brother than his sister. David, David the
incredible, a man whose existence Johnny sometimes thought that Marie did not even know!
"You be quiet, little brother. I got this. "
"Can not, David. I did it. I killed them! "
"Do what I said. Do not interfere. "
"I asked for your help, not for me to take my place."
"But do not you see, I am you. I would have done the same thing, so for me, I am you. "
"This is crazy!"
"One part is. Someday I might teach you to kill lim- pamente in the dark. Meanwhile, listen to the
lawyers. "
"Suppose they lose the cause?"
"I shot this. I take him away. "
"How?"
"I kill again."
"I do not believe it! A teacher, a learned man - not believe, do not want to believe - you are my sister's
husband. "
"Well then do not believe me, Johnny. Forget everything I said, and never say anything to your sister. "
"Is that another person who is in you, right?"
"Marie loves him very much."
"That is no answer! Here, now, you're Bourne, right? Ja- son Bourne! "
"Never, at any time, we'll talk about this talk, Johnny. Do you understand? "
No, he never understood, thought St. Jacques, while the wind hissing and crackling of lightning appeared
to involve the boat. Even when Marie and David appealed to his ego disintegrating rapidly, suggesting a
new life in the islands. Initial capital, they had said. Build a house for us and then decides what to do
anymore. Within limits, we will fund.Why did they do this? Why?
But it was not "them", he was. Jason Bourne.
John St. Jacques had understood the morning that the pilot of the island called warning that someone
was asking questions at the airport about a woman with two children.
Someday maybe I'll teach you to kill cleanly, the Dark- ro. Jason Bourne.
Lights! Was seeing the lights of Tranquility. Was less than a mile from the beach Old French reeling with
gusts
icy wind walked under the heavy rain to the Village Fourteen. With his head down, eyes narrowed, he
wiped his face with his left hand, holding the gun with a silencer on the right. He held the gun behind
her as she did many years ago when he ran the train tracks, with sticks of dynamite in one hand a
German Luger in the other, ready to drop everything appeared Nazi patrol.
Whoever it was hoped that now was the

Boche for him. All were Krauts! Served the other for a long time! His wife was dead. From now on it
would be their own boss, because there was nothing left beyond their decisions, their feelings, their
particular criteria of right and wrong ... And the Jackal was wrong!
The Apostle Charles could not accept the woman's murder. Could justify that debt, but not children, and
certainly not the mutilation of bodies. Were acts against God, and he and his wife would soon face
Him. Needed to create some extenuating circumstances.
Deter the angel of death! What was she doing? The
that meant the fire she had mentioned? ... Then he saw - a huge blaze in Vila Fourteen. In one of the
windows! The bedroom window of the town color pink. Fontaine reached the flagstone path leading to
door when an electrical discharge of lightning shook the ground beneath their feet. He fell, got up on his
knees and crawled to the balcony color pink with the door illuminated by the glow of the flames
upstairs. For more than pulled and turned the knob, could not open the door. With two shots destroyed
the lock. He stood up and walked.
Inside. cries coming from the bedroom. The
old Frenchman threw up the stairs, on shaky legs, the gun in his right hand. With the strength he had
left, opened the door with a kick and watched the scene planned in hell.
The nurse, with metal tourniquet around the neck of the old, tried to launch his victim on kerosene
burning to the ground.
- Arretez! - shouted the man called Jean Pierre Fontaine. - Assez! Maintenant!
In the middle of the flame that rose and raged, shots rang out and bodies fell. Lights Beach Tranquility
approached and St. Jacques kept shouting into the microphone.
- I am me. 's Jay St., wrestling! Do not shoot!
But the sleek racing boat was greeted with a burst of automatic machine guns. St. Jacques lay on the
deck and continued to scream.
- I'll dock - will rise at the beach! Hold the damn fire!
- Is that you, mon? - said a voice on the radio terrified.
- Want to get your paycheck next week?
- Yes I do, Mr. Jay St.. - The speakers on the beach erratically interrupted the hiss of the wind and the
roar of thunder coming from Basse-Terre. - All around
on the beach, stop shooting! The boat is ours, mon! 's our boss, mon, Mr. Jay St..
The boat jumped into the water dark beach, the roaring engines, propellers bogging down in wet sand
the hull edge parting with the impact. St. Jacques rose from the protective fetal position and jumped to
the beach.
- Twenty Vila! - he cried, running in the rain to the stone steps that led to the path of the villages. - All
men, to the Village Twenty!
While climbing the stairs burdened by
rain and wind stopped suddenly with a gasp, a galaxy of stars exploding before his eyes with thousands
of stars fire. Shots! One after another! In the west wing! St. Jacques kept jumping up every two steps
and ran like a man possessed for the Twenty Vila, turning his head to the right, confused, completely
panicked. Saw several people - men and women of the hotel - in front of Villa Fourteen! ... Who was
staying there? ... My God the Judge! With the lungs to bursting, every muscle, every sinew of his legs in
maximum tension, St. Jacques arrived at his sister's house. Through the gate and threw her body against
the door opening it. Eyes wide, first in horror, then with untold pain, St. Jacques fell to his knees,
screaming. White wall was written in bright red, with terrible clarity: Jason Bourne, brother of the Jackal.
14
- JOHNNY! JOHNNY, stop it! - The voice of Sister
rang in his ears. Marie cradled his head on one arm and with the other hand holding her hair, almost
tearing them. - You got me listening? we're good, Johnny. Children are in another village - we are fine!

Gradually able to focus on the faces around him. Among them were two old men, one from Boston, the
other from Paris.
- Here are they! - St. Jacques cried, darting forward, but held by Marie. - I kill these wretches!
- No, - said Marie, holding him, aided by the black guard holding him by the shoulder. - At this moment,
are the best friends we have.
- You do not know who they are! - St. Jacques exclaimed, trying to shake the hands that held.
- Yes, we know - Marie said, her voice more
low, his mouth pressed against his ear. - Enough to get us to the Jackal ...
- They work for the Jackal!
- One of them worked - Marie said. - The other
never heard of Carlos.
- You do not understand - mumbled St. Jacques.
- Are the old - the old Paris, the army of the Jackal! Conklin Plymouth phoned and explained everything
... they are killers!
- I've said, one of them was, but is no longer. Have no reason to kill now. The other ... well, the other is a
mistake, a stupid mistake and ridiculous, it will
all, and thank God - for him.
- All this is crazy ...!
- Yes, it's crazy - Marie agreed, with a
gesture sending the guard to help his brother to his feet. Come on, Johnny, we need to talk.
The storm moved away as a violent intruder fled in the night, leaving behind the carnage of his fury. The
morning light appeared on the horizon, revealing through the mist blue-green islands off the coast of
Montserrat. The first boats made their way cautiously to the fishing grounds, because it meant they
could get one more day of survival. Marie, his brother and the two old men were sitting at the table on
the balcony of one of the villages. There were there nearly an hour, drinking coffee and talking, coolly
dissecting the facts, talking about horrible things. Had promised the old fake hero of France to take care
of his wife as soon as they returned to work the phones. He wanted to bury her on the island, if
possible. His wife in some understand. Nothing remained for them in France unless the ignominy of a
mass grave. If it were possible ...
- It is possible - St. Jacques said. - Thank you my sister is alive.
- Thanks to me, young man, she should be dead.
- Would be able to kill me? - Asked Marie,
looking closely at the old French.
- Not after I saw what Carlos had planned for me and my wife. He breached the contract, not me
- Before then.
- Before you see the needles, to understand what was so obvious?
- Yes
- It's hard to say. A contract is a contract. However, my wife was dead, and partly because he sensed the
terrible price that I would have to pay. Obey orders would deny this aspect of his death,
understand? However, even though she was dead, I could not fail to comply with an order of Monsignor
- thanks to him we had a few years of relative happiness ... I just do not know. Perhaps he thought he
owed his life - his death - but certainly not the two children ... and undoubtedly most of the rest.
- What else? - Asked St. Jacques.
- It's best not to ask.
- I think you would have killed me - Marie said.
- I'm saying I just do not know. Not

it was nothing personal. To me, you were not a person, but an item of a commercial contract
... However, as I said, my wife was dead and I'm an old man with little time to live.Perhaps one look, a
plea for the lives of their children - who knows, I could turn the gun against my chest. But I do not know,
maybe not.
- Jesus, you're a murderer - Johnny said in
quietly.
- I am many things, monsieur. hopefully no forgiveness in this world, but the other thing is
different. There has always been circumstances ...
- Logic of the French - noted Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine, former judge of the court of the first
circuit of Boston, one instinctively putting his hand to the wound in the neck, just below the white hair
singed. - Thank God I never had to argue before les tribunals. Neither side is never wrong.
- The lawyer chuckled. - You see here a violator of the law, judged fairly and justly condemned. The only
mitigating aspect of my crimes was the fact that I was picked up and many others have never been and
never will be.
- Maybe we're even relatives, monsieur le juge.
- Compared with her, sir, if my life
looks much more like that of St. Thomas Aquinas ...
- Blackmail - Marie interrupted.
- No, actually the charge was unlawful conduct. Accepting bribes to give favorable decisions, that sort of
thing ... My God, we are very strict in Boston!
In New York it is more than common. Leave the money with the bailiff, for distribution.
- I'm not referring to Boston. I mean the reason for your presence here. Blackmail, right?
- Oversimplified, but the truth. As I have
said the man who paid me to know where were you paid me more to keep the information secret. In
these circumstances, how do not have a very tight schedule, I thought it would be logical to do some
research. After all, if the little I knew was as good, as I could ask if he found out more?
- You're talking to French logic, monsieur noted French.
- A simple progression interrogation replied the former judge, glancing at Jean Pierre before turning again to Marie. - But, dear lady, I could
have found something of great value to the negotiations with my client. To speak plainly, his identity
was being kept secret and protected by the government. A fact of great strength that frightened a man
very strong and influential.
- I want his name - said Marie.
- In this case I also need protection - Prefontaine said.
- You will ...
- And maybe something more - continued the old former lawyer. - My client does not know I'm here,
have no idea what happened. All this will strengthen the flame of your generosity when I tell her. Will
die of fright just thinking that may be linked to these facts. Moreover, considering that almost got killed
by that Teutonic Amazon actually deserve more.
- So I should be rewarded for saving his life, monsieur?
- If I had something of value - beyond my knowledge of the laws, that's all yours - would be delighted to
share with you. If I get something, it remains true, cousin.
- Merci bien, cousin.
- D'accord, mon ami, but do not let the Irish nuns hear us.
- You do not strike me as a poor man, judge
- Said John St. Jacques.
- Looks can be deceiving as the title for

long forgotten, which you used so generously ... I should add that I am a man of simple tastes, because I
live alone and my comfort does not require luxury.
- So, also lost his wife?
- Not that it's any of your damn business, but my
wife left me nine years ago, and my son of 38 years, now a successful lawyer on Wall Street, and uses
her last name when asked, says he never met me. Have not seen him since he was ten. Understand, did
not suit him.
- Quelle tristesse.
- Quel silly cousin. That kid inherited my intelligence, not the airhead mother ... But we digress. My
thoroughbred French here has his reasons - obviously based on betrayal - to cooperate with you. I also
have strong reasons to ajudlos, but I need to think of me first. My new old friend can come back and
finish his life in Paris, whereas I can only go back to Boston and the few opportunities I could to survive
these years. So, my very valid reasons to help them should come second. With what I know now I would
not live five minutes on the streets of Boston.
- We have an important clue - said St. John
Jacques, staring at Prefontaine. - I'm sorry, Judge, but we need you.
- What? - Marie leaned forward in his chair. - Please, man, we need all the help we want to give.
- Not in this case. We know who hired him.
- Do we?
- Conklin knows, and he said it is a gap, an opening. Said the man who spotted a judge used to it. - St.
Jacques nodded toward the former judge of Boston. - Him So inutilizei a boat hundreds of thousands of
dollars to get here. Conklin knows who the man is: Prefontaine looked French.
- Now is the time to say quelle tristesse, Mr. Hero. I had nothing. My persistence yielded me just a
bruised neck and scalp singed.
- Not necessarily - Marie said. - You are a lawyer, so do not need to tell you. Corroboration is
cooperation. We need the Lord to tell all you know for certain people in Washington.
- Corroboration can be obtained with a subpoena, my dear. Under oath in court, take my word for
personal and professional.
- We will not go to court. Never.
- Oh! ... I understand.
- No, do not understand, judge, not in this case. However, if you agree to help us be well paid ... There
some said he had strong reasons to help us, reasons that should be secondary to your well-being ...
- Does a lawyer, my dear?
- No, economist.
- Santa Maria, it is worse ... About my reasons?
- Refer to your client, the man who hired him to find us?
- Exactly. His august person - as in
Caesar Augustus - was to be whipped. Putting aside his intellect slippery, he's a whore. He was a
promising young man, much more than I ever told you, but threw it all away with their blatant demand
Grail itself.
- What the hell is he talking about, Mare?
- From a man with much influence and power
they do not deserve, I guess. Our convicted criminal here is talking about personal morality.
- Words of an economist - noted Prefontaine once again playing the abraded skin of the neck. - An
economist thinking in its last projection miscalculated that led to a purchase or a sale in the disastrous
stock market, resulting in losses that few can meet.

- My voice has never been more important, but I assure you is a reflection of many others whose
projections have gone wrong, because he never risked, were only in theory. It is a secure ... Its not,
Judge. May need the protection we can give. What do you say?
- Jesus, Mary and Joseph, is a determined woman ...
- I have to be - said Marie, looking firmly to the Boston man. - I want you on our side, but I will not beg. I
just let it free and you can return to the streets of Boston.
- The lady is a lawyer or not - or perhaps the supreme judge of a great lord?
- The choice is yours. I just want an answer.
- Can anyone tell me what the hell is
going on here? - Said John St. Jacques.
- His sister - Prefontaine said, looking tenderly Marie - got a recruit. Made it clear the options, something
that any lawyer understands, and the inevitability of its logic, beyond his pretty face, crowned by that
dark hair, makes my decision also inevitable.
- What the ...?
- He chose us, Johnny. Forget.
- Why do we need it?
- Without a court for various things, young man
- Replied the judge. - In certain situations, offer to volunteer is not the best thing, unless it is fully
secured, beyond the power of the courts.
- That's right, Marie?
- It is not wrong, but it depends on Jason - drug
- David.
- No, Mare - said John St. Jacques, looking
fixedly at her sister. - Depends on Jason.
- These are the names that I know? - Asked Prefontaine. - The name "Jason Bourne" was written on the
wall of your village.
- My instructions, cousin - said the false but not so fake - hero of France. - It was necessary.
- I do not understand ... nor do I know the
another name, "Coyote" or "Carlos", about which you asked me so brutally when I do not yet know if he
was alive or dead. I thought the "Jackal" was a fictional character. The old man called Jean Pierre
Fontaine looked at Marie and she nodded.
- Carlos the Jackal, is a legend, but it is not fiction. It is a professional assassin now sixty years old, sick,
they say, but still dominated by a terrible hatred. He is a man of many faces, many sides, some of them
loved by those who have reason for it, others hated by those who consider the very essence of evil - and
depending on your point of view all have their reasons to be confident. I am an example of the man who
knew all these sides, but my world is very different from yours, as you suggested. St. Thomas Aquinas.
- Merci bien.
- But the hate that dominates Carlos grows as a
cancer in your aging brain. A man forced him to expose himself, a man has cheated, usurped their
crimes, stole credit for the work of the Jackal, one death after another, Carlos when he was going crazy
trying to fix this mistake, trying to maintain its supremacy as the most perfect killer . This same man is
responsible for the death of his lover - much more than that, the woman who was his foothold, the
beloved of his childhood in Venezuela, his companion at all. This man was the only one of the hundreds,
perhaps thousands of others, sent by various world governments, who saw the face of Carlos - as the
Jackal. The

man who did all this was a product of American Intelligence Service, a strange man who lived a lie for
three mortal years. And Carlos will not rest until he is punished ... and killed. This man is Jason
Bourne. Squinting, shaken by the story of the French Prefontaine leaned to the table.
- Who is Jason Bourne? - Asked.
- My husband, David Webb - said Marie.
- Oh, my God - murmured the judge. - Would you please give me a drink?
John St. Jacques called:
- Ronald!
- Yes, boss-mon! - Said from inside the village
guard whose strong hands had held his shoulders there
Twenty one hours in the village.
- Please bring whiskey and brandy. should be enough in the bar.
- Right away, sir.
The orange sun in the east, suddenly caught fire, with its rays penetrating the remnants of the morning
mist. The silence was broken by French words, spoken in a low voice with a strong accent.
- I'm not used to this kind of treatment
- Said, looking at the clear waters of the Caribbean. When they ask for something, I always think that I should serve.
- This turned out - said Marie. And after a
little hesitation, he added: - Jean Pierre.
- I think you can live with that name ...
- Why not here?
- Qu'est-ce que vous dites, ma'am?
- Think about it. Paris should not be less dangerous to you than the streets of Boston to our judge.
The judge said he was lost in reverie. The bottles and ice were put on the table. Without hesitation,
Prefontaine served up a dose courageous.
- I have to make one or two questions - he said. - Is it possible?
- Go ahead - Marie replied. - I can not guarantee a response, but ask.
- The shots, the words written on the wall with paint
- Here my cousin says it was written by your order ...
- Were, mon ami. Shots too.
- Why?
- Everything should be as they expected. The shots
were an additional element to draw attention to what was going to happen.
- Why?
- One thing we learned in the Resistance not that I have never been a 'Jean Pierre Fontaine ", but played a small role. It was what they
called accentuation - a positive statement that the underground movement was responsible for the
action. Everyone knew that sign.
- Why here?
- Nurse Jackal is dead. There's no one left to say that his orders were fulfilled.
- Logical French. Incomprehensible.
- Common sense French. Undisputed.
- Why?
- Carlos will be here tomorrow at noon,
- Oh, my God!
The phone rang inside the village. John St. Jacques rose to his feet, but Marie extending the arm in front
of his face, ran to meet.

- David?
- Is Alex - said breathless voice. - Christ, I'm with this damn phone call standing there
three! Are you okay?
- We are alive, but we should not be.
- The old! The old Paris! Johnny ...
- Yes, Johnny got, but they are on our side.
- Who?
- The old ...
- It is absurd what you're saying.
- No it is not. Everything is under control here. And Da- vid?
- I do not know! The phone lines were cut. Everything is a mess! I sent the police there ...
- Forget the police, Alex! - Marie exclaimed. Call the Army, Marines, CIA drug! They in need this!
- Jason would not allow. I can not go against him now.
- Okay, so see what you think of it. The Jackal will be here tomorrow.
- Oh, Jesus! I need to get a jet for it somewhere.
- You have to do something!
- You do not understand, Marie. The old Medusa
reappeared ...
- Well, tell my husband that Medusa is history. Jackal is not, and it will get here tomorrow!
- David will be there. You know that.
- Yes, I know ... Because now he is Jason Bourne.
- Br'er Rabbit, this is not happening thirty years earlier and you have thirty more years. Not only will be
useless as a risk if not rest, if not sleep. Turn off the lights and take a nap on that couch
great in the living room. I'll take care of the phones that will not touch because no one will call at 4:00
am.
Jason stopped listening to the voice of Cactus when he entered the room with heavy legs, eyelids closing
like doors lead. Plopped down on the couch, lifting her legs slowly, with effort, one at a time into the
soft cushions. He looked at the ceiling. Slumber The- so is a gun, battles won and lost ... Philippe
D'Anjou. Medusa. Your inner screen images faded and he fell asleep. The shrill and repeated, deafening
and incessant echoed through the house like a hurricane of sound. Bourne got to his feet, at first
disoriented, not knowing where he was, and for a terrible moment ... who it was.
- Cactus! - he shouted, running down the hallway.
- Cactus! - called again, hearing his own voice is lost in the crescendo alarm siren. Where you are?
None. She ran to the door of the workroom, and grabbed the handle. It was locked! Retreating, invested
with his shoulder against the door, once, twice, at the third with all possible speed and strength. The
door cracked, and then gave Jason knocked the kick; went and what he saw made a killing machine,
product Medusa and other factors stop property with a cold fury. In light of the single lamp, Cactus was
half of the body on the table, in the same chair where the general died, and his blood formed a red
puddle on the blotter green - a corpse ... No, not a corpse! The right hand moved. Cactus was alive!
Bourne went to the table and carefully lifted the head of the old man. The shrill alarm extremely strong
and prevented any communication - if any communication was possible.Cactus opened his dark eyes
and his bloody right hand moved over the blotter with the index finger bent pounding on the table.
- What is it? - Jason shouted.
The hand continued to hit the edge of the blotter, faster now.
- Beneath? Underneath?
With almost imperceptible movements of the head,

Cactus nodded.
- Under the table! - Shouted Bourne, beginning to understand. He knelt on the right side of Cactus and
ran his hand under the top drawer, then the sides. Found! A button.Carefully pushed the heavy chair a
little to the right and examine the button. Below him was a black plastic strip with small white
letters. The answer.
Alarm Aux.
Jason pushed the button and pandemonium ceased. The
silence was almost deafening, the adaptation of the ear to it, almost frightening.
- As the attacked? - Asked Bourne. - There
how long? ... If you can not talk, just mutter, do not waste energy, you know?
- Oh, Br'er, you are too - muttered Cactus
painfully. - I was a square black chauffeur in Washington, man. I've been through this before. Is not fatal,
boy. I have a bullet in his upper chest.
- I'll call a doctor immediately - our friend Ivan - but if you can tell me what happened, as I lay on the
floor and check the wound. - Slowly and carefully Cactus Jason took the chair and lay on the carpet
beside the window. Tore his shirt and saw the wound on his left shoulder. With quick movements
Bourne made the shirt into strips and bandages firm went under the arm and over the shoulder of the
injured man.
- No big deal - said Jason - but will
serve for some time. Tell now.
- He is there out Br'er. - With a weak cough, he continued. - It has a. damn Magnum 57 with silencer. He
shot through the window, then broke the glass and entered ... Him .. he ...
- Calm! Do not talk, it's alright ...
- Need. The brothers out there are not armed. He will pick up one by one! ... I pretended that I was dead
and he was in a hurry - oh, with a rush of those! Look there - Jason turned his head in the direction
indicated by Cactus. Ten or more books had been taken off the shelf and thrown to the ground. The old
man continued, his voice growing weaker.
- He searched the bookcase panicked until
find what you were looking ... then went to the door, with that 57 ready for what this or would, if you
know what I mean ... I thought I was behind you, who had seen the window when you went into the
room, and believe me, I started pushing my right knee as a frightened animal because he had seen that
button and knew I had to stop the man ...
- Calm!
- I have to tell ... If I move my hands it
would, but my knee hit that button and the alarm almost made me jump off the chair ... The bastard
went wild. Slammed the door, locked it, and ran out the window.
- Cactus tilted his head back, dominated by pain and fatigue.
- He's out there, Br'er Rabbit ...
- That's enough! - Ordered Bourne. With slow movements, turned off the desk lamp, leaving the room lit
only by the dim light from the hallway. I'll call Alex so that it causes the doctor ...
Suddenly, somewhere out there sounded a shrill scream, a roar of astonishment and anguish that Jason
knew well. Cactus also knew what it was and murmured, eyes closed.
- He took one. That bastard took a
my brothers!
- I'll talk to Conklin - Jason said, picking up the phone. - Then I'm going out there get it ... Oh, Christ!
The phone is dead! The line was cut!
- That bandit knows the house well.

- I also know, Cactus. Stay as still as possible. I go back to get him out ... Another scream, lower, more
blunt, one more burst of air than a roar.
- That sweet Jesus forgive me - muttered the
old black painfully. - Just one brother.
- If someone should be forgiven am I - Bourne exclaimed hoarsely, choked. - Damn! I swear, Cactus,
never thought such a thing could happen.
- Of course not. I know him of old times, Br'er, and never saw him ask anyone to risk for you ... Always
been the opposite ...
- I'll take you up to the table - Jason interrupted, starting to pull the carpet and putting Cactus to achieve
with his left hand the alarm button. - If you hear or see anything or feelanything, push the button.
- Where are you going? I mean, how?
- For other room. I'll leave for another window.
Bourne went through the door into pieces and ran to the living room. At the other end there was a glass
door that opened onto an outdoor patio. He remembered seeing white garden furniture, iron, on the
south side of the house when he was with the guards. He opened the door and left, taking the
automatic belt. Closed a sheet of glass door and crouched headed for the hedge at the edge of the
lawn. Had to move quickly. Not only
life was in danger, the life of a stranger who had nothing to do with what was happening, but also was a
killer out there that could serve as a shortcut to get to the new Jason Medusa, and these crimes were
your bait to the Jackal! A fun, a magnet, a trap - rockets flags - part of your equipment. The
two candles emergency were in the back left pocket of his trousers. Were 12 inches long and its light
could be seen from miles away. The two together, lit one after the other, would give to brighten any
property Swayne as powerful spotlights. One on the south side, the other side of the kennels, perhaps
drugged waking dogs, scaring them, angering them. - Do it! Hurry!
Jason crossed the lawn looking out for
all sides, wondering where the killer and how the innocent prey brought by Cactus was running away
from him. One had experience, the other not, and Bourne could not allow his life to be wasted for no
reason. happened! was discovered! Two bullets gun with silencer buzzed in the air, one on each side of
him. Jason came to the southern part of the circular vehicle and plunged into the foliage. Took a flag
from his pocket, put the gun down, lit the fuse and threw the lighter bat sizzling right. The flag fell on the
open road. Within seconds begin to release its flame blinding. Jason ran to the left under the pines,
toward the rear of the property with the lighter and the second flag in one hand and in the other
auto. Was parallel to the kennels. The flag on the road exploded with blue-white flames. Jason lit the
second and shot forward. The rocket fell to forty meters from the kennels.Bourne waited.
The second flag exploded and two balls of bright light illuminated the house and the land on the south
side. Three dogs began to moan softly, then tried to howl. Then his anger and his confusion would be
heard. A shadow. Against the wall on the west side of the White House - was it moving, illuminated by
the flag, between the kennels and home. The figure ran for the protection of the hedge. Crouched and
stood motionless, her silhouette clearly delineated between the foliage. The murderer or your target,
the last
"Brother" recruited by Cactus? ... There was only one way to know and if it is the killer and he was a
good shot, it was not the best tactic, but it was the fastest. Bourne jumped out of the bushes, screaming
and exposing yourself completely, throwing himself to the right. At the last moment, signed foot in soft
ground and spun around, ducking and diving to the left. Was his response. Two more shots, two clicks in
the air and bullets buried themselves in the ground on your right. The killer was good, maybe not an
expert, but it was good. A 357 has six bullets. Five had already been used, but he had enough time to
recharge. Another strategy ... Hurry!

Suddenly another figure appeared. A man ran down the path toward the rear of the house
Flannagan. Was in the open field - could be killed!
- Here, you bastard! - Jason yelled, jumping and shooting blindly in the hedge beside the house. Then he
had another answer, this most satisfactory. A single shot with a silencer, a single click in the air and
nothing more. The
killer had not reloaded the gun! Maybe it had more ammo - whatever it was, the main target was now
safe. Bourne bushes and hurried across the lawn toward the light of the flags. Now the dogs were awake
and yelps and growls of attack became louder. The killer left the hedge to the road, running from one
shade to another toward the gates. The wretch was in his hands, Jason knew. gates were closed, the
Medusan cornered. Bourne roared.
- There is no escape, Snake Woman! Make things easy for you ... A buzz, a snap. The man had reloaded
while running! Jason threw the man down the road. At that moment the silence of the night was
intermittent torn by the sound of a high-powered engine and the vehicle came down the road on the
other side of the gates with red and blue lights spinning at night. The police Alarm bells should have
arrived at police headquarters in Manassas, a possibility that had not occurred to Bourne. Logically, such
a measure does not jibe with the activities of Medusa. Security was internal, the Snake Lady not admit
any intrusion of external force. There was much that hidden property, much that should be kept secret was a cemetery!
The killer writhed on the road, rolling the line of pines, holding something. Jason approached him when
two police squad car came down from the other side of the gate. Bourne with a kick did the man drop
the holding and bent down to pick up. It was a book bound in leather, part of a collection, as a volume of
Dickens or Thackeray, with letters in gold, more adornment than to be read. It was crazy! Then he
turned a page and saw that it was not crazy at all. There was nothing printed on the book, only hand
written notes. It was a journal, a ledger!
The police should not get into that. Especially now. He could not know that he and Conklin had invaded
Medusa. The book in her hand should not be seen by anyone. The Jackal was everything! had to
get rid of the cops.
- We received a call - said the patrolman
middle-aged, walking to the gate, accompanied by another officer younger. - The man was nervous the
gown. We are given, but as I said to the man of the section called, there is always noisy parties here, not
wanting to criticize, sir. We all like to have a little fun once in a while, right?
- Absolutely right - Jason replied, trying to control his breathing and painful. He glanced at the wounded
killer - the man had disap- like! - We had a power outage for a few moments, which somehow interfered
with the phone lines.
- It always happens - confirmed the police more
boy. - Sudden rains and summer lightning. Al-gum day will solve putting the cables underground. My
family had a house ...
- The case - interrupted Bourne - is that everything has
returned to normal. As you can see, some house lights are already lit.
- I see nothing in the light of those flags
- Said the young man.
- The general always takes the highest precautions
- Jason explained. - I think he considers his duty he added. - Anyway, everything is - as I said - back to normal. Right?
- It's okay for me - said the elder
- But I have a message for someone named Webb. Is he there?
- I am Webb - Jason said, alarmed.
- This makes things easier. Should immediately call for a "Conk Lord." It's urgent.

- Urgent?
- An emergency was what they told us. We received a radio message from the car. Jason heard the
sound of metal fence at the property boundary of Swayne. The killer was on the run!
- Well, the phones are still stalled ... Have one in your car?
- Not for personal use, sir, I'm sorry.
- But you just said it's an emergency.
- Well, I think, as you are guest
general, can afford. However, if it is long distance, I think good to have the number of your credit card.
- Oh, my God - Bourne opened the gate and ran into the police car when the alarm was activated again
inside the house - on and immediately switched off. Apparently the surviving brother had found Cactus.
- What the hell was that? - shouted the policeman younger.
- Forget it - screamed Jason, jumping into the car and taking the well-known phone Patrol hook. Alex
gave the number of the telephone in Virginia for the police and kept repeating. 's an emergency, it is
an emergency.
- Yes? - Answered Conklin, talking to the police switchboard.
- Am I!
- What happened?
- Very difficult to tell now. What is the
emergency?
- Your private jet is in Reston Airport.
- Reston? It is north of here ...
- The field in Manassas has no equipment
necessary. I'm sending a car for you.
- Why?
- Tranquility. Marie and the children are well, are well! She is controlling everything.
- What the hell means that?
- Go to Reston I explain.
- I want to know more!
- The Jackal arrives today in Montserrat plane.
- Jesus Christ!
- Arrange things around and wait for the car.
- I will use this same!
- No! Unless you want to ruin everything. We have time. Finish things there first.
- Cactus ... is wounded - shot.
- I'll call Ivan. He'll come running back.
- Only one brother left - only one, Alex. I killed the other two - I was responsible for their deaths.
- Stop it. Stop! Do what you have to do.
- To hell with you! I can not! Someone has to be here and I 'll be!
- You are right. There is much in this house that does not
want anyone to know and you have to be in Montserrat. I go with the car and stand in your place.
- Alex, tell me what happened at Tranquility.
- The old ... his old Paris, that's what happened.
- They are dead - said Jason Bourne
quietly and expressionless.
- Do not rush. They switched sides - by
least that's what I did. True switched sides and the other was a mistake sent by God. Are on our side
now.
- They are always on one side, the side of

Jackal! You do not know them.

- You did not. Listen to what his wife has
to tell. But now go home and write everything I need to know ... And Jason, I need to say something. I
hope to God you find a solution to your problem
- Of our problem - in Tranquility. Because, considering everything, including my life, I can not keep this
case from Medusa only to our level for a long time. I think you know that.
- You promised.
- Thirty-six hours, Delta.
In the woods on the other side of the fence, a wounded man crouched with his face pressed against the
metal-zul. In light of the headlights he saw the tall man into the police car, then go out and nervously
thanking the police. But did not allow them to enter the property. Webb. heard the killer's
name. Webb. It was all they needed to know. Everything that
Snake woman needed to know.
15
- My God, how I love you! - Said David Webb, the pay phone Airport Reston, Virginia. The worst was the waiting. Wait to talk to you, to hear you I was fine.
- What do you think I felt, dear? Alex said that the phone lines had been cut and that he was sending the
police. I said he should send the entire army.
- We can not afford not to intervene
police, nothing official at the moment. Conklin promised me at least another 36 hours ... Perhaps we
need not so much now. Not with the Jackal in Montserrat.
- David, what happened? Alex spoke Medusa ...
- It's a mess, and he's right, we need to seek help from above. Him, not us. We were out. Far.
- What happened? - Marie repeated. - The old Medusa that has to do with all this?
- There is a new Medusa - in fact, an extension of the old - and is big, ugly and murderous, they kill. I saw
tonight. One of his assassins tried to kill me, after thinking we had settled Cactus and murdering two
innocent men.
- My God, Alex told me about Cactus, but no details. How is your Uncle Remus?
- Will live. The doctor took the agency Cactus and surviving brother with him.
- Brother?
- Tale when I get there ... Conklin's there now. Will take care of everything and have to fix the phone. I
call him Tranquility.
- You are exhausted.
- I'm tired, but I do not know why. Cactus insisted I get some sleep and I think I blacked out for about 12
minutes.
- You must be very tired, my poor dear.
- I like the tone of your voice, the words more. Except that I'm not poor. You took care of that in Paris 13
years ago. - Silence Marie alarmed. - The
What? Are you okay?
- I do not know - Marie responded with a softness
that belied his feelings. - You say that this new Medusa is big and ugly and tried to kill him - they tried to
kill him.
- But not killed.
- But they, or Medusa, want their death. Why?
- Because I was there.
- You do not kill a man just because he was in
home of someone ...

- A lot has happened in that house tonight. Alex and I stepped into the circle of secrets and I've seen
them. The idea was to attract the Jackal, causing some very rich and famous bandits of the old Saigon
hired to kill me. It was a perfect strategy, but exceeded our control.
- My God, David, you do not understand? You
is a marked man! They themselves will seek eliminlo.
- How? The killer of Medusa who was in the house did not see my face, and they have no idea who I
am. I am a non-existent person that disappears from one moment to the next ... No, Marie, if Carlos
appears and I can do what I know I can, Montserrat, be free. To use a clich, "free at last".
- His voice also changes.
- What?
- Changes yes, I'm realizing.
- I do not know what you mean - said Jason
Bourne. - They're calling. The plane arrived. Tell Johnny to keep under surveillance the two old!
The news rolled by Montserrat as fog blown away. Something terrible happened on the Island of
Tranquility.
"Bad times, mon ... " "The evil obeah came from Jamaica, through the Antilles, bringing death and
madness ... "" And the blood on the walls of death, mon, a curse on the family of an animal ...
" "Shh! There was a cat and two kittens ...! "
And other voices said ... "Lord, make the news does not spread. ruin tourism can we create! ... ""
Nothing has ever happened like this before - an isolated incident, no doubt related to drugs, brought
from other islands! ... "" Truth, mon! heard it was a mad man, his body full of drugs ... "" They say a boat
swift as the wind took him to the sea. He's gone ... "" Be quiet, I tell you! Lem bram-up of the
Virgins? The massacre Fountainhead? Took years to redo the damage. Shhh! "
And a lone voice. "It's a trap, sir, and if it works, as we believe it will, we will be the great figures of the
Antilles, the heroes of the Caribbean. Will positively wonderful for our image. Law and order and
everything else. "
- Thank God! Someone died?
- A person, and she was in the act of taking the life of a man.
- She's My God, do not wanna hear another word until everything is finished.
- You better avoid any comments.
- Great idea. I'll leave the boat, is giving a lot of fish after the storm.
- Excellent, sir. And I inform you of events on the radio.
- Maybe it's better not to. May intercept the transmission.
- My intention was to be able to advise you when
back - so you can appear at the most advantageous. I will inform course.
- Yes, of course. You're a good man, Henry.
- Thank you, Governor of the Crown.
10:00 in the morning they were all together, but
with little time to talk. Enough comfort from being together, safe and together, they knew certain things
the Jackal ignored and it represented a huge advantage. However, it was only an advantage, not a
guarantee, not when it was Carlos. Jason and St. Jacques and Marie decided that the children should go
by plane to the island of Basse-Terre in Guadeloupe. Would be with the housekeeper, Mrs. Cooper,
under strict guard until
be called back to Montserrat. Marie was against the idea, but their objections found only silence. The
orders were given husband abruptly and cold.
- You're going to leave because I have a job to do. We will not discuss the matter further.
- Switzerland is again ... Zurich again, is not it, Jason?

- You can be what you want - replied Bourne, concerned about the delay in the three boarding bridge
with the two seaplanes waiting in the water. Jason traveled in Antigua them directly to Tranquility. The
other was stocked for the trip to Guadalupe and Mrs. Cooper and the children had already shipped.
- Hurry up, Marie - added Bourne. I want to organize things with Johnny and then question those two piles of garbage.
- There are heaps of garbage, David. Thanks to them we're alive.
- Why? Because failed and had to change
aside to save his skin?
- This is not fair.
- It's just until I decide otherwise and they are trash to convince me that they are not. You do not know
the old Jackal. I know of. Are able to say anything, lie and be humbled, and if you look at the other side,
stick a knife in your back. He has
- body, mind, and what remains of their souls ... Now get on that plane, are waiting.
- You do not want to see the kids, tell Jamie that ...
- No. There is no time! Take her away, Johnny. I want to check out the beach.
- I've checked everything, David - St. Jacques said almost as a challenge.
- I 'll say if you checked or not - Bourne replied harshly, striding angrily to the extent of sand and adding
aloud, without looking back: - I'll make you a lot of questions and I hope you have the answer!
St. Jacques tensed, took a step forward, but his sister stopped him.
- Forget it, Johnny - she said with her hand on
brother's arm. - He's scared.
- Is what? He's a fucking motherfucker, this is
what it is!
- Yes, I know.
John looked at Marie.
- The stranger you spoke last night?
- That's right, but much worse now. So he is scared.
- I do not understand.
- He is older, Johnny. Fifty years old now and is not sure he could do the things you did before, years ago
- during the war, in Paris, Hong Kong. All this is tormenting because he knows he has to be better than
ever.
- I think I can.
- I know it will, as it has a very strong reason. A woman and two children were taken from him
once. Jason barely remember them, but they are the central point of their torment.Mo Panov and I also
believe that ... Now, years later, another woman and other children are threatened. Every nerve in your
body should be on fire. Suddenly a voice sounded Bourne ten yards away, through the breezes of the
sea.
- Damn, I had to walk fast! ... And you, Mr. Roger, I see a coral reef over there with the shadow of a sand
bank behind him. Ever thought of that?
- Do not answer, Johnny. Let's go to the plane.
- A shoal? What the hell is he talking about? ... Oh, my God, I know!
- Because I do not - Marie said, as they walked quickly through the boarding pontoon.
- Eighty percent of the island is surrounded by coral reefs. With regard to this beach are 95%. They serve
as a breakwater, so called Tranquility. We have no waves at the beach.
- So what?
- Hence if someone is using an air tank underwater will not risk hitting a coral reef, but can climb a sand
bank that is in front of the reef. You can watch the beach and the guards and approach when the field is

clear, waiting in the water, a few meters from the beach, until you can master a guard. Never thought
about it.
- He thought, Johnny.
Bourne sat at one end of the table,
the two men on the couch in front of John standing next to the window that overlooked the beach.
- Why me, why we were going to lie to you? - Asked the hero of France.
- Why all this looks like a classic French farce. Similar names, but different, a door-to toast up while
another closes, people like that disappear and reappear at the right time. It stinks, gentlemen.
- Do you by chance scholar Molire or
Racine ...?
- I am a scholar of strange coincidences, especially when it comes to the Jackal.
- Do not think there is any similarity between
both of us - the judge said Boston. - Unless, perhaps, our ages.
The phone rang and Jason answered immediately.
- Yes?
- Everything checks in Boston - said Conklin. His name is Prefontaine, Brendan Prefontaine. It was the first federal judge circuit and was caught
during a wanton government and convicted of illegal conduct in the profession - which means receiving
huge bribes. He was sentenced to 21 years and did ten, enough to roll with life in all respects. It's what
they call a functional alcoholic, a familiar figure in the most underprivileged Bean's Town, but harmless actually, a lot of people like him, a somewhat misrepresented. It is considered a brilliant man when
sober, many defendants would have been acquitted and others were serving sentences longer if not for
their professional advice. It can be said that a lawyer unofficial pool halls, bars and stores ...
probably Once I was in the same boat when it comes to drinking, I can say that it seems a righteous
man. Is facing the situation much better than I faced.
- You gave up.
- If I succeed in that intermediate zone, would not have given up. On many occasions the alcohol helps.
- And his client?
- Impressive, and our former judge was assistant chair of law at Harvard, and was professor Gates in two
subjects. There is no doubt. Prefontaine know the man ... Trust him, Jason. Has no reason to lie. I was
just looking for more money.
- You are watching the customer?
- With all the ammunition silent my arsenal
particular. It is our link with Carlos ... The connection Medusa was a red herring, an attempt of a general
idiot idiot Pentagon put someone inside the circle cool Gates.
- Are you sure?
- I now have. Gates is a consultant well
paid a law firm in charge of megadefesa a constructor that is being investigated by the antitrust
commission. He never reciprocated Swayne's calls. If it did it would be dumber than the general and that
it is not.
- Friend, this is your problem, not mine. If all
out here as I hope, I will not even hear the Snake Lady. Actually, I do not recall having heard anything
about it.
- Thanks for playing up on me - and
somehow, I think I really do. Incidentally, the terms of primary school you took the shooter in Manassas
has some interesting things.
- Yes?
- Remember those three people that there are eight

months reached Philadelphia tickets on the same day and coincidentally stayed at the Mayflower at the
same time?
- Yes, I remember.
- Names are in spiral notebook Swayne. Had nothing to do with Carlos. Are the Medusa. The
book is a veritable mine of information scattered.
- I'm not interested. Use all well in health.
- We will use and very discreetly. That notebook will soon be on the list of most popular literature.
- I'm happy for you, but I have a lot to do.
- And refuses any help?
- Definitely. I'm waiting for this for
ten years. Like I said earlier, one against one.
- High Noon, her big ass.
- No, the logical extension of a chess game
very intellectual. The player with the best trap wins, and I have this trap because I'm using it. Carlos
notice anything different.
- We trained him too well, Professor.
- And I appreciate that.
- Good hunting, Delta.
- Goodbye.
Bourne hung up the phone and looked at the two old pathetic on the couch.
- You passed a test surface, judge - he said to Prefontaine. - As for you, "Jean Pierre," what can I say? My
wife, admitting that you have killed him without hesitation, says I should trust you. None of this makes
much sense, right?
- I am what I am and did what I did - said exadvogado with dignity. - But my client has gone too far. His
magisterial person should end up in ashes.
- My words are not as beautiful as my worship and new friend - said the old hero of France.
- But know that killings should stop. That's what my wife tried to tell me. Of course I look like a
hypocrite, because murder is familiar to me, so only
I can say that this kind of killing must stop. No
any contract business therein, any gain on crime, revenge is just a sick man and crazy that requires
unnecessary death of a woman and her children. What is the profit in this? ...No, the Jackal has gone too
far. It should also be exterminated.
- The reasoning is colder than ever heard! - said John St. Jacques, next to the window.
- I think I chose the words very well said the former judge for the villain of Paris. - Trs bien.
- D'accord.
- Well, I think I am completely crazy to me to join you - said Jason Bourne. - But at the moment I have no
choice ... 11:35 h are, gentlemen. Our time is passing.
- Our time? - Asked Prefontaine.
- What will happen, whatever it is, it will happen in two, five, ten or 24 hours. I'm going back to
Blackburne Airport, where I plan to play the role of husband and father maddened by the loss of his wife
and children. It will not be hard, I guarantee, will be quite a spectacle ... I will demand an immediate
flight to Tranquility and when you get here there pine coffins at the pier, supposedly containing my wife
and my children.
- Everything as it should be - said the Frenchman. - Bien.
- Very bien - agreed Bourne. - So I urge you to open one of the coffins, give a scream, faint, or do both,
depending on the moment. Anyone watching will not forget. St. Jacques will try to control myself - is

hard, Johnny, compelling - and finally lead me to another village, the closest to the stairs leading to the
beach on the east side ... So the wait begins.
- At this Jackal? - Asked the man
Boston. - He will know where you are?
- Of course. Many people, including hotel staff, will see where Johnny takes me. The Jackal will discover,
is child's play for him.
- So will wait for him, monsieur? Think Monsignor will fall into this trap? Ridicule!
- Not at all, monsieur - Jason replied calmly. - To begin, I will not be there, and when he finds it, I'll have
found.
- For God's sake, how? - St. Jacques almost cried.
- Because I'm better than him - replied Jason Bourne. - Always have been. The scene was set according
to the plans. The
Airport staff in Montserrat still seething with rage because the offenses shouted by the hysterical
American accused of murder, to allow his wife and children were killed by terrorists - they are negros accomplices of murderers dirty! Besides silenciosamen you angry, the people of the island was also
offended. Silent because they understood their anguish offended because they did not understand how
he could blame them with such aggressive words, words he never used before. Was that good mon who
knew the rich brother Jay St. sociable, very rich friend who had invested so much money in the Island of
Tranquility, or white trash who accused them of terrible things just because they were black? It was a
cruel puzzle, mon. was part of the madness, the obeah mountains of Jamaica who had crossed the
waters to charm their islands. Heads up, brothers. Vi- Giem his every move. Perhaps another storm, or
south or east but with far more destructive winds. 'Watch, mon. Their fury is perigosa.Assim, he was
guarded. For many - men in uniform and civilian authorities - while the nervous Henry Sykes, the
government palace, fulfilling his word. It was the one in charge of the official investigation. A discreet
investigation, complete
- And nonexistent.
Bourne did much worse on the dock of Tranquility, physically attacking his own brother, the amiable St.
Jay, until the young can calm him down, taking him to the nearest village.The servants came and went
serving food and drink on the balcony. Either chosen visitor was allowed to give their condolences,
including the assistant governor of the Crown who appeared with his dress uniform, a symbol of the
interest of the Crown. And an old man who met death during the war, who insisted on seeing the
husband and father - was accompanied by a woman in nurse's uniform with hat and veil covering her
face. And two Canadian guests, close friends of the owner, who had known the man disconsolately at
the inauguration festive Tranquility Inn several years ago - was asked to pay their respects and offer
what comfort they could give. John St. Jacques agreed, suggesting that the visit was brief, warning that
his brother was not lit in a corner of the room with the curtains closed.
- It's all so horrible, so senseless! - Said the visitor from Toronto, quietly to the man sitting in the dark on
the other end of the room. - I hope it's religious, David. I am. Faith helps in times like this. Your loved
ones are in the arms of Christ now.
- Thank you.
A light breeze from the sea shook the curtains, letting in a narrow band of light. It was enough.
- Wait a minute - said the other Canadian.
- You're not - my God, you is not Dave Webb? Dave has ...
- Quiet - ordered St. Jacques, standing in the doorway between the two visitors.
- Johnny, I spent seven hours on a fishing boat
with Dave and I know how it is.
- Shut up - said the owner of Tranquility.
- Oh, my God! - said the deputy governor of the Crown with his strong British accent.

- Listen, you two - said St. Jacques, moving forward between the two Canadians and getting in front of
the chair.
- I should not have let you enter,
but now it's done ... I thought it would be a point in our favor, two more observers, in case someone fazer questions, which will for sure, and this is what will say, exactly. Have you talked to David
Webb. Consoled David Webb. understood?
- I do not understand anything - said the astonished visitor who had spoken about the consolation of
faith. - Who the hell is he?
- It is the first assistant to the governor of the Crown
- Said St. Jacques. - I am saying this
for you to understand ...
- I mean the high ranking army that appeared uniform and with an escort of black soldiers?
- Asked the Canadian who had fished with David Webb.
- Also holds the position of first aider
military field. It Brigadier ...
- We saw the bastard go - protested the fisherman. - From the restaurant we saw the man go away! He
was with the old French and the nurse ...
- You saw someone else leaving the island. With sunglasses.
- Webb ...?
- Gentlemen - The governor's aide stood up from his chair with his jacket that Jason Bourne was used in
flight Blackburne Airport to Tranquility. - Gentlemen are welcome guests in our island, but must accept
the decisions of the Crown in an emergency. Otherwise, as it is the case extremely seriously, we are
obliged to keep them in custody.
- Come on, Henry. They are friends ...
- Friends do not call brigadiers of the children
mother ...
- You call if he had ever been
cable, general - said the religious man. - My friend here had no intention to offend. Long before the
Canadian army engineers need of his company, he was a soldier of infantry.Coincidentally, in
your own company. Was not very happy in Korea.
- Let's stop talking - said fishing buddy Webb. - So, we've been talking to Dave, right?
- Right. And that's all I can say.
- That's enough. Dave is in trouble, Johnny. The
What can we do to help?
- Nothing - absolutely nothing except what
on the agenda of the hotel. All received a copy in their villages an hour ago.
- I think you should explain - the man said
religious. - I never read these programs cheerful hotel.
- The hotel will offer a special buffet, on the house, and a meteorologist of Weather Control Leeward
Islands will speak for a few minutes about what happened last night.
- The storm? - Asked the fisherman, the sufferer excabo and current owner of the largest engineering
company in Canada. - On these islands, a storm is a storm. What's to explain?
- Well, things like: how they happen and
ending so quickly. How should one act - master fear.
- Whether all guests at the lecture, is it?
- Exactly.
- This will help Dave?
- Yes, it will.

- Then everyone will be there. Count me.

- I thank you, but how you will accomplish?
- I will circulate the notice that Angus MacPherson
McLeod, president of engineering firm in Canada, will
a prize of $ 10,000 to those who ask the question more intelligent. What do you think, Johnny? The rich
always want to get more for nothing, this is our profound weakness.
- I believe in his word - mumbled St. Jacques.
- We - McLeod said the religious friend
Toronto. - Let's move teary eyes and spread the news. Then Colonel idiot - that's what you are, you
bastard - within an hour or so of conversation changed and we started talking about the 10
thousand dollars and dinner on the house. With the beach and the sun, people focus attention on
something for about two and a half minutes. In winter, no more than four.Believe me, I sent the
computer do the math ... You will get a full party tonight, Johnny
- McLeod turned and walked to the door.
- Scotty - the religious man exclaimed, watching the fisherman. - You're fantasizing things
again! Attention span, two minutes, four minutes, computer research - do not believe a word!
- Really? - Angus said with his hand on the doorknob. - Do you believe in $ 10,000, do not you?
- Of course it does.
- Well be watching, this is my market research ... So I'm also the owner of the company. And now I want
to keep my eyes filled with tears. It
another reason why I own the company. In a dark room deposit, on the third floor of the main building
of Tranquility, Bourne, who had taken his military tunic, sat with the old French, each on a stool in front
of the window where the paths could be seen from the east and west. The villages stretched on both
sides of the stone steps leading to the beach and the pier. Each with a long range binoculars, controlled
the people who walked the path and climbed the stone stairs. A portable radio with frequency private
hotel was on the ledge in front of Jason.
- He is near us - Fontaine said quietly.
- What? - Bourne said, taking off his glasses and eyes turned to the man. - Where? Tell me, where?
- We can not see it, monsieur, but he is close to us.
- What do you mean?
- I feel. Like an animal that feels the approach of distant thunder. It's inside me, is fear.
- You're not being very clear.
- For me it's quite clear. Perhaps you do not understand. The challenging of the Jackal, the man of many
guises, the Chameleon - the killer known as Jason Bourne - do not know fear, is what they say, just one
big crazy courage that comes from your strength. Jason smiled grimly.
- Well then, he heard a lie - said in a voice
low. - A part that man lives with a kind of deep fear that few people have experienced.
- I find this hard to believe, monsieur ...
- Believe. I am that man.
- Really, Mr. Webb? It is not difficult to deduce the
things. Undertakes to take such other identity because of fear?
David Webb stared at the French.
- What other choice do you think I have?
- Could disappear for some time, with his
family. Could live peacefully in complete security. His government would take care of it.
- He would come after me - us - wherever
we were.
- For how long? A year? Eighteen months?

Indeed least two years. He is very sick. Every Paris - Paris my - you know that. Considering the huge
expense and complexity of this situation - these plans to catch him in a trap - my idea is that it will be
the last attempt to Carlos. Let all this, monsieur. Join your wife in Basse-Terre and fly thousands of miles
away. Let him go back to Paris to die of frustration. Is not that enough?
- No. He will come after me, after us! Everything has to be solved here, now.
- Soon I will be with my wife, it is as it should be, so I can disagree with certain people, men like you, for
instance, Monsieur le Cameleon, who, in the past I would have agreed immediately. For now disagree. I
think we can go far. I think you know that you can get the Jackal in your pocket and go on with your life,
with only a small transient change, but do not want to do that. Some inner strength prevents. Can not
afford the strategy of withdrawal, when no less honorable means to prevent violence. Your family is
safe, but others may die, but even that holds it. You have to beat ...
- I think this comes cheap psychology - interrupted Bourne, taking the binoculars to his eyes and
concentrating on what I saw down there.
- That's it, is not it? - Said the Frenchman, watching Le Cameleon, even with binoculars in hand. - They
trained him too well, creating exactly the person who should be. Jason Bourne against Carlos the Jackal
and Bourne must win, it is imperative that he wins ... Two middle-aged lions, thrown against each other
for many years, both with a burning hatred created by strategists who had no idea of consequences of
this act. How many people lost their lives by crossing their paths converging? How many men and
women, who had nothing to do with you, were killed ...
- Shut up! - Jason exclaimed, while images of Paris, other, peripheral Hong Kong, Macau and Beijing and last night in Manassas - taking assault inside your screen. Many deaths!
The door of the dark room suddenly opened and Judge Brendan Prefontaine hurried and breathless.
- It's here - the man of Boston. A patrol of three men from St. Jacques who was three miles off the coast did not respond to the radio
call. St. Jacques sent a guard looking for them. The man returned - having managed to escape. The three
men were killed, each with a bullet in the throat.
- The Jackal! - Exclaimed the Frenchman. - It is a carte de visite - your business card. He announces his
arrival as well. 16
SUN AFTERNOON, suspended and motionless, burning heaven and earth, a globe of fire only interested
in scorched everything it touched. And the supposed "search computer"
the industrial Angus McLeod seemed confirmed. Although several planes had landed in the water to
take guests frightened, the collective attention of the average person who stayed after the terrible
events, was certainly more than two and a half minutes, but certainly not last more than a few
hours. Something terrible had happened during the storm that night, a hideous act of revenge. Involved
a single man with a vendetta against old enemies, there is a killer
long fled the island. With the removal of ugly pine coffins and the speedboat beached and broken on the
beach and the quiet words of the government on the radio next to the intermittent presence of armed
guards and discreet, everything went back to normal - not complete of course, as there was among
them a man in mourning, but did not see him now, and second had said, just leave too. Moreover, the
horrors - disproportionately exaggerated superstition of the natives - were not their horrors. It was an
act of violence that had nothing to do with them, and after all, life had to continue. Seven couples
stayed at the hotel.
"Christ, we are paying six hundred U.S. dollars per day ..."
"Nobody is in threatening ... "
"Damn, man, next week we return to
routine, so let's enjoy ... "" No problem, Shirley, are not revealing names, they'd promised ... "
B With the afternoon sun and scorching property, that little piece of the Caribbean regained his
characteristic playground, death and horror moving away from each application Bain de Soleil and

another shot of rum. Nothing was like before, but the blue-green water caressing the beach, attracting
some bathers dipped in cold pace and constant movement of the liquid. A peace increasingly less
hesitantly returned to the Island of Tranquility.
- There it is! - Said the hero of France.
- Where? - shouted Bourne.
- The four priests. Walking in a row on the road of the villages.
- Are black.
- The color means nothing.
- He was a priest in the last time I saw him in Paris in. Neuilly-sur-Seine.
Fontaine took the binoculars from his eyes and turned to Jason.
- The Church of the Blessed Sacrament? - Asked quietly.
- I do not remember ... Which one is the Jackal?
- You saw him with the habit?
- And the bastard saw me. You know that I recognize. Which one?
- He is not there, monsieur - said Jean Pierre, slowly taking the binoculars to his eyes. - It is another carte
de visit. anticipates Carlos. He is a master in geometry. Do not e-xistem straight lines for him, only many
sides, many levels.
- That seems very oriental.
- Then you understand. He suspected that
you can not be in the village, and if not, whether you know what he knows.
- Neuilly-sur-Seine ...
- No, not really. He can not be sure
at this time. He was right in the Church of the Blessed Sacrament.
- How should I react?
- As the Chameleon think should act?
- The obvious is to do nothing - said Bourne,
without taking his eyes from the scene below. - And he did not accept it because it is very
uncertain. Would think, "he's better than that. I can blast it with a rocket, so it must be somewhere else.
"
- I think you're right.
Jason picked up the radio on the windowsill, pressed a button and spoke.
- Johnny?
- Yes?
- See those four priests in black
way? - I am.
- Have a guard to take them to the hotel lobby, saying that the owner wants to talk with them.
- See, they're not going to the village, just passing and praying for the man who is inside. The vicar of the
city called me and I gave permission. They are clean, David.
- The hell you are - replied Jason Bourne.
- Do what you sent.
The Chameleon turned on the stool, examining the objects in the room deposit. He walked to a dresser
with glass top. Took the automatic belt, broke the glass, picked up a piece and took Fontaine.
- Five minutes after I leave, start signal at one time or another with this glass against the sun.
- I'll do it against the wall next to the window, monsieur.
- Good idea. - Jason allowed himself a brief smile. - I like it because it did not have to suggest it.
- And what will you do?
- What is he doing now. I will be a tourist in Montserrat a "guest" of Tranquility.
Bourne picked up the radio again and gave his orders.

- Go to the menswear shop in the hotel and buy three jackets guayabera different, a pair of sandals, two
or three straw hats and wide-brimmed gray or beige shorts. Then send someone to the store fishing
tackle to buy a spool of thread, endurance fifty pounds a fishing knife - and two flags. I'll meet you on
the stairs out front. De- hurry!
- So do not listen to me - Fontaine said, taking off his glasses and eyes turned to Jason. Monsieur le Cameleon goes into action.
- He goes into action - Bourne replied, putting
the radio again on the windowsill.
- If you or Coyote is dead, or both, others may die, innocent people sacrificed ...
- Not for me.
- Does it matter? Does it matter to the victims or their families?
- I did not choose the circumstances, my old, were chosen for me.
- But you can change them, change them.
- It can also.
- He has no conscience ...
- You are a great authority on the subject, is not it?
- I agree with the criticism, but I lost something that was worth a lot to me. So maybe perceives
consciousness in you - a part of you.
- Beware the sanctimonious reformed. Bourne walked to the hanger where they were military tunic and cap. - Among other things, he is a bore.
- Should not you be watching the road while the guard holds the priests? St. Jacques will take some time
to buy everything you asked.
Bourne stopped and turned staring coldly at the old French talker. Wanted to leave, get away from that
old man, very old, who talked too much - saying too! But Fontaine was right. It would be stupid not to
see what was going to happen down there. A different reaction in someone, a look gruff and scared to
some extent from the beach - small involuntary things, imprecise movements which usually reveal the
hidden wire, the fuse that leads to explosive trap. Jason returned to the window in silence, took the
binoculars and watched. An officer of Montserrat, with beige and scarlet uniform, approached the
priests who walked in queue. With respectful attitude, nodded, with courtesy, when the four stopped to
listen, and pointed to the door. Bourne peered into every face, one after the other in quick
succession. Said quietly into French.
- Do you see what I see?
- The fourth man, the priest who walked behind
other - said Fontaine. - He's scared, but others do not. He's scared.
- Was purchased.
- Thirty pieces of silver - the French agreed.
- You will come down and talk with him, of course.
- Of course not - Jason corrected. - It is
exactly where I want. - He picked up the radio. Johnny.
- Yes? ... I'm in the store. Just in a few minutes.
- You know those priests?
- Just what it says is the "vicar". Appears here asking for contributions to the church. And priests are not
true, David, just "shepherds" of a religious order. Very religious and very local.
- The vicar is there?
- Yes is always the first in line.
- Great ... A small change in plans.

Take the clothes to your office, then go talk to the priests. Say that a government official wants to talk to
them and make a contribution in exchange for their prayers.
- What?
- I'll explain later. Now, hurry up. We met in the lobby.
- I mean, in my office, right. The clothes are with me, remember?
- This is for later - one minute later, as soon as I get rid of this uniform. Do you have a camera in the
office?
- About three or four. Guests always forget some in the hotel ...
- Leave all the clothes - Jason interrupted. - Go ahead. Bourne put the radio on the belt, then changed
his mind and gave it to Fontaine.
- Here, take this. Arrangement another and keep in touch ... What's happening down there?
- Our alarmed priest looks at all sides as they walk to the door of the hotel. Is terrified right now.
- Where are you looking? - Asked Bourne,
picking up the binoculars.
- That does not help. Look in all directions.
- Damn!
- Are at the door now.
- I will prepare ...
- I'll help. - The old French rose from the stool and walked to the hanger. He picked up his coat and cap. If you are going to do what I'm thinking, try to stay near a wall and did not return. The governor's aide is
a little more fat than you need and push that jacket back.
- You're good at these things, is not it? - Jason said, reaching out to wear the robe.
- The German soldiers were always much
acids than us, especially the corporals and sergeants you know, all that sausage. We had our tricks.
- Suddenly, as if he had been shot or estives is having a seizure, Fontaine, with a gasp, stopped in front
of Bourne. - Mon Dieu! ... C'est terrible! The governor ...
- What?
- The governor of Crown Him
- What about him?
- At the airport, it was so fast! - Exclaimed the old French. - And all that happened, my wife crimes. Even so, it is unforgivable I have not said before!
- What are you talking about?
- That man in the village, the military officer whose uniform you're wearing. He is your helper!
- We know that.
- What you do not know, monsieur, that is my first instructions were given by the Governor himself.
- Instructions?
- The Jackal! He is a man of the Jackal.
- Oh, my God - Bourne muttered, running
to the bench where he was the radio. Breath and mind with a thousand imperious voice called out.
- Johnny!
- What the hell, I'm filled with arms, the way to my office and those damned monks are waiting for me in
the lobby! What the hell do you want now?
- Slow down and listen carefully. Well you know Henry?
- Sykes? The governor's aide?
- The same. I met him a few times, but did not know him, Johnny.
- I know him very well. You would not have one
home and I would not have Tranquility is not. been for him.

- He is in contact with the governor? I want

say at this point, is informing the governor of all that is happening? Think, Johnny. It is important. There
is a phone in that village, he may be in contact with the government palace. He is?
- You mean the governor personally?
- With any one of the palace.
- Believe me, he is not. Everything is so quiet that even the police know what is happening. And when it
comes to the governor, he was informed very loosely, no names, nothing, just know it's a
trap. Furthermore're on your boat and will only know what happened when it's all over ... Those were
his orders.
- I bet you were.
- Why are you asking?
- I'll explain later. Walk quickly!
- Would you stop saying that? Jason turned to Fontaine.
- We are free. The governor is not one of the old Army of the Jackal. It's a different kind of recruits, as
the Advocate Gates in Boston - bought or threatened, nothing more.
- Are you sure? Her brother sure?
- Man is at sea on his boat. Know
little, and gave orders not to be told anything until it's all over.
Q French sighed.
- It is a pity that my mind is so old and
so full of salt. If I had remembered before, we could have used the governor. Come, wear the tunic.
- Used as? - Asked Bourne, extending
Again the arms.
- He retired to the gradins - what's it called?
- For the stands. Is out of the game, just watching.
- I met many like him. Want Carlos
miss. He wants Carlos miss. It is their only way out, but is too scared to lift a finger against the Jackal.
- So how do we use it? - Jason buttoned
the robe, while Fontaine put the belt, wrinkling the fabric on the back.
- As Le Cameleon is such a question?
- I'm a little out of practice.
- Oh yes, - said the old Frenchman, buckling the belt firmly. - The man to whom I am entrusting my life.
- Oh, shut up ... How?
- Three simple, monsieur. We tell him that the Jackal already knows that he changed sides - I 'll tell
him. Who better than the messenger of Monsignor?
- Are you good. - Bourne belly shrank, while Fontaine did turn around, running his hands on the lapels
and the currencies of the tunic.
- I am a survivor, neither better nor worse
so many others - except my wife. With her I was better than most.
- You loved her very much, did not love?
- Amar? Oh, I suppose so, although it was not always expressed in words. Maybe it's the comfort of a
famous person, but without passion. We need not complete a sentence to be understood and a look
makes us laugh without exchanging a word. I think if it gets over time. Jason stood motionless for a
moment, looking puzzled into French.
- I want the years you've had, my old man, I wish them a lot. The years I had with my ... woman ... are
full of scars that never fails to close completely, which can not disappear as something within us is not
changed, purified or eliminated. This is how things are for us.

- So you are very strong, or very stubborn, or perhaps very foolish ... Do not look that way to me. I said,
I'm not afraid of you, not afraid of anyone now. But if what you say is true, if things are really so with
you, then I suggest you abandon all thoughts of love and focus on hate. Since I can not convince you,
David Webb, Jason Bourne must try. A Jackal full of hate must die, and only Bourne can kill you ... Here is
his cap and sunglasses. Stand near a wall that will look like a military peacock, with tail erected khaki to
spend the merde.
Without a word, Bourne adjusted the brim of his cap, sunglasses and left. Quickly descended the
wooden stairs, almost colliding with a white jacket with black employee who left the second floor,
carrying a tray. When the man stepped back to let her pass, Bourne saw movement and heard a sliding
noise. He turned quickly. The waiter was taking a beep electronic pocket! Jason threw himself on the
man, knocked him down and ripped the phone from her hands, knocking the tray. Straddled the fallen
man, clutching his throat with one hand and with the other beep.
- Who told you to do this? Tell! - Jason ordered, panting softly.
- Hey, mon, I fight with you - the young man cried, writhing, freeing one hand and hitting a punch in the
face Jason. - Do not want no mon evil here! Our boss-mon is the best! You do not scare me. - The man
hit Jason's groin with his knee.
- You son of a bitch! - Shouted Le Cameleon, slapping the man's face while grabbing his testicles with the
other hand. - I'm his friend, brother it! Will you stop it? ... Johnny St. Jay is my brother!
My brother, if that makes a difference!
- Oh? - said the young big and muscular, with an expression of resentment and embarrassment in the
large dark eyes. - You are the mon 's sister boss Jay St.?
- I am her husband. Who the hell are you?
- I am head waiter on the second floor, sir!
Soon I'll be on the first floor, because I'm very good. I am also a good fighter - my father taught me, only
he is old now, like you. Want to fight anymore?
I think I can win! You already have a few gray hairs ...
- Oh, shut up! ... What is this beep? Jason asked, holding up the small plastic device up and out of the waiter.
- I do not know, mon - Lord! Bad things happened. They said if we see men running on stairs should push
the buttons.
- Why?
- Lifts, sir. - Our elevators
are very fast. Why would a guest want to use the stairs?
- What is your name? - Asked Bourne, adjusting his glasses and cap.
- Ishmael, sir.
- As in Moby Dick?
- Do not know this person, sir.
- Perhaps you will meet.
- Why?
- I'm not sure. You're a good fighter.
- I do not see any connection, mon - Mr.
- I do not - Jason rose. - I
help me, Ishmael. - Will it help?
- Only if your brother leave.
- He leaves. He is my brother.
- I want to hear it, sir.
- Great. Then doubt me.

- Yes, I doubt, sir - Ishmael said, kneeling down and picking up what had fallen from the pan, separating
the broken dishes of other integers. - Would you believe the word of a strong man with white hair in the
hair that comes down the stairs and attacks me and says things anyone can say? ... If you want to fight,
the loser will have to tell the truth. Want to fight?
- No. I do not want to fight and do not insist. I'm not that old and you are not so good. Leave the tray
and come with me. I explain to Mr. St. Jacques to be sure, is
My brother - the brother of my wife.
- What do you want me to do, sir? - Asked the waiter standing and watching Jason.
- Listen - Bourne said, pausing on the steps and
turning to the man. - Enter the lobby in front of me and walk out the door. Empty ashtrays or
something, try to look busy, but stay tuned. I go after a few moments and I will talk with Mr. Jay and the
four priests, who are with him ...
- Fathers? - Repeated Ishmael astonished. - Men
church, sir? Four? What are you doing here, mon?
More bad things happened? The obeah!
- Came to pray that no more bad things happen - nothing more than obeah. But the important thing is
that I can talk to one of them alone. When they leave the lobby, this priest should separate themselves
from others to stand alone, or perhaps to meet someone. Think you can follow him without his look?
- Mr. St. Jay will make me do this?
- Suppose I look at you and send
make a nod with his head.
- So I can do. I'm faster than the mongoose and the mongoose as I know all the tracks of Tranquility. If it
is to one side, I know where you're going and get there first ... But how do I know which priest to
follow? More than one may want to be alone.
- I'll talk to the four separately. It will be the last.
- Then I'll know.
- You think quickly - said Bourne. - Has
reason, more than one may want to be alone.
- I think very well, mon. 'm the fifth of my class at Technical Academy Serrat. The first four are women,
so do not need to work.
- An interesting observation ...
- In five or six years, I have money for the University of Barbados!
- Maybe before that. Now go. Enter the lobby and go to the door. Later, after the priests left, I will look
for it, but I will not be wearing this uniform. From a distance you will not recognize me. If I do not find it,
is within an hour ... Where? Where there is a place without moving?
- The Chapel of Tranquility, sir. The trail up the beach to the east. Nobody goes there, even on Sundays.
- Yes, I remember. That sounds good.
- Still missing one thing, sir ...
- Fifty dollars.
- Thank you, sir!
Ninety Seconds Jason waited by the door, then opened it a few inches. Ishmael was near the entrance
and he saw St. Jacques talking to the four priests to one or two meters on your right, at the front
desk. Bourne straightened his tunic, straightened militarily and entered the hall, heading for the priests
and the owner of Tranquility.
- It is an honor and a privilege, priests - said
for the four black men, under the gaze of curious and surprised John St. Jacques. - I'm new here in the
islands and I must say I'm impressed. The government is very pleased with his offer to soothe our
troubled waters - Jason continued with his hands clasped behind his back.

- As a reward for their good will, the government authorized Mr. St. Jacques to give them a check for a
hundred pounds to his church - which will be refunded for the treasure, of course.
- It is a magnificent gesture so that I do not know what to say - the vicar said, his voice singing and
earnest.
- Can you tell me whose idea was it? - Asked the Chameleon. - Very touching, really touching.
- I can not take the credit, sir - said the vicar. He and the other two looked at the fourth priest.
- It was the idea of Samuel. A good and honest leader of our flock.
- Great, Samuel. - The penetrating gaze Bourne stood for a moment in the fourth man. - But I would like
to thank each one personally. And knowing their names. - Jason shook hands with the first three words
of courtesy. Reached the last priest who insisted on not looking directly at him. - I already know his
name, Samuel - watched quietly, almost inaudibly. - And I'd like to know whose idea was it before you
assign the credit.
- I do not understand - Samuel murmured.
- Clearly understands - a man so
good honest - should have received another generous contribution.
- You're confusing me with someone else, sir
-, The fourth priest muttered, his eyes for a moment, full of fear.
- I do not make mistakes, your friend knows that. I'll find you, Samuel. Maybe not today, but certainly
tomorrow or later. - Bourne dropped the priest's hand and raised his voice. - Again, sincere thanks of the
government, priests. The Crown is very grateful. Now I must go. I have to give a dozen phone calls ... His
office, Mr. St. Jacques?
- Yes, of course, general.
At the office, Jason took the automatic from his pocket and took off his uniform, choosing between the
clothes bought by St. Jacques. Wore a gray shorts, a jacket guayaberastriped red and white and put it on
the straw hat with a wide brim. He took off his socks and shoes, put on the sandal and
complained, Drogai Drew became a wedge sandal and shoes with thick soles rubber. Examined the
various cameras and accessories and chose the lighter and less complicated dependurando her neck
with cross straps across his chest. John St. Jacques walked into the office with a small portable radio.
- Where the hell do you come from? Miami Beach?
- Actually, a bit further north - say, Pompano. I'm not so fussy. I will not call anyone's attention.
- Yes, you're right. Many people will swear that you are
an old Conservative from Key West. Here is the radio.
- Thank you. - Jason put the device in a breast pocket.
- Now where?
- Behind Ishmael, the boy who asked you to do one nod.
- Ishmael? I made no nod to Ishmael, you just said that I was nodding toward the door.
- It's the same thing. - Bourne put the automatic
the belt under the guayabera and looked at the equipment pesca.Apanhou the spool of thread with
resistance to fifty pounds and the knife, keeping everything in the pocket.Then he opened the camera
and put the flags empty inside. There was all I needed, but bas-tava. It was not the same man 13 years
ago and even at that time was no longer so young. His mind was working better and faster than your
body, a fact that Jason accepted reluctantly. Damn!
- Ishmael is a good kid - says brother
Marie. - It is smart and strong as a bull Saskatchewan awarded. I'm thinking of training him to guard, in a
year or so. The pay is better.
- Try to Harvard or Princeton, if he makes a
good job this afternoon.

- Thanks! This is great! He knew that his father was wrestling champion of the island? Of course it is now
...
- Get out of my way - Jason interrupted, heading for the door. - You do not have exactly 18 years added, turning for a moment before leaving.
- I never said it was. What is your problem?
- Perhaps the sandbar you have not seen, Mr. Security. - Bourne slammed the door and stepped out into
the hallway.
- Very sensitive, very much. - St. Jacques shook his head and opened his fist for 34 years. Two hours had
passed and Ishmael was not
nowhere! Walking with a stiff leg, as if crippled, Jason went from one end to the other of the grounds of
the hotel, looking through the lens of the camera, seeing everything, but no sign of the young
Ishmael. Twice was the trail of the woods to the square building of tree trunks, thatched roof and
stained glass that was the ecumenical chapel Hotel, a sanctuary built for meditation for more, his
appearance-licada than to be used. As I said the black waiter, was seldom visited, but appeared in the
advertising brochures of the hotel.
The Caribbean sun had now an orange color
more intense and slowly descended into the water on the horizon. Soon the shadows would spread by
Montserrat and the other islands. Soon the night would come and Jackal liked the dark of night. But the
Chameleon also liked.
- Room deposit, any news? - Bourne asked on the radio.
- Rien, Monsieur.
- Johnny?
- I'm on the roof with six shooters. None.
- And the dinner party tonight?
- Our meteorologist arrived by boat, there are ten
minutes from Plymouth. He has a fear of flying ... And Angus preached a check for $ 10,000 at the
bulletin board, unsigned and without addressee. Scotty was right, the seven couples will be present. We
are a company who cares-up, after a few minutes of silence.
- Tell me something I do not know, brother ... Rates. Now I'm going to the chapel.
- Glad to know that someone is going there. A bastard's tourism agency in New York said it was a good
idea but never heard of him. Keep in touch, David.
- All right, Johnny.
The trail to the chapel began to darken, the accelerated pace of nature by tall palm trees and foliage
blocking the rays of the setting sun. Jason would give meiavolta and head into the pro shop fishing when
suddenly, as if they had fired one photoelectric cell-ca, flashes red and blue danced in the air, throwing
his broad circles of light from the floor to the tops of palm trees . For a moment, Bourne had the
impression of entering a tunnel in Technicolor, opened in the rainforest. A feeling disorienting at first,
then threatening. It was a moving target and lit a gallery of strong colors. Quickly sought shelter in the
bushes outside the circle of light, scratching his legs into the foliage. In semi-darkness, continued on his
way to the chapel, slowly, with difficulty, with the wet branches and vines curling up in your hands and
your feet. Instinct. Stay away from the light, lights bright colors that were more appropriate
for carnivale in ilhas.Um thud! A sound that did not belong to the forest. Then a groan that turned into
convulsions interrupted, cut ... deleted? Crouching, Jason went through successive barriers bushes to see the door of
the little church cathedral style. Was ajar and the flickering light and smooth the "candles" electrical
penetrated the sea of blue and red track out there.
Think. Use the memory. remember! Jason had been in the chapel only once before, when jokingly told
the brother who had spent money on something useless hotel.

"At least it's cute," said St. Jacques.

"No, brother," replied Marie. "No matches. This is not a place of retreat. "
"Suppose someone has bad news. You know, very bad ... "
"So you offer her a drink," said David Webb.
"Let's go. I have five different religions symbols in stained glass, including Shinto. "
"Do not show your sister invoices that paid for it," muttered David coined for.
There was another door? Another way out? ... No, there was not. Only five or six rows, then a sort of
grid in front of a platform under the glass of the window made by native artisans.
Inside. There was someone inside. Ishmael? A
guest Tranquility? A newly married to regret later? Jason took the radio from his pocket and spoke
quietly.
- Johnny?
- Here, on the roof.
- I am in the chapel. I'm going.
- Ishmael is there?
- I do not know. But someone is.
- What's the matter, Dave? You seem ...
- No problem - interrupted Bourne I'm just checking ... What's behind the chapel? On the east side?
- More forest.
- Any track?
- There was, for many years, is now overgrown. The workers who built the chapel used to go with her to
the sea ... I'll have two guards ...
- No, If I need you, I call. Exchange
- Jason kept the radio in your pocket and always crouched, looked at the door of the chapel.
Silence. No sound came from within, no
movement, nothing but the flickering electric candles. Bourne went to the edge of the track, took the
photographic equip-ment and hat and opened the box containing the flags.Kept one in his belt and
picked up the automatic. He took the lighter from the left pocket of the guayabera, stood up and walked
silently and quickly to a corner of the small chapel - shrine that moved in the rainforest, above the
tropical beach. The use of the flags was the previous episode of Manassas, Virginia, Jason thought as he
walked to the entrance of the chapel. Went back to Paris - Thirty years ago, in Paris, and in the cemetery
of Rambouillet. And Carlos ... Came near the door ajar and cautiously peered inside.Jason gasped in
horror, filled with a terrible fury and disbelief. On the platform in front of the wooden benches were
bright young Ishmael, his body bent, arms hanging, dark face marked and torn, blood dripping from the
mouth. The guilt, sudden, complete and devastating apossouse Jason. The words of the old French
sounded in his ears: Others may die, innocent people slaughtered. massacred! One child
was massacred! Promises and replaced by death. Oh, Christ, the I did? ... What can I do?
With sweat pouring down his face, his eyes filled with tears, Bourne took the flag from his pocket, lit the
lighter and with a trembling hand took it to the wick red. Immediately a white flame rose in white heat,
hissing like a hundred angry snakes. Jason threw the flag to the other end of the chapel, jumped over
the flames, spun around and closed the heavy door. He threw himself on the floor, behind the last row
of seats, took the radio out of his pocket and pressed the transmitter.
- Johnny, the chapel! Send to surround the chapel!
Do not wait for an answer from St. Jacques. Heard a voice, and that was enough. The flame and
continuous hissing rose in color plates, returned by the stained glass. Bourne, with automatic in hand,
rushed into the passage, looking around, looking for anything that does not remember the interior of
the chapel of Tranquility. Only

not look at the platform with the child's body that he had sent to death ... On both sides of the platform
had arched doors with curtains, as passages from one stage to miniature scenes, entrances right and
left. Despite the anguish grew within him a strange satisfaction, a joy almost morbid. The lethal game
was all yours now. Carlos had set a trap and complicated Chameleon made turned to their advantage,
Delta Medusa had reversed the game!
Behind one of those doors arch was the murderer of Paris.
Bourne stood up and, leaning on the wall, raised his gun. Shot twice in the right door, making the
curtains shudder with every shot, always walked behind the last row of seats to the other side and shot
twice in the left door.
A figure came out of the small door in a panic, reeling, pulling the curtain that had wrapped around her
shoulders, and fell. Bourne ran forward shouting the name of Carlos, shooting without stopping to
empty the drum of the machine. Suddenly, an explosion destroyed part of the stained glass windows on
the left wall. While the glass fragments fell like colorful rain, a man appeared on a ledge outside the
center of the open space on the flag blinding.
- You have no more bullets - Carlos said to the astonished Jason Bourne. - Thirteen, Delta, 13 years
odious. But now will know who won. The Jackal raised his gun and fired.
17
HEAT SWISHING and cold Bourne shaved his neck and threw himself forward, falling between the
second and third row of seats, pounding head and hip in brown shiny before reaching the ground. A
dark cloud enveloped him. Far away, far, far away, heard voices screaming. Then the complete darkness.
"David." There were screams now, only a low, urgent voice, using the name he did not want to
acknowledge.
- David, can you hear me?
Bourne opened his eyes, instantly aware of two facts. His neck was bandaged and he was in bed, fully
clothed. In
right saw the anxious face of John St. Jacques. To the left was a man he did not know, middle-aged, with
a piercing gaze.
- Carlos - Jason managed to say. - It was the Cha- cal!
- So it's still on the island - this island - said St. Jacques. - There is less than an hour it happened and sent
Henry surrounding Tranquility. The patrols are on the beach, all with eye contact and radio. Henry said it
was an exercise "against drugs", very discreet and very official. Some boats entered, but none went out
and none will come out.
- Who is it? - Bourne asked, looking at the man on his left.
- A doctor - replied John. - Is hosted at the hotel and is my friend. He treated me in ...
- I think we should be discreet here - interrupted the Canadian doctor firmly. - John, you asked for help
and secret, and I agreed, but considering the nature of events and the fact that his brother will not be
treated by me, we will waive our names.
- I agree, Doctor - Jason said with a grimace of pain. Then, suddenly raised his head with an expression
of panic and pleading eyes. - Ishmael! He's dead! I killed him.
- He is not dead and you did not kill him - said St. Jacques calmly. - It's bad, but is not
dead. It's a tough kid, like his father, and will stay good. We'll send you tickets to the hospital in
Martinique.
- Christ He was dead!
- He was beaten savagely - the doctor explained. - The two broken arms, lacerations and multiple
bruises, probably internal injuries and severe concussion. However, as John said well, it's a tough kid.
- I want the best for him.
- Those were my orders.
- Great. - Bourne looked at the doctor. -

How am I?
- Without an x-ray and observing their movements - ie, symptomatically - I can only give a diagnosis very
vague.
- For do it.
- Besides the injury, I would say, especially traumatic shock.
- Forget it. This is not in the program.
- Says who? - Asked the doctor with a
smile.
- I say and I'm not joking. The body,
not the mind. I make the diagnosis of the mind.
- He is a native? - Asked the doctor, looking at St. Jacques. - A white Ishmael and older? I am sure that is
not a doctor.
- Answer his question, please.
- Okay. The bullet went through the left side
his neck, millimeters of various vital points that were hit certainly leave no voice and probably killed. I
cleaned the wound and suturei. Will have trouble moving your head for some time, but this is only
superficial opinion.
- In short, I have a stiff neck, but if
I can walk ... well, I can walk.
- In a nutshell, it's more or less it.
- After all, it was the flag that saved me - Jason said softly, carefully moving the neck on the pillow. - The
light dimmed enough.
- What? - St. Jacques leaned over the bed.
- Nothing, nothing ... Let's see if I can walk well symptomatically, I mean.
With slow movements Bourne sat on the edge
the bed, with his feet on the ground, shaking his head to the brother, who reached out to help him.
- No, thank you, brother. I have to do it alone. Stood, feeling increasingly intense discomfort in the neck
bandage. He took a few steps, feeling the pain of the bruises on her hips, but were only bruises, nothing
major. A hot bath would decrease the pain and medications, aspirin extra strong liniments and enable
better mobility. But that bloody bandage on his neck, and almost choking him, forced him to move his
shoulders when he wanted to look around ... However, he thought, was much better than could be
- For a man of his age. Damn.
- We can not loosen the collar a bit,
Doctor? Is strangling me.
- A little, not much. Do not want to open the points, do you?
- How about a bandage type elastic? She gives with movement.
- It's too much for a neck injury. You
'll soon get used to.
- I promise not used.
- You are too funny.
- I do not feel anything funny.
- Is your neck.
- Exactly. Get me a Johnny?
- Doctor? - St. Jacques looked at the doctor.
- I do not think we can stop it.
- I'll send someone to the shop.
- Excuse me, Doctor - Bourne said, when John

went to the phone. - I want to ask some questions to Johnny and I'm sure that you do not want to hear.
- I've heard more than he wanted. I hope the room.
The doctor crossed the room and left.
While St. Jacques was on the phone, Jason walked across the room, raising and lowering the arms,
shaking hands to check their motor control. Down and stood up four times in a row, with increasing
rapidity. He needed to be prepared - had to be!
- It will take a few minutes - St. Jacques said, hanging up the phone. - Pritchard has opened the
store. Will bring different sizes bandage.
- Thank you. - Bourne froze. - About
was the man I shot, Johnny? He rolled down the curtain and saw her face.
- No one I know, and I thought I knew all of these islands that white men can wear expensive suits. It
should be a tourist - a tourist with a mission ... for the Jackal. Of course it had nothing to identify
the. Henry sent him "Serrat."
- How many people know now what is happening?
- In addition to the hotel, we only have 14 guests and no one heard. Sent close the chapel - said that was
damaged by the storm. Even those who had to know something - like the doctor and the two guys from
Toronto - do not know the whole story, just bits and are friends. I trust them. Others are full of rum on
the island.
- And the shots in the chapel?
- What about the worst and loudest band
islands? Also, you were in the middle of the woods about three hundred meters from the hotel ... Listen,
David, almost all gone, but some diehards would not have been if they were old friends from Canada
who wanted to prove their friendship and some others that probably will spend their holiday in
Tehran. What more can I say, besides ensuring that the bar is billing as ever?
- It's like a strange game - Bourne muttered, carefully turning his face to the ceiling. - Silhouettes moving
separately violence behind white screens, nothing making sense, anything can be anything.
- It's a bit much for me, professor. To
you mean?
- Terrorists are not born, Johnny, they are made, trained in a curriculum that you will not find in any
school. Leaving aside the reasons that lead them to be what they are - they can go a justifiable cause for
psychopathic megalomania of the Jackal - keep the charade alive because it has its own life.
- So what? - St. Jacques frowned, puzzled.
- Then you can control the actors, saying
they should do, but not why.
- It's what we're doing here and what Henry is doing in the sea that surrounds Tranquility.
- Is it? We're really doing this?
- Hell, yes of course.
- I thought it was too, but I was wrong.
Overestimated strong boy and smart for a simple and harmless and underestimated that a humble
priest and scared he received thirty pieces of silver.
- Do you talking about?
- From Ishmael and brother Samuel. Samuel must have witnessed the torture of a child with eyes of
Torquemada.
- Torque whom?
- The case does not actually know the actors. The guards, for example, you took the chapel.
- I'm no fool, David - St. Jacques stopped.
- When you sent to surround the chapel, I took a little liberty and chose two men, the only ones I
choose, finding a pair of Uzis could replace a man and the four points of the compass. Are the best that I

have and former members of the Royal Command. Are in charge of security across the island and trust
them like I trust Henry.
- Henry? It is a good man, right?
- Sometimes it's a pain, but it is the best of the islands.
- The governor of the Crown?
- It's a cretin.
- Henry know?
- Of course he knows. He never Brigadier for its beauty, with that belly and all. Besides good soldier, a
good administrator. Takes care of a lot here!
- And you're sure that he has not communicated with the governor.
- He said he would let me know before entering
contact pompous jerk and I believe him.
- I hope you're right - because that
pompous jerk is contact the Jackal in Montserrat.
- What? I do not believe it!
- Believe it. I confirmed.
- But it's amazing!
- No it is not. It is typical of the Jackal. He discovers
a vulnerability and recruit their weight in gold. Few men living outside the law can not be bought for
him. Astonished, St. Jacques walked to the balcony doors, trying to accept the unbelievable.
- I think this answers the question that many
we're doing. The governor is a family of aristocratic landowners, has a brother in a high post in the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who is a close friend of the prime minister. Why were sent here, at your age,
or rather, by accepting this post? In his position was expected to refuse anything that they were not
Bermuda or the British Virgin Islands. Plymoufh may be a step, but not a post for the end career.
- He was exiled, Johnny. Carlos probably discovered that a long time ago and put it on the list. For years
he does it. Many people read newspapers, magazines and books for fun. The Jackal studying volumes of
reports and intelligence information from all sources possible, and has discovered more things than the
CIA, the KGB, and the MICinco Six, Interpol and all other services would like to know ... The seaplanes
arrived on the island five or six times after I returned Blackburne. Who had them?
- Pilots - St. Jacques replied, turning
for Jason. - They were taking hotel guests not bringing anyone, I've said it.
- Yes, you told me. And watched all the time?
- I watched those?
- Every plane that arrived.
- Come on! You told me to do a thousand things.
- What about the two commands blacks? Those in whom much confidence?
- They were controlling and positioning the other
guards, for God's sake.
- So we do not know who may have been on those planes, right? Maybe down in the water as the plane
passed between reefs - perhaps before the sandbar.
- For God's sake, David. I know those guys for years. They would not allow any of it. No way!
- I mean that is an amazing thing.
- Believe it.
- How to contact the Jackal in Montserrat. The
Governor of the Crown.
The owner of Tranquility Inn looked at Jason.
- In what world do you live?

- A world in which I am sorry that you have entered. But now it's part of it and has to play by the rules,
my rules. A glimmer fast a track infinitesimal red light in the night out there!Infrared! Bourne reached
out and jumped on St. Jacques, pushing him away from the balcony window.
- Get out of there! - Jason roared when the two fell to the ground and three clicks successive cut space
and the bullets penetrated the walls of the village.
- What the hell ...
- He's out there and I want to know - Bourne said, pushing coined for the lower, dragging down beside
him and reaching into his pocket guayabera. - He knows who you are, so it should be the first to die, to
torture me because you know
Marie's brother - is part of my family and this is your primary weapon. My family!
- Jesus Christ. What do we do?
- I will do - Jason replied, taking the second flag pocket. - I get a message saying that I'm alive and that I
will be alive when he's dead. Stay where you are! - Bourne crept onto the porch and fired the missile for
the night lights and hissing. Two shots came immediately. The bullets ricocheted off the ceiling and
broke up the mirror of a dressing table. - He has a MAC-Dec with silencer - Delta of Medusa said, rolling
to the side of the wall, holding his neck. - I gotta get out of here!
- David, you're hurt!
- This is great. - Jason Bourne got up, left the room, slamming the door and ran to the living room of the
village, where he met the Canadian Medical frowning.
- I heard a noise inside - the doctor said.
- You all right?
- I have to leave. Lie on the floor!
- Now, listen here! I am seeing blood in his bandages, points ...
- Lie on the floor!
- You no longer have 21 years, Mr. Webb ...
- Get out of my life! - Bourne shouted, and ran out of the village to the main building, only then hearing
the deafening sound of the band, amplified by twenty speakers placed in trees.
The cacophony was unbearable, but it was still a help, Jason thought. Angus McLeod was fulfilling his
word. The few remaining guests and a smaller number of employees of the hotel were the huge circular
glazed restaurant, which meant that the Chameleon should change color. He knew the thought of the
Jackal like yours and this meant that the killer was going to do exactly what Jason Bourne would do in
these circumstances. The hungry wolf came drooling with hunger in the cave of his prey confused and
scared and took the best piece of meat. He would do the same thing, changing the skin of the mythical
chameleon, showing a prey much larger - say, a Bengal tiger - able to make a coyote to pieces with his
teeth ... Why the pictures were so important? Why? Jason knew the answer and it meant an empty
feeling, the desire for something that had been in the past - he was no longer Delta, the feared guerrilla
Medusa, was not Jason Bourne Paris and the Far East. David Webb, both older, much older, invaded his
thoughts, trying to find reason within insanity and violence. Not! Get away from me! You are nothing, I
am everything! ... Move away, David, for God's sake, go away. Bourne turned around and ran across the
lawn in
towards the entrance of the hotel. Panting, slowed to see someone at the door. After having recognized
the man continued to run. It was one of the few members of Tranquility which remembered and one of
the few who wanted to forget .. The assistant manager, unbearably snobby Pritchard a tedious talker
who would not let anyone forget the importance of his family in Montserrat - especially an uncle who
was assistant director of immigration, in the opinion of David undoubtedly an advantage not to
Tranquility .
- Pritchard! - Shouted Bourne, approaching the man. - You got the bandages?
- Well, sir - said the deputy manager surprised.

- You are here. said they had left this afternoon ...
- Oh, shit!
- Lord? ... My lips suffer to convey my condolences ...
- Keep them closed, Pritchard. Do you understand?
- Of course, I was not here this morning to receive it, or this afternoon to see him go and express my
deepest feelings, because Mr. St. Jay asked me to work tonight, actually all night. ..
- Pritchard, I am in a hurry. Give me the bandages and do not tell anyone - anyone - who saw me. I want
that to be clear.
- Oh, of course, sir - said Pritchard, handing Jason the three rolls of different sizes elastic bandage. - This
inside information is safe with me, and the knowledge that his wife and children were staying here - oh,
God forgive me Forgive me, sir.
- I forgive and He is keep your mouth shut.
- Sealed. Is sealed! It is a huge privilege.
- It will be shot if you abuse the privilege. Is cla- ro?
- Lord?
- Do not faint, Pritchard. Go to the village and tell Mr. Jay St. that soon I communicate with him and for
him to stay here. Get it? He should be here ... And you too.
- Maybe I can ...
- Forget it. Get out now.
The assistant manager ran across the lawn in
direction of the villages of the east wing and Bourne went into the hotel. He climbed the stairs two steps
- a few years ago would have been three - and again came panting to the office of St. Jacques. Entered,
closed the door and went to the closet where he knew the brother kept some clothes. Both had about
the same size - large size, as said Marie
- And many times Johnny had used jackets when visiting David. Jason chose the color combination more
discreet. Light gray slacks and a blazer dark blue cotton, the only shirt he found, also cotton, brown,
short-sleeved. Nothing that could reflect light.
Began to undress and felt a sharp pang
on the left side of the neck. He looked in the mirror first alarmed, then furious at what he saw. A bright
red stain spreading on the bandage too tight. He opened the box of greater elastic bandage. It was too
late to change the dressing. Could only reinforce it, hoping to stop the bleeding. The new bandage
wrapped around his neck, cut the leftovers and arrested the ends with hooks. His movements were now
more inhibited than ever. Need not think of this disadvantage. Changed clothes, disguised bandage,
lifting his shirt collar brown, put the automatic in his belt and roll of fishing line the pocket of blazer
... Steps that approxi- ximavam! leaned against the wall, his hand on the gun, and the door opened. The
old Fontaine entered, looked at Bourne for a moment, then closed the door.
- I was looking for you, not knowing if he was still alive - said the Frenchman.
- We're only using the radios in case of extreme necessity. - Jason pulled away from the wall. - I thought I
had gotten the message.
- I received and I was right. At this point, Charles must also have a radio. You know, he's not alone. So I
walked around looking for her. Then it occurred to me that you and your brother should be here in
quartelgeneral, so to speak.
- Not very prudent walk around without protection.
- I'm not stupid, monsieur. ' If it were, would be long dead. I do everything with caution ... In fact, that's
why I decided to find it, since it was not dead.
- I'm not and you found me. What? You should be the judge in a village empty, not walking around.
- We are, we were. The case is that I
I have a plan, a ploy that might interest. I talked about with Brendan ...

- Brendan?
- You name it, monsieur. He thinks my plan has some merit and he is a brilliant man, very saga- ce ...
- Smart? Yes, I'm sure, but is not
in our line of business.
- He's a survivor. From this point of view, we are all in the same business. He thinks there is a certain
risk, but given the circumstances, any plan is risk.
- What is the plan?
- The goal is to catch the Jackal with minimum
danger to other people who are here.
- That worries really, is not it?
- I told you, so do not need to repeat. Out there are men and women ...
- Continue - Bourne interrupted angrily. What is your strategy? I want you to understand that I want to get the Coyote hiding if I have to keep
the whole island hostage. Not willing to give up anything. Already relented too.
- So you and Carlos tocaiam each other in the dark of night? Two hunters middle-aged, crazed, obsessed
by the idea of killing, without caring who is killed, injured or unusable for the rest of my life because of
this particular struggle.
- If you want sympathy, go to church and beg his God to urinate on this planet. Or he has a very strange
sense of humor, or sadistic. now start saying things with a sense or I'm out of here.
- What I thought was ...
- Speak!
- Monsignor know, I know how he thinks. He
planned the death of my wife and mine, but not at the same time as yours, do not take the suspense of
the drama of his total victory. Would be for later. The revelation that I, called the hero of France was in
fact an instrument of the Jackal, his creation, would be the final proof of his triumph. Do not you
understand?
Jason watched the old man in silence and then said:
- Yes, I understand. Not that I could ever
imagine someone like you, but this way of doing things is the basis of everything I believe. He is a
megalomaniac. In his fantasy, he's the king of the underworld and wants his person and his throne are
recognized worldwide. For him, his genius was overlooked until now, relegated to the level of common
assassins and snipers Mafia. He want bugles and drums, and only hears sirens tired and routine
questions of the officers.
- C'est vrai. He once complained to me that nobody knows in America.
- It is true. Who ever heard his name thinks
is a fictional character from novels or movies. He tried to compensate for his failure 13 years ago when
he flew from Paris to New York to kill me.
- Correction, monsieur. attracted you to New York.
- This is history. But what to do with our situation ... with your plan?
- It is the means to compel the Jackal to come after me, to find me. now. Tonight.
- How?
- I Just start walking around openly, so that he or one of his men to see me and hear me.
- Why would seek to talk to you?
- Why not be the nurse that he got me. I'll be with someone else, he does not know, a person who has
no reason to kill me. Again Bourne looked pensive and silent
to the old French.
- Bait - he remarked finally.

- A provocative bait so that he will not rest until they get to pick it up - take me to an interrogation at the
hands ... You see, I'm vital to him - or rather, my death is vital - and the Jackal all boils down to doing
things at the right time. Accuracy is a ... his diction, as they say?
- Their motto, its method of operation, I think.
- To this he owes his survival thus took the greatest advantage of each murder, reinforcing its reputation
as assassin suprme. Until a man named Jason Bourne appears in the Far East ... The Jackal was never
the same. But you know all this ...
- And I do not care - said Jason. - The "right time". Continue.
- After my death it may reveal who
was actually Jean Pierre Fontaine, the hero of France. An impostor, his impostor, his creation, the
instrument of death that served as bait for Jason Bourne. What a triumph for him! ... But can only do
that after I'm dead, because it would be very inconvenient. I know too much, I have many friends in the
gutters of Paris. No, I need to be dead so he has his triumph.
- In this case he will kill you as soon as the come.
- Not until you have the answers, monsieur. Where is the nurse killer? What happened to her? The
Cameleon to found, recruited, ended it? The woman is in the power of the British? Is the way to London
and the MI-Six with all their chemicals, to be finally handed over to Interpol?
So many questions ... No, he will not kill me before knowing what you need to know. You may not need
more than a few minutes to satisfy all the doubts of the Jackal, but long before that I hope you're next
to me to ensure my survival, though not his.
- The nurse? Wherever you are, be dead.
- Not at all. I send you away, out
of my sight at the first sign of contact. Walking with her, I regret the absence of my dear new friend, the
angel of mercy who takes such good care of my wife, wondering aloud: What happened to her? For
where you have gone? Why not seen during the whole day? Of course it will be with the radio on
concealed under clothing. Wherever you take me - for surely one of the men Carlos will make contact
first - do the questions themselves of a frail old man. Why are you bringing me to this place? Why are
we here? ... You will accompany me, full force, I sincerely hope. If you do, pick up the Jackal. With head
held high, stiff neck, Bourne
sat on the edge of the table of St. Jacques.
- Your friend, Judge Brendan did not know what, you're right ...
- Prefontaine. Although Fontaine is not my
real name, we decided that we are the same family. When the first members of the family came from
Alsace-Lorraine to America in the eighteenth century, with Lafayette, added the Pre to differentiate
them from various Fontaine of France.
- He said that?
- It's a brilliant man. A former judge your honor.
- Lafayette was from Alsace-Lorraine?
- I do not know, monsieur, never been there.
- He is a brilliant man ... And the best is
with reason. His plan has much merit, but also a considerable risk. I'll be frank with you, Fontaine. I do
not care a damn about the risk that you can run, or the supposed nurse. I want the Jackal and if it cost
you your life or the life of a woman I do not know, I do not care. I want you to understand that. The old
Frenchman looked at Jason with expression
ironic and chuckled.
- You are a contradiction so apparent. Jason
Bourne never have said what he just said. It would have been silent, accepting my proposal without
comment, recognizing the advantages. The husband of Mrs. Webb, however, need to say

something. It is against and should be heard. Fontaine's voice was suddenly harsh. - Get rid of
it, Monsieur Bourne. He is my protection, or instrument of death of the Jackal. Get rid of him.
- He was, I assure you, he 's gone. - The Chameleon rose from the corner of the table with stiff neck and
sore. - Let's start.
The deafening sound of the band is now limited to the glassed lobby and adjacent restaurant. By Order
of St. Jacques, the speakers were turned off in the trees. The owner of Tranquility left the village
escorted by two former commands armed with Uzis, accompanied by Canadian physician and the
incessant chatter of Mr. Pritchard. The assistant manager was ordered to return to
reception and say nothing about what he had seen during that last hour.
- Absolutely nothing, sir. If you ask me, I was talking on the phone with authorities
"Serrat."
- About what? - objected St. Jacques.
- Well, I thought ...
- Do not think. You were checking the service
the maids in the west wing, that's all.
- Yes, sir. - Disappointed, Pritchard dirigiuse to the office door opened a few moments ago by
anonymous Canadian physician.
- I doubt that he can say to make much difference - the doctor said when Pritchard left. - There
inside we have a perfect zoo. The combination of last night's events, with much sun and too much
alcohol, does provide us a sense of collective guilt tomorrow. My wife thinks its meteorologist will not
have much to say, John ...
- Why?
- He is also getting drunk and even
semilcido is, no one is sober enough to hear him.
- I think I should go there. Let's make this a little carnivale. Scotty save $ 10,000 and the more
distractions, the better. I'll talk to the men of the band and the bar and I'll be back.
- You may not find us here - said Bourne,
when the brother went out and a woman in full uniform nurse appeared in the doorway of the
bathroom particularly St. Jacques. The old Fontaine approached her.
- Well, my daughter is fine - said
French.
- Now, remember, I will take hold his arm as we walked and talked, and when I tighten and lift their
voices, telling him to leave me alone, you obey immediately, right?
- All right, sir. I must get away from the Lord quickly, very angry with her rudeness.
- That's it. Do not be afraid, it's just a joke. We want to talk with a very shy person.
- How's the neck? - Asked the doctor,
Jason looking without seeing the new bandage under his collar brown.
- All right - said Bourne.
- Let's take a look - said the Canadian, moving forward toward Bourne.
- Thanks, but not now, doctor. I suggest that
down and make the company to his wife.
- Yes, I thought you'd say that, but I can say one thing quickly?
- Very fast.
- I am a doctor and I've had to do many things against my will and I am sure that this is one of them. But
when I think of that young and they did to him ...
- Please - Jason interrupted.

- Yes, I understand. Even so, I'm here if you need me. Just wanted you to know that ... I'm not very proud
of what I said before. Saw what I saw and I have a name and I am perfectly willing to testify in court. In
other words, I take my reluctance to get involved.
- There will be no courts, doctor, or testimony.
- No? But these are crimes serious!
- We know what it is - interrupted Bourne.
- I appreciate your help, but it has nothing to do.
- I understand - the doctor said looking puzzled for Jason. - So I'm now - the Canadian doctor went to the
door and turned. - I'd better let me see this neck later. If you still have neck to show. The doctor came
out and told Bourne Fontaine:
- Are we ready?
- We are. - The Frenchman smiled at the young black, large and imposing, it seemed intrigued. - What
will you do with all the money you win tonight, dear?
She smiled shyly, showing teeth
very white.
- I have a good boyfriend. I'll buy one
nice gift for him.
- That's great. What do you call your boyfriend?
- Ishmael, sir.
- Come - Jason said, in a firm voice.
The idea of the plan was simple, like most good strategies, how complex they are, simple to
perform. The tour of the old Fontaine mapped out accurately. Began with Fontaine and young returning
to his village, presumably to see how his wife was, before the daily walk prescribed by doctors. Walked
on the illuminated part of the main path, crossing one time or another the lawn, but always in plain
sight. A grouchy old man, walking at random, to hassle your companion. It was a common scene a feisty
septuagenarian, causing the person who took care of him.
The two former commands, bass, or other loud, guarded all the way from the beginning of the walk and
where French and his "nurse" parted. As Fontaine and woman adiantavam, a command passed by
another, putting themselves in the next section, using passages that only they knew, as the trail beyond
the wall that ran up the coast of tropical shrubs closed, leading to the beach below the villages. The
guards were black like two huge spiders in the jungle, passing easily from branch to branch, from rock to
rock, watching the couple who watched. Bourne followed the second man with his radio on, and the
words outraged Fontaine reached him in the middle of static. Where is that other nurse? That mo- a
lovely that takes care of my wife? Where is she? Not seen her all day! Old repeated the phrases
emphasizing and increasing hostility. Jason slipped behind the wall and his feet were arrested on strong
vines. Could not get loose - had no strength! Shook his head - shoulders - and pain burned his neck as
red-hot needles.There is nothing. pull with force, tear these vines! With the lungs to bursting and the
blood soaking his shirt now, got rid and crawled forward.
Suddenly lights. Light colored involved the wall. They were on the trail leading to the chapel, with red
and blue spotlights illuminated the entrance of the sanctuary of Tranquility, closed to visitors. It was the
last point before the hike back to the village of Fontaine, chosen to give more opportunity to rest old
French than for any other reason. St. Jacques had placed a guard there to prevent entry into the ruined
chapel. There was no contact due to that point. Then Bourne heard the words on the radio the words that sent the young nurse up running away from your partner.
- Get away from me! - Shouted Fontaine. - I do not like you. Where is our nurse? What you
done with it?
Above it and a little in front, the two commands were crouched side by side near the wall. They turned
and looked at Jason, and his eyes in ghostly light colored and said what he already knew. From that

moment, all decisions were his. The men had escorted him to the enemy. The rest depended on it. A
rare thing happened. The unexpected rocked
Bourne. Fontaine would have cheated? Have forgotten the presence of the guard took him by one of the
contacts of the Jackal? His old eyes would have interpreted a reaction of surprise of the guards as the
approach of the enemy?
Anything was possible, however, considering the past of the French - the life of a survivor - and your
mind alert, a mistake of this kind was not likely. Jason thought then in another frightening
possibility. Would have killed the guard and put someone else in his place? Carlos was a master of these
tactics. They said he had fulfilled the contract to assassinate Anwar Sadat without giving. a shot, just
replacing the personal guards of the president by raw recruits - the money distributed in Cairo was
repaid a hundredfold by brotherhoods anti-Israel Middle East. If it was true, the Tranquility Isle was
child's play for him.
Jason stood up, grabbed the top of the wall, slowly and painfully, leaped the hedge, and leaning with
one arm after another stepped forward. He was astonished at what he saw.
Fontaine was motionless, his mouth open, eyes wide and incredulous fixed on the man with beige
gabardine suit approached and hugged him. The old hero of France pushed the man with panic and
terror. The words rang in quick radio Jason.
- Claude! Quelle secousse! Vous tes ici!
The old friend replied in French, his voice
trembling.
- A privilege granted by Msgr. To
see my sister for the last time and to console my friend, her husband. I'm here and I'm with you!
- Me? He brought him here? But of course!
- Should I take it to him. The big man wants to talk to you.
- You know what you're doing? What did you just do?
- I'm with you, with her. Nothing else matters.
- She's dead! committed suicide last night! He wanted to kill us.
Turn off your radio! shouted Bourne in the silence of your mind. Disconnect the radio! too late. The left
door of the chapel opened and the silhouette of a man stepped into the hall lit by colorful lights. Was a
young man, strong and blond, with traces marked and rigid gestures. The Jackal was training someone
to take your place?
- Come with me, please - said the man
Blonde French, delicate but authoritative tone. You - said, addressing the man with gabardine suit - stay where you are. At the slightest noise, shoot
into the air ... Take the gun out of his pocket, to have it on hand.
- Oui monsieur.
Jason, helplessly, saw Fontaine being led to the door of the chapel. The radio in your pocket has issued a
storm of static followed by a click. The radio Fontaine had been found and destroyed. Yes, something
was wrong, off center, lopsided - or perhaps too symmetrical. Carlos was not logical to use the second
time the location of a trap failed. It made no sense! The appearance of the woman's brother Fontaine
was an exceptional movement, worthy of the Jackal, a movement within the confusion really
unexpected, but not this, not again superfluous Chapel of Tranquility. It was too predictable, too
repetitive, too obvious. Wrong. And so even right?, thought Bourne. Would be illogical logic killer who
had cheated hundreds of special departments of the international intelligence for almost thirty
years? "He would not ... is crazy! "" ... Oh yeah, I could do because we know it's crazy. " The Jackal is or is
not in the chapel? If he was not, where would I be? Where had prepared his trap?
The lethal game of chess was not only extremely

complex, but also a sublime intimacy. Others might die, but only one of the two would live. It was the
only possible end. Death to the seller for death or death to your Defiant, seeking to preserve a legend,
the other seeking to preserve his family and life itself. The advantage was Carlos. He risked everything
for as Fontaine was informed, was dying and nothing else mattered. Bourne had everything to live for,
Bourne, hunter middle-aged life indelibly marked, divided by the death of another woman and two
children vaguely remembered long ago in the distant Cambodia. Not going to happen, it could happen
again!
Jason came down from the wall to the steep cliff to his feet. Dragged himself to the two former
commands and murmured:
- They took Fontaine inside.
- Where is the guard? - Asked the man nearest him, quietly. - I even left there with specific
instructions. Nobody should go. He had to communicate by radio once saw someone!
- So, I guess he did not see him.
- Who?
- A blond man who speaks French.
The commands exchanged glances quickly after one of them turned to Jason.
- Describe the man, please.
- Average height, chest and broad shoulders ...
- No need to say more - interrupted the first guard. - Our man saw him, sir. He is the third agent of
government police, an officer who speaks several languages and is head of the narcotics investigation.
- But where is it, mon? - asked the other guard. - Mr. Jay St. Police said the Crown was not informed of
everything, is not part of this action.
- Sir Henry, mon. boats Crown He has about six or seven, in and out, with orders to arrest any person
who goes out of Tranquility. Boats are drugs, mon. Sir Henry says it is an exercise in patrol, so naturally
the chief of investigations should be ...
- The Antillean stopped talking and looked at his companion - ... So why is not he out there on the
water, mon?
- You like it? - Bourne asked, surprised by the question itself instinctive. - I mean, you respect
him? Maybe I'm wrong, but I seemed to hear a certain ...
- There are mistaken, sir - Interrupted
first guard. - The preposto is a man cruel and not like the Punjabis, which is how he calls us. Is always
accusing us of this and that, and many have been laid off because of it.
- Why do not complain, do not get rid of it? The British will hear what you have to say.
- Not the governor of the Crown, sir - explained
the second guard. - He is very partial in relation to the severe head of narcotics. They are great friends
and always hang out together for ocean fishing.
- I understand. - Jason understood and suddenly got scared, very scared. - St. Jay said there was a trail
behind the chapel. Said it might be full of weeds, but it should still be there.
- Yes, it is - has confirmed the first command. The hotel employees still use it to get down to the beach on days off.
- It's too long?
- Thirty-five, forty feet long. Go to a descent, made in stone with steps that lead to the beach.
- Which of you two is the fastest? - Asked Bourne, drawing from his pocket the spool of fishing line.
- I am.
- I am me.
- I choose you - told Jason to the lowest, handing him the reel - Go down to the side of the track and
where possible cross this line on the road, tying them to the branches and trunks strong. You must not
be seen, so stay alert, see in the dark.

- No problem, mon.
- It has a knife?
- Are you asking if I have eyes?
- Great. Give me your Uzi. Hurry!
The guard hurried away and disappeared into the thick foliage. The second Royal Command said:
- Actually, sir, I am much faster because they have longer legs.
- So I chose and I think you know. Long legs are not an advantage here, and even hinder, what I
know. Also, it is much smaller and harder to be seen.
- Minors are always the best things. They in place in front of the charts and we put in the ring with
boxing rules we do not understand, but the soldiers are smaller with the soups.
- Soups? The best works?
- That's right, sir.
- The most dangerous?
- Yes, mon!
- Try to live with it, big guy.
- What do we do now, sir?
Bourne looked at the colored lights on the other side of the wall.
- It's what we call waiting game - without
no allusion to love songs, only hatred you feel when someone else wants to kill us. No
anything like that, because you can not lie anything. Just think of what the enemy might be doing, and if
he thought of something in which you did not think. As someone once said, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.
- Where, mon?
- Nothing. Not true.
Suddenly a shout prolonged and painful filled the air accompanied by words uttered amid terrible
suffering. Non, non, vous tes monstrueux! ... Arrtes, arrts, je vous supplie!
- Now! - Jason exclaimed, passing the strap over his shoulder and Uzi, jumping the fence, grabbed the
top. The blood began to run from your neck with the sudden movement.He could not climb! could
not salt- tar! So strong hands pulled him and he fell on the other side.
- The lights! - Jason shouted. - Shoot them!
The command raised his Uzi and the spotlight exploded on both sides of the path of the chapel. Again,
strong hands pulled him to the shelter of the shadows. Then a beam of yellow light isolated moved from
one side to the other. The powerful halogen flashlight command. The old man with gabardine suit was
lying on the track, covered in blood, with his throat cut.
- Stop it! On behalf of Almighty God, stop where you are! - Said Fontaine inside the chapel, which left
the door ajar to see the glimmer of electric candles. The two men approached the door with the
weapons in hand, prepared for a continuous burst ... but not for that saw. Bourne closed his eyes, was
too much for him. The old Fontaine, as the young Ishmael, was lying on the platform, on the stained
glass puzzle of the left wall, his face covered in blood and her body was stuck to the thin wires that led
to various black boxes placed on both sides of chapel.
- Get back! - shouted Fontaine. - Run, its crazy! This is a bomb ...
- Oh, Christ!
- Do not mourn me, Monsieur Le Cameleon. 'll cheerfully to meet my wife! This world is
too ugly even for me. Is not fun anymore. Run! A bomb will explode - they are watching!
- You, mon! Now! - roared the second command, holding the jacket Jason and running with it to the
wall, holding him in my arms when you jumped into the thick foliage on the other side.
It was a massive explosion, blinding and deafening. It was as if that small corner of the island had been
torn by a nuclear missile tracker heat. The flames rose into the night sky, but the mass burning was soon
transformed by the wind in sparkling embers.

- The track! - Jason shouted hoarsely and muffled, rising with difficulty among the foliage. - Go
for the track!
- You're not well, mon ...
- I can take care of me, you take care of you.
- I think I took care of us.
- Very well, then won a fucking medal and I add a lot of money to her. Now, we go to the track!
Pushing, pulling, and finally with the Bourne feet moving like a machine runaway, arrived at the track
about ten meters from the ruins of the chapel on fire. They went into the woods and within a few
seconds the first command found them.
- They are in that group of palms south he said breathlessly. - Waited a bit to see if anyone was alive, but could not stay long.
- Were you there? - Jason asked. - With them?
- No problem, mon, as I said, sir.
- What is happening? How many are there?
- There were four, sir. I killed a man and
took his place. It was black, and the dark made no difference. Everything was fast and quiet. The throat.
- Who is left?
- The head of the narcotics "Serrat," of course, and two other ...
- Describe the two!
- I did not see very well, but I think one was black,
high with little hair. The third I did not see, because he
- Or she - was strange clothing with a cloth head scarf as a woman or a veil against insects.
- A woman?
- It is possible, sir.
- A woman ...? They have to get out of here ... he has to get out of here!
- Logo will go through this trail on the way to
beach, where they hide in the woods until you reach the boat. Have no choice. Can not return to the
hotel, and even from afar, and the noise of the band, the guards must have heard the explosion. They
inform the hotel.
- Listen - Bourne said hoarsely and tense. - One of those three people is the man that I-ro, the man I
want for me So do not shoot because I recognize him as soon as the come.I do not care a damn to
others, they can be taken from the cache later. A burst of gunfire rang out in the direction of the
rainforest accompanied by shouts from the hallway illuminated before, behind the ruins of the
chapel. Then, one after another, the figures came out of the bushes and ran track. The first to be caught
by fishing line extended at waist height was the officer of Montserrat blonde, who fell to the
ground. The second man, thin, tall, dark, with only a fringe of hair around the head, bent down and
helped the first man to get up. Instinct, or certainty, made the second killer turned in their automatic
open arc, shooting to the sides of the trail. The third figure appeared. Not was a woman.It was a man
dressed as a monk. A priest. It was him. The Jackal!
Bourne rose and uncertain step out of the bushes to the trail, with the Uzi in hand. The victory was his,
his to liberty, to their family! when the man dressed as a priest arrived on the first rung of the ladder
early cut in stone, Jason pulled the trigger and a gust fuzilante sprouted gun. The monk bowed body,
then fell and rolled down the steps cut into the volcanic rock, crashing on the sand below. Bourne ran
down the stairs with two irregular commands behind him. Reached the sand, ran to the body and pulled
the hood blood soaked the man's face. With horror he saw the black face of Samuel the priest
Tranquility Isle, the Judas who sold his soul to the Jackal for thirty pieces of silver. So far snoring
sounded two powerful engines and a huge racing boat left a recncavo Bay towards an opening
between the coral reefs. A spotlight illuminated the rock barriers that appeared above the surface of the

dark water and stirred, and the emblem of the Government patrol boat against drugs. Carlos!
... The Jackal was not chameleon, but was changed!
Was aged, thinner and balding - was no longer big and muscular figure souvenir Bourne. Only
remaining traces Latinos, face and bald sunburned. The Jackal was away!
Boat engines roared when passed
the small opening to the open sea. Then, the words in English with a strong accent sounded metallic in
speaker, echoing the bay.
- Paris, Jason Bourne! Paris, if you dare! Or should it be a small college in Maine, Dr. Webb?
Bourne, with bandages neck open, collapsed in the water, and a trickle of blood ran into the sea.
18
The FAT STEVEN desolate, guardian of the deepest secrets of the CIA, came out of the car with some
difficulty. Stood in the deserted parking lot of the shopping center in Annapolis, Maryland, where the
only source of light was the light of a gas, gas shut with a large German shepherd sleeping in the
window. DeSole adjusted his glasses with metal rims and consulted the clock, barely able to see the
luminous hands. The calculation was closest between 3:15 and 3:20 am, which meant we had arrived
too early, which was good. Needed to coordinate their thoughts and could not do it when he was driving
because his severe night blindness required to concentrate all attention on the road, and was out taking
a taxi or hire a driver.
At first the information was ... well, only one
name ... a name quite common. His name is Webb, had told the man on the phone. Thanks, responded
DeSole. Was given a superficial description that suited a million men.He again thanked the informant
and hung up. But then, in the innermost recesses of his analytical mind, by profession and practice of
storage of essential data and incidental, sounded an alarm. Webb, Webb ... amnesia? A clinic in Virginia
for many years. A man more dead than alive, flown to a hospital in New York, the medical file of secrecy
so extreme that it could not be shown to the Oval Office. But he heard comments from experts in
interrogation, in dark corners, mostly to relieve the frustration more than to impress the listener, and
learned a difficult patient, a case of amnesia, a man they called
"Davey," and sometimes with hostility, only "Webb", a former member of the infamous Medusa Saigon,
a man who, they suspected, was pretending to have lost his memory ...Memory loss? Alex Conklin had
said the Medusan trained to hunt secretly Carlos the Jackal, an agent provocateur who called Jason
Bourne had lost his memory. Forgot your memory and almost lost his life because their controls did not
believe in that kind of amnesia! was the man they called "Davey" ... David. David Webb was the Jason
Bourne Conklin! There could be no mistake!
David Webb! And he was at the home of Norman
Swayne at night when the Agency was informed of suicide that poor idiot, a fact that has not been
published by newspapers for reasons DeSole not understand!
David Webb. The former Medusan Jason Bourne. Conklin. Why?
The headlamps cut a limousine night on the other end of the parking lot, approaching the CIA analyst in
a wide circle, forcing him to close his eyes - the light reflected in the thick lenses was painful to his
eyes. Needed to explain to the men the sequence of reasoning of his discovery. They were his livelihood
and his wife dreamed of - money.bureaucratic and not insignificant money, but money really. The best
universities for grandchildren, not fa-culties or state scholarships conjured that came with your salary
bureaucrat - a bureaucrat so superior to all others who worked with him! Deso- le, the mole
changes, they called but did not pay more for their superior craftsmanship, the same ability that
prevented him from working in the private sector, where numerous legal prohibitions prevented him
from working. Washington would ever learn. Would not be in his lifetime, so his six grandchildren had
made the decision for him. The friendly new Medusa nodded with great generosity and he, in his revolt,
met running.

Justified considering that it was not a decision less ethical than those taking every year several members
of the Pentagon, when they went to Arlington for the arms of old friends, traders defense. As was once
said an army colonel, "is
work now and get paid later, "and God knew Steven DeSole worked like a slave for your country, but the
country did not recognize your effort. But hated the name Medusa and rarely used because it was the
symbol of another era, a terrifying and confusing time. The major oil companies and railroads were born
of dishonesty and venality of the barons, but today they were not what they were before. The Medusa
could have originated in Saigon corruption destroyed by war, could be a result, but that Medusa was no
more. Been replaced by a dozen different names and companies. We are not pure, Mr. DeSole, no
international conglomerate controlled by America never was said the man who recruited him - and it is true that we seek what many might call eco-nomic unfair
advantage, based on insider information. Secrets, if you prefer. You see, we do this because it's what
makes our competitors in Europe and the Far East. The difference is that they have the support of their
governments - we do not have ... Trade, Mr. DeSole, trade and profit. The healthier goals in this
life. Chrysler may not like the Toyota, but the wily Mr. Iacocca does not ask an air strike on Tokyo. At
least, not yet. He finds ways to join forces with the Japanese.
Yes, thought DeSole when the limo stopped
three meters of him. What were you doing the "corporation", as he preferred to call it, compared to
what was done by the Company, could even be considered as an act of benevolence. After all, profits
were much better than bombs ... and grandchildren would go to the best schools and universities
nationwide. Two men got out of the limousine and approached him.
- How is that Webb? - Asked Albert Armbruster, chairman of the Federal Trade Commission, as they
walked through the parking lot.
- The only description I have been taken by gardener who was hiding behind a fence, ten feet away.
- What did he say? - Asked the other man
unidentified, short and stocky, with piercing eyes. - Be precise.
- Now, wait a minute - said the analyst, in
defensive, but firmly. - I am accurate in everything I say and frankly, whoever, I do not like your tone of
voice.
- He is nervous - Armbruster said, as if
his companion had no importance. - It is
a head of spaghetti in New York and does not trust anyone.
- Who can I trust in New auque? asked the dark man, stocky, laughing and sticking his elbow in the belly of Albert Armbruster. - You, the
WASPs are the worst, you own the banks, amico!
- Let's keep this out of court and ... The description, please? - Armbruster looked DeSole.
- It is incomplete, but there is a connection with the very old Medusa that I will describe - accurately.
- Go on, mate - the man said
New York.
- It is a big man - tall, I mean - the
nearly fifty years and ...
- Gray at the temples? - Armbruster said, interrupting.
- Well, yes, I think the gardener talked about it gray or something. Evidently so calculated their age in almost fifty years.
- Is Simon - Armbruster said, looking at the
New York man.
- Who? - DeSole stopped walking and others stopped too, staring at him.
- He said his name was Simon and he knew all about you, Mr. CIA - Armbruster said. - About you

Brussels and other things.

- What are you talking about?
- For starters, your damn fax machine, used
solely between you and that fag Brussels.
- It is an anonymous online, "dedicated"! Is under lock and key!
- For someone found the keys, Mr. Accuracy
- Said the man from New York, without smiling.
- Oh, my God, this is horrible What should I do?
- Combine a story with Teagarten but do
this from a pay phone - said the mobster. - One of the two can figure something out.
- You know about Brussels?
- There is little that I do not know.
- That bastard cheated on me, making me
think that was one of ours and grabbed my bag! Armbruster said angrily, continuing to walk, accompanied by two others, DeSole hesitant, worried.
- He seemed to know everything, but in hindsight, only talked about things sparse - damn "things" as
Burton sparse and you and Brussels - and I, like an idiot idiot gave a lot of information. shit!
- Hey, wait a minute! - Said the CIA man, once again making them stop. - I do not understand - I am a
strategist and I'm not understanding. What David Webb - Jason Bourne, if he is Jason Bourne - was doing
at Swayne's house that night?
- Who the hell is Jason Bourne? - roared Armbruster.
- It is the link with the Medusa Saigon that I
said. Thirteen years ago the agency gave him the name of Jason Bourne - Bourne was dead true - and
sent on a special mission Four Zero - that is, a mission of extermination ...
- A contract, if you want to speak English, paisan.
- This, this ... But things went wrong. He lost his memory and the operation failed. But the man survived.
- Holy Christ, that bunch of zucchinis!
- What can we say about this guy ... Webb or Bourne - that Simon or "Cobra"? Jesus, man is ura traveling
theater!
- Apparently it was what he did before. Assumed different names, different faces, different
personalities. Been trained to do this when the sent challenge assassin named Jackal - lure him and kill
him.
- The Jackal? - asked the capo supremo stunned the Cosa Nostra. - Like in the movies?
- No, not the movie or the book, you idiot ...
- Hey, go slow, amico.
- Oh, shut up ... Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, also known as Carlos the Jackal, is a real person, a professional
killer who authorities around the world have been hunting for over half a century. In addition to the
hundreds of confirmed murders, many find that it was the smoke in the green meadow Dallas, the real
killer of John Kennedy.
- You are kidding me.
- You can be sure that there. We were informed the Agency in maximum security level, which, after all
these years, Carlos discovered the whereabouts of the only man alive able to identify him, Jason Bourne
- or, as I firmly believe, David Webb.
- This information must have come from someone - exploded Armbruster. - From who?
- Oh, yes. All of a sudden, so amazing ... It
field agent retired, with a crippled leg, a man named Conklin ... Alexander Conklin. He and a psychiatrist
- Panov, Morris Panov - are close friends of Webb ... or Jason Bourne.
- Where are they? - Asked the capo supremo

with menacing voice.

- Can not find them or speak with them.
Are both under maximum security.
- I did not ask about the rules of engagement, parent- san, I asked where they are.
- Well, Conklin is a condo in Vienna,
property impenetrable CIA and the apartment and the office of Panov are being watched night and day.
- Will you give me the addresses, right?
- Sure, but I guarantee that they will not talk.
- That would be a shame. We are just looking for a guy with a lot of names, asking questions, offering
help.
- You will not believe.
- Maybe I'll convince them.
- What the hell, why? - Armbruster said, and immediately lowered his voice. - Why is that Webb or
Bourne or whoever was in the house Swayne?
- It is a space that can not be completed - said
DeSole.
- A what?
- A term used by the Agency which means unanswered.
- No wonder the country is in this sea of shit.
- That's not true ...
- Now, you shut your mouth - told the New York man, taking from his pocket a small notebook and pen.
- Write the address of the ghost and retired Jewish psychoanalyst. now!
- I'm hardly seeing - DeSole said, lifting the small block to the bright light from the gas station. Ready. The apartment number might not be right, but it's something similar, and Panov name should be
in the mailbox. But again, he will not talk to you.
- If so, we apologize for incomodlo.
- It is, I believe. For all I know, he is very dedicated to his patients.
- Like that phone line to your fax?
- No, that's a technical term. Line Number
Three, to be precise.
- And you are always accurate, it is not, paisan?
- And you are very annoying ...
- We need to go - Armbruster interrupted, seeing the New Yorker store pack in the pocket. - Stay calm,
Steven
- Added, controlling anger, and went back to the limo. - Remember, there is nothing we can not
solve. When talking to Jimmy T. in Brussels, see if they invent a reasonable explanation, right? If you do
not meet, do not worry, we'll find.
- Of course, Mr. Armbruster. Can I ask a question? Account in Bern is ready to be released immediately in case ... you understand ... if ...
- Of course you are, Steven. All you have to do is
take a plane and write your account number personally. It's his signature, which is filed, remember?
- Yes, yes, I remember.
- It should be over one million now.
- Thank you, sir. ... Thank you sir.
- You deserved it, Steven. Good night.
The tension did not decrease when the two men sat in the back seat of the limo. Armbruster looked at
the mob when the driver, on the other side of the glass partition, started the engine.
- Where's the other car?

The Italian turned on the interior light and looked at his watch.
- Right now is parked within
two kilometers from the gas station. Will catch on DeSole back and stay with it until everything is
agreed.
- Your man knows exactly what to do?
- Come on, he is not no virgin. Has
a spotlight so strong that car that can be seen in Miami. He approaches, connects the spotlight and turns
the light in the right direction. You idiot two million dollars is blinded and out of the game, and we are
charging only a quarter of that amount for our work. It's your day, Alby. The chairman of the Federal
Trade Commission leaned back on the seat and looked at the dark images passing behind the smoked
glass outside.
- Want to know something - noted in voice
low - twenty years ago, if someone told me that I would be sitting here today with a man like you, saying
what I'm saying, I would say it was impossible.
- That's what we like about you, the upper class. We look down and despise us until they need us. Then
suddenly we are partners. Alive and pass well, Alby, we are eliminating most of your problems. Go back
to your important federal commission and decide which companies they are clean and which are not decisions not necessarily based on soap and water, right?
- Now shut up - roared Armbruster, beating
with an open hand on the armrest. - That Simon that Webb! Where'd he come from? Why is behind us? The
he wants?
- Maybe it has something to do with that guy, the Jackal.
- That makes no sense. We have nothing to
Jackal.
- What would be? - Said the mobster. - You
we have to, right?
- It is a very weak association, do not forget ... Webb - Simon, damn it, whoever you are, we have to find
it! What he knew, the more I told the man is a fucking menace!
- It is a very important item, is not it?
- Most importantly - Armbruster nodded, looking out with his right fist closed and furiously tapping with
the fingers of the left hand on the armrest.
- Want to do business?
- What? - Armbruster said sharply, turning to face the peaceful Sicilian.
- You heard, only used the wrong word and I apologize for that. Can I give you a number not negotiable
and you accept it or not.
- A. .. contract? To Simon - Webb?
- No - said the mobster, swinging slowly
head. - For a guy named Jason Bourne. It's cleaner to kill someone who is already dead, do not you
think? ... Since we just save half a million for you, the price of the contract is five.
- Five million?
- The cost of disposal problems is in the category of the most important items. Threats are even more
expensive. Five million, Alby, half the time the contract within 24 hours, as is customary.
- This is absurd!
- So do not accept. If I look after, is seven and a half and turn the third time is doubled. Fifteen million.
- What is the guarantee that you can find it?
Hear what DeSole said. The man is Zero Four, which means it is out of reach of anyone buried.
- Now we can dig up and replant man.

- How? Two and a half million is a lot of money only

by his word. How?
With a smile, the Mafia capo supremo took out his notepad where DeSole had written addresses.
- Close friends are the best sources, Alby.
Ask the idiots who write all these books gossip. I have two addresses.
- You will not even get near them.
- What, you think you're dealing with old
Chicago and animals? With Capone, Darn Dog and Nitti, the nervous finger? We have sophisticated
people on the payroll. Geniuses. Scientists boys magic of electronics - doctors. When we're done with
the ghost and the Jew, will not know what happened. But we have Jason Bourne, the guy that does not
exist because it is already dead. Albert Armbruster nodded c turned to the window.
- I'm closing the hotel for six months, change the name, then start a promotional campaign in magazines
before reopening - said John St. Jacques, standing next to the window while the doctor was his brother.
- There's no one else? - Asked Bourne
with a grimace of pain, sitting in armchair in bathrobe, while the doctor gave the last point in his neck.
- It has. Seven Canadian couples crazy, including my old friend who is embroidering her neck this
time. Believe it or not, they wanted to form a brigade, Renfrews Mounted Police to hunt down the bad
guys.
- Was Scotty idea - the doctor said, concentrating on his work. - I'm out. I'm too old for that.
- Scotty is also, but not sure. Then he
wanted to offer a reward of $ 100,000 for any information that would lead us to et cetera! I convinced
that the less said about it the better for us.
- It is best not to say anything - Jason noted.
- It must be so.
- A bit radical, David - said St. Jacques, without understanding the look of Bourne. - I'm sorry, but it
is. We are looking divert curiosity place with a story about massive propane leak, but not everyone is
believing. Of course, to the outside world, an earthquake in the islands would have no more than six
lines in the last pages of the tender ranked, but rumors are flying by the Leewards.
- You said the curiosity Local ... and the rest of the world? Reported anything?
- Go reporting, but not on our island, not about Tranquility. Montserrat yes, the news will have a column
in the Times of London and perhaps one inch of space in newspapers in New York and Washington, but
do not believe that touch on the island.
- Stop being so mysterious.
- Talk later.
- You can say what you want, John - said the doctor. - I'm almost done, and I'm not paying much
attention. And anyway, I have a right to hear.
- I'll be brief - said St. Jacques, placing the right of the chair. - The governor of the Crown. You
was right, at least I have to assume that was right.
- Why?
- The news came when you were taking
bath. They found the boat governor's shattered one of the most dangerous reefs of Antigua, Barbuda on
the way. No sign of survivors. Plymouth suppose that was one of those wind storms coming from the
south, Nevis, but it is hard to believe. Not the wind, necessarily, but in the circumstances.
- What?
- The two sailors who always leave with him
were not in the boat. He said the yacht club that did not need them, I wanted to go out alone, but Henry
said he would do ocean fishing.
- Meaning that the sailors would need

- Interrupted the Canadian doctor. - Oh, sorry.

- Yes, that's right - the owner agreed
Tranquility. - You can not catch big fish and drive the boat at the same time - at least, the governor could
not. He was afraid to take my eyes of the letters.
- But he could read the letters, did not you? - Asked Jason.
- As navigator, was no Pedro Alvares Cabral, guided by the stars of the Pacific, but it was good enough to
avoid problems.
- Received orders to leave alone - said
Bourne. - I had an appointment with a boat in waters that forced him to keep his eyes on the charts. Jason realized that the nimble fingers were no longer touching her neck, now replaced by a bandage too
tight and the doctor standing beside him, watching his own work. - How we doing? - Bourne asked with
a smile.
- Finished - said the Canadian.
- Okay ... then I guess we meet later for a drink, right?
- Wow, now that we were getting the best
piece.
- There's nothing good doctor, nothing good, and
I would be a very patient ungrateful - what I'm not if, even inadvertently, let him hear things that should not know.
The old Canadian looked at Jason.
- Seriously, do not talk? Despite everything that happened, not even want to get more involved. And not
doing drama, only by secret secret - by the way, an old gambit doctors less, but the truth is concerned,
right?
- Yes, I think so.
- Considering what happened to you, and not
I'm just talking about the last hours of which I participated, but I have the scars on his body, it really is
remarkable that worry for another person who is not yourself. Mr. Webb is a very strange
man. Sometimes it seems two men in one.
- I'm not weird, doctor - Jason Bourne said, closing his eyes for a brief moment. - Not to be weird,
different or exotic. I want to be so normal and ordinary as any man, no gamesor anything. I'm just a
teacher, and that's all I want to be. But under the circumstances, I have to do things my way.
- Which means I leave for my own good?
- That's right.
- And if I ever know all the facts, I understand that his classes were very useful.
- I hope so.
- I bet you are a teacher and so. Mr. Webb.
- Doctor Webb - said St. Jacques, as if it were required to elucidate the fact. - My brother is also a
doctor. As my sister has a PhD Speaks some oriental languages and is professor. Universities such as
Harvard, Yale and McGill for years seeking to lure him, but he is not interested ...
- Will you be quiet, please - said Bourne,
containing laughter. - My young friend businessman gives a lot of value to any letter of the alphabet
after the name, despite the fact that the gain that I can not stay more than two days in one of their
villages.
- This is silly.
- I said, with what I get.
- Right.
- I am rich woman ... sorry, Doctor, is an old family argument.
- Not only a good teacher - said the doctor -

But under that tough exterior, a very interesting man. - The Canadian went to the door, turned and said:
Accepted that drink later, will be a pleasure.
- Thanks - Jason said. - Thanks for everything.
The doctor nodded and left, closing the door.
- A good friend, Johnny.
- Actually, it's cold as a fish, but a great doctor. This was the only time he seemed human ... So you think
the Jackal arranged a meeting with the governor somewhere off Antigua, got the information he
wanted, he killed the governor and threw for sharks.
- Beaching the boat conveniently reefs - Jason completed. - Maybe the choke connecting and setting the
course for high speed cm reefs. A tragedy at sea and disappears connecting the governor Carlos - it is
vitally important to him.
- It is also a problem for me - said St.
Jacques. - I was not there, but that part of the reef, north of Falmouth, where the boat ran aground is
called Devil's Mouth, and is not much mentioned anywhere. The rental boats are nowhere near so no
one can speak of the number of lives and boats destroyed by reefs.
- So what?
- Assuming the place marked for the meeting
that were near the mouth of the devil as the Jackal knew?
- His two commands did not count?
- They told what? I sent them directly to
Henry, for a full report, while we took care of you. We had no time to talk.
- So now Henry knows and is probably
in shock. Lost two boats racing in two days, and only one is likely to be paid. Moreover, he does not
know that his boss, the honorable governor of the Crown, was lackey of the Jackal, who deceived all the
Foreign Ministry featuring a killer second class, of Paris, as the French war hero. The lines of
communication will work all night between the Government Palace and Whitehall.
- Another boat race? What're you talking about? The
Henry knows that now - what my guards can tell him?
- Just as you asked the Jackal could
know the existence of the reef off Antigua called Devil's Mouth.
- Believe me, Doctor Webb, remember asking. How?
- He had a third man here. That's what
Your commands should have told Henry. A blonde bastard boss patrols against drugs in Montserrat.
- He? Rickman? The Ku Klux Klan British one man? Rickman dictator rule, the scourge of all who had the
courage to face it? Christ Henry will not believe.
- Why not? You just described a possible disciple of Carlos.
- Yes, you're right, but it seems so unlikely. The
Man is the typical sanctimonious. Morning prayers before work, asking God to help him in the fight
against Satan, no alcohol, no women ...
- Savonarola?
- I would say yes - what I remember from history classes.
- Well then, I assure you is a fine dish for the Jackal. And Henry will believe it when his patrol boat did
not come back from Plymouth and the bodies of the crew show up on the beach or simply do not show
up for morning prayers.
- That's how Carlos fled?
- Was - Bourne nodded and pointed to the couch on the other side of the coffee table. - Sit down,
Johnny. We need to talk.

- What are we doing?

- Not about what happened, brother, but about what will happen.
- What will happen? - Asked St. Jacques sitting.
- I'm leaving.
- No, - said John, rising to his feet as if struck by an electric shock. - There can!
- Need. He knows our names, you know where we live. Everything.
- Where are you going?
- Paris.
- What the hell, no! can not do this with Marie!
Not with the kids, for God's sake. I will not allow- tir.
- You can not stop me.
- For God's sake, David, listen! If Washington is stingy, or does not care, believe, Ottawa has merrier. My
sister worked for the government and our government does not abandon people because of an
inconvenience or not to spend money. I know people - as Scotty, the doctor and others. A word of them
and you go to a fortress in Calgary. No one can touch him.
- Do you think my government would not do the same?
I'll tell you something, brother, there are people in Washington who would risk his life to protect mine,
Marie and children. Without thinking of any reward for them or for the government. If I wanted a safe
place, where no one could touch us probably give me an estate in Virginia, with horses and servants and
a squad of armed soldiers to protect us day and night.
- So this is the answer. Accept.
- To what, Johnny? To live in a private prison? Children unable to visit friends, guards with them if they
go to school, if they do not study only private teachers, nothing to spend the night at a friends house, no
pillow fight - no neighbors? Marie and I looked at each other, looking into the spotlight in the garden,
listening to the footsteps of the guards, a cough or a sneeze, or a rifle shot because a rabbit into the
garden? This is not life, this is prison. His sister and I suportaramos.
- I do not, not the way you describe. But that Paris will solve?
- I can find it. I can beat him.
- In Paris he has more force.
- I have Jason Bourne - David Webb said.
- Do not believe this nonsense!
- I do not, but it seems to work ... I'm charging your debt, Johnny. Protect my back. Tell Marie I'm fine,
I'm not hurt and I have a clue that only the Jackal Fontaine could have given
- Which is true. A caf in Argenteuil, called Le Coeur du Soldat. Tell her I'll be with Alex Conklin and all
the help you can give me Washington.
- But it is not true, right?
- No. The Jackal discover. He has spies throughout the Quai d'Orsay. The only way is for me to go alone.
- Do not think Marie will know that?
- You suspect, but can not be sure. I'll ask Alex to call, confirming that they are in touch with all the
firepower Secret Paris. But you
should be the first to say.
- Why the lie?
- I should not ask this, brother. I have made her suffer enough.
- All right, say what you want, but Marie will not believe. She always knows when I'm lying. Since we
were little, those brown eyes looked at me, almost always angry, but not like my brothers - oh, I do not
know - not with contempt because the "boy" was a bumbling. Do you understand?
- It's called like. She always cared about you - even when you were a "clumsy".
- I know, Mare is legal.

- A little more than that, I think. Phone

for it within two hours and can say that again. It is now the safest place for all three.
- And you? How will you get to Paris? The flights to Antigua and Martinique are extremely difficult,
sometimes crowded days in advance.
- Anyway, I can not use these companies. Must leave secretly, in disguise. A man in Washington has to
arrange that. Somehow. He has to achieve. Alexander Conklin left the small apartment kitchen CIA in
Vienna with his face and hair wet. Previously, the old days before they plunged into a tank distillery, he
quietly left the office - no matter where it was - when things got too heavy and too fast and gave up the
luxury of a ritual. Ia the best steakhouse - was where he was - took two dry martinis and asked the steak
medium rare thicker and there was on the menu, accompanied by potatoes with enough fat. The
loneliness, coupled with small dose of drink, the nearly raw steak and potatoes especially greasy, had an
effect so soothing that all complications, conflicts, the acceleration of the day were finally ordered in a
rational way. Returned to the office - an elegant apartment in Belgravia Square, London, or in the back
rooms of a brothel in Kathmandu - with numerous solutions. It was so earned the nickname Saint Alex
Conklin. I once mentioned this phenomenon gastronomic Mo Panov, and the doctor replied simply: "If
your head is crazy not killed, the stomach kills him." Today, however, with the vacuum former alcoholic
and various other drawbacks, such as high cholesterol and fatty glyceride idiots, whatever they were,
had to find the solution differently. Found by chance. One morning, during the Iran-contra hearings,
which for him was the best sitcom on television, the machine crashed. Conklin was furious and called
the portable radio not used for months, perhaps years, because his radio had a TV set - also stalled at
the moment - but the battery portable radio was melted long ago. Feeling pain in artificial foot, went to
the phone in the kitchen, certain that a call for television technician who owed him several favors,
would bring the man running to his house. Unfortunately, only heard a speech coach angry woman,
telling her husband, "the conqueror of freguesas" had just run away with the "rich bitch, black and hussy
of Embassy Row" (Zaire, as it was later published in the newspapers Puerta Vallarta). Conklin, almost
apoplectic, ran to her pills against stress and high blood pressure who were on the windowsill above the
sink and opened the cold water tap. The cock exploded, shooting a strong jet of water straight to the
head of Conklin. Yikes! Calmed by the shock, he remembered that cable television would relay the full
hearing that night. Happy now, called the plumber and then went out to buy another TV.
So since that morning, when their rage or the situation of the troubled world - the world he knew - put
her head under the tap and let the cold water run freely. I'd just do it this morning. Drug in this damn
morning!
DeSole! Killed in an accident on a deserted road in Maryland, at 4:30 am. What the hell Steven DeSole,
whose driver's license clearly stated that he suffered from night blindness, was doing a side road on the
outskirts of Annapolis, at 4:30 in the morning?
After the call from Charlie Casset, furious, at 6:00 pm, uncontrolled screaming, saying he would put the
NATO commander in the fire and demand an explanation for communicating fax secret between the
general and late head of clandestine reports, that there had been a victim accident but murder! Besides,
it was better than the retired agent named Conklin told everything he knew about DeSole and Brussels
and other matters related to the case, otherwise all the promised support to the agency and his friend
Jason Bourne would be withdrawn. Noon, after all! And then Ivan Jax! The glossy black Jamaican doctor
phoned saying he would return the body of Norman Swayne to where he had found him not wanting to
be the victim of another fiasco Agency. But it was not the Agency, shouted Conklin to himself, unable to
explain why Ivan Jax actually had asked for his help. Jellyfish. Jax And there could just take the body back
to Manassas because the police, obeying orders federal - orders that former field agent had given, using
codes that had no right to use, had sealed the property of General Norman Swayne, requiring no other
explanation.
- What do I do with the body? - Jax screamed.

- Keep it on ice for a while. Cactus would want that.

- Cactus? spent the night with him in the hospital. It'll be good, but, like me, have no idea what the hell
is
happening!
- We, the clandestine service, we can not always explain things - Alex said with a grimace to ridicule the
words themselves. - Telefono later. Then he went to the kitchen and put his head under the cold water
tap. What else could go wrong? And, of course, the phone rang.
- Dunkin Peanut - said Conklin, meeting.
- I want to get out of here - said Jason Bourne with no sign of David Webb in his voice. - I want to go to
Paris!
- What happened?
- He ran away, that's what happened and I need to go to Paris in disguise, no immigration, no
customs. He controls everything and can not give you the opportunity to find ... Alex, are you listening?
- DeSole was killed last night, an accident that was no accident, at 4:30 am. The Medusa is
cracking down.
- Medusa does not interest me. To me, it's past history, we started on the wrong path. I want the Jackal
and know where to start. I find I can catch the Jackal.
- Leaving the Medusa to me.
- You said you wanted to get taller - just gave me a deadline of 48 hours to seek help. For addi-ante the
clock. The 48 hours are over, you can go higher, but take me away to Paris.
- They will want to talk to you.
- Who?
- Peter Holland, Casset, whom they lay in
case ... the public prosecutor. Christ the president himself.
- To talk about what?
- You talked extensively with Armbruster, with
Swayne's wife and one sergeant, Flannagan. I do not. Only used a few code words that provoked
responses from Armbruster and Atkinson ambassador in London, nothing very definite. Do you have a
better picture, firsthand. What I have can easily be denied. Need to talk to you.
- And let the Jackal sauce?
- Just for a day at most two.
- Hell, no. 'Cause it does not work like that and you know it! If you return, I will be the only material
witness and will take me to another interrogation. And if I refuse to cooperate, put me in
custody. The way no, Alex. I have only one priority and she is in Paris.
- Listen - Conklin said. - Some things I
can control, some not. We need Charlie Casset and he helped us, but he is not a man who can be fooled,
nor do I want to deceive you. He knows that the death was no accident DeSole - a man with night
blindness does not make a five-hour trip, driving the car at that hour of the morning - and he knows that
we know much more about DeSole and Brussels than we. If we want to help the Agency, and we need it
for things like, for example, arrange a flight diplomatic or military-tico for you to Paris, and God knows
what else, when you get there, I can not ignore Casset. He will step on us, and God knows what is
right. Bourne was silent and listened to him breathe Conklin.
- All right - said finally. - I've seen where we are. Tell Casset that if he gives us everything we're asking
now, we'll give you - no, I give you, so you stay "cleaner" than me - enough information to the Justice
Department catch some of the biggest fish in the government assuming that the Department is not part
of Snake Lady ... You can also say that I will reveal the location of a cemetery that can clarify many
things.
Conklin was time to be silent for a moment.

- He might want more than that, considering their activities at the time.
- Is it ...? Ah, yes, I understand. If I lose out. Okay, say that when I get to Paris to hire a stenographer and
dictate everything I know, everything I learned and send it to you. trust in Santo Alex to do the right
thing. Maybe a page or two at a time, to continue to cooperate.
- Leave that part to me ... Now Paris, almost. IIRC, Montserrat is close to Dominica and Martinique,
right?
- Less than an hour away, and Johnny knows all the pilots of the big island.
- Martinique is French. Let's start there. I know people in the Deuxime Bureau. Go and phone the
airport. By then I will have everything arranged.
- Right ... One last thing, Alex. Marie. She and the kids go back to Tranquility this afternoon. Telephone
and tell me I'm protected by all the firepower of Paris.
- You lying son of a bitch.
- Do it!
- Of course I will. The purpose, without lying, tomorrow I'll have dinner with Mo Panov. He is a lousy
cook, but thinks he is the greatest master-cuca Jew. I would tell him everything. Mo will go crazy if you
do not know what is happening.
- Right. Without it we'd both be in padded cells chewing rawhide.
- Talk to you later. Good luck
The next day, at 10:25 am, Washington time, Dr. Morris Panov, accompanied by his guard, came out of
Walter Reed Hospital after a session with an army lieutenant who suffered the effects of a training
exercise in Georgia, eight weeks ago, which killed about twenty recruits under his command. Mo could
not do much. The man was guilty of over-competitive effort in military style and had to live with that
guilt. The fact of being a black financially privileged and graduated from West Point did not help. Most
recruits were also killed and blacks were disenfranchised.
Panov, thinking about the options for the evaluable patient suddenly looked startled for your wardrobe.
- You're new, are not you? I mean, I thought
know all of you.
- Yes, sir. Whenever we took turns a
time to others. It keeps us alert.
- Yes, anticipation-oriented habits can decrease the deficiency of any one. - The psychiatrist walked to
where the armored car always wait. Saw a different vehicle. - This is not my car - said, astonished.
- Between - commanded the guard, opening the door gently.
- What?
Someone grabbed him out of the car, and a man in uniform did sit in the middle rear seat, with the
guard on the other side. The two men held him while the man who was in the car took off his jacket
Panov and lifted the short sleeve of his shirt. An injection in the arm of the doctor.
- Good evening, doctor - said the soldier with the Medical Corps insignia on the lapels of the uniform. Phone to New York - he said. 19
The 747 Air France, coming from Martinique, flew Orly Airport in the early evening. Was five hours and
22 minutes late due to bad weather in the Caribbean. When the pilot made the final approach to the
flight controller tower received the order to land, then switched to the frequency indicated and sent a
last message in French for a radio room off-limits.
- Deuxime, special cargo. Please tell apart inte- ested to proceed to the area previously indicated. Thank
you. Rates late.
- Instructions received and relayed - was the brief answer. - Period-end.
A special cargo in question was in the first row from left class. The chair beside her was empty, by order
of the Deuxime Bureau, in cooperation with Washington. Impatient, bored and unable to sleep

because the bandage too tight in the neck, Bourne, extremely tired, he thought the events of the last 19
hours. To say the least, things were not as easy as expected Conklin. The
Deuxime took over six hours to solve, while nerve calls were exchanged between Washington and Paris
and finally to Vienna, Virginia. The
obstacle, actually a very hard rock, was the fact that the CIA can not clearly describe the covert
operation in terms of such a Jason Bourne because Alexander Con-klin, the one who could reveal the
name, refused to do so, knowing that the Jackal had informants throughout the city of Paris, except
perhaps in the kitchens of the Tour d'Argent. After all, as a last resort and knowing that it was time for
lunch in Paris, Alex took several common transcontinental phone calls, no security, for some coffees
Rive Gauche, and finally found an old acquaintance of Deuxime one of them, on the rue de Vaugirard.
- Remember tinamou an American and a bit younger than it is now that simplified things for you?
- Ah, the tinamou, the bird with wings and legs hidden fierce! Those better days, days of youth. And if
the American slightly younger at that time was elevated to the status of a saint, I will never forget.
- Do not forget now. Need you
- It is you, Alexander?
- Yes, I am and I have a problem with the D. Bureau.
- It's settled.
And it was. But no time on the islands. The storm that had hit the islands Leewards two nights ago was
just a prelude to the torrential rain that flooded the Grenadines, with another soon after. Began the
hurricane season in the islands, so the weather was nothing exceptional, but just a delay factor. Finally,
when they were about to take flight, discovered a defect in the starboard engine and no one complained
as the defect was located and corrected. Thus, three more hours were added to the total delay of
flight.Unless the turmoil in his mind, the flight was uneventful for Jason, only to blame interfering with
the thought of what awaited - Paris, coffee in Argenteuil with the name mean Le Coeur du Soldat. The
guilt intensified during the short flight from Montserrat to Martinique, Guadeloupe and when passed
over the island of Basse-Terre. Jason knew that a thousand feet below were Marie and children,
preparing for the return to Tranquility Isle, for the husband and father who was no longer there. The
small Alison, of course, knew nothing yet, but Jamie did. The brightness of her large eyes disappear with
the disappointment of not finding a companion fishing and swimming ... and Marie Christ, I can not think of it! It's too painful!
Marie would feel betrayed, because he fled the violent confrontation with the enemy in a distant past
life that was no longer the life of them. would think like the old Fontaine, who tried to convince him to
go with the family for much away from the hunting ground of the Jackal. But neither of them
understood. The old Carlos could die, but on his deathbed leave a legacy, a final order that would be the
death knell of Jason Bourne, David Webb and his family. I'm right, Marie! Seek to understand. I have to
find it, I need to kill him. We can not live in a private prison for the rest of our lives!
- Monsieur Simon? - Asked French punchy and well dressed, an elderly man with neatly trimmed beard,
pronouncing the name as Siimoon.
- Yes - Bourne replied, shaking the hand
man stretching in the hallway almost deserted from Orly Airport.
- I am Bernardine, Franois Bernardine, a former companion of our friend, Alexander the saint.
- Alex told you - Jason said with a small smile. - No name, of course, but said mention his holiness. So I
would know who he is - his former partner.
- How is he? We heard some stories, of course.
- Bernadine shrugged. - Gossip banal, mostly. Wounded in the senseless war in Vietnam, alcohol, fired
away, called back as a hero of the Agency, so many contradictory things.
- Almost all true, he is not afraid of
admit. Alex is now crippled, and does not drink, and was a hero. I know that.

- I understand. Other stories, rumors, who

can you believe it? Fantasies about Beijing, Hong Kong some about a man named Jason Bourne.
- Yes, I heard.
- Of course ... But now, Paris. Our saint said he would need accommodation, clothes bought en scne, so
to speak, entirely French.
- A small wardrobe, but varied Jason agreed. - I know where and what I buy, and I have enough money.
- So, we have to worry about housing.
A hotel of your choice? La Trmoille? George Cinq?
Plaza-Athne?
- Smaller, much smaller and cheaper.
- So the money is a problem?
- No it is not. Only a matter of appearance. Let's do something. I know Montmartre. Can I find a good
place. What I need is a car registered in another name, preferably a name that does not lead to anyone and anywhere.
- What does the name of a dead man. It has been
arranged. Is in the underground garage at Capucines, near the Place Vendme. - Bernardine took out a
bunch of keys that gave Jason. - An old Peugeot in Section E. There are thousands of similar cars in Paris
and the license number is in the note.
- Alex says I'm on a secret mission?
- Actually, he did not need to say. I think our saint when he was here, walked examining the cemeteries,
looking for names that could be useful.
- Probably learned it from him.
- We all learn from one extraordinary man, the best in our profession, and so modest, so ... je ne sais
quoi .. . so "why not try", right?
- Sure, why not try.
- But I must say one thing - Bernardine continued with a laugh. - Once a name he chose a tomb that left
the Sret fou ... crazy! It was one of the names used by the ax murderer, wanted by the police for
months!
- That's funny - Jason said, laughing.
- Yes, very. Later, he told me he found the name in Rambouillet - a cemetery near
Rambouillet. Rambouillet! The cemetery where Alex tried to kill him, 13 years ago. 's smile disappeared
from the lips of Jason and he stared at his friend Alex the Deuxime Bureau.
- You know who I am, do not you? - Asked
quietly.
- I know - replied Bernardine. - It was not hard to get the facts, not with the stories and rumors from the
Far East. After all, it was in Paris that left its mark in Europe, Mr. Bourne.
- Does anyone else know?
- Mon Dieu, non! , and no one will know. I should explain. I life to Alexander Conklin, our modest
holy oprations les noires - black missions in your language.
- No need to translate. I speak French fluently Alex did not tell you?
- Oh, my God, is doubting me - said
man of the Deuxime, raising his gray eyebrows. - My young - or at least younger than me - consider
that I am seventy years old and I have slips of the tongue and try to fix them, because I want to be kind,
not subreptice.
- D'accord, Je regrette. 'm being sincere.
- Bien. Alex is a few years younger than me, but I wonder how it is controlling. Age, mean.

- How do you. Too bad.

- An English poet - Welsh, to be exact wrote, "Do not go gently into that good night." Remember?
- Yes, it was Dylan Thomas and he died in his early thirties. What he meant was fight like a
motherfucker. Do not give up.
- That's what I intend to do. - Bernardine took a card from his pocket. - Here is the address of my office just a consultant, understands - and behind is the phone number of my house, a special phone indeed
unique. Just plug that will have everything you need. Remember, I'm the only friend you have in
Paris. Nobody knows you're here.
- Can I ask a question?
- More certainement.
- How can you do what you're doing when
for all purposes, is retired?
- Ah - the consultant said the Deuxime Bureau. - The younger man gets older! Like Alex, I'll take my
credentials in my head. I know the secrets. How could it be otherwise?
- Could be removed, neutralized - an accident.
- Stupide, young man! We say that all we have in mind is written and saved, to come to light if the
something happens out of the ordinary ... Of course it's all nonsense, because what we really know to be
denied, assigned to the ramblings of old men, but they do not know it. Fear, monsieur. The most
powerful weapon of our profession. Secondly, it is
course, comes the embarrassment, inconvenience, but this is usually reserved for the Soviet KGB and its
FBI, who fear embarrassment more than their enemies.
- You Conklin and come from the same street, right?
- But of course. When I know, none of us has
woman or family, only sporadic lovers in our beds and nieces and nephews noisy and taken that fill our
apartments holidays, no really close friend, unless, one time or another, an enemy whom we respect
and, to our knowledge, despite the truce can give us a shot or poison us with a drink. need to live alone,
because we are the professionals - we have nothing to do with the normal world, just use it
as coverture - as we sneaked in dark alleys, paying by secrets that mean nothing to the level of the
summits.
- So why continue? Why not let
all, it is as useless?
- It is the blood that runs through our veins. We
trained. Defeat the enemy in deadly game - we got him, or he catches us - it is always better than him.
- This is stupid.
- But of course it is. All nonsense. So
by Jason Bourne who comes here looking for the Jackal in Paris? Why do not you go and say enough. To
have complete protection need only ask.
- The prison also. Can you take me to the city?
I'll find a hotel and come in contact.
- Before you contact me, talk to
Alex.
- What?
- Alex wants you to call him. Did something happen.
- Where's a phone?
- Not now. Two hours Washington time.
Has more than an hour. Only then he will be back.
- He said what happened?

- I think you're trying to figure out. I was very worried.

The small room at the Pont Royal, rue Montalembert, was in a secluded part of the hotel. After getting
off the elevator slow and noisy, followed by two narrow corridors to get to the room. All this suited
Bourne. It was like a cave in a mountain, distant and safe.
Making time to call Alex, Jason was doing necessary shopping on Boulevard Saint-Germain. Toiletries,
jeans with a suit jacket sport shirts and lightweight safari type. Dark socks and shoes that could be
skinned and dirty without prejudice. All I could get now would be useful later. Fortunately did not need
to ask for a gun Bernardine. On the way to Paris Orly, the French opened the glove compartment of the
car, pulled out a brown box and handed it to Jason. Inside was a machine with two boxes of
bullets. Under the gun, Bourne found 30,000 francs in notes of various values, carefully folded, about $
5,000.
- Tomorrow I'll arrange for you to get
funds whenever you need. Within certain limits, it is
course.
- No limits - said Bourne. - I will ask
Conklin to send a payment of 100 000, is then another if necessary. It's just you say where.
- Funds contingency?
- No. My Money. Thanks for the gun.
With bags in both hands, Jason returned to
Montalembert and hotel. Within a few minutes would Washington two hours, eight Paris. Walking
quickly, trying vainly not to think what Alex would say. If something had happened to Marie and the
children would go crazy! But what could have happened? Tranquility and were in at the time there was
no safer place. had not! was sure of it. When he entered the old lift and put down the bags he had in his
right hand to push the button on his floor and take the key from the pocket of the room gasped when he
felt a twinge in his neck. Made a movement very blunt, and he might have spun the points. She felt the
warmth of blood on the skin this time was only a warning. He walked quickly down the halls, opened the
door, threw the bags on the bed and picked up the phone. Conklin was timely. The phone in Vienna,
Virginia, was treated at the first touch.
- Alex, I am. What happened? ... Marie?
- No - Alex Conklin stopped abruptly.
- I talked to her about noon. Are in the hotel and she is ready to kill me. Do not believe a word I said and
I will delete the recording. From Mekong Delta we do not hear that kind of language.
- She is worried ...
- I'm also - again interrupted
Alex, without commenting on the delicate explanation Bourne. Mo disappeared.
- What?
- You heard. Panov is gone, gone.
- My God, how? He was under guard every minute.
- We are trying to reconstruct the facts. That's what I was doing in the hospital.
- Hospital?
- Walter Reed. This morning he had a session with a military psychiatry and did not return to his
escort. They waited twenty minutes, then went looking for him and the guard who accompanied him,
because he had many appointments today. They said they had already left.
- This is crazy!
- And it's getting crazier. The head nurse on the floor said an army doctor, a surgeon, arrived at the desk,
showed his identity and sent word to Dr. Panov your routine would be changed and that he should use
the output of the east wing because it would be a protest march in front of the main entrance. The field

of psychiatry is connected to the output east by a different corridor, which does not pass through the
main lobby, but the army surgeon used the central entrance.
- Repeat that.
- He went through our escort to enter the
hospital.
- And obviously came out the same way, giving
back to the exit of the east wing. When he entered the nurse gave instructions ... Christ, Alex,
but who? Carlos was returning to Paris! Whatever it was he wanted in Washington, he succeeded. He
found it in return. Do not need anything else!
- DeSole - Conklin said quietly. - DeSole knew me and Mo. I threatened the agency with which we could
both do and DeSole was there, in the meeting room.
- I do not understand. What do you mean?
- DeSole. Brussels ... Medusa.
- All right, I'm a little slow.
- Is not he, David, are they. DeSole was removed from the circuit. Our connection was cut. It Medusa.
- To hell with them! They are on my waiting list!
- You are not in them. You broke your shield. They want you now.
- I do not care one bit. As I
said yesterday, I have only one priority and she is here, in Paris, first step, Argenteuil.
- So I do not think I said of course - said Alex
voice distant and despondent. - Last night I had dinner with Mo and told him everything. Tranquility,
your trip to Paris, Bernardine ... Everything!
A former judge of the court of the first circuit, residing in Boston, Massachusetts, United States, part of
the small group that accompanied the burial on the flat surface of the highest hill of Tranquility Isle. The
cemetery was the final resting place of
- in you verbatim via amicus curiae, as explained in legal language authorities in Montserrat. Brendan
Patrick Pierre Prefontaine saw two splendid coffins, generously donated by the owner of Tranquility Inn,
go down to the grave under the blessing of the priest completely incomprehensible native who
undoubtedly usually had in his mouth a neck chicken while chanting the blessings in the language of
Voodoo. "Jean Pierre Fontaine" and his wife rested in peace. But with barbarism and everything,
Brendan, lawyer almost alcoholic Harvard Square, just found a motivation for your life. A cause beyond
one's own survival, a remarkable cause. Randolph Gates. Lord Randolph of Gates, Elegant Randy Courts
of Elite was actually a lot of garbage, a conductor of death in the Caribbean. And a plan taking shape in
the mind increasingly clear Prefontaine, clearer because, among other inhuman deprivations, suddenly
decided to suspend their morning doses of vodka. Gates had provided the basic information that led to
the potential killers Webb Family at Tranquility Isle. For what? ... It was basic and even legally irrelevant,
but the fact that it indicates the location of the family for murderers, knowing that they
were murderers, was not. That made him an accessory to multiple murder. The testes of Elegant Randy
were in a vice and when the two plates were closing around him reveal - had to reveal
- Information that would be useful to Webb, especially the woman's glorious golden brown hair who
wanted Prefontaine have known fifty years before. Prefontaine would fly to Boston the next morning,
and asked St. Jacques could return some day. Perhaps without a reservation paid in advance.
- Judge, my house is your house - was the answer.
- I can even come to deserve that courtesy. Albert Armbruster, chairman of the Federal Trade
Commission, left the limousine and pulled into the driveway, before climbing the front steps of his home
in Georgetown.
- Check with the office tomorrow - told the driver opened the car door. - How do you
know, I am not very well.

- Yes, sir. - 0 driver shut the door. Need some help, sir?
- Hell, no. Go away.
- Yes, sir.
The driver of the government got in the car and abrupt departure, with the engine roaring, it was not
exactly an act of kindness.
Armbruster climbed the stone steps to the belly and chest heaving with every movement, and cursed
under his breath when he saw the silhouette of women in Victorian glass door. "Babbler shit," he said,
coming to the last step and clutching the handrail before facing opposing thirty years.
A dry and squeaky sound vibrated in the air, coming from the land of the neighboring
property. Armbruster raised his arms with wrists bent like looking locate the chaos. Too late.The
chairman of the Federal Trade Commission rolled grotesquely falling down the steps on the sidewalk
below.
Bourne wore the pants French jeans, a dark shirt with short sleeves and cotton safari jacket. Kept in the
pockets the money, weapons and all their identities - true and false - and left the PontRoyal. First,
however, the pillows lined up in the middle of the bed and left the clothes that had traveled in plain
sight on the seat. Passed by the reception and rue Montalembert hurried to the nearest phone
booth. Put the money and called the house of Bernardine.
- It's me, Simon - he said.
- I thought it was - replied the Frenchman. And was expecting. I just talked to Alex and asked to not tell me where you are. We can not reveal what
is not known. However, if I were you, I would go elsewhere, at least for tonight. May have been seen at
the airport.
- And you?
- I intend to do the role canard.
- From Duck?
- The type bait. The Deuxime is watching my
apartment. I may receive a visit, it would be appropriate, n'est-ce pas?
- Do not say anything in his office on ...
- About you? - interrupted Bernardine. - How, if not I know you? My guard thinks Bureau received a
threatening phone call from an old adversary, a psychopath. Actually I removed the Maritimes ago
few years, but never filed the case ...
- It is prudent to say it all on your phone?
- If I'm not mistaken I've said is a unique device in the genre.
- Yes, said.
- Just to say that if "clipped" it does not work ... Need to rest, monsieur. 's not going to be useful to
anyone, much less you, without a rest. Look for a bed, I can not help you there.
- Rest is a weapon - Jason said, repeating the phrase for which he was a vital truth, vital for survival in a
world he hated.
- Say what?
- Nothing. I'll look for a bed and the phone
morning.
- Tomorrow, then. Bonne chance, mon ami. For both of us.
Bourne Avenir found a room in a hotel
cheap rue Gay-Lussac. Was registered under a false name, soon forgotten, went upstairs, undressed and
lay down. "Rest is a weapon," he said, looking at the lights of the streets of Paris who traveled through
the ceiling and walls. Was a cave in the mountains, or in a rice paddy in the Mekong Delta, a gun was
almost always more efficient than firepower. It was a lesson drummed into your head by D'Anjou, the

man who had given his life in a forest of Beijing that Jason Bourne might live. The rest is a weapon,
thought Bourne, putting his hand to his neck without actually feel it because plunged into a deep sleep.
Woke slowly, cautiously, with traffic noise shaking the windows, metal horns as erratic cawing of crows
between angry roar of engines, heavy at a time, barely audible in the other. Began another normal day
in the narrow streets of Paris. With the stiff neck, Jason sat on the bed not very comfortable, looked at
his watch and winced, thinking that perhaps he had not hit the Paris time. But I knew that this was not
the case. Were 10:07 h in the morning - Paris time. Slept almost 11 hours, a fact confirmed by the snores
of his stomach. The exhaust was now replaced by hunger. However, the food had to wait. Needed to do
a few things before the first talk Bernardine, then check if the Pont-Royal was safe. Stood, feeling the
rigid body, with a sudden numbness in the legs and arms. Needed a hot shower, which was not in
Avenir, after a bit of exercise to warm the muscles, unnecessary therapies until a few years ago. He took
the card from his pocket Bernardine and returned to the bed to use the phone on the bedside table.
- Le canard had no visits - said the Deuxime veteran. - No sign of hunters, which I suppose is
one favorable news.
- Not until we find Panov - if the meet. The bastards!
- Yes, this is one of the things we have to face. The ugliest part of our work.
- Damn, I can not fit a man like
Mo philosophy that "we have to face."
- I'm not asking you to do this. I'm just making an observation about reality. Your feelings have value to
you, but do not change the reality. Do not mean to offend you.
- And I did not mean to annoy me. Sorry. Turns out he is a very special person.
- I understand ... What are your plans? Need something?
- I do not know - said Bourne. - I
take the car in Capucines and within an hour or so, I can tell if I need to. Will be home or Deuxime
Bureau?
- Until you turn I'll be home next to my phone only. In these circumstances I prefer you do not call the
office.
- This is very strange.
- Today I do not know all the Deuxime, and
my age, the caution is not only the better part of valor, but almost always his
replacement. Furthermore, waive my protection as quickly rumors can cause senility ... Talk to you
later, mon ami. Jason hung up the phone, he thought about calling the Pont-Royal, but it was in Paris,
the city of discretion, where employees of hotels hate giving information by telephone to unknown
guests. He dressed quickly, went down, paid the bill and left to rue Gay-Lussac. There was a taxi stand in
the corner. Eight minutes later, Bourne entered the lobby of the Pont-Royal and went to the reception.
- Je ma'ppelle Monsieur Simon - said, adding the number of your room. - I met a friend last night continued in his perfect French - and slept in his house. Did you know if someone came to me?
- Bourne took out a few francs, and his eyes told the man that the information would be paid
handsomely. - Or if someone described a person like me - he said quietly.
- Merci bien, monsieur ... I understand. I'll ask the night porter, but I'm sure he would have left a
message written if someone had sought.
- Why are you so sure?
- Because he left a message written to be transmitted to you. I'm calling to her room since seven in the
morning, when I entered the service.
- What does the message? - Jason asked, holding her breath.
- Say what you must say to you. "Talk to your friend on the other side of the Atlantic. The man phoned
the night. " I can guarantee the veracity of the message, sir. The operator said that the last call was less
than thirty minutes.

- Thirty minutes? - Jason asked, looking

for the man, then at his watch. - It's five o'clock in the morning there ... the night?
The receptionist nodded and Bourne ran to the elevator.
- Alex, for God's sake, what is there? They said you rang throughout the ...
- You're in the hotel? - Interrupted Conklin,
quickly.
- I am.
- Go to a public phone in the street, and turn again.
Again the elevator is slow and clumsy, the hall faded, now full of Parisians who talked incessantly, many
heading to the bar for their appetizers. Again the hot street, full of sun and crazily congested
traffic. Where there was a phone? He walked quickly toward the Seine - where was the phone? There!
Across the rue du Bac, a cabin with red dome and sides covered with posters.
Dodging the onslaught of cars and small trucks, all directed by angry men, ran across the street and into
the cabin. Entered, deposited the money and after a few moments of agony, during which he explained
that there was calling to Austria, the operator took the number of your credit card AT & T and called
Vienna, Virginia.
- Why the hell I could not connect the hotel? asked Bourne angry. - Last night I phoned my room!
- That was last night, not today.
- Any news of Mo?
- Nothing yet, but it looks like they made a
error. We have a clue Army Medic.
- Take his information!
- With pleasure. I can take my artificial leg and punch the man's face until he beg to cooperate
- If the track is true.
- Is not that why you called me all night, was it?
- No. I was five hours with Peter Holland yesterday. I went looking for it after talking with you and his
response was exactly what I expected, with some generous offers in return.
- Medusa?
- Yes, he calls you back immediately.
You are the only one with direct knowledge. It is an order.
- Nonsense! He can not require me to do anything, much less give me orders!
- It can cut you and I can not do anything. If you need something urgently, he says.
- Bernardine offered to help. "What you
need, "was what he said.
- Bernardine is limited. How I can charge
debts, but without access to the machine, its action is limited.
- Told Holland that I'm writing everything I know, everything I was told, all the answers to my questions?
- Is it?
- I write.
- He does not believe. Want to interrogate you. Says he can not interrogate sheets.
- I am very near the Jackal! I will not go back!
Holland is a son of a mother who does not want to understand.
- I think he wanted to be reasonable - Conklin said.
- He knows what you're going through, what has passed, but last night, after seven hours, he closed the
doors.
- Why?
- Armbruster was shot dead at the door of

his house. In Georgetown, are saying that it was robbery to theft, which, of course, was not.
- Oh, Jesus!
- It has a few more things you need to know.
To begin, we will announce the "suicide" of Swayne.
- But why?
- To think that the killer is free, and most importantly, to see who appears in these next two weeks.
- At the funeral?
- No. It will be a "private ceremony, just for the family." No guests, no formalities.
- So who will show up where?
- On the property, one way or another. Very officially come into contact with the lawyer Swayne and he
confirmed what the woman said. The property goes to a foundation.
- Which one? - Asked Bourne.
- One that you've never heard, founded some years ago by wealthy friends of august and "rich"
general. Very moving. Called Refuge of Soldiers, Sailors and Marines. The board of directors is already
assembled.
- Medusans.
- Or their representatives. We'll see.
- Alex, and those names I gave, the six or seven that Flannagan gave me? And those plates of cars that
attended the meetings?
- A cute, so cute - said Conklin
enigmatically.
- What is it cute?
- See the names - are remnants of the fake jet-set, have nothing to do with the elite of
Georgetown. Listed in the National Enquirer, not in the Washington Post.
- But the licenses, the meetings! Have to be a ball of wax!
- More engraadinhas yet - Alex noted. A ball of poop ram ... All licenses are registered in the name of various companies limousines. I need not
say how the names are real, even if we had all the data to identify them.
- There is a cemetery on the property!
- Where is it? It is big or small? There are 28 acres ...
- Begin to look for!
- And tell everyone we know?
- You're right, he is acting right .. Alex, tell
Holland did not find me.
- You're kidding.
- No, I'm serious. The receptionist is mine, I have to say that I am not. Give the name and phone number
of the hotel to Holland and tell him to call in person or send any embassy to check. The clerk will swear I
left the hotel yesterday and did not see me anymore. To the desk phone will confirm this. Give me a few
more days, please.
- Holland can use all your connections and will probably do that.
- No, I think back as soon as you
find me. I want him to keep looking and Mo makes no connection with my name Paris. Good or bad, no
Webb, neither Simon nor Bourne!
- I'll try.
- Anything else? I have a lot to do.
- Yes Casset will take a plane to Brussels in the morning to interrogate Teagarten - he can not let free
and has nothing to do with you.
- Right.

In a cross street of Anderlecht, five miles south of Brussels, a military vehicle with streamers of four-star
general stood in front of a sidewalk cafe. Gen. James Teagarten, NATO commander, with five rows of
currencies in robe, came out of the car slowly into the clear afternoon light. Voltouse and reached out to
a gorgeous WAC major who thanked him with a smile and left the car. With gallant military authority,
Teagarten dropped the woman's hand holding her elbow and led her to the tables covered with
umbrellas, behind a row of flowering planters, which was part of the outdoor caf. Passed under the
arched entrance adorned with roses and girls entered. All the tables were occupied, except one at the
end of the room. The buzz of conversation was punctuated by the clatter of cups and cutlery on delicate
china plates. The tone of conversation down a few decibels, and the general, aware of the attention that
his presence always provoked, demonstrated by friendly nods and, not infrequently, discreet applause,
smiled benevolently at no one in particular and for all, as he drove the woman to unoccupied table with
small card Rserv on the towel. The owner, with two waiters who had followed
as eager feathered egrets, practically flew through the tables to greet the important customer. The
captain sat down and immediately he was presented a bottle of Corton-Charlemagne cold and began to
discuss the menu. A Belgian boy of five or six years shyly approached the table, and putting his hand to
his forehead saluted for General.Teagarten stood up, straightened the body c returned the salute.
- Vous tes un soldat distingue, mon camarade - said General aloud and authoritative that was heard
throughout the room, winning the audience with a bright smile and getting some applause. The boy
walked away, and the ceremony of the meal continued. An hour later, Teagarten and his lady were
interrupted by the driver of the general, an army sergeant middle-age who looked extremely
worried. The NATO commander had just received an urgent message on your phone from your car and
the driver had the presence of mind to write it to be no doubt. He handed the paper to Teagarten.
The general rose with dark face very
pale, squinting, observed, angry and scared, the room now almost empty. He took out a pack of BEF
chose several large notes and put them on the table.
- Come - told the major. - Let's ... You
- Said to the chauffeur - start the engine.
- What is it? - Asked the woman.
- London. On the phone, Armbruster and DeSole are dead.
- Oh, my God. How?
- It does not matter. Everything you say is a lie.
- What is happening?
- I do not know. Just know that we will leave. come!
The general and his lady hastily passed under the arch flowery, crossed the sidewalk and entered the
military car. Something missing on both sides of the hood. The
sergeant had removed the red and gold flags indicating the rank of his superior, the commander of
NATO. The car drove off swiftly and less than fifty yards ahead, happened.
A massive explosion threw the military vehicle in the air and splinters of glass and metal, pieces of
human flesh and blood flooded the narrow street of Anderlecht.
- Monsieur! - exclaimed the waiter terrified, while teams of police and firefighters were doing their dirty
work in the street.
- What is it? - Asked the stunned owner of the outdoor cafe, still trembling because of police
interrogation and bunch of journalists. - I am ruined. We will call Caf de la Mort, coffee death.
- Monsieur, look! - The waiter pointed to the table where the general and his lady had lunch.
- Police have examined everything - the owner said disconsolately.
- No, monsieur. Now!
Written with bright red lipstick on the tablecloth was a name.

MARIE looked stunned for television which broadcast the news from Miami via satellite. So when the
camera focused on a glass table in a town called Anderlecht in Belgium, she saw the name written in red
and screamed.
- Johnny!
St. Jacques ran into the suite that had
built for own use on the second floor of Tranquility Inn.
- Christ, what is it?
With tears flowing down his face, Marie pointed to the screen in horror. The announcer of
"retransmission"
Transatlantic said, his voice dull:
"... as a savage bloodthirsty past had vol- State to terrorize civilized society. The infamous killer, Jason
Bourne, only surpassed by Carlos the Jackal in the market of hired killers, claiming responsibility for the
blast that took the life of General James Teagarten and his companions ros. Conflicting stories coming
circles Intelligence New York and London and police authorities. Certain sources in Wa- ington claim that
the killer known as Jason Bourne was hunted c dead in Hong Kong five years ago, in a joint operation- ta
British American. However, spokespersons of the Ministry of Foreign and British intelligence deny any
knowledge of this operation and say that a joint effort of this kind is extremelyunlikely. Other sources,
the headquarters of Interpol in Paris, stated that his department in Hong Kong knew of the alleged death
of Jason Bourne, but once the reports and Photograph- circulated those were shallow and obscure,
believed not very- to the story. Assumed, as is also the reports that Bourne had disappeared in China
for a final contract in which he lost his life. All we know today is
that the beautiful city of Anderlecht, Belgium, General James Tea- garten, NATO commander, was killed
and someone said to call Jason Bourne is responsible for taking the life of this great and popular soldier
... We now show a sketch of the arch you Interpol, based on the description of people who claim to have
seen Bourne closely. Remember, it is a sketch, traces taken from dozens of other photographs and
considering the fame of the killer constantly change the appearance, probably without much value as
identification. "
The face of a man with traces irregular and indefinite filled the screen.
- Not David - said John St. Jacques.
- Can be brother - said Marie.
"And now, other news. The drought affecting large areas of Ethiopia ... "
- Turn that damn thing - Marie shouted, rising from his chair and headed for the phone, while St.
Jacques turned off the television. - Where is the phone Conklin? I noted here on your desk somewhere
... Here, on the blotter. Saint Alex will have to explain a lot, that bastard! - Furious, Marie dialed the
phone, sitting in the chair of St. Jacques, slamming his fist on the table, tears flowing down his
face. Tears of sorrow and fury.
- Me, you bastard! ... You killed him! You let him go. - You've helped to go - and you killed!
- I can not talk to you now, Marie - said Alexander Conklin, his voice cold and controlled. - I'm talking to
Paris on the other line.
- Paris be damned! Where is he? Take David there!
- Believe me, we are trying to find him. This here is a pandemonium. The British want the skin of Holland
has suggested a connection with the Far East, and the French are making a fuss because of a darn thing
they do not know, but suspect, ie, a load special Deuxime a plane Martinique , which was initially
rejected. Call you later, I promise. hung and Marie Conklin slammed down the receiver.
- I'll take a plane to Paris, Johnny - she said, taking a deep breath and wiping away tears with his hand.
- You what?
- You heard. Call Mrs. Cooper. Jamie likes

her very much and she is Alison better than me - why not? She had seven children, all created and who
visit every Sunday.
- Are you crazy! I can not let go.
- Do not know why - Marie said, looking intently at his brother - I have the impression that you
said something to David, when he said in Paris.
- Yes, I said.
- And could not stop him, as you can not stop me now.
- But why?
- Because I know all the places that he knows in Paris, every street, every cafe, every alley, Sacr-Coeur
in Montmartre. David has to go to these places and I will find it before the Deuxime or the Sret
find. The phone rang and Marie met.
- I said I'd call soon - Alex began
Conklin. - Bernardine has an idea that might work.
- Who is Bernardine?
- An old mate and Deuxime
good friend who is helping David.
- What an idea?
- He arranged a rental car for Jason David. know the license plate number and is warning all police patrols from Paris to tell you if they see
you, but do not stop the car or disturb the driver. Just do not lose sight of it and inform Bernardine
directly.
- And you think David - Jason - will not notice? Have a memory worse than my husband.
- It is one of the possibilities. There are others.
- Such as?
- Well .. well, it will probably me calling. When you know the case Teagarten will call me.
- Why?
- As you said, to get him there.
- With Carlos in sight? Very difficult, your cabeade-catfish. I have a better idea. I will take a plane to
Paris.
- No can do this.
- Do not want to hear this, I will not hear any more. Will you help me or do it alone?
- I could not even buy a stamp machine in France and Holland would not find the address or the Eiffel
Tower.
- So I'm alone, which, frankly, in these circumstances makes me feel much safer.
- What can you do, Marie?
- I will not sing a litany, but I can go to
everywhere that we were together when we were fleeing. Somehow he will use them again. You must
use them because in their crazy slang places are "safe" and the mood you are in, David will come back to
them because they know they are safe.
- May God bless you, my favorite lady.
- He abandoned us, Alex. God does not exist Prefontaine left the terminal Logan Airport in Boston, and
on the outer shelf raised his hand to hail a cab. But after looking around, lowered his hand and got in
line. Things had changed in thirty years. Everything, including airports, had turned into cafes, where
people stand in line for a plate of Irish stew of poor quality, as well as a taxi.
- Ritz-Carlton - the judge said to the driver.
- You do not have baggage? - Asked
man. - Only this suitcase there?
- No, I have - answered Prefontaine and

not contain himself, he added: - I have wardrobes everywhere.

- Tutti-frutti - the driver said, pulling hair a comb huge teeth separated and entering the car in traffic.
- Has reservation, sir? - Asked the receptionist dressed up in the balcony of the Ritz.
- One of my employees made the reservation for
Me. The name is Scofield, Judge William Scofield of Supre Cut-ma. It would be very unpleasant if the Ritz
had lost our reservation, especially these days when everyone is demanding consumer protection.
- Judge Scofield ...? I'm sure it must be here, sir.
- I specifically requested the suite Three-C. I'm sure it is on your computer.
- Three-C ... is busy.
- What?
- No, no, I was wrong, judge. They did not get ... I mean, it was a mistake ... are in another suite. The man struck fiercely at the buzzer. - Chamberlain, Chamberlain!
- There is no need, young man. Travel with little
luggage. Give me the key and say where should I go.
- Yes, sir!
- I hope you have a few bottles of whiskey
Decent in the suite, as always.
- If not there will be, Mr. Judge. Any particular brand?
- A good rye, good bourbon and good brandy. White is for sissies, right?
- All right, sir. Immediately, sir. Twenty minutes later, his face washed and a glass in hand, Prefontaine
picked up the phone and called Dr. Randolph Gates.
- Gates Residence - the woman said, listening.
- Oh, come on, Edie, I would know her voice to
underwater and this after almost thirty years.
- I know its too just can not identify.
- Try a very severe teacher in college
Law that demanded much of her husband, who, it seems, made no impression, and maybe he was right,
because I ended up in jail. The first local judge to be impeached and convicted of the profession and a
very fair trial.
- Brendan? Oh my God, it's you! I never believed in things that you said.
- Believe me, my dear, it was all true. But this time I need to speak with Mr. Gates. He is?
- I think so, actually I do not know. He barely talks to me anymore.
- Things are not going well, my dear?
- I'd love to talk to you, Brendan. He has
a problem, a problem that I never imagined.
- I suspect it has, Edie, and of course we will talk. But the time to talk to him. Now.
- I'll call it the intercom.
- Do not tell me, Edith. Say you are a man named Blackburne, the island of Montserrat in the Caribbean.
- What?
- Do what I say, Edie. It is for the good
him and her - perhaps more for you to be honest.
- He is sick, Brendan.
- Yes, it is. Let's try to heal it. Put your husband on the line for me.
- I'll call waiting.
The silence seemed interminable two minutes that seemed two hours until the harsh voice of Randolph
Gates explode on the phone.
- Who are you? - Muttered the famous lawyer.
- Calm, Randy, is Brendan. Edith did not recognize my voice, but I recognized it. You're a lucky man.

- What do you want? What's this about Montserrat?

- Well, I just got back from there ...
- You what?
- I decided I needed a vacation.
- You did not do it ...! - The murmur of Gates was now a cry of panic.
- Yes, I did, and because I will completely change your life. You understand, I met his wife and two
children in which you were so interested, remember? It is quite a story and I want to tell you with any
great detail ... You located them for assassination, Dandy Randy, and this is not done. Expressly
prohibited.
- I do not know who 's talking! Never heard of Montserrat, or any woman with two children. You
is a miserable drunk and desperate and I deny their insane allegations, attributing them to the fantasy of
an alcoholic convicted felon!
- Great, counselor. However, deny any claim made by me is not exactly your dilemma. No, your dilemma
is in Paris.
- Paris ...?
- A certain man in Paris, a man I
did not know it was real, but I learned now. The
how I learned is somewhat confusing, but conteceu-a very strange thing in Montserrat. I thought that
was you.
- That you were ... what? - Barely heard the voice
weak and trembling Gates now.
- That's right. Strange, do not you think? I imagine
that when the man tried to Paris to talk to you here in Boston, someone said that his imperial presence
was out or traveling and so began the misunderstanding. Two brilliant legal minds, both linked loosely to
a woman and her two children, Paris and thought I was you.
- What happened?
- Calm, Randolph. Right now he probably thinks you're dead.
- What?
- He ordered me to kill - kill you .. By
transgress his orders.
- Oh, my God!
- And when you discover that you are very much alive and eating well in Boston, will not allow the
second attempt fails.
- Jesus Christ ...!
- There may be a way out, Dandy Boy, so you should talk to me. By the way, I'm in the same suite at the
Ritz where were you when I came to you. Three-C, just take the elevator.Be here in thirty minutes and
remember, do not have much patience with customers who are late, because I'm a very busy man. By
the way, the price of my query is $ 20,000 per hour, or any fraction of that time, so bring money,
Randy. Lots of money. No checks. Looking in the mirror, pleased with what he saw,
Bourne thought: I'm ready. Had spent three hours preparing for the trip to Argenteuil, a restaurant
called Le Coeur du Soldat, the center of the messages for a blackbird to Carlos the Jackal. The
Chameleon was dressed according to the environment in which it would enter. Simple clothes, body and
face not so simple. For the first, Jason toured the used clothing stores and pawn shops in Montmartre,
where he found a pair of jeans and a faded shirt Scrap Army, and also a currency faded symbol wounded
veteran. The face, somewhat more complex, demanded hair dye, shaving one day and another bandage
tight around this knee right not forget to limp. His hair and eyebrows were now vermelhoescuros - a red
dirty and careless that matched their new environment, a cheap hotel in Montparnasse, whose direction
sought minimal contact with guests.

The neck was now one more irritant than a hindrance. Or was she getting used to the stiffness and
limited movement, or the wound was healing process. And that limited movement helped her
disguise. A veteran wounded and embittered, a son of France forgotten, hardly forget those two
limitations. Jason put the automatic Bernardine in his pocket, found the money, car keys and hunting
knife, bought a sports goods store and preached with tape inside his shirt, and limped to the door of the
small room, dirty and depressing hotel. First stop, a Peugeot Capucines and like many an underground
garage. Yes, I was ready. Knew he had to walk a few blocks to find a taxi. Taxis were not common in that
part of Montmartre ... Neither the frenetic movement at a newsstand on the second corner. People
screamed, stood and waved his arms, clinging eagerly newspapers, angry and frustrated. Instinctively,
Jason picked up the pace, came to the banks, threw the coins and picked up a newspaper. Gasped as he
tried to control the shock waves that involved. Teagarten murdered! Killer, Jason Bourne! Jason
Bourne! Madness, insanity! The
that had happened? would be the resurrection of Hong Kong and Macau? Would be losing what was left
of his mind? Was living a nightmare so real it had entered in its dimensions, the horror of the dream
insane, fantasy and horror improvised evoked transformed into reality?
Hurried away from the crowd, took a few uncertain steps on the sidewalk and leaned against the stone
wall of a building, breathing hard, now with a sharp pain in the neck, desperately trying to find a logical
reasoning. Alex! A phone!
- What happened? - Jason yelled on the phone to Vienna, Virginia.
- Control up and stay cool - said Conklin
voice low and monotonous. - Listen. I want to know exactly where you are. Bernardine will catch it and
take you there. He arranges everything and puts you on the Concorde to New York.
- Wait a minute - wait a minute! ... The Jackal did this, did not you?
- As we know, was a contract of a sect
of crazy jihad Beirut. Are taking responsibility. The real killer is not important. This may be true and it
may not be. At first I did not believe it, not after DeSole and Armbruster, but everything seems to
confirm this information. Teagarten was there
much time studying a means of sending NATO forces into Lebanon and crush all Palestinian enclaves. He
was threatened before. The case is that the connection with the Medusa is much coincidence for
me. But to answer your question, of course it was the Jackal.
- Then he put the blame on me. Carlos put the blame on me!
- He's a very clever, I must admit. You go after him and he performs a contract that immobilizes Bourne
in Paris.
- So we reversed things?
- What the hell is this? You, get out there!
- No way. While he thinks I'm running - I am entering its nest.
- Are you crazy! Try to get out while we can get it out of Paris!
- No, I'm staying. First, he imagines that I have to get to reach it, but as you said, he pinned me. Think
that after all these years I panic and start doing stupid things - God knows that's what I did in Tranquility
- but such absurd nonsense that his army of old will find me looking in the right places, knowing what
I'm going look. Christ, he is good! Let's scare the bastard so he makes a mistake. I know you, Alex. I know
how he thinks and can think ahead. Of course I get nothing from a cave safe for life for me.
- Cave? What cave?
- A way of speaking, forget it. I was already installed before the news about Teagarten. I'm fine.
- You're not well, you are a drug-head catfish! Get there!
- Sorry, Saint Alex, but I'm just
where I wanna be. Go after the Jackal.

- Well, maybe I can make you quit. I spoke with Marie a few hours ago. Guess his old Neanderthal! She is
flying to Paris. To find it.
- She can not pleasure it!
- That's what I said, but she was not willing to listen. He said he knows all the places where you were
when you were fleeing from us 13 years ago. You
will use them again.
- I've used a few. But she should not come.
- Tell that to her, not me.
- What is the number of Tranquility? To be
frank, has not called her in fear. I have tried hard not to think of her and the children.
- This was the most sensible thing you said to
Now. - Conklin gave the area code, 809, and Bourne hung up immediately.
Nervous and in a hurry, Jason went through the harrowing process of telling the local numbers for your
credit cards, hear the whistles and broken words, characteristic of a call to the Caribbean and finally,
after "tame" an idiot in reception Tranquility, got through to St. Jacques.
- Call Marie! - Jason ordered.
- David?
- Yes .. David. Call Marie.
- I can not. She was gone. Left an hour ago.
- Where?
- She did not say. Rented a plane coming out of
Blackburne, but would not tell me to which island planned to go international. Here we have only
Antigua and Martinique may have gone to Saint Maarten or Puerto Rico. Is the way to Paris.
- You could not have prevented it?
- Christ, I tried, David. Damn, I tried!
- Did considered secure it somewhere?
- Marie?
- Yes, I understand ... As soon as she could reach Paris is tomorrow.
- Have you seen the news? - Exclaimed St. Jacques.
- General Teagarten was assassinated and said it was Jason ...
- Oh, shut up.
Bourne hung up, got out of the cab and started walking to coordinate their thoughts.
Peter Holland, director of the CIA, stood up behind his desk and roared at the man sitting opposite him.
- Doing nothing? Will lost the damn mind?
- And you lost her when he made that statement on a joint British-American in Hong Kong.
- It's the damn truth!
- There are truths and truths, denying the truth when it is not appropriate to the service.
- Shit Political fagots!
- I would not say that Genghis Khan. I heard some of them preferred the firing squad to betray the truth
for which they had to live ... You are misinformed, Peter. Furious, Holland sat back down.
- Perhaps, indeed, I am not in the right place.
- Maybe not, but give yourself a
little more time. Maybe can get as dirty as all of us. It can happen, you know.
The Director leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back and spoke leaps.
- I was dirtier than any of you
field work, Alex. I still wake in the night seeing eyes of those boys nailed me, while I stuck a knife in his
chest, taking their lives in a way knowing that they had no idea why they were there.
- Were you or them. If they could they put a bullet in your head.

- Yes, I think so. - CIA Director looked

to Conklin. - But that's not what we're talking about, right?
- You could say that is a variation on the theme.
- Now let nonsense.
- It is a musical term. I love music.
- Then go to the main symphonic line, Alex. I also like music.
- Very well. Bourne disappeared. He told me
he found a cave - his words, not mine
- Where you are sure to find the trail of the Jackal. Did not say where, and God only knows when I will
call again.
- I sent our man embassy to PontRoyal looking for Simon. What they told you is the truth. Simon paid
the hotel, went out and never returned. Where he is?
- Trying not to be seen. Bernardine had an idea, but it took the worst. He thought he could find Bourne
quietly circulating the license plate number of the rental car, but no one picked it up in the garage and
we are sure that nobody will get. He does not trust anyone now, not me, and considering their history,
have every right not to trust.
With cold eyes, Holland said angrily:
- You're not lying to me, is, Conklin?
- Why would I lie a situation like this, about a friend like this?
- This is no answer, it is a question.
- Okay, so no, I'm not lying. I do not know where he is. - And Alex really did not.
- So your opinion is that we should not do anything.
- There is nothing we can do. Sooner or
later he will find me.
- You have no idea what will tell a Senate investigating committee, in a few weeks or months, when
things explode? Why is sure to explode. We sent a man we know to be Jason Bourne, in a covert
operation in Paris, which is so close to Brussels as New York Chicago ...
- Closer, I think.
- Thank you. I needed that ... The illustrious NATO commander is murdered and said "Jason Bourne"
takes responsibility for the crime, and we do not say anything to anyone! Jesus. 'll end up cleaning toilets
in a tug!
- But he did not kill him.
- You know and I know, but, speaking in his story, there is a small detail of mental illness that will appear
as soon as our medical reports are indicted by the commission.
- It's called amnesia, has nothing to do with violence.
- Damn, no, it's much worse. He can not remember what it does.
Conklin squeezed tightly the handle of cane.
- I do not give a shit what may seem, there
a failure. My instincts say that the murder of Teagarten has anything to do with Medusa. Somehow,
somewhere the wires crossed, a message was intercepted and inserted in a fun game planned.
- I think I speak and understand our language as well as you - said Holland. - But this time I do not
understand.
- There is nothing to understand, no arithmetic, no line of progression. I just do not know ... But
Medusa's about all.
- With his testimony, and can lead to Burton
Heads of the Board, and Atkinson in London.
- No, leave them alone. Do not lose sight of

but do not sink their boat, Admiral. As the "withdrawal" of Swayne, sooner or later, the bees will fly to
honey.
- So what do you suggest?
- What I said when I arrived. Do nothing. It's the waiting game. - Suddenly, Alex tapped his cane on the
table. - Son of a bitch, is the Medusa. It has to be!
The old wrinkled and bald rose seat of the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Neuilly-sur-Seine, outside
Paris. With wobbly legs went to the second confessional left. Opened the black curtain and a gnawing
pain in the legs, knelt in front of the grid covered by a black cloth.
- Angelus domini, the son of God - said the voice on the other side of the screen. - Are you okay?
- Much better thanks to your generosity, Monsignor.
- This makes me happy, but I want something more, as you
know ... What happened in Anderlecht? What I realized my beloved and efficient army? Who
is supposed to blame?
- We split up and we have worked for
the last eight hours, Msgr. From what we could find, two men arrived by plane from the United States we suppose, because only speak American English - and stayed in apension de famille in front of the
restaurant. Left the board a few minutes after the robbery.
- An explosive detonated by remote control?
- Apparently, Monsignor. We know nothing
more.
- But why? Why?
- We can not read the minds of men, Msgr. Across the Atlantic, in a rich apartment in Brooklyn Heights,
with the lights of the East River and Brooklyn Bridge pulsing artistically on the other side of the window,
the capo supremo, reclining on a plush sofa, reveled in a dose of Perrier. Said to the friend who took a
gin and tonic, sitting in front of a chair.
- You know, Frankie, I'm not just smart, it's brilliant, you know what I mean? I understand the nuances that is, what may be important and what is not
- And have a fantastic intuition. I hear a paisan any talk about certain things, somo four and four, instead
of eight, I'm 12. Bingo! 's the answer. Has this cat who calls himself "Bourne", an idiot who thinks that is
a major killer, but it is not - is a drug esca, bait to attract another person, but he is the cannoli hot
that we want, understand ? So, the Jewish psychoanalyst, very sick, says all I want to
know. This cannoli only have half of the head, is a balzana tests, most of the time do not know who is,
and not what you do, right?
- All right, Lou.
- And there's Bourne in Paris, France, a few meters of the true and great deterrent, a general stylish guys
silent on the other side of the river want to remove from circulation as the other two plump already
planted. Capisce?
- Capisco, Lou - said the young man in the chair. You are really intelligent.
- You have no idea what I'm talking about, you zabaglione. 's as if I was talking to himself, and why not?
... So I get my 12 and I think we will roll the dice marked in green cloth,understand:
- Understand, Lou.
- We must remove the idiot because the general
it is a deterrent for jet setters who need us, right?
- All right, Lou. A imped ... one imped ...
- Do not worry, zabaglione. then say to myself, let's blow the man and say it was the cannoli,
understand?
- That's right, Lou. You're real smart.

- So, we get rid of the obstacle and puts the cannoli, a guy named Jason Bourne, who is soft in the head,
in the sight of all the authorities, right? If we do not stick it, whether such Jackal not come first, the feds
catch, right?
- Hey, that's cool, Lou. I have to say, I respect you.
- Forget about, bello ragazzo. rules are different in this house. Come and make a beautiful love me. The
young man rose from his chair and walked to the couch. On the back of the plane, while sipping coffee,
Marie tried desperately to remember everywhere
- Hiding and resting places - she and David had used 13 years ago. Had the worst Montparnasse cafes
and hotels. A motel - where it was? - 16 miles from Paris and an inn with a terrace in Argenteuil where
David - Jason - the first time he said he loved her but could not stay with her because he loved her - the
idiot! And there was the Sacr-Coeur, at the top of the stairs, in the dark alley where Jason - David - met
with the man who gave him the necessary information - including information? Who was he?
"Mesdames and monsieurs," said the voice on the speaker cab. "Je suis votre capitaine. Bienvenu. " the
pilot continued, first in French, then he and the crew repeated in English, German, Italian, and finally,
through an interpreter, in Japanese. "We expect a smooth flight until
Marseille. The estimated flight time of seven hours and 14
minutes to landing, according to the scheduled time, 6:00 am, Paris time, or earlier. Good trip. "
Marie St. Jacques Webb looked at the ocean there
underneath the moonlight. After flying to San Juan, Puerto Rico, had taken the night flight to Marseille,
where the French immigration service was, at best, a complete mess and at worst, intentionally
flawed. At least it was like 13 years ago, a time for which she was returning. Then take the domestic
flight to Paris and meet David. As there
13 years, she would find. had to find it! As there
13 years, if not met, the man she loved was a dead man.
21
SITTING BESIDE the window, Morris Panov looked for pasture of a farm somewhere in the United States,
Maryland, he supposed. I was in a small bedroom on the second floor dressed in a hospital gown, his
bare right arm telling the story he knew well. Been drugged repeatedly taken to the moon, as they said
those who administered those drugs. Out mentally raped, invaded, violated, your thoughts and your
deepest secrets brought to
fore.
The damage that was caused was incalculable, Panov knew that. Did not understand why he was still
alive. Nor why they had treated with such deference. Why the guard with ridiculous black mask was so
gentle, the food plentiful and good? It was as if the order of the day of their captivity were restoring
forces - deeply affected by drugs - and provide you the most comfort possible in the
circumstances. Why?
The door opened and the guard entered, a short man c strong, with a rasping voice that to Panov,
should be of the northeastern United States, or Chicago. In another situation, the man would be
comical, with his head too big for the idiot Zorro mask she wore and that certainly did not prevent an
immediate identification. However, in those circumstances, there was nothing funny-market. The very
delicacy of the man was threatening. Left arm had the clothes of the doctor.
- Okay, Doc, you have to get dressed now. Sent wash and iron everything, even underwear. What do you
think?
- You mean you have dry cleaning and laundry here?
- Hell, no, we take for ... Oh, no, do not get me well, Doc! - The guard smiled, showing his yellow teeth. Very smart, huh? You thought I was going to say where we are, huh?
- Just curious.

- Yeah, I know. As my nephew, my sister's kid, that by "simple curiosity" is always asking me questions I
do not want to answer. Like, "Hey, uncle, and was able to pay my medical school, huh?" That's right he
is a doctor, like you, what you think of that, huh?
- I would say that his mother's brother is very generous.
- Yeah, well, what are we gonna do, huh? ... Come view this, Doc, let's take a little trip. - He handed her
clothes to Mo.
- I suppose it would be silly to ask where - Panov said, standing up, taking a hospital gown and wearing
underwear.
- A lot of nonsense.
- I hope it's silly to talk about the fact that his nephew had never discussed a symptom that I noticed in
you and that is quite alarming. - Mo wore the pants quietly.
- What are you talking about?
- Perhaps nothing - said Panov, wearing
shirt and sitting down to put on his socks. - When he saw his nephew last?
- About two weeks. I gave some money to
cover his insurance. Shit, those guys are bloods- Sugas! What is this?
- I was wondering if he said nothing.
- He said what?
- About his mouth. - Mo tied the laces
Shoe and gestured with his head. - It has a mirror that dresser. Go look.
- Look what? - The subordinate capo quickly approached the mirror.
- Smile.
- For who?
- For yourself ... See the yellowish color of
your teeth, gums and the pallor and are retracted.
- So what? Always been so.
- It may be nothing, but he should have noticed.
- Noticed what, for God's sake?
- Oral ameloblastoma. Possibly.
- What the hell is that? do not brush your teeth well and do not like dentists. They're butchers!
- You mean there's not much time query
a dentist or an oral surgeon?
- So what? - The capo again bared his teeth in front of mirror.
- This explains why his nephew said nothing.
- Why?
- He probably thought that you visit the dentist regularly and preferred him to count. - Panov rose.
- I did not.
- Well, he is grateful for everything you've done, grateful for his generosity. I understand why you
hesitate to tell the truth.
- What truth? - The guard spun around, his back to the mirror.
- I could be wrong, but you should consult a periodontist. - Mo put on his jacket. - I'm ready. What do we
do now?
The capo subordinate's eyes narrowed with a wrinkle of ignorance and suspicion between the
eyebrows, took a large black pocket handkerchief.
- Sorry, Doc, but I have to blindfold your eyes.
- To put a bullet in my head before I
realize what is happening?
- No, Doctor. Nothing bullet for you. It is very

valuable.
- Valuable? - asked the capo supremo rhetorically in his opulent apartment in Brooklyn Heights. - As a
goldmine jumping from the ground into your minestrone. This Jew worked with the heads of the largest
lasagna Washington. Your files must be worth as much as Detroit.
- You will never get their hands on them, Louis - said the handsome man of middle age with the
expensive suit tropical. - Must be sealed and out of reach.
- Well, we're working on it, Mr. Park Avenue, Manhattan. Let's say - just for fun - that I can. How much
worth to you?
With a small smile and aristocratic, the man said:
- Detroit?
- Va bene! I like you, has a sense of humor. Abruptly the mobster became serious, the smile turning into an expression almost unpleasant. - The five
thousand is worth even this guy Bourne-Webb, right?
- With one caveat.
- I do not like restrictions, Counselor, not
like it one bit.
- We can look elsewhere. You're not the only one in town.
- Let me explain something to you, signor avvocato. In many ways, we - all of us - we are the only ones in
town. Do not meddle in the contracts of other families, know what I mean? Our advice decided that
contracts are very personal cause enmities.
- Want to know what's the caveat? I guess I will not be offended.
- Shoot.
- I would like that used another word.
- Go ahead.
- There will be a bonus of two million dollars
because we want to include Webb's wife and his friend of the government, Conklin.
- Done, Mr. Park Avenue, Manhattan.
- Great. Now, the rest of our business.
- I want to talk about the Jew.
- We'll get there ...
- Now!
- Please do not give me orders - said the lawyer of one of the most prestigious firms on Wall Street. In fact, is not in a position to do that, wop.
- Look, farabutto! Do not talk to me like that!
- I speak as you wish ... Out, and to his credit in the negotiations, you's a very male, very male. - The
lawyer crossed and uncrossed his legs, quietly. - But inside the business is very different, is not it? It has
a soft heart, or should I cite another place for young men and beautiful.
- Silenzio! - The Italian leaned forward on the couch.
- I do not intend to explore this information. On the other hand, do not believe the Gay Rights have
much acceptance in the agenda poses Nostra, what you think?
- You son of a bitch.
- You know, when I was a young lawyer Army in Saigon, defended a lieutenant career caught in flagrante
delicto with a Vietnamese boy, obviously a prostitute. Through legal maneuvers, using military
ambiguous phrases about the civilians, I saved an ignominious expulsion, but of course he had to resign
from the army. Unfortunately he did not take.Shot himself in the head two hours after the verdict. You
see, he had become an outcast, a disgrace before his equal and could not stand.
- Continue with your business - said the capo
supreme named Louis, his voice low and full of hatred.

- Thank you ... First, I left an envelope on the hall table. Contains the payment by the tragic death of
Armbruster in Georgetown and the equally tragic murder of Teagarten in Brussels.
- According to the Jewish doctor - broke the Mafia - they know two of his. An ambassador in London and
that Admiral Heads of the Board. Want to add another bonus?
- Maybe later, not now. They both know
very little and nothing about our financial transactions. Burton thinks that we are essentially a set of
ultraconservative veterans, remnants of doom Vietnam - the margins of the law to him, but we agreed
with their patriotic feelings. Atkinson is a rich dilettante. Do what we say, without knowing why or for
whom. It is capable of anything to continue in the Court of Saint James and continues. His only
connection was Teagarten ... The key findings of Conklin were Swayne, Armbruster, Teagarten and, of
course, DeSole, but the other two are articles showcase, very respectable. I wonder how he found out.
- When I find out and I 'll find out, I'll tell you, for free.
- Really? - The lawyer raised his eyebrows. - How?
- We'll get there. What else has to deal with?
- Two things, both of vital importance, and
first I give you - for free. rid of her current boyfriend. He goes to places you should not go and spread
money like a thief cheap. We learned that brags of his connections with people high. We do not know
what else he says or what he knows, not what he found, but he worries us. I think you should worry too.
- Il whore! - roared. Louis, pounding his fist on the arm of the couch. - Il pinguino! He's dead.
- I accept your thanks. The other item is much more important, at least for us. Swayne's house in
Manassas. Is missing a book, a diary trade, Swayne's lawyer in Manassas - our lawyer - could not
find. Was on the shelf, bound like all the other books that shelf. Someone should know exactly what it
was.
- What do you want from me?
- The gardener was his man. It was placed there
to do a job and was the only number that we consider safe, ie to DeSole.
- So what?
- To do the job, simulate suicide, he had to study all movements Swayne. You
even explained ad nauseam, when he demanded payment absurd. It is not hard to imagine her man
peering through the window of the room working Swayne, studying the place where the general was
supposedly committing suicide. Her man then note that the general always takes the same book shelf,
write on it and the guard in place. This course lets you intrigued. That book should be valuable. Why not
stay with him? I would, you too. So where is the book?
The mob rose slowly with a look
threatening.
- Listen, avvocato, you got a lot of pretty words that lead to certain conclusions, but we have no book
and I'll tell you how I can prove it!
If I had written something capable of roasting your ass would have thrown in your face now, capisce?
- It is not at all unreasonable - said the lawyer and
dress, again crossing and uncrossing her legs, while the hood, offended, go back to the couch. Flannagan - added the Wall Street lawyer. - Naturally ... but of course.Flannagan. He and that bitch
hairstylist needed an insurance policy, no doubt with a bit of extortion too. Actually, I'm relieved. They
can never use the book without exposing yourself to us. Accept my apologies, Louis.
- Finished your business?
- I think so.
- Now, the Jew.
- What is the case?
- As I said, it's a gold mine.

- No files of their patients, with gold

less than 24 carats, I think.
- For it is wrong - said Louis. - As I
Armbruster said, before it become a major impediment to you, we have doctors too. Specialists in all
branches of medicine, including what they call motor responses and see this, "mental responses caused
by external control" - I remember this especially. It's a different kind of gun pointed at his head, but no
blood.
- I suppose you want to tell me something.
- You bet your country club that I want. Let's take the Jew to a place in Pennsylvania, a kind of nursing
home where the very rich are hospitalized for alcoholism cure or to repair if you know what I mean.
- I think I understand. The most modern medical equipment, senior staff - well patrolled area.
- That's it, you understand. Many people spent their class ...
- Continue - interrupted the lawyer, referring to his gold Rolex. - Do not have much time.
- Well, make time for this. According to my experts - and used the word "my" purpose, must have
noticed - a predetermined scheme, say, every four or five days, the new patient is "thrown to the moon"
- the phrase is theirs, not mine. Christ knows. At intervals, it is optimally treated. Take the necessary
neutralizing, or whatever it is, do exercise, sleep enough and all that crap ... We all should be very
careful with our bodies, right, avvocato?
- Some of us play squash every two days.
- Well, forgive me, Mr. Park Avenue, Manhattan, but for me, squash is squash, and zucchini I like.
- Linguistic and cultural differences always appear, is not it?
- That's right, I can not deny, consigliere.
- Of course not, and my title is a lawyer.
- Give me some time. Can be consigliere.
- We do not have enough years in our lives,
Louis. Will continue or should I go?
- I remain, Mr. Attorney ... So every time the Jew is launched to the moon as my specialist says he is in
perfect physical shape, right?
- Yes, I see references periodic normal, but I'm no doctor.
- I do not know what the hell is talking about, but I'm not a doctor, so I believe in my specialist. Each
time it is launched to the moon his mind is perfectly clear, and then they give you a list of names. Many,
perhaps most, have not the slightest meaning, but either yes, then another and another. With each of
these names they begin what they call a poll, finding fragments of information, enough to have a
superficial description of the patient on which he is talking about - enough to make that lasagna die of
fright when approached by us. Remember, we are living in a time of stress and our Hebrew this is the
most important cats of Washington, in and out of government. How about that, Mr. Attorney?
- Certainly a unique method - answered
lawyer, looking carefully for the capo supremo. Of course it would be infinitely preferable terms your files.
- And, as I said, we're working on it,
but takes time. This does not. It immediato. Within a few hours he'll be in Pennsylvania. Want to do
business? Only
both of us?
- What business? One thing you do not have and
who may never have?
- Hey, come on, what do you think I am?
- I'm sure you do not want me to say.
- Let the bullshit. Say within a

day or two, maybe a week, we met and I hand him a list of interesting names, over which we have some
information - say, information is not accessible at this time. You choose one or two, or maybe none, who
loses it? Anyway, we're talking about peanuts because business is just between us. Nobody else is
involved, but my specialist and his assistants who do not know and whom you do not know.
- A business on the sidelines, so to speak?
- Do not say so, but exactly what it is.
Depending on the information, I calculate the price. May be only one or two thousand, you can go to
twenty, or can be free, who knows? I will be fair because I want to do business with you, capisce?
- It is very interesting.
- You know what my specialist says? Says that we can get our cheese industry, as he calls it. We kidnaps
a 12 psychoanalysts, all with good government connections, as well as people from the Senate or the
White House ...
- I fully understand - Interrupted
lawyer, standing up - but my time is up ... Bring me a list, Louis.
The visitor went into the marble hall.
- Do not have a folder elegant executive, signor avvocato? - capo asked, rising from the couch.
- To disturb the delicate mechanisms not much at your door?
- Now it is a violent world out there.
- I do not know that.
The Wall Street lawyer came out and when the door closed Louis ran to the Queen Anne desk and
practically jumped over the telephone French style ivory - as usual knocking twice the delicate device
before holding the phone in one hand and dial with another.
- Cursed degenerate! - He muttered. - Drug Designing fag! ... Mario?
- Hello Lou - said the pleasant voice, in New Rochelle. - I bet you phoned to wish a happy birthday to
Antonio, right?
- Who?
- My son, Anthony. 15 years ago today, have you forgotten? The whole family is in the garden and we
miss you, cousin. And listen to Lou that garden this year! Am I really an artist.
- Can also be something else.
- What?
- Buy a present for Anthony and send the
counts for me. At 15 years, maybe a woman. It is
ready to be a man.
- Lou, you're awesome. There are other things ...
- There is only one thing now, Mario, and I want the truth from your mouth or I'll cut off your lips.
Short break in New Rochelle and then the killer gentle voice said:
- I do not deserve to talk to me that way, cugino.
- Maybe, maybe not. Took a book from the general's house in Manassas, a book very valuable.
- They gave the missing, right?
- Shit is with you!
- Was, Lou. It was a gift for you, but I lost.
- Lost? What the hell did you do, let a taxi?
- No. I was running for her life with that maniac of flags, such as name, Webb, behind me. He hit me a
glancing blow, I fell and the book flew out of my hand - just as the police car arrived. He took the book
and I ran like crazy to the fence.
- It is with Webb?
- I think so.
- Christ on a trampoline ...

- Anything else, Lou? Let's light the candles on the cake now.
- Yes, it does, Mario. I need you in Washington - a great cannoli without a foot, but with a book.
- Hey, wait a minute, Domenico, you know my standards. Always a month between business trips. How
long worked in Manassas? Six weeks? And
Key West in May was three, almost four weeks? I can not call, can not send a card - no, Lou, always a
month. I have responsibilities to Angie and the kids. Do not want to be an absent father, they need to
have a model, you know what I'm saying?
- The drug my cousin is a comedian!
Louis angrily hung up the phone and held it fast, but not before splitting with delicate ivory knock on the
table.
- The best man in the business, and he is a comedian - muttered nervously dialing the capo
supremo. When met, anxiety and anger disappeared, but only voice. - Hello, Frankie darling, how are
you my best friend?
- Oh, hi, Lou - the voice sounded tentative and languid in stylish apartment in Greenwich Village. - Can I
call a few minutes? I'm putting my mother in the cab. She goes to Jersey.Right?
- Okay, kid. Two minutes. - Mother? The prostitute. pinguiho Il!
Louis went to the bar with mirrors and marble angels color pink coat hanging in Lalique above the
whiskey bottles. Served a drink and took several sips to calm down. The bar phone rang.
- Yes? - He said, picking carefully
fragile crystal device.
- It's me, Lou, Frankie. I've said goodbye to Mama.
- Good boy, Frankie. Never forget your mama.
- I do not forget, Lou. You taught me that.
Said he gave his breast the greatest that ever was buried in East Hartford.
- That's right, I bought the damn church, man.
- Very beautiful, very beautiful.
- Now let's talk about something truly beautiful, right? It was one of those days, Frankie, much
confusion, you know what I mean?
- Of course I know, Lou.
- Then I had an idea. Need to calm down, come here, Frankie.
- As soon as the taxi can take me, Lou, Whore! would be the last service Frankie, the Prater, for him. The
well dressed lawyer walked two blocks south and one block east to reach the
his limousine parked under the awning of another impressive residential building in Brooklyn
Heights. His driver stocky middle-aged talking with uniformed doorman which had already given a good
tip. When he saw the boss, went quickly to the limu-sine and opened the back door. A few minutes
later, they were on their way to the bridge.
In the stillness of the backseat, the lawyer unbuckled his belt crocodile, pressed the top and bottom
edge of the buckle and a small cylinder fell between her legs. He picked it up and buckled his belt.
Lifted the cylinder against the light from the window and examined the miniature recorder voice
activated. A remarkable device, and with a little acrylic mechanism that allowed its passage by more
sophisticated detectors. The lawyer sat back in the car and called the driver.
- William.
- Yes, sir. - Seeing the rearview outstretched hand of the boss, the man picked up the cylinder.
- Will you please take home and put in a tape?
- All right, Major.
The Manhattan lawyer leaned back on the bench
with a smile. Louis would give anything right now. A capo is not separated from the family business, not
to mention in the confession of their sexual preferences.

Morris Panov was in the front seat of the car, next to the guard, blindfolded and hands tied loosely, as if
the capo subordinate thought he was obeying orders unnecessary. After about thirty minutes of silence,
the guard asked:
- What is a perri-the-dentist?
- A surgeon mouth. A doctor who operates
mouths of patients with problems of teeth and gums. Silence. Seven minutes later.
- What kind of problems?
- A portion of them from infections and scraping
from the roots to the more complicated surgery, usually in conjunction with an oncologist.
Silence. Four minutes later.
- What is the latter - such a set?
- Cancer of the mouth. When discovered in time,
can be stopped by removing small portion of the bone ... Otherwise, all of the jaw has to be removed. Panov realized that the car danced as if the driver had lost control of the steering.
Silence. A minute and a half later.
- Any drug jaw? Half of his face?
- That or the patient's life. Thirty seconds later.
- Do you think I can have such a business?
- I'm a doctor, not alarmist. Just noticed a symptom, not made diagnosis.
- For longer nonsense! Make a diagnosis!
- I'm no expert.
- Bullshit! You're a doctor, right? I mean,
real doctor, not a fasullo it says it is, but have no proof.
- I mean, formed. Yes, I am trained physician.
- Then, look at me!
- I can not. I'm with the blindfold.
Panov immediately felt the rough hand and strong tearing the handkerchief tied around his head. The
dark interior of the car answered one of the questions Mo. How could someone walk the streets with a
blindfolded passenger in the front seat? That car was no problem, except for the windshield. The
windows were dark and almost opaque from the inside out, which meant they were opaque from the
outside. No one could see inside the car.
- Come on, I looked - The capo subordinate, without taking his eyes off the road, bent grotesquely large
head toward Panov with thick lips open and teeth bared like a child playing the monster in the mirror,
and shouted:
- Say what you see!
- It's too dark here - Mo replied, seeing what he wanted to see through the front window. Were on a
road outside the city, so close and so far from the roadside was earth.Whatever the place where the
man was carrying, were not following the shortest path.
- Open the damn window! - Shouted the guard, still with his head bent, eyes on the road, his mouth
open like a caricature of Orca, the whale about to vomit. - I do not hide anything. Break every damn
finger hands that faker! It can make your drug surgery elbows! ... I told my sister that dumb that he did
not pay, that fag. Always reading books, no action on the street, you know what I mean?
- If you stop screaming for a few seconds, I look better - said Panov, after lowering the window, seeing
only trees and bushes typical of a country road in the field, a road that should not appear on many
maps. - Now yes - Mo continued, raising his hands loosely tied to the mouth of the hood, but with eyes
on the road. - Oh, my God!
- Exclaimed the doctor suddenly.
- What is it? - bellowed the guard.

- Pus. Pockets of pus everywhere. In the upper and lower jaw. The worst sign.
- Oh, Christ!
The car danced, but not enough.
A tree huge. Right in front, on the left side of the deserted road! Morris Panov an abrupt movement
lifted the body of the bench and stretched his hands tied to turning over the car violently to the
left. Then, at the last second before the car hit, threw himself to the right and curled up in a fetal
position to protect against impact.
It was a violent hit with broken glass, crumpled metal, steam cylinder burst and scattered flames under
the car, which soon would reach the gas tank. The guard, unconscious, moaned, his face
bloodied. Panov took the car dragging him away, with his remaining forces and fell exhausted just
before the explosion.
In wet grass, breathing almost normalized, but still intense fear, Mo freed hands loosely tied and took
the glass fragments from the guard's face. Then examined whether there was any fracture - apparently
the right arm and left leg - and the stationery stolen from a hotel which Mo had never heard, and a pen,
taken from the pocket of the guard, wrote his diagnosis. He also found a gun - had no idea what kind heavy and too big for your pocket and put it in his belt.
That was all. The Hippocratic Oath was boundless. The guard also had an incredible amount of
money - roughly $ 6,000, several driver's licenses and ID cards from five different states. Panov took the
money and driver's licenses to deliver Conklin. Left in your wallet photograph of children, grandchildren
and other relatives - naturally including the young doctor whose course he had paid. Ciao,
amico, thought Mo. He dragged himself up the road, stood up and smoothed her clothes, trying to look
as respectable as possible. On the road, Panov found it prudent to head north to where the guard was
taking. Back to the south would be useless and dangerous. And suddenly it was as if waking from a
dream. My God! Did I do what I have done?
Panov began to tremble, and the psychiatrist who had made him the diagnosis of post-traumatic
stress. Bullshit, you idiot! Not you!
He started walking and kept walking and walking and walking. Was a country road, was
in Road Tobacco. There was no sign of civilization, no car, no house - or ruins of some farm - or even a
wall as proof that primitive humans had passed that way. Walked miles and miles, trying to overcome
the effects of exhaustion caused by drugs. How long had stuck?
Had taken his watch that marked the date, so could not say what day it was, or how long he had been
caught in the Walter Reed Hospital. Needed to find a phone. Needed to talk to Alex Conklin! Something
had to happen soon!
Happened.
Heard the car engine approaching and turned quickly back. A red car coming from the south at full speed, with the throttle to the floor. Panov ace-nou frantically with both arms in a gesture of
despair and supplication. The car sped past him ... then, with surprise and joy he heard the creaking of
brakes and dust kicked up from the road. The car stopped! Panov rushed forward as the car could
reverse screeched. Then remembered what her mother always said in the Bronx. Always tell the truth,
Morris. It is the shield that God gives to keep us on track.
Panov did not follow to the letter the mother's advice, but often acknowledged that it had some value in
social interaction. Maybe this was the time to apply it. Thus, somewhat breathlessly approached the left
door of the car. Looked inside and saw a woman in a platinum blonde thirtysomething, overly made-up,
with large breasts framed by a neck to own more porn than to a deserted road in the countryside of
Maryland. Still, the words of his mother echoed in his mind and he told the truth.
- I know I'm horrible, ma'am, but you can be sure it's just my outward appearance. I am a doctor and I
had an accident ...
- Get in the car, walk!

- Thank you very much.

No sooner he closed the door and the woman hitching gait, went to all the berm to the asphalt.
- You're in a hurry - Panov noted.
- You also would face if it were me. I
a husband back there that is packing the truck to come get me.
- Really?
- The miserable bastard! He travels around the country for three weeks a month, sleeping with all the
housewives lying on the road, then climbs the walls when she discovers I'm also having fun.
- I'm sorry.
- You will feel much more if it reaches us.
- Say what?
- Are you really a doctor?
- Yes, I am.
- Maybe we can make a deal.
- A business?
- You know an abortion? Morris Panov closed
eyes.
22
After walking for almost an hour through the streets of Paris trying to coordinate thoughts, Bourne
reached the bridge of Solferino, on the Seine, which led the Quai des Tuileries and the gardens. Leaning
against the railing, watching the boats passing lazily downstairs, asking without ceasing, why,
why, why? What Marie thought she was doing? Fly to Paris! It was not just
foolishness, it was stupid - but his wife had nothing foolish or stupid. It was a very intelligent woman,
with large reserves of control and a quick and analytical mind. That's what made his decision so
incomprehensible. What she hoped to do? Marie must have known it was safer for him to work alone,
without worrying about it while searching for the Jackal. Even though she found the risk was double for
both, and that she should understand perfectly. Numbers and projections were part of his
profession. So, for what?
The only possible answer made him furious. Marie thought that the mind of man could fail again, as in
Hong Kong, where she was the only one able to bring him back to the reality that it was only a
frightening reality of half-truths and memories fragmented, episodic moments with whom she lived
every day of her marriage. God, he loved her, he loved her so much! And that decision foolish,
stupid, unexplained increased his love for being so - so generous, absurdly devoid of selfishness. There
were times, in the Far East, where David wished death itself, just to get rid of the guilt he felt for Marie
expose those dangers unacceptable. fault was with him, always with him, but the older man recognized
another reality. The children. The cancer that was the Jackal had to be excised from all their
lives. Did Marie did not understand it and could not leave it alone?
No. Because she was not flying to Paris to save his life - Marie relied heavily on Jason Bourne for
that. Was going to Paris to save his mind. I can do it, Marie. I can and will do.Bernardine. Yes, you
could. The Deuxime could find in Marie De Gaulle or Orly. Find her, take her to a hotel under
surveillance, saying that no one knew where he was. Jason ran the bridge of Solferino to the Quai des
Tuileries and the first phone he found.
- You can do that? - Asked Bourne. She has only a passport and an American, not Canadian.
- I can try on my own - answered
Bernardine - but not with the help of Deuxime. I do not know how much Saint Alex told him, but at the
moment, my role as a consultant was canceled and I think I played my desk by the window.
- Shit!

- Shit cubed, mon ami. want the Quai D'Orsay incinerate my underwear with my body inside it, and if not
for some information I have on several members of the Assembly, they would reactivate the guillotine.
- You can spend some money for immigration?
- It would be better to act in my old official capacity, trusting that the Deuxime boasts not its internal
problems. The whole name of it, please.
- Elise Marie St. Jacques Webb ...
- Oh yes, I remember now, at least the St.
Jacques - interrupted Bernardine. - The famous Canadian economist. His picture was in all the papers. La
belle mademoiselle.
- She could do just fine without the publicity.
- I'm sure you do.
- Alex said something about Mo Panov?
- The doctor your friend?
- The same.
- No, nothing.
- Damn!
- If I may make a suggestion, you should worry about your safety now.
- I understand.
- It will take the car?
- Should I?
- Frankly, if I were you, I would not be beaten. It's unlikely, but you may find that it was I who rented
it. It's a risk, though unimportant.
- I thought so. I bought a subway map.
I'll ride a train. When can I call again?
- Give me four, maybe five hours back to the airport. As our saint explained, his wife may have shipped
in five different places. I will need time to check all the passenger lists.
- Concentrate on the flights that arrive tomorrow
morning. She can not be with a forged passport, would not know how to do this.
- According to Alex, we should not underestimate Marie
Elise St. Jacques. He even spoke French. Said she is
f ormidable.
- She is able to surprise anyone, can
be right.
- Qu'est-ce que c'est?
- Say it is special.
- And you?
- I'll take the subway. It's getting dark. Telephone after midnight.
- Bonne chance.
- Merci.
When he left the cabin, limping because of tight bandage knee, Bourne knew what he was doing. Could
take the subway to Havre-Caumartin, in the Tuileries station, and then the north line of the Regional
Express, which would lead to Argenteuil, passing St. DenisBasilique. Argenteuil, a town in the Middle
Ages founded by Charlemagne 13 centuries ago, in honor of a convent. Centuries later, was a city that
housed the message center of a murderer as brutal as any of the men who roamed the countryside with
a bloody sword in the days of Charlemagne barbarians, then as now, celebrating and sanctifying
brutality under the cloak of religion.

Le Coeur du Soldat was not a street, a boulevard or an avenue. Stood at the entrance of a cul de sac,
facing a factory closed long ago, whose faded signs indicated a meta-lrgica once prosperous in the
ugliest part of the city. The
Soldat also not included in the phonebooks. The way to find it was innocently asking strangers, adding
that he'd find une grosse secousse that mysterious pissoir. were the more decrepit buildings and dirtiest
streets, were the most accurate information. In the dark, narrow alley, Bourne was leaning against the
wall of the old brick factory on the other side of the street, in front of the entrance to the bistro. Above
the massive door, dark red tablet, which lacked some big letters and square, said LC eur d Soldat. Each
time the door opened giving way to the customers, the martial music and metal flooded the alley, and
he went in and out was not in any way a candidate for a parade of couture. I am dressed accordingly,
Jason thought. He struck a match on the wall, lit the cigarette black and thin and hobbled to the door.
Unless p
A stocky man with sleeveless
vacated a stool at the counter and Jason sat on it. The hand that looked like a claw gripped his
shoulder. Raising his right hand quickly, Bourne grabbed the man's wrist and twisted, pushing the stool
and standing at full height.
- What is your problem? - In French said quietly so as to be heard by all.
- This is my place, you pig! Only went out to urinate.
- So when you go back I might do the same - Jason said, staring at the man, without loosing your fingers
on your wrist, pressing on a nerve in your thumb, a blow that had nothing to do with brute force.
- Oh, you're a fucking lame ...! - Exclaimed the man, trying not to grimace in pain. - Do not fight with
invalid.
- Let's do one thing - Bourne said, releasing the pressure of the thumb. - You come back and we take
turns and I paid a drink every time you let me rest my leg this lazy, right?
The man looked up at Jason and smiled.
- Hey, you're cool.
- I'm not cool, but I'm not looking for a fight either. Shit, you could punch me in the ground. Bourne dropped the arm muscular Shirt.
- I can not guarantee anything - said the man, laughing and
holding the wrist. - Sit down, sit down! pissed and I'll go back and you paid for a drink. You do not seem
to be full of francs.
- Well, as they say, looks can be deceiving Jason said, sitting. - I have different clothes and better, the friend with whom I'm meeting advised me
not to use here ... I just arrived from Africa with good money. You know, training wild ... The dishes hit
the martial music, metal and deafening T's eyes widened.
- Africa? - he interrupted. - I knew it! The way he caught my wrist - LPN.
What remained in the databases memory Chameleon interpreted code. LPN - Patria Legion In- tra. A
French Foreign Legion, the mercenaries of the world was not what he had thought, but served.
- Christ, you too? - Asked innocently, but crudeness.
- La lgion ETRANGERE! The legion is our homeland.
- This is madness!
- Of course not walked by announcing it
there. There is very jealous because we were the best and we paid for it, but it is still our
people. Soldiers.
- When he left the Legion? - Asked Bourne,
realizing a cloud that could cause problems.
- Ah, nine years ago! They kicked me out before my second enlistment, by being overweight. C were
right probably saved my life. I'm from Belgium, cable.

- Dei low a month ago, before finishing my first enlistment. Injury during an incursion into Angola and
because I found seemed to be older than they said my documents. They do not pay long treatments. The words came easily.
- Angola? We did it! What Quai D'Orsay was thinking?
- I do not know. I am a soldier, obey orders and do not question you do not understand.
- Sit! My kidneys are to burst. Be right back. Perhaps we have mutual friends ... Never heard of any
operation in Angola.
Jason leaned over the counter and ordered une bire, thanking loud music and great movement that
prevented the man from the bar to hear their conversation. However, much more grateful to St. Alex
Conklin, whose principal recommendation to a field agent was
"Start badly you want to talk, then be okay," the theory that the passage from hostility to friendliness
was reinforced by the attitude change. Bourne took the beer relieved. I had a friend at Le Coeur du
Soldat. An access road was not important, but vital, and perhaps not so unimportant as it seemed. T
returned with the muscular arm at the shoulder
a man in his early twenties, average height, which looked like a large safe and wore a jacket American
military. Jason started down the stool.
- Sit, sat - his new friend exclaimed, leaning forward to be heard. - I brought a virgin.
- What?
- Have you forgotten? He is preparing to be the Legion recruits.
- Oh, that - Bourne said with a chuckle,
disguise the gaffe. - I found odd in a place like this ...
- In a place like this - interrupted Shirt
- Give or take one half, according to the case, since it is tough. But this has nothing to do. I thought he
should talk to you. He is American and his French is gro- Tesque, but if you speak slowly, he understands.
- No need - Jason said in English with a slight accent. - I grew up in Neufchatel, but spent a few years in
America.
- It's good to hear. - The man spoke with
dragged way, typical of the south, his smile was genuine, looking wary but unafraid.
- So let's start again - said the Belgian
English with a strong accent. - My name is ... Maurice, as good a name as any. My young friend here is
Ralph, at least that's what he says. What is
your name, my wounded hero?
- Franois - Jason said, thinking of Bernardine and wondering how he was doing at the airports. - And I'm
not hero, they die too quickly ... Ask your drinks, I'm paying.
As they made their requests, Bourne tried to remember everything he knew about the Foreign Legion.
- A lot has changed in nine years, Maurice. How easily he spoke, he thought the Chameleon. - Why will enlist, Ralph?
- I think that's the most sensible thing you can do
- Disappear for a few years, and I know that five is the minimum.
- If it lasts until the end of the first, mon ami - watched the Belgian.
- Maurice is right. Listen to what he says. The officers are tough and difficult ...
- All French - added the Belgian. - At least ninety per cent. Only a foreigner in a hundred, perhaps, comes
the official one. Have no illusions.
- But I have higher education. I am an engineer.
- For then will build latrines for great camps, and draw holes fucking perfect on the battlefield - Maurice
said with a laugh.
- Tell him, Franois. Explain how are created.
- The more educated must first learn to fight - Jason said, hoping to be right.

- Always First! - Said the Belgian.

- For your education is suspect. May have questions. May think, when they are paid only to obey orders
... Oh, no, mon ami, I would not call attention to his scholarship.
- Let something come gradually - added Bourne. - When they need it, not when you want to offer.
- Bien! - Maurice exclaimed. - He knows what he's talking about. A true lgionnaire.
- You know how to fight? - Asked Jason. - It is capable of killing?
- I killed my feeancee, his two brothers and a cousin, all with a knife and my hands. She was fucking a big
banker in Nashville and they acobertavam because the man paid very well ... Yes, Mr. Franois, I can kill.
Hunt for Killer Crazy in Nashville. Young engineer with a promising future escapes the siege. Looking for
young American, Bourne remembered the news in the papers, there
few weeks.
- Go to the Legion - he said.
- If it's a problem, Mr. Franois, can give your name as a reference?
- It would not help much, young man, just might hurt you. If they imprensarem, tell the truth. It is your
credential.
- Aussi bien! He knows the Legion. They do not accept maniacs when they can avoid it, but they ... - As
they say, Franois?
- They look the other way, I guess.
- Oui. they look the other way when they are ... encore, Francois.
- In case of special circumstances.
- See? My friend Franois is also instructed. I do not know how he survived.
- Not letting anyone know, Maurice.
A waiter apron with the dirtiest Jason now
turns slapped his hand on the neck of the Belgian.
- Votre table, Ren.
- So what? - T said, shrugging. Another name. Quelle diffrence? We eat and hopefully not die poisoned.
Two hours later, with two bottles of vin-ordinai re strong consumed by Maurice and Ralph, to
accompany a fish looks suspicious, Le Coeur du Soldat settled down to their nightly ritual of
resistance. Either fight began and was set apart by muscular waiters. The music blaring remembered
battles won and lost, causing discussions among old soldiers who had belonged primarily to assault
troops, cannon fodder, all with a mixture of resentment and pride of surviving because they
had survived the horror and blood that his superiors festooned not known. It was the roar of the
collective infantryman, heard since the days of the legions of the Pharaohs to the horrors of the Korean
and Vietnam. The officers with their uniforms immaculate planning too far from the front and the
infantry men died to preserve the wisdom of his superiors. Bourne remembered Saigon and justified the
existence of Coeur du Soldat. The head of the bartenders, a huge man, bald with glasses-rimmed,
answered the phone hidden in the end of the counter. Jason watched. The man's eyes traveled absently
crowded bar - he heard seemed important, what he saw, no. Spoke quickly. Then he put his hand under
the counter for a few moments. Had just dialing a number. Spoke quickly again, then hung up the phone
and hid. It was the type of sequence described by the old Fontaine on the Island of Tranquility. Message
received, message sent. And at the other end of the line was the Jackal. Was all he wanted to see that
night. Needed to study certain things, hire men, as in the past. Men who could be killed, which meant
nothing to him, that could be paid or bribed, blackmailed or threatened to do what he wanted without
demanding explanations.
- I just saw the man come find me - Jason said to Maurice and Ralph, both nearly unconscious. - He
wants to talk outside.

- Will we leave? - Belgian whimpered.

- Hey, man, you should not do it - said the young American with a southern accent.
- Only tonight - Bourne leaned over the table. - I'm working with another lgionnaire that is
involved in a business where big money rolls. I do not know you, but I seem decent men.
- Bourne took the wad of bills from his pocket and separated thousand francs, five hundred each. - Take
this, you two - put in your pocket, quickly!
- Gee!
- Merde!
- No guarantee, but maybe I can use both. Keep your mouth shut and leave in ten minutes-as I
leave. Nothing more wine. I want you sober tomorrow ... What time does this place open, Maurice?
- I think that never closes. I've been here at eight o'clock. Of course it was not so full ...
- Be here by mid-day. But with the head light, right?
- I'll be the caporal extraordinaire of La Lgion. The
man I was before. Should I wear my uniform? - Maurice gave a burp.
- Hell, no.
- I'm in a suit and tie. I have a suit and
a tie, actually! - The American gave a sob.
- No. The two as they are now, but with the head light. Do you understand?
- You seem trs americain, mon ami.
- Looks like it.
- I'm not, but the truth is the first necessity here, right?
- I know what he means. I learned it very well. We tell a lie with a tie.
- No tie, Ralph. See you tomorrow. Bourne rose from the bench and suddenly had an idea. Instead of heading for the door was cautiously
until
the end of the bar where he was the big guy. There was no vacancy, so always carefully and gently,
squeezed between two customers, ordered a Pernod and a paper napkin to write a ticket, ostensibly
personal, that did not matter to anyone bar. In the back of the napkin with the primitive design of a
coat, Jason wrote in French:
The nest of a blackbird is worth a million francs. Subject: Advice on private business. If interested, is in old
factory on the corner within thirty minutes. What harm can there be?More 5000 FRF if alone. Bourne
joined a hundred francs a napkin and called the bartender, who adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses as if
the gesture that was unheard customer an impertinence. Stepped forward slowly and leaned his thick,
tattooed arms on the counter.
- What is it? - Asked harshly.
- I wrote you a note - the Chameleon said staring at the glasses man. - I'm alone and hopefully consider
my request. I'm a man with injuries, but I'm not poor.
Quickly but gently - very gently - Bourne spent the money for the ticket and hand the bartender. With
one last pleading look to the astonished man, Jason turned around and walked to the door, limping
sharply.
Outside, across the cracked pavement and went to the other side of the street, at the entrance of the
alley. Calculated that his move at the bar should have lasted eight to 12 minutes. Sure that the
bartender was watching him, did not turn to see if the two companions were still on the table, but were
supposed to be. Combat shirt and jacket were not exactly alert and minutes do not count in this
condition. Jason hoped the five hundred francs to lend them some responsibility and to leave on
time. Strange as it was, relied more on Ren-Maurice than in the young American who called Ralph. A
former corporal of the Legion reacted automatically orders and obeyed blindly, drunk or sober. Jason
hoped that was true. It was essential, but might need their help - if the bartender at Le Coeur du Soldat

was interested in the promised amount and the chance to talk alone with a cripple he could kill with one
of his arms tatuados.Bourne waited seeing, the dim light of the street, decrease the number of those
who came and went, who arrived in better condition than they left, everyone passing by it without a
look at the drunk leaning against the brick wall.
The instinct won. T pulled the young Jacket Combat out and when the door shut, slapped the American,
saying in a slurred voice that they had to obey orders because they were rich and could get much richer.
- It's better than being shot in Angola! exclaimed the former lgionnaire aloud. - Why They Ever Made- ram that?
Jason stopped them at the entrance of the alley and took the two to the side of the brick building.
- Am I! - said in an authoritative voice.
- ... Sacrebleu!
- What kind of drugs ...?
- Quiet! Can gain another five hundred francs tonight if you want. If not, there are about twenty men
who will want.
- We are comrades! - MauriceRen protested.
- And I could make you into pieces for scaring us like that ... But my friend is right, we are comrades. There's nothing to this business communism has, Maurice?
- Taisez-vous!
- That is to say shut up - said Bourne.
- I know. I'm always listening to it.
- Listen. Pretty soon the bartender should
come to talk to me. Maybe he will, maybe not, I do not know. It's the big man bald with glasses. You
know him?
The American shrugged, but the Belgian shook his head affirmatively and said:
- His name is Santos and he is espagnol.
- Spanish?
- Or Latin amricain. Nobody knows.
Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, Jason thought. Carlos the Jackal, Venezuelan by birth, terrorist or the Soviets
were able to manipulate. Of course he would return to his.
- You know him well? Now it was the Belgian
who shrugged.
- He is the highest authority in Coeur du Soldat. Say they have shattered many heads of people who do
not behave well. He always starts by taking off his glasses. It is the first sign that something will happen
that neither the soldiers experienced want to see ... If he comes here to talk to you, I advise you to go.
- Maybe because he will want to see me, not hurt me.
- This does not fit with Saints ...
- You do not need to know the details, not your account. But if he comes through that door, I want to
begin to talk to him. Can do this?
- More certainement. Several times I slept on his couch on the second floor, charged by the Saints when
the cleaners arrived.
- On the second floor?
- He lives above the cafe on the second floor.
They say he never leaves, never walk down the street or going to the market. Other people do the
shopping for it, or are delivered at home.
- I understand. - Jason took money out of his pocket and gave over five hundred francs each. - Go back
to the alley and Santos out, start talking as if they had drunk too much. Ask for money, a bottle,
anything.
Ren-Maurice and Ralph grabbed money as

children, exchanging glances of conspirators victorious. Franois, the lgionnaire crazy, was handing out
money like he even fabricate! The enthusiasm of the two grew.
- How long do you want us to distract the guy? - Asked the American with a southern accent.
- I'll talk to both ears will fall on his head! - Added the Belgian.
- No, enough to make sure that he is
alone - said Bourne. - What has no one with him, or behind him.
- This is a piece of cake, old man.
- We deserve not only your francs but
their respect. Word of a cable Legion.
- I'm touched. Now, go back to l.Os two drunks back to the alley, hitting Combat Jacket amicably on the
back of T. Jason leaned against the wall, near the corner of the building and waited. Six minutes later he
heard the words I wanted to hear either.
- Saints! My great and good friend Santos!
- What are you doing here, Ren?
- My young American friend was sick,
but is passed, he vomited.
- American ...?
- Let me introduce you, Saints. He is to become a great soldier!
- Children's Crusade there any around? Bourne peeked around the corner of the building, when the man looked at Ralph. - Good luck, kid. Go
find your war in a playground.
- You speak French too fast, mister, but I got something. You're a big guy, but I might be a good son of a
bitch!
The man laughed and passed into English with ease.
- So you think it's good to be bad elsewhere,
little boy. In Coeur du Soldat only accept perfect gentlemen ... Now, I must go.
- Saints! - exclaimed Maurice-Ren. - Lend me ten francs. I left my wallet at home.
- If you have ever had a portfolio must have left in North Africa. You know my rules. Not a 'm for neither.
- I spent all the money I had with that
its horrible fish that made my friend throw up!
- For make your next meal at the Ritz in Paris ... Ah, yes! You made a meal - but not paid for it. - Jason
quickly hid when the man looked at the alley. - Good evening, Ren. For you
Also, stoic boy. Takes care of business. Bourne ran to the gates of the old factory. Santos walked toward
him. Alone. crossed the street into the shadows of the refinery closed and stood still, only moving his
hand as to feel the metal and the security of your machine. Each step Santos announced that the Jackal
was closer! Soon the huge figure came out of the alley, crossed the dimly lit street and approached the
rusty gates.
- I am here, monsieur - said Santos.
- And I thank you.
- I'd rather you keep your word first. If I'm not mistaken, 5000 francs mentioned in your ticket.
- Here - Jason took the money out of his pocket and handed it to the manager of the Coeur du Soldat.
- Thank you - said Santos, adding up and taking the money. - Get it! - Added, screaming. Suddenly, the
doors of the old factory opened behind Bourne and two men jumped him.Before Jason could seize the
gun, was hit in the head by a heavy instrument.
23
- STAND ALONE - said the voice on the other end of the room dark when Bourne opened his eyes. The

huge body of Santos seemed to shrink the big chair, and single bulb, very weak, lit his huge head, bald
and white. Jason turned his neck and felt the pain of the bump on her head. He was lying in a corner of
the sofa.
- No fractures, no blood, just what I
I imagine it must be a very painful bump - the man said the Jackal.
- The diagnosis is accurate, especially the last part.
- It was an instrument of solid rubber lined. The results are predictable, except when concussion
occurs. At his side is an ice pack. You better use it.
Bourne reached down, picked up the bag and took the head.
- Your very kind - said in a dry voice.
- Why not? We have much to discuss ... perhaps a million subjects, turned into francs.
- Are your under the conditions stipulated.
- Who are you? - Santos asked harshly.
- This is not one of the conditions.
- There is a young man.
- Not that it matters, but you are either.
- He was armed with a revolver and a knife. Knives are for youngsters.
- Says who?
- Our reflections .. What do you know about a blackbird?
- You should ask how I learned of the Coeur
du Soldat.
- How was it?
- I was told.
- Who?
- Sorry, not a condition. Represent another person and that is how I work. My clients expect this from
me.
- Your customers also expect the knee bandage to pretend he was injured? When you opened your eyes,
did pressure on the area and did not notice any sign of pain, torsion fracture. Furthermore, no
identification at all, but rather money.
- I do not explain my methods, just clarify
My restrictions. Convey my message to you, was not it? Since I had no phone number, I doubt he had
achieved something coming to your establishment in a suit and with a briefcase in hand. Santos laughed.
- Not entered. Would be pushed into the alley and
Naked immediately.
- This idea occurred to me ... We do business ... say, worth a million francs?
The Jackal's man shrugged.
- I got to thinking that when a buyer
mentions such a big amount at the first offer, go to
more. Say a million and a half. Maybe even two.
- But I'm not the buyer. I am your representative. I was allowed to pay one million, which, in my opinion,
is too much, but the time is important. Take it or leave it, I have other options.
- You do?
- Certainly.
- Not if you're a corpse floating in the Seine without
identification.
- I understand. - Jason examined the apartment
dark that did not match anything but the coffee there

beneath. The furniture was large in proportion to the size of the owner, but tasteful, not elegant, but
neither cheap. The strangest were the bookshelves that lined the wall between the two
windows. Bourne, Professor, I would read the titles. Would like some information about that huge man
and stranger who spoke as if he had studied at the Sorbonne - A brute in appearance, perhaps a very
different person inside. Looked at Santos. - So I will not be given out freely here, right?
- Sure - the messenger replied the Jackal. Would have been different if answering the simple questions that I did, but just say that its conditions,
or rather its restrictions prohibit the answer ... Okay, I also have conditions and you will live or die
according to them.
- It's been clear.
- I have no reason not to be.
- Of course, you're missing the opportunity
receiving a million francs, as suggested, or maybe more.
- Let me suggest too - said Santos,
folding his arms across his chest strong c gazing at the tattoos - a man with access to so much money not
only willing to pay for his life, but also give you any information requested to avoid unbearable suffering
and unnecessary. The Jackal's man slammed his fist on the armrest and shouted: - What do you know about a blackbird?
Who told you about Le Coeur du Soldat? Where you
comes, who are you and who is your customer?
Bourne stood motionless, rigid body and mind running with the speed of a whirlwind. Needed to get out
of there! Needed to locate Bernadine - as time passed the scheduled time for your call? Where
was Marie? However, what he wanted to do, had to do could not be done facing the giant in
front. Santos was not a liar, nor was foolish. Could kill the prisoner and kill easily, without hesitation
... and could not be deceived with false or confusing. The Jackal's man was protecting two fields of
action - his and that of his mentor.The Chameleon had only one option, to reveal part of the truth, some
dangerous enough to be believed, a frame of authenticity so plausible that it could not be
rejected. Jason put the ice pack on the tray on the table and spoke slowly, where the shadow was.
- Of course not intend morrei by a client, or be tortured to protect your information, so I'll tell you what I
know, which is not as much as I would like it to be, given the circumstances. I will follow the order of
your questions, if fear does not confuse me. To begin, I have no personal access to money. Step
information to be a man in London and it releases an account in Bern, Switzerland, for a name and a
number - any name, any number - I give ... Let's forget the part about my life and the unbearable
suffering - already
answered that. Let's see, I know about a blackbird? The
Coeur du Soldat is part of that answer ... I was told that an old - name and nationality unknown, at least
to me, but I believe that is French - sought a public man well known and warned that it would target of a
murder. Who believes in a drunk, especially with an old long criminal record and is looking for a
reward? Unfortunately the murder was consummated. Fortunately one aide of the deceased was with
him when the old man told him. The helper was and is a good friend of my client, and the murder was
appropriate for both. The helper went secretly to the old information. Messages are received for a
blackbird in a cafe called Le Coeur du Soldat in Argenteuil. This blackbird must be an extraordinary man
and now my client wants to meet you ... As for me, my offices are hotel rooms in different cities. I am
currently registered with the name Simon in Pont-Royal, where I keep my passport and other papers. Bourne paused and raised his open hands. - I told all the truth I know.
- Not the whole truth - corrected Santos in low, guttural voice. - Who is your customer?
- They'll kill me if I tell.
- I'll kill you right now if you do not count - said

the messenger of the Jackal, taking the hunting knife of Jason MU wide belt leather. The blade glinted in
the lamplight.
- Why not give the information that my client
either with a name and a number - any name,
any number - and I assure two million francs? All my client wants is for me to be
the only intermediary. What harm can it do? The Blackbird can not accept my proposal and send me to
hell ... Three million!
Santos hesitated, as if the amount was beyond his imagination.
- Maybe we can do business later ...
- Now.
- No! - The man Carlos lifted the huge body of the chair and approached the couch holding the knife in
his right hand menacingly. - Your client.
- Customers - answered Bourne. - A group of
powerful men in the United States.
- Who?
- Their names are kept as secrets
nuclear, but I know one and think it is enough for you.
- Who?
- Find out for yourself, or at least understand the enormity of what I'm trying to say. Protect your
Blackbird at best! Check if I'm telling the truth and in the process earn so much money that can
do what you want for life. Can travel, disappear, perhaps take time for these books instead of dealing
with that garbage downstairs. As you said, none of us are young. I won a generous commission and you
are a rich man, carefree, slavery ... Again, what's wrong? My proposal may be refused, that of my clients
as well. There is no trick. My clients do not want to even see him. They just want to hire their services.
- How can you do that? How can I check?
- Invent an important position for you
same and look the American ambassador in London
- The name is Atkinson. Say you received confidential instructions Snake Lady. Ask if you should follow
these instructions.
- Snake Woman? What is this?
- Medusa. They call their group Medusa.
Mo Panov excused himself and rose. Across the room from the cafeteria crowded toward the men's
room, frantically searching a payphone. There was! The only damn phone was ten feet from the table
that occupied and could be seen by the eyes glazed platinum blonde whose paranoia was planted as
deeply as the roots of your hair. When Panov casually mentioned he needed to call his office to inform
his team about the accident and say where she was, the woman was furious.
- And attract a swarm of cops to catch you!
Forget, shaman! His office calls "men", they call my dear Chief Fork-in-mouth and my ass will hit all
fences county. It is "well" with all highway strips. I think that tells them where they can find women for
sex.
- I do not need to talk to you and in fact can not. If you remember, you said he may not like me.
- There is little like. It will cut your little nose. I will not risk it - you do not seem very sure of the
head. Will talk about his accident - shortly after the cops show up.
- You know, you are not saying anything to
thing.
- Okay. 'll Say it clear. I yell "Rape!"
and I say not very kind to truckers who found you on the road two days ago and have been a sex slave
since. What do you think?

- Horrible. Can I at least go to the bathroom? It

urgent.
- At ease. Places like these have no phone in the bathroom.
- Really? ... No, seriously, I'm not
annoyed or disappointed - just curious. Why not have a phone in the bathroom? The truck drivers
earning well, are not interested in stealing pennies.
- Dude, you're from another world. Things happen on the roads, things are changed, disappear, you
know? If people can call, others will want to know who is doing these things.
- Is it ...?
- Oh, my God. Hurry up. Only have time
for a couple of sandwiches. He will take the Seventy, not Ninety-Seven. You can not imagine.
- Imagine what? What are the Seventy and Ninety Seven c?
- Roads, for God's sake! There are no roads and highways. shaman you a good ass. Go to the bathroom,
then later maybe we stop at a motel to continue our business conversation and you can receive a bonus
upfront.
- What did you say?
- I am pro-choice. It is against their religion?
- Of course not. I am an advocate of free choice.
- Great. Go quickly.
Thus, Panov went to the bathroom and the woman was right. Phone nothing and the window was too
small for anyone bigger than a cat or mouse can get through it ... But he had money, lots of money, and
five driver's licenses from five different states. In the language of Jason Bourne, were weapons,
especially money. Mo did what she needed to do for a long time, then went to the door and opened it
slightly to observe the blonde. Suddenly the door was pushed violently Panov and thrown against the
wall.
- Oops, sorry mate! - Exclaimed a man short and fat that held the psychiatrist's shoulders. Mo put her
hands to her face. - Are you okay?
- Of course. Yes, I'm fine.
- You damn, your nose is bleeding!
Come here, close to the towels - ordered the truck with the shirt sleeves rolled up to keep the
cigarettes. - Come on, put your head back as I pass cold water in its trunk ... Relax and lean against the
wall. So, that's better, let's stop this business in a minute or two. - The man pressed a paper towel gently
against the nose Panov holding the neck of the doctor with his other hand, and every two or three
seconds wiped the blood. - All right, mate, almost stopped. Breathe through your mouth, take a deep
breath, you know? Head tilted back, right?
- Thank you - said Panov, holding the paper towel, astonished at the rapidity with which the blood had
stopped. - Thank you very much.
- Do not thank me, I crumpled unintentionally replied the trucker while urinating. - Better now? - Asked, zipping up his pants.
- Yes, I am. - And against the advice of his dear departed mother, Mo decided to take advantage of the
situation and forget the truth. - But I must explain that it was my fault, not yours.
- What do you mean? - Asked the man washing hands.
- Frankly, I was hiding behind the door, watching a woman who want to get rid of - if you know what I
mean.
The private physician Panov laughed wiping
hands.
- Who does not understand? It is the story of humanity, pal! They cling to us and ready, whine and we
do not know what to do, they scream and we saw a slave. Now, to me, it is different. I married a true

European, you know? She does not speak English very well, but is thankful ... And great with the kids,
with me, and I still get excited when I see it. Not like these drugs princesses out there.
- A statement extremely interesting, although visceral - said the psychiatrist.
- You what?
- Nothing, nothing. I still want to leave here without her seeing me. I got some money ...
- Save your money. Who is she?
The two went to the door and opened it slightly Panov.
- That one, the blonde who is always looking back and forth to the front door. It's getting very exciting ...
- Wow! - Stopped the truck. - That's the wife of Bronk! Is too off course.
- Out of route? The Bronk?
- It makes the roads east, not these. What the hell is she doing here?
- I think you're trying to get away from him.
- That's right - the man agreed. - Hear
say that she's having sex and not charge anything.
- Do you know her?
- Hell, yes, I know. I've been in some barbecues at their house. He makes a good sauce as hell.
- I need to get out of here. As I said, I have some money ...
- That's right, I said. We talked about it
later.
- Where?
- In my truck. It's a red trailer
with white stripes, like our flag. Is parked in front of the right side. Go to the side of the truck and hide.
- She'll see me when I leave.
- No you will not. I'm going to surprise you.
I'll tell her that all the truckers say and Bronk is going to the Carolinas - at least that's what I said.
- How will I pay for this favor?
- Probably some of that money
who is always talking about. But not much. The Bronk is an animal and I'm a Christian converted. - The
driver opened the door almost Panov preaching the wall again. Mo saw him approach the woman with
outstretched arms and embrace those who embrace it as an old friend. Began to speak rapidly. She
listened intently, mesmerized. Panov left the bathroom and walked across the cafeteria for the huge
truck striped red and white. With heart pounding and panting, crouched on the other side of the vehicle
and waited.Suddenly, the woman ran out of the Bronk
cafeteria, the platinum hair flying grotesquely behind his head, and went straight to his red car. Came in,
started the engine and continued his journey to the north, while Mo looked amazed.
- How are you, buddy - where the hell you
are? - Shouted the trucker nameless, and almost miraculously to have stalled a nosebleed, Mo had just
save a woman whose manic paranoia was a mixture of revenge and guilt. Stop it, you idiot, thought
Panov. Then he said aloud:
- Here ... pal!
Thirty-five minutes later arrived at the entrance of an unidentified city truck and stopped in front of a
number of shops that lined the road.
- Has phone there, buddy. Good luck
- Are you sure? - Asked Mo. - I mean,
about money.
- Of course I'm sure - the man replied. - Two hundred dollars is enough - perhaps what I get - but more
than that corrupts, is not it? I've been offered fifty times that amount to carry a load that I transporto,
and want to know what I say to them?

- What do you say?

- I say I can piss into the wind with your
poison. Will return everything back and blind them all.
- You're a good person - said Panov down truck.
- I have to redeem myself of a few things.
The door closed, the huge truck continued traveling and Mo turned around, looking for a phone.
- Where the hell are you doing? - shouted Conklin, Virginia.
- I do not know! - said Panov. - If I were a patient I would say that is an extension of a Freudian dream
because it never happens and now happened to me. They drugged me, Alex.
- Chill out! That's what we assume. We need to know where you are. Let's be realistic, other people are
also looking for her.
- All right, all right ... Wait a minute. Has
a diner across the street with a sign that says "Battle Ford's Best." Does that help?
The answer was a sigh on the other end.
- Yes, it helps. If you were a productive member of society and scholar of the civil war, rather than an
insignificant psychiatrist would know that helps.
- What the hell is this?
- Go to the old battlefield at Ford's
Bluff. It is a National Historic Landmark. Everywhere there
signs indicating the direction. A helicopter will be there in thirty minutes, c do not tell anyone.
- You know you're being too blunt? I was the object of hostilities ...
- Turning off, walk!
Bourne entered the Pont-Royal, took out a note of five hundred francs, and put it upon the night
receptionist.
- The name is Simon - said with a smile. I've been away. Any messages?
- Nothing, Monsieur Simon - the man said quietly. - But there are two men outside, one in
Montalembert, another on the other side of the rue du Bac. Jason took from his pocket a thousandfranc note and handed it discreetly.
- I paid for watchful eyes, and paid well. Keep it up.
- Of course, monsieur.
Bourne took the elevator and walked brass
quickly down the hall to his room. Everything was in order, exactly as he had left it, except the bed that
was neat. The bed. My God, needed a rest. Could not do what I did before.Something had changed in
him - less energy, breath shorter. However, the two needed now more than ever. Gee, I lie down and
sleep ... No. There was Marie. Bernardine had.Dialed the number he had memorized.
- Sorry I'm late - said Jason.
- Four hours, mon ami. , what happened?
- Do not have time right now. And Marie?
- Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She was not in
any international flight, air or scheduled to depart. Checked until transshipments London, Lisbon,
Stockholm and Amsterdam - nothing. There is no Elise Marie St. Jacques Webb traveling to Paris.
- There must be. She would not change her mind. And I would not know how to avoid immigration.
- I told you. Her name is not listed in any flight, any country, to Paris.
- Damn!
- I'll keep trying, my friend. The words of St. Alex did not come out of my ears. Do not underestimate la
belle mademoiselle.
- She is no drug mademoiselle, is

my wife ... Is not one of us, Bernardine, is not a field agent can cheat, lie and betray. It is not so. But
coming to Paris, I know!
- The airlines do not know, what else can I say?
- Exactly what you said - Jason replied, feeling that his lungs had no strength to inhale the air needed,
and that his heavy eyelids were about to close. - Keep trying.
- What happened tonight? Conte.
- Tomorrow - David Webb said in a voice almost
inaudible. - Tomorrow ... I'm so tired and I have to be someone else.
- What are you talking about? Neither seem yourself.
- Nothing. Tomorrow. I need to think ... Or maybe it's better not to think.
In the immigration line in Marseille, small even at that hour of the day, Marie took on a look of boredom
did not feel. His turn came.
- Amricaine - the official said plenty of sleep.
- You are here for business or tour, ma'am?
- J and parle franais, monsieur. Je suis canadienne d'origine
- Quebec. Separatiste.
- Ah, bien! - The official opened more sleepy eyes and continued in French: - Business?
- No. It's a sentimental journey. My parents were in Marseilles and died recently. I want to know their
land, where they lived - perhaps what I missed.
- Extraordinarily moving, beautiful lady
- Said the immigration officer with a appreciative look. - Maybe you need a guide? This whole town is
indelibly engraved in my mind.
- Your very kind. I'm staying at the Sofitel Vieux Port. What is what? Already have my name.
- Lafontaine, madam. At your service!
- Lafontaine! was what he said?!
- That's what I said.
- Very interesting.
- I am very interesting - the official said with narrowed eyes, no more sleep, while the stamped passport
Marie. - I am at your service, ma'am!
Should be hereditary in this branch of the family, thought Marie headed for the luggage area. Now take a
domestic flight to Paris, using any name. Franois Bernardine awoke, startled, stood up quickly, his
elbows, frowning, disturbed. She is coming to Paris, I know the words husband who knew her better
than anyone. The
Her name is not listed in any other country flight to Paris. His words. Paris. The keyword was Paris! But
what if it was not Paris?
The Deuxime veteran jumped out of bed in the soft light of early day, coming through the
window. Shaved in less time than your skin deserved, showered, dressed and went down the street and
his Peugeot with the inevitable penalty attached to the windshield wiper. Unfortunately now he could
not get rid of it with a simple phone call. Bernardine sighed, took the role of the windshield and into the
car.
Fifty-eight minutes later arrived at the parking lot of a small brick building on the huge cargo complex
from Orly Airport. The building was insignificant, the work that took place within it was not. Ali worked
extremely important a section of the Department of Immigration, simply known as Air Entries Office,
where sophisticated computers kept updated data about every person who entered the international
airports in France. It was vital for immigration, but rarely consulted by the Deuxime, for there were
many other entry points used by the people in which the Deuxime was interested. For years, however,
operating under the theory that the obvious goes unnoticed, Bernardine sought information on the
Office of Air Starters. One time or another your search was rewarded. He wondered if it would happen

this morning .. Nineteen minutes later had the answer. It was what he wanted, but arrived too
late. Bernardine was up
the entrance hall of the building, put the coin in the public phone and dialed the Pont-Royal.
- Yes? - Bourne answered hoarsely.
- I apologize if I woke up.
- Franois?
- Yes
- I was standing. There are two men in
Across the street a lot more tired than I, unless they have been rotated.
- Because of what happened last night? Stayed up all night?
- Yes, I tell you when we meet. Was
why call?
- No. I'm in Orly and unfortunately I have bad
News, information that proves that I am an idiot. I should have thought of that ... His wife arrived in
Marseille just over two hours. Not Paris, Marseille.
- That's the bad news? - Jason exclaimed. - We know where she is! We can ... Oh, Christ, I understand
what you mean - Bourne continued to voice dismay. - It can take a train, rent a car ...
- You can even fly to Paris under any name Bernardine added. - But I have an idea. Perhaps as useless as my brain, but I'll suggest it anyway ... Do
you have any - as you say - special nickname just between the two?Sobriquets caring perhaps?
- We are not much given to that sort of thing,
frankly ... Wait a minute. Jamie two years ago, our son, had trouble telling mommy. said he
"Mimom." For fun we all call him that for a few months until he can speak properly.
- I know she speaks French fluently. She reads the papers?
- Religiously at least tender economy. Do not know if it reads something else, but it's your ritual every
morning.
- Even in a crisis?
- Especially in a crisis. Says it calms her.
- We will send a message - in terms of
economy.
Ambassador Phillip Atkinson prepared to
another morning of tedious paperwork at the embassy in London. Boredom amounted to a throbbing
pain in his temples and an unpleasant taste in the mouth. Not exactly a typical hangover because he
rarely drank whiskey and for over 25 years was not drunk. There
long, about thirty months after the fall of Saigon, Atkinson had recognized the limitations of his talents,
their opportunities and, above all, of its resources. When he returned from war with a service record is
not outstanding, but reasonable, his family presented him with a place on the Stock Exchange of New
York, where in thirty months, he managed to lose a little more than three million dollars.
- Does not learned anything at Andover and Yale?
- Roared his father. - At least made some good knowledge on the Street?
- Dad, all envy me, you know that. To
sometimes have the impression that you want revenge
in me. You know what they say. Father and son, of high society and all that crap ... Remember the article
from Daily News that in compared to Fairbanks?
- I met Doug for forty years! - Yelled
the father. - He had head, one of the best.
- He studied at Andover or Yale, Dad.
- Not needed! ... Wait a minute. Foreign Ministry ...? What the hell did you get a diploma at Yale?

- Bachelor of Arts.
- Forget it. There was something else. Courses or something.
- I course of English literature and political science course.
- That's it! Put business aside a sissy. You were very good in the other - that silly political science.
- Dad, it was not my best course.
- You spent?
- Spent ... scraping.
- No scraping with distinction. 's it!
So Phillip Atkinson III began his career at the Foreign Ministry under the influence of an important
contributor politician who was his father, and never looked back. The old illustrious dead eight years
ago, but Phillip will never forget the last great fighter advice:
"Do not fail in this too, son. If you want to drink, have sex, do everything in the house or in any desert,
understand? And treat his wife that, whatever it's called, with much affection in front of
others, understand? "
- Got it, Dad.
So Phillip Atkinson felt so miserable that morning. He had spent the previous night at a dinner with
important people of royalty who drank until the drink out through his nose and his wife, who excused
this behavior because they were royalty, just what Phillip could only tolerate after seven glasses of
Chablis. Sometimes he missed those days of partying and drinking, the old Saigon.
The phone's ringer made Atkinson blurring his signature on a document that had no meaning for him.
- Yes?
- The High Commissioner of the Central Committee of Hungary is on the phone, sir.
- Oh? Who is he - who are they? we recognize them - this thing - to recognize?
- I do not know, Mr. Ambassador. Not really
can not pronounce his name.
- Okay, put the man on the line.
- Mr. Ambassador? - Said the voice with a strong
accent. - Mr. Atkinson?
- Yes, it is Atkinson. Forgive me, but I can not
I remember your name, or committee that claims to represent.
- Does not matter. I am speaking on behalf of the Snake Woman ...
- Stop it - said the ambassador at the court of St. James. - Stay on the line and continue to speak in a few
seconds. - Atkinson called the "mixer" and waited to hear no more noise pre-interceptor.
- Okay, continue.
- I received instructions Snake Lady and sent to confirm the source with you.
- Confirmed.
- So I run the instructions?
- Of course! Everything they say. My God, look what happened with Teagarten in Brussels, and
Armbruster, in Washington. Protect me! Do anything that they send.
- Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.
After the bath warmer that could withstand, Bourne went to the shower colder he could
tolerate. Changed the bandage neck, returned to the small hotel room and lay down ...Then Marie had
found a simple and ingenious way to get to Paris. Damn! How would find her, protect her? Does she had
no idea what I was doing? David would have gone crazy. Would panic, making a lot of mistakes ... Oh,
my God, I 'm David!
Stop it. Control yourself. Chill.
The phone rang and he answered.
- Yes?

- Santos wants him. With peace in my heart.

24
HELICOPTER of Emergency Medical Service landed, the engines were turned off and the blades stopped
spinning with a thud. Following the procedure for the EMS landing of patients in emergency state, only
then the doors opened and the metal ladder was lowered. A paramedic uniform came out in front of
Panov and helped shrink down. A second man in civilian clothes drove him to the limo, where Peter
Holland, director of the CIA, Alex Conklin and awaited, Alex on the bench facing the back seat. The
psychiatrist sat next to Holland, took several deep breaths, sighed and leaned his head back on the seat.
- I'm a maniac - he said, stressing
every word. - Definitely insane, and I'm willing to sign the papers for my internment.
- You're safe and that's what matters, doctor
- Said Holland.
- Good to see you, Mo, wacky - added
Conklin.
- You have no idea what I did? ... Deliberately shot a car against a tree and I was in!
Then, after walking half the distance from here to the Bronx, was picked up by one person who has
more screws loose than me. Your libido is uncontrolled and she was fleeing her husband's truck - which
pursues furious - and later told me, goes by the affectionate name of Bronk. My motoristaprostituta
kidnaps me with a lot of threats, such as yelling "rape" in a cafeteria full of bigger and stronger
defenders of the National Football League - but one that got me out. - Panov stopped talking and put his
hand in his pocket. - Take - continued, extending Conklin five driver's licenses and a little less of $ 6,000.
- What is this? - Alex asked, astonished.
- I robbed a bank and decided to become a professional driver! What think you? I took the man who was
guarding me. Described the best to the crew of the helicopter crash site.They returned to find the
man. Go find him, he's not going anywhere.
Peter Holland picked up the phone and dialed a number limousine.
- Contact EMS-Arlington Equipment 57. The man who will get to be taken directly to Langley. To the
infirmary. And mantenhame informed of the progress of the search ... Sorry, doctor, continue.
- Continue? Continue what? I was kidnapped,
I was stuck on a farm, sodium pentothal injected into my veins enough to make me an inhabitant of out
of this world, which recently Madame Scylla Charybdis 2 accused me of living.
2 Alluding to the phrase "between Scylla and Charybdis," which means between two unavoidable
dangers. (N. of T.)
- What the hell is this? - Holland asked in a dry voice.
- Nothing, Admiral Sir or director, or ...
- Peter is enough - Holland completed. - Only
I did not understand what you said.
- There is nothing to understand beyond the facts. My allusions are compulsive attempts of
scholarship. It's called post-traumatic stress.
- Okay, now speaking of course.
Panov turned to the director with a smile
nervous.
- I must apologize, Peter. I'm still a little tense. This last day or these days do not exactly represent my
normal style of life.
- I think that is not the normal style of anyone Holland agreed. - I've seen what I had to see these methods, but nothing like this, this interference
directly in mind. It's not my time.
- There's no hurry, Mo - Conklin said. - None

strive more, you have endured much. If you want, I defer to your statement in a few hours, when you
are more relaxed and calmer.
- Do not be stupid, Alex! - Protested the psychiatrist.
- For the second time David's life is in danger because of me. This is harder to bear than anything
else. We can not waste even a minute ... Forget Langley, Peter. Take me to one of their clinics. Floating
in space, I want to tell you all I can remember, consciously or unconsciously. Quickly. 'll tell the doctors
what to do.
- You must be kidding - Holland said, looking intently at Panov.
- I'm not kidding. You both need to know what I know - I know that even without knowing what I
know. Do not understand this?
The director picked up the phone again and pressed a single number. The driver, on the other side of the
glass partition, took the phone to the ear that was in the console beside him.
- There was a change in plans - said Holland. - Come to Sterile Five. The car slowed down and went into
the first street to the right, heading for the hills and green fields of Virginia. Morris Panov closed his
eyes, as if in a trance or preparing for an ordeal - the execution itself, perhaps. Alex looked at Peter
Holland, the two looked at Mo and look at each other again. Whatever it was that was making Panov,
had his reasons. Nobody said a word until they reached the gates of Sterile Five, thirty minutes later.
- DCI and companions - said the chauffeur to
guard uniform with a private security firm, but actually a CIA man. The limo followed the driveway lined
with trees.
- Thank you - Mo said, opening and blinking
eyes. - Grasped course. I'm trying to clear my mind and if you're lucky, a little lower pressure.
- You do not need to do this - said Holland.
- Yes, I do - said Panov. - Maybe
with time I could gather the facts with a certain clarity, but now I can not and do not have time. - He
turned to Conklin. - How can you tell me?
- Peter knows everything. In response to its pressure, I will not tell all the details, but in a nutshell, is well
David. At least we did not know anything that proves otherwise.
- Marie? Children?
- On the island - said Alex, avoiding looking at Holland.
- Sterile And Five? - Panov asked to Holland. - I suppose you are an expert or experts of type I need right
now.
- Taking turns day and night. Probably you
know some.
- I'd rather not know. - The long dark car stopped in front of the stone steps of the Georgian mansion
with columns in the center of the large property. Let - Mo said quietly, out of the car. The white doors of carved wood, the pink marble floor and elegant
staircase were a superb outfit for the work done in Sterile Five. Dissidents, double agents and triple
agents field returning complex missions to rest and report continuously passed through that center. The
staff, all level confidential Zero Four consisted of groups of two doctors and three nurses took turns,
cooks and domestic servants recruited in foreign service - especially embassies
- And guards, all with Rangers training or equivalent. Circulated quietly through the house, alert with
weapons visible or not, except medical personnel. The
Butler educated and dark suit that was given charge of delivering badges to all visitors, without
exception. It was a gray-haired man, retired CIA interpreter, and made his role so well that seemed
straight out of a play.
Of course he was astonished when he saw Holland. He prided himself on knowing by heart all the
interviews scheduled in Sterile Five.

- A surprise visit, sir?

- It is a pleasure to see you, Frank - the director shook hands with the former interpreter. - Surely you
remember Alex Conklin ...
- My God, are you, Alex? How many years! More handshakes. - When was the last time? ... That crazy woman from Warsaw, was not it?
- Since that day the KGB did not stop laughing - said Conklin. - The only secret was that the woman had a
recipe for the worst golumpki I've ever eaten ... Always at work, Frank?
- One time or another - the man said, with mock disapproval. - These young translators do not know the
difference between a quiche and kluski.
- Since I do not know - said Holland - I have a word with you, Frank. The two men parted slightly, talking
quietly. Alex and Mo Panov expected, the latter frowning and breathing deeply one time or another. The
director came back and gave badges to both.
- I know where we should go. Frank will warn them.
They climbed the curving staircase, Conklin limping, and
walked by a carpeted hallway on the left of the massive back of the house. To the right was a door
unlike any other. It was solid oak bright, with four small windows at the top and two black buttons in a
small box next to the apple-granddaughter. Holland put the key in the lock, turned and pressed the
button below. A red light appeared on the small camera still mounted on the ceiling. Twenty minutes
later they heard the clatter of the elevator stopping on the floor.
- Come, gentlemen - said the director of the CIA. The door closed and they began to descend.
- We went up to down? - asked Conklin.
- Security - said the director. - It is the only
way to get where we're going. There are no elevators on the ground floor.
- Why not, you can ask the man without a
foot? - Alex said.
- I think you can answer better than
I - said the director. - Apparently all access to the basement are sealed except the two elevators that go
straight through the floor and for which we need a key. This takes us to where we want to go. The other
leads to furnaces, air conditioning units and all the rest of the normal equipment of a basement. Frank
gave me the key. If she does not return to its niche after a certain time, an alarm sounds.
- To me it seems an unnecessary complication
- Panov said dryly. - Toys expensive.
- Not exactly, Mo - Conklin said. - Explosives can easily be hidden in heating pipes and water. Did you
know that in the last days of Hitler's bunker, some of his aides tried to put poison less crazy system of air
filters?
Are just precautions.
The elevator stopped and the door opened.
- To the left, doctor - said Holland.
The hallway was completely white and bright, antiseptic as it should be, because the underground
complex was a highly sophisticated medical center. Designed not only to treat men and women, but also
the process of breaking their will, nullifying their resistance to give information, revealing truths that
could prevent infiltration operations in high-risk, often saving lives in the process. They entered a room
that contrasted sharply with the appearance antiseptic fluorescent corridor. Saw heavy armchairs, soft
lighting, electric coffee maker on the table, with cups, newspapers and magazines tidy in other tables, all
the comforts of a waiting room. A man with a white coat appeared at the inner door, frowning and
doubtfully.
- Director Holland? - He said, approaching
Peter with his hand outstretched. - I'm Dr. Walsh, second shift. Needless to say we did not expect.

- This is an emergency and there was no choice

mine. May I introduce Dr. Morris Panov - unless you already know?
- I know the name, of course. - Walsh reached out to the doctor. - It is a pleasure, doctor, and a privilege.
- Maybe remove the latter when we finish, doctor. Can we talk in private?
- Of course. My office is inside. The two doctors left the waiting room.
- You should not go with them? - Conklin asked, looking at Peter.
- Why do not you?
- But what the hell, you're the director. should insist!
- You should insist, as his friend.
- I do not have any influence here.
- My disappeared when Mo got us out of
play. Come, let's have a coffee. This place makes me goosebumps. - Holland went to the table where the
coffee and poured two cups. - How do you like your coffee?
- With more cream and sugar than I should. Leave
I prepare.
- I still take it black - said the head away from the table and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his
pocket. - My wife says that the acid will still kill me.
- Others say that smoking will take care of that.
- What?
- See - Alex pointed to the sign on the wall.
THANK YOU FOR NOT SMOKING.
- For this I have a lot of influence - Holland said quietly, lighting up. Nearly twenty minutes passed. Once
either Conklin or Holland picked up a magazine or a newspaper and put it back on the table without
reading, looking at the door of the office. Finally, 28 minutes later, the doctor called Walsh appeared.
- He said you know what you're asking and makes no objection, director Holland.
- I have many objections, but it seems he won them all ... Oh, excuse me, Doctor, this is Alex Conklin, is
our close friend and Panov.
- What do you think, Mr. Conklin? - Asked Walsh,
returning the fulfillment of the former agent.
- I abhor what he is doing - what he wants to do - but he made sure that makes sense. If it makes sense,
it is right for him and I understand his decision. If it makes sense, I even shot here, one foot less and
everything else. This makes sense, Doctor? And what is the risk?
- With drugs there is always a risk, especially
in terms of chemical equilibrium, and he knows. So he wants a constant intravenous prolonging
psychological distress, but reduces the risk of potential harm.
- In part? - Alex exclaimed.
- I'm being frank. It also.
- In short, doctor - said Holland.
- If something goes wrong, two or three months of therapy, not permanent.
- And the point? - Insisted Conklin. - Makes some
sense?
- Yes, it does - said Walsh. - The facts are
Recent and completely dominate. Is consciously obsessed, which means that your subconscious is within
our reach. The memories he can not reach are very close yet ... I came here as a courtesy. He insisted
that we started and as I said, I would do the same. We all do.
- What level of security? - Alex asked.
- The nurse will stay out of the room. Is it just a recorder battery and I ... and one of you, or both.

- The doctor turned to the door, then looked back. - Mando call them when the time comes - added,
disappearing in the office. Conklin and Peter Holland looked at each other.Started the second waiting
period.
To the amazement of both, in less than ten minutes
a nurse entered the room and asked to accompany him. Passed through a maze of white walls and
antiseptic with inlaid panels and glass doorknobs. Just saw another human being on the road, a man
with white coat and surgical mask that left one of the doors embedded. His piercing eyes and intense,
even accusers, seemed to say that Conklin and Holland were aliens from another world without
authority to be in Sterile Five.
The nurse opened a door with a red light flashing above the anvil. She put a finger to his lips,
commanding silence. Conklin Holland and entered a dark room and saw a white curtain reflecting a
small circle of bright light, behind which there must be a bed or examination table. Heard Dr. Walsh said
quietly and calmly
- You're going back in time, doctor, not much, a day or two, when he began to feel pain in the arm
... your arm, Doctor. Why are hurting your arm?
You were in the house of a small farm and saw the field through the window, then they blindfolded her
eyes and began to hurt his arm. Her arm, doctor. Suddenly, a flash of green light reflected from the
ceiling. The curtain was opened electronically, revealing the bed, the patient and physician. Walsh took
his hand away from a button next to the bed and looked at them, gesturing slow, as if to say, there's
nobody else here. Confirmed?
The two men, as if hypnotized, then
shocked by the pained expression on his face pale Panov and tears running down their eyes open,
confirmed with a nod. Then they saw the straps that bound him to the bed, evidently by Mo's order.
- The arm doctor. We have to start with the process of aggression physics, is not it? Because we know
your results, doctor, right? Leads to another invasive procedure that you can not afford. Need to stop
the progression. The scream was a prolonged cry of defiance and horror.
- No, no! I will not tell! I killed him once, I will not kill him again. Depart from miiiiiim ...!
Alex collapsed to the floor. Peter Holland, Admiral broad-shouldered veteran of the darkest operations
in the Far East, helped him get up and gently led him to the nurse in the other room.
- Get him out of here, please.
- Yes, sir.
- Peter - said Alex coughing, trying to stand
and falling again due to lack of support from the artificial foot. Sorry, I'm sorry!
- Excuse what? - Holland asked aloud
low.
- I should watch, but I can not!
- I understand. Is too close. In its place I think I also could not.
- No, you do not understand! Mo said he killed David, but of course it did not. But I would kill him,
I wanted to actually kill you! And now I again, I sent him to Paris ... Mo was not, was I!
- Up against the wall, miss. Let it slip to the floor and can go.
- Yes, sir!
The nurse responded and hurried out, leaving Holland and Alex alone in the white maze.
- Now listen, field agent - muttered the
grizzled CIA director, kneeling in front of Conklin.
- This drug carousel of guilt must stop, otherwise no one will be useful for anyone. not give a shit what
you and Panov did thirty years ago, or five years ago or now! We are reasonably intelligent people and
made what we did because we thought it was the right thing at the time. Want to know

something, Santo Alex? Yes, I know they call it. We made mistakes. Very inconvenient, right? Maybe
we're not so bright after all. Panov Maybe not the biggest don't-know-what behavioral, you may not be
the most cunning bastard in the field, which was canonized, and maybe I is not the superestrategista
behind the lines, they say I am. And hey We grabbed our bags and go where we go.
- Oh, for God's sake, shut your mouth - shouted Conklin, seeking to raise up leaning on the wall.
- Silence!
- Shit! The last thing I need is a sermon. Had both feet gave him a beating.
- Now we start to brute force?
- I was a black belt. First class, Admiral.
- Wow! Whoa! I do not know how to fight!
Their eyes met and Alex was the first to laugh softly.
- You too, Peter. Message received. Want to help me? Go to the waiting room. Come on, give me your
hand.
- The fuck I give - Holland said, getting up. - Arrange themselves alone. Someone told me that the saint
walked two hundred kilometers of enemy territory, crossing rivers and streams and the jungle c arrived
at the camp Foxtrot wondering if anyone had a bottle of liquor.
- Yeah, but that was different. I was much younger and had both feet.
- Well, pretend you have two now, Alex Holy Holland winked. - I'm going back there. One of us needs to be present.
- Son of a bitch!
Conklin sat in the waiting room an hour and 47 minutes. The foot that he had never throbbed, but it was
throbbing now. Conklin did not know the meaning of feeling hopeless, but could not ignore the pulse
rising up the leg. At least it was something to think about and he thought miss the days when I was
younger, when I was two feet, and before that.Oh, how he wanted to change the world! And as she was
so right on target that forced him to be the youngest speaker in the history of your class gym, the
youngest freshman accepted into Georgetown, a light sparkling, very shimmering, shining at the end of
the tunnel academic. Their decline began when someone somewhere discovered that his real name was
not Alexander Conklin, but Aleksei Niko-lae Konsolikov. That man, now faceless, made a casual question
to answer Conklin and changed his life.
- Did you speak Russian?
- Of course - he replied, thinking the visitor absurd to think that he did not speak. - As you know, my
parents were immigrants. I was raised in a home not only Russian, but a Russian neighborhood - at least
in my early years. You could not buy bread in ovoshchnoi without speaking Russian. And in parochial
school, the nuns and priests older insisted on speaking their native language ... I'm sure it helped me to
drop my religion.
- In its early years, it was not what he said?
- Yes
- What has changed?
- I'm sure it is somewhere in the
its report and the government is unlikely to meet the infamous Senator McCarthy. With the words, her
face turned also to the memory of Alex. It was a face of middle age who suddenly went blank, his eyes
clouded with anger.
- I assure you, Mr. Conklin, who have nothing to do with the senator. You call him infamous, I have other
adjectives that are not relevant to this subject ... What has changed?
- Good afternoon my father became what he was in
Russia, a dealer successful, a capitalist. The last count, had seven supermarkets in the best shopping
malls. Call up Conklin's Corners. My father is over eighty years now and although I love him too, I say

that is an ardent supporter of Senator. I simply take into consideration your age, your fight, the hatred
he has for the Soviets, and avoid the subject.
- You are very intelligent and diplomat.
- Smart and diplomat - Alex agreed.
- I've done a couple of shopping in Conklin's Corners
A little Careiros.
- Oh, yes.
- Where did the name Conklin?
- My father. My mother thinks he saw an ad for motor oil, four or five years before coming
here. Naturally Konsolikov had disappeared. As I said my very intolerant father once, "Only Jews can
make a fortune here with Russian names." I also avoid this issue.
- Very diplomatic.
- It's not hard. He has a lot of good to counterbalance.
- If it had not, I'm sure you could be convincing in its diplomacy, knows how to disguise their feelings.
- Why is that so important?
- Why, Mr. Conklin. I represent a government agency that is very interested in his person, an agency in
which its future will be as limitless as any other potential recruit I have interviewed over the past decade
... This conversation was almost thirty years ago, thought Alex, once again looking at the door of the
waiting room that faced the inside of Sterile Five. And thirty years have been crazy. In an effort that was
a challenge to stress, looking for an expansion unrealistic, his father was exceeded, pledging to invest
huge sums of money that existed only in his imagination and minds of greedy bankers. Lost six
supermarkets, leaving the smaller and less profitable that only allowed him a level of unacceptable
life. Thus, suffered a fatal stroke and died when Alex was just beginning his adult life as a man.
Berlin - East and West. Moscow, Leningrad, Tashkent and Kamchatka. Vienna, Paris, Lisbon and
Istanbul. After the back, around the world, put in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Seoul, Cambodia, Laos and finally
Saigon and the tragedy that was Vietnam. During all these years, with its ease of languages and practice
born of survival, became the man of the central agency in clandestine operations, the main forward
observer and almost always the strategist onsite activities secret. Then one morning, with the mist
hovering over the Mekong Delta, a land mine shattered his life and his foot. Little left to field agent
whose job depended on mobility. The rest was a rapid descent and exit the field. Excessive drinking he
accepted and explained how genetic inheritance. The Russian winter depression spread in the spring,
summer and fall. At that shadow man, trembling and skeletal ready for total end was offered a second
chance. David Webb - Jason Bourne - came back into his life. The door opened, interrupting the painful
memories, and Peter Holland went slowly in the waiting room. He was pale and haggard, with haggard
eyes, and holding in his left hand two small plastic boxes, each with a teipe.
- While I live - Peter said faintly and far away, barely audible. - I hope I never have to go through this,
never see anything like it.
- How is Mo?
- I thought I was not going to resist ... I thought it was going to kill himself. Once or twice Walsh
stopped. I will say one thing, he was scared to death.
- Why did not he stop?
- I asked. He said Panov, besides giving explicit instructions orally, written and signed everything, hoping
that they were fulfilled to the letter. Perhaps there is an unwritten code of ethics among doctors, I do
not know, but I know that Walsh called the uni ECG which kept staring. I either. It was easier to look at
Mo. Let 's get out of here.
- Wait a minute. And Panov?
- He's not ready for the feast of welcome. Will stay here a couple of days for observation. Walsh was
calling me in the morning.

- I'd like to see it. I want to see it.

- There is nothing to see, just a human wreck.
Believe me, you do not want to and he does not want to see. Come on.
- Where?
- Your apartment in Vienna - our apartment in Vienna. I suppose you have a cassette.
- I have everything but a space rocket, but the
Most things I do not know how to use.
- I want to stop and buy a bottle of whiskey.
- It has everything you want in the apartment.
- That does not bother you? - Asked Holland,
looking closely at Alex.
- Would it matter if bother?
- Not at all ... If I remember correctly, you have
an extra room, do not you?
- I have.
- Great. May spend much of the night
hearing it. - The director raised his hand with the cassettes. - The first two times will not mean
anything. Let's just hear the pain, not the information.
It was just after five o'clock when they left the property known within the agency as Sterile Five. The
days were getting shorter, in the middle of September, and the setting sun heralded the change with an
intensity of color that showed the death of one season and the birth of another.
- The light is always clearer when we are to die - Conklin said, leaning back on the seat of the limo next
to Holland and looking out the window.
- I think this observation not only inadequate as
possibly immature. I do not guarantee the second part until I know who is the phrase. Who said that?
- Jesus, I think.
- The Scriptures were never revised. Many fires, no visual confirmation. Alex laughed softly and
thoughtfully.
- You read, by chance? I mean, the Bible?
- Almost Full - almost all versions.
- Why was required?
- No, nothing like that. My parents were agnostic as someone can be without being classified as a pariah
without God. - They had no comments on the subject and sent us, me and my two sisters, one Sunday to
Protestant worship, the other to the Catholic Mass, then a synagogue. Never regularly, but I think we
wanted the full panorama notion. 's thisthat makes the child feel like reading. Natural curiosity shrouded
in mysticism.
- Irresistible - agreed Conklin. - I lost
my faith and now, after proclaiming my independence for years, start to wonder if I missed something
important.
- Like what?
- Consolation, Peter. I have no consolation.
- For what?
- I do not know, things I can not control, maybe.
- You mean you do not have the consolation of an excuse, an excuse metaphysics. Sorry, Alex, but here
think differently. We are responsible for what we do, and no absolution in the confessional can change
that. Conklin stared at Holland.
- Thank you - he said.
- Why?

- Speaking like me, even using different words ... I went back to Hong Kong five years ago with the Flag
of Liability in my spear.
- Now do not get it.
- Forget it. I'm coming back ... "Beware the pitfalls of ecclesiastical presumption and introverted thinking
..."
- Who the hell said that?
- Savonarola or Salvador Dali, I do not remember.
- Oh, for God's sake, leave the bullshit! Holland said, laughing.
- Why? It's the first laugh that we relaxed. And his two sisters? What happened to them?
- This is the best joke - Peter responded with
a mocking smile. - A nun is in New Delhi, the other is president of his own public relations firm in New
York and uses Yiddish better than many peers. About two years ago she told me not to call
over shiksa. She loves the life he leads, such as one that is in India.
- Yet you chose a military career.
- Not yet, Alex ... It was chosen for me. I was a very angry young man who strongly believed that this
country was going down the tubes. My family was privileged - money, influence and expensive schools,
which guaranteed me - to me, not the black kid from the streets of Philadelphia and Harlem - automatic
entry in Annapolis. I just thought I should make in a way to deserve that privilege. Had to show that
people like me did not use the advantages to avoid responsibilities, but to increase their scope.
- Renaissance aristocracy - Conklin said.
- Noblesse oblige - nobility imposes obligations.
- Not being fair - Holland protested.
- Yes, I'm in the real sense. Aristo, from Greek, means "best" and kratia means "rule." In ancient Athens,
these young people led armies, swords raised in front of him, not behind, to prove to his men who were
willing to sacrifice to the side of the least important of them, as they were under his command, the
command of the best.
Peter Holland leaned her head on the back lined in velvet and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and
said:
- Maybe it was a part too, I do not know
- Not sure. We were asking too much ... for what? Pork Chop Hill? Land useless and unknown in the
Mekong? Why? For God's sake, why? Wounded men, with the belly and chest crumbled by an enemy
that was less than a meter of them, for a "kong"
I knew the jungles they did not know? What kind of war was it? ... If guys like me did not arrive and say
to the boys, "Look, here I am with you," how the hell do you think you would have endured the time
have borne? There would be massive riots, and perhaps better. Those boys were what most people call
black, wop and losers who had not passed the third year primary. The privileged were exempt - not to
get dirty - or appointed to positions that neither came close combat. Others do not. And if my presence
beside them - this motherfucker privileged - meant something was the best thing I ever did in life. Holland paused and closed his eyes.
- Sorry, Peter. I did not want to do it again paths past, did not want it. I actually started with my fault,
not his ... It's crazy how everything converges and feeds on itself. What's that called? The carousel of
guilt. Where does it stop?
- Now - Holland said, straightening in his seat. He picked up the phone, punched two numbers and said:
- Take us to Vienna, please. Then go to a Chinese restaurant and buy the best food you encounter
... Actually, I prefer chops and chicken with lemon. Holland hit in part. The first time I heard the teipes
Panov under the effects of the serum was a real agony, the terrible voice, the emotional content
obscuring information, especially for those who knew psychiatrist. However, the second time, the

concentration was immediate, no doubt created by the very pain that could hear. They had no time for
personal feelings. Suddenly, the information was all. The two men began to take notes, often
interrupting teipe and coming back to clarity and understanding. Third Time served to highlight the most
important points, and at the end of the fourth hearing, Alex and Peter Holland each had, thirty to forty
pages written. Spent an hour in silence, analyzing your notes.
- Are you ready? - Asked the CIA director, on the couch, with pencil in hand.
- Some initial observation?
- Yes - said Alex. - Ninety-nine point
forty-four percent of what we hear tells us nothing except that Walsh is an explorer fantastic. He
jumped from one side to the other, identifying clues faster than me, and I was not exactly an amateur in
interrogations.
- I agree - said Holland. - I do not
was very bad, especially with a blunt instrument. Walsh is good.
- Better than that, but that's not what interests us. What matters is what he did draw from Mo
- Here too with a "but." It is not revealed what Panov, because we assume that has revealed all he
told. It is, rather, what he said he heard. - Conklin looked in her notepad. Here is an example. "The family will be satisfied ... our supreme will give us his blessing. " He is repeating
someone else's words, not his. But Mo does not know the slang of criminals, at least not enough to
make the connection automatically. But the connection is there. Take the word "supreme". "Supreme" capo supremo, who has nothing to do with a celestial being. Suddenly, "family" is light years ahead of
Norman Rockwell, and "blessing", which can mean reward or bonus.
- Mafia - said Peter, with eye steady and clear, despite several drinks obviously already absorbed by your
body. - I had not thought of that, but highlighted the phrase instinctively ... Okay, here's something
within that context, I say this because they are also phrases that do not belong to Panov. - Holland
flipped through the notebook and stopped on a page. - Here. "New York wants it all." - He turned a few
more pages. - Here also, "That's something Wall Street" - Once again the director sought in Notepad. And this one,
"Fagots blondes" - the rest is unclear.
- I did not notice it. I heard, but did not seem to mean anything.
- And that would mean, Mr. Aleksei Konsolikov?
- Holland smiled. - Under this foreign Anglo-Saxon, education and everything else, beats the heart of a
Russian. You
is not vulnerable to what some of us have to endure.
- What?
- I am a WASP 3, and "fagots blondes" is one of
pejorative nicknames used, I must admit, for other oppressed minorities. Think about it. Armbruster,
Swayne, Atkinson, Burton, Teagarten - all "blondes". And Wall Street, some financial firms that stick
WASP were, at least originally.
- Medusa - said Alex nodding - Medusa and mafia ... Holy Christ.
- We have a number of phone! - Peter leaned forward on the couch. - It's in the ledger that Bourne took
the house Swayne.
- I already tried, remember? It is an answering machine, nothing more.
- Well enough. We can locate it.
- For what? Messages are received by remote control and if he or she has some kernels, do it from a
payphone. Besides being impossible to locate the receiver of the message, it can delete all other desk.
- You're not very tuned in high technology, right, field agent?
- I'll tell you what happens - Conklin said. -

I bought a VCR to watch old movies and I could not turn off the damn clock flashing. I called the seller
and he said, "Read the instructions on the inside of the panel." I can not find the interior panel.
3 WASP - white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, usually designating the rich class, conservative and privileged
U.S.. (N. of T.)
- So let me explain what you can do with an answering machine. We can stall the device away.
- Gee, Sandy, what do you say now to the orphan Annie? What the hell good is that? Besides killing the
source?
- You're forgetting that we know the location by phone number.
- Is it?
- Someone has to show up to repair the unit.
- It is.
- You take the guy and find out who sent him
there.
- You know, Peter, you have possibilities. For a beginner, you understand things, not to mention its
position ridiculously undeserved.
- Sorry, but I can not offer you a drink. Bryce Ogilvie, of the law firm Ogilvie, Spofford, Crawford and
Cohen was dictating an answer extremely complex for the antitrust division of the Justice Department
when his phone rang very particular. The phone rang on his desk. He picked up the phone, pressed a
green button and spoke quickly.
- Hold the line - ordered, looking at the desk. - Would you excuse me, please?
- Certainly, sir. - The secretary stood up, crossed the large and imposing office and disappeared into
another room.
- Yes, what is it? - Asked Ogilvie, on the phone.
- The appliance is not working - said the voice on the line sacrosanct.
- What happened?
- I do not know. Only gives a busy signal.
- It is the best equipment there is. Maybe someone was calling when you called.
- I'm trying for two hours. Is faulty. The best handsets may stall.
- Okay. Have someone check. Use one of
blacks.
- Of course. No white man would go there.
25
It was just after midnight when Bourne got off the subway at Argenteuil. His day was divided into
segments, with hours to their plans and looking for Marie. It was from one neighborhood to another,
looking at all the cafes, all shops, all big and small hotels that were part of the escape from the
nightmare 13 years ago. More than once caught her breath at the sight of a woman in the distance or a
coffee - back, a profile quickly noticed, and twice dark red hair, traits that distance or the soft light of a
coffee could belong to
his wife. None of them was Marie, but Jason tried to understand their own anguish to be able to control
it. These were the most impossible parts of the day, the rest were just difficulties and
frustrations. Alex! Where the hell was Conklin? could not find it in Virginia! Because of the time
difference, Conklin expected to take charge of the details, starting with the quick remittance. The day in
the eastern United States began at four hours from Paris and working day in Paris ended at
five, or before, time to Paris. This gave him an hour or less, to transfer one million dollars on behalf of
Mr. Simon, for the chosen bank in Paris. Bernardine helped. Helped a lot was putting it mildly. Thanks to
him the operation was possible.

- There is a bank of rue de Grenelle, often used by Deuxime. Can handle cases of time, the lack of one
or two signatures, but give nothing for nothing and do not trust anyone, especially someone connected
to our benevolent socialist government.
- Are you saying that regardless of the teletypes, if the money is not in the bank, nothing done?
- Not one am. himself president can call, they send him take the money in Moscow, where they think it
should be.
- As I can not speak to Alex, ignored the
bank in Boston and spoke to our man in the Cayman Islands, where Marie deposited most of the
money. She is Canadian and the bank also. Are waiting instructions.
- I'll give you a call. You are in PontRoyal?
- No, I call you later.
- Where are you?
- I think I can say that I am a butterfly
anxious and confused flying from one place to another vaguely remembered.
- Is looking for his wife.
- Yes, but that is not the issue, right?
- Excuse me, but I hope not to find.
- Thanks, telephone within twenty minutes.
Bourne went to two places, the Trocadro and the Palais de Chaillot. In the past, they had shot him in
one of the terraces of the Trocadro. A shooting and men running in endless stone steps, intermittently
hidden by huge statues and golden and the veil of the net sources, fading in formal gardens,
disappearing out of reach. What had happened?Why remember the Trocadro? ... But Marie was there in al- gum place. Where, in that huge complex? Where ... A terrace! She was on a terrace. Near a statue
which statue? ... Descartes? Racine? Tayllerand? The first in his memory was Descartes. He would find
her. Found, but nothing Marie. He checked his watch. Nearly 45 minutes had spoken to Bernardine. As
the men on the screen of his mind, he hurried down the stone steps, looking for a phone.
- Go to the Banque Normandie and ask to speak with
Monsieur Tabouri. He knows that a Monsieur Simon wants to transfer more than seven million francs
Cayman Islands, through verbal authorization transmitted to his banker in the islands. He will be happy
to let you use your phone, but believe me, it will charge the phone.
- Thank you, Franois.
- Where are you now?
- In the Trocadro. It's crazy. I feel the strangest things, like vibrations, but she is not here. Chances are
the things I can not remember. Hell, I think I got shot here, but just do not know.
- Go to the bank.
Bourne was 35 minutes after his call to the Cayman Islands, monsieur Tabouri, the banker with
permanent smile and olive skin, confirmed the arrival of the money. Jason asked 750,000 francs in the
highest grades possible. Were delivered and the banker, smiling and obsequious, took him confidentially
away from the table - a silly, because there was nobody in the room
- And spoke quietly near the window.
- In Beirut there are magnificent estate business, believe me, I know. know everything about the Middle
East and that stupid war will not last much longer. Mon Dieu, there will no one left! Lebanon will rise
again as the Paris of the Mediterranean. Land for a fraction of the real value hotels for ridiculous prices!
- Sounds interesting. I speak with you.
Hurried out of the Banque Normandie, as
fleeing from a plague. Returned to Pont-Royal and once again tried to reach Alex Conklin, in the United
States. It was almost one o'clock in Vienna, Virginia, and only heard the voice on the answering machine

of Alex, asking to leave your message. For various reasons, Jason did not. Now he was in Argenteuil,
climbing the stairs to the subway. Would follow cautiously, passing through the streets ugliest
neighborhood, to the vicinity of Coeur du Soldat. His instructions were clear. You should not look the
same the night before, nothing stiff leg, nothing shabby clothes, nothing to do to be recognized. It
should be a simple laborer, get to the gate of the old refinery c stand smoking, leaning against the
wall. This should be done between midnight and one o'clock. Neither before nor after.
Jason asked the messengers Santos - after giving them a few hundred francs at work - why these
precautions and time. The most talkative of the two replied, "Santos never leaves Coeur du Soldat."
- Last night he left.
- Just for a few minutes - the man said.
- I understand. - Bourne nodded, but did not understand. Saints would be a sort of prisoner of the Jackal,
confined to dirty coffee day and night?
It was a fascinating idea, especially taking into account the size and brute strength of the man, together
with an intelligence far above average.
It was 0:37 pm when Jason, jeans, cap and dark sweater and very shabby reached the gates of the old
factory. He took out a pack of Gauloise and leaned against the wall, lit the cigarette with a match,
keeping the flame alive longer than necessary. Thought back to the enigmatic Santos, the main
connection of the army of the Jackal, the most reliable satellite's orbit Carlos, a man who spoke French
at the Sorbonne, although he was Hispanic. Venezuelan, if the instincts Bourne not
mistaken. Fascinating. Santos and wanted to see him "with peace in your heart." Bravo, friend, Jason
thought. Santos had been communicating with a terrified ambassador in London, and had a question so
explosive that made the internal vote for a political party seem a matter neutral and nonpartisan. Atkinson had no choice but to state emphatically, in a panic, any instructions that Snake Lady
had to be fulfilled. The
Power Snake Lady was the only protection of the ambassador, his only refuge. Therefore, Santos
decided to give a little. His decision was based on intellect, not loyalty or obligation. The courier wanted
to crawl out of the sewer in which he lived and the prospect of three million francs and the choice of a
huge number of places in the world to start a new life, the reason sent consider the offer. There were
alternatives when opportunities presented themselves. One had to be introduced to Santos, the vassal
of the Jackal, whose loyalty to his master might have gotten to the point of suffocation. This protective
instinct made Bourne included in your request - quietly and firmly, emphasizing the subtext - phrases
as you can travel, disappear ... a rich man, free from con- cerns and suffocating slavery. The keywords
were "free" and "disappear", and the eyes of Santos had reacted to them. He was ready to take the bait
of three million francs, and Bourne prepared to cut the line and let it swam to the bottom, freely. Jason
looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. Without
doubt, men of Santos were checking nearby streets, a final inspection before the appearance of the
priest of the messengers. Bourne thought of Marie, as sensed in the Trocadro, and remembered the
words of the old Fontaine when watched together the paths of Tranquility Inn in the storeroom of the
hotel, the
waiting for Carlos. He is near, I feel. As the approach of distant thunder. Jason had this feeling in
Trocadro, different, of course - very different. Enough! Santos! The
Jackal!
Your clock struck one and the two messengers of the Pont-Royal came out of the alley and crossed the
street toward the gates of the old refinery.
- Santos wants to see it now - said more resourceful.
- But Santos is not here.
- It should come with us. He does not leave the Coeur du Soldat.
- Why am I not like it?

- No reason to dislike. Santos is with peace in your heart.

- And what about your knife?
- He has no knife, no gun. Never walk
armed.
- It's good to know. Come on.
- Santos does not need weapons - added
messenger, menacingly.
Entered the alley, passed by the entrance to the
light and a small passage between the buildings. In single file, Jason between the two men, went to the
back of the cafe, reaching one of the last things I expected to see Jason in that place in the city: an
English garden. A piece of land about ten feet long, five wide with rose trellises where several types of
flowering vines, a barrage of color under the moonlight of France.
- It's a beauty - Jason said. - It should be required
many care.
- Ah, the passion of Saints! No one understands,
but nobody touches the flowers.
Fascinating.
Bourne led to a small outside elevator with steel structure built into the stone wall. There was no other
means of access to the building on that side. They entered the elevator, the iron door was closed and
one of the men pressed a button and said:
- We are here, Santos. Camellia. Make up.
- Camellia? - Asked Jason.
- He knows that all is well. Otherwise,
my friend would have said "lily" or "rose".
- And then what would happen?
- It's best not to think. I do not want to think.
- Of course. Naturally.
The elevator stopped with a strange stride, and
Messenger supported the entire weight of the body on the door to open it. Bourne was led into the
room already knew, tastefully decorated, expensive furniture, the bookcases and the only lamp that
illuminated Santos in his huge armchair.
- Go on, my friends - said the big man.
- Get the money with the scam and tell him to give fifty francs to Ren and fifty for the American who
calls himself Ralph and put them out of here. They're pissing in the corners ...Say that money is the
friend last night, he forgot them.
- Oh, shit - Jason exploded.
- You forgot, did not you? - Santos smiled.
- I had other things to think about.
- Yes, sir. Yes, Saints! - The two messengers, instead of going back to the back room and the elevator
opened a door on the left wall of the room and left. Bourne looked stunned at the door.
- There is a staircase that goes to the kitchen - said
Santos, answering the unspoken question of Bourne. The door can only be opened from this side, not the other, except for me ... Sit
down, Monsieur Simon. It is my guest. How's your head?
- The rooster disappeared, thanks. - Bourne sat on the huge couch, sinking into the cushions. It was not a
position of authority and was not to be.
- They say you're the peace in my heart.
- It is a huge desire by three million, born in the most miserly of the same heart.

- Then the phone call to London was satisfactory?

- No one could program the man for that reaction. There is a Snake Woman who inspires devotion and
extraordinary fear at high levels - which means that female snake is very powerful.
- That's what I tried to tell you.
- I'll take your word. Now let's recap your request, your requirement, to say better ...
- My restrictions - Jason interrupted.
- Well, its restrictions - Santos agreed. - You and only you should get to the blackbird, right?
- A condition sine qua non.
- I ask again, why?
- To be honest, you already know too much, more than my clients imagine, but after all, none of them
came close to losing their lives on the second floor of a caf in Argenteuil.Want nothing to do with you,
no clue, and in this area you are vulnerable.
- How? - Santos slammed his fist on the armrest.
- An old man in Paris, with a criminal record who tried to warn a member of the Assembly that he would
be assassinated. It was he who mentioned the blackbird. It was he who spoke at the Coeur du
Soldat. Fortunately, our man heard and passed the information to my clients, but that's not all. How
many other old Paris, in their senile delusions may mention the Coeur du Soldat - and vo- ce? ... No, you
can not have anything to do with my clients.
- Not even for your middle?
- I disappear, you do not. But, to be frank, I think you should think about also disappear ... Here, I
brought you something. - Bourne took from his back pocket a wad of francs bound with a rubber
band. He threw the money to Santos who caught the air.
- Two hundred thousand francs on account - I was allowed to give this signal. For a basis of best efforts
of both parties. You give me the information I need, I want to convey to London and the blackbird or not
accepted the offer of my clients, you get the rest of the three million.
- But you can disappear before that, right?
- Send me to watch, as it is already doing, send
follow me to London and then to here. I'll call saying the names of the airlines that will use. The
What could be more fair?
- One thing can be fairer, Monsieur Simon
- Santos said, lifting the immense body of the chair and walking solemnly to a game table against the
wall of the apartment lacquered. - Want to come up
here, please?
Jason went to the table and was astonished at what he saw.
- You do the whole thing, is not it?
- I try to do ... Oh, do not blame the hotel porters, they are all yours. My level is much lower. Rather
maids and junior employees. There are so demanding and no one gives up for his lack not appear. On
the table were three passports Bourne, courtesy of Cactus, in Washington, as well as gun and knife
taken from him the night before.
- It is very convincing, but it does not solve anything.
- We'll see - said Santos. - I accept your money now - for my best efforts - but instead you fly to London
travel London to fly to Paris. Tomorrow morning. When he gets to the Pont-Royal you call me, I will give
you my private phone, of course, and we play the Soviets, give and take, as when waiting in the middle
of the bridge with a prisoner on each side.The money for the information.
- You're crazy, Santos. My clients are not exposed well. Just lost the rest of the three million.
- Why not try? They can hire a
tests of rail, right? An innocent tourist with a false bottom in his suitcase Louis Vuitton? Papers do not
trigger alarms customs. Try! 's the only way to get the information,monsieur.

- I'll do my best - said Bourne.

- Here's my phone number. - Santos
picked up a card with the number. - Telephone when London arrives. Meanwhile, you can be sure
you will be watched.
- You're a nice guy, is not it?
- I take him to the elevator.
In the dark room, drinking tea, Marie heard the
sounds of Paris outside. Sleeping was not only impossible but unbearable, a waste of time when every
minute was important. Marie had taken the first flight from Marseille to Paris and out directly to the
Meurice on rue de Rivoli, the same hotel where he had expected - there
13 years - a man to hear the voice of reason or lose life, thereby destroying much of her life. On that
occasion asked a cup of tea and he came back. Now, asked for a cup of tea for the steward of night,
hoping, perhaps, vaguely, that the repetition of the ritual to bring her again.
Oh, God, it was him! There was an illusion, was not mistaken, it was David! that morning, Marie left the
hotel and walked, following the list made on the plane, going from one place to another without any
logical sequence, following only the order that was remembering the places - its sequel staff. It was a
lesson learned from Jason Bourne 13 years ago: When fleeing or hunting, always analyze your options,
but remember the first that comes to mind. non- pre the cleanest and best. In most cases will be the
school- lhida.So Marie had followed the list, Pier BateauMouche at the end of the avenue George V, the
bank in Madeleine ... the Trocadro. Then walked the terraces, as in a trance, looking for a statue could
not remember, pushed by groups of tourists and their guides. The huge statues suddenly all looked the
same and Marie felt overshadowed by the sun of late August. Would sit on a marble bench,
remembering another standard Bourne. Rest is a weapon, he saw there a man on top of cap and dark
sweater with V-neck He turned around and ran to the imposing stone steps leading to the avenue
George V. Marie knew that running mode, knew better than anyone!
How many times observed - often hidden behind the bleachers - as he ran on the track at the university,
trying to break free of the furies tormented. It was David! Marie ran after him.
"David: David, I am! ... Jason! "
Collided with a Japanese tour guide. The man was furious, she was furious and pushed through the
eastern, almost all smaller than her, but even being able to see over their heads, David lost sight of. Her
husband disappeared. Where? In the gardens? On the street filled with people and cars crossing the
bridge d'Iena? For God's sake, where?
- Jason! - Marie screamed loudly. - Jason, come back!
People looked at her with some sympathy for the unlucky in love, others with disapproval. Marie walked
down the endless stairs to the street and spent a lot of time - how long? - Looking for him. Finally,
exhausted, took a taxi and returned to the Meurice. Stunned, entered the room and threw himself on
the bed, refusing to give way to tears. No time to cry.It was time for a brief rest and a meal. Needed to
re-energize, lesson Jason Bourne. Then back on the streets, still searching. Lying there, staring at the
wall, felt a tightness in the chest, lungs, perhaps accompanied by a feeling of joy passive. Just as David
was looking for, he was looking for her. Her husband had fled, Jason Bourne was not running.No parts of
the same man could have seen her that morning. There was another reason for that precipitous decline
in Trocadro, but there was only one reason for David to be there. He was also looking for memories of
Paris for 13 years. He also knew that somewhere those memories to find. asked Marie rested breakfast
in the room and then returned to the streets.
Now, taking the tea, could hardly wait for the dawn. Another day of searching.
- Bernardine!
- Mon Dieu, it's four o'clock in the morning, so I suppose you want to say something very important for
this 70 years old.

- I have a problem.
- I think you have many problems, but maybe this is bigger. What is it?
- I'm as close as could be, but I need a "point man".
- Please speak clearer English, or French, if you want. Must be an American term, such "point man". You
have a lot of esoteric phrases. I think someone is sitting in Langley, just inventing these mysteries.
- Come on, do not have time for his bon mots.
- Come on you, my friend. I'm not trying to be funny, I'm just trying to wake up ... Okay, my feet are on
the ground and the cigarette in my mouth. now, what is it?
- My contact with the Jackal wants an Englishman
fly from London to Paris this morning, with two million eight hundred thousand francs ...
- Much less than you have at your disposal, I suppose - interrupted Bernardine. - The Banque Normandie
straightened everything, right?
- Right. The money is in the bank, and that his Tabouri is a charm. Tried to sell me land in Beirut.
- That Tabouri is a thief - but Beirut is
interesting.
- Please.
- Sorry. Continue.
- I'm being watched, so I can not go to the bank and have no English PontRoyal to lead to what I can not
catch up.
- Is that your problem?
- Yes, it is.
- You are willing to spend, say, 50 thousand francs?
- For what?
- Tabouri.
- I think so.
- You signed some papers, of course.
- Of course.
- For another sign, written in his own hand, and with his signature, a money order to wait a minute, I have to go to my desk. - There was silence on the line while Bernardine went to the
room. Hello?
- I'm here.
- Oh, this is a beauty - said the former Deuxime specialist. - I sank with sailboat and all the rocks in
Costa Brava. Sharks made a feast, he was so fat and appetizing! The name is Antonio Scarzi, of Sardinia,
a man who changed information for drugs, but you do not know anything about it, of course.
- Of course. - Bourne repeated surname spelling.
- Correct. Close the envelope, move the pencil or pen in your thumb and press your finger on the glued
part. Once delivered to the clerk for Mr. Scarzi.
- I understood. And the English? This morning? Hence the
few hours.
- English is not the problem, but the morning is - the
few hours. This is the simple transfer of funds from one bank to another - buttons are pressed,
computers scan the data and poof, the numbers appear on paper. It's another thing to withdraw nearly
three million in cash, and your contact at right will not accept pounds or dollars, afraid of being caught
exchanging or depositing money. Add to that the problem of getting all notes to make a large volume
that pass unnoticed through customs ... His contact, mon ami, must be aware of these difficulties.
Jason stared at the wall, wondering what Bernardine said.
- You think he's testing me?

- Only can be.

- Money can be taken from the various departments of foreign banks. A small private plane can cross
the channel, landing in any pasture where a car is waiting to bring the man to Paris.
- Bien. course. However, these logistics take time, even for the most influential people. Do not let it look
very simple, it would be suspect. Keep your contact informed of progress of the operation, emphasizing
the secret, the risk of exposure, explain the delay. If no, he may suspect a trap.
- I understand. In the end, it all comes down to what
you just said. Do not make it look too easy, otherwise he does not believe.
- There's more, mon ami. The Chameleon can be many things to light, but are safer at night.
- Forgot something - said Bourne. - And
English?
- See you later, buddy - said Bernardine.
The operation went smoothly with all operations engendered by Jason or assisted by him, maybe thanks
to the skill of a talented man, who resented being forced to retire early.While Bourne took several
phone calls to Santos, describing progress, Bernardine sent someone to pick up the envelope at the
hotel Jason and arranged a meeting withMonsieur Tabouri. A little after four o'clock in the afternoon,
the Deuxime veteran entered the Pont-Royal with a dark suit scratching of chalk, so obviously British
seemed to scream Savile Row. He went to the elevator and then to err twice the path, reached the
fourth Bourne.
- Here's the money - he said, putting his briefcase on the floor and heading straight to the bar
room. Picked up two bottles of gin Tanqueray miniatures, opened and the contents went for a glass of
dubious cleanliness.
- A votre sant. - Took half of gin, took a deep breath through your mouth, and took the rest. - For years
do not do anything.
- Really?
- Frankly, no. Others were doing these things
for me. It's too dangerous ... Anyway, Tabouri will be grateful to you for life, and to be frank, he
convinced me to see some land in Beirut.
- What?
- Of course I do not have resources, but
a percentage of forty les fonds de contin- gence was sent to Geneva in my name. I am not a poor man.
- It will be a dead man if they get out
Hotel.
- Ah, but I'm not leaving - said Bernardine,
opening again the small refrigerator. - I will stay in this room until you finish your business. - Franois
opened two more bottles and emptied it into the cup. - Now maybe my old heart begins to beat more
slowly he said, approaching the little desk. He put the glass down on the blotter and took two automatic and
three grenades from his pockets, lining everything in front of the glass. - Yes, now I will rest.
- What the hell is this - these things? - Jason exclaimed.
- I think you Americans call repression - Bernardine answered. - To be honest, in my opinion, you and the
Soviets are masturbating when they spend so much money on weapons that do not work. I'm from
another era. When you go to handle your business, leave the door open. Who appear in this narrow
corridor will see a grenade in my hand.Nuclear is not an abstraction, it is repression.
- I agree - Bourne said, going to the door. I want to get this over with.
On rue Montalembert, Jason walked to the corner, and as he had done in the old factory in Argenteuil,
leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. He waited, looking calm, his mind running a mile.

A man appeared on the rue du Bac, crossMontalembert and walked to him. Was the messenger of the previous night garrulous and approached
with his hand in his pocket.
- Where's the money? - Asked the man
in French.
- Where is the information? - Asked Bourne.
- Money first.
- The deal that was not. - Suddenly, Jason grabbed the lapel of the man of Argenteuil, lifting him off the
ground. With his other hand squeezed his neck messenger, shoving his fingers in the flesh. - Go back and
tell Santos he just won a round trip to hell. Do not do business that way.
- Enough! - said a low voice in the corner, right Jason. Santos approached the two. - Loosen the man,
Simon. He's nothing. Now it's just us two.
- I thought you never left Coeur du Soldai.
- You changed that has not changed?
- Apparently. - Bourne gave the messenger,
and the man looked at Santos and then ran away.
- Your English arrived - Santos said when they were alone. - He had a briefcase. I've even seen.
- He arrived with a suitcase - agreed
Bourne.
- So London capitulated, no? London is
very anxious.
- There's a lot at stake, is all I can say. The information, please.
- First, let's define the strategy again, right?
- We have already defined several times ... You give me the information, my client sends check and if I
get a good contact, bring the rest of the three million francs.
- You talk about "good contact". What will be satisfactory for you? How will you know that it is a solid
contact? How do I know if I will not say that it was not suitable for me to pay, when, in fact, achieved
what their customers want?
- You're a guy suspicious, is not it?
- Oh, very suspicious. Our world, Mr. Simon, is not populated by saints, is it?
- Perhaps in greater numbers than you can imagine.
- Well it would surprise me. Please respond to my questions.
- Okay. I'll try ... How do I know if the
contact is firm? This is easy. 'll know simply because it is part of my job. I get paid for it, and a man in my
position does not commit such mistakes and live to apologize. I refined the process, I did my research
and I'll do two or three questions too. And
then I know - it is firm or not.
- A somewhat vague response.
- In our world, Mr. Santos, be vague or
always a negative quality, right? ... Regarding your concern to trick him to take his money, I can
guarantee that no cultivation enemies as you network and you and your blackbird control, nor do my
clients' enemies. That would be crazy and a much shorter life.
- I admire your wit and your caution - the broker said the Jackal.
- The bookshelves did not lie. It is a learned man.
- That does not mean anything, but I have some
credentials. Appearances can be a hindrance or an advantage ... What I will say now, Mr. Simon, is
aware of only four men in the world, and the four speak French fluently. How will use the information

does not interest me. However, if you make the slightest mention of Argenteuil I'll know and you will not
get out alive from the Pont-Royal.
- Contact can be done so quickly?
- By means of a phone number. But only
must call at least an hour after we parted. If you call ahead, I also know, and I repeat, will be a dead
man.
- One hour. Combined ... Only three people
have that number? Why not pick the name of one of them, the less you like, so that I can quote if necessary?
Santos allowed himself a slight smile blankly.
- "Moscow" - said softly. - Back in
up in Dzerzhinsky Square.
- The KGB?
- The Blackbird is forming a team in Moscow
Moscow always, it's an obsession.
Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, Jason thought. Trained in Nov- gorod. Fired by Komitet like a maniac. The Jackal!
- Do not forget - if you need. The number, please.
Santos repeated twice the number and the words that Bourne should say. He spoke slowly, obviously
impressed with the fact that Jason did not write anything.
- Is everything clear?
- Indelibly without paper or pencil ... If all goes as I hope, as I want to send the money?
- Phone has my number. I'll leave Argenteuil and I meet with you. And never come back to Argenteuil.
- Good luck, Santos. Something tells me that you deserve.
- No one deserves as much as I do. Drank hemlock
countless times.
- Socrates - Jason said.
- Not directly. Dialogue of Plato, to be exact. Au revoir. Santos and Bourne walked away, his heart
pounding, he returned to Pont-Royal, controlling desperately not to run. A man is running object curio sity, a target. Lesson corners of Jason Bourne.
- Bernardine! - shouted, running down the narrow hallway, seeing the door open and the man sitting at
his desk with a grenade in his left hand and a gun in his right. - Put these tools, we found gold!
- Who is paying? - Asked the veteran
the Deuxime when Jason closed the door.
- I - said Bourne. - If all goes as
hopefully, your account will grow enough in Geneva.
- I'm not doing this for money, my friend. Never crossed my mind.
- I know, but since we are distributing
francs as if they were manufactured in our garage, because you will not get your share?
- I can not discuss that too.
- One hour - Jason said. - Forty-three minutes now, to be exact.
- For what?
- To find out if it's real, real truth. Bourne threw himself on the bed with his arms crossed on his neck, his eyes bright. - Write here,
Franois - Jason said the number given by Santos. - Buy, bribe or threaten any high-level contact that
you have phone service in Paris, and locate this number.
- There is a request so expensive ...
- Yes - said Bourne. - He keeps guarded inviolate, could not be otherwise. Only four people across its
network operation have this number.

- So maybe it's best not to look at the highest level but closer to the ground, actually
underground. Telephone service in the tunnels under the streets. Jason turned his head quickly to
Bernardine.
- I had not thought of that.
- Why would he think? You're not the Deuxime. The
source are technicians, not bureaucrats ... I know some. I'll find one and make a discreet phone call
tonight ...
- Tonight? - Interrupted Bourne, erguendose in bed.
- It will cost a few thousand francs, but you will need the phone's location.
- I can not wait until the night.
- Then it will be risky to try to talk to
man during working hours. These technicians are monitored, nobody trusts anybody on the phone. It is
the paradox socialist. Give responsibility to the forces working but no authority.
- Wait a minute! - Jason said. - Do you have the phone numbers of their homes, have not you?
- They are in my phone book. They have no private numbers.
- Send them telefonarem women. An emergency. One should at least go home. Bernardine nodded.
- Not bad, my friend. Not bad.
The minutes turned into quarters of an hour, while the man worked Deuxime, obsequious, with
promises of reward for women technicians telephone. Two angry hung three refused to profanity,
suspicious, but said through Friday, between expletives, "Why not?" Since the mouse of your husband
understand that money was spent and hour dela.A Jason left the hotel , walking slowly, quietly and
crossed four streets before finding a payphone on the Quai Voltaire, along the Seine. The
dark cloak of night hung over Paris, the lights of boats and bridges gleamed. Taking a deep breath, with a
self-control than ever thought possible, Jason approached the red cabin. Would give the most important
phone call of his life, but he could not let the Jackal knew that, if it was actually the Jackal. Entered the
cabin, put the coin and dialed the number.
- Yes? - A woman's voice, the oui french rough and gruff. A Parisian.
- Blackbirds flying in circles in the sky - Bourne said, repeating the words of Santos, in French. - They
make a lot of noise, but one. He is silent.
- Where are you calling?
- Here in Paris, but I'm not in Paris.
- Where, then?
- Where winters are much colder - Jason replied, feeling the sweat break out on his
forehead. Control. Control yourself! - I need to speak urgently with the Blackbird. There was silence on
the line, an empty sonic, Bourne and stopped breathing. Then the voice, low, firm, as empty as silence. We spoke to a Muscovite?
The Jackal! was the Jackal! The Frenchman smooth and fast not hide the slight Latin accent.
- I never said that - said Bourne, the French dialect he used frequently, with a dash throaty Gascon. - I
just said that the winters are colder than Paris.
- Who is speaking?
- Someone who is considered by someone who
important to know enough to know this number and the right words. I offer you the most contact of his
career, of his life. Payment is immaterial
- Order all you want - but the people who pay are among the most powerful men in the U.S.. Control
much of American industry and the financial institutions of the country and have direct access to the
nerve centers of government.
- It is also a very strange phone call. Nothing
Orthodox.

- If you are not interested, I forget this number and I will look elsewhere. I'm just an agent. Just say yes
or no.
- Do not commit myself to things I do not know, with people they've never heard.
- Would you recognize the positions they occupy, if I were at liberty to reveal them. However, I am not
looking for a commitment, interest only, for now. If the answer is yes, I can reveal more. If not, well, I
tried, but I am forced to look elsewhere. The papers say he was in Brussels yesterday. I'll find him. - He
heard a gasp when he mentioned Brussels and non-quoted Jason Bourne. - Yes, or no, Blackbird?
Silence. Finally the Jackal said:
- New phone within two hours - ordered off. Was done! Jason leaned his head against the wall of the
cabin with the sweat coming down his face and neck. The
Pont-Royal. Needed to return to Bernardine!
- It was Carlos! - He said, closing the door and headed for the phone beside the bed as he pulled from his
pocket the card Santos. Dialed and immediately responded.
- The Blackbird confirmed - said Jason. - Give me
a name, any name. - The pause was brief. - Already
understood. The goods will be left with the receptionist. Closed and sealed. Conte and then send my
passport. Have your best man pick everything up and suspend monitoring.They can take you to a
blackbird.
- Jason hung up and turned to Bernardine.
- The phone is the fifteenth arrondissement said the Deuxime veteran. - Our man knew that, or at least it should be assumed that as soon as I gave
him the number.
- What will he do?
- Back to the tunnels and get complete information.
- Will call here?
- Luckily he has a bike. Said he will be back to work in ten minutes or less and within the hour calls here.
- Perfect!
- Not quite. He wants 5000 francs.
- You could have asked ten times more ... What does "within an hour"? How long to complete this hour?
- You took thirty minutes maybe 35, and he spoke to me as soon as you left. I'd say it will call within half
an hour. The phone rang. Twenty seconds later had the address on the boulevard Lefebvre.
- I'll be right - Jason Bourne said, picking up the
Automatic Bernardine that was on the table and keeping two grenades in his pockets. - Do you mind?
- At ease - Deuxime replied, taking the
another gun belt. - Paris is so full of pickpockets we should always carry a defense ... But for what?
- I have at least two hours and want to make a
recognition.
- Alone?
- How else? If you ask for help, I
venture to take a shot or spend the rest of his life in jail for the murder in Belgium with which I had no
connection whatsoever.
Former judge of the court of the first circuit in Boston, before the Honorable Brendan Patrick
Prefontaine watched the tearful and disconsolate Randolph Gates, sitting on the couch at the RitzCarlton, his face in his hands.
- Oh, Christ, how the mighty fall with a
thud and final - Brendan observed, serving up bourbon on the rocks. - So you've been caught in the trap,
Randy. French style. Your brain agile and his imperial presence at all helped when you
saw Paree, huh? Should have been "on the farm", soldier.

- My God, Prefontaine, you do not know what

spent! I was organizing a cartel - Paris, Bonn, London and New York, with the labor markets of the Far
East - an enterprise worth billions, when I was taken out of the Plaza Athne and taken to a
car, blindfolded. then me put on a plane and sent me to Marseilles, where the most horrible things
happened. They locked me in a room and I started to inject drugs - for six weeks! They took me women
filmed - I was no longer me!
- Maybe it was the "I" that you did not know,
The Dandy Boy even learned to recognize the instant gratification, if I'm using the right phrase. Get huge
profits for clients, on paper, they trade on exchanges, as thousands of jobs are lost by buyers. Oh, yes,
my dear realistic, such instant gratification.
- You are wrong, judge ...
- It's so good to hear again. Thank you,
Randy.
- The unions have strengthened too. The industry was being harmed. Many companies have moved
abroad to survive!
- And not to negotiate? Strangely enough, maybe you're right in part, but never considered the
alternative ... No matter, we digress. You got out of prison in Marseille as a drug addict - and of course
there were the movies eminent lawyer in compromising situations.
- What could I do? - Gates said. They ruined me!
- We know what you did. Became man
confidence that Jackal in the world of high finance, a world where competition is undesirable baggage
that we missed on the way.
- That's how he found me to begin with. The
we were forming cartel was contrary to the interests of the Japanese and Taiwanese. They hired ... Oh,
my God, he will get me killed!
- Again? - Asked the judge.
- What?
- You're forgetting. He thinks that you are already
dead - thanks to me.
- I have to treat cases, a congressional hearing next week. He will know that I am alive!
- Not if you do not show up.
- But need! ... My clients expect
- So I agree - interrupted Prefontaine.
- He will kill you. I'm sorry, Randy.
- What will I do?
- There is a way out, Dandy Boy, not only to the current dilemma, but also for the future. Of course, it
will require some sacrifice on your part. For starters, a long convalescence in a rehabilitation center, but
before that, their collaboration now complete. The first means your immediate disappearance. The
second - to capture and elimination of Carlos, The Jackal. You will be free, Randy.
- Anything!
- How can we find it?
- I have a phone number! - Gates took the
wallet and with trembling fingers sought the deepest part. - Only four people have this number!
Prefontaine accepted its first $ 20,000 per hour, Randy sent back home, apologize to Edith and prepare
to leave Boston the next day. Brendan had heard of a particular rehabilitation center in Minneapolis,
where the rich kept anonymous. Would check the details the next day and call up and Gates, naturally

expecting the consultation fees. Once Gates dejectedly left the hotel room, he called John St. Jacques at
Tranquility Inn.
- John, is the judge. Do not ask questions, but I have urgent information that can be valuable for the
husband of her sister. I know you can not talk to him, but I also know that it communicates with
someone in Washington ...
- The name is Alex Conklin - interrupted St. Jacques. - Wait a minute, Judge, Marie wrote down the
number on the blotter on my desk. I'll check. - The judge heard the telephone to be placed on the table
and then took another St. Jacques. - Here it is. - The brother of Marie said the number.
- After I explain everything. Thank you, Johnny.
- Damn, everybody tells me so - said St. Jacques. Prefontaine dialed with Code of Virginia. The phone
was answered with a "Yes?" Brief and blunt.
- Mr. Conklin, my name is John Prefontaine and St. Jacques gave me your number. What I have to say is
urgent.
- It is the judge - said Alex.
- Say this in the past, unfortunately. Much past.
- What?
- I know how to talk to the man you call Jackal.
- The what?
- Listen to what I say.
Bernardine looked at the ringing phone, wondering whether to answer or not. There was no doubt, had
to meet.
- Yes?
- Jason? It's you, is not it? ... Maybe they switched to the wrong room.
- Alex? Are you?
- Franois. What are you doing there? Where is Jason?
- Things happened very quickly. I know
he is trying to talk to you.
- It was a very tough day. Panov is back.
- This is good news.
- I have another. A phone number of the Jackal.
- We have! And the location! Our man left an hour ago.
- For God's sake, how did you get?
- A complicated process that could only have been
negotiated by our man. He is bright, imaginative, a true camlon.
- Let's compare. What is yours?
Bernardine said the number was noted following instructions Bourne. The silence on the phone was a
cry.
They are different - said Alex, after all, with voice
cracking. - They are different!
- A trap - said the veteran
Deuxime. - My God, it's a trap!
26
BOURNE PASSED twice the row of old stone houses on the boulevard Lefebvre, decaying area of the
fifteenth arrondissement. then returned to the Rue d'Alesia and found an outdoor cafe. With sidewalk
tables, candles flickering in the windows, the coffee was full of students restless and talkative the next
Sorbonne and Montparnasse. It was nearly ten o'clock, and the waiters apron began to chafe. Most
patrons were not very generous, neither heart nor pocket. Jason just wanted an espresso strong, but the
frown of the waiter convinced him it would take if asked only mud coffee, so asked to drink more

expensive that remembered. When the waiter went to get a drink at the bar, Jason took out his note
pad and pen, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and drew all he could remember the row
of houses. There were three structures with two terraced houses each, separated by two narrow
passages. Each terraced house had three floors and steep steps brick front. At each end of the village
were wastelands full of garbage, demolition debris of nearby houses. The
phone address secret Jackal - the address on the list, in the tunnels for repair was the last group of houses on the right, and did not need much imagination to know that he should
occupy the two, if not all of that row.
Carlos placed above all their own protection, so one would assume that his command post in Paris was a
fortress, guarded by all means human safety and electronics that loyalty and high technology can
provide. That part of the fifteenth district isolated apparently almost empty, was ideal for this
purpose. Therefore, in its first passage through the front of the house, Bourne paid a drunken bum to
walk with him, watching him with his step falsehood limping down the street. The second time, he paid
a prostitute middle-aged and replaced the alleged defect in the leg by a swift and decisive step. Now
knew the ground was not much, just the beginning of the end. It was the oath he did himself.
The waiter poured the espresso and brandy. When Bourne put a 100-franc note on the table, and
indicated with a nod that did not want to change, a neutral expression replacing hostility in the man's
face.
- Merci - he said in a growl.
- Have a phone nearby? - Asked
Bourne, pulling from his pocket a ten francs.
- On the same street, about fifty or sixty
meters - the waiter replied with her eyes fixed on the money.
- No closer? - Jason took another note,
this time twenty francs. - I'll call a house near here.
- Come with me - the waiter said, picking up the
Bourne money and leading to the box woman who was sitting in a high stool at the bottom of the
coffee. A pale, thin woman glared at Bourne certainly thinking he was going to make a complaint.
- He wants to use your phone - the waiter said.
- Why? - Asked dryly shrew. To speak with China?
- Will call one of the houses on this street. He pays. Jason took a ten francs from his pocket, looking
innocently at the woman suspiciously.
- Okay. Telephone - she said, taking the unit off the shelf under the cash register, and taking the
money. - The wire is long, you can go to the wall, like everyone else. Men!Businesses and bed, just think
about it!
Bourne dialed the Pont-Royal and sent call
to his room, hoping Bernardine would meet on the first ring. In the third, was concerned, the eighth
deeply disturbed. Bernardine was not at the hotel! Would Santos ...? There, the Deuxime veteran was
armed and knew how to use his "repression" - would be a shootout or more than that, the room would
be destroyed by a grenade. Bernardine had left willingly. For what?
The reasons could be many, thought Bourne, returning the phone and going back to his table on the
sidewalk. The first and most desired would be news of Marie. The
old agent did not want to create false hope by describing in detail the networks that had spread through
the city to find it, but they were working, Jason was sure ... Bourne could not think of another reason
and found better Bernardine forget that moment. Had another commitment, the most urgent of your
life. Strong coffee and returned to his notepad.Every detail must be exact.
An hour later Bourne finished his coffee, took

a sip of brandy and threw the rest on the sidewalk under the tablecloth. He left the cafe and the rue
d'Alesia, turned right and walked slowly like an old man, headed toward the boulevard Lefebvre. As we
approached the last corner I realized that intensified erratic and undulating sounds that seemed to
come from all directions. Sirenas! The sirens of two notes of the Paris police!
What had happened? What was happening? Abandoning the shuffling gait of old, Jason ran to the
corner of the building in front of Lefebvre and the row of stone houses. Was immediately overwhelmed
by a terrible combination of shock, anger, bewilderment and panic. The
they were doing?
Five police cars converged on the stone houses, and stopped singing tires, in front of the first right. Then
a black police van parked on the other input, the spotlight illuminating the house, while a group of men
in black uniforms, brandishing their automatic, took strategic positions, semi-protected by the cars preparing to invade!
Idiots. Damn idiots Alert Carlos the Jackal was lost! Killing was his profession, escape, his
obsession. There
13 years had said that the massive retreat of Charles, in the mountains of Vitry-sur-Seine, outside Paris,
had more false walls and stairs of the castle of a nobleman in the Loire, in the time of Louis XIV. The fact
that no one knew exactly where it was, or the name of the owner, did not diminish the value of
information. Thus, it was logical to assume that the three separate sets of houses, in Lefebvre, were
interconnected tunnels in case of leakage.
For the love of God, who had done that? A terrible mistake had been made? Bourne and Bernardine had
committed the folly of thinking that the Deuxime or department of the CIA, in Paris, would fail to install
wiretaps on your phone from the Pont-Royal or bribe the switchboard of the hotel? But in this case,
Bourne and Bernardine were right. It was almost impossible to staple a phone in a relatively small hotel,
in a short time without being noticed. The technology required in a strange place, and bribery would be
supplanted by the generosity of the person under surveillance. Santos? contact the Jackal was not going
to betray Charles, especially after freeing up the contract with him.Who? How? Question burned
Bourne's mind as he watched with horror and dismay at the scene Lefebvre.
- By order of the police, all residents must aban- donar the building. - The words, spoken in speaker,
echoed metallically across the street. - Have a minute before we start the attack.
That attack? shouted Bourne in the silence of your mind. You lost it. I lost it. This is crazy. Who? Why?
The door at the top of the brick steps in the right house opened. A terrified man, small, obese, shirt and
suspenders walked cautiously to the spotlight, hands shielding his eyes, turning his head to avoid glare.
- What is it, gentlemen? - He cried shakily. - I'm just a baker - one good baker - and I know nothing about
this street, unless the rent is cheap! Is that a crime?
- It is not you who want - said the voice on
speaker.
- It's not me you want? You arrive as
an army, scaring my wife and my kids and say it's not me you want? What's this?
Do we live in the middle of fascists? Quick! thought Jason. For God's sake, hurry hurry! Every second is
a minute plus an hour for the Jackal!
Then opened the door of the house to the right and a nun appeared with black habit. Stood in defiance
and stentorian voice, without the slightest sign of fear, said:
- How dare you! How dare disturb the hour of vespers. They should be asking for forgiveness for their
sins instead of stopping when we ask forgiveness from God for us!
- Spoke very well, sister - said the policeman on the speaker. - But we have certain information and
respectfully insist on searching his house. If you refuse, we will fulfill our orders, respectfully of course.
- We are the Sisters of Charity Madalenas! - Exclaimed the nun. - This is the sacred home of women
devoted to Christ!

- Respect their position, sister, but let's go anyway. If what you say is true, I am sure that the authorities
will make a generous contribution to the cause.
Are wasting time, Bourne thought, He's getting away!
- That their souls are condemned to hell
so by this invasion of sacred ground!
- Is it, sister? - Said another voice on the speaker. - I think there is nothing in the canons of the church
that gives you the right to condemn our souls to hell for so little ... Go ahead, Monsieur Inspector. Under
the habit perhaps you find most appropriate for lingerie Faubourg.
Bourne knew that voice! Bernardine was! What had happened? Bernardine was not a friend at all? It
would be all a scenario, the ability to consummate a traitor? In this case, would be another death that
night!
The anti-terrorist team, with their black uniforms and their automatic weapons, ran to the base of the
brick steps, the police blocked the northern and southern ends of Lefebvre, and red and blue lights of
police cars constantly spinning transmitted the notice, depart- if the area.
- Can I come in? - asked the baker.
Nobody answered, and the obese man ran
inside, holding the waist cala.Um police out of uniform, the leader of the operation, joined his men on
the sidewalk beside the steps. At a signal from his rose and passed through the door held open the nun
cm defiance. Jason stood in the corner of the building, glued to the stone wall, the sweat from his
forehead down, his eyes fixed on the scene incomprehensible. He knew who, but for what? Was it
true? The man he trusted and Alex Conklin would be another pair of eyes and ears of the
Jackal? Christ, Jason did not want to believe it. After 12 minutes, the French version of SWAT
left the house, some bending to kiss the hand of the abbess, real or not. Bourne realized that his
instincts and those of Conklin were on track.
- Bernardine! - said the head of the team, approaching the first police car. - You're finished. away! never
dare to speak to the lowest recruit Deuxime, even with the man who
clean the bathrooms! You are ostracized! By my will, you would be shot! ... International assassin in
Lefebvre! A friend of the Bureau! An agent should protect! ... A drug convent,you miserable son of a
bitch Shit A convent ... Get out of my car, you filthy pig. Get out, before any gun shoot by mistake and
spread their guts on the sidewalk, which is where they should be!
Bernardine jumped out on wobbly legs and fell twice on the sidewalk. Jason waited, wanting to rush to
his friend, knowing what to expect. The patrol cars and the van moved away quickly. Bourne needed to
wait yet. Bernardine and looked at the front door of the Jackal. was the home of the Jackal. The
presence of the nun proved it. Carlos never abandoned his faith and constantly used as a cloak
room. But it was much more than that. More.
Bernardine walked with faltering steps to
outside a shop in front of the house nun. Jason came out of hiding and ran to bolster the veteran who,
leaning against the window, breathing heavily.
- For God's sake, what happened? - asked Bourne, Bernardine holding her shoulders.
- Calm, mon ami - Bernardine said, panting.
- The pig that was inside the car, a politician undoubtedly
- Punched me in the chest before I shoot out ... I said I did not know people younger Deuxime. You
have the same problems in America, so please do not make any sermon.
- I'm not even thinking about it ... This is the house, Bernardine. Well here! Ahead of us.
- It is also a trap.
- What?
- Alex and I confirmed. The phone numbers are different. You did not get to take the second call to
Carlos, right?

- No. I had the address and wanted to do some reconnaissance. What difference does it make? This is
the house!
- This is the place that Mr. Simon was visiting, and it was actually Mr. Simon, would be taken to another
place for the meeting. But if it was not Mr. Simon was dead - proof - another man who sought the Jackal
killed.
- You are mistaken! - Jason insisted, shaking his head and speaking quietly and quickly. - This may be a
deviation, but Carlos continues down the line. Will not allow anyone to kill me before him. It is a
commandment.
- As its about him?
- Yes I have a family, he's a legend
marginal. Mine is complete for me, it is a vacuum - no sense now. He was already far he could go. To
continue you must go to my territory
- The territory of David Webb - and eliminate Jason Bourne.
- Webb? David Webb? Who, in the name of God Almighty, is this?
- Am I - Bourne said with a tired smile, leaning in the window next to Bernardine.
- Madness! - said the former agent of the Deuxime.
- It is fou! Insane, I can not believe it!
- Believe.
- It's a family man with children and does this work?
- Alex never told you?
- If told, I thought it was a disguise - the
We accept anything in this work. - Shaking his head, Bernardine looked up at his companion.
- Do you have even a family which does not want to run?
- Rather not wait to get back to her. Are the only people in the world who mean something to me.
- But you're Jason Bourne, Chameleon killer! The deepest hole in the world of crime shudder to hear his
name!
- Come on, this is a bit much, even
coming from you.
- No way! You Bourne, exceeded only by the Jackal ...
- No, - said the now forgotten David Webb.
- He is not no match for me. I'll catch it! I'll kill you!
- All right, all right, mon ami - Bernadine said quietly, looking at the man he did not understand.
- What do you want me to do?
Jason Bourne turned to the window and took a deep breath sometimes - to discern, through the fog of
indecision, a clear strategy for the Chameleon. He turned and looked at the house across the dark
street.
- Police have been - said in a low voice.
- Of course, I see.
- He also saw that no one came the two
other sets of houses? But some windows are lighted.
- I was worried. What can I say? But, no, I did not notice - Bernardine raised his eyebrows, remembering.
- But I saw faces in the windows, many faces, I saw them.
- But no one came.
- Can you understand. The police ... armed men running down the street. It is best to protect yourself,
right?
- Even after police, guns and police cars are gone? Return all to the television, as if nothing had
happened? Nobody will ask the neighbors what happened? It is not natural, Franois, is not
even strangely natural. Everything was orchestrated.

- What do you mean? How?

- A man comes to the door and yells, illuminated
the spotlight. Attracts all the attention and are lost precious minutes of action surprise. Then appears a
nun wrapped in holy indignation - lost more seconds, more hours for Carlos. The house is invaded and
Deuxime finds nothing ... Then when it's over, everything returns to normal - a normal abnormal. A
study carried out in accordance with the plan, so there is
reason for the normal curiosity - no need to gather in the street to comment, to express their
outrage. Just stay inside, making sure that everything worked. That tells you nothing?
Bernardine nodded.
- A preplanned strategy executed by professionals - said the veteran field agent.
- Exactly what I think.
- That's what you saw and I saw - Bernardine said. - Forget goodness, Jason. I'm long out of the
street. Untrained very, very old, unimaginative.
- I'm also - said Bourne. - But
that hangs in the balance is very important to me, so I can think like a man I want to forget.
- Words of Monsieur Webb?
- I think so.
- So, how did we get?
- With a baker and a nun furiously angry, and if they are who we think, with several faces in the
windows. At the moment, the choice is ours, but that will not last, not until morning.
- Say what?
- Carlos will close to home here immediately. You have no choice now. Someone of his praetorian guard
revealed the location of its headquarters in Paris, and you can bet your retirement - even if you have - it
is
climbing the walls, trying to find out who betrayed him ...
- Stay away! - exclaimed Bernardine, Jason grabbing his jacket and throwing it to the darkest corner of
the shop door. - Get out of there! Lie down on the sidewalk!
The two played on the floor, face down on the
concrete, Bourne with his head leaning against the low wall under the glass of the window, watching the
street. A dark van appeared to the right, and it was not the police. It was brighter and smaller,
reinforced lower. The only thing they had in common with the police car was the blinding light of the
spotlight ... No, not one, but two spotlights, one on each side of the car. Jason put his hand to his belt
weapon - the weapon of Bernardine - sure your companion has wielded its automatic. The light of the
spotlight from the left went over both Bourne and murmured:
- Good work, but as you've seen?
- The movement of the car reflected in glasses
the windows - the old man said Franois. - For a moment I thought it was my ex-colleague back to finish
the job promised. That is, my insides on the sidewalk ... My God, I looked The van passed by the first two
sets of houses, gave a quick turn and stopped in front of the last house, about 60 meters from where
they were the house farthest from that to which the phone was the Jackal. Once the car stopped, the
back door opened and four men jumped out, brandishing automatic. Two rushed to the side of the road,
one for the front of the house and the room was next to the open door of the van with his MAC-10
ready to shoot. A dull yellow light appeared at the top of the brick steps. The door opened, giving way to
a man in a black raincoat. He stood for a moment, looking at both sides of the boulevard Lefebvre.
- Is it? - Franois murmured.
- No, unless you are wearing a wig and high heels - Jason replied, reaching into his jacket pocket. - I'll
recognize it when you see it - because I see it every day of my life! - He took out one of the grenades

that had borrowed from Bernardine. He set the automatic on the floor and holding the object and
rugged steel oval with one hand, with the other lightly pulled the pin to see if there was rusty.
- What the hell you think you're doing? - asked the Deuxime veteran.
- That man is a decoy - Jason replied softly and monotonous. - In a little while another will take its place,
running down the stairs and enter the van in the front seat or the back door - I hope it is behind, but
does not make much difference.
- You are crazy! They will kill him! What will forward a corpse to his family?
- You're not thinking, Franois. The guards
running will enter through the back door of the van, because there is no place for them in front. There is
a big difference between a van and get out of it. To begin, it is a sequence slower ... When the last man
to enter and reach out to close the door, my grenade now
will be inside the car ... And I have no intention of turning corpse. Stay here!
Before Bernardine could do other objections, Delta Medusa began to creep down the dark street - the
spotlight properties now and facing sides actually prevented Bourne was seen. The bright warm light
around the car accentuating the darkness in the rest of the street. The only real risk was the guard
beside the open doors of the vehicle. Dragging on the floor in front of the shops of the street, as if the
tall grass in the Mekong Delta, turning to a prison camp lit, Jason moved, tuned to the guard near the
car and that was beside the ladder. Suddenly, another figure appeared. She was a woman with a
briefcase in one hand and a bag in the other. Spoke to the man in black coat and when the guard looked
at them, Bourne on his elbows and knees, approached the van, stopping at a point where he could
observe the movement without being seen. Realized that the two guards in the street flickered eyes and
entrecerravam, bothered by the spotlights. The position was the best possible under the
circumstances. Everything now depended on to act at the right time and how much I could remember
times often overlooked or too vague, or too distant. Needed to remember now, the instinct was to go
through the fog of your memory. now. Nightmare The end was near. It was happening! Suddenly, in the
middle of a
great activity in the port, a third figure ran out and joined the other two. The man was shorter than the
first, wore a painter's cap and carrying a briefcase. Obviously gave some orders that included guard near
the van and the man stepped forward to pick up the suitcase the other jumped off the ladder. The guard
put the gun under his left arm and picked up the suitcase with ease, with the other hand.
- Allez-vous-en. Nous partons! Vite! - the second man shouted, gesturing the other two were down in
front. The man in the cloak stood beside the guard near the back door and the woman followed the man
who gave the orders ... The Jackal? would be Carlos?
Bourne desperately want to believe it
- So was he! The sound of the door closing side of the vehicle, followed by the roar of the powerful
engine was the signal. The other three guards rushed to the back door.Entered, one by one, after the
man hood, legs straight, arms raised, hands gripping the two metal sides and momentum driving them
the way into, weapons thrown in front of them. Then, two hands reached to close the doors.
Now! Bourne pulled the pin on the grenade and got up, running as he had never run in his life, even to
the doors of the van open. Dived, turning the body to fall backwards, grabbed the left door and threw a
grenade inside. Six the 2nd and explode. Jason got up on his knees and with both arms extended, closed
the car doors. The guards responded with gunfire cerrado. But it was a miracle no programmed. The
Jackal's van was bulletproof. Both inside and outside to inside out! No bullet went through the special
steel. Heard only impacts deaf and whistling ricochets ... and the cries of the wounded there.
The vehicle broke glossy swiftly by Lefebvre and Bourne, crouching, ran to the empty shops on the east
side of the street. Was almost finished crossing the avenue when the impossible happened. The
impossible!
The Jackal's van exploded, igniting the sky

Dark of Paris and at the same moment a limousine stopped singing brown tires in the corner nearest the
windows open and gunmen firing indiscriminately on all sides. Jason dove for the nearest shelter,
cowering in the fetal position, accepting the fact - not with fear but with anger
- That those could be their last moments of life. Had failed. Failed with Marie and the children! ... But
not this way. Rolled in hiding the gun in his hand. Would kill. Die! Such was the way of Jason Bourne!
Then the incredible happened. 's incredible! A Mermaid? The police? Brown The limo departed rapidly
from the wreckage of the Jackal's van and disappeared into the dark street when a police car came with
the siren blaring and braked quickly a few meters from the flames. Nothing made sense, thought
Jason. Only one of the five police cars had returned. Why? But until that question was
superfluous. Carlos had set a strategy using not one, but seven, maybe eight substitutes,
all disposable, all led to a terrible death for this man who only thought in their own protection. The
Jackal managed to escape the trap set for him by his inverted and hated enemy, Delta, product Medusa,
creating the U.S. Secret Service. Again, the killer was smarter, but Jason was not dead. There would be
another day, another night.
- Bernardine! - shouted the agent Deuxime there less than thirty minutes had offended mate. Jumping
the car, the man shouted again. - Bernardine! Where are you? ... My God, where you are! I came back,
old friend, because I can not leave him! My God, you were right, I see now! Oh, Christ Say you're
alive! Respond!
- Another dead - said Bernardine,
walking slowly, with difficulty, leaving the front of the store a few hundred yards north of where he was
Bourne. I tried to say, but you would not listen ...
- I was perhaps too hasty! - roared the man running for Bernardine and hugging him while in police
cruiser kept away from the van on fire, shielding his face from the heat. - I gave the order over the radio
for all return! - He continued. - You gotta believe, my friend, I went back because I could not leave it that
way, not my old buddy ... I did not know you had been robbed, beaten by the newspaper that pig. When
he told me I threw it out of the car! ... I came back for you, you understand, is not
Really? But, my God, did not expect this!
- It's horrible - said the Deuxime veteran,
examining the street cautiously and quickly. Noticed the frightened faces and intense in the windows of
the other three sets of houses. The scenery outside through the air with the explosion of the van and
the disappearance of the brown limo. Subalterns were without their leader and very frightened. The mistake was not just her, my old comrade - Bernardine continued in tone apologetic. - I was wrong
home.
- Ah, ha - Deuxime exclaimed the man, savoring the small triumph. - The wrong house? Undoubtedly
an error of great consequences, eh, Franois?
- The consequences could have been much less
tragic if you had not abandoned me so precipitately, as I said. Instead of listening to a man of great
experience, kicked me out of his car so I witnessed this horror.
- We follow your orders! We searched the house - the
wrong house!
- If I had stayed, if only for a brief conversation, this would be avoided and a friend would be alive. I have
to include this trial in my report ...
- Please, old friend - the man interrupted the Deuxime. - Let's talk for the sake of the Bureau ...
Was interrupted by the arrival of noisy fire truck.
Bernardine reached up and took his former partner to the other side of the avenue, ostensibly to leave
the path of the fire, but actually to be heard by Bourne.
- When our people get - continued

Deuxime man, raising his voice with authority we evacuate homes and detain all residents for questioning!
- My God! - Exclaimed Bernardine. - Do not add stupidity to incompetence!
- What?
- The limo, the limo brown - certainly
you saw?
- Yes, of course. My driver said they were fleeing.
- That's all he said?
- Well, the van was on fire and there was so much
confusion, I called my men on the radio ...
- See these broken glass! - Franois said, pointing to the shops, away from where Bourne was hiding. Look at the holes on the sidewalk and the street. Shots, my old comrade. The men involved escaped,
thinking I was dead! ... Do not say nothing, do nothing. Leave these people alone.
- You are incomprehensible ...
- And you're a fool. If for any reason any of those murderers go back, we will have no deterrent.
- Now being inscrutable.
- No way - protested Bernardine, looking for firefighters manning hoses and extinguishers huge. - Send
your men to every house to see if everything is fine and to explain to the authorities concluded that the
terrible events in the avenue were criminal acts. crisis has passed, there is no reason for alarm.
- But is this true?
- That's what we want them to believe.
An ambulance arrived, followed by two police cars with sirens connected to the whole volume. In the
two corners, residents of the apartments on the rue d'Alesia grouped up, curious, most dressed
hurriedly
- Pants and shirt - with other sleepwear bathrobes and slippers too shabby. Noting that the Jackal's van was now a molten mass of twisted steel
and broken glass, Bernardine continued:
- Let the people satisfy their curiosity
morbid, then send disperse. Within an hour or so, when everything is under control and the bodies
removed, tell your officers that the emergency is over, and send it all back to the police station but
one. This man must stand guard until removed what remained of the van. Should receive orders not to
interfere with anyone coming out of these houses, understood?
- Not a bit. You said that someone could
be hiding ...
- I know what I said - said the former Deuxime consultant. - Does not change anything.
- So, will you stay here?
- I will. I'll do some recon slow and cautious. - I understand ... And the report to the police? And
my report?
- Use a portion of the truth, not the whole, of course.
You have been told - the name of the informant can not be revealed - that would be perpetrated an act
of violence related to narcotics department of the Bureau, in Lefebvre, a certain time. You came here
with his men and found nothing, but then, following your instincts professionals, you
again, unfortunately too late to avoid the carnage.
- They are able to promote me - said the man, but soon frowned suspiciously. - And your report? - Asked
quietly.
- Let's see if it will be necessary, right? - Answered reinstated Deuxime consultant. The medical team
took the bodies to the ambulance, while a crane put in a truck burned wreckage of the van. Men
cleaning public streets swept, commenting that they should not sweep too but no one would recognize

Lefebvre. In fifteen minutes, the work was finished and the only officer present hitched a ride with
scanners, to the nearest pay phone. It was past four in the morning and soon the dawn would color the
sky of Paris, preceding the noisy and constant carnival of its streets. However, at that time, the only
signs of life in Lefebvre was five lighted windows in the row of stone houses controlled by Carlos the
Jackal. Inside the houses were men and women who sleep was not allowed. They had to work for his
monsignor.
Bourne sat on the sidewalk with his legs outstretched, his back against the wall inside the entrance of a
store, in front of houses Baker furious and indignant nun. Bernardine was in another entry, a few meters
away, in front of the first two houses where the Jackal's van had stopped to pick up the cargo
condemned. Was combined. Jason would follow and grab the first person to leave one of the
houses. The
Deuxime veteran would follow the second person who appeared, would check your destination, but
would not make any contact. For Bourne, the baker or the nun were messengers of the Jackal, why he
had chosen the north end of the row of houses. In part he hit, but had not anticipated the interference
of other persons and means of transport. At 5:17 pm, two nuns in full habit and white caps appeared,
bicycle, on the south side of the avenue. Ringing the bells discrete bikes, stopped in front of the house
that supposedly housed the Sisters of Charity Magdalene. The door opened and three nuns, each with a
bicycle down the brick steps and juntaramse their sisters of charity.Mounted discreetly and followed the
avenue. The only consolation for Jason who was the nun indignant Carlos was highlighted after the
other. Without knowing how it would happen, knowing only that would happen, Bourne left the store
entrance and ran down the avenue dark. When we arrived at the vacant lot next to the house of the
Jackal, another door opened. Bourne crouched in the shade and saw the baker obese quickly get down
the ladder and go south. Bernardine had to do, Jason thought, getting up and running after the
procession of bikes.
The traffic in Paris is an indecipherable enigma, the
any time of day or night. It also gives excuses for those who want to arrive too early or too late
somewhere, come to the wrong place or the right place. In summary, the Parisians behind the wheel
personify the last vestiges of a civilized lethal neglect - perhaps only exceeded by drivers of Rome or
Athens. This was applied to cupcakes cyclists, especially
Mother Superior, the last in line. At the entrance of the Rue Lecourbe in Montparnasse, a traffic jam of
trucks horticultural separated from the companions. With a benevolent gesture, she sent the following
and quickly entered a narrow side street, starting to pedal faster. Bourne, with throbbing neck injury,
not accelerated pace. Not needed. The blue sign with white letters at the beginning of the street, said
DEAD.
Bourne found the bike chained to a lamppost and waited at the entrance of a store less than four
meters away. Lightly touched the bandage wet neck. I was bleeding a little. With luck, only
a point should be open ... Oh, Christ, his legs were tired - no, "tired" was not quite the word. It was a
little sore muscles used and abused now. The rhythmic steps of the daily run is not prepared for the
jumps and feints, or to sudden stops and exits. Breathing heavily, leaned against the stone wall, without
taking his eyes off the bike, trying to shake the thought that hammered his mind with annoying
regularity. A few years ago he would not have noticed the tiredness in the legs, because there would
have been some fatigue.The sound of the lock being opened almost broke the silence of the dawn on
the narrow street, followed by the harsh noise of a door opening. It was the apartment door in front of
which stood the bike. Leaning against the wall, Jason took the gun from his belt and saw a woman with a
nun run to the post. In the dim light she seemed to have difficulty putting the key in the chain
lock. Bourne came out to the sidewalk and walked quickly to the woman.
- It will be late in the first Mass - said Jason Bourne.

The woman turned quickly, the key fell on the sidewalk and she put her right hand under the folds of
habit. Jason leapt forward, grabbed her arm with his left hand and pulled the white cap with the
right. He looked at her face in front and uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
- My God - Jason muttered. - It's you!
27
- The I KNOW! - Said Bourne. - Paris ... years ago ... his name is Lavier ... Jacqueline Lavier. Did you have a
women's clothing store ... Les Classiques - St. Honor - the hideout of the Faubourg Carlos! I found a
confessional in Neuilly-sur-Seine. I thought you were dead.
The woman's wrinkled face was contorted with rage. Tried to shake his hand, but Jason stepped aside
when she spun around, pulling it in a circular motion to the other side, throwing her against the wall,
pinning her with an arm around his neck.
- But you were not dead. It was part of the trap that ended in the Louvre, which exploded in the Louvre!
... Christ, you come with me. Men died in that trap - French died - and I could not stay there
to tell what had happened or who was responsible ... In my country, if you kill a cop, they will not rest
until he is found. Here is the same thing and when it comes to cops, they do not stop looking. Oh, they
will remember the Louvre, they will remember their men!
- You're wrong! - Said the woman half smothered with green eyes bulging. - I'm not who you
think ...
- You Lavier! Queen of the Faubourg, only contact with the woman of the Jackal, the general's wife. Do
not tell me I'm wrong ... I followed you both, when they left Neuilly - until that church bells ringing and
full of priests - one of them, Carlos! Soon after it left the whore, but you do not. She left quickly, and
then entered the church, and you described
for old priest - if it was a priest - and he said you were the second confessional left. I opened the curtain
and there you were. Morta. thought I had been killed and that everything was happening too fast. Carlos
had to be there! was in my power, within reach of my gun - or maybe I was within his reach. I ran,
looking like a madman, and finally saw him! On the street, with his black habit - I saw it, I knew it was
him because when he saw me started to run into traffic. I lost! ... But he had a trump card. You!
I spread the news - Lavier is dead ... It was exactly what I wanted to do, was not it? Was not it?
- I repeat, you are wrong! - The woman did not struggle more to get free, it was useless. He froze, his
body stiff against the wall, as if it could get permission to speak. - Want to hear me? - She asked
hoarsely, with Jason's arm still clutching his neck.
- Forget it, lady - said Bourne. - You
leaving here almost fainted - a Sister of Madalenas helped, not assaulted by a stranger. At your age
these threats are common faint, is not it?
- Wait.
- Too late.
- We need to talk!
- Let's talk.
Jason withdrew his arm and immediately grabbed the woman's shoulders with both hands, squeezing
the hamstrings. She fainted and Jason, catching her before she fell, carried her down the narrow street
as a supplicant leading a religious social worker. The daylight was beginning to ignite the sky and several
early birds, one a young man that made his short jogging, approached the man carrying a nun.
- She spent nearly two days without sleep, with my wife and my kids sick! - Said the Chameleon in
French streets. - Someone wants to please arrange a taxi to take her to the convent in the
ninth arrondissement?
- I will! - Said the young man in shorts. - Has a
point that works day and night on rue de Svres and I'm really fast!

- It is a gift, sir - said Jason, thanks, but not liking the excessive confidence of the young. Six minutes later
the taxi arrived with the boy shorts.
- I told the driver that you have money
- He said, bouncing the car. - I hope you have.
- Of course. And thank you.
- Tell sister what I did - added the hallway, gently helping Bourne put the unconscious woman in the
back seat of the taxi. - I'll need all the help they can get when my time comes.
- I hope that is not imminent - Jason said, trying to return the boy grinned.
- There is. I represent my firm in the marathon. - The big boy started running in place.
- Again, thank you. I hope you win the
next.
- Tell the sister to pray for me! - Cried the athlete away from.
- The Bois de Boulogne - Bourne said, closing
the car door.
- The Bois? That crazy afrescalhado said it was an emergency! I needed to take the nun to the hospital!
- It took a lot of wine, what more can I say?
- The Bois de Boulogne - the chauffeur said, nodding. - Make her walk a lot. I have a second cousin in the
convent of Lyons. When you leave for a week she gets drunk. Who can blame her?
The sun's rays were coming slowly to the bench in the Bois de Boulogne when the middle-aged woman,
dressed as a nun, she shook her head.
- How are you, sister? - Jason asked, sitting beside his prisoner.
- As if struck by an army tank - the woman said, blinking his eyes and opening his mouth to breath. - At
least one tank.
- I bet you know more about tanks than on the van Magdalene Sisters of Charity.
- You're right - she agreed.
- Do not bother to look for his gun said Bourne. - I took the belt too expensive to use in the habit.
- Glad you recognized the value of the belt. It
part of what we have to talk ... Since I am not a police station, suppose granted me permission to speak.
- Only if you say it is in my interest, I suppose I understand that.
- But it is in their interest, will see. I failed. I was caught. I'm not where it should be, and whatever the
time, the light tells me it's too late for apologies. Also, my bike disappeared or is still chained the post.
- I have not pulled it out.
- Then I'm dead. And if she's gone, I'm dead too, do not you understand?
- Why did you disappear? Is not where it should be?
- Of course.
- You Lavier!
- It is true. 'm Lavier. But I'm not the woman
you met. You met my sister Jacqueline
- I'm Dominique Lavier. We had a small difference in age and were very similar, since small. But he is
right about Neuilly-sur-Seine and what he saw there. My sister was killed because she violated a cardinal
rule, committed a mortal sin, if you want. She panicked and took you to the wife of Carlos, his secret
dearest and most helpful.
- I? ... You know who I am?
- All Paris - Paris throughout the Jackal - know
who you are, Monsieur Bourne. Do not know of view, but know you're here and you know who is
looking for Carlos.
- And you are part of this Paris?

- I do.
- Christ, he killed his sister!
- I know that.
- And yet, it works for him?
- There are times in a person's life in which
choices are greatly reduced. For example, live or die. Until six years ago, when the Classiques changed
ownership, was a vital point for the monsignor. I took the place of Jacqui ...
- So, no more no less?
- It was not hard. I was younger and, most importantly, looked younger. - Wrinkles on the face of
middle-aged widened with brief smile and thoughtful. - My sister said it was because I lived in the
Mediterranean ... Anyway, plastic surgery is common in the world of haute couture. Jacqui was
supposed to Switzerland for a general plastic ... and returned to Paris after eight weeks of preparation.
- How'd you do that? How could you do this, knowing
he knew, how the hell did this?
- I did not know at first what I later learned, then no use anymore. By this time my choice was already
mentioned. Live or die.
- Never thought to go to the police or
Sret?
- Regarding Carlos? - The woman looked
Bourne like he was a little boy fool. - As the British say in Cap Ferrat, "you are no doubt
playing. "
- So happy you joined in the game of death.
- Not consciously. I was led to it gradually, in a slow and fragmentary ... Earlier said Jacqueline had died
in a boating accident with her boyfriend that month and that I would be well paid to take her place. Les
Classiques was much more than a salon fashions ...
- Much more - Jason agreed. - It was the reception point of the best kept secrets of the military and
secret service of France, transmitted to the Jackal by a woman, the wife of a famous general.
- Only I heard it long after the general killed. His name was Villiers, if I'm not mistaken.
- Yes, it was. - Jason looked white lilies floating in the calm waters of the small lake. Images back to your
mind. - I was the one who found him, found them. Villiers was in a high-backed chair with the gun in
hand. The woman was naked in bed, covered in blood, dead. He was going to kill himself. Was suitable
for running a traitor, he said, because the blind love that the woman had dedicated him a traitor to
France ... I convinced him that there was another way - almost worked, there
13 years. A strange house in the street Seventy-One in New York.
- I do not know what happened in New York, but
General Villiers left instructions that were given to the public, after his death, which happened in
Paris. They say that when he died and the truth was revealed-lated Carlos went mad with rage and
murdered only because they were several military generals ...
- It's an old story - interrupted Bourne,
abruptly. - This is now, 13 years later. What happens now?
- I do not know, monsieur. I have no choice, do I? One way or another, going to kill me, I suppose.
- Maybe not. Help me catch it and be free of us. You can return to the Mediterranean and to live in
peace. Needless to disappear - back when you want to return, after a few years in Paris very profitable.
- Disappear? - Lavier said, carefully watching the tired face of his captor. - As
"Disappear"?
- No need for that. Carlos can not find her because he is dead.
- Yes, I understood that part. What interests me is the disappearance and years "profit" in Paris. This
profit comes from the Lord?

- Yes
- I understand ... What was offered the Saints? Disappearance profitable?
It was as if she had slapped him. Jason looked at his prisoner.
- So, it was Santos - he said, in a voice
low. - The Lefebvre was a trap. Christ, he's good.
- He's dead, Le Coeur du Soldat closed, liquidated.
- What? - Bourne looked stunned for Lavier. That was the reward for deceiving me?
- No, for betraying Charles.
- I do not understand.
- Monsignor has eyes everywhere, I'm
sure you know that. Santos saw the prisoner, delivering several heavy boxes to your food supplier and
yesterday morning he did not pruned or watered the plants of your precious garden, a summer ritual as
predictable as the sun. A man was sent to the supplier's warehouse and opened the boxes ..
- Books - Jason interrupted almost in a whisper.
- To be kept until further notice Dominique Lavier completed. - The departure of Santos would be quickly and secretly.
- And Carlos knew that there was nobody in Moscow to give the phone number.
- What did you say?
- Nothing ... What kind of man was Santos?
- I have not met him, never seen him. Just heard the comments, which were not many.
- Do not have time for many. What were the
Comments?
- Apparently he was a big man ...
- I know that - Jason interrupted impatiently.
- And know that I read a lot, which was probably worship, the way he spoke. Where he came from and
who worked for the Jackal?
- They say it was and who fought in the Cuban Revolution Fidel, who was a deep thinker and fellow
Castro in law school, and in the past, a great athlete. Then, of course, as in all revolutions, the infighting
distorted victory - at least that's what my old companions say the barricades of May Day.
- Translation, please.
- Fidel was jealous of the leaders of certain groups, especially Che Guevara and the man you knew as
Santos. Castro could be larger than life, but the two were bigger than him, and Fidel could not tolerate
competition. Che was sent on a mission in which he lost his life, and Santos was falsely accused of
counter-revolutionary activities. An hour before his execution, Carlos and his men stormed the prison
and took him with them.
- Dresses of priests, no doubt.
- I'm sure you do. The church with all its absurdities medieval was very important in Cuba.
- You speak bitterly.
- I am a woman, the Pope is not, he is just medieval.
- Judgement registered ... So Santos joined Carlos, two disillusioned Marxists seeking their personal
causes - or maybe your personal Hollywood.
- If I understood, the fantasy belongs to the brilliant Carlos, the disappointment was bitter fate of
Santos. He owed his life to the Jackal, so why not entregla him? What else was left? ... Until his arrival.
- It's all I need. Thank you. I just wanted to fill some gaps.
- Gaps?
- Things I did not know.
- What do we do now, Monsieur Bourne? That was not your original question?

- What you want to do, madame Lavier?

- I know you do not want to die. And I'm not madame
Lavier'm not married. The restrictions do not appeal to me and the benefits seem unnecessary. For
years I was a prostitute too expensive in Monte Carlo, Nice and Cap Ferrat, to youth abandon me. For
some time, however, I have kept friends from the old days, intermittent lovers who took care of
me. Almost all are now dead, a shame.
- I thought it was very well paid to take
identity of his sister.
- I was and still am in a way, because I have some value. I circulate among the elite of Paris, where there
are many information. I have a beautiful apartment on the Avenue Montaigne. Antiques, fine paintings,
created, credit - all this elite expected to have a woman who worked in the fashion world. And
money. Every month a bank receives 80,000 francs Geneva - a bit more than I need to pay my quota. For
only I can pay them, no one else.
- So, you have money.
- No, monsieur, I have a lifestyle, not money. This is how the Jackal acts. Unless the old, it only pays in
terms of immediate service. If money Geneva did not reach my bank on the tenth day of each month, in
thirty days I'm on the street. But if Carlos resolve to get rid of me, do not need to resort to Geneva. I'll
be dead - as I am now without a doubt. If I return to my apartment on the Avenue Montaigne this
morning, I'll never leave ... like my sister did not come out of that church in Neuilly-sur-Seine. At least,
not alive.
- Are you sure?
- Of course. That stop where I left the bike was to receive instructions from one of the old. The orders
were accurate and should be followed strictly. Within twenty minutes I was to meet a woman that I
know, at the bakery in Saint-Germain, where he would exchange our clothes. She should go to the
mission of the Magdalen and I would find the Messenger of Athens in a room at Hotel Trmoille.
- The mission of Magdalene ...? You mean those women were nuns bike for real?
- Perfectly, with vows of chastity and poverty. I am the head of the convent in Saint-Malo that frequently
visit.
- And the woman at the bakery, she is ...?
- She sins one time or another, but it is great administrator.
- Jesus - Bourne muttered.
- He is always on the lips of them. Understands
Now the difficulty of my position?
- I'm not sure.
- So, I have to doubt that it is even the Chameleon. I have not been in the bakery. The meeting with the
Greek messenger did not take place. Where was I?
- You were late. The bike chain broke. One of those trucks shaved you, on rue Lecourbe. Devil, was
burglarized. What difference does it make? You
was delayed.
- How long have I left out?
Jason looked at his watch to bright light in the morning.
- Just over an hour, I think, an hour and
half, maybe. Considering the way you dressed, the taxi driver took a few laps looking for a place discrete so I could take care of you. Was well paid for this help.
- An hour and a half? - Asked Lavier.
- Yeah, so what?
- So, why not phoned the bakery or the Hotel Trmoille?
- Complications? ... No, it is easy to verify - Bourne said shaking his head.

- Or? - The big green eyes met

with him. - Or, monsieur?
- The Lefebvre - Jason replied softly. - The trap. As I turned the trap on him, he turned on me, three
hours later. So I broke the strategy and got you.
- Exactly. - A former prostitute Monte Carlo
nodded. - And he can not know what we talked about ... therefore, I am scheduled execution. A pawn is
removed from the game as nothing more than a pawn, can not reveal anything important for the
authorities, never saw the Jackal, can only repeat the gossip of the subordinates.
- You never the saw?
- Maybe, but I do not know. Rumors fly all over Paris. He has skin latina brunette or have black eyes and
whiskers. "That's even Carlos, you
know "- how many times I've heard these phrases! But no, no man ever came to me and said "I am he,
and make your life enjoyable, elegant and old whore." I only communicate with the old men who, at one
time or another, bring me information - like tonight on the boulevard Lefebvre.
- I understand - Bourne stood up, stretching, and looked at his prisoner sitting on the bench.
- I can get her out of it - he said quietly .. - Out of Paris, out of Europe. Away from Carlos. Do you?
- As far as Santos wanted - Lavier responded with pleading eyes. - I'm willing to spend my loyalty to you.
- Why?
- Because he's old and gray and can not compare to you. You offer me a life, it gives me death.
- In this case, it is a wise decision - Jason said with a slight smile. - Have you any money? With you, I
mean.
- The nuns take vows of poverty, monsieur Dominique Lavier replied, returning the smile. I actually have a few hundred francs. Why?
- It is not enough - Bourne continued, taking
Pocket a courageous wad of bills. - Here are three thousand - said, reaching for her money. - Buy clothes
somewhere - I'm sure you know how
- And go to the Meurice on rue de Rivoli.
- What name should I use?
- What suits you best?
- How about Brielle? A coast city,
pretty well.
- Why not? ... Give me ten minutes to get out of here, then exit. I'll meet you at the Meurice at noon.
- With all my heart, Jason Bourne.
- Let's forget that name.
The Chameleon out of the Bois de Boulogne straight into a taxi rank. The driver received ecstatic
hundred francs to stand at the end of the row of three vehicles with the passenger in the rear seat
down.
- A nun is leaving, monsieur - exclaimed the chauffeur. - Entered the first taxi.
- Follow the taxi - Jason said, sitting on the bench. On the avenue Victor Hugo's taxi Lavier slowed and
stopped in front of one of the few concessions that Paris is the tradition - a public phone open with
plastic dome.
- Stop here - ordered Bourne down well
the car pulled to the curb. Limping, Chameleon walked quickly and quietly to the phone that was behind
the nun was nervous using. She had not seen, but heard it clearly Bourne.
- The Meurice! - She screamed into the phone. - The name is Brielle. He will be there at noon ... Yes, yes,
I will take a break in my apartment to change clothes and be there in an hour. - Lavier and hung
voltouse, opening his mouth scared when he saw Jason. - No! -

she cried.
- I think so - said Bourne. - My Taxi
or his? "He is old and gray" - was what you said, Dominique. A very accurate description for those who
never saw Carlos.
Bernardine left the Pont-Royal berserk, beside the porter who had called.
- This is ridiculous - he shouted, approaching taxi.
- No, not - corrected, looking inward. It's just insane.
- Between - said Jason beside the woman with a nun. Franois went looking for the black habit, a white
cap and pointy and pale face of religious sitting between the two.
- She could make a fortune in his cinma-verit, believe - said Jason.
- I'm not a very religious man, but I hope you have not made a mistake ... I made or rather we made - with that baker pig.
- Why?
- He's baker, that's what he is! I almost threw a grenade in his ovens, but no one, but a baker french beg
knows how he pleaded.
- Checks - Jason said. - The illogical logic of
Carlos - I do not remember who said it probably was me. - The taxi made a complete turn and went into
rue du Bac. - We're going to Meurice - he added.
- I'm sure you have a good reason for it - said Bernardine, looking for the enigmatic face of Dominique
Lavier. - I mean, this sweet old lady says nothing.
- I'm not old!
- Of course not, my dear - agreed the
Deuxime veteran. - Only the most desirable in its mature age.
- Dude, you nailed it!
- Why the Meurice? - Asked Bernardine.
- It is the last trap the Jackal to me answered Bourne. - Courtesy of our sister persuasive
charity of Madalenas here. He expects me to be there and I'll be.
- I'll call the Deuxime. Thanks to a bureaucrat scared now will do everything I ask. Do not put your life
in danger, my friend.
- I do not want to offend you, Franois, but you get my
said he did not know the entire staff of the Deuxime now. I can not risk a leak of information. Just a
man to give the alarm.
- Let me help you. - The voice was low and soft
Dominique Lavier interrupted murmur of traffic there
out as the first movement of a saw. - I can help.
- I've heard this before, owner, and with your help I was walking to my execution. No, thank you.
- That was then, not now. As should be abundantly clear, my position is now desperate.
- Did not hear those words recently?
- No, not heard. I added the word "now" ... For God's sake, put my place up river. Do not want to
pretend to understand, but this old boulevardier beside me says casually that will draw the Deuxime the Deuxime, Monsieur Bourne! For many, it is nothing less than the French Gestapo! Even if I survive,
will be marked by that infamous government department. No doubt I will arrange for a horrible penal
colony on the other side of the world - oh, I have heard the stories of the Deuxime!
- Really? - Asked Bernardine. - For I
there. It seems really fascinating. Wonderful!

- Also ... - Lavier continued, glaring at Jason and taking the white cap. The driver, looking in the rearview
mirror, raised his eyebrows. - Without me, without my presence with other clothing, the Meurice, Carlos
will not get near the rue Rivoli. - Bernardine tapped her on the shoulder and took the finger to his lips,
tilting his head toward the driver. - The man you want to talk to will not be there - she finished hastily.
- She's right - Bourne said, leaning forward and looking at the street side of Bernardine. The sister has an apartment here in Montaigne, where they know that she will stop to change clothes
and none of us can go with it.
- This creates a dilemma, right? - Bernardine said.
- We can not monitor the phone, from out here, can we?
- His fools ... I have no choice but to cooperate with you and can not see that should be driven by blind
dogs! This old man, very old, going to put my name in the archives of Deuxime at the first opportunity,
and as you know the famous Jason Bourne, if we have anything to do with the Deuxime, several
questions will be asked - in the past made by my sister, Jacqueline. Who is this Bourne? He is real or
not? It
Asia's killer, or a forgery bait? She called me one night to Nice, after many drinks a night which you may remember, monsieur Cameleon a very expensive restaurant in Paris. You threatened her ... on behalf of powerful
people, anonymous, you threatened!
Demanded that she reveal everything he knew about a known - at that time I had no idea who he was but you startled. She said you looked crazy, with haggard eyes and talking in a language she did not
know.
- I remember - Bourne interrupted dryly. - Dined, I threatened her and she was scared. She went to the
toilet, paid someone to make a phone call and I had to leave the restaurant.
- And now the Deuxime is very powerful ally to those people? - Dominique Lavier nodded several times
and lowered his voice. - No, gentlemen, I am a survivor and not fight against the impossible. We have to
know when to pass the bank in baccarat.
After a short silence, Bernardine said:
- What is your address on the avenue Montaigne?
I'll tell the driver to take us there, but before that understands one thing, madam, if you're lying, suffer
all the horrors of Deuxime you described. Marie was reading the newspaper sitting at the table in the
small suite of the Hotel Meurice. Could not concentrate on what he read. Anxiety kept her from sleeping
when he returned to the hotel a little after midnight, after having been in five of the cafes that she and
David had attended so many years ago in Paris. Finally, at four in the morning and shortly, the
exhaustion was stronger and she slept with the lamp lit. Agreed almost six hours. Your sleep longer since
that first night on the Island Tranquility, which was now just a distant memory except for the pain of not
seeing the children and not hear their voices. them do not think it is very painful. Think of David ... No,
think of Bourne! Where? Focus!
Left the Tribune in Paris and served as the third cup of coffee strong and black, looking at the glass doors
that opened onto the terrace and the Rue Rivoli. The morning clear and bright day turned into a sad and
gray. Soon it would rain, hampering the search. Resigned, took the coffee and put the cup on the saucer
elegant classy, not china mug common preferred by David and her in her rustic kitchen in
Maine. Oh, God, that will return there someday? do not think about it! Focus!
Picked up again the Tribune, and turned the pages idly, seeing only isolated words, not sentences or
paragraphs, with no continuity of thought. Then he saw the line quoted at the end of page. The word
was Memom, followed by a telephone number, and although the Tribune was printed in English, Marie
instinctively translated into French as Maymo-hom. was going to turn the page when another part of his
brain warned, Stop.

- Memom ... mommy - a modification made by a child learning to speak. Memom! Jamie your Jamie! The funny name he invented and used for a few weeks! David laughed, but Marie panicked,
fearing that the boy had dyslexia.
"Maybe he's just a little confusing, memom " David then said, with a smile.
David! looked at the top of the page. It was the financial section she instinctively read every morning. A
message from David! He stood up, knocking the chair and with the newspaper in his hand went to the
phone. With trembling hands dialed. No one answered. Perhaps he had dialed wrong or had forgotten
the code area of Paris. He tried again, slowly and carefully now. No one answered. But it was David,
Marie felt, sa- bia. He was looking for the Trocadro and now value is a nickname used for a short time
and only knew the two. My love, my love, I found it! ... Could no longer be confined in the small hotel
room, walking from one side to the other and dialing the phone almost every freaking call is not
answered. When strained to bursting, find a place where they can move around without being
noticed. Keep moving! This is
vital! You can not let your mind explode. Marie dressed quickly. Highlighted the message of the
newspaper and left the suite oppressive, controlling not to run to the elevators, feeling he needed from
the busy streets of Paris to continue to walk unnoticed. A public phone to another.
The descent to the lobby was endless and too nasty, thanks to an American couple - he with the camera,
with her eyelids painted purple and bleached hair in a bouffant hairdo that seemed mounted on
concrete - complaining that few in Paris, France, spoke English. Finally the door opened and Marie came
quickly to the bustling lobby of the Meurice.When headed to the big glass doors of the entrance, with
ornate filigree, instinctively stopped seeing an old man with a pin-striped suit chalk, sitting in a heavy
leather armchair to his right, tilt your body lean forward with one gasp. The man looked at her stunned,
with thin lips parted, a look of terror in his eyes.
- Marie St. Jacques! - He murmured. - My
God, get out of here!
- Excuse me, but ... What?
The old French rose with some difficulty by examining the lobby with attentive look.
- It can not be seen here, Mrs. Webb - he said very quietly, but authoritative. - Do not look at me! Look
at your watch. Keep your head down.
- The Deuxime veteran looked away, nodding vaguely in the direction of the nearest and continued,
almost without moving his lips. - Go to
the left door, which is used for luggage. Hurry!
- No, - said Marie, looking at his watch with his head down. - You know me, but I do not
know. Who are you?
- Friend of her husband.
- My God, is he here?
- The question is, why you are here?
- I've been in this hotel before. I thought he might remember.
- He recalled, but in a different context. Mon Dieu, otherwise he never would have chosen. Now get
out of here.
- I'm not leaving. I have to find it. Where he
are?
- If it does not, you might find only your corpse. There
a message for you in the Tribune ...
- You're in my bag. On the finances page, me mom ...
- Telephone in a few hours.
- It can do this to me.
- You can not do this with him. 'll kill him!

Get out of here now!

With eyes almost blind with rage, fear and tears, Marie went to the left side of the lobby, wanting
desperately to look back, but aware that he should not. Reached the narrow glass door and collided with
a boot full of bags
- Pardon, Madame!
- Moi aussi - Marie muttered, dodging and man bags and out to the street.
What could I do - what would you do? David was somewhere in the hotel - inside the hotel! And a
stranger recognized her and sent her out - go! What was going on? ... My God, someone is trying to kill
David! So said the old Frenchman - who was ... who was it? Where were they?
Jason, help me, for God's sake! Tell me
What should I do, Jason? ... Yes, Jason, help me! She stood motionless, staring without seeing taxis and
limousines that stopped in front of the Meurice, where the doorman with golden braid receiving
newcomers and old guests, giving orders to the chargers that ran on all directions. A big limo, black, with
a discreet religious insignia in the right door, the cruciform symbol of some high dignitary of the Church,
stood under the awning of the hotel. Marie looked at the small emblem. Was circular, had no more than
six inches in diameter, with a globe of purple real gold circling the crucifix. With a shudder, Marie held
her breath. His panic now acquired a new dimension. Already
seen that insignia before and remembered only the horror he had felt.
The limo stopped, the two doors were opened by the doorman right smiling and accomodating. Five
fathers down a front seat, four in the back of the car. Strangely, the last three made their way among
the passersby, and two were placed behind the limousine. The other went by Marie, brushing the black
cassock dress her, so close she could see the piercing eyes of someone who did not belong to any
religious order ... So associating face the car emblem, the religious insignia, Marie remembered!
Years ago, when David - when Jason - was intensive with Panov, psychoanalyst advised him to draw any
image that came to mind. Again and again he drew that crucifix ...always broken or attacked fiercely
with the pencil. The
Jackal!
Then Marie saw the tall man with dark sweater and trousers - crossing the rue de Rivoli limping, dodging
vehicles, with a raised hand shielding his face from the drizzle that soon turn into rain. He was not
lame! The movement of the shoulders, turning body slightly to compensate for the stiff leg, was a move
of defiance that she knew very well. David was!
Another person, less than two meters from where she was also seen. The man took a small
transmitter to his lips. In a sudden movement, with arms outstretched, like a tigress, Marie threw
herself on the fake priest.
- David! - she cried, with her nails drawing blood from the face of the man of the Jackal. The shots
echoed through the rue de Rivoli. The people panicked, rushing to the hotel, others running away from
him, all screaming, trying to escape the murderous insanity that exploded on the streets of Paris
civilized. In the fight with the man who would kill her husband, Marie, Canada's strong and resolute,
took his opponent's automatic and shot him in the head, spreading airborne blood and tissue.
- Jason - she screamed again when the killer down, realizing that he was alone with the man's body to
the feet - one target perfect! Then death has become a certain possibility of life. The old French
aristocrat, who recognized her in the lobby, ran into the street, hitting solid shots with your auto
everywhere the black limousine, stopping for a moment to change the target and shattering the legs of
one of the " priests "who had the gun up, ready to shoot.
- Mon ami! - roared Bernardine.
- Here! - shouted Bourne. - Where is she?

- A votre droite! AUPRES of ... - An isolated shot broke the glass doors of the Meurice. Falling, the
Deuxime veteran exclaimed: - Les Capucines, mon ami. Les Ca- pucines!Bernardine fell on the sidewalk
and a second shot ended his life.
Marie was paralyzed. It was a rain of ice, a whirlwind of icy particles exploding against her face,
preventing her from thinking. Crying uncontrollably, fell to his knees, then collapsed on the sidewalk,
their cries of despair clear in the ears of the man who was suddenly beside her.
- My children ... Oh, God, my children!
- Our children - Jason Bourne said with the voice of David Webb. - Let's get out of here, you understand?
- Yes, yes! - With difficulty, Marie got up, helped by her husband who did not know whether he knew or
not. - David?
- Of course I'm David. Come on!
- You scare me ...
- I myself cringe. Come on! Bernardine has opened the way to escape. Run with me, hold my hand!
Ran the rue de Rivoli, heading east on Avenue St. Michel to ensure by the nonchalance du jour of
passersby, who were saved from the horrors of the Meurice. Stopped, holding each other in an alley.
- Why have you done this? - Marie asked holding his face with both hands. - Why did you run from us?
- Because I'm better off without you, you know.
- But it was not before, David. Or should I say Jason?
- Names do not matter, we need to get out of here.
- Where?
- I'm not sure. But we go out, that's what matters. Bernardine gave us a way out.
- The old French?
- Let's not talk about it, right? At least not
for some time. I'm pretty shaken up.
- All right, we will not discuss it. However, he mentioned Les Capucines - what I mean?
- It's our exit. A car is waiting for me on the boulevard des Capucines. That's what he was saying. Come
on!
In Peugeot anonymous they left Paris, heading south down the road Barbizon, which led to Villeneuve St
Georges. Marie sat juntinho husband, their bodies touching, her hand on his arm. But we felt the
warmth of his affection was not reciprocated. Only a part of the man was his David, the rest was now
dominated by Jason Bourne.
- Please talk to me! - Marie exclaimed.
- I'm thinking ... Why did you come to Paris?
- Christ - she exploded. - To find it, to help you!
- I'm sure he thought he was doing the right thing ... but it was not, you know?
- That Voice Again - Marie protested. - This
damn voice without a body! Who the hell thinks that is
to say that? God To be clear - not clear, but brutal - you have trouble remembering certain things, my
dear.
- Not about Paris - Jason denied. - I remember
everything about Paris. Everything.
- Your friend Bernardine did not think so! He
told me that you would never have chosen if he had remembered Meurice.
- What? - Bourne glanced at the
woman
- Think. Why did you choose - and you chose - the Meurice?
- I do not know ... Not sure. It's a hotel, just remembered the name.
- Think: What happened years ago at the Meurice -

right in front of the Meurice?

- I. .. I know something happened ... You?
- Yes, my love, I. I stayed with a fake name and you were to meet me and walked
the newsstand on the corner, where, for a horrible moment, we both knew that my life would never be
the same - with or without you.
- Oh, Jesus, I'd forgotten! Newspapers - your photograph on the front pages of every newspaper. You
was the official Canadian government ...
- The Canadian economist on the run - interrupted Marie - hunted across Europe, accused of multiple
murders in Zurich linked to the theft of millions of Swiss banks! This type of advertising never goes out
of a person's life. The charges can be refuted, tried and proven its falsity, but the question remains:
"Where there's smoke there's fire," says the old adage. My own work colleagues in Ottawa ... very dear
friends with whom I worked for years ... were afraid to talk to me.
- Wait a minute! - Bourne said, looking again quickly to David's wife. - The charges were false - a stroke
of Treadstone to lure me - you were the one who understood this. I did not understand.
- Of course, you were under severe stress at the time. For me it did not matter, because I had already
taken a decision with my analytical mind which is
the height of his in any circumstance, my sweet student.
- What?
- Look at the road! spent the entry exactly as you passed the entrance to our house a few days ago - and
have been for years?
- What the hell is this?
- A small inn where we stayed near
Barbizon. You asked gently lit the fireplace in the restaurant - we were the only guests. It was the third
time that I saw, through the mask of Jason Bourne, the man that I was falling.
- Do not do this to me.
- I have to do, David. Even if only by
me now. I need to know you're there.
Silence. Jason walked around the grand-route and floored the accelerator.
- I am here - David said, putting his arm around her shoulders right Marie and pulling her to him. - Do
not know how long, but I'm here.
- Hurry up, sweetheart.
- Right. But I want to stay with you so embraced.
- And I want to call the children.
- Now I know that I'm here.
28
- WE WILL TELL voluntarily want to know everything, or we will launch an orbit chemical with which the
kidnappers of Dr. Panov never dreamed - said Peter Holland, director of the CIA, his voice low and
monotonous blunt and smooth as polished granite. - Also, I should explain the extremes to which I am
willing to use, because I'm old school, Paisano.do not give a damn about the regulations that favor the
trash. You
the banking hard with me, and I sink, still breathing, 160 miles from Cape Hatteras, within a torpedo. Am
I clear?
The capo subordinate, with the right leg and left arm in plaster, lying in bed ward Langley deserted,
deserted because the director told the medical staff were far away, for your own good. The chubby face
the mob seemed fatter because of bruising around the eyes and lips naturally thick, a result of the
encounter of his head with the panel when Mo Panov threw the car into an oak Maryland. He looked to
Holland with swollen eyelids and then to Conklin sat beside the bed, holding the unfailing cane.
- You have no right, his "head honcho" - said

capo, defiantly. - Because I have my rights, you know?

- The doctor also had violated it and you Jesus, and how violated!
- I'm not talking without my lawyer.
- Where the hell was the attorney Panov? - Alex shouted, banging his cane on the floor.
- That's not how the system works - protested the hood, trying to raise his eyebrows, indignantly.
- Also, I've been good with the doctor. He took advantage of my kindness, God knows!
- You're a comedian - said Holland. - A
Comedian anything fun. We have no lawyers here, linguine, only three of us and a capsule torpedo
begins to draw in your future.
- What do you want from me? - Cried the mob.
- What do I know? Just do what they tell me, as did my older brother - he rest in peace - and my father may he rest in peace as well - and probably the father of it, of whom I know nothing.
- So, how many generations living at government expense, is not it? - Conklin noted. Parasites never come off the list.
- Hey, are you talking about my family, whatever that drug is speaking.
- I apologize to his coat of nobility - said Alex.
- For it is in your family who are interested, Augie - said the director of the CIA. - Augie's, is not it? This is
the name of one of the five driver's licenses and we think looks the most authentic.
- Because you are not as truly intelligent, his "head honcho" - responded aggressively mem-ho with
swollen lips. - I have none of those names.
- We have to call you something - said
Holland. - Even if it is to burn the fire in the capsule Hateras for any archaeologist, here thousands of
years, can give an identity that will examine the teeth.
- How about Chauncy? - Proposed Conklin.
- Very Ethnic - Peter replied. - I like
the asshole, because that's what it is. Will be tied into a tube and sunk on the continental shelf under
eight miles of water, the crimes committed by others. To me, this is what being asshole.
- Stop it! - Roared asshole. - All right, my name is Nicolo ... Nicholas Dellacroce, and only tell it you have
to give me protection! As with Valachi, part of the deal.
- Really? - Holland frowned. - None
remember having mentioned any agreement.
- For then will not have anything.
- You are wrong, Nicky - lex said, across the fourth, small. - Let's get everything we want. The only
drawback is that you have to be all at once. We will not have time for another interview, or to take you
to federal court, even to make him sign an affidavit.
- Huh?
- You'll turn a vegetable with brain melted. Of course, it may be a blessing in a way. Will not even notice
when you enter that tube Hateras.
- Hey, what are you talking about?
- Simple logic - said the former naval commando and current director of the CIA. - When our medical
staff stop you, do not expect to be able to let it loose out there, right? An autopsy would delay our life in
thirty years, and frankly, we do not have time for this ... So, what will be, Nicky? Want to talk to us or
prefer a priest?
- I have to think ...
- Come on, Alex - Holland said dryly, walking to the door. - I'll send the priest. This poor bastard is going
to need all the comfort possible.
- At times like this - Conklin noted,

standing, leaning on his stick - is that EJU think seriously about man's inhumanity to man. Then I
explain. There is brutality, as this is merely a descriptive abstraction. This is the only method of trading
that involves us. However, the individual exists - with mind, flesh and her sensitive nerve endings. And
the excruciating pain. Thank God I was always in the background, out of reach - as fellow Nicky. They eat
in fancy restaurants and he goes into a tube onto the continental shelf, five miles deep, with the body
exploding within himself.
- All right, all right - Nicolo Dellacroce shouted, twisting the obese body under the covers. Place your drug questions, but you give me protection, capisce?
- This depends on the accuracy of their answers
- Holland said, turning to the side of the bed.
- If I were you, I would be very sincere, Nicky Alex noted, limping back to the chair. A lie and will sleep with the fishes - I think it is
so they say.
- I do not need to teach me, I know where the truth lies.
- Let's start, Mr. Dellacroce - said the head of the CIA, taking from his pocket a small tape
recorder. Verified that was in order and placed it on the table-decabeceira. Then pulled a chair close to
the bed and continued to speak, driving the introduction to the recorder. My name is Admiral Peter Holland, currently director of the Central Intelligence Agency, confirmation
of my voice can be made if necessary. This is an interview with an informant we'll call John Smith,
features the voice teipe follow the central agency, identifying the confidential files of the director
... Okay, Mr. Smith, let's put aside the nonsense and go to the essential questions. For your protection,
we will generalize the questions as far as possible, but will know exactly what I'm talking about and I
expect specific answers ... To whom do you work, Mr. Smith?
- Atlas Coin Vending Machines, Long Island City
- Answered Dellacroce, dragging the words and angry voice.
- Who is the owner?
- I do not know. Almost all of us work in
home - about 15 or twenty guys, you know what I mean?
We do the maintenance of the machines and send our reports.
Holland looked Conklin and exchanged a smile. With a single answer, the mobster was placed inside a
large circle of potential informants. The game was not new to Nicolo.
- Who signs their paychecks, Mr. Smith?
- A Mr. Louis DeFazio, a trader legitimate as far as I know. It distributes our work.
- Do you know where he lives?
- Brooklyn Heights. On the river, was what they told me.
- Where were you going when it was intercepted by our men?
Dellacroce grimaced and closed a swollen eye for a moment before answering.
- For one of those holes drink and drugs in South Philadelphia - you already know, your "head honcho",
marked on the map because it encountered the car. Holland, furious, turned off the recorder.
- You are on the way to Hatteras, son of
mother!
- Hey, you get your information in their own way,
I give mine, right? Had a map - always have a map - and we had to walk through those damn roads to
the place, as if taking the president or do more for a conference in the Appalachians ... You give me a
notepad and a pencil I draw the place just right, to the bronze plaque on the stone gate. - The mob
raised his arm and pointed not cast the pointer to the CIA director. - It will be the exact place, his "big
shot" because I do not want to sleep with the fishes, capisce?

- But do not want to be recorded - said Holland intrigued. - Why?

- That shit recorder? What was that called? Bullshit any central agency? What is
thinking ... that our people can not get into this thing its center? Ha-ha! That shit doctor you could be
one of ours!
- No, but let's take a military doctor that is. - Peter Holland picked up the pad and pencil the bedside
table and handed Dellacroce. Do not connect the recorder. Was beyond the common accessories in the
game for real
In the city of New York, 138 Street, between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, the center of Harlem, a
black man and large staggered to the sidewalk. Scraped the brick wall of a building miserable apartment
and continued to walk with the bearded face almost touching the collar tunic Dirty Army.
- The way you look at me - he said in a voice
low the microphone under the shirt collar - looks like I just invade the upper neck white commercial
district of Palm Springs.
- You're doing great - voice answered
the tiny metal device stuck on the shirt of the agent. - The place is surrounded, you will be notified well
in advance. That answering machine is so spoiled that smokes and whistles.
- How did you two came in that rat hole this morning?
- We arrived very early, so early that no one
saw our faces.
- Can not wait to see you out there. It
a condominium somewhat unique. By the way, the cops in the area are advised? I would not like to be
held, after leaving growing this beard seems boar bristle. Coca as hell and my new wife of three months
does not like it one bit.
- You should have stayed with the first, buddy.
- Very funny, white boy. She did not
like the time or geography. As I spend weeks in a row playing in Zimbabwe. Please answer?
- The cops have their description and know the plan. You are part of a federal crackdown, so they do not
importunaro ... Wait The conversation ended. This has to be our man has a bag on the belt of the
phone ... It's him. Going to the entrance. It's all yours, Emperor Jones.
- Little white joker ... I've seen the man and I can say it is a soft chocolate mousse. You are terrified of
entering the building.
- Which means it's the same phone
- Said the tinny voice on the collar of her blouse agent. - This is great.
- That sucks, my son - the agent said black immediately. - If you're right, he does not know anything, and
the layers between it and the main source is as thick as molasses southern.
- Oh! So what's your idea?
- Tech site. I have to see the numbers
when he set on your device repair.
- What the hell does that mean?
- It may be the phone, but is scared and not because of the place.
- What do you mean?
- It's expensive, man. It can be programmed with
false numbers if you suspect you are being watched.
- I do not understand anything, man.
- He has to double the numbers that correspond to the remote control to operate the beeps ...
- Forget it. This is high tech and I do not understand. In addition, we have a man in the company
Recoqualquer-thing. He is waiting.
- So, I have to work. Turn off, but continue to monitor me.

The agent lifted the sidewalk and walked unsteadily to the dilapidated building. The man call reached
the second floor and turned right into the narrow corridor and dirty.Evidently knew the way, do not
hesitate a moment, not checked the numbers on the doors almost unreadable. Things would be a little
easier, he thought the CIA man, thanking the fact that mission be outside the purview of the agency. Off
the field of action was an understatement, it was completely illegal. The agent has climbed the ladder of
three steps, the rubber soles soft cushioning your steps, but without avoiding the mack old wooden
ladder. Leaning against the wall, peered into the hallway full of trash and saw the man enter three keys
in three locks vertical turning one at a time and entering the last door on the
left. Maybe things were not so easy, after all, thought the agent. As soon as the man closed the door, he
ran silently down the hall and stopped near the door, motionless, listening. Nothing great, but neither
the worst, he thought, listening to the sound of a single lock. The man was in a hurry. Put his ear to the
peeling paint wall and held his breath.Thirty seconds later, he turned his head, exhaled, took a deep
breath and turned toward the door. Heard the muffled words, but perfectly understandable.
- Central, here is Mike on the street 138, section 12, apparatus 16. There is another unit in the building,
if you say that there will not believe. - There was a silence for about twenty seconds. - ... We do not,
right?
Well, we have the interference of a frequency that does not make sense ... What? Cable television? No
one here has money for that ... Ah, got it, brother. Cable area. drug Guys take good life, is not
it? Addresses can be shit, but indoors they have a lot of fine things ... Then, release the line and call
again. I'll stay here until you hear a perfect sign, right, brother?
The agent pulled up a bit to breathe again, now with relief. Could go without any confrontation, had
what he needed. Street 138, section 12, unit 16, and they knew the name of the company that had
installed the equipment. The Reco-Metropolitan Company, Sheridan Square, New York. The whiten
could do the job now. Returned to the ladder and raised the collar of his tunic.
- If I get hit by a truck, here are the data. Are you listening?
- Loud and clear, Emperor Jones.
- Unit 16 in what they call section 12.
- I wrote down! You lived up to your salary.
- You could at least say, "remarkable, my
plate ".
- Why, you're the guy who was in college, I did not.
- Some of us are exceptional ... Wait, I have company!
Downstairs there appeared a small black and stocky with bulging eyes glued to the agent and a gun in
his hand. The CIA man quickly protected in the corner of the wall, and four successive shots echoed in
the hallway. Darting forward and taking the gun from the holster, the agent fired twice, but the first shot
did the job. The assailant fell to the dirt floor of the hall.
- I took a ricochet laugh leg - said the
agent. - But he's down - not sure if completely dead. Bring the car and take us out. Fast.
- Car on the way. Stay where you are!
It was just after eight in the morning
when Alex Conklin limped into the office of Peter Holland, impressing the guards at the gates of the CIA
with its immediate access to the principal's office.
- Anything? - Holland asked, raising
eyes of papers on his desk.
- No - replied Conklin angry, preferring the couch against the wall to the chair. - Nothing at all. Jesus,
what damn day and not even started yet! Casset and Valentino are in the basement by sending
messages to all the sewers of Paris and so far, nothing ... Christ, look at the scenery and show me a
clue! Swayne, Armbruster, DeSole - our dumb bastard, the mole. then to make matters

worse, Teagarten with business card Bourne, when we know perfectly well that it is a trap for Ja-son,
planned by the Jackal. But there is no logical connection between Carlos and Teagarten and
consequently with Medusa. Nothing makes sense, Peter. We lost the thread - everything is confusing!
- Calm down - said Holland.
- How can I calm down? Bourne disappeared I mean, really gone, if not dead. And no sign of Marie, not a word of it, then we are told that Bernardine
was killed in a shootout, a few hours ago, in the rue de Rivoli - Christ,murdered in broad daylight! And
that means that Jason was there to be had!
- Since none of the dead or injured
matches the description of him, Jason should have run, right?
- Yes, we should expect that.
- You asked for a clue - the director said thoughtfully. - Not sure if I can make one, but I can give
something very similar.
- New York? - Conklin leaned forward on the couch. - The answering machine? That minion DeFazio in
Brooklyn Heights?
- Let's get to New York, all of this - all of them. But for now, let us focus on that little track that you
spoke, that central point.
- I'm not the dumbest kid in the neighborhood, but where is she?
Holland leaned back in his chair, looked at the papers on the table, then to Alex.
- Seventy-two hours ago, when he decided to tell everything, you said that the basic strategy was to
convince Bourne and the Jackal modern Medusa to join forces, taking Bourne to target common,
feeding each other. Was not that the basic intention? Both sides wanted Bourne dead. Carlos had two
reasons revenge and the fact believe that Bourne can identificlo, the Medusans because Bourne know much
about them.
- Yes, that was the main premise - Conklin agreed with a nod. - So I researched and gave those calls,
never expecting to find what I found. Jesus, a global cartel born twenty years ago in Saigon, formed by
rulers within and outside the government and armed forces. It was the kind of mine that I was not
looking. I thought you would find ten or 12 millionaires important bank accounts greatly increased after
Saigon and could be examined, but not this, not this Medusa.
- Simplifying the thing - Holland continued,
frowning, looking again at the papers in front of him, then to Alex. - Once you have made the connection
between Medusa and Carlos the Jackal was informed that the Medusa wanted to eliminate a man, and
that money was no problem. Okay, here?
- The key in this case was the size and position of the men who would seek Charles - Conklin explained.
- They must be the most genuine members of Olympus we could find, the type of client that the Jackal
has not and never had.
- So, it revealed the name of the target - say, something like, "John Smith, years ago known as Jason
Bourne" - Jackal and biting the bait. Bourne, the man he most wants to see dead.
- Yes, so they were talking Medusans
Carlos needed to be consistent, so above reproach that Charles would accept them without thinking in a
trap.
- Because - continued Holland - Jason Bourne
Medusa belonged to Saigon - a fact known by Carlos - but never shared prosperity of the new
Medusa. This is the backdrop, right?
- The logic is perfect. For three years it was used and nearly died in a covert operation, and during that
time, allegedly discovered that many of the old men of Saigon, without any merit, were driving Jaguars,

walking on yachts and they were ordered fortunes, while he had to settle for the retirement of
government. Was to try the patience of St. John the Baptist, to say nothing of Barabbas.
- A libretto magnificent - Holland granted, with a slow smile. - I can hear the tenors hovering in triumph
and low Machiavellian disappearing from the stage, defeated ... Do not look at me, Alex! I'm serious! It's
really ingenious. So inevitably became a prophecy made automatically.
- What the hell is this?
- Your Bourne was right from the beginning. Everything
happened as he predicted, but not as he had imagined. Why was inevitable, somewhere should be a
contrapolinizador.
- Please, come down from Mars and explain for
Earthman, Peter.
- Medusa using the Jackal! Now. 's murder Teagarten proves it, unless you think it was Bourne who blew
up that car in Brussels.
- Of course not.
- So named Carlos was revealed to someone
Medusa already knew Jason Bourne. It could not be otherwise. You did not mention any of the two to
Armbruster or Swayne or for Atkinson in London, mentioned?
- Again, of course not. It was not the right time, we were not ready to pull those triggers.
- That leaves who? - Asked Holland.Alex looked
to the CIA director.
- My God - he said quietly. - DeSole?
- That's right, DeSole, the expert very badly
paid who complained incessantly, in jest, saying that no man could give education to their children and
grandchildren with what he earned working for the government. He attended to all of our
conversations, starting with the assault in the conference room.
- Yes, he was, but it was limited to Bourne and the Jackal. Nobody mentioned Armbruster, Swayne,
Teagarten or Atkinson - the nova.Medusa not appeared on the scene. Devil, Peter, you did not know 72
hours ago.
- Okay, but DeSole knew because he had sold himself, was part of the whole thing. Naturally been
warned ...
"Careful. Went infiltrators. A maniac is threatening to expose our organization, wipe us out ... "You said
yourself that the Trade Commission sent messages of panic to the Pentagon and London.
- Yes, they were sent - agreed Conklin. So terrified that two of them had to be eliminated, and Teagarten and our poor mole. Leaders Snake
Lady decided quickly who was vulnerable. But where Bourne and Carlos enter it? I see no connection.
- I thought we agreed that there is a connection.
- DeSole? - Conklin shook his head. - A
interesting idea, but not glue. He could not guess I knew about the infiltration of Medusa, because
neither had started.
- But when we began, the sequence had to
concern him, even if only in the sense that, even at opposite poles, a crisis came soon after another. At
what intervals? A matter of hours?
- Less than 24 hours ... However, they were poles
opposites.
- Not for the analyst analysts - noted
Holland. - If something walks like a duck and croaks like a duck, look for a duck. I am almost certain that
somewhere, sometime, DeSole made connections between Jason Bourne and the madman who had
infiltrated the Medusa - the new Medusa.

- For God's sake, how?

- I do not know. Maybe because you told us
Bourne belonged to the old Saigon Medusa - a connection is damn clear.
- My God, you can be sure - Alex said, leaning back on the couch. - The driving force we attribute to our
anonymous crazy was the fact that he has been ignored by the new Medusa. I even said that in all
calls. "It took years to gather the evidence ..."
"He has names, ranks and banks of Zurich ..." Jesus, I'm blind! I said these things to complete strangers
to play green, and without thinking I mentioned the fact Bourne Medusa have belonged to that meeting
that was DeSole present.
- Why would you think that? You and your man decided to make a separate game, only two.
- Our reasons were more than valid - said Conklin. - From what I knew, you could belong to the Medusa.
- Thank you.
- Come on, do not give me that. "We have a
important guy in Langley "... was what I heard from London. What would you have thought, what would
have done?
- Exactly what you did - Holland replied with a smile. - But you have a reputation for smart, much
smarter than me.
- Thank you.
- Do not be so hard on yourself. You did
what any of us would have done in his place.
- So I appreciate the fact. And you're
right, of course. Had to be DeSole. I do not know how he did it, but it had to be him. Probably searched
the old archives of your brain - he never forgot anything, you know. His mind was a sponge, absorbing
everything and he never let out a reminder. He remembered words and phrases until spontaneous
grunts of approval or disapproval that we all forget ... And I gave him the whole story Bourne-Jackal then someone from Medusa used it in Brussels.
- They did more than that, Alex - Holland said, leaning forward and looking through the papers. - They
stole his script, usurped its strategy. They fanned Bourne against the Jackal, but the controls were not in
your hands, but in theirs. Medusa is
with control. Bourne is back in Europe, just as 13 years ago, perhaps with a woman, maybe not, with the
only difference that, in addition to Carlos and Interpol and police throughout the continent, now has
another deadly enemy.
- It is in these papers in his hand, is not? The information from New York?
- I can not guarantee, but I think so. It is counter-pollinator I spoke, bee goes from one flower to another
rotten, carrying poison.
- Say just what it is.
- Nicolo Dellacroce and rulers above it.
- Mafia?
- Is consistent, although not socially acceptable. The Medusa originated from the officer corps in Saigon
and still delivers the dirty work to the hungry and less corrupt. See Nicky D. and men like Sergeant
Flannagan. When it comes to kill or kidnap or using drugs on prisoners, the boys are far starched shirt,
no one can find them.
- But suppose you found - said
Conklin impatiently.
- We think so. By "we" I mean our
people in consultation with the discrete anticrime division of New York, especially a unit called U.S.
patrol
- Never heard of it.

- They are almost all Italian Americans and denominamse the Untouchables Sicilians. hence the U.S. with
dual connotation.
- Sicilians Untouchables, very interesting.
- Work unnice ... According to the records of Reco-Metropolitan ...
- The what?
- The company that installed the answering machine at 138 Street in Manhattan.
- Sorry, continue.
- According to the files, the unit was rented to a small importing firm of Eleventh Avenue, a few blocks
from the pier. An hour ago I received the call list of the company in the last two months and guess what
we found?
- Rather not wait - said Alex.
- Nine calls to a number reasonably acceptable in Brooklyn Heights and three in the space of an hour for
a phone nothing acceptable in Wall Street.
- Someone got nervous ...
- That's what we thought - "we" in this case, our own unit. We asked the Sicilians who had all the
information about Brooklyn Heights.
- DeFazio?
- Let's say the following. He lives there, but the phone is in the name of Atlas Coin Vending Company in
Long Island.
- Checks. It's stupid, but gives. And DeFazio?
- It is a mid-level capo, very ambitious, family Giancavallo. It is very closed, very underworld, very cruel
... and very gay.
- Holy Christ!
- The Untouchables made us swear we would keep secret. Want to deal with him personally.
- Nonsense - Conklin said softly. - A
of the first things we learn in this service is lying to everyone, especially for those who are foolish
enough to trust us. Always use the secret that helps us take a step forward ...What is another phone
number, the less acceptable?
- One of the most powerful Wall Street firms, perhaps the most powerful.
- Medusa - Conklin said.
- That's what I understood. They have 66 lawyers in
two floors of the building. Which one is Medusa - or who, between them, is Medusa?
- I do not care a damn! Come on over
DeFazio and control that he will send to Paris. For Europe, to feed the Jackal. They are the killers who
are after Jason and that's it. What interests me. Start working DeFazio. He does have a contract! Holland
Peter leaned back in his chair, rigid, tense.
- I had to get to it, is not, Alex? - Asked quietly. - We both have our priorities ... I would do anything
within the authority of my office to save the lives of Jason Bourne and his wife, but I will not break my
oath to defend this country in the first place. I can not do this and I think you
know. My priority is the Medusa, in his words, a global cartel that pretends to be a government within
our government. It is behind it I will. Firstly, without worrying about the likely low. To be clear, my friend
- and I hope my friend - the Bourne or whoever they are, are disposable. I'm sorry, Alex.
- Is that why you called me here this morning,
not, was it? - Conklin said, steadying his cane on the floor and got up with difficulty.
- Yes, it was.
- Do you have your game plan against Medusa and we can not take part in it.
- No you can not. It is a fundamental conflict of

interest.
- Well, you can be sure of one thing. You will get all flustered when I get to help Jason and Marie. Of
course, in my private and professional opinion, if all drug U.S. government can not dismantle a Medusa
without sacrificing a man and a woman who has given so much to the country, do not know if worth a
dime.
- I do not know - Holland said, standing up. - But I'll try - according to the priorities that have sworn to
defend.
- Does it have anything interesting for me yet?
- Anything that does not compromise our action
against Medusa.
- How about two places in a military plane to Paris, with diplomatic immunity CIA?
- Alex, you're crazy!
- I think you do not understand, Peter. A woman died when Mo completed ten years of marriage and I
never had the courage to try. Therefore, you have to understand, "Jason Bourne" and Marie are the only
family I have. It makes a delicious meatloaf, if you ask me.
- Two tickets to Paris - Holland said, turning pale. 29th
MARIE LOOKED A husband who walked from one side to the other with vigorous strides and, between
the desk and the curtains of the two sunny windows overlooking the lawn of the Auberge des Artistes in
Barbizon. The
small hotel in the countryside was what Marie remembered, but not part of the memory of David Webb
and when he said that, Marie closed her eyes for a moment, listening to another voice echoing years
ago.
"Above all, he should avoid extreme stress, the kind of tension that accompanies survival in lifethreatening circumstances. If you realize that he is regressing to that state of mind - and will know when
it happens - make it stop. Try to seduce him, hit him in the face, cry, get angry ... anything, but do not let
that continue. " Morris Panov, a- migo dear, medical therapy and guiding force of her husband. Marie
attempted seduction minutes after being alone. It was a mistake, almost a farce, unpleasant for
both. Neither was really willing. But they would not depart. Embraced in bed, comprising.
- We are a couple of supersexuados, are not we?
- Marie said.
- It has happened before - said David Webb,
gently - and I have no doubt that will happen again.
- So Jason Bourne rose. - I need "
make a list - said with urgency in his voice, addressing himself to the delicate small table against the wall
that served as a desk, and where was the phone. - We need to know where we are and where we go.
- And I have to call Johnny on the island Marie said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. - After talking with him, I talk to say that Jamie is
fine and would soon be back. - Marie dirigiuse to the phone and her husband - who was not her
husband well - placed himself in front of her.
- No - said Bourne quietly, shaking
head.
- Do not tell me not to - she protested with eyes sparkling with fury.
- What happened on the rue de Rivoli changed everything.
Nothing is the same now. You do not understand?
- I understand that my children are far
me and I want to talk to them. Do not you understand that?
- Of course I do, but I can not allow - Jason replied.
- Go to hell, Mr. Bourne!

- Want to hear me? ... You will talk to Johnny and Jamie. We'll both talk to them. But not here and not
while on the island.
- What the ...?
- I'll call Alex in a few minutes and have to take everyone there, including Mrs. Cooper, of course.
Marie looked at him and understood.
- Oh, my God, Carlos!
- That's right. From what happened today it only
have a place to attack - Tranquility. If you do not know yet, will soon know that Jamie and Alison are
with Johnny. I trust her. brother and his Tontons Macoutes private, but still want all away from the
island before night. I do not know if Carlos has spies on the island that can intercept a call here, but I
know that the phone Alex is safe. So you can not call right now. From here on the island.
- Then, call Alex! What the hell is par- rando?
- I'm not sure. - For a moment Marie noticed a void panic in the eyes of her husband David Webb's eyes, not Jason Bourne. - I need to resolve - where I'll have children?
- Alex should know, Jason - Marie said, her eyes on his. - Now.
- Yes .. yes, of course. now. - The expression veiled and empty disappeared and Bourne picked up the
phone. Alexander Conklin was not in Vienna, Virginia, USA. The monotonous voice of the telephone
sounded like thunder to Bourne. "The number was called off."
Bourne called two more times, hoping desperately that it was a mistake of the French telephone
service. Then came the lightning. "The number was called off." For the third time. Bourne began to pace
the room, the table to the windows and back to the table. Opened the curtains, looked anxiously out,
then back to the growing list of names of people and places. Marie suggested they have lunch, he did
not hear. Then she watched in silence. The sudden and rapid movements were like
a cat's soft, fluid, alert for the unexpected. Were movements of Jason Bourne, and before him, the Delta
of Medusa, not David Webb. Marie remembered the medical reports compiled by Mo Panov in the first
days of therapy. Many were filled with descriptions of different people who claimed to have seen the
Chameleon, but among the most reliable was the common reference catlike movements "killer". Panov
was looking for clues to the identity of Jason Bourne, because all they had, at that time, was a first name
and fragmented images of painful deaths in Cambodia. Mo often wondered aloud if there was more to
the patient's dexterity than mere fitness. Strange as it was, there was not.
Remembering now, Marie felt that the physical differences between the two men who were her
husband repelled and fascinated. Both were muscular and agile, both able to perform difficult tasks
requiring great physical coordination. But, while the strength and mobility of David were the product of
a calm sense of accomplishment in Jason were full of malice, no pleasure in achievement, with a hostile
purpose. When he mentioned this to Panov, the answer was succinct.
"David could never kill. Jason may have been trained for this. " Mo, however, was pleased that she had
noticed the different "physical manifestations" as he called it. "And
further notice to you. When you are watching Bourne, bring David back ASAP. If not, call me. "
Marie could not bring David back now. By the children she and David did not dare try.
- I'm going out a bit - Jason said, near the window.
- You can not! - Marie exclaimed. - For the love of
God, do not leave me alone.
Bourne frowned, as if facing a conflict indefinable and said quietly:
- I'll just drive up the road to see if I can find a phone.
- Take me with you. Please. I can not be alone.
- Okay ... In fact, we need to buy
things. Let's find one of those galleries and buy clothes - toothbrushes, shaving apparatus, and other
things that we remember.

- You mean you can not go to Paris?

- We can and probably will come back, but not
to our hotels. You have your passport?
- Passport, money, credit cards, everything. They're in my bag, which I only found out who was with me
when you gave me the car.
I did not think it was a good idea to leave it in
Meurice. Come on. The handset first.
- Will call who?
- To Alex.
- You just called.
- To his apartment. He was expelled from the Agency safe house in Virginia. So, I'll talk to Mo
Panov. Come on.
They headed south to the town of CorbeilEssones, where there was a relatively new shopping center, a
few kilometers west of the main road. The
busy shopping center was an assault on the landscape of the field, but a blessing for the fugitives. Jason
parked the car and as an ordinary couple toured the complex, searching desperately for a phone.
- Not a damn phone on the road! - Said
Bourne through clenched teeth. - What do you think drivers should do in case of accident or flat tire?
- Wait for the police - said Marie. - And there
a phone, only it was broken. Maybe that's why there are not more. There is one.
Again Jason underwent the annoying process of an international connection through the local telephone
operators who did not like to communicate with the international branch of the telephone system. And
then came the thunder, distant but relentless.
- Here Alex talks - said the recorded voice. - I will be out for some time, visiting a place where it was
committed a serious error. Telephone within five or six hours. The time now is 9:30 am, Eastern
time. Hang, Juneau. Stunned, his mind in a whirl, Bourne hung up and looked at Marie.
- Something happened and I need to think. The
message ended with "hang up, Juneau."
- Juneau? - Marie narrowed his eyes, then opened them.
- Alpha, Bravo, Charlie - added softly. - Alphabets military alternative - then said, speaking quickly.
- Foxtrot, Golf ... India, Juneau! Juneau to J and J
to Jason! ... How is the rest?
- It was a place visitai ...
- Come, let's walk. - Marie noticed the curiosity of two men who were waiting to use the phone and
holding Jason's arm, pulled him out of the booth. - He could be more explicit - watched as they began to
walk.
- It was a recording. "... where he made a serious mistake. "
- A what?
- He said to call within five or six hours
- Was going to a place where it was made a
error - bad? - My God, it Rambouillet!
- The cemetery ...?
- Where he tried to kill me 13 years ago. That's it!
Rambouillet!
- Not in five or six hours - Marie noted.
- No matter the time of the message, he could not fly to Paris and arrive at Rambouillet in five hours. He
was in Washington.

- Of course he could. We did it before, A jet Army out of Andrews Air Force base, with diplomatic
immunity. Peter Holland expelled him, but gave a parting gift. Immediate separation, but a bonus for
giving him the Medusa. - Bourne looked at his watch.
- It's about noon on the islands now. Let's look for another phone.
- Johnny? Tranquility? Do you really think ...
- I can not stop thinking - Jason interrupted, quickening his pace and pulling Marie by the hand. Glace - he said, looking to the right.
- Ice cream!
- There's a phone in there - Jason replied,
walking more slowly and approaching the huge windows of a patisserie with the band announcing
various ice cream flavors. - Order a vanilla for me he said when they entered the ice cream shop full of people.
- Vanilla with what? - Anything.
- You will not hear ...
- He will I hear, and that's what matters. Do not rush, give me some time.
Bourne went to the phone, realizing immediately that it was not used. The noise was deafening.
- Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait, c'est'urgent!
Three minutes later, with his hand on the ear
left, Jason relieved heard the voice of the employee most annoying Tranquility.
- Talk to Mr. Pritchard, deputy manager of Tranquility Inn. My switchboard informs you that you have an
emergency. May I ask the nature of your ...
- You can shut up! - Jason shouted in the cacophony of gelato in Corbeil-Essonnes, France. - Call
immediately Jay Jay St., now! Is coined it.
- Oh, it's a pleasure to hear it, sir! Much
happened after you left. Your beautiful children are with us and the beautiful boy plays on the beach me, sir - and everything is ...
- Mr. St. Jacques, please. now!
- Certainly, sir. He's up there ...
- Johnny?
- David, where you are?
- It does not matter. Get out there. Take the kids and Mrs. Cooper and get out!
- We know all, Dave. Alex Conklin telephoned a few hours ago and said that someone called Holland
would communicate with us ... It is the boss of his intelligence service, right?
- Yes, it is. He has already announced?
- Already, about twenty minutes after I talked to Alex. Said a helicopter comes to pick us up at about two
hours. He needed time to get a plane. Mrs. Cooper was my idea, because his retarded son said he did
not know how to change diapers ... David, what the hell is happening? Where is Marie?
- It is well - explain everything later. Whatever you send Holland. He will tell you where to get them?
- Not meant. But no American drug will give me orders or their children - the children of my
sister Canadian - and I told him so bluntly.
- This is great, Johnny. It's good to make friends with the director of the CIA.
- I do not care a damn befriend or
there. In my country these initials stand caught in the act and I told him that too!
- More than great ... What did he say?
- He said he'd take us to a safe house n
Virginia and I said that mine is very safe here and we have pool and room service and ten guards able to
hit the balls it two hundred yards.
- You are the master of tact. And what did he say?

- Actually, he laughed. He then explained that the place in Virginia has 20 guards who can hit one of my
balls a quarter mile, plus kitchen and room service and television for children.
- Quite convincing.
- Well, he said something else, much more convincing. Said there is no public access, which is an old
property in Fairfax donated to the government by an ambassador who had more money than Ottawa
whole, with runway and a private entrance which is located six kilometers from the main road.
- I know the place - Bourne said with a grimace to the noise in the patisserie. - Is the property
Tannenbaum. Holland is right, is the best hiding there. He likes us.
- I've asked before - where is Marie?
- You are with me.
- She found!
- Later, Johnny. I call Fairfax. - Marie and Jason hung up, pushing through the customers, spread a plastic
cup with a plastic spoon also stuck in a pile of dark brown balls.
- The children? - she asked, almost shouting to be heard.
- It's okay, better than I expected. Alex came to the same conclusion I arrived on the Jackal. Peter
Holland will take them to a safe house in Virginia, Ms. Cooper also.
- Thank God!
- Thanks to Alex. - Bourne looked at the cup
pi tico color pink and the blue spoon. - What is this thing had not vanilla?
- And a hot-fudge sundae. was the man who stood beside me, but he was yelling at the woman and cu
got the cream.
- Do not like the hot fudge.
- Well then yell at his wife. Come, let's buy clothes.
The sun of the early afternoon, the Caribbean, scalded when the Tranquility Inn St. Jacques went down
to the lobby with a suitcase LeSport in his right hand. Nodded to Mr. Pritchard, who had explained over
the phone that would be away for a few days and get in touch with him when he came to Toronto. The
rest of the staff was informed that starting late and needed, and Johnny had absolute confidence in his
assistant, Mr. Pritchard. Sure it was not any problem arise that assistant manager could not solve
without your help., The Tranquility Inn, for all purposes, was practically closed. However, Sir Henry
Sykes, the government palace, should be informed if there is any difficulty.
- There will be none that I can not solve
- Secured Pritchard. - The staff of maintenance and repairs will work as if you were here. St. Jacques
walked into the glass doors of the circular building, heading for the first village on the right, which was
closer to the stairs to the pier and the beach. Mrs. Cooper and two children waited inside the village the
arrival of the helicopter the United States Navy, with great flight range, which would take them to
Puerto Rico, where he would take military jet to Andrews Air Force Base, on the outskirts
Washington. The large windows of the hotel, Mr. Pritchard saw his boss enter the Village Number One
The moment he heard the huge helicopter rotors stirring the air about the hotel. Apparently, he thought
Mr. Pritchard, passengers also heard since left the village, St. Jacques holding the hand of his nephew
and Mrs. Cooper with Alison in her lap, wrapped in a blanket, followed by two guards who carried the
bags. Pritchard caught under the counter the direct phone that does not go through the
switchboard. Dialed.
- Office of the Deputy Director of Immigration, deputy director talking.
- Dear Uncle ...
- Are you? - Interrupted the customs officer at the airport Blackburne, lowering his voice immediately. What did you find?
- Information of great value, to be sure. Hear all node phone!

- The highest authority assured that we will be handsomely rewarded. They may be terrorists on the run,
you know? St. Jacques himself is the leader. They say they can deceive even Washington. What
information can I pass on, my brilliant nephew?
- Are being taken for what they call home
"Safe" in Virginia. It is known as property Tannenbaum and has its own airport, can you believe it?
- I believe anything when it comes to these animals.
- Do not forget to include my name and my position, estimated uncle.
- Do you think I forget? Think I'll forget? We will be the heroes of Montserrat! ... But remember, my
smart nephew, everything must be kept secret. We swear to secrecy, remember this. Imagine
that! Were chosen to provide service to a large international organization. Leaders from around the
world will know of our contribution.
- My heart is almost bursting with pride. I know the name of this august organization?
- Shhh! not have a name, it is part of the secret. The money was sent through a computer database,
directly from Switzerland, this is proof.
- A sacred trust - added Mr.
Pritchard.
- And also. Well paid, nephew, and this is
only the beginning. I am personally monitoring all planes arriving and mailing lists to Martinique for a
famous surgeon, imagine! Of course, when all flights are suspended by order of the government.
- The U.S. military helicopter? - Asked
the dazzled Pritchard.
- Shhh This also is secret, everything is secret.
- So it's a secret too noisy and visible, estimated uncle. The staff on the beach is now looking for him.
- What?
- Here. Mr. Jay St. and children are embarking now. Also that horrible Mrs. Cooper ...
- I need to call immediately to Paris interrupted the immigration officer, off.
- Paris? - repeated Mr. Pritchard. - How wonderful! How privileged we are!
- I did not tell him everything - Peter Holland said aloud. low, shaking his head. - I wanted - I wanted but it was in his eyes, in fact, in his words. He said he would disturb me if I could help Bourne and wife.
- And it will. - Charles Casset, sitting in
front of the principal's desk, the computer printout of a file for a long time buried in his hands, nodded. When reading this will understand. Alex actually tried to kill Bourne in Paris years ago - his best friend,
and tried to put a bullet in his head from false motives.
- Conklin is the way to Paris now. He and Morris Panov.
- This responsibility is yours, Peter. I would not have done the same, not without guarantees.
- I could not refuse.
- Of course he could. You would not.
- He brought us the Medusa - and hereafter, Charlie, is only what interests us.
- Understand, director Holland - said Casset
dryly. - And I suppose that due to involvement abroad, you're going backwards, entering a domestic
conspiracy that needs to be indisputably proven, before alerting the guardians of domestic
arrangement, or the FBI.
- Are you threatening me, you worm?
- Of course I am, Peter. - Casset replaced the stern by a calm smile. - You are breaking the law, Mr.
Director ... This is unfortunate old man, as you would call my predecessors.
- What the hell do you want from me? - Exclaimed Holland.
- Protection for one of us, one of the best

we've ever had. Not just want, as I insist.

- If you think I'm going to give him everything, including the
name of the law firm of Medusa on Wall Street, is completely insane. It is our cornerstone.
- For God's sake, go back to the Navy, admiral - said the deputy director flatly and cold again.
- If you think what I'm suggesting madness, not learned much in that chair.
- Hey, stop it, its cheeky. It's almost insubordination.
- Of course it is, because I'm insubordinate - but we're not in the Navy. You can not make me go under
the keel, or hang me on the mast, or cut my ration of rum. All you can do is say goodbye and if so many
people will want to know why, what it will not be good for the Agency. But this is not necessary.
- What the hell are you talking about, Charlie?
- Well, for starters, no I'm talking about that law firm in New York because you're right, it is our
cornerstone, and Alex, with his infinite imagination, would search and threaten until they get the first
ragged ends and where our trail role here and abroad.
- It was more or less what we thought ...
- Then hit again - interrupted Casset, nodding. - So keep Alex away from our cornerstone, as far
from us as possible, but we give him what we found. Something tangible with which he can get, knowing
its value.
Silence. So Holland said:
- I did not understand a word.
- Would understand better if you knew Conklin.
He knows that there is a connection between Medusa and the Jackal. How did you call her? A prophecy
of achievement automatic?
- I said that the strategy was so perfect that it was inevitable and therefore achieving automatic. DeSole
the catalyst was not expected to rush things - him, and whatever it was that happened in Montserrat
... What is your valuable information?
- Lane, Peter. Knowing what he knows, you can not let Alex walk throughout Europe as a runaway
cannon, and can not give him the name of the firm in New York. We need a means of communication
with him to know what you want to do
- More than an idea, if possible. Someone like his friend Bernardine, but it is our friend.
- Where do we find this person?
- I have a candidate - and I hope that our
conversation is not being recorded.
- Do not worry - Holland said, offended. I do not believe this drug, and this office is "swept" every morning. Who is the candidate?
- A man in the Soviet embassy in Paris Casset said quietly. - I think we can deal with it.
- A Mole?
- Not for a minute. A KGB officer who
never changed their main priority. Find Carlos. Killing the Jackal. Protect Novgorod.
- Novgorod ...? The city where the Americanized
Jackal did his training in Russia?
- Half of the training and where he fled before being shot as manic. Except that there is not only a
complex American - this is a mistake we made frequently. There are complex British and French, as well
as Israeli, Dutch, Spanish, West Germans and God knows how many more. Tens of square kilometers in
the middle of the forest on the banks of the river Volkhov, dotted with small towns where you swear
you're going from one country to another - if you can go, what they can not. As the Aryan breeding
farms, the LebensbornNazi Germany, Novgorod is
one of the best kept secrets of the Soviet Union. They want the Jackal much as Jason Bourne wants.

- And you think the guy KGB will cooperate

keeping us informed about Conklin, if you can make contact?
- I can try. After all, we have a common goal and I know Alex will accept it, because he knows how much
the Soviets want Carlos in the list of the dead.
Holland leaned forward.
- I told Conklin that help whenever
possible, since they do not compromise our action against Medusa ... He should come to Paris in an
hour. I want to leave instructions in desk in the diplomatic section, so he contact you?
- Send call Charlie Bravo One More - Casset said, standing up and putting the computer printout on the
table. - I do not know as I can give it an hour from now, but I'll get to work.I have a secure channel to our
Russian, thanks to a "consultant"
important that we have in Paris.
- Offer a bonus for him.
- He asked a bonus -. or rather, I almost
committed. She runs one of the cleanest city escort services. The women are examined weekly.
- Why not hire all? - The director asked with a smile.
- I think that seven are already on the payroll, sir - said the deputy, the serious look contrasting with
raised eyebrows. The cable navy uniform with starched
summer and carrying the bags, helped Dr. Morris Panov, even with weak legs, down the jet.
- How do you manage to look so presentable after a horrible trip like this? - Asked the psychiatrist.
- None of us will be presentable after
two hours off in Paris, sir.
- Some things never change, cable. Thanks to
God ... Where is that delinquent cripple who came with me?
- A vehicle took him to one diplgrafo, sir.
- Would you repeat? I understood nothing. - It is not difficult, doctor - said laughing the cable leading to
the Panov jeep with uniformed driver and the design of the American flag on the door. - During our
descent, the tower radioed the pilot saying he had an urgent message for him.
- I thought he had gone to the bathroom.
- This also, sir, believe me. - The cable put the suitcase in the trunk of the car and helped Mo to rise ..
- Easy now, doctor, get a little more
leg.
- It is the other, not me - protested the psychiatrist. It is he who has one foot.
- We were told that you were ill, sir.
- Not in my legs ... Sorry, young man, no offense. Just not like to fly in small tubes over two hundred
kilometers. Not many astronauts come from Tremont Avenue in the Bronx.
- Are you serious, doctor?
- What?
- I'm Street Garden, you know, in front of the zoo. The
name is Fleishman, Morris Fleishman. It's a pleasure to meet another bronxiano.
- Morris? - Panov said, shaking hands with the cable.
- Morris, Sailor? I should have a talk with your parents ... Good luck, Mo. And thank you for your
attention.
- Be well, doctor, and when again on Tremont Avenue, take my memories, right?
- You can leave, Morris - Morris replied, raising his hand, while the diplomatic jeep pulled away. Four
minutes later, accompanied by the driver, Panov entered the long corridor and gray that gave free
access to France and to officials of the nations listed by the Quai d'Orsay. Entered a waiting room where

men and women, in small groups, talking quietly, in several languages. Became alarmed when they saw
Conklin and turned to the driver, a young man in the uniform neutral board attendant approached him.
- Docteur? - she asked.
- Yes - Mo replied, surprised. - But my
French is very rusty, to be frank, neither exists.
- Never mind, sir. His companion
asked to wait for him here. He assured that will only take a few minutes ... Please sit down. How about a
drink?
- Bourbon with ice, please - Panov said, sitting up.
- Certainly, sir.
The girl walked away and the driver put the suitcase beside the chair.
- I have to go back to my car - said the companion. - You'll be fine here.
- I would like to know where was my friend Panov said, checking his watch.
- It was probably looking for a phone in
terminal, doctor. They come here, they receive messages in counters, and go running to the terminal
looking for a payphone. Do not like this pair of phones you from the airport.The Ruskies are running
faster, the Arabs are the slowest.
- Must be the influence of the difference of "file - the psychiatrist noted with a smile.
- Do not bet your stethoscope, doctor. - The driver laughed and raised his hand in salute informal. Take care, doctor, and try to rest. Looks tired.
- Thank you, young man. Goodbye.
I'm tired, thought Panov, seeing the man disappear into the gray corridor. Very tired, but Alex
was right. If he had been alone, I would never forgive him ... David!
We need to find him! The damage could be incalculable - none of them understand. With a single act
your mind fragile and vulnerable may suffer a regression of years - 13 years - for the time he worked as
an assassin, and to him, nothing more! ... One Voice. Someone standing beside her.
- Sorry, I'm sorry ... Their drink, doctor
- Said the young man. - I was in doubt whether or not to wake him, but then you moved and seemed to
be in pain ...
- No, no, my dear, just tired.
- I understand, sir. These flights too fast
be exhaustive, but when long and uncomfortable, even worse.
- He mentioned all the important points, Miss. - agreed Panov, picking up the glass. - Thank you.
- You're American, of course.
- How do you know? I'm not with cowboy boots
nor with Hawaiian shirt.
With a charming smile she said:
- I know the driver who accompanied him to
herein. Is American security and very friendly, very attractive.
- Security? I mean, something like "police"?
- Oh, anyway, but I never use that word ... Ah, here's your mate. - The girl lowered her voice. - Can I ask
quickly, doctor? He needs a wheelchair?
- God, no! For years he's well.
- Very well. Have a nice stay in Paris,
sir. She pulled away and Alex, pioneering among various groups of Europeans came to Panov. He sat
leaning forward in his chair soft leather. Was evidently disturbed.
- What? - Asked Mo.

- I just talked to Charlie Casset, Washington.

- The one who you like, who you trust?
- It's the best there is when personal contact, or at least human information. When he can see and hear
and observe in person, and not just reading words written on the screen of a computer without asking
questions.
- By chance is once again invading my territory, Dr. Conklin?
- Last week I accused David to do this and I'll tell you what he told me. "It's a free country, and despite
all his experience, does not have exclusivity when it comes to common sense."
- Mea culpa - agreed Panov. - I suppose your friend did something you do not approve.
- He did something that he did not approve of if they knew more about the person who did the thing.
- That sounds positively Freudian, I'd say it's even a recklessness clinic.
- Both, I guess. He made a deal out with a man named Dimitri Krupkin, the Russian Embassy here in
Paris. We will work with the KGB
site - you, I, Bourne, Marie - if and when we find them. Hopefully will be in Rambouillet, in an hour or so.
- What are you saying? - Mo asked astonished, very quietly.
- Long story, short time. Moscow wants the head of the jackal and the rest separated from
her. Washington can not give us protection, so the Soviets will be our temporary paterfamilias, if we
have a problem. Panov frowned, then shook his head as if absorbing information very strange. Then he
said:
- I suppose that is not what you wanted, but there
a certain logic, even a certain relief in this action.
- On paper, Mo - Conklin said. - Not with
Dimitri Krupkin. I know, not Charlie.
- Ah, then he is one of the bad guys?
- Kruppie bad? No, not really ...
- Kruppie?
- We were young very active in the late '60s, in Istanbul, after Athens, after Amsterdam ... Krupkin is not
evil and it works like a motherfucker to Moscow with his mind second class, better than eighty percent
of the clowns who are in the business, but he has a problem. 're Basically on the wrong side, wrong in
society. His parents must have come with my when the Bolsheviks seized power.
- I had forgotten that his parents were Russian.
- I speak the language and it helps when it comes to Kruppie. Understand its nuances. He is a pure
capitalist. As the economic ministers in Beijing, he not only
like money, but is obsessed with him - and everything that relates to money. Secretly and without
anyone knowing he could be bought.
- I mean, the Jackal?
- I saw him be bought in Athens by Greek builders who were selling additional runways to Washington
when they knew that the Communists were going to throw us out. Kruppie they paid to keep
quiet. Then I saw him be intermediate in the diamond business in Amsterdam, between the dealers and
the Nieuwmarkt elite dachas in Moscow. One night we were having a few drinks in Kattengat and I
asked, "Kruppie, what the hell are you doing? " You know what he said? He said, dressed in an outfit
that could not buy, "Aleski, do everything I can to deceive you, to help the Supreme Soviet to dominate
the world, but in the meantime, if you want to take a vacation, have a very beautiful house in Lake in
Geneva. "That's what he said, Mo.
- A remarkable man. Of course you told
all this to his friend Casset ...
- Of course I did not tell - interrupted Conklin.
- My God, and why not?

- Because Krupkin evidently not told

Charlie he me know. Casset can be agreed but who will negotiate me.
- With what? How?
- David - Jason - has more than five million
the Cayman Islands. With a pinch of this amount Kruppie do work only for us, if we need it and we want
your help.
- Which means you do not trust Casset.
- Is not that - said Alex. - I trust Charlie
with my life. But not sure I want colocla in his hands. He and Peter Holland have their priorities and we
have ours. Theirs is Medusa, ours is David and Marie.
- Messieurs? - The Commissioner went to Conklin.
- Your car arrived. Is in the south platform.
- Are you sure that is for me? - Alex asked.
- Pardon me, monsieur, but the clerk said that Mr. Smith has a leg problem.
- For he has every reason.
- I called a porter to carry your bags,
messieurs. 's a long walk. He is on the platform.
- Thank you. - Conklin stood up and took a few notes from his pocket.
- Pardon, monsieur - the girl said. - We can not accept gratuities.
- You're right, I forgot ... My suitcase is under your desk, right?
- Where his companion left, sir. Together with the doctor, the platform will in a few minutes.
- Thank you again - said Conklin. Sorry for offering a tip.
- We are all well paid, sir, but thanks for the intention. As they walked to the door to
the Airport terminal Oily, Conklin asked:
- How did she know that you're a doctor? You walk
Hunting patients on the street?
- It would not be easy. The transportation is very tiring.
- So how? I did not tell anyone
You're a doctor.
- She meets the safety which led me to the waiting room. Actually, I think she knows very well. She said,
with that delicious accent, he is
"Very attractive."
Guided by signs in the crowded terminal, headed for the south platform.
What none of them saw was a dark man and distinctive with black wavy hair, rushing out of the waiting
room with large dark eyes riveted on the two Americans. He went to the wall, pushing through the
crowd, until diagonally in front of Conklin and Panov, near the platform of taxis. Then, as if unsure,
pulled out a small photograph and examined, looking up at the two U.S. passenger. It was the
photograph of Dr. Morris Panov, with a hospital gown and a dazed expression and distant eyes.
The Americans came to the platform, the dark haired man too. Americans looked to the side, looking for
a taxi, the dark man motioned for a particular car. The taxi driver got out and came and spoke quietly
with Conklin and Panov, when the charger arrived with suitcases. The Americans entered the cab. The
stranger entered the private car stopped two cars behind.
- Pazzo! - said the black-haired man in Italian for the middle-aged woman with the elegant uniform
driver. - It's crazy! For three days we expect, we monitor all aircraft of America and we were almost
giving up. But that idiot in New York was right. Are they! ... Let me drive. You will go down and talk to
our men. Send warning DeFazio to go to your favorite restaurant and another wait for my call. He should
not leave until you talk to me.

- Is that you, old man? - Asked the Commissioner

in the waiting room of the diplomatic section of the airport, talking quietly on the phone the service
desk.
- Yes, I am - replied shakily. - And
Angelus rings in my ears forever.
- So are you.
- I already said that I am, what you got for me?
- The list we received last week includes an American tall and skinny limp, possibly accompanied by a
doctor. Gives?
- Checks! And then?
- They just come by. I called
Cripple fellow doctor and he responded.
- Where'd they go? It is very important to know that.
- They did not say, but soon I will have enough information for you to discover, old man. The porter who
took our bags to the platform south will bring me a plate and description of the taxi that took them.
- In God's name, phone shortly with that information!
The four thousand kilometers of Paris, Louis DeFazio sat alone at a table in Trafficante's background
Ciam Hou up on Prospect Avenue in Brooklyn, New York. Finished his lunch, vitello tonnato, and wiped
his lips with red napkin, trying to look youthful while top, as always. Maledetto! was nearly two hours in
Trafficante's two hours! And taken forty-five minutes to get to the restaurant after the call in Garafola's Pasta Palace
in Manhattan, so in fact, been waiting for over two hours, nearly three, since that peasant in Paris,
France, found the two targets. How long the two bersaglios could go from the airport to
a hotel in the city? Three hours? No, unless that peasant from Palermo had ended up in London,
England, which was not impossible, not DeFazio knew Palermo. Still, DeFazio had hit! Mode
that the Jewish doctor spoke under the influence of drugs, and exespio he could not go to another
place that was not Paris, the
looking fellow, the false killer ... So Nicolo and Jew disappeared, puff-zum! So what? The Jew escaped
and Nicky went to jail. But Nicolo would not talk, he knew that serious problems, like a knife in the
kidneys, would be waiting for him if he spoke. Moreover, Nicky knew nothing important. Lawyers could
easily erase any second-hand information transmitted by an idiot fifth grade. And the crazy doctor only
knew he had been in the room of a farm, if I could remember it. He saw no one except Nicolo when he
was "compass mantis" as they say.
But Louis DeFazio knew he was right. And because he was right, more than seven million waiting for him
in Paris. Seven million! Holy christ! peasants He could give Palermo a lot more than they expected and
still come out with a lot of money. A waiter elderly, the old country, Uncle Trafficante, approached the
table and Louis held his breath.
- Speaks New York - said DeFazio.
As always, the capo supremo went to a pay phone at the end of a narrow corridor, outside the men's
room.
- Speaks New York - said DeFazio.
- Foreign Paris, Signor New York. Here is also Pazzo!
- Where have you been? It was quite pazzo to stop in London, England? I'm waiting for three hours!
- I've been in a lot of dark roads in the countryside that are important only for my nerves. Where I am
now is crazy!
- Where?
- I'm using the phone the gate guard and paying almost $ 100 for it and buffone French is peeking out
the window to see if I will not steal anything, maybe his lunch box, who knows?

- You do not sound too dumb for a peasant. So who guards the gate is this? What are you talking about?
- I'm in a cemetery, about 30 miles
Paris, if you must know ...
- A cimitero? - Louis interrupted. - What the hell are you doing there?
- His two acquaintances came here straight from the airport, your ignorant! There currently are burying
someone - a huge funeral procession with lighted candles that will soon fade in the rain - and his two
acquaintances flew here to attend this ceremony barbaric, then the air in America is full of pollutants
that attack the brain! We have made no deal for this schicchezze, New York. We have our own work
here.
- They were finding great cannoli - DeFazio said in a low voice, as if talking to himself.
- The labor, peasant, if you want to work with us in Philadelphia, Chicago or Los Angeles again, do what I
say. It will be very well paid, capisce?
- I have to admit that it makes more sense.
- Do not let them see you, but stay with them.
Find out where to go and who they are. I'll be there soon as I can, but I have to go via Canada or Mexico
to be sure not being watched. I'll be there tomorrow night or the next day early.
- Ciao - said Paris.
- Omert - De Fazio said.
30
The CANDLES flickered under drizzly night in the hands of the funeral escort, who followed solemnly, in
a double row, the white coffin carried by six men. Many slipped on wet gravel road from the
cemetery. Flanking the procession four drums, two on each side, marked the slow cadence of the march,
beating mismatched because men sometimes stumbled on the rocks and in tombs not very visible,
closer to the ground. Morris Panov, shaking 'head, as one who can not believe it, watched the nightly
ritual, and with relief saw Alex limping among the tombs in their direction.
- Any sign of them? - Alex asked.
- No - replied Panov. - You saw nothing either?
- Worse. I found a madman.
- How was it?
- I saw a light in the house of the gate guard, so I went there thinking that David or Marie could have left
a message. A clown was outside, peering through the window, saying he is the lookout and if I wanted
to rent your phone.
- Your phone?
- He said he had special rates at night, because the nearest public telephone is ten kilometers on the
road.
- A madman - agreed Panov.
- I explained that I was looking for a man and
a woman with whom I was supposed to meet me here and I thought they had left a message for
me. Had no comment, but had the phone. Two hundred francs - crazy.
- I could make lots of money in Paris Mo said, with a smile. - By chance he saw a couple walking around?
- I asked and he nodded, saying he had seen dozens. Then he pointed to the candlelight procession and
returned to the damn window.
- By the way, what is the procession?
- I asked too. It is a religious cult that just buries the dead at night. He thinks they are gypsies. Said that
making the sign of the cross.
- Go be a gypsy too wet - Panov noted, raising the collar of his jacket. The drizzle turned into rain.
- Christ, why not think about it? - Conklin said, looking back.

- The rain? - Asked the psychoanalyst, uncomprehending.

- No, the large tomb halfway to
choline beyond the gate. That's where it happened.
- Where have you tried ... - Mo did not finish, did not need.
- Where he could have killed me, but not killed
- Alex completed. - Come on!
The two Americans returned by gravel road, passed through the gate and plunged into the darkness of
the hill covered with grass, dotted with tombs that gleamed white in the rain.
- Slowly - Panov exclaimed breathlessly. - Are you familiar with that your foot does not exist, but my
body pure still not used to the idea of having been raped by drugs.
- Sorry.
- Mo! - shouted a woman's voice coming from a marble portico above them. The figure waved his arms
under the suspended ceiling of the tomb that looked like a small mausoleum, supported by columns.
- Marie? - yelled Panov, running in front of Conklin.
- This is great! - Alex roared, rising with difficulty by the wet grass and slippery. - You hear a woman's
voice and suddenly was no longer violated. You need a doctor's crazy, you fake!
Hugs had a special meaning. Era
a family that gathered. While Marie and Mo talked quietly, Jason Conklin led to one side, under the roof
of the tomb. The rain was stronger now. The procession downstairs with unlit candles, was half spread,
half grouped around the tomb.
- I would not choose this place, Alex - Jason said. - But with all these people, I could not think of another.
- Remember the home guard and that will give broad track in the parking lot? ... You had won. I was out
of ammo and you could have blown my brains out
- How many times do I have to say that is wrong? I do not I could kill you. Was in his eyes, even though I
could not see very well, I knew it was there. Anger and confusion, but, above all, confusion.
- It was never reason not to kill a man who is trying to kill you.
- It is when you can not remember. The memory may be lost but the fragments, the well, they were for me ... pulsating images. Came and went, came and went.
Conklin looked up at Bourne with a sad smile.
- The pulse - he said. - The term that Mo used. You stole it.
- Probably - said Jason and the two looked at Marie and Panov. - She's talking about me, you know, do
not you?
- Why not? Elar is concerned and he is
worried.
- I hate to think of the concerns that I create
to them. You too, I imagine.
- What are you trying to tell me, David?
- Exactly so. Forget David. David Webb there, not here, not now. It is an act represented his wife and
very misrepresented. I want her to come back to the United States for her children.
- The children of her? Marie will not return. She came to find you and found. She remembers Paris ago
13 years and will not abandon you. Without it you would not be alive today.
- It is a hindrance. Need to go. I'll fix. Alex looked at the cold eyes of man, created by the CIA and known
as Chameleon, and said quietly:
- You're fifty, Jason. This is not
Paris 13 years ago, or Saigon, before that. This is now and you need all the help they can get. If she
thinks she can give some help, at least I believe. Bourne turned his head quickly to Conklin.
- I resolve to those who believe and why.
- This is a bit radical, friend.

- You know what I mean - Jason continued

softer voice. - I do not want to happen here what happened in Hong Kong. This may not be a problem
for you.
- Maybe not ... Listen, let's get out of here. Our driver meets a small restaurant in Epernon, about eight
kilometers, where we can talk. We need to hit a lot of things.
- Tell - asked Bourne. - Why Panov?
Why did you bring with you Mo?
- Because otherwise he would put strychnine in my flu vaccine.
- What the hell does that mean?
- Exactly what I said. He is part of us and you know it better than me or Marie.
- Something happened to him, did not happen? Because of me.
- It's over and it's back, that's all you need to know now.
- It was the Medusa, was not it?
- Yes, but I repeat, he is back and, except for a bit of fatigue, is very well.
- A little ...? That reminds me. A small
restaurant in the field to eight miles from here, was what the driver said?
- Was he knows Paris and all around.
- Who is he?
- A French Algerian who worked for the agency for years. Charlie "Casset recruited him for us. It
tough guy, knows his stuff and is being very well paid. Above all, we can trust him.
- I suppose that's enough.
- Do not assume, accept.
A booth at the bottom of the small restaurant,
under a canopy old, hard stools pine perfectly acceptable, the four sat down to talk. The
owner, a man expansive, plump and ruddy assured that the cuisine was extraordinary, but since nobody
was hungry, Bourne paid for four meals to make man happy.Succeeded. He sent two large bottles of
good vin ordinaire and a bottle of mineral water, and stayed away from the table.
- Okay, Mo. - Jason said - you do not want
tell me what happened, or who it was, but you're still the same efficient healer, speaker and top with a
chicken in his mouth, we met 13 years ago, am I right?
- Okay, your schizophrenic escapee from Bellevue. And in case you think I'm playing the hero, I want to
be clear that I am only here to protect my civil rights unprofessional. My biggest interest in my lovely
Marie, who, you may have noticed, is sitting next to me, not you. I get the mouth water just thinking
that meatloaf she does.
- Oh, how I love you, Mo - said the woman
David Webb, clutching the arm Panov.
- Let me say how much - the doctor replied kissing her on the cheek.
- I am here - said Conklin. - My name is
Alex and I have to talk about some things that do not include meat loaf ... Although I must say, Marie,
who just yesterday I said to Peter Holland is magnificent.
- What's wrong with my damn meatloaf?
- Is the red sauce - said Panov.
- We can talk about what brought us here? Jason Bourne said flatly.
- Sorry, honey.
- We will work with the Soviets - Conklin
spoke quickly, not allowing time for the reaction of Jason and Marie.
- It's okay. I know the contact, know

for many years, but Washington does not know it. His name is Krupkin, Dimitri Krupkin and as I told Mo,
can be purchased for five pieces of silver.
- Give thirty-one - interrupted Bourne - for
guarantee that it will be on our side.
- I figured you'd say that. I have a limit?
- None.
- Slow down - said Marie. - What is the initial offer negotiable?
- Considering his position in the KGB, I would say
roughly 50,000 Americans.
- Offer 35 and go to 75 under pressure. Up to 100 thousand, if required, of course.
- For the love of God - Jason said, controlling his voice. - We are talking about us, the Jackal. Give what
he asks.
- Easily bought, sold easily
the other side. For a better offer.
- Is she right? - Asked Bourne, voltandose to Conklin.
- Under normal conditions, it is, but this would be equivalent to a diamond mine in operation. No longer
want to see Carlos in the list of the dead from the Soviets, and the man who delivered the body will be
the hero of the Kremlin. Remember, he was trained in Novgorod. Moscow does not forget that.
- So, do what he says, just buy the man - said Jason.
- I understand. - Conklin leaned to
forward, turning the glass of mineral water on the table. I'll call him tonight, phone to phone, and hit the business. Then in March a meeting for tomorrow,
maybe lunch somewhere outside of Paris. Early, before the arrival of the regulars.
- Why not here? - Asked Bourne. - It is
enough away and I know the way.
- Why not? - Alex agreed. - I'll talk
with the owner. But not the four of us. Only - Jason and me.
- It goes without saying - Bourne remarked dryly. - Marie should not get involved. Should not be seen or
heard. Is that clear?
- David, really ...
- Yes, really.
- I get it - said Panov quickly.
- Meatloaf? - Added to alleviate the tension.
- I have no kitchen here, but I know a cute restaurant that serves fresh trout.
- I make the sacrifice - the psychiatrist said.
- I think you should have lunch in the hotel room. - The voice of Bourne was now commanding.
- Not 'm a prisoner - Marie said softly, looking at her husband. - No one knows who we are or where we
are and I think a person locked in the room, that does not appear to anyone, attracts more attention
than a French perfectly normal, which continues with his life every day.
- She's right - Alex noted. - If the network of spies Carlos is here, a person who does anything different
will arouse suspicion. Furthermore, Panov help - pretend you're a doctor or something, Mo. No one will
believe it, but it gives a touch of class. I do not know why, but doctors usually are above suspicion.
- Psycho ungrateful - grumbled Panov.
- Can we get back to business? - Said
Bourne sharply.
- You're being rude, David.
- I'm very impatient, do you mind?
- All right, calm - said Conklin. - We are

all tense, but we need to clarify things. Once Krupkin is us, your first job will be
locate the phone number that Gates gave Prefontaine in Boston.
- Who has what, where? - asked Panov intrigued.
- You were not in this, Mo. Prefontaine is a judge prohibited from exercising the profession, who
discovered a contact of the Jackal. In short, the judge gave our contact phone number in Paris to talk
with the Jackal, but does not match the number that Jason had achieved. We have no doubt that
contact, a lawyer named Gates, communicated with the Jackal.
- Randolph Gates? The gift of Boston stock exchanges of Genghis Khan?
- The same.
- Christ holy - sorry, I should not say this, I'm not Christian. Hell, I am nothing, but must admit that it is
shocking.
- Very, and we need to know who the phone here in Paris. Krupkin can find for us. It's kind
of corkscrew, but that's it.
- Corkscrew? - asked Panov. - You want to prove a given Rubik in Arabic? Or maybe acrostics
the Times of London? In the name of God, which is a Prefontaine, judge, jury, or what? Sounds like a bad
wine again.
- For it is a very good season - said Marie.
- You'd like him. I could spend months studying his mind because he has much more interesting things
than we can prove, and his great intellect remains intact, in spite of certain drawbacks such as alcohol,
corruption, loss of family and imprisonment. It is unique, Mo, and while most people in his situation
blame the world, but never to themselves, it's different. Has a sense of humor and ironic glory. If the
American court had some intelligence - what the Department of Justice seems to deny - they would
return to active duty ... He fought those people Jackal's only beginning, because I wanted to kill me and
my children. If the second round of the game he can earn a few dollars, worth every penny and I will
arrange for him to win.
- It was very clear. You like him.
- I love, love like you and Alex. Have risked so much for us ...
- Will we return to the subject that brought us here? - Asked the Chameleon angry. - The past does not
interest me, only tomorrow.
- Beyond rude, my dear, you are
ungrateful.
- Okay. Where were we?
- At the moment, with Prefontaine - answered
Alex, dryly, looking at Bourne. - But it may not matter, because it probably will not survive Boston ... I'll
call you at the hotel in Barbizon, tomorrow, to combine the lunch hour. Here.Set your clock for us not to
be running around like snow geese in search of mates. Also, if the guy told the truth about
the cuisine, Kruppie will love it and tell everyone that he discovered the restaurant.
- Kruppie?
- Chill out, I said, we met a long time ago.
- And do not insist - recommended Panov. - None
will want to hear all about Istanbul and Amsterdam. The two are a pair of thieves.
- We passed - said Marie. - Continue, Alex, what about tomorrow?
- Mo and I will taxi to your hotel, and your husband and I will come here by car. Phoned after lunch.
- And that his driver, which Casset arranged for you? - Asked the Chameleon, with cold eyes.
- What about him? Will receive double what wins in a month with his cab, just for tonight and then
leaves us at the hotel and disappears. We will not see more.
- He will talk to someone?
- No, if you want to live and send money to relatives in Algeria. I said, Casset found, man is granite.

- Tomorrow then - said Bourne, gloomy, looking at Marie and Panov. - When we get to Paris you are in
Barbizon and should not leave the hotel. Understood?
- You know what, David - Marie said.
- I will say in front of Mo and Alex because they are family, as much as our children. We, we all do their
wills, and sometimes even pamper because of the horrible things you went through. But you can not
and will not give us orders as if we are inferior beings, in his august presence. Do you understand?
- In loud and clear, lady. So maybe you should go back to the U.S. to not have to put up with
the august presence. - Jason Bourne stood up, pushing his chair back. - Tomorrow we will have a full
day, so we need to get some sleep - have not slept much lately - and a better man than we all once told
me that rest is a weapon. I believe it ... I'll be in the car within two minutes. Make your choice. I'm sure
Alex can make you leave France without problems.
- Your mother's son - Marie murmured.
- That's it - the Chameleon said, turning away.
- I can not control it, Mo!
- No control, just stay with it. You're the only lifeline he has. Do not even talk, just stay with it.
- He became a killer again.
- Jason never hurt you ...
- Of course not, I know that.
- So, try to be one link with Jason David Webb. need ever exist, Marie.
- Oh, God, I love him so much! - Exclaimed Marie,
getting up and running to her husband who was not her husband.
- Do you think gave the right advice, Mo? - Asked Conklin.
- I do not know, Alex. But do not think he should be alone with his nightmares, no one should. This is not
psychiatry, just common sense.
- Sometimes you talk like a real doctor, you know?
The Algerian neighborhood of Paris lies between the tenth and eleventh arrcndissements, just three
blocks away, where buildings are Parisian but low noise and odors are Arabs. A long black limousine and
with the insignia of a prelate of the church, small but engraved in gold on the doors, entered the ethnic
enclave. He stopped in front of a wooden house on three floors. An old priest got out and went to the
door of the house. Chose a name in the small metal plate and pressed the button that rang a bell on the
second floor.
- Oui? - said in a metallic voice intercom primitive.
- I am a messenger from the U.S. Embassy replied the visitor dressed as a priest, a French co-pou grammar, as generally speaking Americans. I can not leave my car, but we have an important message for you.
- I'll be down in a moment - the driver said Franco-Algerian recruited by Charles Casset in
Washington. Three minutes later he left the building for the narrow sidewalk.
- Why are you in that outfit? - Asked
messenger who stood beside the limo, covering the body with the insignia of the door.
- I'm Catholic chaplain, my son. Our charg
aj-faires d' military wants to talk to you. - The priest opened the car door.
- I do many things for you - the driver said laughing and ducking to enter the limo - but be recruited for
the army is not one of them ... Yes, sir, what can I do for you?
- Where did you take our men? - Asked
the figure in the back seat with his face in shadow.
- What men? - Asked the Algerian worried suddenly.
- The two you picked up at the airport a few hours ago. The Cripple and the friend.
- If it is the embassy and they want to know where they went, telephone reporting, right?

- You tell me!

A strong man with a chauffeur's uniform appeared from behind the trunk of the car. Walked quickly
raised his arm and struck a violent blow with a baton on the head of Algeria.Pushed the victim into the
car, with the old clothes chaplain came tam-well and closed the door while the driver went around the
front of the limo to take over. The limo went swiftly down the narrow street. An hour later, the body of
the Algerian, mangled and bleeding, was shot in the limo rue Houdon, deserted, one block from the
Place Pigalle. In the car, the figure in the shadow went to the old fake priest.
- Take your car and watch the hotel Cripple. Stay awake. Will be replaced in the morning and can rest
the rest of the day. Tell all the movements of man. Not fail.
- Never, Monsignor.
Dimitri Krupkin appeared to be more than your average height c be fatter than actually was. His face
was filled with pleasant and walked with the big head held high. Bushy eyebrows and goatee neatly
trimmed and neatly combed matched with blue eyes alive with the ever-smiling expression of a man
who enjoys life and work that makes enjoying both with intelligence. At the time I was in a booth, facing
the wall, the restaurant almost empty Epernon, looking at Alex Conklin that alongside the unidentified
Bourne, had to explain that was not taking any more alcohol.
- The world will end! - Exclaimed in Russian
heavily accented English. - See what the indulgence of the West makes a man? His parents should be
ashamed for not having stayed with us.
- I do not want to compare the rates of alcoholism in our countries.
- Not too high for a bet - Krupkin said with a grin. - And speaking of money, my dear enemy, how and
where will I be paid, in accordance with what we agreed last night on the phone?
- How and where you want to be paid? - Asked Jason.
- Ah, ah, so is my benefactor, sir?
- Yes, I'm paying.
- Wait! - Conklin muttered, staring at the door of the restaurant. Leaned toward the open part of the
booth with her hand on his forehead, then stepped back quickly when the waiter led a couple at a table
in the corner, to the left of the entrance.
- What is it? - Asked Bourne.
- I do not know ... I'm not sure.
- Who came, Aleksei?
- This is the case, I think I should know him,
but I know of.
- Where is he? A booth?
- No, a table. In the corner, past the bar. It is
with a woman.
Krupkin went to the edge of the bench and took the wallet a mirror the size of a credit card. Cautiously
pulled to the side of the body shell with both hands on the mirror.
- You should read the gossip columns of tabloids Paris - said the Russian, laughing and putting the mirror
on the wallet and wallet in his jacket pocket. He works at the Italian embassy and that is his wife. Paolo and Davinia, I do not know why, with
pretensions to nobility, I think. Strictly diplomatic corps at the protocol level. Offer beautiful parties and
are, of course, outrageously rich.
- Not in the media circle, but I've seen it before.
- Of course he saw. It looks like all the actors of middle-aged Italian film or with the owners of vineyards
that extol the virtues of Chianti Classico in television commercials.
- Maybe you're right.
- I am - Krupkin turned to Bourne. -

I will write the name of a bank and an account number in Geneva. - He took a pen from his pocket and
grabbed a paper napkin. Failed to use any of the two, for a man of thirty-somethings with a very classy
suit, approached the table quickly.
- What is Sergei? - Asked Krupkin.
- Do not you - said the deputy Soviet. - He - with a nod indicated Bourne.
- What is it? - Jason repeated.
- You have been followed. At first we were not sure, because it is an old man with urinary problems. He
climbed out twice to pee, but then used the car phone and peered through the windshield to read the
name of the restaurant. That was a few minutes ago.
- How do you know who was following me?
- He arrived shortly after the Lord, and we were here for half an hour checking the area.
- Checking the area! - Conklin said, looking at the Russian. - I thought this meeting was only
between the three of us.
- Dear Aleksei, Aleksei benevolent, that will save me from myself. Did believed that I was going encontrai
with you without thinking about my protection? Not you personally, old friend, but the perpetrators of
Washington. Have you ever imagined? An assistant director of the CIA talks to me about a man he
pretends to think that I do not know. A blow amateur.
- Now go to hell, I do not tell him!
- Oh, so I cheated. I apologize, Aleksei.
- Do not apologize - Jason said, in a firm voice.
- The old man is the Jackal ...
- Carlos! - Krupkin exclaimed, her face flushed, her eyes now alert and furious. - The Jackal is
behind you, Aleksei?
- There, behind him - said Conklin. - From his
benefactor.
- My God! With what we already knew, everything fits. So I have the distinct honor of meeting the
infamous Jason Bourne. A great pleasure, sir! We have the same goal when it comes to Carlos, do not
we?
- If your men are good, we can achieve
this goal within an hour. Come on! Let's go out the back, through the kitchen, through a window,
anything. He found me, and can bet anything that will be here soon. Only he did not know that I
know. Come on!
The three men stood and Krupkin said to his attendant:
- Take the car to the back of the restaurant, the service entrance, if any, but do
it disjaradamente, Sergei. No hurry, you know?
- We can follow for a mile or more
least on the road and into a pasture that will give the back of the restaurant. So we will not be seen in
the old car.
- Very good, Sergei. And tell your reinforcement to stay where you are and alert.
- Of course, comrade. - The assistant ran to the door.
- A reinforcement! - Alex exploded. - You had a backup?
- Please Alex to discuss? It's your fault. Last night, on the phone, you did not tell me about his conspiracy
against its own director.
- Oh, for God's sake, not conspiracy
no!
- It was not exactly a perfect understanding
between the office and the field was? No, Aleksei Nikolae Konsolikov, you were sure you could - so to
speak - I use and have used. Always remember, my good old opponent, you are Russian.

- Will you shut up and get out of here?

They waited in Citroen shielded Krupkin beside a field with tall grass, a hundred feet from the old car,
where they saw the door of the restaurant perfectly. For hassle Bourne, Conklin and KGB agent, as two
old pros, started to recall the strategies of covert operations of the past, each pointing out the
shortcomings of others. The strengthening of the Soviet was a four-door car that was on the side of the
road on the other side of the restaurant with two men ready to jump in with their automatic, if need be.
Suddenly, a van stopped at Renault
front of the restaurant, with three couples. All declined, unless the driver, arm in arm and laughing
happily. They walked to the entrance, while the car headed to the small parking lot.
- Stop them - said Jason. - Can be killed.
- Yes, you can, Mr. Bourne, but if we do, we lose the Jackal.
Jason looked at the Russian, not knowing what to say, with clouds of confusion and anger clouding his
thinking. Started to protest, but no words came to his lips. And then, it was too late to protest. A dark
brown van appeared on the main road from Paris and Bourne said:
- It is the same as Lefebvre. the van that
fled!
- From where? - asked Conklin.
- A few days ago there was a problem on the Avenue
Lefebvre - Krupkin said. - A car or a van exploded. Is that what you're talking about?
- It was a trap. For me ... A van, then a limo and a man impersonating Carlos a trap. This is the second van that came out of a side street, I think, and tried to stop our advance with a
heavy fire.
- Our? - Alex and Jason looked closely at
saw the undisguised fury in the Chameleon eyes, hairline and lips clenched tight, strong fingers
abrindose and closing.
- Bernadine and I - Bourne murmured, and then,
suddenly raising his voice: - I want a gun - exclaimed. - The gun that got in my pocket is not a weapon!
Sergei, the enhanced helper Krupkin, who was in charge of the car, got in the front seat of an AK-47
Russian and handed it to Jason over his shoulder. A limo dark brown emerged in road and stopped,
screeched in front of the restaurant. Trained as commands, two men with Shades of half-ras and
wielding automatic jumped out the side door.Rushed to the entrance and each leaned against one side
of the door. A third man got out of the vehicle square, almost completely bald man dressed as a
priest. In a gesture of his weapon, the two commands were placed in front of the door with his hands in
thick brass doorknobs. The van driver started the engine.
- Come on! - shouted Bourne. - 6 it! Is Carlos!
- No! - roared Krupkin. - Wait. The trap is now ours, and he should be caught - inside.
- For God's sake, there are people in there! Jason said.
- All wars are accidental victims, Mr.
Bourne, and in case of not knowing, this is a war. Yours and mine. Its much more personal than
mine. Suddenly sounded the shrill cry of revenge of the Jackal, the double doors were pushed and
shooting terrorists entered.
- Now! - Sergei said, starting the engine and causing the accelerator to the floor. The Citroen came
swiftly on the road directly toward the van, but was diverted by a huge explosion right. The old and gray
car flew through the air, and the Citroen was thrown to the left against the fence of the old parking lot,
next to the restaurant. At the same moment the van dark brown of the Jackal, rather than throw himself
forward, he backed out and stopped with a jolt. The man who ran jumped and hid behind the car. Just
seen the strengthening of the Soviets. The two Russians rushed to the restaurant. The Jackal's man,

hidden behind the van, killing one. The other threw himself on the grass by the roadside, and saw,
helplessly, Carlos shoot man in glasses and tires of the vehicle from the Soviets.
- Get out! - Sergei shouted, pushing Bourne out beside the fence while Alex and his superior dragged
themselves out behind him.
- Come on! - Jason exclaimed, rising with
AK-47 in hand. - That son of a bitch blew the car by remote control.
- I'll go ahead - said the Soviet Union.
- Why?
- To be honest, because I'm younger and more
strong ...
- Oh, shut the nozzle
Bourne ran zigzag and threw himself on the ground when the driver of the van Carlos started
shooting. He raised the gun on the grass, some of the Jackal's man thought it had hit. The head
appeared, Jason pulled the trigger and she disappeared.
The second enhancement of the Russians, hearing the cry of death behind the van, got up and went to
the door of the restaurant. From inside came the sound of gunfire cluttered, screams of panic and more
shots. A living nightmare of terror and blood-unfolding inside the small, bucolic restaurant. Bourne
stood and Sergei at his side reached the survivor helper. At a sign from Jason, the Russians pushed the
door and entered the three at the same time. The next sixty seconds were so horrible as hell howling
described by Munch. A waiter and two men of the three couples who had come together, they were
dead, the waiter and one on the floor with heads esfaceladas and what was left of their faces, covered
in blood. The other man was leaning against the wall of the booth, eyes wide and lifeless, the whole
body pierced with bullets, blood running down his clothes. The women were in shock, alternating with
screams moans, trying to jump over the dividers pine reserved. The man and woman dressed the Italian
embassy had disappeared. Sergei suddenly ran to the far corner of the room, shooting toward "a figure
that Bourne had not noticed. The murderer with a half mask jumped shadow with gun in hand, but
before he could pull the trigger, the Soviet hit ... Another! A small shadow behind the bar counter. Was
the Jackal? Jason spun around near the wall tuned to lower corners beside the shelf drinks. In one swift
motion, placed at the base of the counter when the second booster of the Russians, realizing the
situation, ran hysterical women, and turned his back on them, moving the gun from side to side,
protecting them. The head mask and hand with the gun appeared on the counter. Bourne got to his feet,
holding the hot barrel with the left hand and right in command of the AK-47, shot point-blank in the face
covered terrorist. There was Carlos. Where was the Jackal?
- Here! - Sergei shouted, as if he had heard the question Jason's furious.
- Where?
- Those doors!
The two men converged on the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. Bourne again made the signal for
the attack, but before they could make a move, were thrown back by an explosion. A grenade was
detonated in the kitchen and shards of metal and glass dug into the wood of the doors. Smoke spiraled,
spreading through the room with a pungent odor and nauseating.
Silence.
Jason and Sergei approached the entrance to the kitchen again and again his progress was arrested by
an explosion followed by gunfire followed, reaching the leaves of the doors. Silence.
Wait.
Silence.
So much for the fury and impetus of the Chameleon. Opened the bolt of his AK-47, pulled the lever
selectively, and then the trigger for automatic shooting, and opened the door with a jerk, throwing
himself on the floor.

Silence.
Another scene of another hell. A portion of the outer wall had disappeared, the obese owner of the
restaurant and its chef, this still with the top hat, were dead, corpses nailed to the lower shelves of the
kitchen, with blood dripping into the wood. Bourne stood up slowly, with excruciating pain in the legs,
every nerve in his body tense and frayed, very close to hysteria. As if in a trance, looked around, through
the smoke and debris, and his eyes finally landed on a piece of brown butcher paper tacked to the wall
with a heavy cleaver.Approached and, pulling the knife, read the words written in black pencil butcher:
The trees of Tannenbaum will burn in flames and children with them. Sleep well, Jason Bourne.
The mirrors of his life were broken into a thousand piece31
- STOP IT, David!
- My God, he went crazy, Aleksei. Sergei, hold it, do not let go ... You, help Sergei. Lie down on the floor
to talk with him. We must leave here immediately!
The two helpers Russians with great effort managed to lie down on the grass Jason. When he read the
paper, Bourne went through the opening in the wall, and ran down the field in a futile attempt to find
the Jackal, firing his AK47 until out of ammunition. Sergei and the other helper chased him. The first
took the gun from the hands of Jason and the two led the hysterical man back to the restaurant halfdestroyed, where Alex and Krupkin awaited them. With great effort led Jason, covered in sweat and
panting, to the front of the restaurant. So uncontrollable hysteria again dominated the Chameleon.
The Jackal's van was gone. Carlos, reversing his line of fire, managed to escape and Jason was crazy.
- Hang the man! - roared Krupkin kneeling beside Jason as the two aides kept him lying on the floor. The
KGB agent slapped a hand over his face
American, pressing on both sides with your thumb and forefinger, forcing Treadstone Seventy-One to
look at it.
- I will only say once, Mr. Bourne, and if I do not understand, you can stay here alone and face the
consequences! We have to get out of here. If you can control yourself, we will contact the authorities in
your country within an hour, in Paris. I read the warning and assure that your people can protect your
family - your family as I was explained by Aleksei.But you, in person, should be part of this
statement. Can retrieve the reason, Mr. Bourne, or you can go to hell. What do you choose?
The Chameleon, looking to get rid of the knees that bound him to the ground, exhaled from the lungs as
if it were his last breath. His eyes came into focus and he said:
- Take the bastards off me.
- One of these motherfuckers saved his life - said Conklin.
- And I saved the life of one of them. We're even. The Citroen shielded swiftly followed by the main road
leading to Paris. No cell phone with mixer, Krupkin gave orders that a team was sent to Epernon to
immediately remove what was left of the car from the Russians. The man's body was carefully placed in
the trunk of Citroen, and official commentary of the Soviets, if anyone asked, would no involvement
with the case. Two junior staff of the embassy were having lunch in the field when the massacre
occurred.Several killers wore masks half, others were not seen because the Russian embassy fled out
the back door to save their lives. When it was over, they returned to the restaurant and tried to calm the
hysterical women and one man surviving. Reported the terrible incidents you to their superiors and
were instructed to inform the police immediately and return to the embassy. Soviet interests could not
be harmed by his accidental presence at the scene of a criminal act of French.
- It seems as Russian - Krupkin said.
- Is anyone going to believe? - Alex asked.
- No matter - said the Russian. - Epernon
smells # revenge of the Jackal. The old they exploded, two terrorists subordinates with half masks - the
Surete know these signs. If we were involved, we would be on the right side, so it will not investigate the
reason for our presence.

Bourne stood by the window of the car in silence, with Krupkin beside her and Alex on the bench, facing
the two. Jason revolt broke his silence, looking away from the landscape and pounding his fist on the
armrest.
- Oh, Christ, the children! - exclaimed. - Like that bastard learned that were to Tannenbaum?
- Forgive me, Mr. Bourne - Krupkin said aloud
low. - I know it's easier for me to say than for you to accept, but soon get back to Washington. I know
something about the Agency's ability to protect its people and can ensure that efficiency is foolproof.
- It can not be as efficient if Carlos can penetrate defenses as penetrated.
- Maybe it was not that. Maybe he has another source - said the Soviet Union.
- I could not have any.
- You never know, sir.
Followed swiftly through the streets of Paris, under the blinding sun in the afternoon, between the
sidewalks full of pedestrians. Arrived at the Soviet embassy in avenue de Lannes and passed through the
gates, the guards just waving to view Citroen shielded Krupkin. They went around the gravel courtyard
and stopped in front of the imposing marble staircase and arch carved entry.
- Stay close, Sergei - ordered the man
KGB.
- If we need to speak with the Sret, you takes care of that.
- Then, as if only then had remembered,
Krupkin went to another helper beside Sergei, in the front seat. - No offense, young man, but is that all
these years my old friend and driver temse shown very effective in these situations. However, you also
have a job to do. Arrange to have the body of our loyal comrade be cremated. Internal operations which
will tell you the necessary papers.
- With a nod, Dimitri Krupkin indicated that Bourne and Alex Conklin could get off the carro.Entraram,
Dimitri and told the guards that guests should not pass through a metal detector to which they were
subjected all visitors to the embassy.
Murmured in English for your guests:
- Can you imagine what would happen? Two armed American CIA wild roaming the halls of the bastion
of the proletariat? Neither is good to think, feel the cold of Siberia in my testicles.
They passed the hall, richly decorated in the style of the nineteenth century, for the lift typically French
with grade brass, which led to the third floor. The elevator door opened and Krupkin led them by a wide
corridor.
- We will use a conference room not formal - he said. - Are the first Americans to enter it and maybe the
last because it is the only magazine embassy without microphones and tapping.
- You would not make that statement a lie detector, would you? - Conklin asked with a laugh.
- Like you, Aleksei, I learned long ago
stupid fool these machines, but regardless, I do so because it is true. Frankly, it is
to protect us from ourselves. Come on now.
The conference room was the size of an ordinary bourgeois dining room, but with a long table and long,
dark furniture and male chairs strong, heavy and quite comfortable. The walls were covered with dark
brown, the inevitable portrait of Lenin hung ostensibly the wall behind the main chair, where there was
also a low table with the phone console.
- I know you're eager to call - said
Krupkin, approaching the island. - So I'll authorize an international line.
Dimitri picked up the phone, spoke rapidly in Russian, hung up and turned to the Americans.
- Do you have the number 26. It is the last button on the right, second row.
- Thank you. - Conklin took a paper from his pocket and handed it to the agent of the KGB. - I need
another favor, Kruppie. This is the number of a telephone in Paris, supposedly a direct line to the Jackal,

but does not match the number you gave Bourne and that was the Jackal. We do not know where it fits,
but wherever it is, has to do with Carlos.
- And you do not want to call they do not know who has the number - initial codes and all that stuff. I
understand, of course. So no need to send an alert? I'll take care of it. - Krupkin looked at Jason as a
fellow elder and understanding. - Cheer up and have confidence, Mr. Bourne, as they said the tsar,
without facing any visible danger. Despite their concerns, I have great confidence in the ability of
Langley. They damaged my operations insignificant nothing more times than I care to remember.
- I'm sure you did your part hurting them too - Jason said impatiently staring at the phone.
- The certainty that keeps me active.
- Thanks, Kruppie - said Alex. - As you said, it's a good old enemy.
- And I repeat, your parents should be ashamed!
Imagine if they had stayed in Mother Russia. At this point you and I would be driving the Komitet.
- And we would have two houses facing the lake?
- Are you crazy, Aleksei? Could be masters of the whole Lake Geneva! - Krupkin turned around, walked
to the door and came out with a laugh.
- With you everything is a bloody game, is not it? said Bourne.
- To some extent - Alex agreed. - But
not when stolen information means lost lives
- On both sides, of course. It is then that the weapons appear and the game ends.
- Talk to Langley - Jason said brusquely,
indicating the console with a nod. - Holland has some explaining to do.
- Talk to Langley will not do ...
- What?
- It is too early, or even seven hours in the United States, but do not worry, I can get around. Conklin took out a notebook from his pocket.
- Work around? - said Bourne. - What kind of talk is that? I'm about to go insane, Alex, those children are
my children!
- Calm down, it means that I have his private phone, which is not listed. - Conklin sat down next to the
phone and dialed.
- Circumvent, for God's sake! You, relics of outdated codes can not speak clear. WORKAROUND!
- Sorry, Professor, is a habit ... Peter? Alex. Open your eyes and wake up, sailor. We complications.
- No need to wake up - the voice said in Fairfax, Virginia. - I just returned from a run ten kilometers.
- Oh, you have feet that think they are so smart!
- Jesus, sorry, Alex, I did not want ...
- Of course not, grumete Holland, but we
a problem.
- Which means that at least you made contact. Bourne found.
- He is here beside me and we are calling the Soviet downloaded in Paris
- What? Holy shit!
- Nothing holy. Only Casset, remember?
- Ah, yes, I'd forgotten ... And his wife?
- Mo Panov is with her. The good doctor is covering the medical part, for which I am very grateful.
- Me too. Other progress?
- Nothing you want to hear, but will hear
loud and clear.
- What are you talking about?
- The Jackal know about the property Tannenbaum.

- You are crazy! - shouted the director of the CIA, so loud it caused a metallic sound in the international
line. Nobody knows! Only Charlie and I Casset. Arrange a schedule with fake names and biographies of
Central America, so far from Paris that no one could make the connection.Furthermore, there is
no mention of the Tannenbaum orders! You can be sure, Alex, was an operation inviolable because they
let anyone interfere.
- Facts are facts, Peter. My friend received a
message saying the trees of Tannenbaum go up in flames and children with them.
- Son of a bitch! - Yelled Holland. - Stay on the line. I'll call St. Jacques, then to maximum security, and
have to be removed from there this morning. Hold the line!
Conklin looked up at Bourne who listened to him on the phone.
- If there is a leak, and there is a leak, it is not
Langley - said Alex.
- It has to be there. He did not check right.
- Where will he check?
- Christ, you are understood. The helicopter that took off from the island, the crew, the staff cleared the
plane to Britain. My God! Carlos bought the miserable governor of the Crown in Montserrat and the
chief of staff drug. What prevents you to monitor our communications between our military and
Plymouth?
- But you heard - insisted Conklin. - The names were fake, chronologies oriented to Central America, and
above all, no one knew about the flights Tannenbaum. Nobody ... We have a gap.
- Please, spare me this language code.
- There is no code. A gap is a space
empty.
- Alex? - The angry voice of Peter Holland.
- Yes, Peter?
- We are taking all there, and I will not say
nor you where they go now. St. Jacques was angry because Mrs. Cooper and the kids were already in
place, but I told them they have one hour.
- I want to see Johnny - Bourne said, leaning forward and speaking loudly to be heard by Holland.
- It is a pleasure to meet you, even if only by phone
- Said Holland.
- Thank you for everything you're doing for us Jason said softly and sincere. - Thank you very much.
- Quid pro quo, Bourne. In their hunt for the Jackal you pulled a big rabbit out of a hat ugly and dirty that
no one knew existed.
- What?
- Medusa, the new.
- How's the investigation? - Asked Conklin.
- We are doing our contrapolinizao between the Sicilians and a lot of European banks. 're Messing
everything they touch, but we now have more wires that connected all-powerful law firm in New York
than the entire NASA launch a rocket. We are cracking down.
- Good hunting - said Jason. - Can you give me a number for Tannenbaum to talk to John St. Jacques?
Holland gave the number. Alex noted and hung up.
- The bugle is all yours - Conklin said, rising with difficulty and walked to the other end of the table.
Bourne sat down, focused on the myriad of buttons in front. He picked up the phone and dialed the
numbers noted by Alex. The greetings were abrupt, the questions
Direct Jason, done in an authoritative voice.

- With whom you spoke about Tannenbaum?

- Slow down, David - said St. Jacques, in
defensive. - What do you mean I spoke?
- Exactly so. From Tranquility to Washington, you spoke about Tannenbaum?
- I mean, after Holland spoke to me?
- For God's sake, Johnny, could not be before, could it?
- No, it could, Sherlock Holmes.
- So with whom?
- With you. Only with you, my dear brother.
- What?
- You heard. Everything was happening so fast that I probably forgot the name Tannenbaum, and if I
remember, probably was not to be announced there.
- You should have spoken. There was a leak and was not in Langley.
- I also did not go. Listen, Dr. Academic, can not have a whole alphabet after my name, but I'm not
exactly an idiot. My nephews are in the next room and I hope to see them grown ... So let's get out of
here?
- Yes
- Very serious?
- Maximum severity. The Jackal.
- Jesus - exploded St. Jacques. - If the bastard appears in the neighborhood, he's mine!
- Calm, Canada - Jason said with a softer voice, expressing more concern than anger. - You
says and I believe only Tannenbaum described to me, and if I remember correctly, I identified the.
- Right. I remember because when I Pritchard
said you were on the phone, I was on the other line talking to Henry Sykes Serrat. Remember Henry, the
deputy governor of the Crown?
- Of course.
- I was asking him to keep an eye on
Tranquility because I needed to get away for a few days. Of course he knew it because he had to release
the plane on the island and I remember it very well ask where I was going and I said Washington. Never
occurred to me to say anything that resembled Tannenbaum, and Sykes insisted there must have
understood why it had to do with the horrible things that had happened on the island. You could say he
is a professional in these matters.
- St. Jacques paused, but before Bourne could speak, exclaimed hoarsely: - Oh, my God!
- Pritchard - Jason said. - He was on the line.
- Why? Why would he do this?
- You're forgetting - said Bourne. Carlos bought your Crown governor and his Savonarola, the head of the narcotics team. Must have cost
a lot of money. He may have bought Pritchard for much less.
- No, you're wrong, David. Pritchard can be a pompous ass and delusions of grandeur, but not betray me
for money. It is not so important in the islands - is prestigious. And except when he, almost drives me up
the wall, I seek prestige it. In fact, he is a great employee.
- There is no one, brother.
- We have a way to find out. I am here,
not there, and not going anywhere anytime soon.
- What are you thinking?
- I want to ask for help from Henry Sykes. It's all
well with you?
- Everything comes.

- How will Marie?

- As well as could be, given the circumstances ... And, Johnny, do not want her to know anything about
it, understand? When she talks to you, and will speak say they are installed and everything is fine,
nothing about changing or about Carlos.
- I understand.
- All is well, right? How are the kids
- As Jamie is experiencing all this?
- You can get respect, but he's having a great time, and Ms. Cooper does not even let me touch Alison.
- I'm not with any sense of two things.
- Thank you. And you? Any progress?
- Talk to you later - said Jason off and turning to Alex. - It makes no sense and Carlos always make sense,
if we pay attention. He leaves a message that I almost mad with fear, but has no means to meet the
threat. What do you think?
- The goal is to freak you out - responded
Conklin. - The Jackal will not make an installation as the home of Tannenbaum distance. The message
was to make you panic and managed. He wants to let him upset enough to make serious mistakes. He
wants control of the situation.
- Another reason for Marie to return to the United States as soon as possible. She has to go. Marie want
inside a fortress and not openly lunching at Barbizon.
- I agree with the idea today more than yesterday
overnight. - Alex was interrupted by the entrance of Krupkin with various computer printouts in hand.
- The number you gave me was disconnected he said, with some hesitation.
- It was bound on behalf of whom?
- You will not like it more than I liked, and if I could invent a plausible lie, lie to you, but I can not, and
should not ... Five days ago he was transferred to an organization clearly false for the name of
Webb. David Webb.
Conklin and Bourne stared silently at the Soviet agent, but was a silence broken by a static high voltage
current.
- Why was so sure that I would not like the information? - Alex asked quietly.
- My good old enemy - said Krupkin with
soft voice, as low as that of Conklin. - When Mr. Bourne horrors left that coffee with brown paper in his
hand, he was hysterical. Trying to calm him you
called David ... Now I have a name that honestly did not want to have.
- Forget - said Bourne.
- I'll do my best, but there are certain ways ...
- That's not what I'm talking about - interrupted
Jason. - I have to live with the fact that you know and this is possible. Where the telephone was
installed? What is the address?
- According to the computers, is a mission house run by the Sisters of Charity Magdalene. Also obviously
false.
- Obviously true - Bourne corrected. This organization exists. It is legitimate and legalized up to the starched caps nuns, and is also a very
useful disguise. At least it was.
- Fascinating - Krupkin murmured. - So many
facades of the Jackal relate to the Church. A modus operandi bright, although a bit outdated. They say
he studied for the priesthood.
- So the Church arrived in front - Alex said, nodding with a smile. - She threw him out before you.

- I never underestimated the Vatican - Dimitri said, laughing. - It has been more than proven that our
crazy Joseph Stalin did not understand the priorities when asked how many battalions the Pope could
count. His Holiness does not need them. Get more than Stalin ever managed with all his purges. The
power goes to the one who inspires fear, is not it, Aleksei? All the princes of the earth use fear with
ruthless efficiency. And everything revolves around death - the fear of death, before and after it. When
we grow up and send them all to hell?
- Death - Jason muttered, frowning. Death on the rue Rivoli, at the Meurice, the Magdalene Sisters ... My God, I completely
forgot! Dominique Lavier! She was at the Meurice - might still be there! She said she would work with
me.
- Why? - Krupkin asked sharply.
- Why Carlos killed her sister and she had no choice but to work for him or be killed. - Bourne turned to
the phone. - I need the phone Meurice ...
- Four-2:00 to 6:00-tres-zero-zero-8:00 to 6:00 - Krupkin recited while Jason Alex wrote down the block.
- A Nice Place, formerly known as Hotel Kings. I especially like the grill.
Bourne entered the number and raised his hand for
silence. Remembering, asked Madame Brielle's room and when the operator said "Mais oui," he nodded
to Alex and Dimitri. Lavier answered.
- Yes?
- I am me, madame - said Jason, a French rough, slightly anglicized. The Chameleon was in action. - Your
housekeeper suggested that we could find her there. Madame, your dress is ready. Sorry for the delay.
- Should have been delivered yesterday noon, you asshole! I wanted to use it last night at the Grand
Vfour. I was very upset!
- Apologies. We can immediately deliver the hotel.
- You're a jerk! Probably my maid also said that I will get only two days here at the hotel. Delivered to
my apartment in Montaigne and if not there until four o'clock, will wait a month to get paid!
A click on the strong line seemed to indicate that the connection was cut. Bourne hung up the phone
with sweat sprouting on his forehead.
- I've been a long time out of it - he said, breathing deeply. - She has an apartment in Montaigne and be
there at four o'clock.
- Who the hell is Dominique do not know what? Conklin yelled angrily.
- Lavier - responded Krupkin. - But it uses the
name of her dead sister, Jacqueline. For years has been playing the role of the sister.
- You know that? - Jason asked, impressed.
- I know, but never said much. It was a blow easy to understand - Sisters similar, several months of
absence, facial plastic - all normal abnormal world of high fashion. Who pays attention to people moving
in such an orbit surface? We keep vigil, but she never took us to the Jackal, she does not know how to
do this. No direct access, all she tells is filtered, with doors closed to her every information delivery. This
is how the Jackal works.
- It is not always like that - said Bourne. - There was
a man named Santos who ran a caf in Argenteuil third class, the Coeur du Soldat. Santos had direct
access. He gave me a very special information.
- There? - Krupkin raised his eyebrows. Speak on it in the past?
- Santos is dead.
- And the third coffee class at Argenteuil, still works?
- It was clean and locked - Jason admitted, without implying that it was a defeat.

- Then access ended, right?

- Sure, but I believe what he said because he was killed for it. Santos was leaving, like this woman Lavier
want to leave now - but their connection was too old. Began in Cuba when Carlos saved from execution
a misfit like him. I knew I could use man, one giant huge and imposing able to operate between the
trash of humanity and be your direct messenger. Santos had direct access. Proved it when he gave me
the phone number to which I spoke with the Jackal. Few men can do this.
- Fascinating - Krupkin said, looking intently at Bourne. - But how to ask my good old enemy Aleksei, it
seems as amazed as I was, what's your point, Mr. Bourne? His words are ambiguous, but the charges
insinuated seem dangerous.
- For you. Not for us.
- I did not.
- Santos told me that only four men around the world have direct access to the Jackal. One of them is in
Dzerzhinsky Square. "Very high in Komitet" were his words, and believe me, he did not have much
respect for that his superior.
It was as if Dimitri Krupkin had been slapped by the director of the Politburo in the middle of Red Square
during the May Day parade. The Russian grew pale and his eyes were still without blinking.
- What else Santos told you? I have to saberl
- Only that Charles had an obsession with Moscow,
I was making contact with top people ... If you can find that contact in Dzerzhinsky Square, will give a big
step forward. For now, all we have is ... Dominique Lavier
- Damn it, damn it - roared Krupkin interrupting Jason.
- So insane and yet so perfectly logical. Just answer several questions, Mr. Bourne, questions that haunt
me for some time. So many times I came close - and always, nothing.Okay, let them say, gentlemen, the
games of the devil are not limited to those who are in hell. Others can play them too. God. I feel like a
pearl in an oyster move to another, always the big idiot! ... No longer use this phone!
It was 3:30 pm in the afternoon, Moscow time, and the man
senior uniformed officer in the Soviet army walked with greater speed than the age allowed him down
the hallway of the fifth floor of the KGB headquarters in Dzerzhinsky Square. The day was hot and the air
conditioning, as usual, weak and irregular, so the general Grigorie Rodchenko, using tlc one of the
privileges of his rank, was with the collar unbuttoned Inica. This however did not prevent the sweat
came down the wrinkled face to the neck. Not feeling the collar high and tight, however, was a relief.
Reached the elevator, pressed the button and waited, with a key in hand. The doors opened right up,
and he saw with satisfaction that the elevator was empty. It was easier than sending them all out - at
least less embarrassing. Entered, inserted the key in the lock up of the panel and waited for the engine
perform its function. In an instant the elevator straight down to the lower level of the building
underground. The doors opened and the general left, immediately noticing the silence in the corridors,
both the left and the right.Within a few moments, that would change, he thought. He walked down the
hall on the left, to a large steel door with a metal plate in the center.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
A notice fool, thought the General, taking a plastic card from his pocket and inserting it slowly and
carefully at the small opening on the right. Without the card - and sometimes only when it was inserted
quickly - the door would not open. Heard two clicks and removed the card. The heavy door opened and
no handle, and a television monitor recorded entry.
The activity was intense in dozens of lit cubicles that shared the huge complex of low ceiling, the size of
a ballroom at the time of the czars, but without any ornamentation. And fortunately, the air was cool, in
fact, almost cold. The machines required the accurate temperature control, for there worked the
communications center of the KGB. Information from around the world came to the center for 24
hours. The old soldier followed the path that he knew

well until the last pass from the right to the left after reaching the end of the cubicle large room. It was a
long walk and breath the general was very breathless, his legs very tired.Entered, greeting with a nod
operator midlife who looked up and pulled the ear headphones. On the counter in front of white was a
large electronic console with a plethora of buttons, switches and illuminated panels. Rodchehko sat on a
steel chair, next to the man and said, pausing to breathe between one word and another:
- Any news of Colonel Krupkin, Paris?
- I have news about Colonel Krupkin, General. Following his instructions to monitor the telephone
conversations of Colonel, including international calls authorized by him, received a teipe Paris a few
minutes. I am sure that you want to hear.
- As always, you were very efficient and I thank you, and as always, I'm sure Colonel Krupkin will tell us
all about it, but you know, he's a very busy man.
- No need to explain, sir. The conversations will hear were recorded for half an hour. The headphones
please?
Rodchenko put the headphones on and did a
nod. The operator put a notepad and pencil and pointed at the counter in front of the general, typed a
number and sat back in his chair while the powerful direktor the Komitet leaned forward, listening. Logo
General began taking notes, minutes later was writing furiously. The teipe ended Rodchenko and pulled
the ear headphones. Glowered at the operator, his eyes narrow rigid Slavs between the eyelids
emaciated, the face wrinkles more pronounced than before.
- Erase the tape, then destroy the hard - he ordered rising. - As always, you heard nothing.
- As always, general.
- And as always, will be well rewarded.
It was 4:17 pm when Rodchenko came to his office and sat at his desk, studying his notes. It
was incredible! Unbelievable, but there it was - just heard the words and the voices ... Not what I was
referring to the monsignor, in Paris. That was secondary now and could communicate with him within
minutes, if necessary. The monsignor could wait, but the other part of the conver-sa could not! The
general picked up the phone and called his secretary.
- I want an immediate transmission via satellite to our consulate in New York. All mixers maximum
connected and operating. How could this have happened?
Medusa!
32
Frowning, Marie heard her husband's voice on the phone and motioned for Mo Panov.
- Where are you now? - She asked.
- In a public phone in the Plaza-Athne - said Bourne. - I'll be back in a few hours.
- What is happening?
- Complications, but also some progress.
- This tells me nothing.
- Not much to say.
- How is this Krupkin?
- Original. He took us to the Soviet embassy and I talked to Johnny in one of their phones.
- What? ... How are the kids?
- Very well. All is well. Jamie is having a great time, and Mrs. Cooper will not let Johnny do not touch
Alison.
- Which means that Johnny does not want to touch Alison.
- Could be.
- What is the number? I want to talk to them.
- Holland is installing a secure line. Know the number within an hour or so.
- Which means you're lying.

- If you think so ... You should be with them. If I'm late call.
- Wait a minute. Mo wants to talk to you.
Bourne hung up. At the other end of the room, Mo Panov nodded slowly.
- Forget it - he said. - I'm the last person he wants to talk.
- It's back to that place, Mo. There is more David.
- It has a different mission now - Panov said, softly. - David could not fulfill it.
- I think it's the scariest thing you've ever
said, The psychiatrist nodded a nod
- Maybe.
The gray Citroen was standing a few feet in diagonal entry of the apartment building Dominique Lavier,
the elegant avenue Montaigne. Krupkin, and Alex Bourne were in the back seat, Conklin on the bench,
facing the two, more amenable to his leg and its size. Rarely spoke, watching the glass door of the
building.
- Are you sure this will work? - Asked Jason.
- All I know is that Sergei is a talented professional - answered Krupkin. - He was trained in Novgorod,
you know, and his French is impeccable. It also has various identification documents able to deceive the
Division of Documents Deuxime Bureau.
- And the other two? - Bourne insisted.
- Subordinated quiet, controlled by his superior and subservient to him. They are also experts ... Here he
comes!
Sergei left the building and walked to the left and was soon crossing the broad avenue toward the
Citroen. Passed in front of the car and sat behind the wheel.
- Everything is in order - said, looking back.
- Madame has not returned and the apartment is 21, second floor, front. Was "swept" completely not
find any interceptor.
- You sure? - asked Conklin. - There is a margin of error in this process, Sergei.
- Our instruments are the best, sir
- Replied the aide of the KGB with a smile. Sorry to say this, but were manufactured by General Electronics Corporation, commissioned by Langley.
- Two points for our side - said Alex.
- Twelve less for allowing the theft of technology - Krupkin noted. - Also, I'm sure that years ago our
Madame Lavier had microphone on the mattress ...
- Verified - Sergei interrupted.
- Thanks, but I mean hardly
Jackal will have monitors throughout the city of Paris. It's very complicated.
- Where are the other two men? - Asked Bourne.
- In the corridors of the first floor, sir. Soon I will join them and have a vehicle to strengthen further in
the street, all with radio contact, of course ... I'll take them now.
- Wait a minute - Conklin said. - How
we get in? What do we say?
- It has been said, sir, do not need to say anything. Part of the Secret Service, the French SEDCE ...
- What? - Asked Jason.
- The Documentation Service Foreign and counterintelligence - Alex replied. - That's what they have to
more like Langley.
- And the Deuxime?
- Special Branch - Conklin said absently. - Some say it is an elite, others say the opposite ... Sergei, they
will not check?

- Have you found, sir. After showing my ID to the caretaker and his assistant, gave them a phone number
that is not in the list, which confirmed my position in service. After I described three of you and said that
they should have access to the apartment of Madame Lavier no more talk ... Come on now. Arriving by
car, the doorman will get better impressed.
- Sometimes simplicity enhanced authority is the best thing to fool others - Krupkin observed, while the
Citroen crossed the broad avenue and moved toward the door of the complex of white stone. - Take the
car to the other side of the corner, Sergei - ordered the KGB agent, reaching for the door. - My Radio,
please.
- Yes, sir - said the aide, delivering a miniature electronic Inlcrcom. - Notice when you are ready.
- Can I talk to you all this?
- Yes, comrade. Beyond 150 meters, the frequency can not be detected.
- Come on, gentlemen.
In the lobby of marble, greeted Krupkin
with a gesture the caretaker behind the counter. Jason and Alex were the right of the Soviet Union.
- La porte est ouverte - said the caretaker, avoiding looking directly at them. - I will not be here when
you get madame II - continued in French. - I do not know as you entered, but there is a service entrance
at the rear of the building.
- If not, courtesy officer, should have gone for it - Krupkin said, looking straight ahead. The three headed
for the elevator.
The apartment was a sample of Lavier
elegant world of haute couture. The walls were covered with photos of the great fashion in big shows
and events, as well as reproductions of famous fashion designers. As a framework of Mondrian, the
furniture was very simple, bold colors, predominantly red, black and dark green. The chairs, sofas and
tables resembled vaguely chairs, sofas and tables - seemed more suited to a spaceship.
Almost instinctively, Conklin and Russia began examining the tables, reading the notes that were beside
the phone about something pearl curve, thick and dark it must be a table.
- If this is a table - said Alex - where the hell are the drawers and knobs?
- It is the ultimate of Leconte - Krupkin said.
- The tennis player? - Asked Conklin.
- No, Aleksei, designer furniture. You push and the drawer opens.
- Are you kidding
- Try it.
Conklin experienced a drawer and almost invisible jumped out of an opening also invisible.
- Holy crap ...
The radio in the pocket of Krupkin issued two high beeps.
- It should be Sergei - Dimitri said, taking the device out of his pocket. - You're in position, comrade? Asked.
- More than that - said the quiet voice helper accompanied by some static. - The woman Lavier has just
entered the building.
- The caretaker?
- Disappeared.
- Great. Hang ... Aleksei, get out of there. Lavier is
rising.
- You want to hide? - Asked Conklin,
mocking, turning the pages of the phone book.
- I prefer not to start with hostility, what will happen if she sees you looking your belongings.
- All right, all right. - Alex kept the book and
closed the drawer. - But if she will not cooperate, I will take the little black book.

- She will cooperate - said Bourne. - I told you, she wants to get out of it and the only way is with the
Jackal killed. The money is secondary, not unimportant, but it comes out first.
- Money? - Asked Conklin. - What money?
- I offered to pay and I pay.
- I can say that money is not secondary to Madame Lavier - noted Russian.
The noise of the key in the lock echoed through the room. The three men turned to the door, scared to
Dominique. But the scare lasted a split second, without any change in its apparent calm. With raised
eyebrows and pose regia model, put the key in the bag, looked at the intruders and said in English:
- Well, well, Kruppie, I should imagine that you
was somewhere in this bouillabaisse.
- Ah, the lovely Jacqueline, or we can stop pretending, Domie?
- Kruppie? - Alex exclaimed. - Domie? ... What is this, family gathering?
- Comrade Krupkin is one of the most popular
KGB agents in Paris - said Lavier, leaving the bag on the long table, cube-shaped, behind the sofa in
white silk. - To know him is de rigueur in certain circles.
- It has certain advantages, dear Domie. You can not imagine how much misinformation the Quai
D'Orsay me going through these circles, and I pretend to believe, knowing they are false. By the way, I
know you already know our high American friend and we got to negotiate with him, so I think I just need
to present your mate ... Madame, Monsieur Aleksei Konsolikov.
- I do not believe. It is not Soviet. My nose is trained to detect the kettle black bear.
- Oh, you set me destroys Domie! But you're right, it was an error of judgment of parents. Therefore, he
submits that, if you want.
- The name is Conklin, Alex Conklin, Miss Lavier, and I am American. However, our common friend
"Kruppie" is right about one thing. My parents were Russian and speak Russian fluently, so he can not
fool me when we are in the company of Russians.
- I think it's delicious.
- Well, at least it is appetizing, known Kruppie.
- I am wounded, mortally wounded! - Exclaimed
Krupkin. - But my wounds are not important for this meeting. Will work with us, Domie?
- I will work with you Kruppie. My God,
I will be working with you! I just want Jason Bourne clarify its offer. With Carlos'm a caged animal, but
without it I am a courtesan almost poor. I want him pay for the death of my sister and everything I did,
but did not want to sleep in the gutter.
- Name your price - said Jason.
- Type - recommended Conklin, looking Krupkin.
- Let me see - said Lavier passing behind the couch, heading for the table. - In a few years I'll be sixty one side or another, it is
immaterial - and without the Jackal and the absence of any fatal illness, I still have about 15 or twenty
years. - He leaned over the table, wrote, took the sheet of notepad and looked at the tall American. - To
you, Mr. Bourne, and I better not discuss. I think it's fair. Jason picked up the paper and read. A million
dollars, American.
- It's just - Bourne said, handing the paper back to Lavier. - Add how and where you want to receive,
which I provide when we leave here. The money will be
in place to pick tomorrow morning.
The elderly courtesan looked directly at him.
- I believe you - said, bowing again to write the instructions. Handed it back to Jason. - The deal is
done, monsieur, and may God grant us the death of the Jackal. Otherwise, we're dead.
- You're talking like a sister Magdalene?

- I'm talking like a sister terrified, nor

more and you can be sure, no less.
Bourne nodded.
- I have some questions. Will not you sit? .
- Oui. With a cigarette. - Lavier was plunging to the couch and the cushions, picked up the bag on the
table red. He took his pack of cigarettes and took the gold lighter on the coffee table. - A habit
unhygienic, but much needed - she said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. - Your
questions, monsieur!
- What happened at the Meurice? How it happened?
- The woman happened - a woman, I suppose
- Was what I did. As we agreed, you and your friend's Deuxime were prepared to kill Carlos when he
arrived, thinking they were going to catch him by surprise. For reasons no one knows, his wife cried
when you crossed the rue de Rivoli. The rest you saw ... Why told me to stay in a room at the Meurice,
knowing she was there?
- This answer is easy. I did not know. As we now?
- Carlos still trust me. He attributes the blame to his wife, was what I was told, and have no reason to
blame me. After all, you were there, which proves my loyalty. If not for the Deuxime agent, you would
be morto.Bourne agreed with a nod.
- How can you get in touch with him?
- Personally I can not. I never did and I have no desire to do. He prefers it that way and, as I said, the
checks arrive on time, so I do not need personal contact.
- But send messages to it - Jason insisted.
- I heard her on the phone.
- Yes, but never directly. I call one of the
old in cheap cafes - the names and numbers vary from week to week and few of them have no idea
what we're talking about, but those who know what it is to other callers immediately, and these callers
to yet others. Somehow the message reaches the destination. Quickly, I must say.
- What did I say? - Noted Krupkin
emphatically. - All messages end up in false names and cafes filthy. Stone walls!
- But reach their destination - said Alex Conklin,
repeating the words of Lavier.
- Kruppie, however, is right. - The elderly woman still attractive and took a long drag on his cigarette and
nervous. - The path is tortuous so that it can not be followed.
- It does not matter - said Alex, narrowing
eyes to something that others did not. - Messages arrive quickly to Carlos, it was clear.
- It is true.
Conklin turned his eyes wide open now, so Lavier.
- I want to send the message more urgent than
already sent the Jackal. need to speak with him directly. It
an emergency you can not trust anyone but
to Charles himself. .
- About what? - asked Krupkin. - What could be so urgent as to the Jackal agree? As our Mr. Bourne, he
is obsessed with traps and, in these circumstances, any direct communication smells trap!
Nodding, Alex walked, limping
to the window, squinting again, absorbed, with an expression of intense concentration. Then slowly
opened his eyes and watched the street below.
- My God, could work - muttered.
- What could work? - Wondered Bourne.

- Dimitri, hurry! Call the embassy and send bring the largest and most beautiful limousine you
proletarians, have.
- What?
- Do what I said! Quick!
- Aleksei ...
- Now!
The strength and urgency of the order were effective. The
Russian was quickly up the phone and dialed pearl, looking questioningly at Alex, who was still watching
the street. Lavier looked at Jason and he shook his head, puzzled too.Krupkin gave orders, in Russian,
with short sentences and authoritarian.
- It's done - the KGB officer said, hanging up. - Now, I think there should be a very compelling reason for
this.
- Moscow - Conklin replied, still looking out the window.
- Alex, for God's sake ...
- What did you say? - Roared Krupkin.
- We have to take Carlos Paris - Conklin said turning. - What can be better than Moscow?
- Before the stunned Russian could answer, Alex looked Lavier. - He said he still trusts you?
- There is no reason not to trust.
- So two words suffice. "Moscow emergency", this is the basis of the message that will give him. Talk as
you like, but can only say that speak directly to Carlos.
- But I never said. know men who spoke to him and that, when drunk, tried descrevlo, but for me it is a
complete stranger.
- Better yet - Conklin said, turning to Bourne Krupkin. - In this city, it is with all the trumps all. Firepower,
a network of impregnable killers and messengers and dozens and dozens of holes where you can hide
and where can attack. Paris is your territory, your protection - we can walk blindly through the city for
days, weeks, months, without achieving anything, until he had you and Marie in the sights of his gun
... and Mo and I can add the same script. London, Amsterdam, Brussels, Rome - all these cities would be
better for us than Paris, but the best is Moscow. Strange as it may seem, is the place in the world that
has an attraction for him almost hypnotic - and also less hospitable.
- Aleksei, Aleksei - Dimitri exclaimed Krupkin.
- Honestly, I think you should think back to drink, it is evident that is crazy! Say Domie can talk to him
and tell him what you sent. Do you really believe that, based only on "emergency"
in Moscow, he'll run out and take a plane to Russia? Madness!
- You can bet your last ruble black market I believe - said Conklin. - The message is
she just needs to talk to him directly. Then she explodes the bomb ... Just get an extraordinary
information that could only transmit directly, without going through the tunnels of the messengers.
- In the name of God, that information would that be?
- Lavier asked, taking another cigarette from the pack and lighting.
- The KGB in Moscow, is cracking down on
around the Jackal's man in Dzerzhinsky Square. Suspicions now limited to ten or 15 officials of the
highest rank. When you find him, Carlos will be
neutralized in Komitet - worse, will lose an informant who knows too much about him to fall into the
hands of interrogators Lubyanka.
- But how Lavier will know that? - Asked
Jason.
- Who will tell her? - Wondered Krupkin.
- It's true, is not it?

- How are your secret substations in Beijing, Kabul and - forgive my impertinence - to Prince Edward
Island in Canada, but you are not announcing to anyone who will listen - Krupkin said.
- I did not knew of Prince Edward Island - confessed Conklin. - But it turns out that there are times when
you do not need to advertise, simply convey information credibly. There are a few moments I had the
means, only authenticity, but this gap was filled ... Come here, Kruppie - just you for now, and do not
approach the window. Look at the corners of the curtain. - The
Russian obeyed. - What are you seeing? - Alex asked, pointing to a brown car and common avenue
Montaigne. - Does not fit with the neighborhood, combines?
Krupkin not bother to respond. Took the radio out of his pocket and pressed the transmitter.
- Sergei, there is a car brown to eighty
meters from the entrance of the building ...
- We know, sir - interrupted the helper. - It is covered by us and should have noticed that our backup is
crossed in front of him. Is that just an old
moves to look out the window.
- He has a phone in the car?
- No, comrade, and out of the car, will be followed, so can not take any calls, except to give us orders
otherwise.
- No, no order to the contrary. Thank you,
Sergei. Out. - The Russian looked at Conklin. - The old man - he said. - You saw him.
- Bald and everything else - Alex confirmed. - He
no fool. Have you done this before and knows he's being watched. Can not leave for fear of missing
something, and if I had a phone would be other cars on the avenue Montaigne.
- The Jackal - Bourne said, taking a step
forward. Stopped, remembering Conklin's warning about the window.
- Now, do you understand? - Alex asked,
addressing Krupkin.
- Of course - agreed the KGB agent with
a smile. - So called for a limo from our embassy. When we left, Carlos is told that a Soviet embassy
vehicle caught us, and why are we here if not to interrogate Madame Lavier?
Naturally, my company was a tall man who may or may not be Jason Bourne, and others lower, with a
bad leg - which confirms that it is Jason Bourne ... Our unholy alliance is confirmed and observed and
during the harsh interrogation of Madame Lavier, tempers flare and references are made to the
informant Coyote in Dzerzhinsky Square.
- On which I only knew from my conversation
with Santos in Coeur du Soldat - Jason said quietly. - So, Dominique has a reliable observer
- An old army old Carlos - to confirm your information ... I have to admit, Saint Alex, that his brain bepentyne not lost a bit of cunning.
- I'm listening to a teacher who met certain
time ... thought he had abandoned us.
- He abandoned.
- Just for a while, I hope.
- Okay, Aleksei. You still have the touch
magic can continue teetotaler, however disheartening it is for me ... Are always nuances, right?
- Not always, by any means - disagreed
Conklin simply, shaking his head. - Most of the time errors are jerks. For example, said our new
companion here, "Domie" as you call it affectionately, that Carlos still trust her, but it is not true, not
completely. So send an old watch the apartment - nothing more, just an insurance broker in a car that

does not fit with the Jaguars and Rolls-Royces neighborhood. So we paid the small policy and, with luck,
received the award. Moscow.
- Let me intellectualize - Krupkin said. Although you have always been better than me in that department. I prefer the best wines to deeper
thoughts, although the latter - in your country and in mine - invariably lead to the first.
- Merde! - Dominique Lavier cried, putting out his cigarette. - What are these idiots talking about?
- They will tell us believe - answered
Bourne.
- It has been recorded and repeated in insurance circles, over and over - continued Soviet - which, years
ago, we trained a madman in Novgorod and, years ago, we would have blown his brains out with a
bullet if he had not escaped. His methods, if they were sanctioned by any legitimate government,
especially the two superpowers, would lead to a confrontation that neither could afford. Also, in the
beginning he was a true revolutionary, with R uppercase and we, the ultraverdadeiros revolutionaries
deserdamos ... In his opinion, it was a great injustice, which he never forgot. Longs to return to his
mother's womb, for it was there that he was born ... Good God, the people he killed in the name of
"aggressors", making an incredible fortune with it is disgusting.
- But you have denied - said Bourne
deadpan voice - and he wants this sentence to be overturned. Want to be recognized as the master
assassin who trained you. All I and Alex plan based on your ego psycho ...Santos said the Jackal always
boasted of the team that is forming in Moscow "Always Moscow, is an obsession" - was what Santos said. The only specific person he knew, not by
name, was the "agent latent" or "mole" Carlos a high post in the KGB, but said Carlos stated that there
were other key posts in various departments and that as Monsignor, for years sent money to them.
- So the Jackal thinks he is forming a
center supporters within our government - noted Krupkin. - In spite of everything, still believe they can
return. No doubt it is an egomaniac, but I never understood the Russian mentality. Can corrupt awhile
some cynical opportunists, but these men, to protect themselves, will end up turning against
him. Nobody likes the idea of a season in the Lubyanka or a gulag in Siberia. The Jackal's Potemkin
village will be reduced to ashes.
- One more reason for him to run to Moscow
order to extinguish the fire - said Alex.
- What do you mean? - Asked Bourne.
- The fire will start with the discovery of
Jackal's man in Dzerzhinsky Square, he knows it. The only way to avoid is to arrive in Moscow and
expose their conditions. Or his informant plating internal security or the Jackal will have to kill him.
- I had forgotten - interrupted Bourne. One thing that Santos said ... most Russians paid by Jackal speaks French. Look for a man in a high
position of Komitet who speaks French.
The radio Krupkin called again with their
beeps barely muffled by his jacket Russian.
- Yes?
- I do not know how or why, buddy - said
Sergei strained voice - but the ambassador's limo just stop in front of the building. I swear I have no idea
what happened.
- I have. I asked the limo.
- But all will see the flag from the embassy!
- Including, I hope, an old alert a brown car. Let's go down soon. Out. - Krupkin voltouse to others. - The
car arrived, gentlemen. Where are we, Domie? And when?

- Tonight - Lavier said. - There will be a

show at Galerie d'Or, on the rue de Paradis. The artist is a young novice who wants to be rock star or
something, but it's all the rage now and everyone will be there.
- This evening, so ... Come, gentlemen. Contrary to our instincts, we must be very "visible"
when we get to the sidewalk.
The crowd moved in and out of the cones of light as a rock band luckily installed in a side room, away
from the area of exposure, undertook the deafening music. If not for the pictures on the walls,
illuminated by spotlights discrete, anyone would think that was a nightclub and not in one of the elegant
art galleries of Paris.
Through a series of signals, Dominique Lavier Krupkin led to a corner of the room. The smiles of the two
delicate, arched eyebrows and laughter intermittent disguised a serious conversation.
- The message passed through the old says that the monsignor will be away for a few days. However,
they should continue looking for the tall American and his crippled friend and write down all the places
in which they are seen.
- You must have worked very well.
- While I passed on the information he went silent. His breath, however, betrayed one extreme hatred. I
was chilled to the bone.
- He is the way to Moscow - said the Russian.
- Undoubtedly through Prague.
- What will you do now?
Krupkin looked up at the ceiling with a giggle and silent. After looking at her said, still smiling:
- Moscow.
33
BRYCE OGILVIE, associate director of Ogilvie, Spofford, Crawford and Cohen, prided itself on its
discipline. Not only their external appearance always controlled, but the calm cold imposing their
deepest fears in times of crisis. However, when it came to office - fifty minutes ago - and heard the
insistent ringing of your phone particular, felt a shiver of apprehension. It was too early for a call that
particular line. So, when he heard the voice with a strong accent, the Soviet consul general in New York,
demanding an immediate appointment, could not control the feeling of emptiness in the chest ... , and
when the Russian took the instructions - the order - Ogilvie to be at the Carlyle Hotel, Suite C-4, in an
hour, instead of the place where they always were, the apartment on the corner of Thirty-Two with
Madison Avenue excruciating pain filled the void in his chest. And when he meekly complained about
the unexpected meeting, out of the program, the pain turned into fire and the flames rose to her throat,
hearing the response of the Soviet Union.
- What'll show will make you fervently wish that we had never known, much less had the opportunity to
meet this morning. Es- teja there!
Ogilvie buried his body in the seat of the limousine,
with legs extended and rigid. Abstract Thoughts of personal wealth, power and influence swirled in his
mind. Needed to control! After all, it was Bryce Ogilvie, the Bryce Ogilvie, perhaps the most successful
associate attorney in New York and probably the second after Randolph Gates, of Boston, in the field of
corporate and antitrust law.
Gates! The memory of that bastard was Bemvinda that time. The Medusa had asked a small favor to the
famous Gates, an indication inconsequential and perfectly acceptable for a commission ad hoc, driven
by the government, and Gates nor bothered to respond to phone calls! Calls from other source perfectly
acceptable, the supposedly impartial and impeccable chief quartermaster of the Pentagon, a cretin
named General Norman Swayne, who always demanded the best information. Well, maybe more than
information, but Gates was not to know that ... Gates? There was something in the Times a few days ago
on the withdrawal of Gates of a hostile process of confiscation. What was it?

The limousine stopped in front of the Hotel Carlyle in the past preferred the Kennedy family in the city
of New York, and now temporary underground favorite of the Soviets. Ogilvie waited for the uniformed
driver opened the door and got out. Normally would not do it because he thought that the delay was an
unnecessary affectation, but this morning did,had to control. Ogilvie needed to be cold as ice to his
opponents feared. The rise in the elevator to the fourth floor was fast, the walk down the hall to the
suite 4c, much more slowly, a much shorter distance. Bryce Ogilvie deep breath and calmly straightened
up and pressed the doorbell. Twenty-eight seconds later, marked irritation while the lawyer had "one
thousand, two thousand," ad nauseam, the door was opened by the Soviet consul-general, a thin man of
medium height, long face, very white skin and stretched and huge brown eyes. Vladimir Sulikov was a
man of 73 years old, thin, wiry and energetic, former professor of history at the University of Moscow,
convinced Marxist, but oddly, considering his position, was not a member of the Communist Party. In
fact, was not committed to any political orthodoxy, preferring the passive role of the individual
unorthodox within a collectivist society. That and a lively intelligence and insightful contributed to it
were sent to posts where most men would not conformists half its efficiency. The combination of these
attributes more fidelity to exercise meant that Sulikov looked 15 years younger than he was. Everyone
who dealt with him felt the force of their presence and wisdom gained through the years,
complemented by an extremely youthful vitality. The two men greeted each other sharp and dryly. After
reaching out to the visitor, Sulikov invited him to sit with a gesture disk, and stood in front of the
fireplace in the suite, as the narrow frame of white marble were a blackboard, hands behind his back,
the figure of a teacher ready to interrogate and nervous at the same time instructing a student
questioning and restless.
- Let the matter - said the Russian dryly.
- Have you heard the Admiral Peter Holland?
- Of course. Is CIA Director. Why do you ask?
- He's one of yours?
- No.
- Are you absolutely sure?
- Of course I have.
- It is possible that it has become one of its
without your knowledge?
- No way, I do not know the man. And
if this is a kind of interrogation amateur, Soviet-style, I think I ought to do with anyone else.
- Oh, dear, elegant American lawyer makes
objection to some simple questions?
- I do object to the insult. You made a startling statement to the phone. I demand an explanation, so
please explain.
- I'll get there, sir adviser, believe me, I'll get there, but in my own way. We, Russians, protect our flanks,
a lesson learned from the tragedy and triumph of Stalingrad - an experience that you, the Americans
never had.
- I come from another war, as you know very
well - Ogilvie said dryly. - But if the history books tell the truth, you have been helped by his Russian
winter.
- It is difficult to explain to thousands and thousands of dead Russians frozen.
- All right, receives condolences and my
congratulations, but it has nothing to do with the explanation that I ordered.
- I'm just trying to explain a truism,
young man. As already said, we are more likely to repeat the painful lessons of history that we are disnised ... You see, we protect our flanks, and if someone in our diplomatic arena suspect that we have

been deceived and involved in some international embarrassment, reinforce these flanks. It's a very
simple lesson for a scholar like you.
- It is so obvious as to be trivial. What
with Admiral Holland?
- I'll get there ... First, tell me what you know about a man named Alexander Conklin.
Bryce Ogilvie threw her body forward in a
abrupt gesture of astonishment.
- Where did you get that name? - Asked
almost inaudibly.
- There's more ... Someone named Panov, Mortimer
or Moishe Panov, a Jewish doctor, believe. And finally, sir counselor, a couple that we assume to be
Jason Bourne, the assassin, and his wife.
- My God - Ogilvie said his body tense, his eyes wide. - What do these people have to do with us?
- It's what we know - Sulikov replied,
staring at the Wall Street lawyer. Of course everyone knows them, right?
- Well, yes - no! - Ogilvie protested his face very flushed, stumbling over words. - On a completely
different situation. It has nothing to do with our business - a business in which we have invested millions
and we are developing for twenty years!
- And with whom have made millions, counselor,
may I remember this detail.
- Capital invested in the international market! exclaimed the lawyer. - It is not a crime in this country. The di-neer flows across the oceans at the touch
of a computer button. not a crime!
- Really? - The consul general Soviet lifted
eyebrows. - I thought you were better lawyer than this statement suggests. You have been buying cm
companies across Europe through mergers and acquisitions on behalf of brows-rail and non-existent
companies. Firms that represent you acquire sources of supply, usually of the same markets, and thus
you can determine prices among former competitors. I believe that's called collusion and restraint of
trade, legal terms that do not apply to the Soviet Union, since there state determines prices.
- There is no proof of these accusations Olgilvie said.
- Of course not, as long as the lawyers
to bribe unscrupulous liars and liars and advise. It is an enterprise tortuous, brilliantly executed, and we
both have profited from it. There
years you sell us what we ask for, including special items of the shortlist of your government, under
various names so that our computers broke down trying to figure out their origins.
- No Taste - emphatically insisted the Wall Street lawyer.
- I'm not interested in evidence, counselor. Only
interest me the names I mentioned. In this order, Admiral Peter Holland, Alexander Conklin, Dr. Panov
and finally Jason Bourne and his wife. Please talk about them.
- Why? - asked Ogilvie. - Just explain that they have nothing to do with you or me, nothing to do with
our agreement.
- We thought you might have, so why
not begin with Admiral Peter Holland?
- Oh, for God's sake ...! - The lawyer, very agitated, shook his head, stammered and finally said: - Holland
- all right, you will see ... We recruited a man at the CIA, one analyst called DeSole who panicked and
wanted to get off of us. It

clear that we could not afford it, so they had to be eliminated - eliminated professionally - as we had to
do with others who were dangerously unstable. Holland and probably should have known that they
were suspected of crimes but can not get past the suspicions - we hire professionals leave no trace,
never.
- Okay - Sulikov said, looking intently at the nervous lawyer. - The following Alexander Conklin.
- It is a former department head of the CIA and connected to Panov, who is a psychiatrist - both are
linked to the man they call Jason Bourne and his wife. It
an old connection actually provided Saigon. You understand, were infiltrated many of our identified and
threatened, and DeSole concluded that Bourne, with the help of Conklin, was responsible.
- How could he do this?
- I do not know. Just know that it has to be eliminated and our professional staff accepted the contract contracts. All they have to die.
- You mentioned Saigon.
- Bourne belonged to the former Medusa - admitted
Ogilvie, quietly. - And like most of those men was a misfit thief ... It may have been a simple thing like
having recognized someone from that time. The story was heard by DeSole that this garbage, this
Bourne - by the way, this is not his real name
- Was actually trained by the Agency to pose for an international assassin, in order to attract a killer they
call the Jackal. The strategy failed and Bourne was retired - permanently."Thanks for trying, my old, but
it's all over." Obviously he wanted much more than that, then came behind us ... You understand now,
do not you? Are two separate cases, no connection. One has nothing to do with the other.
The Russian uncrossed his hands behind his back and took a step forward. Seemed more concerned than
alarmed.
- Is he blind, or so narrow-minded that he sees
nothing of your venture?
- For starters, I reject the insult. What the hell is this?
- There is a connection because she was purposely created with one goal mind. You were just a
byproduct, a secondary problem that has become suddenly very important for the authorities.
- I. .. I do not understand - whispered Ogilvie,
paling.
- You just said, 'a killer they call the Jackal "and before that quoted Bourne as a petty crook, trained to
impersonate assassin, a strategy that failed, and so he was retired," forever ", I think that's what he said.
- That's what I said ...
- What else you said about Carlos the Jackal? About the man who uses the name Jason
we know about them?
- To be honest, very little. Two elderly murderers, thugs who chase each other for years. Actually, who
cares? My only concern is to keep secret our organization - what you seem to question.
- Yet understood, is not it?
- Understand what, for God's sake?
- Bourne might not be the villain insignificant you think it is, do not take into account your friends.
- Please be clearer - Ogilvie said, flatly.
- He is using the Medusa to hunt the Jackal.
- Impossible! That Medusa was destroyed years ago in Saigon.
- Of course, he does not think so. Would you mind taking your stylish jacket, roll up his sleeve and show
his tattoo on the inside of the arm?
- It does not matter! A mark of honor in
war no one supported, but in which we had to fight!

- Come on, counselor. The pier and supply depots in Saigon? Stealing outrageously its own armed forces
and sending messengers to the banks of Switzerland. Do not give these medals for acts of heroism.
- Pure speculation without any basis! exclaimed Ogilvie.
- Tell that to Jason Bourne, a graduate of the original ... Serpent Woman Oh, yes, counselor, he sought,
found and are using to attract the Jackal
his trap.
- For God's sake, how?
- Frankly, I do not know, I think you better bad
read this. - The consul general was quickly up to the table, picked up a sheaf of papers typed and handed
Ogilvie. - Telephone conversations are exchanged for four hours and deciphered by our embassy in
Paris. Identifications and origins have been proven. Read carefully, counselor, then give his legal
opinion. Famed attorney, Ogilvie cold as ice, grabbed the papers and began to read. As we passed from
one page to the other, his face acquired a pallor death.
- My God, they know everything. My offices are bugged. how? Why? 's crazy! We are impregnable!
- Again I suggest you tell that to Jason Bourne and his friend, the former chief of station in Saigon,
Alexander Conklin. They found them.
- It is not possible! - Roared Ogilvie. - We bribed or eliminated all Snake Lady who could suspect the
extent of our activities. Jesus, there were many and very few in the field! I said it was rubbish and really
were - were thieves around the world, wanted for crimes in Australia and the Far East. Those who were
in combat, and we knew we found!
- Apparently, they forgot a couple Sulikov noted.
The lawyer returned the typed sheets with wet forehead with sweat.
- God of heaven, I'm ruined - murmured, his voice cracking.
- This idea also occurred to me - said the Soviet consul general in New York - but there are options, no?
... It is clear that there is only one course of action for us. How much of the continent, were duped by
capitalist pirates. Sheep led to the altars of greed, while this cartel American thieves took the markets by
storm, selling materials and services less than extortionate prices, stating and proving false documents
that were allowed Washington to deliver us and our satellites thousands of restricted items his
government and his country.
- You son of a bitch! - Ogilvie exploded. - You
- You all - cooperated with us at all. You lifted millions for us in the bloc, diverted, exchanged
names. Christ, painted again - ships that the route of the Mediterranean, Aegean, Bosphorus, Marmara
up, not to mention the Baltic ports!
- Prove it, counselor - Sulikov said, laughing softly. - If you want, I can provide a desertion honorable for
you. Moscow would greatly appreciate your skills.
- What? - exclaimed the lawyer, in a panic.
- Well, it certainly can not stay here nor a
time than necessary. Read these words, Mr. Ogilvie. You are in the last stages of electronic surveillance,
about to be caught by the authorities.
- Oh, my God ...
- Could perhaps operate in Hong Kong or Macau - some would welcome the fine money, but with the
current problems with the markets of the continent and with the Sino-British Treaty of 97, probably. will
not approve the charges against you. I would say that Switzerland is out of the question, the reciprocal
laws are so narrow nowadays, as Vesco had occasion to prove. Ah, Vesco. You could join him in Cuba.
- Stop it! - Ogilvie shouted.

- Or you could offer to testify in favor of the prosecution. There is so much to reveal. Maybe reduce
some ten years of his sentence of thirty.
- Stop it, or I'll kill you!
The door opened and a guard appeared consulate in threatening attitude, with his hand inside his
jacket. The lawyer, who had risen from a jump and stood, shaking uncontrollably, he returned to his
chair and leaned forward, his head in his hands.
- Such behavior would not be well seen - Sulikov said. - Come on, counselor, is a time for cool heads, not
emotional outbursts.
- How can you say that? - Asked Ogilvie
a choked voice, almost crying. - I paid!
- An extreme statement for a man so
resourceful. I'm serious. It is true that you can not stay here, but even so, its resources are
immense. Look act this position of strength. Compel others to certain concessions. Is the art of
survival. In the end, the authorities will recognize the value of their contribution, as with Bloesky, Levine
and dozens of others who meet their minimum sentences playing tennis and backgammon still enjoying
their fortunes. Try.
- How? - The lawyer said, raising the
red eyes and pleading for Russian.
- "Where" comes first - Sulikov explained. - Look for a neutral country that has no extradition treaty with
Washington, where government officials can be persuaded to assure temporary residence to continue
their commercial activities
- The word "temporary" is extremely elastic, of course. Bahrain, the UAE, Morocco, Turkey, Greece attractive possibilities abound. All circles with English speaking ... We can even help you, perhaps, very
quietly.
- Why would they do that?
- Are you blind again, Mr. Ogilvie. For a price, is
of course ... You have an extraordinary operation in Europe. Is firm and running, and under our control,
can give us a lot of profit.
- Oh .. My ... God - said the head of Medusa, by looking at the consul general.
- Will have another choice, counselor? ... Come, we must hurry. Steps should be taken. Thankfully the
day is starting.
At 3:25 o'clock in the afternoon, Charles Casset entered the office of Peter Holland in the CIA.
- We have a loophole - the assistant director said, adding with less enthusiasm. - More or less.
- FIRM Ogilvie? - Asked the director of
CIA.
- From left - Casset replied, putting several
stacks of photographs on the desk of Holland. - These were sent by fax from Kennedy Airport, an hour
ago. Believe me, were threescore minutes a lot of anxiety since.
- From Kennedy? - Frowning, Peter studied copies. It was a sequence of photographs showing a lot of
people passing by electronic detectors in the airport terminals. The head of a man was marked by a red
circle in all the photos. - What is it? Who is he?
- Are passengers going to the waiting room of Aeroflot, the way to Moscow, Soviet aircraft, of
course. Part of routine security shoot American citizens traveling on that line.
- Okay. Who is he?
- Ogilvie in person.
- What?
- Is the flight of two hours nonstop to Moscow ... Except that it is not officially.
- How?

- Three separate phone calls to his office obtained the same information. He is out of the country, in
London, at the Dorchester, which we know is not
truth. However, the Dorchester has confirmed the reservation, but Ogilvie said he has not yet arrived, so
are putting messages for him.
- I do not understand, Charlie.
- It is a smokescreen arranged with much
hurry. For starters, why would a rich man like Ogilvie when traveling by Aeroflot can take the Concorde
to Paris and Air France flight to Moscow? In addition, his office says he is in London or on the way to
London when he is going to Moscow?
- The flight of Aeroflot is obvious - said Holland. It is a government-owned company and is under the protection of the Soviets. The Dorchester, London
business is also not
difficult to understand. It is to outwit - my God, to mislead!
- Exactly right, master. Then Valentino found, with all that fancy equipment and basement ... guess
what? Mrs. Ogilvie and two teenagers have reservations on the flight of Royal Air Morocco to
Casablanca, with a stop in Marrakesh.
- Marrakesh ... Air Morocco, Marrakesh. Wait a minute. Those computer printouts about the guests of
the Hotel Mayflower, which Conklin gave us to examine, there was a woman - one of three people he
thought were connected with the Medusa - who had been in Marrakesh.
- Congratulations on your memory, Peter. The woman and the woman Ogilvie were roommates at the
University Bunnington in the early '70s. Traditional families and good background can always be
together and exchange confidences.
- Charlie, who the hell is going on?
- The Ogilvie were warned and are fleeing. Also, if I'm not mistaken, and if we examine several bank
accounts, we see that million was transferred from New York to God knows where, beyond these
shores.
- And then?
- Medusa is now in Moscow, Mr. Director.
34
LOUIS DeFazio declined tired taxi in Massena Avenue, followed by his cousin Mario from Larchmont,
New York, larger, heavier and much stronger. Stopped on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant with
the name Tetrazzini's written in red on the green glass of the window.
- It's here - said Louis. - Must be in a booth in the back.
- It's late - Mario looked at his watch to
street light. - My watch is the hour from Paris, is
almost midnight here.
- They expect.
- You have not told me their names, Lou.
How will I call them?
- Do not go - said DeFazio, walking
to the door. - No names - anyway, do not mean anything. All you have to do is treat them with respect,
know what I mean?
- Do not have to tell me, Lou, do not need
same - complained Mario with his soft voice. - But to my information, why think of that?
- He is a diplomat of high class - explained the capo supremo, stopping for a moment and looking up at
the man who almost killed Jason Bourne in Manassas, Virginia. - He works in Rome, in high government
circles, but is in direct contact with the gifts of Sicily. He and his wife are very considered, understand
what I'm saying?

- Yes, and no - admitted cousin. - If it is so

important because it accepted a job as prosaic as following our targets?
- Because he can. could go places that some of our pagliacci can not get close, you know what I'm
saying? Also I told our men in New York, who are our customers, especially one of
them, capisce? The gifts, of Manhattan to the states south of Palermo, have a language that only they
know, knew, cugino? .. . summarized into two orders. "Do" and
"Do not."
- I think I understand, Lou. We owe them respect.
- Respect, yes, my cousin elegant, but not weakness, capisce? Everyone, from highest to lowest should
know that this is an operation under the control of Lou DeFazio from beginning to end. understood it?
- In this case, I think I can go back home to Angie and the kids - Mario said with a grin.
- What? ... Now shut up, cugino. Only with this work will pay annuities of all his band of bambinos.
- Not a bunch, Lou, only five.
- Come on. Remember, respect, but not put up with
no shit.
The dining room was reserved a miniature version of Tetrazzirti's decor. The atmosphere was
completely Italian. The walls adorned with faded murals of Venice, Rome and Florence, the soft music of
the built-in speakers was made especially operatic arias and tarantelas, recessed lighting and shadows
formed pockets. If the customer does not know he was in Paris, believed to be dining at Via Frascati,
Rome, one of several ristoranti commercial type family, the old street. A large round table in the center
was covered by a towel bright red, which was almost to the ground, surrounded by four chairs
equidistant. There were other chairs against the wall, in case conferences or subalterns, usually
armed. On one side of the table was a man-sized distinct and dark hair dark and wavy, and on your left a
middle-aged, smartly dressed and coiffed. Between the two, a bottle of Chianti Classico and glasses with
thick legs, not the kind you see in fine dining. The chair, behind the diplomatic was a leather briefcase
black.
- I am DeFazio - said the capo supremo
New York, closing the door. - This is my cousin Mario, who must have heard - one very talented man
who is deprived of precious moments with family to join us.
- Yes, of course - said the mobster aristocrat. Mario, il buoy Esecuzione garantito - deadly with any weapon. Sit down, gentlemen.
- For me, this description does not make sense Mario replied, approaching the chair. - I'm good at my art, that's all.
- Speak like a professional, signore - said the woman, while DeFazio and Mario sat. - Can I order wine for
the ladies, drinks?
- Yet - replied Louis. - Perhaps more
afternoon
- Maybe ... My talented cognate, may she rest in the arms of Christ, asked a good question, before we
go. How should we call them, Mr. and Mrs. Paris, France? That means I do not have the real names,
- Conte and Contessa, as we call it - the man said with a cold smile, more suitable for a mask than for a
human face.
- See what I meant, cugino? They are people of high ... So, Mr. Earl, how about we break the news?
- Undoubtedly, Signor DeFazio - Roman replied, his voice as cold as the smile had disappeared.
- I'll tell the news and if you were in my power I would leave in the distant past.
- Hey, you fucking talking about?
- Lou, please! - brought Mario, quietly but firmly. - Look at this language!
- And the language it? What kind of language is this? He wants to leave me a kind of dirt?

- He asked what had happened, Signor DeFazio and I'm telling you - said the count in a strained voice. Yesterday at noon my wife and I were almost dead - dead, SignorDeFazio. Not the kind of experience
we're used to or that we can tolerate. Any idea of the thing you're into?
- Do you ...? They marked you?
- If you mean if they knew who I was, not, thankfully they did not. If they knew we would not be sitting
at this table!
- Signor DeFazio - the countess said, glancing at her husband, as if trying to calm him.
- What we learned here was that you have a contract for the cripple and his friend, the doctor. Is it true?
- It - confirmed the capo supremo cautiously. - That too, but has more, if you know what I'm saying.
- I have no idea - replied the Count
dryly.
- I'm saying this because it may need your help, for which, as I said, will be paid very well, very well
indeed.
- How does "have more" in the contract? - Asked the woman.
- Has anyone else we settle. A third man who came to find these two here. The earl and his countess
exchanged glances.
- "A third man" - repeated the man
Rome, taking the cup of wine to his lips. - I understand ... A contract with three targets is often very
lucrative. How profitable, Signor DeFazio?
- Now, what I am wondering how much you earn
a week in Paris, France? Let's just say it's
too much and you both personally can expect six figures, if everything goes by the book.
- Six figures cover a lot of variation - remarked the countess. - It also indicates that the contract should
be seven digits.
- Seven ...? - DeFazio looked at the woman, holding her breath.
- More than a million dollars - completed
Countess.
- Well, they understand it is important for our
customers that these people leave this world - Louis said, breathing again, since not meant seven-digit
seven million. - Do not ask why, just do the work. In situations like this our gifts are generous. We get
almost all the money and " cosa nostra " gains fame efficient. Sure, Mario?
- Okay, Louis, but I do not engage in such things.
- You're being paid, is not, cugino?
- Otherwise I would not be here, Lou.
- See what I mean? - Louis turned to the mob European aristocrats, who showed no reaction, continuing
to look for the capo supremo.
- Hey, what's up? ... Oh, that thing that happened yesterday, right? What was - they saw
them, right? They saw the gorilla and some gave some shots to scare them, it was, was not it? I mean,
what else could it be, huh? They did not know who you were, but you were there-once or twice more,
perhaps - so used a little muscle, right? It is an old scam.Preach a scare darn weird in that you see more
than once.
- Lou, I asked to control his language.
- Check? I'm losing control. want to do business!
- Speaking course - the earl said, softly and raised eyebrows, ignoring the speech DeFazio. - He says he
has to kill the cripple and his friend, the doctor, and a third man, am I right?
- Speaking course is.
- You know who this third man - besides
a picture or a detailed description?

- Sure, it's a worm government that there are some

years was sent to do what Mario is here, one Esecuzione, can you believe it? But these three individuals
harmed our customers, I mean hurt really. Therefore the contract, what more can I say?
- We're not sure - said the Countess, gracefully taking a sip of wine. - You may not know it.
- Know what?
- Knowing that there is someone who wants to kill this third man much more than you want - said the
earl. - Yesterday noon he assaulted a small cafe in the field, with a shooting killer and killed a lot of
people, just because your third man was there
inside. We were also ... We saw - the saw - be warned by a guard and run out. Some emergencies are
intercommunicating. We left immediately, minutes before the massacre.
- Condannare! - DeFazio said. - Who's the bastard who wants the contract? Tell!
- We spent all afternoon yesterday and all day today trying to figure out - said the woman, leaning
forward and gently holding the cup coarse, as if it were an offense to their sensibilities. - Their targets
are never alone. There are always men around them, armed guards and at first we did not know where
they came from. Then, on the Avenue Montaigne saw a limo pick them Soviet, and his third man was in
the company of a well-known man of the KGB.
Now, we think we know.
- However, only you can confirm - said
Count. - What do you call the third man of the contract?
No doubt we have a right to know.
- Why not? It's called a loser Bourne,
Jason Bourne, who is blackmailing our customers.
- Ecco - the earl said quietly.
- Ultimo - said the countess. - What do you know about this Bourne? - Asked.
- What I said. He was entrusted with a
secret mission for the government and went away by the great Washington. Was furious and decided
assacar our customers. A worm.
- Never heard of Carlos the Jackal? - Earl said, leaning back in his chair, never taking his eyes from the
capo supremo.
- Oh, yes, I've heard and I know what you mean. They say this guy the Jackal, Bourne has such hate and
vice versa, but this has nothing to do with me. Want to know something, I thought that cat-fox existed
only in books, film, understand the what I mean? Then tell me that he is real and who is a paid assassin,
what do you think of that?
- Very real - agreed the countess.
- But, as I said, I do not care a damn.
I want the doctor crazy Jew, the crippled, and this garbage Bourne, that's all. And I want the truth.
The diplomat and his wife looked at each other again, lifted his shoulders in a gesture almost of mockery
and Countess gave the word to her husband.
- Your sense of fiction was shattered by reality
- Said the earl.
- How?
- There was a Robin Hood, you know, but it was not a nobleman of Locksley. It was a barbaric Saxon
chief who fought against the Normans, bloodthirsty murderer and a thief, exalted only in
legends. And there was an innocent Third, a pope who had nothing innocent and wild continued the
policy of his predecessor, St. Gregory the Seventh, who had nothing holy. The three made Europe into
pieces, divided by rivers of blood in the name of political power and to fill the coffers of the "Holy
Empire". Centuries before there wasthe gentle Quintus Cassius Longinus Rome, beloved protector of
future Spain who mutilated and tortured thousands of Spaniards.

- What the hell is this?

- These men were dressed in fiction,
Signor DeFazio, the truth about them was covered with robes of various colors, but despite these
distortions, they existed, were real. As the Jackal is a reality that will cause you many
problems. Unfortunately, it is also a problem for us, because it is a complication that can not accept.
- How? - The capo supremo gaped at the Italian aristocrat.
- The presence of the Soviets seemed alarming and enigmatic - continued the count. - So finally
understand the possible connection, you just confirmed ... For years Moscow has been hunting Carlos
with a single goal, run it, and all it has achieved so far is the death of his hunters. Somehow
- God knows how - Jason Bourne negotiated with the Russians to realize the shared vision.
- Jesus Christ! Speak English or Italian, but with words that make sense. I have not studied at Harvard
City Col-lege, not needed, capisce?
- Yesterday the Jackal attacked in that restaurant
field. He is the one who is chasing Jason Bourne, who made foolish to return to Paris and convinced the
Soviets to help him. Stupid, because it is Paris and Carlos will be the winner. It will kill Bourne and his
other two targets and will laugh at the Russians. Then will announce the clandestine departments of all
governments that he won, he is thepadrone, the conductor. You, in America, never knew the whole
story, only parts of it, for their interest in Europe is limited to the money. But we live in, watching
fascinated, and now we are hypnotized. Two masters of crime, middle-aged, obsessed by hatred, each
seeking to cut the other's throat.
- Hey, wait a minute, man! - Cried DeFazio.
- The Bourne worm is a farce, contraffazione. He was never a killer!
- Wrong, signore - said the countess. - He may not have entered the arena with a gun, but she has
become his favorite instrument. Ask the Jackal.
- Fuck the Jackal! - DeFazio said, standing up.
- Lou!
- Oh, shut up, Mario! This Bourne is mine, ours! We deliver the bodies and photographs. I - we
- Hair by holding the bodies with a dozen ice picks stuck in them. Thus, one can say that the work was
not ours!
- Now you're being pazzo - Mafia Earl said in a low voice, in contrast to the clamor of the capo supremo.
- And please, keep your voice down.
- So, do not tease me ...
- Lou, he is trying to explain things - said his cousin the killer. - I want to hear what the gentleman has to
say because it can be very important to my plans. seat, cousin - Louis obeyed. - Please continue, Earl.
- Thank you, Mario. Does not matter that the call
Mario?
- Of course not, sir.
- I think you should visit Rome, what do you think?
- I think we should go back to Paris - said the capo supremo.
- Okay - agreed the Roman, dividing the
attention between DeFazio and his cousin, but favoring the latter. - Could maybe hit three targets with a
sniper rifle, but would not come near the bodies. The Soviet guards were guarding the area, virtually
invisible, and if you saw would open fire, thinking it was the people of the Jackal!
- Then we need to create a diversion to isolate targets - said Mario, with his elbows on the table and
intelligent eyes on Earl. - Maybe an emergency in the early hours of the morning. A fire in the place
where they are staying, forcing them to leave. I've done it before. In the confusion, with the sirens of fire
trucks and police and general panic, we can isolate the targets and complete the work.
- A good strategy, Mario, but we have to think of the Soviet guards.

- We make them out too!

- You are only two - the diplomat said and they have at least three guards in Barbizon, not to mention the hotel in Paris, where they are
staying the doctor and crippled.
- In this case, we have to overcome them. - The capo supremo wiped the sweat from his brow with the
back of his hand. Barbizon attacked first, right?
- Only two men? - Asked the countess,
goggling well. painted.
- You are men! - DeFazio said. We can use some ... I paid.
Nodding slowly Earl said in a calm voice:
- We will not declare war on the Jackal. These are my instructions.
- Marics motherfuckers!
- An interesting comment coming from you remarked the countess with a smile insulting.
- Perhaps our gifts are not as generous as yours - the diplomat continued. - We are willing to cooperate
to some extent, nothing more.
- You'll never send goods to
New York, Philadelphia or Chicago!
- Let's leave this matter to our superiors, right?
They were interrupted by four strong beats in the stall door.
- Avanti - said the earl. Immediately took the automatic belt and hid under the towel long table, smiling
to Tetrazzini's manager, standing in the doorway.
- Emergenza - said the fat man, walking quickly to the mobster dressed and delivering a paper.
- Grazie.
- Prego - the man said, turning to the door and out quickly.
- The gods eager Sicily should be smiling for you, after all - the earl said, reading. - This message is the
man who is following his targets. Are outside of Paris and alone, and for reasons beyond my
comprehension, no guard. Are completely unprotected.
- Where? - DeFazio said, rising to his feet.
Without answering, the diplomat took out his gold lighter, ignited and burned the little piece of paper,
tossing it in the ashtray. Mario stood up quickly. Man of Rome put the lighter on the table and lifted the
gun was in his lap.
- First, let's settle the payment - said while the paper was reduced to ashes in the ashtray. Our gifts in Palermo are definitely not as generous as yours. Please speak quickly, because every minute
is precious.
- You son of a mare, miserable.
- My ancestry is not in your account. How, Signor DeFazio?
- I go to the ceiling - the capo supremo said, sitting again and looking at the ashes of the information in
the ashtray. - Three hundred thousand Americans. It
everything.
- It is crap - said the countess. - Try again. The seconds turn into minutes and you do not have that time.
- Okay, okay! Twice.
- Other expenses - the woman added.
- That shit costs?
- Your cousin Mario is right - the diplomat said. - Please control your language in front of my wife.
- Shit holy ...

- I told you, signore. expenses are more than a quarter million Americans.
- What's with you, crazy?
- No, you're ordinary. The total is one million five hundred thousand dollars, paid to messengers in New
York, so it's providing ... Otherwise, will miss you in - what is it? - Brooklyn Heights, Signor DeFazio.
- Where are the targets? - Asked the capo supremo, feeling painfully defeat.
- In a small private airport in Pontcarr, the forty-five minutes Paris. Are waiting for a plane that was
going down in Poitiers because of bad weather. The plane could not reach before l: 15h.
- Brought the equipment we ask? - Mario asked, quickly.
- Here - said the Countess, pointing
for the black bag on the chair against the wall.
- A car, a car fast! - DeFazio said, while his killer picked up the suitcase.
- Outside - said the earl. - The driver knows where to take them. He knows that airport.
- Come on, cugino. tonight we do our work and you hit your bills!
No one else was in the only room of the small airport terminal in Pontcarr beyond the employee
behind the counter and the flight controller, hired for a few extra hours in the control tower. Alex
Conklin and Mo Panov stood quietly behind when Bourne took Marie to the area in front of the field,
behind a low fence of metal. The two rows of amber lights that marked the long runway to the plane
that had arrived from Poitiers, were lit.
- Will not be long now - said Jason.
- All this drug is stupid - the woman said Webb. - All of this.
- There is no reason for you to stay and many reasons to leave. Being alone in Paris would be
absurd. Alex is right. If staff to find Carlos, they would take a hostage. To take that risk?
- Because I know how to hide and why not
I want to be a thousand miles from you. Desculpeme if I care about you, Mr. Bourne. And if you like.
Jason looked at her, thanking the little light that prevented him from seeing his eyes.
- So, be reasonable and use your head - said coldly, feeling suddenly too old to pretend such a lack of
feeling. - We know that Carlos is in Moscow and Krupkin behind him.Dimitri will take us by plane
tomorrow morning, and will be under the protection of the KGB in the city closed the world. What more
can you want?
- You were under the protection of the U.S. government in a small block of East Side, New York, 13 years
ago, and it did not help much.
- It was very different. At that time, the Jackal knew where I was going to be and when. Now, he did not
have any idea that we know who is in Moscow. He has other problems, too important, and thinks that
we are here in Paris - left orders to his people continue to look for us here.
- What will you do in Moscow?
- Just let us know when we get there, but be
it is, is better than here, in Paris. Krupkin prepared everything. All employees of Dzerzhinsky Square who
speak French are under surveillance. He said that the fact of speaking French limited the possibilities and
that something has to happen ... Something will happen, the advantages are on our side. And when it
does not want to worry, thinking of you in Paris.
- It is the most beautiful thing you've said in the past 36 hours.
- Okay. You know very well that must be
with children. Will be safe and out of their reach ... and children need you. Mrs. Cooper is formidable,
but it is not their mother. Moreover, by this time, his brother should be giving Cuban cigars for Jamie
and playing Monopoly with him real money.
With a loving smile on her lips and voice, Marie looked up at her husband.
- Thanks for making me laugh. I needed.

- It may be true - his brother, I mean. If there is any beautiful woman there, our son probably already
lost her virginity.
- David! - Bourne was silent. Marie chuckled and continued. - I guess I can not even argue with you.
- Discuss if my argument was flawed, Dr. St. Jacques. I learned this in the last 13 years.
- I'm still against this trip crazy to Washington! Hence to Marseille, then London, then to Dulles. It would
be much simpler to take a plane at Orly, straight to the U.S..
- Idea of Peter Holland. He will wait for her at the airport so you can make your complaint
personally. Peter does not talk much on the phone. I do not want to communicate with the French
authorities fearing leaks to the staff of Charles. A woman alone with a common name in crowded flights,
it is probably
the best.
- I spend more time sitting in airports
than in air.
- It is possible therefore cover these fantastic legs and take a Bible.
- This is a charm - Marie said, touching
take his face. - Suddenly I hear David.
- What? - Bourne did not respond to heat in
her voice.
- Nothing ... Do me a favor?
- What is it? - Jason asked flatly.
- Bring that back to me David.
- Let us know about the plane - said
Bourne sharply, holding her elbow and leading her inside. 'm getting old - old - and I can not be what I'm
not for much longer. The Chameleon is afas- ing. Your imagination is not the same. But I can not
stop! Not now! Get away from me, David Webb!
As they entered the room, the desk phone started ringing. The only employee present answered.
- Oui? - listened for no more than five seconds. - Merci. - hung up and turned to the four, saying in
French: - It was the tower. The aircraft must land Poitiers approximately within four minutes. The pilot
asked for her to be ready, ma'am, because he wants to get out before it gets here in front that moves
east.
- I also want - Marie agreed, quickly approaching Alex Conklin and Mo Panov. The farewells were brief,
strong hugs, sincere words. Bourne took the woman out again.
- I just remembered - where are the guards
of Krupkin? - She asked, when Jason opened the gate and walked the runway lit.
- We do not need them or want us
follow - Jason said. - The connection was made in the Soviet avenue Montaigne, so we must assume that
the embassy is being watched. If you do not see guards rushed out with their cars, think that there is no
movement to communicate to our staff Carlos.
- I understand. - Did you hear the noise of the jet deceleration after a lap on the field, down the runway
of 1,200 meters. - I love you so much, Da-vid - Marie said, aloud, because of the noise of the plane
taxied toward them.
- He loves you so much - said Bourne with images
colliding in his mind. - I love you so much!
The jet appeared clearly between the two rows of lights, a device shaped bullet with short delta wings
pointing backwards, like an insect aggressive and angry. The
Pilot has come full circle and stopped. The door of the cabin opened and a metal ladder down. Jason and
Marie rushed to her.
Happened with the impact of a killer blow

wind, relentless, engaging, as the swirling winds of death! Shots. Two automatic weapons very close to one, the other farther - breaking the windows, entranhando in the wood, a shriek of pain
leaving the terminal, announcing a mortal wound.
Bourne lifted Marie by the waist and put on the plane, shouting to the pilot:
- Close the door and get out of here!
- Mon Dieu! - exclaimed the man in the cockpit open. - Allez-vous-en! - shouted, sending Jason to pull
away.
Jason threw himself on the ground and looked up. Marie saw the face in the window. She screamed
hysterically. The
aircraft slid on the runway. He was free!
Bourne was not. Amid the lights, Amber Lane, within a true cyclorama amareloalaranjado wherever he
stayed, his body outlined in silhouette against the lights. Took the automatic belt
- The weapon given by Bernardine - and began to drag the grass covering the area beyond the gate.
The shooting resumed, but shots were sparse and separated within the terminal, now dark. Should be
the weapon of Conklin, or maybe the airport official. Panov was not armed. So who was fatally struck?
... He had no time. nearest automatic rifle entered again into action, in a hail of gunfire that swept aside
the small terminal and gate area.
So was the second time gives automatic weapon. By sound, should be on the other side of the waiting
room of the terminal. Moments later, they heard two shots isolated, the latter followed by a scream
... on the other side of the building.
- I was hurt! - It was the voice of a man with
a lot of pain ... on the other side of the building.
The automatic rifle! Jason got up on his knees and peered into the darkness. Almost imperceptibly in the
dark. He raised his gun and fired at the same time that stood up and ran to the boarding area, turning
and tossing, until out of ammunition and no more spotting the other side of the building where the track
ended and amber lights. Crept cautiously to the fence parallel to the lower corner of the terminal. Saw
with relief the gravel parking grayish-white. Now he could see the man writhed on the floor. No drop the
gun, the wounded man lifted a little body.
- Cuginol - he shouted. - Help me! - The answer was another volley of bullets on the west side of the
building, in the diagonal direction, the right of the injured man. - Holy Christ!- He shouted. - I
am seriously hurt! Again automatic rifle into action, now followed by the sound of broken glass. The shooter on the other
side of the building had just breaking the windows and was destroying everything inside.
Bourne dropped the automatic empty and jumped the low fence, feeling a terrible pain in his leg when
he touched the ground. What happened to me? Why am I feeling pain?Damn!
Limped to the corner of the building and with his face touching the wood looked the other way. The
wounded man fell back, too weak to continue supporting the automatic rifle.Jason picked up a stone
and threw it with force, in addition to the man on the ground. She jumped on gravel, mimicking, for a
moment, the sound of footsteps. The wounded man raised himself a little and turned his body back,
grabbing the gun twice escaped from their hands. now! Bourne ran to the car and kicked the wounded
man. He took the gun from the hand of the murderer and struck his head with it. The man fell back,
motionless. Then the shooting started again a growing, coming from the west side and outside the
terminal, again accompanied by the sound of broken glass. The
killer closer, the first, was reaching its targets. had to be stopped! thought Jason, breathless with every
muscle aching. Where is the man yesterday? On- the Delta is Medusa?The Chameleon Treadstone
Seventy- One? Where was that man?
Bourne picked up the MAC-10 submachine gun
man unconscious and rushed to the door of the terminal.

- Alex! - he roared. - Let me in! I have a gun!

The door opened quickly.
- My God, you're alive! - Shouted Conklin, in the dark, while Jason went quickly. - Mo is
evil - shot in the chest. The airport employee is
dead and unable to talk to the tower. Probably they attacked first. - Alex closed the door. - Lie down on
the floor! - A hail of bullets swept the wall. Knees, Bourne responded to shots, then threw himself on the
ground beside Conklin.
- What happened? - Jason asked breathlessly, his voice strained, sweat down his cheeks.
- It happened the Jackal.
- How he did that?
- Tricked everyone, you, me, Krupkin, Lavier - worst of all, he me fooled. He sent word that would be
absent without any explanation, even with you here in Paris, it would only be out for a while. We think
that our plan had worked, everything pointed to Moscow ... He lured us into a trap. Oh, Christ, he
tricked us! I should have known, should have known the plot! Was too light ... Sorry, David. Oh, God, I'm
sorry!
- Is he out there, is not it? Want to do the work personally - nothing else matters to him. The strong light
of a lantern appeared in the window without glass. Bourne lifted the MAC-10 and fired, hitting the
spotlight was turned off. The evil, however, was done. The
killer knew where they were now.
- To here! - Alex shouted, grabbing Bourne and diving behind the counter, when a hail of bullets swept
the place where they had been. The shooting stopped, heard the click of the gun.
- He has to recharge. - Bourne muttered. Stay here.
Jason got up and ran to the side door, passed by it with the gun in his right hand, face down on the floor,
tense, ready to kill - is the age allowed. had to allow!
Dragging, passed the gate
he had opened for Marie and turned right, following the fence. It was Delta - the Medusa Saigon ... I
could do that! There was a jungle friend now, but there was everything else that could use that Delta could use the dark of night, the passage of intermittent clouds obscuring the moonlight. Use all! was trained to do
... many years - so many! Forget, forget the time! Do what you have to do!The animal steps you
wants to kill you - kill his wife and children. Want to see all dead!
The rapidity born of pure fury drove him, obsessed him, and Bourne knew he had to win to win quickly,
with all the speed he was capable of. Continued to quickly drag along the fence that surrounded the
terminal and, from the corner of the building, prepared for the moment they would be exposed to the
enemy. The lethal machine gun was in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Saw a group of bushes and
then two large trees thirty feet. If I could reach them, the advantage would be his. Had the "high end" of
the land, and the Jackal was the valley of death, even if only for the fact Bourne being behind the killer
and out of your field of vision. Reached the bushes. He heard the sound of broken glass and a spray of
bullets - this time so prolonged that the murderer must have used all the ammunition in the gun. Bourne
was not seen. The figure beside the window fell to recharge, focused on what he was doing, or thinking
about the possibility of someone having escaped. Carlos also was getting old and losing his ability,
thought Jason Bourne. Where were the flags intrinsic to this type of operation? Where eyes alert and
restless they could reload the weapon in complete darkness?
The dark of night. The clouds blocked the yellow light of the moon. There was that night. Bourne jumped
the fence and hid behind the bushes, then ran to the first tree, where he could stand, observe the scene
and studying their options.

Something was wrong. Perceived primitivism that was not like the Jackal. The killer was isolated
terminal, ad valorem, and the price was high, but Bourne saw no more neat touches equation
deadly. Lacked subtlety, replaced now by brute force, which had its value, but not against the man they
called Jason Bourne who had escaped the trap.
The man next to the window took a comb of bullets from his jacket pocket. Jason ran from the shelter of
the trees with the MAC-10 automatic shooting, blasting the ground in front of the killer, after throwing
around his body.
- That's it! - He cried, approaching the man. - You're dead, Carlos, just a flick of my finger on the trigger if you are the Jackal. The man next to the window threw away the gun.
- I'm not, Mr. Bourne - said the killer
Larchmont, New York. - Have we met before, but I'm not the person who spoke now.
- Lie on the floor, you bastard! - The man obeyed and Jason came closer. - Separate the legs and open
arms! - This order was also obeyed. - Raise your head!
Bourne looked at his face dimly illuminated
the distant glow of the runway lights.
- Do you see now? - Said Mario. - I'm not
who thought I was.
- My God - Jason murmured, without hiding the surprise. - You were in Manassas, Virginia. You tried to
kill Cactus, and then tried me kill!
- Contracts, Mr. Bourne, nothing more.
- And the tower? The flight controller is in torrei
- I do not kill indiscriminately. As soon as
he released the landing of the plane from Poitiers, I sent him away ... Forgive me, but his wife is also on
the list. Fortunately, since she is a mother, did not get that part of the contract.
- Who the hell are you?
- I just said. A hired.
- I've seen better.
- Maybe I'm not at its height, but serve very well to my organization.
- Jesus, you are the Medusa!
- I've heard that name, but it's all I can say ... Let me clarify one thing, Mr. Bourne. Do not want my wife
to be a widow or orphan my children only
because of a contract. This situation is simply not feasible. They mean a lot to me.
- You will spend 150 years in jail, if it is judged in a State that does not have the death penalty.
- Not with what I know, Mr. Bourne. I and my
family will be well cared for - a new name, perhaps a beautiful farm in Dakota or Wyoming. You see, I
knew this moment would come.
- What will come now, you bastard, is a friend of mine is in there wounded. And it was you who threw!
- A truce, then? - Said Mario.
- What the hell do you mean?
- I have a very fast car and a mile
through here. - The killer of Larchmont, New York, took a device Pocket Square. - You can get here in a
minute. I am sure that the driver knows where the nearest hospital.
- Call the car!
- Done, Jason Bourne - Mario said, shaking
a button.
Morris Panov was taken to the operating room, and Louis DeFazio became the mace because his wound
was superficial. Through negotiations between Washington and Quai D'Orsay the criminal known as

Mario was delivered to the custody of the U.S. embassy in Paris. When the doctor all in white entered
the waiting room, Bourne and Conklin rose, frightened
- I will not pretend that I have good news - the doctor said, in French - as this would not be true. The two
your friend's lungs were achieved and the heart wall. At best, the chance of survival is 46% - against
him. But is a man of strong will and wants to live. Often this is worth more than all the medical
diagnoses. What more can I say?
- Thank you, doctor. - Jason moved away from the doctor.
- I need to use the phone - said Alex. - I should go to our embassy, but have no time. I can guarantee that
the phone has no listening?
- I think I can. We do not know how to do this.
Use my office, please.
- Peter?
- Alex! - Holland exclaimed in Langley, Virginia. - Everything went well? Marie has been?
- To answer the first question, no, nothing went well. As for Marie, you can expect a call hysterical as it
arrives in Marseilles. That pilot will not use the radio.
- What?
- Tell her we're okay, that David is not
wounded ...
- What are you talking about? - Interrupted the director
CIA.
- We fall into a trap when we expected the plane from Poitiers. Mo Panov is evil, so evil I do not want to
think about it now. We are in the hospital and the doctor was not very encouraging.
- Oh, God, Alex, I'm sorry.
- In its own way, Mo is a fighter. Still betting on it. By the way, do not tell Marie. She thinks too much.
- Of course not. Can I do anything?
- Yes you can, Peter. Can you tell me why Medusa is here in Paris?
- In Paris? Not according to what I know, and I know a lot.
- Our identification is positive. The two murderers who attacked us were sent by Medusa. We even have
a kind of confession.
- I do not understand! - Holland protested. Not think of Paris. We have no leak in this scenario.
- Of course they have. You said it yourself. Called
automatically performed prophecy, remember? The logic supreme Bourne created as a theory. The
Medusa is teaming up with the Jackal and the target is Jason Bourne.
- That is the question, Alex. It was only a theory, hypothetically convincing, but one theory, the basis for
a perfect strategy. However, it did not happen.
- Obviously occurred.
- Not on this side. We understand that the Medusa is
Now in Moscow.
- Moscow? - Conklin almost dropped the phone in the doctor's desk.
- That's right. Focused surveillance in Ogilvie, of the law firm in New York, recorded everything that
could burn. Somehow - do not know how - Ogilvie was warned and fled the country. Took a plane to
Moscow Aeroflot, and the rest of the family went to Marrakesh.
- Ogilvie ...? - Alex said quietly, frowning, trying to remember. - From Saigon? An official
attorney Saigon?
- That's right. We are convinced that it
directs the Medusa.
- And you hid this information from me?

- Only the name of the firm. I said that we had

our priorities and you have yours. For us, Medusa comes first.
- Your ignorant simpleton! - Exploded Conklin.
- I know Ogilvie - or rather, I knew. 'll tell you as they called him in Saigon: Cold-comoGelo Ogilvie's
attorney speaks more softly bastard Vietnam. With some subpoenas and a bit of research, I could have
told you where he hides some of their skeletons - you blew it! Could have arrested the man for bribing
military courts in one or two cases of murder - no civilian or military statutes about these crimes. Jesus,
why did not you tell me?
- To be honest, Alex, you did not ask. Simply guessed - and rightly so - I would not tell.
- All right, all right, it's done - the devil
it! Tomorrow or later you will have the two Medusans, it's working fine men. They want to save the skin
- the hood is a worm, but the shooter did not stop praying for her family and does not belong to the
organization.
- What will you do? - Asked Holland.
- We're on the way to Moscow.
- Behind the Ogilvie?
- No, behind the Jackal. But if I meet Bryce, transmit memories.
35
BUCKINGHAM PRITCHARD was sitting next to uniformed uncle, Cyril Sylvester Pritchard, assistant
director of immigration, in the office of Sir Henry Sykes, the Government Palace in Montserrat. Right
director was the best immigration lawyer native Sykes persuaded to defend Pritchard, to sue the Crown
as accessories of acts of terrorism. Sitting at his desk, Sir Henry looked a bit shocked at the lawyer, a
certain Jonathan Lemuel, who raised his head and eyes to the ceiling, not to benefit the fan, but as a
sign of total disbelief. Lemuel was a Cambridge-educated lawyer by a "Fellow" of the colonies, which for
some years had earned money in London and came back now, in the autumn of his life, 'Serrat in order
to enjoy the reward of their labor. Indeed, Sir Henry had convinced his friend retired to assist the two
idiots who might have been involved in a serious international issue.
The shock and disbelief Sir Henry and Jonathan Lemuel irritation were caused by the following exchange
between Sykes and the assistant director of immigration.
- Mr. Pritchard, we have evidence that his nephew overheard a telephone conversation between John
St. Jacques and his brother, the American Dr. David Webb. Then his nephew, Buckingham Pritchard
admitted to willingly, even cheerfully, have the call-for you to convey certain information contained in
that conversation and that you, in turn, said he needed to talk to Paris immediately . Is this true?
- Everything is completely true, Sir Henry.
- Who said anything about Paris? What is the number of
phone?
- With all due respect, sir, I have sworn to secrecy. Hearing the reply brief and unexpected, Jonathan
Lemuel looked up astonished at the ceiling. Sykes, regaining his composure, put an end to
brief pause in amazement.
- As I said, Mr. Pritchard?
- My nephew and I are part of an international organization comprised of the world's great leaders and
sworn to secrecy.
- Good God, he believes it - muttered Sir
Henry.
- Oh, for God's sake - Lemuel said, lowering his head. - Our phone service is not the most sophisticated
worldwide, especially as regards the public telephones, which suppose were instructed to use, but
within a day or two know the number. Why not say now Sir Henry? Obviously he needs to know quickly,
so what harm can there be?

- Evil, sir, is superior to our organization - it was explained to me clearly.

- What is the name of that organization?
- I do not know, Sir Henry. This is part of confiden- ality, you do not understand?
- I think you do not understand, Mr. Pritchard
- Sykes said, barely disguising his fury.
- Oh, but I understand, Sir Henry, and I'll prove to you! - Pritchard said, looking from one to the other, as
if to include the lawyer astonished and skeptical Sykes and his nephew in his confides. A large sum of money was sent by telegram of a large Swiss bank account for my particular here in
Montserrat. The instructions were clear, but flexible. The money should be used liberally to fulfill the
orders we received ... Transportation, entertainment, housing - said they left to my discretion how to
spend it, but of course I'm writing down all expenses, how do I work on my second immigration
authority ... Who, unless people much higher, thus would trust a man who only know by reputation and
enviable position?
Henry Sykes and Lemuel looked at each other, adding to the overall allure amazement and disbelief. Sir
Henry leaned forward on the table.
- In addition to this, as we say, observation
deep movements of John St. Jacques, evidently in charge of his nephew, received other missions?
- Not really, sir, but I'm sure
that when leaders know the speed with which this was carried in on the responsibility of others.
Lemuel raised his hand a little on the arm
chair as a signal to Sykes calm down.
- Tell me - his voice was low and soft. - This
large sum of money that came from Switzerland as it was? The amount is not important legally, and Sir
Henry can get information by calling. your bank under the laws of the Crown, so tell us, please.
- Three hundred pounds! - Said Pritchard older, with pride.
- Three hundred ...? - The lawyer did not finish.
- Not exactly a fortune, huh? - Sir Henry muttered, leaning back in his chair, no more words.
- More or less - continued Lemuel - which
were your expenses?
- No more or less, but exactly - said the assistant director of immigration, taking out a notebook from
the pocket of the uniform.
- My brilliant uncle is always accurate - noted
Buckingham Pritchard.
- Thank you, nephew.
- How much? - The lawyer insisted.
- Exactly 25 pounds, five shillings, English, or equivalent, $ 132 Eastern Caribbean, the latter of which
was rounded to the nearest double zero in the last quotation of the bag - in this case, I absorbed 47
cents, they are recorded.
- Impressive - Sykes said, astonished.
- Scrupulously kept all receipts Pritchard continued, warming to as they read.
- Are kept in a safe in my apartment in Old Road Bay, and include the following: a full seven dollars and
eighteen cents for local calls for Tranquility - not used my official phone, twenty three dollars and sixtyfive cents for the call Paris; sixty-eight U.S. dollars and eighty cents ... dinner for me and my nephew in
Vue Point, a business meeting, of course ...
- That's enough - interrupted Jonathan Lemuel,
wiping his forehead with a black scarf, although the fan was working perfectly tropical.
- I am prepared to submit everything at the right time ...

- I said that's enough, Cyril.

- They need to know that when a driver refused
taxi offered to increase the fare, the receipt, and censored, using the rights of my official position.
- Enough! - cried Sykes with neck veins bulging. - You were two perfect idiots. Think John St. Jacques
could be a criminal is the greatest nonsense I have ever heard!
- Sir Henry - said the young Pritchard. - I saw
with my own eyes what happened at Tranquility Inn! It was horrible! Coffins at the pier, the chapel
destroyed by a bomb, government boats around our peaceful island!
We will need months to get back to work.
- Exactly! - Roared Sykes. - And they believed
John St. Jacques destroy your property, your own business?
- Stranger things have happened in the world of crime out there, Sir Henry - Cyril Sylvester Pritchard said
solemnly. - In my official capacity, I have heard many, many stories. The incidents described by my
nephew are called diversionary tactics in order to create the illusion that the bad guys are the
victims. Everything was very well explained to me.
- Oh, was not it? - Exclaimed the former British army brigadier. - Okay, let me explain you something
else. You have been fooled by a terrorist pro-cured worldwide! Do you know what the penalty for
harboring and helping a murderer like him? I'll make it clear, in case you have escaped your attention in his official capacity, of course ... It is death by firing squad or, less merciful, public hanging! Now, what
is the damn number in Paris?
- Under the circumstances - said the deputy, with all the dignity he had left, but the nephew was
nervously clutching his left arm and his hand trembled when he took the little notebook from his
pocket. - I'll write to you ... We ask for the blackbird. In French, Sir Henry. I speak a few words, Sir
Henry. French - Sir Henry. Called by an armed guard dressed as a
Invited weekend, slacks with white linen shirt and loose large, John St. Jacques walked into the library of
your new safe house, a property in Chesapeake Bay The guard, a muscular man of average height and
appearance Latin stood inside the door and pointed the phone at the big table cherry.
- To you, Mr. Jones. It is the director.
- Thank you, Hector - said Johnny, and after
pause: - This Business of Sir Jones is even necessary?
- As necessary as Hector. My real name is Roger ... or Daniel. Anyone.
- I drew. - St. Jacques went to the table and picked up the receiver. - Holland?
- The number your friend Sykes got is false, but useful.
- As my brother, please speak English.
- The number of a cafe on the pier Marais, the Seine. The password is asking for a blackbird - un oiseau
noir - and someone calls, screaming. If the bird is there, the contact is made. If not, you try again.
- Why is it useful?
- Let's try again - and again - with
a man inside.
- Also, what else is happening?
- I can only give a partial answer.
- What the hell!
- Marie can tell the rest ...
- Marie?
- You're on your way home. Pissed as hell,
but also relieved as wife and mother.
- Why are you pissed?
- I booked tickets for her discreetly in several flights ...

- Why God, why? - Johnny interrupted angrily.

- Have a fucking plane for her! Marie is worth more to you than any member of his congressional idiot or
your organization's complicated, and you have planes to themworldwide. I'm not kidding, Holland!
- I do not send these planes - the director replied firmly. - Other rule. Those who are sent by me arouse
much curiosity and many questions on the outside and that's all I can say. Her security is more
important than comfort.
- Therein agree, boss.
The director was silent for a moment, then said angrily:
- Want to know something? You're not a guy
very nice, you know?
- My sister likes me as I am and that is enough to get all the value your opinion. Why is she relieved - as
wife and mother, was not what you said?
Another pause, not to control the irritation now, but look for the words.
- An unpleasant thing happened, an incident that none of us could foresee or imagine.
- Oh, I know these famous words typical American authorities! - Roared St. Jacques. - What you missed
this time? A truckload of American missiles to the Ayatollah agents in Paris? What hap- sky?
For the third time, Holland resorted to a moment of silence, but his breathing could be heard on the
other side of the line.
- Want to know what young, I could just turn off and forget you exist, which would be very good for my
blood pressure.
- Listen, boss, we're talking about my sister
and her husband I think formidable. Five years ago, you bastards - I repeat, you bastards almost killed the two in Hong Kong and the Far East. I do not know all the facts because the two, for
decency or foolish, do not talk much about it, but what I know is
enough not to bet on with you or ordered from a waiter on the island!
- That's right - Holland said, calmer. Not that it matters, but at that time I was not here.
- Does not matter. Is your system underground. You
would have done the same thing.
- Knowing the circumstances, yes, maybe did. And if you too would know. But that does not matter. It's
history.
- And this is now - said St. Jacques. - What
took place in Paris, such "untoward incident"?
- According to Conklin has been a snare at an airport
Pontcarr in particular. They could not. Your brother is not hurt or Alex. And all I can say.
- That's all I want to hear.
- I spoke with Marie recently. She is in Marseille and will be here tomorrow morning. I myself will wait
for you at the airport and take it to Chesapeake.
- And David?
- Who?
- My brother in law!
- Oh .. yes, of course. Is the way to Moscow.
- What?
The Aeroflot jet landed at Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow. The pilot began taxiing to the runway
adjacent exit and stopped a quarter mile from the terminal, when the tower advised, Russian and
French.
- The landing will suffer a delay of five

minutes. Please remain sentados.No was given no explanation, and passengers arriving from Paris and
were not Soviet citizens returned to their books and their magazines, certain that the delay was due to
starting from some other plane. But those who were citizens, as well as a few who knew the routine
landing on Soviet soil, knew that this was not the case.
The small area in front of large Ilyushin, separated from the cabin by a central curtain and reserved for
passengers special invisible to others, began to be evacuated, if not all, at least in part. Usually a
platform with the ladder protected on both sides by metal shields was taken to the front output port of
the device. Always had a limo government standing a few feet from the plane, and as the other
passengers quickly saw the backs of disembarking the flight attendants went through the cabin, making
sure that no one was using a camera. Never met any. Those were our special property of the KGB and
for reasons that only Komitet knew, were not to be seen in the international terminal of
Sheremetyevo.This was the case, that evening, in the vicinity of Moscow. Alex Conklin protected
descended the stairs, followed by Bourne carrying two large travel bags, which were all the baggage of
the two. Dimitri Krupkin out of the limo and ran to them. The ladder away from the plane and engine
noise began to increase gradually.
- How will your friend Doc? - Soviet agent asked loudly, because the noise of the engines.
- Resisting! - Alex shouted. - Maybe you can not, but is fighting like a lion.
- The fault was yours, Aleksei! - The jet Krupkin pulled away and lowered his voice, still talking loudly but
without shouting.
- You should have called the embassy for Sergei. His unit was prepared to escort them anywhere.
- In fact we think this would be the same
to alert the enemy.
- Better a warning than an invitation to robbery! - Said the Russian. - Men Carlos would not dare to
attack them if they are under our protection.
- There was the Jackal - The Jackal - Conklin said, abruptly turning to natural voice tone, when the noise
of the plane almost disappeared in the distance.
- Of course not - he's here. Were those thugs on orders.
- Not the bandits him or her orders.
- What are you talking about?
- We talked about it later. Let's get out of here.
- Wait. - Krupkin raised his eyebrows. First let's talk - and first of all, welcome to Mother Russia. Second, I would be grateful if you did not
comment to anyone here certain aspects of my lifestyle when I am in the service of my government in
the West hostile and belligerent.
- Want to know something, Krupkie, someday they will catch you.
- Never. They love me because I provide the
Komitet more useful information about the upper echelons of world fornicator, you call free, than any
other agent in foreign posts. In addition, I also get my superiors that world lecher much better than any
agent anywhere. E
Now, if we can catch the Jackal here in Moscow undoubtedly make me a member of the Politburo, with
hero status.
- So you can steal.
- Why not? All steal.
- If you do not care - gently interrupted Bourne, putting the two bags on the floor. - What
happened? Some progress in Dzerzhinsky Square?
- Good progress considering that started less than 30 hours. The number of possible suspects decreased
to 13. Everyone speaks French fluently. Are under human surveillance and electronics, we know exactly

where they are every minute of the day, who are, who they talk to on the phone ... I'm working with two
commissioners who do not speak French hardly know how to speak Russian correctly, but sometimes it is. The point is that they are efficient and
dedicated. Prefer to help catch the Jackal to have to fight again against the Nazis. Were very effective in
the organization of surveillance.
- Your watch is a drug and you know it Alex said. - His men stumble in private, in the bathroom of women, when they are chasing a guy.
- Not this time, because I myself have chosen Krupkin insisted. - We have four Russians and others are fugitives from Britain, America, France and
South Africa - all with practical intelligence and they can lose their dachas engendering their toes, as you
say. Actually, I would like to be appointed to a post in the Presidium, or perhaps even in Committee
Central. Can you send me to Washington or New York.
- Where you will be able to steal the truth - said Conklin.
- You are mischievous, Aleksei. After a vodka, or six, remember to tell the story of a land that our charg
d'affaires in Virginia bought two years ago. For a pittance and funded by the bank's lover in
Richmond. Now, a real estate company is offering ten times more! ... Come, here is the car.
- I do not believe what I'm hearing - Bourne said, picking up the bags.
- Welcome to the real world of service
secret high-tech - Conklin said with a laugh. - At least, from one point of view.
- From all points of view - Krupkin said, as they drove up to the limo. - However, let's dispense with this
kind of talk while we're on the official vehicle, right, gentlemen? By the way, I booked a suite with two
bedrooms, in Metropolis, in Marx Prospekt. It's convenient and I even turned off all the bugs.
- I can understand why, but how to get?
- As you know, the embarrassment is the great
Komitet enemy. I explained to internal security suite that any recording that could be very embarrassing
for some people and certainly all that hear will be transferred to Kamchatka. - The driver in a dark suit,
like what Sergei wore in Paris, opened the door of the limousine. - The farm is the same
- Krupkin said, in French, seeing that his companions had noticed the resemblance.
- Unfortunately the cut is not. I made a point of sending Sergei reform the suit in Faubourg.
The Hotel Metropole is a construction prrevolucionria reformed in architectural style very decorated,
preferred by the czar, after he met the style fin-de-sicle Vienna and Paris.The ceiling is very al-to the
abundant marble, rare and valuable carpets. The
richly ornamented lobby seems a challenge to a government that allows the entry of citizens so badly
dressed. The majestic walls and filigreed chandeliers seem to look down on the unworthy
invaders. These impressions, however, did not apply to Krupkin Dimitri, who, with his aristocratic
bearing, seemed perfectly at
comfortable in that environment.
- Comrade! - Said the manager sotto voce, seeing the KGB officer leading the guests to the elevator. - We
have an urgent message for you he continued, approaching and handing a folded Dimitri.
- My orders were to give you personally.
- Fulfilled his orders and I thank you - the man Dimitri pulled away and read the message. - I need to
speak with Dzerzhinsky right now - he said. - It is the extent of my commissioner. Come, let us
quickly. The suite, like the lobby, belonged to another time, another era, in fact, to another
country. Was impaired only by tissue faded and the imperfect restorations of original
ornaments. Imperfections accentuated the distance between past and present. The rooms were on
either side of the living room, where there was a small copper bar with a few bottles of spirits rarely
found on the shelves of Moscow.

- Help yourself - Krupkin said, addressing himself to the telephone table, a false antiquity, a mix of
Queen Anne and Louis-end period. - Oh, I forgot, Aleksei, I order tea or water ...
- Forget - Conklin said, picking up his bag
Jason's hand and headed for the room on the left.
- I wash myself, that plane was filthy.
- I hope you enjoyed the fare
- Krupkin replied, taking up the handset and dialing. - By the way, you ingrate, the weapons are in the
drawer of the bedside table. Are both Graz Burya, .38 caliber automatic ...Come, Mr. Bourne - added. There is a teetotaler and has been a long journey - this conversation may be long too. My commission
number two like to talk.
- Yes, I think I'll accept - Jason said, putting her bag on the floor beside the door of another room. He
went to the bar, poured himself a drink while Krupkin began to speak in Russian. Bourne did not speak
the language, so it was up to the two cathedral style windows that overlooked the avenue Marx
Prospekt.
- Dobryi dyen ... Da, da - pochemu? ... Sadovaya togda. Dvadtsat minut.
Krupkin nodded angry and hung up. Jason turned to him.
- My second commissioner would not talk much,
Mr. Bourne. The urgency and orders took precedence in this release.
- What do you mean?
- We must leave immediately. - Krupkin looked into the room on the left and said aloud: Aleksei, come here. Hurry! ... I tried to tell him that you have just arrived - KGB man continued,
addressing Jason. - But he did not listen. I got to say that one of them was taking a shower and his only
comment was, "Tell him to get out of the shower and get dressed." Conklin entered the room, limping,
with his shirt
fall apart-tune and wiping his face with a towel.
- Sorry, Aleksei, but we need to go.
- Go where? We just arrived.
- We have an apartment in Sadovaya - is
"Grand Boulevard Moscow," Mr. Bourne. Not the Champs-Elyses, but not insignificant. Czars knew how
to build.
- What's in Sadovaya?
- The number one commissioner - said Krupkin. We use the apartment as our headquarters. A small and delightful annex of Dzerzhinsky Square - only
nobody knows but us five. Something happened and we need to go there immediately.
- Fine with me - Jason said, putting the
glass on the bar.
- Finish your drink - Alex said, returning to the room - need to get the soap out of the eyes and tie this
damn boot.
Bourne picked up the glass, and saw that the Soviet agent looked toward the room Conklin with a frown
and a look of deep sadness.
- You met him before he lost his foot, did not know?
- Oh, yes, Mr. Bourne. We know there
25, 26 years. Istanbul, Athens, Rome ... Amsterdam. Was a notable opponent. Of course, we were young
then, both agile and lean, trying to live the images we made ourselves.All this was long ago. Were
extremely good. Actually, he was better than me, but do not tell him I said that. He always saw the
whole scene, far beyond what I saw. It
clear that it was the Russian in him.

- Why use the word "adversary"? - Asked Jason. - It is as sport, as if playing a game. It was not his
enemy?
Krupkin turned his head quickly to large
Jason, no warmth in his eyes.
- Of course he was my enemy, Mr. Bourne, and to be more clear, it still is my enemy. Please do not
interpret my indulgences wrong. The weaknesses of a man can interfere with your belief, but not
decrease ever. I do not have the convenience of Catholic confession to be forgiven and sin again, despite
what I believe, but I believe ... My grandparents were hanged - hanged - for stealing chickens from the
property of a Romanov. Few of my ancestors - perhaps none - had the privilege of rudimentary
instruction, much less any study.Revolution of the Supreme Soviet of Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin
allowed the beginning of everything. Thousands and thousands of mistakes were made - some excuse,
other brutal - but we built a start. I'ma evidence of error and accuracy of the system.
- I do not think I understood exactly what
mean.
- This is because their intellectual senile never understood what we understand from the beginning. Das
Kapital, Mr. Bourne, provides internships to get to
just society, economic and political, but not determined and never determined the specific forms of the
basic parts of this government. Says only that he could not continue as it was.
- I am not a student of the subject.
- It need not be. In a hundred years you may be socialists, and with any luck, we'll be the capitalists, the?
- Tell me something - said Jason, listening,
as Krupkin heard that Conklin had just shut the bathroom taps. - You could kill Alex
- Aleksei?
- As far as he could kill me with deep feeling - if the value of the information it deserved. We are professionals. We understand
that, almost always reluctantly.
- I do not understand you two.
- Do not even try, Mr. Bourne, you're not there yet - is close, but not yet.
- Want to explain that?
- You're on top, Jason - I call it
Jason?
- Please.
- It is fifty years or so, right?
- Right. Full 51 in a few months. And
So what?
- Aleksei and I have arrived at sixty - have no idea what that means jumping?
- No, I have not.
- I'll tell you. Can you imagine even as a younger man, one post-adolescent able to do the things he did
just a few moments, and somehow right. The motor control is present, will also, you are still the owner
of your body. Then suddenly, however intense it is still the strength of will and body, the mind begins
slowly insidious-fully reject the need for an immediate decision
- Both intellectually and physically. Simply put, we do not care so much. Should be condemned or
praised for survive?
- I think I just said it would not be able to kill Alex.
- Do not count on it, Jason Bourne - or David
or whoever.
Conklin entered the room, limping noticeably, with an expression of pain.
- Come on - he said.

- You put the wrong foot again? - Asked Jason. - You want me ...
- Forget - Alex said angrily. - Only a contortionist can put that damn right. Bourne understood and
thought nothing more to adjust the prosthesis friend. Krupkin looked again at Alex with that mixture of
sadness and curiosity, then said quickly:
- The car is a little distant, in Sverdlov,
which does not arouse much attention. I'll have to bring it to the front of the hotel.
- Thank you - said Conklin.
The rich apartment in the bustling Sadovaya was one of the many old buildings that, like Metropolis,
Architectural reflected the excesses of the Russian empire. The apartments were used - and "stapled" by invited dignitaries and the maids, porters and receptionists were often interrogated by the KGB when
not working directly for the Komitet. The walls were lined with red velvet fabric, the heavy furniture
resembled the old regime. How-ever, the right of the huge and very ornate fireplace in the living room,
stood out a nightmare for any decorator, an island with a huge TV and tape decks compatible with
various sizes of cassettes.
The second contradiction undoubtedly an affront to
memory of elegant Romanov, was a huge man with a rumpled uniform, the tunic open at the neck and
smeared with traces of recent meals. His face was full and vulgar, gray hair very short and failure in the
upper jaw, lined with yellow teeth indicated that the man did not like the dentist. The eyes always
narrowed and penetrating intelligence betrayed peasant cunning. Commissioner was number one
Krupkin.
- My English is not good - the man said, greeting visitors with a head movement
- But you can understand. Also for you I have no name or official position. You can call me Colonel,
okay? It is below my post, but all Americans think they only have the Komitet colonels, the?
Ok?
- I speak Russian - said Alex. - If it is easier for you, I translate for my companion.
- Ha! - the colonel roared with laughter. - So Krupkin can not fool you, right?
- Okay, he can not fool me.
- This is good. He speaks too quickly, the? Even in Russian, his words seem to stray bullets.
- In French too, Colonel.
- By the way - said Dimitri - we can go
straight to the point, comrade? Our partner in Dzerzhinsky said we should come immediately.
- Da! Immediately. - The KGB man went to the huge island ebony, picked up a remote and turned to the
others. - I speak English - is
good for practicing ... Come. Look. It's all on tape. All material gathered by men and women chosen by
Krupkin to follow our men who speak French.
- People who may not have any connection
with the Jackal - Krupkin clarified.
- Look! - Colonel insisted peasant, pushing a button on the remote control. The screen lit up with blurred
images and imprecise, many taken with cameras manuals, inside cars. Showed some men walking the
streets of Moscow or by official cars, driving or driven by drivers throughout the city, sometimes out of
town, back roads. In all cases, subjects were monitored with men and women whose faces appeared
magnified by lenses Zoom. few pictures showing interiors of buildings in low-light cameras and
awkwardly positioned.
- That's whore face! - Said the colonel, laughing, when the screen showed a man in his late sixties
watching a woman much younger in the elevator. - Is the Hotel Solnechy in Varshavkoye. I personally
check the passes of Colonel and find a faithful ally, the?

The teipe badly filmed and continued Krupkin and two Americans started to get tired of those scenes
repetitive and seemingly meaningless. Then suddenly came a huge cathedral on the screen, many
passers-by on the sidewalk, the light indicating the beginning of the night.
- St. Basil Cathedral on Red Square - said Krupkin. - It is a very good museum now, but at one time or
another some fanatic - usually foreign - celebrates a small ceremony.Nobody interferes, because that is
exactly what the fanatic wants to provoke.
The screen went fuzzy again, the focus trembling danced from one side to the other. The length of the
tube was inside the church and the operator was pushed by passersby.Then, the image is signed with
the camera perhaps supported by a column. Saw an old man, his white hair contrasting with black
raincoat. Walked through the side passage looking thoughtfully at the various icons and the majestic
stained glass, above.
- Rodchenko - said the colonel with peasant
his guttural voice. - The great Rodchenko.
The man on the screen went to what seemed to be a corner stone of the cathedral where large candles
on pedestals drew shadows flickering on the walls. The camcorder has moved sharply up, as if the agent
who had risen hastily operated on a stool or something else. The image was so detailed, the figures
magnified by the lenses zo- om. The white-haired man approached another man, a priest in a cassock bald, thin, dark.
- It's him! - Said Bourne. - Is Carlos!
A third man appeared on the screen, next to the other two and shouted Conklin.
- Jesus! - All eyes were riveted on the screen. - Stop right there! - The commissioner immediately Obedsky image and stopped, trembling but steady. - The other!
You recognize it, David?
- I know, but I do not know - responded
Bourne softly, turning to images of the past in your mind. Via explosions, blinding white lights with
poorly defined shapes running in the jungle ... and then a man, an oriental hit by several gunshots,
screaming, as he was practically nailed to the trunk of a tree for an automatic weapon. The fog grew
confused, then dissolved, becoming a small room, apparently barracks with soldiers sitting at a long
table, a chair to the right, a man sitting in it, nervous and restless. Then suddenly Jason recognized the
man in the chair - he was right! A young Jason, much younger, and there was another man in uniform,
walking from one side to the other like a caged animal in front of the chair, savagely berating the man
called Delta One With a gasp and eyes on TV , Bourne knew he was seeing one angry man who walked
from one side to the other, older now. A court in a camp north of Saigon he murmured.
- It Ogilvie - said Conklin, his voice distant and
empty. - Bryce Ogilvie ... My God, they have joined. Medusa found the Jackal!
36
- WAS A TRIAL was not Alex? - Bourne asked, bewildered, hesitant words and loose in the air. A court military.
- Yes, it was - agreed Conklin. - But it was not
you who was being tried, you were not charged.
- No?
- No. You were the accuser, a very rare thing in your grupe in combat or out of it. Many army men tried
to stop him, but failed ... We talked about it later.
- I want to talk now - Jason said, in a firm voice. - This man is the Jackal, right there in front of our eyes. I
want to know who and what and why you are here in Moscow - with the Jackal.
- Later ...

- Now. Krupkin Your friend is helping us, which means it is helping Marie and I am grateful for this
help. The colonel here is also on our side, otherwise we would not be seeing this on television. I want to
know what happened between us, between me and this man, and go to hell all security measures
Langley. The more I know about it Now - I know more what I ask and expect. Bourne turned to the Soviets. - For your information, there is a period in my life which I can not
remember completely, and that's all. They need to know. Continue, Alex.
- I have trouble remembering what I did last night - said the colonel.
- Say what he wants to know, Aleksei. Can have nothing to do with our interests. The chapter is Saigon
ended and Kabul.
- Okay. - Conklin sat massaging
the right leg. Then tried to speak dispassionately, without much success.
- In December 1970, one of our men
was killed during a patrol to search-and-destroy. The death was given as an accident of "friendly fire",
but you
knew that was not true, you knew he was marked by some artists shitty base south of its
headquarters. They decided to kill him. He was cambodian and had nothing holy but knew all the
smuggling routes, so was his guide.
- Just pictures - interrupted Bourne. - Everything
I have are fragments. I see, but I can not remember.
- The facts are not important now, are buried with thousands of other questionable cases. Apparently a
great deal of narcotics went wrong in the Triangle and put the blame on his guide. Some bigwigs in
Saigon thought they should teach a lesson to those natives. Flew to their territory, they hid in the grass
and caught into thinking that it was an advanced unit of the enemy. But you saw the top of a rise of
ground and spoiled the whole plan. Followed them to the helicopter and offered them a choice. Into the
unit and you burst, leaving no no one, or you follow up with your base. They returned under the guns of
their men and you forced Field Command to accept their multiple counts of murder. It was when he
appeared Ogilvie Cold-as-Ice to defend their boys Saigon.
- Then something happened, right? A crazy thing - everything was confused, distorted.
- That's right. Bryce put you on the witness stand and made it look like a maniac, a pathological liar and
murderer, unless by war and its practice of combat would be a security prison mxima.S not called holy
and demanded that you reveal your real name - you would not do, could not do because if revealed, his
first wife, Cambodian, and their children would be slaughtered. He tried to confuse him with verbal
traps and how failed, threatened to court-martial, which would expose the whole goddamn battalion,
which also could not be allowed ... The killers Ogilvie were released for lack of reliable testimony and
after the trial you had to be retained on the base until Ogilvie take the helicopter back to Saigon.
- His name was Kwan Soo - Bourne said,
dreamlike, shaking his head, looking away from the nightmare. - He was a boy, 16 or 17, that sent drug
money to three villages so that the people do not die of hunger. They had no other way ... oh, merda! What we would have done if our families were dying of starvation?
- You could not say any of that in the trial, so was silent, holding up the invective low Ogilvie. I watched
the trial and have never seen a man with so much control over his hatred.
- That's not how I remember - the part that I can remember. Something's coming, not much.
- During this trial you adapted to
needs of the environment - we can say, like a chameleon.
Their eyes met and Bourne soon returned to their television.
- And here he is with Carlos. It's a small world
and rotten, is not it? He knows I'm Jason Bourne?

- How will you know? - Conklin said, getting up. - There was no Jason Bourne at the time. There was not
even a David, only a guerrilla they called Delta One No name was used, remember?
- I always forget, what else can you tell me? - Jason pointed to the screen. - Why is he in Moscow? Why
did you say that Medusa found the Jackal? Why?
- Because he is a law firm in New
York.
- What? - Bourne turned his head sharply to Conklin. - It is the ...
- The president of the company - completed Alex, interrupting. - The Agency ended the siege and he
fled. There
two days.
- Why the devil you do not I told? - Jason exclaimed angrily.
- Why not for a moment imagined that we would be sitting here looking at that picture on the screen. I
still do not understand, but I can not deny what I see. Also, I saw no reason to quote a name you could
remember or not, an occurrence very traumatic, you could remember or not. Why add unnecessary
complications? We already have more than enough tension.
- Okay, Aleksei - said Krupkin busy
taking a step forward. - I heard words and names that have brought some unpleasant memories, and I
think I have the right to ask a few questions - especially one. Who exactly is this Ogilvie that matter so
much? You told us that he was in Saigon, but who is he now?
- Why not? - Conklin asked himself
quietly. - It's a New York lawyer, head of an organization that operates throughout Europe and the
Mediterranean. Earlier, pressing the right buttons in Washington, they bought companies through
extortion and financial control, cornered markets with prices determined and, in turn, entered the game
of murder, employing some of the best professionals in the business. There is real evidence that hired
the assassinations of several government officials and military, being the latest example - which you no
doubt heard - that of General Teagarten, supreme commander of NATO
- Incredible! - Krupkin murmured.
- Jeez-Chrize! - said the colonel-peasant, his eyes widening.
- Oh, they are very creative, and Ogilvie the most inventive of all. Is Superaranha and spread a web that
goes from Washington to all the capitals of Europe. Unfortunately for him, and thanks to my friend here,
was picking like a fly in the web itself. The people in Washington that he could never corrupt was ready
to strike, but someone told him and he fled yesterday ... I have no idea why he came to Moscow.
- Maybe I can answer that - Krupkin said, glancing at the KGB colonel and making a nod, as if to say, "It's
okay." - I know nothing - absolutely nothing - this murder to which he referred - no Murder, to be
frank. However, you could be describing an American company in Europe that has for years serving our
interests.
- In what way? - Alex asked.
- Providing all types of American technology whose government prohibits its export, as well as weapons,
ammunition, parts for aircraft and weapons systems - to
the own aircraft and systems, on several occasions, by the bloc. I'm sure you know that vehemently
deny having said anything about it.
- Okay - Conklin said with a nod. - What is the name of this company?
- Do not have one name. Are fifty or sixty companies apparently under the same umbrella but with so
many titles and different sources that it is impossible to determine the type of relationship between
them.
- It has a name and Ogilvie directs - said Alex.
- I thought about it - Krupkin said, with a look

cold and implacable expression of a fanatic. - However, what seems so disturbing to you about his
American lawyer, you can be certain that it is much, much less important than what we con-cupa. Dimitri glared at the television and to the still image and shaky.
- The secret service man that screen is
General Rodchenko, second in command of the KGB and
adviser to the prime minister of the Soviet Union. Many things can be made on behalf of Russian
interests and without the knowledge of the prime minister, but in our day, in our time, not in the areas
you described. My God, the supreme commander of NATO! And never - never - using the services of
Carlos the Jackal! Would be dangerous for us disasters and frightening.
- Any suggestions? - Asked Conklin.
- A silly question - said the colonel,
angry
- Hold, then the Lubyanka ... then silence ...
- There is a problem with this solution - said Alex. - The CIA knows that Ogilvie is in Moscow.
- And what is the problem? We got rid of the two branches of a person and their pernicious crimes and
continue with our business.
- It may seem strange to you, but the problem is not limited to the person and their pernicious crimes,
even with regard to the Soviet Union. The problem is secret - in relation to Washington. O official
Komitet looked Krupkin and said in Russian:
- What is this man talking about?
- It is difficult for us to understand this - answered
Dimitri also in Russian. - However, for them is a problem. I'll try to explain.
- What is he saying? - Asked Bourne,
angry.
- I think it will give us a lesson in civics, American-style.
- These lessons usually fall on deaf ears in Washington - said Krupkin English, passing again to the
Russian and turning to his superior in the KGB. - You see, comrade, no one in America blame us for
taking advantage of such criminal activities such Ogilvie. They have a saying repeated as covering an
ocean of guilt. "The horse Do not look teeth ..."
- What the horse's teeth have to do with gifts? Your ass out to the farm only stereo out of his mouth,
only saliva.
- You lose a little in translation ... We will continue. This attorney, Ogilvie apparently had great
connections in the government, officials who ignored his questionable methods in exchange for large
sums of money, methods involving millions of dollars. Laws were circumvented, murdered men, lies
accepted as truth, in short, corruption was considerable and, as we know, Americans are obsessed with
the idea of corruption. Come to call any progressive accommodation of potentially "corrupt" and people
older and wiser can do nothing against it. They wash their dirty laundry in front of the whole world as a
symbol of honor.
- Why - Alex said, in English. - This is something a lot of people here could not understand, because you
have hidden all your accommodations, all his crimes, all mouths are shut with a basket of roses
... However, considering one thing and another and comparisons obnoxious, I dispense the lecture. I'm
just saying Ogilvie has to be sent to the United States and accounts adjusted. This is the "progressive
accommodation" that you have to do.
- I'm sure I'll think about it.
- It is not enough - said Conklin. - Consider
thing as follows. Much is known - or will be, in a matter of days - about the venture Ogilvie, including the
connection with the death of Teagarten therefore can not keep him here.Not only Washington, but the

whole European community would fall on top of you. If you want to talk about embarrassment, this is a
beauty, not to mention the effects on trade, on their imports or exports c ...
- You convinced me, Aleksei - interrupted
Krupkin. - Assuming that the accommodations are possible, we can be assured that it will be clear and
evident that Moscow cooperated to deliver that American criminal justice?
- Of course we could not do it without you. As a temporary agent field, I swear it before the intelligence
committees and Congress, if necessary.
- And that had nothing - absolutely nothing to do with the murders you mentioned, especially the
assassination of supreme commander of NATO?
- Perfectly clear. It was one of the main reasons for their cooperation. His government was horrified by
this crime.
Krupkin stared at Alex. He turned to television and again to Conklin.
- General Rodchenko - said in a firm voice.
- What do we do with General Rodchenko?
- What do you do with General Rodchenko is
your business - Alex replied softly. - Neither I nor Bourne, never heard that name.
- From - Krupkin said, nodding. - And what will you do with the Jackal in Soviet territory is your business,
Aleksei. However, you can rest assured that we will cooperate to the fullest.
- How do we start? - Jason asked impatiently.
- First things first. - Dimitri looked
Commissioner for the KGB. - Comrade, understood what we said?
- Enough, Krupkin - answered coronelcampons heavyweight, driving to a phone on the marble table
against the wall. Dialed and was attended to immediately. - Am I - said the commissioner, in Russian. The third man in teipe seven with Rodchenko and the priest, that New York has identified as an
American named Ogilvie. From this point it must be guarded and can not leave Moscow. - Colonel
suddenly raised his eyebrows and his face grew red. - This order is revoked. He is no longer the
responsibility of the Department of Diplomatic Relations, is now the sole property of the KGB
... One reason? Use the cuca, head-to-catfish! Tell them that we are convinced that the American is a
double agent, that those fools not found. After the garbage ever. Covering for enemies of the state for
negligence, their high positions again. protected by Komitet
- That sort of thing. You can also mention that they should not look a gift horse in the mouth ... I do not
understand, comrade, but these butterflies here, with their elegant suits probably will understand. Alert
the airports. - The Commissioner hung.
- He succeeded - Conklin told Bourne. Ogilvie is in Moscow.
- Do not give a damn Ogilvie - Jason exploded, his voice and face muscles tense. - I'm here because of
Carlos!
- The priest? - Asked the colonel, away
the desk phone.
- Exactly.
- It's simple. Let's give the General Rodchenko
one very long rope that he can not feel or see. You stand at the other end. He will meet with the priest
Jackal again.
- It's all I ask - Jason said.
General Grigorie Rodchenko was on the table
side of the window, in the restaurant Lastochka, beside the bridge Krymsky knot Moscow River. It was
his favorite place for a late night dinner. The lights of the bridge and the boats on the river were a
spectacle for the eyes and relaxing for metabolism. He needed the calming atmosphere, since the last

two days had been extremely tense. Was he right or wrong? His instincts had led to the target, or was it
too far? Could not know at that time, but those same instincts had helped him survive the crazy Stalin
when he was young, the restless Khrushchev, in middle age, and the inept Brezhnev, a few years
later. Now there was the new Russia under Gorbachev, a New Soviet Union, in fact, and his old age
received it with open arms. Maybe things are less tense and long-standing enmities disappear on the
horizon before hostile. However, hostile horizons never really changed, were always horizons, distant,
flat, burnt or dark color, but always distant and inaccessible plans. He was a survivor, Rodchenko
understood
That, and a survivor protects itself at some points of the compass. There was also hinted at all possible
points of this compass. In addition, worked diligently to earn the trust of the president. He was an
expert at getting information to Komitet. Was the main link with the U.S. company, known only to him,
in Moscow, by the name of Medusa, by which extraordinary business had been conducted across Russia
and the nations of the bloc. On the other hand, it was also the liaison with the monsignor in Paris, Carlos
the Jackal, who had bought or convinced to give up contracts that could point directly to the Soviet
Union. Eie was the perfect bureaucrat, working behind the international stage, without seeking praise or
fame, just survival. So why did it? It would be mere impetuosity born of fatigue and fear and the feeling
of a pest-in-our-two-house? No, it was a logical extension of events, consistent with the needs of their
country and, above all, with the absolute necessity that Moscow dissociate itself from both the Medusa,
as the Jackal.According to the consul general in New York, Bryce Ogilvie was settled in America. The
consul's suggestion was to find asylum for him somewhere and, in turn, gradually absorb their ventures
in Europe. The consul general in New York was not concerned with the financial manipulations Ogilvie,
who broke more laws than the number of courts existed to judge them, but with the murders, which, as
far as he knew, were many and in several places, including the murder of senior government officials
and, unless he was much mistaken, the supreme commander of NATO. Completing this plot of horrors,
there was the view of New York that, save for the confiscation of his many companies, Ogilvie had
ordered other deaths in Europe, especially the few powerful executives of several firms that made
international connections with a large firm advocacy and secret name of Medusa. If these contracts
were executed while Ogilvie was in Moscow, doubts arise that Moscow could not tolerate.
Suddenly reflected Rodchenko, entered this macabre dance paranoid Monsignor Paris. was
imperative they meet immediately! Carlos practically shouted his demand in conversation in public
telephones, as they had agreed, but should be taken every precaution. The Jackal, as always, chose a
public place with many people and multiple outputs, where he could flutter like a hawk, only appearing
after examining everything with your eyes professional. Two phone calls later, two different places, the
meeting was arranged. St. Basil's Cathedral on Red Square in the early summer night, when it was the
largest tourist movement. In a dark corner to the right of the altar, with exits out the corridors leading to
the sacristy. Done!
Then, during the third call, Rodchenko had an idea that struck him like thunder on the Black Sea. An idea
so spectacularly bold and yet so obvious and simple that General gasped for a moment. It was a solution
that completely distanced the Soviet government from any involvement or complicity with the Jackal
and Medusa Ogilvie, if it were necessary to prove it to the world.
The plan consisted of Rodchenko, without any of them knew, bring about a meeting between the Jackal
and Ogilvie, even for a moment, enough to get a photograph of them together. Was all he needed.
The day before, Rodchenko outside the Department of Diplomatic Relations, after requesting an
interview with routine Ogilvie. During the conversation very friendly and inconsequential, Rodchenko
waited their leaves - the leaves that had prepared accurately, after a research.
- You spend the summers in Cape Cod, the? - said the general.
- I only weekends. My wife and kids spend the entire season.

- When I was in Washington, I had two American friends on Cape Cod. I spent many enjoyable weekends
with them. Maybe you know them, the Frost - Hardeleigh and Carol Frost?
- Of course I know. He is also a lawyer,
specializing in maritime law. Live on Beach Road in Dennis.
- A very attractive woman, Mrs. Frost.
- Very.
- Da ever tried to recruit her husband for his firm?
- No. He has a firm. Frost, Goldfarb and
O'Shau-nessy, cover, so to speak, the Massachusetts coast.
- It's like I knew him, Mr. Ogilvie, through mutual friends.
- It's a shame we never met on the Cape.
- Well, maybe I can take advantage of this close encounter - through mutual friends - and to ask a favor,
much smaller than the conveniences that my government is willing to grant.
- As I understand it, the convenience is mutual Ogilvie said.
- Oh, do not understand these diplomatic affairs, but maybe I can intervene on your behalf if you
cooperate with us - with my small but not insignificant department.
- What is it?
- There is a priest, a priest militant in the area of social assistance, which claims to be a Marxist agitator
well known in the courts of the city of New York. He arrived a few hours and requires a clandestine
meeting immediately. Do not have time to check the truth of what he says but how he insists that has a
long history of "processes" legal in New York courts, as well as several photographs in the newspapers,
perhaps you can recognize it.
- I probably would recognize him if he is telling the truth.
- Da! Somehow or another, our government will be informed of their cooperation.
Everything was then combined. Ogilvie should be in St. Basil's Cathedral, near the place marked. When
Rodchenko to meet with a priest in the corner to the right of the altar, was approaching the general,
feigning surprise. Were to greet briefly, almost curtly, without any demonstration of intimacy, as known
hostile that they can not avoid these encounters in public places. It was also necessary that the two men
got too close because the dim light in the cathedral could prevent Ogilvie saw the face of the
priest. Ogilvie played the role to perfection
A skilled lawyer who, after setting a trap for the verbal witness for the prosecution, exclaims, "I
withdraw the question," disarming the prosecutor in the case.
The Jackal immediately turned away, furious, but not before an elderly and obese with an automatic
camera hidden in the bag, had taken a series of photos with ultra-fast film.The race was now safe in the
office of Rodchenko. The folder containing it was entitled Surveillance American B. Ogilvie. On the page
photograph showing the killer and the American lawyer together, the following was written. Individuals
under surveillance with a contact has not iden- tified during secret meeting in Saint Basil's Cathedral. The
meeting lasted eleven minutes and thirty two seconds. Photos sent to Paris for possible identification. It
is believed that the account to be unidentified Carlos the Jackal.
Needless to say that Paris was preparing a response that included several photographic compositions of
the Deuxime Bureau and Sret. Answer: Confirmed. Undoubtedly is the Jackal.
Shocking! And in Soviet soil!
Furthermore, the killer was not very cooperative. After the brief encounter with American and
embarrassing, Carlos continued his cold interrogation, barely disguising his savage fury.
- Are closing in around you! - Said the Jackal.
- Who?
- The Komitet.

- I 'm the Komitet.

- Maybe you're mistaken.
- Nothing happens in the KGB without me knowing.
Where did you get the information?
- Paris. The source is Krupkin.
- Krupkin is capable of anything to promote even spreading false information, even about me. He is an
enigma - a time an officer of the secret service, efficient and speaks many languages, soon after a clown
gossip with plumage French, later a pimp for ministers visitors. Can not be taken seriously, not when it
comes to serious matter.
- I hope you're right. Talk to you tomorrow, late at night. Will be home?
- Not because of a phone call yours. I'm having dinner alone in Lastochka well late. What will you do
tomorrow?
- Check me that you are right. - The Jackal disappeared in the crowd, in the cathedral.
That had been over 24 hours and Rodchenko had no news that could change the combination. Perhaps
the psychopath had returned to Paris, convinced that his paranoid suspicions were unfounded, their
need to be always in motion, running, flying across Europe, after overcoming the momentary
panic. Who knew? Carlos was also an enigma. It was partly a sadistic retarded, deep knowledge of the
most gruesome methods of cruelty and murder, and partly a romantic sickly, deformed mentally a
teenager looking for an illusion that wanted nothing to do with it. Who knew? Was nearing the time a
bullet in his head would be the answer.
Rodchenko raised his hand to ask for coffee and brandy
- Good brandy french, reserved for the real heroes of the Revolution, especially the survivors. But it was
not the waiter who answered. The manager Lastochka approached the table with the phone in hand.
- An urgent call for you, General
- Said the man in black suit and baggy, putting the phone on the table and extending it to the wire plug.
- Thank you.
The manager walked away and Rodchenko turned to the wall outlet.
- Yes?
- You are being watched everywhere - said the voice of the Jackal.
- For who?
- By his own people.
- I do not believe.
- I've been watching all day. Shall I describe the places he has been in the last thirty hours?
Started with drinks at a cafe in Kalinin, one that bronchi-in Arbat, the Sla-vuanky for lunch, an afternoon
walk by Luznekaya.
- Stop it! Where are you?
- Exit Lastochka, walking slowly, naturally. I will prove what I am saying. The Jackal hung.
Rodchenko motioned to the waiter for the bill. The rapidity with which it was served was due less to the
status of the general than the fact of being the last customer of the night.The
old soldier left money on the account, said good night, crossed the dimly lit lobby and out into the
street. It was almost l: 30h morning and except for some rare drunks, the street was deserted. A tall
figure appeared to the right of the general, his silhouette drawn by the street lamp. Coyote was still with
the black suit and white collar priest. He motioned to the General to accompany him and walked into a
dark brown car parked across the street. Rodchenko reached the killer when he stopped on the sidewalk
next to the vehicle that was in front of the restaurant Lastochka.
Suddenly the Jackal lit a lantern hand and led strong light for the car window. O. old soldier held his
breath for a moment, seeing the horrible scene. The KGB agent was sitting at the direction, with the
head thrown back, his neck cut and a river of blood flooding her clothes. The other agent had his wrists

and feet tied with wire, with a thick rope serving as a gag, almost choking, coughing harshly. Was alive,
his eyes wide with terror.
- The driver was trained in Novgorod - said
General, with no other comment.
- I know - said Carlos. - I'm with
his papers. This training is no longer what it was, comrade.
- This is another one of the men here Krupkin
in Moscow. The son of a good friend, I am told.
- Now it's mine.
- What will you do? - Asked Rodchenko,
looking for the Jackal.
- Fix a bug - Carlos replied, raising his gun with silencer and firing three clean shots in the neck of the
general.
37
DARK WAS THE NIGHT, the overcast sky, storm clouds swirled and collided over Moscow, promising rain,
thunder and lightning. The brown car swiftly followed by road through cultivated fields, the driver
holding the steering tightly, staring at one time or another to his prisoner, the young man who struggled
to free her hands and feet bound with wire leads, wide eyes of fear and face contorted in pain, under
the rope that tortured her mouth.
In the backseat covered in blood, were the bodies of General Grigorie Rodchenko and graduate of the
KGB Novgorod, who directed the surveillance team of the old soldier.Suddenly, without slowing, with no
indication of what would make the Jackal saw everything I needed and left the road. Screeched the car
went into a field of tall grass and stopped abruptly, throwing the two bodies against the backrest of the
front seats. Carlos opened the door and jumped out. He began pulling bodies from the backseat,
dragging them into the turf. Left on top of the general officer Komitet, their vital fluids now mingling,
absorbed by the soil.
Returned to the car and pulled brutally young KGB agent with one hand, holding a hunting knife in the
other.
- We both have a lot to talk about - the Jackal said, in Russian. - It will be foolish to hide anything ... You
will not make it, too young, too weak. - Carlos threw the man down. The tall grass bent under the
weight. With flashlight in hand, knelt beside the prisoner with the knife pointed at the eyes of the young
agent.
The last words of the man bloodied and
lifeless as drums echoed in the ears of Ilich Ramirez Sanchez. Jason Bourne was in Moscow! Bourne had
to be because the young KGB agent, terrified, given the information with broken sentences, unfinished,
saying anything and everything that could save your life. The
Comrade Krupkin - two Americans, a high, the other with a defect in the leg! We took them to the hotel
after the Sadovaya for a meeting.
Krupkin and hated Bourne had bribed his
people in Paris - in Paris, his impregnable fortress! and followed him to Moscow. How? About? ... No matter now. What mattered was that the Chameleon
was in Metropolis. The traitors Paris could wait. In Metropo- le! His greatest enemy was an hour away,
unaware that Carlos the Jackal knew of his presence in Moscow. The killer felt the elation of triumph about life and death. The doctors said he was dying, but doctors often are wrong and at that moment,
they were wrong! The death of Jason Bourne renew your life.
However, there could be now. Three o'clock in the morning
were not the appropriate time to look for a victim on the streets or in hotels of Moscow, a city shrouded
in permanent suspicion and distrust, which increased with the arrival of the night. Everyone knew that

the hotel receptionists Moscow carried weapons and were chosen more for his skill as marksmen than
for its efficiency in that work. The daylight eased some of the tension. The first part of the morning with
intense movement, it was the ideal time to attack Jackal and was going to attack.
But it was the exact moment to another type of attack, or at least the prelude to action. It was time to
gather his disciples government of the Soviet Union and inform them of the arrival of the Archbishop,
report that their messiah was there to liberate them. Before leaving Paris he had caught all the folders
on file with general information and secret.Documents, at first glance, seemed only blank pages, but
when exposed to infrared light, turned into typed information. The Jackal had chosen a small empty
shop in Vavilova to their meeting point. Would use the phone to communicate with each disciple, telling
the time - 5:30 am - and the place of meeting, recommending that wore deserted streets. At 6:30 the
task was completed, each student armed with information that would elevate to the highest echelons of
the elite Moscow. It was another invisible army, much smaller than the one in Paris, but also efficient
and dedicated to Charles the invisible monsignor who was the life of his followers infinitely more
comfortable. And at 7:30, the mighty Jackal would be in place in Metropolis, ready for the first
movements of the guests, at the time the waiters rushed passed with trays and tables and the lobby
with animated conversations, anxiety and bureaucracy . Ali in Metropolis, he would be prepared to
Jason Bourne.
One by one, like lost travelers and cautious, the
first light, the five men and three women arrived at the abandoned store on the street known only as
Vavilova. They had to be careful because it was a dangerous neighborhood, not necessarily because of
the inhabitants, as the Moscow police patrolled the area effectively, but due to the state of the old
buildings. The area was in the process of renovation, as similar projects worldwide, but progress had
two speeds, slow and stop. Electricity will only constant was in the neighborhood and, at best, a
convenience dangerous that Carlos knew use to their advantage.
Carlos was standing on the edge of the empty room, and a lamp on the floor behind him, outlining your
figure, leaving the face in the dark, also protected by the raised collar of the black suit. To his right, a low
wooden table, were the folders with papers and left under a pile of newspapers, out of sight of the
disciples, an assault weapon AK-47, Type 56, sawed-off, loaded with a comb bullets. The other was on
the belt of the Jackal. It was a rule of his profession. Carlos did not expect any problems. Only worship.
Noted the group, realizing that all looked at each other furtively. No one spoke. The moist air in the
store and almost abandoned the dark was loaded with apprehension. Carlos realized he needed to
eliminate that fear, that attitude stealth, as soon as possible, so it had taken eight chairs of the various
offices deserts behind the shop. Seated, they would definite-am less stressed, was a truism. However,
no one was using the chairs.
- Thank you for coming this morning said the Jackal, in Russian. - Please be seated. Our conversation will not be long, but requires a higher
concentration ... The guy at the door or close it, please?
All are already here.
The man, a bureaucrat to ride hard, closed the heavy door and the other sat down, the chairs away from
each other. When finished the noise of chairs scraping the cement floor, the Jackal, as an experienced
speaker, was silent a moment in front of the group. Quickly fixed in each piercing black eyes, as if
everyone there were special to him. Women reacted with slight movements, straightening and
smoothing her skirts. They were dressed according to their high posts in government departments used clothes very conservative style, but clean and well ironed.
- I'm the Archbishop of Paris - began the killer dressed as a priest. - I'm the one who spent several years
choosing each of you - with the help of comrades in Moscow and elsewhere - and the one who sent
them large amounts of money, asking only to wait for my arrival in silence and reciprocate the loyalty

with which I tried ... I anticipate your questions by the expression of their faces, so I'll be more
explicit. Years ago I was one of the few elite members chosen for training in Novgorod. There was a
slight but audible reaction of the eight
chosen. The myth of Novgorod was equal to reality. It was a center for advanced indoctrination
comrades more gifted - like said, however, it was difficult to understand, since almost no one spoke in
Novgorod, and always in a very low voice. Shaking his head several times in a nod, Carlos demonstrated
to have realized the impact of his words, and then continued:
- All these years spent in various foreign countries, promoting the interests of the great Soviet
revolution, a commissioner secret with a flexible portfolio, which required many visits to Moscow and
extensive research in the departments where each of you holds a position of responsibility. - Another
pause, and then the Jackal spoke hoarsely. - Positions of responsibility but not the authority should
have. His skills are undervalued and underpaid, as above you there is much rotten wood.
The reaction was more significant this time, much less controlled.
- Compared to similar departments in
governments of our opponents - continued Carlos We here in Moscow, stopped in time. When we should be ahead of everyone, we're late
because his talents were stifled by officials who are more concerned with the privileges of their
positions than with the work of departments who head. The response was immediate, almost
electric. The three women openly applauded.
- Therefore, for these reasons, I and my comrades here in Moscow and chose to seek them. So I sent
them money - to be used as they see fit - amounts that correspond roughly to the privileges enjoyed by
their superio-res. Why you should not receive it and enjoy as they enjoy?
The murmur of why not and he is right and everyone filled the room now looked at each other, shaking
their heads affirmatively. The Jackal began to name the departments concerned and every name
mentioned, all gestures were emphatic affirmative.
-: Ministries of Transport, Information,
Finance, Import / Export, Legal Proceedings, Military Supplies, Scientific ... and last but not least,
Appointments to the Presidium ... These are your fields, but you have beenexcluded from all final
decisions ... We can no longer accept it - changes should be made!
The eight listeners stood, no longer strangers, but people united for a cause. Then one of them, the
cautious bureaucrat who had shut the door, asked:
- Apparently, you know our situation, but we can change it?
- This here! - Carlos said, pointing with a dramatic gesture folders that were on the low table. The small
group sat again, in pairs or
isolated, looking at each other and looking at the folders.
- In this table are confidential and
Full details of each of the eight departments listed above. Contain facts so serious that, when presented
by each of you personally, will assure immediate and promotions, in several cases, the top positions in
government. His superiors have no choice, because these files are leaning daggers in their necks - the
revelation of the same mean doom and death.
- Lord? - A middle-aged woman with a
blue dress, simple but clean and last, rose somewhat hesitant. Her blond hair was tied in a bun at the
nape where she took her hand, one time or another as he spoke. - I do the assessment files of personal
information daily ... and often discover errors ... how can you be sure that this information is
accurate? For, if not, we will be putting an extremely dangerous situation, is not it?
- Consider the fact an affront lady doubting the accuracy of this information, madame - the Jackal
replied coldly. - I'm the Archbishop of Paris. Accurately described the situation of each of you and

accurately demonstrated the inferiority of their superiors. Furthermore, at great expense and great risk
for me and my comrades in Moscow, sent money secretly so they could have a better life.
- Speaking for myself - said a thin man
glasses and brown suit - I thank you for the money. My investment in our collective fund and expect a
moderate profit - but the one thing that has to do with the other? Work for the Ministry of Finance, is
course, and admitting this, I'm absolving Complicity have declared my status.
- Whatever it is that means, accountant, you are being as clear as his ministry paralyzed
- Noted an obese man with a black suit too small for his body. - Also, makes me doubt their ability to
recognize a decent profit! It
Of course I'm with the Military Supply, and you are always stealing from us in the negotiations.
- As you always do with the Scientific Research - exclaimed a man with serge suit and professorial, his
beard trimmed poorly, perhaps due to poor eyesight, despite the thick lenses of his glasses. - Income
from invest- ment, this is good! What about the taxes?
- More than enough for you, scientists from primary school! It is better to spend money stealing from
the West!
- Stop it! - exclaimed the priest killer, raising his arm as a messiah. - We are not here to discuss conflicts
between departments, because all will be resolved with the birth of our new elite. Remember! I am the
Archbishop of Paris, and together we will create a new order and clean for 'our great
revolution! Finished complacency!
- A terrific idea, sir - said a woman thirty-somethings, with a finely pleated skirt undoubtedly recognized
by all other group as a popular TV presenter.
- However, we can return to the subject of the accuracy of the information?
- Is solved - Carlos said, fixing his dark eyes on one at a time. - How could I know so much about you?
- I'm not doubting you, sir - continued
woman.
- But, as a journalist, always looking for a second source of information, unless the ministry determines
otherwise. Since you do not work for the Ministry of Information, sir, and knowing that everything you
say is confidential and must remain so, may indicate a second source?
- I happen to have to be handled when questioned by journalists'm telling the truth? - The
killer held her breath for a second, furious.
- Everything I said is true, and you know it.
- The crimes of Stalin were also, sir, and were buried with twenty million dead for thirty years.
- You want proof, journalist? For I give you proof. They are my eyes and ears of the leaders of the KGB especially the great general Grigori Rodchenko. He is my eyes and my ears and if you want to know
another truth, he is faithful to me! For I am also your Monsignor Paris.
All shifted uneasily, hesitant, clearing his throat in unison. The TV presenter said, his voice softer and big
brown eyes fixed on the man dressed as a priest:
- It may be what it says it is, sir - but some do not listen to the station of Radio Moscow that works all
night. An hour ago announced that General Rodchenko was shot dead this morning by foreign criminals
... Also reported that all the Komitet officials were summoned to an emergency meeting to assess the
conditions of the general's death. Everyone thinks that there should be a strong motive for General
were attracted to the trap of foreign criminals.
- Go rummage through his files - added the cautious bureaucrat, rising with stiff movements. - Go put
everything under the microscope of the KGB, the
demand for such "extraordinary reasons". - The dour public servant looked the killer dressed as a
priest. - Maybe they are, sir. And your files.
- No - said the Jackal, sweat sprouting on
forehead. - No. That's impossible I have the only copies of those files - no other!

- If you believe it, Father - said the obese man from the Ministry of Supply - Military Komitet not know.
- Know? - Carlos exclaimed, with a tremor in his left hand. - I have the soul of Komitet! They have no
secrets from me, for I am the repository of all secrets! I have volumes on governments all over the
world, about their leaders, his generals, his most senior officials - have sources of information in
the world around!
- No more Rodchenko - continued obese man, lifting up too. - And in hindsight, it seemed not a bit
surprised by the news.
- What?
- Most of us, perhaps all, so we woke up in the morning, the first thing we do is turn on the radio. We
always hear the same nonsense and I think there is a certain comfort in that, but I am sure that
everyone here knew of the death of Rodchenko ... But you did not know, Father, and when our
television journalist told, was not startled, even shocked - as I said, has not shown the slightest surprise.
- Of course I was surprised! - Cried the Jackal.
- What you do not understand is that I have a control extraordinary. So trust me, so the leaders of
Marxism worldwide need me.
- This is no longer fashionable - murmured the
blond middle-aged, specializing in personal information files. She also stood up.
- What are you saying? - Carlos's voice was now a whisper harsh and accusatory, which increased rapidly
in intensity and volume. - I'm the Archbishop of Paris. Proporcionei comfort to their lives miserable
beyond their expectations and now you doubt me? How could I know what I know - how could have
applied my concentration and my resources you all, if I was not among the most privileged of
Moscow? Remember who I soul
- But we do not know who you are - said another
man standing. Like the others, wore clean clothes, discrete and well past, but there was a difference, it
was well done, as if he devoted special care to his appearance. The face was also different, paler and
more intense eyes, giving the impression. that weighed each word carefully.
- Besides the religious title that assigns not know anything about your identity and you obviously do not
want to reveal. As for what you know, described obvious weaknesses and inequities resulting in systems
of our departments, but are weaknesses and injustices common to all ministries. Could have chosen
dozens of others in other departments, and to assure that complaints would be the same. Nothing new
there ...
- As atrevei - yelled Carlos the Jackal, with neck veins bulging. - Who are you to say these things? I am
the Archbishop of Paris, a true son of the Revolution!
- And I'm a lawyer and judge in the Ministry of Legal Procedures, Comrade Monseigneur, a product
much younger this revolution. I do not know the heads of the KGB who you say you are his minions, but
I know the penalties for doing justice into our own hands and personally accusing - secretly - our
superiors, instead of taking the information directly to the Office of irregularities. I do not run that risk
just based on material contained in files from an unknown source, possibly invented by disgruntled
employees, perhaps inferior position to our ... Frankly, I do not want to see these files, because I will not
compromise with testimonials free and prejudices that could harm my position.
- You're a lawyer insignificant! - Roared the assassin dressed as a priest, opening and closing hands and
now with bloodshot eyes. - You are all corrupt the truth! Companions are the prevailing winds
of convenience.
- Well said - noted lawyer
Legal Procedures, with a smile. - Except, comrade, who stole the phrase from English Blackstone.
- I will not tolerate your insolence!
- No need, comrade Father, for I intend to go and my legal advice to you all is to do the same.
- Do you have the courage '?

- I have - said attorney Soviet looking for others with a good-humored smile. - Otherwise would have to
acknowledge myself and am very good at my profession to risk it.
- The money! - shouted shrilly the Jackal.
- I had a lot of money for you!
- Where is the record? - Asked the lawyer
with an air of innocence. - You even undertook to procure that could not be detected. Paper bags in our
mailboxes, the drawers of our desks - tickets with instructions to be burned. Who among our citizens,
will admit that put these things in these places? Would be sent directly to the Lubyanka. . Goodbye,
Buddy Bishop - the lawyer said the Ministry of Legal Procedures, pushing the chair where he had picked
up and headed for the door. One by one, as on arrival, the group followed
the lawyer, looking for that strange man, for a moment, had stopped so as exotic boredom of their lives,
all certain that the way it was doom and execution. Death.
But nobody was prepared for what followed. The killer dressed as a priest suddenly seemed to come out
of a trance, an electrical activating his madness. His dark eyes burned with a raging flame that could only
be met with extreme violence - brutal and savage revenge for all the wrongs done to their goal of pure
killing unbelievers! The Jackal threw down the folders that were on the table and leaning to the pile of
newspapers, picked up the deadly weapon, shouting:
- Stop it you all, stop!
Nobody obeyed and energy psychopath became the order of the moment. The killer pulled the trigger
repeatedly and men and women died. Among the cries of mangled bodies near the door, the killer ran
out, jumping over the corpses, the assault rifle on the automatic, decimating the people passing in the
street, cursing shouting, condemning nonbelievers to hell that only he could imagine.
- Traitors! Unclean! Trash! - shouted the Jackal deranged, leaping over the bodies, running to the car
stolen from Komitet and its surveillance unit inexperienced. The night ended the day began.
The phone did not ring Metropolis, erupted. Startled, Alex Conklin opened his eyes and grabbed the
instrument raucous table bedside.
- Yes? - Answered, unsure if he was
speaking at the nozzle or on the other side of the handset.
- Aleksei, stay where you are. Do not let anyone get in your room and load your guns!
- Krupkin? ... What the hell are you talking about?
- A mad dog is loose in Moscow.
- Carlos?
- He was completely mad. Rodchenko killed and made a carnage with the two agents who were
following him. A farmer found the bodies at about four o'clock in the morning. - It seems that dogs woke
him when they felt the smell of blood carried by the wind.
- Christ, he was really mad ... But why
you think ...
- One of our agents was tortured before
be killed - said the KGB man, without waiting to ask Alex. - The driver who took us from the airport to
the metropolis, protected my son and a classmate with whom I shared a room at the university. A good
young man, a good family, but not trained for what had to face.
- Are you saying he may have told Carlos where we are, is it?
- That's right ... There's more. An hour or more
least in Vavilova eight people were killed by an automatic. It was a massacre. One of them, before he
died, a woman who worked for the Ministry of Information, direktcr second class and television
journalist, said that the killer is a priest in Paris who introduces himself as "Monsignor" - Jesus exploded Conklin, sitting with legs out of bed. - It was his group.
- So called and the past tense -

Krupkin said. - It must be remembered, I said that these recruits would abandon it at the slightest sign of
danger.
- I'll call Jason ...
- Aleksei, listen to what I say!
- What? - Conklin held the phone under
chin and reached for the prosthesis to the side of the bed.
- Organize a team of heist men and
women in civilian clothes. Are receiving the instructions now and will soon be there.
- Great.
- But not alerted the hotel staff and even the police.
- That would be idiocy - said Alex. - Let's get the bastard here! It never works in uniforms walking from
one side to the other employees or hysterical. The Jackal has eyes in the knees.
- Do what I say - ordered the Soviet. Do not let anyone, stay away from windows and take all precautions.
- Of course ... What do you mean by windows? He will need some time to find us here ... ask the maids,
janitors ...
- Sorry, my old friend - interrupted
Krupkin. - But a priest angelic asking about two Americans, one that limps, in the morning, in the rush
hour?
- Good thinking, although you're paranoid.
- You are on a high floor, and well on the other side of Marx Prospekt is the roof of another building.
- You think quickly.
- Certainly faster than that fool on Dzerzhinsky. I have spoken to you before, but my
commissioner Kartoshki just phoned me two minutes ago.
- I agree Bourne.
- Take care.
Conklin has not heard the last recommendation
Krupkin. Hung up the phone and picked up the artificial foot, carelessly tying the straps around the
leg. Drew automatic Graz Burya drawer, a weapon of Soviet special design with three rounds of
ammunition. The Graz, as it was known, was a unique weapon in the genre, in the sense of being the
only machines that accept a silencer. The cylindrical instrument had rolled the front of the
drawer. Conklin picked it up and bolted in the weapon. He put on his pants, steadying himself with
difficulty, put the gun in his belt and headed for the door. He opened it and left the room. Jason was
dressed, standing in front of one of the windows of the room Victorian style.
- Was Krupkin who called - said Bourne.
- Was. Leave this window.
- Carlos? - Bourne retreated immediately, turning to Alex. - He knows that we are in Moscow?
He knows where we are?
- Odds are you should know two things. - Quickly Conklin said he had heard of Krupkin. - This tells you
something? - Asked then.
- He went crazy - Jason replied, in a voice
low. - It had to happen. The time bomb in his head finally exploded.
- That's what I think too. His Moscow team
became a myth. Probably they sent planting potatoes and Carlos exploded.
- I feel the loss of these lives - said Bourne.
- Wish it had happened otherwise, but do not feel the state it is. What happened to him was what he
wanted for me - completely crazy.
- Kruppie said that - Conklin noted. - The

Jackal has a deadly psychopathic desire to return to the first who discovered that he was crazy. Now, if
he knows you're here, and we have to assume that he knows, the obsession is double his death instead
of him - as a kind of symbolic triumph, perhaps.
- You've been talking a lot with Panov. . Fico
wondering how he is.
- No need to worry. I phoned the hospital at three o'clock in the morning - five hours in Paris. He may
lose the use of his left arm and suffer partial paralysis of the right leg, but they think he will resist.
- Do not give a damn about your arms or your
legs. And the head!
- Apparently intact. The head nurse on the floor told a doctor that he is a terrible patient.
- Thank Christ!
- I thought you were agnostic.
- It is a symbolic phrase, can ask Mo
- Bourne pointed the gun belt Alex. - Somewhat obvious, is not it?
- For who?
- For the room service - Jason replied. I asked what they have to eat in the morning and a big pot of coffee.
- No way. Krupkin said not to let anyone in and I gave my word.
- This is a paranoid idiot ...
- More or less what I said, but this is his territory, not ours. Also applies to the windows.
- Wait a bit - said Bourne. - What if he's right?
- Not likely, but possible, just ... - Conklin did not finish. Jason lifted the back of his jacket, pulled his belt
Graz Burya and headed for the door of the suite.
- What are you doing? - Alex shouted.
- Probably giving your friend "Kruppie"
more credit than he deserves, but worth a try. Stay there
- Continued, pointing to the other end of the room.
- I'll unlock the door and when the waiter comes, send in - in Russian.
- And you?
- In the hallway has an ice machine that does not
works, but is a cubicle next to the Pepsi machine, which also does not work. I'll be there.
- Thank God for the capitalists, however wrong they are. Go on!
The man from Medusa, formerly called Delta One,
opened the door, looked at both sides of the aisle of the Metropolis and ran to the bedroom where they
were the two machines, crouching, leaning against the back wall. Waited, with pain in the legs and
knees - pain not felt before - and then heard the sound of the stand canopy. The car, covered with a
tablecloth, passed and went to the door of the suite.Jason watched the young man, blond and down,
obsequious gestures, stop knocking on the door and cautiously. This was not Carlos, Jason thought,
standing up.
He heard the muffled voice of Conklin, sending in and when the young man opened the door and
entered with the cart, Jason calmly put the gun in his belt. Bent to massage the sore leg, feeling the
muscle tensed. It happened with the impact of a furious wave hitting the rock. A figure dressed in black
jumped an indentation invisible hallway and ran the cubicle of the machines. Bourne, with a quick
gesture, leaned against the wall. Was the Jackal!
38
MADNESS! With all the strength, Carlos tapped his right shoulder at the waiter Blonde, throwing it to
the end of the corridor. The table rolled over and broke up the dishes on the carpet. Suddenly, an

incredible movement, the waiter turned his body to the left, still in the air, and pulled a gun from his
belt. The Jackal saw or felt the movement. He turned quickly and with a volley of rapid automatic man
nailed to the wall, hitting his head and torso Russian blonde. That horrible moment, it seemed, an
eternity, the weapon Bourne hooked the waist of his pants. Jason tore the fabric and his eyes met with
murderous rage and triumph the eyes of Carlos.
Jason dropped the gun, spun around, crouching in the small alcove, and the hail of bullets shattered the
fronts of the two machines. Lying prone, Bourne stepped forward out of the cubicle, shooting with the
fastest speed possible. Heard other shots, not a submachine gun. Alex was shooting from inside the
suite! Carlos was between two fires! Was possible - it could all end in a corridor hotel in
Moscow! Hopefully that happens, hopefully it happens!
The Jackal roared challenging wounded beast. Bourne turned his body into the alcove, briefly distracted
by noise from the ice machine that started operating. Crouched, his face leaning against the side wall of
the cubicle, looked into the hall at the time the murderous insanity peaked in feverish madness combat
almost melee. As a furious animal caged, wounded the Jackal turned the body at random, then shooting
the walls seemed to close in on him. Jason heard two shrill screams coming from down the hall, one
man, one woman, a couple killed or injured by the blast of uncontrolled murder weapon.
- Get down! - The cry of Conklin, on the other side of the aisle, it was an order, who did not know Jason.
Protect Yourself! Grab the damn wall! - Bourne obeyed, comprising only he should enter the smallest
space he could find, protecting the head as possible. The corner. stops He shot forward when the first
explosion shook the walls - somewhere - after the second, much closer, much more noise in the
hallway. Grenades!
The smoke rose in the air, mixed with plaster and broken glass. Shots. Nove, one after the other - an
automatic Graz Burya ... Alex! Jason quickly left the alcove. Conklin, standing at the door of the suite
next to the overturned table, removed the empty magazine weapon and sought another in his pants
pockets.
- I'm not in the other! - Shouted angrily, referring to comb bullets left by Krupkin. - He went to the next
aisle, and I have no more damn bullet.
- I have and I'm faster than you - Jason said, reloading his gun. - Go back inside and call the
concierge. Send take everyone's lobby.
- Krupkin said ...
- To hell with what he said! Send the lifts close, blocking all exits of the stairs, and stay away from this
floor!
- I understand what you want to do ...
- Do it! - Bourne ran down the hallway, wincing when he passed the injured couple. The two were alive,
moaning in pain. Her clothes were bloody, but they moved! Bourne turned and shouted to Alex, who
was near the table in the suite door.
- Send bring help! - He pointed to a door in the hallway. - They are alive! Send use this port, only
is! The hunt began, helped while hampered by the news of what was happening had spread to every
ward on the tenth floor of the Metropolis. It did not require much imagination to understand that many
people were in a panic calling the hotel concierge while gunfire echoed through the halls. The tactical
team Krupkin, in civilian clothes, was canceled for the first hail of bullets from automatic Jackal.
Where was he? There was another door at the end of the long corridor that Jason had just come in, but
there were also 15 or 18 rooms in that wing. Carlos was no fool and wounded as he was going to take
advantage of everything he had learned in his long life of violence to survive, even if only to get what
they wanted more than life itself, to kill Jason Bourne ... Bourne realized the accuracy of this analysis
when he saw that he was describing himself. What the old man had said Fontaine on Tranquility in that
storeroom while. Watched the priests, knowing that one of them was bought by Jackal? "... Two aging
lions stalking each other, no matter who they killed in their crossfire. "Words Fontaine, p man who

sacrificed his life for a virtual unknown because his wife was no more, because the woman he loved was
dead. Walking cautiously to the first door on the right, Jason wondered if he would do the
same. Desperately wanted to live - with Marie and the children - but if it was ... if they were ... that life
will still have importance? Give it up if I saw another man in a reflection of something that existed in it
too?
He had no time. Webb David, do not have time now for your meditation, for his weakness. Get away
from me. Need to attract into the open a raptor that look 13 years ago. His claws are razor sharp and
she has killed too, countless times, and now wants to kill my - your family. Get away from me!
Blood stains! On the carpet dark brown, the droplets sparkled in the dim light of the hallway. Bourne
abaixouse and touched one of them with a fingertip. They were moist, red - blood. The trail of blood
passing through the first door, then the second, always left then crossed the corridor and the design was different, there was still more straight but zigzag, as if the
injury had been located and the bleeding stemmed in part. Jason followed the blood trail that passed
the sixth door on the right, the seventh ... and then disappeared
- no, not quite. A red thread, almost invisible, followed to the left, crossed the corridor there was! A slight blood stain just above the handle of the eighth door on the left, less than six meters
from the door to the stairs. Carlos was behind that door, maybe holding guests hostage. The accuracy
was everything now, every movement, every sound concentrates in capturing prey. Breathing in a
controlled, requiring the body itself to eliminate involuntary muscle spasms, Bourne quietly back the
way he had done. A hundred steps of the eighth gate to the left, turned sharply. Behind the closed doors
of the hall, crying and sporadic sobs sounded nervous. Guests had been ordered in a very different
language of instruction Krupkin. Stay in rooms please. Do not let anyone enter. Our men are
investigating. was always
"Our men", not "the police" never "authorities" because those words meant panicexit! " He stopped
abruptly, took another shot at another chandelier and the noise of gunfire and broken glass muffling his
steps, spun around and leaned against the wall, facing the eighth door. Then, in one swift movement, he
threw himself against the door, breaking it in the momentum of the assault and threw himself on the
floor of the room with the gun raised, prepared for rapid fire.
Jason was wrong! noticed this immediately was armed with a counter-trap end. Another door opened somewhere in the hallway - he heard
or felt, instinctively. Furious, rolled right, knocking a lamp with the leg, seeing a glimpse of a couple of
old crouched at the other end of the room. The figure in white burst into the room firing at random, a
sequence deafening. Bourne shot repeatedly in the white figure and jumped to the left wall, realizing
that for a split second, the point would be invisible to the killer, on your right. That's enough!
Jason hit the shoulder of the Jackal - right shoulder! He folded his arm instinctively dropping the
gun. Without interrupting the movement of the body, Carlos turned his body, the white robe opened
up, puffed up like a candle in the wind and taking the left hand to the wound caused by Graz Burya,
kicked the fixture against Jason's face.
Bourne fired again, his vision impaired by the heavy dome light, the shot deflected by foot bronze. Jason
signed the gun and pulled the trigger, but heard only the crackling dry and metallic - the automatic was
discharged! Crouching down, he reached for the gun Carlos lying on the ground while the figure in white
ran down the hallway. Jason stood up, but his knee gave way! Oh, Christ! dragged herself to bed and
dived underneath it, trying to reach the phone on the bedside table on the other side. The table and the
phone were crumbled to the ground! The demented mind of Charles resorted to all tactics, all
counterattacks he knew.
Another sound! Loud and sharp. The lock output to the staircase was built and heavy metal door
slammed into the wall. The Jackal was down to the lobby. If the men at the gate had obeyed orders
Conklin, he was cornered!

Bourne looked at the old couple, noting that the man protecting the woman's own body.
- It's okay - he said softly, trying to calm them. - I know you may not understand my language - I do not
speak Russian - but are safe now.
- We also do not speak Russian - said the Englishman, still suspicious, looking intently at Bourne and
starting to get up. - Thirty years ago I was standing at that door! Eighth Army with Monty, you know?
Very heroic in El Alamein - we all, of course. To paraphrase: age weakens, as they say.
- I'd rather not hear it, General ...
- No, no, a mere brigadier ...
- Great! - Bourne sat on the bed, trying to
move the knee. Whatever it was, it was solved with a sharp click. - I need a phone!
- Actually, what made me mad was that damn robe! - Continued the veteran of El Alamein.
- A fucking shame, this is it - sorry, honey.
- What are you talking about?
- The mantle white, boy! It must be the Binky
- The couple across the hall, who is traveling with us. Should have caught that Beau Rivage in
Lausanne. The theft has been a shame, but have given the mantle for this pig is unforgivable!
Jason picked up the gun and ran to the Jackal
corridor, sure "Binky" deserved more admiration than the Brigadier gave him. He was on the ground,
bleeding from knife wounds in the stomach and neck.
- I can not talk to anyone! - shouted the gray-haired woman kneeling beside the victim, crying
hysterically. - He fought like crazy - somehow knew that the priest would not shoot!
- Keep the wounds closed the best
possible way - Bourne shouted, staring at the phone. Was intact! Instead of calling the concierge, Jason
dialed p suite number.
- Krupkin? - Alex exclaimed.
- No, I do! First: Carlos are on the ladder - the hall where I am! Second, have a wounded man in that
hallway, seventh door on the right! Hurry!
- As soon as possible. I have an open line to the office.
- Where the hell is the team of the KGB?
- Just arrived. Krupkin called just the lobby - so I thought you were ...
- I'm going up the stairs!
- For God's sake, why?
- Because he's mine!
Jason ran to the door, without a word of comfort for the hysterical woman, had none to offer. Reached
the stairs with the gun in the hand of the Jackal. Started down, hearing the sound of his own
footsteps. Stopped on the seventh floor and took off his shoes and socks. Somehow the cold surface
underfoot reminded jungle, direct contact with the wet grass, and it seemed to infuse new courage - the
jungle has always been a great friend of Delta One
Continued to decline, following the trail of blood, wider now, for the last injury was too serious to be
solved with a simple push. The pressure was applied twice, once on the fifth floor and the other near the
door of the third where patches of dark blood indicated he had difficulty manipulating the locks without
external security keys. The second floor after the first, no
more no! Carlos was trapped! Somewhere in the dark, was the death of the murderer who deliver
Bourne forever. Bourne took out a box of matches in the Metropolis, leaned against the wall and lit a
match, set fire to the box. Threw the piece of cardboard on fire over the railing, gun ready to shoot
lower ab movement.
Nothing. Damn! The first floor was deserted -

there was no one there! Impossible! Jason ran down c last flight of stairs and slammed the door to the
lobby.
- shto? - shouted from the other side. - Kto tam?
- I'm an American! I'm working with the KGB!
Let me in!
- shto ...?
- I get it - cried another voice. - And please understand that many guns are pointed at you when the
door is opened. Understood?
- I understood! - Shouted Bourne, at the last moment remembering to throw down the weapon of the
Jackal. The door opened.
- Da! - said police official Soviet correcting himself immediately when he saw a submachine gun at the
feet of Jason. - Nyet! - shouted the man.
- Nye za shto? - Krupkin said breathlessly, throwing himself forward.
- Pochemu?
- Komitet?
- Prekrasno. - The policeman nodded obediently gesture, but did not move.
- He was here! - Bourne muttered quietly intense and defining their unbelief.
- The Jackal? - Krupkin asked, astonished.
- He went down those stairs! It could not have gone on any floor. All fire exits are shut out - only the
bars of metal can abrilas.
- Shazhi - KGB man said to the guard of the hotel, and continued, in Russian. - Someone went through
that door in the last ten minutes after the orders to close all the doors?
- No, sir - said the mititsiya. - Only one hysterical woman with a dirty bathrobe. Panicked, she fell in the
bathroom and cut herself. We thought we'd have a heart attack, the way she screamed. We
immediately took her to the infirmary. Krupkin turned to Jason and repeated in English:
- Only one woman went through that door. A
woman in panic that cut in the bathroom.
- A woman? He sure? ... What color was her hair?
Dimitri asked the guard and turned again to Bourne.
- He says it was red and very curly.
- Reddish? - A very unpleasant drew up in the mind of Jason. - An internal phone - no, the
concierge! Come on, I need your help. - Followed by Krupkin, Bourne, barefoot, ran to the front desk. Do you speak English?
- Of course, well, until some dialects, sir.
- The plan of the rooms on the tenth floor. Hurry!
- Lord?
Krupkin translated, and a big book of loose sheets, each one inside a plastic envelope, was placed on the
counter.
- This room! - Jason said, pointing and making it possible to not scare the receptionist. - Turn on there! If
the phone is busy, stop the link!
Krupkin translated again and put a phone in front of Bourne. He said:
- Here is the man who was in his room there
bit ...
- Oh, yes, of course, dear boy. Thanks! The
doctor is here and Binky ...
- Need to know something immediately ... You have wigs, half wigs or in the bedroom?
- I would say that is one very naughty ...
- Ma'am, I have no time for niceties, I need to know! Have or not?

- Well, yes, I have. In fact, it is no secret, all my friends know and condone deception. You understand,
my dear boy, I am diabetic ... my hair is too thin.
- One of the wigs is red?
- Actually, it is. I like to change ... Bourne hung up the phone and looked at Krupkin.
- The bastard did it! It was Carlos!
- Come with me! - Krupkip said, and the two drove to the offices in Metropolis. Entered the ward and
stopped, horrified.
Rolls of gauze and medical tape, antibiotic syringes and broken glass were scattered around the
examination table and the floor, as if someone had made a dressing panicked and in a hurry. But what
the two men actually saw was a woman who had attended the crazy patient. Nurse Metropolis was in
the chair with his head back on the back, neck surgically cut and with a trickle of blood running down his
uniform immaculately white. Loucu- ra!
Standing beside the living room table, Krupkin talked on the phone while Alex Conklin, seated in brocade
sofa, massaging his leg. Bourne, in the window, looked at the Marx Prospekt. Alex looked up at the KGB
officer with a smile. Krupkin nodded. A message was being transmitted between the two. Opponents
were equal in endless and futile war in which only battles were won, but the philosophical conflicts were
never resolved.
- I have your warranty then, buddy - said
Krupkin in Russian - and to be frank, I charge ... It
Of course I'm recording this conversation. You would not do the same? ... Great! We understand and we
understand our responsibilities, so let's recap. The
man is seriously injured, so all the taxi services and all doctors and hospitals have been warned. The
description of the stolen car was distributed throughout the city and no sign of the man or the car will
be taken only to their knowledge. The penalty for not obeying these orders is the Lubyanka, want to
make that clear ... Great! We have an agreement and I hope to hear from you soon as you have some
information, right? ... Do not have a cardiac arrest, comrade. I know perfectly well that my superior,
but this is a proletarian society, right? Simply follow the advice of a very experienced subordinate. Have
a nice day ... No, not a threat, just a phrase I learned in Paris - of American origin, I think. - Krupkin hung
up and sighed. There was something good in our aristocracy educated and completely missing, I think.
- Do not say it out loud - Conklin observed, indicating the phone. - Nothing happened yet, it did.
- Nothing that requires immediate action, just something interesting, even fascinating, in its gruesome
nature.
- I suppose you're talking about Carlos.
- That's right - Krupkin nodded
when Jason looked at him. - When I passed by my office to join the assault team, I found on my desk
eight large manila envelopes. Only one was open. The police found them in Vavilova and, true to their
habits, after reading the first, nor wanted to open others.
- What was in them? - Alex asked with a
laugh. - State secrets revealing the entire Politburo is gay?
- You may not be far from the truth
- Jason interrupted. - It was the Moscow team of the Jackal, in Vavilova. He should be showing all the
dirt that had found out about each or handing them the dirt of others.
- And the second case - said Krupkin. - A collection of absurd accusations to the heads of our main
ministries.
- He has safes and vaults filled with this garbage. It is the method of standardized operating
Carlos. That's how he buys entry into the circles that otherwise could never penetrate.

- So, I was not very clear, Jason - the official said the KGB. - When I say ridiculous, I mean exactly that unbelievable! Madness!
- He almost always hits the mark. Do not take your opinion to any bank.
- If it were possible, I would take and would get a good loan, giving it as collateral. Most information is
taken of the worst tabloids nothing strange about it, of course - but alongside these blunders is obvious distortions of time, places,
functions and even identities. For example, the Ministry of Transport is not where he says of the
information, but one block away, and a certain comrade direktor is not
married to the woman mentioned, but with another - the woman mentioned is his daughter and is not
in Moscow, but in Cuba, where it was six years ago. Moreover, given the man as head of the Radio
Moscow and accused of almost everything except sex with dogs, died 11 months ago and everyone
knew that was orthodox Catholic and would have been much happier as a priest ... I spotted these
blatant lies a few minutes because I was in a hurry, but I'm sure there are many more.
- Are you saying that Carlos was mistaken?
- So as absurd - though compiled
with extreme conviction - that the charges would be the laughing stock of the most rigid doctrinal
courts. Who provided this information melodramatic took care to include the automatic denial of the
same.
- Rodchenko? - Asked Bourne.
- There could be another. Grigorie -'m saying
"Grigorie" but never called him that, personally, was always "general" - was a consummate strategist,
the prototype of the survivor as well as a convinced Marxist. Control your keyword was actually his
addiction, and could control the Jackal to serve the interests of the mother country, it would be cause
for great joy for him. But the Jackal killed those shots symbolic neck. Was treason or carelessness on the
part of Rodchenko? Which one? We will never know. The phone rang and Krupkin answered
immediately.
- From? - Krupkin Conklin motioned to place the prosthesis, as he said, in Russian, on the phone: - Now,
listen carefully, comrade. The police should do nothing - above all, should not show. Send one of your
ordinary vehicles to replace the police car, got it? ... Great. We will use the frequency Moray.
- Any clues? - Asked Bourne, afastandose window.
- Perfect! - Answered Krupkin. - Did the
Nemchinovka car on the road, going to Odintsovo.
- This tells me nothing. What's in Odintsovo,
or whatever it's called?
- I do not know exactly, but we must assume that he knows. Remember, he knows Moscow and the
neighborhoods of the city. Odintsovo is what you might call industrial suburb, about thirty minutes from
downtown ...
- Damn - Alex yelled, trying to adapt the prosthesis. - Let me do it - Jason said, in a tone that brooked no
objections, kneeling and manipulating strips of thick cloth. - Why Carlos is still using the car
Dzerzhinsky? - Continued Bourne, dirigindose the Krupkin - There he goes with that risk.
- Combines, if no choice. He should know that all taxis in Moscow is a silent arm of government and,
after all, he is seriously injured and without the weapon that had booked to stop you. Is in no position to
threaten a driver, or to steal a car ... Also, it arrived very quickly in Nemchinovka. The car was seen by
chance. The road has almost no movement, he probably knows too.
- Let's get out of here! - Conklin said, annoyed with the attention of Jason and the disability itself. Rose,
with a brusque gesture, refused to hand Krupkin stretched and headed for the door. - We can talk in the
car. We are wasting time.
- Moray, please answer - Krupkin said,

in Russian, the driver's side of the assault team, with the microphone close to his lips, his hand on the
control panel. - Moray, if you hear me, please respond.
- What the hell is he saying? - Asked
Bourne, in the backseat, next to Alex.
- Are you trying to talk to the car from KGB
Carlos is following. He is from one frequency to another. Is the code Moray.
- The code what?
- It is a kind of water snake, Jason - Krupkin said, looking back. - The family of muriandeos with gills
porous and able to descend to great depths. Some species are deadly.
- Thank you, Peter Lorre - said Bourne.
- Very good - said the KGB agent with a
laugh. - But you have to admit that it is an appropriate comparison. Few radios can transmit or receive
at this frequency.
- When you stole from us?
- Oh, not you, no way. The British, it is true. As always, London is very discreet about these things, but
they are much more advanced than you and the Japanese in certain areas.It's that damn MI-Six. They
dine at their clubs in Knightsbridge, smoke their pipes horrible bancam the innocent and send spies
trained at the Old Vic.
- They also committed some "rats" Conklin said defensively.
- More revelations in their revolt than in reality, Aleksei. You are away for a long time. We lost a lot
more than they that department, but the British know how to deal with public embarrassment - we
have not learned this ancient art. We buried our rats, as you say. We seek to gain the respectability that
so often eludes us. Well, I think, historically, are much younger than them. - Krupkin he spoke Russian. Moray, come in, please! I'm coming to the end of the spectrum. Where are you, Moray?
- Stop there, buddy! - Said the metallic voice from the speaker. - We are in contact. Are you listening?
- You look like a gelding, but I'm listening.
- Must be Comrade Krupkin ...
- Who do you expect it to be Pope? Who is
You?
- Orlov.
- Great. You know what you're doing?
- I hope you know, Dimitri.
- Why is that?
- Because of their orders absurd not to do anything. We are two miles from the building - our car is off
the road on a small hill - and we are watching the vehicle. Is in the parking lot and the suspect inside the
building.
- What building? What hill? Told me nothing.
- Arsenal Kubinka.
Conklin leaned abruptly forward.
- Oh, my God! - He exclaimed.
- What is it? - Asked Bourne.
- It is an arsenal. - Bourne frowned, not understanding. - Here, the arsenals are much more than fields
closed for parades of veterans and reservists. Are training centers and warehouses of weapons and
ammunition.
- He was not going to Odintsovo - said
Krupkin. - The arsenal is located further south, about four or five miles from town. He has been there
before.

- These places should have maximum security said Bourne. - He can not go coming out of nowhere.
- He came - said the KGB agent in Paris.
- I mean, in restricted areas - such as weapons depots.
- That's what worries me - said Krupkin with
microphone in hand. - If he's been there before - and evidently already been - what he knows about the
facility ... who knows it inside?
- Call the arsenal on the radio and have to stop him Jason suggested.
- And if I talk to the wrong person, or if he
is armed and start shooting? A phone call, a sign of hostility, even the appearance of a strange car, can
cause carnage, the death of dozens of men and women. We saw what he did at the Metropolis in
Vavilova. He is out of control, completely crazy.
- Dimitri - said the tinny voice on the radio. - Something is happening. The man has just emerged from a
side door with a burlap bag in hand and will going to the car ...Comrade, I'm not sure that it is
the same man. Probably is, but something different.
- What do you mean? The clothes?
- No. It's a dark suit and with his arm
right in a sling, as before ... but is moving faster, with firmer step, the body more upright.
- Are you saying that does not seem to hurt, right?
- I think so, yes, that's what I'm saying.
- He may be faking - Conklin said. That bastard might be giving his last breath and convince us that you are ready for the marathon.
- Why, Aleksei? Why pretend it is not
hurt?
- I do not know, but if your man can see it, can
see the car too. Maybe he's just in a hurry damned.
- What is happening? - Asked Bourne,
angry.
- Someone came out with a bag full of merchandise
and going to the car - Conklin said in English.
- For God's sake, hold the man!
- We're not sure which is the Jackal - said
Krupkin. - The machine is the same, and has his arm in a sling, but there are certain differences ...
- So, he wants to think that is not it! - Jason said firmly.
- shto? ... What?
- He is putting in place, thinking
as you're thinking, and thereby passing on their front. He may know or not you are being watched, they
saw the car, but it has to assume the worst and act accordingly. How long we will be there?
- The way my young crazy guy is
driving, I would say that within three or four minutes.
- Krupkin! - came the voice on the radio. - Four people left now - three men and a woman. Are rushing to
the car!
- What did he say? - Asked Bourne. Alex translated and Jason frowned. - Hostages? - Whispered, as if
speaking to himself. - Did he just make a mistake! - A Delta of Medusa leaned forward and touched his
shoulder Krupkin. - Tell your man to get out of where you are as soon as the car from and he knows
where he is going. Tell him to show to blow the horn like crazy when passing in front of the arsenal,
where he should go, anyway!

- My dear friend - the Soviet exploded. - Can I explain why this order?
- His companion was right and I was wrong. The man with the sling is not Carlos. The Jackal is
inside, waiting for the cavalry to come out strong pass by in another car - if there is a cavalry.
- On behalf of our beloved Karl Marx, explain how you arrived at that conclusion contradictory!
- Simple. He made a mistake ... Even if you could, would not shoot that car, would you?
- Okay, not going to shoot. There are three or four people in it, no doubt innocent Soviet citizens
required to appear complicit.
- Hostages?
- Yes, of course.
- When was the last time you heard of people running to voluntarily become a hostage? Even if someone
had a gun, inside the door, one or two, if not all, try to protect yourself behind parking cars.
- You are right ...
- But you were right about one thing. Carlos has a contact within the arsenal - the man with the sling. It
may just be a Russian innocent with a brother or sister in Paris, but the Jackal owns him.
- Dimitri! - metallic voice screamed in Russian. - The
car is going to all the parking.
Krupkin pressed the button for transmitting and gave his orders. Should follow the car to the border
with Finland, if necessary, but stop looking so without violence and call the police if needed. The last
order was passing in front of the armory, honking the horn repeatedly. The agent Orlov asked in Russian
colloquial:
- Why fucking shit blow the horn?
- Because I had a vision of St. Nicholas,
Good! Furthermore, I am your superior very charitable. Do as I say!
- You're not well, Dimitri.
- And you want a fantastic report that will
send it directly to Tashkent?
- On my way, buddy. Krupkin put the microphone river place.
- All proceeds - he said, turning back. If I can choose my death next to a crazed killer or a lunatic who demonstrates a certain sense of
decency, I think I choose the second. Contrary to the skeptics more enlightened, I think there is a God
after all ... Aleksei, you do not want to buy a house on the lake in Geneva?
- Maybe I'll buy - said Bourne. - If I live until the end of this day and what I intend to do, you tell me the
price. I will not haggle.
- Hey, David - said Conklin - Marie won
that money, not you.
- She always listens to what I say. What he says.
- What is this, who is there for you? asked Krupkin.
- I want you to give me all the weapons you have in
mail this car and let me in the middle of the grass, in front of the armory. Then give me a couple minutes
to position myself in the parking lot and between ostensibly - ostensibly as possible - and then, seeing
that the car is no longer there, the whole skirt the road.
- And leave you alone? - Alex exclaimed.
- Just so I can catch it. It is the only way
catch him.
- Madness! - Krupkin said indignantly.
- No, Kruppie, reality - Jason Bourne said, quietly. - It's like in the beginning. One on one is the only way.

- This is heroism freshman! - Russian roared, slamming his hand on the seat. - Worse, it is a ridiculous
strategy. If you're right, I can surround the arsenal with hundreds of men!
- What exactly did he want you to do
- What I would want if I were Carlos. You do not understand? He can escape in the confusion, in the
midst of so many people - this is no problem for any of us, we have done thousands of times
before. Crowds and anxiety are our protection - is child's play. A knife in a uniform, the uniform of our
body, a grenade in the middle of the soldiers, and after the explosion, we are one of the victims
staggering - this is the program for amateur paid assassins. Believe me - against my will, I became one of
them.
- So you think you can do yourself, Bai- man? - asked Conklin, furiously rubbing his leg.
- Stalking the killer who wants to kill me - and catch it
- You are a fucking megalomaniac!
- You are absolutely right. It is the only way
work in the game of death. It's the only advantage we have.
- Insanity - Krupkin grumbled.
- Allow me then I get a little bit of insanity. If I thought the whole Russian army could ensure my survival,
I yell for him. But can not. This is the only way ... Stop the car you want to choose the weapons. 39
The green silk DARK KGB made the last bend in the road through the fields, ending the gentle
descent. Now followed by a flat stretch flanked by expanses of green grass of summer, and approached
the massive building and brown Kubinka Arsenal. The building seemed to rise from the ground like a
huge box and square, an ugly contrast created by man in the countryside, made of brown wood with
small windows, three floors and occupying two acres of land. As the building, the entrance was large,
square and naked, except for the bas-relief above the door representing three Soviet soldiers in the
battle deadly winds, with rifles in battle, ready to burst the heads of each other.
Armed with an authentic AK-47 Russian-five
combs standard thirty bullets each, Bourne jumped from the car that ran silent at idle, escondendose
immediately between the grass on the other side of the road, right in front of the armory. The huge
parking lot with a dirt floor, was on the right of the building. The front lawn was bordered by a hedge of
plants abused and had a mast in the center top and white with the Soviet flag still and limp in the still air
of the morning. Jason ran across the road, with the body bent and crouched beside the fence. Had only
a few moments to check, through the bushes, the security system's arsenal. Apparently it was informal,
or even
nonexistent. On the right wall at the entrance, there was a small window as a grossing film, behind
which a uniformed guard reading a magazine, and next to it, less visible, the other slept with his head on
the counter. Two other soldiers appeared on the double doors and huge arsenal, quiet, one checking his
watch, the other lighting a cigarette.
This was security. Do not expect any assault had not been assaulted at least the alarm does not come up
patrols the front of the building, usually the first to be advised. It was creepy, abnormal, beyond any
expectation. The Jackal was within the military, but there was no sign of invasion, nothing indicated that,
somewhere in the complex, it was controlling a small number of people - the man of the sling, the other
three men and the woman. The parking? Bourne had not understood the
conversation between Alex, Krupkin and the man on the radio, but now realized that when they spoke
of the people who ran the stolen car, did not refer to the main entrance!There must be a way out of the
parking lot! Cris- to, a few seconds the driver's Komitet would start the engine and rushing out of the
parking lot, thus heralding the arrival of the government vehicle and its quick start and calamitous. If
Carlos was trying to escape, it would be this time!

After waiting for communication by radio, every moment that increases the distance between him and
the arsenal became more difficult to find a clue. And he, Jason, efficient killing machine of Medusa, the
place was wrong!
In addition, a civilian running across the lawn or the road with an automatic weapon inside a military
complex, would be an invitation for disaster. An omission small and stupid!Three or four words
translated and a listener less arrogant, more interested, or would have avoided that mistake. They were
always the little things, seemingly insignificant things that acinzentavam black operations. Damn!
A hundred yards of the silk KGB started the engine and
made a complete turn in the parking lot, raising clouds of dust, with the tires throwing away pieces of
stone. Bourne had no time to think, only to act. Supported the AK-47 in his right leg, hiding as much as
possible, and stood up with his left hand on top of the hedge - a gardener, perhaps, preparing for work,
or a hiker relaxed, nothing that seemed threatening, just a common scene. To the casual observer, he
could be walking around there for some time without being noticed. Jason looked at the entrance of the
arsenal.The two soldiers were laughing, one of them again at his watch. So, the object of that waiting
out the door on the left, a woman and attractive brunette, twenty years or less.Laughing, she took both
hands to ears, grimaced and walked quickly to the uniformed man who both cared about the time,
kissing him on the mouth. Arm in arm with the woman at the center, the three walked to the right, away
from the door. A hit! metal against metal, glass breaking glass, sharp and loud sound coming from the
parking lot.Something had happened to the car Komitet with Krupkin and Alex. The young driver of the
assault team had just hit another car. Using sound as a pretext, Jason walked down the road, thinking of
Conklin with a stiff leg to conceal the gun better. He turned his head, expecting to see the two soldiers
and the woman running the place of the accident, but they were running toward contrary, fleeing from
any involvement with the disaster. Undoubtedly precious violations of military regulations were
jealously protected. Leaving limp, Bourne went through the hedge and ran into the cement walkway
that ran to the corner of the building, increasing the speed and breathing heavily. Jason now held the
gun in his right hand raised as he ran. Arrived breathless at the end of the passage, neck veins bulging,
sweat flooding his face, his neck, his shirt. With a shaky breath, steadied his AK-47 into position to shoot,
leaned against the wall of the building, then quickly entered the parking lot and froze at what he
saw. The noise of their steps and throbbing in the ears, caused by anxiety and exertion, had prevented
any sound heard in front. What was now seeing was the result of a gun equipped with a
silencer. Almost, coldness, Medusa's Delta One felt that he was seeing a scene repeated many times for
many years. In certain circumstances, the death has to be silent - complete silence was impossible, but
the goal was always the greatest silence possible.
The young team driver assault KGB
was on the ground beside the car dark green, dead, with his head riddled with bullets. The car had hit
the side of the government bus carrying employees of offices. How or why, Bourne did not know. Also
did not know if Alex and Krupkin alive. The car windows were riddled with bullets and not noticed any
movement, suggesting the worst. Above all, the Chameleon understood at that moment that he could
not leave the scene affected him - emotions were banned!
If the worst happened, then regret, revenge had to be now.
Think! How! Hurry!
Krupkin had said that "dozens of men and women" worked in the armory. Where were they? The
Jackal was not acting in a vacuum, it was impossible! However, the noise of the violent hit should have
been heard at a great distance - a distance longer than a football field - and a man was shot dead at the
crash site, c no one appeared at the site - not coincidentally, or purposely . Except for Carlos and five
unknowns, the whole arsenal would be working in a vacuum. Nothing made sense!
Then Jason heard the muffled music coming from inside the building. Martial music, drums and pistons,
with crescendos that should be deafening inside the huge structure.Jason remembered the girl who left

Arsenal with hands over her ears and grimacing and understood. She was coming from inside the
armory, where the music should be intolerable. Was there any celebration in Kubinka, a normal event
that explained the profusion of private cars, small vans and buses in the parking lot - profusion in terms
of the Soviet Union, where these vehicles were not in great numbers. Altogether there must have been
about twenty cars in the dirt parking lot, parked in a semicircle. The activity there was a diversionary
strategy while protection for the Jackal. He knew orchestrated bring both to their own advantage. Also
knew his enemy.
Why not go out Carlos? Why had not come out before? What was he waiting for? The circumstances
were perfect, could not be better. The injury forced him to delay his plans to lose the advantages they
had created? It was possible, but unlikely. Once you arrive there, the trail was next, and he had to keep
making more. So why? irreversible logic, the logic of survival of the killer, who sent, after securing the
rear, he fled as soon as possible. It was his only chance! So why was he still in there? Why your car had
not left the area, leaving fast to freedom?
Again leaning against the wall, Jason took a few steps to the left, watching everything I could see. Like
most arsenals worldwide Kubinka had no windows on the first floor, at least not in the first five meters
from the ground, perhaps because windows did not match exactly with galloping horses. Jason saw a
window at a height that could be the second floor. Dali could have gone shooting with silencer that
killed the driver of the KGB. Downstairs was a door at the back entrance that no one bothered to
mention. 's the little things, insignificant things! Dro- ga!
The music inside volume increased, but different now, the drums sounded louder notes of the pistons
were longer, more strident. The end of a symphonic march, martial music at its most intense ... That was
it! The Jackal would use the time of the departure of the guests to escape. When they saw the scene in
stationary-tion, probably everyone would panic and take advantage Jackal to escape - with whom and in
what vehicle?
Bourne needed to enter the arsenal, halt Carlos, get him! Krupkin cared about the lives of "dozens of
men and women" - but did not know that, in reality, could be hundreds. The Jackal would use all the
weapons you could steal, including grenades, to cause mass hysteria, which would facilitate his
escape. The lives meant nothing if they had to be sacrificed to save him, nothing. Abandoning caution,
Bourne ran to the door with the safety pin of the AK-47 unlocked, finger on the trigger. In vain tried the
handle. Shot the metal around the lock, then the inside, and as he reached for the door handle your
personal world gone mad!
A heavy truck left the row of cars in the parking lot and went directly to him, accelerating as it
approached. At the same time a burst of gunfire swept the wood on your right.Bourne jumped to the
left, rolled on the ground and kept rolling her eyes and nose full of dust.
Then it happened! The massive explosion shattered the
door, ripping a good portion of the wall above it, and through the black smoke and debris falling, he saw
a figure trudging into the circle of vehicles. Her killer was fleeing. But hewas alive! And
the reason was obvious. The Jackal made a mistake! Not the trap off this extraordinary, Carlos knew that
his enemy was with Alex, and Krupkin KGB man, so went out and waited for him. His mistake was in
placing the explosives. The pump or pumps, were armed on the hood of the truck, not under the
chassis. The components of an explosive seeking to break free through the barriers that are less
resistant, and the hood of a car is much less resistant than solid iron frame of the chassis. The bomb
blew up, not at ground level, which spread deadly fragments by a great extent.
Had no time! Bourne got up and ran to the car Komitet with a horrible feeling. He looked out the front
window of the car, saw a slight movement and opened the door. Krupkin lay under the dash, with the
right shoulder almost completely shattered.
- We are wounded - the official said the KGB
weakly but quiet. - Aleksei's injury is more serious than mine, so take care of it first, please.

- People are leaving now ...

- Here! - interrupted Krupkin with difficulty taking your plastic card pocket for identification.
- Look for the idiot in charge and bring him here. We need a doctor. To Aleksei, you fool. Hurry!
At one end of the ward's arsenal, Bourne watched the two men injured and doctors, not understanding
what they were saying. Three doctors at the Hospital of the People at Serova Prospekt had arrived by
helicopter
- Two surgeons and an anesthetist, but the cooperation of the latter was not required. Local anesthesia
was sufficient to clean and stitch the wound, followed by injections of antibiotics. Foreign objects had
passed through their bodies, said the head doctor.
- I suppose you mean bullets when he speaks reverently of "foreign objects" - Krupkin said irritably.
- He means bullets - confirmed Alex, in Russian, hoarsely. Conklin could not move his head because of
bandages on his neck. Wide strips of tape stretched over his right shoulder and clavicle.
- Thank you - the surgeon said. - You had a lot of luck, especially you, our patient American, for which we
must make a confidential medical report. By the way, give our assistants the name and address of your
doctor in the United States. Will need his services for a few weeks.
- At the moment he is in a hospital in Paris.
- Say what?
- Well, whenever something happens to me,
send message and he tells me a doctor.
- This is not exactly socialized medicine.
- For me, it is. I will give the name and address it to the nurse. Hopefully, he will be right back.
- Again, you were lucky.
- I went too fast, doctor, like his comrade. We saw that bastard running to us, then locked the doors and
move on without stopping to shoot inside the car, to prevent it got closer and ended up with us, he
almost got ... It
a pity that killed the driver, was a very brave young man.
- An angry young man too, Aleksei - said
Krupkin, the other table. - The first shots, coming from the door of the armory, caused the car hit the
bus. The infirmary door opened abruptly, or
better, the room was invaded by the august presence of the Commissioner of the apartment
Slavyansky. Modes of official Komitet were perfectly according to their features heavy, its rude and
speaks his uniform in disarray.
- You - he said to the doctor. - I spoke with
his companions out there. Said already over here.
- Not quite, comrade. There are still some small things, certain therapeutic measures ...
- Later - interrupted the commissioner. Let's talk in private. Alone.
- The Komitet speaks? - Asked the surgeon with
barely disguised contempt.
- The Komitet speech.
- Sometimes too much.
- The what?
- You heard - the doctor said, heading for the door.
The KGB man shrugged and waited for the
medical leave, closing the door of the infirmary. Then approached the feet of the two dressing tables,
and narrowed eyes, almost hidden in the fat face, going from one to the other wounded. He only said
one word.
- Novgorod!

- What?
- The what ...?
The questions were simultaneous and even Bourne stepped forward desencostando wall.
- You - said the commissioner, in his halting English. - Do you understand?
- If you said what I think you said, I understand, but just the name.
- Explain very well. Questioned the nine men and women he locked in the armory. He kills two guards
who can not stop him, right? He takes car keys four men, but do not use cars, right?
- I saw when he ran for the cars!
- What? Three other people in Kubinka dead
documents, cars taken. What?
- For God's sake, check with your department vehicles, or whatever you call!
- It takes time. Also in Moscow, automobiles
under different names, different boards - Leningrad, Smolensk, who knows - not to mention the car
violated laws.
- What the hell is he talking about? - Jason shouted.
- The ownership of cars is regulated
government - Krupkin explained. - Each major center has separate records and generally refuses to
cooperate with other centers.
- Why?
- Property individual under different surnames - even without surnames. Is prohibited. There are few
cars on sale.
- So what?
- Bribery site is a fact of life. Nobody in Leningrad want a bureaucrat Moscow point a finger at him. He is
saying that it may take several days until you find the car that is driving the Jackal.
- This is madness!
- You said, Mr. Bourne, not me. I am a citizen of the Soviet Union importantly, please remember that.
- But what does all this have to do with Novgorod
- Was what he said, did not you?
- Novgorod. shto eto znachit? - Krupkin asked the KGB officer. Speaking rapidly in Russian,
comissriocampons described the essential details for the companion of Paris.Krupkin translated.
- Pay attention, Jason - he said in a weak voice, irregular breathing increasingly difficult. - Apparently the
arena's arsenal is surrounded by a gallery. From the window he saw this gallery beside the hedge
outside the armory, and returned to the arms room screaming like crazy he is. Screaming, told his
hostages tied you were him and you were dead ...And that only
lacked one thing for him to do.
- Novgorod - Conklin stopped in a whisper, his head rigid, eyes on the ceiling.
- Exactly - Krupkin said, looking at the
Profile of Alex, on the table beside her. - He is returning to the place of his birth ... where Ilich Ramirez
Sanchez became Carlos the Jackal, having been disowned, marked for execution by his madness. With
the gun on the necks of their prisoners, made to indicate the best way to Novgorod, threatening to kill
those who lie. Of course nobody lied and said that they knew was the six hundred kilometers a day trip
by car.
- By car? - Asked Bourne.
- He knows he can not use any other means of transport. The railroads, airports - up
small - are being watched, and he knows it.
- What will he do in Novgorod? - Asked
Jason quickly.
- Good God in heaven - two things that, of course,

no - who knows! He wants to make his mark, a reminder of the extremely destructive self, no doubt in
response to those who, as he believed, had betrayed him for thirty-odd years, as well as the poor souls
he killed this Vavilova morning in ... He took the documents from our agent trained in Novgorod,
thinking that they can enter. But it will not go - we shall dwell.
- Do not even try - said Bourne. - He can use
identifying whether or not depending on what come than he felt. Carlos does not need papers to get in
Novgorod, as I did not need, but I feel that something is wrong, and he will feel, kills a lot of people and
enter.
- What are you getting? - Asked Krupkin
wearily, looking at Bourne, the American with alternate identities and apparently conflicting lifestyles.
- I want you to make me come before him with a
detailed map of the entire complex and documents that give me free access to anywhere.
- You lost the judge! - Dimitri exclaimed. An American infallible, a murderer wanted by all NATO countries in Europe, in Novgorod?
- Nyet, nyet, nyet! - roared commissioner Komitet. - I understand well, right? You're a lunatic, right?
- You want the Jackal?
- Of course, but there are limits to what we pay.
- I have no interest in Novgorod or
any other complex - by now should know that His operaezinhas infiltration and our undercover
operations can continue forever because in the long run, mean nothing. It's all a game of
teenagers. Either we live together on this planet or there will not be any planet ... Only Carlos interests
me. I want the Jackal killed so I can continue to live.
- Of course, I personally agree with almost
everything you said, although the games teenagers serve to keep us employed. However, in no way do I
convince my superiors, starting with this one here beside me.
- All right - said Conklin, always looking
to the ceiling. - We will negotiate - dirty and dirty. You put Bourne in Novgorod and can stay with
Ogilvie.
- We're with him, Aleksei.
- Not quite. Washington knows that he is
herein.
- So what?
- Hence I can say that you lost it and they will believe. Will believe if I say that he has fled from its nest
and you're damned life, but can not bring it back. He is operating points unknown or out of reach, but
evidently under the protection of a sovereign country of the United Nations. By conjecture, guess that's
how you got him to come here.
- You're being cryptic, my good old enemy. To what purpose should I accept your suggestion?
- No problem with the World Court,
no charges of giving protection to an American accused of international crimes ... You gain the profit
sources in Europe ... Confiscate the operation Medusa no complications - on behalf of such a Krupkin
Dimitri, a man demonstrably sophisticated cosmopolitan society of Paris. Who better to lead the
project? ... The newest Hero of the Soviet, member of the privy council's economic Presidium. Forget
drug house in Geneva, Kruppie that such a mansion in the Black Sea?
- It is a smart and very attractive offer, you can be sure - Krupkin said. - I know two or three men in the
central committee with whom I can communicate in a matter of minutes - all very confidential, is
course.
- Nyet! Nyet! - cried the commissioner KGB, pounding his fist on the table Dimitri. - I understand
something - you talk too fast

- But it's all crazy!

- Oh, shut up, for God's sake! - Roared Krupkin. - We're talking about things beyond your understanding.
- shto? - As a child scolded by an adult, the commissioner Komitet stared, stunned and scared.
- Take a chance my friend, Kruppie
- Alex said. - He's the best there is and can bring you to the Jackal.
- You can also die, Aleksei.
- He's been there before. I believe him.
- Believe - muttered Krupkin turn
staring at the ceiling. - A luxury so special ... Okay, the order will be given secretly, its origin dis-nized, of
course. You enter our complex American. It's less complex than we realize.
- How fast can I get there? - Asked Bourne. - I have to prepare a lot.
- We have an airport in Vnokova under our
control. Less than an hour away. First, I need to make arrangements. Bring me a phone
... You, my commissioner asshole! Not another word! A telephoned the top before almighty, now tamed
that in fact there was only understood the words "Presidium" and "central committee", full of goodwill,
led to the extension table that Krupkin.
- One more thing - said Bourne. - Have the
Tass immediately issue a newsletter with coverage of newspapers, radio and television, announcing that
the killer known as Jason Bourne died in Moscow, due to injuries received. Do not go into details, but
enough that my death can relate to what happened this morning.
- This is not difficult. Tass is an obedient instrument of the state.
- Not done yet - Jason continued. - I
that includes the details vague information that among the personal Bourne, found a map of the streets
and roads of Brussels and neighborhoods. The city of Anderlecht was marked with a red circle this has to be reported.
- The murder of supreme commander of NATO - very good, very convincing. However, Mr. Bourne, and
Mr. Webb, or whatever its name, should know that the story will spread throughout the world like a
tidal wave.
- I know that.
- Are you ready for this?
- Yes, I am.
- And his wife? Do not you talk to her best
first, before the civilized world know that Jason Bourne is dead?
- No. I do not want to risk any leaks.
- Jesus! - Alex exploded, coughing. - You are
talking about Marie. She will be devastated!
- Accept the risk - Delta said coldly.
- You son of a bitch!
- Whatever - said the Chameleon.
John St. Jacques entered the room bright and sunny home in Maryland with eyes full of tears, and a
computer printout in hand. His sister was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, playing with Jamie,
having led Alison to bed. Marie looked tired and haggard, pale and hollow-eyed, exhausted and tense,
and on the effects of jet lag from the long flight idiots of your trip from Paris to Washington. Although
he had arrived late the night before, got up early to be with the children - ignoring the advice of wellmeaning mother! Mrs. Cooper. John would have given years of his life to do what he would do within a
few minutes, but could not afford the alternatives. Needed to be with her when Marie knew.
- Jamie - St. Jacques said softly. - Want
go find Mrs. Cooper, please? I think she's in the kitchen.

- Why, Uncle John?

- I want to talk a bit with his mother.
- Johnny, please - Marie complained.
- I need, Marie.
- What the ...?
Jamie, as with children, felt that something very serious had happened and when it came near the door,
turned and stared at his uncle. Marie stood up and saw the tears running down his brother's face. The
message given was terrible.
- No. ..! - She murmured, getting paler still. - Good God, no! - exclaimed, hands and shoulders shaking
uncontrollably. - No. .. not! Marie almost screamed.
- He was mana. I wanted you to hear it from me, not by radio or television. I want to be with you.
- You are wrong, wrong! - Marie cried, running to him and grabbing him by the shirt. - It is
protected! ... He promised me that he would be protected!
- This just arrived from Langley. - Johnny handed the computer printout. - Holland called a few minutes
ago, warning it would send. He knew you'd want to see. It's the news from Radio Moscow broadcast
during the night and will be in all the newspapers, radio and television in the morning.
- Give me that! - Marie exclaimed defiantly. Johnny handed the printed, ready to embrace it and give
comfort as possible. Marie skimmed, then shook hands and walked to the couch, frowning
thoughtfully. His concentration was complete. He put the paper on the coffee table and studied it as if it
were an archaeological find, a scroll precious.
- He was, Marie. I do not know what to say - you
know what I felt for him.
- Yes, I know, Johnny. - Then, to the astonishment of her brother, she looked up with a slight smile on his
pale lips. - But it's a bit too early to tears, Johnny. He's alive. Jason Bourne is alive and doing their,
meaning that David is alive too. My God, she did not want to accept, thought John St. Jacques, kneeling
beside her and holding her hands.
- Mana, my dear, I do not understand.
I'll try to help her, but you have to accept.
- Johnny, you're a love, but do not read it with
attention very carefully. The impact of the message is
minimized by the subtext. In economics we call obfuscation with a cloud of smoke and two mirrors.
- What? - St. Jacques released her hand and stood. - What are you talking about?
Marie picked up the printed and scanned it again.
- After a report confused, even contradictory of what happened - she said - made by people who
attended the scene this arsenal, or whatever it is, is the following, almost hidden in the following
paragraph: "Among the personal found in the body of the murderer was a map of Brussels and
neighborhoods, with the city of Anderlecht marked with a red circle. "Then continues, making the
obvious connection with the killer Teagarten. It is a lie, Johnny, two aspects ... First, never take David
with him this map. Second, and more significantly. It is strange that the Soviet media giving so much
prominence to what happened, but the reference to the assassination of General Teagarten is
inconceivable.
- What do you mean? Why?
- Because the alleged killer was in Russia, and Moscow does not want to have any connection with the
murder of the Supreme Commander of NATO ... No, Johnny, someone mocked the rules and Tass
persuaded to publish it and I suspect heads will roll. I do not know where is Jason Bourne, but I know it
is not dead. David saw to it that I was sure of it.
Peter Holland picked up the phone and dialed the number of a particular line of Charles Casset.

- Yes?
- Charlie, is Peter.
- I'm relieved to hear that.
- Why?
- 'Cause all I'm getting this phone is confusion and problem. I just spoke to our source in Dzerzhinsky
Square and she said that the KGB wants blood.
- The Tass news about Bourne?
- Right. Tass and Radio Moscow think the
history was officially chancelada because it was sent by fax by the Ministry of Information through direct
transmission codes. When the shit hit the fan, no one will be responsible and will not be able to identify
who programmed codes.
- What do you think?
- I'm not sure, but from what I've heard about Dimitri Krupkin, seems to be your style. It is
working with Alex and this is not something from the Book of Conklin, I do not know Saint Alex. And I
know that I know.
- This matches the view Marie.
- Marie?
- The woman in Bourne. Just talk to her and
Your argument is very strong. She says the news from Moscow is a scam and all your reasons are
valid. Her husband is alive.
- I agree. Is that why you called?
- No, - said the director, breathing deeply. - Was to add more confusion and more problems to what you
already have.
- There is a relief to hear that. What?
- The phone number in Paris that Henri Sykes got for us, in Montserrat, coffee dock Marais, Paris.
- Where should answer when someone called him a blackbird. Yes, I remember.
- Someone picked up and we followed. You will not like.
- Alex Conklin is about to win the prize for biggest psychic of the year. He gave us the clue Sykes, right?
- Right.
- Go ahead.
- The message was delivered to the house of the director of the Deuxime Bureau.
- My God, I'd better inform the department SED, the French Intelligence with a tight timeline.
- I will not tell anyone anything, before talking to Conklin. I think we owe him at least that.
- What the hell are they doing? - Casset yelled, frustrated. - Spreading false news of death - Moscow, no
more, no less! For what?
- Jason Bourne went hunting - Peter Holland said.
- And when the hunt ends - and if you end up killing him - will have to leave the woods before anyone
could take ... I want all the stations and on the borders of the Soviet Union on permanent
alert. Codename: Assassin. Bring him back.
40
NOVGOROD. To say it was amazing would obliquely recognize the existence of credibility and it was
almost impossible. It was the extreme fantasy, with optical illusions more real than reality. The
phantasmagoria could be touched and felt, used, it was possible to enter and exit, a masterpiece of
collective creativity in the middle of the immense forests along the river Volkhov. From the moment we
stepped out of the tunnel under the water, with his guards, gates and myriad cameras, Bourne nearly
went into shock, although he continued to walk, observe, absorb what he saw, thinking.
The complex American supposedly equal to those of other nationalities, was divided into sections, built
in areas ranging from two to five acres, completely separated from each other. One area, built on the

banks of the river, could be the heart of a small town off the coast of Maine. Another, further inland,
was a small southern town, yet another, a busy street of a major center. Each completely "authentic",
with appropriate traffic vehicles, police, clothing, stores, and snack bars, gas stations and imitation
buildings - some with two floors and so real that American Hardware had the doors and windows. Of
course, as important as the appearance was the language - not just the fluent use of English, but
complete mastery of variations, accents characteristic of each place. Going from one section to another,
Jason distinctly heard the intonations, the different pronunciations. From the "eeahh" New England in
the east, the Texas drawl and nasal pronunciation and lazy Midwest, to speak loud and rasping major
cities and east with the inevitable "you know what I mean?"
at the end of sentences, they were questions or statements. It was all amazing. Not only that. Became
frighteningly feasible any disbelief. Jason Vnokova the company embarked on a
Graduate old Novgorod, urgently requested by Krupkin to give all the necessary information about the
complex. The man, small, bald, and give instructions to the smallest details, was also fascinating. If
someone had told Jason Bourne that someday he would receive instructions from a Soviet espionage
agent, whose English was so typical southerner who seemed to float out of his mouth with perfume of
magnolia, he would have found the idea ridiculous.
- Good God - said the man, with the southern drawl of the United States. - How I miss those barbecues,
especially chops. Want to know who was the best chops? That black guy who I thought was my friend
and that I snitched. Can you imagine? thought he was one of those radicals. Turned out he was from
Dartmouth and worked for the CIA. A lawyer,no less ... Devil, the exchange was made in Aeroflot, in New
York, and we correspond further.
- Games for teenagers - Bourne muttered.
- Games'. . Oh, yes, he was a damn good coach.
- Coach?
- That's right. We founded a small team
in East Point. It is located near Atlanta.
Incredible.
- We focus on Novgorod, please?
- Okay, Dimitri surely told you, I'm semiaposentado but my pension requires that I spend five days a
month in the complex, as a tak govoroya - one
"Instructor" as you say.
- I did not understand what he said.
- I'll explain. - The strange man, whose voice
seemed to belong to the old Confederacy, explained in detail. Each complex Novgorod had three classes
of people: instructors, applicants and operators. The last category included the KGB personnel, guards
and maintenance personnel. The structure of practical completion process was fairly simple. A team
drew up the plans of the daily tasks for each section, and coaches, both permanent and retirees who
worked five days a month, drove all the individual activities and group of candidates, using only the
language of the complex and the dialects of specific areas in which they were. Was not allowed to speak
Russian. This rule was tested frequently by instructors who suddenly shouted orders or insults in their
native language. Candidates demonstrate that they could not understand.
- What do you mean by work? - Asked Bourne.
- Situations, my friend. Everything you can imagine. How to order lunch or dinner, buy clothes, fill up the
car, asking for a certain type of gasoline ... with no additive or additive and octane grades - things that
do not have idea here. Of course, there are also more serious events, unexpected, to test the reactions
of the candidates. For example, a car accident that requires a conversation with the police "American"
and all insurance forms that must be filled - we can cheat if you do not know these things.
The little things, insignificant things - are vital. A door at the back of the Arsenal Kubinka.

- What else?
- So many things that we think are not important, but they are. Say, being assaulted in a city street at
night - what to do, what not to do? REMEMBER, many of our candidates, and all the young ones, learn
self defense, but depending on circumstances, it may not be prudent to use this skill. Questions may
arise as to his past. Discretion, discretion always For my part, as a tak govoroya experienced, always
preferred the more imaginative situations in which we can improvise at will, provided they do not
exceed the limits of environmental leakage.
- What does this mean?
- Learn forever, but never shows that it is
learning. For example, one of my favorite situations is to get close to some candidates, say, a bar, a
"locale" next to a military base testing. I pretend that I'm a government employee disgusted, or an
employee of defense, drunk
- Obviously someone with access to important information - and start to expose confidential
information of great value.
- Just curious - interrupted Bourne these circumstances, as the candidate should react?
- Listen carefully to be able to write the most important details, all the while pretending lack of interest
with remarks like this: here in Novgorod dialect southerner graduates look so much like the hillsides of
southern magnolias that become sour drink, "Who cares about all that crap?" Or "They even have all
those prostitutes there, as they say?" Or, "I do not understand any damn word you're saying, you
bastard, just know that is pissing me off "... that kind of thing.
- Then what?
- Later, every man is called to
a list of everything you heard - fact by fact.
- And to pass on the information? There is also a method that?
The instructor Soviet Jason looked at him in silence for a few moments, then said:
- It's a shame that you asked that question
- He said. - I am obliged to inform in my report.
- I have not needed to ask the question. It was simple curiosity. Forget.
- I can not. I will not do that.
- Do you trust Krupkin?
- Of course I trust. He is bright, speaks many languages. A true hero Komitet.
You do not even know the half, Bourne thought, but said, with reverence:
- So make your report only to him. He will say it was just my curiosity. There should absolutely nothing
to my government, on the contrary, it is he who owes me.
- Okay ... Speaking of you, with the authority of Dimitri, arranged everything for your visit to
Novgorod. Please do not tell me what is your goal, do not care, like you said not interested.
- Understood. Arrangements?
- You will come in contact with a young instructor named Benjamin, the way I describe. First I will talk
about Benjamin, so you understand your attitude. His parents worked for nearly twenty years Komitet,
the consulate in Los Angeles. He practically grew up in the U.S. and made the first two years at UCLA. In
fact, until he and his father were hurriedly called to Moscow four years ago ...
- He and his father?
- Yes The mother was caught in operation
FBI naval base in San Diego. She still has to meet three years in prison. There is no mercy, no exchanges
for a momma Russian.
- Hey, wait a minute. So not all blame can be ours.
- I did not say it was. I'm just reporting the facts.

- I understood. I make contact with Benjamin.

- He is the one who knows who you are - no. your name, of course, you will use the name "Archie". He
will give the necessary authorization for transit of a complex to another.
- Documents?
- He will explain. Benjamin will also watch him, will be with you all the time, and frankly, he talked with
Comrade Krupkin and knows much more than me, just as a retired Georgia likes things ... Good hunting,
wild cat, if you go hunting. Do not rape no Indian wood.
Bourne followed the signs, all in English, to the city of Rockledge, Fla., 25 miles southwest of NASA, Cape
Canaveral. Would meet with Benjamin in the Woolworth site cafeteria, and was looking for a man early
twenties with red plaid shirt, holding a stool beside her with a baseball cap. I was at the appointed time,
3:35 o'clock in the afternoon.
Bourne saw. The Russian blond hair almost
white, raised and educated in California, was on the right end of the counter, with the baseball cap on
the bench beside her. A half dozen men and women consumed soft drinks and sandwiches, chatting
casually Jason approached the empty stool, looked at the cap and asked politely:
- Is this seat taken?
- I'm waiting for someone - said the young instructor KGB, flatly, watching carefully Bourne.
- Arrangement elsewhere.
- It will still take five minutes.
- Well, I'll just take a black cow. In less
five minutes I'm leaving ...
- Sit - Benjamin said, putting the cap on his head. The boy approached the counter, chewing gum,
Bourne made his request was served and the instructor Komitet said quietly, looking now at the foam
your milk shake and sipping on a straw:
- So, you are Archie, as in the comic.
- And you are Benjamin. Very pleased.
- We'll both see whether or not, right?
- We have a problem?
- I want to clarify the rules so that there is no - said the Soviet West Coast of the United States. - I do not
approve permission for your entry here. Regardless of my past and the way I talk, not much like
America.
- Look here, Ben - interrupted Bourne, forcing the instructor to look at him. - In general, did not approve
of the fact that his mother was still in prison in the U.S., but it was not me who arrested her.
- We free dissidents and Jews, but you insist on keeping arrested a woman of 58 years, at worst, no
more than a messenger! - Said the Russian softly and indignant.
- I do not know the facts and not call Moscow
capital clemency, but if you can help me help me actually - maybe I can help his mother.
- Nonsense, promises idiots. What the hell you
can do?
- Repeating what I said an hour ago to a
his bald friend, on the plane, I owe nothing to my government, but he owes me a lot. Help me,
Benjamin.
- I will help because they are the orders I received, not because of his conversation. But if you try to find
things that have nothing to do with your goal here - will never leave.Clearly?
- Not only course, as irrelevant and unnecessary. Besides the natural wonder and curiosity, I want to
control in the best way possible, I have no interest in the objectives of Novgorod. To be frank, I think it
leads nowhere ... But I swear, the complex leaves Disneyland to shame.

Benjamin was with the straw in his mouth, and spontaneous laughter spread foam milk shake on the
counter.
- Been to Anaheim? - He asked,
a look malicious.
- I never had enough money.
- We had diplomatic passes.
- Christ. You're human after all. Come, let us
take a walk and talk business.
They crossed a bridge on thumbnail to New
London, Connecticut, the center of the construction of submarines in the United States, and walked to
the Volkhov River, that area transformed into a naval base in maximum security - all very real and
miniature. The fences were high, and armed guards of the "Marine", the gates, patrolling the area in
front of concrete frames with imitations of the U.S. Navy nuclear submarines.
- We all seasons, all activity plans, all appliances and every inch of the pier Benjamin said. - And we have yet to find any security procedure is not crazy?
- Not a bit. We are very good.
- Yeah, but we're better. Except for a small group of malcontents, I suppose. You just accept.
- What?
- Despite all their nonsense, America
White was never enslaved. We have been.
- This is not just ancient history, young man, but also very selective history, do not you agree?
- You talk like a teacher.
- And if I were?
- I argue with you.
- Only if you were in an environment where it was permitted wide vision and where he could discuss
with authority.
- Come on, let the bullshit, man! The lugarcomum of academic freedom is that it is ancient history. See
our universities. We rock and blue jeans and more than grass, paper to wrap it up.
- This is progress.
- Would you believe it's a start?
- I have to think about it.
- You may even help my mother?
- Can it help me?
- Let's try ... Okay, Carlos the Jackal.
Heard of him, but does not occupy an important place in my vocabulary. The direktor Krupkin says he is
a bad guy.
- I'm listening to California.
- Always back. Forget. I am
- I would not dare.
- What?
- You're always protesting ...
- Shakespeare said it best. I attended English literature at UCLA.
- I was going to major in what?
- American History. What else, Grandpa?
- Thanks, kid.
- This Jackal - Benjamin said, leaning on
about. Some guards rushed to him. - Prosteetye! shouted. - No, no, I mean, sorry. Tak govoroya!

I'm an instructor! ... Oh, shit!

- Go report it? - Asked Jason when
guards turned away.
- There are too dumb. It's maintenance personnel in uniform. They patrol the area, but do not actually
know what it is. Just who and what must hold.
- Pavlov's Dogs?
- And why not? The animals do not reason, go straight neck and stick their teeth.
- Which brings us back to the Jackal.
- I did not understand.
- No need, is symbolic. How can he get here?
- There was power. All guards in all
tunnels, have the name and serial number of documents the agent that he killed in Moscow. If he shows
will be shot summarily.
- I told Krupkin not to do this.
- God of heaven, why?
- Because it will not be him, and lives will be sacrificed. He will send others, two, three or four, in many
complex, always experimenting, mixing until
find a way to go.
- You're crazy. What happens to men
what he says?
- It does not matter. If they are dead, he sees and learns more thing.
- You really nutty. Where will he find
people like that?
- Wherever there are people who think you're earning the salary a month for a few minutes work. He
can say that it is a routine security check - remember, he has the documents to prove that he worked for
the government. With help of money, people are impressed and do not doubt it.
- And the first gate he loses the papers - insisted the instructor.
- No, not lose. He is traveling for more than six hundred kilometers, passing through dozens of cities and
villages. You can make copies anywhere. Your shopping centers have Xerox machines are everywhere
and it is very easy to make copies seem true. - Bourne paused, looking at the Soviet Americanized. You're talking about details, Ben, and believe me, they do not count. Carlos is coming here to make his
mark and we have an advantage that cancels all his experience. If Krupkin managed to make the news
come out in all the newspapers, the Jackal thinks I'm dead.
- The world around thinks you're dead ... Yes, Krupkin told me, it would be silly not to. Here you
is a rookie named Archie, but I know who you are, Bourne. Even though he had never heard of you
before, now heard enough. In the last four hours to Radio Moscow does not talk about anything else.
- So, we can assume that Carlos has heard
the news.
- No doubt. All vehicles in Russia have
radio, is standard. If you want to know, is for the case of a U.S. attack.
- Good marketing.
- You murdered Teagarten in Brussels?
- Stop being curious ...
- Off-limits, right. What do you want?
- Krupkin should have left my office.
- Let what?
- The entrance to the Jackal.
- What the hell are you talking about?

- Use Krupkin, if necessary, but let all the tunnels, all accesses to Novgorod to let anyone with those
documents. My calculation is that will appear three, maybe four or five. Must watch them, but not
prevent it from coming.
- You just won a room lined with
foam rubber. You're crazy, Archie.
- No, I'm not. I said that everyone should be watched, followed, that the guard must maintain constant
contact with us.
- So what?
- One of these men will disappear after a few minutes. No one will know where he is, or where it
was. This man will be Carlos.
- And then?
- He will be convinced that it is invulnerable, which is free to do what you want, because you think I'm
dead. This frees.
- Why?
- Because he knows and I know that only I can find it, as only he can find me either in the jungle or in the
cities, or a combination of both. Hatred does this, Benjamin. Or despair.
- It's a little emotional, do not you think? Too abstract, too.
- None of this - Jason replied. - I have to
think how he thinks - I was trained for this for many years ... Let's examine the alternatives. To what part
of the Volkhov will Novgorod? Thirty, forty kilometers?
- Forty-seven, to be exact, and each meter is
impenetrable. Have a network of water pipes magnesium, spaced above and below the surface to avoid
that marine animals trigger the alarm. On the east bank we grids intertwined, all weightsensitive. Anything with more than four and a half pounds triggers the alarm and television monitors
and spotlights are immediately focused on the intruder. Even though a marvel four pounds arrive in
about an electrical discharge leaves the unconscious. The pipes magnesium also work well. Of course,
fallen trees, trunks and heavier animals are too much work to our security. But discipline is good, I think.
- So, that leaves only the tunnels - said Bourne. Right? - You went in one of them. What can I tell you that you have not seen? Unless iron bars fall down
almost to the lower irregularity, and in case of emergency all tunnels can be flooded.
- Carlos knows all this. He was trained here.
- For many years, Krupkin said.
- Many years - Jason agreed. - Will
been much change?
- Technologically speaking, can fill various
volumes, particularly in relation to security and communications, but basically. No tunnels, grids inside
and outside the water. They were built to last centuries. As for the complex, there are always minor
updates, but does not believe they destroy the streets or arrive to demolish buildings. It would be easier
to change a dozen cities.
- So if there was any change, were all
internal. - Came to a miniature intersection where the driver of a Chevrolet quarrelsome seventies were
fined a traffic cop, also unpleasant.
- What is happening? - Asked Bourne.
- The objective of the exercise is to provoke the wrath of the driver. In the U.S. all discuss aloud with
traffic wardens. Not so here.
- Questioning authority, for example, the student who contradicts the teacher? I think it does not
happen much.
- This is completely different.

- Glad you think so. - Jason heard a distant hum and looked at the sky. Aquaplane a lightweight, singleengine, flew to the south, following the river Volkhov. - My God, why air - he murmured.
- Forget - said Benjamin. - That plane is
Our ... Technology again. First, there is no place to land, unless the heliports and two are protected by
radar.
An unidentified aircraft arrives at fifty miles from here is slaughtered by Belopol base. Across the street
some people attending the
discussion between the police and the driver nasty bully who beat his hand on the hood of the
Chevrolet, encouraged by the assistants.
- Americans can be very foolish - muttered the young instructor, visibly embarrassed.
- At least some ideas about Americans may be silly - Bourne said with a smile.
- Let - Benjamin said, starting to walk.
- I've noticed that this exercise is not very realistic, but I explained that it is important to create the
attitude.
- How to tell a student that he can discuss
with the teacher, or a citizen he can openly criticize a member of the Politburo? St. antics are not?
- Go plant potatoes, Archie.
- Chill young Lenin - Jason said, walking beside him. - Where is your cool sophistication of Los Angeles?
- I left the La Brea Tar Pits.
- I study the maps, all of them.
They were in the conference room of the headquarters with the long, rectangular table covered with
maps of the complex Novgorod. Even after nearly four hours of concentration, often Bourne shook his
head in amazement. A series of training areas top secret along the Volkhov was longer and more
complicated than he had imagined. Benjamin's observation that "it would be easier to change a dozen
cities" than modifying Novgorod was simply a statement of fact, was not exaggerated. Smaller-scale
replicas of cities and towns, ports and airports, military installations and scientific, from the
Mediterranean to the Atlantic, northern Baltic Sea to the Gulf of Bothnia, were represented with their
borders, all in accordance with the actual measurements. However, all details were contained massive
in just over forty miles of forest on the river bank, thanks to the imagination and the miniaturization
process, at a depth of four to five kilometers.
- Egypt, Israel, Italy - Jason said, giving around the table, looking at the maps - Greece, Portugal, Spain,
France and Britain. Was in the corner of the table when Benjamin interrupted, leaning back in his chair
with a tired gesture.
- Germany, the Netherlands and Scandinavian. As
I explained, most complex includes two different countries, usually when they have common
boundaries, cultural similarities or just to save space. Basically there are nine complexes representing all
major nations - important for our interests
- Thus nine tunnels, with a distance of nine kilometers of one another, starting with this one and
following the river to the north.
- So, after this first tunnel is of Britain, right?
- Yes, followed by France, then Spain which includes Portugal - then the other side of the Mediterranean with Egypt alongside Israel ...
- Clearly - interrupted Jason, sitting on, bedside table and joining the fingertips, in a thoughtful
attitude. - He had to admit that should warn anyone who submits those documents, no matter their
appearance?
- No.
- What? - Bourne turned his head quickly to the young instructor.
- I told Comrade Krupkin do this. It is

in hospital in Moscow, so can not hold it there

fatigue caused by overwork.
- How can I move to another complex? Quickly if necessary?
- Then you're ready for the basic rules?
- I'm ready. I've seen what he had to see the maps.
- Right. - Benjamin pulled out an object
black the size of a credit card and a little thicker. He played for Jason, who caught it in the air, and
examined. - This is your passport - continued Soviet. - Only team leaders have this pass and if it is lost or
forgotten somewhere, even for a few minutes, the fact should be reported immediately.
- No identity, no writing, no
brand.
- It's all inside, coded and computerized. At the entrance of each complex has an opening special. You
insert the card and barriers arise, ad-allowing it to warn the guards and you have permission from
headquarters - and its presence is noted.
- Very clever these Marxists late.
- They had a little card identical for almost all hotel rooms in Los Angeles, and that was
four years ... Now for the rest.
- The rules?
- Krupkin calls them protection measures both for us and for you. Frankly, he does not believe that you get out of here alive, and if not leave, is
fried and lost forever.
- Delightfully realistic.
- He likes you, Bourne ... Archie.
- Continue.
- With regard to the management team, you are
on a secret mission for the office of inspector general in Moscow, an American specialist sent to verify
information leaks from Novgorod to the West. Should give you everything you ask for, including
weapons, but no one should talk to you unless you speak first. Because of my past, I'm your
contact. Anything you need, talk to me.
- Thank you very much.
- Maybe not much - said Benjamin. - You
not going anywhere without me.
- This is unacceptable.
- But it's going to be like.
- No it is not.
- Why?
- Because I do not want to disturb ... and if I leave here, I want the mother of a certain Benjamin finds
you alive and well disposed, strolling in Moscow. The young Russian looked long for Bourne
with a mixture of power and pain in the eyes.
- You really think you can help us?
- I know I can ... so help me. Throw in my book, Benjamin.
- You are a strange man.
- I'm a hungry man. Is it possible to get something to eat around here? And maybe some bandages. Was
injured recently and my neck and my shoulder does not want me to forget.
Jason removed his jacket. His shirt was soaked with blood.
- Jesus Christ! I'll call a doctor ...
- No you will not. Only one nurse, nothing more ...
My rules, Ben.

- All right, Archie. We are staying in the suite of Commissioners visitors, on the top floor. We ordered the
food in the room and I'll call the nurse asking the nurse.
- As I said, I'm hungry and in pain, but that's not what worries me most.
- Rest assured - said the Californian Soviet. - As soon as anything happens out of the ordinary, you will be
warned. I'll roll the maps. Happened exactly at midnight and two minutes shortly after the universal
change of guard, when higher the dark of night. The phone rang shrilly in the suite of the commissioners
and visitors Benjamin jumped off the couch. Running across the room and grabbed the phone yelling
and insistent.
- Yes? ... Pdye? Kogda? Shto eio znachit? ... The! He hung up and turned to Bourne, who was sitting at the table, maps Novgorod replaced by dinner
dishes. - It's amazing! At Tunnel "Spain" on the other side of the river, two guards dead, and this side of the officer of the guard was found fifty
yards from his post, with a bullet in the neck. Spent the teipes and all they saw was an unidentified man,
carrying a bag of cloth! With guard uniform!
- There was something else, was not there? - Delta asked coldly.
- Yes, and maybe you're right. On the other hand found a peasant with torn papers in hand. Was
between two guards killed, one of them only in underwear and shoes ... How hedid that?
- He was the good guy, I can not think of
nothing more - Bourne said, rising quickly and picking up the map of the complex of "Spain." - He must
have sent the imposter paid with false papers, then rushed the wounded officer Komitet discovered
fraud speaking a foreign language that the imposter could not understand ... I said, Ben. Experimenting,
testing, shaking and confused, he will find a way to go. Steal the uniform is the standard method, and in
the confusion he entered the tunnel.
- But anyone with the papers should be monitored and followed. Were his instructions and the Krupkin!
- The Kubinka - Jason said, looking thoughtful
to the map.
- The Arsenal? What was mentioned in the news on Radio Moscow?
- Exactly. As in Kubinka, Carlos is someone inside. Someone with enough authority to send an officer of
the guard disposable lighter to his presence anyone who invade a tunnel, before sounding the alarm.
- This is possible - the young instructor agreed quickly, firmly. - Involve quartelgeneral with false alarms
is embarrassing, and, as you
says, must have been a lot of confusion.
- In Paris - Bourne said, looking up
Map - told me that embarrassment is the worst enemy of the KGB. Is it true?
- A scale of one to ten, at least eight Benjamin replied. - But who can have it here, who he could be? For over thirty years he has not come to
Novgorod.
- If we had a couple of hours and some computers programmed with information about the entire staff
of Novgorod, maybe we could find a hundred names and getting some chances, but we do not have
hours. We do not even minutes! Also, if I know the Jackal, it does not matter.
- I think that matters a lot! - Exclaimed the Soviet Americanized. - There's a traitor here and let us know
who is!
- I bet you will find out sooner than you think ... Details, Ben. The question is: is he here! Come, and you
will get me what I need.
- Right.
- All that I need.
- I have permission to do so.
- So you disappear. I know what I'm talking about.

- No way, Jose!
- California again?
- You heard.
- Then the mother of the young Benjamin will find
a corpse when she returns to Moscow.
- Whatever!
- What ...? Why did you say that?
- I do not know, it seemed the right thing.
- Shut up! Let's get out of here!
41
Ilich RAMIREZ SANCHEZ snapped his fingers twice in the dark as he climbed the front steps small
miniature of a small church in the Paseo del Prado in
"Madrid", with the bag in his left hand. A figure stepped out from behind a fake column, a man weighed
sixty-somethings who walked almost directly under the dim light of the lamp apart. He wore uniform of
an officer of the Spanish Army, Lieutenant General with three rows of currencies in tunic. Carried a
leather briefcase that held up a little and said, in the language of the complex:
- Login to the sacristy. You can change clothes there. This tunic guard does not serve you and can be an
invitation for snipers.
- It is good to speak our language again - said
Carlos, watching the man inside, the little church and turning to the rigid body to close the heavy door. I owe you a favor, Enrique - he added, looking at the rows of empty pews and altar in the dim lights,
which shone the gold crucifix.
- You owe me for over thirty years, Ramirez, and what I got was that? - Said the old soldier, laughing,
walking down the center aisle toward the sacristy.
- So, maybe you have not heard from you
left his family in Baracoa. Neither the Castro brothers and sisters live as well.
- Neither Fidel crazy, but he does not care. They say he now bathe more often and I think this is
progress. But you were talking about my family in Baracoa, and what you say tome, my good
international assassin? No yachts, no runs, should be ashamed! If it was not my warning, you would
have been executed in the same complex, for 33 years. In hindsight, it was right in front of this stupid
little church, in the Prado, you managed to escape - dressed as a priest, a figure that arouses respect in
Russia, as in everyone.
- Once you have established myself spent some
need? - They entered a small room where alleged prelates preparing the sacraments. - I refused you
anything? - Carlos asked, putting a heavy bag on the floor.
- I'm playing with you, of course - Enrique said, with a good-humored smile and looking at the Jackal. Where is that his sense of humor, and my infamous old friend?
- I have other concerns.
- Of course you have, and you never really was
less than generous when it comes to my family in Cuba, and I thank you. My father and mother lived in
peace and comfort, intrigued, of course, but much better than all who knew ... It was
crazy. Revolutionaries persecuted by their leaders of the revolution.
- You were threat to Castro, as well as
Che. Everything is past.
- Much has' - Enrique nodded, staring intently at Carlos. - The years have not been good for you,
Carlos. Where is the abundant hair and strong face with blue eyes?
- Let's not talk about it.
- Alright, I got fat, you lost weight, it

means something. His injury is serious?

- I can move enough to what
I intend to do - what should I do.
- Ramirez, what else there is? He is m ortho!
Moscow claims the credit for this death, but as soon as I heard the news, I realized that the credit is his
execution his work. Jason Bourne is dead! Your enemy departed this world. You're not well, go back to
Paris and seeking to recover his strength. I do leave the same way I did entrar.Entramos in "France" and
I open way. You will be a messenger of the commander of "Spain" and
"Portugal", taking a private message to Dzerzhinsky Square. We do this constantly. Here nobody trusts
anybody, especially at the gates. Not need to risk killing a guard.
- No! They need to learn a lesson!
- So, I say otherwise. When you
rang with their emergency codes, I did what you asked, because no doubt you fulfill your obligations to
me, obligations that go back thirty years. But now there is another risk involved - risks, to be exact - and
I'm not willing to face them.
- Dare you speak thus to me? - exclaimed the Jackal, taking the dead guard's robe, exposing the white
and clean bandages over the wound in his right shoulder.
- Stop being theatrical - Enrique said, softly.
- We met a long time ago. I'm talking with a young revolutionary who I left Cuba, accompanied by great
athlete named Santos ... By the way, how is he? Santos was the real threat to Fidel.
- He's right - Carlos replied dryly.
- Let's change the Coeur du Soldat.
- Santos still cares for the garden - your garden
English?
- Yes, still.
- He should be landscape or florist, I think. And
I would have been a great agronomist, as they say
- That's how I met and Santos, you know? ... The political melodramas have changed our lives, was not
it?
- Commitment to political change. Everywhere the fascists have changed our lives.
- And now we want to be like them and they want to take what we, the communists have less terrible
and spread a little money. What does not work, but it's interesting anyway.
- What does all this have to do with me - his monsignor?
- Stereo horse Ramirez. How should you
know, or not, my Russian wife died some years ago and I have three children at Moscow
University. Without my position, they would not be there and I want to continue where they are. Be
scientists, doctors ... These are the risks that you are requiring of me. Until this moment I could not be
caught and you deserve this moment
- But nothing more. I will retire and, for my services in the Mediterranean and southern Europe, will
have a dacha on the Black Sea, where my children can visit me. I do not want to risk no reason the years
I have left to live. So, to be clear, Ramirez, and say whether you are alone or not ... I repeat, can not
know who helped him get and, as I also said, you deserve the help, but this is where I stop.
- I understand - said Carlos, approaching
bag that Enrique had put on the table in the sacristy.
- I hope you understand. During all these
years you've been good to my family, in a way that I could ever be, and I served him well whenever it
was possible. I took Rodchenko, enter your name in the ministries of information, where Rodchenko
examined their own credentials. So my revolutionary comrade, I was not idly with regard to their

interests. But things are different now, we are no longer young enthusiasts looking for a cause, because
we lost our appetite for causes - you, much earlier than me, of course.
- My question is still the same - Interrupted
Jackal. - It's my person and all who serve me.
- I serve ...
- You made that clear, as well as my
generosity to you and your family. And now I'm here, is wondering if I deserve more help is
this, is not it?
- I need to protect myself. Why are you here?
- I told you. To teach a lesson, deliver a message.
- The two are the same thing?
- Yes, they are.
Carlos opened the trunk. Inside was a rough farm shirt, a cap of Portuguese fisherman, pants with rope
belt and a backpack sailor.
- For these clothes? - Asked the Jackal.
- They are wide and I had not seen for years - since the
seventies, in Malaga, I think. Could not make tailored clothing and it was good - you're no longer the
man I remembered Ramirez.
- You're not much different - answered
killer. - A little fatter, potbellied, perhaps, but still have the same height, the same basic structure.
- Yeah, so what?
- At a time ... Things have changed a lot for
here?
- Constantly. Photographers and arrive the next day's class construction. The Prado, here in "Madrid"
has new shops, bright, until a new sewage system, as the true city. "Lisbon" and docks in
"Rio Tejo" and "Bay" were changed according to the changes in Portugal. We are always
authentic. Candidates who complete the training feel literally at home in places where they are
sent. Sometimes I think it's a bit too much, then I remember my first mission at the naval base in
Barcelona, and as I felt fine. I started working immediately because the counseling was already made,
there was no major surprise.
- You are describing appearances - interrupted
Carlos.
- Of course, what else?
- More permanent structures, not so evident.
- For example?
- Warehouses, fuel depots, fire department, that are not part of the scenario duplicated. Remain where
they were before?
- In general, yes. Especially the major department stores and fuel deposits with underground
tanks. Most are still west of the district of "San Roque", access to "Gibraltar".
- And the passages of a complex to the other?
- Well, that has changed. - Enrique pulled out of his robe a small square object. - Each entry point border
has a computerized record that opens the door when the card is inserted in
. Opening.
- No question?
- Only at the headquarters of the capital of Novgorod, when it is necessary to ask a question.
- How so?
- If one of these cards is stolen, the theft is reported immediately canceled and codes.
- I understand.

- Because I do not. Why all these questions? Why are you here? What lesson is this, what message?
- The district of "San Roque" ...? - Carlos said, trying to remember. - It is three or four miles south of the
tunnel, right? A small town on the coast, is not it?
- Access to "Gibraltar", yes, that's it.
- And the following is complex "France", of course, after "England" and finally the largest, "United
States." Yes, I remember well. - The Jackal turned and his hand disappeared under his trousers.
- For nothing is clear to me - Enrique said, his voice low and menacing. - And I have to know,
Ramirez. Why are you here?
- How dare you question me? - Carlos said, his back to the old fellow. - As any person dares to ask the
monsignor to Paris?
- Well now listen, Father of Shit. You answer me or I leave here in a few minutes and you are a very
Monsignor dead.
- Okay, Enrique - said Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, talking to the walls of the sacristy. - My message is clear and
triumphantly will shake the foundations of the Kremlin. The Jackal killed not only the false and feeble
Jason Bourne on Soviet soil, but also left a reminder to Russia all the terrible mistake made by Komitet
when he refused to use his extraordinary talents.
- Oh, come on - Enrique said, laughing softly, as if dealing with a man much less extraordinary. - More
theater Ramirez? And how is
that will leave this memory, this message, this statement supreme?
- It is very simple - answered the Jackal, turning with a gun with a silencer on hand. - Let's change places.
- What?
- I'll burn Novgorod.
Carlos gave a shot in the neck of Enrique. I did not want a lot of blood in the tunica man.
In combat uniform with insignia of major
Army on the shoulder of the tunic, Bourne was more one of the few soldiers who roamed the complex
American in their night patrol. According to Benjamin, there were more than thirty men, covering the
entire length of the complex. Areas "metropolitan" generally made the rounds on foot, two by two. In
districts "rural" used military vehicles. The young instructor ordered a jeep.
They left the suite of Commissioners for the warehouse
Military west of the river, where they entered presenting documents Benjamin. Inside the astonished
guards saw the tall and silent get a full combat uniform, a bayonet, an automatic 45-five rounds of
ammunition real, the latter after a call to subordinates unidentified Krupkin at headquarters
capital. Jason left the warehouse and said:
- And the flags that I asked, and at least
three or four grenades? You said you were going to give me everything that I needed, not just half!
- Are on the way - Benjamin replied, quickly leaving the parking lot of the warehouse. - The flags are in
the department of motor vehicles and grenades are not part of our common weapons. Steel safes are in
the tunnel - in all tunnels - section armaments emergency. - The
young instructor looked at Jason with laughter in his eyes. For the case of a NATO attack, probably.
- This is silly. We were coming from the sky.
- Not with the airbase to ninety seconds flight time, of course.
- Hurry up, I want the grenades. We will have some problem?
- Do not Krupkin keep working well.
Krupkin still working well.
Obtained the flags, the tunnel was the last stop of the two. Four grenades were separated from the
Russian army and Benjamin signed the receipt.
- Now, where to? - Asked the instructor,

when uniformed American soldier returned to his guardhouse concrete.

- Not exactly grenades American Jason said, holding the four carefully, one by one, into the pockets of his uniform.
- Also not for training. The basic orientation of the complex is not military but civilian. If these grenades
are used, it is not for indoctrination ... Where to now?
- Call the headquarters and make sure something else happened border.
- My bfp would have warned ...
- I do not trust beeps, like words - Jason interrupted. - Call the radio. Benjamin did so, speaking in
Russian and using the codes known only by high ranking. The answer sounded harsh in Russian. The
instructor turned off the radio and turned to Bourne.
- No activity. Just a few deliveries of fuel between the complexes.
- What fuel?
- Most, gasoline. Some complexes have larger tanks, so the logistics determines quotas roti-up in larger
supplies being shipped downriver.
- They make the distribution at night?
- It's best so that the trucks do not obstruct
the streets during the day. Remember, everything here is scale. Furthermore, we are using the roads,
but an army is doing maintenance cleaning shops, offices and restaurants in central points, preparing
everything for the exercises tomorrow. The trucks would only hinder.
- Christ, Disneyland ... Alright, let's go to the border of "Spain", Peter.
- We'll have to cross the "England" and "France". I think it does not matter much, but I do not speak
French. Or Spanish. You speak?
- French, fluently, Spanish, gives spending. Anything else?
- I think you better go.
The Jackal stopped the huge truck on the border of
"West Germany". Did not intend to go further. The other areas of the north, "Scandinavia" and
"Netherlands", satellites were unimportant, the impact of its destruction could not compare to the
complex further south and not worth wasting time with them. Everything was according to his
calculations and "West Germany" would begin the mass conflagration. Straightened his shirt that
covered the tunic Portuguese Spanish general, and when the soldier left the guardhouse, Carlos spoke in
Russian, using the same words he had used in the other borders.
- Do not ask me to speak this language you speak stupid. I deliver gasoline, not spend my time in the
classroom! Here's my key.
- I also speak the language very badly here, buddy - the guard said, laughing and adding the small object
and square in computerized machine. The heavy iron barrier was raised, the guard returned the key and
Jackal came quickly with the truck in "West Germany". Passed by the replica close to the
Kurfrstendamm
the Budapesterstrasse, which slowed down and opened the valve gasoline. The fuel flooded the
street. Carlos took the backpack small explosive time, and plastic, as was done in the complex south of
the border of the "France", threw them through the windows on both sides of the truck to close the
wooden buildings. Passed quickly by sector "Munich", after the port of
"Bremerhaven", the river, and finally went into "Bonn", the "Bad Godesberg" which were small-scale
copies of embassies, everywhere flooding the streets and throwing explosives. He checked his
watch. Time to go back. Within 15 minutes would detonate the explosive in all the "West Germany",
then the combined complex "Italy, Greece," "Israel-Egypt" and "Spain, Portugal" with a time eight
minutes between one and second, to create the greatest possible chaos. The fire departments of each
complex is not

could in no way stop the fire in the streets and buildings, in different sectors, north of the
"France". Those who were called from neighboring complexes would have to go back to meet the
emergency in their areas. It was a simple formula of cosmic confusion, the universe and the cosmos fake
Novgorod. The barriers at the borders would be opened, traffic would panic and to complete the
devastation, the genius who was Ilich Ramirez Sanchez
- Taken into the world of terror as Carlos the Jackal, by that same Novgorod - needed to be in "Paris". Its
not Paris, but hated the "Paris" of Novgorod he turn into ashes like the Nazis ever dreamed maniacs
do. Then the "England", and finally, finally, the largest complex despised, isolated and false Novgorod,
where he would leave his triumphant message - the "United States", creator of the apostate assassin
Jason Bourne. A message pure and clear, like water from the Alps, washing the blood from a fake
universe destroyed.
I did all this alone. My enemies are dead and I'm alive.
Carlos examined the backpack. There remained only the
more lethal instruments of death found in the arsenal of Kubinka. Four rows of missiles termodirigidos,
twenty in all, each capable of exploding across the base of the Washington Monument, and once lit and
removed the protective covers, each one would look for heat sources and do your job. Satisfied, the
Jackal closed valve gasoline and returned to the border.
The technical headquarters in the capital blinked, plenty of sleep, and looked at the green letters on the
screen in front of you. What I was reading made no sense, but the hits were not questioned. For the fifth
time the "commander" complex "Spanish" had crossed back and forth, the northern borders, in
"Germany", and now returned to the "France".Twice before, when he received the signal, according to
the alert code in place, the technician had called entry points of "Israel" and "Italy" and was informed
that only one tanker had passed them . Passed the information to the instructor access code full,
Benjamin. But now he was intrigued. By an officer of such high rank would be driving a
caminhotanque? ... On the other hand, why not? All suspected Novgorod was riddled with corruption,
so perhaps the "commander" was looking for the corrupt or making his collection at night. Anyway,
since there was not any information about the theft of an access card and computers made no
objection, it was best to leave things as they were. You never knew who would be next up.
- Voici ma carte - Bourne said to guard the border, handing the card computerized. - VIIE, s'il vous plait!
- D. .. oui - guard replied, turning quickly to the machine, at the time a huge tanker truck going in the
opposite direction, heading for the "England".
- Do not insist on very French - Benjamin said, sitting in the jeep, alongside Jason. - These guys are the
best, but are not linguists.
- Cal-if-nia ... here I go - Bourne sang softly. - Are you sure that you and your father did not want to join
his mother in Los Angeles?
- Oh, shut up!
The guard returned, saluted, and the iron barrier was raised. Jason accelerated and soon they were
seeing a replica of the Eiffel Tower, lit by spotlights. The right, in the distance, was the miniature of the
Champs-Elyses with a wooden reproduction of the Arc de Triomphe, loud enough to be
unmistakable. Bourne recalled those terrible hours and tense when he and Marie roamed Paris, one
looking the other ... Marie, oh God, Marie! I want back, I want to be David again. He and I - we are much
older agora.Ele no longer scares me and I do not irritate ... Who? Which of us two?
Oh, Christ!
- Wait - Benjamin said, touching his arm
Jason. - Slow down.
- What is it?
- Stop it! - exclaimed the young instructor. - Park at the curb and stop the engine.
- What's with you?

- Not sure. - Benjamin tilted his head back and looked at the sky sparkling with stars. No clouds - he said. - No storm.
- Also it is not raining. So what? I want to get right to the complex "Spanish".
- There you go again ...
- What the hell are you talking about? - Then
Bourne heard ... the distance, the noise of thunder, but the night was clear. Another time and another,
and another, one after another rolling deep.
- There! - Benjamin shouted, standing in the jeep, pointing north. - What is it?
- This is fire - Jason replied, quietly and hesitantly, standing up and also looking at the reflection of light
flickering in the distance in the sky. - I bet it is
complex in Spanish. He began his training there and that was why he came - to destroy everything. It's
his revenge! .. Sit down we need to go there!
- No, you're wrong - said Benjamin, sitting immediately. Jason started the engine and shifted into gear.
- The "Spain" is six or seven miles away. That fire is farther away.
- Show the quickest way - Jason said,
with the accelerator to the floor of the jeep.
Guided by the watchful eyes of the young instructor and sudden cries of "Turn here!" "Right" and "Go
ahead!" They crossed "Paris" and headed north, passing through sectors "Marseille", "Montbliard , ""
Le Havre "," Strasbourg "and many others, giving back the following squares and streets and blocks
elegant miniature, to the border of" Spain. " As they approached, the explosions sounded stronger and
yellow glow in the sky was more intense. The border guards spoke in frantic phones and portable
radios. The two-tone sirens joined the shouting of orders and despair when the police cars and fire
appeared seemingly out of nowhere, running through the streets of "Madrid" on the way to the nearest
border.
- What is happening? - Benjamin shouted in Russian, jumping from jeep and ignoring all the training
Novgorod. - I am team instruction. - Inserted the card, the barrier was raised. - Say, what is hap- cendo?
- A crazy guy - a policeman yelled from the window of the guardhouse. - Incredible! ... It is as if the world
had gone mad! First the "Germany", everywhere explosions and fire, streets and buildings, all in
flames. The earth shakes, and told us that is
a kind of earthquake. Then it was in "Italy" - "Ro-ma" is blazing and the industry "Greek" in "Athens" and
port "Piraeus" there is fire everywhere and the explosions continue, all the streets on fire!
- What did the headquarters of the capital?
- They do not know what to say! The nonsense of the quake was just that - nonsense. Panic is generally
everyone gives orders and counter-orders. - Another phone rang, the guard answered, listened and
cried loudly.
- Madness, madness complete! Are you sure?
- What is it? - Benjamin cried, running to the window of the guardhouse.
- "Egypt" - cried Benjamin, with the phone to his ear. - "Israel!" ... "Cairo" and "Tel Aviv" - fire and bombs
everywhere! No one can stop the devastation. Trucks collide with each other in the narrow streets. The
hydrants explode, water runs in the gutters, but the fire still ... And some idiot just called asking if the
warnings of "No Smoking" are in the right places, while the wooden buildings transformamse to
ashes! Idiots. They're all idiots!
- Come back here! - Shouted Bourne, passing through
gate with the jeep. - He's here somewhere! You
and I drive ... - He was interrupted by a deafening explosion in the center of the "Paseo del Prado" in
"Madrid". It was a huge blast that threw wood and stone to the sky in flames.Then, as if the Paseo was a
wall of fire alive, huge, pulsating flames rolled forward, turning to the left, out of the "city", invading the
road to the border.

- Beware! - Shouted Bourne, crouching as he left the jeep, and lying on the floor gravel shielded her face
with her hands, nose. - Christ! - He roared. The whole damn road is drenched in gasoline! A column of fire rose a hundred feet in front of the jeep, throwing stones and earth in the metal grille,
while the flames advancing with terrifying speed. Plastics!, Jason thought, then shouted for Benjamin
who ran to the Jeep. - Get back in there! Take all there! The
motherfucker spread plastic explosives everywhere! Go all the river!
- I'll go with you! - Screamed the young Soviet
with her hand on the door of the jeep.
- Sorry, kid - Bourne said, leaving
with military vehicle, throwing Benjamin to the floor. - This is for grown-ups.
- What are you doing? - shouted Benjamin, while the Jeep disappeared down the road.
"The damn truck that damn caminhotanque" - Jason murmured, coming swiftly on
"Strasbourg, France".
It happened in "Paris" - where else but in Pa- ris! Huge duplicate the Eiffel Tower exploded with such
force that the earth shook. Rockets? Missiles? The
Coyote had stolen missiles Arsenal Kubinka! Seconds later, right behind him, the explosions started and
the streets turned into huge bonfires. Everywhere. entire "France" was being destroyed in a way that
neither the madman Adolf Hitler could have imagined in their wildest dreams. Men and women in a
panic ran through the streets screaming, falling, begging the gods renegades by their leaders.
"England!" needed to get on the "England" and then in "USA" which, said his instincts, would be the end
- One way or another. Needed to find the car-tank headed by Jackal and destroy them. Could do it - I
could! Carlos thought he was dead and that was the key, because the Jackal would do what he had to
do, what he would do if Jason Bourne Carlos. When the holocaust caused by he came to a head, the
Jackal leave the tanker car and would bring into play their escape plan
- His flight to Paris for a real Paris, where his old army spread the news of the triumph of Monsignor on
the Soviets, ubiquitous and atheists. Would be somewhere near the tunnel, that was certain.
The race for 'London', 'Coventry' and 'Portsmouth' could only be compared to film images newscast
War, showing the carnage brought about by the Luftwaffe in Britain, which began with the first screams
and passed the silent terror of Pumps V-2 and V-5. But residents of Novgorod were not British - the
courageous patience gave way to mass hysteria, the concern for all was replaced by individual struggle
for survival. While impressive reproductions of the Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament collapsed in
flames and the aircraft factories in "Coventry" were reduced to huge bonfires, enchiamse the streets
shouting, panicked crowds ran the roads leading to the Volkhov River and the port of "Portsmouth". Ali,
the pier on a small scale, thousands of people threw themselves into the water, were caught by
magnesium bars with the lightning fast and violent and the bodies floated to the other traps metal
above and below the surface of the raging waters. Groups of men and women watched the tragedy,
paralyzed, and returned to the miniature city "Portsea". The guards abandoned their posts and chaos
ruled the night. Turning the spotlight side of the jeep, Bourne followed in motion sometimes slow,
sometimes faster, alleys and streets less crowded - to the south, always south. Grabbed a flag from the
floor of the jeep, pulled the cord, igniting the cylinder and shaking it on one side and the other,
approaching it as much as possible of the hands and faces of the fugitives hysterical trying to get on the
vehicle. They screamed and recoiled, blinded by the flame of the flag, no doubt thinking it was another
explosion. A gravel road! The gates of the complex U.S. were less than one hundred meters ... The
road gravel?Encharcada gasoline! The plastic explosives have not yet blown - but would explode within
minutes, creating a wall of flames which involve the jeep and the driver! With the throttle to the floor,
Jason reached the gate. It was deserted - with iron barrier down! abruptly stepped on the brakes,
skidding before stopping, waiting, beyond any reasonable hope, not causing sparks that incendiariam

the road. Put the flag still lit on the metal floor and pulled quickly from the grenades pockets - which
was broken with reluctance - he pulled the pin and threw two toward the gates. The massive explosion
destroyed the barricade and caught fire while the road. The high flames enveloped him and eager! Jason
had no choice, threw away the flag and accelerated through the tunnel of fire, the largest complex of
Novgorod. At that moment, the concrete house guard the border "English" exploded, scattering pieces
of metal and stone.
In a hurry to get to "Spain", Jason was not perfectly written order and the names of small replicas of
American cities, nor the shortest path to the tunnel. Followed only the commands shouted Benjamin,
but remembered the Californian have referred several times to the "coast road - like Route One man,
who goes to Carmel!" No doubt they were the streets closest to the river Volkhov which turn became,
without geographical sequence order, a beach in "Maine", the Potomac River, the "Washington" and the
northern waters of Long Sound IsIand, where was the naval base of "New London".
The madness was already in the "USA". Police car with the siren at all, ran through the streets, men
screamed in portable radios and people dressed and half-naked, went running and screaming, buildings
and shops, escaping the terrible earthquake that shook that arm of the Volkhov, more severe than the
catastrophe of Armenia. Even knowing for sure that it was a devastating infiltration, leaders of
Novgorod could not tell the truth to the people. It was as if they had forgotten all seismologists in the
world, as if all his discoveries had not unfounded. The gigantic forces that act on the earth does not
collide and explode with terrible rapidity, but in waves, sending a series of blows from north to
south. Who can question the authority of those who, in a panic, struggle for survival? All the
"USA" were being prepared. For what they did not know. Found ten minutes after the destruction of
much of the "Great Britain" in miniature. Bourne was getting "Washington, DC" when the fire
started. The first building to go up in flames, with the noise of the explosion sounding a fraction of a
second later, was the duplicate of wood Capitol dome that rose into the sky like yellowed and fragile
hollow replica that was. Moments later - just moments - the Washington Monument in the center of the
park lawn, collapsed with a thud and distant as their false foundations had been pushed by a huge earth
remover. In seconds, the artificial construct that represented the White House burst into flames,
explosions muffled by the river of flame that was
"Pennsylvania Avenue".
Now Bourne knew where he was. The tunnel was between "Washington" and "New London,
Connecticut," less than five minutes away! Followed the bank of the river, the crowd frightened and
hysterical. The officers shouted through the speakers, first in English then in Russian, explaining the dire
consequences if anyone tried to cross the river swimming, with the spotlight turning from one side to
the other, finding the bodies of those who had tried this method of trail in the northern complex.
- The tunnel, the tunnel! Open the tunnel!
The screams of the crowd became a litany which was almost a physical force. The underground pipes
were about to be robbed. Jason jumped out of the jeep surrounded by people, put in the pockets and
the three remaining flags, paving the way to the arms and shoulders, tried in vain to cross the compact
mass and terrified. Had no other recourse.He picked up a flag and lit. It worked, heat and fire were
catalysts. He ran through the crowd, pushing those who went down in front of the approaching fire and
light of frightened faces, until the cord formed by the guards with uniforms of the U.S. Army. It was
madness, insanity! The world was crazy!
No! Ali! The tanker was in the parking lot surrounded! Jason crossed the cordon of guards, with the pass
card in hand up and ran to the highest-ranking soldier, a colonel with an AK-47 in the waist and as
terrified as the senior officers that he had seen in Saigon.
- My identity is named "Archie" and
you can release immediately. Even now, I refuse to speak our language,
only English! understand? Discipline is

discipline.
- Togda? - shouted the officer, asking the time, then moving quickly into English, with a afetadssimo
Boston accent. - Of course, we know - scream. - But what can I do? This is a disorder uncontrollable.
- Someone passed through the tunnel in the last half hour?
- No one, absolutely no one! Our orders are to keep the tunnel closed at all costs!
- Great ... Use the speaker and disperse the people. Tell the crisis has passed and the danger too.
- How can I say this? The fire is everywhere, explosions everywhere!
- Go over soon.
- How do you know?
- I know. Whatever you're told.
- Do as he says! - Roared someone
behind Bourne. Benjamin, his shirt soaked with sweat, continued: - And I hope you know what you're
talking!
- Where are you from?
- From where, you know, like, it's another story. Try the headquarters afraid to get dirty to get a
helicopter ordered by a Krupkin apoplectic, a hospital bed in Moscow.
- "Apoplectic." Not bad for a Russian ...
- Who is me giving these orders? - Shouted the officer of the guard. - You're just a kid.
- Check, mate, but do it fast - Benjamin replied, showing his card. - Otherwise I guess I'll have to transfer
it to Tashkent. Beautiful scenery, but no individual bathrooms ... Move it,asshole!
- Cal-if-nia, here i ...
- Shut up!
- He's here! There is the tanker. Right there. - Jason pointed to the huge vehicle, much higher than the
cars and trucks around the lot.
- A tanker truck? How did you discover?
- Benjamin asked, astonished.
- That truck must have a capacity of 50
one thousand liters. Combined with plastic explosives, strategically placed, is enough to destroy the
streets and those false structures of old wood and dry.
- Slushaytye! - bellowed the various speakers around the tunnel for attention because the explosions
had actually decreased. The colonel went up on the roof's concrete lower house of the guard with a
microphone in hand, illuminated by powerful spotlights.
- The earthquake has passed - he shouted in Russian. And although extensive damage and fire can continue throughout the night, the crisis has passed
...! Stand near the edge of the river, and our comrades of the maintenance team will do their best to
provide everything you need ... These are the orders of our superiors, comrades. Do not give us any
reason to use force, I will ask.
- What Earthquake? - Shouted a man in the front row of people panicking. - You say it's an earthquake
and we all say it is an earthquake but you have the brain in the belly! I've been through two earthquakes
and that is not no earthquake. It is an armed attack!
- Yes, yes, an attack!
- We're being attacked!
- Invaded! It's an invasion!
- Open the tunnel and let us out, otherwise they will have to kill us. Open the tunnel!
The chorus of protest came from all sides, and the soldiers were firm, with fixed bayonets. The colonel
continued with his face drawn, his voice almost equal to the hysteria of the people.
- Listen and ask a question to yourself! - He yelled. - I'm saying, as I said, this is an earthquake and I know
that is true. There's more, I will say as I know is true ... You heard a shot? Yes, that is the question! A

single shot? No, not heard! ... Here, as in all complex and in all sectors of these complexes, there are
police officers, soldiers and armed trainers. Your orders are to repel by force any display of violence, not
to mention armed intruders! However, in none of these places was given a shot ...
- What is he yelling? - Jason asked,
turning to Benjamin.
- Are you trying to convince people that it is - or
was - an earthquake. They do not believe, think it is
an invasion. He is saying that it can not be because there was no shooting.
- Shooting?
- This is proof that he is presenting. Nobody is shooting at anyone and would be right, if an armed
attack. No shooting has no attack.
- Shots ...? - Bourne grabbed the arm of the young Soviet, making him turn to the people. - Tell him to
stop. For God's sake, make the man stop talking!
- What?
- It is giving the Jackal to let him hold
- He needs!
- Now, what are you talking about?
- Shooting ... shots, confusion!
- Nyet! - A woman pushed through the crowd and shouted to the officer illuminated by floodlights.
- The explosions are bombs! Launched by the high-bombers!
- What nonsense! - Replied the colonel. - If it was an air raid, our aircraft Belopol would all be in heaven!
... The explosions came from the earth, fire, earth, gases down there ...
Were the last words of Colonel.
A hail of bullets, from the shadows of the parking lot, next to the tunnel, hit the officer and his lifeless
body fell, disappearing behind the guardhouse. The
people went crazy. The cordon of soldiers "American"
broke and the crowd replaced nihilistic chaos. The tunnel entrance, narrow and protected by the fence
was broken up, and the people in disarray, one above the other, pushing and falling, ran to the entrance
of the underwater passage. Jason pulled the young trainer back out of the way of the frenzied horde,
without taking his eyes of the dark part of the parking lot.
- You know the mechanism to operate the tunnel? - He shouted.
- I know! All of us, the management, we know, is part of our work.
- The iron gates that you told me?
- Of course.
- Where are the mechanisms?
- In the guardroom.
- Get in there! - Shouted Bourne, snapping pocket of the last three flags and handing it to Benjamin.
- I have two of these and two grenades ... When I shoot one of the flags above the people, lower the
gates on this side - just this side, understand?
- For what?
- My Rules, Ben. Do! Then light the flag and shoot out the window so I know that the gates were
lowered.
- Then what?
- One thing you might not want to do, but that has to be done ... Take 47 Colonel dead and force the
crowd back to the street. Shoot the ground in front of them - or above - do whatever it takes, even if it
has to hurt some. Whatever has to be done. I need to find and isolate the Jackal, above all him away
from anyone who is trying to get out of here.

- You're a crazy maniac - Benjamin exclaimed, with veins bulging in his temples. - I can kill some more than a few! You are crazy!
- Right now I'm more rational than the man
you've seen - Jason said gruffly, looking at the inhabitants of Novgorod that went running through them.
- All rational Soviet army generals - who resumed the same Stalingrad - agree with me ... It's called
"calculating estimated losses", and there is a good reason. It simply means that we will pay much less for
what we pay now than if we leave for later.
- You are asking too much! These people are my comrades, my friends, are Russian. You shoot a
muitido Americans? One false move of my hand - a millimeter or two in the 47 - and can injure or kill
half a dozen people! It's a very big risk!
- You have no choice. If the Jackal approach me - and I'll know if it happens - throw a grenade and kill
twenty.
- You son of a bitch!
- Believe me, Ben. When it comes to Carlos, I'm a bastard. I can no longer afford to leave him alive, the
world did not. Move!
The instructor named Benjamin spat in the face of Bourne, then turned around and began to make way
for the guardhouse and the body of Colonel behind her. Jason wiped his face with the back of his hand, a
gesture almost automatic, all his attention focused on the parking lot, his eyes searching the shadows
the origin of the shots, knowing it was useless. At this point the Jackal already-saw have changed
position. Besides the tanker, had nine vehicles parked beside the fence two trucks, four silks and the vans, all American-made or imitations. Carlos was hidden behind one of
them. The tanker was less likely to be farthest from the gate that led to the guardhouse and
tunnel. Jason moved to crouch low fence. The deafening pandemonium continued after him. All your
muscles and joints throbbed with pain, cramps felt in the whole body! not think about it, do not give
importance. you
very close, David! Continue. Jason Bourne knows what to do. Trust him!
Ouch! when jumped the fence, cable sheathed bayonet was buried in his back, above the kidneys. Pain
does not exist! You are very close, David - Jason. Obey Jason.
The spotlight! The lights went crazy and began spinning rapidly in circles blinding, completely
uncontrolled. Carlos where could I go? Where could hide? The spotlight shone all around the same
time! Then, a passage that he could not see, left two police cars with sirens at full volume. Uniformed
men jumped all doors and unlike anything he could wait, rushed to close the fence behind cars and
trucks, and one by one, from one car to another, approached the gate open that led to the guardhouse
and tunnel.
There was a break of space, of time. From men!
The last four men coming out of the cars were now three - and only a few moments later the room
reappeared
- But was not the same man - the uniform was dif- flush! Jason saw the red dots and orange in uniform
and the cap had a golden ribbon, the flap was larger than the brim of his cap American pointed the
canopy other. What was it? ... Bourne suddenly understood. Memory fragments spiraled, going back in
time, or Casvieja to Madrid when he was following the Jackal contracts with the Phalangists. Was a
uniform Spanish! was it! Carlos had infiltrated in complex with its Spanish and fluent Russian was
wearing the uniform of an officer to escape Novgorod. Jason stood with the automatic in his hand and
ran across the parking lot, with his left hand taking the penultimate flag pocket of his tunic. Pulled the
cord and pulled the cylinder lit over the cars and the fence. Benjamin could not see the sign of the
guardhouse, so do not confuse with the signal to close the gates. Jason soon send the combined signal within seconds, perhaps - but for now would be premature.

- Eto Srochno! - roared one of the fugitives, voltandose quickly and in panic to the cylinder of blinding
light.
- Skoryeye! - shouted another, passing in front of the three companions and running for the open
fence. The spotlight remained on his crazy dance.
Bourne told the seven figures when, one by one, left behind the last car and went through the opening,
misturandose the crowd at the tunnel entrance. The eighth man did not show up. The Spanish officer's
uniform was not anywhere. The Jackal was trapped!
Now! Jason threw the last flag lit with full force over the men and women who ran into the tunnel,
causing protests, screams and increasing chaos. An automatic weapon fired twice quickly and
unintelligible commands sounded in Russian in speakers ... Another volley of bullets and the same voice
continued, louder, more authoritative. The crowd almost silent for a moment, and then the screams and
cries of despair resumed higher than ever. Bourne turned his head and saw astonished Benjamin
standing on the roof of the guardhouse. The young instructor shouted into the microphone, asking them
to follow his instructions, that Jason could not understand ... But, whatever, were obeyed!
Gradually gaining momentum, those people terrified changed direction - and how one person started to
run back to the street! Benjamin lit the flag and shook it in the air, pointing north. It was his signal to
Jason. The tunnel was closed and the crowd dispersed without Benjamin had made use of their AK47s. The instructor had discovered a better way. Bourne lay on the floor, looking at the bottom of each
vehicle at light flag ... Saw the legs with boots. Behind the third car to the left, about twenty meters from the opening in the fence leading
to the tunnel. Carlos was all his! The end was near! No time! Do you have to lie and do it fast! He put the
gun and the grenade in his right hand pulled the pin, got to 47 with his left hand and got up and ran to
the cars. The ten yards, again plunged to the ground, turned his body sideways and threw a grenade
under the car first. Once the grenade left his hand, Jason realized he had made a terrible mistake! Legs
under the car did not move - the boots were where they were because they were just that, boots Jason
swung around to the right, rolling furiously on sharp stones, shielding his face, bending her legs against
her chest. The explosion was deafening and deadly shrapnel rose into the night sky, glinting in the light
beams of the spotlight. Metal fragments hit the arms and legs of Jason. Move it, move it, screamed the
voice in his mind. Jason got to his knees, then standing in the middle of the smoke from the burning
car. At that moment, the ground gravel exploded around him. Ran zigzag to protect the nearest vehicle,
a van Square. Jason was shot twice in the shoulder and hip! Swung around to the side of the car at the
exact moment that the rear windshield exploded.
- You're no match for me, Jason Bourne! shouted Carlos the Jackal firing their automatic. Never was! Are you a phony a fraud!
- Whatever - roared Bourne. - Well then come
catch me!
Jason ran to the left of the front door of the van, opened it, turned to the back and crouched, his face
pressed against the car, the Colt 45 ready to shoot. The flag went out, along with a hiss, and the Jackal
stopped firing. Bourne understood. Carlos was in front of the open door, insecure, indecisive ... only had
a few seconds to solve. Then shut the door of the van with the gun barrel. now!
Jason jumped to the side of the van, throwing in uniform Spanish. The gun flew from the hand of the
Jackal. One, two, three. capsules leaped in the air - and then everything stopped! The explosions were
replaced by a sharp click. Jason's gun failed! Carlos jumped to catch his gun on the ground with his left
arm motionless and bleeding, but still strong right hand. Grabbed the gun like a crazed animal.
Bourne took the bayonet sheath and lunged forward, trying to hit the blade with the right arm of the
Jackal. Afternoon too! Carlos pointed the gun! Jason atirouse forward and grabbed the hot barrel of the
machine -

lint, lint! You can not leave! Rotate the pipe to the side! To the left! Use the bayonet - no, do not
use! Let fall the bayonet! Use both hands! conflicting orders collided in her mindcrazy. Jason had no
breath, she had no strength, could not focus the view - the om- bro. Bourne How the Jackal was
wounded in the right shoulder!
Stay strong! Reach his shoulder, but stay fastened a last and desperate impulse, Bourne moved and shot
Carlos against the side of the van, bumping the injured shoulder of the Jackal. Carlos screamed, dropped
his gun, and with his foot pushed down the vehicle.
Suddenly, a blow, coming Jason did not know
where the hit, and it was as if his head had been split open. Then he realized. Had slipped on gravel
covered in blood and hit his head on the metal grille of the van. No matter -nothing mattered! Carlos the
Jackal was running! Amid the confusion, it would be difficult for him to leave Novgorod. All that
for nothing!
But Jason still had a grenade. Why not?
Bourne pulled the pin and threw the grenade over the van in the parking lot. This was followed by the
explosion and Jason rose. Perhaps Benjamin, hearing the explosion, which was understood to draw
attention to that area. Reeling, barely able to walk, Jason went to the opening in the fence leading to
the guardhouse and tunnel. Oh, God, Marie, I failed!I'm sorry. Nothing!
All this for nothing! And then, as if all Novgorod were laughing at him, saw that someone had opened
the doors of the tunnel, inviting the Jackal to freedom.
- Archie ...? - The voice startled Benjamin floated on the sounds of the river, and saw the young Soviet
Jason running to him. - Holy Christ, I thought you were dead.
- So you opened the gates and let the escape
man I ran - Jason shouted. - Why not ask a limo for him?
- I suggest you look again, Professor - Benjamin replied breathlessly, stopping in front of Bourne,
examining his face with bruises and bloody clothing. - The age has weakened his eyes.
- What?
- You want gates, it will have gates. - The instructor shouted an order, in Russian, for someone in the
guardhouse. Seconds later the heavy iron doors down again, covering the entrance of the tunnel. But
there was something strange. Bourne had not seen before the gates lowered, but were not what they
had imagined. Seemed ... swollen, distorted. - Glass - said Benjamin.
- Glass? - Asked Jason.
- At both ends of the tunnel walls, glass six inches in thickness hermetically sealed.
- What are you talking about?
The Russian did not have to explain. Suddenly, like a series of giant waves against the glass of an
aquarium, the Volkhov River invaded the tunnel. Then, in the middle of the net mass revolt and violent
appeared an object ... one thing, a form, a body! Bourne opened his eyes and opened his mouth to
scream of horror that failed to deliver. Gathering the strength he had left he went, falling twice to his
knees, picking up speed with each step toward the massive wall of glass that closed the tunnel
entrance. Panting, leaned both hands on the glass and watched the macabre scene a few inches from
your eyes. The grotesque body of Carlos the Jackal, with even Spanish came and went knocking on steel
bars of the gate, her face contorted hate filled eyes glazed cursing death that complained. Cold eyes
watched Bourne satisfied, her lips pressed into a thin line and rigid, the face of a killer, a killer among
killers, the winner. For a moment, David Webb appeared, looking smooth, parted lips, the face of a man
who had taken his shoulders the weight d "and a world he hated.
- He was, Archie - Benjamin noted beside him. - The poor can not return.
- You flooded the tunnel - just said Bourne. - How did you know it was him?
- You did not have an automatic, but he did.

Frankly, I thought that the prophecy would Krupkin - how can I say - take place. You were dead and his
killer was looking for the easy way. The uniform he confirmed my suspicions. Everything made sense,
suddenly, from the complex "Spanish".
- How did you get away from the people?
- I said I would send apanhlos and barges to take them to the other side of the river - about two miles
north ... Speaking of Krupkin, gotta get outta here. now. come, the helipad is six hundred meters. We
will use the jeep. Quick, for God's sake!
- Instructions Krupkin?
- From a hospital bed, he was furious and shocked.
- Why?
- I think you know. Someone in the rarefied circle - Krupkin not know who - gave orders to prevent his
departure from Novgorod at any cost. To be clear, no one could imagine that the whole damn Novgorod
burst into flames, and this is our way of escape.
- Our?
- I'm not your executioner, someone else wants to kill him. I know nothing about, and this mess, I'll
never know.
- Wait a minute. Where the helicopter will take me?
- Cross your fingers, professor and ask for
Krupkin and his American friend know what they are doing. The helicopter will take you to Yelsk, and
from there, a plane takes to Zomosc, across the Polish border, where a satellite ungrateful allowed the
installation of a CIA listening post.
- Christ, but it is still the territory of the Soviet bloc.
- What I did is that your people will be prepared. Good luck
- Ben - Jason said, looking intently at the young.
- Why are you doing this? Is disobeying a direct order ...
- Not received any order! - Interrupted the Russian.
- And even if he had received'm not a robot. You had a deal and fulfilled his part ... Furthermore, if there
is a chance for my mother ...
- There is more than a chance - interrupted
Bourne.
- Come, let's go! We are wasting time. Yelsk and Zomosc are just the beginning for you. Will
face a long and dangerous journey, Archie. 42
SUNDOWN SOL, and night descended on the islands of Montserrat, transforming them in patchwork
dark green in the middle of the blue sea and sparkling, and endless drizzle of white foam that rose coral
reefs bathed by orange light and diaphanous the horizon in the Caribbean. Tranquility on the island the
lights lit up, one after another, and the figures moving inside the houses and porches lit by the last rays
of the sun. The gentle breezes spread the scent of hibiscus and poinsettias by tropical foliage and a
fishing boat lonely headed toward the earth, with its load of fish to the hotel kitchen. Brendan Patrick
Pierre Prefontaine took his bottle of Perrier to the balcony of Seventeen Village where Johnny St.
Jacques, leaning against the railing, took his rum and tonic.
- How long you think you can reopen the
hotel? - Asked the former Boston judge, sitting next to the table wrought iron.
- Structural damage can be repaired in a few weeks - said the owner of Tranquility Inn - but the
psychological effect of what happened here will take longer to disappear, much longer.
- How long?
- I'll wait four or five months to submit the first flyers - will be late for the reservation station, but Marie
agrees. Doing anything before and seems distasteful, can only serve to rekindle the gossip ... Terrorists,
drug traffickers, corrupt government on the island - we do not want and do not deserve it.

- Well, as I said, I can pay for my stay - said the former judge of the federal district court of
Massachusetts. - Maybe not their season prices, my dear, but enough to cover the expenses of a village,
a little more for the box away.
- And as I said, forget it. I. I owe you more than I can afford. Tranquility is yours for as long as you want. St. Jacques looked into the fishing boat and then sat facing Prefontaine. - I worry about the people of
the island in boats and on the beach. Before, three boats brought us freshly baked fish. Now just one for
us and what's left of the hotel staff - all receiving half pay.
- Then you need my money.
- Well, Judge, that money? do not want to sound naughty, but Washington gave me all the information
about you. For years you live on the streets than you earn.
- Ah, yes, Washington - Prefontaine said, raising his glass to the sky orange and blue. - As always, the
Twelve Steps is the crime - twenty steps in regard to his own crime.
- What are you talking about?
- From Randolph Gates, is what I'm talking
- of whom I am speaking.
- That bastard Boston! What put the Jackal on track David?
- The new Randolph Gates retired movingly, Johnny. Reformed at all, except in regard to refund the
money he owes, I might add ... Still keeping the mind and conscience that I met at Harvard many years
ago. Not the brightest, not the best, but with the ability literary and oratorical brilliance that mimic that
ever existed.
- Again, what the hell are you talking about?
- I visited a few days at the rehab center in Minnesota or Michigan, I can not remember because I
traveled first class and how many drinks were served pedidos.Seja case, we talked and we conclude our
agreement. He changed his hand, Johnny. Now will fight - legally - by the people, not for conglomerates
that buy and sell only on paper. said he will now attack the adventurers and the agents who have made
millions in the markets and cost thousands and thousands of jobs.
- How can he do this?
- He was there. He did it all, knows all the tricks and is willing to use his considerable talents for this.
- Why will he do this?
- Because regained Edith.
- Who in God's name is Edith?
- His wife's ... In fact, I still love her.
Since we met, but at that time, a judge with a wife and child, however repulsive they were, could not
think of these things. Randy the Great never deserved. Maybe now he compensates for the lost years.
- This is very interesting, but what has to do with our plans?
- Did I already said that Lord Randolph Gates
made a lot of money during those lost years but very profitable?
- Several times. So what?
- Well, recognizing that services
for me they decided the hazard of life in which he found himself, with the threat came from Paris, he
became convinced of the need to reward myself. Especially because of the things I know ... You see,
after a few bloody battles in the courts, I think he will apply for a chair of judge. Much higher than mine,
I'm sure.
- So what?
- Hence, if I keep quiet, out of Boston, do not hold your tongue, and stay away from drink, your bank will
send me fifty thousand U.S. dollars a year for the rest of my life.
- Jesus Christ!
- Exactly what I said to myself

when he agreed. I even went to church for the first time in thirty-odd years.
- You can not, however, go home.
- For home? - Prefontaine chuckled. - It was really my house? No matter, I think I found another. A
gentleman named Peter Holland, CIA, deume a recommendation to Sir Henry Sykes, here in Montserrat,
which, in turn, introduced me to a London lawyer named Jonathan Lemuel retired, native to the
island. We are doing well, but none of us are prepared for a different type of
"Home." We can open a consultation firm, specializing in import and export rights, the United States and
in Britain. It is clear that we need to upgrade, study a little, but we can do it. I hope to stay here for
many years.
St. Jacques rose quickly to get another drink, looking suspiciously at the former judge. Morris Panov
walked painfully and carefully
the room to the living room of Villa Eighteen, where Alex Conklin was sitting in a wheelchair. The chest
bandages psychiatrist appeared through the farm fine guayabera white.Went to the left arm below the
elbow.
- It took me nearly forty minutes to stick the
manga this useless thing - he complained angrily.
- You should have called me - said Alex, turning the
chair that was near the phone. - I can still handle this thing well. Of course I had about two years of
experience before my boot Quasimodo.
- Thank you, but I prefer to dress himself
- As I think you'd rather walk alone when you put the prosthesis.
- This is the first lesson, doctor. Hopefully there is something about it in his books.
- There is, yes. Called stupid bitch, or if you prefer, stubborn.
- No, not - said the former agent, looking for
Panov who was sitting up slowly.
- No. .. is not - Mo nodded, returning the
look. - The first lesson is independence. Take all you can and keep trying to get some.
- It has a good side, too - Alex said, straightening bandage neck and smiling. - It is becoming easier, not
harder. We learn new tricks every day. It's amazing what our brain cells can invent.
- Tell me, then. I need to explore this field someday ... You were talking on the phone with?
- Holland. The wires are hot at all secret channels between Moscow and Washington, the phones of the
two sides almost paralyzed with fear of being held liable for any spill code.
- Medusa?
- You never heard that name. I never heard this name, and no one we know has ever heard that
name. There have been a lot of bloodshed in the international market - not to mention a few buckets of
True Blood - now to question the sanity of the institutions that control the two governments, which, of
course, sinned by crass stupidity.
- How about simply guilty? - Asked
Panov.
- There are very few at the top to ensure the destruction of the whole - that was the verdict of Langley
and Dzerzhinsky Square. The bosses of the Department of State and Council of Ministers of the Kremlin
agree. No point chasing or expose the extent of illegal conduct - what do you think of
it, malfeasance? Murder, kidnapping, extortion and large-scale corruption, both sides of the Atlantic
making use of organized crime, this will all be conveniently labeled " illegal conduct "! They say it is
better to save what we can with the utmost discretion and rapidly as possible.
- This is obscene.
- This is the reality, doctor. You are about to watch one of the greatest hoaxes in modern history
between two sovereign powers ... And the real obscenity is the fact that maybe they're right. If Medusa

was fully exposed - and is the only way that could be exposed - the people with righteous indignation,
expel the poor, many of them the wrong men, tainted only by association. This sort of thing creates true
vacuums in high places, and this is not the time for any kind of vacuums. Best known devils than the
unknown that will come later.
- So, what will happen?
- Negotiation - Conklin said thoughtfully.
- Medusa's operations cover a broad area, geographically and structurally speaking, that it is almost
impossible to completely undo the network. Moscow will send Ogilvie back with a team of financial
analysts who along with our will begin dismantling the organization. Holland provides for an economic
summit minirreunio, very discreet, attended by finance ministers of NATO and the countries of the
Eastern bloc. Where goods of Medusa can remain independently or can be absorbed by their individual
economies, this will be done through agreements restricted between all parties. The main issue is to
avoid financial panic with the mass closure of factories and companies selling raw materials.
- What bury forever the Medusa - said Panov. - It is also the story, unregistered, unrecognized, as it has
since the beginning.
- Above all that - Alex agreed - for
omission and commission left a lot to everyone.
- And men like Burton or the Heads of the Board,
and Atkinson in London?
- Nothing more than messengers and brows-rail.
Are removed for health reasons, and believe me, they understand.
With a grimace, Panov straightened his aching body in the chair.
- It does not pay his crimes, but the Coyote rendered a service, do not you think? If you were not
hunting Carlos, would not have found the Medusa.
- The coincidence of evil, Mo - Conklin said. I'm not thinking of recommending a medal posthumously.
- I would say it is more than coincidence - watched Panov, nodding. - Ultimately, David was right. Forced
or not, there was a connection. Someone Medusa made a killer, or killers, using the name of Jason
Bourne, eliminate a target very visible within the Coyote. This person knew exactly what he was doing.
- You mean Teagarten course.
- Yes Once Bourne was on death list of Medusa, our pathetic traitor, DeSole had to tell what he knew
about the operation Treadstone, perhaps without knowing that name, but knowing the essential
facts. When they learned that Jason - David - was in Paris, used the original script, ie Bourne against the
Jackal. Killing Teagarten that way, they were right to have recruited the most deadly partner they could
find to locate and assassinate David.
- This we know. So what?
- Alex, do not you see? Thinking about all this, Brussels was the beginning of the end and the end David
used that false accusation to tell Marie that he was alive, that Marie told Holland that he was alive. The
map with the city of Anderlecht marked with a red circle.
- He gave hope was that. I do not trust much in hope, Mo.
- He did more than hope. That message has made Holland prepare all stations from Europe to expect
Jason Bourne, the assassin, and use all possible means to bring him back.
- It worked. Sometimes this kind of thing does not work.
- It worked because a few weeks ago, a
man named Jason Bourne knew that Carlos needed to hunt create a connection between him and the
Jackal, a connection long forgotten that he had to return to the surface. Hesucceeded, you got it!
- In a very indirect and complicated -

Conklin admitted. - We were looking for, nothing more. Possibilities, probabilities, abstractions - it was
just what we had.
- Abstractions? - Asked Panov. - A term
misinterpreted as a liability. Any idea of the revolution that the abstractions can cause the mind?
- I do not know what you're talking about.
- Those gray cells, Alex. They are crazy, spinning like tiny ping pong balls, looking tiny in tunnels, lured by
their own compulsions.
- Now I'm floating.
- You said it yourself, the coincidence of evil. But
I suggest another driver - the magnet of evil. That's what you and David have created, and within the
magnetic field was Medusa. Conklin turned the chair and went to the balcony, to the orange glow
coming down the horizon, beyond the dark green islands of Montserrat.
- I wish everything was as simple as
you say, Mo - spoke quickly. - But unfortunately it is not.
- Explain.
- Krupkin is a dead man.
- What?
- I'm sorry friend and an enemy fantastic.
He allowed everything to us and in the end he did what was right, not what you ordered. Allowed David
lived and now are paying for it.
- What happened to him?
- According to Holland, he disappeared from the hospital
in Moscow for five days - just took her clothes and left. Nobody knows how you did it, or where it was,
but an hour after his departure, the KGB came to arrest him and take him to the Lubyanka.
- So not caught ...
- But it will take. When the Kremlin gives a
order Black Alert, all roads, train stations, airports and border posts are placed under a microscope. The
incentives are irresistible. Who let out passes ten years in a gulag. It's a matter of time. Damn!
They knocked on the door and Panov said:
- It is open because it is easier. Come in.
Came the assistant manager, Mr. Pritchard, immaculately dressed, preceded by a table of room service
that he could push without bending one iota. With a huge smile announced his presence and his
mission.
- Buckingham Pritchard, at your service, gentlemen. I bring some snacks from the sea to your high school
reunion before the evening meal, whose training I attended in person alongside the chef that everyone
knows, is prone to errors without the guidance I had experienced it. happy to provide.
- Collegiate? - Alex said. - I left the drug of college almost 35 years ago.
- Obviously there's nothing left, regarding
the nuances of the English language - muttered Morris Panov.
- Tell me, Mr. Pritchard, heat is not a horrible inside those clothes? I'm sweating like a pig.
- No nuance, just a buzzword unproven - mumbled Conklin.
- I do not perspire, sir - said the assistant manager.
- I bet my retirement as you "transpired" when Mr. St. Jacques returned from Washington Alex said. - Holy Christ, Johnny a "terrorist"!
- The incident has been forgotten, sir - said
Pritchard stoically. - Mr. Saint Jay and Sir Henry realized that my brilliant uncle and I were thinking only
about the good of the children.
- I know, I know, I know - Conklin noted.

- I will prepare canaps, gentlemen, and check the ice. Others will be here within a few minutes.
- Very kind of you - said Panov.
Leaning against the railing of the balcony, watching Marie David Webb who finished reading a story to
his son. The imposing Mrs. Cooper was dozing in a chair. The head of black hair with white-silver wires
swung over generous chest as if expecting every moment to hear the cry of the small Alison in the next
room. The rhythm of the gentle voice of Marie interpreted the characters and the sense of history, as
proved watchful eyes and parted lips of Jamie. If not for his analytical mind he heard music in numbers,
she could be an actress, David thought. Marie had superficial attributes of this profession - a beautiful
face, a commanding presence, the sine qua non that was mute men and women when it appeared
somewhere.
- Dad, can you read me tomorrow?
The story ended, Jamie jumped off the couch and Mrs. Cooper opened his eyes.
- I wanted to read tonight - David defended himself.
- Well, it's still you smell weird - the boy said, frowning.
- Your father has no smell, Jamie, I
said
- Marie explained, with a smile. - It is the medicine that the doctor told us to use bruises.
- It smells, yes.
- You can not argue with an analytical mind
when she's right, do not you agree? - David said.
- It's too early to go to sleep, Mom! I agree Alison and she'll start crying again.
- I know, honey, but Dad and I have to visit their uncles ...
- It's my new grandfather! - Exclaimed the boy with enthusiasm. - Grandpa Brendan said he'll teach me
to be a judge someday.
- God help you, Jamie - Mrs. Cooper said.
- The man dresses like a peacock in mating season.
- You can go watch TV in our room said Marie quickly. - But only for half an hour ...
- Wow!
- Okay, maybe an hour, but Mrs. Cooper
chooses the programs.
- Thanks, Mom! - Jamie ran into the parents' room followed by Mrs. Cooper.
- Well, I can spend time with him - said
Marie stood up.
- No, Miss Marie - protested Mrs. Cooper. Stay with your husband. This man is a lot of pain and says nothing. - She left the room.
- It is true, my dear? - Asked Marie. Are you in pain?
- I hate to destroy the myth of incontestable perception of a great lady, but she's wrong.
- Why do you have to use many words when one would suffice?
- Because I'm supposedly a learned scholar
We, academics, never take the direct path because it offers us no deviation in case we are wrong. What
you're an anti-intellectual?
- No - replied Marie. - You see, this is
a 'declarative' simple one word.
- What is a "declarative"? - Asked Webb.
He took her in his arms and kissed long and lovingly.

- It is the shortest way to the truth - said Marie, leaning her head back to look at her husband. - No
deviations, no circumlocutions, just facts. How: five plus five is ten, not nine or eleven, but in December
- You're a ten.
- It is trite, but I accepted ... You 're less tense, I can feel it again. Jason Bourne is disappearing, is not?
- Almost completely. While you were
with Alison, Ed McAllister, the National Security Agency, called me. Benjamin's mother is on the way to
Moscow.
- Well, that's wonderful, David.
- Mac and I laughed on the phone and while we were laughing, I remembered that I had never seen nor
heard McAllister laugh like that. It was very good.
- He barely disguise the guilt - was evident. It was he who sent us to Hong Kong and never forgave him
for that. Now you are back, alive and free. I do not know if I can forgive you, but at least I will not shut
down every time he calls.
- Mac'll like it. In fact, I told him to call, you were even able to invite you to dinner any day.
- I did not go that far.
- The mother of Benjamin? That boy saved my life.
- Maybe a little ajantarado.
- Get your hands off me, woman. Within
fifteen seconds I'll expel Jamie and Mrs. Cooper in our bedroom and demanding my rights as a husband.
- It is a temptation, Attila, but I think Johnny is
waiting for us. Two grumpy individuals and a former judge superimaginativo are more than a rancher
Ontario can take.
- I like them all.
- Me too. Come on.
The Caribbean sun disappeared and only a mist orange illuminated the horizon. The candle flames
within the protective glasses stood firm, pointing to the top, the smoke spiraling above them, his light
cozy drawing shadows on the porch of the Village Eighteen. The conversation was also pleasant and
relaxed - the survivors celebrating his release from the nightmare.
- I explained emphatically to Randy Dandy
that the doctrine of stare decisis has to be questioned, if the weather changed existing interpretations
when certain decisions were original - Prefontaine said.
- Change, change - the inevitable result of the calendar.
- This is so obvious. I can not imagine anyone
discussing this issue - said Alex.
- Oh, the Flood-Gates-always made use of it, confusing the jury with his erudition and his colleagues
confusing with multiple decisis.
- Smoke and Mirrors - Marie said, laughing. - We do the same in economics. Remember, Johnny, when I
said that?
- Not understood not a word. And yet
understand.
- No smoke or mirrors in the field of
medicine - said Panov. - At least, not where the laboratories are monitored and explorers of
pharmaceuticals are prohibited. Advances legitimate are validated every day in medicine.
- In many ways it is the basic aim of our Constitution - continued the former judge. - It is as if our
Founders had read Nostradamus but did not want to admit their frivolities, or perhaps they had studied
the drawings of flying machines Da Vinci. They understood that they could not legislate for the future,
because they had no idea how it would be, not what society would need for their future freedom. They
created glaring omissions.

- Not accepted as such by the brilliant Randolph Gates, if I remember correctly - said Conklin.
- Oh, it will change soon, now - said
Prefontaine, with a laugh. - It has always been the sworn companion of the wind and is smart enough to
adjust the sails when they need to navigate against him.
- I often wonder what happened to the woman the diner married to a man
called "Bronk" - said the psychiatrist.
- Try to imagine a small house with about
Wood, et cetera - Alex suggested. - So it is easier.
- That woman truck driver? - Asked St.
Jacques.
- Forget it, Johnny, I'd rather not know - said Marie.
- Or that bastard of Army Medical
That filled me with Amital - insisted Panov.
- You are driving a clinic in Leavenworth Conklin said. - I forgot to say ... So many, so crazy. And Krupkin. The crazy old Kruppie with its elegance
and everything. We owe a lot to him, but we can not help.
For a brief moment, everyone thought the man who had boldly challenged one monolithic system that
required the death of David Webb, who was now leaning against the railing of the balcony looking at the
dark sea, somewhat separate from others physically and mentally. Would take time, he was right. Jason
Bourne had to go, had to abandon it.When? There Aug- ra! Out of the night that had just arrived, the
madness began! The noise of various engines broke the silence of the sky like lightning zigzags
furious. Three military helicopters plunged toward the pier Tranquility, sweeping the coast with bursts
of bullets, while a powerful racing boat passed through the reef toward the beach. St. Jacques was on
the intercom.
- Alarm on the beach! - he shouted. - Get your guns!
- Christ, the Jackal is dead - shouted Conklin.
- Bastards disciples are not - said Jason Bourne without the slightest trace of David Webb on the face or
voice, Marie pushed to the ground and taking a gun belt, a weapon whose existence Marie ignored.
- Told them he was here!
- It's crazy!
- This is Carlos! - Jason replied, rushing to the balcony. - He has! They belong to Carlos forever.
- Shit - roared Alex, handling the wheelchair Panov and pulling away from the table and
candles. Suddenly, they heard the crackle of static and a helicopter pilot said, the speaker at full volume:
- You saw what we did on the beach, mon. Let's break it into two if not turn off your engine! ... So is
better, mon. Let the waves take to the beach - only
waves, no engine and leave the two to the deck with their hands out over the side! Do it now!
The spotlight of the two helicopters illuminated the boat, while the first down on the beach with the
rotors turning, lifting sand. Four men got out with guns on the boat. Those at the village Eighteen looked
astonished the scene on the beach.
- Pritchard! - called St. Jacques. - Bring me the binoculars!
- You are in my hands, Mr. Jay St. - oh, here it is. - The assistant manager gave the powerful binoculars to
his boss. - I managed to clean the lenses, sir!
- What are you seeing? - Bourne asked
quickly.
- I do not know. Two men.
- A beautiful army! - Conklin said.
- Let me see - Jason ordered, taking the binoculars from the hands of brother.
- What is it, David? - Marie cried, seeing the amazement in her husband's face.

- It Krupkin - he said.
Sitting at the table white iron, with a very pale face - all of it, because he had taken off his beard Krupkin refused to speak before finishing his third brandy. How Panov, Conklin and David Webb, was
wounded, evidently suffering excruciating pain and like the others, he tried not to show it, because what
the future promised was far better than what had been left behind. Seemed to bore deeply every time I
looked at the clothes he was wearing inferior quality, but raised his shoulders in silence, as saying that
he would soon be back to its splendor. His first words were to the old Brendan Prefontaine, examining
the guayabera peach and blue pants real former judge.
- I like this outfit - said with admiration. Very tropical and tasteful for the weather.
- Thank you.
The presentations were made and saw to the Soviet
front of a fierce barrage of questions. He raised his hands, as the Pope on the balcony of St. Peter's
Square and said:
- I will not annoy or disturb anyone with
the trivial details of my escape from Mother Russia, except to say that I am disgusted with the high price
of corruption and will never forget, nor will I forgive, filthy accommodations that I was forced to endure
in exchange for exorbitant sums spent ... That said, thank God for Crdit Suisse and those beautiful
green coupons they emit.
- Tell me what happened - said Marie.
- You, my dear lady, it is even more beautiful than I imagined. If we had known in Paris I stole this
Dickensian ragamuffin who calls her husband. Whoa. Look at that glorious hair!
- He probably does not know the color of my hair - Marie said, smiling. - You will be the threat that I will
keep on his head.
- However, for the age, he is very competent.
- That's because I do take a lot of pills, Dimitri, of all kinds. Now, tell me what happened.
- What happened? They discovered me, that's what happened! They confiscated my beautiful home in
Geneva!
Now is an attachment to the Soviet embassy. It's heartbreaking!
- I think my wife is talking about this poor farmer - said Webb. - You were in the hospital in Moscow and
discovered that someone had booked for me - ie my running. So VCCE Benjamin sent me out of
Novgorod.
- I have some sources, mistakes are made
in high places and I will not incriminate anyone naming names. Was just one thing wrong. If we have
learned anything in Nuremberg, which was obscene orders should not be obeyed. This lesson crosses
boundaries and penetrates in many minds. We, in Russia, suffered more, much more than anyone in
America during the war. Some still remember, and we will not imitate the enemy.
- Spoke very well - Prefontaine said, raising his glass of Perrier for the Soviet Union. - In the end, we all
are part of the same human race, capable of thinking and feeling, is not it?
- Well - said Krupkin, taking the fourth dose
of brandy. - In this observation attractive, but widely used, there are divisions commitments, Judge. No
serious, of course, but still, varied. For example, although my home in Lake Geneva is no longer mine,
my account in the Cayman Islands remains intensely personal. By the way, how far are the Cayman
here?
- More or less a thousand miles
West - St. Jacques said. - A jet leaving Antigua takes you there in just over three hours.
- I thought so - said Krupkin. - When

were in hospital in Moscow, Alex always spoke of Tranquility Isle and Montserrat, so checked on the
map of the hospital library. Everything seems to take its course ... By the way, the men on the boat,
there will be very severe with them, will they? My outrageously false papers are in order.
- The crime he committed was to have appeared as well, did not bring you here.
- I was in a hurry, I mean, running for their lives.
- I explained to the government of the island that you are an old friend of my brother.
- Great. Very good.
- What will you do, Dimitri? - Asked
Marie.
- My options are limited, I guess. Our
Russian bear has more grip than the legs of a centipede and also has a global network of computers. I
have to stay buried for a long time while I build a new existence. From birth, of course. - Krupkin turned
to St. Jacques. - Could I rent one of these beautiful villages, Mr. St. Jacques?
- After what you did for David and my sister do not even need to ask. Our home is your home, Mr.
Krupkin, all of it.
- How much kindness. Of course, first I have to go to the Cayman where, I am told, there are excellent
tailors then perhaps a small yacht and then a business too small that it can prove that it was originating
from Tierra del Fuego and Falkland Islands, or other place where God forgotten for little money if you
can an identity and a dark past, but extremely cool. After all this is working, there is a doctor in Buenos
Aires that works wonders with fingerprints - a painless process, I am told - and then a little plastic
surgery - Rio has the best, you know, much better than the New York - only to change the profile and
maybe remove a few years ... In these days and nights did nothing but think and plan, supporting
situations that do not want to describe in front of Mrs. Webb.
- You've been thinking of truth - agreed
Marie, impressed. - And please call me Marie. How will I threaten him with your picture if I am Mrs.
Webb?
- Ah, the lovely Marie!
- And these plans adorable? - Asked
Conklin. - How long will you need to accomplish everything?
- Imagine, you ask that question! - Krupkin
Alex looked up, astonished.
- I thought I'd ask - said Alex.
- You, who was instrumental in creating the life story of the greatest creation that the world of
international terrorism ever known? The incomparable Jason Bourne?
- If it is including me - said Webb - I'm out. My specialty is interior decorating.
- How long Kruppie?
- Well, have patience, man, you were training a recruit for a single mission. I 'll change a lifetime!
- How long?
- Say you, Alex. Now we are talking about giving my life. However insignificant it may be in the
geopolitical order of things, it's still my life.
- All he needs - said David Webb,
with Jason Bourne, invisible, peering over his shoulder.
- Two years to do well, three to make better
- Dimitri Krupkin said.
- Are your - said Marie.
- Pritchard! - said St. Jacques. - Please give me a drink.
EPILOGUE

They walked the moonlit beach, sometimes touching, sometimes receding, the embarrassment
alternating with intimacy, as if the world had separated that he had not released its orbit terrible, pulling
them constantly to its core flaming.
- You had a gun - Marie said softly. - I had no idea. I hate guns.
- Me too. I'm not sure, but I think
you never knew you had one. She was just there.
- Reflection? Compulsion?
- Both, I believe. But no matter. I do not
've used.
- But I wanted to use, did not you?
- Also I am not sure. If you and the kids were threatened, of course I would, but I do not believe that is
able to shoot indiscriminately.
- Are you sure, David? Does the mere suggestion
danger to us will not make you shoot at shadows?
Steps. In the sand! Waves crashing against the clear intrusion of humans, a break in the flow of the
natural rhythm - sounds that Jason Bourne knew hundreds of beaches! He spun around, lifted Marie by
the waist and flung violently out of the line of fire while ducking with gun in hand.
- Please do not kill me, David - Morris said
Panov, illuminating the scene with his flashlight. - We simply would have no meaning. - Jesus, Mo. Webb said. - What were you doing?
- Trying to find them, nothing more ... Would you please help Marie?
Webb obeyed, helping Marie to rise, the two almost blinded by the flashlight.
- My God, you're the spy! - Jason Bourne exclaimed, raising his gun. - You knew my every move.
- On what? - shouted the psychiatrist, playing his flashlight on the floor. - If you believe that, why do not
you kill me, you bastard?
- I do not know, Mo, I know nothing ... - David
leaned his head back in a gesture of pain.
- Well then, cry till you drop, you miserable. Cry like never cried before! 's Jason Bourne
dead, cremated in Moscow and is how it has to be. Either you accept it or do not want to bother with
you anymore! Understood this, his creation brilliant and arrogant? You did what had to be done,
and done!
Webb fell to his knees with eyes full of tears, trembling, in complete silence.
- We'll be fine, Mo. - Marie said, kneeling beside her husband, supporting him.
- I know that - Panov said, shaking his
head affirmatively by flashlight lying on the ground.
- Two lives in mind, we can not imagine what it is. But it turned out. Just truth.