@@@@@ “Then don’t believe me, JohnnyAnd forget
@@@@@
“Then don’t believe me, JohnnyAnd forget everything I’ve said, and never tell your sister I said
it
“It’s that other person inside of you, isn’t it?”
“You’re very dear to Marie
“That’s no answer! Here, now, you’re Bourne, aren’t you? Jason Bourne!”
“We’ll never, ever, discuss this conversation, JohnnyDo you understand me?”
No, he had never understood, thought StJacques, as the swirling winds and the cracks of
lightning seemed to envelop the boatEven when Marie and David appealed to his rapidly
disintegrating ego by suggesting he could build a new life for himself in the islandsSeed money,
they had said; build us a house and then see where you want to go from thereWithin limits, we’ll
back youWhy would they do that? Why did they?
It was not “they,” it was heJacques understood the other morning when he picked up the phone by the pool and
was told by an island pilot that someone had been asking questions at the airport about a woman
and two children
Someday I may teach you how to kill cleanly, in the dark
Lights! He saw the beach lights of TranquilityHe was less than a mile from the shore!
The rain pounded down against the old Frenchman, the blasts of wind throwing him off balance
as he made his way up the path toward Villa FourteenHe angled his head against the elements,
squinting, wiping his face with his left hand, his right gripping the weapon, a gun lengthened by the
extension of the pocked cylinder that was its silencerHe held the pistol behind him as he had done
years ago racing along railroad tracks, sticks of dynamite in one hand, a German Luger in the other,
prepared to drop both at the appearance of Nazi patrols
Whoever they were on the path above, they were no less than the Boche in his mindAll were
Boche! He had been subservient to others long enough! His woman was gone; he would be his own
man now, for there was nothing left but his own decisions, his own feelings, his own very private
sense of what was right and what was wrongAnd the Jackal was wrong! The apostle of Carlos
could accept the killing of the woman; it was a debt he could rationalize, but not the children, and
certainly not the mutilationsThose acts were against God, and he and his woman were about to
face Him; there had to be certain ameliorating circumstances
Stop the angel of death! What could she be doing? What did the fire she talked about mean?
Then he saw it—a huge burst of flame through the hedges of Villa FourteenIn a window! The
same window that had to be the bedroom of the luxurious pink cottage
Fontaine reached the flagstone walk that led to the front door as a bolt of lightning shook the
ground under himHe fell to the earth, then struggled to his knees, crawling to the pink porch, its
fluttering overhead light outlining the door