The Bourne Ultimatum

"Understood," nodded Conklin. "What's the name of this enterprise?"

"There's no single name. Instead, there are fifty or sixty companies apparently under one umbrella but with so many different titles and origins it's impossible to determine the specific relationships."

"There's a name and Ogilvie runs it," said Alex.

"That crossed my mind," said Krupkin, his eyes suddenly glass-cold, his expression that of an unrelenting zealot. "However, what appears to disturb you so about your American attorney, I can assure you is far, far outweighed by our own concerns." Dimitri turned to the television set and the shakily stationary picture, his eyes now filled with anger. "The Soviet intelligence officer on that screen is General Rodchenko, second in command of the KGB and close adviser to the premier of the Soviet Union. Many things may be done in the name of Russian interests and without the premier's knowledge, but in this day and age not in the areas you describe. My God, the supreme commander of NATO! And never-never-using the services of Carlos the Jackal! These embarrassments are no less than dangerous and frightening catastrophes."

"Have you got any suggestions?" asked Conklin.

"A foolish question," answered the colonel gruffly. "Arrest, then the Lubyanka ... then silence."

"There's a problem with that solution," said Alex. "The Central Intelligence Agency knows Ogilvie's in Moscow."

"So where is the problem? We rid us both of an unhealthy person and his crimes and go about our business."

"It may seem strange to you, but the problem isn't only with the unhealthy person and his crimes, even where the Soviet Union is concerned. It's with the cover-up-where Washington's concerned."

The Komitet officer looked at Krupkin and spoke in Russian. "What is this one talking about?"

"It's difficult for us to understand," answered Dimitri in his native language, "still, for them it is a problem. Let me try to explain."

"What's he saying?" asked Bourne, a

"I think he's about to give a civics lesson, U.S. style."

"Such lessons more often than not fall on deaf ears in Washington," interrupted Krupkin in English, then immediately resuming Russian, he addressed his KGB superior. "You see, comrade, no one in America would blame us for taking advantage of this Ogilvie's criminal activities. They have a proverb they repeat so frequently that it covers oceans of guilt: 'One does not look a gift horse in the mouth.' "

"What has a horse's mouth got to do with gifts? From its tail comes manure for the farms; from its mouth, only spittle."

"It loses something in the translation. ... Nevertheless, this attorney, Ogilvie, obviously had a great many government co

"Because it is," broke in Alex, speaking English. "That's something a lot of people here wouldn't understand because you cover every accommodation you make, every crime you commit, every mouth you shut with a basket of roses. ... However, considering pots and kettles and odious comparisons, I'll dispense with a lecture. I'm just telling you that Ogilvie has to be sent back and all the accounts settled; that's the 'progressive accommodation' you have to make."

"I'm sure we'll take it under advisement."

"Not good enough," said Conklin. "Let's put it this way. Beyond accountability, there's simply too much known-or will be in a matter of days-about his enterprise, including the co

"You've made your point, Aleksei," interrupted Krupkin. "Assuming this accommodation can be made, will it be clear that Moscow cooperated fully in bringing this American criminal back to American justice?"

"We obviously couldn't do it without you. As the temporary field officer of record, I'll swear to it before both intelligence committees of Congress, if need be."

"And that we had nothing-absolutely nothing to do with the killings you mentioned, specifically the assassination of the supreme commander of NATO."

"Absolutely clear. It was one of the major reasons for your cooperation. Your government was horrified by the assassination."

Krupkin looked hard at Alex, his voice lower but stronger for it. He turned slowly, his eyes briefly on the television screen, then back to Conklin. "General Rodchenko?" he said. "What shall we do with General Rodchenko?"

"What you do with General Rodchenko is your business," replied Alex quietly. "Neither Bourne nor I ever heard the name."

"Da," said Krupkin, nodding, again slowly. "And what you do with the Jackal in Soviet territory is your business, Aleksei. However, be assured we shall cooperate to the fullest degree."

"How do we begin?" asked Jason impatiently.

"First things first." Dimitri looked over at the KGB commissar. "Comrade, have you understood what we've said?"

"Enough so, Krupkin," replied the heavyset peasant-colonel, walking to a telephone on an inlaid marble table against the wall. He picked up the phone and dialed; his call was answered immediately. "It is I," said the commissar in Russian. "The third man in tape seven with Rodchenko and the priest, the one New York identified as the American named Ogilvie. As of now he is to be placed under our surveillance and he is not to leave Moscow." The colonel suddenly arched his thick brows, his face growing red. "That order is countermanded! He is no longer the responsibility of Diplomatic Relations, he is now the sole property of the KGB. ... A reason? Use your skull, potato head! Tell them we are convinced he is an American double agent whom those fools did not uncover. Then the usual garbage: harboring enemies of the state due to laxness, their exalted positions once again protected by the Komitet-that sort of thing. Also, you might mention that they should not look a gift horse in the mouth. ... I don't understand any more than you do, comrade, but those butterflies over there in their tight-fitting suits probably will. Alert the airports." The commissar hung up.

"He did it," said Conklin, turning to Bourne. "Ogilvie stays in Moscow."

"I don't give a goddamn about Ogilvie!" exploded Jason, his voice intense, his jaw pulsating. "I'm here for Carlos!"

"The priest?" asked the colonel, walking away from the table.

"That's exactly who I mean."

"Is simple. We put General Rodchenko on a very long rope that he ca

"That's all I ask," said Jason Bourne.

General Grigorie Rodchenko sat at a window table in the Lastochka restaurant by the Krymsky Bridge on the Moskva River. It was his favorite place for a midnight di