The Bourne Ultimatum

"Egypt, Israel, Italy," began Jason, circling the table, staring down at the maps. "Greece, Portugal, Spain, France, the UK-" He rounded the corner as Benjamin interrupted, leaning wearily back in a chair: "Germany, the Netherlands, and the Scandinavian countries. As I explained, most of the compounds include two separate and distinct countries, usually where there are common boundaries, cultural similarities or just to conserve space. There are basically nine major compounds, representing all the major nations-major to our interests-and therefore nine tu

"Then the first tu

"Yes, followed by France, then Spain-which includes Portugal-then across the Mediterranean, begi

"It's clear," broke in Jason, sitting down at the end of the table, bringing his clasped hands together in thought. "Did you get word up the line that they're to admit anyone with those papers Carlos has, no matter what he looks like?"

"No."

"What?" Bourne snapped his head toward the young trainer.

"I had Comrade Krupkin do that. He's in a Moscow hospital, so they can't lock him up here for training fatigue."

"How can I cross over into another compound? Quickly, if necessary."

"Then you're ready for the rest of the ground rules?"

"I'm ready. There's only so much these maps can tell me."

"Okay." Benjamin reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black object the size of a credit card but somewhat thicker. He tossed it to Jason, who caught it in midair and studied it. "That's your passport," continued the Soviet. "Only the senior staff has them and if one's lost or misplaced for even a few minutes, it's reported immediately."

"There's no ID, no writing or marking at all."

"It's all inside, computerized and coded. Each compound checkpoint has a clearing lock. You insert it and the barriers are raised, admitting you and telling the guards that you're cleared from headquarters-and noted."

"Damned clever, these backward Marxists."

"They had the same little dears for just about every hotel room in Los Angeles, and that was four years ago. ... Now for the rest."

"The ground rules?"

"Krupkin calls them protective measures-for us as well as you. Frankly, he doesn't think you'll get out of here alive; and if you don't, you're to be deep-fried and lost."

"How nicely realistic."

"He likes you, Bourne ... Archie."

"Go on."

"As far as the senior staff is concerned, you're undercover perso

"I'm grateful."

"Maybe not entirely," said Benjamin. "You don't go anywhere without me."

"That's unacceptable."

"That's the way it is."

"No, it's not."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be impeded ... and if I do get out of here, I'd like a certain Benjamin's mother to find him alive and well and commuting to Moscow."

The young Russian stared at Bourne, strength mingled with no little pain in his eyes. "You really think you can help my father and me?"

"I know I can ... so help me. Play by my rules, Benjamin."

"You're a strange man."

"I'm a hungry man. Can we get some food around here? And maybe a little bandage? I got hit a while back, and after today my neck and shoulders are letting me know it." Jason removed his jacket; his shirt was drenched in blood.

"Jesus Christ! I'll call a doctor-"

"No, you won't. Just a medic, that's all. ... My rules, Ben."

"Okay-Archie. We're staying at the Visiting Commissars Suite; it's on the top floor. We've got room service and I'll ring the infirmary for a nurse."

"I said I'm hungry and uncomfortable, but they're not my major concerns."

"Not to worry," said the Soviet Californian. "The instant anything unusual happens anywhere, we'll be reached. I'll roll up the maps."

It happened at precisely 12:02 A.M. directly after the universal changing of the guard, during the darkest darkness of the night. The telephone in the Commissars Suite screamed, propel ling Benjamin off the couch. He raced across the room to the jangling, insistent instrument and yanked it off its cradle. "Yes? ... Gdye? Kogda? Shto eto znachit? ... Da!" He slammed the phone down and turned to Bourne at the di

"There was something else, wasn't there?" asked Delta coldly.

"Yes, and you may be right. On the other side was a dead farmhand clutching torn papers in his hand. He was lying between the two murdered guards, one of them stripped to his shorts and shoes. ... How did he do it?"

"He was the good guy, I can't think of anything else," mused Bourne, rising quickly, and reaching, pouncing on the map of the Spanish compound. "He must have sent in his paid impostor with the rotten mocked-up papers, then ran in himself, the wounded Komitet officer at the last moment exposing the fraud and speaking the foreign language which his impostor couldn't do and couldn't understand. ... I told you, Ben. Probe, test, agitate, confuse and find a way in. Stealing a uniform is standard, and in the confusion it got him through the tu

"But anyone using those papers was to be watched, followed. They were your instructions and Krupkin sent the word up the line!"

"The Kubinka," said Jason, now pensive as he studied the map.

"The armory? The one mentioned in the news bulletins from Moscow?"

"Exactly. Just as he had done at the Kubinka, Carlos has someone inside here. Someone with enough authority to order an expendable officer of the guard to bring anyone penetrating the tu

"That's possible," agreed the young trainer rapidly, firmly. "Involving headquarters with false alarms can be embarrassing, and as you say, there must have been a lot of confusion."

"In Paris," said Bourne, glancing up from the compound map, "I was told that embarrassment was the KGB's worst enemy. True?"

"On a scale of one to ten, at least eight," replied Benjamin. "But who would he have in here, who could he have? He hasn't been here in over thirty years!"

"If we had a couple of hours and a few computers programmed with the records of everyone in Novgorod, we might be able to feed in several hundred names and come up with possibilities, but we don't have hours. We don't even have minutes! Also, if I know the Jackal, it won't matter."

"I think it matters one whole hell of a lot!" cried the Americanized Soviet. "There's a traitor here and we should know who it is."

"My guess is that you'll find out soon enough. ... Details, Ben. The point is, he's here! Let's go, and when we get outside we stop somewhere and you get me what I need."

"Okay."

"Everything I need."

"I'm cleared for that."

"And then you disappear. I know what I'm talking about."

"No way, José!"

"California checking in again?"

"You heard me."

"Then young Benjamin's mother may find a corpse for a son when she gets back to Moscow."

"So be it!"

"So be ... ? Why did you have to say that?"

"I don't know. It just seemed right."