The Bourne Ultimatum

"So? What does that mean?"

"In a moment. ... Have things changed a great deal since we were together here?"

"Constantly. Photographs arrive and construction crews follow a day later. The Prado here in 'Madrid' has new shops, new signs, even a few new sewers as they are changed in that city. Also 'Lisbon' and the piers along the 'Bay' and 'Tagus River' have been altered to conform to the changes that have taken place. We are nothing if not authentic. The candidates who complete the training are literally at home wherever they're initially sent. Sometimes I really believe it's all excessive, then I recall my first assignment at the naval base in Barcelona and realize how comfortable I was. I went right to work because the psychological orientation had already taken place; there were no major surprises."

"You're describing appearances," broke in Carlos.

"Of course, what else is there?"

"More permanent structures that are not so apparent, not so much in evidence."

"Such as?"

"Warehouses, fuel depots, fire stations, that are not part of the duplicated scenery. Are they still where they were?"

"By and large, yes. Certainly the major warehouses and the fuel depots with their underground tanks. Most are still west of the 'San Roque' district, the 'Gibraltar' access."

"What about going from one compound to another?"

"Now that has changed." Enrique withdrew a small flat object from the pocket of his tunic. "Each border crossing has a computerized registration release that permits entry when this is inserted."

"No questions are asked?"

"Only at Novgorod's Capital Headquarters, if there are any questions."

"I don't understand."

"If one of these is lost or stolen, it's reported instantly and the internal codes are nullified."

"I see."

"I don't! Why these questions? Again, why are you here? What is this lesson, this message?"

"The 'San Roque' district ... ?" said Carlos, as if remembering. "That's about three or four kilometers south of the tu

"The 'Gibraltar' access, yes."

"And the next compound is 'France,' of course, and then 'England' and finally the largest, the 'United States.' Yes, it's all clear to me; everything's come back." The Jackal turned away, his right hand awkwardly disappearing beneath his trousers.

"Yet nothing is clear to me," said Enrique, his low voice threatening. "And it must be. Answer me, Ramirez. Why are you here?"

"How dare you question me like this?" continued Carlos, his back to his old associate. "How dare any of you question the monseigneur from Paris."

"You listen to me, Priest Piss Ant. You answer me or I walk out of here and you're a dead monseigneur in a matter of minutes!"

"Very well, Enrique," answered Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, addressing the paneled wall of the sacristy. "My message will be triumphantly clear and will shake the very foundations of the Kremlin. Not only did Carlos the Jackal kill the weak pretender Jason Bourne on Soviet soil, he left a reminder to all Russia that the Komitet made a colossal error in not utilizing my extraordinary talents."

"Really now," said Enrique, laughing softly, as if humoring a far less than extraordinary man. "More melodramatics, Ramirez? And how will you convey this reminder, this message, this supreme statement of yours?"

"Quite simply," replied the Jackal, turning, a gun in his hand, the silencer intact. "We have to change places."

"What?"

"I'm going to burn Novgorod." Carlos fired a single shot into the upper throat of Enrique. He wanted as little blood as possible on the tunic.

Dressed in combat fatigues with the insignias of an army major on the shoulders of his field jacket, Bourne blended in with the sporadic appearances of military perso

From the Commissars Suite at U.S. headquarters they had been taken to a military warehouse west of the river where Benjamin's papers gained them entrance and the jeep. Inside, the astonished interior guards watched as the silent Bourne was outfitted with a field uniform complete with a carbine bayonet, a standard .45 automatic and five clips of live ammunition, this last obtained only after an authorization call was placed to Krupkin's unknowing subordinates at Capital HQ. Once again outside, Jason complained: "What about the flares I wanted and at least three or four grenades? You agreed to get me everything I needed, not half of it!"

"They're coming," answered Benjamin, speeding out of the warehouse parking lot. "The flares are over at Motor Vehicles and grenades aren't part of normal ordnance. They're in steel vaults down at the tu

"That's stupid. We'd come in from the sky."

"Not with the air base ninety seconds' flying time away."

"Hurry up, I want those grenades. Will we have any trouble getting them?"

"Not if Krupkin keeps up the good work." Krupkin had; with the flares in hand, the tu

"These aren't exactly U.S. general issue," said Jason, putting the grenades carefully, one by one, into the pockets of his field jacket.

"They're not for training, either. The compounds aren't military-oriented but basically civilian. If those are ever used, it's not for indoctrination purposes. ... Where do we go now?"

"Check with headquarters first. See if anything's happened at any of the border checkpoints."

"My beeper would have gone off-"

"I don't trust beepers, I like words," interrupted Jason. "Get on the radio."

Benjamin did so, switching to the Russian language and using the codes that only senior staff were assigned. The terse Soviet reply came over the speaker; the young trainer replaced the microphone and turned to Bourne. "No activity at all," he said. "Just some intercompound fuel deliveries."

"What are they?"

"Petrol distribution mainly. Some compounds have larger tanks than others, so logistics call for routine apportionments until the main supplies are shipped downriver."

"They distribute at night?"

"It's far better than those trucks clogging up the streets during the day. Remember, everything's scaled down here. Also, we've been driving through the back roads, but there's a maintenance army in the central locations cleaning up stores and offices and restaurants, getting ready for tomorrow's assignments. Large trucks wouldn't help."

"Christ, it is Disneyland. ... All right, head for the 'Spanish' border, Pedro."

"To get there we have to pass through 'England' and 'France.' I don't suppose it matters much, but I don't speak French. Or Spanish. Do you?"

"French fluently, Spanish acceptably. Anything else?"

"Maybe you'd better drive."

The Jackal braked the huge fuel truck at the "West German" border; it was as far as he intended to go. The remaining northernmost areas of "Scandinavia" and "The Netherlands" were the lesser satellites; the impact of their destruction was not comparable to that of the lower compounds and the time element spared them. Everything was timing now, and "West Germany" would initiate the wholesale conflagrations. He adjusted the coarse Portuguese shirt that covered a Spanish general's tunic beneath, and as the guard came out of the gatehouse Carlos spoke in Russian, using the same words he had used at every other crossing.