The Bourne Ultimatum

"Excuse me, Doctor," said Bourne as Marie's brother went to the telephone. "I want to ask Joh

"I've heard more than I care to already. I'll wait in the other room." The doctor crossed to the door and let himself out.

While St. Jacques talked on the phone, Jason moved about the room raising and lowering his arms and shaking his hands to check the functioning of his motor controls. He crouched, then rose to his feet four times in succession, each movement faster than the previous one. He had to be ready-he had to be!

"It'll only be a few minutes," said the brother-in-law, hanging up the phone. "Pritchard will have to go down and open the shop. He'll bring different sizes of tape."

"Thanks." Bourne stopped moving and stood in place. "Who was the man I shot, Joh

"No one I know, and I thought I knew every white man in these islands who could afford an expensive suit. He must have been a tourist-a tourist on assignment ... for the Jackal. Naturally, there wasn't any identification. Henry's shipped him off to 'Serrat."

"How many here know what's going on?"

"Outside of the staff, there are only fourteen guests, and no one's got a clue. I've sealed off the chapel-the word is storm damage. And even those who have to know something-like the doctor and the two guys from Toronto-they don't know the whole story, just pieces, and they're friends. I trust them. The others are heavy into island rum."

"What about the gunshots at the chapel?"

"What about the loudest and lousiest steel band in the islands? Also, you were a thousand feet away in the woods. ... Look, David, most everyone's left but some diehards who wouldn't stay here if they weren't old Canadian buddies showing me loyalty, and a few casuals who'd probably take a vacation in Teheran. What can I tell you except that the bar is doing a hell of a business."

"It's like a mystifying charade," murmured Bourne, again carefully arching his neck and staring at the ceiling. "Figures in silhouette playing out disco

"That's a little much for me, Professor. What's your point?"

"Terrorists aren't born, Joh

"So?" St. Jacques frowned in bewilderment.

"So you control your players, telling them what to act out but not why."

"That's what we're doing here and that's what Henry's doing out on the water all around Tranquility."

"Is he? Are we?"

"Hell, yes."

"I thought I was too, but I was wrong. I overestimated a big clever kid doing a simple, harmless job and underestimated a humble, frightened priest who took thirty pieces of silver."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ishmael and Brother Samuel. Samuel must have witnessed the torture of a child through the eyes of Torquemada."

"Turkey who?"

"The point is we don't really know the players. The guards, for instance, the ones you brought to the chapel."

"I'm not a fool, David," protested St. Jacques, interrupting. "When you called for us to surround the place, I took a small liberty and chose two men, the only two I would choose, figuring a pair of Uzis made up for the absence of one man and the four points of the compass. They're my head boys and former Royal Commandos; they're in charge of all the security here and, like Henry, I trust them."

"Henry? He's a good man, isn't he?"

"He's a pain in the ass sometimes, but he's the best in the islands."

"And the Crown governor?"

"He's just an ass."

"Does Henry know that?"

"Sure, he does. He didn't get to be a brigadier on his looks, potbelly and all. He's not only a good soldier, he's a good administrator. He covers for a lot around here."

"And you're certain he hasn't been in touch with the CG."

"He told me he'd let me know before he reached the pompous idiot and I believe him."

"I sincerely hope you're right-because that pompous idiot is the Jackal's contact in Montserrat."

"What? I don't believe it!"

"Believe. It's confirmed."

"It's incredible!"

"No, it's not. It's the way of the Jackal. He finds vulnerability and he recruits it, buys it. There are very few in the gray areas beyond his ability to purchase them."

Stu

"He was banished, Joh

"Pilots," answered St. Jacques, turning around. "They were taking people out, not bringing anyone in, I told you that."

"Yes, you told me. Were you watching?"

"Watching who?"

"Each plane when it came in."

"Hey, come on! You had me doing a dozen different things."

"What about the two black commandos? The ones you trust so much."

"They were checking and positioning the other guards, for Christ's sake."

"Then we don't really know who may have come in on those planes, do we? Maybe slipping into the water over the pontoons as they taxied through the reefs-perhaps before the sandbar."

"For God's sake, David, I've known those charter jocks for years. They wouldn't let anything like that happen. No way!"

"You mean it's kind of unbelievable."

"You bet your ass."

"Like the Jackal's contact in Montserrat. The Crown governor."

The owner of Tranquility I

"One I'm sorry you ever became a part of. But you are now and you'll play by its rules, my rules." A fleck, a flash, an infinitesimal streak of deep red light from the darkness outside! Infrared! Arms extended, Bourne lunged at St. Jacques, propelling him off his feet, away from the balcony doors. "Get out of there!" Jason roared in midair as both crashed to the floor, three successive snaps crackling the space above them as bullets thumped with finality into the walls of the villa.

"What the hell-"

"He's out there and he wants me to know it!" said Bourne, shoving his brother-in-law into the lower molding, crawling beside him, and reaching into the pocket of his guayabera. "He knows who you are, so you're the first corpse, the one he realizes will drive me to the edge because you're Marie's brother-you're family and that's what he's holding over my head. My family!"

"Jesus Christ! What do we do?"

"I do!" replied Jason, pulling the second flare out of his pocket. "I send him a message. The message that tells him why I'm alive and why I will be when he's dead. Stay where you are!" Bourne pulled his lighter out of his right pocket and ignited the flare. Scrambling, he raced across the balcony doors hurling the hissing, blinding missile out into the darkness. Two snaps followed, the bullets ricocheting off the tiled ceiling and shattering the mirror of a dressing table. "He's got a MAC-ten with a silencer," said Medusa's Delta, rolling into the wall, grabbing his inflamed neck as he did so. "I have to get out of here!"