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〃I can't wait until later tonight。〃
〃Then you add a risk by trying to reach such a man at work。 These men are monitored； no one trusts anyone in the telephone service。 It's the Socialists' paradox： Give its laboring forces responsibility but no individual authority。〃
〃Hold it！〃 said Jason from the bed。 〃You have the home phone numbers； right？〃
〃They're in the book； yes。 These people don't keep private listings。〃
〃Have someone's wife call。 An emergency。 Someone's got to get home。〃
Bernardine nodded his head。 〃Not bad； my friend。 Not bad at all。〃
The minutes turned into quarter hours as the retired Deuxième officer went to work； unctuously； with promises of reward for the wives of telephone technicians； if they would do what he asked them to do。 Two hung up on him； three turned him down with epithets born of the suspicious Paris curbsides； but the sixth； amid obscenities； declared； 〃Why not？〃 As long as the rodent she had married understood that the money was hers。
The hour was over； and Jason left the hotel； walking slowly； deliberately； down the pavement； crossing four streets until he saw a public phone on the Quai Voltaire by the Seine。 A blanket of darkness was slowly floating down over Paris； the boats on the river and the bridges dotted with lights。 As he approached the red kiosk he breathed steadily； inhaling deeply； exercising a control over himself that he never thought possible。 He was about to place the most important phone call of his life； but he could not let the Jackal know that； if； indeed； it was the Jackal。 He went inside； inserted the coin and dialed。
〃Yes？〃 It was a woman's voice； the French oui sharp and harsh。 A Parisienne。
〃Blackbirds circle in the sky；〃 said Bourne； repeating Santos's words in French。 〃They make a great deal of noise； all but one。 He is silent。〃
〃Where do you call from？〃
〃Here in Paris； but I am not from Paris。〃
〃From where； then？〃
〃Where the winters are far colder；〃 answered Jason； feeling the moisture on his hairline。 Control。 Control！ 〃It is urgent that I reach a blackbird。〃
The line was suddenly filled with silence； a sonic void； and Bourne stopped breathing。 Then came the voice； low； steady； and as hollow as the previous silence。 〃We speak to a Muscovite？〃
The Jackal！ It was the Jackal！ The smooth； swift French could not hide the Latino trace。 〃I did not say that；〃 answered Bourne； his own French dialect was one he employed frequently； with the guttural tinge of Gascony。 〃I merely said the winters were colder than Paris。〃
〃Who is this？〃
〃Someone who is considered by someone who knows you sufficiently impressive to be given this number along with the proper words to go with it。 I can offer you the contract of your career； of your life。 The fee is immaterial…name your own…but those who pay are among the most powerful men in the United States。 They control much of American industry； as well as that country's financial institutions； and have direct access to the nerve centers of the government。〃
〃This is also a very strange call。 Very unorthodox。〃
〃If you're not interested； I'll forget this number and go elsewhere。 I'm merely the broker。 A simple yes or no will suffice。〃
〃I do not mit to things I know nothing about； to people I never heard of。〃
〃You'd recognize their positions； if I were at liberty to reveal them； believe that。 However； I'm not seeking a mitment； only your interest at this point。 If the answer is yes； I can reveal more。 If it's no； well； I tried； but am forced to go elsewhere。 The newspapers say he was in Brussels only yesterday。 I'll find him。〃 There was a short； sharp intake of breath at the mention of Brussels and the unspoken Jason Bourne。 〃Yes or no； blackbird？〃
Silence。 Finally the Jackal spoke。 〃Call me back in two hours；〃 he ordered； hanging up the phone。
It was done！ Jason leaned against the pay phone； the sweat pouring down his face and breaking out on his neck。 The Pont…Royal。 He had to get back to Bernardine！
〃It was Carlos！〃 he announced； closing the door and crossing directly to the bedside phone while taking Santos's card out of his pocket。 He dialed； in seconds； he spoke。 〃The bird's confirmed；〃 he said。 〃Give me a name； any name。〃 The pause was brief。 〃I've got it。 The merchandise will be left with the concierge。 It'll be locked and taped； count it and send my passports back to me。 Have your best boy pick everything up and call off the dogs。 They could lead a blackbird to you。〃 Jason hung up and turned to Bernardine。
〃The telephone number is in the fifteenth arrondissement；〃 said the Deuxième veteran。 〃Our man knew that； or at least assumed it when I gave it to him。〃
〃What's he going to do？〃
〃Go back into the tunnels and refine things further。〃
〃Will he call us here？〃
〃Fortunately； he drives a motorbike。 He said he would be back at work in ten minutes or so and reach us by this room number within the hour。〃
〃Perfect！〃
〃Not entirely。 He wants five thousand francs。〃
〃He could have asked ten times that。 。。。 What's 'within the hour'？ How long before he calls？〃
〃You were gone perhaps thirty； thirty…five minutes； and he reached me shortly after you left。 I'd say within the next half hour。〃
The telephone rang。 Twenty seconds later they had an address on the boulevard Lefebvre。
〃I'm leaving；〃 said Jason Bourne； taking Bernardine's automatic off the desk and putting two grenades in his pocket。 〃Do you mind？〃
〃Be my guest；〃 replied the Deuxième； reaching under his jacket and removing a second weapon from his belt。 〃Pickpockets so abound in Paris one should always carry a backup。 。。。 But what for？〃
〃I've got at least a couple of hours and I want to look around。〃
〃Alone？〃
〃How else？ If we call for support； I risk being gunned down or spending the rest of my life in jail for an assassination in Belgium I had nothing to do with。〃
Former judge of the first circuit court in Boston； the once Honorable Brendan Patrick Prefontaine； watched the weeping； disconsolate Randolph Gates as he sat forward on the couch at the Ritz…Carlton hotel； his face in his widespread hands。
〃Oh； good Christ； how the mighty fall with such a thud of finality；〃 observed Brendan； pouring himself a short bourbon on the rocks。 〃So you got snookered； Randy。 French style。 Your facile brain and your imperial presence didn't help you very much when you saw Paree； huh？ You should have stayed 'down on the farm；' soldier boy。〃
〃My God； Prefontaine； you don't know what it was like！ I was setting up a cartel…Paris； Bonn； London and New York with the Far East labor markets…an enterprise worth billions when I was taken from the Plaza…Athénée and put in a car and blindfolded。 Then I was thrown into a plane and flown to Marseilles； where the most horrible things happened to me。 I was kept in a room； and every few hours I was injected…for over six weeks！ Women were brought in； films taken…I wasn't myself！〃
〃Maybe you were the self you never recognized； Dandy Boy。 The same self that learned to anticipate instant gratification； if I use the phrase correctly。 Make your clients extraordinary profits on paper； which they trade on the exchanges while thousands of jobs are lost in buy…outs