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mned weapon！〃
The driver was Krupkin's powerfully built Soviet aide Sergei； he reached across his seat and pulled up a Russian AK…47。 He held it over his shoulder as Jason grabbed it。
A dark brown limousine； its tires skidding on the backcountry road； screamed to a stop in front of the faded； worn canopy； and like trained mandos； two men leaped out of the side door； their faces encased in stocking masks； their hands holding automatic weapons。 They raced to the entrance； each spinning his body to either side of the double doors。 A third man emerged from the squared vehicle； a balding man in a priest's black clothing。 With a gesture of his weapon； the two assault troops spun back toward the doors； their hands on the thick brass knobs。 The driver of the van gunned his engine in place。
〃Go！〃 yelled Bourne。 〃It's him！ It's Carlos！〃
〃No！〃 roared Krupkin。 〃Wait。 It's our trap now； and he must be trapped…inside。〃
〃For Christ's sake； there are people in there！〃 countered Jason。
〃All wars have casualties； Mr。 Bourne； and in case you don't realize it； this is war。 Yours and mine。 Yours is far more personal than mine； incidentally。〃
Suddenly； there was an earsplitting scream of vengeance from the Jackal as the double doors were crashed back and the terrorists rushed inside； their weapons on automatic fire。
〃Now！〃 cried Sergei； the ignition started； the accelerator on the floor。 The Citro？n swung out on the road； rushing toward the van； but in a split half second its progress was derailed。 A massive explosion took place on the right。 The old man and the nondescript gray car in which he sat was blown apart； sending the Citro？n swerving to the left into the ancient post…and…rail fence that bordered the sunken parking lot on the side of the inn。 The instant it happened the Jackal's dark brown van； instead of racing forward； lurched backward； jerking to a halt as the driver jumped out of the cab； concealing himself behind it； he had spotted the Soviet backup。 As the two Russians ran toward the restaurant the Jackal's driver killed one with a burst from his weapon。 The other threw himself into the bordering； sloping grass； watching helplessly as Carlos's driver shot out the tires and the windows of the Soviet vehicle。
〃Get out！〃 yelled Sergei； pulling Bourne from the seat onto the dirt by the fence； as his stunned superior and Alex Conklin crawled out behind him。
〃Let's go！〃 cried Jason； gripping the AK…47 and getting to his feet。 〃That son of a bitch blew up the car by remote。〃
〃I'll go first！〃 said the Soviet。
〃Why？〃
〃Frankly； I'm younger and stronger…〃
〃Shut up！〃 Bourne raced ahead； zigzagging to draw fire； then plummeting to the ground when it came from the driver of Carlos's van。 He raised his weapon in the grass； knowing that the Jackal's man believed his fusillade had been accurate； the head appeared and then was no more as Jason squeezed the trigger。
The second Russian backup； hearing the death cry from behind the van； rose from the sloping grass and continued toward the restaurant's entrance。 From inside came the sound of erratic gunfire； sudden bursts acpanied by screams of panic； followed by additional bursts。 A living nightmare of terror and blood was taking place within the confines of a once bucolic country inn。 Bourne got to his feet； Sergei at his side； running； they joined the other surviving Soviet aide。 At Jason's nod； the Russians pulled back the doors and as one they burst inside。
The next sixty seconds were as terrifying as the shrieking hell depicted by Munch。 A waiter and two of the men who were among the three couples were dead； the waiter and one man sprawled on the floor； their skulls shattered； what was left of their faces lying in blood； the third man was splayed back in the banquette； his eyes wide and glass…dead； his clothes riddled with bullets； rivulets of blood rolling down the fabric。 The women were in total shock； alternately moaning and screaming as they kept trying to crawl over the pine walls of the booth。 The well…dressed man and wife from the Italian embassy were nowhere in sight。
Sergei suddenly rushed forward； his weapon on auto fire； in a rear corner of the room he had spotted a figure whom Bourne had not seen。 The stocking…faced killer sprang out of the shadows； his machine swinging into position； but before he could exercise his advantage； the Soviet cut him down。 。。。 Another！ A body lurching behind the short counter that served as a bar。 Was it the Jackal？ Jason pivoted into the diagonal wall； crouching； his eyes darting into every recess in the vicinity of the wine racks。 He lunged to the base of the bar as the second Russian backup； assessing the situation； ran to the hysterical women； spinning around； his gun swinging back and forth protecting them。 The stocking…faced head shot up from behind the counter； his weapon surging out over the wood。 Bourne sprang to his feet； gripping the hot barrel with his left hand； his right manding the AK…47； he fired point…blank into the terrorist's contorted face beyond the silk。 It was not Carlos。 Where was the Jackal？
〃In there！〃 shouted Sergei as if he had heard Jason's furious question。
〃Where？〃
〃Those doors！〃
It was the country restaurant's kitchen。 Both men converged on the swinging doors。 Again Bourne nodded； the signal for them to crash inside； but before they could move； both were partially blown back by an explosion from within； a grenade had been set off； with fragments of metal and glass embedded in the doors。 The smoke billowed； wafting out into the dining room； the smell was acrid； sickening。
Silence。
Jason and Sergei once more approached the kitchen's entrance； and once again they were stopped by a second sudden explosion followed by staccato gunfire； the bullets piercing the thin； louvered panels of the swinging doors。
Silence。
Standoff。
Silence。
It was too much for the furious； impassioned Chameleon。 He cracked the bolt of his AK…47； pulled the selective lever and then the trigger for auto fire； and crashed the doors open； lunging for the floor。
Silence。
Another scene from another hell。 A section of the outside wall had been blown away； the obese owner and his chef； still wearing his toque； were dead； corpses pinned against the lower shelves of the kitchen； blood streaming across and down the wood。
Bourne slowly rose to his feet； his legs in agony； every nerve in his body frayed； the edge of hysteria not far away。 As if in a trance； he looked around through the smoke and the debris； his eyes finally settling on a large； ominous fragment of brown butcher's paper nailed to the wall with a heavy cleaver。 He approached it and； yanking out the cleaver； read the words printed in a black butcher's pencil：
The trees of Tannenbaum will burn and children will be the kindling。 Sleep well； Jason Bourne。
The mirrors of his life were shattered into a thousand pieces of glass。 There was nothing else to do but scream。
31
〃Stop it； David！〃
〃My God； he's insane； Aleksei。 Sergei； grab him； hold him。 。。。 You； help Sergei！ Put him on the ground so I can talk to him。 We must leave here quickly！〃
It was all the two Russian aides could do to wrestle the screaming