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n…in your official capacity； of course。 。。。 It is death by firing squad or； less charitably； a public hanging！ Now； what's that goddamned number in Paris？〃
〃Under the circumstances；〃 said the deputy； summoning what dignity he could despite the fact that his trembling nephew clutched his left arm and his hand shook as he reached for his notebook。 〃I'll write it out for you。 。。。 One asks for a blackbird。 In French； Sir Henry。 I speak a few words； Sir Henry。 In French…Sir Henry。〃
Summoned by an armed guard dressed casually as a weekend guest in white slacks and a loose； bulky white linen jacket； John St。 Jacques walked into the library of their new safe house； an estate on Chesapeake Bay。 The guard； a muscular； medium…sized man with clean…cut Hispanic features； stood inside the doorway； he pointed to the telephone on the large cherry…wood desk。 〃It's for you； Mr。 Jones。 It's the director。〃
〃Thanks； Hector；〃 said Johnny； pausing briefly。 〃Is that Mr。 Jones stuff really necessary？〃
〃As necessary as 'Hector。' My real name's Roger 。。。 or Daniel。 Whatever。〃
〃Gotcha。〃 St。 Jacques crossed to the desk and picked up the phone。 〃Holland？〃
〃That number your friend Sykes got is a blind； but useful。〃
〃As my brother…in…law would say； please speak English。〃
〃It's the number of a café on the Marais waterfront on the Seine。 The routine is to ask for a blackbird…un oiseau noir…and somebody shouts out。 If the blackbird's there； contact is made。 If he isn't； you try again。〃
〃Why is it useful？〃
〃We'll try again…and again and again…with a man inside。〃
〃What's happening otherwise？〃
〃I can only give you a limited answer。〃
〃Goddamn you！〃
〃Marie can fill you in…〃
〃Marie？〃
〃She's on her way home。 She's mad as hell； but she's also one relieved wife and mother。〃
〃Why is she mad？〃
〃I've booked her low…key on several long flights back…〃
〃For Christ's sake； why？〃 broke in the brother angrily。 〃You send a goddamned plane for her！ She's been more valuable to you than anyone in your dumb Congress or your corkscrew administration； and you send planes for them all over the place。 I'm not joking； Holland！〃
〃I don't send those planes；〃 replied the director firmly。 〃Others do。 The ones I send involve too many questions and too much curiosity on foreign soil and that's all I'll say about it。 Her safety is more important than her fort。〃
〃We agree on that； honcho。〃
The director paused； his irritation apparent。 〃You know something？ You're not really a very pleasant fellow； are you？〃
〃My sister puts up with me； which more than offsets your opinion。 Why is she relieved…as a wife and mother； I think you said？〃
Again Holland paused； not in irritation now； but searching for the words。 〃A disagreeable incident took place； one none of us could predict or even contemplate。〃
〃Oh； I hear those famous fucking words from the American establishment！〃 roared St。 Jacques。 〃What did you miss this time？ A truckload of U。S。 missiles to the Ayatollah's agents in Paris？ What happened？〃
For a third time； Peter Holland employed a moment of silence； although his heavy breathing was audible。 〃You know； young man； I could easily hang up the phone and dismiss your existence； which would be quite beneficial for my blood pressure。〃
〃Look； honcho； that's my sister out there； and a guy she's married to who I think is pretty terrific。 Five years ago； you bastards…I repeat； you bastards…damn near killed them both over in Hong Kong and points east。 I don't know all the facts because they're too decent or too dumb to talk about them； but I know enough to know I wouldn't trust you with a waiter's payroll in the islands！〃
〃Fair enough；〃 said Holland； subdued。 〃Not that it matters； but I wasn't here then。〃
〃It doesn't matter。 It's your subterranean system。 You would have done the same thing。〃
〃Knowing the circumstances； I might have。 So might you； if you knew them。 But that doesn't matter； either。 It's history。〃
〃And now is now；〃 broke in St。 Jacques。 〃What happened in Paris； this 'disagreeable incident'？〃
〃According to Conklin； there was an ambush at a private airfield in Pontcarré。 It was aborted。 Your brother…in…law wasn't hurt and neither was Alex。 That's all I can tell you。〃
〃It's all I want to hear。〃
〃I spoke to Marie a little while ago。 She's in Marseilles and will be here late tomorrow morning。 I'll meet her myself and we'll be driven out to Chesapeake。〃
〃What about David？〃
〃Who？〃
〃My brother…in…law？〃
〃Oh 。。。 yes； of course。 He's on his way to Moscow。〃
〃What？〃
The Aeroflot jetliner reversed engines and swung off the runway at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport。 The pilot taxied down the adjacent exit lane； then stopped a quarter of a mile from the terminal as an announcement was made in both Russian and French。
〃There will be a five… to seven…minute delay before disembarkation。 Please remain seated。〃
No explanation acpanied the information； and those passengers on the flight from Paris who were not Soviet citizens returned to their reading material； assuming the delay was caused by a backup of departing aircraft。 However； those who were citizens； as well as a few others familiar with Soviet arrival procedures； knew better。 The curtained…off front section of the huge Ilyushin jet； a small seating area that was reserved for special unseen passengers； was in the process of being evacuated； if not totally； at least in part。 The custom was for an elevated platform with a shielded metal staircase to be rolled up to the front exit door。 Several hundred feet away there was always a government limousine； and while the backs of those disembarked special passengers were briefly in view on their way to the vehicles； flight attendants roamed through the aircraft making sure no cameras were in evidence。 There never were。 These travelers were the property of the KGB； and for reasons known only to the Komitet； they were not to be observed in Sheremetyevo's international terminal。 It was the case this late afternoon on the outskirts of Moscow。
Alex Conklin limped out of the shielded staircase followed by Bourne； who carried the two outsized flight bags that served as their minimum luggage。 Dimitri Krupkin emerged from the limousine and hurried toward them as the steps were rolled away from the aircraft and the noise of the huge jet engines began growing in volume。
〃How is your friend the doctor？〃 asked the Soviet intelligence officer； shouting to be heard over the roar。
〃Holding his own！〃 yelled Alex。 〃He may not make it； but he's fighting like hell！〃
〃It's your own fault； Aleksei！〃 The jet rolled away and Krupkin lowered his voice accordingly； still loud but not shouting。 〃You should have called Sergei at the embassy。 His unit was prepared to escort you wherever you wished to go。〃
〃Actually； we thought that if we did； we'd be sending out an alert。〃
〃Better a prohibiting alert than inviting an assault！〃 countered the Russian。 〃Carlos's men would never have dared to attack you under our protection。〃
〃It wasn't the Jackal…the Jackal；〃 said Conklin； abruptly resuming a conversational tone as the roar of the aircraft became a hum in the distance。
〃Of course it wasn't him…he's here。