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。。 I tried to tell him that you'd just this second arrived；〃 continued the KGB man； turning back to Jason； 〃but he was having none of it。 Leven went so far as to say that one of you was already taking a shower； and his only ment was 'Tell him to get out and get dressed。' 〃 Conklin limped through the bedroom door； his shirt unbuttoned and blotting his wet face with a towel。 〃Sorry； Aleksei； we must go。〃
〃Go where？ We just got here。〃
〃We've appropriated a flat on the Sadovaya…that's Moscow's 'Grand Boulevard；' Mr。 Bourne。 It's not the Champs…Elysées； but neither is it inconsequential。 The czars knew how to build。〃
〃What's over there？〃 pressed Conklin。
〃missar number one；〃 replied Krupkin。 〃We'll be using it as our； shall we say； our headquarters。 A smaller and rather delightful annex of Dzerzhinsky Square…only nobody knows about it but the five of us。 Something's e up and we're to go there immediately。〃
〃That's good enough for me；〃 said Jason； putting his drink down on the copper dry bar。
〃Finish it；〃 said Alex； rushing awkwardly back into the bedroom。 〃I've got to get the soap out of my eyes and rest rap my lousy boot。〃
Bourne picked up the glass； his eyes straying to the Soviet field officer who looked after Conklin； his brow lined； his expression curiously sad。 〃You knew him before he lost his foot； didn't you？〃 asked Jason quietly。
〃Oh； yes； Mr。 Bourne。 We go back twenty…five； twenty…six years。 Istanbul； Athens； Rome 。。。 Amsterdam。 He was a remarkable adversary。 Of course； we were young then； both slender and quick and so taken with ourselves； wanting so desperately to live up to the images we envisioned for ourselves。 It was all so long ago。 We were both terribly good； you know。 He was actually better than me； but don't you ever tell him I said so。 He always saw the broader picture； the longer road than I saw。 It was the Russian in him； of course。〃
〃Why do you use the word 'adversary'？〃 asked Jason。 〃It's so athletic； as if you'd been playing a game。 Wasn't he your enemy？〃
Krupkin's large head snapped toward Bourne； his eyes glass； not warm at all。 〃Of course he was my enemy； Mr。 Bourne； and to clarify the picture for you； he still is my enemy。 Don't； I beg you； mistake my indulgences for what they are not。 A man's weaknesses may intrude on his faith but they do not diminish it。 I may not have the convenience of the Roman confession to expiate my sins so as to go forth and sin again despite my belief； but I do believe。 。。。 My grandfathers and grandmothers were hanged…hanged； sir…for stealing chickens from a Romanov prince's estate。 Few； if any； of my ancestors were ever given the privilege of the most rudimentary schooling； forget education。 The Supreme Soviet revolution of Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin made possible the beginning of all things。 Thousands upon thousands of mistakes have been made…many inexcusable； many more brutal…but a beginning was made。 I； myself； am both the proof and the error of it。〃
〃I'm not sure I understand that。〃
〃Because you and your feeble intellectuals have never understood what we have understood from the start。 Das Kapital； Mr。 Bourne； envisages stages toward a just society； economic and political； but it does not and never did state what specific form the nuts…and…bolts government will ultimately be。 Only that it could not be as it was。〃
〃I'm not a scholar in that department。〃
〃One does not have to be。 In a hundred years you may be the socialists； and with luck； we'll be the capitalists； da？〃
〃Tell me something；〃 said Jason； hearing； as Krupkin also did； the water faucets in Conklin's room being turned off。 〃Could you kill Alex…Aleksei？〃
〃As surely as he could kill me…with deep regrets…if the value of the information called for it。 We are professionals。 We understand that； often reluctantly。〃
〃I can't understand either one of you。〃
〃Don't even try； Mr。 Bourne； you're not there yet…you're getting closer； but you're not there。〃
〃Would you explain that； please？〃
〃You're at the cusp； Jason…may I call you Jason？〃
〃Please do。〃
〃You're fifty years of age or thereabouts； give or take a year or two； correct？〃
〃Correct。 I'll be fifty…one in a few months。 So what？〃
〃Aleksei and I are in our sixties…have you any idea what a leap that is？〃
〃How could I？〃
〃Let me tell you。 You still visualize yourself as the younger man； the postadolescent man who sees himself doing the things you did only moments ago in your mind； and in many ways you are right。 The motor controls are there； the will is there； you are still the master of your body。 Then suddenly； as strong as the will is and as strong as the body remains； the mind slowly； insidiously begins to reject the necessity to make an immediate decision…both intellectually and physically。 Simply put； we care less。 Are we to be condemned or congratulated on having survived？〃
〃I think you just said you couldn't kill Alex。〃
〃Don't count on it； Jason Bourne…or David whoever you are。〃
Conklin came through the door； his limp pronounced； wincing in pain。 〃Let's go；〃 he said。
〃Did you strap it wrong again？〃 asked Jason。 〃Do you want me to…〃
〃Forget it；〃 broke in Alex irritably。 〃You have to be a contortionist to get the goddamned thing right all the time。〃
Bourne understood； he forgot about any attempt on his part to adjust the prosthesis。 Krupkin again looked at Alex with that strange admixture of sadness and curiosity； then spoke rapidly。 〃The car is parked up the street in the Sverdlov。 It's less obvious over there； I'll have a lobby steward fetch it。〃
〃Thanks；〃 said Conklin； gratitude in his glance。
The opulent apartment on the busy Sadovaya was one among many in an aged stone building that； like the Metropole； reflected the grand architectural excesses of the old Russian Empire。 The flats were primarily used…and bugged…for visiting dignitaries； and the chambermaids； doormen and concierges were all frequently questioned by the KGB when not directly employed by the Komitet。 The walls were covered with red velour； the sturdy furniture was reminiscent of the ancien régime。 However； to the right of the gargantuan ornate living…room fireplace was an item that stood out like a decorator's nightmare： a large jet…black television console plete with an assortment of tape decks patible with the various sizes of video cassettes。
The second contradiction to the decor； and undoubtedly an affront to the memory of the elegant Romanovs； was a heavyset man in a rumpled uniform； open at the neck and stained with vestiges of recent meals。 His blunt face was full； his grayish hair cut close to his skull； and a missing tooth surrounded by discolored panions bespoke an aversion to dentistry。 It was the face of a peasant； the narrow； perpetually squinting eyes conveying a peasant's shrewd intelligence。 He was Krupkin's missar Number One。
〃My English not good；〃 announced the uniformed man； nodding at his visitors； 〃but is understanding。 Also； for you I have no name； no official position。 Call me colonel； yes？ It is below my rank； but all Americans think all Soviets in Komitet are 'colonel；' da？ Okay？〃
〃I speak Russian；〃 replied Alex。 〃If it's easier for you； use it； and I'll translate