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b； had blocked out all sound up ahead。 What he observed now； what sickened him now； he knew had to be the result of multiple gunshots muted by a weapon equipped with a silencer。 Dispassionately； Medusa's Delta understood； he had been there many times many years before。 There were circumstances under which kills had to be made quietly…utter silence was the unreachable goal； but at least minimal noise was crucial。
The young KGB driver from the assault squad was sprawled on the ground by the trunk of the dark green sedan； the wounds in his head certifying death。 The car had swerved into the side of a government bus； the sort used to haul workers to and from their places of employment。 How or why the accident had happened； Bourne could not know。 Neither could he know whether Alex or Krupkin had survived； the car's windows had been pierced repeatedly and there was no sign of movement inside； both facts suggesting the worst but nothing conclusive。 Above all； at this moment； the Chameleon also understood that he could not be affected by what he saw…emotions were out！ If the worst had happened； mourning the dead would e later； vengeance and taking the killer came now。
Think！ How？ Quickly！
Krupkin had said there were 〃several dozen men and women〃 working at the armory。 If so； where the hell were they？ The Jackal was not acting in a vacuum； it was impossible！ Yet a collision had occurred； its violent crash heard over a hundred yards away…well over the distance of a football field…and a man had been shot dead at the site of that crash； his lifeless body bleeding in the dirt； yet no one…no one…had appeared； either accidentally or intentionally。 With the exception of Carlos and five unknown people； was the entire armory operating in a vacuum？ Nothing made sense！
And then he heard the muffled but emphatic strains of music from deep inside the building。 Martial music； drums and trumpets predominating； swelling to crescendos that Bourne could only imagine were deafening within the echoing confines of the huge structure。 The image of the young woman emerging from the front entrance returned； she had playfully clapped her hands over her ears and grimaced； and Jason had not understood。 He did now。 She had e from the armory's inner staging area； where the decibel level of the music was overpowering。 An event was taking place at the Kubinka； a decently attended affair； which accounted for the profusion of automobiles； small vans and buses in the vast parking area…profusion at any rate in the Soviet Union； where such vehicles were not in oversupply。 Altogether there were perhaps twenty conveyances in the dirt lot； parked in a semicircle。 The activity inside was both the Jackal's diversion and his protection； he knew how to orchestrate both to his advantage。 So did his enemy。 Checkmate。
Why didn't Carlos e out？ Why hadn't he e out？ What was he waiting for？ The circumstances were optimal； they couldn't be better。 Had his wounds slowed him to the point that he had lost the advantages he had created？ It was possible； but not likely。 The assassin had gotten this far； and if escape was in the offing； it was in him to go further； much further。 Then why？ Irreversible logic； a killer's survival logic demanded that after taking out the backup the Jackal had to race away as fast as humanly possible。 It was his only chance！ Then why was he still inside？ Why hadn't his escape car fled from the area； speeding him to freedom？
His back once again pressed against the wall； Jason sidestepped to his left； closely observing everything he could see。 Like most armories the world over； Kubinka had no windows on the first floor； at least not for the first fifteen feet from the ground； he presumed it was because the occasional wildly galloping horses and glass did not go together。 He could see a window frame on what appeared to be the second floor but close enough to the slain driver to afford maximum accuracy for a silenced high…powered weapon： Another frame on ground level had a knob protruding； it was the rear exit no one had bothered to mention。 The little things； the insignificant things！ Goddamn！
The muted music inside swelled again； but now the swelling was different； the drums louder； the trumpets more sustained； more piercing。 It was the unmistakable ending of a symphonic march； martial music at its most intense。 。。。 That was it！ The end of the event inside was at hand and the Jackal would use the emerging crowds to cover his escape。 He would mingle； and when panic spread through the parking area with the sight of the dead man and the shot…up sedan； he would disappear…with whom and with what vehicle would take hours to determine。
Bourne had to get inside； he had to stop him； take him！ Krupkin had worried about the lives of 〃several dozen men and women〃…he had no idea that in reality there were several hundred！ Carlos would use whatever firepower he had stolen； including grenades； to create mass hysteria so that he could escape。 Lives meant nothing； if further killing was required to save his own； nothing。 Abandoning caution； Delta raced to the door； gripping his AK…47 laterally in his arm； the safety unlatched； his index finger on the trigger。 He grabbed the knob and twisted it…it would not turn。 He fired his weapon into the plated metal around the lock； then a second fusillade into the opposing frame； and as he reached for the smoking knob； his personal world went mad！
Out of the line of vehicles a heavy truck suddenly shot forward； ing straight toward him； wildly accelerating as it approached。 Simultaneously； successive bursts of automatic gunfire erupted； the bullets thumping into the wood to his right。 He lunged to his left； rolling on the ground； the dust and dirt filling his eyes as he kept rolling； his body a tube spinning away。
And then it happened！ The massive explosion tore apart the door； blowing away a large section of the wall above； and through the black smoke and settling debris； he could see a figure lurching awkwardly toward the semicircle of vehicles。 His killer was getting away after all； But he was alive！ And the reason for it was obvious…the Jackal had made a mistake。 Not in the trap； that was extraordinary； Carlos knew his enemy was with Krupkin and the KGB and so he had gone outside and waited for him。 Instead； his error was in the placement of the explosives。 He had wired the bomb or bombs to the top of the truck's engine； not underneath。 Explosive pounds seek release through the least resistant barriers； the relatively thin hood of a vehicle is far less solid than the iron beneath it。 The bomb actually blew up； it did not blow out on ground level； sending death…inducing metal fragments along the surface。
No time！ Bourne struggled to his feet and staggered to the Komitet sedan； a horrible fear ing into focus。 He looked through the shattered windows； his eyes suddenly drawn to the front seat as a heavily fleshed hand was raised。 He yanked the door open and saw Krupkin； his large body squeezed below the seat under the dashboard； his right shoulder half torn away； bleeding flesh apparent through the fabric of his jacket。
〃We are hurt；〃 said the KGB officer weakly but calmly。 〃Aleksei somewhat more seriously than