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have to find him； isolate him； above all； cut him off from everyone else trying to get out。〃
〃You're a goddamned maniac；〃 broke in Benjamin； the veins pronounced in his forehead。 〃I could kill 'a few'…more than a few！ You're crazy！〃
〃At this moment I'm the most rational man you've ever met；〃 interrupted Jason harshly； rapidly； as the panicked residents of Novgorod kept rushing by。 〃There's not a sane general in the Soviet army…the same army that retook Stalingrad…who wouldn't agree with me。 。。。 It's called the 'calculated estimate of losses；' and there's a very good reason for that lousy verbiage。 It simply means you're paying a lot less for what you're getting now than you'd pay later。〃
〃You're asking too much！ These people are my rades； my friends； they're Russians。 Would you fire into a crowd of Americans？ One recoil of my hands…an inch； two inches with a 'forty…seven'…and I could maim or kill half a dozen people！ The risk's too great！〃
〃You don't have a choice。 If the Jackal gets by me…and I'll know it if he does…I'll throw in a grenade and kill twenty。〃
〃You son of a bitch！〃
〃Believe it； Ben。 Where Carlos is concerned I'm a son of a bitch。 I can't afford him any longer； the world can't afford him。 Move！〃
The trainer named Benjamin spat in Bourne's face； then turned and began fighting his way to the guardhouse and the unseen corpse of the colonel beyond。 Almost unconsciously Jason wiped his face with the back of his hand； his concentration solely on the fenced parking area； his eyes darting from one pocket of shadows to another； trying to center in on the origins of the automatic gunfire； yet knowing it was pointless； the Jackal had changed position by then。 He counted the other vehicles in addition to the fuel truck； there were nine parked by the fence…two station wagons； four sedans and three suburban vans； all American…made or simulated as such。 Carlos was concealed beyond one of them or possibly the fuel truck； the last unlikely as it was the farthest away from the open gate in the fence that permitted access to the guardhouse and thus to the tunnel。
Jason crouched and crawled forward； he reached the waist…high fence； the pandemonium behind him continuous； deafening。 Every muscle and joint in his legs and arms pounded with pain； cramps were developing everywhere； everywhere！ Don't think about them； don't acknowledge them。 You're too close； David！ Keep going。 Jason Bourne knows what to do。 Trust him！
Aaughh！ He spun his body over the fence； the handle of his sheathed bayonet embedded itself in his kidney。 There is no pain！ You're too close； David…Jason。 Listen to Jason！
The searchlights…someone had pressed something and they went crazy； spinning around in circles； abrupt； blinding； out of control！ Where would Carlos go？ Where could he hide？ The beams were erratically piercing everywhere！ Then； from an opening that he could not see from across the fenced…in area； two police cars raced inside； their sirens blaring。 Uniformed men leaped out from every door； and contrary to anything he expected to see； each scrambled to the borders of the fence； behind the cars and the vans； one after another dashing from one vehicle to another to the open gate that led to the guardhouse and the tunnel。
There was a break in space； in time。 In men！ The last four escapees from the second car were suddenly three…and only moments later did the fourth appear…but he was not the same…the uniform was not the same！ There were specks of orange and red； and the visored officer's cap was laced with gold ribbing； the visor itself too prominent for the American army； the crown of the cap too pointed。 What was it？ 。。。 And； suddenly； Bourne understood。 Fragments of his memories spiraled back years to Madrid or Casavieja； when he was tracing the Jackal's contracts with the Falangists。 It was a Spanish uniform！ That was it！ Carlos had infiltrated through the Spanish pound； and as his Russian was fluent； he was using the high…ranking uniform to make his escape from Novgorod。
Jason lurched to his feet； his automatic drawn； and ran across the graveled lot； his left hand reaching into his field jacket pocket for his second…to…last flare。 He pulled the release and hurled the fired stalk above the cars； beyond the fence。 Benjamin would not see it from the guardhouse and mistake it for the signal to close the gates of the tunnel； that signal would e shortly…in seconds； perhaps…but at the moment it was premature； again perhaps by seconds。
〃Eto srochno！〃 roared one of the escaping men； spinning around and panicked at the sight of the hissing； blinding flare。
〃Skoryeye！〃 shouted another； passing three panions and racing toward the open section of the fence。 As the whirling searchlights continued their maniacal spinning； Bourne counted the seven figures as one by one they dashed away from the last car and passed through the opening； joining the excited crowds at the mouth of the tunnel。 The eighth man did not appear； the high…ranking Spanish uniform was nowhere in sight。 The Jackal was trapped！
Now！ Jason whipped out his last flare； yanked the release； and threw it with all his strength over the stream of rushing men and women at the guardhouse。 Do it； Ben！ he screamed in silence as he removed the next…to…last grenade from the pocket of his field jacket。 Do it now！
As if in answer to his fevered plea； a thunderous roar came from the tunnel； round after round of hysterical protestations punctuated by screams and shrieks and wailing chaos。 Two rapid； deafening bursts of automatic gunfire preceded unintelligible mands over the speakers； shouted in Russian。 。。。 Another burst and the same voice continued； louder； even more authoritative； as the crowd momentarily but perceptibly quieted down； only to suddenly resume screaming at full volume。 Bourne glanced over； astonished to see through the beams of the spinning searchlights the figure of Benjamin now standing on the roof of the concrete guardhouse。 The young trainer was shouting into the microphone； exhorting the crowd to follow his instructions； whatever they were。 。。。 And whatever they were； they were being obeyed！ The multitude gradually； then gathering momentum； began reversing direction…then； as a single unit； started racing back into the street！ Benjamin ignited his flare and waved it； pointing to the north。 He was sending Jason his own signal。 Not only was the tunnel shut down but the crowds were being dispersed without anyone being shot with the AK…47。 There had been a better way。
Bourne dropped to the ground； his eyes scanning the under sides of the stationary vehicles； the spewing flame beyond lighting up the open spaces。 。。。 A pair of legs…in boots！ Behind the third automobile on the left； no more than twenty yards from the break in the fence that led to the tunnel。 Carlos was his！ The end was at last in sight！ No time！ Do what you have to do and do it quickly！ He dropped his weapon on the gravel； gripped the grenade in his right hand； pulled the pin； grabbed the 。45 with his left hand and lurched off the ground； racing forward。 Roughly thirty feet from the car he dived back down into the gravel； turned sideways and heaved the grenade under the automobile…only at t