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〃Of course。〃 The door swung back with the wind as the woman opened it； she went outside into the torrential rain； pulling it shut behind her。 Astonished and confused； the old Frenchman stood motionless； trying to make sense out of the inexplicable。 Things were happening too fast for him； blurred in the agony of his woman's death。 There was no time to mourn； no time to feel。 。。。 Only think and think quickly。 Revelation came hard upon revelation； leaving unanswered questions that had to be answered so the whole could be understood…so that Montserrat itself made sense！
The nurse was more than a conduit for instructions from Argenteuil； the angel of mercy was herself an angel of death； a killer in her own right。 So why was he sent thousands of miles to do the work another could do just as well and without the elaborate charade of his auspicious arrival？ An old hero of France； indeed 。。。 it was all so unnecessary。 And speaking of age； there was another…another old man who was no killer at all。 Perhaps； thought the false Jean Pierre Fontaine； he had made a terrible mistake。 Perhaps； instead of ing to kill him； the other 〃old man〃 had e to warn him！
〃Mon Dieu；〃 whispered the Frenchman。 〃The old men of Paris； the Jackal's army！ Too many questions！〃 Fontaine walked rapidly to the nurse's bedroom door and opened it。 With the swiftness developed over a lifetime of practice； impaired only slightly by his years； he began methodically to tear apart the woman's room…suitcase； closet； clothes； pillows； mattress； bureau； dressing table； writing desk 。。。 the desk。 A locked drawer in the desk…a locked drawer in the outer room。 The 〃equipment。〃 Nothing mattered now！ His woman was gone and there were too many questions！
A heavy lamp on the desk with a thick brass base…he picked it up； pulling out the cord； and smashed it into the drawer。 Again and again and again until the wood splintered； shattering the recess that held the tiny vertical latch。 He yanked the drawer open and stared in equal parts of horror and prehension at what he saw。
Next to each other in a cushioned plastic case were two hypodermic needles； their vials filled with an identical yellowish serum。 He did not have to know the chemical pounds； there were too many beyond his knowledge that would be effective。 Liquid death in the veins。
Nor did he have to be told for whom they were intended。 C？te а c？te dans le lit。 Two bodies beside each other in bed。 He and his woman in a pact of final deliverance。 How thoroughly had the monseigneur thought everything out！ Himself dead！ One dead old man from the Jackal's army of old men had outwitted all the security procedures； killing and mutilating those dearest to Carlos's ultimate enemy； Jason Bourne。 And； naturally； behind that brilliant manipulation was the Jackal himself。
Ce n'est pas le contrat！ Myself； yes； but not my woman！ You promised me！
The nurse。 The angel not of mercy but of death！ The man known on Tranquility Isle as Jean Pierre Fontaine walked as fast as he could into the other room。 To his equipment。
The huge silver racing craft with its two enormous engines crashed through the swells as often above the waves as in them。 On the short low bridge； John St。 Jacques maneuvered the drug boat through the dangerous reefs he knew by summoned memory； aided by the powerful searchlight that lit up the turbulent waters； now twenty； now two hundred feet in front of the bow。 He kept screaming into his radio； the microphone weaving in front of his drenched face； hoping against all logic to raise someone on Tranquility。
He was within three miles of the island； a shrubbed volcanic intrusion on the water his landmark。 Tranquility Isle was in kilometers much nearer Plymouth than to Blackburne Airport； and if one knew the shoals； not much longer to reach in a drug boat than in a seaplane； which had to bank east out of Blackburne to catch the prevailing west winds in order to land on the sea。 Johnny was not sure why these calculations kept interfering with his concentration except that somehow they made him feel better； that he was doing the best he could… Damn it！ Why was it always the best he could do rather than simply the best？ He couldn't louse up anymore； not now； not tonight！ Christ； he owed everything to Mare and David！ Maybe even more to the crazy bastard who was his brother…in…law than to his own sister。 David； wild…nuts David； a man he sometimes wondered if Marie ever knew existed！
〃You back off little Bro； I'll take care of this。〃
〃You can't； David； I did it。 I killed them！〃
〃I said 'Back off。' 〃
'I asked for your help； not for you to be me！〃
〃But you see I am you。 I would have done the same thing and that makes me you in my eyes。〃
〃That's crazy！〃
〃It's part of it。 Someday I may teach you how to kill cleanly； in the dark In the meantime； listen to the lawyers。〃
〃Suppose they lose？〃
〃I'll get you out。 I'll get you away。〃
〃How？〃
〃I'll kill again。〃
〃I can't believe you！ A teacher； a scholar…I don't believe you； I don't want to believe you…you're my sister's husband。〃
〃Then don't believe me； Johnny。 And forget everything I've said； and never tell your sister I said it。〃
〃It's that other person inside of you； isn't it？〃
〃You're very dear to Marie。〃
〃That's no answer！ Here； now； you're Bourne； aren't you？ Jason Bourne！〃
〃We'll never； ever； discuss this conversation； Johnny。 Do you understand me？〃
No； he had never understood； thought St。 Jacques； as the swirling winds and the cracks of lightning seemed to envelop the boat。 Even when Marie and David appealed to his rapidly disintegrating ego by suggesting he could build a new life for himself in the islands。 Seed money； they had said； build us a house and then see where you want to go from there。 Within limits； we'll back you。 Why would they do that？ Why did they？
It was not 〃they；〃 it was he。 Jason Bourne。
Johnny St。 Jacques understood the other morning when he picked up the phone by the pool and was told by an island pilot that someone had been asking questions at the airport about a woman and two children。
Someday I may teach you how to kill cleanly； in the dark。 Jason Bourne。
Lights！ He saw the beach lights of Tranquility。 He was less than a mile from the shore！
The rain pounded down against the old Frenchman； the blasts of wind throwing him off balance as he made his way up the path toward Villa Fourteen。 He angled his head against the elements； squinting； wiping his face with his left hand； his right gripping the weapon； a gun lengthened by the extension of the pocked cylinder that was its silencer。 He held the pistol behind him as he had done years ago racing along railroad tracks； sticks of dynamite in one hand； a German Luger in the other； prepared to drop both at the appearance of Nazi patrols。
Whoever they were on the path above； they were no less than the Boche in his mind。 All were Boche！ He had been subservient to others long enough！ His woman was gone； he would be his own man now； for there was nothing left but his own decisions； his own feelings； his own very private sense of what was right and what was wrong。 。。。 And the Jackal was wrong！ The apostle of Carlos could accept the killin