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〃He's near us；〃 said Fontaine softly。
〃What？〃 shot out Bourne； yanking the glasses from his face and turning to the old man。 〃Where？ Tell me where！〃
〃He's not in our vision； monsieur； but he is near us。〃
〃What do you mean？〃
〃I can feel it。 Like an animal that senses the approach of distant thunder。 It's inside of you； it's the fear。〃
〃That's not very clear。〃
〃It is to me。 Perhaps you wouldn't understand。 The Jackal's challenger； the man of many appearances； the Chameleon…the killer known as Jason Bourne…was not given to fear； we are told； only a great bravado that came from his strength。〃
Jason smiled grimly； in contradiction。 〃Then you were told a lie；〃 he said softly。 〃A part of that man lives with a kind of raw fear few people have ever experienced。〃
〃I find that hard to believe； monsieur…〃
〃Believe。 I'm he。〃
〃Are you； Mr。 Webb？ It's not difficult to piece things together。 Do you force yourself to assume your other self because of this fear？〃
David Webb stared at the old man。 〃For God's sake； what choice do I have？〃
〃You could disappear for a time； you and your family。 You could live peacefully； in plete security； your government would see to it。〃
〃He'd e after me…after us…wherever we were。〃
〃For how long？ A year？ Eighteen months？ Certainly less than two years。 He's a sick man； all Paris…my Paris…knows it。 Considering the enormous expense and plexity of the current situation…these events designed to trap you…I would suggest that it's Carlos's last attempt。 Leave； monsieur。 Join your wife in Basse…Terre and then fly thousands of miles away while you can。 Let him go back to Paris and die in frustration。 Is it not enough？〃
〃No。 He'd e after me； after us！ It's got to be settled here； now。〃
〃I will soon join my woman； if such is to be； so I can disagree with certain people； men like you； for instance； Monsieur le Chameleon； whom I would have automatically agreed with before。 I do so now。 I think you can go far away。 I think you know that you can put the Jackal in a side pocket and get on with your life； altered only slightly for a while； but you won't do it。 Something inside stops you； you cannot permit yourself a strategic retreat； no less honorable for its avoidance of violence。 Your family is safe but others may die； but even that doesn't stop you。 You have to win…〃
〃I think that's enough psychobabble；〃 interrupted Bourne； bringing the binoculars again to his eyes； concentrating on the scene below beyond the windows。
〃That's it； isn't it？〃 said the Frenchman； studying Le Chameleon； his binoculars still at his side。 〃They trained you too well； instilled in you too pletely the person you had to bee。 Jason Bourne against Carlos the Jackal and Bourne must win； it's imperative that he win。 。。。 Two aging lions； each pitted against the other years ago； both with a burning hatred created by far…off strategists who had no idea what the consequences would be。 How many have lost their lives because they crossed your converging paths？ How many unknowing men and women have been killed…〃
〃Shut up！〃 cried Jason as flashing images of Paris； even peripherally of Hong Kong； Macao and Beijing…and most recently last night in Manassas； Virginia…assaulted his fragmented inner screen。 So much death！
Suddenly； abruptly； the door of the dark storage room opened and Judge Brendan Prefontaine walked rapidly； breathlessly inside。 〃He's here；〃 said the Bostonian。 〃One of St。 Jacques's patrols； a three…man unit a mile down the east shoreline； couldn't be reached by radio。 St。 Jacques sent a guard to find them and he just returned…then ran away himself。 All three were killed； each man with a bullet in his throat。〃
〃The Jackal！〃 exclaimed the Frenchman。 〃It is his carte de visite…his calling card。 He announces his arrival。〃
16
The midafternoon sun was suspended； immobile； burning the sky and the land； a ringed globe of fire intent only on scorching everything beneath it。 And the alleged 〃puterized research〃 offered by the Canadian industrialist Angus McLeod appeared to be confirmed。 Although a number of seaplanes flew in to take frightened couples away； the collective attention span of average people after a disturbing event； if certainly longer than two and a half to four minutes； was certainly not more than a few hours。 A horrible thing had happened during the predawn storm； an act of terrible vengeance； as they understood it。 It involved a single man with a vendetta against old enemies； a killer who had long since fled from the island。 With the removal of the ugly coffins； as well as the beached； damaged speedboat； and the soothing words over the government radio along with the intermittent； unobtrusive appearances of the armed guards； a sense of normalcy returned…not total； of course； for there was a mourning figure among them； but he was out of sight and； they were told； would soon leave。 And despite the depth of the horrors； as the rumors had them…naturally exaggerated out of all proportion by the hypersuperstitious island natives…the horrors were not theirs。 It was an act of violence pletely unrelated to them； and； after all； life had to go on。 Seven couples remained at the inn。
〃Christ； we're paying six hundred dollars a day…〃
〃No one's after us…〃
〃Shit； man； next week it's back to the modities grind； so we're going to enjoy…〃
〃No sweat； Shirley； they're not giving out names； they promised me…〃
With the burning； immobile afternoon sun； a small soiled plot of the vast Caribbean playground came back to its own particular ambience； death receding with each application of Bain de Soleil and another rum punch。 Nothing was quite as it had been； but the blue…green waters lapped on the beach； enticing the few bathers to walk into them； immersing their bodies in the cool liquid rhythm of wet constancy。 A progressively less tentative peace returned to Tranquility Isle。
〃There！〃 cried the hero of France。
〃Where？〃 shouted Bourne。
〃The four priests。 Walking down the path in a line。〃
〃They're black。〃
〃Color means nothing。〃
〃He was a priest when I saw him in Paris； at Neuilly…sur…Seine。〃
Fontaine lowered the binoculars and looked at Jason。 〃The Church of the Blessed Sacrament？〃 he asked quietly。
〃I can't remember。 。。。 Which one is he？〃
〃You saw him in his priest's habit？〃
〃And that son of a bitch saw me。 He knew I knew it was him！ Which one？〃
〃He's not there； monsieur；〃 said Jean Pierre； slowly bringing the binoculars back to his eyes。 〃It is another carte de visite。 Carlos anticipates； he is a master of geometry。 There is no straight line for him； only many sides； many levels。〃
〃That sounds damned Oriental。〃
〃Then you understand。 It has crossed his mind that you may not be in that villa； and if you are not； he wants you to know that he knows it。〃
〃Neuilly…sur…Seine…〃
〃No； not actually。 He can't be sure at the moment。 He was sure at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament。〃
〃How should I play it？〃
〃How does the Chameleon think he should play it？〃
〃The obvious would be to do nothing；〃 answered Bourne； his eyes on the scene below。 〃And he wouldn't accept that because his uncertainty is too strong。 He'd say to himself； He's better