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〃Oh； shut up；〃 said Bourne； replacing the phone and leaving the booth； walking down the street to collect what thoughts he could generate。
Peter Holland； director of the Central Intelligence Agency； rose to his feet behind his desk and roared at the crippled man seated in front of him。 〃Do nothing？ Have you lost your fucking senses？〃
〃Did you lose yours when you issued that statement about a joint British…American operation in Hong Kong？〃
〃It was the goddamned truth！〃
〃There are truths； and then again there are other truths； such as denying the truth when it doesn't serve the service。〃
〃Shit！ Fairy politicians！〃
〃I'd hardly say that； Genghis Khan。 I've heard of such men going to the wall； accepting execution rather than betraying the current truth they had to live by。 。。。 You're off base； Peter。〃
Exasperated； Holland sank back into his chair。 〃Maybe I really don't belong here。〃
〃Maybe you don't； but give yourself a little more time。 Maybe you'll bee as dirty as the rest of us； it could happen； you know。〃
The director leaned back； arching his head over the chair； he spoke in a broken cadence。 〃I was dirtier than any of you in the field； Alex。 I still wake up at night seeing the faces of young men staring at me as I ripped a knife up their chests； taking their lives away； somehow knowing that they had no idea why they were there。〃
〃It was either you or them。 They would have put a bullet in your head if they could have。〃
〃Yes； I suppose so。〃 The DCI shot forward； his eyes locked with Conklin's。 〃But that's not what we're talking about； is it？〃
〃You might say it's a variation on the theme。〃
〃Cut the horseshit。〃
〃It's a musician's term。 I like music。〃
〃Then get to the main symphonic line； Alex。 I like music； too。〃
〃All right。 Bourne's disappeared。 He told me that he thinks he's found a cave…his word； not mine…where he's convinced he can track the Jackal。 He didn't say where it is； and God knows when he'll call me again。〃
〃I sent our man at the embassy over to the Pont…Royal； asking for Simon。 What they told you is true。 Simon checked in； went out； and never came back。 Where is he？〃
〃Staying out of sight。 Bernardine had an idea； but it blew up in his face。 He thought he could quietly close in on Bourne by circulating the license number of the rental car； but it wasn't picked up at the garage and we both agree it won't be。 He doesn't trust anybody now； not even me； and considering his history； he has every right not to。〃
Holland's eyes were cold and angry。 〃You're not lying to me； are you； Conklin？〃
〃Why would I lie at a time like this； about a friend like this？〃
〃That's not an answer； it's a question。〃
〃Then no； I'm not lying。 I don't know where he is。〃 And； in truth； Alex did not。
〃So your idea is to do nothing。〃
〃There's nothing we can do。 Sooner or later he'll call me。〃
〃Have you any idea what a Senate investigating mittee will say a couple of weeks or months down the road when all this explodes； and it will explode？ We covertly send a man known to be 'Jason Bourne' over to Paris； which is as close to Brussels as New York is to Chicago…〃
〃Closer； I think。〃
〃Thanks； I need that。 。。。 The illustrious mander of NATO is assassinated with said 'Jason Bourne' taking credit for the kill； and we don't say a goddamned thing to anybody！ Jesus； I'll be cleaning latrines on a tugboat！〃
〃But he didn't kill him。〃
〃You know that and I know that； but speaking of his history； there's a little matter of mental illness that'll e out the minute our clinical records are subpoenaed。〃
〃It's called amnesia； it has nothing to do with violence。〃
〃Hell； no； it's worse。 He can't remember what he did。〃
Conklin gripped his cane； his wandering eyes intense。 〃I don't give a goddamn what everything appears to be； there's a gap。 Every instinct I have tells me Teagarten's assassination is tied to Medusa。 Somehow； somewhere； the wires crossed； a message was intercepted and a hell of a diversion was put in a game plan。〃
〃I believe I speak and understand English as well as you do；〃 said Holland； 〃but right now I can't follow you。〃
〃There's nothing to follow； no arithmetic； no line of progression。 I simply don't know。 。。。 But Medusa's there。〃
〃With your testimony； I can pull in Burton on the Joint Chiefs； and certainly Atkinson in London。〃
〃No； leave them alone。 Watch them； but don't sink their dinghies； Admiral。 Like Swayne's 'retreat；' the bees will flock to the honey sooner or later。〃
〃Then what are you suggesting？〃
〃What I said when I came in here。 Do nothing； it's the waiting game。〃 Alex suddenly slammed his cane against the table。 〃Son of a bitch； it's Medusa。 It has to be！〃
The hairless old man with a wrinkled face struggled to his feet in a pew of the Church of the Blessed Sacrament in Neuilly…sur…Seine on the outskirts of Paris。 Step by difficult step he made his painful way to the second confessional booth on the left。 He pulled back the black curtain and knelt in front of the black latticework covered with black cloth； his legs in agony。
〃Angelus domini； child of God；〃 said the voice from behind the screen。 〃Are you well？〃
〃Far better for your generosity； monseigneur。〃
〃That pleases me； but I must be pleased more than that； as you know。 。。。 What happened in Anderlecht？ What does my beloved and well…endowed army tell me？ Who has presumed？〃
〃We have dispersed and worked for the past eight hours； monseigneur。 As near as we can determine； two men flew over from the United States…it is assumed so； for they spoke only American English…and took a room in a pension de famille across the street from the restaurant。 They left the premises within minutes after the assault。〃
〃A frequency…detonated explosive！〃
〃Apparently； monseigneur。 We have learned nothing else。〃
〃But why？ Why？〃
〃We cannot see into men's minds； monseigneur。〃
Across the Atlantic Ocean； in an opulent apartment in Brooklyn Heights with the lights of the East River and the Brooklyn Bridge seductively pulsating beyond the windows； a capo supremo lounged in an overstuffed couch； a glass of Perrier in his hand。 He spoke to his friend sitting across from him in an armchair； drinking a gin and tonic。 The young man was slender； dark…haired and striking。
〃You know； Frankie； I'm not just bright； I'm brilliant； you know what I mean？ I pick up on nuances…that's hints of what could be important and what couldn't…and I got a hell of sense。 I hear a spook paisan talk about things and I put four and four together and instead of eight； I get twelve。 Bingo！ It's the answer。 There's this cat who calls himself 'Bourne；' a creep who makes like he's a major hit man but who isn't…he's a lousy esca； bait to pull in someone else； but he's the hot cannoli we want； see？ Then the Jew shrink； being very under the weather； spits out everything I need。 This cannoli's got only half a head； a testa balzana； a lot of the time he don't know who he is； or maybe what he does； right？〃
〃That's right； Lou。〃
〃And there this Bourne is in Paris； France； a couple of blocks away from a real big impediment； a fancy general the quiet boys across the river want taken out； like the two fatsoes already p