“Suppose they lose?”
“I’ll get you... “Suppose they lose?”
“I’ll get you out
“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, JohnnyAnd 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, JohnnyDo you understand me?”
No, he had never understood, thought StJacques, as the swirling winds and the cracks of
lightning seemed to envelop the boatEven when Marie and David appealed to his rapidly
disintegrating ego by suggesting he could build a new life for himself in the islandsSeed money,
they had said; build us a house and then see where you want to go from thereWithin limits, we’ll
back youWhy would they do that? Why did they?
It was not “they,” it was heJacques understood the other morning when he picked up the phone by the pool and
was told by an
chanel shopping bags 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
Lights! He saw the beach lights of TranquilityHe 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 FourteenHe 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 silencerHe 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 mindAll 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
gold gucci watches private
sense of what was right and what was wrongAnd the Jackal was wrong! The apostle of Carlos
could accept the killing of the woman; it was a debt he could rationalize, but not the children, and
certainly not the mutilationsThose acts were against God, and he and his woman were about to
face Him; there had to be certain ameliorating circumstances
Stop the angel of death! What could she be doing? What did the fire she talked about mean?
Then he saw it—a huge burst of flame through the hedges of Villa FourteenIn a window! The
same window that had to be the bedroom of the luxurious pink cottage
Fontaine reached the flagstone walk that led to the front door as a bolt of lightning shook the
ground under himHe fell to the earth, then struggled to his knees, crawling to the pink porch, its
fluttering overhead light outlining the doorNo amount of twisting or pulling or shoving could
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
126
release the latch, so he angled his pistol up, squeezed the trigger twice and blew the lock apartHe
pushed himself to
chanel purses bags his feet and went insideThe screams came from beyond the door of the master bedroomThe old Frenchman
lurched toward it, his legs unsteady, his weapon wavering in his right handWith what strength he
had left, he kicked the door open and observed a scene that he knew had to come from hell
The nurse, with the old man’s head in a metal leash, was forcing her victim down into a raging
kerosene fire on the floor
“Arrêtez!” screamed the man called Jean Pierre Fontaine“Assez! Maintenant!”
Through the rising, spreading flames, shots rang out and bodies fell
The lights of Tranquility’s beach drew nearer as John StJacques kept yelling into the
microphone: “It’s me! It’s Saint Jay coming in! Don’t shoot!”
But the sleek silver drug boat was greeted by the staccato gunfire of automatic weapons
Jacques dived to the deck and kept shouting“I’m coming in—I’m beaching! Hold your
goddamned fire!”
“Is that you, mon?” came a panicked voice over the radio
“You want to get paid next week?”
“Oh, yes, MrSaint Jay!” The loudspeakers on the beach erratically interrupted
chanel purses the winds and
the thunder out of Basse-Terre“Everyone down on the beach, stop shooting your guns! The bo-att
is okay, mon! It is our boss mon, MrSaint Jay!”
The drug boat shot out of the water and onto the dark sand, its engines screaming, the blades
instantly embedded, the pointed hull cracking under the impactJacques leaped up from his
defensive fetal position and vaulted over the gunwale“Villa Twenty!” he roared, racing through the
downpour across the beach to the stone steps that led to the path“All you men, get there!”
As he ran up the hard, rain-splattered staircase he suddenly gasped, his personal galaxy
exploding into a thousand blinding stars of fireGunshots! One after anotherOn the east wing of
the path! His legs cycled faster and faster, leaping over two and three steps at a time; he reached the
path and like a man possessed raced up the path toward Villa Twenty, snapping his head to the
right in furious confusion that only added to his panicPeople—men and woman from his staff—
were clustered around the doorway of Villa Fourteen!
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