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ent； his controls at the Treadstone telephone not responding to the proper code words … whatever they were … because the dead could not talk。 He was using the omission to get himself off the meathook！ The sheer nerve of the bastard was awesome。 Bastard； bastard！
Kill the controls and use the kills to call off the hunt。 Any kind of hunt。 How many men had done it before； thought Alexander Conklin。 He had。 There had been a source…control in the hills of Huong Khe； a maniac issuing maniacal orders； certain death for a dozen teams of Medusans on a maniacal hunt。 A young intelligence officer named Conklin bad crept back into Base Camp Kilo with a North Vietnamese rifle； Russian calibre； and had fired two bullets into the head of a maniac。 There had been grieving and harsher security measures put in force。。。 but the hunt was called off。
There had been prints on fragments of glass found in the jungle paths of Base Camp Kilo； however。 Fragments with fingerprints that irrefutably identified the sniper as an occidental recruit from Medusa itself。 There were such fragments found on Seventy…first Street； but the killer did not know it …Delta did not know it。
'At one point； we seriously questioned whether he was genuine；' said the embassy's First Secretary； rambling on as if to fill the abrupt silence from Washington。 'An experienced field officer would have told the attaché to check for a flag； but the subject didn't。'
'An oversight；' replied Conklin； pulling his mind back to the brutal enigma that was Delta…Cain。 'What are the arrangements？'
'Initially Bourne insisted on calling back in fifteen minutes； but I instructed lower…level to stall。 For instance； we could use the dinner hour。。。' The embassy man was making sure a pany executive in Washington realized the perspicacity of his contributions。 It would go on for the better part of a minute； Conklin had heard too many variations before。
Delta。 Why had he turned？ The madness must have eaten his head away； leaving only the instincts for survival。 He had been around too long； he knew that sooner or later they would find him； kill him。 There was never any alternative； he understood that from the moment he turned … or broke … or whatever it was。 There was nowhere to hide any longer； he was a target all over the globe。 He could never know who might step out of the shadows and bring his life to an end。 It was something they all lived with； the single most persuasive argument against turning。 So another solution had to be found； survival。 The biblical Cain was the first to mit fratricide。 Had the mythical name triggered the obscene decision； the strategy itself？ Was it as simple as that？ God knew it was the perfect solution。 Kill them all； kill your brother。
Webb gone； the Monk gone； the Yachtsman and his wife。。。 who could deny the instructions Delta received； since these four alone relayed instructions to him？ He had removed the millions and distributed them as ordered。 Blind recipients he had assumed were intrinsic to the Monk's strategy。 Who was Delta to question the Monk？ The creator of Medusa； the genius who had recruited and created him。 Cain。
The perfect solution。 To be utterly convincing； all that was required was the death of a brother； the proper grief to follow。 The official judgment would be rendered。 Carlos had infiltrated and broken Treadstone。 The assassin had won； Treadstone abandoned。 The bastard！
〃。。。 so basically I felt the game plan should e from you。〃 The First Secretary in Paris had finished。 He was an ass but Conklin needed him； one tune had to be heard while another was being played。
'You did the right thing；' said a respectful executive in Langley。 'I'll let our people over here know how well you handled it。 You were absolutely right； we need time； but Bourne doesn't realize it。 We can't tell him； either； which makes it tough。。。 We're on sterile so may I speak accordingly？'
'Of course。'
'Bourne's under pressure。 He's been。。。 detained。。。 for a long period of time。 Am I clear？〃
'The Soviets？'
'Right up to the Lubyanka。 His run was made by means of a double entry。 Are you familiar with the term？〃
'Yes； I am。 Moscow thinks he's working for them now。'
That's what they think。' Conklin paused。 'And we're not sure。 Crazy things happen in the Lubyanka。'
The First Secretary whistled softly。 That's a basket。 How are you going to make a determination？'
'With your help。 But the classification priority is so high it's above embassy； even ambassadorial level。 You're on the scene； you were reached。 You can accept the condition or not； that's up to you。 If you do。 I think a mendation might e right out of the Oval office。'
Conklin could hear the slow intake of breath from Paris。
'I'll do whatever I can； of course。 Name it。'
'You already did。 We want him stalled。 When he calls back； talk to him yourself。。。'
'Naturally；' interrupted the embassy man。
Tell him you relayed the codes。 Tell him Washington is flying over an officer…of…record from Treadstone by military transport Say D。 C。 wants him to keep out of sight and away from the embassy； every route is being watched。 Then ask him if he wants protection； and if he does； find out where he wants to pick it up。 But don't send anyone； when you talk to me again I'll have been in touch with someone over there。 I'll give you a name then and an eye…spot you can give to him。'
'Eye…spot？'
'Visual identification。 Something or someone he can recognize。'
'One of your men？'
'Yes； we think it's best that way。 Beyond you； there's no point in involving the embassy。 As a matter of fact； it's vital we don't； so whatever conversations you have shouldn't be logged。〃
'I can take care of that；' said the First Secretary。 'But how is the one conversation I'm going to have with him going to help you determine whether he's a double entry？'
'Because it won't be one； it'll be closer to ten。'
Ten？'
That's right。 Your instructions to Bourne … from us through you … are that he's to check in on your phone every hour to confirm the fact that he's in safe territory。 Until the last time when you tell him the Treadstone officer has arrived in Paris and will meet with him。'
'What will that acplish？' asked the embassy man。
'He'll keep moving。。。 if he's not ours。 There are half a
dozen known deep…cover Soviet agents in Paris； all with tripped phones。 If he's working with Moscow； the chances are he'll use at least one of them。 We'll be watching。 And if that's the way it turns out； I think you'll remember the time you spent all night at the embassy for the rest of your life。 Presidential mendations have a way of raising a career man's grade level。 Of course； you don't have too much higher to go。。。'
'There's higher； Mr。 Conklin；〃 interrupted the First Secretary。
The conversation was over； the embassy man would call back after hearing from Bourne。 Conklin got up from the chair and limped across the room to a grey filing cabinet against the wall。 He unlocked the top panel。 Inside was a stapled folder containing a sealed envelope bearing the names and locations of men who could be called upon in emergencies。 They had once been good men； loyal men； who for one reason or another cou