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until they get you。 Go on！ Shoot！'
Conklin was shouting； but Bourne could hardly hear him。 Instead； he had heard two words and the jolts of pain hammered at his temples。 Phnom…Penh！ Phnom…Penh。 Death in the skies； from the skies。 Death of the young and the very young。
Screeching birds and screaming machines and the deathlike stench of the jungle。。。 and a river。 He was blinded again； on fire again。
Beneath him the man from Treadstone had broken away。 His crippled figure was crawling in panic； lunging； his hands surging through the wet grass。 Jason blinked； trying to force his mind to e back to him。 Then instantly he knew he had to point the automatic and fire。 Conklin had found his gun and was raising it！ But Bourne could not pull the trigger。
He dived to his right； rolling on the ground； scrambling towards the marble columns of the mausoleum。 Conklin's gunshots were wild； the crippled man unable to steady his leg or his aim。 Then the firing stopped and Jason got to his feet； his face against the smooth wet stone。 He looked out； his automatic raised； he had to kill this man for this man would kill him； kill Marie； link them both to Carlos。
Conklin was hobbling pathetically towards the gates； turning constantly； the gun extended； his destination a car outside in the road。 Bourne raised his automatic； the crippled figure in his gunsight。 A split half second and it would be over； his enemy from Treadstone dead； hope found with that death； for there were reasonable men in Washington。
He could not do it； he could not pull the trigger。 He lowered the gun； standing helpless by the marble column as Conklin climbed into his car。
The car。 He had to get back to Paris。 There was a way。 It had been there all along。 She had been there！
He rapped on the door； his mind racing； facts analysed； absorbed and discarded as rapidly as they came to him； a strategy evolving。 Marie recognized the knock； she opened the door。
'Dear God； look at you！ What happened？'
'No time；' he said； rushing towards the telephone across the room。 'It was a trap。 They're convinced I turned； sold out to Carlos。'
'What？'
'They say I flew into New York last week； last Friday。 That I killed five people。。。 among them a brother。' Jason closed his eyes briefly。 'There was a brother … is a brother。 I don't know； I can't think about it now。'
'You never left Paris I You can prove it！'
'How？ Eight； ten hours； that's all I'd need。 And eight or ten hours unaccounted for is all they need now。 Who's going to e forward？'
'I will。 You've been with me！〃
'They think you're part of it；' said Bourne； picking up the telephone and dialling。 'The theft； the turning； Port Noir； the whole damn thing。 They've locked you into me。 Carlos engineered this down to the last fragment of a fingerprint。 Christ！ Did he put it together！'
'What are you doing？ Who are you calling？'
'Our back…up； remember？ The only one we've got。 Villiers。 Villiers's wife。 She's the one。 We're going to take her； break her； put her on a hundred racks if we have to。 But we won't have to； she won't fight because she can't win。。。 Goddamn it； why doesn't he answer？'
'The private phone's in his office。 It's three in the morning。 He's probably。。。'
'He's on！ General？ Is that you？' Jason had to ask； the voice on the line was oddly quiet； but not the quiet of interrupted sleep。
'Yes； it is I； my young friend。 I apologize for the delay。 I've been upstairs with my wife。'
'That's who I'm calling about。 We've got to move。 Now。 Alert French Intelligence； Interpol and the American Embassy； but tell them not to interfere until I've seen her； talked to her。 We have to talk。'
'I don't think so； Mr。。 Bourne。。。 Yes； I know your name； my friend。 As for your talking to my wife； however； I'm afraid that's not possible。 You see； I've killed her。'
Jason stared at the hotel room wall； at the flock paper with the faded designs that spiralled into one another in meaningless contortions of worn fabric。 'Why？' he said quietly into the phone。 'I thought you understood。'
'I tried； my friend；' said Villiers； his voice beyond anger or sorrow。 The saints know I tried； but I could not help myself。 I kept looking at her。。。 seeing the son she did not bear behind her； killed by the pig animal that was her mentor。 My whore was someone else's whore。。。 the animal's whore。 It could not be otherwise and； as I learned； it was not。 I think she saw the outrage in my eyes； heaven knows it was there。' The general paused； the memory painful now。 'She not only saw the outrage； but the truth。 She saw that I knew。 What she was； what she had been during the years we'd spent together。 At the end； I gave her the chance I told you I would give her。'
'To kill you？'
'Yes。 It wasn't difficult。 Between our beds is a night stand with a weapon in the drawer。 She lay on her bed； Goya's Maja； splendid in her arrogance； dismissing me with her private thoughts as I was consumed by my own。 I opened the drawer for a book of matches and walked back to my chair and my pipe； leaving the drawer open； the handle of the gun very much in evidence。
'It was my silence； I imagine； and the fact that I could not take my eyes off her that forced her to acknowledge me； then concentrate on me。 The tension between us had grown to the point where very little had to be said to burst the floodgates； and … God help me … I said it。 I heard myself asking； 〃Why did you do it？〃 Then the accusation became plete。 I called her my whore； the whore that killed my son。
'She stared at me for several moments； her eyes breaking away once to glance at the open drawer and the gun。。。 and the telephone。 I stood up； the embers in my pipe glowing； loose。。。 chauffe au rouge。 She spun her legs off the bed。 put both hands into that open drawer； and took out the gun。 I did not stop her； instead I had to hear the words from her own lips； hear my own indictment of myself as well as hers。。。 What I heard will go to my grave with me； for there will be honour left my person and the person of my son。 We will not be scorned by those who've given less than we。 Never。'
'General。。。' Bourne shook his head； unable to think clearly； knowing he had to find the seconds in order to find his thoughts。 'General； what happened？ She gave you my name。 How？ You've got to tell me that Please。'
'Willingly。 She said you were an insignificant gunman who wished to step into the shoes of a giant。 That you were a thief from Zurich； a man your own people disowned。'
'Did she say who those people were？'
'If she did I didn't hear。 I was blind； deaf； my rage uncontrolled。 But you have nothing to fear from me。 The chapter is closed； my life over with a telephone call。'
'No！' Jason shouted。 'Don't do that I Not now。'
'I must。'
'Please！ Don't settle for Carlos's whore。 Get Carlos！ Trap Carlos！'
'Reaping scorn on my name from lying with that whore？ Manipulated by the animal's slut？'
'Goddamn you； what about your son！ Five sticks of dynamite on rue du Bac！'
'Leave him in peace。 Leave me in peace。 It's over。〃
'It's not over！ Listen to me！ Give a moment； that's all I ask。' The images in Jason's mind raced furiously across his eyes； clashing； supplanting one another