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； 'Suppose they're stopped； caught？'
'Suppose they are？ Do you think Carlos would expose a drop where he gets messages？ Not on your life。 Or his。'
'Jason； I'm frightened。'
'So am I。 But not of being recognized。' Bourne returned to the mirror。 'I could give a long dissertation about facial classifications and softened features； but I won't。'
'You're talking about the evidences of surgery。 Port Noir。
'You told me。'
'Not all of it' Bourne leaned against the bureau； staring at his face。 'What colour are my eyes？'
'What？'
'No； don't look at me。 Now； tell me； what colour are my eyes？ Yours are brown with speckles of green； what about mine？'
'Blue。。。 bluish。 Or a kind of grey； really。。。' Marie stopped。 'I'm not really sure。 I suppose that's dreadful of me。'
'It's perfectly natural。 Basically they're hazel； but not all the time。 Even I've noticed it When I wear a blue shirt or tie； they bee bluer； a brown coat or jacket； they're grey。 When I'm naked； they're strangely nondescript'
That's not so strange。 I'm sure millions of people are the same。' 〃I'm sure they are。 But how many of them wear contact lenses when their eyesight is normal？'
'Contact。。。？'
〃That's what I said；' interrupted Jason。 'Certain types of contact lenses are worn to change the colour of the eyes。 They're most effective when the eyes are hazel。。。 When Washburn first examined me there was evidence of prolonged usage。 It's one of the clues； isn't it？'
'It's whatever you want to make of it；' said Marie。 'If it's true。〃
'Why wouldn't it be？'
'Because the doctor was more often drunk than sober。 You've told me that。 He piled conjecture on top of conjecture； heaven knows how often warped by alcohol He was never specific。 He couldn't be。'
'He was about one thing。 I'm a chameleon； designed to fit a flexible mould。 I want to find out whose； maybe I can now。 Thanks to you I've got an address。 Someone there may know the truth。 Just one man； that's all I need。 One person I can confront； break if I have to。。。〃
'I can't stop you； but for God's sake be careful。 If they do recognize you； they'll kill you。'
'Not there they won't； it'd be rotten for business。 This is Paris。'
'I don't think that's funny； Jason。'
'Neither do I。 I'm counting on it very seriously。'
'What are you going to do？ I mean； how？'
I'll know better when I get there。 See if anyone's running around looking nervous or anxious or waiting for a phone call as if his life depended on it'
Then what？'
I'll do the same as I did with d'Amacourt。 Wait outside and follow whoever it is。 I'm this close； I won't miss。 And I'll be careful。'
'Will you call me？'
I'll try。'
'I may go crazy waiting。 Not knowing。'
'Don't wait Can you deposit the bonds somewhere？'
The banks are closed。'
'Use a large hotel； hotels have vaults。'
'You have to have a room。'
'Take one。 At the Meurice； or the Georges Cinq。 Leave the case at the desk； but e back here。'
Marie nodded。 'It would give me something to do。'
Then call Ottawa。 Find out what happened。〃
'I will'
Bourne crossed to the bedside table and picked up a number
of five…thousand franc notes。 'A bribe would be easier；' he said。 'I don't think it'll happen； but it could。'
'It could；' agreed Marie； and then in the same breath continued； 'Did you hear yourself？ You just rattled off the names of two hotels。〃
'I heard。' He turned and faced her。 'I've been here before。 Many times。 I lived here； but not in those hotels。 In out…of…the…way streets； I think。 Not very easily found。'
The moment passed in silence； the fear electric。
'I love you； Jason。'
'I love you； too；' said Bourne。
'e back to me。 No matter what happens； e back to me。'
The lighting was soft and dramatic； pinpoint spotlights shining down from the dark brown ceiling； bathing mannequins and expensively dressed in pools of flattering yellows。 The jewelry and accessories counters were lined with black velvet； silks of bright red and green tastefully flowing above the midnight sheen； glistening eruptions of gold and silver caught in the recessed frame lights。 The aisles curved graciously in semicircles； giving an illusion of space that was not there； for Les Classiques； though hardly small； was not a large emporium。 It was； however； a beautifully appointed shop on one of the most costly strips of real estate in Paris。 Fitting rooms with doors of tinted glass were at the rear； beneath a balcony where the offices of management were located。 A carpeted staircase rose on the right beside an elevated switchboard in front of which sat an oddly out…of…place middle…aged man dressed in a conservative business suit； operating the console； speaking into a mouthpiece that was an extension of his single earphone。
The staff were mostly women； tall； slender； gaunt of face and body； living postmortems of former fashion models whose tastes and intelligence carried them beyond their sisters in the trade； other practices no longer feasible。 The few men in evidence were also slender； reedlike figures emphasized by form…fitting clothes； gestures rapid； stances balletically defiant。
Light romantic music floated out of the dark ceiling； quiet crescendos abstractly punctuated by the beams of the miniature spotlights。 Jason wandered through the aisles； studying mannequins； touching the fabric； making his own appraisals。 They covered his essential bewilderment Where was the confusion； the anxiety he expected …to find at the core of Carlos's message centre？ He glanced up at the open office doors and the single corridor that bisected the small plex。 Men and women walked casually about as they did on the main floor； every now and then stopping one another； exchanging pleasantries or scraps of relevantly irrelevant information。 Gossip。 Nowhere was there the slightest sense of urgency； no sign at all that a vital trap had exploded in their faces； an imported killer … the only man in Paris who worked for Carlos and could identify the target … shot in the head； dead in the back of an armoured van on the Quai de la Rapee。
It was incredible； if only because the whole atmosphere was the opposite of what he had anticipated。 Not that he expected to find chaos； far from it； the soldiers of Carlos were too controlled for that。 Still he had expected something。 And here there were no strained faces； or darting eyes； no abrupt movements that signified alarm。 Nothing whatsoever was unusual； the elegant world of haute couture continued to spin in its elegant orbit； unmindful of events that should have thrown its axis off balance。
Still； there was a private telephone somewhere and someone who not only spoke for Carlos but was also empowered to set in motion three killers on the hunt。 A woman。。。
He saw her； it had to be her。 Halfway down the carpeted staircase； a tall imperious woman with a face that age and cosmetics had rendered into a cold mask of itself。 She was stopped by a reedlike male clerk who held out a salesbook for the woman's approval； she looked at it； then glanced down at the floor； at a nervous； middle…aged man by a nearby jewelry counter。 The glance was brief； but pointed； the message clear。 All right； mon ami； pick up your bauble b