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'Oh e now； old friend。 That's not necessary；' said the man with the gun。 'I can see by the expression on Mr。 Abbott's face that he realizes his initial doubts about you were accurate。 One should always trust one's first instincts； shouldn't one； Monk。。。？ You were right； of course。 We found another discontented man； your system reproduces them with alarming rapidity。 He； indeed； gave us the Medusa files； and they did； indeed； lead us to Bourne。'
'What are you doing？！' screamed Gillette。 'What are you saying？'
'You're a bore； Alfred。 But you were always part of a damn fine staff。 It's too bad you didn't know which staff to stay with； your kind never do。〃
'You！。。。' Gillette rose bodily off the seat； his face contorted。
The European fired his weapon； the spit echoing briefly in the soft interior of the limousine。 The bureaucrat slumped over； his body crumbling to the floor against the door； owl…eyes wide in death。
'I don't think you mourn him；' said the European。
'I don't；' said the Monk。
'It is Bourne out there； you know。 Cain turned； he broke。 The long period of silence is over。 The snake from Medusa's head decided to strike out on his own。 Or perhaps he was bought That's possible too； isn't it？ Carlos buys many men； the one at your feet now； for example。'
'You'll learn nothing from me。 Don't try。' There's nothing to learn。 We know it all。 Delta； Carlos。。。 Cain。 But the names aren't important any longer； they never were； really。 All that remains is the final isolation … removing the man…monk who makes the decisions。 You。 Bourne is trapped。 He's finished。'
There are others who make decisions。 He'll reach them。' 'If he does； they'll kill him on sight There's nothing more despicable than a man who's turned； but in order for a man to turn there has to be irrefutable proof that he was yours to begin with。 Carlos has the proof； he …was yours； his origins as sensitive as anything in the Medusa files。'
The old man frowned； he was frightened； not for his life； but for something infinitely more indispensable。 'You're out of your mind；' he said。 There is no proof。'
That was the flaw； your flaw。 Carlos is thorough； his tentacles reach into all manner of hidden recesses。 You needed a man from Medusa； someone who had lived and disappeared。 You chose a man named Bourne because the circumstances of his disappearance had been obliterated； eliminated from every existing record … or so you believed。 But you didn't consider Hanoi's own field； personnel who had infiltrated Medusa； those records exist。 On 25 March 1968； Jason Bourne was executed by an American Intelligence officer in the jungles of Tarn Quan。'
The Monk lunged forward； there was nothing left but a final gesture； a final defiance。 The European fired。
The door of the brownstone opened。 From the shadows beneath the staircase； the chauffeur smiled。 The White House aide was being escorted out by the Yachtsman； and the killer knew that meant the primary alarms were off。 The three…second span was eliminated。 'So good of you to drop by；' said the Yachtsman shaking hands。
Thank you very much； sir。〃
These were the last words either man spoke。 The chauffeur aimed above the brick…walled railing； pulling the trigger twice； the muffled reports indistinguishable from the myriad if distant sounds of the city。 The Yachtsman fell back inside； the White House aide clutched his upper chest； reeling into the door frame。 The chauffeur spun around the wall and raced up the steps； catching Stevens's body as it plummeted down。 With bullet…like strength； the killer lifted the White House man off his feet； hurling him back through the door into the foyer beyond the Yachtsman。 Then he turned to the interior border of the heavy； steel…plated door。 He knew what to look for； he found it。 Along the upper moulding； disappearing into the wall； was a thick cable； stained the colour of the doorframe。 He closed the door part way； raised his gun and fired into the cable。 The spit was followed by an eruption of static and sparks； the security cameras were blown out； screens everywhere now dark。
He opened the door to signal； it was not necessary。 The European was walking rapidly across the quiet street。 Within seconds he had climbed the steps and was inside； glancing around the foyer and the hallway … and at the door at the end of the hall。 Together both men lifted a rug from the foyer floor； the European closing the door on its edge； welding cloth and steel together so that a two…inch space remained； the security bolts still in place。 No back…up alarms could be raised。
They stood erect in silence； both knew that if the discovery was going to be made； it would be made quickly。 It came with the sound of an upstairs door opening； followed by footsteps and words that floated down the staircase in a cultured female voice。
'Darling！ I just noticed； the damn camera's on the fritz。 Would you check it； please？' There was a pause； then the woman spoke again。 'On second thought why not tell the Jesuit？' Again the pause； again with precise timing。 'Don't bother then； darling。 I'll tell David）'
Two footsteps。 Silence。 A rustle of cloth。 The European studied the stairwell。 A light went out。 David。 Jesuit〃。。 Monk！
'Get her！' he roared at the chauffeur； spinning around； his weapon levelled at the door at the end of the hallway。
The Uniformed man raced up the staircase； there was a gunshot； it came from a powerful weapon … unmuffled； un…silenced。 The European looked up； the chauffeur was holding his shoulder； his coat drenched with blood； his pistol held out； spitting repeatedly up the well of the stairs。
The door at the end of the hallway was yanked open； the major standing there in shock； a file folder in his hand。 The European fired twice； Gordon Webb arched backwards； his throat torn open； the papers in the folder flying out behind him。 The man in the raincoat raced up the steps to the chauffeur； above； over the railing； was the grey…haired woman； dead； blood spilling out of her head and neck。 'Are you all right？ Can you move？' asked the European。
The chauffeur nodded。 〃The bitch blew half my shoulder off； but I can manage。'
'You have to！' manded his superior； ripping off his raincoat。 'Put on my coat I want the Monk in here！ Quickly！'
'Jesus！。。。〃
'Carlos wants the Monk in here！'
Awkwardly the wounded man put on the black raincoat and made his way down the staircase around the bodies of the Yachtsman and the White House aide。 Carefully； in pain； he let himself out of the door and down the front steps。
The European watched him； holding the door； making sure the man was sufficiently mobile for the task。 He was； he was a bull whose every appetite was satisfied by Carlos。 The chauffeur would carry David Abbott's corpse back into the brown…stone； no doubt supporting it as though helping an ageing drunk for the benefit of anyone in the street； and then he would somehow contain his bleeding long enough to drive Alfred Gillette's body across the river； burying him in a swamp。 Carlos's men were capable of such things； they were all bulls。 Discontented bulls who had found their own causes in a single man。
The European turned and started down the hall； there was