The Bourne Identity (55 page)

"Unexpected?"

"She has many interests, forever demanding her attention. A Franco-Swiss museum in Grenoble, a fine arts gallery in Amsterdam, a monument to the Resistance in Boulogne-sur-Mer, an idiotic oceanography conference in Marseilles. We had a heated argument over that one. I needed her in Paris; there were diplomatic functions I had to attend and wanted her with me. She would not stay. It was as though she were being ordered to be here and there and somewhere else at a given moment."

Grenoble--near the Swiss border, an hour from Zurich. Amsterdam. Boulogne-sur-Mer--on the
Channel, an hour from London. Marseilles ... Carlos.

"When was the conference in Marseilles?" asked Jason.

"Last August, I believe. Toward the latter part of the month."

"On August 26, at five o'clock in the afternoon, Ambassador Howard Leland was assassinated on the Marseilles waterfront."

"Yes, I know," said Villiers. "You spoke of it before. I mourn the passing of the man, not his
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judgments." The old soldier stopped; he looked at Bourne. "My
God
," he whispered. "She had to be with him. Carlos summoned her and she came to him. She
obeyed
."

"I never went this far," said Jason. "I swear to you I thought of her as a relay--a blind relay. I never went this far."

Suddenly, from the old man's throat came a scream--deep and filled with agony and hatred. He brought his hands to his face, his head arched back once again in the moonlight; and he wept. Bourne did not move; there was nothing he could do. "I'm sorry," he said. The general regained control. "And so am I," he replied finally. "I apologize."

"No need to."

"I think there is. We will discuss it no further. I shall do what has to be done."

"Which is?"

The soldier sat erect on the bench, his jaw firm. "You can ask that?"

"I have to ask it."

"Having done what she's done is no different from having killed the child of mine she did not bear. She pretended to hold his memory dear. Yet she was and is an accomplice to his murder. And all the while she committed a second treason against the nation I have served throughout my life."

"You're going to kill her?"

"I'm going to kill her. She will tell me the truth and she will die."

"She'll deny everything you say."

"I doubt it."

"That's crazy!"

"Young man, I've spent over half a century trapping and fighting the enemies of France, even when they were Frenchmen. The truth will be heard."

"What do you think she's going to do? Sit there and listen to you and calmly agree that she's guilty?"

"She'll do nothing calmly. But she'll agree; shell proclaim it."

"Why would she?"

"Because when I accuse her she'll have the opportunity to kill me. When she makes the attempt, I will have my explanation, won't I?"

"You'd take that risk?"

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"I must take it."

"Suppose she doesn't make the attempt, doesn't try to kill you?"

"That would be another explanation," Villiers said. "In that unlikely event, I should look to my flanks if I were you, monsieur." He shook his head. "It will not happen. We both know it, I far more clearly than you."

"Listen to me," insisted Jason. "You say there was your son first Think of him! Go after the killer, not the accomplice. She's an enormous wound for you, but he's a greater wound. Get the man who killed your son! In the end, you'll get both. Don't confront her; not yet. Use what you know against Carlos. Hunt him with me. No one's ever been this close."

"You ask more than I can give," said the old man.

"Not if you think about your son. If you think of yourself, it is. But not if you think of the rue du Bac."

"You are excessively cruel, monsieur."

"I'm right and you know it."

A high cloud floated by in the night sky, briefly blocking the light of the moon. Darkness was complete; Jason shivered. The old soldier spoke, resignation in his voice.

"Yes, you are right," he said. "Excessively cruel and excessively right. It's the killer, not the whore, who must be stopped. How do we work together? Hunt together?"

Bourne closed his eyes briefly in relief. "Don't do anything. Carlos has to be looking for me all over Paris. I've killed his men, uncovered a drop, found a contact. I'm too close to him. Unless we're both mistaken, your telephone will get busier and busier. I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"I'll intercept a half a dozen employees of Les Classiques. Several clerks, the Lavier woman, Bergeron maybe, and certainly the man at the switchboard. They'll talk. And so will I. That phone of yours will be busy as hell."

"But what of me? What do I do?"

"Stay home. Say you're not feeling well. And whenever that phone rings, stay near whoever else answers. Listen to the conversation, try to pick up codes, question the servants as to what was said to them. You could even listen in. If you hear something, fine, but you probably won't. Whoever's on the line will know you're there. Still, you'll frustrate the relay. And depending upon where your wife is--"

"The whore is," broke in the old soldier.

"--in Carlos' hierarchy, we might even force him to come out."

"Again, how?"

"His lines of communication will be disrupted. The secure, unthinkable relay will be interfered with. He'll
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demand a meeting with your wife."

"He would hardly announce the whereabouts."

"He has to tell
her
." Bourne paused, another thought coming into focus. "If the disruption is severe enough, there'll be that one phone call, or that one person you don't know coming to the house, and shortly after, your wife will tell you she has to go somewhere. When it happens insist she leave a number where she can be reached. Be firm about it; you're not trying to stop her from going, but you
must
be able to reach her. Tell her anything--use the relationship
she
developed. Say it's a highly sensitive military matter you can't talk about until you get a clearance. Then you want to discuss it with her before you render a judgment. She might jump at it."

"What will it serve?"

"She'll be telling you where she is. Maybe where Carlos is. If not Carlos, certainly others closer to him. Then reach me. I'll give you a hotel and a room number. The name on the registry is meaningless, don't bother about it."

"Why don't you give me your real name?"

"Because if you ever mentioned it--consciously or unconsciously--you'd be dead."

"I'm not senile."

"No, you're not. But you're a man who's been' hurt very badly. As badly as a person can be hurt, I think.
You
may risk your life; I won't."

"You're a strange man, monsieur."

"Yes. If I'm not there when you call, a woman will answer. She'll know where I am. We'll set up timing for messages."

"A woman?" the general drew back. "You've said nothing about a woman, or anyone else."

"There is no one else. Without her I wouldn't be alive. Carlos is hunting both of us; he's tried to kill both of us."

"Does she know about me?"

"Yes. She's the one who said it couldn't be true. That you couldn't be allied with Carlos. I thought you were."

"Perhaps I'll meet her."

"Not likely. Until Carlos is taken--if he
can
be taken--we can't be seen with you. Of all people, not you. Afterwards--if there is an afterwards--you may not want to be seen with us. With me. I'm being honest with you."

"I understand that and I respect it In any event, thank this woman for me. Thank her for thinking I could be no part of Carlos."

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Bourne nodded. "Can you be sure your private line isn't tapped?"

"Absolutely. It is swept on a regular basis; all the telephones restricted by the Conseiller are."

"Whenever you expect a call from me, answer the phone and clear your throat twice. I'll know it's you. If for any reason you can't talk, tell me to call your secretary in the morning. I'll call back in ten minutes. What's the number?"

Villiers gave it to him. "Your hotel?" asked the general.

"The Terrasse. Rue de Maistre, Montmartre. Room 420."

"When will you begin?"

"As soon as possible. Noon, today."

"Be like a wolfpack," said the old soldier, leaning forward, a commander instructing his officer corps.

"Strike swiftly."

27

"She was so charming, I simply
must
do something for her," cried Marie in ebullient French into the telephone. "Also for the sweet young man; he was of such help. I tell you, the dress was a
succes fou!

I'm
so
grateful."

"From your, descriptions, madame," replied the cultured male voice on the switchboard at Les Classiques, "I'm sure you mean Janine and Claude."

"Yes, of course. Janine and Claude, I remember now. I'll drop each a note with a token of my thanks. Would you by any chance know their last names? I mean, it seems so crass to address envelopes simply to 'Janine' and 'Claude.' Rather like sending missives to servants, don't you think? Could you ask Jacqueline?"

"It's not necessary, madame. I know them. And may I say that madame is as sensitive as she is generous. Janine Dolbert and Claude Oreale."

"Janine Dolbert and Claude Oreale," repeated Marie, looking at Jason. "Janine is married to that cute pianist, isn't she?"

"I don't believe Mademoiselle Dolbert is married to anyone."

"Of course. I'm thinking of someone else."

"If I may, madame, I didn't catch
your
name."

"How silly of me!" Marie thrust the phone away and raised her voice. "Darling, you're back, and so soon! That's marvelous. I'm talking to those lovely people at Les Classiques. ... Yes, right away, my dear." She pulled the phone to her lips. "Thank you so much. You've been
very
kind." She hung up.

"How'd I do?"

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"If you ever decide to get out of economics," said Jason, poring through the Paris telephone book, "go into sales. I bought every word you said."

"Were the descriptions accurate?"

"To a cadaver and a very limp wrist. Nice touch, the pianist."

"It struck me that if she were married, the phone would be in her husband's name."

"It isn't," interrupted Bourne. "Here it is. Dolbert, Janine, rue Losserand." Jason wrote down the address. "Oreale, that's with an
O
, like the bird, isn't it? Not
Au
."

"I think so." Marie lit a cigarette. "You're really going to go to their homes?"

Bourne nodded. "If I picked them up in Saint-Honore, Carlos will have it watched."

"What about the others? Lavier, Bergeron, whoever-he-is on the switchboard."

"Tomorrow. Today's for the groundswell."

"The what?"

"Get them all talking. Running around saying things that shouldn't be said. By closing time, word will be spread through the store by Dolbert and Oreale. I'll reach two others tonight; they'll call Lavier and the man at the switchboard. We'll have the first shock wave, and then the second. The general's phone will start ringing this afternoon. By morning the panic should be complete."

"Two questions," said Marie, getting up from the edge of the bed and coming toward him. "How are you going to get two clerks away from Les Classiques during store hours? And what people will you reach tonight?"

"Nobody lives in a deep freeze," replied Bourne, looking at his watch. "Especially in
haute couture
. It's 11:15 now; I'll get to Dolbert's apartment by noon and have the superintendent reach her at work. He'll tell her to come home right away. There's an urgent, very personal problem she'd better deal with."

"What problem?"

"I don't know, but who hasn't got one?"

"You'll do the same with Oreale?"

"Probably even more effective."

"You're outrageous, Jason."

"I'm deadly serious," said Bourne, his finger once again sliding down a column of names. "Here he is. Oreale, Claude Giselle. No comment. Rue Racine. I'll reach him by three; when I'm finished he'll head right back to Saint-Honore and start screaming."

"What about the other two? Who are they?"

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"I'll get names from either Oreale or Dolbert, or both. They won't know it, but they'll be giving me the second shock wave."

Jason stood in the shadows of the recessed doorway, in rue Losserand. He was fifteen feet from the entrance to Janine Dolbert's small apartment house where moments before a bewildered and suddenly richer
surintendant
had obliged a well-spoken stranger by calling Mademoiselle Dolbert at work and telling her that a gentleman in a chauffeured limousine had been around twice asking for her. He was back again; what should the
surintendant
do?

A small black taxi pulled up to the curb, and an agitated, cadaverous Janine Dolbert literally jumped out. Jason rushed from the doorway, intercepting her on the pavement, only feet from the entrance.

"That was quick," he said, touching her elbow. "So nice to see you again. You were very helpful the other day."

Janine Dolbert stared at him, her lips parted in recollection, then astonishment. "
You
. The American,"

she said in English. "Monsieur Briggs, isn't it? Are you the one who--"

"I told my chauffeur to take an hour off. I wanted to see you privately."

"Me? What could you possibly wish to see me about?"