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whose afflictions were not explained in twenty years of training； but were understandable if one thought about the pains and the losses； the unending waves of violence。。。 all ending in futility。 No one knew anything really。 Nothing made sense。 A Carlos was trapped； killed today； and another would take his place。 Why did we do it。。。 David？
David。 I say your name finally。 We were friends once。 David。。。 Delta。 I knew your wife and your children。 We drank together and had a few dinners together in far…off posts in Asia。 You were the best foreign service officer in the Orient and everyone knew it。 You were going to be the key to the new policy； the one that was around the corner。 And then it happened。 Death from the skies in the Mekong。。。 You turned； David。 We all lost； but only one of us became Delta。 In Medusa。 I did not know you that well … drinks and a dinner or two do not a close panion make … but few of us bee animals。 You did。 Delta。
And now you must die。 Nobody can afford you any longer。 None of us。
'Leave us； please；' said General Villiers to his aide as he sat down opposite Marie St Jacques in the Montmartre cafe〃。 The aide nodded and walked to a table ten feet from the booth； he would leave but he was still on guard。 The exhausted old soldier looked at Marie。 'Why did you insist on my ing here？ He wanted you out of Paris。 I gave him my word。'
'Out of Paris； out of the race；' said Marie； touched by the sight of the old man's haggard face。 'I'm sorry。 I don't want to be another burden for you。 I heard the reports on the radio。'
'Insanity；' said Villiers； picking up the brandy his aide had ordered for him。 Three hours with the police living a terrible lie； condemning a man for a crime that was mine alone。'
The description was accurate； uncannily accurate。 No one could miss him。'
'He gave it to me himself。 He sat in front of my wife's mirror and told me what to say； looking at his own face in the strangest manner。 He saw it was the only way。 Carlos could only be convinced by my going to the police； creating a manhunt。 He was right； of course。'
'He was right；' agreed Marie； 'but he's not in Paris； or Brussels； or Amsterdam。' 'I beg your pardon？' 'I want you to tell me where he's gone。' 'He told you himself。' 'He lied to me。' 'How can you be certain？'
'Because I know when he tells me the truth。 You see； we both listen for it。'
'You both。。。？ I'm afraid I don't understand。' 'I didn't think you would； I was sure he hadn't told you。 When he lied to me on the phone； saying the things he said so hesitantly； knowing I knew they were lies； I couldn't understand。 I didn't piece it together until I heard the radio reports。 Yours and another。 That description。。。 so plete； so total； even to the scar on his left temple。 Then I knew。 He wasn't planning to stay in Paris； or within five hundred miles of Paris。 He was going far away … where that description wouldn't mean very much … where Carlos could be led； delivered to the people Jason had his agreement with。 Am I right？'
Villiers put down the glass。 'I've given my word。 You're to be taken to safety in the country。 I don't understand the things you're saying。'
'Then I'll try to be clearer；' said Marie； leaning forward。 'There was another report on the radio； one you obviously didn't hear because you were with the police or in seclusion。 Two men were found shot to death in a cemetery near Rambouillet this morning。 One was a known killer from St…Gervais。 The other was identified as a former American Intelligence officer living in Paris； a highly controversial man who was given the choice of retiring from the army or facing a court martial。'
'Are you saying the incidents are related？' asked the old man。
'Jason was instructed by the American Embassy to go to that cemetery last night to meet a man flying over from Washington。'
Washington？'
'Yes。 His agreement was with a small group of men from American Intelligence。 They tried to kill him last night； they think they have to kill him。'
'Good God； why？'
'Because they can't trust him。 They don't know what he's done or where he's been for a long period of time and he can't tell them。' Marie paused； closing her eyes briefly。 'He doesn't know who he is。 He doesn't know who they are； and the man from Washington hired other men to kill him last night That man wouldn't listen； they think he's betrayed them； stolen millions from them； killed men he's never heard of。 He hasn't but he doesn't have any clear answers either。 He's a man with only fragments of a memory； each fragment condemning him。 He's a near total amnesiac。'
Villiers's lined face was locked in astonishment； his eyes pained in recollection。 ' 〃For all the wrong reasons。。。〃 He said that to me。 〃They have men everywhere。。。 the orders are to execute me on sight I'm hunted by men I don't know and can't see。 For all the wrong reasons。〃'
'For all the wrong reasons；' emphasized Marie； reaching across the narrow table and touching the old man's arm。 'And they do have men everywhere； men ordered to kill him on sight。 Wherever he goes； they'll be waiting。〃
'How will they know where he's gone？〃
'He'll tell them。 It's part of his strategy。 And when he does； they'll kill him。 He's walking into his own trap。'
For several moments Villiers was silent； his guilt overwhelming。 Finally he spoke in a whisper。 'Almighty God； what have I done？'
'What you thought was right。 What he persuaded you was right。 You can't blame yourself。 Or him； really。'
'He said he was going to write out everything that had happened to him； everything that he remembered。。。 How painful that statement must have been for him。 I can't wait for that letter； Mademoiselle。 We can't wait。 I must know everything you can tell me。 Now。'
'What can you do？'
'Go to the American Embassy。 To the ambassador。 Now。 Everything。'
Marie St Jacques withdrew her hand slowly as she leaned back in the booth； her dark red hair against the banquette。 Her eyes were far away； clouded with the mist of tears。 'He told me his life began for him on a small island in the Mediterranean called lie de Port Noir。。。'
The Secretary of State walked angrily into the office of the director of Consular Operations； the department's section dealing with clandestine activities。 He strode across the room to the desk of the astonished director； who rose at the sight of this powerful man； his expression a mixture of shock and bewilderment。
'Mr。。 Secretary？。。。 I didn't receive any message from your office； sir。 I would have e upstairs right away。'
The Secretary of State slapped a yellow legal pad down on the director's desk。 On the top page was a column of six names written with the broad strokes of a felt…tipped pen。
Bourne
Delta
Medusa
Cain
Carlos
Treadstone
'What is this？' asked the Secretary。 'What the hell is this？' The director of Cons…Op leaned over the desk。 'I don't know； sir。 They're names； of course。 A code for the alphabet … the letter D … and a reference to Medusa； that's still classified； but I've heard of it。 And I suppose the 〃Carlos〃 refers to the assassin； I wish we knew more about him。 But I've never heard of 〃Bourne〃 or 〃Cain〃 or 〃Treadstone〃。'
'Then e up to my office and listen to a tape of a telephone conversation that I've just had with Paris and you'll learn all about them！' exploded the Secretary of State。 'There are extraordinary things on that tape； including killings in
Ottawa and Paris and some very strange dealings our First Secretary in the Montaigne had with a C。I。A。 man。 There's also outright lying to the authorities of foreign governments； to our own intelligence units and to the European newspapers … with neither the knowledge or the consent of the Department of State！ There's been a global deception that's spread misinformation throughout more countries than I want to think about。 We're flying over under a deep diplomatic a Canadian woman； an economist for the government in Ottawa who's wanted for murder in Zurich。 We're being forced to grant asylum to a fugitive； to subvert the laws； because if that woman's telling the truth we've got our ass in a sling！ I want to know what's been going on。 Cancel everything on your calendar； and I mean everything。 You're spending the rest of the day and all night if you have to digging this damn thing out of the ground。 There's a man walking around who doesn't know who he is； but with more classified information in his head than ten sterile puters！'
It was past midnight when the exhausted director of Consular Operations made the connection； he had nearly missed it The First Secretary at the embassy in Paris； under threat of instant dismissal； had given him Alexander Conklin's name。 But Conklin was nowhere to be found。 He had returned to Washington from Brussels on a military jet in the morning； but had signed out of Langley at 1。22 in the afternoon； leaving no telephone number … not even an emergency number …where he could be reached。 And from what the director had learned about Conklin； that omission was extraordinary。 The C。I。A。 man was what was monly referred to as a shark…killer； he directed individual strategies throughout the world where defection and treason were suspected。 There were too many men in