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f their fabric brought back by a force that could serve causes they refused to admit were no longer viable。 Once a terrorist； always a terrorist； and assassination was the raw core of terror。
The general was raising his voice； Jason tried to hear the words through the glass。 They became clearer。
'。。。 our presence will be felt； our purpose understood。 We are together in our stand； and that stand is immovable； we shall be heard！ In memory of all those who have fallen … our brothers of the tunic and the cannon？ 'Who laid down their lives for the glory of France。 We shall force our beloved country to remember； and in their names to remain strong； lackey to no one Those who oppose us will know our anger。 In this； too； we are united。 We pray to Almighty God that those who have gone before us have found peace； for we are still in conflict。。。 Gentlemen。 I give you our Lady。 Our France。〃
There was a murmur of muttered approvals； the old soldiers remaining rigidly at attention。 And then another voice was raised； the first five words sung singly； joined at the sixth by the rest of the group。
Allans； enfants de la patrie； Le jour de gloire est arrive。。。
Bourne turned away； sickened by the sight and the sounds inside that room。 Lay waste in the name of glory； the death of fallen rades perforce demands further death。 It is required； and if it means a pact with Carlos； so be it。
What disturbed him so？ Why was he suddenly swept by feelings of anger and futility？ What triggered the revulsion he felt so strongly？ And then he knew。 He hated a man like Andrel Villiers； despised the men in that room。 They were all old men who made war； stealing life from the young。。。 and the very young。
Why were the mists closing in again？ Why was the pain so acute？ There was no time for questions； no strength to tolerate them。 He had to push them out of his mind； and concentrate on Andrel Francois Villiers； warrior and warlord； whose causes belonged to yesterday but whose pact with an assassin called for death today。
He would trap the general。 Break him。 Learn everything he knew and probably kill him。 Men like Villiers robbed life from the young and the very young。 They did not deserve to live。 7 am in my labyrinth again； and the walls are embedded with spikes。 Oh； Cod； they hurt。
Jason climbed over the railing in the darkness and lowered himself to the drainpipe； each muscle aching。 Pain； too； had to be erased。 He had to reach a deserted stretch of road in the moonlight and trap a broker of death。
Bourne waited in the Renault two hundred yards east of the restaurant entrance； the motor running； prepared to race ahead the instant he saw Villiers drive out。 Several others had already left； all in separate cars。 Conspirators did not advertise their association； and these old men were conspirators in the truest sense。 They had traded whatever honours they had earned for the lethal convenience of an assassin's gun and an assassin's organization。 Age and bias had robbed them of reason； as they had spent their lives robbing life。。。 from the young and the very young。
What was it？ Why won't it leave me？ Some terrible thing is deep inside me； trying to break out； trying I think to kill me。 The fear and the guilt sweep through me。。。 but of …what and for what I do not know。 Why should these withered old men provoke such feelings of fear and guilt。。。 and loathing？
They were war。 They were death。 On the ground and from the skies。 From the skies。。。 from the skies。 Help me； Marie。 For God's sake； help me！
There it was。 The headlights swung out of the drive； the long black chassis reflecting the wash of the floodlights。 Jason kept his own lights off as he pulled out of the shadows。 He accelerated down the road until he reached the first curve； where he switched on the headlights and pressed the pedal to the floor。 The isolated stretch of countryside was roughly two miles away； he had to get there quickly。
It was ten past eleven and； as three hours before； the fields swept into the hills； both bathed in the light of the March moon； now in the centre of the sky。 He reached the area； it was feasible。 The shoulder was wide； bordering a pasture； which meant that both cars could be pulled off the road。 The immediate objective； however； was to get Villiers to stop。 The general was old but not feeble； if the tactic were suspect； he would break over the grass and race away。 Everything was timing； and a totally convincing moment of the unexpected。
Bourne swung the Renault around in a U…turn； waited until he saw the headlights in the distance； then suddenly accelerated； swinging the wheel violently back and forth。 The car careened over the road … an out…of…control driver； incapable of finding a straight line； but nevertheless speeding。
Villiers had no choice； he slowed down； as Jason came racing insanely towards him。 Then abruptly； when the two cars were no more than twenty feet from colliding； Bourne spun the wheel to the left； braking as he did so； sliding into skid； tyres screeching。 He came to a stop； the window open； and raised his voice in an undefined cry。 Half shout； half scream； it could have been the vocal explosion of an ill man or a drunken man； but the one thing it was not was threatening。 He slapped his hand on the frame of the window and was silent； crouching in the seat； his gun on his lap。
He heard the door of Villiers's saloon open and peered through the steering wheel。 The old man was not visibly armed； he seemed to suspect nothing； relieved only that a collision had been avoided。 The general walked through the beams of the headlights to the Renault's left window； his shouts anxious； his French the interrogating mands of Saint Cyr。
'What's the meaning of this？ What do you think you're doing！ Are you all right？' His hands gripped the base of the window。
'Yes； but you're not；' replied Bourne in English； raising the gun。
'What？。。。' The old man gasped； standing erect。 'Who are you and what is this？'
Jason got out of the Renault； his left hand extended above the barrel of the weapon。 'I'm glad your English is fluent。 Walk back to your car。 Drive it off the road。'
'And if I refuse？'
'I'll kill you right now。 It wouldn't take much to provoke me。'
'Do these words e from the Red Brigades？ Or the Paris branch of the Baader…Meinhof？'
'Why？ Could you countermand them if they did？'
'I spit at them！ And you！'
'No one's ever doubted your courage； General。 Walk to your car。'
'It's not a matter of courage' said Villiers； without moving。 'It's a question of logic。 You'll acplish nothing by killing me； less by kidnapping me。 My orders are firm； fully understood by my staff and my family。 The Israelis are absolutely right！ There can be no negotiations with terrorists。 Use your gun； garbage！ Or get out of here！'
Jason studied the old soldier； suddenly profoundly uncertain； but not about to be fooled。 It would be in the furious eyes that stared at him。 One name soaked in filth coupled with another name heaped with the honours of his nation would cause another kind of explosion； it would be in the eyes。
'Back at that restaurant； you said France shouldn't be a lackey to anyone。 But a general of France became someone's lackey。 General Andrel Villiers； messenger for Carlos。。。 Carlos's contact； Carlos's soldier； Carlos's lackey。'
The furious eyes did grow wide； but not in any way Jason expected。 Fury was suddenly joined by hatred； not shock； not hysteria； but deep； unpromising abhorrence。 The back of Villiers's hand shot up； arching from his waist； the crack against Bourne's face sharp； accurate； painful。 It was followed by a forward slap； brutal； insulting； the force of the blow reeling Jason back on his feet。 The old man moved in； blocked by the barrel of the gun but unafraid； undeterred by its presence； intent only on inflicting punishment。 The blows came one after another； delivered by a man possessed。
'Pig！' screamed Villiers。 'Filthy； detestable pig！ Garbage！'
'I'll shoot！ I'll kill you！ Stop it！' But Bourne could not pull the trigger。 He was backed into the small car； his shoulders pressed against the roof。 Still the old man attacked； his hands flying out； swinging up； crashing down。
'Kill me if you can； if you dare！ Dirt！ Filth！' Jason threw the gun to the ground； raising his arms to fend off Villiers's assault。 He lashed his left hand out； grabbing the old man's right wrist； then his left； gripping the left forearm
that was slashing down like a broadsword。 He twisted both violently； bending Villiers into him； forcing the old soldier to stand motionless； their faces inches from each other； the old man's chest heaving。
'Are you telling me you're not Carlos's man？ Are you denying it？'
Villiers lunged forward； trying to break Bourne's grip； his barrel…like chest smashing into Jason。 'I revile you！ Animal！'
'Goddamn you； yes or no！
The old man spat in Bourne's face； the fire in his eyes now clouded； tears welling。 'Carlos killed my son；' he said in a whisper。 'He killed my only son on the rue du Bac。 My son's life was blown up with five sticks of dynamite on the rue du Bac'
Jason slowly reduced the pressure of his fingers。 Breathing heavily； he spoke as calmly as he could。
'Drive you