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'I've only got a few minutes；' said Jason。 'No time for anything but business。'
'Business？' asked Oreale； his expression paralysed。 'This。。。 this darkroom？ What darkroom？'
'Forget it。 You had something better going。'
'What business！'
'We received word from Zurich； and we want you to get it to your friend Lavier'
'Madame Jacqueline？ My friend？'
'We can't trust the phones。'
'What phones？ The word？ What word？'
'Carlos is right。'
'Carlos？ Carlos who？'
The assassin。'
Claude Oreale screamed。 He brought his hand up to his mouth； bit the knuckle of his index finger； and screamed。 'What are you saying？'
'Why are you saying it to me！'
'You're number five。 We're counting on you。'
'Five what？ For what？'
To help Carlos escape the net they're closing in tomorrow； the next day； perhaps the day after that。 He's to stay away； he's got to stay away。 They'll surround the shop； marksmen every ten feet。 The crossfire will be murderous； if he's in there； it could be a massacre。 Every one of you。 Dead。'
Oreale screamed again； his knuckle red。 'Will you stop this！ I don't know what you're talking about！ You're a maniac and I won't hear another word … I haven't heard anything。 Carlos； crossfire。。。 massacres！ God； I'm suffocating。。。 I need air！'
'You'll get money。 A lot of it； I imagine。 Lavier will thank you。 Also d'Anjou。'
'D'Anjou。 He loathes me！ He calls me a peacock； insults me every chance he gets。'
'It's his cover； of course。 Actually； he's very fond of you …perhaps more than you know。 He's number six。' 'What are these numbers！ Stop talking numbers！' 'How else can we distinguish between you； allocate assignments？ We can't use names。' 'Who can't？'
'All of us who work for Carlos。'
The scream was ear shattering as the blood trickled from Oreale's finger。 'I won't listen！ I'm a couturier； an artist！'
'You're number five。 You'll do exactly as we say or you'll never see this passion pit of yours again。' 'Aunghunn！'
'Stop screaming！ We appreciate you； we know you're all under a strain。 Incidentally； we don't trust the bookkeeper。' Trignon？'
'First names only。 Obscurity's important' 'Pierre； then。 He's hateful。 He deducts for telephone calls。' 'We think he's working for Interpol。〃 'Interpol？'
'If he is； you could all spend ten years in prison。 You'd be eaten alive； Claude。' 'Aunghunn！'
'Shut up！ Just let Bergeron know what we think。 Keep your eyes on Trignon； especially during the next two days。 If he leaves the store for any reason watch out。 It could mean the trap's closing。' Bourne walked to the door； his band in his pocket。 'I've got to get back； and so do you。 Tell numbers one to six everything I told you。 It's vital the word is spread。'
Oreale screamed again； hysterically again。 'Numbers！ Always numbers What number！ I'm an artist； not a number I'
'You won't have a face unless you get back there as fast as you got here。 Reach Lavier； d'Anjou； Bergeron。 As quickly as you can。 Then the others。'
'What others？'
'Ask number two。'
'Two？'
'Dolbert。 Janine Dolbert。'
Canine。 Her too？'
'That's right。 She's two。'
The salesman flung his arms wildly above him in helpless protest。 This is madness。 Nothing makes sense！'
'Your life does； Claude；' said Jason simply。 'Value it。。。 I'll be waiting across the street。 Leave here in exactly three minutes。 And don't use the phone； just leave and get back to Les Classiques。 If you're not out of here in three minutes I'll have to return。' He took his hand out of his pocket。 In it was his gun。
Oreale expunged a lungful of air； his face ashen as he stared at the weapon。
Bourne let himself out and closed the door。
The telephone rang on the bedside table。 Marie looked at her watch； it was 8：15 and for a moment she felt a sharp jolt of fear。 Jason had said he would call at 9：00。 He had left La Terrasse after dark； around 7：00； to intercept a salesgirl named Monique Brielle。 The schedule was precise； to be interrupted only in emergency。 Had something happened？
'Is this room Four…twenty？' asked the deep male voice on the line。
Relief swept over Marie； the man was Andrel Villiers。 The general had called late in the afternoon to tell Jason that panic had spread throughout Les Classiques； his wife had been summoned to the phone no less than six times over the span of an hour and a half。 Not once； however； had he been able to listen to anything of substance； whenever he had picked up the phone； serious conversation had been replaced by innocuous banter。
'Yes；' said Marie。 This is Four…twenty。'
'Forgive me； we did not speak before。〃
'I know who you are。〃
'I'm also aware of you。 May I take the liberty of saying thank you。〃
'I understand。 You're wele。'
To substance。 I'm telephoning from my office； and； of course； there's no extension for this line。 Tell our mutual friend that the crisis has accelerated。 My wife has taken to her room； claiming nausea； but apparently she's not too ill to be on the phone。 On several occasions； as before； I picked up only to realize that they were alert for any interference。 Each time I apologized rather gruffly； saying I expected calls。 Frankly； I'm not at all sure my wife was convinced； but of course she's in no position to question me。 I'll be blunt； Mademoiselle。 There is unspoken friction building up between us； and beneath the surface it is violent。 May God give me strength。'
'I can only ask you to remember the objective；' broke in Marie。 'Remember your son。〃
'Yes；' said the old man quietly。 'My son。 And the whore who claims to revere his memory。。。 I'm sorry。'
'It's all right I'll convey what you've told me to our friend。 He'll be calling within the hour。'
'Please；' interrupted Villiers。 There's more。 It's the reason I had to reach you。 Twice while my wife was on the telephone the voices held meaning for me。 The second I recognized； a face came to mind instantly。 He's on a switchboard in Saint…Honoree。'
'We know his name。 What about the first？'
'It was strange。 I did not know the voice； there was no face to go with it； but I understood why it was there。 It was an odd voice； half whisper； half mand； an echo of itself。 It was the mand that struck me。 You see； that voice was not having a conversation with my wife； it had issued an order。 It was altered the instant I got on the line； of course； a pre…arranged signal for a swift good…bye； but the residue remained。 That residue； even the tone； is well known to any soldier； it is his means of emphasis。 Am I being clear？'
'I think so；' said Marie gently； aware that if the old man was implying what she thought he was； the strain on him had to be unbearable。
'Be assured of it； Mademoiselle；' said the general； 'it was the killer pig。' Villiers stopped； his breathing audible； the next words drawn out； a strong man close to weeping。 'He was。。。 instructing。。。 my。。。 wife。' The old soldier's voice cracked。 'Forgive me the unforgivable。 I have no right to burden you。'
'You have every right；〃 said Marie； suddenly alarmed。 'What's happening has to be terribly painful for you； made worse because you have no one to talk to。'
'I am talking to you； Mademoiselle。 I shouldn't； but I am。'
'I wish we could keep talking。 I wish one of us could be with you。 But that's not possible and I know you understand that。 Please try to hold on。 It's terribly important that no connection be made between you and our friend。 It could cost you your life。'
'I think perhaps I have lost it。'
'C'est ridicule！' said Marie sharply； an intended slap in the old soldier's face。 'Vous etes soldat！ Arretez！〃
'Ahh； une institutrice parle a l'eleve en retard。 Vous avez raison。'
'On dit que vous etes un giant。 Je le crois。' There was silence on the line； Marie held her breath。 When Villiers spoke she breathed again。
'Our mutual friend is very fortunate。 You are a remarkable woman。'
'Not at all。' I just want my friend to e back to me。 There's nothing remarkable about that。'
'Perhaps not。' But I should also like to be your friend。 You reminded a very old man of who and what he is。 Or who and what he once was； and must try to be again。 I thank you for a second time。'
'You're wele。。。 my friend。' Marie hung up； profoundly moved and equally disturbed。 She was not convinced Villiers could face the next twenty…four hours and； if he could not； the assassin would know how deeply his apparatus had been penetrated。 He would order every contact at Les Classiques to run from Paris and disappear。 Or there would be a bloodbath in Saint…Honore achieving the same result。
If either happened； there would be no answers； no address in New York； no message deciphered nor the sender found。 The man she loved would be returned to his labyrinth。 And he would leave her。
Bourne saw her at the corner； walking under the spill of the streetlight towards the small hotel that was her home。 Monique Brielle； Jacqueline Lavier's number one girl； was a harder； more sinewy version of Janine Dolbert； he remembered seeing her at the shop。 There was an assurance about her； her stride the stride of a confident woman； secure in the knowledge of her expertise。 Very unflappable。 Jason could understand why she was Lavier's number one。 Their confrontation would be