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〃That's a crock of paranoia…〃
〃Almost my words； but this is his turf； not ours。 Just like the windows。〃
〃Wait a minute！〃 exclaimed Bourne。 〃Suppose he is right？〃
〃Unlikely； but possible； except that…〃 Conklin could not finish his statement。 Jason reached under the right rear flap of his jacket； yanked out his own Graz Burya and started for the hallway door of the suite。 〃What are you doing？〃 cried Alex。
〃Probably giving your friend 'Kruppie' more credit than he deserves； but it's worth a try。 。。。 Get over there；〃 ordered Bourne； pointing to the far left corner of the room。 〃I'll leave the door unlocked； and when the steward gets here； tell him to e in…in Russian。〃
〃What about you？〃
〃There's an ice machine down the hall； it doesn't work； but it's in a cubicle along with a Pepsi machine。 That doesn't work either； but I'll slip inside。〃
〃Thank God for capitalists； no matter how misguided。 Go on！〃
The Medusan once known as Delta unlatched the door； opened it； glanced up and down the Metropole's corridor and rushed outside。 He raced down the hallway to the cut…out alcove that housed the two convenience machines and crouched by the right interior wall。 He waited； his knees and legs aching…pains he never felt only years ago…and then he heard the sounds of rolling wheels。 They grew louder and louder as the cart draped with a tablecloth passed and proceeded to the door of the suite。 He studied the floor steward； he was a young man in his twenties； blond； short of stature； and with the posture of an obsequious servant； cautiously he knocked on the door。 No Carlos he； thought Bourne； getting painfully to his feet。 He could hear Conklin's muffled voice telling the steward to enter； and as the young man opened the door； shoving the table inside； Jason calmly inserted his weapon into its concealed place。 He bent over and massaged his right calf； he could feel the swelling cluster of a muscle cramp。
It happened with the impact of a single furious wave against a shoal of rock。 A figure in black lurched out of an unseen recess in the corridor； racing past the machines。 Bourne spun back into the wall。 It was the Jackal！
38
Madness！ At full force Carlos slammed his right shoulder into the blond…haired waiter； propelling the young man across the hallway and crashing the room…service table over on its side； dishes and food splattered the walls and the carpeted floor。 Suddenly the waiter lunged to his left； spinning in midair as； astonishingly； he yanked a weapon from his belt。 The Jackal either sensed or caught the movement in the corner of his eye。 He whipped around； his automatic weapon on rapid fire； savagely pinning the blond Russian into the wall； bullets puncturing the waiter's head and torso。 At that prolonged； horrible moment； the enlarged sight line on the barrel of Bourne's Graz Burya caught in the waistline of his trousers。 He tore the fabric as the eyes of Carlos swept up centering on his own； fury and triumph in the assassin's stare。
Jason ripped the gun loose； spinning； crouching back into the wall of the small alcove as the Jackal's fusillade blew apart the gaudy paneling of the soft…drink machine and tore into the sheets of heavy plastic that fronted the broken…down ice maker。 On his stomach； Bourne surged across the opening； the Graz Burya raised and firing as fast as he could squeeze the trigger。 Simultaneously； there were other gunshots； not those of a machine pistol。 Alex was firing from inside the suite！ They had Carlos in their cross fire！ It was possible…it could all end in a hotel corridor in Moscow！ Let it happen； let it happen！
The Jackal roared； it was a defiant shriek at having been hit。 Bourne lunged back across the opening； pivoting once again into the wall； momentarily distracted by the sounds of a now functioning ice machine。 Again he crouched； inching his face toward the corner of the archway when the murderous insanity in the hallway erupted into the fever pitch of close bat。 Like an enraged caged animal； the wounded Carlos kept spinning around in place； continuous bursts from his weapon exploding as if he were firing through unseen walls that were closing in on him。 Two piercing； hysterical screams came from the far end of the hallway； one male； one female； a couple had been wounded or killed in the panicked fusillade of stray bullets。
〃Get down！〃 Conklin's scream from across the corridor was an instant mand for what Jason could not know。 〃Take cover！ Grab the fucking walls！〃 Bourne did as he was told； under standing only that the order meant he was to shove himself into as small a place as possible； protecting his head as much as possible。 The corner。 He lunged as the first explosion rocked the walls…somewhere…and then a second； this much nearer； far more thunderous； in the hallway itself。 Grenades！
Smoke mingled with falling plaster and shattered glass。 Gunshots。 Nine； one after another…a Graz Burya automatic 。。。 Alex！ Jason spun up and away from the corner of the recess and lurched for the opening。 Conklin stood outside the door of their suite in front of the upturned room…service table； he snapped out his empty clip and furiously searched his trousers pockets。 〃I haven't got one！〃 he shouted angrily； referring to the extra clips of ammunition supplied by Krupkin。 〃He ran around the corner into the other corridor； and I don't have any goddamned shells！〃
〃I do and I'm a lot faster than you；〃 said Jason； removing his spent magazine and inserting a fresh clip from his pocket。 〃Get back in there and call the lobby。 Tell them to clear it。〃
〃Krupkin said…〃
〃I don't give a damn what he said！ Tell them to shut down the elevators； barricade all staircase exits； and stay the hell away from this floor！〃
〃I see what you mean…〃
〃Do it！〃 Bourne raced down the hallway； wincing as he approached the couple who lay on the carpet； each moved； groaning。 Their clothes were spotted with blood； but they moved！ He turned and yelled to Alex； who was limping around the room…service table。 〃Get help up here！〃 he ordered； pointing at an exit door directly down the corridor。 〃They're alive！ Use that exit and only that one！〃
The hunt began； pounded and impeded by the fact that the word had been spread throughout these adjacent wings of the Metropole's tenth floor。 It took no imagination to realize that behind the closed doors； along both sides of the hallways； panicked calls were being made to the front desk as the sound of nearby gunfire echoed throughout the corridors。 Krupkin's strategy for a KGB assault team in civilian clothes had been nullified by the first burst from the Jackal's weapon。
Where was he？ There was another exit door at the far end of the long hallway Jason had entered； but there were perhaps fifteen to eighteen guest…room doors lining that hallway。 Carlos was no fool； and a wounded Carlos would call upon every tactic he could summon from a long life of violence and survival to survive； if only long enough to achieve the kill he wanted more than life itself。 。。。 Bourne suddenly realized how accurate his analysis was； for he was describing himself。 What had old Fontaine said on Tranquility Isle； in that faraway storeroom from which they had stared down at the procession of priests knowing that one had been bought by the Jackal？ 〃。。。 Two aging lions stalking each other； not caring who's killed in the cross fire〃…those had been Fontaine's words； a man who had sacrificed his life for another he barely knew because his own life was over； for the woman he loved was gone。 As Jason started cautiously； silently down the hall toward the first door on the left； he wondered if he could do the same。 He wanted desperately to live…with Marie and their children…but if she was gone 。。。 if they were gone 。。。 would life really matter？ Could he throw it away if he recognized something in another man that reflected something in himself？
No time。 Meditate on your own time； David Webb！ I have no use for you； you weak； soft son of a bitch。 Get away from me！ I have to flush out a bird of prey I've wanted for thirteen years。 His claws are razor…sharp and he's killed too often； too many； and now he wants to kill my own…your own。 Get away from me！
Bloodstains。 On the dull； dark brown carpet； wet driblets glistening in the dim overhead light。 Bourne crouched and felt them； they were wet； they were red…bloodred。 Unbroken； they passed the first door； then the second； remaining on the left…then they crossed the hall； the pattern now altered； no longer steady； instead zigzagging； as if the wound had been located； the bleeding partially stemmed。 The trail passed the sixth door on the right； and the seventh 。。。 then abruptly the shining red drops stopped…no； not entirely。 There was a trickle heading left； barely visible； and again； across the hallway…there it was！ A faint smudge of red just above the knob on the eighth door on the left； no more than twenty feet from the corridor's exit staircase。 Carlos was behind that door holding hostage whoever was inside。
Precision was everything now； every movement； every sound concentrated on the capture or the kill。 Breathing steadily while imposing a suspension of the muscular spasms he felt everywhere throughout his body； Bourne once more walked