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ife whose scabbard he threaded into his belt； a dual…chambered CO2 pistol； encased in a nylon shoulder holster； that silently shot immobilizing darts into attacking animals； such as pit bulls； two flares designed to assist stranded drivers in broken…down cars to attract or deter other motorists； a pair of small Zeiss Ikon 8x10 binoculars attached to his trousers by a Velcro strip； a penlight； raw…hide laces； and finally； pocket…sized wire cutters in case there was a metal fence。 Along with the automatic supplied by the Central Intelligence Agency； the gear was either lashed to his belt or concealed in his clothing。 The darkness came and Jason Bourne walked into the woods。
The white sheet of ocean spray burst up from the coral reef and appeared suspended； the dark blue waters of the Caribbean serving as a backdrop。 It was that hour of early evening； a long sundown imminent； when Tranquility Isle was bathed in alternating hot tropical colors； pockets of shadows constantly changing with each imperceptible descent of the orange sun。 The resort plex of Tranquility Inn had seemingly been cut out of three adjacent rock…strewn hills above an elongated beach sandwiched between huge natural jetties of coral。 Two rows of balconied pink villas with bright red roofs of terra…cotta extended from each side of the resort's central hub； a large circular building of heavy stone and thick glass； all the structures overlooking the water； the villas connected by a white concrete path bordered by low…cut shrubbery and lined with ground lamps。 Waiters in yellow guayabera jackets wheeled room…service tables along the path； delivering bottles and ice and canapés to Tranquility's guests； the majority of whom sat on their individual balconies savoring the end of the Caribbean day。 And as the shadows became more prominent； other people unobtrusively appeared along the beach and on the long dock that extended out over the water。 These were neither guests nor service employees； they were armed guards； each dressed in a dark brown tropical uniform and…again unobtrusively…with a MAC…10 machine pistol strapped to his belted waist。 On the opposite side of each jacket and hooked to the cloth was a pair of Zeiss Ikon 8x10 binoculars continuously used to scan the darkness。 The owner of Tranquility Inn was determined that it live up to its name。
On the large circular balcony of the villa nearest the main building and the attached glass…enclosed dining room； an elderly infirm woman sat in a wheelchair sipping a glass of Chateau Carbonnieux '78 while drinking in the splendors of sundown。 She absently touched the bangs of her imperfectly dyed red hair as she listened。 She heard the voice of her man talking with the nurse inside； then the sound of his less than emphatic footsteps as he walked out to join her。
〃My God；〃 she said in French。 〃I'm going to get pissed！〃
〃Why not？〃 asked the Jackal's courier。 〃This is the place for it。 I see everything through a haze of disbelief myself。〃
〃You still will not tell me why the monseigneur sent you here…us here？〃
〃I told you； I'm merely a messenger。〃
〃And I don't believe you。〃
〃Believe。 It's important for him but of no consequence for us。 Enjoy； my lovely。〃
〃You always call me that when you won't explain。〃
〃Then you should learn from experience not to inquire； is it not so？〃
〃It is not so； my dear。 I'm dying…〃
〃We'll hear no more of that！〃
〃It's true nevertheless； you cannot keep it from me。 I don't worry for myself； the pain will end； you see； but I worry about you。 You； forever better than your circumstances； Michel… No； no； you are Jean Pierre； I must not forget that。 。。。 Still； I must concern myself。 This place； these extraordinary lodgings； this attention。 I think you will pay a terrible price； my dear。〃
〃Why do you say that？〃
〃It's all so grand。 Too grand。 Something's wrong。〃
〃You concern yourself too deeply。〃
〃No； you deceive yourself too easily。 My brother； Claude； has always said you take too much from the monseigneur。 One day the bill will be presented to you。〃
〃Your brother； Claude； is a sweet old man with feathers in his head。 It's why the monseigneur gives him only the most insignificant assignments。 You send him out for a paper in Montparnasse he ends up in Marseilles not knowing how he got there。〃 The telephone inside the villa rang； interrupting the Jackal's man。 He turned。 〃Our new friend will get it；〃 he said。
〃She's a strange one；〃 added the old woman。 〃I don't trust her。〃
〃She works for the monseigneur。〃
〃Really？〃
〃I haven't had time to tell you。 She will relay his instructions。〃
The uniformed nurse； her light brown hair pulled severely back into a bun； appeared in the doorway。 〃Monsieur； it is Paris；〃 she said； her wide gray eyes conveying an urgency missing in her low； understated voice。
〃Thank you。〃 The Jackal's courier walked inside； following the nurse to the telephone。 She picked it up and handed it to him。 〃This is Jean Pierre Fontaine。〃
〃Blessings upon you； child of God；〃 said the voice several thousand miles away。 〃Is everything suitable？〃
〃Beyond description；〃 answered the old man。 〃It is 。。。 so grand； so much more than we deserve。〃
〃You will earn it。〃
〃However I may serve you。〃
〃You'll serve me by following the orders given to you by the woman。 Follow them precisely with no deviation whatsoever； is that understood？〃
〃Certainly。〃
〃Blessings upon you。〃 There was a click and the voice was no more。
Fontaine turned to address the nurse； but she was not at his side。 Instead； she was across the room； unlocking the drawer of a table。 He walked over to her； his eyes drawn to the contents of the drawer。 Side by side were a pair of surgical gloves； a pistol with a cylindrical silencer attached to the barrel； and a straight razor； the blade recessed。
〃These are your tools；〃 said the woman； handing him the key； her flat； expressionless gray eyes boring into his own； 〃and the targets are in the last villa on this row。 You are to familiarize yourself with the area by taking extended walks on the path； as old men do for circulatory purposes； and you are to kill them。 You are to do this wearing the gloves and firing the gun into each skull。 It must be the head。 Then each throat must be slit…〃
〃Mother of God； the children's？〃
〃Those are the orders。〃
〃They're barbaric！〃
〃Do you wish me to convey that judgment？〃
Fontaine looked over at the balcony door； at his woman in the wheelchair。 〃No； no； of course not。〃
〃I thought not。 。。。 There is a final instruction。 With whosesoever blood is most convenient； you are to write on the wall the following： 'Jason Bourne； brother of the Jackal。' 〃
〃Oh； my God。 。。。 I'll be caught； of course。〃
〃That's up to you。 Coordinate the executions with me and I'll swear a great warrior of France was in this villa at the time。〃
〃Time？ 。。。 What is the time？ When is this to be done？〃
〃Within the next thirty…six hours。〃
〃Then what？〃
〃You may stay here until your woman dies。〃
9
Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine was again astonished。 Though he had no reservation； the front desk of Tranquility Inn treated him like a visiting celebrity； then only moments after he had secured a villa told him that he already had a villa and asked How was the flight from Paris？ Confusion descended for several minutes as the owner of Tranquility Inn could not be reached for consultation； he was not at his residence； and if he was on the premises he could not be found。 Ultimately hands were thrown up in frustration and the former judge from Boston was taken to his lodgings； a lovely miniature house overlooking the Caribbean。 By accident； hardly by design； he had reached into the wrong pocket and given the manager behind the desk a fifty…dollar American bill for his courtesy。 Prefontaine instantly became a man to be reckoned with； fingers snapped and palms hit bells rapidly。 Nothing was too splendid for the bewildering stranger who had suddenly flown in on the seaplane from Montserrat。 。。。 It was the name that had thrown everyone behind Tranquility's front desk into confusion。 Could such a coincidence be possible？ 。。。 Still the Crown governor… Err on the safe side。 Get the man a villa。
Once settled； his casual clothes distributed in the closet and the bureau； the craziness continued。 A chilled bottle of Chateau Carbonnieux '78 acpanied fresh…cut flowers； and a box of Belgian chocolates arrived； only to have a confused room…service waiter return to remove them； apologizing for the fact that they were for another villa down the line…or up the line…he thought； mon。
The judge changed into Bermuda shorts； wincing at the sight of his spindly legs； and put on a subdued paisley sport shirt。 White loafers and a white cloth cap pleted his tropical outfit； it would be dark soon and he wanted a stroll。 For several reasons。
〃I know who Jean Pierre Fontaine is；〃 said John St。 Jacques； reading the register behind the front desk； 〃he's the one the CG's office called me about； but who the hell is B。 P。 Prefontaine？〃
〃An illustrious judge from the United States；〃 declared the tall black assistant manager in a distinct British accent。 〃My uncle； the deputy director of immigration； phoned me from