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earing an American field jacket。 Jason started to get off the barstool。 〃Sit； sit！〃 cried his new friend； leaning forward to be heard through the crowds and the music。 〃I brought us a virgin。〃
〃What？〃
〃You forgot so quickly？ He's on his way to being a Legion recruit。〃
〃Oh； that；〃 laughed Bourne； covering his gaffe。 〃I wondered in a place like this…〃
〃In a place like this；〃 broke in Tank Shirt； 〃half will take it or give it either way as long as it's rough。 But that's neither here nor there。 I thought he should talk to you。 He's American and his French is grotesque； but if you speak slow； he'll catch on。
〃No need to；〃 said Jason in faintly accented English。 〃I grew up in Neufchвtel； but I spent several years in the States。〃
〃That's nice to heah。〃 The American's speech was distinctly Deep South； his smile genuine； his eyes wary but unafraid。
〃Then let us start again；〃 said the Belgian in heavily accented English。 〃My name is 。。。 Maurice； it's as good a name as any。 My young friend here is Ralph； at least he says it is。 What's yours； my wounded hero？〃
〃Francois；〃 replied Jason； thinking of Bernardine and wondering briefly how he was doing at the airports。 〃And I'm no hero； they died too quickly。 。。。 Order your drinks； I'm paying。〃 They did and Bourne did； his mind racing； trying to recall the little he knew about the French Foreign Legion。 〃A lot has changed in nine years； Maurice。〃 How very easily the words came； thought the Chameleon。 〃Why are you enlisting； Ralph？〃
〃Ah figure it's the wisest thing I can do…kinda disappear for a few years； and I understand five is the minimum。〃
〃If you last the first； mon ami；〃 interjected the Belgian。
〃Maurice is right。 Listen to him。 The officers are tough and difficult…〃
〃All French！〃 added the Belgian。 〃Ninety percent； at least。 Only one foreigner in perhaps three hundred reach the officer corps。 Have no illusions。〃
〃But Ah'm a college man。 An engineer。〃
〃So you'll build fine latrines for the camps and design perfect shit holes in the field；〃 laughed Maurice。 〃Tell him； Fran？ois。 Explain how the savants are treated。〃
〃The educated ones must first know how to fight；〃 said Jason； hoping he was right。
〃Always first！〃 exclaimed the Belgian。 〃For their schooling is suspicious。 Will they doubt？ Will they think when they are paid only to follow orders？ 。。。 Oh； no； mon ami； I would not emphasize your érudition。〃
〃Let it e out gradually；〃 added Bourne。 〃When they need it； not when you want to offer it。〃
〃Bien！〃 cried Maurice。 〃He knows what he's talking about。 A true légionnaire！〃
〃Can you fight？〃 asked Jason。 〃Could you go after someone to kill him？〃
〃Ah killed mah feeancee and her two brothers and a cousin； all with a knife and my bare hands。 She was fuckin' a big banker in Nashville and they were coverin' for her because he was payin' all of 'em a lot of money。 。。。 Yeah； I can kill； Mr。 Fran？ois。〃
Manhunt for Crazed Killer in Nashville
Young engineer with promising future escapes dragnet。 。。。
Bourne remembered the newspaper headlines of only weeks ago； as he stared at the face of the young American。 〃Go for the Legion；〃 he said。
〃If push es to shove； Mr。 Fran？ois； could I use you as a reference？〃
〃It wouldn't help you； young man； it might only hurt。 If you're pressed； just tell the truth。 It's your credentials。〃
〃Aussi bien！ He knows the Legion。 They will not take maniacs if they can help it； but they…how do you say it； Fran？ois？〃
〃Look the other way； I think。〃
〃Oui。 They look the other way when there are…encore； Francois？〃
〃When there are extenuating circumstances。〃
〃See？ My friend Francois also has brains。 I wonder how he survived。〃
〃By not showing them； Maurice。〃
A waiter wearing about the filthiest apron Jason had ever seen clapped the Belgian on the neck。 〃Votre table； René。〃
〃So？〃 shrugged Tank Shirt。 〃Just another name。 Quelle différence？ We eat and with good fortune we will not be poisoned。〃
Two hours later； with four bottles of rough vin ordinaire consumed by Maurice and Ralph； along with suspicious fish； Le Coeur du Soldat settled in for its nightly endurance ritual。 Fights occurred episodically； broken up by muscular waiters。 The blaring music marshaled memories of battles won and lost； engendering arguments between old soldiers who had basically been the assault troops； cannon fodder； at once resentful and filled with the pride of survival because they had survived the blood and horror their gold…braided superiors knew nothing about。 It was the collective roar of the underprivileged foot soldiers heard from the time of the Pharaoh's legions to the grunts of Korea and Vietnam。 The properly uniformed officers decreed from far behind the lines； and the foot soldiers died to preserve their superiors' wisdom。 Bourne remembered Saigon and could not fault the existence of Le Coeur du Soldat。
The head bartender； a massive bald man with steel…rimmed glasses； picked up a telephone concealed below the far end of the bar and brought it to his ear。 Jason watched him between the roving figures。 The man's eyes spun around the crowded room…what he heard appeared to be important； what he saw； dismissible。 He spoke briefly； plunged his hand below the bar and kept it there for several moments； he had dialed。 Again； he spoke quickly； then calmly replaced the phone out of sight。 It was the kind of sequence described by old Fontaine on Tranquility Isle。 Message received； message relayed。 And at the end of that receiving line was the Jackal。
It was all he wanted to see that evening； there were things to consider； perhaps men to hire； as he had hired men in the past。 Expendable men who meant nothing to him； people who could be paid or bribed； blackmailed or threatened into doing what he wanted them to do without explanation。
〃I just spotted the man I was to meet here；〃 he said to the barely conscious Maurice and Ralph。 〃He wants me to go outside。〃
〃You're leaving us？〃 whined the Belgian。
〃Hey； man； you shouldn't do thay…at；〃 added the young American from the South。
〃Only for tonight。〃 Bourne leaned over the table。 〃I'm working with another légionnaire； someone who's on to something that involves a lot of money。 I don't know you； but you seem like decent men。〃 Bourne pulled out his roll of bills and peeled off a thousand francs； five hundred for each of his panions。 〃Take this； both of you…shove it in your pockets； quickly！〃
〃Holy shee…itt！〃
〃Merde！〃
〃It's no guarantee； but maybe we can use you。 Keep your mouths shut and get out of here ten or fifteen minutes after I leave。 Also； no more wine。 I want you sober tomorrow。 。。。 When does this place open； Maurice？〃
〃I'm not sure it closes。 I myself have been here at eight o'clock in the morning。 Naturally； it is not so crowded…〃
〃Be here around noon。 But with clear heads； all right？〃
〃I shall be le caporal extraordinaire of La Légion。 The man that I once was！ Should I wear my uniform？〃 Maurice belched。
〃Hell； no。〃
〃Ah'll wear a suit and a tie。 I got a suit and a tie； honest！〃 The American hiccupped。
〃No。 Both of you be like you are now； but with your heads straight。 Do you understand me？〃
〃You sound Très américain； mon ami。〃
〃He sure do。〃
〃I'm not； but then the truth's not a modity here； is it？〃
〃Ah know what he means。 I learned it real well。 You kinda fib with a tie on。〃
〃No tie； Ralph。 See you tomorrow。〃 Bourne slid out of the booth； and suddenly a thought struck him。 Instead of heading for the door； he cautiously made his way to the far end of the bar and the huge bald bartender。 No seats were available； so； again cautiously； politely； he squeezed sideways between two customers； ordered a Pemod and asked for a napkin on which to write a message； ostensibly personal； to no one who might concern the establishment。 On the back of the napkin's crude coat of arms； he wrote the following with his ballpoint pen in French：
The nest of a blackbird is worth a million francs。 Object： confidential business advice。 If interested； be at the old factory around the corner in thirty minutes。 Where is the harm？ An additional 5000 F for being there alone。
Bourne palmed the napkin along with a hundred…franc note and signaled the bartender； who adjusted his steel…rimmed glasses as if the unknown patron's gesture were an impertinence。 Slowly he moved his large body forward； and leaned his thick tattooed arms on the bar。 〃What is it？〃 he asked gruffly。
〃I have written out a message for you；〃 replied the Chameleon； his eyes steady； focused on the bartender's glasses。 〃I am by myself and hope you will consider the request。 I am a man who carries wounds but I am not a poor man。〃 Bourne quickly but gently…very gently…reached for the bartender's hand； passing the napkin and the franc note。 With a final imploring look at the astonished man； Jason turned and headed for the door； his limp pronounced。
Outside； Bourne hurried up the cracked pavement toward the alley's entrance。 He judged that his interlude at the bar had taken between eight and twelve minutes。 Knowing the bartender was watching him； he had purposely not tried to see if his two panions were still at the table； but he assumed they were。 Tank Shirt and Field Jac