Chapter 5 Chapter Four

Bourne smiled slightly, and there was even a bit of gentleness in his calm voice, "Rush to their house? Or just stick an anesthetic needle in their buttocks between eating appetizers and main courses?" "Now I hear Jason Bourne's voice." "That's good." Mary St. James Webb stretched out on the bed, looked towards the crib not far away, and just ushered in the Caribbean morning.Baby Alison was fast asleep, which she wasn't four or five hours ago.At that time, the little cutie was so noisy that even Mary's brother John knocked on the door, came in timidly, and asked if he could help; but he knew he couldn't.

"How about changing a dirty diaper for me?" "I don't even want to think about it," said John, and ran away. But now, through the shutters, she heard his voice outside the house.She also knew that her brother did it on purpose, that he was teasing her son Jamie, competing in the swimming pool, talking so loudly that even people on the big island of Montsetra could hear him.Mary literally "crawled" out of bed and headed for the bathroom.Four minutes later she was done washing, combing her ochre-colored hair, and walking through the louvered door in her bathrobe onto the terrace overlooking the pool.

"Hey, Marie!" her swarthy, black-haired, handsome brother called from the water, with her son beside him, "didn't wake you up? We just wanted to swim." "Yeah, and you're going to have the British Coast Guard over at Plymouth overhear." "Hey, come on, it's almost nine o'clock. It's pretty late on the island." "Mummy! Uncle John is teaching me how to scare sharks away with a stick." "Your uncle's head is full of extremely important knowledge, but God bless you, please don't let you use it." "There's a pot of coffee on the table, Mary. Mrs. Cooper will make you whatever you want for breakfast."

"Just coffee, John. The phone rang last night—is it David?" "That's him," replied her brother. "We've got to talk. . . . Now, Jamie, let's go up. Hold on to the ladder." "What about the shark?" "You scared them all off, man. Go get a drink." "John!" "Go get a glass of orange juice, it's in the jug in the kitchen." John St. James walked around the edge of the pool and up the stairs to the bedroom terrace as the little nephew ran into the house. Mary watched her brother approaching her. He resembled her husband in some ways.They were both tall and muscular; both had an uncompromising gait, but where David usually won, John tended to lose.She doesn't know why.She didn't know why David trusted her younger brother so much, because it seemed that her two older brothers were more responsible in St. James's family.David—or Jason Bourne? —never discussed these matters with her in depth; he just laughed it off and said there was something about John that he liked—was it David, or Bourne?

"Let's just get on with it," said the youngest member of the St. James family, sitting down, dripping onto the patio. "What's up with David? He won't say on the phone, you were tired last night." I can't have a long talk with you like that. What happened?" "The 'jackal' . . . the thing we run into is the 'jackal.'" "My God!" her brother exclaimed, "It's been so many years..." "It's been so many years..." Mary repeated his words, her voice erratic. "Where did that bastard go?"

"David is looking into this in Washington. All we know for sure is that 'The Jackal' dug up Alexander Conklin and Maurice Panoff from the horrific events in Hong Kong and Kowloon," she told John Those two bogus telegrams, and the booby trap at the Baltimore Fairgrounds. "I guess, Alexander protected them all? I don't know if the term 'protection' is used there." "Twenty-four hour protection, that's for sure. Besides us and McAllister, the only living people in the world, Alexander and Morris, know that David used to be - oh my god, I can't even say that name." Exit!" Marie slammed her coffee cup down on the patio table.

"Don't worry, sister," said John St. James, taking her hand, and putting his own on it, "Alexander is very good at his own tricks. David told me that Alexander was the best, for Of all the 'fieldmen' working in America - that's what David calls him - he's the best." "You don't understand, John," cried Mary.Although she was trying to control her voice and emotions, her wide eyes showed that she couldn't control it. "David never said anything like that, and David Webb didn't even know about these things! The man who said that was Jason Bourne, and he's back!  … That cold and cunning monster was created by them out, and now he's back in David's head. You don't know what that is. Those bleary-eyed eyes can see what I can't, just a glance—or that tone of voice, A calm, cold voice that was unfamiliar to me—the husband next to me was suddenly a stranger."

John held up his free hand to stop her. "Wait." He said softly. "The kids? Jamie? . . . " She looked around frantically. "No, it's you. What do you expect David to do? Just because he was in danger, he got into a vase from the Qing Dynasty or the Ming Dynasty, pretending that his wife and children were safe? Whether you women like it or not Well, we men still feel that it is our responsibility to keep the wolves out of the hole. We do feel that we are more capable in this regard. We have to use our power to solve the problem, and of course these powers should be as fierce as possible, because we must Do it. That's what David is doing now."

"When did my brother become a philosopher?" Mary asked, looking into the face of John St. James. "Sister, I'm not talking about philosophy. I understand this. Most men do-I apologize to the feminist community." "Don't apologize; most women don't want to turn things around. Can you believe it? Your big, learned sister in the Ottawa business world would squeal at the sight of a little rat in a country kitchen, Have a panic attack if you come across a big rat?" "Among smart women, some are more honest." "John, I can take what you're saying, but you don't understand me. David has been doing well for the last five years, improving a little bit every month. He'll never fully heal, and we all Knowing—he was so traumatized—but the rage, his own personal rage, was almost gone. He'd go out into the woods by himself, pound the trunk with his fists, and come back black-handed; In the middle of the night he would cry quietly in his study, trying to hold back his tears, because he couldn't remember who he was, what he had done, and thought he was a heinous villain--these things were gone, John! There's real sunshine in his world, you know what I mean?"

"I understand." The younger brother said seriously. "What's happening now will hook all these situations back, that's why I'm so scared!" "Then we can only pray that this is over soon." Mary stopped talking, and looked at her younger brother carefully, "Wait, little brother, I know you too well. You are retreating." "No, not at all." "Yeah, you're just pulling back...you and David—I never get it. How solid our two brothers are, how sure of everything. Maybe they're not smart enough." First, but they're certainly the best at practical matters. But he's asking for your help. Why, John?"

"Let's not talk about this issue any more." John took his hand away from his sister and replied hastily. "But I must talk. This is my life, and he is my life! There can be no more secrets about him—I can't bear it anymore! . . . Why did he come to you?" John, sitting on the patio chair, leaned back, his outstretched fingers now covering his forehead.He raised his eyes, and there was a kind of silent pleading in his eyes. "Well, I know what you're talking about. Remember when I left our ranch six or seven years ago and said I wanted to go out on my own?" "Of course I do. I think you broke Mom and Dad's hearts. Let's be honest, you've always been the favorite in the family—" "I've always been treated like a 'kid'!" the youngest of St. James's family interrupted her, "I'm sitting on a fool's fortune, and my two older brothers are both in their thirties, and they're still stubborn about pretentiousness and paranoia. His father did what he told him to do; what little wit the old French-Canadian man had was all from his money and his land." "He's not exactly what you say, but I'm not going to argue with you—you're a 'kid' after all." "You can't argue with me, Mary. You've left home like me, and sometimes you don't come back for more than a year." "I'm busy." "me too." "What have you been doing?" "I killed two people. Those two beasts killed a friend of mine - they raped her and then killed her." "what?!" "Keep your voice down—" "My God, what happened next?" "I didn't want to call home, so I found your husband... my friend, David. He never thought of me as a kid with a brain problem. At the time, it seemed reasonable to go to him, and Best decision I could have made. His country's government owed him a favor, so a group of smart people from Washington and Ottawa flew quietly to James Bay and I was acquitted. Definitely It's self-defense, simple as that." "He never said a word to me—" "I begged him not to." "Then that's why...but I still don't understand!" "That's easy to understand, Mary. A part of his mind knows I can kill, and I'll kill if I feel the need to." Mary stared at her brother when the phone rang in the house.Before she could recover from her stuttering, an elderly black woman appeared at the door leading to the kitchen. "Mr. John, I'm looking for you. It's the pilot on Big Island. He said he has something very important." "Thank you, Mrs. Cooper," said John.He got up from the chair, walked downstairs quickly, and walked to the extension by the swimming pool.He talked on the phone for a while, looked up at Mary, dropped the phone and hurried back upstairs to his sister, "Pack up your things. You need to get out of here!" "Why? The guy who flew us here—" "He's back from Martinique and just heard there were inquiries at the airport last night about a woman and two children. The crew are all tight-lipped, but it may not last long. You've got to hurry." "My God, where are we going?" "Go over to the hotel until we think of other places. There's only one road there, and I have my own guards. Nobody's going to come in or out. Mrs. Cooper will look after Alison for you. Hurry up!" The phone rang again, and Mary rushed out of the bedroom door.John ran downstairs to answer the extension by the swimming pool, and as soon as he got the phone, Mrs. Cooper stepped out of the kitchen again. "Mr. John, this is from the Governor's House on the Island of Monsetra." "What the hell are they trying to do...?" "Shall I ask?" "No, I'll pick it up. Help my sister pack up the kids and load everything they brought into that Rover. They have to go now!" "Oh sir, what a pity, this is really not the time, I just met the two little guys." "That's right, 'It's not the time'." John muttered and picked up the phone, "Hello?" "Hello, is that John?" said the Chief Assistant to the Governor-General.The man befriended Canadian developer John St. James and helped him navigate the colony's labyrinthine bylaws. "Henry, can I call you later? I'm a bit burnt out right now." "I'm afraid we're running out of time, man. It's a direct call from the Foreign Office. They want our immediate cooperation, and it won't do you any harm." "Oh?" "The situation is this: At ten-thirty, an old fellow and his wife will fly here from Antigua on an Air France connecting flight. The British side wants to give them a grand welcome. Obviously, the old fellow He fought bravely, got a lot of medals, and worked with a lot of our guys in France across the Channel." "Henry, I'm really busy. What does all this have to do with me?" "Well, I thought you'd outnumber us. Maybe one of your rich Canadian guests, maybe a Frenchman from Montreal who'd been in the Resistance, thought of you—" "What do you want to do?" "Put our heroic couple in the best room in your hotel, and make room for the French-speaking nurse we sent to take care of them." "Will you let me do all this in an hour?" "Dude, throw that rock out and we'll both have rabbits, see what I mean? Also, your vital but troubled phone line is somehow dependent on the Governor-General Government's intervention, you understand what I mean, right?" "Henry, you're a great negotiator. You lift your foot up politely and with unrivaled precision where it hurts the most. What's the name of our great hero? Come on, please come on." Say!" "Mr. Director, our names are Jean-Pierre Fontaine and Regine Fontaine, and here are our passports." The old man whispered in the glass-enclosed office of the Immigration Bureau.The Principal Assistant to the Governor-General also sits next to the immigration officer. "My wife is over there, you can see," he added, pointing out the window, "she's talking to the lady in the white uniform." "Mr. Fontaine, don't take it so seriously," the black immigration officer with a thick build and a strong British accent hastily declared, "This is just an informal procedure. You can call it a stamping procedure if you want. This is also to save you from the inconvenience of many admirers. Word spread throughout the airport that a great man has arrived." "Really?" Fontaine smiled, and there was joy in that smile. "Yes, but you needn't worry, sir. The press has been banned. We know you don't want any disturbance, and that's perfectly fine." "Really?" the old man's smile faded. "I have to meet with a man here, sort of my assistant. I have to have a private interview with him. You guys are so thoughtful, I hope he won't be lost because of it." I." "Mr. Fontaine, a small group of people of high status and renown will welcome you at the VIP passage at Blackburn Airport." said the Chief Assistant to the Governor-General. "Shall we go? The welcome ceremony will be over soon. ensure." "Really? So fast?" The ceremony was quick indeed, less than five minutes in fact; but five seconds was enough. The first welcomer that the messenger and killer of the "Jackal" saw was the governor himself wearing a medal.As Her Majesty's representative, he embraced the hero in the Gallic manner, and whispered into Jean-Pierre Fontaine's ear: "We know where the woman and child were taken. We will get you there. Your orders are in the hands of the nurse." For the old man, the climax of the ceremony was at this moment, and the rest was a bit anticlimactic, especially since the media were not present.His picture was never in the newspapers, except when he was a felon. Maurice Panoff, MD, was furious.At times like this he would try to hold back, because anger was never good for himself or the patient.But at the moment, it was difficult for Panov, who was sitting at the clinic table, to control his emotions.He still had no news from David Webb.He had to know about David, had to talk to him.Don't they understand that what is happening now may make thirteen years of treatment go to waste? ...Of course, they will never understand that this is not their concern, they are thinking about other important matters, and they simply don't bother to worry about things outside the scope of their duties.But he has to worry.A traumatized mind is too fragile, too prone to recurrence, and the horrors of the past have the potential to supersede the present.This kind of thing can't happen to David!He's as close to being as normal as he can be (hell, who's "normal" in this messed up world?).He was perfectly capable of teaching; if asked academically, he could recall almost everything, and he remembered more and more every year.But just one act of violence can ruin all improvements, because violence is Jason Bourne's way of life.Damn it! Even the fact that they allowed David to stay could do a lot of damage.He explained the potential harm to Alexander Conklin, but Conklin's answer made him irrefutable: We can't stop him.That way at least we can watch him and protect him.Maybe. "They" spare no expense when it comes to protection: guards are posted in the clinic's hallways and on the roof of the building, not to mention the temporary receptionist with a gun and the wacky computer -- it all goes to show that They are very concerned about it.However, another approach may be better for David: just give him a sedative injection, then fly him to his island resort, and leave the hunting of "Jackal" to the professionals... Panov He stopped suddenly, because he suddenly realized one thing: no one is more professional than Jason Bourne. The ringing of the phone interrupted the doctor's thoughts.He can't answer this call yet, he has to wait until all security measures are activated.Calls had to be traced first; scanners were used to determine if someone was tapping on the line; finally, the identity of the caller had to be confirmed by Panov himself.Panov's intercom rang; he flipped a switch on the console, "Hello?" "Sir, all systems checked," said the interim receptionist, the only person in the clinic who knew what was going on with "the system." "The caller said his name was Trestone, D. Trestone." "I'll pick it up," Maurice Panov said in a deep voice, "no matter what 'system' there is on the machine outside, it can be turned off. This is a conversation between the doctor and the patient, and it must be kept confidential. " "Yes, sir. Surveillance suspended." "What's the monitoring?...Forget it, it's okay," the psychiatrist picked up the phone and almost yelled, "You bastard, why didn't you call me earlier?" "I don't want you to have a heart attack. Is that good enough?" "Where are you? What are you doing?" "You are asking now?" "Just tell me what's going on." "Let me see, I just rented a car and I'm in Georgetown, half a block from the house of the chairman of the Federal Trade Commission down town; I'm talking to you on a pay phone." "My God, why?" "Alexander will let you know, but I want you to call Mary on the island. I've called a few times since I left the hotel, but I can't get through. Tell her I'm fine, very fine, and don't worry .do you understand?" "Understood, but I don't believe that. You don't sound like yourself anymore." "Doctor, you can't tell her that. If you were my friend, you must never tell her such a thing." "Stop it, David. Nobody believes this Dr. Jekyll nonsense." "If you were my friend, don't tell her." "You're in a vicious cycle, David. Don't let it go. Come to me and talk to me." "No time, Maurice. The big man's limousine just pulled up in front of the house. I gotta get to work." "Jason!" The phone disconnected. At Blackburn Airport on the island of Monsetra, Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine steps down the metal gangway of his jet into the scorching Caribbean sun.It was just after three in the afternoon; if it weren't for the tens of thousands of dollars he was carrying, he might feel very lost.It's amazing how reassuring one's mind can be with separate pockets of hundred-dollar bills.In fact, he often had to remind himself that the change (fifty, twenty, and ten dollars) was carried in the right front trouser pocket, so that he would not look too rich by accidentally taking out the wrong money, or give it to some unscrupulous little guy. The thief is watching.Crucially, he keeps a low profile and comes across as unimportant.He had to walk around the airport with an air of insignificance asking about something important: it was about a mother and two young children who had arrived yesterday afternoon on a private jet. So he was both startled and terrified when the stunning black immigration woman put down the phone and spoke to him. "Sir, could you please come with me?" Her lovely face, lilting tone and perfect smile didn't allay the former judge's fears.A lot of vicious criminals also own the capital, "Miss, is there something wrong with my passport?" "I don't see any problem, sir." "Then why did it take so long? Isn't it over after just stamping me out?" "Oh, sir, the passport has been stamped and the entry has been approved. No problem." "Then why...?" "Sir, please follow me." They walked toward a large cubicle surrounded by glass.In the window to the left of the cubicle was a sign with the identity of the owner of the office in gold letters: Deputy Director of Immigration.The charming female staff opened the door, smiled at him again, and beckoned the elderly guest to enter.Prefontaine complied, suddenly terrified: he felt that he would be searched, that all the money would have to be found, and that all kinds of charges would be laid against him.He didn't know which islands were involved in the narcotics trade, but if this island was one of them, the tens of thousands of dollars in his pocket would immediately attract suspicion.The female clerk walked to the desk across the room and handed his passport to the short, stocky Deputy Director of Immigration, while his mind raced over explanations.The girl smiled at Prifontaine one last time and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her. "Mr. Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine—" the immigration officer drawled, reading from the passport. "It seems that this name doesn't work very well," said Prefontaine in a friendly tone, but he still managed to put on an air of majesty, "however, people generally don't call me 'sir', but 'judge'—— As I said, I don't think it means anything in the present context; maybe it does, I really don't know. Did one of my legal clerks make a mistake? If so, I'll call that Fly all the guys over and apologize to you." "Oh, no, there's nothing wrong with it, sir—Judge," said the immigration officer, a stocky black man in uniform with a distinctly British accent.He stood up and stretched out his hand across the table, "Actually, I might be the one who made the mistake." "Don't say that, Colonel, we all make mistakes now and then," said Prefontaine, shaking the officer's hand. "Then can I go? I have to meet someone here." "That's what he said!" Prefontaine let go of his hand. "Excuse me?" "I'm afraid I must ask your pardon. . . Of course, it's because of secrecy." "What? Can we just talk straight?" "I understand that secrecy," said the official (he read the word as secrecy), "is the most important thing—we've been told that—but we'll do what we can to help the Governor General. .” "Your conduct is commendable, Mr Commodore. But I still don't seem to understand." The immigration officer lowered his voice unnecessarily, "A great man came here this morning, you know that?" "I am sure that many noble persons will come to your beautiful island. In fact, it is highly recommended to me." "Ah, yes, keep it secret!" "Yes, of course, keep it secret," the judge who was a prisoner echoed, wondering if the officer's mind is not very sharp, "Can you explain it more clearly?" "He said he had to meet with a person, to have an interview with this assistant; but after that very private welcome - without the press, of course - he was put straight on a charter flight to the outer islands, obviously Didn't get to see the person he was meeting privately with. Have I made it clear enough now?" "As clear as Boston Harbor in a squall, General." "Okay, okay. I understand. Concealment . . . All of us have been informed that friends of the great man may be looking for him at the airport—in private, of course." "Of course," thought Prefontaine. The man was probably mad. "Then I thought of another possibility," the immigration officer said triumphantly, "what if the friend of this great man also flies to our island to join him?" "You're so smart." "That's totally reasonable. Then I remembered another thing, and I took the passenger list of all the flights arriving at Hong Kong. Of course, I focused on the first-class passengers, because the first-class class is in line with the status of a great man's assistant." "Which is clear," muttered the former judge, "and you pick me then?" "My dear sir, because of your name! Pierre Prefontaine!" "My late devout mother would have been offended to hear you leave out 'Brendan Patrick'. Like the French, the Irish are sensitive about these things." "But it's the name of the family, I figured it out right away." "real?" "Pierre Prefontaine! . . . Jean-Pierre Fontaine. I am an expert in immigration procedures and have studied the practices of many countries. Most honorable Your Honor, your own name is This is a very interesting example. Wave after wave of immigrants converged into the United States, which is a melting pot of various nationalities, races and languages. In the process of integration, due to a large number of confused and overworked immigrant staff, people's Some names have been changed, some have been combined, and some have been misinterpreted. But the root of the name often stays, just like your name. The Fontaine family became the Purifan in the United States. Dan; and the great man's assistant, in fact, is a well-respected member of the offshoot of the American family!" "It's wonderful," murmured Prefontaine.He looked at the immigration officer, wondering if some male nurses with ropes would break into the house and tie up the madman, "But is it possible that it is just a coincidence? As far as I know, the name Fontaine is It’s common all over France, but Prefontaine is mostly concentrated around Alsace-Lorraine.” "Yes, of course," said the deputy director.He didn't wink meaningfully, but lowered his voice again, "But without any prior notice, the Kedo Race in Paris called, and then the British Foreign Office gave further instructions-a A great man will soon descend from the sky. You will receive him, salute him, and smuggle him to a remote resort known for its privacy—and privacy is paramount. A great man demands absolute secrecy...  But the great warrior was also anxious; he wanted to meet privately with an assistant, but he couldn't find him. Perhaps the great man had some secret—you know, all great men do." Suddenly, Prefontaine felt that the tens of thousands of dollars in his pocket became extremely heavy.Washington Four Zeros at Boston Airport, the Cadillac in Paris, the Foreign Office in London -- and Randolph Gates; who just needlessly handed over a huge sum of money just because he panicked .The way things come together is a bit baffling, and the weirdest thing is that the cowardly and unashamed Lawyer Gates is involved.Was he involved in this, or was it just a perverse accident?What does it all mean? "You're a very good man," said Prefontaine quickly, trying to disguise his thoughts. "You're very observant. But you also understand that secrecy is of the utmost importance." "I quite agree with that, my lord judge!" cried the Deputy Commissioner, "but I would like to say one more thing: if only your evaluation of my abilities could be brought to the attention of my superiors." "They will know everything, I assure you... Where did my not-too-distant famous relative go?" "It's a small outer island. Seaplanes going there must land on the sea. It's called Tranquility Island, and the tourist resort on the island is called Tranquility Hotel." "Your superior will thank you personally, don't worry." "Then I'll clear the customs for you myself." Brendan Patrick Pierre Prefontaine walked out of customs and into the lobby of Blackburn Airport feeling a little overwhelmed, carrying his shiny leather suitcase.Overwhelmed, hell, he was just dumbfounded!He didn't know if he should get on the next plane back to Boston or...it seemed his feet were making the decision for him.Without knowing it, he walked towards the counter under a large sea-blue sign, which read in white letters: INTERISLAND AIRLINES.It wouldn't do any harm to ask, he thought; and then he'd go and buy the next flight back to Boston. A row of nearby "outer islands" is listed on the wall above the counter, and a longer list of place names next to it is the well-known Leeward Islands and Windward Islands in the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis, south of the Grenadines.Tranquility Island's name is sandwiched between "Canada Cay" and "Turtle Rock".Two employees, a man and a woman, were talking softly.Both were very young, one black and one white; the black one was a young woman, the white one a blond guy in his early twenties.The girl stepped forward and asked, "What can I do for you, sir?" "I'm not sure," replied Prefontaine hesitantly. "I haven't even set my schedule yet, but I seem to have a friend on the Isle of Tranquility." "Is it at the hotel, sir?" "Yes, it seems so. Doesn't it take a long time to fly to the island?" "On a fair day you'll be there in fifteen minutes, but you'll have to take an amphibious plane. There won't be any until morning, I'm afraid." "Yes, dear," put in the young man with a little Gold Wing badge pinned askew on his white shirt, "I've got to send supplies to John St. James soon." He stepped forward, Added another sentence. "Shouldn't it be delivered to him today?" "Notified an hour ago, we will leave immediately." At the moment of hearing these words, Prifontaine's eyes fell on two stacks of cardboard boxes in amazement: the luggage conveyor belt of Interisland Airlines was slowly sending them to the loading area outside.Even when he had time to debate himself, he knew he had made a decision. "I'd like to buy a ticket on that flight, if I can," he said, watching the two stacks of Gerber's mixed baby food and Pampers medium-size diapers disappear behind the curtain. He found the unknown woman - with a little boy and a baby.

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