Chapter 8 Chapter VII

"We know you can be stubborn at times. We just made a simple request—" "I did, I could swear it! My God, I paid fifteen thousand dollars to keep everything secret and absolutely untraceable--of course, that's nothing in itself--" "You paid for...?" the calm voice interrupted him. "I can show you the bank withdrawal slip." "Pay for what?" "Buying the news, of course. I hired an ex-judge who's connected to—" "News about Kraft?" "what?" "Croft...Christopher." "Who?" "Our major, lawyer. The major."

"If you're talking about her code name, that's right, that's the news I bought." "Code name?" "The woman. And the two kids. They flew off to Monsetra. I swear, that's what they told me!" There was a sudden click on the phone and the line was disconnected. Conklin, who was still resting on the phone, broke out in a cold sweat.He let go of the phone and got up from the chair, limped away from the computer, and turned back to look down at it as if it were some horrible monster that had just brought him into forbidden territory.Everything in the forbidden area is different from what it seems, and it doesn't make sense.What happened?How did Randolph Gates know about Monsetra, about Mary and the children?Why is that?

Alexander Conklin bent over the armchair.His pulse was rapid, his thoughts were churning, and he couldn't form a judgment in his mind, only feeling chaotic.He gripped the wrist of his right hand so tightly with his left hand that his nails sank into the flesh.He had to control himself, he had to think—he had to act!For David's wife and children. associated.What connection can you think of?Even assuming that Gates was unknowingly drawn into Medusa is far-fetched; but it is simply unthinkable that he was related to Carlos "The Jackal".impossible! ...but it all seems to be true; relationships do exist.Could it be that Carlos himself is also a member of the Medusa organization where Swayne belongs?Everything they have about the "jackal" clearly denies this possibility.The strength of the killer "Jackal" is that he has no connection to any organized entity; Jason Bourne proved this in Paris thirteen years ago.No group could ever try to find him; they could only send a message, and he would go to them.The only organization recognized by the international hired killers was his Legion of Old Men, whose members were spread across the vast region from the Mediterranean to the Baltic.These old people are desperate or criminals who don't adapt to society; because of the killer's generous gifts, their impoverished lives have been improved, so they all accepted the conditions offered by the "Jackal": to be loyal to him, until death.How on earth did a man like Randolph Gates—how could he—get involved with them?

He wasn't messing with them—Conklin had come to that conclusion.His imagination, stretched to the limit, returned to a familiar territory for answers - to be skeptical of the obvious.This well-known lawyer is neither Carlos's subordinate nor has anything to do with Medusa.He was an aberration, a blemish in the mirror; he was a man of noble character, save for a single weakness, which had been discovered by two unrelated organizations, each with astonishing resources.Everyone knows that the influence of the "jackal" can penetrate into the French police and Interpol; and that Medusa can penetrate into the US Army Intelligence Agency, which can be deduced without discerning judgment.This is the only possible explanation, because Gates has caused too many controversies and has been in a strong position for too long; if his weakness can be easily discovered, his performance in court is absolutely impossible to be so good.Only murderous killers like the Jackal and the Medusa are capable of unearthing deep, devastating secrets that would make Randolph Gates a valuable pawn.Obviously, it was Carlos who grabbed Gates first.

Conklin thought deeply about the irrefutable truth: the world composed of global evil elements is actually like a small-scale residential area with many layers. The layout here is neat and well-proportioned, and various evil deeds are linked together.It is impossible not to do so.Residents living on these dangerous streets provide foreign services, and their client base is a specific type - unscrupulous human scum.Blackmail, coercion, murder. The Jackal was the same as Medusa's gang.They both belonged to the "Only What I Want" fraternity. breakthrough.But that breakout can only be handled by Jason Bourne -- not by David Webb, who still occupies a large part of Bourne.What's more, the two personalities that exist in the same person are now more than 1,600 kilometers away from the island of Monsetra, which has been locked by Carlos as a death coordinate.Monsetra? ...John St. James!The "little brother" had proved himself in a remote town in northern Canada; what his family - especially his favorite sister - knew and could not understand.He could kill in a fit of rage--he did kill in a fit of rage.If his beloved sister and her child were put at gunpoint by the Jackal, he would kill again.David trusted him—and, more importantly, Jason Bourne trusted him.

Conklin looked at the telephone console, and hurriedly stood up from his chair.He ran to the desk and sat down, pressed the rewind button, and turned the tape he was using back to the position he needed to listen to.He adjusted back and forth until he heard Gates' panicked voice. "...Jesus, I paid fifteen thousand dollars—" No, not this place, Conklin thought.Still behind. "I can show you the bank withdrawal slip." behind! "I hired an ex-judge who was connected to—" Here it is.a judge. "...they flew to Montsetra—" Conklin opened the drawer, and there was a piece of paper inside which recorded the phone numbers he had called in the past two days. He estimated that these numbers would be needed at any time.He found the number for the Caribbean Serenity Hotel, picked up the phone and dialed it.The bell rang for a long time before a sleepy voice answered the phone.

"peaceful--" "I have an emergency," Conklin interrupted. "I must speak to John St. James immediately. Please hurry." "I'm sorry, sir, Mr. St. James is not here." "I must find him. I repeat, it is urgent. Where is he?" "On the Big Island—" "Monsetra Island?" "right--" "Where on the island? . . . My name is Conklin. He wants to talk to me—he has to talk to me. Please tell me!" "There's been a strong wind over Basseterre and all flights have been canceled until tomorrow morning."

"What happened?" "It's a tropical depression—" "Oh, it's a storm." "We like to say Tropical Depression, sir. Mr. St. James left a number for Plymouth." "What's your name?" Conklin interrupted suddenly.The clerk's answer seemed to be Pritchard, or Pritchin.Conklin went on, "Mr. Pritchard, I'm going to ask you a very delicate question. The important thing is that you get the answer right; but if you don't, you have to do as I tell you. When I find out Mr. John St. James, he will confirm all I say; but I must waste no time now. Do you understand me?"

"What's your problem?" The clerk asked with dignity, "Sir, I'm not a child." "Sorry, I didn't mean to—" "Please tell me the problem, Mr. Conklin. Didn't you say it was urgent?" "Ah, of course . . . Is Mr. St. James's sister, and her children, in a safe place? Has Mr. St. James taken any precautions?" "Such as the guards with guns around the villa, and the people we usually send on the beach?" The clerk replied, "You're right." "That's the right answer." Conklin took a deep breath, his breathing still not steady, "Okay, then what is the phone number where I can contact Mr. St. James?"

The clerk gave Conklin the number, and added, "There are a lot of phone lines down, sir. You'd better leave a number here. It's still windy, but as soon as there's an airplane, Mr. St. James will be there right away." return." "Of course." Conklin reported the safe phone number of the Vienna villa in one breath, and asked the people at Monsetra to repeat it. "That will do," Conklin said. "I'll call Plymouth now." "Please tell me the spelling of your name. It's Conch—" "Conk." Conklin interrupted, cut off the phone, and immediately dialed the number for Plymouth, the capital of Monsetra.On the other end of the phone came another voice awakened from drowsiness; his greeting was almost incoherent. "Who are you?" Conklin asked anxiously.

"What the hell are you—who are you?" replied an exasperated Englishman. "I'm looking for John St. James. It's an emergency. The guy at Serenity's front desk gave me the number." "My God, their phone still works...?" "Obviously. Is John there? Please hurry." "Ah, ah, of course. He's across the hall, I'll call. I should say who—" "Just say Conklin." "Just 'Conklin'?" "Please hurry up!" Twenty seconds later, the voice of John St. James rang on the other end of the phone. "Conklin? Is that you?" "Listen, they know that Mary and the children flew to Monsetra." "We heard people asking around at the airport about a woman and two kids—" "So you just move them from the house to the hotel." "That's right." "Who is asking?" "I don't know. Someone told us on the phone... I didn't want to leave them, not even for a few hours, but they instructed me to go to the Governor's Palace; when the dog who is the Governor-General shows up, the storm Already here." "I know. I got the number by calling the front desk at the hotel." "It's a consolation; the phone still works. Phones don't usually work in this weather, so that's why we're so ingratiating to the Governor-General." "I heard you had guards there—" "You're right!" exclaimed St. James. "The problem is that I don't know who to watch out for but strangers on the boat or on the beach. I gave orders to the guards that if these guys don't stop Obediently identify yourself and shoot!" "I might be able to help—" "you say!" "We've made a breakthrough—don't ask me how; maybe the clues were given by the aliens, and it doesn't matter anyway—that's absolutely true. Find out that Mary flew to Monsetra. The guy took advantage of a judge who was well connected, probably in the Archipelago—" "Judge?" blurted the owner of the Serenity Inn. "My God, there he is! My God, there he is! I'm going to kill that vile bastard—" "Come on, John! Control yourself—who's there?" "It's a judge, and he's insisting on registering under another name! I haven't even given it a second thought—two poor old men with the same name—" "Old man? . . . Slow down, John, this is very important. Which two old men?" "The one you're talking about is from Boston—" "Yes!" Conklin said with certainty. "The other one flew in from Paris—" "Paris! My God! Old Paris!" "What did you say……?" "It's the 'Jackal'! Carlos sent his gang of old men over!" "Alexander, you have to speak slowly now," St. James' heavy breathing could be heard on the phone, "Speak clearly." "There's no time, John. Carlos has an army of old men—his army—old men who will die for him, kill people. No strangers will come to the beach, they're already there! Can you go back to Are you going to the island?" "I'm trying to get back! I'm going to call the people at the hotel. Both of these garbage will be thrown into the cistern!" "Come on, John!" John St. James pressed the little switch of the old-fashioned telephone, let go, and heard the dial tone with a never-changing rhythm.He dialed the number for the Serenity Hotel. "Sorry," said a recorded voice, "due to weather problems, the line to your area is down. The government is trying to restore communication. Please try again later. Have a nice day." John St. James slammed the phone down with all his might, and it split in two. "Find me a ship!" he yelled, "Find me a narcotics ship!" "You're crazy!" The assistant governor across the room immediately objected, "The waves are so big now!" "Henry, find me a swift sea-boat!" said the faithful brother.He reached down to his waistband and slowly pulled out an automatic pistol. "Otherwise I'd have to do things I wouldn't even think about, but I could get a boat anyway." "I can't believe it, man." "I can't believe it either, Henry . . . but I mean it." Jean-Pierre Fontaine's nurse sat in front of the dressing-table mirror, smoothing her tightly-knotted blond hair under a black rain hat.She looked at her watch, recalling every word of that call a few hours ago.That very unusual call came from Argenteuil, France, from the great man who had done it all for her. "There's an American lawyer who calls himself a judge living near you." "My lord, I didn't know there was such a person." "But there he is. The presence of this man caused our hero to complain—quite rightly. We called him back home in Boston, and it was the man." "So his presence here is not welcome?" "His presence there disgusted me deeply. He pretended to be in favor of me--which was a great favor, involved in something that might have ruined him--but what he did It means that he is ungrateful, that he wants to offset this favor by betraying me; and since he betrayed me, he also betrayed you." "He's dead." "Exactly. He was valuable to me before, but that's in the past. Go find him, kill him. Disguise his death as a tragic accident... We'll never see each other again until you go back to Martinique call, so one last question: are you ready for the last thing you're going to do for me?" "Ready, my lord. The two injections were prepared by the surgeon of the Fort-de-France hospital. He asked me to convey my loyalty to you." "He should. He's alive, but dozens of his patients are dead." "They had no idea he was leading another life in Martinique." "I understand that... the injection is to be given within forty-eight hours, when the chaos starts to subside. To know that I made up the hero - and I'll make sure they know - 'Chameleon' will be ashamed. " "Everything will be done. Are you coming here soon?" "I'll be at the height of the shock. I'm leaving in an hour and arriving in Antigua at noon tomorrow in Monsetra. If all goes according to plan, I'll arrive just in time to see Jason Bourne Take the heart-rending pain; then I'll leave my mark - a bullet in his throat. Then the Americans will know who won. Goodbye." Like an ecstatic supplicant, the nurse, bowing her head deeply before the mirror, recalled in her mind the enigmatic words of her all-knowing Master.It's almost time, she thought.She opened a dresser drawer and took out a diamond-encrusted neck rope from among several necklaces—a gift from her mentor.It's easy to do.It didn't take her long to find out who the Judge was and where he lived--a repulsively thin old man who lived three villas away.It was all about precision now; the "tragic accident" was only a prelude to the real tragedy that would take place at Villa Twenty in less than an hour.All villas at Serenity are equipped with kerosene lamps in case of a power outage or generator failure.In the midst of the fierce storm that was blowing now, a frightened old man, perhaps with a sick stomach, or sheer fear, might well light a kerosene lamp to feel better.What a tragedy: his upper body was lying in the kerosene spilled on the ground and flowing everywhere, and the flesh of his neck was charred black so that no one would notice the strangle marks on it.Let's do it, the voice echoing in her head said firmly.You must obey.If it weren't for Carlos, you would have been decapitated in Algeria long ago. She will do it—she will do it now. The pouring rain slammed on the roof and windows, and a blinding flash of lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a deafening thunder that interrupted the howling wind outside. Jean-Pierre Fontaine knelt by the bed and wept silently, his face inches from his woman's, and his tears dripped down her cold arms.She was dead, and a note by her pale, stiff hand said it all: Darling, we are both free now. They are all free.She no longer has to suffer from illness, and he no longer has to pay the price that adults demand.What the price was he didn't tell her in detail, but she knew it must be terribly high.He has known for several months that his woman has a drug that can kill quickly, and she plans to use it when she can't stand this kind of life.He was constantly looking for these medicines, and sometimes even frantically rummaged around, but he couldn't find them.Now he was staring at the small tin box containing her favorite candy, and finally knew why he couldn't find it.For so many years, she always likes to throw this small, harmless licorice candy into her mouth. "You have to be content, my dear, these candies might be caviar! Or one of those expensive tonics that the rich eat forever." They weren't caviar at all, they were medicine, deadly poison. footsteps.that nurse!She came out of the room, but she must not let her see his woman!Fontaine forced himself to get up from the bed, wiped away his tears as best he could, and hurried towards the door.He opened the door and was startled to see the woman; she was standing in front of him, hands raised, knuckles bent, about to knock. "Sir! . . . You startled me." "I think we're terrified of each other." Jean-Pierre slipped out and hastily closed the door behind him. "Regina fell asleep at last," he whispered, touching his lips with his finger. , "This terrible storm kept her up most of the night." "But it's a chance God has given us—for you, isn't it? Sometimes I even think grown-ups can call the shots." "Then I guess the storm is not a gift from heaven. Your lord's influence does not come from heaven." "Let's get down to business," the nurse didn't find the words interesting, interrupted him and walked away from the door, "Are you ready?" "A few minutes," replied Fontaine, walking towards the table, where his murder tools were locked in a drawer.He reached into his pocket and took out the key. "Would you like to go through the steps again?" he asked, turning around. "Of course it's for my own good. At this age, the details are often blurred." "Yes, I mean to say it again. Because there is a slight change." "Oh?" The French old man raised his eyebrows, "At my age, I'm not quite used to sudden changes." "It's just a matter of adjusting the time, not more than a quarter of an hour, maybe much shorter." "A quarter of an hour seems like a lifetime in our line of business," Fontaine said as another flash of lightning flashed outside, and only milliseconds later the thunder crashed, interrupting the crackling rain on windows and roofs." It's dangerous just to go outside at the moment; the lightning just now was too close to be safe." "If you think so, think about how those guards felt." "The 'subtle change,' please? You have to explain." "I won't explain anything to you, except that this order came from Argenteuil, and it's because of you." "The judge?" "You can judge for yourself." "Then he wasn't sent to—" "That's it. Here's the change. I would have run down the lane from here to Villa 20 to get to the guards and say your sick wife needs urgent care; now I'll tell them I just reported a phone malfunction from the front desk Come back and see Villa 14 is on fire just three houses away from us. There will be a mess in the middle of the storm and everyone is yelling and yelling for help. That's your signal Take advantage of the confusion and get there, and kill anyone left near the woman's villa—the muffler must be installed. Then go inside and finish what you swore to do." "Then I'll wait for the fire to start and the guards to rescue people, and wait for you to return to Villa No. 11." "Exactly. You stay at the door, and of course you have to close the door." "Of course." "It might take me five minutes, maybe another twenty minutes, but you gotta stay there." "Of course . . . may I ask, ma'am—maybe I should call you Miss, though I don't see any signs—" "What do you want to ask?" "What are you going to do with five minutes or twenty minutes?" "Old man, you are stupid. Do what I have to do." "of course." The nurse wrapped the raincoat around her body, fastened her belt, and walked towards the front door of the villa. "Pack up your gear, you'll be out in three minutes," she ordered. "Of course." As soon as the woman opened the door, it was blown back; she stepped outside into the pouring rain and pulled the door tight behind her.Shocked and bewildered, the old Frenchman stood there motionless, trying to figure out some reason from this inexplicable incident.For him, these things happened too quickly; the woman's death had caused him so much pain that it all seemed a blur.He had no time to mourn, to feel...he had only time to think, and think quickly.Horrific truths are revealed one after another, and questions that are unanswered but must be put aside in order to understand the big picture - the story of Montsetra makes sense in itself! The nurse was not merely someone sent by Argenteuil to deliver instructions, the Angel of Mercy was actually an Angel of Death, a worthy killer.So why send him thousands of kilometers away to do this?She can do this completely, and she doesn't need to make a scene like he did when he arrived, and show it to others.An old hero from France, bah! ... none of this is necessary.Speaking of age, there was another man—another old man who wasn't a killer at all.Perhaps, thought the fake Jean-Pierre Fontaine, he had made a terrible mistake.Maybe the other "old man" didn't come to kill him, but to warn him! "My God," said the Frenchman in a low voice, "Old Parisian, the Legion of Jackals! There are so many problems!" Fontaine walked quickly to the nurse's bedroom and opened the door.With the swiftness he had practiced all his life (slightly slower with age), he methodically went through the woman's room—suitcase, closet, clothes, pillows, mattress, chest, dresser, Writing desk... writing desk.One drawer is locked - there is also a locked drawer in the outhouse.It is "equipment".Nothing matters now!His woman was dead, and there were so many problems! On the desk stood a heavy lamp with a thick brass base; he picked up the lamp, yanked out the wire, and smashed it at the drawer.One stroke, one stroke, another stroke, until the wood of the drawer splintered and the groove holding the small vertical latch crumbled.He jerked open the drawer.He stared at the thing in front of him, feeling both fear and relief in his heart. Side by side in a padded plastic case are two hypodermic syringes, both filled with a yellowish liquid.He didn't need to know their chemical composition; there were too many that could do that for him to know them all.Deadly venom injected into the veins. Whom they were for, he didn't need to be told.Two corpses lying side by side on a bed.He and his woman will be freed in the final contract.The adults have considered everything, how thoughtful!He himself must die!A dead old man from the Jackal's army of old men; the man who had swindled all security measures, murdered the loved ones of Carlos' sworn enemy Jason Bourne, and mutilated their bodies.And the outstanding manipulator behind all these incidents is naturally "Jackal" himself. Contracts are not like that!Of course I'm fine with myself, but not my woman!You promised me! that nurse.Angels are not merciful, she brings death!The old man on Tranquility Island, known as Jean-Pierre Fontaine, walked as fast as he could to another room.He's going to get equipment. A large silver speedboat equipped with giant twin engines broke through the waves. At this moment, it was driving in the waves, and at the next moment it was pushed to the top of the waves.On the short and low bridge, John St. James is at the helm, driving the boat through the dangerous coral reefs according to his own memory, and his assistant is the powerful searchlight that illuminates the rough waves.Sometimes it can shine six meters ahead of the bow, and sometimes it can shine sixty meters.He kept yelling into the radio, the microphone dangling in front of his drenched face; knowing it was unrealistic, he was hoping to rouse someone on Tranquility Isle. He is now less than five kilometers away from the island, and the bush-like volcano on the sea is the landmark of his voyage.In terms of distance, Tranquility Isle is much closer to Plymouth than Blackburn Airport.If you're familiar with the reef, getting to the island by narcotics boat doesn't take much longer than taking a seaplane.Seaplanes flying from Blackburn had to berth on the east side of the island, because in order to land at sea the planes had to face the prevailing westerly wind.John didn't know why these calculations kept interfering with his concentration, but somehow they made him feel better, that he was giving everything he could—damn!Why always try to do what you can, instead of just putting in all the effort?He couldn't screw things up again, not now, not tonight!God, Mary and David gave him everything!He might have been more kind to that crazy bastard his brother-in-law than his own sister.David, savage and crazy David, sometimes he suspects that Mary doesn't even know there is such a madman! "Back off, little brother, I'll take care of this." "No, David, I did it. I killed them." "I said, you back away." "I asked you to help, not to act as me!" "But you see, I am you. I would do the same thing, so in my eyes, I am you." "It's just crazy!" "Insanity is part of it. Someday I may teach you how to kill cleanly, how to do it in the dark. In the meantime, you'll have to listen to a lawyer." "What if they lose?" "Then I'll get you out. Get you out." "How to do it?" "I will kill again." "I can't believe it! You're a teacher, a scholar—I don't believe it, I don't want to believe you—you're my brother-in-law." "Then don't believe me, John. Forget everything I say, and never tell your sister I said it." "It's another person in your head talking, isn't it?" "You are Mary's dearest brother." "You didn't answer my question! Here, at this point, you're Bourne, aren't you? Jason Bourne!" "We'll never, ever have this conversation again, John. Understand?" The whirling wind and streaks of lightning seemed to envelop the speedboat, John St. James thought, and he did not understand and never would.Even when Mary and David suggested that he rebuild a new life on the island in order to take care of his crumbling self-esteem.They said that this money is considered as seed money; you help us build a house first, and then you see what you want to do after it is built, as long as it does not exceed the affordability, we will support you.Why would they do that?Why? It's not "they", it's him.It was Jason Bourne. That morning John St. James answered the phone by the pool and heard from the pilot on the island that someone was asking this and that at the airport about a woman and two children.That's when he finally understood. Someday I may teach you how to kill cleanly, how to do it in the dark.Jason Bourne. light!He saw the lights on the beach of Tranquility Isle.He was less than a mile or so from shore! The old Frenchman was walking along the path towards Villa No. 14, the rain was beating hard on him, and the wind was blowing him almost off balance.He lowered his head, squinted his eyes, and walked forward against the storm, wiping the rainwater off his face with his left hand from time to time, while holding the weapon tightly with his right hand—it was a pistol that grew out of a section, with a concave hole on the front. The cylinder of the pit, which is the muffler.He carried the pistol behind his back, as he did all those years ago when he was sprinting along the railroad line; he had the Dana in one hand and the German Luger in the other, ready to shoot both of them. Say hello to the German patrol. Whoever was on the road ahead seemed to him no different than a German.All Germans!He's been subservient to others long enough!His woman is dead and now he has control over his own destiny because he has nothing but his own decisions, his own feelings, and his own very personal sense of right and wrong... "The Jackal" is wrong!Killing that woman was acceptable to Carlos' disciples; he could rationalize this blood debt.But killing two children was out of the question, let alone mutilating the bodies.This kind of behavior is going to offend God, and he and his woman will soon face God; there must be some way to improve this situation. Stop that angel of death!What is she doing right now?What did she mean by fire? ...then he saw it—through the hedge of Villa Fourteen, the fire was burning furiously.Inside a window!The room where the window was located must be the bedroom of the pink luxury villa. Fontaine had just reached the walkway leading to the front door when a flash of lightning made the ground tremble under his feet.He fell, then struggled to his knees and crawled onto the pink porch.A flickering light at the top of the porch outlined the gate.No matter how he twisted, pulled, or pushed, the door lock would not open.So he raised the gun, squeezed the trigger twice, and broke the lock.He struggled to his feet and walked in. inside.There were screams coming from behind the door of the master bedroom.The old Frenchman rushed towards the bedroom door, his legs dangling, and he swung the gun with his right hand.He kicked open the door with what little strength he had left, and saw a scene that undoubtedly came from hell. The nurse put a metal noose around the old man's head and was forcing her victim into a blazing pool of kerosene on the floor. "Stop!" shouted the old man named Jean-Pierre Fontaine. "Enough! Stop now! You are dead!" In the flames that were jumping higher and higher and spreading in all directions, there were several gunshots, followed by the sound of people falling down. As the lights of Tranquility Isle Beach approached, John St. James kept yelling into the microphone: "It's me! It's St. James! Don't shoot!" But when the sleek silver anti-drug ship arrived at the shore, it was greeted by the intermittent firing of automatic weapons.St. James threw himself on the deck and continued shouting into the radio. "I'm coming up—I'm coming to the beach! Fucking ceasefire!" "My God, is that you?" A panicked voice came over the radio. "Do you still want to get paid next week?!" "Ah, of course, Mr. St. James!" The unstable sound of the loudspeaker on the beach interrupted the strong wind and thunder from Basseterre, "Attention everyone on the beach, stop shooting immediately! My God, that No problem with a boat! It's our boss, Monsieur St. James!" The anti-drug boat jumped out of the water and rushed onto the dark sandy beach. The engine roared harshly, the blades plunged into the sand, and cracks were knocked out of the pointed hull.St. James, curled up like a fetus to avoid the impact, leaped to his feet and jumped over the side of the ship. "Villa Twenty!" he yelled, as he trotted across the beach in the pouring rain, toward the stone steps leading to the path above, "Turn everyone over there!" 一跑上坚硬的、雨水四溅的石阶，他就猛地倒抽一口气；他觉得自己的宇宙轰然爆炸了，迸裂成千万颗刺眼的火星。Gunshot!一声接着一声。在小路的东侧！他那两条腿倒腾得越来越快，一次就跃出两三步远；他跑到小路上，然后就发疯一般沿路朝二十号别墅狂奔；在惊惶和愤怒之中他猛然朝右一转头，看到的情景让他愈发惊惶。一群人——他酒店里的男女职员——聚在十四号别墅的门口！ ……谁住在那儿？ ……我的天，是那个法官！ 肺部几欲炸裂、两腿每一条肌肉和筋腱都快要崩溃的圣雅各，奔到了姐姐住的别墅前。他冲进铁门，随即朝房门奔去，用自己的身体拼命往上撞，直到顶破门闯进里面的房间。他的双眼先是在恐惧之中瞪得老大，紧接着就充满了无尽的痛苦。他跪倒在地，歇斯底里地喊叫起来。白色的墙上，清清楚楚地涂着几个触目惊心的暗红色大字：