“You’ve written yourself out, then,” said Jason, noticing for the first time the bulge of a weapon in the old man’s jacket pocket.
“I will not stand trial, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, that’s perfect, General! Carlos himself couldn’t have come up with anything better. Not a wasted motion on his part; he doesn’t even have to use his own gun. But those who count will know he did it; he caused it.”
“Those who count will know nothing. Une affaire de coeur … une grave maladie … I am not concerned with the tongues of killers and thieves.”
“And if I told the truth? Told why you killed her?”
“Who would listen? Even should you live to speak. I’m not a fool, Monsieur Bourne. You are running from more than Carlos. You are hunted by many, not just one. You as much as told me so. You would not tell me your name … for my own safety, you claimed. When and if this was over, you said, it was I who might not care to be seen with you. Those are not the words of a man in whom much trust is placed.”
“You trusted me.”
“I told you why,” said Villiers, glancing away, staring at his dead wife. “It was in your eyes.”
“The truth?”
“The truth.”
“Then look at me now. The truth is still there. On that road to Nanterre, you told me you’d listen to what I had to say because I gave you your life. I’m trying to give it to you again. You can walk away free, untouched, go on standing for the things you say are important to you, were important to your son. You can win! … Don’t mistake me, I’m not being noble. Your staying alive and doing what I ask is the only way I can stay alive, the only way I’ll ever be free.”
The old soldier looked up. “Why?”
“I told you I wanted Carlos because something was taken from me—something very necessary to my life, my sanity—and he was the cause of it. That’s the truth—I believe it’s the truth—but it’s not the whole truth. There are other people involved, some decent, some not; and my agreement with them was to get Carlos, trap Carlos. They want what you want. But something happened that I can’t explain—I won’t try to explain—and those people think I betrayed them. They think I made a pact with Carlos, that I stole millions from them and killed others who were my links to them. They have men everywhere, and the orders are to execute me on sight. You were right: I’m running from more than Carlos. I’m hunted by men I don’t know and can’t see. For all the wrong reasons. I didn’t do the things they say I did, but no one wants to listen. I have no pact with Carlos—you know I don’t.”
“I believe you. There’s nothing to prevent me from making a call on your behalf. I owe you that.”
“How? What are you going to say? The man known to me as Jason Bourne has no pact with Carlos. I know this because he exposed Carlos’ mistress to me, and that woman was my wife, the wife I choked to death so as not to bring dishonor to my name. I’m about to call the Sûreté and confess my crime—although, of course, I won’t tell them why I killed her. Or why I’m going to kill myself.’ … Is that it, General? Is that what you’re going to say?”
The old man stared silently at Bourne, the fundamental contradiction clear to him. “I cannot help you then.”
“Good. Fine. Carlos wins it all. She wins. You lose. Your son loses. Go on—call the police, then put the barrel of the gun in your goddamn mouth and blow your goddamn head off! Go on! That’s what you want! Take yourself out, lie down and die! You’re not good for anything else anymore. You’re a self-pitying old, old man! God knows you’re no match for Carlos. No match for the man who placed five sticks of dynamite in rue du Bac and killed your son.”
Villiers’ hands shook; the trembling spread to his head “Do not do this. I’m telling you, do not do this.”
“Telling me? You mean you’re giving me an order? The little old man with the big brass buttons is issuing a command? Well, forget it! I don’t take orders from men like you! You’re frauds! You’re worse than all the people you attack; at least they have the stomachs to do what they say they’re going to do! You don’t. All you’ve got is wind. Words and wind and self-serving bromides. Lie down and die, old man! But don’t give me an order!”
Villiers unclasped his hands and shot out of the chair, his racked body now trembling. “I told you. No more!”
“I’m not interested in what you tell me. I was right the first time I saw you. You belong to Carlos. You were his lackey alive and you’ll be his lackey dead.”
The old soldier’s face grimaced in pain. He pulled out his gun, the gesture pathetic, the threat, however, real. “I’ve killed many men in my time. In my profession it was unavoidable, often disturbing. I don’t want to kill you now, but I will if you disregard my wishes. Leave me. Leave this house.”
“That’s terrific. You must be wired into Carlos’ head. You kill me, he sweeps the board!” Jason took a step forward, aware of the fact that it was the first movement he had made since entering the room. He saw Villiers’ eyes widen; the gun shook, its oscillating shadow cast against the wall. A single half ounce of pressure and the hammer would plunge forward, bullet finding its mark. For in spite of madness of the moment, the hand that held that weapon had spent a lifetime gripping steel; it would be steady when the instant came. If it came. That was the risk Bourne had to take. Without Villiers, there was nothing, the old man had to understand. Jason suddenly shouted: “Go on! Fire. Kill me. Take your orders from Carlos! You’re a soldier. You’ve got your orders. Carry them out.”
The trembling in Villiers’ hand increased, the knuckles white as the gun rose higher, its barrel now leveled at Bourne’s head. And then Jason heard the whisper from an old man’s throat.
“ ‘Vous êtes un soldat … arrêtez … arrêtez.’ ”
“What?”
“I am a soldier. Someone said that to me recently, someone very dear to you.” Villiers spoke quietly. “She shamed an old warrior into remembering who he was … who he had been. ‘On dit que vous êtes un géant. Je le crois.’ She had the grace, the kindness to say that to me also. She had been told I was a giant, and she believed it. She was wrong—Almighty God, she was wrong—but I shall try.” André Villiers lowered the gun; there was dignity in the submission. A soldier’s dignity. A giant’s. “What would you have me do?”
Jason breathed again. “Force Carlos into coming after me. But not here, not in Paris. Not even in France.”
“Where then?”
Jason held his place. “Can you get me out of the country? I should tell you, I’m wanted. My name and description by now are on every immigration desk and border check in Europe.”
“For the wrong reasons?”
“For the wrong reasons.”
“I believe you. There are ways. The Conseiller Militaire has ways and will do as I ask.”
“With an identity that’s false? Without telling them why?”
“My word is enough. I’ve earned it.”
“Another question. That aide of yours you talked about. Do you trust him—really trust him?”
“With my life. Above all men.”
“With another’s life? One you correctly said was very dear to me?”
“Of course. Why? You’ll travel alone?”
“I have to. She’d never let me go.”
“You’ll have to tell her something.”
“I will. That I’m underground here in Paris, or Brussels, or Amsterdam. Cities where Carlos operates. But she has to get away; our car was found in Montmartre. Carlos’ men are searching every street, every fiat, every hotel. You’re working with me now; your aide will take her into the country—she’ll be safe there. I’ll tell her that.”
“I must ask the question now. What happens if you don’t come back?”
Bourne tried to keep the plea out of his voice. “I’ll have time on the plane. I’ll write out everything that’s happened, everything that I … remember. I’ll send it to you and you make the decisions. With her. She called you a giant. Make the right decisions. Protect her.”
“ ‘Vous êtes un soldat … arrêtez.’ You have my word. She’ll not be harmed.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
Villiers threw the gun on the bed. It landed between the twisted bare legs of the dead woman; the old soldier coughed abruptly, contemptuously, his posture returning. ‘To practicalities, my young wolfpack,” he said, authority coming back to him awkwardly, but with definition. “What’s this strategy of yours?”