“Sounds like too many people. There were too many people in Zurich, too many here in Paris.”
“All blind, monsieur. Every one.”
“Blind?”
“To put it plainly, I’ve been part of the operation for a number of years, meeting in one way or another dozens who have played their minor roles—none is major. I have yet to meet a single person who has ever spoken to Carlos, much less has any idea who he is.”
“That’s Carlos. I want to know about Cain. What you know about Cain.” Stay controlled. You cannot turn away. Look at her. Look at her!
“Where shall I begin?”
“With whatever comes to mind first. Where did he come from?” Do not look away!
“Southeast Asia, of course.”
“Of course …” Oh, God.
“From the American Medusa, we know that …”
Medusa! The winds, the darkness, the flashes of light, the pain. … The pain ripped through his skull now; he was not where he was, but where he had been. A world away in distance and time. The pain. Oh, Jesus. The pain …
Tao!
Che-sah!
Tam Quan! Alpha, Bravo, Cain … Delta.
Delta … Cain!
Cain is for Charlie.
Delta is for Cain.
“What is it?” The woman looked frightened; she was studying his face, her eyes roving, boring into his. “You’re perspiring. Your hands are shaking. Are you having an attack?”
“It passes quickly.” Jason pried his hand away from his wrist and reached for a napkin to wipe his forehead.
“It comes with the pressures, no?”
“With the pressures, yes. Go on. There isn’t much time; people have to be reached, decisions made. Your life is probably one of them. Back to Cain: You say he came from the American … Medusa.”
“Les mercenaires du diable,” said Lavier. “It was the nickname given Medusa by the Indochina colonials—what was left of them. Quite appropriate, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t make any difference what I think. Or what I know. I want to hear what you think, what you know about Cain.”
“Your attack makes you rude.”
“My impatience makes me impatient. You say we chose the wrong man; if we did we had the wrong information. Les mercenaires du diable. Are you implying that Cain is French?”
“Not at all, you test me poorly. I mentioned that only to indicate how deeply we penetrated Medusa.”
“ ‘We’ being the people who work for Carlos.”
“You could say that.”
“I will say that. If Cain’s not French, what is he?”
“Undoubtedly American.”
Oh, God! “Why?”
“Everything he does has the ring of American audacity. He pushes and shoves with little or no finesse, taking credit where none is his, claiming kills when he had nothing to do with them. He had studied Carlos’ methods and connections like no other man alive. Were told he recites them with total recall to potential clients, more often than not putting himself in Carlos’ place, convincing fools that it was he, not Carlos, who accepted and fulfilled the contracts.” Lavier paused. “I’ve struck a chord, no? He did the same with you—your people—yes?”
“Perhaps.” Jason reached for his own wrist again, as the statements came back to him. Statements made in response to clues in a dreadful game.
Stuttgart. Regensburg. Munich. Two kills and a kidnapping, Baader accreditation. Fees from U. S. sources. …
Teheran? Eight kills. Divided accreditation—Khomeini and PLO. Fee, two million. Southwest Soviet sector.
Paris … All contracts will be processed through Paris.
Whose contracts?
Sanchez … Carlos.
“… always such a transparent device.”
The Lavier woman had spoken; he had not heard her. “What did you say?”
“You were remembering, yes? He used the same device with you—your people. It’s how he gets his assignments.”
“Assignments?” Bourne tensed the muscles in his stomach until the pain brought him back to the table in the candelabraed dining room in Argenteuil. “He gets assignments, then,” he said pointlessly.
“And carries them out with considerable expertise; no one denies him that. His record of kills is impressive. In many ways, he is second to Carlos—not his equal, but far above the ranks of les guérilleros. He’s a man of immense skill, extremely inventive, a trained lethal weapon out of Medusa. But it is his arrogance, his lies at the expense of Carlos that will bring him down.”
“And that makes him American? Or is it your bias? I have an idea you like American money, but that’s about all they export that you do like.” Immense skill; extremely inventive, a trained lethal weapon. … Port Noir, La Ciotat, Marseilles, Zurich, Paris.
“It is beyond prejudice, monsieur. The identification is positive.”
“How did you get it?”
Lavier touched the stem of her wineglass, her red-tipped index finger curling around it. “A discontented man was bought in Washington.”
“Washington?”
“The Americans also look for Cain—with an intensity approaching Carlos’, I suspect. Medusa has never been made public, and Cain might prove to be an extraordinary embarrassment. This discontented man was in a position to give us a great deal of information, including the Medusa records. It was a simple matter to match the names with those in Zurich. Simple for Carlos, not for anyone else.”
Too simple, thought Jason, not knowing why the thought struck him. “I see,” he said.
“And you? How did you find him? Not Cain, of course, but Bourne.”
Through the mists of anxiety, Jason recalled another statement. Not his, but one spoken by Marie. “Far simpler,” he said. “We paid the money to him by means of a shortfall deposit into one account, the surplus diverted blindly into another. The numbers could be traced; it’s a tax device.”
“Cain permitted it?”
“He didn’t know it. The numbers were paid for … as you paid for different numbers—telephone numbers—on a fiche.”
“I commend you.”
“It’s not required, but everything you know about Cain is. All you’ve done so far is explain an identification. Now, go on. Everything you know about this man Bourne, everything you’ve been told.” Be careful. Take the tension from your voice. You are merely … evaluating data. Marie, you said that. Dear, dear Marie. Thank God you’re not here.
“What we know about him is incomplete. He’s managed to remove most of the vital records, a lesson he undoubtedly learned from Carlos. But not all; we’ve pieced together a sketch. Before he was recruited into Medusa, he supposedly was a French-speaking businessman living in Singapore, representing a collective of American importers from New York to California. The truth is he had been dismissed by the collective, which then tried to have him extradited back to the States for prosecution; he had stolen hundreds of thousands from it. He was known in Singapore as a reclusive figure, very powerful in contraband operations, and extraordinarily ruthless.”
“Before that,” interrupted Jason, feeling again the perspiration breaking out on his hairline. “Before Singapore. Where did he come from?” Be careful! The images! He could see the streets of Singapore. Prince Edward Road, Kim Chuan, Boon Tat Street, Maxwell, Cuscaden.
“Those are the records no one can find. There are only rumors, and they are meaningless. For example, it was said that he was a defrocked Jesuit, gone mad; another speculation was that he had been a young, aggressive investment banker caught embezzling funds in concert with several Singapore banks. There’s nothing concrete, nothing that can be traced. Before Singapore, nothing.”
You’re wrong, there was a great deal. But none of that is part of it… There is a void, and it must be filled, and you can’t help me. Perhaps no one can; perhaps no one should.
“So far, you haven’t told me anything startling,” said Bourne, “nothing relative to the information I’m interested in.”
“Then I don’t know what you wan! You ask me questions, press for details, and when I offer you answers you reject them as immaterial. What do you want?”
“What do you know about Cain’s … work? Since you’re looking for a compromise, give me a reason for it. If our information differs, it would be over what he’s done, wouldn’t it? When did he first come to your attention? Carlos’ attention? Quickly!”
“Two years ago,” said Mme. Lavier, disconcerted by Jason’s impatience, annoyed, frightened. “Word came out of Asia of a white man offering a service astonishingly similar to the one provided by Carlos. He was swiftly becoming an industry. An ambassador was assassinated in Moulmein; two days later a highly regarded Japanese politician was killed in Tokyo prior to a debate in the Diet. A week after that a newspaper editor was blown out of his car in Hong Kong, and in less than forty-eight hours a banker was shot on a street in Calcutta. Behind each one, Cain. Always Cain.” The woman stopped, appraising Bourne’s reaction. He gave none. “Don’t you see? He was everywhere. He raced from one kill to another, accepting contracts with such rapidity that he had to be indiscriminate. He was a man in an enormous hurry, building his reputation so quickly that he shocked even the most jaded professionals. And no one doubted that he was a professional, least of all Carlos. Instructions were sent: find out about this man, learn all you can. You see, Carlos understood what none of us did, and in less than twelve months he was proven correct. Reports came from informers in Manila, Osaka, Hong Kong and Tokyo. Cain was moving to Europe, they said; he would make Paris itself his base of operations. The challenge was clear, the gauntlet thrown. Cain was out to destroy Carlos. He would become the new Carlos, his services the services required by those who sought them. As you sought them, monsieur.”