Along with the automatic supplied by the Central...
Along with the automatic supplied by the Central Intelligence Agency, the gear was
either lashed to his belt or concealed in his clothingThe darkness came and Jason Bourne walked
into the woods
The white sheet of ocean spray burst up from the coral reef and appeared suspended, the dark
blue waters of the Caribbean serving as a backdropIt was that hour of early evening, a long
sundown imminent, when Tranquility Isle was bathed in alternating hot tropical colors, pockets of
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shadows constantly changing with each imperceptible descent of the orange sunThe resort
complex of Tranquility Inn had seemingly been cut out of three adjacent rock-strewn hills above an
elongated beach sandwiched between huge natural jetties of coralTwo rows of balconied pink
villas with bright red roofs of terra-cotta extended from each side of the resort’s central hub, a mulberry bags large
circular building of heavy stone and thick glass, all the structures overlooking the water, the villas
connected by a white concrete path bordered by low-cut shrubbery and lined with ground lamps
Waiters in yellow guayabera jackets wheeled room-service tables along the path, delivering bottles
and ice and canapés to Tranquility’s guests, the majority of whom sat on their individual balconies
savoring the end of the Caribbean dayAnd as the shadows became more prominent, other people
unobtrusively appeared along the beach and on the long dock that extended out over the water
These were neither guests nor service employees; they were armed guards, each dressed in a dark
brown tropical uniform and—again unobtrusively—with a MAC-10 machine pistol strapped to his
belted waistOn the opposite side of each jacket and hooked to the cloth was a pair of Zeiss Ikon
8x10 binoculars continuously used to fendi b scan the darknessThe owner of Tranquility Inn was
determined that it live up to its name
On the large circular balcony of the villa nearest the main building and the attached glassenclosed
dining room, an elderly infirm woman sat in a wheelchair sipping a glass of Chateau
Carbonnieux ’78 while drinking in the splendors of sundownShe absently touched the bangs of
her imperfectly dyed red hair as she listenedShe heard the voice of her man talking with the nurse
inside, then the sound of his less than emphatic footsteps as he walked out to join her
“My God,” she said in French“I’m going to get pissed!”
“Why not?” asked the Jackal’s courier“This is the place for itI see everything through a haze
of disbelief myself
“You still will not tell me why the monseigneur sent you here—us here?”
“I told you, I’m merely a messenger
“And I don’t believe youIt’s important for him but of no consequence for white chloe bag us
“You always call me that when you won’t explain
“Then you should learn from experience not to inquire, is it not so?”
“It is not so, my dearI’m dying—”
“We’ll hear no more of that!”
“It’s true nevertheless; you cannot keep it from meI don’t worry for myself, the pain will end,
you see, but I worry about youYou, forever better than your circumstances, Michel— No, no, you
are Jean Pierre, I must not forget thatStill, I must concern myselfThis place, these
extraordinary lodgings, this attentionI think you will pay a terrible price, my dear
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s all so grand
“You concern yourself too deeply
“No, you deceive yourself too easilyMy brother, Claude, has always said you take too much
from the monseigneurOne day the bill will be presented to you
“Your brother, Claude, is a sweet old man with feathers in his headIt’s why the monseigneur
gives him only the most chanel bags collection insignificant assignmentsYou send him out for a paper in Montparnasse
he ends up in Marseilles not knowing how he got there The telephone inside the villa rang,
interrupting the Jackal’s man“Our new friend will get it,” he said
“She’s a strange one,” added the old woman
“She works for the monseigneur
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“Really?”
“I haven’t had time to tell youShe will relay his instructions
The uniformed nurse, her light brown hair pulled severely back into a bun, appeared in the
doorway“Monsieur, it is Paris,” she said, her wide gray eyes conveying an urgency missing in her
low, understated voice The Jackal’s courier walked inside, following the nurse to the telephoneShe
picked it up and handed it to him“This is Jean Pierre Fontaine
“Blessings upon you, child of God,” said the voice several thousand miles away“Is everything
suitable?”
“Beyond description,” answered the old big chanel