“Perhaps you don’t really know “Know...
“Perhaps you don’t really
know
“Know what?”
“Know that there is someone else who wants this third party dead far more than you do,”
explained the count“Yesterday noon he assaulted a small café in the countryside with murderous
gunfire, killing a number of people, because your third party was insideWe saw
them—him—warned by a guard and race outsideCertain emergencies are communicatedWe left
immediately, only minutes before the massacre
“Condannare!” choked DeFazio“Who is this bastard who wants the kill? Tell me!”
“We’ve spent yesterday afternoon and all day today trying to find out,” began the woman,
leaning forward, delicately fingering the indelicate glass as though it were an affront to her
sensibilities“Your targets are never aloneThere are always men around them, armed guards, and
at first we didn’t know where they came fromThen on the avenue Montaigne we saw a Soviet
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limousine come fendi spy for them, and your third man in the company of a well-known KGB officer, and
now we think we do know
“Only you, however,” broke in the count, “can confirm it for usWhat is the name of this third
man on your contract? Surely we have a right to know
“Why not? He’s a loser named Bourne, Jason Bourne, who’s blackmailing our clients
“Ecco,” said the husband quietly
“Ultimo,” added the wife“What do you know of this Bourne?” she askedHe went out under cover for the government and got shafted by the big boys
in WashingtonHe gets pissed off, so he ends up shafting our clients
“You’ve never heard of Carlos the Jackal?” said the count, leaning back in the chair, studying
the capo supremo
“Oh, yeah, sure, I heard of him, and I see what you meanThey say this Jackal character has a
big thing against this Bourne and vice versa, but it don’t cut no ice with meYou know, I thought
that fox-cat was just in books, in the movies, you know what I mean? vintage cartier ladies watch Then they tell me he’s a real
hit man, wadda y’ know?”
“Very real,” agreed the countess
“But, like I said, him I couldn’t care less aboutI want the Jew shrink, the cripple, and this rotgut
Bourne, that’s allAnd I really want them
The diplomat and his wife looked at each other; they shrugged in mild astonishment, then the
contessa nodded, deferring to her husband“Your sense of fiction has been shattered by reality,”
said the count
“Come again?”
“There was a Robin Hood, you know, but he wasn’t a noble of LocksleyHe was a barbaric
Saxon chief who opposed the Normans, a murdering, butchering thief, extolled only in legends
And there was an Innocent the Third, a pope who was hardly innocent and who followed the savage
policies of a predecessor, Saint Gregory the Seventh, who was hardly a saintBetween them they
split Europe asunder, into rivers of blood for political power and to enrich the coffers of the ‘Holy
Empire Centuries before, black chanel quilted bag celeb there was the gentle Quintus Cassius Longinus of Rome, beloved
protector of the Further Spain, yet he tortured and mutilated a hundred thousand Spaniards
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“These men were fictionalized, Signor DeFazio, into many different shadings of what they may
actually have been, but regardless of the distortions, they were realJust as the Jackal is real, and is
a deadly problem for youAs, unfortunately, he is a problem for us, for he’s a complication we
cannot accept
“Huh?” The capo supremo, mouth gaping, stared at the Italian aristocrat
“The presence of the Soviets was both alarming and enigmatic,” continued the count“Then
finally we perceived a possible connection, which you just confirmedMoscow has been hunting
Carlos for years, solely for the purpose of executing him, and all they’ve gotten for their efforts is
one dead hunter after anotherSomehow—God knows how—Jason Bourne negotiated with the
Russians to rolex wrist watches pursue their common objective
“For Christ’s sake, speak English or Italian, but with words that make sense! I didn’t exactly go
to Harvard City College, gumballI didn’t have to, capisce?”
“The Jackal stormed that country inn yesterdayHe’s the one hunting down Jason Bourne, who
was foolish enough to come back to Paris and persuade the Soviets to work with himBoth were
stupid, for this is Paris and Carlos will winHe’ll kill Bourne and your other targets and laugh at
the RussiansThen he’ll proclaim to the clandestine departments of all governments that he has
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won, that he’s the padrone, the maestroYou in America have never been exposed to the whole
story, only bits and pieces, for your interest in Europe stops at the money lineBut we have lived
through it, watching in fascination, and now we are mesmerizedTwo aging master assassins
obsessed with hatred, each wanting only to cut the other’s gucci monogram wallet thro