Here it is, on the blotterSaint Alex has a hell... Here it is, on the blotterSaint Alex has a hell of a lot to explain, that son
of a bitch!” She dialed angrily but accurately, sitting in StJacques’s chair, tapping her clenched
fist as the tears continued to roll down her cheeksTears of sorrow and fury“It’s me, you bastard!
You’ve killed him! You let him go—helped him to go—and you’ve killed him!”
“I can’t talk to you now, Marie,” said a cold, controlled Alexander Conklin“I’ve got Paris on
the other line
“Screw Paris! Where is he? Get him out!”
“Believe me, we’re trying to find himAll fucking hell has broken out hereThe British want
Peter Holland’s ass for even hinting at a Far East connection, and the French are in an up roar over
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
200
something they can’t figure out but suspect, like special Deuxième cargo on a plane from
Martinique, which was originally
replica miu miu rejectedI’ll call you back, I swear it!”
The line was disconnected, and Marie slammed down the phone“I’m flying to Paris, Johnny,”
she said, breathing deeply and wiping the tears from her face
“You’re what?”
“You heard meJamie loves her and she’s better with Alison than
I could ever be—and why not? She’s had seven children, all grown up who still come back to her
every Sunday
“You’re crazy! I won’t let you!”
“Somehow,” said Marie, giving her brother a withering look, “I have an idea you probably said
something like that to David when he told you he was going to Paris
“Yes, I did!”
“And you couldn’t stop him any more than you can stop me
“But why?”
“Because I know every place he knows in Paris, every street, every café, every alley, from
Sacré-Coeur to MontmartreHe has to use them, and I’ll find him long before the Deuxième or the
S?reté The telephone rang;
omega watch replica Marie picked it up
“I told you I’d call you right back,” said the voice of Alex Conklin“Bernardine has an idea that
might work
“Who’s Bernardine?”
“An old Deuxième colleague and a good friend who’s helping David
“What’s his idea?”
“He got Jason—David—a rental carHe knows the license-plate number and is having it radioed
to all the Paris police patrols to report it if seen, but not to stop the car or harass the driverSimply
keep it in sight and report directly to him
“And you think David—Jason—won’t spot something like that? You’ve got a terrible memory,
worse than my husband’s
“It’s only one possibility, there are otherswell, he’s bound to call meWhen he hears the news about Teagarten, he’s got to call
me
“Why?”
“Like you say, to get him out!”
“With Carlos in the offing? Fat chance, fatheadI’ve got a better idea
“You can’t!”
“I don’t want to hear that
prada handbags sale anymore, I won’t hear that anymoreAre you going to help me or do I
do it by myself?”
“I couldn’t get a postage stamp from a dispensing machine in France, and Holland couldn’t get
the address of the Eiffel Tower
“Then I’m on my own, which, frankly, under the circumstances, makes me feel a lot safer
“What can you do, Marie?”
“I won’t give you a litany, but I can go to all those places he and I went to, used when we were
runningHe’ll use them again, somehow, some wayHe has to because in your crazy jargon they
were ‘secure,’ and in his crazy frame of mind he’ll return to them because he knows they’re
secure
“God bless, favorite lady
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“He abandoned us, Alex
Prefontaine walked through the terminal at Boston’s Logan Airport to the crowded platform and
raised his hand to hail a cabBut after looking around, he lowered
tiffany toggle necklace his hand and stood in line; things
had changed in thirty yearsEverything, including airports, had become cafeterias; one stood in line
for a plate of third-rate mulligan stew, as well as for a taxi
“The Ritz-Carlton,” said the judge to the driver
“You h’ain’d got no luggage?” asked the man“Nudding but d’liddle bag?”
“No, I do not,” replied Prefontaine and, unable to resist a follow-up added, “I keep wardrobes
wherever I go
“Tutti-fruitee,” said the driver, removing an outsized, wide-toothed comb from his hair as he
swung out into the traffic
“You have a reservation, sir?” asked the tuxedoed clerk behind the counter at the Ritz
“I trust one of my law clerks made it for meThe name’s Scofield, Justice William Scofield of
the Supreme CourtI’d hate to think that the Ritz had lost a reservation, especially these days when
everyone’s screaming for consumer
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