'Bourne is Cain. We found him through the Medusa records. It's why you were hired."

Then he's Bourne, but it's not the name he used. Of course, there were a number of men in Medusa who would not permit their real names to be used. For them, false identities were guaranteed; they had criminal records. He would be one of those men.'

'Why him? Others disappeared. You disappeared.'

'I could say because he was here in Saint-Honore and that should be enough. But there's more, much more. I watched him function. I was assigned to a mission he commanded; it was not an experience to be forgotten, nor was he. That man could be - would be - your Cain.'

Tell me.'

'We parachuted at night into a sector called Tarn Quan, our objective to bring out an American named Webb who was being held by the Viet Cong. We didn't know it, but the odds against survival were monumental. Even the flight from Saigon was horrendous; gale-force winds at a thousand feet, the aircraft vibrating as if it would fall apart. Still, he ordered us to jump."

'And you did?"

'His gun was pointed at our heads. At each of us as we approached the hatchway. We might survive the elements, not a bullet in our skulls.'

'How many were there of you?'

'Eight'

'You could have taken him.'

'You didn't know him.'

'Go on,' said Bergeron, concentrating; immobile at the desk.

'Seven of us regrouped on the ground; two, we assumed, had not survived the jump. It was amazing that I did. I was the oldest and hardly a bull, but I knew the area; it was why I was sent.' The grey-haired man paused, shaking his head at the memory. 'Less than an hour later we realized it was a trap. We were pinned down by enemy gunfire for two nights and a day, running like lizards through the jungle ... And during the nights, he went out alone through the mortar explosions and the grenades. To kill. Always coming back before dawn to force us closer and closer to the base camp. I thought at the time, sheer suicide.'

'Why did you do it? He had to give you a reason; you were Medusans, not soldiers.'

'He said it was the only way to get out alive and there was logic to that. We were far behind the lines; we needed the

supplies we could find at the base camp - if we could take it. He said we had to take it, we had no choice. If any argued, he'd put a bullet in his head, we knew it ... On the third night we took the camp and found the man named Webb more dead than alive, but breathing. We also found the two-missing members of our team, very much alive and stunned at what had happened. A white man and a Vietnamese; they'd been paid by the Cong to trap us - trap him, I suspect."

'Cain?'

'Yes. The Vietnamese saw us first and escaped. Cain shot the white man in the head. He just walked up to him and blew his head off."

'He got you back? Through the lines?'

'Four of us, yes, and the man named Webb. Five men were killed. It was during that terrible journey back that I thought I understood why the rumours might be true - that he was the highest paid recruit in Medusa.'

'In what sense?'

'He was the coldest man I ever saw, the most dangerous, and utterly predictable. I thought at the time it was a strange war for him; he was a Savonarola, but without religious principle, only his own odd morality which was centred on himself. All men were his enemies - the leaders in particular and he cared not one whit for either side.' The middle-aged man paused again, his eyes on the drawing board, his mind obviously thousands of miles away and back in time. 'Remember, Medusa was filled with diverse and desperate men. Many were paranoid in their hatred of Communists - kill a Communist and Christ smiled, odd examples of Christian teaching. Others - such as myself - had fortunes stolen from us by the Viet Minh; the only path to restitution was if the Americans won the war. France had abandoned us at Dien Bien Phu. But there were dozens who saw that fortunes could be made from Medusa. Pouches often contained fifty to seventy-five thousand American dollars. A courier siphoning off half during ten, fifteen runs could retire in Singapore or Kuala Lumpur, or set up his own narcotics network in the Triangle. Apart from the exorbitant pay - and frequently the pardoning of past crimes - the opportunities were unlimited. It was in this group that I placed that very strange man. He was a modern-day pirate in the purest sense.

Bergeron unlocked his hands. 'Wait a minute. You used the phrase, "a mission he commanded". There were military men in Medusa; are you sure he wasn't art American officer?"

'American, to be sure, but certainly not an army man.'

'Why?'

'He hated everything military. His scorn for Command Saigon was in every decision he made; he considered the army fools and incompetents. At one point orders were radioed to us in Tam Quan. He broke off the transmission and told a regimental general to have sex with himself - he would not obey. An army officer would hardly do that.'

"Unless he was about to abandon his profession,' said the designer. 'As Paris abandoned you and you did the best you could, stealing from Medusa, setting up your own hardly patriotic activities - wherever you could.'

'My country betrayed me before I betrayed her, Rene".

'Back to Cain. You say Bourne was not the name he used. What was it?'

'I don't recall. As I said, for many, surnames were not relevant. He was simply "Delta" to me.'

'Mekong?'

'No, the alphabet, I think.'

'"Alpha, Bravo, Charlie ... Delta",' said Bergeron pensively in English. 'But in many operations the code word "Charlie" was replaced by ... "Cain", because "Charlie" had become synonymous with the Cong. "Charlie" became "Cain"!"

'Quite true. So Bourne dropped back a letter and assumed Cain. He could have chosen "Echo" or "Foxtrot" or "Zulu". Twenty-odd others. What's the difference? What's your point?"

'He chose Cain deliberately! It was symbolic! He wanted it clear from the beginning."

'Wanted what clear?'

That Cain would replace Carlos. Think. "Carlos" is Spanish for Charles - Charlie. The code word "Cain" was substituted for "Charlie" - Carlos. It was his intention from the start. Cain would replace Carlos; And he wanted Carlos to know it.'

'Does Carlos?'

'Of course! Word goes out in Amsterdam and Berlin, Geneva and Lisbon, London and right here in Paris. Cain is

available; contracts can be made, his price lower than Carlos's fee. He erodes! He constantly erodes Carlos's stature.'

'Two matadors in the same ring. There can only be one.'

'It will be Carlos. We've trapped the puffed-up sparrow. He's somewhere within two hours of Saint-Honore.'

'But where?'

'No matter. We'll find him. After all, he found us. He'll come back; his ego will demand it. And then the eagle will sweep down and catch the sparrow. Carlos will kill him.'

The old man adjusted his single crutch under his left arm, parted the black curtain, and stepped into the confessional. He was not well; the pallor of death was on his face, and he was glad the figure in the priest's habit beyond the transparent curtain could not see him clearly. The assassin might not give him further work if he looked too worn to carry it out; he needed work now. There were only weeks remaining and he had responsibilities. He spoke.