| 3:10a |
@@@@@Was Santos
in some way the Jackal’s
@@@@@Was Santos
in some way the Jackal’s prisoner, confined to the sleazy café night and day? It was a fascinating
query in light of the manager’s size and sheer raw power, both combined with a far-above-average
intellect
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
252
It was 12:37 when Jason, in blue jeans, cap and a dark, tattered V-necked sweater, reached the
gates of the old factoryHe took out a pack of Gauloise cigarettes and leaned against the wall,
lighting one with a match, holding the flame longer than necessary before he blew it outHis
thoughts returned to the enigmatic Santos, the premier conduit in Carlos’s army, the most trusted
satellite in the Jackal’s orbit, a man whose French might have been formed at the Sorbonne, yet
Santos was a Latin AmericanA Venezuelan, if Bourne’s instincts had meritAnd
Santos wanted to see him ‘with peace in his heart Bravo, amigo, thought JasonSantos had
reached a terrified ambassador in London with a question so loaded it made a political party’s
private poll look like the essence of nonpartisan neutralityAtkinson had no choice but to state
emphatically, if not in panic, that whatever instructions Snake Lady issued were to be carried out
The power of Snake Lady was the ambassador’s only protection, his ultimate refuge
So Santos could bend; that decision was rooted in intellect, not loyalty, not obligationThe
conduit wanted to crawl out of his sewer, and with three million francs in the offing, combined with
a multitude of faraway places across the globe to choose from, the conduit’s mind told him to
listen, to considerThere were alternatives in life if opportunities were presentedOne had been
presented to Santos, vassal to Carlos, whose fealty to his lord had perhaps run its suffocating
courseIt was this instinctive projection that made Bourne include in his plea—calmly but firmly,
the emphasis in understatement—such phrases as You could travel, disappear a wealthy man,
free of care and unpleasant drudgeryThe key words were “free” and “disappear,” and Santos’s
eyes had respondedHe was ready to take the three-million-franc bait, and Bourne was perfectly
happy to let him break the line and swim with it
Jason looked at his watch; fifteen minutes had passedNo doubt Santos’s minions were checking
the streets, a final inspection before the high priest of conduits appearedBourne thought briefly of
Marie, of the sensations he felt at the Trocadéro, remembering old Fontaine’s words when the two
of them watched the paths of Tranquility Inn from the high storage room, waiting for CarlosHe’s
near, I feel itLike the approach of distant thunderIn a different—far different—way Jason had
like feelings at the TrocadéroEnough! Santos! The Jackal!
His watch read one o’clock, and the two messengers from the Pont-Royal walked out of the
alley and across the street to the gates of the old refi |