“Why would she?”
“Because when I accuse her she’ll have the opportunity to kill me. When she makes the attempt, I will have my explanation, won’t I?”
“You’d take that risk?”
“I must take it.”
“Suppose she doesn’t make the attempt, doesn’t try to kill you?”
“That would be another explanation,” Villiers said. “In that unlikely event, I should look to my flanks if I were you, monsieur.” He shook his head. “It will not happen. We both know it, I far more clearly than you.”
“Listen to me,” insisted Jason. “You say there was your son first Think of him! Go after the killer, not the accomplice. She’s an enormous wound for you, but he’s a greater wound. Get the man who killed your son! In the end, you’ll get both. Don’t confront her; not yet. Use what you know against Carlos. Hunt him with me. No one’s ever been this close.”
“You ask more than I can give,” said the old man.
“Not if you think about your son. If you think of yourself, it is. But not if you think of the rue du Bac.”
“You are excessively cruel, monsieur.”
“I’m right and you know it.”
A high cloud floated by in the night sky, briefly blocking the light of the moon. Darkness was complete; Jason shivered. The old soldier spoke, resignation in his voice.
“Yes, you are right,” he said. “Excessively cruel and excessively right. It’s the killer, not the whore, who must be stopped. How do we work together? Hunt together?” Bourne closed his eyes briefly in relief. “Don’t do anything. Carlos has to be looking for me all over Paris. I’ve killed his men, uncovered a drop, found a contact. I’m too close to him. Unless we’re both mistaken, your telephone will get busier and busier. I’ll make sure of it.”
“How?”
“I’ll intercept a half a dozen employees of Les Classiques. Several clerks, the Lavier woman, Bergeron maybe, and certainly the man at the switchboard. They’ll talk. And so will I. That phone of yours will be busy as hell.”
“But what of me? What do I do?”
“Stay home. Say you’re not feeling well. And whenever that phone rings, stay near whoever else answers. Listen to the conversation, try to pick up codes, question the servants as to what was said to them. You could even listen in. If you hear something, fine, but you probably won’t. Whoever’s on the line will know you’re there. Still, you’ll frustrate the relay. And depending upon where your wife is--“
“The whore is,” broke in the old soldier.
“--in Carlos’ hierarchy, we might even force him to come out.”
“Again, how?”
“His lines of communication will be disrupted. The secure, unthinkable relay will be interfered with. He’ll demand a meeting with your wife.”
“He would hardly announce the whereabouts.”
“He has to tell her.” Bourne paused, another thought coming into focus. “If the disruption is severe enough, there’ll be that one phone call, or that one person you don’t know coming to the house, and shortly after, your wife will tell you she has to go somewhere. When it happens insist she leave a number where she can be reached. Be firm about it; you’re not trying to stop her from going, but you must be able to reach her. Tell her anything--use the relationship she developed. Say it’s a highly sensitive military matter you can’t talk about until you get a clearance. Then you want to discuss it with her before you render a judgment. She might jump at it.”
“What will it serve?”
“She’ll be telling you where she is. Maybe where Carlos is. If not Carlos, certainly others closer to him. Then reach me. I’ll give you a hotel and a room number. The name on the registry is meaningless, don’t bother about it.”
“Why don’t you give me your real name?”
“Because if you ever mentioned it--consciously or unconsciously--you’d be dead.”
“I’m not senile.”
“No, you’re not. But you’re a man who’s been’ hurt very badly. As badly as a person can be hurt, I think. You may risk your life; I won’t.”
“You’re a strange man, monsieur.”
“Yes. If I’m not there when you call, a woman will answer. She’ll know where I am. We’ll set up timing for messages.”
“A woman?” the general drew back. “You’ve said nothing about a woman, or anyone else.”
“There is no one else. Without her I wouldn’t be alive. Carlos is hunting both of us; he’s tried to kill both of us.”
“Does she know about me?”
“Yes. She’s the one who said it couldn’t be true. That you couldn’t be allied with Carlos. I thought you were.”
“Perhaps I’ll meet her.”
“Not likely. Until Carlos is taken--if he can be taken--we can’t be seen with you. Of all people, not you. Afterwards--if there is an afterwards--you may not want to be seen with us. With me. I’m being honest with you.”
“I understand that and I respect it In any event, thank this woman for me. Thank her for thinking I could be no part of Carlos.”
Bourne nodded. “Can you be sure your private line isn’t tapped?”
“Absolutely. It is swept on a regular basis; all the telephones restricted by the Conseiller are.”
“Whenever you expect a call from me, answer the phone and clear your throat twice. I’ll know it’s you. If for any reason you can’t talk, tell me to call your secretary in the morning. I’ll call back in ten minutes. What’s the number?”
Villiers gave it to him. “Your hotel?” asked the general.
“The Terrasse. Rue de Maistre, Montmartre. Room 420.”
“When will you begin?”
“As soon as possible. Noon, today.”
“Be like a wolfpack,” said the old soldier, leaning forward, a commander instructing his officer corps. “Strike swiftly.”
“She was so charming, I simply must do something for her,” cried Marie in ebullient French into the telephone. “Also for the sweet young man; he was of such help. I tell you, the dress was a succès fou!
I’m so grateful.”
“From your, descriptions, madame,” replied the cultured male voice on the switchboard at Les Classiques, “I’m sure you mean Janine and Claude.”