“There’s not a sane general in the... “There’s not a sane general in the Soviet
army—the same army that retook Stalingrad—who wouldn’t agree with meIt’s called the
‘calculated estimate of losses,’ and there’s a very good reason for that lousy verbiageIt simply
means you’re paying a lot less for what you’re getting now than you’d pay later
“You’re asking too much! These people are my comrades, my friends; they’re RussiansWould
you fire into a crowd of Americans? One recoil of my hands—an inch, two inches with a ‘fortyseven’—
and I could maim or kill half a dozen people! The risk’s too great!”
“You don’t have a choiceIf the Jackal gets by me—and I’ll know it if he does—I’ll throw in a
grenade and kill twenty
“You son of a bitch!”
“Believe it, BenWhere Carlos is concerned I’m a son of a bitchI can’t afford him any longer,
the world can’t afford himMove!”
The trainer named Benjamin spat in Bourne’s face, then turned and began fighting his way to the
guardhouse and the unseen corpse of the colonel beyondAlmost unconsciously Jason wiped his
face with the back of his hand, his concentration solely on the fenced parking area, his eyes darting
from one pocket of shadows to another, trying to center in on the origins of the automatic gunfire,
yet knowing it was pointless; the Jackal had changed position by thenHe counted the other
vehicles in addition to the fuel truck; there were nine parked by the fence—two station wagons,
four sedans and three suburban vans, all American-made or
chanel inspired handbags simulated as suchCarlos was
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
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concealed beyond one of them or possibly the fuel truck, the last unlikely as it was the farthest
away from the open gate in the fence that permitted access to the guardhouse and thus to the tunnel
Jason crouched and crawled forward; he reached the waist-high fence, the pandemonium behind
him continuous, deafeningEvery muscle and joint in his legs and arms pounded with pain; cramps
were developing everywhere, everywhere! Don’t think about them, don’t acknowledge them
You’re too close, David! Keep goingJason Bourne knows what to doTrust him!
Aaughh! He spun his body over the fence; the handle of his sheathed bayonet embedded itself in
his kidneyThere is no pain! You’re too close, David—JasonListen to Jason!
The searchlights—someone had pressed something and they went crazy, spinning around in
circles, abrupt, blinding, out of control! Where would Carlos go? Where could he hide? The beams
were erratically piercing everywhere! Then, from an opening that he could not see from across the
fenced-in area, two police cars raced inside, their sirens blaringUniformed men leaped out from
every door, and contrary to anything he expected to see, each scrambled to the borders of the fence,
behind the cars and the vans, one after another dashing from one vehicle to another to the open gate
that led to the guardhouse and the tunnel
There was a break in space, in timeIn men! The last four
tiffany & co. heart tag necklace escapees from the second car were
suddenly three—and only moments later did the fourth appear-but he was not the same—the
uniform was not the same! There were specks of orange and red, and the visored officer’s cap was
laced with gold ribbing, the visor itself too prominent for the American army, the crown of the cap
too pointedAnd, suddenly, Bourne understoodFragments of his memories
spiraled back years to Madrid or Casavieja, when he was tracing the Jackal’s contracts with the
FalangistsIt was a Spanish uniform! That was it! Carlos had infiltrated through the Spanish
compound, and as his Russian was fluent, he was using the high-ranking uniform to make his
escape from Novgorod
Jason lurched to his feet, his automatic drawn, and ran across the graveled lot, his left hand
reaching into his field jacket pocket for his second-to-last flareHe pulled the release and hurled the
fired stalk above the cars, beyond the fenceBenjamin would not see it from the guardhouse and
mistake it for the signal to close the gates of the tunnel; that signal would come shortly—in
seconds, perhaps—but at the moment it was premature, again perhaps by seconds
“Eto srochno!” roared one of the escaping men, spinning around and panicked at the sight of the
hissing, blinding flare
“Skoryeye!” shouted another, passing three companions and racing toward the open section of
the fenceAs the whirling searchlights continued their maniacal spinning, Bourne counted the
seven
louis vuitton vienna bag figures as one by one they dashed away from the last car and passed through the opening,
joining the excited crowds at the mouth of the tunnelThe eighth man did not appear; the highranking
Spanish uniform was nowhere in sightThe Jackal was trapped!
Now! Jason whipped out his last flare, yanked the release, and threw it with all his strength over
the stream of rushing men and women at the guardhouseDo it, Ben! he screamed in silence as he
removed the next-to-last grenade from the pocket of his field jacketDo it now!
As if in answer to his fevered plea, a thunderous roar came from the tunnel, round after round of
hysterical protestations punctuated by screams and shrieks and wailing chaosTwo rapid, deafening
bursts of automatic gunfire preceded unintelligible commands over the speakers, shouted in
RussianAnother burst and the same voice continued, louder, even more authoritative, as the
crowd momentarily but perceptibly quieted down, only to suddenly resume screaming at full
volumeBourne glanced over, astonished to see through the beams of the spinning searchlights the
figure of Benjamin now standing on the roof of the concrete guardhouseThe young trainer was
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
433
shouting into the microphone, exhorting the crowd to follow his instructions, whatever they wereAnd whatever they were, they were being obeyed! The multitude gradually, then gathering
momentum, began reversing direction—then, as a single unit,
omega constellation lady watch started racing back into the street!
Benjamin ignited his flare and waved it, pointing to the northHe was sending Jason his own
signalNot only was the tunnel shut down but the crowds were being dispersed without anyone
being shot with the AK-47There had been a better way
Bourne dropped to the ground, his eyes scanning the under sides of the stationary vehicles, the
spewing flame beyond lighting up the open spacesA pair of legs—in boots! Behind the third
automobile on the left, no more than twenty yards from the break in the fence that led to the tunnel
Carlos was his! The end was at last in sight! No time! Do what you have to do and do it quickly! He
dropped his weapon on the gravel, gripped the grenade in his right hand, pulled the pin, grabbed the
5 with his left hand and lurched off the ground, racing forwardRoughly thirty feet from the car
he dived back down into the gravel, turned sideways and heaved the grenade under the
automobile—only at the last instant, the small bomb having left his hand, realizing that he had
made a terrible error! The legs behind the car did not move—the boots remained in place, for they
were just that, boots! He lunged to his right, rolling furiously over the sharp stones, shielding his
face, curling his body into the smallest mass he could manage
The explosion was deafening, the lethal debris joining the whirling beams of the searchlights in
the night sky, fragments of metal and glass stinging Jason’s back and
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