'I believe I've heard the name Iron Ass bandied about here and there,' said Monk.
'General Crawford? Stupid son of a bitch ... Stupid iron-assed son of a bitch!'
'Can you imagine?' interjected Stevens. 'Their man gets killed and we have the gall to tell them to stay out.'
'He was right, of course,' corrected Abbott. 'It had to be done swiftly, no room for misunderstanding. A clamp had to be put on instantly, the shock sufficiently outrageous to stop everything. It gave me time to reach Mackenzie Hawkins -Mac and I worked together in Burma; he's retired, but they listen to him. They're co-operating now and that's the important thing, isn't it?'
'There are other considerations, Mr Abbott,' protested Stevens.
They're on different levels, Elliot We working stiffs aren't on them; .we don't have to spend time over diplomatic posturing. I'll grant you those postures are necessary, but they don't concern us.'
They do concern the President, sir. They're part of his every working-stiff day. And that's why I have to go back with a very clear picture.' Stevens paused, turning to Webb. 'Now, please, let me have it again. Exactly what did you do and why? What part did we play regarding this Canadian woman?'
'Initially not a goddamn thing; that was Carlos's move. Someone very high up in the Zurich police is on Carlos's payroll. It was the Zurich police who mocked up the so-called evidence linking her to the three killings. And it's ludicrous; she's no killer.'
'All right, all right,' said the aide. That was Carlos. Why did he do it?V.
To flush out Bourne. The St Jacques woman and Bourne are together.'
'Bourne being this assassin who calls himself Cain, correct?'
'Yes,' said Webb. 'Carlos has sworn to kill him. Cain's moved in on Carlos all over Europe and the Middle East, but there's no photograph of Cain, no one really knows what he looks like. So by circulating a picture of the woman - and let me tell you, it's in every damn newspaper over there - someone may spot her. If she's found, the chances are that Cain -Bourne - will be found too. Carlos will kill them both.'
'All right. Again, that's Carlos. Now what did you do?'
'Just what I said. Reached the Gemeinschaft and persuaded the bank into confirming the fact that the woman might - just might - be tied with a massive theft. It wasn't easy, but it was their man Koenig who'd been bribed, not one of our people. That's an internal matter; they wanted a lid on it. Then I called the papers and referred them to Walther Apfel. Mysterious woman, murder, millions stolen; the editors leaped at it.'
'For Christ's sake, why?' shouted Stevens. 'You used a citizen of another country for a U.S. intelligence strategy! A service staff employee of a closely allied government. Are you out of your minds? You only exacerbated the situation. You sacrificed her!'
"You're wrong," said Webb. "We're trying to save her life. We've turned Carlos's weapon against him.'
'How?'
The Monk raised his hand. "Before we answer we have to go back to another question,' he said. "Because the answer to that may give you an indication of how restricted the information must remain. A moment ago I asked the major how Carlos's man could have found Bourne - found the fiche that identified Bourne as Cain. I think I know, but I want him to tell you.'
Webb leaned forward. "The Medusa records,' he said quietly, reluctantly.
"Medusa ... ?' Stevens's expression conveyed the fact that Medusa had been the subject of early White House confidential briefings. 'They're buried," he said.
'Correction,' intruded Abbott. 'There's an original and two copies and they're in vaults at the Pentagon, the C.I.A. and the National Security Council. Access to them is limited to a select group, each one among the highest ranking members of his unit. Bourne came out of Medusa; a cross-checking of those names with the bank records would produce his name. Someone gave them to Carlos.'
Stevens stared at the Monk. 'Are you saying that Carlos is... wired into ... men like that? It's an extraordinary charge.' "It's the only explanation,' said Webb. "But why would Bourne ever use his own name?' "It was necessary,' replied Abbott. "It was a vital part of the portrait. It had to be authentic; everything had to be authentic. Everything.' 'Authentic?'
'Maybe you'll understand now,' continued the major. 'By tying the St Jacques woman into millions supposedly stolen
from the Gemeinschaft Bank, we're telling Bourne to surface. He knows it's false.'
'Bourne to surface!'
The man called Jason Bourne,' said Abbott, getting to his feet and walking slowly towards the drawn curtains, 'is an American intelligence officer. There is no Cain, not the one Carlos believes. He's a lure, a trap for Carlos: that's who he is. Or was.'
The silence was brief, broken by the White House man. 'I think you'd better explain. The President has to know.'
'I suppose so,' mused Abbott, parting the curtains, looking absently outside. 'It's an insoluble dilemma, really. Presidents change, different men with different temperaments and appetites sit in the Oval office. However, a long-range intelligence strategy doesn't change, not one like this. Yet an offhand remark over a glass of whisky in a post-presidential conversation, or an egotistical phrase in a memoir, can blow that same strategy right to hell. There isn't a day that we don't worry about those men who have survived the White House.'
'Please,' interrupted Stevens. 'I ask you to remember that I'm here on the orders of this President. Whether you approve or disapprove doesn't matter. He has the right by law to know, and in his name I insist on that right.'
'Very well,' said Abbott still looking outside. 'Three years ago we borrowed a page from the British. We created a man who never was. If you recall, prior to the Normandy invasion British Intelligence floated a corpse into the coast of Portugal, knowing that whatever documents were concealed on it would find their way to the German Embassy in Lisbon. A life was created for that dead body; a name, a naval officer's rank; schools, training, travel orders, driver's licence, membership cards of exclusive London clubs, and half a dozen personal letters. Scattered throughout were hints, vaguely worded allusions and a few very direct chronological and geographical references. They all pointed to the invasion taking place a hundred miles away from the beaches at Normandy and six weeks off the target date in June. After panicked checks were made by German agents all over England controlled, incidentally and monitored by M.I.5. - the High command in Berlin bought the story and shifted a large part of their defences. As many were lost, thousands upon thousands of lives were saved by that man who never was.' Abbott let the curtain fall into place and walked wearily back to his chair.
'I heard the story,' said the White House aide. 'And?' 'Ours was a variation,I said the Monk, sitting down wearily. 'Create a living man, a quickly established legend, seemingly everywhere at once, racing all over South-east Asia, outdoing Carlos at every turn, especially in the area of sheer numbers. Whenever there was a killing, or an unexplained death, or a prominent figure involved in a fatal accident, there was Cain. Wherever there was violence and homicide, we tied in Cain. Reliable sources - paid informants known for accuracy - were fed his name: embassies, listening posts, entire intelligence networks were repeatedly funnelled reports that concentrated on Cain's rapidly expanding activities. His "kills" were mounting every month, sometimes it seemed weekly. He was everywhere ... and he was. In all ways.' 'You mean this Bourne was?'