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The young man got up from the chair and walked over to the couch
Marie sat in the back of the plane drinking coffee from a plastic cup, trying desperately to recall
every place—every hiding and resting place—she and David had used thirteen years agoThere
were the rock-bottom cafés in Montparnasse, the cheap hotels as well; and a motel—where was
it?—ten miles outside of Paris, and an inn with a balcony in Argenteuil where David—Jason—first
told her he loved her but could not stay with her because he loved her—the goddamned ass! And
there was the Sacré-Coeur, far up on the steps where Jason—David—met the man in a dark alley
who gave them the balenciaga motorcycle information they needed—what was it, who was he?
“Mesdames et messieurs,” came the voice over the flight deck’s loudspeaker“Jesuis votre
capitaine“The pilot continued first in French, then he and his crew repeated the in
formation in English, German, Italian and, finally with a female interpreter, in Japanese“We
anticipate a very smooth flight to MarseillesOur estimated flight time is seven hours and fourteen
minutes, landing on or before schedule at six o’clock in the morning, Paris time
The moonlight outside bathed the ocean below as Marie StJacques Webb looked out the
windowShe had flown to San Juan, Puerto Rico, and taken the night flight to new cartier Marseilles, where
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
208
French immigration was at best a mass of confusion and at worst intentionally laxAt least that was
the way it was thirteen years ago, a time she was reenteringShe would then take a domestic flight
to Paris and she would find himAs she had done thirteen years ago, she would find himShe had
to! As it had been thirteen years ago, if she did not, the man she loved was a dead man
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
209
21
Morris Panov sat listlessly in a chair by a window looking out over the pasture of a farm
somewhere, he assumed, in MarylandHe was in a small second-floor bedroom dressed in chanel earrings a
hospital nightshirt, his bare right arm confirming the story he knew only too wellHe had been
drugged repeatedly, taken up to the moon, in the parlance of those who usually administered such
narcoticsHe had been mentally raped, his mind penetrated, violated, his innermost thoughts and
secrets brought chemically to the surface and exposed
The damage he had done was incalculable, he understood that; what he did not understand was
why he was still aliveEven more perplexing was why he was being treated so deferentiallyWhy
was his guard with the foolish black mask so courteous, the food plentiful and decent? It was as if
the present imperative of his cheap gucci captivity was to restore his strength—profoundly sapped by the
drugs—and make him as comfortable as possible under the extraordinarily difficult circumstances
Why?
The door opened and his masked guard walked in, a short heavyset man with a rasping voice
Panov placed somewhere in the northeastern United States or possibly ChicagoIn another situation
he might have appeared comic, his large head too massive for the asinine Lone Ranger eyecovering,
which would certainly not impede instant identificationHowever, in the current state of
affairs, he was not comic at all; his obsequiousness was in itself menacingOver his left arm were
the psychiatrist’s rolex daytona cosmograph clothes