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Washington will have to figure it out
Alexander Conklin limped out of the small kitchen in the CIA’s Vienna apartment, his face and
hair soaking wetIn the old days, before the old days fell into a distillery vat, he would calmly
leave the office—wherever it was—when things got too heavy too fast and indulge himself in an
unwavering ritualHe would seek out the best steak house—again, wherever he was—have two dry
martinis and a thick rare slab of meat with the greasiest potatoes on the menuThe combination of
the solitude, the limited intake of alcohol, the blood-rare hunk of beef and, in particular, the greaseladen
potatoes, had such a calming effect on him that all the rushing, conflicting complexities of the
hectic day sorted themselves out and reason prevailedHe would return to his dolce sale office—whether a
smart flat in London’s Belgravia Square or the back rooms of a whorehouse in Katmandu—with
multiple solutionsIt was how he got the sobriquet of Saint Alex of ConklinHe had once
mentioned this gastronomical phenomenon to Mo Panov, who had a succinct reply: “If your crazy
head doesn’t kill you, your stomach will
These days, however, with postalcoholic vacuum and various other impediments, such as high
cholesterol and dumb little triglycerides, whatever the hell they were, he had to come up with a
different solutionIt came about by accidentOne morning during the Iran-contra hearings, which
he found to be the finest hours of comedy on television, his set blew outHe was furious, so he
turned on his portable radio, an instrument he had not used in months or perhaps years, as the
television set had a built-in radio component—also inoperable at louis vuitton logo the time—but the portable radio’s
batteries had long since melted into white slimeHis artificial foot in pain, he walked to his kitchen
telephone, knowing that a call to his television repairman, for whom he had done several favors,
would bring the man running to his emergencyUnfortunately, the call only brought forth a hostile
diatribe from the repairman’s wife, who screamed that her husband, the “customerfucker,” had run
off with a “horny rich black bitch from Embassy Row!” (Zaire, as it later turned out in the Puerta
Vallarta papers Conklin, in progressive apoplexy, had rushed to the kitchen sink, where his stress
and blood pressure pills stood on the windowsill above the sink, and turned on the cold waterThe
faucet exploded, surging out of its recess into the ceiling as a powerful gush of water inundated his
entire headCaramba! The shock calmed him replica tiffany jewelry down, and he remembered that the Cable Network
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
184
was scheduled to rebroadcast the hearings in full that eveningA happy man, he called the plumber
and went out and bought a new television set
So, since that morning, whenever his own furies or the state of the world disturbed him—the
world he knew—he lowered his head in a kitchen sink and let the cold water pour over his headHe
had done so this morningThis goddamned, fucked-up morning!
DeSole! Killed in an accident on a deserted country road in Maryland at 4:30 that morning
What the hell was Steven DeSole, a man whose driver’s license clearly stated that he was afflicted
with night blindness, doing on a backcountry road outside Annapolis at 4:30 in the morning? And
then Charlie Casset, a very angry Casset, calling him at six o’clock, yelling his usually cool necklace chanel head
off, telling Alex he was going to put the commander of NATO on the goddamned spit and demand
an explanation for the buried fax connection between the general and the dead chief of clandestine
reports, who was not a victim of an accident but of murder! Furthermore, one retired field officer
named Conklin had better damned well come clean with everything he knew about DeSole and
Brussels and related matters, or all bets were off where said retired field agent and his elusive
friend Jason Bourne were concernedNoon at the latest! And then, Ivan Jax! The brilliant black
doctor from Jamaica phoned, telling him he wanted to put Norman Swayne’s body back where he
had found it because he did not want to be loused up by another Agency fiascoBut it was not
Agency, cried Conklin to himself, unable to explain to Ivan Jax the real reason he had asked for omega de ville his
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