his age； but striving to look younger。 His thinning dark hair was singed and brushed to obscure the bald spots； his eyes were encased in small rolls of flesh； attesting to long hours with good wine。 Those same eyes were cold； darting eyes； evidence of a demanding man wary of his surroundings。 He barked a question to his secretary； she twisted in her chair； doing her best to maintain her posure。
D'Amacourt went back inside his office without closing the door； the cage of an angry cat left open。 Another minute passed； the secretary kept glancing to her right； looking at something … for something。 When she saw it； she exhaled； closing her eyes briefly in relief。
From the far left wall； a green light suddenly appeared above two panels of dark wood； a lift was in use。 Seconds later the door opened and an elderly elegant man walked out carrying a small black case not much larger than his hand。 Marie stared at it； experiencing both satisfaction and fear； she had guessed right。 The black case had been removed from a confidential file inside a guarded room； and signed out by a man beyond reproach or temptation … the elderly figure making his way past the ranks of desks towards d'Amacourt's office。
The secretary rose from her chair； greeted the senior executive； and escorted him into d'Amacourt's office。 She came out immediately； closing the door behind her。
Marie looked at her watch； her eyes on the sweep…second hand。 She wanted one more fragment of evidence； and it would be hers shortly if she could get beyond the gate； with a clear view of the secretary's desk。 If it was going to happen； it would happen in moments； the duration brief。
She walked to the gate； opening her bag； and smiling vacuously at the receptionist who was speaking into her phone。 She mouthed the name d'Amacourt with her lips to the bewildered receptionist； reached down and opened the gate。 She moved quickly inside； a determined if not very bright client of the Valois Bank。
'Pardon； Madame。' The receptionist held her hand over the telephone； rushing her words in French； 'Can I help you？〃
Again Marie pronounced the name with her lips … now a courteous client late for an appointment and not wishing to be a further burden to a busy employee。 'Monsieur d'Amacourt。 I'm afraid I'm late。 I'll just go and see his secretary。' She continued up the aisle towards the secretary's desk。
'Please； Madame；' called out the receptionist。 'I must announce。。。！
The hum of electric typewriters and subdued conversations drowned her words。 Marie approached the stern…faced secretary； who looked up； as bewildered as the receptionist。
'Yes？ May I help you？'
'Monsieur d'Amacourt； please。〃
'I'm afraid he's in conference； Madame。 Do you have an appointment？'
'Oh； yes； of course；' said Marie； opening her bag again。
The secretary looked at the typed schedule on her desk。 'I'm afraid I don't have anyone listed for this time。'
'Oh； my word！' exclaimed the confused client of the Valois Bank。 'I just noticed。 It's for tomorrow； not today！ I'm so sorry。'
She turned and walked rapidly back to the gate。 She had seen what she wanted to see； the last fragment of evidence。 A single button was lighted on d'Amacourt's telephone； he had bypassed his secretary and was making an outside call。 The account belonging to Jason Bourne had specific； confidential instructions attached to it which were not to be revealed to the account holder。
Bourne looked at his watch in the shade of the canopy； it was eleven minutes to three。 Marie would be back by the telephone at the front of the bank； a pair of eyes inside。 The next few minutes would give them the answer； perhaps she already knew it。
He edged his way to the left side of the shop window； keeping the bank's entrance in view。 A clerk inside smiled at him； reminding him that all attention should be avoided。 He pulled out a packet of cigarettes； lit one and looked at his watch again。 Eight minutes to three。
And then he saw them。 Him。 Three well…dressed men walking rapidly up rue Madeleine； talking to one another； their eyes； however； directed straight ahead。 They passed the slower pedestrians in front of them； excusing themselves with a courtesy that was not entirely Parisian。 Jason concentrated on the man in the middle。 It was him。 A man named Johann！
Signal Johann to go inside。 We'll e back for them。 A tall gaunt man wearing gold…rimmed spectacles had said the words in the Steppdeckstrasse。 Johann。 They had sent him here from Zurich； he had seen Jason Bourne。 And that told him something： There were no photographs。
The three men reached the entrance。 Johann and the man on his right went inside； the third man stayed by the door。 Bourne started back to the telephone box； he would wait four minutes and place his last call to Antoine d'Amacourt。
He dropped his cigarette outside the box； crushed it under his foot； and opened the door。
'Regarded' A voice came from behind。
Jason spun around； holding his breath。 A nondescript man with a stubble of a beard pointed at the box。 'Pardon？'
'Le telephone。 II n'opere pas。 La corde est en noeud。'
'Oh？ Merci。 Maintenant； fessayerais。 Merci bien。'
The man shrugged and left Bourne stepped inside； the four minutes were up。 He took the coins from his pocket … enough for two calls … and dialled the first。
'La Banque de Valois。 Bonjaur。'
Ten seconds later d'Amacourt was on the phone； his voice strained。 'It is you； Monsieur Bourne？ I thought you to say you were on your way to my office。'
'A change of plans； I'm afraid。 I'll have to call you tomorrow。' Suddenly； through the glass panel of the booth； Jason saw a car swing into a space across the street in front of the bank。 The third man who was standing by the entrance nodded to the driver。
'。。。 I can do？' d'Amacourt had asked a question。
'I beg your pardon？'
'I asked if there was anything I can do。 I have your account； everything is in readiness for you here。〃
I'm sure it is； Bourne thought； the ploy was worth a try。 'Look； I have to get over to London this afternoon。 I'm taking one of the shuttle flights； but I'll be back tomorrow。 Keep everything with you； all right？〃
To London； Monsieur？'
'I'll call you tomorrow。 I have to find a cab to Orly。' He hung up and watched the entrance of the bank。 In less than half a minute； Johann and his panion came running out； they spoke to the third man； then all three climbed into the waiting car。
The killers' escape car was still in the hunt； on its way now to Orly Airport。 Jason memorized the number on the licence plate； then dialled his second call。 If the pay phone in the bank was not in use； Marie would pick it up before the ring had barely started。 She did。
'Yes？'
'See anything？'
'A great deal。 D'Amacourt's your man。'
They moved about the shop； going from counter to counter。 Marie； however； remained near the wide front window keeping a perpetual eye on the entrance of the bank across rue Madeleine。
'I picked out two scarves for you；' said Bourne。
'You shouldn't have；' answered Marie。 〃The prices are far too high。'
'It's almost four o'clock。 If he hasn't e out by now； he won't until the end of office hours。'
'Probably not。 If he were going to meet someone； he would have done so by now。 But we had to know。'
Take my word for it； his friends are at Orly； running from shuttle to shuttle。 There's no way they can tell whether I'm on one or not； because they don't know what name I'm using。'
They'll depend on the man from Zurich to recognize you。'
'He's looking for a dark…haired man with a limp； not me。 e on； let's go into the bank。 You can point out d'Amacourt。'
'We can't do that；〃 said Marie； shaking her head。 'The cameras on the ceilings have wide…angle lenses。 If they ran the tapes they could spot you。'
'A blond…haired man with glasses？'
'Or me。 I was there； the receptionist or his secretary could identify me。〃
'You're saying it's a regular cabal in there。 I doubt it'
They could think up any number of reasons to run the tapes。' Marie stopped； she clutched Jason's arm； her eyes on the bank beyond the window。 'There he is！ The one in the overcoat with the black velvet collar； d'Amacourt。'
'Pulling at his