"You're one cold prick. How do we do that?"

"Let's take your case, shall we? ... You're not a well man by your own admission. You could resign under doctor's orders and we take care of you-Medusa takes care of you." Jason's imagination floated, making quick sharp forays into reality and fantasy, swiftly searching for the words that might be found in the gospel according to St. Alex. "You're known to be a wealthy man, so a villa might be purchased in your name, or perhaps a Caribbean island, where you'd be completely secure. No one can reach you; no one can talk to you unless you agree, which would mean predetermined interviews, harmless and even favorable results guaranteed. Such things are not impossible."

"Pretty sterile existence in my opinion," said Armbruster. "Me and the yapper all by ourselves? I'd kill her."

"Not at all," went on the Cobra. "There'd be constant distractions. Guests of your choosing could be flown to wherever you are. Other women also either of your choice or selected by those who respect your tastes. Life goes on much as before, some inconveniences, some pleasant surprises. The point is that you'd be protected, inaccessible and therefore we're also protected, the rest of us. ... But, as I say, that option is merely hypothetical at this juncture. In my case, frankly, it's a necessity because there's little I don't know. I leave in a matter of days. Until then I'm determining who goes and who stays. ... How much do you know, Mr. Armbruster?"

"I'm not involved with the day-to-day operations, naturally. I deal with the big picture. Like the others, I get a monthly coded telex from the banks in Zurich listing the deposits and the companies we're gaining control of-that's about it."

"So far you don't get a villa."

"I'll be damned if I want one, and if I do I'll buy it myself. I've got close to a hundred million, American, in Zurich."

Bourne controlled his astonishment and simply stared at the chairman. "I wouldn't repeat that," he said.

"Who am I going to tell? The yapper?"

"How many of the others do you know personally?" asked the Cobra.

"Practically none of the staff, but then they don't know me, either. Hell, they don't know anybody. ... And while we're on the subject, take you, for instance. I've never heard of you. I figure you work for the board and I was told to expect you, but I don't know you."

"I was hired on a very special basis. My background's deep-cover security."

"Like I said, I figured-"

"What about the Sixth Fleet?" interrupted Bourne, moving away from the subject of himself.

"I see him now and then but I don't think we've exchanged a dozen words. He's military; I'm civilian-very civilian."

"You weren't once. Where it all began."

"The hell I wasn't. No uniform ever made a soldier and it sure didn't with me."

"What about a couple of generals, one in Brussels, the other at the Pentagon?"

"They were career men; they stayed in. I wasn't and I didn't."

"We have to expect leaks, rumors," said Bourne almost aimlessly, his eyes now wandering. "But we can't permit the slightest hint of military orientation."

"You mean like in junta style?"

"Never," replied Bourne, once more staring at Armbruster. "That kind of thing creates whirlwinds-"

"Forget it!" whispered the chairman of the Federal Trade Commission, angrily interrupting. "The Sixth Fleet, as you call him, calls the shots only here and only because it's convenient. He's a blood-and-guts admiral with a whiz-bang record and a lot of clout where we want it, but that's in Washington, not anywhere else!"

"I know that and you know it," said Jason emphatically, the emphasis covering his bewilderment, "but someone who's been in a protection program for over fifteen years is putting together his own scenario and that comes out of Saigon-Command Saigon."

"It may have come out of Saigon but it sure as hell didn't stay there. The soldier boys couldn't run with it, we all know that. ... But I see what you mean. You tie in Pentagon brass with anything like us, the freaks are in the streets and the bleeding-heart fairies in Congress have a field day. Suddenly a dozen subcommittees are in session."

"Which we can't tolerate," added Bourne.

"Agreed," said Armbruster. "Are we any closer to learning the name of the bastard who's putting this scenario together?"

"Closer, not close. He's been in contact with Langley but on what level we don't know."

"Langley? For Christ's sake, we've got someone over there. He can squelch it and find out who the son of a bitch is!"

"DeSole?" offered the Cobra simply.

"That's right." Armbruster leaned forward. "There is very little you don't know. That connection's very quiet. What does DeSole say?"

"Nothing, we can't touch him," replied Jason, suddenly, frantically reaching for a credible answer. He had been David Webb too long! Conklin was right; he wasn't thinking fast enough. Then the words came ... part of the truth, a dangerous part, but credible, and he could not lose credibility. "He thinks he's being watched and we're to stay away from him, no contact whatsoever until he says otherwise."

"What happened?" The chairman gripped his glass, his eyes rigid, bulging.

"Someone in the cellars learned that Teagarten in Brussels has an access fax code directly to DeSole bypassing routine confidential traffic."

"Stupid goddamned soldier boys!" spat out Armbruster. "Give 'em gold braid and they prance around like debutantes and want every new toy in town! ... Faxes, access codes! Jesus, he probably punched the wrong numbers and got the NAACP."

"DeSole says he's building a cover and can handle it, but it's no time for him to go around asking questions, especially in this area. He'll check quietly on everything he can, and if he learns something he'll reach us, but we're not to reach him."

"Wouldn't you know it'd be a lousy soldier boy who puts us out on a limb? If it wasn't for that jackass with his access code, we wouldn't have a problem. Everything would be taken care of."

"But he does exist, and the problem-the crisis-won't go away," said Bourne flatly. "I repeat, we have to cover ourselves. Some of us will have to leave-disappear at least for a while. For the good of all of us."

The chairman of the Federal Trade Commission leaned back in the booth, his expression pensively disagreeable. "Yeah, well let me tell you something, Simon, or whatever your name is. You're checking out the wrong people. We're businessmen, some of us rich enough or egotistical enough or for other reasons willing to work for government pay, but first we're businessmen with investments all over the place. We're also appointed, not elected, and that means nobody expects full financial disclosures. Do you see what I'm driving at?"

"I'm not sure," said Jason, instantly concerned that he was losing control, losing the threat. I've been away too long ... and Albert Armbruster was not a fool. He was given to first-level panic, but the second level was colder, far more analytical. "What are you driving at?"

"Get rid of our soldier boys. Buy them villas or a couple of Caribbean islands and put them out of reach. Give 'em their own little courts and let 'em play kings; that's what they're all about anyway."

"Operate without them?" asked Bourne, trying to conceal his astonishment.

"You said it and I agree. Any hint of big brass and we're in big trouble. It goes under the heading of 'military industrial complex,' which freely translated means military-industrial collusion." Again Armbruster leaned forward over the table. "We don't need them anymore! Get rid of them."

"There could be very loud objections-"

"No way. We've got 'em by their brass balls!"

"I'll have to think about it."

"There's nothing to think about. In six months we'll have the controls we need in Europe."