"I found a set of keys in Swayne's pocket," interrupted Jason. "I checked; one of them fits."

"Good. When you leave, wipe the door down clean. Find some furniture polish or a dusting spray."

"That's not going to keep out anyone who wants to get in."

"No, but if someone does, we might pick up a print."

"You're reaching-"

"I certainly am," concurred the former intelligence officer. "I've also got to figure out a way to seal up the whole place without using anybody from Langley, and, not incidentally, keep the Pentagon at bay just in case someone among those twenty-odd thousand people wants to reach Swayne, and that includes his office and probably a couple of hundred buyers and sellers a day in procurements.... Christ, it's impossible!"

"It's perfect," contradicted Bourne as Dr. Ivan Jax suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Our little game of destabilization will start right here on the 'farm.' Do you have Cactus's number?"

"Not with me. I think it's probably in a shoebox at home."

"Call Mo Panov, he's got it. Then reach Cactus and tell him to get to a pay phone and call me here."

"What the hell have you got in mind? I hear that old man's name, I get nervous."

"You told me I had to find someone else to trust besides you. I just did. Reach him, Alex." Jason hung up the telephone. "I'm sorry, Doctor ... or maybe under the circumstances I can use your name. Hello, Ivan."

"Hello, no-name, which is the way I'd like to keep it on my end. Especially when I just heard you say another name."

"Alex? ... No, of course it wasn't Alex, not our mutual friend." Bourne laughed quietly, knowingly, as he walked away from the desk. "It was Cactus, wasn't it?"

"I just came in to ask you if you wanted me to close the gates," said Jax, bypassing the question.

"Would you be offended if I told you that I didn't think of him until I saw you just now?"

"Certain associations are fairly obvious. The gates, please?"

"Do you owe Cactus as much as I do, Doctor?" Jason held his place, looking at the Jamaican.

"I owe him so much that I could never think of compromising him in a situation like tonight. For God's sake, he's an old man, and no matter what deviant conclusions Langley wants to come up with, tonight was murder, a particularly brutal killing. No, I wouldn't involve him."

"You're not me. You see, I have to. He'd never forgive me if I didn't."

"You don't think much of yourself, do you?"

"Please close the gates, Doctor. There's an alarm panel in the hallway I can activate when they're shut."

Jax hesitated, as if unsure of what he wanted to say. "Listen," he began haltingly, "most sane people have reasons for saying things-doing things. My guess is you're sane. Call Alex if you need me-if old Cactus needs me." The doctor left, rushing out the door.

Bourne turned and glanced around the room. Since Flannagan and Rachel Swayne had left nearly three hours ago, he had searched every foot of the general's study, as well as the dead soldier's separate bedroom on the second floor. He had placed the items he intended to take on the brass coffee table; he studied them now. There were three brown leather-bound covers, each equal in size, each holding inserted spiral-bound pages; they were a desk set. The first was an appointments calendar; the second, a personal telephone book in which the names and numbers were entered in ink; the last was an expense diary, barely touched. Along with these were eleven office messages of the telephone notepad variety, which Jason found in Swayne's pockets, a golf-club scorecard and several memoranda written at the Pentagon. Finally, there was the general's wallet containing a profusion of impressive credentials and very little money. Bourne would turn everything over to Alex and hope further leads would be found, but as far as he could determine, he had turned up nothing startling, nothing dramatically relevant to the modern Medusa. And that bothered him; there had to be something. This was the old soldier's home, his sanctum sanctorum inside that home-something! He knew it, he felt it, but he could not find it. So he started again, not foot by foot now; instead, inch by inch.

Fourteen minutes later, as he was removing and turning over the photographs on the wall behind the desk, the wall to the right of the cushioned bay window that overlooked the lawn outside, he recalled Conklin's words about checking the windows and the curtains so that no one could enter or observe the scene inside.

Christ, it must be a mess in there.

It's not very pleasant.

It wasn't. The panes of the central bay window frame were splattered with blood and membrane. And the ... the small brass latch? Not only was it free from its catch, the window itself was open-barely open, but nevertheless it was open. Bourne knelt on the cushioned seat and looked closely at the shiny brass fixture and the surrounding panes of glass. There were smudges among the rivulets of dried blood and tissue, coarse pressings on the stains that appeared to widen and thin them out into irregular shapes. Then below the sill he saw what kept the window from closing. The end of the left drape had been drawn out, a small piece of its tasseled fabric wedged beneath the lower window frame. Jason stepped back bewildered but not really surprised. This was what he had been looking for, the missing piece in the complex puzzle that was the death of Norman Swayne.

Someone had climbed out that window after the shot that blew the general's skull apart. Someone who could not risk being seen going through the front hall or out, the front door. Someone who knew the house and the grounds ... and the dogs. A brutal killer from Medusa. Goddamn it!

Who? Who had been here? Flannagan ... Swayne's wife! They would know, they had to know! Bourne lurched for the telephone on the desk; it began ringing before his hand touched it.

"Alex?"

"No, Br'er Rabbit, it's just an old friend, and I didn't realize we were so free with names."

"We're not, we shouldn't be," said Jason rapidly, imposing a control on himself he could barely exercise. "Something happened a moment ago-I found something."

"Calm down, boy. What can I do for you?"

"I need you-out here where I am. Are you free?"

"Well, let's see." Cactus chuckled as he spoke. "There are several board meetings I should rightfully attend, and the White House wants me for a power breakfast. ... When and where, Br'er Rabbit?"

"Not alone, old friend. I want three or four others with you. Is that possible?"

"I don't know. What did you have in mind?"

"That fellow who drove me into town after I saw you. Are there any other like-minded citizens in the neighborhood?"

"Most are doin' time, frankly, but I suppose I could dig around the refuse and pull up a few. What for?"

"Guard duty. It's pretty simple really. You'll be on the phone and they'll be behind locked gates telling people that it's private property, that visitors aren't welcome. Especially a few honkies probably in limousines."

"Now, that might appeal to the brothers."

"Call me back and I'll give you directions." Bourne disconnected the line and immediately released the bar for a dial tone. He touched the numbers for Conklin's phone in Vienna.

"Yes?" answered Alex.

"The doctor was right and I let our Snake Lady executioner get away!"

"Swayne's wife, you mean?"

"No, but she and her fast-talking sergeant know who it was-they had to know who was here! Pick them up and hold them. They lied to me, so the deal's off. Whoever staged this gruesome 'suicide' had orders from high up in Medusa. I want him. He's our shortcut."

"He's also beyond our reach."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Because the sergeant and his paramour are beyond our reach. They've disappeared."