With what seemed like the last breath in his body, Jason lunged – Bourne against Bourne! His hands were the claws of a mountain cat as he gripped the shoulders of the racing figure in front of him, his fingers digging into the hard flesh and bone as he whipped the killer back, his heels dug into the earth, his right knee crashing up into the man's spine. His rage was such that he consciously had to remind himself not to kill. Stay alive! You are my freedom, our freedom!

The assassin screamed, as the true Jason Bourne hammerlocked his neck, wrenching the head to his right and forcing the pretender down. Both fell to the ground, Bourne's forearm jammed across the man's throat, his left hand clenched, repeatedly pounding the killer's lower abdomen, forcing the air out of the weakening body.

The face? The ore? Where was the face that belonged to years ago? To an apparition that wanted to take him back into a hell that memory had blocked out. Where was the face? This was not it!

'Delta!' screamed the man beneath him.

'What did you call me? shouted Bourne.

'Delta!' shrieked the writhing figure. 'Cain is for Carlos, Delta is for Cain?

'Goddamn you! Who-'

'D'Anjou! I am d'Anjou! Medusa! Tam Quan! We have no names, only symbols! For God's sake, Paris! The Louvre! You saved my life in Paris – as you saved so many lives in Medusa! I am d'Anjou! I told you what you had to know in Paris! You are Jason Bourne! The madman who runs from us is but a creation! My creation!'

Webb stared at the contorted face below, at the perfectly-groomed grey moustache and the silver hair that swept back over the ageing head. The nightmare had returned... he was in the steaming infested jungles of Tam Quan with no way out and death all around them. Then suddenly he was in Paris, nearing the steps of the Louvre in the blinding afternoon sunlight. Gunshots. Cars screeching, crowds screaming. He had to save the face beneath him! Save the face from Medusa who could supply the missing pieces of the insane puzzle!

'D'Anjou?' whispered Jason. 'You're d'Anjou?'

'If you will give me back my throat,' choked the Frenchman, 'I will tell you a story. I'm sure you have one to tell me. '

Philippe d'Anjou surveyed the wreckage of the campsite, now a smoking ruin. He crossed himself as he searched the pockets of the dead 'soldier', removing whatever valuables he found. 'We'll free the man below when we leave,' he said. There's no other access to this place. It's why I posted him there. '

'And told him to look for what?'

'Like you, I'm from Medusa. Fields of grass – poets and consumers notwithstanding – are both avenues and traps. Guerrillas know that. We knew that. '

'You couldn't have anticipated me. '

'Hardly. But I could and did anticipate every countermove my creation might consider. He was to arrive alone. The instructions were clear, but who could trust him, least of all meT

'You're ahead of me. '

'It's part of my story. You'll hear it. '

They walked down through the woods, the elderly d'Anjou gripping the trunks of trees and saplings to ease the descent. They reached the field, hearing the muted screams of the bound guard as they walked into the tall grass. Bourne cut the cloth straps with his knife and the Frenchman paid him.

'Zow ba.r yelled d'Anjou. The man fled into the darkness. 'He is garbage. They are all garbage, but they kill willingly for a price and disappear. '

'You tried to kill him tonight, didn't you? It was a trap. '

'Yes. I thought he was wounded in the explosions. It's why I went after him. '

'I thought he'd doubled back to take you at the rear. '

'Yes, we would have done that in Medusa-'

'It's why I thought you were him. ' Jason suddenly shouted in fury. 'What have you done?'

'It's part of the story. '

'I want to hear it. Now!'

'There's a flat stretch of ground, several hundred yards, over there to the left,' said the Frenchman, pointing. 'It used to be a grazing field but recently it's been used by helicopters flying in to meet with an assassin. Let's go to the far end and rest – and talk. Just in case what remains of the fire draws anyone from the village. '

'It's five miles away. '

'Still, this is China. '

The clouds had dispersed, blown away with the night winds; the moon was descending yet was still high enough for its

light to wash the distant mountains with its light. The two disparate men of Medusa sat on the ground. Bourne lit a cigarette as d'Anjou spoke. 'Do you remember back in Paris, that crowded cafe where we talked after the madness at the Louvre?'

'Sure. Carlos nearly killed us both that afternoon. '

'You nearly trapped the Jackal. '

'But I didn't. What about Paris, the cafe?

'I told you then I was coming back to Asia. To Singapore or Hong Kong, perhaps the Seychelles, I think I said. France was never good for me – or to' me. After Dien Bien Phu -everything I had was destroyed, blown up by our own troops – the talk of reparations was meaningless. Hollow babbling from hollow men. It's why I joined Medusa. The only possible way to get back my own was with an American victory. '

'I remember,' said Jason. 'What's that got to do with tonight?'

'As is obvious, I came back to Asia. Since the Jackal had seen me, my route was circuitous, which left me time to think. I had to make a clear appraisal of my circumstances and the possibilities before me. As I was fleeing for my life my assets were not extensive but neither were they pathetic. I took the risk of returning to the shop in St Honore that afternoon and frankly stole every sou in and out of sight. I knew the combination of the safe, and fortunately it was well endowed. I could comfortably buy myself across the world, out of Carlos's reach, and live for many weeks without panic. But what was I to do with myself? The funds would run out and my skills – so apparent in the civilized world – were not such that they would permit me to live out the autumn of my life over here in the comfort that was stolen from me. Still, I had not been a snake in the head of Medusa for nothing. God knows I discovered and developed talents I never dreamed were within me – and found, frankly, that morality was not an issue. I had been wronged, and I could wrong others. And nameless, faceless strangers had tried to kill me countless times, so I could assume the responsibility for the death of nameless, faceless other strangers. You see the symmetry, don't you? At one remove, the equations became abstract. '

'I hear a lot of horseshit,' replied Bourne.

Then you are not listening, Delta. '

'I'm not Delta. '

'Very well. Bourne. '

'I'm not – go on. Perhaps I am. '

'Comment?'

'Rien. Go on. '

'It struck me that, regardless of what happened to you in Paris – whether you won or lost, whether you were killed or spared – Jason Bourne was finished. And by all the holy saints, I knew Washington would never utter a word of acknowledgement or clarification; you would simply disappear. "Beyond-salvage" I believe is the term. '

'I'm aware of it,' said Jason. 'So I was finished. '

"Naturellement. But there would be no explanations, there could not be. Man Dieu, the assassin they invented had gone mad – he had killed! No, there would be nothing. Strategists retreat into the darkest shadows when their plans go... "off the wire", I think is the phrase. '

'I'm aware of that one, too. '

"Bien. Then you can comprehend the solution I found for myself, for the last days of an older man. '

'I'm beginning to. '

'Bien encore. There was a void here in Asia. Jason Bourne was no longer, but his legend was still alive. And there are men who will pay for the services of such an extraordinary man. Therefore I knew what I had to do. It was simply a matter of finding the right contender-'