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He crouched, watching the overweight irate baker waddle rapidly down his brick steps and head southBernardine had his work cut out for him, too, thought Jason as he got to his feet and ran after his procession of cycling nuns Paris traffic is an endless enigma regardless of the hour of day or nightIt also provides palpable excuses for anyone wishing to be early or late, or having arrived at the right destination or the wrong oneIn a phrase, Parisians behind a steering wheel embody the last civilized vestiges of lethal abandon?possibly outdone by their counterparts in Rome or AthensAnd so it was for the Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM 275 Magdalen Sisters of Charity, especially for the officious superior hen on the single rear pointAt an intersection of the rue Lecourbe in Montparnasse, a congestion of produce trucks prevented her from keeping up with her religious colleaguesBenignly she waved them on and abruptly turned into a narrow side street, chanel ceramic watches suddenly pedaling faster than beforeBourne, his wound from Tranquility Isle now pulsating throughout his neck, did not increase his pace; he did not have toThe whitelettered blue sign on the building fronting the street read IMPASSE, a dead end; there was no other way out He found the bicycle chained to an extinguished street lamp and waited in the darkness of a doorway no more than fifteen feet awayHe raised his hand and touched the warm moistness of the bandage around his neck; the bleeding was slightWith luck, no more than one suture had burst Oh, Christ, his legs were tired?no, ?tired? was inadequateThey ached with the pain that came with unused and abused muscles; the rhythmic strides of jogging, even running, were no preparation for lurching or weaving, or for violently sudden stops and startsHe leaned against the stone, breathing heavily, his eyes on the bicycle, trying to suppress a thought that kept recurring with infuriating regularity: only a few chanel white watches short years ago, he would never have noticed the discomfort in his legsThere would have been none The sound of an unlatched bolt broke the stillness of the predawn narrow street, followed rapidly by the grating noise of a heavy door being openedIt was the entrance to the flat in front of the chained bicycleHis back against the wall, Jason removed the gun from his belt and watched the woman in the nun?s habit rush to the lamppostShe fumbled with a key in the dim light, awkwardly trying to insert it into the base of the lockBourne stepped out on the pavement and walked swiftly, silently forward ?You?ll be late for early Mass,? he said The woman spun around, the key flying into the street, her black cloth snapping in the turn as she plunged her right hand between the folds of her habitJason lurched, gripping her arm with his left hand and tearing off the large white hat with his rightAt the sight of the exposed face in front of him, he gasped ?My God,? he louis vuitton wien whispered?It?s you!? Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM 276 27 ?I know you!? cried BourneYou had one of those dress shops Honor??Carlos?s drop in the Faubourg! I found you in a confessional booth in Neuilly-sur-SeineI thought you were dead The woman?s sharp, creased, middle-aged fade was contorted in frenzyShe tried to twist out of his grip, but Jason stepped sideways as she pivoted, yanking her away in a sweeping circular motion, crashing her against the wall, pinning her, his left forearm across her throat?But you weren?t deadYou were part of the trap that ended at the Louvre, blew apart at the Louvre! By Christ, you?re coming with meMen died in that trap?Frenchmen died?and I couldn?t stay around and tell them how it happened or who was responsibleIn my country, you kill a cop, it doesn?t go off the booksIt?s no different over here; and when it?s cops, they don?t stop lookingOh, they?ll remember the Louvre, they?ll remember their men!? ?You?re hermes kelly handbag wrong!? choked the woman, her wide green eyes bulging?I?m not who you think I am?? ?You?re Lavier! Queen of the Faubourg, sole contact to the Jackal?s woman, the general?s wife Don?t tell me I?m wrong I followed the two of you out to Neuilly?to that church with the bells ringing and priests everywhere?one of them Carlos! Moments later his whore came back out, but you didn?tShe left in a hurry, so I ran inside and described you to an old priest?if he was a priest?and he told me you were in the second confessional from the leftI walked over and pulled the curtain and there you wereI thought you?d just been killed and everything was happening so fastCarlos had to be there! He was within my reach, my gun?or maybe I was within hisI raced around like a maniac and finally I saw him! Out in the street in his priestly black clothes?I saw him, I knew it was him because he saw me and started to run through the traffic And then I lost him, I lost him! But I had a card to prada fairy play