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@@@@@ ?Then that?s what I?m talking about ?Then we?d better damn well bring in Peter Holland?? ?No, not yetWe don?t know what he?d do and I?m not giving him the chance to get in my way ?You?ve got to trust someone besides me, JasonI can fool the doctor perhaps for twenty-four or forty-eight hours?perhaps?but I doubt much longer than thatHe?ll want higher authorization And don?t forget, I?ve got Casset breathing down my neck over DeSole?? ?Give me two days, get me two days!? ?While tracking down all this information and stalling Charlie, and lying through my teeth to Peter, telling them that we?re making progress running down the Jackal?s possible couriers at the Mayflower hotel?we think Of course, we?re doing nothing of the sort because we?re up to our credentials in some off-the-wall, twenty-year-old Saigon conspiracy involving who knows what, damned if we know, except that the who is terribly impressiveWithout going into statuses?or is it statae?we?re now told they have their own private cemetery on the grounds of the general officer in charge of Pentagon procurements, who just happened to blow his head off, a minor incident we?re sitting onJesus, Delta, back up! The missiles are colliding!? Though he was standing in front of Swayne?s desk, the general?s corpse in the chair beside him, Bourne managed a tentative, slow smile?That?s what we?re counting on, isn?t it? It?s a scenario that could have been written by our beloved Saint Alex himself ?I?m only along for the ride, I?m not steering?? ?What about the doctor?? interrupted Jason?You?ve been out of operation for almost five yearsHow do you know he?s still in business?? ?I run into him now and then; we?re both museum mavensA couple of months ago at the Corcoran Gallery he complained that he wasn?t given much to do these days ?Change that tonightWhat are you going to do?? ?Delicately pull apart everything in this room ?Gloves?? ?Surgical, of course ?Don?t touch the body ?Only the pockets?very delicatelySwayne?s wife is coming down the stairsI?ll call you back when they?re goneGet hold of that doctor!? Ivan Jax, Mby way of Yale Medical School, surgical training and residency at Massachusetts General, College of Surgeons by appointment, Jamaican by birth, and erstwhile ?consultant? to the Central Intelligence Agency courtesy of a fellow black man with the improbable name of Cactus, drove through the gates of General Swayne?s estate in Manassas, VirginiaThere were times, thought Ivan, when he wished he had never met old Cactus and this was one of them, but tonight notwithstanding, he never regretted that Cactus had come into his