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@@@@@All three were killed, each man with a bullet in his throat ?The Jackal!? exclaimed the Frenchman?It is his carte de visite?his calling cardHe announces his arrival Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM 147 16 The midafternoon sun was suspended, immobile, burning the sky and the land, a ringed globe of fire intent only on scorching everything beneath itAnd the alleged ?computerized research? offered by the Canadian industrialist Angus McLeod appeared to be confirmedAlthough a number of seaplanes flew in to take frightened couples away, the collective attention span of average people after a disturbing event, if certainly longer than two and a half to four minutes, was certainly not more than a few hoursA horrible thing had happened during the predawn storm, an act of terrible vengeance, as they understood itIt involved a single man with a vendetta against old enemies, a killer who had long since fled from the islandWith the removal of the ugly coffins, as well as the beached, damaged speedboat, and the soothing words over the government radio along with the intermittent, unobtrusive appearances of the armed guards, a sense of normalcy returned?not total, of course, for there was a mourning figure among them, but he was out of sight and, they were told, would soon leaveAnd despite the depth of the horrors, as the rumors had them?naturally exaggerated out of all proportion by the hypersuperstitious island natives?the horrors were not theirsIt was an act of violence completely unrelated to them, and, after all, life had to go onSeven couples remained at the inn ?Christ, we?re paying six hundred dollars a day?? ?No one?s after us?? ?Shit, man, next week it?s back to the commodities grind, so we?re going to enjoy?? ?No sweat, Shirley, they?re not giving out names, they promised me?? With the burning, immobile afternoon sun, a small soiled plot of the vast Caribbean playground came back to its own particular ambience, death receding with each application of Bain de Soleil and another rum punchNothing was quite as it had been, but the blue-green waters lapped on the beach, enticing the few bathers to walk into them, immersing their bodies in the cool liquid rhythm of wet constancyA progressively less tentative peace returned to Tranquility Isle ?There!? cried the hero of France ?Where?? shouted BourneWalking down the path in a line ?Color means nothing ?He was a priest when I saw him in Paris, at Neuilly-sur-Seine Fontaine lowered the binoculars and looked at Jason?The Church of the Blessed Sacrament?? he asked quietlyWhich one is he?? ?You saw him in his priest?s habit?? ?And that son of a bitch saw meHe knew I knew it was him! Which one?? ?He?s not there, monsieur,? said Jean Pierre, slowly bringing the binoculars back to his eye