The Bourne Identity: A Novel (Jason Bourne)

By Robert Ludlum

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
 
His reminiscence is a clean. His bullet-ridden physique used to be fished from the Mediterranean Sea. His face has been altered through cosmetic surgery. A body of microfilm has been surgically implanted in his hip. Even his identify is a secret. Marked for demise, he's racing for survival via a strange international of murderous conspirators—led via Carlos, the world’s most threatening murderer. who's Jason Bourne? the reply may perhaps kill him.

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Lamouche’s agenda referred to as for a go back to Port Noir at sunset at the 3rd day, the fish to be unloaded, the group given until eventually 4 the subsequent morning to sleep, fornicate, get under the influence of alcohol, or, with success, all 3. As they got here within reach of land, it occurred. The nets have been being doused and folded at midships by means of the netman and his first assistant. The unwelcomed crewman they cursed as “Jean-Pierre Sangsue” (“the Leech”) scrubbed down the deck with a long-handled brush. the 2 last group heaved buckets of sea water in entrance of the comb, in most cases drenching the Leech with more true goal than the deck. A bucketful used to be thrown too excessive, momentarily blinding Washburn’s sufferer, inflicting him to lose his stability. The heavy brush with its metal-like bristles flew out of his arms, its head upended, the pointy bristles making touch with the kneeling netman’s thigh. “Merde alors! ” “Désolé,” acknowledged the criminal casually, shaking the water from his eyes. “The hell you assert! ” shouted the netman. “I acknowledged i used to be sorry,” responded the guy known as Jean-Pierre. “Tell your pals to rainy the deck, now not me. ” “My neighbors don’t make me the thing, in their stupidity! ” “They have been the reason for mine simply now. ” The netman grabbed the deal with of the comb, acquired to his ft, and held it out like a bayonet. “You are looking to play, Leech? ” “Come on, supply it to me. ” “With excitement, Leech. right here! ” The netman shoved the comb ahead, downward, the bristles scraping the patient’s chest and abdominal, penetrating the fabric of his blouse. even if it used to be the touch with the scars that coated his earlier wounds, or the disappointment and anger as a result of 3 days of harassment, the guy may by no means understand. He in basic terms knew he needed to reply. And his reaction was once as alarming to him as something he may possibly think. He gripped the deal with along with his correct hand, jamming it again into the netman’s belly pulling it ahead on the quick of influence; at the same time, he shot his left foot excessive off the deck, ramming it into the man’s throat. “Tao! ” The guttural whisper got here from his lips involuntarily; he didn't be aware of what it intended. prior to he may well comprehend, he had pivoted, his correct foot now surging ahead like a battering ram, crashing into the netman’s left kidney. “Che-sah! ” he whispered. The netman recoiled, then lunged towards him in discomfort and fury, his arms outstretched like claws. “Pig! ” The sufferer crouched, taking pictures his correct hand as much as grip the netman’s left forearm, yanking it downward, then emerging, pushing his victim’s arm up, twisting it at its optimum arc clockwise, yanking back, ultimately liberating it whereas jamming his heel into the small of the netman’s again. The Frenchman sprawled ahead over the nets, his head smashing into the wall of the gunnel. “Mee-sah! ” back he didn't comprehend the which means of his silent cry. A crewman grabbed his neck from the rear. The sufferer crashed his left fist into the pelvic sector in the back of him, then bent ahead, gripping the elbow to the appropriate of his throat. He lurched to his left; his assailant was once lifted off the floor, his legs spiraling within the air as he used to be thrown around the deck, his face and neck impaled among the wheels of a winch.

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