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The Jackals courier looked at the name-he must remember it and respond
whenever it was spoken. It should not be difficult, for it was such a
common name. And so he repeated it silently to himself over and over
again. Jean Pierre Fontaine, Jean Pierre Fontaine, Jean Pierre ... A
sound! Sharp, abrasive. It was wrong, not normal, not part of a hotels
routine noise of hollow drumming at night. Bourne grabbed the weapon by
his pillow and rolled out of bed in his shorts, steadying himself by the
wall. It came again! A single, loud knock on the bedroom door of the
suite. He shook his head trying to remember. ... Alex? Ill knock once.
Jason lurched half in sleep to the door, his ear against the wood. Yes?