Follow it, said Jason, sitting up.
On the avenue Victor Hugo, Laviers taxi slowed down and pulled up in
front of one of Pariss few exceptions to tradition-an open
plastic-domed public telephone. Stop here, ordered Bourne, who climbed
out the instant the driver swung into the curb. Limping, the Chameleon
walked swiftly, silently, to the telephone directly behind and unseen by
the frantic nun under the plastic dome. He was not seen, but he could
hear clearly as he stood several feet behind her.
The Meurice! she shouted into the phone. The name is Brielle.
Hell be there at noon. ... Yes, yes, Ill stop at my flat, change
clothes, and be there in an hour. Lavier hung up and turned, gasping at
the sight of Jason. No! she screamed.
Yes, Im afraid, said Bourne. Shall we take my taxi or yours? ..