them to his employer. I managed to clean the lenses, sir!
What do you see? asked Bourne sharply.
I dont know. Two men.
Some army! said Conklin.
Give them to me, ordered Jason, grabbing the binoculars from his
What is it, David? shouted Marie, seeing the shock on her husbands
Its Krupkin, he said.
Dimitri Krupkin sat at the white wrought-iron table, his face
pale-and it was his full face, as his chin beard had been removed-and
refused to speak to anyone until he had finished his third brandy. Like
Panov, Conklin and David Webb, he was clearly a hurt man, a wounded man,