Robert Ludlum - Bourne 2 - Bourne Supremecy

by The Bourne Supremacy [lit]

  The second name was accompanied by an unlikely address, a restaurant in Causeway Bay that specialized in classic French food. According to Yao Ming's brief notes, the man acted as the manager but was actually the owner, and a number of the waiters were as adept with guns as they were with trays. The contact's home address was not known; all his business was done at the restaurant, and it was suspected that he had no permanent residence. Bourne had returned to the Peninsula, discarded his jacket and hat and walked rapidly through the crowded lobby to the elevator; a well-dressed couple had tried not to show their shock at his appearance. He had smiled and muttered apologetically.

  'A company treasure hunt. It's kind of silly, isn't it.'

  In his room, he had permitted himself a few moments to be David Webb again. It was a mistake; he could not stand the suspension of Bourne's train of thought. I'm him again. I have to be. He knows what to do. I don't! He had showered the filth of the Walled City and the oppressive humidity of the Star Ferry off him, shaved away the shadow on his face and dressed for a late French dinner.

  'I'll find him, Marie! I swear to Christ 'I'll find him! It was David Webb's promise, but it was Jason Bourne who shouted in fury.

  The restaurant looked more like an exquisite rococo dining palace on Paris's Boulevard Montaigne than a one-storey structure in Hong Kong. Intricate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the tiny bulbs dimmed; encased candles flickered on tables with the purest linen and the finest silver and crystal.

  'I'm afraid we have no tables this evening, monsieur,' the maitre said. He was the only Frenchman in evidence.

  'I was told to ask for Jiang Yu and say it was urgent,' Bourne had replied, showing a $100 bill, American. 'Do you think he might find something, if this finds him?

  7 will find it, monsieur.' The maitre subtly shook Jason's hand, receiving the money. 'Jiang Yu is a fine member of our small community, but it is I who select. Comprenez-vous? 'Absolument.'

  'Bien! You have the face of an attractive, sophisticated man. This way, please, monsieur.'

  The dinner was not to be had; events occurred too quickly. Within minutes after the arrival of his drink, a slender Chinese in a black suit had appeared at his table. If there was anything odd about him, thought David Webb, it was in the darker colour of his skin and the larger slope of his eyes. Malaysian was in his bloodline. Stop it commanded Bourne. That doesn't do us any good!

  'You asked for me? said the manager, his eyes searching the face that looked up at him. 'How can I be of service? 'By sitting down first.' 'It is most irregular to sit with guests, sir.' 'Not really.' Not if you own the place. Please. Sit down.' 'Is this another tiresome intrusion by the Bureau of Taxation? If so, I hope you enjoy your dinner, which you will pay for. My records are quite clear and quite accurate.'

  'If you think I'm British, you haven't listened to me. And if by "tiresome" you mean that a half a million dollars is boring, then you can get the hell out of my sight and I'll enjoy my meal.' Bourne leaned back in the booth and sipped his drink with his left hand. His right was hidden.

  'Who sent you? asked the Oriental of mixed blood, as he sat down.

  'Move away from the edge.' I want to talk very quietly.' 'Yes, of course.' Jiang Yu inched his way directly opposite Bourne. 'I must ask. Who sent you?

  'I must ask,' said Jason, 'do you like American movies? Especially our Westerns?'

  'Of course. American films are beautiful, and I admire the movies of your old West most of all. So poetic in retribution, so righteously violent. Am I saying the correct words?

  'Yes, you are. Because right now you're in one.'

  'I beg your pardon?

  'I have a very special gun under the table. It's aimed between your legs.' Within the space of a second, Jason held back the cloth, pulled up the weapon so the barrel could be seen, and immediately shoved the gun back into place. 'It has a silencer that reduces the sound of a forty-five to the pop of a Champagne cork, but not the impact. Liao jie mu?'

  'Liao jie...' said the Oriental, rigid, breathing deeply in fear. 'You are with Special Branch?

  'I'm with no one but myself.4

  There is no half million dollars, then?

  There's whatever you consider your life is worth.'

  'Why me?'

  'You're on a list,' Bourne had answered truthfully.

  'For execution? whispered the Chinese, gasping, his face contorted.

  'That depends on you.'

  'I must pay you not to kill me?

  'In a sense, yes.'

  'I don't carry half a million dollars in my pockets! Nor here on the premises!'

  'Then pay me something else.'

  'What! How much! You confuse me!'

  'Information instead of money.'

  'What information? asked the Chinese as his fear turned into panic. 'What information would / have? Why come to me?

  'Because you've had dealings with a man I want to find. The one for hire who calls himself Jason Bourne.'

  'No! Never did it happen!'

  The Oriental's hands began to tremble. The veins in his throat throbbed, and his eyes for the first time strayed from Jason's face. The man had lied.

  'You're a liar,' said Bourne quietly, pushing his right arm farther underneath the table as he leaned forward. 'You made the connection in Macao.'

  'Macao, yes But no connection. I swear on the graves of my family for generations!'

  'You're very close to losing your stomach and your life. You were sent to Macao to reach him!'

  'I was sent, but I did not reach him!'

  'Prove it to me. How were you to make contact?

  The Frenchman. I was to stand on the top steps of the burned-out Basilica of St Paul on the Calcada. I was to wear a black kerchief around my neck and when a man came up to me - a Frenchman - and remarked about the beauty of the ruins, I was to say the following words: "Cain is for Delta." If he replied, "And Carlos is for Cain", I was to accept him as the link to Jason Bourne. But I swear to you, he never-'

  Bourne did not hear the remainder of the man's protestations. Staccato explosions erupted in his head; his mind was thrown back. Blinding white light filled his eyes, the crashing sounds unbearable. Cain is for Delta and Carlos is for Cain... Cain is for Delta! Delta One is Cain! Medusa moves; the snake sheds his skin. Cain is in Paris and Carlos will be his! They were the words, the codes, the challenges hurled at the Jackal. / am Cain and I am superior and I am here! Come find me, Jackal! I dare you to find Cain for he kills better than you do. You'd better find me before I find you, Carlos. You're no match for Cain!

  Good God! Who halfway across the world would know those words - could know them? They were locked away in the deepest archives of covert operations! They were a direct connection to Medusa!

  Bourne had nearly squeezed the trigger of the unseen automatic, so sudden was the shock of this incredible revelation. He removed his index finger, placing it around the trigger housing; he had come close to killing a man for revealing extraordinary information. But how! How could it have happened! Who was the conduit to the new 'Jason Bourne' that knew such things?

  He had to come down, he knew that. His silence was betraying him, betraying his astonishment. The Chinese was staring at him; the man was inching his hand beyond the edge of the booth. 'Pull that back, or your balls and your stomach will be blown away.'

  The Oriental's shoulder yanked up and his hand appeared on the table. 'What I have told you is true, the man said. The Frenchman never came to me. If he had, I would tell you everything. So would you if you were me. I protect only myself.'

  'Who sent you to make the contact? Who gave you the words to use?

  That is honestly beyond me, you must believe that. All is done by telephone through second and third parties who know only the information they carry. The proof of integrity is in the arrival of the funds I am paid.'

  How do they arrive? Someone has to give them to you.'

  'Someone who is a no one, who is hired himself. An unfamil
iar host of an expensive dinner party will ask to see the manager. I will accept his compliments and during our conversation an envelope will be slipped to me. I will have ten thousand American dollars for reaching the Frenchman.'

  Then what? How do you reach him?

  'One goes to Macao, to the Kam Pek casino in the downtown area. It is mostly for the Chinese, for the games of Fan Tan and Dai Sui. One goes to Table Five and leaves the telephone number of a Macao hotel - not a private telephone - and a name - any name - not one's own, naturally.'

  'He calls you at that number?

  'He may or he may not. You stay twenty-four hours in Macao. If he has not called you by then, you have been turned down because the Frenchman has no time for you.'

  Those are the rules?

  'Yes. I was turned down twice, and the single time I was accepted he did not appear at the Calcada steps.'

  'Why do you think you were turned down? Why do you think he didn't show up?

  'I have no idea. Perhaps he has too much business for his master killer. Perhaps I said the wrong things to him on the first two occasions. Perhaps on the third he thought he saw suspicious men on the Calcada, men he believed were with me and meant him no good. There were no such people, naturally, but there is no appeal.'

  Table Five. The dealers,' said Bourne.

  The croupiers change constantly. His arrangement is with

  the table. A blanket fee, I imagine. To be divided. And certainly he does not go to the Kam Pek himself - he undoubtedly hires a whore from the streets. He is very cautious, very professional.'

  'Do you know anyone else who's tried to reach this Bourne?' asked Bourne. 'I'll know if you're lying.'

  'I think you would. You are obsessed - which is not my business - and you trapped me in my first denial. No, I do not, sir. That is the truth, for I do not care to have my intestines blown away with the sound of a champagne cork;'

  'You can't get much more basic than that. In the words of another man, I think I believe you.'

  'Believe, sir. I am only a courier - an expensive one, perhaps - but a courier, nevertheless.'

  'Your waiters are something else, I'm told.'

  They have not been noticeably observant.'

  'You'll still accompany me to the door,' he had said.

  And now there was the third name, a third man, in the downpour at Repulse Bay.

  The contact had responded to the code: 'Ecoutez, monsieur. "Cain is for Delta and Carlos is for Cain."'

  'We were to meet in Macao!' the man had shrieked over the telephone. 'Where were you?'

  'Busy,' said Jason.

  'You may be too late. My client has very little time and he is very knowledgeable. He hears that your man moves elsewhere. He is disturbed. You promised him, Frenchman!'

  'Where does he think my man is going?

  'On another assignment, of course. He's heard the details!'

  'He's wrong. The man is available if the price is met.'

  'Call me back in several minutes. I will speak to my client and see if matters are to be pursued.'

  Bourne had called five minutes later. Consent was given, the rendezvous set. Repulse Bay. One hour. The statue of the war god halfway down the beach on the left towards the pier. The contact would wear a black kerchief around his neck; the code was to remain the same.

  Jason looked at his watch; it was twelve minutes past the hour. The contact was late, and the rain was not a problem; on the contrary, it was an advantage, a natural cover. Bourne had scouted every foot of the meeting ground, forty feet in every direction that had a sight line to the statue of the idol, and he had done so after the appointed time, using up minutes as he kept his eyes on the path to the statue. Nothing so far was irregular. There was no trap in the making.

  The Zhongguo ren came into view, his shoulders hunched as he dashed down the steps in the downpour as if the shape of his body would ward off the rain. He ran along the path towards the statue of the war god, stopping as he approached the huge snarling idol. He skirted the wash of the floodlights, but what could briefly be seen of his face conveyed his anger at finding no one in sight.

  'Frenchman, Frenchman?'

  Bourne raced back through the foliage towards the steps, checking once more before rendezvous, reducing his vulnerability. He edged his way around the thick stone post that bordered the steps and peered through the rain at the upper path to the hotel. He saw what he hoped to God he would not see! A man in a raincoat and hat came out of the run-down Colonial Hotel and broke into a fast walk. Halfway to the steps he stopped, pulling something out of his pocket; he turned; there was a slight glow of light... returned instantly by a corresponding tiny flash at one of the windows of the crowded lobby. Penlights. 'Signals. A scout was on his way to a forward post, as his relay or his back-up confirmed communications. Jason spun around and retraced the path he had made through the drenched foliage.

  'Frenchman, where are you?

  'Over here!'

  'Why did you not answer? Where?'

  'Straight ahead. The bushes in front of you. Hurry up!'

  The contact approached the foliage; he was an arm's length away. Bourne sprang up and grabbed him, spinning him around and pushing him farther into the wet bushes, as he did so clamping his left hand over the man's mouth. 'If you want to live, don't make a sound!'

  Thirty feet into the shoreline woods, Jason slammed the contact into the trunk of a tree. 'Who's with you? he asked harshly, slowly removing his hand from the man's mouth.

  'With me?' ' No one is with me!'

  'Don't Her Bourne pulled out his gun and placed it against the contact's throat. The Chinese crashed his head back into the tree, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. 'I don't have time for traps!' continued Jason. 'I don't have timer

  'And there is no one with me! My word in these matters is my livelihood! Without it I have no profession!'

  Bourne stared at the man. He put the gun back in his belt, gripped the contact's arm and propelled him to the right. 'Be quiet. Come with me.'

  Ninety seconds later Jason and the contact had crawled through the soaking wet underbrush towards an area of the path some twenty-odd feet to the west of the massive idol. The downpour covered whatever noises might have been picked up on a dry night. Suddenly, Bourne grabbed the Oriental's shoulder, stopping him. Up ahead the scout could be seen, crouching, hugging the border of the path, a gun in his hand. For a moment he crossed through a wash of the statue's floodlight before he disappeared; it was only for an instant, but it was enough. Bourne looked at the contact.

  The Chinese was stunned. He could not take his eyes off the spot in the light where the scout had crossed. His thoughts were coming to him rapidly, the terror in him building; it was in his stare. 'Si',' he whispered. 'Jiagian!'

  'In short English words,' said Jason, speaking through the rain. That man's an executioner?'

  'S/"7... Yes.'

  Tell me, what have you brought me?

  'Everything,' answered the contact, still in shock. 'The first money, the instructions... everything.'

  'A client doesn't send money if he's going to kill the man he's hiring.'

  'I know,' said the contact softly, nodding his head and closing his eyes. 'It is me they want to kill.'

  His words to Liang on the harbour walk had been prophetic, thought Bourne. 'It's not a trap for me... it's for you. You did your job and they can't allow any traces... They can't afford you any longer.''

  There's another up at the hotel. I saw them signaling each other with flashlights. It's why I couldn't answer you for several minutes.'

  The Oriental turned and looked at Jason; there was no self-pity in his eyes. The risks of my profession,' he said simply. 'As my foolish people say, I will join my ancestors, and I hope they are not so foolish. Here.' The contact reached into his inside pocket and withdrew an envelope. 'Here is everything.'

  'Have you checked it out?'

  'Only the money.' It's all there.' I would not meet with the Frenchman
with less than his demands, and the rest I do not care to know.' Suddenly the man looked hard at Bourne, blinking his eyes in the downpour. 'But you are not the Frenchman!'

  'Easy,' said Jason. Things have come pretty fast for you tonight.'

  'Who are you?'

  'Someone who just showed you where you stood.' How much money did you bring?

  Thirty thousand American dollars.'

  'If that's the first payment, the target must be someone impressive.'

  'I assume he is.'

  'Keep it.'