Robert Ludlum - Bourne 2 - Bourne Supremecy

by The Bourne Supremacy [lit]

  The early evening traffic was less dense than the rush hour, but still formidable. It was the reason why Catherine and Marie looked uneasily at each other in the back seat of the Mandarin's limousine as the chauffeur, rather than accelerating into the sudden wide space in front of him, swung the enormous automobile into an empty section of the kerb in Bonham Strand East. There was no sign of a rental agency on either side of the street.

  'Why are we stopping?' asked Staples sharply.

  'Mr Teng's instructions, Mrs,' answered the chauffeur turning around in the seat. 'I will lock the car with the alarm on. No one will bother you as the lights flash beneath all four door handles.'

  'That's very comforting but I'd like to know why you're not taking us to the car.'

  'I will bring the car to you, Mrs.'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Mr Teng's instructions.' He was very firm and he is making the proper phone call to the Apex garage. It is in the next block, Mrs. I shall be back presently.' The chauffeur removed his hat and his jacket, placed both on the seat, switched on the alarm and climbed out.

  'What do you make of it?' asked Marie, raising her leg over her knee and holding tissues she had taken from the ladies' room against the flat of her right foot. 'Do you trust this Teng?'

  'Yes, I do,' replied Catherine, her expression bewildered. 'I can't understand it. He's obviously being extra cautious - but there are extra risks for himself - and I don't know why. As I told you back at the Mandarin that computerized missive about me said "Government control". Those two words are not taken lightly in Hong Kong. What in the world is he doing? And why?'

  'Obviously, I can't answer you,' said Marie. 'But I can make an observation.'

  'What is it?'

  'I saw the way he looked at you. I'm not sure you did.'

  'What?

  'I'd say he's very fond of you.'

  'Fond... of me?'

  'It's one way to put it. There are stronger ways, of course.'

  Staples turned away and looked out the window. 'Oh, my God,' she whispered.

  'What's the matter?'

  'A little while ago, back at the Mandarin, and for reasons too unreasonable to analyse - it started with a foolish woman in a chinchilla stole - I thought about Owen.'

  'Owen?

  'My former husband.'

  'Owen Staples? The banker, Owen Staples?'

  'That's my name and that's my boy - was my boy. In those days one stayed with the acquired name.'

  'You never told me your husband was Owen Staples.'

  'You never asked me, my dear.'

  'You're not making sense, Catherine.'

  'I suppose not,' agreed Staples, shaking her head. 'But I was thinking about the time Owen and I met a couple of years ago in Toronto. We had drinks at the Mayfair Club and I learned things about him I never would have believed before. I was genuinely happy for him despite the fact that the bastard nearly made me cry.'

  'Catherine, for heaven's sake what's that got to do with right now?'

  'It's got to do with Teng. We also had drinks one evening, not at the Mandarin, of course, but at a cafe on the waterfront in Kowloon. He said it wouldn't be good joss for me to be seen with him here on the island.'

  'Why not?

  That's what I said. You see, he was protecting me then just as he's protecting me now. And I may have misunderstood him. I assumed he was simply looking after an additional source of income but I may have been terribly wrong.'

  'In what way?'

  'He said a strange thing that night. He said he wished things were different, that the differences between people were not so obvious and those differences not so disturbing to other people. Of course, I accepted his banalities as a rather amateurish attempt at... at statecraft, as my former husband phrased it. Perhaps it was something else.'

  Marie laughed quietly, as their eyes locked. 'Dear, dear Catherine. The man's in love with you.'

  'Christ in Calgary, I don't need this!'

  Wenzu sat in the front seat of MI6 Vehicle Two, his patient gaze on the entrance of the Apex agency on Bonham Strand East. Everything was in order; both women would be in his custody within a matter of minutes. One of his men had gone inside and spoken to the dispatcher. The agent had proffered his government identification and was shown the evening's records by the frightened employee. The dispatcher, indeed, had a reservation for a Mrs Catherine Staples but it had been cancelled, the car in question assigned to another name, the name of a chauffeur from the hotel. And since Mrs Catherine Staples was no longer leasing a car, the dispatcher saw no reason to call Police Control Four. What was there to say? And no, certainly not, no one else could pick up the car as it was reserved by the Mandarin.

  Everything was in order, thought Wenzu. Victoria Peak would feel an enormous sweep of relief the moment he reached the sterile house with his news. The major knew the exact words he would say. The women are taken - the woman is taken.'

  Across the street a man in shirtsleeves entered the agency door. He appeared hesitant to Lin and there was something... A taxi suddenly drove up and the major bolted forward, reaching for the door handle - the hesitant man was forgotten.

  'Be alert, lads,' said Lin into the microphone attached to the dashboard radio. 'We must be as quick and as unobtrusive as possible. No Arbuthnot Road can be tolerated here. And no weapons, of course. Ready, now!'

  But there was nothing to be ready for; the taxi drove away without disgorging anyone.

  'Vehicle Three' said the major curtly. 'Get that license number and call the cab company! I want them in radio contact. Find out exactly what their taxi was doing here!

  Better yet, follow it and do as I tell you. It could be the women.'

  'I believe there was only a man in the back seat, sir,' said the driver.

  They could have ducked below the seat! Damned eyes. A man, you say?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'I smell a rotten squid.'

  'Why, Major?'

  'If I knew, the stench would not be so strong.'

  The waiting continued and the immense Lin began to perspire. The dying sun cast both a blinding orange light through the windshield and pockets of dark shadows along Bonham Strand East.

  'It's too long,' whispered the major to himself.

  Static erupted from the radio. 'We have the report from the cab company, sir.'

  'Go on!'

  The taxi in question is trying to find an import house on Bonham Strand East, but the driver told his fare that the address must be on Bonham Strand West. Apparently, his passenger is very angry. He got out and threw money into the window only moments ago.'

  'Break away and return here,' ordered Lin, as he watched the garage doors opening across the street at the Apex agency. A car emerged, turning left, driven by the shirtsleeved man.

  The sweat now rolled down the major's face. Something was not in order; another order was being superimposed. What was it that bothered him? What was it?

  'Him' shouted Lin to his startled driver,

  'Sir?'

  'A wrinkled white shirt, but trousers creased like steel. A uniform! A chauffeur] Swing around! Follow him!'

  The driver held his hand on the horn, breaking the line of traffic as he made a U-turn while the major issued instructions to the back-ups, ordering one to stay at the Apex agency, the others to take up the new chase.

  'Aiya!' screamed the driver, jamming on his brakes, screeching to a stop as a huge brown limousine roared out of a side street blocking their way. Only the slightest contact had been made, the government car barely touching the left rear door of the large automobile.

  'Feng zi!" yelled the limousine's chauffeur, calling Lin's driver a crazy dog as he jumped out of his sedan to see if any damage had been done.

  'La/7 Lair shrieked the major's driver, leaping out, ready for combat.

  'Stop it!' roared Wenzu. 'Just get him out of here!'

  'It is he who does not move, sir!'

  Tell him he must do so! Sh
ow him your identification!'

  All traffic came to a stop; horns blared, people in cars and in the streets yelled angrily. The major closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration. There was nothing he could do but get out of the car.

  As another did from the limousine. A middle-aged Chinese with a balding head. 'I gather we have a problem,' said Lee Teng.

  'I know you!' shouted Lin. The Mandarin!'

  'Many who have the taste to frequent our fine hotel know me, sir. I'm afraid I cannot reciprocate. Have you been a guest, sir?'

  'What are you doing here?'

  'It is a confidential errand for a gentleman at the Mandarin, and I have no intention of saying anything further.'

  'Damn-damn! A government directive was sent out! A Canadian woman named Staples! One of your people called us!'

  'I have no idea what you're talking about. For the last hour I have been trying to solve a problem for a guest who's attending the ball at Government House tonight. I'd be happy to furnish you with her name - if your position warrants it.'

  'My position warrants it! I repeat! Why have you stopped us?'

  'I believe it was your man who sped across the changing light.'

  'Not sol' screamed Wenzu's driver.

  Then it is a matter for the courts,' said Lee Teng. 'May we proceed?'

  'Not yet?' replied the major, approaching the Mandarin's night concierge. 'I repeat again. A government directive was received at your hotel. It stated clearly that a woman named Staples might try to lease a car and you were to report the attempt to Police Central Four.'

  Then I repeat, sir. I have not been near my desk for well over an hour, nor have I seen any such directive as you describe. However, in co-operation with your unseen credentials, I will tell you that all car rental arrangements would have to be made through my First Assistant, a man, quite frankly, I have found quite compromising in many areas.'

  'But you are here?

  'How many guests at the Mandarin have late business in Bonham Strand East, sir? Accept the coincidence.'

  'Your eyes smile at me, Zhongguo ren.'

  'Without laughter, sir. I will proceed. The damage is minor.'

  'I don't give a damn if you and your people have to stay there all night,' said Ambassador Havilland. 'It's the only crack we've got. The way you've described it she'll return the car and then pick up her own. Goddamn it, there's a Canadian-American strategy conference at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. She has to be back! Stay with it! Stay with all the posts! Just bring her in to me!'

  'She will claim harassment. We will be breaking the laws of international diplomacy.'

  Then break them! Just get her here, in Cleopatra's carpet, if you have to! I haven't any time to waste - not a minute!

  Held firmly in check by two agents, a furious Catherine Staples was led into the room in the house on Victoria Peak.

  Wenzu had opened the door; he now closed it as Staples faced Ambassador Raymond Havilland and Undersecretary of State Edward McAllister. It was 11:35 in the morning, the sun streaming through the large bay window overlooking the garden.

  'You've gone too far, Havilland,' said Catherine, her throaty voice ice-like in its flat delivery.

  'I haven't gone far enough where you're concerned, Mrs Staples. You actively compromised a member of the American legation. You engaged in extortion to the grave disservice of my government.'

  'You can't prove that because there's no evidence, no photographs-'

  'I don't have to prove it. At precisely seven o'clock last night the young man drove up here and told us everything. A sordid little chapter, isn't it?'

  'Damn fool! He's blameless, but you're not! And since you bring up the word "sordid", there's nothing he's done that could match the filth of your own actions.' Without missing a verbal beat, Catherine looked at the undersecretary of state. 'I presume this is the liar called McAllister.'

  'You're very trying,' said the undersecretary.

  'And you're an unprincipled lackey who does another man's dirty work. I heard it all and it's all disgusting! But every thread was woven-' Staples snapped her head towards Havilland, 'by an expert. Who gave you the right to play God! Any of you? Do you know what you've done to those two people out there? Do you know what you've asked of them?'

  'We know,' said the ambassador simply. 'I know.'

  'She knows, too, in spite of the fact that I didn't have the heart to give her the final confirmation. You, McAllister! When I learned it was you up here, I wasn't sure she could handle it. Not at the moment. But I intend to tell her. You and your lies! A taipan's wife murdered in Macao - oh, the symmetry of it all, what an excuse to take another man's wife! Lies. I have my sources and it never happened. Well, get this straight. I'm bringing her in to the consulate under the full protection of my government. And if I were you, Havilland,

  I'd be damned careful about throwing around alleged illegalities. You and your goddamned people have lied to and manipulated a Canadian citizen into a life-threatening operation - whatever the hell it is this time. Your arrogance is simply beyond belief I But I assure you it's coming to a stop. Whether my government likes it or not I'm going to expose you, all of you! You're no better than the barbarians in the KGB. Well, the American juggernaut of covert operations is going to be handed a bloody setback! I'm sick of you, the world is sick of you!'

  'My dear woman!' shouted-the ambassador, losing the last vestiges of control in his sudden anger. 'Make all the threats you like, but you will hear me out! And if after you've heard what I have to say you wish to declare war, you go right ahead*. As the song says, my days are dwindling down, but not millions of others! I'd like to do what I can to prolong those other lives. But you may disagree, so declare your war, dear lady! And, by Christ, you live with the consequences!'

  19

  Leaning forward in the chair, Bourne snapped the trigger housing out of its recess and checked the weapon's bore under the light of the floor-lamp above him. It was a repetitive, pointless exercise; the bore was spotless. During the past four hours he had cleaned d'Anjou's gun three times, dismantling it three times and each time oiling each mechanism until each part of the dark metal glistened. The process occupied his time. He had studied d'Anjou's arsenal of weapons and explosives, but since most of the equipment was in sealed boxes, conceivably tripped against theft, he let them be and concentrated on the single gun. There was only so much pacing one could do in the Frenchman's flat on the Rua das Lorchas overlooking Macao's Porto Interiore - or Inner Harbour - and they had agreed he was not to go outside in daylight. Inside, he was as safe as he could be anywhere in Macao. D'Anjou, who changed residences at will and whim, had rented the waterfront apartment less than two weeks before, using a false name and a lawyer he had never met, who in turn employed a 'rentor' to sign the lease which the attorney sent by messenger to his unknown client by way of the checkroom at the crowded Floating Casino. Such were the ways of Philippe d'Anjou, formerly Echo of Medusa.

  Jason reassembled the weapon, depressed the shells in the magazine and cracked it up through the handle. He got out of the chair and walked to the window, the gun in his hand.

  Across the expanse of water was the People's Republic, so accessible for anyone who knew the procedures arising from simple human greed. There was nothing new under the sun since the time of the pharaohs where borders were concerned. They were erected to be crossed one way or another.

  He looked at his watch. It was close to five o'clock; the afternoon sun was descending. D'Anjou had called him from Hong Kong at noon. The Frenchman had gone to the Peninsula with Bourne's room key, packed his suitcase without checking out, and was taking the one o'clock jetfoil back to Macao. Where was he? The trip took barely an hour, and from the Macao pier to the Rua das Lorchas was no more than ten minutes by cab. But then predictability was not Echo's strong suit.

  Fragments of the Medusa memories came back to Jason, triggered by the presence of d'Anjou. Although painful and frightening, certain impressions
provided a certain comfort, again thanks to the Frenchman. Not only was d'Anjou a consummate liar when it counted most and an opportunist of the first rank, but he was extraordinarily resourceful. Above all, the Frenchman was a pragmatist. He had proved that in Paris and those memories were clear. If he was delayed, there was a good reason. If he did not appear, he was dead. And this last was unacceptable to Bourne. D'Anjou was in a position to do something Jason wanted above all to do himself but dared not risk Marie's life in doing it. It was risk enough that the trail of the impostor assassin had brought him to Macao in the first place, but as long as he stayed away from the Lisboa Hotel he trusted his instincts. He would remain hidden from those looking for him - looking for someone who even vaguely resembled him in height, or build or colouring. Someone asking questions in the Lisboa Hotel.