The map was accurate. Two floodlights converged on the high green metal gate beneath huge panels depicting brightly coloured birds; the gate was closed. In a small glass-enclosed structure on the right sat a single guard. At the sight of Jason's approaching headlights he sprang up and ran out. It was difficult to tell whether the man's jacket and trousers were a uniform or not; there was no evidence of a weapon.
Bourne drove the sedan up to within feet of the gate, climbed out and approached the Chinese behind it, surprised to see that the man was in his late fifties or early sixties.
'Bei long, bei long?' began Jason before the guard could speak, apologizing for disturbing him. 'I've had a terrible time,' he continued rapidly, pulling out the list of the French assigned negotiators from his inside pocket. 'I was to be here three and a half hours ago, but the car didn't arrive and I couldn't reach Minister...' He picked out the name of a textile minister from the list. 'Wang Xu, and I'm sure he's as upset as I am!'
'You speak our language,' said the bewildered guard. 'You have a car with no driver.'
'The minister cleared it. I've been to Beijing many, many times. We were going to have dinner together.'
'We are closed, and there is no restaurant here.'
'Did he leave a note for me, perhaps?'
'No one leaves anything here but lost articles. I have very nice Japanese binoculars I could sell you cheap.'
It happened. Beyond the gate, about thirty yards down the dirt road, Bourne saw a man in the shadows of a tall tree, a man wearing a long tunic - four buttons - an officer. Around his waist was a thick holster belt. A weapon.
'I'm sorry, I have no use for binoculars.'
'A present, perhaps?'
'I have few friends and my children are thieves.'
'You are a sad man. There is nothing but children and friends - and the spirits, of course.'
'Now, really, I simply want to find the minister. We are discussing renminbi in the millions!'
'The binoculars are but a few yuan.'
'All right! How much?'
'Fifty.'
'Get them for me,' said the chameleon impatiently, reaching into his pocket, his gaze casually straying beyond the green fence as the guard rushed back to the gatehouse. The Chinese officer had retreated farther into the shadows but was still watching the gate. The pounding in Jason's chest once again felt like kettledrums - as it so often had in the days of Medusa. He had turned a trick, exposed a strategy. Delta knew the Oriental mind. Secrecy. The lone figure did not, of course, confirm it, but he did not deny it either.
'Look how grand they are!' cried the guard, running back to the fence and holding out the binoculars. 'One hundred yuan.'
'You said fifty!'
'I didn't notice the lenses. Far superior. Give me the money and I'll throw them over the gate.'
'Very well,' said Bourne, about to push the money through the criss-crossing mesh of the fence. 'But under one condition, thief. If by any chance you are questioned about me, I choose not to be embarrassed.' 'Questioned? That's foolish. There's no one here but me.' Delta was right.
'But in case you are, I insist you tell the truth! I am a French businessman urgently seeking this minister of textiles because my car was unpardonably delayed. I will not be embarrassed!' 'As you wish. The money, please.' Jason shoved the yuan bills through the fence; the guard clutched them and threw the binoculars over the gate. Bourne caught them and looked pleadingly at the Chinese. 'Have you any idea where the minister might have gone?'
'Yes, and I was about to tell you without additional money. Men so grand as you and he would no doubt go to the dining house named Ting Li Guan. It is a favourite of rich foreigners and powerful men of our heavenly government.' 'Where is it?'
'In the Summer Palace. You passed it on this road. Go back fifteen, twenty kilometres, and you will see the great Dong an men gate. Enter it and the guides will direct you, but show your papers, sir. You travel in a very unusual way.'
Thank you!' yelled Jason, running to the car. 'Vive la France?
'How beautiful,' said the guard, shrugging, heading back to his post and counting his money.
The officer walked quietly up to the gatehouse and tapped on the glass. Astonished, the night watchman leaped out of his chair and opened the door.
'Oh, sir, you startled me! I see you were locked inside. Perhaps you fell asleep in one of our beautiful resting places. How unfortunate. I will open the gate at once!'
'Who was that man?' asked the officer calmly.
'A foreigner, sir. A French businessman who has had much misfortune. As I understood him, he was to meet the minister of textiles here hours ago and then proceed to dinner, but his automobile was delayed. He's very upset. He does not wish to be embarrassed.'
'What minister of textiles?'
'Minister Wang Xu, I believe he said.'
'Wait outside, please.'
'Certainly, sir. The gate?'
'In a few minutes.' The soldier picked up the telephone on the small counter and dialled. Seconds later he spoke again. 'May I have the number of a minister of textiles named Wang Xu...? Thank you.' The officer pressed down the centre bar, released it, and dialled again. 'Minister Wang Xu, please?'
'I am he,' said a somewhat disagreeable voice at the other end of the line. 'Who is this?'
'A clerk at the Trade Council Office, sir. We're doing a routine check on a French businessman who has you listed as a reference-'
'Great Christian Jesus, not that idiot Ardisson! What's he done now?'
'You know him, sir?'
'I wish I didn't! Special this, special that! He thinks that when he defecates the odour of lilacs fills the stalls.'
'Were you to have dinner with him tonight, sir?'
'Dinner? I might have said anything to keep him quiet this afternoon! Of course, he hears only what he wants to hear.
On the other hand, it's perfectly possible that he would use my name to obtain a reservation when he didn't have one. I told you, special this, special that! Give him whatever he wants. He's a lunatic but harmless enough. We'd send him back to Paris on the next plane if the fools he represents weren't paying so much for such third-rate material. He's cleared for the best illegal whores in Beijing! Just don't bother me, I'm entertaining.' The minister abruptly hung up.
His mind at ease, the army officer replaced the phone and walked outside to the night watchman. 'You were accurate,' he said.
The foreigner was most agitated, sir. And very confused.' 'I'm told both conditions are normal for him.' The army man paused for a moment, then added, 'You may open the gate now.'
'Certainly, sir.' The guard reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He stopped, looking over at the officer. 'I see no automobile, sir. It is many kilometres to any transportation. The Summer Palace would be the first-'
'I've telephoned for a car. It should be here in ten or fifteen minutes.'
'I'm afraid / will not be here then, sir. I can see the light of my relief's bicycle down the road now. I am off duty in five minutes.'
'Perhaps I'll wait here,' said the officer, dismissing the watchman's words. 'There are clouds drifting down from the north. If they bring rain, I could use the gatehouse for shelter until my car arrives.' 'I see no clouds, sir.' 'Your eyes are not what they once were.' 'Too true.' The repeated ringing of a bicycle bell broke the outer silence. The relief guard approached the fence as the current watchman started to unlock the gate. These young ones announce themselves as though they were descending spirits from heaven.'
'I should like to say something to you,' said the officer sharply, stopping the watchman in his tracks. 'Like the foreigner, I, too, do not wish to be embarrassed for catching an hour of much needed sleep in a beautiful resting place. Do you enjoy your job?
'Very much, sir.'
'And the opportunity to sell such things as Japanese binoculars turned over to you for safekeeping?'
'Sir?'
'My hearing's acute and your
shrill voice is loud.'
'Sir?'
'Say nothing about me and I will say nothing about your unethical activities, which would undoubtedly send you into a field with a pistol put to your head. Your behaviour is reprehensible.'
'I have never seen you, sir! I swear on the spirits in my soul!'
'We in the party reject such thoughts.'
Then on anything you like?
'Open the gate and get out of here.'
'First my bicycle, sir!' The watchman ran to the far edge of the fence, wheeled out his bicycle and unlocked the gate. He swung it back, nodding with relief as he literally threw the new man the ring of keys. Mounting the saddle of his bicycle, he sped off down the road.
The second guard walked casually through the gate holding his bicycle by the handlebars. 'Can you imagine?' he said to the officer. The son of a Kuomintang warlord taking the place of a feeble-minded peasant who would have served us in the kitchens.'
Bourne spotted the white notch in the tree trunk and drove the sedan off the road between two pine trees. He turned off the lights and got out. Rapidly he broke numerous branches to camouflage the car in the darkness. Instinctively, he had worked quickly - he would have done so in any event - but to his alarm, within seconds after he finished concealing the sedan, headlights appeared far down on the road to Beijing. He bent down, kneeling in the underbrush, and watched the car pass by, fascinated by the sight of a bicycle strapped to its roof, then concerned when moments later the noise of the engine was abruptly cut off; the car had stopped around the r bend ahead. Wary that some part of his own car had been seen by an experienced field man who would park out of sight and return on foot, Jason raced across the road into the tangled brush beyond the trees. He ran in spurts to his right, from pine to pine to the mid-point of the curve, where again he knelt in the shadowed greenery, waiting, studying every foot of the thoroughfare's borders, listening for any sound that did not belong to the hum of the deserted country road.
Nothing. Then finally something, and when he saw what it was, it simply did not make sense. Or did it? The man on the bicycle with a friction light on the front fender was pedalling up the road as if his life depended on a speed he could not possibly attain. As he drew closer Bourne saw that it was the watchman... on a bicycle... and a bicycle had been strapped to the roof of the car that had stopped around the bend. Had it been for the watchman? Of course not; the car would have proceeded to the gate... A second bicycle? A second watchman - arriving on a bicycle? Of course. If what he believed was true, the guard at the gate would be changed, a conspirator put in his place.
Jason had waited until the watchman's light was barely a speck in the distant darkness, then ran in the road back to his car and the tree with the notch in the bark. He now dug up the knapsack and began sorting out the articles of his trade. He removed his jacket and white shirt and put on a black turtleneck sweater; he secured the sheath of the hunting knife to the belt of his dark trousers and shoved the automatic with a single shell in it on the other side. He picked up two spools connected by a three-foot strand of thin wire, and thought that the lethal instrument was far better than the one he had fashioned in Hong Kong. Why not? He was much closer to his objective, if anything he had learned in that distant Medusa had any value. He rolled the wire on to both spools equally, and carefully pushed them down inside his trousers right back pocket, then picked up a small penlight and clipped it to the lower edge of his right front pocket. He placed a long double strand of outsized Chinese firecrackers, which was folded and held in place by an elastic band, in his left front pocket along with three books of matches and a small wax candle. The most awkward item was a hand-held medium-gauge wirecutter, the size of a pair of pliers. He inserted it head down into his left back pocket, then sprang the release so that the two short handles were pressed against the cloth, thus locking the instrument in its shell. Finally, he reached for a wrapped pile of clothing that was coiled so tight its dimensions were no more than that of a rolling pin. He centred it on his spine, pulled the elastic band around his waist, and snapped the clips into place. He might never use the clothes but then he could leave nothing to chance - he was too close!
/'// take him, Marie! I swear 'I'll take him and we'll have our life again. It's David and I love you so! I need you so!
Stop it! There are no people, only objectives. No emotions, only targets and kills and men to be eliminated who stand in the way. I have no use for you, Webb. You're soft and I despise you. Listen to Delta - listen to Jason Bourne!
The killer who was a killer by necessity buried the knapsack with his white shirt and tweed jacket and stood up between the pine trees. His lungs swelled at the thought of what was before him, one part of him frightened and uncertain, the other furious, ice-cold.
Jason started walking north into the curve, going from tree to tree as he had done before. He reached the car that had passed him with the bicycle strapped to its roof; parked on the side of the road, it had a large sign taped under the front window. He edged closer and read the Chinese characters, smiling to himself as he did so.
This is a disabled official vehicle of the government. Tampering with any part of the mechanism is a serious crime. Theft of this vehicle will result in the swift execution of the offender.
In the lower left-hand corner there was a column in small print
People's Printing Plant Number 72. Shanghai. Bourne wondered how many hundreds of thousands of such signs had been made by Printing Plant 72. Perhaps they took the place of a warranty, two with each vehicle.
He backed into the shadows and continued around the bend until he reached the open space in front of the floodlit gate. His eyes followed the line of the green fence. On the left it disappeared into the forest darkness. On the right it extended perhaps two hundred feet beyond the gatehouse, running the length of a parking lot with numbered areas for tour buses and taxis, where it angled sharply south. As he expected, a bird sanctuary in China would be enclosed, a deterrent to poachers. As d'Anjou had phrased it: 'Birds have been revered in China for centuries. They're considered delicacies for the eyes and the palate.' Echo. Echo was gone. He wondered if d'Anjou had suffered... no time.
Voices! Bourne snapped his head back towards the gate, lurching into the nearest foliage. The Chinese army officer and a new, much younger watchman - no, now definitely a guard - walked out from behind the gatehouse. The guard was wheeling a bicycle while the officer held a small radio to
his ear.
They'll start arriving shortly after nine o'clock,' said the army man, lowering the radio and shoving down the antenna. 'Seven vehicles each three minutes apart.'
The truck?'
'It will be the last.'
The guard looked at his watch. 'Perhaps you should get the car then. If there's a telephone check, I know the routine.'
'A good thought,' agreed the officer clamping the radio to his belt and taking the bicycle's right handlebar. 'I have no patience with those bureaucratic females who bark like chows.'
'But you must have,' insisted the guard, laughing. 'And you must take out the lonely ones, the ugly ones, and perform at your best between their legs. Suppose you received a poor report? You could lose this heavenly job.' 'You mean that feeble-headed peasant you relieved-' 'No, no,' broke in the guard, releasing the bicycle. They seek out the younger ones, the handsome ones, like me. From our photographs, of course. He's different; he pays them
yuan from his sales of lost items. I sometimes wonder if he makes a profit.'
'I have trouble understanding you civilians.'
'Correction, if I may, Colonel. In the true China I am a captain in the Kuomintang.'
Jason was stunned by the younger man's remark. What he had heard was incredible! In the true China I am a captain in the Kuomintang. The true China? Taiwan? Good God, had it started? The war of the two Chinas? Was that what these men were about? Madness! Wholesale slaughter! The Far East would be blown off the face of the earth! Christ! In his hunt
for an assassin had he stumbled on the unthinkable"}
It was too much to absorb, too frightening, too cataclysmic. He had to move quickly, putting all thought on hold, concentrating only on movement. He read the radium dial of his watch. It was 8:54, and he had very little time to do what had to be done. He waited until the army officer bicycled past, then made his way cautiously, silently through the foliage until he saw the fence. He approached it, taking out the penlight from his pocket, flashing it twice to judge the dimensions. They were extraordinary. Its height was no less than 12 feet, and the top angled outwards like the inner barricade of a prison fence with coils of barbed wire strung along the parallel strands of steel. He reached into his back pocket, squeezed the handles together and removed the wirecutter. He then probed with his left hand in the darkness and when he found the criss-crossing wires closest to the ground, he placed the head of the cutter to the lowest.
Robert Ludlum - Bourne 2 - Bourne Supremecy Page 50
