'Hold it right there!' broke in Teasdale angrily. 'If you're trying to compromise me, you're doing a rotten fucking job of it! This boy's not for neutering. Get off. Go sing to your head doctors, not to me! I don't have to talk to you, all I have to do is report the fact that you called me, which I'll do the second I cut you loose. I'll also add that I got hit with a bucket of bullshit! Take care of that head of yours.'
'Medusa!' cried Webb. 'No one wants to talk about codename Medusa, do they? Even today it's way down deep in the vaults, isn't it?'
There was no click on the line this time. Teasdale did not hang up. Instead, he spoke flatly, no comment in his voice. 'Rumours,' he said. 'Like Hoover's raw files – raw meat -good for stories over a few belts, but not worth a hell of a lot . '
'I'm not a rumour, Sam. I live, I breathe, I go to the toilet and I sweat – like I'm sweating now. That's not a rumour.'
'You've had your problems, Davey.'
'I was there! I fought with Medusa! Some people said I was the best, or the worst. It's why I was chosen, why I became Jason Bourne.'
'I wouldn't know about that. We never discussed it, so I wouldn't know. Did we ever discuss it, Davey?'
'Stop using that goddamned name. I'm not Davey. "
'We were "Sam" and "Davey" in Virginia, don't you remember?' '
That doesn't matter! We all played games. Morris Panov was our referee, until one day you decided to get rough. '
'I apologized,' said Teasdale gently. 'We all have bad days.
I told you about my wife. '
'I'm not interested in your wife! I'm interested in mine! And I'll rip open Medusa unless I get some answers, some help?
'I'm sure you can get whatever help you think you need if you'll just call your contact at State. '
'He's not there! He's gone!'
Then ask for his back-up. You'll be processed. '
"Processed Jesus, what are you, a robot?'
'Just a man trying to do his job, Mr. Webb, and I'm afraid I can't do any more for you. Good night. ' The click came and Teasdale was off the phone.
There was another man, thought David at fever pitch, as he stared at the list, squinting as the sweat filled his eye sockets. An easy going man, less abrasive than the others, a Southerner, whose slow drawl was either a cover for a quick mind or the halting resistance to a job in which he felt himself uncomfortable. There was no time for invention.
'Is this the Babcock residence?'
'Surely is,' replied a woman's voice imbued with magnolia . 'Not our home, of course, as I always point out, but we surely do reside here. '
'May I speak with Harry Babcock, please?'
'May Ah ask who's callin', please? He may be out in the garden with the kids, but on the other hand he may have taken them over to the park. It's so well lit these days – not like before – and you just don't fear for your life as long as you stay.. . '
A cover for quick minds, both Mr. and Mrs. Harry Babcock.
'My name is Reardon, State Department. There's an urgent message for Mr Babcock. My instructions are to reach him as soon as possible. It's an emergency. '
There was the bouncing echo of a phone being covered, muffled sounds beyond. Harry Babcock got on the line, his speech slow and deliberate.
'I don't know a Mr. Reardon, Mr Reardon. All mah relays come from a particular switchboard that identifies itself. Are you a switchboard, sir?'
'Well, I don't know if I've ever heard of someone coming in from a garden, or from across the street in a park so quickly, Mr. Babcock. '
'Remarkable, isn't it? I should be runnin' in the Olympics, perhaps. However, I do know your voice. I just can't place the name. '
'How about Jason Bourne?'
The pause was brief – a very quick mind. 'Now, that name goes back quite a while, doesn't it? Just about a year, I'd say. It is you, isn't it, David. ' There was no question implied.
'Yes, Harry. I've got to talk to you. '
'No, David, you should speak with others, not me. '
'Are you telling me I'm cut off?'
'Good heavens, that's so abrupt, so discourteous. I'd be more than delighted to hear how you and the lovely Mrs.. Webb are doing in your new life. Massachusetts, isn't it?'
'Maine.'
'Of course. Forgive me. Is everything well? As I'm sure you realize, my colleagues and I are involved with so many problems we haven't been able to stay in touch with your file. '
'Someone else said you couldn't get your hands on it . '
'Ah don't think anybody tried to. '
'I want to talk, Babcock,' said David harshly.
'I don't,' replied Harry Babcock flatly, his voice nearly glacial. 'I follow regulations, and to be frank, you are cut off from men like me. I don't question why – things change, they always change. '
'Medusa!' said David. 'We won't talk about me, let's talk about Medusa?
The pause was longer than before. And when Babcock spoke, his words were now frozen. This phone is sterile, Webb, so I'll say what I want to say. You were nearly taken out a year ago, and it would have been a mistake. We would have sincerely mourned you. But if you break the threads, there'll be no mournin' tomorrow. Except, of course, your wife. '
'You son of a bitch! She's gone! She was taken! You bastards let it happen?
'I don't know what you're talking about . '
'My guards' They were pulled, every goddamned one of them, and she was taken! I want answers, Babcock, or I blow everything apart! Now, you do exactly as I tell you to do, or there'll be mournings you never dreamed of – all of you, your wives, orphaned children – try everything on for size! I'm Jason Bourne, remember!'
'You're a maniac, that's what I remember. With threats like those we'll send a team to find you. Medusa style. Try that on for size, boy!'
Suddenly a furious hum broke into the line; it was deafening, high-pitched, causing David to thrust the phone away from his ear. And then the calm voice of an operator was heard: 'We are breaking in for an emergency. Go ahead, Colorado. '
Webb slowly brought the phone back to his ear.
'Is this Jason Bourne?' asked a man in a mid-Atlantic accent, the voice refined, aristocratic.
'I'm David Webb.'
'Of course you are. But you are also Jason Bourne. '
' Was,' said David, mesmerized by something he could not define.
'The conflicting lines of identity get blurred, Mr. Webb. Especially for one who has been through so much. '
'Who the hell are you?'
'A friend, be assured of that. And a friend cautions one he calls a friend. You've made outrageous accusations against some of our country's most dedicated servants – men who will never be permitted an unaccountable five million dollars – to this day unaccounted for. '
'Do you want to search me?'
'No more than I'd care to trace the labyrinthine ways your most accomplished wife buried the funds in a dozen European.'
'She's gone!' Did your dedicated men tell you that'
'You were described as being overwrought – "raving" was the word that was used and making astonishing accusations relative to your wife, yes. '
'Relative to– Goddamn you, she was taken from our house! Someone's holding her because they want me?'
'Are you sure?'
'Ask that dead fish McAllister. It's his scenario, right down to the note. And suddenly he's on the other side of the world!'
'A note?' asked the cultured voice.
'Very clear. Very specific. It's McAllister's story, and he let it happen!. You let it happen!'
'Perhaps you should examine the note further. '
'Why?'
'No matter. It may all become clearer to you with help, psychiatric help. '
'What?'
'We want to do all we can for you, believe that. You've given so much – more than any man should – and your extraordinary contribution cannot be disregarded even if it comes to a court of law. We placed you in the situation and we w
ill stand by you – even if it means bending the laws, coercing the courts. '
'What are you talking about? screamed David.
'A respected army doctor tragically killed his wife several years ago, it was in all the papers. The stress became too much. The stresses on you were tenfold. '
'I don't believe this!'
'Let's put it another way, Mr Bourne. '
'I'm not Bourne!'
'All right, Mr Webb, I'll be frank with you. '
'That's a step up!'
'You're not a well man. You've gone through eight months of psychiatric therapy there's still a great deal of your own life you can't remember; you didn't even know your name. It's all in the medical records, meticulous records that make clear the advanced state of your mental illness, your compulsion for violence and your obsessive rejection of your own identity. In your torment you fantasize, you pretend to be people you are not; you seem to have a compulsion to be someone other than yourself. '
That's crazy and you know it! Lies!"
'Crazy is a harsh word, Mr Webb, and the lies are not mine. However, it's my job to protect our government from false vilification, unfounded accusations that could severely damage the country. '
'Such as?'
'Your secondary fantasy concerning an unknown organization you call Medusa. Now, I'm sure your wife will come back to you – if she can, Mr Webb. But if you persist with this fantasy, with this figment of your tortured mind that you call Medusa, we'll label you a paranoid schizophrenic, a pathological liar prone to uncontrollable violence and self-deception. If such a man claims his wife is missing, who knows where that pathological trip could lead? Do I make myself clear?
David closed his eyes, the sweat rolling down his face. 'Crystal clear,' he said quietly, hanging up the phone.
Paranoid... pathological. Bastards! He opened his eyes wanting to spend his rage by hurling himself against something, anything! Then he stopped and stood motionless as another thought struck him, the obvious thought. Morris Panov! Mo Panov would label the three monsters for what he knew they were. Incompetents and liars, manipulators and self-serving protectors of corrupt bureaucracies – and conceivably worse, far worse. He reached for the phone and, trembling, dialled the number that so often in the past had brought forth a calming, rational voice that provided a sense of worth when Webb felt there was very little of value left in him.
'David, how good to hear from you,' said Panov with genuine warmth.
'I'm afraid it's not, Mo. It's the worst call I've ever made to you. '
'Come on, David, that's pretty dramatic. We've been through a lot-'
'Listen to me!' yelled Webb . 'She's gone! They've taken her!' The words poured forth, sequences lacking order, the times confused.
'Stop it, David!' commanded Panov. 'Go back. I want to hear it from the beginning. When this man came to see you after your... the memories of your brother.'
' What man?'
'From the State Department . '
'Yes! All right, yes. McAllister, that was his name. '
'Go from there. Names, titles, positions. And spell out the name of that banker in Hong Kong. And for Christ's sake, slow down?
Webb again grabbed his wrist as it gripped the phone. He started again, imposing a false control on his speech; but still it became strident, tight, involuntarily gathering speed. Finally he managed to get everything out, everything he could recall, knowing in horror that he had not remembered everything. Unknown blank spaces filled him with pain. They were coming back, the terrible blank spaces. He had said all he could say for the moment; there was nothing left.
'David,' began Mo Panov firmly. 'I want you to do something for me. Now. '
'What?
'It may sound foolish to you, even a little bit crazy, but I suggest you go down the street to the beach and take a walk along the shore. A half hour, forty-five minutes, that's all. Listen to the surf and the waves crashing against the rocks. '
'You can't be serious? protested Webb.
'I'm very serious,' insisted Mo. 'Remember we agreed once that there were times when people should put their heads on hold – God knows, I do it more than a reasonably respected psychiatrist should. Things can overwhelm us, and before we can get our act together we have to get rid of part of the confusion. Do as I ask, David. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, no more than an hour, I'd guess. And I want you calmer than you are now. '
It was crazy, but as with so much of what Panov quietly, often casually, suggested, there was truth in his words. Webb walked along the cold, rocky beach, never for an instant forgetting what had happened, but whether it was the change of scene, or the wind, or the incessant, repetitive sounds of the pounding ocean, he found himself breathing more steadily every bit as deeply, as tremulously, as before but without the higher registers of hysteria. He looked at his watch, at the luminous dial aided by the moonlight. He had walked back and forth for thirty-two minutes; it was all the indulgence he could bear. He climbed the path through the dunes of wild grass to the street and headed for the house, his pace quickening with every step.
He sat in his chair at the desk, his eyes rigid on the phone. It rang; he picked it up before the bell had stopped. 'Mo?'
'Yes. '
'It was damned cold out there. Thank you. '
Thank you. "
'What have you learned?'
And then the extension of the nightmare began.
'How long has Marie been gone, David?"
'I don't know. An hour, two hours, maybe more. What's that got to do with anything?'
'Could she be shopping? Or did you two have a fight and perhaps she wanted to be by herself for a while? We agreed that things are sometimes very difficult for her – you made the point yourself. '
'What the hell are you talking about? There's a note spelling it out! Blood, a hand print!'
'Yes, you mentioned them before, but they're so incriminating. Why would anyone do that?"
'How do I know! It was done -they were done. It's all here!'
'Did you call the police?
'Christ, no! It's not for the police! It's for us, for me! Can't you understand that...? What did you find out? Why are you talking like this?'
'Because I have to. In all the sessions, in all the months we talked we never said anything but the truth to each other because the truth is what you have to know. '
'Mo! For God's sake, it's Marie!'
'Please, David, let me finish. If they're lying – and they've lied before – I'll know it and I'll expose them. I couldn't do anything less. But I'm going to tell you exactly what they told me, what the number two man in the Far East Section made specifically clear, and what the chief of security for the State Department read to me as the events were officially logged. '
'Officially logged... ?'
'Yes. He said row called security-control a little over a week ago, and according to the log you were in a highly agitated state -•-'
'I called them?'
That's right, that's what he said. According to the logs, you claimed you had received threats; your speech was "incoherent" – that was the word they used – and you demanded additional security immediately. Because of the classified flag on your file, the request was bounced upstairs and the upper levels said, "Give him what he wants. Cool him. "'
'I can't believe this!'
'It's only the middle, David. Hear me out, because I'm listening to you. '
'Okay. Go on. '
That's it. Easy. Stay cool – no, strike that word "cool" . '
'Please do. '
'Once the patrols were in place – again according to the logs you called twice more complaining that your guards weren't doing their job. You said they were drinking in their cars in front of your house, that they laughed at you when they accompanied you on the campus, that they – and here I quote – "They're making a mockery of what they're supposed to be doing. " I underlined that phrase. '
'A "mockery"...?
; 'Easy, David. Here's the end of it, the end of the logs. You made a last call stating emphatically that you wanted everyone taken away – that your guards were your enemy, they were the men who wanted to kill you. In essence, you had transformed those who were trying to protect you into enemies who would attack you. '
'And I'm sure that fits snugly into one of those bullshit psychiatric conclusions that had me converting – or perverting – my anxieties into paranoia . '
'Very snugly,' said Panov. Too snugly. '
'What did the number two in Far East tell you?
Panov was silent for a moment . 'It's not what you want to hear, David, but he was adamant. They never heard of a banker or any influential taipan named Yao Ming. He said the way things were in Hong Kong these days, if there was such a person he'd have the dossier memorized. '
'Does he think I made it all up! The name, the wife, the drug connection, the places, the circumstances the British reaction! For Christ's sake, I couldn't invent those things!
'It'd be a stretch for you,' agreed the psychiatrist softly. 'Then everything I've just told you you're hearing for the first time and none of it makes sense? It's not the way you recall things?'
'Mo, it's all a lie! I never called State. McAllister came to the house and told us both everything I've told you, including the Yao Ming story! And now she's gone, and I've been given a lead to follow. Why? For Christ's sake, what are they doing to us?'
'I asked about McAllister,' said Panov, his tone suddenly angry. The Fast East deputy checked with State posting and called me back. They say McAllister flew into Hong Kong two weeks ago, that according to his very precise calendar he couldn't have been at your house in Maine. '
'He was here!'
'I think I believe you. '
'What does that mean?'
'Among other things, I can hear the truth in your voice, sometimes when you can't. Also that phrase "making a mockery" of something isn't generally in the vocabulary of a psychotic in a highly agitated state – certainly not in yours at your wildest . '
'I'm not with you. '
The Bourne Supremacy jb-2 Page 8
