'Wasn't I terrific?' broke in the young man.
'Very agile,' replied Marie. 'But I suspect your friend has a point. Those T-shirts undoubtedly cost him less than twenty-five cents apiece.
'Four hundred per cent,' said the girl, nodding. ' Keystone should be so lucky. '
'Key who?'
'A jeweller's term,' explained Marie. ' It's one hundred per cent . '
'I'm surrounded by philistines!' cried the young man. 'I'm an Art History major. Someday I'll run the Metropolitan!'
'Just don't try to buy it,' said the girl, turning to Marie. 'I'm
sorry, we're not flakes, we're just having fun. We interrupted you. '
'It's most embarrassing, really, but my plane was a day late and I missed my tour into China. The hotel is full and I wondered-'
'You need a place to crash? interrupted the Art History student.
'Yes, I do. Frankly my funds are adequate but limited. I'm a schoolteacher from Maine – economics, I'm afraid. '
'Don't be,' said the girl, smiling.
'I'm joining my tour tomorrow, but I'm afraid that's tomorrow, not tonight . '
'We can help you, can't we, Lacy?
'I'm sure we can. Our college has an arrangement with the Chinese University of Hong Kong. '
'It's not much on room service but the price is right,' said the young man. 'Three bucks, US, a night. But, holy roller, are they antediluvian!'
'He means there's a certain puritan code over here. The sexes are separated. '
'"Boys and girls together-'" sang the Art History major. 'Like hell they are!' he added.
Marie sat on the campbed in the huge room under a 50-foot ceiling; she assumed it was a gymnasium. All around her young women were asleep and not asleep. Most were silent, but a few snored, others lighted cigarettes, and there were sporadic lurchings towards the bathroom, where the fluorescent lights remained on. She was among children, and she wished she were a child now, free of the terrors that were everywhere. David, I need you! You think I'm so strong, but, darling, I can't cope! What do I do? How do I do it!
Study everything, you'll find something you can use. Jason Bourne.
13
The rain was torrential, pitting the sand, snapping into the floodlights that lit up the grotesque statuary of Repulse Bay -reproductions of enormous Chinese gods, angry myths of the Orient in furious poses, some rising as high as 30 feet. The dark beach was deserted, but there were crowds in the old hotel up by the road and the anachronistic hamburger shop across the way. They were strollers and drop-ins, tourists and islanders alike who had come down to the bay for a late-night drink or something to eat and to look out at the forbidding statues repelling whatever malign spirits might at any moment emerge from the sea. The sudden downpour had forced the strollers inside; others waited for the storm to let up before heading home.
Drenched, Bourne crouched in the foliage 20 feet from the base of a fierce-looking idol halfway down the beach. He wiped the rain from his face as he stared at the concrete steps that led to the entrance of the old Colonial Hotel. He was waiting for the third name on the taipan's list.
The first man had tried to trap him on the Star Ferry, the agreed-upon meeting ground, but Jason, wearing the same clothes he had worn at the Walled City, had spotted the man's two stalking patrols. It was not as easy as looking for men with radios but it had not been difficult either. By the third trip across the harbour, Bourne not having appeared at the appointed window on the starboard side, the same two men had passed by his contact twice, each speaking briefly and each going to opposite positions, their eyes fixed on their superior. Jason had waited until the ferry approached the pier and the passengers started en masse towards the exit ramp in the bow. He had taken out the Chinese on the right with a blow to the kidneys as he passed him in the crowd, then struck the back of the man's head with the heavy brass paperweight; the passengers rushed by in the dim light. Bourne then walked through the emptying benches to the other side; he faced the second man, jammed his gun into the patrol's stomach and marched him to the stern. He arched the man above the railing and shoved him overboard as the ship's whistle blew in the night and the ferry pulled into the Kowloon pier. He then returned to his contact by the deserted window at midship.
'You kept your word,' Jason said. 'I'm afraid I'm late. '
'You are the one who called?' The contact's eyes had roamed over Bourne's shabby clothes.
'I'm the one. '
'You don't look like a man with the money you spoke of on the telephone. '
'You're entitled to that opinion. ' Bourne withdrew a folded stack of American bills, $1, 000 denominations visible when rolled open.
'You are the man. ' The Chinese had glanced quickly over Jason's shoulders. 'What is it that you want?' the man asked anxiously.
'Information about someone for hire who calls himself Jason Bourne. '
'You have reached the wrong person. '
'I'll pay generously. '
'I have nothing to sell. '
'I think you do. ' Bourne had put away the money and pulled out his weapon, moving closer to the man as the Kowloon passengers streamed on board. 'You'll either tell me what I want to know for a fee, or you'll be forced to tell me for your life. '
'I know only this,' the Chinese had protested. 'My people will not touch him!'
'Why not?
'He's not the same man!'
'What did you say? Jason held his breath, watching the man closely.
'He takes risks he would never have taken before. ' The Chinese again looked beyond Bourne, sweat breaking out on his hairline. 'He comes back after two years. Who knows what happened? Drink, narcotics, disease from whores, who knows?
'What do you mean risks?
'That is what I mean! He walks into a cabaret in the Tsim Sha Tsui – there was a riot, the police were on their way. Still, he enters and kills five men! He could have been caught, his clients traced! He would not have done such a thing two years ago. '
'You may have your sequence backwards,' said Jason Bourne. 'He may have gone in – as one man – and started the riot. He kills as that man and leaves as another, escaping in the confusion. '
The Oriental stared briefly into Jason's eyes, suddenly more frightened than before as he again looked at the shabby, ill-fitting clothes in front of him. 'Yes, I imagine that is possible,' he said tremulously, now whipping his head, first to one side, then the other.
'How can this Bourne be reached?
'I don't know, I swear on the spirits. Why do you ask me these questions?'
'How?' repeated Jason, leaning into the man, their foreheads touching, the gun shoved into the Oriental's lower abdomen. 'If you won't touch him, you know where he can be touched, where he can be reached! Now, where?
'Oh, Christian Jesus."
'Goddamn it, not Him! Bourne!'
'Macao! It is whispered he works out of Macao, that is all I know, I swear it!' The man looked in panic to his right and left.
'If you're trying to find your two men, don't bother, I'll tell
you,' said Jason. 'One's in a clump over there and I hope the other can swim. '
Those men are– Who are you?
'I think you know,' Bourne had answered. 'Go to the back of the ferry and stay there. If you take one step forward before we dock, you'll never take another. '
'Oh, God, you are-'
'I wouldn't finish that, if I were you. '
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?
I 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 I 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. I 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 unfamiliar 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, natura
lly. '
'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!'
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