The Bourne Supremacy jb-2

by Robert Ludlum

  A taxi drove up to Ming's. No one, at first, got out, then the driver emerged. He walked into the open garage and spoke to someone behind a glass booth. He bowed in thanks, returned to the cab, and spoke to his passenger. Cautiously, his fare opened the door and stepped onto the kerb. It was Catherine! She, too, walked into the wide opening, far more rapidly than the driver, and spoke into the glass booth, shaking her head, indicating that she had been told what she did not want to hear.

  Suddenly Wenzu appeared. He was retracing his steps, obviously angered by the men who were meant to be tracing his steps. He was about to cross the open garage; he would see Catherine!

  'Carlos!' screamed Marie, assuming the worst, knowing it would tell her everything. 'Delta!'

  The major spun around, his eyes wide in shock. Marie raced into the Botanical Gardens; it was the key Cain is for Delta and Carlos will be killed by Cain... or whatever the codes were that had been spread through Paris! They were using David again! It wasn't a probability any more, it was the reality! They – it – the United States government – was sending her husband out to play the role that had nearly killed him, killed by his own people! What kind of bastards were they?... Or, conversely, what kind of ends justified the means supposedly sane men would use to reach them?

  Now more than ever she had to find David, find him before he took risks others should be taking! He had given so much and now they asked for more, demanded more in the cruellest way possible. But to find him she had to reach Catherine, who was no more than a hundred yards away. She had to draw out the enemy and get back across the street without the enemy seeing her. Jason, what can I do!

  She hid behind a cluster of bushes, inching farther inside as the major ran through the Garden's gates. The immense Oriental stopped and looked around with his squinting, penetrating gaze, then turned and shouted for a subordinate, who had apparently emerged from an alley on Arbuthnot Road. The second man had difficulty getting across the street; the traffic was heavier and slower due to the stationary ambulance and two additional vehicles blocking the normal flow near the entrance to the gardens. The major suddenly grew furious as he saw and understood the reasons for the growing traffic.

  'Get those fools to move the cars!' he roared. 'And send them over here... No! Send one to the gates on Albany Road. The rest of you come back here! Hurry

  The early evening strollers became more numerous. Men loosened the ties they had worn all day at their offices, while women carried high-heeled shoes in casual bags, supplanting them with sandals. Wives wheeling baby carriages were joined by husbands; lovers embraced and walked arm in arm among the rows of exploding flowers. The laughter of racing children peeled across the gardens, and the major held his place by the entrance gate. Marie swallowed, the panic in her growing. The ambulance and the two cars were being moved; the traffic began to flow normally.

  A crash! Near the ambulance an impatient driver had rammed the car in front of him. The major could not help himself; the proximity of the accident so close to his official vehicle forced him to move forward, obviously to ascertain whether or not his men were involved. Opportunities will present themselves... use them. Now!

  Marie raced around the far end of the bushes, then dashed across the grass to join a foursome on the gravel path that led out of the Gardens. She glanced to her right, afraid of what she might see but knowing she had to know. Her worst thoughts were borne out; the huge major had sensed – or seen – the figure of a woman running behind him. He paused for a moment, uncertain, unsure, then broke into a rapid stride towards the gate.

  A horn blew – four short, quick blasts. It was Catherine, waving at her through the open window of a small Japanese car as Marie raced into the street.

  'Get in!' shouted Staples.

  'He saw me!'

  'Hurry?

  Marie jumped into the front seat, as Catherine gunned the small car and swerved out of line, half on the pavement, then swung back with a break in the accelerating traffic. She turned into a side street and drove swiftly down it to an intersection where there was a sign with a red arrow pointing right. Central. Business District. Staples turned right.

  'Catherine!' shouted Marie. 'He saw me!'

  'Worse,' said Staples. 'He saw the car. '

  'A two door green Mitsubishi!' shouted Wenzu into his handheld radio. 'The licence number is AOR-five, three, five, zero – the zero could be a six, but I don't think so. It doesn't matter, the first three letters will be enough. I want it flashed on all points, emergency status using the police telephone banks! The driver and the passenger are to be taken into custody and there are to be no conversations with either party. It is a Government House matter and no explanations will be given. Get on this! Now!'

  Staples turned into a parking garage on Ice House Street. The newly-lighted bright red sign of the Mandarin could be seen barely a block away. 'We'll rent a car,' said Catherine as she accepted her ticket from the man in the booth. 'I know several head-boys at the hotel. '

  ''We park? You park?' The grinning attendant obviously hoped for the former.

  'You park,' replied Staples, withdrawing several Hong Kong dollars from her purse. 'Let's go,' she said, turning to Marie. 'And stay on my right, in the shadows, close to the buildings. How are your feet?'

  'I'd rather not say. '

  'Then don't. There's no time to do anything about them now. Bear up, old girl. '

  'Catherine, stop sounding like C. Aubrey Smith in drag. '

  'Who's that?'

  'Forget it. I like old movies. Let's go. '

  Marie hobbling, the two women walked down the street to a side entrance of the Mandarin. They climbed the hotel steps and went inside. 'There's a ladies room to the right, past the line of shops,' said Catherine.

  'I see the sign. '

  'Wait there. I'll be with you as soon as I can make arrangements. '

  'Is there a drug store here?'

  'I don't want you walking around. There'll be descriptions out everywhere. '

  'I understand that, but can you walk around? Just a bit. '

  'Bad time of the month?'

  Wo, my feet! Vaseline, skin lotion, sandals – no, not sandals. Rubber thongs, perhaps, and peroxide. '

  'I'll do what I can, but time is everything. '

  'It's been that way for the past year. A terrible treadmill. Will it stop, Catherine?'

  'I'm doing my damnedest to see to it. You're a friend and a countryman, my dear. And I'm a very angry woman – and speaking of such – how many women did you encounter in the hallowed halls of the CIA or its bumbling counterpart at the State Department, Consular Operations?'

  Marie blinked, trying to remember. 'None, actually. '

  There was a woman in Paris-'

  'There's always is, dear. Go to the ladies' room. '

  'An automobile is a hindrance in Hong Kong,' said Wenzu, looking at the clock on the wall of his office in the headquarters of MI6, Special Branch. It read 6:34. Therefore we must assume she intends driving Webb's wife some distance, hiding her, and will not risk taxi records. Our eight o'clock deadline has been rescinded, the chase now takes its place. We must intercept her. Is there anything we haven't considered?'

  'Putting the Australian in jail,' suggested the short, well-dressed subordinate firmly. 'We suffered casualties in the Walled City, but his were a public embarrassment. We know where he's staying. We can pick him up. '

  'On what charge?'

  'Obstruction. '

  'To what end?'

  The subordinate shrugged – angrily. 'Satisfaction, that's all. '

  'You've just answered your own question. Your pride is inconsequential. Stick to the woman – the women. '

  'You're right, of course. '

  'Every garage, the car hire agencies here on the island and in Kowloon, they've all been contacted by the police, correct?'

  'Yes, sir. But I must point out that the Staples woman could easily call upon one of her friends – her Canadian friends – and s
he would have a car we could not track. '

  'We operate on what we can control, not what we can't. Besides, from what I knew before and what I have subsequently learned about Foreign Service Officer Staples, I would say she's acting alone, certainly not with official sanction. She won't involve anyone else for the time being. '

  'How can you be sure?'

  Wenzu looked at his subordinate; he had to choose his words carefully. 'Just a guess. '

  'Your guesses have a reputation for accuracy. '

  'An inflated judgement. Common sense is my ally. ' The telephone rang. The major's hand shot out . 'Yes?'

  'Police Central Four,' droned a male voice.

  'We appreciate your co-operation Central Four. '

  'A Ming's Parking Palace responded to our inquiry. The Mitsubishi AOR has a space there leased on a monthly basis. The owner's name is Staples. Catherine Staples, a Canadian. The car was taken out roughly thirty-five minutes ago. '

  'You've been most helpful, Central Four,' said Lin. Thank you. ' He hung up and looked at his anxious subordinate. 'We now have three new pieces of information. The first is that the inquiry we sent out through the police was definitely sent out. The second is that at least one garage wrote down the information, and thirdly, Mrs. Staples leases her parking space by the month. '

  'It's a start, sir. '

  There are three major, and perhaps a dozen minor car hire agencies, not counting the hotels, which we've covered separately. Those are manageable statistics, but, of course, the garages are not. '

  'Why not?' questioned the subordinate. 'At most there are, perhaps, a hundred. Who wants to build a garage in Hong Kong when he could house a dozen shops – businesses? At maximum, the police telephone banks have twenty to thirty operators. They can call them all. '

  'It's not the numbers, old friend. It's the mentality of the employees, for the jobs are not enviable. Those who can write are too lazy or too hostile to bother, and those who can't, flee from any association with the police. '

  'One garage responded. '

  'A true Cantonese. It was the owner. '

  The owner should be told!' cried the parking boy in shrill Chinese to the booth attendant at the garage on Ice House Street.

  'Why?'

  'I explained it to you! I wrote it down for you-'

  'Because you go to school and write somewhat better than I do does not make you boss-boss here. '

  'You cannot write at all! You were shit-shit afraid! You called for me when the man on the telephone said it was a police emergency. You illiterates always run from the police. That was the car, the green Mitsubishi I parked on Level Two! If you won't call the police, you must call the owner. '

  There are things they don't teach you in school, boy with small organ. '

  They teach us not to go against the police. It is bad joss. '

  'I will call the police – or better you may be their hero. '

  'Good!'

  'After the two women return and I have a short talk with the driver. '

  'What?'

  'She thought she was giving me – us – two dollars, but it was eleven. One of the bills was a ten-dollar note. She was very nervous, very upset. She is frightened. She did not watch her money. '

  'You said it was two dollars!'

  'And now I'm being honest. Would I be honest with you if I did not have both our interests in my heart?'

  'In what way?'

  'I will tell this rich, frightened American – she spoke American – that you and I have not called back the police on her behalf. She will reward us on the spot – very, very generously – for she will understand that she may not retrieve her car without doing so. You may watch me from inside the garage by the other telephone. After she pays I will send another boy for her car, which he will have great trouble finding for I will give him the wrong location, and you will call the police. The police will arrive, we will have done our heavenly duty, and had a night of money like few other nights in this miserable job. '

  The parking boy squinted, shaking his head. 'You're right,' he said. They don't teach such things in school. And I suppose I do not have a choice. '

  'Oh, but you do,' said the attendant, pulling a long knife from his belt . 'You can say no, and I will cut out your talk-talk tongue. '

  Catherine approached the concierge's desk in the Mandarin lobby, annoyed that she did not know either of the two clerks behind the counter. She needed a favour quickly, and in Hong Kong that meant dealing with a person one knew. Then to her relief she spotted the evening shift's Number 1 concierge. He was in the middle of the lobby trying to mollify an excited guest. She moved to the right and waited, hoping to catch Lee Teng's eye. She had cultivated Teng, sending numerous Canadians to him when problems of convenience had seemed insurmountable. He had always been paid handsomely.

  'Yes, may I be of help, Mrs.?' said the young Chinese clerk moving in front of Staples.

  'I'll wait for Mr Teng, if you please. '

  'Mr Teng is very busy, Mrs.. A very bad time for Mr Teng. You are a guest of the Mandarin, Mrs.?'

  'I'm a resident of the territory and an old friend of Mr

  Teng. Where possible I bring my business here so the desk gets the credit. '

  'Ohh... The clerk responded to Catherine's non-tourist status. He leaned forward, speaking confidentially. 'Lee Teng has terrible joss tonight. The lady goes to the grand ball at Government House but her clothes go to Bangkok. She must think Mr Teng has wings under his jacket and jet engines in his armpits, yes?'

  'An interesting concept. The lady just flew in?'

  'Yes, Mrs.. But she had many pieces of luggage. She did not miss the one she misses now. She blames first her husband and now Lee Teng. '

  'Where's her husband?'

  'In the bar. He offered to take the next plane to Bangkok but his kindness only made his wife angrier. He will not leave the bar, and he will not get to Government House in a way that will make him pleased with himself in the morning. Bad joss all around... Perhaps I can be of assistance to you while Mr Teng does his best to calm everybody. '

  'I want to rent a car and I need one as fast as you can get it for me. '

  'Aiya,'' said the clerk. 'It is seven o'clock at night and the rental offices do little leasing in the evening hours. Most are closed. '

  I'm sure there are exceptions. '

  'Perhaps a hotel car with a chauffeur?'

  'Only if there's nothing else available. As I mentioned, I'm not a guest here and, frankly, I'm not made of money. '

  '"Who among us"?' asked the clerk enigmatically. 'As the good Christian Book says – somewhere, I think. '

  'Sounds right,' agreed Staples. 'Please, get on the phone and do your best. '

  The young man reached beneath the counter and pulled out a plastic bound list of car rental agencies. He went to a telephone several feet to his right, picked it up and started dialling. Catherine looked over at Lee Teng; he had steered his irate lady to the wall by a miniature palm in an obvious attempt to keep her from alarming the other guests who sat around the ornate lobby greeting friends and ordering cocktails. He was speaking rapidly, softly, and, by God, thought Staples, he was actually getting her attention. Whatever her legitimate complaints, mused Catherine, the woman was an ass. She wore a chinchilla stole in just about the worst climate on earth for such delicate fur. Not that she, Foreign Service Officer Staples, ever had the problem of such a decision. She might have if she had chucked the FSO status and stuck with Owen Staples. The son of a bitch owned at least four banks in Toronto now. Not a bad sort, really, and to add to her sense of guilt, Owen had never remarried. Not fair, Owen! She had run across him three years ago, after her stint in Europe, while attending a British-organized conference in Toronto. They had had drinks at the Mayfair Club in the King Edward Hotel, not so unlike the Mandarin, actually.

  'Come on, Owen. Your looks, your money – and you had the looks before your money – why not? There are a thousand beautiful girls with
in a five-block radius who'd grab you. '

  'Once was enough, Cathy. You taught me that. '

  'I don't know, but you make me feel – oh, I don't know -somehow so guilty. I left you, Owen, but not because I wasn't fond of you. '

  '"Fond" of me?'

  'You know what I mean. '

  'Yes, I think so. ' Owen had laughed. 'You left me for all the right reasons, and I accepted your leaving without animus for likeminded reasons. If you had waited five minutes longer, I think I would have thrown you out. I'd paid the rent that month.'

  'You bastard!'

  'Not at all, neither of us. You had your ambitions and I had mine. They simply weren't compatible. '

  'But that doesn't explain why you never remarried. '

  'I just told you. You taught me, my dear. '

  Taught you what? That all ambitions were incompatible?'

  'Where they existed in our extremes, yes. You see, I learned that I wasn't interested on any permanent basis in anyone who didn't have what I suppose you'd call a passionate "drive", or an overriding ambition, but I couldn't live with such a person day in and day out. And those without ambition left something wanting in our relationships. No permanency there. '

  'But what about a family? Children?'

  'I have two children,' Owen had said quietly. 'Of whom I'm immensely fond. I love them very much, and their very ambitious mothers have been terribly kind. Even their subsequent respective husbands have been understanding. While they were growing up, I saw my children constantly. So, in a sense, I had three families. Quite civilized, if frequently confusing. '

  ' You! The paragon of the community, the banker's banker. ' The man they said took a shower in a Dickens nightshirt! A deacon of the church!'

  'I gave that up when you left. At any rate, it was simply statecraft on my part. You practise it every day. '

  'Owen, you never told me. '

  'You never asked, Cathy. You had your ambitions and I had mine. But I will tell you my one regret, if you want to hear it. '