The right speculation,' interrupted Conklin, quietly, 'being the fact that no one over here has heard from the first Jason Bourne in a couple of years. '
'Exactly. '
'So I'm the corpse that's in custody,' said Webb, 'beyond scrutiny. '
'You could be, yes,' said McAllister. 'You see, we don't know what Sheng knows, how deep his penetration went. The only thing we want to establish is that the dead man is not his assassin. '
'Leaving the way open for another impostor to go back up and draw Sheng out for the kill,' added Conklin respectfully. 'You're something, Mr Analyst. A son of a bitch, but something. '
'You'd be exposing yourself, Edward,' said Havilland, his gaze levelled at the undersecretary. 'I never asked that of you. You do have enemies. '
'I want to do it this way, Mr Ambassador. You employ me to render the best judgements that I can, and in my judgement this is the most productive course. There's got to be a convincing smokescreen. My name can provide it – for Sheng. The rest can be couched in ambiguous language, language that everyone we want to reach will understand. '
'So be it,' said Webb, suddenly closing his eyes, hearing the words Jason Bourne had spoken so often.
'David-' Marie touched his face.
'Sorry. ' Webb fingered the file folder in front of him, then opened it. On the first page was a photograph with a name printed underneath. It was identified as the face of Sheng Chou Yang, but it was far more than that. It was the face. It was the face of the butcher! The madman who hacked women and men to death with his jewelled ceremonial sword, who forced brothers to fight with razor sharp knives until one killed the other, who took a brave, tortured Echo's life with a slash to the head. Bourne stopped breathing, enraged by the unimaginable cruelty, as bloody images overcame him. As he stared at the photograph, the sight of Echo, throwing his life away to save Delta, brought him back to that clearing in the forest. Delta knew that it was Echo's death that had made the assassin's capture possible. Echo had died defiantly, accepting his unbearably painful execution so that a fellow Medusan could make good not only his escape, but with a final gesture telling him that the madman with the sword must be killed!
"This? whispered Jason Bourne, 'is the son of your unknown taipan?
'Yes,' said Havilland.
'Your revered philosopher-prince? The Chinese saint no one can expose?"
'Again, yes.'
'You were wrong! He showed himself! Christ did he show himself!'
Stunned, the ambassador shot forward. 'You're certain?'
There's no way I couldn't be certain. '
The circumstances must have been extraordinary,' said the astonished McAllister. 'And it certainly confirms that the impostor never would have got out of there alive. Still, the circumstances must have been earth-shaking for him!'
'Considering the fact that no one outside China ever learned about them, they were. Mao's tomb became a shooting gallery. It was part of the trap and they lost. Echo lost. '
'Who?' asked Marie, still gripping his hand.
'A friend. '
'Mao's tomb?' repeated Havilland. 'Extraordinary!'
'Not at all,' said Bourne. 'How bright. The last place in China a target would expect an attack. He goes in thinking he's the pursuer following his quarry, expecting to pick him up outside, on the other side. The lights are dim, his guard down. And all the while he's the quarry, hunted, isolated, set up for the kill. Very bright. '
'Very dangerous for the hunters,' said the ambassador. 'For Sheng's people. One mis-step and they could have been taken. Insanity'!'
'No mis-steps were possible. They would have killed their own if I hadn't killed them. I understand that now. When everything went off the wire, they simply disappeared. With Echo. '
'Back to Sheng, please, Mr Webb. ' Havilland was himself obsessed, his eyes pleading. Tell us what you saw, what you know. '
'He's a monster,' said Jason quietly, his eyes glazed, staring at the photograph. 'He comes from hell, a Savonarola who tortures and kills – men, women, kids – with a smile on his face. He gives sermons like a prophet talking to children, but underneath he's a maniac who rules his gang of misfits by sheer terror. Those shock troops you mentioned aren't troops, they're goons, sadistic thugs who've learned their craft from a master. He's Auschwitz, Dachau and Bergen Belsen all rolled into one. God help us all if he runs anything over here. ' 'He can, Mr Webb,' said Havilland quietly, his terrified gaze fixed on Jason Bourne. 'He will. You've just described a Sheng Chou Yang the world has never seen, and at this moment he is the most powerful man in China. As Adolf Hitler marched victoriously into the Reichstag, so Sheng will march into the Central Committee, making it his puppet. What you've told us is far more catastrophic than anything we've conceived of – China against China... Armageddon to follow. Oh, my God!
'He's a brute animal,' whispered Jason, hoarsely. 'He has to kill like a predator, but his only hunger is killing – not for food but for the kill. '
'You're talking in generalities. ' McAllister's interruption was cold but intense. 'We have to know more – I have to know more!'
'He called a conference. ' Bourne spoke dreamily, his head swaying, his eyes again riveted on the photograph. 'It was the start of – the nights of the great blade, he said. There was a traitor, he said. The conference was something only a madman could create, torches everywhere, held in the countryside, an hour out of Peking, in a bird sanctuary – can you believe it? A bird sanctuary – and he really did what I say he did. He killed a man suspended by ropes, hacking his sword into the screaming body. Then a woman who tried to argue her innocence, cutting her head off– her head! In front of everyone! And then two brothers-'
'A traitor! whispered McAllister, ever the analyst . 'Did he find one? Did anyone confess? Is there any kind of counter insurgency?'
'Stop it!' cried Marie.
Wo, Mrs. Webb! He's going back. He's reliving it. Look at him. Can't you see? He's there. '
'I'm afraid our irritating colleague is right, Marie,' said Panov softly, watching Webb . 'He's in and out, trying to find his own reality. It's okay. Let him ride it. It could save us all a lot of time. '
'Bullshit!'
'For ever accurate, my dear, and for ever debatable. Shut up.
'... There was no traitor, no one who spoke, only the woman with doubts. He killed her and there was silence, an awful silence. He was warning everyone, telling everyone that they were everywhere and at the same time they were invisible. In the ministries, in the Security Police, everywhere... And then he killed Echo, but Echo knew he had to die. He wanted to die quickly because he couldn't live much longer anyway. After they tortured him he was in awful shape. Still, if he could give me time-'
'Who is Echo, David? asked Morris Panov. Tell us, please. '
'Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo... Foxtrot-'
'Medusa,' said the psychiatrist . 'It's Medusa, isn't it? Echo was in Medusa. '
'He was in Paris. The Louvre. He tried to save my life but I saved his. That was okay, it was right. He saved mine before, years ago. "Rest is a weapon", he said. He put the others around me and made me sleep. And then we got out of the jungle. '
'"Rest is a weapon"... ' Marie spoke quietly and closed her eyes, pressing her husband's hand, the tears falling down her cheeks. 'Oh, Christ!'
'... Echo saw me in the woods. We used the old signals we used before, years ago. He hadn't forgotten. None of us ever forget. '
'Are we in the countryside, in the bird sanctuary, David?' asked Panov, gripping McAllister's shoulder to stop him from intruding.
'Yes,' replied Jason Bourne, his eyes now floating, unfocused. 'We both know. He's going to die. So simple, so clear. Die. Death. No more. Just buy time, precious minutes. Then maybe I can do it. '
'Do what – Delta?' Panov drew out the name in quiet emphasis.
'Take out the son of a bitch. Take out the butcher. He doesn't deserve to live, he has no right to live! He kills too easily – with
a smile on his face. Echo saw it. I saw it. Now it's happening – everything's happening at once. The explosions in the forest, everybody running, shouting. I can do it now! He's a clean kill... He sees me! He's staring at me! He knows
I'm his enemy! I am your enemy, butcher! I'm the last face you'll see! ... What's wrong? Something's wrong! He's shielding himself! He's pulling someone in front of him. I have to get out! I can't do it!'
'Can't or won't," asked Panov, leaning forward. 'Are you Jason Bourne or are you David Webb? Who are you?'
'Delta!' screamed the victim, stunning everyone at the table by his outburst . 'I am Delta! I am Bourn! Cain is for Delta and Carlos is for Cain!' The victim, whoever he was, collapsed back in the chair, his head snapped down into his chest. He was silent.
It took several minutes – none knew how long, none counted until the man who was unable to establish an identity for himself raised his head. His eyes were now half free, half prisoner to the agony he was experiencing. 'I'm sorry,' said David Webb . 'I don't know what happened to me. I'm sorry. '
'No apologies, David,' said Panov. 'You went back. It's understandable. It's okay. '
'Yes, I went back. Screwy, isn't it?
'Not at all,' said the psychiatrist . 'It's perfectly natural. '
' I have to go back, that's understandable, too, isn't it, Mo?'
'David!' screamed Marie, reaching for him.
'I have to,' said Jason Bourne, gently holding her wrists. 'No one else can do it, it's as simple as that. I know the codes. I know the way... Echo traded in his life for mine, believing I'd do it. I'd kill the butcher. I failed then. I won't fail now. '
'What about us?' Marie clutched him, her voice reverberating off the white walls. 'Don't we matter?'
'I'll come back, I promise you,' said David, removing her arms and looking into her eyes. 'But I have to go back, can't you understand?'
'For these people? These liars?
'No, not for them. For someone who wanted to live – above everything. You didn't know him; he was a survivor. But he knew when his life wasn't worth the price of my death. I had to live and do what I had to do. I had to live and come back to you, he knew that, too. He faced the equation and made his decision. Somewhere along the line we all have to make that decision. ' Bourne turned to McAllister. 'Is there anyone here who can take a picture of a corpse?
'Whose?' asked the undersecretary of state.
'Mine,' said Jason Bourne.
34
The grisly photograph was taken on the white conference table by a sterile house technician under the reluctant supervision of Morris Panov. A bloodstained white sheet covered Webb's body; it was angled across his throat revealing a blood-streaked face, the eyes wide, the features clear.
'Develop the roll as fast as you can and bring me the contacts,' instructed Conklin.
Twenty minutes,' said the technician, heading for the door as McAllister entered the room.
'What's happening?' asked David, sitting up on the table. Marie, wincing, wiped his face with a warm, wet towel.
'The consulate press people called the media,' replied the undersecretary. 'They said they'd issue a statement in an hour or so, as soon as all the facts were in place. They're mocking one up now. I gave them the scenario with a go-ahead to use my name. They'll work it out with embassy obfuscation and read it to us before issuing it.'
'Any word on Lin?' asked the CIA man.
'A message from the doctor. He's still critical but holding on. '
'What about the press down the road?' asked Havilland. 'We've got to let them in here sooner or later. The longer we wait the more they'll think it's a cover-up. We can't afford that, either. '
'We've still got some rope in that area,' said McAllister. 'I sent word that the police – at great risks to themselves – were sweeping the grounds for undetonated explosives. Reporters can be very patient under those conditions. Incidentally, in the scenario I gave the press people, I told them to stress the fact that the man who attacked the house was obviously an expert in demolition. '
Jason Bourne, one of the most proficient demolitions men to come out of Medusa, looked at McAllister. The undersecretary looked away. 'I've got to get out of here,' Jason said. 'I've got to get to Macao as quickly as possible. ' 'David, for God's sake!' Marie stood in front of her husband, staring at him, her voice low and intense.
'I wish it didn't have to be this way,' said Webb, getting off the table. 'I wish it didn't,' he repeated softly, 'but it does. I have to be in place. I have to start the sequence to reach Sheng before the story breaks in the morning papers, before that photograph appears confirming the message I'm sending through channels he's convinced no one knows about. He's got to believe I'm his assassin, the man he was going to kill, not the Jason Bourne from Medusa who tried to kill him in that forest glen. He has to get word from me – from who he thinks I am – before he's given any other information. Because the information I'm sending him is the last thing he wants to hear. Everything else will seem insignificant. '
'The bait,' said Alex Conklin. 'Feed him the critical information first and the cover falls in place because he's stunned, preoccupied, and accepts the printed official version, in particular the photograph in the newspapers. '
'What are you going to tell him?' asked the ambassador, his voice conveying the fact that he disliked the prospect of losing control of this blackest of operations. 'What you told me. Part truth, part lie. ' 'Spell it out, Mr Webb,' said Havilland, firmly. 'We owe you a great deal but-'
'You owe me what you can't pay me!' snapped Jason Bourne, interrupting. 'Unless you blow your brains out right here in front of me. ' 'I understand your anger but still I must insist. You'll do nothing to jeopardize the lives of five million people, or the vital interests of the United States government. '
'I'm glad you got the sequence right – for once. All right. Mr Ambassador, I'll tell you. It's what I would have told you before, if you'd had the decency, the decency, to come to me and "state your case". I'm surprised it never occurred to you -no, not surprised, shocked – but I guess I shouldn't be. You believe in your rarefied manipulations, in the trappings of your quiet power... you probably think you deserve it all because of your great intellect, or something like that. You're all the same. You relish complexity – and jour explanations of it – so that you can't see when the simple route is a hell of a lot more effective. '
'I'm waiting to be instructed,' said Havilland, coldly.
'So be it,' said Bourne. 'I listened very carefully during your ponderous explanation. You took pains to explain why no one could officially approach Sheng and tell him what you knew. You were right, too. He'd have laughed in your face, or spat in your eye, or told you to pound sand – whatever you like. Sure, he would. He's got the leverage. You pursue your "outrageous" accusations, he pulls Peking out of the Hong Kong Accords. You lose. You try to go over his head, good luck. You lose again. You have no proof but the words of several dead men who've had their throats cut, members of the Kuomintang who'd say anything to discredit party officials in the People's Republic. He smiles and, without saying it, lets you know that you'd better go along with him. You figure you can't go along because the risks are too great -if the whistle blows on Sheng, the Far East blows. You were right about that, too – more for the reasons Edward gave us than you did. Peking might possibly overlook a corrupt commission as one of those temporary concessions to greed, but it won't permit a spreading Chinese Mafia to infiltrate its industry or its labour forces or its government. As Edward said, they could lose their jobs-'
'I'm still waiting, Mr Webb,' said the diplomat.
'Okay. You recruited me but you forgot the lesson of Treadstone Seventy-one. Send out an assassin to catch an assassin. '
That's the one thing we did not forget,' broke in the diplomat, now astonished. 'We based everything on it. '
'For the wrong reasons,' said Bourne sharply. There was a better way to reach Sheng and draw him out for the kill. I was
n't necessary. My wife wasn't necessary! But you couldn't see it. Your superior brain had to complicate everything. '
'What was it I couldn't see, Mr Webb?
'Send in a conspirator to catch a conspirator, not officially... It's too late for that now but it's what I would have told you. '
'I'm not sure you've told me anything. '
'Part truth, part lie – your own strategy. A courier is sent to Sheng, preferably a half-senile old man who's been paid by a blind and fed the information over the phone. No traceable source. He carries a verbal message, ears only, Sheng's only, nothing on paper. The message contains enough of the truth to paralyse Sheng. Let's say that the man sending it is someone in Hong Kong who stands to lose millions if Sheng's scheme falls apart, a man smart enough and frightened enough not to use his name. The message could allude to leaks, or traitors in the boardrooms, or excluded triads banding together because they've been cut out – all the things you're certain will happen. The truth. Sheng has to follow up, he can't afford not to. Contacts are made and a meeting is arranged. The Hong Kong conspirator is every bit as anxious to protect himself as Sheng, and every bit as leery, demanding a neutral meeting ground. It's set. It's the trap. ' Bourne paused, glancing at McAllister. 'Even a third-rate demolitions grunt could show you how to carry it off. '
'Very quick and very professional,' said the ambassador. 'And with a glaring flaw. Where do we find such a conspirator in Hong Kong?
Jason Bourne studied the elder statesman, his expression bordering on contempt . 'You make him up,' he said. That's the lie. '
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