Nothing had been sacred then, and nothing was sacred now. It was all too symmetrical. The guards had been pulled, his own reactions condescendingly questioned as if he were the one who had asked for the additional protection and not on the insistence of one Edward canister. Then within hours Marie was taken, according to a scenario that had been detailed far too accurately by a nervous man with dead eyes. And now this same McAllister was suddenly fifteen thousand miles away from his own self-determined ground zero. Had the undersecretary turned? Had he been bought in Hong Kong? Had he betrayed Washington as well as the man he had sworn to protect? What was happening! Whatever it was, among the unholy secrets was code name Medusa. It had never been mentioned during the questioning, never referred to. Its absence was startling. It was as if the unacknowledged battalion of psychotics and killers had never existed; its history had been wiped off the books. But that history could be reinstated. This was where he would start.
Webb walked rapidly out of the bedroom and down the steps to his study, once a small library off the hallway in the old Victorian house. He sat at his desk, opened the bottom drawer and removed several notebooks and various papers. He then inserted a brass letter opener and pried up the false bottom; lying on the second layer of wood were other papers. They were a vague, mostly bewildering assortment of fragmented recollections, images that had come to him at odd hours of the day and night. There were torn scraps and pages from small notebooks and scissored pieces of stationery on which he had jotted down the pictures and words that exploded in his head. It was a mass of painful evocations, many so tortured that he could not share them with Marie, fearing the hurt would be too great, the revelations of Jason Bourne too brutal for his wife to confront. And among these secrets were the names of the experts in clandestine operations who had come down to question him so intensely in Virginia.
David's eyes suddenly focused on the ugly heavy-calibre weapon on the edge of the desk. Without realizing it, he had gripped it in his hand and carried it down from the bedroom; he stared at it for a moment, then picked up the phone. It was the beginning of the most agonizing, infuriating hour of his life as each moment Marie drifted farther away.
The first two calls were taken by wives or lovers; the men he was trying to reach were suddenly not there when he identified himself. He was still out of sanction! They would not touch him without authorization and that authorization was being withheld. Christ, he should have known!
'Hello?'
'Is this the Lanier residence?"
'Yes, it is. '
'William Lanier, please. Tell him it's urgent, a Sixteen Hundred alert. My name is Thompson, State Department. '
'Just one minute,' said the woman, concerned.
' Who is this?' asked a man's voice.
'It's David Webb. You remember Jason Bourne, don't you?'
' A pause followed, filled with Lanier's breathing. 'Why did you say your name was Thompson? That it was a White House alert?'
'I had an idea you might not talk to me. Among the things I remember is that you don't make contact with certain people without authorization. They're out of bounds. You simply report the contact attempt. '
'Then I assume you also remember that it's highly irregular to call someone like me on a domestic phone. '
'Domestic phone? Does the domestic prohibitive now include where you live?"
'You know what I'm talking about. '
'I said it was an emergency. '
'It can't have anything to do with me,' protested Lanier. 'You're a dead file in my office-'
'Colour me deep-dead?' interrupted David.
'1 didn't say that,' shot back the man from covert operations. 'All I meant was that you're not on my schedule and it's policy not to interfere with others. '
'What others?' asked Webb sharply.
'How the hell do I know?'
'Are you telling me that you're not interested in what I have to tell you?'
'Whether I'm interested or not hasn't anything to do with it. You're not on any list of mine and that's all I have to know. If you have something to say, call your authorized contact. '
'I tried to. His wife said he was in the Far East. '
Try his office. Someone there will process you. '
'I know that, and I don't care to be processed. I want to talk to someone I know, and I know you, Bill. Remember? It was "Bill" in Virginia, that's what you told me to call you. You were interested to hell and back in what I had to say then. '
That was then, not now. Look, Webb, I can't help you because I can't advise you. No matter what you tell me, 1 can't respond. I'm not current on your status - I haven't been for almost a year. Your contact is - he can be reached. Call State back. I'm hanging up. '
'Medusa,' whispered David. 'Did you hear me, Lanier? Medusa!'
'Medusa what? Are you trying to tell me something?'
'I'll blow it all apart, do you read me? I'll expose the whole obscene mess unless I get some answers?
'Why don't you get yourself processed instead?" said the man from covert operations coldly. 'Or check yourself into a hospital.' There was an abrupt click, and David, perspiring,
hung up the phone.
Lanier did not know about Medusa. If he had known, he would have stayed on the phone, learning whatever he could, for Medusa crossed the lines of 'policy' and being 'current'. But Lanier was one of the younger interrogators, no more than 33 or 34; he was very bright, but not a long-term veteran. Someone a few years older would probably have been given clearance, told about the renegade battalion that was still held in deep cover. Webb looked at the names on his list and at the corresponding telephone numbers. He picked up the phone.
'Hello?'A male voice.
'Is this Samuel Teasdale?'
'Yeah, that's right. Who are you?'
'I'm glad you answered the phone and not your wife. '
The wife's standard where possible,' said Teasdale, suddenly cautious. 'Mine's no longer available. She's sailing somewhere in the Caribbean with someone I never knew about. Now that you know my life's story, who the hell are you?'
'Jason Bourne, remember?'
' Webb?'
" vaguely remember that name,' said David.
'Why are you calling me?'
'You were friendly. Down in Virginia you told me to call you Sam. '
'Okay, okay, David, you're right. I told you to call me Sam that's what I am to my friends, Sam...' Teasdale was bewildered, upset, searching for words. 'But that was almost a year ago, Davey, and you know the rules. You're given a person to talk to, either on the scene or over at State. That's the one you should reach that's the person who's up to date on everything. '
'Aren't you up to date, Sam?"
'Not about you, no. I remember the directive; it was dropped on our desks a couple of weeks after you left Virginia. All inquiries, regarding "said subject, et cetera" were to be bumped up to Section whatever-the-hell-it was, "said subject" having full access and in direct touch with deputies on the scene and in the Department. 'and my direct-access contact has disappeared. '
'Come on,' objected Teasdale quietly, suspiciously. That's crazy. It couldn't happen. '
'It happened!' yelled Webb. 'My wife happened!'
'What about your wife? What are you talking about?'
'She's gone, you bastard - all of you, bastards! You let it happen!' Webb grabbed his wrist, gripping it with all his strength to stop the trembling. 'I want answers, Sam. 1 want to know who cleared the way, who turned] I've got an idea who it is but I need answers to nail him - nail all of you, if I have to. '
'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. '
'1 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.
'1 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?
'1 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 will 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. '
'1 don't believe this!'
'Let's put it another way, Mr Bourne. '
'I'm not Bourne!'
'All right, Mr W
ebb, 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. '
Robert Ludlum - Bourne 2 - Bourne Supremecy Page 8