There are five vehicles between us, and we agreed -1 stay far behind.'
'Until I said otherwise! It's different now. I have money. I'm investing in China!'
'We will be stopped at the gate. Telephone calls will be made.'
'I've got the name of a banker in Shenzhen!'
'Does he have your name, sir? And a list of the Chinese firms you are dealing with? If so, you may do the talking at the gate. But if this banker in Shenzhen does not know you, you will be detained for giving false information. Your stay in China would be for as long as it takes to thoroughly investigate you. Weeks, months.'
'I have to reach that car!'
'You approach that car, you will be shot.'
'Goddamn it!' shouted Jason in English, instantly reverting to Chinese. 'Listen to me. I don't have time to explain, but I've got to see him!'
'This is not my business,' said the driver coldly, warily.
'Get in line and drive up to the gate,' ordered Bourne. 'I'm a fare you picked up in Lo Wu, that's all. I'll do the talking.'
'You ask too much! I will not be seen with someone like you.'
'Just do it,' said Jason, pulling the gun from his belt.
The pounding in his chest was unbearable as Bourne stood by a large window looking out on the airfield. The terminal was small and for privileged travellers. The incongruous sight of
casual Western businessmen carrying attach‚ cases and tennis rackets unnerved Jason because of the stark contrast to the uniformed guards, standing about rigidly. Oil and water were apparently compatible.
Speaking English to the interpreter who translated accurately for the officer of the guard, he had claimed to be a bewildered executive instructed by the consulate on Queen's Road in Hong Kong to come to the airport to meet an official flying in from Beijing. He had misplaced the official's name, but they had met briefly at the State Department in Washington and would recognize each other. He implied that the present meeting was looked upon with great favour by important men in the Central Committee. He was given a pass restricting him to the terminal, and lastly he asked if the taxi could be permitted to remain in case transport was needed later. The request was granted.
'If you want your money, you'll stay,' he had said to the driver in Cantonese as he picked up the folded bills between them.
'You have a gun and angry eyes. You will kill.'
Jason had stared at the driver. The last thing on earth I want to do is kill the man in that car. I would only kill to protect his life.'
The brown sedan with the dark, opaque windows was nowhere in the parking area. Bourne walked as rapidly as he thought acceptable into the terminal, to the window where he stood now, his temples exploding with anger and frustration, for outside on the field he saw the government car. It was parked on the tarmac not fifty feet away from him, but an impenetrable wall of glass separated him from it - and deliverance. Suddenly the sedan shot forward towards a medium-sized jet several hundred yards north on the runway. Bourne strained his eyes, wishing to Christ he had binoculars! Then he realized they would have been useless; the car swung around the tail of the plane and out of sight.
Goddamn it!
Within seconds the jet began rolling to the foot of the runway as the brown sedan swerved and raced back towards the parking area and the exit.
What could he do? I can't be left this way! He's there! He's me and he's there! He's getting away! Bourne ran to the first counter and assumed the attitude of a terribly distraught man.
'The plane that's about to take off! I'm supposed to be on it! It's going to Shanghai and the people in Beijing said I was to be on it! Stop it!'
The clerk behind the counter picked up her telephone. She dialled quickly then exhaled through her tight lips in relief. 'That is not your plane, sir,' she said. 'It flies to Guangdong.'
'Where?
The Macao border, sir.'
'Never! It must not be Macao!' the taipan had screamed... ' The order will be swift^ the execution swifter! Your wife will die}'
Macao. Table Five. The Kam Pek casino.
'If he heads for Macao,' Mr Allister had said quietly, 'he could be a terrible liability...'
' Termination!1
'I can't use that word.'
14
'You will not, you cannot tell me this!' shouted Edward Newington McAllister, leaping out of his chair. 'It's unacceptable] I can't handle it. I won't hear of it!'
'You'd better, Edward,' said Major Lin. 'It happened.'
'It's my fault,' added the English doctor, standing in front of the desk in Victoria Peak, facing the American. 'Every symptom she exhibited led to a prognosis of rapid, neurological deterioration. Loss of concentration and visual focus; no appetite and a commensurate drop in weight - most significantly, spasms when there was a complete lack of motor controls. I honestly thought the degenerative process had reached a negative crisis-'
'What the hell does that mean?
'That she was dying. Oh, not in a matter of hours or even days or weeks, but that the course was irreversible.'
'Could you have been right?'
'I would like nothing better than to conclude that I was, that my diagnosis was at least reasonable, but I can't. Simply put, I was dragooned.'
'You were hit?'
'Figuratively, yes. Where it hurts the most, Mr Undersecretary. My professional pride. That bitch fooled me with a carnival act, and she probably doesn't know the difference between a femur and a fever. Everything she did was calculated, from her appeals to the nurse to clubbing and
disrobing the guard. All her moves were planned and the only disorder was mine.'
'Christ, I've got to reach Havilland!'
'Ambassador Havilland? asked Lin, his eyebrows arched.
McAllister looked at him. 'Forget you heard that.'
'I will not repeat it, but I can't forget. Things are clearer, London's clearer. You're talking General Staff and Overlord and a large part of Olympus.'
'Don't mention that name to anyone, Doctor,' said McAllister.
'I've quite forgotten it. I'm not sure I even know who he is.'
'What can I say? What are you doing?
'Everything humanly possible,' answered the major. 'We've divided Hong Kong and Kowloon up into sections. We're questioning every hotel, thoroughly examining their registrations. We've alerted the police and the marine patrols; all personnel have copies of her description and have been instructed that finding her is the territory's priority concern-'
'My God, what did you say! How did you explain?
'I was able to help here,' said the doctor. 'In the light of my stupidity it was the least I could do. I issued a medical alert. By doing so, we were able to enlist the help of paramedic teams who've been sent out from all the hospitals, staying in radio contact for other emergencies, of course. They're scouring the streets.'
'What kind of medical alert?' asked McAllister sharply.
'Minimum information, but the sort that creates a stir. The woman was known to have visited an unnamed island in the Luzon Strait that is off limits to international travellers for reasons of a rampant disease transmitted by unclean eating utensils.'
'By categorizing it as such,' interrupted Lin, 'our good doctor prevented any hesitation on the part of the teams to approach her and take her into custody. Not that there would be, but every basket has its less than perfect fruit and we cannot afford any. I honestly believe we'll find her, Edward. We all know she stands out in a crowd. Tall, attractive, that hair of hers - and over a thousand people looking for her.'
'I hope to God you're right. But I worry. She received her first training from a chameleon.'
'I beg your pardon?
'It's nothing, Doctor,' said the major. 'A technical term in our business.'
'Oh?
'I've got to have the entire file, all of it!'
'What, Edward?
They were hunted together in Europe. Now they're apart, but still hunted. What did they do then? Wh
at will they do now?
'A thread? A pattern?
'It's always there,' said McAllister, rubbing his right temple. 'Excuse me, gentlemen, I must ask you to leave. I have a dreadful call to make.'
Marie bartered clothes and paid a few dollars for others. The result was acceptable: With her hair pulled back under a floppy wide-brimmed sunhat, she was a plain-looking woman in a pleated skirt and a nondescript grey blouse that concealed any outline of a figure. The flat sandals lowered her height and the ersatz Gucci purse marked her as a gullible tourist in Hong Kong, exactly what she was not. She called the Canadian consulate and was told how to get there by bus. The offices were in the Asian House, 14th Floor, Hong Kong. She took the bus from the Chinese University through Kowloon and the tunnel over to the island; she watched the streets carefully and got off at her stop. She rode up in the elevator, satisfied that none of the men riding with her gave her a second glance; that was not the usual reaction. She had learned in Paris - taught by a chameleon - how to use the simple things to change herself. The lessons were coming back to her.
'I realize this will sound ridiculous,' she said in a casual, humorously bewildered voice to the receptionist, 'but a second cousin of mine on my mother's side is posted here and I promised to look him up.'
That doesn't sound ridiculous to me.'
'It will when I tell you I've forgotten his name.' Both women laughed. 'Of course, we've never met and he'd probably like to keep it that way, but then I'd have to answer to the family back home.'
'Do you know what section he's in?
'Something to do with economics, I believe.'
'That would be the Division of Trade most likely.' The receptionist opened a drawer and pulled out a narrow white booklet with the Canadian flag embossed on the cover. 'Here's our directory. Why don't you sit down and look through it?
Thanks very much,' said Marie, going to a leather armchair and sitting down. 'I have this terrible feeling of inadequacy,' she added, opening the directory. 'I mean I should know his name. I'm sure you know the name of your second cousin on your mother's side of the family.'
'Honey, I haven't the vaguest.' The receptionist's phone rang; she answered it.
Turning the pages, Marie read quickly, scanning down the columns looking for a name that would evoke a face. She found three but the images were fuzzy, the features not clear. Then on the twelfth page, a face and a voice leaped up at her as she read the name. Catherine Staples.
'Cool' Catherine, 'Ice-cold' Catherine, 'Stick' Staples. The nicknames were unfair and did not give an accurate picture or appraisal of the woman. Marie had got to know Catherine Staples during her days with the Treasury Board in Ottawa when she and others in her section briefed the diplomatic corps prior to their overseas assignments. Staples had come through twice, once for a refresher course on the European Common Market... the second, of course, for Hong Kong! It was thirteen or fourteen months ago, and although their friendship could not be called deep - four or five lunches, a dinner that Catherine had prepared and one reciprocated by Marie - she had learned quite a bit about the woman who did her job better than most men.
To begin with, her rapid advancement at the Department of External Affairs had cost her an early marriage. She had forsworn the marital state for the rest of her life, she declared, as the demands of travel and the insane hours of her job were unacceptable to any man worth having. In her mid-fifties, Staples was a slender, energetic woman of medium height who dressed fashionably but simply. She was a no-nonsense professional with a sardonic wit that conveyed her dislike of cant, which she saw through swiftly, and self-serving excuses - which she would not tolerate. She could be kind, even gentle, with men and women unqualified for the work they were assigned through no fault of their own, but brutal with those who had issued such assignments, regardless of rank. If there was a phrase that summed up Senior Foreign Service Officer Catherine Staples, it was tough-but-fair... also, she was frequently very amusing in a self-deprecating way. Marie hoped she would be fair in Hong Kong.
There's nothing here that rings a bell,' said Marie, getting out of the chair and bringing the directory back to the receptionist. 'I feel so stupid.'
'Do you have any idea what he looks like?
'I never thought to ask.'
'I'm sorry.'
'I'm sorrier. I'll have to place a very embarrassing call to Vancouver... Oh, I did see one name. It has nothing to do with my cousin, but I think she's a friend of a friend. A woman named Staples.'
'Catherine the Great?' She's here, all right, although a few of the staff wouldn't mind seeing her promoted to ambassador and sent to Eastern Europe. She makes them nervous. She's top flight.'
'Oh, you mean she's here now?'
'Not thirty feet away. You want to give me your friend's name and see if she has time to say hello?
Marie was tempted, but the onus of officialdom prohibited the shortcut. If things were as Marie thought they were and alarms had been sent out to friendly consulates, Staples might feel compelled to co-operate. She probably would not, but she had the integrity of her office to uphold. Embassies and consulates constantly sought favours from one another. She needed time with Catherine, and not in an official setting. That's very nice of you,' Marie said to the receptionist. 'My friend would get a kick out of it... Wait a minute. Did you say "Catherine"!"
'Yes. Catherine Staples. Believe me, there's only one.'
'I'm sure there is, but my friend's friend is Christine. Oh, Lord, this isn't my day. You've been very kind, so I'll get out of your hair and leave you in peace.'
'You've been a pleasure, hon. You should see the ones who come in here thinking they bought a Cartier watch for a hell of a good price until it stops and a jeweller tells them the insides are two rubber bands and a miniature yo-yo.' The receptionist's eyes dropped to the Gucci purse with the inverted Gs. 'Oh, oh,' she said softly.
'What?
'Nothing. Good luck with your phone call.'
Marie waited in the lobby of the Asian House for as long as she felt comfortable, then went outside and walked back and forth in front of the entrance for nearly an hour in the crowded street. It was shortly past noon and she wondered if Catherine even bothered to have lunch - lunch would be a very good idea. Also, there was another possibility, an impossibility perhaps, but one she could pray for, if she still knew how to pray. David might appear, but it would not be as David, it would be as Jason Bourne, and that could be anyone. Her husband in the guises of Bourne would be far more clever; she had seen his inventiveness in Paris and it was from another world, a lethal world where a mis-step could cost a person his life. Every move was premeditated in three or four dimensions. What if I...? What if he...? The intellect played a far greater role in the violent world than the non-violent intellectuals would ever admit - their brains would be blown away in a world they scorned as barbarian because they could not think fast enough or deeply enough. Cogito ergo-nothing. Why was she thinking these things? She belonged to the latter and so did David! And then the answer was very clear. They had been thrown back; they had to survive and find each other.
There she was Catherine Staples walked - marched - out of the Asian House and turned right. She was roughly forty feet away; Marie started running, pummelling off bodies in her path as she tried to catch up. Try never to run, it marks you. I don't care! I must talk to her!
Staples cut across the pavement. There was a consulate car waiting for her at the kerb, the maple leaf insignia printed on the door. She was climbing inside.
'No! Wait? shouted Marie, crashing through the crowd, grabbing the door as Catherine was about to close it.
'I beg your pardon?' cried Staples as the chauffeur spun around in his seat, a gun appearing out of nowhere.
'Please! It's me Ottawa. The briefings.'
'Marie? Is that you?'
'Yes. I'm in trouble and I need your help.'
'Get in,' said Catherine Staples, moving over on the seat. 'Put that silly thing aw
ay,' she ordered the driver. This is a friend of mine.'
Cancelling her scheduled lunch on the pretext of a summons from the British delegation - a common occurrence during the round-robin conferences with the People's Republic over the 1997 Treaty - Foreign Service Officer Staples instructed the driver to drop them at the beginning of Food Street in Causeway Bay. Food Street encompassed the crushing spectacle of some 30 restaurants within the stretch of two blocks. Traffic was prohibited on the street and even if it were not, there was no way motorized transport could make its way through the mass of humanity in search of some four thousand tables. Catherine led Marie to the service entrance of a restaurant. She rang the bell and fifteen seconds later the door opened, followed by the wafting odours of a hundred Oriental dishes.
Robert Ludlum - Bourne 2 - Bourne Supremecy Page 25