'I'm asking him to acknowledge the core of his whole goddamned scam! That he is the core!'
To quote you again,' said the analyst, picking up the bill on the counter and holding out money, 'he can't afford not to respond. He has to.'
'With preconditions that'll throw you out of the box.'
'I'll want your input in such matters, of course.' McAllister took his change, nodding thanks to the weary female operator, and started for the door, Jason beside him.
'I may not have any input to give.'
'Under the circumstances, you mean,' said the analyst, as they stepped out onto the crowded pavement.
'What?
'It's not the strategy that upsets you, Mr Bourne, because it's basically your strategy. What makes you furious is that I'm the one implementing it, not you. Like Havilland you don't think I'm capable.'
'I don't think this is the time or the occasion for you to prove you're Machine Gun Kelly! If you fail, your life's the last thing that concerns me. Somehow the Far East comes first, the world comes first.'
'There's no way I can fail. I told you, even if I fail, I don't. Sheng loses no matter whether he lives or not. In seventy-two hours the consulate in Hong Kong will make sure of it.'
'Premeditated self-sacrifice isn't something I approve of,' said Jason, as they started up the street. 'Self-deluding heroics always get in the way and screw things up. Besides, your so-called strategy reeks of a trap. They'll smell it!'
'They would if you negotiated with Sheng and not me. You tell me it's unorthodox, too obvious, the movements of an amateur. That's fine. When Sheng hears me on the phone, everything will fall into place for him. I am the embittered amateur, the man who's never been in the field, the first-rate bureaucrat who's been passed over by the system he's served so well. I know what I'm doing, Mr Bourne. You just get me a weapon.'
The request was not difficult to fulfil. Over in Macao's Porto Interior, on the Rua das Lorchas, was d'Anjou's flat which was a minor arsenal of weapons, the tools of the Frenchman's trade. It was simply a matter of getting inside and selecting those arms most easily dismantled so as to cross the relatively lax border at Guangdong with diplomatic passports. But it took something over two hours, the process of selection being the most time-consuming as Jason put gun after gun in McAllister's hand, with each watching the analyst's grip and the expression on his face. The weapon finally chosen was the smallest, lowest calibrated pistol in d'Anjou's arsenal, a Charter Arms.22 with a silencer.
'Aim for the head, at least three bullets in the skull. Anything else would be a bee-sting.'
McAllister swallowed, staring at the gun, as Jason studied the weapons, deciding which had the greatest firepower in the smallest package. He chose for himself three Interdynamic KG-9 machine pistols that used outsized clips holding thirty rounds of ammunition.
With their weapons concealed beneath their jackets, they entered the half-filled Kam Pek casino at 3:35 in the morning and walked to the end of the long mahogany bar. Bourne went to the seat he had occupied previously. The undersecretary sat four stools away. The bartender recognized the generous customer who had given him close to a week's salary less than a week ago. He greeted him like a patron with a long history of dispensing largess.
'Nei hou a!'
'Mchoh La. Mgoi,' said Bourne, saying that he was fine, in good health.
'The English whisky, isn't it?' asked the bartender, sure of his memory, hoping it would produce a reward.
'I told friends at the casino in the Lisboa that they should talk to you. I think you're the best man behind a bar in Macao.'
The Lisboa! That's where the true money is! I thank you, sir.' The bartender rushed to pour Jason a drink that would have crippled Caesar's legions. Bourne nodded without comment and the man turned reluctantly to McAllister four chairs away. Jason noted that the analyst ordered white wine, paid with precision and wrote the amount in his notebook. The bartender shrugged, performed the unpleasant service and walked to the centre of the sparsely occupied bar, keeping his eyes on his favoured customer.
Step one.
He was there! The well-dressed Chinese in the tailored dark suit, the martial arts veteran who did not know enough dirty moves, the man he had fought in an alley and who had led him up into the hills of Guangdong. Colonel Soo Jiang was taking no risks under the circumstances. He wanted only the most proven conduits working tonight. No impoverished old men, no whores.
The man walked slowly past several tables as if studying the action, appraising the dealers and the players, trying to determine where he should test his luck. He arrived at Table Five and after observing the play of the cards for nearly three minutes casually sat down and withdrew a roll of bills from his pocket. Among them, thought Jason, was a message marked Crisis.
Twenty minutes later the impeccably dressed Chinese shook his head, put his money back in his pocket and got up from the table. He was the short cut to Sheng! He knew his way around both Macao and the border at Guangdong, and Bourne knew he had to reach this man, and reach him quickly! He glanced first at the bartender, who had gone to the end of the bar to prepare drinks for a waiter serving the tables, then over at McAllister. 'Analyst!' he whispered sharply. 'Stay here!' 'What are you doing?'
'Saying hello to my mother, for Christ's sake!' Jason got off the stool and started for the door after the conduit. Passing the bartender, he said in Cantonese. 'I'll be right back.' 'It's no problem, sir.'
Out on the pavement, Bourne followed the well-dressed man for several blocks until he turned into a narrow, dimly lit side street and approached an empty parked car. He was meeting no one; he had delivered the message and was getting out of the area. Jason rushed forward, and as the conduit opened the car door he touched the man's shoulder. The conduit spun around, crouching, his experienced left foot lashing out viciously. Bourne jumped back, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
'Let's not go through this again,' he said in English, for he remembered the man spoke English, taught him by Portuguese nuns. 'I still hurt from the beating you gave me last week.' 'Aiya! You!' The conduit raised his hands in a like gesture of noncombat. 'You do me honour when I do not deserve it. You bested me that night, and for that reason I have practised six hours a day to improve myself... You bested me then. Not now.'
'Considering your age and then considering mine, take my word for it, you weren't bested. My bones ached far more than yours did, and I'm not about to check out your new training schedule. I'll pay you a lot of money but I won't fight you. The word for it is cowardice.'
'Not you, sir,' said the Oriental, lowering his hands and grinning. 'You are very good.'
'Yes, me, sir,' replied Jason. 'You scare the hell out of me. And you did me a great favour.'
'You paid me well. Very well.'
'I'll pay you better now.'
'The message was for you?'
'Yes.'
Then you have taken the Frenchman's place?
'He's dead. Killed by the people who sent the message.'
The conduit looked bewildered, perhaps even sad. 'Why?' he asked. 'He serviced them well and he was an old man, older than you.'
Thanks a lot.'
'L"id he betray those he serviced?'
'No, he was betrayed.'
The Communists?'
'Kuomintang,' said Bourne, shaking his head.
'Dong wu! They are no better than the Communists. What do you want from me?'
'If everything goes right, pretty much what you did before, but this time I want you to stay around. I want to hire a pair of eyes.'
'You go up into the hills in Guangdong?'
'Yes.'
'You need assistance crossing the border, then?'
'Not if you can find me someone who can shift a photograph from one passport to another.'
'It is done every day. The children can do it.'
'Good. Then we're down to my hiring your eyes. There's a degree of risk but not much. There's also twenty thousand dolla
rs, American. Last time I paid you ten, this time it's twenty.'
"Aiya, & fortune? The conduit paused, studying Bourne's face. 'The risk must be great.'
'If there's trouble I'll expect you to get out. We'll leave the money here in Macao, accessible only to you. Do you want the job or do I look elsewhere?'
These are the eyes of the hawk bird. Look no farther.'
'Come back with me to the casino. Wait outside, down the street, and I'll have the message picked up.'
The bartender was only too pleased to do as Jason requested, although he was confused by the odd word 'crisis' that was to be used until Bourne explained that it was the name of a race horse. He carried a 'special' drink to a bewildered player at Table Five and returned with the sealed envelope under his tray. Jason had scanned the nearby tables looking for turning heads and shifting eyes amid the spiralling clouds of smoke; he saw none. The sight of the maroon-jacketed bartender among the maroon-jacketed waiters was too common to draw attention. As instructed, the tray was placed between Bourne and McAllister. Jason shook a cigarette out of his pack and shoved a book of matches down the bar towards the nonsmoking analyst. Before the perplexed undersecretary could understand, Bourne got off his stool and walked over to him.
'Have you got a light, mister?'
McAllister looked at the matches, quickly picked them up, tore one out and struck it, holding the flame up for the cigarette. When Jason returned to his seat, the sealed envelope was in his hand. He opened it, removed the paper inside and read the typewritten English script: Telephone Macao - 32-61-443.
He looked around for a pay phone and then realized that he had never used one in Macao, and even if there were instructions, he was not familiar with the Portuguese colony's coins. It was always the little things that loused up the bigger things. He signalled the bartender, who reached him before his hand was back on the bar.
'Yes, sir? Another whisky, sir?
'Not for a week,' said Bourne, placing Hong Kong money in front of him. 'I have to make a phone call to someone here in Macao. Tell me where a pay phone is and let me have the proper coins, will you, please?'
'I could not permit so fine a gentleman as yourself to use a common telephone, sir. Between us, I believe many of the customers here may be diseased.' The bartender smiled. 'Allow me, sir. I have a telephone on my counter - for very special people.'
Before Jason could protest or give thanks, a telephone was put in front of him. He dialled as McAllister stared at him.
'Wei?' said a female voice.
'I was instructed to call this number,' replied Bourne in English. The dead impostor had not known Chinese.
'We will meet.'
'We won't meet.'
'We insist.'
'Then Resist. You know me better than that, or you should. I want to talk to the man, and only the man.'
'You are presumptuous.'
'You're less than an idiot. So's the skinny preacher with the big sword unless he talks to me.'
'You dare-'
'I've heard that once before tonight,' interrupted Jason sharply. 'The answer is yes, I do dare. He's got a hell of a lot more to lose than I do. He's only one client, and my list is growing. I don't need him, but right now I think he needs me.'
'Give me a reason that can be confirmed.'
'I don't give reasons to corporals. I was once a major, or didn't you know that?'
There's no need for insults.'
There's no need for this conversation. I'll call you back in thirty minutes. Offer me something better, offer me the man. And I'll know if it's himself because I'll ask a question or two that only he can answer. Ciao, lady.' Bourne hung up.
'What are you doing?' whispered an agitated McAllister four chairs away.
'Arranging your day in the sun, and I hope you've got some lotion. We're getting out of here. Give me five minutes, then follow me. Turn right out of the door and keep walking. We'll pick you up.'
'We?
There's someone I want you to meet. An old friend -young friend - whom I think you'll approve of. He dresses like you do.'
'Someone else! Are you insane!'
'Don't blow your cool, analyst, we're not supposed to know each other. No, I'm not insane. I just hired a back-up in case I'm out-thought. Remember, you wanted my input in such matters.'
The introductions were short and no names were used, but it was evident that McAllister was impressed by the stocky, broad shouldered, well-dressed Chinese.
'Are you an executive with one of the firms over here?' asked the analyst as they walked towards the side street where the conduit's car was parked.
'In a manner of speaking, yes, sir. My own firm, however. I run a courier service for very important people.'
'But how did he find you?'
'I'm sorry, sir, but I'm sure you can understand. Such information is confidential.'
'Good Lord' muttered McAllister, glancing at the man from Medusa.
'Get me to a phone in twenty minutes,' said Jason in the front seat. The bewildered undersecretary sat in the back.
'They are using a relay then?" asked the conduit. They did so many times with the Frenchman.'
'How did he handle them?' asked Bourne.
'With delays. He would say, "Let them sweat." May I suggest an hour?'
'You're on. Is there a restaurant open around here?'
'Over in the Rua Mercadores.'
'We need food, and the Frenchman was right - he was always right. Let them sweat.'
'He was a decent man to me,' said the conduit.
'At the end he was some kind of eloquent if perverted saint.'
'I do not understand, sir.'
'It's not necessary that you do. But I'm alive and he's not because he made a decision.'
'What kind of decision, sir?
That he should die so that I could live.'
'Like the Christian scriptures. The nuns taught them to us.'
'Hardly,' said Jason, amused at the thought. 'If there'd been another way out we would have taken it. There wasn't. He simply accepted the fact that his death was my way out.'
'I liked him,' said the conduit.
Take us to the restaurant.'
It was all Edward McAllister could do to contain himself. What he did not know and what Bourne would not discuss at the table was choking him with frustration. Twice he tried to broach the subject of relays and the current situation and twice Jason cut him off, admonishing the undersecretary with a stare, as the conduit, in gratitude, looked away. There were certain facts the Chinese knew about and there were other facts he did not care to know about for his own safety.
'Rest and food,' mused Bourne, finishing the last of his tian-suan ran. The Frenchman said they were weapons. He was right, of course.'
'I suggest he needed the first more than you did, sir,' said the conduit.
'Perhaps, but he was a student of military history. He claimed more battles were lost from fatigue than from inferior fire power.'
This is all very interesting,' McAllister interrupted sharply, 'but we've been here for some time and I'm sure there are things we should be doing.'
'We will, Edward. If you're uptight, think what they're going through. The Frenchman also used to say that the enemy's exposed nerves were our best allies.'
'I'm becoming rather tired of your Frenchman,' said McAllister testily.
Jason looked at the analyst and spoke quietly. 'Don't ever say that to me again. You weren't there.' Bourne checked his watch. 'It's over an hour. Let's find a phone.' He turned to the conduit. 'I'll need your help,' he added. 'You just put in the money. I'll dial.'
'You said you'd call back in thirty minutes? spat out the woman at the other end of the line.
'I had business to take care of. I have other clients and I'm not too keen on your attitude. If this is going to be a waste of time, I've got other things to do and you can answer to the man when the typhoon comes.'
'How could that happen?'
'Co
me on, lady! Give me a trunk filled with more money than you've ever thought about and I might tell you. On the other hand I probably wouldn't. I like to be owed favours by men in high places. You've got ten seconds until I hang up.'
Please. You will meet a man who will take you to a house on the Guia Hill where there is highly sophisticated communications equipment-'
'And where half a dozen of your goons crack my skull and throw me into a room where a doctor fills me with juice and you get it all for nothing? Bourne's anger was only partly feigned; Sheng's troops were the ones behaving like amateurs. 'I'll tell you about another piece of sophisticated equipment. It's called a telephone and I didn't think there'd be communications from Macao to the Guangdong garrison if you didn't have scramblers. Of course, you bought them in Tokyo because if you made them yourselves they probably wouldn't work! Use one. I'm calling you just once more, lady. Have a number for me. The man's number.' Jason hung up.
Robert Ludlum - Bourne 2 - Bourne Supremecy Page 72