The Bourne Supremacy jb-2

by Robert Ludlum

  Lin Wenzu had all but exhausted his sources. Only one gave him pause for thought. Inspector Ian Ballantyne, as he usually did, answered questions with other questions rather than delivering concise answers himself. It was maddening, for one never knew whether the man from Scotland Yard knew something or not about a given subject, in this case an American attaché named John Nelson.

  'Met the chap several times,' Ballantyne had said. 'Bright sort. Speaks your lingo, did you know that?'

  'My "lingo", Inspector?'

  'Well, damn few of us did, even during the Opium Wars. Interesting period of history, wasn't it, Major?'

  'The Opium Wars? I was talking about the attache, John Nelson. '

  'Oh, is there a connection?'

  'With what, Inspector?'

  'The Opium Wars. '

  'If there is, he's a hundred and fifty years old and his dossier says thirty-two. '

  'Really? That young.

  But Ballantyne had employed several pauses too many to satisfy Lin. If the old warhorse did know something he was not going to reveal it. Everyone else, from the Hong Kong and Kowloon police to the 'specialists' who worked the American consulate gathering information for payment gave Nelson as clean a bill of health as was respectable in the territory. If Nelson had a vulnerable side, it was in his extensive and not too discriminate search for sex, but insofar as it was heterosexual, and he was single, it was to be applauded, not condemned. One 'specialist' told Lin that he heard Nelson had been warned to have himself medically checked on a fairly regular basis. No crime; the attache was a cocksman. Ask him to dinner.

  The telephone rang; Lin grabbed it . 'Yes?'

  'Our subject walked to the Peak Tram and took a taxi to the Wanchai. He is in a cafe called the Monkey Tree. I am with him. I can see him. '

  'It's out of the way and very crowded,' said the major. 'Has anyone joined him?'

  'No, but he asked for a table for two. '

  'I'll be there as soon as I can. If you have to leave, I'll contact you by radio. You're driving Vehicle Seven, are you not?'

  'Vehicle Seven, sir... Wait! A woman is walking towards his table. He's getting up. '

  'Do you recognize her?'

  'It's too dark here. No. '

  'Pay the waiter. Disrupt the service. But not obviously, only for a few minutes. I'll use our ambulance and the siren until I'm a block away. '

  'Catherine, I owe you so much, and I want to help you in any way I can, but I have to know more than what you've told me. '

  There's a connection, isn't there? Havilland and Marie St Jacques. '

  'I won't confirm that – I can't confirm it – because I haven't spoken to Havilland. I did, however, speak to another man, a man I've heard a lot about who used to be stationed here -one hell of a brain – and he sounded as desperate as you did last night. '

  'I seemed that way to you last night?' said Staples, smoothing her grey-streaked hair. 'I wasn't aware of it. '

  'Hey, come on. Not in your words, maybe, but in the way you talked. The stridency was just below the surface. You sounded like me when you gave me the photographs. Believe me, I can identify. '

  'Johnny, believe me. We may be dealing with something neither of us should get near, something way up in the clouds on which we – I – don't have the knowledge to make a proper decision. '

  'I have to make a decision, Catherine. ' Nelson looked up for the waiter. 'Where are those goddamned drinks?'

  I'm not panting. '

  'I am. I owe you everything and I like you and I know you wouldn't use the photographs against me, which makes it all worse-'

  'I gave you all there were, and we burned the negatives together. '

  'So my debt's real, don't you see that? Jesus, the kid was what – twelve years old!

  'You didn't know that. You were drugged. '

  'My passport to oblivion. No secretary of state in my future, only secretary of kiddie-porn. One hell of a trip!'

  'It's over and you're being melodramatic. I just want you to tell me if there's a connection between Havilland and Marie St Jacques – which I think you can do. Why is that so difficult? I will know what to do then. '

  'Because if I do, I have to tell Havilland that I told you. '

  'Then give me an hour. '

  'Why?'

  'Because I do have several photographs in my vault at the consulate,' lied Catherine Staples.

  Nelson shot back in his chair, stunned. 'Oh, God. I don't believe this!'

  'Try to understand, Johnny. We all play hardball now and then because it's in the best interests of our employers – our individual countries, if you like. Marie St Jacques was a friend of mine – is a friend of mine – and her life became nothing in the eyes of self-important men who ran a covert operation that didn't give a holy damn about her and her husband. They used them both and then tried to kill them both! Let me tell you something, Johnny. I detest your Central Intelligence Agency and your State Department's so-grandly named Consular Operations. It's not that they re bastards, it's that they're such stupid bastards. And if I sense that an operation is being mounted, again using these two people who've been through so much pain, I intend to find out why and act accordingly. There can be no more blank cheques with their lives. I'm experienced and they're not and I'm angry enough – no, furious enough – to demand answers. '

  'Oh, Christ-

  The waiter arrived with their drinks, and as Staples looked up to signify thanks, her eyes were drawn to a man by a telephone booth in the crowded outside corridor watching them. She looked away.

  'What's it going to be, Johnny?' she continued. 'Confirm or deny?'

  'Confirmed,' whispered Nelson, reaching for his glass.

  'The house in Victoria Peak?'

  'Yes. '

  'Who was the man you spoke with, the one who had been stationed here?'

  'McAllister. Undersecretary of State McAllister. '

  'Good Lord?

  There was excessive movement in the outside corridor. Catherine shielded her eyes and turned her head slightly, which widened her peripheral vision. A large man entered and walked towards the telephone against the wall. There was only one man like him in all of Hong Kong. It was Lin Wenzu, MI6, Special Branch! The Americans had enlisted the best, but it could be the worst for Marie and her husband.

  'You've done nothing wrong, Johnny,' said Staples, rising from her chair. 'We'll talk further, but right now I'm going to the ladies' room. '

  'Catherine?'

  'What?'

  'Hard ball?'

  'Very hard, my darling. '

  Staples walked past a shrinking Wenzu who turned away. She went into the ladies' room, waited several seconds then walked out with two other women and broke away, continuing down the corridor and into the Monkey Tree's kitchen. Without saying a word to the startled waiters and cooks, she found the exit and went outside. She ran up the alley into Gloucester Road; she turned left, her stride quickening until she found a phone booth. Inserting a coin she dialled.

  'Hello?'

  'Marie, get out of the flat! My car's in a garage a block to your right as you leave the building. It's called Ming's; the sign's in red. Get there as quickly as you can! I'll meet you. Hurry

  Catherine Staples hailed a taxi.

  'The woman's name is Staples, Catherine Staples? said Lin Wenzu sharply into the phone on the corridor wall of the Monkey Tree, raising his voice to be heard over the din. 'Insert the consulate disk and search it through the computer. Quickly! I want her address and make damn-damn sure it's current!' The muscles of the major's jaw worked furiously as he waited, listening. The answer was delivered, and he issued another order. 'If one of our team's vehicles is in the area, get on the radio and tell him to head over there. If not, dispatch one immediately. ' Lin paused, again listening. 'The American woman,' he said quietly into the phone. They're to watch for her. If she's spotted, close in and take her. We're on our way. '

  'Vehicle Five, respond? repeated the radio oper
ator, speaking into a microphone, his hand on a switch in the lower right-hand corner of the console in front of him. The room was white and without windows, the hum of the air conditioning low but constant, the whir of the filtering system even quieter. On three walls there were banks of sophisticated radio and computer equipment above spotless white counters made of the smoothest Formica. There was an antiseptic quality about the room; hardness was everywhere. It might have been an electronics laboratory in a well-endowed medical centre, but it was not. It was another kind of centre. The communications centre of MI6, Special Branch, Hong Kong. 'Vehicle Five responding? shouted an out-of-breath voice over the speaker. 'I received your signal, but I was a street away covering the Thai. We were right. Drugs. '

  'Go on scrambler!' ordered the operator, throwing the switch. There was a whistling sound that stopped as abruptly as it had started. 'You're off the Thai,' continued the radioman. 'You're nearest. Get over to Arbuthnot Road, the Botanical Gardens entrance is the quickest way. ' He gave the address of Catherine Staples's building and ended with a final command. 'The American woman. Watch for her. Take her. '

  'Aiya,' whispered the breathless agent from Special Branch.

  Marie tried not to panic, imposing a control over herself she did not feel. The situation was ludicrous. It was also deadly serious. She was dressed in Catherine's ill-fitting robe, having taken a long hot bath and, far worse, having washed her clothes in Staples's kitchen sink. They were hanging over the plastic chairs on Catherine's small balcony and were still wet. It had seemed so natural, so logical, to wash away the heat and the dirt of Hong Kong from herself as well as from the stranger's clothes. And the cheap sandals had raised blisters on the soles of her feet; she had broken an ugly one with a needle and walking was difficult. But she dared not walk, she had to run.

  What had happened? Catherine was not the sort of person to issue peremptory commands. Any more than she herself was, especially with David. People like Catherine avoided the imperative approach because it only clouded a victim's thinking – and her friend Marie St Jacques was a victim now, not to the degree that poor David was, but a victim nevertheless. Move! How often had Jason said that in Zurich and Paris? So frequently she still tensed at the word.

  She dressed, the wet clothes clinging to her body, and rummaged through Catherine's closet for a pair of slippers. They were uncomfortable but softer than the sandals. She could run; she had to run.

  Her hair! Oh, Christ, the hair! She ran to the bathroom, where Catherine kept a porcelain jar filled with hairpins and clasps. In seconds, she secured her hair on the top of her head, walked rapidly back into the flat's tiny living room, found her foolish hat, and jammed it on.

  The wait for the elevator was interminable! According to the lighted numbers above the panels, both elevators jogged between floors 1,3, and 7, neither venturing above to the 9th floor. Preceding residents going out for the evening had programmed the vertical monsters, delaying her descent.

  Avoid elevators whenever you can. They're traps. Jason Bourne. Zurich.

  Marie looked up and down the hallway. She saw the fire exit staircase door and ran to it.

  Out of breath, she lunged into the short lobby, composing herself as best she could to deflect the glances directed at her by five or six tenants, some entering, some leaving. She did not count; she could barely see; she had to get out!

  My car's in a garage a block to your right as you leave the building. It's called Ming's. Was it to the right? Or was it left! Out on the pavement she hesitated. Right or left! 'Right' meant so many things, 'left' was more specific. She tried to think. What had Catherine said! Right! She had to go right; it was the first thing that came to her mind. She had to trust that.

  Your first reflections are the best, the most accurate, because the impressions are stored in your head, like information in a data bank. That's what your head is. Jason Bourne. Paris.

  She started running. Her left slipper fell off; she stopped, stooping down to retrieve it. Suddenly a car came careening around the gates of the Botanical Gardens across the wide street, and, like an angry heat-searching missile, whipped to its left and zeroed in on her. The automobile swerved in a semicircle, screeching as it spun in the road. A man leaped out and raced towards her.

  18

  There was nothing else to do. She was cornered, trapped. Marie screamed, and screamed again, and again, as the Chinese agent approached, her hysteria mounting as the man politely but firmly took her by the arm. She recognized him -he was one of them, one of the bureaucrats! Her screams reached a crescendo. People stopped and turned in the street. Women gasped as startled, hesitant men stepped haltingly forward, others looking around frantically for the police, several shouting for them by name.

  'Please, Mrs.? cried the Oriental, trying to keep his voice controlled. 'No harm will come to you. Allow me to escort you to my vehicle. It is for your own protection. '

  'Help me!' shrieked Marie as the astonished twilight strollers gathered into a crowd. 'This man's a thief I He stole my purse, my money! He's trying to take my jewellery!'

  'See here, chap!' shouted an elderly Englishman, hobbling forward, raising his walking stick. 'I've sent a lad for the police but until they arrive, by God, I'll thrash you!'

  'Please, sir,' insisted the man from Special Branch quietly. This is a matter for the authorities, and I am with the authorities. Permit me to show you my identification. '

  'Easy, mater roared a voice with an Australian accent as a man rushed forward, gently pushing the elderly Briton aside and lowering his cane. 'You're a grand fair dinkum, old man, but don't half bother yourself! These punks call for a younger type. ' The strapping Australian stood in front of the Chinese agent. Take yer hands off the lady, punk-head! And I'd be goddamned quick about it if I were you. '

  'Please, sir, this is a serious misunderstanding. The lady is in danger and she is wanted for questioning by the authorities. '

  'I don't see you in no uniform!'

  'Permit me to show you my credentials. '

  "That's what he said an hour ago when he attacked me in Garden Road!' shouted Marie hysterically. 'People tried to help me then! He lied to everyone! Then he stole my purse! He's been following me!' Marie knew that none of the things she kept screaming made sense. She could only hope for confusion, something that Jason had taught her to use.

  I'm not saying it agyne, mate!' yelled the Australian, stepping forward. Tyke yer bloody hands off the lady!'

  'Please, sir. I cannot do that. Other officials are on their way. '

  'Oh, they are, are they? You punk-heads travel in gangs, do you? Well, you'll be a pitiful sight for their eyes when they get here!' The Australian grabbed the Oriental by the shoulder, spinning him to his left. But as the man from Special Branch spun, his right foot – the toe of his leather shoe extended like a knifepoint – whipped around, crashing up into the Australian's abdomen. The good Samaritan from down under doubled over, falling to his knees.

  'I'll ask you again not to interfere, sir!'

  'Do you now? You slope-eyed son of a bitch? The furious Australian lunged up, hurling his body at the Oriental, his fists pounding the man from Special Branch. The crowd roared its approval, its collective voice filling the street – and Marie's arm was free! Then other sounds joined the melee. Sirens followed by three racing automobiles, among them an ambulance. All three swerved in their sudden turns as tyres screeched and the vehicles came to jolting stops.

  Marie plunged through the crowd and reached the inner pavement; she started running towards the red sign a half block away. The slippers had fallen off her feet; the swollen, shredded blisters burned, sending shafts of pain up her legs.

  She could not allow herself to think about pain. She had to run, run, get away! Then the booming voice surged over and through the noises in the street, and she pictured a large man roaring. It was the huge Chinese they called the Major.

  'Mrs. Web, Mrs. Webb, I beg you! Stop! We mean you no harm! You'll be
told everything! For God's sake, stop!

  Told everything! thought Marie. Told lies and more lies! Suddenly people were rushing towards her. What were they doing"! Why… Then they raced past, mostly men, but not all men, and she understood. There was a panic in the street -perhaps an accident, mutilation, death. Let's go see. Let's watch! From a distance mind you.

  Opportunities will present themselves. Recognize them, act on them.

  Marie suddenly whipped around, crouching, lunging through the still onrushing crowd to the kerb, keeping her body as low as possible, and ran back to where she had come so close to recapture. She kept turning her head to her left -watching, hoping. She saw him through the racing bodies! The huge major ran past in the other direction; with him was another man, another well-dressed man, another bureaucrat.

  The crowd was cautious, as the ghoulish are always cautious, inching forward but not so far as to get involved. What they saw was not flattering to the Chinese onlookers or to those who held the martial arts of the Orient in mystical esteem. The lithe, strapping Australian, his language magnificently obscene, was pummelling three separate assailants out of his personal boxing ring. Suddenly, to the astonishment of everyone, the Australian picked up one of his fallen adversaries and let out a roar as loud as the immense major's.

  'Fer Christ's syke! Will you cryzies cut this out? Yer not punk-heads, even I can tell that! We were both snookered!'

  Marie ran across the wide street to the entrance of the Botanical Gardens. She stood under a tree by the gate with a direct line of sight to Ming's Parking Palace. The major had passed the garage, pausing at several alleyways that intersected Arbuthnot Road, sending his subordinate down several of them, constantly looking around for his support troops. They were not to be had; Marie saw that for herself as the crowd dispersed. All three were breathing hard and leaning against the ambulance, led there by the Australian.