'Would you ask Mr McAllister to join us? said Havilland to a steward.
'I asked Mr McAllister if I could fetch him something, sir, and he was pretty firm about it. He told me to get out and leave him alone. '
Then never mind, thank you. '
The phone calls kept coming; the subject of Marie St Jacques was exhausted, and the conversation now turned exclusively on the developments at Kai Tak. Staples watched the diplomat in amazement, for the more intense the crisis became, the slower and more controlled was his speech.
Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Staples. Only what you care to professionally, of course. '
Catherine studied Raymond Havilland and began quietly. 'I sprang from an ear of Ontario corn... '
'Yes, of course,' said the ambassador in utter sincerity, glancing at the phone.
Staples now understood. This celebrated statesman was carrying on an innocuous conversation while his mind was riveted on an entirely different subject. Kai Tak. His eyes kept straying to the telephone; his wrist turned constantly so that he could look at his watch, and yet he never missed the breaks in their dialogue where he was expected to voice a response.
'My former husband sells shoes-'
Havilland's head snapped up from his watch. He would not have been thought capable of an embarrassed smile, but he showed one at that moment . 'You've caught me,' he said.
'A long time ago,' said Catherine.
There's a reason. I know Owen Staples quite well. '
'It figures. I imagine you move in the same circles. '
'I saw him last year at the Queen's Plate race in Toronto. I think one of his horses ran respectably well. He looked quite grand in his cutaway, but then he was one of the Queen Mother's escorts. '
'When we were married, he couldn't afford a suit off the rack. '
'You know,' said Havilland, 'when I read up on you and learned about Owen, I had a fleeting temptation to call him. Not to say anything, obviously, but to ask him about you. Then I thought, my God, in this age of post-marital civility, suppose they still talk to each other. I'd be tipping my hand. '
'We're still talking, and you tipped your hand when you flew into Hong Kong. '
'For you, perhaps. But only after Webb's wife reached you. Tell me, what did you think when you first heard I was here?'
'That the UK had called you in for consultation on the Accords. '
'You flatter me-'
The telephone rang and Havilland's hand flew out for it. The caller was Wenzu, reporting the progress being made at Kai Tak, or more substantively, as was apparent, the lack of progress.
'Why don't they simply call the whole damn thing off?' asked the ambassador angrily. 'Pile them into their cars and get the hell out of there!' Whatever reply the major offered only served to further exasperate Havilland. That's ridiculous! This isn't a show of gamesmanship, it's a potential assassination! No one's image or honour is involved under the circumstances, and believe me, the world isn't hanging by its collective teeth waiting for that damned press conference. Most of it's asleep, for God's sake!' Again the diplomat listened. Lin's remarks not only astonished him, they infuriated him. 'The Chinese said that? It's preposterous! Peking has no right to make such a demand! It's-' Havilland glanced at Staples. 'It's barbaric Someone should tell them it's not their Asian faces that are being saved, it's the British Governor's and his face is attached to his head which could be blown off!' Silence; the ambassador's eyes blinked in angry resignation. 'I know, I know. The heavenly red star must continue to shine in a heavenly blackout. There's nothing you can do, so do your best, Major. Keep calling. As one of my grandchildren puts it, I'm "eating bananas", whatever the hell that means. ' Havilland hung up and looked over at Catherine. 'Orders from Peking. The delegations are not to run in the face of Western terrorism. Protect all concerned but carry on. '
'London would probably approve. The "carry on" has a familiar ring. '
'Orders from Peking... ' said the diplomat softly, not hearing Staples. 'Orders from Sheng?
'Are you quite sure of that?'
'It's his ballgame! He calls the shots. My God, he is ready!'
The tension grew geometrically with each quarter hour, until the air was filled with electricity. The rains came, pounding the bay window with a relentless tattoo. A television set was rolled in and turned on, the American ambassador-at-large and the Canadian Foreign Service Officer watching in fear and in silence. The huge jet taxied in the downpour to its appointed rendezvous with the crowds of reporters and camera crews. The English and the Chinese honour guards emerged first, simultaneously from both sides of the open door. Their appearance was startling, for instead of the stately procession expected of such military escorts, these squads moved rapidly into flanking positions down the metal steps, elbows bent skyward, sidearms gripped, guns at the ready. The leaders then filed out waving to the onlookers; they started down the staircase followed by two lines of awkwardly grinning subordinates. The strange 'press conference' began and Undersecretary of State Edward McAllister burst into the room, the heavy door crashing into the wall as he flung it open.
'I have it!' he cried, a page of paper in his hand. 'I'm sure I have it!'
'Calm down, Edward! Speak sensibly. '
'The Chinese delegation!' shouted McAllister out of breath, racing to the diplomat and thrusting the paper at him. 'It's headed by a man named Lao Sing! The second in command is a general named Yunshen! They're powerful and they've opposed Sheng Chou Yang for years, objecting to his policies openly in the Central Committee! Their inclusion in the negotiating teams was seen as due to Sheng's willingness to accept a balance – making him look fair in the eyes of the old guard. '
'For God's sake, what are you trying to say? ' It's not the Governor! Not just him! It's all of them! With one action he removes his two strongest opponents in Peking and clears the path for himself. -Then, as you put it, he implants his clearing house – his taipans – during a period of instability shared by both governments!'
Havilland yanked the telephone out of its cradle. 'Get me Lin at Kai Tak,' he ordered the switchboard. 'Quickly!... Major Lin, please. At once... What do you mean, he's not there? Where is he? ... Who's this? ... Yes, I know who you are. Listen to me and listen carefully! The target is not the Governor alone, it's worse. It includes two members of the Chinese delegation. Separate all parties– You know that!... A man from the Mossad! What the hell...? There's no such arrangement, there couldn't be! ... Yes, of course, I'll get off the line. ' Breathing rapidly, his lined face pale, the diplomat looked at the wall and spoke in a barely audible voice. 'They found out, from God knows where, and are taking immediate countermeasures... Who! For Christ's sake, who was it?' 'Our Jason Bourne,' said McAllister quietly. 'He's there. ' On the television screen a distant limousine jolted to a stop while others peeled away into the darkness. Figures fled from the stationary car in panic, and seconds later the screen was filled with a blinding explosion. 'He's there,' repeated McAllister, whispering. 'He's there!'
21
The motor launch pitched violently in the darkness and the torrential rains. The crew of two bailed out the water that continuously swept back over the gunwales as the grizzled Chinese-Portuguese captain, squinting through the cabin's large windows, inched his way forward towards the black outlines of the island. Bourne and d'Anjou flanked the boat's owner; the Frenchman spoke, raising his voice over the downpour. 'How far do you judge it to the beach?'
Two hundred metres, plus or minus ten or twenty, ' said the captain.
'It's time for the light. Where is it?
'In the locker beneath you. On the right. Another seventy-five metres and I hold. Any farther, the rocks can be dangerous in this weather. '
'We have to get in to the beach!' cried the Frenchman. 'It's imperative, I told you that!'
'Yes, but you forgot to tell me there would be this rain, these swells. Ninety metres, and you can use the little boat. The engine is strong, you'll get there. '
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'Merde!' spat out d'Anjou, opening the locker and pulling out a signal light. That could leave a hundred metres or more!'
'In any event it would not be less than fifty, I told you that. '
'And between the two is deep water!'
'Shall I turn around and head for Macao?
'And get us blown up by the patrols? You make payment when it is due or you do not make your destination! You know that!'
'One hundred metres, no more. '
D'Anjou nodded testily while holding the signal light up to his chest. He pressed a button, immediately releasing it, and for a brief moment an eerie, dark blue flash illuminated the pilot's window. Seconds later a corresponding blue signal was seen through the mottled glass from the island's shoreline. 'You see, mon capitaine, had we not come in for the rendezvous this miserable scow would have been blown out of the water. '
'You were fond enough of her this afternoon!' said the helmsman, working furiously at the wheel.
That was yesterday afternoon. It is now one-thirty the next morning and I have come to know your thieving ways. ' D'Anjou replaced the light in the locker and glanced at Bourne who was looking at him. Each was doing what he had done many times in the days of Medusa – checking out a partner's apparel and equipment. Both men wore trousers, sweaters and thin rubber skull caps, all black. Their normal clothing was rolled up in canvas bags. Their only other equipment, apart from Jason's automatic and the Frenchman's small 22-calibre pistol, were scabbarded knives – all unseen. 'Get in as close as you can,' said d'Anjou to the captain. 'And remember, you won't receive the final payment if you're not here when we return. '
'Suppose they take your money and kill you?' cried the pilot, spinning the wheel. Then I'm our!'
'I'm touched,' said Bourne.
'Have no fear of that,' answered the Frenchman, glaring at the Chinese-Portuguese. 'I've dealt with this man many times over many months. Like you, he is the pilot of a fast boat and every bit the thief you are. I line his Marxist pockets so that his mistresses live like concubines of the Central Committee. Also, he suspects I keep records. We are in God's hands, perhaps better. '
Then take the light,' muttered the captain grudgingly. 'You may need it, and you're no good to me stranded or ripped up on the rocks. '
'Your concern overwhelms me,' said d'Anjou, 'retrieving the light and nodding at Jason. 'We'll familiarize ourselves with the skiff and its motor. '
The motor's under thick canvas. Don't start it until you're in the water!
'How do we know it will start?' asked Bourne.
'Because I want my money, Silent One. '
The ride into the beach drenched them both, both bracing themselves against the panels of the small boat, Jason gripping the sides and d'Anjou the rudder and the stern so as to keep from pitching overboard. They grazed a shoal. Metal ground against the rocks as the Frenchman swerved the rudder to starboard, pushing the throttle to maximum.
The strange, dark blue flash came once again from the beach. They had strayed in the wet darkness; d'Anjou angled the boat towards the signal and within minutes the bow struck sand. The Frenchman swung the stick down, elevating the motor as Bourne leaped overboard, grabbing the rope and pulling the small craft up on the beach.
He gasped, startled by the figure of a man suddenly next to him, gripping the line in front of him. 'Four hands are better than two,' shouted the stranger, an Oriental, in perfectly fluent English – English with an American accent.
'You're the contact? yelled Jason, bewildered, wondering if the rain and the waves had distorted his hearing.
That's such a foolish term!' replied the man, shouting back. 'I'm simply a friend!'
Five minutes later, having beached the small boat, the three men walked through the thick shorefront foliage, suddenly replaced by scrubby trees. The 'friend' had constructed a primitive lean-to out of a ship's tarpaulin; a small fire faced the dense woods in front, unseen from the sides and the rear, concealed by the tarp. The warmth was welcome; the winds and the drenching rain had chilled Bourne and d'Anjou. They sat cross-legged around the fire and the Frenchman spoke to the uniformed Chinese.
This was hardly necessary, Gamma-'
'Gamma?' erupted Jason.
'I've implemented certain traditions of our past, Delta. Actually, I could have used Tango or Fox Trot – it wasn't all Greek, you know. The Greek was reserved for the leaders. '
'This is a bullshit conversation. I want to know why we're here. Why you haven't paid him so we can get the hell out?'
'Man...!' said the Chinese, drawing out the word, using the particular American idiom. This cat's uptight! What's his beef?'
'My beef, man, is that I want to get back to that boat. I really don't have time for tea!'
'How about Scotch?' said the officer of the People's Republic, reaching behind him, pulling his arm forward and displaying a bottle of perfectly acceptable whisky. 'We'll have to share the cork, as it were, but I don't think we're infectious people. We bathe, we brush our teeth, we sleep with clean whores – at least my heavenly government makes sure they're clean. '
'Who the hell are you?' asked Jason Bourne.
'Gamma will do, Echo's convinced me of that. As to what I am, I leave that to your imagination. You might try USC -that's the University of Southern California – with graduate studies in Berkeley – all those protests in the sixties, surely you remember them. '
'You were a part of that crowd?'
'Certainly not! I was a staunch conservative, a member of the John Birch Society who wanted them all shot! Screeching freaks with no regard for their nation's moral commitments. '
'This is a bullshit conversation. '
'My friend Gamma,' interrupted d'Anjou, 'is the perfect intermediary. He is an educated double or triple or conceivably quadruple agent working all sides for the benefit of his own interests. He is the totally amoral man and I respect him for that. '
'You came back to China? To the People's Republic?'
'It's where the money was,' admitted the officer. 'Any repressive society offers vast opportunities for those willing to take minor risks on behalf of the repressed. Ask the commissars in Moscow and the Eastern bloc. Of course, one must have contacts in the West and possess certain talents that can also serve the regimental leaders. Fortunately, I'm an exceptional sailor, courtesy of friends in the Bay Area who owned yachts and small motor craft. I'll return one day. I really do like San Francisco. '
'Don't try to fathom his Swiss accounts,' said d'Anjou. 'Instead, let's concentrate on why Gamma has made us such a pleasant retreat in the rainstorm. ' The Frenchman took the bottle and drank.
'It will cost you, Echo,' said the Chinese.
'With you what doesn't? What is it?' D'Anjou passed the bottle to Jason.
'I may speak in front of your companion?'
'Anything. '
'You'll want the information. I guarantee it. The price is one thousand American. '
That's it?'
'It should be enough,' said the Chinese officer taking the bottle of Scotch from Bourne. There are two of you and my patrol boat is half a mile away in the south cove. My crew thinks I'm holding a secret meeting with our undercover people in the colony. '
'I'll want the information, and you'll guarantee it. ' For those words I'm to produce a thousand dollars without a struggle when it's entirely possible you have a dozen Zhongguo ren outside in the bush. '
'Some things must be taken on faith. '
'Not my money,' countered the Frenchman. 'You don't get a sou until I have an idea what you're selling. '
'You are Gallic to the core,' said Gamma, shaking his head. 'Very well. It concerns your disciple, the one who no longer follows his master but instead picks up his thirty pieces of silver and a great deal more. '
The assassin!'
'Pay him!' ordered Bourne, rigid, staring at the Chinese officer.
D'Anjou looked at Jason and the man called Gamma, then pulled up his sweater and unbuckl
ed his soaking wet trousers. He reached below his waist and forced up an oilcloth money belt; he unzipped the centre pocket, slipped out the bills one after another with his fingers and held them out for the Chinese officer. 'Three thousand for tonight and one for this new information. The rest is counterfeit. I always carry an extra thousand for contingencies, but only a thousand-' 'The information? broke in Jason Bourne. 'He paid for it,' replied Gamma . 'I shall address him. ' 'Address whomever the hell you like, just talk. ' 'Our mutual friend in Guangzhou – Canton-' began the officer, speaking to d'Anjou. The radioman at Headquarters One. '
'We've done business,' said the Frenchman guardedly.
'Knowing I'd be meeting you here at this hour I refuelled at the pumps in Zhuhai Shi shortly after ten-thirty. There was a message for me to reach him – we have a safe relay. He told me a call was rerouted through Beijing with an unidentified Jade Tower priority code. It was for Soo Jiang-'
D'Anjou bolted forward, both hands on the ground. The Pig!'
'Who is he?' asked Bourne quickly.
'Supposedly Chief of Intelligence for Macao operations,' replied the Frenchman, 'but he would sell his mother to a brothel if the price were right. At the moment he is the conduit to my once and former disciple. My Judas!'
'Who's suddenly been summoned to Beijing,' interrupted the man called Gamma.
'You're sure of that?' said Jason.
'Our mutual friend is sure,' answered the Chinese, still looking at d'Anjou. 'An aide to Soo came to Headquarters One and checked all tomorrow's flights from Kai Tak to Beijing. Under his department's authorization he reserved space – a single space – on every one. In several cases it meant that an original passenger was reduced to stand-by status. When an officer at Headquarters One asked for Soo's personal confirmation, the aide said he had left for Macao on urgent business. Who has business in Macao at midnight? Everything's closed. '
'Except the casinos,' volunteered Bourne. Table Five. The Kam Pek. Totally controlled circumstances. '
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