She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the telephone, unsure of what to say but knowing she had to say it . 'I need the number of a person in Washington, DC, in the United States,' she said to the operator. 'It's an emergency. '
There is a charge for overseas information-'
'Charge it,' broke in Marie. 'It's urgent. I'll stay on the line
'Yes?' said the voice filled with sleep. 'Hello!
'Alex, it's Marie Webb. '
'Goddamn you, where are you? Where are both of you? He found you!'
'I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't found him and he hasn't found me. You know about all this?
'Who the hell do you think almost broke my neck last week when he flew into Washington? David! I've got relays on every phone that can reach me!' Mo Panov's got the same! Where are you?'
'Hong Kong – Kowloon, I guess. The Empress Hotel, under the name of Austin. David reached you?'
'And Mo! He and I have turned every trick in the deck to find out what the hell is going on and we've been stonewalled! No, I take it back – not stonewalled – no one else knows what's going on either! I'd know if they did! Good Christ, Marie, I haven't had a drink since last Thursday!'
'I didn't know you missed it. '
'I miss it! What's happening?'
Marie told him, including the unmistakable stamp of government bureaucracy on the part of her captors, and her escape, and the help given by Catherine Staples that turned into a trap, engineered by a man named McAllister whom she had seen on the street with Staples.
'McAllister? You saw him?'
'He's here, Alex. He wants to take me back. With me he controls David, and he'll kill him! They tried before!'
There was a pause on the line, a pause filled with anguish. ' We tried before,' said Conklin softly. 'But that was then, not now. '
'What can I do?'
'Stay where you are,' ordered Alex. 'I'll be on the earliest plane to Hong Kong. Don't go out of your room. Don't make any more calls. They're searching for you, they have to be. '
'David's out there, Alex! Whatever they've forced him to do because of me, I'm frightened to death!'
'Delta was the best man ever developed in Medusa. No one better ever walked into that field. I know. I saw. ' That's one aspect, and I've taught myself to live with it. But not the other, Alex! His mind! What will happen to his mind? Conklin paused again, and when he spoke his voice was pensive. 'I'll bring a friend with me, a friend to all of us. Mo won't refuse. Stay put, Marie. It's time for a showdown. And, by Christ, there's going to be one!'
23
'Who are you?' screamed Bourne in a frenzy, gripping the old man by the throat and pressing him into the wall.
'Delta, stop it? commanded d'Anjou. 'Your voice! People will hear you. They'll think you're killing him. They'll call the desk. '
'I may kill him and the phones don't work!' Jason released the impostor's impostor, released his throat but gripped the front of his shirt, ripping it as he swung the man down into a chair.
The door,' continued d'Anjou steadily, angrily. 'Put it in place as best you can, for God's sake. I want to get out of Beijing alive, and every second with you diminishes my prospects. The door!
Half crazed, Bourne whipped around, picked up the shattered door and shoved it into the frame, adjusting the sides and kicking them into place. The old man massaged his throat and suddenly tried to spring out of the chair.
Won, mon ami!' said the Frenchman, blocking him. 'Stay where you are. Do not concern yourself with me, only with him. You see, he really might kill you. In his rage he has no respect for the golden years, but since I'm nearly there, I do. '
'Rage? This is an outrage? sputtered the old man, coughing his words. 'I fought at El Alamein and, by Christ, I'll fight now!' Again the old man struggled out of the chair, and again d'Anjou pushed him back as Jason returned.
'Oh, the stoically heroic British,' observed the Frenchman. 'At least you had the grace not to say Agincourt. '
'Cut the crap!' shouted Bourne, pushing d'Anjou aside and leaning over the chair, his hands on both arms, crowding the old man back into the seat . 'You tell me where he is and you tell me quickly, or you may wish you never got out of El Alamein!'
'Where who is, you maniac?"
'You're not the man downstairs! You're not Joseph Wadsworth going up to room three twenty-five!'
'This is room three twenty-five and I am Joseph Wadsworth! Brigadier, retired, Royal Engineers!'
'When did you check in?'
'Actually, I was spared that drudgery,' replied Wadsworth haughtily. 'As a professional guest of the government, certain courtesies are extended. I was escorted through customs and brought directly here. I must say the room service is hardly up to snuff – God knows it's not the Connaught – and the damned telephone's mostly on the fritz. '
'I asked you when!'
'Last night, but since the plane was six hours late I suppose I should say this morning. '
'What were your instructions?'
'I'm not sure it's any of your business. '
Bourne whipped out the brass letter-opener from his belt and held the sharp point against the old man's throat . 'It is if you want to get out of that chair alive. '
'Good God, you are a maniac. '
'You're right, I haven't much time for sanity. In fact, none at all. The instructions?
'They're harmless enough. I was to be picked up some time around twelve noon, and as it's now after three, one can assume that the People's government is not run by the clock any more than its airline. '
D'Anjou touched Bourne's arm. The eleven-thirty plane,' said the Frenchman quietly. 'He's the decoy and knows nothing. '
'Then your Judas is here in another room,' replied Jason over his shoulder. 'He has to be!'
'Don't say any more, he'll be questioned. ' With sudden and unexpected authority, d'Anjou edged Bourne away from the chair and spoke in the impatient tones of a superior officer. 'See here, Brigadier, we apologize for the inconvenience, it's a damned nuisance, I know. This is the third room we've broken into – we learned the name of each occupant for the purposes of shock interrogation. '
'Shock what! I don't understand. '
'One of four people on this floor has smuggled in over five million dollars' worth of narcotics. Since it wasn't the three of you, we have our man. I suggest you do as the others are doing. Say your room was broken into by a raging drunk, furious over the accommodation – that's what they're saying. There's a lot of that going on and it's best not to be put under suspicion, even by mistaken association. The government here often overreacts. '
'Wouldn't want that,' sputtered Wadsworth, formerly of the Royal Engineers. 'Damned pension's little enough to get by on. This was meant to be a little extra feathering for the old Surrey nest. '
The door, Major,' ordered d'Anjou, addressing Jason. 'Easy, now. Try to keep it upright. ' The Frenchman turned to the Englishman. 'Stand by and hold it, Brigadier. Just lean it back and give us twenty minutes to get our man, then do whatever you like. Remember, a raging drunk. For your own sake. '
'Yes, yes, of course. A drunk. Raging. '
'Come, Major!'
Out in the hallway they picked up their bags and started rapidly towards the staircase. 'Hurry up? said Bourne. There's still time. He has to make his change – I'd have to make it! We'll check the street entrances, the taxi stands, try to pick two logical ones, or goddamn it, illogical ones. We'll each take one and work out signals. '
'First there are two doors,' broke in d'Anjou, breathlessly. 'In this hallway. Pick any two you wish but do it quickly. Kick them in and yell abusive language, slurring your words, of course. '
'You were serious?'
'Never more so, Delta. As we saw for ourselves the explanation is entirely plausible and embarrassment will restrict any formal investigation. The management will no doubt persuade our brigadier to keep his mouth shut. They could lose their comfortable jobs. Quickly now
! Take your choice and do the job!'
Jason stopped at the next door on the right. He braced himself, then rushed towards it, crashing his shoulder into the middle of the flimsy upper panel. The door flew open.
'God's teeth? screamed a woman in Hindi, half out of her sari, which was draped around her feet.
'What the devil is happening? Has that damned lock broken again?' a naked man shrieked as he came racing out of the bathroom, his genitals shielded with an inadequate towel.
Both stood gaping at the mad intruder, who lurched about with unfocused eyes as he swept articles off the nearest bureau, yelling in a coarse, drunken voice. 'Rotten hotel! Toilets don't work, phones don't work! Nothing – Jesus, this isn't my room! Shhorry... '
Bourne weaved out, slamming the door shut behind him.
'That was fine!' said d'Anjou. They'd already had trouble with the lock. Hurry. One more. That one!' The Frenchman pointed to a door on the left . 'I heard laughter inside. Two voices. '
Again Jason crashed into a door, smashing it open, roaring his drunken complaints. However, instead of being met by two startled guests, he faced a young couple, both bare to the waist, each drawing on a pinched cigarette, inhaling deeply, their eyes glazed.
'Welcome, neighbour,' said the young American male, his voice floating, his diction precise, if at quarter speed. 'Don't let things trouble you so. The phones don't work but our can does. Use it, share it. Don't get so uptight. '
'What the hell are you doing in my room?' yelled Jason even more drunkenly, his slur now obscuring his words.
'If this is your room, macho boy,' interrupted the girl, swaying in her chair, 'you were privy to private things and we're not like that. ' She giggled.
'Christ, you're stoned?
'And without taking the Lord's name in vain,' countered the young man, 'you're very drunk. '
'We don't believe in alcohol,' added the spaced-out girl. 'It produces hostility. It rises to the surface like Lucifer's demons. '
'Get yourself detoxified, neighbour,' continued the young American liltingly. Then get healthy with grass. I will lead you into the fields where you will find your soul again-'
Bourne raced out of the room, slamming the door, and grabbed d'Anjou's arm. 'Let's go,' he said, adding as they approached the staircase. 'If that story you gave the brigadier gets around, those two will spend twenty years deballing sheep in Outer Mongolia. '
The Chinese proclivity for close observation and intense security dictated that the airport hotel should have a single large entrance in the front for guests and a second for employees at the side of the building. The latter was replete with uniformed guards who scrutinized everyone's working papers and searched all bags and bulging pockets when the employees left for the day. The lack of familiarity between guards and workers suggested that the former were changed frequently, putting space between potential bribes and bribers.
'He won't chance the guards,' said Jason as they passed the employees' exit after hastily checking in their two canvas bags, pleading lateness for a meeting due to the delayed plane. They look as if they get Brownie points for picking up anyone who steals a chicken wing or a bar of soap. '
They also intensely dislike those who work here,' agreed d'Anjou. 'But why are you so certain he's still in the hotel? He knows Beijing. He could have taken a taxi to another hotel, another room. '
'Not looking the way he did on the plane, I told you that. He wouldn't allow it. I wouldn't. He wants the freedom to move around without being spotted or followed. He's got to have it for his own protection. '
'If that's the case, they could be watching his room right now. Same results. They'll know what he looks like. '
'If it were me – and that's all I've got to go on – he's not there. He's made arrangements for another room. '
'You contradict yourself!' objected the Frenchman as they approached the crowded entrance hall of the airport hotel. 'You said he'd be receiving his instructions by phone. Whoever calls will ask for the room they assigned him, certainly not the decoy's, not Wadsworth's. '
'If the phones are working – a condition that's a plus for your Judas, incidentally – it's a simple matter to have calls transferred from one room to another. A plug is inserted in the switchboard, if it's primitive, or programmed, if it's computerized. It's not a big deal. A business conference, old friends on the plane – read that any way you like – or no explanation at all, which is probably best. '
'Fallacy!' proclaimed d'Anjou. ' His client here in Beijing will alert the hotel operators. He'll be wired into the switchboard. '
'That's the one thing he won't do,' said Bourne, pushing the Frenchman through a revolving door out on to the pavement, which was crawling with confused tourists and businessmen trying to arrange transportation. 'It's a gamble he can't afford to take,' continued Jason, as they walked past a line of small, shabby buses and well-aged taxis at the kerb . 'Your commando's client has to keep maximum distance between the two of them. There can't be the slightest possibility that a connection could be traced, so that means everything's restricted to a very tight, very elite circle, with no runs on a switchboard, no calling attention to anyone, especially your commando. They won't risk wandering around the hotel, either. They'll stay away from him, let him make the moves. There are too many secret police here; someone in that elite circle could be recognized. '
The phones, Delta. From all we've heard, they're not working. What does he do then?'
Jason frowned while walking, as if trying to recall the unremembered. Time's on his side, that's the plus. He'll have back-up instructions to follow in case he's not reached within a given period after his arrival – for whatever reasons – and there could be any number considering the precautions they have to take. '
'In that event they'd still be watching for him, wouldn't they? They'd wait somewhere outside and try to pick him up, no?'
'Of course, and he knows that. He has to get by them and reach his position without being seen. It's the only way he retains control. It's his first job. '
D'Anjou gripped Bourne's elbow. Then I think I've just spotted one of the spotters. '
'What?' Jason turned, looking down at the Frenchman and slowing his pace.
'Keep walking,' ordered d'Anjou. 'Head over to that truck, the one half out on the street with the man on the extension ladder. '
'It follows,' said Bourne. 'It's the telephone repair service. ' Remaining anonymous in the crowds, they reached the truck.
'Look up. Look interested. Then look to your left. The van quite far ahead of the first bus. Do you see it?
Jason did, and instantly he knew the Frenchman was right. The van was white and fairly new and had tinted glass windows. Except for the colour it could be the van that had picked up the assassin in Shenzhen, at the Lo Wu border. Bourne started to read the Chinese characters on the door panel. 'Niao Jing Shan... My God, it's the same! The name doesn't matter – it belongs to a bird sanctuary, the Jing Shan Bird Sanctuary! In Shenzhen it was Chutang, here something else. How did you notice it?
The man in the open window, the last window on this side. You can't see him too clearly from here but he's looking back at the entrance. He's also somewhat of a contradiction – for an employee of a bird sanctuary, that is. '
'Why?
'He's an army officer, and by the cut of his tunic and the obviously superior fabric, one of high rank. Is the glorious People's Army now conscripting egrets for its assault troops? Or is he an anxious man waiting for someone he's been ordered to pick up and follow, using a rather acceptable cover flawed by an angle of sight that demands an open window?'
'Can't go anywhere without Echo,' said Jason Bourne, once Delta, the scourge of Medusa . 'Bird sanctuaries -
Christ, it's beautiful. What a smoke screen. So removed, so peaceful. It's one hell of a cover. '
'It's so Chinese, Delta. The righteous mask conceals the unrighteous face. The Confucian parables warn of it. '
'That's not what I'm
talking about. Back in Shenzhen, at Lo Wu, where I missed your boy the first time, he was picked up by a van then – a van with tinted windows – and it also belonged to a government bird sanctuary. '
'As you say, an excellent cover. '
'It's more than that, Echo. It's some kind of mark or identification. '
'Birds have been revered in China for centuries,' said d'Anjou, looking at Jason, his expression puzzled. They've always been depicted in their great art, the great silks. They're considered delicacies for both the eye and the palate. '
'In this case they could be a means to something much simpler, much more practical. '
'Such as?'
'Bird sanctuaries are large preserves. They're open to the public but subject to government regulations, as they are everywhere. '
'Your point, Delta?'
'In a country where any ten people opposed to the official line are afraid to be seen together, what better place than a nature reserve that usually stretches for miles? No offices or houses or apartments being watched, no telephone taps or electronic surveillance. Just innocent bird watchers in a nation of bird lovers, each holding an official pass that permits him entry when the sanctuary is officially closed -day or night. '
'From Shenzhen to Peking? You're implying a situation larger than we had considered. '
'Whatever it is,' said Jason, glancing around. 'It doesn't concern us. Only he does... we've got to separate but stay in sight. I'll head over-'
'No need!' broke in the Frenchman. There he is!'
'Where?
'Move back! Closer to the truck. In its shadow. '
'Which one is her
The priest patting the child, the little girl,' answered d'Anjou, his back to the truck, staring into the crowd in front of the hotel's entrance. 'A man of the cloth,' continued the Frenchman bitterly. 'One of the guises I taught him to use. He had a priestly black suit made for him in Hong Kong complete with an Anglican benediction sewn into the collar under the name of a Savile Row tailor. It was the suit I recognized first. I paid for it. '
'You come from a wealthy diocese,' said Bourne, studying the man he wanted more than his life to race over and take, to subdue and force up into a hotel room and start on the road back to Marie. The assassin's cover was good – more than good – and Jason tried to analyse that judgement. Grey sideburns protruded below the killer's dark hat; thin steel-rimmed glasses were perched low on the nose of his pale, colourless face. His eyes wide and his brows arched, he showed joy and wonder at what he saw in this unfamiliar place. All were God's works and God's children, signified by the act of being drawn to a little Chinese girl and patting her head lovingly, smiling and nodding graciously to the mother. That was it, thought Jason, in grudging respect. The son of a bitch exuded love. It was in his every gesture, every hesitant movement, every glance of his gentle eyes. He was a compassionate man of the cloth, a shepherd of his flock which extended far beyond a parish or a vicarage. And as such, in a crowd he might be glanced at but instantly dismissed by eyes seeking out a killer.
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