'And we've got to get some sleep. The Frenchman never stopped telling me that rest was also a weapon. Christ, why do I keep repeating myself?'

  'Because you're obsessed,' said McAllister from the back seat.

  Tell me about it. No, don't.'

  Jason dialled the number in Macao that tripped a relay in China into a swept telephone in Jade Tower Mountain. As he did so he looked at the analyst. 'Does Sheng speak French? he asked quickly.

  'Of course,' said the undersecretary. 'He deals with the Quai d'Orsay and speaks the language of everyone he negotiates with. It's one of his strengths. But why not use Mandarin? You know it.'

  The commando didn't, and if I speak English he might wonder where the British accent went. French'll cover it, as it did with Soo Jiang, and I'll also know whether or not it's Sheng.' Bourne stretched a handkerchief across the mouthpiece as he heard a second, echoing ring fifteen hundred miles away. The scramblers were in place.

  'Wei?'

  'Comme le colonel, je prefere parler francais.'

  'Shemma?' cried the voice, bewildered.

  'Fawen,' said Jason, the Mandarin for French.

  'Fawen? Wo buhui!' replied the man excitedly, stating that he did not speak French. The call was expected. Another voice intruded; it was in the background and too low to be heard. And then it was there on the line.

  ''Mats pourquoi parlez-vous francaisT It was Sheng! No matter the language, Bourne would never forget the orator's singsong delivery. It was the zealous minister of an unmerciful God seducing an audience before assaulting it with fire and brimstone.

  'Let's say I feel more comfortable.'

  'Very well. What is this incredible story you bring? This madness during which a name was mentioned?'

  'I was also told you speak French,' interrupted Jason.

  There was a pause in which only Sheng's steady breathing could be heard. 'You know who I am?'

  'I know a name that doesn't mean anything to me. It does to someone else, though. Someone you knew years ago. He wants to talk to you.'

  'What?' screamed Sheng. 'Betrayal!'

  'Nothing of the sort, and if I were you I'd listen to him. He saw right through everything I told them. The others didn't, but he did.' Bourne glanced at McAllister beside him; the analyst nodded his head as if to say that Jason was convincingly using the words the undersecretary had given him. 'He took one look at me and put the figures together. But then the Frenchman's original boy was pretty well shot up; his head was a bloody cauliflower.'

  'What have you done?

  'Probably the biggest favour you ever received, and I expect to be paid for it. Here's your friend. He'll use English.' Bourne handed the phone to the analyst, who spoke instantly.

  'It's Edward McAllister, Sheng.'

  'Edward...?' The stunned Sheng Chou Yang could not complete the name.

  This conversation is off the record, with no official sanction. My whereabouts are unlogged and unknown. I'm speaking solely for my own benefit - and yours.'

  'You ... astonish me, my old friend,' said the minister slowly, fearfully collecting himself.

  'You'll read about it in the morning papers and it's undoubtedly on all the newscasts from Hawaii already. The consulate wanted me to disappear for a few days - the fewer questions the better - and I knew just whom I wanted to go with.'

  'What happened, and how did you-'

  The similarity in their appearance was too obvious to be coincidental,' broke in the undersecretary of state. 'I suppose d'Anjou wanted to trade on the legend as much as possible, and that included the physical characteristics for those who had seen Jason Bourne in the past. An unnecessary fillip, in my opinion, but it was effective. In the panic on Victoria Peak - and from the nearly unrecognizable face - no one else noticed that striking resemblance. But then none of the others knew Bourne. I did.'

  'You?'

  'I drove him out of Asia. I'm the one he came to kill, and in keeping with his perverse sense of irony and revenge, he decided to do it by leaving the corpse of your assassin on Victoria Peak. Fortunately for me, his ego didn't permit him to evaluate your man's abilities correctly. Once the firing started, our now mutual associate overpowered him and threw him into the guns.'

  'Edward, the information is coming too fast, I cannot assimilate it. Who brought Jason Bourne back?

  'Obviously the Frenchman.- His pupil and immensely successful meal ticket had defected. He wanted revenge and knew where to find the one man who could give him that: his colleague from Medusa, the original Jason Bourne.'

  'Medusa!' whispered Sheng with loathing.

  'Despite their reputations, in certain units there were intense loyalties. You save a man's life, he doesn't forget.'

  'What led you to the preposterous conclusion that I have had anything to do with the man you call an assassin-'

  'Please, Sheng,' interrupted the analyst. 'It's too late for protestations. We're talking. But I'll answer your question. It was in the pattern of several killings. It started with a Vice-Premier of China in the Tsim Sha Tsui and four other men. They all were your enemies. And at Kai Tak the other night, two of your most vocal critics in the Peking delegation -targets of a bomb. There were also rumours; there always are in the underworld. The whispers spoke of messages between Macao and Guangdong, of powerful men in Beijing- of one man with immense power. And finally there was the file ... The figures added up. You.'

  The file! What is this, Edward? asked Sheng, feigning strength. 'Why is this an unofficial, unreported communication between us?*

  'I think you know.'

  'You're a brilliant man. You know I would not ask if I did. We're above such pavanes.'

  'A brilliant bureaucrat kept in the back room, wouldn't you also say?'

  'In truth, I expected better things for you. You provided most of the words and the moves for your so-called negotiators during the trade conferences. And everyone knows you did exemplary work in Hong Kong. By the time you left, Washington had every major influence in the territory in its orbit.'

  'I've decided to retire, Sheng. I've given twenty years of my life to my government but I won't give it my death. I won't be ambushed and shot at or truck-bombed. I won't become a target for terrorists, whether it's here or in Iran or Beirut. It's time I got something for myself, for my family. Times change, people change and living's expensive. My pension and my prospects are far less than I deserve.'

  'I agree with you completely, Edward, but what has it got to do with mel We were compromisers together - adversaries, to be sure, as in a courtroom - but certainly not enemies in the arena of violence. And what in the name of heaven is this foolishness about my name being mentioned by jackals of the Kuomintang?'

  'Spare me.' The analyst glanced over at Bourne. 'Whatever was said by our mutual associate, the words were provided by me; they weren't his. Your name was never mentioned in Victoria Peak and there were no Taiwanese at our interrogation of your man. I gave him those words because there's a certain validity in them for you. As to your name, it's for a restricted few, their eyes only. It's in the file I mentioned, a file locked in my office in Hong Kong. It's marked "Ultra-Maximum-Security". There is only one copy of this file and it's buried in a vault in Washington to be released or destroyed only by me. However, should the unexpected happen, say a plane crash, or if I disappeared - or was killed -the file would be turned over to the National Security Council. The information in this file, in the wrong hands, could prove catastrophic for the entire Far East.'

  'I am intrigued, Edward, by your candid, if incomplete, information.'

  'Meet me, Sheng. And bring money, a great deal of money - American money. Our mutual associate tells me there are hills in Guangdong where your people flew down to see him. Meet me there tomorrow, between ten o'clock and midnight.'

  'I must protest, my adversarial friend. You have not provided me with an incentive.'

  'I can destroy both copies of that file. I was sent over here to track down a story originating in Taiwan, a story so detrimental to all our interests that a hint of its contents could start a chain of events that terrifies everyone. I believe there's considerable substance to the story, and if I'm right, it can be traced directly to my old counterpart during the Sino-American conferences. It couldn't be happening without him ... It's my last assignment, Sheng, and a few words from me can remove that file from the face of the earth. I simply determine the information to be totally false and dangerously inflammatory, compiled by your enemies in Taiwan. The few who know about it want to believe that, take my word for it. The file is then sent to the shredder. So is the copy in Washington.'

  'You still have not told me why I should listen to you!'

  'The son of a Kuomintang taipan would know. The leader of a cabal in Beijing would know. A man who could be disgraced and decapitated tomorrow morning certainly would know.'

  The pause was long, the breathing erratic over the line. Finally, Sheng spoke.

  The hills in Guangdong. He knows where.'

  'Only one helicopter,' said McAllister. 'You and the pilot, no one else.'

  37

  Darkness. The figure dressed in the uniform of a United States marine dropped down from the top of the wall at the rear of the grounds of the house on Victoria Peak. He crept to his left, passing a sheet of interwoven strands of barbed wire that filled a space where a section of the wall had been blown away, and proceeded around the edge of the property. Staying in the shadows, he raced across the lawn to the corner of the house. He peered around at the demolished bay windows of what had been a large Victorian study. In front of the shattered glass and the profusion of broken frames stood a marine guard, an M-16 rifle planted casually on the grass, the end of the barrel in his hand, a .45 automatic strapped to his belt. The addition of a rifle to the smaller weapon was a sign of max-alert, the intruder understood this, and smiled to see that the guard did not think it necessary to hold the M-16 in his hands. Marines and poised weapons were not welcome. The stock of a rifle could crash into a man's head before he knew it was into its whip. The intruder waited for the opportune moment; it came when the guard's chest swelled with a long yawn and his eyes briefly closed as he inhaled deeply. The intruder raced around the corner, springing off his feet, the wire of a garrotte looping over the guard's head. It was over in seconds. There was barely a sound.

  The killer left the body where it lay, as it was far darker in this area of the grounds than elsewhere. Many of the rear floodlights had been shattered by the explosions. He got to his feet and edged his way to the next corner where he took out a cigarette, lighting it with the cupped flame from a butane lighter. He then stepped out into the glare of the floodlights and walked casually around the corner towards the huge, charred french doors where a second marine was at his post on the brick steps. The intruder held the cigarette in his left hand, which covered his face as he drew" on it.

  'Out for a smoke?' asked the guard.

  'Yeah, I couldn't sleep,' said the man, with an American accent that was a product of the South-west.

  'Those fuckin' cots weren't made for sleeping. Just sit on one and you know it... Hey, wait a minute! Who the hell are you?'

  The marine had no chance to level his rifle. The intruder lunged, thrusting his knife straight into the guard's throat with deadly accuracy, cutting off all sound, all life. The killer quickly dragged the corpse around the corner of the building and left it in the shadows. He wiped the blade off on the dead man's uniform, reinserted it beneath his tunic, and returned to the french doors. He entered the house.

  He walked down the long, dimly lit corridor at the end of which stood a third marine in front of a wide, sculptured door. The guard angled his rifle downward and looked at his watch. 'You're early,' he said. 'I'm not due to be relieved for another hour and twenty minutes.'

  'I'm not with this unit, buddy.'

  'You with the Oahu group?'

  'Yeah.'

  'I thought they got you jokers out of here pronto and back to Hawaii. That's the scuttlebutt.'

  'A few of us were ordered to stay behind. We're down at the consulate now. That guy, what's-his-name, McAllister, has been taking our testimonies all night.'

  'I tell you, pal, this whole goddamned thing is weird!'

  'You got it, triple weird. By the way, where's that fruitcake's office? He sent me up here to bring him back his special pipe tobacco.'

  'It figures. Mix some grass in it.'

  'Which office?'

  'Earlier I saw him and the doctor go in that first door on the right. Then later, before he left, he went in here.' The guard tilted his head to indicate the door behind him.

  'Whose place is that?'

  'I don't know his name but he's the top banana. They call him the ambassador.'

  The killer's eyes narrowed. 'The ambassador?

  'Yeah. The room's fractured. Half of it's blown apart by that fucking maniac, but the safe's intact, which is why I'm here and another guy outside in the tulips. Must be a couple of million in there for extra-curricular activities.'

  'Or something else,' said the intruder softly. The first door on the right, huh? he added, turning and reaching under his tunic.

  'Hold it,' said the marine. 'Why didn't the gate send word in here? He reached for the hand-held radio strapped to his belt. 'Sorry, but I've got to check you out, buddy. It's standard-'

  The killer threw his knife. As it plunged into the guard's chest he hurled himself on the marine, his thumbs centering on the man's throat. Thirty seconds later he opened the door of Havilland's office and dragged the dead man inside.

  They crossed the border in full darkness, business suits and regimental ties replacing the rumpled, nondescript clothes they had worn previously. Added to their attire were two proper attache cases strapped with diplomatique tape, indicating government documents beyond the scrutiny of immigration points. In truth, the cases held their weapons, as well as several additional items Bourne had picked up in d'Anjou's flat after McAllister produced the sacrosanct plastic tape that was respected even by the People's Republic - respected as long as China wanted the same courtesy to be extended to its own foreign service personnel. The conduit from Macao whose name was Wong - at least that was the name he offered - was impressed by the diplomatic passports but for safety's sake, as well as for the $20,000 American for which he said he felt a moral obligation, decided to prepare the border crossing his way.

  'It's not as difficult as perhaps I led you to believe before, sir,' explained Wong. 'Two of the guards are cousins on my blessed mother's side - may she rest with the holy Jesus - and we help each other. I do more for them than they do for me, but then I am in a better position. Their stomachs are fuller than most in the city of Zhuhai Shi and both have television sets.'

  'If they're cousins,' said Jason, 'why did you object to the watch I gave one of them before? You said it was too expensive.'

  'Because he'll sell it, sir, and I don't care to see him spoiled. He'll expect too much from me.'

  On such considerations, thought Bourne, were the tightest borders in the world patrolled. They were directed by Wong to enter the last gate on the right at precisely 8:55; he would cross separately a few minutes later. Their red-striped passports were studied, sent to an inside office and amid many abrupt smiles on the part of a cousin, the honoured diplomats were rapidly passed through. They were instantly welcomed to China by the prefect of the Zhuhai Shi-Guangdong Province Control who returned their passports. She was a short, broad-shouldered, muscular woman. Her English was obscured by a thick accent but was understandable.

  'You have government business in Zhuhai Shi?' she asked, her smile belied by her clouded, vaguely hostile eyes. The Guangdong garrison, perhaps? I can arrange auto transport, please?'

  'Bu xiexie,' said the undersecretary of state, declining, and then for courtesy's sake reverting to English to show respect for his host's diligence in learning it. 'It's a minor conference, lasting for only a few hours, and we'll return to Macao later tonight. We'll be contacted here, so we'll have some coffee and wait.'

  'In my office, please?'

  Thank you, but I think not. Your people will be looking for us in the ... Kafie dian - the cafe.'

  'Over on the left-right, sir. On the street. Welcome again to the People's Republic.'

  'Your courtesy will not be forgotten,' said McAllister, bowing.

  'You are with thanks,' replied the heavy-set woman, nodding and striding away.

  'To use your words, analyst,' said Bourne, 'you did that very well. But I should tell you she's not on our side.'

  'Of course not,' agreed the undersecretary. 'She's been instructed to call someone either here at the garrison or in Beijing confirming that we've crossed over. That someone will reach Sheng, and he'll know it's me - and you. No one else.'

  'He's airborne,' said Jason as they walked slowly towards the dimly lit coffee shop at the end of a dingy concrete walkway that emerged on the street. 'He's on his way here. Incidentally, we'll be followed, you know that, don't you?'

  'No, I don't know that,' replied McAllister, looking briefly at Bourne. 'Sheng will be cautious. I've given him enough information to alarm him. If he thought there was only one file - which happens to be the truth - he might take chances, thinking he could buy it from me and kill me. But he thinks, or has to assume, that there's a copy in Washington. That's the one he wants destroyed. He won't do anything to upset me or to make me panic and run. Remember, I'm the amateur and I frighten easily. I know him. He's putting it all together now and is probably carrying more money to me than I've ever dreamed of. Of course, he expects to get it back once the files are destroyed and he does kill me. So, you see, I have a very strong reason not to fail - or not to succeed by failing.'

  The man from Medusa again stared at the man from Washington. 'You've really thought this out, haven't you?'

  Thoroughly,' answered McAllister, looking straight ahead. 'For weeks. Every detail. Frankly, I didn't think you'd be a part of it because I thought you'd be dead, but I knew I could reach Sheng. Somehow - unofficially, of course. Any other way, including a confidential conference, would entail protocol, and even if I got him alone, without his aides, I couldn't touch him. It would look like a government-sanctioned assassination. I considered reaching him directly, for old time's sake, and using words that would trigger a response - pretty much what I did last night. As you said to Havilland, the simplest ways are usually the best. We tend to complicate things.'

 

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