As he drove, Bourne became aware of sharp glinted sunlight reflected off coated glass lenses. He was being observed by the Mossad, by Maceo Encarnación’s men, or by what was left of the Chinese military contingent.
Maceo Encarnación followed Colonel Han out of Ben David’s tent, walking beside him as he headed for the aircraft that would take him and what remained of his cadre back to Beijing, where Minister Ouyang waited for the bounty for which he had delivered thirty million to Maceo Encarnación.
“You played your part well,” Colonel Han said in the condescending tone of the true Celestial that set Maceo Encarnación’s teeth on edge.
Encarnación, imagining himself swinging a machete in the powerful horizontal arc that would sever Colonel Han’s head from his body, replied, “I’ll take my fee now.”
Colonel Han, looking straight ahead as if he walked alone, tugged out a thick envelope from the inside breast pocket of his tunic. He held it, apparently not ready to hand it over. “What is it you did to deserve this generous payment, Encarnación?”
Feeling the blood rushing through his head, Maceo Encarnación pressed his fingertips to his temple where he could feel a distended vein beating like a second heart. He calmed himself before answering. “I acted as the go-between. I introduced Minister Ouyang to Colonel Ben David and oversaw the negotiations. Ouyang never would have got to Ben David without me.”
“He might have.” Colonel Han slapped the envelope against his knuckles. “Minister Ouyang is both powerful and resourceful.” He shrugged, as if he had his orders to fulfill even though he did not agree with them. He held out the envelope, and Maceo Encarnación, made to feel like a paid employee instead of a partner, took the envelope and, in the Colonel’s presence, laboriously counted the bills.
“The five million is all there,” Han said in precisely the same voice he had used inside Ben David’s tent.
“But is it real?” Maceo Encarnación removed three bills at random and, using eyedroppers from tiny vials he carried, subjected them to two chemical tests.
“Satisfied?” Han said with a wry smile. “They’re real. Unlike the thirty million you delivered to the Zionist Ben David. He sold his precious formula for a suitcase full of counterfeit money.”
With a minimum of effort, Maceo Encarnación produced a smile of complicity. “But the bills are so well made it will take him some time to realize that he has been swindled.”
“And by then,” Han said triumphantly, “it will already be too late.”
His plane was dead ahead. He signaled to his three remaining soldiers and they climbed on board.
“What about your other men?” Maceo Encarnación asked. “Don’t you want to know whether they’re dead or alive?”
“Once Bourne was spotted, they became a liability.”
“Wasn’t stopping Bourne part of your mission?”
“An adjunct.” Colonel Han began to mount the stairs up to the plane. “I have the formula. That’s all that matters.”
“Not to Minister Ouyang.”
“No,” Colonel Han said. “But it is to my superior, General Hwang Liqun.”
So saying, Han mounted the steps, disappearing inside the fuselage of the plane. A moment later, one of his soldiers swung the door closed, locking it from inside. The engines started up, obliging Maceo Encarnación to step backward at a rapid pace. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid getting a face full of jet fuel backwash. Particles flew into his eyes, making them tear. He turned then, jogging back to Ben David’s tent.
Bourne heard the roar of jet engines, and he diverted the vehicle in that direction. If a plane was taking off, it was a sure bet that the deal for the SILEX formula had been concluded. He was too late.
Stepping hard on the accelerator, he roared through the periphery of the camp, shattering a wooden barrier and causing agents to fire at him even as they scattered out of the way. Seeing the jet, he accelerated away from them. It was a civilian plane with Chinese markings.
These thoughts passed through Bourne’s mind like swiftly flying birds as he dug in his backpack. He was nearing the plane, which had taxied to the head of the makeshift runway and now sat, panting like a chained animal impatient to be released. He turned the vehicle hard to his left, paralleling the plane’s path. Shots were being fired off to his left, and he ducked down as bullets spanged into the side of his vehicle.
He was coming up on the tail of the jet when he heard a roar off to his left. A quick glance revealed a Jeep with a driver and an armed agent riding shotgun. The agent leveled the Tavor TAR-21 at him, and Bourne jerked the wheel hard over to his right so that the offside scraped the plane’s fuselage, giving the agent no chance to fire without hitting the plane.
At that moment, the jet’s brakes came off and it started to taxi down the runway. Bourne, drawing closer to the plane, had pulled out the grenade Robbinet had procured for him when the agent’s Jeep slammed into him. He turned back, his arm swinging out, connecting with the agent, who was jolted backward. His Jeep continued on its course, scraping along the side of Bourne’s vehicle. Bourne turned right, then made a sharp left, bringing the near-side front corner jabbing into the Jeep. Both men stiffened; as the driver was about to haul the wheel hard over, the armed agent leaped into Bourne’s vehicle. The Jeep, jolted hard, ricocheted away. The agent slammed Bourne in the back of the head.
The jet began to pull away.
Colonel Ben David laughed like a loon when Maceo Encarnación re-entered his tent. His fingers were hauling up handfuls of American dollars out of the suitcase. “Look at these,” he said merrily, “all crap.”
“Very fine crap,” Maceo Encarnación said, crossing the tent. “Exquisite craftsmanship.”
“Of course.” Ben David nodded. “It’s the work of the Chinese. Expert counterfeiters, those shitbags.” He smirked. “The SILEX formula for thirty million in bogus bills. Ouyang thought he had pulled one over on me.”
“He might have, without me.”
Ben David nodded. “True enough. But when that formula is implemented, it will level the laboratory it was made in. Quite the joke on Ouyang.” Reluctantly, he inclined his head. “I’m in your debt.”
“You hate being in anyone’s debt, Colonel,” Maceo Encarnación said shrewdly.
“Especially yours.” Ben David’s expression had turned sour.
“It’s not so bad. You could be in Ouyang’s debt.”
The Mossad agent was so powerful that he dragged Bourne halfway out of the driver’s seat.
The vehicle began to swerve crazily, throwing the agent off balance. Instead of resisting, Bourne flipped backward, using the agent’s clasped forearms, somersaulting over his back. The agent twisted his torso, driving his elbow into Bourne’s side just as the vehicle swerved again. Bourne was thrown half out of the vehicle, one leg and hip flying just above the ground.
The agent was about to pound Bourne’s head with the butt of his rifle, but another, wider swerve brought the vehicle in contact with the fuselage of the plane. The agent abandoned Bourne for the instant it took him to vault over the seatback, get behind the wheel, and regain control of the vehicle.
Bourne managed to hook one leg up over the side of the vehicle so that he was lying more or less horizontally. The plane was very close, the jet outtake just in front of him, over the agent’s head. The fuel made it virtually impossible to breathe, difficult to see. Nevertheless, Bourne knew that he was as close as he was ever going to get to his target. Pulling out the safety, he swung his arm back and let go of the grenade just past the apex of the arc. It spiraled through the air like a thrown football, but the engine’s outtake hurled it away, so that the plane was unharmed by the explosion.