The first man had tried to trap him on the Star Ferry, the agreed-upon meeting ground, but Jason, wearing the same clothes he had worn at the Walled City, had spotted the man's two stalking patrols. It was not as easy as looking for men with radios but it had not been difficult either. By the third trip across the harbour, Bourne not having appeared at the appointed window on the starboard side, the same two men had passed by his contact twice, each speaking briefly and each going to opposite positions, their eyes fixed on their superior. Jason had waited until the ferry approached the pier and the passengers started en masse towards the exit ramp in the bow. He had taken out the Chinese on the right with a blow to the kidneys as he passed him in the crowd, then struck the back of the man's head with the heavy brass paperweight; the passengers rushed by in the dim light. Bourne then walked through the emptying benches to the other side; he faced the second man, jammed his gun into the patrol's stomach and marched him to the stern. He arched the man above the railing and shoved him overboard as the ship's whistle blew in the night and the ferry pulled into the Kowloon pier. He then returned to his contact by the deserted window at midship.
'You kept your word,' Jason said. 'I'm afraid I'm late. '
'You are the one who called?' The contact's eyes had roamed over Bourne's shabby clothes.
'I'm the one. '
'You don't look like a man with the money you spoke of on the telephone. '
'You're entitled to that opinion. ' Bourne withdrew a folded stack of American bills, $1, 000 denominations visible when rolled open.
'You are the man. ' The Chinese had glanced quickly over Jason's shoulders. 'What is it that you want?' the man asked anxiously.
'Information about someone for hire who calls himself Jason Bourne. '
'You have reached the wrong person. '
'I'll pay generously. '
'I have nothing to sell. '
'I think you do. ' Bourne had put away the money and pulled out his weapon, moving closer to the man as the Kowloon passengers streamed on board. 'You'll either tell me what I want to know for a fee, or you'll be forced to tell me for your life. '
'I know only this,' the Chinese had protested. 'My people will not touch him!'
'Why not?
'He's not the same man!'
'What did you say? Jason held his breath, watching the man closely.
'He takes risks he would never have taken before. ' The Chinese again looked beyond Bourne, sweat breaking out on his hairline. 'He comes back after two years. Who knows what happened? Drink, narcotics, disease from whores, who knows?
'What do you mean risks?
'That is what I mean! He walks into a cabaret in the Tsim Sha Tsui – there was a riot, the police were on their way. Still, he enters and kills five men! He could have been caught, his clients traced! He would not have done such a thing two years ago. '
'You may have your sequence backwards,' said Jason Bourne. 'He may have gone in – as one man – and started the riot. He kills as that man and leaves as another, escaping in the confusion. '
The Oriental stared briefly into Jason's eyes, suddenly more frightened than before as he again looked at the shabby, ill-fitting clothes in front of him. 'Yes, I imagine that is possible,' he said tremulously, now whipping his head, first to one side, then the other.
'How can this Bourne be reached?
'I don't know, I swear on the spirits. Why do you ask me these questions?'
'How?' repeated Jason, leaning into the man, their foreheads touching, the gun shoved into the Oriental's lower abdomen. 'If you won't touch him, you know where he can be touched, where he can be reached! Now, where?
'Oh, Christian Jesus."
'Goddamn it, not Him! Bourne!'
'Macao! It is whispered he works out of Macao, that is all I know, I swear it!' The man looked in panic to his right and left.
'If you're trying to find your two men, don't bother, I'll tell
you,' said Jason. 'One's in a clump over there and I hope the other can swim. '
Those men are– Who are you?
'I think you know,' Bourne had answered. 'Go to the back of the ferry and stay there. If you take one step forward before we dock, you'll never take another. '
'Oh, God, you are-'
'I wouldn't finish that, if I were you. '
The second name was accompanied by an unlikely address, a restaurant in Causeway Bay that specialized in classic French food. According to Yao Ming's brief notes, the man acted as the manager but was actually the owner, and a number of the waiters were as adept with guns as they were with trays. The contact's home address was not known; all his business was done at the restaurant, and it was suspected that he had no permanent residence. Bourne had returned to the Peninsula, discarded his jacket and hat and walked rapidly through the crowded lobby to the elevator; a well-dressed couple had tried not to show their shock at his appearance. He had smiled and muttered apologetically.
'A company treasure hunt. It's kind of silly, isn't it. '
In his room, he had permitted himself a few moments to be David Webb again. It was a mistake; he could not stand the suspension of Bourne's train of thought. I'm him again. I have to be. He knows what to do. I don't! He had showered the filth of the Walled City and the oppressive humidity of the Star Ferry off him, shaved away the shadow on his face and dressed for a late French dinner.
'I'll find him, Marie! I swear to Christ 'I'll find him! It was David Webb's promise, but it was Jason Bourne who shouted in fury.
The restaurant looked more like an exquisite rococo dining palace on Paris's Boulevard Montaigne than a one-storey structure in Hong Kong. Intricate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the tiny bulbs dimmed; encased candles flickered on tables with the purest linen and the finest silver and crystal.
'I'm afraid we have no tables this evening, monsieur,' the maitre said. He was the only Frenchman in evidence.
'I was told to ask for Jiang Yu and say it was urgent,' Bourne had replied, showing a $100 bill, American. 'Do you think he might find something, if this finds him?
I will find it, monsieur. ' The maitre subtly shook Jason's hand, receiving the money. 'Jiang Yu is a fine member of our small community, but it is I who select. Comprenez-vous? 'Absolument. '
'Bien! You have the face of an attractive, sophisticated man. This way, please, monsieur. '
The dinner was not to be had; events occurred too quickly. Within minutes after the arrival of his drink, a slender Chinese in a black suit had appeared at his table. If there was anything odd about him, thought David Webb, it was in the darker colour of his skin and the larger slope of his eyes. Malaysian was in his bloodline. Stop it commanded Bourne. That doesn't do us any good!
'You asked for me? said the manager, his eyes searching the face that looked up at him. 'How can I be of service? 'By sitting down first. ' 'It is most irregular to sit with guests, sir. ' 'Not really. ' Not if you own the place. Please. Sit down. ' 'Is this another tiresome intrusion by the Bureau of Taxation? If so, I hope you enjoy your dinner, which you will pay for. My records are quite clear and quite accurate. '
'If you think I'm British, you haven't listened to me. And if by "tiresome" you mean that a half a million dollars is boring, then you can get the hell out of my sight and I'll enjoy my meal. ' Bourne leaned back in the booth and sipped his drink with his left hand. His right was hidden.
'Who sent you? asked the Oriental of mixed blood, as he sat down.
'Move away from the edge. ' I want to talk very quietly. ' 'Yes, of course. ' Jiang Yu inched his way directly opposite Bourne. 'I must ask. Who sent you?
'I must ask,' said Jason, 'do you like American movies? Especially our Westerns?'
'Of course. American films are beautiful, and I admire the movies of your old West most of all. So poetic in retribution, so righteously violent. Am I saying the correct words?