The Bourne Supremacy

The Zhongguo ren came into view, his shoulders hunched as he dashed down the steps in the downpour as if the shape of his body would ward off the rain. He ran along the path towards the statue of the war god, stopping as he approached the huge snarling idol. He skirted the wash of the floodlights, but what could briefly be seen of his face conveyed his anger at finding no one in sight.

'Frenchman, Frenchman?'

Bourne raced back through the foliage towards the steps, checking once more before rendezvous, reducing his vulnerability. He edged his way around the thick stone post that bordered the steps and peered through the rain at the upper path to the hotel. He saw what he hoped to God he would not see! A man in a raincoat and hat came out of the run-down Colonial Hotel and broke into a fast walk. Halfway to the steps he stopped, pulling something out of his pocket; he turned; there was a slight glow of light... returned instantly by a corresponding tiny flash at one of the windows of the crowded lobby. Penlights. 'Signals. A scout was on his way to a forward post, as his relay or his back-up confirmed communications. Jason spun around and retraced the path he had made through the drenched foliage.

'Frenchman, where are you?

'Over here!'

'Why did you not answer? Where?'

'Straight ahead. The bushes in front of you. Hurry up!'

The contact approached the foliage; he was an arm's length away. Bourne sprang up and grabbed him, spinning him around and pushing him farther into the wet bushes, as he did so clamping his left hand over the man's mouth. 'If you want to live, don't make a sound!'

Thirty feet into the shoreline woods, Jason slammed the contact into the trunk of a tree. 'Who's with you? he asked harshly, slowly removing his hand from the man's mouth.

'With me?' ' No one is with me!'

'Don't Her Bourne pulled out his gun and placed it against the contact's throat. The Chinese crashed his head back into the tree, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. 'I don't have time for traps!' continued Jason. 'I don't have timer

'And there is no one with me! My word in these matters is my livelihood! Without it I have no profession!'

Bourne stared at the man. He put the gun back in his belt, gripped the contact's arm and propelled him to the right . 'Be quiet. Come with me. '

Ninety seconds later Jason and the contact had crawled through the soaking wet underbrush towards an area of the path some twenty-odd feet to the west of the massive idol. The downpour covered whatever noises might have been picked up on a dry night. Suddenly, Bourne grabbed the Oriental's shoulder, stopping him. Up ahead the scout could be seen, crouching, hugging the border of the path, a gun in his hand. For a moment he crossed through a wash of the statue's floodlight before he disappeared; it was only for an instant, but it was enough. Bourne looked at the contact.

The Chinese was stunned. He could not take his eyes off the spot in the light where the scout had crossed. His thoughts were coming to him rapidly, the terror in him building; it was in his stare. 'Si',' he whispered. 'Jiagian!'

'In short English words,' said Jason, speaking through the rain. That man's an executioner?'

'S/"7... Yes. '

Tell me, what have you brought me?

'Everything,' answered the contact, still in shock. 'The first money, the instructions... everything. '

'A client doesn't send money if he's going to kill the man he's hiring. '

'I know,' said the contact softly, nodding his head and closing his eyes. 'It is me they want to kill. '

His words to Liang on the harbour walk had been prophetic, thought Bourne. 'It's not a trap for me... it's for you. You did your job and they can't allow any traces... They can't afford you any longer.'

There's another up at the hotel. I saw them signaling each other with flashlights. It's why I couldn't answer you for several minutes. '

The Oriental turned and looked at Jason; there was no self-pity in his eyes. The risks of my profession,' he said simply. 'As my foolish people say, I will join my ancestors, and I hope they are not so foolish. Here. ' The contact reached into his inside pocket and withdrew an envelope. 'Here is everything. '

'Have you checked it out?'

'Only the money. ' It's all there. ' I would not meet with the Frenchman with less than his demands, and the rest I do not care to know. ' Suddenly the man looked hard at Bourne, blinking his eyes in the downpour. 'But you are not the Frenchman!'

'Easy,' said Jason. Things have come pretty fast for you tonight. '

'Who are you?'

'Someone who just showed you where you stood. ' How much money did you bring?

Thirty thousand American dollars. '

'If that's the first payment, the target must be someone impressive. '

'I assume he is. '

'Keep it. '

' What? What are you saying?

'I'm not the Frenchman, remember?

'I do not understand. '

'I don't even want the instructions. I'm sure someone of your professional calibre can turn them to your advantage. A man pays well for information that can help him; he pays a hell of a lot more for his life. '

'Why would you do this?

'Because none of it concerns me. I have only one concern. I want the man who calls himself Bourne and I can't waste time. You've got what I just offered you plus a dividend – I'll get you out of here alive if I have to leave two corpses here in the Bay, I don't care. But you've got to give me what I asked for on the phone. You said your client told you the

Frenchman's assassin was going someplace else. Where? Where is Bourne?

'You talk so rapidly-'

'I told you, I haven't time! Tell me! If you refuse, I leave and your client kills you. Take your choice. '

'Shenzhen,' said the contact, as if frightened at the name.

'China? There's a target in Shenzhen?

'One can assume that. My wealthy client has sources in Queen's Road. '

'What's that?

The Consulate of the People's Republic. A very unusual visa was granted. Apparently it was cleared on the highest authority in Beijing. The source did not know why, and when he questioned the decision he was promptly removed from the section. He reported this to my client. For money, of course. '

'Why was the visa unusual?

'Because there was no waiting period and the applicant did not appear at the consulate. Both are unheard of. '

'Still, it was just a visa. '

'In the People's Republic there is no such thing as "just a visa". Especially not for a white male travelling alone under a questionable passport issued in Macao. '

'Macao?

'Yes. '

'What's the entry date?'

Tomorrow. The Lo Wu border. '

Jason studied the contact . 'You said your client has sources in the consulate. Do you?

'What you are thinking will cost a great deal of money, for the risk is very great. '

Bourne raised his head and looked through the sheets of rain at the floodlit idol beyond. There was movement; the scout was searching for his target . 'Wait here,' he said.

The early morning train from Kowloon to the Lo Wu border took barely over an hour. The realization that he was in China took less than ten seconds. Long Live the People's Republic.

There was no need for the exclamation point, the border guards lived it. They were rigid, staring, and abusive, pummelling passports with their rubber stamps with the fury of hostile adolescents. There was, however, an ameliorating support system. Beyond the guards a phalanx of young women in uniform stood smiling behind several long tables stacked with pamphlets extolling the beauty and virtues of their land and its system. If there was hypocrisy in their postures, it did not show.