The Bourne Supremacy

'Police Central Four,' droned a male voice.

'We appreciate your co-operation Central Four. '

'A Ming's Parking Palace responded to our inquiry. The Mitsubishi AOR has a space there leased on a monthly basis. The owner's name is Staples. Catherine Staples, a Canadian. The car was taken out roughly thirty-five minutes ago. '

'You've been most helpful, Central Four,' said Lin. Thank you. ' He hung up and looked at his anxious subordinate. 'We now have three new pieces of information. The first is that the inquiry we sent out through the police was definitely sent out. The second is that at least one garage wrote down the information, and thirdly, Mrs. Staples leases her parking space by the month. '

'It's a start, sir. '

There are three major, and perhaps a dozen minor car hire agencies, not counting the hotels, which we've covered separately. Those are manageable statistics, but, of course, the garages are not. '

'Why not?' questioned the subordinate. 'At most there are, perhaps, a hundred. Who wants to build a garage in Hong Kong when he could house a dozen shops – businesses? At maximum, the police telephone banks have twenty to thirty operators. They can call them all. '

'It's not the numbers, old friend. It's the mentality of the employees, for the jobs are not enviable. Those who can write are too lazy or too hostile to bother, and those who can't, flee from any association with the police. '

'One garage responded. '

'A true Cantonese. It was the owner. '

The owner should be told!' cried the parking boy in shrill Chinese to the booth attendant at the garage on Ice House Street.

'Why?'

'I explained it to you! I wrote it down for you-'

'Because you go to school and write somewhat better than I do does not make you boss-boss here. '

'You cannot write at all! You were shit-shit afraid! You called for me when the man on the telephone said it was a police emergency. You illiterates always run from the police. That was the car, the green Mitsubishi I parked on Level Two! If you won't call the police, you must call the owner. '

There are things they don't teach you in school, boy with small organ. '

They teach us not to go against the police. It is bad joss. '

'I will call the police – or better you may be their hero. '

'Good!'

'After the two women return and I have a short talk with the driver. '

'What?'

'She thought she was giving me – us – two dollars, but it was eleven. One of the bills was a ten-dollar note. She was very nervous, very upset. She is frightened. She did not watch her money. '

'You said it was two dollars!'

'And now I'm being honest. Would I be honest with you if I did not have both our interests in my heart?'

'In what way?'

'I will tell this rich, frightened American – she spoke American – that you and I have not called back the police on her behalf. She will reward us on the spot – very, very generously – for she will understand that she may not retrieve her car without doing so. You may watch me from inside the garage by the other telephone. After she pays I will send another boy for her car, which he will have great trouble finding for I will give him the wrong location, and you will call the police. The police will arrive, we will have done our heavenly duty, and had a night of money like few other nights in this miserable job. '

The parking boy squinted, shaking his head. 'You're right,' he said. They don't teach such things in school. And I suppose I do not have a choice. '

'Oh, but you do,' said the attendant, pulling a long knife from his belt . 'You can say no, and I will cut out your talk-talk tongue. '

Catherine approached the concierge's desk in the Mandarin lobby, annoyed that she did not know either of the two clerks behind the counter. She needed a favour quickly, and in Hong Kong that meant dealing with a person one knew. Then to her relief she spotted the evening shift's Number 1 concierge. He was in the middle of the lobby trying to mollify an excited guest. She moved to the right and waited, hoping to catch Lee Teng's eye. She had cultivated Teng, sending numerous Canadians to him when problems of convenience had seemed insurmountable. He had always been paid handsomely.

'Yes, may I be of help, Mrs.?' said the young Chinese clerk moving in front of Staples.

'I'll wait for Mr Teng, if you please. '

'Mr Teng is very busy, Mrs.. A very bad time for Mr Teng. You are a guest of the Mandarin, Mrs.?'

'I'm a resident of the territory and an old friend of Mr

Teng. Where possible I bring my business here so the desk gets the credit. '

'Ohh... The clerk responded to Catherine's non-tourist status. He leaned forward, speaking confidentially. 'Lee Teng has terrible joss tonight. The lady goes to the grand ball at Government House but her clothes go to Bangkok. She must think Mr Teng has wings under his jacket and jet engines in his armpits, yes?'

'An interesting concept. The lady just flew in?'

'Yes, Mrs.. But she had many pieces of luggage. She did not miss the one she misses now. She blames first her husband and now Lee Teng. '

'Where's her husband?'

'In the bar. He offered to take the next plane to Bangkok but his kindness only made his wife angrier. He will not leave the bar, and he will not get to Government House in a way that will make him pleased with himself in the morning. Bad joss all around... Perhaps I can be of assistance to you while Mr Teng does his best to calm everybody. '

'I want to rent a car and I need one as fast as you can get it for me. '

'Aiya,'' said the clerk. 'It is seven o'clock at night and the rental offices do little leasing in the evening hours. Most are closed. '

I'm sure there are exceptions. '

'Perhaps a hotel car with a chauffeur?'

'Only if there's nothing else available. As I mentioned, I'm not a guest here and, frankly, I'm not made of money. '

'"Who among us"?' asked the clerk enigmatically. 'As the good Christian Book says – somewhere, I think. '

'Sounds right,' agreed Staples. 'Please, get on the phone and do your best. '

The young man reached beneath the counter and pulled out a plastic bound list of car rental agencies. He went to a telephone several feet to his right, picked it up and started dialling. Catherine looked over at Lee Teng; he had steered his irate lady to the wall by a miniature palm in an obvious attempt to keep her from alarming the other guests who sat around the ornate lobby greeting friends and ordering cocktails. He was speaking rapidly, softly, and, by God, thought Staples, he was actually getting her attention. Whatever her legitimate complaints, mused Catherine, the woman was an ass. She wore a chinchilla stole in just about the worst climate on earth for such delicate fur. Not that she, Foreign Service Officer Staples, ever had the problem of such a decision. She might have if she had chucked the FSO status and stuck with Owen Staples. The son of a bitch owned at least four banks in Toronto now. Not a bad sort, really, and to add to her sense of guilt, Owen had never remarried. Not fair, Owen! She had run across him three years ago, after her stint in Europe, while attending a British-organized conference in Toronto. They had had drinks at the Mayfair Club in the King Edward Hotel, not so unlike the Mandarin, actually.

'Come on, Owen. Your looks, your money – and you had the looks before your money – why not? There are a thousand beautiful girls within a five-block radius who'd grab you. '

'Once was enough, Cathy. You taught me that. '

'I don't know, but you make me feel – oh, I don't know -somehow so guilty. I left you, Owen, but not because I wasn't fond of you. '

'"Fond" of me?'

'You know what I mean. '

'Yes, I think so. ' Owen had laughed. 'You left me for all the right reasons, and I accepted your leaving without animus for likeminded reasons. If you had waited five minutes longer, I think I would have thrown you out. I'd paid the rent that month.'