'That one!' cried d'Anjou, pointing to a figure walking out of the immigration doors.
'With a cane?' asked Jason. 'With a limp?'
'His shabby clothes cannot conceal his shoulders!' exclaimed Echo. The grey hair is too new; he hasn't brushed it sufficiently, and the dark glasses too wide. Like us, he is tired. You were right. The summons to Beijing had to be complied with and he is careless. '
'Because "rest is a weapon" and he disregarded it?'
'Yes. Last night Kai Tak must have taken its toll on him, but more important he had to obey. Merde! His fees must be in the hundreds of thousands!'
'He's heading for the hotel,' said Bourne. 'Stay back here, I'll follow him – at a distance. If he spotted you, he'd run and we could lose him. '
'He could spot you'
'Not likely. I invented the game. Also, I'll be behind him. Stay here. I'll come back for you. '
Carrying his canvas bag, his gait showing the weariness of jet lag, Jason fell in line with the disembarked passengers heading into the hotel, his eyes on the grey-haired man ahead. Twice the former British commando stopped and turned around, and twice, with each brief movement of the shoulders, Bourne also turned and bent down, as if brushing an insect from his leg or adjusting the strap of his bag, his body and face out of sight. The crowd at the registration counter grew and Jason was eight people behind the killer in the second line, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, continually stooping to kick his bag ahead. The commando reached the female clerk; he showed his papers, signed the register, and limped with his cane towards a bank of brown elevators on the right. Six minutes later Bourne faced the same clerk. He spoke in Mandarin.
'Ni neng bang-zhu wo ma?' he began, asking for help. 'It was a sudden trip and I've no place to stay. Just for the night. '
'You speak our language very well,' said the clerk, her almond eyes wide in appreciation. 'You do us honour,' she added politely.
'I hope to do much better during my stay here. I'm on a scholarly trip. '
'It is the best kind. There are many treasures in Beijing, and elsewhere, of course, but this is the heavenly city. You have no reservation?'
'I'm afraid not. Everything was last minute, if you know what I mean. '
'As I speak both languages, I can tell you that you said it correctly in ours. Everything is rush-rush. I'll see what I can do. It will not be terribly grand, of course. '
'I can't afford terribly grand,' said Jason, shyly. 'But I have a roommate – we can share the same bed, if necessary. '
'I'm certain it will be a case of sharing, at such short notice. ' The clerk's fingers leafed through the file cards. 'Here,' she said. 'A single back room on the second floor. I think it may fit your economics-'
'We'll take it,' agreed Bourne. 'By the way, a few minutes ago I saw a man in this line who I'm sure I know. He's getting on now but I think he was an old professor of mine when I studied in England. Grey-haired, with a cane... I'm certain it's he. I'd like to call him. '
'Oh, yes, I remember. ' The clerk now separated the most recent registration cards in front of her. The name is Wadsworth, Joseph Wadsworth. He's in three twenty-five. But you may be wrong. His occupation is listed as an offshore oil consultant from Great Britain. '
'You're right, wrong man,' said Jason, shaking his head in embarrassment. He took the key to the room.
'We can take him! Now!' Bourne gripped d'Anjou's arm, pulling the Frenchman away from the deserted corner of the terminal.
'Now? So easily? So quickly? It is incredible!' The opposite,' said Jason, leading d'Anjou towards the crowded row of glass doors that was the entrance to the hotel. 'It's completely credible. Your man's mind is on a dozen different things right now. He's got to stay out of sight. He can't place a call through a switchboard, so he'll remain in his room waiting for a call to -him giving him his instructions. ' They walked through a glass door, looked around and headed to the left of the long counter. Bourne continued, speaking rapidly. 'Kai Tak didn't work last night so he has to consider another possibility. His own elimination on the basis that whoever discovered the explosives under the car saw him and identified him – which is the truth. He has to insist that his client is alone at the arranged rendezvous so that he can reach him one on one. It's his ultimate protection. ' They found a staircase and started climbing. 'And his clothes,' went on Medusa's Delta . 'He'll change them. He can't appear as he was and he can't appear as he is. He has to be someone else. ' They reached the third floor and Jason, his hand on the knob, turned to d'Anjou. 'Take my word for it, Echo, your boy's involved. He's got exercises going on in his head that would challenge a Russian chess player. '
'Is this the academic speaking or the man they once called Jason Bourne?'
'Bourne,' said David Webb, his eyes cold, his voice ice. 'If it ever was, it's now.'
The canvas bag slung over his shoulder, Jason slowly opened the door at the head of the stairs, inching his body past the frame. Two men in dark pinstriped suits walked up the hallway towards him complaining at the apparent lack of room service; their speech was British. They opened the door to their room and went inside. Bourne pushed the staircase door back and shoved d'Anjou through; they walked down the corridor. The room numbers were in Chinese and English.
Three forty-one, 339, 337 – they were in the right hallway, the room was along the left wall. Three Indian couples suddenly emerged from a brown elevator, the women in their saris, the men in tight-fitting cloth trousers; they passed Jason and d'Anjou, chattering, looking for their rooms, the husbands obviously annoyed to be carrying their own luggage.
Three thirty-five, 333, 331-
'This is the end!' screamed a female voice, as an obese woman in curlers strode martially out of a door on the right wearing a bathrobe. The nightgown underneath trailed below, twice snarling her feet. She yanked it up, revealing a pair of legs worthy of a rhinoceros. 'The toilet doesn't work and you can forget the phone!'
'Isabel, I told you!' shouted a man in red pyjamas peering through the open door. 'It's the jet lag. Get some sleep and remember this isn't Short Hills! Don't nit-pick. Expand yourself!'
'Since I can't use the bathroom, I have no choice! I'll find some slant-eyed bastard and yell like hell! Where are the stairs? I wouldn't walk into one of those goddamned elevators. If they move at all, it's probably sideways and right through the walls into a Seven-Four-Seven!'
The distraught woman swept by on her way to the staircase exit. Two of the three Indian couples had difficulty with their keys, finally managing to negotiate the locks with loud, well-placed kicks, and the man in the red pyjamas slammed the door of his room after shouting to his wife in high dudgeon. 'It's like that class reunion at the club! You're so embarrassing, Isabel!'
Three twenty-nine, 327... 325. The room. The hallway was deserted.
They could hear the strains of Oriental music from behind the door. The radio was turned up, the volume loud, to be made louder with the first ring of a telephone bell. Jason pulled d'Anjou back and spoke quietly against the wall. 'I don't remember any Gurkhas or any scouts-'
'A part of you did, Delta,' interrupted Echo.
'Maybe, but that's beside the point. This is the beginning of the end of the road. We'll leave our bags out here. I'll go for the door and you follow hard. Keep your blade ready. But I want you to understand something and there can't be a mistake – don't throw it unless you absolutely have to. If you do, go for his legs. Nothing above the waist. '