‘Got it,’ said the assassin, removing the tape and rapidly winding it around his thumbs. This is one rotten fucking thing to do to anybody,’ he added when he had finished.
Think of d’Anjou,’ said Jason flatly.
‘He wanted to die, for Christ’s sake! What the hell was / supposed to do?’
‘Nothing. Because you are nothing.’
‘Well then, that kind of puts me on your level, doesn’t it, sport? He made me into you!’
‘You don’t have the talent,’ said Jason Bourne. ‘You’re lacking. You can’t think geometrically.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Ponder it.’ Delta rose to his feet. ‘Get up,’ he commanded.
Tell me,’ said the assassin, pushing himself off the ground and staring at the weapon aimed at his head. ‘Why me?’ Why did you ever get out of the business?’
‘Because I was never in it.’
Suddenly, floodlights – one after another – began to wash over the field, and with a single brilliant illumination, yellow marker lights appeared along the entire length of the runway. Men ran out of the barracks, a number towards the hangar, others behind their quarters where the engines of unseen vehicles abruptly roared. The lights of the terminal were turned on; activity was at once everywhere.
Take his jacket off and the hat,’ ordered Bourne, pointing the gun at the unconscious guard. ‘Put them on.’
They won’t fit!’
‘You can have them altered in Savile Row. Move?
The impostor did as he was told, his right arm so much a problem that Jason had to hold the sleeve for him. With Bourne prodding the commando with the gun, both men ran to the wall of the hangar, then moved cautiously towards the end of the building.
‘Do we agree?’ asked Bourne, whispering, looking at the face that was so like his own years ago. ‘We get out or we die?’
‘Understood,’ answered the commando. That screaming bastard with his bloody fancy sword is a fucking lunatic. I want out!’
That reaction wasn’t on your face.’
‘If it had been the maniac might have turned on me!’
‘Who is her
‘Never got a name. Only a series of connections to reach him. The first was a man at the Guangdong garrison named Soo Jiang-‘
‘I’ve heard the name. They call him “The Pig”.’
‘It’s probably accurate, I don’t know.’
Then what?’
‘A number is left at table five at a casino in-‘
The Kam Pek, Macao,’ interrupted Jason. ‘What then?
‘I call the number and speak French. This Soo Jiang is one of the few Slants who speak the language. He sets the time of the meet; it’s always the same place. I go across the border to a field up in the hills where a chopper comes in and someone gives me the name of the target. And half the money for the kill… Look! Here it conies! He’s circling into his approach.’
‘My gun’s at your head.’
‘Understood.’
‘Did your training include flying one of those things?’
‘No. Only jumping out of them.’
That won’t do us any good.’
The incoming plane, its lights blinking, swept down, out of the brightening sky towards the runway. The jet landed smoothly. It taxied to the end of the asphalt, swung to the right, and headed back to the terminal.
‘Kai guan qi you? shouted a voice from in front of the hangar, the man pointing at three fuel trucks off to the side, explaining which one was to be used.
They’re gassing up,’ said Jason. The plane’s taking off again. Let’s get on it.’
The assassin turned, his face – that face – pleading. ‘For Christ’s sake, give me a knife, something?
‘Nothing.’
‘I can help?
This is my show, Major, not yours. With a knife you’d slice my stomach apart. No way, chap.’
‘Da long xia!’ cried the same voice from in front of the hangar, describing government officials in terms of large crayfish. ‘Fang song,’ he continued, telling everyone to relax, that the plane would taxi away from the terminal and the first of the three fuel trucks should be driven out to meet it.
The officials disembarked; the jet circled in place and began charging back over the runway while the tower instructed the pilot where he would refuel. The truck raced out; men leaped from the carriage and began pulling the hoses from their recesses.
‘It’ll take about ten minutes,’ said the assassin. ‘It’s a Chinese version of an upgraded DC-Three.’
The aircraft came to a stop, the engines cut as rolling ladders were pushed to the wings and men scaled them. The fuel tanks were opened, the nozzles inserted amid constant chatter between the maintenance crews. Suddenly, the hatch door in the centre of the fuselage was reopened, the metal steps slapping down to the ground. Two men in uniform walked out.
The pilot and his flight officer,’ said Bourne, ‘and they’re not stretching their legs. They’re checking every damn thing those people are doing. We’ll time this very carefully, Major, and when I say move, you move.’
‘Straight to the hatch,’ agreed the assassin. ‘When the second bloke hits the first step.’
That’s about it.’
‘Diversion?’
‘In what way?’
‘You had a pretty fancy one last night. You had your own Yank Fourth of July, you did.’
‘Wrong way. Besides, I used them all up… Wait a minute. The fuel truck.’
‘You blow it, there goes the plane. Also, you couldn’t time it to the blokes getting back on board.’
‘Not that truck,’ said Jason, shaking his head and staring beyond the commando. The one over there.’ Bourne gestured at the nearer of the two red trucks directly in front of them, about a hundred feet away. ‘If it went up, the first order of business would be to get the plane out of there.’
‘And we’d be a lot closer than we are now. Let’s do it.’
‘No,’ corrected Jason. ‘You’ll do it. Exactly the way I tell you with my gun inches from your head. Move!’
The assassin in front, they raced out to the truck, covered by the dim light and the commotion around the plane. The pilot and his flight officer were shining flashlights over the engines and barking impatient orders to the maintenance crews. Bourne ordered the commando to crouch down in front of him as he knelt over the open knapsack and withdrew the roll of gauze. He removed the hunting knife from his belt, pulled a coiled hose off its rack, dropping it to the ground, and slid his left hand to the base where it entered the tank. ”Check them,’ he told the commando. ‘How much longer? And move slowly, Major. I’m watching you.’ ‘I said I wanted out. I’m not going to screw up!’ ‘Sure you want out, but I’ve got a hunch you’d rather go it alone.’
‘The thought never occurred to me.’ Then you’re not my man.’ Thanks a lot.’
‘No, I meant it. The thought would have occurred to me… How much longer?’
‘Between two and three minutes, as I judge.’ ‘How good is your judgement?’
Twenty-odd missions in Oman, Yemen and points south. Aircraft similar in structure and mechanism. I know it all, sport. It’s old hat. Two to three minutes, no more than that.’ ‘Good. Get back here.’ Jason pricked the hose with his knife and made a small incision, enough to permit a steady stream of fuel to flow out, but little enough so that the pump barely operated. He rose to his feet, covering the assassin with his gun as he handed him the roll of gauze. ‘Pull out about six feet and drench it with the fuel that’s leaking down there.’ The killer knelt down and followed Bourne’s instructions. ‘Now,’ continued Jason, ‘stuff the end into the slit where I’ve cut the hose. Farther -farther. Use your thumb!’ ‘My arm’s not what it used to be!’ ‘Your left hand is! Press harder? Bourne looked quickly over at the refuelling -refuelled – aircraft. The commando’s judgement had been accurate. Men were climbing off the wings and winding the hoses back into the fuel truck. Suddenly, the pilot and the flight officer were making their final check. They would head for the hatch door in less than a minute! Jason reached into his pocket for matches and threw them down in front of the assassin, his weapon levelled at the killer’s head. ‘Light it. Now?
‘It’ll go up like a goddamned stick of nitro! It’ll blow us both into the sky, especially mel’
‘Not if you do it right! Lay the gauze on the grass, it’s wet-‘
‘Retarding the fire-?’
‘Hurry up! Do it!’
‘Done!’ The flame leaped up from the end of the cloth strip, then instantly fell back and began its gradual march up the gauge. ‘Bloody technician,’ said the commando under his breath as he rose to his feet.
‘Get in front of me,’ ordered Bourne as he strung the knapsack to his belt. ‘Start walking straight forward. Lower your height and shrink your shoulders like you did in Lo Wu.’