The Bourne Supremacy by Robert Ludlum

The killer looked up in panic. ‘You goddamned liar! You lied!

‘Frequently. Don’t you?’

‘You said-‘

‘I know what I said. I also know why you’re here, and why instead of nine shells, you have three.’

– ‘What?’

‘You’re my diversion, Major. When I let you free with the gun, you’ll head for the gate or a blown-out section of the wall – whichever, it’s your choice. They’ll try to stop you. You’ll fire back, naturally, and while they concentrate on you, I’ll get inside.’

‘You bastard!’

‘My feelings are hurt, but then I don’t have feelings any longer, so it doesn’t matter. I simply have to get inside-‘

The last explosion blew up a sculptured tree, its roots smashing into a weakened section of the wall, stones falling out of place, the wall itself half crumbling, splitting rocks forming a V at the centre of secondary impact. Marines from the gate contingent rushed forward.

Wow/’ roared Delta, rising to his full height.

‘Give me the gun! Let go of it!’

Jason Bourne suddenly froze. He could not move – except that by some instinct or other he crashed his knee up into the killer’s throat, sending the assassin over on his side. A man had appeared beyond the shattered glass doors of the burning foyer. A handkerchief covered his face, but it could not cover his limp. His limp! With his club foot the silhouetted figure kicked down the left frame of the french doors and awkwardly walked down the three steps to the short flagstone patio fronting the once stately gardens. He dragged himself forward and yelled as loud as he could, ordering the guards who could hear him to hold their fire. The figure did not have to lower his handkerchief, Delta knew the face. It was the face of his enemy. It was Paris, a cemetery outside Paris. Alexander Conklin had come to kill him. Beyond-salvage was the order from on high.

‘David! It’s Alex! Don’t do what you’re doing! Stop it! It’s we, David! I’m here to help you!’

‘You’re here to kill me! You came to kill me in Paris, you tried again in New York! Treadstone Seventy-one! You’ve got a short memory, you bastard!’

‘You don’t have any memory, goddamn you! You became Delta, that’s what they wanted! I know the whole story, David. I flew over here because we put it together! Marie, Mo Panov, and I! We’re all here. Marie’s safe!’

‘Lies! Tricks! All of you, you killed her! You would have killed her in Paris, but I wouldn’t let you near her! I kept her away from you!’

‘She’s not dead, David! She’s alive! I can bring her to you!

Now!’

‘More lies!’ Delta crouched and pulled the trigger, spraying the patio, the bullets ricocheting up into the burning foyer, but for reasons unknown to him they did not cut down the man himself. ‘You want to pull me out so you can give the order and I’m dead. Beyond-salvage carried out! No way, executioner!. I’m going inside! I want the silent, secret men behind you! They’re there! I know they’re there!’ Bourne grabbed the fallen assassin and pulled him to his feet handing him the gun. ‘You wanted a Jason Bourne, he’s yours! I’m setting him loose among the roses. Kill him while I kill!’ Half crazed, half survivor, the commando lunged through the flowering bushes away from Bourne. He raced first down the path, then instantly returned, seeing that the marine guards were at the north and south areas of the wall. If he showed himself on the east border of the garden he was caught between both contingents. He was dead, if he moved. ‘I haven’t any more time, Conklin!’ yelled Bourne. Why couldn’t he kill the man who had betrayed him? Squeeze the trigger! Kill the last of Treadstone Seventy-one! Kill. Kill! What stopped him!

The assassin threw himself over the bed of flowers, clutching the warm barrel of Bourne’s machine gun, wrenching it downward, levelling and firing his own gun at Jason. The bullet grazed Bourne’s forehead and, in fury, he yanked back the trigger of the repeating weapon. Bullets thundered into the ground, the vibrations within their small, deadly arena earth-shattering. He grabbed the Englishman’s gun, twisting it counterclockwise. The assassin’s half-mutilated right arm was no match for the man from Medusa. The gun exploded as Bourne wrenched it free. The impostor fell back on the grass, his eyes glazed, within them the knowledge that he had lost.

‘David! For God’s sake, listen to me! You have to-‘

There is no David here!’ screamed Jason, his knee rammed into the assassin’s chest. ‘My rightful name is Bourne, sprung from Delta, spawned by Medusa! The snake lady! Remember?

‘We have to talk!’

‘We have to die! You have to die! The secret men inside are my contract with myself, with Marie! They have to die!’ Bourne gripped the lapel of the assassin’s jacket, pulling him up on his feet. ‘I repeat! Here’s your Jason Bourne! He’s all yours!’

‘Don’t shoot! Hold your fire!’ roared Conklin, as bewildered segments of the three marine contingents began to close in and the deafening sirens of the Hong Kong police roared to a stop at the demolished gate.

The man from Medusa slammed his shoulder into the commando’s back, propelling the killer out into the light of the roaring flames and the floodlights. There hew! That’s the prize you wanted^

There was a burst of rifle fire as the assassin reeled out, then dove to the ground, rolling over and over to avoid the bullets.

‘Stop it! Not him\ For Christ’s sake, hold your fire. Don’t kill him!’

‘Not him? roared Jason Bourne. ‘Not him! Only me! Isn’t that right, you son of a bitch? Now, you do die! For Marie, for Echo, for all of us!’

He squeezed the trigger of the machine gun, but still the bullets would not hit their mark! He swung around and, swinging back and forth, aimed his deadly weapon at both converging squads of marines. Again, he fired several prolonged bursts, crouching, ducking, moving from place to place behind the roses. Yet he angled the barrel above their heads! Why? The children could not stop him. But then the children in their pressed GI issue should not die for the manipulators. He had to get inside the sterile house. Now! No moments were left. It was now!

‘David?’ A woman’s voice. Oh Christ, a woman’s voice! ‘David, David, David! A figure in a flowing skirt ran out of the sterile house. She grabbed Alexander Conklin and pushed him away. She stood alone on the patio. ‘It’s me, David! ‘I’m here! I’m safe! Everything’s all right, my darling!’

Another trick, another lie. It was an old woman with grey hair, white hair! ‘Get out of my way, lady, or I’ll kill you. You’re just another lie, another trick?

‘David, it’s me! Can’t you hear me-‘

‘I can see you! A trick!’

‘No, David!’

‘My name’s not David. I told your scum friend, there’s no

David here!’

‘Don’t!’ screamed Marie, desperately shaking her head and running in front of several marines who had crawled out on the grass, away from the swirling, vanishing clouds of gas. They were on their knees with a clear view of Bourne, getting their bearings, levelling their rifles unsteadily at him. Marie positioned herself between the recovering guards and their target. ‘Haven’t you done enough to him? For God’s sake somebody stop them!’

‘And get blown away by some son of a bitch terrorist? yelled a youthful voice from the ranks by the front wall.

‘He’s not what you think! Whatever he is the people inside made him that way! You heard him. He won’t fire on you if you don’t shoot!’

‘He’s already fired,’ roared an officer. ‘You’re still standing]’ yelled back Alex Conklin from the edge of the patio. ‘And he’s a better marksman with more weapons than any man here! Account for it! I can!’

‘I don’t need you!’ thundered Jason Bourne, once again triggering a burst of machine gun fire into the burning wall of the sterile house.

Suddenly, the assassin was on his feet, crouching, then lunging for the marine nearest him, a hatless youngster still coughing from the gas. The killer grabbed the guard’s rifle, kicking him in the head, and firing the weapon into the next nearest marine, who lurched backwards grabbing his stomach. The killer spun around; he spotted an officer with a machine pistol not unlike Bourne’s; he shot him in the neck, and grabbed the weapon from the falling body. He paused for only a split half-second evaluating his chances, then whipped the machine pistol up under his left arm. Delta watched, instinctively knowing what the commando would do, knowing, too, that his diversion was about to take place.

The assassin did it. He fired again, one round after another into the closed ranks of the young, inexperienced marines by the front wall, racing, dodging his way across the short stretch of grass into the shoulder-high flowers on Bourne’s left. It was his only escape route, the least illuminated collapsed right rear wall.