The Bourne Supremacy by Robert Ludlum

‘Great Christian Jesus, do as he says? yelled Wu Song. ‘He will strike me! Take the curtains! Tie them, you imbecile?

Three minutes later Webb held in his hand an odd-looking gun, bulky but not large. It was an advanced weapon; the

perforated cylinder that was the silencer was pneumatically snapped on, reducing the decibel count of a gunshot to a loud spit – but no more than a spit – the accuracy unaffected at close range. It held nine rounds, clips released and inserted at the base of the handle in a matter of seconds; there were three in reserve – thirty-six shells with the fire power of a. 357 Magnum available instantly in a gun half the size and weight of a Colt. 45.

‘Remarkable,’ said Webb, glancing at the bound guards and a quaking Pak-fei. ‘Who designed it? So much expertise was coming back to him. So much recognition. From where?

‘As an American, it may offend you,’ answered Wu Song, ‘but he is a man in Bristol, Connecticut, who realized that the company he works for – designs for – would never recompense him adequately for his invention. Through intermediaries he went on the closed international market and sold to the highest bidder. ‘

‘You?

‘I do not invest. I market. ‘

That’s right, I forgot. You service a demand. ‘

‘Precisely. ‘

‘Whom do you pay?

‘A numbered account in Singapore, I know nothing else. I’m protected, of course. Everything’s on consignment. ‘

‘I see. How much for this?

Take it. My gift to you. ‘

‘You smell. I don’t take gifts from people who smell. How much?

Wu Song swallowed. The list price is eight hundred American dollars. ‘

Webb reached into his left pocket and pulled out the denominations he had placed there. He counted out eight $100 bills and gave them to the arms merchant. ‘Paid in full,’ he said.

‘Paid,’ agreed the Chinese.

Tie him up,’ said David, turning to the apprehensive Pak-fei. ‘No, don’t worry about it. Tie him up!’

‘Do as he says, you idiot?

Then take the three of them outside. Along the side of the

building by the car. And stay out of sight of the gate. ‘

‘Quickly? yelled Song. ‘He is angry!’

‘You can count on it,’ agreed Webb.

Four minutes later the two guards and Wu Song walked awkwardly through the outside door into the blazing afternoon sunlight, made harsher by the dancing reflections off the waters of Victoria Harbour. Their knees and arms were tied in the ripped cloth of the curtains so their movements were hesitant and uncertain. Silence was guaranteed by wads of fabric in the mouths of the guards. No such precautions were needed for the young merchant; he was petrified.

Alone, David put his retrieved attache case on the floor, and walked rapidly around the room studying the displays in the cases until he found what he wanted. He smashed the glass with the handle of his gun and picked around the shards for the weapons he would use – weapons coveted by terrorists everywhere – timer grenades, each with the impact of a 20-pound bomb. How did he know? Where did the knowledge come from!

He removed six grenades and checked each battery charge. How could he do that? How did he know where to look, what to press? No matter. He knew. He looked at his watch.

He set the timers of each and ran along the display cases, crashing the handle of his weapon into the glass tops and dropping into each a grenade. He had one left and two cases to go; he looked up at the tri-lingual No Smoking signs and made another decision. He ran to the panelled door, opened it, and saw what he thought he might see. He threw in the final grenade.

Webb checked his watch, picked up the attache case and went outside, making a point of being very much in control. He approached the Daimler at the side of the warehouse where Pak-fei seemed to be apologizing to his prisoners, perspiring as he did so. The driver was being alternately berated and consoled by Wu Song, who wanted nothing more than to be spared any further violence.

Take them over to the breakwater,’ ordered David,

pointing to the stone wall that rose above the waters of the harbour.

Wu Song stared at Webb. ‘Who are you? he asked.

The moment had come. It was now.

Webb again looked at his watch as he walked over to the arms merchant. He gripped Wu Song’s elbow and shoved the frightened Chinese farther along the side of the building where soft-spoken words would not be overheard by the others. ‘My name is Jason Bourne,’ said David simply.

‘Jason Bou-!’ The Oriental gasped, reacting as though a stiletto had punctured his throat, ‘his own eyes witnessing the final, violent act of his own death.

‘And if you have any ideas about restoring a bruised ego by punishing someone, say my driver, get rid of them. I’ll know where to find you.’ Webb paused for a single beat, then continued. ‘You’re a privileged man, Wu, but with that privilege goes a responsibility. For certain reasons you may be questioned, and I don’t expect you to lie – I doubt that you’re very good at lying anyway – so we met, I’ll accept that. I even stole from you, if you like. But if you give an accurate description of me, you’d better be on the other side of the world – and dead. It would be less painful for you. ‘

The Columbia graduate froze, his lower lip trembling as he stared at Webb, speechless. David returned the look in silence, nodding his head once. He released Wu Song’s arm and walked back to Pak-fei and the two bound guards, leaving the panicked merchant to his racing thoughts.

‘Do as I told you, Pak-fei,’ he said, once more looking at his watch. ‘Get them over to the wall and tell them to lie down. Explain that I’m covering them with my gun, and will be covering them until we drive through the gate. I think their employer will attest to the fact that I’m a reasonably proficient marksman. ‘

The driver reluctantly barked the orders in Chinese, bowing to the arms merchant as Wu Song started ahead of the others, awkwardly manoeuvring himself towards the breakwater some seventy-odd yards away. Webb looked inside the Daimler.

Throw me the keys!’ he shouted to Pak-fei. ‘And hurry up!’

David snatched the keys from the air and climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, slipped the Daimler into gear and followed the odd-looking parade across the asphalt directly behind the warehouse.

Wu Song and his two guards lay prostrate on the ground. Webb leaped out of the car, the motor running, and raced around the back to the other side, his newly purchased weapon in his hand, the silencer fixed. ‘Get in and drive!’ he shouted to Pak-fei. ‘Quickly!’

The driver jumped in, bewildered. David fired three shots -spits that blew up the asphalt several feet in front of each captive’s face. It was enough; all three rolled in panic into the wall. Webb got into the front seat of the car. ‘Let’s go!’ he said, for a final time looking at his watch, his gun out of the window aimed in the vicinity of the three prostrate figures. ‘Now!’

The gate swung back for the august taipan in the august limousine. The Daimler raced through and turned right into the speeding traffic on the dual-lane highway to Mongkok.

‘Slow down!’ ordered David. ‘Pull over to the side, on the dirt. ‘

These drivers are madmen, sir. They speed because they know that in minutes they will barely move. It will be difficult to get back on the road. ‘

‘Somehow I don’t think so. ‘

It happened. The explosions came one after another -three, four, five… six. The isolated one-storey warehouse blew to the skies, flames and deep black smoke filling the air above the land and the harbour, causing automobiles and trucks and buses to come to screeching stops on the highway.

‘ You? shrieked Pak-fei, his mouth gaping, his bulging eyes on Webb.

‘I was there. ‘

‘We were there, sir! I am dead! Aiya!’

‘No, Pak-fei, you’re not,’ said David. ‘You’re protected, take my word for that. You’ll never hear from Mr Wu Song again. I suspect he’ll be on the other side of the world, probably in Iran, teaching marketing to the mullahs. I don’t

know who else would accept him. ‘

‘But why? How, sir?’

‘He’s finished. He dealt in what’s called “consignments”, which means he pays as his merchandise is sold. Are you following me?’

‘I think so, sir. ‘

‘He has no more merchandise, but it wasn’t sold. It just went away. ‘

‘Sir?’

‘He kept wired rolls of dynamite and cases of explosive plastic in the back room. They were too primitive to put in the display cases. Also too bulky. ‘