Table Five. The dealers,’ said Bourne.
The croupiers change constantly. His arrangement is with
the table. A blanket fee, I imagine. To be divided. And certainly he does not go to the Kam Pek himself – he undoubtedly hires a whore from the streets. He is very cautious, very professional.’
‘Do you know anyone else who’s tried to reach this Bourne?’ asked Bourne. ‘I’ll know if you’re lying.’
‘I think you would. You are obsessed – which is not my business – and you trapped me in my first denial. No, I do not, sir. That is the truth, for I do not care to have my intestines blown away with the sound of a champagne cork;’
‘You can’t get much more basic than that. In the words of another man, I think I believe you.’
‘Believe, sir. I am only a courier – an expensive one, perhaps – but a courier, nevertheless.’
‘Your waiters are something else, I’m told.’
They have not been noticeably observant.’
‘You’ll still accompany me to the door,’ he had said.
And now there was the third name, a third man, in the downpour at Repulse Bay.
The contact had responded to the code: ‘Ecoutez, monsieur. “Cain is for Delta and Carlos is for Cain.”‘
‘We were to meet in Macao!’ the man had shrieked over the telephone. ‘Where were you?’
‘Busy,’ said Jason.
‘You may be too late. My client has very little time and he is very knowledgeable. He hears that your man moves elsewhere. He is disturbed. You promised him, Frenchman!’
‘Where does he think my man is going?
‘On another assignment, of course. He’s heard the details!’
‘He’s wrong. The man is available if the price is met.’
‘Call me back in several minutes. I will speak to my client and see if matters are to be pursued.’
Bourne had called five minutes later. Consent was given, the rendezvous set. Repulse Bay. One hour. The statue of the war god halfway down the beach on the left towards the pier. The contact would wear a black kerchief around his neck; the code was to remain the same.
Jason looked at his watch; it was twelve minutes past the hour. The contact was late, and the rain was not a problem; on the contrary, it was an advantage, a natural cover. Bourne had scouted every foot of the meeting ground, forty feet in every direction that had a sight line to the statue of the idol, and he had done so after the appointed time, using up minutes as he kept his eyes on the path to the statue. Nothing so far was irregular. There was no trap in the making.
The Zhongguo ren came into view, his shoulders hunched as he dashed down the steps in the downpour as if the shape of his body would ward off the rain. He ran along the path towards the statue of the war god, stopping as he approached the huge snarling idol. He skirted the wash of the floodlights, but what could briefly be seen of his face conveyed his anger at finding no one in sight.
‘Frenchman, Frenchman?’
Bourne raced back through the foliage towards the steps, checking once more before rendezvous, reducing his vulnerability. He edged his way around the thick stone post that bordered the steps and peered through the rain at the upper path to the hotel. He saw what he hoped to God he would not see! A man in a raincoat and hat came out of the run-down Colonial Hotel and broke into a fast walk. Halfway to the steps he stopped, pulling something out of his pocket; he turned; there was a slight glow of light… returned instantly by a corresponding tiny flash at one of the windows of the crowded lobby. Penlights. ‘Signals. A scout was on his way to a forward post, as his relay or his back-up confirmed communications. Jason spun around and retraced the path he had made through the drenched foliage.
‘Frenchman, where are you?
‘Over here!’
‘Why did you not answer? Where?’
‘Straight ahead. The bushes in front of you. Hurry up!’
The contact approached the foliage; he was an arm’s length away. Bourne sprang up and grabbed him, spinning him around and pushing him farther into the wet bushes, as he did so clamping his left hand over the man’s mouth. ‘If you want to live, don’t make a sound!’
Thirty feet into the shoreline woods, Jason slammed the contact into the trunk of a tree. ‘Who’s with you? he asked harshly, slowly removing his hand from the man’s mouth.
‘With me?’ ‘ No one is with me!’
‘Don’t Her Bourne pulled out his gun and placed it against the contact’s throat. The Chinese crashed his head back into the tree, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping. ‘I don’t have time for traps!’ continued Jason. ‘I don’t have timer
‘And there is no one with me! My word in these matters is my livelihood! Without it I have no profession!’
Bourne stared at the man. He put the gun back in his belt, gripped the contact’s arm and propelled him to the right. ‘Be quiet. Come with me.’
Ninety seconds later Jason and the contact had crawled through the soaking wet underbrush towards an area of the path some twenty-odd feet to the west of the massive idol. The downpour covered whatever noises might have been picked up on a dry night. Suddenly, Bourne grabbed the Oriental’s shoulder, stopping him. Up ahead the scout could be seen, crouching, hugging the border of the path, a gun in his hand. For a moment he crossed through a wash of the statue’s floodlight before he disappeared; it was only for an instant, but it was enough. Bourne looked at the contact.
The Chinese was stunned. He could not take his eyes off the spot in the light where the scout had crossed. His thoughts were coming to him rapidly, the terror in him building; it was in his stare. ‘Si’,’ he whispered. ‘Jiagian!’
‘In short English words,’ said Jason, speaking through the rain. That man’s an executioner?’
‘S/”7… Yes.’
Tell me, what have you brought me?
‘Everything,’ answered the contact, still in shock. ‘The first money, the instructions … everything.’
‘A client doesn’t send money if he’s going to kill the man he’s hiring.’
‘I know,’ said the contact softly, nodding his head and closing his eyes. ‘It is me they want to kill.’
His words to Liang on the harbour walk had been prophetic, thought Bourne. ‘It’s not a trap for me… it’s for you. You did your job and they can’t allow any traces… They can’t afford you any longer.”
There’s another up at the hotel. I saw them signaling each other with flashlights. It’s why I couldn’t answer you for several minutes.’
The Oriental turned and looked at Jason; there was no self-pity in his eyes. The risks of my profession,’ he said simply. ‘As my foolish people say, I will join my ancestors, and I hope they are not so foolish. Here.’ The contact reached into his inside pocket and withdrew an envelope. ‘Here is everything.’
‘Have you checked it out?’
‘Only the money.’ It’s all there.’ I would not meet with the Frenchman with less than his demands, and the rest I do not care to know.’ Suddenly the man looked hard at Bourne, blinking his eyes in the downpour. ‘But you are not the Frenchman!’
‘Easy,’ said Jason. Things have come pretty fast for you tonight.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Someone who just showed you where you stood.’ How much money did you bring?
Thirty thousand American dollars.’
‘If that’s the first payment, the target must be someone impressive.’
‘I assume he is.’
‘Keep it.’
‘ What? What are you saying?
‘I’m not the Frenchman, remember?
‘I do not understand.’
‘I don’t even want the instructions. I’m sure someone of your professional calibre can turn them to your advantage. A man pays well for information that can help him; he pays a hell of a lot more for his life.’
‘Why would you do this?
‘Because none of it concerns me. I have only one concern. I want the man who calls himself Bourne and I can’t waste time. You’ve got what I just offered you plus a dividend – I’ll get you out of here alive if I have to leave two corpses here in the Bay, I don’t care. But you’ve got to give me what I asked for on the phone. You said your client told you the
Frenchman’s assassin was going someplace else. Where? Where is Bourne?
‘You talk so rapidly-‘
‘I told you, I haven’t time! Tell me! If you refuse, I leave and your client kills you. Take your choice.’
‘Shenzhen,’ said the contact, as if frightened at the name.
‘China? There’s a target in Shenzhen?
‘One can assume that. My wealthy client has sources in Queen’s Road.’
‘What’s that?
The Consulate of the People’s Republic. A very unusual visa was granted. Apparently it was cleared on the highest authority in Beijing. The source did not know why, and when he questioned the decision he was promptly removed from the section. He reported this to my client. For money, of course.’