‘Yes,’ said the ambassador. ‘They, too, were part of the strategy, part of the project. ‘
‘I assume this is where silence is necessary. The project, I mean. ‘
‘It’s imperative,’ answered Reilly. ‘Not because of the project – in spite of what happened we make no apology for that operation – but because of the man we recruited to become Jason Bourne and where he came from. ‘
That’s cryptic. ‘
‘It’ll become clear. ‘
‘The project, please. ‘
Reilly looked at Raymond Havilland; the diplomat nodded and spoke. ‘We created a killer to draw out and trap the most deadly assassin in Europe. ‘
1Carlos?’
‘You’re quick, Mr Undersecretary. ‘
‘Who else was there? In Asia, Bourne and the Jackal were constantly being compared. ‘
Those comparisons were encouraged,’ said Havilland. ‘Often magnified and spread by the strategists of the project, a group known as Treadstone Seventy-one. The name was derived from a sterile house on New York’s Seventy-first Street where the resurrected Jason Bourne was trained. It was the command post and a name you should be aware of. ‘
‘I see,’ said McAllister pensively. Then those comparisons, growing as they did with Bourne’s reputation, served as a challenge to Carlos. That’s when Bourne moved to Europe -to bring the challenge directly to the Jackal. To force him to come out and confront his challenger. ‘
‘ Very quick, Mr Undersecretary. In a nutshell, that was the strategy. ‘
‘It’s extraordinary. Brilliant actually, and one doesn’t have to be an expert to see that. God knows I’m not. ‘
‘You may become one-‘
‘And you say this man who became Bourne, the mythical assassin, spent three years playing the role and then was injured-‘
‘Shot,’ interrupted Havilland. ‘Membranes in his skull were blown away. ‘
‘And he lost his memory?’
Totally. ‘
‘My God!’
‘Yet despite everything that happened to him, and with the woman’s help – she was an economist for the Canadian Government, incidentally – he came within moments of pulling the whole damn thing off. A remarkable story, isn’t
it?’
‘It’s incredible. But what kind of man would do this, could do it?’
The redheaded John Reilly coughed softly; the ambassador deferred with a glance. ‘We’re now reaching ground zero,’ the big man said, again shifting his bulk to look at McAllister. ‘If you’ve any doubts I can still let you go. ‘
‘I try not to repeat myself. You have your tape. ‘
‘It’s your appetite. ‘
‘I suppose that’s another way you people have of saying there might not even be a trial. ‘
‘I’d never say that. ‘
McAllister swallowed, his eyes meeting the calm gaze of the man from the NSC. He turned to Havilland. ‘Please go on, Mr Ambassador. Who is this man? Where did he come from?’
‘His name is David Webb. He’s currently an associate professor of Oriental Studies at a small university in Maine and married to the Canadian woman who literally guided him out of his labyrinth. Without her he would have been killed – but then without him she would have ended up a corpse in Zurich. ‘
‘Remarkable,’ said McAllister, barely audible.
‘The point is, she’s his second wife. His first marriage ended in a tragic act of wanton slaughter – that’s when his story began for us. A number of years ago Webb was a young foreign service officer stationed in Phnom Penh, a brilliant Far East scholar, fluent in several Oriental languages and married to a girl from Thailand he’d met in graduate school. They lived in a house on a riverbank and had two children. It was an ideal life for such a man. It combined the expertise Washington needed in the area with the opportunity to live in his own museum. Then the Vietnam action escalated and one morning a lone jet fighter – no one really knows from which side, but no one ever told Webb that – swooped down at low altitude and strafed his wife and children while they were playing in the water. Their bodies were riddled. They floated into the riverbank as Webb was trying to reach them; he gathered them in his arms, screaming helplessly at the disappearing plane above. ‘
‘How horrible, ” whispered McAllister.
‘At that moment, Webb turned. He became someone he never was, never dreamed he could be. He became a guerrilla fighter known as Delta. ‘
‘Delta?’ said Mr McAllister. ‘A guerrilla… ? I’m afraid I don’t understand. ‘
There’s no way you could.’ Havilland looked over at Reilly, then back at the man from State. ‘As Jack made clear a moment ago, we’re now at ground zero. Webb fled to Saigon, consumed with rage, and, ironically, through the efforts of the CIA officer named Conklin, who years later tried to kill him, joined a clandestine operations outfit called Medusa. No names were ever used by the people in Medusa, just the Greek letters of the alphabet – Webb became Delta One. ‘
‘Medusa? I’ve never heard of it. ‘
‘Ground zero,’ said Reilly. ‘The Medusa file is still classified, but we’ve permitted limited declassification in this instance. The Medusa units were a collection of internationals who knew the Vietnam territories, north and south. Frankly most of them were criminals – smugglers of narcotics, gold, guns, jewels, all kinds of contraband. Also convicted murderers, fugitives who’d been sentenced to death in absentia… and a smattering of colonials whose businesses were confiscated – again by both sides. They banked on us -Big Uncle – to take care of all their problems if they infiltrated hostile areas, killing suspected Viet Cong collaborators and village chiefs thought to be leaning towards Charlie, as well as expediting prisoner-of-war escapes where they could. They were assassination teams – death squads, if you will – and that says it as well as it can be said, but of course we’ll never say it. Mistakes were made, millions stolen, and the majority of those personnel wouldn’t be allowed in any civilized army, Webb among them. ‘
‘With his background, his academic credentials, he willingly became part of such a group?7
‘He had an overpowering motive,’ said Havilland. ‘As far as he was concerned, that plane in Phnom Penh was North Vietnamese. ‘
‘Some said he was a madman,’ continued Reilly. ‘Others claimed he was an extraordinary tactician, the supreme guerrilla who understood the Oriental mind and led the most aggressive teams in Medusa, feared as much by Command Saigon as by the enemy. He was uncontrollable; the only rules he followed were his own. It was as if he had mounted his own personal hunt, tracking down the man who had flown that plane and destroyed his life. It became his war, his rage; the more violent it became the more satisfying it was for him – or perhaps closer to his own death wish. ‘
‘Death… ?’ The undersecretary of state left the word hanging.
‘It was the prevalent theory at the time,’ interrupted the ambassador.
‘The war ended,’ said Reilly, ‘as disastrously for Webb – or Delta – as it did for the rest of us. Perhaps worse; there was nothing left for him. No more purpose, nothing to strike out at, to kill. Until we approached him and gave him a reason to go on living. Or perhaps a reason to go on trying to die. ‘
‘By becoming Bourne and going after Carlos the Jackal,’ completed McAllister.
‘Yes,’ agreed the intelligence officer. A brief silence ensued.
‘We need him back,’ said Havilland. The soft-spoken words fell like an axe on hard wood.
‘Carlos has surfaced?
The diplomat shook his head. ‘Not Europe. We need him back in Asia, and we can’t waste a minute. ‘
‘Someone else? Another… target?’ McAllister swallowed involuntarily. ‘Have you spoken to him?
‘We can’t approach him. Not directly. ‘
‘Why not?
‘He wouldn’t let us through the door. He doesn’t trust anything or anyone out of Washington and it’s difficult to fault him for that. For days, for weeks, he cried out for help and we didn’t listen. Instead, we tried to kill him. ‘
‘Again I must object,’ broke in Reilly. ‘It wasn’t us. It was an individual operating on erroneous information. And the Government currently spends in excess of four hundred thousand dollars a year in a protection programme for Webb. ‘
‘Which he scoffs at. He believes it’s no more than a back-up trap for Carlos in the event the Jackal unearths him. He’s convinced you don’t give a damn about him, and I’m not sure he’s far off the mark. He saw Carlos and the fact that the face has not yet come back into focus for him isn’t something Carlos knows. The Jackal has every reason to go after Webb. And if he does, you’ll have your second chance. ‘
‘The chances of Carlos finding him are so remote as to be practically nil. The Treadstone records are buried and in any case they don’t contain current information as to where Webb is or what he does. ‘