The Bourne Retribution (20 page)

“Were you born with any?”

“It’s too long ago to remember,” she said shortly.

“I don’t believe you.”

When she turned back to him, her expression was as fierce as that of the carved stone lions on the village’s bridges. “I choose not to remember, all right?”

“No,” he said, “it’s not all right.” Ignoring the glare she gave him, he continued. “I consider memory a privilege, a precious thing. I have almost none. I’m an amnesiac.”

Yue’s expression underwent a fundamental shift. “You don’t know who your parents are or where you came from?”

“That’s right.”

She snorted. “I’d say that’s a fucking gift.”

“I doubt you’d say that if your memory vanished in an instant.”

Yue looked away for a moment, then her gaze swung back to Bourne. “Maybe you’re right—but I doubt it.”

“At last,” he said, “a break in the clouds.”

She smiled. It was a shy smile, the expression of a child. Almost at once, her expression sobered, the smile beating a hasty retreat behind the clouds of her armor.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, just before Zhang returned.

He looked from one to the other. “I notice a marked lack of tension.” He rubbed his hands together. “Does that mean we’re cleared to continue?”

“Always the deal-maker,” Yue said.

Zhang seemed pleased by her remark. “You know that film,
Glengarry Glen Ross
? My favorite character is Blake. Why? Because his mantra is
ABC: Always be closing
.” He tapped his chest with a pudgy forefinger. “Blake and I, we’re—what d’you call it—soul brothers.”

He called for another pot of jasmine tea, along with several plates of dim sum, without asking if anyone else was hungry.

“So.” He spread his hands. “Shall we get down to brass tacks? You want information on Colonel Sun and Minister Ouyang. In return, we want to get out of China. That’s our quid pro quo.”

“Ask for something that’s not impossible,” Bourne said.

Zhang leaned forward. “Listen to me. You want to get close to Colonel Sun. That’s impossible now. You’ve got to get out of Shanghai as fast as we do. In this, we’re all in the same boat. I have contacts; for me it’s a snap. Getting out of the country is another matter entirely.”

“And you think it will be easy for me?”

“Easier for you than for us.”

The conversation ceased for a moment as a waiter brought the tea and food.

“The thing is,” Zhang resumed after he had popped a
shui mai
into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, “Ouyang is no longer here. He flew back to Beijing last night, and as long as he stays there, he’s invulnerable. Neither you nor any other Westerner will be able to get to him to do him harm.”

“Then what do I need you for, Zhang?”

“Ouyang has many enemies. I can find a Cho sympathizer in Beijing who will be up to the job.”

“First, I very much doubt that. Second, the debt I owe must be repaid personally.”

Zhang’s mouth opened and closed. He picked at the remaining dim sum as an awkward silence engulfed them.

Yue piped up, “Well, but there’s another way to get to Ouyang.” The two men looked at her. “One I very much doubt you know about.” Now Zhang goggled at her; he knew everything, didn’t he?

“And what’s that?” Bourne said.

Zhang gestured. “Have a
shui mai
. They’re really superior specimens.”

Reaching across the table, Bourne grabbed Zhang’s shirtfront and jerked him forward. “I’ve had enough of you, Zhang. Shut up and let the lady speak.”

Bourne turned his attention back to Yue to find the hint of an admiring smile on her face. He nodded at her.

“Ouyang has a wife.”

Bourne nodded. “A Western woman named Maricruz, right?”

“Yes. She’s Mexican.”

“Little sister, what are you doing?” Zhang cut in. “You’re undermining our bargaining position.”

“This is no longer a negotiation,” Yue said. Then, turning back to Bourne, “What isn’t widely known is that Maricruz is the daughter of Maceo Encarnación.”

Bourne sat stock-still, his heart beating fast. “Maceo Encarnación had one child—a son, now dead along with his father.”

“No,” Yue said. “He had another child by a woman named Constanza Camargo, a daughter whom he hid. Maricruz is that daughter.”

“Yue, stop!” Zhang cried. “Giving out free information is madness.”

Bourne’s attention was concentrated solely on Yue. “And this is the Western woman married to Ouyang Jidan.”

“It is.”

If she was right, Bourne understood the true nature of Maceo Encarnación’s involvement with Ouyang. “How does that help me?” he asked.

“Ouyang adores Maricruz; she’s his weak spot.” Yue now ventured a real smile, again as shy as a child’s. “As it happens, she’s currently not in Beijing with her husband.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“I do. She’s in Mexico City, dealing with the fallout from her father’s death on his drug business with the cartels.”

Zhang rocked back and forth in obvious agony. “Oh, little sister, such vital information and you’ve thrown it all away. Why?”

“Because,” Yue said, finally addressing him, “I trust this man. Sometimes in life you have to have at least a little bit of faith.”

The two soldiers that were accompanying them were buried within seconds of the helo crashing into the forest glade. Luckily for Matamoros and Maricruz, its trajectory took it into the trees on one side of the glade. The men were killed as it flew apart, shearing off the tops of the trees, a huge section of the fuselage striking them.

Matamoros and Maricruz were spared such a fate, as they shrank backward, away from the ring of falling debris. But as they turned to run, a shard of metal, spinning hotly, struck a tree trunk and ricocheted into Matamoros’s shoulder, knocking him off his feet.

Maricruz turned, dodged more flying debris, crabbed her way back to where Matamoros lay. Blood oozed from the wound in his shoulder and his eyes were glazed with shock. Stripping off his jacket, she tore off the sleeve of his shirt, fashioned it into a makeshift bandage.

A sudden burst of flames caused her to duck down, covering him with her body. He seemed to wake from his stupor, saw her protecting him from the fire, then winced as the pain lanced through him.

“Come on!” Maricruz helped him to his feet. He was unsteady, but by force of will and by dint of leaning on her, he moved forward blindly through the flames and rising smoke toward the far edge of the forest. Several times they were forced to stop to catch their breath, the thick, piney smoke rolling over them in waves that threatened to suffocate them. At one point the smoke became so dense that Maricruz forced him down on hands and knees, and though the position filled him with agony, at least, as they crawled forward, they were able to breathe relatively clean air.

Ahead of them, she heard voices, some raised in shouts, and she took possession of Matamoros’s assault rifle, aiming it at the shadows. Then, through the underbrush that had not yet been touched by the fire, she saw more of Matamoros’s men—no doubt the cadre that had brought down the four government helos. They recognized her at once, which was fortunate, because when they saw one of their leaders injured they were inclined to shoot first and ask questions afterward.

Twenty minutes later, she and Matamoros were inside another armored vehicle—protected by a convoy of jeeps mounted with machine guns and soldiers bristling with weaponry.

The men tried to pull her away from their leader, but Matamoros shook his head.

“Leave her,” he said, through parched lips. “Leave her alone.”

Maricruz fed him water from a plastic bottle before she herself gulped greedily, until this moment unaware how thoroughly the fire had sapped them of moisture. They rolled along rough-hewn back roads. Though she had no idea where they were headed, she no longer cared as long as it was away from the disaster in the forest.

When Matamoros beckoned to her with a crooked finger, she bent over, her ear to his lips in order to hear him over the roar of the powerful engines.

“You’re right. We have to kill Carlos. There’s no other way. But how?” He paused as the vehicle swayed around a bend in the road. He licked his lips and continued. “None of my men has a chance now. Carlos will be on his guard.”

“Leave that to me.” Maricruz lifted her head a moment to look into his eyes, which had widened in surprise.

“What d’you have in mind?”

“I’ll return to Mexico City. You tried to kill me, too, but I escaped, that will be my story.”

“Carlos will never believe you.”

“Trust me, he’ll be convinced. Why? Because he wants to believe. I’m his best and only chance of taking Los Zetas down.” She gave him a meaningful look. “You will have to hurt me.”

“No,
mujer
! No!”

“Felipe, you understand it must be done.”

He grimaced in pain. “I forbid it.”

“It’s not up to you, Felipe,” she said softly, put a hand against his cheek. “As you said, there’s no other way.”

Matamoros’s eyes turned dark and glittery as he bit his lip. At length, he nodded. There was a peculiar sadness behind his eyes as he looked past and above her.

Maricruz stared deep into his eyes. Then something exploded against the back of her head. Pitching forward, she lost consciousness.

T
he Israeli consulate?” Zhang said, querulous as usual. “Not the American?”

“Surprises come in all shapes and sizes.”

“It’s just as well,” Zhang mumbled. “I hear Colonel Sun has the American consulate under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

“Then you’re sitting pretty. If…” Bourne pointed to a pad he had laid before the fat man. “Write down everything you and Yue know about Sun and Minister Ouyang. After I’m satisfied, I’ll take you to the Israeli consulate and we’ll get you two out of China.”

“Is that a guarantee?”

“Sam, don’t be an asshole,” Yue said firmly. “Give him what he wants.”

Zhang made a face, then nodded and, somewhat reluctantly, began to write. While he wrote, Bourne questioned Yue. Two hours later, as night tried to make its mark on the glittering city, they arrived in the vicinity of New Town Mansion, No. 55 Lou Shan Guan Road.

“Stay here,” Bourne said, leaving the shadows in which they huddled. He spent the next forty minutes quartering the immediate vicinity, checking doorways, parked cars as well as passing traffic, and the rooftops of the buildings with sight lines to the front of the consulate.

At last, satisfied that the area was free of surveillance, he returned to Yue and Zhang and hurried them down the block and across Lou Shan Guan to the consulate’s front door.

Once inside, Bourne asked for the consul general, who was at dinner at this hour. He used the code Director Yadin had included in the packet he’d given Bourne in Tel Aviv, and several moments later the trio were led into the consul general’s office by the assistant on duty. The phone on the consul’s desk rang a moment later. The assistant took the call, but as soon as he had ID’d his boss he handed the receiver over to Bourne.

“This is Avi Brun.”

“Jason Bourne.”

“
Boker tov Eliyahu!
” Brun said sourly. Nice of you to show up! He did not bother hiding his displeasure at being interrupted at dinner. “We cannot continue without—?”

Bourne gave him the second code phrase.

Brun cleared his throat. “You need an immediate exit from Shanghai.”

“Correct.”

“That has been prearranged.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Come again?” Brun said.

“I have two Chinese nationals with me. I’ve promised them asylum and an exit along with me.”

There was a lengthy pause, during which Bourne could hear the consul general breathing like an asthmatic.

“I can’t authorize that,” Brun said at last.

“Director Yadin can. Call him.”

“I don’t think—”

“Do it,” Bourne said flatly, “or I will.”

“
Elize balagan!
” What a mess!

“
Avarnu et Paro, na’avor gam et zeh
,” Bourne said. We overcame Pharaoh, we’ll get through this, too.

“What? Now all of a sudden I’m speaking to a Jew?” But the softening of his tone proved Bourne had gotten through to him.

“Tell the Director that my guests have proprietary intelligence on two people of particular interest to him.”

“Hmm. All right, all right, I’ll call Eli now. Stay put and I’ll get back to you.”

Bourne left Yue and Zhang in the capable hands of Brun’s assistant while he went out of the office, down the silent hallway, in search of the lavatory. Locking himself into a stall, he pulled out the items he had taken off the man who had pursued them down the tunnel. The knife, which Yue had given back to him, was a good one, but unhelpful since it was one used by NATO.