The Bourne Supremacy (3 page)

'Mr Undersecretary,' said the somewhat obese man with red hair that matched a freckled forehead. The eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses did not convey geniality; they were sharp and cold.

'Mr Reilly is here,' continued Havilland, crossing behind the desk and indicating the vacant chair on the right for McAllister, 'to make sure I stay in line. As I understand it, that means there are some things I can say, others I can't, and certain things that only he can say.' The ambassador sat down. 'If that appears enigmatic to you, Mr Undersecretary, I'm afraid it's all I can offer at this juncture. '

'Everything that's happened during the past five hours since I was ordered to Andrews-Air Force Base has been an enigma, Ambassador Havilland. I have no idea why I was brought here. '

'Then let me tell you in general terms,' said the diplomat, glancing at Reilly and leaning forward on the desk. 'You are in a position to be of extraordinary service to your country and to interests far beyond this country - exceeding anything you may have considered during your long and distinguished career. '

McAllister studied the Ambassador's austere face, uncertain how to reply. 'My career at the Department of State has been fulfilling and, I trust, professional, but it can hardly be called distinguished in the broadest sense. Quite frankly, the opportunities never presented themselves. '

'One has presented itself to you now,' interrupted Havilland. 'And you are uniquely qualified to carry it out. '

'In what way? Why?

'The Far East,' said the diplomat with an odd inflection in his voice, as though the reply might itself be a question. 'You've been with the State Department for over twenty years since you received your doctorate in Far Eastern Studies at Harvard. You've served your government commendably with many years of outstanding foreign service in Asia, and since your return from your last post your judgements have proved to be extremely valuable in formulating policy in that troubled part of the world. You're considered a brilliant analyst. '

'I appreciate what you say, but there were others in Asia. Many others who attained equal or higher ratings. '

'Accidents of events and posting, Mr Undersecretary. Let's be frank, you've done well. Besides, no one compares with you as a specialist in the internal affairs of the People's Republic of China - I believe you played a pivotal role in the trade conferences between Washington and Peking. Also, none of the others spent seven years in Hong Kong.' Here Raymond Havilland paused, then added. 'Finally, no one else in our Asian posts was ever assigned to or accepted by the British government's MI6, Special Branch, in the territory. '

'I see,' said McAllister, recognizing that the last qualification, which seemed the least important to him, had a certain significance for the diplomat. 'My work in intelligence was minimal, Mr Ambassador. The Special Branch's acceptance of me was based more on its own - disinformation, I think is the word - than any unique talent of mine. Those people simply believed the wrong set of facts and the sums didn't total. It didn't take long to find the "correct figures", as I remember they put it. '

They trusted you, McAllister. They still trust you. '

'I assume that trust is intrinsic to this opportunity, whatever it is?'

'Very much so. It's vital. '

'Then may I hear what the opportunity is?'

'You may.' Havilland looked over at the third participant, the man from the National Security Council. 'If you care to,' he added.

'My turn,' said Reilly, not unpleasantly. He shifted his heavy torso in the chair and gazed at McAllister, with eyes still rigid but without the coldness they had displayed previously, as though he was now asking for understanding. 'At the moment our voices are being taped - it's your constitutional right to know that - but it's a two-sided right. You must swear to absolute secrecy concerning the information imparted to you here, not only in the interests of national security but in the further and conceivably greater interests of specific world conditions. I know that sounds like a come-on to whet your appetite but it's not meant to be. We're deadly serious. Will you agree to the condition? You can be prosecuted in a closed trial under the national security non-disclosure statutes if you violate the oath. '

'How can I agree to a condition like that when I have no idea what the information is?

'Because I can give you a quick overview and it'll be enough for you to say yes or no. If it's no, you'll be escorted out of here and flown back to Washington. No one will be the loser. '

'Go ahead. '

'All right.' Reilly spoke calmly. 'You'll be discussing certain events that took place in the past - not ancient history, but not current by any means. The actions themselves were disavowed, buried to be more accurate. Does that sound familiar, Mr Undersecretary?'

'I'm from the State Department. We bury the past when it serves no purpose to reveal it. Circumstances change; judgements made in good faith yesterday are often a problem tomorrow. We can't control these changes any more than the Soviets or the Chinese can. '

'Well put!' said Havilland.

'Not yet it isn't,' objected Reilly, raising a palm to the Ambassador. The undersecretary is evidently an experienced diplomat. He didn't say yes and he didn't say no.' The man from the NSC again looked at McAllister, the eyes behind the steel-rimmed glasses were once again sharp and cold. 'What is it, Mr Undersecretary? You want to sign on, or do you want to leave?"

'One part of me wants to get up and leave as quickly as I can,' said McAllister, looking alternately at both men. 'The other part says stay.' He paused, his gaze settling on Reilly, and added, 'Whether you intended it or not, my appetite is whetted. '

'It's a hell of a price to pay for being hungry,' replied the Irishman.

'It's more than that.' The undersecretary of state spoke softly. 'I'm a professional, and if I am the man you want, I really don't have a choice. '

'I'm afraid I'll have to hear the words,' said Reilly. 'Do you want me to repeat them?"

'It won't be necessary.' McAllister frowned in thought, then spoke. 'I, Edward Newington McAllister, fully understand that whatever is said during this conference-' He stopped and looked at Reilly. 'I assume you'll fill in the particulars such as time and location and those present?'

'Date, place, hour and minute of entry and identifications it's all been done and logged. '

Thank you. I'll want a copy before I leave. '

'Of course.' Without raising his voice, Reilly looked straight ahead and quietly issued an order. 'Please note. Have a copy of this tape available for the subject upon his departure. Also equipment for him to verify its contents on the premises. I'll initial the copy... Go ahead, Mr McAllister. '

'I appreciate that... With regard to whatever is said at this conference, I accept the condition of non-disclosure: I will speak to no one about any aspect of the discussion unless instructed to do so personally by Ambassador Havilland. I further understand that I may be prosecuted at a closed trial should I violate this agreement. However, should such a trial ever take place, I reserve the right to confront my accusers, not their affidavits or depositions. I add this for I cannot conceive of any circumstances where I would or could violate the oath I've just taken. '

'There are circumstances, you know,' said Reilly, gently.

'Not in my book. '

'Extreme physical abuse, chemicals, being tricked by men and women far more experienced than you. There are ways, Mr Undersecretary. '

'I repeat. Should a case ever be brought against me - and such things have happened to others - I reserve the right to face any and all accusers. '

'That's good enough for us.' Again Reilly looked straight ahead and spoke. Terminate this tape and pull the plugs. Confirm. '

'Confirmed? said a voice eerily from a speaker somewhere overhead.' You are now... out. '

'Proceed, Mr Ambassador,' said the red-haired man. 'I'll interrupt only when I feel it's necessary. '

'I'm sure you will, Jack.' Havilland turned to McAllister. 'I take back my previous statement; he really is a terror. After forty-odd years of service, I'm told by a redheaded whippersnapper who should go on a diet when to shut up. '

The three men smiled; the ageing diplomat knew the moment and the method to reduce tension. Reilly shook his head and genially extended his hands. 'I would never do that, sir. Certainly, I hope not so obviously. '

'What say, McAllister? Let's defect to Moscow and say he was the recruiter. The Russkies would probably give us both dachas and he'd be in Leavenworth. '

' You'd get the dacha, Mr Ambassador. I'd share a flat with twelve Siberians. No thank you, sir. He's not interrupting me. '

' Very good. I'm surprised none of those well-intentioned meddlers in the Oval Office ever tapped you for his staff, or at least sent you to the UN. '

They didn't know I existed. '

That status will change,' said Havilland, abruptly serious. He paused, staring at the undersecretary, then lowered his voice. 'Have you ever heard the name Jason Bourne?'

'How could anyone posted in Asia not have heard it? answered McAllister, perplexed. Thirty-five to forty murders' the assassin-for-hire who eluded every trap ever set for him. A pathological killer whose only morality was the price of the kill. They say he was an American - is an American; I don't know; he faded from sight - and that he was a defrocked priest and an importer who'd stolen millions and a deserter from the French Foreign Legion and God knows how many other stories. The only thing I do know is that he was never caught, and our failure to catch him was a burden on our diplomacy throughout the Far East. '

'Was there any pattern to his victims?'

'None. They were random, across the board. Two bankers here, three attaches there - meaning CI A; a minister of state from Delhi, an industrialist from Singapore, and numerous -far too numerous - politicians, generally decent men. Their cars were bombed in the streets, their flats blown up. Then there were unfaithful husbands and wives and lovers of various persuasions in various scandals; he offered final solutions for bruised egos. There was no one he wouldn't kill,

no method too brutal or demeaning for him... No, there wasn't a pattern, just money. The highest bidder. He was a monster - is a monster, if he's still alive. '

Once more Havilland leaned forward, his eyes steady on the undersecretary of state. 'You say he faded from sight. Just like that? You never picked up anything, any rumors or backstairs gossip from our Asian embassies or consulates?

'There was talk, yes, but none of it was ever confirmed. The story I heard most often came from the Macao police, where Bourne was last known to be. They said he wasn't dead or retired, but instead had gone to Europe looking for wealthier clients. If it's true, it might be only half the story. The police also claimed informants told them that several contracts had gone sour for Bourne, that in one instance he killed the wrong man, a leading figure in the Malaysian underworld, and in another it was said he raped a client's wife. Perhaps the circle was closing in on him - and perhaps not. '

'What do you mean?

'Most of us bought the first half of the story, not the second. Bourne wouldn't kill the wrong man, especially someone like that; he didn't make those kinds of mistakes. And if he raped a client's wife - which is doubtful - he would have done so out of hatred or revenge. He would have forced a bound husband to watch and then killed them both. No, most of us subscribed to the first story. He went to Europe where there were bigger fish to fry - and murder. '

'You were meant to accept that version,' said Havilland, leaning back in his chair.

'I beg your pardon?

'The only man Jason Bourne ever killed in post-Vietnam Asia was an enraged conduit who tried to kill him. '

Stunned, McAllister stared at the diplomat. 'I don't understand. '

'The Jason Bourne you've just described never existed. He was a myth. '

'You can't be serious. '

'Never more so. Those were turbulent times in the Far East. The drug networks operating out of the Golden Triangle were fighting a disorganized, unpublicized war. Consuls, vice-

consuls, police, politicians, criminal gangs, border patrols -the highest and the lowest social orders - all were affected. Money in unimaginable amounts was the mother's milk of corruption. Whenever and wherever a well-publicized killing took place - regardless of the circumstances or those accused - Bourne was on the scene and took credit for the kill. '

'He was the killer,' insisted a confused McAllister. There were the signs, his signs. Everyone knew it!'

'Everyone assumed it, Mr Undersecretary. A mocking telephone call to the police, a small article of clothing sent in the mail, a black bandanna found in the bushes a day later. They were all part of the strategy. '

The strategy? What are you talking about?

'Jason Bourne - the original Jason Bourne - was a convicted murderer, a fugitive whose life ended with a bullet in his head in a place called Tarn Quan during the last months of the Vietnam war. It was a jungle execution. The man was a traitor. His corpse was left to rot - he simply disappeared. Several years later, the man who executed him took on his identity for one of our projects, a project that nearly succeeded, should have succeeded, but went off the wire. '

'Off the what?

'Out of control. That man - that very brave man - who went underground for us, using the name "Jason Bourne" for three years, was injured, and the result of those injuries was amnesia. He lost his memory; he neither knew who he was nor who he was meant to be. '

'Good Lord

'He was between a rock and a hard place. With the help of an alcoholic doctor on a Mediterranean island he tried to trace his life, his identity, and here, I'm afraid, he failed. He failed but the woman who befriended him did not fail; she's now his wife. Her instincts were accurate; she knew he wasn't a killer. She purposely forced him to examine his words, his abilities, ultimately to make the contacts that would lead him back to us. But we, with the most sophisticated intelligence apparatus in the world, did not listen to the human quotient. We set a trap to kill him-'