The Bourne Retribution (6 page)

The man rose just after Bourne walked past and went languorously after him as if he had all the time in the world. Bourne headed east, toward the rustling treetops of Zhongshan Park. He passed by the brilliant flower displays and under the ornate triple arches. When he entered the park the modern city seemed to fade away, replaced by graceful tree-lined walks, where couples and the elderly strolled; playful fountains, filled with giant colored fish spouting water, and human-size bubbles, surrounded by happy children; and dynastic pavilions, rising like storks from placid lakes.

Bourne headed toward the largest of the pavilions, drifting into the crowds of tour groups. Attaching himself to a group of Swedes, he began talking to two sisters, pointing out the peculiarities of the families who had once lived in pavilions like these. The girls were soon giggling and asking for more stories. By this time, Bourne had come to the attention of the girls’ parents. He introduced himself as a visiting professor of comparative linguistics, and proceeded to enchant the family by speaking in Shanghainese and then translating what he had said into Swedish and then English.

When the father asked Bourne to join the family for lunch, he thanked him but said he had an important appointment to get to.

“But,” he went on, “you could do me a small favor.”

“Of course,” the father said.

“You see that suit over there with the slicked-back hair?” Bourne said. “He’s been following me all morning. He’s my girlfriend’s brother. He doesn’t want me dating his sister simply because I’m a Westerner, and I’m concerned he plans to do me some harm.”

The father nodded sagely. “I’ve read about the ultra-conservative faction here.”

“The Public Security Bureau.”

“Right. Total xenophobes, aren’t they?”

“Exactly,” Bourne said. “Now I wonder if you’d help me lose him so I can meet with my girlfriend in peace.”

“Ah!” The father’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Your important appointment.” He tapped his thick forefinger against the side of his nose. “I understand a thousand percent.” His eyes twinkled. “You have a plan, yes?”

“I do,” Bourne said. “It involves all of you.”

“Oh, Father, can we, can we?” the girls pleaded.

Their father, chuckling, pulled affectionately at their ears. “Helping true love is always a pleasure.” He turned to Bourne. “Tell us what we have to do.”

F
rom a discreet distance, Wu Lin watched Bourne talking to the Swedish family. The fact that they were all laughing confused him. Surely this wasn’t a professional rendezvous, not with children present. At one point, he wondered whether he was following the right foreigner, since they so often looked disconcertingly alike, but checking the photo sent to him on his mobile confirmed he did, indeed, have the right man.

Now Bourne had taken the hands of the two girls, who were leading him deeper into the pavilion. The mother and father trailed behind, blocking Wu Lin’s view of his quarry. Spurred by a twinge of anxiety, he hurried forward, slipping into the current of tourists swirling through the myriad rooms and verandas, which branched and rebranched like the limbs of an ancient tree.

Within moments he caught up with the mother and father, who were still laughing, no doubt at something their daughters said. Relieved to have picked them up so quickly, Wu Lin strolled after them, in no hurry now that he had the family in view.

But ten minutes later, in another section of the pavilion, having realized that he hadn’t actually seen Bourne or the girls during that time, he pushed ahead. Coming up on the left flank of the mother and father, he discovered, to his dismay, that neither the girls nor Bourne were anywhere in sight.

Rushing past them, he glimpsed the girls through a forest of legs, sitting cross-legged, side by side on the edge of one of the far verandas. There was no sign of Bourne. The mother and father joined their children, crouched down, speaking in a language Wu Lin could not understand.

With a string of curses, Wu Lin broke away from the family, making his way through the previously unexplored sections of the pavilion. His progress was slow, constantly impeded by the press of people, shuffling like cattle through the endless rooms.

B
ourne watched his Shanghainese tail searching in vain for him. He could have exited the pavilion, and the park itself, leaving him lost and bewildered, but he had another goal in mind. The quarry had decided to become the hunter, tailing the man back to the people who had sent him. This was essential, because someone had latched onto him almost as soon as he had arrived in Shanghai. What made this tail even more disturbing was that only the Director, Ophir, and a select number of operatives in the Mossad legends department knew he had been sent here.

For the next thirty minutes Bourne tailed the Shanghainese around the pavilion, and then in concentric circles radiating out through the park, moving farther and farther away from the pavilion. This methodical search pattern proved the man was a professional, which in China meant, more than likely, a federal agency.

This was not a promising start to his mission, and Bourne had to stifle the urge to bring the man in off the street and interrogate him about his identity and that of his employer. In another country he might have done just that. But this was China. Here, a low profile meant no profile at all. Anything that would draw attention to himself was out of the question.

The Shanghainese stopped at a crosswalk and checked his watch. Abruptly, he hurried off to the southwest. Bourne followed him for another fifteen or twenty minutes. The traffic was almost at a standstill; at this time of the day traveling on foot was the best way to get across town.

Bourne watched from across the street as the Shanghainese paused in front of a school, went up the steps just as a spate of kids, all dressed identically, came trooping out the doors. One of them, obviously the man’s son, came up to him. He was accompanied by a teacher or an administrator—it was impossible to tell which. Bourne’s tail dismissed his son to play with his friends while he and the official spoke briefly. The official’s serious face grew darker the longer Bourne’s tail spoke. Then he nodded curtly, in obvious dismissal. Bourne’s tail called to his son and, together, the two went down the steps and walked away.

In preparation for the official returning inside the school, Bourne crossed the street in time to see a gleaming white Mercedes sedan pull up to the curb. As if jabbed with a live electrical wire, the official hurried down the steps.

From his angle, Bourne could see the smoked glass of the rear window slide down. The official bent down to speak to the car’s inhabitant. Bourne, changing his angle of view, peered into the interior. He recognized the man the school official was talking with, and a shock went through him. It was Colonel Sun.

C
olonel Sun was not, at the moment, a happy man.

“Get in the car,” he snapped at Go Han. “Bent over like that you’re impersonating a street urchin.”

The middle school teacher opened the door and dutifully slid in beside Colonel Sun.

“How did Wu Lin lose Bourne?”

“I don’t know, Colonel.” Go Han hung his head. “Bourne somehow ingratiated himself with a family of tourists. They shielded him as he made his escape.”

Colonel Sun grunted as he sat back in the plush seat. “That means Bourne knew he was being followed.”

“He might have simply been taking basic precautions.” Go Han immediately wilted beneath Colonel Sun’s withering gaze.

“You don’t know this man,” Colonel Sun said. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, the lengths to which he’ll go to kill someone, the depravity of his actions.” He flicked a hand. “Get out! You’re of no further use to me.”

It was when Colonel Sun reached over to close the door that he caught a glimpse of Bourne out of the corner of his eye. Briefly, he considered whether this was deliberate, but quickly determined that it didn’t matter.

Ordering the driver to start the car, Colonel Sun had him drive around the block. When the car, nosing slowly in the traffic, reached the place where he had seen Bourne, the foreign agent was no longer there. Naturally, Colonel Sun hadn’t expected him to be, but he also knew Bourne wouldn’t be far away. After their encounter in Rome, Bourne was not about to let Colonel Sun out of his sight. Colonel Sun used the car’s direct line to order his men to cordon off the area.

“Begin with a six-block square, using my car’s position as the center,” he told his adjutant, “then on my order slowly move in. I want a house-to-house search. Make certain all the men have the same photo of Bourne I have.” Thinking about how Minister Ouyang had promised to reward him, he felt a hot surge of purpose grip him. “No mistakes, hear me?” he barked into the phone before hanging up.

Over his driver’s objection, Colonel Sun exited the car while it was still moving. It was imperative now that Bourne not only see him but follow him. He had set himself as the bait in a trap that was about to close on his nemesis.

And he thought,
This time, I’ll have him
.

7

W
hen Bourne saw Colonel Sun emerge from the still-moving car, he knew Sun had taken the bait.

Once he had identified Sun, his first objective was to lure him out of the car. He felt this would be best accomplished by allowing Sun to catch a glimpse of him. Then he had melted back into a place of temporary concealment to determine if his ruse would work.

It amused him to see Colonel Sun looking around like a tourist while he, Bourne, stood still amid the shadows, and watched. Months ago, before Rebeka was murdered, Bourne had been with her in Rome. She had been abducted—not an easy thing to do to a Mossad agent, especially Rebeka. She had been taken to the Roman crypts below the Appian Way, the ancient highway to the imperial city.

Following her down, Bourne had almost been killed by Colonel Sun in the eternal dimness of the crypts. And then, after Rebeka and her handler, Ophir, had left, Sun had tried again, resulting in the deaths of two of his men.

Now Colonel Sun looked at his watch. It was a furtive glance, and Bourne, on the lookout for even the smallest anomaly, began to sense what was happening. While he was going after Sun, the colonel was coming after him with his superior manpower. As Bourne watched him from the shadows, Sun’s men were no doubt drawing a cordon around the area.

In any other country, simple escape would suffice, but not here in China. An extra dimension was called for. Humiliation was the name of the game: Colonel Sun needed to lose face in front of his men.

Bourne turned, for the moment no longer interested in Sun’s movements. He moved through the crowded streets. Stopping at a men’s store, he bought a dress shirt and tie, donned them, then picked out a Chinese-style cap and slammed it on his head, pulling the front down over his forehead. When he exited the store it was with a pronounced limp.

Thus disguised, he proceeded directly away from where he and Sun had seen each other, which he considered ground zero. Soon enough he came upon a police officer, one of several, he could see, advancing in what could only be a tightening cordon.

Bourne brushed against the officer as they were passing each other. The officer stopped, grabbed Bourne by the arm.

“What d’you think you’re doing?” he said gruffly.

“Have I offended you by walking down the street?” Bourne replied in the exact same tone of voice.

“I don’t like your attitude,” the cop said.

Bourne jerked his arm free. “And I don’t like yours.”

“We’ll see about that.” The cop pulled his gun and shoved Bourne into the shadows of a doorway.

The instant they were out of sight of the other officers, Bourne slammed the heel of his hand into the cop’s nose, then punched him hard in the throat. As the officer collapsed, Bourne dragged him inside the building. The entryway was narrow, dim, and smelled of stale frying oil.

Past the steep flight of stairs was a small space that led out to a rear door. Bourne went to work and, moments later, was dressed in the officer’s uniform, the cop’s ID safely tucked in his breast pocket. Nothing fit quite right, as the cop was somewhat shorter than Bourne, but it would have to do. As for the officer himself, Bourne stuffed him into the musty space behind the stairs where it was so dark no one was likely to notice him.

Back out in the street, he hurried along to take up his officer’s place in the cordon. A block later, as he approached ground zero, he broke off, heading directly for Colonel Sun’s immaculate white Mercedes. Approaching on the driver’s side, he rapped his knuckles on the driver’s smoked window. As the window slid down, Bourne leaned in, delivering three short, sharp blows that rendered the driver unconscious.

Popping open the door lock, he kicked the driver into the passenger’s foot well and slid behind the wheel. Behind him was a thick glass partition that separated him from passengers in the backseat, which was, at the moment, empty.

Firing up the engine, Bourne waited for a slot in the sluggish traffic, pulled out, and then started a U-turn. Startled shouts and a cacophony of blaring horns were instantaneous. However, drivers, perhaps intimidated by the big Mercedes sedan, braked to allow him to head in the direction of Colonel Sun.