The Bourne Supremacy

His hearing had been suspended; it wasn't now. The patrol had raced out of the woods, bursts from machine guns filling the night and the field... Other bursts came from beyond the helicopter – Wong had opened the attaché case and found what he needed. Two soldiers of the patrol fell; the remaining four dropped to the ground; one crawled back into the woods; he was shouting. The radio! He was reaching other men, other back-ups! How far away were they? How near"?

Priorities! Bourne raced behind the aircraft and over to Wong, who was crouched by a tree at the edge of the woods.

There's another one of those in there!' he whispered. 'Give it to me!' 'Conserve your ammunition,' said Wong. 'There's not much more. '

'I know that. Stay here and pin them down as best you can but keep your fire low to the ground. ' 'Where are you going, sir? 'Circling back through the trees. '

That's what the Frenchman would have ordered me to do. ' 'He was right. He was always right. ' Jason dashed deeper into the woods with the bloody knife in his belt; his lungs were bursting, his legs straining, his eyes peering into the forest darkness. He threaded his way through the dense foliage as fast as he could, making as little noise as he could.

Two snaps! Thick twigs on the ground broken by having been stepped on! He saw the shrouded silhouette of a figure coming towards him and spun around the trunk of a tree. He knew who it was – the officer with the radio, the thoughtful, soft-spoken killer from the Beijing sanctuary, an experienced combat soldier: Take to the flanks and outflank. What he lacked was guerrilla training, and that lack would cost him his life. One did not step on thick objects in the forest.

The officer walked by, crouching. Jason sprang, his left arm circling the man's neck, the gun in his hand slammed against the soldier's head, the knife once again doing its work. Bourne knelt down over the corpse, put his weapon in his belt and took the officer's powerful machine gun. He found, two additional clips of ammunition; the odds were better now. It was even possible they would get out alive. Was McAllister alive? Or had a frustrated bureaucrat's moment in the sun ended in perpetual darkness. Priorities!

He circled the field's curving border to the point where he had entered it. Wong's sporadic gunfire was keeping the three remaining men of Sheng's elite patrol where they were, afraid to move. Suddenly, something made him turn around – a hum in the distance, a bright fleck in his eye. It was both! The sound was that of a racing engine, the fleck a moving searchlight sca

'Hold fire!' Bourne roared, lurching away from his position. The three officers spun around in place on the ground, their machine guns erupting, bullets spraying the space from which the voice had come.

The man from Medusa stepped out. It was over in seconds as the powerful weapon blew up the earth and those killers who would have killed him.

' Wong!' he shouted, ru

'The file!' whispered the undersecretary of state. 'Get the file!'

'What– Bourne looked over at the body of Sheng Chou Yang, and, in the dim wash of the moonlight, saw the last thing in the world he expected: Sheng's black-bordered dossier, one of the most secret, most explosive documents on earth. 'Jesus Christ? said Jason softly, reaching for it . 'Listen to me, analyst!' Bourne raised his voice as Wong joined them. 'We have to move you, and it may hurt, but we haven't a choice!' He glanced up at Wong and continued. There's another patrol on its way here and it's closing in. An emergency back-up, and by my estimate they'll be here in less than two minutes. Grit your teeth, Mr Undersecretary. We move!'

Together Jason and Wong carried McAllister towards the helicopter. Suddenly, Bourne cried out . 'Christ, wait a minute! ... No, go on – you carry him,' he shouted to the conduit . 'I have to go back!'

'Why?' whispered the undersecretary, in agony.

'What are you doing, sir?' cried Wong.

'Food for revisionist thought,' shouted Jason enigmatically, as he raced back to the body of Sheng Chou Yang. When he reached it, he bent down and shoved a flat object under the dead man's tunic. He rose and ran back to the aircraft as Wong was carefully, gently, placing McAllister across two of the back seats. Bourne leaped in the front, took out his knife and slashed the nylon cord that bound the pilot, then cut the cloth that gagged him. The pilot had a spasm of coughing and gasping; even before it subsided Jason gave his orders.

Kaifeiji ba!' he shouted.

'You may speak English,' the pilot gasped. 'I am fluent. It was a requirement. '

'Airborne, you son of a bitch! Now!'

The pilot snapped the switches and started the rotors as a swarm of soldiers, clearly visible in the helicopter's lights, broke into the field. The new patrol instantly saw the five dead men of Sheng's elite guard. The entire squad began firing at the slowly ascending aircraft.

'Get the hell out of here!' roared Jason.

The armour on this equipment is Sheng's armour,' said the pilot calmly. 'Even the glass will withstand heavy fire. Where do we go?'

'Hong Kong!' shouted Bourne, astonished to see that the pilot, now ascending rapidly, powerfully, turned to him smiling.

'Surely, the generous Americans or the benevolent British will grant me asylum, sir? It is a dream from the spirits!'

'I'll be goddamned,' said the man from Medusa as they reached the first layer of low-flying clouds.

'This was a most efficient idea, sir,' said Wong from the shadows at the rear of the helicopter. 'How did it occur to you?'

'It worked once before,' said Jason, lighting a cigarette. 'History – even recent history – usually repeats itself. '

'Mr Webb?' whispered McAllister.

'What is it, analyst? How are you feeling?

'Never mind that. Why did you go back – back to Sheng?'

'To give him a farewell present. A bank book. A confidential account in the Cayman Islands. '

'What?

'It won't do anybody any good. The names and the account numbers have been scissored out. But it'll be interesting to see how Peking reacts to its existence, won't it?

Epilogue

Edward Newington McAllister, on crutches, limped into the once-impressive study of the old house on Victoria Peak, its huge bay windows now covered by heavy plastic, the carnage all too apparent. Ambassador Raymond Havilland watched as the undersecretary of state threw the Sheng file on his desk.

'I believe this is something you lost,' said the analyst, angling his crutches and settling down in the chair with difficulty.

The doctors tell me that your wounds aren't critical,' said the diplomat . 'I'm pleased. '

'You're pleased! Who the hell are you to be so royally pleased?

'It's a ma

'I'm sure of that. ' The undersecretary shifted his position, easing his wounded shoulder into the back of the chair. 'Actually, I didn't do it. He did. '

'You made it possible, Edward. '

'I was out of my element – my territory, as it were. These people do things the rest of us only dream about, or fantasize, or watch on a screen, disbelieving every moment because it's so outrageously implausible. '