The Bourne Supremacy

' You! It is you!. ' Then the contact winced in the dim light . 'No,' he said, suddenly calm, deliberate. 'You are not him. '

Without a warning move, the Chinese lashed his right leg out, shoving his body off the pavement like a speeding trajectory in reverse. He caught the muscles of Jason's left thigh, following the blow with his left foot, pummelling it into Bourne's abdomen as he leaped to his feet, hands extended and rigid, his muscular body moving fluidly, even gracefully, in a semicircle and in anticipation.

What followed was a battle of animals, two trained executioners, each move made in intense premeditation, each blow lethal if it landed with full impact. One fought for his life, the other for survival and deliverance... and the woman he could not live without, would not live without. Finally, height and weight and a motive beyond life itself made the difference, giving victory to one and defeat to the other.

Entwined against the wall, both sweating and bruised, blood trickling from mouths and eyes, Bourne hammer-locked the contact's neck from behind, his left knee jammed into the small of the man's back, his right leg wrapped around the contact's ankles, clamping them.

'You know what happens next!' he whispered, breathlessly spacing the Chinese words for final emphasis. 'One snap and your spine goes. It's not a pleasant way to die. And you don't have to die. You can live with more money than the Frenchman would ever pay you. Take my word for it, the Frenchman and his killer won't be around much longer. Take your choice. Now!' Jason strained; the veins in the man's throat were distended to the point of bursting.

' Yes-yes!' cried the contact . 'I live, not die!'

They sat in the dark alleyway, their backs against the wall, smoking cigarettes. It was established that the man spoke English fluently, which he had learned from the nuns in a Portuguese Catholic school.

'You're very good, you know,' said Bourne, wiping the blood from his lips.

'I am the champion of Macao. It is why the Frenchman pays me. But you bested me. I am dishonoured, no matter what happens. '

'No you're not. It's just that I know a few more dirty tricks than you do. They're not taught where you were trained, and they never should be. Besides, no one will ever know. '

'But I am young! You are old. '

'I wouldn't go that far. And I stay in pretty good shape, thanks to a crazy doctor who tells me what to do. How old do you think I am?'

'You are over thirty?

'Agreed. '

'Old!'

Thanks. '

'You are also very strong, very heavy – but it is more than that. I am a sane man. You are not!'

'Perhaps. ' Jason crushed out his cigarette on the pavement . 'Let's talk sensibly,' he said, pulling money from his pocket . 'I meant what I said, I'll pay you well... Where's the Frenchman?'

'Everything is not in balance. '

'What do you mean?'

'Balance is important. '

'I know that, but I don't understand you. '

There is a lack of harmony, and the Frenchman is angry. How much will you pay me?'

'How much can you tell me?'

'Where the Frenchman and his assassin will be tomorrow night. '

Ten thousand American dollars. '

'Aiya!'

'But only if you take me there. '

'It is across the border?

'I have a visa for Shenzhen. It's good for another three days. '

'It may help, but it is not legal for the Guangdong border. '

Then you figure it out. Ten thousand dollars, American. '

'I will figure it out. ' The contact paused, his eyes on the money held out by the American. 'May I have what I believe you call an instalment?'

'Five hundred dollars, that's all. '

'Negotiations at the border will cost much more. '

'Call me. I'll bring you the money. '

'Call you where?'

'Get me a hotel room here in Macao. I'll put my money in its vault. '

The Lisboa. '

'No, not the Lisboa. I can't go there. Somewhere else. '

'There is no problem. Help me to my feet... No! It would be better for my dignity if I did not need help. '

'So be it,' said Jason Bourne.

Catherine Staples sat at her desk, the disco

All of this had been made possible through her relationship with a late middle-aged English widower who after his retirement from Scotland Yard had opted to become chief of Crown Colonial Affairs in Hong Kong. At 65, Ian Ballantyne had accepted the fact that his tenure at the Yard was over, but not the use of his professional skills. He was willingly posted to the Far East, where he shook up the intelligence division of the colony's police and in his quiet way shaped an aggressively efficient organization that knew more about Hong Kong's shadow world than did any of the other agencies in the territory, including MI6, Special Branch. Catherine and Ian had met at one of those bureaucratically dull di

'Let's try,' she had replied.

They had. They enjoyed it, and Ian became a fixture in Staples's life, no strings or commitments attached. They liked each other; that was enough.

And Ian Ballantyne had just given the lie to everything undersecretary of state Edward McAllister told Marie Webb and her husband in Maine. There was no taipan in Hong Kong named Yao Ming, and his impeccable sources – read very well paid – in Macao assured him there had been no double murder involving a taipan's wife and a drug ru

'It's a fabric of lies, Cathy old girl,' Ian had said. 'For what purpose, I can't fathom. '