The Bourne ultimatum by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page B

Macao.”
    “That doesn’t make sense, Alex! Hong Kong’s finished, Macao’s finished. They’re dead and forgotten and there’s no one alive with a reason to come after me.”
    “There is somewhere. A great taipan, ‘the greatest taipan in Hong Kong,’ according to the most recent and most recently dead source.”
    “They’re gone . That whole house of Kuomintang cards collapsed. There’s no one left!”
    “I repeat, there is somewhere.”
    David Webb was briefly silent; then Jason Bourne spoke, his voice cold. “Tell me everything you’ve learned, every detail. Something happened tonight. What was it?”
    “All right, every detail,” said Conklin. The retired intelligence officer described the controlled surveillance engineered by the Central Intelligence Agency. He explained how he and Morris Panov spotted the old men who followed them, picking each up in sequence as they made their separate ways to the Smithsonian, none showing himself in the light until the confrontation on a deserted path on the Smithsonian grounds, where the messenger spoke of Macao and Hong Kong and a great taipan. Finally, Conklin described the shattering gunfire that silenced the two aged Orientals. “It’s out of Hong Kong, David. The reference to Macao confirms it. It was your impostor’s base camp.”
    Again there was silence on the line, only Jason Bourne’s steady breathing audible. “You’re wrong, Alex,” he said at last, his voice pensive, floating. “It’s the Jackal—by way of Hong Kong and Macao, but it’s still the Jackal.”
    “David, now you’re not making sense. Carlos hasn’t anything to do with taipans or Hong Kong or messages from Macao. Those old men were Chinese , not French or Italian or German or whatever. This is out of Asia, not Europe.”
    “The old men, they’re the only ones he trusts,” continued David Webb, his voice still low and cold, the voice of Jason Bourne. “ ‘The old men of Paris,’ that’s what they were called. They were his network, his couriers throughout Europe. Who suspects decrepit old men, whether they’re beggars or whether they’re just holding on to the last remnants of mobility? Who would think of interrogating them, much less putting them on a rack. And even then they’d stay silent. Their deals were made— are made—and they move with impunity. For Carlos.”
    For a moment, hearing the strange, hollow voice of his friend, the frightened Conklin stared at the dashboard, unsure of what to say. “David, I don’t understand you. I know you’re upset—we’re all upset—but please be clearer.”
    “What? ... Oh, I’m sorry, Alex, I was going back. To put it simply, Carlos scoured Paris looking for old men who were either dying or knew they hadn’t long to live because of their age, all with police records and with little or nothing to show for their lives, their crimes. Most of us forget that these old men have loved ones and children, legitimate or not, that they care for. The Jackal would find them and swear to provide for the people his about-to-die couriers left behind if they swore the rest of their lives to him. In their places, with nothing to leave those who survive us but suspicion and poverty, which of us would do otherwise?”
    “They believed him?”
    “They had good reason to—they still have. Scores of bank checks are delivered monthly from multiple unlisted Swiss accounts to inheritors from the Mediterranean to the Baltic. There’s no way to trace those payments, but the people receiving them know who makes them possible and why. ... Forget your buried file, Alex. Carlos dug around Hong Kong, that’s where his penetration was made, where he found you and Mo.”
    “Then we’ll do some penetrating ourselves. We’ll infiltrate every Oriental neighborhood, every Chinese bookie joint and restaurant, in every city within a fifty-mile radius of D.C.”
    “Don’t do anything until I get there. You don’t know what to look for, I do. ...