Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Imperative (47 page)

He had assumed that she had called this meeting, on behalf of Ouyang, thus believing he would lose no face by agreeing to attend. Now he understood that Maricruz, deeply and inextricably involved in Ouyang’s—and, therefore, his—business, was speaking for his friend, that he had cannily sent her as his emissary because the stakes were so high, the wartime strategy too fraught to chance a breach in security. Being a foreigner, Maricruz was ignored by Ouyang’s associates and, more importantly, his enemies, who held her in contempt. She was secure, and the General was now grateful for it.

“It is unfortunate, Maricruz,” the General said now, “that I cannot make that claim. Please continue.”

She poured them both more tea. “More than five years ago, you and Ouyang pushed for building the roads and infrastructure in Kenya. You saw the endless wealth in the ground, and you were determined to claim it for China’s growing energy needs. Ouyang predicted that the Kenyans would not ask the price for this desperately needed work, and he was right. And now, as a consequence, he can get whatever he wants out of Kenya—oil, diamonds, raw uranium ore, possibly even rare earth elements.”

The General nodded. “Our gamble will pay off handsomely.”

“And yet,” Maricruz said, “this incredible payoff remains something Cho Xilan, in his overzealous manner, has worked against. Because of him, Zimbabwe is still waiting for China to make good on its infrastructure promises, and Guinea turned over oil rights in exchange for nine billion dollars in housing, transport, and public utilities that have yet to appear. All because of Cho, who has sounded the call for China’s global retreat in order to ‘clean house,’ as he puts it, to sweep aside the entrenched corrupt political hierarchy with a new broom.” She shook her head. “You gave Cho ammunition against you. He unearthed a number of African politicos who were slicing off chunks of money and lining their own pockets.”

The General, slightly nettled, said in a steely voice, “That is the way deals are done in Africa. Nothing new to it.”

“Except when Cho brings evidence of it to the Central Committee. He got them to stop all payments, didn’t he? He built political capital, didn’t he?”

She took a sip of tea, allowed the atmosphere to cool somewhat, then put down the handleless cup. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, General, but time is short. What Cho really wants is a return to the time of Mao, of a central leader, upright, righteous, ideologically dogmatic. He wants nothing less than to rule China, to rule it with an iron fist.”

The General swallowed more tea to calm his teeming mind. Thoughts and ideas chased each other like schools of fish through a coral reef. At length he said, “Let us assume, for argument’s sake, that I agree with your grim assessment of the situation.”

“Sign off on sending a cadre of Ouyang’s men to Lebanon. Our project there is in its final stages. The enormity of the energy opportunities it will bring China is virtually incalculable. Cho doesn’t want either you or Ouyang to gain such power.” She raked him with her eyes. “He will do anything to stop the project from being consummated.”

The General’s eyes began to glaze over as he lost interest. “All this is known to me. There is enough security already in place. Minister Ouyang and I agreed on this aspect of the plan months ago.”

“The situation on the ground has changed,” Maricruz said.

The General cocked his head as a frown deepened into a scowl. “In what way?”

“Jason Bourne has entered the picture.”

Hwang Liqun blew out a small gust of breath. “Yes. He has been traveling with a Mossad agent. But that, by itself, means nothing.” His hand cut through the air in a gesture of finality. “Besides, the Mossad agent is dead.”

Unfazed, Maricruz pressed on. “Bourne has been to Dahr El Ahmar and escaped.”

“This also is old news, Maricruz. Minister Ouyang has made arrangements to take Bourne out should he appear again in Dahr El Ahmar when the deal is consummated.”

“I assume you’re speaking of Colonel Ben David,” Maricruz said. “The trouble is Ouyang doesn’t trust Ben David.”

This came as a surprise to General Hwang Liqun. Now, in a moment of revelation, he knew why Ouyang had arranged such elaborate security, entrusting Maricruz to deliver the intel in person. He looked hard into Maricruz’s eyes. She was right, there wasn’t much time. The deal was due to be consummated nine hours from now. He nodded. “I will sign the order immediately. Tell Ouyang Jidan an unmarked jet will be ready and waiting for his cadre within the hour.”

Are you up for a swim?”

Don Fernando looked at Bourne. “I’m old, Jason, not dead.” He glanced upward at the spinning lights and crowds along the Pont Alexandre III. “The police are making quite a production up there.”

“We’ve got to get out of the area,” Bourne said, “before more come and they lower divers into the water.”

Don Fernando nodded.

“We’ll head downriver. You can see the Pont des Invalides. It’s not far.”

“Don’t worry about me, Jason. I’m always ready for a good swim.” He smiled. “Anyway, quick getaways remind me of my misspent youth.”

“All right, then.”

Bourne slipped off the slimy bridge pier to which they had been clinging like limpets. They had to be careful, as clusters of razorsharp barnacles lived just beneath the waterline. There were spotlights raking the water now, illuminating the area where the car had gone in. All boat traffic had been stopped upriver. A pair of police launches were coming from that direction, loaded with divers, no doubt.

Bourne watched Don Fernando slide in noiselessly. Together, the two men stroked powerfully through the black water, away from the spotlights, the crowds, and the rapidly increasing scrutiny.

By foot, the Pont des Invalides was not a long way off, but in the water their progress was much slower. The water was very cold, and they had been wet for some time. Their sopping clothes did nothing now apart from weighing them down. However, they could not afford to stop to shuck anything off. Besides, they needed to be clothed when they emerged from the water.

Bourne kept up his powerful stroke, and, to his surprise, Don Fernando matched him kick for kick. He might be old, but he was still as strong as a marlin. The farther they went downriver, the farther behind they left the bright spotlights.

However, almost immediately they began to encounter another problem. Away from the bridge, the currents took hold in full force, twisting and turning them, even, on occasion, forcing them under the water. Bourne began to lose feeling in his extremities. The tips of his fingers were frigid, and he could no longer feel his toes at all. Even though they were protected by socks and shoes, his feet had been in the water continuously ever since the car hit the river and the water gushed in.

Slowly, stroke by stroke, they made their way downriver to the Pont des Invalides. Bourne turned just in time to see Don Fernando start to go under. Reaching over, he pulled his head up above the surface, drawing him onto the pier nearest the Right Bank.

Don Fernando’s head hung down, his chin resting on his chest, which heaved like a swimmer’s after he has crossed the English Channel. Bourne huddled him close, arm thrown protectively around the old man’s shoulders.

“Rest for a moment,” Bourne said. “Then we need to swim the last part.”

“The last part? You mean there’s more?”

“You see there—” he pointed “—the river wall comes down in steps to the level of the Seine. We can easily climb up at that point.”

Don Fernando’s head shook back and forth. His long mane of hair hung lankly down either side of his face, which was drawn with exhaustion. “I’m done.” His hands trembled. “I don’t think I can go on.”

 “Then rest,” Bourne said. “Watch the light show on the Pont Alexandre III while I make a call.”

That brought Don Fernando out of himself. “Make a call? How are you going to do that? Everything is soaked.”

“A waterproof satphone.” Bourne pulled a small oblong encased in rubber from an inner pocket.

The sight of it brought a small laugh bubbling into the older man’s throat. He shook his head, then abruptly turned away. He was silent for a long time. The water lapped at the pier. Shouts from the police launches in the river at the crash site upriver carried on the night wind.

“You know, Jason, the human race seems to have an infinite capacity for rationalization.” He shook his head again. “There was a time when I had hopes that my son would turn out like you. But he disappointed me. He ended up doing everything wrong, somehow his values ended upside down or inside out. I don’t know.”

“Now’s not the time—”

“Now’s precisely the time, Jason. I don’t think I’ll have the courage to say this at another time.” He turned to Bourne. “I haven’t always treated you well. Often I haven’t told you the truth; at other times I’ve withheld information from you.”

“Listen, Don Fernando—”

He held up a hand. “No, no, let me finish.” With every moment that passed now, he seemed to be gathering strength. “I wish I hadn’t treated you so poorly. I wish I could turn back time. I wish...”

The telltale sound of a helicopter came to them, the noise beating down off the rippled skin of the river. A huge beam of intense light lit up the sky before lancing downward to the water.

“Don Fernando,” Bourne said with no little urgency, “we need to go now. I’ll keep you afloat if need be.”

“I know you will, Jason. I don’t have to think twice about that.” As Bourne was about to slip back into the water, Don Fernando grabbed hold of him. “Wait. Wait.”

In the gloom, his eyes stood out, reflecting the light off the water.

“I know something now,” Don Fernando said. “I know you would never disappoint me.”

Sam Anderson was not a man easily intimidated, even by one of the three principals of DC’s most prestigious law firm. In any event, he had come prepared for any and all possibilities. Now he pulled a document from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Bill Pelham. While the attorney was reading it, he said to Tom Brick, “You’ll come with us now, Mr. Brick. You’re implicated in a matter of national security. A battalion of lawyers can’t prevent it.”

Brick glanced at Pelham, who nodded at him. “We’ll have you out before dinnertime.”

Brick came around from behind his desk and preceded Anderson and Tim Nevers out of his office, down the corridor, and into the elevator.

On the way down, Anderson said, “Forensics found some interesting material on Richards’s corpse.”

Brick said nothing, staring straight ahead.

“You won’t be home for dinner, Brick.” Anderson smiled. “You won’t be home for a good long time.”

The doors opened, but Brick remained in place, even when Nevers stepped forward to keep the doors from closing.

“You two are so full of shit,” Brick said.

“You can share your opinion with Secretary Hendricks.” Anderson came around so he could see Brick’s expression. “He’s the one who wants to see you.”

In the car, Nevers slid behind the wheel, while Anderson sat beside Brick in the backseat.

“You’re right about one thing,” Anderson said as Nevers pulled out into traffic. “It’s too early for forensics to tell me anything definitive.”

Brick smiled. “That’s the first true thing you’ve said since you stomped your way into my office.”

“On the other hand,” Anderson said, “the electronic relay I planted that connected with the keylogger tracking Richards’s dirty work on the Touchstone servers has been traced back to the Core Energy network, where the activation codes for the virus he planted were stored for safekeeping.”

“I had nothing—”

“Shut it,” Anderson snapped. “You had everything to do with it, Brick, and we’re going to prove it.”

Li,” Ann Ring said, “what will you do now?”

Li Wan, whose brain had been slowly exploding ever since Ann had revealed Natasha Illion’s true identity, was in the bind of his life. He could not possibly reveal this to Minister Ouyang. He’d never be trusted again, and rightly so. His desperate mind tried to calculate how much intel he had inadvertently revealed to Tasha in bed or wherever else they had fucked. The dreadful truth was he could not remember. His career was stymied and in danger of not only backsliding, but being terminated with extreme prejudice. The truth was that he needed immediate help.

He looked at Ann Ring, opened his mouth once, closed it, then said, “My current situation is intolerable.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Her eyes were steady on him.

There ensued a short silence that nevertheless seemed to boil with thoughts and ideas. After ending the meal in a shocked near-silence, Ann, perhaps intuiting that what he needed was a change in venue, had suggested that they repair to a late-night bar, where they sat in an old-fashioned high-backed booth, completely separate from the other patrons, who were in any event intent on drinking and watching a soccer match on ESPN.

Li waited in vain for Ann Ring to suggest something. “In this type of situation,” he said at last, “there is only one way to deal with things.” He paused. “You have to protect me.”

Ann Ring’s eyes opened wide. “I’m a United States senator. I don’t
have
to do anything.”

Li swallowed. “I can help you in the same way I helped your husband.”

“Really?” Ann Ring swung her head around. “And what did you do for him?”

“Passed on information he was able to use as scoops at
Politics As Usual
. Those exclusives made his reputation.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“Charles was very good at keeping secrets.”

“Yes. That he was.” Ann considered a moment. “And what did you get from Charlie in return?”

Li passed a hand across his eyes, said nothing.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Li,” Ann said, pushing her shot glass aside and gathering her things preparatory to leaving.

“Wait! Please.” He felt suddenly drained. It was a measure of the severity of his circumstances that he was even considering disclosing what he had needed from Charles. “Tell me, Senator Ring, have you heard of SILEX?”

Ann screwed up her face in concentration. “I have, but at the moment I cannot think in what context.”