Robert Ludlum - The Bourne Supremacy

Grudgingly, Jason had to admire McAllister's ability to move his chess pieces. The analyst had the convictions of his connivance. He knew which buttons to press to shift his pawns. In the current crisis the pawn was a doctor at the Kiang Wu Hospital who several years ago had diverted IMF medical funds to his own clinic on the Almirante Sergio. Since Washington was a sponsor of the International Monetary Fund, and since McAllister had caught the doctor with his hands in the till, he was in a position to expose him and had threatened to do so. Yet the doctor had prevailed. The physician had asked McAllister how he expected to replace him – there was a dearth of competent doctors in Macao. Would it not be better for the American to overlook his indiscretion if his clinic serviced the indigent? With records of such service? The choirboy in McAllister had capitulated, but not without remembering the doctor's indiscretion – and his debt. It was being paid tonight.

'Come on!' yelled Bourne, rising and gripping one of the two canisters of blood. 'Move!'

McAllister clung to a wall bar on the opposite side of the aircraft as the helicopter thump-crashed on to the cement. He was pale, his face frozen into a mask of itself. These things are an abomination? he mumbled. 'Please wait till we're settled.'

'We're settled. It's your schedule, analyst. Move."

Directed by the police, they raced across the parking area to a pair of double doors held open by two nurses. Inside, a white-jacketed Oriental doctor, the eternal stethoscope hanging from a pocket, grabbed McAllister's arm.

'Good to see you again, sir,' he said in fluent but heavily accented English. 'Although it is under curious circumstances-'

'So were yours three years ago,' broke in the analyst sharply, breathlessly, peremptorily cutting off the once-errant doctor. 'Where do we go?'

'Follow me to the blood laboratory. It is at the end of the corridor. The head nurse will check the seals and sign the receipts, after which you will also follow me into another room where the two men who will take your places are waiting. Give them the receipts, change clothes, and they will leave. '

'Who are they?' asked Bourne. 'Where did you find them?' 'Portuguese interns,' replied the doctor. 'Unmonied young doctors sent out from Lisbon to complete their residencies here. ' 'Explanations?' pressed Jason as they started down the hallway.

'None, actually,' answered the Macaoan. 'What you call in English a "trade". Perfectly legitimate. Two British medics who wish to spend a night over here and two overworked young doctors who deserve a night in Hong Kong. They will return on the hydrofoil in the morning. Neither of them speaks English. They'll know nothing, suspect nothing. They will simply be pleased that an older doctor recognized their needs and deserts. '

'You found the right man, analyst. '

'He's a thief. '

'You're a whore. '

'I beg your pardon?'

'Nothing. Let's go. '

Once the canisters were delivered, the seals inspected and the receipts signed, Bourne and McAllister followed the doctor into a locked adjacent office that held drug supplies and had its own door to the corridor, also locked. The two Portuguese interns were waiting in front of the glass cabinets; one was taller than the other and both were smiling. There were no introductions, just nods and a short statement by the doctor, addressing the undersecretary of state. v

'On the basis of your descriptions – not that I needed yours – I'd say their sizes are about right, wouldn't you?'

They'll do,' replied McAllister, as he and Jason began removing the white coveralls. These are outsize. If they run fast enough and keep their heads down, they'll be okay. Tell them to leave the garments and the receipts with the pilot. He's to sign us in once he gets to Hong Kong. ' Bourne and the analyst changed into dark, rumpled trousers and loose-fitting jackets. Each handed his counterpart his coveralls and cap. McAllister said. Tell them to hurry. Departure's scheduled for less than two minutes. '

The doctor spoke in broken Portuguese, then turned back to the undersecretary. The pilot can't go anywhere without them, sir. '

'Everything's timed and officially cleared down to the minute,' the analyst snapped, fear now in his voice. There's no room for someone to become any more curious than necessary. Everything has to be clockwork. Hurry?

The interns dressed; the caps were pulled low and the receipts for the canisters of blood were in their pockets. The doctor issued his last instructions to the Americans as he handed them two orange hospital passes. 'We'll go out together; the door locks automatically. I will immediately escort our young doctors, thanking them loudly and profusely past the police ranks until they can dash to the aircraft. You head to the right, then left into the front lobby and the entrance. I hope – I really do hope – that our association, as pleasant as it has been, is now finished. '

'What are these for?' asked McAllister, holding up his hospital pass.

'Probably – hopefully – nothing. But in case you are stopped they explain your presence and will not be questioned. '

'Why? What do they say? There was no fact, no fragment of data that the analyst could leave unexplained.

'Quite simply,' said the doctor, looking calmly at McAllister. They describe you as indigent expatriates, totally without funds, whom I generously treat at my clinic without charge. For gonorrhea, to be precise. Naturally, there are the usual identifying features – height, approximate weight, hair and eye colouring, nationality. Yours are more complete, I'm afraid, as I had not met your friend. Naturally again, there are duplicates in my files, and no one could mistake it was you, sir. '

'What?

'Once you are out on the streets I believe my longstanding debt is cancelled. Wouldn't you agree?

''Gonorrhea?''

'Please, sir, as you say, we must hurry. Everything clockwork. ' The doctor opened the door, ushered out the four men and instantly headed to the left with the two young Portuguese towards the side entrance and the medical helicopter.

'Let's go,' whispered Bourne, touching McAllister's arm and starting to the right. '

'Did you hear that man?

'You said he was a thief. '

'He was.'

'There are times when a person shouldn't take that bromide about stealing from a thief too literally. '

'What does that mean?

'Simply this,' said Jason Bourne, looking down at the analyst at his side. 'He's got you on several counts. Collusion, corrupt practices, and gonorrhea. '

'Oh, my God. '

They stood at the rear of the crowds by the high fence watching the helicopter roar up from the landing zone and then soar off into the night sky. One by one the searchlights were turned off, and the parking lot was once again lit by its dim lamps. Most of the police climbed into a van; those remaining walked casually back to their previous posts while several of them lighted cigarettes, as if to proclaim the excitement over. The crowds began to disperse amid questions hurled at anyone and everyone. Who was it? Someone very important, no? What do you think happened? Do you think we II ever be told? Who cares? We had our show so let's have a drink, yes? Will you look at that woman? A first-class whore, I think, don't you agree? She's my first cousin, you bastard. '

The excitement was over.

'Let's go,' said Jason. 'We have to move. '

'You know, Mr Webb, you have two commands you use with irritating frequency. "Move" and "Let's go". '

They work. ' Both men started across the Do Amaral.

'I'm as aware as you are that we must move quickly, only you haven't explained where we're going. '

'I know I haven't,' said Bourne.

'I think it's time you did. ' They kept walking, Bourne picking up the pace. 'You called me a whore,' continued the undersecretary.