Robert Ludlum - The Bourne Supremacy

'Jason Bourne speaks?

'He speaks. '

'Very well. We've developed a high technology industry here in Hong Kong, ask anyone in the electronics business in

your country. On the bottom of that page is a telephone number. When and if – and only when and if – the impostor is in your hands call that number and repeat the words "snake lady" several times-'

'Medusa whispered Jason, interrupting. 'Airborne. '

The taipan arched his brows, his expression noncommittal. 'Naturally, I was referring to the woman in the bazaar. '

'Like hell you were. Go on. '

'As I say, repeat the words several times until you hear clicks-'

'Triggering another number, or numbers,' broke in Bourne again.

'Something to do with the sounds of the phrase, I believe,' agreed the taipan. 'The sibilant s, followed by a flat vowel and hard consonants. Ingenious, wouldn't you say?'

'It's called aurally receptive programming, instruments activated by a voice print.'

'Since you're not impressed, do let me emphasize the condition under which the call may be made. For your wife's sake, I hope it impresses you. The call is to be placed only when you are prepared to deliver the impostor within a matter of minutes. Should you or anyone else use the number and the code words without that guarantee, I'll know a trace is being put out over the lines. In that event, your wife will be killed, and a dead, disfigured white woman without identification dropped into the waters of the out islands. Do I make myself clear?5

Swallowing, suppressing his fury despite the sickening fear, Bourne spoke icily. 'The condition is understood. Now you understand mine. When and if I make that call, I'll want to speak to my wife – not within minutes but within seconds. If I don't, whoever's on the line will hear the gunshot and you'll know that your assassin, the prize you say you've got to have, has just had his head blown away. You'll have thirty seconds. '

'Your condition is understood and will be met. I'd say the conference is over, Jason Bourne. '

'I want my weapon. One of the guards who left has it . '

'It will be given to you on your way out. ' 'He'll take my word for it?'

'He doesn't have to. If you walked out of here, he was to give it to you. A corpse has no need of a gun. '

What remain of the stately homes from Hong Kong's extravagant colonial era are high in the hills above the city in an area known as Victoria Peak, named for the island's mountain summit, the crown of all the territory. Here graceful gardens complement rose-bordered paths that lead to gazebos and verandas from which the wealthy observe the splendorous of the harbour below and the out islands in the distance. The residences that spring up from the most enviable views are subdued versions of the great houses of Jamaica. They are high-ceilinged and intricate; rooms flow into one another at odd angles to take advantage of summer breezes during that long and oppressive season, and everywhere there is polished carved wood surrounding and reinforcing windows made to withstand the winds and the rains of the mountain winter. Strength and comfort are joined in these minor mansions, the designs dictated by climate.

One such house in the Peak district, however, differed from the others. Not in size or strength or elegance, nor in the beauty of its gardens, which were rather more extensive than many of its neighbours', nor in the impressiveness of its front gate and the height of the stone wall bordering the grounds. Part of what made it seem different was the sense of isolation that surrounded it, especially at night when only a few lights burned in the numerous rooms and no sounds came from the windows or the gardens. It was as if the house were barely inhabited; certainly there was no sign of frivolity. But what dramatically set it apart were the men at the gate and others like them who could be seen from the road patrolling the grounds beyond the wall. They were armed and in fatigue uniforms. They were American marines.

The property was leased by the United States Consulate at the direction of the National Security Council. To any inquiries, the consulate was to comment only that during the next month numerous representatives of the American government and American industry would be flying into the colony at various undetermined times, and security as well as the efficacy of accommodations warranted the lease. It was all the consulate knew. However, selected personnel in British MI6, Special Branch, were given somewhat more information, as their co-operation was deemed necessary and had been authorized by London. However, again, it was limited to an immediate-need-to-know basis, also firmly agreed to by London. Those on the highest levels of both governments, including the closest advisers to the President and the Prime Minister, came to the same conclusion: Any disclosures regarding the true nature of the property in Victoria Peak could have catastrophic consequences for the Far East and the world. It was a sterile house, the headquarters of a covert operation so sensitive that even the President and the Prime Minister knew few of the details, only the objectives.

A small sedan drove up to the gate. Instantly, powerful floodlights were tripped, blinding the driver, who brought his arm up to shield his eyes. Two marine guards approached on either side of the vehicle, their weapons drawn.

'You should know the car by now, lads,' said the large Oriental in the white silk suit squinting through the open window.

'We know the car, Major Lin,' replied the lance corporal on the left . 'We just have to make sure of the driver. '

'Who could impersonate me?' joked the huge major.

'Man Mountain Dean, sir,' answered the marine on the right.

'Oh, yes, I recall. An American wrestler. '

'My granddad used to talk about him. '

Thank you, son. You might have at least said your father. May I proceed or am I impounded?'

'We'll turn off the lights and open the gate, sir,' said the first marine. 'By the way. Major, thanks for the name of that restaurant in the Wanchai. It's a class act and doesn't bust the bankroll. '

'But, alas, you found no Suzie Wing. '

'Who, sir?'

'Never mind. The gate, if you please, lads. '

Inside the house, in the library which had been converted into an office, Undersecretary of State Edward Newington McAllister sat behind a desk, studying the pages of a dossier under the glare of a lamp, making checkmarks in the margins beside certain paragraphs and certain lines. His attention was riveted. The intercom buzzed and he had to force his eyes and his hand to the telephone. 'Yes?' He listened and replied. 'Send him in, of course. ' McAllister hung up and returned to the dossier in front of him, the pencil in his hand. On the top of the page he was reading were the words repeated in the same position on each page: Ultra Maximum Classified. PRC. Internal. Sheng Chou Yang.

The door opened and the immense Major Lin Wenzu of British Intelligence, MI6, Special Branch, Hong Kong, walked in, closed the door, and smiled at the absorbed figure of McAllister.

'It's still the same, isn't it, Edward? Buried in the words there's a pattern, a line to follow. '

'I wish I could find it,' answered the undersecretary of state, reading feverishly.

'You will, my friend. Whatever it is. '

'I'll be with you in a moment . '

''Take your time,' said the major, removing the gold Rolex wristwatch and the cufflinks. He placed them on the desk and spoke quietly. 'Such a pity to give these back. They add a certain presence to my presence. You will, however, pay for the suit, Edward. It's not basic to my wardrobe, but as ever in Hong Kong, it was reasonable, even for one of my size. '

'Yes, of course,' agreed the undersecretary, preoccupied.

Major Lin sat down in the black leather chair in front of the desk, remaining silent for the better part of a minute. It was obvious that he could remain silent no longer. 'Is that anything I might help you with, Edward? Or more to the point, is it anything that pertains to the job at hand? Something you can tell me about?'