Robert Ludlum - The Bourne Supremacy

'You've been a pleasure, hon. You should see the ones who come in here thinking they bought a Cartier watch for a hell of a good price until it stops and a jeweller tells them the insides are two rubber bands and a miniature yo-yo. ' The receptionist's eyes dropped to the Gucci purse with the inverted Gs. 'Oh, oh,' she said softly.

'What?

'Nothing. Good luck with your phone call. '

Marie waited in the lobby of the Asian House for as long as she felt comfortable, then went outside and walked back and forth in front of the entrance for nearly an hour in the crowded street. It was shortly past noon and she wondered if Catherine even bothered to have lunch – lunch would be a very good idea. Also, there was another possibility, an impossibility perhaps, but one she could pray for, if she still knew how to pray. David might appear, but it would not be as David, it would be as Jason Bourne, and that could be anyone. Her husband in the guises of Bourne would be far more clever; she had seen his inventiveness in Paris and it was from another world, a lethal world where a mis-step could cost a person his life. Every move was premeditated in three or four dimensions. What if I...? What if he...? The intellect played a far greater role in the violent world than the non-violent intellectuals would ever admit – their brains would be blown away in a world they scorned as barbarian because they could not think fast enough or deeply enough. Cogito ergo-nothing. Why was she thinking these things? She belonged to the latter and so did David! And then the answer was very clear. They had been thrown back; they had to survive and find each other.

There she was Catherine Staples walked – marched – out of the Asian House and turned right. She was roughly forty feet away; Marie started running, pummelling off bodies in her path as she tried to catch up. Try never to run, it marks you. I don't care! I must talk to her!

Staples cut across the pavement. There was a consulate car waiting for her at the kerb, the maple leaf insignia printed on the door. She was climbing inside.

'No! Wait? shouted Marie, crashing through the crowd, grabbing the door as Catherine was about to close it.

'I beg your pardon?' cried Staples as the chauffeur spun around in his seat, a gun appearing out of nowhere.

'Please! It's me! Ottawa. The briefings. '

'Marie? Is that you?'

'Yes. I'm in trouble and I need your help. '

'Get in,' said Catherine Staples, moving over on the seat . 'Put that silly thing away,' she ordered the driver. This is a friend of mine. '

Cancelling her scheduled lunch on the pretext of a summons from the British delegation – a common occurrence during the round-robin conferences with the People's Republic over the 1997 Treaty – Foreign Service Officer Staples instructed the driver to drop them at the beginning of Food Street in Causeway Bay. Food Street encompassed the crushing spectacle of some 30 restaurants within the stretch of two blocks. Traffic was prohibited on the street and even if it were not, there was no way motorized transport could make its way through the mass of humanity in search of some four thousand tables. Catherine led Marie to the service entrance of a restaurant. She rang the bell and fifteen seconds later the door opened, followed by the wafting odours of a hundred Oriental dishes.

'Miss Staples, how good to see you,' said the Chinese dressed in the white apron of a chef – one of many chefs. 'Please-please. As always, there is a table for you. '

As they walked through the chaos of the large kitchen, Catherine turned to Marie. Thank God there are a few perks left in this miserably underpaid profession. The owner has relatives in Quebec – damn fine restaurant on St John Street -and I make sure his visa gets processed, as they say, "damn-damn quick". ' She nodded at one of the few empty tables in the rear section; it was near the kitchen door. They were seated, literally concealed by the stream of waiters rushing in and out of the swinging doors, as well as by the continuous bustle taking place at the scores of tables throughout the crowded restaurant.

'Thank you for thinking of a place like this,' said Marie.

'My dear,' replied Staples in her throaty, adamant voice. 'Anyone with your looks who dresses the way you're dressed now and makes up the way you're made up, doesn't care to draw attention to herself. '

'As they say, that's putting it mildly. Will your lunch date accept the British delegation story?'

'Without a thought to the contrary. The mother country is marshalling its most persuasive forces. Beijing buys enormous quantities of much-needed wheat from us – but then you know that as well as I do, and probably a lot more in terms of dollars and cents. '

'I'm not very current these days. '

'Yes, I understand. ' Staples nodded, looking sternly yet kindly at Marie, her eyes questioning. 'I was over here by then, but we heard the rumours and read the European papers. To say we were in shock can't describe the way those of us who knew you felt. In the weeks that followed we all tried to get answers, but we were told to let it alone, drop it -for your sake. "Don't pursue it," they kept saying. "It's in her best interests to stay away..." Of course, we finally heard that you were exonerated of all charges – Christ, what an insulting phrase after what you were put through! Then you just faded, and no one heard anything more about you. '

'They told you the truth, Catherine. It was in my interest -our interests – to stay away. For months we were kept hidden, and when we took up our civilized lives again it was in a fairly remote area and under a name few people knew. The guards, however, were still in place. '

'We?

'I married the man you read about in the papers. Of course, he wasn't the man described in the papers; he was in deep cover for the American Government. He gave up a great deal of his life for that awfully strange commitment. '

'And now you're in Hong Kong and you tell me you're in trouble. '

'I'm in Hong Kong and I'm in serious trouble. '

'May I assume that the events of the past year are related to your current difficulties?'

'I believe they are. '

'What can you tell me?'

'Everything I know because I want your help. I have no right to ask it unless you know everything I know. '

'I like succinct language. Not only for its clarity but because it usually defines the person delivering it. You're also saying that unless I know everything I probably can't do anything. '

'I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're probably right. '

'Good. I was testing you. In the nouvelle diplomatic overt simplicity has become both a cover and a tool. It's frequently used to obscure duplicity, as well as to disarm an adversary. I refer you to the recent proclamations of your new country -new as a wife, of course. '

'I'm an economist, Catherine, not a diplomat. '

'Combine the talents that I know you have, and you could scale the heights in Washington as you would have in Ottawa. But then you wouldn't have the obscurity you so desire in your regained civilized life. '

'We must have that. It's all that matters. I don't. '

Testing again. You were not without ambition. You love that husband of yours.'

'Very much. I want to find him. I want him back. '

Staples's head snapped as her eyes blinked. 'He's here!'

'Somewhere. It's part of the story. '

'Is it complicated?'

'Very. '

'Can you hold back – and I mean that, Marie – until we go some place where it's quieter?'

'I was taught patience by a man whose life depended on it twenty-four hours a day for three years. '

'Good God. Are you hungry?'

'Famished. That's also part of the story. As long as you're here and listening to me, may we order?'