short words, there might be no more information coming to British Intelligence from his sources in Beijing. '
'That's the way our people read it. And for his trouble the Sixer is killed because Yao Ming can't afford to have the slightest association with Bourne. The taipan has to remain unreachable, untouchable. He wants his revenge, but not with any possibility of exposure. '
'What do the British say? asked Marie.
'In no uncertain terms to stay away from the entire situation. London was blunt. We made a mess of Treadstone, and they don't want our ineptitude in Hong Kong during these sensitive times. '
'Have they confronted Yao mingy?' Webb watched the undersecretary closely.
'When I brought up the name, they said it was out of the question. In truth, they were startled, but that didn't change their stand. If anything, they were angrier. '
'Untouchable,' said David.
'They probably want to continue using him. '
'In spite of what he did?' Marie broke in. 'What he may have done, and what he might do to my husband?
'It's a different world,' said McAllister softly.
'You co-operated with them-'
'We had to,' interrupted the man from State.
'Then insist they co-operate with you. Demand it!'
'Then they could demand other things from us. We can't do that. '
'Liars!' Marie turned her head in disgust.
'I haven't lied to you, Mrs Webb. '
'Why don't I trust you, Mr McAllister?' asked David.
'Probably because you can't trust your government, Mr Webb, and you have very little reason to. I can only tell you that I'm a man of conscience. You can accept that or not accept me or not - but in the meantime I'll make sure you're safe.
'You look at me so strangely - why is that?
'I've never been in this position, that's why. ' The chimes of the doorbell rang, and Marie, shaking her head to their sound, rose and walked rapidly across the room and into the foyer. She opened the door. For a moment she stopped breathing and stared helplessly. Two men stood side by side, both holding up black plastic identification cases, each with a glistening silver badge attached to the top, each embossed eagle reflecting the light of the carriage lamps on the porch. Beyond, at the curb, was a second dark sedan; inside could be seen the silhouettes of other men, and the glow of a lighted cigarette - other men, other guards. She wanted to scream, but she did not.
Edward McAllister climbed into the passenger seat of his own State Department car and looked through the closed window at the figure of David Webb standing in the doorway. The former Jason Bourne stood motionless, his eyes fixed rigidly on his departing visitor.
'Let's get out of here,' said McAllister to the driver, a man about his own age and balding, with tortoiseshell glasses breaking the space between his nose and his high forehead.
The car started forward, the driver cautious on the strange, narrow, tree-lined street a block from the rocky beach in the small Maine town. For several minutes neither man spoke; finally the driver asked, 'How did everything go?'
'Go?' replied the man from State. 'As the ambassador might say, "all the pieces are in place". The foundation's there, the logic there; the missionary work is done. '
'I'm glad to hear it. '
'Are you? Then I'm glad too.' McAllister raised his trembling right hand; his thin fingers massaging his right temple. 'No, I'm not? he said suddenly. 'I'm goddamned sick!'
'I'm sorry-'
'And speaking of missionary work, I am a Christian. 1 mean I believe - nothing so chic as being zealous, or born again, or teaching Sunday school, or prostrating myself in the aisle, but I do believe. My wife and I go to the Episcopal church at least twice a month, my two sons are acolytes. I'm generous because I want to be. Can you understand that?'
'Sure. I don't have quite those feelings, but I understand. '
'But I just walked out of that man's house?
'Hey, easy. What's the matter?"
McAllister stared straight ahead, the oncoming headlights creating shadows rushing across his face. 'May God have mercy on my soul,' he whispered.
Chapter Four
4
Screams suddenly filled the darkness, an approaching, growing cacophony of roaring voices. Then surging bodies were all around them, racing ahead, shouting, faces contorted in frenzy. Webb fell to his knees, covering his face and neck with both hands as best he could, swinging his shoulders violently back and forth, creating a shifting target within the circle of attack. His dark clothes were a plus in the shadows