Jiang-'
'I've heard the name. They call him "The Pig".'
'It's probably accurate, I don't know.'
Then what?'
'A number is left at table five at a casino in-'
The Kam Pek, Macao,' interrupted Jason. 'What then?
'I call the number and speak French. This Soo Jiang is one of the few Slants who speak the language. He sets the time of the meet; it's always the same place. I go across the border to a field up in the hills where a chopper comes in and someone gives me the name of the target. And half the money for the kill... Look! Here it conies! He's circling into his approach.'
'My gun's at your head.'
'Understood.'
'Did your training include flying one of those things?'
'No. Only jumping out of them.'
That won't do us any good.'
The incoming plane, its lights blinking, swept down, out of the brightening sky towards the runway. The jet landed smoothly. It taxied to the end of the asphalt, swung to the right, and headed back to the terminal.
'Kai guan qi you? shouted a voice from in front of the hangar, the man pointing at three fuel trucks off to the side, explaining which one was to be used.
They're gassing up,' said Jason. The plane's taking off again. Let's get on it.' The assassin turned, his face - that face - pleading. 'For Christ's sake, give me a knife, something?
'Nothing.'
'I can help?
This is my show, Major, not yours. With a knife you'd slice my stomach apart. No way, chap.'
'Da long xia!' cried the same voice from in front of the hangar, describing government officials in terms of large crayfish. 'Fang song,' he continued, telling everyone to relax, that the plane would taxi away from the terminal and the first of the three fuel trucks should be driven out to meet it.
The officials disembarked; the jet circled in place and began charging back over the runway while the tower instructed the pilot where he would refuel. The truck raced out; men leaped from the carriage and began pulling the hoses from their recesses.
'It'll take about ten minutes,' said the assassin. 'It's a Chinese version of an upgraded DC-Three.'
The aircraft came to a stop, the engines cut as rolling ladders were pushed to the wings and men scaled them. The fuel tanks were opened, the nozzles inserted amid constant chatter between the maintenance crews. Suddenly, the hatch door in the centre of the fuselage was reopened, the metal steps slapping down to the ground. Two men in uniform walked out.
The pilot and his flight officer,' said Bourne, 'and they're not stretching their legs. They're checking every damn thing those people are doing. We'll time this very carefully, Major, and when I say move, you move.'
'Straight to the hatch,' agreed the assassin. 'When the second bloke hits the first step.'
That's about it.'
'Diversion?'
'In what way?'
'You had a pretty fancy one last night. You had your own Yank Fourth of July, you did.'
'Wrong way. Besides, I used them all up... Wait a minute. The fuel truck.'
'You blow it, there goes the plane. Also, you couldn't time it to the blokes getting back on board.'
'Not that truck,' said Jason, shaking his head and staring beyond the commando. The one over there.' Bourne gestured at the nearer of the two red trucks directly in front of them, about a hundred feet away. 'If it went up, the first order of business would be to get the plane out of there.'
'And we'd be a lot closer than we are now. Let's do it.'
'No,' corrected Jason. 'You'll do it. Exactly the way I tell you with my gun inches from your head. Move!'
The assassin in front, they raced out to the truck, covered by the dim light and the commotion around the plane. The pilot and his flight officer were shining flashlights over the engines and barking impatient orders to the maintenance crews. Bourne ordered the commando to crouch down in front of him as he knelt over the open knapsack and withdrew the roll of gauze. He removed the hunting knife from his belt, pulled a coiled hose off its rack, dropping it to the ground, and slid his left hand to the base where it entered the tank. ''Check them,' he told the commando. 'How much longer? And move slowly, Major. I'm watching you.' 'I said I wanted out. I'm not going to screw up!' 'Sure you want out, but I've got a hunch you'd rather go it alone.'
'The thought never occurred to me.' Then you're not my man.' Thanks a lot.'
'No,