it up, tore off the shield, and threw it with all his strength towards the A-framed apex above the french doors. It clung to the wood. It was the moment. He pulled the trigger of the launcher, sending the canister of gas into the stone to the right of the french doors. It exploded, bouncing off the wall to the ground, the vapours spreading instantly, clouds of gas swirling, choking men within its billowing periphery. Weapons were clung to, but free hands rubbed swollen, watery eyes and covered inflamed nostrils.
The second firebomb exploded, tearing away the elegant Victorian facade above the french doors, shattering the panes of glass, whole sections of the upper wall plummeting down into the tiled foyer beyond. Flames spread upward towards the eaves and inside, firing curtains and upholstery. The marine guards scrambled away from the thunderous explosion and the flames into the clouds of tear gas, A number now dropped their rifles, as all lurched in every direction, colliding with another, trying to get away from the fumes; gagging, coughing, seeking relief.
Delta rose to a crouch, the machine pistol in his hand, yanking the assassin up beside him. It was time; the chaos was complete. The swirling gas in front of the shattered french doors was being sucked in by the heat of the flames; it would dissipate sufficiently for him to make headway. Once inside, his search would be quick, over in moments. The directors of a covert operation that required a sterile house in foreign territory would stay within the protective confines of the house itself for two reasons. The first was that the size and disposition of the attacking force could not be accurately estimated and the risk of capture or death outside was too great. The second was more practical: Papers had to be destroyed, burnt not shredded, as they had learned in Teheran. Directives, dossiers, operational progress reports, background materials, all had to go. The sirens in Victoria Peak were growing louder, nearer, the frantic race up the steep roads was nearly over.
'It's the countdown,' said Bourne, setting the timer on the last plastique explosive. 'I'm not giving this to you, but I'll use it to advantage - both yours and mind. Thirty seconds, Major Allcott- Price.' Jason arced the packet as far as he could towards the right front wall. 'My weapon!. For Christ's sake give me the gun!' 'It's on the ground. Under my foot.' The assassin lurched down. 'Let go of it!' 'When I want to - and I will want to. But if you try to take it, the next thing you'll see is a cell in the Hong Kong garrison, and - according to you - a scaffold, a thick rope and a hangman in your immediate future.'
The killer looked up in panic. 'You goddamned liar! You lied!
'Frequently. Don't you?'
'You said-'
'I know what I said. I also know why you're here, and why instead of nine shells, you have three.'
- 'What?'
'You're my diversion, Major. When I let you free with the gun, you'll head for the gate or a blown-out section of the wall - whichever, it's your choice. They'll try to stop you. You'll fire back, naturally, and while they concentrate on you, I'll get inside.'
'You bastard!'
'My feelings are hurt, but then I don't have feelings any longer, so it doesn't matter. I simply have to get inside-'
The last explosion blew up a sculptured tree, its roots smashing into a weakened section of the wall, stones falling out of place, the wall itself half crumbling, splitting rocks forming a V at the centre of secondary impact. Marines from the gate contingent rushed forward.
Wow!' roared Delta, rising to his full height.
'Give me the gun! Let go of it!'
Jason Bourne suddenly froze. He could not move - except that by some instinct or other he crashed his knee up into the killer's throat, sending the assassin over on his side. A man had appeared beyond the shattered glass doors of the burning foyer. A handkerchief covered his face, but it could not cover his limp. His limp! With his club foot the silhouetted figure kicked down the left frame of the french doors and awkwardly walked down the three steps to the short flagstone patio fronting the once stately gardens. He dragged himself forward and yelled as loud as he could, ordering the guards who could hear him to hold their fire. The figure did not have to lower his handkerchief, Delta knew the face. It