The Bourne Supremacy

Now!' 'More lies!' Delta crouched and pulled the trigger, spraying the patio, the bullets ricocheting up into the burning foyer, but for reasons unknown to him they did not cut down the man himself. 'You want to pull me out so you can give the order and I'm dead. Beyond-salvage carried out! No way, executioner!. I'm going inside! I want the silent, secret men behind you! They're there! I know they're there!' Bourne grabbed the fallen assassin and pulled him to his feet handing him the gun. 'You wanted a Jason Bourne, he's yours! I'm setting him loose among the roses. Kill him while I kill!' Half crazed, half survivor, the commando lunged through the flowering bushes away from Bourne. He raced first down the path, then instantly returned, seeing that the marine guards were at the north and south areas of the wall. If he showed himself on the east border of the garden he was caught between both contingents. He was dead, if he moved. 'I haven't any more time, Conklin!' yelled Bourne. Why couldn't he kill the man who had betrayed him? Squeeze the trigger! Kill the last of Treadstone Seventy-one! Kill. Kill! What stopped him!

The assassin threw himself over the bed of flowers, clutching the warm barrel of Bourne's machine gun, wrenching it downward, levelling and firing his own gun at Jason. The bullet grazed Bourne's forehead and, in fury, he yanked back the trigger of the repeating weapon. Bullets thundered into the ground, the vibrations within their small, deadly arena earth-shattering. He grabbed the Englishman's gun, twisting it counterclockwise. The assassin's half-mutilated right arm was no match for the man from Medusa. The gun exploded as Bourne wrenched it free. The impostor fell back on the grass, his eyes glazed, within them the knowledge that he had lost.

'David! For God's sake, listen to me! You have to-'

There is no David here!' screamed Jason, his knee rammed into the assassin's chest. 'My rightful name is Bourne, sprung from Delta, spawned by Medusa! The snake lady! Remember?

'We have to talk!'

'We have to die! You have to die! The secret men inside are my contract with myself, with Marie! They have to die!' Bourne gripped the lapel of the assassin's jacket, pulling him up on his feet. 'I repeat! Here's your Jason Bourne! He's all yours!'

'Don't shoot! Hold your fire!' roared Conklin, as bewildered segments of the three marine contingents began to close in and the deafening sirens of the Hong Kong police roared to a stop at the demolished gate.

The man from Medusa slammed his shoulder into the commando's back, propelling the killer out into the light of the roaring flames and the floodlights. There hew! That's the prize you wanted^

There was a burst of rifle fire as the assassin reeled out, then dove to the ground, rolling over and over to avoid the bullets.

'Stop it! Not him\ For Christ's sake, hold your fire. Don't kill him!'

'Not him? roared Jason Bourne. 'Not him! Only me! Isn't that right, you son of a bitch? Now, you do die! For Marie, for Echo, for all of us!'

He squeezed the trigger of the machine gun, but still the bullets would not hit their mark! He swung around and, swinging back and forth, aimed his deadly weapon at both converging squads of marines. Again, he fired several prolonged bursts, crouching, ducking, moving from place to place behind the roses. Yet he angled the barrel above their heads! Why? The children could not stop him. But then the children in their pressed GI issue should not die for the manipulators. He had to get inside the sterile house. Now! No moments were left. It was now!

'David?' A woman's voice. Oh Christ, a woman's voice! 'David, David, David! A figure in a flowing skirt ran out of the sterile house. She grabbed Alexander Conklin and pushed him away. She stood alone on the patio. 'It's me, David! 'I'm here! I'm safe! Everything's all right, my darling!' Another trick, another lie. It was an old woman with grey hair, white hair! 'Get out of my way, lady, or I'll kill you. You're just another lie, another trick?

'David, it's me! Can't you hear me-'

'I can see you! A trick!'

'No, David!'

'My name's not David. I told your scum friend, there's no

David here!'

'Don't!' screamed Marie, desperately shaking her head and running in front of several marines who had crawled out on the grass, away from the swirling, vanishing clouds of gas. They were on their knees with a clear view of Bourne, getting their bearings, levelling their rifles unsteadily at him. Marie positioned herself between the recovering guards and their target. 'Haven't you done enough to him? For God's sake somebody stop them!'

'And get blown away by some son of a bitch terrorist? yelled a youthful voice from the ranks by the front wall.

'He's not what you think! Whatever he is the people inside made him that way! You heard him. He won't fire on you if you don't shoot!'

'He's already fired,' roared an officer. 'You're still standing]' yelled back Alex Conklin from the edge of the patio. 'And he's a better marksman with more weapons than any man here! Account for it! I can!'

'I don't need you!' thundered Jason Bourne, once again triggering a burst of machine gun fire into the burning wall of the sterile house.

Suddenly, the assassin was on his feet, crouching, then lunging for the marine nearest him, a hatless youngster still coughing from the gas. The killer grabbed the guard's rifle, kicking him in the head, and firing the weapon into the next nearest marine, who lurched backwards grabbing his stomach. The killer spun around; he spotted an officer with a machine pistol not unlike Bourne's; he shot him in the neck, and grabbed the weapon from the falling body. He paused for only a split half-second evaluating his chances, then whipped the machine pistol up under his left arm. Delta watched, instinctively knowing what the commando would do, knowing, too, that his diversion was about to take place.

The assassin did it. He fired again, one round after another into the closed ranks of the young, inexperienced marines by the front wall, racing, dodging his way across the short stretch of grass into the shoulder-high flowers on Bourne's left. It was his only escape route, the least illuminated collapsed right rear wall.

'Stop him!' shouted Conklin, limping frantically across the patio. 'But don't shoot] Don't kill him! For Christ's sake, don't kill him!'

'Bullshit]' came the reply from someone in the squad of marines by the left rear wall. The assassin, twisting, turning, crouching, his rifle on repeat fire, quickly worked his way towards the broken wall, pinning the guards down by his rapid bursts. The rifle chamber ran out of shells; he threw it down, swinging the murderous machine pistol into place, and started his last race towards the broken wall, spraying the prone contingent of marines. He was there! The darkness beyond was his escape!

'You motherfucker!' It was a teenager's cry, the voice immature, in torment, but nevertheless lethal. 'You killed my buddy! You blew his fucking face off! You're going to buy it, you shithead!'

A young black marine leaped away from his dead white companion and raced towards the wall as the assassin swung around, vaulting over the stone. Another burst from the killer caught the marine in the shoulder; he lunged to the ground, rolled over twice to his left, and fired four rounds of ammunition.

They were followed by an agonizing, hysterical scream of defiance. It was the scream of death; the impostor, his eyes wide in hatred, fell into the jagged rocks. Major Allcott-