The gun went off, the recoil jolting Angél’s arms and shoulder, even though she was prepared for it. Colonel Sun arched up, blood, bone, and brain matter sprayed from the side of his head, and he fell back, cold-fish eyes staring into whatever lay beyond life.
Leaping up, Bourne crossed the room. He was sliding the bed toward the closed door when the clamor being raised in the corridor outside rose to a fever pitch. The door burst open and Estefan, Tigger’s partner, bulled his way through, gun drawn.
In the split second before it happened, Bourne shouted to Angél, but it was already too late. The child, traumatized both by threats and by the death of her family, swung the muzzle around and squeezed the trigger.
The resulting shot tore through Estefan’s chest, took him off his feet, and launched him backward into the corridor. Bourne slammed the door shut, then finished sliding the bed against it as a makeshift barrier against more intruders.
By this time Maricruz had taken the weapon from the child’s hand. Angél was shivering and sobbing with great gasps of breath. Picking her off her feet, Maricruz pressed the girl against her breast.
In the bathroom Bourne grabbed a towel and, wrapping it around his right hand, went back across the room, smashed the window, and quickly picked out the remaining shards of glass.
“Okay,” he said to Maricruz and Angél, “let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Three men are dead,” Bourne said.
“Carlos will protect me.”
“Angél shot two of the men—one of them a foreign national with diplomatic credentials.”
“I’ll tell the authorities you shot them.”
“Multiple witnesses saw me in the corridor when the first shot went off. It’s more than likely you’ll be blamed for the murders. Even Carlos won’t be able to protect you from that.” There came more shouts and a pounding on the door. “You’re out of options.” He gestured with his head. “Now let’s go.”
“Through the window?” Maricruz said.
“Can you think of another way to get out of here?”
“Who are you?” she said as she picked her way to the open window. “Sun said something about getting his revenge. How could he possibly know you?”
Someone on the other side of the door was shouting questions.
“You in there! The police have been called! They’re on their way!”
Then the hammering started up again, more urgently this time, precluding any more talk. Bourne grabbed Angél from Maricruz, climbed up on the sill, and leapt to the lawn below. The child opened her mouth in a silent howl. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She shook like a victim of malaria. Setting her down beyond the ring of glass shards, he looked up and, seeing Maricruz balanced on the sill, held out his arms.
“Jump!” he called. “Jump now!”
But just as she was poised to leap, Bourne caught a glimpse of two Federal soldiers running full-tilt toward them. As the soldiers approached, they drew handguns. Bourne scooped up a dagger-shaped shard of glass, and, in the same motion, flung it at the leading soldier. It slashed through his uniform, pierced his chest like a fist to the sternum. He fell to his knees, then toppled face-first onto the ground.
The second soldier fired a shot, but he was running so fast it went wide, the bullet burying itself in the side of the hospital. Bourne launched himself at the soldier. The soldier took a swipe at him with his gun, but Bourne was already prone, rolling hard into the soldier’s lower legs. As the soldier fell forward, Bourne twisted, slammed his fist into the man’s spine. The soldier hit the ground hard, and Bourne delivered a blow to the back of his head.
Stripping him of weapons, he turned to see that Maricruz had made the jump. Her bare feet were already bleeding from landing on the glass shards. Striding toward her, Bourne lifted her up, depositing her alongside Angél outside the glittering periphery of strewn glass.
The mayhem had driven the child’s personality inward again. She was curled into a fetal position, and when Maricruz picked her up, she was all but unresponsive. Maricruz began to rock her, crooning softly into her ear.
The gunshot had rendered the area around the hospital devoid of people. The citizens of Mexico City knew all too well when to seek shelter from the crime-ridden streets. Therefore, Bourne found no witnesses, let alone resistance, as he rushed Maricruz and Angél to the empty police cruiser the soldiers had commandeered. Its front doors hung open in its occupants’ haste to race to the scene of the supposed crime.
Bourne herded the two in, got behind the wheel, and fired the ignition. But when they were a dozen blocks away, Maricruz, sitting beside him, said, “Pull over.”
Ignoring her, Bourne continued to drive, intent on putting as much real estate between them and the hospital as possible.
She pressed the muzzle of the handgun she had taken from Angél against the side of his head. “I said, pull over.”
When Bourne had complied, she said, “You’re not Dr. Francisco Javier. You’re not even a doctor. Now who the fuck are you?”
“The man who got you out of an increasingly difficult situation.”
“And into another one. So don’t expect a thank-you.” Maricruz tapped the muzzle against his temple. “Tell me who you are.”
In a blur of motion Bourne took the weapon away from her. “Next time, don’t get so close to your target,” he said as he laid the gun aside. “My name varies, depending on who you ask. Carlos Danda Carlos knows me as Jason Bourne.”
At the sound of his name, the color dropped out of Maricruz’s face.
“That’s how my father knew you.”
“Yes.”
“You were his downfall.”
“And not the life he chose?”
“Rationalize it any way you want.”
“It’s not a rationalization, Maricruz. Who better than you to understand that?”
“Nothing matters except that he’s dead.”
“And did you mourn? I knew him better than you did.”
Lunging at him, she tried to scratch his eyes out. But he was prepared for her and grabbed her wrists, pinioning them together as she raged at him.
“No one could help your father, Maricruz,” he said. “Least of all you, parking yourself on the other side of the world. How could you mourn a man you ran all the way to China to get away from?”
“Whatever else he was,” she said, “he was my father.”
“A man totally unequipped to be one.”
“And you would know.”
“Anyone who met him would understand that, you didn’t even have to know him well.”
She didn’t want to cry, Bourne could see that. Still, several tears squeezed out, forced themselves down her cheeks because she was unable to wipe them away. Seeing how humiliated she was, he released her wrists.
In the backseat, the girl, Angél, had absorbed all of the sometimes confusing conversation. But tears she understood absolutely, and now she poured herself over the seat back and into Maricruz’s arms.
“Don’t cry,” she said into Maricruz’s hair. “Don’t cry.”
Maricruz, who had roughly wiped her cheeks, now laughed. “Listen to this child.” She sat back against the seat and closed her eyes. “God in heaven.”
“We need to get you both some clothes,” Bourne said, putting the cruiser in gear.
Maricruz opened her eyes and looked down at her bare feet as if seeing them for the first time.
“Jesus,” she said, “I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”
It was Amir Ophir who met J. J. Hale at the appointed café he had designated for Bourne.
Hale was seated at an outdoor table, beneath a white umbrella. He was sipping a cup of espresso and reading the current La Jornada newspaper on his tablet. He looked up when Ophir slipped onto a chair facing him. Ophir set a small nylon carry-bag down beside him.
“To say I’m surprised would be an understatement,” Hale said.
“Has Bourne made contact?”
Hale put his cup onto its saucer. “I’m trying to remember the last time you were in Mexico City, let alone graced me with your exalted presence.”
“Cut the antics.” Ophir raised a hand, snapped his fingers to gain the attention of a passing waiter. “Triple espresso,” he said to the man, who nodded and went off into the bowels of the café’s interior.
Ophir occupied himself with examining the patrons at the surrounding tables until his triple arrived. He downed it in one shot, then shoved the cup and saucer away.
“I’m looking for Bourne,” he said.
“So I gather.”
“What did I just tell you?”
Hale shrugged his shoulders, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “He hasn’t made contact. My ass is getting sore. What else can I tell you?”
“Something I can use.”
Hale tapped the electronic newspaper. “There’s a BOLO out on Bourne for the bomb he planted under Carlos’s car.”
“Isn’t that a shame.”
Hale gave him a crooked grin. “Sure is. But that means he’s gone to ground. He’ll be hard to find.”
“On the contrary. Now more than ever he’s going to need your services.”
Hale’s grin expanded. “Said the spider to the fly.” He tapped his tablet. “Another bit of news you’ll enjoy. Our friend Carlos Danda Carlos has been relieved of all official duties.”
This did surprise Ophir. It also filled him with a fierce joy. “What happened?”
“The Chinese happened.” Hale briefly recounted the incident at the hospital where Maricruz had been recuperating. “Colonel Sun’s murder has set off countless reverberations that have el presidente tearing his hair out. I can tell you Minister Ouyang is no one to piss off. The Chinese government, in the person of Ouyang himself, has called for a criminal investigation of Carlos’s conduct, since it was he who put himself in charge of Ouyang’s wife’s safety.”
“And where is Maricruz Ouyang, at this moment?”
Hale shrugged again.
“Well, she’s no concern of mine,” Ophir said. “Let’s concentrate on Bourne.” He studied the café again, gauging sight lines. He pointed to an empty table lost in the shadows of the interior. “I’ll be over there. Just make sure he sits where I’m sitting now.” Leaning over, he unzipped the carry-bag, briefly pulled out a Ruger .22 Charger rimfire and an NC silencer. “I’m not going near the fucker. I’ll take him down with one shot to the head. At this range it won’t be a problem, and with the silencer on the noise won’t be more than a pellet gun would make.”
Hale appeared nettled. “Are you reduced to telling me my business now?”
“Just do as you’re told and don’t fidget.” Ophir grinned. “I wouldn’t want to take your ear off.”
Bourne drove toward Coyoacán. He kept an eye out for passing military vehicles. The two-way radio in their stolen cruiser kept crackling, staticky voices raised, calling out the stolen cruiser’s license plate number, along with the repeated BOLO. He knew he’d have to switch vehicles sooner rather than later.
Spotting a pharmacy, he pulled over. It was an ancient place with a coyote lovingly painted above the doorway. The coyote, its long, thirsty tongue out, was the official symbol of Coyoacán. To the right of the pharmacy, a vacant lot filled with debris and old, rotting furniture looked like the gap between teeth in an old man’s mouth.
“Stay put,” he told Maricruz as he climbed out. “I’ll be right back.”
Inside, he bought an anti-bacterial spray, a box of cotton pads, rolls of gauze, and surgical tape. Returning to the cruiser, he saw that the passenger’s door was open. Maricruz’s legs and feet were sticking out. Angél, crouched on the pavement, was pulling out shards of glass from the soles of Maricruz’s feet with the meticulousness of a nurse.
Bourne kicked the small pile of glass into the gutter, then crouched beside the child. He let her finish plucking the last pieces of glass from Maricruz’s flesh, then began to spray her soles and wipe clean the tiny dozen or so incisions with the cotton balls.
When he started to bind her feet with the gauze, Angél stood up and whispered in Maricruz’s ear.
“In the lot over there,” she said.
As the child crossed the sidewalk, Bourne looked up at her.
Maricruz shrugged. “She has to pee. I couldn’t think of a better place.” She kept her eye on Angél as the child entered the lot.
“Maricruz, have you thought about Angél?”
“She’s all I’ve thought about for the last twenty-four hours.”
“You can’t keep her,” he said. “You can’t take her with you.”
She gave him a penetrating look. “She has no family, no one volunteered to pick her up.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s you who—”
“It doesn’t mean I’m not.”
Finished with her right foot, he started on her left one. He lowered his voice. “Sun was right about one thing: If you intend to return to China it won’t be with her. Ouyang won’t permit it.”
“Jidan will permit me anything.”
“Anything that won’t poleax his political career; you’ve already jeopardized it. Sun was right about that, too.”
“I can’t just leave her,” Maricruz said. “I won’t.”
Finished, he packed up the leftover items and stowed them in the cruiser. “I’m not arguing for that.”
“Out of the question.”
“Maricruz, be reasonable.”
Angél was returning, her large, dark eyes on Maricruz.
“I can’t let her go,” Maricruz said. “No, no, no.”
Bourne drove to the Centro de Coyoacán shopping mall, where he parked at one end of the outdoor lot. Maricruz recited her sizes and, between them, they estimated Angél’s.
“Keep an eye out for more soldiers,” he said. “The city’s crawling with them today.”
He spent twenty minutes or so in and out of four or five shops, making purchases. When he returned to the lot, he was dressed in new clothes from head to foot. He immediately saw that the cruiser they had appropriated was surrounded by a pair of jeeps and half a dozen soldiers. He could see nothing of Maricruz and the child, however.
Cursing under his breath, he started to make a circuit of the lot’s perimeter in the hope of spotting them, but within moments a white SUV pulled up in front of him. The front passenger’s door popped open and Maricruz said, “Get in! Quickly!”
She stepped on the accelerator even before Bourne had pulled the door closed behind him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he said as she exited the lot.
Behind them, the soldiers were beginning to fan out in a tight grid-search pattern.
“No idea.”
“Then stop and let me drive. You and Angél can change in the backseat.”
After several moments of consideration, she turned down a side street and pulled the SUV over to the curb.
Bourne got out, came around, and stopped her before she could get back in the car.
“You see how this can’t go on, Maricruz. You’re putting the child in harm’s way.”
Maricruz’s eyes slid away for a moment. Unconsciously, she gnawed at her lower lip. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“Of course you know,” Bourne said. “It’s in everyone’s best interests—especially hers.”
Her gaze returned to him. “But who—?”
“There’s someone I know—her name is Lolita. She’s young, single, lonely, and loving. We should take Angél to see her.”
Maricruz’s eyes got hard. “Why the hell are you involved in this, anyway?”
“Carlos,” Bourne said, which wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth, either. But he wasn’t going to tell her he was after her husband.
“Carlos,” she repeated. “Shit.”
“Maricruz, you haven’t answered my question.”
“There’s no good answer.”
“Of course there is. I just gave you one.”
Silence.
“The two of you were almost caught back there. What d’you think the Federales will do to her if they catch her?”
Maricruz shifted her gaze to Angél, sitting patiently in the backseat. “She’s been damaged, Bourne.”
“You had to learn that. Lolita can, as well. She’s got an enormous heart.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Maricruz took a deep breath, let it out. “What if I don’t like her?”
“You will like her.”
“But what if I don’t?”
“You won’t leave the child with someone you don’t like or trust, will you?”
“No,” she said. “I won’t.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
Silence again.
Bourne took out his mobile. “I’m going to tell Lolita we’re coming, and why.”
“A call? I don’t know—”
“You don’t want to spring Angél on her. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to the child.”
Maricruz hesitated, looked at Angél again, an uncertain figure through the smoked glass. Then she nodded.
Bourne called Anunciata.