The Bourne Supremacy: Jason Bourne Book #2

By Robert Ludlum

Reenter the shadowy global of Jason Bourne, knowledgeable murderer nonetheless laid low with the splintered nightmares of his former lifestyles. This time the stakes are better than ever. for somebody else has taken at the Bourne identity—a ruthless killer who has to be stopped or the area can pay a devastating rate. To be successful, the genuine Jason Bourne needs to maneuver throughout the harmful labyrinth of foreign espionage—an unique international choked with CIA plots, turncoat brokers, and ever-shifting alliances—all the whereas hoping to discover the reality in the back of his haunted thoughts and the solutions to his personal fragmented prior. This time there are Bournes—and one needs to die.

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A shattering fusillade of bullets ripped into the Zhongguo ren. Blood gushed from deadly wounds as skulls have been pierced and eyes have been punctured, mouths torn aside, vivid purple in muted screams of demise. The partitions and the ground and the polished desk glistened sickeningly with the bloody proof of dying. in all places. It used to be over. The killer surveyed his paintings. happy, he knelt down by way of a wide, stagnant pool of blood and moved his index finger via it. He then pulled out a sq. of darkish textile from his left sleeve and unfold it over his handiwork. He rose to his toes and rushed out of the room, unbuttoning the white caftan as he ran down the dim hallway; the gown used to be open by the point he reached the door to the cabaret. He got rid of the razor-like knife from the material and shoved it right into a scabbard on his belt. Then, preserving the folds of material jointly, his hood in position, the deadly weapon safe at his facet, he pulled the door back and walked inside of, into the brawling chaos that confirmed no signal of lessening. yet then why should still it? He had left it slightly thirty seconds in the past and his guy was once good expert. 'Faai di! ' The shout got here from the burly, unshaven peasant from Canton; he used to be ten toes away, overturning one other desk and awesome a fit, losing it at the flooring. The police may be the following any second! The bartender simply reached a cellphone, I observed him! ' The killer-priest ripped the caftan clear of his physique and the hood from his head. within the wild revolving lighting his face regarded as macabre as any within the frenzied rock crew. Heavy makeup defined his eyes, white strains defining the form of every, and his face used to be an unnatural brown. 'Go in entrance of me! ' he commanded the peasant. He dropped his dress and the Uzi at the ground subsequent to the door whereas removal a couple of skinny surgical gloves; he shoved them into his flannel trousers. For a cabaret within the Golden Mile to summon the police used to be now not a choice simply arrived at. there have been heavy fines for bad administration, stiff consequences for endangering travelers. The police knew those dangers and replied quick after they have been taken. The killer ran in the back of the peasant from Canton who joined the panicked crowd on the front screaming to get out. The coarsely dressed brawler was once a bull; our bodies in entrance of him fell away below the strength of his blows. safeguard and killer burst in the course of the door and into the road the place one other crowd had collected shrieking questions and epithets and cries of undesirable joss misfortune for the institution. They threaded their approach during the excited onlookers and have been joined through the quick, muscular chinese language who had waited outdoor. He grabbed the arm of his defrocked cost and pulled him into the narrowest of alleys, the place he took towels from below his tunic. One was once delicate and dry, the opposite encased in plastic; it used to be hot and rainy and perfumed. The murderer gripped the rainy towel and commenced rubbing it over his face, sinking it round and into the sockets of his eyes and around the uncovered flesh of his neck. He reversed the fabric and repeated the method with even higher strain, scrubbing his temples and his hairline till his white dermis was once obvious.

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