Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(116)

To her credit, the Angelmaker made no attempt at refutation, so Bourne continued. “Keyre also lied about not knowing anything about the Bourne Initiative. He knows almost everything about it, since he’s running the auction.”

“Again Ekaterina.”

“Yes.”

“She was quite the chatty Kathy with you, wasn’t she?”

Bourne gave her a grim smile. “She was trying to recruit me.”

“She was the easy way.”

He nodded. “And Konstantin was the hard way.”

“You survived both.”

“With your help.”

“Then bravo to both of us.” She turned off the ignition. “I don’t think Keyre was lying to you about one thing: he doesn’t know how real this thing he’s about to auction off is. If it’s the real deal or a bust.”

“He’d run an auction without knowing the real value of the item?”

The Angelmaker barked a short, unpleasant laugh. “For the right amount of money Keyre would sell anything to anyone.”

They arrived at the center of the citadel: a two-story building larger than any of the other residential structures, even though its sole occupant was Keyre. He required a good bit of room—for his offices, his library, his study, and, of course, the laboratory—the place, originally in a humble tent, where he had worked on Mala and would have on Liis if Bourne hadn’t violently intervened.

Bourne was concentrated on the coming confrontation with Keyre and, to some extent, on the enigmatic woman about to get out from behind the jeep’s steering wheel. But at the back of his mind hovered the sun-bright glimmer out beyond the citadel’s perimeter.

Inside, Keyre stood, arms folded across his chest, in a large, round room Bourne had not seen before, so modern Bourne couldn’t believe it existed in the bleak, war-scarred countryside of Somalia. Clad in pure white marble, it must have cost a fortune to build. A high, domed ceiled was pierced by an oculus through which sunlight moved during the course of the day. The room was centrally located. There were four doors, mirroring the placement of the four anti-aircraft guns around the parade ground. Through one open door, Bourne could see a table that looked suspiciously like the one he had seen in the tent where Keyre had worked on Mala years ago. Another, a solid mahogany door slightly ajar, led to a vast bedroom suite. The third was fully open, revealing a modern kitchen of white tile and stainless-steel appliances, gleaming beneath overhead lights. The fourth door was closed. It was made of metal, like that of a bank vault. Arrayed around the walls were flat-panel screens, showing various points around the perimeter of the compound. Below them were banks of terminals.

Keyre welcomed them like conquering heroes. Naturally, he was overjoyed when Bourne told him the good news. “So it’s for real!” He rubbed his hands together. “And even better, some of the Russian participants are out of the picture. I haven’t heard from either Gora or Alyosha.”

“You won’t be hearing from Ekaterina, either.” Bourne turned to the Angelmaker. “But then I’m thinking you already know this.”

“Yes,” Keyre acknowledged. “The Angelmaker told me that Ekaterina and her father are out of the picture completely.”

Bourne returned his attention to Keyre. “She shot them dead. Which, I’m assuming, was why you insisted she come along with me. You knew the path you set me on would lead to Ekaterina and Dima.”

Keyre raised a forefinger. “Knew, no. But I suspected as much. For some time now, my lines of communication with the Russians have been somewhat, how shall I put it, sketchy.”

“Which was why you needed me. You knew my close knowledge of Moscow and its people in certain circles.”

“Like Karpov.”

“Like Karpov,” Bourne acknowledged. “But I was right about Boris. He himself would never have conceived of such a cyber weapon as you described to me. It was meant instead to enrich him and his two partners. But after his death the Initiative was hijacked, its purpose redirected.” Bourne stared at Keyre. “Who could have done that, do you imagine?”

“If I’m to be honest, Bourne, I thought it was Konstantin.”

“The Russian silovik who ordered thirteen Somalis turned by spetsnaz to steal it from you?” Bourne shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Keyre cocked his head and, without missing a beat, said, “Did you ask him?”

“I was too busy killing him.” Bourne flexed his hands at his sides. “So, let’s count the people who didn’t hijack the Initiative: Konstantin, his brother Timur, Dima Orlov, Ekaterina Orlova. I knew Gora Maslov—”

“I’d heard he was shot to death by one of his whores.”

“Gora was too stupid to think of it,” Bourne went on. “And as for Alyosha, she’s dead, too.”

Keyre raised his eyebrows. “Really? Now that is a surprise.”

Bourne refused to be sidetracked. “So that leaves who exactly, Keyre? You. Only you. You hijacked the Initiative. You’ve had it all the time. You just wanted me—and Mala—to avenge the insult the Russians—particularly Konstantin—visited on you.”

Keyre blew a contemplative puff of breath between his lips. “A fanciful tale, Bourne.” He gestured with the flat of his hand. “But just for the fun of it, let’s assume everything you’ve told me is true. What now?” His eyes sparked. “Will you attempt to wrest the Initiative away from me? Will you try to stop the auction?” He was almost laughing.