Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(20)

“And yet you’re here.”

“It seems my desk is not as comfortable as it used to be,” Morgana said.

“Well said. Feel like stretching our wings a bit, do we?”

“An offer like yours…” Her voice faded out. Their eyes locked; there seemed no reason to finish the sentence verbally.

There was a photo of a beautiful girl, age six, Morgana knew, on the desk. It was turned so that she could see it, deliberately, she supposed.

“How is Sonya?” she asked.

“Adjusting to life in America.” There was a slight pause. “She doesn’t remember her father. I am obliged to show her photos of him, but I’m not sure it does any good.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. She would have loved him as surely as I did.” Then, more brightly: “She misses you.”

“We’ll have to remedy that.” Morgana cleared her throat. “Afterward.”

“You have a concern?”

“Not exactly, but I’m so new at this.”

“One of the things that makes you perfect for this particular brief.” She used the British word for assignment.

“All right, then.” Morgana nodded. “What would you have me do?”

“Go with the flow.”

Morgana frowned. “Go with…?” For a moment her alarm showed on her face. “Chaos.”

Soraya inclined her head. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Her large, luminous eyes would not let Morgana go. “The brief is still of interest to you.”

It didn’t seem to be a question, nevertheless, Morgana answered. “It is.”

“Saying good-bye to your very ordered life.”

“I’m feeling claustrophobic. In a manner of speaking.”

“Also frustrated, I imagine.”

Morgana blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“The bit of code General MacQuerrie sent you.”

Morgana opened her mouth to ask how Soraya knew about the piece of the cyber weapon but thought better of it. That she knew, reinforced Morgana’s decision.

“Frustration, too. Yes.”

Soraya favored her with a smile. “Then it’s settled.”

“Okay, but…go with the flow.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

“Not at this point, at any rate,“ Soraya said. “But, trust me, to tell you more would be a mistake.”

“All right.” It wasn’t all right, but what else could she say. “I do trust you.”

“Or else you wouldn’t be here.” Another slight pause. “Events will be moving quickly now. No matter. Do whatever you have decided to do. Do not alter a thing.”

“I understand.” Morgana cleared her throat again. “Is that all?”

“Just—”

“Go with the flow.” Morgana smiled now. “Got it.”

As she made to leave, Soraya said, “One more thing.”

Morgana raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“It’s highly likely that at some point you’ll think I’ve thrown you to the dogs.”

“But you haven’t.”

“Further along, you’ll be able to judge for yourself.”

There was a distinct note of finality in the comment. The interview was over.

—



Ten minutes later, Morgana showed her credentials to security. She might not be government, but there were enough occasions when she was required to be at HQ that Mac had had a Dreadnaught clearance created for her. No one inside NSA had ever heard of Meme LLC, and that was just the way both she and Mac wanted it. NSA was PURINT, pure intelligence, meaning surveillance was done from the remove of satellites, wires, remote chatter interceptors. No one in the field. Whereas the CIA dealt in HUMINT—human intelligence—agents in the field reporting back to their controls. Mac believed in PURINT; otherwise he wouldn’t have been in NSA. But he also believed in enforcement and interdiction intervention, hence his creation of Dreadnaught neatly hidden inside NSA. She was waved through, directed to park the car in Mac’s designated section of the lot.

Morgana was stopped at another security post just inside the front doors. Then she was required to put her handbag through an X-ray and to pass through a metal detector. Even after that she was patted down by a muscular, grim-faced woman who seemed to be channeling a prison guard.

When the woman’s hand rose to her crotch, Morgana said, “Try it” with such ferocity the woman froze. “Go on,” Morgana said. The woman shrugged, backed off, turning away as if she had more important things to do than fondle Morgana.

The vast lobby was deliberately intimidating—high-ceilinged, hard-walled, and filled with people on missions far more important than yours, whatever that might be. Morgana laughed to herself as she crossed to the bank of elevators.

Yet another security checkpoint reared its ugly head as soon as she stepped off at the fifteenth floor. Passing through without difficulty, she went down the thickly carpeted corridor, passing doors with only inscrutable designations in a number-letter code. Like an aircraft carrier, you had to know your way around the place in order not to get hopelessly lost.

Righteous fury was a deadly thing, she knew this. It was more likely to defeat you than to bring you victory. Nevertheless, it was righteous fury that had brought her from her station at Meme LLC to Dreadnaught’s door—designated NCN-113, for who knew what arcane reason.