Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(23)

He regarded her for a moment, as if he was in the process of reassessing her. “What you are asking is quite out of the question.”

He hadn’t yet mentioned the termination order he had given. Could she no longer trust Mac? Had they become adversaries in a weird form of cold war? Only one way to find out.

“I know.”

Mac shook his head. “Know what, precisely?”

“That you sent a team to kill Bourne—”

“What?”

“That the team blew up the boat he was on, only he wasn’t on it.”

“Morgana, I don’t—”

“Bottom line, Bourne is still alive. I want him.”

Color had rushed into Mac’s face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I need him, Mac. We need him if we’re to crack the Bourne Initiative, as you call it.”

“Morgana, I don’t understand. I did not order anyone to blow up a ship anywhere in the world.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that you have not put out a termination order on Jason Bourne?”

He spread his hands. “Why is a cyber jockey like you talking about termination orders?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Mac.”

The general sighed. “This is eyes-only intel, so…” He made a pained face as if he had a sweet in his mouth that had an unexpected sour core. “It was a Russian team that blew up the boat. General Karpov’s boat. Out of sheer bloody-mindedness, I shouldn’t wonder. Nothing whatsoever to do with Bourne.” He seemed to swallow the sour taste. “Now. Stick to your patch of the woods, Morgana. That’s my advice to you.”

“You made Bourne my patch of the woods when you gave me my marching orders for this cyber weapon.”

“Then you misunderstood me.” He shrugged. “These things are bound to happen from time to time.”

He said this in such a condescending tone that she sat perfectly erect, as if coming to attention while seated. Her entire body tensed like a pulled bow string. She took a beat to reset. “You gave me the impression that this cyber weapon—the so-called Bourne Initiative—is your highest priority.”

He nodded. “And so it remains.”

“Then you can’t tie one arm behind my back. You have to give me all the tools I need to—”

“I have to? I don’t have to do anything.” The thunderclouds arrived with frightening swiftness. “Have you forgotten to whom you’re speaking? Not to be overly melodramatic, but, dammit, I set you up in your job, I made sure you got every damned piece of equipment you asked for, even your Italian coffee thingy.”

“Espresso maker,” she corrected foolishly.

He glared at her. “I can take it all away, including your fucking espresso maker.”

“And who will that hurt the most, General? Me or our country?”

“Morgana, Morgana, Morgana.” He shook his head, his expression now mournful. “It’s clear to me now that you have risen too far, too fast. You’ve reached the sun; your wings have melted. I gave you freedom. You mistook that freedom for power. You have no power, not now, not ever. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, General.”

He rose, turned his back on her, returned to his seat behind his desk, picked up his phone and began to dial. “Get this done, Morgana,” he said, putting the receiver to his ear. “Or I’ll find someone else who will.”

Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her hands were shaking, her knees felt like Jell-O, and her heart was on fire.

There is no one else, she wanted to tell him. But of course, this wasn’t true. There was no one else he knew of—but that wasn’t the same thing.

Outside, the good Lieutenant Goode was waiting to escort her to the elevator.

“How was your meeting, Morgana?” he asked genially.

“Ducky,” she said with a wooden smile. “Just ducky.”

At least I didn’t get shirty with him, she thought grimly.





8



Lightning illuminated her face, bone-white and dark-eyed. Her clothes clung to the shape of her body, revealing as much as they hid. The rain continued to pelt down. The air seemed subtropical, and the sky was low and virulent. Wind whistled over the rock face, the fluting now and again sounding like voices in a hellish chorus.

Bourne wanted to move inland, but in the blinding rain and pitch darkness it was far too risky. He had a flashlight he’d taken from the runabout, but using it would only alert the kill team of an unknown presence they would be obliged to investigate. The remaining members had a personal grudge against him now; he’d killed one of their own. That was an offense they would neither forgive nor forget.

The only saving grace of the storm’s ferocity was the fact that the team couldn’t move, either. How far ahead they might be was impossible to guess, but Bourne figured they had no more than a ten-minute head start. That could not put them too far ahead. They would have had to seek immediate shelter. He didn’t know if coming to Skyros had been their original plan or a spur-of-the-moment decision once the Nym had anchored there, but for sure, they had to stay there now to find Stone’s killer, which they undoubtedly suspected was Bourne.