Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(28)

When the two brothers were alone, Konstantin said matter-of-factly, “The Americans blew up Karpov’s boat.”

Savasin stared at him as if he had grown another head. “Are you sure?”

When Konstantin delivered a withering look, he went on, “Do you have any hard evidence?”

“The Americans are smart enough not to leave anything behind that could be traced back to them. Let the Sovereign make propaganda hay; he’s good at that. As for us, pursuing that line will only lead us down a path that never ends. Which is precisely what the Americans want.”

“Nevertheless, the boat—a part of the Federation—has been destroyed by a foreign power.”

Konstantin glanced around again, and, with the grace of a dancer, stepped to one of the upholstered chairs in the office, inspected it vigilantly before seating himself. He glanced down, admiring the perfect creases of his imported trousers as he did so. “Oh, come off it, Timur. You don’t give a shit about that. It’s the boat itself that has your knickers in a twist.” He looked up at his brother, a sardonic look in his eye. “I know you coveted it.”

“The Sovereign promised it to me.”

“Oops.”

Konstantin continued to draw in tobacco and let it out in aromatic clouds when his lungs had become saturated with nicotine.

“You’ll kill yourself with that filthy habit,” Savasin observed.

“Don’t you wish.”

Konstantin tapped ash into a crystal ashtray thick enough to crack a skull open with one blow—at least that was Savasin’s thought in the moment.

“Was Jason Bourne on the Nym when it left Istanbul? Or was it heading to a rendezvous with him?”

Konstantin shrugged.

“Bourne was Karpov’s closest friend. There’s a good chance he left the boat to him.”

Konstantin lifted a bit of tobacco off the tip of his tongue. “What do I care.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s certainly your prerogative, First Minister.”

Konstantin had the ability to completely exasperate him, just like when they were kids. The fact was, Savasin loved and hated his brother. He also feared him, always had. Perched on the corner of his desk, he folded his arms across his chest, regarded his brother from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

“As long as we’re talking prerogatives, I don’t like Volodarsky.” Konstantin plucked a bit of lint off the supple fabric that covered his kneecap. “Volodarsky is your appointment.”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you get for elevating old friends. He doesn’t know his zipper from his shoulder boards. I mean, face facts, he can’t even find Jason Bourne. But I have. He was on General Karpov’s boat.”

“What?”

“No, no, no.” He waited a beat and, picking his way light as you please through Savasin’s glare, added, “You should ask why, Timur. Why didn’t your man know that?”

Savasin was still trying to recover from the news that the Nym would never be his. Maintaining an iron fa?ade, he said, “And you maintain you have no interest in Jason Bourne.”

“My dear Timur Ludmirovich, you’re the one who hated Karpov with a—how to put it best?—a maniacal, near-religious fervor. I can only suppose that you feel the same way toward his best friend.” He shrugged. “As for me, I couldn’t care less whether Bourne lives or dies.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “He hasn’t gotten under my skin.”

He ground out the butt of his cigarette and rose. “Now, if we’re clear on the matter…”

A knock sounded on the door.

“It’s like the Kazansky railway station in here today,” Konstantin observed with one raised eyebrow.

“Come!” Savasin said, somewhat louder than was necessary.

Malachev advanced into the office, but he was brought up short by the presence of the elder Savasin. After a moment’s contemplation during which Savasin could virtually see the cogs in his head spinning dizzily, he soldiered on, one eye on Konstantin as if at any moment the head of FSB would take a bite out of his thigh like a rabid animal.

“I have confirmed that Jason Bourne was on Karpov’s boat when it left Istanbul.”

Savasin gave his older brother a savage glare. “And was he on it when the Americans blew it up?”

Malachev spread his hands. “Unfortunately, First Minister, I don’t—”

“He doesn’t know.” Konstantin broke in. “No one here knows.” His scimitar smile seemed to extend from ear to ear. “Except me, of course.”

Savasin felt a headache coming on. He dismissed Malachev with a curt wave of his hand. When the brothers were alone again, he said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting, little brother, for you to meet my price.”

Savasin felt his blood pressure threatening to go through the roof. Still, he held himself in check, replied evenly, “And what would that be?”

“I want you to fire Volodarsky.”

Relief was just a word away. “Done. He’s proved eminently incompetent.”

“Jettisoning your childhood pal. Just like that.” Konstantin sniffed. “Well, I suppose that says something about you.”