Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(29)

“I’ll be more judicious when I appoint—”

“Oh, no. I want my own man heading up Special Forces. As head of FSB it’s my right.”

He should have known firing Volodarsky was only the beginning. “As first minister, I can veto any appointment you make.”

“You could,” Konstantin said. “But then you wouldn’t find out about the disposition of Jason Bourne. Is he dead? Alive? And if still alive, where is he?”

Savasin felt as if he were standing at a waterline, the sand washing out from under his feet. “You said you didn’t know—”

“I said I don’t care. I don’t. But you do.” Konstantin flipped another cigarette into his mouth, lit it with his oversize steel lighter. “I am aware of how much you need to know, little brother,” he added in a rush of smoke. “So…” He shrugged.

Savasin continued to struggle for equilibrium. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself. After all, Volodarsky was clearly the wrong choice to head up spetsnaz. Konstantin was frighteningly intelligent. It was entirely possible that Konstantin’s pick would be a good one. In that frame of mind, he said, “Who’s your man?” The instant he said it, he knew he had capitulated. He realized his mistake. Whoever his brother had in mind would be his man through and through, which would, by definition, make him Savasin’s enemy. Konstantin was also frighteningly clever.

“Nikolay Ivanovich Rozin.”

“What?” Savasin raised his eyebrows. “Rozin is a field agent.”

“Undercover. Yes, he’s perhaps the best field agent we have.”

“Huh. He’s also something of a loose cannon, so maybe taking him out of the field is a wise choice.”

“Who said anything about taking him out of the field?”

The disorientation returned. Damn Konstantin to hell. “Then how will he—?”

“I mean to break the mold, little brother. I want him in the field.” He sniffed. “In my opinion, the spetsnaz officials have gotten too complacent, too comfortable milling around Dzerzhinsky Square. That requires a revolution, or don’t you agree?”

The damnable fact was that Savasin did agree. Konstantin was dead on in his assessment of Special Forces. It was a problem Savasin himself had been meaning to address. Konstantin had beaten him to it. Nothing new there, he thought bitterly.

“As it happens, I do agree.” He bit off each word as if they came from a bar of soap. He nodded. “All right. Elevate Rozin and let’s see where that leads.” He lifted a hand. “But know that he’s on a short leash. If he steps out of line—”

“I’m the wrong person to threaten,” Konstantin said. “Have you forgotten so soon?”

Savasin was so angry he almost lacerated his tongue. “I forget nothing,” he said thickly.

“Better.” Konstantin regarded the glowing tip of his cigarette. “As it happens, your Bourne boarded the Nym even before it put in to Istanbul.” His eyes flicked up to engage his brother’s. “By all rights, he should have been on the boat when the Americans blew it up.”

“I thought you had no interest in Bourne.”

“Insofar as you do, I have a great deal of interest.”

“You wanted to deny me the satisfaction of taking his life.”

“Correct.”

“But the American team missed him. So he’s still alive. Where?”

“In the eastern Aegean. The island of Skyros, to be exact. We have picked up a coded distress call.”

Savasin’s brows drew together. “Coded?”

Konstantin offered an unsavory chuckle. “Leave it to General Karpov. It’s his signal.” He beamed. “As it happens there’s a spetsnaz team ready and waiting in Istanbul. It’s only a short flight to—”

“I want control of the spetsnaz team,” Savasin said, shaking off this latest specter of their shared past.

Konstantin shrugged. “Have at it, little brother. I’ve got what I came for.”





10



Night was descending into the shoals of a glimmering dawn.

“I don’t like this,” Mala said.

“You don’t like anything.”

The sea was ahead of them. The closer they came to it, the higher they ascended, until they were above the treetops down below. The harsh salt wind lashed what foliage remained into dwarfs, limbs painfully twisted as if from long torture.

“They’re gaining on us,” Mala whispered.

“I know.”

“We ought to increase our speed.”

“And risk exposing ourselves to their night goggles?” He shook his head.

“But at this rate, they’re bound to catch up to us before we make the coast.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

She gave him a sharp, sideways look. “What d’you have up your sleeve?”

“It may not work,” he said. “I don’t want to give you false hope.”

Her eyes flashed. “That’s what you gave me when you took us out of Somalia.”

He couldn’t argue with her there.

He led her off the rough track they had been following, and they began climbing the cliff face, clawing for foot-and handholds. The problem of always keeping large enough rocks between them and the kill team added an extra degree of difficulty.