Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(40)

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Even in the dead of night he knew where every tent was and who or what resided inside each. Most important, he knew where Keyre spent most of his time and where his girls were kept. For reasons he had yet to determine, Mala was stashed in a separate tent next to Keyre’s, perhaps for easy access. But her sister, Liis, was in with the other girls. It made things awkward—more difficult, but not impossible. It didn’t help to see how much other death lay around the camp like so much fallen snow; it made it worse. He wanted nothing more than to rid this camp, this spot of beautiful coastline, of torture and death-dealing. But virtually the whole of the Horn of Africa was an abattoir, a cesspit of tribal warfare and bug-eyed revolutionaries, maddened by their own religious zeal.

The night had come, the darkness around the tented camp absolute. The incendiary explosive devices were in place. Less than ten seconds to go until the twin detonations, causing panic, shock, and chaos.

Seven, six…

—



“What the hell is going on?” Morgana said when Fran?oise met her as she entered the small, neat-as-a-pin arrivals hall, after deplaning. “Nobody told me anything.” It was clear she was equal parts incensed and frightened from her brief though surely scary incarceration. “I’m sitting on both flights biting my nails, looking over my shoulder, waiting for the NSA to drag me back to holding.”

“Forget the NSA,” Fran?oise said, kissing her on both cheeks, then taking the crook of her arm in hers. “At the mo-mo, they have more on their plate than they can handle.”

Morgana halted them both, and in the middle of the echoing arrivals hall, Fran?oise dragged out her mobile, fired up a browser, and showed Morgana the CNN site. Morgana grabbed the phone out of her hand, greedily reading and scrolling down at the same time.

“Good Christ, all hell’s broken loose.”

Fran?oise nodded. “MacQuerrie has vanished down the fed rabbit hole, possibly never to return.” She grinned. “Ding dong, the wizard is dead.”

Morgana looked up into her friend’s face. “This is real?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wow,” Morgana breathed. “Just…wow.”

She went back to reading the adjunct articles as Fran?oise steered her outside, where a hired car was waiting. She managed to get Morgana inside, then slid into the backseat beside her and closed the door. The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror, and she nodded.

“It’s good to have you here,” she said as the car pulled out into the exit roadway. “With me.”

Morgana, finished reading, for the moment anyway, handed back the mobile. “Did you have something to do with this?” When Fran?oise shrugged, the grin still on her face, Morgana said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“I told you I would help you if you ever got into real trouble.”

“I know, but…” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Relief brought her shoulders down from either side of her neck. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Fran?oise said with a twinkle in her eye. “But first, we take you shopping. You look like Raggedy Ann.” She took her friend’s hand, squeezed it in a reassuring manner. “Then we eat. I know a great place. The last time I was there I threw up three hours later.”

Morgana laughed. “That’s a recommendation?”

“In this case, it is.” She laughed. “Trust me.”

“Always,” Morgana said. “Always.”

—



Tick-tock… Boom!

The entire tented camp was in a frenzy, revolutionary zeal temporarily submerged under the twin necessities of putting out the fires and finding the perpetrators. Under cover of the major diversion, Bourne headed in.

Moving fast and low, he threaded his way between the tents, taking as direct a route as he was able, considering all the running troops he had to dodge. Now, with an earth-shuddering roar, the sky cracked open and the deluge commenced. That was both good news and bad news. The thick curtains of rain added to the confusion and helped mask his progress through the camp, but it also went a long way to putting out the fires prematurely.

Inside their prison tent, a dozen girls stood perfectly still. They stood on their mean pallets, legs slightly spread as if they were on a ship rolling on the high seas. They were the only immobile people in the entire camp. Not one of them thought to take advantage of the opportunity to run, not after what had happened at twilight.

Someone had lit a kerosene lamp. By the inconstant light of its flickering flame, they stared at him out of emaciated faces with overlarge eyes, their bodies pale beneath tattered clothes. Once again Bourne’s heart was rent. He wanted to save them all, but to save two he needed to leave the others behind. He’d never make it out with all of them in tow.

Stepping to Liis, he grabbed her hand, led her out of the tent, out into the deluge. Already the ground was a muddy morass. The rain was coming down so hard, even the sandy soil could not drain it away fast enough.

He endeavored not to let the girl’s stumbling gait slow him down, carrying her under one arm when he had to. Like a waft of air, she weighed next to nothing. Arriving at the rear of the tent in which Mala was being held, he used a knife to rip open the fabric. With Liis in tow, he stepped through the rent to find the older sister.