Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(50)

That smile again, returning to the enigmatic. When did enigmatic become so erotic? Fulmer asked himself.

“Don’t you ever let your hair down, Marshall?”

He was about to correct her, then decided to let it go. He liked her calling him by his Christian name. “I can’t afford to.”

“Then what good is living?”

Fulmer felt the ground giving way under him again. “Tell me who told you I was responsible for supplying LeakAGE with…I assume it was in the course of pillow talk.”

“It’s true,” Gwyneth said. “Men like to unburden themselves after sex. One intimacy leads quite naturally to another.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’ll take your word for it.” He sat forward. “Who blabbed?”

“Your bodyguard, Max.”

“What?” Fulmer winced as if he had been stuck with a needle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I pride myself on never being ridiculous.”

“But it can’t be. Max has been with me for years. He’s a loyal—”

“Even guard dogs get fed up with their masters, especially if they’re treated poorly.”

Fulmer was about to deny that he had done any such thing, when he cast his mind back to how dismissive he’d been to Max in Kalmar. But, really, now he thought of it, that was only the tip of the iceberg. The fact was, he treated Max as part of the familiar furniture that was always with him. Except when he needed to be alone. And speaking of Kalmar, who knew what Max had got up to when Fulmer had dismissed him outside the conference room. What if he had followed Fulmer, witnessed his meeting with Fran?oise? Max leaking his secrets? It was possible, but…

“How d’you know for a fact it was Max?”

“Because it was me he told, directly.”

Fulmer’s eyes opened wide. His complexion had gone waxen. “Afterward?”

That smile, more knowing than enigmatic now, but even more erotic, if that were possible. “Say this for him, the man’s got good taste.”

Fulmer slumped in his chair. He passed a hand across his brow.

“Betrayal’s a bitch, isn’t it, Marshall?”

—



“So you’ve brought me back.” He heard nothing in reply; his mind was clearing. “That was the plan all along, why you reached out to me, why you set up the rendezvous in Skyros.”

“The rendezvous saved your life,” she reminded him gently. “Understand, Keyre despises the Russians. He’s at war with them.” She watched for a beat, taking the temperature of his reactions. “It’s why he asked me to bring you to him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Steady on, she told herself. Even the hint of a lie and all will be lost. “But you do believe me. I know you do.”

He thought about this for some time. His sudden bark of a laugh startled her. “Are you telling me that Keyre wants my help?”

She said nothing; there was nothing to say. The situation spoke for itself.

“This is too rich,” Bourne said. “Too damn good. Keyre is asking for a favor.”

Still, she said nothing. All at once, even knowing how dire the situation with the Russians had become, she felt ashamed at her part in what could only be called an abduction. She knew now what she had known before, but had doggedly pushed away: her position between these two men was destroying her from the inside out. But perhaps that was her fate. She had endured too many indignities, too many insults to her mind and her body to ever be what she would once have been. She was what she had been made into, a product of inhumanity. Like Jason. In fact, precisely like Jason.

Bourne struggled to sit up, and she pressed a pedal that lifted the top third of the bed until he was in a comfortable position. He gave a glance at the IV in his arm, the beeping monitor’s eye. “I want to get out of here.”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t care.”

He reached to pull out the IV. She said, “You’ve been unconscious for six days.”

That gave him pause, as she knew it would, brought home to him the severity of his wounds.

“You lost a ton of blood,” she added.

He let go of the IV needle, lay back against the pillow, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about it. “You haven’t said another word about Keyre.”

“I have nothing left to say.”

“I doubt that. What’s he want me to do?”

“That’s for him to say.”

“But you know.” It wasn’t a question; he knew her too well. Of course she knew; she was being the good soldier, waiting for the general to deliver the marching orders. “Tell him I won’t do it.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

A certain silence threw up its spikes between them. The air they breathed was stretched with tension.

“Listen to me,” the Angelmaker said at length.

“Now you’re going to tell me he isn’t evil.”

“Oh, no, Keyre is evil, all right. But the fact is, he’s battling a greater evil.”

“By selling arms to fight the infidel.”

“A case could be made for that, yes.”