Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(54)

Keyre took another date. “You know Gora has taken his father’s place at the summit of the Kazanskaya.”

“I do.”

Plucking another eight-by-ten from the folder, he handed it over. This one was not a head shot. It showed a young woman from the waist up. She was dark-haired, light-eyed, an intense expression on her face as she turned a three-quarter profile toward the telephoto lens. She was very beautiful, in an aggressive, almost warlike manner.

“How about her?” Keyre said. “Also familiar?”

As Bourne looked from the photo to Keyre, the ghost of a smile could be seen in the Somalian’s expression. Bourne did not know the young woman, but he sensed an unpleasant surprise coming.

“No?” Keyre cocked his head. “The woman you can’t identify, Bourne, is none other than Alyosha Orlova, Dimitri’s illegitimate daughter, Gora’s half sister. She refused to take her father’s name, or he forbade her. Possibly both. They had a naturally contentious relationship, but it was nothing compared to the one Dimitri had with Alyosha’s mother, Ekaterina Orlova.”

“So Alyosha, as well as Gora, has come to your attention.”

Keyre delivered the briefest of grins. “The Maslov clan holds intense interest for me—as it does for you, Bourne. You see, we do have business to discuss.”

“No, we—”

“Business beneficial to both of us.”

“Keyre, I cannot imagine how the stars could be aligned to allow that to happen.”

“And yet they are aligned in this curious pattern, Bourne. Of this you can be assured.”

“Tell me, then.”

Keyre nodded. “As you wish.” He took back the photo of Alyosha Orlova, ran his fingertips over the glossy surface of her features. “There is something about a man on his knees that stirs my very heart,” he began in a softer, more contemplative tone. “It’s the white flag, you see. The white flag stinks of fear. I enjoy inhaling its scent, savoring its taste before I put a match to it and set it afire.”

Silence in the room. They could all have been deep within the bowels of the Lubyanka prison for all that the outside world made itself known. Bourne’s eyes were locked with Keyre’s.

“I sense how much you hate me, Bourne. I can feel it on my skin like an army of ants.”

“Pleasure comes in such odd packages these days.”

Keyre delivered a curious smile. “Two weeks ago, thirteen men knelt not a thousand yards from where we sit. I put a bullet in the head of each of them, one by one, going down the line. Then my men buried them. But they weren’t erased; the memory of them lingers like the taste of spoiled food in the mouth.

“That’s because these thirteen men were Somalians co-opted by the Russians. And not any Russians, mind you.” Now he held up both photos, Gora Maslov in his right hand, Alyosha Orlova in his left hand.

“Why would Gora and Alyosha want to attack you?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Keyre’s eyes gleamed eerily. “And it’s made more curious considering I have a highly lucrative business arrangement with Gora.”

“He’s turned on you.”

Keyre rustled the photo in his left hand. “Let’s not forget about Alyosha. To do so would be a grave error in judgment.”

“Maybe she persuaded him to seek a better deal elsewhere.”

“Half right, Bourne. You see, the thirteen didn’t set out to attack me. They infiltrated my cadre.”

“They were looking for something you have.”

“Also half right. Because I don’t have what they were sent to fetch. I believe it was Alyosha who persuaded her brother—excuse me, half brother—to risk his business arrangement with me to steal this item.”

“This item must be highly prized.”

“Oh, it is, Bourne. It’s so highly prized that everyone who knows of its existence—a handful of people, but that’s more than enough to ensure extreme danger, I assure you—wants it. They would do anything and everything to get their hands on it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bourne saw the Angelmaker stir uneasily. “And what exactly is this item?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea what it was originally called—possibly its only designation was a letter-number combination. But that’s of no import. It’s come to be known as the Bourne Initiative.”

Bourne gave a start. “What?”

Keyre continued as if he hadn’t heard Bourne’s interjection. “The name given it by someone high up in a division of the American NSA known as Dreadnaught.”

“I’ve never heard of Dreadnaught.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Keyre said silkily.

“And I have no idea why an Initiative—whatever that might be—would be named after me.”

“That’s easy enough to answer,” the Angelmaker said, stepping forward. “The initiative was the brainchild of your late friend, General Boris Illyich Karpov.”

Keyre’s eyes narrowed. “You were good friends, weren’t you, Bourne. Close friends.”

“What of it?”

“Karpov willed you his boat.”

“Again.”

Keyre placed the photos back in the folder. “Did it ever occur to you that the Americans who were sent after you wanted to make sure that your friend’s boat was destroyed?”