Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(58)

“Mala could have told me all this back on Skyros,” Bourne pointed out.

“True enough.” Keyre spread his hands. “But where’s the fun in that?” He wagged his forefinger again. “You and I both know that we aren’t done with each other; we were fated to meet again. But who could have imagined it would be under circumstances where we’re in the star-crossed position to help each other.”

Bourne turned to the Angelmaker. “I’d like something more substantial to eat.”

She took up the walkie-talkie on the table, spoke into it briefly. No one spoke another word until one of Keyre’s people arrived with a tray on which sat a bowl of stew and a round of unleavened bread with which to eat it.

Bourne took the bowl off the tray as it was being set down, sniffed it.

“It’s goat, Bourne,” Keyre said with a wry smile. “You won’t find a morsel of human flesh in there.”

As Bourne ripped off a piece of bread, scooped up the stew, and began to eat, Keyre said, “So here, in a nutshell, is what we are dealing with: you and I are both under attack because of something your friend, Karpov, dreamed up. Neither of us know what it is, let alone have possession of it. But we won’t have any peace until we find out what the general was up to.” He steepled his long, spidery fingers. “I think we agree on that, yes?”

Bourne looked up into Keyre’s face, swallowed. “With your far-flung network I would think it should be easy enough for you to find out.”

“Normally that would be the case, more or less.” Keyre sighed. “But these are not normal times, Bourne. Even I cannot infiltrate an American NSA black site.”

Bourne stopped eating, put the bowl aside. “What are you talking about?”

“The gist of it is this: it was General MacQuerrie, the head of Dreadnaught, who dubbed this mysterious data the Bourne Initiative. He set one of his private people, Morgana Roy, by all accounts a cyber genius, to the task of decoding the data. The problem is we only have MacQuerrie’s word for what this data is. Was he telling Roy the truth? We can’t ask her because she’s disappeared. Was he lying, and, if so, for what reason? No one knows the answer to that but MacQuerrie himself, and he’s been arrested, due to a damning server leak disseminated by LeakAGE while you were in dreamland.

“So. It seems to me that we have only one way forward. We have to penetrate the NSA black site where MacQuerrie is being held and interrogate him.”

Bourne gave a harsh laugh. “It’s you who’s in dreamland, Keyre.”

Once again, Keyre chose to ignore Bourne’s comment. “Only one man on earth can get to MacQuerrie, interrogate him, and get out alive. That’s you, Bourne. The chameleon.”

“Even I—”

“My people have discovered where he’s being held, so part of your job has been done for you.” Keyre sat forward. “Bourne, there’s no other way out for us; much as you despise me, much as you want to see me dead, you know this to be true.”

Bourne did. Much as he hated to admit it, there was a lot to be said for Keyre’s plan. He kept his gaze fixed steadily on the Somalian. He did not look at the Angelmaker; did not want to see what she held in her eyes for him. There was nothing he wanted more than to be wherever Sara was, even if it wasn’t a sun-splashed beach in Bali or Thailand. He missed her with an ache that penetrated to the very marrow of his bones. But they had realized that becoming attached in that way was a liability, too much danger for them both. In their line of business, love was the ultimate liability. Now that it had happened to them, it was better to live in denial than to allow the perilous truth to overwhelm them. But rationality did not diminish Bourne’s ache for her.

But he wasn’t with Sara, didn’t even know where in the world she was. He was here, the present danger to him was acute, and a solution, though extremely treacherous, had been presented to him.

“Bourne, can you come up with an alternative?” Keyre prompted. When Bourne said nothing, he nodded, continuing, “I and my people will provide transportation and all the support you might need.”

“I work alone.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Bourne rose, stretched his legs. He had already begun strenuous workouts. “Where is the NSA holding MacQuerrie?”

Keyre rose, studied Bourne for a moment. “Seriously, you won’t believe it when I tell you.”

—



“My daughter?” Ekaterina had gone very still. “What have you to do with Alyoshka?” She jumped up, her agitation setting Cerberus into motion, like the mechanical creature of a clock about to chime the hour. “Do you have her in custody on some trumped-up charge? That’s the Sovereign’s way, after all.”

Savasin held up his hands, palms outward, both to placate Ekaterina and to ward off an anticipated blow from Cerberus. “Calm yourself. Nothing of the sort has happened. Your Alyosha is as free as a bird.”

Ekaterina made a gesture. Cerberus came to an immediate halt but, Savasin observed with no little trepidation, did not return to his place at the piano. He maintained his position, his baleful glare striking the first minister like a series of hammer blows, causing him to rise off the sensuously comfortable sofa.

“However,” Savasin began.

“However what?” Ekaterina exploded.