Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(65)
Arthur Lee stopped what he was doing. With surgical thread and needle in his hands, he looked directly at Bourne, “I am no chieftain. But I do thank you for the honor.”
As he began to put the needle to good use, Bourne said, “As far as I can tell, you are around these parts, Arthur.”
Lee grunted, but he couldn’t keep the smile of pleasure off his face. “Done,” he said, after tying off the thread. He had returned to English, mainly because of Jimmy. “Keep your activities to a minimum for the next several days.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Arthur Lee sat back on his haunches. “What is it you said you do?”
“I didn’t,” Bourne replied. Then switching back to Powhatan, “I need the Powtitianna’s help.”
Arthur Lee, the very essence of stillness, regarded Bourne for several moments. “That’s a mighty forward request, Jason.” Then he broke out into a smile. “Nevertheless, I do believe I’ll take it under advisement.”
—
Bourne was naturally eager to get inside Crowcroft, but in Arthur Lee’s world all things presented themselves in their time. There was simply no use in being impatient; the man moved at his own speed. Over generous pours of the excellent mountain whiskey he had brought and the equally excellent meal Jimmy had prepared, Bourne followed Lee’s lead, sinking into his deliberate pace.
“Where did you learn to speak Powhatan?” Lee asked, midway through the meal.
“In another life I was a college professor,” Bourne said. “Comparative languages was my field. I have an instinctive ability to learn languages, the more obscure the better.”
“Well, Powhatan sure is obscure.” Lee nodded. “Leastwise, these days.”
“It wasn’t always like that.”
Lee squinted at him. “You know?”
“The history of the indigenous people hereabouts? Yes, sir, indeed I do.”
“Well, don’t that beat everything.” Lee pointed with a leathery forefinger. “The decline and fall of civilization.” He almost spat, such was his disdain. “And after the carpetbaggers, the industries, the conglomerates, and the criminals, what are we left with?”
“I divorced myself from all that years ago.”
“Betrayal upon betrayal, right?”
Bourne nodded. “As it was with you, it is with me,” he said in Powhatan which, as it happened, was a far more powerful and involving language than English.
They drank coffee laced with more mountain whiskey, and for once there was a silence pregnant with expectation around the table. Bourne said nothing; it was for Arthur Lee to approach the heart of the matter that had brought Bourne here.
Lee laid both forearms on the table, hands open, in the manner of the Powhatan at a parlay among equals. The open hands showed Lee’s receptive intent far better than anything he could say.
“How may I be of service to you, Jason?”
No point in beating around the bush now, Bourne thought. “The men who run Crowcroft now have devious intent. They are beyond any border of civilization.”
Arthur Lee watched him carefully but made no comment. Did he know about the NSA’s doings inside the great house? Bourne wondered. The man gave him no outward clue. On the other hand, he was still listening.
“These people are holding a man against his will,” Bourne continued. “I need to get inside Crowcroft to reach him.”
“Do you mean to free him?”
Bourne felt the black crow’s eyes on him like a weight. Arthur Lee needed an answer, and Bourne knew better than to lie to him about his intent. “No.”
“Then why?”
“His mind holds the key to a problem that is otherwise unsolvable.”
“This problem,” Arthur Lee said, “it is of great importance.”
Bourne reverted to Powhatan. “Powtitianna, a great many people are trying to kill me because they believe I have the answer.”
One eye closed, the other seeming to increase its power of discernment. “Are you a federal agent?”
“Federal agents are among those trying to kill me.”
Arthur Lee poured himself the last of the mountain whiskey while he deliberated. He swallowed the liquor, closed his eyes for an instant, savoring the flavor to its utmost. Then he smacked his lips and, addressing Bourne, said, “I understand your dilemma, Jason. Now you must understand mine.
“Apart from several dark years, I have worked at Crowcroft all my life. In that sense, it is more mine than any owner’s—including the current ones. Loyalty is of extreme importance to me—as I believe it is to you—thus you will comprehend me when I tell you that my loyalty lies entirely with Crowcroft.”
“We are both men of intent, Powtitianna. You know what transpires in the great house.”
“Oh, not only in the great house, Jason. No, indeed.”
Bourne glanced out the window. “It’s dark now. It’s time for me to go. Will you help me gain entrance to Crowcroft, Arthur?”
Lee spread his hands. “Jason, over the course of these hours breaking bread with you, we have become friends.” His expression bore a sorrow beyond comprehension. “I know what is done inside the buildings of Crowcroft. Terrible things. Things which should not exist in this world. Things that belong to the time of the Southern slave owners and the Northern carpetbaggers who came after. There was little difference between them: both wanted to exploit us, to make their fortunes off our backs. Today is it any different?” He shook his head. “Which makes it even more painful to tell you that all the tunnels have been rendered impassible; every time I go in and out, every square inch of my car is inspected. Men with specially trained dogs surround the vehicle; I couldn’t smuggle in a gram of weed even if I wanted to.” He sighed. “There is no conceivable way I can sneak you into Crowcroft. I’m afraid your mission is doomed to failure.”