Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(77)

A smile of understanding lit up her face. She dug the phone out, set it down in the center of the circles of heat, drawing her hand back quickly.

“I never liked that phone much, anyway,” she said as she followed Bourne out of The Drowning Pool, through the door opposite the one through which they had entered.

Behind them, the lithium-ion battery that powered Mala’s mobile heated up to an intolerable level, and, just as three NSA techs rushed into The Drowning Pool, it exploded in their faces.

Alarms went off all over the place. They sprinted down corridors, the Angelmaker following Bourne’s every step. His eidetic memory had imprinted every nook and cranny of the great house. They hid in a utility closet as armed men rushed past on their way to the emergency in The Drowning Pool; they gingerly climbed an old, disused staircase with several rotten treads to gain the main floor; they escaped the confines of the house, not through any of the four doors on the main floor that led outside, which were doubtless being guarded, but by jumping out a second-floor window that overlooked a huge oak tree, down which they climbed.

They made their way past the huge tree, left down the dirt track. Bourne made sure they skirted the site of the shootings, hurrying them along through copses of oak and poplar, until they were in sight of Arthur Lee’s small stone house.

Lee was waiting for them in his old rattletrap of a truck.

“Once I heard the commotion, I knew you’d either be coming through the woods or you’d be dead. One way or t’other the day had gone in another direction.” He pointed. “Who’s this lovely lady?”

“A friend,” the Angelmaker said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Sassy critter, ain’tcha?” Lee grinned. “My name’s Arthur, but you, missy, can call me Artie.”

“Arthur,” Bourne cut in.

“Right.” Lee hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Under the tarp back there, situate yourselves between the bales of hay.”

When Bourne hesitated, he added, “They check coming in, not going out.”

“But with the alarms going off—”

“There’s a fire now in the great house, but I’m guessing you know that already.” Lee winked. “You just get covered up and leave the rest to me.”

They climbed in the back, made themselves as comfortable as possible, being squeezed between bales, pulled the tarp over themselves, tied it down to hooks in the sides of the truck bed.

No sooner had they done that, then, with a protesting shriek of gears the truck rocked away from Lee’s house, heading for one of the gates. Soon enough, it was clear that he was making for the eastern gate on the other side of the property, an excellent choice, since it was the one farthest away from the growing mayhem.

By the time they reached the gate, the wail of fire engines could be heard, and the guards, distracted by the noises, addressed Lee only long enough to ask him what was going on. It seemed as if everyone near the great house was too busy to contact them.

“Grease fire, far’s I can tell,” Lee said easily. “But, y’know, I’m not allowed inside the great house, so it’s anyone’s guess.”

One of the guards grunted. “I’d fucking let you in,” he muttered under his breath.

The other said, “Going for your usual evening hay run, Arthur?”

“To the Sizemore farm. That’s about the size of it.”

The gates opened, and he drove through, out into the darkling countryside. The sun had set, splashing vivid colors across the western sky. Crows wheeled overhead, then made for their nests in faraway trees. A dog barked, then was still. Rabbits were at play in the fields, their heads coming up, their bodies freezing as the truck trundled past.

When they were far enough away from ground zero, Lee tooted his horn; it was a funny sound, like something you’d hear at a circus or a sideshow. Bourne and the Angelmaker scrambled out from under the fluttering tarp. Lee stopped just long enough for them to join him in the cab.

“Where to, missy?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“It’s his show,” she said, indicating Bourne.

Lee’s head bobbed up and down. “Know that already; just bein’ polite.”

“I appreciate that,” the Angelmaker said. “More than you know.”

Seeming satisfied with the direction of the conversation, Lee put the truck in gear, and they continued their rumbling journey due east, away from Crowcroft.

“Second star to the left,” Bourne said, “then straight on till morning.”

“Shouldn’t that be ‘to the right’?” Lee said.

“Only if we’re going to Never, Never Land,” Bourne replied.

For a time, they rattled on in companionable silence. Bourne could tell Mala was depleted; she needed rest, but he had questions he needed to put to her.

“I assume you followed me all the way from Somalia,” he said.

“That’s right.” She had her head back, resting on the seat.

“Keyre’s orders.”

“Right again.”

“How the hell did you manage to get into Crowcroft?”

“I didn’t.” Her eyes snapped open, but they seemed to be looking at something only she could see. “I was stupid. I made a mistake. I underestimated—”