Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(82)
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Down by the marina, soldiers appeared in full camo, helmets, carrying submachine guns across their chests. They were members of the Skaraborg Armored Regiment and an odd sight indeed. Morgana asked Natalie about them, but she had no idea why they might be deployed.
The two women sat across from each other in a small, dark café near the water. It smelled of stale beer and staler sweat, but it was the only place open at this hour. Morgana did not want to take Natalie to her hotel restaurant for fear of running into either Larry or Fran?oise.
The door kept opening, fishermen coming in straight off their boats, reeking of the sea, scales making tiny rainbows on their slickers as they caught the light. Usually, the banter between the men was lighthearted and inevitably salty, punctuated with raucous laughter. But this morning, as if echoing Morgana’s mood, the atmosphere was tight with tension. What banter began petered out quickly and morosely.
“His name is Gora, that much I know for sure,” Natalie said. “And he’s Russian. I know a little. He spoke to his guards in Russian.”
Russian, Morgana thought. Dear God.
The smoked fish and thin triangles of dark bread Morgana had ordered were already half gone. The stink of fish no longer bothered her; she was adjusting to her new life.
Natalie stirred enormous amounts of sugar into her black coffee, the café’s only substitute for liquor. “And the woman was Russian, too.”
Morgana felt the muscles in her shoulders and neck tense. Her head came up like a pointer scenting prey. “What woman?”
Natalie made a face. “A woman came in while Gora was fixing us breakfast. Very beautiful. Gora’s demeanor changed as soon as she appeared. He stiffened, became an iceman. He had no more use for me. He began to trash-talk me. Then he kicked me out.”
These details rushed past Morgana like a runaway freight train. “You said the woman was Russian. How do you know that?”
“Gora spoke to her in Russian.”
“But—”
“Morgana, I know enough Russian to understand. He spoke to her as one intimate to another, nothing formal about it.”
Morgana’s throbbing heart was already sinking in her breast, but just to make sure, she said, “Can you describe this woman?”
Natalie had a keen eye, that much was clear after only fifteen seconds. But even if she hadn’t, Morgana would have recognized Fran?oise from the description. Of course it was Fran?oise. Morgana had been watching; no other woman had gone anywhere near Carbon Neutral.
She needed not to think about Fran?oise for a moment, give herself a little time to recover from the stunned reverberations this revelation had caused deep inside her. She turned her attention to the subdued conversations around them. She still had only a bare-bones understanding of Swedish, so she asked Natalie to listen in and translate for her.
After several minutes of concentration, with her expression seemingly darkening each second, Natalie said: “Now I understand the military presence. The MSB—that’s the Civil Contingency Agency—has ordered local governments countrywide to establish operations centers in underground bunkers, maintain a network of emergency sirens, and to coordinate with Swedish Armed Forces.” She stared at Morgana. “We’re being asked to prepare for a conflict with Russia.”
Morgana’s thoughts were in total disarray. She had hoped that taking her mind off her own problem would help settle her, get her over the shock. But now this. But whereas Natalie had to consider the bigger picture, she needed to concentrate on her own situation first, which was precisely this: Larry London wasn’t Larry London. Fran?oise Sevigne wasn’t Fran?oise Sevigne. How could she be so blind, why hadn’t she seen that the moment Larry was exposed Fran?oise was suspect as well? The answer was clear enough: emotion. She liked Fran?oise. A lot. They had been friends for some time, shared intimate moments. They had laughed together, shopped together; they’d even, on occasion, shared clothes. Good Christ, she thought. What have I gotten myself into?
Natalie put down her coffee cup, placed her hand over Morgana’s. “Your face has lost all color. Is everything all right?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Morgana smiled like the porcelain doll she’d adored as a child. “Never better.”
31
The TV, set to CNN, was muted. Nevertheless, the scroll at the bottom told the breaking story of Russian military forces moving toward the borders of Estonia, Latvia, Belarus—with which the current Kremlin regime had an economic accord but no formal alliance—and already pushing farther into Ukraine. This in addition to the troops and war matériel inside Syria. Despite the Russian Sovereign’s claims that all maneuvers were simply part of war games, all this bellicose activity was sending NATO into a frenzy, especially since the new American president seemed indifferent to the threat. Events that had been long simmering appeared to be coming to a head.
Mala turned away from her contemplation of the news. “Whatever the Bourne Initiative is, do you think it could be tied in to the Sovereign’s far more aggressive stance?”
“I think it’s highly likely, which is why we’ve no time to waste in getting to Dima. According to General MacQuerrie, Dima Orlov took advantage of the chaos following Boris’s murder to hijack the cyber weapon.” Bourne wasn’t looking at the screen, but nor was he looking at her.