Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(91)

“It’s simple,” Fran?oise said, “like all the best plans. The less moving parts the better.”

Morgana could agree with that. She nodded. “Fire away.” She winced at her choice of words.

“The plan takes advantage of Larry’s weakness.”

“What weakness?”

“Women. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“It’s hard to miss,” Morgana said. “I just didn’t see it as a weakness.”

“Neither does Larry. That’s the best part. It’s hiding in plain sight.”

Fran?oise took some coffee, made a face, then set the cup down in its saucer. The café was packed and noisy, which is why she’d chosen it for their early-morning rendezvous.

“Larry’s always wanted to bed me despite my bad treatment of him back when. I haven’t let him, of course, but the key thing here is I haven’t cut him off at the knees either. So…”

“So what? You’re going to seduce him? How does that help us?”

“Do you know how to handle a handgun?”

“Not really, no,” Morgana lied. The moment she discovered that Fran?oise was a Russian spy, she had quit telling her the truth about anything. The tricky part was to act natural, not to give her former friend the slightest hint of the change in their relationship. She had enough to worry about with Larry ordered to kill her without being afraid Fran?oise might beat him to it.

Lions to the left of me, lions to the right. Here I am, stuck in the middle with you. She sang this to herself to take the edge off the fear and loathing, the claustrophobic sensation of being trapped.

Fran?oise tossed her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll be so close to Larry you couldn’t miss if you tried.”

Morgana’s stomach gave a lurch, her heart rate increasing. “What are you talking about?”

“Just this.” Fran?oise leaned over the table, lowering her voice, though in the good-natured din there was no need. “Tonight I’m going to let Larry seduce me. I’ll pretend to get a bit drunk. Then I’ll lean over the table, like I am now. Only tonight my shirt buttons will be open enough for him to see the tops of my breasts. That’s all the invitation he’ll need, believe me.”

Morgana had trouble breathing, as if the air around her had turned gelid, as if she were submerged beneath a dark and ominous sea. “And then?” She could scarcely get the words out.

“And then you’ll come out of the closet with the handgun I will provide and kill him.”

“What?”

“One shot to the back of his head.” She cocked her hand like a gun. “Blam!”

“That’s crazy. Forget it.”

“Don’t worry, Morgana, I’ll make sure he’s on top. His back will be toward you.” Fran?oise smiled winningly. “He won’t know what hit him, I guarantee it.”

Through the smeared windows the sun was burning off the last of the early morning’s gray mist.

—



“Honesty is inefficient,” Mala said.

“In our world, at the edge of civilization.”

“No, I mean anytime, anywhere. Honesty reveals too much, leaving you feeling defeated.”

They were back in their seats. Bourne had drifted off a bit, but it was the kind of surface sleep he’d learned at Treadstone. He made sure he was sensing Mala; if she had left her seat again he would have been right behind her. She had ordered a vodka with plenty of ice, drinking it slowly, methodically, in the way people do when they’re determined to get drunk. Bourne wasn’t about to let that happen; he’d cut her off before she got halfway there. But he didn’t stop her now, sensing that she needed the fortification to tell him whatever it was that was burning its way through her mind.

It was a time of loss for Bourne. Boris was dead, Sara was who knew where, in whatever kind of dangerous situation, and he was sure he was losing Mala, though in what way he could not yet discern. But then what had been their connection? Maybe it had been spun of spider’s-web silk, apt to be broken at a moment’s notice, or with a wrong turn. Perhaps their connection was an illusion; she wasn’t like any other woman he had met or would likely meet. Like the Sphinx in the desert outside Cairo she was a complete enigma. And, quite possibly, therein lay her allure.

Mala stirred beside him, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass as she took another sip. She held the vodka in her mouth a moment, savoring its icy bite before swallowing it.

“Having said that, I’m going to tell you a story. It will be up to you to decide whether or not it’s true.” She took another sip, settled back in her seat. “For some time after my convalescence, after you left, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. You had so kindly and generously put my sister into ballet school, and she took to it like a duck to water; her life path was set. But me…?” She shrugged. “I know you believe that I contacted Keyre, that he has some magical or psychic hold over me. I suppose that would have made a good tale, but it’s not true. I felt nothing toward him—not hate, not fear, not attraction—nothing at all.

“I needed to get away from the family you put me with. They were nice enough and very helpful to me, but in that house, late at night, or even in the early morning over breakfast, the stench of burning flesh would come to me. I’d have to push my chair back, run to the bathroom and vomit. As if that could rid me of the smell. It couldn’t, of course it couldn’t. That stench will be with me until the moment of my death.”