Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Bourne Initiative (Jason Bourne series)(96)

Savasin stared at Bourne. “She is who she says she is?”

“Take it to the bank, Timur.” He gestured to Mala. “Let’s have it.”

Without taking her eyes off Savasin, she came to Bourne, handed over the pistol, which Bourne aimed at the first minister. “See if he’s carrying—and take his mobile as well.”

Savasin closed his eyes for a moment as she put her hands on him. His right hand trembled a bit.

“No weapons,” she said, stepping away. “Got his mobile, though. Only the one.” She came and sat beside Bourne on the sofa.

“What about Stubby there?” Bourne said.

Savasin looked bewildered “Who?”

“Your man with the broken arm. Looks to me like he’s in real pain.” He looked at Savasin. “I assume you have more men aboard.”

The first minister nodded. Taking the mobile from Mala, Bourne said, “Tell me how to contact them. Let’s have them clean up this mess.”

—



Ten minutes later, when, save for the broken window and some smeared bloodstains on the floor, a sense of order had been restored to the conference cabin, and the door had been closed and locked against further intrusion, Bourne said, “You said you had a long story to tell.” He glanced at his watch. “We get into Moscow in just over an hour. You had better hope you can tell it in that time.”

“All right.” Savasin nodded. “May I sit down?”

“I think it best that you remain standing.” Bourne still had the pistol pointed at him. “Begin, Timur Ludmirovich. Tick-tock.”

—



At the same time Bourne, the Angelmaker, and Timur Savasin were hurtling from St. Petersburg to Moscow, Savasin’s brother, Konstantin, was on his swift jet winging its way home. He spent the first part of the nine-hour and twenty-five-minute flight reading the Treadstone material Marshall Fulmer had kindly provided. He read the Bourne file three times straight through, then he went back to check certain paragraphs, using a pen with red ink to highlight a number of words and phrases he wished to keep uppermost in his mind.

After a light meal, washed down with a glass of icy vodka, he set the files aside, thumbed the buttons on his seat, lifting his legs and reclining him back. Folding his hands across his belly, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to traverse the file, to linger over those paragraphs and, especially, the words and phrases he had highlighted in red.

In this fashion he drifted off, and when, an hour later, he awakened, he had his answer. He had identified the weak spot in Bourne’s armor. He knew how to drill down to the core of him.





36



I don’t even know their real names.”

“Alyosha Orlova and Nikolay Rozin,” Soraya Moore said over the secure line that was a part of the government jet she had sent to pick up her agent in the field and bring her out of the cold. “You did a stellar job, Morgana.”

The jet was parked at the airport in Kalmar, where Morgana had boarded it as it was being refueled. The interior was an odd design: only four seats, front and aft. In between, a series of what looked to be storage lockers.

“Have you been back to the hotel?” Soraya asked.

“No. I slept at a friend’s.”

Soraya’s voice became wary. “What friend?”

“Her name’s Natalie Soringen.”

“I’ll have her checked out,” Soraya said. She sounded more than a bit annoyed but seemed to put that aside when she said, “You will have no problem at your old hotel.”

“I’d assume the place would be swarming, following the murder-suicide.”

“I fixed it with Stockholm. There’ll be an inquiry, but that will be window dressing. And, best of all, the identities of the deceased will be suppressed.”

“I’m impressed. How did you manage that bit of magic?”

“That’s why I get the comfy chair.” Soraya laughed. “I pointed out to the Swedish powers-that-be that not only were the victims Russian nationals, but they were spies. No one in the Swedish government wants a diplomatic run-in with the Kremlin.”

“Let sleeping lions lie.”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

After a moment’s silence, Morgana said, “I don’t want to go home.”

“What’s that? But your brief is done—a more thorough success than I could have imagined. I was tasked with bringing down Alyosha Orlova—Fran?oise Sevigne, as you knew her. I chose you not only because you were a field neophyte but because Fran?oise had befriended you. She trusted you; you were one of her scam targets. An important one, I might add.”

Morgana was taken aback. “Why didn’t you tell me who she really was?”

“I think you can answer that yourself.”

Morgana considered a minute. “You wanted all my responses to be genuine. You didn’t want to give her a hint anything was amiss.”

“Sometimes,” Soraya said, “keeping your agent in the field in the dark is the best course of action.”

Morgana knew she was right, knew that she had done the right thing, but still she was stung. Soraya had used her, just as Fran?oise had. But soon enough she realized that the two motivations were light years apart.