Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception - Страница 57

Arkadin did not respond. Though he was staring straight ahead, his gaze had turned inward. He was acutely aware of Yasha‘s weight, even more his presence, which had opened a door into his own childhood. When he looked down at Yasha‘s face it was as if he were looking at himself, carrying his own death with him like a familiar companion. He wasn‘t frightened of this boy, as Tarkanian clearly was. On the contrary, it seemed important for him to hold Yasha, as if he could keep safe whatever remained of a human being, especially such a young and innocent one, after death. Why did he feel that way? And then a murmuring from the backseat compelled him to lean over to peer at the reflections in the rearview mirror. He saw Joškar with her three young daughters gathered around her, her arms encompassing them, sheltering them from further harm, fear, and indignities. She was telling them a story filled with bright fairies, talking foxes, and clever elves. The love and devotion in her voice was like an alien communication from a distant, unexplored galaxy.

All of a sudden a profound wave of sorrow swept through him, so that he bent his head over Yasha‘s thin blue eyelids, as if in prayer. In that moment, the boy‘s death and the part of his childhood his mother had torn from his breast merged, became one, indistinguishable both in his febrile mind and his damaged soul.

Humphry Bamber was waiting anxiously for Moira when she returned to Lamontierre‘s brownstone.

— So, how did it go? he said, as he ushered her into the living room.

— Where‘s the laptop?

When she handed him the wrecked disk, he turned it over and over. -You‘ve got to be kidding.

— I wish I was, Moira said wearily.

She sat heavily on the sofa while he went to fetch her a drink. When he returned, he sat opposite her. His face looked haggard and drawn, the first signs of constant anxiety.

— These disks are utterly useless, he said, — you realize that?

She nodded and sipped at her drink. -Just like the cell I got off the guy who pulled the hard drive from my laptop. It was a burner.

— A what?

— A disposable cell phone you can buy in practically any drug-or convenience store. It has a set number of pre-paid minutes. Criminals use them and discard them daily; that way their conversations can‘t be tapped and their whereabouts can‘t be traced.

She waved her own words away. -Not that it matters now. Where tapping into Noah‘s computer is concerned, we‘re essentially screwed.

— Not necessarily. Bamber hunched forward. -At first, when you left I thought I‘d go out of my mind. I kept replaying you pulling me out of the Buick, seeing Hart behind the wheel, and then the whole thing exploded to hell. His eyes slid away. -My stomach rebelled. Maybe that wasn‘t such a bad thing because while I was splashing cold water on my face I got the idea.

Moira put her empty glass down beside the wreck of the hard drive disks.

— What idea?

— Okay, it occurred to me that each time I deliver a new iteration of Bardem, Noah insists that I download it directly to his laptop.

— Security reasons, I‘m sure. So?

— Well, in order for the program to install correctly, he‘s got to shut down all other programs.

Moira shook her head. -I‘m still not following.

Bamber drummed his fingers for a moment as he thought of a suitable example to illustrate his point. -Okay, you know how when you install some programs, the install shield asks you to shut down all programs including your virus protection? When she nodded, he went on. -That‘s to ensure they load properly. It‘s the same with Bardem, only to the nth degree. It‘s so complex and so sensitive that it needs a completely clear field, as it were, to install properly. So here‘s my thought. I could contact Noah and tell him I found a bug in his current version of Bardem, that I need to send him an update. Usually, the new version overwrites the previous one, but with a bit of work I think I can upload his version while I download the new one.

Moira, suddenly galvanized, sat up straight. -Then we‘ll have everything that‘s in his program, including the scenarios he‘s been running. We‘ll know precisely what he‘s planning, and where!

She jumped up and kissed Bamber on the cheek. -That‘s brilliant!

— Plus, I could embed a tracer in the new version that would let us track what he‘s inputting in real time.

She knew just how clever-and paranoid-Noah was. -Could he find out about the tracer?

— Anything‘s possible, Bamber said, — but it‘s highly unlikely.

— Then let‘s not get too cute.

He gave her a slightly embarrassed nod. -Anyway, it‘s all pie in the sky, he said. -I‘ve got to get to my office and find a way to reassure Noah that everything‘s okay with me.

Moira‘s mind was already spinning out possible scenarios. -Don‘t worry about that. You concentrate on the nuts and bolts of the two-way transfer. I‘ll take care of Noah.

After reading everything he could about the rapidly escalating Iran situation in the International Herald Tribune he‘d picked up in the lounge in Madrid, Bourne sat brooding all during the flight to Khartoum. Once or twice, he became aware that Tracy was trying to engage him in conversation, but he didn‘t care to answer. He was wondering why the possibility of Arkadin surviving his trial at sea hadn‘t occurred to him; after all, the precise same thing had happened to him off Marseilles, when he‘d been pulled half dead out of the water by the crew of a fishing boat. He‘d been nursed back to health by a local doctor, as inveterate a drunk as Dr. Firth, only to discover that the trauma he‘d suffered had caused amnesia. His memories of his life had been wiped out. Once in a while something familiar would trigger a shard of memory, but when it did surface, it most often arrived in incomplete fits and starts. Since then he‘d struggled to find out who he was, and though many years had passed he seemed no closer to the truth-the identities of Jason Bourne and, to a limited extent, David Webb were all he could remember. It had seemed to him that the path that would lead him to himself lay through his memories on Bali.

But first, there was the matter of Leonid Arkadin to consider. That Arkadin wanted him dead was beyond doubt, but he also intuited that more was going on here than a simple case of revenge. Though he‘d learned that nothing with Arkadin was simple, there was an overarching plan to this particular web in which he found himself that transcended even Arkadin, who seemed to be one strand among many that was leading Bourne to Khartoum.

Whether or not Don Fernando Hererra was in league with Arkadin-and it seemed a sure bet that Arkadin had sent him the photos and audio

— incriminating Boris-was for the moment beside the point. Now that he knew Arkadin was behind the attempt on his life, he had to assume that a trap was being laid for him at 779 El Gamhuria Avenue. Whether that trap was Arkadin‘s alone, or whether it included Nikolai Yevsen, the arms dealer, and Noah Perlis, he didn‘t yet know. But it was interesting to speculate on what business Noah had with Yevsen. Was it personal or on behalf of Black River?

Either way, the two constituted a sinister team, one that he needed to know more about.

And what was Tracy‘s role in all this? She had taken possession of the fantastic Goya only after she had electronically transferred the required sum to Don Hererra‘s bank account and he had ordered his banker to deposit the funds into a second account, the number of which was unknown to her. That way, Hererra had said with a sly smile, he was assured that the money had actually been delivered and would remain his. His years in the oil fields had turned the Colombian into a sly old fox who considered every angle and planned for every contingency. Bourne thought it ironic that he held a peculiar affection for Hererra even though clearly the Colombian and Arkadin were in some sense allies. He hoped he‘d run into Hererra again one day, but in the meantime he needed to deal with Arkadin and Noah Perlis.

The dying sun, red as a fireball, was moving ponderously downward to the earth when Soraya and Amun Chalthoum reached Chysis Military Airdrome. Chalthoum showed his credentials and was directed to a small parking lot. After passing through another security check, they were striding across the tarmac toward the plane Chalthoum had ordered to be fueled and ready to take off when Soraya saw two people walking on a tangent course toward a waiting Air Afrika jet. The woman was thin, blond, and quite striking. She was closer to Soraya so, for a moment, her male companion was blocked from her view. Then the vectors changed as they neared one another. Soraya caught a glimpse of the man‘s face and, stricken, felt her knees grow momentarily weak.

Chalthoum, at once noticing her faltering stride, turned back to her.

— What is it, azizti? he said. -You‘ve no blood in your face.

— It‘s nothing. Soraya breathed deeply and slowly in an attempt to calm herself. But since the new DCI had called and summarily ordered her back to DC without giving her a chance to explain the situation, nothing could calm her now. And then she saw Jason Bourne walking along the tarmac at a military airport outside Cairo. At first she thought, It can’t be him. It must be someone else. But as he neared her and his features became more detailed, she realized there could be no doubt.