Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception - Страница 68

Chalthoum nodded. -To sew up a major loose end.

At that moment Yusef, responding to the vibrating ring of his cell, put the phone to his ear, then snapped it shut. -My lookout says your company‘s here, he told them.

Bourne looked up as a familiar figure filled the doorway. The man with the dark, forbidding caterpillar eyebrows was holding an AK-47 and wearing a Kevlar vest. He stared at the figure of Bat-man sprawled on the floor.

— Nikolai, you cocksucker, he said in guttural Russian, — who the fuck killed you before I could bring you back to Mother Russia? Now I have been deprived of the pleasure of making you sing your head off.

Then, seeing Bourne, he stopped dead in his tracks.

— Jason! Colonel Boris Karpov bellowed like a Russian ox. -I should have known you‘d be at the heart of this bloody maze.

His gaze moved downward, taking in the blood-soaked form of the young woman cradled in Bourne‘s arms. At once, he yelled for a medic.

— It‘s too late for her, Boris, Bourne said in a deadened voice.

Karpov came across the room and knelt beside Bourne. His blunt fingers moved delicately over the shards of glass embedded in Tracy‘s back.

— What a terrible way to die.

— They‘re all terrible, Boris.

Karpov handed Bourne a hip flask. -Too true.

The medic from Boris‘s assault team, also in riot gear, showed up out of breath. He went to Tracy, tried to find a pulse, and shook his head sadly.

— Casualties? Karpov asked, without taking his eyes off Bourne.

— One dead, two wounded, not seriously.

— Who died?

— Milinkov.

Karpov nodded. -Tragic, but the building is secured.

Bourne felt the fire of the slivovitz all the way down to his stomach. The growing warmth felt good, as if he‘d regained solid footing.

— Boris, he said softly, — have your man take Tracy. I don‘t want to leave her.

— Of course. Karpov signaled to the medic, who lifted Tracy from Bourne‘s lap.

Bourne watched her as she was carried out of the conference room. He felt her loss, her struggle to come to terms with her duplicitous life and her sense of isolation, living half in the shadows of a world most people were unaware of, let alone able to understand. Her struggle was his struggle, and the pain she felt because of her life was one with which he was all too familiar. He didn‘t want to see her go, didn‘t want to let go of her, as if a part of him, suddenly found, had been ripped away just as abruptly.

— What is this? Boris said, holding up the painting.

— It‘s a Goya, a previously unknown work of the famous Black Paintings series, which makes it virtually priceless.

Boris grinned. -I hope you don‘t covet this, Jason.

— To the victor belong the spoils, Boris. So Yevsen was your mission in Khartoum.

Karpov nodded. -I‘ve been working in North Africa for months now, trying to track down Nikolai Yevsen‘s arms-smuggling suppliers, clients, and pipeline. And you?

— I spoke to Ivan Volkin-

— Yes, he told me. That old man has a soft spot for you.

— When Arkadin discovered that his attempt on my life had failed, he came up with another plan, which was to get me here. Why, I don‘t know.

With a quick glance over to the corpse lying on the other side of the room, Karpov said, — It‘s a mystery, one of many here. We were hoping to find both Yevsen‘s supplier and client list, but the hard drives on his remote servers appear to have been wiped clean.

— It wasn‘t Yevsen who did it, Bourne said. He rose, and Boris with him.

— He was here with Tracy, he had no idea about your raid.

Boris scratched his head. -Why would Arkadin send you here, especially in the company of that beautiful young woman?

— Pity we can‘t ask Yevsen, Bourne said. -Which begs the question: Who wiped Yevsen‘s servers clean? Someone made off with his entire network. It had to have been one of Yevsen‘s own men-someone high up who had the access codes to the servers.

— Anyone who ever dared move against Nikolai Yevsen wound up disappeared.

— As long as he was alive. Bourne, whose mind finally had identified enough of the silken strands to make sense of the spider‘s web, tilted his head and beckoned Karpov to walk with him. -But look at him now, he isn‘t a danger to anyone, including Arkadin.

Boris‘s countenance grew dark. -Arkadin?

Together they walked down the corridor, manned now by Boris‘s military cadre, to the men‘s room.

— I‘ll have my medic check you out.

Bourne waved away his words. -I‘m fine, Boris. He was marveling at the scope of Arkadin‘s demonic genius.

Inside, Bourne went to the line of sinks and began to wash the blood and bits of glass off himself. As he did so, Karpov handed him a roll of paper towels.

— Think about it, Boris, why would Arkadin trick me into coming here-

especially, as you said, with a beautiful young woman? It pained Bourne to talk about Tracy, but as much as she was still on his mind, he had a mystery to unravel-and a deadly enemy to confront.

A light suddenly came on behind Karpov‘s eyes. -Arkadin was banking on you killing Yevsen?

Bourne splashed tepid water over his face, feeling the small cuts and bruises stinging like nettles. -Or Yevsen killing me. Either way, he‘d win.

Karpov shook himself like a dog coming out of the rain. -If what you theorize is true, he might have known of my raid. He wouldn‘t want Yevsen singing about him or anyone else. Dammit, I‘ve seriously underestimated that man.

Bourne turned his blood-streaked face toward the colonel. -He‘s more than a man, Boris. Like me, he‘s a graduate of Treadstone. Alex Conklin trained Arkadin, just like he trained me, to become the ultimate undercover killing machine, carrying out covert operations impossible for anyone else to accomplish.

— And just where is this devilish graduate now? Boris asked.

Bourne wiped his face down with a fistful of paper towels. They came away pink. -Tracy told me before she died. Yevsen said he was in Nagorno-Karabakh, Azerbaijan.

— Mountain country, I know it well, Boris said. -I discovered the area was one of Yevsen‘s prime stopovers for the Air Afrika flights transshipping his illegal arms throughout this continent. It‘s home to a number of indigenous tribes-all of them fanatic Muslims.

— That makes sense. Bourne regarded his face in the mirror, taking stock of the damage, which was superficial but extensive. Whose reflection stared back at him? Tracy surely would have empathized with that question, no doubt having many times asked it of herself. -Ivan told me that Arkadin has taken over the Eastern Brotherhood, which means he‘s also the leader of their Black Legion terrorists. Maybe he‘s trying to branch out into Yevsen‘s multibillion-dollar business.

Then Bourne saw the Goya that Karpov had propped up against the tile wall. -Do you know a man named Noah Petersen, or Perlis?

— No, why?

— He‘s a senior officer in Black River.

— The American risk management company-also known as private contractors for your government-also known as mercenaries.

— Right on all three counts. Bourne led the way back out into the corridor, which stank of gunpowder and death. -Tracy was bringing the Goya to Noah, but I believe now it was actually a payment to Yevsen for services rendered. That‘s the only logical explanation for Noah being here.

— So Yevsen, Black River, and Arkadin are in something together.

Bourne nodded. -Did you or your men encounter an American when you raided the building?

Karpov pulled a small walkie-talkie off its Velcro patch on his vest and spoke into it. After the crackle of an answer had been received, he shook his head. -You‘re the only American in the building, Jason. But there‘s a Sudanese of questionable character who claims he was being interrogated by an American just before the raid began.

Perlis must have been lured away by Bourne‘s diversion with the lurker. Where had he gone? Bourne could feel himself approaching the center of the web, where the lethal spider patiently lay in wait. -And since Black River‘s main client is the NSA, there‘s a good chance it has to do with the ratcheted-up tension in Iran.

— You think Nikolai Yevsen is arming a Black River raiding party ready to invade Iran?

— Highly unlikely, Bourne said. -The NSA can provide more than enough state-of-the-art armaments that Yevsen could never get his hands on. Besides, for that they wouldn‘t need Arkadin‘s help. No, the Americans have identified the missile that brought down the plane-it‘s Iranian, a Kowsar 3.

Karpov nodded. -Now it‘s starting to make sense. This Goya is payment to Yevsen for supplying the Kowsar 3.

At that moment, Karpov spotted one of his men jogging along the hallway toward him. He stared at Bourne for a moment, then handed his commander a sheet of curling thermal paper-clearly a printout from a portable printer.

— Get Lirov, Karpov said as he scanned the document. -Tell him to bring his full kit. I want this man checked out from stem to stern.