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.
My God, my God, she thought. What’s happening? How could Jason be alive?
She had to restrain herself from calling out his name, from rushing up to him and embracing him. He hadn‘t contacted her, so there must be a reason-a damn good one, she suspected-he didn‘t want her to know that he was alive. He was talking intently with his companion and so hadn‘t yet seen her-or if he had, he was pretending that he hadn‘t.
On the other hand, she had to find a way to get him the number of her satellite phone. But how to do it without either Amun or Jason‘s companion knowing?
Your silence is painful, Tracy said.
— It‘s that bad? Bourne didn‘t look at her, but rather stared straight ahead at the red-and-white fuselage of the Air Afrika jet, waiting like a large and dangerous cat just off the head of the main runway of the military airstrip. He‘d spotted Soraya the moment she and the tall, lanky Egyptian had passed through security and come onto the tarmac, and he was trying to ignore her because the last thing he wanted now was for someone from CI-even Soraya-
to see him.
— You haven‘t said a word for hours. Tracy sounded genuinely hurt. -It‘s as if there‘s a glass wall around you.