“Shut up.” Bourne’s fingers moved quickly and expertly over the wound. It was deep, but he couldn’t find any evidence of organ damage. This was good, of course, but she was still losing blood at a rapid rate. If he didn’t take immediate action, she would bleed to death. Ripping her cloak into strips, he wound them around her, binding the wound as tightly as he dared. The blood stopped flowing for a moment, but then it began to soak through the material.
“Listen to me,” she said in an urgent voice, “the real Semid Abdul-Qahhar has a tic at the outer corner of his right eye. You’ll see a tiny muscle pulsing. That’s something that can’t be replicated by his doubles.”
Bourne nodded as he bound her with another layer. This was as much as he could do.
“Leave me now,” she said.
Still, he hesitated.
“Go on.” She gave up a tight smile. “I can take care of myself. I’m Mossad.”
“I’ll come back for you.”
Her smile turned sardonic. “No you won’t. But thanks, anyway.”
He rose and peered over the rear parapet. The doors of the loading bay had been thrown open. He had to get to the stash of spiked weapons before they were loaded onto the trucks. He had no time to argue with her.
Without a backward glance, he ran to the hatch that led down into the building. Stripping off his clothes, he clad himself in the uniform of the guard he had killed. Then he surveyed the top of the hatch. Through it, he could see a storeroom, for the moment at least dark and deserted. A ladder led up from the floor to one side of the hatch. He wasn’t surprised to see an alarm wire running around the edge of it. Instantly, he knew that without suction cups to hold the glass in place after he had cut it, the glass cutter was of no use. Setting down the duffel, he brought out the wide-bladed knife. He drove the tip of the blade into the base of the hatch, where it met the gravel. The tip broke off, leaving the end looking more like a screwdriver than a knife blade.
The hinges of the hatch were on the side opposite the ladder. Using the broken tip of the blade, Bourne loosened the screws enough to lift the hatch. He found the alarm trip wire, used the knife to cut through the insulation in two places, then wrapped the bare ends of the electrical wire to the bare spots to keep the circuit intact while extending the length of the trip wire. Then he raised the hatch far enough for him to slither through. He dropped to the floor of the storeroom, found the door, and stepped out into a long corridor that stretched to his left and right. Directly ahead of him was a half wall. Peering down, he could see the whole of the warehouse structure laid out below him. He looked for the twelve long crates and spotted them almost immediately. They were off to the right side. To the left were the open doors that led out to the loading bay. The first crates were being taken out to be loaded onto the trucks. He spent ten seconds memorizing the warehouse layout, then found the nearest staircase and began his rapid descent.
The upper floors were no problem—everyone was on the ground floor overseeing the loading of the war matériel. As yet, there was no sign of Semid Abdul-Qahhar, but Bourne was sure he wouldn’t be far away. This shipment was much too valuable for him to leave its transit to subordinates.
He met the first guard one flight above floor level. The guard nodded to him, but as Bourne brushed past him, he reached for Bourne’s left arm
“Where is your weapon?” he said.
“Right here,” Bourne replied as he slammed the guard’s head back against the wall. The guard’s eyes rolled up in his head as he slid down. Bourne took the AK-74 and continued on his way down. Judging by the pace of loading, he calculated he had ten minutes at the outside to set the SIMs in place and get out of the building before he sent the electronic signal that would blow the place sky-high.
The second guard stood just to one side of the bottom of the staircase. He nodded disinterestedly as Bourne came down off the last step. Bourne took one step past him, swiveled, and buried the butt of the AK-74 into the guard’s belly. He doubled over and Bourne slammed the butt into the back of his neck. After dragging the body back into the shadows, he set off on a route that would take him quickly to the two stacks of spiked FN SCAR-M, Mark 20s.
He spent a precious minute blending into the swarm of men, directing a group away from Don Fernando’s crates to a stack of wooden boxes on the other side of the poured concrete floor. He had twelve cloned SIM cards, one for each crate. Don Fernando had been quite specific as to where Bourne should place the SIMs on the side of each crate. The tiny cards had sticky backs. All Bourne had to do was peel off the covering film and slap them into place. He had affixed six of them when a commanding voice called out, “You there, guard! What are you doing?”
Bourne turned to see a man who looked like Semid Abdul-Qahhar. He had stepped out from behind a wall of crates that were apparently not slated for departure tonight.
Semid’s eyes narrowed as he beckoned Bourne over. “You are unfamiliar to me.”
“I was assigned to the warehouse this morning.”
Semid nodded to two men who had come up behind Bourne. They stuck the muzzles of their AK-74s into the small of his back and marched him behind the wall of crates.
“No one was reassigned to El-Gabal this morning,” Semid said, “or any day this week.” He stepped closer as one of his men stripped Bourne of his weapon. “Who are you? More importantly, how did you infiltrate the building?” When Bourne made no reply, he smiled. “Well, we’ll deal with you the moment the loading is complete.”
Bourne grabbed the arm of the guard on his right and swiveled from the waist, taking the man off his feet. Bourne chopped down on the other guard’s wrist and, with his trigger hand clearly numb, ripped the AK-74 out of his grip and clubbed him over the head. The first guard, having reared back, charged Bourne with his head down. His face connected with Bourne’s right knee, something cracked, and he collapsed.
Bourne turned right into the muzzle of a Makarov, which Semid pushed against his teeth. Bourne was close enough to see the tiny spasm at the corner of his right eye.
“Don’t move,” Semid said softly and fiercely, “or I’ll blow the back of your head off.” He patted Bourne down with great precision and expertise. “Hands at your sides.” Finding nothing, he leaned in so that his nose was almost touching Bourne’s. The overpowering scent of cloves filled Bourne’s nose. “There is nothing more for you to do here. Five minutes from now this place will be deserted, except for the dead, which will include you.”
Time was rapidly running out. It was now or never. Bourne laughed, one hand creeping into his pocket.
“What are you doing? Take your hand out of there.” Semid Abdul-Qahhar waved the Makarov in Bourne’s face. “Slowly.”
Bourne did as he was asked.
“Open your hand.”
Bourne did so. As Semid Abdul-Qahhar grabbed his hand, he leaned in to take a closer look, the Makarov wavered a little, and Bourne shoved one of the false teeth he had been carrying between Semid’s teeth. At almost the same instant he slammed the flat of his hand into the bottom of the other man’s chin, forcing his teeth together. The false tooth cracked and the hydrogen cyanide flooded Semid Abdul-Qahhar’s mouth. Semid swallowed convulsively in order not to choke. Instantly his eyes opened wide and he brought the Makarov to bear. Bourne was ready for him, knocking the handgun away. Semid tried to grab a handful of Bourne’s uniform to steady himself, but he slid to his knees. Bourne unknotted his fingers. A blue froth appeared at the corners of Semid’s mouth. He made sounds without words, the stuff of nightmares. Then his eyes clouded over, and Bourne kicked him, dragging him back behind a niche in the wall.
Emerging from behind the wall of crates, he affixed the last six SIM cards in place. A contingent of four men were coming in his direction. Bourne pressed 666 on the cell’s keypad. Three minutes until the building and everyone in it would be blown to atoms.