Robbinet nodded. “For security purposes, we do that in certain parts of Paris.” His forefinger tapped the screen. “There’s an airstrip in Rachaiya, here.” His forefinger stabbed out. “It has the advantage of being both secluded and less than two miles from Dahr. There will be a driver and vehicle waiting for you when you land.”
“I don’t need them,” Bourne said.
“This man, Fadi, has intimate knowledge of the area,” Robbinet said. “My advice is to use him.”
By that time Don Fernando had exited the bathroom, resplendent in the outfit Stephanie had purchased for him.
“A perfect fit,” Robbinet said, admiring Don Fernando. “It’s a good thing I know you both so well.”
Bourne had spent the next twenty minutes scrubbing the grit, grime, and smell of the Seine off himself. Discovering a cache of disposable razors, he shaved, and by the time he climbed into his new clothes he felt reborn.
There was room for only one passenger in the Mirage jet Robbinet had ordered up, so Bourne was saved from arguing Don Fernando out of coming. They said goodbye to Robbinet and Stephanie, took the tiny elevator down to the lobby, and out onto the street, where the minister’s car was waiting for them.
They traveled through Paris, out onto the Périphérique, in silence.
But in the last moments, as they crossed the tarmac at the military airfield, Don Fernando turned to Bourne.
“You know, when I was younger I firmly believed that when I grew old, looking back on my life, I’d have no regrets, none at all. How idiotic! Now that I’ve more or less reached that age, I find that I have many regrets, Jason. More than I care to think of all at once.” The airfield was quiet. Apart from the sleek Mirage, crouched at the head of a runway, lights blinking, jets starting up, there was no activity.
Robbinet must have ordered the area cleared for security purposes. “But the one regret that stings me more than any other concerns
Maceo Encarnación,” Don Fernando continued. “Now, before you board, is the time to tell you.”
The wind ruffled his hair. It was an unnaturally warm night, as if spring had overtaken winter before its time, as if emotions supposed dead were rising to the surface.
Don Fernando took out a cigar and, in deliberate violation of the laws, lit up. Bourne knew from past experience that smoking cigars calmed him down.
“In my lifetime, Jason, I have been loved many times. That isn’t a boast, by the way, simply a fact. Many women have come and gone.”
He stared at the slowly smoldering end of his cigar. “And now they seem only like wisps of smoke—here, and then before you know it, gone.” He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and sucked on it, producing a faintly blue aromatic nimbus around his head. “But in all that time, there was only one woman I ever loved.”
Don Fernando’s eyes filled with the past. “We met in Mexico City. She was very young, very beautiful, very charismatic. There was something about her...” He ducked his head. “Well, I don’t know.”
He stared at the glowing end of his cigar again, as if it could rekindle the past. “She had not been born in Mexico City, not in any city at all, for that matter, but the way she moved and spoke you would not have known that she was a peasant. I came to learn that she was a natural mimic—she picked up accents, vocabulary, style, body movements almost instantaneously.”
Bourne had a terrible premonition. “Like any great actress,” he said.
Don Fernando nodded, pulling fiercely on his cigar. “When I asked her to marry me, she laughed, kissed me, and said her destiny lay elsewhere.”
“Let me guess,” Bourne said. “She went on to marry Acevedo Camargo.”
Don Fernando spun on his heel to face Bourne. “How did you—?”
“I met Constanza in Mexico City. She was doing Maceo Encarnación’s work. She fooled me completely.”
Don Fernando produced a grim smile. “She’s fooled everyone, Jason. It’s a long line, beginning with Acevedo. She married him on Maceo Encarnación’s orders. Maceo didn’t trust Acevedo, and since Acevedo’s star was rising as a drug lord, Maceo considered him a security risk—possibly worse, a rival. That he would not tolerate, so he set a fox in the henhouse, so to speak.”
“Constanza.”
Don Fernando nodded. “She told her new spouse that she couldn’t conceive, but at the same time, she was bedding Maceo as often as possible. The age when a man considers his living legacy had come upon Maceo early; he was desperate to have a child. Within a month Constanza found that she was pregnant. Of course, Acevedo couldn’t know, so she went to her aunt’s in Mérida for a protracted stay until she had the boy, which, according to their agreement, she gave to Maceo to raise.”
Don Fernando ground what was left of his cigar underfoot and started to move toward the waiting Mirage fighter, by which Bourne surmised their discussion was nearing its end.
“Naturally enough, I found this out after the fact. I had left Mexico City the very same night I fucked her for the last time. Pardon the crudity, but that’s what one did with Constanza: fuck. She had no room in her vocabulary for making love.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that was a reason I found her so irresistible. One could never believe what came out of her mouth. She was a serial liar. Much later, I came to suspect that she believed every one of her lies.”
“That belief is what makes her so effective.”
“Doubtless.” Don Fernando jammed his hands in his pockets. He was trembling with emotion. “Still, I wanted her more than any other woman I’ve ever met.” He looked up into the night sky, streaked with light from the Eiffel Tower. “Martha Christiana reminded me of Constanza. There was a certain—I don’t know...It was as if their cores were made of the same material.”
“It was hard to lose Martha.”
“I killed her, Jason. That’s what I’m still struggling with. Perhaps I wanted her too badly. Perhaps I thought she would make up for Maceo Encarnación taking Constanza away from me.”
Bourne thought it was just as much Constanza Camargo’s fault as it was Maceo Encarnación’s. On the other hand, this human drama had played out in Mexico City, where anything seemed possible. They were near the Mirage’s curving flank and could smell the rich fumes of the fuel.
“Time for me to go, Don Fernando.”
“I know.”
They shook hands as they parted. Bourne climbed into the cockpit, the ladder was whisked away, and Don Fernando stepped backward, making his way across the tarmac without ever taking his eyes off the Mirage as it flung itself down the runway, nose up, and lifted off into the night sky, vanishing like the moon in eclipse.
"You’ll take her into custody.”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
Li, standing outside the front door to his apartment, looked hard at Ann Ring. “There’s no other way?”
“What other way?”
They were close to each other, speaking in whispers.
“You know what I mean, Senator.” Li licked his lips. “What happened to Charles. A break-in, a death.”
Ann Ring took a step back. “I’m not going to be party to murder, Li. I can’t believe you’re even bringing up the possibility.”
He breathed softly, snorting like a horse. “It’s just that there are people with keen ears. I cannot afford to have my reputation compromised.”
“Believe me, Li, I will not let that happen.” Ann indicated the apartment with her head. “You’re certain she’s in there.”
“She sleeps between photo shoots. She’s been going non-stop for almost two weeks.”
“All right, then.”
He hesitated for a moment, then, slipping his key in the lock, opened the door, and pushed inside. The interior was dark and still. They crept through the rooms until they reached his bedroom. There they found Natasha Illion fast asleep. She was on her side, the curve of her cheek, the brushed shadow of her lowered lash softly illuminated by a bedside lamp.