Yet he had no time to gloat. His restless mind had already turned to more personal matters. Namely, the various routes he might take to avenge himself on Karpov for holding a knife to his throat. His mind was already afire with visions of slitting the colonel’s throat with his own razor blade.
10
MOIRA AND JALAL Essai sat together in the temporary quarters of his DC hotel suite. Between them were Essai’s netbook and the netbook that Moira had bought the day before, one she knew was absolutely clean. She had already souped it up far beyond its original specs.
She was going to ask him how to get started, because she had to assume that all her systems had been compromised, but she needn’t have bothered. As it turned out he had a lot of information about the laptop, all of which he shared with her. Latterly it had fallen into the hands of Gustavo Moreno, a Colombian drug lord living in the outskirts of Mexico City. Moreno had been killed some months ago when his compound had been raided by a party of officers disguised as Russian oilmen.
“The raiding party was headed by Colonel Boris Karpov,” Essai said.
Curious,Moira thought. But then she knew how small and insular this world was. She knew about the colonel from Bourne; they were friends, as much as two people like that could be friends.
“So Karpov has the laptop.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Essai said. “The laptop was taken from Moreno’s compound, by one of his own people, sometime before the raid.”
“One of his own people who was obviously working for who-a rival?”
“Possibly,” Essai said. “I don’t know.”
“What’s the thief’s name?”
“Name, photo, everything.” Essai turned the laptop’s screen toward her and brought up the image. “But it’s a dead end, literally. His body was found a week after the raid.”
“Where?” Moira said.
“Outside of Amatitán.” Essai pulled up Google Earth and punched in a set of coordinates. The globe of the planet revolved until the northwest coast of Mexico came into view. He pointed. Amatitán was in Jalisco, in the heart of tequila country. “Right here. As it happens on the estancia of Moreno’s sister, Berengária, although now that she’s married Narsico Skydel, the tequila magnate, she goes by the name of Barbara Skydel.”
“I seem to recall a memo at Black River about Narsico. He’s the cousin of Roberto Corellos, the jailed Colombian drug lord, isn’t that right?”
Essai nodded. “Narsico has been trying to distance himself from his infamous cousin for some time. He hasn’t been back in Colombia in ten years. Five years ago, apparently finding it too difficult to outrun his family’s reputation, he changed his name and bought into the largest tequila distillery in Mexico. Now he owns it outright and over the past two years has been expanding its reach.”
“Marrying Berengária couldn’t have helped him,” Moira pointed out.
“I don’t know. She’s proved herself to be a shrewd businesswoman. Most people’s best guess is that she’s the one behind the expansion. I think she’s more willing to take calculated risks than he is, and so far she hasn’t made a single misstep.”
“How was her relationship with Gustavo?”
“By all reports the two siblings were close. They bonded early, after their mother died.”
“Do you think she was involved in his business?”
Essai folded his arms over his chest. “Difficult to say. Whatever involvement she might have had was certainly not evident, there’s nothing whatsoever to link her with Gustavo’s drug trafficking.”
“But you did say that she was a canny businesswoman.”
He frowned. “You think she had the mole inside her own brother’s shop?”
Moira shrugged. “Who can say?”
“Neither of them would be that stupid.”
Moira nodded. “I agree, though if someone wants us to think one of them had the mole murdered, it seems talking to them would be useful. But first I want to pay a visit to Roberto Corellos.”
Essai smiled the dark smile that chilled Moira’s soul. “I think, Ms. Trevor, that you’ve already begun to earn your fee.”
Bourne and Chrissie were on their way back in a driving rainstorm that had come upon them virtually without warning when Bourne’s cell rang.
“Mr. Stone.”
“Hello, Professor,” Bourne said.
“I have some news,” Giles said. “I’ve received an e-mail back from my chess partner. It seems that he has solved the riddle of the third word.”
“What is it?” Bourne asked.
“Dominion.”
“Dominion,”Bourne repeated. “So the three words engraved on the inside of the ring are: Severus Domna Dominion.What does it mean?”
“Well, it could be an incantation,” Giles said, “or an epithet, a warning. Even-and I’m being deliberately fanciful here-the instructions for turning lead into gold. Without additional information I’m afraid there’s no way of knowing.”
The road ahead was smeared with rain, the wipers slapped back and forth on their prescribed arc. Bourne checked the side mirror, as he did automatically every thirty seconds or so.
“There is an interesting tidbit about Ugaritic my friend provided, though I can’t see how it’s relevant. The basis of its interest for him and his colleagues is that there are documents-or fragments thereof-they claim come from the court of King Solomon. It seems that Solomon’s astrologers spoke Ugaritic amongst themselves, that they believed in its alchemical powers.”
Bourne laughed. “With all the legends of King Solomon’s gold, I can see where the scientists of an early age believed alchemy was the key to turning lead into gold.”
“Frankly, Mr. Stone, I told him the same thing.”
“Thank you, Professor. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Anytime, Mr. Stone. A friend of Christina’s is a friend of mine.”
As Bourne put away his cell, he saw that the black-and-gold truck that had pulled into their lane three vehicles back some minutes ago was now right behind them.
“Chrissie, I’d like you to get off the motorway,” he said quietly. “When you do, pull over.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
He said nothing, his eyes flicking to the side mirror. Then he reached out and stopped her from using the turn signal. “Don’t do that.”
Her eyes opened wide and she gave a little gasp. “What’s going on?”
“Just do what I tell you and everything will be all right.”
“Not reassuring.” She moved into the left-hand lane as the next exit sign became visible through the rain. “Adam, you’re scaring me.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
She took the ramp, which immediately curved around to the left, and pulled onto the shoulder. “Then what is your intention?”
“To drive,” he said. “Move over.”
She got out of the Range Rover, covered her head, which was tucked down between her hunched shoulders, and went around, jumping into the passenger’s side. Her door was not even fully closed when Bourne saw the truck making its way around the curve of the off-ramp. Immediately he put the vehicle in gear and pulled out.
The truck was directly behind him as if tethered to the Range Rover with a grappling hook. Bourne put on a burst of speed, went through a light on the red, then onto the motorway’s entrance ramp. Traffic was moderate and he was able to weave in and out of the lanes. He was just thinking that a truck was an impractical vehicle to pursue them when a gray BMW pulled up abreast of them.