hands in hers. “We were never lovers, Jason. We were more like brother and sister. We
supported each other. Trust didn’t come easily to either of us. I think it’s important for
both of us that I tell you that now.”
Bourne understood that she was also talking about the two of them, not her and Martin.
He’d trusted so few people in his life: Marie, Alex Conklin, Mo Panov, Martin, Soraya.
He saw all the things that had been keeping him from moving on with his life. With so
little past, it was difficult letting go of the people he’d known and cared about.
A pang of sorrow shot through him. “Marie is dead. She’s in the past now. And my
children are far better off with their grandparents. Their life is stable and happy. That’s best for them.”
He rose, needing to get moving.
Moira, aware he was ill at ease, changed the subject. “Do you know how long you’ll be
in Moscow?”
“The same amount of time you’ll be in Munich, I imagine.”
That got a smile out of her. She stood, leaned toward him. “Be well, Jason. Stay safe.”
She gave him a lingering, loving kiss. “Remember me.”
Sixteen
SORAYA MOORE was ushered cordially into the hushed sanctuary of the Library
where less than twenty-four hours before, Luther LaValle and General Kendall had had
their post-rendition fireside chat. It was Kendall himself who had picked her up,
chauffeured her to the NSA safe house deep in the Virginia countryside. Soraya had, of
course, never been here.
LaValle, in a midnight-blue chalk-striped suit, blue shirt with white collar and cuffs, a
striped tie in the Yale colors, looked like a merchant banker. He rose as Kendall brought
her over to the area by the window. There were three chairs grouped around the antique
card table.
“Director Moore, having heard so much about you, it’s a genuine pleasure to meet
you.” Smiling broadly, LaValle indicated a chair. “Please.”
Soraya saw no point in refusing the invitation. She didn’t know whether she was more
curious or alarmed by the abrupt summons. She did, however, glance around the room.
“Where is Secretary Halliday? General Kendall informed me that the invitation came
from him.”
“Oh, it did,” LaValle said. “Unfortunately, the secretary of defense was called into a
meeting in the Oval Office. He phoned me to convey to you his apologies and to insist
that we carry on without him.”
All of which meant, Soraya knew, that Halliday had never had any intention of
attending this little tкte-а-tкte. She doubted he even knew about it.
“Anyway,” LaValle said as Kendall sat in the third chair, “now that you’re here you
might as well enjoy yourself.” He raised his hand, and Willard appeared as if by
prestidigitation. “Something to drink, Director? I know as Muslim you’re forbidden
alcohol, but we have a full range of potions for you to choose from.”
“Tea, please,” she said directly to Willard. “Ceylon, if you have it.”
“Of course, ma’am. Milk? Sugar?”
“Neither, thank you.” She’d never formed the British habit.
Willard seemed to bow before he vanished without a sound.
Soraya redirected her attention to the two men. “Now, gentlemen, in what way can I
help you?”
“I rather think it’s the other way around,” General Kendall said.
Soraya cocked her head. “How d’you figure that?”
“Frankly, because of the turmoil at CI,” LaValle said, “we think Typhon is working
with one hand tied behind its back.”
Willard arrived with Soraya’s tea, the men’s whiskeys. He set the japanned tray down
with the cup, glasses, and tea service, then left.
LaValle waited until Soraya had poured her tea before he continued. “It seems to me
that Typhon would benefit immensely from taking advantage of all the resources at
NSA’s disposal. We could even help you expand beyond the scope of CI’s reach.”
Soraya lifted her cup to her lips, found the fragrant Ceylon tea exquisitely delicious. “It seems that you know more about Typhon than any of us at CI were aware.”
LaValle let go with a soft laugh. “Okay, let’s stop beating around the bush. We had a
mole inside CI. You know who it is now. He made a fatal mistake in going after Jason
Bourne and failing.”
Veronica Hart had relieved Rob Batt of his position that morning, a fact that must have
come to LaValle’s attention, especially since his replacement, Peter Marks, had been one
of Hart’s most vocal supporters from day one. Soraya knew Peter well, had suggested to
Hart that he deserved the promotion.
“Is Batt now working for NSA?”
“Mr. Batt has outlived his usefulness,” Kendall said rather stiffly.
Soraya turned her attention to the military man. “A glimpse of your own fate, don’t
you think, General?”
Kendall’s face closed up like a fist, but following an almost imperceptible shake of
LaValle’s head he bit back a rejoinder.
“While it’s certainly true that life in the intelligence services can be harsh, even
brutal,” LaValle interjected, “certain individuals within it are-shall we say-inoculated
against such unfortunate eventualities.”
Soraya kept her gaze on Kendall. “I suppose I could be one of those certain
individuals.”
“Yes, absolutely.” LaValle put one hand over the other on his knee. “Your knowledge
of Muslim thought and custom, your expertise as Martin Lindros’s right hand as he put
Typhon together are invaluable.”
“You see how it is, General,” Soraya said. “One day an invaluable asset like me is
bound to take over your position.”
LaValle cleared his throat. “Does that mean you’re on board?”
Smiling sweetly, Soraya put her teacup down. “I’ll say this for you, Mr. LaValle, you
certainly know how to make lemonade from lemons.”
LaValle returned her smile as if it were a tennis serve. “My dear Director, I do believe
you’ve hit upon one of my specialities.”
“What makes you think I’d abandon CI?”
LaValle put a forefinger beside his nose. “My reading of you is that you’re a pragmatic
woman. You know better than we do what kind of a mess CI is in. How long do you
think it’s going to take the new DCI to right the ship? What makes you think she even
can?” He raised his finger. “I’m exceedingly interested in your opinion, but before you
answer think about how little time we might have before this unknown terrorist group is
going to strike.”
Soraya felt as if she’d been rabbit-punched. How in the hell had NSA gotten wind of
the Typhon terrorist intercepts? At the moment, however, that was a moot point. The
important thing was how to respond to this breach of security.
Before she could formulate a counter, LaValle said, “I’m curious about one thing,
though. Why is it that Director Hart saw fit to keep this intel to herself, rather than
bringing in Homeland Security, FBI, and NSA?”
“That was my doing.” I’m in it now, Soraya thought. I might as well go all the way.
“Until the incident at the Freer, the intel was sketchy enough that I felt the involvement
of other intelligence agencies would only muddy the waters.”
“Meaning,” Kendall said, glad of the opportunity to get in a dig, “you didn’t want us
rooting around in your carrot patch.”
“This is a serious situation, Director,” LaValle said. “In matters of national security-”
“If this Muslim terrorist group-which we now know calls itself the Black Legion-gets
wind that we’ve intercepted their communications we’ll be sunk before we even start