did, he did on his own. I have no knowledge of it.”
Soraya was wondering how everything could have gone so wrong, when, once again,
LaValle pushed the phone across the table.
“Now call Bourne.”
She felt as if there were a steel band around her chest; the blood was singing in her
ears. Now what? she said to herself. Dear God, what can I do?
She heard someone with her voice say, “What should I tell him?”
LaValle produced a slip of paper with a time and an address on it. “He needs to go
here, at this time. Tell him that you’re in Munich, that you have information vital to the
Black Legion’s attack, that he has to see it for himself.”
Soraya’s hand was so slick with sweat, she wiped it on her napkin. “He’ll be
suspicious if I don’t call him on my own phone. In fact, he might not answer if I don’t,
because he won’t know it’s me.”
LaValle nodded, but when she produced her phone, he said, “I’m going to listen to
every word you say. If you try to warn him I promise your friend Tyrone will never leave
this building alive. Clear?”
She nodded, but did nothing.
Observing her like a frog split open on a dissecting table, LaValle said, “I know you
don’t want to do this, Director. I know how badly you don’t want to do this. But you will
call Bourne and you will set the trap for me, because I’m stronger than you are. By that I
mean my will. I get what I want, Director, at any cost, but not you-you care too much to
have a long career in intelligence work. You’re doomed and you know it.”
Soraya had stopped listening to him after the first few words. Acutely aware that she
had vowed to take control of the situation, to somehow turn disaster into victory, she was
furiously marshaling her forces. One step at a time, she told herself now. I have to clear
my mind of Tyrone, of the failed ploy with Kendall, of my own guilt. I have to think of this call now; how am I going to make the call and keep Jason from being captured?
It seemed an impossible task, but that kind of thinking was defeatist, totally unhelpful.
Still-what was she to do?
“After your call,” LaValle said, “you’ll stay here, under constant surveillance, until
after Bourne is taken into custody.”
Uncomfortably aware of his avid eyes on her, she flipped open her phone, and called
Jason.
When she heard his voice, she said, “Hi, it’s me, Soraya.”
Bourne was standing in Egon Kirsch’s apartment, staring down at the street when his
cell phone rang. He saw Soraya’s number come up on the screen, answered the call, and
heard her say, “Hi, it’s me, Soraya.”
“Where are you?”
“Actually, I’m in Munich.”
He perched on the arm of an upholstered chair. “Actually? In Munich?”
“That’s what I said.”
He frowned, hearing echoes in his head from far away. “I’m surprised.”
“Not as much as I am. You came up on the CI surveillance grid at the airport.”
“There was no help for it.”
“I’m sure not. Anyway, I’m not over here on official CI business. We’ve been
continuing to monitor the Black Legion communications, and at last we got a
breakthrough.”
He stood up. “What is it?”
“The phone’s too insecure,” she said. “We should meet.” She told him the place and
the time.
Glancing at his watch, he said, “That’s a little over an hour from now.”
“Right as rain. I can make it. Can you?”
“I think I can manage,” he said. “See you.”
He disconnected, went over to the window, leaned on the sash, replaying the
conversation word by word in his mind.
He felt the jolt of a dislocation, as if he had moved outside his body, experiencing
something that had happened to someone else. His mind, recording a seismic shift in its
neurons, was struggling with a memory. Bourne knew he’d had this conversation before,
but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where or when, or what significance it might
have for him now.
He would have continued on with his fruitless search had not the downstairs bell rang.
Turning from the window, he went across the living room, pressed the button that
released the outer door’s lock. The time had finally come when he and Arkadin would
meet face-to-face-the assassin of legend, who specialized in killing killers, who had
slipped in and out of a Russian high-security prison without anyone being the wiser, who
had managed to eliminate Pyotr and his entire network.
There was a knock on the door. He kept away from the spy hole, kept away from the
door itself, unlatching it from the side. There was no gunshot, no splintering of the wood
and metal. Instead the door opened inward and a dapper man with dark skin and a spade-
shaped beard stepped into the apartment.
Bourne said, “Turn around slowly.”
The man, hands where Bourne could see them, turned to face him. It was Semion
Icoupov.
“Bourne,” he said.
Bourne produced his passport, opened it to the inside cover.
Icoupov nodded. “I see. Is this where you kill me at the behest of Dominic Specter?”
“You mean Asher Sever.”
“Oh, dear,” Icoupov said, “there goes my surprise.” He smiled. “I confess I’m shocked.
Nevertheless, I congratulate you, Mr. Bourne. You’ve come by knowledge no one else
has. By what means is a complete mystery.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Bourne said.
“No matter. What’s important is that I don’t have to waste time trying to convince you
that Sever has played you. Since you’ve already uncovered his lies, we can move on to
the next stage.”
“What makes you think I’m going to listen to anything you have to say?”
“If you’ve discovered Sever’s lies, then you know the recent history of the Black
Legion, you know we were once like brothers, you know how deep the enmity between
us runs. We are enemies, Sever and I. There can be only one outcome to our war, you
understand me?”
Bourne said nothing.
“I want to help you stop his people from attacking your country, is that clear enough?”
He shrugged. “Yes, of course you’re right to be skeptical, I would be if I was in your
place.” He moved his left hand very slowly to the edge of his overcoat, pulled it back to
reveal the lining. There was something sticking out of the slit pocket. “Perhaps before
anything untoward happens, you should take a look at what I have here.”
Bourne leaned in, took the SIG Sauer Icoupov had holstered at his belt. Then he pulled
the packet free.
As he was opening it up, Icoupov said, “I went to a great deal of trouble to steal those
from my nemesis.”
Bourne found himself looking over the architectural plans for the Empire State
Building. When he glanced up, he found Icoupov watching him intently. “This is what
the Black Legion means to attack. Do you know when?”
“Indeed, I do.” Icoupov glanced at his watch. “Precisely thirty-three hours, twenty-six
minutes from now.”
Thirty-Eight
VERONICA HART was looking at The Drudge Report when Stu Gold escorted
General Kendall into her office. She was sitting in front of her desk, the monitor turned
toward the door so Kendall could get a clear view of the photos of him and the woman
from The Glass Slipper.
“That’s just one site,” she said, waving them to three chairs that had been arranged
opposite her. “There are so many others.” When her guests were seated, she addressed
Kendall. “Whatever is your family going to say, General? Your minister, and the