Soraya felt a chill crawl down her spine. What if the DCI was lying to her? What if she meant all along to lead Bourne into a trap? It would make sense for one of her first official acts as DCI to be the capture of Jason Bourne. It certainly would put her in solidly with Rob Batt and the others who despised and feared Bourne, and who resented her. Plus, capturing Jason would score her big points with the president and prevent Secretary Halliday from building on his already considerable influence. Still, why would Hart have allowed Soraya to possibly muck up her first field op by coming along? No, she had to believe this was an NSA initiative.
“I don’t believe that,” she said emphatically.
“Let’s say you’re right. The other possibility is just as dire. If Hart didn’t set the trap, then there’s someone highly placed in CI who did. I went to Hart directly with the request.”
“Yes,” she said, “using my cell, thank you very much.”
“Did you find it? You’re on a new one now.”
“It was in the gutter where you tossed it.”
“Then stop complaining,” Bourne said, not unkindly. “I can’t imagine Hart told too many people about this meet, but one of them is working against her, and if that’s the case chances are he’s been recruited by LaValle.”
If Bourne was right… But of course he was. “You’re the grand prize, Jason. If LaValle can take you down when no one in CI could, he’ll be a hero. Taking over CI will be a cakewalk for him after that.” Soraya felt perspiration break out at her hairline. “Under the circumstances,” she continued, “I think you ought to withdraw.”
“I need to see the correspondence between Martin and Moira. And if Hart is instigating this trap, then she’ll never give me access to the files at another time. I’ll have to take my chances, but not until you’re certain Hart has the material.”
Soraya, who was almost at the entrance, expelled a long breath. “Jason, I found the conversations. I can tell you what’s in them.”
“Do you think you could quote them to me verbatim?” he said. “Anyway, it’s not that simple. Karim al-Jamil doctored hundreds of files before he left. I know the method he used to alter them. I have to see them myself.”
“I see there’s no way I can talk you out of this.”
“Right,” Bourne said. “When you’ve made sure the material is genuine, beep my cell once. Then I need you to move Hart into the loggia, away from the entrance proper.”
“Why?” she said. “That’ll only make it more difficult for you to-Jason?”
But Bourne had already disconnected.
From his vantage point on the roof of the Forrestal Building on Independence Avenue, Bourne tracked his high-powered night-vision glasses from Soraya as she moved toward the DCI, past clots of tourists hurrying about, to the agents in place around the west end of the Mall. Two lounged, chatting, at the northeast corner of the Department of Agriculture North Building. Another, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, was crossing diagonally southwest from Madison Drive toward the Smithsonian. A fourth was behind the wheel of an illegally parked car on Constitution Avenue. In fact, he was the one who’d given the game away. Bourne had spotted the car illegally parked just before a Metro police cruiser stopped parallel to it. Windows were rolled down, a conversation ensued. ID was briefly flashed by the driver of the illegally parked car. The cruiser rolled on.
The fifth and sixth agents were east of the Freer, one approximately midway between Madison and Jefferson drives, the other in front of the Arts Industries Building. He knew there had to be at least one more.
It was almost five o’clock. A short winter twilight had descended, aided by the twinkling lights wound festively around lampposts. With the location of each agent memorized Bourne returned to the ground, using the window ledges for hands and feet.
The moment he showed himself the agents would start moving. Estimating the distance they were from where the DCI and Soraya stood, he calculated he’d have no more than two minutes with Hart to get the files.
Hidden in shadows, waiting for Soraya’s signal, he strained to pick out the remaining agents. They couldn’t afford to leave Independence Avenue unguarded. If Hart didn’t in fact have the files, then he’d do as Soraya first suggested and get out of the area without being spotted.
He imagined her at the entrance to the Freer, talking with the DCI. There would be the first nervous moment of acknowledgment, then Soraya would have to direct the conversation around to the files. She’d have to find a way for Hart to show them to her, to make sure they were authentic.
His phone beeped once and was still. The files were authentic.
He accessed the Internet, navigating to the DC Metro site, checked the up-to-the-minute transit schedules, checking his options. This procedure took longer than he would have liked. The very real and immediate danger was that one of the six agents was in contact with home base-either CI or the Pentagon-whose sophisticated electronic telemetry could pinpoint his phone and, worse, spy on what he was pulling up from the Net. Couldn’t be helped, however. Access had to be made on site and at the immediate moment in case of unforeseen transit delays. He put the worry out of his head, concentrated on what he’d have to do. The next five minutes were crucial.
Time to go.
Moments after Soraya secretly contacted Bourne she said to Veronica Hart, “I’m afraid we may have a problem.”
The DCI’s head whipped around. She’d been scanning the area for any sign of Bourne’s presence. The crowds around the Freer had thickened as many made their way to the Smithsonian Metro station around the corner, returning to their hotels to prepare for dinner.
“What kind of problem?”
“I think I saw one of the NSA shadows we picked up at lunch.”
“Hell, I don’t want LaValle knowing I’m meeting with Bourne. He’ll have a fit, go running to the president.” She turned. “I think we ought to leave before Bourne gets here.”
“What about my intel?” Soraya said. “What chance are we going to have without him? I say let’s stay and talk to him. Showing him the material will go a long way toward winning his trust.”
The DCI was clearly on edge. “I don’t like any of this.”
“Time is of the essence.” Soraya took her by the elbow. “Let’s move back here,” she said, indicating the loggia. “We’ll be out of the shadow’s line of sight.”
Hart reluctantly walked into the open space. The loggia was especially crowded with people milling about, discussing the art they’d just seen, their plans for dinner and the next day. The gallery closed at five thirty, so the building was starting to clear out.
“Where the hell is he, anyway?” Hart said testily.
“He’ll be here,” Soraya assured her. “He wants the material.”
“Of course he wants it. The material concerns his friend.”
“Clearing Martin’s name is extremely important to him.”
“I was speaking of Moira Trevor,” the DCI said.
Before Soraya could form a reply, a group of people spewed out of the front doors. Bourne was in the middle of them. Soraya could see him, but he was shielded from anyone across the street.
“Here he is,” she muttered as Bourne came quickly and silently up behind them. He must have somehow gotten into the Independence Avenue entrance at the south side of the building, closed to the public, made his way through the galleries to the front.
The DCI turned, impaling Bourne with a penetrating gaze. “So you came after all.”
“I said I would.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t move at all. Soraya thought that he was at his most terrifying then, the sheer force of his will at its peak.
“You have something for me.”
“I said you could read it.” The DCI held out a small manila envelope.
Bourne took it. “I regret I haven’t the time to do that here.”
He whirled, snaking through the crowd, vanishing inside the Freer.
“Wait!” Hart cried. “Wait!”
But it was too late, and in any event three NSA agents came walking rapidly through the entrance. Their progress was slowed by the people exiting the gallery, but they pushed many of them aside. They trotted past the
