He drove his hand into the main nerve bundle beneath Black Trench’s right ear, wrested the dart gun out of his hand, fired it into his side.
As the man listed to one side, staggering, Bourne caught him, dragged him to a wall. Several people turned their heads to gape, but no one stopped. The pace of the crowd hurrying by barely flickered before returning to full force.
Bourne left Black Trench there, eeled his way through the almost solid curtain of people back to the Orange line. Four minutes later, he’d eaten through two more chocolate bars. Another Orange 6 to Vienna rolled in and, with a last glance thrown over his shoulder, he got on. His head didn’t feel any deeper in the mist, but he knew what he needed most now was water, as much as he could get down his throat, to flush the chemical out of his system as quickly as possible.
Two stops later, he exited at Foggy Bottom. He waited at the rear of the platform until no more passengers got off. Then he followed them up, taking the stairs two at a time in an attempt to further clear his head.
His first breath of cool evening air was a deep and exhilarating one. Except for a slight nausea, perhaps caused by a continuing vertigo, he felt better. As he emerged from the Metro exit a nearby engine coughed to life; the headlights of a dark blue Audi came on. He walked briskly to the car, opened the passenger’s-side door, slid in.
“How did it go?” Professor Specter nosed the Audi out into the heavy traffic.
“I got more than I bargained for,” Bourne said, leaning his head against the seat rest. “And there’s been a change of plan. People are sure to be looking for me at the airport. I’m going with Moira, at least as far as Munich.”
A look of deep concern crossed the professor’s face. “Do you think that’s wise?”
Bourne turned his head, stared out the window at the passing city. “It doesn’t matter.” His thoughts were of Martin, and of Moira. “I passed wise some time ago.”
Book Two
Fourteen
IT’S AMAZING,” Moira said.
Bourne looked up from the files he’d snatched from Veronica Hart. “What’s amazing?”
“You sitting here opposite me in this opulent corporate jet.” Moira was wearing a sleek black suit of nubbly wool, shoes with sensible heels. A thin gold chain was around her neck. “Weren’t you supposed to be on your way to Moscow tonight?”
Bourne drank water from the bottle on his side tray table, closed the file. He needed more time to ascertain whether Karim al-Jamil had doctored these conversations, but he had his suspicions. He knew Martin was far too canny to tell her anything that was classified-which covered just about everything that happened at CI.
“I couldn’t stay away from you.” He watched a small smile curl Moira’s wide lips. Then he dropped the bomb. “Also, the NSA is after me.”
It was as if a light went out in her face. “Say again?”
“The NSA. Luther LaValle has decided to make me a target.” He waved a hand to forestall her questions. “It’s political. If he can bag me when the CI hierarchy can’t, he’ll prove to the powers that be that his thesis that CI should come under his jurisdiction makes sense, especially after the turmoil CI has been in since Martin’s death.”
Moira pursed her lips. “So Martin was right. He was the only one left who believed in you.”
Bourne almost added Soraya’s name, then thought better of it. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me,” she said fiercely.
“Because you loved him.”
“We both loved him.” Her head tilted to one side. “Wait a minute, are you saying there’s something wrong in that?”
“We live on the outskirts of society, in a world of secrets.” He deliberately included her. “For people like us there’s always a price to pay for loving someone.”
“Like what?”
“We’ve spoken about it,” Bourne said. “Love is a weakness your enemies can exploit.”
“And I’ve said that’s a horrid way to live one’s life.”
Bourne turned to stare out the Perspex window at the darkness rushing by. “It’s the only one I know.”
“I don’t believe that.” Moira leaned forward until their knees touched. “Surely you see you’re more than that, Jason. You loved your wife; you love your children.”
“What kind of a father can I be to them? I’m a memory. And I’m a danger to them. Soon enough I’ll be a ghost.”
“You can do something about that. And what kind of friend were you to Martin? The best kind. The only kind that matters.” She tried to get him to turn back to her. “Sometimes I’m convinced you’re looking for answers to questions that have none.”
“What does that mean?”
“That no matter what you’ve done in the past, no matter what you’ll do in the future, you’ll never lose your humanity.” She watched his eyes engage hers slowly, enigmatically. “That’s the one thing that frightens you, isn’t it?”
What’s the matter with you?” Devra asked.
Arkadin, behind the wheel of a rental car they had picked up in Istanbul, grunted irritably. “What’re you talking about?”
“How long is it going to take you to fuck me?”
There being no flights from Sevastopol to Turkey, they’d spent a long night in a cramped cabin of the
“Why would I want to do that?” Arkadin said as he headed off a lumbering truck on the highway.
“Every man I meet wants to fuck me. Why should you be any different?” Devra ran her hands through her hair. Her raised arms lifted her small breasts invitingly. “Like I said. What’s the matter with you?” A smirk played at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe you’re not a real man. Is that it?”
Arkadin laughed. “You’re so transparent.” He glanced at her briefly. “What’s your game? Why are you trying to provoke me?”
“I like to extract reactions in my men. How else will I get to know them?”
“I’m not your man,” he growled.
Now Devra laughed. She wrapped slender fingers around his arm, rubbing back and forth. “If your shoulder’s bothering you I’ll drive.”
He saw the familiar symbol on the inside of her wrist, all the more fearsome for being tattooed on the porcelain skin. “When did you get that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really. What matters is
She scratched the tattoo as if it had moved beneath her skin. “Pyotr made me get it. He said it was part of the initiation. He said he wouldn’t go to bed with me until I got it.”
“And you wanted to go to bed with him.”
“Not as much as I want to go to bed with you.”
She turned away then, stared out the side window, as if she was suddenly embarrassed by her confession. Perhaps she actually was, Arkadin thought as he signaled, moving right through two lanes as a sign for a rest stop
