Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception

Chalthoum‘s expression was a combination of frustration and fear. -He‘s nothing but a runner-an advance man for drug smugglers.

That didn‘t seem like nothing to Soraya, but she could see that Amun wasn‘t in the mood for thinking about anything other than the terrorist cadre. It was at this moment, when his distress was most evident, that she abandoned the notion that he might be misleading her. She was sure he wouldn‘t be so emotional about this situation if he was covering up al Mokhabarat‘s involvement. The wave of relief that ran through her was so powerful, she rocked on her feet. When she recovered, she turned her full concentration on the origin of the terrorist cell.

— All right, so they didn‘t come through here, she said, — but there must be other places along the coast-

— My men have checked, Amun said darkly. -Which means the route I proposed is wrong. They didn‘t come overland through Iraq, after all.

— Then how did they get into Egypt? Soraya asked.

— I don‘t know. Chalthoum seemed to chew over this notion for some time.

— They wouldn‘t be stupid enough to try transshipping the Kowsar missile from Iran by plane. It would have been picked up by our radar-or one of your satellites.

That was true enough, she thought. Then how did the Iranian terrorists get the missile into Egypt? This enigma brought her full circle, back to her first suspicion that Egyptians-but not al Mokhabarat-had been involved, but it wasn‘t until they were back on deck, the runner was in custody, and the boat was heading back to land that she proposed it aloud to Chalthoum.

They were standing by the starboard rail, the wind whipping at their hair, sunlight turning the skin of the water to a white dazzle. He had his forearms on the rail, his hands clasped loosely, staring down into the water.

— Amun, she said softly, — is it possible that someone in your government-

one of your enemies, one of our enemies-created the opportunity for the Iranian terrorists?

Even though she‘d been careful to phrase the question in the most benign way, she felt him stiffen. A muscle in his cheek began to spasm, but he surprised her when he answered.

— I‘ve already thought of that, azizti, and much to my chagrin I made several discreet inquiries this afternoon while I was alone in my search of the dive clubs. It cost me in political capital, but I did it, and it came to nothing. He turned to her, his dark eyes more sorrowful than she‘d ever seen them. -Truly, azizti, it would have been the end of me if what you asked had been the truth.

And it was at this precise moment that she knew. He‘d been fully cognizant of her suspicions, had accepted them uncomfortably until the possibility became too much for him to bear. He‘d been humiliated making his calls, because just asking the question was traitorous in nature, and now she realized what he meant by — political capital, because it was likely-

probable, even-that some of the people he‘d called would not forgive him his doubts. This, too, was part of the modern-day Egypt, something he‘d have to live with for the rest of his life. Unless…

— Amun, she said so softly he had to lean into the wind to hear her,

— after this is over, why don‘t you come back with me?

— To America? He said it as if she were speaking about Mars, or someplace even more distant and alien, but when he continued there was a kindness in his voice she‘d never heard before. -Yes, azizti, that would solve many problems. On the other hand, it would raise an army of different ones. What would I do, for instance?

— You‘re an intelligence officer, you could-

— I am an Egyptian. Worse, I am the head of al Mokhabarat.

— Think of the intel you could provide.

He smiled sadly. -Think of how I would be reviled, both here and in your America. To them, I am the enemy. No matter what intel I provided I would always be the enemy, always distrusted, always watched, never accepted.

— Not if we were married. It came out practically before she thought it.

There was a shocked silence between them. The boat, nearing the dock, had slowed, and the wind had died. The sweat, popping out, dried against their skin.

Amun took her hand, his thumb rubbing the splay of small bones in its back. — Azizti, he said, — marrying me would be the end of you as well-the end of your career in intelligence.

— So what? Her eyes were fierce. Now that she had said what was in her heart she felt a kind of wild freedom she‘d never experienced before.

He smiled. -You don‘t mean that, please don‘t pretend you do.

She turned fully to him. -I don‘t want to pretend with you, Amun. All the secrets I carry have made me sick at heart, and I keep saying to myself that there must be an end to it somewhere, with someone.

He slipped one arm around her narrow waist and, as the crew around them snapped to, tying off the ropes on the gleaming metal cleats on the side of the slip, he nodded. -At least on this one thing we can agree.

And she tilted her face up into the sunlight. -This is the one thing that matters, azizti.

Ms. Trevor, have you any idea who could have…?

Though the man heading the investigation into DCI Veronica Hart‘s death-

what was his name? Simon Something-Simon Herren, yes, that was it-kept asking her questions, Moira had ceased to listen. His voice was barely a drone in ears that were filled with the white noise of the explosion‘s aftermath. She and Humphry Bamber were lying side by side in the ER, having been examined and treated for fistfuls of cuts and abrasions. They were lucky, the ER

doctor had said, and Moira believed him. They had been transported via ambulance, made to stay lying down