Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception

away, she pushed Bamber down in the seat. Just before she herself slid down she caught a glimpse of the man who had been following them, a man who looked comically like Tim Conway. There was nothing comical, however, about his grim expression as he spoke into his cell, no doubt apprising Noah of the situation.

— Where to? the taxi driver said over his shoulder.

Moira realized she had no idea where to go to ground.

— I know a place, Bamber said hesitantly, — somewhere they won‘t find us.

— You don‘t know Noah like I do, Moira said. -By now he knows you better than your own mother does.

— He doesn‘t know about this place, Bamber insisted. -Not even Steve knew.

Why should I trust anyone? Bourne said.

— Because, my friend, in this life you must learn to trust someone. Otherwise you will be consumed by paranoia and a longing for death. Hererra poured three fingers of Asombroso Anejo tequila into two glasses, handed one to Bourne. He sipped his, then said, — Me, I don‘t trust women, period. For one thing they talk too much, especially among themselves. He walked over to the wall of books and ran his fingertips over the bound spines. - Down through history there were uncountable times when men from bishops to princes were undone by a bit of discreet pillow talk. He turned. -While we fight and kill for power, that‘s how women amass theirs.

Bourne shrugged. -Surely you don‘t blame them.

— Of course I blame them. Hererra finished off his tequila. -The bitches are the root of all evil.

— Which leaves you for me to trust. Bourne put aside his drink untouched.

— The problem, Don Hererra, is that you‘ve already proved yourself untrustworthy. You‘ve lied to me once.

— And how many times have you lied to me since you walked through my door? The Colombian crossed the room, took up Bourne‘s tequila, and drank it down in one long shot. Smacking his lips, he wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and said, — The man Wayan described, the man who tried to kill you, was hired by one of your own people.

— The killer‘s name.

— Boris Illyich Karpov.

Bourne froze, unable for a moment to believe what he‘d just heard. -There must be some mistake.

Hererra cocked his head. -You know this man?

— Why would a colonel in FSB-2 hire himself out to an American?

— Not just an American, the Colombian said. -Secretary of Defense Ervin Reynolds Halliday, who as we both know is among the most powerful men on the planet. And he wasn‘t hiring himself out.

But it couldn‘t be Boris, Bourne told himself. Boris was a friend, he‘d helped Bourne in Reykjavik and then in Moscow, where he‘d surprised Bourne by showing up at a meeting with Dimitri Maslov, with whom he was clearly friendly. Were they more than friends? Was Boris a partner of Yevsen, along with Maslov? Bourne felt cold sweat break out on his back. The spider‘s web he‘d stepped into was growing exponentially with each interconnecting strand he discovered.

— But here… Hererra had turned away for a moment, rummaging through the drawer of the escritoire. When he turned back, he had a manila folder in one hand and a micro-recorder in the other. -Take a look at these.

Bourne opened the folder when the Colombian handed it to him and saw what were clearly surveillance photos, black and white, grainy, but clear enough to see two men talking in earnest conversation. Though the faces were in close-up the low light rendered everything slightly fuzzy.

— They met in a Munich beer hall, Hererra said helpfully.

Bourne recognized the shape and features of Boris‘s face. The other man, older, taller, was probably American. It was, indeed, the secretary of defense, Bud Halliday. Then he saw the electronic date-stamp, which was several days before he was shot.

— Photoshopped, he said, handing back the photos.

— In these times, all too possible, I admit. Hererra presented him with the micro-recorder as if it were a prize. -Perhaps this will convince you the photos are undoctored.

When Bourne pressed the PLAY button, this is what he heard above the reduced background clamor:

“Terminate Jason Bourne and I will use the full might of the American government to put Abdulla Khoury where he belongs.”

“Not good enough, Mr. Smith. An eye for an eye, this is the true meaning of quid pro quo, yes?”

“We don’t assassinate people, Colonel Karpov.”

“Of course not. No matter, Secretary Halliday. I have no such compunctions.”

After a slight pause, Halliday said: — Yes, of course, in the heat of the moment I forgot our protocols, Mr. Jones. Send me the entire contents of the hard drive and it will be done. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Bourne pressed STOP and looked at Hererra. -What hard drive are they talking about?

— I have no idea, but as you can imagine I‘m trying to find out.

— How did you come into possession of this material?

A slow smile reemerged on the Colombian‘s face as he put a forefinger across his lips.