Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception

To this end, he had already decided to promote Symes to DDCI, after a suitable time. In this way, through flattery and then recruitment, he meant to cement his power at CI.

— Good morning, gentlemen. I suspect you have heard rumors-and here I hope I‘m wrong, but in the event I‘m not, my aim this morning is to set the record straight. There will be no firings, no transfers, no forced reassignments, although in the natural course of events, there will inevitably be, as we move forward, reassignments, as, I understand, there have always been here, and, indeed, in any organically evolving organization. In preparation for this moment, I‘ve studied the hallowed history of CI, and I can confidently state that no one understands the legacy of this great organization better than I do. Let me assure you-and my door is always open for discussion on this and any other topic that may be of concern to you-that nothing will change, that the legacy of the Old Man, who, I might add, I venerated from the time I was a young man fresh out of college, remains paramount in my mind, which leads me to say in all honesty and humility that it is a privilege and an honor to be among you, to become a part of you, to lead this great organization into the future.

The men ranged around the table sat in complete silence, trying to parse this long-winded preamble while, at the same time, trying to register it on their individual bullshit meters. It was a curious fact that Danziger had absorbed the involuted rhythm of Arabic so thoroughly that it had infected his English, especially when he was addressing a group. Where a word would do, a sentence would present itself; where a sentence would do, a paragraph appeared.

As a palpable feeling of relief washed over the conference room, he sat down, opened the file in front of him, and paged through the first half of it. All at once, he looked up. -Soraya Moore, the director of Typhon, isn‘t present because she is currently on assignment. You should know that I‘ve canceled that assignment and ordered her to return at once for a thorough debriefing.

He watched some heads turning in consternation, but there was no murmuring at all. Taking one last glance down at his notes, he said, — Mr. Doll, why isn‘t your boss, Mr. Marks, in attendance this morning?

Rory Doll coughed into his fist. -I believe he‘s in the field, sir.

As the Arab looked at Doll, a fair-haired wisp of a man with electric blue eyes, he smiled winningly. -You believe he‘s in the field or you know he‘s in the field?

— I know it, sir. He told me himself.

— All right, then. Danziger‘s smile hadn‘t budged. — Where in the field?

— He didn‘t specify, sir.

— And I assume you didn‘t ask him.

— Sir, with all due respect, if Chief Marks wanted me to know, he would‘ve told me.

Without taking his eyes off Marks‘s second, the Arab closed the file in front of him. It seemed as if the entire room were holding its collective breath. -Quite right. I approve of sound security procedure, the new DCI said. - Please ensure Marks comes to see me the moment he returns.

His gaze broke away from Doll at last and roved around the table, engaging in turn each of the senior officers. -All right, shall we proceed?

From this moment on all the resources of CI will be bent toward the undermining and destruction of the current regime in Iran.

A frisson of excitement raced like wildfire from officer to officer.

— In a few moments I‘ll outline to you the overarching operation to exploit a new pro-American indigenous Iranian underground, ready and able, with our support, to topple the regime from inside Iran.

When it comes to the police commissioner in this town, Willard said,

— throwing your weight around is worse than useless. I say that because the PC

is used to getting his own way, even with the mayor. He isn‘t intimidated by feds, and he‘s not shy about saying so.

Willard and Peter Marks were mounting the stone steps of a brownstone far enough off Dupont Circle not to be snooty, but close enough to be a recipient of the area‘s innate urbanity. This was wholly Willard‘s doing. Having ascertained that Lester Burrows, the police commissioner, was gone for the day, Willard had directed them to this block, to this specific brownstone.

— That being the case, the only smart way to play him is with psychology. Honey is a powerful incentive inside the Beltway, never more so than with the Metro police.

— You know Commissioner Burrows?

— Know him? Willard said. -He and I trod the boards in college; we played Othello together. He was a helluva Moor, let me tell you, scary-good-I knew his rage was genuine because I knew where he came from. He nodded, as if to himself. -Lester Burrows is one African American who has transcended the utter poverty of his childhood in every sense of the word. That‘s not to say he‘s forgotten it, not by a long shot, but, unlike his predecessor, who never met a bribe he didn‘t take, Lester Burrows is a good man underneath the mean streak he‘s cultivated to protect himself, his office, and his men.

— So he‘ll listen to you, Marks said.

— I don‘t know about that — Willard‘s eyes twinkled- but he sure as hell won‘t turn me away.

There was a brass knocker in the shape of an elephant that Willard used to announce their presence.

— What is this place? Marks asked.

— You‘ll see soon enough. Just follow my lead and you‘ll be okay.

The door opened, revealing a young African American woman dressed in a fashionable business suit. She blinked once and said, — Freddy, is that really you?

Willard chuckled. -It‘s been a while, Reese, hasn‘t it?

— Years and years, the young woman said, a smile creasing her face.

— Well, don‘t just stand there, come on in. He‘s going to be tickled beige to see you.

— To fleece me, you mean.