The Bourne Deception

19





THE PRESIDENT was met by Secretary of Defense Halliday as he was exiting the United Nations. Having sent the General Assembly into a frenzy by presenting the evidence against Iran in the bombing of the American airliner and the loss of 181 lives, the president had stopped for an impromptu press conference with the media, clustered around him like hens at feeding time. He obligingly gave them half a dozen choice sound bites to air or to carry back to their editors before his press secretary whispered in his ear that Secretary Halliday was waiting with urgent news.

The president was on a high. It had been a long time since an American president could address that august body of the United Nations armed with evidence so damning it had shocked the representatives from Russia and China into silence. The world was changing, tilting against Iran in a way never before seen. The president, whose presence here was in no small part due to Bud Halliday, thought it fitting that the first person he speak with regarding his unqualified success was the defense secretary.

Break out the champagne! the president called as he signaled to Halliday, and the two men entered the long bullet- and bombproof limousine.

The vehicle took off the moment the pair were seated. Across from them was the press secretary, his cheeks as flushed with victory as the presidents, a bottle of chilled American sparkling wine in his hand.

Sir, if you dont mind, lets hold the celebration, Bud Halliday said.

Mind the president said. Of course I mind! Solly, open the damn champagne!

Sir, Halliday said, theres been an incident.

The president froze in mid-gesture, then slowly turned to his defense secretary. What kind of an incident, Bud

Veronica Hart, the director of Central Intelligence, is dead.

At once the color drained from the presidents flushed cheeks. Good Christ, what happened, Bud

A car bombwe think. Theres an ongoing investigation, but thats the most recent theory.

But who

Homeland Security, ATF, and the FBI are all coordinating their efforts under the NSA umbrella.

Good. The president, all business now, nodded curtly. The sooner we clear up this car bomb mess, the better.

As usual, were on the same page, sir. Halliday glanced Sollys way. Speaking of which, were going to need a comprehensive press release, and spin control. After the plane incident, the last thing we need is speculation about terrorists and another bombing.

Solly, get our talking heads on it right away, the president said, then get into overdrive on an official release. Coordinate it with Secretary Hallidays office, would you

Right away, sir. Solly slipped the sweating bottle back into its bucket of ice and started calling contacts on his cell phone.

Halliday waited until the press secretary was engaged in his first conversation. Sir, weve got to think about a replacement for DCI Hart. And before the president could jump in, he continued: It seems fair to say that the experiment with hiring from the private sector has run its course. In any event, we need to move quickly to fill the gap.

Get me a list of the qualified senior people at CI.

I will certainly do that. Halliday texted a message to his office as they spoke. He looked up. The list will be on your desk inside an hour. But his face was still deeply troubled.

What is it, Bud

Its nothing, sir.

Oh, come on, Bud. Weve known each other a long time, havent we Theres something on your mind, nows not the time to hold back.

Okay. Halliday exhaled deeply. This is the perfect time to merge all the intelligence organizations into one organic whole that shares raw intel, makes coordinated decisions, and cuts through the bloated red tape that frustrates all of us.

Ive heard all this before, Bud.

With some effort Halliday stitched a grin on his face. No one knows that better than I do, sir, and I understand. In the past you agreed with the DCI, whoever it was.

The president worried his lower lip. Theres history to be observed, Bud. CI is the oldest, most venerable institution in the constellation of the intelligence communities. In many ways its the crown jewel. I can understand why youd want to get your hands on it.

Rather than waste time in denial of the truth, Halliday decided to take another tack altogether. The current crisis is another case in point. Were having difficulty coordinating with CIespecially Typhon, which might very well have the intel we need to ensure that our retaliation against Iran doesnt hit a snag.

The president stared out the smoked window at the monumental public buildings at the districts heart. Youve received the money foryou knowfor thewhat have you named the operation

The secretary of defense gave up trying to follow the train of the presidents thoughts. Pinprick, sir.

Who thinks of these names

Halliday sensed his boss didnt want an answer.

The president turned back to him. Who dyou have in mind

With his choice in the forefront of his mind, Halliday was ready for that one. Danziger, sir.

Really I thought you were going to propose your intelligence czar.

Jaime Hernandez is a career office man. We need someone with a morerobustbackground.

Quite right, the president agreed. Who the hell is this Danziger

M. Errol Danziger. The NSAs current deputy director of signals intelligence for analysis and production.

The president returned to his contemplation of the passing streetscape. Have I met him

Yes, sir. Twice, the last time when you were at the Pentagon just last

Remind me, please.

He brought in the printouts Hernandez distributed.

I dont recall the man.

Hardly surprising, sir. Theres nothing remarkable about him. Halliday chuckled. Thats what made him so valuable during his stint in the field. He worked Southeast Asia before moving into the Operations Directorate.

Wet work

Halliday was startled by the question. Nevertheless, he saw no point in lying. Indeed, sir.

And returned home to tell the tale.

Yes, sir.

The president made an unintelligible sound deep in his throat. Bring him to the Oval Office at He snapped his fingers for the press secretarys attention. Solly Opening, today.

Solly put his call on hold, scrolled through a second PDA. Five twenty-five, sir. But you only have ten minutes before the formal press conference. We need to make the six oclock news.

Of course we do. The president lifted a hand, smiling. Five twenty-five, Bud. Ten minutes is more than enough time for a yea or nay.

Then, abruptly, he turned to other matters, a crisis agenda packed with daunting security issues, at the end of which was not a hot bath and a good meal, but a phone conference with his director of protocol, deciding on who to invite to the state funeral for DCI Hart.


Seconds after Bourne took the phone, Hererras young man had stolen into the room. Now he pressed the muzzle of a Beretta Px4 9mm pistol to Tracys left temple. She was wide-eyed, sitting painfully erect at the edge of the sofa.

My dear fellow, Don Fernando Hererra said as he took the cell from Bourne, I may not know who you are, but I know this much: My threatening you will avail me nothing. His smile was sweet, almost soft. Whereas if I tell you that I will have Fausto blow her brains outpardon the crudeness of my words, Seńorita Athertonunless you tell me who you are, I feel certain that you will be more inclined to tell me the truth.

I admit that Ive underestimated you, Don Hererra, Bourne said.

Adam, please tell him the truth. Tracy was clearly terrified for her life.

I know that youre a confidence man, just as I know youve come to swindle me out of my Goya, which, by the way, Professor Alonzo Pecunia Zuńigathe real Don Alonzohas confirmed to me is authentic. He pointed. He has also confirmed that Seńorita Atherton is genuine. How you seduced her into going along with your scheme is between the two of you. But his expression conveyed his dismay and disappointment at Tracys fall from grace. My concern is who you are and which of my enemies hired you to con me.

Tracy shivered. Adam, for Gods sake

Hererra cocked his head. Come, come, Seńor Con Man, you have forfeited your right to scare the young lady.

It was time for him to act, Bourne knew that. He also knew that the situation was on a razors edge. Hererra was the wild card. On the surface it seemed unlikely that such a polished gentleman of Seville would actually direct the young man to pull the trigger. However, Hererras black-hands work in the oil fields of Colombia belied his current gentlemanly identity. At heart, he might still be that rough-and-tumble man who fought, finessed, and bullied his way to a fortune in the oil industry. A man didnt successfully do business with the Tropical Oil Company without a heart as hard as mahogany, and without spilling some blood. In any event, it was not for Bourne to gamble with Tracys life.

Youre right, Don Hererra. My apologies, Bourne said. Now to the truth: I was hired by one of your enemies, but not to take the Goya from you.

Tracys eyes opened even wider.

I came up with this ruse to get in to see you.

Hererras eyes glittered as he drew up a chair to sit in front of Bourne. Continue.

My name is Adam Stone.

Forgive me if Im skeptical. He snapped his fingers. Passport. And use your left hand. You dont want to alarm Fausto, believe me.

Bourne did. With the tips of the fingers on his left hand, he produced his passport, which Hererra scrutinized as if he were a special agent from immigration.

As he handed back the document, he said, All right, Seńor Stone, what are you

Im a freelance specialist in let us say hardware of a special nature.

Hererra shook his head. Now youve lost me.

Don Hererra, you know a Balinese merchant by the name of Wayan.

I do not.

Bourne made a show of ignoring the lie. I work for the people who supply Wayan.

Adam, what is this Tracy said. You told me you were interested in seed money for an e-commerce start-up.

At this, Hererra sat back, contemplating Bourne in, it seemed, an entirely new light. It seems, Seńorita Atherton, that Adam Stone lied to you as easily as he did to me.

Bourne knew hed made a desperate gamble. Hed calculated that the only way to take control of the situation was to astonish the Colombian. In this, it appeared, hed been successful.

The question is why

Bourne saw his chance to tip the scales in his favor. The people who hired methe people who supply Wayan

I told you I dont know anyone named Wayan.

Bourne shrugged. The people I work for know better. They dont like the way youre doing business. In fact, they want you out of it completely.

Don Hererra laughed. Fausto, do you hear this, do you hear this man He hunched forward so his face was close to Bournes. Are you threatening me, Stone Because the air in my house is vibrating in such a way.

Now there was a stiletto in his hand. The hilt was inlaid with jade, the long blade as tapered as Hererras own fingers. He tipped the blade forward until the point touched the skin above Bournes Adams apple.

You should know I dont take kindly to threats.

What happens to me is irrelevant, Bourne said.

The seńoritas blood will be on your hands.

Surely you know how powerful my employers are. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen.

Unless I change my business practices.

Bourne felt the shift in Hererras thinking even before he said it. He was no longer denying his business in arms shipping. Thats correct.

Don Hererra sighed and made a sign to Fausto, who removed the muzzle and holstered the Beretta at the small of his back. Then he threw the stiletto onto the sofa cushion and, slapping his thighs, said, I think, Seńor Stone, we both could do with a walk in the garden.


Fausto unlocked the French doors, and the two men stepped out onto the flagstone path. The garden was an octagon embraced by the sturdy arms of the house. There was a small grove of lemon trees and, in the center, a tiled fountain in the Moorish style shaded by a palm tree. Here and there stone benches were scattered, both in sunlight and in dappled shade. The air was perfumed by the lemon trees, whose new leaves were emerging like butterflies from their winter cocoons.

Because it was cool out, Don Hererra indicated a bench in full sun. When they were seated side by side, he said, I must admit Yevsen surprises me; he sends a man who is not only not a thug, but possesses uncommon wisdom. His head inclined a fraction, as if he were tipping his hat to Bourne. How much is that Russian sonovabitch paying you

Not enough.

Yes, Yevsen is one cheap bastard.

Bourne laughed. His great gamble had paid off: He had his answer. Wayan was being supplied by Nikolai Yevsen. Scarface had been sent by Yevsen, following Bourne all the way from Bali where hed first tried to kill him. He still didnt know why Yevsen wanted him dead, but he knew hed just moved a giant step closer to finding out. He had a line on who Don Fernando Hererra really was: Nikolai Yevsens competitor. And if he convinced Hererra Bourne could be turned, Hererra would give up everything he knew about Yevsen, which just might include what Bourne needed to know.

Certainly not enough for having a stiletto held to my throat.

No one regrets that necessity more than I do.

The fissures in Hererras face were set in high relief as they were struck by the slanting rays of the sun. There was a fierce pride in that face hed held in abeyance while he was playing the part of the gentleman, a granite toughness Bourne could appreciate.

I know about your history in Colombia, he said. I know how you took on the Tropical Oil Company.

Ah, yes, well, that was a long time ago.

Initiative never fades away.

Listen to you. The Colombian gave him a shrewd sideways look. Tell me, should I sell my Goya to Seńorita Atherton

She has nothing to do with me, Bourne said.

A chivalrous thing to say, but not quite true. Hererra held up an admonishing finger. She was all too ready to take the Goya at an unfair price.

That just makes her a good businessman.

Hererra laughed. Indeed, it does. He delivered another sidelong glance. I suppose you wont tell me your real name.

You saw my passport.

Now is not the time to insult me.

What I meant is that one name is as good as another, Bourne said, especially in our line of work.

Hererra shivered. Christ, its getting cold.

He stood up. The shadows had grown long during their talk. Only one sliver of sunlight remained on the top of the west-facing wall, while day turned into fugitive night.

Lets rejoin the lady businessman, shall we, and find out how badly she wants my Goya.

M. Errol Danziger, the NSAs current deputy director of signals intelligence for analysis and production, was watching three monitors at once, reading real-time progress reports from Iran, Egypt, and Sudan, and taking notes. He was also periodically speaking into the microphone of an electronic headpiece, using terse signals-speak he himself had devised, even though he was speaking on an NSA-approved encrypted line.

His Signals Sit Room was where Secretary of Defense Bud Halliday found Danziger analyzing and coordinating intel, and directing the far-flung elements of this blackest of black-ops missions. To those who worked most closely with him, he was known, ironically, as the Arab, because of the unceasing missions hed successfully run against Muslim extremists of all sects.

No one else was in the room, just the two men. Danziger glanced up briefly, gave his boss a deferential nod before returning to his work. Halliday sat down. He didnt mind the curt treatment that in anyone else would warrant a severe dressing-down. Danziger was special, deserving of special treatment. In fact, this manifestation of intense concentration was a sign that all was well.

Give me your nibble, Triton, Danziger said into the mike. Nibble was signals-speak for timetable.

High and tight. Bardem is on the money.

Triton was Noah Perliss ops designation, the secretary knew. The software program Bardem, which analyzed the changing field situation in real time, was his responsibility.

Lets get started on the Final Four, the Arab said. Final Four: the missions last phase.

Hallidays heart skipped a beat. They were close to the finish line now, nearing the biggest power coup any American official had ever managed. Damping down his excitement, he said, I trust youll be finished with this session soon.

That all depends, Danziger replied.

Halliday moved closer. Make it happen. Were going to see the president in just under three hours.

Danzigers attention shifted from his screens and he said, Triton, five, into the mike before he flipped a switch, temporarily muting the connection. You met with the president

Halliday nodded. I brought your name up and hes interested.

Interested enough to meet with me, but its not yet a done deal.

The defense secretary smiled. Not to worry. Hes not going to choose either of the candidates from inside CI.

The Arab nodded; he knew better than to question his bosss legendary influence. We have a bit of a situation developing in Egypt.

Halliday hunched forward. How so

Soraya Moore, whom we both know, and Amun Chalthoum, the head of the Egyptian intelligence service, have been snooping around the farm.

The farm was signals-speak for a current missions theater of operations. What have they found

The original team was on vacation when their orders were transmitted. Apparently they were pissed off enough about their leave being cut short that their destination was overheard.

Halliday scowled. Are you saying that Moore and Chalthoum are aware that the team was headed for Khartoum

Danziger nodded. This problem has to be nipped in the bud; theres only one solution.

Halliday was taken aback. What Our own men

They violated security protocol.

The secretary shook his head. But still

Containment, Bud. Containment while its still possible. The Arab leaned forward and patted his boss on the knee. Just think of it as another regrettable case of friendly fire.

Halliday sat back, scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. Its a good thing humans have an infinite capacity for rationalization.

About to swivel back to his screens, Danziger said, Bud, this is my mission. I devised Pinprick, I designed it down to the last detail. But you approved it. Now, I know for a fact youre not about to let four disgruntled sons-of-bitches put our heads in the crosshairs, are you