The Bourne Deception

24





WHILE BOURNE AND TRACY waited in the first-class lounge in Madrid for their Egyptair flight, Bourne excused himself and walked toward the mens room. He passed the shiny ranked shelves displaying newspapers from all over the world, in a great many languages, but all with more or less the same screaming headlines: Negotiations Break Down, or On The Brink, or Last Diplomatic Hope Gone, but which invariably included the words Iran and War.

When he was out of Tracys sight, he extracted his cell and called Boriss number. There was no answer, no ring even, which meant that Boris had his phone off. He thought a moment and, walking to the windows so that he was away from everyone, he scrolled through his phones address book until he brought up another Moscow number.

What the hell a crusty old voice shouted down the line.

Ivan, Ivan Volkin, he said. Its Jason Bourne, Boriss friend.

I know whose friend you are. Im old, not senile. Besides, you caused enough mayhem when you were here three months ago to remain indelible in the mind of an Alzheimers patient.

Im trying to get in touch with Boris.

What else is new Volkin said tartly. Why dont you try calling him instead of bothering me

I wouldnt be calling you if he answered his cell.

Ah, then you dont have his satellite phone number.

Which meant, Bourne thought, that Boris had returned to Africa. You mean hes back in Timbuktu

Timbuktu Volkin said. Where did you get the idea Boris had been in Timbuktu

From Boris himself.

Hah! No, no, no. Not Timbuktu. Khartoum.

Bourne leaned against the glass chilled by the fierce air-conditioning of the lounge. He felt as if the ground were sliding out from under his feet. Why did all strands of the spiders web lead to Khartoum

Whats Boris doing in Khartoum

Something he doesnt want you, his good friend, to know about. Volkin laughed throatily. Obviously.

Bourne took a stab in the dark. But you know.

Me My dear Bourne, Im retired from the world of the grupperovka. Whos got the bad memory, me or you

There was something very wrong with this conversation, and a moment later Bourne knew what it was. Surely, with all his contacts, Volkin must have heard of Bournes death. And yet there was no surprise in his voice when Bourne announced himself, no awkward questions being asked. Which meant he already knew Bourne had survived the attack on Bali. That meant Boris knew.

He tried another tack. Do you know a man named Bogdan Machin

The Torturer. Of course I know him.

Hes dead, Bourne said.

No ones going to mourn, believe me.

He was sent to Seville, Bourne said, to kill me.

Arent you already dead Volkin said with an ironic twist.

You knew I wasnt.

Me, I still have a couple of brain cells left, which is more than could be said for the late, unlamented Bogdan Machin.

Who told you Boris

Boris My dear fellow, Boris went on a weeklong drunk when he heardthrough me, I might addthat youd been killed. Now, of course, he knows better.

So Boris wasnt the one who shot me.

The explosion of laughter obliged Bourne to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment.

When Volkin had calmed down, he said, What an absurd notion! You Americans! Where on earth did you come up with that bit of insanity

Someone in Seville showed me surveillance photos of Boris in a Munich beer hall with the American secretary of defense.

Really On what planet would that happen

I know it sounds crazy but I heard a tape of them talking. Secretary Halliday ordered my death and Boris agreed to it.

Boris is your friend. Volkins tone had turned deadly serious. Hes Russian; friendships dont come easily to us, and theyre never betrayed.

It was a barter, Bourne persisted. Boris said he wanted Abdulla Khoury, the head of the Eastern Brotherhood, killed in return.

Its true Abdulla Khoury was killed recently, but I assure you that Boris would have no reason to want him dead.

Are you certain

Boris has been working on anti-narcotics, yes You know this or, at least, must have surmised as much. Youre a clever one, hah! The Eastern Brotherhood was funding its Black Legion terrorists through a drug pipeline that ran from Colombia to Mexico to Munich. Boris had someone inside the cartel who provided him with the other end of the pipeline, namely Gustavo Moreno, a Colombian drug lord living in a vast hacienda outside Mexico City. Boris attacked the hacienda with his elite team of FSB-2 men and shut Moreno down. But the really big prizeMorenos laptop with the details of every inch of the pipelineeluded him. What happened to it Boris spent two days searching every inch of the compound, to no avail, because before he died Moreno insisted it was in the hacienda. It wasnt, but Boris being Boris caught a whiff of a strange scent.

Which eventually brought him to Khartoum.

Volkin deliberately ignored the comment. Perhaps he thought the answer was self-evident. Instead, he said: Do you have the date this alleged meeting between Boris and the American secretary took place

It was stamped on the photos, Bourne said. When he told Volkin, the Russian said emphatically, Boris was here with me for three days, including that date. I dont know who was sitting down with the American secretary of defense, Bourne, but as sure as Russia is corrupt it wasnt our mutual friend Boris Karpov.

Who was it then

A chameleon, certainly. Do you know any, Bourne

Besides myself, I do. But, unlike me, hes dead.

You seem certain of that.

I saw him fall from a great height into the water off the Port of Los Angeles.

That is not the same as death. By God, you, of all people, should know, Volkin said.

A cold chill swept down Bournes spine.

How many lives have you had, Bourne Boris tells me many. I think it must be the same with Leonid Danilovich Arkadin.

Are you telling me that Arkadin didnt drown That he survived

A black cat like Arkadin has nine lives, my friend, possibly even more.

So it was Arkadin whod tried to kill him on Bali. Though the picture had suddenly become clearer, there was still something wrong, something missing.

Are you sure of all this, Volkin

Arkadin is now the new head of the Eastern Brotherhood, hows that for being sure

All right, but why would he hire the Torturer when he seems to want so desperately to kill me himself

He wouldnt, Volkin said. The Torturer is much too unreliable, especially against a foe like you.

Then who hired him

That, Bourne, is a question even I cannot answer.


Having decided to take to the field himself in an effort to find the missing Metro police officers, Peter Marks was waiting in front of the bank of elevators to take him to the ground floor when an elevator door slid open. The only person inside was the enigmatic Frederick Willard, up until three months ago the Old Mans mole inside the NSAs Virginia safe house. The older man was, as usual, dapper, urbane, utterly self-contained. He wore an impeccable gunmetal-gray, chalk-striped three-piece suit over a crisp white shirt and a conservative tie.

Hello, Willard, Marks said as he stepped into the elevator. I thought you were on leave.

I got back several days ago.

From Markss point of view, Willard was remarkably well suited to play the role of steward in the safe house, evincing an old-school professorial air, musty and rather boring. It wasnt difficult to see how he melted into the woodwork. Being invisible made it so much easier to eavesdrop on intimate conversations.

The door slid shut and they descended.

I imagine its been difficult getting back into the swing of things, Marks said, more to be polite to the older man than anything else.

Frankly, it was like I was never gone. Willard glanced over at Marks with a grimace, as if hed just come from the surgeons office and his agony was of such magnitude that he could not hide it. How did your interview with the president go

Surprised that Willard knew about it, Marks said, Well enough, I suppose.

Not that it matters, youre not getting the post.

It figures. Dick Symes was the logical front-runner.

Symes is out, too.

Markss acceptance turned to consternation. How do you know that

Because I know who did get the post and, f*ck us all, it isnt anyone from inside CI.

But that makes no sense.

On the contrary, it makes perfect sense, Willard said, if your name happens to be Bud Halliday.

Marks turned toward the older man. Whats happened, Willard Come on, man, out with it!

Halliday has used Veronica Harts sudden death to his advantage. Hes proposed his own man, M. Errol Danziger, and after meeting with Danziger the presidents agreed.

Danziger, the NSAs current deputy director of signals intelligence for analysis and production

Thats the one.

But he knows nothing about CI! Marks cried.

I believe, Willard said with some asperity, thats precisely the point.

The doors opened and the two men stepped out into the marble-and-glass reception area, as chilly as it was vast.

Under the circumstances, I think we need to talk, Willard said. But not here.

Certainly not. Marks was about to propose a meeting for later, but then changed his mind. Who better than this mysterious veteran with a thousand and one sources, who knew all of Alex Conklins back-channel intelligence secrets, to help him find the missing cops Im off on an investigation in the field. Care to join me

A smile creased Willards face. Ah, me, itll be just like Ive dreamed!


* * *





When Arkadin approached Jokar, she spat at him, then turned her face away. All her four childrenthe three girls and the dead sonwere clustered around her like foam surrounding a basalt outcropping rising from the sea. They, the living, little ones, rose up as he approached as if to protect her from an assault or an unwanted intrusion.

Tearing off one shirtsleeve, Arkadin leaned in and dabbed the blood off her face. It was when he touched the point of her chin to turn her face back toward him that he saw the deep bruises on her face, the welts on her neck. Rage at Oserov flared anew inside him, but then he noticed that the welts and bruises werent recenthe was certain they hadnt been made in the last several days. If Oserov hadnt caused them then, in all likelihood, her husband, Lev Antonin, had.

Her eyes met his for a moment, and in them he saw a bleak reflection of the bedroom upstairs, filled with both her intimate scent and her abject solitude.

Jokar, he said, do you know who I am

My son, she said, hugging him to her breast. My son.

Were going to get you out of here, Jokar, you and your children. You dont have to be afraid of Lev Antonin anymore.

She stared at him, as dumbfounded as if hed told her she was getting her lost youth back. The crying of her youngest girl brought her around. She looked at Tarkanian who, with her car keys in one hand, had slung Oserov over his shoulder.

Hes coming with us The man who killed my Yasha

Arkadin said nothing, because the answer was clear.

When she turned back to him, a light had gone out in her eyes. Then my Yasha comes, too.

Tarkanian, bent over like a coal miner, was already carrying his heavy load to the front door. Leonid Danilovich, come on. The dead have no place among the living.

But when Arkadin took Jokars arm, she snatched it away.

What about that piece of filth The moment he killed my Yasha he died, too.

With a grunt, Tarkanian opened the door. We dont have time for negotiation, he said brusquely.

I agree. Arkadin took Yasha into his arms. The boy comes with us.

He said it in such a tone that Tarkanian gave him another of his penetrating looks. Then the Muscovite shrugged. Shes your responsibility, my friend. All of them are your responsibility now.

They trooped out to the car, Jokar herding her three confused and shivering daughters. Tarkanian placed Oserov in the trunk and tied the lid to the bumper with a length of twine hed found in a kitchen drawer so that his compatriot would have fresh air. Then he opened the two doors on the near side, and went around to slide behind the wheel.

I want to hold my son, Jokar said as she urged her daughters into the backseat.

Better that I take him up front, Arkadin said. The three girls need your undivided attention. When she hesitated, pushed the hair back from her sons forehead, he said, Ill take good care of him, Jokar. Dont worry. Yasha will be right here with me.

He got into the front passengers seat and, with the boy cradled in one arm, closed the door. He noted that they had almost a full tank of gas. Tarkanian fired the ignition, let out the clutch, and put the car in gear. They took off.

Get that thing off me, Tarkanian said as they took a corner at speed and Yashas head brushed against his arm.

Show some f*cking respect, Arkadin snapped. The boy cant hurt you.

Youre as loony as a tyolka in heat, Tarkanian retorted.

Whos got a friend locked in the trunk

Tarkanian honked the horn mightily at a truck lumbering in front of him. Maneuvering around, he braved oncoming traffic to pass the huge vehicle, ignoring the angry blare of horns and the near misses as cars coming the other way scrambled to get out of his way.

When they were back on their side of the road, Tarkanian glanced over at Arkadin. Youve got a soft spot for this kid, huh.

Arkadin did not respond. Though he was staring straight ahead, his gaze had turned inward. He was acutely aware of Yashas weight, even more his presence, which had opened a door into his own childhood. When he looked down at Yashas face it was as if he were looking at himself, carrying his own death with him like a familiar companion. He wasnt frightened of this boy, as Tarkanian clearly was. On the contrary, it seemed important for him to hold Yasha, as if he could keep safe whatever remained of a human being, especially such a young and innocent one, after death. Why did he feel that way And then a murmuring from the backseat compelled him to lean over to peer at the reflections in the rearview mirror. He saw Jokar with her three young daughters gathered around her, her arms encompassing them, sheltering them from further harm, fear, and indignities. She was telling them a story filled with bright fairies, talking foxes, and clever elves. The love and devotion in her voice was like an alien communication from a distant, unexplored galaxy.

All of a sudden a profound wave of sorrow swept through him, so that he bent his head over Yashas thin blue eyelids, as if in prayer. In that moment, the boys death and the part of his childhood his mother had torn from his breast merged, became one, indistinguishable both in his febrile mind and his damaged soul.


Humphry Bamber was waiting anxiously for Moira when she returned to Lamontierres brownstone.

So, how did it go he said, as he ushered her into the living room. Wheres the laptop

When she handed him the wrecked disk, he turned it over and over. Youve got to be kidding.

I wish I was, Moira said wearily.

She sat heavily on the sofa while he went to fetch her a drink. When he returned, he sat opposite her. His face looked haggard and drawn, the first signs of constant anxiety.

These disks are utterly useless, he said, you realize that

She nodded and sipped at her drink. Just like the cell I got off the guy who pulled the hard drive from my laptop. It was a burner.

A what

A disposable cell phone you can buy in practically any drug- or convenience store. It has a set number of pre-paid minutes. Criminals use them and discard them daily; that way their conversations cant be tapped and their whereabouts cant be traced.

She waved her own words away. Not that it matters now. Where tapping into Noahs computer is concerned, were essentially screwed.

Not necessarily. Bamber hunched forward. At first, when you left I thought Id go out of my mind. I kept replaying you pulling me out of the Buick, seeing Hart behind the wheel, and then the whole thing exploded to hell. His eyes slid away. My stomach rebelled. Maybe that wasnt such a bad thing because while I was splashing cold water on my face I got the idea.

Moira put her empty glass down beside the wreck of the hard drive disks. What idea

Okay, it occurred to me that each time I deliver a new iteration of Bardem, Noah insists that I download it directly to his laptop.

Security reasons, Im sure. So

Well, in order for the program to install correctly, hes got to shut down all other programs.

Moira shook her head. Im still not following.

Bamber drummed his fingers for a moment as he thought of a suitable example to illustrate his point. Okay, you know how when you install some programs, the install shield asks you to shut down all programs including your virus protection When she nodded, he went on. Thats to ensure they load properly. Its the same with Bardem, only to the nth degree. Its so complex and so sensitive that it needs a completely clear field, as it were, to install properly. So heres my thought. I could contact Noah and tell him I found a bug in his current version of Bardem, that I need to send him an update. Usually, the new version overwrites the previous one, but with a bit of work I think I can upload his version while I download the new one.

Moira, suddenly galvanized, sat up straight. Then well have everything thats in his program, including the scenarios hes been running. Well know precisely what hes planning, and where!

She jumped up and kissed Bamber on the cheek. Thats brilliant!

Plus, I could embed a tracer in the new version that would let us track what hes inputting in real time.

She knew just how cleverand paranoidNoah was. Could he find out about the tracer

Anythings possible, Bamber said, but its highly unlikely.

Then lets not get too cute.

He gave her a slightly embarrassed nod. Anyway, its all pie in the sky, he said. Ive got to get to my office and find a way to reassure Noah that everythings okay with me.

Moiras mind was already spinning out possible scenarios. Dont worry about that. You concentrate on the nuts and bolts of the two-way transfer. Ill take care of Noah.


After reading everything he could about the rapidly escalating Iran situation in the International Herald Tribune hed picked up in the lounge in Madrid, Bourne sat brooding all during the flight to Khartoum. Once or twice, he became aware that Tracy was trying to engage him in conversation, but he didnt care to answer. He was wondering why the possibility of Arkadin surviving his trial at sea hadnt occurred to him; after all, the precise same thing had happened to him off Marseilles, when hed been pulled half dead out of the water by the crew of a fishing boat. Hed been nursed back to health by a local doctor, as inveterate a drunk as Dr. Firth, only to discover that the trauma hed suffered had caused amnesia. His memories of his life had been wiped out. Once in a while something familiar would trigger a shard of memory, but when it did surface, it most often arrived in incomplete fits and starts. Since then hed struggled to find out who he was, and though many years had passed he seemed no closer to the truththe identities of Jason Bourne and, to a limited extent, David Webb were all he could remember. It had seemed to him that the path that would lead him to himself lay through his memories on Bali.

But first, there was the matter of Leonid Arkadin to consider. That Arkadin wanted him dead was beyond doubt, but he also intuited that more was going on here than a simple case of revenge. Though hed learned that nothing with Arkadin was simple, there was an overarching plan to this particular web in which he found himself that transcended even Arkadin, who seemed to be one strand among many that was leading Bourne to Khartoum.

Whether or not Don Fernando Hererra was in league with Arkadinand it seemed a sure bet that Arkadin had sent him the photos and audio incriminating Boriswas for the moment beside the point. Now that he knew Arkadin was behind the attempt on his life, he had to assume that a trap was being laid for him at 779 El Gamhuria Avenue. Whether that trap was Arkadins alone, or whether it included Nikolai Yevsen, the arms dealer, and Noah Perlis, he didnt yet know. But it was interesting to speculate on what business Noah had with Yevsen. Was it personal or on behalf of Black River Either way, the two constituted a sinister team, one that he needed to know more about.

And what was Tracys role in all this She had taken possession of the fantastic Goya only after she had electronically transferred the required sum to Don Hererras bank account and he had ordered his banker to deposit the funds into a second account, the number of which was unknown to her. That way, Hererra had said with a sly smile, he was assured that the money had actually been delivered and would remain his. His years in the oil fields had turned the Colombian into a sly old fox who considered every angle and planned for every contingency. Bourne thought it ironic that he held a peculiar affection for Hererra even though clearly the Colombian and Arkadin were in some sense allies. He hoped hed run into Hererra again one day, but in the meantime he needed to deal with Arkadin and Noah Perlis.


The dying sun, red as a fireball, was moving ponderously downward to the earth when Soraya and Amun Chalthoum reached Chysis Military Airdrome. Chalthoum showed his credentials and was directed to a small parking lot. After passing through another security check, they were striding across the tarmac toward the plane Chalthoum had ordered to be fueled and ready to take off when Soraya saw two people walking on a tangent course toward a waiting Air Afrika jet. The woman was thin, blond, and quite striking. She was closer to Soraya so, for a moment, her male companion was blocked from her view. Then the vectors changed as they neared one another. Soraya caught a glimpse of the mans face and, stricken, felt her knees grow momentarily weak.

Chalthoum, at once noticing her faltering stride, turned back to her.

What is it, azizti he said. Youve no blood in your face.

Its nothing. Soraya breathed deeply and slowly in an attempt to calm herself. But since the new DCI had called and summarily ordered her back to DC without giving her a chance to explain the situation, nothing could calm her now. And then she saw Jason Bourne walking along the tarmac at a military airport outside Cairo. At first she thought, It cant be him. It must be someone else. But as he neared her and his features became more detailed, she realized there could be no doubt.

My God, my God, she thought. Whats happening How could Jason be alive

She had to restrain herself from calling out his name, from rushing up to him and embracing him. He hadnt contacted her, so there must be a reasona damn good one, she suspectedhe didnt want her to know that he was alive. He was talking intently with his companion and so hadnt yet seen heror if he had, he was pretending that he hadnt.

On the other hand, she had to find a way to get him the number of her satellite phone. But how to do it without either Amun or Jasons companion knowing


Your silence is painful, Tracy said.

Its that bad Bourne didnt look at her, but rather stared straight ahead at the red-and-white fuselage of the Air Afrika jet, waiting like a large and dangerous cat just off the head of the main runway of the military airstrip. Hed spotted Soraya the moment she and the tall, lanky Egyptian had passed through security and come onto the tarmac, and he was trying to ignore her because the last thing he wanted now was for someone from CIeven Sorayato see him.

You havent said a word for hours. Tracy sounded genuinely hurt. Its as if theres a glass wall around you.

Ive been trying to figure out the best way of protecting you once we arrive in Khartoum.

Protect me from what

Not what. Who, Bourne said. Don Hererra lied about the photos and the audio, so who knows what else hes lied about

Whatever you have going doesnt have anything to do with me, Tracy said. Im going to stay as far away from your business as I can because, quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me.

Bourne nodded. I understand.

She had the carefully packed Goya safely tucked under her arm. The difficult part of my job is finished. All thats left to do now is to deliver the Goya, collect the remainder of my fee from Noah, and fly home.

It was at that precise moment that Tracy looked up and said, That exotic-looking woman keeps staring at you. Do you know her