Eric van Lustbader - The Bourne Objective

Bourne laughed. He liked this child. “When the need arises.”

“Bat-Signal!” She cocked her head, and in the straightforward manner of children, said, “Why did you lie to Mum and Aunt Tracy?”

Bourne was about to say something about Tracy, but just in time reminded himself that as far as Scarlett was concerned her aunt was still alive. “I was in one of my secret identities when I met your aunt. Then Tracy told your mum about me. It was the best way I could get her to listen to me quickly.”

“If you’re not Professor David Webb who the hell are you?” Chrissie’s father said, visibly gathering himself.

“I was Webb when I knew you,” Bourne said. “I didn’t come to Oxford, to you, under false pretenses.”

“What are you doing here with my daughter and granddaughter?”

“It’s a long story,” Bourne said.

A spark of cunning came into the old man’s face. “I’ll bet it has something to do with my older daughter.”

“In a way.”

The old man clenched a fist. “That damn engraving.”

A little chill traveled down Bourne’s spine. “What engraving?”

The old man peered at him curiously. “Do you not remember? I’m Dr. Bishop Atherton. You brought me a drawing of a phrase you said was an engraving.”

And then Bourne remembered. He remembered everything.

ANTONIO SLUMPED IN the furious darkness of the convent’s hearth, a darkness so thick and black it seemed to obliterate not just light, but life itself.

Soraya took several steps toward him, peering into the gloom.

“He’s not your pool boy,” Arkadin said. “That’s clear enough.”

She said nothing, knowing that he had begun to bait her in order to gain information. This, in itself, was a hopeful sign, indicating that Antonio hadn’t talked, despite the beating he’d received.

Deciding that outrage was her best course, she turned on Arkadin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

When Arkadin smiled it was like a wolf appearing through pine trees. “I like to know who my prospective partners are.” His smile lengthened, like knives being unsheathed. “Especially ones that fall into my lap so conveniently.”

“Partners?” She laughed harshly. “You must be fucking dreaming, my Russian friend. I wouldn’t partner with you for-”

He grabbed her then, pressing his lips against hers, but she was ready for him. She folded herself against him and slammed her knee into his groin. His hands on her trembled for a moment, but he did not let her go. His lupine grin never faltered, but there were tears glittering in the corners of his eyes.

“You won’t get me,” she said softly but icily, “either way.”

“Yes, I will,” he said, just as icily, “because you came here to get me.”

Soraya had nothing to say to this, but she was hoping he was making a stab in the dark, because otherwise she was blown all to hell. “Let Antonio go.”

“Give me a reason.”

“We’ll talk.”

He massaged his groin gently. “We already talked.”

She bared her teeth. “We’ll try another form of communication.”

He put a hand on her breast. “Like this?”

“Untie him.” Soraya tried not to grit her teeth. “Let him go.”

Arkadin appeared to consider her request. “I think not,” he said after several moments of tense silence. “He means something to you, which makes him valuable as leverage.” Reaching into his pocket, he produced a switchblade. It snikked open and, pushing her away, he advanced on Antonio. “What should I cut off first, do you think? Ear? Finger? Or something even lower down?”

“If you cut anything off…”

He turned to her. “Yes?”

“If you cut anything off you’ll never be able to sleep while I’m lying beside you.”

He leered at her. “I don’t sleep.”

She had begun to despair for Antonio’s life when her cell rang. Without waiting for Arkadin to give her permission, she answered it.

“Soraya.” It was Peter Marks.

“Yes.”

“What’s happened?” Intuitive as ever, he’d picked up on the tension in her voice.

She stared into Arkadin’s eyes. “Everything’s hunky-dory.”

“Arkadin?”

“You bet.”

“Excellent, you’ve made contact.”

“More than.”

“There’s a problem, I get it. Well, you’ll have to find your way out of it and fast, because our mission’s become urgent.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You need to get Arkadin to the following address within seventy-two hours.” Then he recited the address Willard had given him.

“That’s an impossible order to fill.”

“Obviously, but it’s got to be done. He and Bourne have to meet, and that’s where Bourne will be.”

A pinpoint of light appeared in the darkness ahead of her. Yes, she thought, it just might work. “Okay,” she said to Peter, “I’ll put a rush on it.”

“And make sure he takes his laptop with him.”

Soraya let out a breath. “How d’you propose I do that?”

“Hey, that’s why you get the big bucks.”

He rang off before she could tell him to go to hell. With a grunt of disgust, she pocketed her cell.

“Business problems?” Arkadin said in a mocking tone.

“Nothing that can’t be solved.”

“I like your can-do attitude.” Mocking her still, he brandished the switchblade. “Are you going to solve this problem?”

Soraya put a thoughtful expression on her face. “Possibly.” Walking past him, she went into the hearth, where Antonio watched her with the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. She was shocked to find him grinning at her.

“Don’t mind me,” he said in a hoarse voice, “I’m having fun.”

Without Arkadin being able to see, she put her forefinger to her lips, then pressed it to his. It came away bloody. She turned back to Arkadin. “It all depends on you.”

“I don’t think so. The ball’s in your court.”

“Here’s how this will work.” She emerged back into the flickering candlelight. “You let Antonio go and I’ll tell you how to find Jason Bourne.”

He burst out laughing. “You’re bluffing.”

“When it comes to someone’s life,” she said, “I never bluff.”

“Still, what does an importer-exporter know about Jason Bourne?”

“Simple enough.” Soraya had already worked out her answer. “From time to time, he uses my company as a cover.” This was a plausible enough story to give him reason to believe her.

“And why does an importer-exporter think I care where Jason Bourne is?”

She cocked her head. “Do you?” This was no time to back down or show weakness.

“And what if you’re not what you say you are?”

“What if you’re not what you say you are?”

He waggled a forefinger at her. “No, I don’t think you’re an importer-exporter.”

“All the more intriguing then.”

He nodded. “I confess I like mysteries, especially when they bring me closer to Bourne.”

“Why do you hate him so?”

“He’s responsible for the death of someone I loved.”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You never loved anyone.”

He took a step toward her, but whether it was a threat or simply to get closer to her was difficult to tell.

“You use people, and when you’re finished with them, you crumple them up like a used Kleenex and throw them in the garbage.”

“And what of Bourne? He’s exactly like me.”

“No,” she said, “he’s not like you at all.”

His smile broadened, and for the first time it was without even a hint of menace or irony. “Ah, finally I have a useful bit of knowledge about you.”