Robert Ludlum - Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception

Moira reached down, patted her Lady Hawk. -Don‘t fuck with me, guys.

Without another word they took her down the street. It was littered with car parts and the glitter of blown-out windows and taillights. She saw a fire truck, an EMT ambulance beside the hideous wreck of the Audi. No one could have survived that crash. With each step she gained strength and confidence. She was banged up and bruised, possibly, as they said, in shock, but otherwise unscathed. Luck beyond words. She thought of the pig spirit in Bali, who must still be protecting her.

— Here come the Warm Jets, Earl said.

— He means the cops, Dave translated.

— Guys, she said, — I need some alone time with my friend and the cops won‘t let me have it.

— Neither should we, Dave said dubiously.

— I‘ll handle these bozos. Earl peeled off to intercept them.

— Steady on.

Dave gripped her more tightly as she staggered without Earl‘s countervailing support. She took another couple of deep breaths to clear her mind and steady her body. She knew she had very little time before the cops would brush aside whatever smokescreen Earl managed to concoct.

They passed the all-but-unrecognizable crumple-and-twist of the Audi. She took a deep breath, righted herself, then they were at what remained of Jay Weston. He looked more like a lump of raw meat than a human being.

— How in the world did you get him out?

— Jaws of Life. In his case, it didn‘t help. Dave helped her to squat down beside the corpse, held her up as another wave of dizziness threatened to topple her. -It might be my job for this, he said.

— Relax. My friends will keep you safe. Her eyes were roving over every inch of the wasteland that was Jay. -Jesus, nothing could survive this mashup.

— What are you looking for?

— I wish I knew, but his jacket…

Dave reached down, drew something out from underneath the wreckage. -You mean this?

Moira‘s heart rate accelerated. It was Jay‘s sapphire-blue suede jacket, miraculously unscathed except for a couple of burned patches on the sleeves. It stank of smoke and toasted cologne.

— Believe it or not, things like this happen all the time, Dave said. He had deliberately positioned himself between Moira and the two cops who now brushed by Earl, having had their fill of his medical gobbledygook. -We find things-wallets, keys, baseball caps, condoms-you wouldn‘t believe-in virtually mint condition, thrown clear of the most horrendous wrecks.

Moira was listening with only one ear as her nimble fingers rifled through the outer and inner pockets. Rolaids, two rubber bands, a paper clip, a pinch of lint. Inside pockets contained no wallet or ID of any kind, which was standard operating procedure. If he got into trouble or needed clearance he made a call. Money was somewhere on his person, burned to a crisp. But speaking of his cell, she palmed it as Dave rose to intercept the cops.

She was about to give up when she spotted the loose thread at one of the inside seams. Pulling it opened a small hole out of which she dug a twogigabyte thumb drive. Hearing the sound of heavy footfalls coming up behind her, she made the sign of the cross over Jay‘s body and, with Dave‘s strong hand gripping her elbow, stood up to face her wearying interview with the Warm Jets.

Which turned out to be fully as stultifying and dunderheaded as she had foreseen, but at least she had the last laugh because before they got around to asking her the same questions for the third time she pulled out her Federal Securities Act ID, at which point they went silent. It was all Dave and Earl could do not to snicker into their red faces.

— About this traffic cop, Moira said. -I need to know who he was. I‘ve already told you twice even though you clearly didn‘t believe me, he discharged his weapon through the side window of Mr. Weston‘s Audi.

— And you say Mr. Weston worked for you? The taller of the two cops was a badge named Severin.

When she said yes, he nodded at his partner, who stepped away to use his cell phone.

— What were you doing kneeling over the body? Severin said. Maybe he was just marking time, because he‘d seen what she was doing and he‘d already asked her twice.

— Praying for my friend‘s soul.

Severin frowned, though he nodded, possibly in sympathy. Then he jerked his head at Dave and Earl. -These yahoos shouldn‘t have let you anywhere near your friend. This is a crime scene.

— So I understand.

His frown deepened, but the nature of his thoughts remained a mystery as his partner returned to the huddle.

— Here‘s a kick in the groin, he said facetiously. -There‘s no record of a motorcycle police from traffic or from any other department, for that matter, in this vicinity in the time frame we have.

— Damn it to hell.

Moira palmed open her cell, but before she had a chance to make a call, two men strode up. They wore identical dark suits but had the slopeshouldered military bearing of NSA operatives. She knew she was in trouble the moment they showed their IDs to the detectives.

— We‘ve got it from here, boys, Dark Suit Number One said while his partner gave the cops the thousand-yard stare. As the police backed off, Dark Suit Number One slipped his hand into Moira‘s pocket with the deftness of a professional pickpocket. -I‘ll take that, Ms. Trevor, he said, holding Jay‘s cell between the tips of his blunt fingers.

Moira lunged for it, but Dark Suit One snatched it out of her reach.

— Hey, that‘s the property of my company.

— Sorry, Dark Suit One said, — this has been impounded as a matter of national security.

Before Moira could say a word he took her arm. -Now if you‘ll be kind enough to come with us.

— What? Moira said. -You have no right to do this.

— I‘m afraid we do, Dark Suit One said as his partner positioned himself on her other side. He held aloft Jay‘s cell. -You were tampering with a crime scene.

As she was taken away, Dave took a step toward her.

— Out of the way! Dark Suit Number Two barked.

His sharp tone seemed to take the paramedic aback and he stumbled against her, mumbled an apology, then backed away.

Now Moira‘s view of the scene changed so that she was able to see the man standing behind the NSA agent. It was Noah, staring at her with a feral grin. He took Jay‘s cell and put it in his inside jacket pocket.

As he walked away, he said, — You can‘t say you weren‘t warned.

Astride the motorbike Dr. Firth had rented, Bourne drove up into the East Bali mountains-almost straight up at several points-until he arrived at the foot of Pura Lempuyang, the Dragon Temple complex. He parked under the watchful eye of a diminutive attendant in a canvas chair protected from the fierce sun by the dappled shade of a tree. Buying a bottle of water at one of the line of stands that served both pilgrims and curious tourists, he set off up the stiff incline, wrapped in his traditional sarong and sash.

The priest at the Bat Cave had not seen Suparwita, though he knew of him, but when Bourne had used him as a sounding board to describe his recurring dream, the priest had instantly identified the dragon staircases as those belonging to Pura Lempuyang. Bourne had left him after getting detailed directions to the temple complex high up on Mount Lempuyang.

It did not take him long to reach the first temple, a simple enough affair that seemed more like an anteroom to the steep steps that led up to the second temple. By the time he reached the intricately carved gateway, the ache in his chest had turned into a pain that obliged him to pause. Looking through the arched gate, he saw the three staircases, even steeper than the two he‘d just ascended. They were guarded by six enormous stone dragons whose sinuous and scaly bodies undulated up the stairway serving as banisters.