Robert Ludlum - Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception

That was day two. Oserov was just warming up, there was far worse to come.

Pinprick , Humphry Bamber said. -What do you mean, Pinprick ?

Veronica Hart shot Moira a nervous look. -I was hoping you could tell us, she said.

Hart‘s cell buzzed and she walked out of earshot to take it. When she returned, she said, — The backup I ordered is waiting outside.

Moira nodded, leaned forward, toward Bamber, forearms resting on her crossed knee. -The word pinprick was paired with the name of your software program.

He looked from her to the DCI. -I don‘t understand.

Moira felt the air go out of her. -I met with Steve just before… before he disappeared. He was terrified of what was going on at the DoD and the Pentagon. He intimated that the fog of war had already started to permeate the atmosphere at both places.

— And, what, you think Bardem has something to do with that fog of war?

— Yes, Moira said firmly. -I do.

Bamber had begun to sweat. -Christ, he said, — if I had any idea the real-world situation Noah was going to use the program for included war-

— Excuse me, Moira said hotly, — but Noah Perlis is a high-ranking member of Black River. How could you not know-or at least suspect?

— Back off, Moira, Hart said.

— I will not back off. This-idiot savant-has given Noah the keys to the castle. Because of Bamber‘s stupidity Noah and the NSA are planning something.

— Something what? Bamber‘s voice was almost pleading. He seemed desperate to know what he was complicit in.

Moira shook her head. -That‘s just it, we don‘t know what, but I‘ll tell you one thing: Unless we find out and stop them I‘m afraid that we‘ll all live to regret it.

Bamber, clearly shaken, rose. -Whatever I can do, however I can help, just tell me.

— Go get dressed, Hart said. -Then we‘d like to take a look at Bardem. My hope is that we‘ll get a better idea from the program itself what Noah and the NSA have in mind.

— It won‘t take me a minute, he said. He ducked out of the office.

For a time, the two women sat in silence. Then Hart said, — Why do I get the feeling that I‘m being outmaneuvered?

— You mean Halliday?

Hart nodded. -The secretary of defense has decided to reach out to the private sector for whatever he has in mind-and make no mistake, no matter how clever Noah Perlis is, he‘s taking his orders from Bud Halliday.

— Taking his money, too, Moira said. -I wonder what Black River‘s bill for this little escapade is going to be.

— Moira, whatever differences we‘ve had in the past, we agree on one thing-that our former employer is without scruples. Black River will do anything if the price is right.

— Halliday has a virtually unlimited source, the US Mint. You and I both saw the flats of hundred-dollar bills Black River transshipped from here to Iraq during the first four years of the war.

Hart nodded. -One hundred million in each flat, and where did the money go? To fight the insurgents? To pay off the army of indigenous informers Black River claimed to get their intel from? No, you and I know, because we saw it, that ninety percent of it went into blind bank accounts in Liechtenstein and the Caymans of dummy corporations owned by Black River.

— Now they don‘t have to steal it, Moira said with a cynical laugh,

— because Halliday is giving it to them.

A moment later they rose and went out of the office as Humphry Bamber emerged from the men‘s locker room. He was dressed in neatly pressed jeans, polished loafers, a blue-and-black-checked shirt, and a gray suede car coat.

— Is there another exit? Moira asked him.

He pointed. -There‘s an employee and delivery entrance behind the administrative offices.

— I‘ll get my car, Moira said.

— Hold on. Hart opened her phone. -It‘s better for me to do it; my people are outside and I need to instruct them to deploy outside the front entrance to make it look as if we‘re taking Bamber out that way. She held out her hand and Moira gave her the keys. -Then I‘ll go get your car and pick you two up around back. Moira?

Moira drew her custom Lady Hawk from its thigh holster while Bamber goggled with his mouth half open.

— What the hell is going on? he said.

— You‘re getting the protection you wanted, Hart said.

As she disappeared down the corridor, Moira motioned to Bamber, allowing him to lead her back toward the admin offices. She used her DoD-issue ID on the few managers who questioned their presence in the health club‘s back office.

When they approached the rear door, she pulled out her phone and dialed Hart‘s private number. Once the DCI answered, she said, — We‘re in position.

— Count to twenty, Hart‘s reply came in her ear, — then bring him out.

Moira snapped shut her phone and put it away. -Ready?

Bamber nodded even though it wasn‘t really a question.

She counted off the rest of the time, then wrenched the door open with her free hand and, with her gun at the ready, moved out, presenting only her profile. Hart had stopped the white Buick directly in front of the entrance. She‘d opened the near-side rear door.

Moira took a look around. They were in a remote section of the parking lot. The blacktop was surrounded by a twelve-foot Cyclone fence topped with razor wire. To the left was a row of huge lidded bins to hold the health club‘s trash and recyclables between garbage pickups. To the right was the turnaround to exit the lot. Beyond rose blocks of anonymous-looking apartment and mixed-use buildings. No other vehicles were in this section of the lot, and a view of the street was blocked off by screening on the outside of the fence.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Moira made eye contact with Bamber.

— Okay, she said, — keep your head low and get into the backseat as quickly as you can.

Crouching down, he scuttled across the short distance from the doorway to the Buick, Moira covering him the whole way. Within the safety of the car, he scrambled across the seat to the far side.

— Get your head down! Hart ordered as she swiveled her torso around the front bucket seat. -And keep it down no matter what.

Then she called to Moira. -Come on, come on! What are you waiting for?

Let‘s get the hell out of Dodge!

Moira went around the back of the Buick and took one last surveillance look at the garbage bins up against the Cyclone fence. Had there been some movement there or was it just a shadow? She took several steps toward the bins, but Veronica Hart stuck her head out the window.

— Dammit, Moira, would you get into the car!

Moira turned back. Ducking her head, she came around the back of the Buick and stopped dead in her tracks. Kneeling down, she peered into the tailpipe. There was something there, something with a tiny red eye, an LED

that now began to blink rapidly…

Jesus , she thought. Oh, God!

Tearing around to the open door, she yelled, — Out! Get out now!

She bent, pulling Bamber across the leather seat, hauling him out of the car. -Ronnie, she called, — get out! Get out of the fucking car!

She saw Hart turn, momentarily bewildered, then move to un-buckle her seat belt. In a moment it became clear that something was wrong because she couldn‘t get free; something was in the way or the locking mechanism was malfunctioning.

— Ronnie, do you have a knife?

Hart had a penknife out and was sawing through the material that held her fast.

— Ronnie! Moira screamed. -For God‘s sake-!

— Get him away! Hart yelled at her, and then, as Moira took a step toward her, — Get the fuck away!

In the next instant the Buick went up like a Roman candle, the shock wave slamming Moira and Bamber to the blacktop, showering them with smoldering patches of plastic and spirals of hot metal that stung like bees flushed from their hive.