Robert Ludlum - Bourne 7 – The Bourne Deception

He turned on her. -What‘s the matter with you, don‘t you have even an ounce of humanity? My partner was just murdered.

— I don‘t have time for sentiment or-

— And if I remember right a friend of yours was blown six ways from Sunday right in front of you. Don‘t you have any remorse, any pity? Is there anything inside you except exacting your revenge on Noah?

— What?

— I mean that‘s it, isn‘t it? That‘s what this is all about-you and Noah at each other‘s throats and never mind the collateral damage. Well, fuck him and fuck you!

As he stalked out of the kitchen Moira grabbed on to the sink in order to keep her feet. All at once the kitchen began to tumble over, she seemed to lose her bearings, to have become unmoored so that she could no longer distinguish the floor from the ceiling.

My God , she thought, what’s happening to me? And immediately an image of Ronnie Hart came to her, those lambent eyes watching her from inside the white Buick, Ronnie knowing the end had come and helpless to stop it. The explosion bloomed again in her mind, blotting out sight, sound, and thought.

Why didn’t I save her? Because there wasn‘t time. Why didn’t I try, anyway?

Again, there was no time and Bamber had grabbed her. Why didn’t I break free?

Because the wall of percussion had already hit her, hurling her backward, and if she had been any closer she would have been caught up in the conflagration, she‘d be dead now or, worse, lying in a burn unit, her skin ripped and charred, covered in third-degree burns that would kill her slowly and painfully.

Still. Ronnie was dead. She had survived. Where was the justice in that?

The rational part of her brain told the grieving, irrational part that the world was chaos, it didn‘t care about justice, which was, in any case, a human concept and, therefore, subject to its own form of irrationality. None of this interior debate could stem the tears that stung her eyes, ran down her cheeks, and set her to shivering as if she were ill.

Bamber‘s words came back to haunt her. Was this what it was all about, a blood feud between her and Noah? All at once she was back in Munich with Bourne, climbing the rolling stairs to the airplane bound to take them to Long Beach, California. Then Noah had appeared in the doorway and she recalled the poisonous look in his eye. Had it been jealousy? She‘d been far too distracted then, far too intent on her immediate goal of getting to Long Beach. But now that curdled expression on his face recurred to her like the acrid taste of spoiled food. How could she be certain she wasn‘t misinterpreting this remembered moment between them? Because, now she thought of it, his reaction to her leaving Black River was personal, as if he were her spurned lover. And so moving on from there, could her decision to start a rival company by poaching a select few of the best people from Black River have been in retaliation for Noah not making a play for her when he could have? All at once, she recalled the conversation she‘d had with Jason that night in Bali when they‘d been alone in the pool together. When she‘d told him of her idea to start a rival company to Black River, he‘d warned her that she would make an enemy of Noah, and he was right. Had he known then how Noah felt about her? And what had she felt about Noah? “I gave up trying to please him six months before I quit Black River. It was a fool’s game,” she‘d told Jason that night. What precisely had she meant by that? Hearing it now reverberate in her mind, mixing with all the other subtle revelations, it sounded like something a hurt lover would say.

God almighty, the collateral damage she and Noah had wrought!

Slowly, like a punctured tire, the unreasoning anger went out of her, her grip loosened, and she slid to the floor. If her back hadn‘t been braced against the wooden cabinets, she would have pitched over.

It seemed a long time later-but surely it couldn‘t have been-when she became aware that somebody was in the kitchen with her. In fact, two somebodies. They were crouched down beside her.

— What happened? Bamber asked. -Are you all right?

— I slipped and fell, that‘s all. Moira‘s eyes were perfectly dry now.

— I‘ll fetch you a brandy. Lamontierre, in a white unitard and ballet slippers, a towel draped around his neck, headed back into the living room.

Moira, shrugging off Bamber‘s proffered hand, levered herself to her feet. Lamontierre returned with a snifter half filled with an amber liquid, some of which she drank immediately. The fire worked its way down her throat and flooded her body, bringing her fully back to herself.

— Mr. Lamontierre, she said, — thank you for your hospitality, but to be honest I need to talk to Mr. Bamber in private.

— Of course. If you‘re all right…

— I am.

— Excellent, then I‘ll go shower. H, if you want to stay here for the time being… He regarded Moira for a moment. -Actually, both of you are welcome here for as long as you need.

— That‘s extremely generous of you, Moira said.

— It‘s nothing. He waved away her words. -I‘m afraid I don‘t have any fresh clothes for you.

Moira laughed. -I can take care of that easily enough.

— Well, then. Lamontierre gave Bamber a brief hug, and left them alone.

— He‘s a good man, Moira said.

— Yes, he is, Bamber acknowledged.

By unspoken mutual consent, they returned to the living room, where they collapsed, exhausted, on the sofas.

— What happens now? Bamber said.

— You help me find out exactly what Noah Perlis is using Bardem for.

— Really? His entire body stiffened. -And how do you propose I do that?

— How about hacking into his computer?

— How easy for both of us that would be! He shifted his position, perching himself on the edge of the cushion. -Unfortunately, it‘s impossible. Noah uses a laptop. I know this because he has me send the updated versions of Bardem directly to it.

— Ugh! Though Wi-Fi networks were notoriously porous, Black River‘s was not. It had established its own worldwide network that was, as far as she knew, impenetrable. Of course, in theory no network was 100 percent secure, but it might take a platoon of hackers years to get through. Unless…

— Wait a minute, she said, suddenly excited. -If you had a laptop loaded with the Black River Wi-Fi encryption, would that help?

Bamber shrugged. -Probably, but how on earth are you going to get your hands on one?

— I used to work for Black River, she said. -I cloned the hard drive from my laptop before I sent it back. She considered the remaining obstacle to this possible solution. -The only problem is every time a Black River agent leaves the company the encryption is updated.

— Doesn‘t matter. If they‘re using the same root algorithm, which I‘m sure they are, I should be able to crack it. He shook his head. -Not that it matters. His voice had soured. -We can‘t go back to our respective apartments, remember? Noah‘s people are sure to be waiting for us in both places.

Moira stood, looked around for her coat. -Nevertheless, she said, — I‘ve got to try.

ON THE ONE-HOUR FLIGHT from Seville to Madrid, Bourne realized that Tracy was no longer wearing her wedding band. When he asked her about it, she plucked it out of her handbag.

— I usually wear it when I‘m traveling to discourage unwanted conversations, she said, — but there‘s no reason to wear it now.

From Madrid they were booked on an Egyptair flight to Cairo. Once there, they were set to be taken to a military airfield just outside the Cairo International Airport, where a charter flight was waiting to fly them to Khartoum. She had already had her visas, and Don Hererra was kind enough to expedite Bourne‘s-still under the name of Adam Stone, of course. He‘d also provided Bourne with a satellite phone, because his cell would have only spotty coverage in Africa.