The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,133

Atherton.? At that moment, his cell rang and he excused himself. His brows knit together. ?When?? he said into the phone. ?Who? What do you mean alone? Dammit, didn?t I?All right, don?t fucking move until I get there!? He cut the connection, his face dark.

?Is something wrong?? Tracy asked.

?Nothing that need concern you.? Noah managed a smile through his annoyance. ?Please make yourself comfortable here. I?ll come and fetch you when it?s safe.?

?Safe? What do you mean??

?There?s an intruder in the building.? Noah was already hurrying across the room to the door. ?Not to worry, Ms. Atherton, it seems we already have him cornered.?

We were picked up the moment we arrived in KRT,? Amun Chalthoum said as he and Soraya drove into the city. KRT was the aviation acronym for the Khartoum International Airport, which had been appropriated by the Sudanese themselves.

?I saw them,? Soraya said. ?Two men.?

?They were joined by two others.? Chalthoum glanced in the rearview mirror. ?All four of them are in a gray 1970s-vintage Toyota Corolla three car-lengths behind us.?

?The men at the terminal looked local.?

Chalthoum nodded.

?I find that odd, because no one locally knew we were coming to Khartoum.?

?Not true.? A small, secretive smile played about the Egyptian?s lips. ?As the head of al Mokhabarat, I was obliged to tell a superior I was leaving the country, if only temporarily. The man I chose to tell is the one I have suspected for some time of secretly undermining me.? His eyes once again flicked to the image in the rearview mirror. ?Now, at last, I have my proof of his treachery. Nothing will stop me from bringing one of these miscreants back to Cairo to denounce him.?

?In other words,? Soraya said, ?we need to let them catch us.?

Amun?s smile broadened. ?Catch up to us,? he corrected, ?so we can catch them.?

The poker game had given up the ghost an hour ago, leaving the house off Dupont Circle redolent of the scents of men?and women?hard at play: cigar ash, leftover pizza, stale but honest sweat, and the ephemeral but powerful odor of money.

Four people draped themselves over purple velvet art deco sofas: Willard, Peter Marks, Police Commissioner Lester Burrows, and Reese Williams, whose house, surprisingly, this turned out to be. Between the four principals, on a low table, sat a bottle of scotch, a bucket half full of ice, and four fat old-fashioned glasses. Everyone else had packed up what was left of their poker stakes, if any, and had staggered home. It was just after twelve on a night without either moon or stars, the clouds so thick and low that even the lights of the district were reduced to murky smudges.

?You won the last hand, Freddy,? Burrows said, addressing the ceiling as he reclined against the sofa?s curled back, ?but you haven?t told me the consequences of seeing you after the final round of raises. I was tapped out, so you put in for me. Now I owe you.?

?I want you to answer Peter?s question about the two missing officers.?

?Who??

?Sampson and Montgomery,? Marks provided helpfully.

?Oh, them.?

The commissioner was still staring absently at the ceiling while Reese Williams, her legs curled up under her, watched the scene with an enigmatic expression.

?There?s also the matter of a motorcycle cop shooting a man named Jay Weston, which caused the accident Sampson and Montgomery were dispatched to investigate,? Marks continued. ?Only there was no investigation; it was strangled.?

Everyone in the room knew what ?strangling an investigation? meant.

?Freddy,? Burrows said to the ceiling, ?is this also part of what I owe you??

Willard?s eyes were fixed on Reese Williams?s unexpressive face. ?I ponied up a ton of money for you to see me, Lester.?

The commissioner sighed and finally relinquished his gaze from the ceiling. ?Reese, you know you have a rather large crack up there.?

?There are cracks throughout this house, Les,? she said.

Burrows seemed to consider this for some time before saying to the other two men, ?Be that as it may, there will be no cracks in the information shared here. Whatever I share with you gentlemen is strictly off the record, not for attribution, and however the hell else you want to say it.? He sat up abruptly. ?Bottom line: Afterward I will not only repudiate the statement, I?ll go out of my way to prove it false and to run into the ground those who claimed I did say it. Are we clear??

?Perfectly,? Marks said, while Willard nodded his assent.

?Detectives Sampson and Montgomery are currently fishing on