The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,16
his patient.
Just over four hours later, Firth, exhausted but cautiously triumphant, wheeled Bourne into the recovery room, adjacent to the surgery, that would become Bournes home for the next six weeks.
Moira was waiting for them. Her face was pale, her emotions retreated from her flesh, curled into a ball in the pit of her stomach.
Will he live? She almost choked on the words. Tell me hell live.
Firth sat wearily on a canvas folding chair as he stripped off his bloody gloves. The bullet went clear through him, which is good because I didnt have to dig it out. It is my considered opinion that hell live, Ms. Trevor, with the important caveat that nothing in life is certain, especially in medicine.
As Firth took the first drink of arak hed had that day, Moira approached Bourne with a mixture of elation and trepidation. Shed been so terrified that for the last four and a half hours her heart had hurt as much as she had imagined Bournes had. Gazing down into his near-bloodless but peaceful face, she took his hand in hers, squeezing hard to reestablish the physical connection between them.
Jason, she said.
Hes still well under, Firth said, as if from a great distance. He cant hear you.
Moira ignored him. She tried not to imagine the hole in Bournes chest beneath the bandage, but failed. Her eyes were streaming tears, as they had periodically while he was in surgery, but the abyss of despair along which she had been walking was folding in on itself. Still, her breathing was ragged and she had to struggle to feel the solid ground beneath her feet, because for hours she was certain it had been about to open up and swallow her whole.
Jason, listen to me. Suparwita knew what would happen to you, and he prepared you as best he could. He fed you the kencur, he had me get the double ikat for you. They both protected you, I know it, even if you wont ever believe it.
Morning broke in the soft colors of pink and yellow against the pale blue sky. Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva rose as Bourne opened his eyes. Last nights storm had scrubbed off the film of haze that had built up from the burning off of the rice stalks in the hillside paddies.
As Bourne sat up, his eyes fell upon the double ikat that Moira had bought for him in Tenganan. Holding its rough texture between his fingers he saw, like a flash of lightning, the silhouette standing between him and Mount Agung, framed by the temple gates, and wondered anew who it could possibly be.
3
THE COCKPIT of the American passenger airliner, Flight 891 out of Cairo, Egypt, hummed contentedly. The pilot and copilot, longtime friends, joked about the flight attendant theyd both like to take to bed. They were in the final stages of negotiating the terms of a thoroughly adolescent contest that would involve her as a prize when the radar picked up a blip rapidly closing on the plane. Responding in proper fashion, the pilot got on the intercom and ordered all seat belts fastened, then took the plane out of its pre-planned route in an attempt at an evasive maneuver. But the 767 was too large and ungainly; it wasnt built for easy maneuverability. The copilot tried to get a visual fix on the object, even as he raised the Cairo airport control tower on the radio.
Flight Eight-Niner-One, there are no scheduled flights that close to you, the calm voice from the control tower said. Can you get a visual fix?
Not yet. The object is too small to be another passenger plane, the copilot responded. Maybe its a private jet.
There are no flight plans posted. Repeat: There are no flight plans posted.
Roger that, the copilot said. But its still closing.
Eight-Niner-One, elevate to forty-five thousand feet.
Roger that, the pilot said, making the necessary adjustments on the controls. Elevating to forty-five thou
I see it! the copilot cut in. Its traveling too fast to be a private jet!
What is it? There was a sudden urgency to the voice from Cairo. Whats happening? Eight-Niner-One, please report!
Here it comes! the copilot screamed.
An instant later disaster struck as the mighty metal fist hit the jetliner in a blinding flare. An immense explosion disjointed the fuselage as a beast pulls its prey limb from limb, and the twisted, blackened remains plummeted to earth with breathtaking speed.
Deep beneath the West Wing of the White House, in a spacious room made of steel-reinforced