The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,24
ultramarine-blue surface of a clear mountain lake, studded with vessels of all sizes from rowboats to multimillion-dollar yachts, complete with the helipads, the copters, and, on the largest of these, the females to go with them.
In a haze of detached amusement, Arkadin watched two long-stemmed models with the kind of perfectly bronzed skin only the privileged and wealthy know how to acquire. As he sipped a small cup of espresso, which was all but lost in his large, square hand, the two models climbed on top of a bald man with an exceedingly hairy body, stretched out on the sea-blue cushions of the yachts rear deck.
He lost interest because for him pleasure was such an ephemeral concept, it lacked both form and function. His mind and his body were still bound to the iron-and-fire wheel of Nizhny Tagil, which just went to prove the old saw: You can take the man out of hell but you cant take hell out of the man.
The acrid taste of the toxic Nizhny Tagil sky was still in his mouth when, moments later, a man with skin the color of his espresso approached. Arkadin glanced up with an air close to indifference even as the man slithered into the chair across from him.
My name is Ismael, the espresso man said. Ismael Bey.
Khourys right hand. Arkadin finished off his cup, set it down on the small round table. Ive heard of you.
Bey, a rather young man, thin and bony as a starving dog, sported a dreadfully haunted look. Its done, Arkadin. Youve won. With the death of Abdulla Khoury, Im now the head of the Eastern Brotherhood, but I value my life more than my predecessor did. What do you want?
Arkadin took hold of his empty cup, moved it to the precise center of its saucer, all without taking his eyes from the other mans. When he was ready, he said, I dont want your position, but I am going to take your power.
His lips formed the ghost of a smile, but there was something in the expression that sent a visible shiver of presentiment down the others spine. To everyone in the outside world you have assumed the mantle of your fallen leader. However, everythingevery decision, every action you will take from this moment onoriginates with me; every dollar the Brotherhood makes flows through me. This is the new order of battle.
His smile turned lupine, and Beys face took on a green and shiny cast. First in the order of battle is to choose a contingent of one hundred men from the Black Legion. Within the week I want them at a camp Ive set up in the Ural Mountains.
Bey cocked his head. A camp?
They will be trained by me personally.
Trained for what?
For killing.
Who are they meant to kill?
Arkadin pushed his empty cup across the table until it was sitting squarely in front of Ismael Bey. The gesture, for Bey, was unmistakable. He had nothing; he would have nothing unless he obeyed Arkadin studiously and completely.
Without another word, Arkadin rose, and left Bey confronting the bleak face of his new future.
Today I woke up thinking of Soraya Moore, Willard said. I was thinking that she must still be grieving over your death.
It was just after sunrise and, as he did every morning at this time, Bourne was sitting through Dr. Firths thorough and tedious examination.
Bourne, who had come to know Willard quite well in the three months the two had been together, said, I havent tried to contact her.
Willard nodded. Thats good. He was small and dapper, with gray eyes and a face that could assume any expression with an unconscious ease.
Until I find out who tried to kill me three months ago and I deal with him, Im determined to keep Soraya out of the loop. It was not that Bourne didnt trust heron the contrarybut because of her ties to CI and the people with whom she worked, he had decided from the first that the burden of truth would be unfair for her to carry with her to CI every day.
I went back to Tenganan but I could find no trace of the bullet, Willard said. Ive tried everything else I can think of to discover who shot you, but so far no luck. Whoever he was covered his tracks with commendable ability.
Frederick Willard was a man who had worn a mask for so long that it had become part of him. Bourne had asked Moira to contact him because Willard