The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,33

through a haze of tears. That was the last time she saw her mother alive. She never had a chance to say good-bye; instead, the last words she’d said to her were “I hate your guts. Why don’t you stay out of my life!” All of a sudden her mother was dead. Moira was seventeen.

Then the pain set in and she began screaming.

The ticking was real; it was, in fact, the sound of the over-revved engine cooling. Hands were pulling at her, cutting through the web of her seat belt, the flaccid cloud of the air bag. As if in a dream, she felt her body moving, the drag of gravity settling in her shoulder and the pit of her stomach. Her head felt as if it had been split open; she was nauseated with pain. Then, with a crash that reverberated through the cotton in her ears, she was out of her steel cage. She felt the night air soft on her cheek, and there were voices near her, buzzing like angry insects.

Her mother the hospital waiting room, stinking of disinfectant and despair the sight of the wax doll in the open coffin, horrifying in its inhuman lack of animation at the cemetery, the yellow sky reeking of coal gas and sorrow the ground swallowing the coffin whole, like a beast closing its jaws clods of newly turned earth damp with rain and tears

Awareness returned to her slowly, like a fog creeping over a moor, and then, with the suddenness of a floodlight being switched on, full consciousness returned. Awakening from a dream, she knew where she was and what had happened. She felt death close by, knew that it had bypassed her by inches. Each breath felt like fire and ice, but she was alive. She wriggled her fingers and toes. All there; all working.

“Jay,” she said into the face of the paramedic bent over her. “Is Jay all right?”

“Who’s Jay?” a voice out of her field of vision said.

“There was no one else in your car.” The paramedic had a kind face. He looked too young for this kind of work.

“Not my car,” she managed. “The one in front.”

“Oh, jeez,” came the voice at her side.

The kind face above her split in sorrow. “Your friend Jay. He didn’t make it.”

Tears leaked from the corners of Moira’s eyes. “Oh, hell,” she said. “Oh, damn.”

They began to work on her again, and she said, “I want to sit up.”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea, ma’am,” the kind face said. “You’re in shock and—”

“I’m sitting up,” Moira said, “with or without your help.”

With hands under her arms, he drew her up. She was in the street, next to her car. When she tried to look around, she winced and lights exploded behind her eyes.

“Get me to my feet,” she said through gritted teeth. “I need to see him.”

“Ma’am—”

“Is anything broken?”

“No, ma’am, but—”

“Then get me to my goddamn feet!”

There were two of them now, the second one improbably looking younger than the first.

“Do you even shave?” she said as they raised her off the tarmac. Her knees nearly buckled and a wave of blackness consumed her so she had to lean on them for a minute.

“Ma’am, you’re white as a sheet,” the kind face said. “I really think—”

“Please don’t call me ma’am. My name is Moira.”

“The cops will be here in a minute,” the other one said under his breath.

She felt a clutch in the pit of her stomach.

The kind face said to her, “Moira, my name is Dave and my partner here is Earl. There are policemen who want to ask you what happened.”

“It was a policeman who caused all this,” Moira said.

“What?” Dave said. “What did you say?”

“I want to see Jay.”

“Believe me,” Earl said, “you really don’t.”

Moira reached down, patted her Lady Hawk. “Don’t fuck with me, guys.”

Without another word they took her down the street. It was littered with car parts and the glitter of blown-out windows and taillights. She saw a fire truck, an EMT ambulance beside the hideous wreck of the Audi. No one could have survived that crash. With each step she gained strength and confidence. She was banged up and bruised, possibly, as they said, in shock, but otherwise unscathed. Luck beyond words. She thought of the pig spirit in Bali, who must still be protecting her.

“Here come the Warm Jets,” Earl said.

“He means the cops,” Dave translated.

“Guys,” she said, “I need some alone time with my friend and the cops won’t let