at the compound and, as with every other of the doctors patients, hed made inquiries. Bowles was the only one about whom nothing was known locally. Willard hadnt spent the last three months simply training Bourne. Like all good agents, hed immediately begun to acquaint himself with his environment. Hed become friendly with all the key people in the area who, de facto, became his eyes and ears. The advantage of being in Manggis was that neither the village nor the surrounding area was highly populated. Unlike Kuta and Ubud, only a smattering of tourists found their way to the area, so it wasnt difficult to identify the patients who came to see the doctor. By this homespun method, Ian Bowles stood out like a sore thumb. However, Willard wouldnt act until Bowles revealed himself one way or the other.
Ever since hed been released from his undercover duties at the NSA safe house in rural Virginia, Willard had pondered long and hard how he could be of best use to the clandestine service, which functioned as his mother, father, sister, and brother. Treadstone had been Alexander Conklins dream. Only Conklin and Willard himself knew Treadstones ultimate purpose.
He went about this work with extreme caution because he was laboring under a handicap Conklin never had to deal with. In Alexs day the Old Man had signed off on Treadstone. All Conklin had to do was to fly below the CI radar, to make good on the goals hed promised the Old Man, while working on his own agenda deep in the shadows. Willard did not have the advantage of such support. As far as Veronica Hart and CI were concerned Treadstone was as dead and buried as Conklin himself. Willard was far too canny to believe Hart would allow him a restart, which meant that he had to work clandestinely within one of the worlds largest clandestine organizations. The irony wasnt lost on him.
As he followed Bowles out of the compound and down a deserted lane he reflected on how fortuitous Moira Trevors phone call had been, since this remote island off the CI grid was the perfect place to begin the resurrection of Treadstone.
Up ahead of him, Bowles had stopped beside a motor scooter, parked beneath the shade of a frangipani tree. Bowles took out his cell phone. As he pressed the SPEED DIAL key, Willard unfurled a thin metal wire with wooden handles on either end. Stepping quickly up behind Bowles, he whipped the wire around the others throat and pulled so hard on the handles Bowles was lifted onto the tips of his toes.
The New Zealander dropped his cell, reaching around behind him to make a grab at his unseen assailant. Dancing out of the way, Willard maintained the lethal pressure on the wire. Bowless gestures became more frantic. He tore into the flesh of his own neck in his frenzy to breathe, his eyes bulged in their sockets, red threads mottling the whites. Then there was a sudden foul stench and he collapsed.
Unwinding the wire, Willard scooped up the cell and, as he walked briskly away, checked the number Bowles had been dialing. He recognized the first digits as those of a Russian cell phone. The call had failed, and he walked into Manggis to a spot he knew to be cell-receptive and hit REDIAL. A moment later a familiar male voice answered.
Willard, momentarily stunned, nevertheless gathered himself and said, Your man Bowles is dead. Dont send another, then hung up before Leonid Danilovich Arkadin could say a word.
When Moira left Stevenson she walked opposite the direction she needed to go. She spent twenty minutes following circuitous routes, checking in car side-mirrors and plate-glass windows, looking for a tail, and when she had assured herself that she wasnt being followed, she walked back to where the car was waiting for her three blocks west of the Fountain of Poseidon.
The driver saw her coming and got out of the car. Not looking at her or acknowledging her in any way, he walked toward her. They passed each other close enough for him to hand off the keys without stopping or even breaking stride.
She went past the parked car, crossed the street, and stood looking around as if unsure which way to go. In fact, she was scrutinizing the environment, breaking it down into vectors, which she inspected for anyone in the least bit suspicious. A boy and a girl, presumably his sister, played with a golden Lab under