The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,48
corner onto North Nash Street.
Watching Maslov and his slope-shouldered Neanderthals climb back into their vehicle and head out, Arkadin suppressed a spasm of murderous rage. It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing a semi-automatic off one of the stacks and spraying the vehicle with bullets until all four people inside were dead. Luckily, what was left of the rational part of his brain prevented him from making such a foolish move. He might feel better for the moment but in the larger scheme of things he would regret Maslovs premature demise. As long as the head of the Kazanskaya was useful to him hed allow him to live.
But not a moment longer.
He wouldnt make the same mistake with Maslov hed made with Stas Kuzin, the mob boss in Nizhny Tagil hed partnered with, then killed. In those days Arkadin was young and inexperienced; hed allowed Kuzin to live too long. Long enough to torture and kill the woman Arkadin was sleeping with. Of course, the young Arkadin hadnt considered what would happen in the aftermath of Kuzins death and the death of a third of his depraved crew.
With the rest of Kuzins murderers out for his blood he was forced to go to ground. Since they had all the avenues out of the city covered and had turned all the terrified citizens into informers, it was imperative to find a haven as quickly as possible, which unfortunately meant inside Nizhny Tagil, somewhere theyd never find him, where theyd never even think to look. Hed shot Kuzin in the building he and Kuzin owned jointly, where Kuzin had his headquarters, where he kept the young girls Arkadin had swept off the streets for him. Of course, he found the perfect spot, one even Dimitri Maslov wouldnt have been clever enough to think of.
Abruptly Arkadins mind switched gears to more immediate concerns. The phone call from Willard was very much on his mind as he walked back to where his Black Legion recruits were waiting for him outside the tents erected on the edge of the Azerbaijani plain. Hed relied on that idiot Wayan, who had recommended Ian Bowles. Hiring Bowles clearly had been a mistake.
But now even Bowles was driven out of his mind as he addressed his troops. They were not nearly as well prepared for a coordinated raid as hed hoped. But then these men had been trained and used in solo missions. Many of them had been waiting for the orders to strap on their C-4 vests, infiltrate a market, a police station, or a school, and press the detonator. Their minds were already halfway to Paradise, and almost immediately Arkadin understood that it was his job as well as his duty as the head of the Eastern Brotherhood, the Black Legions legitimate umbrella organization, to shape them into a unit, men who could rely on one anothersacrifice for one another if need bewithout a seconds hesitation.
The group of menhardy, physically and mentally fitstood arrayed in front of him, uncomfortable because hed ordered them to shave their heads and their beards, both of which were against both custom and their Islamic teachings. Not a one of them wasnt wondering how on earth they were going to infiltrate anywhere in the Islamic world looking as they now did.
One man, Farid, chose to voice their concern. He did it forcefully, believing he was speaking for the other ninety-nine recruits, not just himself.
What was that? Arkadins head snapped so hard a vertebra in his neck cracked like a rifle shot. What did you say, Farid?
Had he known Arkadin at all, Farid would have kept his mouth shut. But he didnt, and there was no one in the godforsaken land to teach him. So he repeated his question.
Sir, were wondering why you ordered us to shave the hair that Allah dictates we must have. Were wondering what your motive could possibly be. We demand an answer because you have shamed us.
Without a word, Arkadin pulled out the baton from his belt, slammed it into the side of Farids head, driving him down. As he knelt, swaying with pain and dismay, Arkadin drew his Colt and shot Farid point-blank through his right eye. The man was driven back, his knees cracking, and there he lay in the sandy dirt, mute and inert.
Just around the corner Moira stopped and pressed herself against the wall of the office building. She raised her right elbow and, as the NSA agent came racing