The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,50
she thought. Moira.
Moira? Maam, shell need your last name.
No, she wont, Moira said. Just tell her Moira, and be damn quick about it!
The moon is out. Amun Chalthoum checked his watch. Its time we talked.
Soraya had been on her satellite phone with her local Typhon agents in place. They were all running down leads on the new Iranian MIG, but so far none of them had made any progress. It was as if the group was so far underground their contacts had come up empty. Whether this was because their contacts knew nothing or were too afraid to divulge the groups existence was anyones guess. If it was the latter, she had to admire the level of their security.
She decided to agree to Amuns suggestion, but not in the way he wanted. As he held the tent flap back for her, she said, Leave your firearm here.
Is this really necessary? he said. When she didnt reply he narrowed his eyes for a moment to show his displeasure then, sighing, took his pistol from its polished leather holster and set it down on a field desk.
Satisfied?
She passed out of the relative warmth of the interior into the chill night. Some distance away the American task force was busy sifting through the wreckage for clues, but as yet Delia hadnt given her another update, althoughas Veronica had saidthe downed plane wasnt her primary mission. She shivered in the ascetic chill of the desert air. The moon was immense, lent a kind of grandeur by the eternal and seemingly endless sea of sand.
They began heading for the bare perimeter, where Chalthoums guards should have been posted, but she saw no one, and she stopped. Though he was a pace ahead of her, he sensed something amiss, and turned back.
What is it? he said.
I wont go another step in that direction, she said. I want to be in shouting distance. She indicated the constellation of lights on the other side of the site, safely beyond the perimeter dictated by Chalthoum, the glowing encampment of the international news media, somehow alien in the ominous night, as if it were a ship that had come to ruin on the teeth of the reef of the downed plane.
They? he scoffed. They cant protect you. My people wont let them past the perimeter.
She gestured. But where are your people, Amun? I dont see them.
I made certain of that. He lifted an arm. Come, we have very little time.
She was going to refuse but something in his voice caused her to relent. She thought again about the tension shed first sensed in him, the leashed rage. What, really, was going on here? Now hed piqued her curiosity. Had he done that deliberately? Was he leading her into a trap? But to what end? Unconsciously, her hand patted her back pocket where the ceramic switchblade rested, waiting to protect her.
They walked on in silence. The desert seemed to whisper around them, restlessly shifting, filtering between clothes and skin. The sheen of civilization ground down until only a hard nub was left, rough and primitive. Chalthoum reveled in his element. He was larger than life, which was of course why hed taken her out here years ago, why they were here now. The farther they moved away from the others the more he seemed to grow both in stature and in power, until he towered over her. Turning, his eyes glittered, reflecting the blue-white moonlight.
I need your help, he said with his usual bluntness.
She almost laughed. You need my help?
He looked away for a moment. Youre about the last person Id think of asking for help.
And with that one statement she understood how dire his circumstances must be. What if I refuse?
He pointed to the satellite phone in her hand. Do you think I dont know who you were calling with that? The whites of his eyes looked eerily blue in the monochrome light. Do you think I dont know why youre really here? It isnt about this air disaster; its about this new Iranian MIG.
11
WILLARD, standing in the center of Dr. Firths compound, waited anxiously for Bourne to return. He had thought briefly of going out after him, but rejected the idea. As often happened when he thought of Bourne, his thoughts turned to his own son Oren. He hadnt seen or heard from Oren in fifteen years, and as for his wife, she was dead and buried. Hed often assumed that his breach with Oren had come at the