The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,56
that weve tried the third-column option many times in many places, including Afghanistan, and what did it get us? The rise to power of the Taliban, an indigenous revolutionary group, and Osama bin Laden, among other very nasty extremist groups turned terrorists.
This time its different, Halliday insisted. We have assurances from the leaders of this group. Its philosophy is moderate, democratic, in short, Western-oriented.
The president tapped his fingers on the table. Its settled then. We go forward with this two-pronged attack. Ill set the diplomatic wheels in motion. In the meantime, Bud, draw up a preliminary budget for your MIG. The sooner you have it, the sooner we can get rolling, but I dont want it anywhere near my desk or the White House, for that matter. In fact, I was never at this meeting. He looked at his advisers as he rose. Lets make this work, people. We owe it to the hundred and eighty-one innocent Americans who lost their lives in this missile attack.
Veronica Hart watched Moira Trevor walk into her office, as cool, as elegant as always. And yet she recognized something dark and squirmy behind her former colleagues eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.
Take a seat, Veronica said from behind her desk, still not believing this was happening. When she had left Black River shed been certain shed never have to see, let alone deal with, Moira Trevor again. And yet here the woman was, skirt rustling drily as she sat facing her, one knee crossed over the other, back as straight as any military officer.
I imagine youre as surprised as I am, Moira said.
Hart said nothing; instead she continued to stare into Moiras brown eyes, trying to read the reason for her visit. But after a moment, she abandoned the effort. It was useless to try to peer behind that stony facade, she knew that all too well.
She processed what she could get, though: Moiras swollen and bandaged left arm, the minor cuts and scrapes on her face and the backs of her hands. She could not help saying: What the hell happened to you?
Thats what I came here to tell you, Moira said.
No, you came here for help. Hart leaned forward, elbows on the desk. Its damn difficult being on the outside, isnt it?
Jesus, Ronnie.
What? The past is lying in wait for both of us like a serpent in the grass.
Moira nodded. I suppose it is.
You suppose? Hart cocked her head. Pardon me if I dont wax sentimental. You were the one who made the threat. What were your actual words? She pursed her lips. Oh, yes, Ronnie, I will fuck you up for this, Ill rain down a shitstorm on you like no other. Hart sat back. Did I leave out anything? She felt her pulse accelerating. And now here you are.
Moira stared at her in stony silence.
Hart turned to a sideboard, poured out a tall glass of ice water, pushed it across the desk. For a moment, Moira did nothing. Perhaps, Hart thought, she didnt know whether taking it would be a sign of trust or of capitulation.
Moira reached out then, very deliberately swung the back of her hand against the glass, pitching it hard against the wall, where it smashed, water and tiny glass shards sparkling in the air like a burst from a cannon. By this time Moira was on her feet, her arms rigid, her fists on the desktop.
Immediately two men entered the office, their guns drawn.
Back off, Moira. Harts voice was at once low and steely.
Moira, refusing to sit back down, turned her back on Hart and stalked across the carpet to the other side of the office.
The DCI waved at the two men, who holstered their sidearms and backed out. When the door had shut behind them, she steepled her fingers and waited for Moira to cool off. After a time, she said, Now why dont you tell me what the hell is going on?
When Moira turned around, she had, indeed, gathered herself. Youve got it all wrong, Ronnie. Im the one whos going to help you.
While his men were burying Farid, Arkadin sat on a rock outcropping in the sapphire Azerbaijani twilight. Even without the rhythmic sound of pickaxes and the sight of the corpse sprawled in the dirt, the atmosphere would have been suffused with melancholy. The wind blew fitfully, like the panting of a dog; the tribesmen of the region had turned their faces to Mecca, on their knees in prayer, their