The Bourne Deception - By Robert Ludlum & Eric van Lustbader Page 0,65
shape of the cone of yellow on the laptops screen representing the margin of error for the missile launch site.
Did your father teach you about Nowruz?
The Persian pre-revolutionary festival of the new year? Soraya nodded. Yes, but we never celebrated it.
Its had a resurgence in Iran over the past couple of years. Chalthoum upended the can, shook out the contents, and nodded. There is more ash here than one could reasonably expect for a cooking fire. Besides, a terrorist cell would have pre-prepared food that wouldnt require heating.
Soraya was racking her brains for the rituals of Nowruz, but in the end she needed Chalthoum to give her a refresher course.
A bonfire is lit and each member of the family jumps over it while asking for the pale complexion winter breeds to be replaced by healthy red cheeks. Then a feast is consumed during which stories are told for the benefit of the children. As the festival passes from day into night, the fire dies out, then the ashes, which represent winters bad luck, are buried off in the fields.
I can hardly believe that Nowruz was observed here by Iranian terrorists, Soraya said.
Chalthoum used the stick to poke around in the ashes. That looks like a bit of eggshell and here is a piece of burned orange rind. Both an egg and an orange are used at the end of the festival.
Soraya shook her head. Theyd never risk someone seeing the fire.
True enough, Chalthoum said, but this would be a perfect place to bury the bad luck of winter. He looked at her. Do you know when Nowruz began?
She thought a moment, then her pulse began to race. Three days ago.
Chalthoum nodded. And at the moment of Saat-I tahvil, when the old year ends and the new one begins, what happens?
Her heart flipped over. Cannons are fired.
Or, Chalthoum said, a Kowsar 3 missile.
14
BOURNE AND TRACY ATHERTON entered Seville late on the third afternoon of the Feria de Abril, the weeklong festival that grips the entire city at Eastertime like a fever. Only weeks before, during the Semana Santa, masses of hooded penitents followed behind magnificently adorned floats, tiered and filigreed like baroque wedding cakes, filled with ranks of white candles and sprays of white flowers, at the center of which sat images of Christ or the Virgin Mary. Bands of colorfully dressed musicians accompanied the floats, playing music both melancholy and martial.
Now as then avenues were blocked off to vehicular traffic, and even on foot many streets were all but impassable because, it seemed, all of Seville was out taking part in or observing the eye-popping pageant.
In the packed Avenida de Miraflores, they pushed their way into an Internet café. It was dark and narrow, the manager behind a cramped desk in back. The entire left-hand wall was taken up with computer stations hooked up to the Internet. Bourne paid for an hour, then waited along the wall for one of the stations to free up. The place was dim with smoke; everyone had a cigarette except the two of them.
What are we doing here? Tracy said in a hushed voice.
I need to find a photo of one of the Prados Goya experts, Bourne said. If I can convince Hererra Im this man, hell know hes got a very clever fake rather than a real lost Goya.
Tracys face lit up and she laughed. You really are a piece of work, Adam. All at once a frown overtook her. But if you present yourself as this Goya expert, how on earth are you going to get any money out of Don Fernando for your consortium?
Simple enough, Bourne said. The expert leaves and I return as Adam Stone.
A seat opened up and Tracy began to move toward it when Bourne stopped her with a taut shake of his head. When she looked at him questioningly, he spoke to her very softly.
The man who just walked inno, dont look at him. I saw him on our flight.
So what?
He was on my Thai Air flight as well, Bourne said. Hes traveled with me all the way from Bali.
She turned her back to him, using a mirror to glance at him briefly. Who is he? Her eyes narrowed. What does he want?
I dont know, Bourne said. But you noticed the scar on the side of his neck that runs up into his jaw?
She risked another glance in the mirror, then nodded.