He knew how much Harun Iliev meant to Icoupov. Like Mischa meant to him. A rock, someone to keep him from drifting into the abyss of his imagination. "On a happier note," he said, "I have the package."
Icoupov gave a short intake of breath. "Finally! Open it," he commanded. "Tell me if the document is inside."
Arkadin did as he was told, breaking the wax seal, prying open the plastic disk that capped off the cylinder. Inside, tightly rolled sheets of pale blue architectural paper unfurled like sails. There were four in all. Quickly, he scanned them.
Sweat broke out at his hairline. "I'm looking at a set of architectural plans."
"It's the target of the attack."
"The plans," Arkadin said, "are for the Empire State Building in New York City."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Book Three
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IT TOOK ten minutes for Bourne to get a decent connection to Professor Specter, then another five for his people to rouse him out of bed. It was 5 AM in Washington. Maslov had gone downstairs to see to business, leaving Bourne alone in the greenhouse to make his calls. Bourne used the time to consider what Maslov had told him. If it was true that Pyotr was a member of the Black Legion, two possibilities arose: One was that Pyotr was running his own operation under the professor's nose. That was ominous enough. The second possibility was far worse, namely that the professor was, himself, a member. But then why had he been attacked by the Black Legion? Bourne himself had seen the tattoo on the arm of the gunman who had accosted Specter, beat him, and hustled him off the street.
At that moment Bourne heard Specter's voice in his ear. "Jason," he said, clearly out of breath, "what's happened?"
Bourne brought him up to date, ending with the information that Pyotr was a member of the Black Legion.
For a long moment, there was silence on the line.
"Professor, are you all right?"
Specter cleared his throat. "I'm fine."
But he didn't sound fine, and as the silence stretched on Bourne strained to catch a hint of his mentor's emotional state.
"Look, I'm sorry about your man Baronov. The killer wasn't Black Legion; he was an NSA agent sent to murder me."
"I appreciate your candor," Specter said. "And while I grieve for Baronov, he knew the risks. Like you, he went into this war with his eyes open."
There was another silence, more awkward than the last one.
Finally, Specter said, "Jason, I'm afraid I've withheld some rather vital information from you. Pyotr Zilber was my son."
"Your son? By why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"
"Fear," the professor said. "I've kept his real identity a secret for so many years it's become habit. I needed to protect Pyotr from his enemies-my enemies-the enemies who were responsible for murdering my wife. I felt the best way to do that was to change his name. So in the summer of his sixth year, Aleksei Specter drowned tragically and Pyotr Zilber came into being. I left him with friends, left everything and came to America, to Washington, to begin my life anew without him. It was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. But how can a father renounce his son when he can't forget him?"
Bourne knew precisely what he meant. He'd been about to tell the professor what he'd learned about Pyotr and his cast of misfits and fuckups, but this didn't seem the right time to bring up more bad news.
"So you helped him?" Bourne guessed. "Secretly."
"Ever so secretly," Specter said. "I couldn't afford to have anyone link us together, I couldn't allow anyone to know my son was still alive. It was the least I could do for him. Jason, I hadn't seen him since he was six years old."
Hearing the naked anguish in Specter's voice, Bourne waited a moment. "What happened?"
"He did a very stupid thing. He decided to take on the Black Legion himself. He spent years infiltrating the organization. He discovered that the Black Legion was planning a major attack inside America, then he spent months worming his way closer to the project. And finally, he had the key to bringing them down: He stole the plans to their target. Since we had to be careful about direct communication, I suggested he use his network for the purpose of getting me information on the Black Legion's movements. This is how he meant to send me the plans."
"Why didn't he simply photograph them and send them to you digitally?"