about the chances of the Redskins making the play-offs next year, the gyrations of the stock market, anything but politics.
After a time, when the bottle of champagne was nearly exhausted, Kendall looked at his watch. "What d'you have for me?"
This was the moment Feir had been keenly anticipating. He couldn't wait to see the look on the general's face when he caught a glimpse of the intel. Reaching into the pocket in the lining of his coat, he brought out the packet. A low-tech hard copy was the safest way to smuggle data out of the CI building, since security systems were in place to monitor the comings and goings of any device with a hard drive large enough to hold substantial data files.
A smile broke out across Feir's face. "The whole enchilada. Every last detail on the Typhon agents across the globe." He held up the packet. "Now let's talk about what I get in return."
"What do you want?" Kendall said without much enthusiasm. "A higher grade? More control?"
"I want respect," Feir said. "I want LaValle to respect me the way you do."
A curious smile curled the general's lips. "I can't speak for Luther, but I'll see what I can do."
As he leaned forward to take the intel, Feir was wondering why he was so solemn-no, worse than solemn, he was downright glum. Feir was on the point of asking him about it when a tall, elegant black woman began snapping a series of photos.
"What the hell?" he said, through the blinding string of flashes.
When his vision cleared, he saw Soraya Moore standing beside them. She had the packet of intel in her hand.
"This isn't a good night for you, Rodney." She picked up the general's cell phone, thumbed it on, and there was the conversation between the general and Feir recorded and regurgitated so everyone could hear his treachery for themselves. "No, I would have to say that all things considered it's the end of the line."
I'm not afraid to die," Devra said, "if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not worried," Arkadin said. "What makes you think I'm worried?"
She bit into the chocolate ice cream he'd bought her. "You've got that deep vertical indentation between your eyes."
She wanted ice cream even though it was the middle of winter. Maybe it was the chocolate she wanted, he thought. Not that it mattered; pleasing her in little ways was strangely satisfying-as if in pleasing her he was also pleasing himself, although that seemed like an impossibility to him.
"I'm not worried," he said. "I'm thoroughly pissed off."
"Because your boss told you to stay away from Bourne."
"I'm not going to stay away from Bourne."
"You'll piss off your boss."
"There comes a time," Arkadin said, walking faster.
They were in the center of Munich; he wanted to be in a central location when Icoupov told him where he was meeting Bourne in order to get there as quickly as possible.
"I'm not afraid to die," Devra repeated, "the only thing is, though, what do you do when you no longer have memories?"
Arkadin shot her a look. "What?"
"When you look at a dead person what do you see?" She took another bite of ice cream between her teeth, leaving little indentations in what was left of the scoop. "Nothing, right? Not a damn thing. Life has flown the coop, and with it all the memories that have been built up over the years." She looked at him. "At that moment, you cease to be human, so what are you?"
"Who gives a shit?" Arkadin said. "It'll be a fucking relief to be without memories."
Soraya presented herself at the NSA safe house just before 10 AM, so that by the time she cleared the various levels of security, she was being ushered into the Library precisely on time.
"Breakfast, madam?" Willard asked as he escorted her across the plush carpet.
"I believe I will, today," she said. "A fines herbes omelet would be nice. Do you have a baguette?"
"We do, indeed, madam."
"Fine." She shifted the evidence damning General Kendall from one hand to the other. "And a pot of Ceylon tea, Willard. Thank you."
She walked the rest of the way to where Luther LaValle sat, drinking his morning cup of coffee. He stared out the window, casting a jaundiced eye on the early spring. It was so warm the fireplace held only cold, white ash.
He did not turn when she sat down. She placed the evidence file on her lap, then said without preamble, "I've come to take Tyrone home."