"That's precisely what I am, Director." A storm cloud of deep-seated anger momentarily shook him. "No fancy title can obscure the fact." He waved a hand, his flash of rage quickly banked to embers. "But no matter, the point is I see things in CI no one else does. The Old Man had contingencies in place should he be killed, but you know this better than I do, counselor, don't you?"
Gold turned to Hart. "The Old Man left a number of sealed envelopes addressed to different directors in the event of his sudden demise."
"One of those envelopes," Feir said, "the one with the identity of the mole inside NSA, was sent to Rob Batt, which made sense at the time, since Batt was chief of operations. But it never got to Batt, I saw to that."
"You-" Hart was so enraged that she could barely speak.
"I could say that I'd already begun to suspect that Batt was working for the NSA," Feir said, "but that would be a lie."
"So you held on to it, even after I was appointed."
"Leverage, Director. I figured that sooner or later I'd need my Get Out of Jail Free card."
There was the smile that made Hart want to bury her fist in his face. With an effort, she restrained herself. "And meanwhile, you let LaValle trample all over us. Because of you I was led out of my office in handcuffs, because of you the Old Man's legacy is a hair's breadth from being buried."
"Yeah, well, these things happen. What can you do?"
"I'll tell you what I can do," Hart said, signaling the agents, who grabbed Feir again. "I can tell you to go to hell. I can tell you that you'll spend the rest of your life in jail."
Even then, Feir appeared unfazed. "I said I knew who the mole is, Director. Furthermore-and I believe this will be of especial interest you-I know where he's stationed."
Hart was too enraged to care. "Get him out of my sight."
As he was being led to the door, Feir said, "He's inside the NSA safe house."
The DCI felt her heart thumping hard in her chest. Feir's goddamn smile was not only understandable now, it was warranted.
Thirty-three hours, twenty-six minutes from now. Icoupov's ominous words were still ringing in Bourne's ears when he saw a flicker of movement. He and Icoupov were standing in the foyer, the front door was still open, and a shadow had for a moment stained the opposite wall of the hallway. Someone was out there, shielded by the half-open door.
Bourne, continuing to talk to Icoupov, took the other man by his elbow and moved him back into the living room, across the rug, toward the hallway to the bedrooms and bath. As they passed one of the windows, it exploded inward with the force of a man swinging through. Bourne whirled, the SIG Sauer he'd taken from Icoupov coming to bear on the intruder.
"Put the SIG down," a female voice said from behind him. He turned his head to see that the figure in the hallway-a young pale woman-was aiming a Luger at his head.
"Leonid, what are you doing here?" Icoupov seemed apoplectic. "I gave you express orders-"
"It's Bourne." Arkadin advanced through the welter of glass littering the floor. "It was Bourne who killed Mischa."
"Is this true?" Icoupov turned on Bourne. "You killed Mikhail Tarkanian?"
"He left me no choice," Bourne said.
Devra, her Luger aimed squarely at Bourne's head, said, "Drop the SIG. I won't say it again."
Icoupov reached out toward Bourne. "I'll take it."
"Stay where you are," Arkadin ordered. His own Luger was aimed at Icoupov.
"Leonid, what are you doing?"
Arkadin ignored him. "Do as the lady says, Bourne. Drop the SIG."
Bourne did as he was told. The moment he let go of the gun, Arkadin tossed his Luger aside and leapt at Bourne. Bourne raised a forearm in time to block Arkadin's knee, but he felt the jolt all the way up into his shoulder. They traded punishing blows, clever feints, and defensive blocks. For each move he employed, Arkadin had the perfect counter, and vice versa. When he stared into the Russian's eyes he saw his darkest deeds reflected back at him, all the death and destruction that lay in his wake. In those implacable eyes there was a void blacker than a starless night.
They moved across the living room as Bourne gave way, until they passed under the archway separating the living room from the rest of the apartment.