jacket. It would seem to Shumenko-concentrating on killing the interloper-as if Arkadin was making one last futile attempt to free his trapped hand. He was taken completely off guard when Arkadin slipped a pen out of his breast pocket, stabbed it into his left eye.
Immediately Shumenko reared back. Arkadin caught the GSh-18 as it dropped from the stricken man's nerveless hand. As Shumenko slid to the catwalk, Arkadin grabbed him by the shirtfront, knelt to be on the same level with him.
"The document," he said. And when Shumenko's head began to loll, "Oleg Ivanovich, listen to me. Where is the document?"
The man's good eye glistened, running with tears. His mouth worked. Arkadin shook him until he moaned with pain.
"Where?"
"Gone."
Arkadin had to bend his head to hear Shumenko's whisper over the loud music. The Cure had been replaced by Siouxsie and the Banshees.
"What d'you mean gone?"
"Down the pipeline." Shumenko's mouth curled in the semblance of a smile. "Not what you wanted to hear, 'friend of Pyotr Zilber,' is it?" He blinked tears out of his good eye. "Since this is the end of the line for you, bend closer and I'll tell you a secret." He licked his lips as Arkadin complied, then lunged forward and bit into the lobe of Arkadin's right ear.
Arkadin reacted without thinking. He jammed the muzzle of the GSh-18 into Shumenko's mouth, pulled the trigger. Almost at the same instant, he realized his mistake, said "Shit!" in six different languages.
Chapter Four
BOURNE, sunk deep into the shadows opposite the restaurant Jewel, saw the two men emerge. By the annoyed expressions on their faces he knew they'd lost Moira. He kept them in sight as they moved off together. One of them began to speak into a cell phone. He paused for a moment to ask his colleague a question, then returned to his conversation on the phone. By this time the two had reached M Street, NW. Finished with his call, the man put his cell phone away. They waited on the corner, watching the nubile young girls slipping by. They didn't slouch, Bourne noted, but stood ramrod-straight, their hands in view, at their sides. It appeared that they were waiting to be picked up; a good call on a night like this when parking was at a premium and traffic on M Street, as thick as molasses.
Bourne, without a vehicle, looked around, saw a bicyclist coming up 31st Street, NW, from the towpath. He was cycling along the gutter to avoid the traffic. Bourne walked smartly toward him and stepped in front of him. The cyclist stopped short, uttering a sharp exclamation.
"I need your bike," Bourne said.
"Well, you bloody well can't have it, mate," the cyclist said with a heavy British accent.
At the corner of 31st and M, a black GMC SUV was pulling into the curb in front of the two men.
Bourne pressed four hundred dollars into the cyclist's hand. "Like I said, right now."
The young man stared down at the money for a moment. Then he swung off, said, "Be my guest."
As Bourne mounted up, he handed over his helmet. "You'll be wanting this, mate."
The two men had already vanished into the GMC's interior, the SUV was pulling out into the thick traffic flow. Bourne took off, leaving the cyclist to shrug behind him as he climbed onto the sidewalk.
Reaching the corner, Bourne turned right onto M Street. The GMC was three cars ahead of him. Bourne wove his way around the traffic, moving into position to keep up with the SUV. At 30th Street, NW, they all hit a red light. Bourne was forced to put one foot down, which was why he got a late start when the GMC jumped the light just before it turned green. The SUV roared ahead of the other vehicles, and Bourne launched himself forward. A white Toyota was coming from 30th into the intersection, heading right for him at a ninety-degree angle. Bourne put on a burst of speed, swerved up onto the corner sidewalk, backing a clutch of pedestrians into those behind them, to a round of curses. The Toyota, horn blaring angrily, just missed him as it jounced across M Street.
Bourne was able to make good headway, as the GMC had been slowed by the sludgy traffic up ahead, splitting off where M Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, NW, intersected at 29th Street. Just as he neared the light he saw the GMC take off and knew he had been spotted. The problem with a