of a cricket crashed against him, as painful as if he'd been turned inside out.
He studied Devra with an almost obsessive concentration. He noticed something he hadn't seen before-likely, with her gesticulating, she'd distracted him from noticing. But now she'd let down her guard. Perhaps she was just exhausted or had relaxed with him. She had a tremor in her hands, a nerve that had gone awry. Clandestinely, he watched the tremor, thinking it made her seem even more vulnerable.
"I don't get you," he told her now. "Why have you turned against your own people?"
"You think Pyotr Zilber, Oleg Shumenko, and Filya were my own people?"
"You're a cog in Zilber's network. What else would I think?"
"You heard how that pig talked to me up on the roof. Shit, they were all like that." She wiped grease off her lips and chin. "I never liked Shumenko. First it was gambling debts I had to bail him out of, then it was drugs."
Arkadin's voice was offhand when he said, "You told me you didn't know what the last loan was for."
"I lied."
"Did you tell Pyotr?"
"You're joking. Pyotr was the worst of the lot."
"Talented little bugger, though."
Devra nodded. "So I thought when I was in his bed. He got away with an awful lot of shit because he was the boss-drinking, partying, and, Jesus, the girls! Sometimes two and three a night. I got thoroughly sick of him and asked to be reassigned back home."
So she'd been Pyotr's squeeze for a short time, Arkadin thought. "The partying was part of his job, though, forging contacts, ensuring they came back for more."
"Sure. Trouble was he liked it all too much. And inevitably, that attitude infected those who were close to him. Where d'you think Shumenko learned to live like that? From Pyotr, that's who."
"And Filya?"
"Filya thought he owned me, like chattel. When we'd go out together he'd act as if he was my pimp. I hated his guts."
"Why didn't you get rid of him?"
"He was the one supplying Shumenko with coke."
Quick as a cat, Arkadin leaned across the table, looming. "Listen, lapochka, I don't give a fuck who you like or don't like. But lying to me, that's another story."
"What did you expect?" she said. "You blew in like a fucking whirlwind."
Arkadin laughed then, breaking a tension that was stretched to the breaking point. This girl had a sense of humor, which meant she was clever as well as smart. His mind had made a connection between her and a woman who'd once been important to him.
"I still don't understand you." He shook his head. "We're on different sides of this conflict."
"That's where you're wrong. I was never part of this conflict. I didn't like it; I only pretended I did. At first it was a goal I set for myself: whether I could fool Pyotr, and then the others. When I did, it just seemed easier to keep going. I got paid well, I learned quicker than most, I got perks I never would have gotten from being a DJ."
"You could've left anytime."
"Could I?" She cocked her head. "They would've come after me like they're coming after you."
"But now you've made up your mind to leave them." He cocked his head. "Don't tell me it's because of me."
"Why not? I like sitting next to a whirlwind. It's comforting."
Arkadin grunted, embarrassed again.
"Besides, the last straw came when I found out what they're planning."
"You thought of your American savior."
"Maybe you can't understand that one person can make a difference in your life."
"Oh, but I can," Arkadin said, thinking of Semion Icoupov. "In that, you and I are the same."
She gestured. "You look so uncomfortable."
"Come on," he said, standing. He led her back past the kitchen, poked his head in for a moment, then took her into the men's room.
"Get out," he ordered a man at the sink.
He checked the stall to make sure they were alone. "I'll tell you how to fix this damnable shoulder."
When he gave her the instructions, she said, "Is it going to hurt?"
In answer, he put the handle of the wooden spoon he'd swiped from the kitchen between his teeth.
With great reluctance Bourne turned his back on the Gaboon viper. Many things flitted through his mind, not the least of which was Mikhail Tarkanian. He was the mole inside the professor's organization. Who knew how much intel he had about Specter's network; Bourne couldn't afford to let him get away.
The man before him now was flat-faced, his skin slightly greasy. He