Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,113
completely behind, but Bourne doubted that was true. Out was never really out at Treadstone. You could leave the life, but it never left you. If only for his personal protection, Teeling was bound to keep a close eye on who was coming and going in Nassau. Bourne was counting on that.
“A private jet probably arrived at Pindling this morning from Nevada,” he said. “The jet’s owner is Gabriel Fox, CEO of the Prescix Corporation. Did you happen to hear anything about that?”
Teeling grinned. “Any chance Mr. Fox was accompanied by a woman who looks like a major-league ballbuster?”
“A very good chance.”
“Well, in fact, word of such an arrival did cross my phone.”
“Where did they go?” Bourne asked.
“They headed for the billionaires’ marina on the south side of the island. Just them, nine serious dudes, and some crates of thousand-dollar champagne.”
“It’s not bubbly inside those crates. It’s guns.”
Teeling shrugged. “Well, this is the Caribbean, Bourne. The curtains don’t usually match the carpet.”
“Are they still in the marina?”
“No, they boarded one of the mega-yachts moored over there and headed out about two hours ago.”
“Going where?”
“That I don’t know. There’s a lot of water around here and a whole lot of private islands where boats can dock without people keeping an eye on you. You could charter a plane and hope you get lucky, but you don’t have much daylight left. So unless you’ve got a satellite to do a flyover, you’re not going to find them.”
“I don’t think they’re on their own,” Bourne said. “They’re going to a meeting with other leaders in the tech world. So I suspect there have been other departures from the same marina in the last day or so. Helicopters, too. That sound familiar?”
“It does. Happens a few times a year, actually. This one seems off schedule, though.”
“Do you know where they go?”
“You must think my curiosity is endless, Bourne,” Teeling said. “Why would I care where a bunch of CEOs go to have deviant sex and plot world takeovers?”
“In other words, you do know.”
Teeling got up and poured himself another shot of whiskey. “They pay a lot to shut up the servants and the girls, but rumors go around anyway. It’s a beautiful little rock between here and Freeport. I tried to track the ownership, but it’s buried under a dozen or so shell companies.”
“I think the island is owned by Miles Priest.”
Teeling whistled. “Ah, Miles. I should have guessed. He keeps his fingers in every pie, doesn’t he? We clashed several times when he was running the FBI.”
“Have you ever been out to the island?”
“I sailed close enough to get them nervous once. They’ve got a pier for the yachts and a helipad, too. There’s a big estate up on the hill, but it’s mostly hidden in the trees, so you can’t catch more than a glimpse from the water. I was close enough to attract some armed security to the beach. Miles values his privacy.”
“I need to get out there,” Bourne said.
“In other words, you want me to take you?” Teeling asked.
“That’s right.”
“You got cash? I don’t do things like this for old times’ sake.”
“I’ve got cash.”
Teeling rubbed his chin as he sipped his whiskey. “I assume you don’t intend to sail right up to the marina and say hello.”
“No.”
“Well, I can take you around the other side of the island. There’s nothing but rocks back there, but I can only get so close.”
“That’s okay.”
“Odds are, security will see you coming.”
“I’ll take that chance,” Bourne said.
“What exactly do you think is going on out there?” Teeling asked.
Bourne debated how much to say. “Is an organization called Medusa on your radar?”
“I’ve heard the name, but not much more than that.”
“From Treadstone?”
“Actually, no,” Teeling told him. “An old Russian comrade retired down here like me. Very much on the QT. We get drunk on Baikal vodka every now and then. He let the name slip last year like it was a hush-hush operation out of Moscow. Made it sound like it was the next stage after their election interference. But even scarier.”
“The Russians and Medusa? That’s interesting. Did you tell anyone?”
Teeling shrugged. “Why would I? I’m out of the game. What do you think Medusa is planning on the island?”
“I think they’re going to open those crates of champagne,” Bourne said.
“A party, huh?”
“Sort of.”
Teeling’s mustache wrinkled. He capped the bottle of whiskey and grabbed a white captain’s hat from behind the bar. He shoved it low on his forehead over his long gray hair. The