Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,136
to undermine popular confidence in democratic government. His whereabouts remain unknown.
The shocking developments have raised questions about the future of Big Tech, with aggressive new legislation targeting the industry expected to pass Congress in the next few days. Analysts expect a wave of much tighter regulations governing how the largest tech companies handle data and interact with customers.
At Carillon Technology, where Priest served as CEO, the revelations have prompted a leadership shake-up. Carillon, which is a key provider of database infrastructure to a wide range of internet companies, announced yesterday that senior vice president and COO Scott DeRay would take over as the new chief executive.
DeRay, who claims to have no knowledge of Priest’s activities with Medusa, promised a full internal investigation and cooperation with federal authorities.
In a prepared statement, DeRay said, “Now is the time for the tech giants of this country, including Carillon, to regain credibility with the government and the public, and I plan to lead that charge.”
According to anonymous intelligence sources, the Medusa organization has been under investigation by officials in the USA and Europe for some time. The investigation recently culminated in a joint US-UK raid on the Priest compound in Scotland, in which several Medusa mercenaries were killed.
Among the dead was an ex-intelligence agent so far known only by the code name Cain, who was widely suspected of being the mastermind behind the Ortiz assassination….
FORTY-SIX
SCOTT DeRay strolled along Rue de Vaugirard next to a wrought-iron fence outside the Jardin du Luxembourg. It was mid-morning under a blue sky, with May weather that was unseasonably warm for Paris. He wore a bespoke gray business suit he’d collected from his Savile Row tailor the previous week in London, and he used a hat and sunglasses to avoid being recognized. The media had featured him in its headlines recently, which meant that his photograph had been seen around the world. He didn’t want to take chances.
Stopping on the sidewalk outside the park, Scott threw a casual glance back the way he’d come, looking for signs that he was being followed. With his intelligence training, he didn’t think that anyone would be able to stay on his tail without him spotting it. It would take a skilled agent to do that. Even so, he had an instinct that he was being watched, and that instinct had dogged him for days.
Ahead of him, he heard a cacophony of voices. A crowd of Chinese tourists emerged through the park’s northwest gate, following a petite raven-haired guide who waved a small flag over her head. The crush of visitors spilled into the street and took up all of the space on the sidewalk, squeezing Scott uncomfortably against the high railing. Just in front of him, a Chinese man in a suit took pictures with an expensive camera while walking backward. Scott shouted a warning as the man came closer, but the elderly Chinese man piled into him anyway and nearly knocked both of them down. As they untangled, Scott strained to keep a polite smile on his face, and the tourist apologized profusely in Chinese.
When the crowd had passed on the way back to their tour bus, Scott checked his surroundings again to confirm that he was alone. Then he walked two more blocks and crossed into a cobblestoned side street. He found a small bistro named Bergeron with red awnings, where two beefy bodyguards with radios stood watch outside. Russian security was always painfully obvious. The café typically didn’t open until dinner, but Scott had arranged for a private breakfast to be served that morning. He nodded at the two bodyguards, allowed himself to be searched, then went inside.
A single table for two had been set in the café’s corner, far from the windows. There, he saw Fyodor Mikhailov waiting for him. The chairs in the café were made of delicate braided metal, and Scott was surprised that they could stand up to the Russian’s massive girth. Fyodor had a napkin stuffed into the collar of his shirt, and he was already halfway through breakfast, with a silver urn of coffee on the table in front of him, along with croissants, a crusty baguette, apricot pastries, macaron cookies in rainbow colors, and a selection of aromatic cheeses.
“Scott, my friend,” Fyodor rumbled. “Sit, sit. Take a load off.”
Scott sat down and wiped his brow. The interior of the café felt extremely warm, and he found himself sweating. “Good morning, Fyodor.”
A waitress in a crisp white blouse and short black skirt appeared