Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,137
next to him with a double espresso. He shook his head when she asked if he wanted anything else. She fluffed the fresh flowers on the table, then disappeared with a flirty smile. She couldn’t be more than twenty years old.
“The shit of getting old is that you still feel young,” Fyodor said, his eyes following the girl back to the kitchen.
“You, Fyodor? You’re not old, you’re timeless.”
The Russian snorted. “If I get any more timeless, I’ll be dead. My doctor says I need to give up vodka, wine, and rich food.”
“How’s that going?”
“I gave up my doctor instead. Try the Epoisses. It smells like an infantryman’s boot after a month at the front, but my God, it’s delicious.”
“Maybe later.”
The Russian bit off half a croissant smeared with a vile-smelling paste and groaned with delight as he chewed. “The newspapers are painting you as the savior of the American tech industry. That made me laugh out loud, I’ll tell you. The only thing better than fucking over your adversary is getting him to thank you for doing it.”
Scott allowed himself a smile. “The U.S. media is even easier to manipulate than Congress. Give them an anonymous source, and they’ll print whatever you want.”
“Miles Priest a traitor to his country. I love that.”
“I figured you would,” Scott said.
“Still, I didn’t like seeing the name Medusa out there so much, my friend. That’s a hell of a risk. You exposed too much of what we’re really doing. My colleagues in Moscow aren’t happy.”
“Tell them not to worry,” Scott replied. “Putting out details about Medusa was part of the plan. The point is to convince most of the Western governments that Medusa is under control. A neutralized threat. We served up Miles as our sacrificial lamb, and we showed enough of our real hand to make them think they have us on the run. So while they waste time with their subpoenas and congressional investigations, we can proceed with our next step.”
“You mean Prescix?”
Scott nodded. He took a lavender-colored macaron cookie from the tray in front of him, but when he ate it, he found it oddly difficult to swallow, as if an apricot pit had begun to swell in his windpipe. “Yes, my first major initiative as CEO of Carillon will be to announce that the Prescix board has agreed to a merger.”
“Assuming your DOJ doesn’t stop it,” Fyodor pointed out.
“The feds? Please. They’re salivating at the idea. I’ve already promised them that we’ll adapt the Prescix code to help with their anti-terrorism investigations. They’ll identify a few white supremacists shouting ‘Sieg Heil’ and look like heroes. For them, the merger can’t come soon enough. That will also take all of their antitrust threats off the table. Meanwhile, we’ll integrate the personal data from the hack and run all of it through the Prescix algorithms. That’s tens of millions of people. We’ll have them believing whatever we want them to believe. Left, right, it doesn’t matter. The next election is going to be utter chaos. It’s everything you want.”
“Oh, we want much more than that,” Fyodor reminded him. “This is only the beginning, my friend.”
Scott sipped his espresso and wrung a hand through the fabric of his collar, which was now damp with his sweat. Yes, you want civil war, you old fool. And I’ll give it to you. People will be at each other’s throats, but not just in New York, Portland, and San Francisco. The streets of Moscow and Beijing will erupt, too. We’ll burn it all down and get ready to rebuild under a new master plan.
The Medusa plan.
“It will take more money,” Scott replied.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll have whatever you need. I’ll make sure of it. Of course, I’ll expect some favors of my own. I have a few names of people who may need special attention from the Prescix software. Political rivals. Some diplomats who have been uncooperative. My wife’s brother. That sort of thing.”
Scott chuckled. “I expected as much. Just give me a list.”
“Good, fine, excellent,” Fyodor announced, happily slapping the bistro table and making his coffee spill. “I’ve always liked doing business with you, Scott. Hard to believe it’s been all these years, isn’t it? I remember meeting you that summer in Prague, this cocky college kid with all these ridiculous plans to run the world. And that girl with you, oh my God. Even at sixteen, Miss Shirley was scarier than anyone in the FSB. But I saw something in you. You