Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,139
take it we’re going for a drive, are we?”
“Yes, we are. Come, join me.”
Rollins slid over to the opposite side of the town car and patted the leather seat next to him. Fyodor squeezed his bulk inside, and one of the American agents slammed the door shut behind him. No one outside could see through the smoked windows. The car headed off slowly into the Parisian streets.
“I’m a diplomat, Nash,” Fyodor reminded him. “You’re making a serious mistake by kidnapping me.”
Rollins gave a friendly tap on the Russian’s knee with his cane. “Kidnapping? Don’t be so dramatic, Fyodor. You’re free to go. In fact, we can drop you off at your embassy if you’d like. However, we both know that Moscow doesn’t like the smell of failure. Agents who fail tend not to live very long. And that’s what I’m smelling on your suit, Fyodor. Failure. It’s even stronger than all of that French cheese.”
Fyodor frowned with his many chins. “Explain.”
“We have everything on tape. Your meeting with Scott DeRay. Medusa. Prescix. That waitress you were groping? She’s mine. She could crack that thick neck of yours like a pretzel if she wanted, by the way. See, that civil war you want is officially over before it starts. Tomorrow, the American media will report that the Prescix software is being used as a front for Russian counterintelligence. Trading will be suspended. The company will be shut down and its code taken apart byte by byte to see what little games you and Medusa have been up to. So by all means, go back to Moscow if you want, but we both know the only thing waiting for you is an extra-large hole dug in the taiga forest.”
The Russian spent a moment evaluating what Rollins had said. “I take it you’re offering me an alternative.”
“I am.”
Fyodor was nothing if not practical. “What do you want, and what do I get?”
“What I want is information. You come back to the U.S. and tell us everything you know about the inner workings of Medusa. Names, locations, moles in the government and private industry, targets, plans. All the details about the data hack and how it was done and who was affected. You give us everything we need to take apart the entire Medusa infrastructure person by person. Do that, and we give you a free pass. You get a beachside Florida condominium with an all-new identity and plenty of money to spend on hookers, vodka, and caviar.”
Fyodor stared out the window at Paris, knowing he was unlikely ever to see the city again. He lit a cigarette in the back of the town car and reflected on his options, which didn’t take long, because he didn’t have any. He wasted no time on patriotic sentiment. A living traitor was better than a dead patriot.
“Florida?” he asked. “You want to send me to Florida?”
“Or anywhere else you prefer,” Rollins replied.
The Russian shrugged and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Florida is fine. Humidity and cockroaches don’t bother me. But throw in a lifetime pass to Disney World, okay? I like to ride the teacups.”
FORTY-SEVEN
BOURNE followed Scott DeRay from the Parisian bistro into the sprawling grounds of the Jardin du Luxembourg.
By the time his old friend reached the geometric gardens laid out in front of the palace, it was obvious that the poison was rapidly taking effect. He could see Scott’s steps grow erratic. Getting closer, he saw sweat pouring down the man’s face and tremors wracking his limbs. Scott staggered to a bench near the green waters of the pond, where children played with brightly colored toy sailboats. It reminded Bourne of the time they’d met in Central Park, not long ago.
The truth was written on Scott’s face. He didn’t know how, but he knew he was dying.
He watched Scott pull out a phone to call for help, but the phone slipped from his numb fingers and fell to the pavement. Bourne came over and picked up the phone and then sat down next to him.
“It says on your Prescix profile that you’re going to die horribly today, Scott. It’s scary how accurate that software is.”
Scott turned his head slowly and tried to focus, and his eyes finally widened with recognition. “You.”
“Yes, I’m sorry to still be alive,” Bourne replied. “I really didn’t think you’d swallow the story about Nash killing me, but he said we just needed to make the information hard for you to find. I guess he was right.”