Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,39
woods?”
“Why do you care?”
“Call it morbid curiosity. I’m a reporter, remember?”
“We’re only a hundred yards from a parking lot for long-term campers,” Jason replied with a tight smile. “I have a friend in Montreal. When I came across the border, I arranged for him to leave a car, ID, and cash from one of my accounts.”
“You don’t leave much to chance, do you?”
“No.”
Always have a backup. Always assume you’ll need a way to escape. Treadstone.
“And that’s it?” Abbey asked.
“That’s it.”
“You’re not worried that I’ll warn Carson Gattor that you’re coming after him?”
“You took a risk by giving me the name. I’ll take the same risk with you. Now get the hell out of here, Abbey Laurent. The longer you stay with me, the more danger you’re in.”
Abbey clutched the car keys in her hand. She pushed herself to her feet on the dock and didn’t say anything more to him. As she walked away, he didn’t look back at her. Sitting by the lake, he heard the car door open and shut, and then he heard the purr of the engine. The headlights came on, throwing his shadow over the water. He heard the crunch of the tires in the dirt as she did a three-point turn and drove toward the highway.
Bourne was alone.
That was how it had to be.
THIRTEEN
NASH Rollins waited in the darkness outside the terminal at the north end of the Quebec City airport. A CSIS agent with a pencil mustache stood beside him and conducted an animated phone conversation in French. Rollins leaned on his cane and perused the night sky for the arrival of the Treadstone helicopter. He was more than ready to get out of Canada.
The CSIS agent, whose name was Fontaine, hung up the phone. “The borders are all on alert for your man. This Cain.”
Rollins shrugged. “You won’t find him.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. We tracked the stolen Renault and its plates on a street cam. The police are searching for the car.”
“He’ll switch vehicles soon if he hasn’t already. You lost him for good as soon as he was out of Quebec.”
“Are you suggesting we don’t know how to do our jobs, Mr. Rollins?”
That was, in fact, what Rollins was suggesting, but he didn’t bother with actual insults. “I’m suggesting that Cain is a professional who knows how to avoid capture. He knows where to cross the border without being detected.”
“And why are you so sure he’s on his way out of the country?”
“Because he got the woman. He got what he came for. He’s done here.”
The CSIS agent had an annoying habit of smoothing his mustache with his finger. “Well, if we do find him before he gets across the border, he’s ours first. We believe he murdered a Canadian government official when he kidnapped the reporter. He’ll need to answer for that, in addition to his other crimes on Canadian soil.”
“What about the body at the naval museum?” Rollins asked. “Did you identify him?”
“Not yet. The man had no wallet. But he matches the description the woman gave us of the person who tried to kill her in Artillery Park. The question is why Cain killed him.”
“Probably because the man saw his face.”
“He’s quite a dangerous man, your Cain.”
“Yes, he is.”
“What do you think he’ll do with the woman?”
“He’ll kill her, too,” Rollins replied.
“Quel dommage. She’s a pretty thing. Spirited, too. The kind of cat who’s likely to leave scratches on your back.” The agent smoothed his mustache again and smirked, as if he’d made a very amusing joke.
Rollins made no comment. He saw the lights of the approaching helicopter and heard the staccato throb of its rotors. Black and unmarked, it floated down to the helipad in front of them, and Rollins had to hold his hat down to keep it on his head. As the helicopter touched down, Rollins signaled the pilot with a finger across his throat. The engine quieted, and the rotors began to slow.
The CSIS agent extended a hand. “Good hunting, Mr. Rollins.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d like to say I’m sorry to see you go, but in all honesty, most of us will be happy to see the backs of you and your men. And Cain, too, of course. We have no interest in being part of the American Wild West.”
Rollins snorted. “Au revoir, Fontaine.”
The agent gave him a pained smile. He combed his mustache one last time and headed back to the terminal building. When he was out of earshot, Rollins took out his