Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Evolution - Brian Freeman Page 0,64
wrong. I’m just saying you’re not describing the person I know.”
“Do you have a problem with this assignment? Do I need to get someone else?”
The Treadstone agent shook his head. “No. Don’t worry about me. I’m quite clear on the assignment. Bourne and the girl are dead.”
TWENTY-ONE
MILES Priest and Nelly Lessard sat on the outdoor terrace of Gabriel Fox’s fifteen-million-dollar estate high in the desert hills of Henderson, Nevada. The founder of Prescix had designed the home himself. It was bone-white, boxy and geometric, with a sweeping view across the Las Vegas valley. From where they were, they could see the lineup of casinos on the Strip, from Mandalay Bay in the south to the Stratosphere in the north. All of the glass towers glinted in the sunshine. On the other side of the valley, barren hills rose over the city, and snow capped the peak of Mount Charleston.
The décor of the estate reflected Gabriel’s quirky personality, in addition to his money. Half a dozen bighorn sheep wandered in the private acreage of the mountain above them, and the animals had free run of the house. The multilevel swimming pool featured fountains and a wave machine so Gabriel could surf at will. There was a black-light bowling alley. One room had been finished to look like a Polynesian coastline, including genuine statues imported from Easter Island and walls that were actually 4K screens live-streaming footage from the Pacific. Another room re-created a 1950s Hollywood party, featuring wax figures of actors like Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Kirk Douglas, and others, built for Gabriel by Madame Tussauds.
On the table in front of Miles and Nelly, an air-conditioned conveyor belt brought a steady stream of cocktails and eclectic appetizers from Gabriel’s four-star kitchen. Morimoto sushi. Hong Kong dim sum. Texas brisket. Minnesota lutefisk. Rum shots, craft beer, and glasses of five-hundred-dollar wines.
Priest hated the over-the-top ego on display. To him, it was a monument to excess. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt as the ninety-degree heat beat down on them. He hated heat, too. He preferred the cold days and nights of his castle in Scotland. Nelly, on the other hand, thrived on it. She’d grown up in Phoenix, and she took in the view without even breaking into a sweat. She also seemed to have no problem with the lavish surroundings. Priest ate and drank nothing, but Nelly calmly sampled the drinks and hors d’oeuvres passing on the belt in front of them.
“Do you want me to do the talking, Miles?” Nelly asked, noting the discomfort on his face. “You don’t do too well around Gabriel. He pushes your buttons.”
“The man is insane,” Priest replied.
“Maybe so, but he’s also a genius, and he has what we want. Namely, Prescix. So you have to indulge him.”
“Yes, because he has so little indulgence in his life,” Priest replied sourly.
“You know what I mean.”
The two of them looked up as Gabriel Fox made his entrance onto the terrace. He was dressed in the uniform of a World War I infantryman, including a helmet on his head and a rifle and bayonet in his arms. The brown fabric of the uniform was torn and soiled with mud and bloodstains.
He sat down across from them and smiled pleasantly, with no indication that his attire was unusual. “Miles, Nelly, always a treat to see you.”
“Hello, Gabriel,” Priest replied. “Are you doing some kind of reenactment?”
Gabriel’s face creased with genuine puzzlement. “Reenactment? Reenactment of what?”
“It’s nothing,” Nelly interjected, shooting a glance at Priest. “We were very sorry to hear about Kevin Drake.”
The CEO of Prescix shrugged. He flipped open one of the compartments on the conveyor belt and removed a plate stacked with crispy-fried black bites. It took Priest a moment to realize that the food on the plate was actually a mound of crickets. He had to look away and cover his mouth as Gabriel popped two between his teeth and ate them with a loud crunch.
“Oh, that. Well, we all have to go sometime.”
Gabriel took off his helmet and rubbed some of the sweat on his bald head. He was only in his mid-thirties, but stocky, with a round, sunburned face and a bushy brown mustache. Five years earlier, he’d literally been living on the Las Vegas streets and writing his software in the public library, and now he was a billionaire eating bugs in a Big Tech version of Wonderland. Priest shook his head.