man was in his sixties, tall and morbidly obese, with a crown of white hair, a large bulbous nose, and several chins. He wore a brown suit that hung loosely on him despite his size. When he spoke, his accented voice sounded like he had a mouthful of oatmeal.
“Miss Shirley?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
The man guffawed. “What an interesting woman! I don’t mind telling you, I’d love to see what that one is like in bed.”
“She’d kill you, Fyodor.”
“Ah, but what a way to go. Besides, I have more stamina than you think.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Fyodor shook his hips and unleashed a stream of urine that roared like Niagara Falls. Russian men were oddly proud of their ability to piss. Fyodor Mikhailov was the number two man in the Russian embassy, and as such, he had the diplomatic clearance to travel all over the world. However, his real role was as the head of Russian interference operations mounted against the United States and Europe.
He was also a disgusting human being, crude and cruel, and the head of Medusa detested him. But for now, Fyodor and the Russians were a means to an end.
“So what is the update, my friend?” Fyodor asked. “Are we finally going to see a return on our sizable investment in your operations?”
“Everything is proceeding according to schedule. Prescix will be ours very soon. The government is doing their part, too. The proposed regulatory framework laid out in the Ortiz legislation plays right into our hands.”
“And the tech cabal?”
“We expect to move on them in days. At that point, we’ll have everything we want. Psycho-profiling, manufactured news, deepfake videos, online bots customized to an individual’s background. Hackman showed us the extent of what was possible. Soon we’ll be able to manipulate and radicalize people en masse. Social debates. Legislation. Elections. Violence.”
Fyodor finished his work at the urinal and zipped himself up. “They’ll be so busy hating each other they won’t even notice as we begin reclaiming our lost territories.”
“Exactly.”
“Chaos is only the beginning, my friend. It’s not enough to wound the beast. That can make him more dangerous when he recovers. No, we must split him apart, tear him down, and then start rebuilding from the ashes. Civil war. Never forget our goal, my friend. All this violence must lead to civil war. That’s the whole point of the conspiracy.”
“We’re well on our way.”
A broad grin broke across Fyodor’s face. “You do good work. I knew it as soon as we met all those years ago. I will share my positive report in Moscow.”
“Thank you, Fyodor. I’m honored.”
I can’t wait to let Miss Shirley kill you, you old fool, the head of Medusa thought. The only thing that will rise from the ashes is a new world led by us. No countries. No governments. Just technology. The future is not Russia, Fyodor. The future is Medusa.
The two men turned around and went to the row of sinks. Fyodor stood in amusement as the head of Medusa carefully used soap and water on his hands. After he was done, the Russian casually stuck out his own unwashed hand to be shaken. It was a reminder of who was still the boss.
“What about Jason Bourne?” Fyodor asked as they shook hands. “I understand you’ve failed to remove him despite several attempts. Is that a concern?”
“Don’t worry about Bourne,” the head of Medusa replied. “It’s just a matter of time before we take him down. He’s not a threat to our plans.”
PART THREE
TWENTY-SIX
AFTER driving straight through out of New York for twenty-four hours, Jason and Abbey finally took a break at a motel off I-20 near Amarillo, Texas. They’d stopped only for gas and to visit a safe-deposit box at a bank in D.C., where Jason retrieved cash, a driver’s license and passport under a different name, and another gun. By midnight, they were still twelve hours from Las Vegas, and they needed sleep.
He got them a room with two beds, close enough to the stairs that he could hear anyone coming their way. He left the window open, letting in warm, sticky air and the buzz of mosquitoes. Neither of them bothered to undress. They simply stretched out on top of the blankets and tried to clear their minds. But an hour later, in the deep darkness, Jason was still awake, and he could tell from the sound of Abbey’s breathing in the other bed that she was awake, too.
They’d said little on the road. After Benoit’s death, Abbey had