leaped inside. There were three of them now as the elevator headed down.
The guard bounced off the elevator wall with surprising speed, kicking the gun from Jason’s hand before he could fire. Jason took hold of the man’s wrist, clamped his teeth over the guard’s hand and bit down hard. The man’s fingers unlocked. The gun fell, but with his other fist, the guard landed a blow to Jason’s chin that knocked him into the wall. Dizzied, Jason spotted Restak huddled in the corner of the elevator. The hacker scooped up Jason’s gun and jerked the trigger, unleashing a wild shot that missed Bourne entirely but shattered the guard’s elbow. As the guard writhed, Jason jabbed a fist into the man’s throat and then brought the man’s head down sharply against his knee. The guard collapsed, his body landing heavily on top of Restak.
Before the hacker could wriggle free and fire again, Bourne wrenched the gun out of the man’s hand and dragged Restak to his feet.
The elevator kept going down.
Jason eyed the overhead camera and knew what was waiting for him on the first floor. He stabbed the button for the floor above the hotel atrium and shoved the barrel of the gun into the underside of the hacker’s chin.
“Who’s Miss Shirley?”
“Fuck off,” the man gasped.
“Where do I find her?”
“She’ll find you, Bourne.”
The elevator opened on the third floor. Jason had no time to ask more questions. He cracked the steel barrel into Restak’s forehead and let the man sink to the floor. He exited the elevator into a quiet hotel corridor. Already he could hear voices and the pounding of footsteps in the stairwell.
They were coming for him.
He ran to the first hotel room door in the corridor, pushed his gun against the lock, and squeezed the trigger. Wood and dust exploded, and he shoved through the door with his shoulder. He found himself in a lavish suite that looked like something out of a European palace.
“What the hell?” bellowed a voice from the bedroom.
An eighty-something man with a thick head of snow-white hair appeared in the bedroom doorway. He was stark naked, but he had a revolver in his hand, and Bourne quickly lifted his own gun and aimed at the man’s chest.
“Drop it now. Do it, or die.”
The old man knew when he was outgunned. He put the gun down and raised his hands over his head. “Son of a bitch, you’re Jason Bourne.”
Jason took another look at the man. He recognized the barrel-chested octogenarian who’d spent years in the Defense Department. Retired air force general Philip Kahnke. Medusa had its fingers in high places.
“Better get some clothes on, General. Half a dozen men will be coming through that door in about ten seconds.”
Not breaking stride, Bourne marched for the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall and shot a bullet through the glass, turning it into popcorn and letting warm, dry air whistle through the cool room.
He took one glance at the ground two floors below him and jumped.
THIRTY-TWO
MILES Priest stared out the window of his cliffside castle in the far western Highlands of Scotland. From here, he could see craggy hills, some still topped with snow, and the jagged seacoast that threw wild surf against the spit of land below the castle ramparts. On the green grounds of the estate, he could see the cemetery surrounding the ruins of a sixteenth-century stone chapel.
The window was open. He liked the cold air. Nelly Lessard, who didn’t, sat in a musty armchair by the vast old library fireplace. She warmed her hands in front of the flames and tugged on the sleeves of her rust-colored sweater. Scott DeRay sat on the other side of the huge room, underneath an Elizabethan oil painting of a boy in a red velvet robe. On either side of him, bookshelves with leather-bound volumes climbed to the chambered wooden ceiling.
“I don’t think you have a choice about this, Miles,” Scott told him, flipping the pages in a vintage edition of Fielding’s Tom Jones. “We need to have an emergency meeting of the cabal to discuss strategy.”
Nelly adjusted a heavy, scratchy blanket over her lap. “I agree with Scott. It’s imperative that we find a way to block the Prescix takeover.”
Priest didn’t take his gaze away from the Scottish coast. “What do we know about this private equity group that Gabriel talked about?”
“They’re hiding behind a fog of confidentiality,” Nelly replied, “but that’s not surprising, given the sums involved. Their management team appears