on the latex nose, making Deron laugh. He rummaged around another drawer, handing her a much smaller model. This did feel better. Just for demonstration, he used some theatrical gum to mold it on.
"Of course, in real life you'd use another kind of glue, and makeup, to hide the edges of the prosthetic."
"Isn't that a problem when you sweat or-I don't know, swim, maybe?"
"This isn't makeup from Chanel," Deron said with a laugh. "Once you apply it, you need a special solvent to get it off."
Bourne returned just as Soraya was peeling off the fake nose. His leg wound was cleaned and bandaged, and he was dressed in new trousers and shirt.
Bourne said, "Soraya, you and I need to talk."
She followed him into the kitchen, where they stood by a huge stainless-steel refrigerator against the wall farthest from Deron's lab.
Bourne turned to her. "You and Deron have a pleasant visit while I was gone?"
"You mean did he try to pump me for information?"
"You mean did I ask him to pump you."
"Right."
"As a matter of fact, I didn't."
She nodded. "He didn't." Then she waited.
"There's no good way to get into this." Bourne searched her face. "Were you and Tim close?"
She turned her head away for a moment, bit her lip. "What d'you care? To you he's a traitor."
"Soraya, listen to me, it's either Tim Hytner or me. I know it's not me."
Her expression was deliberately confrontational. "Then tell me why you took Cevik outside?"
"I wanted him to get a taste of the freedom he no longer had."
"That's it? I don't believe you."
Bourne frowned. It wouldn't be the first time since Marie's death that he'd wondered if his latest trauma had somehow impaired his judgment. "I'm afraid it's true."
"Forget about my believing you," she snapped. "How d'you think that's going to play with the Old Man?"
"What does it matter? The Old Man hates loose cannons."
She looked at her boots, shook her head. She took a breath, let it all out. "I nominated Tim for Typhon, now he's dead."
Bourne was silent. He was a warrior, what did she expect? Tears and regret? No, but would showing a smidgen of emotion kill him? Then she remembered his wife's recent death, and she felt immediately ashamed.
She cleared her throat, but not her emotions. "We were in school together. He was one of those boys girls made fun of."
"Why not you?"
"I wasn't like the other girls. I could see he was sweet and vulnerable. I sensed something." She shrugged. "He liked to talk about his younger childhood; he was born in rural Nebraska. To me, it was like hearing about another country."
"He was wrong for Typhon," Bourne said bluntly.
"He was wrong for the field, that's no lie," she said just as bluntly.
Bourne put his hands in his pockets. "So where does all this leave us?"
She started as if he'd pricked her with the business end of her switchblade. "All what?"
"We've saved each other's lives, you've tried to kill me twice. Bottom line: We don't trust each other."
Her eyes, large and liquid with incipient tears, bored into his. "I gave up the NET; you brought me here to Deron's. What's your definition of trust?"
Bourne said, "You took photos of Cevik when he was detained."
She nodded, waiting for the ax to fall. What would he require of her now? What, exactly, did she require of him? She knew, of course, but it was too painful to admit to herself, let alone tell him.
"Okay, call Typhon. Get them to upload the photos to your phone." He began to walk down the corridor, and she paced him step for step. "Then have them upload the cipher Hytner took off Cevik."
"You forget that all of CI is still locked down. That includes data transfers."
"You can get me what I want, Soraya. I have faith in you."
The curious look came back into her eyes for a moment, then vanished as if it had never existed. She was on the phone to Typhon by the time they entered Deron's workroom, an L-shaped space carved out of the old kitchen and pantry. His artist's studio was upstairs, in the room that gathered the most daylight. As for Deron himself, he was bent over a worktable, poring over the NET.
No one in Typhon save its director had the clearance to upload sensitive data during lockdown. She knew she'd have to search elsewhere to get what Bourne needed.
She heard Anne Held's voice and identified herself.
"Listen, Anne, I need your help."
"Really? You won't even tell me where