West's incursions into their lands. It was Fadi who had sent him to Europe to be schooled, a time in his life he had despised but had nevertheless proved of benefit. To know the enemy, Fadi had told him many times, is to defeat him.
He owed Fadi everything; where Fadi led, he would follow. On the other hand, he wasn't deaf, dumb, and blind. If at some future date when he had more information, he felt that Karim al-Jamil was leading Dujja-and, therefore, Fadi-into ruin, he would speak up, no matter the consequences.
A harsh, dry wind broke against his cheek. The whirring of the helicopter's rotors came to him as if from a dream. But it was his own reverie from which he needed to free himself. He looked up, feeling the first snowflakes on his cheeks and lashes.
He picked out the black dot against the roiled grays of the sky. It bloomed quickly. Swinging his arms back and forth over his head, he stepped back from the landing site. Three minutes later, the helicopter had landed. The door swung open, and Muta ibn Aziz jumped out into the snow and ice.
Abbud ibn Aziz waited for Fadi to appear, but only his brother came to where he stood, outside the slowing swing of the rotor blades.
"All went well." His embrace of his brother was stiff, formal. "Fadi has contacted me."
Muta stood silent in the harsh wind.
For some time, a dispute had carved itself into the frontier of their lives. Like the rift created by an earthquake, the issue had separated them more than either of them would admit. Like an earthquake it had spit up, festering sores that now, years later, had turned to scoria-hard, dry, twisted as scar tissue.
Muta squinted. "Brother, where did Fadi go after he and I parted?"
Abbud could not keep the superior edge out of his voice. "His business lies elsewhere."
Muta grunted. A bitter taste, all too familiar, had flooded his mouth. It is as it has always been. Abbud uses his power to keep me away from Fadi and Karim al-Jamil, the centers of our universe. Thus does he lord it over me. Thus has he sworn me to keep our secret. He is my elder brother. How can I fight him? His teeth ground together. As always, I must obey him all things.
Muta shivered mightily, moved out of the wind, into the lee of a rock formation. "Tell me, brother, what has been happening here?"
"Bourne arrived on Ras Dejen this morning. He's making progress."
Muta ibn Aziz nodded. "Then we must move Lindros to a safe location."
"It is about to be done," Abbud said with an icy edge to his voice.
Muta, his heart full of bile, nodded. "It's almost over now. Within the next few days, Jason Bourne's use to us will be at an end." He smiled deeply, but it was completely self-contained. "As Fadi has said, revenge is sweet. How pleasurable it will be for him to see Jason Bourne dead!"
The nagus's hut was surprisingly spacious and comfortable, especially for a structure that was more or less portable. The floor consisted of overlapping rugs. Skins hung on the walls, helping keep in the warmth provided by a fire fueled with dried bricks of dung.
Bourne, wrapped in a rough wool blanket, sat cross-legged by the fire while the nagus's men slowly and gingerly undressed Zaim. When that was done, they wrapped him as well, made him sit beside Bourne. Then they served both men steaming cups of hot, strong tea.
Other men tended to Zaim's wound, cleaning it, packing it with an herbal poultice, rebandaging it. As this was happening, the nagus sat down next to Bourne. He was a small man, unprepossessing save for the black eyes that burned like twin lamps in his burnished bronze skull. His body was thin and wiry, but Bourne was not fooled. This man would be skilled in the many ways, offensive and defensive, to keep himself and his men alive.
"My name is Kabur," the nagus said. "Zaim tells me your name is Bourne." He pronounced it in two syllables: Boh-orn.
Bourne nodded. "I've come to Ras Dejen to find my friend, who was on one of the warbirds that were shot down nearly a week ago. You know of this?"
"I do," Kabur said.
His hand moved to his chest, and he held out something silver for Bourne to see. It was the pilot's dog tags.