watched her regain her feet as the engine roared to life and he pulled out. Glancing in the rearview mirrors, he saw her aiming the ASP squarely at his rear window until the car disappeared into traffic.
When he lost sight of her, he pulled out his cell phone, pressed a speed-dial key. The moment he heard Matthew Lerner's voice, he said, "You were right, Mr. Lerner. Soraya Moore's still nosing around, and to tell you the truth she's just become a clear and present danger."
Kabur directed them to the church whose steeple had guided Bourne to the village. It was, like all the churches in the country, part of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church. The religion was old, and with more than thirty-six million members, it was the world's largest Oriental Orthodox church. In fact, it was the only pre-colonial Christian church in its part of Africa.
There was a moment, in the watery light of the church, when Bourne thought Kabur had played him for a fool. That not only Zaim's radiation-eaten son but also the nagus himself was in Fadi's employ; that he had been led into a trap. He whipped out the Makarov. Then the shadows and patches of light resolved themselves and he saw a figure beckoning wordlessly to him.
"It's Father Mihret," Zaim whispered. "I know him."
Zaim, though still recovering from his wound, had insisted on coming along. He was attached to Bourne now. They had saved each other's lives.
"My sons," Father Mihret said softly, "I fear you've come too late."
"The pilot," Bourne said. "Please take me to him."
As they hastily made their way through the church, Bourne said, "Is he still alive?"
"Barely." The priest was tall and thin as a post. He possessed the large eyes and emaciated look of an ascetic. "We've done everything we can for him."
"How did he come to you, Father?" Zaim asked.
"He was found by herders on the outskirts of the village, within a clump of firs near the river. They came to me and I ordered him moved here on a litter, but I fear it did him little good."
"I have access to a warbird," Bourne said. "I can airlift him out."
Father Mihret shook his head. "He has fractures of the neck and spinal cord. There is no way to successfully immobilize him. He would never survive another move."
The pilot, Jaime Cowell, was in Father Mihret's own bed. Two women tended to him, one salving his flayed skin, the other squeezing water from a cloth into his half-open lips. A flicker appeared in Cowell's eyes when Bourne came into his line of sight.
Bourne briefly turned his back to him. "Can he talk?" he said to the priest.
"Very little," Father Mihret replied. "When he moves at all, the pain is excruciating."
Bourne stood over the bed so that his face was in Cowell's direct line of sight. "I've come to take you home, Jaime. D'you understand me?"
Cowell's lips moved, a soft hiss emanating from between them.
"Look, I'll make this short," Bourne said. "I need to find Martin Lindros. You two were the only ones to survive the attacks. Is Lindros alive?"
Bourne had to bend down, his ear almost touching Cowell's lips.
"Yes. When I... last saw him." Cowell's voice was like sand slithering across a dune.
Though his heart leapt, Bourne was appalled by the stench. The priest wasn't wrong: Death was already in the room, stinking up the place.
"Jaime, this is very important. Do you know where Lindros is?"
Again, the terrible stench as Bourne leaned in.
"Three klicks west by southwest... across the... river." Cowell was sweating with the effort and the pain. "Camp... heavily defended."
Bourne was about to move away when Cowell's rasp began again. His chest, rising and falling with unnatural rapidity, began to shudder, as his already overstressed muscles began to spasm. Cowell's eyes closed, tears leaking out from under the lids.
"Take it easy," Bourne urged. "Rest now."
"No! Oh, God!"
Cowell's eyes flew open, and when he stared up into Bourne's the darkness of the abyss could be seen moving closer.
"This man... the leader..."
"Fadi." Bourne supplied his name.
"He's tortur... torturing Lindros."
Bourne's stomach rolled up into a ball of ice. "Is Lindros holding out? Cowell! Cowell can you answer me?"
"He's beyond all questions now." Father Mihret stepped into, put his hand on Cowell's sweat-soaked forehead. "God has granted him blessed relief from his suffering."
They were moving him. Martin Lindros knew this because he could hear Abbud ibn Aziz barking out a multitude of orders, all in the service of getting them the hell