the advantage of insight, or at least intimidation.
"What was the subject's condition when you found him?"
The interrogator was asking Bourne to repeat what he'd already said. This was standard operating procedure, a way to ferret out the lies from the truth. If a subject was lying, his story would change sooner or later. "He was bound and gagged. He appeared very thin-much as he does now-as if his captors had fed him minimally."
"I imagine he had great difficulty managing the ascent back to the helicopter."
"The beginning was the most difficult for him. I thought I might have to carry him. His muscles were cramped and his stamina was virtually nil. I fed him a couple of protein bars and that helped. Within an hour, he was walking more steadily."
"What was the first thing he said?" the interrogator said with a false mildness.
Bourne knew that the more casually a question was asked, the more important it was to the interrogator. "'I'll do what I have to do.'"
The interrogator shook his head. "I mean when he first saw you. When you removed the gag."
"I asked him if he was okay-"
The interrogator regarded the ceiling as if he was bored. "And he said what, precisely?"
Bourne remained stone-faced. "He nodded. He didn't say a word." The interrogator looked puzzled, a sure sign that he was trying to trip Bourne up. "Why not? You'd think after more than a week in captivity, he'd say something."
"It was insecure. The less we spoke at that moment, the better. He knew that."
Bourne was in the corners of the interrogator's eyes again. "So his first words to you were..."
"I told him we needed to climb the rock chimney in order to escape and he said 'I'll do what I have to do.'"
The interrogator appeared unconvinced. "All right, passing over that. In your opinion, what was his mental state at that time?"
"He seemed okay. Relieved. He wanted out of there."
"He wasn't disoriented, didn't exhibit any lapses of memory? He didn't say anything odd, out of place?"
"No, none of that."
"You seem very sure of yourself, Mr. Bourne. Don't you yourself have a memory problem?"
Bourne knew he was being baited, and he relaxed inside. Baiting was the method of last resort, when every other avenue to break a story apart had been exhausted. "Of events in the past. My memories of yesterday, last week, last month are crystal clear."
Without a moment's hesitation the interrogator said, "Has the subject been brainwashed, has he been turned?"
"The man across the hall is Martin Lindros as he's always been," Bourne replied. "On the plane ride home, we talked of things only he and I knew about."
"Please be more specific."
"He confirmed the identity of the terrorist Fadi. He made a sketch for me. A huge breakthrough for us. Before that, Fadi was just a cipher. Martin also gave me the name of Fadi's right-hand man, Abbud ibn Aziz."
The interrogator asked him another dozen questions, many of which he'd asked before with different wording. Bourne patiently answered them all. Nothing was going to ruffle his calm.
As abruptly as it had started, the session came to an end. Without either acknowledgment or explanation, the interrogator turned off the tape recorder, then took it and his notes with him out of the room.
Another period of waiting ensued, interrupted only by another agent, younger, bringing in a tray of food. He left without saying a word.
It was just after six in the evening, according to Bourne's watch-an entire day spent in interrogation-when the door next opened.
Bourne, who thought he was ready for anything, was very much surprised to see the DCI walk in. He stood, regarding Bourne for a long time. In his face, Bourne recognized the conflicting emotions that clogged the Old Man's throat. It had cost him something to come in here at all, and now what he'd come to say stuck in his craw like a fish bone.
At last he said, "You made good on your promise. You brought Martin home."
"Martin's my friend. I wasn't about to fail him."
"You know, Bourne, it's no secret I wish I'd never met you." The Old Man shook his head.
"But really, you're a fucking enigma."
"Even to myself."
The DCI blinked several times. Then he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the door open. Bourne rose. He supposed he was free to leave, and so was Martin. That's all that mattered. Martin had passed the exhausting battery of physical and psychological tests. They had both survived Bleak House.