have to go back and-"
"Not now." The whispered voice was firm. It came from the slender man with the wide-brimmed hat he'd seen on the beach-the boxer's master. The man gave a whistle and the dog came bounding out from under the pier, paddling through the water toward them.
And then Bourne heard the wail of sirens. Someone from the nearby yacht club must have heard the repeated sound of gunfire and called the police.
So he lumbered on, the helping arm around him, the pain throbbing hotly and agonizingly with every step he took, as if the blade were still being twisted inside him. And with every beat of his heart, he lost more blood.
When Fadi, choking and sputtering, broke the surface, the first thing he saw through reddened eyes was Abbud ibn Aziz, who was leaning over the low rail of a sailboat running without lights. The boat, heeled over slightly, had taken advantage of the onshore breeze to move in closer to land than many powerboats could without running aground.
Abbud ibn Aziz held out a strong, browned arm. His forehead was furrowed in concern. As Fadi clambered onto the deck, Abbud ibn Aziz called out. The mate, who was already at the sheets, hauled the yardarm, causing the sailboat to tack away from the shore.
Just in time. As they turned, Fadi could see what had caused Abbud ibn Aziz's concern. Three police launches had just turned the headland to the north and were speeding toward the area surrounding the pier.
"We'll make for the yacht club," Abbud ibn Aziz said in Fadi's ear. "By the time they're close enough to scrutinize the area, we'll be safely berthed." He said nothing of the three men. They weren't here, clearly they weren't coming. They were dead.
"Bourne?" he asked.
"Wounded, but still alive."
"How bad?"
Fadi lay on his back, wiping blood off his face. That damn dog had bitten him in three places, including his right biceps, which felt as if it were on fire. His eyes glowed like a wolf's in the moonlight. "Bad enough, perhaps, that he'll end up as damaged as my father."
"A just fate."
The lights from the yacht club were coming up fast on the bow. "The documents."
Abbud ibn Aziz handed over a packet wrapped in waterproof oilskin.
Fadi took possession of the packet, turned on his side, spat into the water. "But is it a just revenge?" His head moved from side to side as he answered his own question. "I don't think so, no. Not yet."
"This way, this way!" the urgent voice said in Bourne's ear. "Don't slacken now, it's not far."
Not far? he thought. Every three steps he took felt like a kilometer. His breathing was labored and his legs felt like stone columns. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep them moving. Waves of exhaustion swept over him and from time to time he lost his balance, pitching forward. The first time took his companion by surprise. He was facedown in the water before he was hauled back into the humid Odessa night. Thereafter, he was saved from the same watery fate.
He tried to lift his head, to see where they were, where they were headed. But keeping himself moving through the water was struggle enough. He was aware of his companion, aware of a peculiar familiarity that spread across the surface of his mind like an oil slick. Yet like an oil slick he couldn't see beneath it, couldn't decide who this person was. Someone from his past. Someone...
"Who are you?" he gasped.
"Come on now!" the whispered voice urged him. "We must keep on. The police are behind us."
All at once he became aware of lights dancing in the water. He blinked. No, not in the water, on the water. The wave-smeared reflections of electric lights. Somewhere in the back of his head a bell rang, and he thought, Yacht club.
But his curiously familiar companion turned them toward land before they got to the northern end of the network of piers, berths, and slatted walkways. With immense effort, they staggered into the surf. Once, Bourne went to his knees. Furious, he was about to hurl himself to his feet when his companion kept him in position. He felt something soft being wrapped around his torso so tight it nearly took his breath away. Around and around until he lost count. The pressure did its job. He stopped bleeding, but the moment he got to his feet and they continued up the sideline and onto the