the figure's ankles to legs, torso, finally revealing its face, bloody and swollen so badly that one eye had closed.
"How do you like your surprise?" Arkadin said.
The goblet of juice shattered on the floor tiles as it slipped from Soraya's grip.
The man bound to the chair was Antonio.
It was like a chess match, Bourne staring at the old man, trying to place him as the director of the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents when he had been in Oxford as David Webb, the old man staring at him more certain with every passing second of Bourne's identity.
Chrissie was staring at them both, as if trying to figure out which would checkmate the other. "Adam, is my father right? Is your name really David Webb?"
Bourne saw a way out - the only way - but he didn't like it. "Yes," he said, "and no."
"Either way, your name isn't Adam Stone." Chrissie's voice held a metallic edge. "Which means you lied to Trace. She knew you as Adam Stone, and that's how I know you."
Bourne turned to look at her. "Adam Stone is as much my name as David Webb used to be. I've been known by different names at different times. But they're only names."
"Damn you!" Chrissie got up, turned her back, and stalked into the kitchen.
"She's pretty angry," Scarlett said, watching him with her eleven-year-old face, beautiful yet not fully formed.
"Are you angry?" Bourne asked.
"You're not a professor?"
"In fact, I am," Bourne said. "A professor of linguistics."
"Then I think it's cool. D'you have a whole bunch of secret identities?"
Bourne laughed. He liked this child. "When the need arises."
"Bat-Signal!" She cocked her head, and in the straightforward manner of children, said, "Why did you lie to Mum and Aunt Tracy?"
Bourne was about to say something about Tracy, but just in time reminded himself that as far as Scarlett was concerned her aunt was still alive. "I was in one of my secret identities when I met your aunt. Then Tracy told your mum about me. It was the best way I could get her to listen to me quickly."
"If you're not Professor David Webb who the hell are you?" Chrissie's father said, visibly gathering himself.
"I was Webb when I knew you," Bourne said. "I didn't come to Oxford, to you, under false pretenses."
"What are you doing here with my daughter and granddaughter?"
"It's a long story," Bourne said.
A spark of cunning came into the old man's face. "I'll bet it has something to do with my older daughter."
"In a way."
The old man clenched a fist. "That damn engraving."
A little chill traveled down Bourne's spine. "What engraving?"
The old man peered at him curiously. "Do you not remember? I'm Dr. Bishop Atherton. You brought me a drawing of a phrase you said was an engraving."
And then Bourne remembered. He remembered everything.
Chapter Twenty-One
Book Three
Chapter Twenty-One
ANTONIO SLUMPED IN the furious darkness of the convent's hearth, a darkness so thick and black it seemed to obliterate not just light, but life itself.
Soraya took several steps toward him, peering into the gloom.
"He's not your pool boy," Arkadin said. "That's clear enough."
She said nothing, knowing that he had begun to bait her in order to gain information. This, in itself, was a hopeful sign, indicating that Antonio hadn't talked, despite the beating he'd received.
Deciding that outrage was her best course, she turned on Arkadin. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
When Arkadin smiled it was like a wolf appearing through pine trees. "I like to know who my prospective partners are." His smile lengthened, like knives being unsheathed. "Especially ones that fall into my lap so conveniently."
"Partners?" She laughed harshly. "You must be fucking dreaming, my Russian friend. I wouldn't partner with you for - "
He grabbed her then, pressing his lips against hers, but she was ready for him. She folded herself against him and slammed her knee into his groin. His hands on her trembled for a moment, but he did not let her go. His lupine grin never faltered, but there were tears glittering in the corners of his eyes.
"You won't get me," she said softly but icily, "either way."
"Yes, I will," he said, just as icily, "because you came here to get me."
Soraya had nothing to say to this, but she was hoping he was making a stab in the dark, because otherwise she was blown all to hell. "Let Antonio go."
"Give me a reason."
"We'll talk."
He massaged his groin gently. "We already talked."
She bared her teeth. "We'll try another form of