"I won't forget this," he said in an eerie tone as he released her.
Since he was still staring into Tracy's face it was unclear to whom Oserov was speaking, but Arkadin suspected he was addressing both of them. Before anything worse happened Arkadin came around the table and, taking Tracy by the elbow, walked her out of the cafe.
The snow was swirling down with singular intent, and almost immediately their hair and shoulders were coated with it.
"Well, that was interesting," she said.
Arkadin, searching her face, could find no fear in it. "You've made a very bad enemy, I'm afraid."
"Go back inside," Tracy said, as if she hadn't heard him. "Without your coat you're liable to freeze to death."
"I don't think you understand - "
"Do you know Doma?"
He blinked. Did she never listen to what anyone said to her? But the tide she rode was taking him farther and farther from the known shore. "The restaurant on the Hermitage embankment? Everyone knows Doma."
"Eight o'clock tonight." She gave him one of her patented smiles and left him there in the snow, observed by the glowering Oserov.
The girl whom he'd mistaken for Tracy was long gone, but Arkadin could still make out the damp traces of her narrow footprints in the sand beyond the high-tide line. There were jellyfish in the water now, opalescent and glowing. In the distance a Mexican woman sang a sad ranchera from the speakers of a radio. The jellyfish seemed to be swaying to the music. Night was falling, a black sky studded with stars heading his way. Arkadin returned to the convent to light candles instead of switching on the electric lights, listen to sad rancheras instead of turning on the TV. Seemingly overnight Mexico had seeped into his blood.
I'm beginning to understand why Arkadin and Oserov are mortal enemies, Bourne thought as he looked up from Perlis's notebook. Hate is a powerful emotion, hate makes normally smart people stupid, or at least makes them less vigilant. Perhaps I've finally found Arkadin's Achilles' heel.
He'd read enough for the moment. Closing the lid on the safe-deposit box, he pocketed the book and rang the bell to indicate that he was finished. While on the surface it seemed odd that Perlis would use such an old-fashioned method to record what he obviously considered vital intelligence, on further consideration it made perfect sense. Electronic media were all too prone to hacking in so many forms that a handwritten copy was the answer. Kept in a vault, it was perfectly secure, and if the need arose it could be irrevocably destroyed with nothing but a match. These days going low-tech was often the best defense against computer hackers, who could infiltrate the most sophisticated electronic networks and retrieve even supposedly deleted files.
Diego Hererra pulled aside the curtain, took the metal box, returned it to its numbered niche, closed the door behind it, and the two men secured the box with their respective keys.
As they walked out of the vault Bourne said, "I need a favor."
Diego glanced at him expectantly, but noncommittally.
"There is a man who has been following me. He's in the bank, waiting for me to return."
Now Diego smiled. "But of course. I can show you to the door used by customers who require, shall we say, a higher degree of discretion than is the norm." They were almost at his office when a ripple of concern crossed his face. "Why is this man following you, may I ask?"
"I don't know," Bourne said, "though I seem to collect people like him like flies."
Diego gave a low laugh. "Noah often said more or less the same thing."
Bourne realized that this was as close as Diego Hererra was going to get to asking him if he worked for Perlis's outfit. He was beginning to like Diego as much as he liked his father, however, that was no reason to tell him the truth. He nodded as if in tacit answer to Diego's unspoken question.
"I don't know who he is, either, but it's important I find out," Bourne said.
Diego spread his hands. "I am at your service, Senor Stone," he said in true Catalan style.
Diego may be living in London, Bourne thought, but his heart is still in Seville.
"I need to get this man out of your bank and onto the street before I leave. A fire alarm would do nicely."
Diego nodded. "Consider it done." He lifted a finger. "On the condition that you come to my house tomorrow evening." He gave Bourne