"You were already on the plane when I was at the club, so cut the bullshit, Peter. Who are you working for now?"
"Willard."
"You're Treadstone."
"That's right. We're working for the same - "
"I don't work for Treadstone, or Willard. In fact," Bourne went on, "when I see Willard again, I'm going to wring his neck. He sold me out. Why did he do that, Peter?"
"I don't know."
"Good-bye, Peter."
"Wait! Don't hang up, I need to see you."
There was a brief pause. Marks found that his hand was sweating so badly, the phone almost slipped from his grip. "Jason, please. This is important."
"Aren't you going to ask me why I was with the man who knifed Diego Hererra?"
"You can tell me, if you want. But frankly, I don't care. I know you must've had a good reason."
"Good man. Willard is training you well."
"You're right, of course, Willard's a perfect shit. He'll do anything to resurrect Treadstone."
"Why?"
Marks hesitated. He'd never liked hitching his star to Willard's dream, but at the time he felt he'd had no choice. And of course, Willard had played him perfectly, working on his desire to get revenge against Danziger and his puppet master, Bud Halliday. When Willard had promised him that he'd find a way to take Halliday down, and Danziger with him, he was in. But Willard had made a mistake when he'd asked Marks to betray Bourne. Willard, having no loyalty except to the idea of Treadstone, couldn't conceive of the idea of personal loyalty, let alone have an inkling of its power.
He took a deep breath and said, "Willard wants to get you and Arkadin together so he can determine once and for all which of Treadstone's training protocols is superior. If Arkadin kills you, then he'll go back to the original protocols, make some minor adjustments, and start training recruits."
"And if I kill Arkadin?"
"Then, Jason, he says he'll have to study you to find out how your amnesia has changed you, so he can alter the Treadstone training program accordingly."
"A monkey in a cage."
"I'm afraid so, yes."
"And you're meant to take me back to Washington?"
"No. It's not that simple. But if you'll meet me, I'll explain everything."
"Maybe, Peter. If I think I can trust you."
"Jason, you can. You absolutely can." Marks believed this fervently, with every fiber of his being. "When can we - ?"
"Not now. Right now, what I need from you is everything you know about Coven - specifically his methodology, tendencies, and what, if it comes to it, he's capable of."
Bourne listened to Peter Marks, filing away everything he said. Then he told him he'd be in touch and disconnected. For a time, he concentrated on the traffic piling up, allowing his subconscious to work on the problem at hand - that is, how to neutralize Coven without jeopardizing Chrissie and Scarlett.
Then he saw a sign for George Street and immediately recalled his afternoon in Oxford. And yet his thoughts were not of Chrissie and Professor Giles. As if it were yesterday, he recalled his visit to the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents at the Old Boys' School in Oxford's George Street. He'd gone in the guise of David Webb, visiting professor of linguistics, but inside, the Bourne identity had asserted itself. He knew, but he didn't know how he knew, that in this moment in time he'd still had in his possession the laptop he had stolen from Jalal Essai. He had taken time out from his classes at Oxford to enter the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents. What had he done there, what was he researching? He couldn't remember. But he did know that whatever he'd discovered there had led him to keep the laptop. What had he done with it? It was on the cusp of his memory, like the burning edge of the sun in eclipse. He almost had it, almost.
And then the turnoff Coven had described was coming up on the right, and he had to step away from the cusp, let it go, because it was time to confront Coven.
Chapter Sixteen
WE'LL HAVE TO walk from here." Barbara climbed out of the jeep. Despite the lingering heat, she had changed into jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
Moira followed her. They had driven for perhaps a mile, due west of the hacienda but still well within the boundaries of the immense estancia. In the distance rose dusty blue hills, and the