Robert Ludlum's™ The Bourne Evolution (Jason Bourne Book 12)

by Brian Freeman

  “Understood.”

  But Benoit didn’t move from where he was. He stayed on the walkway with his hands clenched around the railing, and he watched the harbor as the wind mussed his dark hair.

  “Is there something else?” Rollins asked.

  “I’ve never questioned an order from you, Nash.”

  “Then don’t start now.”

  Benoit turned and violated protocol by staring directly into Rollins’s eyes. If there were cameras, it would be clear that the two of them were together. And Rollins knew that there were always cameras.

  “I know Jason Bourne,” Benoit said. “I’ve worked with him many times. He’s the best. Even after what happened to him, he never lost a step in the field. What I’m saying is, are you absolutely certain he’s turned? Because that doesn’t sound like the man I know. Even when I was watching him in Las Vegas, I didn’t see any evidence of it. Yes, I know, he’s good, and he knows how to keep cover. But the alternate explanation is that he was innocent then and still is.”

  “Do you think I like this?” Rollins snarled. “I know Bourne, too. I’ve known him for years. But he has changed, Benoit. Medusa recruited him, or manipulated him, or whatever it is they do. Regardless, he’s not on our side anymore. I saw the FBI report on Congresswoman Ortiz. It was Cain. His room, his fingerprints, his gun. There is zero room for doubt.”

  Benoit casually trimmed a jagged edge on one of his nails. “Does Bourne know the truth about Las Vegas? And about Nova?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you should have told him what was really going on.”

  “That wasn’t an option. Given his behavior since then, I’m not questioning my decision. For all we know, he was already Medusa when he was in Las Vegas. Did you think about that? It’s very possible that Cain is the one who ordered the hit on Nova.”

  Benoit shrugged. “You make strategy based on data, Nash. You believe what the computers tell you. I act based on people. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying you’re not describing the person I know.”

  “Do you have a problem with this assignment? Do I need to get someone else?”

  The Treadstone agent shook his head. “No. Don’t worry about me. I’m quite clear on the assignment. Bourne and the girl are dead.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  MILES Priest and Nelly Lessard sat on the outdoor terrace of Gabriel Fox’s fifteen-million-dollar estate high in the desert hills of Henderson, Nevada. The founder of Prescix had designed the home himself. It was bone-white, boxy and geometric, with a sweeping view across the Las Vegas valley. From where they were, they could see the lineup of casinos on the Strip, from Mandalay Bay in the south to the Stratosphere in the north. All of the glass towers glinted in the sunshine. On the other side of the valley, barren hills rose over the city, and snow capped the peak of Mount Charleston.

  The décor of the estate reflected Gabriel’s quirky personality, in addition to his money. Half a dozen bighorn sheep wandered in the private acreage of the mountain above them, and the animals had free run of the house. The multilevel swimming pool featured fountains and a wave machine so Gabriel could surf at will. There was a black-light bowling alley. One room had been finished to look like a Polynesian coastline, including genuine statues imported from Easter Island and walls that were actually 4K screens live-streaming footage from the Pacific. Another room re-created a 1950s Hollywood party, featuring wax figures of actors like Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, Kirk Douglas, and others, built for Gabriel by Madame Tussauds.

  On the table in front of Miles and Nelly, an air-conditioned conveyor belt brought a steady stream of cocktails and eclectic appetizers from Gabriel’s four-star kitchen. Morimoto sushi. Hong Kong dim sum. Texas brisket. Minnesota lutefisk. Rum shots, craft beer, and glasses of five-hundred-dollar wines.

  Priest hated the over-the-top ego on display. To him, it was a monument to excess. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt as the ninety-degree heat beat down on them. He hated heat, too. He preferred the cold days and nights of his castle in Scotland. Nelly, on the other hand, thrived on it. She’d grown up in Phoenix, and she took in the view without even breaking into a sweat. She also seemed to have no problem with the lavish surroundings. Priest ate and drank nothing, but Nelly calmly sampled the drinks and hors d’oeuvres passing on the belt in front of them.

  “Do you want me to do the talking, Miles?” Nelly asked, noting the discomfort on his face. “You don’t do too well around Gabriel. He pushes your buttons.”

  “The man is insane,” Priest replied.

  “Maybe so, but he’s also a genius, and he has what we want. Namely, Prescix. So you have to indulge him.”

  “Yes, because he has so little indulgence in his life,” Priest replied sourly.

  “You know what I mean.”

  The two of them looked up as Gabriel Fox made his entrance onto the terrace. He was dressed in the uniform of a World War I infantryman, including a helmet on his head and a rifle and bayonet in his arms. The brown fabric of the uniform was torn and soiled with mud and bloodstains.

  He sat down across from them and smiled pleasantly, with no indication that his attire was unusual. “Miles, Nelly, always a treat to see you.”

  “Hello, Gabriel,” Priest replied. “Are you doing some kind of reenactment?”

  Gabriel’s face creased with genuine puzzlement. “Reenactment? Reenactment of what?”

  “It’s nothing,” Nelly interjected, shooting a glance at Priest. “We were very sorry to hear about Kevin Drake.”

  The CEO of Prescix shrugged. He flipped open one of the compartments on the conveyor belt and removed a plate stacked with crispy-fried black bites. It took Priest a moment to realize that the food on the plate was actually a mound of crickets. He had to look away and cover his mouth as Gabriel popped two between his teeth and ate them with a loud crunch.

  “Oh, that. Well, we all have to go sometime.”

  Gabriel took off his helmet and rubbed some of the sweat on his bald head. He was only in his mid-thirties, but stocky, with a round, sunburned face and a bushy brown mustache. Five years earlier, he’d literally been living on the Las Vegas streets and writing his software in the public library, and now he was a billionaire eating bugs in a Big Tech version of Wonderland. Priest shook his head.

  “You don’t sound very upset about his murder, Gabriel. Kevin was your partner. He took Prescix public. He made all this possible.”

  Gabriel flicked his hands as if he were typing on a keyboard. “These are what made Prescix possible. These fingers. Kevin was an accountant. A number cruncher. The only thing he knew about software was what I taught him. And he was trying to steal the company away from me and hand it over to you, Miles. Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “It’s business,” Priest replied.

  “My business.”

  “So did you have him killed?” Priest asked.

  The Prescix founder stamped the barrel of his rifle on the ground with a loud crack. “I’m not the one who goes around shooting members of Congress, Miles.”

  Priest opened his mouth to fire back, then scowled and didn’t answer.

  “We’re getting off track here,” Nelly interjected. “As Miles says, this is about business, Gabriel. It’s true that Carillon has wanted to acquire Prescix for some time, and you’re right that Kevin was sympathetic to our interests.”

  “He was sympathetic because you bought him off.”

  “Regardless of his motives, you can’t deny there’s synergy between our companies. Prescix has amazing potential, and with Carillon behind it, the reach of your software would be almost limitless. We want you on board. We want to finalize a contract, and you would find the terms extremely favorable. This doesn’t have to be a hostile takeover. It can be a deal built around our mutual goals. The fact is, you’re already part of Big Tech, whether you like it or not. If Congress starts regulating us, they’re not going to leave you out of the mix. We all need
to speak with one voice.”

  “I speak with my own voice,” Gabriel snapped. “I designed and built Prescix. I run Prescix. Your little cabal is not going to get your hands on it.”

  “We’re happy to negotiate an independent management agreement as part of the acquisition,” Nelly said. “You’d still be calling the shots.”

  “Pass,” Gabriel replied, popping more crickets into his mouth.

  “Would you rather see the company in Medusa’s hands?” Priest asked. “Because that’s the alternative. They’re already infiltrating and using your code. They’re manipulating your vision, Gabriel. Is that what you want? Imagine what they can do if they’re able to take over the company itself.”

  Gabriel chuckled. “Medusa, Medusa, Medusa. It’s an obsession with you, Miles. Are you sure it’s not just a myth?”

  “Tell that to Congresswoman Ortiz,” Priest replied. “Medusa ordered her assassination, not us.”

  “That’s not what I’m hearing from Washington.”

  “Don’t believe them. Medusa is inside the Beltway and the intelligence agencies. Their power is growing.”

  “Or maybe you just need a bogeyman, Miles,” Gabriel retorted. “Give the people some new threat to be afraid of, so they don’t notice that the real threat is you.”

  “Do you think Kevin’s murder was just coincidental timing?” Priest replied. “He was killed by Medusa to stop our takeover so they can move on the company themselves. Right now, they need you, but once they’re successful in acquiring Prescix, you’ll be gone so they can put their own man at the top. And by gone I mean they’ll find you at the bottom of your wave pool.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Prescix has always been independent, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. I’ve already taken steps to assure that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m in final negotiations with an equity group to take us private again. No more hostile takeover attempts, Miles. Prescix will be its own master.”

  “What private fund has that kind of leverage?”

  “They’re quiet, but their resources are vast. Face it, Miles, you’re too late. You’ve been outbid and outmaneuvered.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Gabriel,” Nelly told him gently.

  “She’s right,” Priest added. “Whatever group you’re talking about, Medusa must be somewhere in the background. You’re giving them exactly what they want.”

  “What I want is to keep my company and my software away from you,” Gabriel replied with a smile. He placed his World War I helmet back on his bald head, and he stood up with his rifle across his chest. “Now, don’t worry, Miles. This isn’t personal. As Nelly says, this is just business. The two of you can feel free to stay here as long as you want. Enjoy the amenities of the estate. Me, I have to get back to planning a party.”

  “A party?” Nelly asked.

  “Yes indeed. I’m getting married in a couple of days. Stick around for the celebration, if you’d like.”

  “Married?” Priest grunted. “You?”

  “That’s right. My fiancée works for the equity group that is partnering with me to take Prescix private. She leads their security services. We met shortly after I started negotiations with the group a few months ago.”

  “Who is she?” Nelly asked.

  Gabriel threw another cricket in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Her background is rather mysterious, but that simply adds to her charm. She’s Czech. What is it about Czech women that they all screw like porn stars? Not to be crude, but she’s the most voracious sexual partner I’ve ever experienced, and that’s saying a lot.”

  “What’s her name?” Priest asked him.

  “Oh, her last name is unpronounceable,” Gabriel told them. “So I just call her Miss Shirley.”

  *

  “YOU’RE certain about the location?” Miss Shirley asked, perching on a twelve-inch ledge atop a Gramercy Park apartment building, nineteen stories above the street. Her gaze focused on the tower of the safe house rising over the trees on the other side of the park.

  “It’s the fourteenth floor,” Peter Restak replied, his voice cracking with a nervous flutter as he watched her on the narrow strip of concrete. “Southeast corner. We confirmed it with our sources in the UK … Miss Shirley.”

  “Excellent.”

  The gales through the New York canyons swirled unpredictably, but Miss Shirley remained in perfect balance on the ledge. She bent one knee and pointed her other leg, then spread her arms flat as she knelt into a Warrior II yoga pose on the rooftop. She held that pose for nearly a minute. When she was done, she stood up straight and extended her arms over her head with her palms flat together.

  “I sent you the video we hacked from the safe house feed,” Restak added. “Just so you know, we believe Treadstone has it as well … Miss Shirley.”

  “If we had faith in Treadstone taking action, then I wouldn’t be here,” she replied.

  Miss Shirley brought her arms down in front of her breasts and then slowly lifted her left foot and braced it against the inside of her right thigh. She stood one-legged in the Tree Pose, her tall, lean swimmer’s frame swaying gently like a gyroscope. On the surface of the roof below her, she heard a gasp of discomfort from Peter Restak.

  “Does this bother you?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t look very safe … Miss Shirley.”

  “There’s no such thing as safe or unsafe. There’s only experienced and inexperienced, ability and inability. Come up here. Join me.”

  “I’d rather not … Miss Shirley.”

  Her dark eyebrows slanted at a fierce downward angle, and her blue eyes zeroed in on him like a predator. “Did that sound like a request, Restak?”

  “No … Miss Shirley.”

  She saw the hacker wiping sweat from his hands. Almost hyperventilating with fear, Restak put both hands on the ledge and pulled himself up, his entirely body trembling. He squatted on the edge of the roof, shivering in the fierce wind. By instinct, he kept looking down. The wind made the entire building seem to move back and forth around them.

  “Stand up.”

  “I don’t think I can … Miss Shirley.”

  “Stand up. I won’t let you fall, Restak.”

  She watched him unbend his knees, which were tense and locked. His fingers turned white as they pressed against the ledge. She could smell his fear, sense his mind spinning. He rose only a few inches before he screamed and pitched forward, but Miss Shirley locked a hand around his forearm and held him in place. He dangled, half on the roof, half off, moaning. Slowly, she dragged him onto the ledge and lifted him until he was vertical, standing beside her on wobbling knees. Tears of terror streamed down his face. His eyes were closed.

  “Well done, Restak,” she told him. “Now open your eyes.”

  “I can’t … Miss Shirley.”

  “Open your eyes!”

  Restak’s eyes shot open, staring straight ahead.

  “Good. You may get down now.”

  She held his wrist and guided him off the ledge. When he got back to the roof, he collapsed and threw up. Miss Shirley did a final pirouette and then gracefully jumped down. She put the toe of her shoe on his forehead as Restak lay on the ground.

  “We must have absolute trust in one another.”

  “Yes … Miss Shirley.”

  “You did excellent work in eliminating Gattor. The Prescix incident worked precisely as I wished.”

  “Thank you … Miss Shirley.”

  “But your work in New York is over. Cain is aware of your identity. You need to return to headquarters to be reassigned.”

  Restak wiped his mouth and looked up at her with another wave of fear. Miss Shirley gave him a smile of reassurance.

  “If your usefulness to me was at an end, you’d be on the street right now, Restak. Consider this a promotion. Now let’s go back inside, shall we?”

  She held the man up, because he wasn’t able to walk, and they crossed the roof
top patio to the door that led into the building’s penthouse suite. They took glass stairs down one level to the apartment’s lavish living area overlooking the park. The sixty-two-year-old apartment owner lay where she’d fallen on the carpet, her throat cut. Miss Shirley knelt and recovered the knife from beside the body, then wiped it on the woman’s blouse and secured it in her pocket again. She took the elongated case for her sniper’s rifle from the floor and put it on top of the walnut dining room table. Unlocking the lid, she opened it and caressed the full length of the slim, hard barrel with her fingertips.

  Her head turned, gazing through the apartment windows at the tower beyond the park. She calculated the location of the corner room on the fourteenth floor, which was in clear sight. In the background, hundreds of high-rises dotted the skyline.

  “I love New York,” she said.

  Restak said nothing. A foul odor emanated from his clothes.

  “Go take a shower and clean yourself up, Restak. Then we’ll have sex, and you can take care of your apartment.”

  “All right … Miss Shirley.”

  “Sex is what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Yes … Miss Shirley.”

  “Take a pill from my purse. I suspect you’ll need it.”

  Restak slunk away from her. She watched him dig inside her purse and swallow one of the tablets from an unlabeled plastic bottle, and then he shrugged off his soiled clothes and disappeared into the apartment’s palatial bathroom, with its walk-in shower and marble bench. She heard the noise of the water, and she felt a tingling anticipation of all the things that lay ahead. The vigorous sex. The gun, long and sleek in her hands. The shooting and the eruption of blood.

  It had been that way with Sofia Ortiz, too.

  She took her phone from her pocket and played the video that Restak had sent her. She saw the two people in the elevator inside the UK safe house. They kissed, slowly and then quite passionately, like two people who were very attracted to each other. She found it surprising for a man like Cain to be entranced by someone whose beauty was so ordinary.