The man grunted. “Seriously? And all this time, I figured if Treadstone ever found me, they’d kill me. Or if they didn’t, then the commies would.”
Teeling pulled the gun from Bourne’s head and gestured toward a white leather sofa that stretched below the boat’s slanted windows. The floors and cabinets in the interior were all varnished oak. Bourne sat down, and Teeling went over to the boat’s mirrored wet bar and grabbed a bottle of his namesake whiskey. He held up a glass. “You want a shot?”
“No, thanks.”
The agent poured one for himself, then sat down at a safe distance. He was well into his seventies, but Bourne wasn’t about to underestimate the threat posed by any Treadstone man, and Teeling had been one of the best. They’d only overlapped by a year before Teeling left the agency, but the stories of the man’s operations in Russia in the post-Gorbachev era were legendary.
Teeling was around five feet ten, and he’d maintained a strong build. He wore no shirt, exposing a deep tan interrupted by multiple scars. His turquoise swimsuit came down to his bony knees. He had long gray hair that hung to his shoulders, but his bushy mustache and eyebrows were still mostly black. He had a wrinkled face, with dark eyes that were sharp and bright. He kept his gun loosely in his fingers, pointed at the floor.
“You’re a hot commodity these days, Cain,” Teeling told him.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’ve been reading about you in the news.”
“Don’t believe everything you read. I didn’t shoot the congresswoman.”
“Well, I assumed the stories were bullshit, but I was wondering what was up. The fact that you’re here makes me think you’d rather I didn’t pick up the phone and call any of our old colleagues.”
“You’re right.”
“Okay. So what do you want from me? No offense, Bourne, but I’m out, and I like being out. I’ve got money in the bank, a few good spots on the water for yellowtail and snapper, and a couple of local girls who think gray hair is sexy. I’d rather not mess any of that up.”
The man made it sound as if he’d left the intelligence world completely behind, but Bourne doubted that was true. Out was never really out at Treadstone. You could leave the life, but it never left you. If only for his personal protection, Teeling was bound to keep a close eye on who was coming and going in Nassau. Bourne was counting on that.
“A private jet probably arrived at Pindling this morning from Nevada,” he said. “The jet’s owner is Gabriel Fox, CEO of the Prescix Corporation. Did you happen to hear anything about that?”
Teeling grinned. “Any chance Mr. Fox was accompanied by a woman who looks like a major-league ballbuster?”
“A very good chance.”
“Well, in fact, word of such an arrival did cross my phone.”
“Where did they go?” Bourne asked.
“They headed for the billionaires’ marina on the south side of the island. Just them, nine serious dudes, and some crates of thousand-dollar champagne.”
“It’s not bubbly inside those crates. It’s guns.”
Teeling shrugged. “Well, this is the Caribbean, Bourne. The curtains don’t usually match the carpet.”
“Are they still in the marina?”
“No, they boarded one of the mega-yachts moored over there and headed out about two hours ago.”
“Going where?”
“That I don’t know. There’s a lot of water around here and a whole lot of private islands where boats can dock without people keeping an eye on you. You could charter a plane and hope you get lucky, but you don’t have much daylight left. So unless you’ve got a satellite to do a flyover, you’re not going to find them.”
“I don’t think they’re on their own,” Bourne said. “They’re going to a meeting with other leaders in the tech world. So I suspect there have been other departures from the same marina in the last day or so. Helicopters, too. That sound familiar?”
“It does. Happens a few times a year, actually. This one seems off schedule, though.”
“Do you know where they go?”
“You must think my curiosity is endless, Bourne,” Teeling said. “Why would I care where a bunch of CEOs go to have deviant sex and plot world takeovers?”
“In other words, you do know.”
Teeling got up and poured himself another shot of whiskey. “They pay a lot to shut up the servants and the girls, but rumors go around anyway. It’s a beautiful little rock between here and Freeport. I tried to track the ownership, but it’s buried under a dozen or so shell companies.”
“I think the island is owned by Miles Priest.”
Teeling whistled. “Ah, Miles. I should have guessed. He keeps his fingers in every pie, doesn’t he? We clashed several times when he was running the FBI.”
“Have you ever been out to the island?”
“I sailed close enough to get them nervous once. They’ve got a pier for the yachts and a helipad, too. There’s a big estate up on the hill, but it’s mostly hidden in the trees, so you can’t catch more than a glimpse from the water. I was close enough to attract some armed security to the beach. Miles values his privacy.”
“I need to get out there,” Bourne said.
“In other words, you want me to take you?” Teeling asked.
“That’s right.”
“You got cash? I don’t do things like this for old times’ sake.”
“I’ve got cash.”
Teeling rubbed his chin as he sipped his whiskey. “I assume you don’t intend to sail right up to the marina and say hello.”
“No.”
“Well, I can take you around the other side of the island. There’s nothing but rocks back there, but I can only get so close.”
“That’s okay.”
“Odds are, security will see you coming.”
“I’ll take that chance,” Bourne said.
“What exactly do you think is going on out there?” Teeling asked.
Bourne debated how much to say. “Is an organization called Medusa on your radar?”
“I’ve heard the name, but not much more than that.”
“From Treadstone?”
“Actually, no,” Teeling told him. “An old Russian comrade retired down here like me. Very much on the QT. We get drunk on Baikal vodka every now and then. He let the name slip last year like it was a hush-hush operation out of Moscow. Made it sound like it was the next stage after their election interference. But even scarier.”
“The Russians and Medusa? That’s interesting. Did you tell anyone?”
Teeling shrugged. “Why would I? I’m out of the game. What do you think Medusa is planning on the island?”
“I think they’re going to open those crates of champagne,” Bourne said.
“A party, huh?”
“Sort of.”
Teeling’s mustache wrinkled. He capped the bottle of whiskey and grabbed a white captain’s hat from behind the bar. He shoved it low on his forehead over his long gray hair. The patch on the front of the hat read: Cut Bait.
“Guess we better haul ass and get you out there,” Teeling said.
*
BY the time Bourne saw the lush green island rising out of the water ahead of them, it was nearly sunset. The small piece of rock was shaped like a question mark, surrounded by miles of empty ocean. Through the binoculars, he saw a strip of white sand and dense foliage covering the shallow hillside. The roof and upper floor of a large estate barely cleared the tree line. A sleek yacht was docked at the pier that stretched from the beach into the deeper water.
Bourne handed the binoculars to Teeling. “Is that the boat?”
“That’s the one. Looks like they’ve unloaded some of those crates you were talking about. I don’t think we want to stay out here in plain sight for very long.”
“All right, let’s head around to the far side. Move in as close as you can, but don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“Not my first rodeo, Bourne,” Teeling rep
lied with a wink as he revved the boat’s engine. The wind made his long gray hair fly. “Seems like you’re going up against an army. You want some backup in there?”
“I don’t want to mess up your retirement, Teeling.”
“Well, I appreciate that, although to be honest, there are days when I do miss the game. Tell you what, I’ll find a quiet spot on the horizon to drop a line. You need a round-trip ticket, you let me know, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Teeling navigated the catamaran westward until the beach disappeared from view, and then he steered closer, making the small island loom larger in front of them. The water got choppier, and the boat rose and fell like a bucking bronco with the waves. On this side, the island looked like a lonely patch of wilderness looming out of the ocean. Bourne saw trees crowded together and whitecaps breaking on the rocks at the shore. No one was visible.
As the catamaran neared to within a hundred yards of the island, Bourne slipped off the boat into the cool ocean water. He’d changed into a black neoprene wet suit, and he had his gun, knife, and shoes secured inside a waterproof pouch in the zippered jacket. He waited as the boat passed him and veered toward the open sea, and then he swam for the island with measured strokes. The late-evening shadows and cresting waves kept him out of sight. He reached the rocky beach within a few minutes, but he lingered off the coast before emerging from the water, in case a welcoming party was prepared to meet him.
However, the isolated beach seemed quiet. Too quiet.
He was sure that Miles Priest would maintain surveillance on any craft drawing near to the island, particularly if a meeting of the tech cabal was underway. He would have expected the catamaran to draw guards to the beach, even if the craft made no attempt to land. Instead, there was no one. He was alone.
Bourne shouldered his way out of the water. He retrieved his gun from inside the jacket and felt better with it in his hand. He looked up and down the thin, ragged coastline, which ended in a green wall of Caribbean pines, mahogany, and palm trees. Surf slapped on the shore, and a light, humid breeze blew across his wet skin. Birds chattered loudly over his head, as if agitated.
Something felt wrong.
Not far away, he saw a break in the trees that marked a trail leading inland. He spotted a flash of color near the path, and when he looked more closely, he recognized red stripes on the tough rubber frame of a Zodiac that had been dragged from the water and hidden inside the brush. He wasn’t the first visitor on the island. Bourne kept low as he jogged for the trees where the boat had been stowed. He thought about disabling it with his knife, but he decided to leave it intact, in case he needed to use the craft for his own escape.
He continued deeper into the trees, but he hadn’t gone twenty feet before he spotted a body sprawled across the sandy path.
He stopped, listening for other movement. He spun, slowly, with his gun arm outstretched. When he was convinced he was alone, he approached the body and saw a muscular black man in the beige uniform of a security guard. The man’s gun holster was empty, and his throat had been cut in a deep red slash. Bourne checked for a pulse and found none, but the body was still warm. The assault had been recent.
Medusa was already making its way into the heart of the tech cabal.
Still crouched by the body, Bourne looked up sharply as he heard the crack of gunfire from the eastern side of the island.
He got to his feet and ran through the jungle.
THIRTY-NINE
MISS Shirley perched on the white-sand beach with her hands on her hips. Gabriel Fox stood next to her, in a red Chinese silk robe decorated with a fierce dragon. From behind her sunglasses, she watched the posse of the tech cabal arrive to greet them. Five of the group’s CEOs piled out of a Jeep, and two others exited a second Jeep, along with two security guards in uniform. Seeing the guards, Miss Shirley casually tapped two fingers on her hip in a wordless signal to the Medusa operatives standing next to the artillery crates stacked on the pier. She saw the leader of the team acknowledge the signal with the barest of nods, and her men began using crowbars to loosen the lids.
She’d long ago memorized the names, biographies, and corporate histories of the CEOs who met on the island. Tyler Wall led the group, his hair and beard nearly to his waist. He was dressed as he always was, in a flowing gown with a staff that made him look like Moses returning from the mountain. Hon Xiu-Le, the diminutive social messaging wizard from Shanghai, walked beside him, dressed in black despite the warm day. The two appeared to be the appointed spokespeople for the cabal, with the other five executives hanging back beside the security guards. Four were men; one was a woman. They were all Americans.
Miles Priest wasn’t among the welcoming party, which likely meant that the Carillon CEO hadn’t yet arrived on the island. That was a setback, but she couldn’t let it delay their plans.
“Gabriel!” Tyler Wall announced in a booming voice, striding up to them and extending his hand. “How are you, man? Good to see you. Welcome to the island. You’ll love it here. I may not always see eye to eye with Miles about things, but he and Nelly don’t skimp when it comes to entertaining.”
Gabriel stepped forward to let his fingers get wrapped up in Wall’s burly hand. “Tyler, how goes the world of microrobotics? I heard a doctor at Mayo took one of your latest critters on a test-drive through somebody’s innards. No more cameras up your ass, just swallow a robot and let it cruise through your colon.”
“Good to see you keep up on my work, Gabe,” Wall replied.
“Oh, trust me, I keep up on everybody’s work.”
“Well, that’s what partnership is all about, buddy. Hey, have you met Hon Xiu-Le?”
“I haven’t, but I’m looking forward to it.”
Xiu-Le stepped forward and made a slight bow. Miss Shirley noticed the jaundiced look the Shanghai entrepreneur gave Gabriel’s robe, which was tied loosely with a sash over his ample waist and only dropped to his mid-thighs. “Mr. Fox, we are honored by your presence at long last. I hope this is the beginning of a close and trusting relationship among our various companies.”
Gabriel winked. “Your messaging data, Hon, and my behavioral algorithms. Now, that’s a marriage made in heaven. Oh, and speaking of marriage, I need to introduce you folks to my wife and business partner. Me, I’m just the eye candy around here. She’s the one with the brains and the balls. Gents, this is Miss Shirley.”
Miss Shirley gave the two CEOs a frigid smile and offered up one hand to be kissed. Their eyes traveled over her body, which was barely contained by a Brazilian bikini tied with the skimpiest of white strings. Wall didn’t hide his hunger as he looked at her. Hon Xiu-Le was more discreet, but he made a deep bow, with his face close enough that he could have licked her breasts like an ice cream cone.
“I’ve heard stories about you, Shirley, but they don’t do you justice,” Wall told her, shaking his head in awe.
“It’s Miss Shirley,” she instructed him.
“Well, isn’t it really Mrs. Shirley, now that you two have tied the knot?” the CEO replied with a chuckle.
“No,” she said in a tone that broached no argument.
Wall laughed again, but he looked uncomfortable when he realized that she wasn’t joking.
“You’re going to want to remember what she says about that, Tyler,” Gabriel warned him. “Miss Shirley is particular about how you address her. That’s not a mistake you want to make more than once. When I did it, I felt those nails of hers in places you do not want to feel nails, believe me.”
“Okay, that’s good to know, Miss Shirley,” Wall said. “I have to tell you, all of us here are curious about the people you work for. A private equity group with the resources to make a play for Prescix? Impressive. But you know, the members of our little cabal don’t lose very graciously. I think we’d all like to find a way to bring Prescix into our fold. Who knows, maybe we can lure you away from your current employers and get you on our side.”
“Unlikely.”
“Well, wait until you hear our offer before you say that,” Wall replied with a wink.
“Where is Nelly Lessard?” Miss Shirley demanded, cutting him off. “Isn’t she the one coordinating this meeting? I assumed she would be here in person for our arrival.”
Wall gestured into the trees from where the Jeeps had emerged. “Oh, Nelly’s up at the estate with the others. She’s getting everything set up for us. If you know Nelly, you know every detail has to be perfect.”
“And Miles Priest?” Miss Shirley asked.
“Inbound. Weather delayed him and DeRay out of Glasgow, so they didn’t get to Pindling until an hour ago. He and Scott should be arriving at the helipad in a few minutes.”
“Everyone else is here? All of the other CEOs?”
“Oh, yeah. Nelly wouldn’t take no for an answer about attending this meeting. Everyone canceled plans to be here. That’s how important this is, Gabriel. We figured we’d have a little cocktail get-together before we get down to business. We have some serious things to discuss, but serious things usually go better when they’re washed down with a little coconut rum. Of course, I see that you’ve brought along some of the best bubbly, too. We’ll definitely want to open some of those bottles tonight.”
“What about security?” Miss Shirley asked, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “What measures have you taken?”
Wall shrugged. “Don’t worry about that, Shirley. The island is secure.”
“Miss Shirley. How many men, and what weapons do they have?”
Hon Xiu-Le knitted his brow with suspicion and crossed his arms over his skinny chest. “I’m sorry, but why do you wish to know that?”
“I’m responsible for Gabriel’s safety,” Miss Shirley replied. “If I’m not satisfied with the security arrangements, we’re leaving.”
She snapped her fingers at the two guards who had accompanied the CEOs in the second Jeep. “You two. Over here. Now.”
The guards exchanged glances and then approached the group across the sand. The taller one, who had dark close-cropped hair, seemed to think he was James Bond and gave Miss Shirley a condescending look as he sized up her body in the bikini. The shorter one, who was heavyset and Hispanic, was more cautious and had his hand close to the butt of his gun. He was obviously the smarter of the two.
Robert Ludlum's™ The Bourne Evolution (Jason Bourne Book 12) Page 29