The Bourne Treachery

by Brian Freeman

  “Do I?”

  “More like yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  They know both knew he was lying. She’d showered and changed, her hair shampooed and loose around her shoulders. The only physical evidence of what she’d been through were the abrasions on her skin. But that was the outside. Inside was something else altogether.

  “Do you want to tell me more about what Lennon did to you?” Jason asked.

  “No.”

  “You can let me help you, you know. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

  “I don’t need help. It’s over. I survived.”

  “You said he tried to turn you.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Her head swiveled, and her green eyes bored into him. “He wanted me to be Yoko. His partner. His lover.”

  “Sounds like quite the career opportunity,” Bourne joked.

  Her face remained serious, not smiling or relaxing. She fingered the Greek coin in her pendant like a talisman. “You haven’t asked me the question, you know. You should have asked me, but you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t need to ask.”

  “That’s foolish. You’re not naïve. What did you tell Holly and Dixon?”

  “That you were strong. That you were fine.”

  “In other words, you lied to protect me. You gave me a free pass, which I don’t deserve. Go ahead. I want to hear you say it.”

  He knew what she meant. “Did he turn you?”

  “You mean, am I Yoko now?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “See? That’s why I didn’t need to hear you say it. I know you.”

  Nova let go of the pendant. “Except that’s not the whole story. I told you, he’s not done with me yet. I just don’t know what comes next.”

  “He has no power over you now.”

  “You’re right, he doesn’t.” But she didn’t look convinced.

  “Where is he?” Bourne asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “You were with him. You saw him up close. You talked to him. As much as he was trying to turn you, I’m sure you were trying to turn him. Manipulate him and get him to give up his plans.”

  She shrugged. “He wants Kotov. That’s obvious. He’ll make a strike against him sooner or later.”

  “Did he say how? Or where?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he knows where Kotov is?”

  “I’m sure he knows whatever Clark knew. He must figure we’re going to California. That we’re taking Tati to her father. But if he knew specifically where Kotov was, I imagine Kotov would already be dead.”

  “So he could be waiting for us,” Bourne said.

  “Yes. He’s out there.”

  Jason felt a professional distance from her, as if she was nothing more than an agent making a report. The psychological torture from Lennon—whatever he’d really done to her—had caused her to hide what she felt. She was more like the woman she’d been when they first met. Back then, she’d been brutal, ruthless, tough, using the horrors of her childhood like a sword of punishment. It had taken months before he’d seen a hint of her vulnerable side. And now that side of her was buried all over again.

  She was protecting herself. From what?

  “I should go,” he said.

  “I know. Go.”

  He got up and went back to his seat.

  The rest of the flight passed slowly, crossing over Greenland and Hudson Bay, then continuing west across Canada. As they neared the U.S. border, the sun crept over the horizon and lit up the jet’s interior. They landed in Sacramento around eight in the morning. Dixon kept them in a secure area of the airport, while they waited for the helicopter to be prepped to take them on the final leg of the journey.

  Bourne felt a shadow closing in on them as they got closer to their destination. Somewhere, Lennon was making plans. He knew they were coming. When they reached the airport near Eureka, that shadow felt even darker. So did the California sky. A late-season drizzle spattered on the windows as they walked together through the terminal. Bourne kept an arm around Tati’s waist and one hand around the gun nestled in his pocket. Nova walked on the other side of Tati, her green eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Dixon walked behind them. Holly and Sugar led the way.

  He looked for a threat in every face.

  They descended carpeted stairs to the airport lobby. There were other passengers gathered to check in for flights and collect bags. Bourne looked for a discreet glance in their direction, a radio in someone’s ear, the bulge of a weapon. Every suitcase, every backpack, potentially carried a bomb. He had a sixth sense for things that were wrong—an intuition that usually ran far ahead of his physical senses. That part of his brain said: Lennon is here!

  But he wasn’t.

  They emerged through the terminal doors. A cool wind blew toward them and it drizzled, making the pavement damp. This was a small-town airport, located on a lonely road across from empty fields. They were close enough to the Pacific that he could see the blue line of the ocean on the horizon. Sugar led them across the terminal road to the parking lot, which was sparsely populated with cars.

  Bourne’s gaze went methodically from vehicle to vehicle. They were all empty. The only vehicle that had anyone in it was a food truck staffed by a bored old man.

  “Where are the marshals?” he asked Dixon.

  The CIA agent had a phone plastered to his ear. “Five minutes out.”

  Five minutes. Five long minutes.

  This was the moment of greatest risk; this was the time when they were least protected. Lennon would know that; he would already have scoped out the area. If an assault was coming, it would be now. He held Tati close, and she made no objection. His head moved constantly, and his brain screamed to him that they were in danger.

  See with your mind, not just your eyes. Treadstone.

  “Anything?” Dixon murmured.

  “No.”

  Where was the threat?

  It was here. It was real! Why couldn’t he see it?

  Then Bourne noticed Nova’s face, which filled him with alarm. Her mellow tan skin had paled, as if all the blood had drained away. Her lip trembled. She’d taken off her sunglasses, and her eyes burned across the parking lot and came to rest on the brightly painted food truck.

  “What is it?” he asked her.

  She looked back with startled surprise, as if she’d forgotten he was there at all. Then she stumbled over her words. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I need a sugar rush.”

  He watched her march across the parking lot. She moved like a laser beam, her head not turning at all. Her boots clicked sharply on the pavement. The rain made her black hair glisten. Nova went up to the open window of the food truck, and the old man behind the counter bent over to talk to her.

  Was it him?

  Was Lennon right there in front of them?

  Bourne tried to penetrate the old man’s disguise. If it was a disguise. The shape of his features didn’t match the man in the field in Whitby, but that could be makeup. His walk! The old man walked to the back of the food truck, then returned with a white takeaway bag in his hands. Was that Lennon’s walk?

  No.

  Jason shrugged off his paranoia. This was just an old man selling pastries. He wasn’t Lennon, and Nova wasn’t Yoko. The man at the food truck put a scone in the white bag, and Nova returned, pinching a piece of scone between her thumb and forefinger. She offered him some, but he shook his head.

  “This is good,” she said as she ate it.

  Her casual face hid nothing. No secrets. No fear. Their eyes met, and he saw only the calm, sultry expression he knew well.

  So why did he still feel that something was wrong?

  Bourne
studied the road leading to the terminal. Two vehicles approached at high speed; the black SUVs of the marshals were arriving to take them to Grigori Kotov. It was time. It was now or never, and still there was no sign of Lennon.

  And yet the danger felt closer than ever.

  “What was that about?” he asked Nova, nodding at the food truck.

  “That was about me being hungry.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s all. Looks like it’s go time.”

  Despite being hungry, Nova didn’t finish her scone. She stuffed it back in the bag and then threw the bag away as the two SUVs pulled to a stop. The marshals got out and waved them over. The rain kept falling. Jason took Tati to the first car and put her inside. As he did, he took a last look at the food truck on the other side of the parking lot.

  The old man wiped down the damp counter without glancing up to pay any further attention to Nova or anyone else. There was nothing unusual about him. Or about the food truck itself. Bourne could have seen the same vehicle parked on any city street. There were two side-by-side windows propped open, a long glass display case showing off muffins, pies, and tarts, and a kitschy décor, painted fire-engine red, with cartoon fruit dancing like the Rockettes and holding signs that spelled out the bakery name.

  strawberry fields.

  37

  The hood over his head left Bourne blind, but he counted out the turns as the marshals drove them toward their rendezvous with Grigori Kotov. Left turn for thirty-five seconds, left again for ten seconds, right for three minutes, left for ninety seconds, and so on. The diversions continued for a long time before they settled into their route. He could feel the car changing speeds at different intervals. It was a ruse to disorient them, but he and Nova had both been trained on Treadstone kidnapping scenarios, and one of the lessons they’d rehearsed many times was how to memorize the course of a vehicle even when you were locked in a trunk.

  By the time they stopped almost an hour later, Bourne was pretty sure he knew their location within a mile.

  The driver, Deputy U.S. Marshal Craig Wallins, removed the bulky hoods. They were parked at a high barbed-wire fence and double guard gate. Outside the truck, Bourne assessed the surroundings. They’d arrived on a bumpy, winding dirt road, and now they were immersed in dense forest, dotted with arrow-straight redwood trees rising over their heads. Bright green ferns made a carpet on the ground, and mist turned the woods gray. He heard the thunder of the Pacific within a few hundred yards of their location. There wasn’t another house or vehicle to be seen anywhere nearby.

  “How do you know we weren’t followed?” Bourne asked Wallins.

  The marshal answered smoothly, accustomed to interrogations about security. “We screen the vehicles for GPS trackers at both ends. We’re aware of satellite flyover times and schedule our trips accordingly. We also have two deputies who station themselves along the route to confirm no physical surveillance behind us. Since we learned of Mr. Cafferty’s death, we’ve increased patrols throughout the area. Cafferty didn’t know the location of the compound, but we prefer not to take any chances.”

  Bourne nodded. “The fence?”

  “This is the only access point to the compound. We have night vision cameras positioned around the perimeter. Motion sensors trigger here and inside the house. A raccoon can’t get close to this place without our knowing about it. We’re pretty experienced at this sort of thing.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  He thought: But so is Lennon.

  Inside the guardhouse, Bourne submitted to a thorough search. He’d already given up his weapons and phone, which were locked inside the SUV. A female agent arrived to do searches of Tati and Nova, and while those were underway, Bourne returned outside. Nash Rollins was at the open gate to greet him. The Treadstone man leaned on his cane, looking like a California naturalist in his khakis and forest-green jacket. Rain spat on his navy blue wool cap. He nodded at Bourne.

  “Any problems?” he asked.

  “All clear so far.”

  “So why do you look worried, Jason?”

  “In Tallinn, I felt like I was missing something,” Bourne replied, casting another wary eye at the remote area. “I feel the same way now.”

  “Well, I’ve been here for several days. I feel pretty secure inside the gate.” Nash paused and then added, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Nova, by the way. You’d both moved on by the time we were done with the Medusa operation. It didn’t seem right to stir up that part of your life.”

  “Let’s not talk about Nova,” Jason said.

  “Fair enough.”

  “But there’s something else I need to know.”

  “What is it?”

  Bourne made sure no one else was in earshot. “Is it possible that Lennon is a part of my past? The old past. The one I lost. Could I have known him back then?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Well, he seems to know me.”

  “You’re Cain. Everyone in the intelligence community knows your story. It wouldn’t be hard to fake being part of your past, Jason, given that you can’t remember it yourself. Believe me, I know every detail of the mission where you lost your memory. We’ve gone over it many times. Lennon wasn’t there.”

  “Not that mission. Earlier. Something else, some other time.”

  Nash shook his head. “Your past is your weakness. It’s where you’re vulnerable. He’s simply exploiting that.”

  Jason knew that was possible. Manipulation was one of Lennon’s talents, and he’d have no hesitation about using Bourne’s memory loss to his advantage. And yet something in Jason’s brain had also allowed him to pick Lennon out of a London crowd on a CCTV feed. They had history.

  Who was he?

  The door to the guard building opened again. Nova and Tati returned outside. Nova spotted Nash at the gate, but there was a distinct coolness in the way she looked at him. She hadn’t forgiven Nash for manipulating her in the wake of her near-death experience in Las Vegas.

  Nash ignored the icy greeting and focused on Tati.

  “Ms. Reznikova?” he said. “Welcome to the United States.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know the last few days have been difficult, but your father is very anxious to see you again. Shall we drive up to the house? He’s waiting for you.”

  “Yes, okay,” Tati replied uncomfortably.

  Her body looked wooden, as if the shocks of the previous days had begun to catch up to her. She grabbed hold of Jason’s hand and held on to it so tightly that her nails dug into his skin. They climbed back inside the two black SUVs. Deputy Wallins drove along a narrow dirt road, where redwoods stood around them like stern soldiers. The shadowy denseness of the woods, and the lingering mist, made it hard to see the giant log-frame house until they were practically on top of it. When they got there, Tati made no move to get out of the vehicle. She stared through the truck window, and Jason had to tug on her hand to get her to exit into the cool, damp air.

  Even then, Tati hung back. “Does anyone have a cigarette?”

  Deputy Wallins took a pack from his pocket. “I keep them for your father.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tati lit the cigarette and stood by the SUV, her body coiled as tightly as a spring. It was dark under the trees, and even the glints of sky overhead showed charcoal clouds. She tapped a foot on the soft, spongy ground. The others waited, but she shooed them away. “Go inside. Please? I need a minute. I’m sorry, this is a little overwhelming.”

  Jason began to leave with the others, but she took his arm firmly. “No. Not you. Stay with me.”

  He remained next to her in the clearing. Everyone else—Holly, Dixon, Nash, the marshals, even Sugar—went up the steps and disappeared inside the house. Nova climbed the steps, but she lingered on the sprawling porch that butted up to the
forest. Jason could see her eyeing the two of them.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Tati. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  “You thought your father was dead. Anyone would be nervous.”

  “I don’t know what to say to him.”

  “It’ll come to you. He’s probably nervous, too.”

  Tati shook her head. “He’s never nervous.”

  Jason led her toward the house. This time she didn’t resist. The two of them climbed to the porch, where the front door was ajar. All she had to do was walk inside, but instead, she wandered down the porch toward Nova and kept smoking her cigarette. The three of them stood together on the large expanse of varnished redwood deck close to the trees. Tati went to the railing and clung to it, like a skydiver staring out the door of an airplane.

  “I’m not sure I can go inside,” Tati said.

  A deep voice called from wide glass patio doors behind them. “Well, then, how about I come to you?”

  Tati spun around. Jason saw Grigori Kotov standing there, a cigarette in his mouth, angled exactly the way Tati angled hers. Tati had told him that her father was never nervous, but Jason could see that wasn’t true. Kotov was a bear of a man, a killer, a spy, but he was scared to death about meeting his daughter again.

  He covered his anxiety by extending a hand to Jason first. “So. We meet again, Cain. Three years ago, you rescued me, and now you’ve rescued Tati. I’m in your debt once more. Thank you.”

  Jason shook Kotov’s hand but said nothing. He felt a powerful sense of déjà vu in this man’s presence, as if no time had passed since he’d watched Kotov emerge from an archway into the holiday crowd at the Raekoja Plats. As if this was Tallinn all over again.

  “You are Nova, yes?” Kotov asked, extending his hand to her, too. “I’m grateful to you, also.”

  But Nova left him standing there with his hand outstretched.

  Her face rigid, her eyes smoldering, she turned her back on the Russian and walked away to the far side of the porch. Her reaction unsettled Kotov, and Jason was puzzled by it, too. He didn’t recall any animosity from her toward Kotov in the past. Then again, Lennon had captured and tortured her because of this man, and that experience was fresh in her mind.