The Bourne Sanction

“You weren’t wrong, Professor.”

“No, let me finish. You’re always quick to defend me, to believe I’m always right. Don’t think I don’t appreciate how you feel about me. I wouldn’t want anything to change that. But occasionally I do make mistakes, and this was one of them. I don’t know what went into the making of the Bourne identity, and believe me when I tell you that I don’t want to know.

“What seems clear to me, however, is that however much you don’t want to believe it, something inside you, something i

Bourne felt troubled by the direction of the conversation. “Do you mean that I’m Jason Bourne through and through-that David Webb would have become him no matter what?”

“No, not at all. But I do think from what you’ve shared with me that if there had been no intervention, if there had been no Bourne identity, then David Webb would have been a very unhappy man.”

This idea was not a new one to Bourne. But he’d always assumed the thought occurred to him because he knew so damnably little about who he’d been. David Webb was more of an enigma to him than Jason Bourne. That realization itself haunted Bourne, as if Webb were a ghost, a shadowing armature into which the Bourne identity had been hung, fleshed out, given life by Alex Conklin.

Bourne, driving up Co

“Then I’m pleased I decided to involve you in my real passion.” Something seemed to have been settled inside Specter. “It’s not often a man gets a chance to rectify his mistakes.”

The day was mild enough that the gorilla family had been let out. Schoolchildren clustered noisily at the end of the area where the patriarch sat, surrounded by his brood. The silverback did his level best to ignore them, but when their incessant chatter became too much for him, he walked to the other end of the compound, trailed by his family. There he sat while the same a

Mikhail Tarkanian was waiting for them beside the silverback gorilla area. He looked Specter up and down, clucking over his black eye. Then he took him in his arms, kissed him on both cheeks. “Allah is good, my friend. You are alive and well.”

“Thanks to Jason here. He rescued me. I owe him my life.” Specter introduced the two men.

Tarkanian kissed Bourne on both cheeks, thanking him effusively.

There came a shuffling of the gorilla family as some grooming got under way.

“Damn sad life.” Tarkanian hooked his thumb at the silverback.

Bourne noted that his English was heavily accented in the ma

“Look at the poor bastard,” Tarkanian said.

The gorilla’s expression was glum-resigned rather than defiant.

Specter said, “Jason’s here on a bit of a fact-finding mission.”

“Is he now?” Tarkanian was fleshy in the way of ex-athletes-neck like a bull, wary eyes sunk in yellow flesh. He kept his shoulders up around his ears, as if to ward off an expected blow. Enough hard knocks in Sokolniki to last a lifetime.

“I want you to answer his questions,” Specter said.

“Of course. Anything I can do.”

“I need your help,” Bourne said. “Tell me about Pyotr Zilber.”

Tarkanian, appearing somewhat taken aback, glanced at Specter, who had retreated a pace in order to center his man’s full attention on Bourne. Then he shrugged. “Sure. What d’you want to know?”

“How did you find out he’d been killed?”

“The usual way. Through one of our contacts.” Tarkanian shook his head. “I was devastated. Pyotr was a key man for us. He was also a friend.”

“How d’you figure he was found out?”

A gaggle of schoolgirls pranced by. When they had passed out of earshot, Tarkanian said, “I wish I knew. He wasn’t easy to get to, I’ll tell you that.”

Bourne said casually, “Did Pyotr have friends?”

“Of course he had friends. But none of them would betray him, if that’s what you’re asking.” Tarkanian pushed his lips out. “On the other hand…” His words trailed off.

Bourne found his eyes, held them.

“Pyotr was seeing this woman. Gala Nematova. He was head-over-heels about her.”

“I assume she was properly vetted,” Bourne said.

“Of course. But, well, Pyotr was a bit, um, headstrong when it came to women.”

“Was that widely known?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Tarkanian said.

That was a mistake, Bourne thought. The habits and proclivities of the enemy were always for sale if you were clever and persistent enough. Tarkanian should have said, I don’t know. Possibly. As neutral an answer as possible, and closer to the truth.

“Women can be a weak link.” Bourne thought briefly of Moira and the cloud of uncertainty that hovered over her from the CI investigation. The idea that Martin could have been seduced into revealing CI secrets was a bitter pill to swallow. He hoped when he read the communication between her and Martin that Soraya had unearthed, he could lay the question to rest.

“We’re all sick about Pyotr’s death,” Tarkanian offered. Again the glance at Specter.

“No question.” Bourne smiled rather vaguely. “Murder’s a serious matter, especially in this case. I’m talking to everyone, that’s all.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“You’ve been extremely helpful.” Bourne smiled, shook Tarkanian’s hand. As he did so, he said in a sharp tone of voice, “By the way, how much did Icoupov’s people pay you to call the professor’s cell this morning?”

Instead of freezing Tarkanian seemed to relax. “What the hell kind of question is that? I’m loyal, I always have been.”

After a moment, he tried to extricate his hand, but Bourne’s grip tightened. Tarkanian’s eyes met Bourne’s, held them.

Behind them, the silverback made a noise, growing restive. The sound was low, like the sudden ripple of wind disturbing a field of wheat. The message from the gorilla was so subtle, Bourne was the only one who picked up on it. He registered movement at the extreme edge of his peripheral vision, tracked for several seconds. He leaned back to Specter, said in a low, urgent voice. “Leave now. Go straight through the Small Mammal House, then turn left. A hundred yards on will be a small food kiosk. Ask for help getting to your car. Go back to your house and stay there until you hear from me.”

As the professor walked swiftly away, Bourne grabbed Tarkanian, pushed him in the opposite direction. They joined a Home Sweet Habitat scavenger hunt comprising a score of rowdy kids and their parents. The two men Bourne was tracking hurried toward them. It was this pair and their rushed anxiety that had aroused the suspicion of the silverback, alerting Bourne.

“Where are we going?” Tarkanian said. “Why did you leave the professor unprotected?”

A good question. Bourne’s decision had been instantaneous, instinct-driven. The men headed toward Tarkanian, not the professor. Now, as the group moved down Olmsted Walk, Bourne dragged Tarkanian into the Reptile Discovery Center. The lights were low here. They hurried past glass cases that held dozing alligators, slit-eyed crocodiles, lumbering tortoises, evil-looking vipers, and pebble-ski

Behind them, the two men wove their way through the crowd of children. They were swarthy but otherwise unremarkable in feature. They had their hands plunged into the pockets of their wool overcoats, surely gripping some form of weapon. They weren’t hurrying now. There was no point in alarming the visitors.