The Bourne Objective

Willard stopped and turned toward El-Arian. “Just how much gold are we talking about here?”

“It’s difficult to know with any degree of precision, but if I had to guess I’d put the amount somewhere between fifty and a hundred billion dollars.”

Willard gave a low whistle. “That’s enough incentive for an army to go rogue.” Then he scratched the side of his head. “What I can’t work out is why you’re telling me all this.”

“Bourne has the Solomon ring,” El-Arian said. “And Treadstone’s other graduate, Leonid Arkadin, is in possession of a certain laptop. Some years ago, Bourne was sent by Alex Conklin to steal the laptop from Jalal Essai. This he did, but for some reason unknown to us he never delivered it to his boss. For years we have searched for it, in vain. It seemed as if it had vanished completely. Then one of our moles sent us information through an agent of ours, Marlon Etana, that Arkadin was in possession of the stolen laptop. How did he obtain it? A Colombian drug lord by the name of Gustavo Moreno was killed in a raid a month or so ago, but the laptop containing his detailed client list was not found in his compound. Somehow Arkadin had it spirited away, and now he’s used it to muscle his way into Moreno’s business.”

“This is the same laptop that was stolen from Jalal Essai?”

“It is.”

“How in God’s name did it end up with Gustavo Moreno?”

El-Arian shrugged. “A mystery we have yet to solve.”

Willard mulled this over for a moment. “In any event, you can’t be interested in a list of drug distributors,” he said. “What’s so special about this particular laptop?”

“The hard drive contains a hidden file that provides a key to the location of King Solomon’s gold.”

Willard appeared startled. “Are you telling me that Arkadin knows where the gold is?”

El-Arian shook his head. “I doubt Arkadin knows of the hidden file’s existence. As I said, he stole it to get Moreno’s client list. But even if he did know of the file, he wouldn’t be able to access it. It’s protected.”

“Nothing is protected,” Willard said, “as you yourself told me.”

“Except for this file. No decryption program, no computer on earth can unlock it. There is only one way to read the file. The laptop has been fitted with a special slot. Fit the Solomon ring into the slot, an internal reader scans the engraving on the inside, and the file opens.”

“So Essai had the laptop,” Willard said. “What about the ring?”

“Jalal Essai had them both.”

“I don’t see how that makes sense. Why wouldn’t he have gone after Solomon’s gold himself?”

“Because even if he had opened the file, he wouldn’t have been able to act on it.” El-Arian, moving from sunlight to shadow, seemed to change in size as well as presence, as if there were two of him moving slightly out of sync with each other. “There is a section of the instructions missing from the file.”

“And Essai doesn’t have it.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Who does?” Willard asked.

“It resides in a special room inside a house in Tineghir, a town in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco.”

Willard shook his head. “I know it’s easy to ask after the fact, but why was Essai entrusted with the ring and the laptop?”

“His family is the oldest, the most religiously strict. It was felt that he was the best choice.”

There was a small silence as both men presumably contemplated the misjudgment that had been made.

“What I still don’t understand is why all this is happening now. At one point, you must have had both the ring and the laptop. Why didn’t you get the gold then?”

“We would have, of course,” El-Arian said, “but we were unable to do so. We lacked that section of the instructions. After decades of searching, the full set was discovered by chance after an earthquake in Iran uncovered an archaeological treasure trove of information, much of it spirited out of the great Library at Alexandria before the first fire. One scroll contained information on King Solomon’s court.”

“And this came to light after the ring disappeared and the laptop was stolen.”

“That’s right.” El-Arian spread his hands. “So now you see how your agenda and ours coincide. You want to bring Bourne and Arkadin together to learn once and for all who is the ultimate warrior. We want the Solomon ring and the laptop.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t see the relationship.”

“We have tried, unsuccessfully, to get the laptop from Arkadin. I’ve lost every man I’ve sent to kill him, and I’m tired of sending people I know to a certain death. Similarly, I know that CI has been trying for years to kill Bourne, also without success. No, the only way for us to obtain what we want is to bring the two men together.”

“Bourne likely has the Solomon ring with him, but will Arkadin have the laptop?”

“He doesn’t let it out of his sight lately.”

They began walking again, around and around the central fountain, where a robin was drinking while nervously watching them. Willard could relate to the bird’s nervousness.

“If I didn’t believe Oliver Liss,” Willard said, “why should I believe you?”

“I don’t expect you to believe me,” El-Arian said. “But to prove my sincerity, this is what I propose: You help me get Bourne and Arkadin together-something you want, anyway-and I’ll take Oliver Liss off your back.”

“How are you going to do that? Liss is a man with a great deal of power.”

“Believe me, Mr. Willard, Oliver Liss doesn’t know the meaning of power.” Benjamin El-Arian turned. His eyes caught the sunlight and seemed to spark like an engine starting up. “He will be removed from your life.”

Willard shook his head. “I’m afraid promises aren’t good enough. I’ll be wanting half down, the remainder when I’ve brought Bourne and Arkadin together.”

El-Arian spread his hands. “We’re talking about a man, not money.”

“That’s your problem to solve,” Willard said. “I’ll start the ball rolling when-but only when-your actions back up your words.”

“Well, then.” El-Arian smiled. “I’ll just have to arrange a change of scenery for Mr. Liss.”

The Skydel hacienda sprawled at the center of the immense estancia. It was built in the Spanish colonial style with its white stucco walls, carved wooden shutters, wrought-iron grillwork, and curved terra-cotta roof tiles. A woman in a maid’s uniform opened the door to Moira’s knock and, when she introduced herself, led her across a terrazzo-floored foyer, through a large, cool living room, out onto a flagstone patio that overlooked a clay te

The heady scent of Old World roses came to Moira as she was led toward a man sitting at a glass-and-wrought-iron table, laden with food on Mexican fired-clay plates, and pitchers of red and white sangria stuffed with slices of fresh fruit.

The man rose at her approach, smiling broadly. He wore a terry-cloth short-sleeved top and surfer’s swimming trunks, revealing a lean, hairy body.

“Barbara!” he called over his shoulder. “Our guest is here!”

Then he held out his hand and gripped Moira’s. “Good afternoon, Señorita Trevor. Narsico Skydel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Moira said.

“Please.” He gestured. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.” Moira chose a chair near him.

“White or red?”

“White, please.”

He poured two glasses of white sangria, handed her one, then sat. “You must be hungry after your long trip.” He indicated the food. “Please help yourself.”

By the time she had loaded a plate Berengária Moreno-known here as Barbara Skydel-had finished her laps and, toweling off, was coming up the stone pathway to the patio. She was a tall, slim woman, her water-slicked hair pulled back from her handsome face in a ponytail. Moira imagined her with Roberto Corellos, cuckolding her husband. Barbara reached the patio and, barefoot, walked over. Her handshake was cool, firm, and business-like.