The Bourne Objective

“Twenty minutes,” Bourne said finally.

“We’ll be ready,” Ottavio replied without lifting his head from his work. “Don’t worry.”

Bourne wasn’t worried, it wasn’t in his nature, or if it had once been, his Treadstone training had long since burned it out of him. He was thinking of Coven, the man with what was without doubt a CI field ops code name. He well knew that CI trained and directed a cadre of field operatives who specialized in wet work. He needed to know everything he could about Coven before their encounter, and there was only one person who could help him.

Taking out his cell, he punched in a number he hadn’t used in some time. When the familiar voice answered, he said, “Peter, it’s Jason Bourne.”

Peter Marks was on his way to see Chief Inspector Lloyd-Philips, who was waiting for him at the Vesper Club, when the call came in. He fairly vibrated when he heard Bourne’s voice.

“Where the hell are you?” Marks, in the back of one of those huge London cabs, found himself shouting.

“I need your help,” Bourne said. “What do you know about Coven?”

“The CI field op?”

“You didn’t say our field op. Have you left CI, Peter?”

“Actually, I quit not so long ago.” Marks had to will his heart rate back down to acceptable levels. He needed to find out where Bourne was and get to him. “Danziger has created a toxic atmosphere that I wouldn’t tolerate. He’s slowly getting rid of anyone loyal to the Old Man.” He coughed as a sudden chill went through him, and he shivered briefly. “You know he ca

“I didn’t.”

“Jason, I want you to know… I’m damn glad you’re alive.”

“Peter, about Coven.”

“Right, Coven. He’s as dangerous-and as successful-as they get.” Marks thought for a moment. “Hard, remorseless, a real shit.”

“Would he harm a child?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Bourne said.

“Jesus, I don’t think so. He’s a devoted family man, if you can believe it.” Marks took a breath. “Jason, what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t have time now-”

“Listen, I was sent to London to find out what the hell happened at the Vesper Club.”

“Peter, the incident at the Vesper Club happened last night. If you really are in London-”

“I am. I’m on my way to the Vesper Club now.”

“You were already on the plane when I was at the club, so cut the bullshit, Peter. Who are you working for now?”

“Willard.”

“You’re Treadstone.”

“That’s right. We’re working for the same-”

“I don’t work for Treadstone, or Willard. In fact,” Bourne went on, “when I see Willard again, I’m going to wring his neck. He sold me out. Why did he do that, Peter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good-bye, Peter.”

“Wait! Don’t hang up, I need to see you.”

There was a brief pause. Marks found that his hand was sweating so badly, the phone almost slipped from his grip. “Jason, please. This is important.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I was with the man who knifed Diego Hererra?”

“You can tell me, if you want. But frankly, I don’t care. I know you must’ve had a good reason.”

“Good man. Willard is training you well.”

“You’re right, of course, Willard’s a perfect shit. He’ll do anything to resurrect Treadstone.”

“Why?”

Marks hesitated. He’d never liked hitching his star to Willard’s dream, but at the time he felt he’d had no choice. And of course, Willard had played him perfectly, working on his desire to get revenge against Danziger and his puppet master, Bud Halliday. When Willard had promised him that he’d find a way to take Halliday down, and Danziger with him, he was in. But Willard had made a mistake when he’d asked Marks to betray Bourne. Willard, having no loyalty except to the idea of Treadstone, couldn’t conceive of the idea of personal loyalty, let alone have an inkling of its power.

He took a deep breath and said, “Willard wants to get you and Arkadin together so he can determine once and for all which of Treadstone’s training protocols is superior. If Arkadin kills you, then he’ll go back to the original protocols, make some minor adjustments, and start training recruits.”

“And if I kill Arkadin?”

“Then, Jason, he says he’ll have to study you to find out how your amnesia has changed you, so he can alter the Treadstone training program accordingly.”

“A monkey in a cage.”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

“And you’re meant to take me back to Washington?”

“No. It’s not that simple. But if you’ll meet me, I’ll explain everything.”

“Maybe, Peter. If I think I can trust you.”

“Jason, you can. You absolutely can.” Marks believed this fervently, with every fiber of his being. “When can we-?”

“Not now. Right now, what I need from you is everything you know about Coven-specifically his methodology, tendencies, and what, if it comes to it, he’s capable of.”

Bourne listened to Peter Marks, filing away everything he said. Then he told him he’d be in touch and disco

Then he saw a sign for George Street and immediately recalled his afternoon in Oxford. And yet his thoughts were not of Chrissie and Professor Giles. As if it were yesterday, he recalled his visit to the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents at the Old Boys’ School in Oxford’s George Street. He’d gone in the guise of David Webb, visiting professor of linguistics, but inside, the Bourne identity had asserted itself. He knew, but he didn’t know how he knew, that in this moment in time he’d still had in his possession the laptop he had stolen from Jalal Essai. He had taken time out from his classes at Oxford to enter the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents. What had he done there, what was he researching? He couldn’t remember. But he did know that whatever he’d discovered there had led him to keep the laptop. What had he done with it? It was on the cusp of his memory, like the burning edge of the sun in eclipse. He almost had it, almost.

And then the turnoff Coven had described was coming up on the right, and he had to step away from the cusp, let it go, because it was time to confront Coven.

[16]

WE’LL HAVE TO walk from here.” Barbara climbed out of the jeep. Despite the lingering heat, she had changed into jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

Moira followed her. They had driven for perhaps a mile, due west of the hacienda but still well within the boundaries of the immense estancia. In the distance rose dusty blue hills, and the sweet, almost fermented scent of the blue agave thickened the air. The sun wallowed just above the horizon. The ground, storing the heat of the day, was baking. To the west, the sky was white and glaring.

“Ai, Narsico said this would all blow over, but I knew different.”

“Why is that?” Moira said.

“That’s the way things always happen.”

“What things?” Moira pressed.

“You get fucked by the smallest things.”

“Murder is a small thing?”

Barbara lifted her chin in a gesture of contempt. “You think I give a rat’s ass about someone I don’t even know?”

“What became of the police investigation?” she asked as they walked through the arid scrubland.

“The usual.” Barbara squinted into the sun. “An inspector from Tequila asked some questions, but there was no identification on the man, and no one claimed the body. He spent several weeks interviewing us and everyone on our staff. He made a complete nuisance of himself. He kept saying that there was a reason the victim was found on our estancia. We became prime suspects, but he and his kind are so inept that finally he was forced to give up spewing i