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Willard nodded. “Before you-in fact, he was Conklin’s pupil just before you.”
“But what happened to him? How did he wind up working for Semion Icoupov?”
“It was Icoupov who sent him to Conklin. They were friends, once upon a time,”
Willard said. “Conklin was intrigued when Icoupov told him about Arkadin. Treadstone
was moving into a new phase by then; Conklin believed Arkadin was perfect for what he
had in mind. But Arkadin rebelled. He went rogue, almost killed Conklin before he
escaped to Russia.”
Bourne was desperately trying to process all this information. At last, he said,
“Willard, do you know what Alex had in mind when he created Treadstone?”
“Oh, yes. I told you I know all of Treadstone’s secrets. Your mentor, Alex Conklin,
was attempting to build the perfect beast.”
“The perfect beast? What do you mean?” But Bourne already knew, because he’d seen
it when he’d looked into Arkadin’s eyes, when he understood that what he was seeing
reflected there was himself.
“The ultimate warrior.” Willard, one hand on the door handle, smiled now. “That’s
what you are, Mr. Bourne. That’s what Leonid Danilovich Arkadin was-until, that is, he
came up against you.” He scrutinized Bourne’s face, as if searching for a trace of the man
who’d trained him to be a consummate covert operative. “In the end, Conklin succeeded,
didn’t he?”
Bourne felt a chill go through him. “What do you mean?”
“You against Arkadin, it was always meant to be that way.” Willard opened the door.
“The pity of it is Conklin never lived to see who won. But it’s you, Mr. Bourne. It’s you.”