The Bourne Treachery

by Brian Freeman

  Hunting for Vadik the way Vadik was hunting for him.

  “Is that him?” Tati asked.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “So let’s go.”

  “Wait.”

  Something still felt off. He took Tati by the hand and backed away to one of the meat stalls. While he pretended to browse the cuts of lamb and beef, he eyed the other shoppers. One by one. Face by face. He wanted to see if anyone else was spying on the man in the camouflage cap. Anticipating the rendezvous.

  And there she was.

  A woman with long, lush black hair, tied in a ponytail.

  She was dressed down, the way Tati was dressed down, to avoid drawing attention to herself. She kept up a conversation with a butcher about the best way to prepare beef filet, but despite her cover, he could see her shoot a casual glance across the market toward the Gaia Crusade contact every few seconds. And when her head turned, Vadik spotted a radio transmitter discreetly tucked in her ear.

  “Shit!” he said under his breath.

  “What is it?” Tati asked.

  Vadik saw the woman in the stall look their way. Immediately, he turned his back on her with a forced laugh, waving his hand at the shopkeeper as if one of the roasts was too expensive. He took Tati’s hand again and led her toward the other end of the market.

  “Where are we going?” Tati asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a trap,” Vadik replied, moving as fast as he could without giving them away. “We need to get away from here. Now.”

  * * *

  —

  “Anything?” Bourne asked.

  “No one’s approached Ethan Pople yet,” Nova told him through the radio. “He’s obviously waiting for someone, but there hasn’t been any contact.”

  “Any sign of Tati or Vadik?”

  Nova hesitated. “I’m not sure. I saw two people who had the right look, but they disappeared in the crowd before I saw their faces. They didn’t make any attempt to approach Ethan.”

  “Do you think they spotted you?”

  “Maybe. It’s possible.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “North toward Charterhouse.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Bourne said.

  He continued to the far end of the tunnel. Outside, on Charterhouse Street, beyond the bustle of the early-morning market, it was still the middle of the night and the streets were deserted. He was across the street from the scaffolding of a construction project, but the worksite was quiet. Pubs and takeaway joints, all closed, lined the sidewalks. Down the long frame of the market building, he noticed two people heading away at a fast pace. It was hard to make them out in the darkness. When they passed under the streetlight, he saw a man and a woman, the man in a cap, the woman with mousy brown hair.

  Something about her hair made him take a second glance. It could have been a wig. She was the right height, and so was the man.

  “I see them,” Bourne said.

  “Is it her?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll get closer.”

  He followed. The couple didn’t look back to check for surveillance, but their fast pace seemed odd for two people wandering away from an open-air market at two in the morning. They headed east on Charterhouse to a point where the road divided near a building that looked like a miniature version of New York’s Flatiron. The man and woman took the left fork, still two blocks ahead. He kept them in sight, staying near the building doorways where he could duck into cover quickly.

  The couple passed an alley that connected back to the east end of the market. Ahead of them were wrought-iron gates leading into a cobblestoned square. They passed the gates and turned right, where they were blocked by the corner building. Bourne used that opportunity to jog to catch up with them.

  Then he stopped.

  A man emerged from the alley. He was on the dark side of the street where the light didn’t reach him. Instinctively, Bourne melted into the shadows to watch him. All he could see of the man was his back. He was tall, wearing a rust-colored trench coat, and his hair was curly and light, probably blond. Not looking back, the man suddenly froze where he was, as if without even seeing Bourne, he already knew Jason was there.

  Then the man continued toward the wrought-iron gates, where the man and woman had disappeared.

  The walk!

  That strange, distinctive way his shoulders floated above his hips. He knew this man! He remembered him!

  “Lennon’s here,” Bourne murmured into the radio.

  Nova took a moment to reply. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s him. Get over here.”

  Jason drew his gun. He aimed toward the man’s back, but the man was on the other side of the iron gates now, protected by the grillwork.

  “Lennon!”

  In the quiet of the night, the man heard him and stopped. Lennon—it was him!—looked back, his face crisscrossed by the shadows of the gate. He was too indistinct, too far away for Jason to describe him. Lennon’s hands were buried in the pockets of the trench coat, but in the next instant, with unbelievable speed, the man drew a gun and fired down the street. The bullets went wild, but they drove Bourne back into the doorway.

  Lennon ducked and ran. He headed away from the cobblestone square, disappearing down a small walkway. Bourne took off running, too. He reached the walkway, then spun around the corner, gun level. Lennon had already vanished. The path led under a stone archway, where barely ten feet separated the buildings on either side. It was a dead end that came to a stop at a high wall. There was no way out.

  On his left were the flower boxes and windows of a French restaurant. Jason moved cautiously, keeping below the windows so no one could see him. The white door into the restaurant was ajar, and he kicked it fully open, expecting a round of gunfire from inside. None came. He eased into the dining room, where a single overnight light showed him white tablecloths, flagstone walls, and a timbered ceiling. It still smelled of the evening’s dinner, redolent with garlic and onion. But the restaurant was empty. No one was there.

  He checked the kitchen. He checked the private events room. He unlocked a door that led back out to the opposite side street, but the street was empty, too, except for Nova running toward him.

  “Did you see him?” Bourne asked as she came up to him. “Did you pass anyone?”

  Breathlessly, Nova shook her head. “No. There was no one here. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. He disappeared.”

  Disgusted with himself for losing him, Jason returned to the wrought-iron gates. He checked the empty mews a second time all the way to the dead end and then reversed his steps into the cobblestone square. No one was in sight. Other than a handful of cars, the green park and the streets around it were deserted.

  Lennon was gone.

  So were Tati and Vadik.

  24

  When Vadik heard gunfire, he told Tati to run. They took off at a sprint past Charterhouse Square and then down a quiet street to the divided road at Aldersgate. He didn’t care which way they went, but they had to get away quickly. The gunfire was meant for them. He knew that.

  “What do we do?” Tati asked.

  Vadik frowned and checked the street. From the south, he saw a black taxi approaching with the light on to indicate it was free. He stepped off the curb and hailed it, and the cab pulled up beside them. Vadik opened the door, let Tati climb inside, and then he picked a destination at random.

  “Liverpool Street Station.”

  The driver shrugged. “Go there if you want, mate, but the station doesn’t open until four. You’ll be standing outside.”

  “All right, a restaurant, then!” Vadik snapped impatiently. “Somewhere that’s open twenty-four hours a day. Go!”

  Anywhere. Anywhere that was not here.

  He eased his head back again
st the seat and closed his eyes. He needed to think. What he really wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t. His world was falling apart, and he was losing everything. Including his wife.

  “People are trying to kill us, Vadik,” Tati muttered, her voice dark.

  “I know that.”

  “Is it the Gaia Crusade? You said they would help us.”

  “Someone was watching their contact. Either they betrayed us, or they’ve been penetrated. Anyway, we’re on our own.”

  “So maybe we should turn ourselves in.”

  Vadik opened his eyes. “Are you crazy? We wouldn’t last a single night before we’re dead, don’t you understand that? Whatever’s going on is bigger than me, Tati! This isn’t just about what I did! There’s something else at work here.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

  The taxi dropped them outside a twenty-four-hour café on Brick Lane. It didn’t matter that it was three in the morning; there were people lined up to get food. Vadik was ravenous. He ordered a salt beef sandwich, and the two of them wandered up the street together. The other shops were closed, their storefronts covered up with metal doors. He leaned against a trash bin to eat his sandwich, and for the moment, he felt safe, in the darkness, in a neighborhood where no one was looking for them. But that feeling wouldn’t last long.

  Tati was quiet. He recognized the look. She was in scientist mode, examining their problem, figuring out what to do.

  “We need help,” she said. “We’re not going to get away alone.”

  “I know that, but there’s no one who can help us. The Crusade was it, and we can’t use them again.”

  Tati shook her head. “I mean Russian help. You’re part of the climate resistance, Vadik. All the lies you’ve told me, that’s what it’s about, yes? The protests, the riots, the bombs in Moscow. That’s you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m part of that, yes.”

  “Can’t they do something?”

  “They’d rather see me killed. If I’m dead, I can’t talk. I can’t name names.”

  “But they must have contacts in England. There must be expats here who are part of the resistance. They need supply networks. Intelligence.”

  Vadik took another bite of his sandwich and struggled to swallow it down. “The protesters are built from different cells, Tati. It limits our exposure when the FSB cracks open one of the groups. Someone else is pulling the strings, organizing, coordinating, funding. We don’t know who, and we don’t care.”

  “Isn’t there someone you can reach out to?”

  “I’m not a leader. I don’t have any influence. Most of the time, I’m nothing but a lookout for what we do at home. The only reason they let me make contact with the Gaia Crusade was—”

  He stopped. He didn’t want to say it, but Tati knew the truth.

  “Because of me,” Tati said. “I told you about Sorokin. And with me coming to the WTO, you could come, too. This was your chance, right? You wanted to prove yourself.”

  Vadik nodded. “Yes.”

  Tati went to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist before she hit his face. She wrenched away and refused even to look at him. “You’re worthless, Vadik. Do you know that? My husband is a worthless piece of shit.”

  He had half of his sandwich left, but he’d lost his appetite, and he threw it away. “I’m sorry.”

  Tati came up to him. She stood tall, making him feel even smaller than he was. He could read her face, and he knew that anything she’d felt for him was gone. This was a scientific problem, and she was in charge now. The goal was survival, whatever it took. Her face was filled with calm determination.

  “Can you get us a car?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “We need a car. A train is not safe, yes? There are cameras in the stations. We could be spotted.”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “So can you get us a car? Can you steal it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then do it. Go off somewhere and get one.” She squinted in the darkness toward the far end of the lane. “There’s a park or something down there. I’ll wait for you. When you get the car, come back and get me. Okay?”

  He didn’t know what else to say. “Yes, okay.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If it takes more than an hour, I won’t be here when you get back. Understood?”

  Vadik nodded. “Yes, but then what? What do we do when we have the car? Where are we going?”

  Tati glanced furtively up and down the street, as if she were the spy. She made sure they were alone. “There’s a seaside town in the north called Whitby. It’s several hours away. That’s where we need to go.”

  “Why?”

  “A friend of my father lives there. He’ll help us. Or rather, he’ll help me. He’s former KGB.”

  Vadik grabbed Tati by the shoulders. “KGB? Are you crazy? He won’t help us! He’ll turn us in!”

  “Relax, Vadik,” Tati snapped, treating him like a child. “Maxim was KGB. Not anymore. Now he’s just a traitor. Like my father.”

  * * *

  —

  At four in the morning, Jason stood by the river in a stretch of green parkland near Lambeth Bridge. Behind him, inside the MI-5 headquarters at Thames House, Nova was with Anthony Audley and Holly Schultz as they questioned Ethan Pople.

  Bourne thought the interrogation was a waste of time. They’d broken the codes of the Gaia Crusade chat room, they’d tracked and followed Ethan on his way to the meeting at Smithfield Market, but ultimately, the trap had sprung, and the prey had slipped away. The Gaia Crusade was out of the picture now. Wherever Tati and Vadik were, they wouldn’t be turning to them for help again.

  Jason fought off a wave of exhaustion as he stared at the muddy water. He’d trained himself to revive with thirty-minute naps, but even closing his eyes on a park bench hadn’t helped. He felt a storm of conflict that was keeping him up. It wasn’t just that the CIA had lied and betrayed him again. It wasn’t just the battle with Lennon and his certainty that the assassin was somehow a part of his missing past.

  It was Nova.

  No matter how much he pretended otherwise, she was affecting his judgment. If it was just desire, if it was just a question of sleeping with her and moving on, he could have lived with that. But everything he’d felt for her in the past was coming back. When he was with her now, he found it hard to take his eyes off her face. He’d even felt jealous seeing her with Anthony Audley, because it was obvious there was some kind of relationship between them. Jason hated that feeling.

  The smart thing for both of them was to shut her out of his life, but he found it impossible to do that. The more time they spent together, the more she pulled him inexorably back into her vortex.

  As Bourne stood by the Thames, his phone rang.

  He stared at the blank screen on the caller ID, immediately wary. Almost no one had this number. When he answered, he heard no voice on the other end for a long time, just the noises of the city like an echo.

  “Who is this?” Bourne asked.

  Lennon finally spoke with a chuckle. “You should get some rest, Cain. You look tired.”

  Bourne spun around. He saw no one nearby, but the darkness offered plenty of hiding places. He wondered if Lennon was playing mind games with him, but not far away, he heard the scream of a police siren, and the siren broadcast itself over the phone, too. Lennon was close by. When he stared across the river, he spotted a man on the opposite bank. The figure was nothing but a silhouette near one of the streetlights, but the man raised his hand in a salute.

  “I love London at night,” Lennon told him over the phone. “Don’t you?”

  Jason said nothing.

  “Oh, wait, you prefer Paris. It’
s always Paris for you, isn’t it? That little flat in the Latin Quarter. The oyster bar on rue Dante. You go there a little too often, you know. You shouldn’t be so predictable. Me, I’ve never been to the same restaurant twice in my life.”

  Jason hid the shock he felt. Lennon knew things about his life that no one was supposed to know. Not even Treadstone.

  “Well, the oysters there are amazing,” Bourne replied, keeping his voice steady. “It’s hard to stay away.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I was there once, too. You were wearing a Bassiri shirt. Black stripes. You had a table on the street. Easier to keep watch on strangers there, isn’t it? Easier to run if you need to.”

  He heard the taunt in Lennon’s voice.

  See everything I know about you, Cain?

  “You should have said hello,” Jason told him.

  “I agree, that would have been the polite thing to do. I apologize. In fact, I was sitting at the table right in front of you. I wasn’t in disguise. Do you remember me?”

  Jason closed his eyes. He did remember. It had been—when?—sometime the previous summer. A hot August afternoon. He could picture himself with a plate of oysters in front of him; he could re-create a picture of a man sitting a few feet away. Dark shirt. Blond hair. But there was no detail in the face.

  “It was actually a very strange experience for me,” Lennon said.

  “How so?”

  “Having you stare right at me and not remember who I was.”

  Jason tried to shake off the roaring in his head that always came in these moments. “If you’re really a part of my past, then you know my past disappeared a long time ago.”

  “And yet, sooner or later, our past always catches up with us. Isn’t that what you’re afraid of? That your past will come back to life and you’ll have to face the things you did?”