Besides, how else should he take actions that directly drained him of his best personnel? Like a jilted lover, he seethed for revenge, his longwithheld affection for her curdled into outright hatred-not only of her, but of himself. While she was under his control, he‘d played his cards too close to the vest-had, he had to admit bitterly, misplayed them altogether. And now she was gone, out of his control and in complete opposition to him. He took whatever solace he could salvage from the fact that her lover, Jason Bourne, was dead. He wished her only ill now, he wanted to see her not simply defeated but humiliated beyond redemption; nothing less would appease his appetite for vengeance.
When his satellite phone rang, he assumed it was Bud Halliday, giving him the signal to launch the final phase of Pinprick, but instead he discovered Humphry Bamber on the line.
— Bamber, he shouted, — where the hell are you?
— Back at my office, thank God. Bamber‘s voice sounded thin and metallic.
— I finally managed to escape because the woman Moira Something was too badly hurt in the explosion to hold on to me for long.
— I heard about the explosion, Noah said truthfully, though of course he didn‘t add that he‘d ordered it to keep Veronica Hart and Moira from finding out about Bardem from Bamber. -Are you all right?
— Nothing a few days‘ rest won‘t cure, Bamber said, — but listen, Noah, there‘s a glitch in the version of Bardem you‘re running.
Noah stared out at the rivers, the beginning and the end of life in North Africa. -What kind of a glitch? If the program needs another security patch, forget it, I‘m almost finished using it.
— No, nothing like that. There‘s a calculation error; the program isn‘t producing accurate data.
Now Noah was alarmed. -How the hell did that happen, Bamber? I paid through the nose for this software and now you tell me that-
— Calm down, Noah, I‘ve already solved the internal error and corrected it. All I need to do now is to upload it to you, but you‘ll have to shut down all your programs.
— I know, I know, and Jesus, I ought to know the protocol by now considering how many versions of Bardem we‘ve been through.
— Noah, you have no idea how complex this program is-I mean, come on, literally millions of factors had to be incorporated into the software‘s architecture, and per your orders at the speed of light, too.
— Can it, Bamber. The last thing I need now is a lecture from you. Just get the fucking thing done. Perlis‘s fingers were running over his laptop‘s keyboard, shutting down programs. -Now, you‘re sure the latest parameters I‘ve loaded into the program will be there when I bring up the new version?
— Absolutely, Noah. That‘s why Bardem has one monster-size cache.
— Nothing better be missing, Noah said, and silently he added, Not at this late date. We’re almost at the finish line.
— Just let me know when you‘re ready, Bamber prompted.
All the programs were closed, but it took several minutes of going through one deliberately convoluted protocol after another until he exited the proprietary Black River security software. While this was happening, he muted his line with Bamber and dialed a number on a second satellite phone.
— Someone needs to be put to sleep, he said. -Yes, right away. Hold on and I‘ll transfer the particulars in a minute.
He unmuted the line with Bamber. -All set, he said.
— Then here we go!
26
KHARTOUM HAD about it the air of a disreputable mortuary. The sweet rot of death was everywhere, mingled with the sharp odor of gun barrels. Baleful shadows hid men smoking as they observed the night-lit street with the inscrutable look of a hunter searching for prey. Bourne and Tracy, in a jangling three-wheeled raksha, going at a hellish speed against traffic, rushed down avenues filled with donkey-pulled carts, wheezing minibuses, men in both traditional and Western dress, and vehicles belching blue smoke.
They were both tired and on edge-Bourne had had no luck contacting either Moira or Boris, and, despite what she‘d claimed, Tracy‘s experience in Seville seemed to have made her anxious about meeting Noah.
— I don‘t want to be caught napping when I walk in the door, she‘d said as they checked into a hotel in the main section of the city. -That‘s why I told Noah I wasn‘t coming over until tomorrow morning. Tonight I need a good night‘s sleep more than I need his money.
— What did he say?
They rode up in the mirrored elevator, heading for the top floor, which Tracy had requested.
— He wasn‘t happy, but what could he say?
— He didn‘t offer to come here?
Tracy‘s nose wrinkled. -No, he didn‘t.
Bourne thought that odd. If Noah was so anxious to take possession of the Goya, why wouldn‘t he offer to complete the transaction at the hotel?
They had adjoining rooms with nearly identical views of al Mogran-the junction of the Blue and White Nile rivers-and a connecting door that locked from either side. The White Nile flowed north from Lake Victoria, while the Blue Nile flowed west from Ethiopia. The Nile itself, the main river, continued north into Egypt.
The decor in the room was shabby. Judging by both the style and the wear, it certainly hadn‘t been updated since the early 1970s. The carpets stank of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper perfume. Putting the Goya on the bed, Tracy crossed directly to the window, unlocked it, and pushed it up as far as it would go. The rush of the city was like a vacuum, sucking all the hums out of the room.
She sighed as she returned to sit beside her prize. -I‘ve been traveling too much, I miss home.
— Where is that? Bourne asked. -I know it‘s not Seville.
— No, not Seville. She pushed her hair back off the side of her face. -I live in London, Belgravia.
— Very posh.
She laughed wearily. -If you saw my flat-it‘s a tiny thing, but it‘s mine and I love it. There‘s a mews out back with a flowering pear tree that a pair of house martins nest in come spring. And a nightjar serenades me most evenings.
— Why would you ever leave?
She laughed again, a bright, silvery sound that was easy on the ears. -I have to earn my way in the world, Adam, just like everyone else. Lacing her fingers together, she said more soberly, — Why did Don Hererra lie to you?
— There are many possible answers. Bourne stared out the window. The bright lights illuminated the bend in the Nile, reflections of the city dancing across the dark, crocodile-infested water. -But the most logical one is that he‘s somehow allied with the man I‘m trying to find, the one who shot me.