Bourne 4 - The Bourne Legacy (54 page)

He was too stunned even to formulate a denial. And what was the point? he asked himself. She'd made him, even though he thought he'd been so very careful. He stared at her. She was, indeed, beautiful, but she was even more formidable. She cocked her head. "It isn't Interpol you work for—you don't have their habits. CIA, no, I don't think so. Stepan would know if the Americans were trying to penetrate his organization. So who then, hmm?"

Hearn wouldn't say; he couldn't. He was only terrified that she already knew—that she knew everything.

"Don't look so ashen, Ethan." Annaka rose. "I don't care, really. I simply want an insurance policy in case things turn sour here. That insurance policy is you. For now, let's just call your treachery our little secret."

She had crossed the room and gone out the door before Hearn could think of a reply. He sat for a moment, immobile with shock. Then, at last he got up and opened the door, looking this way and that up and down the corridor to make certain she was really gone. Then he closed the door, walked over to the sofa bed and said, "All clear." The cushions lifted up and he put them on the wall-to-wall carpet. When the plywood panels that covered the bed mechanism began to stir, he reached down and lifted them out. Underneath, instead of the mattress and bed frame, lay Khan.

Hearn realized that he was sweating. "I know you warned me, but—"

"Quiet." Khan climbed out of the space that was no larger than a coffin. Hearn cowered, but Khan had more important things on his mind than corporal punishment. "Just make sure you don't make the same mistake twice."

Khan walked to the door, put his ear against it. All that could be discerned was the background hum of the offices on the floor. He was dressed in black trousers, shoes, shirt and waist-length jacket. To Hearn, he looked a good deal bulkier in the upper body than he had the last time they'd met.

"Put the sofa bed back together," Khan ordered, "then return to work as if nothing had happened. You have a meeting soon? Make sure you go to it and that you're not late. It's imperative that everything appear normal."

Hearn nodded, dropping the plywood panels into the well of the sofa bed, then replacing the cushions. "We're on the sixth floor," he said. "Your target's on the fourth floor."

"Let's see the schematics."

Hearn sat down at his computer terminal and brought up the schematics for the building.

"Let me see the fourth floor," Khan said, bending over his shoulder. When Hearn brought it up, Khan studied it carefully. "What's this?" he asked, pointing.

"I don't know." Hearn tried zooming in. "It looks like blank space."

"Or," Khan said, "it could be a room adjacent to Spalko's bedroom suite."

"Except there isn't a way in or out," Hearn pointed out.

"Interesting. I wonder if Mr. Spalko made some alterations his architects knew nothing about."

Having memorized the floor plan, Khan turned away. He'd gotten all he could from the schematic; now he needed to see the place for himself. At the door he turned back to Hearn. "Remember. Get to your appointment on time."

"What about you?" Heard said. "You can't get in there." Khan shook his head. "The less you know, the better."

The flags were out in the endless Icelandic morning, filled with brilliant sunshine and the mineral scent of the thermal springs. The elaborate aluminum scaffold of a large dais had been set up and wired for sound at one end of Ke-flavik Airport, which Jamie Hull, Boris Illyich Karpov and Feyd al-Saoud had determined was the most secure space on the grounds. None of them, even Comrade Boris, it seemed, was happy about their respective leaders appearing in such a public forum, but in this all the heads of state were of a like mind. It was imperative, they felt, not only to show their solidarity in a public manner but also to show their lack of fear. They all knew the risk of assassination when they took their positions, were acutely aware of how that risk had escalated exponentially when they had agreed to the summit. But they all knew the risk of death was a component of their work. If you set out to change the world, inevitably there would be those who would stand in your way.

And so on this morning of the start of the summit, the flags of the United States, Russia and the four most influential Islamic nations rippled and cracked in the biting wind, the front of the dais had been draped with the carefully fought-over logo of the summit, armored security was in place around the perimeter, snipers placed high up at every possible strategic sight line. The press had come from every nation in the world; they had been required to show up two hours in advance of the press conference. Journalists had been methodically screened, their credentials checked, their fingerprints taken and scanned through various databases. Photographers had been warned not to load their cameras ahead of time because they needed to be X-rayed on site, each film cannister examined, every one of the photographers themselves observed while they loaded their cameras. As for cell phones, they were confiscated, meticulously tagged and kept outside the perimeter, to be retrieved at the end of the press conference by their respective owners. No detail had been overlooked.

As the president of the United States made his appearance, Jamie Hull was at his side, along with a brace of Secret Service agents. Hull was in constant contact with every member of his contingent as well as the other two heads of security via an electronic earbud. Just behind the U.S. president came Aleksandr Yevtushenko, president of Russia, accompanied by Boris and a cadre of grim-faced FSB agents. Behind him were the leaders of the four Islamic states, with the respective heads of their security services. The crowd as well as the press surged forward only to be kept back from the front of the dais the dignitaries had now mounted. The microphones were tested, the television cameras went live. The U.S. president took the microphone first. He was a tall, handsome man with a prominent nose and the eyes of a watchdog.

"My fellow citizens of the world," he began in the strong, declarative voice honed at many a successful primary race, smoothed of any remaining rough edges by numerous press conferences and richly burnished by intimate speeches in the Rose Garden and at Camp David, "this is a great day for world peace and for the international fight for justice and freedom against the forces of violence and terrorism.

"Today, we once again stand at a crossroads in the history of the world. Will we allow all of humankind to be plunged into the darkness of fear and neverending war or will we band together to strike at the heart of our enemies wherever they may hide?

"The forces of terrorism are arrayed against us. And make no mistake, terrorism is a modern-day hydra, a beast of many heads. We have no illusions about the difficult road ahead of us, but we will not be deterred in our desire to move forward in a single concerted effort. Only united can we destroy the many-headed beast. Only united do we stand a chance of making our world a safe place for each and every citizen." At the end of the president's speech there was great applause. Then he yielded the microphone to the Russian president, who said more or less the same things, also to great applause. The four Arab leaders spoke one by one, and though their words were more circumspect, they too reiterated the burning need for a united effort at stamping out terrorism once and for all.

A short question and answer period ensued, after which the six men stood side by side for their photo op. It was an impressive sight, made even more memorable when they grasped one another's hands and raised their arms aloft in an unprecedented display of solidarity between the West and the East.

As the crowd slowly filed out, the mood was jubilant. And even the most jaded journalists and photographers agreed that the summit had gotten off to a sterling start.

"Do you realize that I'm on my third pair of Latex gloves?" Stepan Spalko was at the scarred and blood-stained table, sitting on the chair Annaka had used the day before. In front of him was a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, for which he'd developed a taste during his long convalescence between operations in the United States. The sandwich was on a plate of fine bone china, and at his right hand was a stemmed glass of finest crystal filled with a vintage Bordeaux.

"No matter. The hour grows late." He tapped the crystal of the chronometer on his wrist. "It occurs to me now, Mr. Bourne, that my marvelous entertainment is at an end. I must tell you what a wonderful night you've provided me." He barked a laugh. "Which is more than I did for you, I daresay."

His sandwich had been cut into two equal triangles, exactly to his specifications. He picked one up and bit into it, chewed slowly and luxuriously. "You know, Mr. Bourne, a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich is no good unless the bacon had been freshly cooked and, if possible, thickly sliced."

He swallowed, put down the sandwich and, grasping the crystal glass, swirled a measure of Bordeaux around in his mouth. Then he pushed back his chair, rose and went over to where Jason Bourne sat strapped into the dentist's chair. His head was lolled on his chest and there were blood spatters in a two-foot radius around him. Spalko used a knuckle to lift Bourne's head. His eyes, dulled with endless pain, were sunken into dark circles and his face appeared drained of blood. "Before I go, I must tell you the irony of it all. The hour of my triumph is upon us. It doesn't matter what you know. It doesn't matter whether you talked or not now. All that matters is that I have you here, safe and unable to act against me in any way." He laughed. "What a terrible price you've paid for your silence. And for what, Mr. Bourne? Nothing!"

Khan saw the guard standing in the corridor beside the elevator and went cautiously back down toward the door to the staircase. Through the wire-mesh reinforced glass panel he could see a pair of armed guards talking and smoking in the stairwell. Every fifteen seconds one or the other would glance out through the glass panel, checking the sixth-floor corridor. The stairs were too well defended.

He reversed himself. Striding down the corridor at a normal and relaxed pace, he drew the air gun he purchased from Oszkar and held it at his side. The instant the guard saw him, Khan raised the air gun, shot a dart into his neck. The man collapsed where he stood, rendered unconscious by the chemical in the dart's tip.

Khan broke into a run. He began to drag the guard into the men's room when the door opened and a second guard appeared, his machine pistol aimed at Khan's chest.

"Hold it right there," he said. "Throw down your weapon and let me see your empty hands."

Khan did as he was ordered. As he held out his hands for the guard to inspect, he touched a hidden spring-loaded sheath attached to the inner side of his wrist. The guard clapped one hand to his throat. The dart felt
like
an insect bite. But all at once he found that he couldn't see. That was the last thought he had before he, too, sank into unconsciousness.

Khan dragged both bodies into the men's room, then hit the call button on the wall panel. A moment later the two sets of doors opened as the elevator cab arrived. He got in and pressed the button for the fourth floor. The elevator began to descend, but as it passed the fifth floor, it jolted to a halt, hanging suspended. He pressed several floor buttons to no avail. The elevator was stuck, no doubt deliberately so. He knew he had very little time to escape from the trap Spalko had set for him.

Climbing up onto the handrail that ran around the cab, he stretched upward toward the maintenance hatch. He was about to open it when he stopped and peered more closely. What was that metallic glint? He took out the mini-light from the kit Oszkar had given him, shone it on the screw in the farthest corner. There was a bit of copper wire wrapped around it. It was booby-trapped! Khan knew that the moment he tried to take off the hatch it would detonate a charge placed on top of the cab.

At that moment, a lurch dislodged him from his perch and the elevator cab, shuddering, began to plummet down the shaft.

Spalko's phone rang and he stepped out of the interrogation room. Sunlight spilled through the windows of his bedroom as he walked into it, feeling the warmth on his face.

"Yes?"

A voice spoke in his ear, the words accelerating his pulse. He was here! Khan was here!

His hand clenched into a fist. He had them both now. His work here was almost done. He ordered his men onto the third floor, then called the main security desk and ordered them to begin a fire drill that would in short order evacuate all normal Humanistas personnel from the building. Within twenty seconds, the fire alarm shrilled and all through the building, men and women left their offices and proceeded in an orderly fashion to the stairwells, where they were escorted out onto the street. By this time Spalko had called his driver and his pilot, telling the latter to ready the jet that had been waiting for him in the Humanistas hangar at Ferihegy Airport. Per his instructions, it had already been fueled and inspected, a flight plan logged in with the tower.

There was one more call he needed to make before he returned to Jason Bourne.

"Khan's in the building," he said when Annaka answered the phone. "He's trapped in the elevator and I've sent men to deal with him if he manages to escape, but you know him better than anyone." He grunted at her response. "What you're saying isn't a surprise. Deal with it as you see fit."

Khan hit the Emergency Stop button with the heel of his hand, but nothing happened, the elevator continued its precipitous descent. With one of the tools from Oszkar's kit, he quickly pried open the display panel. Inside was a nest of wires, but he immediately saw that the wires to the emergency break had been disconnected. Deftly, he fitted them back into their receptacles, and at once with a squeal of sparking metal the elevator cab lurched to a halt as the emergency brake kicked in. As the cab hung, stalled, between the third and fourth floors, Khan continued to work on the wiring with a breathless intensity.

On the third floor Spalko's armed men reached the outer elevator doors. Employing a fire key, they manually pried open the doors, exposing the shaft. Just above them, they could see the bottom of the stalled elevator cab. They had their orders; they knew what to do. Aiming their machine pistols, they opened fire in a massed fusillade that chewed up the bottom third of the elevator cab. No one could survive such massed firepower.