| could you even think-?” “You told Cevik’s people where he’d be.” “You’re insane.” “Am I? It was your idea to take him out of the cell block. I tried to stop you, but-” “I didn’t have Hytner killed.” “Then why did you just stand there while he was shot?” Bourne didn’t give her an answer because he had none to give. He recalled that at the time he’d been assaulted by sound, and-he rubbed his forehead-a debilitating headache. Soraya was right. Cevik’s escape, Hytner’s death. How had he allowed it all to happen? “Cevik’s escape was meticulously planned and timed. But how?” Soraya was saying. “How could Cevik’s people know where he was? How could they know, unless you told them?” She shook her head. “I should’ve listened more closely to the stories about you going rogue. There were only two men in all of CI you were able to buffalo: One’s dead and the other’s missing. Clearly you can’t be trusted.” With an effort, Bourne willed his head to clear. “There’s another possibility.” “This should be good.” “I didn’t call anyone while we were down in the cells or outside-” “You could’ve used hand signs, anything.” “You’re right about the method, wrong about the messenger. Remember when Cevik struck the match?” “How could I forget?” she said bitterly. “That was the final signal for the waiting Hummer.” “That’s just the point, the Hummer was already waiting. You knew because it was your setup.” “If it was my setup, would |
white Egyptian cotton patch, was a blackened crater. Kicking off his shoes, Fadi padded across the poured concrete floor. Every floor, wall, and ceiling in Miran Shah was of poured concrete, looked identical. He sat at a ninety-degree angle from the other. From a glass jar, he shook out a fistful of coffee beans that had been roasted hours ago. He dropped them into a brass mortar, took up the pestle, ground them to a fine powder. A copper pot sat atop the ring of a portable gas burner. Fadi poured water from a pitcher into the pot, then lit the burner. A circle of blue flame licked at the bottom of the pot. “It’s been some time,” Fadi said. “Do you actually expect me to drink with you?” said the real Martin Lindros. “I expect you to behave like a civilized human being.” Lindros laughed bitterly, touched the center of his eye patch with the tip of his forefinger. “That would make one of us.” “Have a date,” Fadi said, pushing an oval plate piled high with the dried fruit in front of Lindros. “They’re best dipped in this goat butter.” The moment the water began to boil, Fadi upended the mortar, spilling the coffee powder into the pot. He drew to him a small cup, whose contents were fragrant with the scent of freshly crushed cardamom seeds. Now all his concentration was on the roiling coffee. An instant before it would have foamed up, he took the pot |
