| be on fire. He was convinced that Dr. Schiffer was the key. He had to find him, for once he did, he’d find the person who had ordered Alex and Mo’s murders, the person who had set him up. The problem was Bourne was quite certain he didn’t have much time left. Schiffer had been missing for some time now. Molnar had been dead two days. If, as Bourne feared, he’d disclosed Schiffer’s whereabouts under articulated interrogation, then Bourne would have to assume that Schiffer was by now in enemy hands, which would mean that the enemy also had in his possession whatever it was that Schiffer had invented, some sort of biological weapon, code-named NX 20, to which Leonard Fine, Conklin’s conduit, had reacted so strongly when he’d mentioned it. Who was the enemy? The only name he had was Stepan Spalko, an internationally renowned humanitarian. And yet, according to Khan, Spalko was the man who had ordered the murders of Alex and Mo and had set Bourne up as the murderer. Khan could be lying, and why not? If he wanted to get to Spalko for his own reasons, he’d hardly announce them to Bourne. Khan! The very thought of him caused Bourne to be flooded with unwanted emotion. With effort, he concentrated on his rage against his own government. They’d lied to him— colluded in a coverup to keep him from the truth. Why? What were they trying to hide? Did they believe that Joshua might be |
padded into the large, opulent bathroom whose tiles were the color of lapis lazuli. Beneath eight streaming jets, he took a shower, scrubbing himself until his skin turned red. Then he dried himself with a thick white oversized Turkish towel and changed into jeans and a denim shirt. At a gleaming stainless-steel wet-bar, he drew a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the automatic maker. He added cream and sugar, a dollop of whipped cream from the halffridge below. For several moments thereafter, he stood sipping the coffee, allowing his mind to go pleasurably out of focus, allowing the anticipation to build. There were so many wonderful things to look forward to today! Setting down the coffee cup, he tied on a butcher’s apron. He eschewed his loafers, polished to a wicked shine, for a pair of green rubber garden boots. Sipping the delicious coffee, he crossed to a wood-paneled wall. There was a small table with one drawer, which he pulled open. Inside was a box of latex gloves. Humming to himself, he drew out a pair, snapped them on. Then he pressed a button and two of the wood panels slid aside. He stepped through into a decidedly odd room. The walls were of black concrete; the floor was composed of white tiles, lower in the center where a huge drain was set. A hose on a reel was attached to one wall. The ceiling was heavily baffled. The only furniture was a wooden table, scarred, stained dark |
