The Bourne Retribution (35 page)

“Our orders are to kill on sight.” Hernan’s partner took the stairs two at a time. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“This.”

Bourne strode into him as he reached the landing, kicking him hard down the stairs. The kid who had been playing at the bottom was no longer there, Bourne was gratified to see. He followed the tumbling body, stepping over it as he picked his way across the vestibule and went out the front door. When he was halfway down the block, he raised the two uniforms on the wireless network, called for help, and gave them an address five blocks away.

Then he headed straight for Anunciata’s building.

36

A
ngél!”

Maricruz ran into the living room, bathroom, bedroom, then, returning to the living room, turned to Anunciata. “Where is she? She’s gone!”

Anunciata stopped her as she headed for the front door. Opening the wooden jalousies, she stepped out onto the long, narrow balcony with its curling wrought-iron railing.

Maricruz, a step behind her, said, “Angél, what are you doing?”

The girl was at the edge of the balcony, her small fingers entwined with the railing as she stood on tiptoe, scanning the street below.

“Get back inside!” Maricruz cried. “It’s not safe out here.”

Anunciata held her back as she lunged toward the girl.

“She’s taking care of herself,” Anunciata whispered, “in her own way.”

“What d’you mean?”

As if Maricruz were talking to her, Angél said, “He’s coming.”

“Who’s coming?” Maricruz asked.

“Dr. Javvy.”

“That’s not his real name.”

“It is to me,” Angél said without turning around.

“Out of the mouth of babes.” Anunciata looked at Maricruz. “He is who he is.”

“No matter what name he uses?”

“You know the answer to that.”

Following the sound of gunfire, the neighborhood had become preternaturally silent. Even the street was devoid of vehicular traffic.

“He’s here,” the girl said, at last turning away from her vigil of Caballo Calco. She rushed inside, slipping between the two women.

Maricruz stood stock-still. “I’ll be leaving with him.”

Anunciata nodded. “I know.”

“Angél likes you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Maricruz nodded. As Anunciata stepped toward the apartment’s interior, Maricruz put her hand on her arm.

“It doesn’t matter to me what name you use, either.”

When Anunciata’s eyes opened wide, Maricruz moved her hand to Anunciata’s cheek. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize his face in yours?” Her smile was tentative, almost shy, if that could be believed of her. “The only difference between us is that I had the means to run far away.”

“Sadly,” Anunciata said so softly that Maricruz had to bend her head closer to hear clearly, “that’s not the only difference.”

Maricruz put her arm around Anunciata’s waist in what could only be described as a sisterly embrace. “What d’you mean?”

Anunciata looked her half sister in the eye, weighing whether or not to answer. In the apartment, they heard Bourne’s voice calling: “Maricruz, we have to go. Now!”

In that heated split-second Anunciata made up her mind. “I never knew he was my father until it was too late, until he coerced me into becoming his lover.” She winced at the shocked expression on Maricruz’s face. “What could I do? My mother’s livelihood hung in the balance. When he discovered that she had finally told me, he had her poisoned.”

Maricruz embraced her half sister. “Oh, Lolita!”

Anunciata gave her a rueful smile. “Now you know why I chose that name.”

I
nside the apartment, Bourne and Angél were speaking in low voices, so earnestly that for a moment it stopped the two women in their tracks. Both of them were slightly dazed by the tumble of revelations they had shared. Without quite being aware of it, their fingers were entwined.

Bourne, always aware of everything, noticed and nodded, as if he had expected this outcome all along. And perhaps he had, Anunciata thought with a great outpouring of affection for this man who had now saved her in so many ways.

“It’s time,” Bourne repeated as he rose from his crouched position in front of the girl, “to say good-bye.”

Maricruz detached her hand from Anunciata’s, went across the room and picked Angél up, giving her a good squeeze. She kissed her on both cheeks.

“I’ll miss you,” she said softly.

“I like it here,” the girl said.

Laughing, Maricruz put her gently down.

“That’s good,
guapa
. That’s very good.” She smiled knowingly. “You take care of Lolita, okay?”

“Okay,” the child said gravely.

“We’ll take care of each other,” Anunciata said, taking the child’s hand in hers.

For a moment something powerful but unspoken passed between the two women. Then Maricruz turned to Bourne, her eyes magnified by tears.

“Let’s go.”

Y
ou set this all up,” Maricruz said, though by her tone Bourne could tell it wasn’t an accusation. “You knew what would happen.”

“I knew what
could
happen,” he said as they crossed the street and went down the block. “Not the same thing.”

A battered, rust-stained green Ford pickup truck with slatted wooden sides looked to fit the bill. It took no time to get the door open and hot-wire the ignition. The truck started up in a belch of greasy smoke.

“Perfect!” he said, putting the vehicle in gear and heading out of the immediate neighborhood.

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m still with you.”

“Where are you going to go on your own?” he said. “Back to Carlos? He’s hip-deep in an international incident and sinking fast.”

“Maybe that’s better than killing him,” she said under her breath.

He shot her a quick look. “Is that what Matamoros had planned for you?”

“It was my idea.” She snorted. “Don’t look so surprised.”

He shook his head. “Why did you come back here? Why did you insert yourself between the cartels and Carlos?”

“For my father.”

“Really? I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want. You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know you hated your father.”

“I didn’t—”

“Otherwise you never would have run away so far, so fast.”

“There might be other reasons.”

“There might be,” he said, taking a turn to avoid a police cruiser, “but they have nothing to do with you.”

She stared out the window at the cityscape passing before her like a film directed by someone she once knew. “Where are we going?”

“To see Matamoros, where else?”

She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. “What do you want with him?”

Bourne turned down another street, avoiding the heavily trafficked avenues. They passed another row of buildings, other groups of stoop-dwellers, suspicious eyes ignoring them, the old Ford painting them as part of the run-down scenery.

“This is a time,” he said, “when all debts are being repaid, when all obligations will be settled.”

“Retribution,” Maricruz said.

He nodded. “Retribution.”

She was silent for several moments, seemingly sunk in contemplation. “You’re out to wreck my father’s drug business, aren’t you?”

“Your father and his cohorts killed someone close to me.”

Maricruz nodded. “All debts are being repaid.” She stared straight ahead. “That would include my husband.”

He turned the wheel, guiding the truck to the curb, where he stopped, the engine idling. “You can get out now, if you like. Your choice.”

“Whether I leave or not, you’ll still be coming.”

“Nothing will stop me.”

She pulled out the handgun she had been carrying, stuck it to his temple.

“Maricruz, you’re not that crazy.”

She squeezed the trigger.

37

D
irector Yadin hadn’t meant to spend the night on the boat, but as his father had set in plenty of stores and with darkness coming down, he made no effort to head back to shore. Instead, he and his father reefed the sails, dropped anchor, and set about making dinner. Actually, it was Yadin’s father, Reuben, who prepared the food while his son set the table he pulled up off the cabin bulkhead.

“Wine?” Eli said.

Reuben shook his head. “My gout is acting up again.”

“Old age.”

“Age, period.” Reuben stirred the couscous as he dropped in golden raisins, chopped-up dates, and toasted almond slivers.

The Director sat against the bulkhead, facing his father. “You’ve become melancholy in your retirement.”

“If only you’d let me retire, Eli!”

“Ha, ha! Good one, Pop.”

Reuben glanced up sharply. “You know, Eli, sometimes I worry you’ve become too American.”

Eli reached out, grabbed a handful of almonds. “There’s no such thing.”

“You see? That’s precisely what I’m talking about!” the old man said in mock-horror.

The Director sighed deeply. “
Abi
, I fear I have set in motion an apocalyptic confrontation.”

“Try harder not to understate the case, Eli.”

The Director laughed without a trace of humor. “Ophir is going after Bourne.”

“Can you blame him after the way Bourne humiliated him in Damascus?”

“Amir needed to be humiliated. His secret mission was to keep General Wadi Khalid alive. Khalid, whom Minister Ouyang had taught to administer the most heinous torture techniques; Khalid, whom Amir and I were sent into Damascus to terminate. We didn’t, due to Amir’s treachery, but Bourne was also in Damascus, and it was he who killed Khalid.”

Reuben began to fry up some merguez sausage. “Ancient history.”

“Not for men with long memories and an exaggerated sense of outrage. I speak now of our friends, Ouyang, and Amir Ophir, Ouyang’s mole inside our family.”

“Are you saying Bourne is not among them?”

“Bourne can’t have a long memory, and as far as his sense of outrage is concerned, so far as I can tell, it’s reserved for those imperiling the ones he loves.”

Reuben looked at his son as he transferred the merguez to the couscous, and in doing so burned his hand. “Dammit!” He sucked on two fingertips.

“Butter,” the Director said.

“No butter aboard.”

Eli rose and went to the refrigerated larder, gabbed some ice cubes, wrapped them in a cloth, and handed it to his father. He brought the pot over to the table while his father nursed his burn.

“Bourne’s particular sense of outrage is the crux of your plan.” Reuben sat at the table while his son dished out the couscous.

“You know, Pop, this is just like when I was a boy. You used to make me this couscous every week.”

“Scandalizing your mother. ‘
You boys
,’ she’d say. ‘
How can you eat meat?
’”

“The first time, she ran out of the house.”

Reuben nodded. “That she did.”

The Director’s mood sobered. “Ophir’s run out of our house,
abi
. My old friend, working for the enemy.”

“Well, you’ve done the right thing, keeping him close.”

“But now he’s gone after Bourne himself.”

“And you don’t think that will be the end of him?”

Eli looked out into the darkness of the sea, which was different from any other form of darkness, rolling and thick, oversprayed with starlight, like sparks from a cold fire. He thought about the confidence he’d expressed in this afternoon’s conversation with Dani Amit.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

The father put his gnarled hand briefly over his son’s. “Don’t lose your resolve now, Eli. The worst thing a Director can do is not fully commit to the plan he’s authorized. Disaster awaits such an indecisive man.”

Reuben cut a sausage in thirds with the edge of his fork, then speared a section. “Trust Bourne in the same way you trust yourself.”

“I have deceived him.”

“Your job, Eli, is to deceive people.”

“This is different.”

“Is it?” Reuben popped the merguez into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “All right, if that’s your determination, then when this is all over you’ll admit to him what you’ve done. That will be your
aliyah
.”

The Director nodded. “Thank you,
abi
.”

“I haven’t told you anything you yourself didn’t already know.” He shoveled couscous onto the tines of his fork. “Your real worry is Dani Amit—most particularly what you’ve told him.”