Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Sacrifice by Brian Freeman

Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Sacrifice by Brian Freeman

Author:Brian Freeman [Freeman, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-07-26T00:00:00+00:00


22

“Professor Thatcher is in the garden,” the maid told Bourne and Abbey when they arrived at his home outside Bedford, New York. “He said to show you out there when you arrived.”

She led them through a dimly lit Cape Cod–style house, with dark wood floors and antique furniture filling rooms that were decorated with heavy Victorian wallpaper. There were hardcover books everywhere, on shelves, on tables, and balanced precariously in piles on the floor. Most were decades old, and all appeared to be nonfiction. Copies of at least a dozen different daily newspapers, from the New York Times to the Chicago Tribune to the Washington Sentinel, were archived in yellowing stacks. There were photos on the walls of Thatcher with five decades of print and broadcast journalists like David Brinkley, Helen Thomas, and Mike Royko. Jason didn’t see any electronic devices in the house, not a computer or phone, not even a television.

“Walden’s sort of a Luddite,” Abbey commented with a smile.

They headed outside into the gardens. It was seven o’clock, almost sunset, and long shadows stretched across the green grass. The trees and neat square hedges made for a kind of maze through the acreage. The house itself was on a small country lane, lined with stone walls, not far from the Cross River Reservoir.

“Just follow the smell of pipe tobacco,” the maid told them.

The garden sprawled across several acres, with dead ends that went nowhere and ended in Grecian-style sculptures. The grass was wet under their feet. They did smell tobacco nearby, but it wasn’t enough to guide them to Walden Thatcher. After getting lost for almost fifteen minutes among the hedges, Abbey finally called out loudly to her old professor, and a hoarse but cheerful voice called back and led them to where he was.

They found him sitting in a small white gazebo, shadowed by a large oak tree, with a gurgling moat running completely around it and sculpted cherubs spitting fountains of water at each other. A footbridge led across the creek to the steps. There were several other chairs inside the gazebo. Bourne and Abbey joined the professor, but before they could sit down, he sprang to his feet with considerable energy and embraced Abbey in a warm hug.

Abbey was about to introduce Jason when he interrupted her.

“Alan Longworth,” Bourne said, plucking out a name he’d spotted in one of Peter Chancellor’s books. He extended a hand, which the professor shook. “I’m a friend of Abbey’s, and I help her with research from time to time.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Longworth,” Thatcher said, his voice scratchy in the cool evening air. “If you’re a friend of Abbey’s, then you’re also a friend of mine. She’s one of my very favorite people.”

They all sat down in the gazebo. Thatcher was in his seventies, and he looked as if he hadn’t left his university life behind him, wearing a tweed sport coat, tan pleated slacks, and burgundy penny loafers. He was a small, skinny man, but spry when he moved, despite his age.



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