Jason Bourne #07 - The Bourne Deception by Eric Van Lustbader

Author:Eric Van Lustbader [Lustbader, Eric Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2011-06-30T20:03:35+00:00

Chapter 18

NOTHING,” Amun Chalthoum said with evident disgust.

He was staring down at the young man Soraya had fished out of the Red Sea after he’d jumped overboard to escape her questioning. They were in one of the shipboard cabins provided for them by the owner of the dive shop, a narrow, foul-smelling place whose exaggerated rocking made the sunlight an inconstant companion.

Chalthoum’s expression was a combination of frustration and fear. “He’s nothing but a runner—an advance man for drug smugglers.”

That didn’t seem like nothing to Soraya, but she could see that Amun wasn’t in the mood for thinking about anything other than the terrorist cadre. It was at this moment, when his distress was most evident, that she abandoned the notion that he might be misleading her. She was sure he wouldn’t be so emotional about this situation if he was covering up al Mokhabarat’s involvement. The wave of relief that ran through her was so powerful, she rocked on her feet. When she recovered, she turned her full concentration on the origin of the terrorist cell.

“All right, so they didn’t come through here,” she said, “but there must be other places along the coast—”

“My men have checked,” Amun said darkly. “Which means the route I proposed is wrong. They didn’t come overland through Iraq, after all.”

“Then how did they get into Egypt?” Soraya asked.

“I don’t know.” Chalthoum seemed to chew over this notion for some time. “They wouldn’t be stupid enough to try transshipping the Kowsar missile from Iran by plane. It would have been picked up by our radar—or one of your satellites.”

That was true enough, she thought. Then how did the Iranian terrorists get the missile into Egypt? This enigma brought her full circle, back to her first suspicion that Egyptians—but not al Mokhabarat—had been involved, but it wasn’t until they were back on deck, the runner was in custody, and the boat was heading back to land that she proposed it aloud to Chalthoum.

They were standing by the starboard rail, the wind whipping at their hair, sunlight turning the skin of the water to a white dazzle. He had his forearms on the rail, his hands clasped loosely, staring down into the water.

“Amun,” she said softly, “is it possible that someone in your government—one of your enemies, one of our enemies—created the opportunity for the Iranian terrorists?”

Even though she’d been careful to phrase the question in the most benign way, she felt him stiffen. A muscle in his cheek began to spasm, but he surprised her when he answered.

“I’ve already thought of that, azizti, and much to my chagrin I made several discreet inquiries this afternoon while I was alone in my search of the dive clubs. It cost me in political capital, but I did it, and it came to nothing.” He turned to her, his dark eyes more sorrowful than she’d ever seen them. “Truly, azizti, it would have been the end of me if what you asked had been the truth.”

And it was at this precise moment that she knew.

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