The Bourne Legacy by Lustbader Eric van

Author:Lustbader, Eric van [Lustbader, Eric van]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-03-08T21:43:14+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The tactical Non-Lethal Weapons Directorate was housed in a series of anonymous-looking red-brick buildings covered with climbing ivy that had once been a women's boarding school. The Agency had deemed it more secure to take over an existing site than to build one from scratch. That way they could gut the structures, creating from the inside the warren of labs, conference rooms and testing sites the directorate required, using their own highly skilled personnel rather than outside contractors.

Even though Lindros showed his ID he was taken inside an all-white windowless room where he was photographed, fingerprinted and his retinas scanned. He waited alone.

Finally, after fifteen minutes or so, a CIA suit entered, addressed Lindros, “Deputy Director Lindros, Director Driver will see you now.”

Without a word. Lindros followed the suit out of the room. They spent another five minutes marching up and down featureless corridors with indirect lighting. For all he knew, he was being led around in a circle.

At length, the suit stopped at a door that, as far as Lindros could tell, was identical to all the others they had passed. As with the others, there was no marking, no identification of any sort anywhere on or near the door, save for two small bulbs. One glowed a deep red. The suit rapped his knuckles three times on the door. A moment later the red light went out and the other bulb glowed green. The suit opened the door, stepped back for him to go through.

On the other side of it, he found Director Randy Driver, a sandy-haired individual with a Marine high-and-tight haircut, a blade-straight nose and narrow blue eyes that gave him a perpetually suspicious look. He had wide shoulders and a muscular torso he liked to show off a bit too much. He sat in a high-tech mesh swivel chair behind a smoked glass and stainless-steel desk. In the center of each white metal wall hung a reproduction of a Mark Rothko painting, each looking like swaths of colored bandages applied to a raw wound.

“Deputy Director, an unexpected pleasure,” Driver said with a tight smile that belied his words. “I confess I'm not accustomed to snap inspections. I would've preferred the courtesy of an appointment.”

“Apologies,” Lindros said, “but this isn't a snap inspection. I'm conducting a murder investigation.”

“Alexander Conklin's murder, I presume.”

“Indeed. I need to interview one of your people. A Dr. Felix Schiffer.”

It was as if Lindros had dropped an immobility bomb. Driver sat unmoving behind his desk, the tight smile frozen on his face like a rictus. At last, Driver seemed to regain his composure. “What on earth for?”

“I just told you,” Lindros said. “It's part of our ongoing investigation.”

Driver spread his hands. “I can't see how.”

“It's not required that you do,” Lindros said shortly. Driver had made him sit and wait like a child at detention, now he was being given a verbal runaround. Lindros was rapidly losing patience with him. “All that's required is that you tell me where Dr. Schiffer is.

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