The Bourne Dominion (16 page)

Essai had cause to think on this history as his car jounced the seventy-some-odd miles from the Seville airport to the sandy spit on which Cadiz was built. The Moors had spent the most time in control of
the city, and it looked it. Because of the sandy soil, there were no high-rises in Cadiz, so the skyline looked more or less the same as it had in medieval times. Though in Spain, the city had a distinctly North African aspect and feel to it.

Following the map engraved in his mind, he entered the walls of Casco Antiguo, the old city. The cream-colored house off the Avenida de Duque de Nájera overlooked Playita de las Mujeres, one of the city’s most beautiful beaches. From the second-story rear windows all of Casco Antiguo presented itself like the history of southern Spain.

Essai had called from the airport in Seville. Consequently, Don Fernando Hererra was expecting him. He opened the thick medieval wooden door as soon as Essai turned off the car’s engine.

Don Fernando, who lived in Seville but maintained this second home as an occasional getaway, wore an immaculate summer-weight linen suit the exact shade of cream as the outside of his house. Though he was in his early seventies, his body was nevertheless lean and flat, as if he had been constructed in two dimensions instead of three, the vivid blue eyes made all the more prominent by his leathery skin, dark, wind-burned, and sun-wrinkled. Apart from his eyes, he might have been mistaken for a Moor.

Essai got out of the car, stretched, and the two men embraced in the European style.

Then Hererra frowned. “Where is Estevan?”

“Estevan is fine. He’s being protected,” Essai said. “It’s a long story.”

Hererra nodded, ushering Essai into the cool interior, but his worried expression did not abate.

The house was built in the Moorish style, with a central open space cooled by fountains and the fronds of slender date palms, which clashed softly in the sea breeze.

Hererra had set out food and drink on a beaten-brass tray atop a folding wooden table. After Essai had washed, the two men sat amid the shifting shadows and the musical plinking of the fountains, eating the foodstuffs of the desert bedouins with only their right hands, as the Arabs do.

Hererra plucked a Valencia orange from a bowl. “
Ahora
,” he said. “
Digame, por favor
.” Taking out a folding knife with a long, thin blade, he began to peel the orange. “Estevan is not simply an employee of mine, he’s an old friend. I sent you to Colombia to fetch him and the woman and bring them back here before the Domna killed them.”

“So it was a test.”

Hererra separated an orange segment from the sphere. “If you want to think of it that way.”

“How else should I think of it?” Essai was clearly upset. “You don’t trust me.”

“Estevan isn’t here.” Hererra popped the orange segment into his mouth, then in a blur of motion pressed the knife blade against Essai’s throat. He pointed westward with his other hand. “Out there are the Pillars of Hercules. Legend says there is a phrase engraved on them:
Non plus ultra
.”

“ ‘Nothing further beyond,’ ” Essai said.

“Unless you explain yourself, Essai, there is nothing further for you beyond this point.”

“You have no cause for either anger or concern.” Essai’s head was tilted back in a vain attempt to get away from the blade. He could feel the cool metal pressing against the pulse in his neck, and he fought the urge to swallow, a sure sign of his fear. “You sent me to bring Estevan Vegas back. But in Colombia I got a better idea. In Colombia I met Jason Bourne.”

Hererra’s eyes opened wide. “You sent Bourne to fetch Estevan?”

“You know Bourne personally, Don Fernando. Is there anyone better for the task? He’s certainly a better choice than I am, especially once I discovered that the Domna had readied its attack on Vegas.”

Hererra’s eyes darkened. He put the knife away, but he was far from relaxed. “What did you tell Bourne?”

“Not the truth, if that’s what you’re worried about. I told him that Vegas is a weak link in the Domna chain.”

“That much is true.”

“Lies require a certain amount of truth in order to be believable.”

Hererra stared at the incomplete sphere of the orange and shook his head. “It’s never wise to lie to Bourne.”

“He’ll never find out.”

Hererra’s eyes flicked up. “How do you know? Estevan—”

“Vegas isn’t going to say a word to Bourne. He has no reason to and every reason not to.”

Hererra appeared to consider this for a moment. “I still don’t like it. You’ll have to contact Bourne, tell him to bring Estevan and the woman here. It’s too dangerous.”

“There are tickets waiting for him in his name at a regional airport. When he gets to Seville, there will be a packet with the rest of the details.” Essai shrugged. “It’s the best I could do, under the circumstances.”

“You should have manipulated the circumstances better,” Hererra said sourly. “You had Corellos in your pocket. What more did you need?”

“Corellos is about as stable as a boat taking on water. The man’s a walking time bomb.”

“All this may be true,” Hererra said, “but it doesn’t change the fact that Corellos is still useful to me.”

“Owning Aguardiente Bancorp isn’t enough for you? It’s one of the largest financial institutions outside the United States.”

Hererra looked up into the clattering fronds beyond which the sky shone as blue as his eyes. “Aguardiente is my day job.” He broke off another orange segment. “I need to be engaged at night.” His gaze, lowering like the sun, settled on Essai’s face. “You should understand that better than most.”

Popping the segment into his mouth, he chewed reflectively for a moment, savoring the sweet-tart juice, then swallowed the pulp. “But this isn’t about me, Essai. It’s about Bourne.”

He broke off a third segment, but instead of eating it he handed it to Essai. Then he waited, patient as a
r
shi
in a Zen retreat.

Essai sat with the segment balanced on the fingertips of his right hand, staring as if it were a sculpture he had just bought, not something to eat. “You know what he did to me.”

“Invading your house is not something one forgives easily.”

Essai was still staring at the orange segment. “Or at all.”

Hererra grunted and put aside what was left of the orange. “Now I’ll tell you a secret, Essai. Bourne invaded my house, too.”

Essai’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and Hererra nodded.

“It’s true. He came to the house in Seville with a woman named Tracy Atherton, posing as—” He waved a hand dismissively. “What matters is that it was as much an invasion as his stealing into your home.”

“And what did you do?”

“I?” Hererra appeared surprised by the question. “I did nothing. Bourne was doing what he had to do. He had no reason to trust me and every reason not to.” He allowed his echo of Essai’s own phrase to sink in before he continued. “There was nothing
to
do. It’s all part of the territory you and I and he inhabit.”

Essai frowned. “You think I’ve taken this too personally.”

“I think you need to gain perspective.”

“You ignore the differences between the Muslim and the Western worlds.”

“It’s the Western world you’ve chosen to live in, Essai. You can’t have it both ways.”

“He deserves—”

“You’re using him to bring Estevan here; that’s enough. I know this man better than you do. It would be a mistake to push your luck.” Hererra pointed to the orange segment. “Don’t disappoint me.”

After a moment, Essai pushed the fruit between his lips and bit down.

C
ome, sit by the fire.” Estevan Vegas patted the raised stone hearth. “You’ll be dry in minutes.”

Bourne stepped across the kitchen and sat beside the older man. Rosie was at the stove, seeing to dinner. Night had come on with a jaguar’s rush. Lashings of warm yellow light from the gas lamps Vegas had lit kept the dark from drifting in through the windows. The storm had abated, but the sky was still thick with filthy clouds. Outside, the
blackness was absolute, it was as if they had been transported to the bottom of a well.

“You were expecting Jalal Essai?”

Vegas raised his eyebrows. “Is Essai in Colombia? I have no knowledge of that.”

“Then these elaborate preparations—”

Vegas’s eyes slid away. “For… others.”

Bourne took the older man’s right hand in his, stretched out the forefinger. A pale circle of flesh bore witness to the ring that had been recently discarded. Vegas jerked his hand away as if Bourne had drawn it into the fire.

“I know about the Domna,” Bourne said.

“I have no idea—”

“They are my enemies as well as yours.”

Vegas rose abruptly. “This was a mistake.” He backed away from Bourne. “As soon as your clothes are dry you will leave.”

Rosie turned from the oven. “Estevan, where are your manners? You can’t send this man out into the cold and dark.”

“Rosie, stay out of this.” Vegas’s gaze remained on Bourne. “You don’t know—”

“I know what it means to be a decent human being,
mi amor
.”

She could have said more, but she didn’t. Instead, her eyes willed Vegas’s to meet her own. It was there the argument was decided.

“Fine,” he grunted. “But first thing tomorrow morning.”

Rosie’s smile burst across her face like sunlight. “Yes,
mi amor
. As you wish.” She pulled the roast out of the oven. “Now,
por favor
, offer our guest a drink before the poor man dies of thirst.”

B
ourne carried his
cachaça
—a fiery liquor made from fermented sugarcane—and stood by a window. Behind him, Rosie was making the final preparations for dinner and Vegas was adding another place setting at the table.

He saw only his face in ghostly reflection, which was fitting, he
thought.
I’m only a shadow, moving through a world of shadows
. His thoughts turned to Jalal Essai. Was he still working for the Domna? He had certainly been moving contraband through Suarez and his FARC cadre. Suarez was a member of the Domna, but he was also a political creature. FARC had been Suarez’s life, fighting against the Colombian government. So was Essai using him for his own purposes? But what could those purposes be? Was the story about his daughter a fabrication, as well? If so, then his plan for a murderous revenge against the Domna was also a lie. Bourne took a sip of the liquor. It was possible that Essai’s grudge was against Benjamin El-Arian personally and not the Domna collectively. That scenario put an entirely new spin on the situation. If it had any basis in fact. The truth was, Jalal Essai was a complete mystery. Neither his actions nor his motives were clear.

Once again, Bourne thought, he was in a place where he could trust no one.

He was called to dinner by Rosie. When he turned, she was smiling sweetly at him, her arm outstretched to the waiting chair. In her own unconventional way, she was quite beautiful, Bourne thought, with her long black hair, coffee-colored eyes, and dusky-rose skin. She was trim, with little fat on her, testament to living in the middle of nowhere. She wore no makeup nor any jewelry, save for a gold stud in each earlobe. Her teeth were white and even, her mouth generous, her smile as warm as her manner. Bourne liked her, liked as well the manner in which she handled Vegas. It wasn’t easy for females in such a
macho
society.

Vegas was already at the head of the table, which was laden with stew, potatoes, two green leafy vegetables, and fresh bread that, as Rosie explained, she had made that morning. Vegas said a brief prayer, then they ate in silence for some time. A carved wooden crucifix observed them coolly from its place on one wall. The food was delicious, and Rosie beamed when Bourne said as much.

“So,” Vegas said, wiping his lips with a soiled cloth, “where is he?”

Bourne looked at him. “Where is who?”

“Essai.”

“Then you do know he was in Colombia.”

“I hoped as much, anyway. I was told he would come and take us away before—” With a quick glance at Rosie he stopped short.

“You can say the name,
mi amor
.” She was eating slowly, with very small bites, as if afraid if she ate her fill there wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her man and their guest. “I won’t curl up and die.”

Vegas crossed himself. “God forbid!” He scowled. “Never say such a thing, Rosie. Never!”

“As you wish.” Rosie lowered her gaze to her plate as she commenced eating again.

Vegas redirected his attention to Bourne. “As you have witnessed, we are prepared for the inevitable, but I no longer want to stay where we will eventually become vulnerable.”

“But the Domna is everywhere.”

“Essai has promised us asylum.”

“And you trust him?”

“I do.” Vegas shrugged. “But honestly, what choice do we have?”

Bourne thought about that and decided that they had no choice. “Why is the Domna attacking you inevitable?” He put down his fork. “What have you done?”

Vegas was silent for a very long time. Just when Bourne was thinking he might not respond, he did.

“It’s what I haven’t done that has the
maricóns
worried.” Vegas shoveled food into his mouth and chewed contemplatively.