The Bourne Legacy (Jason Bourne 4)

Accordingly, Spalko ordered him to take Akhmed, Karim, and one of the females down to the substation of the HVAC system that supplied the air to the summit’s forum. This was a slight change in plan. Magomet had been assigned to go with the three others. But Magomet was dead, and since it had been Arsenov who had killed him, he accepted it without question or complaint. In any event, they were now on a strict timetable.

“We have precisely thirty minutes from the moment we arrived in the Reykjavik Energy van,” he said. “After that, as we know from the last time, security will come to check up on us.” He consulted his watch. “Which means we now have twenty-four minutes to accomplish our mission.”

As Arsenov left with Akhmed and the other cadre members, Spalko pulled Zina aside. “You understand that this will be the last time you see him alive.”

She nodded her blond head.

“You have no misgivings?”

“On the contrary, it’ll be a relief,” she replied.

Spalko nodded. “Come on.” He hurried them down the corridor. “There’s no time to waste.”

Hasan Arsenov took immediate control of his little group. They had a vital function to perform, and he would make certain they performed it. They turned the corner and saw the security guard at his post near the large air discharge grille.

Without breaking stride, they came toward him.

“Hold it right there,” he said, bringing his machine pistol off his chest.

They stopped in front of him. “We’re from Reykjavik Energy,” Arsenov said in Icelandic and then, in response to the guard’s blank look, repeated it in English.

The guard frowned. “There’re no heat vents here.”

“I know,” Akhmed said, grabbing the machine pistol with one hand and slamming the guard’s head against the wall with the other.

The guard started to go down and Akhmed hit him again, this time with the butt of his own machine pistol.

“Give me a hand here,” Arsenov said, digging his fingers into the air discharge grille. Karim and the female pitched in, but Akhmed kept smashing the butt of his weapon into the guard, even after it was clear that he was unconscious and likely to stay that way for some time.

“Akhmed, give me the weapon!”

Akhmed tossed the machine pistol to Arsenov, then began kicking the fallen guard in the face. Blood was flowing and there was death in the air.

Arsenov forcibly dragged Akhmed away from the security guard. “When I give you an order, you’ll obey it or, by Allah, I’ll break your neck.”

Akhmed, his chest heaving, glared at Arsenov.

“We’re on a schedule,” Arsenov said fiercely. “You don’t have time to indulge yourself.”

Akhmed bared his teeth and laughed. Shrugging off Arsenov’s grip, he went to help Karim take off the grille. They shoved the guard into the air shaft, then, one by one, they crawled in after him. Akhmed, the last in, pulled the grille back in place.

They were obliged to crawl over the guard. As Arsenov did so, he pressed his fingers to the carotid artery. “Dead,” he said.

“So what?” Akhmed said belligerently. “Before the morning’s over, they’ll all be dead.”

On hands and knees, they crawled along the shaft until they came to the junction. Directly ahead of them was a vertical shaft. They deployed their rappeling gear. Placing the aluminum bar across the top of the vertical shaft, they belayed the rope and let it uncoil into the space below them. Taking the lead, Arsenov wrapped the rope around his left thigh and over his right. Moving hand under hand, he descended down the shaft at a steady pace. By the small shivering of the line, he became aware when each member of the cadre began to rappel down after him.

Just above the first junction box, Arsenov stopped. Flicking on a mini-flashlight, he played its concentrated beam over the wall of the shaft, illuminating the vertical lines of trunk cables and electric lines. In the middle of the tangle, something new gleamed.

“Heat sensor,” he called up.

Karim, the electronics expert, was just above him. While Arsenov played his flashlight onto the wall, the man took out pliers and a length of wire with alligator clips on either end. Climbing carefully over Arsenov, he kept going until he hung just above the outer range of the detector. Kicking out with one foot, he swung toward the wall, grabbed a trunk cable and held on. His fingers picked through the nest of wires, cut one, to which he attached one alligator clip. Then he stripped the insulation off the middle of another wire and attached the other alligator clip to it.

“All clear,” he said softly.

He moved down into the range of the sensor, but there was no alarm. He’d successfully bypassed the circuit. So far as the sensor knew, nothing was amiss.

Karim made way for Arsenov, who led them down to the bottom of the shaft. They were in range of the heart of the summit forum’s HVAC subsystem.

“Our objective is the summit forum’s HVAC subsystem,” Bourne said as he and Khan hurried through the lobby. Khan carried the laptop they’d gotten from Oszkar under his arm. “That’s the logical place for them to activate the diffuser.”

At this hour of the night, the lobby, vast, high-ceilinged and cold, was deserted save for various security and hotel personnel. The dignitaries were in their suites, either sleeping or prepping for the start of the summit, which was only hours away.

“Security has undoubtedly come to the same conclusion,” Khan said, “which means that we’ll be all right until we get near the substation’s hub, then they’re going to want to know what we’re doing in that area.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Bourne said. “It’s time we used my condition to our advantage.”

They went through the main section of the hotel without incident and passed through a decorative inner courtyard of geometric gravel paths, sheared evergreen shrubs, and futuristic-looking stone benches. On the other side was the forum section. Inside, they went down three flights of stairs. Khan activated the laptop and they checked the schematics, reassuring themselves that they were on the right level.

“This way,” Khan said, closing the computer as they moved off.

But they’d gotten only a hundred feet from the stairwell when a harsh voice said, “Take another step and you’re both dead men.”

At the bottom of the vertical air shaft, the Chechen rebels waited, crouched, anxious, their nerves strained to the breaking point. They had been awaiting this moment for months. They were primed, aching to move forward. They shivered as much from the unbearable anticipation as from the chill air, which had grown colder the deeper they went below the hotel. They had only to crawl along a short horizontal shaft to get to the HVAC relays, but they were separated from their objective by the security personnel in the corridor outside by the grillwork. Until the guards moved off on their rounds, they were at bay.

Ahkmed checked his watch and saw that they had fourteen minutes to complete their mission and return to the van. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and, gathering in his armpits, ran down his side, prickling his skin. His mouth was dry and his breathing shallow. It was always this way on the cusp of a mission. His heart beat fast and his entire body vibrated. He was still seething from Arsenov’s rebuke, which had come in front of the others and so was doubly offensive. As he listened, his ears straining, he stared at Arsenov, contempt in his heart. After that night in Nairobi, he’d lost all respect for Arsenov, not only because he was being cuckolded but because he had no idea. Akhmed’s thick lips curled into a smile. It felt good to have this power over Arsenov.

At last he heard the voices receding. He sprang forward, eager now to meet his destiny, but Arsenov’s powerful arm checked him painfully.

“Not yet.” Arsenov’s eyes glowered.

“They’ve moved off,” Akhmed said. “We’re wasting time.”

“We go when I give the orders.”

This further affront was too much for Akhmed. He spat, his contempt on his face. “Why should I follow y

our orders? Why should any of us? You cannot even keep your woman in her place.”

Arsenov lunged at Akhmed and for a moment they grappled indecisively. The others stood by, terrified to interfere.

“I’ll tolerate no more of your insolence,” Arsenov said. “You’ll follow my orders or I’ll see you dead.”

“Kill me then,” Akhmed said. “But know this: In Nairobi on the night before the demonstration, Zina entered the Shaykh’s room while you were asleep.”

“Liar!” Arsenov said, thinking of the pledge he and Zina had made to each other at the cove. “Zina would never betray me.”

“Think of where my room was, Arsenov. You made the assignments. I saw her with my own eyes.”

Arsenov’s eyes glowed with enmity, but he let Akhmed go. “I would kill you now except that we all have vital roles to play in the mission.” He gestured to the others. “Let’s get on with it.”

Karim, the electronics expert, went first, then the female and Akhmed, while Arsenov brought up the rear. Soon enough Karim lifted a hand, bringing them to a halt.

Arsenov heard his soft voice float back to them. “Motion sensor.”

He saw Karim crouching down, preparing his equipment. He was grateful for the presence of this man. How many bombs had Karim constructed for them over the years? All had worked flawlessly; he never made a mistake.

As before, Karim drew out a length of wire with the alligator clips at either end. With his pliers in one hand, he searched out the proper electrical wires, isolating them, cutting into one and applying an alligator clip to the bare copper end. Then, as before, he stripped away the insulation from the second wire and attached the other alligator clip, creating the bypass loop.

“All clear,” Karim said, and they moved forward into range of the motion sensor.

The alarm went off, shrilling through the corridor, bringing the security guards running, their machine pistols at the ready.

“Karim!” Arsenov cried.

“It’s a trap!” Karim wailed. “Someone crossed the wires!”

Moments before, Bourne and Khan turned slowly to confront the American security guard. He was dressed in army fatigues and riot gear. He came a step closer, peering at their ID tags. He relaxed somewhat, putting the machine pistol up, but the deep frown didn’t leave his face.

“What are you guys doing down here?”

“Maintenance checks,” Bourne said. He remembered the Reykjavik Energy truck he’d seen entering the hotel as well as something in the material Oszkar had downloaded to the laptop. “The thermal heating system’s gone offline. We’re supposed to be helping the people the energy company sent over.”

“You’re in the wrong section,” the guard said, pointing. “You need to go back the way you came, make a left, then left again.”

“Thanks,” Khan said. “I guess we got turned around. We’re not normally in this section.”

As they turned to leave, Bourne’s legs went out from under him. He gave a deep groan and fell.

“What the hell!” the guard said.

Khan knelt beside Bourne, opened his shirt.

“Jesus Christ,” the guard said, leaning over to stare at Bourne’s wounded torso, “what the hell happened to him?”

Khan reached up, jerked down hard on the front of the guard’s uniform, slamming the side of his head into the concrete floor. As Bourne rose, Khan stripped the clothes off the guard.

“He’s more your size than mine,” Khan said, handing Bourne the fatigues.

Bourne climbed into the guard’s uniform while Khan dragged the unconscious form into the shadows.

At that moment the motion sensor alarm screamed and they took off toward the substation at a run.

The security guards were well trained, and, commendably, the Americans and Arabs who were on duty this shift worked together flawlessly. Each kind of sensor had a different-sounding alarm, so they knew immediately that the motion sensor had been tripped and precisely where it was. They were on hair-trigger alert and, this close to the summit, were under orders to shoot first and ask questions later.

As they ran, they opened fire, raking the grillwork with automatic fire. Half of them emptied their magazines into the suspect area. The other half stood back in reserve while the others used crowbars to pry off the ruined grilles. They found three bodies, two men and a woman. One of the Americans notified Hull and one of the Arabs contacted Feyd al-Saoud.

By this time, more security personnel from other sectors on the floor had converged on the site to offer added support.

Two of the personnel held in reserve climbed into the air shaft, and when it was determined that no other hostiles were in evidence, they secured the area. Others dragged the three chewed-up corpses out of the air shaft, along with Karim’s paraphernalia for bypassing sensors and what at first glance looked like a time bomb.

Jamie Hull and Feyd al-Saoud arrived almost at the same time. Hull took one look at the situation and called his chief of staff via the wireless network.

“As of this moment, we’re on red alert. There’s been a breach of security. We have three hostiles down, repeat, three hostiles down. Put the entire hotel on absolute lockdown, no one in or out of the premises.” He continued to bark orders, moving his men into the planned position for a red alert. Then he contacted the Secret Service, who were with the president and his staff in the dignitary wing.

Feyd al-Saoud had squatted down and was studying the corpses. The bodies were pretty well shot up, but their faces, though blood-streaked, were intact. He took out a pen flash, shone it on one of the faces. Then he reached out, put his forefinger against the eye of one of the males. His fingertip came away blue; the corpse’s iris was dark brown.

One of the FSB men must have contacted Karpov because the Alpha Unit commander appeared at an ungainly lope. He was out of breath and Feyd al-Saoud guessed that he’d run all the way.

He and Hull briefed the Russian on what had happened. He held up his fingertip. “They’re wearing colored contacts—and look here, they’ve dyed their hair to pass for Icelanders.”

Karpov’s face was grim. “I know this one,” he said, kicking one of the male corpses. “His name’s Akhmed. He’s one of Hasan Arsenov’s top lieutenants.”

“The Chechen terrorist leader?” Hull said. “You’d better inform your president, Boris.”

Karpov stood up, fists on hips. “What I want to know is where’s Arsenov?”

“I would say that we’re too late,” Khan said from behind a metal column, as he watched the arrival of the two security chiefs, “except that I don’t see Spalko.”

“It’s possible that he wouldn’t put himself at risk by coming to the hotel,” Bourne said.

Khan shook his head. “I know him. He’s both an egotist and a perfectionist. No, he’s here somewhere.”

“But not here, obviously,” Bourne said thoughtfully. He was watching the Russian jogging up to Jamie Hull and the Arab security chief. There was something vaguely familiar about that flat, brutal face, the beetling brow and caterpillar eyebrows. When he heard the other’s voice, he said, “I know that man. The Russian.”

“No surprise there. I recognize him, too,” Khan said. “Boris Illyich Karpov, head of the FSB’s elite Alpha Unit.”

“No, I mean I know him.”

“How? Where?”

“I don’t know,” Bourne said. “Is he friend or foe?” He beat his fists against his forehead. “If only I could remember.”

Khan turned to him and clearly saw the anguish that racked him. He felt a dangerous urge to grasp Bourne’s shoulder and reassure him. Dangerous because he didn’t know where the gesture would lead or even what it would mean. He felt the further disintegration of his life that had begun the moment Bourne sat down beside him and spoke to him. “Who are you?” he had said. At the time, Khan had known the answer to that question; now he wasn’t sure. Could it be that everything he’d believed, or thought he’d believed, was a lie?

Khan took refuge from these deeply disturbing thoughts by cleaving to what he and Bourne knew best. “I’m bothered by that object,” he said. “It’s a time bomb. You said that Spalko was planning to use Dr. Schiffer’s bio-diffuser.”

Bourne nodded. “I’d say that this was a classic diversion, except for the fact that it’s now just past midnight. The summit isn’t scheduled to begin for another eight hours.”

“That’s why they’ve used a time bomb.”

“Yes, but why set it now, so far in advance?” Bourne said.

“Less security,” Khan pointed out.

“True, but there’s also more chance of its being discovered during one of security’s periodic sweeps.” Bourne shook his head. “No, we’re missing something, I know it. Spalko has something else in mind. But what?”

Spalko, Zina and the remainder of the cadre had reached their objective. Here, far from the section of the hotel housing the summit’s forum, security, though tight, had gaps in it that Spalko was able to exploit. Though there were many security people, they couldn’t be everywhere at once, and so by taking out two guards, Spalko and his team were soon in position.

They were three levels below the street in a huge concrete windowless space, completely enclosed save for a single open doorway. Masses of huge black pipes ran through the concrete wall on the far side of the space, each labeled with the section of the hotel it served.

The cadre now broke out their HAZMAT suits and put them on, carefully sealing them. Two of the Chechen females went into the passage to stand guard just outside the doorway, and a male rebel backed them up inside.

Spalko opened the larger of the two metal containers he carried. Inside was the NX 20. He carefully fitted the two halves together, checking that all the fittings were securely fastened. He handed it to Zina while he unlocked the refrigerated container Peter Sido had provided. The glass vial it contained was small, almost minuscule. Even after they had seen its effect in Nairobi, it was difficult to believe that such a small amount of the virus could be lethal to so many people.