The Bourne Retribution (Jason Bourne 11)

Like a sleepwalker, he approached the bed. He recognized her, yet she looked vastly different. She was painfully thin, and so ashen she appeared almost ghostly. In some places, the blue of her veins shone through her translucent skin with a venomous lucidity. She had the appearance of someone who was still in the grip of an exceptionally grave and painful illness.

As he came close, she parted her gown, revealing the ugly scar on her side where she had been stabbed the night they had escaped Maceo Encarnación’s villa in Mexico City. He had had to carry her the final yards, and then…

He took her to him, enfolding her, cradling her, rocking her gently. As the tips of his fingers ran along the still-livid scar, he felt his heart well up to the bursting point. And he whispered, “I saw you bleed out in the back of the taxi. I left you a corpse in Mexico City. I stood by while they buried you here in Tel Aviv. And now…”

“Now here we are. Everything is good.” She smiled.

He remembered that smile, and the feelings it engendered rose up in him like a cresting wave.

“You were so brave, Jason. So resourceful. I never would have made it if it weren’t for you.” She took his head in her hands, kissed him tenderly with lips soft as clouds. “My love, you saved my life.”

For a seemingly endless time, they held each other wordlessly, content just to feel each other, to assure themselves that this reunion was real, not a dream from which they would wake, heartbroken and in despair.

“Jason,” she said at length, “I was so frightened for you. When my father told me his plan, I was livid. I wouldn’t speak to him for days. But he kept at me, repeated over and over what I told you, and at last I relented. And he was right. You were the only one who could get close to Ouyang, who could kill him. The only one. And of course, he had given you the perfect motivation: my death.”

There was anguish in her voice, as well as love. But there was also unmistakable pride.

Holding her now, hearing her speak, having once again felt her lips against his, the rage leached out of Bourne’s heart, and he calmed. As always, her touch was like a balm against the betrayals the world had, time and again, heaped on him. And as this process continued, he understood that though Eli had used him, he hadn’t betrayed him. On the contrary, Eli had trusted him to commit the most sacred act a father could set in motion: retribution for his gravely wounded daughter.

Rebeka—Sara; it would take some getting used to before he could call her that—shifted against him, and he realized that she must still be in pain.

“Lie back,” he said gently.

“Only if you keep hold of me.”

He lay her down, held her hand in both of his while she smiled up at him, and sighed deeply.

“Now listen, my love, while I tell you a story. When we met I was a flight attendant. You were heading for Damascus and so was I. But some time before, I met with Ouyang. It was all part of the plan. I presented myself as a courier, moving military secrets from Damascus to Oman. He saw me as a mule—as he was supposed to.

“The fact was, I was the one stealing the secrets. I was hiding in plain sight. From that moment on, his attention moved off me to find the people running me. But he never could find them, because they didn’t exist. He wasted untold time and money chasing the invisible honeypot while, one by one, I killed off his people.”

“Until he discovered the truth.”

“Yes.”

“And then he wouldn’t rest until you were dead.” Bourne wanted to scream. All at once, he hated his life of secrets and lies, hated the despicable life that had put her in harm’s way.

“At the outset of the mission, I was outfitted with a hollow tooth,” she continued. “Inside was a fast-acting capsule. It wasn’t a death pill, but one that would ensure my life under extreme circumstances. I swallowed a drug our scientists have perfected that slows the metabolism to simulate death. If I’m found in time, I can be revived, though the return to life is a long and painful one.”

For some time, Bourne sat holding her hand.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “How many times have I imagined this moment, Jason; longed for it with all my heart and soul.”

Leaning over, Bourne kissed her tears away. “You’re not going out into the field again.”

“Could I stop you?” She searched his face. “Be honest. What else would either of us do?”

For a long time, they stared into each other’s eyes. At length, he took the gold chain from around his neck. The small star of David glimmered between them, a comet in the night sky. The moment she saw it, the tears came again. But this time her eyes were shining. She bent her head forward and he affixed the chain at the nape of her neck. The emblem of her he had carried with him from the moment of her supposed death lay on her chest as it had on the afternoon he had met her, heading to Damascus.

“You see, you were always close to me,” he whispered.

“Jason.” Tears lay heavy on her eyelids, reflecting tiny prisms. “Oh, Jason, what are you waiting for?”

He leaned toward her, and Sara Yadin burst into delighted laughter.

“Yes,” she sighed just before his lips covered hers.