Bourne turned off Highway 1 at the road leading to El Matador State Beach not far from Abbey’s house. He hiked a short trail to the cliffside, where steps led down to a narrow strip of Pacific sand. Shadow waited there, standing just outside the reach of the incoming waves. Her flowing blond hair was tied into a ponytail, and she wore a forest-green Lycra top and jeans, which made her look like an athletic Californian. Her Treadstone security was nowhere to be seen. She was alone.
“Holtzman’s dead?” Shadow murmured. “That’s very unfortunate. Now we can’t interrogate him.”
“It couldn’t be helped.”
Her eyes sharpened like twin knife points. “Yes it could, Jason. Of course it could.”
“I wasn’t going to let him kill two people.”
“You mean, you weren’t going to let him kill Abbey Laurent,” she snapped.
Jason didn’t deny it. “You’re right. There’s no way I would let that happen. But I would have intervened regardless of who it was. My job was to identify the target, not sit there and watch a hit man take him out. Having Garrett Parker alive makes it easier to figure out why someone wanted him out of the way.”
“Maybe so, but with Holtzman dead, whoever has the Files will also know that we know about Parker. That may prompt a change in strategy. They’ll be more cautious, or they’ll move faster to unload the data. That makes our job harder.”
“You’re right,” Bourne agreed.
Shadow turned to face him. Ocean mist made her face glow in the starlight. “I’m concerned that Ms. Laurent is in the middle of this, Jason. You have an emotional attachment to her that’s likely to get in the way of the mission.”
“If you want me out, fine. Tell me to go.”
“But you won’t, will you? Not while Abbey is in danger.”
Bourne shrugged. They both knew that was true.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, because we’re too far down the road for me to change horses,” Shadow continued. “I don’t have the luxury of starting over with a new agent. But keep this interaction professional, Jason. Stay out of Abbey Laurent’s life, and needless to say, stay out of her bed, too.”
“Abbey and I were involved. We’re not anymore.”
“Just tread carefully,” Shadow said. Her eyes softened, which was a rarity. “That’s personal advice, too, Jason, not just as your handler. You’re vulnerable when it comes to women. Especially her.”
“Like I was with you ten years ago?” Bourne said. “When you manipulated me and put me under your microscope for Treadstone?”
Shadow’s face showed no expression. She didn’t apologize; she never apologized. “Yes, I did manipulate you. So what? That doesn’t make me wrong. It means I know you better than just about anyone else. Including Abbey.”
“Fuck you,” he retorted, annoyed with himself that he let her get to him so readily.
Shadow brushed off his anger. “Are the cleaners almost done?”
“Yes, except three of them weren’t cleaners at all. They were Treadstone agents. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? What were they doing inside Abbey’s house?”
“Searching,” Shadow replied. “Garrett Parker was Holtzman’s intended victim, so that gives him a connection to the Files. I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to see what we could find out about him.”
“And Abbey, too?”
“Of course Abbey, too. She doesn’t get a free pass because you had a relationship with her. Abbey was a journalist before she followed in Peter Chancellor’s footsteps. For all I know, she’s after the Files, just like us. Hasn’t it occurred to you that Abbey may have discovered Garrett’s involvement on her own? And that she sought out a relationship with him in order to pursue the story?”
“You’re out of your mind,” Bourne replied.
“I’m not. And you know it.”
“You don’t want me to trust her. That’s the bottom line.”
“You’re right. You’re Treadstone, Cain. Do I need to remind you of the rule? Trust no one. Including Abbey.”
Bourne took a step backward as the rising tide licked at his boots. “Search all you want. You won’t find anything about her. And I assume you weren’t able to get your hands on Garrett’s computer. He keeps it attached to him like a robotic arm.”
“You’re wrong. We hacked the local Wi-Fi, and we were able to clone his hard drive. If there’s anything there, we’ll find it. Meanwhile, what else did you learn from him? What did he tell you?”
Bourne related the information that Garrett had shared, including his history with Jumpp and the possibility that he’d been targeted by killers once before.
“Everything he said makes me think this started out as a Chinese espionage operation,” Bourne told her. “Their programmers embedded something inside the Jumpp software that’s activated by other apps. When the apps come in contact with each other—like mygirlnextdoor or this word puzzle game—they trigger a secret data dump. It’s smart and subtle. And we know the Chinese have been gathering sensitive personal data for years, at least as far back as the OPM hack.”
Shadow knelt on the beach, letting the waves pour cold water over her hands. She looked up at Jason with a frown. “That makes sense, but you see the problem, don’t you?”
He frowned. “The Chinese aren’t acting like they have the Files. Why try to kill Wilson Scott? Or Garrett Parker? If they already have what they want, there’s no risk to them. They’d only be worried about shutting them up if the Files were in the open and they were afraid we might get to them first.”
“Exactly. It seems like they’re part of the race, too. But why? If they built the software, something must have happened. Something went wrong with their scheme. They lost control of the program.”
“Maybe somebody hacked the hackers.”
“Maybe so.”
He thought about what Johanna had told him. Fifty million dollars. The Files are in play.
“One person,” Bourne suggested. “Not necessarily part of a group or connected to a government. Just someone who’s after a lot of money.”
“Could one person pull this off?” Shadow asked dubiously.
“Someone with the right expertise could. Maybe we’re looking for a programmer at one of the companies who figured out what the Chinese were doing and saw the financial potential of using this data for blackmail. Now this person is concerned that Garrett can expose him. Or her.”
“That’s a reasonable theory,” Shadow agreed. She pushed herself to her feet and stepped away from the water. “The question is who.”
“Garrett’s specialty is AI. That’s why Jumpp brought him in. His Chinese predecessor, Mr. Yuan, was an AI pioneer, too. Garrett thinks whatever’s going on must have an AI component.”
“In other words, we’re looking for an AI hacker,” Shadow said.
“Right.”
“Did Garrett have suggestions? This can’t be a large community.”
“Not that he told me, but he must know something, whether he’s aware of it or not.”
“Well, perhaps his hard drive will give us a clue,” Shadow said.
Bourne nodded. “In the meantime, I know someone who’s part of the AI world and knows it better than we do.”
He watched Shadow’s face darken.
“You want to bring in Storm.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Bourne told her. “Storm—Johanna—is already in. She’s looking for the Files, just like we are. Callie Faith wants to get to them first, and she’s using Johanna to help her. The fact is, Johanna has a deep background in AI. That’s why you recruited her to Treadstone in the first place. She was a lone hacker in Salzburg, years ahead of what was going on in Silicon Valley. She’ll have names, contacts, people who may know enough to lead us to the Files.”
“If Storm is working for Callie Faith, why would she help us?” Shadow asked.
“Not us. Johanna will help me. To double-cross you.”
“Naturally.” Shadow trained her blue eyes on him again. “And how long have you been keeping this information from me?”
“Until you needed to know,” Bourne said.
“That’s not how it works. I need to know everything, Jason. Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”
He saw Tati’s face in his mind as he lied. “No.”
“I hope you don’t trust Storm. She’ll turn on you as soon as the Files are within reach.”
“That’s a possibility,” he admitted.
“I’d say it’s a certainty. But for the moment, you’re right. We can use her. So do what you have to do.”
“Good.”
Shadow moved in very close to him on the beach, as if she were daring him to kiss her. Her voice was barely louder than the waves, and it came out with the seductive hiss of a snake. “But remember this, Jason. I’m always watching you. I know Storm is out to get me. I know you saw her in Washington. I know you fucked her at the Hyatt. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. No one is indispensable, not even you. If you betray me, I’ll have you killed.”
Bourne stared back at her, his face unmoving. He knew Shadow didn’t make hollow threats. She meant every word.
It made him wonder what would happen when he did betray her.
Because once he got his hands on the Files, he had no intention of delivering them to her.
*
The rat studied Tati with malignant curiosity.
It was big, gray, and hungry. Several times a day, it emerged from somewhere inside the walls and snickered close to her on its little rat feet. If she was awake, it stayed out of reach, practically laughing at her when she kicked out with her leg to drive it away. If she was asleep, she would wake up to find its hungry mouth ready to gnaw on her toes.
“Go,” she hissed. “Go, get away!”
She stamped her foot on the cold concrete floor of the wine cellar, but the rat didn’t move. Its nose twitched, sniffing the stale air. Maybe it smelled the blood from her bandaged hand. Maybe it was just waiting for her to die. Each day, when the rat came back, she could feel herself weaker and thinner.
My God, Tati thought. How has my life come to this?
She’d grown up in luxury among the Moscow oligarchs. Putin had always treated her like a daughter. Some people whispered that she was his daughter. But for Putin, blood and history meant nothing compared to loyalty. If she’d kept her mouth shut about the war in Ukraine, she would still be doing her climate research at the university, still taking weekends at the dachas of the rich men who wanted to marry her. But keeping her mouth shut had never been an option for Tati. She always spoke her mind.
“Go!” she whispered to the rat again. “Go, or I swear, when Jason comes for me, I will have him cut off your head!”
But the rat just stared at her, its eyes beady and black. The only thing that scared him off were the footsteps, but that was what scared Tati, too. The footsteps were worse than being naked and cold, worse than starving.
Tati drew up her bare knees and wrapped her arms tightly around them. She had a blanket on her shoulders, but the blanket was thin and small and had holes in it. Its scratchy wool gave her a rash. Her blond hair was dirty, and so was her skin. She knew she smelled almost as bad as the chamber pot on the other side of the cellar. Every day the guards brought her a bucket of freezing water to clean herself, but she could barely stand to do more than pour a little over her privates. And the guards all watched as she did.
How much time had passed? How many days?
She didn’t know anymore. There were no windows down here, no light except for a single bulb dangling on a string high above her head. Day could be night, and night could be day. Sometimes she sang to herself to quash her fear; sometimes she counted and recounted the hundreds of dusty bottles of wine. She’d begun to break them open and drink. The crowns of a dozen bottles lay next to her in the corner, their jagged glass teeth grinning at her like jack-o’-lanterns. Her mind swam in a kind of hazy fog, but being drunk made her numb, and numbness was the only way to survive the footsteps.
“Jason,” she murmured aloud, her voice cracking, her soul praying. “Where are you?”
She knew he would come for her. She knew he would save her. She never lost faith. But, oh God, when?
What would be left of her when he finally returned?
Thump thump thump came the footsteps outside the cellar door.
By instinct, her skin crawled. She could feel the hands of the guards on her before anyone was even there.
On the other side of the cellar, a key rattled in the lock. She heard the squeal of hinges as the heavy wooden door opened. The rat finally scampered away to hide in the walls. It was no fool; it ran away when the guards came. She wondered who it would be today. Would it be Kirill? Or would it be Mikhail or Lev? They were all bad, but she didn’t fear for her life with Mikhail and Lev. They put down the tray of watery potatoes and dry stew and replaced the chamber pot. When they forced her to do things, they came quickly and left quickly.
But Kirill.
Jesus.
Jason! Come back to me!
She looked up in the dim light, and her heart sank to her feet.
It was Kirill.
Six feet tall, bald, huge, his stomach jutting out as if he were pregnant with triplets. His eyes were narrow slits, his beard and mustache dirty with crumbs from his last meal. He wore loose fatigues, and she could see that he was ready for her. He always was. She could already taste him, and it sickened her.
He said nothing. He jerked with his fat thumb to tell her to stand up. When her stiff limbs were slow to obey, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Her knees struggled to unlock; her legs could barely hold her up. Instinctively, she covered her chest, but he slapped away her arm. His eyes pawed over her, hungering after her puffy nipples, which were like bullets in the cold. His hand squeezed between her legs, his fingers prodding and invading.
Tears leaked from her eyes, but her tears became diamonds, making her hard as ice. She was done with this. Done with him. She was drunk, and she didn’t care what happened to her anymore.
“Kitty, kitty, pretty kitty,” Kirill grunted, his breath wafting over her like a sour breeze. “What should we do with kitty today?”
Tati inhaled sharply and spat in his face. He scowled with anger, then hit her across the mouth, drawing blood from her lip. But she barely flinched. The punishment was worth it. She would take no more abuse from this pig. If he wanted her on her knees today, he would have to fight.
“You only make it harder on yourself, you little whore,” Kirill growled.
“Don’t call me that. I’m a scientist. Whereas you—you have a walnut for a brain. And for a dick, too.”
The guard’s face screwed up with fury. His body swelled, somehow becoming even larger than it was as he loomed over her. “You want to play with me today, huh? You know Cody says I can do what I want to you. As long as I keep you alive, you’re mine. What do you want, bitch? Maybe I cut up that pretty face. No more sexy pictures. Maybe you lose a couple more fingers. Hell, I’d cut out your foul tongue, but I like what you do with it.”
Tati shoved against his chest, but she had almost no strength in one hand, and Kirill was like a concrete wall.
“Do what you want to me if you have the balls,” she snapped. “But whatever you do, I do twice back to you this time. I swear it.”
Kirill laughed.
He laughed so hard he closed his feral eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling. That was a mistake.
Tati didn’t think. She acted without any clue about what she was doing. Her knees bent. She leaned down and swept one of the broken bottlenecks off the floor with her uninjured hand. In one lightning-fast motion, she swung it at Kirill’s face. All she wanted to do was scare him. He’d jump back; he’d know not to mess with her after that. But the obese guard never moved. He was too busy laughing; he never saw it coming.
The sharpest points of the glass, like the cones of mountaintops, cut through his throat as if it were made of soft butter.
He staggered back, his eyes wide with disbelief. When he inhaled to swell that huge chest of his, no air came with it. He tried to scream and made no sound. Blood poured out of him, more blood than Tati had ever seen in her life. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, the terrible mistake she’d made.
Kirill came for her. He was a wounded bear full of rage and bent on revenge. He staggered toward her, arms outstretched. His insanely strong fingers clamped around her neck and pressed deep into her windpipe. He bled; she choked. The cartilage in her throat weakened. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get away. All she could feel was the world spinning and turning black.
But the bottle was still in her hands. Still razor-sharp.
She swung it at him again and cut off his nose.
And again and he lost an eye.
Kirill finally let go. He stumbled away, his face eviscerated, his one remaining eye wild, practically spinning around with terror. He crashed into one of the racks of wine and toppled like a tree onto his back. His fat chest went up and down, clutching for breath and finding nothing, until his body twitched with an enormous spasm and went still.
Tati stared down at the corpse on the floor.
Oh, Jason! Oh my God! Oh fuck, what did I do?
She dropped the bottle, and she ran.