Johanna stood on the high promenade that wound around the perimeter of the Hollywood Bowl. She clutched her Ruger tightly in her right hand. Below her, dozens of curving rows of seats descended to the bone-white amphitheater, which nestled in the middle of the valley with the Hollywood hills rising behind it. Clouds came and went across the moon, switching the darkness on and off. The area felt remote, surrounded by woodland, but she could hear the traffic and sirens of Los Angeles not far away. Row by row, she examined the empty arena, looking for the person they were waiting for. For the moment, she saw no one, but this was an area where they could never really be alone. Even in the late hours, there were always strangers sneaking into the Bowl, hiding in the trees, making love and doing drugs. They were red herrings. Distractions designed to slow them down. You could never be sure who your real target was until you were right on top of them.
“Where is he?” Callie Faith asked impatiently. Her voice sounded loud in the acoustic echoes of the arena. “Why haven’t we heard from the bastard? This was his time, his place. Is he going to show up?”
Johanna put a finger to her lips. She spoke quietly. “Odds are, he’s watching. Just like we’re watching.”
“Watching for what?”
“Company.”
She noted the time. It was a couple of minutes past midnight. The rendezvous hour had come and gone. Yes, he might be watching the arena, expecting a trap. Or he might be setting a trap himself.
She grabbed Callie’s phone and tapped out a message. I’m here.
Two more minutes passed. There was no reply.
“Let him see you,” she told Callie.
The congresswoman frowned. She took a few steps along the perimeter road and located a break in the green hedgerow at the top of the arena. She stood above the rows of seats, her hands on her hips. In the moonlight, her skin was white, and she had a baseball cap pulled low on her face. She wore a black turtleneck. Black jeans. Black leather jacket.
Johanna was dressed the same way. In the darkness, they could pass for twins. She sent another text. Are we going to do this or not?
Still no reply came on the phone.
Johanna studied the nighttime hills looming over the stage, sharp tree-covered slopes that surrounded the entire amphitheater. She couldn’t see Jason, but he was there somewhere. Watching, like she was. Waiting to close in on the man with the laptop as soon as they knew where he was.
“Anything?” she murmured into the radio.
“Nothing,” Bourne replied immediately.
“Where are you?”
“West side. Halfway down the slope.”
“Can you see Callie?”
“Yes.”
“But no sign of our friend?”
“Not yet.”
Callie returned from the arena steps. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Johanna admitted. It was now ten after twelve.
“If it’s a setup, we need to get out of here.”
“That’s your call. If you want to go, we go. But we’re not likely to get a second shot at the Files.”
Before Callie could reply, a low chime finally sounded on her phone. Johanna checked the text message. Section E, first row, west side. You’ll find what you want. I’ll call with instructions when you’re there. Be ready to transfer the money.
Another text arrived seconds later.
Remember, no games.
Johanna grabbed the baseball cap off Callie’s head and shoved it on her own. Unless anyone looked too closely, she could play the role of Callie Faith long enough to get what they wanted before someone noticed the switch. And hopefully, Bourne would have the person disabled on the ground in less than five minutes. Threat over.
“I’m going in,” she told Bourne.
Then to Callie: “Stay right here. Do. Not. Move.”
“Just get me the laptop,” Callie snapped. “And don’t try to double-cross me.”
Johanna said nothing. She found the break in the hedgerow and hesitated at the top of the arena. She didn’t wait long; she didn’t want to risk giving the person with the Files a good look if he had a night vision scope. Slowly, she made her way down the steps. Her sneakers were silent. She still had her Ruger in her hand, but she kept it hidden inside the pocket of her leather jacket. Her eyes surveyed the area, checking each empty row, trying to spot anyone waiting for her near the arena stage.
Section E, first row, west side.
“Jason, he must be nearby. There’s access to the walkway where the ground levels out. He could get in and out fast.”
“I’m heading that way.”
“I don’t see any movement, but it’s too dark to be sure.”
“He won’t go far from the laptop. He’ll want to keep you in sight.”
Johanna continued her slow trek downward through the arena. She reached the next section and turned left along the walkway until she reached another set of steps. Then she stopped. Her senses were hyperalert, and she heard muffled voices in one of the rows near her. Heavy breathing. The smell of weed drifted toward her in the breeze. She drew her Ruger out of her pocket. Quietly, she crouched low, then took four steps down and swung the gun toward the long wooden bench.
There were two teenagers lying there, naked and busy. They didn’t even notice her, not until Johanna shoved the gun into the girl’s head and clapped a hand over her mouth at the same time. The boy reared back, too shocked to say a word.
“Out!” she hissed at them. “Grab your clothes, and get out of here.”
The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Not bothering to get dressed or cover themselves, they shoved past Johanna in panic and disappeared. Johanna shook her head.
Distractions.
She continued toward the stage. It loomed larger as she got closer. At the next promenade, she saw a sign for section E, and she headed for the west side of the arena. She kept her gun aimed forward, her right arm outstretched, her left hand propping her wrist. Every few seconds, she spun to look behind her. The clouds overhead got thicker, and the moon stayed hidden, leaving the valley pitch-black. She could see a break in the wall ahead of her that led backstage. Behind it, a sharp hillside climbed from the sidewalk.
She felt watched. Was he there?
Did he know it wasn’t Callie?
She waited to see if another text came into the phone, but nothing did.
Eight steps led up to the first row of seats, where a wooden bench ran along the concrete platform. She couldn’t see anything, so she switched on the flashlight on the phone and let it guide her way forward. Ten yards away, something small and rectangular sat on the bench, with nothing else around it.
As Johanna got closer, the light told her what it was.
“The laptop,” she said. “Jesus, it’s here. I’ve got it.”
*
Bourne made his way down the hillside. It had rained overnight; the dirt was soft and loose, and he had to grab the branches of the trees to stay upright. A damp, wormy smell filled the air. He was nearly blind in the darkness, but he had a PVS-14 monocular that he used to check his surroundings. In the arena, he saw the green glow of Johanna’s body through the scope, but he saw no one else. She was alone.
The same was true of the woods around him. He listened, hearing no sounds, no movement. Everything felt clear.
So why did he sense the jaws of a trap ready to spring shut?
Your instincts are smarter than your brain.
Treadstone.
If any of the other players in the race for the Files had caught wind of the drop, they’d be here. He thought about the young Chinese assassin with the red glasses, who’d arrogantly predicted that they’d have the Files back in their hands soon. Did the Chinese know? Were they waiting for Johanna to unlock the laptop before they moved in?
Where the slope ended, Bourne pushed out of the trees. He dropped silently from the retaining wall and found himself on the road that bordered the arena. He checked both directions—seeing no one—then stayed close to the wall as he headed downhill. He kept his Glock level, his index finger stretched along the barrel, ready to curl around the trigger. The only sound was the noise of his breathing, until—
What was that?
A branch snapped in the hills above him, as sharp as the crack of a bullet. He swung his monocular into the woods and, for an instant, he saw the glow of a man moving on a high trail before the trees sheltered him again.
A homeless addict haunting the Bowl?
Or a killer?
“We’ve got company,” he murmured to Johanna.
“Our guy?” she radioed back.
“Can’t be sure if it’s friend or foe.”
Bourne accelerated his pace as he jogged down the road. The goal now was speed. Get the laptop. Get Vix. Get away. He reached the base of the arena road, where the ground flattened. On his right, a walkway led into the rows of seats, and he could make out Johanna standing not far away. He used his monocular to assess the road that wound behind the stage, and then he surveyed the hill above him.
Vix would be close. Keeping an eye on her prize.
There!
Someone was crouched in the tall brush halfway up the hill. Not even thirty feet away! Was it her? The angle was right; from where she was, she had a clear sight line on the row of seats where Johanna had found the laptop. She could have made the drop in the arena in seconds and taken cover. Or she could retrieve it and be gone over the hill in less than a minute if anything happened.
Get her!
But as he prepared to move, Jason focused the monocular higher on the hill, and his breath left his chest.
Jesus!
Among the trees clustered at the summit, he spotted the ghostly glow of someone else hunkered down in the woods, stretched out on the ground, only the man’s head and shoulders visible.
Plus the red beam of his laser scope. A sniper!
Bourne knew from the angle of the hill that he wasn’t the target, but he knew who was. Swinging his Glock, he squeezed off several shots toward the top of the hill. He had no hope of hitting the man, but all he wanted was time, a few seconds, any kind of delay. Through the monocular, he saw the sniper pull back by instinct at the noise of the gunfire, but that wouldn’t last long. Bourne ran, closing the short distance between himself and Johanna. His brain measured out the time it would take for the sniper to establish his position again, aim the rifle, and squeeze off the shot. It wouldn’t be long.
A green hedge separated the walkway from the first row of seats where Johanna stood, the laptop in her hands. Jason dived.
The sniper fired a moment later.
Bourne landed hard against Johanna, her body spilling backward. In the same instant, the bullet left the rifle chamber; the crack of the shot chased it down the hillside. The sniper missed by inches, but as they fell, Johanna also hit the ground under him; he heard the crack of her skull on concrete. The laptop flew out of her hands.
He caught his breath and rolled off her. When he took hold of her shoulders, he saw that her eyes were closed.
“Johanna!” he hissed. He tapped his hand gently against her face. “Johanna!”
Her eyes blinked; she opened them slowly. He grabbed her body in his arms, one hand supporting her head, and he could feel the stickiness of her blood through her blond hair. But she was alive.
“Fuck,” she moaned. “Goddamn, that hurt!”
Another bullet. Another crack through the brittle air. This one pinged off the concrete with a burst of dust inches away.
“We need to go,” he told her.
“The laptop. Get it!”
He took a look around in the nearby rows, but saw nothing in the darkness. “I don’t see it. We’re in the open. We need to go now.”
“No—”
Jason ignored her. He took his Glock and fired more shots at the hillside, buying them another few seconds to escape. Then he let Johanna sling an arm around his waist for balance as they limped down to the promenade, crossing in and out of view of the hillside just ahead of the next bullet that ricocheted on stone. When they reached the shelter of a concrete pillar, she managed to stand on her own, but she looked unsteady, dizziness in her eyes.
“No way he’s alone. We need to get out of here.”
“Jason, the Files—”
“Fuck the Files.”
Bourne dragged her toward the arena stage. When Johanna lagged, he let her cling to his arm. At the stage itself, he lifted her onto the platform, then followed, barely escaping two more rounds that burned within inches of his back. But then the walls of the stage protected them from the marksman on the hillside. He helped her to her feet and propped her up as she stumbled beside him. They hurried for the far side of the arena.
The trap sprang shut around them.
The hot lights of the stage burned to life. Light towers around the circumference lit up the entire arena. They froze where they were. Bourne had his Glock in his hand, but his Glock was useless. A dozen men with tactical rifles approached from different directions, ahead of them, behind them, from the top of the arena, from the doors on the stage. They had no escape, nowhere to go.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Jason,” Johanna murmured.
“It’s not you. They knew we were coming.”
The men with rifles tightened the circle. He bent and placed his Glock on the ground and kicked it away, and he took Johanna’s Ruger and did the same. He lifted his hands, surrendering. The men drew closer, some on the stage, some below it. Then the armed agents directly in front of them parted to give access to a woman dressed in black.
It was Shadow.
Bourne realized that the assault team wasn’t the Chinese. It was Treadstone.
Shadow snapped her fingers at two of the agents. “Get the laptop. It’s on the other side of the arena. Hurry. Now!”
Two men broke off, jogging back to the area where Johanna had found the Files.
Section E, first row.
Shadow’s eyes zeroed in on Johanna, who clung to Jason, her head bleeding profusely, ribbons of blood curling around her ears and down to her neck. “Hello, Storm,” she said. “You and I have unfinished business. It’s time to finish it once and for all.”
“Fuck you,” Johanna retorted. “Kill me if you want. I don’t care.”
Shadow gestured at Johanna. Four men came forward and ripped her out of Bourne’s arms. She screamed; she put up a fight, her arms and legs flailing, but she didn’t have much fight left. When she tried to break free, one of the men hit her hard across the face with the barrel of his rifle, and she slumped back into their grasp, unconscious.
Jason shouted and struggled to escape, but found himself staring down the barrels of four rifles pointed at his chest.
“Please don’t, Jason,” Shadow said. “Don’t be foolish.”
“You tried to kill her,” he snapped, shaking his head. “And me.”
“I warned you there would be consequences.” Shadow nodded at the men. “Get her out of here. I’ll deal with her later.”
Bourne watched in helpless frustration as the men dragged Johanna out of the arena, her feet bumping along the stone walkway. When Johanna was gone, Shadow gave a signal with her hand, and the rest of the men let their rifles go limp in their arms. Shadow picked up Bourne’s Glock and handed it to him, her fingers clutched around the long barrel.
“This is yours,” she said.
“You trust me to take it? You don’t think I’ll kill you, too?”
“I know you won’t. You’re not a fool. You need to let go of Johanna, Jason. She’s done. She’s out of your life now. But you and I still have work to do.”
Bourne looked over her shoulder and understood. The two men she’d sent to the far side of the arena had returned empty-handed. In the tumult, Vix had slipped in and out of the arena.
The laptop was gone.