The agent known as Vandal parked the black Mercedes at the dead end of a narrow lane called Haselweg. She got out of the car and picked her way through the meadow and staked out a hidden place among the evergreens. Above her on the steep green slope was the Hotel Waldegg. She could see the figures of two men seated at a table on the outdoor patio, and even at that distance, she recognized them.
Nash Rollins.
And Cain.
Vandal brought her Vortex Kaibab binoculars to her eyes, which made Cain leap into focus as if he were sitting next to her. The high-power binoculars actually belonged to him. She’d used them on their joint mission a few years earlier, when she’d served as his spotter on the assassination of a weapons trafficker in Barcelona. In the tumult following the kill, they’d been separated, and the binoculars had stayed with her.
As she spied on him, her surveillance pricked his sixth sense. Every good agent had that instinct of knowing when they were being watched. She saw his head turn and his eyes narrow as they swept the panorama below him. She knew she was invisible, but the binoculars made her feel so close to him that she took a step backward into the trees. Which was a mistake. He might not see her, but he’d see the motion. Through the lenses, she saw Bourne’s focus harden, staring straight at her location.
Had he spotted her? Did he know it was her?
I’m here, Cain.
It had been months since she’d last seen him. She’d been at the house in Maryland when he found the body of Nova. His former partner. His lover. Their relationship had been the worst-kept secret in Treadstone. She’d seen it in his face; her death had obviously wounded him deeply.
So Cain had an Achilles’ heel. He was still a human being; he still felt something. Most of the other Treadstone agents became little more than robots after years of violence, but Bourne had somehow salvaged part of his soul. Maybe it was the loss of his memory. Maybe not knowing who he was had kept his humanity alive. On one level, Vandal admired him for it, even envied him. She’d turned to stone herself long ago, and there were days when she wished she could still see men as something other than sources of physical pleasure, used and discarded. Or as targets to be killed.
But she also knew that emotion was a deadly weakness. When she was young, before Treadstone, she’d been a raging river of emotion, most of it fueled by cocaine. She’d been an addict, a narcissist, an adulterer—and ultimately, a murderer.
Emotion kills.
Yes, Vandal knew that better than anyone else. Her husband had paid the price for her out-of-control life. So now she stayed clean and played by the rules. Most of the time. But there were still days when she felt like giving herself to the drug all over again.
Cain.
God, there was something magnetic about him. She’d been drawn to him in Barcelona. Treadstone agents were typically willing to release their adrenaline through sex, and it was safe because it meant nothing. They’d shared a room, and she’d seen him naked with all of his muscles and scars, a specimen more perfect because of his imperfections. His face was square and handsome, but with complexity and pain just below the surface. She’d joined him in the shower, intent on seducing him, but he’d rejected her. Not because he didn’t find her attractive. Not because he didn’t want her.
But she wasn’t Nova.
When Cain fell, he fell hard. Vandal understood that about him. He needed someone in his life, regardless of the dangers it brought. She knew the stories; she’d heard the rumors. After Nova had come the other woman, the Canadian journalist, Abbey Laurent. Bourne had loved her, too. And lost her.
Through the binoculars, Vandal continued to stare at him. Even if he didn’t know she was there, the sheer intensity of his gaze made her feel naked, the way she’d been that night in Spain. She wondered what it would be like to have those ice-blue eyes stare at her with passion and need. Not that she was ever likely to find out.
A text tone sounded on Vandal’s phone. She lowered the binoculars and checked the incoming message. It was from Nash.
Time to go.
Vandal backed away from the slope. She tramped through the dense trees and made her way to the dead end where she’d parked the Mercedes. The return trip up the hillside took her less than ten minutes. When she got to the Waldegg, she did a U-turn and waited in the porte cochere. She wondered if Cain would be there with Nash and what he would say when he saw her. But the hotel door opened and Nash came outside alone.
He limped across the asphalt and slipped into the passenger seat.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“He’s a stubborn son of a bitch.”
“You knew that already.”
“Yes, I did. Head for the train station.”
“We’re leaving?”
“I am. I have to head back to Paris. I want you to stay here and keep eyes on Cain.”
“Understood.”
Vandal put the Mercedes in gear. She navigated the turns again as they shot downhill, and then the road leveled off among the shops and cobblestones of the main street. Towering mountains dwarfed the town in every direction. She didn’t say anything more until she parked across from the Engelberg train station.
“Did you tell Cain I’m here?” she asked.
“No. I don’t want him to know we’re babysitting him. So you’ll need to be alert. If he spots you, I imagine he’ll try to lose you.”
Vandal smiled. “I imagine you’re right.”
“Keep me posted on everything he does. And particularly everyone he meets. I told him to lay low, but we both know he’s not going to do that. The fact is, he’s useful even when he’s breaking the rules. Assuming he doesn’t get himself killed in the process, he may lead us to the heart of Le Renouveau.”
Vandal nodded. “Okay.”
“One more thing. For Cain, this isn’t just about the men who are trying to kill him. There’s a personal factor. He’s looking for a woman. He knew her when he was in Engelberg ten years ago. Her name is Monika.”
“Who is Monika?” Vandal asked.
Nash didn’t answer immediately. He smoothed back his thinning gray hair, and the calculations running through his dark eyes told Vandal he was hiding things. That was Nash. He was the Treadstone master of half-truths.
“Monika Roth is the most dangerous woman in Cain’s life,” he told her. “No matter what happens, you have to make sure he never meets her again.”