The brasserie on Boulevard de Strasbourg faced the stone archways at the entrance to the Gare de l’Est station. Passengers came and went through the wrought-iron gates, and Jason could hear the screech of train wheels. He sat next to Johanna at an outside table, with two chilled glasses of Sancerre in front of them. Taxis and buses belched exhaust on the crowded street, and waves of stifling heat rippled off the pavement.
He checked his watch. It was ten minutes past six in the evening. The train had arrived seven minutes ago, right on time. He expected to see Vandal outside the gates in the next sixty seconds, and he wasn’t disappointed. She blew through the crowd at a fast walk moments later. Her black-and-purple hair was tied in a ponytail that hung through the gap at the back of a white baseball cap. She wore a loose-fitting sleeveless black shirt that showed off her strong arms, along with tight blue jeans and burgundy boots. Sunglasses covered her eyes, but her head swiveled just enough that Bourne knew she saw them. She made no acknowledgment, and she continued away from them without crossing the street.
“Where is she going?” Johanna murmured.
“She’ll clear the area ahead. I’ll make sure no one’s on her trail. In half an hour, we’ll rendezvous in our next location.”
“This world of yours,” Johanna said.
Jason didn’t reply, but he remembered Abbey saying the same thing to him the previous year.
He spent ten more minutes watching the people and vehicles outside Gare de l’Est, until he was sure that Vandal hadn’t been followed, either by Treadstone or anyone else. Then he took Johanna by the hand, and they strolled southward at an easy pace like Paris lovers. His eyes remained alert, but he saw no evidence of a trap being set for them. At the next narrow street, Rue Saint-Laurent, he turned left and led them three more blocks to the flower gardens of Jardin Villemin.
Vandal was waiting on a bench near a cluster of red French poppies within sight of the Canal Saint-Martin.
“Give us a minute alone,” Bourne said to Johanna. “Stay where I can see you, okay?”
“Sure.” Johanna took a few steps onto the green grass, then stopped. “Not that it matters or anything, but I’m curious. Did you and she ever—?”
“No. Never.”
Johanna shot a look at Vandal, whose face wore no expression, and then she looked back to Jason. “Yeah, okay.”
She settled on the grass and began doing yoga.
Bourne continued along the path and took a seat on the bench next to Vandal. The Treadstone agent kept her sunglasses on and stared straight ahead. She’d bought a cone of takeaway frites, which she ate one at a time.
“Cain,” she said.
“Thanks for coming. Are you clear?”
“Yes. For now, I’m off the Treadstone grid.”
“What did you tell Nash?”
“I said I needed to take a couple of days after the shootout in Switzerland.”
“He believed that?”
“Probably not. But I said I’d help you, so here I am. Just know that I’m walking a fine line on this one.”
“I do know that.”
“What happened in Hamburg?” she asked.
“It was a dead end.”
Her head turned, and he could feel her eyes studying him. “From the looks of you, I take it the dead end included a welcoming party.”
“Yes. Le Renouveau was there.”
“Do you think they got Monika?”
“No. She left Hamburg ten years ago. She didn’t keep the flat or the identity I’d set up for her.”
Vandal glanced at Johanna on the grass. “And you’re still with the girl, huh?”
“For the moment.”
“Well, at least you took my advice. The two of you are having sex, right?” Vandal’s mouth showed a ghost of a smile. “A woman knows, Cain.”
Bourne ignored that. “Whenever we find Monika, I might need Johanna to get close to her. After what happened in Switzerland ten years ago, Monika’s not likely to welcome me with open arms. But she’ll talk to her sister.”
“Do you have any idea where Monika is now?”
“No.”
“Then why am I here?” Vandal asked. “What’s your plan B?”
He explained his suspicion that he’d set up a back-door protocol with Monika that matched what he’d created for Abbey Laurent.
“Of course, it may be one more dead end,” Bourne admitted. “I may have used a different setup in a different city, or Monika may have cut it off as soon as it started. But for now, that’s all I’ve got.”
“What’s my role?”
“I need help with surveillance. Even if the protocol is still in place, I can’t leave an actual message because I don’t know what name to use with her. Plus, getting a message from me might drive her further underground. If she finds out I’m looking for her, she might run again.”
“In other words, you want to grab the middleman,” Vandal concluded.
“Right. If we identify him, he can lead us to her.”
“And then what? What happens when you actually find Monika?”
“I get answers,” Bourne said.
Vandal tossed a French fry to a bird on the grass. “Answers are overrated.”
“Not to me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it, Cain. Why is this so important to you? Why can’t you let it go? It was ten years ago. You’re not David Webb anymore. You’re not the man you were then. Neither is Monika, whoever she is. What do you think you’re going to find out that will make any difference now?”
Vandal was right.
Nothing from the past would change who he was. But that didn’t matter.
“Those who can’t remember the past are doomed to repeat it,” Bourne said. “I can’t remember my past at all. I only know what I’ve been told by people like Nash. Or the handful of broken pieces my mind chooses to let me see. I need to fill in the gaps. I need to get past the lies. Otherwise, I’ll never know what land mines are waiting for me.”
“Fair enough. I guess if I were in your shoes, I’d do the same thing.” Vandal stood up from the bench. “When do we start?”
“There’s a church called the Temple du Marais on Rue Saint-Antoine. It’s just up the street from the hotel I use for messages. Meet me there at nine in the morning. We’ll set up radios and cameras.”
“I’ll be there,” she said.
She turned toward the canal, but Bourne stopped her.
“Hey, Vandal?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a quid pro quo whenever you need it. I owe you. But we don’t know each other that well, and yet here you are ignoring orders from Nash to put your ass on the line for me. Why? Why are you helping me?”
She looked down at him from behind her sunglasses. When she didn’t answer immediately, he wondered if she’d simply walk away and leave him to wonder.
“I don’t know, Cain,” she said finally. “Maybe I like you. Or maybe I feel bad about what happened to you and Nova. Or maybe one of these days I’d like to wake up and look in the mirror and not hate the person that Treadstone made me.”
The cold rain poured down over the lonely country road that led inland from the Northumberland coast. On both sides, farm fields rolled over the hills, turning a shadowy color of emerald under the charcoal sky. Tall grass twisted in the wind. The woman who went by the name Sarah Tedford could barely see through the sheeting rain on the windshield of her Volkswagen, but she knew every turn of this road like an old friend. She was only a few miles from the intersection with the A1, close enough to ping on the nearest cell tower regardless of the storm.
She steered her car into the long grass. From inside her glove box, she retrieved a white USB charging cable and a pay-as-you-go mobile phone still in its original plastic packaging. She always kept a burner phone in the attic of her Holy Island house. With a knife from her jacket, she cut open the plastic and inserted the prepaid SIM card into the Alcatel phone. Then she connected the USB cable and waited as the phone screen awakened.
The phone took a few minutes to find the nearest cell signal. When it did, she dialed a number from memory, let it ring a few times, then hung up. She didn’t expect anyone to answer. She waited two minutes, repeated the process, and hung up again. Two minutes later, she dialed once more, and this time a male voice answered.
“Shadow,” he said.
“It’s been a long time,” she replied.
“Yes, it has.” She heard a dark cast to his voice. “I thought we agreed that it was safer not to use direct communications. This call probably isn’t a good idea. You’re leaving a trail that someone might follow.”
She knew he was right, but leaving a trail was part of her plan. She listened to the rain hammering the Volkswagen and studied the grim English sky. The clouds overhead moved so quickly that they looked alive.
“I got your flowers,” she said. “They were lovely.”
“I trust you took my message to heart.”
She glanced at the backpack on the seat next to her, which she always kept packed and ready to go. “I did, but maybe not in the way you intended.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I decided to reach out to him. Make contact.”
The man on the phone took a long time to answer, and all she heard was the tumult of the storm, whipping across the countryside toward the sea.
“That’s a bad idea,” he told her finally. “It’s better to lay low. Do nothing. He has no way to find you.”
“You don’t believe that, and neither do I. It’s only a matter of time. He’s too good. I can’t hide from him anymore, and I’m done running. If it’s going to happen, it needs to happen on my terms.”
“And what do you plan to tell him?”
“The truth. Or at least the version of the truth he needs to hear. Monika Roth doesn’t want him back in her life. He and I were over a long time ago. I’m going to tell him to stay away and leave me alone.”
“Do you think he’ll listen?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “No. I don’t.”
“So what, then?”
“If he won’t be dissuaded, then I may need to tell him the rest of the story,” she said. “He’s probably already guessed some of it. He’s smart. He must know I’m not the person he thought I was.”
The man’s rumble of displeasure carried across the miles between them. “You told me once it would be catastrophic for him to learn what really happened.”
“I know, and it may be.”
“This isn’t a game. Do you remember Storm? When she found out the truth about you, she blew up your car. Then she committed suicide.”
“Oh, I remember. Believe me.”
“Then why go down the same road with David Webb?”
She sighed. “I didn’t want this. You know that. After he lost his memory, I was hoping we could keep him in the dark forever. I wouldn’t even exist for him. That was best for all of us. But now that he knows about me—or he thinks he does—he’ll never stop until he gets the truth. In the end, that could be useful.”
“I still think you should reconsider. This isn’t only about David. You’re putting yourself at risk by reaching out to him. Remember, Le Renouveau wants you dead. They’re looking for both of you. This isn’t the time to come out of hiding.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure about Le Renouveau? I don’t understand what they would want with me. Not after all this time.”
“You were in that chalet.”
“I know, but why come after me? I couldn’t see or hear a thing. They made sure of that. There’s no one I can identify.”
“Maybe they don’t realize that. Anyway, it’s confirmed. You’re a target.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. Something about this feels wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there’s something else going on. We’re missing a piece of the puzzle. Why is this all happening now? I don’t like it.”
“All the more reason to stay out of sight,” he said.
“I understand how you feel, but it’s too late for that. I have a plane booked across the Channel tonight.”
“How do you plan to make contact?”
She steered back onto the country road and accelerated through the rain toward the A1. “You forget who I am. I know exactly what David will do next and how he plans to find me. Believe me, I know his mind better than he knows it himself.”