damn well that FSB-2's purview was much wider than that.
'Ten days ago,' Karpov went on, 'we initiated the final phase of a drug bust in Mexico, one we'd been working on for more than two years because one of our Moscow grupperovka, the Kazanskaya, has been searching for a secure pipeline as it moved into the drug trade.'
Halliday nodded. He knew a bit about the Kazanskaya, one of Moscow's most notorious criminal families, and its head, Dimitri Maslov.
'We were entirely successful, I'm pleased to say,' the colonel continued. 'In the final sweep of the dead drug lord Gustavo Moreno's house we confiscated a notebook computer before it could be destroyed. The information you're reading now was printed out from the hard drive.'
The tips of Halliday's fingers had gone cold. The printout was dense with figures, cross-references, annotations. 'This is a money trail. The Mexican drug ring was financed by the Eastern Brotherhood. Fifty percent of the profits went to buying weapons, which were trans-shipped to various ports in the Middle East by Air Afrika Airways.'
'Which is wholly owned by Nikolai Yevsen, the world's largest arms dealer.' The colonel cleared his throat. 'You see, Mr. Smith, there are powerful elements in my government aligned with Iran because we want their oil and they want our uranium. Energy trumps everything else these days, yes? And so, vis-ŕ-vis Abdulla Khoury, I find myself in the awkward position of possessing evidence implicating him in terrorist activities, yet unable to act on that evidence.' He cocked his head. 'Possibly you can help me out.'
Calming the thundering of his heart, Halliday said, 'Why do you want Khoury out of the picture?'
'I could tell you,' Karpov said, 'but then, regrettably, I'd have to kill you.'
It was an old joke, and a stale one, but there was again in the colonel's pale, implacable eyes the eerie twinkle that chilled the secretary to the bone, and absurdly it occurred to him that Karpov might not be joking. This was not a theory he was eager to pursue, so he made his decision quickly.
'Terminate Jason Bourne and I will use the full might of the American government to put Abdulla Khoury where he belongs.'
But the colonel was already shaking his head. 'Not good enough, Mr. Smith. An eye for an eye, this is the true meaning of quid pro quo, yes?'
'We don't assassinate people, Colonel Karpov,' Halliday said stiffly.
The Russian snickered unkindly. 'Of course not,' he said drily, then shrugged. 'No matter, Secretary Halliday. I have no such compunctions.'
Halliday hesitated but a moment. 'Yes, of course, in the heat of the moment I forgot our protocols, Mr. Jones. Send me the entire contents of the hard drive and it will be done.' Bracing himself, he stared into those pale eyes. 'Agreed?'
Boris Karpov gave a sharp military nod. 'Agreed.'
When the colonel exited the jazz club, he located Halliday's Lincoln and Secret Service bodyguards arrayed along this block of Rumfordstrasse like tin soldiers. Walking in the opposite direction, he turned a corner, fished inside his mouth, and removed the plastic prosthetics that had changed the shape of his jawline. He grabbed the veiny bulb of his latex nose and pulled it and the actor's putty off, removed the gray-colored contact lenses, stowing them in a plastic case. Himself again, he laughed. There was a colonel in FSB-2 by the name of Boris Karpov; in fact, Karpov and Jason Bourne were friends, which was why Leonid Danilovich Arkadin had chosen Karpov to impersonate. The irony appealed to him: Bourne's friend proposing to terminate him. Plus, Karpov was a strand in the web he was spinning.
There was no danger from the American politician. Arkadin knew full well that Halliday's people had no idea what Karpov looked like. Nevertheless, even if his Treadstone training had taught him never to leave anything to chance, there was a very good reason why he had become the visual approximation of Karpov.
Anonymous within the swirl of passengers, he boarded the U-bahn at Marienplatz. Three stops and four blocks later, at the specified location, he found a perfectly nondescript car waiting for him. As soon as he climbed in, it took off, heading toward Franz Josef Strauss International Airport. He was booked on the 1:20 AM Lufthansa flight to Singapore, where he'd catch the 9:35 AM flight to Denpasar in Bali. It had been far easier to trace Bourne's whereabouts'the people at NextGen Energy Solutions where Moira Trevor worked knew where the two of them had gone'than to steal Gustavo