Moreno's laptop. But he had a number of men inside the Kazanskaya. One of them had been fortunate enough to be in Gustavo Moreno's house an hour before the FSB-2 bust went down. He absconded with the incriminating evidence that would now plant Abdulla Khoury six feet under. As soon as Arkadin shot Bourne dead.
Jason Bourne was at peace. At long last his grieving for Marie was over, the guilt lifted from his heart. He lay side by side with Moira, on a bale, a huge Balinese daybed with a thatched roof, supported by four carved wooden posts. The bale was set into a low stone wall to one side of a three-tiered infinity pool that overlooked the Lombok Strait in southeast Bali. Because the Balinese were aware of everything and forgot nothing, after the first day their bale was set up for them each morning when they arrived for their pre-breakfast swim, and their waitress would bring without being asked the drink that Moira loved most: a Bali Sunrise, consisting of chilled sour orange, mango, and passion fruit juices.
'There is no time but time,' Moira said dreamily.
Bourne stirred. 'Translation.'
'Do you know what time it is?'
'I don't care.'
'My point,' she said. 'We've been here ten days; it feels like ten months.' She laughed. 'I mean that in the best way possible.'
Swifts darted like bats from tree to tree, or skimmed the surface of the highest pool. The muted crash of the surf lulled them from below. Moments ago two small Balinese girls had presented them with a handful of fresh blossoms in a bowl of palm leaves they had woven by hand. Now the air was perfumed with the exotic scents of frangipani and tuberose.
Moira turned to him. 'It's as they say: On Bali time stands still, and in that stillness lie many lifetimes.'
Bourne, his eyes half closed, was dreaming of another life'his life'but the images were dark and murky, as if seen through a projector with a faulty bulb. He'd been here before, he knew it. There was a vibration from the wind, the restful sea, the smiling people, the island itself to which something inside him resonated. It was dejŕ vu, yes, but it was also more. Something had called him back here, had drawn him like a magnet to true north, and now that he was here he could almost reach out and touch it. Yet still its secret eluded him.
What had happened here? Something important, something he needed to remember. He sank deeper into his dream of a life lived on the edge of yesterday. In the dream he roamed across Bali until he came to the Indian Ocean. There, rising out of the creaming surf, was a pillar of fire. It rose up into the clear blue sky until its tip touched the sun. As a shadow he went across the sand, soft as talcum, to embrace the flames.
He awoke, wanting to tell Moira about his dream, but for some reason he didn't.
That evening, on the way down to the beach club at the foot of the cliff on which the hotel was perched, Moira stopped at one of the many shrines strewn around the property. It was made of stone, its haunches draped with a checkered black-and-white cloth. A small yellow umbrella shaded the upper part; onto it had been laid a number of offerings of brightly colored flowers in woven palm leaf cups. The cloth and the umbrella were signs that the local spirit was in residence. The cloth's pattern had a meaning also: White and black represented the Balinese duality of gods and demons, good and evil.
Kicking off her sandals, Moira stepped onto the square stone in front of the shrine, put her palms together at forehead height, and bowed her head.
'I didn't know you were a practicing Hindu,' Bourne said when she was finished.
Moira picked her sandals up, swung them at her side. 'I was thanking the spirit for our time here, for all the gifts Bali has to offer.' She gave him a wry smile. 'And I was thanking the spirit of the suckling pig we ate yesterday for sacrificing himself for us.'
They had booked the evening alone at the beach club. Towels were waiting for them, as well as frosty glasses of mango lassi, and pitchers of tropical juices and ice water. The attendants had discreetly tucked themselves away in the windowless auxiliary kitchen.
They spent an hour in the ocean, swimming back and forth just beyond the curling surf