rod in one hand, flicking it back and forth as he trolled for sea trout, pike, or perch.
“You don’t like fishing much, do you?” Christien Norén said.
Bourne grunted, brushing himself off. The brief eruption of intense snow had vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. The sky was an oppressive icy gray.
“Keep still,” Christien admonished. He held his rod at a careless angle. “You’re scaring the fish away.”
“It’s not me.” Bourne frowned, peering down into the water, which was streaked brown and green. Shadows swayed as if to an unheard melody. “Something else is scaring them away.”
“Oh, ho.” Christien laughed. “There’s an underwater conspiracy coming to light.”
Bourne looked up. “Why did you take me out here? It doesn’t appear that you like fishing much, either.”
Christien regarded him steadily for some time. At length he said, “When discussing conspiracies, it’s best to do so in a space without walls.”
“A remote location. Hence this trip outside of Stockholm.”
Christien nodded. “Except that Sadelöga isn’t quite remote enough.”
“But out on the water, this boat finally meets your requirements.”
“It does.”
“The explanation for what you and Don Fernando have been up to had better be good. What I learned from Peter Marks in DC—”
“It’s not good,” Christien said. “In fact, it’s very, very bad. Which is why—”
Bourne’s silent signal—the flat of his free hand cutting through the chill air—silenced Christien immediately. Bourne pointed at the disturbance near them, the sudden rushing curl of water arched like a dorsal fin. Something was surfacing, something large.
“Good God,” Christien exclaimed.
Abandoning his rod, Bourne leaned forward and grabbed the rising body.
Book One
1
"RUMOR, INNUENDO,intimation, supposition.” The president of the United States skimmed the buff-jacketed daily intel report across the table, where it was fielded by Christopher Hendricks.
“With all due respect, sir,” the secretary of defense said, “I think it’s a bit more than that.”
The president leveled his clear, hard gaze at his most trusted ally. “You think it’s the truth, Chris.”
“I do, sir, yes.”
The president pointed at the folder. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my long and storied political career, it’s that a truth without facts is more dangerous than a lie.”
Hendricks drummed his fingers on the file. “And why would that be, sir?” He said this without rancor; he sincerely wanted to know.
The president heaved a sigh. “Because without facts, rumor, innuendo, intimation, and supposition have a way of conflating into myth. Myths have a way of worming their way into people’s psyches, becoming something more, something larger than life. Something indelible. Thus is born what Nietzsche called his ‘superman.’”
“And you believe that’s the case here.”
“I do.”
“That this man does not exist.”
“I didn’t say that.” The president swiveled his chair around, put his forearms on his gleaming desk, steepled his fingers judicially. “What I don’t believe are these rumors of what he has done—what he’s capable of doing. No, as of this moment I don’t believe those things.”
A small silence descended over them. Outside the Oval Office, the sound of a leaf blower was briefly heard, just inside the wall of reinforced concrete barriers at the perimeter of the sacred grounds. Looking out, Hendricks could see no leaves. But then, all work in and around the White House was inherently secretive.
Hendricks cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, sir, it’s my unwavering belief that he is a significant threat to this country.”
The American flag stood curled by the right side of the window, stars rippled. The president’s eyes were half-closed, his breathing deep and even. If Hendricks didn’t know better, he’d think the president had fallen asleep.
The president gestured for the file and Hendricks slid it back to him. The president opened it, leafing through the dense paragraphs of typescript. “Tell me about your shop.”
“Treadstone is running quite well.”
“Both your directors are up to speed?”
“Yes.”
“You say that too quickly, Chris. Four months ago, Peter Marks was struck at the periphery of a car bomb. At almost the same time, Soraya Moore was hurt, involved as she was in tragic circumstances in Paris.”
“She got the job done.”
“No need to be defensive,” the president said. “I’m simply voicing my concern.”
“They’ve both been cleared medically and psychologically.”