Bourne 4 - The Bourne Legacy by Robert Ludlum, Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online Page B

had sprung up between the state police, the county sheriff's office and the FBI, all of whom had begun vying for jurisdiction as soon as the identities of the deceased had been discovered. When Lindros emerged from his car, he counted a dozen vehicles, three times that number of people. What was needed was a sense of order and purpose.
    As he shook hands with Harris, he looked him straight in the eye and said, "Detective Harris, the FBI is out. You and I will be working this double homicide ourselves."
    "Yessir," Harris said crisply. He was tall and, perhaps in compensation, had developed a slight stoop, which along with his large watery eyes and lugubrious face made him seem as if he had run out of energy long ago. "Thanks. I've got some—"
    "Don't thank me, Detective, I guarantee you this is going to be one bitch of a case." He dispatched his assistant to deal with the FBI and the sheriff's personnel. "Any sign of David Webb?" He'd gotten word from the FBI when he'd been patched through to them that Webb's car had been found parked in Conklin's driveway. Not Webb, really. Jason Bourne. Which was why the Director of Central Intelligence had dispatched him to take over the investigation personally.
    "Not yet," Harris said. "But we have the dogs out."
    "Good. Have you established a cordon perimeter?"
    "I tried to send my men out, but then the FBI..." Harris shook his head "I told them time was of the essence."
    Lindros glanced at his watch. "Half-mile perimeter. Use some of your men to work another cordon at a radius of a quarter-mile. They might pick up something useful. Call in more personnel if you have to."
    While Harris was talking on his walkie-talkie, Lindros eyed him ap-praisingly. "What's your first name?" he asked when the detective was through giving orders. The detective gave him an abashed look. "Harry."
    "Harry Harris. You're kidding, right?"
    "No, sir. I'm afraid not."
    "What were your parents thinking?"
    "I don't think they were, sir."
    "Okay, Harry. Let's take a look at what we have here." Lindros was in his late thirties, a smart sandy-haired Ivy Leaguer who had been recruited to the Agency out of Georgetown. Lindros' father had been a strong-willed man who spoke his mind and had his own way of doing things. He instilled this quirky independence in young Martin, along with the sense of duty to his country, and Lindros believed it was these qualities that had caught the attention of the DCI.
    Harris brought him into the study but not before Lindros had marked the two oldfashioned glasses on the cocktail table in the media room. "Anyone touch these, Harry?"
    "Not to my knowledge, sir."
    "Call me Martin. We're going to get to know each other fast." He looked up and smiled, to further put the other at ease. The manner in which he had thrown around the Agency's weight was deliberate. In cutting out the other law enforcement agencies, he had drawn Harris into his orbit. He had a feeling he was going to need a compliant detective. "Have your foren-sics people dust both glasses for prints, will you?"
    "Right away."
    "And now let's have a word with the coroner."

    High atop the road that snaked along the ridge bordering the estate, a heavyset man stood peering at Bourne through a pair of powerful night-vision glasses. He had a wide melon face distinctly Slavic in character. The fingertips of his left hand were yellow; he smoked constantly, compulsively. Behind him, his large black SUV was parked in a scenic turnout. To anyone passing, he would look like a tourist. Tracking backward, he found Khan creeping through the woods on Bourne's trail. Keeping one eye on Khan's progress, he flipped open his tri-band cell phone, punched in an overseas number. Stepan Spalko answered at once.
    "The trap has been sprung," the heavyset Slav said. "The target is on the run. So far he has eluded both the police and Khan."
    "Goddammit!" Spalko said. "What is Khan up to?"
    "Do you want me to find out?" the man asked in his cold, casual