The Bourne Sanction by Robert Ludlum, Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online Page B

fleet of refrigerated ships in Ukraine. Since Yugreftransflot was a public corporation, it took Arkadin some time just to get in to see Shumenko, who was a transport manager. Like everywhere in the former USSR , the red tape was enough to grind all work to a near halt. How anything got done in the public sector was beyond Arkadin. At length, Shumenko appeared, led Arkadin to his tiny office, apologizing for the delay. He was a small man with very dark hair and the small ears and low forehead of a Neanderthal. When Arkadin introduced himself, Shumenko said, “Obviously, you have the wrong man. I don’t know a Pyotr Zilber.”
    Arkadin consulted his list. “I only have one more Oleg Shumenko left.”
    “Let me see.” Shumenko consulted the list. “Pity you didn’t come to me first. These three are my cousins. And the fifth, the one you haven’t seen yet, won’t be of any use to you. He’s dead. Fishing accident six months ago.” He handed back the list. “But all isn’t lost. There’s one other Oleg Shumenko. Though we’re not related, people are always getting us confused because we have the same patronymic, Ivanovich. He doesn’t have a landline, which is why I’m constantly getting his calls.”
    “Do you know where I can find him?”
    Oleg Ivanovich Shumenko checked his watch. “At this hour, yes, he’d be at work. He’s a winemaker, you see. Champagne. I understand the French say you’re not allowed to use that term for any wine not produced in their Champagne region.” He chuckled. “Still, the Sevastopol Winery turns out quite a fine champagne.”
    He led Arkadin from his office out through dull corridors into the enormous main vestibule. “Are you familiar with the city, gospadin Arkadin? Sevastopol is divided into five districts. We’re in the Gagarinskiy district, named after the world’s first astronaut, Yuri Alexeevich Gagarin. This is the western section of the city. To the north is the Nakhimovskiy district, which is where the mammoth dry docks are. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. No? No matter. In the eastern section, away from the water, is the rural area of the city-pasturelands and vineyards, magnificent even at this time of the year.”
    He crossed the marble floor to a long banc behind which sat half a dozen functionaries looking as if they’d had little to do in the past year. From one of them Shumenko received a city map, which he drew on. Then he handed it to Arkadin, pointing at a star he’d marked.
    “There’s the winery.” He glanced outside. “The sky’s clearing. Who knows, by the time you get there, you may even see some sun.”
    Bourne walked the streets of Georgetown securely hidden within the crowds of college and university kids prowling the cobbles, looking for beer, girls, and guys. He was discreetly shadowing the man in the restaurant, who was, in turn, following Moira. Once he had determined that the man was her tail, he’d backed away and returned to the street, where he’d called Moira.
    “Can you think of anyone who wants to keep tabs on you?”
    “I guess several,” she said. “My own company, for one. I told you they’ve become paranoid ever since we started to build the LNG station in Long Beach. NoHold Energy might be another. They’ve been waving a vice president’s job at me for six months. I could see them wanting to know more about me so they can sweeten their offer.”
    “Other than those two?”
    “No.”
    He’d told her what he wanted her to do, and now in the Georgetown night she was doing it. They always had habits, these watchers in the shadows, little peculiarities built up from all the boring hours spent at their lonely jobs. This one liked to be on the inside of the sidewalk so he could duck quickly into a doorway if need be. Once he had the shadow’s idiosyncracies down, it was time to take him out. But as Bourne worked his way through the crowds, moving closer to the shadow, he saw something else. The man wasn’t alone. A