Robert Ludlum's the Bourne Imperative Read Free Page A

president has his doubts about us.”
    Eventually, Soraya and Peter tackled the twin traumas the two of them had suffered four months ago. It took a long time for her to get around to saying anything about Amun. Not surprisingly, Peter showed infinite patience with her; he had faith that she would tell him when she was ready.
    They had just gotten a call from Hendricks, calling for a crash briefing an hour from now, so, while they had the time, the two of them by silent mutual consent grabbed their coats.
    “Field assessment meeting in forty minutes,” the chubby blonde named Tricia said to Peter as they pushed out the door. Peter grunted, his mind elsewhere.
    They left the offices, went out of the building and across the street where, at the edge of a park, they bought coffees and cinnamon buns from their favorite cart and, with hunched shoulders, strolled beneath the inconstant shelter of the bare-branched trees. They kept their backs to the Treadstone building.
    “The really cruel thing,” she said, “is that Richards is a sharp cookie. We could use his expertise.”
    “If only we could trust him.”
    Soraya took a sip of her coffee, warming her insides. “We could try to turn him.”
    “We’d be going up against the president.”
    She shrugged. “So what else is new?”
    He laughed and hugged her. “I missed you.”
    She frowned as she ripped off a hunk of cinnamon bun and chewed it reflectively. “I stayed in Paris a long time.”
    “Hardly surprising. It’s a city that’s hard to get out of your system.”
    “It was a shock losing Amun.”
    Peter had the grace to keep his own counsel. They walked for a while in silence. A child stood with his father, paying out the string on a kite in the shape of the Bat-Signal. They laughed together. The father put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. The kite rose higher.
    Soraya stared at them, her gaze rising to watch the kite’s flight. At length, she said, “While I was recovering, I thought, What am I doing? Is this how I want to spend the rest of my life, losing friends and—? ” For a moment, she couldn’t go on. She had had strong, though conflicting, feelings for Amun. For a time, she had even thought she loved him but, in the end, she had been wrong. That revelation had only exacerbated her guilt. If she hadn’t asked him, if he hadn’t loved her, Amun would never have come to Paris. He’d be alive now.
    Having lost her taste for food, she handed her coffee and the rest of her bun to a homeless man on a bench, who looked up, slightly stunned, and thanked her with a nod. When they were out of his earshot, she said softly, “Peter, I can’t stand myself.”
    “You’re only human.”
    “Oh, please.”
    “You’ve never made a mistake before?”
    “Only human, yes,” she echoed him, her head down. “But this was a grievous error in judgment that I am determined never to make again.”
    The silence went on so long that Peter became alarmed. “You’re not thinking of quitting.”
    “I’m considering returning to Paris.”
    “Seriously?”
    She nodded.
    A sudden change came over Peter’s face. “You’ve met someone.”
    “Possibly.”
    “Not a Frenchman. Please don’t tell me it’s a Frenchman.”
    Silent, she stared at the kite, rising higher and higher.
    He laughed. “Go,” he said. “Don’t go. Please.”
    “It’s not only that,” she said. “Over there, in Paris, I realized there’s more to life than clinging to the shadows like a spider to its web.”
    Peter shook his head. “I wish I knew what to—”
    All at once one leg buckled under her. She staggered and would have fallen had Peter not dropped his food, the coffee spilling like oil at their feet, and grabbed her under the arm to steady her. Concerned, he led her over to a bench, where she sat, bent over, her head in her hands.
    “Breathe,” he said with one hand on her back. “Breathe.”
    She nodded, did as he said.
    “Soraya, what’s going