The president swiveled around to stare out the window. “What  haveyou found out about them?”

Richards took a moment to marshal his thoughts. “They’re both smart—smart enough to keep me at arm’s length. Their mistake, however, is in thinking the assignment they gave me is merely makework.”

The president swung back around, his hooded eyes fixed on his mole. “Meaning?”

“Did you know that the identity of Jason Bourne was created by Treadstone personnel?”

“Richards, you’re sorely trying my patience today.”

“Also, that Jason Bourne was a real human being. He was a soldier of fortune who was killed because he sold out his unit.”

The president frowned deeply. “That knowledge is Archive Omega–level. How the devil did you get hold of it?”

For an instant Richards wondered whether, in trying so hard to make his point, he had overplayed his hand. “There’s no leak, if that’s what you’re thinking. The Archivist asked me to vet a new priority one algorithm for all Archival data, for security holes.” He waved his

hand as if to downplay the importance of his explanation, which was the truth only on the surface. He certainly didn’t want anyone probing beneath. “The point is, I’m making headway finding out whether or not the Djinn Who Lights The Way is real or fictional. One thing I can tell you is that one man cannot be responsible for all the influence attributed to him.”

The president sat forward. “Listen, Richards, you’re not under standing.”

“It’s most likely that this Nicodemo is an agglomeration of many people.”

“Fuck Nicodemo,” the president said harshly. “I’m not interested in him; that’s Hendricks’s bogeyman. What interests me are Peter Marks and Soraya Moore.”

Richards shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Soraya Moore was a rogue agent at CI; now both of them are rogue directors at Treadstone.”

“Surely they’re not security risks. I’m still not—”

“They’re both close to Jason Bourne, you fool! It’s his toxic influence that’s made them unreliable.” The president seemed as shocked as Richards by the ferocity of this statement. He drummed his fingers on his desk, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he resumed speaking, it was in a more normal voice. “Moore and Marks are close to Bourne, therefore they must be in touch with him.”

Richards took a moment to regroup. “You’re after Bourne.”

“Why d’you imagine I placed you inside Treadstone, Richards? Bourne’s not subject to any rules or regulations. He does whatever he

pleases. I can’t have that.”

“I’ve heard that he’s helped us in the past.”

The president’s hand cut through the air. “Those rumors may or may not be true, Richards. What they don’t address, however, is Bourne’s own agenda, and believe me, he has one. I want to know what it is. Anyone that far out on the rim, beyond our control, is not only a security risk, but a potential danger to our foreign policy programs. And that’s not even taking into account his unstable mental state. He’s an amnesiac, for Christ’s sake! Who the hell knows what he’ll do next. No.” He shook his head emphatically. “We’ve got to take care of him once and for all. The direct approach hasn’t worked, we’ll never find him that way. And tracking him is an exercise in futility. Besides, Hendricks doesn’t share my concern, so he’s out of this loop.”

You and Secretary Hendricks are at odds, Richard thought. Hendricks condones thinking outside the box; clearly, you don’t.All at once, he realized that he desperately wanted to be on the winning side. For once in his life.

The president stood abruptly, went to stand by the furled flag of the United States at one side of the curtained window. “Forget Nicodemo. He’s a smokescreen at best, more likely disinformation, a mirage perpetrated by our enemies to keep us running in circles. Get me now?”

“Yessir, but I can’t just drop my search for Nicodemo. The directors will become suspicious.”

“Do just enough Internet snooping to keep their suspicions at bay. Concentrate on finding Bourne.”

Now his plan for getting Peter and Soraya to trust him by successfully completing the assignment they had given him was blown out of the water. He was growing more and more angry with how the president was treating him. Wasn’t he supposed to be the president’s golden boy? Hadn’t the president himself plucked him out of NSA for this special assignment? And now to find out that the president had lied to him about the real nature of the assignment made him mad as hell. Fuck it, he thought. It’s every man for himself now.

But then, he thought with a silent, sardonic laugh, it always has been.

For the rest of the briefing, he pasted a smile on his face, nodded occasionally, and made all the appropriate noises. The truth was, he wasn’t listening. He was already forming a new strategy, one that would benefit only him. He berated himself for not having thought along that line before.

When he returned to Treadstone, Richards went straight to Peter Marks’s office, only to find Soraya Moore sitting behind his desk, working at his computer. This both surprised and alarmed Richards, and he heard again an echo of the president’s assertion that these two directors had rogue personalities. Even in business, it was frowned on to use someone else’s computer terminal; in the clandestine services it was unheard of. He could see why they maintained their connection with Bourne.

Soraya looked up as he stood hesitantly on the threshold. “Yes? What is it, Richards?”

“I was—I was looking for Director Marks.”

“And instead you’ve found me.” She gestured. “Take a pew. What’s on your mind?”

Another hesitation, even though momentary, brought home to Richards just how intimidated he was by her. Truth to tell, he’d never met a woman anything like her, and this made him deeply uneasy.

Soraya sighed. “Sit. Now.”

He lowered himself, perched on the edge of the chair. His physical discomfort echoed his emotional disquiet.

“Are you going to say anything or just sit there like a toad on a log?”

He watched her, wary still. It was only then that he remembered he was clutching a file that contained a hard copy of his progress so far in finding the truth about Nicodemo. He placed the file on Marks’s desk and shoved it across to her side. He found it curious that she had made no mention of what she was doing in her codirector’s office, using his computer. Did she have the key code to his terminal? Everyone in Treadstone had their own personal codes to log in and out of their office computers. A second code was needed for their laptops, and a third for those who had been given the newest model tablet computers.

He found Soraya staring at him with her large liquid eyes. That she was beautiful and highly desirable as well as powerful made him angry beyond words. She took up the file and, without taking her eyes from him, opened it.

“What is this?”

The unexpected question unnerved him. Why was she asking him when a simple glance down would give her the answer?

He sucked in a ragged breath. “I’ve made significant progress on the assignment you and Director Marks gave me.”

“Go on.”

Why didn’t she look down? Richards shook off the nagging question and continued. “If you check the printouts—”

“Hard copy is entirely without context or affect,” she said. “I’d like to hear your findings in your own words.”

So that was it, he thought. Clearing his throat again, he continued. “It’s increasingly clear that the person Nicodemo doesn’t exist, per se. It’s more than likely he’s a clever construct, like the Bourne Identity.”

“‘Increasingly clear,’ ‘more than likely’?” Soraya said, not rising to the bait. “These are not phrases I like. They’re not factual; they have no meaning.”

“I’m working on rectifying that now,” Richards said, wondering how he was going to get her to talk about Bourne.