Read The Bourne Dominion for Free Online Page A

archaeology and ancient civilizations, a formal man with an almost regal bearing.
    “This will work,” he said almost to himself.
    “It
will
work,” Skara said as she came up beside him.
    “What color?”
    “Black. A Citroën.” She breathed against his shoulder. Her scent wascurious, cinnamon and something slightly bitter, burnt almond, perhaps. “Three minutes from now no one will remember it.”
    El-Arian nodded again, almost absently. The familiar frisson coming off her still made him slightly uncomfortable. He thought fleetingly of his wife and children safe, protected by many layers, but so far away.
    “Who will I be tomorrow?”
    He turned to see her slender hand extended. Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, he produced a thick packet.
    Opening it, Skara found a passport, her new legend, a first-class air ticket with an open return, credit cards, and three thousand American dollars. “Margaret Penrod,” she read off the open passport.
    “Maggie,” El-Arian said. “You call yourself Maggie.” He tilted his head slightly as his gaze returned to the street below them. “It’s all in the legend.”
    Skara nodded, as if satisfied. “I’ll memorize it tonight on the plane.”
    “There’s Laurent,” El-Arian said, indicating a figure in a dark suit exiting their building. He could not keep a certain excitement out of his voice.
    Skara drew out a disposable cell phone and punched in Laurent’s number. At once, a pre-programmed code was transmitted. El-Arian had already commenced his mental countdown. Laurent gave a little shiver and, drawing out his cell, checked its screen.
    “What’s he doing?” El-Arian said.
    “Nothing,” Skara assured him. “He must have felt the pulse, that’s all.”
    El-Arian frowned. “He shouldn’t have felt anything.”
    Skara shrugged.
    “Can he do anything about it?”
    “Not a thing.”
    At zero minus fifteen, a blur appeared in his peripheral vision, and he shifted his gaze to the oncoming black Citroën.
    El-Arian craned his neck. “Is he calling someone?”
    Skara’s shapely shoulders lifted and fell. “There’s no need to worry.”
    The next instant El-Arian understood her certainty. The Citroënstruck Laurent so hard he flew perhaps ten feet in the air. He hit the ground, lay there for several seconds, then, astonishingly, began to move, trying to crawl back to the curb. The car swerved to allow its right-hand tires to crush his head, then it sped off so fast that by the time bystanders started to rush out into the street it had vanished.

3

    C ORELLOS WAS GETTING antsy. Bourne could feel his body tensing in advance of the moment when he believed that he could take Bourne unawares.
    “This is the moment,” Bourne said. “There won’t be another.”
    Jalal Essai nodded, but Bourne could see the burning hatred in his eyes. Years ago, Bourne had been sent into Essai’s house to retrieve a laptop. To a man like Essai, there was no greater transgression than the invasion of his house, where his family ate and slept. This was the essential dilemma: Essai could not forgive Bourne, and yet he was being forced to put aside his bitter enmity in order to get what he now wanted. Bourne did not ever want to be in his damnable position.
    All around Bourne, Corellos’s men put down their weapons.
    “
Hombre
, do you know what you’re doing?” Corellos’s voice was drawn tight as a bowstring.
    “I’m doing what needs to be done,” Essai said.
    “You can’t trust this bastard. He was sent here to kill me.”
    “The situation has changed. Now Mr. Bourne realizes that killingyou will be counterproductive.” He cocked his head inquiringly. “Am I correct, Mr. Bourne?”
    Bourne dropped his hold on Roberto Corellos, who took one staggering step away then stood under Essai’s stern gaze, trembling with barely suppressed emotion. Blood dripped from one nostril. Stalking to where one of his men stood, Corellos lifted an arm and wiped his nose on