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the sleeve of his shirt. The man made the mistake of staring at Corellos’s nose. Corellos tore the AK-50 out of his grip and beat him to his knees with the butt.
    Bourne was busy working out the relationship between the two men. Before this encounter he would not have believed that Corellos would take orders from anyone else. His command of his dominion was absolute; none dared challenge him, including the new, rising order: the Russian, Albanian, and Chinese mobs. His clear subservience to Jalal Essai was both puzzling and intriguing.
He’s entered a new and larger arena
, Bourne thought.
Essai has enticed him into the Domna’s sphere
. And then he thought:
What prize has Essai offered him?
And the most important question of all:
What is Essai up to?
    Allowing himself to be captured had paid off. He’d sensed that the men had been sent by Corellos, but Essai’s shocking appearance had led him into another world, one in which his interest was heightened.
    Essai spread his hands in an inclusive gesture of amity. “There are camp chairs over there under that tree. Let’s all sit down, break bread together, drink some tea, and talk.”
    “Pick up your damn weapons,
maricóns
,” Corellos growled, glaring from one man to another. And then, tossing his head, “Bring tequila, lots of it,” he shouted to another of his men, a direct slap at Essai who, as a Muslim, was not allowed to drink alcohol.
    As they seated themselves, Essai smiled a secret smile, his eyes holding the smolder of a banked fire, as if he had already devised a suitable punishment for Corellos’s disrespect. Not now, not tomorrow or the day after. Patience was one of the unofficial seven pillars of Islam, whereas Corellos was hot-tempered, given to sudden eruptions of violence. Infact, Bourne knew the comment to be an attempt to regain some of the face the drug lord had lost in front of his men. Not that that would mitigate the offense in Essai’s eyes. These two might be partners, he observed, but they sure as hell didn’t like each other, a state of affairs that might prove useful in the future.
    Essai watched Bourne, completely ignoring Corellos as the drug lord, bent over, tipped a full bottle of tequila over his nose. Snorting out blood and booze, he drank in long, greedy swigs, his eyes fizzing with rage. Essai had arranged his camp chair so that he faced Bourne. It was thus clear that Corellos was to be an observer of this conversation, rather than a participant.
    “The Domna has you in its sights,” Essai began.
    “It already tried to kill me in Thailand.” Bourne sat back. “So now it’s the other way around.”
    Essai, Bourne, and Corellos were handed posole in a terra-cotta bowl, along with a wooden spoon. Corellos spat in his and, with a backhanded slap, sent it spinning away. He returned to his tequila, the bottle glinting in a leopard spot of sunshine as he tilted it up.
    Essai nodded. “Possibly. Nevertheless, you have wounded them gravely, and believe me when I tell you that they will not stop until you’re dead.”
    “The feeling is mutual.”
    Essai peered at him from out of fathomless eyes. “I believe you mean that.” He sighed, put down his bowl, and laced his fingers in his lap.
    Bourne tried to discern whether Essai was resigned or satisfied. Possibly he was both.
    “I know you don’t trust me.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I’d feel the same were I where you’re sitting now.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “But I’ll tell you something: You royally screwed the Domna. The plan was to use the cache of Solomon’s gold to create a new gold standard, undermining America’s currency. Now, of course, you’ve swept that off the table. Countless time and money has been irretrievably lost.” He applauded. “Well done!”
    So far as Bourne could tell, there wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
    Abruptly, Essai’s expression darkened. “If only that were the end of it. Unfortunately for both of us,