It unwound itself from him, slipping away even as he grabbed for it, even as his desire to know it became unbearable...He woke up.

Sweating heavily, he threw the covers off his naked body and padded into the bathroom, stepping into the shower even before he turned on the taps. The icy water hit him like a fist, which is what he wanted, to get away from the last coiling tendrils of the dream as quickly and completely as he could. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream. It always ended the same way. He knew the sea eel was his past, lurking in the deepest depths of his unconscious, coiling and uncoiling, but never revealing itself to him. If the sea eel was to be believed, it never would.

When he was shaved and dressed, he sat on the edge of his bed and called Soraya, using his new satphone. They had an arrangement to check in with each other periodically, which worked well for both of them. Often they were able to swap intel to their mutual advantage.

It was the middle of the night in DC, and it was clear that he had woken her up.

“Are you all right?” her asked.

“I’m perfectly fine. I just had a long, difficult day.”

At once he knew she wasn’t telling him the whole truth, even though she insisted nothing was wrong. He kept at her until she admitted that the concussion she had gotten in Paris had become worse. That was all she would say, other than that she was being closely monitored by her doctor. Then she mentioned Nicodemo, and Bourne told her about his conversation with Christien, that Nicodemo was somehow involved with Core Energy and, specifically, its CEO, Tom Brick.

“You mean Nicodemo is real?” she said when he had finished.

“Christien and Don Fernando certainly think so. Can you do some digging into Core Energy and Brick for me?”

“Of course.”

“Take care of yourself, Soraya.”

There was a slight hesitation before she said, “You, too.”

Ninety minutes later, with the sky clearing in the east, the last clots of night gathered like refuse in the street gutters, he and Alef were in one of Christien’s cars, heading out of Stockholm toward Sadelöga.

“You don’t look too good,” Alef said as they hit the highway and hurtled down it at breakneck speed.

Bourne said nothing. Every few minutes his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, memorizing the makes, models, and positions of the vehicles behind them.

Alef’s gaze automatically went to the side mirror. “Expecting company?”

“I’m always expecting company.”

Alef laughed shortly. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Bourne gave him a long, keen look. “You do?”

“What?”

“You said you knew what I meant when I said I’m always expecting company. Howdo you know?”

Alef returned his gaze and shook his head helplessly. “I have no idea.”

“Think!”

Bourne said it so sharply that Alef jumped.

“I don’t know. I just do.” His eyes returned to the side mirror. “Nothing suspicious.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

Alef nodded, accepting this judgment. “I have a good feeling about Sadelöga. Going back, I mean.”

“You think it will help you remember.”

“I do, yes. If anything will...”

His voice dropped off and they rode the rest of the way in silence. Christien had a boat waiting—the same one he and Bourne had been fishing in when they pulled Alef out of the water. Someone had cleaned it up. No trace of blood could be detected on its interior.

Bourne saw Alef into the boat, then untied the ropes and, pushing off with his boot, jumped in. They motored slowly over to Sadelöga. The air was wet and heavy. A low mist lay over parts of the water like a shroud. As they neared Sadelöga, Alef began to look around.

“Anything look familiar?” Bourne’s breath made little clouds in the icy air.

Alef shook his head.

Several minutes later, Bourne slowed. “This is where we hauled you out of the water. You couldn’t have been in too long, so we must be near where you were shot.”

Slowing further, he nosed the boat in closer, paralleling the shore.

“Let me know,” he said.

Alef nodded. He appeared increasingly agitated, like someone approaching his own death. Bourne knew the feeling. Beneath the tendrils of fog, chunks of ice could be seen milling against the shoreline. In just the few days since they had been here, the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. The cold had silenced even the usually gregarious gulls. It was painful to pull air into the lungs.

“I don’t know,” Alef said miserably. “I don’t know.” And then, all at once, his head came up like a hunting dog on point. “There!” He was quivering. “Over there!”

Bourne turned the boat, heading in to shore.

You’ve been spying on her!” Delia looked at Peter incredulously. “She’s your friend, for God’s sake.”

“I know, but—”

“You people are incredible.” She shook her head. “Inhuman.” “Delia, it’s becauseI’m Soraya’s friend that I followed her.” Delia snorted skeptically. They were in her office, where Peter had come to see her. She had kicked the door closed as soon as he had

asked his first question.

“What was she doing at the offices of Politics As Usual?” “Gosh,” Delia said, “aren’t you going to ask me what she and I

talked about at lunch?”

“I assumed it had something to do with her visit to Dr. Steen.” Delia, head shaking again, backed away from him until she was behind her desk. “I don’t know what you think is going on—” “I’m asking you to tell me.”

“You need to ask Soraya these questions, not me.”

“She won’t talk to me about them.”

“Then you have to understand that she has good reason.” “See, that’s the thing,” Peter said, taking a step toward her, “I don’t think her reasoning is sound.”

Delia spread her hands. “I don’t know what—”

“I think she’s in trouble,” he said. “I’m asking you to help me help

her.”

“No, Peter. You’re asking me to betray her trust.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I won’t, no matter what you say or do.” He stared at her for what seemed a long time. “I care about her,

Delia. Deeply and truly.”

“Then go back to your work. Leave this alone.”

“I want to help her.”

“ Helpis a relative term. If you pursue this, I promise you it will only end in tears.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure what you—”

“Whatever she’s going through, she doesn’t want to share it with you.” Delia smiled coldly at him. “It will be the end of your friendship, Peter. That’s what I mean.”

Alef scrambled ashore even before the boat had run up onto the snow-covered shingle.

“Wait!” Bourne called as he cut the motor. Then, cursing, he leaped onto the bank, sprinting after Alef.

“There’s a copse of pines and a lake,” Alef said, as if to himself. “Somewhere, somewhere.” His eyes were wide and staring and his head jerked back and forth on the stalk of his neck.

Bourne was almost upon him when he burst through a small stand of pines and saw the lake. It looked solidly frozen.

“I remember crossing this,” he said as Bourne caught up with him.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Bourne said. “Why were you here?”

Alef shook his head. “I crossed the lake or—” He took a step onto the ice. “I was trying to get away.”

“Get away from who?” Bourne pressed him. “Who was chasing you?”

“That lake.” Alef had begun to shake. “That damn lake.”

A kind of electric storm bursts behind his eyes as shards of memories bubble up from the fog of his amnesia. He sees himself, hears the panting of his breath, sees the slim figure skating lithely after him as if on blades. An abrupt blank, the memory-lamp inside his head extinguished, then he feels himself stumbling. The next instant, he is down on his knees, the figure is rushing inexorably toward him, and he turns, aims his handgun, but he stumbles, and it goes flying. He wants to scramble after it, but there’s no time. He’s off and running again, running for his life.