Read Online Bourne 4 - The Bourne Legacy by Robert Ludlum, Eric Van Lustbader - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Ludlum, Eric Van Lustbader
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first heated, then laid onto the tongues of the disputants. The extent of the tongues' subsequent blistering determined their guilt or innocence.
"I wonder, though, Mr. President," Spalko said with the hint of an impish tone,
"whether the githathi comes from your kiama or your njama*" Jomo laughed, a rumble deep in his throat that made his small ears quiver. It was so rare he had cause to laugh these days. He could not remember the last time. "So you have heard of our secret councils, have you, sir? I would say your knowledge of our customs and lore is formidable, indeed."
"The history of Kenya is long and bloody, Mr. President. I am a firm believer that it is in history we learn all our most important lessons."
Jomo nodded. "I concur, sir. And I feel compelled to reiterate that I cannot imagine what state the Republic would be in without your doctors and their vaccines."
"There is no vaccine against AIDS." Spalko's voice was gentle but firm. "Modern medicine can curtail the suffering and deaths from the disease with drug cocktails, but as for its spread, only the stringent application of contraceptives or abstinence will be effective."
"Of course, of course." Jomo wiped his lips fastidiously. He detested coming hat in hand to this man who had already so generously extended his help to all Kenyans, but what choice did he have? The AIDS epidemic was decimating the Republic. His people were suffering, dying. "What we need, sir, is more of the drugs. You have done much to alleviate the level of suffering in my country. But there are thousands yet to receive your help."
"Mr. President." Spalko leaned forward, and with him, Jomo as well. His head was now in the sunlight streaming in through the high windows, lending him an almost preternatural glow. The light also threw into prominence the shiny poreless skin on the left side of his face. This accentuation of his disfigurement served to provide a slight shock to Jomo, jolting him out of his predetermined pattern. "Humanistas, Ltd. is prepared to return to Kenya with twice the number of doctors, double the amount of drugs. But you—the government—must do your part."
It was at this point that Jomo realized that Spalko was asking of him something quite apart from promoting safe-sex lectures and distributing condoms. Abruptly, he turned, dismissing his two bodyguards from the room. When the door had closed behind them, he said, "An unfortunate necessity in these dangerous times, sir, but even so one sometimes wearies of never being alone."
Spalko smiled. His knowledge of Kenyan history and tribal customs made it impossible for him to take the president lightly, as others might. Jomo's need might be great, but one never wanted to take advantage of him. The Kikuyu were prideful people, an attribute made all the more important since it was more or less the only thing of value they possessed.
Spalko leaned over, opened a humidor, offered a Cuban Cohiba to Jomo, took one himself. They rose, lighting their cigars, walked across the carpet to stand at the window, looking out at the tranquil Danube sparkling in the sunlight.
"A most beautiful setting," Spalko said conversationally.
"Indeed," Jomo affirmed.
"And so serene." Spalko let go a blue cloud of aromatic smoke. "Difficult to come to terms with the amount of suffering in other parts of the world." He turned then to Jomo.
"Mr. President, I would consider it a great personal favor if you would grant me seven days' unlimited access to Kenyan airspace."
"Unlimited?"
"Coming and going, landings and such. No customs, immigration, inspections, nothing to slow us down."
Jomo made a show of considering. He puffed some on his Cohiba, but Spalko could tell that he was not enjoying himself. "I can grant you only three," Jomo said at length.
"Longer than that will cause tongues to wag."
"That will have to do, Mr. President." Three days was all Spalko had wanted. He could have insisted on the seven days, but that would have
"I wonder, though, Mr. President," Spalko said with the hint of an impish tone,
"whether the githathi comes from your kiama or your njama*" Jomo laughed, a rumble deep in his throat that made his small ears quiver. It was so rare he had cause to laugh these days. He could not remember the last time. "So you have heard of our secret councils, have you, sir? I would say your knowledge of our customs and lore is formidable, indeed."
"The history of Kenya is long and bloody, Mr. President. I am a firm believer that it is in history we learn all our most important lessons."
Jomo nodded. "I concur, sir. And I feel compelled to reiterate that I cannot imagine what state the Republic would be in without your doctors and their vaccines."
"There is no vaccine against AIDS." Spalko's voice was gentle but firm. "Modern medicine can curtail the suffering and deaths from the disease with drug cocktails, but as for its spread, only the stringent application of contraceptives or abstinence will be effective."
"Of course, of course." Jomo wiped his lips fastidiously. He detested coming hat in hand to this man who had already so generously extended his help to all Kenyans, but what choice did he have? The AIDS epidemic was decimating the Republic. His people were suffering, dying. "What we need, sir, is more of the drugs. You have done much to alleviate the level of suffering in my country. But there are thousands yet to receive your help."
"Mr. President." Spalko leaned forward, and with him, Jomo as well. His head was now in the sunlight streaming in through the high windows, lending him an almost preternatural glow. The light also threw into prominence the shiny poreless skin on the left side of his face. This accentuation of his disfigurement served to provide a slight shock to Jomo, jolting him out of his predetermined pattern. "Humanistas, Ltd. is prepared to return to Kenya with twice the number of doctors, double the amount of drugs. But you—the government—must do your part."
It was at this point that Jomo realized that Spalko was asking of him something quite apart from promoting safe-sex lectures and distributing condoms. Abruptly, he turned, dismissing his two bodyguards from the room. When the door had closed behind them, he said, "An unfortunate necessity in these dangerous times, sir, but even so one sometimes wearies of never being alone."
Spalko smiled. His knowledge of Kenyan history and tribal customs made it impossible for him to take the president lightly, as others might. Jomo's need might be great, but one never wanted to take advantage of him. The Kikuyu were prideful people, an attribute made all the more important since it was more or less the only thing of value they possessed.
Spalko leaned over, opened a humidor, offered a Cuban Cohiba to Jomo, took one himself. They rose, lighting their cigars, walked across the carpet to stand at the window, looking out at the tranquil Danube sparkling in the sunlight.
"A most beautiful setting," Spalko said conversationally.
"Indeed," Jomo affirmed.
"And so serene." Spalko let go a blue cloud of aromatic smoke. "Difficult to come to terms with the amount of suffering in other parts of the world." He turned then to Jomo.
"Mr. President, I would consider it a great personal favor if you would grant me seven days' unlimited access to Kenyan airspace."
"Unlimited?"
"Coming and going, landings and such. No customs, immigration, inspections, nothing to slow us down."
Jomo made a show of considering. He puffed some on his Cohiba, but Spalko could tell that he was not enjoying himself. "I can grant you only three," Jomo said at length.
"Longer than that will cause tongues to wag."
"That will have to do, Mr. President." Three days was all Spalko had wanted. He could have insisted on the seven days, but that would have
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