Filler scenes between Bourne Identity and Ultimatum. Marie's homesick and her desire to see her brother puts her family in danger.
Setting: Takes place a few months after Bourne Identity ends.
Rated T for language
Spoilers: All the Bourne movies
Disclaimer: Not mine and don't make any money.
Traps Are Relative
Rome, Italy
The argument started with Marie. He knew how she felt. And now that he was here to tell her no, she vented her frustration on him.
"Here's how it works," Jason automatically scanned the tiny restaurant for suspect behavior. She couldn't have picked a more public place, stacked full of English-speaking tourists. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "They don't have to watch your brother all the time. They'll have his phones tapped. They dedicate a computer program to throw up a red flag when your name is mentioned. They find a neighbor, an acquaintance, or a co-worker to report breaks in his routine. These people know what you look like and for whatever reason—money, patriotism, fear—they will turn you in." Bourne leaned back against his chair back and hesitated. "Marie, it's not safe. There's no telling if they got to him too."
Marie snorted. "He would never betray me. He's my brother, Jason. I need to see him and let him know I'm alright. My family deserves to know the truth."
"Even if that truth puts them in jeopardy?"
"If you don't want to go, I'll go alone."
Jason shook his head. "Marie, you'll get them all killed. You can't take this to their doorstep. It's not safe."
Marie's jaw set. "I'm not asking you to go. You don't want to meet my family, fine. I'll go by myself."
"That's not fair, Marie. This is not about meeting your family and you know it. This is about keeping them safe."
"You mean keeping me safe." When no denial came, Marie changed tactics. "Look, I miss my brother. I want to see him. I want him to see I'm alive and happy. I need him to be happy for me." She paused to search his eyes. She could see Jason didn't like any part of her plan, so she reached for his left hand resting on the table and entwined his fingers in hers. Looking up at him through her lashes, she pleaded, "I need him to be happy for us, to know I'm safe with you."
"This is such a bad plan, Marie." Jason set his used dinner napkin on his plate.
She could see he was caving. "I know. Family reunions usually are."
When he smiled, Marie Kreutz knew she had won.
Lyon Train Station, Paris, France
Jason Bourne stepped off the TGV Fast Train dragging luggage and guided Marie along the loading platform to the main concourse and toward the luggage lockers. He preferred to travel lighter, but Marie seemed to have a talent for expanding the amount of bags and suitcases that she considered 'essential.' To his consternation, he'd discovered on the train that she had a whole bag devoted to items she wanted to give to her brother. That had spawned another argument.
"You want to see Martin—we do this my way," it had started inside the coach sitting across from her.
There was no arguing with his tone, but Marie had never let that stop her. "And what exactly is 'your way?'"
"No gifts, Marie. Nothing to trace back to us."
"But Jason, the sheet music is something very speci…."
"No, Marie," Jason remained adamant. "Everything is traceable. This all leaves a trail." Hell, she's paving a road, He thought.
"But what about this prayer rug?"
Damn! The bag already contained a freeway. "Marie, you can't keep this stuff."
"I didn't intend on keeping it. I'm going to give it to Martin."
"We burn it." He knew that was the wrong thing to say as soon as her back stiffened. So he grabbed the prayer rug and unrolled it with a flip. "Do you know these are all made by individual artists, that they are unique..."
"That's why I bought it," Marie interjected.
"And that the designs can be traced to a specific area. Start with that, it just takes a few e-mails with a picture attached to find the artist that made it. Find the artist, find the store, find the salesman, find the customer."
"I'm not going back there."
"You're missing the point. They've got an updated description of you now." Jason rolled up the rug. "They take the new photograph, canvas the hotels and find your room. Now they know you're not traveling alone, you checked in as a married couple, and they've got two passport numbers to trace. The next time we use those passports, they jump." Bourne stuffed the rug back in the bag. "That is why you can't leave a trail."
Marie sat back and considered him. "Then what am I going to give him? I want to get him something."
"You're gonna get him killed," he growled.
"Sometimes, you're just too paranoid." Marie adjusted her jacket tighter.
Jason zipped the bag closed with finality and repeated, "We do this my way."
"Okay!" Marie threw her hands up in surrender. "Your way. So what's the plan? Do we stalk him for three days and then kidnap him?" She crossed her arms.
That made him smile. "I need to check him out and then I'll bring him to you when it's safe."
"What do you mean 'check him out?'"
"Well, after you make a list of his habits, routes to work, eating, shopping—things like that—I'll make sure he isn't compromised."
The answer was a little too ambiguous for Marie. "He's my brother. I don't want him to get hurt."
Jason glanced down at his hands. "That's not what I meant. If we change his routine, they'll come looking for us. I have to fit you in where it seems normal for him to be out." He looked up at Marie and rubbed the back of his head. "Marie, this is such a bad plan. We stash all this stuff and do it my way. No gifts. We travel light. We can't stay. You are in familiar territory and it's dangerous."
"Paranoid," Marie muttered under her breath. "They think I'm dead. You said so yourself. No one's watching my brother. We're going to all this trouble for nothing."
Jason shook his head. How could he explain what he knew or how he knew it when he didn't really remember learning any of it? She needed his knowledge for her own survival. "Marie, listen to me. Once an asset's in place, committed to reporting, you don't turn down any reports when your operation's over. Instead you simply drop his level of importance. They put these static posts in place as soon as they had your name. And since they don't have your body, their best game to find me is through you."
"Okay." She rubbed her palms on her pants nervously and blankly looked out at the rolling countryside. She remembered Eamon's chateau too vividly. Her eyes met Jason's very serious gaze in the reflection of the glass. "Okay," she told the reflection.
Later, without protest, she helped stuff the bags in the lockers, kept her handbag, and walked down into the Metro tunnel and onto the loading platform with Jason to wait for the yellow number 1 train to La Défence.
At the sound of the approaching train, Jason looked at his watch. "It's almost four. Don't wait past seven. If I'm not there…."
"I go on to the hotel." Marie smiled up at him. "I'll be fine. But you...you better make a good impression." She reached up to smooth the collar on his grey pullover and removed some imagined lint. "No frightening the natives."
That earned her a quick grin, but he didn't promise anything.
Paris, France
Silently they crowded into the Metro train and took posts near the doors. When the Châtelet station was announced, Jason squeezed Marie's hand, bade her goodbye with his eyes and disappeared into the lively throng of mid-week commuters.
Bourne joined the masses climbing the stairs to the street and turned south. The courtyard in front of the Châtelet Theatre spread before him with the theater immediately to his left. According to Marie, he might have about a fifteen minute window to catch her step-brother leaving the building if he was practicing with the symphony. If he missed him here, he'd have to acquire him at his residence. Already, people were leaving together.
Jason crossed over to the courtyard square and stopped next to a tree that would give him partial coverage from the approaching groups. He scanned their faces and dismissed them quickly. Most of them were females. He kept his eyes on the doors and watched the performers make their farewells and scatter.
The awkward exit of the two cello players wrestling their instruments through the doors together proved to be a rather silly sight. Jason instantly recognized Martin Kreutz's angular frame and dark hair. Martin was average height, with slightly long hair, light brown eyes with wide cheek bones and a jaw line that cultivated a sparse stubble. The second male cello player sported a Gene Wilder haircut and an expanding gut. Together, they made their way along the street, actively looking around at traffic. Judging from the size of the cases, their destination became obvious. They were going straight home, preferably by taxi or car, and sharing didn't seem an option. At the corner, the two split into different directions, looking for cabs.
Dragging a cello to a covert meeting wasn't an option either so Bourne immediately crossed the street and walked back to the Metro entrance. He intended to beat Kreutz to his apartment by catching the train to Gare du Nord. Inside the Châtelet tunnels, he sprinted toward the Blue and Green platforms and barely wedged himself through the closing doors of the train.
The Paris apartment buildings rose like white cell blocks in Martin's neighborhood with windowed balconies open to the evening breeze. Martin's flat was on the third floor and looked out over a busy street with a small cafe on the corner. Bourne walked purposefully toward Martin's gated front entrance and glanced up at the five stories above. His eye followed the lines of sight from Martin's window to the apartment balcony across the street. His stride never slowed as he noted the lone white plastic chair and the plain vertical blinds, at odds with it's neighbors' covered window dressings and potted plants. His mouth tightened as he passed by Martin's gate and turned the corner toward the opposing building.
Martin's flat was a trap.
He buzzed number 320 on the facing apartment building twice and didn't get a response. The couple waiting at the bus stop were watching, so he moved on to the news stand across the street and picked up Le Parisien. There, he waited on the corner where he could watch both apartment entrances, while he glanced over the paper.
When Martin's taxi arrived, the cello played center stage. Martin hopped out of the passenger seat, opened the back door and unloaded the cello awkwardly. As soon as the cello appeared, Jason dumped the folded paper in the bin next to him and moved quickly across the street as heads turned in the café and at the bus stop. All eyes were on Kreutz.
No one noticed him opening the gated door, easing open the French gate with a quick jerk apart on their hinges. The simple latch just cleared the jam and closed behind him with a click.
Unseen, he quietly climbed the stairs and briefly paused by 320, the lock opened easily with the pick and tension wrench and he slipped inside.
The empty room echoed the small sound of the latch clicking and Bourne froze in place, his eyes absorbing the alarm pad flashing next to the door, the computer equipment jumbled together on a table and a camera tripod standing sentinel at the empty bay windows. Two abandoned chairs sat scattered in front of the computer equipment with empty food bags littered among them and across the floor.
This was much more of a sophisticated static post than his paranoia had suspected. His mouth tightened in anger at the electronic array, but he moved to circumvent the alarm first. He started to pop the cover to disable the phone and power lines but then stopped. The key pad had a fair amount of dirt clinging to the center row of keys, partially obscuring the numbers.
Trap or justsloppy and lazy? He thought as he knuckled the combination from top to bottom and finished with the asterisk. Not surprisingly, the light turned green. The pattern of numbers told him definitely 'lazy.' A trap might appear sloppy, but never too easy. It was amazing the degree professionals went to circumvent their own security procedures and make it easier on their memory.
That slice of remembered knowledge gave him pause. Even seasoned professionals underwent remedial training in security every year to battle lazy tactics. It was almost severe enough to become a national crisis.
Careful not to touch anything else, his eyes traced the camera cable to the computer, noted the pulsing lights of the wireless router connected to the phone jack on the wall, the battery stack, and the speakers to either side of a blank monitor. He approached the camera at the bay windows and followed the line of sight through to Martin Kreutz's opposing balcony window.
The sound of a door opening echoed behind him. Bourne's head snapped around and his eyes scanned over the empty room and settled on the stereo speakers that were emitting faint curses. Looking back across the street through the vertical window blinds, he could see Martin dumping the cello case in front of his window. The speakers supplied the sound byte behind him.
Martin disappeared down a hallway and Jason could clearly hear the sounds of the bathroom being used. Like all single men, he didn't bother with the door.
Turning back to the computer equipment, he didn't have to guess why Martin merited close watching. This was a trap in progress to snare him and Martin was the key.
He considered the static post thoughtfully while the sounds of Martin bumping about his flat, now blaring CNN News, echoed through the speakers. He nudged a chip bag over and checked the sell-by date. It was promised fresh four months ago. Next he hooked his finger into the mouth of a cola can left near the monitor and checked the bottom. It was dry and empty and eight months old.
The dates confirmed his suspicion. The firm was maintaining a static listening post by encrypted Internet connection. The camera and sound bytes were most likely uploaded to Langley and scanned for flags by software programs. The camera images might even be hooked into facial recognition software.
He switched on the monitor and the screen resolved into a login page, which was not a choice if he wanted to remain covert. He turned it back off.
A quiet ring tone interrupted the news and Jason heard Kreutz answer his cell.
"Bonjour." A pause, then in English, "Yeah, I just got in."
A longer pause during which the TV volume decreased. "Well, give me about twenty minutes and I'll come over. Did you ring the superintendent?"
Another pause. "Sure... Really, it won't take a minute... No problem... Bye."
Jason turned to study the backup battery power for the computer. It would provide less than four hours of operation in the event of a power failure. That was good to know if he ever needed to get into Martin's flat.
The speakers picked up the tones coming from Martin's cell.
"Bonjour," he spoke rapid French into the phone, the gist being that Mrs. Stanton had a leaky faucet needing repair, but he wouldn't be available to translate since he was leaving soon. He didn't wait for a reply but hung up immediately. It sounded as though he had gotten the answering machine. The TV volume immediately increased.
Bourne returned to the digital camera and the window. No surprise there. The settings were remote-controlled by computer. A soft glow of a flashing green light indicated the camera was on standby mode. Since Kreutz wasn't visible, it wasn't recording anymore.
He considered options quickly. Most often compromised surveillance was used to relay misinformation. A bare hint of a smile touched his lips as he took out his phone and captured some pictures of Martin's apartment with the camera playing center stage.
There wasn't much more to do but wait for Martin to leave. Martin had changed into a green shirt and tan pants and was efficiently putting his flat back in order. At last, he gathered his keys and coat, took another quick look about for his cell phone and let himself out. He obviously did not intend to return.
Bourne had no illusions about how Marie would react to the surveillance, but this could actually prove useful.
He left the room intact.
Once outside, he took up a post at the empty bus stop and hung out until Martin finished with the neighbor and hurried out with a brown leather jacket slung over an arm. He headed toward the Metro station and Jason followed on the opposite side of the street. The streets were getting darker as the sun dipped behind the buildings.
The metro platform to Porte Dauphine was stuffy and full of late rush hour commuters. Bourne joined Martin on the platform and approached. Martin had tucked an ear bud in his ear and was thumbing through the menu on his phone.
"Martin Kreutz," Jason stopped beside him and offered his hand.
"Uh, yes." Martin looked up, puzzled to be approached. Hesitantly he shook his hand and popped the ear bud out. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
Jason ignored the question and handed him a photograph. "She wants to see you."
Incredulous, Martin stared at the photo of Marie and dimly recognized the man in the picture as the stranger beside him.
"This is Marie." He gaped at Jason. "My God, we thought—we've been looking for her. She disappeared...," he trailed off and his eyes widened in recognition, dropped down to the photo and then snapped back up to Bourne's face. "You know where she is," he whispered.
"Yes." Jason nodded and repossessed the photograph. He ignored the fact that Martin recognized him. "I'll take you there," he added as he tucked it back in his shirt pocket.
"Where?"
Jason actively scanned the crowd around them and pulled Martin toward another connecting tunnel. "Not here. We have some business to take care of first."
"What do you mean?" His voice betrayed his alarm.
"Where were you going right now?"
"I was on my way to meet a few friends for drinks."
"Did you call anyone since you left home?"
"Uh, no, but—"
"Good. Give me your phone."
"What?"
"Give me your phone," Jason repeated as he led Martin up the stairs.
Martin handed it over and Jason immediately cracked it open and popped out the battery. As he walked, he examined the interior and slid out the SIM Card, flipping it over in his hand. He slid a second SIM Card into place, assembled the phone, turned it on to check it and then handed Martin the phone. The SIM Card went into his shirt pocket.
"You get your SIM Card back after you see Marie. When you get back to this station, put your SIM Card back in. Do it before you get to your flat. Are you clear on that?"
Martin nodded nervously.
Ahead, Daylight flooded a landing below a flight of stairs leading up to the street entrance. Jason's gaze swept the area and he abruptly pulled up by one of the columns with commuters passing to either side. "Okay, Martin, here's what you're gonna do. Call your friend and cancel. Don't mention Marie or me. Just say your neighbor's having a plumbing problem and your apartment's at risk of flooding—you can't make it. If you breathe a word about Marie, the deal's off." Bourne's eyes drilled him.
"That's funny. My neighbor really is having plumbing issues." Martin laughed nervously, his discomfort increasing, especially after Jason didn't crack a smile. His lack of response provoked the question, "Who are you?" when he meant 'what.'
"I'm the guy that gets to decide if you're gonna see Marie," Jason answered flatly.
The statement hung between them, awkwardly for Martin while Bourne hardly noticed. But he did notice because he softened his tone.
"Look, Marie's life is a stake here. You do what I say and she'll be safe." He gestured to the phone. "Make the call. She's waiting."
Hesitantly Martin nodded and flipped open the phone. He followed the instructions precisely and even managed a joke about his neighbor's unforgivable French.
When he hung up, he immediately asked Jason, "When can I see my sister?"
"Here's the rules." His blue eyes shifted around the room and bore into Martin's. "I come and take you to Marie. You never come looking for us. You never breathe a word about seeing Marie to anyone. She's risking her life coming back here. You talk, it's her life."
Martin's posture straightened and an unspoken accusation burned in his eyes. "I can keep a secret."
Jason accepted the silent rebuke and simply nodded agreement. "Then it's time to move." He guided Martin into another connecting tunnel. "Go to Les Halles and proceed to La Défence. I'll be right behind you, but you're traveling alone." He paused and added with a hint of humor, "Pretend you don't know me."
Martin tried to act casual, but his nervousness at being followed by what Interpol had described as an armed and dangerous criminal was visible. Especially when he couldn't spot him on the train. Reports of Marie's death were unconfirmed and the authorities thought she could be alive and living with Bourne. He took in a few cleansing deep breaths because this was his chance to save Marie. Interpol had given him the means to do it and his resolve solidified. Marie would be free to come home.
After a few stops on the second train, he turned around and startled himself when he almost bumped into Bourne as the train slowed for the Champs Éylsées station. Bourne's slight nod toward the doors sent them both through when they opened. He followed Bourne up onto the Champs Éylsées boulevard and down the wide walkway into the main tourist shopping district of Paris. Evening had descended on the boulevard and the lights illuminated an obstacle course of café tables and tourists.
Jason slowed and let Martin walk past. "Keep going," Bourne murmured the instruction and angled off toward an alley.
Martin continued to walk without seeing his tenuous contact to his sister. His concern heightened as he neared the next Metro station without seeing or hearing from Bourne. The circumstances had become bizarre leading up to a simple meeting and the oddity increased his sense of danger.
He jumped at the sudden vibration from his phone and dug it out of his coat pocket to answer Bourne's call, "Yes." He had barely managed not to drop the phone.
"Turn left into the Café de Stella, walk through the kitchen and out the back door. Stay on the phone."
"Is something wrong?"
"Tell me when you're in the kitchen."
Walking through a Paris kitchen while they prepared for the dinner hour felt foreign to Martin. It surprised him that the employees barely noticed he was taking a shortcut through their work area.
"I'm in the kitchen." A large man in a chef's hat looked up at his English words.
"Exit and take a right down the alley."
Kreutz was through the back door and walking down a dimly lit service alley empty of people. Night had encroached upon the narrow corridor. He almost stumbled into a few service bins before his eyes adjusted.
"Okay, you're doing good."
It occurred to Martin that this was a good place to get killed and he'd walked right into it.
"There's a green door coming up on your left. Go in, then left up the hall stairs."
The door handle opened easily on the green metal door and he turned left, ignoring the hallway that extended into the establishment. The narrow stairs to the left were thinly carpeted and creaked as he climbed them.
"She's waiting in the booth to the right."
The phone went dead before he could say thank you. He made it to the top of the landing and saw he was in a dark and deserted upper balcony over a restaurant with the smells and sounds from the kitchen drifting up from below. He looked right and he smiled, relieved, to see Marie sitting against the wall in the corner booth. She flew from her seat and flung her arms around him.
"Marie! Thank God you're alright," Martin held his step sister tightly in his arms. "I've been so worried."
"Martin, I've missed you so much!" Marie had tears in her eyes. "You met Jason? Is he alright? Of course he's alright. He wouldn't have brought you here if he wasn't. Where is he?"
"I don't know. He gave me instructions over the phone."
"Oh, well, that's Jason for you. Never does anything expected. He'll be along when he thinks we're safe. He worries about me." Marie stepped back and tugged him over to the booth with a candle burning on the table. "We have the whole balcony to ourselves for a while, so we'll have some time to catch up. How's your mom doing?"
"She's fine, Marie." Martin took the seat facing her. "You're the one that's in trouble, and that's what we need to talk about now, while he's not here."
"I'm not in any trou…."
"You're living with a killer! He's wanted by Interpol for two counts of murder and you're wanted as his accomplice! Evading police, public endangerment, reckless driving, harboring a fugitive, theft of a vehicle…. I can't remember all of them. That's trouble."
Marie crossed her arms and Martin could tell she was annoyed. "They're lying about Jason and me."
"Lying? Who would lie about something this serious?" Martin leaned over the table. "Interpol brought me in and made their case against you. They showed me evidence placing you there. They've got a solid case! Interpol told me this guy was armed and dangerous, a cold-blooded killer, an assassin for hire, that the US had been after him for years. Interpol said he brutally beat a man, threw him out a window and murdered his landlady. They had some hard information on him. He's dangerous. If you stay with him, Marie, you'll be killed."
"Martin, that's not what happened," Marie shook her head. "Jason was…is protecting me."
"How can he protect you from prosecution?" Martin swiveled around to see if they were still alone in the balcony and lowered his voice. "They're not after you. They're after Bourne—he's the public menace. I made a deal with Interpol to bring you in. All the charges against you will be dropped if you cooperate and tell them everything you know about him. I've got all the paperwork in my flat, but you have to sign it. You can come home, Marie. No one can touch you. You can walk away."
"I can't walk away, Martin."
"Marie, This is a legitimate offer from the Interpol office. I was there with my solicitor."
Marie stared at her step brother momentarily speechless. She uncrossed her arms and gripped the edge of the table, leaning in to hiss, "Jason said this would happen. He said they would get to you too. I defended you. I said you wouldn't betray me. I love Jason and I'm not leaving him, so if you've turned me in, all you'll get is a dead sister."
"Hold on, no one knows I'm here," Martin assured quickly. "I didn't turn you in. I just made the deal for you. It's in place if you want out, and I think you need to get out now. This guy is dangerous!"
Marie's hands flew into the air expressing her frustration. "Getting out is suicide! I came here to tell you we're happy together and to not worry about us. I love Jason and he will keep me safe."
"That's not enough to risk your life over. This is your best option."
"Martin, you've been lied to. What you think is real is just smoke and mirrors." Marie took a steadying breath and launched into her story. She told him how a man with amnesia was pulled half dead from the Mediterranean Sea, and searched for the answer to his identity. She told him about her Jason, the man who had opened up and confided his problems to her and was troubled by what he had discovered. And she told him about the escalating violence that pursued him and his distress at learning he was an assassin. She told him about the assassin sent to murder them at Eamon's and how Jason had made her leave. "I thought I'd be safe at Eamon's, but they were tracking me." Marie leaned forward. "They followed me there and Jason saved all of our lives—my life, Eamon's and the children. If he once was a killer, he's not one any more."
Martin fell silent thinking about her story and his resolve wavered. If she were right, he may have bargained for her death. But Interpol had documentation and witnesses to support their judgment of Bourne, and Bourne could be lying to her. "So this is about keeping American secrets?"
At her nod, he grunted, "Bloody Americans. And he's an amnesiac assassin?" The disbelief crept through Martin's voice. "Is there a support group for that, like AA?"
Marie hit him on the arm. "It's not funny. He can't remember anything from before."
"Well, if he really cares about you, he'd tell you to take this deal."
"Think it through, Martin. I did when I saw my picture from the US Embassy in that assassin's bag. The American CIA doesn't want anyone to know they have assassins. They're probably using Interpol to get to me. Their offer may be real, but dead is real, too."
Jason considered the polite conversation to come with unease. He was truly a product of the moment, unencumbered by a past that Marie planned to disclose to Martin. His world revolved on the moment, and he didn't have the anecdotes to fill up the in betweens. And if he was honest, he was afraid of Martin's judgment and how that would influence Marie.
His unease also stemmed from a lack of trust for Martin. Bourne's instinct murmured trap while he had executed the rendezvous. However, he'd shut out that voice for Marie's sake, but could not shake the feeling that all was not right since Martin had entered the green door.
Making a few extra passes around the perimeter gave him extra time to think and allay his suspicions while it also postponed joining them. Marie was his best advocate to recruit Martin, so consequently, he gave her more time than she needed to make their case. He didn't think Marie understood that confiding in her brother would mark him, but his strategy for keeping her safe required a big target to be painted on Martin's back.
Inside, the two were safe from prying eyes and there had been no activity to warrant his obsessive checks. But he knew the key to a trap existed with Martin and when the time neared seven o'clock he could no longer delay joining them.
With his strategy in mind, the purpose in his stride confirmed a new objective.
For a moment he watched Marie laughing and getting teased by her brother. As he absorbed her happiness, his purpose began to dissolve. Sensing the solidarity of friendship, he felt momentarily lost in the absence of memory, what it meant to have allies. She had been right to return and reconnect. This connection made her blossom and deserved protection. But he feared his tactics would destroy it and destroy them in the process.
Conflicted, he stood in the shadow of the landing, not wanting to intrude. "Marie," he announced his arrival and the two turned as one.
"Jason!" Marie bounced out of the booth and into his arms. "Oh, I've been having the greatest time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I love you."
Embarrassed but pleased, Jason followed her to the corner booth where Martin had stood to greet him.
Martin watched him tentatively, trying to comprehend how his demeanor could change from brusque to bashful in the space of a heartbeat. Martin acknowledged him with a nod.
"I'm Jason Bourne," Jason presented his hand and shook Martin's firmly. Martin returned the handclasp slightly off balance, but he recovered quickly.
"So this is the guy I get to thank for saving your life multiple times." Martin nudged Marie and grinned.
"This is the guy," she agreed. "Jason, this is my little step brother, who usually comes to my rescue." She slipped her hand in Jason's.
Bourne's eyes shifted between them. "Sounds like some interesting stories."
Martin snorted. "I drove her home once—when I was old enough to drive."
Marie's mouth quirked into a smile and she pulled him toward the booth. "I was stranded."
Jason smiled back and joined Marie in the booth. With his body between her and danger, his eyes swept the empty balcony as he listened to them banter.
"Across two borders and hundreds of miles away," her brother continued.
"It was on your way home!" Marie defended.
"You're always borrowing trouble. You remember that backpacker when you were seventeen…."
"No, no, no, no, no," Marie interrupted quickly. "Jason, tell him I don't 'borrow' trouble."
Surprised to be asked to contribute, Jason appraised her thoughtfully. "Martin, the truth is, she rescued me."
The words sparked a response from Marie that was close to adoration. And in the uncomfortable silence, Martin felt very much like a third wheel.
"And if that isn't borrowing trouble…," Jason continued lightly and broke off grinning and defending himself from Marie's jabs. He settled for capturing her nearest hand in his.
"Oh, you want to borrow some trouble now?" But her eyes were laughing with him and she squeezed his hand under the table. "Anyway, they're due to open the balcony in a few minutes so what do you want to do. Can we stay here? I'm starving."
"Sure." Jason looked at Martin. "You hungry? We're buying and the food is good." When Martin agreed, he went to find some menus and some service.
As Martin watched his fluid departure, his sister launched into him.
"So what do you think about Jason?"
Martin shook his head. "I don't know what to think. He's," he hesitated a beat, "different now."
"You met him in the field. He gets a little intense sometimes—you know, all business. But that," she nodded toward his back disappearing down the entrance stairs, "is my Jason."
"And you love him." Martin nodded.
"Yes."
"You always took in the mangy strays…."
"He's not mangy!" Marie flared.
Martin grinned and she realized he was teasing her again.
She laughed and reminisced about some of the animals she hadn't the heart to turn away when they lived under the same roof. They were still laughing when Jason returned with a waiter and menus.
Bourne relaxed in their company as he listened quietly to Marie's wit and Martin's mocking humor. The two continued to exchange stories about each other through dinner and he got a gist of how they had bonded in the face of domestic crisis.
As step siblings, their financial stability came crashing down with the death of her father. Her step-mother, forced to provide, left the two with little oversight until they moved to Hanover and Marie's grandmother entered the picture. Eventually her step-mother moved back to Paris with her son, leaving Marie behind.
That brief period that they felt abandoned by both parents had generated a lasting bond. Marie's need to return was simply a response to abandonment. She would never abandon her step-brother.
Watching them interact, Jason realized he would never ask her to again.
During their conversation over dinner, the balcony had slowly filled up with more people. Each entrance triggered a basic response in Jason to catalog details and mark the new players' positions in the room. Once the balcony tables were packed, Martin finally noticed his covert assessments. Jason's blue eyes centered on him briefly, acknowledged his interest, and then returned to the new party being seated across from them.
"Jason, this has been such fun." Marie set down her dessert fork with a sigh. "I want to stay more than just a day."
A fleeting unease revisited Jason as his attention returned to the table. Dinner had been over for quite some time and he had postponed confronting Martin. It was time.
"That depends on Martin."
"You have time tomorrow, don't you? You said earlier, that there weren't any practices for two more days." At Martin's nod, she slipped her arm through Jason's as he was pulling out his phone. "See, there's no reason we can't meet somewhere tomorrow, too. I was thinking about taking a trip up to the beach. It's very beautiful in the spring…." She broke off as Jason handed her the phone. He had opened a photo file.
"They're watching Martin," he simply said. His eyes conveyed guilt and apology.
She fell silent as she looked at the photo and her smile faded. Martin glanced at Bourne's somber eyes and took the phone from Marie. He heard Jason say "I'm sorry" as he brought up the zoom and clearly saw the image of himself in his kitchen from mere hours ago. His jaw tightened as he paged through the photos of the computer equipment arrayed against him.
"Those bloody bastards! This is illegal," Martin exploded and raised the phone angrily. "They're video taping me. This is from right outside my balcony window!"
"It's worse." Jason stated impassively. "Your flat's bugged, your phones' tapped, your e-mails monitored, and your cell tells them where you are." His gaze rested on Marie, asking forgiveness for what he was doing.
Martin shoved the phone back across the table. "This is…." His mouth twisted. "This is an obscene invasion of my privacy! This is illegal! I know someone at Interpol that can stop this!" Furious, he dug his phone from his pocket.
His words I know someone at Interpol triggered an instant response that stirred Bourne's violence under his calm demeanor. Shock had revealed a connection that threatened Marie and it demanded pursuit. This connection to Interpol was the key to the trap and the trap was about to be unleashed with a phone call. He sensed it with a certainty that matched his physical reaction—a series of moves his hand made without conscious effort—which surprised him as much as it surprised Martin.
Martin didn't even see how his hand suddenly twisted making him release the cell, but seconds later he was holding his wrist and Bourne had calmly taken it from him. An instant later, a look of almost panic crossed Jason's face as he looked at the phone in his hand and quickly checked to see that his action had gone unnoticed.
"Jason!" Marie's mouth parted.
To keep her safe, he would do just about anything, as he had discovered when he shot a man in the back and tore apart the Treadstone safe house. But to keep her happy he had to deny the violence and risk betrayal because safety had taken a back seat when he'd agreed to meet Martin.
"Calm down. No calls." A cold mask had dropped over his face as he put the cell phone down in the center of the table.
"I don't want to calm down! This is my life we're talking about. You chose it, I didn't!"
"Jason, I didn't…," Marie groped. "I never meant—But Martin isn't involved!"
"But he is involved, Marie," Jason contradicted quietly. He watched Martin's jaw unclench and his eyes jerk back to him. The guilt was there. "To merit this kind of static post, he's up to his eyeballs. What's your connection to Interpol?"
"Marie already knows." Martin shot a quick look toward his sister. "I only made a deal with Interpol for Marie to get out with a full pardon if she wanted and she's already turned it down. This is not Interpol. This is illegal!"
Bourne digested the information and met Martin's resolute eyes knowing the next level up traded betrayal for Marie's pardon. He could see Martin's determination to do it. He loved his sister.
"You're right, this is not Interpol. These people don't care about legalities or pardons, they kill people. You just confirmed your sister is most likely to contact you, putting you at the top of their list and now you're stuck with a surveillance post." He paused, sickened by what he had to say. "You don't want this to go away. When it goes away, Marie is dead. And if they find out you talked with Marie, you'll become their number one target."
"Jason!" Marie was visibly upset. "What are you talking about?"
Martin's brow furrowed. "Because I know too much?"
"No. Because they'll use you to get to me through Marie. It's that simple." Bourne admired the symmetry of both traps. "They'll target you so you'll bolt. You'll lead them straight to me. When I'm dead, they'll go after you and Marie." Jason picked up his phone and his eyes rested on the photo of the computer equipment. Flipping it closed with a snap, his gaze penetrated Martin. "But why go to all that trouble when the bait's already hooked?"
Martin's eyes widened. "They're planning to kill me," he realized.
Relief flooded Jason's chest. He hadn't appreciated how tense he'd become. Martin finally understood the truth—the subversive nature of his enemies that had become Martin's enemies.
Confused, Marie looked between them grasping that she'd been excluded from their silent conversation. "I don't understand. How can they be after Martin?"
"Martin made a deal for your pardon on his own." Jason explained calmly. "He's decided not to turn me in—for reasons of health." His hand slipped the phone into his pocket and came out with the SIM Card, which he flipped to Martin. Martin caught it against his shirt.
"Does this mean our meeting is over?"
"No. It means you're no longer a threat." He looked at Marie's confused face. "You still up for the beach?"
"You were going to betray me?" Marie's face was angry. "And you!" She jabbed a finger in Jason's side. "You…, you knew! You and your 'do it my way!' And you used this!"
Jason winced.
"I'm going to the ladies' room." Marie gathered up her handbag. She shoved Jason who silently let her out. "You two are going to have to work on your trust issues."
His last supplication of "Marie," followed her stiff posture down the back stair. He reluctantly returned to his seat.
They sat in silence waiting for Marie to return, each engaged in their own thoughts, while Bourne's eyes cataloged the ever shifting dinner crowd. Martin finally broke the uncomfortable silence between them. "I didn't know," he offered his apology.
Jason shrugged and muttered, "Story of my life."
It took a few seconds for the self-depreciating humor in Jason's words to hit him before he snorted a brief laugh. Jason responded with a smirk and the tension instantly eased between them.
"So, what do I do with your SIM Card?" Martin picked up his phone and glanced at the extra card in his hand.
"That…," he indicated the card Martin held, "They can track that one." Jason paused momentarily to consider the phone and then leaned forward on his elbows.
"What Marie wants to do is not safe. They can track more than your phone: credit cards, passports, checks, ATMs—that kind of information is easy to crosscheck with locations. If you drop off the grid too long, they're gonna come looking. A few hours is not the same as two days gone from your flat. You could do it if you used cash, drove there, didn't check into a hotel and set up a story, here, about a girl. But you could never tell anyone where you really were. If you want to risk it, you'll need the SIM Card."
"But what about the surveillance?" Martin carefully put away the card and his phone. "Won't they know?"
Jason rubbed the back of his head and leaned back in the seat, pausing to scan the room again, weighing whether to disperse his propaganda. The evidence had served its purpose and Martin required training. "Well, it's not really as bad as it looks. Nobody is actually there. The audio files are uploaded and probably sifted by a computer program. So if you don't say 'Marie' or 'sister' or 'Jason Bourne' or 'Treadstone' there's no reason to call up the files."
"Nobody looks at them?" He was incredulous. Understanding began to dawn in his eyes that Jason had let him assume the worst.
"No. Not enough man-power," Bourne admitted. "But someone will when you go off the grid." He paused. "You can use that now to set up misinformation. When you're back in your apartment, call your friend, talk about a girl you met and tell him not to bother calling for a while."
"But I can't get rid of it."
"They'll know I was here and come after you."
"How can you know that?"
"It's what I would do."
Martin was quiet for a minute, considering this revelation. "This surveillance—that's your insurance," realized Martin, "on me."
His accusation brought a penetrating stare. "You were already marked. You just didn't know it."
Martin fell silent and took a sip of his water to cover his discomfort while Bourne watched the neighboring tables. But the silence proved too much for him. "Marie didn't know, did she."
Jason looked back at Martin and he shifted uncomfortably. It had been the reason Marie stormed out in a huff—his insistence to do it his way—a compromise to keep them alive, that left them all with the exposed nerves of dirty tactics. "No."
And that effectively put him back in the bastard category.
Two Years Later
Martin Kreutz keyed open the door to his apartment and dropped his bag by the door. Sensing something out of place, he glanced around and his gaze froze on Jason Bourne sitting by his cello with his back to the window. He paused in recognition, surprised, and tried to process what that meant. He closed the door and entered his dining room, thinking his sister had come to visit again. But something was wrong. Jason remained silent.
"Where's my sister?" The question came out as a whisper. That had always been the purpose of his visits, but never in his flat. Surveillance made that off limits.
"Why don't you sit down?" But it was a command and Bourne looked uneasy.
Martin sat down without taking his eyes off of Jason. Fear gripped him, but he was unwilling to think the worst, so he prompted. "Where is she?" And his voice was stronger.
"She's dead." Jason knew that would hurt. His voice was calm, but there was vulnerability behind the eyes, behind the voice. Stunned, the worst confirmed, Martin dropped his eyes with a grief Jason understood and heard his words continue, "She was killed. I'm sorry."
He'd killed her by proximity. Martin knew who to blame. He looked away to hide his sudden fury, nodded, swallowed his bitterness, and responded, "I knew this could end this way." He paused and stared at anything but Jason. "It was always going to end this way," he looked accusingly at Jason.
"I didn't believe that," Bourne snapped and his mouth tightened angrily.
Martin, reeling with conflicting emotions, couldn't believe Jason could be so blind. He looked away to blink back the tears and threw the accusation back, "And how did she die?"
Jason lowered his eyes briefly and faced his accuser without wavering. "She was shot."
Martin nodded and looked down to control his tears at the confirmation.
"We were together in India." Jason paused and lowered his eyes to his hands and returned to Martin's face, who wouldn't look at him. "He came for me."
Martin couldn't help the unspoken verdict that burned in his eyes as he finally met Jason's across the room. He wanted confirmation of Bourne's nature, that violence had occurred. "You killed him?"
The question gave Jason pause. There was a lifetime in the background leading up to his opponent's death, but he could not deny the outcome or what he had done. "Yes."
Martin felt vindicated. "And now what?" The very thing his sister detested, that he detested, sat across from him. What could possibly come after the ultimate revenge?
Grimly Jason responded, "Someone started all of this," he paused to promise, "and I'm gonna find them." His abrupt departure confirmed a new purpose with a much more shocking objective.
Martin watched a changed man close the door, leaving him—as he should have left Marie—to protect him. His promise, I'm gonna find them, unwelcome along with his protection. Bourne left with his unspoken words of grief hanging in is wake, Before any more is taken from me.
His desertion brought only the bitterness of grief and loss. The loss of his enemies, the loss of a sinister surveillance, the loss of being a mark, the loss of his sister. Jason's harsh words rang true—You don't want this to go away. When it goes away, Marie is dead. Their loss had bought his freedom. And it tasted bitter.