The Bourne Nemesis
A/N: This is the first among many of my ideas for post-Ultimatum Bourne fanfics. A few elements have been borrowed from the novels by Robert Ludlum.
Jason Bourne, and all related characters are the properties of Universal Studios and Robert Ludlum's estate.
Prologue: Blackbriar's Vengeance
Noah Vosen paced up and down his cheap rented apartment in the middle of Washington DC. His brow was wet with the sweat of frustration, of anxiety and above all of rage. Rage seethed through every fiber of his being; it literally inhabited whatever was left of his soul after a lifetime of planning and executing clandestine operations of the darkest nature. Rage was all that kept him alive even in these most hopeless of situations.
Vengeance, which was all that was left for him now. His personal vengeance as well as vengeance for the now lost cause of Blackbriar.
Blackbriar. The word echoed through his head like the name of a long-lost brother whom he desperately wanted to save but had failed to do so. He remembered that day, nearly three years ago now, all too well, when he had initially been approached by his old friend, Director of Operations Ward Abbott to lead Operation Blackbriar, which was ostensibly a new and improved surveillance and communications program but was in reality the umbrella program for all of the CIA's black ops, chief among which was the assassination program formerly known as Treadstone. Vosen had for years committed himself to the ideal of doing 'whatever was necessary' in order to save American lives and safeguard American freedom. However he felt disillusioned with his Intelligence work owing to the constant scrutiny and restrictions imposed by Oversight Committees and Ethics panels, which he felt hindered his mission. Therefore, he jumped at the chance of being able to control an entire network of operatives stationed across the globe who were capable of carrying out the 'blackest of black operations' as he'd phrased it. And that was precisely what he had done. He had presided over rendition, interrogations, infiltrations and above all assassinations…he never regretted his actions for a moment and neither did he let any of his subordinates and agents do the same. He had been the ruler of his small private and invisible kingdom.
But it was all over now. The grand dream of saving American lives was finished, ground into dust by idealists and misguided soldiers. And he, Noah Vosen, the man who was responsible for saving America from the mercy of terrorists and other aggressive foreign powers for years was now himself at the mercy of the Oversight Committees and the Senate. He who had dedicated his life to eliminating threats to his nation had been branded his nation's biggest threat. And the Blackbriar program itself, which had covertly worked to uphold American glory had been demonized into a 'national shame'.
Fortunately for him, he still had a few friends in high places who were willing to help him in a limited capacity as long as they did not compromise their own positions. So, within three weeks of his arrest, he had been let out on temporary bail. His bank accounts had been frozen and his penthouse apartment had been impounded but he still had just about enough money to rent out this cheap apartment for the few days his bail was likely to last. He had enough time here to think, plan and plot his revenge.
For revenge was all that kept him alive, that kept him breathing…it was all he had left of his life, his career, everything he'd spent years working for which had been torn apart in a matter of days. And it all came down to three people, three particularly tiresome people whom he would like nothing better to strangle to death the moment he saw them…Pamela Landy, Nicky Parsons and Jason Bourne. Above all, Jason Bourne. For he was the one who'd started the damn mess. Vosen had had the pleasure of shooting Bourne in the back and watching him plunge into the cold depths of the East River but he had no illusions. Bourne's body had not been found which meant that he was very much alive. After all, he'd survived worse before.
Which was why, he was now in a position to exact the ultimate vengeance against his trio of enemies. For the first time since the fall of Blackbriar he had a clear plan of action; one which could in no way lead back to him. Not that it mattered much if it did; he certainly couldn't be in worse trouble than he was now. The Blackbriar networks had been dismantled and the assets had been taken into custody, debriefed and were currently undergoing rehabilitation and were therefore out of his reach. But there was still one man who would suit his purpose; someone not explicitly associated with the program but one who had had past 'dealings' with certain elements in the Agency. Vosen was one of the few among the CIA top brass who was even aware of his existence and who had access to him. And today, he was going to make arrangements to have the man contacted and briefed. Before the week was out, all his enemies would be in their graves; some humiliated beyond their worst nightmares. Because his man was good, no one was better than him. Not even Jason Bourne.
Vosen dialed a number he'd long ago memorized on the new cellphone he'd purchased. The phone rang thrice before it was picked up and a casual business-like voice answered, "This is the Freemason Corporation, London, how may I help you?" came the crisp voice with a tinge of a British accent.
Vosen took a deep breath and began, "Mr. Johnson. This is Wilson. Nate Wilson from the Combined Insurance Association".
"Ah, Mr. Wilson", the man known by the pseudonym 'Mr. Johnson', "It has been a long time since I've heard from you and your company going. How are things?"
"To tell you the truth, they're not really good. It's why I need the assistance of your Corporation", replied Vosen cautiously.
"I take it that you require our 'special services', Mr. Wilson", said Johnson.
"Yes please. Discretion is off the utmost importance now", replied Vosen.
He waited five seconds until there was a slight humming sound in the line which indicated the activation of scramblers. Then the voice of Johnson spoke, though it was a lot tenser voice, "Instructions?" he asked.
Vosen took a deep breath. Here we go. "I need you to activate the Jackal".
There was a sharp intake of breath from the other line. "The Jackal himself?"
Vosen sighed, "Yes dammit. This will be his last assignment, from our side that is. The price will be astronomical since there are three targets and the methods of termination are to be somewhat…elaborate. I'll arrange to have money transferred to your account. Give him what he wants; in fact, give him more than what he wants. Let him be happy. This is one job he has to do well."
"Who are the targets?" came the voice of Johnson on the other line.
"CIA Deputy Director Pamela Landy, former CIA coordinator Nicky Parsons and rogue CIA operative Jason Bourne. You'll find all the details in the files", said Vosen.
Mr. Johnson whistled. "Three internal targets. You're sure doing a lot of housecleaning these days".
"Don't you read the papers? Blackbriar's gone south. I've been fried. So this is my last bit of housecleaning. Now listen closely to these instructions", Vosen then proceeded to summarize his intentions to Mr. Johnson. Ten minutes later, he had finished.
"Fine. I'll contact him. I think it will take at least three million though. Possibly four", said Mr. Johnson.
"You'll be having six by tomorrow. So don't fret. Just get the job done", said Vosen as he disconnected the call.
Vosen discarded of his phone's SIM and replaced it with a new one he'd purchased recently. He then made a call to a contact working in one of the many overseas banks where he'd maintained a secret account, consisting of funds siphoned off gradually over the years from the budgets of various CIA operations, chiefly Blackbriar and its immediate predecessor Treadstone. He made several such calls, each time with a different SIM. Fifteen minutes later, he had made arrangements for an excess of six million dollars to be transported secretly from various locations to two separate bank accounts in London, where they could be accessed by a Mr. Stan Johnson and a Mr. Phillip Collins respectively, both being aliases used by Mr. Johnson, who was in reality Claude Armstrong, an Anglo-American former Marine with whom Vosen had been carrying out below-the-table dealings for years. Eighteen months ago, Vosen had 'formalized' his professional relationship with Armstrong to a certain extent by establishing him as one of the many undercover Blackbriar agents in London. However, Armstrong's primary responsibility was operating the links between Vosen and certain 'undesirable elements' whose aid the CIA executive occasionally required from time to time, chief among them being the highly efficient and lethal assassin-for-hire known by many pseudonyms, chief among them being the 'Jackal'. Vosen had only used the Jackal twice before, though some of his colleagues and predecessors, especially Ward Abbott, had used him several times before for years. Vosen however knew enough about the assassin to know that he was a consummate professional who took pride in his professional pursuits and regarded each assignment as a challenge to his reputation. He was a man twice as skilled and thrice as ruthless as Jason Bourne had ever been, even during his days with the Agency, and therefore Vosen was confident that Bourne did not stand a chance against this new lethal nemesis.
Yes, Vosen though, as he stared at his reflection in the glass of his apartment's window and noted the calm expression on his face which concealed an unparalleled ruthlessness. Things had been set into motion. And before long, his revenge would be complete.