Winter Bourne

Chapter Three: Saved from the Dark

Nicky's primary trainer had been a jovial old soul, with a cheerful grin and a twinkle in his eye. You'd never guess that he'd spent four years in a North Korean prisoner of war camp, or that he'd spent a lifetime perfecting the art of spy-craft. Out of all the advice he'd given her, he was firm about two things that she needed to remember.

"The only thing that doesn't change is change, doll. Remember that." He'd point scarred finger into her face. "And you gotta be ready for it. Remember that too."

She'd never shown it, but she'd hated the way he'd repeated this advice day after day, as if his corny platitudes were the wisdom of the ages. Despite that one quirk, he'd done an excellent job. Nicky made field rank after three years in-house. She'd been running tech and logistics support across Europe by the time she was twenty-four. Very impressive by any measure. Then Conklin had showed up on her doorstep.

The interview had changed her life.

Eight months of training and Nicky had assumed control of a special office in a Parisian suburb. The men she dealt with were also special. A single word in their file and Nicky knew what to expect. Men with blank faces and dead eyes. So controlled, so tightly wound, they confessed their thoughts with reluctance, every other sentence a considered lie as if the truth would damn them. Dark stories and dead bodies. It had all slid off her back, smooth as water without leaving a stain behind. It had never touched her, never been real, as she sat in her dusty office monitoring it all.

Jason Bourne had been the first to come to her. Never for assignments. Conklin handled Jason's missions personally. No, Jason came to her for a monthly check-up. Nicky took his blood and performed any test that Conklin demanded. She interviewed Jason and recorded his concise reports on his physical and mental condition, then sent them back to Langley. Doctors took the results and fiddled with the dosage or switched to another drug. Then some junior agent learned their job by getting the drugs to her office without getting caught.

Jason Bourne was polite. Impersonal to the point of coldness. She learned more from reading his file than she ever heard from him. The other Treadstone agents whose missions she oversaw at least pretended to be normal. Jason never bothered. He treated her as if she were just another piece of support equipment, needed for the job. Nicky spent twice as long prepping for their meetings, making his visits were as short as possible.

On the days that Bourne came in, Nicky left her high heels, flirty skirts and flimsy blouses behind. She wore navy or black in somber styles that gave an impression of professionalism. Nicky teased Castel, a little, and he let her. She'd never been tempted to push against Bourne's barriers to see what would happen. It would have been like encouraging a Doberman to think of her as prey.

During the second year, in October, the doctors demanded that all of the local agents show up every day for a solid week. The doctors were worried about the impact of a new drug on their kidney and liver function. Arranging it so that none of the agents met each other had been a logistics nightmare. These men were cautious to the point of paranoia. The cameras that recorded the activity outside the building had caught them scouting the place before each of their appointments. Bourne in particular was a problem. In the end, Nicky opened a temporary office across town.

On the positive side, after the fifth day of being on the new drug, the change in the agents had been remarkable. They'd seemed more relaxed. All of them reported fewer, less intense headaches. Nicky was wondering if she should sneak a few of the pills for herself. By the end of the test week, she was getting by on three hours of sleep and plain old Exedrin wasn't working.

She blamed the lack of sleep for what happened during Bourne's sixth interview. She'd dropped a hypodermic. Going to the med kit for another one, she'd tripped over an electric cord in her new shoes. In an attempt to recover her balance, she'd wind-milled her arms and staggered forward two steps. Off-balance, she'd fallen into an office chair. The chair was on rollers. Propelled across the tiled floor, it had crashed and rebounded against a tall cabinet, dumping Nicky unto the floor.

Bourne, a bright blue elastic tied around one bicep, watched from his chair, an interested expression softening his usual expression.

Nicky wrenched off the offending shoe and flung it at the wall. It ricocheted to land in the trash. It was too much. "Damn all shoes!"

Bourne laughed. She was stunned at the transformation in his face. Perhaps it was a glimpse of the man he had been? She couldn't keep from smiling back at him. When she'd slipped her hand into his as he helped her up, she'd felt a thrill chase through her. She'd met his eyes and that simple, silly moment had changed her life.

Changed both of their lives.

A call from Conklin had changed her life again. His prized assassin had disappeared, leaving the target alive. Two weeks of silent dread had gone by until another call from Conklin had let her know that Jason was alive. Except now Jason was a target himself. As was the woman he was now traveling with, a German drifter called Marie Helena Kreutz.

Trained too well to allow anyone to know what it did to her, Nicky had arranged for Castel to ambush Jason. Jason had killed Castel, killed the Professor, and then returned to Paris for Conklin.

She'd had nightmares ever since the final night in her substation. She relived Conklin's angry presence, his impatience with her. The fear that set in as the alarms started going off, the systems and lights failing. Then Jason had appeared, materializing out of the shadows.

That look.

A cold, dispassionate assessment that had summed her up and dismissed her as inconsequential.

Nicky had known then. Believed every word. The Jason Bourne she'd known was gone. A stranger inhabited that familiar body. All her anger at his desertion, the other woman he'd found, disappeared under a wave of misery.

Unable to move, barely able to breath, she'd watched as Jason knocked Conklin out and left with a final glance at her. Nicky had shuddered as the sounds of the firefight at the door rolled over her. When she was able to move, she'd ignored Conklin, pressing herself against a window, catching a fleeting glimpse as Jason limped away, leaving her behind in darkness.

Again.

"Another coffee?" The waiter interrupted Nicky's remembrances. She checked her watch. "Non, merci."

Time to move again.