"What about the recon in the Khartoum, man? That was close; the major at that factory was itching to off you…"
David, even more inebriated than Echo, swayed on his barstool and grinned at the memory. "Naw, naw. He was never gonna pull the trigger…"
Kim sat quietly, nursing a club soda. Counting their rounds of boilermakers and listening, fascinated, as the alcohol stripped the varnish off the two civilized men before her, revealing the Medusans within. She left them only for phone calls. One to the children from the Ladies Room on her prepaid, as she had promised she would. An hour later, she had just caught Nicky's check-in call on the last ring, wresting the phone from David's pocket and clapping it to her ear as she bolted back to the Ladies. My private office, she thought ruefully, eyeing the condom dispenser on the wall as she answered Nicky's coded message with the correct, coded, responses. Ignoring the question in Nicky's voice as to why Kim answered tonight instead of David. They could not announce this news to her until after checking in with her treatment team.
"…tracking Khalid Sheikh Mohammed? You had him in your sights, didn't you? Didn't you?" John was agitated, rising up to balance on the rungs of his stool, towering over the bar until he noticed one of the bouncers reaching for a baseball bat. He sank back down, trained his focus on Delta.
"Yeah… They called me off, though; don't know why. Maybe 'cuz of the location: Switzerland… Same as fucking Cushka…" David closed one eye to improve his aim picking up a peanut from a bowl on the bar. It was the only thing Kim had seen him eat in the seven hours since she arrived at Centerpointe. They had made an appointment to see Panov again the next day, and then John had insisted upon entering this no-nonsense bar. They had not budged since.
"September 11 never would've happened; am I right?" John's eyes were watering now. "Fucking bureaucrats. Two more!" he called to the bartender.
"Last call," said the barkeep, warily. These two were well-muscled, had come in upset, and were now drunk off their asses. Often a recipe for trouble.
John's eyes narrowed and he drew a belligerent breath.
Kim cut him off. "Thanks. We don't need that last round." She put two one-hundred-dollar bills on the bar, and a hand on John's arm. "Help me get my husband to the car?" she asked her cousin, sweetly.
"Sure thing, Baby Cousin," he said, thumping her shoulder bluntly.
They each took one of David's arms, and he slid off the stool. His legs were noodly and he closed one eye again to navigate the barroom to the door. Kim had never seen him drink anything alcoholic beyond one bottle of Ozujsko beer during their honeymoon on Hvar. He had told her he was always worried about alcohol interacting with the Treadstone drugs, and had just gotten out of the habit of drinking. Whiskey shots dropped into glasses of beer were a hell of a way to start up again.
They made it out the door and paused to let David vomit pure liquid into the bushes in the parking lot. John followed suit, and then they staggered to John's cruiser. Kim unlocked the doors to the car, thankful that she'd had the presence of mind to get the keys from John when they arrived at the bar.
"Let me know if you feel like hurling, so I can pull over," she commanded as she put the car in drive. She headed for the highway interchange, in search of a chain motel at which the men could sleep it off.
"They killed him."
Kim rolled over, groaning. It felt like she had been asleep for mere moments. Opening her eyes blearily, she recoiled from David's breath as he spoke again, his face inches from hers.
"It was CIA, Kim; I know it. We've got to go. Right now. Nicky, Panov; they could both be in danger. We all could be in danger."
Kim nodded. David was gone; only Jason Bourne had eyes so cold. The clock told her she'd had three hours of rest, but the adrenaline was pumping now. She didn't feel sleepy. "Brush your teeth," she said before she could stop herself, on her way to try and wake John.
