Take Note: Swearing Ahead!!! But believe me it is all integral to the development and charm of a certain character. Enjoy.

***

There was no escape from the tension she felt. The next person she spoke to, her next conversation; would change her life forever. How could one person hold such authority, such unrestrained power, over another? With a single word this faceless supervisor would either save or condemn Ron to death. It was this simple and sadistic knowledge that caused Kim to experience more tension now than she had when dialing Nicky. With Nicky, she knew she was dealing with a woman who had experienced the same, intimate connection to Ron as she had. But her next conversation would be with a bean counter, someone who wouldn't be swayed by emotions, simply by the cost-to-benefit ratio.

"Putting your call through now, Ms. Meadows"

Kim sat through the sound of the line being first disengaged, then connected to another party. Before she could gather her thoughts and organize her arguments, a gruff, assertive voice, which set her skin crawling with the mere tone, sounded in her ear.

"So, what name do you prefer? Do you want to be Possible, or do you want to stay in character and go by Meadows? It doesn't make much difference to me. Fuck, call yourself Santa Claus if it'll help make you feel all safe and warm, I don't give a rat's. What I do give a damn about however is something my subordinate just relayed to me. It was a very interesting, actually extraordinary story. I'd be tempted to say that you're lying, but I have to say that this is the kind of stuff that you just can't make up. I mean, what are the odds? So level with me Possible, is Medusa a blank slate, or are you just stalling for time?"

While her unknown audience was speaking, Kim noted that she could hear a ventilation system and the regular humming of turbines in the background. Whoever she was talking to was on an aircraft. With a chill, Kim guessed that he was over the Atlantic right now, flying to France to personally oversee Jason Bourne's liquidation.

Was Ron really that high priority? Did he warrant some form of department head jumping on the next available transport all the way to Europe just to oversee this 'Operation' was carried out discreetly and effectively? The answer to both questions was obviously a 'Yes'. As much as she presently despised this man, whom she suspected had issued Ron' Death Order she knew that there was a time to play nice and a time to go postal. She suppressed all her anger and forced herself to reply in a calm, businesslike manner.

"You can call me Possible, if you wish," she informed him in a crisp and stern manner. "And I am speaking to…?"

"Someone who wasn't born yesterday, that's who 'Kimmie-Cub'. Ha-ha, 'Kimmie-Cub', gotta love a well-maintained dossier, don't you? Is your daddy-dearest still using that adorable pet name for you, or can we delete that little bit of embarrassing piece of family familiarity from your personal file?"

Kim knew exactly what he was doing; he was trying to rattle her, trying to illustrate the extent of his knowledge over her, and as they say 'knowledge is power'. With a resolved tone, Kim dismissed the jibe. "I would prefer that you didn't. Only my father has a free pass to call me that and you sir are not him. I would prefer it if you addressed me properly, please and thank you."

"Yeah, story of the fucken world, we always want what we can't have. As for me, you don't rate my name, Possible; my subordinates don't get my name, they just call me SIR. The only people who get my name are the ones I work for. Now, I asked you a question earlier and I'm expecting a prompt, factual answer"

"Yes. Yes, he doesn't know who he is, either before or after you…altered him. The way I see it, this is a win for everyone, since he's no longer a threat to you."

The rough laugh that sounded in reply betrayed that this man must be a smoker, and a heavy one. "He's a threat as long as he's breathing, Possible. Alive, even if his memory has been wiped or has more holes in it than Swiss cheese, he's a risk. If he recalls even a single assignment, it could bring a category five shit-storm down on us."

"Us? I think you mean – You. I'm not part of this and neither is Ron, now. So I'll tell you what, if I give you my word. The promise of Kim Possible herself that neither Ron nor I will ever say anything that will compromise what you do and who you do it to. Will you let both of us return back to living our lives quietly?"

"Sweetheart, you signed a confidentiality agreement before you started on this quest of yours. So YOUR silence is a given."

"But Jason Bourne's isn't."

"And that, darlin' is something you can't provide, which is why we're trying to eliminate him as a class one threat. Now, before you start chattering about the unfairness of it all I just want you to know that we didn't make this decision lightly. Are you aware of how much effort and expense we've got invested in him? Millions upon millions little girl. Believe you me that was money well spent. Jason Bourne is dangerous, sweetheart, dangerous in a way you can't believe. We just can't have someone like that wandering around like a ticking time bomb. Besides that, this is the real world. Haven't you figured out what business we're in? You don't just walk away from this life, you leave on our terms."

"He's a person, not an asset." Kim's attempt at civility failed her. "He's my best friend. Do you really think that I'm just going to sit back and let you murder him? I won't let that happen, not after what you've already done to him in my name! There is no way that I'm going to let you hurt him any more! You may not be aware of this, but I have…influential…friends and favors to call in, from powerful men in Washington. If I need to, I can shine a floodlight onto your dark little empire and watch you scramble for cover like a cockroach."

"You are a classic, Possible; sleek, stylish and completely out of date! Do you think that a couple of longwinded threats are going to change anything? You think those favors of yours have any punch? For every favor you think you can call in, I've got ten, dirty little career-ending secrets to reveal. Do you know what that means? It means that I can counter every powerful man you can throw at me with ten of my own. So, if you don't have anything worth my time, I think I've tolerated you for long enough."

"Tolerated?!? Listen, I'm just trying to prevent…"

"Shit! I knew bringing you in was a bad idea. You've ignored your primary objective and followed your own. You were only supposed to draw him out and let us take it from there, plain and simple. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that you decided you knew better and took control. You're not a team player, Possible; you never have been, unless you were calling the shots."

"Know me? How the Hell do you know anything about me? If you did then you must have known I would not just step aside and let you kill my best friend and the person you stole from me without any conscience."

"God, you are such the child." Came the grumbled reply. "You don't know shit about the real world, Possible, you never did. You're nothing but a debutante; privileged and pampered from the moment your mother squirted you out; always in front of the camera, always basking in the limelight for the most trivial accomplishment. You wanna stand on your moral high ground and preach to me? Well I don't listen to anybody that hasn't crawled through the slime and blood like I have, like my people are right now. You've never had to make the hard calls, little girl, the kind that gets somebody killed, no matter what you do. You've never had to clean up after one of your little missions, have you? You always ran off to the next photo op and left us to take care of the dirty work."

"Clean up? What are you talking about? I…we helped people! We didn't leave messes behind!

"That's where you're wrong, missy. And as for 'never left any messes behind' crap? Well, I've got the time so why don't I use it by making you grow up just a little? You know that mission you took eight and a half years ago, the one to deliver medicine to an oasis village in the Sahara? You were seventeen and couldn't figure out why your government couldn't just send an aircraft over to drop it. After all, the medicine was cheap and the village was small. A twenty-pound package, costing less than two hundred dollars, would eliminate the Cholera outbreak. Seemed like a simple bit of work for you. So you just barged in, talked to some nice folks, the sort with full hearts and empty heads, and they donated the medicine to that you could deliver it, personally. The village was saved and everybody felt really warm and fuzzy, didn't they? When you returned to US soil you had a throng of reporters lined up, just waiting to celebrate your good deed and elevate you closer to sainthood."

"We saved that village, I didn't call the media, they just showed up!"

"Yeah, the State Department really played that up. Fuck, you'd already screwed the neighbour's dog. What's done was done as far as they were concerned; they just tried to get some American Pride mileage out of it before it all went to Hell."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that WE, the US Government, were already putting together a care package five times larger than the one you delivered, our only delay was arranging to deliver it via the Red Cross or UNICEF; impartial and anonymous channels. But we had to wash that plan, because of you and your 'save the day' antics. If we were to go forward, some hotshot reporter would have figured it out and put our Commander-In-Chef in one of those awkward places. A couple of months from the event he would have stepped in front of the mikes on the White House lawn, only to have some smartass ask him why he delivered the goods after you had already taken care of the…sitch…as you called it. If he was to appear to initiate a drop after your 'angel of mercy' dash, how do you think that would reflect, huh? It would look as though he was not a leader, but a FOLLOWER. You would have undermined him, making it look as though he took his cues from a teenage girl who was not even out of high school. If you would have just stayed at home and painted your toenails, the villagers would have gotten their goodies, as well as additional medicines and other nice things, and it would have been through the proper channels; channels that were devoid of the repercussions your shit caused."

"Pardon me?"

"No, I don't think I will. You're such a beacon of hope to so many, Possible. I bet you went to sleep each night embraced in this arrogant thought, didn't you? You were a hero, you saved the day. But were you there for that same village, two weeks later? Where were you when the local bandit chief showed up and slaughtered every member of that small community for allowing the unclean infidels of the US to walk among them? Where were you when their headless corpses started to rot in the sun as the bandits stole the remaining medicine? That's why we weren't planning to just drop the medicine to the villagers, Possible; we knew the local strongmen would kill them to get it and use anti-America slander to justify their barbarity."

"I didn't…"

"Oh, and then there was the fact that the local government didn't like the idea of foreign flights over its territory. Did you ever stop to consider what your 'quick in and out' operation had on the border stability of that very UNSTABLE region? Of course, you were long gone by the time that government made its displeasure known. I suspect your adventure that day was responsible for at least a dozen skirmishes and cross-border raids."

"You could have made a simple communiqué and informed the various governments in the region that that experimental rocket plane your techno-nerd friend drummed up for you posed no threat, but did you? No, you didn't. We estimate that three hundred people, on both sides, died in various, engagements because of that little flight. Those nations don't have state of the art radar, or fast response teams, Possible, so you can almost realize why that particular head of state came to the conclusion that your flight was actually some sort of spy drop. He couldn't let his neighbor get away with it, so you can understand why he raided on of their border outposts. Of course, THEY couldn't let that go, so they retaliated, and so on and so forth. It took us months, and a whole lot of dollars, to get them to calm down. Quite the cost for saving a village of forty, temporarily, wouldn't you say? It's almost laughable now, you know, just thinking about the cost. Only about half of them would have died from the shits. Tragic, yeah, but that still would have left 20 villagers hale and hearty, wouldn't it?"

"That was just one…"

"Then there was that warm clothes drive you put together in your senior year of high school. You know the one, when all the poor people in that third world mountain range were facing that cold winter. You put together a drive after you heard a report on CNN, and a bunch of people gave you their old coats. It was a very charitable gesture, wasn't it? Boy, the reporters just ate that piece of warm apple pie up, didn't they? It was pure fluff, and you and Stoppable spent two weeks giving those nice, warm coats to all the poor, disadvantaged people."

"What was wrong with that? We…"

"Put a whole lot of traditional weavers out of work, Possible. Do you know how those poor mountain folk would have gotten warm clothes? By trading with the local weavers who, by tradition, were mostly women. That's how a barter-economy works, Possible, you trade goods and services for other goods and services, but that system breaks down when you introduce handouts. Do you know what happened to those women when nobody wanted to give them food and firewood in return for their clothes, because Kim Possible provided those clothes for free? I'll tell you. Quite a few of them wound up leaving their mountain homes to look for work in the cities. The only problem was, they really didn't have the job skills to make a living there, either. Of course, being women, most of them had a certain fallback alternative. It wasn't pleasant, but you do what you need to, to survive."

"I…I…"

"So don't give me your morality, little girl. I've walked the walk that you wouldn't even dream of. You wanna be pissed at me, I can handle it. Your scorn and a feather will hit me about as hard as a feather. So, now that you've grown up a little bit, are you ready to talk some sense, or do you want to waste more time?"

Kim felt a flush of guilt, a guilt that drew the taste of bile from her stomach, but she knew she couldn't back down. To cave now would only show weakness and she had too many questions that needed answering.

"Why him? Why Ron?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you pick him? If you had a beef with me, why didn't you just take me out? Why did you prey upon him?"

The questions hung upon the air for an unbearable moment before she received her reply, and the answer did nothing to settle the guilt her own unintentional participation in the fate of her first and dearest Love.

"But we did take you out, little girl. How many of these missions have you gone on since your little Ronnie vanished? None! You were a famous celebrity; too many people would start asking questions if you were to disappear into the woodwork, but Stoppable? Nobody paid much attention to the goofy looking guy who was always just out of camera coverage. Once we removed him, Team Possible was finished and we didn't have to foot the bill to clean up your little messes anymore. "

Kim hated the next query she was going to ask but she knew that she had to ask regardless.

"Then why didn't you just kill him? Why did you put him through all that torture? Why did you make him endure all that suffering? Why couldn't you have just killed him instead of forcing him to endure something he couldn't?"

"Couldn't endure? Possible, that boy of yours endured everything we threw at him. No matter how many times we knocked him down, he just jumped right back up and asked for more. We put him through hellfire and all we did was give him a tan. He actually cost us some prospective subjects. We figured that if he could go through it and come out tougher, they would as well. Eighty percent of our vexed-subjects couldn't hack it, Possible. Eighty percent either died or cracked under the strain. We eventually had to scale down our indoctrination process, so we could maintain an acceptable number of agents. Couldn't endure? Are you shitting me?"

"But how did you know Ron would…"

"Make it through? The bald-assed truth is this - We didn't. In fact, he wasn't supposed to make it through the first trial. He was supposed to either die or break under the pressure and give us a gauge to measure what we could put our other 'Prime' recruits through. He was our Guinea Pig, Possible. But instead, ironically, he became our most successful product."

"You … you meant to kill him!?!"

A deep-throated laugh preceded the answer to her fourth question. "Of course, Possible. I see you've finally managed to see the obvious. Well done."

"By the time we realized that this little twerp could thrive on hardships that would break almost anyone else, we had already invested massive resources in him. When you're in a Marathon, and your boy is leading the Pack, you don't smear his grey matter on the track just meters before he crosses the Finish Line, do you? We decided instead to recoup our investment by utilizing him more 'aggressively' then what we had planned and we haven't been disappointed. Now, why don't you throw your impotent, moral outrage down the toilet, where it belongs, and focus on the important issue here!"

"Which is?"

"The fact that we have an unstable super-agent running around. Get this through your head, this man is no longer your meek little boy-toy: Ron Stoppable, Possible. Ron Stoppable is dead and I will not accept an out of control Jason Bourne on the loose. I'm willing and prepared to eliminate him, my top agent, to avoid the risk of a much worse crisis. Are you willing to risk dozens, maybe hundreds, for a chance to hump your old boyfriend? Ask yourself that and then ask yourself who truly is the selfish one here?"

"I can make him Ron again! If you just leave him to me, I'll make sure he doesn't harm anyone."

"That's an empty promise, Possible. If Jason Bourne reemerges, you'll be the first to go down. Do you think that Choirboy was formidable, Possible? He's got nothing on our Top Agent! Choirboy was a maniac, a fucken Hyena, he was able to keep enough of his marbles and retained some sense of control through the Program. But he was a Lunatic, but he was 'OUR' Lunatic and that unpredictability made him an Up-and-Comer. But Bourne had the icy edge to keep himself on top of a very short, yet competitive list for six years. Choirboy was good, but Bourne is the best. Do you really think someone like that could just 'disappear' or fade away?"

"Tell you what, Possible, as I see it at the moment, you've got yourself three choices. First, you can do the smart thing; which means turning that cute little butt of yours towards him and running as fast as you can. Click your heels together three times, go back home, call in some favors to keep you safe, let the professionals do the job and pretend that none of this ever happened. Secondly, you can do the dumb thing and go running back to him and pretend that you can somehow protect him from us, and yourself from him. Eventually, he'll snap again and believe me, Possible; he's too much for you to handle. Finally, you can do the responsible thing; you can tell me where you're at, then go back and stall him. If you give me your location, I can provide you with a half-dozen locations that will sound safe, but where we can eliminate this problem quickly, quietly and with no collateral damage. Your choice Possible."

Kim could only sit there, gripping the phone tightly to her ear, dumbfounded. The only thing she had ever wanted to do, once she became a teenaged heroine, was to help people. It had been simple: see people in trouble, help them, find someone else who needed help. Yet now, she had received a cruel wake up call. This…mystery man had just revealed that she had executed her actions on blind faith and arrogance. She desperately wanted to believe that he had lied about the villagers and the weavers, but the man's tone told her different. He wasn't gloating or accusing, simply stating facts. The worst part, at least in her perception, was that Ron had come along on these missions and thus shared in the guilt. The loyal and sweet boy had followed her everywhere, always 'having her back'. He had been the voice of moderation, but she had usually drowned out that voice with her own, proactive attitude.

When she had first posted her services on the Internet, she had been looking for the odd bit of yard work, babysitting or walking pets, trying to earn some spending money. How had that turned into trying to pull Ron out of a Band of Government Assassins?

"I want an answer, Possible. Are you going to be part of the problem, or part of the solution?"

"Tell me, if he isn't Ron Stoppable or Jason Bourne, then who is he? You seem to have all the damn answers, well answer me this. Who is he? You can't tell me, can you? Well, I've been asking myself that very question for the last couple of hours. And I still don't have an answer. But this I know, whoever he is, he's innocent. Even though he might be a ticking time bomb, I can't condemn him for something he might do some day."

"This is pointless. You want to make this a double funeral, fine."

"IT'S NOT POINTLESS!!! None of this is pointless, it's tragic, but not pointless."

Kim took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. She could not allow her anger, either at this man or herself, to dictate her actions. She had tried to be courteous, she had tried to be professional, and she had even tried to be emotional. The only thing left was to try to play this man's ego.

"You have issues with me. I get that. I ran my missions without thinking about the ramifications, without asking anybody who had studied the political and economic fallout. I proceeded my actions without taking a single minute of liberty to ponder the 'What If' questions of what I was doing. I did what I did, some reporters went ape over me, and other people paid the price while I lapped up the attention. I get that while I've portrayed myself as a role model, I'm really an egocentric who wants validation from strangers. I always took pride in helping others, of being a morally upright girl, but I was self-serving, reveling in the interviews and headlines. Is that what you want me to admit? Fine, I admit it!"

"What game are you playing?"

"No game. Game's are for children, and I lost any and all connection to my childhood the day Ron disappeared from my life. You wanted to put me in my place, well, I'm here, but how does that change anything? How does taking me down a few thousand notches change anything?"

"It doesn't."

"Exactly, so let's quit wasting time with it and come up with a solution that we can all, Ron included, live with."

"There is only one solution that I will accept, and you know what it is. Bourne is a dead man walking. If you want to be walking beside him, then go right ahead. This is your one and only chance to play ball with us, Possible. This is your 'Get out of Jail Free' card. I strongly suggest you use it"

If there was one term this unknown spook shouldn't have used to sell his point, it was by referencing that card. It held too many loving memories and though it was a generic reference for so many things, it cast Kim's mind back to before she left for England all those sad years ago. It was now her most treasured possession, which Ron had given to her as a token of his love for her, and his willingness to step aside for her happiness with out challenge if she so wished it.

"Why 'Bourne'? Why did you give him the name 'Jason Bourne?'"

"What the fuck are you talking about now? I'm trying to save your skin."

"Now who's playing games?" Kim made no effort to keep the contempt from her voice. "I knew what you were going to try to do to me the moment I got involved with you people. I was hoping that I could produce a miracle, come to an understanding and work out a deal that would help everyone, but I guess that's not going to happen. So, before I go and you start hunting me down, throw me a bone. Answer this one question. Why did you name him Jason Bourne? Was it a sense of irony, or what? Using Bourne as an extension of Born, as in RE-Born? Out of all the names you could have used, why that one? Are you that twisted?"

Several seconds of silence greeted Kim's last questions, before giving way to the man's gruff growl. "We always let the operative chose his own prime identity. We come up with additional aliases, usually people who already exist and can be utilized. We asked him what name he would like, as soon as he got the cosmetic surgery bandages off and finished his final initiation. The shrinks say it's the ultimate surrender to the program; with a single name, each operative gives up his old life and steps into an unknown, new one. He submits himself to his new life and it makes them believe they have power of choice over. Why do you ask?"

"Ron … Ron chose it?" Tears began to flow down Kim's cheeks, passing to either side of her growing smile. She was unable to stop herself, she first giggled, then began to laugh. "You…you…failed," she informed her unknown listener. "He may have become what you wanted but you couldn't destroy his Ron-ness. You beat him, performed water-torture on him, and drove him to the brink of delusion and distrust. But you couldn't stop him from holding on to something and have him all but spit in your eye. Ron Stoppable is still in there somewhere, I'm willing to stake my life on this fact. You made him give up on me, his family, everything he held dear, but you couldn't snuff out that one little smart-ass spark."

"What the HELL you talking about and what the HELL do you have to laugh about?"

"JASON BOURNE. Don't you see? He named himself Jason Bourne. Not you. HIM!!!"

"So what?"

"Think of the initials: J. B. He knew that his government was about to give him a 'License to Kill' so he chose Jason Bourne as his alias. Can you think of anybody else with those initials and who is in possession of that very same Licence by their Government? All he needed was a classic silver 1967 Aston Martin with a personalized, '007' license plate too make his fantasy complete." Kim burst into another round of stressed-out laughter, one that she was sure broadcast her spite to the man on the other end of the line.

"You tried to destroy him," she finally chuckled. "And maybe you did, up to a point. But don't you understand? He still kept a little piece of his old self, the childlike goof. Maybe your conditioning and tutelage turned him into some sort of amoral, ruthless killer, but at the end of it all, he refused to lose his quirky sense of humor. THAT'S the piece of him that everyone who cared about him, me included, misses the most and as long as I believe that there's some fragment of 'Ron Stoppable' in there, I will not give up on him. I know the fate that your bastard organization has decreed for him and me, but I haven't accepted it for either of us. I will protect him with my life! Do you hear me?!?"

The redhead punctuated her statement by forcibly returning the telephone handset to its cradle. She hadn't slammed the phone, rather she had firmly terminated the conversation on her terms. The conversation over, she experienced a sudden wave of relief. The uncertainties were gone, the gauntlets had been officially thrown down and she knew exactly where she stood with Treadstone. It wasn't going to be easy, but now they could work towards the happy ending that Treadstone had denied them.

/////

\\\\\

"That fucken little…" Senior Agent Jack Conklin fought hard to reign in the torrent of very 'blue' language that was threatening to vomit forth. Nobody hung up on him, certainly not some clueless amateur. He wouldn't indulge in such behavior, since he considered it a sign of weakness. Instead, he pushed a button on his extension, re-routing his call to the relay point. "Tell me what you have, Parsons, and it better be gold."

"Well sir, I've traced the call to the Imperial Hotel, here in Paris."

"So what?" He snarled. "That's useless information at this point. Bourne and Possible are both too smart to place a call from a location at which they plan to remain. They'll be long gone before we can even prep the next team, much less get them there."

"True, sir. That's why I accessed the City's traffic monitoring cameras, while you were having your conversation. One of the cameras, three blocks north of the hotel, shows a parked vehicle that matches the make, model and color of the one Bourne used to leave Zurich. Unfortunately, the tags are obscured by the cars in front of and behind him. Because of this, I can't confirm that it is the one he used. Red subcompacts are very popular in Europe, sir."

"Like I give a fuck! Proceeded with your report."

"Yes sir! There appears to be at least two parties sitting inside the suspect vehicle, one in the driver's seat and the other in the rear, driver's side seat. Unfortunately, the poor picture quality prevents me from identifying the occupants. However, one of the silhouettes is roughly Bourne's height. If Ms. Possible is indeed travelling with Jason, I suspect the current passenger is one Marie Helena Kreutz, the same person Jason recruited to help him outside the US Embassy in Switzerland."

"Did I just hear you right?" The veteran agent asked, in a tired sigh. "Did you say Jason?!? I hope we don't have a problem, Parsons, because I need everyone to bring his best 'A' game to this 'Fuck Up'. If your personal history with Bourne is going to compromise your effectiveness and objectivity then speak up now and take yourself off the assignment. There's a lot more than your career at stake here, understand?"

"There will be no problems, sir. I'm committed to seeing this through to whatever conclusion is necessary. The only issue I have is the reliability of Ms. Possible's information. While plausible, it seems just a little too convenient to me."

Jack Conklin was grateful to hear these words from his subordinate. He had always had a soft spot for all of his subordinates, and Nicola Parsons in particular. In addition to directing those who reported to him, it was his duty to develop them, preparing them for the day when one of them would take his place. Of his current group, Nicola showed the most promise to be capable of taking that next step; she was efficient, professional and devoted to her duty. When he found out that she had mixed business with pleasure, with Jason Bourne, it had taken every ounce of pull he could muster to keep her in the Program. Had she only been a few years older, he wouldn't have minded; such a relationship would have given her another control measure over the asset. As it was, Conklin had detected an emotional attachment, which had nearly landed the girl in an Antarctic, satellite relay station. Still, it wound up being a lesson learned the hard way and those were the ones that stuck. Of course, he would never be able to tell her how much he worked to keep her in the Program. He purposely maintained his rough, demanding and uncompromising reputation, even though he would go to the wall for every subordinate reporting to him. An unapologetic graduate of the old school CIA, he had learned the value of tough-love and dispensed it constantly. He took pride in the fact that, although his subordinates showed him the courtesies due his station, he had personally earned every bit of respect they showed, just as his old mentor had earned his respect. This same commitment to his underlings made him take Jason Bourne's possible defection/retirement very hard.

'Jason' was the son he never had a chance to have, representing enormous potential to shape and mold. It had been an honor to instill his own brand of wisdom and dedication into the developing personality hidden inside the disjointed, blonde youth. Ron Stoppable was a lost cause, but 'Jason Bourne' was something else entirely.

He had held his breath when Jason made his first, official kill, terrified that all of the conditioning might not have prepared him for the act. Fortunately, the debriefing turned into a coming of age, filling the senior agent with pride; pride in Jason's ability and pride in his own accomplishment, in getting Jason over the milestone that tripped up so many.

An avid reader of history, especially military history, Jack Conklin compared the preparation of their Operatives to that of the famed Spartan Soldiers of myth, of Greek boys wrenched from their families' love and taught the brutality of combat and death by the State. Only when the child had advanced in years to being on the cusp of manhood and had learned all that could be taught him did a final test befall them. They were to sneak out of their dorms in the dead of night, with no weapon, and kill a designated slave. Once they had delivered death and claimed a trophy, he was to evade capture from Guard's, returning to his dorm undetected and presenting his prize to his instructors the very next day. The final test of being a Spartan Warrior was more about stealth and evasion than murder. So it was the same for Treadstone Graduates.

So determined was he to see Jason live up to his potential that he accompanied him on his first covert assignment; he wanted to be there to support the young man, in case he developed some moral qualms. To his joy, Jason performed his duty brilliantly. The Russian businessman and his wife were done away with, with only the Russian Intelligence Service showing the slightest suspicion about the murder/suicide. A certain natural gas pipeline, serving Western Europe, re-opened within twelve hours. There could be not doubt that Bourne was a natural, he could stand in the middle of a room and be invisible, if he chose. The years of playing second fiddle during Kim Possible's adventures had given him the ability to not be noticed, and adapt to any situation that he encountered

Issuing the termination order had felt like plunging a plastic spork into his own heart. "Alright then," he replied, concentrating on the matter at hand. "Let's move on. What actions have you taken to intercept and contain Bourne?"

"I've taken the liberty of placing an anonymous call to the Paris Metro-Police, referencing Bourne's Interpol notice. I've been monitoring their communications and they've dispatched two cars, and diverted two foot patrols that were in the area. They're converging on his location even as we speak and should be effecting a positive identification within the next 5-minutes."

"I don't give a fuck who they send, they won't get him. Bourne's training is too top notch."

"Are you saying that you don't believe Ms. Possible's claims that he's forgotten who he is, sir?"

"It doesn't matter if he's lost his memory, he's faking it, or if Possible is lying through her teeth. The fact is that he's made it all the way back to Paris and got past Choirboy. That tells me that there's enough Jason Bourne in him to make him a survivor and that makes him a threat to your nation, Agent Parsons. As long as there's even the threat that he can wander off and spill his guts, our nation's world-standing remains at risk and that is not a risk I'm ready to accept, are you?"

"No, Sir."

The senior agent took a deep breath, regaining his composure. "The fact that we have assets such as him doesn't bother me, Hell, every nation with an intelligence service has at one point or another. Just look at MI6 and the Mossad. What differentiates Treadstone from those other agencies is that we are targeted against the businessmen and politicians that threaten, even indirectly, American economic, political and social independence. Do you see the distinction, Agent Parsons? Other agencies target dissenters and opposing operatives."

"Our targets aren't James Bond villains," Conklin continued, momentarily irritated that Possible's reference to the fictional, British agent had worked its way into his lecture. "We aren't interested in the guy who's stroking a puffy, white cat and plotting world domination. Our targets will appear at first glance, which is as far as the local press will go, like everyday people who excel in their chosen professions, but whose plans and ideals differ from ours. 'Ours' being the American Way of Life and standing upon the World Stage. The public will decide that we sent big, bad Jason Bourne to kick down their doors and send them to permanent beddy-by all because they did their jobs well and didn't support Uncle Sam like we wanted them to. If Jason Bourne's existence becomes revealed, our existence becomes revealed and then the USA, baseball, mom's fucken' apple pie and everything else included in this Norman Rockwell wet dream, is officially fucked in the ass without us even getting kissed, first."

"Your nation will no longer be able to claim the moral high ground anymore." Conklin maintained his unrelenting lecture. "We will no longer be able to maintain our role as the world's moral leader and police force. Every existing and potential ally will bow to misinformed, public opinion and break off relations with us. Think of it, Agent Parsons, one single article in the 'Times', 'Post' or even 'USA Today', with a living, breathing Jason Bourne as evidence, and we will lose the leverage we have spent the last seventy years cultivating. The world will perceive America's prosperity as having being the outcome of our assassins eliminating any challengers."

"I don't care if Bourne is or isn't aware of who he is or was, his recent actions have made him a risk to the entire US population. That damn debutante, Possible, is looking at the situation with narrow vision and selfish intent. He's a mad dog, Parsons, and for the good of everyone, himself included, he needs to be put down. End of story."

"So sir, are you telling me that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and Jason Bourne happens to be one of the few?"

Agent Conklin had to respect and admire the young blonde; she was certainly someone with the smarts to make it far in this line of work. She was able to challenge her superiors, argue their will, without appearing to step out of line. He chuckled inwardly; whatever Possible had said to her, before she forwarded the call to him, must have hit a soft spot. He needed to belay her questions, discretely, to guarantee her willful cooperation.

"That's the way the world works, Agent Parsons, it always has. It's a shame, he was a real find but his exposure could crush our team. That would be bad enough, but it wouldn't stop at the team. For our citizens' well being, which is our job to protect, he has to disappear. Remember what I always say: 'If you're not an asset, you're a liability'. His discovery will jeopardize Treadstone 71's survival and the very reason we exist. As for Possible, despite her 'normal girl' claim, she's always been about the glory and the adulation from the masses. This is the real world and we don't have the luxury of supporting a superstar. She's a cardboard hero, Parsons, the type of person that the Wheeties people put on the back of their cereal boxes. She knows nothing of the real world or what it truly takes to make a difference. Remember, history's important events have always been written in blood, by the brave, dedicated, and usually anonymous. The time has come to end Jason Bourne's chapter and as for Possible, she wrote her last, meaningless sentence a long time ago."

"Speaking of Possible, what do you want me to do about her, sir? Should I add her to the 'Interpol List' with Bourne and Marie?"

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind? The moment we add a high profile name, we'll have a dozen agencies and news outlets questioning its validity, which is the last thing we need. We have to get a little…creative…to finish her off." The gruff, senior agent paused in thought for a few seconds before an interesting possibility presented itself. "How far have you gotten with establishing Choirboy's background story?"

"Not far, Sir. In fact, I had only managed to find out which morgue received his body, when she called."

"Good. Drop whatever you had planned. I want you to plant a story in the media, something that will both sow a little dissent amongst the pigeons and get the general public involved."

"Sir?"

"A Kidnapping!" He declared, "send an anonymous story to some international news outlets. Something along the lines of 'Famed teen adventurer and heroine was kidnapped in Paris, while visiting her boyfriend.' Be sure to say that the boyfrie…no! Scrap that! Change it to Lover! Say that her lover was killed during the crime. A boyfriend won't call 'Snow-White's' morality into question but traveling all the way to Paris to meet her lover? Imagine the reporters interviewing dear old mommy and daddy Possible and they don't know anything about a man in her life! Everyone will start wondering why the virginal angel is going through that kind of effort, crossing the Atlantic, just to keep her folks from finding out about her little roll in the hay! The rumors about her little bedroom adventures, and her partners in them, will run rampant. Doctor up some images of Possible and Choirboy together in some…affectionate… poses. You know the drill; in front of the Eiffel Tower and other tourist traps. Make a few, risqué ones, as well. Release them a few hours later, that will make the story more authentic."

"Umm … sir, isn't this over elaborating things just a bit? Don't we try to obscure the details, instead of creating new ones? If you're thinking of using this to draw Bourne out, I don't think it'll work. He knows that Possible is with him willingly."

"I'm not planting this to draw Bourne out; mind-fucked or not, he'll be too smart for that game. No, this is for Possible's benefit. Possible's a prima donna, she's all about her reputation. Once she starts seeing the media drag her image through the mud, she'll go one of two ways; she'll either contact the media to contradict their story or she'll contact her family or friends to tell them that it's all a lie. Whatever she does, it will help draw her out into the open and right into our crosshairs, dragging Bourne with her. Besides, the way she was mouthing off, I got the impression that she's still romantically invested in Bourne but too chicken-shit to tell him everything. The media circus will mess up whatever she's trying to rebuild and THAT will make her react impulsively."

"In other words, she wants to feed him the truth, bite by bite, without revealing everything on the plate until he's already swallowed most of it?"

"Good metaphor. Possible like's things to go according to plan; her plan. Thinking on her feet has never been her personal strong point. Oh, she used to be damn good at quick reactions, but thinking, not so much. Once the stories that she was involved with Choirboy hit the scandal rags, she'll freak the moment Bourne sees them."

"But sir, won't Bourne realize that it's a load of crap?"

"He'll know it and she'll know it, but she won't trust him to know it. Agent Parsons, you haven't had the chance to dig into the Team Possible dynamic. Kim Possible never really trusted her former partner to make the decisions and formulate the opinions she wanted him to. Right now, she could tell him the entire truth, show him the entire plate, and he'd be willing to accept the good with the bad. However, she won't be able to do that for fear that he won't. She'll try to give it to him in measured doses, like you said. What will make him blow up, Agent Parsons, is discovering the game she's going to be playing. That will cause dissention among them and that, Agent Parsons, is what will cause their fatal mistake."

"I see, you're going to give her the rope and let her hang herself. Back to the operation, these…special photos…how explicit do you want me to make them? Do you want topless or…"

"It doesn't matter, the media will fuzz out the raunchy bits, covered or not." He chuckled, "I knew a scandal rag editor who posted 'incriminating' celebrity photos. The girl was actually wearing fairly modest bikini and he blurred it out. Even after the unmodified photos were released, his viewers refused to believe that she hadn't been naked in public. Anyway, they don't have to be 'adults only', just something that says she's trying to impress the guy with her. The press, and she, will take it from there."

"Umm… Sir, Choirboy was apparently wearing an abseiling harness."

"What? So?"

"The responding Metro Police noted the harness, in writing, when they loaded him into the ambulance. I was planing to include a couple of second story burglary convictions in his false records. The police would pick up on that and classify his death as a botched burglary. Now we're saying that he was getting jiggy with Possible, how does the harness fit into that?"

"You deal with the details and I'll deal with the big-picture. Just get those creative juices flowing and make up something plausible. Imply something kinky, that the two were into some kind of BDSM shit, which should help tarnish her polish. I want all of France… correction, all of Europe, to be looking for Possible, after the 6 o'clock news. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Besides, it will be an excellent cover story when this all comes to term. When all this is done, we'll make it look like an unknown assailant kidnapped Possible, killed her lover, then killed her when she tried to escape him. Hell, we can even make it look like she died doing something heroic, like trying to rescue one Miss Kreutz."

"Yes sir. Neat and tidy, but…"

"But what, Agent Parson's?"

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't think I can execute your instructions in the allotted time. There is no way I can substantiate these claims in time for the networks to get it on the evening news. I should be able to produce a picture or two, and maybe some innuendo. I won't, however, be able to produce anything concrete, certainly nothing that will hold up to scrutiny."

"The closer to the deadline the better; they won't have time to check the facts too deeply and they'll be focused on reporting the big story. If there's one thing a news agency doesn't like to do, it's watching a competing agency reporting the Breaking News."

'Wait a moment, sir," there was a pause on the other end of the line and then Conklin's subordinate reported in with an excited tone.

"Sir, the Metro have just spotted the subcompact and have called it in. They're about to approach the vehicle, Sir."

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A/N – Too everyone who has been anxious and awaiting this chapter, I hope that the wait has been deemed worthwhile. The truth is that this Chapter was originally 40-pages long (I kid you not) so to ensure that nothing is lost, I have whittled it into two separate and stand alone pieces. The next chapter will be posted in a few days from now – That's a promise! 

As always, I wish to bow down to my beta, who is in truth closer to an active co-writer of this story. Daccu65, remains a steadfast talent and inspiration and any review offered to me is one truly earned by him as well. So shower us with Reviews and let us know of your love ;-)…lol.

NEXT: Kim returns to the Mini and is welcomed by a grumpy and hostile Jason. Car Chases, Narrow Escapes, Confession's and … Porn(?)

Oh yeah, Jason has had enough of dancing to 'Tiffany's tune and decides to get answers!!!