Nine
The hotel that Marta finds herself in, in D.C. is a far cry from the places she has been staying the past few days. She allows herself to indulge a little, taking a few moments to appreciate the accommodations: an actual clean shower, plush towels and high-end scented shampoo. An unfairly comfortable looking queen sized bed is stacked high with a half dozen pillows and is centered in front of a flat screen TV, which Marta thinks, is bigger than her old car. She is unnaturally happy to find the mini bar is stocked and that the city heat is being cooled to a frigid sixty-eight degrees by the central air conditioning system. Creature comforts that she has definitely missed while on the run, but standing in the room admiring all the things it has, Marta can only think of the things it doesn't.
Aaron has not arrived yet and she lets her mind worry about him for a moment before she forces the gnawing fear back into the box it crawled out of; Aaron would be fine. She drops her little carry on bag onto the floor and collapses onto the edge of the bed. Her bones feel tired, hell even her hair feels tired; pretty much everything about her is exhausted. But Marta knows she is not going to be able to sleep, not well at least. Not until she knows that Aaron is safe. Marta's eyes flick to the clock on the bedside table. She knows she shouldn't expect him until early-afternoon tomorrow if everything went perfectly and all the flights were on time. And that is plenty of time to drive Marta crazy worrying about the worst case scenarios.
Marta gets up and walks over to the window that stretches nearly across the length of the wall. She pulls back the curtain, just enough to see out, and is treated to the sight of bustling D.C. life three stories below her. Once again, she finds herself envying the people in the cars that aren't concerned with whether the black sedan two cars back is following them and the many people walking down the sidewalk uncaring about being seen and carefree as they laugh and joke. There are certain things about her new life that she would never trade but there are a lot of things she wishes were different. Mainly the fact that her sister is being held against her will in conjunction with a terrorist plot that does not even exist and she would give almost anything if she and Aaron did not have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.
Now that she is in D.C., Marta finds it even harder to keep her mind off Gemma than it was before. It is like she can feel her sister somehow among all these people and it makes her heart hurt. This never should have happened to any of them but especially not Gemma. Marta is enough of a pragmatist to know that her choices lead her to this place, but Gemma's only 'crime' was being her sister. Gemma does not have any blood on her hands, not like the rest of them and that is what made this so much more unjust. Aaron promised they would get her sister out of this and Marta has no choice but to trust that they will indeed be able to save Gemma.
She might not like it, but she is going to have to start trusting Jason. He might not be happy about it, but at least he was here. Marta has seen flashes of hurt and sadness in the man that helps her see him as more human and that gives her a bit of trust that Bourne won't do or say anything to sabotage or betray them.
Letting the curtain fall back across the window, Marta turns away, walking the length of the room and feeling a bit like a caged animal. Unfortunately, there is only one way out. But that also means there is only one way in, which makes Marta feel marginally better. She confirms that the door is locked and slides the chain in place, for good measure. If someone really wanted to get in, that probably would not stop them but it would give her plenty of warning that she was going to have company. She can work with that.
Marta showers the grime of travel off her body, letting the steaming hot water relax her muscles. Closing her eyes as she soaps her body she thinks of last night, had it really only been less than twenty hours earlier, when Aaron bathed her so carefully. It was strange, he had run the cloth over every inch of her, but even when his hands had been on her breasts or between her thighs it had not been sexual. It felt, Marta frowned as she contemplated the weight and solemnity of the moment, ritualistic. Yes, that was a perfect way to describe the slide of his hands and the care upon his face. Sighing, Marta opened her eyes; somehow the act of bathing is just not the same without Aaron.
She changes into a pair of sweat pants and a tank top and pulls back the sheets on the bed, arranging the pillows to prop herself up. She flips on the TV and looks for any reports that involve Gemma or fugitives being detained trying to get back into the United States. The ticker at the bottom of the screen on one news channel is scrolling past a blurb about another woman who was arrested in connection with a terrorist plot but they don't list her name or give too many details. The little voice in the back of Marta's mind assures her it is not a coincidence.
Marta keeps flipping through channels until everything blurs together. It does not do much to distract her mind from Aaron. She orders room service and settles on watching Down with Love, hoping a mindless romantic-comedy will keep her focused long enough to stop worrying about Aaron. And it does because she falls asleep before her room service even arrives.
The times he has in between flights are the moments that stress Jason out the most. He can keep his cool during security checks and the flights themselves are nothing to write home about. All he has to do is flash a smile at the flight attendants offering him cookies or pretzels and he has them more focused on his looks than whether or not he is a government fugitive. But sitting around in the terminals, waiting for boarding to start or for his connection to arrive is something that rubs on Jason's nerves raw. These are the moments when any one of the passing security guards can look too closely and have a brain synapses that lands him in handcuffs. Every second he spends in the waiting area is a perfect opportunity for CNN or some other local news station to flash his picture and alert his fellow passengers to who it is they are traveling with.
Jason tries to keep a low profile; he pretends to sleep so he can keep most of his face hidden against his shoulder. He has bought so many papers and magazines that he has actually started reading the articles instead of just using them to cover his face. But he is in the home stretch now; it is just a short flight into D.C. and then it is on to step two of this suicidal plan. He cannot believe he has actually made it this far, that he managed to slip back into the U.S. without anyone raising an eyebrow, a second time. It really makes Jason doubt the security of the nation if the most televised criminal can just board a plane and set foot on U. S. soil. Then again his very all-American look is what Daniel's had been looking for when he recruited Jason and it appeared he was correct in assuming that he would be able to slip from country to country unhindered.
He wonders if Aaron and Marta have managed to make it through as well and he is a little surprised to find that he actually cares. Marta should be in D.C. by now; she would have made it in yesterday and he is sure she is fine. Despite her fugitive status, her face and smile make her appear unassuming to anyone she meets. She is not the type of person you would expect to be a terrorist. Jason has the feeling that if he made it this far, then Aaron is probably also on the continent. It makes him think that maybe, maybe they might actually be able to pull off this outrageous scheme. His lips twitch, and for a moment Jason freezes in confusion and then he realizes that he is actually enjoying the cloak and dagger of this rescue mission. It feels easy, like a game.
And then, it is as though the universe has to prove him wrong. He is Jason Bourne after all; luck has never been on his side. Jason glances up from his Men's Health magazine in time to catch the beginning of CNN's special report on another arrest being made in connection with a string of terrorist attacks.
At first, he thinks this just another report about Marta's unfortunate sister but he could not be more wrong as Nicky Parson's picture replaces the face of the woman delivering the report. Jason's hands tighten around the magazine and he can feel his heart begin to pound flushing his system with adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol. Jason feels his stomach hollow out as his blood rushes to his extremities in preparation for either fight or flight.
It takes every ounce of his control to steady his breathing, but he sits there in his seat and he does not draw any undue attention to himself. The picture is an old one, taken when Nicky's hair was still long and blonde, but it is not hard to recognize her smiling face. They caught her. How? The last time he saw her, he was putting her on a bus for some not even worthy of global positioning city. How could they possibly have found her?
The worry he feels for Nicky is unwelcome so Jason replaces it with anger directed at Nicky instead. She must have slipped up, done something stupid and led them right to her. How could she be so foolish? Clearly, she brought this on herself and he cannot do anything to help her now. But those thoughts only last e few hard won seconds, because this is Nicky. Jason volleys back to being worried about her so fast that it annoys him. The tight ball in his chest, which should be his beating heart clenches as the reporter switches to a correspondent standing in front of a security gate.
In the background he can see a logo that surprises him. The NRAG, National Research Assay Group emblem on the old-style brick building should house nothing more than research studies and scientists like Marta Shearing. It shocks him to realize that the asshole in charge of this operation was laying down loaf-sized bread crumbs for Aaron to follow. Either the guy thought he was being pretty slick or he thought Aaron was mentally challenged. Jason watches as the camera pans away from the man with the microphone and provides the general layout of the property.
Nicky's picture is again taking up the entire screen and Jason misses the days when it was easy to shut off his emotions and keep his head in the game. He cannot afford to be distracted, especially not now, but all he can think about is Nicky back in the hands of Treadstone. Unlike Marta's sister, Nicky did not have a life insurance policy. She would probably not make it another twenty-four hours; that Jason knows without a doubt. She is a liability, a danger to the whole operation, especially with Pamela Landy getting ready to sing like a canary.
Layered within the news bulletin were details about the up-coming Congressional Hearings that would be televised for the viewing pleasure of the American people. It was a pretty way of giving the public a bloody and vicious feeding frenzy to watch. Pamela Landy was the wounded fish circling the waters chummed by the likes of Jason Bourne, Aaron Cross, Marta and Gemma Shearing and Nicky Parsons. They would never leave them alone and it pissed him off!
Jason gets to his feet, his body tense and feeling like a live wire. He throws the magazine into a nearby trashcan with enough force to send a few heads glancing in his direction. He ignores them. He walks away from his gate and toward the little stall selling books, candy and other assorted items. The television behind the counter is running the same report about Nicky's apprehension and Jason watches out of the corner of his eye while he pretends to read the back of a bestseller.
He learns that Nicky is currently being held in one of the NRAG branch buildings but will be transported to a maximum security facility that afternoon to await trial. Jason puts the book back on the shelf. He knows that is when they will try to take her out; most likely they will call it a botched escape attempt or an unfortunate, yet not tragic, accident. He also knows that he has to be there to make sure that doesn't happen or Nicky doesn't stand a chance.
Throughout his life, Aaron has always pretended to be someone else. When he was still Kenneth, he would make up the perfect life for himself; when he lay awake some nights he liked to imagine a life that involved a mom and a dad, that loved him and were proud, and a little sister that thought he could hang the moon. Aaron thinks he would have liked being somebody's big brother. His fantasy family always took family vacations to the beach or to the mountains to visit fantasy grandparents. Fantasy Dad taught him how to hit a baseball and Fantasy Mom always took him out for ice cream when he got A's on his tests; it was his dream so he made A's every time. He taught his Fantasy Sister to fish and he read picture books to her every night. He could not make his thoughts into a reality but he still liked to immerse himself in the fantasy. It made him smile and there was a curious tightening in his chest when he pictured that perfect family. It was only after he joined Outcome and became Aaron Cross that he realized the feeling in his chest was hope. All those nights of dreaming a perfect life gave Aaron what he would need to became well practiced in the art of being someone else.
He wore his identity like a coat that could be removed at any time and swapped out for another. It was easy to pretend to be anyone other than who he was. The common factor in all of his personas, these days, is that he is always a highly- trained government assassin, a soldier and there was no room to be anything else.
Aaron let's his mind wander as he slips into the back entrance of the Marriot where he knows, hopes and prays Marta is waiting. In spite of the fact that he declined to walk through the front door like every other guest, Aaron feels like he could be any other unassuming guest at the hotel. He could be a businessman attending a conference or trying to close a deal, a man treating his children to a tour of the Nation's Capital or even an unfaithful husband visiting his mistress. Aaron knows that anyone he passed by in the hallway would have no idea why he was really there or who he is.
Aaron takes the elevator to the third floor and finds the room he reserved under a fake name only two days before. The Internet really makes slipping through the government's net all too easy. When he finds the room number, Aaron cannot help but glance up and down the hallway, trying to sense if anything is out of the ordinary. The hallway is empty and everything appears to be as it should. He can hear the low drone of the televisions in several of the rooms but nothing that sets his body on edge.
Satisfied, Aaron knocks lightly on the door three times. Almost immediately the door flies open and there is Marta, back to being brown-eyed and brunette, waiting for him on the other side. "Did you even look out the peephole," he asks with a quirked eyebrow, but he cannot seem to find any anger at her for her lack of security. He never knew how good it would feel to have someone waiting for him. "You didn't ask me the password." Aaron chides as he enters the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. "What if I hadn't been alone?"
Marta gives him an incredulous look, "I wasn't worried about that you would never lead them right to me." She points out.
Her total trust warms him and Aaron turns to agree that he would rather die than lead the wolf to her door, but Marta is launching herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding onto him like she worried she would never see him again. And maybe that's exactly what she had been worried about. He can feel her trembling against him and it feels real, natural like he imagined other men felt every day. Now that he has her in his arms, Aaron feels himself start to relax. She is safe and he is safe; so, it is pretty much a happily-ever-after as far as he's concerned. Aaron presses his face against the side of her neck and allows himself a few moments of pretending to be someone else.
He pretends to be a normal man meeting a beautiful normal woman in a hotel room for more pleasurable reasons than that of a CIA trained assassin on the run from the people who made him who he is. They are not here to rescue a hostage and steal hundreds of top-secret files with the intention of publishing them to bring down countless, nefariously run black-ops organizations. He is not a man facing the possibility of his imminent death or the death of the only person who means anything to him. He is just Aaron Cross and she is just Marta Shearing and they are just—together.
Nicky Parsons has proved to be a blessing in disguise, a way to hold onto the sanity that Gemma had felt slowly slipping away from her since she was abducted from her home. Nicky understands exactly what is going on and her knowledge keeps her from being afraid. Her strength makes Gemma strong and she feels like she is becoming a new person, shedding the old weaknesses and doubts that would have allowed her to betray her baby sister. In that other woman's place is now a sincerely pissed of bitch that will do whatever it takes to keep Byer and his goons from getting their hands on her sister, even if it means resigning herself to rotting in this cell.
Gemma is not sure how much time has passed before she hears sounds drifting down the corridor once more. She and Nicky have been passing the time with stories from their lives, though Nicky's stories are far more exciting than any Gemma can share. Nicky has told her everything about Jason Bourne and how he is the one who has led them all to this moment. Gemma feels like she is listening to the last confessions of a dying woman and maybe that is really what they are doing, telling the stories of their lives while they await the executioner.
Vosen comes to stand in front of their cell, once again flanked by a trio of guards. His eyes settle on Nicky, a dangerous glint in his eyes and his voice is smug as he says, "Time to go, Miss Parsons." Nicky swallows and her eyes betray her fear. Gemma can feel her own heart start pounding in her chest and she imagines the same is happening in the dark haired woman.
"Where are you taking her," Gemma asks, her voice is shaking as she looks at Vosen.
Predictably, Vosen ignores her question and the fact that she is there at all. Nicky forces herself to meet the man's gaze. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she informs him frankly, trying to banish any sign of her fear. Gemma thinks that her act is two-fold one to keep her from becoming hysterical and she probably knows these men can smell fear a mile away.
"You really don't want us to have to come get you," Vosen tells her, "Your move."
Nicky just crosses her arms over her chest like a petulant child, pursing her lips. Vosen glares and unlocks the cell. He gestures for one of the guards to retrieve her. Gemma's mind is spinning as she watches the exchange. She knows she should not just be sitting here, she should be doing something. She should be brave, but she feels frozen in place.
The guard grabs Nicky under the elbow and roughly hauls her to her feet. Before they can take a step toward the hallway, Nicky slams her head into the bridge of the guy's nose as hard as she can. The man cries out, releasing her arm as he covers his face, blood gushing down his chin and staining his shirt. Nicky presses her hands into his wrists and shoves him toward the door using their momentum to force his already abused head into the thick metal bars before swinging the man to the right and letting him fall in a heap. The door is unlocked and she knows she will not get very far, there are still two guards and Vosen blocking her way, but she refused to let herself go quietly. Even if there are so few people to witness her last heroic moments on this planet.
Vosen grabs her by the hair and pulls her backward into the metal bars of the cell, sending a wave of pain shooting from her tailbone and up to her already throbbing head. "You always did have more balls than sense Parsons." He remarks, "It's what makes you worthless."
Nicky turns her head just enough to spit in his face, trying to wrestle out of his grip. Vosen narrows his eyes at her. "I wish I could be there to watch that fire in you go out." He growls before shoving her away from the door and giving the two remaining guards an exasperated get moving sign with his hand. This time the guard is prepared when she tries to attack and she can feel the bruises being made as they hold her in painfully tight hands.
Vosen looks at the third guard, still recovering from Nicky's assault. He glares at the man. "Let's go," he mutters, "Christ! You are supposed to be the best and you let a girl beat you."
"The best," Nicky scoffs, "He isn't the best, but he'll get to meet him soon enough!"
Vosen spares a slightly speculative look for Nicky before he locks the cell once more once the guard is standing in the hallway.
"You still think Jason Bourne will come for you," he laughed coldly. Gemma saw pain in Nicky's eyes for a brief moment before it was erased by cool indifference. She thought it was interesting that Vosen did not dispute Nicky's claim that this Jason Bourne was the best. It was oddly comforting to realize that there were people out there that these men feared. And despite his bravado Noah Vosen was scared.
"He'll come for her," Gemma retorted, completely confident that the man Nicky loved and lost would come for her like a knight in tarnished and dented armor. "He'll come for you," she assured the other woman and prayed it was true.
Nicky licked her lips and her dark brown eyes were large with fear, but she nodded her thanks to the other woman. "I'll see you again, soon," she assured Gemma.
"In hell, I suspect," Vosen laughs and spares a menacing look at Gemma. "Don't worry you'll get your turn."
Gemma stares at him, trying to keep her face from betraying how his words terrify her. She thinks of Marta, still somewhere out there, free. That thought makes her stronger and less afraid. "The only way I'll go to hell is if I take you with me," she spat and turned away from the glorified lackey.
By the time she is being led out of the building and into the bright afternoon sunshine, Nicky can barely put one foot in front of the other. Her mind is foggy and her vision is swimming. She tries to fight against the heavy blanket of lethargy stealing through her body but it is just too hard. She should have known that prick Vosen would have resorted to drugging her. What is the fun in killing someone who can actually fight back?
There is a nondescript white van waiting for her beside the curb and Nicky tries to muster the last of her sense and strength and pull away from the men escorting her toward the open doors. She knows once she gets in the back of the van that she's dead. She's as good as dead right now anyway but she wants to go down swinging. Jason would be proud of her, she thinks, if she made an effort.
Nicky managers to pull one of her arms free and she uses it to drive the air out of the man on her right by driving her elbow into his solar plexus. She tries to pull away from the other restraining hand and she nearly face plants into the sidewalk, pretty much ruling out the possibility of escape. Her head feels too heavy to keep upright and Nicky feels like her heart is about to beat right out of her chest. Maybe whatever Vosen gave her will just kill her before anyone else can do the honors.
Once Nicky is in the back of the van, the guard cuffs her hands to a ring in the floor and the doors slam shut, effectively putting an end to any thoughts of escape. She is alone aside from the driver, who does not spare her a backwards glance as he pulls away from the curb and merges into traffic. Her bleary eyes see the vehicle for what it is, a mobile coffin. She can see pavement through the floor of the van and she thinks it might make her sick as it speeds beneath her.
Nicky closes her eyes and rests her head against the cool metal of the van floor. She never really thought it would end this way but her brain won't focus long enough for her to feel much of anything about her impending death. She just hopes it is all over quickly.
Jason checks the clip on the gun he just stole from the unfortunate rent-a-cop that happened to walk by first and is satisfied to find all the bullets in place. The most recent news report he saw was showing live footage of Nicky being loaded into the back of a van, which is pretty much the worst-case scenario as far as Jason is concerned. That means he is going to have to find a way to get close enough to the van, which means he is going to have to get his hands on a motorized vehicle of some kind. Which means in addition to making sure that he does not get killed by the people in charge of eliminating Nicky, he also has to ensure he doesn't get killed by any idiotic D.C. drivers. This should be fun.
He opts for a motorbike because it will be easier to weave through traffic that way. They also seem to be very popular amongst the residents of D.C. and it doesn't take Jason long to find one parked outside a row of shops. It takes him even less time to strip the wires and connect them, firing the bike to life. He pulls away long before the bike's actual owner notices that anything is amiss.
Jason knows the van's intended route thanks to the CNN report detailing the transfer of a dangerous terrorist. He saw the footage they were showing of Nicky and she looked like anything but a dangerous terrorist; even her fumbling attempt at escape lacked the needed danger. It was strange how watching the obviously drugged woman take on two armed guards made something inside Jason come to life. She had only elbowed the guard, but to Jason it was beautiful to watch. He could tell they drugged her or at least had done something to her that probably made her forget her own name. Something they thought would keep her from fighting back in that situation. Cowards!
To any of the other countless drivers on the road, the van would not warrant a second glance, which is the desired effect. To Jason, it is like a beacon. Nothing says government operation like an unmarked white van or a nondescript black sedan with tinted windows; these people lacked originality.
Jason trails behind the van, keeping a dozen cars in between them as he considers his options. If he waits to grab Nicky when they get to wherever they are going, he risks getting in the middle of a shoot-out and broadcasting his presence in D.C. loud and clear. He figures Cross would crucify him if he blew the rescue mission; but trying to intercept the van on the road and extracting Nicky, especially in her current state, seems just as impossible. Jason shrugs a metaphoric shoulder he has always excelled at the impossible.
The van changes lanes to merge onto a bridge and Jason follows suit it seems an odd route to take, but it also appears to bypass mid-afternoon traffic. As soon as they're off the bridge and back onto the main streets, he will close the distance between them. Getting stuck in bumper to bumper traffic would be preferable but he will settle for a red light; anything that will keep the van in place.
Jason is still a dozen cars behind the van when he sees the van suddenly swerve to the left, slamming into the stone guard rail of the bridge and take a nosedive toward the water below. "Son of bitch," he curses through gritted teeth, twisting the throttle on the bike and swerving around the cars that were previously providing him with cover. The cars that were behind the van are all stopping and doors are opening making his path more treacherous.
People are flooding the road almost as quickly as the water is pouring into the van and it is a sickening display of human nature; they are unable to resist bearing witness to whatever tragedy is unfolding before them. Jason ignores their shouts of surprise as he breezes by, heading for the spot where the van went over. He does not bother to slow down as he sends the bike over the edge of the bridge and plummeting into the water.
Jason surfaces easily, blinking water out of his eyes. Several feet away from him, a man he assumes is the driver of the van has also surfaced and is the process of making a beeline for the shore. He looks shocked to see Jason and his surprise only increases when he recognizes the face of the man. Jason dives underwater as if he is heading for the van and then crosses the distance between the driver and himself easily, grabbing the man and dragging him under. While the man is flailing about as any drowning man will Jason delivers a solid punch to his windpipe before dragging him deeper under water. The last thing he wants is for this lackey to return to home-base with the news that Jason Bourne is back in the United States or for the rubber-necks up on the bridge to realize he just killed a man in front of them. Jason does not want to give them that much of a thrill.
Once the man is no longer a threat, Jason resurfaces and glances around as if searching for the other man and then he dives under the water again, trying to spot the van in the murky water. The vehicle is sinking slowly, but not nearly as slow as it should be. It was obvious that they prepared the van for this and with Nicky drugged and most likely restrained she would drown if he could not reach her quickly.
It would be the first impulse of most to try and pry the back doors open but the water pressure on the flat panels make opening them impossible. Instead, Jason circles the vehicle and enters through the place where the windscreen should have been and there is Nicky. She is cuffed to the floor and though the van is completely submerged there is a large bubble of air trapped in the cargo area. For a minute, one heart stopping-ly painful, he thinks she is already dead. It would be just his luck.
But when he reaches for her, pulling her toward him, Nicky stirs and her eyes flutter open. She murmurs something that might be his name before her eyes close again. There is not much time because the van is filling faster now the deeper they drift. They don't have time for him to pick the lock on the handcuffs because the water will be over her head soon. Using the gun he took off the rent-a-cop Jason shields Nicky and places the muzzle against the links of the cuffs and fires freeing her.
There is bound to be a thousand and one people and probably rescue workers on scene by now and Jason knows that getting them out of here unnoticed is going to be major trouble. "Take a breath," he orders her and she opens blurry eyes again but does not seem to register what he is saying. Shaking her he commands again, "Damn it, Nick, take a breath and hold it!"
Her old nickname slipping off of his lips rouses her and she does as she is told. Jason takes three quick breathes and releases them before taking a larger breath. Cradling Nicky with her back to his chest Jason hooks one arm around her shoulders to keep her close as he starts swimming for the surface and uses one hand to cover her mouth and hold her nose. He cannot take the chance that she might panic and drown while he gets them to the other side of the bridge. His lungs are burning by the time he makes it to the far side of the bridge and he can only hope there is no one on that bridge expecting them to surface this far upstream.
Breaking the surface of the water, Jason glances around quickly, ensuring that there are gunmen waiting to start shooting at them from any vantage point. Releasing Nicky's nose and mouth she gasps raggedly, but does not struggle as her head lolls to the side on his shoulder and her eyes search his features hopefully. Towing her to shore takes longer than Jason would like but she helps by kicking unevenly with him. It is nothing to find a car abandoned near the water's edge, everyone that stopped probably left their keys in the car. As quickly and covertly as he can Jason pushes Nicky into the front seat and fastens the seat belt. Soon they are on the road and headed back toward the direction they had come. Turning on the radio Jason is shocked to hear his name and the word hero being connected to it by a live phone interview at the scene of the accident. Evidently, more than one 'concerned' citizen had already YouTubed the rescue attempt.
Jason has the feeling this isn't the quiet as under the radar entrance Aaron had in mind.
