Winter Bourne

Chapter 13 "Consequences"

Pamela Landy

Unintended consequences.

The phrase kept creeping into Pamela Landy's thoughts. She couldn't have imagined that one decision she'd made had started an ongoing series of catastrophes that had led to this moment. She was standing outside a stolen van with a half-dead Blackbriar assassin tied up in the back, staring down an unfamiliar New Jersey street in the vain hope that her tentative ally, one Jason Bourne, hadn't really abandoned her.

Idiot. Another word that crept out of her subconscious. Then she wasn't sure if she meant Bourne, or herself. Shivering from more than the cold, Pamela got behind the driver's wheel and cranked the heat up. I know that you can never have everything under control. I know it's impossible to plan for every contingency. It just never occurred to me that making that initial contact with Bourne would end up like this. Thought the worst thing that could happen is that I'd be looking for a new job – not that I'd be in the target of an assassination attempt.

Pamela started the engine. First things first. She wanted to find out what had happened to Tom. Tom was supposed to have taken a double to her apartment to throw Basnight off. She hadn't wanted Basnight to have any clue that she'd been trying to talk to Jason. The meeting with Jason hadn't gone according to plan either. Pamela had had to cut her planned spiel short when he told her that she was in danger.

At his warning, she'd called Tom. When he hadn't answered, she'd contacted a CIA specialized response team to find out what had happened to him. Then she'd called her office to arrange a pick-up. She'd watched in horror as her driver was gunned down by a Blackbriar operative, but he'd been taken down in turn by Jason. It didn't take a genius to figure out that someone had bugged her office phonelines, or worse, one of her team members had betrayed her. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. The anger that had been building in her since Berlin had solidified into a cold determination to root out the people who were destroying the integrity, the soul of the agency where she'd spent her adult working life.

A groan from the back of the van reminded her that she had another problem to deal with. Her stomach turned over remembering the battering he'd taken. She couldn't quite bring herself to hate him. He was just another pawn, just as Jason had been. It'd make her life easier if she could bring him to a regular hospital. Dump him and run. Even if he were willing to cooperate, she doubted that he'd know anymore than Paz had about who was running Blackbriar. And now that his mission had failed, Blackbriar would cut him loose, just as they had Paz. She couldn't do it. All anyone would see is a desperately wounded man. She had a vivid idea of what could happen if the Blackbriar operative woke up, reembering only that he'd been attacked.

Pamela swung the van out into traffic, heading back towards New York. As she did, something slid across on the passenger seat. A glint caught her eye. She spared a glance to check it. Bourne had left her the Blackbriar assassin's gun. That's so odd. Bourne seemed to have some phobia about weapons. He kept disarming himself. No, that wasn't right. Maybe it was because he could use almost anything as a weapon that he didn't feel the need to constantly carry a gun. Another question she'd hadn't gotten a chance to ask him.

Damn it, Pamela scolded herself. Stop trying to figure out Jason Bourne. Focus on what needs to be done right now. All right. Of all the people she knew at the CIA, who could she really trust? As she ran through the short list of people who had the knowledge and the authority to help her, another pang of guilt and worry hit her. If Tom had been hurt, she'd never stop blaiming herself. She'd feel a lot better if she knew he was all right.

Ten miles away from where Bourne had left her, Pamela pulled into a parking lot of a well-lit strip mall. With a twenty-four hour Shaw's supermarket, it was easier to blend in. She'd made her decision. Hoping it was the right one, she called the same CIA emergency number and left a very specific message for Sloane with the operative who answered. Then she walked away as fast as she could.

She took the gun with her.

"How are you feeling, Pam?" Sloane asked.

"Paranoid."

"You've certainly gotten someone worried."

"I've been thinking about that," Pamela said. She took a moment to look around Sloane's office. It had been an ordeal getting here, but she'd been right to trust him. Six hours after she'd left the van, she'd been brought back safe to Langley. He'd taken her ideas and made it work. "It seems odd that anyone would target me. The analysis team has yet to forward anything useful."

"So you said before. Maybe it's your habit of contacting Bourne that has someone worried."

Pamela tried not to visbily wince. She hadn't had a chance to tell Sloane about her meeting with Jason. Before she could update him a knock on the door interupted her. Tom Conti stuck his head through the door. Pamela didn't bother trying to hide her smile. It was one of the ironies of the world that she had Basnight to thank for Tom's well being. Basnight had ordered a team to pick her up last night so that she could debrief "Jason Bourne" after Basnight's successful capture after the CNN interview. She rather suspected that Basnight had just wanted to rub her face into his victory. Of course, Basnight's own people had subsequently told him that their captive was an imposter. By then, Tom and the 'pretender' Pam were already back at Langley.

She was thinking of sending Sloane a nice gift basket.

"… summarizing the research up to five days ago," Tom said. "We brought in a fresh team to review the material."

"And?" Sloane asked.

Tom shrugged. "Nothing that stands out. A few possibilities that they're pursuing. That's it."

"Thanks, Tom." Pamela gave him another smile. "Why not get a few hours sleep?"

"Sounds like a good idea."

As the door shut behind Tom, Sloane turned back to Pamela. "You don't sound dissappointed."

Pamela shrugged. "The amount of personnel data they're reviewing is enormous. I've recommended newer analysis tools, but even with these, most of the work's still comes down to someone actually reading a file and making a judgement. I knew it'll take a while just to complete the summaries. I appreciate the extra people you've authorized."

"You never did get around to telling me where you were last night."

He was doing it again. Like he had during their last meeting. Shifting topics abruptly, as if this would throw her off balance. It's just counter-productive. Too bad she couldn't tell him to knock it off. Let's see how you like this answer. "Meeting with Jason Bourne."

Dead silence. Sloane's jaw didn't quite drop, but it was a close call. Pamela enjoyed the moment, but she kept that amusement off her face.

"You what?"

Pamela raised an eyebrow at his explosive tone. It was amazing what a solid night of sleep and a decent meal would do to your self-confidence. She folded her arms when Sloane's glare didn't fade. She's stopped being intimidated by gruff men before she turned thirty. Keeping her tone calm, she repeated, "I suggested that he help us." She summarized their meeting, then sat back, waiting.

"Are you insane? What if he'd taken you hostage? What if he'd killed you?"

"He had a chance to do either of those before. He didn't." Pamela shrugged. "Besides, you told me to bring him in. Isn't this the best way to do it?"

Sloane ignored that reminder. Pamela wasn't surprised. Most people didn't like being reminded of inconvenient facts. He didn't even try to mention that he'd really ordered another fate for Bourne.

"You lied to me."

"About?"

"You said a law enforcement agent rescued you from your attacker."

"I consider Bourne to be one of us."

"You're not authorized to make those decisions."

"You gave me that authorization," Pamela let some iron into her voice as she added, "Besides, Bourne accepted a job I offered."

Instead of screaming at her or pounding the desk, Sloane folded his arms across his chest and appeared to take several deep breaths. She was impressed with his self-control. She'd prefer to be more conciliatory, but some men took compromise as an admittion of weakness, and she sensed Sloane was one of them.

"Ms. Landy, did it not occur to you that it's an embarrassment to have that man brought back into the fold? It's a tactic admission of our guilt! It's condoning his commission of a series of crimes against this government, not to mention at least two other governments and not the least, the murder of two CIA operatives!"

Pamela kept eye contact, refusing to back down. She didn't answer for a couple of heartbeats. When she spoke it was with a deliberate calm and a softer tone. "Murder? No. Self-defense, yes. And what better amends to make then to allow Bourne a chance to redeem himself?"

"Are you delusional?"

"Wouldn't it be less embarrassing for us if it were known that he's back under our control? Instead of continuing to look incompetent for being unable to capture him?"

"You can't think that having Bourne testify to Congress will make us look good?"

An interesting point for him to make. Did it mean Sloane's resistence to the idea was weakening? "Sir, I don't have all the answers. I know that I'm not the only one who feels strongly that the CIA inflicted grievous, deliberate and persistent harm against David Webb. A debt is owed."

"Do you know how many guidelines you've broken? You think there won't be consequences?"

"I didn't think I had much to lose."

"Pam-"

"You gave me a job, hoping that I couldn't do it," Pamela cut him off. "I want to know why. You could have found an easier way to fire me."

Sloane glared faded. "They told me you were annoying."

"They?" Pamela didn't expect him to answer that, and he didn't.

"Where did you send Bourne?"

Pamela hesitated. Then she shrugged mentally. If I don't have a clue where he is right now, there's no way anyone else could find him either. "I sent him to find and bring in Nicole Parsons."

Sloane ran a hand down his face.

Pamela was sure that his mumbling was a string of swear words. "Sir, it made sense to me since Bourne has a personal connection to her."

"I want a report on my desk by tomorrow morning with every detail of your meeting with him. Explain, in writing, what the hell you thought you were going to accomplish. All the options you considered. Everything you told Bourne. And I want you to justify going over my head to get Bourne and that girl a Presidential pardon!"

Pamela hadn't heard that it was final. She smiled. "Congressman Hedel initiated the process when I was testifying before Congress. Before you were my boss."

"Don't tell me it was his idea."

Pamela didn't say anything. She might have nudged Hedel, but to the man's credit, he'd been as outraged at what had been done to Bourne and the other Treadstone operatives as she'd been. Knowing that Hedel was not a fan of the CIA and was using this as an opportunity to give them a black eye was simply part of the price. Pamela hadn't minded. The CIA deserved it.

"Do I have access to the Blackbriar operative who attacked me?"

Sloane stared at her. "No. Now go away."

"Yes, sir."

Five hours later, Pamela had gone through eighteen more files and had her detailed report for Sloane done. Histories, financial reports, security back checks. Summaries of anyone who might be able to take over Blackbriar. She couldn't find any definitive answers.

Untouched for too long, Pamela's screensaver came up onscreen. It was the looped fight of Jason's fight with Vosen's men in the back corridors of Waterloo station. Getting to her feet, Pamela stretched, trying to get the tension out of her shoulders and neck.

Idly she watched the fight again. The reminder of Jason made her think of the assassinations he'd done at the behest of Treadstone. That tripped off another thought. Wait a minute. She scrambled through the files to pull out a different kind of summary Tom had made for her. A list of Jason's 'jobs'. She ran a finger down the list, checking off the method of death. I was right.

"Something been nagging me about that attack on me."

"Meaning you've found something more to worry about than just the fact that there may be a team of assassins after you?"

"No, that no. I realized something interesting about how he tried to kill me. He was going to shoot me dead right there on the street. With other people walking around." Pamela held up the list of Bourne's kills, then tapped the stack of Treadstone and Blackbriar operations files. "That's not their standard operations procedure."

Tom nodded. "Right. They're a sneaky bunch of bastards. They're supposed to make the deaths look like accidents."

Pamela felt a spurt of excitement in her stomach. "It occurred to me we're looking in the wrong direction for Blackbriar's new boss."

"Why do you say that?"

"Maybe it wasn't one of Kramer's or Vosen's peers who took control of Blackbriar." Pamela watched Tom's face to gauge his reaction when she added, "What it was actually one or more of the Blackbriar operatives who decided to take over?"

Tom didn't look convinced. "After all that conditioning they got? Yeah, Bourne broke his, but he had to go crazy to do it."

"Bourne's not crazy." Pamela heard the firmness in her voice and wondered at her own conviction. She would never forget the look on his face after she'd asked what name she should call him. She modified her internal judgment to 'not completely crazy.'

"Blackbriar changed Treadstone's initial program, right? Maybe they got some results that they hadn't expected." Tom cocked his head at her. "If what you say is true, why would they change the way they perform their missions?"

Pamela pinched the bridge of her nose. Tom has a good point. "Their priorities would have changed. Maybe being invisible isn't important to them."

The phone rang. Tom picked it up. He lifted a hand to her to keep Pamela from leaving. After a quick conversation, he hung up. "That was Sloane's secretary. You have an appointment with a Doctor Meneda at two o'clock. Sloane wants an updated psychiatric evaluation of Bourne."

Not good news. If she wasn't very careful, she could sabotage Jason's chances. A carelessly chosen word, a hesitation, and the shrink could decide that Jason was too unstable to be trustworthy. If Bourne would just call her, Pamela would feel a lot better before going into talking to a shrink.

As if sensing her concern, Tom asked, "Heard anything from Bourne?"

Pamela shook her head. "I'm hoping that he's planning on meeting Paz before contacting me."

Tom gave her a level look. "If he does at all."

That wouldn't be good for her at all. If she couldn't prove Bourne was at least willing to talk to her, she was going to be in real trouble.

Four thousand miles away, Jason Bourne was standing on a roofline, his binoculars fixed on a man strolling through Munich's Olympiapark. The man turned, his face coming onto view.

Jason had found Paz.