Winter Bourne
All - My apologies for not posting more often. Sorry too that this "chapter" is quite short, but wanted to let people know that I'm continuing this story. Lots of excuses, but the primary one is that I've been wrestling with the plot. Now, should I have Paz be a good guy or a bad guy? Haven't quite decided since it could be quite fun either way. Thanks for all the positive reviews!
Chapter 14 "Mash-Up"
Jason Bourne
Tourists ambling through Munich's OlympiaPark, a reminder of the glory days of the 1972 Summer Olympics, were unaware of the man watching them. The watcher was camouflaged behind a forest of antennas and advertisements on a rooftop half a mile away. His binoculars made controlled movements across the tourists enjoying the scenic views, then swept the neighboring buildings and accompanying streets in random patterns. Most of the time, the binoculars were focused on one individual, a good-looking young man with mildly Euro-Indian features who could have been a native of some dozen different countries. This young man was wearing blue jeans and a navy knee length jacket, with a medium sized black knapsack slung over one shoulder. He carried a water bottle and appeared to be waiting to meet someone. His left hand brushed along his waist, an unconscious movement that had been repeated once before in the forty-five minutes that he'd been under observation.
Satisfied that he'd learned enough, Jason Bourne lowered the binoculars and retreated to cover. He made entries in the notebook he carried everywhere: subject ambidextrous (gun on left hip, purchased drink and drank same with right). No backup noted. Has a tell that revealed presence of gun - weakness potentially exploitable?
Jason tucked the notebook into his jacket. It hadn't been hard to find Paz. Pamela Landy had set up a fake accounting management business web-site, called "Northholm Accounting Firm" to use as a way for the three of them to contact each other. Paz's cover as a sales representative allowed him to enter his locations and potential meet sites and times under the cover of recruiting new customers.
It was clear that Landy trusted Paz.
Jason didn't.
That exchange of a life for a life that had happened between them in New York was an oddity. A courtesy extended during lulls in the violence of the chase, under a pressure cooker of fear, adrenaline and uncertainty. Perhaps Paz had made a decision that he'd later come to regret. Perhaps everything he'd told Landy was a lie.
Jason left the building and took a taxi to the nearest subway station. He didn't go back to the tiny apartment he was renting. Instead, he took an informal survey of the city using its public transportation, taking his time, getting a feel for its neighborhoods. During the trip, Jason was doing something he rarely did. He was waffling on making a decision. His uncertain memories left him with questions that he burned for Paz to answer, questions about the training they'd both received. He wanted to know more about the drugs that had been used on him and the controls that Jason feared were still lingering in his mind. Most of all, Paz could be valuable in helping him find Nicky sooner.
On the other hand, every time Jason had had a one-on-one meeting with another CIA trained assassin, no matter what his intentions had been, the result had been deadly. This meeting would be tense, on both their sides.
Whatever kind of a man David Webb had been, from the day Dr. Hirsch put a gun in his hand, the man who thought of himself now as Jason Bourne had a patina of hard-won experience built into his brain, his muscles, and a set of trained reactions from Treadstone burned so deeply into his psyche, that they had become instincts he couldn't fight.
Yes, he knew what he was, and he was dangerous. The thought made his mouth tighten. He could think of a dozen other things he'd like to believe about himself, about the man he could be, given half a chance, but ignoring reality didn't change anything.
Putting himself in dangerous situations had resulted in bad things happening to a lot of people. Putting himself in a position of weakness against a man whose skills he feared were at least the equal of his own would heighten every one of those highly trained instincts for survival. He knew, deep in his bones, that meeting with Paz now would end up with one of them dead.
A child's shriek of laughter brought Jason back to the present. The subway slowed to a stop to let passengers off. Jason slid into a worn plastic seat, pressing fingertips against his temples to relieve the pressure of another miserable headache.
No. Every instinct he had wouldn't allow him a simple solution. Meeting over coffee at Starbucks wasn't going to work. Jason needed confirmation that Paz wasn't working some deep ruse to snare him.
A bright yellow poster covered in figures dancing caught his Jason's eye as the subway bounced around a corner. It advertised a musical production of Grease at Gärtnerplatz Theatre. He considered the possibilities it presented. Yes, that would work. It'd work very well. At the next stop near an Internet café, Jason got off.
Jason had a special invitation for Paz to post at the Northholm web-site.