Legal disclaimers: see earlier Parts.
Disclaimers: see earlier Parts.
The Last Day
LA, 2007, one day ago
Toni Cummings walked down onto the underground station concourse, slowly and carefully, following Artemisia Hades instructions to the letter. The station was crowded, despite the fact that most people would be at work since it was after the normal lunch hour, but she'd expected that. New York was referred to as the city which never slept-and who would know the truth of that better than a Tech and Weapons Specialist like her? When you sold weapons, you didn't sleep until the deal was done or you discovered that the Clients were likely to try out their new purchases on you to "See if they worked".
She'd stayed awake for over a week before now, on a combination of shredded nerves, far too much coffee, Caffeine pills and enough fast food to make her physically ill in a desperate attempt to outlast the other negotiators stubborn refusal to pay what she was owed on the basis his people didn't think the supplies were worth the price. She'd succeeded, so it had been worth it-but she'd spent two days throwing up afterwards and hadn't been able to even smell coffee for a month afterwards without risking her sanity as memories of one hundred and sixty-eight hours plus spent awake kept creeping back into her minds eye. She'd nearly gone nuts with the lack of rest and blurring of time, but the money had made it worthwhile. All the same, she'd promised herself after that: never again.
She'd been awake for three straight days, fuelled by massive doses of adrenaline, a healthy surge of fear every time she thought about who was after her and been reminded she wouldn't be safe until she was done by the pain of her injuries whenever she tried to relax, before she'd managed to track down Artemisia. Waking up in the car had been uncomfortable, but her head had been clear for the first time in much too long when she'd come to and she'd actually felt safe knowing the lethal Artemisia was nearby, watching her back.
The flirting had been almost uncomfortable, but she'd known what Art was all about long before she'd tracked her down again. The woman was stunningly beautiful and she knew it, just as she knew she could probably have anyone she wanted and-unfortunately-she'd included Toni near the top of that list for some reason. All the same, for a woman like Art Toni would have been willing to make an exception if it came down to that-before she'd been kicked out of her car in LA and dumped in the street for unspecified reasons, at least.
However, now she'd finally reached the Sanction point where Sydney Bristow and the team she worked with could be contacted. Now, she had one more thing to do, then all she could do was wait-so she did it. She glanced around, located the security camera, faced it squarely so that her face could clearly be seen and stood ready. With any luck, it wouldn't take the CIA team very long at all to realise just who was standing on a station platform waiting for them.
If it did, it was possible she'd just killed herself. The people who were after her were more than capable of checking through CCTV footage from any and all sources to find her if she was stupid enough to let herself be caught on camera...
Abandoned industrial complex, 50 miles east of LA, 2007, one day ago
Sydney Bristow glanced around herself as her Mobile kept ringing, shrugged, pulled it out and flipped it open, checking called ID. It was APO, which meant she couldn't ignore it, so she hit receive and put it to her ear. "Bristow?" she asked, not sure who she'd be speaking to.
"It's Sloane. Get back to APO, NOW, the Vietnam Op has blown up in our faces. You are recalled to Active Duty as of this call" said Sloane, his voice smooth, calm and clear as ever-but she knew him well enough to detect a strong trace of tension under his usual control. For him to be disturbed enough to be allowing that to show through, though, unless he was playing her...? Something very bad had happened, either someone was dead on the team or close, or something that directly involved Nadia, perhaps. That, though, was very much a worst-case scenario.
She wasn't sure whether or not she should be either appalled or shocked or numb at her seeming lack of reaction to the news, but something told her that, given everything she'd learnt about herself in just the past few hours of talking, she was simply too overwhelmed to register shock or astonishment any longer. If she even still could, since it seemed she was capable of much more and worse than she'd ever imagined...
"I'm on my way now, but I went out for a drive and can't get there in less than half an hour if I drive as fast as is legal with clear roads and no lights all the way" she replied, without missing a beat. She was on Medical Leave, after all, so taking a drive wasn't a bad way to explain her failure to be physically present in LA, even if Sloane was suspicious enough to have Marshall track her phone calls.
"Understood, get moving" said Sloane, then he put the phone down, well aware that Sydney was too much the professional to ask for a Briefing, or even about her Sisters status, over the phone. She sometimes, sometimes often, didn't like the fact that he even knew her that well.
"Cole, I have to go, duty calls. Explain to Talia and Selene? Thanks" she said, rising and ignoring the dirty look Anna Espinosa shot her. It didn't even register, until she was striding outside at Cole's nod, that she'd referred to Monica and Kate by their professional names, as though she was more used to and comfortable doing so. She still didn't even know the women, despite all that Monica had told her...which suggested that their attempts to jog her memory were working?
New York
Anna Neagley, David Webb had discovered-it just didn't feel right to call himself Jason Bourne any longer, he'd decided, especially with a new man carrying that name out there-drove a motorbike like a Demon. She took corners at speeds that left scorch marks while weaving in and out of moving traffic as though it was stationary, dodging trucks which would have flattened them as though it was not only easy, but expected. She drove so fast he'd spotted people looking around after they'd passed them to see what had hit them without spotting anything out of place.
What she was displaying, he knew from far too long with CIA Agents as well as other associated types, was what was referred to as "Control Driving". It was part of an unusual skill set that was normally associated with the Special Forces Elite or Black Ops intelligence teams. The ability to get in and out of the target location quick and clean if it was a "Snatch" Op, where the intent was to take an individual off the street, or a "Dead" Op, where the intent was to kill. Even given what little he knew of Anna Neagley so far, he had little doubt that she came under every heading that would require such specialised training.
What had surprised him, though, was the fact that she had so visibly tensed when he had put his arms around her waist to secure himself on the bike behind her. Her muscles had been corded and ridged, her breathing had accelerated and she had been almost literally trembling-although with nothing close to fear. No, he knew anger when he saw it, but her reaction was little short of extraordinary with a man she had no reason to distrust, who her Father had trusted, implicitly. She had relaxed, though, after almost a minute, although he'd been genuinely worried she'd physically attack him until she had.
They'd driven off without a word being said, which he suspected was for the best. Whatever made her the way she was, she clearly was only just in control of herself. Given what she did professionally? He really didn't want to see what happened if her steel bar self-control slipped too far.
"Where are we going, anyway?" he yelled over the roaring of the bikes engine, deciding that just because she was Cactus's girl it didn't mean he could write her a blank Cheque. Hell, he hadn't done that in...he almost snarled in frustration, his ruined memory failing him again. As long as he could remember, which left almost two-thirds of his life unaccounted for.
The Jackal's man might have shot him and caused the actual physical injuries which had permanently damaged his memory, but he, David Webb, had Volunteered for the Mission which had led him to the place and time which left him with three bullets in him and a black hole where his memory used to be. Excepting a few sparks and scraps he'd recovered over the almost thirty years since.
He had no-one to blame but himself for what had happened to him-and if Marie hadn't been there when he first met her, he knew he would have either gone mad or killed himself, all those years ago. He'd been little better than a wounded animal, even after he'd physically recovered enough to take care of himself-and wounded animals either recovered or died. He'd been a shell of a man in a world he didn't remember or know with no friends or allies, or place of safety, at all. Left like that...?
"Does the name Noah Vosen mean anything to you?" Anna called back, just loud enough for him to hear over the engines roar. She had to know it would, but it still took him a moment to place the name. Conklin had never really retired from the CIA, no matter what anyone thought, people always wanted work done under the radar and the Saints reputation and history had spoken for itself. So had the name of Jason Bourne, more than once.
"...Wait, Ezra Kramer's man in the Agency, Deputy Director of the CIA Noah Vosen? That Noah Vosen?" asked Webb, almost hoping he hadn't heard right. There was very little more likely to get you killed quickly and leave you dead badly than going after high-ranking Agents in the CIA, especially when that Agent was the strong right hand of the man almost certain to be the next Director of the CIA.
Kramer had access to resources the public didn't know existed to get the job done, while Vosen was no lightweight himself. If either man, let alone both, decided he and Anna were a real problem at any point? They'd both disappear into Guantanomo Bay by the end of the day, if they were very, very lucky. If they were granted a miracle, they'd be killed first.
"That's the man. I happen to know his schedule, we're going to intercept him and talk to him, he knows some things we need to. No going back, remember? Are you with me or not?" asked Anna, sharply.
"I won't ask. You know I'm right beside you, but I'm an old man and I'm not up to hand to hand any longer. Give me a weapon and I'm your man, but a Deputy Director will have at least eight Bodyguards in two guards with him, then the driver of his car and his personal Bodyguard. We'll have to kill them all to get him away and, if we do, Homeland Security will lock the whole city down to get him back and shoot first, with military-grade weaponry if they have too. Are you sure about this?" he asked, needing to hear it.
"Oh yes. I know someone cleaning house when I see it and all of this tracks back to Jason Bourne, we both know it. Somebody is out to cover themselves and they're willing to kill anyone in the way to get it done. I doubt it's a one-party effort, but you go with what you know if you have to start somewhere. Vosen likes the dark side and with Kramer's ear I guarantee you he knows what we need to know. As for weapons, leave that to me" said Anna, shifting in her seat in such a way that her hair briefly pressed into his face.
Most of the time he could ignore her exceptional physical beauty, aided by the fact that he was happily married with two teenage children he wouldn't deliberately hurt to save himself either pain or death. Most of the time, but when he had silken hair attached to a body like hers literally shoved in his face like this...he breathed in deeply and tasted her scent, a delicious tang of almonds tinged with what seemed to be traces of sulphur and a hint of rosemary, probably her shampoo.
The sudden urge to run his hands across the muscle of her stomach and upper legs to see if she really was as smooth and strong as she seemed actually made his grip slacken for a moment, while the urge to kiss the back of her neck and taste that delicious chocolate skin with his tongue actually had him leaning forwards before he caught himself. What was he doing?! He never reacted to another woman like this when he was with his family, never had...
"David...how long has it been for you since you've been alone for any real length of time with a beautiful young woman, away from your family?" asked Anna, gently. He almost sighed at that, how obvious had he been if she could spot it so easily?
"A long, long time, lets just say you were a girl then" he replied, trying and failing to clear his mind of what had gotten inside it. Dammit, he was thirty-odd years older than her and they were both adults. She was Cactus's little girl, what was wrong with him?!
"I thought so. Look, it's not that I'm not flattered and, to be honest, the age difference really doesn't bother me, but I'm very...particular about who I get that close to and Dad taught me better. Married men are strictly off-limits, besides which you're lonely, not horny. Your Wife and children are waiting for you to finish this, David, you know that better than anyone. You have a home to go back to and a family which needs you, I don't, not anymore" said Anna, shaking her head.
"Besides, think of it like this. The people we're up against used you, abused you and abandoned you, all to suit their own purposes, they have for almost forty years now and still would if they could work out a way. They've used me to kill because it's what I do and, in fact, I am far more than just competent at it. They are owed a couple of lifetime's worth of pain and suffering by the two of us. Don't you want to help me with that more than anything?" Anna asked, with a smirk.
His answering smile almost reached his ears it was so broad, as he was so suddenly reminded of why he and Marie had fitted together so well over all these years. Alone he was lethal, with her he was brilliant, with the potential for more, she made him more than he was. He missed her every second, he always would, more than anything but their children.
Anna didn't say another word, she somehow knew she didn't need to. He just kept smiling, Marie had always been good with him that way, too...
LA
Hannah Corvay lay unconscious in a hospital bed, with monitoring pads attached to her chest under a light green gown and an IV line running painkillers into her left arm. Her vital signs were being monitored more because of the fact she had failed to regain consciousness in the twelve and some hours since she'd literally been dumped on the hospitals doorstep than because of her injuries, which were-seemingly-not severe.
Her dark hair was thin and dried out, her eyes were swollen shut and her lips were so puffed up from severe bruising that they had almost doubled in size. Bruising covered her face, chest and arms if she was examined closely enough, but no bones were broken. Blunt force trauma had been the cause of all of her injuries, but the pattern had been matched to fists alone-which meant someone had done all of the damage with their bare hands. That had led to the police being called, now they were just waiting for her to wake up so she could be interviewed.
The much older woman now standing by the bed, who was known as Jade by a few and, now, Helena Corvay, had already realised what the Doctor's had missed as she read through her Sisters Medical Chart. The required level of simple skill to do such massive injury without true lasting physical damage was on a level that only a professional Sadist, Torturer or very highly trained killer would know. The way the blows had been targeted, the exact amount of force behind them, just how close to the bone the strikes had landed...this had been a force interrogation carried out by a professional who liked to work with her hands.
The profile didn't fit Sydney Bristow and her known style and techniques, but it did fit Julia Thorne's. Jade was one of maybe three people alive who knew the full truth about "Julia's" activities during Sydney's lost years, including just how far the woman had been willing to go to get the job done. Effective and efficiently applied violence had essentially been Julia Thorne's MO, as hard, harsh and dangerous as any Agent since the Cold War.
She'd been a brilliant Agent, a ruthless genius who was perfectly happy to get blood all over her hands, break down any door, physical or mental, sleep with whoever she had to and do whatever it took, without hesitation, to see her enemy broken, destroyed or just dead, even while never failing to complete the Mission. Julia's name alone had been enough, still was in places, to open doors and make certain arrangements, no questions asked, after just over a year of activity.
What had been going through Sydney Bristow's mind while she'd been "away" was impossible to imagine, but Jade's suspicion was that she'd cut loose of any restraints on her behaviour and actions as a result of being cut away, forcibly, from everything and everyone she knew. A new woman for a new life, most likely, one damaged enough and strong enough to handle what had happened to her, yet so different from Sydney Bristow nobody would ever suspect.
Julia Thorne had come out of nowhere and gone from nothing to a "Name" in so short a time it was, to quote the American expression, either incredible or some kind of ridiculous. The woman had been a phenomenon far more than a protégé of any sort, even her association with the Styx Sisters had only occurred because she'd wanted it to, everyone knew it. In five years the woman, the Agent, would have been able to write her own Contracts anywhere in the world, maybe in even less time than that. But she'd gone away...
It was a true pity, in reality, Julia and Jade had far more in common that Jade and Jack Bristow or Sydney Bristow ever had. She had few true friends, let alone allies, Julia could have been both-but she'd never truly existed. Now the woman who had worn her face was going to die, because that was what had to happen. That, Jade had no regrets about, though, blood always came first.
"I'm sorry, who are you and what are you doing in here?" came a man's voice from behind her. She turned slightly and caught sight of a man in a Doctor's scrubs standing at the doorway to the room, silently running his face through the list of Doctors she'd checked up on before she'd arrived at the hospital. He was definitely a member of staff, good enough.
"I'm Hannah Corvay's Sister, I haven't seen her in years but she still has my number. I got a call yesterday telling me she'd been hurt so I came running. Thankfully, this doesn't look anywhere as near as bad as I thought it might be. Can you tell me anything else?" se replied, turning back to her Sister.
"It looks like you've already read about everything we know so far, Miss...?" asked the Doctor as he strode into the room. Young, maybe thirty years old, with thick dark brown hair, hazel eyes and a smooth face that made him look as though he was barely old enough to have outgrown acne. Slim and about five six he was closer to her build than most men's, but she had decades on the innocent young man, more of a child in her opinion, in terms of experience, particularly on the inside. Soft, sheltered child, she could only hope that his medical skills were superior to his evident maturity.
"Helena Corvay. I've been a Doctor over the years, in a sense, among other things, so I've picked up plenty. I have a question to ask, though?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as the Doctor came around to her side. He looked at her, clearly deciding whether or not he could trust her, then decided he could and nodded.
"Has she been examined for any form of sexual contact?" asked Jade, narrowing her eyes as she glanced over at the Doctor. He pursed his lips, almost looked away, then gathered his courage and looked her straight in the eyes.
"Yes, but she wasn't Raped, it was consensual. In fact, we're quite sure that she was with another woman maybe minutes before the attack took place. I trust this comes as no surprise to you?" he asked, a question which she knew was a test. If she didn't even know the truth about that much of her own Sisters life, the Doctor would likely call the police and report her even though her fake ID would stand up to official scrutiny.
"No, she...is easy either way, shall we say. Although she always chooses her own Partner. If she'd been attacked that way, it would have made things more complicated than they need to be. I presume the police asked you to keep those details Confidential?" replied Jade.
"They did, but family allows me to override that. Will you be staying in the city until she wakes up?" replied the Doctor.
"I'm not sure yet, I have business to attend to here that can't be put off. I'll do my best to be here, but I can't guarantee anything. Tell her the Old Girl dropped in one her if she wakes up and I'm not here, will you? She'll know what it means" replied Jade, to a slow nod from the Doctor before she left.
Work had always meant killing to her, even when she'd sold her body to pay for what she and her younger Sister needed to survive in the early days, when she was still young. She wasn't young any longer, not in any sense of the word, but all age had done was refine her skills and teach her new one's. It had been a little while since she'd had a taste, but now she was going to make up for that.
APO
Marshall was better at multi-tasking than almost anyone else he knew, it was a matter of pride for him as much as simple skill, but even he thought he'd finally tried too hard to do to many things at once when he found a face-front image of Toni Cummings staring at him through the security cameras mounted all around APO and close locations. He'd been running a search grid using multiple patterns across the whole of North America looking for the woman, since the phone call she'd made to Sydney had strongly suggested that she had critical Intel they needed, or knew where they could get it, but...
But, having her show up literally on the doorstop of APO, clearly deliberately showing her face to the cameras, was something he'd never even considered possible. He blinked, to check that he wasn't seeing things, ran the Facial Recognition software twice to be sure-then literally sprinted out of his office towards Sloane's, nearly bowling over two passing Agents.
He slammed into the door of Sloane's office with such force he almost rebounded, since Sloane had locked his door, but he looked up at the sound of impact and unlocked the doors with a switch, causing an off-balance Marshall to literally fall to the floor in front of him with a thud. Marshall scrambled to his feet without even thinking about it, to nervous to worry about embarrassment-but he still had to pause when he realised that Sloane was on the phone to someone.
"I see, thank you for the update, I'll get back to you as soon as I can" Sloane said, then he put the phone down and looked at Marshall, steepling his fingers on the desk in front of him. "What is it, Marshall?" he asked, slowly and carefully, seeing the state that the ever-excitable computer genius was in and knowing what was coming from long experience.
"Er, Mr Sloane, sir, this is crazy, it is so weird that you are not going to believe it-" Marshall began, but Sloane cut him off using just the look in his eyes. Sloane's eyes were as empty and cold as a reptiles when he wanted them to be, but normally he only used that look on someone in APO when they had done something seriously wrong. Marshall couldn't even begin to imagine what could be the problem with his work, but what Sloane said stopped him speaking almost instantly.
"Marshall, I just got off the phone with Director Chase. Dixon is dead, Dean Devlin is dead, Conklin Senior and Dr Panov are dead, Edward Norton is dead, Conklin's estate is a War Zone and we visibly have senior Government officials in this country being killed by a Military-trained professional Assassin as though he's trying to write a message using dead bodies. Deputy Director Landry has lost her personal assistant and fellow CIA Agent to the same Assassin. The Vietnamese Embassy of the USA has been physically destroyed by a bombing raid from our own planes which left no survivors and the Ambassador was assassinated before that. Reported personnel at the Embassy all recorded is ninety-three. I suggest that you just deliver your report and do not suggest that there is anything I would not believe after a week like this" said Sloane, sharply.
Marshall felt as though he'd taken a kidney punch followed by sledgehammer to the gut. His legs almost went under him, but an old refusal to show any weakness in front of Sloane kept him on his feet. He'd know about Dixon, of course, the attack on the Embassy had occurred in such a way it could not have failed to cross APO's screens. But the rest of it... He'd really thought they were keeping ahead of the Assassin. Now, it was clear the opposite was true.
"Toni Cumming's is standing on the station that leads to APO" said Marshall, uncharacteristically subdued. Sloane's eyes narrowed and he sat back, clasping his hands in front of him.
"I see. Tell Agent Vaughn to meet her and escort her to an APO Safe House, I expect a full debriefing and account of everything she knows as soon as practical. I want an interrogation team assembled at his chosen location before he gets there, full security lockdown until we know what we're dealing with. Tell Agent Vaughn to be clear that we are only offering our protection because she is useful to us now. If she causes us any difficulties at all, she'll be dumped alone and brain damaged in North Africa if necessary once we have what we need. Anything else?" asked Sloane.
"Just one thing. Agent Bristow called, he asked for a full Medical Team response to meet them at the airport when they land, he thinks Nadia's getting weaker after they had to fight their way out of the Embassy and is worried she might suffer another heart attack if she doesn't receive proper medical attention in a hospital very soon" said Marshall, which caused Sloane's eyebrows to rise, as close as the older man came to appearing visibly shocked.
Jack Bristow never asked for a Medical team to meet an Op's team straight off the aircraft unless someone was dying or dead, it just didn't happen. Sloane also well knew Jack simply didn't exaggerate, if he said someone was going to die the best you could do to help, more often than not, was make sure their Will was up to date. You would have to be very lucky to beat the odds where Jack was concerned-in the same way you would have to be very lucky to beat the Devil at a game of Poker. For all of that, Sloane didn't show the slightest trace of emotion on his face or in his eyes.
"They'll be waiting on the tarmac. Get back to work, Marshall, the only way this ends is with Bourne in Custody or dead" said Sloane, his emphasis on the last word he spoke telling clearly what his preferences were. As Marshall ran back to his computers, he found it hard to argue with Sloane's choice of which way was best to stop Bourne.
Los Angeles International Airport
It was amazing what the most basic physical alterations of face and body could do to fool the most sophisticated detection systems, Jason Bourne had learnt years ago, when Marie had still been alive. Fill out your cheeks, sculpt your face, darken your eyes and skin, loose height and gain weight, walk with a slight limp, make sure you were never directly face-to-face with any monitor of any sort? He was living proof it worked.
He finished stowing his carry-on bag in the overhead compartment-he had no other luggage, of course-sat back in his chair, fastened his seat belt as the plan began to taxi and relaxed, all the tension draining out of him as though a switch had been thrown. A good Agent had a way to let go of nervous tension, relax and even sleep at any and every opportunity, because there was no telling when that opportunity would arrive. You had to take what you could get when you could get when you could get it, then find a way to function with what you had.
Sleep is a weapon, he knew that, the old man had taught him. He was simply better at using it than most.
/End of Chapter 37./