A/N: Okay, this chapter is what happens when you watch The Bourne Identity. Several years had passed since I saw the film and watching it gave me an idea.

Who is David Reed? And what is his mysterious visitor hiding? (The town is fictitious.)

Enigma

Village of Mesilla
1430 Local

People in the little village of Mesilla didn't dislike the newcomer, but they were also curious about the mysterious stranger that showed up here four months earlier. He was an enigma. Some said David Reed was independently wealthy, but he lived in a modest two-bedroom bungalow nestled in the foothills that afforded a view of the ocean.

Most wondered why he hadn't chosen to live in one of the other resort towns along the coast where nightlife activities were abundant, and the residents were wealthy.

By contrast, Mesilla was home to working-class people. Only a few tourists knew about their quaint little village, and they wanted to keep it that way. As far as most residents were concerned, visitors could find other places to vacation.

Mesilla's newest resident was friendly but mostly kept to himself. Other than morning jogs along the beach or shopping in one of the local markets, he rarely ventured out of the bungalow. Visitors to his house were rare, save one man who showed up the same time every month. The man never stayed more than a day, sometimes only a few hours, and then departed as quickly as he came.

Residents began calling the visitor El Traje because he was always immaculately dressed in a three-piece designer suit which cost more than most of them made in a month. Some speculated as to what type of relationship the two men had. David Reed was tall and handsome. His good looks could land him just about any woman, but he'd turned away the advances of more than one attractive woman in the village.

Others thought he might be nursing a broken heart, and a few were convinced the two men were part of a drug cartel.

On a hot Friday afternoon, a black sedan pulled up outside the small bungalow. "Not surprising, "The Suit" got out of the car, but this time he was accompanied by an attractive blond woman. She wore a long-sleeved jacket, tailored skirt, a white blouse, and pumps. Like El Traje's attire, her outfit cost a small fortune.

The two of them stayed a couple of hours before getting back into the sedan and driving away. Their visit left the villagers with even more questions. Who were these people and what did they were they up to?

David Reed's Bungalow
0700 Local

David Reed swung his long legs off the side of the bed, then walked to the sliding glass door. A cool morning breeze greeted him. He opened the screen, then stepped onto the deck dressed only in boxers.

His house was secluded enough to offer him plenty of privacy, but right now he didn't care who saw him. The headaches had started again last night as they usually did after a visit from the man calling himself Chad Wade. Wade was enough to give anyone a migraine, but David sensed there was another reason for his headaches.

He had no memory of anything prior to six months ago when he woke up in a hospital in some remote South American town.

He hadn't even known his name, and even though he had a passport with the name David Reed, he still wasn't sure.

Wade had been his only visitor during those weeks in the hospital. Obviously, the two of them had known one another for a while. It was Wade who told him he'd been a pilot and that had crashed his small plane in the jungle.

But why had he been in South America in the first place? According to Wade, it had been a weekend excursion, and there hadn't been anyone else was in the plane.

He'd been surprised when Wade showed up yesterday with a woman. He'd always come alone. She looked vaguely familiar, and for the first time in months, David had a sense of hope that he was starting to regain his memory.

"Have we met before?" he'd asked.

She tucked a strand of blond hair behind one ear. "I guess I have one of those faces."

Wade called her Sarah.

Sarah.

The name gave him a sense of comfort. Of hope. Of… Love.

I know someone named Sarah.

But where? When? One thing was certain. The Sarah he knew wasn't the woman who was showed up yesterday.

"Damn it, why can't I remember?"

He sat in a lounge chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Supposedly, he'd lived in Mexico the past several years, yet he only knew a few Spanish words. What had he done for a living?

Chad told him he was wealthy and didn't have to work. He had access to a bank account, which he never saw the statements for. Just knew money was available to withdraw as he needed it. His rent and utilities were paid automatically.

He had no recollection of being able to fly. He was proficient with firearms and had several 9MM handguns in the bungalow. He was pretty sure he'd handled rifles and other automatic weapons as well. Where and why he didn't know. He remembered being a vegetarian, and that he enjoyed running and lifting weights.

David also had an affinity for the ocean and somehow, he knew he was skilled in sailing. A couple of times, he'd gone into a nearby seaside town and chartered a sailboat where he spent a few hours on the water. He was a strong swimmer, and he had a vague recollection of being able to dive.

But other than those few things, life for him began six months ago. He had no knowledge of family or friends. Wade told him he once lived in the United States but failed to mention where. Not that it mattered. It wasn't like he remembered that aspect of his life. He hoped and prayed that someday he would.

Clayton Webb stretched his legs and reclined in the first-class seat. One of the perks of having money. No flying in coach for him, even if he was on a CIA mission. Just like the five-star resort hotel he and his companion stayed in last night.

For all the good it did him to book a fancy suite. Catherine Gale had been quiet since leaving Mesilla yesterday. She'd even pulled the oldest trick in the book by pleading a headache last night.

When they boarded the plane, she took the window seat and kept her face turned away from him, looking outside as the jet climbed to its cruising altitude.

He'd taken a chance on bringing her with him, but he had to know whether "David" was starting to remember things. Catherine was the only person he could trust to keep silent. Even so, he had to be careful not to reveal too much. The fact they were sleeping together didn't mean she wouldn't turn him in to save her own skin.

Once the plane reached 30,000 feet, the flight attendant came by to offer them drinks. Catherine asked for a club soda, while Clay ordered bourbon. He took a sip, then rested his head against the cushioned seat, hoping to avoid conversation. No such luck.

"You want to tell me what's going on with Rabb?"

"What do you think? He has amnesia. Has had it since his accident."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Tell me something I don't know. Why is he holed up in an off the wall Mexican town? Why isn't he back in the states where he can get the help he needs? And why does everyone believe he is dead?"

"Keep your voice down. Do I have to remind you this is all classified? And one question at a time, please."

"You know what I said. Start answering."

"Rabb is in Mexico for his protection. Before his plane went down, he managed to destroy a major terrorist compound. The ones who survived threatened to kill him. Have a bounty on his head. They've been on his trail for months."

"Clay, he's US Military. He could be better protected at home. Isn't it dangerous for him to be alone in a small village with no memory of who he is and what happened?"

"That's to his advantage. No one would be looking for him in Mexico. It's a different story back in Washington. To answer your third question, it's for his safety that his friends and family believe he's dead. If they knew the truth, they wouldn't be safe either."

"Why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why do we have to use fake names?"

Clay smirked. Catherine may be a lawyer, but she didn't always use common sense. "To protect us. Say the terrorists caught up with him and he mentioned our names. I don't know about you, but I plan to stay alive."

"How long are you going to leave him there? And how much does Kershaw know?"

Clay took a sip of the bourbon. "That's two questions."

"Cut the bullshit. You brought me into this, so you owe me some answers."

"He'll be there as long as it takes. Kershaw knows what he needs to know."

"Damn it, Clay, he's the deputy director. He has a right to know everything."

"Catherine, he knows. Need I remind you this case requires a certain amount of clearance that you don't have. I took a chance in letting you in. As far as Kershaw is concerned, you don't need to know. You won't mention anything. Doing so could cost you your job"

"Need I remind you that it would be your ass on the line for telling me? Those at the top haven't forgotten the Angel Shark incident. If your father hadn't served in the agency, you'd be out on the streets. Or worse."

Clay loosened his tie, suddenly finding it too tight. Catherine had a point. There would be hell to pay if anyone discovered the truth. But if he went down, he'd be damned if he went alone.