"Are you sure?" the voice on the other end of the phone demanded gruffly. "Are you sure?" This was important.

Lauren Carpenter didn't work for a bank. She was in fact a Logistics Officer in undercover ops for the CIA. Her work didn't cause her to lose sleep at night. She wasn't sending assassins out for their kills. She oversaw training for new agents and was their baseline handler until they rose in rank and were reassigned. She worked out of Barcelona but new agents came through Rome every twelve weeks and she'd meet her contacts there and get them started with physicals and paperwork for a few days until they all returned to Barcelona for more training.

"Agent Carpenter. Again. The woman you saw tonight. Was it Nicky Parsons?" The question, if answered correctly, would set in motion a radical chain of events.

Lauren threw a quick look back at the computer screen where the CIA's Wanted picture of Nicolette Parsons looked back. Her main picture was at the top left, info about her on the right and a variety of looks she might be wearing along the bottom. None matched exactly but the face was the same as the girl she met tonight. She was positive. Christ Ben, what the hell are you mixed up in? Whatever it was she wanted him far away from it and from the trouble this girl was sure to bring.

"That's affirmative, sir."

She gave a quick run down of the limited information she had, answered questions the best she could, and looked around at her apartment wondering how many hairs Nicky/Sophie had left behind, how many fingerprints. Her eyes settled on the empty wine glass that up until recently Nicky had held and sipped from. Fingerprints and DNA would be quick and easy.

MOROCCO

Jason sat back in his chair at the internet cafe and wiped the light film of sweat from his face. His phone was in front of him with a pad of paper that was nearly full with scribbled notes. He'd remembered his past as David Webb but didn't truly trust the memories. Whatever he remembered he cross-checked, writing down the facts as he found them. So far, he found, his memories weren't faulty, but they were still spotty. It seemed that when David Webb became Jason Bourne et al, his memories had been dripped with acid and had fragmented holes burned into them. He could remember missions but not necessarily where he was living at that time ,or what his plans had been. He could remember entering the Paris safe house for meets with Nicky but not actually meeting with Nicky. He had knowledge but not the memory. There was a difference and that's what drove him now.

Nicky. He paused, sighing. He thought of her often, hoping she was okay. He'd gotten word that she had in fact used the contact he'd given her in Seville but past that he just didn't know. He'd asked a few trusted contacts to be on the lookout for her face, her name, but there hadn't been much to go on. He thought grimly that he'd probably never know. He could try and track her maybe but why? If she was safe he'd stay away, leave well enough alone. No matter how badly he wanted to know if she was alive and well, to talk to her.

He went back to his work, revisiting his footsteps as David Webb, locating Jason Bourne's old haunts. His cell phone buzzed and danced in front of him.

"What?" he answered, not prepared for the words that came next.

"Your girl's in trouble," came the thickly accented voice on the other end. The trade was made, money for information, and the meet was set. Who'd made Nicky Parsons?

He found out that evening at a soccer match. While watching the Atlas Lions play the opposing team he spoke to his meet. Behind cups of beer and pointing out information in the program he'd gotten the gist of what had happened.

Rome. Named the bar she'd been working at, her address, her look. Her man. Someone on the inside found her, called her in. She's a match. Under surveillance. A risk they can't allow. Things are bad enough for your government friends, with a first hand witness they're even worse. Gonna take her out.

Jason sat in silence listening to the onslaught of information. When the woman was done speaking he got up and walked out. He was bound for Rome.