Georgetown University - Washington D.C.
0813 Hours
Webb sat opposite the department head, Theodore Barton. There was nothing yet but awkward silence between the two.
"Look, David," Barton sighed empathetically, "there's nothing wrong with what went down in that alley yesterday. You aided a defenseless student. While I would expect and appreciate a bit more discretion from you, especially after the CIA came knocking on my door to ask me personally to let you work here after your pardoning, I can't say I really blame you."
Webb nodded. Barton took him under his wing at the University since the first day he arrived. After surviving the jump off the building in Manhattan five years ago, Webb went to the CIA Deputy Director Pamela Landy, who then asked him the question he didn't even bother to think about when he finally found his true identity: What are you going to do now? It was Landy who inspired him to become a linguistics teacher, reminding him how wide a variety in tongues he has. The news and rumors of his existence began to die down, although that might also have been part of the CIA's doing.
"You can go," said Barton, "I'm sure you have lots of term papers to go over."
Webb nodded. "Alright." He stood up and walked to the office door. As he began opening it, he turned around. "And Teddy, ...thanks."
Kirill walked down the hallway of the main campus building, a single-strap case flung over his right shoulder. His sweater, khakis, and glasses made him look almost like a perfect stereotypical teacher, which is just what he was hoping for. The students that passed by him couldn't even tell that he had never been there before.
It had been over two days since his successful objective in Grozny. He arrived in D.C. that morning after driving from his flight which landed in Baltimore, Maryland. Kirill walked down the campus hallway until he reached the school staircase and climbed to the second floor. He walked down the hall with empty classrooms. At this time of day, all the classes would be out.
He reached a locked wood door and discretely pulled lock picks out from his left pocket and, making sure no one was coming, unlocked it and entered. The room's lights were off and the shutters were closed. It was a nice vantage point to Bourne's office. He placed his bag on a desk near the window and removed his sniper rifle's pieces concealed in it.
Kirill clicked and slid everything into place, the silencer being the last part. He raised the blinds ever so slightly so that he would get a decent view without having to expose himself much. He pulled the glass pane down from its hinges and set the rifle down, looking through its scope. There was one problem, however. Bourne wasn't in his office.
Webb was in the exterior campus, walking between the main building where Barton's office just was and the building of the college which held all the classes. The entrance to the building where his office was located was further down the path between them.
On the sides of the path were a series of trees and the students would normally go to this location to either interact or study in privacy, but something was off...
The sight of Bourne outside made Kirill change his position from the window to the left side of the classroom to the window three to the right of him. While he would have preferred to kill Bourne in his office rather than outside in the light of day, he couldn't risk being in the classroom for too long. He adjusted his scope and settled the crosshairs just over the bridge of his nose.
Everything in Webb's instinct was telling his something was wrong and that he was in danger. He surveyed the whole area. Each individual shadow and window he could see. He saw a reflection of light coming from a second floor window, where the blinds were bending upwards from something sticking through them.
With a brisk pace, he moved behind the nearest tree in the path... and that's when the Bourne part of him heard the all too familiar, subtle phutt of a silenced rifle's round hitting the tree he was behind. He waited and waited. He quickly reached his arm around the trunk of the tree, feeling where and how the bullet made its impact. He felt the angle of the hole and traced its trajectory to the window of the building across from him.
Kirill grimaced at Bourne's fortunate perception. He realized he couldn't stay there. If Bourne had a mobile phone, he would be able to send for help without leaving cover. It was only a chance, but it was a chance he couldn't afford to take. He began disassembling his rifle and packing it in his case again.
This wasn't over.
Bourne waited longer. Waited until minutes before the next set of the day's classes were to begin. Whoever was after him wouldn't have risked staying with more people around.
He filed a leave of absence in the main campus office, saying it was for family purposes, and made his way to the faculty parking lot. He did a quick, thorough inspection of his gray sedan, making sure there were no bombs placed near the engine, on the underside of the car or in the back. Everything seemed normal.
As he got in, he opened his contacts list on his phone. He thought of calling the CIA, but the problem was he didn't know who was after him. He couldn't trust anybody... except one person. He selected the contact and the phone rang four times before...
"Nicky Parsons," she picked up. Nicky Parsons was a field operative who coordinated logistical operations years ago in Operation Treadstone. They saw each other again in Amsterdam and later in Madrid. After the events in Manhattan she got an office job in Seattle, and they agreed that if anything went wrong in the future, they would contact each other and would each have code words to say if they were safe to talk.
"Hello?"
"Brownjohn," Bourne said his code word. There was a pause.
"...Greengrass," Nicky confirmed. It meant it was safe to talk. "David, what's wrong? What's going on?"
"I don't know," he replied, "but minutes ago an attempt on my life was made. I don't know who he is or maybe even who they are, but there's a chance you could be in danger too. I'm heading to the airport now. You know what to do and where to go."
"Yes," she assured. "I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Okay. Bye." Bourne hung up and removed the phone's memory card. He snapped it in half and threw it out the window along with his phone. He had to catch a flight to the location of the safe house...
in London.
London, England – United Kingdom
1619 Hours (Time Zone-Converted)
Bond parked his DBS and entered the headquarters of MI6. He was called in that afternoon after last night's confrontation with Bermire. He still wore his fedora. As he went to M's office, he heard a familiar voice.
"007," Tanner was shouting from behind. He caught up to Bond in the hallway they were in. "There you are, Mal-er, M has been waiting for you. Whatever he's called you in for he's certainly anxious about."
"And you have no idea what that is?" Bond asked.
"No. He hasn't told me anything about it other than it has to do with something that happened over five years ago."
"Five years?"
"Yes." They reached the door that lead to M's secretary's office. "You can head right in," Tanner said before walking away. Bond opened the door and walked in to see Moneypenny at her desk on the right side of the room.
"And how are we today Miss Moneypenny?"
She looked up smiling. "Feeling better than you must be, James. You have bags under your eyes. Late night?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact," he replied as he took off his hat.
"That's new," Moneypenny realized. Bond put it back on and posed his head.
"What do you think?"
"It's nice, actually. Though I never figured you for a hat person." Bond took the fedora off as he noticed a hatstand on the opposite side of the room.
"Well, I could change that. I could wear it with me to dinner," he tossed the hat perfectly onto one of the stand's hooks, "and maybe you could come along. A night of dancing, fine dining, a peaceful boat ride down the Thames..."
"Should I be expecting a visit to my place afterwards," she interrupted.
"Perhaps," said Bond as they each leaned in closer to each other.
"Be careful," said Moneypenny. "You could end up being all hat... and no cattle."
Bond smiled and walked to M's office door. He entered. Gareth Mallory, who was M for a little over a year, sat at his desk, reading files from a binder and smoking his pipe.
"You wanted to see me, sir," asked Bond.
M closed the binder and emptied out his pipe in his ash tray. "Yes, 007. Do have a seat." As Bond sat in the chair across from M, M pulled a file out from his desk and slid it to Bond, and he opened it. It contained a black and white photo and complete biography of David Webb, a.k.a. Jason Bourne.
"I remember him," said Bond. "He was on several news broadcasts a little over five years ago. Is that what this is all about?"
M was silent. "What else do you recall about Jason Bourne?"
"Not much," Bond replied. "He was supposedly shot off a Manhattan rooftop."
"And before that, he was in London. Waterloo Station to be exact." Bond pulled out a picture and report of the assassination of Simon Ross, a reporter.
"He was in London? I can't say I remember that."
M nodded. "I didn't think you might. As memory serves over five years ago you were on a mission investigating Greene Industries. You were in Bolivia at the time if I'm correct."
Bond nodded, remembering the mission very well. "Not exactly one of my favorite adventures," he admitted. "And this Simon Ross, Bourne killed him?"
M shook his head. "No. It was a CIA attempt to eliminate both Bourne and Ross at the station to cover up their top secret initiatives."
"Didn't go too well for them now, did it? So, why bring this up so suddenly?" M gestured to Bond to flip through the file more, and he did. It showed a picture of Bourne taken by airport surveillance in America.
"Because a few hours ago, Jason Bourne withdrew a significant sum of money and paid for a flight to London. Nothing was pre-paid for and according to the University he works at, he announced his leave not long before he boarded the flight."
"And if I was going on a spontaneous holiday," said Bond "I wouldn't really want to visit somewhere I was linked to a killing."
"I want you to find him when he leaves the airport. Monitor him to the best of your abilities, and if necessary, confront him. We don't know why he's come back or if he means harm, but wherever he goes, danger's been known to follow."
"Yes sir," Bond confirmed.
"And lucky for you, a friend of yours is in town. Felix Leiter. He's agreed to meet you at the Lobby Bar in an hour to give you some information."
Bond nodded and got up from the chair, walking to the door.
"And Bond?"
He stopped. "Sir?"
"Q wants his jacket back."
Washington D.C. - United States
Same Time
Kirill sat in his motel room in D.C., flicking the lid to a cigarette lighter up and down repeatedly. He was right there. he thought to himself. His cell phone rang, the caller i.d. Displaying the caller "Mr.P." He picked it up.
"Yes?" Kirill answered.
"He's heading to London," the caller said.
"How do you know this?"
"Do you think intelligence agencies are the only ones with eyes and ears?" the caller replied.
"Thank you," said Kirill.
"It wasn't a problem, really. But know this, Kirill: should anything you do link your affairs to that of my own, ...I promise you a life on the run."
"Understood." Kirill hung up the phone. Time to book a flight to London.
London, England – United Kingdom
1727 Hours
Bond pulled up to the Lobby Bar in his DBS. He walked into the rather fancy pub and looked at the bar seats ahead of him. He noticed a familiar face in a tan trench coat. It was Felix. Felix raised his hand, gesturing he was there. Bond walked to the bar counter and sat on the stool to Felix Leiter's right.
"Felix," greeted Bond.
"James," he greeted back. He pointed to the drink in front of him. "I already got you your usual."
Bond took the vodka martini. "Thank you." He took a sip and paused. "It's stirred."
Felix looked over. "Last time I heard, you didn't give a damn."
"...I was in a bad mood that day." He drank a bit more. "So what exactly are you doing here Felix?"
"Well, I was actually sent here to monitor the exportation of illegal arms owned by a Mister Arthur Bermire, but lately I've heard he's recently 'disappeared.'"
"...Well I hope you find your man," said Bond before he took one last sip. "So, what can you tell me about Jason Bourne?"
Felix looked around the bar, seeing that no one else had any interest in them. "I didn't know much about him. Over five years ago I was in a different branch of security in the CIA. Let's just say the top secret projects were beyond my pay grade. Soon enough though, everybody was looking for Bourne. I would have been too if it weren't for my previously set assignment with my partner, Beam. When I got back to Langley, there was non-stop hunting for him in New York. I saw some surveillance footage of Bourne in a car chase and some from his escape in Manhattan."
"And?" Bond asked.
"...He's good, James. Real good. He's like the American version of you. Maybe even better. He's lethal, intelligent, and almost always one step ahead."
"You're not interested in him anymore?"
"He was pardoned. The CIA doesn't interfere with his life... however, we may occasionally send a drone over to check up on things."
"America."
"Indeed, brother. Indeed." He clinked his bourbon shot glass with Bond's empty martini glass and gulped it down. "I have to be leaving soon, but let me say this, James: Whatever MI6 wants with Bourne is strictly your business, but if you must confront him, ...don't underestimate him."
"I'll keep that in mind," Bond said as he began to stand up from the stool. "Thank you Felix. Always a pleasure."
"Always," Felix replied before Bond left. He looked down at his empty glass. "Can I get another one of these please?"
Author's Note: Gah! Finally finished the third chapter. Sorry for the wait. You wouldn't believe the trouble I've had to get some time to write. I've mostly had to work on this during snow days when students can't go to school. Anyways, the story is continuing and we're almost to our first meeting of the two agents. I've been wondering how I would execute it, but after careful consideration, I think I know how it will turn out.
Just for some fun facts, I always like putting little easter eggs in the chapters I'm writing. For example, the club "Stompanato" in the previous chapter was named after John Stompanato, a bodyguard for the gangster Mickey Cohen. Stompanato had an encounter with the first incarnation of James Bond himself, Sean Connery. Apparently Stompanato was jealous of Connery's interaction with actress Lana Turner, who Stompanato had a relationship with, and he threatened Connery at gunpoint, but Connery bent his hand back, making him drop his gun and run off. A pretty interesting story if you want to look it up. For the code names that Bourne and Nicky say, "Greengrass" refers to the director of The Bourne Supremacy and The Bourne Ultimatum, Paul Greengrass, and "Brownjohn" refers to Robert Brownjohn, designer of the British cinematic poster of the third Bond movie, Goldfinger. Also, I wrote in this chapter the classic throwing of the hat Bond does in most of the older Bond movies that occurs in Moneypenny's office.
There was originally supposed to be a long interaction with Q after M says he wants his jacket back, and he would then introduce the story's gadgets (yes there will be SOME gadgets, nothing too extreme) and possibly... a new Aston Martin. Its deletion makes this the shortest of the chapters so far, the first two being 9-10 pages long and this one being 6-7 in length (excluding the author's notes).
Last thing: Special thanks to The Queen's Fabler and Sweet Adagio for being the first two to review the story. Thanks!