2112 hours- Washington Base of Operations, Interrogation Room One

Crystal had allowed herself to fall into that silent piece of space that was all her own in this room. Years ago her father had spent long hours training an eight year old girl how to withstand interrogation more terrifying than this. For months she had spent hours at a time in a dark room with no food or water. Tied to a chair, screamed at, hit, and degraded at every turn, she had existed in a world of terror for days on end. Even for months after the lessons had been learned she had struggled to sleep, unable to feel safe in her own room. Those hours of frightening lessons had paid off now, leaving her free to float in silent emptiness.

Her new interrogator seemed content to just sit across from her, waiting. At first she had suspected that she could wait him out, frustrating him the same way she had Special Agent Ward but now she was discovering that this was not the case. Instead he was waiting her out. At last she sighed, tired of the charade, and glanced up at him. "Well?" she demanded and his resulting smirk brought a sinking feeling to her stomach. Crystal hated playing this game. Her forte was as a chameleon. She could blend into almost any crowd, speaking a variety of languages in several different accents, and she had used it to her advantage. Here, stuck in a sterile looking white room, that meant nothing. As the hours slipped away she was confined to who she really was, the mask slowly peeled away by time. She focused on breathing.

For a while it helped keep her mind clear and her body from shifting restlessly. The clock ticked on, just waiting for her to slip. Impatience began to creep into her mind. Bourne was out there somewhere, trying to find some way to prove his innocence, and she had done nothing but what he'd told her not to. She'd gotten caught. It was pathetic. Worse was the knowledge that Bourne, unlike her father, wouldn't leave her high and dry. He'd help her, even at great personal risk to himself. If he was nothing else, then he was at least loyal. She shifted uncomfortably at that thought. If Bourne were captured now, because of her own incompetence, he'd be killed. She'd never forgive herself if that happened.

"Need somethin' sweetheart?" The voice was a warm southern drawl with a sharp edge to it, like a knife you never quite expected until it had planted itself right between your ribs.

"Why," she asked warily, speaking slowly in a carefully neutral Midwest accent. "Would I need anything?" The smirk she got in response said the newcomer didn't believe anything that had just come out of her mouth.

"You've been locked up for a couple hours now," he responded smoothly. "Most people at least want ta get out of the room."

"I'm not most people," Crystal replied coldly, not bothering to drop the accent. That was the truth. Crystal Yates had not been raised like an ordinary child, even in her own country. He chuckled, settling more comfortably in his chair.

"So what's a young lady like you doin' around someone like Bourne?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said frostily and he smirked.

"Sure ya don't sweetheart." Crystal's teeth ground together at the pet name. She hated when people attached names like that to her; it meant that thought she was weak and pointless.

"What do you know of my character?" she asked him, arching an eyebrow in a casual motion.

"Nothin' more than you know of mine." They sat in silence for several minutes. "Ya never did answer my question," he said at last.

"What question?" she asked with mocking innocence.

"What were you doing with Bourne?"

"Why don't you do a little research," she challenged, "And tell me."

2312 hours- Samarra, Iraq

A man stood in the crowd of natives, blending in with the locals. He had done this thousands of times before for less pay than he was commissioned for now. The man he was sent to eliminate today was a member of a terrorist group rival to the one who'd hired him. The man who called himself Khan wasn't picky about what jobs he took; he just needed the money.

His eyes, a deep grey that often unnerved his prey, focused on what appeared to be a wealthy business man. Target acquired. Khan followed him casually, weaving his way through the crowd without doing more than brushing a few people. It was late, the street lights often enough destroyed by bombing and riots, so it wasn't likely that his target would notice him but he kept his distance. It wouldn't do to foul up the entire mission when he was this close to completing it. That was when his cell phone, the one only one person in the world had the number for. He carefully withdrew it from his pocket and flipped it open, keeping his eyes on his target.

"You heard what happened?" His father's voice was cold, almost emotionless, and it sent a shiver of warning down Khan's back.

"I heard," he confirmed grimly. He'd known in a matter of moments that it hadn't been the man on the other line who had been the killer; Jason Bourne had given up those kinds of assignments long ago. After he'd been betrayed by the government group that had trained him.

"I'm out of the country," Bourne continued, voice low and calm. "But I've run into a slight problem stateside. Remember my new project?" Khan had gotten the call about it a few months previously. He hadn't been sure whether he should have been amused or just annoyed that his father seemed to prefer everyone else's company to his own.

"Yes."

"She got picked up off the street trying to get out. I need you to get her out of it." Khan eyed his target one more time before letting out a soft sigh.

"Okay. Where am I going?"