Sorry this took me so long!! I've been very busy; I'm training two horses as well as all my goddamn homework and a comic I'm writing on Deviant Art.

Oh, and just so you guys know, I will be doing some changes to chapter 3 – just found out that Marina has its own airport (head-desk) and some spelling issues. Vosen is staking his TRIAL on this plan, not his TRAIL! (hates autocorrect)

In any case, here's the latest installment! I think you lot should find it satisfactory…*evil laugh*

The tourists wove in and around the little café, chattering about how pretty the beach was, and where they were going shopping next. No one really noticed the small woman sitting alone at a table, much less the fact that she had studied each of them intensely as they went by.

Nicky felt less paranoid now, much to her own relief. She had survived the second night here with no threats, and vowed to get some sleep tonight. She was sitting in a café, surrounded by various people and tourists doing their shopping. Crowds made her a little nervous, but she knew it was safer than being alone – an asset was far less likely to strike with this many witnesses about. She returned to the book she was reading, feeling a little more secure.

The peaceful atmosphere was instantly shattered when a sound hit her ears, registered in her brain as familiar, and in a hundredth of a second, realized what was familiar about it. Adrenaline shot through her veins and alarms filled her head. BLACKBRIAR?!

As casually as she could manage, Nicky looked up to see where it had come from, and nearly fell out of her chair in relief when she saw the large television nattering on about a CIA conspiracy. Relief quickly turned to surprise and curiosity. The press found out about Blackbriar? Was that even possible?

"…CIA director Ezra Kramer is under criminal investigation for authorizing the program, which, in several cases, may have even targeted U.S. citizens."

No shit.

"…Two agency officials have already been arrested: Dr. Albert Hirsch, the alleged mastermind of the Blackbriar program…"

Nicky's eyes widened. The man being arrested was barely visible from all the press surrounding him, but the photo displayed in the upper right of the screen was clear. It was the man that Bourne had asked her about in the café out of Madrid, centuries ago. So he had been the mastermind of it all? Nicky still only recognized him from the picture.

"…and CIA Deputy Director Noah Vosen, the program's operational chief."

Vosen… A memory ran through her head – her answering the phone in Neal Daniel's apartment, pretending that there wasn't a gun pointed at her, and a voice on the other end "Nicky, this is Noah Vosen…"

So she had lied directly to the deputy director of the CIA, as well as the chief of an international assassination program.

Nicky wondered how she had managed to live this long.

But she couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. Maybe it was over. The press – and, she suspected, Bourne – had just decapitated Blackbriar. It wasn't going to be moving too quickly right now. Feeling a little safer, and maybe just a bit triumphant, she looked down again.

"Meanwhile, mystery surrounds the fate of David Webb…"

Nicky's heart stopped. Her eyes flew back to the monitor. Did I just hear…?

"…also known as Jason Bourne, the source behind the exposure of the Blackbriar program…"

Nicky was in shock. They know his real name? How did that get out? The only reason I knew was…

She quickly cut off her own thoughts, distracting herself with the question of where he was now. The news anchor quickly answered it for her. "It's been reported that Webb was shot and fell from a Manhattan rooftop into the East River ten stories below."

Is he…? No, he can't! Nicky thought, denying even the possibility that Jason was dead. He had lived through so much…

"However, after a three day search, Webb's body has yet to be found."

Nicky felt a smile one her face. Of course not. And you won't ever find him. It would take far more than a bullet and a long fall to bring Bourne down…or maybe Webb now?

She heard some people near her start to talk about the national hero. Not wanting to unintentionally draw attention to herself, she stood, picked up her book, paid her bill, and walked away.

Two Weeks Later…

Nicky entered her apartment with more confidence than she had felt in a long time. She had been renting the living space for a while now, paying with cash. She had wound up taking that job at he little cafe that she had seen on her second day, just from a need to use some of the time and earn some extra money.

She walked around the apartment once, making sure that everything was in place. Finally, after deciding that nothing was wrong, she locked the chain on the door, and quickly made and ate a small dinner of microwaveable rice. Then she walked over to her bed, flopping onto it. She had actually managed to get some sleep in the past few days, and she didn't feel so tired anymore. Still, she felt like she could use a nap. Nicky was amazed at how relaxed she felt. Maybe that meant it was time to move on. But still, she wanted to savor the moment – her nerves had calmed at last.

Maybe Bourne was right. Maybe it did get easier.

She pulled out her book and began to read. However, she felt her eyelids begin to droop, and soon she was completely unconscious – at peace at last.

None of the five men in the old rented apartment would have called this an ordinary job. Not one of them could have said that he was completely comfortable with it either. But an asset does what he is told; none of them were not about to stop that now.

The five men were all high-ranking Blackbriar assets, or at least, they had been. Operation Blackbriar was ancient history now, or at least it felt like it. The media had moved on to only the occasional update, such as the President's firing of Ezra Kramer, or Noah Vosen's trial coming up. Such was why the operational chief thought it was a good idea to strike now, while the world was looking somewhere else. Assets did not normally work together, which was one of the reasons that this was such a strange operation. The second reason was that they were under strict orders to capture, not kill, one of the targets. At least, at first. She was to act as bait until the more dangerous of the two targets revealed himself, then terminate them both and destroy the bodies. This was a strange operation, but none of them questioned it. It was merely an interesting challenge.

None of the men knew any names but their own and the targets. Their code names for this assignment were not even their usual ones the need for secrecy was so great. The men were simply to know each other as Alpha, Sierra, Bravo, Charlie, and Echo.

The asset codenamed Bravo was reclining in an armchair, reading a book. He was quite possibly the oldest asset Blackbriar or Treadstone had ever employed, and it was starting to show in the grey in his hair and lines on his face. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, but only he and a few CIA officials knew his exact age – no one else dared ask. However, he was also the deadliest asset either program had employed since Jason Bourne. His missions were carried out with ruthless accuracy, and each killing was rather vicious – although he harbored a personal grudge against each target. No one but his superiors would ever know, but he did, in a way. Bravo's wife, daughter, and young son had all been killed in New York City on the eleventh of September, 2001. Bravo's mind, already weakened from his many years in the military, had snapped. He had gone to Blackbriar, dismissed from the military and without a purpose, begging for a shot to wreak revenge on the enemies of the United States, who, in his mind, were responsible for the attack. His demeanor had raised a few eyebrows, but his mental state had been cleared fit enough to become an asset, so they welcomed him with open arms. But now, as he fixed his reading glasses, the memories seemed far away, thanks to the numbing effect of his training and his killings.

Alpha stood, causing all eyes to involuntarily flick in his direction. He looked every bit the leader that his codename suggested, which was partially why he had been chosen to lead the team. He had dark hair cut short against his head, and piercing dark eyes that surveyed the world with a calm confidence. He had once been a high-ranking commander in the U.S. Navy, but that time was long gone. Bravo was well over his age, but he respected the tall man. There was an air of charisma to him that no other man that he had ever met could top.

Alpha stretched, and then walked across the room to the surveillance equipment, monitored by Sierra. Sierra was a small man who looked nothing like the assassin that he was. He had never been in the military, and his experience with firearms consisted of shooting a man twice, missing the first time. The truth of it was that, unlike ninety percent of Blackbriar's assets, Sierra did not kill in person – elevator malfunctions, car accidents, medication switches…little 'accidents' that were effective, subtle, and above all, untraceable. Sierra was often more than fifteen miles away from these 'accidents' when they happened: he was an invisible man among invisible men. Now, he was pulling up various video feeds on his computer, searching each one for the target.

Alpha looked over his shoulder. "Has there been any change?"

"No. She's still alone." Sierra pulled up a still image of a small, black haired woman.

Suddenly a loud crash in the kitchen caused the men to jump for the pistols hidden in each one of their coats. At the same time, they noticed that there were four, not five, men in the room.

A tall, tanned man with ruffled blonde hair and bright eyes leaned past the doorway, grinning sheepishly. "Eh, the fridge door isn't stuck anymore." He held up a beer bottle. "Beer's nice and cold, though." Bravo fought an urge to roll his eyes.

Charlie, the blond joker, was an oddity among the assets: he acted although his training had never affected him. Bravo was certain that the assassin had worked as a stand up comedian at least once. He took his missions seriously and nothing else. His bright blue eyes always shone with inner laughter, as if he found the world around him hilarious. Charlie had been in for numerous exams and tests for this reason – the CIA hadn't been sure whether he was insane or unaffected by the training. However he passed each test and never failed a mission, which was all they really needed. Bravo imagined by this time, the CIA officials just shrugged at his unusual demeanor and carried on.

Now, the blonde man walked into the room, waving his beer. "Anyone else want some?"

Bravo shrugged. "Yeah, I'll take one."

Sierra and Alpha nodded their consent. The fifth man in the room was looking out the window when Charlie entered. Only now did he stir. "Sure."

Echo was the last, and in many ways the least, member of the team. He was shorter than the rest of them and thin, with dark hair that fell short of his grey eyes, which were cold enough to make even the other assets uneasy – there was an almost evil quality to them. In truth, Echo was the only one out of the assets who could be classified as evil. Blackbriar had brought him out of prison to serve as an asset after he had caught an escaping inmate. He had an impressive military record, but it was smeared by five accounts of first degree murder, sexual assault, and kidnapping. But he had made an excellent asset, and he was deemed 'controllable' by his handler. But this did nothing to help him in this group: even in the most twisted murderer can agree that there is nothing lower than a rapist, and the assets were a great deal more honorable than a simple murderer. The rest of the group had been informed about Echo's past for the simple reason that the target was female, but this had resulted in him becoming the lowest ranking member of the group, Alpha being the highest and Bravo second. Oddly, Echo did not seem to care about the rankings, intensifying the aura of danger that surrounded him.

Charlie re-entered the room, throwing everyone a bottle of beer. Bravo deftly caught his, and opened it. As he drank, he noticed Charlie watching Echo open his, struggling to hide a grin. Bravo considered warning his co-worker, but stopped and leaned back. It would be excellent entertainment.

The unsuspecting Echo took a swig of the liquid, and instantly gagged, spitting it all over the floor. "What the hell was that?!"

Charlie burst into a truly evil cackle. "Fruit juice and vinegar, anyone?" He snickered.

Echo looked like someone had slammed him with a frying pan – the most emotion anyone had seen him display. "It was closed!" He sputtered. "How did you switch it?"

"Switched the top." Charlie pulled a handful of unbent beer bottle caps out of his pocket. "You should be more careful – I poisoned a senator that way." He chuckled.

Echo looked like he was seriously considering murdering Charlie, but the aggression neutralized the second Bravo stood. Although Bravo was certain that he was not as charismatic as Alpha, he did seem to have a quieting effect on the men. Perhaps it had something to do with his position as second-in-command. It probably had more to do with the icy glare he gave the two men and the obvious sidearm beneath his coat.

Alpha was quick to seize the moment of silence. "Alright boys, listen up." He rotated the laptop slightly, so that it was clearly visible. There was a still image on it that had been taken from a high angle. It clearly showed a slender young woman with short black hair exiting a motel. Her face was fully visible; ironically, she had been looking over her shoulder. "This is our target."

Alpha turned to Sierra. The smaller man, who until that moment had been tasting his beer suspiciously, reached over and tapped a few keys. A passport photo and agent details came up beside the picture. "I did multiple scans, and they all came up positive – it's her. She stayed at a hotel a couple weeks ago – the hotel manager turned her in when he saw the poster the CIA sent out. It took me a while, but I found her – she's in the same city, just on the other side of it."

Charlie walked over and read part of the file as Sierra recited the address of the apartment building.. "Lied to the program chief directly? Tut, tut – you've made some bad decisions, honey."

"That part is none of our business." Alpha responded. "Now, this is how we're going to grab her…"

Alpha began to outline their plan. The pack listened intently – or, at least most of them did. Bravo felt his attention diverted when he glanced over to where the computer screen had been placed. Echo was staring at the image on the screen, his eyes fixated on the slender body. The beginnings of a perverted smile was showing on his face,

Disgust unlike anything Bravo had ever known overwhelmed him. In the back of his mind, a random fact that he had noticed earlier connected – the target was around the same age that his daughter would have been, had she been alive. The connecting of the knowledge to the situation was all that it took to push the man over the edge.

Suddenly, he was across the room, knocking Echo out of his chair. Bravo aimed a heavy blow at the younger man's nose. It was deflected and he was kicked across the room. Both men were on their feet and drawing their guns at the same time.

"You want to take this outside, old man?" Echo snapped, panting.

"With pleasure." Bravo growled thunderously, and prepared to disarm his opponent. But his lunge was suddenly cut off.

Alpha quickly forced him to drop the gun, and then turned to Charlie, who had Echo in a stranglehold. "You men cool down! Do I have to send you for little time-outs?" He snarled angrily. "Christ! I'd say I was dealing with children if I hadn't known better!'

Bravo growled, but lowered his eyes in respect and slumped his shoulders in submission. He shouldn't have attacked so fast. Echo was an ally, not an enemy. Alpha frowned, turning to Echo and Charlie. "Charlie, we need him, regrettable as it might be. Release him."

Charlie loosened his hold with a sigh. "He was turning such an interesting shade of purple…"

Alpha turned his piercing glare on Echo. "And you keep your pants in place. When we've grabbed her, I don't want to see you anywhere remotely near her. We're assassins, not rapists. If you fail to honour that, I will personally arrange a cute little accident for you. Do I make myself fully and completely clear?"

Echo nodded, cool and distant once again. Alpha gave them both one last glare, and then continued with the plan. This time, all of the pack listened intently. The chase was on, and these men were the best of hunters.

She was lying on her side on a concrete floor, in a dried pool of her own blood. A mouse scurried past, stopping as if to pity the broken, bruised girl. Nicky felt although she could use it. All of her energy was devoted to praying to a God she hadn't really believed in before, asking that if He was there, that He could make them believe the lie that she had told. That they wouldn't check it out. That they wouldn't hurt her anymore. Jason had always told her that He existed…he was a devout catholic, and she could only hope that he was right…

She heard the heavy feet coming up the staircase and knew that a miracle couldn't help her now. The mouse's whiskers twitched, as if in apology, before it ran away as the door blew open.

Riley looked like he was going to kill her. She hoped that he would. But instead, he grabbed her by the front of her ragged shirt and pinned her against a wall. His usually cold eyes were on fire. "You pathetic little bitch." He snarled. "Did you really think that I would fall for that?"

Nicky would have been crying at this point, had it not been for the drained sensation that she had been feeling for several days now. The only thing she felt was fear and despair. "Just kill me…" She whispered. "…please just kill me…"

Riley's expression twisted into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile. "Sorry kid."

Then Nicky felt her small body being tossed across the room.

Nicky sat straight up, shaking all over and covered in a cold sweat. For a moment, she sat perfectly still, her mind still stuck in a warehouse in Paris. Then she curled into a ball, burying her face in her hands and swearing with a vigor she hadn't known for years. "I had it under control, Goddamnit!"

Eventually, the shaking and panic subsided. Exhausted, Nicky looked at her bedside clock. It was 9:04 – she'd been sleeping for three hours. Sleep loss had taken its toll. She massaged her temples and tried to think. Why did they come back? I had those memories under lock and key…sleep loss. That's it. You're just too tired and too paranoid, Nicky.

She threw a pillow at the wall out of pent up frustration. Something about the violent act, no matter how small, snapped her out of the panic attack. She got up and walked to the little kitchen. The apartment was completely black, and she could barely see where she was going.

Nicky was reaching for the light switch when something stopped her. Something was wrong.

Out of nowhere, her adrenaline was surging through her veins and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her mind flashed to a game she had played in high school drama class, called Thief and Guard. The two players were blindfolded and spun around to disorient them. One had to find a stapler on the ground somewhere and get through the 'gate', while the other had to catch him or her. She had always been very good at it, in fact she had been on of the only 'thieves' to win. So it was this 'sixth sense' that informed her that, even in the dark where she couldn't see, there was someone standing behind her.

Nicky was already in motion when the intruder moved behind her. A hand, meant to snatch her arm, merely brushed her shoulder as she ran. Her heart pounded. A deep male voice growled behind her and she felt him come after her. Unable to think of anything else to do, she went for the door, just visible in the moonlight..

She skidded to a stop and pulled on the handle. It was locked, of course. "Fucking chain!" She snarled out loud as she franticly pulled at the failsafe security device.

An arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her backwards. Nicky fought back, but the limb was unstoppable. It pulled her back into a wall of solid muscle.

Cold metal against her skull. Nicky knew what it was the second it touched her. Every muscle in her body tensed, and then went limp. There was no way out. She was dead. Nicky closed her eyes and waited for the sound that would end her short, traumatized life.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the gun jerked.

"Bang."

The voice was cold. Emotionless. And very familiar.

Suddenly, the stunned woman was thrown against a wall. The attacker had her by the shoulder, and had just enough weight on her that she couldn't get away.

Not that she was going to try.

Before her astonished eyes, the man moved into the light, throwing his face into sharp detail. His piercing eyes met hers as he pocketed the gun.

"For Christ's sake, Nicky," Jason Bourne hissed, looking angrier than she had seen him since Berlin, "You didn't even scream."

I hereby take no responsibility for any heart attacks, strokes, or other panic related reactions that may be caused by this chapter. That's totally your fault. :D

Whew, finally got it done! No worries, I am just taking my time in uploading because of homework, horses, and social life. I am enjoying having no writers block very much :D