Chapter VIII

Assassin, Soldier, Killer

Perhaps it was his instincts that woke him. Maybe he had simply woken up. Either way, Jason Bourne found his mind gearing up to take in what he was doing. He felt something soft beneath him, as he had expected to, but it wasn't the texture of the couch he had felt yesterday. He also felt quite stark; something wasn't exactly right. Hadn't they agreed that he would just sleep on the couch? Had he somehow come across a blanket? And what was on him that felt nice and warm? His memory of last night was fogged; the last thing he remembered was seeing her smile when he mentioned toothbrushes.

Bourne opened his eyes. He was definitely not on the couch.

He was laying in bed, up to his neck in the cover. He shifted his eyes ever so slightly so as to glance to his right. Nicky's arm and head were draped across him, her head using his shoulder more for a pillow than the pillow. She was as naked as he was. Suddenly his situation became clear as Bourne remembered the rest of the night. For a moment that's all that he wanted to do: remember. And he did exactly that, feeling more complete that he ever had since being hauled up by fisherman.

But his Jason Bourne persona had to cut in on David Webb with two problems: one, something was wrong. Jason could sense it. His personal 'spidey-sense' was quick to inform him that there was a threat somewhere, nearby. If not in the apartment, then outside. There was an enemy out there, targeting them. David Webb wanted to let it go. There was always a threat. Jason insisted it had to be dealt with, and then they could go back to David Webb. David Webb still refused. Nicky was asleep; he might wake her if they got up to investigate. Jason Bourne's second point was one David Webb couldn't refuse, though. They needed to use the restroom. And the longer they stayed there, the worse it would become.

Somewhat disappointed, the man who called himself Jason D. W. Bourne discreetly slid Nicky's arm off of him. He slipped sideways, letting her head come to rest on the pillow. Without making a sound, he climbed out of the bed and clothed himself. He tied his shoes quickly and had his coat on all within a minute. Then he grabbed his gun and attached the silencer. He waited until he was out of the room before he loaded it. Nicky was asleep, after all. Bourne made a sweep of the rooms. There was nobody inside, unless they were moving around as well and were as quiet as he was. He checked on Nicky before checking into the bathroom. He could check outside when he was done.

Outside, the city was waking up. Bourne kept his gun and arm hidden beneath the flap of his coat. People passed him by on the street as he glanced around. No one had that distinguishable look of being a threat to him. After a fifteen minute perimeter hunt of the apartment, Bourne decided that it was just paranoia. He had a lot of it, after all. But that threatened feeling remained as he walked back to the apartment. Several times he backtracked, feeling eyes on him. But there was nobody there. Now confused, he replaced the safety and walked inside.

Inside, Nicky had woken up to the sound of the door shutting. She reacted differently that Bourne had, jumping awake. It was a common reaction for her; she was part of Bourne's world, but his world could be terrifying. He himself was one of the more dangerous parts of his world. Part of her secretly loved that sense of danger he inspired in her. It was one of the reasons she hadn't told him; Bourne would likely breakdown if she told him she liked how dangerous he was. He didn't like being reminded he was deadly, for starters.

Then Nicky had been startled to find that he wasn't in bed anymore. She slowly got dressed and proceeded to look around. His shoes and coat were gone, as well as his gun. He must have gone out, likely the door that had awakened her. She felt slightly disappointed; what could he have to do that he couldn't stay? Hopefully nothing dangerous. Taking the gun with him meant nothing. Bourne would take a gun with him to meet the Dali Lama. She knew he kept to his old training routines; had he gone out for a run? He couldn't have stayed a time longer?

She was looking for something to eat when the door opened again. In walked Bourne, as attractive to her as the day she'd met him. But he didn't look calm. Something was wrong. "What's wrong?" she asked. Bourne's body language was practically screaming self-defense and tension.

"Paranoia," he muttered. That explained everything. Jason Bourne wouldn't wait in bed when he thought somebody out there might kill him. In truth, there were probably lots of people who wanted Bourne, and therefore her, dead, but Bourne always felt threatened. It was what he was, and part of him. She partially regretted having helped with that. They sat down at the table next to each other, Nicky holding a small cup of coffee. There was something he wanted to ask. It was obvious the way he struggled with himself.

"How did Conklin not know?" he asked. Nicky's heart sank a little. Bourne could see that it wasn't a pleasant memory. Something had happened, something he didn't remember yet. Had Conklin known? Did he threaten them? Had Nicky been punished in some way? Had the other agents, in resentment, punished him? She looked unhappy that he had brought it up. Calmly, Bourne ripped her out of her seat and carried her away from the table as bullets spat towards the now empty chairs.

Immediately Nicky's face was full of fear and panic. "How?" she asked quietly. Bourne's answer was nonverbal. He didn't know either, but they had been given their chance to leave him alone, just as the CIA had had theirs. He stood her up next to the fridge. It was made of hard material and had no direction contact with windows or openings. Bourne handed Nicky his silenced Glock. She took it, holding it with familiarity but not the same experience as him. Hoping to be reassuring, he brushed her cheek. Then Jason Bourne took over, heading out the door and grabbing Nicky's scarf.

Outside, Bourne immediately felt people watching him. He identified one man on the roof and moved towards alleys. Gunfire nipped at his heels right as he made it to the corner. Screams and frenzied stampedes to get away ensued. It would make it that much easier to hunt down those hunting him. He came out onto another street and darted back into the alley. A submachine let off a burst where he'd been. Bourne waited a few seconds for the gunfire to continue before grunting and dropping to the ground, face down.

The gunfire stopped, and he heard people muttering. To his satisfaction, he also heard footsteps. He held still waiting for them come. Part of being an assassin was patience. Jason Bourne had patience. The footsteps stopped, and Bourne used his hearing to guess the man's proximity to his own. His body wanted to tense, but he kept relaxed; a false move right now would blow his cover and likely kill him. The footsteps came closer. Then closer. Bourne envisioned what he would do as some as the man was in reach. He felt adrenaline come with the thrill of lying in wait. Another step.

Close enough. Bourne whipped around with his foot and kicked the gunman in the groin. The man made a soft grunt, unable to move, as Bourne spun to his feet and caught the man in a choke hold. He slammed him against the wall. "How many?" Bourne asked. The man was still recovering from the kick. Bourne slammed him against the wall again. "I said how many?"

"Three men," the man gasped. "Two snipers." Bourne finished the hold and the man sagged a little. He crashed the man's head into the wall. He didn't stop to check as to whether or not he was dead; Bourne just took his shotgun. That meant that there was another man with a submachine gun across the street. Bourne went back the way he came until he came to a fire escape. He jumped and caught hold. He climbed up.

On the roof, Bourne kept low as he searched for their sharpshooters. He knew where the one was and kept cover between the two of them. If he was lucky, then the man thought he was still on the ground. Bourne looked down between two buildings: a man with a gun was standing impatiently, waiting for Bourne to come his way. Bourne loaded, leaned down a little, and fired. The man dropped. He had to move; the shot would attract attention. He looked at the building across from the short roof he was on. Gauging the distance, he took three steps and jumped.

His hand came into contact with the metal of another fire escape. He tried to wrap his other arm around a ledge and failed; his feet slipped. Bourne grunted and threw his other hand and shotgun over the edge. Pulling himself up, he planted his feet before climbing over the rail. He worked his way up, having spotted the second sniper above him. Slowly Bourne climbed; if the other sniper spotted him this wouldn't work. He found an open window and climbed in.

It was a bedroom. Somebody was in the bathroom. Taking care not to disturb them, he walked out into the hall. He loaded the shotgun as he made for the roof. Here he could make noise, but his footsteps still landed fast and light. Just because he could make noise didn't mean he should. When he reached the roof door, he carefully opened it. The sniper was sitting on the roof corner, peering through the scope at the streets. Jason raised the shotgun and fired. Then he traded the shotgun for the rifle.

His instincts went off as he spotted a red dot on the wall. He dropped to his stomach as bullets sprayed overhead. They stopped, and Jason turned and looked down the rifle's scope. The other sniper had moved: smart rifleman. He should likely do the same. Bourne headed back down the stairs. He stayed on the same flight halfway down a building when a man came racing up the stairs with a gun. He looked surprised to see Bourne there. Bourne struck him in the jaw with the rifle and then elbowed him in the temple, dropping him. He pocketed the handgun.

Bourne counted to ten in front of the door. Then he went through, keeping the rifle under his coat. He had one sniper, two men. That left two. As he left the building, he could hear police. He needed to hurry; they had to get out of here with Nicky before the police arrived. The CIA might have forgiven him, but various police societies across the globe hadn't. He turned into the alley again. The three ground man was in plain sight. What was going on? Then the gunman turned and walked, ever so much that Bourne couldn't see him. The sniper was likely watching him.

Catching hold of a third fire escape, he climbed onto a roof. Taking a knee behind a chimney stack, he searched. The sniper was across the street, on a higher building. Jason took the shot, and then rushed down to the gunman. He struck him first in the leg, then through the head. That made five. Leaving the rifle, he loaded the handgun and hurried back to the apartment. His mind was already calculating what to take and what to leave.

His breath caught: the door was open. Bourne raised the gun and ran inside, suddenly uncaring for his own health. He searched. There were things everywhere across the floor, and a dead man near the bedroom. Bourne checked every room again before collapsing backwards against a wall. They had used himself against them. Somehow they knew he would go out to stop them, and sent other men afterward to get Nicky. A throbbing, aching feeling enveloping him. Jason Bourne was incredulously denying it; David Webb was silent. Behind the hurt suddenly came anger and fury. He stood up and did something he'd never done before.

He lost control and yelled.

*****

"Get there," Landy ordered. "If it's Bourne then either he's in trouble or something else is happening."

"Yes ma'am," Paz replied. He had one hand on the small .45 caliber revolver in his jacket and the other on his cell phone. The Bluetooth in his ear was turned up; he didn't really care at the moment. People around him were either rushing around or listening to the news about the gunfight. Paz, in his jacket with a phone and backpack, didn't attract any attention. He marched forward down the street.

His phone rang right before he was about to hang up. Paz froze before walking to a secure, empty street corner. It wasn't his cell phone, his official phone that Landy was on, that was ringing. "What's that?" Landy asked. Paz glanced around before turning up his Bluetooth.

"I suggest not speaking, ma'am," Paz asked, and then answered it. There was only one other phone in the world that had this phone's number. "Paz."

"They took her." Bourne's voice was loaded. It sounded so angry and intimidating over the connection that Paz nearly drew his revolver. He forced his heightening senses to relax; Bourne was his ally.

"What?"

"They took her! They took Nicky!" Bourne shouted at the phone. Paz distantly understood why Bourne was so angry. He hadn't experienced what Bourne had, but he could guess. "I'm going after her, and then I'm going for them. Tell the CIA to keep out of this, or else." That sounded exactly like Bourne and what Paz had predicted. He had tried to hide and give them a second chance to leave them alone; now he would kill them. Nicky's kidnapping complicated it.

"Under the Eiffel, twenty minutes," Paz said before Bourne could hang up.

There was a breath's hesitation. "Too slow."

"Fifteen minutes."

"…done."

"White car, backpack, grey jacket."

"Fifteen minutes," Bourne insisted, and then hung up. Paz returned the phone to his jacket and began moving.

"Paz, what are you doing?"

"Helping him. I know this is against my psychologist, but he helped me once, ma'am," Paz explained shifting his backpack.

"You can't kill anyone. This mission has no lethal action clearance. The CIA will hang you out to dry," Landy warned. Did he sense concern in her voice? It felt odd coming from a superior. He'd never received any in Black Briar.

"Ma'am, I don't feel well."

"What do you mean?"

"Ma'am, I think I am sick. I believe I need a break, ma'am."

He could nearly hear something like snickering in the background. "I see. Take some vacation time, Paz. You can pick up afterward."

"Thank you ma'am. Paz out."

"Wait. Before you hang up, what white car?"

"…Paz out."