For a picture of my inspiration for the Padre look at my Livejournal under thrownhammer on date 3/26/13.

Waldron, Arkansas

Present Day

There was only the slightest change in air pressure inside the little studio apartment to acknowledge the surreptitious entry of its intruder. The slight draft caused the small window in the kitchenette to creak; the double hinged window had been left open. It was slightly ajar causing the light from the noon sun to cut across the room.

As the man walked, cat footed, around the small area he saw that it was as he had assumed from his paltry research; the place was tiny with little to offer as far as hiding places for valuables. The place hadn't been renovated in at least forty years and probably hadn't been painted in fifteen.

The furniture was sparse: a sleeper sofa circa 1972 which was folded out into a bed, end table/nightstand, a folding card table, and an old chair. The sheets on the bed had been laundered then used for at least a few days as he still could smell the detergent and the faint smells of the former occupant. The folding table was set up by the window so the owner could look out and see down the sole road to the house which was at the end of a dead end country road. There was an old half eaten breakfast sandwich on a plate next to the morning paper; it was dated March 17th- 10 days ago. Before touching anything on the table he quickly took pictures of it and then the rest of the apartment in case he had to refer to them later.

Upon looking at the table more closely, the sandwich appeared to be ten days old as well, but it was a frozen meal loaded with preservatives so it was hard to tell. The coffee in the cup next to it that had almost completely evaporated, although from the rings it had apparently been full when it was left.

His target had left in a real hurry, something happened to cause them to leave in the middle of breakfast. The trash can was empty, but lacked a liner; that meant they had at least tried to cover their tracks a little. He found that slightly comforting, in that no one was shooting at them when they left.

He put a liner in the can,tossed the sandwich and washed out the coffee cup. He examined the newspaper it looked well read; it was open to the Sudoku and crossword, both were completed flawlessly without notes in the margin. Something about the newspaper made him smile; he folded it and put it in his pocket. Then he collapsed the table, put it away and folded up the sofa. They had been here a few weeks at least. He took one last look around at his latest dead end. This was the closest he had gotten to his target in his six months of looking. Nicky Parsons was proving more difficult to find than he first expected.

As the man once, and most famously, known as Jason Bourne opened the door to leave, a shotgun was jammed toward his face. Out of instinct he grabbed, twisted, and pulled with his right hand as the hammer clicked down on misfire or empty chamber. Simultaneously he struck out with his left before seeing the ancient woman he was sparing with, he grabbed her instead just as she was going to tumble down the long narrow set of interior stairs that led up to the studio apartment.

"Whoa there… Easy… You must be Mrs. Mcgillicutty?"

The woman must have been in her upper eighties and Bourne was impressed that she not only made it all the way up the stairs, but that he didn't hear her. The stairs were quite squeaky and took him sometime to sneak up, but then it was her house. "Who… who…" she stuttered.

"'Bell mentioned you. I was down this way on business and thought I would stop by. We were speaking every couple of days, but I haven't heard from her in two weeks or so…" he quickly improvised. "Two young ladies like yourselves, living alone… well I was worried!" he tried his best to sound embarrassed and let a little of his Missouri accent drop; it sounded like she was from Texas although they were in Arkansas.

She was clutching her heart, "My word I thought you were a burglar."

He laughed and motioned to his expensive dress shirt, slacks, and penny-loafers, "burglars don't wear hundred dollar shoes…"

"A hundred dollars! On shoes?!" she scoffed.

"Well ma'am, I'm a salesman of sorts and do a lot of walking and talking to businessmen; they're also the only pair of shoes I own…" he added truthfully. "Here have a seat for a moment…" he was glad that he wiped everything down and had thrown out the sandwich.

She took notice of his activities as well, "You cleaned up too…"

Out of habit he opened the single barrel shotgun, he removed the one shell it held which basically fell to pieces in his hands. The interior of the gun was rusted, but not beyond salvage. He acted like he didn't know where anything was and retrieved a piece of steel wool and a little can of household oil from under the sink and quickly started to clean and oil the weapon.

He had it disassembled in a flash. "You're quite good at that, you a hunter?" she pried.

"No," he replied curtly.

"Oh, you were a soldier. Mister used to say it like that. You saw action then?"

He froze for a moment as he had a flashback of killing a man in the Middle East somewhere- before Treadstone. He had seen this one before and was his most hated one. He was chest to chest with the man, struggling with a knife for a moment, before he drove it into his chest. The man glared at him with such hatred and then spit in his face as Bourne forced the blade upward to the man's heart. The memory didn't bother him, it was the way he remembered feeling as he watched the man's eyes as he bled out. He felt this unabashed sense of joy and power, almost akin to sexual bliss. He liked killing that man; he relished it.

Suddenly he felt someone touching him and he jumped at not realizing that the old woman had moved and was now standing next to him. "You're back now… …it will never be okay."

"Huh?"

"People always say 'it will be okay' but it won't be. Not ever. I didn't understand it, until the day I realized that I never would understand it. That made me sound Fruit loopy didn't it?"

He cleared his throat, "No. No, you get it."

"Try out the VA. My husband said it was the only thing that helped, just being around others that 'got it'."

He quickly reassembled the weapon and escorted her down the stairs. "Wow, I'm going to sleep well… between you and the gas man."

"Gas man?"

"Yeah, said there was a leak and had to check the house. I thought he was stealing something up here, but it was just a pen. He forgot his…"

"A pen, from upstairs?"

"Well, yeah. It was just one of those free ones places give away."

"You happen to know the place?"

"Well, no. Why would that matter?"

"What the guy look like?"

"Well he was a little older than you with long, grayish hair, but premature. Well spoken for a gas man; a real gentleman. He asked for the newspaper and I could tell he was upset when I told him no."

Bourne was tired of the facade and grabbed her by the forearm,"That guy came here looking for her- you understand? He was a bad guy wasn't he?"

Her lip trembled and she whispered almost inaudible, "He scared me… He got so angry about the paper, he didn't say it but it was in his eyes… I thought he was going to kill me over an old newspaper. I offered him mine from that day, but he said no. Is he the one that hurt her?"

"Hurt her? What do you mean?!"

"Well, she would do nothing but sit there looking out the window and cry. My poor sister- she passed last year, she had a man have his way with her and she cried like that, for months. The girl had the shower going for the longest time those first few weeks- women do that when they cry. Then she gave up trying to cover it up. She'd scream in the night sometimes… I tried to talk to her, but she never left… only to get food once a week."

"She was a soldier too… She was hurt in the war…"

"Oh God… That poor thing, she's so delicate."

"Women such as you are very observant…"

"You can say it dear: I'm a right ole snoop!"

"Tell me anything at all you noticed or overheard. Anything weird happen?"

"Well, a few days after I saw her last I noticed someone was in my shed… but it's still locked."

He pointed to an outbuilding, "That one?" She nodded. "You should probably check it out…"

"Haven't been in there since the mister passed…"

He went over and looked at the lock; it was rusted and showed no signs of being removed. Looking at the ground he could see where the earth had been moved when the door was opened four or five inches. He pulled at the door and saw that the chain allowed for about a five inch gap. She might have been able to squeeze. He got out his lock picks and quickly picked the lock and pulled the door opened.

The shed was more like a small barn and was packed with junk. Taking a quick look at everything, the only thing that looked disturbed was a tarp. He yanked it off of what it was covering, a disassembled Harley Davidson. He looked at the bike from every angle and the only thing odd was that one mirror was clean. Careful not to move the bike, he straddled it and looked in the mirror, adjusting for her height, being several inches shorter. It was pointed under a shelf, looking under it the only oddity he found was a political campaign button for Hubert Humphrey.

Leaving the shed as he found it, he started churning things over in his mind. "Do you know that you have a Knucklehead in there?"

"Yeah I knew the knucklehead that put the stuff in there…" she laughed.

He smiled gently as he walked over to the porch so she could hear him, "No, there's a Harley Davidson motorcycle in there…"

"Oh, that! He put all kinds of money into that stupid thing."

"Is it for sale? I'll give you twenty-five for it."

"Twenty-five hundred dollars? Well, I don't know…"

"No… thousand. I told you I bought and sold stuff. I'd buy it for twenty-five, spend ten fixing it up, and sell it for forty-five…"

She looked like she might faint; he knew she was barely getting by. "Well… Cash?"

"Oh, yes ma'am." He walked to his car and got an envelope before returning to her. "Here is a ten thousand dollar deposit; I will come back with the rest within four months. In the mean time, keep the room unrented?"

"Oh, sure thing."

"Let me get a phone number for you and some kind of receipt."

"Sure thing let me grab a pen." She wrote him a receipt and he saw a stack of papers by the door.

"Are you done with these newspapers?"

"Oh, yeah. You can have'em all if you want… Here is your receipt."

"Let me give you a number- in case she comes back." She handed him a pen and he wrote down a throwaway cell number. "Thanks- I'll come back for the bike, or send someone…"

"No rush sweetie."

"Say- What do you think when you hear 'Hubert Humphrey?'" He knew he thought of the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome, where the Vikings played by he doubted Nicky Parsons was a sports fan.

Just as he thought that- he had a flashback of her in overalls and a backwards NY Mets hat as she used a paint roller to apply white paint to a wall, "I can't believe you're a Mets fan… I can't believe anyone is a Mets fan," he teased.

"Hey jerk, I'm from Manhattan!"

"But the Yankees…"

"…blow." He saw himself walk forward with the paint roller, "Jason! No…! Remember the restraining order!" she screeched as he cornered her. Bourne! I mean it!"

"I'm pretty sure there is a 'painted into a corner clause'…"

"Loser…" the woman barked, jerking him back to the present. Jason laughed as she explained, "He lost to Nixon…"

Bourne murmured, "Nixa…"

"Yeah, Nixon…"

"Thanks."

Five hours later

Nixa, Missouri

As Jason Bourne stood in the corn field, looking at the large white farm house with the wraparound porch, he expected to have a flash back but there was nothing. He looked at it all again: the house, the barn, the old broken down tractor, and the long gravel roadway leading up to them. Still he felt nothing, nothing except for the hairs all over his body standing on end.

Everything he felt told him the house was right, but his internal alarm bells were going crazy. Something was very wrong here. The house had a very deserted look to it, but he knew someone was there- waiting.

He turned and walked sideways through the fields of corn as to not brush up against them. He approached the front corner of the house and was able to get to the tractor with a decent amount of cover. After that there was about twenty yards of wide open terrain. He knew he should wait until dark but it would make it easier on both sides, but right now the darkness favored him more.

He sprinted straight across the yard in a straight line, opting for minimal exposure verses being a moving target. While not as fast as a pro-ball player, he was able to clear the twenty yards in just over three seconds. He ducked behind the porch and followed it to the side of the house and quickly climbed an old chestnut tree to reach the rear balcony, muscle memory showing him that he had gone in and out this way numerous times before.

He ducked behind a window and popped out his Spyderco pocket knife and jimmied the rear window. He slipped inside and he knew someone was in there laying in wait. He pulled out his Glock and slowly crept to the door and opened it a crack. He peered down the hallway and then slowly crept down it, knowing that someone was laying in wait for him.

As he crept down the hall he saw a door cracked on the left and saw someone from behind crouching behind a dresser with a shotgun, waiting in ambush. He raised his hand and started to reach for the door- then froze. Something about the room was… off.

He retraced his steps back the way he came and climbed back out the window, instead of going down the left side of the house, he went down the right. He stepped over the porch railing and moved very slowly down the narrow strip of rooftop between the window and open air.

He crept to an open window and pointed his gun through it, his barrel inches from the man's ear, "You move you die…"

There was a full ten seconds where neither man acted, before Jason spoke, "Put the shotgun on the ground."

He sat the gun down slowly, "Look, Jason- its fine…" the man said as he looked over shoulder.

Jason was stunned to see a younger version of his own face and he blinked twice, expecting a flashback that never came. He knew he had a twin brother, but he wasn't aware that he had a younger one, this man was around ten years his junior. He also registered the use of Jason verses David, an indicator that Nicky had probably been here at some point.

He slowly lowered his pistol, as the hairs on his neck stood up, "Who else is in the house?"

"No one."

"Oh, yes there is… Get the gun. Can you navigate this?" he motioned to where he was standing.

The other man nodded as Jason moved further down as he climbed out. "There is a car parked on the access road to that field…"

"Okay, I see it…"

"Go down to the tree and run catty corner to the tractor then get to the car. The keys are in it. When you get to it fire a barrel in the air, wait five seconds then fire the other. Take the car somewhere that it can't be found for an hour, and then meet me in the high school's dug out. If I'm not there in two hours then I'm not coming, take the car and get to the others, there's money under the spare tire. Go!"

They both went in opposite directions as Jason climbed in the window, careful to avoid stepping in front of the mirror that his brother was using to 'bounce' a mirror image of himself around the house. Jason had almost fallen for the ruse and opened the door to the wrong room, until he saw the sun was casting light in two different directions in different rooms.

He worked his way around to a different door off the hallway, he heard the first shotgun blast in the distance- sooner than he expected. The second followed five seconds later, this told him that his brother made it to the car safely.

An eerie male voice called out from the first floor, "That would be the interloper leaving then?" It sounded like he was near the rear of the house, in the kitchen most likely.

"Come now Bourne… This is foolishness. I didn't come all this way to battle it out until the bitter end; I am simply looking for answers! You know what that's like, don't you?" The man was definitely doing something besides talking: setting a trap, giving directions, or riffling through something. "I am making grilled cheese, would you like one…"

Bourne moved to the bathroom and started cooking up something of his own, "So, are you up for Truth or Dare? Who are you?" Bourne called. He grabbed four aerosol cans and started binding three of them together with athletic tape.

"Ah, an equal exchange then? It's Kane Tolman; others took to calling me Padre… My turn: which members of Treadstone are still amongst the living?"

Bourne shouted as he pocketed a lighter, dental floss, candle, and a bottle of KY he found under the sink. He took the liquid KY and poured it into a mop bucket then unscrewed some perfume and dumped it as well; he then started filling the bucket with water. "To be fair, I don't know. Conklin, Abbott, Manheim, Parsons, and some guy name Zorn are all dead. The news said Hirsch is, but I doubt it. I'm the last asset…"

"Come now, we both know I'm following the girl. You always were protective of her- pointless as that was. You brought truth into this- answer honestly or choose dare. What became of Colonel Byer and Ray Wills?"

"I wasn't so much lying as I was finding out if you killed her. Never heard of them- my turn…"

"No, that was the same question…"

"They were in Treadstone?" he asked as he dumped the water slowly down the butler stairs, the perfume was for misdirection so he would think it flammable and try to rush through it, not knowing it was oily.

"Umm… technically not- fine your turn."

"Who are Colonel Byer and Ray Wills?"

The Padre roared with laughter, "I guess that means you really don't know them. Wills was Vosen's lap dog and is of little import. Byer was an asset, for the DOD sister program to Blackbriar, Colonel Eric Byer US Air Force. If you find him before me- please do me the professional courtesy of not killing him… What's your angle here- why is such a loyal lap dog attacking the house of his master?"

As he crept to the front stairs he could swear that he could smell cheese, was the dick really making a sandwich? He must be using a melting bock of cheese as a fuse? "I lost my memory on a mission and people kept coming to kill me. They thought I was defecting or something; they overreacted. What's your goal, long term?" Bourne took a condom from his coat pocket and ripped it open and stretched it over the entire end of the fourth spray can, then held down the nozzle- inflating the condom.

There was a lasting silence, "So, you really don't remember me- we met once? I thought that was disinformation spread by your dear Nicolette. My long term goal…? My… that is the question isn't it- as well as a lengthy answer. Short version- they will tell you that I want reciprocity for the sins of all mankind; but all I want is for someone to answer a question. Also, someone owes me for four years of pain and suffering. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for the gas man... You break out of Angola?" he asked as he tided dental floss to the can.

"Ah, the ancient lady was a nosy one was she not… Yes I did. How did you know?"

"The missing section of the paper had an article about three tourists found dead in a field. The whole story was cut and pasted from a CIA script. The prison was only a few miles away, then I read about 'the Angola Three'-it wasn't a difficult leap…"

"Well, at least you know about the gas leak in the area. I'll take the back if you take the front!" which was followed by the sound of sprinting feet and a screen door slamming.

Jason's eyes opened wide he dropped the IED he was almost done with and ran to the front bedroom. He dove out the window, rolled down the roof: he landed hard and rolled to his feet, his legs pumping furiously. He made it deep into the corn field and just as he was going to rise up to look at the house there was an explosion inside it, all the windows blew out, and it was suddenly engulfed in flames.

Jason Bourne rubbed his head as he looked at the house and muttered, "Ma's gonna kill me…"

Eighty-two minutes later

Michael Webb didn't hear his brother's approach at all: he looked to his right, to his left, then back again and Jason was right in front of him. He punched Jason on the shoulder before he thought about what he was doing, "Ass! What are you- twelve?!"

"Keys?" Jason flipped him the set for the Barracuda he took from the barn. As his brother gave him the other set. "Nice car- you restore it?"

"We both did the first time, I did the second."

"You ever do bikes?"

"Yeah a few…"

"You need to hide anyway, here-" he handed him an address. "I bought a '41 knucklehead, but it's in pieces. There is a small room rented there, you can hide there and work on the bike if you're bored. Tell the little old lady we are brothers. You fix it up and we split the profit?"

"Man, a '41? That's what grandpa had. I've wanted one for years…"

"Huh… weird.I knew I had to buy it- couldn't remember why."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go pick it up and lay low," he said as he grabbed his brother and hugged him. "We missed you bro…"

"I'm sorry- I don't know your name…"

"Oh, I'm Michael… Sorry she said you had a memory wipe or something."

"You're not Mike, he's my twin… You're younger-"

"-Pretty sure I know my name. I wasn't going to say anything, but you look like shit… I'm definitely the better half now. You need to sleep more and use a mud mask at night, or sunscreen or something. You look like- ten years older? That explains why she freaked…"

"Huh?"

"That Nicky girl FREAKED when she found out we were twins. She got up and left in the middle of dinner- left the house."

"Did she come back?"

"Yeah, she came back a few hours later. Had a ton of lab stuff with her, microscopes, the spinning thing you put blood in, and… stuff. I think she stole it all. She drew like fifty vials of blood from us all and wanted hair and semen and- well she got really scary bro."

"What then…"

"Well she didn't sleep for days. She went and got a ton of library books the next day. She just got really frustrated and said she needed a 'real lab'. Then she got a call that spooked her and told us all we had to leave- to go somewhere and not come back. She packed all her stuff- or rather hurled it in her car and took off!"

"Where to?"

"She said something cryptic about 'hiding from the hunting tiger within the cave of the sleeping bear' or some crap…"

"Jesus- When?"

"Today- this morning…"

"Come on," Jason shouted running to his car. "I need to leave… How could she be so stupid…?"