***READ ME*** The chapter below is a 'deleted scene'. I had decided to cut it as it interrupts the flow of the story. It details things Jason somehow knows about Nicky; things she never told him. You won't miss any 'clues' or plot if you skip this chapter, but it's here if you want to read some or all of it. Feel free to read it, skim it, skip it, or come back to it later. I had fun writing it and couldn't delete it…

As Jason Bourne's mind struggled to regain consciousness he dreamed about things from the past, but he knew that he wasn't seeing his own memories, nor had he seen or met any of the people involved; except for Nicky. His mind was rendering events from her past and was filling in other people and places to set the scenes in his mind. For instance he first imagined Michael Keaton ala Bruce Wayne pacing on a marble floor.

A huge door opened and a private Doctor, whom he imaged as Alan Alda, came out. "Mr. Lindbergh, I'm sorry but they just came too soon. We lost the eldest child, your wife told me to take the second… Your wife… we can't stop the bleeding. It won't be long… she is asking for you."

His face turned scarlet and for a moment it looked like he was going to hit the Doctor, "That child will be the first-born and will never be second at anything; do you understand!"

He went in, then returned later and was walking briskly; clearly leaving. The doctor interceded, "Sir, we need to know which name…"

"What is it?" he barked as he pulled the blanket away from the baby the nurse was holding. A tiny hand reached out and grabbed his pinkie and he jerked his hand away, leaving the little hand grasping at air.

"A girl… You had decided on Isabella and Nicolette?"

"No, she picked those. Constance…" he barked as he glared at the Doctor, clearly wanting him to move.

"Sir, it is very important to hold the baby soon after birth, so she will know who will take care of her."

"You!" he pointed to one of the maids who had assembled, "You hold her. She is now your sole responsibility… I must return to work."

Everything faded to black and then he saw her at the age of three, unwrapping a huge box, it was wrapped in birthday paper. Her father helped her open it and then held her up so she could peer in, "…Books?" she asked clearly disappointed.

"They are more than books, it is an encyclopedia…" and he spelled in for her. "Inside them you can see and learn about anything! The perfect gift for a prodigy."

"Dolly, I wanted a Dolly?" she said skeptically. He flipped to the entry for doll and she rubbed the picture of the doll. "A pony?" He flipped to the entry for pony and she read some of it. Her eyes suddenly became as big as the world, as only a child's could, "Mommy!"

His face turned so scarlet that some of it looked purple, "No. Mommy's in a different box."

"But," and she looked around for another box.

"Mr. Lindberg! How dare you say something like that to a child!" her large creole nurse barked.

"Excuse me?!"

"Fifteen years I've worked for you. Fifteen long years. You don't even know my name do you? You know what, I don't care. You treat us like slaves and I am fine with that! But I swear to the Lord Jesus- if you talk to that baby like that again I will brain you to death in your sleep!"

"Do you have any clue…"

"Clue?! Clue! You want a Clue you sadistic fool: Mr. Lindbergh! in the bedroom! with the mother fucking candlestick! Or, would you rather it be in the study?!" she said as she grabbed a fire-iron. She poked him in the chest with it, "DEAD."

The burly creole woman, who outweighed him by one hundred pounds, backed him into a corner, "I know your cowardly ass is already thinking that you'll call someone and have me thrown out, but you should rethink that Mr. L. You know why? Because I'll die before I let anyone hurt that baby! That includes your dumb ass! If only I would have been here when that poor Lindbergh Baby was kidnapped and left to die in that gutter; the Lord Jesus would've come down from on high to carry that baby-killer through the pearly gates of Heaven himself just to stop his screaming. You can't buy that, not with all the money in the world. Now I'm going to give her as much cake as she wants and take her to the park to see Alice in Wonderland. If my stuff is packed by the door when I get back, I'll know your answer. Otherwise we are going to both forget this ever happened."

She threw down the fire-iron, "By the way, my name is Hanna." She picked Nicky up and took her to the kitchen.

The blackness swirled again and suddenly he was in a sea of faceless people, the men wearing straw hats and all the women were sporting broad-brimmed hats. He thought it was the 1920's until he saw all the martini glasses with a thick green liquor- mint juleps and he understood. He was at a Triple Crown race. He saw that he was in a VIP box and that Nicky was there with her father.

The race started and she looked at him with adoration, "You're sure I can ride Alge?" Jason knew somehow that it was a year later, on her fourth birthday.

"Algernon… Yes, last year you wanted a pony and so I got you one. I give nothing but the best." Her horse was in the lead coming around the back stretch and then suddenly went end-over-end and didn't get up.

"Alge fell down! Get up Alge!"

He grabbed up his daughter and tried to get out of the booth. "Daddy, the man has a gun!?" he heard the shot and expected her to scream but she squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked, "Alge's going in the box…"

The blackness swirled again and he was in a formal dinning room with an impossibly long table and a considerably older Nicky was opposite her father. She was in her awkward teen years and Bourne figured she was twelve.

"I am sorry I missed your college graduation Constance; I had business…"

"I know father," she said smiling broadly, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "How is the gumbo?"

"I have never tasted better. Hanna outdid herself…"

She beamed from ear to ear showing more teeth than she had in decade, "I made it for you. I knew it was your favorite…"

Suddenly his face turned scarlet and the smile fell off her face instantly. He turned to the butler, "Bring her to me…" and he scurried off.

She stammered, "Father, it took me all day. You always wanted me to be the best and I made you the best gumbo…"

He glowered her into silence as though she had done it out of an act of rebellion.

Hanna came from the kitchen and didn't even have time to speak, "You instructed her on the preparation of this meal?"

"Yes sir…"

"Why?"

"Sir, it's her birthday. You were very specific that she be allowed to do anything she wanted this year. She wanted to do this for you."

"I understand. You had to choose between two conflicting decrees. You are not to blame here. You may leave." She cast Nicky a worried look and left.

"So, you deliberately planned this coup? You chose today so that she would be conflicted?"

"No…" his eyes bore into hers, "Well yes, but not because…"

"Never again. Never again will you waste one second of your precious life and the abilities bestowed by your dying mother to prepare a common meal. If your hand ever touches a stove-top again you are no longer a daughter of mine. Is that clear enough?"

She stared at him blankly, "Yes, father… May I be excused?"

"No. You made it. You eat it… All of it."

There was another swirl and he was in the room with them both and they were looking at a grand piano with a huge bow on it; it was her thirteenth birthday. He saw Nicky's eyes darting around as she tried to find the right words, "A piano father?"

"Yes, you said once you want to learn an instrument…"

"A guitar…?"

"Yes, but that is a simpletons instrument for the common man. That's one step from a banjo. It will never challenge you as this will."

She spoke slowly, "But a piano isn't practical right now. I will be traveling to and from college; then the talk of world travel… I won't have time to excel without practice and a piano can't be carried."

He was standing behind her and there was a long silence, "So, your suggestion?"

"A violin is: a stringed instrument, challenging, portable, and aristocratic. It is a better choice until I am settled, then a piano would be wonderful. I could also practice outside until I am worthy of your audience." She added very softly, "Mother played it as well… but I understand if it would be painful."

She heard him suck his tooth, something he had never heard him do. "A properly played violin should move any man to tears. Your reasoning is sound. I will return it." He walked to a bookcase and removed a violin from a glass case. "It was your mothers. A wedding present from my father. Her name is Jean-Marie Leclair…"

"A Stradivarius?" she raised an eyebrow.

He nodded.

"I will treasure it always…"

"Don't treasure it; play it until it falls to pieces. Then I'll buy you another…"

He turned on his heel and left.

The blackness swirled again and he found himself in a dorm room; it was clearly high-end, but a dorm room none the less. The building had an eerie stillness about it, almost as if deserted. He saw Nicky laying in bed and she moved slightly, then groaned painfully and looked at her watch, "WHAT?!" she shrieked and looked over at her alarm clock that was not lit up; she picked it up and saw the cord was cut.

"No! No…" she jumped up and ran to the bathroom and screamed… She saw SLUT written across her forehead in marker and tried to scrub it off to no avail. She saw other nasty things written on the front of her shirt and the back proudly proclaimed 'Walk of Shame Tour 1995' on the back.

"Screw it. I have twenty minutes to get to the station… I can do this!"

She flung open her suitcase and it was empty, "Those bitches!" She knew better than to bother to look for her clothes. She saw her violin case and her heart sank, "Please no… Please…" She opened it to see the violin inside. The strings were cut, but it was fine.

She grabbed her violin, purse, a wet washcloth and bolted out the door. If she missed the train she would be trapped here for at least the weekend, the term was over. She ran across campus and through some woods. She got to the station with barely a second to spare.

She sat in her seat on the train and clenched her eyes shut, trying to not hear the people talking about her.

"It might come off now…"

She opened her eyes and gaped. The cute Navy ROTC guy she had seen around campus was sitting across from her. She had marveled at him for years, "Wh-hat?"

"The writing… It looks like you ran here? The salt and oil from your sweat should help…"

She muttered, "…worst birthday ever…" as she tried to scrub with the washcloth.

He laughed, "We've all been there."

"Yeah. I thought the people in my dorm were being nice for once… They hate me."

"Tactical error, trusting the enemy. You're a student? How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

He laughed, "That explains why you're talking to me… Everyone else thinks I'm a recruiter…"

"I know who you are. We pass each other running every morning- for two years…" she said clearly insecure at going unnoticed.

"Oh… Sorry. When I run I'm extremely… focused. I don't really notice anything at all." He added bashfully, "I imagine that I'm a wolf; please don't tell anyone…" he laughed.

She laughed, "I always thought you were ignoring me. You look hypnotized almost."

The conductor came around for the tickets and she found out that her purse was full of green jello. "They took time to make a jello mold?"

"Jello shots?"

She sniffed her purse, "Ew… yeah." She held up the dripping green ticket and the elderly conductor snapped, "I can't take that…"

The Navy guy huffed, "Morris, you were a Marine. You've never woken up in a similar state? She's going to have to see her parents like this… Give her a break." He huffed at took the ticket.

"Thank you…"

"Sure. Here, take my gym bag. There are some clean sweats and socks in there. Go change…"

She blinked back tears, "Thanks…" A short time later she was scrubbing her face in bathroom, "Great. Just great. Cutest- guy- ever- and you look like a fool." She sniffed the gray shirt that said NAVY across the front and sighed, "God, even his sweat smells good…"

The darkness swirled again and he saw Nicky sitting a the dinning room table again, clearly she was older and at fifteen she was closer to being a woman. She was her full height of five eight and looked less scrawny than last year, not that she ever really had much of a figure.

She sat quietly reading a newspaper. She was elegantly dressed and wearing makeup and jewelry for the first time in the visions. Somehow he knew that she had planned on going shopping today at stores on 5th avenue. He swallowed hard out of reflex; something was wrong. He could feel it even though he wasn't there and suddenly he realized from his own thoughts that she had planned to go shopping. She never made it.

She looked at her watch; it was an old men's watch which seemed important to him, but he knew he wouldn't find out about that here- not today. Suddenly she laughed loudly, then yelled toward the kitchen, "Hanna, you're two minutes late. I told you the next time my Eggs Benedict wasn't on time that I was going to brain you with a fire-place poker."

She cocked her head and sniffed, then curled her nose. "Hanna?!"

Bourne whispered as if he was her guardian angel, "Get out- run. This isn't right."

She had looked up, waiting for a response. Her eyes glanced toward the hall that led to the front door. She got up and walked away from the kitchen and towards the fireplace, she grabbed the fire-iron and crept to the kitchen door. She pushed on it very gently and slowly crept inside. "Hanna?" she whispered. She looked around the corner and saw the eggs burning on the stove and her nanny laying on the ground.

Bourne knew very well he couldn't change the past but he felt as though he were engrossed in a horror movie and Nicky was the babysitter. He knew from the way the body was laying, with the limbs spread out wide, that she was murdered. People that died of natural causes are usually in tight balls, or clutching their chests as opposed to fighting off an attacker.

Nicky sprinted and slid to the woman whom had raised her, dropping the fire poker on the way. "Hanna!" Nicky saw her mouth and and eyes opened wide and dark marks on her neck. She leaned closer and saw the rope marks around her neck.

Bourne was rubbing his eyes with his hands, as if he had a migraine as he breathed, "behind you…"

The rope was around her neck in a flash and pulling her backward. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't want to she her suffer. He heard the fire-iron grating on the floor as she clawed at it, trying to bring it within reach. "It's useless close up. The floor is waxed, spin around and push off him with your feet…" He heard the room grow quiet and he heard her watch ping off the tiles as her hand hit the tile- lifeless.

When Bourne opened his eyes he was elsewhere. He saw Nicky's small hand laying in a pool of sunlight, tied at the wrist. Time seemed to fast forward and the sun set, the moon rose, then set, and the sun came up and traveled across the sky for most of another day. Time slowed and he saw her hand straining again at the ropes and finally it broke free and as she reached for the nightstand he understood that this time he was seeing through her eyes. He figured that meant she told him this part, or maybe he was seeing this part through her eyes because he was more emotionally involved?

She grabbed a revolver her father always kept on his bedside table- ever since she was little. She struggled to open the cylinder with one hand, checked the load and flipped it closed. She pointed the gun at the door and waited.

"That's too far away unless you're a good shot…" she put her hand and the gun under the pillow and waited. "Don't wait too long either… When his feet touch the rug do it."

He watched as her attacker entered with a tray of food and as he stepped on the rug she jerked up and fired twice, both hit his lower chest. The tray dropped and crashed to the ground as she took aim and fired once, waited, then again into his heart. The man fell to the ground and she took aim again and fired the last two bullets to his head.

Time sped forward a few hours and she was in the kitchen as the coroner removed the woman whom had acted as her mother. "So, Ms. Lindberg why did you wait so long to call?" a fat useless looking detective asked.

"I was in shock," she said simply as she drank another cup of tea. "Scone?" she asked politely.

"No, thank you," he said, in mild shock himself. "…and you maintain that there was no sexual assault."

"That is the seventh time you've asked. No. He broke in here to hold me until my father came home from the Hampton's so he could make him open the safe."

"So, you don't know the combination?"

"I certainly do know it…"

"Why didn't you just give it to him?"

"So, you could investigate two homicides? I would have been useless once he had it."

"…and when will your father be home?"

"Tonight. He is flying in tonight."

Everything was telling the detective she was lying through her teeth, but her eyes weren't red or puffy and he had never seen a victim so collected. He was wondering if she was a sociopath until he opened the door to leave and there was a delivery with three dozen flowers to sign for. After she tipped the delivery boy and he awkwardly said, "Happy birthday ma'am," as Hanna's body was wheeled by. Her stony façade quickly started to crumble and she shut the door.

Darkness swirled again and he saw what he thought was Nicky's bedroom- this time as the furniture was expensive but feminine, and he heard her giggle behind him. He realized from a moan that followed why he couldn't see the bed. Details had never been given, so his mind couldn't fill in the blanks. He heard another moan as it escaped her lips. The door opened and there was a flurry of movement on the bed, but it was too late. "Constance, I came back a day early so," finally realizing what he was seeing his face went scarlet. "You…" he wagged his finger, "You have ten minutes to get out of this house…" Bourne heard movement. "No, not you! HER!" he barked pointing a finger.

"Father!"

"Ten minutes. I'm not cutting you off, but I won't tolerate that kind of… behavior… in this house! I will have the driver waiting," he barked as he slammed the door.

Blackness swirled and the angry clicking of high heels heralded Nicky's arrival. Jason knew she was fuming by the sound even before she materialized. He saw her walking briskly down an upstairs hallway and opened a huge ornately carved door, into a bedroom.

"Two years," she fumed. "Two years of you refusing to let me in the house, much less talk to you. Two years! Then you send for me like I'm one of your servants! I am defending my thesis at the end of the- JESUS!"

She had walked behind an ornate room divider to see her father's bed. He was so gaunt that he was unrecognizable. Her mouth opened and closed several times rapidly and in other circumstances would've looked quite comical. He pointed with a skeletal hand to a bedside chair.

"I am sorry. I tried to postpone, but it seems that everything is booked up," he rasped through his oxygen mask. She only nodded in answer.

"Your mother…" he turned to look at a photo of her on his bedside table. "You look so much like her now, as she was when we met." She blinked rapidly, never having heard him speak about her mother and she held back her questions.

"She died here in this bed- as will I; I won't permit them to move me. I know what my enemies think of me, my employees, servants, rivals… and my daughter." She looked down in shame. "Look at me. Your eyes… are hers. I know what you all think of me. I am: vicious, insufferable, a tyrant."

"I want you to promise me something…" she nodded slowly. "One day visit the Taj Mahal. It was built by Emperor Shah Jahan, who may be the only person in the history of the world who would understand me. He had it built as a tomb for his wife whom died in child birth. He spent what would equate to billions of dollars on it. He built it because he loved her so." Nicky blinked rapidly several times. "Only he understands the shear wealth and power at my disposal and to be helpless to save my true love. As she lay here bleeding I would have given anything, paid any amount, done anything. I would have traded my life for hers, or sold my soul. I could do nothing," he clenched his skeletal hand in anger.

Nicky opened her mouth, but he held up his hand, "Sorry… No time… Her last words to me…" he had a moment of difficultly breathing. "She said 'I have given you the greatest gift a woman can give to a man…' Her words were a lie, as were my last words to her. I lied to her and she was gone." Nicky looked scandalized but he nodded, "She lied. You were not a gift given to me, but to the world. You are too young to understand just how special you are, how so very rare. All I did was to polish you to a high shine, wrap you in the finest paper, and tie it with the prettiest bow. When a Lindbergh gives a gift, we give the very best." He gave her a curt nod.

He took a moment to regroup before asking, "I understand you expressed a desire to join the CIA?"

She furrowed her brow at his intelligence gathering, "They said at eighteen I'm too young…"

"They reconsidered…" he pointed to a letter on the bedside table. He waved a hand at the look of objection on her face, "I didn't bribe them or pull strings- despite being a master puppeteer. I sent a letter asking for an explanation as to your deficiency other than age, as that is age discrimination."

She read the letter quickly, "I'm not positive I want to, but thank you…"

He nodded, "It is your choice now."

"My last words to your mother…" she looked up from the letter eagerly, "I swore to her that I would never love another woman; I lied…" he smiled at her and swallowed with difficulty.

"I know. I've always known."

"There," he pointed to a syringe on the table. "Would you be okay with assisting me?"

She nodded slowly. She injected the needle into his IV bag and turned the heart machine off. She leaned close and whispered to him as she looked into his eyes.

When the blackness ebbed this time, the view was very different in that he could see the entire room and everything was crisp and defined. He had really been here. He was in the CIA building in New York where he had confronted Hirsch. Not only was it the building but he was sure it was the same floor.

She was sitting patiently waiting, her long coat and scarf over the back of the chair. She was sitting facing the door and away from the one way mirror on the far wall. She still had her winter gloves on, further illustrating to Bourne that this wasn't a birthday memory; her birthday wasn't in the winter.

She sat patiently waiting and Bourne knew that she had been there a very long time; they were waiting her out, hoping that she would leave. Most likely Conklin or Daniels took one look at her and scratched her off the list. Not only did she not leave, but she didn't move at all. She didn't once look at her watch or the clock. Finally at fifteen until five Conklin finally came in, having to either deal with her, or wait there all night until she left.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

Nicky gave a curt nod of haughty derision worthy of royalty. He stared at her with his best icy glare, which was a warm as a summer day compared to her fathers. She rose and shook his hand. She raised an eyebrow and motioned to a chair, "Please have a seat…"

"Ah…" he was flipping through the folder busily.

"…almost twenty."

"Excuse me?"

"I turn twenty in March. That is what you are search for, is it not?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"I'm assuming since you don't already know that; you weren't my original interviewer. Someone else put me off all day and either dumped my file on you, or they snuck out- leaving me here for you to deal with."

He raised an eyebrow, "…keep going."

"You're married, you have more than the allotted 2.3 children, the majority of them are girls- including the oldest. You went to a community college, or smaller school then transferred. You originally weren't going to join the military, but did anyway. Most likely due to your first child. You joined military intelligence and liked the work but hated the military in general. You got out as soon as possible and joined the CIA. You usually drink around four cups of coffee a day- one every two hours. You use to have one after dinner too and although it improves your sex drive, it keeps you up nights. You use to smoke but quit in the last year. You cheated on your wife with one women," he started to open his mouth in anger but she kept talking, "…you will deny it to your dying day. It was over twenty years ago and you have always regretted it; even during the act itself. Both of your parents died young leaving you to raise younger… brothers. You have been passed over for promotion the last two times- at the very least and claim you like your job, but everyone knows you hate it. Your car is around ten years old, but you knew you were going to have it a long time when you bought it, so you bought to last and didn't skimp on extras; it's most likely an import… it's not a Volvo but you're looking at buying one of those now. Currently it's maybe a Honda Accord or Toyota Camry. Should I continue?"

He nodded, "Want to explain how you know some of that…"

"Sure. When you came in you almost laughed at me since I am almost the same age as your eldest daughter; then you were stunned at the realization that your little girl was all grown up. I bet you can't fathom that she's already had sex. You're in a position to have nicer things than what you're wearing, but it will cost one million dollars to raise four children over a twenty year period which is where all your money goes. People in the CIA usually have military intelligence backgrounds and the way you turn reeks of military training. The cheating on the wife is a lucky guess, long deployments to war zones are stressful, you are generally a forth right man of Catholic upbringing which is the source of the guilt- and all the kids. A family man in the intelligence business knows that he'll be away a lot and a sound running car will save a lot of money in the long run and the more bells and whistles it has the less inclined your wife will be to ask for a new one. Your eldest daughter is starting to drive more and you don't want her to break down somewhere, so you are in the market for a new safe car. Your teeth are stained from the coffee and you have an old coffee stain on your shirt, meaning either it's laundry day or most of them are stained. You don't seem like you're clumsy so that means you're rolling the dice a lot on the spill chart, you're not half asleep now so I assume you've had one in the last hour- meaning you spread them out. Your fingers are still nicotine stained but you don't stink of cigarettes. The only reason you are in this room is because you drew the short straw; you're batting clean up- casting out the rejects. The brown-nosers left first, then the new people and losers. You're the lowest ranked senior member so you are working graveyard. You were laughed at by your peers, and there is probably a betting pool as to if you're going to make me cry. I estimate from your body language that I'm about 90% correct and that you are already thinking about being the one laughing tomorrow. You're not thinking it yet, but on the way home you will be thinking you just hit the mother load and that I might be able to revitalize your career."

"Is that it?"

She raised both eyebrows, "You're also praying to God that I don't talk this much normally."

He laughed heartily at that and slapped the table, clearly enamored with her.

"I assure you that I am very quiet normally, unless you keep me waiting for eight hours."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, "I can assure you that won't happen again…" he chuckled. "That's the kind of talent I'm looking for. The assets you'll be evaluating are smart enough to answer our questions the 'correct' way. I need someone who can read people. Your visual observations will mean more to me than anything they say." He started flipping through her file, "Constance was your given name?"

"I'm sorry sir, you must have the wrong file…"

He smiled at his little test, her last job had provided her with a cover ID and she was sticking to it. "The reports from your current boss are five star, everything in here is five star. He's a buddy of mine, I called him to ask about you; he offered me a bottle of Johny Walker Blue Label to not hire you. There is something in here that will exclude you though… Your page for sexual partners and close friends is blank."

"I don't have any of either."

"None?"

She glared at him, "None living. Is that an issue?"

"Well list the dead ones with the DOD. You'll need to lie or make some living ones too. It won't pass the level of security check that you're going to go through."

"Find some? Lie? Seriously? Lie on a background check for Top Secret clearance?"

"Yes. Or, think harder about who you might be able to list."

"Will do."

"Don't be mistaken though, I actually prefer that page to be blank. My people are to remain unattached. No 'going steady', pregnancies, friends or family visiting from out of town…"

"That won't be a problem. As I said, I don't have any."

"It says here that the shooting you were involved in…" she squirmed slightly, for the first time all day she was rattled. "It says you were making tea and scones when the police got there?!"

"Sc-ons not sc-owns. No. I don't bake, but they were served. Why?"

"Any remorse for the person you shot?"

She looked at him for a long time, "No."

"I was sure you were going to lie."

She simply stared at him for a long moment, "Well, its been a long day. Was there anything else sir?"

"You would be stationed in Europe, someplace central. Any preferences?"

"Paris. I want Paris," she said without hesitation.

He nodded, "I was actually going to suggest Paris, my best man is located there."

Her eyes narrowed, "So, he can watch me?"

"Yes, but not the way you mean. Some of the assets are… quirky. It will be best to have him nearby during the first few meetings with them all, after that you'll know which ones make you uncomfortable, in case you want him close by. You have no moral qualms about having to kill someone?"

"No."

"If an asset is acting in a sexually aggressive manner…"

She nodded, "I should act like I am enjoying it and go with it. Chances are it will kill their mood."

He smiled gently and nodded, "They are predators, if you act like prey they will treat you like it. If you act normal they might get board and leave. We haven't had issues like that, but I feel like that should be disclosed."

"Understood."

"You can expect a call from HR. When they negotiate your salary bump- name your own price; I have a broad operational budget at the moment. Just remember, you will be expected to eat whatever you put on your plate. If you ask for the moon, I'm going to expect you to be an astronaut."

She nodded curtly.

Bourne heard coughing and screaming as consciousness flooded back to him.