Chapter 18

in Flagrante Delicto

Bourne felt the flashback coming and let it happen. He tried to think of where he was the most serene. He tried to believe he was walking through the cornfield in Nixa with the warm sun on his face, without thinking of it in too much detail.

New York, New York

1999- 2 weeks before Nicky leaves for Project Treadstone

Bourne walked down a hallway of an office building and knew it was closed and very late at night. Only twenty percent of the hallway lights were on and there was an eerie stillness to the air; he wasn't alone. He slowly adjusted the Glock under his shirt, more out of nerves than danger. Something wasn't right.

He arrived at suite 223: the Office of Dr. Hayden Russell PSY.D. He started to reach for his lock-picks, but then slowly tried the door handle and found it unlocked. Now he knew something was wrong; psychiatrists were a paranoid lot.

He drew his weapon as he opened the door. The lights were out; the city outside offered some illumination, but there were vast pools of darkness. He knew someone was hiding in the shadows. He was careful to keep his gun close to his body so that it had no silhouette. He shut the door quickly, knelt, and shifted two feet to the left along the wall.

There was a moment of silence then a voice with a Texas drawl spoke, "Treadstone…" It sounded more like a statement.

"Yes," answered simply.

"Which one? Geneva," the voice said, another statement.

"Paris."

The other man flipped the desk lamp on and Bourne saw the man he now knew as Padre, each pointing pistols at each other.

Bourne saw that he had a stack of files on the desk and had been in the process of sorting them. "I drugged the guard's coffee- Benadryl."

The Padre laughed, "That will put him out like a light."

"I guess we're both interested in our new boss…" They both lowered their pistols in unison. "Would like you like to dig in here, or take the file elsewhere?"

"Better not chance it."

Jason knew the memory would normally break here, but imagined being in the cornfield with his eyes closed: cool autumn breeze, warm sun on his face, and a waft of dinner cooking.

The memory skipped forward to a hotel room he recognized as a Hilton by the furniture. He saw papers meticulously arranged everywhere, including taped to the walls.

He was making a pot of coffee, "So, which of us is drawing the short straw?" Jason realized they had been here for hours.

"Lover or father? Well… she is closer to your age group…"

"No, no! Our profile says she likes older men. We know she slept with her professor and her shrink- we think. She likes highbrow. That your purview!"

"Purview? See Bourne, you're sounding like a Doctor already."

"No way Jose. Rochambeau?"

"You're on…"

They played a blistering game of rock-paper-scissors that quickly went nowhere. Padre sighed, "You're more maddening than Bobby Fischer. This is pointless; we are both too good. Really Bourne, What is your problem? OHHHHH," he mocked. "You play for the 'other team'. So be it. I would think using her would be a good cover for your sexual deviancy, but never the less…"

"What! NO! Questioning my manhood and the 'it's wabbit season' crap isn't going to work Kane. She's not my type. She is a cold fish, spoiled- and we think a closet lesbian. She must be the most high maintenance woman on the planet."

"All the more reason for you to take her- Paris is your domain after all. Just keep giving her things and taking them away. Be cold and callus like her father. I bet she's in your bed before the first week is out. Besides, it said that she had it for that Navy SEAL guy from Harvard. You were a SEAL; I was in the Air Force."

Bourne laughed, "Yeah. I know that guy- he's gay. Fine, I'll do it. The next one is yours though, and I hope it is a dude."

"With all luck, we'll be retired by then. So, since you're going to fall on the sword- you should get first choice, will you be the sycophant or the authoritarian?"

"Authoritarian," he barked shortly.

"In character already, splendid!"

"That phony accent is horrible. You sound like Hannibal Lecter, but knowing her- she'll love it," they both chuckled.

"I still don't know if we should even bother trying to recruit her… she's young and… tainted."

"I've beaten that drum all night and now you take my side? This was your idea Padre."

"Sorry Jason, just thinking aloud. We know everything we need to know about her. We'll have her eating out of our hands in no time. Now let's go over the plan again-"

"JASON!" He felt something jab him in the eye at the same time as he heard the scream. He saw the word MACK first, then his mind pulled back and he saw the grill of the oncoming cement truck and he jerked the wheel right. He had been in many close calls but he would never understand how he avoided hitting the truck at all. The tires fishtailed in the pouring rain before he corrected it.

"PULL OVER!"

"Nicky I'm fine-"

"PULL OVER!" she screamed hysterically as she fumbled with the door handle with her bandaged hands.

"Okay, okay… wait. Here. Just don't jump out." He pulled off to the shoulder.

"I gotta get out… gotta get out…"

"Here…" He undid her seatbelt, reached over, and opened her door.

She half fell out of the car and by the time he joined her she had paced twice and was soaked from the torrential November rain.

"WHAT THE-" she bit her lip hard and clenched her eyes shut. "Does that happen a lot when you're driving?"

"No. Never."

"Swell. What did you see?" She saw him hesitate and her eyes narrowed, "Don't lie."

"Things I see don't always make sense Nicky."

"To you. They will to me. I know the missions and I understand dream interpretation." He hesitated again. "Jesus Bourne! I gave up my LIFE!"

He paused a third time, "I'm afraid of what I saw."

She was visibly startled, "Okay, well… Let's get out of the rain and radio the others that we'll catch up. Let's get in the back, I need to put a bra on; I wasn't expecting rain."

He explained what he saw as he adjusted her wardrobe. He saw her breathing rapidly as he spoke, "Nicky please don't read too much into it. You can't take them at face value. We can't see the big picture."

She nodded dismissively. "Sure. So, you met Padre- before me. So, you both were working together and wanted to recruit slash brainwash slash convince me to do- something?"

"Seems that way. Or, maybe I was undercover- or he was? Conklin could've sent one of us."

She nodded slowly, "Well, you never asked me outright, but I doubt you would. You always found me unpredictable- unstable." She lowered her head and her breathing hitched.

"Nicky, if I thought it was all fake I wouldn't tell you."

She exhaled and tilted her head up, "You still can't read me."

He looked down at the backseat they were sitting in, "Oh."

"Yeah."

"You've never…"

"In a car? No. Well not really." She leaned forward and her cold hair brushed his cheek as she kissed him. "We haven't really been alone since…"

His mind was reeling. He'd expected her to be livid, not turned on. She quickly straddled him and ground against him. They began to neck furiously.

A moment later, she stopped suddenly, "This is wrong: in high school you'd be on top. I want the entire backseat experience." She shifted off him and pressed herself against the door. "Okay, now attack me ravenously," she giggled.

"Nicky, we don't really…"

"Just roleplay- for a minute…" He started kissing her as dictated. "Now try to unhook my bra- no with the right hand…"

"I can't- guys have to use their left, because our hands are upside-."

"I know. Struggle ineptly with it."

He played along for a few minutes of heavy petting before she whispered seductively, "Imagine running with a football tight under your arm. You score a touchdown. The crowd roars. Now you're in the back of the 'Cuda struggling with Veronica's bra-" she felt him go rigged stopped talking.

A moment later he was back, "You did that on purpose? Intentionally? What did you call it before? 'Imagined experience'?"

"Yeah. It's a theory of mine. Like, you've been to a rifle range before- in the Navy. If you go again, you can try to put your mind back there and try to trigger one. Sorry I didn't warn you, but I always figured it might work better right after you had a flashback on your own; while the gears are still turning…"

"Well it looks like you have two papers to get published."

She laughed, "Yeah right."

Suddenly they both realized that they were in flagrante delicto and the moment grew awkward.

"We really can if you want…" she extended.

"We don't have time," he shook his head parentally.

"Your right. You couldn't possibly make me orgasm in two minutes…" she baited.

Two hours later Ashley was still strapped to the table and her voice was so sore from screaming that she couldn't swallow. Her tormentor had chiefly concerned himself with the bottom of her feet and was holding a blowtorch about a foot away from them. It was burning her, but not seriously. She refused to scream anymore and was so tired she could hardly move.

He suddenly stopped and turned the torch off. She heard him rummaging around and then felt him spreading something ice-cold and goopy on her feet. "Oh, thank you, thank you… Aloe. God that feels good."

He sat the tin jar next to her head, "What's that smell, icy hot?" He clicked a charcoal lighter, and ignited the contents, which burned with a blue flame. He turned it, so she could see the label: Sterno.

The scream that she unleashed was indescribable. She violently rocked back and forth trying to knock the table over as he headed for her feet. She started banging her head against the padded headrest, only now realizing why it was so heavily cushioned as she was unable to knock herself out.

She heard the metal door screech open and Marcus yelled something at the man, who continued to move toward her feet. In a flash, a gun was drawn and pointed at her tormentor. "I'm not going to explain this to you again. Please do it. Padre hates you more than I do; give me a reason." The man dropped the lighter and left with a huff.

"Come on," he barked as though she were dilly-dallying. He cranked the table into a sitting position and unstrapped her. "Get up, move!" When she didn't move, he pushed her hard and she spontaneously lost bladder control.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…," she stammered, recoiling from him and bent to try to wipe the urine up with her hands.

"It's fine. Leave it. Come on," he grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her to her feet.

"I… I can't! Please don't leave me here! Please!" she pleaded as she tried to walk. He scooped her up and he expected her to try to get away, but she latched onto him like a human lamprey.

He took her to a janitorial closet where he had converted the mop sink to a shower, with a shower head connected to a garden hose. "Clean yourself up. I'll get your clothes." He shut the door with a screech and she looked around in a panic. She saw the garden hose and an orange electrical cord that was hanging from the ceiling that had a work-light plugged into it.

"Father forgive me…," she whispered as she tied a loop in the electrical cord.

When the diminutive man that had been Ashley's tormentor turned down the hallway, on his way to the surface, he saw the water pouring out from under the door and he knew instantly what she'd done.

"Wallace! Get down here! You left her alone?" he shouted in a southern Californian accent as he reached for the door. Suddenly his whole body went ridged clenching the knob.

Marcus rounded the corner a moment later to the smell of burning flesh and knew the man was dead where he stood. He ran and jump kicked him way from the door and checked for a pulse and his skin was hot to the touch. "You got off easy…"

"Kid are you okay?! The Keebler is dead. Open the door!" A moment went by, "Ashley? Seriously, I hated the guy. Are you okay?" Silence. "Shit…"

He made sure to stay clear of the water and kicked the metal door with his boot until it opened. He saw her hanging with the electrical cord around her neck. Seeing her face was turning purple, he ran and jumped into the dry mop sink she had stood in when she set her trap. He reached down, yanked the cord out of the wall, and turned the water off. He then grabbed her and hoisted her up and off the hook, she was hanging from.

He carried her to the hallway, which still reeked of fried Keebler, dropped her to the ground, and blew into her mouth several times before she started coughing up a storm. "Hey, Ashley! Look at me!" her eyes were still rolled over white. "Hey!" he shook her shoulders until her eyes righted themselves.

"Oh, God," she rasped. "It's you… my hero."

"Funny," he snapped as he picked her up and carried her to her cot.

On the way she looked at the body and said weakly, "I-I didn't mean to kill him."

"I know," he snapped.

"Or you… I thought it would flip the breaker or something."

"Well this place isn't exactly high tech; it lacks modern safety features. It has lead paint and asbestos too." He sat her on the cot, "Now sit there and if you move I swear I'll knee cap you."

As soon as he was gone, she hit the computer's spacebar and opened a new window, "Internet Explorer? Seriously?" She started typing a web address, turned on the cam and started talking.

He was gone for a long time and she reopened his laptop and started watching Magnum. When he finally came back, he put down a pile of things on the table.

He looked at the computer, "I told you not to move- you moved the bunk." He said realizing she was playing semantics.

"Get up and walk." He led her back down the hall to the closet again. "Shower," he barked and shoved her toward it. She started to close the door, "No, leave it open. You lost all your privacy privileges.

He stood there, almost completely turned away until she was finished, then took her to the bathroom to brush her teeth and use the facilities. He handed her a bag of toiletries and waited around the corner. The bathroom had ancient porcelain fixtures and was public as it had two stall and two urinals.

"So, what is this place?"

"Yeah right, I'm just going to tell you… You should learn to be coyer."

"What's the point, you'd see right through it. I thought you'd respect directness more. You're the one that said I'm not going anywhere."

"Fair enough. It's an old military facility. I acquired it for the bargain price of free. It's so remote you can't drive here."

"Okay… so I get the toothpaste and everything- what's the dish sponge for?"

"The nearest tampon is at least a hundred miles away. Rinse, boil, reuse…"

"Eww, seriously?"

"I boiled it."

"Okay- not what I was ewwing about."

"What do you think women used for thousands of years before Playtex?"

"Seriously? Okay how do you know that?"

"It's called a book."

"Fine, whatever. I can't use it like that, but thanks."

"Why can't- seriously? How old are you?! I thought kids were doing it at twelve these days?"

"Nope. Average age is going up, it's seventeen now."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, it's called a book. Stop watching those Central Florida trailer park skanks on Maury Povich…"

"Point taken. You avoided the question."

"I turn seventeen on Christmas eve- in a month. So, when you kill me you'll ruin another holiday for my dad. Mom died on St. Patty's Day."

"He's Irish, or just on that day?"

"Now who's changing the subject? My mom was from there. He's only half."

"Since we are on the topic of your ultimate demise, you made a serious mistake by killing the Keebler. The boss is sending someone else to finish your interview. Someone worse- he's coming here too, along with a strike team. He can't wait to meet you."

He smiled like the Chesher cat, "So, what exactly did you tell your friends?"

Nicky was waiting for Jason to finish showering at a unisex truck-stop when Jason's phone rang. She fumbled with it for a moment before answering it. She answered her phone N.P. but her accent twisted it to, "Impy… Code in. Breasts…"

Marta answered in a hushed tone, "Overrated… It's M.S. I have good news and bad news. Good news is: I found your Blasian friend…"

"The bad?"

"I'm a leaf on the wind…" Nicky's entire body went limp; it meant that her asset- Paz, was dead.