The Bourne Evolution

by Brian Freeman

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sorry about the cold, but I need to hear what’s happening outside.”

  “I’m okay. You want to share?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Jason said.

  “Right. Tough guy. I forgot.”

  He smiled again. “Get some sleep.”

  “First tell me about Medusa. I want to know what we’re going after.”

  “We don’t know very much about them,” Jason replied. “That’s part of the problem.”

  “Michel said that the intelligence agencies aren’t even sure who started it.”

  “That’s true. We’ve never been able to get close to their leadership structure. They’re well funded, which suggests that a foreign government could be involved. But if it’s Russia or China, is it their own operation or just a partnership of convenience for both sides? Nobody knows.”

  “What do they want?” Abbey asked.

  “So far, the only common denominator is chaos. Anarchy. For several years, Medusa has been trying to stoke social divisions in North America and Europe, and they’ve been very successful. They don’t lean left or right. They fire up people on both sides, no matter what the issue is. Election fraud. Abortion. Climate change. Racism. Immigration. Their whole point is to create an atmosphere of instability and unrest, which can lead to violence. You saw that in New York, but it’s been happening for a while, and it’s getting worse. The riots and protests you see on the news aren’t just organic. They’re not accidents. Medusa is pulling the strings. Most of the time, the people involved don’t even realize they’re being manipulated.”

  “But why?”

  “That’s hard to say. They haven’t tipped their hand. Maybe anarchy is the end in itself, or maybe they’re trying to undermine the Western democracies in order to pave the way for some kind of takeover. It’s not clear what that would look like, but the point is, we can’t trust anybody in authority. Medusa almost certainly has spies within the U.S. government. That’s why we weren’t sure about Congresswoman Ortiz. We thought she could be part of Medusa.”

  “You thought I was part of it, too,” Abbey said softly. “Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, that seemed like a possibility.”

  “Jason, how did you get involved? Where do you come from?”

  Bourne sat in silence as he wondered what to say. He closed his eyes, because darkness had always been his friend. Darkness protected him. He hated questions about his life, because none of those questions had simple answers. Once upon a time, long ago, he’d been a man named David Webb, but that man didn’t exist anymore. David Webb was dead. Forgotten. Now there was only Jason Bourne. And Cain.

  “I used to work for a government agency,” he told Abbey. “You wouldn’t know its name, and it’s better you not know it at all. Just knowing the name can put a target on your back. They’re the ones who recruited me, trained me, made me who I am. The man you met, Nash Rollins, he’s part of it.”

  “Your own agency is trying to kill you?”

  “They think I’m a traitor. They think after I quit them, I joined Medusa.”

  “Why did you quit?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Based on the look on your face, it looks like it matters a lot. What happened?”

  He shrugged. “I lost someone.”

  “Someone special?”

  Jason wanted to stay silent. All he could feel was the pain. Nova.

  “I worked with one of the agency’s operatives in the UK,” he told her, unable to stop himself. “My code name on missions was Cain. Hers was Nova. We did a lot of operations together. Europe. Asia. In Canada, too. She was the best agent I’d ever met. But we made a mistake.”

  “You fell in love,” Abbey murmured. “Didn’t you? I can tell.”

  He turned his head and saw that she was staring into his eyes. “Yes. That’s not smart in my business. Personal feelings interfere with the job, so you suppress them. Nova and I found we couldn’t do that. We kept our affair secret, but we were in love. I’ve only been in love one other time like that in my life. And both times, the woman died.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “Nova was part of an operation in London that went bad. Innocent people were killed. She wasn’t to blame, but it was an embarrassment for the agency, and they forced her out. She became a pariah in the intelligence community. Nobody would hire her. She hated it, but on some level, it was also a new beginning for us. With her out, we didn’t have to keep our relationship hidden anymore. We arranged to meet in Las Vegas to spend time together. I got there on November 3, 2018.”

  “November 3.” The date took a moment to register with her. “Oh, my God. The Lucky Nickel shooting. Was she there? Did Charles Hackman kill her?”

  “The agency killed her,” Bourne said flatly. “I don’t know how it was done, but she was the sixty-seventh victim. Invisible. Unacknowledged. A man from my own agency carried away her body. I saw him. I knew him. I ran to the casino to see if I could get to the shooter, because I knew they’d cover up what really happened. But I was too late. The area was already locked down, and Nash Rollins was there. He had Nova killed.”

  “But why?”

  “They couldn’t let Nova stay on the outside. They couldn’t run the risk that some other rogue government would take her on.”

  “So after Las Vegas, you quit?”

  Bourne nodded. “I walked away from my past. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to do that.”

  Her face screwed up in confusion. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  She frowned at his lack of an answer. “What about Medusa? How did you wind up chasing them?”

  “An old friend approached me recently. He’s part of a group of powerful technology companies that Medusa is targeting. Stealing their data. Looking to gain control of their operations and their software. They decided the government was too impotent or too compromised to stop Medusa, so they hired me. The operation in New York—Sofia Ortiz—that was supposed to be my way in. Instead, Medusa set me up. It was perfect. A damaged rogue agent, upset over the murder of his lover, taking revenge on the government. A killer. Cain. Now everyone is gunning for me, and they won’t stop until I’m dead.”

  Abbey didn’t look at him, but her hand snaked out from under the blanket and took hold of his hand. Her skin was warm and soft. It felt odd to enjoy a human touch again. To be close to a woman.

  “Thank you for telling me all of this,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me for anything. Staying with me is likely to get you killed. You should get as far away from me as you can. It’s not too late, but once you call Carson Gattor tomorrow, there’s no going back.”

  “I know.” She paused and then went on. “I’m sorry about Nova.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about Michel. We’ve both lost people.”

  “At least you were in love. I’ve never been in love. Michel and I, I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t love. He loved me, but I didn’t want to let him get that close. I’m not sure I could ever let down my guard long enough to let anyone in.”

  “I would have said the same thing about myself,” Jason replied, “but I was wrong.”

  “Why won’t you tell me who you really are? About your past. Is the Bourne identity some kind of secret?”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t remember,” Jason said.

  “I don’t understand that.”

  Bourne didn’t answer her. There were places he didn’t go. There were places he couldn’t go. Instead, he said, “I’ve been doing all the talking. Tell me about you.”

  He heard a slight coolness take over her voice. “Isn’t that a little disingenuous?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, are yo
u saying that you don’t already know everything about me? That you don’t have a file on me? Because I find that hard to believe. You’re a spy. You would have researched my whole life before you got in touch with me.”

  He thought to himself again that Abbey was smart. Formidable.

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “I know a lot of facts about you. But facts are bloodless things. Human beings are more than facts.”

  “What do you know about me?”

  “I know you were born in New York. French-Canadian father, American mother. After your mother died, you and your father moved to Ottawa. You went to McGill for journalism school, and then you settled in Quebec City to take a job with a start-up online magazine called The Fort.”

  Abbey shrugged. “See? You know everything there is.”

  “Actually, I don’t know much at all,” Jason replied. “I don’t know why you seem to be largely estranged from your father. I don’t know why you’re still working at a small operation like The Fort when you’ve had offers from The Atlantic and Vanity Fair. I also don’t know why a smart, funny, very attractive thirty-two-year-old woman hates the idea of a serious relationship.”

  “Did you think that last one would soften me up for the others?”

  “No.”

  “So what are you saying? I’m pretty but I’m screwed up?”

  “I just want to know who you really are.”

  “I’m a writer going after a story,” Abbey said. “That’s all. That’s my life.”

  “I’m not sure that explains why you’re helping me.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I can’t really explain it to myself. Did you think about that? Maybe sometimes I leap at things and can’t explain why I do it.”

  He smiled at her. “Now that I can believe.”

  “I’ll get you to Carson Gattor. Beyond that, nothing else matters, does it?”

  “You’re right. Nothing else matters.”

  “Okay, then. I’m going to sleep. You said I need to sleep.”

  She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. She looked tense and restless now, and he could hear her breathing harshly. Her body had grown warm under the blanket, and she kicked it off. Jason stayed awake, waiting until her breathing slowed, going in and out as she slept, but it took a long time.

  Then he closed his eyes, too. He noticed that she hadn’t let go of his hand.

  SIXTEEN

  ABBEY tried to calm her nerves as she sat on a stone bench in Washington Square Park the next day. The fountain reflected the park’s giant arch in the water like a blurry photograph. Hundreds of people came and went around her, and to her eyes, everyone looked like a threat. High-rises loomed over the trees, making her think of sniper rifles aimed from the windows. Being in the park again, where she’d witnessed an assassination, where she’d nearly been killed herself, made her want to get up and run away. She had to grab hold of the bench to stay where she was.

  More than a week later, she could still see the aftereffects of the riot. Scorched ground from the fires. Protest signs stacked next to the overflowing garbage cans. Boarded-up windows in the buildings surrounding the park. The echoes of violence brought it all back for her. She flinched, remembering the shot that had killed Sofia Ortiz, seeing the blood spray. She heard screams again and the noise of panic around her.

  “You look nervous,” a voice said in the receiver hidden in her ear. Jason. She could see him in the trees on the other side of the fountain. He wore a baseball cap, and his eyes were hidden by sunglasses.

  “I am,” she murmured, barely moving her lips.

  “You’ll do fine. Your call to Gattor was perfect. He’ll be here.”

  Abbey checked her watch and saw that it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. Carson Gattor was due for their meeting.

  If he was planning to show up at all.

  If he hadn’t simply called Medusa to target her while she was waiting in the park.

  “I’m too exposed. What if they try to kill me?”

  “I’m watching the area, Abbey. Right now, there are no threats. If I see anything, I’ll move in immediately. Remember, the only thing Gattor knows is that you need to see him. Even if he called Medusa, they’d tell him to take the meeting and find out why you’re here and what you want. You’re safe.”

  “I’m not sure. There’s a man near the hot dog cart. See him? With the T-shirt and the goatee? He’s watching me.”

  “I see him. He’s not Medusa.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know how operatives behave. I already ruled him out. He’s watching you because you’re attractive, Abbey. That’s all. His eyes follow every pretty girl who shows up in the park.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this. I said I could, but now I don’t know.”

  “You can. Just stay focused on the strategy. This is Phase One. We need to throw Gattor off balance. We need to get him so panicked that he goes running to his contact at Medusa. Remember, this is a man who’s almost certainly in it for the money, not ideology. He wants to keep his hands clean. If he thinks he’s going to be exposed, if he thinks his comfortable life is at risk, he’ll crack.”

  “Will he believe me?” Abbey asked. “Will he buy the story we made up?”

  “That’s up to you. You need to sell it.”

  “What if he knows I’m working with you?”

  “Unlikely. There’s no way he’s high up enough for that kind of information.”

  She glanced through the crowds in the park and recognized Carson Gattor heading toward her. “I see him. He’s coming.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just do it like we practiced. I’ll be watching and listening the whole time. If anything goes sideways, I’ll be there in seconds.”

  Abbey stood up from the bench and gave the lawyer a little wave. Carson nodded from near the fountain as he spotted her. He affected a calm, rich, self-confident walk, as if the world couldn’t touch him, and she wondered if she’d really be able to shake him with her lies. She felt nervous again about what she was doing. Then she reminded herself that this man had used her. He’d set her up to do Medusa’s dirty work and put her in a position to be killed. She wanted to make him shiver with fear all the way down to his Ferragamo shoes.

  “Hello, Carson.”

  “Abbey,” he said, giving her a quick, awkward embrace. He’d never done that before. It made her think that, underneath his cool exterior, he was nervous, too, wondering why she’d called him and what she wanted.

  They both sat down. Carson draped an arm around the back of the bench and crossed his legs and smoothed the cuff of his pants. He was medium height and skinny enough that his clothes looked loose. He had a long, narrow head, which looked even longer because his black hair was greased straight back, leaving him with a high forehead. His five o’clock shadow was dark and pronounced. He was forty years old, which was a tough age for a New York lawyer. He hadn’t made enough money to retire, but to keep up with colleagues and friends, he had to spend his cash as if it were never going to run out.

  “He’s already spooked,” Bourne said in her ear. “That’s good.”

  Abbey suppressed a smile, because she’d been thinking the same thing.

  “I appreciate your meeting me on short notice,” she told Carson.

  “Of course. You made it sound important.”

  “It is. I need your help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Well, first of all, I want to thank you for all of the information you’ve given me,” Abbey told him. “It’s been dead-on. You can’t believe the attention I’ve gotten for my recent articles. I’m grateful. It’s been a career maker.”

  “Good for you, Abbey, but all I did was point the way. You did the rest.”

  “A lot of doors are open to me now. A lot of people a
re coming out of the shadows with story ideas.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it. If I can be useful, you know I will be. Is that what you need? More information?”

  “No, that’s not it. I don’t need your help on a story.” She lowered her voice and took Carson by the wrist. “Actually, I need your help as a lawyer.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for someone else.” She pretended to study the people in the park, and she let anxiety creep onto her face. “Did you tell anyone you were meeting me? Do people know where you are?”

  “No. No one. Abbey, you can always count on my discretion.”

  “Okay. Here’s the thing. I assume you have contacts inside the Justice Department, right? And the FBI?”

  “Some, yes. What is this about?”

  She bit her lip, as if struggling to get the words out. “Have you ever heard of an organization called Medusa?”

  Carson was good, but not good enough. The muscles in his face made the smallest twitch, and then he recovered. His pale lips squeezed into a frown. “No, I don’t think so. What is it?”

  “Apparently, it’s some kind of anarchist group trying to stir up violence and social unrest. Like the riot here after the assassination. I’m told they were involved in that. We’re not talking about a handful of nutjobs passing around manifestos from their parents’ basement. This is a well-funded, well-organized extremist faction with deep technology resources and tentacles throughout the government.”

  Carson made a show of skepticism. “It’s hard to believe an organization like that could operate in secret. Wouldn’t everyone know about them?”

  “A lot of people in government do know, but they’re not saying anything. I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t just a wild conspiracy. Medusa is real. I can prove it.”

  His eyebrows flicked with curiosity. “You can prove it? How?”