The Bourne Evolution

by Brian Freeman

  Behind him, the elevator doors began to close.

  If they closed, he was trapped.

  Bourne leaped through the narrow space, and the doors reversed their track. The second guard, who had freed himself from Yee, aimed into the elevator and fired multiple rounds. The mirrored wall at the back of the elevator shattered. Restak threw himself sideways, but not before one of the bullets burrowed into his shoulder. Bourne heard the thunder of footsteps as the heavy guard ran for the elevator and leaped inside. There were three of them now as the elevator headed down.

  The guard bounced off the elevator wall with surprising speed, kicking the gun from Jason’s hand before he could fire. Jason took hold of the man’s wrist, clamped his teeth over the guard’s hand and bit down hard. The man’s fingers unlocked. The gun fell, but with his other fist, the guard landed a blow to Jason’s chin that knocked him into the wall. Dizzied, Jason spotted Restak huddled in the corner of the elevator. The hacker scooped up Jason’s gun and jerked the trigger, unleashing a wild shot that missed Bourne entirely but shattered the guard’s elbow. As the guard writhed, Jason jabbed a fist into the man’s throat and then brought the man’s head down sharply against his knee. The guard collapsed, his body landing heavily on top of Restak.

  Before the hacker could wriggle free and fire again, Bourne wrenched the gun out of the man’s hand and dragged Restak to his feet.

  The elevator kept going down.

  Jason eyed the overhead camera and knew what was waiting for him on the first floor. He stabbed the button for the floor above the hotel atrium and shoved the barrel of the gun into the underside of the hacker’s chin.

  “Who’s Miss Shirley?”

  “Fuck off,” the man gasped.

  “Where do I find her?”

  “She’ll find you, Bourne.”

  The elevator opened on the third floor. Jason had no time to ask more questions. He cracked the steel barrel into Restak’s forehead and let the man sink to the floor. He exited the elevator into a quiet hotel corridor. Already he could hear voices and the pounding of footsteps in the stairwell.

  They were coming for him.

  He ran to the first hotel room door in the corridor, pushed his gun against the lock, and squeezed the trigger. Wood and dust exploded, and he shoved through the door with his shoulder. He found himself in a lavish suite that looked like something out of a European palace.

  “What the hell?” bellowed a voice from the bedroom.

  An eighty-something man with a thick head of snow-white hair appeared in the bedroom doorway. He was stark naked, but he had a revolver in his hand, and Bourne quickly lifted his own gun and aimed at the man’s chest.

  “Drop it now. Do it, or die.”

  The old man knew when he was outgunned. He put the gun down and raised his hands over his head. “Son of a bitch, you’re Jason Bourne.”

  Jason took another look at the man. He recognized the barrel-chested octogenarian who’d spent years in the Defense Department. Retired air force general Philip Kahnke. Medusa had its fingers in high places.

  “Better get some clothes on, General. Half a dozen men will be coming through that door in about ten seconds.”

  Not breaking stride, Bourne marched for the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall and shot a bullet through the glass, turning it into popcorn and letting warm, dry air whistle through the cool room.

  He took one glance at the ground two floors below him and jumped.

  THIRTY-TWO

  MILES Priest stared out the window of his cliffside castle in the far western Highlands of Scotland. From here, he could see craggy hills, some still topped with snow, and the jagged seacoast that threw wild surf against the spit of land below the castle ramparts. On the green grounds of the estate, he could see the cemetery surrounding the ruins of a sixteenth-century stone chapel.

  The window was open. He liked the cold air. Nelly Lessard, who didn’t, sat in a musty armchair by the vast old library fireplace. She warmed her hands in front of the flames and tugged on the sleeves of her rust-colored sweater. Scott DeRay sat on the other side of the huge room, underneath an Elizabethan oil painting of a boy in a red velvet robe. On either side of him, bookshelves with leather-bound volumes climbed to the chambered wooden ceiling.

  “I don’t think you have a choice about this, Miles,” Scott told him, flipping the pages in a vintage edition of Fielding’s Tom Jones. “We need to have an emergency meeting of the cabal to discuss strategy.”

  Nelly adjusted a heavy, scratchy blanket over her lap. “I agree with Scott. It’s imperative that we find a way to block the Prescix takeover.”

  Priest didn’t take his gaze away from the Scottish coast. “What do we know about this private equity group that Gabriel talked about?”

  “They’re hiding behind a fog of confidentiality,” Nelly replied, “but that’s not surprising, given the sums involved. Their management team appears to be all experienced players, but they’re hiding some very questionable investors. I think we have to conclude that Medusa is behind the takeover.”

  “Which means if the deal closes, Prescix is in their hands,” Scott added. “Combine that with the data hack, and I don’t see how we stop them. The cabal needs a plan, either to make a competing bid and hope Gabriel is willing to consider it, or to have a strategy for what action we can take if the deal goes through. As much as we hate it, maybe we should get behind the regulatory moves in Congress.”

  Priest came away from the window and poured himself a glass of twenty-eight-year-old Laphroaig whisky. “No, the whole point of the legislation is to tie our hands and hobble us from fighting back. That’s why Medusa had Bourne kill Ortiz, to move the new regulatory framework forward. Meanwhile, they play their little games behind the scenes. If we support it, we play right into their hands.”

  “Then what do you suggest, Miles?” Nelly asked.

  Priest frowned, because he had no solutions. He’d spent his career finding solutions, first in law enforcement, then in technology. In his mind, there was no such thing as an insoluble problem. It only took creativity, courage, and resourcefulness to find an answer. But it seemed as if Medusa had found a way to outmaneuver him at every turn, as if the group could get inside his head and know what he was thinking.

  “What about this Miss Shirley?” he asked. “What do we know about her?”

  Nelly offered a cynical chuckle. “Well, much of her background is a mystery, but what we do know makes her out to be quite the dangerous adversary. As Gabriel told us, she’s Czech. Mid-thirties, we think. She was a swimmer in the Summer Olympics when she was nineteen and likely would have medaled, but she was disqualified for stabbing an opponent’s coach.”

  “Stabbing?” Priest asked.

  “Oh, yes. The coach nearly died. After that, Miss Shirley spent a few years doing Czech porn, dominatrix hardcore, not the kind of thing you want to watch on an empty stomach. Then she vanished. She’s essentially been a ghost since then. We got a few hits on facial recognition from social media sites across Europe. She mostly appears to hang out with extremely rich men who like to be treated roughly.”

  “Well, that sounds like Gabriel.”

  “There’s also an interesting coincidence with regard to some of the locations where we’ve identified her. I’d have to say she’s a wet agent. She’s been in several cities at the same time as a couple dozen high-profile assassinations.”

  Priest shook his head. “Definitely Medusa.”

  “It seems that way.”

  The CEO of Carillon gave a long sigh. “All right, I agree with you. We need to get the cabal together. Let’s make it in two days. Nelly, go to the island and get everything ready. Issue the invitations, and don’t accept any whining about the short timeline. Scott and I will take the helicopter from Nassau once we’re ready to get underway.”

  Nelly got to her feet a
nd shivered a little as she stepped out of the warming circle of the fire. “I’ll head out immediately. I know you love it here, Miles, but the Caribbean sounds quite a bit better than this drafty old castle.”

  Priest smiled at her. “I’m a drafty old castle myself.”

  “We both are.”

  Nelly left the room, and Priest was alone with Scott. “Do we know anything more about Bourne?” he asked quietly, sipping his whisky.

  “No. We’re not sure where he and the Canadian woman went after New York.”

  “You haven’t talked to him?”

  Scott gave him a quizzical look. “Of course not.”

  Priest took his glass of Laphroaig across the room, and he opened up his phone to show Scott a photograph. It was a picture taken in New York’s Central Park, showing Scott and Jason Bourne together near the boat pond.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” Priest asked.

  Scott didn’t apologize. “He’s my oldest friend, Miles. He came to me for help.”

  “He’s also a liability to the whole tech cabal. What did he want?”

  “Access to facial recognition databases. He wanted to identify someone. I put him in touch with one of our people at Carillon. It was a one-time offer of assistance. For what it’s worth, by the way, Jason says he didn’t murder Ortiz. He claims he’s still chasing Medusa.”

  “He’s manipulating you, Scott. He did it when you hired him, and he’s still doing it now. And candidly, even if it were true, we’re way beyond guilt or innocence now. If Bourne is found alive, it blows back on us, which we can’t afford in the current circumstances. I think you know that.”

  “I told him the same thing.”

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Priest replied. “Bourne is a distraction we don’t need. The sooner he’s out of the way, the better. The bigger issue is that we only have two days until the cabal meets on the island. We need a strategy to keep Gabriel Fox from giving up Prescix to Medusa.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that, Miles. I have an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think we should invite Gabriel to join us on the island,” Scott said. “Let him meet with the cabal face-to-face. Perhaps as a group, we can finally persuade him that he’s better off with us, not against us.”

  Miles sipped his whisky as he reflected on this idea. “Interesting plan. And what if he still says no?”

  Scott shrugged. “Then we have no choice. We kill him.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  JASON winced as Abbey wrapped an elastic bandage around his ankle, which he’d twisted in his jump from the hotel window. When she was done, he got to his feet, limping through the brush. They were back in the red hills, looking down from the heights of the mesa at the Three Mountains casino. The Land Rover was parked on an unpaved trail behind them. They were invisible in the darkness.

  He focused the binoculars on the private casino and saw what he expected to see. Panic. Guards roamed the parking lot, shining lights into cars. High rollers were being escorted out the door and whisked away. He wondered what excuse they were using to hide what had really happened. Gas leak. Bomb threat. Computer failure. Even so, someone must have heard the gunshots in the tower; rumors had to be flying.

  General Kahnke, whose hotel suite Bourne had crashed, left almost immediately, his face hidden by sunglasses and a hoodie. The general climbed into the back seat of a town car, accompanied by a redheaded mistress who’d probably been with him in the bedroom. Jason didn’t think the general was likely to survive the night. In the morning, he’d be found dead in a respectable Strip hotel. Heart attack probably. The general had seen too much.

  He’d seen Bourne.

  “You’re waiting for something to happen,” Abbey murmured as he continued the surveillance. “What?”

  “This was an assault on one of the Medusa nerve centers. They’re going to have to assess the damage up close.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They’ll send someone.”

  Another hour passed as he surveilled the property. It was the middle of the night. Finally, Jason spotted headlights approaching, and he knew this wasn’t one of the limos that had been coming and going since he escaped. When he focused on the vehicle through his binoculars, he saw a black SUV with smoked windows, and he recognized the profile of a Volvo XC90. He suspected it was the heavy, armored version, nearly ten thousand pounds in weight, built to withstand bullets and explosives.

  Medusa had arrived.

  “Now it gets interesting,” Bourne said.

  The SUV pulled to a stop outside the casino doors like an ominous black spider. To Jason’s surprise, no one got out, and the engine didn’t shut down. Instead, two people emerged from inside the casino and headed toward the vehicle. The first was Peter Restak, the color drained from his face, his wounded shoulder bandaged and in a sling. The second was Andrew Yee, still in his royal-blue suit, his expression fearful. As Bourne watched, the rear door of the SUV swung open. The two men got inside, and the Volvo pulled away. The entire process took less than thirty seconds.

  “Come on,” Jason said, pushing himself to his feet. He stumbled on his bad ankle, and Abbey held him up.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The question is, where are they going? You’ll need to drive this time. Keep the lights off for now.”

  He tossed her the keys, and Abbey got behind the wheel of the Land Rover. She drove down the dusty road, the truck bouncing on barren terrain. The land sloped sharply through scattered cacti and mesquite, and she squinted to avoid driving them off a cliff’s edge. When they reached the flatland, they were nowhere near the gate they’d used originally, and the paved road was on the other side of an aluminum fence.

  “Drive over it,” Jason told her.

  Abbey gave him one sideways look of concern, then gunned the engine. The Land Rover jolted over the uneven ground with a burst of acceleration, took down the fence as it plowed forward, and dragged it behind them before finally breaking free. They were on a divided road not far from the casino entrance road, which was hidden behind the mesa. There was no other traffic.

  “Pull onto the median and wait. Keep the lights off.”

  Abbey followed his instructions. Not long after, Bourne saw the armored SUV pass through the stoplight ahead of them, leaving the casino and heading west.

  “Give them plenty of space, but you can use your headlights now.”

  She switched on her lights and bumped off the median onto the road. At the stoplight, she turned right, and Jason could see the taillights of the SUV half a mile away, bending around a curve past housing developments that butted up to the hills. Abbey stayed behind the truck for another mile, and there were still only the two vehicles on the road. He knew that made their pursuit obvious.

  “The driver will be a pro,” Jason said. “Odds are, he’s already spotted you back here. He knows you picked them up right outside the casino, and that’s going to raise a red flag.”

  “Does he suspect we’re following them?”

  “He will if we stay on the same course much longer. We’re far enough away that he can’t see what we’re driving, and that’s a plus. But in another minute or so, he’ll start slowing down to draw you closer so he can ID the vehicle.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then he’ll see if we stay behind him. If we do, either he’ll ambush us himself, or he’ll call ahead and have someone waiting to take us down in the desert.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Hang on.” Bourne took out his phone and began checking maps of the area.

  “Jason, he’s slowing. Should I slow down, too?”

  “No. Then he’ll know it’s a tail.” He glanced up and spotted the SUV a couple of hundred yards ahead of them, and the gap between the two vehicles was closing fast
. “There’s a cross street ahead. Start signaling right, and then you can slow down.”

  Abbey used her turn signal and tapped the brakes.

  “Turn here,” Jason told her.

  She swung into the turn lane and turned right. Ahead of them, the taillights of the Volvo got smaller as the SUV accelerated again.

  “Now what?”

  “There’s a sharp left ahead. Take it, and keep driving as fast as you can.”

  Abbey accelerated, and the Land Rover fishtailed as she turned the wheel hard at the next left. She followed the road through an empty shopping complex. As they approached another intersection at high speed, Jason told her, “Go right and then take your next left and turn off your lights again as you do.”

  She followed his instructions, and a few seconds later, she braked to a stop at a major intersection.

  “Go across the street, and make an immediate U. Then put your lights back on and turn right. If he sees you behind him at all, it should look like you’re coming from a completely different direction.”

  “You think he turned, too?” Abbey asked, eyeing the lonely road as she crossed the intersection in the darkness.

  “I think he’s heading for the freeway.”

  Soon Abbey was back on the road with her lights on. Jason used the binoculars to identify the taillights of the Volvo, which was now almost a mile ahead of them. As he expected, the SUV made a right turn to merge onto I-15, heading west through the mountains toward Las Vegas. Abbey accelerated to narrow the gap. Even in the middle of the night, there were other cars on the freeway, giving them cover. The developed land ended quickly, and they found themselves in the middle of rocky desert, pitch-black except for the lights of the vehicles around them.