The Bourne Evolution

by Brian Freeman

  “As am I. But it’s been water under the bridge for a long, long time.” Scott put down his glass as he heard the ringing of his phone. He grabbed it and listened to the call, and then he hung up with a smile. “The limo’s on its way in. Miles is back.”

  “I’d like to meet the car,” Bourne said.

  “Whatever you want, but it’s not really necessary. We have security on the grounds, and even a sharpshooter would struggle in this rain, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Even so.”

  Scott nodded. “Of course, let’s go. But we’ll use the front door this time, if you don’t mind.”

  His friend gestured at a larger doorway out of the library, and the two of them headed down a wide set of carpeted stairs past walls paneled in oak, featuring ornate carvings and medieval paintings that Bourne assumed could be valued in the millions of dollars. In the marble foyer, Scott retrieved a trench coat and secured a hat on his head. A security guard opened the heavy castle door for them, and they walked out under the covering of the stone porte cochere. In front of them, an entrance road crossed over a pond from the gardens and led into a circular driveway. Bourne could see a stretch limousine emerging between the trees, drawing closer to the castle.

  He checked the area. There were no threats from the tree line. He spotted no aircraft over their heads, and Scott was right that there were no useful sightlines for a sniper. Four security guards converged on the car from both sides of the estate, and he saw that they had light weapons in their hands. The men looked capable and alert. Even so, Bourne left the cover of the porte cochere and walked into the driving rain to meet the limousine himself.

  His gun was in his hand.

  He wiped rain from his face and yanked open the back door of the limo. It took him a moment to see into the back seat, which was mostly in shadow. Miles Priest was there, his tall frame slumped down in the leather seat, his chin tucked on his neck. Bourne thought at first that he was asleep, but he wasn’t.

  He was dead.

  A bullet in his forehead. Blood covering his face.

  Bourne ducked out of the car to shout a warning, but as he spun around, the four security guards all pointed their weapons at him. He had nowhere to go. Meanwhile, the driver’s door of the limousine opened, and a dark-haired woman climbed out into the rain and pierced him with her reptilian eyes. Her lips bent into a nasty smile.

  Miss Shirley.

  “Scott, run!” Bourne shouted.

  But his old friend, his best friend, made no attempt to get away. He walked into the rain in his trench coat and headed for the limousine. There was no fear or surprise on his face. When he got to Miss Shirley, he grabbed her neck and their bodies slammed against each other like the horns of two rams as he pulled her into a violent kiss.

  “Hello, Shirl,” Scott said when they finally broke apart. “I’ve missed you.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  MEDUSA is you?” Bourne said to Scott.

  His old friend slung his arm around Miss Shirley’s waist, and the dominatrix assumed an unexpected new role and nuzzled him like a kitten, licking his face. “I’m sorry, Jason. There was never an assault team hiding in the woods. Medusa didn’t need to storm the castle. We’re already here.”

  Bourne shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know you at all. I never did.”

  “Actually, you knew me better than you think,” Scott told him. “Right from the beginning. That political argument we had back in college? You accused me of believing the ends justified the means, and you were right. Profound change always requires disruption. I had the raw idea for Medusa even back then. It took a few years for the technology to catch up to what I wanted to achieve, but I knew it would eventually. When I saw what Gabriel Fox was doing with Prescix, I knew it was time to move. Of course, I needed funding to make it happen, but that wasn’t hard to arrange when I had the right bait to offer.”

  “Namely?”

  “Social manipulation. Conflict. Western civilization divided and at each other’s throats. Civil war. Don’t worry, it’s only temporary. Technology will be the greatest unifying force in human history, once we get rid of the obsolete nation states standing in the way. It will take a couple more generations, but we’ll get there in the end.”

  “At the cost of how many lives?” Bourne asked.

  Scott shrugged. “You never did see the big picture. Always too focused on the individual. By the way, gun on the ground, please, Jason.” Scott gestured at two of the Medusa operatives. “Take away his weapons.”

  Bourne felt the guards take away his smoke grenades. His hacksaw blade. His knives. The backup pistol on his ankle. The only thing they didn’t find was the length of slim nylon rope clipped under his shirt.

  “I’m sorry you don’t remember our time in Prague,” Scott went on. “That visit changed my life. I met Shirl there. You didn’t understand that she and I were two halves of the same soul. You thought she was amoral, ruthless, violent, and you’re right, she was all of those things. She was only sixteen, but how many old men had you killed in bed by that point, lover?”

  “Nine,” Miss Shirley said with a smirk.

  “Nine. I told you, she was all grown up. Anyway, the thing you never understood, Jason, is that you weren’t wrong about Shirley. You were wrong about me. I was just like her, but you didn’t see it.”

  Bourne was tired of the game. “So what happens now, Scott?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Miles takes the fall for everything. Miles and the rogue intelligence agent he recruited. The two of you are the perfect villains. Let everyone think Medusa has been crippled. I’m sure you remember the Treadstone lesson. When your enemy thinks he’s winning, he’s at his most vulnerable.”

  “People will know that’s not true,” Bourne said.

  “A few. But they won’t say a word. Nelly Lessard will be suspicious, but she’s a loyal soldier, and if she gets out of line, well, she’ll be dealt with. Of course, there’s one other inevitable consequence, Jason. I can’t have you around to get in the way of our plans again. Now that you’ve played your part, you have to die. I want you to know, I’m genuinely sorry about that. Growing up, you were like a brother to me. But those days are gone. After all, you don’t remember any of it, do you?”

  “For the first time, I’m actually glad about that.”

  Scott shrugged off the insult. He signaled to the men to drag the body of Miles Priest out of the limousine. “Make sure he’s never found. It’ll be to our advantage for people not to be sure if he’s alive or dead. And Jason, it’s time to say goodbye. I’ve got to get to Washington to get the next phase of our plans underway. Just so you know, I wanted to make the end quick for you. But Shirley decided to make it more interesting, and I really hate to say no to her. Like I told you, I always had the sneaking suspicion that she wanted you more than me.”

  Miss Shirley studied him with her snake eyes and gave him another smile that was colder than the rain.

  “Goodbye, old friend,” Scott told him.

  He got into the back of the limousine, and two of the Medusa agents climbed into the front. The vehicle’s engine roared to life, and the limo continued around the circular driveway and disappeared across the castle pond into the trees. The other two agents took hold of the body of Miles Priest and dragged it across the wet grass.

  Bourne was alone with Miss Shirley.

  She wore a black bodysuit that clung to her lithe frame. Her soaking-wet black hair was pasted to her face. They were the same height, staring at each other eye to eye. He tried to grasp a memory of her from his youth, when she was a depraved sixteen-year-old in Prague, seducing his best friend. Every now and then, images of his past came back like photographs, but the only memory he had of this woman was the look on her face outside the Lucky Nickel hotel.

  It was as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
<
br />   “Yes, it was me, Bourne,” she told him. “I’m the one who killed your precious Nova.”

  He shook his head in despair. “Why?”

  “She found out about Hackman. She was trying to figure out how he fit into our plans. That was what gave her away, actually. We traced the online research she was doing on him, and so I knew she was still taking orders from Treadstone. We had to get rid of her before she put it all together. Hackman was our ultimate beta test, you see. He was our proof of everything we could do to manipulate people once we combined Prescix with the data hack. We couldn’t let that be discovered.”

  “So you lured Nova to the car show,” Bourne said. “And you killed her.”

  “That’s right. I took the first shot. I couldn’t rely on Hackman finding her in the crowd, but the truth is, I wanted to do it myself. Partly because she betrayed us and partly because she was with you. I’m very possessive when it comes to you, Jason. I always have been.”

  “But you didn’t kill me,” Bourne said.

  “No. That would have been too easy. Scott is right. I’ve wanted you since I first met you as a girl. Not just for sex, of course. Sex is easy. I’ve wanted the battle. The battle is so much more satisfying. So yes, I could have killed you from the Lucky Nickel, but I had to be patient. Sooner or later, I knew I’d get my chance to deal with you up close. To end things in an appropriate way. And here we are.”

  “How do you know you’ll win?” Bourne asked.

  “Because I’m better than you. I always have been.”

  She slid her hands behind her back, and when they emerged again, she had a Glock in her left hand. In her right, she held the viciously sharp crescent-moon knife that she’d used to threaten Abbey.

  “Piece by piece, Bourne,” she told him, making a threshing motion with the knife. “That’s how this goes down for you. Piece. By. Piece. Now turn around and walk. Keep your hands up.”

  “Walk where?”

  Miss Shirley gestured over his shoulder. “To the cliff.”

  Bourne had no choice. He walked. The rain poured down over both of them, filling the air with a ceaseless drumroll of water slapping against skin, earth, and stone. Black clouds massed overhead. The distant low hills disappeared into mist and fog. Still he walked, hearing her footsteps right behind him. Beyond the castle, they reached an old cemetery, where the carved names had been worn away by centuries of weather. Some of the tombstones had fallen; some sagged toward the wet ground. Mold and moss grew on the gray stones. The ruins of an old chapel stood watch from behind fallen walls and gaping window holes that had once housed gleaming stained glass. The wind howled, as if trying to wake up generations of ghosts.

  “Keep going,” Miss Shirley ordered him.

  Ahead of him, Bourne saw the twelve-foot castle wall clinging to the cliff’s edge. On the other side of that wall, a hundred feet below, he heard a storm of sea waves assaulting the rock and mud of the hillside. Stone steps led up to the top of the wall. When he stopped at the base of the steps, he felt the sharp point of Miss Shirley’s knife. With the barest touch, it cut through his black shirt and made a bloody line across his back.

  “Up.”

  He climbed the wet, slippery steps. Miss Shirley followed. At the top, he found himself on a walkway no more than three feet wide. A low stone parapet was built along the edge, but erosion had worn it down, and entire stretches had long since tumbled into the sea. He glanced down and saw black rocks jutting out of the water like broken teeth scattered at the base of the cliff. The waves made a nonstop crashing thunder.

  “Turn around,” Miss Shirley called loudly over the rain and the waves.

  Bourne did. She stood no more than five feet away. They faced each other, both soaked to the skin. She had heels on, but she kicked them off and stood on the wall in her bare feet.

  “Jump if you want,” she said to him. “I won’t stop you. Take the coward’s way out.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Do you still think you can beat me? I told you, Bourne, I’m superior. Before we’re done, I’ll take off your clothes. I’ll take off your skin. I’ll take off your limbs. And then I’ll fuck what’s left while you’re still alive. You’ll wish you’d jumped.”

  “It’s easy to say you’re superior when you’re holding a gun and a knife.”

  Her face had no expression. Like a poker player, she showed nothing. But he’d succeeded in inflaming her ego. With her eyes as hard as two aquamarine jewels, she flicked the pistol off the parapet and into the sea.

  “No gun,” she said.

  “And the knife?” Bourne asked.

  Miss Shirley squatted to place the crescent blade at her feet, never taking her eyes off his face. “If you want the knife, you’ll have to come and get it.”

  Bourne did. He took the first step toward her, but she struck back with insane speed. He never even saw her move. Her foot lashed out, hammering him under his ribs, driving the air from his lungs. He stuttered backward, barely keeping his balance on the rampart, and he doubled over, coughing and gasping for air.

  “I’ll make one last offer of mercy,” Miss Shirley told him. “Crawl over here on your hands and knees and kiss my feet. If you do that, I’ll make it quick. I’ll just cut your heart out and we’ll be done.”

  Bourne steadied himself on the wall. Oxygen slowly swelled his chest again. He felt the tiredness of the past days catching up to him. His headache throbbed. His wounds opened up and leaked blood. A part of him knew it would be easier to jump. A part of him knew he was going to lose. Then he stared through the driving rain at Miss Shirley, and instead of her face, he saw Nova. He could see Nova’s body coming into focus through the scope of this woman’s rifle. He could see Miss Shirley’s finger, her sharp black fingernail, as she squeezed the trigger.

  He charged. He threw himself at her across the walkway. She deflected his blow as if she were schooling a child and then drove a knee into his groin and hit him in the head three times, left right left. Pain split open his skull. His ears rang. Dizziness made the wall spin. She hit him once more, a jab square in the neck, and he fell backward, choking. His legs crumpled underneath him. He collapsed to the stone, rain and sky spinning around his eyes like a kaleidoscope. Blood spat from his lips.

  Miss Shirley picked up the knife and came for him.

  Bourne tried to move, tried to scramble away, but her foot kicked across the bottom of his chin like it was a football, and his head crashed against the stone. He lay stretched out on the walkway over the sea, unable to fight back. Miss Shirley knelt on top of him. Her knees held his thighs down. With the point of the blade, she cut open his shirt and exposed his bare chest. The cool fingers of her other hand found his heart, which was beating wildly. She caressed him, stroking his skin. Then her fingers squeezed into a fist, and she thumped down hard on his torso with a single blow that made his entire body scream with agony. His heart, staggered by the impact, nearly stopped right there.

  “Shall we begin?” Miss Shirley said.

  Her right arm raised the crescent blade in the air. She swung it like a scythe, with lightning speed, and his left hand reacted by instinct. He grabbed her wrist and locked it in his fingers. He held her arm frozen in place, the blade inches from severing his shoulder. She pushed down; he pushed back, like a tug-of-war. But her strength was unbelievable. Millimeter by millimeter, she overpowered him. The knife drew closer.

  Miss Shirley’s other hand pinched his throat. She cut off his air. With his right hand, he tried to pry away her fingers, but her grip was like a tiger’s jaws clamped around prey. His lungs boiled. His eyes began to roll up into his head. His left arm, the one keeping the knife at bay, began to weaken. In a few more seconds, he’d lose consciousness, and he’d awaken to find himself in the midst of a slow, torturous death.

  She knew she was winning. She bent down close to his face, eye to eye, an
d kissed his lips like a lover.

  “After we’re done here, I think I’ll take a little vacation, Bourne,” she told him with a sadistic giggle in her voice. “I know just where to go. Quebec City.”

  Bourne’s muscles tightened with rage. He saw the threat in her eyes, and he believed every word of it. She’d go after Abbey next. She’d kill her, too, slowly and horribly. And he was the only one who could stop it.

  His lungs, his limbs, his whole body wanted to give up. But his brain refused.

  He let go of the wrist clamped around his throat. His right arm pawed on the wet stone for something, anything, he could use to fight back. That was when he felt the coils of the nylon climbing rope still clipped to his belt. Under his shirt, he found the loop that was knotted into the rope. With his eyes burning into hers, he jerked the loop over her head and around her neck before she understood what was happening. Then he wrenched the rope back hard, dragging her head with it, and her dark eyes widened with shock and fear as her own lungs were stripped of air.

  Her hands weakened, just for an instant. The knife wobbled in her grasp. He used that second to let go and drive his left hand like a piston into her chest. She shuddered with the blow; the knife spilled from her fingers. Her other hand unlocked from his throat, letting in sweet air. Her body reared back, giving him a single moment of freedom, and he dug his fingernails under the calf pressing down on his thigh and upended her. She screamed as she flew. Her body landed against the parapet, then broke through the old stone and disappeared backward over the wall into the air.

  As she fell, the rope uncoiled from his belt, slithering like a snake. It dragged him with her toward the edge of the cliff. He braced his feet against the worn outcropping, but the weight of her body yanked him forward and tumbled him over the edge. His fingers grasped for any handhold that would keep him from falling. Then, with a jolt, the pressure at the end of the rope vanished. He held on, clinging to the rock with the tips of his fingers. When he looked down into the voracious sea, he saw Miss Shirley falling the rest of the way to the bottom of the cliff.