Page 15 of Jason Bourne
She laughed, breathless. “In your dreams, Bourne.”
15
Jason
Midnight on the docks smelled like diesel and brine and secrets rotting under the floorboards. No moon tonight — just the faint orange smear of distant harbor lights and the hush of waves slapping hulls in the dark.
Perfect hunting ground. We were surprised the bastards were still there.
Our borrowed trawler drifted in slow we killed the engines a mile out. The four of us rode the zodiac in, low and silent, black wetsuits hugging close, gear strapped tight. Every breath steamed the goggles for half a second before the cold swallowed it whole.
Lane crouched at the bow next to me, her pistol hugged to her ribs, eyes scanning the shadowed maze of shipping containers ahead. She hadn’t said a word since we’d left the safe house — laser-focused, calm as I’d ever seen her.
God help the bastards waiting on that dock.
Forest signaled:Two on the catwalk. One by the crane. Another smoking by the warehouse doors.
I tapped Lane’s thigh —watch me.She didn’t flinch.
I rose from the zodiac first, boots sinking into wet rope coils. Slipped my blade free. Four quick strides and I was up the dock ladder. The first sentry never even got his cigarette back to his lips — his eyes went wide, then glassy as I eased him down beside a rusted barrel.
Below, Lane slithered up next. She didn’t even glance at the corpse — just padded past me, light on her feet, like she’d done this every damn night since I left her.
We ghosted forward. Two guards on the catwalk argued over whose turn it was to check the gate. Nate circled wide, silent as a shadow, slipped behind them — one quick twist, a muffled groan, silence.
Forest watched our backs, the low hum of his silencer the only heartbeat we trusted.
At the main warehouse door,Lane pressed herself against the corrugated wall, palm flat against my chest to stop me.
She leaned close, whispering so softly it was just breath on my ear.“Inside’s our jackpot. They won’t expect both of us. Follow me.”
I almost laughed.Follow her.Damn right I would.
She picked the lock in seconds, a trick she’d learned from me a lifetime ago. Then we were inside — stale air, stacks of crates, flickering fluorescents dangling from overhead beams.Somewhere deeper: a hum of servers, the mother snake coiled tight around its secrets.
Footsteps echoed. Three men patrolled the far aisle. Lane glanced at me — once — then vanished between two crates.
A heartbeat later, I heard the softest crack. One guard fell face-first into a crate stack, knife buried to the hilt between his ribs.
I grabbed the next by the collar, slammed his head into the steel racking. The third turned, mouth wide to shout — my silencer coughed once. His knees buckled.
Lane emerged, eyes glittering.
“Told you I’d keep up.”
I caught her wrist, dragged her into me, crushed my mouth to hers — fast, dirty, all teeth. She bit back, grinning into it.
“Focus.”
“Always.”
We moved deeper— past crates marked with shipping codes, fake company labels, all fronts for something far filthier than fish.
At the far end: a door pulsing with blue server lights leaking through the cracked jamb.
Lane pointed. I nodded.
Behind us, Forest’s voice ghosted through the comms:“Charges planted. We’re on your six.”
