Page 5 of Jason Bourne

I checked. Nothing. Just a rusty lock and an old latch. Child’s play.

Nate breathed, “After you, Romeo.”

I lifted the hatch, knife first, heart pounding.

Below,a narrow ladder plunged into stale diesel heat. Voices — foreign accents, low arguments. I caught one word in Mandarin:girl.

Lane.

I descended slow, and silent. Forest was watching my back, and Nate was right behind him.

At the bottom, the corridor split left and right. Cargo containers stacked like tombs. A single bare bulb flickered overhead, shadows dancing on salt-rusted walls.

Footsteps — heavy boots coming around the bend. I pressed flat against a container, Forest mirroring me across the passage.

A guard rounded the corner, yawning, scratching his belly.

One soft thud. Forest dropped him like a sack of rice.

Nate rifled the pockets, found a keyring. “Jackpot.”

I nodded.“Check every damn lock until you find them. Quietly.”

Forest peeled off left. Nate and I headed right. Each container had a heavy padlock, welded plates, more security than any fishing vessel should ever need.

I found one with fresh scratches around the lock. Blood droplets. A woman’s boot print in grime.

My heart stuttered.

“Nate. Here.”

He jammed the key in. Click. The latch fell away.

I eased the door open.

There she was.

Lane Brewer — her hair in her face, wrists cuffed raw above her head, eyes half-closed but blazing fire when they landed on me.

“Jason?” Her voice cracked. She blinked hard. “You came.”

I stepped inside, hands already at her cuffs. “Hell yeah, I came, sweetheart. And I’m not leaving without you. Where is Zoe?”

She started to cry.

6

Jason

Icupped her face first. Couldn’t help it. I needed to feel her skin under my palms to believe she was real and breathing.

“Hey,” I rasped. My thumbs brushed grime and blood off her cheekbones. “Lane. Look at me.”

She did. Those eyes — wildfire and oceans. Same as five years ago. Except now they shimmered wet, her lashes clumped together from tears she didn’t even seem to notice.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” I whispered. My fingers shook as I worked the cuff key. The lock fought me, slick with rust and her blood.

“I thought—” Her voice cracked. “I thought you were just… in my head again.”