"Mission failed!"
At CIA headquarters, inside Conklin's office, the man himself slammed the report from Jason Bourne onto his desk and swept his coffee mug to the floor in frustration. Jason Bourne was the agency's most powerful asset—yet the mission still failed.
"Tell Jason to continue the pursuit of Avril. He is not to stop until her death is confirmed."
After some thought, Conklin ultimately chose not to have Jason go back into hiding. His assistant, Danny Zorn, cast a discreet glance at his superior. Conklin's orders had begun to stray from Treadstone's usual protocol. In past assassinations, the central command handled intelligence, and the Nightingales carried out the missions. But the failure to eliminate Avril, even after losing a Nightingale in the process, had frayed Conklin's patience.
Danny Zorn left to carry out the order. A short while later, new instructions were sent to Jason's phone. At that moment, Jason was hiding out in a Treadstone-designated safehouse. After reading the message, he restocked his ammo and weapons and headed back into the field.
…
In a casual American-style diner on a busy street, Owen was finishing his lunch. He'd landed in Washington barely half an hour earlier. Starving, he'd ducked into the first decent-looking restaurant and ordered up a feast.
Having just polished off an entire tomahawk steak, Owen dabbed his mouth with a napkin when his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and answered, "Becky, what's up?"
"Owen, where are you? Is your location secure?"
Owen glanced around casually before replying, "I just got back. Everything around me is safe."
He sounded completely nonchalant, like it was just a regular call. Becky continued, "Owen, someone just contacted CTU. They asked for you by name."
"For me? Who?"
"They wouldn't say. But they claim to have information about Avril Berman."
Owen's expression sharpened slightly. Avril had been on the wanted list for a long time, but there hadn't been a single solid lead.
"Send me their number. I'll contact them directly."
"Owen, I've sent it. Be careful—it might be a trap."
"I know. I'll be cautious."
Hanging up, Owen dialed the number Becky had just sent. Of course, he considered the possibility that it was a setup. Omega didn't have many enemies, but Owen had plenty—and none of them were amateurs. He had to stay sharp.
A male voice answered.
"This is Owen. Who are you, and how do you know Avril's whereabouts?"
A pause followed, then the voice said, "You don't need to know who I am. What matters is I can help you catch Avril. 2:30 this afternoon. Lenny Café, Hillrock Street, Chicago. Come alone."
"No. If you won't identify yourself, I'm not going."
Owen's tone was firmer than expected.
There was another moment of silence, as if the caller were weighing his resolve.
"If you've got nothing else to say, I'm hanging up," Owen pressed, maintaining pressure. In truth, he planned to go either way. If it was legit, this lead could be huge. If it was a trap—he wouldn't mind eliminating another threat.
"Eddie Castor."
The caller dropped the name and immediately hung up. Control of the situation was never going to stay in Owen's hands forever, but knowing who he was dealing with was enough.
After the White House incident, Avril had become one of the nation's most wanted criminals. The identities of those close to her had been exposed, and Eddie Castor was one of them. Owen also knew that Eddie and Avril had fallen out—Eddie had used Avril's brother as a human shield.
This lead felt real. If Eddie had turned, Omega might finally capture Avril. Owen mulled it over and called Becky again. "Book me the fastest flight to Chicago."
At exactly 2:00 p.m., Owen arrived at the Lenny Café on Hillrock Street. A few patrons sat inside, none fitting the profile of his contact. Owen didn't rush. He picked a corner seat, ordered a cappuccino, and read a newspaper while he waited.
Time passed. Owen didn't scan the room or make any sudden movements—he knew Eddie was probably watching from somewhere nearby. On his way there, Owen had sent the call recording to Becky, and after voice analysis, CTU confirmed it was Eddie Castor. The trap theory now seemed unlikely.
About ten minutes later, Owen's coffee was nearly gone. A breeze swept in as someone sat across from him at the round table.
"You've got guts, showing up alone like this," the man said.
Owen shrugged. Despite the heavy makeup, the man across from him was unmistakably Eddie Castor.
"What'll you have? My treat," Owen said, snapping his fingers at a server.
"I'll have what he's having," Eddie said without looking up, eyes locked on Owen's every move. His hand never left the newspaper on the table—Owen was sure there was a gun underneath, aimed at him.
"Careful. One wrong twitch and the sniper on the second floor will blow your head off."
Owen said it casually. He wasn't stupid. Though he'd come in alone, every exit of the café was surrounded by CTU agents.
Eddie's expression shifted.
"Let's get to it. I know your history with Avril. Where is she?"
"I want a presidential pardon."
Owen raised an eyebrow as Eddie named his price.
"Not happening. After the White House attack, the U.S. won't cut deals with terrorist groups—especially members of White Mask. Best I can offer is CTU won't actively hunt you. But you better go hide in some remote corner of the world."
Owen spoke coolly, eyes locked on Eddie's.
Eddie's face didn't change. The pardon request was just an opportunistic ask. His real goal was to use CTU to eliminate Avril. He didn't care about being on America's most-wanted list. There were plenty of places on Earth that didn't bow to U.S. pressure. So long as Avril was dead, he could go wherever he wanted.
"Fine. I'll cooperate. What do you want to know?"
"Start with the Four Horsemen. Who are they?"
Owen raised an eyebrow, gaze sharp.
Eddie frowned but answered, "The Four Horsemen is a term used within White Mask. Avril is the Death Knight—she handles small-scale infiltration ops, mainly coordinating with various terrorist cells to spread fear worldwide. I used to work under her. I don't know the other Horsemen's names—none of us do. Each one operates independently. One of them runs mercenary operations. Another handles finance—that's why White Mask never chases money. He's more like an honorary title than an active operative. There are rumors he doesn't even participate in missions—he's more of a patron. The last one's likely an intelligence broker or a politician from some country. White Mask's global chaos campaigns wouldn't be possible without his support."
"And the boss of White Mask—who is it?"
Owen finally asked the most crucial question—one CTU and the U.S. government had been dying to answer.
Eddie shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe only the Horsemen know. I've never met the boss—don't even know if it's a man or a woman."
The intel was vague but valuable. Owen nodded. CTU had long suspected White Mask had deep financial and political backing. As for the boss's identity, it made sense Eddie wouldn't know. White Mask's security measures were airtight. Some at CTU even theorized the boss might be a religious figure, given the Four Horsemen's heavily symbolic, theological undertones.
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