Vincent examined his new attire one last time in the mirror. He had never worn simple brown coveralls before and felt a little out of place for a graduate of Yale. He carefully put the gray object in his pocket and took the step that ended his boring life.

For the first seventeen years of his life, he had endured the torments of fresh faces in countless schools as his father lost job after job and the family was forced to move before he ever finished even a year at one school. You see, his father had a drinking problem.

Vin was determined to do better than his old man and had set his eyes on Yale.

After his graduation with an MBA, he had entered the work force as a financial analyst at Ashton Industries in Philadelphia. Two years later, he knew he had made the most horrible mistake of his life. During the day, he analyzed pages after pages of annual reports and stock results, only to see his recommendations ignored over and over again by his less educated superiors.

Depression joined him every morning on his way to work and vodka greeted him every evening. The pattern bored him out of his gourd! His dreams of brilliant corporate success slid so far into the future they became invisible to his mind’s eye.

One eventful Wednesday afternoon, he stopped on the way home at Blockbuster and picked up a comedy and a spy movie. The first turned out to be more boring than he expected. Such drivel! Did people actually buy tickets to see this shit?

But the second movie yielded an epiphany. Watching Matt Damon elude his chasers and command respect as Jason Bourne lit some fire in him that Vincent didn’t know he had. Thoughts of that movie haunted him for the next two weeks, tormenting his days and filling his fantasies day and night.

On his twenty-sixth birthday, he made the decision. Life wasn’t worth living at Ashton. It was time for some excitement.

He promised himself he’d remember for the rest of his life the moment he walked across the marble floor of the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, stepping over the symbol of the CIA on the way to his first interview.

After he had shown proficiency with weapons, as well as raised the eyebrows of his examiners over some of the results from his psych tests, he was asked to undergo one more field test.

“We had planned on giving you some more training and a test or two, but something has come up that demands immediate attention. We’re shorthanded and your final exam starts now.”

They gave him a .38 handgun and a photo of a dark-skinned man with thick eyebrows, along with instructions that he would have to eliminate one of the most dangerous terrorists in the world. “This man has plans to contaminate the New York City water system with a deadly new virus. Millions could die before we can find a cure.”

They flew him to Bonn, Germany on the red-eye flight. Unfortunately, sleep eluded him as he thought of his mission. At 6am local time, his handler and he ate a light breakfast with lots of black coffee. They didn’t want him falling asleep.

The two of them picked up their painters’ uniforms and equipment at a warehouse and set up their ladders in the market at the corner of Sternstrasse and Marktbrücke.

He stood on the third step of his ladder in his brown coveralls, paint brush in one hand and the edge of the ladder in another when his target walked past the store front. A quick glance at his companion showed him nodding and setting down his own paint bucket. Identity confirmed!

The moment of truth elevated his heart rate. Something in him told him this was only a test and they probably had put blanks in his gun. Maybe. Maybe not.

On the other hand, his supervisor, a man who face was etched with hard lines from decades of field experience, had emphasized that this was very real. There was another operative watching nearby who would have to finish the job if he failed because this man must not be allowed to live!

For the first time in Vin’s life, failure was not a personal option. He wanted to succeed at this more than anything he had ever experienced in his whole damned worthless existence. Life does not give you many chances to prove yourself like this. Thoughts of having to go back to Ashton, and the dark drunken nights that came with it, helped him overcome any reluctance he had over taking the life of another human being.

It was this bastard or a future in the bottle like his old man.

Vincent stepped down and proceeded to follow his target, his resolve forcing him to grit his teeth and narrow his focus on the back of the dark-skinned terrorist.

Then the man made a turn into the sports clothing store. Vin hesitated. Would he seem out of place in his coveralls? Would his target get suspicious?

His partner came up beside him and said in a quiet voice, “What are you waiting for? Do you want him to get away?”

The moment of truth.

Vin entered the store.

He followed the man toward the back and was surprised to see him walk past the dressing rooms and push open the door marked “Beschäftigten.” He ignored the clerk who raised his open-fingered hand to object to his going into the employees’ entrance. As soon as he pushed through the doorway, he saw his target take a seat in front of a desk.

The man looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?”

Vin didn’t answer. His jaw locked tight in resolve, he reached into his right pocket and pulled out his weapon. The man’s eyes opened wide when he saw the gun. Vin raised it and took aim at the poor man’s face.

“Nein! Nein!” yelled his would-be victim as he tried to back away but hit the wall.

Breathing rapidly, Vin faced his own moment of truth. Even with both hands on his gun, he noticed he shook.

“Bitte! Nein!” The man’s eyes watered and his eyebrows furrowed. “Bitte! Bitte!”

This is it. Can I take another life? He thought of his endless days at Ashton. He thought of his father, who never amounted to anything. Was that his future too? He wanted to live an exciting life, like Jason Bourne. What would Jason do?

He gritted his teeth. This bastard was going to kill millions. Jason wouldn’t hesitate.

Resolve stiffened his arms and hands. He glared at the target. Following his training, Vin squeezed the trigger slowly, focusing on keep the gun aimed at the poor soul in front of him.

“Nein! Nein!” yelled the man, hands stretched out pleading, tears streaming down his face.

Vin’s finger closed.