Fallout
By: Kimberly
Michael left section one with two women on his mind. Alexandra and Kristie. Alexandra still wasn't speaking to him unless she had to. Any time she looked at him, it was with contempt and resentment. She was quickly spinning out of control. And her life was now being held over his head. Would it be a kindness to Alex to let section kill her? Nikita how I wish I could talk to you right now . . .
Then there was Kristie. She'd exposed herself when she killed the Red Cell operatives. Somehow, they'd tracked her down. She had the number to contact him, but hadn't. That bothered him. Michael found himself in Chicago hours after his briefing/scolding/warning from Madeline. The last location they had Kristie at was a dive hotel in the worst part of town. It had turned out to be an underground hackers association. But when he got there, Kristie was long gone. He'd found out where she'd gone though. New Orleans - during Mardi Gras - the last place he wanted to search for her right now.
Michael had the name of the hotel she'd probably checked into. His only clue was a piece of paper with the names of hotels scribbled onto it.
New Orleans . . .
Kristie new she was in the throws of a nightmare, but she was powerless to stop it . . .
There was something about the van that caught her attention, something about it that made her uneasy. She looked over at Nancy, who was busy chatting with the woman who was waiting with them for the cross walk light to change. The van reached the corner, the tires squealing to a stop. Kristie staggered back as the side door opened, and yanked on Nancy's arm, trying to pull her back.
But the hands that reached out weren't reaching for Nancy, they were reaching for Kristie. Nancy screamed, but a moment later was silent, gunfire exploding out from inside the van. Kristie screamed in anger and fear, as she was yanked into the van, too many hands and arms to break free from.
"NO!" she screamed, the cry ripped from her throat.
Kristie sat up, drenched in perspiration, looking frantically around the room. She'd been dreaming of that day, almost three months ago, when the terrorist group that ended her former life had found her again.
She looked at the clock. It was 8:00 in the morning. She had a lot to do today. She got out of the bed, and headed for the shower.
She let the hot water pound into her back, hoping to ease some of the tension in her muscles. She closed her eye's, and unbidden, other memories filled her mind.
She could still see the inside of the dingy warehouse they'd taken her to. She could smell the odor of decaying fish outside. She could still see the light filtered through dirt smeared windows, catching the dust and dirt floating in the air around her. She could taste her own blood in her mouth, feel her broken ribs and the multitude of bruises on her body. She could feel the pain in her wrists as she worked them out of the ropes, slickened with her own blood. Her guard was passed out. He'd been drinking some kind of cheap whisky for hours, and apparently drank too much. The others were upstairs, one was in a room in back.
When she'd worked her wrists free, she gingerly stood up, testing out her legs. She crept up to the guard, and gently eases his knife out of the sheath on his hip. These bastards were going to pay.
She balled up the shreds left of her jacket, and shoved it into the open mouth of her guard, while violently slicing across his throat with the knife she'd stolen from him a moment ago. She struggled with him for a few moments, using all the strength she possessed, until she'd cut deep enough to prevent him from crying out. He stopped convulsing and she stepped back, grabbing up his gun.
She wiped her bloody hands on his cloths, and crept back towards the room in back where she'd seen the other terrorist go.
He was asleep on an old sofa, and again, Kristie jammed the rags into his mouth, and stabbed her pilfered knife into his throat, cutting trough the jugulars and his vocal cords.
The other three were in a room upstairs. There was no way she could walk in and kill all three of them with her stolen knife. She climbed the stairs quietly, and then climbed into the rafters, slowly, quietly, until she managed to get herself into position over the room. There was no roof over their room, so she had a perfect view of all of them. They were playing cards, the radio blasting on the table next to them. Kristie smiled, and sighted up her first target. The bullet entered his skull, killing him instantly. His companions reared back, looking around and up. She didn't aim so carefully with them, but 7 bullets later they were dead too. Quickly, she climbed down from the rafters, and slipped out of the warehouse.
Kristie opened her eye's, and stepped out of the shower, toweled off and looked at herself in the mirror. It bothered her sometimes that she'd taken such glee in killing those five men, even though they'd certainly deserved their fate. She saw a little bit of darkness in her eye's now, a little bit of guilt. She wondered if that was what she'd seen in Michael's eye's years ago when he'd saved her . . .
* * *
Alexandra walked into Madeline's office, and found the older woman sitting behind her desk. As usual, the room was bright, and looked cheerful, but somehow it felt cold. Alexandra reasoned it must have been her perception of the owner. The lighted wall and Madeline's bonsai plants always drew attention. Alexandra wondered what would happen if she walked over and dumped them all out on the floor. But that would be childish. How childish would it be for her to wrap her hands around Madeline's neck and squeeze the life from the older woman? She could almost hear herself saying, 'This is for Nikita and Darren, I won't let you take anyone else from me . . .'
"Alex, have a seat," Madeline told her, pouring two cups of tea.
Alexandra sat down in one of the chairs, and wondered how hard it would be to slip poison into the tea . . . What would Operation's do? She knew he'd cancel her, but what would he do himself? Would he mourn Madeline's loss? Would he feel the ache in his heart that Alexandra carried with her all the time now?
Madeline turned the monitor so Alexandra could see it.
"We have an assignment for you," Madeline told her, "Andre Marchelli."
Alexandra felt her pulse jump. He looked like Darren almost. Long dark hair, darker skin. Brown eye's. Marchelli's nose was bigger. His lips weren't as full as Darrens . . .
"He's hosting a weekend party, starting this evening," Madeline told him, "And he's ordered several women from an agency that supplies women for parties. That's your cover. None of the girls know each other. We're interested in who's attending. I want you to photograph all of them. People will be coming and going all weekend. Marchelli likes redhead's. I've made sure you're going to be the only one there, so you'll be with him most of the weekend. You will have to sleep with him."
"OK," Alexandra said calmly, "Does wardrobe have a suitcase packed for me?"
"Yes," Madeline told her, "See Walter about your camera. It's going to be a necklace piece, very small, very discreet. You leave in 45 minutes."
Alexandra stood up, and walked out of Madeline's office, and into wardrobe feeling very cold and empty inside. She dressed the part, got her camera from Walter and left on the transport.
* * *
Nikita looked over at Tom, 25 yards away. He was an ex Section One operative. They were running this mission incredibly short on people. There was only one non Section One op on this team, and that was Ming. But she could function well enough in the assault.
The problem here was that there were too many exit points. More than what they'd been told about, more than what they'd planned for. They had one person on each exit point, and no back up team. Their targets were more heavily armed than they should have been too. All in all, it boiled down to bad Intel Michael, what would you do?
"I have some folks leaving here," Ming's voice was heard over the head seat, "Three - no four getting into a car."
"What about our target?" Nikita asked her.
"Nope, not there, these guys are all young - under 30," Ming said.
"Let them go," Nikita told her, "We're spread to thin to invite any more trouble than we are going to get as it is."
"Wait!" Ming's voice was suddenly excited, "He just walked out - he's gonna get into the car."
"Take the shot," Nikita ordered.
Silence.
"Ming, take the shot," Nikita repeated.
"I . . ." Ming's voice wavered.
She felt her stomach twist and turn, and suddenly saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Darren had moved over so he could see the target. He sighted him in, and fired.
A shot rang out, the sound of Ming gasping came over the headset.
"Ming, report," Nikita said, worried.
"I . . . He's down," Ming said, "Everyone is going nuts!"
"All teams back to the van!" Nikita ordered, already rolling to her feet.
Nikita and Tom were the second set in the van, there were two more out in the field, but they were racing back in even as Nikita looked at the computer screen, illustrating green and red dots.
"Damn, I can't believe we got him!" Casey, the computer tech with them said, her finger flying over the keyboard, altering the scan.
"Where did the shot come from?" Nikita asked her quietly.
Casey shook her head, "I can't tell from this."
Nikita nodded, and turned to see the last team clamor in, Darren and Ming. Ming was pale, very pale.
"Go," Nikita ordered to the driver, and scrambling back to where Ming sat next to Darren. Ming Was shaking, her eye's welling up with tears.
"Put your head between your knees, and take slow deep breaths," Darren said softly, "think about ocean beaches, fresh salty air."
Nikita grabbed an evidence bag for Ming to puke in, just in case and dropped to her knee's in front of the other woman.
" I couldn't do it," Ming gasped out, "Darren took the shot, I just couldn't . . ."
Nikita caught Darren wincing out of the corner of her eye. He obviously hadn't planned on telling Nikita that part.
"It's OK," Nikita told her, pulling off her glove, and reaching to rub the back of Ming's neck, "I had a heck-of-a time pulling the trigger at first. I could do it when someone shot at me, but I couldn't site up a person until I had to save another operative's life once, and I almost couldn't do it then."
Ming looked up at her, her face tear streaked, regret in her voice, "Are you gonna send me back to the Agency?"
"No," Nikita told her, "We'll work on it some more before we do anything drastic."
Back at Section Three . . .
"What good did you think you were going to do by protecting her?" Nikita asked him, stopping him in the hall, once everyone had scattered, "That's hard to overlook with such a big audience."
"Because Alex did it for me once," Darren said, "Do you know the deal Ming made with George? Why she's here?"
Nikita took a deep breath, "No."
"If she can't do the job, her family gets sent back to China," Darren told her, "They're considered dissidents. They came to this country illegally, and George needed an oriental woman for a mission. That's how it started. She's been trapped in it every since. The agency isn't that much better than Section Nikita."
"I know that," Nikita told him, "I'm not gonna send her back over this. You just got yourself a partner, don't help her until you absolutely have to. I want her able to pull the trigger soon. Otherwise it could be out of my hands. Maria and Larry report to George too."
Darren sighed in relief, "Thank you."
Nikita turned her gear in, and went into the women's locker room for a quick shower. She found herself combing her hair out in front of the mirror a few minutes later, staring at the face of a woman not quite 24, with the eye's of someone much older.
Who are you? You're becoming the Michael you hated, that part of Operations that you despised, the profiler that twists emotions to serve a purpose . . . what right do you have? What if you're prolonging the inevitable?
* * *
Michael had been to a few Mardi Gras celebrations. As he walked through the streets filled and over flowing with revelers, he couldn't help but think that Nikita would have loved this. He would picture her dancing in the streets with the other participants, maybe a little tipsy, maybe stone cold sober, enjoying every moment of sheer abandon. She'd taunt him with her eye's. Sometime late in the night, or early in the morning, they'd stagger back to their hotel, and make mad passionate love . . .
But Nikita was gone. Yet Michael couldn't help but see her everywhere he turned. He had to force himself to turn his attention to his reason for being here today - Kristie. He had just gotten the hotel he suspected was her's in sight when he saw her. Her hair was longer. Her cloths looked like they'd seen better days. They were worn and faded. She had sunglasses on. She scanned the street, and Michael stepped to the side of a tree for concealment. She started down the street. Michael followed her.
She stopped someplace for breakfast, then spent time in a few shops, buying undergarments, two pair of jeans, two shirts, a light jacket. A few toiletry items. It was one in the afternoon when she met up with someone in the back of a smoky blues club. Michael took a seat where he was concealed by darkness, but could still see her. The booth she choose was dark, but not so dark that Michael couldn't see her. The man who sat down across from her looked nervous. Kristie kept her eye's traveling the bar the whole time. Michael was an expert at blending in. The only reason she hadn't seem him was because she remembered him looking very different - biker attire . . . That and she was probably looking for people converging on her. Michael was just watching.
The man reached under the table at the same time Kristie did, and slipped whatever she passed him into his coat, got up and left. Kristie put whatever he passed her into her bag, and tossed down the rest of her drink, and got up.
Michael followed her out of the club, and decided it was time to let her know he was there. He quickened his pace.
"Kristie," a voice said off to the side.
A man suddenly appeared in front of her startling her. The scream died in her throat though. His face was familiar, very familiar in fact.
"Michael!" Kristie breathed throwing herself into his arms, "I . . . what are you doing here?"
"You've been exposed," Michael said calmly, tightly wrapping his arms around her, protectively.
Kristie watched him watch her, and the throngs around her.
"No shit! Three months ago I got kidnapped off the street - I've been on the run since then, how the hell did you find me?" She asked him.
"I didn't at first," Michael told her, "Let's get off the street."
She nodded, "I'm hungry - how about some lunch?"
Michael nodded, and turned her down a side street. He felt her tense up.
"Relax - if I wanted you dead, you'd have been dead when you left your hotel this morning, I've been with you since you were having breakfast," Michael told her, "There's a restaurant two streets over that I like."
It was a steak house. She'd lost weight, she hadn't been eating much. Michael intended to feed her well, and let her drink a little. Red Cell had lost her trail weeks ago. Michael wanted her away from the crowd because if she ran, it would he harder to catch her in the throngs of people.
Three more blocks, and the Kristie found herself listening to Michael speaking to the host in French. Michael asked for a table on the balcony, a bottle of wine he knew was smooth and strong. They were seated, and the wine was served immediately.
"The steak and Lobster is their specialty," Michael told her.
Kristie made a small noise, and ignored him, and continued to browse the menu. But when the waiter came, she ordered the steak and Lobster.
"So how did they find me?" Kristie asked when the waiter had left.
"Someone probably recognized you," Michael told her, "I was more concerned with Section One finding you than Red Cell. I made a mistake."
Kristie sighed, "It took them 5 years to find me Michael. It was just dumb luck I'm sure."
Michael sipped at his wine, and saw Kristie's eye's flicker to his left hand. He'd worn his wedding ring when he left on this assignment. He did that more and more now, when he was out of Section, and it wouldn't affect his mission.
"What's her name?" Kristie asked him.
"Nikita," Michael told her, "Her name was Nikita. She's been dead 3 months."
"Jesus . . . I'm sorry Michael," Kristie said gently.
Michael managed a tight smile, "There's a lot I have to tell you. But I need you to promise me something first."
Kristie took a deep breath, "If I can."
Michael almost winced. How many times had he said those words?
"Promise me you'll hear me out before you run," he told her.
Kristie blinked, "OK . . . I'll hear you out - but that's all I'll guarantee."
"Fair enough," Michael replied. How do I explain Section One? "You once asked what I did, who I worked for . . . It's an organization called Section One. We operate under the united nations and Primarily the United States. We're a covert antiterrorist organization. We're the last line of defense against the kind of people the came after you."
"OK," Kristie said slowly, "These are the people who ordered you to kill me last time . . . why are you telling me now? Are you going to really do it this time?"
"No," Michael told her, "I have to bring you in. You'll never be safe on the outside again."
Their lunch arrived. Kristie stared at her lobster and her steak, trying to decide if she was still hungry. Her stomach growled. She took a deep breath, and attacked her lobster, "OK, so when do we leave?"
"Tomorrow morning," Michael told her, and refilled her wine glass, "Until then, we can enjoy Mardi Gras."
Kristie sipped her wine, watching Michael watch her, and wondering what was going on in his head. In the hours to come, it never occurred to her that Michael kept her drinking, keeping her somewhere between tipsy and drunk. Later that night, he pulled her into his hotel room, two blocks off of bourbon street. She noticed that he kept the curtains drawn, but she didn't think about why. She didn't think about why he chose a hotel off the main street.
She lay back on the bed, sighing deeply. She watched him shrug out of his jacket, and lay his shoulder holster and a gun on the bedside table. For a moment he had a pained expression on his face, and Kristie wondered if he was thinking of hid dead wife. But when he looked at her, his expression changed, and Kristie felt her insides turn to molten mush.
"Get undressed," he urged her, unbuttoning his shirt, his eye's traveling down her.
In the back of her mind, Kristie knew Michael had probably been planning to seduce her, but she chose not to ask why. Hadn't the sex between them been great before? Why not now . . .
She peeled her shirt off, and tossed it to the floor. Her bra followed, and she tugged her jeans and panties off, and scooted back on the bed. When she looked up, Michael was advancing on her, completely nude, his intent clear in his eye's.
Michael felt the guilt deep in his chest. He wasn't under orders to seduce Kristie. It was simply another method to keep her not thinking until he got her onto the transport tomorrow. What was bothering him was that he had looked for ways to not have sex with his targets, since he'd married Nikita, long before he married her really. He felt like he was betraying her memory now. Partially because he found himself wanting to lose himself in Kristie. Nikita would understand, he thought . . . or he hoped she would. If it were her, he'd want to enjoy the parts of life she could. If that meant sex with another man because Michael was dead, Michael thought he would understand that.
Michael remembered that Kristie had little use for foreplay. Keeping that in mind, he sat down in the middle of the bed, rolled the condom on and pulled her towards him, so she straddled his hips. Michael sheathed himself inside her, enjoying the tight hot wet feel of her, and gave her a moment to adjust. But it was just a moment.
Kristie arched her back, and started to move after only a moment. God he felt good inside her! Thick, hard, and he matched her thrusts, no hesitation, no holding back. She felt his lips move down her neck, one hand at the small her back, the other cupping her breast, his fingers working her nipple, shooting little jolts of pleasure and something close, but not quite pain deep inside her. She came hard and fast, crying out. Michael kissed her then smothering her cries, holding her while her body shuddered with it's release.
He laid her back on the bed, and curled up next to her. She gasped for air for a few moments, feeling her body become lethargic.
"Are you starting to relax a little," Michael asked her, playing with a lock of her hair.
"Hm . . . yeah," she said, and looked over at him, a lazy smile on her face.
"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Michael said, pulling away from her.
Kristie frowned, and startled to sit up, but Michael pushed her back down, moving between her thighs. His tongue parted her, and the last coherent thought that Kristie had was that she wondered at his stamina.
The next morning, she woke up, unable to pull her arm down to her side. She opened her eye's, and found Michael sitting in a chair, dressed. She looked up above her, and found that her hand was handcuffed to the bed. A smile spread across her lips, remembering when he'd suddenly handcuffed her last night. She'd been hesitant at first, but he didn't let her dwell on it much . . .
"Hey," she said, "My arm is killing me. Either distract me, or uncuff me."
Michael looked at her, regret in his eye's. He produced a key, "You have enough time for a very quick shower before we leave."
Kristie frowned. Now it occurred to her that with her handcuffed, she wasn't slipping out of the room while he was in the shower. She sat up, "Are we flying or driving?"
"Flying," he told her, "go on. You've got ten minutes."
Kristie sighed. That meant there was no way she was going to talk him into getting into the shower with her.
She went into the bathroom, and quickly showered, never noticing that there were no windows for her to escape through. She ran a comb through her hair, and changed into some of the clothing that she'd bought yesterday.
Michael handed her a glass of orange juice from the fridge, "Let's go."
She picked up her shopping bags, "I need to get my things at the other hotel."
"We'll stop on the way," Michael told her.
They got into the cab, and Kristie smiled to herself. She was still exhausted, and no wonder, she'd slept very little the night before.
"Rest your head on my shoulder if you're tired," Michael told her, watching the drug rapidly affect her. He felt guilty about drugging her, but he didn't want to answer any questions, and he had no intention of going back for any of her things.
She nodded, and leaned into him, and slipped into unconsciousness. Michael told the driver to skip the hotel, and go right to the airport. When they arrived, Michael picked up Kristie, and her two shopping bags, and carried her through the private plane gate, ignoring the looks of the clerks. He climbed the steps up into the plane, and set her down in one of the seats, and strapped her in. The plane was moving when he started to strap himself in.
Hours later, Michael was at his desk when he was informed that Kristie was awake. He walked down the hall to the room he'd been in some 12 years back, and never felt so much regret for something he'd had no control over. He opened the door, and found her with her back to the wall.
"Where the hell am I Michael?" she demanded.
"You're in Section One," Michael said calmly, "We'll train you, and you will work for us. You no longer have a choice. The rest of the world believes you committed suicide in your hotel room this morning."
"I didn't agree to this!" Kristie screamed at him, "You can't do this to me!"
"We can, and we will," Michael told her calmly, "Someone will be here tomarrow at 5:00 to begin your training. Get some rest."
He turned to leave, and felt her leap at his back. Michael swung her around, and held her up against the wall, "Listen to me, and listen well Kristie. The Michael you knew yesterday, and five years ago, does not exist. You don't exist anymore. I'm not your lover, and I'm not your friend. You'll train, and do well, or you'll die."
"Why?" she demanded, "Why me? I won't do it! Why not just kill me now?!"
Michael didn't let her go, "Because you can kill, and you're beautiful."
He said it with no emotion what so ever. He let her go, pushed her away hard enough so she was off balance, and slipped out the door.
Kristie attacked the locked door, kicking and screaming.
Michael nodded to Madeline, and turned down the hall to his office. At least someone else was training her. Michael didn't think he could be effective with her now. He just hoped she still hated him when her head cleared. He'd vowed in the last few hours to never get attached again.
* * *
Alexandra felt the world tilt around her. Marchelli had chosen her for his weekend playmate the moment he saw her. It had been fortunate in a way. It gave her the opportunity to photograph everyone who came and went. She sat there, sipping on a glass of champagne, dressed in one of the evening gowns, trying to pretend that it was Darren's hand on her hip, that it was his lap she sat on. It was easier to do today, because she'd been high since Friday. Marchielli had every alcohol and drug on hand that his guests might want. She couldn't get out of doing the drugs on Friday night. It had been a sticking point with him. He'd demanded that she give him one good reason why, he was on the verge of throwing her out. So she'd pleaded that she'd never tried them before. He'd given her a choice, reminded her of the money she was making this weekend . . .
So Alexandra had done the line of coke. Later on that night, it was acid. When Marchielli dragged her up to his bedroom, with her eye's closed, she could pretend it was Darren that was with her, not this bastard who's eye's she'd wanted to rip out.
It was late Saturday afternoon when she'd finally come to realize that he was keeping all the girls very high. Anyone stoned was likely not to remember what they heard. She fought herself to remember names with the faces. She used only just enough of the drugs to keep Marchielli happy, trying to keep her wits about her. It was easier to pretend she enjoyed his pawing when she was high too. Sunday afternoon, when she'd been sent away, she was already starting to ache. When she arrived at Section one, she was sweating, her body ached. Michael was in the hall, and stopped to look at her for a moment.
"Are you ill?" Michael asked her.
Alexandra turned her glassy eyed gaze on him. She knew she must look terrible. He stood there, looking so smug, so arrogant . . .
"No Michael, I feel great," Alexandra snapped at him, "I feel like running a fucking marathon!"
She pushed past him, and made her way up to Madeline's office.
Madeline's expression was curious. Alexandra watched Madeline watch her as she walked across the room. Alexandra hand the necklace in her hand. She dropped down into a chair, "I . . . Madeline he . . . he kept all the girls stoned all weekend . . . I couldn't get out of it . . . I feel like my guts are being torn apart . . ."
Alexandra twisted around in the chair, and was vaguely aware of Madeline calling med lab.
Michael stood outside the hospital room with Madeline, observing Alexandra. She was calmer now. She no longer writhed in pain, and she passed out a little while ago.
"The toxicology report showed she'd ingested just about every drug out there in the last three days. Five of the girls that had gone to this party are dead," Madeline told him.
"Does the film support her story?" Michael asked Madeline quietly.
"Yes," Madeline told him, "She didn't have the option of not using. This is unfortunate. Marchielli has never done that before. I had hoped she'd have been able to hear something useful to us. As it is, we won't know how accurate her memories are."
Michael nodded, "I'll watch her for signs of addiction."
"Yes," Madeline told him, "Kristie has survived her first day."
"She'll make a good operative," Michael told her.
"Her psych evaluations came in very high. Survival ratio was 97," Madeline told him.
* * *
Nikita stood there letting her eye's travel, checking on the operatives. Everyone was in position. Ming stood close to Darren, perhaps enjoying her cover as his date a little to much. But Nikita would deal with that later. Tom nodded to her from across the room. Tony made eye contact with her from the stairs. There were a couple operatives here on this team that weren't Section One. After six months, she was getting used to it, but slowly. Some of them were getting better. Some of the Section One cold ops were getting soft though too. Then there was Darren. He was getting a little too hardened, except when it came to Ming. But last week, Ming had taken someone out on her own. Nikita had been there in the background, watching. No one knew that though, until it was over. Darren was livid when he found out. He accused her not trusting him. Nikita accused him of getting to attached. She reminded him that they were both suffering the consequences of making that mistake. Then Darren said something that really hurt. He told her she was becoming just like Operations.
Nikita threw him out of her office.
The next day, they'd chosen to forget the prior day's argument.
" I have our target in site," one of the female section three operative's said, "He's moving towards the stairs Tony."
"Ming, get ready, ask him to dance," Nikita told him, "then Ron is going to come by with two glasses of champagne. He'll hand you yours, let him hand the target the other glass."
Ming flirted with the target for a few moments, and then managed to get him out on the dance floor.
"Team three, have the ambulance ready," Nikita said softly, into her comm link.
They finished the dance, and Ron walked by with a tray of champagne. Ming waved him down, and let Ron hand her a glass, and then Ron handed the target a glass. Several minutes later, Nikita was still waiting for the target to start to complain that he wasn't feeling well. Instead, Ming passed out cold.
"Damnit!" Nikita snarled, "Ron you gave her the wrong glass! Team two roll. You'll be getting Ming. Team one, close in, five feet away from the target, I'm going to take him when he follows Ming outside. Sue, have the van ready, right behind the Ambulance."
Nikita was already moving, feeling her gun inside her purse. They were going to be terribly exposed.
She hovered behind the target, hoping he would follow Ming out of the party. But instead, he simply watched her be wheeled away, and shook his head.
"Want me to try," Lisa, another cold op suggested, "I could ask him if he wants some fresh air?"
"No," Nikita said, I'll stay on him for a few minutes, let's see where he goes, Tony, get down here and dance with me."
Tony met her a few feet away from the target, and went through the motions of asking her to dance. Nikita watched the target, until he moved back towards the stairs.
"Everyone close in," Nikita told him, "Hold five feet back, follow us out."
Nikita walked up behind the target, "Uh, excuse me, but you look so familiar."
She slipped her hand inside her purse, and watched Tony move in just behind her, his body blocking any view of her hand pulling her gun out. She jammed it into his side.
"Don't scream or do anything, if you want to keep your kidney," Nikita told him, "Walk towards the door, and walk out. If you do anything stupid, and I don't shoot you, my partner behind us will."
The target started forward, stammered a greeting to someone who said hello to him. Nikita walked him over to the van. The back doors opened.
"Get in," she ordered, nudging him with the gun, "Team one, disperse and report back in."
Tony got in behind her, putting their terrified target into handcuffs and ankle cuffs. Nikita slipped the needle into the targets neck, and pressed the plunger down. He passed out.
Maria was waiting when they arrived back in. Her expression was grim.
"The target is in the van," Nikita told her, "How is Ming?"
Maria sighed, "She died in the ambulance Nikita."
Nikita groaned, and sagged against the wall, "The drug?"
Maria shrugged, "We won't know for a few hours. What did you drug the target with."
"A mild sedative," Nikita told her, "I had to jam my gun into his ribs and scare him into going outside. Anyone watching knows he's been kidnapped, and got a look at Tony and I."
Maria nodded, "I'll have something leaked into the press."
She and Nikita watched as two med lab staffers rolled the target out on a gurney.
"Take him to interrogation three," Maria told them, "let me know when he wakes up."
Nikita watched them go.
"Ron handed her the wrong glass," Nikita said softly, "I thought one tablet would render him unconscious - but Ming is half his weight . . ."
Maria sighed, "I haven't informed Larry or George yet."
"I'll handle it," Nikita told her, "I'll be in my office. Send Ron up when he arrives back, and Darren. No one tells anyone anything. I want this kept quiet."
It was 20 minutes later when Ron appeared in her doorway.
"Hey, I'm sorry about the glasses thing, guess I got them confused, is Ming OK?" Ron asked.
"Have a seat Ron," Nikita told him, "How many tablets did you put into the champagne.
"Three," Ron told him, "All Med lab had was 15 milligram tablets, not 40."
"Well," Nikita told him, "That extra five milligrams killed Ming. She didn't weigh as much as the target."
Ron gaped at her, "I . . .but . . . oh god . . . oh god . . ."
"You're on closed quarters for the time being. Don't try to leave. I suggest that you go to your quarters here, and lock your door. No one knows yet, but when Darren does, he'll probably want to pound you into the pavement. I'm going to send him out on another nonsense mission right away. You can go."
Five minutes later, Darren was walking into her office.
"Hey boss," Darren said, "How is Ming?"
Nikita took a deep breath, "Darren, do you know where her family is?"
Darren sank down in the chair, "Jesus Christ . . .is she . . .?"
Nikita nodded, "Yeah, I'm afraid so, we were calculating for a 250 pound man, not a 120 pound woman. Do you know where her family is."
Darren took a deep breath, "Yeah, I do."
"How many are there?" Nikita asked him.
"Seven," Darren told her, "You're sending me to tell them?!"
"No," Nikita told him, "I'm sending you to hide them. Get Seven passport packs, and move them. Email me the new names to my anonymous net account, and I'll alter the data. You've got a four days. I'm officially sending you out to gather Intel in Africa."
Darren nodded slowly, and stood up to go.
"Darren," Nikita said softly, "If you can't do this, tell me now. I'll send someone else."
Darren sighed, "Who else can you trust Nikita?"
"Be very careful Darren. Larry isn't due back in for three more days. I can't stall him much longer than that," Nikita told him, "List the passports as going out to Ming. Be very careful how you cover your tracks. George isn't stupid."
* * *
"Michael," Birkhoff said quietly, as the stoic operative walked by.
Michael stopped, but didn't say anything. Birkhoff didn't stop him to be social. Not anymore at least.
"I found something, some transmissions, pretty heavily encoded stuff," Birkhoff told him, "In Istanbul from a mission yesterday, on a frequency Operations has us locked out of."
"Operations may have his own personal frequency," Michael said, but he was curious himself. Why would Operations lock Section One out of anything?
"Don't know what for," Birkhoff told him, "There is a 5 point band that we've been locked out of though - and It was done the morning Nikita, Darren, and the other Section Operatives left for that last mission," Birkhoff told him, "And those frequencies are getting some pretty heavy usage."
Michael digested all of this, and looked at the reflection of Operations glass tower on one of the off line computer screens. He wasn't there.
"Can you break the encoding?" Michael asked him.
"Been working on it for hours," Birkhoff told him, "I set up a dummy set to keep his alarm system occupied. I just thought I should let you know, in case something were to happen to me."
Michael had turned to walk away and stopped. Something happen to Birkhoff?
"What would happen here?" Michael asked him.
Birkhoff shrugged, "I could be sent out with a team that gets blown up on accident, anything I guess."
* * *
The weather matched her mood when Alexandra found herself walking down the street to the city park. It was stormy. The sky was dreary and gray, threatening to rain down on her. Max had called her, asking her to meet him for a cup of coffee, by the fountain in the city park.
Which was odd, because Max was not a coffee drinker, and he knew that the coffee stand by the fountain had a particular brand Alexandra couldn't stand. Putting all of this together, Alexandra knew that he wanted to talk to her about something without Section One finding out.
When she arrived, Regi was there too. They were sitting on a park bench, a space in between them, and Max patted that Space, indicating that she should sit down.
"Guys," Alexandra said, "I'm nursing a hangover. What's going on?"
Regi looked particularly despondent, Max wasn't much better. They were both quiet for a moment longer, both of them obviously at a loss for how to start. It was Max who finally spoke up.
"I found some swollen glands," Max said softly, "and I went to an anonymous clinic, instead of the Section doctors."
Alexandra's brain didn't comprehend the implications at first, other than that he was always supposed to got the Section doctors first.
"OK," she said, "Go on."
"I tested positive for HIV," Max told her, "We both did."
' Alexandra felt her heart twist in her chest, the enormity of what they were telling her just now hitting her.
"Oh my god," she breathed.
"You took care of me that day - when I was shot," Max said softly, "I . . . thought you should know. You're probably OK, but when Section One finds out, both Regi and I are gonna find ourselves in the abeyance pool. You'll be tested too - and if you test positive you'll be put there as well. We're gonna run."
"We know that they'll catch us," Regi added, "But we wanted to see some things before we die. You're welcome to come with us. We'll wait a few days for you to get some test results back."
Alexandra drew in a deep breath, "I'm probably OK - I didn't wear gloves - but wasn't cut myself, I don't think . . ."
"Well, you're invited," Max told her quietly.
"I'd slow you down," Alexandra told them slowly, "I don't have the motivation . . . to keep going, not the way you'll need."
"We're going to notify Section, why we ran, after we're gone - delayed email, so the Med lab staff can be tested, and not spread anything to everyone, just in case," Regi told her, "And we know you'll probably be on the recovery team - we know you have to do your best - so no hard feelings."
Alexandra nodded, "Do you need any money?"
"We've got enough," Max told her, "You probably shouldn't be seen with us the next couple of days."
Alexandra managed a smile, and stood up, "Good Luck . . . you do know how Darren and I stumbled across Nikita and Michael right?"
"Yeah, we'll avoid all surveillance equipment," Regi told her, "And Alex . . . be careful around Jonathan - he's been with us."
"I will," She turned, and walked away, thinking How many more friends am I going to lose. . .
* * *
What am I doing here? Alexandra asked herself, allowing the bartender who'd been flirting with her to light the cigarette he'd just placed between her lips. Trying to get on with life - that's what Darren would tell you to do, isn't it?
So Alexandra had decided, gazing down at a picture taken in a club, that she should at least try to go out, try to have some fun. She'd dressed up a short snug mini skirt, a crop top that showed off her pierced navel, and thigh high boots that came to inches below her skirt line. Put on some makeup, curled up her hair, silver hoops and a delicate twist style chain around her neck, and she was out the door.
It amazed her how good the cigarette tasted and felt between her lips. When was the last time she had a cigarette? Before she'd been recruited into Section One . . . while she was still in prison, trying to figure out how things had gone so terribly wrong . . .
"Been months since I seen you here Alex," The bartender, Scott said, "So where's the boyfriend?"
Alexandra managed a wistful smile, "Gone."
Scott managed to give her a sympathetic smile, "Bummer for you, but great for me."
Alexandra laughed, "Gee thanks!"
"Not seeing anyone?" Scott asked her.
Alexandra caught something out of the corner of her eye, and turned, expecting it to be Michael. It was Jonathan.
Damn . . .
"Not a soul," Alexandra told him, and leaned forward, "That guy over there - the one with the blond hair, looks kind preppy - followed me here. He doesn't like to take no for an answer - think you could ask one of the bouncers to bounce him out of here?"
"Sure thing Alex," Scott said, and picked up the phone.
"Scott," Alexandra grabbed his hand, "Tell them to be careful - I saw track marks, god knows what he has."
Scott grimaced, "Thanks for the warning."
Alexandra watched as Jonathan spotted her, just as two bouncers came up to him, and hustled him out the door.
"Never did understand why someone would risk needles, it's not like its the only way to take shit anymore," Scott told her.
Alexandra nodded, "He's a loser. I only know him by acquaintance anyhow."
Scott nodded, and refilled her drink, placing the new drink on a new napkin, and sliding it over to her, "Let me know what you think."
Alexandra watched him go to the other end of the bar. She reached for her glass, and saw something else on the napkin. A small piece of paper, with white powder sitting on it. She looked over at Scott, who raised his eyebrow. Alexandra sipped her drink, and waited for him to come back.
"What is this stuff?" Alexandra asked, leaning forward so she could ask him quietly.
"It's coke," Scott told her, "Relax, it's good shit. I wouldn't give a regular anything that was shit."
Alexandra was about to turn it down, but then something in the back of her mind reminded her how easy everything seemed on the Marchielli mission. Besides, it wasn't like she was gonna be taking as much as she took on the Marchielli mission - and it did wear off after a few hours. Nothing was brewing when she left . . .
She picked up the paper, and glanced around, and sniffed hard. Moments later, she felt the rush, and slammed down the rest of her drink.
"Scotty!" she called out to him, "You're slackin! I need another!"
* * *
Alexandra pushed the niggling feeling of guilt back when she went into the gym next morning to work out. She was supposed to help the sensei with some new recruits today. When she got there, they were still warming up. Alexandra went through her own warm ups, and waited to be paired up with someone.
Sensei paired her up with a woman in her late 20's, with strawberry blond hair - named Kristie. But Alexandra knew that. This was the woman Micheal brought in a few months ago. Michael had kept tabs on her, even though she was someone else's material. Alexandra had heard a few rumors. She and Michael had been lovers once. Michael had faked her death a few years ago, to protect her. She'd taken out a squad of terrorists, and evaded capture for months.
Alexandra was sure it was really about 10 of all the rumors put together.
They talked a little as Alexandra worked with Kristie through the sequences. She was farther along than most people were at 3 months, so Alexandra actually found sparing with her fun, and not the boring, block, attack, block, attack, back and forth old boring routines.
She gave herself away when she looked at her next attack target though, and Alexandra teased her about it, warning her not to look next time, catching her as her eye's shifted. Then, Kristies gaze shifted beyond and behind Alexandra for a long moment, then another, then another.
Alexandra turned to look. Michael was in the gym, doing his daily workout, dressed in spandex shorts and a tank top.
Alexandra looked back at Kristie, "Kristie - he's nice to look at, but you don't want to go there. Trust me."
Kristie shrugged, "Alex - how can you not notice that though . . ."
Alexandra swept Kristies legs, dumping her on the ground suddenly.
Startled, Kristie looked up at her, surprised.
"Because I got dumped on my ass enough times to learn that I can't afford to drool," Alexandra told her, offering her a hand up.
Kristie grinned, "Yeah, I know, I gotta work on that don't I?
She stood up, and stepped back to the line again, "But as long as we're inside Section . . . I see you with him a lot - and the last time I talked to him, months ago, he was really moody."
Alexandra sighed. It wasn't the first time a woman here asked her about Michael. Alexandra had become Michael's material since Nikita was gone. Comm tech ops, med lab staffers, evan other cold ops asked her about him. Michael seemed to ride her about every mistake. They asked her how he was doing since Nikita was gone, they asked if he was looking again . . .
"Michael is very closed off," Alexandra told him, "Someone he cared about in here was killed. He keeps everyone at arms length, and expects nothing less than your best - and he'll exploit anything and everything to extract every last ounce of willpower you have. He's a cold bastard - you'll save yourself a lot of trouble if you stay away."
"Nothing like the man I knew . . . well, next time you get a chance to talk to him, tell him I'm not pissed anymore, no hard feelings," Kristie said, sighing.
Alexandra's lip line thinned a little, and attacked a little hard. God damn vulture . . . the body is hardly cold yet . . .
* * *
Michael saw the shadow cast over him and looked up to see Alexandra, dressed in work out clothing. He was in the midst of doing bench presses.
"Hey boss," She said, and edge to her voice, "I've been sparing with a strawberry blonde over there - isn't she the one you brought in three months ago?"
Michael was afraid he knew where this was going. Would Kristie be this indiscreet? It was three months ago . . .
"Yes," Michael answered, racking the weight bar.
"Well, you'll be glad to know she doesn't harbor any ill feelings," Alexandra told him, "Kinda made a point of letting me know that too, since she'd seen me work with you."
"She's adjusting then, that's good," Michael replied, and started to walk over to another set of weights.
"I was kinda wondering why she'd have a reason to harbor ill feelings," Alexandra said, watching him slip his ankles behind the padded bar, and extend his legs, doing his first rep.
"Leave it alone Alex," Michael told her, "I had contact with her on a prior mission."
"Really," Alexandra said sarcastically, "So was she a great fuck both times, or just the first."
Michael stopped doing his reps, and looked at the red head standing next to him, "What does it matter?"
"It matters," Alexandra snapped at him, "Because Nikita was my friend - because you stood by while four other cold ops were blown apart the same why my friend - and supposedly someone you cared about was. It matters because it happened three months after she died. You don't let the bed get cold, do you Michael?"
"I do what I have to do Alex," Michael said, his words calm, measured, "You know how it works here."
"Is that what you tell yourself when you look in the mirror Michael?" Alexandra told him, "Just so you're well informed, I told her what a cold bastard you were. I pretty much knew you'd fucked her. It's the way you tend to watch her progress. If you're lucky, she'll be finished really early. It's almost as if she's been through a year of training already or so. I figure in another couple weeks, she'll be done with her training, hell, you could even set her up in Nikita's old apartment!"
Michael looked at her for a moment, not replying.
"Gee, guess I forgot about that Stone cold emotionless part. Thanks for teaching me that early on Michael," Alexandra turned and left, totally unaware of the torture her words inflicted.
* * *
"We're still seeing fallout," Madeline said watching Alexandra blatently ignor Michael as she walked across the main floor of Section One. Michael came close to losing his temper, but he didn't, not this time, "Not surprising, considering what you did to them before hand. I'd expected him to blame you more though."
Operations knew he'd just been insulted, "I didn't order their cancellations Madeline, I'm sure you've seen the evidence."
"Yes, I did," Madeline told him.
"So what's the difference this time," Operations asked her, "I don't want a walking time bomb on my hands."
"Alexandra and Kristie are the difference. He watches over them. Kristie he feels somewhat responsible fore, and with Alex, she was Nikita's material. Alex will never replace Nikita in his life though. I doubt Kristie will.. . . I just don't know who will step up and take on the role that Nikita would have eventually taken here. This changes things, drastically, I don't know how much longer he'll hold up." Madeline sighed.
"Yes, it does change things," Operations said, watching Madeline with longing eye's, "I'd like to discuss this more, over dinner."
Madeline managed a tight, cold smile, "I don't think that would be a good idea."
Operations blinked, "May I ask why?"
"Because I don't want to," Madeline told him, "When you perceived a threat to 'us' as a couple, you took some drastic measures. You can't afford that, and neither can I."
"I didn't have them killed!" Operations defended himself, his voice slightly raised.
"No, you separated them, and another couple that had developed, but still did their jobs. Michael could have used certain knowledge against us, but didn't. He at least, kept his head in the whole debacle. Now he suspects that we had something to do with Nikita's death. We're even more vulnerable. I'm implementing damage control," Madeline told him.
"Madeline," Operations began.
She stopped at the door, and looked back at him, "If Michael had to take over Section One today, he wouldn't last a year. His support systems are gone. No one here trusts anyone at this point. You've made a mess of things. You should have consulted with me first."
The door snapped open, and she left. Operations turned his gaze back to the main floor. Jonathan was just starting to walk across it.
Alexandra had been chatting with Walter, cleaning a gun for him, when she looked up and saw Jonathan talking to Birkhoff.
"Damn Damn Damn," she swore, "Walter, I gotta hide."
Walter looked up at her, "What?"
"Jonathan is gonna give me shit, and I don't want a scene, where can I hide?" Alexandra said, as she got up off her seat, and started to walk back into the armory.
Walter followed her back, and lifted lid off a storage bin. She climbed in, and he closed the lid over her.
A few moments after Walter sat back down, Jonathan walked up to the table, "I'm looking for Alexandra."
"Not here," Walter told him, "Have you tried the gym? She usually works out this time of day."
Jonathan stared into Walter's eye's for a moment, but turned and left after a moment. Walter waited until he saw Jonathan climb the stairs to his office before he went back to pull Alexandra out of the bin.
"So why are you hiding from Jonathan, does Michael know he's still harassing you?" Walter asked him.
"He showed up at a club I was at last night," Alexandra told him, sitting back down on her stool, and picking up a piece to clean, "I had two bouncers bounce him out. He gave this awful report about me months ago. Thinks I'm unstable - wants me in deep therapy. What he wants is to suck up whatever emotions I'm feeling, and get laid."
Walter grimaced, "You should be telling this to Michael."
"Michael is the last person I want help from," Alexandra snapped.
"This is the kind of thing you really ought to talk to him about," Walter told her, "He'll find out, eventually."
Alexandra groaned, "Walter, I'm not going to Michael. I don't want to talk about this."
* * *
"Trace the cell frequency," Michael ordered.
Alexandra had been walking by, to go up to a briefing, but stopped when she heard that.
Birkhoff shook his head, "It's locating . . . here - his quarters."
Alexandra took a deep breath, and started walking towards briefing again. She knew who's cell phones weren't being answered, she knew who's cell was going to be located in their Section quarters. She climbed the stairs, and took the first seat available.
Michael saw her stop, listen and then go again. Normally, Alexandra would have stayed to watch and listen. Why didn't she want to be there?
"They're not in their quarters Michael," Birkhoff told him, looking up at him.
"Call in Greg and Kevin," Michael ordered, "Inform Operations."
Michael started down the hall towards the cold up quarters. He had the over ride codes to get into anyone's quarters, so he let himself into Max's room. The cell phone sat on the bed. Everything was neat and tidy. Nothing in the bathroom.
When he checked Regi's room, he found the cell phone sitting on the bed too. Michael knew immediately that they'd ran.
Michael sighed. They were good operatives. They needed good operatives right now . . .
Michael left the room, and went to Operation's office to let him know what he'd found.
Alexandra thanks the stars that she'd learned to mimic Michael's mask during her training. She knew they were gone. She'd hoped they'd have more of a head start, more time. At least they'd thought about how they could be traced. Michael and Operations came into the briefing room, Operations was obviously pissed. Michael made a point of making eye contact with Alexandra. She watched him back, raising an eyebrow, hoping she looked curious, and not guilty. She felt like lighting a cigarette. But she'd really get reamed for that here.
"The CIA has asked for our assistance . . ."
Their role was to watch for and bring in a CIA mole. The mole was so well informed that the CIA had failed to catch him twice. So George had told the CIA director it would be taken care of. No one but George knew Section one would be doing it of course. They were taking up various positions, armed with tranques. These mole and his partners were to be brought in, not killed.
So Alexandra found herself standing with Greg in a city park somewhere in Europe. Greg was one of the newer cold ops. So new that this was only his 3rd mission. Michael had sternly warned her to keep here eye's open. He expected Greg to miss some things.
They'd been in their spots for half an hour, and their mole was a no show so far. They were bored. Alexandra pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and a pack of matches, and lit up.
"What are you doing?" Greg asked, surprised.
She looked at him, "Having a cigarette - people do that while chatting with a friend in a park."
She watched him watch her inhale. She sighed, exhaling some of the smoke, her eye's still roving.
"Can I ask you a question?" Greg asked her.
Alexandra turned off her transmitter, and gestured for Greg to do the same.
"Sure," she said, "ask away."
"How long have you been here?" Greg asked her.
Alexandra sighed, "16 months."
"Oh," Greg said, "So what's the longest . . . career in Section?"
Alexandra sighed, "Rumor has it Michael has been here 12 years, then there's Walter, I have no clue how long he's been here, but he seems to know things that predate just about everyone."
"Oh," Greg said, "Lucky."
"Maybe not," Alexandra said, her eye's scanning the crowd.
"So uh . . . how many missions before I don't feel like puking?"
Alexandra laughed, " I stopped being totally freaked out after the first two months. But I still get freaked out every now and then."
She heard someone say that the person the mole was supposed to meet had just entered the park on the north side.
Alexandra reached up and turned her transmitter back on, and gestured for Greg to do the same thing. She ground her cigarette out, "Clothing?"
"Dark blue windbreaker, blue jeans, white sneakers," Another operative said, "Moving south towards your location Alex."
" I got him," Alexandra said, "He's sitting down on a bench, back to back with a female, mid 30's, brunette, hair up in twist, tan trench coat, I see nylons but no slacks, Red pumps and bright red lipstick, and big sunglasses - She's talking to the air now . . . and she's moving towards me."
"Visual Birkhoff?" Michael's voice asked.
"I'm scanning their files now," Birkhoff's voice said.
Alexandra stepped in front of Greg, and slipped her arms around his waist turning him so she had a reason to be looking in the direction the woman was going.
Greg stiffly followed suit, looking very nervous.
"She's in the alley," Alexandra announced.
"He's following," Greg said, "Holy shit he's looking right at me."
"Be cocky," Alexandra coached him, "Grab my butt and grin at him."
"What?!"
"Do it," Alexandra snapped.
Greg fumbled through the routine, and said, 'Hi' to the man as he walked by. Alexandra pretended to be a little embarrassed.
Michael ordered several teams to converge on the alley, including Alexandra and Greg
Alexandra kept glancing back to make sure Greg was with her. He looked ready to pass out. The Shooting started just as they stepped into the alley. She saw Greg fly back out of the corner of her eye, his body slammed. . . .down.
"We've got shooters on the roof!" Alexandra yelled the warning, diving for the dumpster, and what little protection it afforded.
She heard the van's tires squealing in the background, heard Michael order in the backup team. She flattened on her stomach, remembering how Nikita had taken her out in Ireland, and fired at ankles. The feet in the red pumps staggered back and fell. She sighted up another pair of ankles and fired. The backup team arrived, and the fire fight was over.
Alexandra jumped up, and knelt down over Greg, and felt his neck for a pulse. She felt around for a few moments, nothing . . .
"Damn, one month . . .not so lucky huh Greg . . or maybe you are," She whispered, and reached in his pocket, and yanked out his wallet with the ID in it.
She stood up, and turned, and almost walked into Michael. His expression was emotionless. Mission mode. She wondered if he'd heard her.
"He's dead," Alexandra told him, and handed him the wallet, and headed for the van. She sat down, snug between two other section operatives, and rested her head back against the wall and picked a spot on the ceiling across the van to stare at for a while.
Greg had kind of reminded her of Darren, a year ago, when they were still . . . naive? Maybe naive wasn't the right word. No one got into Section One by being naive. But something in Greg reminded Alexandra of Darren today. He'd seemed nice, too nice to be here, a little nervous. They way Darren had been at first. But that had disappeared. She and Darren had aged, changed . . . twisted a lot in their first year. The Darren she slept with that first time wasn't the Darren she slept with that last night though. Stronger, more confident . . . and she'd started to soften up. Her rigid control that she thought barely kept her together had slipped . . . and she hadn't fallen apart. It had been four months . . .she didn't think she'd make it this long four months ago. In the back of her mind, she'd thought she'd collapse emotionally, do exactly what Madeline and Operations feared and warned her about. Life without him there seemed impossible. Now it didn't seem so impossible, just unfair.
They drove up into the belly of the plane, and had climbed into the passenger section. Alexandra reached into her top, her fingers wrapping around the small charm at her neck. It had been a Christmas gift from Darren. A sterling silver flat disk, with an ornate cross carved into it. On the back was inscribed Strength is where you choose to find it, love D. Did he know, even then, how short their time was? She'd always known there was no real future for them. Sooner or later they'd die in the field, or by lethal injection inside, but she'd expected it to be later, rather than sooner. She certainly didn't expect it to be by some freak accident. If it was an accident . . .
Michael watched Alexandra finger the necklace, her eye's close, her body relax as she let out a long sigh. He knew Darren had given it to her. He wondered what made her reach for it now. He knew something had been inscribed on back, but she'd never told him what. It seemed to be something personal between them.
Michael had a few personal things around his apartment that were very personal, from Nikita. Some things in his office. A wire wrought flower. Notes she'd left him. More than one pair of tacky sunglasses . . .
'not so lucky huh Greg . . or maybe you are' Michael thought about the comment he over heard. She hadn't flinched away from him when she'd turned to find him standing there, hadn't made an excuse. He worried about her mental state more and more lately. She'd stopped fighting him so much. Which was good, and it wasn't. It could mean she'd given up. But she didn't stand there in the line of fire today. She dove for cover, and did her job. She could have stepped out, made herself an easy target . . .
Nikita, what do I do? You were always so much better at reading her than I was . . . and I can't blame her for wanting out, even this way, when sometimes I think about it . . .
Michael sighed, and resisted the urge to nap on the ride back to Section. Sleep brought on dreams, and those dreams might be filled with some of the moments he spent with Nikita, visions of her smile, the light in her eye's, her infectious laugh . . . but all to often they were filled with visions of exploding vans. It was the worst catch 22. The only place he had her now was in his dreams, and he lost her just as often there.
Alexandra watched the lab tech draw the blood from her arm. She'd kicked herself for getting high a few days ago. Of course section would test her. She just hoped to god that whatever test they did wouldn't give her away. She heard the door open and looked up to see Michael waiting for her. They'd been told about the email when they returned. Operations and Madeline didn't tell them that Jonathan was mentioned in it, but judging from the way the blond psyche profiler was conspicuously absent, Alexandra thought that he had definitely been mentioned.
"Where are they going?" Michael asked her.
"To test my blood," Alexandra answered, though she knew he meant Max and Regi, rather than the lab techs that had just left with a tray of labeled test tubes.
"It seems odd that they wouldn't talk to you," Michael said softly, reaching up and fingering the necklace.
That made Alexandra uncomfortable, and Michael knew it. Alexandra knew Michael did it to make her uncomfortable. She stepped back, "Michael come on - don't play this game with me. I don't know anything. Making me feel nervous isn't going to make information I don't have magically appear."
Michael let his hand drop, "Why does that make you uncomfortable?"
She sighed, "Because I can't help but think that if we hadn't been so close, he'd still be alive."
"You were warned," Michael told her.
She gasped, it felt like he's stabbed her and twisted the knife. Without thinking, she slapped him hard, the sound loud, resonating, surprising her. She staggered back.
"Is that how you justify it?!" she hissed, feeling her eye's water. She fought herself not the cry, not here, not now, "I knew you could be a cold bastard Michael, but I thought you at least gave a shit about her! You made it hard enough for her to stay away - or were you just possessive?!"
She staggered back, turned and fled the room.
* * *
Madeline and Operations were just about to walk into Med Lab, and witnessed the whole altercation. Alexandra side stepped them, and kept going, not pausing to explain or say anything. Michael wished it was anyone but Madeline and Operations walking through the door right now.
"She's emotional lately," Operations said, irritated.
"Yes," Madeline said, "But healthier. She burns off the stress, and then gets up to go again. It's an effective coping mechanism
"We should have the rest of the lab results back within an hour," Michael said, hoping he wasn't going to have to discuss what had just happened.
Operations was still frowning, "Does she know anything about Max or Regi's disappearance?"
Michael shook his head, "No. She's worried for them, but that's normal under the circumstances. I don't think they'd put her in the position of having that knowledge
"No, they wouldn't. We'll keep her off the recovery team. Ryan is still searching, but he's made some progress," Madeline told him, "If I haven't returned by the time they are brought in, you can proceed with the questioning. We want total containment."
"How long do you anticipate being gone?" Michael asked her. Operations went to hell when Madeline was gone for extended periods of time lately. Michael often wondered how much longer Operations would be in his position. Not that he wanted to assume the role, there was no guarantee that he would be George's first choice. George tended to change his mind at the last minute, and he was closely watching a few other level 5 operatives too.
"Four days at the most," Madeline told him
* * *
"Nikita," Sue said, her voice sounding nervous, "I . . . you should take a look at this."
Nikita stopped in mind stride, "what?"
Sue took a deep breath, "Someone is trying to hack our frequency
Nikita sighed. If she called George or Operations, someone got into trouble.
"Call Section One, ask for Birkhoff, ask him why he's hacking us," Nikita told him, "He probably just wants to find out who else is using a similar band as Section one. I'll stand here and coach you."
Sue nodded, and picked up the phone. Nikita listened as she went through all the security verifications.
"Mr. Birkhoff, this is Sue from Section 3 . . . I found a tracer that came back to Section one, hacking into our frequency . . . it's a small one, I'll email it to you if you like, just so you know . . . Istanbul? We had an operation there I think, I don't know exactly what . . . I can try, they keep us pretty isolationist here . . . sure . . . our Operations?"
Sue looked up at Nikita. Nikita mouthed 'Larry'.
"He goes by Larry . . . uh huh . . . OK ready, 97589.999.313.578 there are several security filters, warn me ahead of time if your going to send me anything that could remotely look like executable file . . . cool, thanks . . . Hey, what about yours? . . . all righty . . . I will. Bye."
Sue got off the phone, "He wasn't aware section 3 existed anymore."
Nikita sighed, "He'll try to hack you again
Sue nodded, "I could set up a dummy file for him to find."
Nikita nodded, "Yeah
Nikita walked away, and on up to her office, to look at the next mission profile. A day didn't go by that she didn't question her decision's 20 times. Maybe Larry was right, maybe he wasn't. Maybe she should tell George that the mission was more up Section One's Alley. Abeyance ops might have been a better choice. Maybe she should be tougher on the cold ops . . .
The mission she was looking at now was dangerous. Michael, what do I do . . . would you pull abeyance ops for this, or send your best people . . . what happens if we wait to get these guys? She closed her eye's, and began a breathing exercise Michael had taught her. Unbidden, in her head, she could hear his voice coaching her.
Breath deep Nikita, picture the air flowing into your body, clean fresh air, and you breath out, the tension leaving with each exhale, breath in . . .
His hands grasped her shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the back of her neck, making small circular motions, massaging away tension. His breath on the back of her neck, his fingers brushed along she shell of her ear, his fingers grazed her jaw line, the pad of his thumb brushing along her lips. His breath warm on her cheek, his lips brushing across hers. Nikita . . . he said softly . . . Nikita . . .
"Nikita!" The voice was suddenly very different.
Nikita's eyes snapped open, her gaze coming to rest not on Michael, but on Larry. He was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. He never went out in the field now. He reminded her of Operations . . . except that Operations could to the job. Larry was a coward.
"What?" Nikita asked, not bothering to hid the irritation.
"Maybe if you're so tired, you should slow down," Larry told her.
"I'm fine," she told him, "I was doing a breathing exercise
"Sure. Have you taken a look at the Amsterdam mission? It's too dangerous."
Nikita took a deep breath, "I agree it's dangerous, but it's not impossible."
"The man is a psychopath!" Larry argued, "I'm not risking
"WE," Nikita corrected him, "are an antiterrorist unit. Section One is overloaded. All of the Sections are overloaded, including us
"I already forwarded it to Section one," Larry told her.
"Then withdraw it, I've already started to work up a profile. The team leaves tomorrow night," Nikita told him.
Nikita walked into Darren's bedroom, smiling slightly. His bed wasn't made, he had laundry piled up high in the basket.
"I'll be right there Nikita - I just want to trim my goatee a little more," Darren told her.
"Sure," Nikita said, looking at the open box. There were photo's in it, outside of it on the bed. Nikita sat down, and started to sift through them. The third one back made her stop. It was Darren and Alexandra, making love. She had her back to his chest, her legs dangling off on either side of his, his hands were touching her intimately. Her head was tilted so her neck was exposed, and Darren was kissing her neck. Alexandra's shoulder was bandaged, so Nikita had a good idea when the picture was taken.
"Oh my god," Nikita breathed, and quickly shuffled the picture back. The next one was similar. The position was a little bit different.
Nikita looked up at Darren, "I just picked these up . . . I had no idea other wise I wouldn't have looked."
Darren shrugged, "I'm not shy Nikita. I asked Alex if she'd ever consider photographing us together. It was a spur of the moment thing. I took some pictures too, when she was asleep - but she knows about them."
Darren shuffled back to another photograph. Alexandra was laying on her back, the sheet twisted around to just cover her pelvis, her arm over her breasts, her hair splayed out on the pillow. Erotic, yet tasteful.
"We both have these - just in case - so we'd never forget that there were some beautiful times . . . kinda fortunate we did the photo's that night," Darren told her, "What we don't have is the footage that Madeline has. It was kinda weird knowing that you and Michael saw that."
"I didn't want to see it - and I only saw one scene," Nikita told him, "I'm sure there is a full library of Michael and I engaged in various sexual acts."
"Hope she didn't catch shit over these - I'm sure housekeeping saw them," Darren sighed.
Nikita smiled, "If you have them, it's probably OK. We ought to go."
Nikita wore black leather pants, and a black leather jacket, a shiny satin white T-shirt. She saw Darren breaking formation. He was hard to miss tonight. He wore tight black jeans, silk shirt and blazer. His hair was down. He'd grown a short trimmed mustache and goatee. He wore a gold hoop all the time. He'd become much harder the last few months.
"Darren, what are you doing?"
"Nikita, we've got company - Section one," Darren said, "It's Michael and Alex."
Nikita leapt out from her position without hesitating.
"Everyone hold their positions, no one moves without my orders," Nikita told them, racing over to where Darren stood, partially concealed by shadows and a decorative fake floor plant.
"There," Darren said, "By the pillar."
Michael, as always, was dressed in his black on black. Alexandra was wearing a jade green slip dress. She lit up a cigarette. Michael snatched it away from her, she turned and said something nasty, reaching for another. Michael grasped her wrist, and said something in her ear.
"Somehow I don't think that's part of the mission," Darren said, switching his comm link to monitor only. Nikita did the same.
"When did Alex start smoking?" Nikita asked him.
Darren shrugged, "I don't know . . . but I'd bet that if she's smoking, she's drinking heavy again too - they both look like shit."
* * *
"It's unnecessary," Michael snapped at her, taking the pack of cigarette, crushing them in his hand, and tossing them away.
Alexandra shook her head, and yanked her arm out of Michael's grasp. Michael yanked her back, and put his arm around her waist holding her to his side in a vice grip, "We're supposed to be a close couple, remember?"
"Yeah, I'm sure half the club thinks that now - since you threw my cigarettes away," Alexandra snapped at him, "Ease up. I'm a girlfriend, not life support."
Michael didn't release his grip. Their targets were approaching.
"Nikita," she heard Larry's voice in her ear, "What's going on?"
"You didn't call off Section one, did you!" Nikita said waspishly, "They're out here Larry
"I did pull it, and I sent only the preliminaries, don't you do your homework in Section one?" Larry said, contempt in his voice.
"Yes, always, but THEY expect the Intel to be accurate, just like WE do, and we both know there were a lot of errors!" Nikita snapped back at him.
"I'll verify they are Section One," Larry said nastily.
Nikita and Darren exchanged looks. Idiot, they thought, like we wouldn't know . . .
Nikita ordered "Everyone stand by. The Section One Ops are Michael and Alexandra. Michael is a white male, 6'1, medium built, auburn semi curly hair to his shoulders. Dressed in black. Alexandra is white female, 5'10, long red curly hair. Green slip dress. Do not intervene unless I give the order."
They watched as they spoke with the targets, and then the targets walked away for a while, going back to another group. Michael and Alexandra walked out onto the dance floor, slipped into each other's arms. Michael toyed with her hair.
"I'm trying to remind myself they're playing a role," Darren said, "That they think we're dead."
Nikita sighed, "They're playing a role." I hope . . .could we blame them, they think we're dead, who else would they turn to?
Darren closed his eye's, for a moment.
"Uh oh," Nikita said suddenly.
Darren looked up. Michael was looking around, Alexandra was looking around.
"Section One knows you're on site," Larry's voice said.
"WHAT?" Nikita snapped, "That I myself am on site - or Section 3."
"Section three," Larry sounded irritated.
"Tell them we're drawing back," Nikita told him, "Not to make contact - or we'll be exposed."
" But we have a mission -"
"They'll feed us the Intel," Nikita snapped at him, "Everyone pull out NOW!"
Nikita carefully looked around, looking for someway to slip out of the club, without being seen. The main entrance was on the far side of Michael and Alexandra. Darren swore softly, "Nikita, we gotta move now, we're about to have company."
Nikita looked over at Michael, who was walking in their direction.
"We go through the Kitchen, now," Nikita told him, "Put your arm around me, so we look together."
Darren put his arm around her shoulders, and they quickly started towards the kitchen. Just as they were about to reach the doors, a waiter came through the door, knocking into them, knocking Nikita and Darren down, and drawing a lot of attention to them. "Madre de dios!" Darren swore, leaping up. Nikita was already springing to her feet. She turned and bolted with Darren.
The entire kitchen picked that moment to go insane. Someone screamed as they burst through the doors. Everyone stopped, as it to make their escape harder. Darren started to shove people to the side as they wove through surprised and shocked kitchen staff. Right before they reached the exit, a waiter dropped two pies, splattering cherry filling everywhere. Darren slipped, falling to his knee's, Nikita turned to yank him up, and caught sight of Michael just making it into the kitchen. He stared at her in mute shock.
Continue on to Escape