Flip Side
"Part of me wants to sleep for a week," Alexandra commented as she sipped her beer, "But part of me doesn't want to miss a moment of the down time we have in the islands."
Kristie had been rubbing suntan oil into her skin, "I hear ya. Look at our lazy dogs over there, you know they've just spent all the time we were gone laying in the shade."
As if he understood, Teddy Bear wagged his stubby tail. Pepe lifted his head, looking around to see what had gotten the other dog's attention, and started wagging his own tail.
Alexandra patted her thigh, and Pepe jumped up from his place in the sand, and trotted over to her. Once he reached the end of the lounge chair, he stretched his back legs, and then his front, his tail arching in the air.
"That dog preens," Kristie commented.
Pepe jumped up onto the lounge chair, and settled down on Alexandra's lap.
"Yes he does," Alexandra agreed, running her fingers down his back, "Care to take any bets on when our next job will be?"
"How about never," Kristie said sighing, "I say we go on strike, or just never work again. Never happen I know - but it's a nice thought."
"What would you do, on the outside - in the real world?" Alexandra asked her.
"I suppose I'd be working in the computer field again - and I'd have a place outside of town, in the country, on a nice sized piece of land, where I could have Teddy Bear, some flowers, a little garden . . .what about you?"
"If I'd never been in section, I'd probably be working as a cop in Seattle. But if I was set free today, I'd probably settle in New York City, and tend bar at some trendy club. Or in New Orleans," Alexandra replied.
"Orleans suits me," Darren's voice said, coming up behind them.
Alexandra tilted her head back, looking up at him, "We could open our own club."
"Right in the middle of the French Quarter," Darren added.
Kristie grinned, "City kids…New York isn't my thing, but I could deal with New Orleans!"
"Well, country kid," Darren said, emphasizing the word country, "Stephen is going to take one of the boats in to town to pick up some food."
"What's for dinner?" Alexandra asked him.
"Probably lobster," Darren told her, "I was thinking we should roast a pig tomorrow."
"Lobster, roasted pig . . . did I say New Orleans earlier?" Alexandra said, looking over at Kristie.
"Yeah - you know the only thing that could make this better was for Section and the agency to forget we exist . . . but since that's not gonna happen, I'll settle for the lobster and the pig," Kristie commented.
"Yeah well, I figure half the planet will be looking for us, since we were spotted in London."
"Not we, just Michael," Kristie corrected.
"True, but we are all supposedly cancelled around the same time - and it's hardly likely Michael would allow Nikita to be cancelled and he to live," Alexandra added.
"This was the whole point though," Darren added dropping down onto one of the other lounge chairs, "get the word out that some of Sections best have gone out on their own . . ."
"Until someone comes gunning for us," Kristie replied, "This organization keeps secrets from itself."
Darren smirked, "Helluva occupational hazard huh? Yeah, I'm liking Alex's idea of opening in club in New Orleans."
And if Tony was out, he'd go back to being an assassin . . . Darren thought to himself.
The sun was setting, painting the sky with vivid colors. Michael was stripped down to a pair of thin cotton draw-string pants. He picked up the bottle of wine off the small porch table, and sipped directly from the bottle. Screw using a glass, he'd thought to himself. It wasn't the first time he'd drank straight from the bottle. Of course, those times, a glass hadn't been available. As he lifted the bottle to his lips, he remembered seeing Alexandra drink straight from a bottle of tequila. She'd been a nightmare those long months when they all thought Nikita and Darren were dead. Michael had seen his own anger in the young redhead - expressed on volume 10.
The wine was sweet and dry on his tongue, the after-tones smooth. A lot like the conversation they'd had with Mr. Jones. There were no apologies for planting a problem on the team, he hadn't even complained that they sent Billy packing. The intel they had managed to gather on the IRA was transferred. No "thank you", or "good job", but Michael hadn't expected that or anything else really. After all the years he'd spent in Section, the most he expected was another mission profile to be shoved into his hands. When Michael had reported that Operations had spotted him, all Mr. Jones had said was "Then you'll have to watch your collective backsides".
Translation - you are on your own.
At least in Section, Michael knew that he had the security of Section One behind him. Operations and Madeline might plot to make him look like an idiot if things didn't go well, but he didn't worry so much about someone hunting him down - mostly because the most dangerous people on the face of the earth were his co-workers.
They truly were on their own - yet still under the thumb of the agency.
"Drinking alone?" Nikita asked, walking up behind Michael. She slid her arms around his waist, spreading her fingers out on his stomach.
Michael handed her the bottle. She took a pull, and handed it back to him.
"Mmmm . . . good stuff," she said, "Penny for your thoughts?"
"Section will be looking for us," Michael replied.
"Not the first time," Nikita pointed out, "We've got resources we didn't have before . . ."
"It may not be enough," Michael replied softly.
"Michael," Nikita said, "You - we - have faced worse in the past. Jones wants us in the position we are in. Operations might try to bring us in - but I don't think field executions will be the order of the day. He'd need us as trophies to wave in Jones's face."
"I've never met anyone who worked within a cell," Michael told her.
Nikita's hand had been sliding up his chest, her fingers feeling and caressing. Her hand stopped, but only for a second. She knew what Michael was telling her - without really saying the words. This could be their final assignment. The one that earns them an unmarked grave somewhere, or perhaps ashes tossed into the sea, never to be found again.
"I can't think in those terms anymore Michael," She said softly, "I have to live in the here and now. It's all I… we have."
She started to pull him back into the cabana. Michael didn't resist, he needed to feel alive now, to chase the demons of fate away. Alive with Nikita …
He felt the draw-string holding his thin pants up become slack, and the soft fabric slid down his muscled legs to the floor.
He reached for Nikita, pulling her thin top over her head, and dropping it to the floor next to his pants. She moved closer to him, her eyes raking over his flesh in a way that made his blood boil. When other women looked him over that same way, he normally felt nothing, and often times mild contempt, but not with Nikita. With Nikita, it was a part of foreplay, all unto itself.
His arms slid around her waist, his hands sliding across her soft skin gently. She was already shucking off her pants, eager to feel flesh against flesh. Then she looked up at him, tilting her face towards his to press a kiss to his lips.
But Michael had other ideas. He turned her towards the bed, almost roughly pushing her down upon it. Nikita reached up for him, and he caught her hands, and pressed a kiss to both her palms, and then let them go. Then her grasped her knees, and slid his hands down to her ankles.
Nikita felt her lust for him increase tenfold. She knew immediately what he was going to do. She felt his hot breath against the tender folds of her flesh between her thighs, and a moment later his tongue was parting her, seeking that bud of flesh he knew so well.
Michael felt his whole body react as he tasted her, a taste unique and somehow addictive, but everything about Nikita was addictive to him. He stroked and teased her flesh with his tongue, reveling in how her hands knotted in his hair, thrilled knowing that it was him that drove her to this madness.
He felt her body spasm under his mouth, heard her gasp, her breath catching in her throat, and he sat up and slid his hardened cock inside her.
Her body enveloped him, grasping him like she was made for him and him alone. She reached up for him and Michael lowered his body to hers, his arms wrapping around her as their bodies started to move together. Quickly the fire started to build within them, it seemed as though the two of them could feel the pleasure they gave one another. They kissed, their mouths hungry for the taste of the other. It was torture for Michael to pull his lips from hers, but he did. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when she came. He knew she was almost there, he was so close himself.
Then it claimed them, their bodies suddenly losing control, reality and time tilted, a vortex of intense pleasure sweeping them both up.
They started to slip away from their intense high, the heat of the island making them conscious of how their bodies were slick with the sweat from their lovemaking. They fit so well together, arms and legs entwined. It was in the moments like these that Michael almost dared to believe that two people could be made for each other and only for each other.
"OOOOOHHHHH YYYYEEEEAAAAHHHHHH!" Darren yelled as he surfaced from his dive into the water.
The aroma from the roasting pig floated through the air. Michael was feeding Nikita little bites of the roasted meat as they lounged on a blanket in the sand. Kristie was in a heated debate with one of the com tech's over what type of encryption worked best under certain conditions, and Stephen was lounging on an inflatable raft.
"Hey!" Alexandra said, standing waist-deep in the water and pushing her hair out of her face, "Don't be acting like it's all that good - I get jealous easy."
Darren laughed, and started towards her in the water, pulling her into his arms, "Querrida, you've got nothing to worry about - save for the fact that it's almost too damn hot to have sex around this place."
"Note that he said 'almost'," Nikita pointed out, in between bites of food that Michael was feeding her.
"You know," Stephen said, pushing himself away from fence line that kept people off their beach, on consequently off the island, "I wasn't really liking the view from this beach - since there's a shark fence 50 yards out, but seeing all the reports of shark attacks this summer made me rethink that."
"I still bite," Kristie called from the beach. She stood up and started to wade out into the water.
"All the right spots too baby!" Stephen agreed.
A cell phone rang, and they all froze in place.
Michael reached over, and picked up the phone, "Yes . . ."
"They're a Serbian paramilitary group," Michael explained, "We're being hired to take out an Albanian installation in Kosavo."
"Weren't we helping the Kosavar's a year ago?" Alexandra pointed out.
"We're mercenaries for hire now," Michael said, reminding all of them, "They've provided us with intel on a possible location."
"It's probably the same Serbian group Alex and I did an intel run on two years ago," Darren commented, "Watch out for the dinner knives, case cutters, any sharp instrument they may use."
Kristie groaned, "This sucks. At least at Section, we could see where we were at least making a difference - or working towards that."
Stephen crossed his arms over his chest, "And strategically speaking - are we gonna be able to pick up any intel worth passing on to the agency?"
"We'll have intel on this particular Serbian groups network," Michael answered.
"The whole region has, is and will continue to de-stabilize," Nikita chimed in, "You have Serbs, Croats, Albanians, Macedonians - they all have reasons that they think gives them a right to fight, and they all have reasons to want peace. There is no good answer when it comes to the Balkins."
"We leave for Kosavo in 6 hours," Michael continued, "Two by two, different flight patterns . . ."
"I didn't know it could get any worse around here," Walter complained to Brianna, as the remains of a team left a debrief, "I never thought I'd miss Operations."
"This one cares about his people even less," Brianna said, agreeing with him, "I count 12 people we've lost since she took over."
Both Walter and Briana fell silent as the temporary leader of Section one strode across the main floor, heading for communications. She was tall and lanky, her hair a steal gray and pulled back into a tight chignon. Walter had decided a month ago that she pulled her hair tight so her face wouldn't sag.
She had light blue-gray eyes, high cheekbones and a small mouth. At one point, she must have been an extremely beautiful woman. She wore a black pantsuit - every day, without fail. She never wore any color. She wore small pearl earrings in her ears, and a small strand of pearls around her neck. It never changed.
She didn't even look over towards Walter and Brianna as she strode into communications. Walter had spent weeks watching her. Her behavior was a symptom of a bigger problem. She wasn't very observant. She didn't watch her people, didn't take them, their talents and shortcomings into consideration.
Birkhoff looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was when she started barking orders at him. But to his credit, he just quickly complied, and after a moment she seemed content. It would be short lived though, they'd all learned that over time.
"We'd be doing better if they hadn't cancelled some of our best people," Brianna added.
Walter felt his heart ache anew. He still wasn't over the loss of Nikita, Michael, or any of the others. It just seemed wrong. It didn't make any sense.
"This could be the beginning of the end," Walter said, sighing, "Of Section One at least . . ."
The stand-in Operations strode out of communications, and disappeared down the hallway. Birkhoff watched her go, and then leapt out of his seat, and almost ran into munitions.
"You are never going to believe this!" Birkhoff said, all but pushing Walter away from the terminal mounted on the wall, "We just got this in."
His fingers flew across the keyboard, and a .jpg file came up. Walter blinked, wondering for a moment if he was seeing what he wanted to see.
It was Michael, wearing a blue jumpsuit.
"This was taken a few days ago in London," Birkhoff said, "Oper - Paul spotted him."
"I thought they cancelled him!" Walter whispered excitedly.
"We all thought they were cancelled, "Apparently Madeline thinks she spotted Kristie in the same building. They bombed a conference - nauseating gas, but nothing that would cause permanent damage. The IRA took responsibility for it."
"Michael and Kristie working for the IRA? Not likely," Walter snorted.
"Yeah, that's what I thought at first - but if they got away - what would they do? Free-lance - it's what they know, it would allow them to keep tabs on us, not get caught . . ."
"Not Michael," Walter said, "Not Kristie."
"Not any of them - and you know Section would be Michael's first target if Nikita was killed - so she's got to be alive - or Michael has a twin walking around working for the IRA."
Walter nodded, "You got any contacts at the agency left?"
"A few," Birkhoff said, "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking Michael, Nikita, Kristie - none of them would go freelance. They're not the type to just be in it for the money. The agency ordered the cancellations - and they handled them. Jones would have made sure they were dead."
"So the agency has them?" Birkhoff asked, "Why?"
"That's the million dollar question. We better hope they have them. Otherwise, we're gonna be the targets - and soon. Especially if they know they've been made," Walter told him.
Birkhoff shook his head in denial, "No way, not them. I can't see any of them turning on us - not us specifically."
"Hey, you know as well as I do that when the bullets start flying, no one is safe," Walter reminded him, "You check with your contacts, I'll call mine."
"I don't care what the records say," Paul snapped, "I know who I saw!"
"So what exactly are you saying Paul? That the Agency ordered the cancellations of 6 operatives, and they got away some how? You know that's not possible. The death is verified. That is how you did things in Section One - I assume," Gregor replied, his tone condescending, as if he was speaking to a child.
"You know exactly how tight security was in Section One," Paul snapped, "But I was no longer in control of Section, and The Agency has had more security breaches in the last 5 years than Section had during the entire time I've been Operations. Michael had friends at the agency. He knew how the political game worked. If anyone could escape the noose, he could. Now he's out there - alive - and a huge security risk. If any of them didn't make it out alive, he'll have revenge on his mind. We should send a recovery team-"
"You're not Operations of Section One right now, and it's still undecided whether you'll ever be again. I'll make the decision about potential security risks, not you," Gregor snapped, "You have a mission leaving in 30 minutes. I suggest you focus on that, and not fantasies of rogue ghost operatives."
Paul walked out of Gregor's office, not bothering to hide his anger or resentment. He didn't know how much more he could tolerate from Gregor. Paul had worked hard, faced the dangers, risked his life for years in Section long before he ever became Operations. He'd earned his position there and he'd earned the right to not be on the front line.
But here he was again.
He rounded the corner, and almost ran right into Madeline.
It brought back a thousand memories, seeing her in clothing fit for an assault mission. Earlier this morning, he'd seen her taking some anti-inflammatory pills to ease the ache of sore muscles. He knew they were both past their prime physically. It was their mental and psychological abilities that made them an asset to Section One.
"He shoved your concerns aside as if they were small and petty and sent you away," Madeline said, "which fits with the attitude and methodology he's used since we all got here."
"He's a fool," Paul said, "If I ran section the way he is running this place-"
"But we did," Madeline said, cutting him off, "That's the point. That's why we are here, working under these conditions. Get past your pride for just a moment, and really analyze what we've been subjected to."
Paul shook his head, "This is a poor use of-"
"You can't send the leaders of the sections out to a weekend seminar and expect it to really sink in," Madeline said, cutting him off, "I don't want my career to end here. We have to get over our pride."
She handed him her panel, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Paul looked at the small screen. It was a picture of Michael, with a report that he'd been spotted at a bombing in London. The text of the alert went on to say that someone fitting Kristie's description had been seen as well.
Nikita pulled the zipper on her coat up, as they walked out of their airport. It was chilly in the Balkins right now. She'd been in this particularly violent part of the world before in the winter - a few times - so she knew exactly how cold it could get.
They each had small suitcases with shoulder straps. They were traveling light. They wouldn't be here long after all a few days, maybe a week. Traveling light also let them move quickly - which was now a necessity.
There was no shortage of cabs outside the airport. Drivers waved to people coming out, stood with their trunks open and moved to grab luggage before their competition could.
Michael was setting his bag, and then Nikita's into the trunk himself while he spoke with the driver, telling him what hotel they wanted to go to. Once they were in the cab, the driver told them that he offered guide services. He could drive them wherever they wanted to go, show them all kinds of places, get them into all kinds of places.
Michael took down a name and phone number, and told the man he'd call him in the next few days if they needed him. The group they were meeting would be here tomorrow and they had a driver reserved already.
It was an excuse - polite small talk.
The hotel wasn't luxurious or even nice really. They'd purposely chosen a hotel that was a little on the seedy side. After all, their official cover story on the entry Visa was for charitable work.
Michael immediately started to sweep for bugs and Nikita check the PDA.
"We're clean," Michael announced after a moment.
"Kristie and Stephan just landed, Darren and Alexandra are on the last leg of their flight and due in 4 hours," Nikita told him. She set the PDA on the bedside table, and flopped down on the bed, "and I am due for a nap."
Michael watched her stretch out on the bed. She'd slept through most of the flight, but that was normal. In their line of work, inside and outside Section, when you had a chance to rest, you took it. The flight had been long and uneventful. They hadn't had any sleep in 36 hours before they'd left though.
"How tired are you?" Michael asked her gently.
A lazy smile spread across Nikita's lips, "Michael, I'm never to tired for you."
Michael smiled back at her, "I know Cherie', You just seem more tired than normal."
She shrugged, "I'm just feeling…out of sorts… I guess. This whole cell thing just doesn't feel…normal, not that anything about my life in Section has ever been normal, but it at least had something of a pattern to it."
"We have more time to ourselves," Michael pointed out, "More freedom…"
"And we're helping people that we used to fight against. It made what we are ordered to do a little more palatable, because I knew we were stopping some really bad people. Now we're helping them Michael. I know we're able to gather some intel - things we wouldn't get before - but is it worth it? It's messing with my head. I can see their view point when I'm with them too long."
"A good strategist should be able to see the opponents view point, and the bombing in London went well, there were no losses," Michael pointed out.
"True, but we scared the hell out of thousands of people. We set a monster free. If someone else hadn't bumped him off, he'd be orchestrating more bombings that would kill other people - and I didn't see a really shining example of how the that Section team was going to stop them," Nikita told him.
"It's going to take time to get settled into this," Michael said, stretching out next to her. He propped himself up on one elbow, and brushed her hair back from her face with his other hand.
"Do you think Jones is playing it straight with us?" Nikita asked him.
"I think we're on our own," Michael told her, "And I think we're getting minimal resource support."
"Minimal? Try bottom of the barrel. Our comm team on the island can watch the security cameras, monitor alarms and accept emails, but they're inept at handling any sort of DRV tasks. Even Alex is faster at it than they are, and we all know that's her weakest area. The dogs are better security than they are." Nikita pointed out.
"I'm not comfortable with this profile either," Michael told her, "But none of us were comfortable with Section when we first arrived either. We'll adapt."
"What if we adapt too much?" Nikita asked him, "What happens if in say…two years… Jones decides this isn't worth the minimal resources we're using, and he sends us back to Section. I don't want to be cancelled because we got too comfortable with it either."
"We can't allow ourselves to become complacent," Michael told her, "We just have to stay prepared."
Nikita nodded a little, and then reached up and pulled Michael's mouth down to hers.
"The only good thing about this profile is that I get to see you more," Nikita told him.
"Everyone watch for those sharp instruments, they will try to cut you," Darren announced as he and Alexandra arrived at the meet point, which was a dimly lit café, "Trust me, I speak from experience."
Darren and Alexandra had been on a mission in the Balkins before, and Darren's arm had been cut in a struggle. The cut itself hadn't been that bad, but he'd developed a raging infection quickly, which had almost killed him.
Kristie smirked, "After all the alcohol you consumed on the beach the other day, you should have enough in your system to kill off any bacteria."
Darren grinned, "Exactly - I was more worried about you lightweights."
"Now hold on a minute," Stephen began, "You can't possibly be talking to me."
Nikita cleared her throat.
"Aw mom, come on," Kristie said, making a show of crossing her arms, "We'll be careful, honest."
"Our hosts have arrived," Michael announced, nodding towards the door.
All eyes turned towards the entrance to the café. The first man, the one they knew to be their contact, wasn't all that tall, but he wasn't really short either. At 5'11 perhaps, maybe only 5'10, he was almost stocky - and might have been really built at one time. He had broad shoulders, and thick arms, and walked with a measure of confidence that seemed to be rare in this part of the world. The wars had taken its psychological toll on the population. He had short thick hair that seemed to want to stand up and out more than anything else and a thick wiry beard. His cloths were simple and plain, perhaps a little worn. He looked clean though - and as he approached he didn't have that tell tale smell of alcohol about him. Alcoholism had also taken up residence in a large part of the population here. As he approached his eyes drifted over the three women off the group, but he didn't comment. Women might have walked a step behind in various cultures in this part of the world, but perhaps not with this man.
"You had no problems with entry?" he asked, directing his question to the group at large, but his eyes settled on Michael.
"No," Michael replied, "No problems."
"You must have good papers," The man said, "I am Luka Varga. You will come eat with us tonight, and we will tell you what we know of them. Perhaps you will learn from us, as we will learn from you."
He turned away, and started towards the door. They followed him out, all of them watching the street, the people. Without technical oversight, they all knew they were working without something they were used to having. It had weighed heavily on their minds during the last mission they'd done.
There were two cars waiting for them. As they approached, a woman got out of one of the cars, and looked directly at Michael, a broad smile on her face.
"Somehow I knew our paths would cross again - on friendly terms."
If Michael was surprised, he didn't show it. But he did walk around the car. He moved to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head, and kissed his mouth instead, a smug look on her face, "I've missed you."
"Myra, I didn't know you were working with this group," Michael said, deliberately pulling himself out from her grasp.
She smiled, and to Michael it looked strained. But it wouldn't to any of the others, or perhaps even to her associate - Luka.
"I have been with Luka for three years now," Myra told him, "We split off from Czecho two years ago. His politics changed."
"I know," Michael replied pulling the Broncho's door open. He placed his hand on Nikita's back, leading her into the car. It was an affectionate gesture he never showed in the field or on a job. But it didn't surprise Nikita at the moment. She knew Michael was suddenly rather uncomfortable. Having his wife in the same car with a woman who had obviously been Michael's lover in the past didn't sit well with him…it never did.
Kristie pulled the front passenger door open, and got in, effectively putting Michael in the back seat with Nikita. The quick move made Nikita grin. Kristie was always ready to be a friend's champion - and protector.
Myra got into the jeep, her eyes darting from Michael to Nikita, then to Kristie. The car doors closed, the Broncho was started.
"Myra was my contact for several years," Michael announced once the car doors were closed, "This is Kristie, also former Section One, and Nikita, former Section One and my wife."
Silence hung in the air for a few seconds.
"It seems a lot of politics have changed Michael," Myra said, though she was smiling, "You must be a remarkable person to have convinced Michael to love again Nikita."
"I would say just lucky," Nikita replied, hoping she didn't sound smug.
They were taken to another cheap hotel, and lead to a conference room on the second floor. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. One other woman was in the room, and two men.
"Are these our overpriced mercenaries?" The woman asked, grinding out her cigarette. She walked over to the window, and looked out, then back at them, contempt in her eyes.
"We've been unsuccessful in eliminating the Albanian's," Luka began, "We send out 10 men, 3 come back, and yet they still kill our people. Maybe you have a better idea?"
The woman shrugged, "If they're all killed, maybe we don't have to pay them."
"Do you have the location of the Kosavar facility?" Michael asked, directing his question to Luka.
"Yes, yes," Luka said, "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I will bring the maps, and we will eat together."
The woman who'd been standing by the window stormed out.
"That was Dobrila," Myra announced, "Her family lost everything when she was a child. She's grown up living with groups like ours."
"Hard life," Nikita said in an effort to make conversation. She'd taken up a position by one of the windows, watching the street. The rest of their small team had moved into various surveliance positions as well, standing by doorways and windows.
"Myra protects her too much. Dobrila is a bitch. Everyone here knows it, and we accept it," One of the men said, "But she does what needs to be done. A man - or a woman - can tolerate a lot when they must."
Nikita smiled, but only a little. She knew all about how much a person could tolerate when they had to.
"I see a lot of merchants are boarded up on the street outside - is it the economy or the violence, or both?" Stephen asked, directing his question to the man who'd spoken.
"War always hurts business - at least most businesses," the man, Hiram, said, "This was the tourist district once. We don't see so many tourists here now. Have you ever been to this country before?"
"Legally?" Stephen asked, humor in his voice.
That elicited chuckles and snickers from almost everyone.
"Legality is often a matter of money and influence," Hiram said, "I was in your country briefly. I was a student at Texas Lutherin University. While my classmates were going to mass with a hangover, I was still in bed with my hangover. It was the privledge of not being such a good Muslim. Your accent - it is Texas, no?"
"Yeah," Stephan said nodding, "I grew up there, for a while at least. It stays with you. What did you study?"
"Chemistry," Hiram said, "Of course, this was before the days when chemical warfare was a concern in your country…so instead of treating me like I was a terrorist, I was considered a geek. Not such a bad thing anymore I think. "
"Yeah really," Stephen said.
"We have a convoy coming in from the south," Darren announced from across the room, "Couple of trucks full of troops."
Hiram got up and looked out the window, and checked his watch, "Time to change the patrol. It is nothing."
Alexandra stepped out into the hallway and disappeared for a moment, then she was back, "How old is this building?"
"Older than you," Hiram said, "Probably older than myself."
Luka walked back in with map folded up in his hands and a bottle of some kind of whiskey.
"Now, I show you how we have attacked, you show us what we are doing wrong," Luka began.
Over the next four hours they all discussed how they would approach the job over the next few days. Luka had assumed they'd drive up, charge the building, and attack everyone. Michael became very specific about what Luka was hiring them to do. At the end of the evening, it was decided that they would take out the installation so it couldn't be used again - and stealing the weapons and ordinance supply that was probably hidden there. Michael told Luka it would take several days of surveillance to learn the patterns of the people that came and went, and then they'd have to evaluate the best way to attack the installation. Of course, they didn't go into too much detail, and what they were teaching them wasn't much in comparison to what Section One frequently used. Michael and Nikita would go into Kosovo with Luka and Hiram. Alexandra, Kristie, Darren and Stephen would stay behind and arrange for some weapons and explosives to be smuggled into them. At the end of the evening, two things were painfully clear. Technology beyond machine guns and explosives were non-existent to this group.
Discussion of the attack disappeared. Stephen started to talk history with Hiram. Darren pulled Alexandra from the room quietly - his intent clear. There was a bedroom waiting for them upstairs.
Myra had slipped out of one of the doors that lead to a balcony a few minutes ago. Nikita picked up a bottle of wine, Michael's glass, another glass that Myra had been drinking from earlier and handed them to Michael.
"Go catch up on old times Michael," Nikita urged him gently.
Michael stood there for a moment, watching her face as his fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle.
"Why don't you come with me?" he asked her.
Nikita shook her head, "I don't think so. I'm kinda tired actually…and I think you'd do more reminiscing without your wife there."
Michael watched her for a moment, "Nikita-"
"Michael," she said, cutting him off, "I love you, I trust you. Go. Wake me when you come back to our room. Go catch up with your friend."
Nikita brushed her lips across Michael's, and turned away, and started to walk towards the door.
Kristie watched the exchange, and she slid out of her chair and trotted over to Nikita, catching her just as she was starting up the stairs.
"I know I didn't just see you send Michael out there with a bottle of wine to go catch up with an old lover of his," Kristie said.
Nikita laughed, "Why not?"
"Because that woman is still carrying a nuclear explosion size torch for Michael. Every time she looks at him she practically drools!" Kristie replied.
They reached the door to Nikita and Michael's room. Nikita unlocked the door, letting them in.
"I'd like Michael to share a bottle of wine with you," Nikita told her, amusement in her voice.
"But I'm not . . ." Kristie stopped speaking. She was about to say she wasn't Michael's old lover - but she had been once.
Nikita laughed a little, "I trust Michael Kristie. Tonight, they reminisce about old times, and tomorrow they're both much more comfortable with me there - and they aren't wondering what's going on in the other ones head so much. You're a psychology buff, you know how this works."
"I know lust Nikita," Kristie said, "And I'm not worried about Michael - but Myra is a whole different story."
Nikita nodded, "I know that. That's why I'm going to become Myra's new best friend. I've got an ulterior motive here. She knows what Michael was like before I knew him."
Myra saw Michael walk out onto the veranda, with two glasses and the bottle of wine in hand.
He set both glasses down on the rail next to her, and poured wine into them.
"Not the same quality you used to bring to me," she replied.
"It's been a while since I've visited France," he told her.
"Does your wife know you are out here with me?" she asked him.
"Yes," Michael replied, "How have you been?"
Myra sighed deeply, "Not much has changed Michael. I fight, I sleep when I can, eat when I can - and sometimes I even love when I can."
"I lost track of you when you left Czecho's unit," Michael told her.
"Luka and I both felt that his politics had changed too much," Myra told him, "and now I see it happening again here. It never ends, does it?"
"No," Michael said, "I don't think it does."
"Is that why you left Section?" she asked him.
"Yes," Michael replied, and he sipped his wine, "Section one has always been a political entity. Politics and power."
"Tell me about your wife Michael," Myra said, "is she the reason you left Section One?"
"No," Michael replied, "A number of us were slated for cancellation. We escaped - faked our deaths."
"I thought there was no escape from Section One," Myra said, sipping her wine.
"So did I," Michael said, "It was worth the risk - we had nothing to lose by trying. We live on the run, different names, always looking over our shoulders, but we live."
"We…Michael tell me more about your wife," Myra urged, "I thought you'd never love again - let alone marry."
"I trained her - from the day she was brought in, I was her trainer. I was training her when you were still my contact. I look back now and think that I must have fell in love with her on first sight, but I pulled back from her…from everything but work. I admired her spirit I guess . . . then we became involved later on, when she had been a cold op in the field for a while. We paid for it, dearly. Section didn't want us to be together. They feared we were a weakness to exploit the other with," Michael told her, "But they also discovered after a time that we were better together - than apart. So we were allowed to be together - even to marry."
"And now you're on the outside," Myra said, "Are there children in the future, white picket fence, cocker spaniel?"
Michael smiled wistfully, "I wish . . . but probably not. It would be difficult to protect a child from our pasts. We live knowing today might be our last."
"That's so…sad," Myra stood, her head shaking with pity for them.
He shook his head, "The happiness we have together is enough."
He drained the rest of his glass, and poured another glass for himself, and topped off hers, "So tell me about your life the last few years Myra…"
Hours later…
It wasn't the worst place Nikita had spent the night, but it certainly wasn't nice. The carpet was worn down, with cigarette burns. The bed was lumpy and sagged in the middle, the sheets and blankets threadbare, but it was clean. That made all the other disparities pale in comparison.
Michael quietly slipped into their room. Nikita was sitting on the bed, wearing only panties and a thin t-shirt, the pda in her hand so she could check email and news boards.
"Section is looking for us," Nikita told him, her eyes settling on his face, looking for signs to tell her what he was feeling..
"Does Jones know?" Michael asked her, as he moved towards the bed and started to pull his clothing off..
"I sent an email - to him and to our joke of a support staff. They'll be a little more vigilant about the island at least. The dogs should be safe."
Michael took the pda out of her hand, and set it on the bedside table, "Good."
He moved over her, his hands sliding up her legs and hips, and he started to tug her panties off.
"You want to tell me about Myra?" Nikita asked him.
"Later," Michael told her, tossing her panties to the floor, "Later."
He looked up at her eyes as he lowered his mouth to her. Her eyes were already glazed over in anticipation. Some of the anxiety Michael had been feeling evaporated. Finally, after all this time, Nikita was secure enough in their relationship, that she wasn't really worried about an old lover.
He parted her with his tongue, stroking the tip up to her clit, then back down again, plunging his tongue inside her. Michael felt Nikita shift a little, as if to give him a little more access. A soft sigh was his reward - that and the sweet unique taste of her.
Nikita yanked her t-shirt, off and lay back on the bed, giving herself up to the sensations Michael was creating. She felt his tongue probe deep inside her, then move up to her clit, circling and stroking. A tight coil of pleasure started to build deep in the pit of her stomach, her muscles started to tighten and tense up in that familiar pleasurable way she always felt when she was about to come. Then Michael nipped at her with his teeth, just a gentle nip on the tip of her clit, and Nikita felt her whole body convulse with intense pleasure.
She felt rather than saw Michael start to move over her. She reached up to him, pulling his mouth down to hers, kissing him deeply. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tightening her legs as he sheathed his cock inside her.
"I love you Michael," Nikita whispered into his mouth as she rocked her hips up into him.
"I love you 'Kita," Michael murmured back. He pulled his mouth from hers, bending down so he could take one nipple into his mouth as their bodies moved together.
After a few moments of this exquisite torture, Nikita pulled Michael's head from her breast, and rolled them so she sat straddling him, rocking back, changing the pace of their lovemaking again. Her hands stroked up his chest, feeling and kneeding. Through the haze of her own pleasure, she could feel him struggling to hold back his own orgasm. She started to ride him harder, faster, and moments later she climaxed again, crying out softly. She felt him throb inside her and she knew he'd let his own release come.
Nikita let her body sag down onto his, and she kissed his neck, tasting the perspiration from their lovemaking on his skin. Michael's arms slid around her.
"Ah Michael . . ." Nikita breathed, "I could die a happy woman right this minute."
Michael stroked her hair, "Don't say that."
Nikita raised her head, looking at his face, seeing the strain there, "Michael - that's a compliment."
"I can't bare the thought of losing you," Michael told her, stroking her hair, "I couldn't bare it. Not now."
Back In Section One . . .
Walter jumped a bit as he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Birkoff sliding by him and making his way quickly to one of the back corners of munitions. Out of the view of the perch and the stand-in Operations. He followed him to the back after only a second of hesitation. If something had Birkoff sneaking around, it had to be big.
Birkoff passed a panel he had pulled from inside his jacket sleeve to Walter.
"Check this out..."
"Where'd this come from?" Walter scrolled the small screen reading quickly.
"I felt like my old hacking skills were slipping, so I was playing around on my down time...it's from the Agency...a transcript of some Op named Billy's de-brief. Pretty boring until he got around to actual names. You see what I was seeing?"
"Too damn many familiar names to pass it off as coincidence. I knew my gut was right. So where are our ghosts...and are we gonna take a chance on contacting them?"
"If they've been hung out to dry, that's one thing. If they've escaped cancellation and have gone rogue, that's another."
"Damn boy, I can't believe that you think..."
"I didn't say I did, it's just going to put us in a bad situation if we guess in one direction if they've been pulled in the other."
"We have to try, this place is going to hell one way or the other. If there's any hope to maybe save our own asses, it may take them coming back to help it happen."
Kristie nodded to Alexandra, telling her the communication line was now secure - at least on their end.
"Hi Eric," Alexandra replied when Eric answered.
"How is my favorite redhead?" Eric's voice asked, then "Am I on a speaker phone?"
"Yeah," Alexandra said, "A few people from my team are here. They're all cool," she told him, "And we need some supplies."
"Ask and I will deliver. What part of the globe shall the I send the shipment to?"
"I'm thinking Serajevo," She told him.
"Serajevo? Nasty weather there this time of year," Eric said, "How soon do you need it?"
"Seventy-two hours," Alexandra told him, "I'll send you an email. It's nothing too drastic. What part of the globe are you on?"
"Amsterdam actually," he told her, "Batchelor party."
"Anyone I know?" she asked him, "I'm not getting regular mail anymore - being dead and all."
"No, I don't believe you know him - and it's funny that you mention being dead. Your former employers are discreetly putting out feelers. They're saying such awful things about you too."
"Hell, it only took two months!" Alexandra replied, "I gotta go. Look for an email in about fifteen. Call me with a location in Serajevo."
With that, she keyed on the disconnect button.
"Nikita did say they were looking for us," Stephen said quickly, "We expected that."
The comment was for anyone eavesdropping, which was very possible in the old hotel.
"Just as long as they don't find us," Kristie replied, pulling up an email screen. She started to type in the list of what they wanted; guns, ammunition, explosives, comm units.
"Two of us should go to the pick up, take a two people from this group with us," Stephen said.
"As long as we don't take Dobrila," Darren said, "She's more interested in being a bitch, than watching out for her own ass or someone else's. We don't need that on a job like this."
"I already got into it with her once," Kristie said, "and I'd bet she'd be easier to probe for information by a man, instead of a woman. That elects you Darren or Stephen to work Dobrila."
"Darren's a better soft touch than I am," Stephen said, "And Kristie is probably the best at worming information out of people than any of us, so why don't Alex and I head for Serajevo."
"Sounds good to me," Alexandra said, "Darren baby, don't get too friendly with her. Just in case she's got a think for pretty Mexicans."
"I don't need you're help!" Dobrila snapped at Darren, "You don't have to be a big bad mercenary to go to the market!"
Darren groaned, "I know that. My mother shopped for years, probably still does. I'm trying to be social Dobrila. Like it or not, you're stuck with us for a few days, and at the moment, I've got nothing to do. Are you going to carry back groceries for everyone all by yourself?"
"I have an automobile," She snapped at him.
Darren laughed, "What a relief. Not as far for us to walk then."
She sighed, and yanked open the drivers side door, and got in. She started the car, and thought about leaving him behind, but then she leaned over and unlocked the passenger door.
"You might as well earn the fee we are paying you one way or the other," She snapped.
She put the car into gear, hit the gas, jerking the car away from the curb and into traffic.
"So why is it that you hate us so much?" Darren asked her as she drove.
She laughed bitterly, "The real reason you are here comes out."
"I'm genuinely bored," Darren told her, "We got three days before we're in play. I'm just curious."
"People like you - you have no reason to be here, to fight. You are only here for the money. It is nothing to you - just another job. That makes you all murderers - for hire."
"So it's an ethical thing for you - it's okay to kill if you hate your enemy enough?" Darren asked her.
"It's not just a matter of hating the enemy," Dobrila said, "I am a Serb - a Muslim woman. Do you know anything about the life we have lead? We have lost our homes, our families were murdered because we were Serbs. It is genocide. We have to fight back - or we will be exterminated. My family - they are all gone. Where is your family? Do you even know?"
Darren listened to her words, and hurt and anger behind them, "I know where my family is - what's left of them. They all think I'm dead - to protect them. We're not the monsters you want to think we are."
"No? You kill for money? I kill to live."
"Yes, I kill for money," Darren told her, "But it's not like I can get a job in any shop or company with my past. You don't have to like us Dobrila, but you're gonna have to deal with us - because for the next few days - we're here, like it or not. And for the next few days, we stand between you and extermination."
"You know, it's probably better that it's you here, instead of Darren," Alexandra said as she and Stephen waited and watched for the plane delivering their arms to land.
They were about a mile away from the airport, watching with binoculars.
"You two still not working well together?" Stephen asked her, not looking over at her. He was listening though.
"We work together just fine," she said, "Really well in fact. But I don't relish getting him and Eric together - ever."
"Sooner or later, it's gonna happen," Stephen told her, "Darren's a pro - he knows he's got you."
"Yeah," Alexandra said, "But still . . ."
"A little possessiveness is healthy for a relationship," Stephen told her, "And sometimes it's good for a guy to be reminded that his woman has some options - keeps us appreciative and all."
Alexandra sighed, "And me all stressed out."
The sound of a plane coming in to land drew their attention.
"Show time," Stephen said.
"Alex!" Eric called out as she stepped out of the truck.
Alexandra waved to him as she started over. He gave the order to one of the men with him to start unloading.
"So how as the batchelor party?" She asked him.
Eric embraced her, kissing her cheek. He felt her stiffen, and then relax.
"You look good," he told her, "I suppose you'll be gone from here rather quickly."
"Yes," She said, "We leave Serajevo now - the Balkins soon."
"How soon," Eric asked her, "I've been called in - to give them information. The man said he was on your team. His name is Seth."
"A good guy," Alexandra said, nodding, "I wish I could relay 'hello'."
"What do you want me to tell him?" Eric asked her.
"That you haven't heard from any of us - but you have heard about a renegade band of ex section cold ops hiring themselves out. You don't know how to contact us though, but you've been looking around. Say you'll cooperate with him - and then ask him for the usual quid pro quo - ask him to get you some information," She told him.
"Watch your back my dear," Eric told her, "If they're contacting me - they'll be contacting a lot of people."
"I know," she told him, "I know. You be careful too."
She turned, and watched a few crates being unloaded.
"That can't be all ours," she said.
"Oh no," he said, "I do have other clients."
Nikita hated surveillance work. But they couldn't teach this group the real methods they used. So they were keeping it low tech - and much more simple, so they didn't give away their edge.
By the end of the first day, it was painfully obvious that the biggest lesson they were teaching was patience. By the second day, their students were just starting to get it, but by the third day, the lesson was again eroding. They were blood-thirsty. But while they watched and learned the targets patterns, Nikita realized something else. There was no difference between the people they were working for now, and the people they'd attack in a few days. She knew this going in, but at this moment, it was painfully obvious. Of course, they didn't see it that way. On the way back, they toned down the attack plan the Serbian group wanted to mount, explaining that a smaller team of people had a better chance of covertly going in and out, without detection. By the time they reached the hotel and the groups headquarters, they'd agreed to taking out the building itself, and destroying their communication system.
"You look tired," Stephen said as Michael and Nikita walked in with Luka and Hiram, "How'd it go?"
"Well," Michael replied, "Their security is primarily manpower. Where is everyone?"
"Kristie and Alex are upstairs - just hanging out with some of the locals. Darren went to the market with Dobrila - again," Stephen told him, "They'll be back in an hour."
Nikita set down three memory chips from a digital camera on the table in front of Stephen, "Here - I need a shower. I'll be back down to organize these in a little while."
She walked out of the room, heading for the stairs.
"You two OK?" Stephen asked Michael quietly, after Luka and Hiram disappeared out the door as well.
"Yes," Michael replied, "How did it go here?"
"Very well," Stephen said quietly, "I forgot how well alcohol loosens tongues. But I heard from two contacts while you are gone. We are definitely on the hunt and retrieve list."
Michael nodded, "I expected that."
" . . .team 4 will approach here," Michael instructed.
Stephen wanted to bang his head against the wall. The briefing was going painfully slow. They'd kept the roles to be carried out by the Serbian team members simple but Michael was being extremely specific. For Stephen - and Stephen suspected that for every other one of them, the cold ops at least - it was torture. But they'd all taken great pains to get into this group, put them at ease, and learn all they could - so they had to be patient now.
Still, this mission was going to be a mess. This group was blood-thirsty - and their reasons extend back centuries before they were born. They all felt like their families and friends had been wronged - and they had. They'd all suffered deaths in families, they'd all be driven from their homes, had their livelihoods taken away. Then the tide turned and they did the same thing to the people that did it to them. Then the tide turned again…it was a vicious circle.
The biggest problem they were going to face when they launched the attack was emotion. This wasn't personal to any of the cold ops. For the Serbs it was. Some of them were excellent shots, some of them couldn't hit something ten feet in front of them. They had minimal training, and the cold ops had very specialized training. No matter what, it was going to be a mess.
The briefing ended, and they all headed out to cars, trucks and vans for the long drive into Kosovo.
"Go," Michael's voice was heard over the archaic radio transmitters. Kristie and Stephen stealthily started moving down the hill. Around them the other teams just leapt up and ran, their desire to exact revenge making them forget they were going for a quiet attack initially.
Someone from inside the building leaned out the window and started firing at them. Kristie turned her weapon in his direction and fired and at the same time, two of the Serbian team members just sprayed that area of the building with bullets. The shooter jerked back inside, undoubtedly full of multiple bullet holes.
The few people that were in the building at that time of night fired back as they moved into the building, but they didn't have a chance. They were out manned, out gunned, and they didn't have the advantage of having six section cold ops on the opposing forces team. It was a matter of a few minutes by the time they reached the core of the building, with all their files. Michael and Nikita arrived first before everyone else, setting fire to the paper files, and destroying the computer. Somehow the bloodshed seemed enough. By the time the first of the Serbian fighters reached the room the computer and files were beyond salvage.
"They destroyed it before we got to it," Michael announced, and checked his watch, "We should leave now, before reinforcements arrive."
Luka nodded, and the Serbian fighters started out of the building, setting charges as they went. They were racing down the road by the time the charges went off.
"Oh shit," Kristie said rather suddenly.
They were back at the Serbian groups headquarters. The celebration had started immediately. Kristie's heart hadn't been in it, none of her section team members felt much like celebrating either. So she'd quietly slipped up to the room she and Stephan were sharing, and logged on. She'd been monitoring Section's transmissions to protect herself and her friends - and because she enjoyed the challenge of monitoring without being caught.
A team had been sent out in the last hour to the Balkins. Kristie carefully moved farther in, trying to access the mission profile. It was a retrieval team - for them. They'd received a tip from a new informant - so they team was approaching with extreme caution.
She backed out, quickly shutting down, and raced down to the room where the celebration was starting.
"We gotta get out of here now!" Kristie bit out quickly and quietly, grabbing Stephen's arm, her eyes quickly surveying the room. She saw Michael, Alexandra and Darren, but not Nikita, "Section sent a team after us - here. Where's Nikita?"
"Veranda, outside," Stephan said, "Go get her."
They split off, Kristie going out to get Nikita, Stephen went to tell Michael, Alexandra and Darren.
The cold night air felt very dry when Kristie stepped outside. She knew the winters here were brutal. But it always hit her, just the same. She found Nikita laughing and talking with Myra, a bottle of wine between them.
"Kris, come join the more sedate 'we are not celebrating' group," Nikita side, picking up the wine bottle.
"Kita, we just got confirmation on the next job, it's been moved up, we gotta leave now. The target just launched."
Nikita felt her heart sink. There was no new job on the burner. She could read between the lines. Section was coming for them.
"Does Michael and everyone else know?" Nikita asked as they went inside.
"Stephen went to tell him and the others," Kristie said.
But Kristie didn't have to answer. They'd reached the main room, and Michael was standing over a computer with Luka, handling something. He only nodded to Nikita and Kristie.
"I'll help you pack," Myra told Nikita, as they turned towards the stairwell.
They passed Alexandra and Darren's room, and caught a glimpse of them. They moved quickly, saying little.
Nikita let herself and Myra into Nikita and Michael's room, and went immediately to the closet, and pulled out two suitcases, setting them on the bed. Myra starting pulling clothing off of hangers.
"Are you happy, doing what you are doing?" Myra asked Nikita.
Nikita shrugged, gathering up the laundry bag, and toiletries, "I don't like a lot of it, but I think that most of the time we're doing something that makes the world better. We can turn down jobs if we don't want to do them - it's better than section."
Myra nodded, "I…often have doubts."
Nikita looked over at her, "If you have doubts, then I think you should take some time away - now maybe."
Myra nodded, "I will think about it."
"Myra," Nikita said gently, "You should think about it now."
Myra stopped packing, and looked at her, "There's not other job, is there?"
"Not tonight," Nikita told her, "Someone must be tracking us. Look - we have this issue with not interfering beyond the job - and normally I wouldn't have said anything, but you strike me as someone who just doesn't belong with this group. You're not so blood-thirsty."
Myra nodded, "If you're not going to tell the others, I will not tell them either. I will take you to the airport and not come back."
Nikita nodded, "I'm sorry Myra."
"Don't be," Myra told her, "I'm not. I left other groups for similar reasons. We start off with noble intentions. Just protecting ourselves, eventually…we become the enemy we fight."
Michael walked into the room then, looking around.
"I'm done," Nikita told him, "Myra is going to give us a ride to the airport."
Michael only nodded, totally closed off.
They were cramming themselves into a van a few minutes later.
Continue on to In a moments time