Written with One Lobo
NC-17

Nikita was pissed. She yanked her hair up into a messy pony-tail as she stalked around the living room.

Mr. Jones had wanted to hold a meeting in their living room, instead of inside Section.

"Nikita," Michael said gently.

"I don't want to hear it Michael!" She snapped, "This is our home! It is not Section One! I don't want our life there to invade our home!"

Michael gently grasped her arm. She yanked her arm out his grasp, and stalked back into their bedroom.

Michael was torn between going after her, or letting her vent off steam. But his decision was made a moment later. The doorbell rang.

It was Kristie and Stephen who stood on the other side, when Michael answered the door.

"What the hell is going on Michael?" Kristie asked, "A meeting here? If that doesn't spell trouble, I don't know what does."

Michael stepped aside, to allow them to enter. Alexandra's car pulled up, just as Michael was going to close the door, so he waited. The passenger door opened, and Pepe jumped down from the seat, trotted over to a bush and lifted his leg. The door swung farther open, and Darren got out. Alexandra got out from the drivers side. Darren waited until she was close, and reached for her hand. She let him, but somehow, there still seemed to be some distance between them.

"Pepe," Darren called out to the little dog, "Have some manners. Pee on something Michael can't see."

Pepe just looked at him, and then turned his nose up smugly as if to say,

They made their way up the short walk, and into the house.

"Wine?" Michel offered, closing the door.

"God yes," Darren said, sighing deeply, still holding onto Alexandra's hand, as if he was unwilling to let go.

"Do we know anything yet?" Stephan asked, pulling out glasses from the cabinet.

"Not yet," Michael replied.

Nikita walked back out of the bedroom, her arms folded across her chest.

"This is the last time this happens," She snapped.

"I'm gonna hazard a guess here. We're not being cancelled - otherwise, we'd be going in for a mission or something," Alexandra offered, "Kita, I'd have offered up my living room, but it's kinda messy right now."

Nikita made some kind of snorting sound, and walked over, and picked up one of the wine glasses.

There was a knock at the door. Everyone looked at each other. Nikita broke away from the group, pushing Michael back when he moved to answer the door.

She looked at the LCD screen briefly before yanking the door open. Mr. Jones and two bodyguards stood there.

"May I come in?" He said warmly.

Nikita stepped back, "I don't like having work related meetings in my home."

The three men walked in.

"I generally don't like to invade an operatives home either, but it was necessary I'm afraid," Mr. Jones said, "I see we're all here."

"Yes," Michael said, "Wine?"

"Please," Mr. Jones replied, "I didn't want to drink anything offered to me inside Section One, you can't be too careful anymore."

Michael poured the glass and handed it to him, and gestured for everyone to move into the living room.

One bodyguard stayed by the front door, the other by the sliding glass door that lead out onto the porch.

"A few changes are going to be made at Section One," Mr. Jones began, "I feel that Madeline and Operations have lost their perspective - but they're not beyond hope. I'm temporarily reassigning them to a field assignment as cold ops. Section 5 has been shut down. Their remaining staff is being absorbed into Section 1. While Operations and Madeline are out, someone from the center will be running Section One. Which brings me to the six of you, which is unfortunate. I'd originally planned for eight."

His last sentiment stung all of them. The two missing operatives were still very fresh on their minds, and would be for some time.

Mr. Jones took a sip of his wine.

"Have any of you seen a profile for what is called a cell?" He asked.

"Small group of operatives, operating independently from any of the sections. They were used 15 years ago, but that stopped after 4 of them were wiped out." Michael said.

"Yes," Mr. Jones said, "An unfortunate security breach. They were quite effective really. There are a few organizations that we have not been able to touch. They're just a little too well connected. What you six are going to do is leave Section. A rumor will be circulated that you've acquired enough damaging evidence to make a deal. The deal will be that you are all listed as cancelled, when in reality you have left. You'll put out the word that you are available for hire as mercenaries. You will work for these groups, and feed us the necessary Intel to take them out."

"How do we know the right groups will contact us?" Nikita asked him.

"They may not at first," Mr. Jones said, "You may have to take a few jobs from some non-targeted organizations to attract the targeted organizations. This assignment could last months, perhaps even a year. You'll get your Intel and support from the center."

"I want our homes, our personal effects protected. Section policy is absorption and Sterilization, " Michael told him.

"The center will officially absorb and sterilize. What we'll really do is store your personal effects. We'll take good care of your things," Mr. Jones assured them.

Alexandra had been looking down into her wine glass, "I know I'm no psych expert - but there are four section teams that are going to be affected by this - and probably a lot of other people. They won't by it that we struck a deal to leave. That's just not us."

"You are correct. They won't," Mr. Jones said, "Not really - but the people on the outside will. You have a contact - Eric Wilde - He'd going to be very important in this."

Alexandra sat back in her chair, "Now I know he will never buy this. He knows me."

"He doesn't have to buy it, he has to sell it," Mr. Jones replied, "Now - I recognize that you've all been going non stop for over a year. This next year will be difficult. Take two weeks personal time - and then regroup. I'll notify you on the location in 12 days."

He stood up, and nodded to one of the bodyguards. The bodyguard handed him a thick manila envelope.

"Passports, identification, credit cards, some cash for the next few weeks. You'll need to leave tonight," Mr. Jones said, "Section will be informed of your cancellation tomorrow."

Mr. Jones left.

************

"This is the target," Madeline said softly as photographs spilled out from the envelope.

Paul flicked his cigarette, sending a few specks flying - only to die out in the mist that hung in the air. He sighed deeply, looking around. It was a cheep, third-rate hotel. The bed was lumpy - the bedspread and furniture faded and worn. There were cigarette holes in the carpet. The only reason he bothered to smoke on the porch was because he felt the need to look out over something - even if it was just an alleyway.

He looked over at Madeline.

"Anyone we know?" He asked.

"I don't think so," She replied, "Small time middleman. He was feeding the center for a while - and stopped."

Paul ground the stub of the cigarette out, and walked back in off the porch, and over to the bed where the photographs lay. The target looked to be in his early 30's. He was extremely thin - almost emaciated looking.

"Addict?" Paul asked.

"Not according to our Intel," Madeline sighed. She'd pulled up the Intel from the disk they'd been sent with the pictures, "But there isn't much here. One of his associates is having a soiree tomorrow night. Center feels that is our best opportunity - but there isn't Intel on security."

"So we'll need to do a field evaluation," Paul replied, "With no support."

"Yes," Madeline replied, logging out.

They both fell silent. Poor Intel. No tactical support. It was all too familiar.

************

"How long has it been since we've been here?" Nikita asked, getting out of the pickup truck she and Michael had bought when they'd landed in the country. It was an old beater, cheap, and inconspicuous. After all, they were officially dead right now.

"Too long," Michael replied, slipping his fingers into hers, "I never did get around to repairing that shutter."

"We've got two weeks," Nikita replied, her eye's taking in every detail.

They reached the door. Michael had to wiggle the key, and pull up on the door handle to get the door open.

"Shutter's not the only thing we gotta fix," Nikita commented as Michael finally pulled the door open - with a loud squeak from the hinge.

"It has character this way," Michael replied.

Nikita grinned. It did - and the squeak would warn them about anyone walking in on them.

Inside there was the same comfortable country style furniture. The blanket Michael had pulled over her while they sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace still lay across the sofa.

Maybe this time - when she dropped hints like bombs - she'd get laid.

"I'll get wood," Michael said softly, setting his bag just at the base of the stairs.

Nikita nodded, watching him turn back towards the door. She reached for his bag, and started up the stairs. She quickly unpacked, and then went back to the top of the stairs, looking down at the lower floor of the farmhouse.

Michael - dressed in jeans and soft knit sweater - building a fire in the fireplace. The wood caught quickly, flames started to lick up the sides. He stood up, dusting his hands off, and moved towards the kitchenette.

Nikita couldn't help but wonder what their lives would have been like - if they hadn't been in Section. Had it not been for section - she'd have never met Michael. She wouldn't have suffered all the pain, all the betrayals - but she'd still have suffered. Life on the streets wasn't easy. Michael - and the love they had now - somehow made it worth it.

"I love you," Nikita called down to him.

Michael stopped what he was doing, and looked up at her, longing in his eyes. Nikita started down the stairs. She had to be close to him, to touch him, feel his arms wrapped around her.

Michael met her at the base of the stairs, and slowly they moved over to the fireplace. Michael pulled the heavy quilt down off the sofa, and spread it down on the floor in front of the fireplace, and then reached for Nikita.

Nikita was reaching for him, even before she'd completely sat down on the blanket. Her lips met his, and they both melted into each other. It was like drinking the most exquisite wine. The taste made them want more, and the more they got, the more they needed.

Slowly, they started to shed their cloths, each movement serving to disrobe and caress, tantalize, and please.

Michael sat back, and pulled Nikita over his lap, so she straddled his legs. His fingers trailed down her body, thumbs stroking briefly over hardened nipples. Nikita arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward a little, silently telling Michael she wanted more. Michael bent his head down, and took one hardened nipple into his mouth, his tongue stroking her.

Nikita's hands were in his hair, at first massaging, but now all the gentleness was gone. Her fingers gripped Michael's hair, holding him to her. The harder she tugged, the harder he sucked, until it was almost painful, but at the same time felt so good.

He released her then, only to move on to the nipple he'd been neglecting. He slid his hands down her body, under her buttocks, and lifted her up, only to ease her back down again, this time sheathing himself inside her.

Both of them moaned as he slid inside her. Nikita felt her body stretch to accommodate his size, the sounds of his own pleasure making her heart pound harder, the pleasure somehow more intense.

He started to pump into her, small forceful thrusts. Michael released her nipple, his mouth seeking out hers. His lips molded to hers, his tongue delving inside her mouth to taste her. He felt her body start to tighten and then convulse around him, and he pumped harder, shoving her over that precipice and into that temporary insanity of her release. He wasn't far behind her. A few more thrusts, and he followed her, momentarily losing all control, all sense of reality.

************

"That was where I lived," Darren told her.

Alexandra nodded, taking in the scene before it. It was a busy Chicago street. The buildings were old, worn looking. In between then, laundry lines were strung between apartment windows. Two children played in the mouth of the alley, running toy cars up and down the sidewalk.

Pepe was sitting in her shoulder bag. As if he knew what Darren was talking about, he raised his head up out of the bag, and whimpered a little.

"Which one?" Alexandra asked, gently reaching into her shoulder bag to stroke Pepe's furry neck.

"Third window up - on the end," Darren told her.

The window was closed. They wouldn't dare go into the building at anyhow. Darren had gone to great pains to not be recognized. Since he'd left, and gone to prison, his body had changed. He'd built up muscle, and he was leaner. But he had distinctive features, so they'd used latex and some prosthetics to change the shape and sculpt of his face.

Alexandra wanted to pull it all off his face. But she wouldn't, not until they were away from here. But she did pull off his sunglasses, and look up into his eyes, eyes she knew she'd know anywhere. What she saw was regret.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," she said softly.

"No," he said quietly, "I want to show you were I lived, where I grew up. I'm ok."

His fingers slid into hers, holding onto her hand tightly. But she knew he lied. He wasn't ok. He was opening old wounds. But sometimes, wounds had to be opened, to be healed.

They started to walk down the street. Darren pointed out different places to her as they went. They reached a small restaurant with outside tables. They took one of the tables with a view of the street, and moments later, an old woman came out with menus. The menu was a single page, both sides, hand written. They ordered, and she left them, and came back a moment later with the beer's that they'd ordered.

"Same menu's," Darren said quietly, looking at Alexandra, "Sal and I used to come here after work, have a beer, have dinner, wind down after the day . . . He met his wife here. She was waiting tables."

Alexandra knew who Sal was. Sal - short for Salvador, had been one of his long time childhood, teenage and subsequently adulthood friends. He was the one friend that kept in contact with Darren - even when he'd been sent to prison. Darren had received a visit from Sal the day before Section took Darren.

Of course, Darren had never contacted Sal. He'd never risk it.

"You keep tabs on them?" Alexandra asked him.

"A little. I know they had another baby last year - little boy. That would make two boys, two girls. Nice big family . . ."

Darren glanced down at his watch, "Alex - you gotta call your other boyfriend. It's 6:00 his time."

Alexandra frowned, "He never was, and never will be the other boyfriend."

Alexandra muttered the words defensively, as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the numbers.

"Eric," She said, "It's me, your favorite redhead."

"Alex!?" Eric exclaimed, relief in his voice, "I was just about to give up your employer to some of the nastiest people I could find. When I tried to call you this morning, I was told you were . . . what was the word he used . . . cancelled."

Alexandra laughed a little, "Clean, clinical, detached - you should be familiar with the drill by now. I wasn't, and I'm officially out on my own - so we need to work one of those
"Officially, does this mean unofficially you're still employed by the same people?" Eric asked.

"Let's just say it's the employer of the employer," Alexandra told him, "It's long, complicated, and dreary. I'm back on line in 13 days. Drop some hints in appropriate places that some of the companies finest are going freelance."

"Might help if you told me which appropriate places," Eric told her.

"I don't even know that yet, but I will in 13 days," Alex told him.

"All right then . . . when do I see you again? 13 days?"

"Maybe," She told him, "I'm on leave actually. Taking a much needed vacation. I don't know where I'm going from day to day . . . and I gotta jam. I just wanted to keep you in on the loop - just in case you decided to get even with anyone."
"You have no idea how close I came . . . watch your back. Even spooks get haunted every now and then."

"Always, same to you," She replied, and then hit the end button.

Darren listened to the conversation, the way her tone sounded irritated when she said he wasn't her

"He was worried," Darren commented.

Alexandra nodded, "And considering revenge apparently."

"You like this guy," Darren said slowly, "Don't you."

Alexandra opened her mouth, about to deny it. But she knew immediately Darren would know it was a lie.

"Yeah . . . I do. It's fucked up too - because he's not exactly a good person. Maybe it's what he's becoming - or how he's changed . . . or maybe it's just that he's familiar ground - the only thing I have left of my old life . . . He's not such a bad guy Darren - once you get past his line of work."

Darren only nodded, and sipped his beer.

************

They both cut the engines on the bikes, and the absence of the engine roar was almost deafening. Kristie pulled her helmet off, shaking her hair out, and her gaze swept over the sight before her.

Teddy bear immediately leapt out of the sidecar and trotted for the nearest patch of sagebrush.

The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the sky with reds, oranges and yellows, as if the horizon was on fire. In a little while, the fire would fade, and they'd have to build a real fire to stay warm through out the night.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Stephen commented.

"Yeah," Kristie replied, "It's almost hard to believe anything bad in the world exists, looking at this . . .you think terrorists stop to admire the beauty in the world, when they find it?"

Stephen drew in a deep breath, "I think they get so caught up in their cause, they forget to look around and see it . . . I remember what it was like, being so blind with rage and hatred, wanting to avenge something that I could never make right . . ."

Kristie reached over, and slid her fingers into his, "Love you."

Stephen turned to look at her, "Love you."

He leaned over, and brushed his lips across hers, but only briefly. They still had to set up camp.

Quietly, they gathered up pieces of wood, sticks, and branches, just enough to get them through the night. The fire was easy to start, because the desert sun had dried the wood out long before they'd arrived.

With the fire lit, and their sleeping bag laid out, they broke out the evening's rations. Tonight's meal consisted of hot dogs roasted over the open flame, eaten off the end of a charred stick. Not the most nutritious meal they'd ever had, but certainly one of the more fun. After dinner, desert consisted of marshmallows. As the moon rose in the sky, they shed their clothing, and slid into the sleeping bags they'd zipped together, their bodies touching, melting into each other, until nothing existed but each other. When they finally slept later that night - they felt truly safe for the first time in years, out in the desert, with no shelter, no alarm systems, and only a fire and each other for warmth.

************

"There's our target," Madeline said softly, sipping her champagne.

She knew Paul could hear her words. He turned his head, just a little, so the target was in his view. There were three other men with the targets; all of them hired bodyguards - in reality just large morons.

"This is almost to easy," Paul commented.

Madeline wanted to tell him to shut up. They couldn't take him out here, not with 100 people to get through to escape. They'd have to get him away from the bodyguards too - or take them out as well.

They watched him for another hour. The bodyguards never left his side, one of them even checked the bathroom before the target went in. Perhaps they weren't morons after all.

Several women made attempts to get closer to him. They were all hired girls, here as entertainment - both visual and physical, if someone was so inclined. But all the women were turned away, and none to politely. More than once, the target made a scene, swearing and insulting them.

Madeline was easily 15 years senior to any of the hired girls here. There was no way she'd be able to pass herself off that way. So far, they'd seen the target turn away various offers of alcohol, drugs and women. There didn't seem to be any way to get close to him.

"We'll have to take him outside the soiree," Paul commented to Madeline as she strolled up next to him.

"We'll be exposed," She reminded him.

"Can't be helped," Paul replied, "And it looks like he's moving towards the door now."

"Get the car," Madeline told him, "I'll stay a step behind them."

Paul quickly turned away, and made his way out of the room. Madeline wove her way through the crowd, following them from the side, and then directly behind as the reached the door. To an observer, it would look as if she'd just decided to leave as well. Or so she hoped.

Outside, Paul was waiting in the car, pulled off to the side. Madeline walked over, and got in, watching the target and the bodyguards.

The limo gracefully pulled away a few minutes later, and Paul pulled in behind them. They drove for only three blocks, before they turned into the parking lot of a large, and very well light up hotel.

"This is too public," Madeline snapped.

"This," Paul snapped back, "Is all we have. Take the shot."

Madeline shook her head in disgust. This had to be one of the most poorly organized missions she'd been on in her entire career. The Intel was inaccurate, they didn't have any support or backup - and their clean hit was turning into a messy public spectacle.

"At least slow down long enough so I can do this with one shot," She snapped, drawing her gun out, and rolling on the silencer.

Paul pulled into the curved drive way where the limo had stopped, slowing down almost to stop. Madeline leaned out the window, and squeezed off a shot. The target flinched and bucked, and then dropped to the ground.

Paul hit the gas, speeding out of the parking lot, and onto the street. He drove five more blocks, and then pulled over. Both of them got out of the car, and started walking down the street - as if they were just a couple out for the evening.

************

Nikita carefully moved along the roof. She and Michael had spent the last week and half slowly working on the farmhouse. It was soothing somehow - making repairs to home that someday might be their real home - their home full time, a home that had nothing to do with Section.

Michael had fixed the shutter, and they'd shored up several others. They'd re-stained the outside of the farmhouse, and now they were replacing shingles on the roof. It was slow, meticulous work, but somehow, it was fun. Maybe it was because they were doing it together.

They rose early to work on the house, went into town mid morning for supplies and for breakfast, generally skipped lunch or just had a snack, and then had an early dinner, after which they'd spend the evening making love, or just curled up in each other's arms. It had to be the best week and half of Nikita's life - next to their honeymoon.

"I brought you some water - and a cheese sandwich," Nikita said as she crept over to where Michael was straddling the peak of the roof.

She'd moved to sit across from him; careful not to rest her weight on the area he'd been working on. She pulled her backpack off her shoulders, and handed him a bottle of water, and a sandwich.

"Thank you," Michael replied, drinking down half the water immediately.

"We've got a few more days left, after we're done with the roof, maybe we could build a wood shed, one of those three sided deals."

Michael nodded slowly, "Where do you want to put it?"

"Close to the door," Nikita told him, "Maybe on the end - facing out east."

Michael was already planning it out in his head. Nikita could tell by the look on his face. She loved to see him like this. He seemed content, happy, relaxed even. It was a side she didn't see often.

************

It was raining in Seattle. Of course, that wouldn't surprise either one of them. They'd both lived here at different times in their lives. It was late spring, and unusually warm. The sun was just rising, and Darren was content to watch Alexandra and Pepe sleep. They'd rented a room in a cheap sleazy motel, down town near Pioneer Square. People didn't ask questions in this part of town, and they certainly didn't look to close. If they did, they didn't admit it.

They'd spent a week in Chicago, and the second week they were spending in Seattle. They'd spent a day going through all of the pike place market shops, and then exploring the international district. They'd taken the underground tour, gone up to the top of the space needle, and spent a nightclub hopping up on Capitol Hill. Today they were going to rent a car, and go out to the coast for their last two remaining days. Alexandra had said she'd been there only once - and it had been one of her best childhood memories.

Last night, they'd made the rounds of several of the clubs around Pioneer Square, and in one alleyway, they'd passed by a drug dealer, in the midst of a transaction. It was blatant in this area, the police didn't try to stop it, only contain it. Alexandra had suddenly become tense, and she'd pulled them into the next club they came across, and she'd started to drink - and drink fast. While Darren was still halfway through is first beer, was starting on her second. He knew what was going on. She wanted cocaine, but she knew she couldn't have it, so she was driving herself into another substitute oblivion. There was a time when she'd have used him to save herself, but not anymore. They were together again, but they'd both done a lot of damage. It was different now.

Darren watched her body slightly move as she breathed deeply in her sleep, and wished he could go back, and undo all the mistakes. They were both so different now. When he thought back to how they were before, when they'd first become friends during their training, and then right after their training was complete, and compared it to now, it sickened him, how much they'd changed, and how. But he also knew it was inevitable. They did what they needed to, in order to survive.

Pepe suddenly lifted up his head, and yawned, and started to stretch out his legs, and arch his back. Alexandra called it his morning dance routine. He stretched his front legs, his back legs, arched his back, and shook all over, and then wagged his tail back and forth a little.

Seeing Darren awake, and looking at him, Pepe climbed onto Darren's chest, and started to lick Darren's face.

The movement was enough to disturb Alexandra's sleep. While Darren stroked the Chihuahua's neck and back, Alexandra lifted her head, and turned towards Darren.

"God it's bright," she muttered, squinting, "How much did I drink?"

Darren chuckled, "a lot . . . how do you feel?"
"Hungry," she told him, "I want one of this artery hardening breakfasts from the Olympic view café."

"Not nauseated then," Darren replied, reaching his hand out to stroke down the side of her body, "I was a little worried you'd be sick."

Alexandra smiled a little, "For some reason, I don't seem to be getting sick anymore when I drink to much. I just get a headache - which some juice and a couple of aspirin can fix."

Darren wondered how much she'd been drinking lately. He was sure he could guess why. He wasn't there for her - and he'd certainly caused a fair amount of her stress.

They had a lot of work to do, and a lot of ground to cover. Darren wasn't sure they'd ever really be the same.

************

The lighting was dim, cigarette smoke hung in a thick layer near the top of the room. The shelf that wound its way around the entire room was made of some dark wood, with water ring stains from the condensation off of thousands of beer bottles. Someone was playing a radio somewhere, the sounds of hard rock from a decade ago pounded out a tinny sound. It was poor speakers, Kristie knew, but it was better than nothing. Teddy bear sat with his back to the wall, watching the room, and his two favorite humans closely.

She and Stephen fit in well today - and it hadn't been any effort. They'd spent their two-week vacation camping and riding around the desert on the backs of Harley's. They'd slept under the stars, cruised the countryside, taking in every breathtaking view they could find. Every 3rd night or so they took a room at some small, quiet roadside motel, taking the opportunity for a hot shower, instead of a cleaning up in a cool stream, to get more provisions. What they didn't do was read the newspaper, or check the news boards. There would be time enough to catch up on the evil of the world when they returned from their vacation.

Today, as ever other day of their vacation, they were dressed in leather and denim. Kristie had on a leather vest, with a tank top underneath it, so her arms were bare, revealing the tattoo's she was so fond of. She would have liked to drop the leather vest too, but she had to carry her gun now. It was as much of a part of her as the tattoos were, but it didn't pay to advertise that she was carrying. Hence, she wore the leather vest.

Kristie was lining up her shot, when Stephen's cell phone rang. She heard him answer, heard him talk for a few moments to someone. She took her shot, the cue ball slamming into it's intended target hard, knocking the ball into one wall, and then into the appropriate pocket.

She stood up, gazing over the table. It was a well laid out game - but she was far from done. She was far from done enjoying her vacation too - but she knew without asking what that phone call was about.

The phone was the new one - the one that Mr. Jones supplied each of them with. Which meant - it was Mr. Jones. Before they'd scattered to the four winds for their vacation, they'd all agreed not to call each other unless it was an emergency.

She walked around the table, catching two men across the room eyeing her. She smiled, shook her head a little, and walked around the table, and bent over to take her shot. That ought to give them something to look at…she thought to herself as she bent over.

The cue ball nailed the target dead on, sending another ball into a pocket. She stood up, grinning. She knew without looking at Steven that he was grinning. She'd played pool before, but not a lot. Since she'd become involved with him, she'd learned a lot more. She could even say she was pretty damn good.

"How much time do we have?" She asked him, reaching for her beer.

She tipped it back, drinking down the remaining half of the bottle. Irritation started to creep up on her. She wanted another day, a week - hell, she wanted a whole lifetime. But she wouldn't get it. Damn Michael - No, damn Section. She, like Nikita, had been innocent.

"We need to be in St. Martine tomorrow afternoon," Stephen told her.

Kristie sighed, "Which means we leave tonight."

He nodded, "I'll call and make our reservations."

Kristie started to circle the table again, looking for her next shot. All of her balls had been sunk. All that was left was the 8 ball. The shot was difficult, but not impossible. She leaned over the table stretching out, carefully lining up her shot …

The crack of one ball hitting the other echoed through the room, and the 8 ball dropped into the pocket. She stood up, and turned to flash Steven a triumphant smile.

He shook his head, and whispered

The other two men who'd been watching from across the room had made their way over to the table.

"Want a game?" the first one asked, "50 bucks at stake?"

Kristie sighed, "Boys, I'd love to, but I gotta fly."

************

"The exposure was unacceptable!" Gregor yelled, "I'm surprised your faces are not up on every television broadcast on the continent!"

Gregor was the

Gregor hit something on the remote he had in his hand, and a picture appeared on the holo screen in front of the group, "This is your target - in the hospital. The attending doctors do not know if he will live or die. The job isn't finished. Go back there, and take care of it. You have 24 hours."

Gregor moved on to humiliate two other operatives whose mission had not gone well.

Within minutes, they were all leaving the table, heading in various directions.

"We had inadequate Intel. The whole profile was off," Paul muttered under his breath as he and Madeline made their way towards the planning room.

"I believe that was the point," Madeline replied, sighing, "Inadequate Intel, a poorly planned profile."

"What, they're punishing us for-"

"Yes," Madeline cut him off. She didn't want him to finish the sentence. It was as if saying it out loud would make the whole thing worse. Center had discovered everything, of that she was certain. Madeline was a little surprised they were still alive. But, as Mr. Jones said, they did have valuable skills.

"He's in the hospital," Madeline started, already falling into her old job - profiling, "We need to get in, eliminate him, and get out. An injection of some kind of fast acting poison should suffice."

************

Madeline had the hallway. Both she and Paul were dressed in the uniforms of housekeeping staff. They moved around the hospital, no one paid attention to them as they gathered up trash bags, swept and mopped up. It was a perfect excuse to get into the targets room.

Paul had just pushed his cart to the targets door. He went into the room, as he had several others. From all the other rooms, he'd taken out the trash, and dumped it into the larger trash can on the cart. But in this room, his routine would be slightly different.

Two of the hired thugs sat outside the room. They looked him over, but didn't say anything, and certainly didn't stop him from going inside. Paul walked in, slipped his hand inside the pants pocket of his uniform, and pulled out a syringe. He quickly uncapped it, and slid the needle into one of the IV ports, and pushed the plunger in. The color less liquid blended in with the other fluids. Paul recapped the needle, and slid it back into his pocket. Just as he was turning to walk out of the room, the target started to convulse.

Paul simply turned, and started to push his cart down the hall. He'd reached the end of the hall when the targets thugs shouted at him.

"Hey! You there! Garbage man! Stop right there!"
Madeline jerked open the door to the stair wall, and bolted through, Paul right on her heels. Down they raced, reaching the basement, and then going out the back door, and to a car they had left parked close.

It had been a simple job, and they both knew it. They started to worry about the not so simple ones they knew were coming.

************

It was hot, and humid, but the breeze made it comfortable. Nikita was dressed in Gauzy Capri pants, tank top and sandals. The purse she carried looked like it was woven straw. But it was lined, and inside she had her latest passport, Id, and of course, her gun.

Michael was dressed in light colored linen suit. Cool, comfortable, and it hid the gun she knew he was carrying. It also fit Michael's personality. His face was tanned from being outside and working on the house. Nikita smelled like coconut - from the sun block lotion she had to wear. She didn't tan like Michael.

They sat at a large table on a deck. The building and the deck belonged to a popular club, and the deck sat right over the water, giving everyone there a spectacular view of the scenery.

They were waiting for Kristie, Stephen, Alexandra and Darren to arrive. They're contact would be here in an hour. But Michael wanted them to meet up earlier, give them a chance to catch up before they had someone from the center there to listen and observe.

"This is a helluva way to have a second honeymoon Michael," Stephen announced walking up. He'd chosen to wear lightweight, light colored dockers, and some light, semi-nice top. Kristie wore a cute shorts and t-shirt outfit, and sandals.

"I was about to fleece these two loser out of 50 bucks when we got that phone call," Kristie announced, sitting down, "It was my day too. I'd beat Stephen a couple times."

Stephen just groaned, "Thank god she and I weren't playing for cash. I'd be broke."

"I'm sure there's a pool table, and plenty of fools somewhere on this island," Nikita assured Kristie.

Kristie grinned, "Oh, I know. Trust me. Horny guys are an easy mark."

Michael was about to wave down the waiter, when he caught a flash of red hair. Alexandra and Darren materialized a moment later, weaving through the crowd to the table. Darren had on cotton cargo style pants, a tight fitting tank top, and a cotton button up style shirt on - unbuttoned. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Alexandra had on a gauzy skirt and tank top, a fanny pack around her wait, and Pepe riding in a shoulder bag.

Pepe started to squirm around in the bag, upon seeing someone else he knew.

"The gang's all here," Darren deadpanned, pulling out a chair for Alexandra, and then himself.

Alexandra handed Pepe over to Nikita. Pepe immediately started to give Nikita a thorough sniffing, immediately picking up on the coconut lotion.

"Smells like mama, huh Pepe," Alexandra said, reaching out and stroking her fingers down his back, "I gotta say, if we gotta work, I can think of worse places."

Michael waved down the waiter, and ordered a round of beers for all of them.

"Anyone know anything we didn't know when we all last met?" Nikita asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

"I got a hold of Eric," Alexandra volunteered, "He'd heard that I'd been cancelled, me and several other operatives. I told him I'd call him tomorrow and bring him up to speed."

"Where'd you go for your vacation?" Kristie asked her.

"Chicago, and then Seattle," Alexandra told her, "Darren got to spend a week in latex. I look different enough that I didn't have to worry, thank god."

"It rain in Seattle?" Kristie asked her, "I do not miss that rain."

"Half the time," Alexandra told her, "It was kind of nostalgic actually . . . but a few days was enough of rain for me. What did you do?"
"Camped and rode through the desert," Kristie told her, "and didn't read the news boards, or the newspaper. Best two weeks of my life in a long time."

Alexandra turned to look at Nikita and Michael, "What about you two?"

Nikita looked over at Michael, not sure he wanted to share any information about their other home.

"We spent time working on an old farmhouse I've had for a while," Michael replied, "It was relaxing."

No one asked where it was. There wasn't any need. They all had their secrets, and their private places.

"I'm just dieing to know what kind of missions they're sending Madeline and Operations out on," Alexandra began, turning the conversation in a different direction, "I'm hoping Madeline has to do a few valentine jobs, but she'd probably like it."

Kristie made a rude noise, "I doubt it. She won't be in control. She'll have to do what ever it is that gets the targets attention - and that may land her in a very submissive role."

"One could hope," Alexandra sighed, picking up the beer that had just been placed in front of her.

The group fell silent for a few moments.

"I hope we have time to enjoy the beach," Nikita said, sighing, "Michael and I spent a few mornings, afternoons, evenings stretched out, basking in the sun, enjoying some kind of tropical drink that tastes divine."

"Kita developed a taste for spiced rum," Michael added.

"And then there's the shopping," Nikita added, "The street markets here are like no other place on the planet . . . ."

***********

"We got company," Stephen announced, just loud enough to get everyone's attention.

Michael didn't turn to look at the person approaching. Instead, he watched Stephen, Kristie and Darren, all three of which were facing the area directly behind Michael.

"Mr. Jones sends his best," The man said, pulling up a chair and sitting down, "I am Jamal. I will be your technical liaison, and for this evening, your tour guide."

"Where are we staying?" Nikita asked.

"The St. Acacius resort," Jamal said, "It's a small place, 20 bungalows, what used to be a restaurant, some beach space. It's a small island, and was billed as a private exclusive resort 20 years ago, but the owner couldn't make the ends meet, it closed down, and the center has been using it as a safe house and temporary HQ for various operations for years."

***********

"I love the salt air," Nikita said in Michael's ear. It was the only way he would hear her - without having to yell. She felt his hands slide around her waist, and she leaned back into his chest.

They were on a boat, all 7 of them, racing across the water towards the small island in front of them. The sun was just starting to fall, but the visibility was still good. By the time they reached the dock, the sun was painted with rich reds and purples.

Jamal cut the engine, and turned around to look at the people with him.

"Welcome to your new home," He announced.

Alexandra stepped off the back step of the boat, taking a mooring line with her. She quickly secured the boat, a million memories flooding back to her. The place she'd grown up, had been near a marina, and she'd spent a lot of afternoons there.

"When you come up on the island, Comm will pick you up on radar, and a camera. There's a two-man Comm team below 24-7. The security is in anonymity. Even with all the tourist traffic, we can keep tabs on who is coming and going," He told them, "The boats, and the jet ski's are fitted with a GPS identifier, so we know who our own is, and we know who the tourists are."

Alexandra stepped back a little more, as Stephen, Darren and Michael started to unload their suitcases. They'd all packed light, keeping it to one medium sized suitcase each.

"What about security on the Island?" Nikita asked.

"Surveillance," Jamal called back, as they all trekked up the dock, "If it moves here, we know about it. There's intercoms installed in each of the cabanas, and if anything or anyone gets too close, trust me, you'll know about it. The ski boats and jet skis are for your use. The only way we get on and off this island is by boat or chopper. The bungalows off to the right are where we actually live. I've got a list inside of which ones the Comm staff are occupying, and your other cold op."

"Other cold op?" Kristie piped up quickly, "I thought it was just us?"

"The boss man sent you one more pretty boy," Jamal said over his shoulder, "That's his job too."

Kristie shook her head, "this cell is starting to look like a substation."

"I'm just the messenger," Jamal said, "That building there - used to be the restaurant. It's now the kitchen. None of us really cook though. There's a door in the kitchen that leads down to the Comm station, and the armory, planning, all the stuff you'll need. There's an assignment waiting for ya already."

They left their bag in the kitchen, and went down the hidden staircase to the technical world below.

It looked like a small section. Probably 1/10th of the size of Section One, it came complete with a Comm station, a planning section, and an Amory.

"There's a work out room above ground," Jamal told them.

"Where's the other operative?" Michael asked, taking the disk that Jamal handed him.

"Charley," Jamal said, looking over at comm.

The man who looked up had his head shaved bare, and he was dressed in what seamed to be the standard island attire. Shorts, t-shirt, flip flops.

"Billy boy is in the gym," Charley said, "Want me to call him down?"

"Yes," Michael replied.

Charley keyed something on the keyboard, "Billy, come on down."

***********

It was a few moments later when they heard foot falls on the stairs. He was tall, with blonde hair down to his shoulders, with a natural wave to it. He had green eyes, tanned skin, and a muscular build. He smiled a lazy smile at the group that had turned to watch is entrance.

Valentine op . . . was the first thought that came to Kristie's mind. Attractive, natural grace and charm, with something definitely sexual about him.

Pepe suddenly twisted in Nikita's hands, and barked at Billy.

"Jesus," Billy said, gently reaching out, "I didn't know rats came in that color."
Nikita's body must have reacted in some negative fashion. Pepe looked up at her, and then looked around for Alex, and made a questioning sound, somewhere between a whimper and a growl.

"Somebody wants mama," Nikita said, handing him back to Alexandra.

Pepe immediately snuggled into Alexandra's arms, but he kept his eyes on Billy.

"We have an assignment waiting," Michael announced, sliding the disk into the drive.

In the next 30 minutes, they received a 10 most wanted list of organizations that the center wanted them to get to. Then Mr. Jones outlined the organization he wanted them to go after first.

The DVD video ended, and Michael withdrew the disk.

"Everyone works their contacts for any additional information on these people," Michael said, "Remember - we're all officially cancelled. We go in pairs - and we watch each other's backs."

***********

Two hours. Two hours of exhaustion induced sleep had been all that she had been able to claim. The soft sounds of island birds calling in the distance had roused a sleepy Teddy Bear from his resting place as well. Kristie rolled to one side to check on him when she heard his groan as he rose to his feet. A moment later, a cold nose pressed to her cheek as Teddy said his good mornings. She scratched one ear, then put her finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet. She slipped the chain collar off of his neck and laid it gently on the mat beside the bed. Pushing herself up slowly on one elbow, she started to swing her feet over the edge when she felt a warm arm snake around her waist.

"Where are y'all going anyway? You should be sleeping," Stephen's voice was husky sounding with the sleep still in it.

"Can't sleep, gonna take Teddy out to let him walk a little and find a nice bush...or palm tree to water," Kristie leaned down to him, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Don't be gone long and keep an eye out."

"We will, be back soon."

She slid a robe on, ran her fingers through her hair and eased the hut's door open. Teddy pushed ahead of her but stopped short when Kristie spoke to him. He waited for her to exit first, then stepped out after her.

Pulling the door shut behind them, she bade him to heel and they walked down

the steps down onto the beach.

Stephen pulled the light sheet back over his chest, remembering back to only a week earlier when they had been on the road trip on their Harleys. Some of the nights had gotten so cold, they had to sleep nearly right beside the fire. Now they only needed this one thin sheet to make it through the coolest part of the night. He had to smile at the many times in the past how he had told Kristie that she was like his own personal heated blanket.

Her body temperatures following the same pattern as one of the electric devices, first she would come to bed cold, chilled to the bone she would say and snuggle down into the sheets beside him. Her skin cool against him at first, it would be only moments before he would feel heat beginning to come off of her in waves. She would slide away from him breaking their contact and one foot would snake its way out from under the covers. "It's my temperature regulator," she had answered him when he questioned her as to why she did that, "my Mom told my I've done that ever since I was born. If I get too hot, one foot comes out and my body temp starts to even out or drop."

He smiled as he started to feel sleep tugging at him again, rolled to his back and let it take him.

***********

Teddy bounded ahead of her down to the waterfront. He had never seen an ocean but he was one of the rare dogs that enjoyed water. The keepers in the kennels at Section said he was easier to bathe than any of the other dogs, even if they were assured of getting wet in the process as he shook time after time. This water was a whole new game. It moved, first running from him when he chased it, only to rush forward again just when he thought he had it scared. The taste must have been a surprise as well, Kristie laughed as he got his first mouthful of salt water, stopped and turned to look at her as it leaked back out between his teeth.

A small crab peeked from its hiding place in the sand and decided to make a run for it. He wasn't quick enough to avoid some quick attention from Teddy who caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Kristie watched the muscular rear legs crouch then spring him forward after the tiny creature. Sure that he would soon get a nip from a pincher on the nose, Kristie started to halt him but the little crab ducked into another burrow before she had to. Teddy clawed violently at the hole throwing sand in fans out behind him but soon gave up seeing that the quarry was long gone.

Feeling the sand under her feet took her back to childhood memories, this time some of the best times of her life. Myrtle Beach in South Carolina was a summer haven for her family, even after her parents divorced. In a way, that actually helped out, doubling the time spent there since both parents planned for a week of vacation at two different times during the summers.

The laughter from the Pavilion and all the rides it held, the smell of burgers from Peaches on the corner and the sounds of Southern Rock belting from the Bowery all rang fresh in her mind as if she were still there. Her first french kiss had happened under the shadows of the boardwalk when she was only nine. The boy had been blond and sweet and the pre-pubescent gropings had fostered a new interest in them both. The small case of puppy-love had ended with his family packing up to head back to Tennessee, which at nine years old, may as well have been a million miles away. Many trips and many friends later, high school graduation finally came and the week was spent without any parents around. Most of the kids who were enjoying the sins of underage drinking and illicit sex with classmates and aquaintances were offspring of other kids who in their day, spent their own graduation in the same hotels doing the same things. Taken as a right of

passage, they knew better than to tread on that most unsacred ground of The Grand Strand, Ocean Boulevard lest they incur the wrath of 10,000 screaming teenagers. For parents too, it seems that time was a right of passage of a different kind. Time to let the little bird out and see if its wings would sustain it's flight. Time to trust, or at least time to tell them that you trusted them before paying off one of their more "grounded" friends to keep an eye on them. Bail money was also usually held by this person, just in case. It was hard to convince those Myrtle Beach police officers that you were only sitting in the middle of the crowded sidewalk because you were tired.

Teddy bounded up to her, dropping a long piece of driftwood between her feet, which she was still staring at, and she bent to pick it up. Fetch was one of her little killers favorite things in life and she was obliged to throw again and again while she watched the sun catch the water on fire in its reflection. Teddy fetched again and again, with seemingly endless energy. He got halfway back to her after one throw and stopped in his

tracks, his nub beginning to wiggle back and forth as he looked past her.

Kristie turned in time to see a rowdy Pepe squirming in Alexandra's arms until she had to put him down for fear of dropping him. He made a quick bee-line for Teddy Bear and the human games no longer interested him at all.

His favorite playmate was out, they were in a new place with new smells and new things to chase and life was good.

************

Halfway across the globe . . .

The first thing he felt was pain. His next thought was hope. The blast - he was still alive, maybe she was too. He tried to open his eyes, but after a moment he realized someone had wrapped his face in bandages.

"Hey," he gasped, "Somebody talk to me."

He heard nothing. No response. In fact, it was too quiet. He didn't hear the sounds of any machines, like respirators, or IV pumps. No background noise from people moving around in the back hallways, or in other rooms.

So he wasn't in medlab.

"Hey!" He croaked out louder. He realized his voice sounded different. It was harsher, almost burnt sounding.

Then he heard something that sounded like door bouncing off a frame.

"Hey!" He croaked out again. He heard footsteps, and they sounded like they were coming towards him.

"So the patient lives," a feminine voice said, with a heavy Asian accent, "thought we would be putting you in grave."
"Is there a woman here?" He asked quickly, "Strawberry blonde hair, she had some wounds to her mid section . . ."

"She dead when we come," the woman said, "dead for long time. Too much blood."

He felt his heart shatter in a thousand pieces. Suddenly all the pain the rest of his body seamed minor in comparison.

"God no . . ." he gasped out.

He felt a hand pat his shoulder.

"Very sorry," the woman said, "look like she die fast. Maybe not much pain."

But he knew better. He'd been there with her for 15 agonizing seconds, while she knew she was bleeding to death. While she begged him to save himself, He'd refused to leave her.

We'll move in together on the same cloud . . .

************

"I'm hungry," Kristie announced, "When I'm done being nice to this weirdo, let's grab dinner. Wasn't there some kind of Cajun place a few block from here?"

Stephen nodded, his eye's darting to Kristie, and then back to the street he was scanning.

"I recall seeing a crawfish on a sign two blocks east," He commented, "But that was a few months ago. I'm guessing there isn't a huge market for Cajun food here."

Kristie shrugged, "Should be. Nothing like good southern cooking - and not that shit you Texas boys grew up with."

They passed through a doorway manned by two bouncers. Stephen slipped some folded bills to one of the guys as they walked up - bypassing the line outside. Several people in the line groaned and complained loudly. But the sounds faded as soon as they were inside the building. The pulse of the music drowned out most everything else.

As they moved through the crowd, Stephen glanced up at the stage. What he saw almost made him stumble.

A woman, wearing only a thong, writhed on top of a man sitting in a chair, wearing only a thong. A spot light shone on them. The people they were weaving through on the dance floor were doing similar things, only they were wearing a little more. But just a little.

"Kris," Stephen said, almost having to yell in her ear to be heard, "What kind of place is this. Those people on the stage are damn near fucking!"

She nodded, "Guido picked this place."

"Guido?!" Stephen said, "What kind of freak is this?"

"A connected Italian freak," she replied.

They reached a table, and sat down.

Kristie looked around the club again. She almost felt overdressed in comparison to the crowd.

************

It was a valentine mission. Madeline looked over the profile once it was given to her, and if she ever had any doubts about whether or not she and Paul were purposely being fed poorly put together missions, those doubts were gone now. She was a polar opposite to the type of woman this target would be attracted to. The only thing she had he might be interested in - were attractive features on an older woman.

She picked out her dress carefully in wardrobe. She carefully applied her makeup, styled her hair and she was out of the substation and headed towards the club where she'd move in on the target earlier than necessary. She wanted time to take a good look at the club herself.

After satisfying herself that all of the exists were where they were supposed to be, she took a seat at the bar, and ordered a glass of white wine.

*************

Paul didn't think his mission would be too hard - until he started. He had to pretend to be a priest. This priest would be passed information by someone in confession. That information should be passed on to someone else who would meet him in confession.

But Paul knew nothing about being a priest. His crash course, put on his panel on the flight in country had been extensive, but not quite extensive enough. Within three hours, Paul realized exactly how lost he was.

To make matters worse, a young eager priest was picking his brain about his time in South America. Of course Paul had never been a priest in South America. He hadn't done charity work, and he certainly wouldn't remember how wells with natural filtration systems were built. So he was winging it, and wishing the younger eager priest would just go away.

"Father Detriche."

Paul turned to look to see who was addressing him. He had to fight himself not to sneer. It was the head priest of the monastery.

"Father Albany," Paul said, keeping his voice warm and friendly, when he felt anything but.

"Father Hailey is ill. You'll take his place at St. Martin's. You'll hear the confession of the patients, and give the last rites to anyone in need. It's a 24 hour shift."

"Of course," Paul said, nodding his head.

That meant he'd be here another day at least. The man who was supposed to pass him information would come, and he would find out that father Detriche wasn't here. Paul knew better than to argue with Father Albany. He ruled over the monastery with an iron fist. Most of the other priest's feared him. Paul just resented taking orders from him. So far, Paul had spent hours scrubbing dishes, had cleaned the cells vacated by travelers, and he'd ministered to drunken street bums who only wanted a warm place to sleep. Hell couldn't be worse than this, he'd often thought.

*************

Madeline gave him her best air headed smile, leaning forward to give him a good view of her cleavage. She was bored, profoundly irritated, and wanted nothing more than to order a team to grab this guy and take him into the white room. Then she'd find out where his PDA was stashed, and just take it.

But she had to follow profile. Profile dictated that she get him to take her back to his hotel, sleep with him, drug his water after sex, and then steal his PDA, and replace it with another one.

Her target was on his 7th 7&7, and becoming very intoxicated. If he kept this up, they'd never make it out of the bar, and he certainly wouldn't be lucid enough to ask her up to his hotel room.

"You know," Madeline said, "I'd kinda like to go someplace quieter."

"I'm not done drinking little lady," he announced, "You look like you could use another glass of wine too."
He waved down the bartender. Madeline ground her teeth. This was not going well at all.

***********

Nikita kept thinking about the white sand beach, and how wonderful the sand would feel under her bare feet. But all she could feel now was a dull ache in the balls of her feet - created by the high heels she wore with the evening gown.

She glanced over at Michael, and couldn't help but smile. She'd like to see him wearing nothing but a Speedo, or nothing at all - on their white sand beach - but he did look good in a tux. Too good in fact, because he was almost a distraction.

She pulled her gaze away, to sweep the room.

"Northeast entrance," Nikita said softly, "It's Palo."

Michael nodded a little, immediately starting to look for tails. They'd be easier to spot in this club, vs. some of the others they occasionally met him in. Unlike a lot of the dark smoky obscure clubs that they were forced to meet clients in, this time Michael suggested this particular club. It featured a blues/jazz band. It was lit well enough to see, but the light was still low enough to feel intimate. It was also upscale. And it was an ideal place to watch for any extra sets of eyes.

Palo walked over to their table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

"I didn't know you ever came to places like this Michael," Palo said, "Someone might see us."

"That's the point," Nikita said, sipping her wine.

Palo looked from Nikita to Michael, raising an eyebrow, "What gives?"

"We're going into business for ourselves," Michael replied, "We have a small freelance team. We're hiring out."

"Aaahhh," Palo said, placing a cigarette between his lips, "So uh - if your old employer isn't in the picture, does that mean I got problems?"

"Only if you get in their way," Nikita said, passing him a card, "This is how we can be reached . . ."

***********

Madeline ached all over. She pushed his heavy arm off of her, looking down at her bruised body, and angrily grabbing up her stockings, slip and dress. Her stockings were ruined, her slip torn, but she couldn't leave any traces behind.

She quickly searched through his suitcase, and the dresser drawers, and found the PDA. It took only a few minutes to do the data transfer and switch the PDA's, leaving him with a new PDA with all his previous information on it, plus a tracking device he'd never know was there.

With that done, she finger combed her hair, rubbed the smeared makeup off below her eyes, and left the room.

The night air was a cool, being that it was still late spring. She waved down a cab, and gave him an address for a diner. Once she was there, she'd wait a few minutes, and then take another cab back to the airport, and catch a flight back.

It hurt to sit, she realized as she sat on the padded seat in the back of the cab. She knew she'd be black and blue in a couple hours. Her target had been an animal - an abusive rough animal. It hadn't been in the profile.

But lately, a lot wasn't appearing in the profiles.

Paybacks really were a bitch.

************

"This isn't what we were supposed to get!" Gregor snapped as he yanked the disk out of the drive, "Are you sure you took the disk from the right contact?"

The right contact?

"Yes," Paul snapped, "That is what he passed me. If I'd been given more Intel, I might have-"
"You should be able to improvise in the field," Gregor snapped, "Debrief is over. You have 6 hours until the next briefing."

It was a dismissal. In fact, Paul had dismissed many an operative in much the same way.

Paul hated being on the other side of the table. It ground on his nerves every time he had to deal with Gregor's superior attitude, and it only made it worse that Paul wasn't told everything he should have been told, or when he found out information had been deliberately withheld.

************

It took several hours for him to be certain that no one had been watching the account. If she had been there to check it out, she'd have known in minutes. He was just glad he'd learned what little he had from her.

He'd tapped out their accounts transferring it all into another account. He made it look like it was an estate transfer - to various charities. In reality, he'd just taken the money that she'd invested so carefully for them. His first big purchase would be for the services of a plastic surgeon. The man who's name he'd been given was discreet. He destroyed records after he was done, and he was paid handsomely for his services. He never asked a client too many questions. It was better not to know.

"Sir," The woman called from the open doorway, "The doctor is ready to see you now."

He got up, walked through the deserted lobby, and followed her back through the hallway, to a surgical room.

"Have you eaten today?" She asked him as they walked.

"Not since midnight last night," he replied, "I followed your instructions very carefully."

"Excellent," She replied, pushing the door to the surgical room open.

The plastic surgeon was in the room already.

"Are you sure this is the face that you want?" The surgeon asked, "It's a big change from your former undamaged face."

"Yes," He replied, "My former face might get me killed - again."

He stopped, and took one last look in the mirror. He'd flinched away the first time he'd seen his face, and he'd been glad that she hadn't been there to see it. His face had been a mass of scar tissue from the explosion. It had been the result of burns and cuts. His hair was just starting to grow back, and on some places, it was growing back white, instead of the rich dark brown, almost black color he'd always known.

Of course, he'd have to give up having such rich dark brown hair. He couldn't even resemble any part of his prior self. They might see him coming.

"What should I call you while I'm doing your procedure," The plastic surgeon asked.

He peeled off his sweatshirt, and sat down on the gurney.

"You can call me Tony," He replied.