The three of them were seated at the kitchen table, waiting for Michael.
"And when, may I ask, did he prepare this 'profile'?" Genevieve asked Nikita.
She poured them all a glass of sherry. "While we were waiting for Emil, I suspect."
"Then what is he doing now?" asked Emil.
"Entering it into a PDA, probably."
"PDA? What is that?"
"The letters stand for Personal Data Assistant.' It's a hand-held computer."
Genevieve sniffed. "Well, I hope you don't expect me to use one of these 'PDA.' I'm too old to learn such a new trick in the little time we have left."
"Only I will be using one." He stood in the doorway to the kitchen.
Emil turned in his chair, surprised at Michael's silent approach. (Eh bien, this one has the stealth of a Maquis sniper! We could have used him during the War.) Then he remembered that shaking hand in his. (. . . if his nerve didn't fail him.)
Michael walked over to the table. He moved the sherry glasses to one side and spread out a sheet of drafting paper. Anchoring it with the PDA and a couple of glasses, he began to draw for them the strategy he had designed.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Are there any questions?"
Emil and Genevieve shook their heads.
"Non, Monsieur," said Emil. "You have a gift for strategy. Your profile has an elegant simplicity. Although we are somewhat out of practice, my wife and I should be quite capable of performing as you require. Is that not so, Genevieve?"
"Mais, oui," she agreed. Then she smiled at Nikita and Michael. "This may be quite rewarding. You know, I believe I am looking forward to the excitement. Even old dogs like us can still be stirred by the scent of the prey, eh mon mari?"
Emil chuckled and put his hand over hers. "Vraiment, cherie."
At their apparent insouciance, Michael's anger flared. He spoke with an intensity which betrayed his struggle to rein it in. "Overconfidence on your part will lead to disaster. Never forget that YOU are the prey."
Nikita warned, "Michael . . . "
However, rather than cowering under his gaze, Genevieve and Emil looked back at him steadily. Genevieve spoke for both of them.
"That depends on one's point of view, n'est pas, Michel?" Then she reached across the table and put her hand over his. She could feel him shaking. "Everything will be all right. Do not be afraid."
At her words he jerked his hand away from her and stalked out of the room. Nikita started to follow, but Genevieve called her back.
"Let him go, chouette. This is something he must wrestle with alone."
Nikita sat down again reluctantly. She took a sip of her sherry. "He has wrestled alone for so long, Madame. Longer than you can imagine."
"Perhaps. But there are some things a man must do for himself, no matter how long it takes. He needs your encouragement, your love. But you cannot fight his battles. I know this from my own experience, which I share with you."
"She is right," added Emil, as he took Genevieve's hand and kissed it.
For a while, they continued to drink sherry and speak of happier things -- the Beaullieus' newest grandchild -- the first girl, who had been born to Albert and his wife after four boys. They had named her Genevieve.
"Enfin!" cried Genevieve. "I was beginning to despair of an heir to my Limoges! I inherited it from my grandmother, and her name is engraved in gold on every piece. A bit ostentatious, perhaps, but very beautiful even so.
"I still do not see why you could not leave it to Henri," commented Emil. For Nikita's benefit, he added, "He is Monique's eldest."
"Not unless you can guarantee he marries a woman named Genevieve, idiot! I have TOLD you, vieux homme, it must be passed only from Genevieve to Genevieve. That has been OUR family's tradition for the past 200 years! And before you make light of it, just remember that 90% of what YOUR family has collected for the past ten generations is nothing but junk! It has been pure luck that a few items were of value."
"But, you must admit that they were of GREAT value!" shouted Emil.
Despite her worry about Michael, Nikita began to laugh. "Sshh!" she teased them. "You'll disturb the neighbors!"
"What neighbors? I don't remember seeing any other houses near here," said Genevieve.
"There's one just down the road from the main gate."
"But that's nearly a kilometre from here!" objected Emil.
"Exactly my point," Nikita quipped.
That quieted them down, but they still continued to mutter insults at one another under their breaths. Nikita ignored them. She went over to the sink and was washing the coffee cups and saucers when she became aware of complete silence behind her. She turned around. Michael had returned. His face was a marble mask. The Beaullieus were eyeing him warily.
"Please forgive my behavior," he said to Genevieve. "It was inexcusable."
She got up and went over to him. He tensed immediately. But rather than kissing him the traditional French way, she kissed her fingers first, then touched her hands lightly to his cheeks.
"Think no more of it, mon ami," she said. "I have forgotten it already."
"Thank you." His voice cracked slightly.
"And now," she said briskly, I think it is time for us to return home. All that remains is to wait for that "detestable" to show up.
* * * * *
The trip back to the village was even quieter. There was nothing left to discuss. The next day events would play out, one way or another.
Michael stopped the car at the Beaullieus' back door. He and Nikita preceded Emil and Genevieve inside and performed a thorough search of the premises. As Michael had expected, they found listening devices - one in the kitchen and another in the couple's bedroom.
"When we go back inside, we'll show you where the bugs are located," said Nikita. Be very careful what you say between now and tomorrow. As we discussed, Michael and I will meet you "by coincidence" at the 10:00 Sunday Mass. You'll invite us home for brunch. That will give us several hours to prepare."
"Are you ready to go inside?" asked Michael.
"Oui," they both confirmed.
* * * * *
The night was pitch-black as they drove slowly back to the farm. Nikita had asked to drive, and to her relief, Michael had offered no objection. The more she was around him, the easier it was for her to sense the waxing and waning of his energy. The stress of the past 24 hours had taken a lot out of both of them, but it was clear that it had been harder on him. He confirmed this by falling deeply asleep as soon as she started the car. As they rounded the first curve on the road home, his body listed toward her, coming to rest with his head against her right shoulder. She drove the rest of the way with one hand, holding him steady with her arm braced across his chest so he wouldn't pitch forward if she had to stop suddenly.
As they pulled into the barn, she shook him gently. "Wake up Michael, we're home."
He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "How long have I been asleep?"
She chuckled. "Do you remember leaving the village?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No."
"You just answered your own question."
She turned off the motor and got out. Going over to his side of the car, she opened the door. He struggled out, still groggy. She pulled him by the arm into the house.
"Do you want any supper?" she asked as they passed the kitchen.
He swallowed thickly and shook his head.
"Me neither. Let's just go to bed." And she shoved him up the stairs ahead of her. He stumbled over to the bed and fell face forward onto the mattress, asleep again as soon as his head hit the pillow.
"This is getting to be a bad habit," she muttered to herself as she removed his shoes. "If I could be sure he wouldn't kick me with them in the middle of the night, I'd just let him suffer."
Then she took another look at him lying there, vulnerable in exhaustion. She lay down beside him and rubbed his back, feeling him relax under her hand. Even asleep, he had been tense. She pressed a light kiss under his jaw and murmured, "On the other hand, I guess you've suffered enough for this lifetime, haven't you, cheri." (Now where did I pick that up?) she thought groggily. (Oh yeah, from Emil and Genevieve.) And she fell into a dreamless sleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A kick in the shin woke Nikita.
(It's a good thing I took off his boots!) she thought, rubbing the aching spot on her left leg. But no sooner had she drifted back to sleep than Wham! he did it again. This time she turned on the light to see what the hell was happening.
(Oh no! Not now!) she nearly cried when she saw him. His face was deeply flushed, and he was breathing with his mouth open because his nose was so stuffed up. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead -- it was stove hot. This explained a lot about his earlier behavior and his lack of energy. He had been fighting a war with himself on two fronts, not just one as she and the Beaullieus had assumed. Not only were his emotions betraying him - his body was too, and just when they were all depending on him.
(Still the good operative, aren't you Michael? God forbid you should be anything other than "fine!")
Then she thought again. It wasn't him she was really angry with - it was herself. (After all, what choice did you give him, Nikita? You just presented him with this mess and expected him to clean it up for you, as usual. Oh, you threatened to do it alone, but you knew he wouldn't allow it.)
She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was only 11:00. (Thank goodness we fell asleep early. At least that gives me ten hours or so to get him functional.) She went down to the kitchen. From the refrigerator she pulled a vial of the powerful antibiotic Section had developed to combat his sinus and ear infections. Returning upstairs, she filled a disposable syringe, grabbed some cotton balls and alcohol, and prepared her first assault on the invisible enemy. But first she had to gain access to the battlefield. She put down her weapons, rolled him on his side so she could reach his zipper, and stripped down his jeans. At her touch he hardened but didn't wake. She rolled him back over and pulled down his briefs. She swapped the target area with alcohol, then plunged the needle into his backside. She had taken the precaution of lying across him, but his only reaction to the sting of the needle was a slight moan and an involuntary jerk of the muscles in the cheek she injected.
(Shit! He's really out of it, if that didn't wake him up! And I really need him awake for the next phase of the attack.)
"Michael, wake up."
He groaned and snuffled, his forehead creasing as he returned to painful consciousness. He tried to focus on her, but his eyes kept shutting against the light.
"Michael, I know you're sick. I need you to come into the bathroom with me so I can clear out some of the congestion."
Her words registered at last, and he sat up on the edge of the bed. The pounding in his head was awful. Sudden nausea roiled through him, and he was afraid he wasn't going to make it to the bathroom. He lurched past Nikita and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, emptying his stomach of what little he had eaten the previous day. She grabbed a damp washcloth and held it to his forehead until the spasms passed. Then she filled a paper cup with mint mouthwash and cool water and let him rinse the bad taste from his mouth.
"Bad, huh?" she wiped his hair off his forehead. If anything, his fever was higher than it had been a little while ago.
He grunted in agreement. He would have nodded, but he was afraid his head would fall off.
"Come on, up here." She closed the toilet lid. He sat down on it, closing his eyes again. The pain wasn't as bad that way. She filled a glass with warm water and salt, then took another disposable syringe and filled it with the mixture.
"Head back, please," she prompted. "Close your throat and hold your breath." He obeyed, too tired to care. She emptied the syringe into one nostril, then repeated the procedure with the other. Then, holding a small basin under his chin, she tipped his head forward, allowing the warm solution to drain out. After several more applications, dried blood and discolored mucus began to flow out with the salt water solution.
"Okay, that's enough for now. Here. Blow. Again. Again." She kept handing him tissues until the congestion had cleared, at least for the time being. She knew he would have to repeat the whole procedure every couple of hours.
Finally, she gave him a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol Sinus tablets. He swallowed them gratefully with a long drink of cool water. It soothed his parched throat.
He could breathe again. And the pain and pressure weren't as bad as before. But, (it's so hot in this bathroom. Why doesn't she open the window?) He stood up, intent on opening it himself, but he couldn't find it.
"Michael," she said gently. "There's no window in the bathroom. Come on, let's get you back in bed. I promise, I'll cool you off in a minute."
He allowed her to lead him into the bedroom. He sank down on the bed and waited for her to come back. (Why doesn't she hurry? It's too hot!)
When she came in with a basin full of cold water and a clean cloth, he was tugging at his shirt with both hands, trying to pull it off. She covered his hands with her own.
"Stop that, Michael, I'm right here. Just lie quiet." She wet the cloth and wrung it out, then wiped his face, chest and forearms with the cold water. Dipping it into the basin once more, she folded it and draped it over his forehead and his eyes. He sighed in relief and stilled immediately. The cool dark enveloped him at last. He fell asleep.
Nikita continued applying the cold compresses for the next half hour. She felt his cheek. It was significantly cooler. She took his temperature. (Better late than never,) she thought. It was 102.2 degrees. She didn't even want to think what it must have been before.
Now that the immediate danger was past, she set the alarm for 1:30 and crawled back into bed beside him. She was asleep in five minutes.
* * * * *
By 6:00 am he had had two more injections, decongestant therapy, and another two Tylenol. His fever was 99.9 and he was breathing much easier. He was sleeping peacefully. Nikita felt like a rag doll that had been loved to death. She set the alarm for the last time - for 8:00 am., and dropped into her first really deep sleep since 11:00 pm.
When she woke up he was standing over her with a cup of café au lait and a croissant.
"Good morning," he said. "How are you feeling?"
She glared up at him. "How am I feeling? You stand there and ask HOW AM I FEELING? Now she was really getting worked up, just thinking of the fright he had given her. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE SICK? I COULD'VE STARTED THE ANTIBIOTIC A WHOLE DAY SOONER!!
"I'm sorry. I didn't think . . ." he mumbled.
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT YOU DIDN'T THINK! I OUGHT TO . . . "
He stopped her tirade with a searing kiss. That kiss just sucked all the anger right out of her.
"I love you," he said.
She stroked his stubbled jaw. His fever was all but gone. "I love you too, my sweet baboo. I'm glad your fever's down and you're feeling better."
"I am feeling better," he grinned, "And you're right, my fever's down. It's down here . . . " and he drew her hand to that part of him which throbbed under her touch.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Nikita, I'm fine."
"I don't care. Bend over."
He knew when he was beaten. And, he did have to admit that she had a point. He felt much better than he had the night before, but he wasn't sure how long that would last under the stress he knew was coming. They could not afford to take the risk of him having a relapse in the middle of the mission.
He barely restrained a wince as she jabbed the needle into his behind. (She does everything with gusto!) he thought wryly.
"Okay, Michael, I'm done. You can finish getting dressed now."
He slowly straightened and pulled up his pants.
"Thank you."
"Don't be sarcastic, Michael. You know I'm only doing this because I love you."
She smiled. "Here, let me make it all better," and she kissed him lightly on the lips.
"That isn't where it hurts," he said.
"I know, but that's as close to the boo-boo as I'm going to get right now. It's almost time to leave."
His expression sobered instantly. "You're right, of course. Nikita, I don't know if . . . ."
She stopped the words with her hand. "I know."
* * * * *
They arrived at the village church just as the bell was tolling for the beginning of Mass. This was the first time they had been to Sunday services since their arrival at the farm. Nikita wanted to sit in front, but Michael firmly escorted her into a pew only a few rows from the rear entrance. There was no need to call more attention to themselves than necessary this morning. Even so, a few of the villagers - the Beaullieus included - recognized them and nodded politely in welcome. Nikita smiled back. Michael knelt and made the sign of the cross. He rested his head on his clasped hands and closed his eyes. She imitated his pose. (Hello God, this is Nikita. Please help us to do what is right today. Help us keep Genevieve and Emil safe. Take care of Michael for me. Give him strength. Let him feel Your love. Have mercy on us all. Amen.)
The entrance hymn began, and they all stood to greet the priest.
* * * * *
After Mass, they mingled among the villagers outside the church. The Beaullieus casually joined them and offered the prearranged invitation to brunch.
"We'd be delighted, wouldn't we, Michael?"
"Of course. Thank you," he added.
* * * * *
They stood together at the door to the Beaullieus' cottage. The other three looked to Michael for direction. He nodded.
"Start the sequence."
At the ritual words, Nikita shivered. Emil opened the door and they entered the kitchen, laughing and talking.
"Mais, Michel, quelle surprise!" exclaimed Genevieve. "Your papa told us you were newly-married, but your uncle and I certainly did not expect to see you on your honeymoon, cher!"
"Tante Genevieve, how could I not come to introduce my bride to you and Oncle Emil? May I present Nikita. Is she not beautiful?"
"Welcome to la famille Beaullieu, cherie!"
* * * * *
For the next hour, the play continued as Michael silently wired Genevieve and Nikita. He and Nikita checked trackers, transmitters and weapons. Finally, Michael said the words which began Phase 2 of the sequence.
"That was certainly a delicious meal, Tante Genevieve. But now it is my turn to treat you and Oncle Emil. Is the village patisserie open today?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"No matter. It is only ten kilometres or so to St. Germain. I know a wonderful patisserie there, and they are definitely open on Sundays. Oncle Emil, why don't you accompany me? We can be back in an hour. Meanwhile, Tante Genevieve and Nikita can have a nice visit."
"D'accord," replied Emil.
"That's a wonderful idea, Michael," interjected Nikita. "Be sure you bring back something chocolate!"
"Oh, Michel, that is too much trouble! Don't bother yourself!" said Genevieve.
"No no, not at all. Ca me fait plaisir. And yes, cherie, I will bring back your chocolat!"
With a final kiss to Genevieve, Emil followed Michael out the door.
Ten minutes later the phone rang.
* * * * *
"Listen carefully. Answer only yes or no. Do you understand?"
"Oui."
"Do you have what I want?"
"Oui."
"That is very good. I will see you shortly. And Madame, remember . . . do not try anything, or it will go badly for you and your family. Tu comprends?"
"Oui."
She hung up the phone and nodded to the others. It wouldn't be long now.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Michael parked the Rover in a secluded spot just off the road to the village. He handed Emil the PDA. Getting out of the car, he said, "Watch the screen. Let me know if there's any unusual activity. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Emil looked down at the device. He had never seen anything like it before. He could see Genevieve sitting at the kitchen table! Then the picture shifted to Nikita's hands holding her coffee cup. As he watched, the hands zoomed closer, out of focus now, and he heard her take a sip! (Quelle merveille!)
He looked up as the passenger door opened. Michael stood before him. He wore black combat gear, with a large automatic strapped to his thigh. A thin black metal wand stretched from his ear to his mouth - some kind of communication device, Emil decided. His long hair was pulled back and secured at the top with a rubber band. Blank-faced, he held out a weapon, butt first, to Emil. The hand that offered it was rock steady. Emil's eyes widened. This man was a stranger. And yet . . . there it was again, that flash of memory . . . another face, another time . . . who had it been?"
"Come with me."
Michael took the PDA from his hand and led him over to a crumbling stone wall. A long row of old bottles lined the top of the wall.
"Test it." He nodded toward the targets.
Emil fumbled for a moment with the unfamiliar weapon. Michael demonstrated the action, then stepped back. Emil sighted and fired. His first three shots missed, but by the time he had emptied the clip he had hit almost half of the targets.
"Not too bad," he congratulated himself, then looked to Michael for affirmation. Face still expressionless, Michael handed him another clip.
"Again."
This time he did better. All but two of the targets lay shattered. Michael gave a brief nod of approval and supplied several more clips. Emil inserted one and stowed the others in his pocket. He was as ready as he was going to get.
"Nikita. Initiating Phase 3." Michael was speaking softly into the mouthpiece. He directed Emil's attention to the PDA screen. Emil saw at once what was happening.
* * * * *
"This is your last opportunity, Madame. Where is it?"
Genevieve glared at him mutely. Blood trickled from her nose and from one corner of her mouth. Sobbing wildly, Nikita cried out,
"Whatever they want, Tante Genevieve, PLEASE give it to them!" Then, addressing their captors, she begged, "Please, PLEASE don't hurt her any more." A man's face came into view on the PDA screen, then was abruptly replaced by a shot of the wall. Simultaneously, Emil heard the sound of a slap.
"Shut up or next time I'll use my fist!"
The two armed men had arrived within fifteen minutes of the call. To Friedrich's astonishment, Genevieve was now refusing to turn over the treasure. He was enraged, but so far nothing he had done or said had made the least impression on her. And now time was running out.
"Why won't you tell us, you old hag!" he screamed at her.
For the first time, she replied.
"I want my share. My family and I deserve some compensation for all the suffering your grandfather caused us during the war. And now we are getting old. Life is uncertain at the best of times. We merely wish to enjoy the last years of our lives in comfort."
He gaped at her temerity. It was becoming clear to him that he had seriously underestimated Genevieve Beaullieu. His thoughts were interrupted by his partner's frantic voice.
"Friedrich, we must get out of here! The others could return at any moment! Let's take them with us to headquarters. We can wring it out of the old lady at our leisure."
He took a deep breath and spoke with forced calm. "You're right. It would be better to deal with them in a more secure location. Let's go. I'll escort Madame. You bring the other one."
* * * * *
Michael started the Rover. Once again he handed the PDA to Emil. "Continue monitoring."
"But how will we know where they are going?" Emil asked.
For answer, Michael flicked a switch and a glowing gridscreen appeared on the dashboard of the Rover. Two green blips were moving across the screen.
"Tracking you," murmured Michael into his mouthpiece.
The signal led them deeper and deeper into the countryside, until finally the green blips came to a halt on the screen. At the same time, the PDA picture verified that the other vehicle had stopped. The prisoners were being escorted down what appeared to be an underground tunnel. The camera panned in a circular motion, revealing large pipes overhead and thick cables running along the side walls of the tunnel.
"How close are we?" he whispered to Michael as the Rover coasted to a stop in a grove of trees.
"Not far. But we'll have to go the rest of the way on foot."
They got out of the Rover. Michael opened the back door and pulled out a long-barreled automatic and a small black sack. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and strapped the sack to his chest.
"Plastique?" queried Emil.
"It serves the same purpose. Are you ready?"
"Mais oui." Then he looked at Michael. "And you, mon ami?"
For a moment, Emil thought he saw something flicker in Michael's eyes - a shadow of dread - but it passed so quickly he couldn't be sure.
"Of course."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Michael led Emil through the trees and around the side of the low hill. Suddenly he pushed the older man to the ground and dropped down beside him. He pointed out their destination. It was an army bunker left over from the war. The Nazis had built them all over France, particularly along the coastline. Emil recognized this particular one. Located further inland, it had served as a shelter for the general staff of the occupying forces. No one had bothered to destroy it after the war. For a few years, it had actually been used to store the wine from the local harvest. Eventually, with the return of prosperity, the surrounding villages had each built their own wine cellars, and the bunker had been sealed and forgotten. It was obvious that someone had unsealed it. Set in the rock face were steel doors wide enough for military vehicles to pass through.
From a side pocket in his vest, Michael pulled an object about the size of a cell phone. He flipped a switch and a small screen appeared. Several wavy red lines appeared. He punched in a series of numbers, and the red wavy lines changed into straight green ones.
"Surveillance neutralized. Awaiting your signal to proceed."
Emil realized that Michael was once again speaking to Nikita through the mouthpiece he still wore.
* * * * *
Nikita heard Michael's last message through the earpiece on the glasses she wore. So far, she had been lucky. She was still surprised they hadn't been knocked off when she was slapped.
And now, she and Genevieve sat in two armchairs, facing Friedrich across a conference table. He wore the uniform of a Nazi General. Just behind him stood their other captor. His personal assistant and bodyguard, Nikita surmised. She also counted twenty armed men standing against the side walls of the room. They wore plain khaki uniforms. Their only insignia were red armbands with black swastikas.
Friedrich spoke.
"So, here we are. I think it is time we came to an understanding, Madame. You have something that belongs to my family. You WILL tell me where it is, never doubt that. If not for your sake, then for the well-being of the newest member of the Beaullieu family!"
He signaled, and two beefy soldiers came forward . They grabbed Nikita. One pinned her arms behind her back while the other backhanded her twice across the face. This time the glasses did fly off. She cried out in pain.
"That was just a sample," said Friedrich. "It will only get worse. Much worse."
"Please Madame, I beg you! I am afraid to die! Tell them what they want to know."
Genevieve's eyes softened as she regarded Nikita. "I cannot, cherie, no matter how much I regret the harm to you. Can you not see what they will do with the money they will obtain from what I give them? Look around you. Surely you recognize the Nazi swastika. I tell you, these men are determined to revive one of the greatest evils this world has ever seen!"
"Continue. Use your fist." said Friedrich to two men. Several more blows followed, to Nikita's face and stomach. She sagged, gagging, in her captor's arms. Blood-tinged strings of saliva dangled from her open mouth as she gasped for air.
Genevieve hung her head. Tears coursed down her cheeks. But she remained silent.
* * * * *
"I am afraid to die." Michael could still hear the code phrase from Nikita.
"Remain here," he said to Emil. "Shoot any of them who come through the entrance. "
Suddenly, he shut his eyes and jerked out the earpiece. Emil gasped at what he heard coming from it. The sound of blows being struck. Of someone retching and coughing. Moans of pain. Then a silence even more ominous. Michael's complexion paled. His eyes glazed over.
Emil grabbed him by the arms. "Michel! Look at me! You must concentrate on the job at hand!
Michael looked at him. "I had to do it. There wasn't enough time to locate it any other way," he whispered in a trembling monotone.
"Locate what?"
"The nuclear trigger. Too many lives. I HAD to use her. I hurt . . . " his voice trailed off.
Emil didn't know what to say. It was obvious that what was happening inside had triggered a flashback for Michael - some painful memory he needed to share with someone who understood the difficult choices a soldier must sometimes make. But now was not the time for such sharing. Swift action was called for, and Emil took it. He shook Michael roughly. The younger man's head bobbed back and forth as his hands plucked weakly at Emil's hold on him. Emil pulled him by the hair with one hand and slapped him with the other.
"Enough of this self-indulgent merde! Nikita and Genevieve need us NOW!"
Michael's eyes snapped back into focus. He grabbed Emil by the wrist and forced his hand down and away. A frisson swept through Emil at the cold rage he saw in the man before him. Yet, when he repeated his earlier instructions, it was with perfect courtesy.
"Wait for me here. Shoot anyone trying to escape."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"I am coming with you, mon ami. My beloved is in there too."
"I can't protect you."
"I understand. But perhaps I can protect you." He smiled. "Allons."
* * * * *
The sound of the explosion had barely finished echoing through the underground headquarters of the Reich. Michael and Emil waited outside the entrance to the tunnel. As the first line of Friedrich's men emerged, they were mowed down. Emil dispatched his share, but he had never seen anyone as deadly accurate as Michael. He and the automatic weapon he wielded were one entity - one killing machine.
But, Emil knew there would be others waiting inside the tunnel. He said a quick Act of Contrition. This would be the most dangerous part. Michael signaled him to wait, and he flattened himself against the rock face at one side of the opening. Michael threw in a stun grenade, then followed it into the tunnel. Emil heard sporadic automatic weapons fire, then silence. He peeked through the hole the plastique had blasted in the steel doors and saw more dead bodies lying along the corridor. Michael motioned him forward.
"And now?"
Michael gestured toward the metal door at the end of the tunnel. They crept along the wall until they were just outside it. Michael pulled yet another device from his pocket and pointed it at the door. He showed it to Emil. The screen showed half a dozen brightly-colored vaguely human shapes lining the walls of the room.. Two more were seated, and a third lay motionless on the floor. As Emil watched, two of the shapes crept toward the door. One of the seated figures rose and walked over to the other chair, pointing an arm at the head of the person sitting in it. Even though he couldn't see it, Emil knew there was a gun in that hand. He nodded his understanding of the situation.
Michael slung the automatic back over his shoulder. Pulling another explosive device from the black sack, he attached it to the door and set a timer. He pulled the hand gun from the holster strapped to his thigh and motioned Emil to step back. Ten seconds later the door blew off its frame. It clanged to the floor inside the room. Michael stepped boldly into the opening, arm outstretched, firing single shots in rapid succession. Emil, his vision blurred from the wave of the concussion, had scuttled in right behind him. He could hardly credit what he saw and heard. With each shot Michael fired, a man fell. Only a few of the men managed to return fire, and of those only one hit the target. If he felt the impact of the bullet, he gave no sign of it - just continued sweeping the room systematically.
The lightning speed of the attack had stunned Friedrich as well, and he now found himself in the unenviable position of having to choose whether to keep his gun aimed at Genevieve or to shoot Michael. Even if he managed to kill Michael, Emil would shoot him before he could turn the gun back on his hostage. Better to keep his last pawn as protection, he decided. Pressing the cocked weapon to Genevieve's temple, he screamed,
"Put down your weapons or I'll kill her right now!"
Emil was certain of one thing. If they disarmed, they would both die, and Genevieve and Nikita would too, as soon as Friedrich got what he wanted. So, he looked on, horrified, as Michael slowly bent down and placed his weapons on the floor.
"Michel, no!" he cried. But Michael looked at him and nodded. Something in that look convinced Emil to do the same. As soon as the two men were disarmed, Friedrich trained his weapon on Michael.
(Here is my brother under the skin,) he thought.
"Before I kill you, I must tell you that I respect your skill. It is a shame that your gift will be lost. Might I persuade you? . . . . But no, that would be too dangerous for me. What a shame."
His finger tightened on the trigger, but in the same fraction of a second Nikita's foot shot out and kicked his right leg out from under him. His shot went wild as he dropped to the ground. She was on top of him in an instant, pinning him to the floor with her elbow to his throat. Genevieve jumped up out of her chair and grabbed the gun he had dropped as he clawed at Nikita desperately, trying to free her hold on his airway. She gestured with the gun at Nikita.
"Let him up, chouette. I'll finish the job for you."
Nikita looked at Genevieve. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
The old woman looked back at her gravely. "Oui, I am sure."
Genevieve addressed Friedrich. "It is too bad your family did not learn the lessons of the past. When you see your grand-pere in Hell, tell him Genevieve said his pecker was too small."
Then she pulled the trigger.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The single shot reverberated throughout the room. Then silence. Acrid smells - chemical explosives, sweat and blood on living and dead alike, loosened sphincters on the unmoving bodies littering the chamber and the tunnel beyond. One more catacomb for the Third Reich. It would probably not be the last.
Emil took the gun from Genevieve and placed it on the table behind him.
"Cherie?" he put his finger under her chin and turned her face to him. Her eyes filled with tears, and she began to weep as he hugged her to him.
Nikita lay on her side, her knees bent, her hands pressing tightly into her midsection. Her face was a mess - huge bruises just now becoming visible on her cheekbones. Her lip was split open in two places. Michael sat down beside her and pulled her into his lap, rocking her like a baby. He looked up at Emil. It was then that Emil remembered who Michael reminded him of. It was that young sniper who had joined them in 1944. He told them he was 18, but Emil knew he was only 15. He was the only member of his family still alive. His parents were rich French Jews who had converted to Catholicism after World War I, but that hadn't stopped the Nazis from sending them and their three little girls to Dachau. This boy, Jean-Louis, was their only son. He had been on a hunting trip when they were taken. His skill with a rifle became a legend among the Maquis. He was credited with over 100 kills by the end of the war. And after every one, he had the same look in his eyes that Emil saw in Michael's now.
* * * * *
"Your home or ours?" asked Emil. He was driving the Land Rover. Genevieve sat beside him in the front seat. When there was no answer, she turned around. Nikita was stretched out across the back seat, her head in Michael's lap. His head was bent over hers. Genevieve couldn't see his face, but the hand that stroked Nikita's hair was damp. As Genevieve watched in silence, another drop of moisture fell onto it. She turned back to Emil.
"Ours. We can put them in Albert's room upstairs, at least for the night. I'll call Dr. Molbert and ask him to pay us a visit. She probably has some cracked ribs, if I'm any judge. And her lip will need stitches."
"What about him?" whispered Emil.
"What about him?" she echoed.
"He took a bullet. I saw the impact."
Genevieve gasped. "Idiot! Why didn't you say something! He could be badly injured!"
"Not likely. He hardly flinched when it hit, and he hasn't seemed much affected by it, even with all the hard work of cleaning up the mess we made out there. So it can't be too serious. I'm more concerned about Dr. Molbert - you know he's obligated to report all bullet wounds to the police."
"I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. Just have him look at Nikita."
Emil looked in the rearview mirror. Michael was staring back at him intently. Despite his protest, Emil thought he didn't look too good after all. He was increasingly pale, and a fine sheet of perspiration covered his face. He was breathing too fast and shallow, indicating either increasing discomfort or respiratory distress or both. Emil looked at Genevieve with raised eyebrows. She nodded, and he drove faster. She glanced into the back every few minutes to check on their passengers.
It was dusk by the time they arrived at the Beaullieus' cottage. The villagers were all home at supper, so there were no witnesses to the struggle. Emil parked the Rover around back, just outside the kitchen door. Genevieve went in immediately to call Dr. Molbert. When she came back outside, Emil had opened the door to the back seat. Nikita had revived somewhat, having had a good sleep on the way home. She sat up gingerly and stepped down, still hunched over and hugging her elbows to her sides. Genevieve helped her into the house. Emil turned to Michael, who hadn't yet made a move to get out of the vehicle. The older man held out his arm, and Michael grabbed it, leaving a bloody handprint on Emil's white sleeve. He was breathing in harsh gasps now. Emil let him rest a moment, sitting on the edge of the seat with his feet on the ground. With a soft groan he stood up. Emil looked at the seat. It was soaked with blood.
"Fou-merde!" he admonished.
Somehow he managed to get Michael inside without either of them falling down. He was astonished that this "crazy shit" of a young man was still conscious, much less actually able to walk up a flight of stairs! But he was, and he did.
The doctor arrived a few minutes later. Emil escorted him into Albert's bedroom, where Genevieve had already helped Nikita undress and was now trying to get Michael out of his combat gear. He was pulling on the straps and buckles himself, but he seemed to have lost the strength and coordination necessary to release them. She was trying to cut the material, but it wouldn't yield to her scissors.
"Well, we'll just have to let the doctor and Emil take this outfit off you," she told Michael. As soon as she said this, he tumbled backward bonelessly onto the mattress, giving up the fight just as the two men entered the bedroom.
Dr. Molbert gaped at the young couple in the double bed. They were a mess, all right. He looked to Genevieve and Emil for an explanation, but they just stared back at him tight-lipped.
"Well, if you're not going to tell me what's going on, then at least give me some assistance here. Genevieve, you boil some water for my instruments and get me some clean towels. Emil, let's get this red suit off him."
"Are you color-blind, Molbert? That outfit is black!"
"Not any more, it isn't."
