The dog nudged her awake with his nose and continued restlessly shifting his paws until she yielded, consenting to make eye contact. Through the pre-dawn grayness she could just barely make out his large head as he settled it on the edge of her bed, eyebrows twitching with worry.

She lay quietly watching him, alert but not alarmed, recognizing that his was an expression of a distant, amorphous concern. If she were in any immediate danger he wouldn't have been sitting by her bed -- he would have been stalking; yet she knew he was trying to warn her, to convey his agitation.

He always heard the distant calls before she did.

The dog looked like an oversized, heavy boned cousin of a greyhound. At 110 pounds, his arching back was high enough that she could, when standing, easily rest her hand upon it. His coat was almost black, about three inches long and wiry; his muzzle heavy and square with white tips on the guard hairs. His ancestors, Scottish Deerhounds, were coveted by kings for their ability to run down stags. She coveted him for his loyalty, his courage, and his quiet dignity. That he could listen even better than she had come as a totally unexpected benefit to his companionship.

She lived alone in a remote area of the Scottish highlands, near Ben Klibreck. Her ancestors took refuge there nearly four hundred years ago when the gypsy repressions on the European continent raged. He had taken refuge in her kindness two years ago when an abusive owner traded him for the antibiotics she provided for a sick child.

She would have gladly treated the child for free, but something in the dog's soft eyes had caused her to bargain for him. The loutish bear of a man didn't even try to hide his pleasure at being rid of the chain-bound nuisance in his barnyard; now there would be one less mouth to feed, even though he had done so with great miserliness. Later that night, after she'd gently tended his sores and groomed him and fed him a stew of grains and meat, the dog had licked her hand once -- the only time he had ever indulged in that intimacy -- and then quietly assumed ownership of the rug beside her bed.

His anxiety slowly caught hold of her. Knowing it wouldn't allow her to sleep again, she rose from the bed and made tea. She chose to sit outside on the front porch, wrapping herself in a thick shawl, to await whatever would come; a faint pink shimmer in the east outlined the boundary between mountain and sky. He lay at her feet, eyebrows still twitching.

She must have dozed off, and woke with a start when the released tea cup struck the porch and shattered. The dog evaded her nimbly as she jumped up swearing softly in Gaelic, his eyes never leaving her as she tackled the wet mess with a broom. Finishing up, she knelt to coax the porcelain shards into a dustpan. It was then that she heard the voice, distinctly, behind her.

"Gwynek, I need you. Please come."

She spun around, looking for the owner of the voice - looking for Elena. There was no one. She turned to make eye contact with the dog sitting by her chair; if it were possible for a dog to smile, he was smiling at her now.

"Is that it, Talore? Elena?" His tail thumped twice.

The distant calls were always this brief and lacking in detail.

***********

The small stucco and tile house was visually separate from the main buildings, but still inside the abbey walls. Three boys of varying height came gamboling across the small pasture, done with lessons for the day and eager to shed shoes, books, and spelling drills. A fourth boy, too young for school and bored without his brothers, fidgeted by the front door knowing his wait was almost over.

Elena was in the kitchen restlessly making bread, her mind distinctly not focused on the live dough she kneaded. Nicholas had been gone too long and it made her nervous. He had ventured outside the abbey only twice during their eight month stay; Elena and the boys, never.

This reclusive life was both the price they paid for having the wrong people discover they were providing intelligence to Section from their home south of Dubrovnik, and the pension Nicholas received from ancestral ties nearly a thousand years strong. Family legends told of a neighbor's daughter kidnapped centuries ago and rescued by his forefathers before her honor could be compromised. Her grateful father swore a blood oath that someday he, or his descendants, would repay the favor.

The abbot of this small brotherhood in northern Italy had experienced a somewhat ungodly moment of Balkan pride at being the one to settle that ancient family debt. And besides, Father Denis reasoned as he heard the children's laughter in the distance, their presence brought an innocent buoyancy to the abbey, and Elena's garden yielded flowers to his desk every day.

He was naively oblivious to the danger lurking within sight of his gatehouse at that very moment.

As the boys bantered with her about their day so far and about how to spend the rest of it, Elena deftly planted the idea of building a fort out under the plum trees. All four ran off to the barn, immersed in a search for the portable fence panels Brother Mark used to load the abbey goats into trucks for their journey to summer grazing. Their diversion allowed her more uninterrupted time to consider the choices before her.

Whoever had sought them in Dubrovnik had not given up. Communiqués smuggled to them by traveling clerics brought sad news of continued harassment and beatings -- and killings -- of anyone who might have even vague information of their whereabouts. That Section had helped them escape was known; that they had returned to a Section enclave was doubted; that they still had valuable information - very valuable information - was strongly suspected. Their pursuers were relentless, and closing in.

Nicholas had gone out to meet a contact in Venice. They couldn't stay at the abbey much longer, but determining a safe alternative depended on figuring out who their pursuers were, and at this they could only guess. Where had they been careless? Who wanted what they had? Who in their network of contacts had betrayed them? Could they defuse their enemy's need to find them? Which of their allies could afford the risk of giving them protection? She wove the threads together over and over again in her mind, but no whole cloth came.

Elena ached to talk with Nicholas, to find out what he had learned, but he was nearly 18 hours late.

**********

Elena arrived in the orchard just before dark to bring the boys in for bed, nearly missing them in the dusk. Rather than building their fort out in the open, they had situated it between two close mounds of briar bushes, and cleverly disguised the front with branches teased out of the mounds. It delighted them that they were able to pop out and surprise her.

After baths and prayers and hugs, they settled in for the night. Elena did her pacing outside so as not to disturb them. She wanted badly to go after Nicholas, but they had agreed she would wait 48 hours before taking the risk of venturing out herself.

It was only the enduring alertness ingrained by her earlier life in Section which allowed her to notice the dark shadows steal over the walls near the foregate, nearly 300 yards away, and drop silently to the ground. In less than a breath she was inside, waking the two older boys with her hand over their mouths until she knew they were fully awake and aware of danger.

"Remember the plans," she said quietly. "This time it's not a game." She was calm, but the timbre in her voice left no room to question the seriousness of their situation.

They were just barely teenagers, but well acquainted with the realities of life and death. They had both lost their parents during the Serbo-Croatian war, and Elena and Nicholas had kindly taken them in as foster children. They weren't innocent enough to miss noticing that their foster parents were more disciplined and better trained than any soldiers they had ever encountered. When Nicholas and Elena had insisted on basic defense training, they had accepted the necessity of it without question.

"Gabro, run to the quarry master's house; tell him there are trespassers in the abbey. Then do whatever he tells you. Stay in the shadows, move quietly." She kissed him on the forehead quickly. "Go, now! " The quarry master lived not far outside the rear abbey wall, in the forest. All the boys had longed to explore that well marked path, but had not been allowed to do more than peer out over the top of the heavy wrought iron gate while Nicholas described for them their emergency retreat path.

"Petar, come with me to wake the little ones. Take them to … to …." The plan was for the two younger children to hide in the secret tunnel which ran from their root cellar to the abbey chapter house (heaven only knows who found *that* useful in years past) because they still lacked the coordination to move quickly or quietly enough to avoid detection. But something even safer occurred to her.

"Use the hedgerow to cover your way to the fort you built today. Make sure Ian understands he needs to keep Niko quiet, and that they are to stay there - no matter what, no matter for how long - until I come for them. Don't forget Niko's bear, or he'll cry." Petar roused Ian while Elena gathered two blankets; she gave the blankets to Ian and lifted the still sleeping Niko - and bear -- into Petar's arms. "When you're done, join Gabro." She kissed them all quickly and nudged them towards the back door.

Elena hurried into the bedroom she shared with Nicholas, her mind and heart racing but her instincts forcing her to follow finely honed habits. She removed the weapons hidden in the back of their closet and ran for the tunnel. Within 90 seconds after the first intruder silently dropped over the wall, the little stucco house was empty.

***********

Gwynek sat on the hill overlooking the abbey. It had taken her five days to arrive at the small enclave, even though she had left Ben Klibreck only hours after Elena's call found her. She journeyed slowly, paying attention only to some inner voice that made one direction more compelling than the other. There was nothing so specific as a map, no clear knowing of where she was bound. But each time she stopped to survey the four horizons, a restless curiosity made three of the four easy to abandon. As the distance between she and Elena diminished and those choices had to be made more frequently, her travel slowed. Unable to sleep, she'd abandoned her bed the night before and arrived at this spot about two hours before sunrise. Talore had taken the lead coming up the hill, and resolutely refused to move beyond this spot. She'd learned over the past two years to trust his instincts, and settled in beside him to wait for the dawn.

Although the sun was just barely visible on the horizon and the Great Silence still in effect, there should have been movement and muffled sounds from within the abbey walls. But there was only silence. Not just outward silence, but inner silence as well. Gwynek couldn't feel the presence of a community, not even that of a contemplative community. Something was very wrong. The foregate creaked, and from the corner of her eye she saw it respond to the morning breeze, its freedom distinctly out of place. She made a small motion with her hand and Talore abruptly arose from where he lay at her side. He tread silently down the hill, alert with anticipation. Arriving at the edge of the cover provided by wild shrubbery on the hillside, he lifted his nose to the breeze. He looked back at Gwynek and gave a slow wag of his tail. She made another small motion with her hand, and he stepped out onto the dirt road. Trotting to the gate, he first just peered around the corner of the ajar door, then slipped inside.

Gwynek knew he would explore in a seemingly random pattern, according to some genetically predicated hunting construct - one that she never could decipher, no matter how often she watched it -- and then come back to her. She would decide what to do next based upon his reaction to whatever he encountered.

About ten minutes later he walked back out through the foregate and looked up the hill to where he knew she hid. He turned as though to go back in, but looked over his shoulder at her; she could feel his impatience across the distance between them. Not caution, not guardedness, but impatience. He wanted her to join him. He had obviously not found anything he thought dangerous.

She unfolded herself from her hiding spot and followed the path he had taken down the hill. As had he, she stood for a moment just inside the cover of the vegetation, scanning all her senses for input. There were birds. There were leaves rustling in the breeze. But there was nothing else - only preternatural silence. A moment later she shivered just a bit, even though the morning was warm. She recognized what she heard.

It was death.

Talore had disappeared through the gate again, and now angled his head back out to look at her. Everything about his stance commanded her to hurry. She prepared herself for what inevitably lay beyond the wall, and proceeded to follow him.

There were bodies. Lying recklessly heaped on the ground and across benches and shrubbery. Men in black robes with tonsures, some with rosaries clutched in their hands, men whose final psalms had been chanted. And who were already drawing flies. She tore her eyes away in time to see Talore disappearing around the corner of a building. She gathered her strength.

She found herself walking diagonally across the cloister, and stepping over more bodies. Talore was focused on something beyond, and she had to hurry to keep up. They left the cluster of buildings behind and ventured across a mowed field.

Talore finally stopped at a hedgerow and waited for her. She came to a halt beside him, bewildered at first. Until she felt it. Lifelines, heartbeats.

And then she heard the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

"Elena?" she queried softly. "It's Gwynek."

From somewhere inside the shrubbery she heard scuffling, and from the smallest break in the briars crawled a slender boy dressed in pajamas. He looked at her curiously, and at Talore with wide eyes. The dog wagged his tail, and the boy's initial fear subsided.

He said bravely, "Elena's bleeding." Turning, he carefully pulled back the briars to enlarge the hole for her, and she crawled in. The space inside was dim, but Gwynek could clearly make out Elena lying curled up in a blanket - pointing a gun at her and cradling a frightened toddler. Elena's pain was palpable.

Her voice was weak. "H-How … w-why are you here?"

"You called me. You said you needed help."

It was true. After the horrors of the night before, when she thought she would die, when for a moment she wanted to die, she had formed one last clear thought just before passing out. "But that was only hours ago." The statement also held a question.

Gwynek couldn't give an explanation that was logical in the usual sense; she could simply tell her own truth. "I heard you five days ago, Elena ... I've been traveling ever since."

Elena wasn't able to pull together her thoughts, so she instead succumbed to relief; she lay the gun down on the ground and let go of it. Closing her eyes, she let out a low moan as she tried to sit up.

With gentle hands, Gwynek laid her back down and lifted the blanket to do a quick assessment. She could see at least two bullet wounds. She smiled reassuringly at the frightened toddler, and then at the young boy, who had slithered back into the hiding spot.

"Whoever did this is gone now. Can you show me where I can find clean water and bandages?" she asked of the boy. He nodded, and began to back out.

"Ian?" she queried, making an assumption about his identity. It had been almost four years since she'd seen him.

He nodded again.

"Bring him with us." She tilted her head towards the toddler, whom she knew was too frightened to allow a stranger to touch him without wailing.

Ian stretched his hand out to Niko. The toddler didn't need a second invitation - their time in the small enclosure had been frightening and he wanted to go home. He scrambled towards Ian, and disappeared out through the wall of briars.

Before Gwynek could turn to leave, Elena's hand weakly grasped her forearm and tried to pull her close. The pain in Elena's voice came from her torn heart, not from her damaged body. "Nicholas and the two older boys are dead," she whispered.

Gwynek sat back on her heels and momentarily stopped breathing; she felt like she'd been slapped. Nicholas and Elena had been lovers for almost a dozen years. During the two years it took Gwynek to nurse Elena back to health after the accident, she'd been a daily witness to Nicholas' tenderness and devotion. The words forced Gwynek to feel what hung in the air, to admit what she had denied since laying eyes on Elena. Despite the fact that blood still coursed through her veins, some elemental part of Elena was hollow. It was an injury that Gwynek knew she couldn't heal with bandages and antibiotics.

"There are people I must contact. I need you to carry a message for me," Elena pleaded.

Gwynek was nearly overwhelmed by all the events of the last ten minutes, but her instincts for healing proved stronger than the turbulence in her heart; she closed off all but the most immediate concerns. "First, I have to stop this bleeding, Elena. And the children need tending. Then we'll talk." And she crawled out to accompany Ian, Niko, and Talore back to the stucco house.

***********

"Our sources have notified us of an event that took place five days ago in downtown Rio," Ops began. He stood, as usual, behind the briefing table, and addressed Madeline, Michael, Nikita, Walter, Birkoff, and two other operatives, Andrew and Carl. "Initially it was determined to be inconsequential -- until a subsequent event two days ago in Leblon triggered a sentinel alert."

He lightly pressed a button on a remote, and the two-dimensional holographic display came alive. Pictures of two men, dark skinned and dark haired, occupied the screen.

"These two men, Andre Dias and Raul Ventura, were found enjoying a swim in Guanabara Bay, face down. Until now, they had been considered small time thieves, generally dealing in jewelry and antiques… "

Ops' focus shifted above and beyond the faces of the operatives he addressed, and came to rest on something about fifteen feet behind the attentive group. Whatever he saw caused his face to harden and his voice to halt in mid sentence. Michael reacted first, swinging his chair around smoothly, his hand in his jacket and weapon half withdrawn. The sight before him was so improbable, so anomalous, that he froze. He faced someone who was obviously an intruder.

Standing in the midst of the open floor, and drawing the incredulous attention of section personnel in all corners, was a tall, raven haired woman dressed in a hip length, close fitting black leather jacket; a soft, floor length black challis skirt; and heeled boots … and a very large dog. The dog had taken a protective stance, placing himself broadside between the woman and the seated operatives at the table. He sustained a barely audible low growl as he surveyed the row of people staring at him, but appeared to be physically relaxed. The woman's hand rested gently on his shoulder and she breathed a quiet command to the dog. The growling ceased.

Noting that several weapons were either trained on her or at ready, the woman slowly shifted her arms up from her sides, palms open and facing forward, demonstrating that she was unarmed. She maintained eye contact with Ops and nodded her head in acknowledgement of his leadership. Everyone held their positions, and their breaths.

Gwynek had never been below ground before - it made her faintly nauseous. Nor had she ever in her lifetime been in the midst of so much metal and electronic equipment. A cacophony of radio frequencies bouncing between devices and barriers produced an annoying buzzing in her sinuses. Her knees felt weak and she wanted to flee, but she had promised Elena …

Gwynek could also feel the alarm emanating wildly from almost everyone around her, and she knew that the wrong move, the wrong words could cause her life to cease in a heartbeat. She held Ops unremitting glare, not seeking absolution but at least hoping for a temporary reprieve, an opportunity to explain. He blinked.

So she dared to look at the row of people before her, one at a time, searching. As her eyes rested on the brunette at the end of the table, she knew she had found the woman for whom she had come. This one was as Elena had described … a heart carefully sculpted of ice and steel. And a mind broadcasting only the most carefully disciplined thought patterns.

"Madeline?" Although it was more a statement than a question.

Madeline merely nodded in acknowledgement, partly because she was still madly trying to sort out the strange perceptions about this intruder which flitted across her internal filters.

"Elena asked me to deliver this to you." Cautiously - very, very cautiously - Gwynek reached inside her jacket and drew out an envelope. As she walked slowly towards Madeline, Michael stood and his weapon came the rest of the way out of its holster, although he kept it pointed at the ceiling. The dog side-stepped slowly, trying to remain between his mistress and the danger.

Michael stepped closer to intercept the small packet in her hand; in a blindingly fast and agile move, the dog shifted his huge paw onto Michael's foot while stretching his head up towards Michael's throat; he lacked only about a foot to his target. The dog's lips twitched and his eyes bored into Michael's. Michael wisely froze. The dog could no doubt lock his jaws onto Michael's windpipe as quickly as Michael could lower and aim his weapon - or could the dog move faster? Gwynek issued another quiet command, and the dog slowly and reluctantly backed off.

Without stepping any closer to Gwynek, Michael's hand gingerly closed on the envelope, and then handed it to Walter. Wordlessly, Walter walked off with it to his bench to examine it under ultraviolet light -- plastique was so easy to disguise. Satisfied that it held nothing harmful, Walter carried the letter to Madeline and returned to his chair at the briefing table. Michael was still standing, studying Gwynek. How had she managed to compromise section without setting off any alarms?

Madeline and Gwynek had held their eye contact unwaveringly while Walter conducted his examination, exchanging a certain mutual curiosity rather than challenge. Madeline broke the gaze to open the envelope, withdrew a single sheet of paper, and read its contents.

She looked first at Gwynek, and then Ops. "If you'll excuse me, please?"

Ops looked irritated, but knew Madeline wasn't likely to give direct answers about a breaking scenario in front of a table of cold operatives.

"Of course," he replied. "You'll inform me right after this briefing is complete?"

Madeline nodded, and rose from her chair. She slowly approached Talore, looking at the floor rather than challenging him with her eyes, and came to a halt about three feet in front of him, standing slightly sideways to him and with her arms relaxed at her sides. Gwynek smiled just a bit in recognition of Madeline's understanding of ethology. Talore lowered his head as though sniffing at the edges of her scent. He could discern neither fear nor dangerous intent. Satisfied, he stepped backwards two paces, giving Madeline access to Gwynek.

Madeline stepped forward and gently touched Gwynek's arm just above the elbow. "Would you like some fresh air?" she asked graciously.

"I would, thank you," Gwynek replied gratefully.

Madeline smiled, and strode off towards egress. Gwynek and Talore turned and followed.

***********

The door to Madeline's office opened with a quiet swoosh, and Ops entered. Madeline's eyes met his in a brief smile, and then returned to the terminal before her. Ops walked around her desk to stand behind her, and looked at her screen. His eyebrows slowly lifted at what he saw.

"You're rearranging mission teams. Why?"

Madeline finished what she was typing, and turned to face him. He studied the face he knew so well, and was disturbed by what he saw. While their professional relationship could easily be described as calculated, it wasn't as though they actually hid anything from one another. But he saw veils in her eyes, things she didn't want to tell him. And it confused him. He cocked his head, conveying his curiosity but waiting for her to begin.

"Elena needs us," she ventured.

"Again?" he countered sharply. "Hasn't it been less than a year since we last bailed her out? And didn't it cost us nearly a million dollars to repair that airplane she 'gave' us?"

And, Madeline thought, the plane is worth ten times that to us. But she knew he didn't want to argue rationally. He wanted an explanation that didn't interfere with his own peculiar sense of order.

"The depleted rods that are unaccounted for from Soviet nuclear reactors?" It was enough to capture his attention. All the leaders of the western world has been fretting over this scenario since the break up of the Soviet Union. Though no longer suitable for the production of energy, the material could effectively be used to build weapons. The abrupt discontinuance of tight, central regulation had created a window for occasional pilfering from sites in the smaller, newly independent nations.

"Apparently a half dozen have been stockpiled, waiting for the right buyer and the right price. Elena has intel confirming that the sale is about to take place. She knows where, when, and who."

Ops rocked back on his heels, and continued his scrutiny of Madeline's face. This was astonishing news, but he could tell it wasn't the full extent of what she had to say that would surprise him.

"She's asking for three operatives to meet her in a port on the Black Sea in two days."

He had the fleeting thought that only three operatives for such an important mission was laughably insufficient, but that concerned him less than the rest of what he hadn't heard yet. "That covers the where and when," he continued when she paused. "But, who?"

"A group of independents. They are apparently a disparate collection of low level participants in the intelligence community who have common bonds outside their respective professional roles. They've been piecing this together quietly for years, and see the opportunity to bring their plan to completion."

"Who has the kind of money it would take to make such a purchase?"

"Saddam Hussein."

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. The importance of stopping the sale didn't require comment. And the fact that such activity was nearly complete, without ever becoming known to Section's eyes and ears, was alarming.

"Who are you sending?"

"Michael and Walter … ," she began.

"And …?" he prompted.

"Myself."

Ops lapsed into a thundering silence . He paced to the distant wall, turned, and leaned against it for a moment. He then strode back to just in front of her desk. He needed the barrier between them to keep from grabbing her shoulders and hauling her out of her chair. He breathed deeply to steady himself, and began.

"Let me see if I understand this. We hear, through an absolute stranger who managed to breach Section security, that the wife we've never met of a deep cover operative - one who's identity was mysteriously compromised -- suddenly stumbles upon the most important intel of the year, and you want to drop everything, including standard procedure, to take lead a mission we didn't even have a part in devising?"

"We will have a part in devising the mission profile," she answered. "The sale doesn't take place until four days from now. We need to get there sooner to complete our strategy with on-site intel."

"You're avoiding my main point, Madeline. Why do you trust either of these women? Why are you putting yourself at risk for this?" His voice held just the tiniest amount of panic - for he knew that if Madeline really wanted to go he wouldn't be able to stop her.

Madeline sighed and looked at her hands in her lap for a moment. "I'm not sure you'd understand." Or forgive me, she thought.

"Try me," he challenged.

She raised her head. "Call it intuition. Call it an acceptable risk. The information is too important to ignore," she said quietly.

He knew he wouldn't get more of an explanation from her. "Why you?" he pressed again.

"In this situation, my POS is higher than anyone else's. And time is of the essence. Sequencing doesn't allow us to handle interrogations from here."

He spit out a reply. "Let Michael handle the interrogations. I refuse you permission to go. You're too valuable to put yourself into danger like this." He prayed his command would work.

She regarded him steadily. "I'll go." Her voice was clear, but barely above a whisper.

He snorted, disgust a cover for his fear. He thought about trying to stare her down, but knew he would lose. There was too much going on here that he didn't understand, that he needed to understand. Madeline had often shaped information to suit her purposes in order to bring him to the conclusions she wanted. He could recognize that strategy when she used it. But she was clearly hiding something from him now. And it unnerved him that she thought it necessary - and possible.

He softened his voice and stance. "Please?"

She gave the slightest shake to her head.

She watched as the anger in his eyes slowly developed into distrust, and then sadness. He turned abruptly and left.

She closed her eyes. When this mission was over, she'd have to explain everything, admit everything to him. And then, if he couldn't forgive her, she'd be cancelled.

***********

They arrived quietly in the middle of the night, locking the van into an abandoned warehouse. In a dingy apartment building across the street, and up three flights of stairs, Gwynek used a key to open one of the hall doors. She motioned to Walter and Michael.

"This apartment is for the two of you. Madeline will join Elena and I in the apartment next door. You should find everything you need. We'll start planning in the morning."

Michael wasn't sure he liked the idea of letting Madeline out of his sight. If anything happened to her Operations would cancel him personally. But Walter grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him through the door.

"Michael, there probably don't exist three more competent women on the continent than the ones in the next apartment, and I feel quite comfortable, thank you very much, leaving them to their own devices. What's uppermost on my priority list is sleep." Walter's logic was irritatingly accurate.

Michael reluctantly watched the women disappear through the next door, and then went about the business of settling in to his surroundings. Before an hour had passed he had done a thorough check for surveillance devices, had double checked several emergency escape routes, and knew the way across the fire escape to the apartment the women shared. He had memorized the layout of the streets immediately surrounding the apartment building, and rechecked all his weapons for readiness. Only when Walter growled at him to stop making so much noise did he retreat to his room. He felt a little bit like a penned wolf.

As he lay atop the blankets, arms folded behind his head, he finally admitted to himself what was making him so restless. Gwynek had warned him. On the other side of that four inch wall was his son. He was going to spend two days near his son, and the thought was both disorienting and compelling. Over five years ago, he'd been told his son was dead. Not long after that, he'd lost Simone. His heart had imploded, and his world had taken on a dull gray pallor.

Then the Section had thrust Nikita into his blurry existence, and she'd woken up some part of him that he thought was dead. His emotions had undulated precipitously between moments when he thought he dared return her love, and missions when he'd inexplicably found it rational to cruelly use her attraction to him in service to the priorities of Section. He was both addicted to her and terrorized by her ability to reach in behind his self defenses.

And then, as he watched her relationship with Ops spiraling out of control, he'd lost her, too. Or he thought he lost her. The night he'd found her again his resistance to her had evaporated without warning, and the uninhibited onslaught of their repressed emotions had been expressed as a hurricane of physical passion. Afterwards, from his perspective, circumstances demanded rebuilding some sort of distance between them so that he could continue to protect her, but that had cost him dearly - it had cost him Nikita.

Eventually they had regained a degree of equilibrium. He no longer spent dark hours wondering if she hated him. By increments, they were learning how to be friends. And she'd clearly stepped out from under his wing as an operative. But the two halves inside him, the half that felt deeply and the half that dared not feel at all, still warred constantly - and refused to be reconciled. Nikita weighed heavily on both sides of that battle.

Discovering eight months ago that his son was alive had torn open old scabs. He hadn't realized until then that ignoring the old wounds wasn't the same as having healed. He'd spent these many months contemplating the wonder of it - and the agony of it. Life in Section no more allowed him to love a child than it allowed him to love Nikita. Maybe less. But now a second part of himself that he thought was dead had come alive again. And the weight of his growing aliveness tormented him unmercifully. Tormented him with hope.

And circumstances still hadn't allowed him to tell Ian that he was his father. Ian had been tucked safely away (or so he'd thought until two nights ago) and in the care of a person he genuinely liked and respected and trusted; the person who'd allowed him to love Simone, the person who'd made it possible for Ian to be born. He felt he had no right to expose Ian to danger by establishing any sort of contact with him.

He worried that seeing his son again now would be another journey like the one when he'd rejoined Nikita. He feared that he would lose control and somehow end up hurting Ian like he'd hurt Nikita. More than anything else in this world that he could consciously articulate, he wanted to not hurt his son. His weariness finally overtook him and he slept, but he slept fitfully. He was awake again just as the sun was coming up.

***********

Michael could hear quiet conversation through the door, and knew the women were awake. He knocked. The door was opened by a young boy with curly brown hair and hazel eyes, his handing resting on Talore's shoulder.

Michael's heart skipped a beat. Ian. His son. Looking up at him with curious eyes. Michael clamped down on the emotions that surged through him, and willed himself to breath.

The intensity of Michael's look made Ian shy. His hand dropped from the dog, and he walked back to nuzzle into Elena's shoulder where she sat curled up on the couch. She instinctively reached out and drew him in, stroking his hair and kissing him on the forehead. Elena smiled at Michael in a greeting; she wished circumstances were different, but she was glad to see him again.

The women were all still in their bathrobes, drinking coffee and eating toast and bananas. Their conversation had ceased and they had all turned to watch the interaction between Ian and Michael closely. Michael felt a little bit awkward.

"I'll come back later," he finally said. "What time will you be ready to begin?"

The three women looked at each other, trying to absorb his mundane question, when what they really wanted to consider were much more interesting topics. Like Michael and his son.

"I think we can be ready in half an hour, Michael," replied Madeline evenly. "Be sure to bring Walter with you when you return. There's a complication we have to work out."

"Complication?" Michael ventured.

"In half an hour, Michael." Madeline's comment was clearly dismissive.

As he reached in to pull the door closed, Gwynek's voice interceded. "Michael?" she asked.

He simply leaned forward and looked at her.

"Talore hasn't been out yet this morning. Would you mind taking him down to the river? If he doesn't run some every morning, he gets ornery." She smiled at Michael softly.

Tending animals wasn't a part of Michael's job description - especially this animal. He searched for an avenue of escape that wasn't rude. "What if he doesn't stay with me?" Michael asked.

"He'll stay with you if you take Ian along," she replied. Her tone was innocent, but he knew he'd just been expertly manipulated.

Ian looked at Michael hopefully. He and Talore had turned into best buddies, and he was eager to have an opportunity to play with the gentle beast. "I found a ball yesterday. Do you think he'd play fetch with me, Gwynek?" Although his question was directed to a person standing behind him, his eyes never left Michael.

Gwynek chuckled softly. "Oh my, yes. Talore loves playing fetch." Actually, she had no idea if Talore would play at fetch, but he certainly knew how to find and bring to her anything whenever she asked it of him. She assumed he would easily catch on to the clear broadcasting of a child.

Michael looked at the room of women. All watching him. Waiting for his reaction. They seemed to realize simultaneously that their scrutiny made the moment more difficult for him, and they all scrambled to find something to do that resembled finishing up breakfast.

Released from their probing eyes, he was able to refocus. 'The fastest way through this is straight down the middle,' he decided.

"Get a jacket," Michael said, nodding to the boy. "It's still cold out."

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

The boy and the dog pranced circles around each other as they headed off towards the river. Michael walked behind, both studying his surroundings and relishing the interaction in front of him. The river was only a block away, and as they ran onto the open grassy area, Ian threw the ball as far as he could in front of Talore. Michael thought the toss to be fairly impressive for such a slender arm.

But Talore had other things on the forefront of his awareness, and he stopped at the nearest tall clump of weeds to relieve himself, ignoring the ball completely. Ian ran to where the ball had settled and threw it again, accurately landing it just a few feet in front of Talore. At first Talore looked startled, as though he might decide to be offended. But then he dropped into that classic shoulders down, tail-up stance that signals play in dogs. He pounced on the ball and came trotting towards Ian proudly. It took Ian a few minutes to get Talore to give up the ball, but when he finally did he threw it as hard as he could towards the river. Talore bounded after it.

They leap frogged each other playfully until they tumbled down the gentle bank to the river's edge. There, Ian put down the ball and neatly skipped a flat rock out onto the water. Talore followed the bouncing projectile with is eyes, showing great interest. He ventured a step or two out into the water, but refused to go any further. Ian kept trying to tease the dog into deeper water, but Talore was resolute.

Michael watched the two play, breathless from the unexpected pride he felt growing in his chest. His son was beautiful. And had a skilled arm. And obviously had a deep well of joyfulness inside him. He was mesmerized by every move, by every nuance, and wanted to shut out everything but this, this moment, this opportunity. He had missed so much. And he would miss so much more.

Ian finally tired of throwing rocks, and scrambled back up the bank to sit by Michael while Talore carried on with his canine pursuits.

Ian played with some nearby pebbles nervously and wouldn't look at Michael, but Michael could tell he wanted to talk. Michael could barely contain his desire to reach out and touch Ian, but he decided to initiate contact on a different level, although maybe a riskier one.

There were things he needed to know.

"We didn't get to talk much when I saw you last year." Michael and Nikita had only been in Dubrovnik three days, and Michael had been away from the house most of those hours -- planning, and then implementing, an escape mission for a dozen informants.

"You were busy," Ian acknowledged. Michael was surprised by the tact the answer conveyed.

"I … I'm not quite certain whether you are Elena's son?" he queried.

Ian started just a bit at the question, but answered confidently. "No, sir. My mother is dead and my father is a soldier. Elena and Nicholas are raising me until the fighting is over and my father can come back for me."

Michael slowly absorbed the information, stepping carefully through the emotional landmines that came from sitting only two feet away from his son. God bless Elena, he thought, for giving Ian an identity that made him alike those around him, rather than different. One that he could share easily with his peers. In Dubrovnik, to be the child of a soldier was an honorable origin.

"Does he come to see you often?"

Ian turned towards Michael and eyed him steadily. And then his eyes dropped into his lap again. "I haven't seen him since I was two. I … I don't remember very much about him."

Michael stared hard at two trees across the river and worked hard at keeping his breathing light.

"You must miss him."

"Yes." Ian's voice was small. But he cleared his throat and continued. "I like living with Elena and Nicholas and my brothers. And I'm proud of my father. He'll come for me when he can." Michael knew it to be a practiced script, an answer a seven year old had learned to give by rote. But one permeated with the kind of honesty that somehow emerges only from the heart of a child.

Michael's own heart constricted painfully. He decided he had to quickly abandon this line of conversation.

"Is that ball dirty from playing catch with the dog?"

"No. I rinsed it off in the river."

"Do you want to play catch before we go back?" Ian looked up at him with bright eyes and a ready smile, and eagerly hopped up from his spot in the grass.

They spent the next fifteen minutes tossing the ball back and forth, Michael sometimes stopping to show Ian something about how to control his throws. When Talore spotted their game he galloped back up from the river, and Michael and Ian tried to play a game of keep away with him. Ian dissolved into giggles when Talore finally just knocked him over and pinned him to the ground with one paw. He easily pulled the ball from out of Ian's hand and started trotting back towards the apartment. Michael picked Ian up and dusted him off, making sure he wasn't hurt, and they walked back together in companionable silence.

**********

When Michael and Ian returned to the apartment, Gwynek and Madeline were dressed, but Elena was still curled up on the couch in her robe. Michael noticed her pallor for the first time. Gwynek had told them about what had happened at the abbey. The numbness was wearing off Elena's heart, and she was rapidly reducing her intake of painkillers in order to clear her mind for what lay ahead over the next two days. The combined emotional and physical pain was agonizing.

Michael dropped to one knee in front of her and put his hand over hers. "I'm sorry, Elena," he whispered. Her eyes pooled with tears, but she fought them back.

"Thank you, Michael. Thank you for coming when I needed you." Michael was in no position to sway Madeline's decision to respond to Elena's request one way or the other, but he nodded in acknowledgement anyway.

Just then Walter walked through the door. He knew who to expect, but could still hardly believe his eyes. As did everyone in Section, he thought Elena - known as Kirsten to those who had worked with her all those years - had died six years ago. He could only stare. After a minute Elena let escape the smallest giggle.

"Walter, if you don't close your mouth you'll end up swallowing a fly."

He strode across the room, taking the place Michael had vacated only seconds before. But he wasn't nearly so reticent about demonstrating his joy in seeing her. Ever so gently, knowing she had two fresh bullet holes in her side, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her loudly on both cheeks.

"Nothing is the same without you, Kirsten. Not for any of us. I'm so glad to know you're alive."

Elena gently pushed him back so she could look at him. Mindful of not wanting to make Madeline uncomfortable, she brought a light and quick end to the exchange. "Thank you, Walter. At the time, leaving was really the best option. But I'm glad to know you didn't have a party to celebrate my departure." She smiled a wan smile, and touched his cheek. Walter opened his mouth to continue, but Elena interrupted.

"You better be careful, Walter, or you'll end up deserving the title of a sentimental old fool."

He grinned. "Ya, can't have that," he countered as he rose.

"And Walter?"

"Yes..."

"Please call me Elena. I've gotten attached to it."

"You got it." He smiled and backed up a little, satisfied that the person before him, although looking a bit frail, was still the generous and giving woman he remembered. Many years ago, when Walter had aged past his prime as a cold operative, it had been Elena who had arranged for him to move into weapons provisioning. He'd found a second useful life in Section, and knew he was still alive today because of her.

Gwynek and Madeline gathered chairs close to the couch. Ian willingly accepted the task of taking Niko into one of the bedrooms and playing quietly while the adults worked. Michael's eyes followed him through the door; he turned to find Elena smiling at him, and he reciprocated. When he realized that Madeline was observing the exchange, he quickly assumed an emotionless demeanor and prepared for the work at hand.

At Madeline's prompting, Elena provided as much history as she knew.

Two years ago the first word of stolen spent nuclear fuel traveling by pack horse through the Carpathian Mountains had filtered in via Nicholas' contacts. Supposedly, the material was hidden in caves in the Balkan mountains near Varna, the port city on the Black Sea in which they now found themselves. The reports couldn't be verified, so Elena hadn't passed the information on to Section. Every few months the story would come up again, each time with a different twist. The tales began to take on the dimensions of legend rather than fact.

Then, one of Nicholas' most trusted friends had arrived bearing a map. Six points were marked in red, supposedly the hiding places of six nuclear rods. The map was left with Nicholas for safe keeping. Within ten days, the friend was dead.

Not long after, they'd figured out they were being hunted. Eventually, Elena had contacted Madeline for help in escaping. That had been the instigation for the mission Michael and Nikita had undertaken in Dubrovnik eight months prior.

The night the intruders arrived at the abbey in northern Italy, they'd brought a beaten and tortured Nicholas with them. They'd captured the two older boys within yards of the abbey walls. Elena trembled as she told the next part of the story. They waited patiently when she occasionally stopped to compose herself, Gwynek moving to sit on the arm of the couch and sometimes smoothing her hair with a gentle hand.

The intruders had been well armed and equipped with silencers. Until she stumbled across Father Denis, dead, in the sacristy, she hadn't realized the viciousness of their search. Despite her familiarity with her surroundings, their greater force had finally cornered her in the library. They'd disarmed her and tied her to a chair and demanded the map.

Nicholas had burned the map before they'd left Dubrovnik. Bending the truth only slightly, she told them the map didn't exist. She'd been forced to listen to first the children and then her husband slowly die because she couldn't give the answer her captors wanted. Finally, they untied her and put two non-lethal bullets into her as their parting gift, and left her to bleed to death. Or die of a broken heart.

After an extended moment of silence, Madeline distracted Elena from her inner images by gently probing, "Gwynek told me you thought that the material was being collected in preparation for being sold."

Elena breathed deeply and continued. "Towards the end, when they were running out of patience with me, their leader misjudged my alertness and said things I don't think I was meant to hear. He was desperate to find the material before it slipped of his grasp."

So it now appeared that there were two groups of people interested in the rods - those who knew their location and those who didn't. Or four, if you counted the buyers and Section. This mission was getting complicated. Madeline, Michael, and Walter all contemplated parameters, searching to develop something concrete out of the vague facts they had to work with.

"Elena," Walter began, "tell me more about the original stories. The part about the rods being transported by pack horse."

Elena shrugged a little bit. "The stories were generally the same - a small group of people passing themselves off as traders, sticking to routes in the high mountains, taking months to wend their way south. They weren't often very specific."

"There were only pack horses, Elena? Never wagons or carts? They never traveled by train?"

"No, Walter. Always by pack horse. Why?"

Walter turned to Madeline. "It would take a container the size of a refrigerator and weighing over six hundred pounds to adequately shield a spent nuclear rod. If they were hidden amongst the baggage strapped to the back of a horse, they were transported unshielded. Hell, those rods have been leaking radioactivity everywhere they went."

Gwynek had actually filled Madeline in on the highlights of this whole story that first afternoon outside Section. "That's what I thought, Walter," Madeline sighed. After a pause, she continued.

"Walter, contact Section headquarters in Switzerland. We're going to need a containment team by tomorrow. Tell them we also need high level aerial surveillance of both the surrounding hills and the port for specific radioactivity signatures. They won't be able to pick up anything until the rods are moved out of the caves, but that may already have happened. The most likely way to transport the rods out of the city and towards the middle east is by boat. Develop a plan for limiting our own exposure as well as that of the general citizenry. And I want to know everything there is to know about what it takes to make a spent nuclear rod explode."

"Michael, work with Birkoff to get intel about activity at the port. Determine which boats are scheduled to leave here over the next two days, and bound for where. Supposedly our buyers won't be as naive as our sellers. Also check to see what's been coming in that's large enough to carry adequate containment. We'll need to narrow down the probabilities by tomorrow morning. Also, we need to familiarize ourselves with the layout of the entire harbor."

"What's the complication you referred to earlier?" Michael asked.

Madeline breathed once, and then looked at Elena. "We have intel from separate sources which confirms that a nuclear trigger was purchased by a businessman here about a year ago. My guess is that whoever owns that trigger also wants those spent fuel rods - together, their value triples."

Madeline waited to see if Elena would follow the thread.

"And that's who has been pursuing us?" Elena asked.

Madeline nodded. "And obviously, he is willing to kill to find them."

***********

Madeline and Gwynek had their own work to do that day. And it was more for this reason than any other that Madeline had come. Gwynek had offered to help Madeline find the trigger - and a man who had slipped unnoticed past Section's best intel gathering strategies for longer than Madeline cared to admit.

It displeased Michael to know that Madeline was, in his opinion, going out with insufficient protection, but he knew better than to challenge her directly when she presented a profile. Madeline was armed, and he wanted to make sure Gwynek was armed as well. When he offered Gwynek a sidearm, she politely refused and brushed past him to head for the door. He reached out to grasp her shoulder but she sidestepped and his hand closed on empty air. And the next instant he was flat on his back, the breath knocked out of him. Talore's jaws were on his throat, pressing just hard enough to hurt but not do any damage. He growled loudly.

Gwynek called the dog off, who released his hold on Michael's throat but remained hovering. She kneeled gracefully by his shoulder, checking his neck with gentle fingers. With her hand still resting on his chest, she said quietly, "Michael, I've never known anyone who could constantly surround themselves with the power to kill -- without also erasing their ability to be subtle. I've chosen subtlety; it serves my needs better. And as you can see - I am well protected."

She read accurately that at the moment his concern was not for her. "For what it's worth to you, I do know that we'll both return safely." His eyes narrowed for a moment as he studied her. Her certainty did mean something to him, but he didn't know why. He nodded in assent.

Only after Gwynek had stepped out into the hall did Talore back away from Michael, and then turn to follow her. Walter knew better than to let a smile steal across his lips as Michael pulled himself up off the floor.

Gwynek could tell that Elena's torturer was near. She could clearly see him in Elena's mind, and she vibrated with an awareness of his proximity. As Gwynek proceeded to traverse the city, Madeline scrutinized her every expression, asked questions each time it appeared that Gwynek made a decision. Gwynek tried to explain as best she could, but when she thought too hard she no longer heard any answers. And then there was Talore. Occasionally when she stepped out in one direction, he used his body to herd her in another. She allowed it, knowing he had his reasons. And that when they hunted together, they never failed.

Madeline understood control, understood discipline, understood method. But the apparent efficacy of surrender, of relinquishing strategy and yielding to formlessness both baffled and fascinated her. Madeline wanted more time to observe them carefully, to try to absorb what Gwynek and Talore were doing, but it only took them an hour to locate the man.

He was laughably vulnerable in his office, where they could lock the doors, close the blinds and take the phone off the hook. Madeline expertly restrained him, and then began pressing him for information about the trigger. Gwynek and Talore retreated to a corner to stay out of the circle of energy Madeline wove around herself and the captive. For three hours Madeline pressed mercilessly, injecting him with two different drugs, but he refused to tell her where the trigger was hidden. Madeline sat down to rest, fearing that she might not be able to proceed on site. She needed other strategies to break this man.

After a few minutes of silence, Gwynek came forward to where the man was tied to his chair, and sank on one knee before him. She gently touched his sweaty forehead and spoke softly.

"Who is this child you think about? The little girl with red hair?"

Madeline recognized the outward signs of his pulse and breathing accelerating.

"You're afraid for her. Where is she?"

His eyes grew large and he stared at Gwynek. Madeline could tell he was fighting to control his thoughts, but he was too weary and disoriented to win.

After a few minutes Gwynek rose and headed for the door, saying simply, "We know what we need to know."

Madeline stared at Gwynek's receding form for a minute, looking vaguely surprised. Was she really ready to dispose of resources and minimize her options based on what she had just witnessed? Madeline decided to try surrender. With very little subtlety at all, Madeline put a bullet through her captive's heart and walked out.

But when she reached the street, Gwynek and Talore were already gone.

***********

Everyone but Gwynek was back in the apartment by late afternoon. Walter reported that the Swiss containment team was already in the air and should land before dark. High level surveillance indicated the rods were already out of their caves and concentrated in the port area. Appropriate tracking equipment was coming with the Swiss team to allow a helicopter to do a more finely tuned search, but it was all too possible that the rods were already being loaded into shielding containers. Once that happened, they'd be blind as to their location.

Birkoff's research had narrowed down the possibilities to two outgoing vessels, both under Liberian ownership and supposedly sailing for Istanbul. But they both had captains familiar with the port at P'ot'i, on the Georgian coast. From there, train travel through Azerbaijan and into Iran was easy to arrange. And once inside Iran, the trip to Iraq could be conducted with great safety. By a Muslim terrorist, at least.

Walter went back to the other apartment to continue making arrangements for ground transportation for the Swiss team and their equipment. Michael sat at the dinning room table studying maps of the area around the port. Madeline was irritated with herself for losing track of Gwynek earlier, and was anxious about the location of the trigger. She sat down on the couch with Elena, rubbing her temples and trying to calm herself.

"She'll come, Madeline," Elena ventured. "And if the trigger is here, she'll find it."

Madeline studied the far window for a moment and then looked at Elena. "Why are you so sure?"

Elena grinned a small grin. "Because Gwynek always finds whatever she's looking for. Always."

"Always?" Madeline pressed. Her tone was distinctly cynical.

Michael continued to look at his maps, but tuned in to their conversation with a curiosity that Madeline would have found surprising.

"Gwynek and I have known each other since we were little girls," Elena began. "We're distant cousins of some sort, and she used to come stay with my grandmother every summer. At the time I didn't see anything unusual about my grandmother teaching Gwynek the things she knew about herbs and tending sick animals. But as I grew up, I realized that Gwynek and my grandmother shared certain gifts, and that Gwynek's parents sent her to my grandmother every summer for training."

"My father used to tease Gwynek because she found every orphaned or injured animal in the woods nearby; he sometimes accused her of robbing nests or trapping rabbits just to have animals to tend. But Gwynek insisted it wasn't true. She said that she could hear animals when they were frightened, that they called to her. And she could just find them."

"I knew that Gwynek could see and hear numerous things that other people couldn't, but that she usually didn't let on because it scared people. If Gwynek could get a clear picture in her head of something, she could find it. I've never seen her turn up empty handed." Elena couldn't pass up a moment of humor. "She's a very handy friend to have around when you lose your car keys."

Madeline allowed herself a small smile, but refrained from commenting.

"I could never learn to do what she does, but she learned to read me like a book. We were best friends for over ten years. But then I went off to college and… well…. ended up in Section. Gwynek told me later she knew I wasn't dead, but no one would believe her. She could tell I was afraid, but for the first time in her life, she couldn't find me. It unnerved her. Eventually my fear faded, and she stopped trying."

It made sense to Madeline, after observing Gwynek back at Section headquarters, that she wouldn't be able to locate someone who was 500 feet underground.

Elena skipped forward a dozen years in her story. "About six weeks after the accident, when I arrived in Montenegro, I went through a dangerous setback. Nicholas told me I might not live. I'd gotten hopeful about recovering, and the bad news frightened me. Some impulse in me dredged up the thought that if Gwynek were there, she'd know what to do. And the next day Gwynek arrived."

Elena paused, revisiting a time and place that hardly seemed real any more. "She stayed for two years. I don't think I'd be alive - or walking - without her." Elena wasn't sure why she felt compelled to tell this next small bit of her personal history, but it was significant to her and she just allowed it to come out. "Her parting gift to me was Niko. Somewhere in our long talks I'd told her that I'd always wanted to have Nicholas' child, but that for some reason it never happened. For the last two months before she left Montenegro she made me drink some awful tea every day. And by the time Nicholas and I arrived back in Dubrovnik, I was pregnant."

The two women sat in silence, each meandering through a private landscape; Michael was careful to not make any sounds that would interrupt them. Madeline had learned much about Gwynek which she hadn't dared to ask about directly. She contemplated which parts of it she found to be useful, which to be extraneous. Elena simply wandered through her memories.

Their thoughts were interrupted when Gwynek and Talore unceremoniously walked through the door, Gwynek carrying a stainless steel briefcase. She put the briefcase at Madeline's feet without comment, removed her coat, and headed for the kitchen. Madeline was certain without checking that the briefcase held the trigger, and it was apparent that Gwynek didn't intend to offer an explanation.

"Is anyone else ready for supper?" Gwynek asked nonchalantly, and proceeded to start opening cupboard doors.

Madeline insisted. "Where did you find it?"

"Amongst the belongings of the red haired child he was so worried about."

"Why didn't you let me go with you?"

Gwynek paused for a second, but never turned to face Madeline. "Alone, I didn't have to terrorize the child to get what I was after." And went back to preparing supper.

***********

Early that evening, the tracking equipment provided by the Swiss indicated that only four rods were still without shielding. It was evident that if they waited much longer they would lose track of the material and possibly miss the purchase entirely. Reinforced by a dozen additional operatives, Madeline decided to move against the targets that night. Backed by simulations from Birkoff, they settled on one highly likely scenario for the transfer of the material from seller to buyer. They built a tight plan around containing the nuclear material and yet incapacitating as many operatives as possible from the three terrorist groups that were likely to be converging on the harbor.

Mission planning caused Michael to miss seeing Ian at all that evening. When he finally reported to Madeline that they need only wait for the cover of darkness to proceed, he found that Gwynek had insisted on putting the children to bed early. He was momentarily wistful, but clear that he couldn't afford the distraction.

Madeline suggested that he and Walter get some rest while they could, and retreated to her own room to do the same. Gwynek had apparently gone to bed at the same time as the children. Elena asked Michael if she could talk to him for a few minutes before he went back to the other apartment.

She asked Michael sit next to her on the couch. Her excuse had been that she wanted to be able to talk quietly and not disturb anyone else. The truth was that she needed to be physically close to him, needed to be able to read his eyes as she told him the things that were in her heart.

"Do you hate me?" Elena asked with more than just a little bit of guilt. She searched Michael's eyes intently for his reaction.

"Why would I hate you, Elena?" His voice conveyed only a portion of the confusion he felt at her question. Hate was the last emotion he could imagine feeling for this woman who obviously loved his son.

"Because I've had the opportunity to love Ian these last six years and you haven't."

He breathed in deeply, then paused to chose his words very carefully. He softly touched her cheek with the back of his hand, conveying tenderness but not seduction. This was a woman with whom he had never shared a bed, would never share a bed, yet with whom he shared a child.

His green eyes were dark with emotion, his voice gentle and low. "I'm not sure if I can adequately describe how much I owe you, Elena. You made several of the most important things in my life possible for me. If you love Ian, and he therefore continues to know what it means to be loved, I am only more deeply in your debt."

She held his gaze, absorbing the sincerity of his words. "Thank you," she whispered, and laid her head down on his shoulder.

Michael wasn't quite sure what to do with the intimacy of what they had just exchanged, so he remained silent, waiting to see if there were other questions she needed to ask.

She finally sighed deeply and sat up, gingerly turning herself sideways on the couch and crossing her legs in front of her so she could look at him directly.

She leaned forward on her elbows and fidgeted with a piece of lint for a bit before she began. "I can't keep the children safe anymore, Michael."

He recognized the truth of it. Their mission tonight would leave the group of independent operatives without a precious commodity to sell, but he doubted if they would all be killed. And if they thought Elena responsible for the disappearance of their assets, they would hunt her until they found her. They had been cruelly successful once already.

Elena tried to fight back the tears gathering in her eyes, but one slipped out and rolled slowly down her cheek. "I'm sending Niko with Gwynek, Michael. I … I've trusted her with my life more than once, and now I'm entrusting her with his. She's the only person I know who can keep him safe."

She looked up at Michael and deferred to him a responsibility to which he'd regretfully become unaccustomed.

"If I couldn't find you to ask, I'd send Ian with Gwynek as well. But he's your son. I need to know what you want me to do."

Because he didn't know how to answer, he instead asked a question. "Is Gwynek willing to take both of the children?"

Elena nodded her head, and gave a small rueful smile. "I hope you can look past Gwynek's distaste for Section methods, Michael. She's been able to take care of herself through some pretty amazing challenges."

Michael turned his head to look at the door through which Gwynek had disappeared. He had to admit that his irritation with her was based on her unconventional methods, and not on her demeanor. Some small part of him had always recognized that her essential nature caused her to provide - in full measure -- for the best interests of the people around her. And if he paused for a moment to really consider his reactions, he respected her skills even if he didn't understand them.

Elena's next words broke into his thoughts. "Gwynek sees some of her own talents in Niko. Even if I could continue to care fr him, she says he needs training. I'm not quite sure I see what she sees, but I do know that her own grown children are wonderfully happy human beings."

She waited for Michael to make eye contact with her again. "Niko needs a brother, Michael. You'd be doing me a favor if you allowed he and Ian to stay together. For at least a little while, until Niko no longer feels that being with Gwynek is like he's away from home."

Another tear slid down her cheek.

Michael knew he had no other ready options. But he still wasn't ready to decide.

"Where will you go?" he asked gently.

Elena gave a small shrug and looked away. "I'll decide that later. I have other things to concentrate on now." Michael recognized a certain dangerous resignation in her voice that worried him. She didn't have any plans because she didn't expect to live long enough to need any. He decided to switch subjects for the moment, but tucked this issue into a corner of his mind where he knew it would surface for further consideration later.

He came to the conclusion that sending Ian with Gwynek and Niko was indeed the safest option for the present - and the kindest. But some honorable part of himself wanted to confirm that directly with Gwynek, with the person to whom he would be entrusting his son. He wanted to be able to watch her eyes when she made her commitment to keeping him safe.

"Let me think about it a little bit, Elena. Please."

She nodded her head in silence, and returned to playing with the bit of lint.

'There's more?" Michael thought. He could tell Elena still wasn't finished.

She finally gathered her courage, and looked at him. His eyes had been upon her, waiting.

"He knows, Michael."

"He knows what?"

"He knows that you're his father."

Michael couldn't control the small tremor that ran through his body.

"How?" he whispered.

"He's an aural learner, Michael. He learns languages easily, he remembers voices even better than he remembers faces. He remembers your voice."

"What?"

"He remembers your voice. He asked me about it when you were in Dubrovnik, asked me if he'd met you before because he distinctly remembered your voice. I sort of skirted the issue and dropped it at the time. But when I told him that you would join us here, he asked me again. He said he remembered something about a poem he used to recite with you, something about the moon. He knew it was from a time before he came to live with Nicholas and me, and asked if you were his father."

Michael knew exactly what Ian meant. It was a silly little exchange they'd had before bed every night, one that Ian had only barely mastered when he'd … he'd 'died.' It left Michael speechless to realize that that small endearment, that piece of gentle playfulness should turn out to be the slender thread that held them irrevocably together.

"I couldn't lie to him, Michael. He knew, and I couldn't deny him the truth."

The contrast to his own stance with Ian sent a wild bolt of guilt coursing through Michael. He wondered what Ian thought of Michael for not acknowledging him as his son.

She paused a few more heartbeats. "Michael, Nicholas is dead and after tomorrow I will be leaving Ian. For all intents and purposes, without knowing who you are, he would have felt like an orphan. I didn't want him to feel alone in the world, Michael. I didn't want to deny him the hope of having a father."

It was painfully obvious to Michael that her own child, Niko, would indeed feel like an orphan after tomorrow.

Michael couldn't talk. He gathered her slowly in his arms and rocked her while she cried. Her own world had collapsed around her, yet she dug into her emotional reserves to tend to the heart of his son. God, how long it had been since his own heart had held that much grace.

***********

The mission profile called for allowing the buyers and sellers to gather for the exchange. They knew in advance it would be difficult for only a dozen operatives to watch all their targets and their backsides as well. Uncertainty about who else might be converging on the transfer location made the situation extremely risky, but they couldn't wait any longer.

At one point, hearing the snap of tendons and the muted sounds of a body collapsing behind him, Michael spun around to find that Talore had deftly broken the neck of someone stalking him from behind. It angered Michael at first to realize that Gwynek was out there unarmed, and therefore a potential liability. But when twice more that night Talore intercepted someone trying to ambush him, Michael stopped keeping track of her, and was simply grateful for the cover she provided him.

By two a.m. Michael found himself unwinding from a perfectly successful mission. He'd showered and sat on his bed dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Although it was hours yet before dawn, he couldn't sleep.

The quiet knock on his door surprised him. Michael stood and crossed the room; opening the door, he found himself face to face with Gwynek.

She stepped out into the living room, signaling to Michael that she'd rather talk there. He followed. Gwynek took a breath to begin talking, but Michael wanted to interject something first.

"You left before I could thank you."

Gwynek smiled. "Don't thank me, thank Talore."

Michael looked confused. "Why would Talore choose to protect me?"

"Because Ian asked him to."

Michael tilted his head in question.

Gwynek shrugged. "They've bonded. I don't quite understand it myself, but I do know that Talore has developed a loyalty to Ian."

"What about you?" Michael queried.

Gwynek thought for a moment. She knew the moment called for her to be completely and totally open with him.

"I would do anything for Elena. I miss having children in the house. And Talore has made up his mind." She smiled as she said that last phrase; it was meant to convey a sense of rightness about the situation.

She paused a moment more and then continued. "I'd like to exchange promises with you."

He waited. He wasn't sure he had anything he could promise to anyone.

"I promise to love your son, to care for him and protect him as if he were my own, if you'll promise to take care of Elena. She needs things I can't give her just now."

Michael knew that his options in this regard were limited. "Would that I could, Gwynek. If it were within my power to protect Elena I would gladly exchange promises with you."

Gwynek smiled knowingly. "For what it's worth to you, I do know that you'll have the opportunity."

Again, her certainty. Again, he knew not why, Michael believed her.

He nodded slowly. "Then, I promise." Elena. Nikita. Ian. These three already had his promise. He had no qualms about letting Gwynek know it was so.

They regarded each other in silence, each knowing they had willingly accepted a responsibility, and that each in return had gained a guardian angel for someone they loved.

Gwynek broke the silence. "We're leaving."

"Now?" Michael asked.

"The angry one, the one you call Operations, is coming. He'll be here in just a few hours. I don't want to be here when he arrives."

Michael was shocked by the information, but didn't question its accuracy.

"Ian wants to speak with you before we go."

"Of course," Michael said quickly. He'd have asked for the exchange if Gwynek hadn't offered.

"I'll send him over." And Gwynek turned to leave.

"Gwynek," Michael spoke before her hand reached the door knob. She turned.

"How will I find you?"

"It's better if you don't."

"I want to know how to find Ian. I want to see him."

She regarded him quietly. And then spoke. "Elena can reach me if need be."

It wasn't enough, and she knew it.

An option suddenly came, unbidden. "When is your birthday, Michael?"

He wasn't sure why she wanted to know, but he answered anyway. "April 21st."

She gave him a parting smile, and said over her shoulder as she walked out, "Look for us. We'll find you."

She left him standing there to struggle with the fact that he wasn't in control. And the incongruence that somehow, with regard to this issue, he still felt safe.

A few minutes later Ian slipped through his door. Without hesitation, Michael dropped to one knee and opened his arms wide. Ian melted into them.

They hugged in silence, until Ian finally asked, "Will the fighting ever be over, Papa? Will you ever come for me?"

Michael couldn't lie. "I don't know, Ian."

"Will I ever see you again?"

Michael leaned back and took Ian's face in both his hands. "Yes. I promise. Soon." The words came easily; he was utterly sincere.

Ian searched Michael's face, sad and eager at the same time. "I'm glad you're my father," he whispered.

Michael's heart pounded. "I'm sorry I ever hid that from you."

"Elena explained it to me. She said you were protecting me."

God bless Elena again. She'd told as much of the story as a child could comfortably grasp.

"Do you mind going with Gwynek?"

Ian took a minute to consider the question. "No. She's nice. And it makes Elena less sad to know that I'm going with Niko. Besides, I want to be with Talore. "

Ian placed one small hand on Michael's cheek, and continued. "I'd rather go with you or Elena, Papa, but I know I can't. Until the fighting is over, I'll stay with Gwynek. Until you can come for me."

Michael pulled him in close, and softly breathed in the smell of him. "I'll try, Ian. I'll try."

Ian hugged him back fiercely, as if to forge that last statement into a promise as well. The hug lasted a long time.

"Say it, Papa," Ian finally whispered.

"Say what?"

"You know."

Michael thought for a moment and then realized he did know.

Michael's voice was soft and melodic. "Je vois la lune, et la lune me voit." [I see the moon, and the moon sees me.]

Ian completed it. "Que dieu la b¾nisse, et me b¾nisse aussi." [God bless the moon, and God bless me.]

"Dors bien, mon petit prince." [Sweet dreams, my petite prince.]

"Dormez bien, Papa." [Sweet dreams, Papa.]

Gwynek opened the door softly behind them. Talore was at her side, and Niko on her hip. They knew it was time to part.

As Ian slowly backed up, he kept his eyes solidly on Michael.

Michael had to say more. "I love you, Ian."

"I know, Papa. I love you, too."

Gwynek's hand gently caressed the back of Ian's head. He looked up at her and smiled.

Michael saw it again, just as he had that day in Switzerland eight months ago. Simone's smile. But this time, instead of tearing at his heart, it gave him peace to know that their son was alive.

Ian turned to go. Gwynek gave Michael one last reassuring smile. And suddenly Michael's door was empty. One tear slid down Michael's cheek. One small tear of joy. Of hope.

Of redemption.

His son knew he was loved. And not just by Elena.

***********

Walter was already out with the Swiss containment team when dawn broke. Madeline was packing, talking with Michael as they prepared to leave. The knock on the door surprised no one; they had all been waiting. Michael nevertheless opened the door cautiously, weapon at ready. And then slowly replaced the weapon in his holster and pushed the door open wider.

Operations walked in. Madeline and Elena exchanged cautious glances and then looked back at Ops.

"The Swiss contacted us to verify approval for the containment team; Birkoff thought I'd be interested." He paused, significantly. "I decided to come see for myself what interested you so much about this mission, Madeline."

He'd been slowly pacing ever since he entered the apartment, carefully taking in every detail, and ended up in front of the couch where Elena sat. He stopped. Elena couldn't decipher it all, but she watched Ops have an entire silent conversation with himself in the space of just two minutes. She didn't dare interrupt.

Ops chose to convey only one piece of history to her. "You may find this difficult to believe Kirsten, but I did not arrange for that accident." Elena's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but she remained silent. Behind them, Michael struggled with his doubts about whether or not Ops was telling the truth.

Breaking eye contact with Elena, Ops walked over to stand before Madeline. "How many other lies have you told me, Madeline?" he queried. His tone was deadly.

She replied with a strength she didn't really feel. "Only one." She chose to not count a few important facts she had simply failed to relay to him.

Ops turned and glared at Michael, who didn't so much as blink, and then looked around the apartment.

He looked back at Madeline. "Is that going to present any problems?"

"No," she said firmly. Ops studied her face intently, and then seemed to make a decision.

"Don't lie to me again, Madeline. Ever." His voice held a threat that Madeline knew to be real. But she also recognized an implied forgiveness about the past. Madeline knew there would be further conversations in private, but she had not lost her position, either professional or personal, with Ops. His generosity surprised her a bit.

He strode back over to the couch, hands still in his pockets and a frown upon his face. His options with this woman were much less clear. "The only place left that's safe for you is back inside Section." He'd obviously gotten a fairly thorough briefing from Birkoff.

It was absolutely the last thing Elena ever expected to hear from Marcus. But her heart hurt too much to consider being hopeful.

"I won't offer you a position of power, Kirsten. But Madeline needs someone to train her intel analysts. If you're willing to accept that small role, you can come back."

Elena couldn't speak. Her mind was starting to spin.

Ops worried she misunderstood, and decided to clarify what he was offering her.

"Choose!" he barked. "Come back in or die today."

Elena's head came up proudly. But her tone was soft and held no challenge to his authority. "I'll come back."

He nodded to her and turned. Speaking to no one in particular he asked, "Where's Gwynek?"

He now knew that Elena was the secret Madeline had kept from him, but he also knew that Gwynek was the reason Madeline had come.

"Gone," Madeline replied.

"Gone?" he asked with that small smirk of his that conveyed displeasure.

"She's of more use to us on the outside," Madeline countered cryptically.

"Will you be able to contact her when you need her?" he asked.

"I think so," Madeline smiled. Whether or not Gwynek would respond was an entirely different matter. It wasn't as though Madeline had a phone number for her.

"Good," Ops concluded. He took one last lingering look at each of the three people in the room. Over the years he was slowly learning that control took many forms. And that loyalty could come from motivations other than fear. Satisfied with the ten minute exchange that had just occurred, he turned and walked out.

Madeline, Elena, and Michael exchanged surprised looks. It would take a while for them to digest what had just happened. They each knew that there would one day be a price to pay for what at the moment felt like a reprieve. That Ops had a self-serving reason for all of the decisions he had just made. But for now they each felt unexpectedly lucky. And decided to simply let that be enough for today. After a moment of silence, they returned to the business of preparing to leave.

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

Nikita had been stunned to see Elena return with Michael and Madeline. What was she doing back in Section? And where were the children? Of even greater concern was Elena's condition. Her physical injuries had temporarily placed her in a wheelchair, and her blank expression was chilling. Nikita had only spent two days with Elena last year, but in that short time she'd been intensely drawn to Elena's joyfulness, her aliveness. Now, Elena's eyes were dull and cold. Nikita quickly looked to Michael with inquiring eyes, but he only briefly shook his head as Madeline wheeled Elena down to MedLab.

Michael told her the whole story the next day. Days later, when Madeline dropped the hint that Elena was physically ready to leave MedLab but probably not ready to be alone, Nikita had quickly arranged for Elena to stay with her. She'd rearranged a corner of the living room for Elena - who wouldn't agree to stay if Nikita gave her the bedroom - and for the first few days Elena just slept. Nikita recognized it as a means of avoidance.

Michael started showing up. At first, he'd just sit on the couch, holding Elena's hand, not talking. Nikita could hardly stand to be around the two of them when they fed off of each other's sadness that way, so soon started plopping herself down on the couch as well, chattering about anything and everything just to keep the two of them from dwelling in their respective silences.

It helped when Elena was well enough to start reporting to work. The deeply intellectual work distracted her, and made her feel useful. It didn't take long for the other analysts to recognize her ability to derive cogent theories out of seemingly obscure and disparate facts, and they started to seek her out for advice. Within weeks, Madeline saw an improvement in the quality of the reports she read every morning.

Gradually, Elena started to talk to Nikita about her pain. Michael continued to visit regularly, and gathered the courage to ask Elena for stories about Ian. Nikita would listen for a while, allowing the two of them room to drop their defenses. And then she would sneak in questions that inevitably led to the telling of happy stories - poignant stories, indeed, but nevertheless stories that ultimately resulted in a smile.

While Nikita and Michael focused on helping Elena, something else was quietly happening in the background. Spending time together with essentially a constant chaperone allowed Michael and Nikita to gain ground on the issue of trust, and to solidify their friendship. It no longer put Nikita on guard to open her front door and find Michael there. And he felt at ease asking if Nikita and Elena wanted company, even when they sometimes turned him down, opting for an evening of girl talk. He could see Elena's soul healing and no longer feared that Nicholas' death would inexorably lead to her own. And if taking shelter in the refuge of Nikita's light was allowing that to happen, then he begrudged none of the time the two women spent together.

Madeline wasn't oblivious to the fact that the three-way friendship was doing the same for Michael. Nor to the fact that Elena's level-headedness tempered Nikita's tempestuousness. More demands than ever were being placed on Michael and Nikita, yet they both seemed to be gaining strength and flexibility in their approach to getting the job done.

When Nikita watched Michael openly goad Elena into a peal of unrestrained laughter with a dry, off-color story about an exchange between he and Simone, she knew that Michael had reconciled some important portion of the warring halves of his heart. When Michael watched Elena and Nikita excitedly making plans for a trip they wanted to take later that summer, he knew Elena had regained a sense of balance, regained her ability to find the joy in being alive, to think about the future. And when Elena watched Michael and Nikita constantly invent excuses to touch each other while working closely together in the kitchen one night, Elena knew it was time for her to find her own apartment.

Late in the spring, a three-day weekend fell together serendipitously in the space of just a few hours. Two missions that would have pulled them out of town were reassigned to other agencies, and they'd been able to take advantage of a last minute cancellation at a large cabin just hours away from headquarters and beside a quiet lake. Nikita brought along the makings for s'mores when she heard there was a fire pit out at the lake's edge; Michael brought along a fine old bottle of cognac to sip out under the stars; and Elena brought along a secret.

As they began to unpack and settle into their respective rooms, Nikita was surprised by the sound of children laughing nearby. At first wondering if their stay might be marred by the interference of nearby neighbors, Nikita quickly went to her window when she heard Michael bounding down the stairs and coming to an abrupt halt on the front porch. At first Nikita's eyes focused on a tall raven haired woman by the edge of the lake, holding the hand of a small boy whose frame was starting to grow out of that classic toddler's pudginess.

Then she saw an older boy, curly haired and agile, playing tug-of-war over a frisbee with a very large dog. Michael uttered one, loud, distinct word.

"Ian!"

The boy dropped his hold on the frisbee and turned in the direction of the voice. It took but a moment for that young face to light up and break into a huge grin. He whooped for all the world to hear. "Papa!"

And he broke into a dead run for the man standing on the front porch of the cabin.

FINIS

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