Everything was different at night. Even in a 24-hour operation like Section One, the nighttime seemed more tranquil and predictable than daylight hours. Gone were the myriad sounds of daily human activities. Instead, the soporific hum of the airflow system dominated, soothing and uninterrupted. Nikita stretched her arms repeatedly to the front and behind in a wide, rhythmic gesture as she walked through the lifeless halls. With the mission and debriefing behind her, she felt as relaxed as she ever did inside this place. Only the ever-present thoughts of Michael troubled her mind tonight.

Dim light became perceptible as she drew near the broad central area. Birkoff, she thought, a twinge of pity tugging at her. The kid must never sleep. Suddenly she paused in mid-stride, listening closely, waiting. There…it came again. Muted laughter, followed by unintelligible mumbling. Softly, she crept closer to investigate the unexpected sound.

At the end of the corridor she looked out into the sparsely lit area, seeing only Birkoff at his bank of computers, his back turned to her. Looking around quickly, she saw no other possible source for the unexplained merriment, and so she furtively moved closer, curious. When she had advanced to within a dozen feet of Birkoff’s turned back, he startled her by laughing out loud again, then continuing to snicker as he tapped away furiously at the keyboard. Taking one step to the side, Nikita could clearly see the screen as it scrolled upward from bottom to top with each new addition to the ongoing conversation there. IRC. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. Birkoff was chatting. And having a very good time, too, from all appearances.

Relieved now to know the source of the mysterious laughter, Nikita stepped forward to Birkoff’s shoulder and laid her hand there. Instantly Birkoff exploded from his seat, nearly toppling them both as the castered chair shot away from his sudden movement. "Don’t DO that!" he blurted. His expression vacillated comically between anger and embarrassment as he struggled to control his reaction.

Nikita took a quick step backward, a barely suppressed smile on her face and her hands raised in a warding-off gesture. "Sorry, sorry. Take it easy….I thought you heard me."

Birkoff gave an exasperated sigh and ran a hand over his stubbled head. "I was concentrating. Don’t EVER sneak up on a person like that; especially around here. You scared me out of a year’s growth." He glared at her, anger taking over now that the adrenaline surge was subsiding. "Geez, Nikita."

Nikita smiled at him placatingly, then turned the chair right way to and gestured for him to have a seat. "What are you doing, Birkoff?"

"None of your business. Go away."

"Chatting?" she persisted. "With who?"

"None of your business," he reiterated between clenched teeth. "Go. Away."

Nikita leaned over to peer at the conversation, but with a quick motion Birkoff blanked the screen. "This *is* sanctioned conversation. You’ll hear all about it in the briefing tomorrow morning." He did not turn to face her as he spoke.

"Huh," Nikita snorted in reply. "I’ll bet it wouldn’t be sanctioned if they knew you were actually having fun. I heard you laughing. What’s going on, anyway?"

Finally he cast a narrow glance over his shoulder, ignoring her question but challenging her with one of his own. "Haven’t YOU ever had fun with anything they made you do?"

Nikita felt a warm flush rise as her mind involuntarily relived particular moments with Michael, situations which, even in the strangest of circumstances, had still been able to make her heart race. Reluctantly, she pushed those thoughts away. They would be dealt with soon enough. "Of course not," she replied unconvincingly.

"Yeah," Birkoff commented dryly, turning his back to her once more. "Can I get back to work now?"

Nikita sighed, then clapped his shoulders lightly with both hands. "I wouldn’t dream of interfering with business. I’m going."

As she walked away she couldn’t resist calling back a parting shot. "I think we need to talk about getting you a life, Seymour." She continued the thought under her breath, "…and one for me, too."

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

Nikita paused at the entrance to her building, weighing the relative merits of going straight up to bed versus coffee and a meal down the block. Weariness prevailed, and with a tired sigh she turned into the doorway.

Her guard was down. When the hand landed on her back Nikita felt she might literally leap from her own skin. In a single instant her thoughts diverged swiftly along parallel tracks: anger at herself for letting her guard down, an inventory of weapons and escape routes, speculation on who the hand might belong to and, bizarrely, a flash of amusement as she realized she’d just put Birkoff through exactly such a fright.

"It’s me."

"You!" She let out a huff of exasperation and leaned one arm straight out against the doorway, hanging her head down as she composed herself.

"You scared me half to death," she snapped at him. "You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you. I still might."

He crowded her into the doorway, glancing up and down the street before looking back at her, smiling slightly at her annoyed expression. "Does that mean you aren’t glad to see me?"

"I don’t know," she replied, still somewhat rankled. Their close proximity in the dark doorway was tantalizing, her reaction to him delicious and uncontrollable. She crossed her arms defensively. "Should I be glad?"

Michael considered her soberly. "I hope so." He checked the street once more. "I’d like to talk."

He waited then while she hesitated, considering. Finally, with a brief nod of compliance she turned to lead the way into the building, rooting in her pocket for keys.

"Do you know what the briefing is about tomorrow morning?" she asked as they walked the hall, part of her mind still on the earlier encounter with Birkoff.

"I don’t have details," he replied. "Some hacker group Birkoff has been working on. Why?"

She debated with herself briefly just how much to say. "Well," she began, "I surprised him tonight on my way out. He was pretty involved in something he wouldn’t let me see…said I’d find out tomorrow what was going on."

"Then I guess you’ll find out tomorrow."

"Right," she said, giving him a exasperated look before turning her back to open the door.

Once inside the apartment, Nikita shrugged out of her coat and headed for the kitchen.

"You’ve made some changes," he commented, following her in and shutting the door.

"Yes," she responded brightly. "Too many memories…you know? I wanted a change."

He winced a little at this, then began a slow circuit of the area, his attention focused on the small device he held. Ending his tour in the kitchen, he slipped the implement back into his pocket and stood watching as Nikita occupied herself with the teapot and related fixings.

"I didn’t know if surveillance on you had been reinstated." He looked somehow embarrassed by this admission. "They don’t tell me any more."

"No. I don’t suppose they would."

Neither spoke again and the silence in the small area intensified until it was nearly tangible. Nikita closed her eyes when she felt his hand gently touch her hair.

Sensing he was about to speak, she said suddenly, "No."

She turned to face him. "You’re going to say you’re sorry. Don’t. Never again." She shook her head gently, biting her lip as she sought for words. "We’ve never really talked over all the things that happened since I came back; but…" She looked at him, her expression uncertain. "It doesn’t matter," she finished ambiguously.

Only a brief knitting of his brows betrayed Michael’s bewilderment. The teapot whistled sharply and she turned back to attend it. He waited in silence as she puttered with the teacups a moment more before looking back at him and laying the spoon gently on the counter. She spoke haltingly, directing her words to the spoon. "Since I’ve come back, it’s been like a new beginning. I know now that I belong here. And all the things that have gone on between us, and with Jurgen…well, I don’t care to try and sort out the lies and the truths and the motivations and the reasons." She shrugged. "There’s been too much, too many misunderstandings, and I just don’t care any more."

He watched her intently, drawing in a slow breath before speaking. "What are you saying?"

She toyed with the spoon, not meeting his eyes as she went on slowly, "I’m saying…you wanted me back, and I came back for you. I think we know our feelings. Let’s go forward from here. No explanations of the past. A blank page…with only one thing written on it." She waited, her heart in her throat, threatening to choke her if he turned away now.

The silent moments seemed to last for an eternity, and just when she thought she could stand it no longer, that she would have to run away and die of the loss, he reached for her.

Gently he gathered her into his arms and turned her face into his shoulder. Gladly she went there, shutting out the rest of the world, if only for these few moments. They held each other in the unaccustomed bliss of contentment and new understanding.

"Nikita," he said, finally, his soft accent making a lover’s caress of her name. "Whatever we can have…will it be enough for you?"

She raised her head to look at him, unguarded honesty on her face as she replied with feeling, "Yes".

Engrossed in an intimate and heartfelt kiss, neither immediately registered the sound of a ringing cell phone. Gradually, the insistent summons penetrated their awareness, and with great reluctance they released one another, tracking the repeated ringing to the inner pocket of Nikita’s discarded coat. She raised her eyebrows. "Mine?" she mouthed in mock amazement, lifting it to her ear. "Yes?"

After one more murmured, "yes", she folded the phone and tucked it away.

"We have to go in," she sighed. Fleeting disappointment crossed Michael’s face, followed closely by the stoic mask Nikita knew so well. She poured the untouched tea down the drain, then found Michael holding her coat, waiting to assist. He pulled it snugly around her, then drew her close. Gently, he brushed her hair back, searching her face and nodding slightly in satisfaction at what he found there. He pulled her lips to his and kissed her once, twice, sealing their newly minted accord.

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

Birkoff shifted nervously in his chair. Accustomed to agreeable anonymity, he was finding the limelight an uncomfortable place to be. Unlike computers, people were always messily unpredictable to deal with.

Operations spoke from the head of the briefing table. "Over the last few months we have seen a baffling string of computer break-ins...none of which, so far, has befallen us personally. The list of victims seems unrelated - defense, terrorist cells, software companies, industrial and financial concerns. The damage has been considerable, with data stolen and corrupted, backups wiped…everything that could be done without physically being there to destroy the hardware."

Operations sent Birkoff a proud, almost paternal glance. "Until recently we had no clue as to who was accountable or how it was being accomplished. Mr. Birkoff has managed to track down a group of hackers we believe to be responsible. He has further managed to ingratiate himself with them and open a channel of communication."

"How did you do that?" Michael inquired, looking at Birkoff.

Birkoff shrugged. "Pretty easy, actually. I hacked into their system to get their attention, then just acted friendly. They couldn’t believe anybody could hack them. They think I rule." He gave a small, self-satisfied smile.

Nikita watched and listened, a disquieting feeling creeping over her. Baseless intuition, Michael would say. She gave herself a mental shake to dispel her unease as Operations resumed speaking.

"They’ve invited Birkoff to meet with them this coming weekend to discuss the possibility of his joining their group. This will be our opportunity to learn how organized they are, who they work for and possibly the identity of the next target." He paused. "The problem we run into, of course, is that Birkoff is not a field agent. This goes strongly against my better judgment, but I don’t see that we have another choice. No one else approaches his level of expertise in this area and would be seen through immediately."

Operations looked from Nikita to Michael. "You two," he said, addressing Michael, "will be as close as you can get to back him up. We can’t afford any mistakes on this as we have no real redundancy for Birkoff’s capabilities."

Nikita sat up. This would be the first time she and Michael had been teamed alone since her return from the outside, and from the tone in which the order was delivered, Operations clearly felt *this* to be against his better judgment as well. No matter. Nikita knew that she and Michael together were the best possible protectors Birkoff could have.

"Check your PDA’s for intel," Operations concluded. "You’ll leave for Cambridge, Massachusetts this afternoon at 4:00."

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

Nikita lounged in the van, idly watching Michael and listening to the broadcast from their snooping device. Birkoff had not worn a microphone for fear the hackers had equipment that might detect it, but nothing prevented them from utilizing exterior sound collection equipment. Walter had outfitted them thoroughly, and the meeting site, an isolated building thickly screened by trees and shrubs, lent itself well to this eavesdropping means. Curiously, the group was gathered in one member’s private home, a rambling old construction desperately in need of repair. As they listened, it quickly became apparent why they had made no greater effort to protect their privacy.

"They’re kids!" Nikita exclaimed. "College kids!" No wonder they lived in such a pile. Michael shook his head, saying nothing.

Puzzled, Nikita listened to the conversation being conducted above the high decibels of blaring rock music.

"Birkoff!" a reedy voice shouted. "Man, this is the greatest that you’re here! We have a new game on for this weekend…you’re gonna love it!"

A sound…the popping of a tab. Soft drink? Beer? Birkoff’s reply was muffled by a thunderous drum solo in the music soundtrack.

"….glad you came to our chat room…this guy runs the best hacker challenge games," the voice became audible again as the drums wound down. "His security scenarios are, like, so real! You’d never know it was just bogus. The guy is really good, too. Took all of us most of two days to hack into the last one. Can’t wait to see you in action!"

A slurping pause ensued. Nikita rolled her eyes and sighed. Beer.

"You need a name, man!" a new voice declared enthusiastically. "Can’t be deadly without a name!"

"Yeah, right," Birkoff replied. "Uh, what do you guys call yourselves?"

The thin, reedy voice returned. "We don’t have a group name, but we all have nicks with ‘cyber’ in em…you know…like I’m Cyberik. And we got Cybersabre, Cybaaron, Cyberia." Pause for another slurp. "Guess you oughta be Cybirkoff, huh? That way the man will know you’re part of our group when we play."

"Sure. Sounds OK," came Birkoff’s hesitant response.

"Come on Birkoff," Nikita muttered. "Start asking some questions."

As if he heard the admonishment, Birkoff’s voice came again.

"So, who is this guy that runs the game?"

Cyberik answered the question. "Don’t know, man. We’ve been playing with the guy for months and he never gives away a thing. Dude is really close, you know? Calls himself ‘The Broker’. That’s all we know." A snort of laughter. "Could even be a babe, for all we know, right?"

A raucous chorus of dissent arose instantly at this obvious absurdity. Then someone applied themselves to the volume control on the stereo and no further conversation could be made out.

Michael turned down the sound within the van and looked at Nikita with a thoughtful expression. "Interesting. Whoever this is, they have recruited a group of talented young hackers totally without their knowledge. They think they’re playing games he sets up for them."

Nikita frowned at the trace of admiration she heard in his voice. "Right, so he’s an innovator," she said sarcastically. "Question is, how does Birkoff find out who and where he is?"

Michael thought for a moment. "He’ll have to do it online. And he’ll need equipment he doesn’t have here." Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smile. He held the cell phone out toward her. "Time for Cybirkoff to come home for dinner." The smile grew a bit. "You know how Moms are always spoiling the fun."

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

Michael’s face was ominous when Birkoff lurched into the van some time later. Alcohol fumes rolled off him in palpable waves as he collapsed into a seat and regarded them both agreeably.

"Why didn’t you respond when Nikita told you to come out?" Michael’s voice was glacial.

Birkoff rolled his eyes in pained disbelief. "When she tells them she’s my *mom*?" he asked incredulously. "No guy my age is going to jump up and run when his mom calls." He blinked owlishly. "Unless she looks like you, maybe," he added inappropriately, smiling at Nikita. Then he studied the van wall while laboriously assembling his train of thought. "I was supposed to be one of them, right?"

Michael rose and stood over Birkoff menacingly. "You are supposed to obey orders."

Birkoff was unrepentant. "I was there; you weren’t. I did what I thought was the right thing." A small, sly smirk crept onto his face. "Anyway, I doubt you two minded a few hours alone."

"We’ll discuss this when you’re sober." With a shake of his head and accompanying silent glare, Michael moved to the front of the van, preparing to return to Section.

Nikita sank down next to Birkoff, studying his doleful countenance. "What were you doing in there all this time?"

"A little work on the new game, a few beers. You know…" He swallowed visibly, and Nikita felt her heart squeeze with sympathy as he went on. "We were just…having some fun."

She patted his arm, hearing the van engine roar to life. "Poor, Birkoff," she sighed. "You’ve missed out on a lot, haven’t you?" Strange, how they all forgot how young he was. No wonder he couldn’t resist the simple desire to laugh, to belong, to be admired and accepted by his peers. She wondered how much of his youth had been spent in Section One; certainly it was no place to be an adolescent.

"How was the game?" she asked, hoping to jar him out of his melancholy mood.

"No brainer," he replied, yawning. "Had it solved in half an hour."

She squeezed his arm once more. "Why don’t you just lie down here. Try to get yourself together before we get back."

His face became anxious then as he considered the likely reaction of Operations and Madeline to his unusual state. Nervelessly, he slid down on the bench. "Tell Michael to drive really slow," he whispered.

Nikita draped a blanket over the ashen-faced Birkoff, then made her way to the front of the van, dropping into the passenger seat. Michael glanced over at her briefly before returning his attention to the road.

"Don’t be too hard on him," she said quietly. "There’s been no harm done."

Michael gave her a look that clearly said he thought otherwise. But, as was his habit, he kept those thoughts to himself and they drove on in silence to the pickup point.

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

Operations fixed Birkoff with a steely gaze, amazed and displeased to see the unmistakable signs of a staggering hangover. Holding himself upright only by sheer willpower, Birkoff sat breathing shallowly, his eyes dark, smoky circles in his pallid face .

Nikita looked away from Operations’ annoyed expression, biting her lip to hide an amused twitch.

"With the information you’ve given us we’ve learned quite a bit more about these young men." Madeline watched Birkoff impartially as she spoke. He thought, overall, that Operations was less threatening than her cobra-like regard. "They are students at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, computer majors, of course. They work together on MIT’s Intelligent Information Infrastructure Project."

"What’s that?" Nikita asked.

Birkoff responded shakily. "It’s a new information and communication management system to work over Internet protocols. Nothing we have to worry about."

Madeline went on. "It appears that they have been completely taken in by whoever this ‘Broker’ person is, and have no idea that they are hacking real systems. He must be very convincing, as all of these young men are remarkably knowledgeable in their field. Besides hacking, none of them have any history of criminal activity or socially disruptive behavior."

"When do you meet with them next?" Operations made a mental note to have a discussion with Madeline about Birkoff’s dismaying condition.

Birkoff checked his watch. "We’re supposed to be online together in about fifteen minutes. Usually they have something set up for over the weekend, but since we finished the game so quickly last night they don’t know if the guy will have anything else."

Operations nodded. "Then we wait." He glanced at Michael. "Since we now know we’re dealing with innocent schoolboys, next time send Birkoff in with a com link." He grimaced. "Maybe we’ll actually be able to hear something over the music they play."

Nikita lingered behind while the others left the table, watching with sympathy as Birkoff rose painfully from his chair.

"Got any aspirin?" he murmured, lips barely moving.

"I’ll go get some," she replied, patting his shoulder as they walked toward his station. "Now you know how this feels, so don’t do it again."

"Never," came his hushed and fervid response.

At least until the next time, Nikita thought, same as the rest of us. Leaving Birkoff to log onto his conversation she went to locate some aspirin and a large glass of water.

When she returned, Operations, Madeline and Michael were hanging over Birkoff’s shoulder. From the attentive posture of the trio, Nikita supposed the conversation with the hackers had begun. Quietly she laid the water and aspirin at Birkoff’s elbow and looked on with the rest.

CYBERIK: Hey man, how you feelin’ today?

CYBIRKOFF: Not good. Living inside the aspirin bottle. Are we playing today?

CYBERSABRE: ROFL! Next time take it before you go to bed, too late by morning!

CYBIRKOFF: No kidding. Are we playing?

CYBERIK: Yeah. Got a new one. The Broker says this will be the best one yet, nobody’s ever solved it. We’ll be starting around noon.

CYBAARON: Don’t know what this one is. Usually we can tell if it’s a government game, bank, whatever. Can’t tell from the name of this one.

CYBIRKOFF: Yeah? What’s it called?

CYBERIK: Section One.

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

Mobilization was rapid and efficient: Michael and Nikita went to back up Birkoff, an additional team was prepared to pick up The Broker, should Birkoff have the opportunity to trace him during their communication.

Walter fitted a last piece of electronic equipment into the battered backpack and zipped it shut. "Hey, kid," he addressed Birkoff in a cheery, sociable tone, "hows about we go get a beer after you guys get back?" He winked.

Birkoff swallowed with difficulty and looked away, his already pale face turning chalk white. Walter grinned and clapped him on the back. "Don’t worry kid, it’ll pass."

"You’re evil," Birkoff muttered, shouldering the backpack. "Now I know how you got in this place."

Michael appeared around the corner. "Chopper’s leaving. Let’s go Birkoff."

Giving Walter one last black look, Birkoff squared his shoulders and followed Michael.

Back in Cambridge, the rambling old house seemed to struggle to stay upright under the weight of a dark, lowering sky. Cold mist hung in the air, shrouding the entire scene in a vaporous haze. Nikita shivered.

Leaving this dismal view out the windshield, she made her way to the back of the van where Michael sat, listening to conversation from inside the house. She draped her arms around his neck and leaned in close, earning a rare smile from him as she did so. "What’s up, doc?" she whispered, kissing his ear.

"They’re sitting online, waiting for more instructions from the Broker." He turned the volume up and boisterous laughter filled the van. "I believe Birkoff is feeling better now." He turned his head to kiss her softly on the lips. At that instant the van went utterly silent. They looked at each other.

"I’d like to think that was our chemistry," Nikita remarked, straightening up.

Michael frowned and tapped his earpiece, then checked settings on the panel before him. "We’ve lost feed from Birkoff." He pressed a switch that gave him direct contact with the Section One monitor. "Are you getting anything there?"

"No sir, just lost everything," came the prompt reply.

Michael threw down the earpiece and rose from his chair. Nikita was already zipping a jacket and checking the load on her automatic. A moment later Michael was ready, and she twisted the door handle to exit the van.

Abruptly the door was torn from her grasp, pulling her violently off balance. As Michael watched helplessly from behind, she was launched from the doorway, flying into the arms of the man who stood there waiting. With an almost leisurely motion, he placed a freezing cold gun barrel snugly into the hollow beneath her right ear and set her firmly in front of himself as a shield. At the same time, another man, large and burly, appeared from the side with his weapon trained on Michael. The Broker, it seemed, had come to play.

The chilling mist settled on them as they assessed one another. Nikita’s breath rasped in and out past the constricting arm around her throat. Finally, the man spoke to Michael, his voice a deep baritone with a surprising Texas twang. "Well now, I think you ought to just put that gun down, don’t you?" He pressed his own gun barrel tighter against Nikita for emphasis.

Still in the doorway, Michael turned the muzzle of his weapon upward, palms open, then gently laid it at his feet. At a gesture from the second gunman, he stepped forward and joined them on the ground. Droplets of mist quickly began to collect on his hair. Nikita could feel her captor’s breath hot in her ear as he talked. "That’s just fine. Now, as much as I’d like to sit with you all for a while and get to know you better, I do have some pressing business to take care of." He smiled. "So we’ll just have to do it some other time." He nodded to the other man, who promptly struck a vicious blow to the back of Michael’s head, then caught him expertly as he collapsed.

"No!" Nikita shouted, staggering forward against the arm holding her. His grip tightened, strong and choking. "If you’ll come along nicely, now, I won’t have to do that to you."

Struggling for breath, Nikita could only nod. The quartet moved across the rain-soaked lawn toward the house, hampered by Michael’s dead weight and the gun in Nikita’s ear. The peeling porch had long since forgotten that it ever wore paint, and the wet, naked wood was slippery under their feet. Despite their slithering progress toward the door, the gun never varied its firm pressure against Nikita’s flesh.

"Well," The Broker announced, considering the front door. "Ah don’t believe we’re going to use our good manners today. Virgil, would you like to do the honors here?"

Virgil? Nikita looked at the man’s beefy physique, thinking no one probably ever teased him about his name. Not more than once, anyway. Then she winced sympathetically as Michael’s inert form landed with a thump on the wet porch. Virgil backed off a step or two, clearly preparing to hurl his considerable bulk at the door.

Nikita sneered sarcastically past The Broker’s pinioning arm. "Why don’t you just try the door first?"

Virgil looked over suspiciously as a rumbling chuckle issued from The Broker. "Of course," he conceded. "The lady has a good point, Virgil. Try the door."

Not surprisingly, it was unlocked. Virgil paused to hoist Michael to his shoulder once more, then they entered the house, following the painfully audible sounds of rock music coming from down the hall. Within moments they stepped into the erstwhile dining room where the hacker group had set up their workspace.

The young men sat stunned with surprise by the sudden intrusion. Birkoff looked on in horrified disbelief at the sight of Nikita at gunpoint and Michael…dead? unconscious?…over the shoulder of a very large man.

"Afternoon, boys!" The Broker boomed at them. "I’m pleased to finally meet you all! Which of you fine young men might be Cyberik?"

Cyberik was frozen and bug-eyed, like a possum on a dark road looking into oncoming headlights. Although he remained soundless, the glances the others sent his way made his identity patently obvious.

The Broker zeroed on in him quickly. "You live here, son, is that right?"

Cyberik nodded, his adams apple bobbing with fright.

"I ran into a little problem outside," The Broker continued in his rich twang, "and I need a quiet place to secure these folks for just a bit. I wonder if you’d have a suitable room for that purpose?"

"Coal…" Cyberik squeaked. "Coal room. In the basement." He pointed.

The Broker smiled warmly. "Thank you kindly. You all just set there comfortable until I get back."

Nikita gave Birkoff one long look before The Broker pulled her away. She prayed he’d have the sense to play along with whatever was coming up. Then they were being dragged down a set of rickety wooden stairs and shoved into a place of utter, stale blackness. The old house dated back to an era when coal was used as furnace fuel; this room, with a small chute somewhere up above, was where the supply of coal would have been delivered to the residence.

The door slammed and she could hear the sound of a bar dropping into place. Falling to the floor, she groped for Michael and lifted his head onto her lap, feeling frantically for warmth and a pulse. Her eyes strained against the darkness; the silence reverberated in her ears. She smoothed Michael’s hair and rocked gently to and fro. There was nothing more to do.

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

In the dining room, the hackers sat frozen only briefly, then began whispering furiously between themselves. Is this really The Broker? Who was with him? Is that guy dead? What the hell is going on?

Birkoff remained silent, trying to coax his paralyzed mind into some kind of thought process. He had his own questions. What kind of message had Michael managed to send before they’d been incapacitated? Perhaps no message? He felt a stab of fear in his belly; maybe there was no help on the way. Maybe he was it. What would Michael do?

Birkoff took a deep breath and closed his eyes. First off, Michael wouldn’t panic. He’d assume he was on his own. He’d inventory his assets. He opened his eyes and surveyed the room. The tabletop was an organized clutter of cables, small equipment and small tools. He calmly picked up a pair of wire strippers and reached under the table to switch off the bar of power outlets that lay there. Then, with a quick and, he hoped, unobtrusive jerk, he pulled the connector off an extra power cable and began paring off the insulation.

As he worked he tried to calm his racing heart and shaking hands. Assuming that The Broker thought he was a legitimate part of this group, he must do nothing to give himself away. There would only be one chance at this.

The whispering ceased as the basement door slammed shut and heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the dining room. Quickly, Birkoff leaned down and plugged in the power cable, switching the outlet bar back to ‘on’ and double checking that the indicator was lit. He wedged the other end of the cable firmly between two heavily-loaded milk crates that sat beneath the table. Then he waited.

The Broker re-entered the dining room with a wide, cordial grin on his face, his low-browed companion no longer in sight. He clasped his hands together before him like an evangelist contemplating the collection plate. "I apologize for that little interruption, boys. Let me introduce myself properly now. I am, as you may have surmised, the gamemaster; The Broker. I consider myself a broker of information, of a sort." He smiled modestly at this explanation. "Your little group has proved to be the best…players…I have ever encountered, and I thought it was time we met face to face."

His expression grew more serious. "If all goes well today, I may be able to make you boys an offer of employment the likes of which you never would have dreamed."

Cyberik cleared his throat nervously and looked around for support, obviously feeling compelled to speak as the group leader. "Uh, who were those people?"

The Broker spread his hands and smiled broadly once more. "Well I found them outside, and I’m not sure what they were up to, but I suspect it was some kind of industrial espionage. You all are so talented you’ve attracted someone’s attention." He shook a finger in mock admonishment. "And not everyone out there is in it for fun, like I am." He rocked back on his heels, nodding in satisfaction. "But don’t you fret. I jammed up their communications, and when I leave here, well, I’ll be turning them over to the authorities."

Birkoff watched in silence as the hackers visibly began to relax. They wanted to believe The Broker’s story and his guileless tone. Anything was better than believing what their instincts were telling them.

"Shall we get on with our game, then?"

Reluctantly, the dazed group returned to their machines, deactivated their screensavers and accessed the ‘game’ data as directed by The Broker. Although it was a problem that this man had access to *anything* pertaining to Section One, Birkoff noted with relief that the initial data he presented to them was part of only the outermost protective layer surrounding the system. He was confident that this group could never peel back enough of the onion to make anyone cry. Still, it was a risk that couldn’t be taken. He tapped away at his keyboard, feigning ignorance and hoping for the right chance to come.

The Broker looked around the table, scrutinizing each of them in turn. Then he bent down toward Cyberik and whispered something into his ear. The young man replied inaudibly, his eyes turning to Birkoff as he spoke. The Broker stood and approached Birkoff.

"Son, I understand you’re the newest member of the group," he drawled, looking down at Birkoff skeptically. Birkoff’s heart nearly stopped.

"Yes, sir," he replied in a servile tone.

"You any good?" The Broker asked.

Cyberik spoke up, trying to be helpful. "He was good enough to hack into us."

Instantly all light left The Broker’s eyes. His smile remained, but was now tinged with suspicion. He put one hand on the table and leaned closely over Birkoff. "Why don’t you tell me all about yourself," he suggested in an unpleasant whisper.

Under the table, Birkoff retrieved the end of the cable he had wedged between the milk crates. With one swift motion he plunged the naked live wires deep into the fleshy web between The Broker’s thumb and forefinger. Frantically, he backpedaled in his chair, rolling away to watch from a safe distance as the man silently jittered and danced with the electricity pouring through his body. In moments, it was over. The Broker collapsed heavily beside the table, the stripped wires pulling free of his hand to lie innocently on the floor.

Carefully, Birkoff reached past him and switched off the power outlets. He unplugged the cable and coiled it slowly, painstakingly, precisely, saying nothing as the others looked on in shock and bewilderment.

Next he knelt beside The Broker’s fallen body and searched gingerly, coming up with two handguns. One he placed casually in waist of his jeans. The other remained in his hand as he stood to face the wide-eyed group. He sighed. "Don’t ask," he said to them. "You really don’t want to know."

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

Blind and deaf inside their black prison, Nikita was unaware of the events taking place overhead. All her senses, it seemed, were concentrated in the tips of her fingers as they roamed constantly over Michael’s body, checking and assessing. Breath? Bleeding? Movement? Warmth?

When he finally stirred she thought it must be her imagination, so strong was her wish for it to be so. The muffled groan that came next assured her of his undeniable and painful return to consciousness. She restrained him gently as he tried to sit up. "Slowly…" she cautioned him. "You’ve been out a while, take it slow."

He subsided against her. "Where are we?"

"Basement of the house," she replied tersely. "Some kind of small room. The door is barred. They took everything off us," she added, feeling him check the various pockets of his clothing.

"Shut up in there!" came Virgil’s voice from his guardpost outside their door.

Childishly, Nikita flipped a heartfelt bird in the direction of the door. "Listen," Michael whispered suddenly.

Steps echoed on the open wooden stairway near the room. "Wadda you want?" they heard Virgil challenge.

"He wants to see you upstairs."

"My god," Nikita whispered. "It’s Birkoff."

"And leave these two without no guard?"

Unseen, Birkoff shrugged indifferently. "I’m just telling you what he said."

Grumbling, Virgil turned to do as he was bid. Birkoff instantly whipped out his concealed pistol and pressed it into the man’s lower back. "Stop. Open the door."

Virgil gave a heavy sigh, no doubt wishing he was in another line of work. He turned, however, and lifted the bar on the door, shoving it open with one foot.

Birkoff kept his eyes locked on Virgil as he called out. "Nikita?"

"We’re here, Birkoff," came her immediate reply. "Coming out."

Birkoff reached behind his back and pulled out the second gun he had lifted from The Broker. Nikita took it smoothly as she came out the door. Close behind her was Michael, a waver in his step, his face pale and his hair matted with blood. Hesitantly, Birkoff made to hand over the gun. Michael shook his head. "You keep it."

With Nikita prodding a reluctant Virgil before her, they made their way up the precarious stairway toward the light.

************ The debriefing was more of a dressing-down than an exchange of information. Nikita sat straight and attentive in her chair as Operations laid stripe after stripe on their hides. Although the hacking problem was contained, they hadn’t exactly covered themselves with glory on this mission, and now had to suffer the consequences. They’d endured it, however, and she looked forward to the relief of walking away from Operations’ suffocating presence.

"Sir?"

"What is it Birkoff?"

"I was wondering about the guys that did the hacking…"

"What are our plans, you mean?" Operations clarified.

Birkoff nodded tensely.

Operations considered a moment. "That’s a difficult situation. The Broker gave them more information on us than they can be allowed to have. Given their histories and talents, I expect that they will continue to hack. They will eventually get caught. And when they are convicted - they will be ours." His eyes were pale and impersonal. "I’d like you to keep tabs on these young men - from a distance, of course - and monitor their activities. Let me know when they meet conditions for recruitment." He smiled coldly. "We can use more people with their abilities."

He glanced at Michael and Nikita. "That’s all."

The three of them rose and left the office. Nikita touched Michael’s head gently, smiling ruefully at the spot where his beautiful locks had been shorn to accommodate stitches. "How is it?"

"I’ll be fine," he replied, his standard answer tempered by an accompanying warm look. "See you later."

Nikita nodded, and he turned aside at the next hallway. Birkoff continued to walk along with her morosely.

"You did a good job, Birkoff," she said truthfully, hoping to raise his spirits. "You saved everything - Michael, me and the mission. You know all that hacked information was going to the highest bidder."

He said nothing, unhappiness oozing off him like bad cologne.

Finally Nikita grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt facing her.

"What?"

He avoided her eyes, saying nothing until she gave him a gentle shake. "Those guys were my friends, Nikita." He paused. "I don’t want them to be…in here. I don’t want to…to spy on them." He looked at her desperately, seeking answers.

Nikita knew there were none. "Birkoff," she began soothingly. "I think you’re just a little overwhelmed by everything, you know. You aren’t usually that…hands on. Things will work out," she finished lamely.

He wasn’t buying it. And his disappointment in her was evident. He began to turn away.

Nikita caught his arm again. "Wait." She looked at him squarely, a little angered by his innocence. "You don’t have a choice. That is the sad truth of this place; none of us have a choice. You have good days and bad days. You find the people that make it bearable. You try to see the good in what we do. And ultimately, you live with it - because otherwise you die."

Her words ran out and she released his arm, feeling a little ashamed. "I’m sorry."

He rubbed his arm where she had gripped him. "No, it’s OK." He nodded. "I guess that’s what I needed to hear." He was silent for a moment, then looked at her a little sheepishly. "I’m hungry, are you?"

Relieved, Nikita smiled and linked her arm through his companionably. "You bet. How about a cheeseburger and greasy fries? Make you feel better."

"Yeah. I’ll be OK," he assured her. "I’m not a kid, you know…"

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

FINI

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