Summary: A what-if story about Operations and Madeline, and how it might affect the way they would view a relationship between Michael and Nikita. No spoilers.

THANK YOU to Red for originally inventing the character of Dr. Pierce, and to Zzoomama for lending me her usage of a first name for Operations. They are wonderful authors in their own right, and I appreciate being allowed to borrow from their imaginations for this story.

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

The sound of a woman’s high heels echoed from the far end of the shadowy hall. The approaching sound was not the authoritative tap of simple, workaday pumps. It was, rather, the confident and elegant click of heels worn for an evening out. Shoes to make their wearer feel long-legged, feminine, graceful. He listened.

Gradually, the rest of his senses were filled as the owner of this footwear approached a dimly lit door area nearby. Subtle perfume wafted to him, sweet and slightly musky, meant to pull at a man’s insides. Her dress, simple and elegantly cut, revealed her form without a touch of gaucherie. Hair upswept off her neck. The shoes. He watched.

Pausing, she reached up to lift a chart from its hook next to the door. She read for a minute or two, flipping pages back and forth occasionally, then replaced the chart on its hook and went into the room. Briefly, he saw her silhouette in the light before the door slowly swung shut behind her. He waited.

A few moments later the door opened again and she emerged, a slight smile on her lips. He scratched a match then, deliberately, and applied it to the tip of a small cigar. She halted instantly at the sound, her eyes not yet adjusted from the lighted room to the dim hall. The spark of the match drew her gaze to his face.

"You look…nice." The innocuous phrase was spoken with thinly veiled sarcasm. He blew out a narrow stream of fragrant smoke. She did not reply, merely folded her hands before her and looked at him neutrally.

"What are you doing here?" he asked abruptly.

"Checking on the progress of an interrogation." She disliked the defensive tone that crept into her voice. She disliked his thin, knowing smile even more.

"Aaah." He nodded. "A little dinner, a little interrogation….you’ve had a very diverting evening then, haven’t you? I’m sure Dr. Pierce was pleasant company." She turned without reply and began to walk away. He stepped away from the wall and fell in behind her, shamelessly appreciating the view as she walked.

"Since you’re here, I need to talk to you."

She stopped then and turned to him. "I’m tired. Can this wait until morning?"

"No," he snapped. "I’m sorry if your social life has made this hour inconvenient for you, but I need to talk to you tonight." He seemed to hear himself then, and drew a slow breath before continuing in a more business-like tone. "Something’s come up. I’ve called a brainstorming session for first thing in the morning. There are things we need to talk about before then."

After considering him calmly for a moment, she nodded her head. "Fine." She turned down the hall to her office, saying nothing more until they were seated on facing sofas there. Out of habit, she pushed an ash tray across the low table between them. "Well?"

He tapped an ash into the tray and leaned his elbows on his knees as he spoke. "The Agency received a message today. In it the unidentified sender claims to have developed a vaccine against the Ebola virus. He, or she, has invited us to send a representative to a private auction at which they will sell this vaccine to the highest bidder." He paused and drew on the cigar, watching her carefully as he continued. "They require that you, specifically, must be the representative at the auction."

While her face registered only mild surprise, he knew that her mind was turning like a dynamo. As he expected, she asked no obvious questions but quickly worked through the options to arrive at the same conclusion he had. "This sounds like Harrington - but he’s dead."

He nodded. "Maybe. Or maybe he’s just kept a very low profile for a very long time." He examined her for several moments - carefully, minutely, unselfconsciously - as if he were looking at a photograph rather than flesh and blood. If she took any offense at this close perusal it was not apparent.

"We need to find an alternative to sending you to that auction." He pulled a last puff from the cigar. "Birkoff is laying out the details and background information now so we can hit the ground running in the morning." He stood up then, and the sarcasm returned to his voice. "If you would, bring your friend the doctor with you so he can brief us on Ebola."

He leaned down and ground out the cigar in the ash tray. Pausing at the door, he looked back at her still sitting quietly on the sofa. "Be careful with Pierce," he said softly. "Don’t forget - they watch us, too."

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

The normally tidy briefing table was cluttered with papers, maps and PDA’s. Without his jacket, and with the sleeves of his sweater pushed to mid-forearm, Operations appeared weary and frustrated. Birkoff handed him a single sheet of paper. "Was this all you could find on him?" Operations asked, accompanying this with a piercing glare.

Birkoff hesitated only briefly before answering. "Yes." He shrugged. "It’s like he’s been dead - nothing shows up anywhere." He shrugged again, apologetically, then went to the far end of the table to sit next to Nikita.

Operations ran his hand through his hair, and blew out a frustrated breath. "OK, here’s where we are: Dr. H. Alton Harrington, English by birth but schooled in the U.S., has invited an unknown number of parties to a private auction of what is supposedly a vaccine for the Ebola virus. When we first crossed paths with Dr. Harrington fifteen years ago, he was a research physician specializing in rare diseases. He was caught attempting to sell a quantity of the last existing smallpox virus to a Japanese terrorist organization." Here he paused and looked at Dr. Pierce. "Can you give us some background here that would put this crime into perspective?"

"Of course," Pierce replied, remaining in a relaxed position in the chair as he recited the facts. "Smallpox is a deadly virus that has killed virtually unchecked throughout recorded history. In 1967 the World Health Organization instituted a worldwide vaccination program, and in 1980 declared mankind free of smallpox. The last cases of smallpox that occurred in the world were the result of a laboratory mishap, and now the final remaining virus supplies in existence are stored at the CDC in Atlanta and at a virology research center near Novosibirsk, Russia. The World Health Organisation has voted to destroy these remaining stocks of the virus on June 30, 1999." He shook his head in disgust. "Subject, of course, to ongoing political and scientific debate."

He sat forward, leaning his elbows on the table and speaking more intensely. "Since the disease was eradicated, there is no longer a vaccination program in existence. If he had released the virus into an unprotected populace, the result would likely have been a global epidemic. It would be murder on an unprecedented scale."

There was a moment of silence around the table. "So," said Operations, peering over the top of his glasses, "you can see that we are dealing with an individual who is unburdened by a social conscience."

He straightened up and glanced at Madeline as he continued speaking. "Madeline was in place as a government lab technician during the operation that took Harrington down. They had a friendly working relationship. She was arrested with all the other lab personnel, and it’s likely he was unaware of her undercover status. His request for her attendance at this auction has to be treated suspiciously, however, and we will operate on the assumption that he may know more." He paused thoughtfully. "Unknown to us, the decision was made not to cancel Harrington immediately. He escaped custody very shortly after his arrest and his whereabouts for the past 15 years cannot be accounted for."

He consulted his notes once more before continuing. "Michael and Madeline will go in together. Harrington will send a representative to meet them at the airport on the island of St. Thomas. This person will transport them to a final, undisclosed meeting site. Nikita and a backup team will be as close as we can get them. We’ll have to go prepared for anything."

"Excuse me." Pierce interjected, looking at Operations mildly. "I think you need to send me with Madeline rather than Michael." At this

Michael sat back in his chair with folded arms, his expression watchful. The others exchanged interested glances, waiting for the explosion.

"Thank you, Dr. Pierce," Operations replied acidly. "We all appreciate your gallantry, but…

Pierce sat forward and interrupted. "You MUST send me."

Operations threw down his pen and braced his arms to lean across the tabletop. His smile was unpleasant. "Dr. Pierce," he said carefully, "you have no training and no experience. Madeline has been out of the field longer than I’d like for this type of situation. It’s bad enough I’m being forced to put her into the field. I most certainly will not put an amateur there with her." They stared into one another’s eyes for a taught moment.

Pierce sat back then and crossed his legs. When he spoke, his customary good humor was seemingly back in place. "I may not be trained to handle a gun, but I’m quite sure I’m the only one here who can safely handle a Level Four hot agent."

Operations looked at him narrowly, then stepped back from the table and crossed his arms. His tone was grudging. "Explain."

Pierce shrugged his shoulders lightly. "He supposedly has a vaccine to sell. It follows then that he must have a supply of the virus in order the create a market for this vaccine. I’d guess he plans to sell the virus too." He corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "It seems like the kind of guy he is."

Operations nodded. "It’s possible. You can brief Madeline and Michael on any precautions they’ll need to take. You, personally, will not be involved in this operation."

Pierce began shaking his head immediately. "Look," he said in frustration, "you don’t understand…" He looked over at Madeline and she offered him a small nod of encouragement. He drew a breath and began again in a more patient tone. "You asked me to come here today to tell you about this virus. Let me do that, and then I think you’ll see why I must be there to deal with it."

Operations looked at him skeptically, his eyes flicking briefly to Madeline, who only gazed steadily back at him, saying nothing. Finally, he nodded to Pierce and pushed the remote control in his direction.

Pierce leaned forward to retrieve the control, then passed it immediately to Birkoff. "Here - I wasn’t listening when you told me how to do this," he muttered, suffering the expected smirk from Birkoff.

The blue-framed screen appeared before them. Within it was a dark, wormy object roughly crook-shaped, with a loop on one end. "This is a single Ebola virus particle," Pierce began. "Four types of the Ebola virus have been identified: Sudan, Reston, Tai and Zaire. Together with their cousin, Marburg, they make up the family of filoviruses. It is believed to have originated in Africa. Outbreaks are periodic and have never been traced to a host creature. We simply don’t know where it came from or where it goes in between forays into the human population."

He nodded to Birkoff, who changed the image to one of a modern laboratory. Space-suited figures were working there, air hoses trailing from their suits. "This is a Biosafety Level Four lab. In here the utmost precautions are taken, including air locks, full suits, double gloves, chemical decontamination showers, negative air pressure, etc." His expression was serious. "No protection seems enough when you’re in the presence of a Level 4 organism. There is no vaccine. They are lethal. They are incurable." He paused to look significantly at Operations. "Ebola is a Level 4 organism."

Operations appeared unmoved by this recitation of grim facts. "We don’t know if they’ll be anywhere near his lab. We don’t know if he even has a supply of the virus. I believe a hands-off approach will be an effective strategy with any unknown substances they may encounter." His voice dropped dismissively at the end of this sentence and he began to gather up the papers scattered before him.

Pierce stood up at this and brought his hands down sharply on the table, his irritation rising. "Don’t dismiss this. It’s too dangerous."

Operations gave him a measured stare and spoke in a deadly monotone. "I already have, Dr. Pierce." He turned to leave the table.

"Do you know what happens to an Ebola victim?" Pierce spoke the words almost too softly to be heard. Operations halted but did not turn.

Pierce spoke in a clinical tone, his eyes sparking with anger. "It starts with a headache, up to about seven days or so after exposure. It’s bad, in the eyeballs, the temples, then moving down the spine. The fever begins then, spiking…and intense nausea with uncontrolled vomiting." His words began to flow faster. Operations turned to stare at him.

"Then the virus gets to work in the head. Eyelids droop, the eyes turn bright red. Brain damage causes the victim to lose their memory and their personality. The face becomes an expressionless mask of black and blue from subcutaneous bleeding. Internal hemorrhaging allows the vomiting to continue endlessly, bringing up blood that’s loaded with the virus for others to catch. Internal organs begin to liquefy, and the victim bleeds everywhere, including from spontaneous rips in their skin. By the time an Ebola victim finally dies they actually slough the lining of their gut - it sounds a lot like a ripping bedsheet when this happens. And it all comes out the nearest bodily orifice."

Pierce had everyone’s horrified and undivided attention at this point. "If he’s dealing with Ebola Zaire, it kills 9 out of 10 people exposed to it." He struck the tabletop again for emphasis. "90 percent! You can’t risk untrained people handling something like that - and you certainly can’t just leave it there for later."

No one moved. Pierce glared at Operations a moment longer, then sighed and sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples. "If he has virus, it is imperative that it be found and destroyed. If there is a vaccine it must be brought out safely and examined." He shook his head. "Outbreaks so far have self-contained because the virus kills so fast and so completely that it doesn’t have time to spread. But if it got into our modern transportation system - either by accident or design - the airlines could spread it around the world before the first case even had time to die." He looked into the air with a haunted expression, seeing only his inner vision. "With a 90% mortality rate it could wipe the slate for humanity."

The tension in the room was palpable. "Very well, Dr. Pierce." Operations was strangely subdued, his face expressionless. "You will accompany Madeline." He left a silent room behind him as he departed.

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

Madeline tapped at her keyboard, scrolling yet again through the information filling her computer screen. Her mind felt focused and energized; she had to admit that she was enjoying the adrenaline associated with doing some field work again. If only Jordan Pierce hadn’t felt it was necessary to involve himself. Unconsciously, Madeline shook her head at this thought.

She looked away from the screen and reached for a sip of the lukewarm tea resting at her elbow, acknowledging that her concentration had been completely disrupted by these thoughts. Pierce was an interesting and engaging man; attractive too. For the first time in her career with Section One she had allowed herself the luxury of spending time with a man purely because he made her feel good. Of course, the opportunities for such relationships had been sharply limited. Deep down, she knew that any involvement with Pierce was dangerous and impossible. She also knew that those would not be the reasons she would give him up. Madeline sighed again…it was just so tempting in the meantime to allow herself some pleasant male company.

A soft rap at the door drew her attention and she purged her mind of these thoughts as she watched Operations cross the room. He pulled up a chair across from her, wearing something that approached a smile. She watched him warily.

He spoke without a greeting. "Are you prepared enough for this?"

"Of course," she replied, folding her hands in her lap. When he remained silent she smiled sweetly and also said nothing.

Eventually he began to look somewhat discomfited, and his tone was mildly apologetic. "I wish there was a way around this. He’ll only deal with you…"

"…and this is something we have to do," she finished for him. "I know." Her expression was resigned. "We are all expendable, you know," she reminded him. "If I succeed - all will be well. If I fail, I will be replaced and Section One will continue as before."

"No," he said briefly. "Not as before." He rose from the chair and turned away so that she could see only his profile. He did not want her to read his eyes.

"We’re a team, Madeline. Grown up together over a long time." He didn’t like how this sounded and tried for a more brisk, professional tone as he continued. "Take away half of the team and what remains doesn’t function as efficiently."

Madeline came around the desk and stood directly in front of Operations, forcing him to look down at her. "I would never leave you to be…inefficient."

"Good." Her eyes were like brown velvet. He imagined walking into this office and seeing someone else behind the desk.

"Did you have anything else you wanted to say?" He heard her voice as from a distance, and with an effort he brought himself back, tearing his gaze from her face. She felt both disappointed and vaguely pleased.

"Yes, actually, I did." Clearly, he was relieved to return to a discussion of mission parameters. "I had George check on the personnel from other agencies which were involved in our first dealings with Harrington." He paused. "They’re all dead."

Madeline raised her eyebrows as she contemplated this information. He went on.

"Of the four, three were killed in the line of duty under various circumstances. The fourth is unaccounted for, presumed dead." He looked down at her quietly for a long moment. "You will need to be very, very careful."

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

Jordan Pierce drew in a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a prolonged "Aaaaaaahhh" of satisfaction. "This is the kind of weather human beings were designed for."

They emerged from the gamy and comfortless military transport into brilliant tropical sunshine. The breeze was soft, warm and humid, caressing their faces. "Getting off the plane here is just about my favorite part." Pierce smiled, shucking off his jacket and running a hand through his hair. "I love it down here," he declared.

Madeline smiled in return, enjoying his boyish enthusiasm. Unbidden, the thought came that it would be a great joy to be here in this place, with this man, with her mind untroubled. She pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the figure approaching them from the direction of the terminal. The man crossing the tarmac was very slight and wore round, polished spectacles. His hair was a colorless stubble cut evenly round his skull. With his precise bearing and impeccable grooming, he seemed a curious combination of English butler and career soldier. Reaching them, he executed a tiny bow from the waist and spoke in a clipped British accent.

"Welcome to St. Thomas, ma’am..sir," he said, inclining his head toward each of them in turn. "Mr. Harrington has requested that I greet you on his behalf and aid you in arrangements for the continuation of your journey." He smiled suddenly. Just as suddenly, the smile was gone from his face and he stood looking at them expectantly.

Madeline and Pierce exchanged a brief look of silent amusement before Madeline nodded to the unusual little man. "Thank you," she said, smiling at him in return.

Their dapper guide looked discreetly at Madeline, taking in her customary dark suit, before suggesting in polite tones, "It can be quite warm in this part of the world. If you, perhaps, need to do some shopping I will be pleased to take you into Charlotte Amalie before we depart the island. Java Wraps is there, Pusser’s, Local Color….." he trailed off as Madeline shook her head.

"Thank you. You are kind to be concerned. I do have appropriate clothing with me." He gave her another fleeting smile before turning and motioning them toward an electric cart parked near the plane. At the controls, he maneuvered them efficiently around various obstacles, heading toward a small, dual-engine plane. Finally, Pierce could contain his curiosity no longer. "Can you tell us where we are going?"

"Of course," came the precise tones. "Virgin Gorda. It is not a long flight, and I believe you will enjoy the aerial view of the islands."

Their guide was correct that it was a short flight, but neither of them could spare a thought for scenery. The approaching meeting with Harrington occupied both their minds. Conversation remained sparse as the little man declined over and over again to respond to Madeline’s subtle overtures. Evidently they would learn nothing about his role in Harrington’s organization, or about Harrington himself, until they saw it for themselves. Finally, they lapsed into silence, staring out the windows at the sparkling ocean, their inner dread carefully concealed.

The landing on Virgin Gorda was abrupt. The runway was short and enclosed on both ends by high, jagged rocks. Executing a precipitous drop onto the tiny airstrip, the pilot slammed on his brakes, then turned back and taxied up to a small, dilapidated terminal building. Chickens scratched unconcernedly in the dust around the entrance. Their guide smiled apologetically for the obvious backwater appearance of the place. "Mr. Harrington likes his privacy. Virgin Gorda provides that for him."

"Excuse me, Mr…." Pierce addressed the man’s back. He executed a smart turn and favored them with another of his tiny bows from the waist.

"Poole. With an ‘e’." Another smile scuttled across his face like a spider. "I am sorry that I neglected to introduce myself earlier." He led them toward a white Explorer parked at the end of the building. Madeline slapped at mosquitoes while they watched a listless young man load their bags into the open back, and a short while later they were negotiating the steep twisting roads leading toward the north end of the island. The jolting ride left Pierce feeling somewhat carsick, and he was relieved when they finally pulled up near a small dock.

"Gun Creek. End of the line, " Poole informed them. "There are no roads on the rest of the island, so we will complete the trip by boat." He looked at Pierce, sitting on a bench under the lone, stunted tree and breathing deeply. "Don’t worry Dr. Pierce, the water is extremely calm this evening and our trip is short. Are you ready?"

A gleaming white inboard bumped the dock gently. Nearby, a fishing pelican plummeted into the water like a bag of bricks. Pierce smiled at the graceless bird, feeling somewhat restored by his brief respite. "OK," he said, rising reluctantly and squeezing Madeline’s shoulder. "Take me to your leader," he intoned, looking at Poole.

Handicapped by an apparent lack of humor, Poole did not respond. Madeline, however, smiled at this childish absurdity, feeling her spirits boosted by his simple human warmth.

The trip along the arid coastline of the island was short, and, as promised, blessedly calm. Within fifteen minutes they pulled up to a well-maintained wooden dock. Waiting for them, seated comfortably on a cushioned bench in the shade of a gaily striped awning, was Dr. H. Alton Harrington.

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

"What have you got?"

Birkoff suppressed the urge to swat at the man hovering over his shoulder. Instead, he rolled his chair off to the side, checking again the location of a red marker which blinked against the background on a lighted map.

"They’re on the north end of Virgin Gorda. That’s one of the British Virgin Islands," he added unnecessarily. "The area is pretty much undeveloped. No roads. No cellular. Limited power and land phone." He glanced up at Operations, noting that he was starting to hover again. Stifling his irritation, Birkoff rolled the chair back over to the facing bank of monitors and scrolled down the text there. "I’d assume that he has his own generator and communications setup there, probably desalination too. Especially if that’s the lab location." He paused and consulted another map. "And I think I see a way to get backup in…" he muttered to himself.

Operations was there immediately. "What?"

"Here, " Birkoff tapped his finger to indicate the location. "On the northern tip of the island, less than 2 miles from Harrington’s place. There’s a small resort hotel. Backup could go in as guests. People going in and out would be routine, and there’s pretty much nothing but undeveloped land between the hotel and Harrington’s property."

"Good." He patted Birkoff’s shoulder. "Get with Michael. Get them into that hotel. I don’t want Madeline in there without backup."

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

"Well, that’s much better, isn’t it?" Harrington looked with approval at Madeline’s loose, colorful batik dress. "A change of clothing gives one a whole new outlook." He swept up a glass of wine from the bar and offered it to her. Moisture beaded on the outside of the chilled glass.

Turning, Harrington offered a second glass to Jordan Pierce. "My private stock. You won’t find anything like this wine at a hotel, my friends." He flourished the glass. "Shall we drink? To seeing an old friend?"

Glasses were tapped and sipped. Madeline studied the man over the rim of her glass as he and Pierce discussed the genealogy of the wine they were drinking. He seemed much older than when she’d last seen him. Tall, slightly stooped, white hair worn long but carefully barbered. His brushy, white Sam Elliott mustache seemed jarringly out of place on a scientist. And charm. She smiled in spite of herself. She had liked him then and she liked him now, morals aside, of course.

Finally Harrington turned to Madeline. "I’m so sorry to leave you out, my dear. Tell me now. How did you do after that dreadful business all those years ago?"

"Oh," Madeline waved it away, "I was an insignificant member of your lab staff. There was never any serious trouble."

"Yes, yes," Harrington nodded. "I was pleased to learn that you were still in government service, albeit not in medical research any longer." He gazed at her curiously. "I do prefer to deal with people I know."

Madeline smiled in response to this, but felt a chill run up her spine. She was relieved when Pierce stepped into the conversation.

"Dr. Harrington, I’m very interested in learning more about your vaccine. Is your laboratory actually here? Would you be willing to give us a tour?"

"Certainly, " Harrington responded, growing expansive at the mention of his project. "The other bidders won’t be here until tomorrow, and my staff doesn’t reside here. I don’t mind giving you a sneak preview."

Harrington led the way through a simple swinging door. Beyond it was a second door that appeared capable of resisting a thermonuclear blast. Madeline and Pierce looked at each other warily as Harrington opened the door with a keycard and motioned them through.

They could see the light from several windows falling into the corridor. Harrington stopped at the first one they came to. Within the room were two beds, their occupants firmly restrained. There seemed to be no need. Both men were still and silent, staring up at the ceiling, the blinking of their eyes the only apparent movement. "These subjects were inoculated with my new vaccine one week ago. Presently, they are sedated and awaiting exposure to the virus in order to convince you, the buyer, that it really works."

"This is quite unethical…" Pierce began.

Harrington cut in abruptly. "Of course, it is, Dr. Pierce. Medical science would never advance if left in the hands of the cowards and the bureaucrats who worry about ethics. Thanks to me the world now has a vaccine against a dreaded virus."

"The end justifies the means," Madeline murmured. The irony of the statement was not lost on her.

"Indeed it does," Harrington confirmed, nodding. "I’m glad you understand." He cast a dark look at Pierce. "Now, if you’ll move to the next room here…"

Madeline gasped as she looked in the next window. As in the previous room, there were two beds, each with its occupant restrained. But there the similarity ended. The men in the beds were dark-faced caricatures of humanity, moaning and writhing in agony. The room was splattered with the blood of these wretched creatures. Despite the horrors she had seen with Section One, this mindless virus struck her as somehow more profane than an act of man. She turned away, unwilling to look at the sight any longer.

"Ebola," Pierce whispered.

"Yes. I believe they will be in the final stages by the time the remaining bidders are here. The timing is good; it will make a very convincing case for the value of my vaccine."

"Do you have the virus for sale as well?" Madeline heard her own voice speaking. She was amazed that it sounded normal. ‘Good training,’ the detached part of her mind said.

Harrington looked at her with a smile. "You always were quick," he said. "Yes, I do have a fairly good supply of the virus. Unfortunately, I’m not yet sure how long it will survive outside laboratory conditions. It will be priced accordingly, of course."

Pierce looked ready to explode. Madeline squeezed his arm warningly. "I think I may have seen enough for now," she said to Harrington, not needing to feign disgust at what they’d just witnessed.

"Certainly, I understand," Harrington replied, nodding with sympathy. "There’s just one more thing I’d like to show you…" He gestured toward the final window.

Reluctantly, Pierce and Madeline moved to the third window. In it was a single bed. Unoccupied. They looked at Harrington for an explanation.

"This room will hold the unvaccinated control subject which will complete the demonstration for my buyers. After being exposed to the virus this subject will die, but the two vaccinated subjects will survive. Voila`!" He smiled, then reached into his pocket for a small device which he pressed to their necks with lightning quickness, first Madeline, then Pierce. They collapsed almost instantaneously as the drug took effect.

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

"Excuse me," Nikita smiled at the waiter who was clearing away the remains of their lunch. "We need to call home. Is there a phone outside the office that guests can use?"

"Yes, of course," the man replied, a broad smile splitting his dark face. "You have little ones you are missing?"

Nikita lowered her eyes and smiled coyly across the table at Michael. "Yes, " she cooed. "We can’t seem to get through the day without talking to them." Michael rolled his eyes at the waiter, bonding with his fellow managainst the silly maternal antics of women. The waiter smiled back knowingly, and directed them to a phone outside the reading room.

Positioned on a narrow peninsula, the view from the restaurant area was breathtaking - the pounding Atlantic Ocean on one side and the calm, unruffled Caribbean Sea on the other. The beauty of the scene was wasted on the two operatives as they waited for the connection to be made and verified. Nikita watched Michael’s face for clues as he spoke. Not surprisingly, nothing was revealed to her, not even when he raised his eyes to look into hers.

Finally, he replaced the phone and slung his arm casually over Nikita’s shoulder, looking all around as he habitually did. "They’ve missed two contacts," he said quietly. "We’re going in."

Although it was the middle of the day, they made preparations to leave immediately, unwilling to wait for cover of darkness. Dressed as day hikers, they set out from the hotel, heading cross-country on the most direct route to the coordinates Birkoff had given them.

The midday heat was tremendous under the scrubby trees and branching cacti. All around them yellow-breasted banana quits scolded with their raspy little voices. Nikita wrapped her hair in an untidy knot, and with an impatient sweep of her forearm, removed yet another spider web from her forehead. Finally, Michael stopped in the shade of a large rock overhung with growth. Nikita hunkered down gratefully and took a swig from the water bottle, watching as Michael knelt next to her and pulled out the map. After a few moments’ examination, he refolded the map and took the water bottle she passed to him.

His voice was low. "Should be over the next hill. Stay alert. We don’t know what kind of security measures he has in place. If things look good we’ll pull back. If we get caught, we’re registered guests at Biras Creek and we got lost hiking."

She nodded, thinking that the hiker story wouldn’t hold up long if they were searched. Most day hikers on Caribbean vacations don’t carry

automatic weapons in their pants. She reached out and pulled away a filmy clump of spider web from Michael’s shoulder, surprised to find him looking at her as she did so.

"Be careful," he whispered. "There may be more than one kind of enemy in there."

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

Pierce awoke with a cleaver in his skull and shellac on his tongue. Groaning, he sat up slowly and twisted the heels of his hands into his forehead. As the stabbing behind his eyeballs subsided, he gradually opened his eyes and squinted at his surroundings. The room was small, white and tidy, and for a panicked moment his stomach clenched with the certain knowledge that he was in the third room Harrington had shown them, waiting to be sacrificed to the virus.

But then he looked further, focusing on flowers, a framed picture, the printed fabric of his bed covering. It was not the room. Feeling a flood of relief, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and launched himself toward the door, hoping to reach it before his unsteady support gave out. Not surprisingly, it was locked. He shook his head, desperate to clear the fog from his brain and find a way out. He could not bear to contemplate where Madeline might be.

He did not have the strength to force the door. The hinges were on the outside to prevent disassembly; no windows were in evidence. In despair he slid to the floor with his back braced against the wall. There was no way out.

At the other end of the hall, Madeline was regaining consciousness with the same unpleasant sensations experienced by Pierce. As the drug slowly dissipated from her system she realized that she was in bed in a small, white room. She had been changed into a hospital-type gown and was restrained both hand and foot on the bed. Unwelcome fear coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach.

"A change of clothing gives one a whole new outlook, don’t you agree?" Harrington chuckled at his ironic humor, the sound rasping through the intercom between them. She could see his face through the window, but did not respond to his taunt.

"Dear Madeline," he tut-tutted, "I once genuinely liked you. You can’t imagine how distressed I was to learn that you were part of that whole embarrassing episode fifteen years ago." He sighed a little sigh. "I hope you weren’t close friends with the others you worked with then…I’m afraid they’re all gone now. It’s surprising how easy it is to arrange things when you apply the right amount of money in the right places."

Madeline continued to look at Harrington, but said nothing, knowing his need to tell these secrets would buy her time and provide useful information. She felt hot, achy and weak, the drug still circulating in her system.

"You were a good lab assistant," he went on, "my favorite, actually. Now you’ll assist me one more time by proving to my buyers that the vaccine actually works. Unfortunately," he remarked in a regretful tone, "you’re the control subject and won’t get any satisfaction out of a job well done…" He shook his head and fell silent.

"Why would you allow this virus out into the world?" she finally asked, hoping to keep him talking. She was still so hot, her head spinning.

"’Why not?’ would be a better question," he replied, raising his hands eloquently. "I don’t owe the world anything. I’ve had to fight for everything I ever had. You have no idea."

Madeline laughed, and to her ears it sounded like the demented cackle of a witch. "Oh, but I do." She gave him a scathing smile as she dredged up from her memory the small bits of information she had on Harrington’s past. "It’s too bad about the impossible name your parents gave you, isn’t it? What does that first ‘H’ stand for again?"

His face at the window was now unsmiling. She pressed on.

"Ah, yes….now I remember. It must have been so difficult for you as a child, to be so intelligent, and then to have a name like that." The detached part of her mind heard the witch cackle again. "Harrington Harrington," she sing-songed. "Harrington Alton Harrington." Like a child’s tease. "People have laughed at you behind your back your entire life. This virus is nothing more than adolescent revenge."

The door was snatched open furiously and Harrington came into the room, bellowing. His hand cracked across her cheek. "What do you know?" His face was flushed with rage. "I could have given the world so much! I was the best researcher working! You have no idea what you took from me fifteen years ago!"

"Yes I do," she replied promptly, fighting growing nausea and dizziness. "I took from you the means to kill most of the people in the world. And if it weren’t for those same cowardly bureaucrats you despise, you would have been dead the day we took your lab." She looked at him scornfully. "You’ve squandered a great gift. You deserve to be dead."

"I don’t need you," Harrington ground out. "Your doctor friend will serve just as well for my control subject. And I’ll have the satisfaction of killing you myself!" He leapt at her and fastened his hands tightly around her neck. She could not defend herself. Madeline closed her eyes then, willing away the ugly sounds of her own death, conjuring a face on the dark screen of her mind and focusing desperately on that image until blackness crept in all around the edges and she saw no more.

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

Slipping like a dark wraith down the hallway, Michael approached the open door where the shouting voice had now fallen silent. A bare moment later he was within the room, firing point blank into the temple of the man at Madeline’s bedside. The man crumpled instantly, but his hands remained locked on her neck like the jaws of a pit bull. Michael pried the fingers loose one by one, watching for any sign of life from Madeline’s limp form.

Behind him Nikita entered the room, followed closely by Jordan Pierce, who nearly bowled them both over in his haste to reach Madeline. Nikita reached down and disrespectfully dragged Harrington’s corpse away by one arm, leaving him in an untidy heap beside the door. Tensely, then, she waited with Michael as Pierce examined Madeline. After a moment he gave a sigh of relief and let his head droop on his shoulders. "She’s alive." His voice was flat and painful. He looked at them, his eyes moving very slowly from Michael to Nikita.

"How did you get in here?" he asked uncomprehendingly.

A new voice answered from behind them all. "They had my assistance, of course." Poole stepped into the room, his spectacles gleaming in the overhead light. "We can discuss the details later, but suffice for now to say that I’ve remained with Harrington for a long time to guard against this possibility." He looked at Michael and Nikita. "I think you should leave the lab…and take that" - he indicated Harrington’s body - "with you when you go. I’ll assist Dr. Pierce in destroying the virus supply Harrington has in storage."

Pierce had already turned back to Madeline’s bedside as she moved restlessly, a soft murmur coming from her lips. Frowning, he assessed her temperature, pressed her abdomen and turned back an eyelid to peer within. Then he began to stroke her forehead gently, paying no attention now to the others in the room. "I’ll stay with Madeline," he said softly, tonelessly.

He was silent then for so long that Nikita touched his arm gently. "Dr. Pierce?"

His eyes were closed, and the whispered reply came from between stiff lips. "I think she’s been exposed to Ebola."

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

Birkoff waved frantically at Operations as he paced restlessly above. Punching an intercom button he announced, "I have Michael."

Within moments Operations was there, holding a headset to his ear and listening intently, his face a smooth mask of concentration. "What’s happening?"

"We’re secure. Harrington is dead," they heard Michael say. "He knew about Madeline." There was an uncomfortable pause. "I’ll put Pierce on to explain."

Operations felt his throat close with unexplained dread as he waited for the phone to be exchanged. Then Pierce coughed nervously before saying, "Hello?"

"Talk," Operations said irritably.

"Madeline is ill," Pierce blurted. "She’s running a high fever, incoherent and complaining of headache and abdominal pain." His voice dropped. "I’m afraid Harrington may have deliberately exposed her to Ebola."

Operations spoke quickly. "I’ll arrange immediate transport."

"No," Pierce said softly. "If it is Ebola you can’t risk exposing others. Harrington has medical facilities here, I can isolate her until….we see what happens."

"We have better facilities here," Operations said forcefully. "We’ll find a way to bring her back without exposing anyone. Start working on it."

Pierce was silent for a moment, then spoke dispiritedly. "With all due respect, the facility she’s in won’t make any difference. There is no cure. All I can do is provide supportive treatment."

When Operations could find no protest for this Pierce continued speaking. "The first thing I need to do is determine for sure what we’re dealing with. Harrington has an electron microscope in his lab and I’ll be able to tell from a blood sample whether it’s the Ebola virus or not. Frankly, I’m afraid it is." Then his voice took on a note of strange sadness. "She’s calling for someone named Marcus. If he’s anyone you can contact, you might want to let him know what’s happening."

Only Birkoff saw as the smooth mask slipped away with stunning suddenness. Operations’ face was suffused with poorly concealed pain and despair. He did not speak. Finally, Birkoff said quietly into his mouthpiece, "Thank you, Dr. Pierce. We’ll be back in touch."

Operations looked down at him as though from a great distance. "I’m going to be gone for a while, Birkoff," he said calmly. "Please arrange the fastest possible transport to Virgin Gorda."

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

Nikita sat on the terrace of Harrington’s house, tipping her chair idly to and fro on its back legs. She watched as several small swallow-like birds made pass after pass at the swimming pool, picking up bugs on each diving run. Around the edge of the terrace hermit crabs of varying sizes pulled their shells about, feeding on fallen almonds and ducking instantly into their homes whenever they detected motion nearby. Only their tiny pincers remained visible at the entrance, ready for defense. Nikita smiled at their minuscule bravado.

Hearing the screen door scrape open, she glanced back over her shoulder. Michael pushed the door open with his elbow, then handed her one of the tall, sweating glasses of iced tea he carried. "How’s Madeline?" she asked immediately.

Michael remained standing next to her, looking out over the ocean as he replied. "Pierce hasn’t come out of the lab. Poole says he is preparing a blood sample for the electron microscope and they’ll let us know as soon as they have anything. Madeline’s fever is very high." He placed a restraining hand on her shoulder as she started to get up out of the chair. "Don’t. They won’t let you in. There’s nothing you can do for her."

Nikita slumped back into the chair, her insides churning with helpless frustration. Michael squeezed her shoulder in understanding. "This is not an enemy we can fight, Nikita." His voice was sad.

Abruptly Michael’s grip tightened warningly. "Someone’s coming."

Discarding their tea glasses, they quickly retreated across the terrace, then flanked the windows at the front of the house with guns drawn. The approaching boat pulled up to the dock below and discharged a single passenger. The man carried only one small bag. He came up the stairs toward them at a rapid pace, his eyes never leaving the house.

"I don’t believe it," Nikita whispered, exchanging an amazed glance with Michael. Putting away her weapon, Nikita pulled the door open.

He was already there. "Where is she?" Operations shouldered past her into the house before turning back to look at the both of them. "Where is she?" he repeated.

Michael’s reply was calm, as if they were not incredulous to see Operations appear there. "She is isolated in the lab area. Pierce has locked the outer door. He is working on a blood test which will tell him if Madeline has Ebola, but I don’t know when he will have the results."

"Show me," was all Operations said in response to this.

Nodding, Michael led the way toward the rear of the house, pushing through the swinging door and stopping when he reached the locked door to the lab. Operations looked contemplatively at the massive structure, then reached for the phone which hung to the side, putting it to his ear. "Where does this connect to?"

"The lab," Nikita replied. "If they pick up."

"They’ll pick up," Operations said icily. "Or they’ll listen to it ring for the rest of the day."

After several long minutes someone on the other end responded. "Open the door," Operations demanded.

Michael and Nikita exchanged another glance, knowing that if Pierce decided not to open the door there was nothing they could do. They could not hear the other end of the conversation.

"I don’t care what’s in there. I want you to open the door and I want it open now." Operations looked over his shoulder at Michael and Nikita. "You can lock it again after me. I will take responsibility for myself."

Suddenly he cursed and held the phone away, looking at it. Clearly, the other party to the conversation had hung up their end. With a visible effort Operations controlled his fury and put the phone gently back on the hook, turning away from the door as he did so.

"It seems we must wait on Dr. Pierce," he said in a tight voice.

Then, just as they had begun to step back from the door, they heard the hollow thunk of heavy metal as the lock was released. They watched silently as the massive door slowly drew back. Poole stood there looking at them, his lips pursed reprovingly. His gaze moved to Operations. "You, I presume?" he inquired.

Operations nodded.

"Come with me."

The two men stepped through the door, leaving Michael and Nikita to watch as the portal closed resoundingly after them.

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

At the end of the hallway, Poole stopped before the door to Madeline’s room. "If she has Ebola, neither of you are likely to come out of there," was the extent of his warning. It was delivered unfeelingly.

Operations nodded, then dismissed the man from his thoughts as he looked through the window at the woman inside. Without hesitation , he turned the door handle and entered the room.

"Madeline," he said softly, leaning over her. Gently he pushed a thick fall of dark hair back from her forehead, grimacing at the radiant heat. "My god," he whispered.

Madeline opened her eyes slightly. They were glazed with fever, but focused on him when he spoke her name. "Marcus," she said.

"I’m here."

He squeezed her hand gently as her eyes fell shut once more. Her breathing was labored, and punctuated by occasional painful coughing. He closed his eyes as well, willing himself not to remember the hideous description of Ebola that Pierce had given them.

The door to the small room swung open noisily behind him, and Pierce burst into the room with a glad smile on his face. "It’s not Ebola….it’s not…." He shook his head and continued smiling as he hurried to Madeline’s bedside and produced an empty syringe from his pocket. As he tapped the vein in her elbow and inserted the needle he continued talking to himself, paying no attention to Operations. "Not Ebola so how bad can it be? Let’s get another blood sample and try monoclonal antibodies to identify it…lucky, lucky girl…good thing Harrington is set up for immunofluorescence…this will show us what we have.." His mutterings trailed off as he lifted the full syringe and finally looked at Operations.

"She doesn’t have Ebola. I’d have seen it under the electron microscope. This," he flourished the blood sample, "will help me to confirm what I now suspect to be dengue fever." He smiled. "It’s transmitted by Aedes mosquitos and can be difficult at first to distinguish from other viral illnesses - don’t worry, you can’t catch it from her." Pierce paused in his rambling to look at Operations more closely then, recognizing the clear signs of worry, fatigue and something more. It suddenly occured to him that Operations had come into this room despite believing that Madeline had an incurable and communicable illness. The two men stared at each other until Pierce dropped his eyes and gave a brief nod of resignation. Turning to a supply cabinet at the end of the bed, he pulled out a basin and a thick washcloth, then poured a generous amount of alcohol into the basin. "If you want to do something for her in the meantime, sponge her with alcohol. It may help keep her more comfortable."

Operations nodded wordlessly and took the basin. Pierce looked at him sadly for a moment, then left the room to seek once more for Madeline’s tiny invaders.

Operations squeezed alcohol through the cloth, welcoming the pungent fumes as they rose from the basin. With a tender smile he drew the coolness across her forehead. He would do whatever he could.

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

The setting sun lent it’s brilliance to the clouded horizon, passing quickly through a range of reddish-gold shades, then dimming with surprising rapidity to a pale glow. Carried on a light, scented breeze, the piping voices of night insects and tiny frogs chorused in the dim light of early evening.

Madeline pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders, her body not yet able to maintain a normal temperature. Still, it felt good to be out of bed. She looked over at Operations, who sat watching her quietly, sipping from time to time from the well-watered Scotch in his hand. Their silence was comfortable.

Finally, she had to speak. "You came here thinking I had Ebola."

He nodded, his eyes dark in the light of the flickering torches around them.

"You came into my room thinking I had Ebola."

He nodded again, still without words.

"You probably would have died, too."

This demanded a response. He considered it carefully, knowing she would recognize anything less than the truth, knowing that the events of the past days deserved to be seen in the light of truth. He bowed his head as he spoke. "I would have wanted to."

Madeline was stilled by surprise at this honesty. A moment later, she felt slow anger beginning to build. "All these years," she whispered, her eyes closed to shut out the sight of his face. "All these years I forced myself to forget how we were, to give you the single-minded support you needed." Her eyes snapped open and she could feel her heart pounding. "I even trained myself not to think of you as anything but ‘Operations’. No emotions could be allowed to distract you from the decisions you had to make." Her voice was bitter. "I gave up Marcus

the day we were put into our jobs. Now you come here like this…"

Suddenly she was tired, and appallingly close to tears. He came to her then, standing close behind her chair, his hands warm on her shoulders. Several moments of silence went by as they both looked out into the darkness, acutely conscious of one another. He began to explain.

"When we started in these jobs, there was no room for anything but the learning and the doing…and the hardening. We could not have survived if we’d tried to save an emotional center for each other." He paused to find the right words. "But it didn’t matter that we denied ourselves a love relationship. It simply took another form. Over the years, you’ve become as much a part of me as my own thoughts. As much as we needed to push that away before, we need to recognize it now. I need to recognize it now." He leaned down to her ear, speaking more softly. "Don’t you see, Madeline? Don’t you see how we still are?"

Madeline reached up to one of the hands on her shoulder and gripped his fingers fiercely in her own. She only nodded, not trusting her voice.

A spill of light came suddenly from the house as the door opened and Michael and Nikita emerged. "How are you feeling Madeline?" Nikita asked as they approached. She bent one knee to put them on the same level. "You shouldn’t be up too much yet."

Madeline smiled, genuinely touched by the concern she saw in Nikita’s face. She allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of the moment, pushing aside thoughts of how all this new friendliness would affect things once they had returned to Section One. She would sort that out later. "I am getting tired," she admitted, rising slowly from the chair. Operations stepped forward and tucked up a fallen end of the shawl.

"Sleep well," he said.

"Thank you, I expect I shall." As their eyes met in the flickering light she went on in a bare whisper. "Good night…Marcus."

Operations watched as Madeline and Nikita made their way slowly toward the door, then picked up his drink. Michael came to stand beside him. "Poole has disappeared," he said.

"Forget it," Operations replied. "We’ll never find him now. He’ll turn up."

"The vaccine is worthless. Harrington’s two test subjects both died about an hour ago."

Operations shook his head, having no response to this. He stared out at the dark ocean contemplatively for some minutes before speaking again to Michael. "You know, don’t you, that it’s likely you’ll be in my position one day."

Michael glanced at him before replying guardedly, "I suppose."

Operations took a leisurely sip of his drink. "You’ll do a better job if you don’t try to do it alone."

Michael absorbed this for a long moment. "I see."

Turning, their eyes met in silence, each trying to assess the other’s level of understanding. Operations spoke deliberately, his words imbued with meaning. "Just make very sure that you pick the right person to help you."

Michael remained silently where he was as Operations crossed the terrace to the house. Nikita stood back to let him pass when they met in the doorway.

"Madeline is sleeping again," she remarked as she came to stand beside Michael. She looked at him curiously. "Is everything all right out here?"

Michael looked at her for a long moment, his expression softening. Unexpectedly, she felt his hand on the back of her neck, gently pulling her close to his side. "Yes," he replied. "Everything is just fine out here."

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