Prologue

Lights rose softly and gradually throughout the empty halls; the beginning of another day-cycle in the life of Section One. Filtered air susurrated quietly from its many points of entry into the facility. Temperature and humidity changed slightly throughout the day in response to the monitoring of an unseen intelligence.

In the computer area, this same intelligence performed routine backups and maintenance functions, preparing the system for utilization by another type of intelligence. But human hands would not interfere today with the smooth functioning of this electronic entity.

Throughout the entire facility this same smooth functioning went on, governed faultlessly by unreasoning but utterly reliable circuitry. Alarms were tested and reset. Whirlpools were heated and aerated. External communications were received and routed to preset alternate locations. Internal reporting was completed and routed to the correct individuals. But today, no reports would be perused by human eyes.

In one office, ashes dusted the floor near a large glass pane which now oversaw only emptiness. In another, neglected bonsai stood naked, their leaves now nothing more than forlorn, dried wisps beneath them. And in yet another, a small gun made cleverly of twisted wire sat gathering dust in the center of the desk. The personal effects of those now absent from this place.

Utter, lifeless quiet reigned within Section One.

Deep inside a running program, a counter reached a critical number. New programming was accessed and loaded. At the next turnover of the counter the program began to run. A soft female voice began to count backward. Tranquil and composed, the voice calmly reckoned the time left until its own demise. No ears perceived the warning she issued. No human was in harm's way when, moments later, the entirety of Section One headquarters was obliterated by a powerful implosion. Charges in the walls of the underground facility were set perfectly, timed perfectly and functioned perfectly. No one was there to admire the efficient operation of the system. Or to watch the dust settle.

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

Operations stood quietly behind Madeline's chair, his attention only partly occupied by the monitor before them. Mostly, he listened to her gentle, melodic voice and let his gaze rest on her dark head.

Abruptly she swiveled in her chair, and he took a surprised step backward to avoid having his shins barked. "Are you listening?" she inquired, her voice lightly accusing, a knowing gleam in her soft brown eyes.

He sighed and looked at her a little ruefully. "Of course. I'm sorry if it seemed otherwise."

Her eyes held his for another moment, then she turned back to the screen, scrolling to a different section of the report.

"Look at this." Her tone was peremptory; this was serious now. She pointed. "These are statistics covering the last four weeks." Her finger moved slightly. "Here they are compared with the past five years. You can see the trend personnel losses are spiraling at an unprecedented rate."

"Local hot spots?"

"No. These losses are at approximately the same rate world wide. That can't possibly be attributed to specific problems at the local level. All substations are experiencing this." She paused and turned to meet his eyes again. "Even substations with limited field exposure."

"Well," he said dismissively, unwilling to conjecture without the facts in hand, "there is a reason; and we'll find it. Perhaps it's time for a general review of recruitment standards, training procedures and intelligence management."

"Perhaps," she replied pensively, turning back to scroll through the data yet again. "I'd like to do more research before instituting a general review..." Her voice trailed off as her thoughts and words took diverging paths.

Operations looked down at her a moment longer, knowing he was unseen, then turned slowly away and walked to the door. There he paused to address her profile in parting. "Keep me informed."

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

Walter watched furtively as the remaining operative left the equipment staging area, leaving him alone with Nikita. Quickly he moved around the work table, reaching to help her fasten down a stubborn strap. He gripped the strap tightly, pulling them close together, then looked around surreptitiously.

"You be careful tonight," he whispered intently, meeting her eyes from a distance of only a few inches.

Nikita looked back at him levelly, one eyebrow raised. "What?"

"I hear things, you know." He gave a last tug at the strap then stepped back slightly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

Giving him a quizzical look, Nikita leaned forward and laid her palm against his stubbled cheek. "It's just a simple interception and pickup tonight. You worry too much, Walter."

He snorted. "Yeah, and maybe it's kept me alive all these years. I know you've got Michael looking out for you and all, but still..."

A quiet voice intruded upon their exchange. "Nikita, are you ready?"

Looking past Walter's shoulder, Nikita saw Michael watching them with his customary impenetrable expression. She patted Walter's cheek and gave him a disarming smile. "I'll be careful," she reassured him.

Walking with Michael toward egress, Nikita spoke offhandedly. "Walter seemed worried about something he heard. Anything going on that you know of?"

"Walter hears a lot of things that may or may not have a factual basis." After this Michael said nothing until they approached the van doorway. Turning to allow her to precede him, he halted her briefly with a hand on her arm. "Stay close tonight." Their eyes met. After a moment Nikita shrugged and turned to pass through the doorway, not completely sure what had been communicated in the exchange.

----------------------------------------

At the pickup point, they waited tensely in the concealed car. Finally, Birkoff's voice came crisply through their com units.

"Target vehicle is approaching on expected route. You should have visual within 30 seconds."

Michael acknowledged this information, then addressed via comlink the unseen operatives who were converging from other locations. "Sequence will begin in the next 20 seconds on my command." Their confirming responses were prompt and brief.

They waited.

Then headlights gleamed suddenly on the wet pavement as a large black car passed before their hiding place. "Target in sight," Michael confirmed to Birkoff and the waiting teams. "Begin sequence."

They pulled out smoothly, lagging behind the black car by more than a block. Ahead of them, Teams Two and Three pulled out directly behind the target and rapidly overtook it, herding the car into a closed alley where they were all forced to come to a stop. The two Section teams quickly left their vehicles and fanned out into positions of containment. The black car remained closed and silent, its darkened windows revealing nothing of its occupants.

Leaving the car at the mouth of the alley, Michael and Nikita approached the scene slowly, warily. This section of the city was deserted at night. The sounds of traffic were distant and muted; lighting was minimal. A gentle mist drifted down to touch their faces and coat their clothing with tiny silver beads of moisture.

Suddenly Michael stopped and raised his hand. Still and silent, he stood...listening. Nikita felt her body hum with nervous energy as she strained her ears to detect what he did. Nothing.

The com link came alive then with the voice of Team Two's leader. "Michael?"

As if ignited by this word, the night exploded into brilliance. The alleyway before them became a fiery inferno as the black car detonated with a flat whump and began to burn fiercely. From the surrounding buildings came a withering barrage of gunfire, instantly annihilating the exposed members of Teams Two and Three.

From a short distance away came another low thump, recognizable as a duplicate of the blast they had just witnessed. Team Four at the originally intended destination of the black car. Staccato bursts of more gunfire could be heard from the same location, and they had to assume that Team Four was now suffering the same fate as Two and Three.

These events took place in only a few stunning moments. Turning as one, Michael and Nikita raced for their car, the buildings around them reflecting a bloody luminescence from the blazing pyre they left behind.

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

Operations met them at the door, barely allowing them entry before barking sharply. "My office. Now."

They trailed him silently as he stalked down the hall, each mentally reviewing their recollections of the event. Once away from prying eyes and ears, Operations bristled at them immediately. "What the hell went on out there tonight?"

Nikita remained silent, allowing Michael the first pass at replying to this unanswerable question.

He looked directly at Operations. "I don't know."

Operations' eyes widened slightly in surprise at this admission from Michael. Then they narrowed in anger. "What do you mean, 'you don't know'. We lost twelve good people tonight and they apparently didn't even have a chance to defend themselves."

Michael's face was set and unmoving. "It was a setup. They knew we were coming. It's the only explanation."

Operations gave him a piercing, suspicious look. "You two seem to have escaped without any problem."

"Yes." Michael's reply was delivered with his usual reserve, but managed to suggest that Operations had an amazing grasp of the obvious.

The piercing glare was turned then on Nikita. "And what can you add?"

Nikita looked straight ahead over Operations' right shoulder. "They were waiting for us. It was definitely an ambush."

"Well," came the sarcastic response. "Why do you suppose you and Michael remained untouched in the midst of this bloodbath?"

Nikita fell back on the mission description, still looking over his shoulder and speaking in a monotone. "We were designated to approach the target vehicle only after it was secured by Teams Two and Three. Team Four was designated to secure the other end of the target's meeting..."

"I know the mission," Operations snapped, interrupting her. He stepped forward to where they stood side by side and looked from one to the other skeptically. "If this was a setup, that means we have a leak." He placed himself nose to nose with Michael. "You will go over your mission planning process in detail. I want to know the names of everyone who had access to your intelligence and mission concept data. You will see me with this information within the hour."

After another uncomfortable moment he broke eye contact and turned away, leaving the room without further comment.

Nikita closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to Michael incredulously. "I think he suspects us of being involved in this somehow!"

Michael did not meet her look. "Of course he does. It's his job to be suspicious of everyone."

Nikita shook her head in disgust. "It's amazing we manage to accomplish anything around here. We don't trust our own people any more than we trust the enemy." She touched his arm. "What can I do to help you with the information he wants?"

Michael looked at her. "Nothing," he replied curtly.

She watched as he walked away, the feeling of bafflement all too familiar.

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

Madeline stood before her bonsai, allowing their enduring peacefulness to engage her senses as she let various bits of information flow together in her mind, waiting to see what kind of pattern would emerge. Strangely, she felt a great sadness building within, but was reluctant to examine herself too closely for its source.

Operations entered the office unannounced. He came to stand quietly beside her at the bonsai and they did not speak for some minutes.

Finally, "I've just finished going over with Michael the entire preparation of tonight's debacle."

"And?" she prompted quietly.

"Everyone who had anything like the necessary intelligence to plan this ambush is dead, with the exception of you, Birkoff and myself." A pause. "And Michael." He waited while she digested this information. "Nikita was not scheduled to be there tonight; she was sent in as a last minute replacement for someone who...couldn't make it. Prior to departure she had no access to mission data."

Madeline looked up at him and spoke in an amused tone. "You think we may have an internal problem?"

"It's a possibility. I have to entertain all possibilities in a situation like this."

Madeline shrugged, and her tone was lightly mocking. "So....either Birkoff is an electronic Judas, or Michael has snapped and is arranging the deaths of his own teams, or I've changed sides and am now plotting the downfall of Section One. And that doesn't even address the possibility that *you* could have been in on it." She smiled strangely. "Perhaps we were all in it together."

Operations looked at her with some concern. "This is very unlike you, Madeline."

Suddenly then her expression changed, and she stared at him coolly. "Perhaps you don't really know me very well." He simply looked back at her, unsure what response this barbed comment deserved. Seeing the expression on his face, Madeline mentally chastised herself for allowing fear to come to the surface in this way.

The moment was interrupted by an unobtrusive beep from the computer terminal. Madeline blinked, then sat down at her desk and pressed a key. Her screen image switched to the camera which surveyed her door. There, Birkoff stood fidgeting nervously.

"Mr. Birkoff has been doing some research at my request," Madeline said quietly. "I'd like you to stay and hear what he has discovered." She released the door lock and Birkoff entered the office, glancing from her to Operations a little warily.

"Have you completed the research I asked for?" Her tone was conversational.

With one more glance at Operations, Birkoff focused his gaze on Madeline and shrugged lightly. "Yes and no."

Madeline too glanced at Operations, who was mystified by the conversation. She looked back at Birkoff with an expectant expression on her face, but did not prompt him.

"Well," Birkoff began uncomfortably. "I went back to look at archived mission files for the specific missions you requested." He paused again. "They....weren't there any more." He seemed disconcerted by this anomaly in his cherished information system, but quickly recovered and went on with more confidence..

"When I realized the older files were gone from archives, I started checking on the more recent files - information that's nowhere near archiving age. They were all missing too. Someone has been tampering with both our on-site files and with the secure archiving system we access through the Agency." He paused here, waiting for questions or reactions.

Operations looked at Madeline for an explanation. Instead she asked him a question.

"Where did the original intel come from pertaining to last night's mission?"

"From the Agency," Operations replied. "George contacted me himself..." Here he stopped, his thoughts racing ahead and sudden cold suspicion growing in his midsection.

Madeline addressed Birkoff once more. "Would there be any record of your access to Agency archives?"

Birkoff answered immediately. "Yes."

Madeline nodded to herself. "Would it be possibly for anyone to identify us from those records?"

Another immediate response. "Yes, it would take a little digging, but someone could identify us."

"And would they have to be as good as you in order to accomplish this identification?" A small, mordant smile had appeared and her eyes never left his face.

"No," came the simple reply.

Madeline's little smile disappeared as she looked up to address Operations. That he was not bursting with questions told her he was now seeing the same picture as she and Birkoff. "I think we need to gather some key personnel for a conference. Don't you agree?"

Operations looked at Birkoff, his face suddenly aged. "Get Michael, Walter and Nikita. Meet us in briefing. Ten minutes."

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

"This is not a mission briefing." Operations looked around at the faces assembled at the table. "Or perhaps it is..." he added, almost inaudibly. He drew a deep breath and pressed on.

"Madeline has discovered a disturbing mortality trend, which I'm aware has already made an appearance in the rumor mill. What we have learned since then is even more troubling." He felt the habitual urge at this point to push a button and bring up a holographic image of some kind. He forced the thought aside and continued.

"In attempting to access and cross-reference data from many of the missions resulting in unexpectedly high mortality rates, Mr. Birkoff found that the files are missing...gone from both our own database and from that of the Agency archive. We must assume that these files were removed by someone authorized by the Agency, and that they now know we are aware of the tampering."

Silent eyes around the table slid briefly to Birkoff, then back to Operations. He paused to light a cigarette and gather his thoughts again.

"In looking back with Madeline at the list of more recent files she tried to research, I could reconstruct from memory in many instances the original source of intelligence for the mission. In each case the initiating intel came directly from the Agency, usually attributed to some deep source they were unwilling to reveal." He stopped, his gaze going around the table and ending at Michael. "Does anyone have anything they wish to add to our small awareness about this situation?"

Michael laid his hands flat on the table and spoke without inflection, as if it were not all their lives he was discussing. "I have been in touch with certain of my most reliable personal contacts. While none of them knows where it is coming from, some have heard that an unusual offer is circulating at very high levels. In exchange for an agreed upon price - usually some type of intelligence - details of Section One activities are provided, or situations are manufactured, which allow our enemies to be in place ahead of us." He paused. "My contacts were unable to say where this offer is originating."

"Any theories on that?" Operations inquired, glancing at each of them in turn.

It was Madeline who spoke. "It's coming from the Agency, of course."

Her statement was greeted with silence. No protestations of amazement. No disbelief. They had all been steeped in a culture of mistrust far too long to be surprised at betrayal, even from within their own organization. Instead of wasting time in denial, six keen minds instantly began a reexamination the facts in light of this new suggestion, testing to see how they fit together, considering the possibilities, questioning the assumptions.

Madeline spoke again. "We don't know, of course, why our own government might be behind this. But if we intend to survive, we must act first and question motivations later. Since our attempted file access will undoubtedly be traced back to us and they will know that we are putting the pieces together, we must assume that this location is no longer safe, and that we ourselves could be scheduled for cancellation." She spoke these words calmly.

"In my opinion," she went on, "we must leave here immediately, taking with us the means to travel, defend ourselves and, most importantly, all the information we can." She looked slowly around the table before continuing, pausing to look each individual in the eyes and ending at Operations. She spoke again, still looking at him. "The only question remaining in my mind is...will we reassemble at another location and continue to work together on this? Or will it be every man for himself...on the run."

Madeline's question was more of a bombshell than her opinion that the Agency might be behind the recent slaughter of Section One personnel. The dictatorial environment in which they operated left them unaccustomed to group decision-making. After long association on a compulsory basis, suddenly they were being forced to decide whether they would go now forward with a voluntary alliance. It was a staggering question to consider.

Unexpectedly, Birkoff spoke up first. "I need to get into their system. If the Agency is behind this, that's the only way we're going to find out for sure. But I can't do it on my own. Each of us has something that we'll need." He looked around the table. "If any of us are going to make it, I think we have to stay together and pool our resources."

There was silence in the room for long moments. At last Operations ground out his cigarette and stated tersely, "Meet back here in thirty minutes to make a decision."

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

Michael exited the room first and walked quickly away, making no eye contact with the others. Nikita watched his retreating back, annoyed and feeling a nagging misgiving. She resisted the impulse to follow him, and instead fell in with Walter and Birkoff as they walked away.

The three did not speak until they reached Walter's work area, when Walter opened the discussion with a heartfelt, "Jesus."

No one had any immediate response to Walter's comment. The appalling betrayal had left them all feeling numb.

Nikita gave herself a mental shake, then addressed Birkoff thoughtfully. "Do you really think you can get into the Agency's system?"

Birkoff met her look confidently. "Yes. I know I can, eventually. What I can't do, though, is find us a safe place, get us there and keep us in one piece while I work."

Walter spoke again. "He's right. If we don't hang together on this they'll just come after us and pick us off...one by one...like sitting ducks...like cockroaches. We won't have a chance." He paused, lost briefly in the creation of his own mental picture, then he looked at Nikita. "What do you think Michael will do? Of any of us, he could probably make it on his own."

Nikita shrugged. "I'd be guessing, just like the rest of you."

"Well, what do you think?" Birkoff pressed her. "Are you in or not?"

Nikita looked fondly at the two of them. Despite Birkoff's youth and Walter's split personality of cantankerous codger/incurable dirty old man, they were both enormously competent in their areas of expertise. More than this...she trusted them. Could the same ever be said of Michael? Madeline? Or Operations? Time was short and options were sharply limited.

"Of course I'm in," she replied to Birkoff. Adding nothing more, she turned purposefully and began walking away at a rapid pace.

"We need him, Sugar," Walter called after her, knowing her destination. "Say all the right things..."

Nikita went directly to Michael's office, assuming correctly that he was there. Entering the small room, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wire sculpture in the shape of an automatic pistol. She pointed it at him with a playful smirk. "Join us or die."

When he did not respond she placed the pseudo-weapon before him, then squatted on her heels, resting her arms and chin on the edge of the desk. "Well, what do you think?" she asked, looking up at him.

Michael was silent for several moments, his eyes moving over her face, touching gently on the pleasing aspect he had come to know so well. He reached out and toyed with the little wire sculpture, a nervous gesture that was unlike him and betrayed some depth of unease. His gaze then returned to her face. "I can get you out again, to someplace safe."

Nikita stood up. "What?"

He rose then also, and went to stand with his back to her, staring out the window. "Whatever is going on here, it's a perfect chance for you to get away in the confusion. I can help you on the outside this time...set you up somewhere safe...make it better than...before." He did not look at her as he spoke these words.

Nikita looked at his back, feeling some kind of fundamental disappointment but pushing it aside. Now was not the time to contemplate feelings. She came around the desk to stand beside him. Then again, she amended to herself, perhaps now was the ideal time to contemplate feelings. "What are you going to do?" she asked, not addressing his offer for the moment.

"I don't know yet," he replied.

"I've talked to Walter and Birkoff. We want to stay together to sort this out." She put her hand on his arm. "I want you to stay too. We need you." At this, he turned to look at her, and she could see the question clearly in his eyes. "I need you," she added quietly.

Then it was she who turned away to stare out the window. "You know," she went on, "you could disappear if you wanted to. This would be a perfect chance for you, too."

A weighty and prolonged silence ensued. "And would you come with me if I chose to do that?"

After a moment Nikita answered slowly and definitely, "No. I couldn't leave them on their own."

Without shifting his gaze from some unseen point outside the window, Michael reached over and enclosed Nikita's hand in his, holding lightly at first, then gripping warm and tight as he felt her answering pressure. "Then I will stay with you."

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

Operations stood alone, looking down from his observation deck and smoking a narrow cigar. His thoughts ran a frustrating circular track as he tried to make himself realize that this place, built mainly with his own will and the blood of many, was somehow slipping away. He tapped a dead ash to the floor and shook his head angrily.

Madeline. He sensed, rather than heard, her approach. Darkness below transformed the large window into a highly reflective surface, and as she stepped to his side her image joined his in the glass. He drew deeply on the little cigar.

"Why do you suppose they're doing this?" He asked the question musingly, not really expecting an answer.

Madeline clasped her hands before her and looked down at them. "My theory? I believe we are being shut down. And in order to glean some last benefit from our lives, the Agency is trading us off piecemeal in exchange for whatever intelligence they think will be useful to them. You know they can't leave us alive."

"Do you think Birkoff will be able to confirm that?"

"Yes. I do. I think Mr. Birkoff's abilities are about to make him the most important member of this team." She paused and looked into his reflected face. "If there is a team."

"Are you asking me what I plan to do?"

He smiled a little when she did not answer. "Well, I have a variety of choices before me. I could kill myself and be done with it. Or I could walk away from everything I've spent my adult life building, and spend the remainder of that life alone and running away. Or, I could stay around as the figurehead leader of a small group of criminals who will be together, but still spend their lives running away." He blew out a thin stream of smoke and his voice became embittered. "Of course I could just turn myself in and let George sell me for a high price. One last sacrifice for my country."

"You're angry," Madeline observed unnecessarily. "The government betrayed you years ago in Vietnam, and now they're doing it again."

"Of course I'm angry," he hissed. "This betrayal is unwarranted and monstrous. Those people have no idea of the sacrifices made...." He stopped abruptly, not speaking further as the minutes stretched out.

Madeline stood quietly, understanding the mental process he was going through and waiting for it to run to its conclusion. Again she felt the stab of sadness she'd recognized when, with her bonsai, she had contemplated the first hints of this trouble. Sadness for him; sadness for the larger entity he had created.

"Our ends were always just," he said at last.

"Yes." In that one firmly spoken word she confirmed for him that all he had done in his life was not in vain, not a futile exercise or a misguided sacrifice. He closed his eyes against an unexpected rush of gratitude and appreciation for this woman at his side.

Madeline studied the reflection. He seemed calmer now, almost resigned. She knew that this, too was a stop on his journey to a different perspective from which to view himself and his life. It was time to direct his thinking outward.

"I want to live," she said softly.

He turned to face her for the first time. "It will be a different kind of life. If what you suspect is true, we will have no country, no safety, no purpose. And they'll never stop hunting us."

She only nodded in reply, and he turned back to the glass, the tip of his cigar brightening as he drew on it. "'...the bright day is done,'" he quoted softly, "'and we are for the dark.' Shakespeare always seemed to have the right words."

Madeline smiled gently. "If Section's bright day is indeed over, then we will stay hidden in the dark. And make our own safety and purpose."

He started to speak then but Madeline went on. "We have important and useful resources with this group of people; we need to keep them together. And they will still need a leader, although I suspect they'll want a change in our operating style."

He nodded slowly, considering her words and visualizing the possibilities. Finally, he glanced at his watch and sent a final accumulation of ash to the floor. "Shall we see what conclusion the other members of this team have reached?"

He placed his hand gently at her waist as they left to rejoin the others

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

All eyes were upon Operations as he stood before the small group. "So that there is no misunderstanding, I will summarize briefly the decision that is before us. After that, I want input and intentions."

Heads around the table inclined in understanding and agreement. He went on. "We are theorizing, as yet without factual evidence, that Section One is being betrayed, and possibly eliminated altogether, by our own government. They know from computer activities that we are figuring this out; therefore, we can expect very little time before they arrive here to cancel us all. We have to leave. The options that present themselves are limited. We can either scatter and take our chances individually, or we can regroup at a safe location, organize our resources, learn more about what's happening and plan some kind of action to ensure our survival. I believe this sums up our situation accurately." He looked around, waiting awkwardly to see who would begin the discussion. This was a far cry from his usual method of operation at the briefing table.

Michael offered his view first. "We must stay together. All of us have abilities and contacts which will be vital to the survival of the group. " His gaze moved to Operations. "However, the group dynamic will require a change in procedures for planning and decision making."

Operations looked back at him narrowly, but offered no resistance to this apparent challenge to his authority. Michael went on. "We will continue to need an experienced leader in a guidance role. I propose that we maintain our present chain of command, with the input of all group members utilized during the formulation of any plans."

Operations nodded at this. No one said anything as Michael continued. "In addition to...abilities...you are already aware of, I have a number of personal contacts which will be useful to us for information and equipment."

Walter chimed in at this. "I can handle the equipment end of things. And I have a few names up my sleeve, too, that aren't exactly sanctioned contacts." He grinned and glanced at Operations, who returned the look down his nose, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't have any outside contacts..." Birkoff began, somewhat apologetically, but Madeline interrupted him smoothly, "None of us question your value, Mr. Birkoff. Without you we will be blind and deaf." Murmurs and nods of assent followed Madeline's remark.

Operations leaned on his hands, his head inclined for a moment before looking up at them. "I understand, then, that you wish to continue as a group, and that I will continue to head this group." He straightened, walked to the nearest chair, pulled it out and sat down. "Titular head," he concluded as he joined them at the table.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Birkoff asked the next obvious question. "So...where are we going to go?"

Nikita, who had not yet spoken, provided the answer to the question. "The Caribbean," she said quietly. "I have a contact who will help us."

Operations' immediate reaction was to make the caustic observation that they were planning an escape, not a vacation. He stifled the impulse, instead asking, "Who?"

"Poole."

Madeline smiled. Operations sat back in his chair wearing a bemused expression, not displeased. Everyone recalled vividly the mission to recover an unsanctioned supply of Ebola virus that had nearly cost Madeline her life. The enigmatic and never-explained Poole had made it possible for her life to be saved, and for them to achieve destruction of the virus. It had been Operations' decision afterward not to pursue him when he disappeared, mainly in repayment for his preservation of Madeline's life.

Nikita explained further. "Poole contacted me several months after that mission. He has a kind of...operation...of his own. I don't know how extensive it is." She rubbed her ear thoughtfully. "He said he agreed with our goals, even if our methods were different. There have been a couple of occasions when we...." Here Nikita paused uneasily, then finished in an apologetic tone. "Well, we exchanged some information that was helpful to each of us at the time." Operations closed his eyes and bit his tongue to still the immediate censure that rose there. Not being the despot in charge of this group was going to take some getting used to.

He exchanged glances with Madeline; she nodded approval. "He's an unknown quantity in our business because his methods are so low-profile. It's a good possibility we could remain concealed with him long-term. I suspect he could also give us access to technological resources we're going to need."

She looked back at Operations, waiting for his input, when suddenly the sound of approaching footsteps came to their ears. Chairs were shoved backward as they leaped to their feet. Guns were drawn in the direction of the advancing footfalls. Walter, Michael and Nikita placed themselves in a protective trio in front of Birkoff. They listened tensely.

Madeline remained seated calmly in her chair, her back to the steps they all could hear were coming nearer and nearer. Operations looked at her strangely, and lowered his gun to his side.

Then he was there. Disheveled, travel-worn, much longer-haired, and with a hunted expression in his eyes. Operations looked at the man and struggled against the choking mass in his chest that denied him speech. He look at Madeline and found her gazing back knowingly. She gave a small nod of acknowledgment. He forced his clenched fists to relax, and placed what he hoped was a credible expression on his face.

"Stephen," he said to his son. "I believe you know everyone here."

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

The addition of Stephen Wolf to their ranks brought the small group of newly-born fugitives to a total of seven. The decision had been made to send all other headquarters personnel to sister organizations in other countries. These organizations had agreed to keep it quiet in exchange for certain useful intelligence these operatives brought with them.

Arriving from a distant substation, Stephen relayed a tale of deceit and betrayal that exceeded even their worst expectations. "It...happened right after I received your message," he said haltingly, nodding to Madeline. "They called everyone in to close quarters standby. I got out just as it was beginning...I don't think they left anyone alive."

"We have to get out," Operations then said grimly. "If this occurred in the west coast substation then we must assume there was a coordinated assault on other substations as well." He looked first at Walter, then Birkoff. "You two," he said, addressing them, "will act as chief organizers of our retreat since your areas are of prime importance. Without data and weaponry we won't get far. And Birkoff," he added, his words coming with great reluctance, "when we know our departure timetable, start the destruct program."

Birkoff opened his mouth immediately, as if to speak. Then he dropped his eyes and nodded imperceptibly. They all recognized clearly now that there was no going back.

Operations looked next at Nikita. "You will see Madeline and initiate contact with Poole to confirm his assistance. After that, check in with Birkoff. Stephen, you are assigned to Walter for the time being."

"Michael, you'll take care of your personal data, then see Madeline and myself to make travel plans." Here he paused significantly. "I recognize that I haven't been in field in some time. Once we have left this facility and until we arrive at our destination, Michael will be in charge of our activities. Are there any questions?"

Silence. "Then we have no time to waste. Go."

At this the table emptied of all save Operations and Madeline. She looked at him thoughtfully. "That was difficult for you," she stated.

"We shall all be doing some difficult things in the days ahead," he replied dismissively.

But Madeline wanted to make her point. "You're now going to have authority over these people only by virtue of what you do - not by virtue of a government chain of command. At times that may have the effect of making you feel somewhat insecure in your position." She smiled. "I'm very pleased to see this early indication that your personal issues will not interfere with the welfare of the group."

"I have long practice at that," he answered bitterly.

She studied him closely. "Things are going to be very different from now on. How do you feel about making that adjustment?"

He looked as if he might have a lot to say about that adjustment, but in the end his reply was succinct. "I've made worse adjustments in my life."

Nodding her head in wry agreement, Madeline rose from her chair. "I'll be in my office with Nikita," she said.

"Madeline." His voice stopped her after only a few steps. She turned.

"When did you send Stephen that message?"

The small, enigmatic smile he knew so well appeared on her lips. "I sent it an hour after we lost our three teams to ambush. Until he arrived here tonight, I wasn't sure if I'd gotten to him soon enough."

He looked candidly into her eyes. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

She nodded, still smiling slightly. "I know." She turned again to leave.

"Madeline."

She reversed herself yet again, looking at him inquiringly.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "there may be some up side to this after all."

"Oh?"

He smiled. "We can change all the rules now, can't we? Nobody will be watching any more."

Their eyes held meaningfully and she gave him a slow smile. "Perhaps we shall see if only forbidden fruit is sweet."

She turned then and walked away, picking her path gracefully through the packing materials that were already beginning to fill the open areas.

**********

The soft ocean breeze lifted Nikita's hair and caressed her face. After three weeks on the tiny island she was tanned and felt as relaxed as she had ever been. Now, she lay in a comfortable chaise, dribbling sand through her fingers and musing on the great changes those three weeks had brought.

For all the time pressures, their flight from Section One had been systematic and efficient. They had taken every bit of equipment and data that it was feasible to convey. Poole had come through, assisting them with transportation and meeting them at last on the tiny airstrip of an obscure island in the Turks & Caicos chain.

Poole's operation, while small, was tightly organized and well equipped. After some discussion of the situation, they were able to reach a comfortable temporary accommodation with him, the details of which remained between Poole, Madeline and Operations.

Nikita rolled over onto her stomach with a smile spreading over her face. Poole himself had even revealed a discriminating and finely tuned sense of humor. Although their purposes were similar, Poole had never fallen into the trap of believing that the ends justify the means. The more she saw of him, the more she felt comfortable about the possibility of working within his parameters.

Glancing down, she brushed the encrusted sand off her watch, revealing that it was time to report in. With a lingering glance at the sparkling ocean, she pulled on a coverup and made her way along the beach path to the combination living quarters/communication center. Rounding the corner of the house she stopped abruptly, surprised. Unaware of her presence, Operations and Madeline were standing side-by-side on the broad, flagstone patio, looking out at the same view she had just left. Their hands were linked.

Not wanting any involvement with whatever the explanation might be, Nikita retreated quickly and entered the house from another door, detouring through the computer area. Conversation came to her ears before the entered the room, and she smiled in pleasure when she recognized one of the voices as Michael's. As the two most knowledgeable about technology, he and Birkoff had spent the majority of the time here in each others' company, first setting up the purloined Section One equipment, then conducting many hours of delicate hacking maneuvers to learn what they could from the Agency's system. Their results were to be one topic on the agenda of the upcoming meeting. What would *not* be on the agenda was the unexpected mutual friendship that sprung up between Michael and Birkoff. It struck Nikita that, now freed from Section One constraints, different personalities were emerging from the people she thought she knew. She was looking forward to getting to know them again.

She put her head around the door and addressed their backs. "Time to go," she announced.

Birkoff responded over his shoulder, spraying a few cookie crumbs as he spoke. "Be right there." Nikita wondered briefly where on this tiny island he managed to get Oreos.

She lingered at the door, watching them clear away equipment then cross the room to join her. Michael's green eyes smiled into hers, crinkling a little at the corners in genuine pleasure. She felt herself warm to his smile, and recalled what she had witnessed out on the patio. 'Why not?' she thought. 'Why not?'

"Let's go Seymour," she said good -naturedly, hooking her arm around Birkoff's neck. "Just because you run this place now doesn't mean you can be late for meetings." He smiled back, a pleased smile tinged with pride. Birkoff was their key player now, and he had risen confidently to the occasion.

The late afternoon sun angled brightly through the traveler's palms which ringed the patio. Hot burnished stripes touched them here and there, and even with the constant breeze they were all grateful for the shade provided by the majestic trees. Cool drinks were sweating in nearly every hand.

Walter and Stephen appeared finally from a separate direction, and as they all took seats in a loose circle of patio chairs, Poole emerged from the house to join them. Dapper as always, and polite to a fault, he waited until Nikita and Madeline were seated before selecting a chair for himself. As was the custom now, Operations remained sitting as he addressed them. He spoke without preamble.

"Today Mr. Birkoff has for us the report on his clandestine communications with the Agency computer system. Those results, and an interesting proposal from Mr. Poole, will make up the agenda of this meeting. Mr. Birkoff?"

Birkoff cleared his throat and began speaking assuredly. "Using some old passwords for a hidden system maintenance program, Michael and I were able to get into the Agency's database. We found correspondence and orders that confirm what Madeline had originally suspected. Section One has been terminated worldwide. As best we can determine, it was done for political reasons. The new administration felt that Section One was too autonomous; they wanted a new organization formed that would be answerable to them." Birkoff paused and shook his head dispiritedly. "We found the personnel records; they started the new organization about the same time our mortality rates started going up. There really isn't any question. They were killing us off because we weren't accountable enough, and we inconveniently knew too much."

Michael picked up the thread from there. "They have been unable to account for all the substation level operatives. Whoever made it out before the final assault will likely be in the clear. Headquarters personnel, however - ourselves included- have all been marked for cancellation on sight. No expiration on the orders."

"You mean we're under a permanent death threat from our own government?" Nikita asked, hoping she misunderstood.

"Yes," Michael replied simply.

"While we were inside," Birkoff added, "we took the liberty of...altering...all of our personnel records." He smiled in a self-satisfied way, and even Michael looked away, his lips twitching at the corners.

"And just what kind of alterations did you do," Walter asked suspiciously.

"Well, just a few things here and there. We thought that having a file full of incorrect information would inconvenience them a lot more than if we just deleted everything. Although," he added wickedly, "we did some deleting too, while were there."

Operations cleared his throat meaningfully, bringing them all back to the business at hand. "Now that we have determined our status, we can give due consideration to Mr. Poole's proposal." He glanced at Poole, handing off the conversation.

Poole appeared unwrinkled and unbothered by the day's warmth. His spectacles glinted in the sun as he surveyed the group. "My proposal is simple," he began in his precise manner. "Since coming here you have all become somewhat familiar with what I do and how I do it. We have learned much about each other. I do not agree with many of the means your former organization was accustomed to using, however, I do believe that our objectives are closely matched. And now that your circumstances are greatly changed, I also believe you would likely be open to forming a partnership...under what we could call my rules of engagement." He paused to survey their reactions.

"This assumes of course," he finished, "that you all wish to remain together and in this business." He rose. "I shall return shortly, after you've had some discussion time." He all but clicked his heels together before making a crisp turn and walking back into the house.

Poole's offer was not unexpected. Indeed, during the past three weeks each of them had considered privately the possibility of doing just what he was now suggesting. With their only alternative a death sentence, the merits of Poole's proposal did not require any heavy analysis.

"I'm staying," Operations said as soon as Poole was out of earshot. "We don't have the resources to carry on by ourselves. He has a good organization. It's small, but effective. I believe that what we do is important, and this is the only way I see to continue." He felt uncomfortable providing an explanation of his personal rationale; he hoped that this type of exposure would not be a regular occurrence under these new circumstances. He looked questioningly at Madeline, seated next to him, having no idea what she would say. Didn't he know her better than that?

She met his gaze. "I'll stay as well, Marcus," she said serenely. They looked at each other, heedless of the shocked silence surrounding them.

Madeline's deliberate use of Operations' name had redefined the moment, elevating it from a mere decision-making process to something more akin to the creation of a covenant. For the individuals and the group, the circular relay of responses had become a rite of passage. Finally, Madeline broke eye contact with Operations and turned to Walter, who sat at her right.

Walter smiled. None of the others but Operations knew that Walter was reflecting on their shared experiences in a wet, putrid jungle half a world away, and half a lifetime ago. "I'll stay," he said casually, adding a shrug. "My skills aren't all that marketable in the real world anyway." He turned and looked at Stephen, who was studying Operations intently.

For long moments Stephen continued his examination of Operations, finally letting his eyes flick briefly to Madeline. She responded with a subtle nod of her head. He sat back and crossed his arms. "I'll stay too," he announced.

Operations spoke at once. "You don't have to stay. You came from a substation that was hit. You heard Birkoff. The Agency won't be able to track you." He paused slightly. "You can go...anywhere." He hoped desperately that Stephen would go and have a life; he hoped desperately that Stephen would stay.

The young man shook his head decisively. "I'm staying." He turned to his right, passing the floor to Nikita.

Before she spoke, Nikita looked over at Michael, who would be the next to answer. Their eyes met. She tried to imagine how they could communicate in a single look that which they had never been able to articulate in words. If she chose to stay...would he? She had to speak first. In despair she drew a breath, not sure what words would come out.

"We'll stay," Michael said, still gazing at her. Everyone's astonishment registered on their faces - briefly - before reactions could be controlled. Nikita struggled to disguise the relief and euphoria she felt at the potential of those two little words. When Michael looked away from her to Birkoff, the last to speak, Nikita stole a rapid glance across at Operations. She found him looking back at her with a tiny smile touching his mouth. In some embarrassment, she quickly shifted her attention to Birkoff.

Birkoff seemed very relaxed. "Yeah...sure. I'll stay." He shrugged indifferently, but sent a burning look at Madeline and Operations. "But I want to know where you sent Gail."

Madeline smiled at him. "We'll discuss that, Mr. Birkoff, be assured."

The door of the house opened and Poole made his way back to the chair he'd vacated some minutes earlier. "Well?" was all he said.

"We'll be staying, Mr. Poole," said Operations. "We'll all be staying."

FIN

Notes

Shakespearean quote in Chapter Six is from his tragedy "Antony and Cleopatra". The words are spoken by Iras, a lady-in-waiting to Cleopatra, just after she has ordered another servant to procure the asps (poisonous snakes, if you don't know Cleopatra's story) with which she ended her own life.

Humble appreciation to the great Ray Bradbury for my shamless pirating (Prologue) of the concept in his wonderful short story "There Will Come Soft Rains".

Finally, less sublime than the above, my reference in Chapter Seven to a mission involving Ebola is the basis for a story I wrote entitled The Virus. Interested readers may find it archived at Kira's LFN fiction site www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Studio/1446/the_virus.html

Enjoue`

***This is the way the world ends . . . Not with a bang but with a whimper***

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