retrograde: vb [L retrogradi] 1a: to go back

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

“I can’t do this any more.”

Madeline looked over at him neutrally, squinting a little in the late day sun that streamed over his shoulder into the small workroom. She reached up and closed the screen of her laptop. “Do what, Paul?”

In disgust he reached around the back of his own computer and ripped the power cord violently from its socket. The machine beeped once, feebly, as it died. He thrust the cord away across the polished tabletop.

“Do you feel better now?” she asked.

He glanced over to where she sat opposite him, looking down her nose in disapproval. This had been building. Now, after the better part of an afternoon spent reviewing disorganized intel from Poole’s mysterious and far-reaching mole system, he was at the end of his tolerance.

“No wonder Analysis was considered the KP duty of Section,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t we have anything better to do than process virtually raw intel?”

“Like what?” she returned immediately. “Plan missions that save the world? Play god with your operatives? Skirmish with Oversight?” She spoke bluntly. “Poole doesn’t maintain a Section-type organization. It’s time you started trying to adapt.”

He looked a bit taken aback by her harsh tone. Then his eyes narrowed and he smiled a little in anticipation. A good argument was just what he wanted right now; and there were few to equal Madeline in that regard.

But she wasn’t cooperating. “I can see that you’re spoiling for a fight,” she remarked cooly, dashing his hopes. She turned off her machine and rose gracefully from the table. “I’m afraid I’m not going to accommodate you.”

Abruptly the head of steam he’d been building began to bleed away. When he made no reply Madeline paused and turned back to look at him, taking in his dispirited profile and the low set of his shoulders. She sank into the chair at his side and folded her hands in her lap.

“Is this more of the same?”

He spoke lightly, not meeting her eyes. “Possibly. Is it becoming boring?”

She ignored this. “You need to find a way to fit in here. At least until we have some other options. Indulging yourself in this continuing discontent is not the way to survive.”

He was silent for a moment. “Sometimes surviving isn’t enough.”

Madeline looked at his averted face, unexpectedly at a loss for what to say. She’d observed his increasing frustration with Poole’s methods and organization, his struggle to define a role for himself that met the stringent requirements of his ego and his need to assume control. The simple fact was that, although Poole was highly effective in his own way, his organization simply was not chain-of-command. Poole did not need another leader to supplement himself. There was no place for Operations, and he was slowly suffocating.

Long accustomed to proactive problem-solving, they sat together in frustrated silence, each uncomfortably aware that they had no answers for this situation.

A soft knock at the open door interrupted their thoughts.

“Yes, Mr. Birkoff?” Madeline inquired.

“I picked up a communication for you,” he said, then added, “from outside.”

He looked ill at ease. Madeline instantly recognized Birkoff’s “don’t kill the messenger” posture and surmised that the message would not contain welcome news. When do they ever?

“Yes?” she prompted.

“It’s from Adrian.” His eyes slid to Operations then quickly back. “It concerns Nikita. She wants you to contact her as soon as possible.”

Operations shot a look of dark suspicion at Madeline. “Adrian,” he said in an unpleasant, interested tone.

“Yes, sir.” Birkoff confirmed. He fiddled nervously with the data pad in his hands, then finished in a rush. “I’ll connect you whenever you’re ready.” He vanished.

Madeline sat motionless, absorbing this interesting news, then slowly turned to look at Operations. Her expression was thoughtful.

He leaned forward with elbows on his knees and fingers loosely entwined. His gaze was much as it had been earlier. Suspicious. “Are you making more plans behind my back, Madeline?”

“No,” she said distinctly. “I’ve communicated with Adrian indirectly on two occasions since we requested Section’s aid in Ireland. Those communications were no more simple check-ins to audit the viability of our channel.”

She could understand his mistrust, of course. The timing of this, in light of his present mood, was unfortunate.

“How did she reach you?”

“We had an agreed-upon channel from the time I released her into Poole’s care. Birkoff monitors it as part of standard communications routines.”

“I see. And how is it that she hasn’t sent all the hounds of hell in here after us?”

“She knows nothing of Poole or this location, of course,” she answered coldly. “Don’t insult me.”

He shrugged, not put off in the least by her displeasure. “I didn’t know your arrangements, Madeline. If you’ll recall, you kept me completely in the dark.”

This much was true. Receiving early indications of political difficulties, Madeline had privately run her own simulations of possible outcomes. It became apparent to her that in a worst-case scenario she and Operations might both be removed from control of Section One. She had decided that Adrian was the person best suited to see that Section One remained functional in a meaningful way, and she had therefore taken steps to insure Adrian’s survival after Operations ordered her death. Poole had assisted anonymously with the logistics. In the end, the worst-case scenario had become reality. Here they all were.

She chose not to comment on this, however, staying instead with the message from Adrian. “This request for direct communication is completely unusual.”

Operations rose. “Most situations concerning Nikita are completely unusual.” He indicated the door and prompted her.

“Let’s go. You have a call to make.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Good evening, Madeline.” On the video screen Adrian’s accented voice was a disconcerting heartbeat out of synch with her face and Birkoff adjusted smoothly to improve the audio and video match. Adrian looked tired, and thinner than when they had seen her last.

“Hello, Adrian.”

“Is everything well…wherever you are?” She closely examined as much as the monitor revealed of the sterile communications room. “Paul is with you there, I assume?”

Operations responded for himself, stepping in to stand behind Madeline’s chair. “Of course I’m here, Adrian.”

Adrian smiled sourly. “Yes. Of course you are. Things must be getting a little dull without all your toy soldiers to play with.”

“Are you offering to return them, Adrian? I have been feeling rather bored lately.”

“Good. I’m delighted to hear it.” With that short retort she focused her attention once more on Madeline.

“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“What might that be?” Madeline’s tone was civil, but far from cordial. Although the two women had worked out a business relationship, clearly there was no love lost between them.

“I’d like Nikita and Michael to return to Section One.”

Operations cursed softly under his breath and Madeline could feel his hands clenching the chair back beneath her shoulder blades. She drew and released a slow breath, cautioning herself not to show any reaction.

“We’ll have to discuss this,” she replied.

“Discuss it with them,” Adrian said tersely.

“What are the terms of this return?” Madeline asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Full clemency.”

“And your purpose?”

“Section has been slow recovering from the excessive purging that occurred. I need to shore up the infrastructure with useful people. In addition, I still consider one or both of them to be possible leadership material for the future. Training needs to be resumed immediately.”

There was a short pause.

“It can be a trial period. Discuss it with them.” Adrian disappeared abruptly and the screen blanked to gray fuzz.

From his place in corner, where he had watched in silence, Poole spoke at last.

“An interesting situation. Do you trust her?”

“No,” Operation immediately snorted.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss this,” Madeline admonished. “She must have compelling reasons for making this request. I think we need to consider it.

“Absolutely not,” Operations snapped.

“But I agree, Madeline,” came Poole’s cool, reasonable tones. “It can only serve you to learn more about what is occuring at Section.” His gaze settled on Operations. “Paul, surely you must admit that you have not been completely content here. If there is ever to be any chance of your reinstatement at Section you must seize every opportunity to stay connected there.”

Operations frowned at him for a moment, then shook his head in resignation. “Your candor serves you well, Mr. Poole.” He shrugged and glanced at Madeline. “He could be right. Call them in and let’s discuss it.” It was obvious the group approach to decision-making continued to be distasteful for him.

Michael and Nikita were summoned, and within a few minutes had joined them in the large main room of the house. Evening had fallen. Outside, the velvet night resounded with the shrill voices of peepers, bats and insect life.

Operations began without preamble. “We’ve received an unsolicited communication from Adrian. She wants you both to consider returning to Section One.”

Nikita, curiously, showed little reaction. He’d expected her usual emotionally-charged response. Michael assimilated the information without blinking. No surprise there.

“Conditions?” Michael inquired.

“Full clemency,” Madeline replied.

“She claims,” Ops added, “that she needs experienced people to help rebuild Section’s infrastructure. Apparently that also means forgive and forget.” Skepticism dripped from his voice. It was clear that he was not convinced of Adrian’s sincerity.

“Neither of you seem surprised by this,” Poole commented. His intense regard missed nothing as it passed from Nikita to Michael and back again.

Nikita smiled a tiny, indefinable smile. “Adrian and I…seemed to understand each other.”

“She’s not doing this because she likes you, Nikita,” Operations observed caustically.

“Then why?” Michael cut to the heart of the matter in his characteristic few words.

“We aren’t sure.” Madeline watched them as closely as Poole had. “She’s offering a trial period which may or may not be genuine. This could be a good opportunity to learn more of what has happened at Section.”

“Or it could be a good opportunity for Adrian to cancel you,” Operations muttered.

“What then?” Madeline’s brown eyes snapped with annoyance. “She’ll invite you and me back in next? And cancel us too?” She was becoming impatient with his attitude, as she did whenever personal issues affected professional judgement.

Michael and Nikita exchanged a long look during this exchange. The silent communication was accomplished swiftly and efficiently.

“We’ll go,” Michael said.

They all looked at each other for a moment, then Poole stood.

“Very well, then. I shall make arrangements for you to depart from a secure location.”

* * * * * * * * *

Déjà vu all over again, as Yogi Berra so charmingly put it.

Michael and Nikita sat in what was formerly Madeline’s office space, now Adrian’s in the rebuilt Section One headquarters. The room had been softened with fabric on the walls, lamplight and containers of flowering plants where once Madeline’s bonsai had lived their careful, disciplined existence. Comfortable chairs had been placed in a conversational grouping.

Adrian regarded them benignly. “I’m so pleased you decided to take advantage of my offer.” Her eyes sparkled particularly as she looked at Nikita. “I have high hopes for you two.” Nikita smiled easily in return.

“What exactly is your expectation?” Michael asked, plainly not taken in by any show of warmth or friendliness.

“Ah, Michael. Always taking care of business.”

She paused and folded her hands before her on the tidy desktop. “I want you to help me get Section One back on its feet. Go through our operations from top to bottom and make recommendations. I’ve arranged a suite for you, work space and living quarters. I apologize that it is rather spartan, but I believe it will suffice for the present. And then….”

She stopped, and for several moments they waited.

“…and then,” Nikita prompted, studying her. Adrian was pale, her face appearing thin and pinched. She seemed to gather her thoughts with an effort.

“Then, I have a situation I would like to discuss with you. A small nuclear security problem.”

Nikita shot a quick glance at Michael. “Shouldn’t we talk about that first,” she asked, somewhat alarmed. “Surely that’s more important than Section’s administrative problems.”

Adrian shook her head regretfully. Her expression was somber. “Until we get Section back in good order we cannot deal with these situations effectively. The world is full of problems like these. That is why we are so important.” Her voice rang with conviction.

They sat for a moment longer, then Adrian rose slowly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to. Please use your own discretion in setting up a review schedule. I will make myself available whenever you would like to meet.” She paused and gave them a piercing glare. “Of course there will be no communication with anyone outside these walls.”

Moments later Michael and Nikita were standing outside Adrian’s door. Taking Nikita’s elbow, Michael steered her rapidly down the hall away from the door and the surveillance he knew to be there. He spoke quietly as they walked.

“You should assume that they will listen to everything we say and watch everything we do.”

Nikita was annoyed by his tone. “Of course, Michael. I’ve been here long enough to know that.”

He looked at her. “Sometimes you forget.”

Vexed, she snatched her arm from his hand. The action was petty, she knew, but it made her feel better. “I don’t think you need to assume the worst of Adrian, Michael. If she brought us here to cancel us we’d already be dead.”

“I always assume the worst,” he said in a low, tense voice. “That’s why I’m still alive.”

And why I’m alive, too. Suddenly ashamed of her reaction, she touched his arm and they stopped, turning to face each other. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

Michael reached out and squeezed her left hand briefly, then released it. “Why don’t you start with a look at Comm. I’ll go to Weapons. We’ll check on Analysis after that, then set up a schedule for in-depth review.”

She nodded, and with a last glance they went their separate ways.

Walking through the quiet halls Nikita felt again the same unsettling sense of déjà vu. Things were the same – yet different. Certainly there were little differences resulting from the rebuilding process. But although the sounds were familiar, the faces were all unknown. People were where she expected them to be, but no one had a greeting for her. It was depressingly like her early days in Section. Before she had made…friends.

Approaching Comm she thought wistfully of Birkoff, half expecting to see his youthful face backlit by one of his many monitors. What she saw instead halted and sickened her.

Hillinger. Alive.

Instantly she realized that what she had thought to be his death in an explosion had likely been much more. Typical of Section. There was no end to the circles of intrigue that took place here. She didn’t know how or why he was alive, or who had seen to it; it didn’t matter. His presence alone was a red flag that she had no intention of ignoring.

Hillinger was in a typical pose for him. Leaning back carelessly in his chair. Chatting up a harassed-looking female tech.

Overcome with irritation Nikita forced herself to keep walking toward Hillinger, who took no notice of her approach. Then with one long fluid motion she swept his feet from the console, nearly upsetting his chair.

The female tech backpedaled and fled, wide-eyed. Hillinger steadied his chair and looked up furiously. Then froze.

“N-Nikita…” he stuttered in amazement.

Nikita advanced on him and put a hand on either arm of his chair, pinning him, then put her face aggressively close to his. She wondered briefly if Michael knew Hillinger was alive.

“Hello, Greg,” she growled.

Hillinger immediately began to recover his composure and fought to upright himself. Nikita released him with a shove that rolled the chair several feet away. Again she advanced on him and propped one pointed-toed boot on the chair seat perilously close to his crotch. She leaned an elbow on her knee.

“Gee, Greg, didn’t Adrian mention that I was here?”

Hillinger glanced down anxiously at his crotch, then drew a deep breath and put a sneer on his face. “No. Must’ve slipped her mind.”

“Then I guess you don’t know that I’m here to assess. Greg. To make recommendations. Greg.” Nikita’s voice brimmed with loathing; her expression was a match. Hillinger couldn’t take his eyes from her face.

With a final shove Nikita sent his chair the remaining distance to the counter behind him, where it stopped with a jarring thump.

“You better hope I like what I find here.”

She insultingly turned her back on him then and began to peruse the row of monitors to see what was currently running. Behind her, Hillinger gathered the tattered remains of his dignity and assumed a wounded air.

“You know, Nikita, we don’t have to be enemies. I am pretty good at what I do, after all. I just don’t have a lot of skill with people, you know, sometimes I come on a little strong. Maybe you ought to give me more of a chance.”

Nikita closed her eyes in disgust and did not look around when she replied. “I have no interest in you or your polluted stream of consciousness.”

Suddenly, to her amazement, she felt Hillinger’s hand on her shoulder. “I can be a lot nicer than you’ve seen, Nikita,” he murmured. He had put on some kind of deeper voice; Nikita could barely control her derisive laughter. She bit her lips to keep this reaction inside and Hillinger chose to interpret it as encouragement.

“I think we could be a good team, you know.” He began to toy with a strand of her hair. “Between the two of us we know a lot about this place and…”

“Greg,” Nikita said warningly.

“…I could make things a lot easier for you here.”

“Back off, Greg,” Nikita said from between gritted teeth. She braced herself to turn and physically remove his hand. Then, suddenly, Hillinger wasn’t there. She heard a small sound and whirled around.

He was on his knees in front of a silent and glowering Michael, who maintained an alarming grip at the base of Hillinger’s neck. Hillinger was unable to move. Only his hands flapped ridiculously at the ends of his stiff arms as he uttered strangled urks of protest and fear. Nikita shook her head contemptuously then nodded at Michael.

“Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Michael released Hillinger, who fell to the floor clutching at his neck. Immediately he scrambled to his feet and found himself sandwiched between them.

“Christ. You didn’t tell me brought Mr. Spock,” he gasped, scowling at Michael.

“You aren’t very well informed,” Michael said shortly. “I would worry about that if I were you.”

Nikita took a step forward, crowding Hillinger closer between them. “I don’t like you, Greg.” Another step. “I think you should stay out of my way.”

Hillinger nodded, still massaging his neck. “Sure. No problem. I gotta get back to work.” With a shudder he pulled out from between them and went to sit at the furthest station, placing his back to them.

Michael looked at Nikita. “Are you finished here?”

“Yes.” She grimaced at Hillinger. “For now.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Several days later they sat once more in Adrian’s office, finishing a review of the numerous recommendations they had put together covering nearly all of Section’s departments. Rather than facing them across her desk, Adrian had chosen to talk in the spacious conversation area on the far end of her office. She was settled regally in a dark wing back chair, a shawl pulled comfortingly around her thin shoulders.

“You’ve done a fine job,” she said, inclining her head to each of them in turn, “I thank you. The work you have done so far is going to cut in half the time it will take for us to hit our efficiency ratings again. We needed the focus you have provided. Now, it is time to discuss our other matter.”

She handed each of them a PDA. “This is loaded with the background information you’ll need. Briefly, the situation involves a computer programmer of Chinese descent, Chén Jingsong , who is stealing sensitive nuclear research, primarily military in nature. We shall stop him – eventually – but right now our primary goal is learning to whom he is delivering the information. That will help us to assess both the level of threat and how best to handle it on this end.”

“Have you identified an approach?” Michael asked, scrolling rapidly through the data before him.

“We have,” Adrian confirmed. “Options were limited. Chén Jingsong is being extremely well-paid by the party for whom he steals and would therefore be difficult to bribe. He is unmarried. He has neither children nor siblings. His parents were killed in an automobile accident when he was very young. We have found only a single likely avenue of approach.” She paused and took a sip from the fragrant, steaming tea at her elbow. “He was raised by his paternal grandmother, who is now in her early 80’s.”

“We’ll pick up the grandmother, then,” Michael finished. Beside him, Nikita frowned in dismay.

“That is correct,” said Adrian. “With the grandmother to…focus his attention, we feel sure that he will be open to sharing information with us without alerting his buyers.”

‘We’re going to grab his 80-plus grandmother?” Nikita asked despairingly. “Isn’t there any other way to get to this guy? What about a valentine?”

Adrian looked at her without feeling. “I understand your reluctance, Nikita. We have explored every option, I assure you. This is the only way to guarantee that he will give us the names of his employers.” She hesitated and her expression sharpened. “You do agree, Nikita, that tracing the path of this technology theft is relatively more important than the well-being of one elderly woman?”

“Of course,” Nikita agreed reluctantly, looking at her hands. She raised her head. “She’ll be released once we have the information we need from him?”

“Of course.” Adrian echoed Nikita’s words in soothing tones. “As I understand it she is rather senile. It’s unlikely she would even have any clear memories of what happened to her.”

Then Adrian shivered a little and gathered her shawl more closely. “We need to move on this quickly,” she said, her tone closing their meeting.

“Show me your profile within the hour.”

* * * * * * * * * *

As it was, the old woman had no idea she’d been abducted. Section medical personnel arrived at her care residence with credible transfer papers. Chén’s grandmother believed her loving grandson had arranged for her to move to a better care facility. She cooperated without question. He was, after all, such a good boy.

Chén, an attractive Chinese-American man about 35 years old, seemed to accept the unfortunate turn of events surprisingly well. A single visit to his home late one evening by Nikita and Michael, along with a videotape of his grandmother in her new surroundings, had served to convince him that he now had additional masters. Information had begun to flow. Section analysts had begun to cross check and verify.

Nikita made a follow up visit a week later, waiting silently for him in the darkened corner of his living room as he returned from work on his usual schedule.

‘How are you getting along Mr. Jingsong,” she asked politely when he turned on the lights.

Chén jumped and uttered a little shriek. Recognizing her, he seemed immediately embarrassed by his uncontrolled outburst.

“You startled me,” he said quietly, by way of explanation. His eyes were black in the low light.

“I apologize,” she said curtly, then went on without spending time on any pleasantries. “You are doing acceptable work so far, Mr. Jingsong…”

He interrupted her. “Chén.”

“Pardon me?”

“My first name is Jingsong. In China our names are ordered the opposite of American names. Last name first, you see.”

It was Nikita’s turn to be slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I see, Mr…..Chén.”

Chén relaxed a little and seated himself across from Nikita. “My name means “sturdy pine” in Chinese.” He smiled slightly, his teeth startlingly white against his honey-toned skin. “It is traditional to name children something lofty, to encourage them to live up to it, I suppose.”

“I see,” Nikita said again, for lack of anything else sensible to say.

“Where is your partner this evening?” Chén inquired, checking the still-shadowed corners of the room.

Nikita ignored the question.

“Mr. Chen…” she began. Once more he interrupted her.

“Nikita. I would like to see my grandmother.”

“She is safe, I promise you.”

“It is very important. She is accustomed to seeing me on a weekly basis. She will miss me, begin to worry.” He looked down, somewhat embarrassed once again. “And I….miss her.” He looked up at Nikita, his dark eyes pleading. “Please. Is there nothing you can do to arrange even a short visit?”

Nikita hesitated. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chén. It’s just not possible right now.”

Chéns’ head bowed and he covered his face with trembling hands. The lamp glow reflected brilliantly from his straight, blue-black hair. “My life. What has happened to my life?” he moaned. “How can I continue?” His shoulders shook with soundless weeping.

Nikita watched in troubled silence, unsure how to handle this…outburst. According to the profile she’d been given, Chén was an extremely reserved man, never given to emotional displays of any kind. But she of all people could understand the lengths to which Section, as well as the others who controlled his life, could have driven him.

At last he composed himself and met her gaze apologetically. “I am mortified by my behavior,” he murmured. “Please excuse me.”

Nikita rose and closed the short distance between their chairs. “Mr. Chén,” she said gently, touching his shoulder. “I understand the pressure you’re under. Believe me.”

He looked at her hopefully. “You’ll find a way for me to see my grandmother?”

“Perhaps,” Nikita replied reluctantly. “I’ll have to see what I can do. No promises.”

Chén’s face was transformed by a worshipful expression. “Thank you,” he whispered fervently. “It will mean so much to both of us.”

“We must take care of business now, Mr. Chén,” Nikita said sternly.

Chén took a deep breath. “Yes. Business. What do you want now? I am giving you whatever I can.”

“We need to know who your information is going to. You have given us the names of the middle-men, the brokers. We need the final link in the chain.”

“But I do not know!” Chén protested. “I only speak to the brokers!”

“Then you must be clever,” Nikita said calmly. “Learn what you can. Your grandmother is depending on you.”

She started to leave, feeling that her message had been received loud and clear. Chén caught her wrist and instantly she turned on him, ready to defend herself if he had somehow attacked out of desperation.

But Chén cringed away from her instantly.

“Please,” he said, not looking at her. “Please let me see my grandmother. If only for a few moments.” He raised his eyes then. They were dark, liquid and imploring.

“I’ll see, Mr. Chén.”

* * *

She broached the subject with Adrian late that evening.

“No.”

Nikita waited for more. There was nothing.

“I don’t understand. All he wants is a few moments with the grandmother who raised him. To reassure her, and himself, I suppose. The safe house isn’t more than a half hour drive from Chén’s apartment.

“No.”

Again Nikita waited. Adrian’s weary gaze met hers silently. The seconds ticked by.

At last Nikita looked away. Feeling it was expected, she tried to put a look of resigned acceptance on her face as she turned to go. “Good night, Adrian.”

“Good night, Nikita.”

Adrian looked at the closed door for long minutes after Nikita had passed through it, an expression of profound disappointment on her tired face.

* * *

“It’s all right, just lean on me,” Nikita encouraged. With care she helped the tiny, elderly lady to step from the car. Slowly they made their way up the cobbled pathway to Chén’s front door.

“My grandson is here?” the old woman asked, a slight quaver of excitement in her voice.

“Yes,” Nikita replied reassuringly. “He’s waiting for you inside.”

“I raised him you know,” Chén’s grandmother said in a confiding tone. “He’s a good boy. A very good boy.”

“Yes, Mrs. Chén, I know.”

At last their shuffling pace brought them to the front door. Inside, Chén watched their approach and swung the door wide to embrace his grandmother, his face suffused with a mixture of joy and sadness. Nikita felt a lump in her own throat as she observed the old lady’s happy tears.

Without warning a large black car swung to the curb in front of Chén’s townhouse. It halted with a screech as Nikita spun on her heel in alarm, to see….nothing. The car doors remained closed, the darkened glass giving no clue as to the occupants or their intentions. Nikita heard a crisp snap behind her and instantly twisted back toward the door, feeling with each reaction that she was losing control of the situation. She turned in time to see Chén lay his grandmother gently on the floor. He had broken her neck.

A car door burst open at last as Nikita stood horrified for that split second, staring at the still body of Chén’s grandmother. A single shot spit from the black car. Burning pain seared her temple. Chén pushed by her as she began to fall, and although she was beyond understanding his words, there was no mistaking the look of cold triumph on his angular face.

Blackness drew down and tunneled her vision. She saw…blades of grass…small bits of animate and inanimate minutiae….her own fingers clutching at the earth.

Colors faded.

Michael.

* * * * * * * * *

The morning was uncharacteristically gray for the islands, with a persistent drizzle that seemed to blur and soften everything in view. Strangely lit, the day could have been just beginning…or nearing its end. Time seemed curiously suspended within the curtained mist.

A comm page chimed softly in the small, comfortable sitting room.

“Yes?” Madeline responded.

“Mr. Birkoff has received another conference request for you from Adrian.”

The message was delivered in Poole’s precise diction. Madeline wondered what had prompted him to notify her personally, and in the next instant he answered that question himself.

“I wonder, Madeline, whether we might have a word prior to your conversation with Adrian?”

Madeline raised her eyes to Operations, who sat opposite her. “Of course, Mr. Poole. I will see you immediately.” A tiny click signaled closure of the circuit.

She was aware that Operations watched with unconcealed curiosity as she placed a marker in the volume she had been reading. It was one of her favorites, West With the Night by Beryl Markham. She glanced once more at the passage she had been reading. In Africa people learn to serve each other. They live on credit balances of little favors that they give and may, one day, ask to have returned.

Madeline had a strong premonition that Adrian was about to call in one of those little favors. She shut the book with a snap.

“Are you coming?”

His expression was wary, as if he too had a feeling that this conversation with Adrian would be of some consequence.

“Would you like me to?”

She considered this briefly.

“Yes.”

By unspoken agreement, they chose the outdoor route from their quarters to the main house. Lush vegetation along the pathway drooped heavily with moisture. The mist had coalesced into a light, pattering rain that tapped softly on the umbrella Operations held over them both. Inside, he went without hesitation to Communications, leaving her to speak alone with Poole.

She found him in his office, a spare, tidy room decorated only with souvenirs of the islands he loved, and one small photograph of his wife, dark and diminutive Judith. He was waiting, making no attempt to appear busy. As she entered he motioned her to a chair near his.

“I shall take only a few moments, Madeline,” he began politely. “I believe it is time for certain words to be said, and I wished you to hear them prior to your conversation with Adrian.”

Madeline smiled. Poole was one of the few people she could say she genuinely admired. For his assistance to them and his trustworthiness, certainly, but also for his uncanny ability to know things. She had never been able to determine how much of Poole’s perpetual state of au courant was due to an incredibly good, incredibly discreet network, and how much of it was, for lack of a better explanation…paranormal. This left her simultaneously envious and frustrated. And amused by the novelty of these feelings.

“Once again, Mr. Poole, I suspect that you know something I do not.” Her gentle smile took the sting from her words.

“Please go on.”

Poole smiled a little in return, and she could see that he understood her meaning. “Ours has been an interesting working relationship this past two years. I believe that we have all benefited.” He glanced down momentarily toward the immaculate crease in his trousers. His gaze, when he looked at her once more, harbored more than a tinge of regret.

“None of us expected that this uneasy alliance would be anything but temporary. Paul, in particular, has never found a comfortable niche in our partnership. It is important to me that you realize I have a clear understanding of the dynamics of this situation…” He paused. “…and the decisions you will eventually make.”

“When change comes about, as it inevitably will, you may be assured that I shall hope to continue our affiliation, on whatever level you find it to be possible. It would be my hope that the knowledge we have of each other could be viewed as a firm foundation for trust, rather than as a potential threat.”

Abruptly his formal manner softened and his smile became less reserved.

“Our methods differ, but we work well together.”

Oddly touched, Madeline stood to cover her sentiments. “Thank you, Mr. Poole.” She turned toward the door, reflecting on the asylum and support they had received from this remarkable man.

“…for everything.”

* * * *

In the Communications room Operations shot her a quizzical glance, but asked no questions. Depending upon the nature of this conversation with Adrian she would tell him all or nothing of what Poole had said.

“She’s on,” Birkoff said. “Whenever you’re ready.” He removed his earpiece and quietly left the room.

Madeline took a seat before the screen but paused before reaching to connect herself with Adrian. Operations remained near the doorway, studying her.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?” he asked, giving her the option once more. She answered immediately without turning around.

“I do.” She reached out decisively then and clicked the connection. Operations sank into a chair in the back corner of the room.

Adrian’s image filled the screen. It was not a pretty picture.

“Good morning, Madeline,” she said in greeting.

Madeline studied the older woman, mentally cataloging everything that looked…wrong. Adrian’s pallor was evident even over a video link. Her hands, clutching a warm shawl, were skeletal. Hair and weight loss were apparent.

“Good morning, Adrian,” she replied slowly.

“I’m afraid we’ve had an unfortunate turn of events here,” Adrian began, fatigue and disappointment evident on her face. “Nikita has made rather a bad decision. Not unexpected,” she added, “but I had hoped for better.”

Behind her Madeline heard Operations give a disgusted, I-told-you-so snort.

“What is her status?”

“She was slightly wounded, nothing serious. Presently she is confined to quarters.”

“Are you planning to cancel her?” Even without knowing the circumstances, Madeline had to assume it had been a serious transgression to warrant this second call.

Adrian hesitated. “I don’t consider her to be my material,” she finally said. “You can make that decision when you arrive.”

Then it was Madeline’s turn to hesitate, giving herself as much time as possible to think. In the corner Operations leaned forward intently.

“What are you saying, exactly?”

She watched as Adrian took a slow sip of tea, then returned the cup gently to its saucer. “I’m saying I’d like you to come back.” She stared resolutely into the camera, as if she and Madeline were face to face. “And I’d like you to hear me out before you say anything.”

Madeline nodded, her attention riveted on Adrian’s drawn face.

“I am not well,” Adrian said bluntly. “Undoubtedly you have noticed visible symptoms and are wondering about a diagnosis.” She drew and released a slow breath. “I have pancreatic cancer. Terminal. And swift. My most optimistic doctor tells me that at best I shall have a month until I lose the ability to communicate effectively.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Madeline said reflexively, then added truthfully, “I would have wished something better for you.”

“As would I, Madeline, as would I. Certainly in our business I never expected to die of natural causes. It is wonderfully ironic, don’t you think?”

She straightened and pulled her shawl closer around her thin shoulders. “When you released me from Paul’s death sentence you did it because you believed I was important to the effective continuation of Section One. For the greater good you disobeyed a superior and placed yourself in mortal jeopardy.”

She leaned forward and spoke intensely. “I am calling again now upon that strong belief in Section. Soon I will be gone, and without a strong hand here infighting and bureaucracy will destroy everything that we have built. The balance of world power could shift dangerously. This cannot be allowed to happen. You must return and take my place.”

She leaned back and breathed deeply, as if exhausted by her appeal.

On her end, Madeline sat calmly, with no sign on the surface of the racing thoughts beneath. “Does this offer extend exclusively to me?”

On the small screen Adrian cocked her head. “Actually, I have missed Walter and would very much like to see him return. No one has his touch with explosives, in my opinion. And if Birkoff is still with you, by all means bring him. Hillinger is…flawed. I have a standing cancellation order on him as soon as he can be effectively replaced.” She paused and lifted an eyebrow. “There are others?”

Madeline tone was quiet and even. “I believe Section would benefit from Paul’s return to leadership.”

Adrian’s face grew cold. “I’m sorry, my dear. While your emotional attachment to him is a perfectly understandable failure on your part, I’m afraid that I cannot condone his return.”

“This is not an issue of emotional attachment.”

Adrian laughed a little. “Nonsense, Madeline. Anyway, you and I both know that Section will function perfectly well without Paul Wolfe. Now you do whatever thinking you need to do and give me an answer. Time is of the essence.”

The video feed terminated abruptly and Madeline found herself staring at her own reflection in the gray glass of the monitor. The new face of Section One.

A chair scraped behind her and quiet footsteps moved across the floor. In the reflection, she watched as Operations left the room without saying a word.

* * * * * * * * * *

Of course, she went.

She departed the island later that same day, in a tenacious drizzle that seemed somehow fitting. Operations had absented himself throughout the afternoon, appearing only when she was boarding the helicopter. When circumstances made in-depth conversation impossible.

Poole was the first to say his goodbyes. “I wish you success, Madeline,” he said fondly. His expression sobered. “I do feel badly about Adrian. I would have wished to know her better, had we not been bound by the anonymity of our arrangement.” He reached into his pocket for a small data disk. “Please give this to her with my regards.”

Madeline accepted the disk. “What is it?”

Poole smiled, mischievously, for him. “It is the identity of some buyers of information which she has recently been seeking. I’m sure she will explain the details.”

With a slight, almost courtly bow, Poole left her standing with Operations.

His eyes, when he finally faced her, were haunted. “Have a safe trip,” he said tonelessly.

“This is fact-finding only,” she replied.

“Yes. I know what it is.”

A silence. The helicopter rotors began to turn slowly as the pilot prepared for departure.

“Goodbye, Paul.”

“Goodbye, Madeline.”

And then she was gone, leaving too many words unsaid.

Those words spoke themselves in her mind over and over during the long trip, at times kind and understanding, but other times harsh and judgmental. They remained with her in all their iterations until now, walking into Section again, they were banished at last.

Michael had been waiting for her at a pre-arranged meeting site. From his closed face and terse nod of welcome she could form no opinion as to how he may have felt about her return. She wanted to ask him what had transpired with Nikita, but found herself reluctant to reveal to him that she was missing any of the facts. Already it begins.

Now, she had arrived, and stood at the door of her former office – if it could be considered that in this rebuilt Section. When Paul had detonated the facility two years earlier, she had thought never to see it again. Now, in a continuing chain of events not quite within her control, here she was again.

She entered and stood without offering a greeting to Adrian, deciding to let her set the tone.

Adrian remained in the wing chair where she was comfortably arranged. She studied Madeline closely for a moment, then gestured to a chair opposite her own.

“I thought you would come.”

“The situation deserves a conversation.”

“I see you decided not to bring anyone with you.”

“No.” Not until you’re dead. I don’t trust you.

“Let us not fence, Madeline. There is too much at stake here.”

“You invited me. Tell me your situation.”

Adrian looked down at her wasted hands, gathering her thoughts, then gave a tiny, weary shake of her head.

“I have told you the situation. It is what it is. I will be able to manage here for but a short time longer. I had hoped that Michael and Nikita would be prepared to take over in my stead. In my opinion Michael is ready now, but he needs balance,” here she paused and gave Madeline a knowing look, “just as Paul did. Eventually, I believe Nikita will be able to provide that balance, but she failed disappointingly in the test I prepared. At this time she is simply not ready.” Adrian sighed resignedly. “Frankly, I lack the resources to design an effective training program for her.”

Madeline could only nod in agreement. “Her abilities are considerable, but they are, unfortunately, combined with a superabundance of…” here she paused, searching for the right word.

“Heart? Scruples? Empathy?” Adrian supplied. “The label does not matter. I understand perfectly. She agrees in theory with Section’s goals, but she has had great difficulty adapting to our means.” Again she shook her head. “I wish I had the time…”

“What have you said to Michael about his role here?”

“I have said nothing. He knows what he was told when he came here. Even now, with Nikita in confinement, awaiting your judgement, he continues to work to improve Section’s systems and to train new personnel.”

“You can’t expect that to go on indefinitely.”

“Of course not. I have no doubt that Michael already understands the situation and has already deduced his future place with you.”

“Perhaps you’re giving him too much credit, Adrian. In my opinion he is not yet ready for a leadership role beyond his class five status.”

At this Adrian permitted herself a slow smile. “You would like that to be true. That would lend strength to your argument that Paul should return here with you.” The smile vanished. “Michael is ready.”

Madeline inclined her head, giving up this battle. “As you wish.”

“Would you like some tea?” Adrian inquired politely, proffering a delicately painted china pot. Fragrant steam rose temptingly from its graceful spout.

“Yes, thank you,” Madeline replied, recognizing the tea ritual for a kind of conversational truce. The two women spent some moments pouring tea and sipping in silence. Madeline pushed Poole’s data disk across the small tea table.

Adrian looked at her curiously.

“This is a gift of intel from the individual who oversaw your care and safety when you left Section One. I understand it is the identity of some information buyers you’ve been after.”

Adrian’s faced creased into a smile of unreserved enjoyment. “What an unexpected pleasure. We shall most assuredly put this to good use.” She shook her head in admiration. “A splendid touch. Wonderfully done. How I wish that I could have had the pleasure of is?…her?…acquaintance.” She looked inquiringly at Madeline.

“His,” Madeline gave her. “If it pleases you to know it, he said the same words about you.”

“Ah, indeed. Well, one more of life’s lost opportunities.” Adrian sighed, but not unhappily. They applied themselves to their tea for a few moments more.

Then Adrian put down her cup, ready to return to business. “Do not mistake me, Madeline,” she began gravely. “I understand fully that the moment I am gone you will have free rein to return Paul to power here. I myself will have paved the way for you by clearing your reinstatement with Oversight. Without George, you will have no meaningful opposition.”

She leaned forward to place one thin hand on Madeline’s. “But by that time, my dear. You will have learned for yourself that you don’t need Paul. Section doesn’t need Paul.” Her smile was ghastly. “And you will like it.”

She sat back and burrowed more closely into the folds of her shawl. Her eyes gleamed triumphantly.

“You will like it a great deal.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Three weeks later, Adrian was gone.

The group of mourners at her gravesite was predictably small. They stood stiff and uncomfortable in a chilly breeze that scoured the tiny cemetery. The non-denominational service was mercifully brief, delivered by an indifferent young clergyman who neither knew nor cared about the extraordinary woman he was burying.

With a degree of genuine sadness, Madeline stepped up and placed a budded pink rose on the casket, bidding a silent goodbye and allowing herself a moment of regret for what could have been between them. Not friendship, certainly, but….respect…understanding…and admiration. Possibly more rare than friendship in their world.

Slowly the few others present began to wander away, back to the bottom of the hill where their transportation waited. Madeline stepped back next to Michael. She looked up into his face, studying the familiar contours, gazing into the depths of his changeable eyes, now washed by pale, cold sunlight. She tucked her arm through his in a strangely companionable gesture.

“Walk with me, Michael.”

Silently, they walked. The chill wind probed for every opening in their overcoats; the sun could not compete.

“Adrian intended for you and I to head Section One after her death.”

“Yes.”

“I am considering a recommendation to Oversight that Paul be returned as head.”

Michael was silent, no hesitation in the stride that he courteously matched to hers as they walked. She hadn’t expected an answer, really. She had put forth the statement only to lay ground for her next question.

“What would you recommend that I do about Nikita?”

“I don’t think my input is necessary.”

“I believe it is. If we are to continue our work here it is essential that we come to some kind of…concensus…on this important topic.” She turned her head and met his gaze steadily. “Do you understand?”

Michael looked back at her. Above, the sun was overtaken by swiftly moving clouds and its rays suddenly disappeared. Michael’s eyes darkened, shadowed and intense.

Madeline went on, pressing her point without waiting for his response. “I believe Nikita has enough valuable attributes that it would be a waste to cancel her. And now, of course, having lived with an acknowledged relationship for two years, I must take into consideration the psychological effect it would have on you.” She said this as though throwing him a bone; the truth was that this was her main consideration in the decision involving Nikita.

She continued. “Nikita’s difficulties stem more from methodology than from theory. She seemed more comfortable under Mr. Poole’s somewhat different mode of operation.” She stopped without releasing Michael’s arm, forcing him to a halt as well. They faced each other.

“I have decided that it would be advantageous for us to continue a working relationship with Mr. Poole’s organization, on a limited basis. I would suggest that Nikita act as our liaison with him, keeping abreast of current operations within both organizations, and making recommendations for cooperation wherever the technological, information or personnel requirements seem a logical fit.”

Probing the green shadows, she could sense his receptiveness. “Would this meet with your approval?” she asked deliberately.

She was not seeking approval of her suggestion. Michael was experienced enough to recognize Section double-speak when he heard it. I’ll give you Nikita if you’ll give up your place to Operations.

But he surprised her.

“I’ll step back,” he said, breaking tacit protocol and speaking bluntly. “But you should consider whether you really need Operations.”

Gently he disengaged his arm from hers.

“I’ll go get the car.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Nikita threw her book across the room, taking childish pleasure in the way its spine broke on impact with the wall, pages creasing and scattering in all directions.

Three weeks.

With nothing to do but read…eat…sleep…exercise. And a couple of mind-numbing data analysis tasks she was sure had been devised by Hillinger to revenge his injured male pride.

She slouched morosely on the unmade bed, considering her position. What she’d done was unforgiveably stupid. Operations, had he been here, would probably have canceled her himself on the spot. Likely with his bare hands, if he didn’t happen to be carrying a weapon at that moment. Once again, she’d let her heart run away with her better judgement, and thanks to her, their link to the nuclear theft masterminds was utterly gone.

And now…what? Adrian had been standing by her bed in Medlab when she woke with a murderous headache.

Well, you’re alive, Adrian had stated dispassionately. When you leave here you will be escorted to your quarters where you will remain until further notice. Then she’d stared at Nikita from sunken eyes, before finally turning away, leaving behind her an almost palpable sense of…disappointment.

Unexpectedly, the door to her makeshift prison swung open. Michael stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar. She looked at it, then at him.

“So, are you here to let me out, or to cancel me?” She hadn’t seen him in those three weeks and the sarcastic tone in her voice hid deeply hurt feelings.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

“Yeah.”

He stepped closer to the bed and reached out to touch the ugly scab that remained over the furrow at her temple. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“Am I?”

He let his hand fall away and considered her. “What you did was dangerous and stupid,” he said bluntly.

“I know.” Humiliated, she couldn’t look at him. “I know.” The stark white walls seemed to amplify and reflect her disgrace.

He considered her. “Even now, I think you are more ashamed of your poor planning and execution than for making an improper initial decision.”

Nikita scowled. “I just have trouble attributing the same motives to everyone that you do.” She shook her head. “It never crossed my mind that he would murder his own grandmother.” This was old ground; there was little point in going over it yet again.

Michael sat down beside her on the rumpled bed and gently took her hand. After a few moments he said quietly, “Adrian is dead.”

Nikita did not look up. He could see the tears pooling in her eyes, beginning to overflow down the curve of her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment.

She nodded and tipped her head back against the wall tiredly. “I supposed Oversight will cancel me now,” she said.

“No. Madeline returned just after you were confined to quarters.”

“Then I guess she’s finally the boss now, isn’t she,” Nikita commented sourly. She scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “Tell me again why we came back to this…hell. Nothing’s changed.”

He was quiet for a beat, smoothing the palm of her hand over and over with his thumb. When she looked at him his eyes held her intensely. “We are very good at what we do. Poole is also highly competent. But he doesn’t have Section’s resources.”

Nikita shook her head. “Right,” she said, adding a heavy sigh. She pulled her hand away and began to pick forlornly at the jumbled bedclothes. “ I have to wonder if those resources are worth what we’ve given up.”

“Be patient. Events are still playing out.”

She shot him a narrow glance, curious in spite of herself.

Michael went on. “Walter and Birkoff returned yesterday. Adrian gave them all full clemency.”

At this she brightened just a little. “How are they?”

Michael shrugged. “Fine. Walter is asking about you. Birkoff is busy searching for the bugs he thinks Hillinger may have planted in the system before he…left.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Left?”

Michael’s face was impassive. “Hillinger was canceled this morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She decided not to ask how he was sure. Perhaps he’d watched. Perhaps he’d done it himself. She really didn’t want to know.

“Then we’re all here except Operations.”

Michael reached out and recaptured her restless hand, his eyes touching her everywhere. “Operations is on his way in.”

Nikita slumped down hopelessly, shaking her head. “So it’s back to business as usual.” she said in a low, despairing voice.

Michael lifted her chin with a gentle finger. Raising her eyes reluctantly, she was amazed to recognize a near-smile on his lips.

“No. Hell is out of business now.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The helicopter banked gently as it rose away from the island. Beneath them, the dense green vegetation morphed into an indistinct mass, and the humid tropical air gave way to the processed coolness of the aircraft’s ventilation system.

“I’m gonna miss my tan,” Walter said morosely, his voice crackly in the helicopter headphones.

From the neighboring seat Birkoff glanced at him but said nothing. The pilot, incognito behind his helmet and sunglasses, seemed to register none of their conversation.

“Oh, it’s all okay for you,” Walter went on, gesturing disgustedly. “You get to go back to all your fancy systems and supercomputers. You never want anything else anyway. But what’s in it for me?”

Walter shook his head dolorously. “I coulda spent my old age down here in the sun. Do a little work for Poole. All the bikinis I want just a boat ride away.”

“Shut up, Walter.”

“Hey, think about it! Poole’s a reasonable guy….”

“Walter. Shut up.”

“What? What’s eating you?”

Birkoff gave his glasses a small push, his brown eyes guarded. “If you don’t want to go then you should have stayed.”

Walter subsided in a hurt silence that lasted only until another thought struck him.

“You aren’t crazy about going back either.” Walter frowned at the younger man, then nodded sagely. “I knew we shoulda had a parley about this without Operations there, messing up our minds. Come on,” he wheedled. “Tell Uncle Walter.”

Still Birkoff remained stubbornly silent, facing out his window.

Suddenly Walter reached out and rapped on Birkoff’s earphones. “Hello in there? It’s me? Remember? Your only friend in Section? You know – that place we’re headed for again right now?”

At last Birkoff gave Walter a direct look. “All right. You want to talk. Tell me why you’re going back when it sure sounds like you don’t want to.”

Walter shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, you know how it is.”

Birkoff looked at him suspiciously, then curled his lips in a bitter, knowing smile. “Yeah, I think I do. Operations talked to you too, didn’t he?”

After a brief mental battle, Walter’s face relaxed into an expression of relief. “What’d he say to you?”

Birkoff stared back out the window, leaning the headphones against the vibrating wall of the chopper. His words came in a resigned monotone. “That I know too much. It’d be a big risk to leave me here, even if Poole thinks he can keep me out of harm’s way.”

Walter began to nod, continuing until it became like the action of an autistic child, comforting himself with ongoing, random motion.

Birkoff glanced at him. “You?”

“Same damn story,” Walter confirmed rancorously. “Their own special way of saying: Come in or we’ll kill you.” They sat wordlessly, buffeted by the cacophony of the helicopter. The ocean flashed by below.

Walter reached up slowly and removed his headphones, then tapped Birkoff’s knee, gesturing for him to do the same. He leaned over until he could funnel his words directly into Birkoff’s ear.

“And did you hear from Michael, too?”

Birkoff frowned and shook his head negatively, then leaned in again for Walter’s next words.

“He said it would be ok.”

Birkoff looked back, mouthing the word silently. Ok?

They leaned back into their seats, slipping the headphones back on to block the clamor of the engines. Silently each contemplated what might be to come.

Above them, the helicopter rotors roared and clawed at the shifting inter-island wind currents. Below, the blue-green ocean shimmered and curled endlessly, only their passing shadow registering on its glistening continuity.

* * * * * * * * * *

Van access bustled with the surge of activity that always surrounded a large returning mission. Grim-faced operatives trooped in silently, several blindfolded captives secure in their unyielding grips. As the group cleared the short egress hallway they passed him. He felt their eyes slide over him dismissively. As if he didn’t matter. As if he were no one. He stifled the impulse to call back those indifferent operatives. To explain - and not kindly - that yes, indeed, he was someone. And they had better by God remember it or he would…..

What?

Have them canceled?

Realistically speaking, he had no idea of the present circumstances in Section One. Madeline had been infuriatingly closed-mouthed about virtually everything except Adrian’s death. He might not have the authority to cancel a file clerk any more.

During the long and cautiously convoluted journey he had taken to arrive here, he had done very little but think, running mental sims on every possible ramification of Adrian’s death and Madeline’s solo investiture at Section. It would be foolish to assume that she had invited him here to simply hand him the keys to the kingdom. He knew that in his bones. While he could never claim to understand Madeline, their long association had surely taught him never to make assumptions about her motives or purposes.

The last of the incoming group passed him and he could see her then, across the hall. Watching. When their eyes met she smiled and he gave a careful nod in return. Too fresh in his mind was his own embarrassing display of mental frailty, his pathetic self-pity. Certainly he could indulge in no more of that. It was possible that irreparable harm had already been done.

He crossed the hallway.

“How was your trip?” she asked. Her eyes were warm and welcoming.

“Long,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t enjoy travel as much as I used to.”

She turned beside him and together they began walking in the direction of her office, passing first near Walter’s newly reclaimed workspace. The weapons guru’s disembodied voice was clearly audible as he flayed a strip off some luckless returning operative.

“I don’t care how you did it before. You handle my equipment like that…I’ll make sure you don’t have bullets next time you go out…you idiots chap my ass…” The voice trailed off into grumbling.

“I see Walter has his domain back under control,” Operations commented dryly.

Madeline didn’t try to hide a smile. “Yes. It didn’t take him any time at all.”

They passed through Comm, bestowing a nod on Birkoff, who looked up from a row of busy monitors to watch after them with mixed emotions written plainly on his face. Then ahead of them the guards and their despondent captives turned off down a side hall.

“It looks like Munroe has a busy day ahead of her,” he commented, referring to their expert information extractor, who Adrian had also resurrected from hiding. “This was well executed.” Of course, he wouldn’t have even known what he was looking at if Madeline hadn’t briefed him yesterday about this mission. They did this without me; the thought curdled in his stomach like rancid milk.

Madeline shrugged off the praise. “Poole provided the names. All we had to do was pick them up.”

They halted at her office. Madeline opened the door and then stepped aside.

“Madeline.” He turned and looked at her, all musings about Poole and his information sources driven from his thoughts. “You surprise me.”

He motioned for her to precede him and they entered the room. He walked in several steps then stopped and turned in a complete circle, taking in the warm hues of wall and floor coverings, the elegant and comfortable furnishings and the wall of tiered shelving devoted to profusely blooming plants bathed by grow-lights.

He looked at her. “You never told me that you disliked the remodeling I had done in your office.”

“It was an interesting change,” she replied, referring to the stark, ultra-modern décor he’d had installed in her office without consulting her. “I enjoyed having something different for a while.”

She crossed to the plant wall and plucked a yellowing leaf from one vine. “However, I found that environment to lack…contrast…for psychological purposes.” She carefully removed two or three other failing leaves, then turned and favored him with a cool smile. “In most cases the warmth and hospitality of this type of décor,” she waved one hand to encompass the office, “has a disarming effect, rather like a pleasant smile hiding sharp teeth.” She allowed her own smile to broaden slightly.

“The better to eat you with, my dear,” Operations murmured approvingly as he continued to prowl her office, closely examining every aspect.

“Paul.”

He turned, finding Madeline seated on a low sofa.

“We need to talk.”

“Yes.” He drew and released a slow breath. “I suppose we do.” He settled himself tensely on a similar facing sofa.

She waited, and although he knew it placed him at a disadvantage, he could not resist speaking first.

“Well. Where do we begin? You’ve had an interesting month here without me.”

“Yes. Interesting is one adjective we could apply.” She stopped and simply looked at him.

Privately he battled his overwhelming need to know what had happened in this past month; to understand where things stood at the present time. Madeline waited, expressionless. She would never be obvious, of course, no matter how greatly she relished this moment. Somehow that made it even harder to tolerate. And she would know that, too.

Restlessly he uncrossed and recrossed his legs, then reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette.

“I would appreciate it if you would not smoke in my office.”

He paused in surprised, the cigarette already in his mouth and one hand seeking in his pocket for some kind of light. She had never denied him permission to smoke in her office; he had never asked.

With exaggerated politeness he slowly removed the cigarette from his lips and replaced it in the pack. Never breaking eye contact, he returned the pack to his inner pocket.

“What is this about, Madeline?” he inquired coldly.

Instead of answering she tilted her head a little and asked, “Are you glad to be back?”

He stared at her. “Of course,” he said, in the sarcastic tone of one stating the painfully obvious. “I’m glad we’re all here. One big happy family. Now things can get back to normal.”

“Things aren’t going to return to normal,” she stated calmly, watching him.

“What are you saying?” His body seemed to pull in, as if preparing to ward off a blow.

Madeline’s lips curved slightly in the smile he had always…feared. The smile stopped far south of her eyes. She spoke slowly, carefully, as if explaining a concept she did not want to have misunderstood.

“In the past month I have learned what it feels like to work without being subject to your orders and your procedures. Certainly you are competent and widely respected for your work in Section. However, you and I both know that your success is due in large part to….me.”

He flinched at her emphatic delivery of the final word, then stared, taken aback by her forthright statement. “Madeline,” he began, then paused.

One eyebrow arched delicately. “Don’t know what to say? Here are the words: Yes, Madeline. Along with me, you are equally responsible for the success of Section One.”

Her eyes narrowed as they locked gazes. He was furious; she threw fuel on the fire. “Here are some more words: Thank you, Madeline, for bringing me back from the limbo of being on the run and having no meaningful place in Poole’s organization.”

Madeline looked at him expectantly, tauntingly. Still he found nothing to say, his voice silenced by the choking anger so candidly revealed on his face.

“Or perhaps you enjoy being number one on Section’s Most Wanted List.”

She leaned back, crossing her legs and folding her hands delicately, smugly, like a cat.

A strained silence enveloped them, freighted with the weight of his rage. Slowly he regained equilibrium. Slowly he nodded, not in agreement, but in acknowledgement of her control in this situation. Slowly understanding began to bleed through the curtain of his anger.

His voice was tight, focused. “Very well. You have made your points. You don’t need me. Section doesn’t need me. And…if I can be this self-righteously angry then I probably still have a healthy ego…relatively undamaged by two years outside my organization.”

His eyes were glacial blue in his lightly tanned face. “Why did you bring me in, Madeline?”

She placed hands on her knees and leaned forward, a subtle conciliatory gesture. “We are a good team.”

“I see. And I’m supposed to be so pathetically grateful for your forbearance that I’ll agree to any changes you propose in our…working relationship.”

She smiled…that smile…again. “No. You are supposed to have learned something about collaboration from the circumstances we have been in for the last two years. I could easily have left you outside Section, but in violation of my agreement with Adrian I brought you back.”

"Why?” he repeated.

“Adrian believed that during this past month I would realize a true desire to head Section One. She assumed that I would be as seduced by the power as she was.” Madeline paused and gazed searchingly at him, willing him to grasp the concept. She went on carefully.

“Adrian was wrong. I have no such desire. You and I are two parts of a successful whole, balancing each other. But it is important that one not be subjugated by the other.”

“You feel subjugated?” he asked incredulously. “This isn’t some kind of sensitivity training seminar we run here.”

Her chin lifted. “Does it please you to be obtuse? Do you imagine that I am talking about bruised egos and hurt feelings?” Her brown eyes snapped with indignation that rarely saw release. “I am trying to evolve the leadership of this organization into something with more depth, that is more flexible, more responsive and more successful. If you choose to see this only as a plot to decrease your personal power, then it’s clear you are not fit to be part of that leadership.”

Her gaze pierced him, precluding resistance and acknowledging no opposition on his part. He looked back, striving for a neutral expression. He could, of course, acquiesce now, then after his return was confirmed by Oversight - simply do as he pleased.

Except that he’d be functioning at half capacity. And looking over his shoulder day and night.

“This is important to you.”

“To the well-being of Section One,” she corrected.

His voice lowered, taking on a warning tone. “There is no team approach to accountability, Madeline. When things go wrong it will still be me who’s liable.”

“We have always kept certain aspects our internal operations away from the scrutiny of Oversight.” She rose and stepped over to face him, placing her hands lightly on his shoulders.

He looked up at her serene features. No one could ever accuse Madeline of making a power grab to the detriment of Section. If she came to feel that their working relationship was not optimizing Section’s effectiveness he had no doubt that she would be a formidable enemy. Certainly not one he would want in his office, at his back…in his bed.

His tone was musing as he looked at her. “Sometimes, Madeline, I wish you were more like other women.”

A split second of hurt surprise flashed across her face. In some ways, she is exactly like other women. He felt a momentary surprise of his own.

“But then I realize how boring that would be.” He smiled lightly. “Perhaps you should have left me to languish with Poole. Eventually, someone would have caught up with me and solved all our problems.”

“I still could. And I may,” she added, “if you continue to avoid any understanding of this issue. Oversight won’t approve your return without my recommendation.” He stood smoothly to face her, holding her to him by her upper arms. The low sofa bumped the backs of his legs at knee level.

“All right. We’ll try it your way.” Seemingly on its own his hand wandered up to her hair, once more luxuriant after a period of merciless cropping.

The corners of her lips turned up knowingly as she saw his expression change. “I think we understand each other now, Paul.”

“Yes, I believe we do.” he whispered against the smooth skin of her face.

Every point of contact between them was electrically charged. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted this as an unexpected benefit of the shift in balance between them.

Section One was a whole once more. The parts were assembled differently; doubtless he would learn of other…accommodations…to be made in the coming days. It wouldn’t be the same.

Perhaps, he admitted only to himself, it will be better.

* * * * * * * * * *

FINI

* * * * * * * * * *

Author’s note:

“Munroe” character is borrowed from jean’s unforgettable “Torture Twins Flash Mission” from the Challenge Board. Thank you jean!

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