This story is my retelling of "Hard Landing", and contains spoilers for all five seasons, and is rated NC-17 (for sexual content, language, and violence). All lyrics quoted remain the property of their creators, and are listed in full at the end of the story. The La Femme Nikita characters (as well as dialogue and situations) remain the property of Warner Bros, USA and Fireworks Entertainment. However, the cast of supporting, non-canon characters are my own creations. You may want to read "The Quality of Mercy" and "The Trick is to Keep Breathing" before you tackle "Restoration", as this story picks up where "Breathing" leaves off.

This story completely took over my life for many months, an experience made much more enjoyable by the wonderful readers of Storyboard 2, who stuck with me through over 120 long chapters. I appreciated your feedback, jokes and emails more than I can ever say. Thank you so much. And this story wouldn't be what it is without the dedication, and bright ideas, of my wonderful BetaGirl, and the daily emails from "The Vultures", who never once let me slack off the pace.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Mercy - pure and simple
Longing - cold and hollow
With sweet breath you'd come to warm me
But I held on too hard to only a memory
There is no hope in regretting now
All the pain that we could not see
We both knew what we wanted
And we took it believing it free

~*~*~*~*~*~~

Section lives and breathes all around me, a fusion of sound and movement. I hardly notice. Master To is instructing Byrnes and Connolly barely three feet away, but they are only a dull blur at the edge of my awareness. I stand and watch them, but no longer see or even hear anything.

All I can see is Nikita.

Thoughts of her have once again invaded my mind, but this time it is so much worse. Madeline's less than subtle manipulations have been brought face to face with Byrnes, the man who should have died in Nikita's place six months ago. Seeing him...having the memory of the night I lost her flung into my face...seems to have unleashed a maelstrom of images, each memory more painful than the last. The bitter recollections of our twisted history begin to swamp me...and all I can do is let them come.

The only part of me that's not dead is you.

The bars of the cage had been cold against my fingers, the burden of my guilt colder still. She had looked at me in shock before I saw hope light a flame behind her eyes. In that instant, I made her convinced her of a truth that I had long kept hidden.

It served its purpose. Section survived. We survived. The truth did not. I took her belief in me in both hands and ripped it in two before her eyes...my heart breaking as I watched the hope dim and fade as icy distrust settled once more in its place.

Sometimes I think you are the enemy.

She was more right than she knew. I lied to her, over and over again. For her own good...for the good of the Section. But I also lied to her whenever I felt the walls of my control start to crumble beyond repair. I was deliberately cruel in my desperation to keep her at arms length. Why did I bother? Why couldn't I see that there was no point trying to keep her out of my heart?

Eric didn't come back with the rest of the team. He won't get far.

Eric. Did he honestly think that he could outrun the Section? My anger toward the now dead operative flares once more as I think of the risk he took with Nikita's life...just because he wanted her. Uncomfortable guilt twists through my mind at this heated thought. You wanted her too...Eric was just prepared to do something about it, no matter what the consequences.

I blink and turn my attention briefly to the sparing operatives, hoping to distract myself. It's no use. The memories bear down mercilessly, smashing through my hastily erected barriers of denial.

Let's not fight what's between us. Let's take what we can get.

I think of the words I said to her that night, and shame covers me. She stayed in Section because of me. She had the chance to run and she didn't take it because she thought I... Self-loathing slashes at me as I recall how easily I was able to seduce her into staying. Was it because she wanted to believe my words so badly...or was it because she could sense that every word I spoke actually was true?

That's funny Michael, because I don't know you at all.

She was wrong. She did know me...she knew me instinctively, just as I knew her. She just couldn't believe in herself. Your fault. You deliberately kept her off-balance so it would be easier to manipulate her into doing what she had to do. I did it to keep her alive, I think fiercely, trying desperately to silence the accusations of my own conscience.

I love Gray and not you.

She didn't love Gray and we both knew it. I told myself that I was only trying to protect her from Section but that was a lie too. I pushed her too far and she pushed me back in the only way she knew how...and it worked. I close my eyes, remembering the sheer rage that swept through me at her taunting words...and how close I came to losing control. I was furious with her, with Gray, with Section...with the whole damn world that I could feel closing in around me.

I can't protect you anymore. I couldn't. I couldn't protect her...not from them...not from myself. She was my material and I failed her. After everything that she had sacrificed in order to do Section's bidding, all they saw were her 'weaknesses'...her compassion, her rebelliousness...and they wanted her dead.

Why did you ever? So many reasons...none of which I ever allowed myself to share with her. How could I explain something that I barely understood myself?

I kept Nikita safe as long as I could, and when that became an impossible task, I let her go. I lied to the Section, lied to everyone. Every single lie I told...every fact I concealed...all of it was to keep her alive...to let her go free. Sometimes, it is enough to hope that she now has what she craved for so long...her freedom.

But then the fear comes...the fear that I didn't give her enough time to get clear of the explosion...that she never made it out of that building alive. The fear that she is dead is a living thing that has taken up residence in my soul, slowly choking the life out of the hope that she survived and is now free. Happy.

We'll be able to communicate...from anywhere.

If Nikita did not survive, then my betrayal of Section will have been for nothing, and yet I would do it again in a heartbeat. If she is alive, I am quite sure that she would prefer to die than return to Section. All these things I know, and yet I cannot stop myself longing for her with an intensity that has shocked me to the core.

How long will it be before I can walk these hallways and not see her? How long will it take before my every thought is no longer consumed by her memory?

I stare across the main floor of Section with unseeing eyes, despair flooding my mind. How long will it be before the pain of losing her stops tearing me apart from the inside out?

~*~*~*~*~

"Tell me again why I'm here?"

Madeline looked at her and sighed audibly.

"You're here, Lauren, because you have been with us for five months. In that time, despite all your sessions here with me, you still insist on dressing in those clothes."

Lauren looked down at the outfit she had thrown on that morning and had to admit that Madeline had a point. She had watched the other Section operatives intently for the last few months...how they talked...how they acted...and how they dressed.

The clothes that people wore in this place were amazing, but somehow she just couldn't see herself in them. She didn't like black...it always made her look pale and washed out. As long as her clothes fit her and were clean, she didn't care what she wore.

Madeline, on the other hand, obviously did. Lauren gritted her teeth as the older woman steered her toward a rack of clothing.

"I want you to go through this rack, and pick out something that you like."

"What's the point, Madeline?" Lauren scowled at the clothes as the pointlessness of this exercise began to frustrate her. "I'm not allowed out of Section yet, anyway."

"That's beside the point. No matter where you are, or what you are required to do, you must learn to dress appropriately." Lauren turned to meet Madeline's eyes and flushed, the memory of their recent chat on the subject of valentine missions still fresh in her mind.

Lauren nodded silently and began to look through the clothes, running her hands over the leather and suede jackets with a sense of inevitability. Despite her mindset, she found herself really looking at the clothes in front of her. Never in a million years would I have thought that I would get to wear this stuff.

She only half-listened to Madeline as other woman continued. "I realize that you feel restricted...caged in. That's only to be expected. However, given your exemplary progress, I may be able to make a suggestion."

"And what's that?" Lauren's reply was slightly muffled, her face momentarily obscured by a pile of clothes in her arms.

Madeline paused slightly before replying. "You would be able to leave Section for an hour. This would be the only time until your status is upgraded, and you would be accompanied by another operative."

"Michael?"

Lauren saw the flicker of interest in Madeline's eyes at her question and swore silently. Damn. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled casually, praying desperately that she wouldn't blush.

"It's just that he's my trainer...I just assumed that I'd be going with him."

"No...not with Michael. He is needed elsewhere at the moment."

Lauren nodded and turned back to her task, thinking about her mentor. She had to admit, he was fabulous to look at, even though she had never really been into that silent type. And he was definitely silent. She had done everything she could to engage him in conversation, but...nothing. He spoke to her about her training, gave her advice on how to cope with anything she was having difficulty with...and that was it. As soon as she tried to dig a little deeper into that frozen surface of polite interest, he would look at her with those arctic eyes and immediately retreat behind a bland veneer of Section-speak.

She shook her head as though to loosen the thoughts of Michael from her mind. She'd heard rumours about Michael and his last trainee. People tended to gossip as much in Section as they did in any other workplace, and quite a few rumours revolved around Michael. Nikita had been a level one op and Michael had been her mentor...more than that, if you listened to the talk in the female showers.

He had actually led the abeyance mission that she had died on six months ago. That was just before I... Lauren faltered, unwilling to let her thoughts wander down that particularly painful path. Thinking about how stupid she had been to get involved with David and his idiotic thieving friends only made her furious with herself and accomplished nothing.

Lauren looked down at the clothes in her hands without really seeing them, her mind racing. I wonder if that's why he acts the way he does? Perhaps his coldness wasn't coldness ...but sadness?

"Lauren?"

Madeline's voice brought her back to herself, and she snatched up the first couple of things she could reach. "I'm done."

"Good". Madeline smiled serenely at her. "Why don't you try them on?"

Five minutes later, Lauren was staring at herself in the mirror. Black leather coat, tight black sweater and a long black leather skirt.

I don't look like me. I don't know who I look like...but it's definitely not me. Lauren heard a faint noise behind her and looked up to meet Madeline's eyes in the mirror. There was something in Madeline's expression that confused her. It wasn't sadness, but an odd look of regret. It was almost as though Madeline was looking at her, but not really seeing her. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she cleared her throat.

"Will this do?"

Madeline looked up and smiled, and again that dark emotion flickered in the depths of her eyes. "Yes. You'll do fine. Go pick up an access card from Birkoff. Sawyer will meet you at the northern street access elevator in five minutes."

Lauren nodded, trying to hide her growing excitement at the thought of seeing the outside world, if only for an hour. She turned to walk away but Madeline called her back. "You'd better take these...it can be difficult to get used to the light of day again."

Taking the dark sunglasses that Madeline held out to her, she smiled hesitantly. Some of the girls talked about this woman as though she was the devil incarnate, but Lauren just couldn't see it.

"Thanks Madeline."

~*~*~*~*~*~

these days well they're slipping right through my hands this life turned out nothing like I had planned.

"Nik! Nik!" Matty's children burst through the front door of the diner, two small blurs of hyperactivity. Tahlia follows at a more sedate pace, grinning at me unsympathetically as her two offspring wrap themselves around my legs.

Staggering slightly under the onslaught, I have to put down the tray of dirty plates I'm carrying on a nearby table before I drop them.

"Woah!" I poke them both in the ribs in an attempt to make them loosen their death grip on my legs. Both children only squeal with delight and cling tighter. I have to do something before they cut off my circulation.

"Tahlia...come on..." But their mother is too busy laughing at me to be of any assistance. In desperation, I turn towards the kitchen. "Matty? Have a heart?"

Matty comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dishcloth. He shakes his head, smiling broadly. "Okay, you guys. Give Nik her legs back now. You take her legs away, she can't do her job. And you know what that means, don't you?"

The children gaze up at their father, still laughing, and my heart does a funny little lurch. I blink and look away, trying to quell the sudden sadness that washes over me. The sweetness of their love for each other is a constant reminder of what is glaringly missing from my own life.

Joseph leans back, his arms still wrapped around me. "You tell us, Daddy."

"It means..." Matty drawls out ominously as he starts to walk slowly toward us. The children giggle again, caught up in the game. "It means that Daddy will have to work twice as hard...." He finally reaches us and grabs both children around the waist and swings them away, their excited squeals almost piercing my eardrums.

Ten minutes later, peace reigns. Joseph and Holly appear to be having some kind of potato chip eating contest, and Tahlia and Matty are taking the rare opportunity to spend some quiet time together. I bring them some coffee and head to the back room. It's three o'clock, the lunch crowd has already drifted away and I just might be able to finish the inventory of the frozen stock. Wowee...could my life be any more exciting?

Forget that, I scowl to myself. I had excitement...more than my fair share, and now I will be happy with 'dull' for the rest of my life. I stare into the deep freeze and wonder how many times I am going to have to tell myself this before I believe it.

I sigh heavily and sit down on an upturned milk crate. What the hell am I doing? I mean, I love those two and their kids, but I can't keep trying to find refuge in other people's lives. If Section ever tracked me to here, they would find out about Matty and Tahlia and... I shudder, unable to finish the thought.

Knowing that I should move on again soon and having the strength to do it are two very different things. The longer I stay in one place, the higher the risk of being discovered. And yet...how can I possibly leave them?

Tahlia's sing-song voice interrupts my unhappy thoughts. "Nik, we're leaving now."

I walk back into the diner and let Joseph and Holly assault me again before receiving a warm kiss on the cheek from Tahlia. Joseph tugs at my sleeve, his voice cracking with excitement. "We're going to the movies!"

I pinch his cheek and grin at his little sister, inwardly laughing at the total lack of enthusiasm radiating from their mother.

"What's the matter, Tahlia?" I dig her in the ribs with my elbow, smiling at her innocently. "Don't you like the movies?"

She frowns at me playfully, and leads both children by the hands to the front door. "Oh, I like them alright. Just you wait until you have kids, Nik...you will soon realize that just because you go to the movie, it doesn't mean that you will actually get to see or, God forbid, hear the movie."

Her husband roars with laughter behind me and Tahlia turns her frown on him. She doesn't see the tears welling in my eyes. Just wait until you have kids. I blink quickly and manage to hide my reaction by the time she turns back, but I soon realize I haven't fooled her for a second. Her eyes soften, and she lets go of Joseph's hand to grip mine.

"Hang in there, love. There will come a time for everything in your life. Just because you don't know when, it doesn't mean it will never happen."

With that, she gathers up the two children, kisses Matty with a resounding 'smack' and makes her way out of the diner. I stand and watch them leave, praying fervently that she is right.

~*~*~*~*~

A silence so rare
And more than I can stand
Sweeps like a flood
Through life's flesh and blood
And steals away with its heart

Michael, get them out of there...that's not the mission profile...Nikita's in there...

The flames.

I still see them every time I close my eyes, and every night in my dreams I hear them roar, screaming and snarling as they devoured the wooden building that was the Freedom League Base.

Nikita's in there.

I had no choice...there was nothing else I could do. I stare unseeing at the section operatives who move with purpose through my line of vision, knowing that no matter how many times I tell myself this, I will never be able to believe it.

"Michael."

Master To's voice reaches into my thoughts and pulls me back to reality with an abrupt jolt, and I realize that he has already finished taking Byrnes through his prep.

"He's ready for you."

Taking my place opposite Byrnes on the mat, I take him through the first set. He is skittish, overly cautious. Studying his awkward moves, I can't help but feel that he had probably been in abeyance for a very good reason.

I finish with a stinging kick to Byrnes' leg that seems to take him unawares, despite the fact that Master To has already run him through this sequence twice. He grunts and stumbles slightly to one side, favouring his right leg. After giving him a moment to recover, Master To takes him through the set again to correct his mistakes.

Restless, I find my attention wandering once more. As I glance toward the main hallway of Section, a flash of blonde hair snares my gaze and reality splinters into a thousand pieces.

Nikita.

My heart falters and then begins to race almost painfully hard, the blood roaring in my ears. I blink once, then twice, unable to comprehend what I am seeing.

Nikita.

Tall. Blonde. She strides gracefully through section in dark sunglasses and black leather jacket.

No...it's not possible.

But like a moth to a flame, I drift closer, my mind struggling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing. Operatives walk between us, blocking my line of sight. Hardly daring to breathe, I stare at her as she walks to Birkoff's desk. Confusion wars with euphoria as I watch her, knowing that this is impossible and yet unwilling to deny the fevered evidence of my own eyes.

She turns around and the foolish hope turns to ashes in my mouth.

It's Lauren.

It's so obviously Lauren and not Nikita that I can hardly believe I thought otherwise. I blink and look away, defeated, already knowing the answer to my own question. I wanted so badly for it to be true that I was ready to believe the impossible.

"Michael...are you ready?" The slight impatience in Master To's voice registers as I stare at Lauren, angry despair welling up inside me. Damn you Nikita...how much longer are you going to haunt my every thought?

But beneath my grief, a hot fury swells, rapidly dissolving the last shreds of my control. The feeling of being cornered escalates as the eyes of the waiting operatives turn towards me, and the urge to walk away, to escape, grows stronger by the second. But I control myself with an effort and turn to face Byrnes, vaguely noting the apprehension on his face.

Master To takes a step back as he gives his instructions. "Second set."

The fear that I will never be free of this aching sense of loss squeezes my heart, a sharp sting of misery that suddenly makes it difficult to breathe. Clenching my jaw, I nod to Byrnes and we begin the set again, Byrnes blocking my blows clumsily as sweat begins to trickle down his pale face. I watch him dispassionately, the blood pounding in my temples as I increase the force behind my moves.

As far as Section was concerned, this man's life was worth more than Nikita's.

Simmering anger reaches boiling point. Something inside my soul snaps in two, and the violence I have barely contained for so long erupts, shattering what remains of my restraint in a split-second. My kick finds its target, and Byrnes lets out a harsh cry of pain, his leg giving way underneath him.

He falls heavily, moaning as he clutches at his right leg. Master To crouches down beside him, running his hands over the injury that I have just inflicted, instructing Byrnes to lie still. After a few seconds, he looks up at me in puzzled disbelief, his eyes searching mine. "You broke his leg."

I glance at Brynes as he writhes in agony on the mat. I can find no remorse in my heart for causing his pain, but as I look at Master To, I feel a sense of shame at having displayed such behaviour in his domain. I nod to him and bite out a terse apology.

"I'm sorry."

Understanding flickers in the depths of his dark eyes as he looks at me, and his silent compassion is suddenly unbearable. Abandoning all pretence of involvement in this charade of a training session, I turn and walk away. The relative peace of my office offers only an illusion of sanctuary, but it doesn't matter.

I walk quickly through Section, the stares and whispers that I have become well used to over the last six months pricking my awareness. The two people watching from the office high above my head will have no doubt witnessed what has just transpired, but I can't say that I care. Nothing that they could mete out to me as a censure could possibly be worse than the hell I am already in.

~*~*~*~*~

"Explain to me again what you think this will achieve?"

Madeline didn't turn away from her perusal of Michael sparring with Byrnes as she answered calmly.

"Michael needs to work through the anger that he still feels over Nikita's cancellation. Providing him with a convenient target for that anger is one way of dealing with the emotions that are preventing him from moving on."

"Are we sure that he knows about Byrnes?"

Madeline frowned slightly before she answered. "There was no record of the abeyance database being accessed before the Shays mission but yes...I'm quite sure."

Operations studied Madeline's profile as he pondered her words. She was quite right, as usual. If Michael had the slightest suspicion that his material was in danger of being cancelled, he wouldn't have let a minor detail like violating Section security stand in his way.

He turned back to the window and they watched, in silence, as Michael seemed to lose concentration several times. Operations frowned when he saw Master To struggling to keep Michael's attention focused on the session.

"It's like he's not really here."

Madeline gave him a quick sideways glance and smiled, as though pleased by his insight. Operations started to speak again, but the words died on his lips as he stared down at the training area. Michael and Byrnes were sparring again, but there was something wrong. He could see the former abeyance operative struggling to defend himself against Michael's attack. Damn it, he's supposed to be retraining them, not beating the crap out of them! Operations watched in silent disbelief as Michael kicked Byrnes in the leg with such force that the other man went down in a heap.

More than a little shocked, he could only watch as Master To knelt over Byrnes, who was clutching at his leg in apparent agony. The instructor and Michael exchanged a few short words before Michael turned his back on them and walked away.

Operations cleared his suddenly dry throat and turned to meet Madeline's eyes as she answered his unspoken question.

"He's still out of synch."

He glared at Madeline, more than a little annoyed by her calm evaluation of the situation. For the last six months, they had put up with a level five operative who was not only playing by his own rules, but making them up as he went along. How could she be so tolerant of what was an intolerable situation?

Operations turned to stare down at Michael as he stalked through Section, seemingly uncaring of the fact that he had just seriously injured another operative during a routine training exercise.

"Out of synch? He's out of control. That stunt he pulled in Liberia could have gotten everybody killed!" Operations shuddered inwardly, thinking of how close Perry Bauer had come to becoming a eunuch at Michael's hands.

Madeline said nothing, and he felt his temper fray even further. "Now he's beating up our operatives?"

"He's still not over Nikita."

Madeline's soft reply did nothing to improve his mood, and he scowled in the direction of Michael's now closed office door. Nikita. That name still left a bad taste in his mouth.

"So he's taking it out on us."

They both watched Michael close the blinds to his office, as though trying to shut out the rest of the world.

He heard Madeline sigh softly, as though she knew he wouldn't like what she was about to tell him. "No, not on us...himself."

Operations glanced at her, frowning at her implication. Michael's guilt over his part in Nikita's death had been affecting his performance for the last six months, and it was steadily getting worse. How much longer would Michael continue to mourn a woman who would have only destroyed him in the end?

"It's been over six months. He's got to let it go."

"What if he can't?"

Irritated by Madeline's persistence, he flung back a quick reply. "He got over Simone. He can get over Nikita."

Madeline turned away from the window, barely concealed impatience flashing in her dark eyes as she gently prompted him once more. "And what if he doesn't?"

"I don't care how high his numbers used to be, Madeline. If he no longer has what it takes, he's no good to us."

"I disagree."

You would, Operations thought sourly before he could stop himself. Annoyed, he changed the subject. "Where are we with Ackerman?"

Madeline gave him a genuine smile that he felt down to his toes. "He's performing quite well. I've made sure that he is well aware of Michael's recent difficulties...and Mr Ackerman is more than ambitious enough to take advantage of what he may perceive as any weakness on Michael's part."

"What he may perceive...?"

Madeline walked slowly toward the door as she spoke. "Michael may appear to be have lost his edge, Paul...but I have no doubt that if push comes to shove, as they say, he would have no trouble dealing with Mr Ackerman."

~*~*~*~*~

I hear your voice
Way down inside
A whispering sea
Of towering trees
But no reply

NIKITA, ARE YOU THERE?

NO REPLIES TO ENCODED INQUIRY.

I sit and stare at the screen and its message for a few moments, defeat seeping into my very bones. It has been three days since I sent a message to the PDA that I gave Nikita six months ago. Three days by accident, not design. The parameters of the Nigerian mission had to be reconfigured at the last minute, necessitating another twenty-four hours in play.

Massaging my temples, I review the last events of the few days as my head begins to pound.

After spending an extra day in Nigeria, there were major problems with the transport on the return journey. Six additional hours in the air having done nothing for my already bleak mood, I arrived in Section to find that the Viertel operation in Pakistan had gone hot unexpectedly, resulting in three team members dead and the target slipping through Section's fingers. Ten hours spent cleaning up someone else's mess then kept me occupied for another full day.

And now, I am just trying to pull together my rapidly fraying control after encountering Madeline's latest diversionary tactic. Teaming me with Byrnes was a misguided but insightful maneuver. Despite my anger toward her, I can't help but admire her tenacity. She has done everything possible to jolt me back into the reality that is Section.

I shut the laptop with a dull thud, reluctantly admitting an unwanted truth. It's been six months. If I haven't heard from Nikita by now, it's not going to happen this morning.

Glancing at my watch, I realize dully that there is a briefing in ten minutes, a briefing for which I am totally unprepared. I pull up the details on my panel, quickly scanning the intel in a half-hearted effort to make myself care. A highlighted phrase snags my gaze, and I feel a cold shudder go through me.

Freedom League.

I read on, my heart growing heavier with every word. Six months after we destroyed their base in Germany, the Freedom League appears to be active once again, this time in the Mediterranean. Leaning back, I shut down the panel and push my chair back almost angrily.

No matter where I look, no matter what I do...there is nowhere I can go to escape from her. Nikita is everywhere I look, every mission I profile. And now that this particular faction has resurfaced, there is no way to avoid dealing with the fact that Nikita 'died' the night we took out the Freedom League base.

I leave my office and walk slowly to the briefing room, in no rush to hear our most recent history with the Freedom League rehashed. There is no point in hurrying to a meeting where I will only feel the stares of the people who still believe I betrayed Nikita in the worst possible way.

"Michael!"

I stop at the sound of Ackerman's voice behind me, and turn to see him walking toward me with the kind of confident swagger that I have seen many times before, in many different operatives...not many of whom are still alive.

"Yes?"

He grins at me, and for a moment I think that he might actually be about to slap me on the back. "I just wanted to say that I'm looking forward to working with you on this one."

Without bothering to reply, I study him quietly. There is an underlying air of challenge beneath his affable manner, a less than subtle predatory feel about him.

Angry resentment flickers for a few seconds. Ackerman will, undoubtedly, not be the only person who will try to take advantage of what could only be politely described as my distracted state of mind. Sensing a weakness, he is attempting to find a higher foothold in the Section food chain.

We stare at each other in silence, the air between us bristling with the challenge that he doesn't yet have the confidence to issue. His smug manner deflates slightly in the face of my continued silence, but he recovers quickly.

"Better get going. Operations will be pissed if we're late for the briefing."

I watch as he strides off, filled with self-importance, before I follow. Operatives like Ackerman never last long in Section One. Often from a military background, their rapid ascent through the ranks is almost always followed by a premature death brought on by their own over-confidence.

Ambition makes them careless.

~*~*~*~*~

I feel just like I'm sinking
And I claw for solid ground
Pulled down by the undertow
Never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness
I feel like letting go

Madeline gives me a lingering look as I take the seat next to her, her dark eyes searching my face. I turn the chair slightly so that I'm facing away from her, unwilling to spend the entire briefing being studied like a lab rat.

Operations clears his throat and frowns at me as I belatedly realize that I am indeed the last to arrive. I return his gaze blandly and he looks away, as though having second thoughts about reprimanding me.

"Recently there has been a barrage of terrorist attacks perpetrated by the Freedom League. The latest incident came in just last night. A tourist charter in the Aegean exploded killing all twenty-three passengers and crew."

Operations pauses, his eyes carefully avoiding mine. "We suspect these attacks are a response to our incineration of one of their locations six months ago."

There is a few tense seconds of complete silence before Walter speaks, his voice low and bitter.

"We all remember that."

A knot of guilt tightens in the pit of my stomach. There is no way I can alleviate Walter's pain by telling him that Nikita is still alive, even though I know that she would be horrified to learn of the burden of grief that he is struggling under. Knowledge is a dangerous commodity in Section, and in here, a secret can end up costing you your life.

Operations glares at Walter, irritation tightening his voice. "Do you have something to contribute, Walter?"

Walter says nothing, but I can feel his eyes on me, the weight of his angry stare. Impatient to have this uncomfortable situation over and done with as soon as possible, I draw Operations attention with a fairly obvious question.

"Do we have new intel of the location of their headquarters?"

Operations darts a glance at me as though he's surprised to hear the sound of my voice. He nods quickly and brings up the briefing screen.

"That's why we're here." Blue light floods the room as images and information float across the screen.

"This is Stuart Sherrin, the proprietor of a resort in Thailand that caters to the vices of an elite and perverse clientele. Prostitution, drugs, outlawed gambling...he provides it all."

He pauses and Madeline leans forward in her chair to take up the briefing.

"Recreation isn't Sherrin's only business." She looks down the table at each of us in turn. "He launders money. Sherrin acts as a firewall to isolate terrorists from their transactions...buying weapons, contracting players."

Ackerman frowns and looks up at Operations. "There are dozens of guys like Sherrin. Why do we think he's in business with the Freedom League?"

Before Operations can reply, Birkoff turns to Ackerman with an impatient sigh.

"I backed into a couple of his offshore accounts. Within two days of each of the last six Freedom league hits large deposits were made into them." Birkoff looks back at Operations and shakes his head. "It's no coincidence."

I see irritation flicker across Ackerman's face, a flash of resentment at being shown up by the younger man in front of the rest of the team. Operations switches off the intel screen and looks briefly at Madeline before his gaze sweeps us all.

"Operational profiles are in your PDAs. Study them." His eyes meet mine for a split-second before they slide across to Ackerman.

"Transport for Thailand leaves in two hours. All Teams to report to Ackerman."

His terse statement finally infiltrates a mind that has been numbed by grief for too long, his words echoing inside my head mercilessly.

All teams report to Ackerman.

Feeling as though I've just been punched in the gut, I stare at Operations, unable to hide my reaction, the shock that I can't conceal. "I'm not leading the Teams?"

Operations stares at me, his pale eyes locking onto mine. "No."

I'm only vaguely aware of the rest of the team leaving the briefing area. The blood roaring through my veins as I sit motionless, the only sense of structure I have known for seven years disappearing from underneath me.

Ackerman is leading the teams, and I will be reporting to him

I gradually become conscious of Madeline, still sitting by my side. After a moment, she finally speaks, her voice full of soft concern. "You can't bring her back, Michael. Stop trying."

I flinch inwardly at her words, despising her for being able to see straight into the darkness of my heart. Madeline knows that my reaction is about much more than Ackerman leading the teams. I stare straight ahead, unwilling to let her see the confirmation of her words in my eyes.

Madeline sighs quietly and pushes her chair back. She walks behind my chair and pauses, touching me lightly on the shoulder.

"There was nothing you could have done."

I clench my teeth in an effort to remain silent, uncomfortably aware of the warmth of her hand on my shoulder.

Madeline sighs again and draws her hand back, her voice hardening slightly. "As for Mr Ackerman's new responsibilities...whether or not this becomes a permanent arrangement is up to you."

Then she is gone, her heels clicking on the hard floor as she walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~

Ackerman could barely hide the rush of exultation that surged through him at the look on Michael's face when he realized that he, Michael, had been pushed aside in favour of the new guy in town. As moments of triumph went, it had been pretty sweet.

"Son of a bitch has had it all his own way for far too long", he thought happily as he strolled from the briefing room and heading for Munitions. He wanted to sound out Walter, find out how the old man reacted to a bit of gentle prodding.

Ackerman walked slowly, mulling over what he knew about Michael Samuelle. Operations' little golden boy had finally gone off the rails after seven years of toeing the line. And all over some chick, if you believed the locker room gossip.

Ackerman could care less about the reasons for Michael's loss of form. All he cared about was that, finally, he now had the chance to grab a slice of Section One glory.

Idiots...all of them. Ackerman laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head. It had been so easy to play both sides these eight months. The Freedom League were pathetically grateful for any little tidbit of information that he bothered to throw their way, and information was getting easier and easier to come by. The money was spectacular...the only bitch was keeping it hidden from Section. Still...it was worth it. The way he was going, he would have enough to feather an extremely opulent nest within a couple of months.

He reached Munitions, but the old guy was nowhere to be seen. Grinding his teeth with impatience, he walked over to the main workbench. There was equipment scattered everywhere, so Walter couldn't be too far away. Ackerman eyed the panels and tracking discs with interest. Look at all this shit...I wonder how much those no-hopers at the Freedom League would pay for some of this stuff? Taking a cursory glance around, he reached out inquisitively, only to find a hand suddenly gripping his forearm very tightly.

"Something I can help you with there, Ackerman?" He turned to face Walter, whose bright blue eyes were narrowed with dislike. Realising that he had his work cut out for him with this one, Ackerman smiled at Walter with as much persuasive charm as he could muster.

"No...no...everything's fine, Walter. I'm just a dumb op...I wouldn't know the first thing about all this high-tech stuff." Ackerman watched Walter carefully, noting with satisfaction that the older man's air of hostility seemed to lessen slightly at the self-depreciating words. Not enough to make him feel totally comfortable around him, though.

"So, what can I do for you?" Walter pointedly cleared away the equipment and looked at him expectantly.

Ackerman hesitated. He didn't know if Michael had any allies left at all inside Section, not after the way he had been behaving. And he had heard several rumours to the effect that Walter and Michael had nearly come to blows after they returned from the abeyance mission during which a female operative had died...what was her name? Nikita...that's it...what weird sort of Ruski name was that?

Whatever her name was, according to the guys that he'd spoken to, she had been a sight to behold. She and Michael had been recruit and mentor...and a whole lot more besides, Ackerman thought with a smirk. What she had been doing wasting her time on an uptight company man like Michael Samuelle was beyond him. The babe and Walter had apparently been pretty tight too, in a 'friends' kind of way. The old guy had taken her death pretty hard, and had obviously laid the blame right at Michael's door.

Still...he had no idea if Walter was going to play ball or not. Loyalty was a strange animal. Walter might hate Michael's guts at the moment, and it was pretty clear from the tension at the briefing that he wasn't too fond of him, but it didn't mean that Walter was going to turn around and be best buddies with the guy taking Michael's place.

Ackerman frowned and gave Walter a serious look. "I don't want to step on anyone's toes here, Walter. I know that you and Michael have worked together for a long time."

Walter folded his arms across his chest and regarding him coolly. "You got that right. Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm leading the teams on the Bangkok mission instead of Michael."

The total lack of surprise on Walter's face suggested to Ackerman that this was old news, and his reply confirmed it.

"I know. I got the equipment requisition order an hour ago." Walter reached into the shelves behind him and started assembling a small, neat pile of field equipment. After a few seconds, he glanced up at Ackerman, his eyes unreadable.

"So, you're running the mission from Comm, right?"

Ackerman leant against the bench, wondering where this was going. "That's right."

Walter put one last panel on the bench with a clunk and smiled innocently at him. "Why is that? I mean, Michael's still out in the field. Obviously they need the best on site for this one...that Sherrin's a slippery customer. I wonder why they thought you'd be better placed in here?"

Ackerman felt his temper flare at the obvious insinuation. He opened his mouth to speak but Walter cut him off smoothly, his words a pointed slap in the face.

"So, if that's all you needed me for, I'd say we were done, wouldn't you?"

~*~*~*~*~

Walter watched Ackerman storm off and grinned knowingly. Pompous ass. He had seen a thousand ops come and go in his time, and Ackerman had 'early enforced retirement' written all over him.

He had heard things about Ackerman...how he had been asking all sorts of questions about Michael. Walter shook his head, thinking of how he'd heard a couple of Level Two thugs filling Ackerman's ears with all kinds of crap about Michael and Nikita. They had no right to talk about his girl that way, especially not to a toadying weasel like Ackerman.

I don't trust him, Walter thought unhappily as he watched Ackerman lording it over Birkoff in Comm. After watching the two of them for a few minutes, he amended the thought. Attempting to lord it over Birkoff would have been better. He could see the look of disdain on Birkoff's face, a look that Ackerman was too self-absorbed to notice.

Ackerman might be leading the teams, but he wasn't looked on as a leader by anyone in this place, that's for sure. What on earth are those two trying to do, Walter thought with a scowl as he glanced up toward Operations' office. Ackerman was no Michael, and he never would be. If this was just another one of Madeline's psyche-out plots to make Michael see the error of his ways, then it was going to blow up in her face, just like everything else she'd tried over the last six months.

Walter checked the inventory for the Bangkok mission once more and sighed. Sure, they'd kept Michael in the field for this one, but the profile was so simple that the kid could do it with his eyes shut. Just as well...it's how he's been doing everything ever since... Walter checked himself, not wanting to let his thoughts go down that path again, but it was too late. He felt the tears sting his eyes and he dashed them away with an unsteady hand. Staring at the panel in his hand, all he could see was her face...that beautiful face that he was never going to lay eyes on again.

Damn them...why did they do it? She was good. Oh, she gave them a hard time every now and then, but that's what made her special...she cared about people. Walter shook his head, thinking of the two people who ran the joint as though it was their god-given right. Operations could make that fancy speech about protecting the innocent until he was blue in the face, but Nikita had been the only one who actually gave a damn about the innocent, and he knew it.

And as for Madeline...Walter frowned and started assembling the equipment that Michael would need for his part in the mission. As for Madeline, the thing he hated most was that she had pretended to be Sugar's friend...it had almost broken Walter's heart to see it in the beginning...how starved for motherly affection his girl had been...and how she thought she had found it in Madeline.

And that, he thought as he tossed a comm. unit onto the bench with unnecessary force, was the cruelest thing of all.

"I need that equipment now."

Startled, Walter looked up into Michael's face and almost took an involuntary step backward as their eyes met. Michael was mightily pissed off and only just managing not to show it, but Walter knew him better than most people. At least I thought I did, he thought with a dull pang of regret. Clearing his throat, he motioned toward the bench top.

"There you go...it's all ready for you." Walter hesitated for a few seconds before reaching for the vial of tracking spikes. "Now, you haven't used these babies before...all you gotta do is drop them on the floor and let your target walk over them. They'll splinter slightly and attach themselves to the sole of the shoe...and bingo...Birkoff will be able to track the target anywhere within a five kilometer radius."

Michael gathered up the other pieces of equipment before taking the vial from Walter's hand, their eyes meeting once more. Walter swallowed hard as he saw the misery that Michael was trying so hard to conceal, the half-dead bleakness in his eyes that was getting worse with every passing day. He was a hell of a long way from forgiving Michael, but it wasn't right what they were doing to him.

"Look, Michael...about the briefing..."

Michael's expression hardened at Walter's almost apologetic tone, and the older man almost felt the door being slammed shut in his face. Michael slipped the vial into his jacket pocket, his eyes once again unreadable.

"I have to go."

With that, he turned on his heel and quickly walked away toward van access, leaving Walter staring after him. After a long moment, Walter sighed and went back to sweeping the panels from the Viertel mission. He worked methodically, his thoughts of Michael, Ackerman and Madeline keeping pace with his hands.

Something's gotta give...and soon.

~*~*~*~*~

I just want to feel safe in my own skin,
I just want to be happy again
I just want to feel deep in my own world

My feet are killing me. It's four in the afternoon, and the diner is practically deserted. Only one table, and last time I looked, they were already onto their coffee and pie. Matty walks through to the kitchen to dump the last of the day's dirty plates next to the dishwasher and gives me a grin.

"What do you think, Nik...should we shut up shop and go home early?"

I roll my eyes at him in an attempt to convey the fact that I am not amused. Matty does this to me every other afternoon, the cheeky bugger. He dangles the promise of an early mark, as he calls it, in front of me, and then always seems to find something else for us to do. Workaholic, I think without too much resentment.

I don't mind being busy. It keeps me from brooding about things that I have no business thinking about. Like how I'm sure I heard my PDA beeping as I was locking my front door this morning...and how all day I've been thinking that I should have gone back to check. I shake my head and begin stacking the dirty crockery in the dishwasher, but my one-track mind keeps going back to that PDA like a terrier worrying a bone.

I should have checked. It's been three days since Michael sent me a message, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. I should be happy...it might mean that he's finally accepted the fact that I'm gone...that I'm never coming back to Section. And yet...I slam the door of the dishwasher a little harder than is strictly warranted and stare unseeingly at the dozens of drawings by his children that Matty has pinned up on the kitchen wall.

And yet I can't deny that something inside me dies a little every day that I don't get that damn message.

"Nik? Can you come and serve?"

"Sure thing, Matty...just give me a second." I hastily finish wiping down the kitchen bench before walking out to find Matty with his hands full of receipts and a new customer coming through the front door. I tie my apron on and pick up a menu, still mentally berating myself.

I'm such an idiot. So what if Michael stops sending me messages? It's been six months...why can't I just let it go?

I give Matty a whack on the backside with the menu for good measure as I pass behind him, just to pay him back for his 'let's go home early' routine. The customer is already sitting at a table by the window, staring intently through the glass. He's better dressed than our usual clientele, but that doesn't necessarily guarantee a tip. I learnt a long time ago that clothes do not maketh the man.

I hand him the menu and he flips through it slowly, but I get the odd impression that he's not really interested. I clear my throat pointedly, but he just buries his head in the menu again. Silently sighing, I settle in for a long wait. Mate, if you only want coffee, just say so. I don't care.

Feeling more than a little impatient, I sigh and stare out the window, hoping to distract myself, but what I see only makes my blood turn to ice.

Two men, both dressed in black, are standing across the road, talking as they look toward the diner. A cool shiver dances down my spine as I stare at them, my heart fluttering unsteadily. I take a deep breath and try to reason with myself. Stop it, Nikita. You're being ridiculous. They're just talking to each other.

No. I'm not being ridiculous. There is something horrifyingly familiar about the way that they are acting. Each man keeps looking over his shoulder, as though checking the surrounding area for danger. As I watch, my stomach twitching with nausea, they begin to cross the street. They're coming here.

Run.

A sudden pain shoots up my arm, the sensation of fingers digging roughly into my flesh. Shocked, I glance down to find my reluctant customer has opened his suit jacket just wide enough for me to see the gun at his waist, his grip tightening on my arm.

"We only want you. Nobody else needs to get hurt."

Oh God...Matty...Tahlia... I swallow the bile that has risen to the back of my throat and nod shakily, not quite able to believe that this is happening. My knees are almost knocking together, my mind racing at a million miles an hour.

Are they Section? How did they find me? I won't go back. I feel my hands curl into fists at my sides, the adrenalin starting to pump through my blood.

I won't.

The guy casually slides out from his seat and gestures to the front door. Matty still has his back to us, thank god. There is no way I can explain this, but I have to tell him something. As we walk past him, I lean over and touch his arm gently.

Matty looks at me, then at the man behind me. I smile at him beseechingly, praying that he can't see the fear in my eyes.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Matty?"

Matty's no fool. He frowns and gives me an odd look before finally nodding his agreement. It's all I can do to smile at him and turn away, knowing that I will probably never see him again. Please, don't let them kill him.

In a few seconds we're out the door and on the landing at the top of the stairs...and out of Matty's line of sight. I take a deep breath and slam my elbow into the stomach of my unwelcome companion. He grunts in pain and I hit him again, my fist slamming against his jaw, hard. He staggers back into the doorframe and I spin around, knowing that my only chance is to get down the stairs and out into the street.

Shit! One of the men that I saw across the street is already halfway up the stairs, blocking my path. I kick out at him in desperation, feeling clumsy and out of practice. But my kick lands squarely in the middle of his chest and he falls backward, hitting the wooden stairs hard. The blood roaring through my veins, I jump the railing and tear across the parking lot, my breath burning in my lungs.

This can't be happening. Not now...not after everything I've gone through. After feverishly scanning the high wire fence that encircles the back lot, I run for the industrial waste dumpster, holding my breath as I climb onto it and swing my body over the fence. In my panic, I don't see the van until it's too late. It screeches to a halt in front of me just as two more men come at me from either side. Every possible escape route is blocked off, but I'll be damned if I'm just going give in.

But my reflexes have been dulled by six months of life in the real world and the two of them are all over me in a few seconds. I hear the pounding of footsteps behind me and realize that more of them have arrived. There's too many, I think despairingly as I lash out in desperation. As they roughly restrain me, I bite down on the angry scream that is burning the back of my throat. They will kill Matty if he comes out here...I can't let that happen.

I close my eyes as pain skitters across my shoulders, my arms wrenched hard behind me. Angry tears sting my eyes as I feel the rough scrape of rope against my wrists. Dear God...please let this just be another nightmare.

A blur of dark cloth flashes in front of my eyes a split-second before the world goes black, and I find myself being dragged along, my feet tripping over the uneven ground. Their rough hands are all over my body, and I have to again fight the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. I hear the sound of tires spinning on the gravel, followed by a curt command from the man on my left.

"Get her in the van."

~*~*~*~*~

I cannot live peacefully
without you
for even a moment

I check my panel one last time, and then report our location back to Section.

"Birkoff, we're on site." Sitting next to me, Bartlett smiles as he picks up on my less than subtle snubbing of Ackerman, who is no doubt standing in Comm at this very moment.

I can also detect a faint note of amusement in Birkoff's voice as he replies. "Sherrin arrived just over two hours ago, and there's been no sign of him leaving the premises since then." He pauses, and I can hear him tapping on his keyboard before he speaks again.

"Xing Tau is Sherrin's right-hand man. He's expecting to meet O'Beirne, one of Sherrin's northern European team, in ten minutes at the main bar. He's never met the guy, so there's no problem there."

For a moment, I ponder Birkoff's understatement. O'Beirne is currently enjoying some time with Madeline in the white room, and I doubt very much that Xing Tau will ever have the pleasure of making his acquaintance.

Sherrin's resort is typical of its type. About five kilometers outside the city limits, it is difficult to find and discreetly screened by lush landscaping. After a quick equipment check, I get to my feet and look at Bartlett.

"First Team, take the northern entrance. Five minutes." Bartlett nods and quickly leaves the transport with Crosdale and Stockwell following closely behind.

I activate my comm. unit as I exit the van and stroll casually down the long driveway. It is teeming with well-dressed customers, mostly male, but there are a few scantily but expensively clad women amongst the crowd, clinging adoringly to male arms.

Shouldering my way gently through the main entranceway, I proceed to the main bar on the second floor, conscious of the eyes that watch my every move. The bar is empty, but I'm quite sure that Xing Tau is well aware of my presence.

I hold up a hand to the bartender, who is watching me with thinly veiled curiosity. Biting down on the urge to order the strongest whiskey on their shelves, I confine myself to tea.

"Cha." He nods politely and within a few seconds, sets a china teapot and a small cup in front of me. I pour a cupful, vaguely enjoying the smell of the fragrant jasmine-scented steam while I meticulously catalogue the surrounds. I take a sip as a slight movement to my right sets my senses on edge, and watch out of the corner of my eye as a slightly built male detaches himself from a cluster of people at the end of the bar and casually strolls toward me.

He comes to stand beside me, running his hand lightly across the back of my shoulder as he does so. I take another sip of hot tea to quell the urge to shrug his hand away and wait patiently for him to begin the game that will no doubt be our conversation.

Xing studies me carefully, his dark eyes filled with distrust, and I am not surprised when, a few seconds later, he begins to speak in Cantonese.

"We are very happy that you have the chance to do business with us tonight. How did you meet my boss?"

I return his suspicious gaze blandly and place the teacup on the bar, amused despite myself by his very obvious sounding out of my identity. "He didn't tell you?"

Xing blinks slightly at my fluent reply, but he recovers quickly. "He did, but I want you to tell me."

Suddenly weary of the word games and conscious of the fact that Birkoff doesn't speak Cantonese, I switch to English. "I provide security for him when he's in Northern Europe."

Sherrin's right-hand man shifts slightly, leaning closer to me. "He does a lot of business in Finland, doesn't he?"

Birkoff's voice suddenly flares to life in my ear. "Michael, Sherrin has never set foot in Finland...spends most of his time in Stockholm."

Before I answer, I give Xing a small smile that seems to make him uncomfortable. "He's never been to Finland. He works out of Stockholm."

Xing's mouth curves briefly, a grudging acknowledgement. He raises one hand and beckons to an unknown person behind me as he answers. "Quite right."

A tall, thickset man pauses at Xing's right shoulder as though waiting for instructions. He and Xing hold a whispered conversation in Cantonese that I don't bother trying to overhear. I'm quite certain that this is Sherrin's errand boy and he is being told to inform Sherrin that I am here.

Slipping my hand into my coat pocket, I scoop up a small handful of the tracking spikes into my palm. They flutter unheard and unnoticed to the floor as I put my hand back down by my side, watching with quiet satisfaction as the two men finish their conversation and the messenger departs, taking several of Walter's new toys with him on the soles of his shoes.

Almost disappointed at how easy this has been, I take another sip of tea and prepare to make meaningless small talk with Xing in Cantonese.

He eyes me speculatively. "We have many beautiful women here if you should wish to amuse yourself." His hand is on my shoulder once again, his fingertips trailing lightly down my upper arm. "Beautiful boys as well, if you prefer."

Repressing a weary sigh, I smile at him almost apologetically. "I prefer women."

Disappointment flares at the back of his eyes before he nods and returns my smile. "What a pity." Giving me one last lingering look, he turns and gestures to two women who I belatedly realize have been hovering nearby, no doubt for this very purpose.

Xing smiles at me knowingly. "I'm sure that these lovely ladies will be able to entertain you while we wait for Mr Sherrin to arrive."

~*~*~*~*~

Birkoff hastily swallowed the potato chip he had just put in his mouth as the screen in front of him flared into life.

"Michael tagged Sherrin's Gofer. He's heading in."

Ackerman loomed over his shoulder again. God, this guy was a major pain in the butt. He had done nothing but interfere with Birkoff's carefully ordered world ever since he'd arrived in Comm five minutes before the mission went live, and Birkoff was getting pretty tired of it.

Michael was never like this, Birkoff decided with a scowl. At least Michael respected him, knew that he knew how to do his job. Ackerman was acting as though the whole mission was going to fall apart if he wasn't there to personally oversee it. What a joke. Birkoff and Michael could have run this profile with one hand tied behind their backs. They didn't need Ackerman.

Birkoff waited for the intel to download and thought about Michael again. Now there was a guy who was behaving strangely. Ever since they'd lost Nikita, Michael seemed to have gone completely wacko...not that Birkoff blamed him for that. Hell, he didn't even blame him for Nikita any more...not like Walter did. Birkoff thought of the old guy and sighed. Poor Walter. He couldn't bear to even talk about Nikita, and it had been nearly six months.

The screen lit up and he pulled his mind back to the task at hand. At least now that something was actually happening, maybe he wouldn't have to put up with Ackerman's inane questions, he thought with relief. He studied the screen carefully and began feeding the intel through to Michael.

"Here we go. It looks like he's got two bodies with him. Small...probably female." Lucky dog. Birkoff couldn't even begin to imagine what that would be like. The screen flared again and he tore his mind away from his distracting thoughts and peered at the readout.

"Right inside the door there's four more. Larger...probably bodyguards." Birkoff stared at the screen. Four bodyguards? Shit, how did people 'do it' with so many people around? How embarrassing would that be? He shook his head at the thought.

Ackerman's voice was suddenly right beside his ear, making him jump guiltily. "And Sherrin's egress?

Birkoff had to clear his suddenly dry throat before he could reply. "Only one way out." He glanced up at Ackerman to see his reaction.

Ackerman nodded, pleased. "Good. Download the game plan to the onsite ops."

Birkoff hesitated, knowing that Michael had downloaded what he needed twenty minutes ago without waiting for clearance from Ackerman. Still, what Ackerman didn't know wasn't going to hurt him, and it wasn't as though he was really lying to him. "It's done."

"Start sequencing."

Hoping that Michael hadn't already starting doing that as well, Birkoff patched through to Michael's comm. unit. "Michael...five seconds. Twenty meters down to the entrance."