Genevieve's Stories - "Restoration*

It's sometimes just like sleeping
Curling up inside my private tortures
I nestle into pain
Hug suffering
Caress every ache
I play dead
It stops the hurting

Stuart Sherrin would appear to have excellent taste in women if the prostitutes working in his resort are any indication. Xing is still hovering at my shoulder, but I now have a delicately pretty Thai hostess on either side of me. The one on my left seems more focused on Xing, her eyes glowing with foolish hope as she clings onto his arm. I turn to the woman on my right and smile at her warmly. She flushes delicately as I let my gaze linger on her mouth before meeting her eyes. I lean toward her as she speaks, trying to ignore the almost overpowering musky scent of her perfume.

Her voice is low and utterly charming. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your time here more...pleasurable."

I search my mental dictionary for the correct Cantonese phrase with which to reply. Showing the proper amount of respect while trying to engage the services of a prostitute requires a delicate touch.

"I am already made happier by your beautiful presence."

Apparently satisfied that the preliminaries have been dealt with, she flutters her eyelashes and presses herself to me, rubbing her small breasts against my chest as she trails her hand lightly down my side.

I have deliberately stayed close to Xing, letting his shoulder rest against mine. Without having to look, I know from the tension that stiffens his body the exact moment Bartlett leads first team through the northern entrance.

Placing my hand on the hip of my female companion, I draw her closer, pulling her gently to stand in front of us as I feel Xing's arm shifting against mine, reaching for his gun. Having shielded what I am about to do from any curious eyes, I flick out one hand to seize Xing's neck, feeling the low gurgle in his throat vibrate beneath my fingers.

My hostess seems to sense that something is not quite right and tries to look around me, curious. I bow my head quickly, pressing my lips to her warm throat as I snatch Xing's gun from his limp fingers, the sound of his unconscious body hitting the floor barely audible over the pounding music.

The woman shivers as I continue to kiss her, running my mouth along the line of her throat. Her eyes close in apparent ecstasy and, despite my distaste, I feel a reluctant admiration for her flawless technique. The bitter thought occurs to me that there is not much difference between her profession and my own.

Having bought myself a few precious seconds of cover, I ease away from the body rubbing insistently against mine with a show of great reluctance. Over her shoulder, I can see Bartlett and his team taking out Sherrin's guards quickly and efficiently.

I run my hand down the woman's arm, smiling at her sadly as I pull away. "I am sorry...I must work now."

My hostess gives me a regretful smile and murmurs a rather shocking suggestion in my ear, giggling girlishly. Feeling my eyes widen, I turn and walk away from her, freeing my hand from her grasp with some difficulty. I haven't heard that one before.

Sherrin's bedroom is not very far from the main bar. The hallway is an architectural nightmare...like a giant shower cubicle. I reach the door of the bedroom, reload my gun and patiently wait for Sherrin to notice the sudden lack of bodyguards.

It doesn't take long.

He rushes out into the hallway in a panic. Half-dressed, he urgently tries to do up his crumpled trousers and doesn't even see me as he peers worriedly down the corridor. It's all too easy to twist his arm behind his back and slam him into the wall. He grunts as the wind is knocked out of him, and sags further in my grip as he feels the barrel of my gun pressing into his temple.

"Come with me, please."

He nods, mute with fear, walking in front of me without protest as we make our way out of the corridor and through the club to the northern entrance.

"Birkoff, I have Sherrin. Have first team prepare egress."

~*~*~*~*~

Madeline smiled warmly at the not unattractive man strapped into the chair in front of her. "Hello, Mr Sherrin. I'm sorry that we had to take you away from your business so abruptly"

His pale blue eyes narrowed speculatively as he looked her up and down. "Not bad."

Madeline sighed silently. Why did they always think they could score points by dragging out the same tired old routines?

She smiled at him once more. "I beg your pardon?"

Sherrin's gaze wandered over her insolently from head to toe before lingering rather distastefully on her breasts.

"I said not bad. You ever want a change of career, I'm sure I could find some work for you."

"Thank you for your concern, Mr Sherrin, but I'm afraid that we're not here to talk about my future career prospects. I'd like to talk to you about the Freedom League."

Madeline saw it then, the faint flicker of fear at the back of his eyes that he wasn't quick enough to hide. She watched with detached interest as Sherrin laughed, sneering at her with bravado. "Lady, I don't know what you are talking about. Freedom League? What the fuck is that?" He spat at her feet. "You don't know shit."

Madeline gave him a pleasant smile and walked behind him, watching his whole body tense with fearful anticipation when he could not keep her in his line of sight. He jumped slightly when she spoke and Madeline watched his eyes as she came to stand in front of him once more.

"Actually, Mr Sherrin...we know quite a bit about you. We know that you have been laundering money for various terrorist factions for the last two years, and that the Freedom League is one of your newest and most lucrative clients."

Sherrin's face paled at her words. Madeline waited politely, but he ignored her, silently staring into space as the sweat began to trickle down his forehead.

"I'm only trying to help you, Mr Sherrin. If you tell me what I want to know now, you may be able to avoid an experience that I can assure you will be more unpleasant and painful than anything you could ever imagine."

His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and for a split-second, Madeline saw him waver, his eyes fluttering nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. But he pulled back, his expression hardening.

"Go to hell, bitch."

Madeline smiled cordially at him once more before she walked to the door, watching his pupils dilate with fear as Henry and Elizabeth, Section's interrogation operatives, entered the room with a trolley filled with their specialized equipment.

"After you, Mr Sherrin."

~*~*~*~*~

"Madeline, he's ready for you now."

"Thank you, Elizabeth. I'll be right there."

Madeline smiled to herself as she walked from her office to the White Room. Forty minutes...that would have to be a new record. It always amused her that the ones who talked the toughest were always the first to break.

"Madeline."

She turned toward the familiar voice. "Hello, Paul."

He easily fell into step beside her, their footsteps echoing rhythmically through the empty hallway. "Have we gotten anything from Sherrin?"

Madeline smiled at him. "I'm on my way there now. He was quite reluctant at first, but Elizabeth assures me that he is now more than anxious to discuss the Freedom League."

Her companion shot her a knowing look. "That didn't take long?"

"Quite true...but it was not unexpected." She couldn't keep the note of disappointment from her voice and looked up in surprise at the sound of Paul's gravelly chuckle, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

"None of them are ever a match for you, Madeline."

~*~*~*~*~

I keep reaching up
But they drag me back down
Wherever I try to hide
I will always be found

"Get her in the van."

It's the last thing I hear before I fall onto my hands and knees, my body slamming down onto a cold metal floor as the sound of an engine being gunned roars in my ears. Rough hands pull me up into a sitting position and buckle a seatbelt across my lap, pulling it so tight that I almost gasp. I guess that's about keeping me in my seat rather than observing the road rules, I think in a haze of pain and anger. Shifting in my seat, I try in vain to find a comfortable position...not an easy task when your hands are tied behind your back and are digging into your backside.

Sitting back, I suck as much air into my lungs as I can, despair flooding my mind. Well...shit. What the hell do I do now? This hood is so hot that I don't know how long I can stand it under here, and right now I am fighting the urge to cry like a baby.

I can't believe this. I've been so careful...so vigilant for six fucking months...and these guys just waltz on in and drag me away.

The van doesn't feel, or even sound like Section transport. I don't know how many men are in the back of the vehicle with me, but they don't speak or touch me, for which I am reluctantly grateful. Slouching in my seat, I only have my own painful thoughts for company. At least they didn't hurt Matty... I stop, horrified. Oh my god...what if they had come a few hours earlier? When Tahlia and the children were there?

My head starts to ache, a steady throb that isn't helped by the fact that I can hardly breathe in this stupid hood. It's difficult to mark the passing of time...needless to say I can't look at my watch. I wriggle around in my seat, belatedly remembering something that had slipped my mind up till now. Of all the days to wear the shortest skirt I own! Feeling horribly vulnerable, I cross my legs, trying to ignore the leering snigger from the other side of the van.

I bite my lip to stop the tears of rage from falling and turn my face to what I assume is the wall, trying to counsel myself. There's nothing you can do until you find out who they are and what they want. Sit tight...it's not as though you have a choice at the moment anyway.

After an eternity, the van lurches to a halt. The same rough hands grab my arms and waist once more, dragging me unceremoniously from my seat and out of the vehicle. The air is cool on my arms and legs, making me shiver. It feels like night air, but I can't be sure. I'm so disorientated from wearing this stupid hood for so many hours that I don't know which way is up any more.

"Bring her in. Zenga wants to question her himself."

Zenga? My heart starts to bang against my ribs as doubt becomes certainty. They're not Section. I let them push and prod me along what seems to be a long concrete pathway while I rack my memory. Who the hell are these people? If they're not Section, what the hell do they want with me?

My feet keep tripping over each other as they practically carry me along with them, and I bite back a yelp of pain as I stumble on uneven ground. One of the men holding onto my arm swears under his breath, gripping it tighter and pulling me closer to him.

Then we're stopping, and there is the sound of a metal door being wrenched open before they're pushing me forward once more, hot hands on my back and gripping my hips. My skin crawls at their touch, and I've never felt more helpless in all my life.

A new voice, a coldly authoritative voice rings in my ears. "Have you even checked to see if she is armed?" There is a few seconds silence before the man on my right answers, his voice sullen.

"No. Not yet."

There is a theatrical sigh from the other man. "Well, do it. Zenga wants to see her. Search her and bring her in."

~*~*~*~*~

"Madeline has been extracting information from Mr Sherrin for the past hour." Operations shot Ackerman a pleased look and for a brief moment, Ackerman almost expected him to rub his hands together with glee. However, Operations contented himself with a satisfied smirk as he spotted Madeline walking toward them. "I'm sure that it will be well worth the effort."

Madeline entered the room briskly, her gaze quickly sweeping over everyone assembled before settling on Ackerman. She walked to him and handed him a disk, her dark eyes lingering on his for a few seconds. He swallowed hard and turned away, uncomfortably aware of Michael's eyes on him. Shit, it creeps me out when he watches me like that...I'd be happier if he just threatened to punch me out and have done with it.

Busying himself with uploading the data to the simulator, Ackerman studied Madeline out of the corner of his eye. She looked at Operations, her manner grave. "Sherrin has provided intel to his Freedom League contact...the location and access protocols of the Nuclear Research Lab in Lyon, France."

Ackerman felt a shiver go down his spine at Madeline's words. Struggling to keep his face impassive, he mentally cursed Sherrin. That idiot! What sort of loser blabs like that? All that money...all those women...now he's got nothing. If he knew this place as well as he thought he did, he'd have to guess that if Sherrin wasn't already dead, he soon would be.

Operations looked at her, his expression sombre. Madeline nodded in acknowledgment of his unspoken question.

"They plan to kidnap an engineer who has security clearances."

Ackerman felt his mood lighten. Suddenly, the world seemed a little brighter. Well, this just gets better and better. I wonder how much this little tidbit would be worth to the Freedom League.

Operations frowned as he digested this new information. "When?"

Madeline folded her arms, her gaze sweeping the room. "Tomorrow."

Ackerman suppressed a start when Michael spoke. He had thought that Madeline had made it pretty clear who was running this show when she slipped him the disk, but it seemed like the guy just couldn't help himself. Talk about a control freak.

"Do we intercept?"

Operations paused, and Ackerman could almost hear his brain ticking over.

"No. We'll wait for their exits, and pursue with an offset. Hopefully, they'll take their hostage back to their command. That's our target."

He turned to Birkoff, who was busily pulling up data onto the holographic screen. "Birkoff...?"

"It's ready."

Ackerman eyed Birkoff with amusement. Christ, this kid's is like Section's version of Radar...he's definitely gotta get out more.

Birkoff hit the 'enter' key with a flourish and three-dimensional floor plans to the nuclear research lab were suddenly larger than life in front of them, as though floating in mid-air.

Operations glared at Michael and Birkoff. "Study this." Ackerman quickly composed his expression into that of dutiful lapdog as Operations turned his attention to him. "Ackerman, get your transport ready. You leave in the morning."

With that, Operations turned on his heel and left the room. Ackerman glanced at Michael. The other man seemed totally engrossed in the plan of the lab, but he knew better. The level of tension in the room had risen dramatically since Operations had walked out. I've had enough of this shit, Ackerman thought with an impatient scowl. He thought of Madeline's pointed look when she gave him the disk, a subtly encouraging nod that suddenly spurred him into action.

"Michael, you and Bartlett will be on surveillance duty outside the lab." Ackerman held his breath as he waited for Michael's response. Surveillance duty was one of the more lowly tasks an operative could perform, and they all knew it.

He was disappointed. Michael merely glanced up at him, holding his gaze for a few very uncomfortable seconds before deigning to reply.

"Fine."

~*~*~*~

"I need to speak to Zenga." Ackerman clenched his jaw, nearly grinding his teeth in frustration. He was sick and tired of having to deal with Freedom League underlings every time he contacted them.

Schmigotz, the underling in question, sighed impatiently. "He's a little busy at the moment."

Irritated, Ackerman only just managed to control his temper. He was still in Section. He'd secured the line, but he still had to keep his damn voice down. He was aching to let this idiot have it, but could only hiss angrily at him. "Listen to me. I am only going to say this once. I speak to Zenga only."

"No, you listen to me, GI Joe. Either you speak to me, or you speak to no one. No information...no money. Do you get my meaning?"

Ackerman hesitated, greed warring with pride. Money was money, no matter where it came from. Reluctantly, he gave in to the greed.

"Section One has Sherrin."

Schmigotz cursed colourfully, calling Sherrin's parentage, sexual habits and cleanliness into question. Ackerman listened, amused despite himself.

After a moment, Schmigotz pulled himself together long enough to ask another question. "Did he talk?"

"Did he talk?" Ackerman laughed humourlessly. "They couldn't shut him up!"

"What did he tell them?"

Ackerman paused for effect before he delivered the bad news. "They know about Lyon."

"Shit!" Schmigotz was silent for a moment, his breathing rapid and agitated in Ackerman's ear. "How much?"

Ackerman smiled to himself at the panic in the other man's voice. I think my net worth just went up a few notches. "Everything, right down to the name of the science geek you guys are picking up."

Schmigotz swore again, and muttered, almost to himself. "What the fuck happens now?"

Ackerman glanced at his watch. The line would only be secure for another ten seconds. "Friend, that is not my concern. All I do is pass on the information. What you do with it is up to you."

~*~*~*~*~

I'm living in an empty room
With all the windows smashed
And I've got so little left to lose
That it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass

You've never really lived until you've been marched down a long, stinky corridor with a hood over your head. I can hear water dripping down the walls, and feel something squelching under my shoes. Underground? I'm fooling myself by thinking I can work out where I am...I haven't got a clue.

After a few more twists and turns, we come to a sudden halt and I feel a hand fumbling for the cord around my neck. Trying not to flinch, I stand perfectly still, the drawstring gradually loosening until the hood is finally yanked unceremoniously off my head.

My eyelids flutter in protest at the sudden intrusion of light. After a few seconds, my eyes grow accustomed to the glare and I quickly examine the area around me. Concrete bunker...I knew it.

My gaze falls onto a man standing a few meters away with his back to the room. The pulse leaps in my throat as he turns around, his eyes locking with mine. He doesn't look away as he walks toward me, his intense stare making me feel very naked. I swallow hard as he reaches my side and stretches out a hand to me. He slides his fingertips along my chin, a strange caress that makes me shudder.

His dark gaze examines my face as he lifts my chin, recognition flaring at the back of his eyes. He knows me, I think with a start of hollow panic. How can he know me? I stare at him, searching his features. Olive skin, dark eyes, black beard. I've never seen him before in my life.

He drops his hand and turns away, walking over to what looks like camera equipment. His cultured voice filters over his shoulder.

"Strip her. Tie her down. I want to do this now. We need to get this to them as soon as possible."

Before my frantic mind can even begin to process this rather alarming statement, I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. If I thought I was feeling humiliated before, I was wrong. You don't know true humiliation and helplessness until you have had two men strip you to your underwear in front of a room full of strangers. I bite my lip, choking back a cry of outrage as their fingers slid greedily over my skin, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that I felt cold this morning when I was dressing for work. The thermal underwear I put on might not be glamorous, but at least it covers my butt better than anything else I own.

Fingers grasp clumsily at my arms before I'm then shoved roughly toward a wooden chair that is set up in front of a large video camera on a tripod. Heavy hands on my shoulders push me down into the seat and yank my tethered hands up and over the back of the chair. Wincing, I manage to swallow my grunt of pain as they wrap more rope around my already tender wrists, binding me to the chair.

The bearded man who stared at me with such weird intensity is definitely in charge. The others, while not quite bowing and scraping, obviously defer to him. After the last knot is tied around my wrists, the two men stand on either side of me as though awaiting further instructions.

After a moment, the man in charge stops what he is doing with the video camera and turns to stare at me again, his black eyes piercing straight through my shaky bravado. He looks away and motions to someone standing behind me.

"Girdler, operate the camera." My breath catches in my throat as my customer from the diner saunters slowly toward the video camera. He catches my eye and throws me a mocking grin as he takes up a position behind the camera.

The bearded man comes to stand behind me, his warm hands resting lightly on my shoulders. I grit my teeth, trying not to shudder at his touch. No weakness...don't let them see your fear. I'm dismayed just how 'sectionised' my thoughts have become ever since I was grabbed...it's as though the last six months never happened.

The red light on the video camera blinks and the man behind me begins to speak, his voice deliberately loud, his words very carefully pronounced.

"As you can see, we have one of your Operatives." He reaches around, almost cupping my face in his hands, his fingers splayed across my cheeks and jaw. I can smell the sour odour of stale cigarettes on his fingers, and I swallow the lump of nausea that suddenly thickens my throat as his words hit home.

We have one of your operatives.

My god. My heart starts to thud painfully in my chest, my skin prickling cold with shocked realisation. These people, whoever they are, are trying to ransom me off to Section...planning to hold me captive from the very people I have been running from for the last six months.

His fingers dig into my face, trying to force me to look up into the camera. I blink and pull away as much as I can, staring up to the ceiling instead. My thoughts are hurtling in a thousand different directions, despair flooding my mind at his next words to his unseen audience.

"No latex, no special effects. She's been very cooperative."

His painfully tight grip on my jaw eases as he looks briefly at the man behind the camera. "That's enough. Send it." The other man, nods and gives me another triumphant grin as he opens up the camera and pulls a small tape out.

The bearded man crouches down beside me, his tone almost conversational. "We've been trying to track you down ever since the conflagration at one of our outposts."

A knot of dread hardens in the middle of my chest as the meaning of his words becomes horribly clear. No...it can't be...

He leans forward and whispers in my ear. "One of my men saw you escape." Reality crushes my feeble attempt at denial, shattering what little hope I had.

Freedom League. My mind screaming out the words, I gather up my tattered composure and hide my fear behind disdain.

"What do you want?" To my relief, my voice sounds strong...almost bored. He smiles at me knowingly, his reply a soft confession. "You."

My stomach flips over coldly as his warm breath caresses the nape of my neck. "You're very fortunate, actually. How much longer would you have lasted out there?" His words hit home, but there is no way in hell that I'm going to let him see that.

He touches my face again. "Hmm? How many aliases?" I stare straight ahead, doing my best to pretend that he doesn't exist, but he still manages to get under my skin with one last comment.

"Constantly looking over your shoulder?" Anger wells up inside me, and I have to bite down on the urge to tell him to go to hell. Whoever this guy is, his softly spoken taunts have touched on a very raw nerve, and I loathe him for it.

Distracted by the sudden appearance of another of his men, he straightens up before moving away, giving me some much needed breathing space. I can feel my heart going a million miles an hour, and I desperately need some time to think.

My mind races with a dozen different scenarios, each more hopeless than the last, as I watch him talking with the new arrival. Neither man bothers to lower their voices to prevent me from overhearing, which doesn't bode well for my chances of getting out of here alive, I realize with a dull pang.

"He just called."

The bearded man puts his hands on his hips and smiles expectantly. "And?"

The other man hesitates slightly before answering. "Section One knows about tomorrow night. What do you want to do?"

Just hearing that name is enough to send a hot shiver of dread dancing across the surface of my skin. I force myself to push away the fear and concentrate on the conversation happening right in front of me.

The man in charge turns and smiles at me unpleasantly. "We go as planned. The more operatives they send...the greater the loss."

I stare at him, unable to hide my shocked reaction. There's a mole in Section.

The bearded man is still gazing down at me, as though trying to decide what to do with me. Finally, he jerks his head toward yet another goon standing in the shadows. "Get her dressed. Take her to the room."

The guy walks toward me, and I only just manage not to shudder with revulsion as he stares at me like a dog gazing at a new bone. He may as well be licking his lips. But self-preservation wins out over disgust, and I gaze into his eyes and give him what I hope will be construed as a come-hither smile. It's kind of hard to feeling alluring when you're tied to a chair only wearing your undies thinking that you're about to die, but I give it my best shot.

It works. He blinks in surprise and returns my smile with a come-hither smirk of his own, which unfortunately reveals several broken teeth. Reaching behind me, he frees my bound hands from the chair, gripping my arm and yanking me to my feet. He jerks me close to him for a few interminable seconds, his breath unpleasantly hot and pungent in my face, but I manage to smile at him again and lower my eyes coyly.

"Taubert!"

He starts and mutters something in his native tongue that I don't quite catch, but I'm pretty sure it's a very bad word. We both turn to see the man in charge staring at us frowning.

"Get her dressed. Take her to the room. Now."

Within seconds I'm being dragged back up the corridor they brought me through in the first place, but this time I can see the crumbling walls and smell the dank sourness of decay. For a few seconds it feels as though I'm back in that damn Red Cell camp...except this time I'm very much on my own. This time, there's not going to be any Michael to get me out. If I want out of here...I'm going to have to do it myself.

I dart a sideways glance at the man beside me to find him staring at me with foolish lust in his eyes. Inwardly gagging, I smile at him again. It's a hell of a way to put my valentine training into practice.

~*~*~*~*~

And I followed orders
God knows where I've been
But I woke up alone
All my wounds were clean
I'm still here
I'm still a fool for the Holy Grail

Bartlett slams his kit down on the seat next to me, his voice tight with fury. "What a complete and utter idiot!" There's no need to ask who 'the idiot' is. Ackerman has not made many friends in Section since his arrival.

Stockwell laughingly calls out from the other side of the transport. "What's the matter, Bart? Ackerman been messing with your stuff again?" Bartlett gives Stockwell a dirty look and shakes his head as the other men in the vehicle snicker amongst themselves. Two days ago, Ackerman found a magazine in Bartlett's kit that wasn't strictly Section issue, and took it upon himself to call Bartlett on it. The slanging match that resulted between the two men had been interesting, to say the least.

Bartlett slumps in his seat and scowls. "It's worse than that. The Big Man decided to pull a last minute profile change. Check your panels!"

I already know exactly what Bartlett is complaining about. Ten minutes before our departure, Ackerman was in a huddle with Operations and Madeline. Five minutes later, he informed me blithely that he would be anchoring the Lyons sequence from Comm. Ackerman also informed me that it was pointless for him to waste his time out in the field on such a straightforward mission, and that he was sure that Bartlett and I could manage without him.

Barely resisting the urge to snap his neck in two, I nodded my agreement, suddenly so weary of the mind games and power plays that I could hardly find the energy to care about the fact that, once again, I wasn't team leader.

The transport departs Section...without Ackerman. Next to me, Bartlett starts to rummage in his field kit, and I am quietly amused when I catch sight of his precious magazine in the depths of his bag. He looks up and catches my eye, giving me a hesitant grin. I can't quite remember the last time I actually spoke with him on a matter that wasn't mission related, but I have no doubt that it was over six months ago.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?" He shakes his head. "What an asshole that guy is!" Bartlett zips up his bag and puts it under his seat, his manner suddenly uncertain. "Shit, they would never even have put him in charge if you hadn't..." He trails off, a dull red flush of colour staining his neck.

If you hadn't lost it, are his unspoken words.

The rest of the team falls strangely silent, suddenly very occupied with bags, panels and flak jackets. I look away from Bartlett's eagerly apologetic face, unable to stomach the well-meant sympathy I can see in his eyes.

Pity. I see it in their eyes when they look at me. Walter...Birkoff...even Madeline. For six months, the members of my team have not mentioned Nikita's name in front of me, although I have overheard them talking about her when they think I am out of earshot. The whole of Section seems to be tiptoeing around me, but I grudgingly admit that they have good cause.

I have no idea how to rid myself of this misery that wrapped itself around my soul...no idea how to remove Nikita's ghost from my dreams, my thoughts. I can no more forget her than I can forget how to breathe or how to walk. Her memory is entwined so tightly through my every thought that I can no longer tell what is real. I see her everywhere. Every time I catch sight of Lauren striding through the halls of Section, my heart literally stops beating, and for a few glorious seconds I let myself believe it is Nikita.

Birkoff's voice in my ear thankfully interrupts my painful thoughts. "Michael, you'll reach the outskirts of Lyon in one hour. You and Bartlett will pick up the unmarked vehicle there. The lab is ten minutes away by car. All you have to do then is get to the lab and wait."

I fold my arms across my chest and suppress a weary sigh. Having spent the last six months of my life feeling as though I am waiting for something that is never going to happen, a few more hours isn't going to make much of a difference.

~*~*~*~*~

I'm just a girl
With my head screwed on
I'm just a girl
With a smoking gun

Well, this is more like it, I think sarcastically as I look around my new quarters. Dank, dark and smelly. Kind of reminds me of the first place I lived in after getting out of Section.

There is a pile of olive green clothing on the lumpy looking mattress. I pick up a pair of trousers and a sleeveless shirt and sniff them gingerly, surprised to find that they smell clean, almost as though they've been freshly laundered. Closing off my mind to any thoughts regarding the identity of their previous owner, I make a decision. I can't hang around in my skivvies. I'm freezing my butt off, and I desperately need to feel a bit more in control...and I definitely don't feel in control when I'm wearing no more than my underwear while locked in a cell.

Allowing myself a moment to mourn for my favourite skirt that seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth, I dress quickly, further amazed to discover my socks and shoes in the corner of the room. These guys are obviously not too worried by the prospect of me escaping. Perhaps they think that I've been out of the loop for too long...that I've lost my edge.

I sit down on the mattress with a hard thud. Maybe I have lost my edge. Maybe I can't do this anymore. Dropping my head in my hands, I close my eyes in despair. I can't let myself think that...I have to think of a way to get out of here, and I have to do it now.

Restless, I get up and start to pace around the room, looking for any signs of decay in the walls, any hint of daylight shining through cracks that might lead me to a way out.

Nothing.

I slam my hand down on the small sink in the corner in frustration, swearing under my breath. Think...Nikita...think. You need a weapon...anything that might take them by surprise. At this thought, it's as though a little light goes on inside my head. Of course. I look up and the answer is looking right back at me.

I stare into the mirror and think of the guard named Taubert. Thankfully, another guard was hovering when he brought me here, allowing me to escape into the room alone. I saw the angry disappointment etched on his face, and I have no doubt that I haven't seen the last of him. So...if I have a visitor with something other than interrogation on his mind...chances are that he won't be thinking about restraining me. Not, I think with a shiver of revulsion, if I stroke his ego by making him think that I'm ready and willing.

Taking hold of the edge of the bed sheet, I rip a long strip of material off, wrapping it around my hand. I pause, ears straining, but I hear nothing but the faint sound of male voices in the distance. I have no idea of the set-up of this place...the men's sleeping quarters could be close by. By my vague calculations, it must be very late...perhaps early morning. If I'm going to make a big noise, now's the time to do it, before the Freedom League operatives crawl into their beds.

Putting one hand on the edge of the mirror, I grit my teeth, make a wish, and slam my sheet-wrapped fist down onto the surface of the mirror. It splinters beneath my hand with a loud crack, and I hold my breath, my heart nearly pounding right out of my chest as I wait for the sound of running footsteps.

Nothing...not so much as a peep out of the Freedom League. Letting my breath out with a relieved woosh, I hastily think through the rest of the plan. There isn't much to it. Guard comes in, I distract guard, guard dies, I get the hell out of here. I smile humourlessly to myself. Nothing like making it up as you go.

~*~*~*~

God knows how many hours I've been lying in this same position, but I think my legs have gone to sleep again. Opening one eye cautiously to see if there is anyone watching me, I slowly stretch my legs out, almost sighing with bliss as the blood flows back into my cramped muscles.

A sudden sound in the corridor has my heart leaping into my throat, and I scrabble back into sleep mode, tucking the hand holding the sliver of glass up under the pillow. The door creaks open, followed by the heavy tread of footsteps toward the foot of the bed. I swallow unsteadily, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is racing so fast it feels like it's about to explode.

Bright light suddenly penetrates my tightly closed eyelids, and I feign surprise, putting my weaponless hand up over my eyes, peering groggily at my unexpected visitor. Big surprise...it's my friend, Taubert. He leers at me and pushes his gun right in my face.

"Don't make a sound." His hand slips down to the waistband of my trousers, his thick fingers scraping against my belly as he fumbles with the button. I suck in my stomach to escape his touch and put my hand up to stop him, smiling into his eyes.

"I can make it easier for you." It's surprisingly easy to act the whore. The spectre of my mother rises up before me and I taste the bile at the back of my throat.

He hesitates, the lust burning in his dark eyes, then smirks at me knowingly, lowering his gun.

"Show me." Taubert sounds very pleased with himself, his expression smug, as though he knew I wouldn't be able to resist his charms. Fighting the urge to gag, I quickly check that his gun is indeed down on the bed beside him and smile. He seems to have totally forgotten about the fact that I was...am...a Section-trained operative.

It's the last mistake he will ever make.

The blood pounding in my ears, I take a deep breath and rip my hand out from under the pillow, slashing the sliver of glass across his throat so quickly that he doesn't even have time to cry out. I shudder as I hear the blood gurgling in his torn throat as he dies, sickness churning in my stomach. It's a sound I had hoped never to hear again.

The adrenaline starts to pump through me as I look toward the open door, then back to the dead Freedom League op. Looks like I've got myself a weapon. Slipping the gun into my waistband, I jump off the bed, unwinding the strip of material from around my hand and drop the now blood-soaked cloth and makeshift knife onto the floor The corridor is deserted...no sign or sound of life anywhere. It's freezing. Shivering, I look down at Taubert's body on the bed. His anorak looks so wonderfully warm.

Five seconds later, wearing Taubert's slightly too big and slightly too bloody jacket and clutching his gun in a slightly trembling hand, I make my way cautiously down the corridor. There are two directions from which I could have chosen. I just pray that I have chosen the right one.

~*~*~*~*~

Look out ahead
See danger come
I want a pistol
I want a gun
I'm scared baby
I wanna run

Heart in my mouth, I creep along the dank passageway, half-expecting to be discovered at any second. This is too easy. I can't quite believe that no one appears out of the darkness to challenge me. Sadly for Taubert, no one seems to have missed him, either.

I pause for a moment, desperately trying to get my bearings, my mind racing. If we are underground, then there has to be a ventilation system. A ventilation system means a way to the surface...easily accessed for maintenance purposes.

As I pass an open doorway to my right, cool air brushes past my face. Bingo. Ducking through the door, I find what looks like a service corridor, lined with dripping pipes and cleaning equipment. I tread carefully as my feet slip slightly on the mossy concrete floor with every step I take. The last thing I need is to fall over and break something.

I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling, eyes straining for any sign of an exit. It's so damn dark in here, except over in that corner where... My pulse quickens as I realize what I'm seeing...it's daylight, shining through what looks like lattice. I whirl around, a thrill of excitement rushing through me as my eyes adjust to the dim light. There's a goddamn spiral staircase in the corridor. This would have to be the weirdest building I have ever been in. I look up at the section of roof above the rusty steps and want to cry with relief. It's a vent.

The stairs are old, creaking worryingly under my weight as I gingerly climb. I don't care...I'll hang on to the top step with my fingernails if that's what it takes to get out of this hole. The vent is just as ancient as the staircase, its hinges almost rusted shut. I take a deep breath and put my shoulder against it, pushing hard until it comes loose with a painful creak, showering dirt and flakes of rust down on me.

Coughing and spluttering as quietly as possible, I push the grate up higher and slowly climb through the opening, my sore leg muscles twanging in protest as I brace my feet on the top rung of the ladder and push myself up.

I peer around me with bleary eyes, realizing from the paleness of the sunlight through the trees that it's early morning, maybe seven or eight o'clock. My god, where the hell am I? The Black Forest? The trees and bushes are dense, a thick cover of greenery that thankfully makes me feel a little less exposed. Climbing out of the vent, I brush the worst of the dirt off my front as I frantically ponder what to do next.

The sound of rough male voices filters through the undergrowth and I freeze. Heart pounding, I crouch down low and creep as quietly as I can toward the sound. Half of me is demanding to know why I'm not running as fast as I can in the other direction. The other half is determined not to leave until I see for myself what Section is up against. Arguing with myself that I shouldn't give a damn about what Section is up against, I creep closer still, peering through the gaps in the greenery until I finally spot the men whose voices I can hear.

My god. There must be a dozen of them, loading weaponry into trucks and vans. As I watch in horror, two men bring out heavy cases that I recognize all too well. Short-range missile launchers. If Section is unprepared for this attack, they won't have a chance.

I stare at the activity, my erstwhile host's words ringing in my ears. The more operatives they send, the greater the loss. Unbidden, a name leaps into my mind. Michael. The Freedom League is big news in Section...there is no way that Michael won't be involved in this latest mission in some way. A hollow sense of inevitability creeps into my heart.

I have to warn Section. My stomach churns with nervous tension at the thought. I can't believe that I'm actually considering doing this. I watch the Freedom League operatives load their weapons, and I know there is no other way. I can't stand by and do nothing, not when there's a chance that Michael might... I stop, not wanting to finish the thought, but force myself to face the brutal truth. Unless I do something, Section will be ambushed tonight. Operatives, people that I have worked alongside...people I have been friends with...will die.

And one of them could be Michael.

A sense of panic clutches at my heart. No. I can't let that happen. I watch warily as two of the men detach themselves from the main group, coming dangerously close to my hiding place. Hardly daring to breathe, I lie as flat and as still as I can...and listen.

"That's everything."

"Good. Section One is in for quite a shock." There is a slight pause. "Are your men clear as to what is required of them?"

The reply is terse. "Of course. The research laboratory is an easy target. One of my advance team is already inside the perimeter as we speak."

"Good." Their voices begin to drift away, but not before I manage to catch one last word.

Lyon.

~*~*~*~*~

The more I see
The less I know
About all the thing I thought were wrong or right
And carved in stone

I can't believe this. The Freedom League dragged me all the way here from Lyon, and god knows where here is. Now I find out that their target is only two miles from the diner that they grabbed me from yesterday. I know that research lab. When I first made friends with Matty and Tahlia, they took it upon themselves to show me around their beloved Lyon. Matty thought that I would be impressed by the fact that they had their very own nuclear research facility. Tahlia knew better. We only spent five minutes there before she whisked me away to the shopping district.

I push my way through the lush ground cover of plants and trees as quickly as humanly possible, knowing that I have to find a main road now. More importantly, I have to find out where I am. I can't be sure, but the journey here felt as though it took a couple of hours by road, but then that van sounded pretty decrepit.

If the Freedom League operatives are traveling to Lyon by car and will be there by this evening, then it stands to reason that we are still in France somewhere. They didn't seem to be in any particular rush.

After fifteen minutes of hacking my way impatiently through the greenery and getting smacked in the face by errant branches, I finally see a thinning out of the vegetation about ten metres in front of me.

I push my way through the last bank of bushes, almost falling out of them into the middle of what looks like a main road. Startled, I leap backward as a truck roars past. I put a hand to my chest, my heart thudding like a jackhammer beneath my splayed fingers. Jesus! Nothing like the shock of nearly getting run over by a road train to get the blood pumping, I guess. Standing still for a few moments, I can feel my pulse rate slowly returning to normal.

There is a cluster of signs on the other side of the road a few meters down, but I can't quite make them out from where I'm standing. After cautiously checking for oncoming traffic, I make my way further down the road, staying close to the bank of foliage that lines the shoulder.

My whole body tenses as I stare across at the signs, my gritty eyes straining to read the words. As the meaning of what I'm reading sinks in, I let out a sigh of relief, the tension seeping out of my body as I realize where I must be.

Okay...I appear to be somewhere near some place called Mulhouse. Lyon is 370 kilometers in that direction. I stare down the long highway, squinting into the distance. Easy. Even as I make the decision that the best thing to do would be to hitch a ride, I hear a faint rumble and turn my head to see a truck appear on the horizon. This one is going in the right direction. I walk to the edge of the road, hastily tucking the gun into the back of my trousers before attempting to smooth down my hair. Sighing wearily, I stick out my hand and try to look helplessly winsome. It's a sad clich�, but it's true. The more distress a damsel appears to be in, the quicker she gets a lift.

~*~*~*~

I must be mad to be doing this. I don't owe those people a damn thing. They took my life away from me. They tried to have me killed, for Christ's sake! If it weren't for Michael, I wouldn't be here.

I blink at the thought and stare down at the gun resting in my lap. If it weren't for Michael, I wouldn't be here. If it weren't for Michael, I wouldn't even be alive. How could I not come, knowing that he risked everything to save my life?

My plan has changed many times in the five hours that I have been sitting here in this little hidey-hole behind the fence of the research laboratory. I made up my mind to leave several times, even getting as far as the side street behind the lab, but I made the mistake of thinking of Michael and ended up scurrying back to my hiding place, swearing under my breath.

So now I'm sitting cross-legged behind a heavy clump of bushes, arguing with myself. I don't have to have any real contact with him, or with anyone from Section. All I have to do is watch their backs. I check the chamber of my newly acquired weapon for the tenth time. A full round of ammo stares back at me for the tenth time. It's not as much as I would like, but it will have to do. The gun feels heavy and unfamiliar in my hand and I gaze down at it sadly.

I had been so sure that I'd never hold a gun again. Blinking away the angry tears that unexpectedly sting my eyes, I stare across the empty parking lot of the lab as a subtle movement catches my eye.

A dark coloured car is gliding silently along the edge of the car park, hugging the shadows. My heart jerks and begins to beat faster as it hits me just how horribly familiar this scenario feels. They're Section, I'm sure of it.

I get to my feet quickly, grasping the gun so tightly that the cold handle digs painfully into my palm. The car comes to a halt about twenty-five meters from the brightly lit entrance to the laboratory. As I creep closer, I hear the purr of the engine as it idles, waiting. Completely in the dark about what is about to go down, all I can do is crouch behind the far wall of the lab and wait. And, to my utter self-disgust, I begin to wonder if Michael is one of the occupants of that car.

Stop it...this is getting you nowhere. So what if Michael is in that car? What are you going to do? Rock on up to the window and say: "Hi, remember me? I'm the girl whose life you saved...sorry about ignoring you for the last six months."

Time passes. I'm staring so hard at the damn car that my eyes start to blur. Irritated, I rub them, trying to blink away my tiredness. When I open my eyes again, a man is walking out of the building. He looks as though he's leaving work for the day, rugged up in his overcoat and carrying a bulging briefcase. I get to my feet and quickly run in a low crouch to a closer hiding spot behind a large industrial waste bin. I have no idea if this man is involved in what is going to happen here tonight, but it's the only movement I've seen in three hours...this has to be it.

A second car suddenly speeds across the car park, tires screeching as it comes to an abrupt stop in front of the man with the briefcase. As I watch, two men leap out of the car and seize the dazed lab employee, dragging him quickly into the vehicle. A rush of awareness floods my mind, my body reacting without me even having to think about what I'm doing. Clicking the safety off my gun, I dart forward once more, taking care to stay hidden.

The second car does a one hundred and eighty degree turn before heading toward the main security gate at high speed. After a few seconds, the first car emerges from the shadows, following at a discreet distance. Definitely Section, I think to myself with increasing nervousness.

The second car, which I can only assume is a Freedom League vehicle, pauses at the guard's station, then quickly turns onto the road, merging effortlessly with the late evening traffic. Confused, I stand and watch as the Section car also stops at the guard's station, puzzled as to what form the Freedom League's ambush could possibly take. If their plan is to attack Section off-site, I haven't a hope in hell of warning them.

Frustrated, I put my hands on my hips and stare across the car park. "Shit!" Angry with myself, I turn away and in that instant, the world bursts into flame.

~*~*~*~*~

I am still dreaming of your face
Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away

"Jeez, how much longer do we have to wait for this guy?" Bartlett peers through the windscreen irritably. "I mean, who works this late out in the real world? It's not like their bosses can cancel them." He grins at his own joke and goes back to staring out his window, his boredom obvious.

Picking up the night vision binoculars, I scan the building and its surrounds once more. I'm not quite sure how much more of Bartlett's jovial company I can stand. Two hours sitting in a parked car with nothing to do has pushed his attention span to its limits, and it is with some relief that I finally see the target emerging from the building's main entrance.

There is, however, no sign of the Freedom League.

"Birkoff, the engineer's coming out. Are there any sign of the kidnappers?"

There is a slight pause before Birkoff responds, as though he is checking his data. "They should be there now."

As if on cue, a car suddenly speeds across the empty car park, its back tires sliding dangerously as it screeches to a halt. The lab technician is no match for the two men who emerge from the car, and he is quickly overpowered and pushed into the back seat.

"They are hitting the target." As I contact Birkoff, Bartlett eases the car forward slowly, taking care to ensure we are out of the Freedom League vehicle's line of vision as it spins around and heads for the exit.

"They're approaching the gate." We watch as the car stops briefly at the guard's station before pulling out into the traffic, turning right. Bartlett guns the engine slightly and in a few seconds we have reached the gate. As we pull to a halt, the guard motions to Bartlett as though he wishes to speak with him. According to Birkoff's sweep, the guard is a genuine employee of the research facility. There is no need to suspect that he has been compromised in any way.

Impatient with the delay, I shift restlessly in my seat and glance into the side view mirror, struck again by the same odd sensation of being watched that has been with me all evening. My eyes immediately focus on a quick blur of movement in the reflected image, but it takes a few seconds for what I'm seeing to actually register.

There is a man on the roof of the laboratory, hoisting what looks like a rifle up onto his shoulder. He braces himself under its weight as he looks through the sight, and I realize with sudden clarity that it's not a rifle but a missile launcher, and it is being aimed straight at us.

I turn to Bartlett, biting out the order urgently. "Get out!"

Wrenching the car door open, I fling myself out and stumble over the rough ground, the blood pounding through my veins as I hear the unmistakable humming sound of the missile hurtling toward us. It slams into the car a slip-second later, the force of the blast knocking me to the ground. The heat from the explosion singes my skin, the fall slamming the breath out of me.

Desperately trying to gulp air into my lungs, I yank my gun from its holster and get to my feet. Scanning the rooftop, I discover that the sniper has been foolish enough to stay in the same position. He is so busy watching the burning car that he doesn't see me, or the gun I am aiming at his head, until it is too late, and I watch with bleak satisfaction as his body falls from the roof.

Ducking for cover behind a parked car, I search the immediate area for Bartlett but I know with dull certainty that my search will be in vain. He wouldn't have had enough time to get clear. I patch through to Birkoff on a priority channel, my thoughts grim. This was a set up...someone knew we would be here tonight.

"Michael, what is it?" Birkoff sound panicked, and I realize that he must have picked up the explosion on his screen. "What's going on?"

"Birkoff, we've been ambushed. Send backup."

The words have scarcely left my mouth when two more Freedom League operatives converge to my right, a hail of bullets screaming past my head. Adrenalin surging, I stand to return their fire, my bullets find their targets quickly and instantly. What the hell are Birkoff and Ackerman doing? Where is the backup?! Frustrated by the lack of reassuring communication from Section, I try to look everywhere at once, urgently sweeping the dark shadows at the edge of the car park.

My blood turns to ice as shots suddenly ring out behind me, two rapid bursts of gunfire that have me spinning around in shock. Two Freedom League operatives lie dead on the wet ground. How is this possible? A blur of movement to the right snags my gaze, my head snapping around as I stare in total disbelief at a hooded figure with a smoldering gun still in its outstretched hand.

My god.

~*~*~*~*~

And there you stand
Making my life possible
Raise my hands up to heaven
But only you could know
My whole world stands in front of me
By the look in your eyes

The car that had been at the guard's station is ablaze, a glowing fireball that illuminates the whole car park. I stand rooted to the spot in horror for a few seconds before instinct kicks in once more, and I start to run toward the car park, ducking behind parked cars and industrial bins, trying to stay out of sight.

It's only when I get closer that I see the figure of a man, crouching low to the ground about ten metres from the burning car. He's in the shadows but as I watch, he rises to a half-crouching position, his gun trained on the roof of the building behind me, and I can see him more clearly...and my heart stops.

Numb with shock, I watch as Michael fires once before ducking behind a parked car, his movements spare and seemingly unhurried. Unable to take my eyes off him, I creep closer, watching him hungrily. My whole body feels painfully alive, as though the blood in my veins has only now started flowing again after six long months in hibernation.

The sound of pounding footsteps penetrates the haze of longing that has enveloped me, and I whirl around. There are Freedom League operatives everywhere. Two to my left exchanging fire with Michael, and two more approaching from the north. I hurriedly check that the safety is off my gun and dart forward, watching anxiously as Michael takes out the first two shooters. To my horror, I realise that he hasn't seen the second pair of operatives as he spins around to scan the perimeter behind him.

As if in slow motion, I watch the Freedom League operatives draw their weapons as they bear down on Michael, who is oblivious to their presence. No! A silent scream echoing inside my head, I take aim and press the trigger with a trembling finger...once...twice.

The two men fall heavily to the ground in quick succession, their weapons unfired. My spine stiffens and I shiver with nervous fear as I turn back to face their intended target, fighting the urge to run, to get away before he can see me.

But something makes me stay...a burning ache that tightens my throat, flooding my soul with the longing to be near him. My feet will not obey my brain's desperate orders to flee...so I wait, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs. I watch as Michael flinches at the sound of the shots before spinning around to stare in disbelief at the dead Freedom League operatives lying on the ground.

In the space of a heartbeat, he turns his head, his eyes finding mine unerringly in the darkness. The burning car lies between us, the crackling of the flames competing with the frantic pounding of my heart.

Oh my god. My breath comes in little panting gasps, and I feel as though I'm frozen to the spot. Michael's dark stare pins me in place, not letting me move, and all I can do is drink in the sight of him. He's changed, I think in a daze. His face is dark and much leaner, his hair slightly longer, touching his shoulders. We stare at each other for a long moment, my mouth drying at the look in his eyes. Everything I ever wanted...everything I ever dreamed of...is in his face, in his eyes.

I'm shaking with the urge to go to him, unable to bear being this close and not reach out to him. My fingers almost ache with the need to touch him, to make sure that he is real.

"There he is...get him! Go...go!"

~*~*~*~*~

Did I imagine you?
Are you somebody real
That I can touch and feel?

My god.

The flames of the burning car between us distort my vision with waves of heat but there is no mistaking that face. A face that I thought I would never see again.

Nikita slowly lowers her arm, her eyes locking onto mine. She's wearing a heavy coat with the hood pulled up over her head, blonde hair spilling down onto her shoulders. A wave of emotion crashes over me, a fusion of relief and longing that claws at my chest.

She's alive.

My body feels heavy and feather light at the same time, my heart nearly bursting with the primitive need to stride up to her and crush her to me, the intense hunger to feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath her pale skin...to know that she is really alive.

Despite the danger all around us, I do nothing but let my gaze devour her, my eyes caressing the face I have for so long only seen in my dreams. I watch as her lips part, almost as though she is going to speak.

My heart thumps unsteadily in my chest, my skin flushing with heat as I gaze at her...unable to move...unable to look away. Nikita blinks slowly, but her eyes never leave mine. I see the longing in her eyes, the shock of seeing me becoming something very different, a burning hunger that I recognise all too well.

"There he is...get him! Go! Go!"

Instinctively, I turn. Two more operatives, approaching from behind. I draw my weapon and turn back to Nikita, wanting to warn her to get out of sight.

She's gone.

My gaze darts frantically, scanning the area...but there is no sign of her. Have they taken her? Even as the thought flashes through my mind, I realise the truth and my anger flares. Despite the longing that I saw in her eyes, Nikita has run again. This time, however, she hasn't run from Section. She has run from me.

Reality intrudes forcibly in the form of a shot that passes dangerously close to my ear. Pushing Nikita from my mind with some difficulty, I run across the car park and scale the wire fence, not wanting to approach the main gate with its burning effigy. I drop to the ground, relief rushing through me as I hear Birkoff's voice in my comm unit.

"Get to exit point Alpha. Transport will be there in four minutes."

Despite the fact that the two Freedom League ops are less than ten metres away, I can't stop myself from staring at the spot where Nikita had stood, less than two minutes earlier, doubt suddenly assailing my mind.

Had I imagined her?

I waste precious time gazing after a ghost before I force myself to turn away, running swiftly done the slope of the hill and across the road before darting into the heavily wooded grounds on the other side. As I run, my confusion grows.

Was I dreaming? No. I couldn't have been...those men were shot dead. I shake my head angrily as my boots slide dangerously on the gravel slope and I attempt to tear my mind back to the matter of reaching the egress point in one piece. But Alpha Point A is seven minutes away by foot...seven minutes in which my mind does nothing but churn with fevered thoughts of Nikita.

I wasn't dreaming. My heart seems to clench and swell, snapping the bonds of guilt that have crippled it for so long.

She was real. She was alive.

~*~*~*~*~

Running scared and out of my mind
No place is home
On these streets I reach for the sky
With a gun in my hand

Running blind.

I run until the breath is coming in great tearing gasps from my lungs...until my thigh muscles scream in protest. The stench of Section is in my nostrils, cold sweat tricking down my spine, making my undershirt stick to my back.

Oh god. Michael. I took one look at him, and my legs almost buckled under me. God knows what would have happened if those Freedom League ops hadn't descended on us. But they did. Michael and I heard their voices, and the spell we were under snapped in two in an instant, the look between us abruptly shattered. Confused fear overwhelmed me. Seeing him overwhelmed me. When Michael looked away, I crouched low to the ground, and I ran.

I could feel Section breathing down my neck, the fear of being taken in squeezing my heart so hard that I could hardly breathe. I crept along the ground, back toward my original hiding place, knowing that Michael wouldn't be able to see me from his position.

I watched from behind an industrial bin as he ran toward the fence and climbed it quickly, easily outmaneuvering the operatives still milling about in the car park. Guilt twisting in my chest, I saw him hesitate and stare back across the car park through the fence, his eyes searching for me, before he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

And then I ran, racing like a madwoman through the back streets of Lyons, uncaring of who may have been watching. All I could think of was that I had to get away...that wherever Michael was, Section would be too. I couldn't let them find me...couldn't bear to return to that life filled with death and lies.

A stitch in my side finally forces me to slow down and I come to a reluctant stop, realising that I have instinctively made my way back to my own neighbourhood. I know that I can't stay here any longer...it's not safe now. Anger bubbles up inside me at the thought of being forced to leave yet another home, especially this one. Damn it, I liked it here. I had friends...a job...a life. Putting my hands on my hips, I gulp the cool night air down into my lungs and walk slowly, reluctantly accepting the inevitable. I have to move on.

I loiter in the narrow avenue behind my apartment, arguing with myself. Thoughts of retrieving my money, or getting clean clothes, or maybe even being able to wash off the filth of the Freedom League are conspiring to lure me inside. Hugging my folded arms to my chest, I scowl down at my scuffed running shoes and reluctantly admit to an ulterior motive.

The PDA that Michael gave me. Carefully scanning the empty street, I walk slowly toward my apartment building, my mind once more filled with thoughts of Michael. Why do I even want the PDA? After tonight, he definitely knows I'm alive...he won't be sending me any more messages. Who am I kidding? He'll be even angrier now that I done another disappearing act on him. As for the PDA, I should just leave it behind...why take it when I've never used it? My mind scrambles stubbornly for a valid reason not to leave it behind. I can't leave it behind to be found by the next tenant...I should destroy it. My heart does an odd little lurch at the thought.

I reach the northern wall of the apartment block and lean against it, feeling almost secure in the darkness. As usual, most of the street lights in my street seem to be broken. It used to annoy me, but tonight, it's just perfect.

The Freedom League knew where you worked...what makes you think they won't know where you lived? True, but they have no idea where I am at the moment...even if they have discovered that I've escaped, I'm pretty sure that they wouldn't have expected me to follow them back to Lyons, let alone go somewhere as obvious as my apartment.

I suddenly become aware of the pungent metallic smell of someone else's blood, and I unzip my borrowed jacket hurriedly, shuddering with distaste as I tear it off. That settles it. If I have to make a run for it, I'm doing it in my own damn clothes.

The apartment block is mostly in darkness, a single bulb burning in the main hallway. My pulse racing, I slink through the main entrance, hugging the wall with my back. God help any of my neighbours if they decide to pop their heads out. I have the safety clicked off and my nerves are on a hair trigger. For their sakes, I hope they're all sound asleep.

Reaching my door, I test the handle, relieved to find it locked...just how I left it. Still, I didn't spend three years in Section and not learn to be paranoid. I pull up the doormat and fumble for the spare key, torn between being relieved that I put it there and being annoyed at myself for taking such a risk. What can I say? I was trying to blend into normal life, I think defensively.

The apartment is dark and still, and I edge slowly into the main room, my senses tingling with awareness. My breathing sounds loud and harsh in my ears, and I swallow hard, trying to be as silent as possible.

For the first time, I'm grateful for the fact that I have been living in what I call a 'dump' and what Tahlia graciously calls 'rustic'. There is only one main room, and a tiny closet with a toilet, sink and shower...a closet that in some real estate circles is called a bathroom. There are not a lot of places for an attacker to hide.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm clean, dressed in my own clothes and carrying a duffel bag with money, warm clothes, my toothbrush, the PDA and a small stash of food. My stomach growls at the sight of the peanut butter crackers I've shoved in the bag, but I ignore it as best I can. I can eat later.

I have no idea where I am going, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is getting out of Lyon...tonight. Michael knows that I'm here, and that thought alone is enough to both thrill and terrify me. Just seeing him for those few seconds brought home to me just how little control I have over my feelings where Michael is concerned. Another couple of seconds alone in that car park with him, and I would have lost it completely. It's too risky. He's too risky.

The last six months have taught me more about Michael than I learned in a whole three years. He won't be satisfied with just knowing that I'm alive. He will try to find me, and no matter how much I might try to convince myself otherwise, Michael means Section.

I won't go back.

With one last lingering glance around the place that has been home for four months, I ease the door open slowly and step into the hallway. I slip the gun into the waistband of my work trousers and hoist the heavy bag up over my shoulder. Bouyed by the feeling of 'having gotten away with it', I'm utterly unprepared for the dark shadow that appears in the gloom of the hallway.

~*~*~*~*~

From the moment we are born
Until the day we die
We are hostages to our hearts' desire
And though I ride this city
I can't escape from you
And when I look up to the stars I wonder
Can the world really be so cruel?

The transport is waiting by the time I reach the exit point. Stockwell is standing next to the open door of the van, his posture rigid. He tenses and looks at me as I approach, an unspoken question in his eyes. I shake my head and his shoulders slump slightly, his eyes darkening with anger.

Thrown off-balance by Nikita's unexpected reappearance, I had forgotten until this moment that Stockwell and Bartlett had been through their training together...that they had been good friends...real friends...a rare occurrence in Section.

Stockwell stares at me for a few seconds, his expression grim, before he shakes his head angrily and climbs into the back of the van. After one last probing sweep of the surrounds, I join him. We sit quietly for a few moments, each of us lost in our own thoughts, before Stockwell breaks the tense silence.

"What happened?"

I stretch my legs out in front of me, wincing slightly as I feel the results of being tossed to the ground like a rag doll.

"Someone tipped off the Freedom League. They were expecting us." I glance at Stockwell. He is pale but composed. "It was an ambush. There was no time to prepare egress."

He looks at me. "You got out." It's a question rather than an accusation, but there is an unspoken question hidden beneath his quiet words. Despite the longing to be alone with my thoughts of Nikita, I recognize his need to know the truth.

"We were at the guard's station when the missile was fired. We had a few seconds warning...no more." Stockwell gazes at me steadily, his eyes never leaving mine. "I was able to exit the vehicle. Bartlett wasn't. The door on his side was blocked."

He looks away, leaning his head back against the headrest, a sadly knowing smile curving his mouth. "Let me guess...Bart insisted on driving?"

"Yes."

Stockwell slowly shakes his head, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "That idiot..." He clears his throat roughly and looks at me.

"Thanks, Michael."

With that, he stands and moves to the other side of the transport, seeking his own solitude, and I am soon distracted by my thoughts.

What was Nikita doing there? Has she been in Lyon the whole time? Why the hell was she on site during a mission?

I stare unseeing at the far wall of the transport, my mind a tangled snarl of thoughts and images. There has to be a logical explanation for Nikita's presence at the research lab, but at the moment, I cannot think of a single plausible reason.

Closing my eyes, I let myself remember the naked longing I saw in her face, my pulse quickening as a dangerous possibility comes into my head. Would she continue to ignore my messages, or would she now feel obligated to reply?

My heart begins to thump unsteadily as I finally let myself consider a course of action I had rejected for so long. If she replies...I can find her. As long as Nikita maintained an electronic silence, I had no way of tracking her. But if she sends a reply, it would be possible to trace the signal...to pinpoint her location...something of which I'm quite sure Nikita is completely unaware.

I struggle with my conscience. Isn't it enough to know that she is alive? Pulling my gun from its holster, I slide out the clip and stare at the two unspent bullets.

No. It's not enough.

~*~*~*~*~

Matty stopped in his tracks when he saw how Nikita was staring at him, her eyes wide with fright, the colour draining from her already pale face. Cursing his thoughtlessness, he stepped closer to the feeble hall light and held his hands up.

"Nik, it's okay...it's me."

Nikita let out a shaky sigh, looking over his shoulder nervously.

"Shit, Matty! You scared the living daylights out of me!"

"Sorry, Nik." Matty smiled at her apologetically but his heart was heavy. He looked at his friend, and noted the bulging duffle bag, the heavy winter coat. Tahlia had been right...she usually was.

"I'm telling you, she's in trouble, Matty. It's not like her to just up and leave work like that. Tell me again what happened?"

He explained again to his wife what had happened, how a man had come into the diner, and that Nik had left with him, apparently happy to do so.

Tahlia shook her head at him impatiently. "No...not our girl. She wouldn't do that to you." She stared out the window of the diner. Nik had been missing for eight hours now.

"Should we call the police?" Matty could hear the worry in his own voice. Damn it, where was she?

Tahlia hesitated, finally looking at him, her eyes filled with concern. "No, I don't think that she would want us to do that. We might just land her in more trouble."

Surprised, Matty looked at his wife. "What do you mean?"

Tahlia patted his hand reassuringly, as you would a child's, but her eyes were filled with sadness. "Darling man, Nik is a girl who has been desperately trying to make a new life for herself...and she is doing it because she has run away from her old life." Tahlia ran a hand through her short hair distractedly. "Something's not right."

She grasped Matty's hand firmly, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain. "If her old life has caught up with her, I'm worried that we're going to lose her." Startled, Matty stared at his wife, her words sending a jolt of panic through him.

"What do you mean? You think that those people might hurt..."

Tahlia shook her head slowly, a frowning creasing her smooth forehead. "No...I am quite sure that our Nik can look after herself. It's just that...I have the feeling that if something, or someone from her old life catches up with her...she'll run again." Tahlia gave him a sad smile. "I'm afraid we'll never see her again."

He sighed silently now and gazed down at Nikita, noting the guilty expression that crept across her face as he looked pointedly at her bag. "Are you coming or going?"

Nikita swallowed hard and shuffled her feet.

Matty studied her face, biting back a smile. Holly got exactly the same expression on her face when he asked her if she had cleaned her teeth before bedtime. I've raised two kids...I can wait you out too, Nik.

He folded his arms and leaned up against the corridor wall, subtly implying that he was prepared to wait for an answer.

Nikita eyed him warily, then shrugged, admitting defeat. "Going, actually."

"Just like that."

"Yeah...just like that. I'm so sorry, Matty." She peered up at him as though willing him to understand. Matty frowned at her, torn between relief that she was okay and annoyance that she had obviously intended to leave without saying goodbye.

His disappointment must have shown on his face, because Nikita put back her shoulders and stared at him, her tone defensive. "What are you even doing here, Matty?"

Matty shrugged, feeling somewhat sheepish. "Tahlia sent me to watch out for you. I've been sitting outside this place in my car for the last four hours." Tears welled up in Nikita's eyes at his words and she looked down at her feet, embarrassed. Matty reached out a hand and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "We were worried about you."

Nikita blinked and looked up at him, guilt flickering in her eyes once more. "Thank you, but I'm okay...you should know by now that I can take care of myself."

Matty took a deep breath. Damn, he wished Tahlia were here...she did this sort of stuff so much better than him. "Those people this afternoon..." Nikita's head snapped up at his words, her eyes locking onto his. "Old life?"

He saw Nikita swallow hard, as though bracing herself for what she was about to say. "Uh...sort of." She gave him a shaky smile. "Not people I particularly wanted to see."

"Yeah, I figured that." Matty put his hand in his pocket and felt the cool metal of the keys Tahlia had forced on him. "Listen, Nik..."

Nikita shook her head sadly and tried to brush past him. "I gotta go, Matty."

"No, wait...please?" She stopped, her shoulders slumped as though under a great weight. He took a step toward her. "Do you know where you're going to go?"

He saw the answer in her eyes before she even spoke, but he waited patiently for her reply. "No...not yet."

"Will you indulge an old man and let me give you something?" Nikita hesitated, and to his regret, he saw suspicion in her eyes. Poor girl...whatever has happened to you? He knew instinctively that Nikita didn't want his pity, but perhaps he could convince her to accept his help.

"Tahlia gave me these...she wanted you to have them." He held out his hand, waiting. After a few seconds, Nikita put her hand out and he dropped the set of keys into her outstretched palm.

She looked down at the keys, then back up at him, confused. "What are these?"

"Tahlia's brother has a boat. He lives in Grenoble." Nikita just looked at him blankly and he hurried to explain. "He's a lecturer at the Universit� Joseph Fourier...keeps the boat docked on the river, near the university rowing sheds." Matty shook his head, smiling. "Old Clive just can't bring himself to get rid of the damn thing. He used to live on it before he met Sheree." At Nikita's blank look, his smile widened. "Sheree's his wife...she didn't take too kindly to the notion that they live on his floating bachelor pad after they got married." He gestured toward the keys in Nikita's hand.

"It's clean, it's secure." Nikita's eyes widened as she caught his meaning. "Clive and his wife are in Germany for two weeks...he gave the keys to Tahlia for safekeeping. No...listen to me..." He pushed Nikita's hand away as she tried to give him back the keys.

"You would be doing us a favour. We guessed that you might be leaving us..." Nikita looked at him in surprise. He shrugged and smiled at her. "Tahlia...you know how she is."

Nikita cleared her throat and gazed down at the keys, her voice rough with emotion. "Yeah...I know how she is."

"Don't make me have to go home and tell her that I let you go off into the night by yourself." Matty grinned at her. "Grenoble's only ninety minutes away if you take the TGV. Hell, I'll even drop you at the train station. Stay there a couple of hours...a couple of days. Whatever you want. You have two weeks to find somewhere else to go. Just post the key back to us when you leave. We trust you." He reached out and poked her gently on the arm. "What do you say?"

Nikita blinked several times and stared up at the ceiling in an effort not to cry. After a long moment, she met his eyes and smiled briefly, the sadness in her eyes making Matty's heart ache.

"Thank you."