Tuesday
6:32 PM Pacific Time

With two grocery bags in her arms, Jeanne Cooper made her way up the stairs to her apartment building and came to a halt as she saw that once again someone had propped open the security door with a brick. Sighing and blowing a strand of blond hair out of her eyes, she hooked her foot around the door and pulled it open far enough that she could use her shoulder to get it open the rest of the way, taking the time to kick the rock out of the way and watching the door close with grim satisfaction. It was most likely Tara from 212, she was always propping open the door for her visitors so she wouldn't have to ring them in, and no matter how many times she was told not to--politely and otherwise--she kept doing it. What was the point of having a security door if it was left open like this?

She had taken a step up the stairs to the second floor and her apartment when she realized that she had to check the mail, she was expecting a video tape from an online pal who was as much into "The X-Files" as she was and was sending her the one episode she'd missed this season due to VCR failure. Wriggling to get her purse strap back up onto her shoulder, she was able to get her fingers into the pocket of her coat and remove her keys as she walked down to the row of mailboxes.

Setting down one grocery bag Jeanne unlocked her box and smiled with delight at seeing the manila envelope with the familiar shape of a video tape inside, removed it and the rest of her mail--mostly the weekly bunch of coupons--to find underneath it a smaller manila envelope. She lifted the envelope to see that it had RETURN TO SENDER stamped across it and her own address written up in the left hand corner, in the lower half of the envelope was a Baltimore, Maryland address for a business called Harding Enterprises. She stood for a moment, puzzling it out, and then shoved it into her grocery bag along with the rest of the mail, hefting both bags as she headed back for the stairs and up to her apartment.

Once inside, she closed and locked the door behind her, carrying both bags into the kitchen to set them on the counter, removing the mail and laying it aside while she put away her groceries. Any other time and Jeanne would of gone right to the VCR and popped in the "X-Files" tape but the mystery envelope had aroused her curiosity, she found herself looking at it out of the corner of her eye as she opened and shut cupboards.

Shrugging out her coat, she picked up the envelope and walked into the living room to sit down on the couch as she studied the front of it again. Odd, she didn't know who would of used her name for a RETURN TO SENDER, she certainly hadn't sent the thing out, and she had no connection to a business called Harding Enterprises...

And then it hit her.

Harding. Jerry Harding.

Five years ago and she had been working in New York for an ad agency, just out of college and wanting to see something other than the state she'd grown up in, out on her own for the first time. She had met Jerry Harding through a co-worker, Harding had done some work for a company that her co-worker had been doing an account for and he'd introduced the two of them. To the girl Jeanne had been he was charming and intelligent, introducing her to people and helping her along with her job, in a short amount of time they had become lovers and after she had moved in with him, she had begun to realize just exactly what he did.

Harding made his living by hacking computer systems and by either selling the information he stole back to the victim or a competitor and he was beginning to graduate from corporations to far more deadly foes, in the six months they were together she had seen the shift and the men he associated with, dangerous men to whom violence was the means and the end. He had grand plans about making a great deal of money off one score and she had known it was time to get out before she was pulled in with him. One day she called in to work, saying she was quitting, had to go home to care for a parent she didn't even have, packed her things and headed back to Portland, Oregon, far away from Jerry Harding.

And now here he was, five years later, dragging her into God knew what. She hadn't heard from him once, hadn't even known he knew where she lived, she didn't think he would miss her that much, that he would find another girlfriend that was more appreciative of his genius and his upcoming prosperity. She stared down at the envelope with a repugnance better suited to regarding something furry and blue in her refrigerator and slowly, gingerly, opened the envelope, looking inside to see that its sole contents were a CD in a plastic jewel case.

Holding it with two fingers, Jeanne removed the CD from the envelope and looked at it curiously, there was no label on it and most likely, given who had sent it, it was a writeable CD. Nothing else inside, no note, nothing, and she tossed the envelope down on her coffee table, rising to go to her computer. Turning it on, she inserted the CD in the drive and opened Microsoft Word, clicked on the "D" drive and then on the sole file, titled DIRECT.DOC.

Across the screen came a series of symbols and numbers, seemingly random computer hieroglyphics, indicating that the file was either unreadable by Word or encrypted. Given who had sent it to her, it was probably encrypted and that was far beyond her own expertise, she knew her way a little around a system but had never had cause to experiment with encrypting files. Pressing the eject button she removed the CD and replaced it in its case, weighing it in her palm as she looked at the small garbage can beside her desk, tempted to just throw it away.

But on the heels of that thought came another, that Tim could probably decode it for her, he was always bragging about hacking systems and wreaking havoc, and this wouldn't be hard at all for him. Hopefully there would be something on the disk to give her an idea of where it came from, a person or place she could contact and send it back to.

With that decided she put the plastic jewel case into her purse and went into the kitchen to pop tonight's culinary experiment in the microwave, managing to nearly forget the anxiety this unexpected delivery had caused.

Wednesday
8:52 AM Pacific Time

Jeanne walked through the front doors of Caliban Advertising in down- town Portland and on her way to her own little cubicle she stopped by the office Tim worked in; he had his feet up on the desk and was tapping furiously on the keyboard, looking for a moment to be very busy at work, but then she came around him and saw from the bright colors and the spray of blood as he obliterated an opponent that he was once again playing DOOM, probably with another one of his friends on the Internet. Tall and skinny with short hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he fit the stereotype of a computer geek to a T, responsible for designing and maintaining the web pages of the company's clients. Around him was the various instruments of his trade--printer, scanner, digital camera, assorted other tools--under an assortment of papers and books and other garbage, candy bar wrappers and chip bags.

"Think you can do me a favor?"

"Leave it on the desk." said Tim, not shifting his attention away from the screen, lips curving in a particularly evil grin as he blew away another foe.

She waved the disk in front of his eyes to distract him and he gave her a disgusted look as the screen flared red, indicating a hit. "It's a disk I got in the mail, it's encrypted, I was wondering if you could--" At the mention of the word "encrypted" his eyes lit up and he reached up to snatch it from her hand, the game forgotten as he looked down at the case. "That is, if you're not too busy." she added sarcastically.

"Check back later." he said, exiting the game and placing the CD in its drive, acting for all the world as if she had already left the room.

With a shake of her head, Jeanne left his office and went down the hall- way, just a few feet short of her desk when Alan caught up with her. There was a problem with the big account they'd landed, three hours from a presentation and slides were missing, and in the resulting chaotic search she forgot completely about the mystery disk.

Wednesday
7:25 PM Pacific Time

The presentation had gone so well that the client now wanted them to handle another project, which meant that the entire firm--a total of nine-- would be devoted to it and that everyone's current accounts had to be wrapped up pronto. So Jeanne worked through lunch, eating a deli sandwich that their boss Elliot had sent up from the deli on the ground floor, and past dinner, managing to finish up the last account by just after 7:00. It was nearly 7:30 as she left her cubicle, stopping to say good night to Elaine, who was still working at her computer, looking harried and tired, was walking past Tim's office when he stuck his head out and called to her.

"Hey!"

The disk--as busy as she'd been today, she had forgotten all about it and it was with great reluctance that she walked into Tim's office to stand behind his chair and look at the screen. "You decoded it?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "It wasn't that hard."

"So what is it?"

"What it is--what it looks like--is a personnel directory. Names, addresses, phone numbers, that kind of thing." He tapped the page down key on his keyboard and the screen scrolled to show more of the same. "Looks like a corporate directory; it's got people across the States and up into Canada, Europe, Mexico, even the old Soviet Union."

"That's it?" She was strangely disappointed, she hadn't known what she was expecting, maybe the plans to some secret piece of technology, but not this. Tim's eyes lit up as he turned in his chair to look at her. "Well, it could be the names of a bunch of secret agents that would kill to recover the information." He ducked the swat she aimed at his head and grinned. "Hell, even I'm not that paranoid!"

"What do I do with it?"

"I'd pick one of the names, contact the person, tell them what you got, offer to sell it back to them--" She glowered at him and he smiled sheepishly, "--ahem, give it back to them. Some product of a capitalist society you are!" He removed the disk from its drive, replaced it in its case, and handed it to her with a flourish.

"Thanks, Tim. I owe you a pizza."

"No prob, it didn't take that long."

She looked at him suspiciously. "You didn't copy it, did you?"

He batted his eyes at her, placing a hand over his heart. "Moi?"

"Oui, vous."

"It's not worth the space on my hard drive, don't sweat it. You're welcome!" he called after her as she drifted from the room, pondering what exactly she was going to say to whoever she decided to call...

Wednesday
10:48 PM Eastern time

Twelve hours of a stake-out spent sitting in a van watching a monitor and five minutes of frantic action, two planes and six hours later back at the Section, another hour of debriefing, for a total of twenty-three hours since Michael had last slept. He had sat in his office, blankly staring at the computer screen of his laptop computer, before deciding that he could do his report just as well at home. Packing up his computer he left the Section and headed for home, too tired to even think of stopping for something to eat.

Once home he sat down on the couch, the laptop sitting on the coffee table before him, and leaned back, resting his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes, a few moments and he would get to the report...

Then the phone rang and he awoke to find himself stretched out on the couch, lay there and listened to it ring. Let the machine pick it up, said a rebellious little voice in his head, you've done your bit for the country and you're entitled to a night off. On the fourth ring the message came on and there was a brief pause before a woman's voice spoke, sounding hesitant.

"This is a message for Michael Lewis." The sound of the name sent a chill down his spine, it was the name he'd used for the apartment lease and was printed as well on the business cards he'd handed out from time to time. His number was unlisted and the business number on his cards was routed to a private line at the Section, there was no way anyone could track him to this number.

The woman gave an uncomfortable laugh. "I know this is going to sound odd but I got this disk in the mail and your name and number was on it..."

Twisting to an upright position he snatched at the phone and said into the receiver, "Hold on, I'm here." Rubbing at weary eyes, he pushed through the newspaper on his coffee table and found a pen, flipped the paper over to find a blank spot. It had been months since they'd first lost the Directory and with no sign of it anywhere it hadn't been necessary to change identities or locations, the name he'd used for the apartment was on it and address as well.

"Hi, I'm Jeanne Cooper--God, I'm sorry, I woke you up, didn't I? I forgot about the time difference--"

"That's okay. You said something about a disk?" A little too eager, fool, said that same little voice and he drew a deep breath, willing calm.

"Yeah, I got this disk from an...old friend, it had your name on it as well as some others."

"Was this old friend of yours a Mr. Harding?"

"Former friend." said the woman firmly.

No mention of money or negotiations so far, it was a possibility that this woman could be ignorant of what she held. Trust no one, it was a tenet that had drilled into him over and over, and it was painful lesson to learn but once learned, it was never forgotten. "Mr. Harding was involved in some...corporate espionage. He stole some files from my employer, one of which was this file you have, and if I can retrieve the file, I can get an idea of who exactly helped him break into our system."

"I can send it to you, if you'd like."

"Actually, I'd prefer it if I could pick it up." The Directory had been out in the open too long as it was, leaving them too vulnerable, and he wasn't about to let it fall into the mercies of the postal system. He forced a rueful laugh and said, tone conspiratorial, "I took a lot of heat over this, I'm supposed to be the head of security for our firm, and it would do a lot to square things with the boss if I brought this back to him."

A brief hesitation and then she said, "Okay. My name is Jeanne Cooper, I live in Portland, Oregon. Maybe we could meet at the airport?"

"Umm...I don't know when I'll be able to get in." Better to use the Section's transportation, he had the papers and ID to get a gun through a metal detector but it would leave a paper trail and draw notice that he didn't want. "Can we meet somewhere else?"

"There's this restaurant called Cucina Cucina, it's right in the Rose Quarter, by the Coliseum--do you know where that is?"

"I can find it." There was even a substation in the area if he had any trouble. "1:00 okay for you?"

"Sure." A note of relief in her voice. "I'll see you tomorrow then, 1:00."

"Thanks for your trouble, Ms. Cooper. Bye." Even as she said her own goodbye he was disconnecting and pressing the auto dialer, choosing the number for the Section. Two rings and the operator came on; he said into the phone, "Get me Operations."

***********

Thursday
1:20 Pacific Time

It had taken a little wheedling but Jeanne got the afternoon off with the excuse that she had errands to run, she didn't take much time off and Elliot knew it, let her go with only an exaggerated sigh. She went back to her apartment and got the computer disk then headed out to her car, leaving early enough that she wouldn't be late due to traffic, arrived at the restaurant just at 12:30. Hungry, she ordered lunch and ate while she waited, glancing occasionally at her watch to check the time, 1:00 came and went with no sign of Michael Lewis, when the waiter came around she ordered a second cappuccino and sat nursing it, looking around the restaurant, the conversations of other diners washing over her. Another half hour and she was about to order dessert, taking one last drink of her cappuccino, when she heard a voice.

"Jeanne Cooper?" She nearly dropped the cup and carefully set it down, lifting her head to look at the person that stood before the table.

He wore a dark business suit under a long black leather trench coat, standard corporate attire, but his hair was longer than the norm, nearly down to his shoulders, brown and wavy, very nice looking, lovely gray eyes, and when he spoke her name it was with an inflection she recognized as French from the two years of French she'd taken in high school. Even though it wasn't that cold out, he wore black leather gloves, one hand extending to her, the other held a briefcase.

"Michael Lewis. Sorry I'm late."

She rose to shake his hand, saying, "No problem." The waitress came by to leave the bill on her table and Jeanne dug in her purse for money but Michael Lewis had already reached into an inside pocket to withdraw a wallet, shaking his head at her as he dropped a twenty on the table.

"The least I can do. Mind if we take a walk?"

"Umm...sure." He gestured for her to go ahead and she led the way out of the restaurant and into the courtyard, glancing at the fountain before turning her attention to Michael, he was looking around the courtyard, eyes tracking the half dozen other people wandering through the yard, and what she saw in his eyes gave her a chill. Cold and deliberate, assessing and passing over each person, the kind of hardness she'd only seen once before, in some of Jerry's less savory friends, and Tim's joking words came back to her-- "Maybe it's the names of a bunch of secret agents that would kill to retrieve the information"--but then his eyes met hers and it was gone, he was smiling politely, hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Do you have the disk with you?" he asked casually but he was watching her intently as he said it, the smile not touching his eyes.

Give it to him, get rid of it, this is waaay too spooky, said the practical little voice in her head and she found herself nodding in agreement. Years since she'd left Harding and for some reason she thought that he was dragging her into something she didn't want to be involved with, she wasn't about to hold the disk for him, especially if he'd stolen it from someone else. It had been weird enough that he had used her address as a return to sender...

She had her purse open and was about to pull the disk out from inside it when a hand caught her arm in a grip tight enough to be uncomfortable but not to hurt, she lifted her head in surprise to look at Michael, her protest sticking in her throat at his expression. All civility was gone, this wasn't a corporate drone out to retrieve a company file, this was someone dangerous, someone she didn't want to argue with, she shrank back a little as he leaned forward.

"Go to your car and bring it around." His coat opened as he leaned and she got a glimpse of something gray and metallic inside. "Wait for me to come. And don't forget this--I know where you live. Understood?" His eyes shifted from her to a point over her shoulder and she looked back over her shoulder, seeing two men approaching, Michael pulled her behind him and snapped, "Go!"

Jeanne did as she was told, nearly running as she headed back to the parking lot, cast a frightened look over her shoulder to see Michael pull a gun out from under his coat, moving back as the two men started to approach. Her hands were shaking as she pulled her keys out of her pocket and the sound of a gunshot made her jump, she froze for a moment, staring in the direction of the shot as people shouted in alarm, seeing Michael moving from one side of the courtyard to another, firing in return.

Self preservation kicked in and she ran the rest of the way to her car, got the door open and slid behind the wheel, tugging the door closed behind her. Turning the key in the ignition, she shifted into reverse and peeled out of the parking place, as she shifted into forward that practical little voice urged her to just go, not get involved, but it seemed that the little voice had forgotten the teeny detail that Michael knew where she lived and would no doubt pay her a visit later if she left him here, something she did not want at all...

And then she was pulling up to the curb, leaning over to open the door just as Michael reached the car, pausing to fire one more shot before he got into the car, ejecting a spent clip with one hand and slamming another in even as he shut the door, rolled down the window to fire at the man still in pursuit.

"Go." he said curtly and she did, slamming her foot down on the accelerator, the under- side of the car scraping against the pavement as she hit the street, a car honking as it swerved to avoid her.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking in her rearview mirror then back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel.

"Just drive."

"Where?"

As the light went yellow, she automatically slowed but he reached over to pull on the steering wheel, saying, "Don't stop for the light, head east. Keep to the main streets. I'll tell you when to turn."

I can't believe this is happening to me... she thought morosely and did as instructed.

An hour later and they were on the east side of I-5, driving aimlessly; she had taken the bridge over to downtown Portland and drove through the streets for most of the hour, took a roundabout way to cross back over to the neighborhood she had been in, driving past MLK Blvd and keeping to the main streets as Michael had told her, keeping her eyes on the road. As soon as they'd gotten going he had taken the disk directly from her purse without a word and opened his briefcase to withdraw a laptop computer, propping it on top of the briefcase and inserting the disk inside. With an eye to the rear view mirror he had sat silent, reading the file on the disk, for most of the hour and had then closed the computer, turning his attention to the rear view mirror.

Nervously Jeanne looked as well but saw nothing unusual, just cars behind her, but he turned a little in his seat, looking back at the cars behind him, a faint frown on his face. Grabbing her purse he upended it on the seat between them, searching through it for God knew what, she swallowed the automatic protest that came to her lips and said instead, "What's wrong?"

"We're being followed." he responded shortly, going meticulously through the contents of her purse, gray eyes meeting hers in the rear view mirror. "Did they approach you?"

"Who?" she asked in despair. "Look, I don't know what's going on, all I know is that I get a package in the mail from a guy I knew a long time ago, a guy I want absolutely nothing to do with. If you want the damned thing, you're welcome to it, I don't know why he sent it to me in the first place. I haven't heard a thing from Jerry in years--"

"You're not going to. He's dead."

That didn't surprise her in the least and she couldn't find any sympathy for Jerry either, he had known the risks of what he was doing and he had followed that path all the same.

"I can just drop you off somewhere, you take the disk and that's that, okay?" She hated the pleading note in her voice but this was scaring her badly, all she wanted was to go home and watch this kind of intrigue on TV, she didn't want to be a part of it.

For a long moment he just looked at her and then he said quietly, "They've probably put a tracker on the car--find someplace public, a mall or something, and park the car."

Resigned she turned off MLK Blvd and followed it to Multnomah and then to Lloyd Center, turning left into the parking garage. Michael turned in the seat to watch the cars behind them as she turned into the driveway that, knowing without asking that he would want her to park as close to the mall entrance as she could. Two passes through the lot and she found an empty space just beside the standard handicapped parking place, pulled into it and shut off the engine.

Grabbing his briefcase and shoving the disk into one pocket, Michael got out of the car and when she didn't immediately move to leave, he leaned in, expression impatient.

"Come with me or stay with the car and explain to them why you don't have the disk they're looking for. Your choice." He straightened, tugging the coat closed, and shut the door, striding around the car; for a moment Jeanne sat, torn between the desire to be quit of this whole damn thing and the sudden disquieting idea of men surrounding her car and asking her where this mysterious disk was...

Grabbing her keys, she opened the door and pushed it shut behind her, dithered for a moment about whether or not to lock it but eventually hurried after Michael, glancing back nervously over her shoulder as she finally caught up with him just outside the doors to the entrance. He stood aside to let her enter first and followed behind her, letting her lead him into Nordstrom’s, walking beside her as they wound through the clothes racks and out into the main floor of the mall.

"How many exits?" he asked, stopping to glance around at the mall, eyes passing over the skating rink and then to her.

"Three or four, even a couple on the upper level." She was looking around as well, his paranoia contagious, and started violently when he took her arm and pulled her after him. Down the length of the mall they traveled, winding past the carts set up along the walkway and past the handful of other patrons, as hard as she looked, she couldn't see anyone that was out of place, nothing on any of the faces approaching her that shouted ENEMY. Michael's arm slipped around her shoulder as they walked and she hesitantly put an arm around his waist, feeling him stiffen briefly and hesitate a little in his stride, recovering so quickly that she was sure she had imagined it.

And then they were out of the mall and on Halsey, Michael raising an arm to wave down a taxi, pushing her inside ahead of him and giving an address in northeast Portland to the driver.

In Oshkosh B'Gosh overalls and a white tank top, Sarah was sprawled on a bean bag chair in her living room, headphones on and eyes closed as she let the soothing melodies of Clannad wash over her. A rare afternoon to herself and she was enjoying it fully, just spending the day in her apartment and doing nothing at all, sleeping late and spending the morning just flipping through the channels on her TV. After the last month and the particularly brutal mission she had taken part in she was more than ready for a few days off...

Five years ago and she had been involved in a drug deal that had gone very bad, leaving two undercover DEA agents--posing as buyers--dead, one of whom she had shot herself, and two months later she had woken to find herself in what looked to be a hospital room, a representative of the Section there to offer her a deal. In all likelihood the local DA would go for--and get--the death penalty on her and if she went to work for the Section, they would see to it that she was given a new identity. Messed up on drugs as she had been, she was surprised now that she'd actually had the sense to take them up on their offer and after she had cleaned up and undergone training, she had become a good agent, doing what she was told and ignoring the dubious ethics of the Section. Three years of doing missions, acting the assassin, doing their dirty work, and it was wearing on her; there were even times where she wished she hadn't accepted their offer. People spent years on death row and there would have been appeals to make, she might have been able to get a reduced sentence...

That was messy thinking, going back to the past, too full of would haves and should haves, better to face the here and now. She had cleaned up, had something of a life, and for the first time since she'd been a teenager, before her mother's death and the endless rounds of foster homes, she was actually happy.

Slumping farther back in the bean bag, she stretched out her legs and tried to ignore the knock on the door, concentrating instead on the music, but a second knock came, louder and longer than the first, and Sarah slipped off her headphones, pushing red hair out of her eyes and getting to her feet. Walking to the door, she stopped to put her eye to the peephole and looked out into the hall, seeing a man and a woman standing on the other side of the door, the man's head turned away from her, drawing back she hesitated for a moment and then turned the padlock on the door, opening it just wide enough that she could look out at the pair.

"Yes?" If not for the long black leather coat the man was wearing she would have pegged them as another pair passing around religious literature but they could still be selling something...

"Emerald?"

Sarah jerked back, green eyes widening as he said her code name and then narrowing. She didn't know him, he wasn't from her substation, and they never contacted her this way, they always called, but on the heels of that thought came another more ominous one, bringing back to mind a communiqué sent out months ago regarding the loss of the Directory...she started to shut the door but the man reached out to grab the edge of the door and force it back, making her stumble back into the living room.

"I'm with the Section." he said brusquely as he gestured for the woman with him to come in as well; with a nervous glance at Sarah she entered the apartment, purse clasped against her chest, turning as Sarah did to watch the man close and lock the door. "My name is Michael."

"Oh." She didn't know him by sight but she had heard enough of him over the years, he was apparently high up in the Section hierarchy and according to the rumours floating around he was being groomed for the position of Operations. But that was as far as the gossip went, no one seemed to know where he came from or how he'd come to the Section, either that or the ones that knew weren't talking. "What's this about?"

"We needed to get off the streets." He moved past her to the window and drew the curtains, taking a quick glance out the window, turned his attention back to her. "I have something I need to get to your station as soon as possible."

"If you don't know where the station is how did you know where I am..." Sarah trailed off as the answer came to her. "You've found the Directory."

He gave a slow nod, hand tightening unconsciously on the briefcase he held, and asked, "Where's the bathroom?" Practiced eyes noted something darker against the navy of his suit, dark and wet, and the way he shifted his weight to his right leg. If he'd been shot it couldn't be that bad--she led him to the bathroom and went into the bedroom to get a shirt for him to wear, stopping in the living room to look at the young woman, who still stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Go ahead and sit down, if you're thirsty there are drinks in the fridge."

Gratefully the young woman sat down, still hugging her purse to her, and the sight made Sarah's heart harden a little, more proof of what the Section did to those that crossed its path. Shaking herself she went to the bathroom and eased the door open, sticking her head inside.

Michael had his back to her, the leather coat and navy suit coat lying on the floor, a long, bloodied tear along the left side of his white dress shirt, he had apparently found her first aid kit and was trying to apply a pad to his side. He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder as she entered and she went around him, reaching out to take away the pad.

"I can do it." It didn't look bad, more like a crease across his side, but it had bled a fair amount and no doubt had left him feeling a little weak. He didn't flinch as she applied the pad and then taped it, removing the shirt and laying it on the floor as well, taking the shirt she gave him and pulling it on over his head.

"Thank you."

"You alright?" She couldn't help but notice the scar on one arm, similar to a burn, midway down his forearm, a nasty looking burn at that.

"Fine." he replied shortly and immediately put lie to the word when he leaned stiffly over to pick up his coat, placing one hand to his side. She kneeled to grab the coat and gave it to him, leading the way out of the bathroom.

"You can lie down in the bedroom for a bit--I have to call my station, set up a meeting, it might take an hour or so to get a response from them." She made the offer casual, matter-of- fact, but her heart was beating a little quickly as he stared at her, eyes narrowing a little, trying to gauge her sincerity. Sarah shrugged at his regard, folding her arms over her chest. "I can keep watch."

He was silent for so long that she was sure he wouldn't take her up on her offer but then he gave a little sigh and said, "You'll wake me in an hour." A command, not a question, and she forced herself to not bristle at his tone, keeping her expression calm.

"Of course." She stepped aside to let him into the bedroom and shut the door behind her, going back out into the living room to make a phone call.

When she came into the room nearly three hours later--one of which spent on the phone with her own section chief and the rest spent locating another party--Michael was still asleep on the bed and Sarah stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him to make sure that he was indeed sleeping. Her eyes went to the briefcase on the bed beside him and her heart gave another lurch in her chest at the thought of the Directory and what she could do with it, she had given five years of her life to the Section, had done what they told her, killed when they told her, and she felt that now she was ready to go on to a different life. She had paid her debt and she had changed, she was no longer the person she had been before, she had the right to a life of her own again, didn't she? With the Directory she could get out from under the Section's thumb, live a normal life, maybe get married and have kids...

She walked slowly to the bed and reached out to unzip the briefcase, head bent over it to look inside and see a CD in a plastic jewel case, had her fingers on it and was starting to pull it out when a hand clamped on her wrist, painfully hard. She looked up into Michael's eyes, flint gray and as cold, voice harsh as he said, "Leave it alone."

An objection immediately sprang to her lips--I was only checking to see if it was still there--but died at his expression, hard and uncompromising. He released her wrist and she refrained from rubbing it as she moved back, watching him as he sat up, only a slight twinge of discomfort showing.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, pushing brown hair out of his eyes with a weary gesture.

"About three hours."

He shook his head and reached down to zip the briefcase closed with an angry sharp motion.

"Shouldn't have let me sleep so long."

"You were exhausted. You needed it." she said reasonably.

"Where's Jeanne?"

"In the living room." He kept one hand on the briefcase as he got up off the bed, his other hand holding briefly to the headboard of the bed to steady himself.

"Why did you bring her here?"

"She had the disk."

Sarah snorted. "And you bring her here? How do you know she hasn't been followed? Or tracked?"

"I have been doing this for a while." The tone was mild enough but she took it for the rebuke it was meant to be and felt her cheeks heat. "You've arranged the meet? I'll also need a secure line to speak to Operations."

"Anything else?" she asked sarcastically.

Briefcase in hand and the leather coat over his other arm, he met her eyes, his own calm and implacable. "Yes. The Directory stays with me till I go back. I will do whatever I have to do to see that it's returned. Are we clear on that?"

"Perfectly." she said icily, stepping aside to let him leave the room.

***********

Thursday
6:35 PM

Walking out into the living room, Michael saw that Jeanne was still sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, and he stood still for a moment, watching her. After all these years, all the lies and deceptions, he thought himself to be a good judge of character and instinct told him that there was nothing more to her than she had showed, hard as it was to believe, she was an innocent in all this. Odd that he felt he could trust her, a civilian, when he knew that he could not trust his fellow operative, Sarah...

He stepped around to the TV and turned it up a little, to cover the sound of their talking, and Jeanne lifted her head to look at him in a kind of resigned despair. "So can I go home now?"

"Most likely they know where you live. It wouldn't be a good idea."

She sat upright, angry now, angry and frightened. "Look, I did my bit, I gave you that damned disk and all I want is just to go back to my life. I'm not cut out for this cloak and dagger shit, I don't know what's going on around here and I don't want to know--" A tear spilled from one eye and she wiped angrily at her cheek with one hand. "Please, I just want to go home."

"You can't." he said gently. "You have to trust me on this, Jeanne. If you go home, they will find you and kill you. You stay with us and when this is done, we can find you a safe place to live, give you a new identity and a new life."

"And give up my life?" she asked, horrified. Leave behind her job and friends, everything she had built in her life...

"If you want to live, yes."

"God..." Amazing how your life could change in just two days, how one simple act could so completely unbalance your life. If she had just thrown the disk away or erased it, she wouldn't be here now, would be at home, watching this kind of drama on TV, not be experiencing it in all its ugly little details. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"No." He looked away from the misery in her eyes. "We'll be leaving soon. Sarah is going to take us to meet with her superior and then it'll be over."

"If these people knew I had the disk then why didn't they take it from me before this? Before I contacted you?" she asked suddenly.

It was something he had thought about himself and at great length. "I think that they wanted to have someone from my...agency as well as the disk. Someone that might be able to fill in some of the gaps." Covers changed and operatives moved but it was impossible to relocate every single Section operative, some of them were so deeply under cover that the slightest hint of something unusual would be fatal. Given time and resources anyone could be made to talk and he himself would be no exception, he had been taught that in such a circumstance he was to lie often and creatively enough that when they eventually got the truth from him they wouldn't be able to separate it from the lies.

"How do you do it?" Jeanne shook her head in disbelief, unable to comprehend why someone would enter such a life.

"I do or I die--it's that easy." And more than he had planned to say on the matter, he gave a little shake of his head and looked at his watch.

From the bedroom Sarah came, pulling on a denim jacket, keys in one hand, looking from Jeanne to Michael. "Let's go."

Reluctantly Jeanne got up off the couch and followed them out of the apartment.

Twenty minutes later and they were back in northeast Portland, north of downtown and near the Willametter River, in the industrial district and parking before a red-brick warehouse. Jeanne kept close to Michael as he followed Sarah from the car and into the warehouse, Sarah opening a side door and taking them through a small office and out into the interior of the warehouse. There were boxes stacked around them and Sarah wove her way through them with ease, Michael going slower as he looked around him and Jeanne all but clinging to his arm, somewhere there was a light on but the warehouse was for the most part dimly lit and she found herself tripping over something, nearly falling on her face.

Michael caught her arm and steadied her, giving her arm a brief squeeze that was surprisingly reassuring before releasing her arm, and she stayed close to him as they came out to the center of the warehouse.

Sarah was waiting for them, gun in her hand, and Michael came to such an abrupt halt that Jeanne nearly stumbled into him, catching herself at the last minute and sidling away from them.

"What are you doing, Sarah?" asked Michael calmly, almost conversationally, but there was a tension in him, that of a big cat preparing itself for the spring at the prey.

"What do you think? I want the disk." She pointed the gun at him, expression hard. "I want out of the Section."

"So you made a deal."

"They've got the exits covered. You won't get out."

For all that Sarah had the gun, she didn't look too terribly sure of herself, one hand gesturing as she continued, the words bubbling out of her. "I'm not like you, I don't want this for the rest of my life, I just want to break away. I've changed, I'm not the person I was. I've paid my debt and I want out."

Michael shook his head and Jeanne stared at him in disbelief, unable to understand why he looked so sad and compassionate. "You're in for life, Sarah. You made the choice."

"I didn't know better!" cried Sarah angrily. "I didn't know what I was doing! Do I have to be punished all my life for a stupid thing I did when I was a kid?"

"You killed a police officer, Sarah. You took him away from his wife and his children." Sarah's gun hand trembled as he spoke and he moved a step closer. "His children will marry and have children of their own and he will never see that. All his possibilities, all his life could have been, you stole from him. Do you think five years of your life is sufficient payment for his?"

Sarah shook her head angrily, tears in her eyes, and steadied her gun with both hands. "I don't want to kill you. Give me the disk and you can walk out of here, I'll draw them away."

"I can't do that, Sarah." He lunged at her, one foot sweeping out and taking her feet out from under her, hand catching her gun hand and wrenching the gun free as she fell. The gun went off, one round going into the ceiling, and then he had the gun, started to go for Sarah, to take her out, but there was a shout from outside and he didn't have the time. Casting a quick glance at Sarah as she lay gasping on the floor, he grabbed Jeanne's arm and dragged her with him, heading to the rear of the warehouse, forcing her to run with him.

Past a crate and to another, smaller office, he shut the door behind them and looked around for an exit, seeing just a window, set high up on the wall. Standing on a desk it could be reached and there was time enough for one of them to get out, the other one would have to stay behind and draw pursuit away...he reached into his coat and pulled out the disk, shoving it at Jeanne.

"Take it."

Eyes huge in her pale face, she shook her head rapidly in denial. "I don't want it."

"Listen to me. You take the disk and you contact this woman--" From an inside pocket he withdrew a card with Nikita's phone number and her code name on it. "You tell her that you have the disk and tell her what happened. She will come to get you. You give the disk to her and no one else, do you understand?" She was biting her lip and still unsure and Michael caught her shoulders in a hard grip.

"If you stay here with me, they will have both of us and the disk. They will torture you and make me watch and then they will torture me. We will both be dead. Do you understand?"

"It's not fair." she whispered and for a moment he was transported, back to a small kitchen, sitting at a table and looking at Angie as she said that very same thing. She had helped him for no more reason than he'd needed it and she had died to provide the three of them--Madeline, Nikita, and himself--the time they needed to escape.

"I know." And there wasn't time for this; he could hear shouts drawing closer and with them the faint sound of Sarah's voice as well. He pushed the disk at her again and she took it this time, sticking it in a pocket of her coat, allowing him to pull her up under the window. It took more precious seconds and made a horrific noise as he dragged the desk under the window, lifting her up onto it and climbing up as well. For a moment he didn't think the window would open, that they would both die here, but then it gave with a groan and Jeanne pulled herself up onto the sill, Michael pushing her as well.

Dangling a leg on each side, Jeanne looked back at him and then moved out of the window, dropping down and out of sight. Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps and then the door was flung open, three men entering the room, automatic weapons trained on him. Slowly, carefully, he put the gun down on the desk and raised his hands to place them on his head.

One of the men cursed and said into a radio, "The woman got out!" The second of the three-- tall and heavy-set, shaved head--came to grab him by the shoulder and shove him to his knees, searching him roughly while the other two kept their weapons on him.

"He doesn't have it." With a sound of disgust, the skinhead raised the butt of his rifle and brought it down on Michael's head, sending him down into darkness.

***********

Jeanne hit the ground and as soon as she could, she started to run, heading down for the river and the long path that wound around the Willamette and up to Waterfront Park, where there were street lights and people still out with pets or on bicycles. She didn't even dare to look behind her, to see if there was pursuit, just keep running, pushing herself even as lungs burned and muscles ached. Away from the industrial section and up into downtown, where there were more cars and people, cover for her, to the bank just off the Morrison bridge and a telephone booth. No change in her pockets, she always emptied her change out into a glass jug she kept at home, and she didn't have calling cards, she would have to call collect.

Dial 1-800-CallATT, went inanely through her mind and she laughed aloud, more a sob than actual laughter, picked up the receiver in shaking hands and pressed the 0 for operator, fishing from her pocket the card Michael had given her. Precious seconds later and the operator dialed the number, it rang five times, six times, and then a woman's voice answered.

"Hello?"

"I have a collect call for Josephine from Jeanne. Will you accept the charges?"

A pause and then the woman's voice said, sounding strained, "Yes, operator, I'll accept the charges."

A click as the operator disconnected and then Josephine's voice, brisk. "Who gave you the number?"

"Michael. He wanted me to call--he said you would help. I have the--"

"Don't say it." said Josephine sharply. "Where's Michael?"

"I don't know." She was shaking from delayed reaction. "He made me leave, I--I don't know what they did to him--"

"Jeanne." The stern sound of Josephine's voice steadied her. "Where are you?"

"I'm in downtown Portland, Portland, Oregon."

"Okay, I want you to go the airport and I want you to wait there for me. Make sure that you stay in the boarding area, on the other side of the metal detectors. I'm going to come in on the next plane and I'll meet you there. I'll be wearing a red coat. If at all possible find other people to sit with and if you think that someone's following you call a security guard. Can you do that, Jeanne?"

"Yes."

"I'll come as quickly as I can. Do as I say and you will be safe. Don't let it out of your sight."

And then she was staring at a dead phone, headlights washing over her and sending her heart up into her throat until the car moved away. Replacing the phone she walked hurriedly away and saw coming from the other direction a taxi, jumped into the street to flag it down.

Thursday
8:30 PM

For a Thursday the airport was surprisingly busy and while it was a relief to be around so many people there was also a vague unease when Jeanne realized that any of these strangers walking by her could suddenly come up to her and drag her away and she wouldn't know until it was too late. Paranoia was a new and disquieting feeling for her and she didn't like it, having to be constantly aware of everyone around her was exhausting. While she waited she got something to eat and managed to choke down a few bites of a hamburger, sitting at a table and stirring her Coke with a straw, trying not to think about what would happen to Michael.

And why the hell she should care about him, she didn't know, he'd dragged her around with him all day, pushing her here and there and scaring the hell out of her. Not exactly a fun date, a little voice said in her head, and she covered her mouth to keep the giggle from coming out, knowing if she started laughing she would also start to cry. In his own strange way he had protected her and maybe he'd even died just so that she could get out with a simple little CD that apparently was not as innocuous as it had seemed. Tim's joking comment had been more insightful than either of them could have ever believed, it was indeed what he had said, a listing of secret agents that wanted very much to remain secret.

The hours stretched by and the traffic in the airport thinned out and she wandered around, browsing through the stores, bought a newspaper at one of the gift shops and returned to the food court to buy another drink before the restaurant closed down for the night. Taking her drink she went to the boarding area and sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, watching planes take off and arrive; another hour and she had her legs stretched out on the nearest seat, only a handful of people waiting to either board or pick up a friend or relative around her, close to midnight and she turned on her side, pillowing her head on her arm as she laid down, conveniently out of sight.

She awoke to someone shaking her shoulder and blinking, brushing hair out of her eyes, she lifted her head to look at the young blond that stood before her, wearing a red coat over black jeans and black turtleneck, tall and slim with the looks of a model. The young woman drew back a little, allowing her to sit up, and said, "Jeanne?"

It was the voice of the woman she'd talked to on the phone and Jeanne rubbed at her eyes with one hand while the other fumbled in her pocket for the disk. "Here." Giving it to Josephine was like a weight lifting off her shoulders, a passing of the torch, and she could feel a little of the stress leave her.

"Thanks." She looked at the disk briefly before putting it into her pocket and extended a hand to help Jeanne to her feet. "I'm Nikita."

"Nikita?" This was beginning to wear seriously on her nerves, all these names and code names, secret handshakes and passwords.

"Tell me what happened."

Jeanne drew in a deep breath to steady herself and collect her thoughts. "Okay--I got this package in the mail, it was from this man that I knew--Harding--and the disk was inside. I called Michael-- God, I thought it wasn't anything, that it was just a personnel directory, it didn't seem that important. So he comes to get it and there's these people following us, we went to this woman's place--her name was Sarah, he called her Emerald--and she was supposed to take us to a...substation, I think he said, but she wanted this disk. He must have known what she was going to do but he went anyway, there were these men there. He told me to take the disk and call you and he stayed behind."

Through the recitation Nikita's expression remained calm but at the end her mouth tightened and one hand went down to touch her pocket where the disk was at, an expression of intense loathing passing briefly over her features, so quick that Jeanne thought she might of imagined it. Then Nikita let out a sigh and said, "This is what we're going to do. I'm going to contact the local station and tell them that Michael has the disk and he's in the enemy's hands."

Jeanne frowned and gave a little shake of her head. "I don't understand--"

"They're not going to look for Michael if they don't think he has the disk, they will leave him where he is."

"His own people?" asked Jeanne, aghast.

"They've done it before." said Nikita grimly. If the Section hadn't needed to extract Petrosian they would of left Michael to his fate, no matter any protestations Operations might have made to the contrary and despite all he had done for the Section. The Section expected and required loyalty from its operatives but didn't feel it necessary to extend loyalty in return.

"God..." Jeanne rubbed her forehead, wishing she could wake up and get out of this strange episode of Mission Impossible she had to be dreaming. "If you're caught, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions, right?"

Nikita smiled mirthlessly and reached out to take her arm and pull her away. After she had received the phone call from Jeanne, Nikita had debated with herself as to who exactly she should contact and in the end, despite her misgivings, she had gone to Operations and given him the bare essentials of the conversation. From the silence on his end she had realized that he had sent Michael out alone for the sole reason that Michael was apparently the only one to be trusted to bring the Directory back intact and he wouldn't admit to that. Instead he had given her the number of the substation and told her to take a plane out, rather than use the Section's transportation, further strengthening her suspicion that this mission was being kept as quiet as possible.

And with the apparent duplicity of a Section operative that caution was well warranted. Michael had known that he could trust Nikita with the Directory and might very well have given his life to see to it that it got back to the Section...tears stung at her eyes at the thought of him dead and she blinked them away, more than a little surprised at the depth of pain that thought brought. He had lied to her and manipulated her but in his own strange way he did seem to care for her--why else would he intervene for her, lie for her?

She shook herself mentally--this was no time to be examining her feelings for Michael, he was in trouble and she had the means to get him out. As long as the Section thought he had the disk, they would move heaven and earth to get him back and she needed that firepower if her plan was going to work. She had to work with the assumption that whoever held Michael would keep him alive in the hopes of exchanging him for the Directory, even though anyone that knew the Section would know as well that the Section would never do that.

From the main lobby of the airport Nikita called the number Operations had given her and made the arrangements for the two of them to be picked up.

The head of the local substation came personally out to the airport, even though it was nearly 3:00 AM, and met them in the lobby; when he first approached her, two men in black trench coats flanking him, Nikita had thought that somehow their unknown enemy had managed to follow Jeanne and she had started to go for her gun but then he had said her code name, Josephine, and introduced himself. Named Petersen, he was surprisingly young and unprepossessing of appearance, short brown hair and mild brown eyes, a pleasant, round face and wire-rimmed glasses, looking more like a college professor than a section chief; it was the eyes that gave him away, lurking beneath the surface was a considerable intelligence and strength of will, when he spoke it was in a soft voice but with the tone of someone used to command.

He led the way out of the airport and to a waiting limo; only when they were inside did he speak, eyes briefly examining Jeanne and then dismissing her as casually. "Give me the details."

"Michael got the Directory from Jeanne and contacted one of your operatives--Sarah--about bringing it in--"

"I never heard from her." interjected Petersen with a shake of his head.

Nikita raised her eyebrows but let it pass, glancing sideways at Jeanne who sat close to the door, eyes constantly moving around the limo, touching briefly on the other occupants and then skittering away. "Your operative decided that she wanted to resign from the Section and she handed him over to these people, Directory and all. The only way we can retrieve it is to go after them."

"Finding Sarah won't be difficult. She's been considered a risk so we had her injected with a micro transmitter about six months ago, after she was injured during a mission. We can track her and retrieve the Directory."

"And Michael." replied Nikita firmly.

"Of course." said Petersen with a smile that didn't touch his eyes and gestured to the driver to go.

"You said he had the disk. I don't like to be disappointed."

"He had it. He must of given it to the woman he was with. The woman that your men let get away."

"You're not in a very favorable position here--I wouldn't push things if I were you."

The sound of voices brought Michael up out of unconsciousness and instinct kept him still, not even a twitch to betray him, automatically taking stock. Wooden chair under him, arms pulled back and hands cuffed to the chair, he slitted his eyes and through tangled hair could see wooden paneling and a desk before him, turned his head the smallest bit in order to see more of the room but the movement, slight as it was, sent a sharp stab of pain through his head and he swallowed hard against a sudden nausea.

Footsteps behind him and an arm reached out to grab his chair and wheel it around, no more point in feigning unconsciousness so he carefully lifted his head to look at the man that stood there, blinking his eyes to clear blurred vision. Tall and thin with hawk-like features, graying dark hair and a goatee, wearing a long gray raincoat over black trousers and sweater, an unpleasant grin twisting his lips as he leaned close to Michael. "Awake, eh? Good. I have some questions that need answering."

It took him a moment but he recognized the man as Anton Valenkov, formerly of the KGB and now a member of the Russian Mafia, selling arms he'd taken from military depots in the wake of the Soviet Union's fall, a supplier and occasional comrade to Illya Benko. As a highly ranked member of the KGB he had as little love for the Section as Benko had and would be just as lethal to the Section if he managed to get his hands on the Directory, if only to repay the Section for the losses his former bureau had suffered at their hands.

All this went through his mind as he schooled his expression into a calm, placid mask, offering nothing, waiting for Valenkov to make the first move.

Valenkov took a step back and Michael could see Sarah behind and to the right of him, pale and frightened and defiant, but he couldn't summon even anger at her. If Valenkov didn't kill her then the Section would and between the two she had no hope of survival...

"A clever thing to do, sending the woman off with the Directory--did you think I wouldn't kill you? That I might think your Section would trade you for the Directory?"

"I know they won't." replied Michael calmly. And if he was in their place he wouldn't either, one operative's life was nothing placed against the lives of every Section operative in the world.

"But still I think you are far more useful to me than your...comrade here." He flicked a glance at Sarah behind him, smiling a little. "I think that you know a little more of the Section than she does. Something might be salvaged yet from this."

Michael had known it would come to this when he had sent Jeanne out of the warehouse and stayed behind to delay pursuit, had taken the risk because getting the Directory back to the Section was more important than his own life. "You can torture me and eventually I will talk but how can you be sure that what I tell you isn't a lie?"

Valenkov shrugged. "All the same, it will be entertaining to watch." Striding to the door, with Sarah following hesitantly in his wake, he opened the door and spoke in Russian to the two men that stood there, gesturing back at where Michael sat. One came to hold a gun to his head while the other unlocked his handcuffs and pulled him up out of the chair, handcuffing him again before they took him out of the room.

***********

Friday
6:32 AM

Rather than returning to the substation, Petersen had called in for a van and a team, meeting them at a bare field just a few miles from the airport. By then Jeanne had fallen asleep in the limo and Nikita left her there, emerging from the limo to go to the van with Petersen; the team consisted of six operatives, all men, and foremost among them was an agent introduced to Nikita as Sean, a tall husky redhead with a distinctive Irish accent.

"When you called we activated the tracker and we've located where our missing bird is. Across the river and in Vancouver, off of 1-205, there are some new business parks going up out there. The place we want is a small warehouse owned by Horizon Industries--we've suspected for some time that it was being used as a shipping-out point for weapons but we haven't been able to catch them at it. Owner of record is one John Sampson, which is one of the many aliases of Anton Valenkov-- this ties it together, if he has your boy--" Sean lifted his eyes to look from Nikita to Petersen, "--then it makes sense. Valenkov used to do a bit of business with Benko; Benko might have seen fit to share the information he had about the Directory."

"How do we make the approach?" asked Nikita.

Sean gave her a considering look and bent over the table, a hand-drawn map spread out over it. "It's off Mill Plain, past 1-205, there's a little court about three city blocks back from the road and it's just at the end of the court. The front of the building faces north, there's three fire exits and two entrances, one through the front office--" He drew an X indicating the front door, "--and one through the side of the building, where the loading dock is. It's a one-story building, standard paved driveway, and windows are tinted so we couldn't see inside. Spotted four men walking around the outside of the building but they don't look very serious about it, clocked two of them as they talked and they were at it for about ten minutes."

"Is there a different way to approach? From the back maybe?"

Sean shrugged. "You could go that way--there's a field and it hasn't been tended in a while, the weeds are rather thick, a bit more than waist high. There's a road back behind, we could go in that way and make our way back to the warehouse."

Nikita studied the map, fixing it in her mind, especially the drawing of the building and the placement of the entrances. Already a plan had formed in her mind and it would take careful maneuvering to get the assistance of her fellow operatives, whose aid was crucial to the plan... "Look, Valenkov's a mercenary, right? He's in it now for the money. This is what we do--I go in, try to see if he'll sell us the Directory back, and while I'm negotiating our people come in through the field--" Taking a pen, she made a sharp check mark at five different positions around the building. "Hit the guards and go in, take Valenkov down and we get the Directory."

Petersen looked directly at Sean and said, "Will it work?"

Sean studied the map and gave a slow nod. "We go in quietly; we should be able to take out the guards. If the door's locked one of them will have the key."

"Okay, I'll just drive up to the front door and ask for Valenkov. That'll throw them off balance. While they're deciding what to do, you get the chance to make the approach--their attention will be drawn to the road, not behind them."

"Not just a pretty head, eh?" At her cold look, Sean raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "No offense meant, luv."

"None taken...luv." He grinned at her and she couldn't help a smile in return, ducking her head. All the same, she couldn't let herself be fooled by the jovial Irishman act, there was no one here she could trust with the true nature of her plan: to take in the Directory and let Valenkov think she was going to trade it for Michael. If he was still alive...

"We're going to need to make it quick. There's no telling how long Valenkov will stay there, now that he has the Directory." In her pocket she still had the plastic jewel case that contained the Directory CD and in another pocket she'd concealed an ordinary 3 « disk to distract Valenkov with, it would hold his attention long enough for the operatives to sweep inside and take him and his people out. A chill went through her at that thought, at the casualness with which she regarded the taking of perhaps a dozen lives; a year ago she had found it nearly impossible to pull the trigger, to even kill someone that was threatening her, and now she was thinking of how quickly four men could be killed...

"Then let's move." said Petersen brusquely to Sean, who nodded and rolled up the map, moving to speak to his team and give them their assignments. "I'll arrange for a car to meet us in Vancouver, you can drive it in while we go in the back. Wait until we penetrate the building before you act against Valenkov, he's got to have at least six more in the building with him."

"Right." Nikita stepped out of the van and went back to the limo even as Petersen withdrew a cell phone and started to dial, stuck her head in to see Jeanne sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Watching her, Nikita felt an intense sympathy for her, tinged with a little envy, sympathy for how confused and frightened she must be, torn out of her ordinary life and thrust into this madness, and envy that Jeanne would go back to her life and eventually forget about all this, would never know the scale of this drama being played out around her. Once she had been like Jeanne, going day to day, never thinking much of the world around her, not knowing how closely the seemingly civilized world teetered on the brink of disaster, how fine was the balance, and even if she could leave the Section she would never be able to go back to who she was, she had changed too much...

"What's wrong?" asked Jeanne, unable to suppress a yawn, and Nikita forced herself to smile at her reassuringly.

"We're going after Michael. You're going to have to stay here but I'll--we'll be back. And then we'll have a talk about what's going to happen next."

Jeanne nodded and for a long moment was silent, looking out and past Nikita, then raised her eyes to Nikita and said, "You must really care about him to do this." Nikita stared back at her, a little stunned, and Jeanne gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm not stupid or blind--you wouldn't be going to all this trouble if you didn't feel something for him, something other than just loyalty." She raised a hand as Nikita started to speak, to object. "I know, you don't know me, and this isn't a slumber party where we're sharing secrets about boyfriends, I...just wanted to say that he can be a hard person to get close to but I think once you get there, it'll be worth the trip."

"God..." Nikita laughed and covered her mouth, glancing back at the operatives as they looked curiously in her direction, found herself grinning at Jeanne and Jeanne grinning back, like a couple of old school chums. "I'll try to remember that when he's being especially difficult." If she had a chance to see him again...she put that thought out of her mind, refusing to accept that possibility, and went to see how everything was progressing.

Sarah stood in the warehouse, just on the other side of Valenkov, head turned away from what was going on before her. For the first hour there had been little sound other than that of fists striking flesh, an occasional groan and frequent gasps, but as things progressed from a simple beating to more exotic measures, Valenkov's goons had been able to wring cries from their victim. From time to time it would stop and Valenkov would lean in to ask a question, not close enough to Michael in case he tried to kick out, and Michael would meet the question with stony silence, sweat soaked brown hair hanging down in his eyes, arms drawn up over his head and secured to a hook, blood trickling down from a cut on his head, chest rising and falling with his rapid breath. Valenkov would then step back and give a nod and it would start all over again...

A splash of water and Sarah turned her head to look at Michael, hanging limply from the hook, gasping and shaking his head, water flying from matted hair, swallowing hard as his head was dragged back by the one that stood behind him.

She didn't want to watch this but Valenkov had forced her to stay, to hear every groan and cry, see the amount of damage that could be inflicted on a human body without leaving a mark, and she was damning herself for what she had done. For all that she had seen Michael as the cold, ruthless embodiment of the Section, he didn't deserve to die this way, tortured and stripped of all dignity, and she was the one that had brought him here, was responsible for his death. But if he'd listened to me, given me the disk, it would have all been okay, wailed a little voice in her head, and she grimaced in self-loathing and disgust, not caring if Valenkov saw her.

She had dealt with the devil and discovered that it was better to have stuck with the one she knew, both of them were going to pay the price for that. Valenkov wasn't going to let her walk away and even if he did, the Section would hunt her down for her duplicity, it was all over no matter how she looked at it. And so if she could salvage something from this mess, do something to help Michael, she might be able to buy him some time or at worst put a quicker end to his suffering...

"Feeling any more cooperative?" asked Valenkov with a smirk. Michael drew in a deep breath and spat in his face, blood and saliva mixed together. Slowly, hand trembling in anger, Valenkov wiped it from his face and growled, "Gut him. Slowly."

With an effort Michael raised legs to kick out at the man approaching him but he merely caught one flailing leg and drove a fist into his stomach, driving all breath and resistance from him. With the assistance of the skinhead he pushed Michael up and got his hands free of the hook, dropping him to the cement floor and sitting on his legs while the other went to hold arms. One hand went into a pocket and withdrew a switchblade, a click and the long silver blade came out, light flashing off it, the man grinned as he leaned forward to use the knife to cut open Michael's shirt.

A hand gripped her elbow and pushed her forward, she cast a look over her shoulder at Valenkov and he smiled at her. "Don't you want to see your handiwork, my dear? Look." He gave her another push and she was standing directly beside Michael, staring down transfixed at him as he struggled vainly, gasping something in Russian over and over, something not entirely complimentary from the anger in the eyes of the one that held the knife. The man drew the tip of the knife along the line of Michael's ribs, a thin line of red following it, and Michael gave a shudder, shutting his eyes tightly and setting his teeth, the man reversed his grip on the knife and prepared to drive it in.

And then a door opened and one of the guards came running into the warehouse, rifle slung over his shoulder, shouting something as he came; with an impatient snarl at the knife wielder to wait, Valenkov went to the guard, scowling as he listened to the man. Though she couldn't understand the words she could read Valenkov's expression, going from anger to disbelief to a kind of wary surprise, he glanced back at where Michael lay and then said something to the guard which sent him hurrying back to the door he had come from.

"Get him up on his feet." said Valenkov sharply to his men and they complied, hauling Michael up, one holding him up and keeping the knife close to his throat. Sarah turned to look at the door leading from the offices and saw three of the guards escorting a young woman into the warehouse, a tall blond dressed in black pants and shirt with a bright red coat, striding confidently before the guards, as if they were merely her own personal escorts.

She came to a halt just a few feet from Valenkov, eyes flicking from him to Sarah and then back to where Michael stood, supported by his guard. Her eyes hardened as she returned her gaze briefly to Sarah and Sarah couldn't suppress a shiver, hand going up to her throat.

"You have a proposal for me?" asked Valenkov archly.

"Yes." said the woman flatly. "A trade--the Directory for Michael."

"Don't do it, Nikita." That from Michael, a hoarse shout that earned him a blow to the head, making him slump in his captor's grip.

Anger flared in Nikita's eyes and her lips compressed as she said through her teeth, "I'm not trading for damaged goods. Call your ape off."

Raising his eyebrows, Valenkov nonetheless shot his soldier a glare and returned his attention to Nikita, smiling coldly. "You think I actually believe that you would trade the Directory for him? Sacrifice every Section operative?"

"The Section can go hang for all I care--we've wanted to leave the Section together for a long time, Michael and I. If you get the Directory they'll be too busy hiding to bother hunting us down." From her pocket she withdrew a disk, light blue, not the clear plastic of the jewel case Sarah had seen, and waved it at Valenkov. "Do we have a deal?"

"That's--" The words died in Sarah's throat as she realized that now was the time to redeem herself, by her actions she had condemned herself but there was no reason to drag more down with her. Valenkov only cast her a perfunctory glance and then returned his attention to Nikita.

"We have a deal, yes." Valenkov came forward with a grin, arm outstretched, and something made Sarah turn her head, something out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement at one window and then there was a crack of glass, a coughing sound and Valenkov froze in mid-stride, hands going to his back, eyes wide with surprise, he gave a half-turn and another bullet slammed into one leg, sending him to the floor.

"Down, Michael!" shouted Nikita as she pulled a gun from her coat and shot the nearest guard, the gunshot the seeming signal for chaos to erupt. At her cry Michael went limp and his captor, off balance, let him go, electing instead to try to bring his weapon to bear, falling back as twin impacts to the chest sent a spray of blood into the air.

The others fell back quickly, looking vainly around for the source of the shots and firing at random, falling under the steady fire, and as quickly as it had happened it was over, Valenkov's men lying dead on the floor. Sarah had dropped to the floor once the shooting started and stayed there, arms covering her head until it was done, raised her head to see Nikita running over to where Michael was struggling to get up to a sitting position, taking his arm and helping him up.

A groan and she swiveled her head to see Valenkov getting up on one knee, bleeding heavily, eyes glassy, but there was a gun in his hand and he was aiming it at Nikita, her back to him as she supported Michael. She couldn't see him, had her attention focused elsewhere, and Sarah found herself getting up and moving for Valenkov, placing herself between Valenkov and Nikita just as Valenkov fired. A hammer punch to the chest and she dropped to her knees, saw through blurred eyes red fountain from Valenkov's chest as he slumped and then she was falling as well. Hard to breathe, to get past the clenched fist around her lungs, and she could feel warm blood in her throat, coughed and felt it spill out over her lips, vision fading. But the last she felt was a kind of satisfaction; she had done her duty...

The sound of the gunshot had brought Nikita around, her gun up and firing at Valenkov, going directly into his chest, seeing Sarah down on the ground before him. With a grunt she got Michael up and onto his feet, more or less dragging him with her as she went to where Sarah lay, watching as she stopped breathing and her eyes went dead.

"Why?" she whispered and felt, more than saw, Michael shake his head wearily.

Sean came into the building and extended an arm to help her carry Michael out of the warehouse.

***********

Friday
5:00 PM

It was all over. Valenkov and his men were dead, seven crates of M16A3 rifles confiscated, and Sarah dead as well. There had been no discussion of the Directory with Petersen, the station's doctor had intervened when he had attempted to question Michael, saying that he needed to be tended before any debriefings were held, and afterwards Michael had displayed weariness, feigned or not, that had made Petersen withdraw. Patched and cleaned up, the doctor disapproving in the background, Michael had walked out of the infirmary and Nikita had simply followed beside him, ready to lend a supporting hand if he needed it. Transport had been arranged for them and in the end Jeanne had elected to stay, citing the obvious, that Valenkov was dead and his men with him, there would be no one to come after her. She and Nikita had exchanged a hug and she had a brief conversation with Michael that Nikita couldn't hear, at the end of which he'd thanked her and shook her hand.

On the plane Nikita sat in a chair opposite Michael's, the plastic jewel case of the CD held between her fingers, turning it slowly over so that it caught the light, and lifted her head to look at Michael; he was leaning against the wall of the plane, head pressed against the glass of the window, watching her with his somber grey eyes, pale and bruised and with a bandage on his forehead.

"Is it worth it, Michael?" she asked as she studied the case, thinking of all that had happened because of this simple disk. How many lives lost, from when the Directory had been first stolen, to this end? And how many lives disrupted, torn asunder--if not for it she would of never met Gray and never had to suffer the pain of losing him....

"Ask anyone whose life depends on its safe return. Ask them if it's worth it." responded Michael wearily, wrapping his arms around himself with a sigh.

"Here." She extended the case in her hand.

He gave a small shake of his head, closing his eyes. "You hold it." As she stared at him in surprise, oddly humbled that he would trust her enough to give her the Directory, he gave another sigh and slipped into sleep.

Slipping off her coat, she folded it and got up to place it between his head and the wall, letting her fingers brush briefly across his forehead before she went back to her seat and turned her head to watch the clouds through the window.

Fin

Send suggestions and comments to Ghost