************
"Matt, you’re such an idiot," Karl said. "I told you not to buy your stuff from him. He rips everybody off."
"But he’s the only one who lets me buy on credit," the guard protested.
Walter rolled his eyes in frustration. Those two had been discussing their drug habit -- in excruciating detail -- for hours. Listening to them was more torture than the ropes digging into his wrists and ankles.
"Yeah, and how much extra does he charge you for that? Look, I know this guy who’s friends with my cousin, and he can set you up with --"
Karl cut his advice short as a popping sound echoed from upstairs. He and the guard pulled out their guns. Before they could move, several masked men kicked down the door and fired automatic weapons, killing both of them in seconds.
Walter looked up at the men in dazed relief as they climbed down the stairs toward him. Section One had saved him after all.
One of the men knelt down and started untying him from the chair. Another spoke into a communications device.
"We’ve swept each room, and the hostiles are all neutralized. Yes, we’ve got him."
As the ropes around him loosened and the blood rushed back into his limbs, Walter felt a bit lightheaded. Then he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He turned in surprise to see that the man who had untied him was holding a syringe. He was about to curse the man when his head felt heavy. Quickly, blackness enveloped him.
************
Nikita stood stiffly in Comm, watching over Quinn’s shoulder and listening as Jasmine’s team reported.
"Checking the perimeter. All clear."
Minutes passed in silence.
"We’re inside. There seem to be ... a lot of dead bodies. They’ve all been shot."
"Elaborate," Quinn ordered.
"Someone shot up the place. We’ve counted eleven corpses. It happened recently, too."
"And Walter?" Nikita asked.
"Negative. He’s not here. Neither is the man who spoke to you on the video broadcast."
Nikita tore off her comm. unit in frustration. Ignoring Quinn’s smug expression, Nikita started marching toward the steps leading up to the Perch.
Quinn had been right. The August 12 Group had moved Walter after all. They would never be able to reach him. The knowledge of what would now happen to him ate at her, her guilt manifesting as an acid taste in her mouth.
There was something odd, however. What would explain all of the dead bodies? Nikita stopped in her tracks, realizing the answer: a raid by another organization, of course. The August 12 Group hadn’t moved Walter at all. Instead, Section’s mysterious rival had him.
************
The aroma of the coffee started to revive Paul even before the drink hit his lips. His jetlag was only now starting to pass, several days after his return home. This was the first day he had been able to wake up early enough for their regular breakfast meeting. For several days before, Madeline had allowed him to sleep in.
He picked apart a muffin as he listened to her summarize the latest budget projections. Even after all this time working under the new arrangement, it still felt a little strange to be so far out of the loop regarding the activities of their organization. As Executive Director, Madeline exercised complete control of all of their operations. Not that he wasn’t happy to leave it to her. Indeed, he found the hierarchy that she had created so dizzyingly complicated that he didn’t even want to try to follow it. But it left him with a very different type of role to play: the outside face of their organization. As Chairman, he was their fundraiser and liaison to outside allies. Together, Paul and Madeline set overall policy, but Madeline alone decided how to implement it.
When they first decided upon this division of labor, he had made a joke about it. Something about him bringing home the bacon, and her cooking it. To say that she hadn’t appreciated the analogy was an extreme understatement. It still amused him, however; thinking about it again, he had to stifle a smile.
She finished her report and leaned back in her chair, waiting for questions.
"It sounds like you have things well under control," he said. "As usual."
She nodded in thanks and poured herself some more tea. Setting the pot back down, she looked back toward him. "According to the doctors, Walter is fully recovered now."
"That didn’t take long," he said, slightly surprised.
"No. He hadn’t been injured very badly. Mostly superficial bruises." She poured cream in her tea and stirred it carefully. "Section One is still looking for him, you know. We can’t keep him any longer."
Paul shook his head. "He’s still a target. He needs protection."
"We can’t provide it. We can’t afford to be exposed."
Paul frowned. Of course, she was right. But he didn’t like their options. "We can’t deliver him to Section. Our teams can’t be allowed anywhere near the place."
"Of course not."
"And we can’t just let him loose and hope that he makes his way back there safely. He’ll never make it."
"I’m not suggesting that we do that."
"Well, what then?"
"We’ll deliver him to someone who can protect him," she answered, smiling mysteriously.
************
Walter awoke to bumps and jolts. He was lying on his back, and realized from the vibrations beneath him that he was in a moving vehicle. He opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor in the rear of a windowless van. Two men in ski masks -- one brown, one red -- sat on a bench next to him; a partition hid the rest of the vehicle.
"Are we headed back to Section?" Walter asked.
The man in the red ski mask turned toward him, green eyes glittering through the eyeholes. "We’re not Section," the man said, his voice colored with a faint, unidentifiable accent.
Walter felt suddenly cold.
"Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you," the man in the brown ski mask said. This one sounded American.
"Who are you people? And what are you going to do with me?" Walter asked.
"We are ECRC," Red Ski Mask answered cryptically.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Eduardo Campos Revolutionary Committee," Brown Ski Mask explained. "We’re rivals of the August 12 Group."
"Gee, that explains everything," Walter said sarcastically.
Brown Ski Mask laughed. He seemed almost friendly. "The August 12 Group is the band of counter-revolutionary scum that kidnapped you. We rescued you because we didn’t want their actions to hurt our cause."
"What cause?"
"Freeing the world from the shackles of digital tyranny," Red Ski Mask opined, somehow managing to sound both pompous and crazed at the same time.
Walter rolled his eyes involuntarily. Whatever these two were on, it was some powerful stuff.
Brown Ski Mask looked at him. "Eduardo Campos was a writer who opposed the growing dependence of the world on computers. He believed this dependence would eventually take away our freedom, our privacy, and even our individuality. He was martyred by the fascist police during a protest in Los Angeles on August 12, 1995. Since then, he’s been the inspiration for several political groups that are trying to keep his legacy alive. We’re one; the August 12 Group is another. But we restrict our direct action to the destruction of property. The August 12 Group kills people."
"It looked to me like you killed some people when you came to take me," Walter interjected.
"We kill our enemies, like any army. But ordinary people aren’t the enemy," Red Ski Mask replied.
"So why take me?"
The two men looked at each other. Brown Ski Mask answered. "The August 12 Group is starting a war with Section One. We wanted to make sure that Section One doesn’t lump all Campos followers together. We don’t want to be caught in any war. So we decided to do Section One a favor. One we hope they’ll remember."
They drove on in silence for another half hour. He felt the vehicle slow, then stop. Brown Ski Mask stood up and swung open the rear door.
"This is where you get out," the man informed him.
Walter looked outside, squinting a bit at the bright sunlight. The van had stopped in front of a surburban townhouse with a neatly manicured lawn. He slowly began to climb out the door.
Brown Ski Mask gripped his arm to help him out. As he did so, he uttered a warning. "You’re still in danger. And so are they," he said, gesturing toward the house. "But we can’t help you any more. Now go!"
The doors slammed shut and the van roared away, tires squealing.
Sighing, he walked toward the house and mounted the front steps. He rang the bell and waited. The sound of steps approached the door from inside, and then the door opened.
Walter’s eyes widened in shock. Standing before him was Michael Samuelle.
************
Barry sat on the couch, staring at the television in a stupor. The laser gun sound effects of the cartoon he had on drilled into his head, aggravating his already hideously sharp headache. But he was too morose to switch the program off.
Once again, Section One had defeated him. Eleven comrades dead, an entire safe house shot to pieces, and his hostage stolen away.
This was war. There was nothing further to negotiate. Now it was time for vengeance.
Barry read Karl’s list of former Section One operatives once more. Section had been recalling all of them since Walter’s kidnapping, bringing them back to safety before Barry could reach them. All except one. This one Barry intended to kill.
************
Hours had passed, and Walter was tired. He sat at Michael’s kitchen table, drinking his third cup of coffee. After sending Adam to his room, Michael had listened carefully as Walter recounted recent events. Through it all, Michael’s expression had remained impassive. Walter might as well have been giving him the latest sports scores.
Walter looked around the kitchen in curiosity. The countertops were spotless, brimming with a multitude of appliances. He wondered how Michael could have adjusted to such an ordinary existence.
"So Section is at war," Michael said flatly.
"That’s what it looks like. Although it turns out we have some unlikely allies."
"ECRC."
"Yeah. I never thought I’d live to see the day when I'd be helped out by some terrorists."
"Things may not be what they seem," Michael said softly.
Walter frowned, trying to make sense out of Michael’s statement. Michael was just as baffling as ever. Why couldn’t he just come out and say what he meant? Even after all this time out of Section, the man hadn’t de-Sectionized. Walter felt sorry for Adam, having to live with an enigma for a father.
But in the very next moment, Walter felt a pang of guilt for thinking this. After all that Michael had gone through, who the hell was he to criticize? No matter how cold and unfeeling Michael seemed, he had always done the right thing. He had protected Nikita too many times to count and -- even more admirable -- had taken responsibility for Adam. All that after surviving every dehumanizing tactic Section’s former masters could dream up. The guy deserved a break.
There was only one thing about Michael that had really disappointed Walter. Despite Walter’s fervent hopes, Michael had never rebelled, had never seized control of Section. Surely it had been obvious to Michael that Oversight would have supported him, as would the rank and file. Even -- no, especially -- Operations and Madeline had recognized how easy it would have been. So why hadn’t he?
Walter pondered this question for a few moments. Perhaps Michael feared that exercising such power would destroy his soul. Life as Operations wasn’t really living, so much as a living hell. Maybe Michael knew what he was doing after all.
************
Quinn stood in the darkness of the unoccupied office and furtively dialed the telephone. Oversight would not be pleased with Operations, Quinn thought, smiling to herself. Not pleased at all.
"Yes?"
"This is Quinn again. I have an update."
"Go ahead."
"We managed to trace the location where Walter was being held. Operations launched a rescue mission, but we didn’t find him. It appears that they moved him before we could get there. So it was a total waste -- we delayed critical missions around the world for a full ten hours for nothing."
"Very unfortunate. And Operations still hasn’t bothered to inform me of the reason for the delays. If it weren’t for you, Quinn, I’d be totally in the dark."
"Well, we wouldn’t want that."
"I’m quite pleased with your work, you know. Oversight appreciates operatives who help it fulfill its supervisory responsibilities."
"I’m really just doing my duty, sir."
"Well, keep it up. I think you’ll find that attention to duty is amply rewarded."
************
Walter’s arrival at Michael’s home was deeply troubling to Michael. It meant that not only were he and his son currently in danger, but that his efforts to hide his identity and find a safe location had been in vain. Had his skills as an operative declined so badly in just two years on the outside? Or had he been betrayed? Unfortunately, that seemed the most likely explanation. How else would a terrorist group -- and a relatively obscure one at that -- have been able to find both Walter and Michael? Section’s security must not be what it used to be.
In any event, the warning given to Walter by his ‘rescuers’ had to be taken seriously. The August 12 Group would be on its way.
"We need to leave," Michael said.
"Yeah, obviously. But where do we go?"
"We return to Section One."
"But we can’t do that. It’s not safe for you to leave Adam behind."
"I intend to take Adam with us."
Walter stared at Michael, clearly stunned. "If he sees Section . . . ."
"I know," Michael said. There was nothing more to say. Adam’s life as an innocent would be over; he would never leave Section One. But there was no other choice. No place but Section would be safe enough.
But Adam’s fate was not the only reason for his concern. The very thought of Section One filled him with dread. Not the old Section One -- that had been, in its own, bizarre way, his only home. He often missed it. Even dreamed about it. But the new, changed Section -- Nikita’s Section -- that he did not want to see. Ever.
He knew that Nikita could not have lasted this long as Operations without becoming ruthless, hardened. He also knew that seeing her that way would kill something inside of him. So he made a decision. Nikita was dead. She had been dead ever since the abeyance mission where he had tried to save her so many years ago. The woman who returned six months later, who had lied to and manipulated him for years afterwards, that was someone else. That woman he could call Operations, could even obey without his heart breaking. And he would have to -- Adam’s life depended on it.
************
Barry listened to the birds chirping merrily as dawn broke in the quiet neighborhood where he had been waiting, patiently, overnight. He stretched, looked once more at his target through his binoculars, and turned to the comrade sitting in the driver’s seat next to him.
"It’s time."
He stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly. Readying his weapon, he signaled to the others surrounding the house. He smiled to himself. Soon, Section One’s ex-finest would be lying in a pool of blood. Barry reached instinctively for the knife sheathed by his side. That he would use to chop off a souvenir finger to be sent -- special delivery -- to Section One’s Operations.
************
Walter had slept fitfully. The couch was too short for him to stretch out completely, and so he spent the night turning from side to side to keep his legs from getting stiff. Shifting again, he saw something strange out of the corner of his eye: a shadow, passing by the window. With a burst of adrenaline, he threw off his blanket, reached for his gun on the coffee table, and slipped off the couch to kneel on the floor. Frozen, he fixed his eyes on the front door.
With a spray of bullets, the door flew open. A figure jumped inside, but before Walter could even fire off a single shot the man spun around, hit the wall and then slumped to the floor. Looking toward the hallway, Walter saw the reason. Michael stood there, gun in hand, pumping shots at their attackers.
Walter ran over to the window. Peering out, he saw men running around toward the side of the house, heading for the rear door.
"Michael! Watch your back!"
Michael spun around and fired three more shots. He then disappeared back down the hallway, from where Walter heard more shooting, and then silence.
Michael reappeared in the hallway, with Adam hiding behind him.
"Let’s go," Michael said.
************
Back again. Walter just couldn’t seem to get away from the place. He had now been retired twice and sent out to the Farm once, but yet again here he was. It must be some sort of record.
He walked side by side with Michael and Adam, his legs still a little shaky after the scare they had experienced. He looked around in curiosity as they passed through the corridors -- it looked the same, the air felt the same, it even smelled the same. Somehow he had expected that with Nikita as Operations, Section would somehow evolve -- even physically -- into something else. He recognized now how silly such a thought was.
As they turned the corner, the main area of Section One came into view. Adam stopped in awe, his neck craning around to take it all in. Michael took Adam’s hand and began walking forward again. Walter waited for them to catch up and then fell in step. In front of them, operatives passed back and forth hurriedly, some smiling at Walter in recognition. None of them seemed to know Michael or to care who the young boy was.
Walter looked instinctively over at Munitions, scowling as he saw some youngster messing around in his space. He then looked up toward the Perch. There Nikita was, standing at attention by the window. She smiled and nodded at Walter, and then let her gaze fall upon Michael and Adam. Even from the distance, Walter could see the tension in her face.
The trio paused when they reached Comm, where Quinn and Jason stood up to greet them.
"You look great, old man!" Jason beamed, punching Walter in the shoulder.
"Who are you calling old, amigo?" Walter grinned.
"We’re glad to see you back safe and sound," Quinn said pleasantly.
Walter noticed Jason give Quinn a disgusted look. He made a mental note to ask Jason what that was about, but then turned to see Nikita -- no, Operations, he reminded himself -- approach.
"Walter, I’m so relieved to see you," Nikita said, smiling. She extended her hand and shook his warmly.
"Well, I’m pretty relieved myself," he replied. He bit his tongue before he could call her ‘sugar’ -- calling Operations by a pet name probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do.
Nikita turned toward Michael with a look of concern. "Did they kidnap you and Adam, too?"
"No," Michael answered.
Nikita looked at all three of them and frowned. "You look tired. Perhaps you would like to get some rest," she suggested.
"Adam needs rest. Walter and I need to debrief."
"Roger!" Nikita called. A young operative joined them. "Roger, this is Adam."
"Hi, Adam," Roger said, smiling.
"Hello," Adam said shyly.
"Please take Adam to some quarters appropriate for him and his father. Keep him company until his father can join him."
************
Madeline typed a few commands on her keyboard and scrutinized the results. Paul had secured an unusually large amount of new funding, and she had spent the past several hours testing various allocation models. This particular one seemed optimal: the vast majority of the funds would go to the Mirror Units.
The Mirror Units were among her proudest innovations. Freed of Section One’s shortsighted restrictions on such practices, she had created an assortment of mock terrorist organizations. These groups skillfully mimicked the ideology of existing terrorist organizations, draining support, recruits, and donations from the real-life entities. They also engaged in provocative action, disrupting their rivals’ activities as much as possible. The Units were so seemingly real that they had to turn away many would-be members. They were also a lucrative funding source: she derived great enjoyment from depriving the real terrorists of money that would otherwise go to them.
The only firm rule for these organizations was that under no circumstance would they do anything that threatened to harm the public. Violent attacks on their rivals were acceptable, and even encouraged. In addition, to bolster their reputation in the terrorist world, the groups engaged in attacks on property. However, the victims always received anonymous reimbursement from other entities that Madeline controlled. Occasionally, to maintain their terrorist bona fides, the Mirror Units would even claim responsibility for violent acts committed by someone else. To date, none of them had ever been exposed for what they really were.
She had found one of these groups, ECRC, to be quite useful in the matter with Walter. Although she hadn’t yet received confirmation, she was quite confident that he and Michael had safely returned to Section One. She had taken a calculated risk by involving Michael at all -- she knew he was intelligent enough that he might immediate realize what was really going on. But there had been no other choice -- not if she were to get Walter out of harm’s way.
A sudden pang of hunger reminded her that she had worked through lunch without a break. Picking up her phone, she asked an employee to bring in a light meal. She then rose and walked several steps to look out her office windows. Taking in the blossoming landscape, she returned her thoughts to Michael.
Michael was one of her worst failures. He had surprised her too many times. In retrospect, she realized that her inability to predict his behavior stemmed from a fundamental -- almost unforgivable -- failing on her part: she had identified with him. There had been so many superficial similarities in their personalities -- their guilt over their pre-Section pasts, their need to control their emotions, their perfectionism about their work -- that she had erroneously assumed that he thought as she did. That she could understand his motivations. She had been terribly wrong.
Michael, to her immense frustration, had kept changing priorities: from Section, to Nikita, and finally, to Adam. So different from the way she approached life. For her, Section -- or rather, what Section had stood for -- eclipsed all. Even Paul, as much as he meant to her. How could feelings for any one individual possibly compete with the call to save the world? Once, she had thought that Michael understood that. His rejection of her world view -- coming as it did from someone she had considered a protégé -- struck her as the worst of betrayals.
It had been different with Simone -- when he was married to her, Michael had been able to put Section first, to keep the proper perspective. It was for that reason that Madeline had at first not objected to his budding relationship with Nikita -- in fact, had covertly tried to encourage it. She had thought that Michael might be able to find out the real reason why Nikita had been recruited, what her secret agenda was -- and that, as a loyal Section operative, he would report it. He hadn’t. Although Madeline now realized that he had never learned the truth from Nikita in the first place. Nikita had deceived him all along.
She had regretted having had to turn against him during the latter part of her tenure in Section. It had not been personal, despite his failure to live up to her standards. But Nikita’s attachment to him, combined with George’s identification of him as a favorite, rendered him simply too dangerous to have around. Too many of their enemies had started to see him as a potential solution.
In the end, however, she was relieved that Michael’s life had not been sacrificed. She had even followed his new life outside Section with a certain detached interest. Her decision to force him to return to Section, now, was fraught with irony. By doing so, Madeline had given Nikita exactly what she most wanted -- to be reunited with Michael and in charge of Section. However, Madeline was not as certain that Michael would be pleased with the situation.
************
Walter took a deep breath as he finished his debrief. He leaned back in his chair to wait for Nikita’s reaction.
"This is very interesting," Nikita said, looking thoughtful. "ECRC had better intel than we did about where you were. We obviously need to work on expanding our sources."
"How much do you know about ECRC?" Michael asked.
"Not much. They haven’t seemed to pose a danger to the public, so they haven’t been a primary focus of ours."
"If they rescued Walter, they are not what they seem."
"What do you mean?"
"A group that simply wants to do Section a favor will not put its members in danger."
"What would they have done?" Walter asked.
"They would have contacted Section One and told them where you were. That would be enough of a favor." Michael looked at Nikita and then back at Walter. "Instead, they risked their own lives to rescue you."
"Why would they do this?" Nikita asked.
"Because they value Walter. Because they know him. And me."
"But how, and who --" Nikita started.
"We need to look for a connection between ECRC and Section. Perhaps telephone or computer contact."
"I already had Jason do a search of all communications over the past year. Nothing turned up."
"Go back further. Search the past few years."
************
The rapid clatter of fingers on Jason’s keyboard was starting to annoy Quinn. She could no longer concentrate on her work. She glared at his back, hoping that he would somehow sense her hostility and be distracted, but he was oblivious.
What were they searching for anyway? The mere suggestion that there could be undetected communications from Section to a terrorist group was an obvious insult to her as the head of Comm. Even worse, Operations had informed her that the search request came from Michael -- Michael, who wasn’t even officially in Section anymore, much less entitled to give orders. It made Quinn sick.
Whatever Loverboy wants, he gets, thought Quinn with a smirk. I wonder how long it will be before the Perch windows go dark?
"Wow!" Jason exclaimed.
Quinn made a face. Great! Now he’s talking to himself. How long am I going to have to listen to this?
Jason turned around in his chair to face Quinn. "I think we’d better call a meeting."
************
Nikita hurried downstairs to join Walter, Michael, Quinn, Jason and Jasmine at the briefing table. She hadn’t expected them to find anything nearly so soon. Anxious, she turned to Jason.
"Have you found a link to ECRC?"
"Well, I didn’t find anything that could be tied directly to ECRC. But I did find something that you might find interesting."
"What is it?" Nikita asked.
"It’s kind of strange. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. But the more I started looking into it, the more important it seemed."
"Jason, don’t keep us in suspense." Nikita frowned. "What is it?"
"During the months immediately prior to your taking over as Operations, there was a series of file transfers out of Section to an unknown location." Jason paused, seemingly for dramatic effect. "Those files were sent out by your predecessor."
An uncomfortable feeling settled on everyone at the table. Nikita noticed several of them trade looks.
"Paul Wolfe?" Nikita asked quietly.
"That’s the one," Jason said, nodding, his voice nervous.
"What kind of files?"
"They were all files created by Madeline during the last few weeks of her life."
Walter let out a low whistle. Jasmine crossed her arms tightly, as if struck by a sudden chill.
Jason continued. "The files themselves seem to be a collection of information from a lot of other sources -- personnel data, recent intel on terrorist groups that we were tracking at the time, and a lot of information about various Section research projects. You could say that the files were almost capsule summaries of what was going on in Section One right then. Not so big that their transmittal outside Section would have been flagged for review, but just enough information so that you could use the files to pick up where the work left off."
"I see." Nikita felt a growing tightness in the pit of her stomach. The mere mention of the names of the former leaders of Section One conjured up thoughts -- and fears -- she didn’t want to confront.
"There’s another interesting thing. Madeline spent an unusual amount of time working on these summaries. Especially when you went missing. From what I understand, she was supposed to be driving the search for you, but instead she was spending 70% of her computer time creating these files."
"It’s almost as if she didn’t care about finding me," Nikita murmured
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "And it gets weirder. Once a location for you and Michael was identified, and I mean like within a half hour, she started modifying files. Files from her own personal profile."
"Modifying how?"
"She messed with them too well for me to tell for certain. But I can tell that some things were changed. Her DNA records, for one. Probably a lot of other stuff, too."
"Why would she do that?" Jasmine asked.
"It wouldn’t make sense -- unless she was planning on leaving Section and didn’t want to be easy to find," Walter answered. "Sinking her files would have been too obvious. But corrupting them...."
They shared more looks around the table.
"She must have known," Nikita said, stunned. "She must have known what was about to happen. But how?"
"Yeah, well, it gets worse," Jason added. "I got nervous and started checking Housekeeping’s records. I looked for her autopsy report and video. The report’s there, listing cyanide poisoning as the cause of death, but the camera was conveniently malfunctioning. So there’s no video record. And guess what? There’s no one to ask in Housekeeping -- anyone there who had any contact with her after her death is now dead too. A lot of 'mysterious accidents', it seems. In fact, Operations, I think the only person left who actually saw her dead is you."
They all stared at Nikita.
"She faked it," Nikita said through clenched teeth. "My God, why didn’t I see it? I knew what she was capable of."
She stood up and began pacing. As her thoughts whirled out of control, her speech became rapid, frantic. "Madeline escaped. Paul was cooperating with her and sent her those files once she was on the outside. Which means that his death was probably staged as well. Which in turn means that the two of them were working with the Collective." She stopped pacing, horrorstruck with the implications of this revelation. "They were behind Adam’s kidnapping and my father’s death. And they’ve got to be stopped."
"You don’t know that for certain," Quinn countered, looking strangely calm. "Right now this is just circumstantial evidence and speculation."
Nikita turned to Quinn in astonishment. "Speculation? Do you think so? Or are you just covering up for your own spectacular failure to discover this?" Nikita walked to where Quinn was sitting and looked down at her, shaking her head in disappointment. "Your assignment was to keep an eye on him. How could you have missed this?"
"Your father’s orders didn’t include monitoring Paul’s computer transmissions. And as Jason pointed out, the files were too small to be flagged automatically for review."
"But you were head of Comm, for God’s sake!" Nikita said, incredulous. "Aren’t you supposed to notice such things?"
"I only noticed what Mr. Jones asked me to notice," Quinn answered coldly.
************
Madeline aimed her water mister at the pale yellow orchid, but stopped short of spraying the plant when she heard her telephone ring. She set down the mister and walked back to her desk to pick up her cell phone.
"Yes?"
"Hello, Madeline, this is David. I have some news." His voice sounded worried.
"What is it?" she asked calmly.
"Activity in Section One. They’ve been going through old computer records. Apparently, they found some transmissions that the Chairman sent to you while he was still in Section. I would say that One is therefore most likely aware that both of you are alive."
"I see." She paused briefly, processing the news. "Thank you for the information."
"Is there anything I should do?"
"Not yet. Goodbye, David."
"Goodbye."
She sighed. This was an unfortunate development, but not unexpected. But it meant that Section One -- and Nikita in particular -- would now have to be dealt with. Ahead of schedule, alas.
It could only have been Jason who found those transmissions. His skills had indeed turned out to equal his brother’s. Madeline had initially been skeptical of Adrian’s twin experiment. She had believed it to reflect the unhealthy obsession with genetics that had seemed to plague the older woman -- arising from some aristocratic British fixation on bloodlines, no doubt. Yet it seemed that Adrian had been right, after all -- at least this time.
But recalling Jason depressed Madeline, and not only because he reminded her of his late brother. Jason had been a key element in Center’s final attempt to destroy her and Paul.
***
If only she had remembered to bring her scarf. Shivering, Madeline pulled her coat closer as she looked out across the city from her rooftop hideaway. The lights glittered cheerfully, but a sharp wind cut through the skin on her face, leaving it increasingly numb as each minute went by.
She looked at her watch. Three forty-two a.m. Paul was more than an hour late -- to an emergency off-premises meeting that he himself had called. She felt herself growing angry. It had already been a long enough day as it was. Earlier, they had launched their latest attempt to get her onsite at Red Cell: a contrived ‘war’ that would -- they hoped -- lead to a truce and exchange of key personnel. The highlight of the day had been the initiation of Section One’s self-destruct mechanism -- a most tiring exercise, to say the least.
The self-destruct countdown had not been a part of the original profile. When Birkoff was alive, the plan had been for the 'attacks' to be limited to Section substations. But Birkoff’s sudden demise and replacement by Kate Quinn had created problems -- and opportunities -- that needed to be taken into account. When Paul’s contacts at Center -- forged during his visit there the prior year -- had warned him that their new operative would be a known Center spy, Madeline realized that they had to be extremely careful. She had worked overnight revising the profile, struggling to accommodate the new variables. But by the time she was finished her plan was better and tighter than it ever had been. A work of art, even. Her scenario would get them the information they needed, take out Red Cell, and plant the seeds for the 'rift' between her and Paul and her future 'cancellation' in a single blow. Thinking about it, she couldn’t help but smile, even though the muscle movement caused her face to sting in the cold.
The first part of the plan had gone off without a hitch: the destruction of their substation, conveniently staffed with abeyance operatives, and the subsequent hit on the two Red Cell substations. The activation of Section One’s self-destruct mechanism had been a test for Quinn -- a means for Madeline to ascertain the skill level of this new adversary. Quinn had failed miserably. While she scored points for her nerve in refusing to evacuate, it took her twice as long to shut down the sequence as it would have for Birkoff. Not that there was actually any danger. Holland, the hacker whose little problem with the FBI Madeline had promised to solve, had been instructed to intervene just as the countdown reached zero. If necessary, he would have later explained in interrogation that he had been interrupted in the middle of his 'game'.
Now, they were ready for the next stage of the scenario -- the negotiation of the 'truce' with Red Cell and Madeline’s visit to their location. That is, unless whatever had prompted Paul to call this emergency meeting would force a change in plans. She fervently hoped that it would not. She wasn’t sure that she had the energy to rethink her strategy a third time.
Turning so that her back faced the wind, she reviewed the remainder of profile in her mind once again. When she arrived at Red Cell, she would immediately start to scour Red Cell’s databases. Once she found what she needed, she would conveniently 'discover' information pointing to the location of the hacker and provide that information to Paul. Paul, in turn, would then launch a sneak attack on Red Cell, ostensibly endangering her in the process. In actuality, of course, they would have events carefully arranged so that she could escape Red Cell unharmed.
She would have a limited ability to communicate with Paul, which at least would permit them to use their standard code words to convey that all was proceeding as planned, or, alternately, that the mission should be aborted. However, the scenario relied primarily on timing for her to make her escape. Based on Quinn’s 'dress rehearsal' shutting down the self-destruct mechanism, Madeline could estimate roughly how long it would take Quinn to locate Holland -- too long, unfortunately, which would cut down on the time Madeline would have available to search for financial information. But more importantly, she knew that once Red Cell received the boobytrapped disk, she would have precisely twenty minutes to get out.
There was also the failsafe. Paul had insisted that the disk be programmed to instruct Red Cell’s system to look for her tracking frequency. If she hadn’t cleared the building, no explosion would occur. She was slightly insulted that he thought she needed this backup contingency -- while it was true that she didn’t go out on many missions anymore, she wasn’t that rusty.
Quinn, of course, would be placed directly in the middle of the action. What better way to advertise an outbreak of hostilities between the two leaders of Section One than to parade it in front of Center’s new spy? Quinn could be counted on to report the 'falling out' back to her superiors. But Madeline suspected that the rumor mill at Section One -- no, at all the Sections, not to mention Oversight -- would be buzzing about this development even without Quinn’s involvement.
Three knocks sounded from the inside of door leading out to the rooftop, and then the door swung slowly open. Paul stepped outside, barely visible in his long black overcoat.
"I had trouble losing my surveillance team," he said, explaining his late arrival.
She nodded in acknowledgement. "So what is it?"
"I received a strange message." His voice was grim. "According to my contacts, I’m going to get a call from Center tomorrow. It seems they want Seymour Birkoff to come work for them."
She stared at him for a moment in disbelief. "Center has two spies working in Section. Surely they know that Birkoff is dead."
"One would think."
"So, why?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
She frowned and looked out over the cityscape. The wind whipped her coat with a sharp flapping sound. Then it came to her.
"They want us to engage in a cover-up," she said, turning back toward him.
He frowned in turn and waited for her to explain.
"They’re about to strike against us. They want us to be distracted with this problem so that we won’t see it coming."
"Of course," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "A feint. The oldest trick in the book."
'This means we’re going to have to move up our schedule."
"Yes. We have to concentrate on getting you out as soon as possible."
"In the meantime, if it’s a cover-up they want, we’ll give them a cover-up."
***
"It's as if they wanted us to find them." Stokes’ words echoed through Madeline’s mind as she hurried back to her office.
Wanted us to find them, indeed. Until this moment, she hadn’t been certain what her 'death' would be: cancellation or suicide. Now she knew. If Nikita and Michael were captured and brought back to Section One, she and Paul would have no choice but to cancel one or both of the fugitives. This, Madeline was certain, would provoke an intervention by Center. Under those circumstances, it would have to be suicide, since Paul would be deprived of the authority to supervise her cancellation. This was unfortunate, as a suicide would be inherently more suspicious. Not to mention the fact that they had gone to a lot of trouble to lay the groundwork for the cancellation scenario.
With that exception, however, Madeline was pleased with the way things had played out. For example, her visit to Red Cell had been a complete success. She had identified five separate financial angels, and the physical destruction of Red Cell ensured that Section One would never know of their existence. Her only disappointment was that there had been no witnesses to her arrival back at Section One. But at least seven cameras had been trained on them at the time, so she was sure that someone had noticed her 'confrontation' with Paul. After their experience with George the year before, they had decided that subtlety was the best choice; as a result, there had been no hostile words, only looks.
The mission had certainly had the desired result within Section One. From that point on, everyone had seemed extremely uncomfortable around her -- even Nikita had given her a sympathetic look upon her return. Most telling of all, those operatives prone to sycophantic behavior had started to avoid her, unsure of what her status would be in the future. Rats deserting a sinking ship, as it were. It had thus only been a matter of picking a convenient time for her 'death'. At that point, no one would have been surprised.
She had proceeded with her preparation of Jason to take Birkoff’s place, all the while wondering what shape Center’s next move would take. When Nikita -- and then Michael -- escaped, she had her answer. From Center’s perspective, it was the perfect Catch-22. If she and Paul failed to find the fugitives, Center would be justified in removing them from their posts. But if they tracked down Nikita and Michael, the imminent cancellations would be the trigger for Center’s takeover. Either way, Center would win -- except for the fact that Paul and Madeline were no longer playing the game.
Indeed, it had been very hard for Madeline to be motivated enough even to put on the pretense of being upset about the disappearances. She and Paul had played out their confrontations for witnesses and cameras, but she was so exhausted from her other work that she couldn’t give it the enthusiasm it really deserved. She could only hope her fatigue and increasing stress over her escape plans had been interpreted by others as arising from worry over whether she would recover the rogue operatives. Incredibly, she hadn’t even had the energy to rejoice over George’s demise. In reality, there was no longer any reason to celebrate, as amply as George deserved his pathetic end. George had become irrelevant.
Arriving at her office, she pulled up the computer files, her mood somber. She began to systematically modify her own files -- her DNA and medical records, psych and analytical profiles -- subtly sabotaging the data. If anyone suspected that her suicide was not what it seemed and tried to search for her, the information used to predict her behavior would be fatally flawed.
***
The arrival of Mr. Jones in Section One and the official unmasking of Nikita as his agent confirmed everything Paul and Madeline had expected. Normally, Madeline liked to be proven right. But she gained no satisfaction from this turn of events. Only relief that the waiting was over.
She stared straight ahead, her eyes not really registering anything. She and Paul sat, side by side, in Committee, patiently awaiting the summons to appear for their reviews. Their hands were clasped, but they could not bring themselves to look at each other. Nor did they speak. Words would have seemed banal.
Her mouth was dry with apprehension. This was not due to concern about herself. She knew her mock suicide would be convincing. And if it appeared that Paul’s review was going badly, he would join her. Their allies in Housekeeping had already been warned to expect one or both of them. No, what worried her was the thought of leaving Paul behind. If he felt it was safe for the time being, he intended to stay. She knew that this was for the best, and had in fact recommended it herself. But not knowing whether he would make it out safely later made her almost sick with fear.
"Madeline?" Nikita’s voice sounded over the intercom. "Please come and join us."
Madeline turned to look at Paul. Their faces were both expressionless, but their eyes conveyed the anguish they were feeling. She squeezed his hand and then stood up to leave.
As she walked from the room, she felt a sudden twinge of vertigo. She stopped, closed her eyes for a few seconds, and then resumed her movement.
Gaining courage, she repeated a mantra in her mind as she walked purposefully toward her future. There’s nothing left to lose now.
************
"Nikita, we need to discuss this," Michael said, grasping her arm as she attempted to walk past him.
Only the two of them remained standing by the briefing table. The others had departed quickly: Quinn, sullen and alone; Walter, Jason and Jasmine in a huddled group.
Nikita refused to look Michael in the face, staring at a wall instead. The days when he could ease her pain were gone. She didn’t even want him to try. Blinking rapidly, she fought back the tears welling up in her eyes and tried to adopt her businesslike Operations persona.
"We can discuss it later, after I’ve put together my plans."
"Nikita," he pleaded, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Let me help you."
Controlling her emotions as best she could, she looked him directly in the eye. The tenderness in his gaze made her tremble briefly, but she forced herself to speak calmly, authoratively. "I think you should go and be with your son. He must be frightened out of his mind by now." With that, she broke free of his grip and walked away.
Arriving at the Perch, she locked herself in and darkened the windows, shaking with grief. She had never truly come to terms with discovering who her father was, much less with his death. She had spent the past two years burying herself in her work to try to avoid thinking about it. And now, to be reminded of it again -- with such a horrible twist -- was beyond painful. It was bad enough to have thought that he sacrificed himself to the Collective. To discover that her old enemies had actually destroyed him was almost too much for her to bear.
It was all so obvious now. Paul and Madeline were nothing if not cunning. They knew the value of a strategic retreat. So they feigned defeat and fled, to strike back from the shadows. They had killed her father and built their new empire; now they mocked her by attacking Section One’s targets before Section could react. Rescuing Walter was meant as an insult: You can’t even take care of your own people, they were telling her.
Their next move was easy to predict. They would seek to inflict the final humiliation -- the destruction of Section One itself. But she would be ready for them. More than ready. She would bring the battle to them this time -- and on her own terms. She would not let her father’s dream die without a fight.
She touched the switch to lighten the Perch windows again.
"Quinn?" she called.
"Yes, ma’am?" Quinn’s voice was apprehensive, as if she expected to be disciplined. But that wasn’t Nikita’s priority at the moment.
"What is our next scheduled mission?"
"Colombia. Two days from now."
"Send a team now."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I want a team sent there immediately. But they are not, I repeat, not, to attempt to launch the mission. Instead, I want them to wait nearby and do surveillance."
"Surveillance for what?" Quinn had turned around in her seat to look up at the Perch in bewilderment.
"I believe that our ‘friends’ will once again attempt to steal the limelight by beating us to a mission. I want to let them go ahead, but capture their team on its way out."
"And then?"
"Bring them back here for interrogation."
************
With their business concluded early, Paul and the general had enjoyed a lavish luncheon. The conversion had centered on military readiness; the general had been particularly interested in Paul’s recommendations for his country’s security forces.
Finished, the general sat back in his chair and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Dropping the napkin on his plate, he chuckled. "My doctors keep telling me to avoid salty food, but I never listen to them."
"Life is too short to let yourself be ruled by those quacks," Paul agreed.
"Yes, well, I am starting to follow one piece of their advice."
"What’s that?"
"I’m taking more time off from work. In fact, tomorrow I leave on a two-week vacation. I recently bought a private resort -- a beach, golf course, tennis -- it’s been great for my stress levels."
"Sounds wonderful," Paul said politely.
"You should come along sometime. It’s totally isolated, so there’s no issue with security. And you could bring your wife."
"My wife?"
A look of confusion crossed the general’s face. "You are married, aren’t you? At least, I see you wear a ring."
"Oh, that." Paul kept his face blank. "My wife is dead."
He glanced down at his hand briefly. The ring was a replacement -- the original had been left behind at Section One, abandoned along with the rest of his personal belongings. It saddened him that he had lost it, but it was unavoidable given the unexpected manner in which he had departed Section. But then again, very little about his final months in Section had gone as he expected.
***
The sight of Madeline’s still form being wheeled away on the gurney after the farce that was her ‘review’ had genuinely devastated Paul, for one simple reason. He firmly believed that he would never see her again.
After agonizing over the question that had been haunting him for weeks, Paul had reached a difficult decision. He had concluded that, while one of them might be able to escape Section One undetected, for them both to die in ambiguous circumstances would simply be too suspicious. Center would realize the truth -- and they would be hunted down before they could build a power base sufficient to protect themselves. And so he made his choice. For her death to escape scrutiny, his own would have to be real.
He hadn’t told her this, of course. She would have refused to go forward with her escape, and that would have ruined everything. So he bore the burden of his decision alone, tormented by the fact that his last days with her had to be spent in the absurd pretense that he was angry at her -- criticizing her, making threats and demands. In the end, she hadn’t even said goodbye to him; instead, she had merely given his hand a final, light squeeze and walked off without a single look back. But he had been determined to have his goodbye anyway, even if she had been unconscious and couldn’t feel his kiss, and even with Nikita coldly interrupting.
After Housekeeping removed her tracking devices and spirited her away, he was utterly isolated for the first time in almost two decades. It was severely disorienting; he kept wandering Section in search of her, even entering her office, forgetting that she wouldn’t be there. Mornings were the worst. The empty chair across from him at the breakfast table was a harsh reminder that he now had to face his fate alone.
But he still had work to do. He concentrated his efforts on making certain that Madeline avoided detection. This was not a simple task. If anyone had been paying attention, as Center most certainly had, the events surrounding her suicide would raise many questions. He knew that he might be under suspicion; as a result, his every action had to convey the impression that he was completely convinced that she was dead. It required a careful mixture of emotions -- grief, anger, guilt, and desperation. He did his best to display them all.
The situation became even more dangerous once she had communicated to him a location for him to begin sending files. The destination of the transfers was untraceable, but the computer activity itself might be noticed. If caught, he would confess to being a double agent for the Collective or whatever other terrorist organization seemed expedient. He would no doubt be cancelled. But he accepted that. He knew he would die soon anyway, and took comfort in the thought that Madeline would make their enemies pay.
For a time, he thought that he was succeeding in balancing all of this. But then the unexpected happened.
***
The door to Paul’s quarters hissed shut, and he leaned back against it, drained of all energy and feeling. He closed his eyes and began massaging his temples, hoping he could clear his mind that way.
He had been tested. And he believed that he had passed. Or had it really been a test? Perhaps it had been an attempt to manipulate him, or simply to drive him over the edge. It didn’t really matter. It was over with -- and that was all he cared about.
When he first saw Madeline’s hologram-produced figure in the lab, his reaction had been a mixture of delight and horror. The delight was spontaneous; despite the fact that he knew he was viewing an illusion, she seemed so real it was breathtaking. The horror came a few moments later, after he realized why this was happening. Center must be questioning Madeline’s death -- and wanted to see his reaction to her ‘presence’. His every interaction with the hologram would be monitored, analyzed, and judged.
But there was also another reason for the horror. He knew the whole experiment would be a disaster. Madeline, he knew, had sabotaged the very files that Quinn had used to construct the program. As a result, the profiles created by the hologram strategist would be completely -- and dangerously -- unreliable. Operatives would be placed at risk, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had to play along.
So play along he did. He did his best impression of a man who was losing touch with reality, who was so overjoyed to see his ‘dead’ partner resurrected that he ignored signs of danger. Nothing in his behavior gave away even a hint that he knew her to be alive. And when the hologram’s profiles and analysis turned out to be flawed, no one acted more surprised and disappointed than he.
His final conversation with the hologram had been a bizarre form of torture. To listen to her ask him to essentially ‘kill’ her was sickening. And when the hologram told him why she had ‘committed suicide’, he felt his heart breaking. He knew that the words she spoke were thanks to Quinn’s programming efforts. But the irony of the situation brought tears to his eyes. In reality, she hadn’t given up her life for him; rather, he would sacrifice his for her.
He opened his eyes again and moved away from the door. Walking into his quarters, he headed for his dresser. There was one last thing he could do that would convince Center beyond a doubt that he believed Madeline dead. It was something that he knew Quinn, as a woman, would notice immediately. He removed the ring from his left hand, wrapped it carefully in a handkerchief, and placed it in a drawer.
