FIVE

**********

September 2013 – present day

Michael stepped out of the lobby of the Four Seasons and took a deep breath of fresh air. After a day of non-stop meetings, he was ready to call it quits and head home early. All he could think about was enjoying a nice relaxing evening of cooking dinner and spending time with Victoria who would finally be home today after being out of town for the last week on assignment. Walking over to the valet stand, Michael handed his paid ticket to the attendant and waited for the Mercedes to be brought around. Two Lexus SUV’s and a Porsche later, the attendant rolled up in front of Michael with the car. Crossing in front of the Mercedes and around the open driver’s side door, Michael slipped the attendant a few dollars tip then slid into the driver’s seat, the attendant closing the door behind him. He quickly slipped off his suit jacket, tossing it onto the passenger seat alongside his briefcase. Going through the proper motions, he buckled his seat belt, turned the radio on low, threw the gear shift into drive and pulled out on to the streets of San Francisco.

Mentally weary from the day’s series of endless meetings Michael’s tired mind wandered freely as he unerringly navigated the familiar roads, thinking how the summer months had flown by as Adam had prepared for his first year of college at Cornell University. He had tried to spend as much quality time with his son as possible before Adam’s departure for the opposite coast. Catching Adam in between time with his friends, they had spent afternoons sailing on the bay, weekends watching football matches (or soccer to Americans) on the television and even managed to fit in a mountain climbing trip in the Rockies. Victoria had joined them on some adventures, but on others she graciously gave father and son time to be alone.

Now it was September and Adam had already been gone for over a month. The transition had been different than what Michael expected, difficult at times, but enjoyable at others. The biggest difference, Michael thought humorously, was the lack of noise. There was no pounding of teenage feet; no sounds of the fridge being slammed shut repeatedly; no irritating video game sound effects blaring from the television. Surprisingly, Michael found himself missing the raucous cacophony, unaware of just how used to it he had become over the years. He shook his head in disbelief, taken aback by the fact that he was suffering from “Empty Nester’s Syndrome.” Fifteen years ago Michael would have believed his future held meetings about terrorist hotspots, mission profiles and inter-government agency rivalries not the experiences of the ‘average’ father whose only child had left for college.

Pausing behind several cars at a red light, Michael pondered Adam’s last words to him before he left his son at school to return home. While giving his father one last fierce embrace Adam had whispered, “Be happy.”

Minutes later the light changed and he was moving again. He knew what Adam had been saying with those parting words; it was a situation Michael had been contemplating all summer. Nikita. He thought he had made his decision years ago, but Adam had begun to make him question his choices.

Michael knew that over the last ten years he had built a good life for himself and Adam. He had a solid and steady business; Adam was able to grow-up in a secure and loving environment; and Michael had even found someone to share his life with whom his son adored. Why change all that? Why relinquish the gift two people had given their lives for – one consigned to death and the other to a place she never deserved to be in the first place? Maybe the answer was one doesn’t give it all up. Maybe there are other choices to make in life than those based on the romantic notions of love and soul mates and happily ever after.

Having reach his destination, Michael pulled into the driveway and clicked the button on the garage opener and opened the garage door. Once inside, he turned off the car and hit the remote again, closing the garage door. Checking the car clock, he saw that it read five-fifteen, giving him at least another hour before Victoria was due back. Grabbing his suit coat and briefcase, he unlocked the car doors and slid out. Then, crossing behind the car to the house door, he unlocked it and stepped inside the kitchen.

Flipping on the lights as he walked through the house, he first dropped off his briefcase inside his office then headed up stairs to change. When that was done and he was wearing a comfortable pair of faded dark jeans and a black tee shirt, he wandered back into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. Glass of Chardonnay in hand, he grabbed the phone from the cradle and sat down at the kitchen table to check messages.

After dialing into his voice mail, he punched in his PIN and the automated voice informed him he had two new messages. The first was from Adam.

Hey Dad! Had some time in between classes and just wanted to check in. I wasn’t sure where you’d be working out of so thought might as well leave the message at home. Give me a call if you get chance and tell Tori ‘hi.’ Hope she had a good trip. Love ya.

The second message was from Victoria.

Hola querido. Just wanted to let you know I had to catch a later flight today so I’ll probably be home closer to eight. Go ahead and eat if you’re starving. Just save something for me. Te quiero. Ciao!

Finished, he erased both messages and then hit the “talk” button on the phone to shut it off. He gently placed the phone on the table and took a deep sip of wine, savoring the pungent flavor as it slid over his taste buds and down his throat. Idly, he wondered if the timing of the voice mail messages were not another sign from the powers that be. Maybe hearing the old jazz tune earlier in the summer at Alessandro and Miriam’s was not a sign pointing towards Nikita, but away, telling him it was time to put the past to rest and the voice mail messages were another reminder. While, in the depths of his soul, he knew he would always love Nikita and she would own his soul ‘til the day he died, he no longer believed his place was beside her. The possibility did exist that their time had come and passed and they were meant to lead two very different lives.

SIX

November 2013

The low level sounds of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata delicately floated through the tiny bistro, which was filled with only a handful of patrons. Soft chatter glided over the music as servers moved about, taking orders, delivering meals and clearing dishes, adding a third level of cacophony to the mix. At a table hidden behind the well stocked bar sat a handsomely attractive couple. In fact, they could have been the walking embodiment of Ken and Barbie. He had pale blond hair and paler blue, almost gray eyes, permanently golden skin, as if he tanned regularly, and probably stood at around 6’2”. Tonight he wore fitted black pants with black leather loafers and an Almond-colored V-neck, long sleeve sweater. A black leather jack hung over the back of his chair to complete the outfit. While he looked like he could have stepped off a Kenneth Cole runway, she was pure haute couture.

Golden blonde hair and intense deep, blue eyes she matched him closely in height, a mere few inches shorter. Elegantly garbed in a winter white, silhouette skimming, knee-length wool dress with turn-back cuffs and a simple V-neck collar, she looked like European royalty or a distinguished actress. Her shoulder length hair, falling in layers around her face, had been left down and blown out straight. She wore little make up and the only jewelry she had on was a pair of small gold hoops and a gold braided bracelet. On her feet she wore knee-high earthy brown leather boots with a two-inch heel.

Of course from the moment she and Stefan had stepped into their favorite restaurant Nikita had felt the stares from the patrons and employees alike. It was certainly nothing new to her or to her and Stefan together. She had learned long ago, however, to tune out the attention because once you did then everyone else reciprocated in kind. It seemed to make it less fun for people watching someone who did not really care if she was being watched.

Demi-tassos of espresso cooling before them, Nikita and Stefan relaxed as their dessert dishes were cleared and the meal came to an end. Half listening to her dinner companion’s story, Nikita’s mind wandered back to the feeling that had been plaguing her all week. Slowly, over the course of the week, a deep-seated sense of uncertainty had been building inside of her. Her instincts were warning her to be ready for something; she just wished she knew what that something was.

“’Hello, earth to Nikita. Come in Nikita,” Stefan teased, his own Australian accent mimicking hers.

Drawing her attention back to her companion, she replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t know where my mind is tonight.”

“Want to share?” he asked, concerned at the faraway look in her eyes.

“No…I don’t know…I…,” she began, hesitantly, “It’s nothing really. Just a case of worrying too much.”

Concerned at her falsely blasé tone of voice, Stefan questioned, “Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, before quickly dismissing her own concerns with a quick, “But it’s probably nothing.”

“I doubt it’s nothing, Nikita. You’ve got good instincts. What are you sensing?”

“That’s just it,” she commented worriedly, “I don’t know. All I know is my instincts are on high alert.” Sighing resignedly and feeling a bit foolish, she added, “It’s probably all in my head.”

“Well, I doubt that. I have it on pretty good authority that you’re of relatively sound mind,” he said, causing Nikita to laugh. “But I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’re subconscious worries are probably just kicking in, believing that things have been going too well for you lately.”

“Oh great,” Nikita bemoaned, “Now you’ve gone and jinxed me with that comment. I’m definitely doomed.”

Stefan just chuckled at her exaggerated moaning and told her to drink her espresso because, “It’ll help you relax.” At that, he got a solid laugh out of her, pleased to have taken her mind off her worries. Content to drink their coffees for a few minutes the two sat in companionable silence, watching as the bistro began to fill up with more patrons.

Her attention caught by one couple in particular – a young man and his young fiancée, judging by the ring on her finger, as they cuddled and kissed at a table nearby, reminding Nikita about the primary reason she had wanted to see Stefan tonight – to discuss their relationship. Quietly, she called out his name to gain his attention and then hesitantly inquired, “Stefan, what do you want from our relationship?”

Before answering Stefan observed Nikita for a moment, judging just how serious her question was and wondering why at this point in time she was finally ready to discuss their relationship. Cautious, he questioned, “Truth?”

“Yes,” she responded, surprising him with her readiness to finally talk.

“Well,” he began, “Honestly…I want more.”

“How much more?”

“If you’re willing…then everything.”

“Everything,” she repeated in a questioning tone of voice.

Leaning across the table, Stefan took her hands in his and commented, “I love being with you. When I’m with you,” he paused for a moment, searching for the exact words, “…it’s amazing. I’m with my best friend. And honestly…I haven’t felt that way about someone in a long time and it feels good. I certainly find you sexier than any other woman I know. I want you. Plain and simple. If you can say the same for me, then I believe we can make this work.”

When she did not answer immediately, he took her silence for an answer and released her hand regretfully. However, she quickly reached out to stop him, catching his retreating hand in hers and causing him to look up at her. In her eyes he saw a thousand emotions not the least of which were passion and tenderness.

“Yes,” she whispered truthfully, “I do want you. And I want a life with you. I can see us together….”

“But….”

“But I’m afraid of letting go.”

Smiling gently at her, he replied, “I know. And that’s a decision you’ll have to make for yourself. I only ask that whatever you decide to do to please be honest with me.”

“Always.”

Signaling to their waiter for the check, Stefan inquired, “Now, how about a late evening stroll through the park?”

“Mmmm…sounds perfect,” she replied.

“Good.”

SEVEN

December 2013

Bright sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Michael’s corner office. The largest of the eight offices that comprised the space of Freedom Ventures, L.L.C., the Venture Capital firm Michael started seven years ago. A small firm with only two funds currently in its portfolio, Freedom Ventures, L.L.C. consisted of nine employees, including Michael and a main receptionist. The firm’s primary focus was the technology and security industry, centering on early stage investing.

The office was located in a building situated on Market Street in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. With a spacious and open lobby decorated in simple jewel tones and filled with several potted trees, the office immediately gave an impression of confidence and stability. Circling around the large center receptionist desk, the lobby narrowed into a long hallway with offices running all around the perimeter and a large conference room situated at the far right end. Each office had a floor-to-ceiling window as the front wall and a natural cherry wood door. Inside, all the offices were fitted with dark cherry modular furniture and ergonomic chairs.

Finally having a chance to sort through his email messages for the day, Michael sat at his desktop computer, rapidly making his way through the numerous messages in his inbox. Close to finishing, his work was interrupted from a buzz on his telephone intercom.

“Yes?” he asked, pushing down on the ‘talk’ button.

“Mr. Ferguson has arrived Mr. Guylaine,” the receptionist answered.

“Thank you Katherine. I’ll be right out.”

Slipping on his navy blue suit jacket and straightening his indigo blue tie he headed out to the lobby to greet his visitor. James Ferguson stood waiting in the lobby, admiring one of the abstract prints hanging on the wall. Dressed in a dark gray suit, pale blue dress shirt and plain silver tie one would be hard pressed to belief that the lithe man with a California tan was in his fifties. Only the gray hairs sprinkled through his light brown hair revealed any signs of aging. James Ferguson was probably in better shape and health than most men half his age. He lived well and he certainly played well all the while being one of the sharpest minds behind the scenes of the business world.

Michael circled around Katherine’s desk as he entered the lobby area, offering James a warm handshake and a cordial greeting. “James. Good to see you again.”

“You too Alan. How have you been?”

“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain.”

Playing the gracious host, Michael asked, “Can I get you anything before we go back. Coffee, water, juice?”

“No, nothing. Thank you,” James replied.

“Then let’s head on back to my office,” Michael concluded.

The two men walked back to the office in silence. Holding the door open for his guest, Michael followed James inside, closing the door behind them. He then crossed around to sit behind his desk while James took the closer of the two straight back chairs in front of the desk. Comfortably seated, Michael quickly turned to the business at hand.

“I have to say James,” Michael admitted, “I was surprised when I received your call.”

“Why’s that?” the older man inquired in a neutral tone.

“While the firm’s been successful, we are not quite in your usual bracket.”

“You and your firm have an excellent reputation.”

“Thank you, James. I appreciate that. Now, you said you have a prospectus for me,” he inquired.

“Yes. I firmly believe in this company and would very much like to see it succeed.”

“But you need the resources of a firm to organize and manage the fund for you.”

“Exactly,” James replied.

“I assume you brought the prospectus with you,” Michael said.

Nodding his head in the affirmative, James pulled a copy of it out of his dark leather attaché case and handed it to Michael. Michael then took a few moments to skim over the introduction and the interior pages.

“As I mentioned on the phone,” James said while Michael read, “I believe this could revolutionize biometric verification technology.”

Looking back at James, Michael said, “You maybe right. Certainly is an interesting idea.”

“But….”

“Let me be honest here James…why me? Why have you brought this to my firm?” Michael reiterated.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as I mentioned earlier, as successful as Freedom Ventures has been, we are certainly nowhere near your league. I appreciate your support, but I’m not sure why.”

“Cut through the bull. I’ve always liked that about you Alan,” James replied, chuckling softly, “Why? Because I didn’t get where I am today be remaining stagnant. Change or die as the saying goes. Your firm has great potential and I think this fund could help push you to the top. Besides, I also know you’re someone I can trust.”

Michael did not speak for a moment, weighing James’ words carefully over in his mind. He finally answered, “Give me a few days to go over this and then I’ll have my answer for you.”

“Good. I think you’ll find this is just the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”

Michael merely nodded his head in response.

EIGHT

**********

One by one the key team members gathered at the conference table just off Comm. for their next mission briefing. Operations stood patiently on the opposite side of the table from her operatives, waiting for the team to settle. Andrea Dunham, the woman to take over as Operations upon Nikita’s promotion to Oversight two and a half years ago, stood at a mere 5’5”. While she might not have carried the height of the last two Operations, she certainly carried their presence. Andrea commanded a room from the moment she entered and all of her operatives held a great deal of respect for their leader. At the age of forty-four, Andrea portrayed a weathered look, her light brown skin marred by scars and wrinkles and her crinkly, short black hair sporting several grays, which proudly served as proof of her successful survival of Section over the years. Daring to bring a little color back into the wardrobe of Section One’s Operations, she wore a dark brown skirt and jacket with a fiery-orange blouse underneath matched with a pair of dark brown leather pumps.

Observing the team assembled before her, Andrea paused to assure herself that she had their complete focus before beginning. Then, clicking the remote control in her hand, she brought up a picture of James Ferguson casually dressed in a pair of brown Khaki pants and a blue pullover, standing on the patio of his personal estate.

“Yesterday’s retrieval of Dark Storm’s contact list in Khartoum yielded several interesting names. One of which we weren’t expecting. James Ferguson. While Ferguson has been associated with a few corporate scandals in the past ten years or so, such as with World Com and Adelphi back in early part of the last decade, we had no reason to suspect him of supporting terrorist activities.”

Clicking the remote again the picture changed and the photo of a white male in his mid-thirties with light brown hair and brown eyes was displayed. He wore a classy outfit of black pants and a black button down shirt, yet it still could not disguise his slick Euro-trash appearance.

“This is Pierre Chappell. A first tier money launderer with ties to Ferguson. He’s going to be at club tonight in Berlin called Vision. Pick him and bring him in for questioning. See your panel for details. You leave in two hours.” Briefing concluded, Andrea shut-off the display screen and headed back towards her office, leaving her operatives to prepare for the mission. All but two operatives followed suit, while Jasmine and Patrick, still often referred to as Darwin by his fellow operatives, remained seated for a few moments.

“Heard things got a little hairy last week in Kuala Lumpur,” Darwin commented.

“A little bit,” Jasmine replied, “But nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Darwin just ‘hummed’ in response, only too aware of Jasmine’s skills as an operative.

Glancing over to Darwin and giving him a sly smile, Jasmine remembered back to their early days on the Farm when the two of them could not even stand to be near each other. Now though, after having been put through the wringer, first on No-Contest missions and then here at Section One, the two had learned it paid to have friends one could trust within the organization and had ended up resolving their differences when Darwin arrived at Section One ten years ago.

The two operatives had come a long way over the years – Darwin now serving in Walter’s former position as head of Ordinance and Jasmine achieving level five status in record time and having been promoted over a year ago to Michael’s former position as head of Tactical Command. The only other living member of the original five was Trent who had eventually been sent to Section Six and was now head of Comm. there. Claire had been fatally wounded four years ago on a mission. The loss had been hard on all of them for over the years the foursome had managed to remain close.

“Soooo…” Darwin said in a too innocent tone of voice, “Did you hear the info about Richardson?”

“I’m sure I have no idea of what you are talking about,” she retorted nonchalantly.

“Of course you don’t,” he mockingly agreed, “So then I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested to hear that a certain mission in Pakistan was a success and that his team will be back tomorrow.”

Jasmine merely grinned at her friend and whispered a soft “thanks” then got up from the table and returned to her office to prepare for the mission. Darwin watched her walk away and quietly chuckled to himself, amazed at how Jasmine still continued to pretend as if everyone did not know that she and Karl Richardson were in a relationship. Following her cue though, he too rose from the table and returned to Munitions to prepare.

NINE

A week had passed since Michael’s meeting with James and he had spent that time going over the details of the prospectus James had left as well as doing his own research into the company the fund would be investing in. While the numbers appeared solid and the facts had checked out, Michael’s instincts were telling him that this deal was not on the up and up. He still questioned why James Ferguson had brought the deal to his firm. Ferguson was a high roller in the business world and Michael’s firm was in a completely different strata. Prior to this the two were only mere acquaintances that shared a few friends in the same social circle. So when Michael had received the initial call from James about his proposal to say he had been surprised would have been an understatement.

Then there was the product that the company – Jupiter Technologies, Inc. had created and was now looking for investors to fund. The product was a biometric chip inserted just under the skin that, when scanned, would give a readout of that person’s personal information – such as a driver’s license number, social security number, pre-existing medical conditions, address, phone number. A version of such a device had been in use for almost a decade, but it had been limited specifically to medical use or security purposes in the government and private corporate sectors.

What the inventors at Jupiter Technologies proposed was make the chip, no bigger than a grain of rice, available to anyone for the purpose of general identification, not just for medical or security needs. Along with the chip one would receive an attachment for one’s personal communicator or P. Comm. – the latest device to combine the cell phone, PDA and laptop into one unit – with which the buyer could then scan his/her own chip. The idea being that while ordering on-line, for instance, instead of typing in all of the required shipping information one would just scan the chip. The chip could also be used at such places like the DMV, utility companies, and the bank. Control over the release of information contained within the chip would be held by the owner and managed through the P. Comm.

While the concept was fascinating, the technology hit a little too close to Michael’s past and in the end he did not trust James Ferguson. Despite the contacts James brought with him, Michael was very aware of his financial problems in the past and had no desire to work with anyone willing to bend the rules to make money. Currently, he was waiting for James to arrive at his office so he could give the man his answer.

Pressing down on the intercom button on his phone, Michael buzzed the receptionist and said, “Katherine, go ahead and send Mr. Ferguson back as soon as he gets here.”

“Of course, Mr. Guylaine.”

“Thank you.”

Approximately ten minutes later there was a knock on Michael’s door. He called out to come in and the door opened to reveal James Ferguson. Rising to greet his visitor, Michael shook hands with James and said, “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” James replied as both men took a seat and said, “I take it you’ve come to a decision then.”

“Yes.”

“Well….”

“While I appreciate your confidence in my firm James, I just don’t believe this is the right project for us at this time.”

“I see,” the older man replied thoughtfully, “You’re sure of that?”

“Yes. I think this investment is better suited for a larger firm with more experience.”

“I had a hunch you might feel that way,” James responded in a resigned tone, “And I’m very sorry to hear that Michael. I was hopping it wouldn’t come to this.”

The only indication that Michael gave that he had heard James use his give name was that he blinked. Then in a polite, but slightly confused tone he inquired, “Excuse me?”

Smiling the smile of a man with too much knowledge, James answered, “I said that I wasn’t hopping it would come to this Michael. Yes. I know who you are…Michael Samuelle. It’s amazing the information you can collect when you come across the right people. Required a bit of digging of course. Section was not completely slack in protecting your identity, but then again they can’t take care of everyone who might have known you, now can they?”

Seeing as his question was rhetorical, Michael did not bother to answer. Instead he replied, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

James laughed out loud at Michael’s denial then leaned over for his attaché case and pulled out a picture and slid it across the desk to him. The photo was of Adam, Elena and Michael playing outside in the yard of their old home. Michael gave no response, waiting for Ferguson to continue.

“Stefan Vachek was a good friend of mine. Of course most people don’t know that. Or about my ties to the terrorist community. But recently I ran into an old employee of Vacek’s and we got to reminiscing. He told me an interesting story about Stefan’s niece and her supposedly dead husband. Was it a great hardship, Michael…being married to such a beautiful woman for all those years?”

“What do you want?” Michael clipped out, having no desire to play games with Ferguson.

“I want you to manage the fund for Jupiter Technologies.”

Not being fooled for a moment, Michael reiterated, “What do you really want?”

Smiling in admiration of the man across from him, James commented, “I see that Section training is still pretty thoroughly engrained even after all these years. Actually, that is what I really want. You see I need a legitimate channel in which to launder money for a variety of terrorist organizations.”

James observed Michael for a moment, amazed at the subtle shift his whole presence had taken on over the course of their conversation. Without blinking an eye Michael Samuelle, the former Section One operative, slipped into place and the professional businessman Alan Guylaine had disappeared completely. There was a glimmer to Michael’s eyes that James had never seen before and he was beginning to understand just who this man used to be.

“And if I still refuse?” Michael inquired, knowing what the answer would be.

In response, James leaned over to his attaché case again and pulled out another photo to hand to Michael. Taking the photo, Michael was presented with a picture of Adam walking across the campus at Cornell. While his heart was pounding inside his chest at the sudden turn of events, he revealed none of this turmoil to the man across from him, handing the photo back with an air of indifference. Then he spoke.

“Victoria and I will be going to Washington, D.C. at the end of the week to attend the holiday events with her parents. After that is Christmas and New Year’s and Adam will be coming home for the holidays. Give me until after the holidays and I will get to work on the fund.”

“Excellent,” James replied, pleased. “That should work perfectly. I knew you were a reasonable man Alan,” he answered, willing to pretend again now that he had his desired outcome.

Rising from his chair James picked up his attaché case and said, “Pleasure to see you as always Alan. Have a lovely time in Washington and please give my love to Victoria.”

When Michael gave no response or made no move to get up, James amusedly commented, “No need to get up Alan. I can show myself out.” Then left.

Michael remained seated at his desk for a long while afterwards, contemplating how to handle the shocking turn of events.

TEN

Andrea stood patiently at Van Access, waiting for Jasmine and her team to arrive. They had sent word a few hours ago that the target was acquired and were returning to Section. Carlos, her head of Comm., had alerted Andrea a few minutes earlier that the team was approaching and so she had decided to do a quick debrief upon their arrival. Just then the door to Van Access could be heard unlocking and the giant metal door swung open. Jasmine, still dressed in a slinky black cocktail dress and stiletto heals, stepped through the doorway, her team following behind with two members escorting a blindfolded Pierre Chappell between them.

“Take him to containment,” Andrea ordered of the two operatives on guard duty.

Turning to Jasmine, who waited on the opposite side of the Van Access door, Andrea inquired, “How did it go?”

“Exactly on profile. There were no problems.”

“Do you think he’ll cooperate?”

“Yes, I think so. Mr. Chappell is prone to looking out for himself.”

“Good,” Andrea replied, “Update me as soon as you are finished interrogating him.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jasmine responded and then headed down the corridor to return her weapons and Comm. unit to Darwin.

###

Now clothed in a black pants suit with a white blouse underneath, Jasmine exited the White Room, video disk of Pierre Chappell’s interrogation in hand, and made her way through the hallowed halls of Section towards Comm. Entering into the heart of the organization’s command center, she made her way over to the head of Comm., Carlos Jimenez.

“How’d it go?” Carlos asked, not even bothering to look up to see whom he was talking to, just guessing from the sound of Jasmine’s heals.

“Fine. We got a name.”

“Yeah? Who?” Carlos inquired curiously.

“Alan Guylaine. Ferguson plans on using a Venture Capital fund Guylaine’s firm is putting together as the final step in laundering Black Storm’s money.”

Handing Carlos the disk in her hand, she added, “Make this your top priority and get me whatever info you dig up as soon as you have it.”

“No prob, Jaz,” Carlos teased, tossing a wink back at her.

Jasmine just sighed slightly and shook her head at his words. She then stepped off the dais and walked over to her office.

###

Distracted by a knock on her office door, Jasmine looked up to see Carlos enter with a DVD in hand.

“You got something?” she asked.

“Yeah. Here’s all the Intel we have on Guylaine. Something seems weird though.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” Carlos replied, crossing over to hand her the disc. “There’s just something off about this guy. If I figure it out I’ll let you know.”

“Ok thanks,” Jasmine said.

Nodding his head in response, Carlos then turned around and exited the office.

Jasmine popped the disc into the drive and began reviewing the data Carlos had collected for her. Reading through it all she got a sense of what Carlos had been talking about, but she could not put her finger on the problem either. According to the data Alan Guylaine’s firm Freedom Ventures, L.L.C. was smaller than the firms Ferguson typically worked with and the project almost seemed out of the their league. The fact that Guylaine and Ferguson were social acquaintances might have accounted for why Ferguson planned on approaching Guylaine, but even then the two men only knew each other through a friend of a friend.

Scrolling through the rest of the Intel Jasmine took a moment to scrutinize the photo of Alan Guylaine. Like a sucker punch to the stomach it suddenly hit Jasmine just why both she and Carlos had a ‘funny’ feeling about Alan Guylaine. Before she had time to process the information though Darwin entered her office without forewarning and plopped down in the chair in front of her desk.

Without preamble he said, “So listen, what are you doing later? ‘Cause I’m starving and there’s this great new….” He trailed off at the look on Jasmine’s face. Then asked, “Who died?”

“No one. Yet,” she added.

Confused, he replied, “What?”

“Just come here and look at this photo. Tell me what you see.”

Now even more thoroughly confused by his friend, Darwin rose from the chair and crossed around the desk to fulfill Jasmine’s request. Glancing down at the photo for a few moments he responded, “I don’t see anything but some businessman.”

“Take a look again,” she prodded.

Sighing, Darwin followed Jasmine’s instructions and took a second look at the photo this time giving it his full attention. When Darwin’s eyes widened slightly Jasmine knew he saw in the photo what she had seen moments earlier.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Jasmine inquired.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Wouldn’t know it if you didn’t know him really well before the changes, but that’s him.”

He then leaned against the edge of the desk and asked his friend, “So…what are you gonna do about it?”

“The only thing I can,” Jasmine ambiguously responded as she rose from her desk and popped the DVD out of the drive, “Take it to Operations.”

On those words she exited her office to head for the Perch, leaving Darwin to wonder how the situation was going to play out.

ELEVEN

An elite group of people had gathered in Nikita’s office at Center. Less than twenty-four hours ago Andrea had come to her with the information on Michael and his involvement with a Section target, and since then Nikita had been methodically putting a team together to deal with the situation. Outside of Andrea, the only other people to know about the situation, and now Michael’s new identity, were sitting in this room. The team consisted of Jasmine and Darwin from Section, Kate Quinn from Oversight, Jason Crawford, Michelle and herself from Center. Nikita handpicked the team personally because she knew these were all people she (and by extension Michael) could trust.

“Alright,” Nikita said to the group, “What have we got?”

Sitting a couple of seats to Nikita’s left at the table in her office, Jason spoke first. “From a CCTV camera in the hallway outside Michael’s office and from our satellite tracking in that quadrant we were able to pull up video feed on his meetings with Ferguson. Because we don’t have sound from either feedback we had to use a lip-reading program to piece together their conversations. What we learned is Ferguson knew Stefan Vachek and through an old employee of Vachek’s he uncovered Michael’s identity. Now, under the threat of Adam’s life, Ferguson wants to use Michael’s firm to launder money for Black Storm.”

“How severely has his cover been compromised?” Nikita asked.

“From what we can tell only Ferguson is aware of the truth, and he seems to be keeping it to himself,” Kate answered.

“How certain are we of this?”

“95% certainty,” Kate replied, “It’s in his best interest to keep the information to himself, for the time being at least.”

“So what’s our profile?”

Taking her turn to field one of Nikita’s questions, Jasmine explained, “Ferguson’s extremely well connected, financially and politically. It’s how he’s managed to stay under our radar for so long and why he’s been able to avoid greater scandal for past misdeeds. If we can obtain a copy of his files, which contain his lists of both terrorist and money laundering associates as well as records of his various transactions then we’ve got him. The only problem is he changes the pass code every two days as well as the location of the files. That information is stored on his PDA and that’s what we need to get to.”

At Jasmine’s lengthy pause in her explanation Nikita pointedly observed the group around her and then inquired in a suspicious tone of voice, “How do we do that?”

No one spoke up immediately and so, making an educated guess, she answered her own question. “Michael.”

“Yes,” Jasmine confirmed, “Michael already has access to Ferguson and the necessary training. Plus, Ferguson seems to be fairly confident that Michael will not try to seek help, fearing too much for Adam’s life.”

“Why can’t we obtain the PDA ourselves?” Nikita asked.

“Because Ferguson has installed a failsafe on his system,” Jasmine replied, “If anything happens to Ferguson or his PDA, his employees will automatically enact the self-destruct mechanism on his files. By using Michael we can safely obtain the information of his PDA without Ferguson’s knowledge, giving us time to access his files.”

“The only thing we’re uncertain of,” Jason continued, “Is the approach.”

“What’s Michael schedule?” Nikita questioned.

“He leaves for DC tomorrow to attend a variety of functions with Victoria and her parents,” Kate replied.

“Fine. Send me the necessary details and I’ll make the approach personally.”

Having remained quiet the entire briefing, Michelle finally spoke up and questioned, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s the only way. Already being in D.C., I’ll have free access to him, as we’ll most likely be attending some of the same events. Also, this way we shouldn’t tip off Ferguson,” she responded.

“Of course,” her sister concurred.

“If there’s nothing further?” Nikita inquired of the group. Receiving nods of agreement she continued, “Then we’ll conclude the briefing.”

As everyone rose, she quickly added, “And I would just like to say thank you to all of you. I know this goes above the call of duty…”

Before Nikita could say anything further, Jasmine interrupted and spoke for all of them when she stated, “There’s no need to thank us. It’s not anything you haven’t done for all of us in the past.”

Seeing their agreement with Jasmine in the eyes around her, Nikita graciously tilted her head in thanks and smiled warmly at the people who were not merely her subordinates, but who were her closest friends as well. The group then rose from their seats and exited Nikita’s office, all except Nikita and Michelle. The two sisters, seated at opposite ends of the table, just sat in silence as the group dissipated, observing one another closely.

When the door slid close behind the last person, Nikita said, “It’s going to be fine Michelle.”

“Did I say anything?” Michelle asked in a false tone of innocence.

“You didn’t have to. The look said it all.”

“I have no idea what you mean dear sister,” she teased.

“Sure,” Nikita said disbelievingly. Then switching to a more serious tone she added, “What would you have me do?”

Sighing wearily, Michelle replied, “I know. I just don’t want to see you hurt any more and I know, no matter how much you may deny it, that seeing Michael, let alone seeing Michael with Victoria, is going to be painful.”

Nikita closed her eyes at her sister’s words and leaned back in her chair, tiredly commenting, “Yeah, it will. But I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. It would kill me more if anything happened to him or Adam. Or even Victoria.”

“I know,” her sister responded tenderly, saddened by Nikita’s resignation towards the situation, but proud of her strength to see it through.

TWELVE

The elite of Washington, D.C. and various distinguished international guests swirled throughout the multiple rooms of the historic Meridian House, a perfect example of urban French architecture located in the heart of D.C. An elegant home graced with stunning architecture and classical décor the Meridian House was an ideal location for a small-scale gathering. The beautiful entranceway opened up into an elegant two-story foyer complete with a curving double staircase encircled by a wrought iron banister leading to the classically decorated reception gallery embellished with such features as Waterford crystal torches, blue Chinese temple vases and marble flooring. Gathered in the three individually designed rooms branching off the reception gallery the attendees mixed and mingled with one another while slipping in and out of the Loggia, located at the far end of the gallery, for food and drink. Sponsored by well-to-do French businessman and his wife, the reception was an intimate gathering of close friends and contacts and political mucky-mucks.

Michael and Victoria slowly danced their way through the crowd of guests as they made their way back from the Loggia to her parents waiting in the reception gallery. Each with a glass of Champaign in hand the two lovers carefully weaved their way through the crowd ever attentive so as to not spill a drop on the elegant ball gowns billowing by or the pressed tuxes passing through. Reaching the safety of Victoria’s parent’s location off to the side in the gallery, Michael hand Victoria’s mother Maria Elena her glass while Victoria did the same for her father Fernando.

As the invitation called for black tie both men were handsomely dressed in a traditional tux with black bowtie and cummerbund. Victoria wore a strapless fitted floor length gown of richly red silk organza with soutache embroidering and a matching organza shawl draped across her arms and back. The ensemble was accentuated by matching red satin heels with delicate ankle straps and a diamond and ruby choker, bracelet and earrings set. While her mother, whom Victoria resembled greatly, wore a matching two-piece A-line skirt and square neck sleeveless top in midnight blue satin and matching heels paired with a double strand pearl necklace and pearl earrings. Both women looked incredibly beautiful in their formal attire.

“So Alan,” Maria commented, “Tell me how my beautiful Adán is doing?” using the Spanish pronunciation of Adam’s name.

Smiling proudly, Michael replied, “Very well Maria. He’s finishing up next week with finals and I’ve been told he should be receiving all A’s and A minuses.”

“Good for him. But then I wouldn’t expect any less from your son my dear,” she stated, then asked, “And how is his music going?”

“Very well also. He and a few friends managed to form jazz band and even played a few performances on and off campus. He’s also serving as an accompanist for a voice major.”

“Oh I’m glad to hear that. After all those years of piano lessons I would hate for him to lose his skill.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that. Adam loves playing the piano too much.”

“Mamá,” Victoria interrupted for a moment, “Isn’t that Madame Dupres over by the dinning room entrance?”

“Si, mi hija. Pienso que eres correcto. Perdóneme, por favor. Necesito hablar con ella,” her mother replied.

The threesome watch Maria Elena maneuver her way across the reception gallery to an elegant white woman in her late sixties dressed in a pale pewter satin knee length skirt and fitted jacket. Turning his attention back to his daughter and her companion, Victoria’s father, a distinguished man in his late sixties with rich brown hair and matching eyes, a prominent nose and weathered complexion, inquired, “So what do you two have planned for tomorrow?”

“I’m having lunch with Sophia at the Ritz in Georgetown then we’re planning to do some shopping afterwards,” Victoria responded first, referring to an old college friend of hers who lived in Washington.

“A girls’ day out then,” her father commented.

“Exactly.”

“And you Alan?”

“I was planning on spending the day at the various galleries of the Smithsonian. I read that the Asian art gallery has an incredible exhibit on Chinese jade.”

“No International Spy Museum for you then,” Victoria teased. At her father’s perplexed look, she explained, “Alan bought a pair of sunglasses this summer and Adam said he looked like a spy in them. To quote, I believe the way Adam phrased it was, ‘Dad you look like a slick spy daddy.’ So I told Alan while we’re here he should wear his glasses to the museum and to see if he could stir-up the tourists’ curiosity.”

Amused by her recollection, both Michael and Fernando laughed at Victoria’s impression of Adam and his teenage vernacular. Then Michael replied, with just a secretive hint of irony, “No. I think I will leave the spy games to the professionals.”

“And you Papá?” Victoria returned, inquiring of her father’s own plans.

“I have several appointments to attend before the gala at the French Embassy tomorrow night. Nothing exciting,” he answered.

Victoria’s father was a prominent figure in the Ministry of Defense in the Argentine government, serving directly under the minister and therefore was required to not only be social during the Washington holiday season, but to work as well.

“I’m afraid there’s no rest for the weary,” he bemoaned.

“Oh…pobrecito,” Victoria sympathized. “Is the life of a politician with all these fancy parties and being surrounded by good food and beautiful women too much for you Papá?” she joshed.

“Yes, but it’s a burden I am willing to put up with hija,” her father replied, winking at his daughter in fun.

Michael laughed as father and daughter played off one another, enjoying the evening with his adoptive family in the peace of the holiday season. Turning his gaze out across the gallery, Michael lifted the Champaign flute to his lips and took a sip of the crisp, dry liquid as he observed the scene before him.

With his focus elsewhere, he failed to notice the entrance of a certain man and woman as they stepped out onto the foyer balcony. He did, however, pick up on a slight hush that had swiftly fallen over the crowd milling around the reception gallery, and in the shifting mood Michael felt a slow, familiar tingle of awareness form at the base of his neck.

Just then Victoria’s mother returned to their side and inquired, “Who’s the young woman with Jonathan?”

With his body in a sudden state of hyper-awareness, Michael did not need any verbal confirmation to tell him the answer to Maria Elena’s question or why the attention of most of the people in the gallery was rapidly being drawn to the top of the staircase. He knew intrinsically.

“Her name is Nikita, querida,” Fernando confirmed. Then answering his wife unspoken question about Nikita and Jonathan’s relationship, he added, “she’s only a colleague dear…not his date.”

“M’m-h’m,” was all Maria Elena murmured in response.

Only half aware of the dialogue occurring beside him, Michael slowly turned to catch Nikita standing at the top of the split staircase, escorted by an older gentleman in his early sixties with thick, salt and pepper hair and a tall, slender build. Vaguely, he heard Victoria comment, “She’s quite beautiful. How do you know her Papá?”

“I met her earlier in the week at one of the many luncheon’s I attended. We were seated at the same table. Charming young woman. Extremely intelligent,” her father informed his companions.

“You certainly sound smitten Fernando,” his wife kidded.

“Oh stop. She’s young enough to be my other daughter,” he affectionately retorted.

While Victoria and Maria laughed at Fernando’s reply, Michael continued to be enraptured by Nikita, who was now gliding down the staircase with Jonathan and continually drawing the attention of the other guests in the gallery. His eyes hungrily absorbed everything about her from the darker color of her hair to the more poised manner in which she now carried herself. She was a vision of classic beauty juxtaposed with a sensuality that was still all her own.

Sheathed in a stunning silvery creation of shell taffeta with a fitted bodice, spaghetti thin straps and a floor length skirt that tapered out slightly, she seemed to shimmer. As she and her companion stepped off the stairs and into the reception gallery, an attractive Asian couple greeted them and they stopped to chat for a few moments, causing Nikita to turn her back out towards the gallery. Her position revealed that the back of the dress was even more beautiful than the front. Exposing a generous amount of skin, the backless dress had a gathered form fitting train attached at the small of the back, adding a touch of regal charm to the ensemble. Complimented by hair pinned up in a French twist and a four strand black pearl choker clasped around her slim neck matched by a four strand black pearl bracelet and stud earrings, the effect was stunning.

She left him breathless…and utterly defenseless.

In that moment, Michael had never seen Nikita appear more magnificent. While she had been beautiful the last time he had seen her, tonight she was exquisite. The room was hers to command, and he could easily understand how her presence had captured the attention of every man and woman in gallery. Gradually, however, the interest of the guest returned to other things as the party chatter picked up again, and the attendees began moving freely about once more. All except Michael. Paralyzed by the shock of her presence, he could not draw himself away, his eyes following her every movement. Her sudden and unexpected presence had shaken him to the core, leaving him to furtively grab for solid ground as he tried to process the rapid turn of events. He was not, however, alone in his awareness or instability.

From the moment she had stepped out onto the balcony of the foyer, Nikita had intuitively sought out Michael. Even with his altered appearance of dark blond hair and brown eyes, he looked amazing, elegant and distinguished in his formal wear. Ever mindful of the multiple roles she had to play though, she never faltered in giving any indication that she was aware of his presence. Charming and chattering her way through the various diplomats, politicians, business people and socialites she and Jonathan encountered along their path, Nikita performed flawlessly as an enchanting companion and dutiful agency head. Only her interminable sense of willpower kept her vacillating emotions in check. Nonetheless, the time came when she and Jonathan circled their way around the room to the foursome chatting on the other side and Nikita and Michael finally came face-to-face for the first time in over twelve years.

“Jonathan, good to see you here tonight,” Fernando saluted amiably.

Extending his hand in greeting to Fernando, Jonathan Hudson, one of the five members who served on the committee that oversaw C.I.I., returned, “Always a pleasure mi amigo. ¿Como estás?”

“Bien, bien. Gracias. ¿Y tú?”

“¡Fabuloso! Como siempre,” a jovial Jonathan responded.

“And Ms. Jones, how are you this evening?” Fernando inquired of Nikita who stood to Jonathan’s right.

“Very well thank you, Señor Donatello,” Nikita cordially replied.

“Please, Fernando.”

“Fernando then,” she accepted graciously.

Angling his body towards the three people to his left, Fernando said, “Please allow me to introduce my family. My wife Maria Elena, whom you know Jonathan.”

Jonathan smiled and then stepped in as he and Maria Elena exchanged quick kisses on the cheeks. “Of course,” he responded, “A pleasure, as always, to see you Maria.”

“And you as well Jonathan. The European air is certainly agreeing with you. You look very well.”

“And you my dear are a beautiful sight as always,” he charmingly returned, bringing a soft smile to Maria’s face.

When they finished, Nikita, grinning from the exchange, offered her hand in greeting and commented, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Señora. Your husband spoke so warmly of you the other day at lunch.”

Giving her husband a slightly raised eyebrow in disbelief, Maria Elena warmly shook Nikita’s hand and replied, “I would hope for his sake that most of what he said was true.”

The small group laughed at Maria Elena’s teasing comment while Fernando gave his wife a loving squeeze and said, “Claro que si, querida.”

Then continuing on Fernando introduced Victoria and Michael. “Jonathan, Nikita, this is my daughter Victoria and her novio Alan Guylaine.”

Victoria released an exasperated sigh at her father’s use of the word ‘novio’ and exclaimed, “Papá!”

“What?” her father declared in false innocence. Her mother just laughed at the argument between father and daughter, electing to remain neutral.

Shaking her head at her father, Victoria chose to ignore him and returned, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hudson. My father speaks highly of you.”

“And you as well, my dear. Nice to finally put a face with the name.”

“Absolutely,” Victoria agreed and then she said to Nikita, “It’s nice to meet you as well Ms. Jones. I have to confess - my father was quite taken with you the other day,” and then turning to wink at her father.

Now it was Fernando’s turn to be slightly embarrassed, but Nikita treated Victoria’s confession with aplomb and commented, “Well the feeling is mutual. And please, call me Nikita.”

Victoria smiled at Nikita’s request and then turned to the man at her side, commenting, “As my father so delicately mentioned earlier this is my partner, Alan Guylaine.”

“Alan,” Jonathan stated, extending his hand in greeting, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Michael responded, shaking the older man’s hand.

Then, Michael turned his gaze on Nikita and for the briefest moment the world paused around them, a crackle of energy passing between them before Nikita broke the spell by extending her hand in greeting. “Mr. Guylaine, a pleasure,” she murmured.

“Please, Alan,” Michael returned and then added, as he took her hand firmly in his, heat radiating between them at the contact, “Same here.”

In return, Nikita graced Michael with a genial smile and a secretive glimmer in her eyes.

Unaware of exchange taking place in front of her, Victoria pleasantly announced, “There is a rumor going around this gathering that there’s a lovely quartet out in the garden with a tent and dance floor set up for dancing. What do you say we head out there to see if the rumor is true?”

“Excellent suggestion Victoria,” her father declared, taking his wife’s hand in his and leading her out towards the garden.

Following suit, Michael guided Victoria out of the house behind her parents with Nikita and Jonathan a few steps behind. Outside, the three couples discovered a large white tent set-up in the center of garden heated by several standing heat lamps spread throughout the space. A small band towards the back of the tent played a variety of musical genres as practiced couples moved around the wooden dance floor. As they exited the house the three couple were separated from one another as each of them found their own space on the floor to dance.

###

Several hours passed as the party continued on with guests dropping in and out throughout the night as the party was only one of many most people had to attend that evening. For Nikita and Jonathan the gathering happened to be their final event for the night, which granted them the pleasure of being able to stay and just enjoy the festivities. However, exhausted from an already hectic week, Nikita had excused herself from Jonathan’s side for a moment and ventured off to find a place to rest for a little while.

Wandering back outside to the dance floor, she stood serenely off to the side, watching the remaining couples sway in time to a lyrical melody the band played. Caught up in the sights and sounds around her, she was startled when a warm hand appeared at the small of her back. Assuming Jonathan had decided to join her, she turned to grace him with a soft smile and josh him about abandoning his duties, but the words caught in her throat when she discovered that Michael, not Jonathan stood next to her.

For several heartbeats nothing happened. Neither spoke nor moved, only staring at one another, the hand on her back remaining steady. Then, tenderly, Michael whispered, in a thick voice, “Care to dance?”

Merely able to nod her head in mute acceptance, Nikita placed her right hand in his left and the two crossed over to the dance floor. Effortlessly their bodies slid together, their collective memory taking control as Michael wrapped his right arm around her waist and placed her right hand in his left. They swayed in time to the music, eyes focused solely on one another.

Content to exist in the moment, the two former lovers wordlessly moved about the dance space. All around them couples swirled continuously across the floor as the band played song after song, but neither paid the other people nor the music much heed. Sometime later, lifting her left hand from its place on his right should, Nikita briefly drew the palm of her hand down his check and whispered, “Hello Michael.”

Pulling her body closer to his and waltzing them back towards the far end of the tent, further out of sight, he murmured, “Nikita.”

There was so much more for them both to say, but in some ways words were completely unnecessary. Because, after all this time and all that had passed between them, where could they even begin? Instead, for just those moments, reality folded back on itself and there was no past, present or future. They were just a man and a woman dancing.

Loathed to destroy the fantasy they had cloaked themselves in, Nikita knew she needed to speak with Michael about the Ferguson situation before she lost her opportunity to do so. Gently, she pulled her head back so she could look him in the eyes.

Softly she stated, “I know about Ferguson, Michael. I’m here to help you.”

His first instinct was to pull away from her, but Nikita had been expecting such a reaction and held him steady in her arms. Once he relaxed a bit, she loosened her grip on him slightly, watching a thousand emotions flash through his eyes until he settled on acceptance.

Having gained that from him, Nikita continued, informing him, “Adam’s going to be alright. I have a team on him twenty-four/seven. I swear to you he’ll be kept safe.”

Never doubting her sincerity or her pledge for a moment, Michael could not be completely reassured as he was only too aware of the complications that could arise. Without exchanging a word though, Nikita was conscientious of these worries and tried to allay them.

“We’re going to get you out of this Michael. You’re not alone,” she emphasized. Whisperingly she commented, almost as an afterthought, “You never have been.”

“I know,” he breathed in a hushed tone, having caught her last words. At the soft expression on her face that his words had invoked, Michael unconsciously reached out with his left hand and traced his thumb across her eyebrow and down the side of her face in comfort, as he used to do so long ago.

Closing her eyes for a fleeting moment, she took great pleasure in the familiar gesture, but needing to bring them back to the present, she inquired, “Can you get away tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I had plans to spend the day at the Smithsonian art galleries.”

“Keep them,” she ordered, “I’ll find you.”

“Alright.”

Another song was finally coming to an end and so Nikita began to pull away, intending to return to the party, fearing she had been gone too long as it was. However, Michael had other ideas and kept his arm tight around her waist. At the questioning expression on her face Michael replied, “One more dance.”

Nikita complied with pleasure.

THIRTEEN

By the time Nikita caught up with Michael the next afternoon she had located him at the Vietnam Memorial. Earlier, he had found himself merely wandering through the Asian art galleries of the Smithsonian, his mind too preoccupied with the events of the previous evening and had ended up deciding to forgo the rest of his museum visits. Instead, he strolled the area around the Mall for most of the day, finally ending up at the memorial.

He stood about halfway down the right hand side of the wall wearing a pair of Khaki pants, light brown suede loafers and a heavy, full-length winter coat. Around him a handful of other visitors milled about the memorial, some looking for a specific name while others merely stood back and absorbed the impact of the wall and its powerful message. As always, a somber hush filled the air as those who approached respectfully sensed the solemnity of the memorial, invoking a need for silent contemplation.

Quietly making her way down the slanted pathway in front of the site, Nikita stopped next to Michael and laid a bouquet of lavender heather at the base of a row of names. She then reached out and ran a finger gently over one name in particular. Speaking mostly to herself, Nikita distractedly commented, “I haven’t been here in awhile.”

“Did you used to come often?” Michael asked softly, still staring at the name Nikita had just touched.

“Years ago I would come every time I was in DC.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve forgotten that I still need to be reminded.”

Michael made no comment, but he understood what Nikita was saying. Idly, she added, “I’ve never visited him at Arlington though.”

Curiosity peaked by her last comment Michael turned towards her and inquired, “Why not?”

Dragging her eyes away from the memorial, she looked back at Michael and answered, “Because I come to remember Paul Wolfe. Not Operations. The man buried in Arlington is someone once called Operations. The name on this wall is for Paul Wolfe. Operations allowed his hunger for power to corrupt him to the point of paranoia. I can learn from him, but I have no desire to pay my respects to him. Paul Wolfe, on the other hand, never allowed the men in his platoon to cave in while hostages in a POW camp. Paul Wolfe gave his life for the life of an innocent little boy. That man deserves our respect.”

“Yes he does,” Michael soberly agreed.

Giving the man in question’s name one last look, Nikita slipped her arm through Michael’s and led him out of the memorial’s valley and up towards the surrounding area. She guided them towards the Lincoln Memorial where a larger crowd had gathered due to a recent tour bus’ arrival, helping them to blend in better. To a casual observer, Michael and Nikita looked like any ordinary couple playing tourist for the day, affectionately walking arm-in-arm around D.C.

As they climbed the steps of the memorial, Michael started to say, “About last night….”

“It’s okay,” Nikita interrupted, keeping her voice casual, but not looking him in the eyes as she added, “Nothing’s changed. I know.”

He halted at her words, almost causing Nikita to trip and lose her balance. When she finally faced him and he had her full attention he stated, a touch of irony tingeing his voice, “No, actually,” pausing, “…I think nothing’s the same.”

Nikita’s throat tightened momentarily at his words, overwhelmed by their potential meaning. She simply nodded her head in response, willing her emotions under control before speaking. When she had gained a modicum of equilibrium she wryly commented, “It’s never very simple for us, is it?”

Chuckling lightly, he replied, “No. No it’s not.” Placing a hand on her arm he added, sincerely, “I’m sorry,” referring to more than his spontaneous actions of the previous evening.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I understood. I always have,” Nikita declared, copying his gesture by placing her own hand on his shoulder.

Michael wondered anew at what he had ever done to deserve someone like Nikita in his life. Her ability to forgive and to understand never ceased to amaze him, even after all these years. She was truly a remarkable human being and he was beginning to recall just how lucky he was to be loved by her. Taking her hand in his Michael continued on, leading them up the steps of the memorial.

Changing the topic of conversation to the reason for their meeting today, he inquired. “How did you find out about Ferguson?

“Good timing,” she answered truthfully, “His name came up on a contact list a team at One acquired while raiding a Black Storm base in Khartoum. From there we pieced together the puzzle.”

“Luck, huh,” Michael commented amusedly.

“Yeah,” Nikita chuckled, “Basically. Although I’m sure I would’ve figured something out sooner or later.”

“From surveillance,” he surmised.

“Yes,” she confirmed. Then glancing at him, Nikita added, “You know it’s only….”

Cutting her off, Michael responded, “I know. You’re only watching out for us. It’s okay.”

She nodded her head in acceptance of his understanding, realizing she should have expected nothing less from him.

“So,” he questioned, “What happens next?”

Pausing in their stroll to appear as if they were admiring the sculpture of Abraham Lincoln, Nikita returned, “Where did you leave things with Ferguson?”

“I told him to give me until after the holidays to begin putting something together.”

“Do you think he’d get suspicious if you were ahead of schedule?”

“Most likely.”

“Ok,” Nikita replied. Taking a moment to process this information, she then asked, “Can you hold out that long?”

“If necessary yes. I take it I’m needed to achieve closure.”

“Regrettably, yes. Not that I don’t think you still capable,” she assured him, “I would have just preferred to handle this on our own.”

Michael squeezed her hand in response, letting her know he understood.

Relaying her own apology, she said, “Forgive me.”

Brushing a few strands of windblown hair off her face he whispered, “Nothing to forgive.”

“I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place. If I have been more observant…,” she chided herself, trailing off.

“You can’t be everywhere, Ms. Jones,” he replied, emphasizing that he comprehended the weight of her current status after hearing the name Fernando had called her by last night.

Smiling softly she huffed out, “You sound just like Walter.”

“That’s because we’re both smart men.”

At that she laughed out loud. Then, tired of hanging around the memorial and wanting to prolong her time with Michael, Nikita declared, “I’m starving. Do you have time for a late lunch?”

Glancing at his watch he answered, “Yes.”

“Good. I know this fabulous little Italian restaurant just off Dupont Circle. Let’s go catch a cab.”

Completely at Nikita’s mercy, Michael just tagged along as she dragged him to Constitution Ave to grab a taxicab. Hopping in, Nikita gave the driver the address of their destination and the two sat in companionable silence for the ride. Approximately ten minutes later the cab dropped them off at the restaurant and the two hurried inside the warm entranceway. Few people filled the place, as it was a little late for lunch and too early for dinner. The very Italian maitre d’ seated them in an intimate corner in the back, romantically believing they were simply two lovers escaping the chilly afternoon.

Shedding their outer layers, Michael and Nikita sat down at the table and turned to their menus. While they looked over the delicious sounding entrees, one of the all male servers brought over two glasses of ice water and a basket of hot, fresh Italian bread and an extra bread plate. After he had placed the items on the table, the server picked up the bottle of extra virgin olive oil sitting on the table and poured some onto the extra bread plate and then spooned a bit of Parmesan cheese on top of the oil. Stepping away briefly, he returned to grind a bit of fresh pepper on top as well.

Finished, he looked to Michael and Nikita and inquired, “Something to drink. Perhaps a bottle of Chianti?”

“Should we get a bottle?” Nikita asked Michael.

“Yes.”

“A bottle of your house Chianti then, please,” Nikita informed the waiter.

“Excellent choice, Signora,” he replied and then left to fulfill their request.

Moments later he returned with the bottle, which he opened in front of them, and poured a small amount into Nikita’s glass for her to taste. When she approved of the bottle, the waiter then filled her glass and Michael’s. Placing the bottle on the table when he was finished, he then inquired if they were ready to order. Both Michael and Nikita replied in the affirmative and recited their choices. Order in hand, the waiter gathered the menus from them and returned to the kitchen.

Distractedly running her finger around the rim of her wine glass, Nikita commented, her voice deceptively serene, “Thank you for having lunch with me.”

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t have?” Michael countered, curious as to Nikita’s train of thought.

“Probably not the best idea,” pausing, “Complicates things…further.”

“Probably,” he agreed casually, “But we have a habit of doing things our own way.”

Taking a sip of her wine first, she replied, in a tone touched with a bit of sardonic amusement, “Yes…that’s true.”

“But if this is…,” he offered.

“No,” she sighed, lowering her head to her chest and closing her eyes for a moment, somewhat annoyed at herself for even opening this particular door. Then, looking back at him, she confessed, unconvincingly, “No. I can handle it.”

“Nikita,” he breathed tenderly, closing his own eyes at the resignation in her voice and reproaching himself for causing her any further pain.

“I know,” she returned, her quiet voice laced with understanding and a tinge of regret, for which he had no response.

While they both might have known that this time together was not the best idea, neither were willing to do the acceptable thing and leave. So instead of dwelling on the “should’s” and “should not’s,” Nikita returned to the reason for their meeting in the first place, the mission.

Picking up where they had left off at the Lincoln Memorial, she stated, “As I mentioned earlier, using you is right now the safest and most effective way to obtain closure. Having to wait at least a month doesn’t sit well with me, but we don’t need to arouse his suspicions either, especially if he is confident that you’re playing along.”

“Yes. He didn’t say anything specifically, but I think he believes that he scared me enough to keep me in line.”

“Good. We need it to remain that way.”

“And the profile?”

“What we’ll need you to do is access his PDA. Every two days he moves his files to a new location and changes their access code. The schedule and the access code are located on the PDA,” she outlined for him.

“And to extract Ferguson and the PDA?”

“Would cause his employees to set the self-destruct mode on the files, leaving us with nothing and putting you and Adam in too much danger.”

The waiter chose that moment to return with their appetizers – an Insalata Caprese for Nikita and a cup of Pasta e Fagioli for Michael – halting all conversation until he departed. As she sliced the fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil into smaller pieces Nikita asked, “What do you think is the safest way for us to keep in contact?”

“Do you know what kind of surveillance he has me under?” Michael countered.

“We’re checking that out now. So I don’t have answer for you yet. My guess would be that his people are checking up on you on a regular basis, but that you aren’t under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

“I agree.”

“Ok, then for now I’ll leave a PDA with you and we can communicate that way. It should be safe.”

“Fine.”

With their official business complete, Nikita turned to more personal matters. “Congratulations by the way,” she commented.

At his raised eyebrow, she elaborated, “On Adam. He’s turned in to an amazing young man. Just like his father. You should be proud.”

“More like his mother,” Michael answered, deflecting her compliment, “But thank you. He is a remarkable kid.”

Smiling softly at the pride evident in Michael’s voice, she added, “Elena would have been proud…of you both.”

Michael said nothing, but the look in his eyes told Nikita that he was grateful for her words. Then it was his turn to offer congratulations.

“I take it from Fernando’s words last night you’re now at Center.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “Six months.”

“Are congratulations in order?” he inquired sensitively.

Nikita smiled widely and chuckled at Michael’s thoughtfulness, replying, “Yes. I suppose they are. It hasn’t been easy and it’s not the life I would’ve chosen for myself, but I’m proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish the last twelve years.”

“I’m glad,” he responded truthfully, if not a little forlornly.

“I made my own choices, Michael,” she countered, hearing the regret in his voice. “Besides, if you take responsibility for my current position, then that means you get all my glory too and I’m not willing to share.”

Her teasing invoked the desired outcome as Michael genuinely laughed at her words and smiled freely at her. The rest of their time together was spent as two old friends catching up. She updated him a little bit on the lives of those he still knew within the organization like Walter, Jason, and Kate, and their charges from Section Eight. She also talked about her relationship with her sister and how they had finally managed to create one. She briefly glossed over some of the information her father had revealed in his letter as well. He talked a great deal about Adam and some about himself. He discussed the hardship of those first couple years, as she could sympathize with what it had been like and in doing so he found some needed release. Both Victoria and Stefan were left out of the conversation as the present and future were ignored for recollections of the past.

The afternoon passed quickly and before either of them realized it several hours had gone by. With both of them having prior obligations for the evening, Nikita signaled their waiter and asked for the check. When the bill was taken care of, Michael rose from his chair to help Nikita put on her coat. Once they were properly re-bundled, the two then exited the restaurant. Outside they paused on the sidewalk, realizing their time together had come to an end.

Making the first move, Michael turned to face Nikita, brushing a leather glove-clad hand across her check, murmuring, “Thank you…for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” she returned lovingly, “For everything.”

Dredging up her seemingly infinite willpower, Nikita walked away first, stepping off the curb to hail a taxi, but not before placing a light kiss on Michael’s check. As she climbed into the back of the waiting cab, he watched until the car disappeared out of sight and then signaled for his own taxi and headed back to his hotel.