"Where's Nikita?" Michael's quiet voice betrayed none of the anger that his face showed.

"She's on assignment," Madeline replied, her face calm, hands folded on the desk.

"I wasn't aware of any assignments." Operations stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

Without turning her gaze away from Michael's, she answered him. "It's a special assignment."

"So special that I didn't hear about it?" countered Ops.

Without missing a beat; "Yes."

"Where is Nikita?" Michael's voice didn't waver in his deliberate pronunciation as his fists clenched in his pockets. "I want to know where she is." Stony silence from Madeline. Michael turned around and pushed through the silent Operations.

Operations stared at Madeline. "I hope this isn't what I think it is." Again, stony silence from Madeline. Only her fingers tightened slightly as they gripped each other, folded on the desk. "Be careful, Madeline." Operations turned and followed Michael out, leaving a silent Madeline still sitting at her desk, hands clenched around each other.

As Michael walked out of the room, he felt his cell phone in the breast pocket of his jacket and he pulled it out. He dialed Nikita's number, his fingers skipping over the digits almost automatically. There was no answer at her home number, and he dialed her cell phone next. She picked it up on the third ring. "Josephine?"

"Michael!" Her voice sounded tinny and surprised over the connection.

"Where are you, Nikita?"

"I can't tell you that, Michael."

"Nikita, you have to tell me."

"I can't." The line clicked, and his cell phone beeped as Nikita hung up the phone. He redialed the number, and this time when she answered, she answered with "Please, Michael... I can't tell you."

"Nikita..."

"Michael, I can't... I have to go now." She paused a moment. "Goodbye." Then she hung up again, and Michael stared at the phone in his hand. *Birkoff.*

* * * * *

Birkoff woke up to a hand roughly shaking him. "What the-"

"Get up." Michael's voice was quiet, but hard. "I want to know where Nikita is."

"Nikita? Haven't seen her."

"She's on a mission for Madeline that even Operations doesn't know about. I want to know where she is." Michael leaned in close to Birkoff, almost nose to nose with him. "Tell me where Nikita is, Birkoff."

Birkoff's breath was coming in little short pants. "I don't know, man! I don't know where she is!"

Walter knocked on Birkoff's door. "Leave the kid alone, Michael."

"He's going to help me find Nikita... aren't you, Birkoff." It wasn't a question.

Birkoff swallowed hard. "Um... yeah, sure, anything you say."

Walter shook his head. "Next time at least let him get dressed before you drag him out of bed." He turned and left the room, and Michael followed him. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know where she is."

"Don't know that." Michael stared silently at him. "What, don't you believe this face?"

"No."

"Even if I did know, you know I can't tell you where she is."

"So you do know."

"Maybe." Walter was walking back to his workspace, and as he saw Michael following him, he grabbed a black notebook off the desk and put it in the top drawer and locked it.

"You keep the records of who takes what where. You know." Michael's fists balled again at his side. "Tell me."

"I might be able to tell you exactly what she's got in that little black suitcase of hers, but you know I can't and won't tell you what the little travel sticker on it says."

"When I find her..."

"Back it up. You can't get mad at Nikita for following orders. You think she really has a choice?" Walter's voice was calm, and he tightened his headband as he spoke.

Michael looked at him quietly. "You're right. I can't blame her for following orders. But I will find her, with, or without your help."

"Without, I should think," replied Walter, and he turned back to the screen he'd been reading.

Michael turned and left Walter in the equipment locker, and went back to the Section's Systems room. Birkoff was there, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and waiting for Michael to show up. "Get ready."

"All right." Birkoff leaned forward, flipping switches with a vengeance. Monitors and consoles whirred to life, rows of lights blinking on and off while they chirped. "Well, we're ready. So how you want to track her down?"

Michael looked up to the clear glass panel in the briefing room, and saw Madeline standing there, staring down at him. He didn't break his gaze with her as he spoke to Birkoff. "I'm going to call her cell phone again. When she picks up, I want you to trace her carrier signal."

"No good... she's using a Section phone, and they're bounced off so many different satellites that there's no way I can trace it back." Birkoff slid off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Even if you keep her on the phone long enough to get a fix on her, there's no way I can triangulate in on her because of all the cell towers." He sighed. "I can tell you probably east coast, west coast, north or south, but that's it."

"Not good enough."

Birkoff groaned under his breath. "I'm not a miracle worker! I can only do so much!"

Michael put his hands flat on the console and leaned in close. "It's not good enough, I want better. Or you'll have to deal with me."

Nobody wanted to deal with an angry Michael. "All right, all right, I'll see what I can do, but don't blame me if you've got a five hundred mile area to search."

"Just do it." Michael took out his phone, and dialed Nikita's number. There was no answer. Five rings, eight rings, ten. Fifteen and still no answer. Michael's hand clutched the phone tightly and Birkoff's hand hovered near the intercom switch. "Touch it and I'll break your fingers," Michael said quietly, and Birkoff's hand moved away from the switch.

"Maybe she's in the shower or something."

Michael shook his head. "No. She's in trouble." He looked up again, but Madeline was gone from the window. "Call Walter in here."

Birkoff reached over, and paged Walter. Soon, the aging hippie walked through the door, and over to Birkoff's console. "What's up?" Birkoff nodded, and Walter saw Michael brooding in the corner. "Nikita?"

Birkoff nodded. "She's not answering her phone and he says she's in trouble."

"Considering she's got no backup, yeah, that'd be a damn good guess. Hold on." Walter walked over to Michael. "You called?"

"Yes. Nikita isn't answering her phone. She's in trouble. Tell me where she is."

"I can't tell you where she is. But, I can give you this." He handed Michael the black notebook that he'd locked away earlier. "Let me know when you find Nikita." Walter looked up at the empty glass office. "Take care of my girl." Michael and Walter locked gazes for a second, and Michael gave a fraction of a nod as he sat down at the console beside Birkoff as he began to pour over the notebook filled with Walter's meticulous handwriting.

Walther P57k with bottleneck silencer. Snubnose .357 with ankle holster. Two sets, high frequency earpiece transmitters. Starlight vision goggles with audio enhancer. Two-inch butane torch. Penlight. HK modified automatic assault rifle. Flak jacket plus body armor setup. Tranquilizer ring, powdered sedative under hinged stone. Locator pendant inside silver locket. Pneumatic grapple gun. Rappelling harness with side grapples. Two bags of chalk/rosin composite.

The rest of the items on the list were minor, but it was the last three that caught his attention. Pneumatic grapple gun, rappelling harness, hand dusting chalk. Birkoff was reading over his shoulder. "Looks like she's going free climbing. Look, the chalk, the harness." Then he pointed to something further down on the list. "See, look there. High altitude depressurizer. That stuff is supposed to keep your ears popping when you're up high."

Michael just stared over his shoulder at Birkoff until he backed off. "How would you know anything about climbing?"

"Virtual games, man. put on the gloves and it's just like feeling the rock under your hands and the harness around your waist..." Birkoff trailed off as he noticed Michael staring at him.

"Climbing... where would she be climbing?"

Birkoff risked saying one more thing. "With that kind of equipment? Any mountain she wants to."

* * * * *

"He will come."

"I think not, my dear. All your hardware is gone, you are alone here... no one knows where you are."

"He always comes."

* * * * *

Michael very discreetly made copies of the lists that Walter had given him, and returned the notebook with a tacit nod from the older man. Folding the lists in half, and then on themselves again, Michael tucked the lists into his overcoat and slipped into the elevator, and out onto the street. He looked around the lot, and quickly climbed into the driver's side of the Porsche. He slowly let the clutch out, and then slammed the car into gear. The back wheels spun and lay two stripes of rubber on the pavement as he peeled out onto the highway.

His black-gloved hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and his body automatically piloted the car as his mind whirled with possibilities, worrying for Nikita. When he looked up, he wasn't surprised to find himself in front of Nikita's apartment building.

He got out of the car, and climbed the steps to Nikita's apartment. He knocked on the door, knowing he would get no answer. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the copy of her apartment key. There was a soft click as he slipped it in, and as he pushed it in and rattled it, opening the apartment. Then he heard a throat clearing behind him. He turned and found a woman staring at him. Nikita's friend.

"She's not home."

"I know," Michael said, forcing a slight smile. "She's, um. she's on vacation, and she asked me to feed her cat."

"Oh. Okay." She shifted her weight. "My name's Carla."

"I'm Michael, Nikita's cousin."

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you and all. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow when you come back."

"Maybe." Michael's smile held in place until Carla disappeared around the corner, and then it fell as he opened the knob and entered the apartment. "Nikita?" There was no answer except for the meowing of the cat. Idly he bent and petted the animal, carrying it to the kitchen and to its feeding dish. He added water to the bowl, and then took a deep breath. Nikita's scent still permeated the room, and he walked out of the kitchen to the sofa. He sat down on the sofa, trying to think. The line of sunglasses caught the sunlight, and as it reflected, Michael caught sight of a thin parcel sitting on the floor. He'd stepped right over it as he'd walked in the door, and he picked it up.

Turning it over, he caught his breath in his throat. It was addressed to Madeline, but in Nikita's handwriting. *An overnight express letter.* He searched the letter, and found a postmark in the corner, a postmark from Prince George, British Columbia. He ripped open the letter, and pulled out the handwritten sheet. Four words. *No word yet. Nikita.*

Michael crumpled the sheet into a ball and threw it to the floor. He picked up Nikita's phone and made a quick phone call. "Walter."

"Michael."

"I found Nikita, I know where she is. I am going after her." He paused meaningfully, and Walter came through.

"Swing by here on your way, I think I've got something for you." Michael hung up the phone without a word and picked up the wadded paper from the floor. Carefully, he locked the door on his way out.

When he got back to Section, he buzzed for entrance into Madeline's office. She opened the door, and Michael walked in silently, and tossed the crumpled paper between her hands. Turning his back and ignoring the feel of her eyes between his shoulders, Michael walked down to Walter's domain.

The old man met him at the door with a black duffel bag, packed to the brim. He tipped an imaginary hat to Michael, and Michael nodded as he accepted the bag and kept walking. He made a circuit around Section, and went back up the elevator. He tossed the bag unopened in the back of the Porsche, and wheeled the sportscar out onto the highway. Hours later, he and the little black bag were on their way to Canada.

* * * * *

On the flight, Michael unzipped the bag, and carefully looked through the contents of the bag. It carried basically the same things as Nikita's list had enumerated. Walter had also packed a mission suit, a set of identity papers, everything Michael would need to pass through Customs. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headrest, and waited.

* * * * *

Deep in a hidden mountain stronghold, Caine Vertzler stared at the blond woman dangling from his ceiling. A munitions expert, and internationally known terrorist, Vertzler hadn't been surprised to find someone poking around his facility. He had been surprised to find her alone. With her being alone, it had been relatively easy to overpower her and capture her.

*She is strong,* he reflected. *Anyone else would have broken by now, lost hope. But not her. Not Nikita.* In a way, he admired her strength, her fortitude, and her faith in a man she called Michael. Through the two-way mirror, he watched as her head fell forward on her chest, watched how her dirty blond hair fell lank over her face. He flipped the speaker switch, and began to speak to her.

"Good morning, Nikita. How are you feeling?"

Nikita lifted her head and stared at him through the two-way glass. "How do you think?" Vertzler's politeness was beginning to grate against her nerves.

"That's terrible, my dear." He smiled through the glass, although he knew she couldn't see it. "If you'd just tell me what I want to know, then we could dispense with all this inhospitality and I could make you my guest."

"I'd rather burn in hell."

"My dear, I can arrange that." He leaned to the side, and called in one of his men. "Carlos, go see to our guest."

"Yes, sir."

Vertzler watched as Carlos opened one of the mirrored panels and stepped in the room with Nikita. "Nikita, this is Carlos. He's a very good friend of mine, he will... take care of you." He clicked off his end of the speaker, but left the microphone in the room on as he leaned back in his chair to watch.

"Hello, Nikita."

"Hello, Carlos."

"Who sent you here, Nikita?" Nikita didn't answer, and Carlos slapped her hard, snapping her head to the side. "Who sent you here, Nikita?"

Nikita remained silent, and Carlos slapped her again, on the other cheek this time. Both sides of her face flared with a sharp pain, but she bit her lip and said nothing.

Carlos changed questions. "Who is Michael?"

Nikita's head snapped up, but that was the only motion she made. *Michael! How do they know about Michael?* "He's nobody."

That answer brought her a fist in the kidneys. "You talk in your sleep, Nikita. Who is Michael?" This time she remained silent. Carlos looked at the mirror, his face expressing his thoughts.

Vertzler's voice came over the speakers. "That's enough for now." Carlos slipped out of the room, closing the mirrored panel behind him. When Nikita heard the click of the door, she let herself sag slightly, trying to relieve the ache in her arms and the throbbing of her kidneys. "I'll be back this afternoon, Nikita." Vertzler left the microphone on again, and he followed Carlos out of the room. "Who is this Michael, Carlos?"

"Someone she wants to protect," he answered. "Someone she doesn't want us to know anything about."

"Find out anything you can about him. Listen to the tapes again. She talks in her sleep, I want to know anything you can find out about him. Give me something I can use, Carlos."

"Yes, sir."

Vertzler stood in his foyer, tapping his teeth with the hinge of his glasses, deep in thought.

* * * * *

The plane landed in Vancouver, and Michael folded up his map. From the plane, he'd called ahead and a ship would be waiting for him at the Vancouver mouth of the Fraser river. From Vancouver, the ship would take him upriver until they reached Prince George.

He picked up his black duffel from the overhead compartment, and de-boarded the plane. As he hit the terminal, instead of going through the line, he slipped off to the restroom, and then, from the restroom, he kicked open the ventilation panel and slipped through Customs and dropped down into a janitor's closet. He cracked the door open, and seeing no one, he exited the closet and turned around, walking out the front door of the airport and into the parking lot. A black van was waiting for him, and he moved quickly over to it, climbing into the back and closing the door. "To the river," and the driver nodded. Michael shut the access window and opened the floor panel, pulling out one of the wetsuits and sliding into it, and then slid his suit back over it.

The van lurched to a halt, and Michael slipped out. The van parked in a nearby stand of thick bushes, and the driver climbed into the moored motorboat and Michael climbed in beside him, the bag sitting between his feet. *Nikita... hold on, I'm coming to get you out.*

* * * * *

Vertzler sat back down in his observation room, and stared at Nikita. What little Carlos had been able to glean from her tapes was sitting in front of him, and he read over it. Nothing of consequence... even when she slept, she guarded what slipped out. He snapped the switch on. A brighter light flooded Nikita's room, and her body jerked, wakened. "I told you I would be back, Nikita."

"I noticed."

Vertzler tapped the pad in front of him with a pen. "Let's talk about Michael, Nikita."

"He's nobody."

"For nobody, you're VERY quick to leap to his defense," Vertzler said smoothly.

Nikita cursed silently. "He's still nobody."

"A nobody. You talk about him in your sleep, and he is nobody."

"I do not talk in my sleep."

"Oh, really?" Vertzler flipped another switch, and Nikita heard her own voice in the chamber.

"I'll get you out... couldn't have padded the odds?.... let me go, I'll get him out... Michael..."

"That sounds like you, doesn't it, Nikita?"

Nikita nodded. "All right, so I mumble when I sleep. What's it to you?"

Vertzler smiled. Finally she was starting to get rattled. "Who is Michael, Nikita? Why did you have to get him out?"

"Michael's my cat. He got stuck in a drainpipe. I had to get him out." She cried out as a jolt of electricity coursed through her.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you, you were wired while you were asleep." His finger nudged the switch, and the electrode on the side of her face buzzed and she cried out. "You see? I don't get the answers I want, I press this button here. Tell me what I want to know, and I don't."

"Michael's my cat," she repeated, and she was shocked again.

"Carlos... water, please." Nikita flinched as she was doused in lukewarm water, and he pressed the button again. "Mild electrocution, Nikita... I can go up higher if I need to. Now... who is Michael?"

"My cat." Vertzler smiled, and hit the switch again. Nikita wouldn't let herself scream.

* * * * *

Michael's motorboat stopped about a hundred feet out of sight of Prince George's southernmost dock. He zipped the waterproof bag that his duffel was in, and he slid out of his clothes, and piled into the cold Canadian river. The insulated wetsuit kept his body warm as he stroked to the shoreline, pulling his bag behind him. As he got to shore, he adjusted the earpiece in his ear. "Stay out of sight. Don't leave the boat for any reason. If you do, I'll kill you myself."

Michael peeled off the wetsuit, and quickly dressed in his mission suit. He pulled the black toboggan and the goggles down over his eyes, and cradled the automatic assault rifle in his arms. His booted feet trod lightly over the floor of the forest as he made his way through it. He skirted the town, staying well hidden in the foliage as he moved, and he made his way back to the river after circling the town, following the river into the mountains.

He pulled out his map of the province, and he saw a bend in the river, northwest of the city. He pocketed the map, and straightened. He opened the black bag Walter had prepared for him, and pulled out the business suit. He fit the suit snugly over his mission pants and pulled the flak jacket off and stowed it in the bag. He ran his fingers through his hair, and pocketed one of the falsified credit cards that had been prepared for him. He stopped at the first motorcycle dealership that he passed, and within half an hour, Michael was astride a new ATV with his duffel strapped to the back. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, and his head was down, cruising for the bend in the river. About a hundred yards out, he stopped the bike and hid it, and sat on the ground. He took the extra guns out of the bag, sliding one in the back waist of his pants and the others in secret pockets on the mission suit. He pulled the flak jacket back on, pulled the toboggan and goggles back down, and quickly moved forward.

He used the barrel of the rifle to part the tree branches, and he scouted out the large house he saw. High barbed wire fencing with electric shockwire interwoven in. Eight men paced the fence, one in each corner and one on each section. Four high-resolution digital security cameras sat on each of the four corners, with a full rotation every minute. He tapped the comlink on his earpiece. "Birkoff. I need to get in here."

"What do they got?"

"Four digital cameras with a full sweep every minute, eight men on the fence, and electrified barb wire." He heard the faint clicking of Birkoff's keyboard in the background. "Birkoff, hurry."

"All right... I'm trying to tune in on the cameras' wavelength....... got it!" The picture wavered, and then solidified. "All right... I'm going to recycle the picture feed in on itself... it'll just keep looping on the same images, showing everything clear." Then he paused. "Can you see Nikita yet?"

"No."

"Okay. Then she's somewhere inside, probably at the heart of the house. I can talk you through it, I'm getting a blueprint scan on it right now."

"Hurry." Michael knew it was unnecessary, that Birkoff was doing his best, but he still had to say it.

"All right. Michael, take the grounder spike out of the bottom of the gun casing, and drive it into the ground about five meters away from the fencing."

Michael reached under the rifle, and pulled out the grounding pin, and did as Birkoff told him. "Yes?"

"All right. Now, pull out that spool of fiberoptic cable from the duffel bag, and loop three loops around the spike, and then very carefully take that pair of wire snippers and lay the loose end against one of the pieces of electrified fencing."

"That will short it out," Michael protested. "They'll know I'm here."

"Not exactly. See... this won't short it out permanently, only for a few minutes. Just enough to get you inside the fence. When they look, they'll think some kind of animal ran into it. Now, go!"

Michael touched the wire to the electrified fencing, and jumped back as a shower of sparks rained over him. "Go! The fence is dead, hurry!" shouted Birkoff's voice in his ear. Quickly, Michael grabbed his rifle and climbed the fence. "Michael, you've got about ten seconds before the current hits you!"

Michael heard Birkoff's warning and dropped heavily to the ground, rolling into the shadowy corner as the fence jumped back to life. He could feel the electricity raising the hair on the back of his neck. "Michael, you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm in."

"All right, proceed... about a hundred feet southeast of your position, you should find a servant's entrance to the main house."

"I see it." Michael looked back and forth, looking for the guards. They hadn't gotten back to their position yet, and he sprinted across the yard, down to the entrance. It was locked. He pulled out his butane torch and slipped the thin blue flame inside, cutting away the interior mechanisms of the lock.

"Michael, you've got to get that door open! Two men are coming up on your position fast! Exposure in less than a minute!"

Michael swore, and then pulled out the torch and kicked the door in. The weakened lock couldn't hold and Michael tumbled inside, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. "That was close," said Birkoff in his ear.

"I know. Where's Nikita?"

"She's up about three floors." There was a long silence. "Michael... there's a lot of electricity reading near her... and water." Michael stiffened. "I don't have a visual yet, I can't find the right frequency to get into the video system monitoring her."

"Let me know as soon as you get one." Michael sprinted towards the door, and opened it. Empty hallway with a stairwell at the end. He ran for the door, and quietly opened it. He slung the rifle back over his shoulder, and pulled out the silencer-fitted Walther. He checked the clip, and slid it home. He clicked off the safety and held it at the ready as he climbed up the first set of stairs. They ended in a landing, and Michael peeked through the door. There was a guard posted on the other side of the door.

Michael's hand rested on the doorknob, and he opened it swiftly, slamming the man back against the wall. He closed it, and as the man reached inside his shirt, Michael shot him, the muffled bullet jerking the man's body into a heap. "Got it!" Birkoff said, and Michael's hand covered the earpiece. "She's two floors up, in a mirrored chamber. Electrodes all over her. Hose in the corner."

"They've been trying to make her talk."

"Looks that way." Birkoff's voice was quiet. "Michael... she's beaten up pretty bad from what I see."

"Understood." Michael moved across the second floor, and Birkoff chirped again in his ear. "What is it?"

"Michael, freeze!"

"What?" Michael asked, as he plastered himself against the wall. "You're about to trigger an alarm, look down." He saw a red laser line across the floor.

"What's behind here?"

"I don't know, it's shielded. Oh my.... Michael, do you know a guy named Vertzler?"

"Caine Vertzler? He's a terrorist."

"That's the guy. Michael, this is his house! That's who's got Nikita!"

"Tell Operations immediately."

"What about Madeline?"

"Forget Madeline. Tell Operations that we've safely breached Vertzler's stronghold and that he's got the important things shielded, and that he's got Nikita." Michael's earpiece crackled with momentary static.

"I heard," Operations said. "Get the information first. Birkoff is going to shut off the alarm, get the information first and then worry about Nikita."

Michael's jaw locked, but he nodded. "Fine."

"Michael-"

"Birkoff, just worry about the alarm, and I will worry about Nikita."

* * * * *

Back in Section, Operations pulled Madeline aside. "I told you NOT to touch this case again."

"I had to."

"Not at the cost of one of our operatives and the possible security breach!"

"Nikita isn't going to say anything. She doesn't know the whole story of why I sent her."

"Madeline, this could come back to haunt you in a big way."

"I don't care," she said softly. "I have to find Charles. I sent Nikita to follow up the last mission that Charles went on. I'd hoped she could find him, or at least some kind of trail that might lead me to him."

"Madeline, this is a serious misuse of Section resources."

"Then cancel me." Madeline turned her back on Operations. "They'll come back, I will have failed, it doesn't matter. I'll find him eventually."

* * * * *

"All right, Michael, you're clear. Move in."

Michael moved carefully through the hallway, and sat down at the first console. "Birkoff?"

"No, that's not the one. That's a remote access panel, doesn't do me any good... I need the main terminal."

Michael searched around the room. His eye caught on a black suitcase sitting beside one of the terminals. He moved to that terminal, and opened the case. Nikita's belongings spilled out. He grabbed the suitcase, and sat down at the terminal. "This one, Birkoff." He flipped the terminal on, and choked. A visual of Nikita was on the screen. A large man was beating her, while a disembodied voice kept asking her questions she refused to answer.

"Nikita," Michael whispered.

Birkoff ignored it, seeing the same picture through Michael's goggles that Michael saw. "Yeah, this is the main one. Michael, I need you to shut the visual down, and then go in and hook up a remote access through Satellite 12."

"Birkoff... can you leave the visual on?"

"Just go ahead and link me, Michael." Michael's fingers skipped nimbly over the keyboard as he established the remote uplink, and he leaned back, watching the visual as Birkoff downloaded the information from the computer.

" 'kita," Michael whispered, touching her face on the screen, and on the screen, Nikita's head raised up, eyes flipping quickly from right to left, as though she'd heard him.

"We're done here... sever the link. And grab that link disk that's inside the drive.... don't know how much of that transaction that thing just logged, but if he doesn't have the log he can't check it." Michael severed the link, and grabbed the diskette, carrying it and the suitcase as he climbed the last set of stairs. As he looked in the door, he realized that this set of stairs led into Vertzler's private office.

"Operations... do you want Vertzler cancelled?" Michael's finger itched on the trigger.

"Can you bring him in alive?"

Michael thought for a moment. "No."

"Then cancel him. Do what you have to."

Michael kicked in this door, and the first thing he shot was the controls to the electroshock equipment. "Nikita!" he yelled into the microphone.

"Michael!" Nikita's feet swung up, and she kicked Carlos in the chest, sending him sprawling. She swung from the handcuffs, and her body bent at the waist as she brought her feet to the ceiling, launching herself forward again. "Michael, hurry!"

Michael kicked Vertzler out of the way, and then picked the man up, throwing him through the two-way mirror, shattering it and opening a clear path to Nikita. Vertzler struggled to his feet, and as he did, he pulled a .38 out of his holster.

Michael turned to free Nikita, and when he did, Vertzler beaded on his back. "Michael, get down, he's got a gun!"

Michael dropped and rolled over, training his Walther on Vertzler and firing. He fired three shots, and Vertzler dropped. Michael turned around, and reached up, his fingers finding the knots and buttons that freed Nikita's wrists. As her arms fell, she slumped against Michael, and he picked her up in his arms. "Stay with me, Nikita, please."

"Told him you'd come."

Michael didn't say anything, just tightened his grip on her as he carried her through the broken window and down the stairs. Suddenly he felt Nikita moving, felt her pulling the gun out of his waistband, and heard the shots go off. He spun, and saw Carlos falling as he staggered after them. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nikita kept the gun drawn, holding it at the ready and covering Michael's back as he went down the stairs. He bent to pick up the suitcase and the diskette, but he couldn't hold the disk and Nikita and the suitcase. He shifted the case to one hand, and handed the disk to Nikita.

"Here, hold this."

"I can't, I've got the gun, remember?"

"Then put it in your bra."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not wearing one," she said, as she took it from him. Michael rolled his eyes as she tucked it in what remained of her shirt. "Be careful, Michael, this place is booby-trapped."

"I know." She reached into his pocket, and pulled out the other earpiece.

"Birkoff."

"Nikita!" Michael and Nikita both winced as Birkoff shouted in their ears.

"Yes, now listen to me! Michael and I are going to walk right out the front door. Think you can knock out the power to the whole facility?"

"No problem!" Just moments later, the power flickered, and then shut down. "There ya go!"

"Thanks, Birkoff," Nikita said, and kissed the mouthpiece.

"Anytime, babe," sighed Birkoff.

The four front guards saw Michael and Nikita coming out the front door. Nikita grabbed Michael's assault rifle and unclasped the snap, pulling it free of the snap and mowing down all four men as they advanced on them. "There's a boat waiting downriver for us," Michael said, and Nikita stopped him.

"This way, then. Vertzler's got a private jetty."

"Trust me, Nikita. I've got a ride waiting for us in the woods, and that'll get us to the boat."

"You're in charge." Nikita relaxed, and let Michael make their way back to the ATV. He sat Nikita on the back, and handed her a helmet out of the side saddlebag, and then strapped her case to the back with his duffel.

"Hold on tight."

Nikita wrapped her arms tightly around Michael's waist as he fired the bike up, and he drove it down to the river. There was barely room on the boat, but the ATV fit in it as well, and the pilot went into town and bought a trailer hitch for the bike, and they towed it back with them on the van.

Nikita sat beside Michael on the flight back to Section, and she brushed her fingers over the back of his. "Thank you for coming for me, Michael. I'm glad you came."

"I... was worried about you," he whispered softly, brushing her fingers back. "So was everyone else."

"Is that why you came? Because everyone else was worried about me?"

"No." But that's all Michael would say.

"Then why?"

"Because... I was worried about you."

* * * * *

Michael strode into Operations' office. "I want to know why Nikita was sent into Vertzler's territory without contact OR backup from Section."

"Ask Madeline."

* * * * *

"Did you find anything, Nikita?" Madeline came into Medical, and stood beside Nikita's bed as she questioned her.

"Not really, no. All I could find out was that Sand had gotten close to finding Vertzler's contact in the Middle East, but not who it was. And I couldn't find anything else about Sand, either."

Michael pushed the door open all the way. "Nikita. Will you excuse us, please?"

Nikita looked from Michael to Madeline and back again. Madeline nodded, and left, walking off with Michael and closing the door behind her.

"Sand again?"

"I had to know."

"At what cost? The cost of another life? He's dead, why can't you leave it at that?"

"The same reason you can't leave Simone's memory behind."

* * * * *

Nikita walked down the cold Section hallway to Walter's equipment locker, bringing the black case with her. "Hi, Walter."

"How you doing, Sugar?" Walter came around the desk and gently hugged Nikita, being careful of the bruises and taped ribs.

"I've been better. I just wanted to return this to you."

"I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, Walter."

"For what, Sugar?"

"For what you did."

Walter smiled at her. "Anything for you, Nikita." Nikita turned around and kissed Walter on his cheek and walked away. "She's hot for me," Walter said to himself, smiling.

THE END

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.
OR
If you would like to send a comment to Kelly, click HERE!!