Dublin,

June 12th

0530

Michael's internal clock woke him just as the rude fingers of dawn were reaching through the window. He moved away from Key slowly, and she went from her right side to her stomach almost immediately. He wanted her to sleep. The large bayberry candle he had lit last night was still burning, illuminating the door leading into the bathroom. Following his normal schedule, Michael showered, shaved and dressed all within fifteen minutes. By the time he entered the sitting room, the smell of fresh coffee and scones assaulted his nose and made his stomach rumble.

He smiled wryly as he moved to pick up his and Key's clothing from the night before. Somehow he couldn't help but wonder if Mrs. Taylor had noticed. He folded shirt, sweater and pants, then after a few moments of looking for buttons, he gave up. Pouring himself coffee and grabbing a scone, he stood in front of the window, remembering. Never could he recall having experienced such a frantic need for another person. This was a very different sensation for him. One thing he recognized was that it felt good and it felt right. There was nothing weak or desperate, nothing dark or negative that came to mind when he thought of his feelings for Key. Funny, but he actually knew what peace was like at that precise moment. Of course, that did not last.

Too soon he had to leave off his private thoughts as a knock came at the door. Quickly he crossed to answer, and Birkoff came barreling through, headed for the communication equipment.

"We've either had an anomaly, Michael, or this location has been breached." He kept his voice low as he plugged in a disk and began to review the data.

"What do you mean?" Michael came up behind him and observed the screen.

"Last night, sometime around 2300 hours, the tracking program we have been using to keep tabs on Thomas, went haywire. Or that's what Mentz thought." Birkoff continued typing in code, fingers flying over the keyboard. "With all that happened, the electrical outage, the generator problems, he just assumed it was an anomaly."

"Get to the point, Birkoff." Michael said bluntly.

"There it is." He pointed at the screen. "I cleaned up all the garbage from the satellite transmission. That's Thomas."

Michael stared at the screen. He was looking at an infrared image of the building they were in and the surrounding yard. At the back of the property, glowing brightly, was the hot pink color that signified Thomas' presence.

"Where is he now?" His voice was quiet and deadly.

Birkoff looked at him, saw the containment of reaction, Michael's blank stare and he cringed inwardly with his next statement. "I can't tell you. I need to go back to the station and clean up the data history since his last verifiable position. Then I need to find another satellite to relay our tracking signal through. Obviously there's a problem with the feed."

"Or they know about our mark on Thomas and they are trying to jam our retrieval." Michael was looking out the big bay window. The morning light was struggling against a low-lying fog. As he focused on the back of the property, he wondered how much Chimera's surveillance had picked up. He knew their contact with Section had been terminated well before 2300 hours, but he and Key . . . .

"Michael," Birkoff stepped around into his line of vision. "What do you want to do?"

"Go." He turned away from the window and looked at the screen again, noting the coordinates. "Clean up the history, find another satellite, maybe I'm wrong."

"Should I report this?" He asked.

"No." He leveled a look at Birkoff. "Send for me when the others arrive." He nodded a dismissal. Then he flipped open his phone and called Mentz. "Get two teams over to my location, I want a perimeter set up around this building. Assume cover, don't attract any unnecessary attention."

Quietly he entered the bedroom and located his gun and coat, then checked on Key. She was still buried deep in the bed, sleeping peacefully. He left her that way, knowing the peace would not last long. Then he headed out to survey the area around Thomas' last known coordinates.

*********************************************

She woke with a start. Not sure what had prompted her sudden awakening, Key glanced at the clock. Six thirty. Flopping back on the pillow she reached out to the area of the bed where Michael had been. It was cold so she knew he had been up for a while. Then she stared at the ceiling as the previous events of the evening rushed through her mind and she had a sinking feeling the roller coaster of emotion, for her, had only just begun.

Rolling out of bed, she padded to the bathroom. To ward off the morning chill, she took a hot shower and then wrapped herself once again in Michael's warm bathrobe. Out in the sitting room, she first saw the tray of coffee and scones and helped herself. Then, savoring her second cup of coffee she glanced around and noticed the folded clothes, her sweater, Michael's shirt, and both their jeans. She smiled, imagining Michael picking up those things this morning. Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to the screen capture. Key looked; she blinked in disbelief and recognized the building layout and surrounding property, knew what the hot pink color stood for. Discarding the robe, she jerked on her jeans and sweater, crossed to the bay window and searched frantically in the fog for a glimpse, any flicker of movement that might reveal if Michael was out there.

Then she saw him. It was almost like he materialized from the vapor. Fog drifted around his legs and behind him. He was directly square with the window, head down, searching the ground in front of him. Dressed in his traditional long, black coat, he walked toward the building. Key watched as he stopped and the coat swirled around his legs. She had climbed into the window seat, panic clearly written on her face, as her palms were pressed against the solid glass, looking down at him.

Instinct told him he was being observed. Michael lifted his face and he knew it was Key. Knew from a distance she had seen the on screen schematic from the satellite. Their eyes locked for only a moment, and then she disappeared from view. Next, he heard the banging of the back door and that alerted him to the figure running toward him. He could see she was barefoot, her hair was wet and she had donned the jeans and sweater she had worn last evening. Michael braced himself for impact. He was sure she would throw herself in his arms. He was not prepared for her skidding halt, just in front of him, but the worried look on her face was enough to add fuel to the fire he slowly built - for Thomas.

Going against his nature, probably not for the first time where Key was concerned, Michael held out his arms and she came, buried herself inside his coat. She stiffened for only a moment as her one arm collided with his weapon. That served to remind her of the dangerous significance, the very real problem, of discovery.

Key took momentary comfort from Michael's embrace. She had stopped short of throwing herself at him because she knew any display of emotion for Michael would have to remain private. There were too many eyes. She would have to adopt the same, or nearly the same restraint Michael had developed.

"They know we're here." Her statement was muffled against his body.

"Yes." Just that word, his agreement with her, caused a shiver to ripple through her body.

Michael loosened his hold and Key stepped away from his warmth. He wanted to offer his coat, but he was unwilling to walk back into the Taylor's with an exposed holster and gun. Instead, he turned Key around and propelled her toward the back door and from there up the stairs.

"Gather your things." Michael began powering down equipment and disconnecting cables.

"Gather my things?" She halted near him, nervously gathering her wet hair with one hand, then beginning to pace.

Michael stopped what he was doing to watch her. She was rattled. He understood that. He needed her to focus on something else and he knew she was thinking about last night and what Thomas may or may not have seen or heard during his surveillance.

"Don't concern yourself with what Thomas knows or does not know about last night." His voice was calm, but his tone implored her to listen to him. "We must concentrate on the bigger picture." He paused because she had finally stopped pacing and was looking at him, "That's Chimera, not Thomas."

"It doesn't bother you that he probably witnessed an intimate, private moment between us?" She fixed him with an incredulous look, and Michael thought she appeared very much like she would argue with God about this if given the chance. So he changed tactics.

"Yes, it bothered me." There was an edge to his words. "It bothered me," he stepped up closer to her, "that we had eight operatives executed last night." He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, which was no doubt his most threatening timbre; "It bothered me that I lost one of the few people I could trust." Michael witnessed her face fade to a sad, haunted look. "I can not dwell on these feelings and accomplish what we came here to do. Chimera is a deadly adversary."

Key was looking away now, not really focusing on anything when she responded flatly, "You made your point."

"Look at me." He commanded, and she did refocus on him, "Thomas is obviously a loose cannon. He will be more dangerous now, because I suspect he will have a secondary agenda." He could see her swallow and take a deep breath. "You'll need to be most vigilant. Understand?"

"Yes." She whispered and nodded her head. "Where will we go?" She asked.

"To the school." He turned and resumed packing the equipment. "We can not defend this location, and we don't need to involve any innocents."

"Michael, he will come after me. Probably both of us."

"And we will use that impulsiveness against him." He stopped once again, turned and fixed her with a deadly calm look, "I'm counting on him becoming very careless, perhaps even a liability to Chimera."

"Their . . . weakness." She stated with a dawn of understanding.

"Precisely. Now go. Get your things ready."

************

June 26th

Dublin

Two weeks passed quickly. It took some adjusting, but Key fell into the boot camp regime they were forced to emulate because of the accommodations. Everyone, depending on their duties or shifts ate, slept and exercised together. There were separate shower facilities for the men and women, but that was the extent of the privacy available. Sleeping arrangements were barracks style, everyone in the same room, using fold out cots.

If the four names she had linked with her search program were the other members of "The Five", they had been unable to verify that factually. Four operatives had assumed a cover and been inserted in some contact employment involving each suspect. Unfortunately it took time to build a good cover that would give the operatives access to areas that might yield information they would need to prove these men were connected. So far, with what they did know, no one had been able to substantiate that these men even communicated with each other. Time was not a commodity they had with another full moon approaching on July 9th. Thomas was still maintaining a low profile. The substance they marked him with was degrading quicker than they had first thought and the signal was weak to non-existent at times. He was back in Belfast and had not made any more trips to Dublin or Liverpool.

The various relationships that made this operation work were interesting to watch and see develop as the days went by. Birkoff was in heaven because Gail had been sent over with the additional support. They worked well together, and the attraction the two shared for one another was hard to miss. Michael seemed to communicate well with Mentz, though it was not the easy relationship he had shared with Tallie. Everyone missed Tallie. Walter had lost his partner in practical jokes, and Key had lost a 'big brother.'

She and Michael had not had any private time together, but they had developed an uncanny ability to envision the other's ideas when it came to information development and even mission design. Key secretly enjoyed the looks on Michael's face when she anticipated the way his mind worked through a certain situation or scenario. The fire was still there, but she intuitively knew the more subdued they were with their feelings the more acceptable their relationship would be. She still had some doubt about her ability to adapt to this life, but the thought of going back to the outside and the fact that she loved Michael kept that doubt at bay.

*************************************************

Same day

2400 hours

Key gratefully took a break from monitoring the satellite tracking Thomas and the other ground communication with the operatives covering the four Chimera suspects. She smiled at Matt as he slid into her seat. He knew where to find her if something came up. Cabin fever was setting in. For the past two weeks she had not been outside of the walls surrounding the substation. Michael called it Close Quarter Standby, but she figured her confinement was for her protection.

She had chosen to work at night because she slept better during the day and felt safer if she was awake at night. Her memories of Tallie's death and that night were associated with the dark. Without Michael sleeping next to her to help her chase away the new nightmares, she just preferred to be awake after the sun set.

Quietly she made her way to the roof. That seemed to be the place where she found the most peace. The two operatives patrolling the parapet usually retreated to the elevated deck another story above when she arrived. Seems they sensed her need to be alone. The outside stone wall around the roof came to the top of her chest as she leaned against it. Key noticed the air felt thick with moisture . . . very humid. She expected a summer storm by the distant flashes of lightening. Rain would be a relief, maybe cool things off. The school was not air conditioned throughout, only the basement where they had the computers.

She marveled at the smoothness of the stone on top of the wall. It was about four feet thick and worn from the elements. Key guessed the entire structure dated back at least 500 years. With the palms of her hands she could also feel the warmth that had been absorbed from the sun that day. She lifted her face to a breeze that stirred as the remote storm worked its way toward Dublin from the south. Then, almost at once, Key caught the scent of him. It floated around her, encompassed her, and she straightened away from the wall even before he spoke.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was smooth, a bit low and husky.

She turned to look at him and it never failed, just the sight of him made her heart jump. He was dressed in black jeans and a long sleeve denim shirt with the sleeves rolled back. The shirt was open at the throat and revealed his black tee shirt. His hair was drawn away from his face in a ponytail and even in the shadows she could see the fatigue written there. It had been several days ago when he had left to lead a team into Belfast and they had apparently just returned.

"I heard the insertion went smoothly at the bookstore in Belfast." Key leaned back against the wall and watched Michael as he approached. He took the place beside her, resting his hands on top of the wall and looking off at the lights of the city.

"Yes." Now she could hear the weariness in his voice.

Gazing up at him from the side she verbalized what was quickly becoming obvious. "We're running out of time."

"Yes. . . ." he paused, "we are."

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before she said, "You're going to have to use me as bait." Key looked down as she clasped her hands tightly and drew in a deep breath. "I can force him to make a mistake."

She didn't see Michael close both his hands into fists, she only heard him as he choked out his agreement in a whispered, "Yes."

The silence was heavy and Key almost forgot to breathe until a very brilliant flash of lightening broke the sky accompanied by thunder that literally shook the building.

"We should go in." Michael turned away from the wall toward Key and she reached out to grasp his forearm.

"Do you have a profile set?"

Another flash of lightening illuminated Michael's face and Key saw just a circle of green shimmering around the large pools of black, as his eyes were dilated from the darkness.

"It's being developed." He glanced away from her, not wanting the concern written so plainly on his face to upset her. He was very tired and his feelings for this woman were riding close to the surface.

"I have some ideas, perhaps I could help."

He focused on her once again, glanced down at her small hand still gripping his arm. Reaching up he removed her com set, switched it off, then placed it in his shirt pocket. Gently he took her hand in his, tightened his hold and fixed her with a look of disquiet.

"You could take the package and disappear." He said softly.

Her reaction was to clutch him even tighter. "Michael, I told you that wasn't an option."

The rain finally accompanied another flash of lightening and a loud clap of thunder. Not a heavy down pour at the moment, just a good soaking rain. Michael pulled her to him, embraced her firmly, "I'd rather see you go than," he hesitated, swallowed and continued, "come back to me in a . . . . . body bag."

Key pushed away from him enough to look up into his eyes. He immediately recognized the mischief there as the corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she spoke, "You're such a romantic, Michael." That said, he watched her eyes change again, saw the burning fuse, the raw emotion. His skin tingled and felt too tight for his body, his heart beat faster and even though he fought it, he felt himself harden with desire as she finished her statement, "And I do love you."

He didn't know what spell she had cast on him, what web she had woven, but he had walked into whatever this was with his eyes wide open. He trusted her, felt in sync with her and it dawned on him that no matter what came their way, they would deal with it . . .. together.

Michael brought his hands up, cupped her face and studied her for a moment. He looked from her eyes to her lips and back, held her locked in a gaze that could have started a fire under normal circumstances. Slowly, giving no thought to the operatives a story above, Michael lowered his mouth, touched her lips with his, tasted the salt from tears he couldn't see because they had mixed with the rain.

As he brushed her lips gently, once, twice, then three times, his tongue sought hers, probing shyly at first. Key closed her eyes, allowed herself to be transported from that time and place. She was positively sure she would never again feel this deeply for anyone, would never give her heart and soul to another living being as long as she was alive to draw a breath.

They were both becoming drenched, not only in the warm summer rain, but also with the sureness of their feelings for one another. As the kiss ended, Michael took her hand and drew her to the door, out onto the landing and down the first flight of stone stairs. There in the soft light spilling in from the outer hallway, he locked eyes with her, inserted her com set into his ear and activated it.

"Matthew." He spoke softly but with authority.

"Yes, Michael."

"Take the remaining shift at the surveillance desk. Ms. Yager and I will be in my office working on a mission profile."

"Can do. You want me to notify you if anything changes?"

"Yes." he clipped. "Immediately."

He took Key's hand and they walked (well they actually squished and dripped) down the hall to a small room Michael had been using as an office. As they entered, Key took a quick inventory for she had never had a reason to seek him out in this domain. A make shift desk had his laptop on it. There was a wooden chair, a small trunk containing his clothes, and in the corner an actual bunk instead of a cot. The only light was a halogen lamp setting on the desk and it was turned down low, casting only golden shadows around the room.

Michael retrieved a towel from the trunk and handed it to her. As she began to dry her wet hair she watched him strip out of his sodden shirt, noting the gun and holster that had been hidden by the loose garment. Removing the gun, Michael checked the clip, put it on the crate beside the bed, then hung the holster on a wall hook and peeled the wet tee shirt over his head taking the band from his ponytail with it. He had his back to her, and as the light and dark shifted with his movement he shook his head flinging drops of moisture in a glimmering arc. Light touched the dampness on his skin and Key shivered, not from her own dampness, but from the ethereal glow emanating from Michael's body.

Slowly Michael turned and observed Key. She was frozen in place, not moving a muscle, having stopped the process of rubbing the ends of her wet hair with the towel.

"What is it?" He murmured huskily.

Unavoidably, Key sneezed at that precise moment and Michael was in front of her in two strides, taking the towel from her and slinging it over his shoulder as he attacked the buttons on her shirt.

"Let's get you into something dry."

She looked down at his long fingers as they nimbly unfastened her shirt. His hands moved gracefully, almost magically, but she knew the deceptive strength they possessed.

Suddenly she snapped back to reality and brought her hands up to still his movement.

"I can do that." She choked out as she glanced up at his face. His eyes were so clear, so green, but half hidden in the shadows.

"I have some sweats you can . . ." He stopped in mid sentence as the sexual tension finally hit him like a ton of bricks. Her hands were shaking and the breath she expelled was almost hot against the dampness of his face. He felt his skin tighten as it had on the roof and his erection was sudden, almost painful. He fought to control the urge he had to take her right there on the floor.

Key's hands had stolen up his arms to caress the muscles of his biceps. It was like they had a will of their own as she moved them to his upper chest, the towel slipping away as she flattened her palms and slowly, lightly brushed down across his erect nipples, stopping to draw feather light circles around them with her forefingers. She was no longer looking at his face, but following the movement of her hands as they glided over his rigid stomach and stopped at the top of his jeans. The breath he sucked in was audible as she released the first button then followed the length of his erection with one hand till she stopped and cupped his hardness through the thick fabric of his jeans.

He almost forgot to exhale in that moment as he watched her glance up at him through her incredibly long thick lashes.

"Please," her voice came out in a shaky whisper. "I want you to make love to me . . . slowly."

That was all the urging he needed as he completed unbuttoning her shirt and sliding it over her shoulders to drop behind them on the floor. His hands skimmed lightly from her shoulders to her upper arms. Holding onto her loosely he bent to caress one side of her neck with his lips, trailing from there across the top of one delicate shoulder. Branded. She felt branded by the heat from his mouth. Key grasp him with both hands at his hips, more for support, but she succeeded in drawing his body closer. Her nipples brushed against his lower chest and puckered immediately, while he trailed his fingers gently down her back, burying his face in the thick fall of her hair. As one hand came up to cradle the back of her neck intimately, she felt his tongue dart and flick around her ear and all the heat in her body seemed to pool between her legs. She moaned, desire flooded her brain, made her forget the danger, the impossible situation they were in.

Michael's mouth found hers and as he sampled the velvet softness, he worked open the button and zipper to her jeans. Breaking off the kiss he skimmed her jeans and underwear down her legs at the same time. Key balanced herself with her hands on his shoulders as she slid out of her shoes. The remainders of her clothes were bunched at her ankles and Michael helped her step clear, immediately turning his attention to the fiery red curls at the apex of her legs. He flicked his tongue, licked and sipped at her treasure, while Key nearly jumped out of her skin. As it was, her body shook with her first mind blowing orgasm.

"Michael." Her voice was hoarse and urgent.

Straightening slowly, Michael lifted her to glide up against his body and wrap her legs at his hips. She could feel his erection straining to be free, the heat almost unbearable against her sensitive moist opening. Locking her mouth onto his she tasted herself there, the musky sweetness proof of her passion. As he crossed to the bed, depositing her gently onto her back, Michael locked his luminous eyes on hers. He stood above her, slowly flipping each button on his jeans free, tantalizing, heightening her need for him. Abruptly his tumescence jumped from its restraint.

Key couldn't move, everything was in slow motion. She lay languidly watching as he stooped to unlace his boots. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and her legs, bent at the knees, fell open, waiting to receive him.

She had no idea how much control Michael was employing as he kicked out of his shoes and slowly drew off his jeans. He followed her eyes as they were drawn to his pulsing, throbbing manhood. A milky white drop pearled at the tip of his erection and he drew it onto his forefinger, bringing it to her lips as he knelt between her waiting thighs. She licked his finger, watched his face as his eyes darkened with passion, then she reached to position his hardness at her moist center. Michael was poised above her, his arms and shoulders shaking from his need. Then he thrust home.

Key gasped as he filled her with his thick shaft. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat from the intimate locking of their bodies. He moved and she was lost. The building of her second climax came on slowly as he stroked in and out of her heat, deliberately. Michael was kissing her, using his tongue in the same cadence as his body. Her thighs opened wider, if that was possible and Michael lifted away from her for a moment, glided his hands up the backs of her thighs to just behind her knees. Then he lifted her, brought her legs over his shoulders, never missing a beat. As he supported himself, both arms planted on either side of her, he pushed deeper. She tossed her head from side to side, moaning.

"Look at me." he whispered.

She opened her eyes, her pupils were dilated and only a thin circle of amethyst showed around them.

"Let go cheri." He withdrew and thrust again to her core, pushing so deeply she thought she would split in half. Then she went over the edge, convulsing, climaxing so strongly that Michael could not hold back. He rode her hard, erupting with such force she could feel the head of his penis flare as he jerked in response to her contracting muscles. He came, surging inside her, his life force jetting like a fountain. His head was thrown back, his body tense as he emptied into her sheath.

He collapsed, almost smothering her as her legs slid off his shoulders and entwined with his. Their bodies were slick with sweat and neither could catch a breath at that moment, their hearts pounding rhythmically. Key recovered first her fingers wandering down his back, caressing the strong band of muscles. She turned her face and where his head was buried in the crook of her shoulder, she kissed his ear. Then she teased it with her tongue, brought her hands up to tangle in the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

She heard his muffled "Non" as he raised his face and she immediately latched onto his mouth with a searing kiss.

"Yes." She heard herself say, as his shaft grew and expanded within her once again. Michael thought it impossible to become this hard and hot for her so soon, but it was happening.

The slow, teasing foreplay was over. He tried to hold back, but Key had grabbed his buttocks and was pressing him harder and deeper into her as she rose to meet him. She was tight and so hot as he pumped her faster and faster. Her head arched back, her delicate throat was exposed and he felt the first wave of tightness as her sheath closed around him.

He lightly nipped one pouting nipple; laved and suckled it as her orgasm gripped him like a vise. She started saying his name and Michael moved to her mouth absorbing her chant, drawing her tongue into a dance with his. He continued his thrusts as he reached out and brought her up from the bed, sliding his arm around her waist and cupping his hand behind her neck. She followed the motion, groaning loudly as he now was so deeply inside her she could hardly keep from screaming.

Finally she rocked with him until he went over to his back and allowed her to straddle him. With his assistance she slowed the pace, drew herself up the slick length of him and pushed down hard taking more of him than she ever had. Then she rose again, almost slipping free. As she brought herself down this time, she tightened the muscles in her sheath voluntarily. Michael eyes, closed at the moment, lost in the passion, popped open as she now increased the speed, almost withdrawing then thrusting down his shaft faster and faster, loosing herself to the ancient dance. His hands were everywhere, brushing her nipples, cupping her swollen sensitive breasts, skimming down her sides and grasping her tightly, holding her in place.

They both exploded at once. Key's orgasm rolled through her in three strong waves, clinching and tightening. Michael's eruption was equally violent, spurting hotly and deeply into her, as he rasped out, "Mon (me, Mon (me."

Key fell over onto his chest and he clutched her fiercely to him as his manhood continued to throb and pulse, the last of its contents spilling into her silken depths.

Before they both dozed off, the after effects of their lovemaking surrounded them with an aura of false security. Michael reached and pulled the blanket around them forming a tight cocoon. The bunk was just large enough to hold him and he positioned Key to his side, her back against the wall, but for the most part her body still draped across him. Her breathing had slowed and he dismissed the ingrained urge his brain had to start pondering the mission scenarios that had occupied him for the past two days. This moment of rest, the connection to this woman felt more important to him than a thousand mission profiles. Knowing the small window of time would not last long; he succumbed to the sleep he knew they both needed. Given another hour or two, the knowledge and unpleasantness of what the future held would return all to quickly.

**********************

June 27th

0400 hours

Clicking. She slowly came through the fog of sleep hearing a clicking noise. At the same time, she couldn't help but recall the last words Michael had spoken, "Mon (me - my soul." Key lifted her head from the bed and blinked as she focused on Michael at his desk, typing something on the computer. She automatically stretched, actually appreciating the slight discomfort she felt as muscles she had not used in a while reminded her again of the passion they had shared.

Michael stopped his typing and glanced to the corner, watched as Key stretched, reminding him of a cat waking from a nap. He resisted the urge to go to her, for if he touched her, he knew what would happen. He glanced at the screen, reviewing the offensive plan before him, looked back across the room and said; "There's coffee." He gestured at the steaming carafe and mug waiting for her.

Slowly she rose from the bed; completely unaware of the enticing picture she made. Her curls were scattered in disarray and she brushed at them, trying to achieve some kind of order, without success. He watched as she clutched the blanket around her, touched her feet to the floor and withdrew them with a muttered curse as she felt the icy cold stone. Finally ignoring the discomfort, she stood up and made her way over to the coffee, pouring herself a cup and sipping the warmth, still clutching the blanket. She was aware of Michael's eyes on her as he followed each movement like an eagle follows his prey.

"Is that the mission profile?" She asked, uncertain she wanted to know.

Michael glanced back at the screen before he answered, "Yes, but I'm working on some alternatives." His voice was strained.

"Why?" She asked.

"Because this one requires you too . . ." He was interrupted suddenly by Matthew's audio.

"Michael, I have Madeline on live feed."

"Put her through." He glanced over at Key as she moved out of visual range and began gathering her clothes.

"Michael, have you decided on the profile?" She appeared on screen, her words coming out mere seconds behind the movement of her mouth because of the delayed synchronization of the audio and video from the satellite.

"No, I'm still pursuing other options." As he spoke his mask fell into place.

Madeline was silent for a moment. "Is there a problem with the original. I see it has a 98% success ratio."

He didn't respond. Knew he would betray his feelings for Key if he did. He chose to remain silent.

"Lock it in, Michael." Madeline ordered. "Don't waste any more time with your misguided attempts to not involve Ms. Yager. She knows the risks."

He fought to control his anger. "Does she? Are you sure?"

"When she agreed to help us she knew the vicious nature of this Chimera group." She added, "First hand."

"That was twelve years ago, Madeline."

"I warned you about this, Michael. Don't make me step in because you've lost your perspective." She paused, "Does she know what we require her to do?"

"Not specifically." He answered sharply.

"Then I suggest you get to it. I will not present any other options to Operations." The warning in her voice was very clear. "If you must use coercion, do it. Her emotional and sexual attraction to you is strong. You know what to do." The screen went blank.

Michael steepled his fingers together and rested his forehead against them. Key had finished dressing while listening to the strained exchange and she now moved to stand at his side. The war he fought inside was more like a raging battle and she dared to touch him, reaching out and tucking one errant curl behind his ear.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked softly.

The breath he expelled before he spoke stirred the silence. "No. We can do this another way." He still would not look at her.

"Don't be obstinate, Michael. You heard Madeline. She's not going to relent." She made him look at her now, reaching to turn his face toward her. She saw the pain in his eyes. "Don't risk her taking over this mission, or worse yet, your own cancellation."

He looked away again. "They won't cancel me, they will just separate us. They will make sure we never see each other again." She watched both his hands clench into fists on either side of his keyboard. "I don't want you to think of last night as a manipulation."

She blew out a breath of disbelief. "I know I have no one to compare you with. I know you're well versed in the art of seduction . . . " She trailed off. "You think I don't know what happened last night was real? That was passion from the deepest part of us both."

He pushed away form the desk and walked over to the small window and looked out to the inky blackness. Then he spoke, "I know that what happened last night was a big mistake."

Instead of being hurt, she was pissed off. Key walked to his side and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her, "Don't you dare try that 'Madeline' crap on me. Don't try and make me doubt your feelings. It won't work." His face was a frozen mask, blank expression now in place. "The odds may be stacked against us, but I'm not a quitter and neither are you."

"Emotion is a weakness that . . . ." He started.

"Stop it. I've already had this lecture from Madeline." She turned away from him. "Emotion is a weakness if you allow it to be one." She hesitated. "What we have, what we feel for one another can also be a strength. Why don't you give me some credit? I'm not a simpering, giggly schoolgirl. I'm also not so blinded by my love for you that I can't make my own independent choices. I told you once I won't endanger your status with Section, I'll leave before that happens."

Quiet pervaded the room. Michael stood there still as a statue, pondering everything she had said before he spoke. "Then you should leave, because the profile is suicidal."

She whirled back around, saw the wall he had erected was gone, for the moment. "Why don't you show me what it is. I told you I had some ideas. Let's work through this, together."

Michael blinked, gestured to the desk, then followed to stand behind her as she settled into the chair. Reaching out he hit a couple of keys and said, "There . . . see for yourself."

************

June 27th

0800 hours

"Hey Michael, what's going on?" Walter rushed to his side keeping his eyes focused on the obvious mismatch occurring on the mat in the middle of the gymnasium. "Kai is beating the crap out of her."

Key's restrained cries of distress echoed through the gym.

"Stay out of it Walter." Michael continued to focus on the disturbing action. The grim set to his mouth was the only outward evidence of feeling. Inside he was silently loosing the battle to remain detached from the scene before him. His stomach rolled in protest as he witnessed Kai's next kick split open Key's lip. As he watched her go to her knees, hair hanging in wet strings around her face, he could see the blood dripping on the mat when she dropped her head in defeat. His heart was slamming against his chest in an accelerated staccato.

Kai paused, backed away into a relaxed stance and then looked toward Michael. Both exchanged slight nods of the head and Kai turned to exit the room. She had held her own during the first quarter hour of their sparring. Then it had gotten ugly as it was evident Kai had the greater skill and endurance. Key was no martial artist.

Walter started toward the mat and Michael quickly reached to restrain him.

"No."

"Michael, she needs some medical attention." He tried to break Michael's hold, then glanced up, saw the look of pain flicker briefly across his face. "Yeah, right . . . . okay." He backed away and watched as two female operatives crossed from the opposite direction and began to assist Key to her feet.

"Was this necessary?" He asked, not sure he would even rate a response.

Michael continued to focus on the small beaten figure as Key was assisted out the door across the room. She paused her painful progress just long enough to glance back at him. The look was rife with emotion. Hurt, fear, and understanding danced across the room, and once again his feelings for her struggled to the surface. He felt the tightness in his chest, the prickles of heat on his skin, and the urge to go to her was almost impossible to check. Then she disappeared through the door.

He gathered himself, and with an imperceptible deep breath, turned to Walter, mask in place. It's part of the mission profile."

"What mission profile?" Walter asked as Michael turned to leave.

"Mission prep. Twenty minutes. Downstairs." He continued to walk away as he responded.

Walter shook his head as he watched Michael's retreating figure. In all his years in Section, with all he had seen, Michael was still the one person he consistently had to reevaluate. An enigma. In his heart of hearts, he knew this girl . . . this woman was Michael's saving grace, but what a rocky journey it had become.

******************************

Michael knocked on the door to the room used as a small medical facility. The two female operatives vacated immediately. The medic, Ralph, glanced up from examining Key's ribs and spoke, "She re-broke one of the ribs she injured in March. Do you want me to tape her up?"

"No." He looked from Key to Ralph. "Leave it."

"The crystal's been inserted." Michael nodded in acknowledgment and Ralph turned and left the room.

Michael crossed to the table where she sat and lifted her chin gently bringing her face up to meet his. Her left eye was swelling shut, she had significant bruising on the same cheek and her lower lip was also split on the left side. She looked like a very big truck had hit her. He knew the rest of her body would be black and blue by that evening.

"Did you let him give you anything for the pain?" His question came out in a shaky whisper.

She shook her head in a negative response.

"Do you want to lie down?" He continued as he released her face.

She dropped her head again, then spoke with great effort. "No, but please help me to the bathroom. I'm going to be sick." She groaned as she made a move to stand. Nausea swelled in her throat. Michael helped her off the table and supported her as she made her way to the small lavatory. She went to her knees almost before he had a chance to keep her from falling.

"Now go away Michael." She pleaded as she bent over the porcelain commode and threw up. Michael grabbed a towel, moistened it in the sink, then he bent to his knees. There he supported her back against his chest as he gently bathed her face with the cool cloth.

"We can stop this. There will be another way." Now, he pleaded with her as she leaned against him. He stroked the hair back away from her face and pressed his cheek against the soft curls. "I can still change the profile." He heard her sob, knew she was crying. "I don't want to loose you," he choked out.

"Oh Michael, please . . ." She cried. "We have to end this, and you know from all the sims we've run . . ." her voice trailed off as she sucked in a shallow breath. "This is the only way." The hot tears that fell on his forearm gave away her quiet desperation, and she continued, "This is no time to exercise your demons from the past." She pulled away from him and clutched the bowl of the commode for support as she added, "Or mine." Slowly she struggled to rise.

Michael stood up behind her and resisted the urge to help her. He knew she was right. Hated that he might be sending her into an impossible situation. He turned to leave before he couldn't. "I'll see you downstairs for the briefing."

"Michael," He stopped but did not turn around. "We can get through this." She paused for a breath, "Then we only have to worry about keeping you alive."

He walked from the room convinced he had done everything he could to persuade her to change her mind. Key was stubborn and willful and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. If it helped him keep her alive, so be it.

June 27th

0900

Everyone, but the operatives on watch, was gathered at the mission desk, some sitting some standing. Most were speculating on the event earlier that morning and the reason Key had submitted to such a brutal beating. Even Birkoff and Walter, who usually were in the know, had both been uncharacteristically silent. Michael was at the surveillance desk apparently getting a last minute update from the insertion operative in Belfast. It was so quiet that when Key finally struggled down the stairs and made her entrance; every eye turned as one on her. Silence ensued as she hobbled across the room and if all eyes had not been trained on her someone would surely have noticed the bleak look of despair that passed quietly over Michael's face as he watched her.

Walter and Mentz were the first to reach her and offer some assistance to a seat near the end of the table. Her face, just beginning to show the ravages of the beating, was turning several shades of purple around her eye and cheek on the left side. Her nausea had subsided for now, but the broken rib hurt the most. Every breath was a nightmare.

Michael approached the table, eyes sweeping the group, resting on Key for a moment, then returning to the business at hand.

"Everyone here should be familiar with this man," He touched a button on the table's console and a picture of Thomas appeared, "Thomas O'Neil." Touching another button brought up four more faces. "Randall Cunningham, Manfred Pritchard, Craig Magruder and Colm Lachlan. These men are 'The Five', the brains and money behind Chimera."

"This has been confirmed?" Walter asked.

"Yes. Intel from our source in Belfast has just helped to verify that these men," his eyes shifted to Key, " Ms. Yager identified for us two weeks ago are indeed the additional members of The Five."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Walter responded. "Let's pick them up, take them to Madeline."

Michael leveled his "look" at Walter. "That's not possible. Mr. Magruder and Mr. Cunningham are too visible. Psych profiles indicate the other three would forfeit their lives to protect their organization. Also, the Intel linking these men is still being collected." He nodded at Birkoff.

"We're running out of time." Birkoff spared an uncomfortable look at Key before he continued. "There are only twelve days until the next full moon, and even though it falls on a week day, Thursday to be exact, it starts that day but wanes right into Friday, leaving us no room for error."

All attention shifted back to Michael as he continued. "Those of you here after Chimera's hit on this facility two weeks ago know about the message that was left. They were looking for Ms. Yager."

Key glanced around the room. Everyone was focused on Michael. He was calm and detached, hands clasped in front of him. His voice was level, betraying nothing of his feelings. Only she knew what the calm exterior cost him. Only she knew the pain inside him was like a wild animal scratching and clawing to get out.

"We have a possible rogue in Mr. O'Neil." He continued. "His personal interest in Ms. Yager is a weakness we intend to exploit." Michael looked at her and as much as it hurt, she straightened in her chair, lifted her chin stoically and watched for his imperceptible nod.

"I've been implanted with a cesium crystal," She started out, her voice a little shaky. "A message will be given to Mr. O'Neil that Section is done with me; that I've outlived my usefulness. He will be invited to collect me here in Dublin, tonight. That made the beating necessary. He must be convinced that I've been used, manipulated to cooperate, and now discarded."

"That's crazy." Walter piped in. "He'll know this is a trick. Why wouldn't we just cancel you ourselves?"

"Because the message will come from me, personally, not Section One." Michael looked at Walter coldly. "The night of the attack, Mr. O'Neil was here, later that evening. While we were recovering systems, he arrived in Dublin and did some surveillance of his own from the back of the Taylor's property."

"I still don't understand, Michael." Walter said, his jaw clinched, his anger barely contained.

Michael continued in a smooth detached voice. "He witnessed a . . . liaison between Ms. Yager and me, through the window in the sitting room."

Walter stood up. "You son-of-a-bitch." Key reached out and put a restraining hand on Walter. "You're sending her to her death."

"Sit down Walter." Michael commanded.

"Walter," Key began in a soothing voice, "we're counting on the fact that Thomas' jealousy will blind him to the real reason I'm being offered to him. We believe he will take me to their compound." She paused for a painful breath. "You'll be able to track me with the crystal and we can stop this madness."

"They'll kill you." He looked at her, the distress on his face clear.

"Maybe, maybe not." Her voice was almost a whisper. "Depends on how good of an actress I am."

Somehow Walter settled back into his seat, straining to keep silent. Mentz finally spoke.

"What's the rest of the plan Michael?" He asked.

"I'll be leaving for Belfast, immediately, to deliver the message to Mr. O'Neil. While I'm gone, Mentz, you'll coordinate the mobilization of this site. They must be convinced we are leaving Ireland. Tonight, at 2100 hours, I will dump Ms. Yager in an alley off O'Connell Street. We've chosen three different sites to disperse to after the C1-11 has been loaded with all but the necessary equipment and two of the mobile coms." He paused looking around the room. Everyone appeared to be uncomfortable, starting to fidget and shift in place. "Each team will consist of three cells, one team to each location. Mentz, Walter, Birkoff and Ryder, you'll be in the other van as my back up while I deliver Ms. Yager. Gail, you'll be with Team Two providing back-up systems and coordinating secondary communications with Section. Check your panels. Birkoff will have them updated in approximately thirty minutes. This is it. This is our only opportunity to discover what Chimera has planned. Go."

All the operatives dispersed but Walter, Birkoff and Mentz. Key remained in her seat, unmoving, and Michael noted she was even paler than prior to the meeting. "Mentz. Walter. Assist Ms. Yager to my quarters so she can rest."

Key cast a fleeting look at him when she stood, clasping one arm around her middle, then looking at her feet and willing them to move. Mentz and Walter helped her start across to the stairs. Suddenly they stopped. She saw Michael's booted feet in front of her, felt his hand as he cupped her chin and lifted her face to meet his. She couldn't stop the tear that tracked down her cheek. He searched her face for a moment and she saw his eyes were dark with concern. His hand released her chin and brushed the tear away with the backs of his fingers. Then he nodded and moved away.

After Key and her entourage passed, Michael gestured for Ralph, who was standing at the base of the stairs waiting to help Walter and Mentz. He came immediately.

"I want you to give her something to make her sleep." He instructed.

"You know she won't agree." Ralph responded.

Michael snapped a look toward her retreating back and then returned his attention to Ralph, speaking evenly, "I don't care what you have to do. Hold her down. Give her an injection, put it in her tea, but you get something in her for the pain and nausea. Understood?"

"Yes." He turned and hurried for the stairs.

Michael watched them briefly, then moved to the station where Birkoff was working. "Do you have his location?"

"Yea. He's at his room in downtown Belfast."

"Good. Keep me posted on any movement. I'll be in route the next two hours." He observed the progress the operatives were making in disassembling the room and packing equipment. He knew he had to leave. Things were in motion, things he couldn't change even though he wanted to desperately.

"You're in love with her aren't you?" Birkoff said before he could stop himself. Michael didn't look at him, but his mind snapped back to the present. He stood frozen in place and continued to survey the activity. Then with no further acknowledgment he turned and left.

************

June 27th

1200 hours

Belfast

Thomas was standing at the window sipping his last cup of coffee and surveying the bustling city five stories below. The book had arrived yesterday. It felt like he had been waiting for that book an eternity. "Crime & Punishment" by Dostoevsky. It had been his idea originally for them to communicate via the books. A list of twenty titles had been chosen and they all had their own significant meaning. The thought behind this was no one would link the shipment of the books to the recipients. The bookstores had been selected randomly, each independently owned so no common ownership would become a red flag. None of the stores were progressive enough to employ the use of computers and each owner had been paid handsomely to keep no written records. If one of them needed to get a message to the others, the appropriate title was chosen and shipped between stores, earmarked with a prearranged false name. Runners, different ones each time, were used by each member of 'The Five' to check daily at the bookstores for a delivery. This last book was now already on its way to Colm.

They were going ahead with the plan. The next full moon was only twelve days away. His excitement and anticipation was only lessened slightly by his thoughts of Kirsten, or Key, as she liked to be called now. He would have her, if only for the opportunity to toy with her then dispose of her. His anger boiled inside when he recalled what he witnessed through the window that night two weeks ago. She had given that Section operative, Michael, just what she so vehemently refused to give him twelve years past. He'd always known she was a hot little piece and he would find someway to have a taste of her before he made sure she was dead - this time.

Suddenly he was brought out his musings by a knock on the door. Quickly he relinquished his coffee and sought his nine-millimeter, chambered a round and went to the door. With his back against the wall just beside the frame, he called out; "Who is it?"

"It's me. Colin."

That was one of the boys he used as a runner. Knowing he hadn't sent for him heightened his suspicion and he responded, "What do you want?"

"I have something for you."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

Thomas didn't detect any nervousness or subterfuge in the boy's voice, but being cautious, he reached over, flipped the lock, and moved to the other side of the door.

"Come in."

As the knob turned, the door swung open and concealed his presence on the other side. Once he saw the boy enter, he kicked the door shut never wavering his aim at the twelve-year-old figure. Colin jumped, frightened by the movement and more immediately by the gun pointing his direction. His hands came up and away from his sides, providing a gesture of surrender.

"Holy Mother Mary, Thomas." The boy said in a panic.

"What do you have?" Thomas spat out, his patience waning.

"A message." He responded, trembling now.

Thomas lowered the gun and unchambered the round.

"From?" His question hung in the air.

"A man down on the street." He continued to eye Thomas warily as he watched him move over to the side of the window. There he parted the curtain with the barrel of the gun and saw a figure he immediately recognized. Even with the dark glasses and dressed in black, Thomas knew.

"What did he tell you?" Thomas continued to watch the man.

"He said you should meet him at Hazelwood Park, one hour. He'll be by the foot bridge near the park exit." Colin swallowed to wet his throat. "Said he has the key."

Thomas snapped his head around to look at the boy. His heart was pounding and Colin could see the taut look, the vein pulsing at his temple. The figure was gone, when Thomas looked back out the window.

"Go find Patrick, Kyle and Sean. Tell them what you told me. I want them there. Tell them to set up a perimeter."

"Who was he?" The boy asked.

Thomas moved swiftly around the room gathering his possessions. "You never mind boy. Go do what you're told and don't come back here." He paused long enough to flip a coin the boy's direction, barely hearing the door slam behind him as he left.

June 27th

1300 hours

Belfast

The afternoon was bright and hot. Thomas moved through the park, his mind racing over the coming meeting. Most certainly he suspected a trick, but if it weren't, he would find out soon enough. As he approached the footbridge, he felt more secure. There weren't many people about, but he had spotted Patrick, Kyle and Sean, knew they were prepared to take out this man he was meeting at the first hint of trouble. Thomas spotted Michael immediately. He was standing on the footbridge spanning the tributary of water that flowed along the edge of the park. Even in this heat, the man appeared cool, wearing a windbreaker that probably concealed a weapon. Thomas approached and stood beside him, placing his hands on the bridge rail alongside Michael's. They both knew the game. Exposed hands made everyone less trigger-happy.

Thomas spoke first. "A fine and glorious day, isn't it my friend." It was more of a statement than a question.

Michael continued to stare out through his dark glasses at the water below, not responding, only wishing he could eliminate this piece of scum standing next to him."

"You have something for me?" Thomas asked.

"Yes." He clipped. "The key."

"And why would you want to be offering the fine lass to me?"

"You made it clear you wanted her two weeks ago. We're done with her." He shifted his weight and willed himself to appear relaxed.

"And why would that be? Did she fail you in some way?"

"She knows nothing. She's a waste of our resources. We're leaving Ireland tonight." His responses were minimal, the less he said the easier it was to keep a rein on his anger.

"You expect me to believe that?" Thomas wanted so much to provoke this automaton.

Michael turned his head, looked at Thomas and said coldly, "Believe what you want. I'm sure you have sources that can confirm what I'm telling you. Our withdrawal has been ordered. We're needed elsewhere."

"And you don't want her around to warm your bed any longer?" A very self-satisfied smirk turned up the corners of his mouth.

Michael chose that moment to remove his glasses and Thomas found himself staring at a pair of the coldest green eyes he had ever seen. Not a spark or a flicker of emotion accompanied his next statement. "She couldn't warm my bed even on the coldest day."

Thomas studied the man beside him for a long moment before he concluded, "I don't suppose anyone or anything could warm your bed, but ..... perhaps she just needs the proper instructor."

Coming to the end of his restraint, Michael narrowed his eyes when he next spoke. "Do you want her or not?"

"Where and when?"

He watched as Michael slipped his glasses back on. "Tonight. O'Connell and 34th. Dublin. 2100 hours. She'll be there whether you are or not."

Then he turned and left down the path toward the park exit. He couldn't resist bestowing very pointed looks at each of Thomas' cronies. He knew where they were positioned and he made sure they knew he was aware of their presence.

June 27th

1700 hours

Dublin

Michael pulled up for the last time into the alley behind the school, guiding the Land Rover to park behind the remaining mobile com. He sat for the moment, unable or unwilling to get out. This mission had all the required elements guaranteed to awaken his dormant nightmares. In a truly unguarded moment, he propped his right arm on the steering wheel and leaned forward to rest his forehead there. He had to go in and act like none of this affected him, when in four hours he would be required to place the one person he loved directly in harms way.

Love. Not an emotion he was familiar with. There was so much darkness in his life, so much ugliness, so much destruction, that he had convinced himself he was incapable of experiencing that feeling again. He was so sure he had shut the door on the one thing that could give Section One emotional power over him. But she had sneaked right in under his radar. Her defiance, silent strength, and intelligence had garnered his respect, but it was her quiet dignity that captured his soul. Fighting to conceal his affection for her had been difficult, but he had done so. It was unfortunate that in an uncharacteristic flash of anger he had revealed his feelings to Madeline, and in turn, to Operations, but that was well before he knew things would go this far. He had asked her - no, he had begged her to go - given her the perfect way out, more than once. And what had she done? Refused.

God, he didn't want to hurt her like he had Nikita, but ultimately he didn't want to hurt again. Not like he had when he had lost Simone . . . twice. If Key died trying to complete this mission; nothing would keep him from sending Thomas to the deepest darkest corner of hell. He had been there and back too many times to count, but he would remain permanently if he lost her. It would be a good day for the devil.

Suddenly he heard the snick of the door opening on the passenger side and in one fluid move he had his gun out and aimed right at the intruder's head. It was Walter. Michael brought the gun down, disengaged the round he had chambered, and slid the gun back into his coat.

Attempting to make eye contact, Walter looked directly at Michael when he spoke. "She's been asking for you this last hour." He watched as the man beside him leaned his elbow against the door, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. It was the closest thing Walter had ever seen Michael do that suggested or hinted at his quiet desperation about where this mission was heading.

"She's absolutely the best thing that's walked into your miserable existence in years." Walter stated and looked away from him, focusing on the sun going down behind the school's wall.

"I tried to get her to leave." His said quietly.

Walter snapped his head back to focus on Michael, "When?"

"Before we left for Liverpool . . .and once when we returned," he paused for a deep breath, "And again last night." Both hands were gripping the steering wheel now, knuckles white. He was looking out the window essentially not focused on anything.

"She loves you." Walter's statement hung in the air.

There was only silence. Finally Walter shifted uncomfortably and Michael reclaimed the moment.

"Where are we on personnel disbursement?" He asked.

Discussion over, Walter thought and shook his head. Michael would never be anything but the consummate professional with any of his colleagues. Tallie had been the only exception.

"The C1-11 is loaded. Team One is off the plane and in position. Team Two is halfway through their sequence."

"Good."

"Birkoff has detected no further surveillance."

"And Thomas?" Michael asked.

"The chemical we marked him with has degraded entirely, but we have visual confirmation he left Belfast with three other men about thirty minutes ago."

"Get your sequence started. Ralph can drop you at the other van, then get this one to the airport to load on the plane." He spoke with an eerie calmness considering the disturbing events due to take place.

"Sure. I'll go get the others." Walter moved to open the door until Michael stopped him with a hand on his arm and a question.

"Did Ralph give her anything for the pain?"

"Yes and she wasn't happy. She fought to stay awake, but finally she did rest for about six hours." He got out of the Rover, turned and asked, "Are your coming up?" All he got was a silent nod.

********************************

Michael walked down the long narrow hallway, his steps slow and deliberate, and only the slightest slump to his shoulders betrayed the feeling of dread coursing through his body. He hesitated at the door, then opened it and slipped in. Her scent was in the air, not fresh and vibrant as it usually was, but stale and mingled with the dampness that seemed to perpetually cling to the walls of the old building. Crossing to the bed, he observed the tangled bed covers, a testament to her restlessness. There was an empty glass along with a pan of water and damp cloth on the crate beside the bed. The halogen lamp, on low, cast only shadows of light mixed with the beginnings of twilight coming through the window. Easing down on the bed so as not to disturb her, he looked at her ravaged face. Guilt washed over him like a powerful waterfall and pooled in his stomach making it burn. She moved suddenly in a jerking motion and the groan of pain coming from her almost broke his heart.

Unable to resist, Michael took her small hand and clasped it between his. It was cool and dry, a sharp contrast to the dampness of the hair around her face and the beads of perspiration on her forehead. He squeezed her hand, felt her tense, then slowly relax. She spoke without opening even the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"Michael."

He wasn't sure she was awake; thought she might be hovering in that place between sleep and consciousness. Key turned her head and struggling against the pain that had slowly returned her to reality, she opened her eyes.

"Did you see him? Will he come?" She asked.

"He'll come."

She looked away again, this time unable to deal with the conflict she saw in his eyes. "How much longer?"

"We'll begin our sequence in two hours."

In an attempt to maintain his composure, Michael got up from the bed and walked to the window. He put his hands in his pockets, not in a gesture of casual indifference, but to keep them from shaking. Once again he found it easier to focus on nothing specific as he looked out the window.

"I should have never touched you." He announced.

Key flinched like she'd been slapped. She struggled to sit up, wasting a good deal of energy in the process. As her feet touched the floor, it didn't take much for her to realize she couldn't stand, not without help. Focusing on the figure at the window, her vision alternately blurred and sharpened as her head pounded in rhythm with her heartbeat.

"Well, that's really rich, Michael." She coughed, grabbing her side. "Are you wishing now that you had waited to see if I survived the mission?" She couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice. "Or would you prefer you'd never met me in the first place?" Key wished almost immediately she could take back her words. A deep silence froze the moment. Then he spoke; words she would remember . . . forever.

"If I hadn't touched you . . . kissed you that first time; you wouldn't be in the middle of this. You would have helped us mark Thomas and your involvement would have ended there." His voice was very clear and strong as he stole a glance her direction. She had her face buried in her hands. He looked away again. "If I had refused to bring you to Ireland, you would never have seen the carnage you saw. Thomas would never have seen us together; he wouldn't be obsessing about you."

Key was sobbing audibly now. Her breaths were shallow and when they came out they were accompanied by a soft keening noise. Hot tears burned tracks down her face.

Michael left the window and walked to her, bent down in front of her on one knee. "If I had left you alone, you wouldn't be sitting here nearly half dead." He gathered her hands in his. They were shaking, just as his were.

She fought back her sobs and looked up at him, sucked in a deeper breath. Then she saw it. One single solitary tear glistened in the golden light as it slid slowly down his cheek.

"If I'd never met you, I wouldn't be feeling anything, I'd still be dead inside." His voice was a mere whisper.

Key disengaged one hand from his; gently she cradled the length of his jaw, brushed at the wetness there with her thumb. His eyes focused on hers as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her cupped palm. With a reverence unlike she'd ever known from him, he finished, "If I had never met you I would never have experienced your love. I would never have loved you back."

"Michael," Key choked out his name. "I want you to remember . . ."

A knock at the door suddenly interrupted her. She watched, fascinated, as Michael closed his eyes and then lowered his head to rest where their hands remained clasped. In that brief moment Key could actually feel him gather his burgeoning emotion, pull it back inside and switch it off. Michael was the master and she knew she should endeavor to follow his example. As he rose to his feet, he gave her a swift look of apology before he locked in his emotionless mask and headed for the door.

Birkoff and Walter waited on the other side. Michael opened the door and responded, "Yes."

"We're ready to go." Walter said as he glanced past Michael to Key and announced, "We'll be watching your back sweetheart."

Key looked up toward the door and managed a halfhearted smile of acknowledgement.

"Begin your sequence." Michael ordered quietly.

Birkoff passed him a com unit and a small injection device that Michael quickly placed in his pocket. Brief nods were exchanged and they were gone.

Michael shut the door and at the same time seated the com unit behind his ear. Crossing over to Key he said softly, "Let's get some rest."

She nodded and he sat down on the bed positioning himself in the corner with his back against the wall. Then he gently guided her to rest against his chest, loosely enfolding his arms around her.

Key nestled into his warmth, closed her eyes, and began to slowly control her breathing so she could relax. Michael rested his cheek against her hair and willed himself to also allow the tension to slip away. After a time he finally felt her loosen, let go of her taut control. The twilight finally slipped away to full darkness and in the surrounding quiet, his tentative whisper broke the silence, "Je t'aime."

*******************

June 27th

1936 hours

Dublin

Michael was blasted into reality by Birkoff's voice over his com unit.

"We're in position, Michael. Minus 24 minutes and counting until your sequence begins. Minus 84 minutes and counting until delivery. Copy?"

"Yes." He kept his voice to a whisper, not wanting disturb Key. Her breathing was even, and she had not been restless in the last hour and a half. Mentally he started to prepare himself; going over a list of the steps he was determined to take that would hopefully minimize her vulnerability. Twenty-four minutes was gone in a heartbeat and with great reluctance he woke her up so they could prepare to leave. They didn't speak as Michael moved around the room gathering his gun, extra clips of ammo and Key's lightweight jacket. She sat watching him in silence until he helped her into the jacket, and as stoic as she tried to be she couldn't hold back her gasps of pain caused by the movement. Next she watched as Michael immobilized her hands with the plastic binding, as she would need to fulfill her part as the unwilling prisoner.

Slowly they made their way out the back of the school to the Rover. Michael was tempted once to carry her as she continued to stumble in pain toward the vehicle, but he restrained himself. This at least allowed her to retain a portion of her dignity by operating under her own power.

The drive into the city was again fraught with silence. Everything had been said; every touch and look had been charged with emotion. Once he determined through a circuitous route that they weren't being followed, he pulled to the curb a few blocks from the drop site and placed the Rover in park.

Key kept her eyes focused ahead. She was pretty sure if she even looked Michael's direction she would explode into tears. Unfortunately he didn't give her much of a choice.

"Key." He spoke her name and his suppressed angst was clearly evident in his hushed whisper.

She managed to avoid looking directly at him by focusing on the console between them. Fear, dread and apprehension coursed though his veins leaving him cold. Her long sweeping lashes shielded her downcast eyes and he gently reached over and moved a tendril of hair caught against their thickness. He let his index finger drift down to brush across her lips, memorizing their softness. Then his hand moved to the tender skin at the base of her neck and she felt the tiny prick of the needle as he spoke, "Please . . . forgive me."

The drug worked quickly, and almost as her eyes widened with surprise, they closed and she slipped into unconsciousness. His guilt at doing this to her was more than overridden by the fact she would not be aware or remember the heartless way he would be forced to effect her delivery to the alley. And . . . there would be no good-byes. She was coming back to him or he was bound for hell . . . alive or dead.

************

June 27th

1028 hours

Ireland

Key scratched and clawed her way up through the drug-induced darkness. Nausea swelled in her throat and the swaying motion she felt only made it worse. Things were bumping and rattling all around her and she lay unmoving, her body a mass of pain, as she realized she was curled into a fetal position. Her face was pressed into some musty, sour sackcloth. The smell alone made her want to wretch, but she knew there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up. Then to top everything off, her mouth was dry as a desert and she needed to pee. As she opened her one good eye and tried to focus on something, light from a match flared and she saw the eerie shadow of someone's face and smelled a cigarette being lit. She also noticed, in that flash of light, she was behind some kind of wire fence. Finally Key decided it was best to reveal she was conscious, if for no other reason than to find out where she was. Fighting the pain she tried to push up with her hands into a sitting position and found the plastic binding her wrists had disappeared, to be replaced by some kind of crude iron cuffs connected by a heavy chain.

"Eh, Sean, better be lettin' Thomas know th' gerl's awake." Key heard the heavily accented voice come from the cigarette smoker and then the she heard the sound of someone dialing a cell phone.

"Tommy me boy, just thought to let yer know Sleepin' Beauty 'appens to be awake."

The van, truck or whatever type vehicle they were in slowed to a jerking stop, and this threw Key backwards against what now appeared to be a cage or kennel for a large dog. The door to the back of the vehicle rolled up, squeaking and whining in protest, while the light from the moon silhouetted a man's figure climbing up from the outside.

Suddenly a bright light was trained on her and she brought her hands up to block her eyes, finding out at the same time just how heavy her manacles were in the process

"Not having one of your better days are you Kirsten?" It was Thomas' voice. "I suppose you also figured out that you weren't helping the US Marshall's office or the British government."

"Where am I?" She choked out hoarsely as he blessedly cut the light off and stooped down beside her cage.

"All in good time, darlin'." Thomas perused the dirty trembling figure before him. "Nasty bunch, those Section One blokes are, don't you agree?"

Key swallowed and tried to wet her impossibly dry throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Thomas laughed sardonically, "Sure ya' do darlin'. You've been f***in' one of their best. Michael Samuelle; 14 year veteran; level 5 operative for Section One. You sure know how to pick your boyfriends." He finished with a snort of disdain.

She stiffened into a straighter sitting position and said, "He's not my boyfriend." Somehow she managed to hide her surprise at how much Thomas knew about Michael.

"You sure fooled me. Looked like you were enjoying yourself in that window with him two weeks ago." The other two men still sitting in the darkness snickered in unison.

Key summoned up some long held back tears, "He used me . . . they used me. I was supposed to help them try and identify the main organizers of Chimera. I guess they thought I knew more than I did." She continued to sob. "Next thing I knew he had me beaten, then drugged. I was sure they were going to kill me."

"Well darlin', you may wish they had before we're done with you." Key couldn't see his face, but she knew he meant every word.

"Ey boss, we best be getting down the road. Ye know they be waitin' on us."

Thomas stood. "You boys watch what you say around her, and leave her be for now. Give her some water and remember . . . keep your mouths shut."

"Don' worry none about us Tommy, we'll be quiet as a couple of church mice."

One of the men rose to help Thomas roll the door back in place after he left. The truck shook and she heard gears grinding as they began to move again. A bottle of water was passed through the cage wire and she drank it all, then she pressed herself as far into the corner as she could, praying. Praying hard that the crystal was tracking their progress to wherever they were going.

****************

"Michael, they've stopped." Birkoff reported from his place at the monitor.

Michael froze in place. He'd been pacing restlessly for the last hour, despite the small-enclosed space of the mobile com. He looked at his watch and noted the time. She should be just coming to from the drug he'd given her. Maybe that was the reason they'd stopped.

"How far away from them are we?" He asked.

"At least five miles." Birkoff responded.

"Mentz." Michael summoned him over the com unit. "Find a place to pull over. You and Ryder get out and act like you're checking the engine. Keep your eyes open." He added.

The tension in the mobile com was so thick not even a sharp knife would cut through the veil of anxiety. Birkoff remained focused on the tracking screen typing in coordinates and triangulating destination possibilities from their present position. Michael seemed to have slipped back into 'mission mode' and Walter was staring at the two objects he held in his hands; not entirely sure he should give them to Michael, but he had promised Key.

"Michael, I . . .. " He hesitated when he saw the bleak look in the other man's eyes. It was well hidden, barely detectable . . . but there.

"What is it Walter?" His question was asked in a distracted manner.

"Key asked me to give these to you. I guess now's as good of time as any." He handed the two things over.

Michael reached for the items, took them and fingered them individually. One was the key on a chain that Tallie had given her and went to the safe deposit box. The other was a small silver disc, about the size of a nickel. It was flat and smooth on one side and as he turned it, saw the words inscribed there, time stood still. "un c(ur, un (me. One heart, one soul." His chest constricted to the point that a breath was almost impossible. He could even hear his heart beat. The blood in his veins roared, pounding like a drum and he was helpless to stop the flush of heat that flooded his body.

"When did she give you these?" He asked.

"While you were in Belfast." He looked down as he spoke next. "Same time I gave her the button."

Michael stiffened. "The 'button'?" His eyes shifted away from Walter then back again. "Explain."

"She asked me for something to use in an emergency; something she could easily conceal, but easily use to eliminate Thomas if it was necessary." Walter swallowed hard. "Did I do something wrong?"

Michael walked to stand behind Birkoff and look at the tracking screen. When he spoke the timbre of his voice was quiet, but ominous.

"You know the profile calls for us to bring Thomas in - alive."

"Yes, but . . . ." Michael didn't give him a chance to finish before he continued.

"She knows that." He glanced up from the computer and trained a menacing look on Walter. "Did it ever occur to you that what you gave her is something she would use on herself?"

"Well, no I . . ."

Michael continued to ignore him, "Did it ever occur to you that if she believes the mission has gone critical and we've been forced to abort that she might choose death by her own hand instead of Chimera's?"

"Michael, she wouldn't . . ."

"She wouldn't? Are you sure?" He interrupted again. The look in his eyes was coldly penetrating, then he turned away. "What's in the button?"

The silence was chilling, then Walter responded, "Powdered cyanide."

"They're moving again Michael." Birkoff looked up from the monitor with an uncomfortable expression.

Michael snapped back to the present and quickly pocketed both objects. "Mentz, let's go." He ordered into the com set.

There were no other words to be spoken at the moment.

*********************

Key tried to keep calm, thinking of everything inane she could. From counting sheep jumping over a fence; which quickly changed to memories of D.B. and wondering if she'd see him again, to counting backwards from one hundred in English then French. And that didn't work either, because once she started the French, all she could think about; all she could see was a pair of eyes the color of new spring maple leaves. She had no idea how long they'd been traveling. It could have been days as opposed to only hours or minutes. Her two companions remained silent and she suspected they were asleep, because she heard, intermittently, what sounded like snoring. Just as she was lulled into that unworldly place between reality and dreams, Key felt the truck jerk, then lurch, gears grinding again. Then they stopped.

The two men awakened immediately. Key tuned her ears to every sound. She couldn't make out their whispered words, but she did hear something that suspiciously sounded like an elevator. The truck engine had been shut down when they'd stopped. Now she heard it again as the vehicle swayed and moved forward. It was less than a minute before they halted again and the rear door was rolled up. She shielded her eyes against the bright light and as her sight slowly adjusted, Thomas came into view. He was directing someone in a forklift and pointing at her cage.

Once she was deposited well away from the activity; Key could see at least a dozen people scurrying about to unload some crates from the truck. She could also tell they were in some kind of warehouse. The walls appeared to be rock, which led her to believe they were underground. Thomas and a tall brunette woman approached her from across the large room and inside her stomach began its nervous dance. Could she play the part? Could she be the weak unwilling pawn she needed to be?

"So this is the insurance you were referring to?" The brunette gave her a scathing look. "Looks more like trouble to me."

"Ah, Moira. Always the skeptic." Thomas responded.

"Well, no one that was around twelve years ago has forgotten the trouble she caused, nor your carelessness." She added.

Thomas fixed her with a cool, arrogant look. "They obviously find my talents without fault or I'd still be experiencing some fine English hospitality."

"Another one of your stupid mistakes."

"Careful darlin', you're claws are showing and those exceptional blue eyes are looking a little green at the moment." Thomas smiled. "Disappointed you didn't make the boys club again?"

Key was trying not to act too interested in their exchange, but it was hard to ignore their obvious dislike of one another.

"So what are you going to do with her?" Moira asked with disgust.

"Oh, I have any number of delicious ideas." Thomas looked down at Key.

"Like warming your bed, perhaps?"

"Well, there is that, too." He laughed. "But I think she'll be quite valuable to the culmination of our coming action." His eyes were black, like his soul, and the evil Key saw there made her shiver. "Right now I want her cleaned up and her injuries tended to."

"You're sure that Section didn't track her here?"

"Absolutely, none of our scanning equipment picked up any monitoring devices. Besides, we confirmed they pulled out of Dublin hours ago." Thomas looked very pleased with himself when he added, "It appears their operative I met with was telling the truth."

"You better hope so Thomas." She turned to leave. "I'll send Kelly over to escort her to the shower. I can smell her from here."

*************************

"Michael, they're not moving. They've stopped just east of Kilfenora." Birkoff announced.

Michael brought up the map of the area in question and studied it quietly. "Team two, you're the advance team. Head north out of Limerick and stay close to the coast. When you get as far as Liscannor, hold there. Stay on B channel." He switched off his com set, leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "Birkoff find us somewhere to hold. It'll be daylight soon."

"Yeah, I think they've landed. Has to be their compound." He looked Michael's direction. "Want me to stay with this for now?"

He nodded his agreement. "We'll relieve you in shifts."

Some moment later Mentz pulled the mobile com to a halt on a well concealed two track and the waiting began. Walter was sleeping and Michael exited the van to recon the area, as well as take a much needed walk. They were once removed from the coastal road via a secondary access and the copse of trees that lined the two track provided a good cover. Michael pulled the collar up on his jacket then remembered he'd left his com set in the van. He engaged the alarm on his watch, knowing Birkoff would notify him that way if anything changed.

The days continued to remain warm, but the nights were brisk and the air here in Ireland had a bite to it like no where else he'd been. He could smell the tang of the ocean; they were close, but not close enough to hear the sea breaking against the limestone terrace that lined the coast. The stars were bright and clear, while the moon wound it's way to fullness.

Michael halted; stared off into the darkness. He was helpless to stop his thoughts of her. She was no doubt frightened, and in physical pain. It made him wince to remember the beating she'd agreed to. What he wouldn't give to have taken her place; spared her the fear. She had lived a third of her life hiding from the world. You never became wholly accepting of the constant need to look over your shoulder. He knew. He'd spent over half his life that way.

The button. Contingencies. Options. He'd have chosen something similar, maybe even the same thing. It was the way you adapted when you entered this underworld, preferring death to giving the enemy an edge. Common thinking - all provided courtesy of Section One. Perhaps she'd learned too well what the path was like.

He closed his eyes. "Key." Her name drifted from his mouth, carried away by the breeze.

*********************

She was clean. They'd taken her clothes, given her something else to wear; though she had managed to convince the girl, Kelly, to allow her to keep her jacket. She had a bed, blankets to keep her warm, but warmth eluded her. She knew she'd never be that way again without Michael. Sleep wasn't even a choice; she was bone tired and rest came to her in snatches, fitful and erratic; her consciousness slipping in and out in waves. Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she sat up, frozen in the darkness. She heard her name; soft and ever so far away. It was Michael's voice. Key listened for more . . . and nothing came.

************

June 28th

0900

Kilfenora

Chimera compound

Key was rudely jerked awake, only just having finally slipped into a restful place.

"Time for a little chat my dear." She opened her eyes and focused on none other than her nemesis, Thomas. "Here, have some coffee."

Blessedly, a hot cup of caffeine was pushed into her hands after she struggled to sit up on the bed. Thomas had brought a chair into the room and now he sat facing her, straddling the chair backwards.

The time had come. She sipped the hot liquid and looked around the room. It was small, maybe 9'x 9', no windows, one very harsh overhead light, and one lumpy bunk. Not particularly warm or inviting, but she hadn't expected it to be.

"I need information Kirsten. You have to earn your keep or be eliminated." Key fingered one of the buttons on her jacket and nodded her agreement.

"How did you manage to hook up with Section One?"

"They kidnapped me." She responded hoarsely, struggling to get her voice.

"When?"

"March."

"Where?"

"The States."

"Be more specific."

Key took another sip of coffee and cleared her throat. "I was on a conditioning run with my horse . . . it was in Virginia."

"Do you know where their headquarters is located?" He cocked his head, studied her closely as she answered.

"Not likely. They took me by surprise, then drugged me. When I woke up later they explained I had no choice but to help them."

"Why you?" His questions came fast and furious.

"Their original intent was for me to assist them. Identify the organizers behind Chimera." She stated, wary of where this was headed.

"Did you?"

"What do you think Thomas? Would I be sitting here with you if I had?" She failed to hide her sarcasm this time.

He laughed. "Now there's the Kirsten I remember." Then he changed; his sudden mirth turned deadly serious.

"Tell me what they know."

She raised her chin and with a measure of defiance, she answered. "They knew about my history with you. They used me to get close enough to you at the hostage exchange to mark you with a degradable isotope. They were tracking you." Then Key looked down at her coffee, waiting.

"Tell me something I don't already know Kirsten." Thomas looked mildly amused.

She glanced up, her surprise apparent. "You knew?"

"Why do you think I holed up at that stupid boarding house for so long? We knew something was wrong right after I was tailed to Liverpool that first time. It didn't take a genius to figure it out." He got up from the chair, and suddenly, violently, he threw it in the corner. "Now tell me what they know!" His voice became louder.

Key cringed noticeably. "Nothing Thomas." She sat the coffee down because her hands were shaking too badly to hold it any longer. "That's why they left, why they discarded me."

He walked to the bed and looked down at her, his fury barely contained. "That's why 'Prince Charming' had you beaten to within an inch of your life?"

"Yes." She started to cry. "They ran every cross check, every probability program, every analysis they could think of. Every one I could think of . . ." Her breath hitched in her throat. "They lost a lot of people because of me."

Thomas jerked her off the bed roughly to stand before him, "That's not all they know! NOW TELL ME!"

"The full moon!" She cried out. "They know your actions always correspond with a full moon!" Suddenly she found herself slammed against the rock wall.

"SO THEY'RE COMING BACK?" He yelled as he shook her. Key was sobbing uncontrollably now. "ARE THEY?"

"I don't . . . . know. I don't know . . . Please . . . believe me." Her cries echoed weakly through the small room.

Thomas looked at the woman before him. Her face was a mottled collection of bruises; tears where streaming down from swollen eyes. "You disgust me." He said as he released her and she fell to the floor. "No wonder Section didn't waste their time terminating you."

He left her there weeping as he turned and opened the door to leave. Moira was waiting on the other side, and before Thomas had completely exited the room, Key heard him say, "They know about the tenth; let's move it up."

Her body jerked in reaction as she heard the door slam, and in the midst of her tears . . . the pain . . . she whispered, "It worked Michael. Please be careful."

*************************

"Advance team," Michael hailed them, "head for Kilfenora. The signal is holding there. I'll send the coordinates to your panels. I want a complete analysis of the area - civilian population, activity; layouts of businesses, residences; possible ingress and egress points. Be thorough, but be quick." He switched off his com set.

"What's next Michael?" Walter asked. It was the first time they'd spoken since his revelation about Key the night before.

"Get some charges ready." Michael didn't look up. He continued to type, fingers clicking over the computer keyboard.

"Is there something you're not telling us?"

He stopped, brought his eyes up to meet Walter's. "If they've interrogated her, they know that we know about the full moon. " His 'Michael' look was back. Blank. Cold. Calculating.

"Would she tell them that?"

Michael returned his attention to the keyboard. "That's the profile. The sims all suggest our best success will be if they advance their action. Now get to work."

"How are we going to extract her?" Walter asked solemnly.

Michael paused, glanced at where Birkoff was resting. In just the briefest moment, his face lifted, his eyes closed . . . then opened. It was as if the very breath he took in begged the air around him for an answer. "That's unknown."

************************

June 28th

1500 hours

Outside Kilfenora

Within six hours, the Intel started coming in. Kilfenora was a small community with scattered farms surrounding the town itself, however; tourism had made its mark. The 'Burren Display Centre' was the most popular, offering information regarding the geology and topography of the Region know as "The Burren". This was a vast 325 square miles of limestone terraces that led to the sea; looking more like a lunar landscape than something earthly. A very desolate area, the result of glaciation, it held secret it's many underground rivers and caves. A few of which reached inland to the hamlet of Kilfenora.

Michael and Birkoff were working furiously to assimilate the data coming in from the advance team. It was becoming apparent from everything they had learned; the signal from Key's cesium clock was coming from underground.

"You know Michael, the signal is coming from between this old cathedral and the granary. They sure raise a lot of cows in this area if they need this much storage for grain." Birkoff glanced up and saw his pointless commentary on animal life in the area went unnoticed. He looked back at his information, focusing on the big question. "Where do you think the underground entry is located?"

Michael was staring at the Intel, locked to the words before him. If he had heard anything Birkoff said, it wasn't apparent. He was focused on two sentences in the report that jumped out at him. "Kilfenora Cathedral dates back to the 6th century and part of the structure is still used for Catholic mass. It is most famous for it's five remaining high crosses." His mind was processing the last few words over and over like a chant. "Five remaining high crosses . . ."

"Michael." Birkoff's insistent voice finally penetrated his trance. "How do you want to proceed?"

"Have Snow place both structures under heavy surveillance. I want every movement in and around those two locations noted and evaluated for possible connections to Chimera." He rose from the station, glanced at Walter in one corner working on building charges and then to Mentz and Ryder cleaning weapons. "I'm outside."

Birkoff nodded his agreement as Michael stepped out of the van.

************************************

Key lay prone on the small bed. Once again time held no measurement for her. Every muscle in her body ached. A tray of food sat on the floor beside the bed, untouched. Her focus was no longer on the pain of her cuts, bruises and broken rib, but on the consuming chills that racked her body. She couldn't get warm, yet she was perspiring like someone who'd run a marathon. Every breath was a torment; she began to wonder if she'd punctured a lung when Thomas had dropped her to the floor.

She had no idea how long she had been on the floor, only that it had taken all her strength to crawl back into the bunk. Visions of Michael chased through her mind: The first meeting they'd had in the Section medical bay. The time he was wounded in the woods and she first realized her feelings for him. Tallie's death. Michael's subsequent attempts to bring her back from her shock - his success, and finally, the hot passionate night of love they shared before this latest nightmare began. Her phantasmagoria almost ended there as she clung to the image of him on his knees in front of her, clasping her hands and making his reverent declaration of love.

As fever consumed her body, departure from reality to dream took the form of her standing on a dramatic precipice, staring at the churning sea below. Then she looked around her and saw a plethora of peach, yellow, blue and purple flowers springing from interstices of naked limestone that seemed to stretch for miles behind her. Michael was there; his body was without substance, much like a hologram. His hand was stretched out to her, beckoning her away from the cliff, reaching . . . and then there was darkness, no sound, no Michael.

***************************************

The door to the van slammed open and Michael suddenly turned away from the rock wall, one of many that stretched to the east of their location, surrounding green fields full of cattle. Birkoff was bent over in the doorway, a stricken look of panic written plainly on his face.

"What?" Michael clipped out as he searched the area, jumping to the conclusion they might have been discovered.

"The signal." He choked out. "Key's cesium clock."

Michael was before him in three brisk strides. "What about it Birkoff?"

"The signal just terminated. It's gone."

Michael froze. He looked down at the ground in front of him, his eyes unable to focus, mind churning through the implications, but trying not to go where his mind was leading him. He stepped up into the van and Birkoff closed the door behind him.

Returning to his station, Birkoff sat down. Michael moved behind him, looking intently over his shoulder, arms locked and hands braced against the desk beside him. "Show me." He said.

"I was transferring your instructions to Snow and I just minimized the tracker to the corner of the screen. Suddenly it terminated."

"It's an anomaly." Michael stated; his voice was a flat monotone.

"No. I checked. The satellite links are clean. The crystal isn't transmitting. I tried everything to reestablish the uplink." The words tumbled from his mouth in a nervous staccato. "I even checked with Gail. She got the same response."

Michael looked up; aware Walter, Mentz and Ryder were all watching him, waiting. He glanced back at the screen.

"Michael, you know the only reason the clock terminates is from a drop in body temperature. That means . . ."

"She's not dead." His proclamation cut off Birkoff's statement.

"How do you know? Maybe they . . ."

"She's not dead." He emphasized each word evenly. Then he thought to himself, "I'd know, I'd feel it."

"Well, how else do you explain . . ."

"What's the definition of 'drop in temperature'?" He moved to the other screen and started typing.

Birkoff looked over at Walter and shook his head.

"What is the exact parameter?" His voice impatient, he stopped his entry and looked up at Birkoff. "I asked you a question."

"About five degrees." He answered.

"Then it can work the other way." Michael suggested.

"What do you mean?"

He continued, fingers flying over the keyboard. "If it terminates with a drop, what about a rise in temperature?" He asked.

The look on Birkoff's face changed from one of distress to a dawn of understanding. "A fever." He stated simply.

"Yes."

"That could be." He started accessing medical records. "What's Key's normal body temp?"

"97.8 degrees."

Birkoff stopped his query when he realized Michael had already accessed the information. "Then she's running a fever of at least 103 degrees."

"She's not dead . . . but she might be soon." Michael looked back at Mentz and Ryder. "Get your gear ready. We're going in to Kilfenora, tonight."

**********************************

"Thomas." Moira's voice disturbed his silent meditation. He'd been in the graveyard at the cathedral for over and hour, thinking. The strike they would effect against the Protestants in Dublin would have a far-reaching impact. The naysayers and non-believers against a United Ireland would suffer their wake up call

"What is it Moira?" He continued to survey the area. It was impossible to not admire the five high crosses. . So appropriate.

"Colm is here. We expect Pritchard within the hour. Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Magruder will be here by night fall."

Thomas turned, raised an eyebrow at this information. Normally Magruder and Cunningham stayed away, preferring to remain invisible, acting only as information and monetary sources. This was a first.

"Who summoned them?" He inquired.

"No one." She paused. "I think our having to advance the action has them disturbed." Moira watched as he turned away.

"It was unavoidable. You know I was justified in changing the plans."

"Yes." She was silent for a moment, then added. "This woman . . . is she going to be a problem?"

"I don't know, is she?" He was still looking out over the graveyard; his words were spoken with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"Well . . . you know how screwed up things were the last time you involved yourself with her." Impatience built in her voice. "The others won't be pleased to find her here."

"I think she could still be useful to us." Thomas swung around, his eyes dancing with anger.

Moira looked down at the ground and spat out under her breath. "Useful as a corpse."

"What did you say?"

"Kelly checked on her just a while ago, she's unconscious, running a high fever and having trouble breathing." She locked eyes with him.

"How long has this been going on?" She watched Thomas' anger change nearly to fury.

"Everyone's been too busy with our preparations to baby sit." Her voice rose in agitation. "She's a liability, Thomas, get rid of her. We can't afford to bring in medical help. It would look too suspicious and I doubt without it she'll last another couple of days." The look of defiance on her face suggested she wasn't afraid of him.

He started walking toward the gate to the graveyard and Moira followed.

"Look, Thomas," She decided to change her tactic and tried to reason with him. "I don't know what you expected to do with her, but she's dehydrated, probably has pneumonia. In her weakened state, that's a death sentence. Cut your losses."

They passed through the gate and Thomas turned to her, slamming it simultaneously as he said, "I'll think about it after I see for myself." Then he ended with, "Now go."

****************************************

"YES." Birkoff exclaimed.

"What now?" Michael was looking at his watch for the hundredth time, impatient for darkness to set in.

"We've got movement reports from our other cover ops." He said this almost gleefully.

Michael started scanning the screen in from of him. Lachlan was already in Kilfenora. That had been an added bonus, now they might even hit the jackpot. Pritchard was only an hour away and all though that didn't prove anything, he was certainly headed in the right direction. Cunningham and Magruder were sharing a helicopter in route for Ireland . . . originating in Liverpool. Coincidence? The crawling feeling traveling down the back of his neck suggested otherwise.

"Team three. You're on your way here . . . Now." Michael almost barked into the com set. "Have the cover ops come in. We need them here too." He directed Birkoff as he pulled up a schematic of the cathedral. Studying the picture intently, a plan slowly started taking shape. If only she could hang on, he thought.

*****************************************

Thomas entered the small room, unsure what to expect. Kelly was sitting by the bed bathing Key's face with a wet cloth. She looked up as he entered.

"That will be all now Kelly. I'll take it from here." As he spoke he couldn't take his eyes off the small figure reposed on the bed. She was blindingly pale, except for the bright splotches of color on her cheeks, probably from the fever.

"She's very sick Thomas." Kelly spoke as she started by him.

"I can see that."

"Who's this chap, Michael, she keeps babbling about?" Her hand was on the door ready to open it and leave.

Thomas whirled and grabbed her arm, stopping her progress. "What's she been saying?"

"No..th..ing," Kelly stuttered, "nothing that makes any sense. Something about her parents calling her to join them and . . ."

"And what?" His grip tightened more firmly on her arm.

" . . . that she loved him, this Michael whoever he is, and she wanted him to remember her." She grimaced as she jerked loose from his hold.

"That's all?" His eyes were that piercing almost black color she hated.

"That's all I could understand. Can I go now?"

"Yes." He turned his attention back to the bed. Her breathing really was labored, he could hear the rattle of congestion each time she struggled for a breath. Finally he took a seat in the chair Kelly had been using, daring to reach out and touch her by laying the back of his hand against her cheek.

He jerked it back quickly, she was burning up. Moira was right. He should cut his losses. But could he abandon her? He reached out, took a strand of her hair and rubbed it gently between his fingers. If only circumstances had been different, he thought. Could he live with being the cause of her death . . . a second time? Making his decision, he rose from the chair and went to find Moira.

***************************************

June 28th

2015 hours

Kilfenora

Pritchard had arrived. It was fairly apparent from the flight path of the helicopter they were tracking that Cunningham and Magruder were headed to Kilfenora. They were flying right into his arms . . . the arms of Section One. If there was such a thing as luck, this was it. Now if it would only roll over into helping him get Key out of this alive.

The stage was being set, twilight was approaching, and the movement reports coming in suggested there was a lot of activity in the nave of the cathedral, most probably a mass or at least communion would be held. Walter drove the mobile com in as close to the little town as they dared. The van was certainly not something that would blend into the scenery. They found a field of abandoned and wrecked vehicles just off the main thoroughfare and parked there. Michael, Mentz and Ryder set out on foot, sticking to the shadows, armed to the hilt and using their nightvision apparatus.

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"You want me to what?" Moira exclaimed loudly.

"I had her loaded into the back of the van. I want you to drop her somewhere in proximity of a hospital when you get to Dublin." He stated, then said, "And keep your voice down."

Have you lost your mind?" Her strained whisper still carried too well in the cavernous underground warehouse. "We can't afford to have anything draw attention to us once we get there."

"You don't have to if you're careful, Moira." Thomas drew her back away from the others waiting to head for the cathedral. "There are plenty of alleys near Christ Church Mercy, pull in one and leave her."

"What if someone does see us; gets the license?"

"Then stop somewhere in a busy parking area and steal another one, switch them out." He shook her with his threatening tone. "You're not a beginner at this Moira."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand you. Why? Why suddenly locate your conscience now?"

"Don't ask questions, just do it." He walked away and before he took too many steps, he paused and turned on her. "Not a word of this to anyone. If you say anything, anything at all, I'll make you regret it."

And he would, she thought. He really would.

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The silence was broken over the com set and Michael raised a hand to Mentz and Ryder, indicating they should halt their progress.

"Michael." It was Gainey, positioned on top of the building across from the granary. "We know where the vehicle entrance is to their compound."

"Report." His voice was a hushed whisper.

"The scale is designed to weigh the grain deliveries . . . it's really an elevator, and we know because we just witnessed them bringing up a dark blue van."

"Hold your position." He waved Mentz and Ryder past him. "Everyone to your mark. Wait for my signal." Michael reached up and pulled his balaclava into place, effectively hiding his hair and lower face.

Stealthily the three of them made their way to the south entrance of the cathedral. This would place them in proximity of the confessionals. And Michael was counting on there being a burning need for confession tonight. Strains of a familiar holy song filtered back to where they were concealed in the alcove. The music stopped and was replaced by the muffled tones of a priest beginning the mass. The sound was eerie as it echoed off the walls in the sanctuary. Hollow layers of voices overlapped as the priest spoke and the attendees responded.

Michael pulled himself up against the wall, pressing himself into the shadows, waiting . . . and while he waited his mind wandered. Where was she? No one had reported seeing any sign of her. Was she so ill that even if they found her it would be impossible to bring her back? For the first time since he had passed out of training to become a level one field operative, Michael broke into a cold sweat.

Two short clicks over his com unit brought him back to the moment. Communion. They had started communion. Minutes passed and all of it seemed like an eternity. Then it came . . . one word from Taylor. "Priest." Michael prepared, pulled everything inside, and stilled his thoughts, tuned into his senses. The priest glided into the alcove, in his robe and full regalia. He held, waited until the priest had his hand on the door of the confessional. Then he slipped out of the darkness, moving like the ghost he was, until he came up directly behind the priest. Quickly he applied the right pressure, pinching the nerve where the neck joined the shoulder, effectively disabling the man. With a brief nod of his head, he sent Mentz and Ryder to positions flanking the exit from the nave.

As suddenly as Michael was outside the confessional box, he was inside, positioning the unconscious priest in the appropriate seat and once again folding himself into the shadows. In the short time it took to inhale, Michael chambered a round in his gun . . . and waited once again. He heard exactly what he wanted to hear - one click. Thomas was on his way.

The door to the adjoining box opened and closed. Michael deftly reached over and slid the wooden panel back revealing the intricately carved screen separating the confessor from the confessee. He was counting on Thomas' ego to not allow him to leave room for a priest's response, at least not until he, Michael, was ready to reveal himself. He got his wish.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been two years since my last confession." Thomas started. "I seek penance for my sins, but I seek something even greater, Father . . .." He took a breath and continued, "The time has come when my colleagues and I find ourselves in a position to fight for the inviolable right to a unified Ireland. Much like David faced Goliath and Daniel walked without fear into the lion's den, we ask for your blessing and the blessing of the church as we begin this struggle. Give us strength that we may face our oppressors and be victorious."

And that, Michael thought, was about all the drivel he could take.

In a flash, his foot connected with the floor to ceiling panel, giving him just the opening he needed. Before Thomas knew what had happened and could make a move, Michael had his gun trained right between his eyes. And yes, Thomas froze.

He yanked off his balaclava and watched as Thomas blinked in disbelief. "Sorry Thomas, I'm fresh out of blessings . . .but . . . welcome to the lion's den." Michael announced, his voice cool, flat and without any intonation.

Almost simultaneously, the snick of chambered rounds and the muffled rustle of rifles being shouldered and sighted resonated through the sanctuary mingled with the gasps of the small congregation. All eyes focused first on the three operatives flanking the room from the parapet above, automatic rifles shinning ominous in the lamp light. Then Mentz and Ryder moved in from the back of the room as three more operatives floated out of the darkness, forming a pentagonal boundary around them. There was no need for gunfire. No one had brought any weapons into the church.

"You . . . how . . .?" Thomas sputtered. "My people saw you leave. They watched your plane take off."

"Your people saw what we wanted them to see. Now get up." He motioned at Thomas with his gun to leave the box.

"This won't stop the movement. There are more of us with the same agenda." He stumbled as Michael pressed him forward into the room with his colleagues.

"And they won't be much of a threat once you tell us who they are."

"You can't possibly expect any of us to roll over and tell you that." Thomas turned and looked into those cold calculating green eyes.

"Oh, but you can . . .. And you will."

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