"Birkoff, how accurate is our Intel?" Michael stood impatiently at the windows to his suite, watching one of the worst winter storms he'd ever seen.

"The package is there, Michael. Relax." Birkoff popped a crunchy M & M into his mouth and almost bit his tongue when he realized what he'd just said to Michael. Relax? What kind of bonehead would say that to a Level 5 operative? But then he was missing all that cancelled downtime.

"I've been here two days. The carrier has not made contact." He shifted restlessly. "If they aren't here now, they won't be. This blizzard has stopped everything." Releasing the curtain he paced across the hardwood floor.

"The Intel is from one of our most impeccable sources and they say the package is there . . . so the carrier has to be."

Still pacing Michael asked. "And we still don't know if I'm meeting a woman or a man?"

"I've backtraced history on the entire guest list and staff. Whoever it is, their cover is impenetrable." Birkoff shook his head.

Michael had been most impatient as of late. He could only wish for an assignment that would put him at a swank ski resort, even in a blizzard. "I've checked the weather satellite and the storm should blow itself out by morning."

Michael muttered to himself. "That's comforting."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'll check back then. In the meantime . . ."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll let you know if I hear anything." Birkoff severed the link and immediately grabbed another handful of M & M's. He thought these new crunchy ones were dynamite.

Michael shed his com link. He was restless. All was quiet throughout the chalet. Earlier in the weekend, before the onset of the blizzard, things had been lively till all hours, but many of the guests had heard of the coming weather and cut their weekend short. Leaving rather than taking a chance of being stranded this high up in the mountains.

The idea of getting ready for bed was fleeting. Clad in a well-worn pair of jeans that rested comfortably on his lean hips and molded softly to his thighs, he grabbed a flannel shirt. Pulling it on over his naked torso, Michael left his room, bare feet tingling at the chill on the hard wood floor until he reached the carpet runner covering the length of the hall. The soft fibers caressed the hard pads of his feet like the gentle touch of a lover.

The lighting in the hall was not electric, but from glass sconces fueled by scented lamp oil. They cast golden planes of light, broken only by the fleeting shadows of his body as he passed silently to the top of the stairs. The chalet was old, as was evidenced by the fine craftsmanship of the railing leading down to the landing.

Michael appreciated the smooth hand finished wood when he trailed his fingers along the surface, and he admired the intricately carved newel post. There was not a loose board in the place. He'd observed this earlier, as he was accustomed to cataloging such things pursuant to the need he might have for stealth. Mostly it was habit, something he did automatically, born from years of training.

He crossed the entryway and followed the hall to the library. Perhaps he could locate a book to quell his restive mood. The door was closed, but not locked and he stepped through silently, breathing out his relief as he stood just inside the doorway. The room was unoccupied. A massive fireplace was banked with large logs that had settled to lend their warmth rather than brightness. Two more of the oil lamps, like in the hall, burned on either side of the bookcases, giving off just enough light to read the titles. He moved closer to begin examining the collection, fascinated by the variety.

Eliese wasn't sure what roused her from her slumber. She was tucked into one of the massive overstuffed chairs, a book of poems by William Blake resting her lap. The chair was angled toward the fire, the upper wings providing a great resting-place for her head. A plaid woolen throw had added to her warmth, as had the snifter of brandy setting on the table beside her. Combined with the heat from the fire, she was most cozy.

All her senses suddenly came alive as she realized she was no longer alone and she remained frozen, unmoving. Eliese couldn't see anyone, but she could smell him. Often times people made fun of her, claimed she was part wolf because of her enhanced olfactory nerves. Sage mingled with a certain muskiness identified her visitor as male, and as she continued to hold, she heard the brush of feet on the carpet and saw the cast shadow of movement. Then the shadow took solid form and appeared almost as a specter to her. He moved with the grace and silence of a predator searching for his prey. She watched as he ran strong fingers gently across the leather bound volumes.

Clothed in well-worn jeans that molded to his lower body like a glove, Eliese watched as he reached for a book that had attracted his attention. She noticed his shirt was loose, unbuttoned, only stretching tautly across his shoulders with his movement. His hair brushed just past the collar, curling and tipped red gold by the soft light from the fire. He was barefoot. That brought a smile to her lips, for if he was slinking around without shoes, he was certainly no thief or intruder, just a guest.

"I'm vastly familiar with the library, perhaps I could assist you in finding a particular book." Her soft voice caught him completely unaware and she watched as he pivoted her direction, his surprise quickly masked.

Michael felt a lot of things when he heard her voice, the very least of which were consternation and amazement, then anger at himself for being so careless. But some very different reactions were born as he drank in the vision of loveliness before him. Quickly he took measure of the chair's occupant.

Her eyes were crystalline gray, almost transparent. They glowed brightly at the moment, but he had no doubt they could just as easily resemble shards of ice. Riotous black curls outlined a porcelain face and equally black brows fanned over those amazing eyes. Except for the strong set of her chin and the full lower lip that mimicked a perpetual pout, the rest of her features appeared fragile and delicate. Amazed, he watched as that interesting mouth twitched into a wry smile.

Michael was completely unbalanced by the sight of her, at least on the inside. Outwardly his mask in place, he spoke. "I really didn't have a certain volume in mind." He kept his voice low as he stepped into the area warmed by the fire.

Eliese studied him, briefly noticing the barest amount of hard muscle revealed by his open shirt, but she was immediately taken prisoner by his piercing green eyes, eyes that were intense but guarded.

She tilted her head and said, "Please let me know if you think of one." Then her eyes drifted down to the book in her lap and Michael noticed the long sweeping lashes hid her disconcertment.

His scrutiny made her almost uncomfortable, and she shifted in the chair. "I had thought that all but our most regular guests had left."

"You work here?" His voice was husky as he stepped even closer to her, noting the slight tremble of her body. The green and blue plaid blanket across her lap slipped revealing her feet. Michael watched as one delicate hand reached to smooth the wool back into place. Then he realized she was dressed for bed.

"Actually I live here." She raised her eyes back to meet his boldly and followed his movement as he sat on the ottoman in front of her. "I suppose that you would also say I work here."

Michael searched his memory, recalling information about the staff and family that owned the chalet, trying to place her, but he could not. "How is it then, I have not seen you till now?"

"Oh, I've been here. I just do not play a prominent role, nor do I interact with the guests." A shy smile crossed her face.

Her gown was lovely, Michael observed. It was a white lawn material. The neckline dipped across the swell of her breasts and the intricate smocking dotted with purple embroidered flowers was no doubt done by hand. A locket was suspended from a fine gold chain and lay nestled in her cleavage. The small diamonds and rubies set among the filigreed gold winked in the firelight. Her air of mystery tantalized him.

"You must hide yourself well. I would have remembered you if we had crossed paths these last few days. He watched as she reached for the brandy on the table beside her. Watched as she swirled the liquid, warmed it with her hands against the fragile glass. Watched again as she brought it to her lips and tasted the dark liquor.

"I do not try and hide, sir. It's just that everyone who looks, does not always see me." His body tightened like a bowstring as her tongue swept across her bottom lip savoring the taste of the brandy.

She extended the snifter to him. "Would you like some?"

He reached for the glass, his fingers brushing hers and sending electric pulses of fire shooting through his body. This whole encounter was like a sensual dance and he never took his eyes off of her as he savored the liquid fire.

Almost abruptly she closed the book in her lap, then yawned. "I find myself suddenly quite sleepy. I think I shall retire." Her voice was musical in cadence and as Michael sipped the brandy again, he noted he was also tired, finally unwound from his earlier restlessness.

"Yes, it is late." He responded then glanced at the clock on the mantle, noting it was almost two in the morning. "Will I see you again?"

"That's possible." She answered softly. "What is your name?"

"Michael. And yours?"

"My name is Eliese."

"Well, good night Eliese."

He unfolded from his seat and extended the glass back to her. She reached for it and when she did he couldn't resist. Michael set the glass on the table instead and took her hand, then bending over; he placed a kiss on the backs of her fingers. Her sharp inhalation of breath broke through the room. He raised a questioning eyebrow and, as green met gray, he bowed gallantly and left the room, now satisfied she felt the same current he'd encountered.

*************************************************part two

Once back in his suite, Michael fed the fire in his small fireplace, musing over his encounter with Eliese. Finally he went to the window and parted the drapes to check on the storm. It had stopped, for the time being, leaving in its wake a thick blanket of peaceful white. Resisting the urge to contact Birkoff and question him about his mystery woman, Michael decided a hot shower was in order. Then maybe he could sleep. Morning would be soon enough to determine who she was and how she fit in at the chalet.

As the hot water pounded his body, he found his thoughts could not be deterred from her. He lacked the words to describe the amazing sensation he felt from her presence. Michael cut the water off and stepped from the shower into the swirling steam. Languid warmth still coursed through his body as he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped back into the bedroom.

He sensed immediately that he wasn't alone.

She stood by the partially opened drapes, a spectral figure in white, her black hair spilling in waves down her back. The contrast of color against the gown and her skin was dramatic. His breath cramped in his chest and he had to remind himself to inhale.

Eliese watched too, unable to take her eyes from his chiseled beauty. The light from the fire reflected against the drops of moisture still clinging to his golden skin. He sparkled.

Finally, with great difficulty, she found her voice. "You left without a book. I chose one for you." His eyes followed hers as they moved to the bedside table where she had place the leather volume.

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean to startle you. Your door was unlocked and I could hear the water running. I thought to just leave it for you but . . .."

"But what?" He wondered at that instant if she was his contact.

She spread he hands in a fluid gesture toward the window. "I guess I got lost in the view from here. Everything outside looks so soft and peaceful now."

He walked over to where she stood, locking eyes with hers. "The storm does seem to have passed." Silent for the moment, he searched her face.

Color bloomed at her cheeks. Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes and spoke; "I should leave." And she started to move past him until he caught her arm.

"No." The command tore from his lips as the heat from their connection tightened the skin all over his body. "Do you have something for me? Is it in the book?"

Her gown swirled around her feet as his grasp stopped her forward motion. Eliese looked at where his strong hand clasped her arm then her eyes traveled to his face. Michael immediately saw the confusion written there. It wasn't her.

"I don't know what you mean." Her voice somehow gentled the churning tide of frustration in his head.

Michael released her, but bent his head and took her mouth, brushing his lips gently across hers. The taste of brandy still lingered there mixed with her sweetness. One hand drifted through her cloud of curls to cup the back of her head and he deepened the kiss, seeking her tongue with his.

Eliese couldn't stop herself. She turned into him and her hands smoothed up the hard muscles of his arms to his shoulders, then down to brush lightly over his tightly budded nipples. A groan rumbled deep in his throat as he broke from her mouth. Unasked questions floated between them and kinetic answers were exchanged. First with a brushing touch of his index finger across one black brow, down her nose to her bottom lip, followed by Eliese pressing her cheek against his chest just over his thudding heart.

Michael buried his face in the fragrant curls on top of her head, breathing in her essence. In a rare moment of abandon he relegated his duty to Section into the deepest darkest corner of his consciousness. His body completely outvoted his mind. Leading her to the bed, he watched as she folded back the covers. Then she turned and brushed the gown from each shoulder, causing it to slither from her body and pool in a cloud of white at her feet. Porcelain skin gleamed in the firelight and her full round breasts shimmered with each uneven breath she took. The nipples budded and tightened before his eyes as Eliese ran her delicate hands in a caress, from her collarbones across the sensitive nubs, down her flat stomach to the flare of her hips.

She beckoned to him and he stepped closer. Reaching for the towel her hand grazed his abdomen and he sucked in a sharp breath as she loosened the covering, letting it fall to the floor, revealing his raging desire. Every nerve ending in his body had flared to life and he groaned loudly as Eliese took his shaft with both hands and pressed a line of kisses up the center of his naked chest. He expanded to fullness in a matter of seconds. Not wishing to loose control, Michael stopped her exploring caresses and drew her onto the bed with him. Hovering over her, he moved her arms above her head, stretching the firm mounds of her breasts and offering them his maximum attention. His kisses rained across her body like sparking points of fire.

"Yes, oh yes . . . . .." Her erotic whispers floated around him as he continued to tantalize her with his tongue, suck and pull at her buds with his lips and finally nipping her with his teeth. Sharp, wicked pain shot through her body and her breath quickened. Michael trailed his fingers down her abdomen, tickling the dark curls, watching her abandon herself by closing her eyes and gripping the open slats of the bed's headboard.

He continued his journey by running his hands up her slender legs, raising her knees and separating her thighs, giving him access to her treasure. Then he touched her moist femininity, stroked her until she was wet and squirming with her need for him. She dug her heels into the bed and her hips jerked in response when he parted the swollen petals with his thumbs. Cupping her bottom, Michael brought his mouth close and teased her with puffs of his hot breath. When he possessed her with his mouth and tongue, Eliese broke apart, cried out, the richness of her orgasm flowing thickly from her channel. And he continued to love her there, tasting and relishing her need for him.

With a graceful and fluid movement, he glided up her body, skin on skin, holding his self to the lightest of contact, brushing his chest provocatively against hers. He claimed her mouth again, delving deeply, tongues dancing and mimicking the motion of their soon to be joined bodies.

She burned out of control. Her hands slid down the lean muscles of his back finally grasping his strong flanks. His hips pressed into hers and Eliese felt his velvet shaft thrum and pulse against her stomach. When she stroked and tickled his tight sac from behind, he jerked from the contact and lifted himself from her, pearls of liquid desire spilling from his erection. Something primal began to bubble inside him and he positioned himself to enter her, dancing the ruby head against her slickness. Their eyes met as he began his assault. Michael had grown to such a proportion that he stretched her almost painfully to receive him. Eliese whimpered and Michael adjusted himself, checked the rising wave of passion so as not to take her harshly. She was so incredibly tight as he glided his length in a little at a time. His breathing was ragged and he wavered on the edge of control.

Finally sheathed inside her he asked hoarsely. "Am I hurting you?"

Eliese's crystal gray eyes were clouded with need as she answered with a whisper. "No." Her long delicate fingers combed through his damp hair as she arched beneath him. "You feel wonderful."

Michael withdrew and thrust back into her establishing a slow sensual rhythm. The air around them became charged, their bodies slick with a fine sheen of perspiration. Slender pale limbs tangled with strong golden power and the language they spoke was almost like cadenced poetry. Michael led the way. The primal mating of male with female was a sight to behold. The pace quickened, became more urgent, as he pumped his hips almost violently into her sheath.

He felt the familiar tingling start to build inside himself and in an effort to prolong their pleasure; Michael rolled to his back bringing Eliese into the dominant position. A veil of black hair drifted across his chest and like a dancer, graceful yet wild, she moved, taking him deeper, raising and lowering herself along his hard length. Stretching like a cat, her moans of pleasure filled his senses, engaged every far corner of his mind.

They didn't just move together, they flowed. Michael rolled with her again, the liquid power of his strokes bringing her arching into him. Eliese clasped his lean flanks tightly with her slender legs and her eyes snapped open. Shinning gray met luminous green as her neck stretched and her head pressed into the mattress. He pounded into her relentlessly. His name erupted from her throat and her body tightened around him, shattering, and he followed her. Michael's carnal, guttural cries of fulfillment only served to increase his explosion. His white-hot seed poured into her womb offering her the spark of life.

Their bodies melted together in a tangle of arms and legs. Both were breathless from their mating. The last thing he remembered was his choked question. "Who are you?" But he received no answer. Bathed in the firelight, they both slept. Two strangers in the light of day, but each the half to a whole in the darkness of night.

When Michael woke later, she was gone. The place where she had lain nestled against his warmth was cold. He sat up in disbelief. What had she done? Cast a spell on him? He looked around the room as if expecting her to materialize. His eyes were drawn to something sparkling on the pillow next to him. Her locket winked at him, the jewels glittering like fresh pieces of ice. He reached for it. The dread he felt burned in his stomach. He fingered the piece of jewelry for only a moment before he popped the tiny latch. The chamber inside contained the unmistakable form of a microchip.

That spurred him into action. He noticed the wind had picked up outside again and it howled, announcing the return of the storm. Quickly he pulled on his jeans and shirt, pocketing the locket. When he reached the common dining area, he descended on one of the staff. The man looked up taking in Michael's disheveled appearance.

"May I help you monsieur?"

"Yes. I'm looking for one of your staff." He started. "A young woman named Eliese. Long black hair, gray eyes, about this tall." Michael held his hand to the center of his chest in demonstration of her height.

Shock spread across the man's face, and just as quickly it changed. "Monsieur, we have no one here by that name." Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "The Broussard's had a daughter named Eliese and her appearance fits your description, but she has been dead for almost eight years."

Michael reeled from this information. "No, she was . . ." he trailed off, then changed the direction of his inquiry. "What happened to her?"

The man pulled Michael away from the doorway speaking to him in a more private venue. "Mam'selle used to come every winter to help her parents with the height of the season. She commonly went to check the slopes, to analyze their safety after storms such as this. One time she did not return. The ensuing search produced no results. It wasn't until the spring thaw that some of her clothing and her skis were discovered. A body was never found." The man looked extremely uncomfortable. "Why do you ask m'sieur?"

Michael was silent. The locket seemed to burn the hand he had jammed in his pocket. "I thought . . ." He hesitated. "Nevermind." Turning on his heels to leave, the man spoke again, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm sorry m'sieur. It is whispered amongst some of the older staff and long time guests that her ghost has been seen in the library during the very early hours of the morning."

"Thank you." His whispered reply drifted hollowly behind him as he exited the alcove where they had been speaking. Before returning to his room, Michael was drawn to inescapably to the library. The room was chilly, as the fire had died to only glowing embers. The book and snifter of brandy were gone, but the wool blanket lay folded across the back of the chair she'd been in. He reached for it, brought it to his face and noted her smell still lingered there. Michael stood there for what seemed to be an eternity trying to reason through his encounter earlier that morning. There was only one thing he was extremely sure of. Eliese Broussard was no ghost.

********************************************************part three When Eliese woke up, she didn't drift through a fog or a haze, her eyes popped wide open in near panic. She found herself enfolded in a warm blanket of flesh that was Michael. Silently she lay there, every pore in her body, every nerve, tuned to the feel of him. Forcing her breathing to remain calm, she fought the sadness that swelled inside her. As planned and contrived their meeting had taken place, but nothing had prepared her for the intenseness of their coupling. Her perfidy, her role in this liaison, made her sick.

With the utmost care, she eased away from his warmth and rose from the bed, taking great pains to not awaken him. Michael shifted in his sleep, adjusting to the loss of her warmth, but continuing his sated slumber. Eliese located her gown and once sheathed in its softness, she combed the tangles from her hair with her fingers and began plaiting the heavy length.

Tears threatened to fill her lovely gray eyes and finally spilled over her long black lashes as she studied his sleeping form. Michael Samuelle, Section One's best and brightest, their most dangerous human weapon. Trained assassin, master strategist, skilled in the ways of deception and the art of clandestine operations, he lay among the tangled covers of the bed, exposed and quite vulnerable.

She'd been given a file on him months ago. Even though what she would be required to do was morally wrong, circumstances dictated her actions. Eliese just had no idea what a dramatic impact their meeting would have on her, had not expected to feel this strongly. The information on Michael had painted a picture of a very precise, cold blooded anti terrorist operative. Almost every field operation he'd ever been involved with, led or planned had an uncanny success rate.

Up until recently, any cracks in his almost inhuman armor had been minor. The deep cover assignment he'd just completed had consequentially brought him to the brink of madness and though his recovery had been questionable for a time, he was back. Back, but not without some permanent scars. And while he was still reestablishing his balance, it had been determined that the time for their move was now. That had been a very correct assumption. He had been a bit impatient, a bit restless and most of all uncharacteristically impulsive.

It was everything that wasn't written in the information about Michael that had precipitated her decision to involve herself personally in this travesty. She knew what was going to happen, knew that her participation was required to make their plan work. She had offered herself without hesitation. For now she would have to live with her choice.

Eliese exited the suite. She had to change clothes and be at the pick up point in less than twenty minutes. Her own private hell was waiting for her.

************************************************** It would be another day before Michael could be extracted from his position. The storm had wrapped around and the second blast was even more severe than the first. He reported the retrieval of the package and uploaded the information to Birkoff. Wavering on what to file in his report, Michael decided to be less than forthcoming about his contact with Eliese. He didn't like being so vague, and he knew he would be called on it in his debrief, but until he had some more answers he decided the whole truth could wait. Section would most likely sanction him for his carelessness, but if this were a test, they would expect no less from him but his pursuit of the bigger picture. And there was a bigger picture. Of that he was sure.

No longer did he ignore that voice inside. The intuitive feeling that he had been most diligent about crushing in the new material Section expected him to train, was screaming inside his own head, and he would not discount the nature of its importance this time.

"Birkoff."

"I'm here. Whacha need?"

"Establish a deep channel for me, then stand down."

"You know I can't do that. I'm supposed to log these thi . . ."

"Do it." Michael commanded. "Do it or I'll make your life miserable. And you know I can."

Birkoff squirmed in his seat, looking around Systems, suspicious of anyone that might be listening. "Yeah, right." His fingers flew over the keyboard as he looked for an inconspicuous connection. With six months of cancelled down time, he didn't expect things could get any worse for him. But he knew it could get dicey if he didn't do what Michael wanted. "It's there. Go through the Beta file for vector ten."

"Now disappear."

"You're welcome." He muttered, but he didn't disappear immediately. He watched for a moment, telling himself he was covering his back. What he saw amazed him. Michael established the connection, chose the most unlikely satellite link to be monitored and before Birkoff's eyes, he watched as the entire communication went dark. Michael had often times amazed him, but he apparently had an access/purge program he'd never seen. With that running behind his inquiries, no one would ever know he'd been there. Relief flooded thought him and he backed out of the file, deciding it was time for a break.

******************************************part four Eliese sat huddled in the cargo hold of the NightHawk helicopter. She was cold, wet and exhausted. Every nerve was strung taut as a piece of fishing line that had hooked a fish fighting for its life. And she felt like the fish too, caught, but the fight was all gone. Now she was being reeled in. Someone draped a blanket around her shoulders and she pulled the scratchy fabric close, not even acknowledging the kindness. There just wasn't enough energy left in her body to do so. Dropping her forehead onto her knees, she closed her eyes and drifted off. Hundreds of thoughts raced through her numb mind, but only one vision, one picture. It was as if her mind had taken a photograph, recorded the vision for posterity.

Michael. The hard length of his body tangled in the scattered bedcovers. Firelight played across his golden skin, touched the sable richness of the hair on his arms and legs, while shadow and light merely hinted at the stubble of beard on his face. If she carried her memory back just a little further, the color of his eyes hovered before her. They were a fey color, changeable, but mostly like the ocean at twilight, a turbulent shimmering green.

Stop it. Stop torturing yourself. You're a highly trained, highly educated person who knows better than to let the heart lead the mind down a dead end road. And he's nothing but a phantom, a ghost, a machine.

Eliese tried to reason with herself. But she knew now, knew he wasn't just a file, he was real.

Someone touched her, shook her awake and she jerked her head up. The helicopter had landed. The noise from the rotors tore her back to reality and she started shaking. One of the crew gently helped her to her feet and assisted her out of the cargo area. Dawn had just touched the black sky and the pinkish gray light gave her just enough vision to see a figure running toward her, bent at the waist and fighting the violent strokes of air from the turning blades.

It was Evan. She should have known he wouldn't let her attend this meeting alone. He reached her side and with a strong arm around her shoulders, he ushered her away from the landing pad toward the mansion. In another life, under a different set of circumstances, Eliese thought they might have been well suited to a life together. He was a rock and working with him had been the opportunity of a lifetime. She was proud to call him her friend.

When they had finally reached a safe distance from the helicopter and conversation was possible, he paused and turned her to look at him. And he didn't like what he saw. Eliese was pale and clutching the military issue blanket like it was the only covering left on this earth.

"Are you okay?" He had to raise his voice a few decibels to still be heard over the thrumming noise.

"Cold. I'm cold and damp and exhausted." She replied equally loud.

In an unconscious gesture of concern, he brushed a hand across her brow. "I brought you some clothes. You can shower change and get something hot to drink."

She nodded her agreement and they resumed their journey toward the massive house. "Is he here?"

"Yeah, he's here." She noted his reply was cut with a certain amount of disgust. "How was your meeting with Michael?"

"It went as planned." Eliese couldn't keep the sadness from creeping into her voice.

"You don't think he suspected anything?" Evan paused to help her up the steps.

"Not at the time, but I would imagine right about now he's kicking himself ten ways to hell and back." They stopped at the door before entering and she continued. "You know he's going to look for me."

Evan searched her face; able to see her more clearly as the dawn was now struggling harder to become the light of day. She had dark shadows under her eyes and there wasn't an ounce of color to her face. "I hope for your sake he doesn't."

"I hope not . . . for his sake."

He pushed the door open and they both entered the lion's den.

After Evan escorted her to a bedroom, complete with a full bath, he excused himself, told her he'd see to having some hot tea sent up for her. Eliese stripped out of her still damp clothes and staggered to the shower. She let the water get almost dangerously hot before she stepped inside to let it do its work. Slowly her body came back to life as the hot sheets of water sluiced from her body.

As the languid warmth spread through her, it only served to remind her of a very different heat she'd experienced only a few hours earlier. Eliese squeezed her eyes shut and willed the memory to go away. But every time she moved, there were muscles that protested of their own accord and only served to remind her. Finally she stepped from the shower stall; dried herself and gratefully dressed in the dry clothes Evan provided. He had brought her oldest most comfortable jeans, and as she slid into them she smiled. What a great way to thumb her nose at "The Man" by being dressed so unprofessionally.

A soft black turtleneck followed and she topped it with the warm rag sweater she normally kept around the lab. Evan remembered everything. Someone had left a pot of tea on the desk by the window and she quickly crossed the room to pour herself a cup. She let the gentle steam from the drink play across her face, as she smelled the cup's contents. Red Zinger. She smiled again. Evan had gone all out to help her fortify herself for this meeting.

With a deep breath and cup in hand she exited the bedroom and descended the stairs. Evan looked up as she approached and noted the improvement in her appearance. Eliese was a strong woman, but she still exuded an air of fragileness that he had grown attuned to over time.

"Ready?" He asked.

She affirmed his question with a nod and he opened the door. They stepped into a magnificently plush study filled with high tech computer equipment that contrasted sharply with heavy antique furniture and rare artwork. The man behind the desk stood abruptly as they walked toward him. Eliese couldn't stop the small shiver that raced down her spine. He was an imposing figure. Still lean and strong from his days in military service, he emanated a dangerous power. His shock of gray hair and cold green eyes were set off by the healthy tan he maintained from his hours on the golf course. Most people knew him as a philanthropist, a generous supporter of the arts and a rabid environmentalist. It was not well known of his connection to the research facility where she and Evan worked.

"Come in and have a seat Dr. Broussard." His voice was soft but very commanding. He nodded toward the two chairs placed just so in front of his desk. "Evan, nice to see you too."

"Yes Sir." Evan guided Eliese to sit.

"Well, Dr. Broussard, what can you tell me about your encounter?" He folded his body into the large leather chair, looking entirely relaxed and confident.

Eliese couldn't look at him. Couldn't face those eyes yet. With her head downcast, she struggled to respond. "It went perfectly. I delivered the microchip and everything else went as planned."

"The seduction was successful then? You had sex?" He asked the questions almost like he was inquiring politely about someone's health.

"Yes." Her answer was merely a whisper.

"So tell me. How was Michael? What's my son like in person?"

She raised her head now. Looked directly into the cold green depths of his eyes before she spoke. "He's everything his file suggests . . . and more."

*******************************************************Part five Michael sat back from his computer. His eyes burned, his stomach burned and his nerves jangled on a raw edge. He'd been following convoluted leads all day. The green color of the screen blinked and glowed eerily, and he finally severed his connection. Scrubbing his hands over the stubble on his jaw he pushed back from the desk and mentally reviewed what he knew about Eliese Broussard.

She had been twenty-three when her death had been recorded as an accident, body missing, never found. At the time of her supposed death, Eliese had been working for Interpol in their criminal identification laboratory. She had a Ph.D. in psychology and one in molecular chemistry. She'd graduated from the Sorbonne and had done so way ahead of the norm. But then with her degree of intelligence, her IQ being in the 170 range, that had been expected. Mostly her talents had been used to bridge the gap between actually profiling the possible criminal offender and chromosomal matching of physical evidence left by the suspect. She had pursued her job with verve and critical attention to detail. Her personnel file reflected the admiration of both her peers and her supervisors.

She had never been married, was an only child to Jolene and Christopher Broussard and her background check had only revealed her undying devotion to working with critically ill children in her spare time. Eliese had offered her services as a psychologist, counseling those families and seeing them through the eventual death of the child, mostly working with those suffering from cystic fibrosis or other gene inherited illnesses.

That was it. There was no other documentation regarding her existence or lack there of. She wasn't dead, she wasn't alive and she didn't work for Section. Given the degree of her devotion to criminal justice, it wasn't likely she'd work willingly for any terrorist organization he was aware of. He'd checked that avenue. The off chance she had been kidnapped or somehow forced to comply because of some skeleton in her closet or because of a threat to her family, had all been other possibilities he had looked into thoroughly. Again nothing.

One more prospect occurred to him and he quickly reestablished his link and went to Birkoff's best search program. He typed in: date/1991 - Scientist/Type - Accidental Death. There had to be a footprint somewhere.

While the program did its work, he stood and moved away from the desk, stretching his tired body. He approached the last tray brought up from the kitchen and poured some lukewarm coffee. Then picking at a cold brioche, his mind raced back. Images of clouds of black hair, full moist lips and those eyes invaded his thoughts. Her eyes were haunting in the memory alone. There had not been the slightest hint of color there, no blue, and no green, not even flecks of gold. Only a darker circle, the color of a shadow at midnight, set off the misty gray.

The computer gave a little hiccup signaling the end of its search and with eagerness, tempered by a large dollop of dread, he went to view the results. His next big lead to her whereabouts stared him in the face. Among the list before him, Eliese's name was first.

Think tank? Secret research facility? Those were only two of the thoughts that entered Michael's mind at the moment. The accidental deaths of that many scientists in the same year, sharing somewhat related fields was just too coincidental for him.

It was time to take this investigation to the underground chain of contacts he had established. And to do that he needed to get back to Section, complete his debrief and arrange for some down time without arousing any suspicion.

***************************************************** Eliese set her cup down, never breaking eye contact with the man seated across the desk from her. The eyes were the same, except she had seen some feeling, some hint of warmth in Michael's. And now that she had met Michael in person, some other similarities became apparent, ones not revealed in a simple photograph. They moved the same. There was that inherit quality of grace, threaded with dangerous power, and it emanated from both of them. Draped in uncomfortable silence, she watched one more spectacular similarity manifest itself in the questioning arch of one eyebrow, his unconscious reaction to her statement.

An undetectable tremor ran through her body as she recalled the very same expression had crossed Michael's face, in the library, just after she reacted to his kissing her hand.

" . . . and more? Would you care to explain?"

Eliese finally blinked, it would be much later that she would realize another trait they shared. Both had a strong, almost hypnotic impact on women. "I . . . it . . . it's just a feeling I had. I'm not sure I can put it into words."

An odd look spread across his face and was gone almost as quickly. "Perhaps we can talk of this later." He transferred his attention to Evan. "So, Dr. Price, what is the soonest we'll know if Eliese was successful?"

"About five weeks."

"Excellent. You'll keep me posted, I'm sure."

"Yes sir." Eliese could tell Evan was nervous as he rubbed his palms against his pant legs.

"I know you are exhausted, Dr. Broussard. And, Evan, I'm sure you can use this time to relax as well. Please let Werner know if you would like something to eat and he'll see it's prepared. When you're ready to leave let him know that as well. He will arrange for your transport back to the facility." He stood, letting them both know they were dismissed.

***********************************Part six

Eliese woke to the twilight, squeezing out its last gasp of brilliance in shades of rose and purple. She had been so tired that she had only gotten as far as collapsing on the bed fully clothed and rolling up in the fancy knit afghan like it was a cocoon. Her stomach grumbled and sent a strong warning that food better be delivered soon. With muscles still complaining, she rolled off the bed and switched on a light. Checking her appearance, Eliese was surprised to see the uninterrupted ten hours of sleep had done nothing to alleviate the dark shadows under her eyes.

Her deep sigh was but a whisper as she turned from the standing mirror and wandered into the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash some cold water on her face. In a last effort to restore some peace to the chaos that was now her hair, she unwound her braid and tugged a brush through the unruly mess. Then she went to seek food.

Werner materialized almost out of no where as she made it to the bottom of the stairs and Eliese quietly asked if she could have something warm to eat and something hot to drink. He nodded and informed her that Evan had called down from his room and requested the same. Dinner would be available in twenty minutes. After inquiring if she needed anything else, he disappeared almost as suddenly.

She needed fresh air, needed to clear her head and somehow rid herself of the spicy scent that still clung to her hair. A scent that could only be Michael's. With her hair braided and pulled away from her face, Eliese had not noticed it before now. Her hair had been the only thing she hadn't washed and scrubbed clean in the shower and it was redolent with his essence.

Walking toward the back of the large house she finally spotted some doors that led to a stone alcove. The air was brisk, even cold, but she didn't care. It made her tingle, made her tired body come to attention as she stood in one of the archways and watched the last light disappear over the horizon. She wasn't alone long before she heard the doors open and close, then footsteps echoed in the night as someone approached.

Evan placed a jacket around her shoulders and stood there a moment, not speaking, absorbing the silence with her.

Finally he couldn't hold his question any longer.

"Eliese, why did you offer to do this?"

She didn't look at him, but she watched the puffs of his breath expand in the cold air before her.

"I'm not sure I can explain."

Turning sideways and watching her profile outlined in the darkness by the foundation lights, he continued. "Surely you must have thought about it, must have some good reasons."

Eliese closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. An uncontrollable spark of anger caught her off guard as she answered him. "Must I?" She turned to look at him. "Is it so unimaginable that I would just do something because I wanted to, that there are no reasons?"

Evan was struck dumb by the venom in her voice.

Eliese's voice softened as she took in his distress. "We gave up our lives and our families eight years ago. Maybe this is my feeble attempt to touch the real world again."

A curious look spread across his face before he spoke. "We gave up our lives because of what happened to Patrick. Terrorist organizations all over the world knew they would have a genetic research gold mine if they got their hands on all of us. This was a way to protect our families and our work."

"We weren't doing anything evil." She spoke now with conviction, rather than anger. "We were and are trying to find a way to give families predisposed to genetic abnormalities a way to reproduce without fear. And the side benefits to areas like organ transplant are . . ."

"I know all this Eliese." He clasped her shoulders with his hands. "But we all know how this research could be twisted and you've taken a step in that direction."

She dropped her head to avoid his piercing gaze. "I know, I know that. But this is personal, Evan. It has nothing to do with selectively breeding a genetically superior race."

"Doesn't it? Are you so sure?" He shook her gently. "Aren't you afraid that if this experiment succeeds, he'll try it again?"

Eliese broke his hold on her. "No. No I'm not. The man experienced a painful loss. And as for Michael . . . it's too late to go back in time thirty-four years. It's too late to go back and fix the last sixteen."

"Fine." He paced away from her, then back again. "But haven't you asked yourself why he didn't intervene sixteen years ago?"

"I know why."

That got Evan's attention. "What do you mean?"

"He didn't know Michael was really his son until Michael and Elena were married."

"How?"

"The blood test the government required before they would issue the marriage license." She paused. "I did the gene mapping. I'm the one who told him Michael was his son."

****************************part seven

Nikita knocked at the door to Michael's office. No response. Hesitantly, she cracked the door open and poked in her head.

"Michael, I have the Intel from Shanghai. Do you want . . ." She stopped in mid sentence when she realized he was sitting turned in his chair, facing the wall. "Michael?" Instead of waiting for an invitation that was not likely to occur, she stepped in and closed the door.

"Michael. What's going on?"

Slowly he swiveled in his chair. The look on his face was not the normal blankness she had grown accustomed to seeing. Instead she was greeted with a look that could only be described as bereft. She marched over to the desk with purpose and pulled out the device that would protect their conversation and keyed in the activation code.

"Something's wrong. It has been for three days, ever since you got back from the chalet. What happened?" Nikita flowed into the extra chair across the desk from him, tossing her blond hair back away from her face in anticipation.

"Not here Nikita." His reply was soft, almost a whisper.

"Yes, here and yes, now. Spit it out Michael."

He rose gracefully from the chair and walked to the window. Putting his hands in his pockets, he watched the martial arts class in progress through the blinds as he spoke. "I just discovered information that proves the man who raised me . . . wasn't my father."

She straightened, suddenly. "How . . .? I don't . . . what do you mean?"

"Michel Samuelle wasn't my biological father."

Nikita said the first thing that came to mind. "Does Section know?"

She watched as he shook his head negatively and answered. "No."

"Then why on earth would you happen to stumble across this information?"

He was silent. He just stood there; kept staring out the window. Nikita got up from the chair and walked over to him; studied his face for a moment.

"You didn't come across this by accident, did you? Why? What happened in France that prompted you to go looking?" She asked in her usual impatient manner.

He drew his eyes away from the scene outside the window and looked directly into her wide blue ones. "It's a long story."

"I've got plenty of time."

"I don't. I have to tie up some loose ends here and then I've requested some down time."

She narrowed her eyes and suspicion now clouded their depths. "You expect to drop this on me and not even explain it any further?"

He moved away from her and sat back down at his desk, now focused on the computer in front of him. "You asked what was wrong. I told you."

"Yes but . . ." Nikita moved back into his visual range, noting the eye contact they'd shared was over.

"No buts. Stay out of it Nikita. If I need your help, I'll ask for it." The warning in his voice was clear. He took the disk she brought and inserted it into the computer. His fingers started typing, literally flying across the keyboard.

"Fine. But don't expect me to forget about this." She whirled on her high heels and swished out the door in a huff. Oh, I don't expect you to forget about it. He thought. He only hoped he hadn't said too much.

***************************************part eight

Michael sat back from his desk and rubbed his gritty eyes. He had answered all inquiries directed to him and provided all available input requested, reviewed mission profiles and checked on the status of those pending action. Satisfied he had done everything he could to be current on all his responsibilities and proactive with information where necessary; his focus now switched to the problem at hand. Finding Eliese.

It had been the nature of her background that had sent a chill down his spine and aroused his suspicion. After Michael saw the list of her compatriots, all of whom had allegedly died the same year, he had become concerned, almost frightened. The knowledge that there were two very vulnerable children, both still residing in France, and related to him, had prompted his immediate inquiries as to their wellbeing. After thoroughly checking their status and finding nothing to be alarmed over, he had looked at some simple health profiles on himself, Elena, his sister, her husband and initially his parents. There he had stopped. It was glaringly obvious, once he'd gotten as far as blood type, that his father had not been his biological father.

To say that he was stunned would have been an understatement. Thoughts of his childhood rushed back to him. Pictures he'd seen of his mother pregnant, of him as an infant, then memories of the subsequent birth of his sister and all those years they were together as a family, until his parents' tragic deaths, stared him in the face. Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for this jolt of reality. Michael could never remember a time when his father had not treated him any other way than as a son, in the truest sense. So they had not told him. Having lost them in his pre-teen years so unexpectedly, it was highly probable to that point they had just not thought the time was right

This encounter with Eliese was not about a simple microchip. Something darker was at play and this discovery only made him more determined to find the answer.

Michael picked up his PDA and reviewed the list of items he would need. Although he had a small collection of covert equipment, there were some articles he would be forced to seek from Walter. He had narrowed down a list of four possible locations for the lab. Austria, Switzerland, Norway and Ireland. Sims suggested his most likely location to be Switzerland, but his focus kept returning to Ireland.

Eight years ago, in January of 1991, an American philanthropic organization purchased an aging Georgian house outside of Waterford City an opened an assisted living facility. A thriving industrial area and active cultural center, Waterford City was an attractive place for retirement. The climate was the driest and warmest part of Ireland. What sent up the red flag for Michael were items included in the list of medical supplies ordered for the facility. There were centrifuges, culture plates, liquid nitrogen, dewar flasks, electrophoresis apparatus, microscopes and a thermocycler. Some of the items might be common to maintaining a medical area, but together they screamed the words "Molecular Biology." And that did not fit with the scenario.

It had taken him hours and hours to run down this information, concentrating on any and all medical related facilities, outside of the obvious hospitals, colleges and research laboratories. Eliese and the other seven doctors had to be hidden somewhere, have a sterile environment available, and in some small way they needed to have a life. This location catered to all nationalities, and while some of its residents were extremely well off financially, there were an equal number who had been admitted and were cared for through foundation funding.

His down time was being treated as a necessary adjustment for him after the Vacek mission. Even though that debacle had ended nearly six months ago, he was still out of sync. Not in his performance, but in the display of emotion. He was impatient and that sometimes showed, and as tightly as he tried to keep a rein on it, bitterness and cynicism still surfaced occasionally. Michael knew Madeline had approved of this short leave of absence, she wanted her 'machine' back fully intact. He didn't really care what Operations thought.

Pushing away from the desk, he pocketed his PDA, and switched off the lights in his office. Then he headed for munitions. A quick check of the time allowed him to perhaps catch Walter at the end of a shift.

********************************** Paul Wolfe, better known as Operations, stood cloaked in shadows, relieved only by the lights of various panels and viewing screens. From his perch, or throne room as some called it, he watched as Michael closed up his office to leave. It had been especially hard to watch one of his best and brightest, crack. And though Michael had recovered rather nicely, with Paul's own brand of intervention, he still wasn't back to true functionality. That had only made him hesitate briefly when this next manipulation had started. But then the last 16 or 17 years had been one big manipulation where Michael was concerned.

He knew after spending seven years in a Linh-Sai POW camp, that he would never be destined to function in the real world again. As senior officer, over 110 soldiers incarcerated in the same place, he had gained intimate knowledge about his fellow compatriots, their families . . . and their indiscretions. One officer, Jonathan O'Shea had stood with him, helping to imbue the men with purpose. No one broke, even under some of the most heinous torture known. The men he'd shared that private hell with were some of the best killing machines ever trained, some of the best minds, and certainly superior in all ways physically. Any one or all of them would have made a great contribution to Section One, but their individual offspring provided him with the future.

And Paul had his eye on the future. He had knowledge, and knowledge was power. Even before that power was intact, he began to choose his soldiers. And with Michael, he had chosen wisely. If this next step into darkness branded Michael too deeply, at least Paul would have his hands on a way to control and design the next generation of Section One operatives. If Michael out lived his usefulness to the organization, then saddened, as Paul would be, Michael would be eliminated. He also hoped Jonathan would not prove to be a problem. For he admired Jonathan, respected the work he'd done to make this world a better place. But he suspected Jonathan knew, knew that Michael was his son.

And so the game continued. Pawns, knights, and bishops, each had their place, each had their purpose, and none were beyond sacrifice.

************************************part nine

Shouldering his bag of treasures from Walter, Michael opened the creaking iron gate that led to the entrance of his loft. His senses became suddenly aware of a presence and before he had time to pull his weapon, Nikita stepped out of the shadows.

"My-Kul."

His relief was mingled with a certain amount of impatience. He wanted to get on the road, get away from this place. He didn't want to face her right now or have to offer any explanations. Michael dropped his head and looked at the ground when he spoke. "Nikita, I don't have time for this." Then he raised his face and locked eyes with her. "I left a data panel for you with Walter. It may not explain everything, but I did leave you some instructions."

"Fine. That's just great." Her voice was tinged with sarcasm. "If you expect me to do anything, involve myself in anyway, then you better start talking."

"Not here."

"Then lets go up. You can tell me everything." She linked her arm with his and started toward the door leading to the elevator.

They progressed to his loft in silence, Michael disarming and rearming his security as they went. Nikita had not been inside his loft since the day she had come to him, just after the Vacek mission. He had brought in a few more furnishings, but the place still looked large and empty. His only real improvement had been the installation of a kitchen area. Michael motioned for her to have a seat in one of only two chairs he had placed near the large bank of windows on the east side of the room.

"How about some hot tea?" She asked. "Got any?"

"Yes." He almost winced as he said it. Obviously he wasn't going to get rid of her with a short explanation. He dropped his bag on the bed and efficiently set about making up a pot of tea, silently cursing her determination.

Nikita installed her self in one of the two chairs. At first glance the chairs appeared to be merely functional and not there to provide comfort, but she was pleasantly surprised. The chair backs extended upward to provide a resting-place for the head and Nikita immediately took advantage of this. Closing her eyes and consciously controlling her breathing, she tuned her other senses to the room around her. In her mind's eye she could picture Michael by the sounds he made, all except for any real steps he took. That she always marveled at. His silent, catlike grace; never making a sound. She could hear cupboard doors opening and closing, the water running as he filled the pot, and she could hear the silent hiss as he turned on the gas. She even smelled it; just the slightest hint as it wafted across the room. Then the silence again. He would be on the move.

A metallic clink, the swish of fabric as he removed his coat and placed it on a hanger. Then a drawer, opening and closing, the soft thud of his shoes as he apparently removed them. He was changing clothes. She heard the light rasp of a zipper, the whoosh of fabric, silence, then the click of another hanger on metal. All sound faded from there as the shrill chirping of the kettle announced the water was boiling. A few moments passed and the chirping stopped. Paper tore, and water gurgled softly as Michael prepared the tea.

The aroma floated across the room, reached her nostrils, and became stronger as the seconds ticked by.

"Nikita." His voice was like a touch, a caress.

Her eyes fluttered open and he was there, offering the solid mug filled with hot comfort. She accepted it, and took in the change in his appearance. Gone was the stark blackness of his Section uniform and in its place was a pair of soft worn jeans and loose oatmeal colored sweater. Just being this close to him, relieved of his bleak armor, made her heart jump. She allowed the steam from the cup to bath her face and the smell tempted her to drink.

Michael stood by the bank of windows, sipping his tea and waiting.

"Why don't you tell me what happened? What made you look so closely that you discovered the biological difference between you and your father?"

He hesitated, only a moment, before he answered. "It was the woman who delivered the microchip . . . Eliese Broussard."

A woman. Nikita raised one brow inquiringly. "And . . . "

"I thought the blizzard had interrupted the delivery. But she appeared, just as I was beginning to think the mission would be aborted." He took a sip of his tea. "I met her in the library and she came to my room later. She left the chip . . . inside a necklace. Then she disappeared."

Something cold swept through Nikita, and she straightened from her relaxed position. "What do you mean she disappeared?"

Michael wasn't looking at her when he spoke. "I fell asleep. When I woke up, the necklace was there and she was gone." He moved away from the windows and took a seat in the other chair before he continued. "I looked for her that morning. Made inquiries, spoke with one of the staff. He told me she was the daughter of the owners." Mask in place, he finally dared to focus on her. "Problem was, she's been dead for eight years . . . a skiing accident."

Nikita set her cup on the table between them. "Wait. Wait just a minute." She leaned forward in her chair. "You said you fell asleep?"

"Yes."

She rubbed her hands on her face, sliding them slowly down until her fingers were pressed against her lips. She stood up, looked out the window for only a second, then she turned again. He was staring at the floor now, as if he knew what was coming. "You slept with her." It was a statement not a question, but she certainly expected an answer and she was afraid she already knew.

"Yes."

"Christ." She whirled away from him, more expletives poised to come out. "What were you thinking?" Her voice was harsh as she moved once again to face him.

Michael looked up. Her eyes were burning like two hot blue lasers. "I wasn't." He shook his head and collapsed back into the chair. "I wasn't . . .." His voice trailed off into a whisper.

Nikita began to pace. She was agitated, unable to grasp the fact that he'd been careless, but she was also hurt. And she had no right to be. She had no claim on him. The voice of reason started to creep in. "Michael, I know this is none of my business . . ."

"I made it your business by leaving that data panel for you." He looked at her imploringly. "I need your help. There's something else going on, something else behind all this. I have to find this woman."

Nikita didn't like the next thought she had, but she voiced it anyway. "You didn't use . . . " Her eyes closed in utter disbelief. "You didn't protect . . ." She couldn't even say it. "No."

The quick intake of her breath was so audible, her disappointment so palpable, Michael felt like he'd been sucker punched.

"That's just great." Her sarcasm cut him like a fine edged razor. She sat down on the floor in front of him, tried to gather the storm of her emotions. Tried to make sense of all this. One thing she did conclude. Someone had known he was still off kilter, still vulnerable, and they had used it against him. With a great deal of control, she put her own feelings aside and reached out, placed a comforting hand on his knee.

"You better tell me everything else you know. Everything." She gentled her voice even more. "We have to get to the bottom of this."

**********************************part ten

It was like dragging information out of a locked vault, but she finally got enough from him to start forming a picture. He'd gone in alone, no backup, because this was supposed to be a simple retrieval. Of course no one controlled the weather, but Michael had been forced to wait for the contact, several days longer than expected. He had no advance information on who or what to look for, in fact, he had no information whatsoever. His recovery from the darkness of six months ago may appear on the outside to be complete, but inside, he was still riding the edge. Always in control before, Nikita knew him well enough to spot the brief flickers of impatience and irritation that were out of character for him.

She could just imagine that he had reached the pinnacle of his patience and his restraint threshold was on the low end, as he cooled his heels at the chalet, waiting.

"What did she look like Michael?" Curiosity mingled with a need to know.

His eyes hardened to a steely gray, meaning he was about to reach that restraint threshold with her.

"Why?"

"I just wondered if they knew enough about you to choose someone . . . different." She knew what she meant by the question and she needed to know if he did.

He had remained seated in the chair and she had continued with her position, cross-legged, on the floor in front of him. Abruptly, Michael stood up and moved away from her. He crossed to the area where he slept and pulled a small duffel bag from under the bed. Then he began systematically packing a few items of clothing. Nikita rose from her position and followed him, seating herself on the edge of the mattress. His withdrawal was a signal to her that he had indeed not considered this as part of the set up.

"She was beautiful." His response was tight with anger, more directed at himself. "Long black curling hair, porcelain skin, and huge eyes . . . the color of mist. She was . . . " He paused, closed his eyes, as all the differences began to rush back to him. Eliese had been nothing like Simone, Elena, or Nikita. " . . . fragile . . . guileless, and nothing like anyone . . .." He stopped.

"Nothing like anyone you've ever cared about?" Nikita finished for him.

He raised his head to look at her. "Not physically, but the rest was . . . "

She waved her hand, cutting him off. "It's okay, Michael. She was meant to not remind you of anyone."

He continued stuffing things in the bag. Nikita watched, remained silent for a moment longer.

"So we know the microchip was just a ploy. But whoever or whatever organization is behind this, has to have underground contacts for information, sources for Intel Section would be interested in." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "You said Birkoff told you this was one of our more impeccable sources?"

"Yes, but he says they have so many filters and backdoors in place, he can't triangulate a location. Every time they contact us it's different." Michael continued to pack methodically.

"How do we know it's the same source?"

"The code is always the same cryptograph." He completed filling the bag with clothing and toiletries then zipped it shut. "I'm going to find her. Someone has arranged a safe haven for these scientists somewhere for a good reason. Either because their work is subversive or they were all in some kind of danger."

"They also know too much about you, and that information came from somewhere. If it didn't come from Section, then maybe the Agency . . .."

"Don't be so quick to rule out Section." The look he gave her was hard and a touch of anger jumped behind his eyes. "That's why I need your help. Sims suggest that Switzerland is the most likely place for these scientists to be hidden and I need my communication with you to appear to originate from there."

"Appear? Isn't that where you're going?" She asked.

"No. I think they're in Ireland."

"Ireland. "I don't . . ."

Michael interrupted her, his impatience to be gone riding high. "The panel I left you will explain. I have a contact in Switzerland. Someone I trust, someone Section doesn't even know about. My communication with you will be routed through them. If Section is involved, I want them to be looking for me in the wrong place. It'll give us some time, it'll give me some time to find Eliese and determine what my connection is to the bigger picture."

She watched as he strapped on his holster, retrieved his gun and pulled on his coat.

"How are you going to get there, how long . . ."

"Nikita." The tone of his voice held a warning note she couldn't ignore. "The how isn't important right now. There's some research I've outlined for you to do. I've established a deep channel through a black vector. Use it. A purge/delete program will automatically run behind your inquiries." He grabbed both bags and turned to head for the door. "Let's go. I'll contact you sometime tomorrow."

She walked with him to the elevator, and as he pulled the gate down then engaged the mechanism to take them to the first floor, she asked. "What if Section is behind all this?"

"If they are . . . I have a hunch that it has nothing to do with protecting the greater good." He continued to look straight ahead.

Nikita's lips twisted into a wry smile as she responded. "A hunch . . . Michael? Not you."

When they reached the bottom, the elevator jerked and he turned to look at her in all seriousness. "Yes. I'm no longer inclined to ignore those feelings anymore . . . thanks to you."

She had no idea at the time how much she would cling to that surreptitious compliment. But she would. He pulled up the gate and they both disappeared into the inky blackness of the night.

*******************************************part eleven

Michael stood surveying the glittering lights of the approaching harbor. His eyes stung with fatigue and his body screamed for sleep. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since he'd allowed himself the luxury. He'd spent the better part of the previous evening and following day making certain his appearance in Geneva had been duly noted by enough Section contacts that there would be no question of his whereabouts.

Then, under the cover of darkness once again, he'd disappeared. He'd been most fortunate, after making his way to the coast, to piggy back passage on a merchant marine vessel leaving port and heading directly to the southeastern coast of Ireland. The captain had been easily convinced that an extra pair of hands and a strong back would be an asset on this leg of his voyage. Of course, offering an obscene amount of cash hadn't hindered the decision.

"We'll be to port within the hour, mate."

Michael didn't bother to acknowledge the voice belonging to Captain Geller. He continued to stare ahead at the glow of lights reflecting on the calm surface of the water. He'd been accepted silently by the crew. Michael was sure the word had been passed among them and no doubt they would all share in the unexpected bonus brought by his presence. From all his observations, the captain ran a tight ship with a minimum number of hands. There had been no complaining, no grumbling, and he had noticed many smiling cheerful faces among them. You didn't encounter that unless you treated those under your command fairly. You didn't spawn that typed of attitude or loyalty in the real world unless you were generous and rewarding.

"Suren you won't stay on with us?" He joined Michael at the railing.

The need to speak loudly diminished as the ship's engines were cut back to a low drone. The whoosh of the water created by the wake of the vessel's path quieted to a gentle swish.

"No." He answered.

"Ah, that be a shame, for ye are a fine worker." The captain spared a glance at the still, black clad figure beside him. He was no stranger to these types of clandestine encounters. Few were the times he agreed to transport the individual and only if the request came from someone as silent and collected as the man beside him. Many were the times he'd walked away from the nervous and wild-eyed types, even if their money was good. They always smelled like trouble. But not this one.

"Ye must be a man with a quest, Michael."

That struck home. A quest indeed, Michael thought.

"Perhaps." Michael flipped up the collar of his coat to ward off the chill. Then he turned to face the burley man. "More like finding the pieces to a puzzle."

"Ah, that's the way of it, is it?" The older man rubbed his gloved hands along the smooth railing. "Sometimes we try an make those pieces fit to suit us. Be sure ye look at all that is within each piece. Ye may find any one of them goes somewheres else in the puzzle . . . or it doesn't belong at all."

Michael searched the face of the savvy old sailor, marveling at where the most sensible counsel sometimes came from. He nodded his agreement and the captain clapped him on the shoulder leaving the younger man to ponder his sage advice.