Operations paced in Madeleine's office and let out a deep, frustrated sigh. She had just been filling him in on the status of the latest mission, and he had not been enjoying the answers she had given him.

"What do you mean, NO PROGRESS?" he shouted irritably, trying to keep from allowing the panic rising in his stomach to overtake him.

Madeleine gazed at him, seemingly calm, but inside she was as disturbed and unsettled as he was.

"Just what I said," she replied in an anxious tone. "Red Cell has apparently found a way to tap into all the Star Wars satellites that contain active warheads, and has changed their control sequence codes to an unbreakable one of their own..."

The gray-haired man glared at her. "No code is unbreakable," he barked in protest. "Birkoff will crack it eventually..."

"No," Madeleine answered quietly with a shake of her head. "Birkoff has been working on it for hours and has determined it is totally undecipherable. At least, for him..."

Her companion let out a low groan, and rubbed his forehead as if in pain. "Dammit, then, get that little obnoxious weasel-brat to do it, what's-his-name...."

"Greg Hillinger," Madeleine supplied calmly.

"That's him!" replied Operations. "Get him to do it..."

Again, the beautiful brunette shook her head. "We already tried that," she said with a sigh. "Greg had no better results than Birkoff did."

"Christ," Operations swore. "Madeleine, this is unacceptable. There must be someone who could crack this code."

He stood lost in thought for a moment, then his eyes widened as an idea came to him. "We could grab whoever designed the code in the first place....." he suggested eagerly.

Madeleine nodded. "We're working on that now. It's a slim chance, but it's all we've got. Otherwise, the world will be held hostage to these nuclear terrorists..."

She flipped on her computer and called up a file on the screen. It showed the image of a petite, dark-haired woman in her thirties, with light blue eyes and a pixie hair-cut that gave her a child-like appearance.

"Terese LaFontaine," Madeleine intoned solemnly. "An eccentric genius with a gift for, among other things, non-linear L-tree mathematics."

Operations leaned over her shoulder, studying the face on the screen. "A math professor, like Hillinger?" he asked.

"No, actually. She is more well known for a book of poetry she has written. Mathematics is only a side-line."

Operations paused for a moment to absorb this, and then went on with his questions. "Friendly to the West?" he asked.

"As far as we know," Madeleine answered. "Terese has been distinctly a-political during her life. Other than registering to vote, we can find no involvement on her part in government affairs, ours or others."

Operations raised an eyebrow. "And?" he encouraged her, knowing there was more.

"We believe that Miss LaFontaine was taken against her will by Red Cell and forced to supply them with the code," Madeleine continued. "Michael is preparing a team and we should have a possible location soon."

"Good," Operations said, straightening with a sigh. At least they had SOMETHING, however tenuous. He wondered idly if Terese LaFontaine, when and if they found her, would be as difficult to handle as Greg Hillinger had been.

No, of course she wouldn't be, he assured himself. How could she be?

"Let me know as soon as you hear something," Operations ordered, allowing himself to relax into a small smile. "I'll be in my office."

"Of course," Madeleine acknowledged with a nod of her head.

She waited until he had left her office, and then turned back to ponder the deceptively innocent image on the screen.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" she muttered to herself, and then sighed, and sipped her tea.

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

Two hours later, the location was confirmed and Michael and his team headed out to rescue Miss LaFontaine from her Red Cell captors. She was being held in a remote farmhouse, guarded only by five men. Red Cell deemed that that was all the man-power needed to keep one small, and very frightened, woman in line.

It was a simple matter for Michael's team to neutralize the three perimeter guards and take down the remaining two who were playing cards together inside; obviously, Section's arrival had been totally unexpected.

Michael led the way to the upstairs bedroom where the infra-red detectors with which Birkoff had scanned the house indicated Terese was being kept.

The door was locked, and Michael gave it a vicious kick and it sprang open with a crash. Then he and his team rushed inside.

Terese screamed at the splintering of the door, and fled to the far corner of the room, blue eyes wide and frightened. The appearance of six heavily armed men, dressed all in black, their faces masked, terrified her.

Michael lowered his gun and indicated with a wave of his hand for his team to do the same. "It's okay," Michael soothed in a gentle voice. "We're not going to hurt you..."

He removed his mask, revealing the handsome face and tousled auburn curls to her eyes. He smiled reassuringly at her.

"It's all right..." he said, daring to take a few steps closer. "We'll take you somewhere safe...."

Instead of relaxing her, his words seemed to upset her more. "No! You don't understand," she said, her voice rising in frustration. "Right now, there is no place safe on this planet. Twenty-two nuclear war-heads are right at this moment being trained on the major cities of the world, set to be launched in twelve hours..."

"I'm the only one who can stop it," she continued breathlessly. "If you want to live, you'll get out of my way and let me get to that computer that's downstairs...."

She took a step toward the door, then stopped, staring pointedly at the wall of armed men standing in her way.

From behind Michael, one of his team spoke. "There's no computer here, Michael," he reported. "We looked."

"Merde," their leader swore and spoke into his comm unit. "Birkoff?"

"It's okay, Michael," Section's resident computer genius responded calmly in his ear-piece.

"Access to that particular Red Cell computer isn't necessary. Any computer with enough juice will do. All I need is the code and I can hook into Section's mainframe and do it from here," he explained.

Michael sighed in relief and turned back to the distraught Terese, realizing that her distress, fear, and tear-stained face were due to something much more than just concern for her own personal safety. She, literally, had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He offered to relieve her of that burden. "It's all right," he told her softly, putting his hand on her arm. "Give me the code and our people will see to it that all the bombs are deactivated."

Terese flinched way from him, glaring into the glittering green eyes. "No, I won't," she said stubbornly. "I don't even know who the hell you people are.." she yelled, backing into the corner again. "How do I know you won't use the code to control the bombs yourself?" she challenged him defiantly.

*Sh&t* Michael cursed to himself again. Terese's caution was admirable, but there was no time to convince her of their good intentions, no time for debate and reasoned persuasion.

She was frightened, wary, and had absolutely no reason to trust them anymore than she did Red Cell.

In his comm unit, Operations, who had been listening to the exchange with thinly veiled disgust, barked an order. "Dammit, Michael, just bring her in," he said in a clipped, angry tone, his patience gone. "We can persuade her to hand over the code when she gets here."

"Understood," Michael acknowledged grimly, then reached for Terese's arm again. This time his grip was not gentle, but implacably firm.

"Come with me," he said again, his tone one that brooked no argument. Terese knew it was useless, but still she struggled.

"No!" she screamed, trying to pull away from him and kick him at the same time.

Suddenly, she found herself lifted from the floor, turned in Michael's arms, and crushed against his broad chest. She couldn't move.

"No..." she sobbed weakly. "Let me go..."

The hard green eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," Michael whispered. "I'm very sorry..."

"No..." Terese sobbed again, then lowered her head and cried brokenly against his shoulder as he carried her out to the van.

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

Terese was sufficiently cowed and intimidated on the trip to Section to do little more than sit quietly in the van, her gaze on the floor to avoid the stares of the black-clad men, particularly their green-eyed leader, the one they called Michael.

He did not speak to her again, but she knew his attention never wavered from her. Her apprehension rose with each mile that passed under his silent scrutiny, and by the time the van finally stopped her nerves were at the breaking point.

When the vehicle lurched to a halt, Michael flung open the doors and helped her step out. Then he took her arm and marched her down the hallways. The sight that greeted her of massive stone walls, cavernous work areas, and unending corridors disturbed her further. She halted in her tracks beside him and demanded in a bewildered tone, "Who ARE you people? What is this place?"

Michael took her arm to resume their walk down the hallway, and gave her the curtest of answers. "You'll see," he said grimly. His orders had been to take her directly to the white room.

"That's not much of an answer," she sniped at him, her fear abating to be replaced by a stubborn anger. "When are you going to tell me something?" she demanded.

They had reached the room where many a visitor, now dead, had asked that same question, and had received no answer.

"In here," Michael said softly, opening a broad metal door for her.

Terese would have turned and bolted back down the hall way if Michael hadn't had an iron grip on her wrist. The sight of the stark, tile walls, and the metal chair with the straps filled her insides with cold dread.

"No.." she whimpered, and she staggered against him, as suddenly her legs went numb and wobbly beneath her.

Michael helped her to the seat she had no desire to sit in. Before she knew it, he had secured the straps around her wrists and stepped back. Almost immediately, the door opened and Madeleine strolled briskly in.

"Good morning, Miss LaFontaine," Madeline began tersely, dispensing with her usual smile. "We have very little time to complete out business here, so I'll be brief."

She stepped closer to the woman in the chair, her heels clicking loudly against the tile floor. Bending forward, she leveled her cold brown-eyed gaze at the prisoner.

"We appreciate the fact that you are an innocent party in this situation, and that you were forced to help Red Cell against your will. But our sympathies for you do not extend so far as to let you destroy the world...."

Terese interrupted her. "I have no intention of destroying the world!" she shouted, infuriated. Madeleine fixed her with the cold gaze. "Perhaps not intentionally, but with every moment that goes by, you are already risking the planet by your recalcitrance." She paused to glare at her once more. "Why don't you give us the code?"

A muscle in Terese's jaw twitched, and her fear was replaced by an all consuming anger. "Because I don't want to be responsible for handing over the rule of this planet to some organization that for all I know could be worse than Red Cell!" she spat out, losing her patience.

"Who are you?" Terese yelled, her voice halfway between a sob and a scream. "Please, just tell me who you are..." she pleaded, looking past Madeleine to Michael.

"This is Section One," he told her gently. "The most covert anti-terrorist organization on the planet. We are aligned with most of the governments of the free world to insure peace and stability in the world...."

Madeleine interrupted him in an exasperated tone. "There won't be any peace, or stability- there won't be any world, for that matter, if you don't give us the code," she said with asperity to Terese.

The woman in the chair sighed, and closed her eyes. Her head slumped forward in defeat. "You're right," she said, so softly that her captors had to strain to hear her.

She lifted her head and met Madeleine's eyes, her own almost apologetic. "We can argue politics later. Right now, we need to stop the missiles."

Madeleine let herself relax and let out a sigh. "Very good," she said, the tension fading from her voice. "Tell me the code, and Birkoff will take care of it."

To her chagrin, the prisoner responded in the negative.

"No," Terese answered, shaking her head. "I'll stop the missiles, but not like that." She looked pleadingly from Madeline to Michael, and back again.

"Let me have access to your computer, and I'll deactivate the codes myself." She pursed her lips in a thin line. "I don't want there to be any mistakes."

Madleine hesitated, thinking about the last time a wildcard genius had gained access to Section computers, when the barely adolescent Greg Hillinger had nearly destroyed Section by planting an uncontrollable virus in their system.

But Terese was more mature, more reasoned, more responsible than Greg. The idea of her in their System made her uneasy, but Madeleine realized she had little choice.

The alternative was unthinkable.

"Agreed," Madeleine said quickly, and released Terese from the chair.

"This way," she said, walking to the door and pulling it open.

Without a word, Terese slipped silently from the chair and once more let Michael take her arm and lead her from the room.

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

They took her, not to Systems, but to the room Greg Hillinger had stayed in after he was kidnapped by Section. All the computer equipment necessary was there, the link-ups easily made.

Birkoff had been notified of the situation, and was already there ahead of them, sitting at one of the keyboards at the long desk, typing, his emotions in a state of controlled panic.

The idea of a woman, who was not only not a career scientist but a poet to boot, accessing the Section mainframe did little to calm his already overstretched nerves. He hoped the situation would be over quickly, and he could go back to being the only one allowed so close to his technological offspring- the computers were his; he felt a fierce, almost paternal, protectiveness for them- they were his babies.

Birkoff looked up when the door opened and Madeleine entered, followed closely by Michael, who was leading Terese by the hand. Birkoff was surprised at how small she was- much shorter than him, and looking just as young, and even more scared. His nervousness flared higher, until he saw her eyes- there was a look of bravery and strength in the blue depths, and a fierce determination.

Something in her look alarmed him, but reassured him at the same time. This woman was not incompetent, or unstable, or an emotionally fragile genius. She knew what she was doing.

This assessment only took a few seconds, and Birkoff did not waste any time on greetings.

He rose hastily from his chair and indicated that Terese should take his place in front of the keyboard.

"It's ready," he told them. "We're up-linked to the satellites, and I've tapped us in to some of the power-grids of the main-frame..."

Terese nodded, and sat down gingerly at the keyboard. "How much power are we talking?" she asked curtly.

Birkoff told her a number.

The poetess shook her head. "That's not enough. I'll need more than that...."

Madeleine frowned and answered her. "No. What we've allowed you to have is adequate to get the job done. We're not comfortable giving you more."

Terese closed her eyes, sighed in disgust, and swiveled in her chair to face the other woman. "Look," she in an exasperated tone. "I want to do this right. Yeah, what you've given me is adequate, but I'd feel a whole lot better if I had a little more back-up power than that, at least a third more, as well as a reserve link-up to the mainframe..."

Madeline looked at Birkoff, whose reaction was instantaneous. "Impossible," he burst out, shaking his head. He looked up at Madeleine and Michael. "With that kind of power, she'd have access to our entire system..."

"Hey!" Terese yelled, jumping up from her chair and glaring into Birkoff's brown eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, we are in a nuclear crisis here! If I don't shut down those missiles, this whole planet will be a glowing green radioactive ball of waste floating in space..." Her voice rose higher. "Is that what you want?!"

The others remained silent, staring back at her. The tension in the room rose higher. Terese glared back.

At last, she took a deep breath and slumped, with a heavy sigh, into the chair. "I'm sorry," she said, giving the other three an apologetic look. "I just don't want to run out of juice in the middle of the process of stopping the warheads, okay?"

Madeleine and Michael exchanged a look. Michael nodded. Madeleine then turned to meet Birkoff's eye.

"Do it," she ordered. "Give her what she wants."

Birkoff blinked at her a moment, and looked like he wanted to say something in protest, but he remained silent and did as he was told. He leaned down to the keyboard, reaching over Terese's shoulder, and with a few keystrokes and a click of the mouse, he was done.

He straightened, and stood with his arms crossed across his chest just behind her. "It's all yours," he said in a disgusted voice.

Terese nodded, bent her head over the keyboard and began to type.

With her back turned toward them, none of the other three people in the room saw her smile.

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

It was over before they could stop her. Terese's fingers flew over the keyboard, and in moments, she had not only stopped the annihilation of the world in a nuclear holocaust, but she had accessed the Directory as well.

Alarm bells clamored stridently as the intel about Section's secrets scrolled rapidly on the screen. Terese swiveled in her chair to face them and grinned.

"Sh&t!" Birkoff swore, shoving her aside to access the keyboard. Michael stepped close beside him, ready to assist him, reaching to grip Terese by the shoulders.

Before either of the men could touch her or the computer, the female genius stopped them with a look. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she said flippantly, but they knew she meant business. "Back off," she added in a quiet voice.

She reached for a button on the computer and keyed it- the alarm went suddenly silent.

Madeleine folded her hand in front of her and met the prisoner's blue eyes. "What have you done?" she asked in a calm tone, getting right to the point. "And what do you want?"

Terese gave her an approving nod, acknowledging Madeleine’s immediate grasp of the situation and her lack of histrionics.

"The World War Three party has been cancelled," she told them serenely, "We're all safe, I assure you...." She tilted her head, her voice full of amusement. "But as for Section One-well, that may not be so safe. I now control all your computers, which are keyed to work only under my code..."

She turned back to the monitor, which still scrolled with files of the Directory. "This is absolutely fascinating..." she mused, reading the screen.

Michael grimaced angrily and stepped forward to grip the back of her chair and turned her to face him. "Madeleine asked you a question," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "What do you want?"

Terese, unintimidated, put her hand on the middle of his chest and gave him a gentle push back. He moved away from her, and as he did, she stood up from the chair and faced them, running a hand wearily through her short hair.

"Time," she said softly. "I want time.."

"Time to do what?" asked Madeleine in a low tone.

Terese looked up at her. "Look, in the past four days, I've been kidnapped TWICE, had a gun held to my head and forced to destroy the world, then strapped in a chair and forced to save it. ..."

She sighed deeply again. "My nerves are shot. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I need a bath and some fresh clothes, and most of all, I need to figure out if Section One is worthy enough to be trusted with the command codes for nuclear weapons, or if the world would be a better place if it were destroyed...."

Michael frowned. "You just said yourself that we saved the world..."

Terese frowned back. "Yes, you did. But did you save it for altruistic reasons, or because you want to control it for yourselves?" She shook her head. "I need time to make that kind of judgement."

"Judgement?!" exclaimed Birkoff angrily. "Who gave you the right to judge us..."

Terese gave him a sad smile. "I don't know who, exactly," she said, answering his rhetorical question seriously. "Fate, maybe, or circumstances, or maybe God... She shook her head. "All I know is, I'm here, and it's my responsibility to make the right call.."

She slumped in the chair, as they stared at her, stunned. "I'm too tired to think straight." she muttered, burying her head in her hands. "Can you all come back in a few hours, after I've had time to rest?"

She looked up beseechingly, her eyes coming to rest on Michael. "Please?" she pleaded, her bravado fading.

Madeleine eyed her thoughtfully, then gave her her answer. "Of course," she said calmly.

"Take all the time you need."

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

To Madeleine, of course, fell the thankless task of telling Operations what had happened.

"What do you mean, she controls Section???" Paul shouted, pacing the floor agitatedly in his tower office. The hand that brought the cigarette to his lips trembled. "And Birkoff has no way to stop her?"

Madeleine, though inwardly pessimistic, tried to put a bright face on things. "Yes, that's true. For now. But this won't last long. Miss LaFontaine is anxious to be out of here, and I believe the situation can be resolved quickly...."

"Not so long ago, we found ourselves in a similar predicament...." continued Madeleine.

"You mean Nikita deciding the fate of Section," Operations responded with a nod, exhaling smoke.

"Yes," she answered. "Nikita found in our favor. Most likely Miss LaFontaine will as well. She is very intelligent..."

Operations sighed. "Intelligent people are often unpredictable," he commented in a discouraged tone. "And they don't necessarily have any common sense..."

He took another puff of his cigarette. "She may get on her high horse of moral outrage and it'll all be over..."

"Christ," he swore, shaking his head. "I almost wish we were still being held hostage by Red Cell. At least with terrorists, you know what you're dealing with..."

"Hmmm," said Madeline, almost agreeing with him. "Yes, Terese is an unknown. A wildcard. From what I've seen of her, her behavior can range from sentimentality to ruthlessness, and back again, in a matter of minutes..."

"But we have some things going for us," she went on. "Terese seem to be passionate about doing the right thing, and that can work in our favor..." She paused. "There may also be weaknesses we can exploit..."

Operations sighed. He was a little calmer than before, and becoming resigned to the fact that a direct approach, bursting in with guns blazing, was not an option.

"What are you planning to do?" he asked wearily.

Madeleine tilted her head and answered thoughtfully, "To push her into making a decision before she's ready would be a mistake. We should proceed carefully, slowly, and watch for an opening...."

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry. "We'll pull through."

Operations felt soothed enough to smile weakly back. "I hope you're right, Madeleine," he said, taking another puff of cigarette. "I hope you're right."

-------------------

In the hours following the showdown, Terese had showered, changed, eaten, and then slept through the afternoon. She awakened four hours later, feeling somewhat more human, though still distressed and anxious.

What the hell was she going to do?

Lying on the ugly plastic bed that had been chosen for its appeal to the teenage Greg Hillinger, Terese eyed the computers at the table just a few feet away. There the Directory still scrolled on the screen, all of Section's secret files available to her.

Terese had scanned through them briefly before her nap, fascinated, as well as bewildered, and sometimes horrified, by what she had read there.

There was so much information to process, and little time to do it. She knew Section would only wait for so long before they lost patience; she would have to make a decision quickly. But how? Based on what? It was all so confusing.

Sighing, she crossed the room, and seated herself in the chair in front of the monitor to resume her study. She let the files scroll by rapidly, until one of them caught her eye, and she leaned forward anxiously, devouring the words on the screen.

That was it, she thought. She had her answer.

She reached across the table and hit the intercom button that had been set up for her. "I want to see you. Now," Terese demanded breathlessly.

On the other end of the line, a soft, feminine voice spoke. "I'm on my way," Madeleine told her.

-----------------------------------

"Have you come to a decision?" Madeleine asked tensely, after she had entered the room and closed the door behind her.

"No," Terese answered, with a shake of her head. "Not because I haven't been trying," she explained with an almost guilty smile. "I've been pondering things and concentrating so hard, but it's not getting me anywhere."

Terese paused, looking at Madleine speculatively. "I think a need a complete break...." She threw the words out, slyly, as if testing the waters.

The older woman tilted her head and stared back. "You mean, you want to leave? Go outside? Go on an excursion?"

Again, Terese shook her head. "No, not that kind of break. I..." she took a deep breath, and forged on. "I mean, I need to do something completely mindless. Something.... animal, not intellectual..."

She stood up and stretched lazily, then gave Madeleine another sly look. "I need to relax, to play..."

"You want to have sex," Madeleine said abruptly.

Terese grinned. "Yeah, I want to have sex..."

Madeleine smiled in return, pleased. At last, a weakness. "I see. I think your needs can be provided for," she answered with a nod. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Terese giggled happily and bounced on the bed. "Well, for starters, this room is not exactly my idea of a romantic setting...."

"Other-- more suitable-- quarters can be arranged," said Madeleine, still smiling. "Did you have a particular partner- or partners- in mind?"

Terese licked her lips. "Oh, yes, she said with a lascivious grin. "I have someone very delectable picked out. I want him all to myself, all afternoon, in complete privacy, and I want him to submit to my every whim, no matter how...." She paused, her eyes twinkling, "....depraved and kinky...."

"And who would that be?" Madeleine asked, already knowing the answer.

Terese smiled. "Michael, of course," she said with a leer. "I want Michael."

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

The room was lovely, even though it had the same, cold, hard, sterile windowless, stone walls as the rest of Section. The coldness was ameliorated by the opulent furniture and exquisite appointments illuminated by warm, golden lamplight and the flickering light of a romantic gas-log fire.

The hardness was relieved not only by the soft light, but the soft, plump-cushioned couch, the thick, soft rug in front of the fire, and in a dimly-lit corner alcove, softest of all, so Terese imagined, the queen-sized four-poster bed.

It was a room made for romance.

"This will do," she said dismissively to the guard that had escorted her there. She looked around the room again, impatient. "Where's Michael?" she demanded.

From behind her, a soft, French-accented voice spoke almost in her ear.

"Here," Michael whispered. "I'm ready for you...."

Terese jumped nervously and whirled to face him, a hand going to her throat in an automatic gesture of fright.

He stood just a few feet from her, dressed in the usual black suit, except this time the black turtle-neck had been exchanged for a white silk shirt, unbuttoned at the top to reveal the column of his throat and a tempting glimpse of smooth, muscular chest.

His lips curved in a seductive smile that did not reach his eyes, which remained, as always, carefully blank. Terese found herself staring in fascination into their gray-green depths, suddenly lacking the power of speech.

Michael broke the disturbing gaze first, looking up at the guard at the door behind her. "Wilson," he ordered curtly, "You can go."

The man nodded, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

They were alone.

Michael's gaze returned to her once more, his eyes revealing nothing, but his voice was soft and sensuous, tone calculated to arouse and seduce.

"Would you like some wine?" he offered softly, his voice promising more delights than just those of the vineyard. He brushed past her lazily, heading toward the bar, very carefully making sure his sleeve grazed hers, insuring that her senses were assaulted by the heady combination of his touch and his clean, masculine smell.

Terese swallowed hard and strode toward him, crossing her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him speculatively.

"No, I don't want any wine," she answered him sharply. "Let's cut the pleasantries and get right down to business, shall we?"

Something like fear, mixed with disgust, flickered briefly in Michael's eyes, and then was gone. He put the wine bottle that he was holding down, and turned to face her.

"All right," he agreed, again using the soft, seductive voice. He stepped toward her and slowly raised his hand to her cheek, brushing it with his fingers in a soft, deliberate caress. Locking his hot gaze with hers, he lowered his head to touch his lips to hers.

Terese stepped back from him before he could complete the kiss. "No, she barked sharply. "Not like that."

Michael tensed, his hands clenching into fists just for a moment, then instantly relaxing. "Just tell me what you want me to do," he said soothingly. "You know I am under orders to please you."

"Yes, you are," she replied in a harsh tone. "I give the orders; you do exactly what I say."

His back stiffened slightly, but his voice was just as polite. "Of course," he agreed obediently.

Terese let out an impatient sigh, and stared back at him, frowning. "You don't touch me," she explained the rules gruffly. "I'll touch you. Got it?"

Michael swallowed hard, his eyes uneasy. "Yes," he answered, his tone less agreeable this time.

Terese still frowned. "Stand over there, in the light, where I can see you...." she said, pointing to a large dining table where a chandelier glowed brightly above it.

Michael paused for just a moment, then inclined his head slightly and crossed the room with cat-like grace. He stood under the light, his hands hanging loose at his sides, and awaited her next order.

Terese came toward him, and to his surprise, pulled out a chair, placed it at a right angle to the table, and sat down in it. She folded her hands primly in her lap and stared at him. "Kneel in front of me, please," she ordered flatly.

Michael's lips pursed together in a thin line, but he obeyed, although reluctantly. He lowered himself gracefully to his knees before her chair and waited tensely for her next move.

Still frowning, she reached out her hand and touched his hair. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, and somehow soothing and almost.... sympathetic, unlike any of her previous words or actions had been. Her fingers roamed through the silky abundance of curls, lifting the auburn tresses from his neck, stroking his hair back from his forehead, and caressing the soft skin behind his ears.

Michael closed his eyes and submitted to her caresses, holding perfectly still while she touched him as she wished.

After a few moments, he felt her hands lift from him, their exploration going no further. "Good," she said in a satisfied tone. "You can stand up now."

Michael blinked at her in confusion, but obeyed. "Is that all you wanted?" he asked softly, as he came to his feet.

The woman shook her head. "Oh, no," she told him. "There's much more I want from you..."

Her blue eyes stared piercingly into his. "Take off all your clothes," she said curtly. "Now."

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

Michael felt a chill go through his spine at her words, but again, he obeyed. He stripped matter-of factly, not bothering to put on a dance or show for her, since she, so business-like, did not seem to expect it. He was somehow grateful that she didn't want him to strut and perform in front of her- it allowed him to keep a little bit of his dignity in what he found to be a thoroughly humiliating situation.

He divested himself of his clothes with neat, quick, movements, laying the garments carefully across the nearest dining room chair as he removed them, one by one. In a less than two minutes, he stood, naked but for his silk boxers, before her.

From her chair, Terese watched him intently. She flicked her gaze to this last offending item of clothing and nodded her head. "Those too, please," she commanded.

Michael bit his lip nervously and then obeyed, stepping out of black underwear and tossing the boxers on the pile of clothing. Then he stood under the light, totally nude before her.

"Put your hands behind your head," she barked out. "And spread your legs apart."

Defiance flickered in the gray-green eyes, mingled with shock. This was the kind of exam he had gone through in prison, the position the guards demanded from the inmates during searches. What did she want from him?

Trembling slightly, Michael slowly did as he was told, taking the submissive stance before her. He tried to quell the hard knot of fear that clutched in his belly, but failed.

There was total silence in the room as she stared at him intently, eyes roaming over every inch of skin, every hard curve of his leanly muscled body.

Michael was beginning to wonder if she would just make him stand there all day while she looked at him. As the time stretched out, he became more and more apprehensive.

At last, she let out a sigh and spoke. "All right," she ordered. "Turn around."

Michael swallowed hard, and pivoted, turning his exposed back to her searching gaze. His hands remained laced together behind his neck, his feet planted widely apart. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he realized that this position was even more nerve-wracking than the one before- At least, when he was facing her, he could watch her eyes and anticipate her next movement. This way, he felt entirely defenseless.

He did not stand there long before he heard Terese heave a huge sigh behind him. He tensed at the next sound; she had risen from her chair and he heard her footsteps approaching him.

He heard her sigh softly again, right next to him, and then he flinched as he felt her hand brush lightly down his back. Her fingers came to rest on the side of his left hip, and he gasped in shock as he felt her pinch him sharply, her nails tearing painfully into his skin.

He leapt away from her, whirling to face her, bewildered and angry. To his surprise, she smiled gently at him, resting one hand lightly on his arm and holding out the other to show him what she held in her fingers.

"An audio tracker," she said calmly, displaying the small black dot to his gaze. "Did you know you had one implanted?"

He shook his head. "No," he said truthfully. He grimaced, his mind working furiously. How long had Section been eavesdropping on his every word? Two years? Five? Fourteen?

Terese's voice interrupted his frantic thoughts. "I'm sorry," she apologized softly, to his astonishment. "I didn't want to hurt you, or humiliate you, but I had to be sure we weren't overheard."

He stared at her numbly, and she pressed the small listening device in his hand, then glanced at appraisingly at the injury on his hip, blushing slightly. "It's not bleeding," she commented.

"The skin's just irritated and red..."

She turned and walked back to her chair, and sat down, careful to turn her face modestly away from him. "Why don't you get dressed, Michael," she called out to him over her shoulder, her voice warm now, and kind. "Then we can have a nice, private talk."

Michael stared at her slender back, and blinked. "Talk?" he asked, reaching hastily for his clothes and beginning to get dressed.

"Yes," she told him, turning to look at him as was buttoning his shirt. Her eyes were soft and pleading. "I.. I need your help, Michael," she begged. "Please..."

Michael lifted one eyebrow in surprise, and then slipped on his jacket, and crossed to the bar to retrieve the wine bottle and two glasses. He walked back to the table, set down the items on the glossy, wood surface, and poured them each a generous portion from the bottle.

He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down, leaning toward her.

"Okay," he said, eyeing her curiously. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

She nodded, and gave him a shy smile. "Thank you," she said in a relieved voice, and began.

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

Terese regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then nervously took a large gulp of wine from her glass. She set the goblet down and folded her hands on the table-top.

"I told Madeleine I wanted you all to myself in private for an afternoon of sex," she said, blushing slightly. "But that's not what I wanted you for...."

She looked down at her hands and spoke in a low, tense voice. "In fact, the idea of forcing anyone like that is sickening to me." She gulped down another swallow of wine, and looked up at him. "I almost decided to pull the plug on Section just on the grounds that Madeleine agreed to give you to me..."

She gave him a small smile. "Not that you aren't very tempting, Michael, but there's something I need from you more urgently than your body."

"And that would be....?" asked Michael softly, becoming intrigued by this complicated woman. "What?"

"Your mind," she answered with alacrity, leaning toward him. "I need to pick your brain, as it were..."

She shook her head, and leaned back in chair with a sigh. "Or maybe it's your heart, I need, or your soul, I'm not sure which. I only know that YOU are the key to the puzzle of Section," she told him solemnly. "YOU are my answer.."

Michael tilted his head, and watched her intently. "Your ...answer..." he said thoughtfully, then let out a breath on a sigh. "That means you haven't made a decision yet...." he said softly, trying to ignore the frisson of apprehension that went through him.

She smiled, a sad, rueful smile that barely lifted the corner of her lips. "No, I haven't made a decision yet," she said, toying with the stem of her wine glass. "The more I read of the Directory, the more confused I became. Nothing was very clear-cut..." She sighed. "For every good thing Section did, there seemed to be some evil to balance the scales..."

She looked up at him pleadingly. "I need you to tilt the balance for me, in one direction or another."

"I didn't plan on being judge and jury for Section, but I was thrown into the situation and I'm trying to act responsibly," she stated solemnly. "The choice is a burdensome one, and one I must make not on personal feelings, but in total fairness, based on moral principles alone." She paused. "I'm struggling with the answer...."

She sighed, and rubbed a nervous and through her short hair. "Is Section good or evil? That is my dilemma," she said softly, meeting his eyes again. "Only you can tell me that."

Michael frowned, and stared back into her eyes. "Why me?" he asked. "You have the whole Directory at your disposal. You could talk to Operations, or even those higher up than him..."

"No," Terese said with a decisive shake of her head. "Operations is in a position of power so that of course he would see no down-side to the organization he controls..."

She tilted her head, regarding him almost slyly. "Operations can make rules for others that he need not apply to himself. The view from the top is often a skewed one."

She took another sip of wine and sighed. "I could," she went on, "On the other hand, interview one of the lowly operatives, or a new recruit, and get the perspective from the bottom, using the theory that the test of any civilized people, or in this case, any organization, is how they treat the weakest and most vulnerable among them..."

Michael gave her a pointed look, and she nodded silently. There was no need for words. They both knew what answer she would receive there. He knew she was well aware of Section's policies on canceling anyone who could not perform to Section standards.

"So you see," she continued after a moment, "It is YOU I need. I need your perspective, the perspective of someone who has been both on the giving and receiving ends of Section's policies."

Michael stared back at her warily. She had read his file, he knew that. She was treading very close to personal ground, which made him acutely uncomfortable.

"What exactly did you want to know?" he asked bluntly, tiring of her indirect way of getting to the point.

Terese leaned back in her chair and glanced up at the ceiling, as if seeing some mystery there that fascinated her. "I want to know why you still work for Section, Michael, after all they did to you...."

Michael tensed, but even then he was not prepared for the shock of her next words. "Why are you so loyal to them, Michael," Terese asked in a sympathetic voice, "When they have taken your life from you, taken away everything you ever loved?"

She reached across the table to place her hand on his. "Why do you still support them, when they killed your wife and child?"

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

Michael went white, and he stood suddenly, almost overturning his chair in his haste to flee the table, this room, those questions. He headed toward the door, but he knew it was locked from the outside, and there was no escape for him.

He settled for crossing the room to the fireplace, resting his hand on the mantel and staring down into the flames, his back firmly turned to her.

From behind him, he heard her approach, and her voice was still sympathetic, as before, when she spoke. "Here," she said, "You might need this..."

He looked up to see she had brought his wine glass to him. She held it out to him and he took the glass from her, but did not drink from it; instead, he shoved it on the mantel-piece, untouched, and turned back to again stare at the flames.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "It was not my intention to rip open old wounds..."

He turned to glare at her. "Wasn't it?" he demanded in a bitter tone.

She nodded her head in acknowledgement and apology. "Not exactly," she said with a sigh, sinking down into the plush sofa in front of the fire. "In delving into your history with Section, I can hardly help touching on wounds, old or otherwise..."

"There are so many of them. It's sickening, what the do to you," she mused on. His back was still turned to her, but she was aware that he was listening intently to her every word.

"Tonight, with me, for instance..." she continued. " If I had really been into some sick, perverted sex games, you would have gone along with it, wouldn't you? Because... how did you put it?" She paused for effect. " Oh yes, I remember...Because you were UNDER ORDERS to please me.."

Michael turned to face her, meeting the steely blue eyes. "Yes, I would have done anything you wanted," he answered softly, "Because otherwise you would destroy everything. Everything I value. Everything I've worked for for the last fourteen years..."

She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "I don't get it, Michael," she said, rubbing her forehead as if in pain. "I don't get your loyalty to Section, when they've stolen your life from you, used you like a whore, controlled everything you do, made you do despicable things..."

"Someone had to do those things," whispered Michael. "It might as well be me."

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

"Is that what this is about, Michael?" she asked tensely. "Your masochistic need to punish yourself for some mistakes you made in your ardent youth..."

Angrily, he threw the wine glass he was holding into the fire, where it shattered into tiny pieces with a loud crash. Then, enraged, he crossed to the couch and knelt beside Terese, hauling her up roughly by the arms.

She shrank back from him in alarm, realizing that she had pushed the stoic operative past the point of his endurance, and that the cold, machine man had, at last, lost his temper.

He stared into her eyes with his flashing green ones, his hands biting painfully into her flesh. "It was not "a youthful mistake"," he hissed at her. "It was a bombing. People died..."

Terese saw that he was close to tears and realized with shock that he was trembling more than she was. Her terror fled, to be replaced only by a deep pity.

"According to the Directory, you didn't know there were people in the building when you set off the bomb..." she said softly. "You never meant to kill anyone..."

With a sharp cry, Michael released her and slumped defeatedly into the seat next to her on the couch. He shook his head, frustrated. "It doesn't matter whether I meant to kill them or not," he whispered, anguished. ""The result was the same. Those people are still dead, and I'm responsible..."

Terese sighed. "So now, to atone for killing those people in the bombing, you kill other people for Section." She shook her head. "I don't understand..."

Michael closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch, as if too exhausted to go on.

"For a smart, supposedly sophisticated woman, you are astonishingly nai-ive," he said wearily.

"Naive?" she asked. "In what way?"

He lifted his head up and looked at her. "You think life is some kind of fairy-tale," he explained with a shake of his head. "That there are good guys and bad guys, and you just need to figure out which category Section One fits in to make your decision.."

"Life is not that simple," he continued. "Reality is not black or white; it's complicated, multi-layered..."

He went on groping for the right words. "Sometimes, in order for good to be preserved, evil methods must be used." He paused, closing his eyes wearily.

"Yes, I still kill," he whispered, his voice full of pain. "I killed those people in the bombing and I kill people now. But my reasons are completely different..."

Terese sat tensely silent, entranced by his words.

"Back then, I was misguided, foolish, wanting glory, wanting to change things...." He went on. "Now, I am no longer foolish. There is no glory in what I do, but I know what I do does change things. It make a difference..."

He whirled to face her, eyes liquid and blazing. "A change for the better..."

Terese blinked. "But you KILL people, Michael..." she said, shaking her head, bewildered. "How can that be for the good? How can that be right?"

"How can that make Section right?" she demanded in frustration, his words making things more unclear than ever.

He sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. "You are focusing on the actions, Terese. It's not about the actions..." He looked up at her. "It's about the motivations for the actions, the intent behind it. It is Section's intentions, not its actions, that make it a force for good, not evil..."

He turned away from her again, his voice low and intense. "I believe what I do for Section is for the greater good. I wouldn't stay here and endure what I endure if I didn't believe that."

She shook her head, confused. "What did you mean by ...intentions?" she asked.

To her shock, he fixed her with a look, then reached into his pocket and flipped open a long, switchblade knife. Terese gasped and backed away from him, but he gripped her by the wrist and held her still. She froze, terrified, as he slowly moved the knife toward her until its tip rested just at the base of her throat, the sharp point pressing into her skin.

The two stayed very still for a moment, staring into each others eyes.

"I could plunge this knife into your throat," he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face. "But what would my intention be?"

She trembled, her face crumpling into tears. "No, Michael.." she whimpered. "Michael, no, please..."

"If I were a terrorist, I would do it to kill, to destroy, to ruin..." He pressed the point of the knife just a fraction harder against her throat, so that the tip bit into her skin, a single drop of blood welling.

"But if I were not a terrorist, but say, a physician..." he went on, voice still level but intense, "I would put the knife in your throat to clear a passageway, to help you breathe, to preserve your life, to save and heal.."

Abruptly he lifted the knife away from her, and she slumped back into the couch seat, sobbing. Michael flipped the knife closed and pocketed it, then gently took her hand in his.

"The action is the same, but the intentions are different," he said again, voice sympathetic. "Do you understand?"

She gasped and nodded, numb with relief. "I.... I'm beginning to...."

"The world is full of innocents, who are suffocating, smothered under terrorism..." He looked into her eyes. "And surgery is not neat, but bloody, and messy, and painful, but in order for life to go on, it must be done."

Terese blinked. "So you see Section, you see yourself, as the surgeon..."

"Yes," Michael finished. "In order for the good to survive, someone must take action. Someone must be ruthless enough to cut into the body..."

To his surprise, Terese leaned toward him and gently stroked his cheek. "Not ruthless," she said, her eyes tender. "Brave, maybe. Or noble. Or maybe heroic..."

She surprised him again by giving him a quick, light kiss on the mouth, and standing up.

"It's been fun, Lover," she told him flippantly, with a sudden, bright smile. "But now it's time to get back to business.."

She walked quickly to the door and knocked on it, signaling the guard that she was ready to leave.

Michael leapt to his feet, suddenly tense. "You made your decision," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

She nodded solemnly again. "Yes, I have. You gave me the help I needed to decide, and I thank you..."

Michael said nothing, not sure whether his "help" had saved Section, or destroyed it.

The guard opened the door and Terese turned back to toss one more salvo at him before she left the room.

"When I offer you the help you need, Michael," she said enigmatically, "Don't be too noble to take it, hmmm?"

She flashed him one more smile, and she was gone.

Michael stood staring after her numbly for a long time, wondering what would happen next. Then, with a deep sigh, he gathered his considerable courage, and followed her out of the room.

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

As soon as Madeleine learned that they had left the room, she requested that they come immediately in her office. She waited impatiently for Michael and Terese to arrive, knowing that the time had come for Terese to tell them of her decision- to tell them if Section was to be destroyed, or saved.

Madeleine hated not knowing what had happened between the eccentric CIA operative and Michael. For some reason, the audio tracker on Michael's hip had malfunctioned just when things were getting interesting between them. Madeleine smirked. Terese had quite an innovative, if aggressively dominant, approach to love-making.

From what Madeleine had heard before the tracker feed failed, she could hazard a guess that Terese had probably dislodged the device when she was pawing Michael's body. It would be interesting to see how the lovers looked after that particular session. It might give her something to go on to determine just what Terese's decision was.

She did not have long to wait. The door to her office opened and Terese sauntered in with a confident stride, Michael trailing behind her. The woman's face was flushed pink, she wore a satisfied smile, and she looked like the proverbial cat who had swallowed the canary.

Michael, on the other hand, looked decidedly shaken and distraught. He was pale and tense, his hair in disarray, his clothes obviously hastily thrown on, and there was a bright pink smear of lipstick on the corner of his mouth.

*Yes* thought Madeleine to herself. *Their session had been decidedly kinky. And Terese seemed very pleased about something. Her good mood bode well for Section.*

Nervously, Madeleine got to the point. "You've had your time to... unwind, like you requested," she stated, trying to remain calm. "Have you come to a decision?"

Terese smiled, and walked further into the room. "Oh, yes," she replied, casting a lustful glance toward Michael. "Once Michael got me... relaxed, everything suddenly became very, very clear..."

Michael paled further and stared at the floor. Madeleine swallowed hard and asked, "And would you share with us just what that decision might be?"

Terese grinned, and plopped into the chair in front of Madeleine's desk.

"Section goes on as before, of course," she said in a friendly tone. "I wouldn't want to do anything to upset Michael, not after how.... good he was to me..." She cast another searing look his way, while Michael just stared back at her, his lips parting in astonishment.

Terese turned back to Madeleine, who had heaved an audible sigh of relief and slumped in her chair.

"Thank you," said Madeleine with obvious sincerity.

Terese nodded, and gave Michael a quick wink and then blew him a kiss.

"Michael's such a good sport," she confided in an innocent tone to the other woman. "I'm afraid I got carried away just a little, and scratched him up a bit, but I couldn't help it really," she babbled. "He has the most delicious thighs I've ever seen..."

*There* thought Terese slyly to herself. *That should explain the missing tracker.*

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably in her seat and interrupted Terese's gushing confidences.

"When will you hand over the codes to us?" she asked curtly.

Terese smiled brightly. "Why, right now, if you like. I just have to give Birkoff a few sequences and, Voila', it's done."

Madleine hastily handed the phone to her, almost dropping it in her eagerness. "Go ahead, it's his direct line..." she urged Terese.

To Madeleine's chagrin, Terese shook her head and did not take the offered phone from her. Instead, she rose and crossed the room to Michael, who had been standing quietly several feet behind her. He watched warily as she approached him and slipped her arm around his waist.

"There's just a little bit of business to take care of before I give Birkoff the code," Terese told Madeleine, still in the friendly tone. "About Michael."

Madeleine inclined her head slowly forward, trying not to seem startled. "What about Michael?" she asked cautiously.

"Well, for starters, I don't want him to go on any more Valentine missions," Terese said brightly. "I don't want him too worn out to take care of me, now do I?"

She felt Michael stiffen in shock next to her, and she blew him another saucy kiss, then turned back to Madeleine. "Agreed?" she asked.

Madeleine nodded. "Agreed." She had little choice to do anything else.

She turned to look up at him with an adoring look, and saw that Michael's eyes were no longer blank, but held an expression of deep gratitude.

"Done," agreed Madeleine, relieved that Terese's request had been that simple. She lifted the phone and extended it to Terese again. "Now, the codes, if you please."

"Sure," Terese agreed brightly, ignoring the offered phone. "But I'll go talk to Birkoff in person, if that's okay." She blushed in mock embarrassment. "I'd like to apologize for being so bitchy earlier."

She turned to Michael, looking at him coyly. "Will you escort me, Lover?" she asked throatily.

Michael nodded. "Of course." He held out his elbow to her in a gallant gesture.

Terese took his offered arm and walked out of the office, giving Madeleine one last triumphant smirk before they left.

She waited until the door had shut behind them and they found themselves in the relative privacy of the deserted Section hallway.

Terese's smirk vanished, and she turned to Michael with a serious, concerned expression. "Was it all right?" she asked anxiously. "Do you think she bought it?"

Michael lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Yes, thank you," he said sincerely. "You were very convincing."

Terese blushed. "So were you," she answered in a serious tone. "You convinced me that Section was worth saving..." She paused, then added, "For now, at any rate..."

"Look Michael," she said, after taking a deep breath, "If at any time you come to believe that Section is no longer doing what it should, that its intentions are no longer the right ones, then I want you to use this..."

She slipped a small micro-disk into his hand.

"What is it?" he asked tensely.

She smiled up at him shyly. "The Directory. If you need to, you can pull the plug on this place, and then you can find another way to save the world..."

He blinked, then stared at her, totally stunned. "Why?" he said in a bewildered tone. "Why would you do this for me?"

She lowered her eyes to the floor in embarrassment, and bit her lip. "Let's just say, because I'm a very naive woman who still believes in fairy-tales, and..." she looked up into his eyes, "....and heroes."

Before he could respond, she kissed him again on the cheek, and walked away from him into Systems, bent on restoring his world.

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

Two days later at breakfast, Madeleine smiled across the table at the considerably more relaxed Operations. He sipped his coffee and smiled back at her.

"Things seem to be running smoothly again now that our little hostage situation is over with," he said dryly.

Madeleine nodded and sipped her tea. "Very smoothly, actually," she commented. "Miss LaFontaine actually fixed some leaks and problems in our systems. Birkoff tells me that our computers are now more secure, and more efficient, than before."

She tilted her head, and gave him a speculative look before throwing out an idea to him. "Terese seems to have become quite an ardent supporter of Section. She offered to be a consultant for us any time we needed her..."

Operations frowned. "I think I would be more comfortable bringing her in to help only if we faced a particularly serious crisis..." He looked up at Madeleine with a speculative look of his own.

"You seemed very calm about this, from the beginning. Almost as if you knew what the outcome would be...." He raised one eyebrow. "Was there something you're not telling me?"

Madleine smiled at him over her tea cup. "Not really. I just saw something in Miss LaFontaine's personality that gave me confidence she would find in our favor..."

"And what is that?" he asked.

"Her sense of fair play..." She paused. "Not unlike Nikita's..."

"And," she continued, "If someone as compassionate and tender hearted as Nikita could find Section worth saving, I surmised that it was likely Miss LaFontaine would probably do the same..."

"I see," said Operations with a smirk. "Are you saying that sometimes a little compassion is not always a bad thing?"

Madeleine smiled at him fondly, then chuckled at his joke. "Of course not," she replied with laugh.

Operations beamed back at her, then turned to the reports on his screens.

"I see there's been another bombing in Kurdistan," he commented, returning to the ruthless business of Section One.

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