The moon hung high from the firmament and was so faultlessly round that it looked as if it had been painted against a canvas of rich navy velvet by one of the immortal masters. Nikita was taken to Michael's estate in a chauffeur driven Bentley the handsome heir sent to pick her up. It was close to 6:00 p.m. and she could feel her stomach grumble reminding her that she had not eaten at all during the entire day. She arrived from the island and went to Section One where she debriefed, had a tracker implanted in her hip and then received a massage, facial and her hair and nails done at a trendy new salon a block from S1.

The automobile drove up the long gated driveway and Nikita was enthralled by the perfectly manicured lawn, hedges and flowering trees and bushes that lined the road and intermingled with the posts holding the gas lights. Suddenly an enormous extremely modern house appeared at the end of the drive, with tall windows that spilled out the light from inside the home. The car stopped, the driver walked around opening the Bentley's door for Nikita and she stepped unto a red glass portico giving way to a wonderful and enormous glass entrance, which was opened by a darkly clad Birkoff who greeted her.

The soaring view that could be seen from the entrance was absolutely breath taking with the sound of the ocean reminding the woman of their paradise lost. The open plan of the house allowed the visitors the exposure to the three stories of the main living area and the sunken section at the back of the house. Birkoff welcomed Nikita and ushered her to the game room one floor below where Michael was entertaining Paul Wolfe, Madeline and her parents. The woman blanched at the sound of the group waiting for her who laughed merrily and touched glasses in a toast, but Birkoff winked, weft a hand through her bent arm and whispered comforting words to her.

The young man gave her a quick tour of the house, basically not visiting the rooms but just pointing to them and Nikita could see how well decorated the parts she saw of Michael's home were. He had impressive, inestimable, original works of art, all perfectly framed, exquisitely lit and extravagantly hung or displayed in stylish pedestals that where themselves object d'art. Soothing jazz poured out of the unseen speakers and Birkoff remarked that it was Michael playing the piano or the cello depending what was the piece they heard.

Birkoff added, "Mick Schtoppel is also here and he brought an old friend of yours with him or at least that's what he said."

"Who is it Seymour, I am about to throw up as it is." Nikita remarked instantly becoming close friends with the young bespectacled man that Michael had told her she could trust as well as Walter.

Birkoff answered, "Michael was quite curt when he met this man, his name is. . . Helmut somebody."

Nikita and Birkoff where approaching the edge of the black marble and stainless steel circular staircase that would take them one flight down, "Shit – Volkner? Damn, what the hell is he doing here?"

Seymour Birkoff shrugged his shoulders and pushed the bridge of his glasses back with the hand he removed from Nikita's arm, "Schtoppel said he works with you."

Nikita sighed and entered the room, stopping all conversation taking place in the wonderfully decorated space. Michael stood with his back to the wall that allowed a phenomenal view of the foamy surf, the lights from the house casting an eerie brilliance to the panorama outside. His booted leg rested elegantly against the glass and his jeans and v neck tee made him look handsomer, if that was at all possible; he smiled at his arriving wife.

Michael pushed off the wall and enthusiastically said, "There she is, hello my love."

He approached Nikita who wore a pencil thin black skirt, high heel black CFM pumps and a white cotton shirt tied at the waist in a square knot. Around her neck a pearl choker and chandelier pearl and silver earrings, her hair piled up in soft curls and she smelled delicious. Her make-up was understated, her lips glossy and inviting, her lids smoky gray making her eyes bluer than usual and her lashes sparkly and long; Michael noticed she wore no bra.

Michael pulled her by her waist and drew her to him, his luscious lips wore a playful smirk and his green eyes amusedly dove into her blue ones. Michael kissed her, sultrily, passionately, a move that made everyone know that she belonged to him. No words were needed, no words would come; she was melting and almost forgot that she was mad at him, mad at her father and most of all mad at Schtoppel for bringing Helmut.

"I'm sorry I am late." She said as he separated, then before turning Nikita saw the change in Michael's eyes, it was obvious he remembered the stories she told of her relationship with Volkner.

Helmut Volkner spoke next, he stood and moved towards Nikita who was walking hand in hand with Michael towards the group, he said, "Nik, you look so much better than you did last night."

Michael glared, he had not seen Nikita since he left the island the day before in the morning and he could not believe that she so quickly moved on to Volkner without regard for the mission. Nikita was speechless, she could not even rebut the fact that she had not seen the handsome Brit. before this moment, but she just nodded as the man approached and kissed her lightly on the lips. Walter stood from the couch where he was sitting and moved rapidly to pacify the impending calamity.

The old hippie said, "I don't know about you Sugar, but I am starving; now that you are here can we please eat?"

And as if by providence Nikita's stomach growled one more time as she answered, "I am starving, I have not eaten today." Statement that annoyed Michael further, just because Michael was annoyed at the presence of Helmut in his home.

Michael controlled himself and said while guiding them all to the formal dining room on the main floor, "But of course, let's eat then."

Nikita recuperated her composure and said, "Adrian and Madeline I am so glad you two are here, I need help planning our formal wedding." Remark that failed to appease Michael as he thought 'too little, too late.'

After chitchatting with the women, greeting the men, including her father, Nikita turned to Helmut and said, "How long has it been since I last saw you Helmut?" The man didn't answer so she continued, "You sent me that beautiful card when my mother died, so it had to be way before then that we last saw each other." Again, no answer from the ascot wearing man Nikita was addressing.

Michael who was walking towards the head of the table shuttered his eyes a second, took a deep breath and turned to wait until everyone was seated around the grandly set table before speaking. After Nikita sat to his right he explained, "I hope you'll enjoy this fare; Nikita decided she wanted meat and our chef made a simple meat and potatoes meal."

Nikita squeezed Michael's hand and said, "Michael and I talked about many things during our Robinson Crusoe days, and one of our favorite topics was that our first meal was going to be steak."

Everyone around the room laughed and the conversation went on from there; all talk restrained to amicable topics, especially the couple recounting their escapade. Schtoppel and Volkner famously directed the inquisition into the duo's marriage and relationship, but they stayed clear of Gauguin's and his heir. It was fascinating how quiet Paul and the rest were, although every once in a while Madeline would brilliantly guide the conversation, it seemed to Nikita, filling in the blanks. The meal was delicious, the wine was intoxicating and the desert and after dinner drinks delectable especially accompanied by hand rolled cigars. After a tour of Michael's art the party ended and the couple was left to resume their marriage, the door closed and Nikita held Michael's movement.

"Michael," she whispered, "I have a tracker in my hip and they are monitoring us at least for now." Michael smiled and picked her up carrying her in his arms up the stairs to his third floor master suite.

/////

Michael asked Nikita as he carried her towards the bedroom, "Can they hear us?"

Nikita answered Michael in a soft pissy tone, "No only video, one camera in each room's air-conditioning vent, the damn bastards are voyeurs."

Michael smiled as he lay her on the bed and placed himself on her whispering in her ear, "Well, then let's show them what's 'entertainment".

He kissed her mouth, knelt before her and took off his sweater, exposing his majestic chest to the enthralled woman who lay motionless beneath him. While Michael removed his clothing Nikita saw the camera and pointed it out to Michael, he again bent down to kiss her and murmured into her mouth, "I promise they won't see much of you, so do as I say please."

Her blue eyes expressing her gratitude to the man she had so calculatingly used and now Nikita was feeling like a bigger bitch for Michael was in the middle of something that was non of his concern. She started to remove her own clothes and he stopped her, not wanting her exposed to the camera while he was off her. Michael, now naked straddled a fully clothed and aroused Nikita and once more moved to kiss her, he was himself stimulated and surprised at the woman's wantonness.

"I am sorry," he said looking at her while he undid the knot that was the only thing keeping her blouse fastened.

While tears streamed down her face, Nikita whispered to an attentive Michael, "You - sorry, what do you have to be sorry about?"

Michael took her exposed nipples in his mouth and then said, "If only I. . ."

Nikita interrupted him whispering, "If you nothing, please Michael let's not talk about this now."

Michael understood that it would look bad to the watchers if they did not partake in a full-fledged sex marathon on their first night back from the island. After all Michael and Nikita where supposed to be newly-weds that had never made love in the luxury of a bedroom and this was their first night back in civilization. Michael heard her plea and took it to mean that Nikita finally was paying attention to the importance of the mission.

Michael moved up planting his mouth on Nikita's mouth, kissing her with reverence and a total capitulation to her request. The kiss was lingering and soulful, like something one reads about but never attains, a perfect meeting of lips and tongues. She embraced him with adoration while he removed her clothing never exposing her to the watchers or stopping the oral assault.

"Michael."

She had surrendered to his attention, enjoying every move his mouth made; a nip here, a kiss there, a lick yonder, and then again repeated on the opposite side of the body he was worshiping. While Michael again drew her nipple into his mouth, first the right then the left, she snuggled closer to his hips grinding herself against his lower body, eliciting yet another pronouncement of lust.

"There, yes."

He bit her nipple and nuzzled at it, the feel of his beard against the tender skin of her breast stirring her so much that she thought she would climax and had to work at dominating her control. He held himself off by holding his upper body of her, planting his open palms on the bed at each side of her. This move of course brought even more contact between the two hips and Nikita lost control and came.

Once more uttering, "Michael."

Nikita's eyes were closed in total bliss, her mouth forming an ecstatic circular 'o' with the feeling Michael was bringing to her aware skin. Michael thought that at this moment of culmination no one could possibly be more desirable to him than his Nikita. He could hardly wait to consummate the joining, to fulfill his constant need to be buried deep inside this woman. But he also took great pleasure in watching her bloom with spent lust and desire for him.

Michael moved to continue kissing Nikita's body, little by little diagramming her erogenous zones without leaving a spot unattended. He converted her passionate body into a sensitized plane of nerve endings. Painfully slow he made his way down to her triangle, nibbling at her tender skin from hip bone to hip bone over and over making her breath catch in a long line of absolute need. She was breathless with sensations and when he finally dipped into her womanly sensibility, he left her awake with desire.

"Yes, there, more."

"Insatiable," he said laughing as she guided him through her appetite. He was under the sheet he placed on her naked body lapping at the woman's perfect self.

Once more she reached orgasm, once more her dissolute neglect of propriety made her guide him so he would give her just what she wanted, "There, harder, a little higher."

She took her hand and showed him where her core was, not that he needed reminding but the act did incite the man to achieve perfection. She showed him how she wanted to be manipulated and used her fingers as demonstration tools, and he followed her moves with his tongue. His hands were twicking and pinching and caressing and massaging her breasts and he could hardly use them for anything else, so he suggested she continue to manipulate herself.

This self gratification, up close and personal to a busy Michael was more than the man could stand so he said, "Kita please let me. . . I need you now."

She knew she could fulfill his urge and while going at him get more than her share of cliff dives. After all Nikita's orgasms were multiple and swift, like a woman in love she could climax with just a look from Michael. His voice, the accent and the softness of his command always made her soar, but when he needed her like this and was too timid to ask, she was pure mush.

"F**k me." What Michael couldn't put into words, the more ordinary Nikita surely could articulate without a pause.

Michael moved quickly and entered her, without hesitation, his muscular body over hers and her hands held him to her raking the exposed back. He pumped rhythmically, powerful thrusts that created great and perfect contact with both partners inflamed parts. He allowed her to flip his body to where he now lay, under her very dangerous appealing naked body. She sat on his erection, holding his arms over his head and placing her breasts close to his mouth allowing him better access to her wantonness.

In out, over and over, in out, "Kee-tah," He screamed, glad that the watchers could not hear his desperate imploration.

Her determination and her need overwhelming her, making her giddy with the sheer joy of Michael deep in her. He was tight like a fine wound watch moving systematically through perfect progressions of orchestrated perfection. The man's erect penis touched every wall of engorged esoteric delight, bringing the couple to a high so high that it cut their oxygen intake and made them lightheaded.

"Nee-kee-tah"

"Mykohl"

The couple came together in a perfect moment in time.

///

Nikita watched as Michael closed his eyes sleepily while holding her tightly; he seemed content after their love making session. They were facing each other, his arms resting familiarly around her waist; it was regretful that the entire sexual encounter was a ruse for the benefit of those watching. Her hands went to his face and she tenderly kissed him believing him asleep and not aware of her touch, but she was wrong.

Michael's eyes opened as he whispered smiling, "Are you flirting with me?"

Before Nikita could answer, the tip of Michael's tongue softly caressed her moist lips, first the cupid's bow, then the corners and then he moved to kiss her cheeks, her closed eyelids, her forehead and her mouth. A well-laid kiss is a Botticeli painting, lustful and breathtaking, a signature and a thumbprint and Michael was a master in the art of kissing Nikita. Sensual and slow the attention to detail extraordinarily immediate, but the man just wanted to show his penchant for detail. Kissing her once more in the mouth, he turned her around and they spooned closely, then kissing her ear he whispered in French a melodious good night.

Nikita held Michael's hand in hers as he held her tightly to his chest; she could hear his soft breathing in her ear and this ordinary tendency made her sad. It was unfortunate that she was misinterpreting every move the man made. She was assuming that Michael was only going through the steps of caring for her strictly for the benefit of the watchers, when in reality the man felt that he was finally home.

Again thinking that Michael could not hear her, sobbing quietly Nikita declared her love, "I love you Michael."

Michael knew that the watchers could not hear them and yet she had uttered those three words, he owed her just as much. Nikita's heart was breaking as she heard his reassuring voice, and as he squeezed her closer Michael uttered four words of his own.

"I love you too." He said and tenderly kissed her head.

///

Nikita awoke alone in the bed and felt around for Michael who was obviously not there; the warmth of his comforting body no longer present on the silken sheets. She called his name and he didn't answer, the darkness of the room confusing her, so she tried to get her bearings and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands, which didn't help either. She noticed that the drapes were purposely drawn over the numerous windows allowing her to catch up with much-needed rest and she silently thanked Michael for the thoughtful gesture. She remained in the dark on the luxurious bed looking around for a clock and eventually finding its red glowing numbers that seemed to float on its darkened face while notifying her that it was already 10:45 a.m.

She flipped her feet over the edge of the bed and planted them firmly on the rug, then reaching for the table lamp next to the bed she turned it on. Now with light bathing the room she looked around taking in the opulent surroundings she missed the night before when Michael enjoyed her undivided attention. Surprisingly the fire in the hearth although not burning brightly still warmed the space cozily, which was a good thing because the air conditioning was set on low. Nikita next found a folded note in what she believed to be Michael's distinctive handwriting, lying purposely on the pillow he'd slept on and she picked it up after caressing the linens.

The pretty woman unfolded the note with its heavy paper stock, rich and cream colored, an elegant post modern clean stationery that pleased Nikita's sense of style and read it intently. 'Good morning my love, had to go into the office early and didn't want to wake you. Will pick you up for lunch at noon."

She brought the paper to her nose and smelled the unique fragrance that was Michael, always clean and alluring, and wallowed in his essence missing him and then smiled an almost depraved grin. How silly she felt when a splash of blush covered her naked body at the simple thought of the gorgeous man, and she lay back down on the bed and kicked her feet in jubilation for having Michael in her life. The woman was sure the dreamy lovemaking they shared the previous night could not possibly be real, but instead wishful thinking on her part, that hopefully would repeat itself over and over again.

Nikita folded the note and kissed it, running naked towards the bathroom and turning on the shower, which quickly filled the room with steam. Washing her hair and scrubbing her body left her invigorated, then she stood in front of the mirrored vanity and after brushing her teeth she blow-dried her hair. Simple make-up and not so simple lingerie that she finished off with clothing she bought the day before and Nikita was ready for shoes. She kept on thinking how little she knew about the Michael who lived in this house and decided to rummage intrusively through the man's residence and learn all she could about this divine creature.

Nikita looked in Michael's closet and dressing room; the enormous wood and mirror space reflected the man's elegant personality. In the middle of the room stood a long chest of drawers, the top made of black marble contrasting with the red of the wooden cabinets and mirrored doors. On its top, bottles of expensive colognes, which Nikita dreamily sniffed and that filled her with Michael's core.

A very thin drawer with row upon row of expensive watches and another tier of cuff links and rings filled the top compartment. The majority of the clothing hanging in perfect order was black, but Michael did own his share of browns, blues, khakis, greens and even a couple jewel-toned pieces. His shoe collection was complete, surprising and expansive, as was his collection of underwear and socks. Nikita laughed and covered her mouth in amusement at the thought of Michael shopping, especially for the silk boxers, which came mostly in black.

Then while spritsing perfume on her temperate points she spied the forgotten note, which once more made her smile and blush, so she decided to call Michael on his cell phone. Thankfully the phone on the desk was programmed with a bevy of Michael's numbers and the push of a button connected Nikita to the love of her life who answered after just one ring. Michael's voice set goose-bumps on Nikita's skin like if he was there warming the cockles of her imagination with his gifted insights.

"Good morning my love." Those four words again. "Did you sleep well?"

Nikita sighed, "Good morning, yes I did thanks to you."

"Good. I am with Paul and Walter, they are going to join us for lunch." Michael said.

"Okay." Nikita answered but thought 'Oh shit.'

Michael continued, "Then after lunch we can start planning the wedding."

Nikita answered, "Okay."

Michael thought she didn't sound too enthusiastic with the prospect of going to lunch with Paul and Walter, and he said, "We'll be there in a couple of minutes, are you ready?"

"Yes I am," She answered and then getting a grip added, "Lunch is okay, but I am not going shopping with my stepfather."

Michael laughed and agreed with her, although lunch was going to be full of surprises for the woman, he enjoyed the intensity of her opinions and the fact she spoke her mind. He had been briefed by Walter as to what kind of surveillance the couple was under and therefore Michael wanted this meeting to be held outdoors where the watchers could watch but not listen. The wedding plans would be a fantastic cover for their veiled conversations. Nikita walked down the staircase to the main floor of the modern house and the snooty majordomo was there to greet her.

"Madam, are you going to be having a late breakfast?" The majordomo asked, putting an emphasis on the word 'late'.

"No thank you, Mr. Samuelle is picking me up in a few minutes." Nikita answered aware the man was exaggerating his British accent.

The man excused himself and Nikita walked around the space thinking the butler didn't like her and seemed to be treating her like another one of Michael's conquests. Her concern for the servant's feelings dissipated as soon as she spied a silver frame on a table and thought it was a family photograph so she moved to it. Instead, the piece was a framed original letter from Pizarro to Gauguin, dated and signed.

She felt as though she was snooping but she believed that you don't really know someone until you know where he or she lives. She smelled the fresh flowers in sculptured vases, studied the incredible works of art displayed around the room and noticed that in the main part of the house there were no personal representations of Michael. She decided to ask the majordomo about this peculiarity, so she walked via the door the man disappeared through and found herself inside a paneled library.

The butler was busy instructing a young gardener about a pruning job he obviously disapproved off, while the young man worked cutting a bush in an outside patio behind French doors. Nikita suddenly realized this was Michael's personal space, it looked and felt like Michael. She didn't bother the butler or the gardener with her now mute question, inspecting instead Michael's realm.

There were photographs of Michael's parents, the man as a baby, as a boy, with his elders, Walter, even Madeline, George and Adrian; fun photographs of happy memories and unforgettable times. There were diplomas, plaques and enormous hockey trophies. Michael's taste in literature was broad and interesting, from Erika Young to Ernest Hemingway, and he owned book after book on Gauguin.

His taste in music was just as diverse; he even owned LP records bringing a wide smile to Nikita's beautiful face. He had musical works by many artists, including Barry Manilow and Ella Fitzgerald and also Snoop Dogg and Mozart. His cello, a beautiful instrument obviously handcrafted, sat at a specific place, with a specific seat and specific lighting next to sheet music in a fabulous stand. Nikita could picture the man mesmerized by the music emanating from the marvelous instrument and she smiled again, something she was doing a lot this morning.

Before Nikita could continue rummaging through Michael's biblioteque, the man arrived at the house and called out her name while he stepped through the front door. As she moved towards the sound of his voice she felt an unexplainable excitement building because she was about to see Michael again. Michael's accented voice possessed a certain magic that Nikita found irresistible.

He watched her move deliberately towards him in her teal blue silk suit, her feet encased in flat black ballerinas and her hair hanging loose with a bouncy simplicity that made her look vulnerable to the man. He smiled at her flirty gaze, neither of them saying a word just green eyes delving into blue ones and vice versa. Spontaneously Michael spread his arms in a welcoming gesture, like telling her 'Come to me my love' and Nikita impulsively ran to the man's arms.

As Michael embraced Nikita she blurted out, "I am sorry, I snooped around."

Michael squeezed her closer and whispered in her ear, "Good, this is after all your house now." Not bothering to tell her that the butler called him to report her.

"I was afraid the majordomo would have told you about my explorations." Nikita said kissing his ear.

"Hmmm." Michael answered loosing himself in her tender caress.

"You do like silk boxers." Nikita said kissing his mouth.

"Hmmm, I'm not wearing them now." Michael answered returning the kiss.

Nikita let out a hearty laugh, "Commando Michael?"

"If we had time I would show you." Michael said ushering her outside to the waiting automobile.

////

Michael and Nikita stepped outside the door of Michael's house as a red Ferrari approached the front portico, the operator of the Italian sports car none other than Mr. Schtoppel. Mick wore a loud red jacket; mustard colored slacks and topping his bold head a canvas hat while a pair of sunglasses rested on his forehead. He whistled loudly in an attempt to show his appreciation for Nikita's beauty.

An annoyed Nikita showing her frustration at the man's arrival rolled her eyes and shook her head. Michael who still rested his hand around the woman's waist, squeezed her tenderly in a private admonition and turned his attention to Mick as Paul and Walter stepped out of the waiting limo. The men exchanged quizzical glances in reaction to Mick's appearance all as a confrontational Nikita spoke.

"Mick we are on our way out."

Mick answered, "Yes I know, but I had to discuss something with you."

"What is it Mick?" Michael asked in his always succinct and to the point way.

"I needed to show her some documents."

Michael again, "And it couldn't wait?"

Mick shrugged his shoulders, laughed and remarked, "Are you going to let your husband talk to me that way Nikita?" He didn't wait for an answer from the beautiful woman continuing instead, "Business is business Michael and she has been out of touch for much too long."

"I am planning my wedding Mick," Nikita said and Michael squeezed her waist again, this time the squeeze basically telling her to watch herself, so she said instead, "However, if you want to join us for lunch at the club, you can."

Walter intervened trying to smooth the potentially volatile situation, "Mick be careful, she'll bite your head off like she did me when I invited myself to join her for lunch. She doesn't want help with the wedding plans."

"The love birds want to be alone?" Mick asked sarcastically.

"Shut up Mick," Nikita answered as she entered the limo.

Paul spoke, "It is alright Mick, you can join us for lunch."

"Paul could you come with me in my car?" Mick said since he had last minute concerns to share with Nikita's stepfather.

---

Lunch went as well as could be expected with Mick trying to assess the situation and Michael, Nikita, Walter and even Paul putting on a brave front and giving the bold man nothing. Finally Walter somehow convinced Mick that both of them were fourth wheels in a family reunion, so the pair left Michael, Nikita and Paul to supposedly talk wedding. Before leaving Mick asked Nikita to sign some documents and she followed the man to the lobby of the club and listen to what he had to say.

Sitting on a plush rattan couch with bold colored cushions the amusing man warned the beautiful blonde, "Listen Nikita, this is moving way too slow, we need to have Michael give us the location now."

"Mick he doesn't trust me yet." Nikita said and the man interrupted her.

"I've watched you two interact, you got him by the balls Popsicle. Red Cell doesn't play nice, we will both be dead soon if we don't give them something."

"Do you guys think I have just been screwing Michael because he is handsome? I have broached the subject many times Mick, Michael is not stupid, I have to tread lightly or he is going to realize what I'm up to." Nikita said, raising her voice a tad.

Mick's relaxed approach changed quickly as he warned the woman, "Just do it Nikita, you have a week." Walter and Michael heard the warning as they approached the duo. Mick got up, kissed the woman on the forehead and excused himself saying he needed to return to the office.

"What was that all about?" Walter asked as they watched Mick leave in his convertible, his goofy behavior back.

////

Two months after the couple returned from Paradis, a quick simple wedding was held in a chapel near Michael's home. Nikita made a beautiful bride in her uncomplicated satin white suit, plunging neckline, faille bodice and rhinestone buttons. Michael as always an impressive figure in his black suit, white shirt and silk white tie; a simple boutonnière pinned to his lapel complimented the bride's white gardenia bouquet. The chapel lit by white candles in sterling silver candelabras and further adorned by satin ribbons and white gardenia bunches in crystal vessels that sparkled prettily.

The couple exchanged their heart-felt vows before God and man and danced the night away in their intimate but lavish reception. Expensive champagne flowed, rare caviar was savored and the truly magnificent fare was relished by all. The guests were few but highly regarded by the couple, plus a few obligatory invitees that observed and reported and took silent notes, hopefully realizing that love was in the air. The handsome man aware that he was being manipulated by Red Cell, but needing them as much as they needed him, paid off Paul's debts and Section One's arrears within the prescribed deadline of a week. He also refused to have Nikita sign a pre-nup, and graciously signed off on any claim to Nikita's enterprise. Of course, the fact that he paid off Wolfe's notes afforded Michael control of Section One if and (this little reality didn't escape the bride's comprehension) when Michael needed a trump card. Michael may have seemed magnanimous to everyone concerned, but Nikita sensed an end game looming and not surprisingly went half cocked trying to save Michael's very nice behind.

"I don't understand why they don't just go away Michael." Nikita said to her husband as they cuddled up in bed after making love. The room was dark and the now familiar red light of the overhead camera was no longer lit.

"After Mick attested to the marriage they retired the surveillance." Michael answered, kissing her mouth while he tried to spoon from behind, but she would have none of it wanting to face him instead. Nikita loved basking in Michael's scorching green gaze.

"Our little impromptu chapel ceremony is not what gave Red Cell a sense of comfort Michael, it was your refusal to make me sign a pre-nup and your insistence in signing the one they prepared."

"If these terrorists were not in the picture I would have done the same," Michael said quietly.

Nikita smiled, kissed his shuttered eyelids and added, "However, I am aware that you now control my stepfather's share of Section One."

"Do you trust me Kee-tah?" Michael asked and she nodded affirmatively. "That is your dowry; I couldn't allow Paul to further squander your father's legacy," Michael commented while she placed a long leg on his naked one.

Nikita continued, "Yeah. . . Paying off Paul's obligation and the Section's phony debt at least forced him to give you his share of the business."

"No Kee-tah Paul gave me nothing, he returned to you what was rightfully yours."

"When this is all over I want him to get his portion of Section One back. . . if that is okay with you." Nikita said with tears in her eyes.

"Section One is all yours to do with as you wish." Michael said.

"You made sure of that and I thank you." He kissed her and she continued, "You would think that after all of this, Red Cell would go away."

"But access to my wealth by marriage or cancellation of financial obligations is not what Red Cell or the Collective envision as their end game." Michael said stroking a finger down the woman's spinal column.

The sensation of his caress made her voice falter, "Chump change. . . in their eyes the potential riches of the Gauguin legacy fulfill their greedy objective."

"Hmm." Michael agreed and kissed her mouth again.

"But how much can the art be worth. . . Never mind, Michael I need to confess. . ."

"Confess?"

"Mick explained. . . I know you are an art thief. . .there the secret is out." Michael interrupted laughing out loud.

"An art thief?" Laughing again, "And this from Mick?"

"He showed me newspapers." She said, a bit embarrassed that she believed Mick and a lot sad because she perceived Michael's remark as mocking her. From under the mattress Nikita produced an album full of newspaper clippings from all over the world and handed it to Michael.

He needed Nikita to understand the truth, "I am Paul Gauguin's sole heir that is the truth acknowledged by all, so all the art is legally mine, I don't need to steal it." He also didn't need to read the collection of articles to allay her concerns. "The time was running out and the former Soviet Union government wasn't releasing the art in time for the recordation of the testament. The cache the Nazis' plundered from..."

Leaving the bed, disappearing into the sitting area and returning a minute later with a loose newspaper clipping in her hand, Nikita handed it to Michael saying, "I have done something horrible. . .Read, I don't know if you will be able to forgive me after you finish."

Michael held her chin and looking into her blue eyes said, "I love you Nee-kee-tah, no matter what."

"I think this time loving me won't be enough Michael, here let me. . ." She took the article and started reading, "A Trove of Stolen Art and Secrets in Gerstheim France."

"Gestheim?" Michael asked befuddled.

////

Nikita read the article from the American newspaper to Michael, her voice breaking with the visual realization in black and white of what she had done in a misguided effort to help him. Trusting Mick instead of coming clean with Michael and thus in turn not confiding in the latter was a typical Nikita move that she was aware needed fixing in the immediate future. She was blushing madly and kept apologizing to her husband who if truth were told, was enjoying the woman he loved fumbling through full-blown emotions.

Michael hoped that the whole painful revelation, which he thought he already knew a little about, would serve as a lesson to his wife who was somehow the protagonist of the drama. As soon as she finished reading the article, Michael planned to explain to Nikita that he was aware of parts of this occurrence and then would unveil his plans to use the event in their favor. The man was cognizant that the woman took matters into her own hands striving to save her husband from what she perceived as a trip to the slammer and he appreciated her clumsy way of showing her love for him.

She read, ". . .tapestries, gold chalices, saints carved in ivory, silver galleon on wheels, a silver ciborium, gold, silver and china, a 400-year-old bugle, paintings by Masters, over $10 million worth of 16th, 17th and 18th century boodle. . ."

Michael sat even straighter, placed his hand on the newspaper and interrupted asking alarmed, "10 million. . . are you sure? May I?"

Michael took the article while Nikita's finger pointed to the reference of the $10 Million and questioned him concerned, "Michael what's wrong?"

"Merde. . . we need to go to Gerstheim, get dressed. . ." Michael realized he had been mistaken in his previous assumption that he knew what the newspaper article was about.

Nikita reasoned with her husband, "Michael you are scaring me, it is the middle of the night." She was watching him move around as he spoke, his athletic body moving stealthily around the room.

Michael pleaded with his wife again by asking her, "Please Nee-kee-tah, I'll explain it all while we drive, please."

By the time he finished pleading with his wife Michael had walked into the bathroom and started showering. Nikita followed him into the room, which was filling with the steam emanating from the hot water and commenced stuffing essential items into a cosmetic bag that the couple would need for their little trip. He popped out of the stall about 60 seconds after entering it and grabbed a towel to dry, giving her a pleading look. Understanding his silent request, Nikita stopped what she was doing and went into the stall and under the stream of water that he left running for her.

Nikita called out to the man as she stepped out of the shower, "Michael, how many days are we going for, how much stuff should I pack?" She found her questions going unanswered as he was already gone from the bathroom and she raised her voice saying, "My-kohl?"

He stuck his head in handing her jeans and a thick sweater as she donned fresh underwear, and answered her, "I packed already; we can buy whatever else we need but now please hurry Kee-tah."

"Michael this is crazy, it 's way past midnight. . ." She persisted zipping her jeans and sitting on a bench to put on her boots before situating the sweater he'd handed her moments before.

"I'll be down in the car." He said ignoring her questions, concerns and even her bare boobs.

Throwing the hastily packed bag into the trunk of the Ferrari, Michael sat anxiously in the driver seat waiting for his wife and finally reading the rest of the article. "Police frogmen pulled out of the stretch of drained canal the loot from some of the biggest art heists in history, as soldiers raked through the mud looking for more."

This time Michael unfolded the clipping further and read something that made him breathe a sigh of relief. "The investigation concluded that the found objects where part of the more than 249 object d'art plundered from museums and châteaux in Europe by the Nazi Army during WWII and belonging to Paul Gauguin's Estate. All the recovered pieces have been restored and accumulated in the Unterlinden Museum in Colmar waiting for the remaining loot which had previously been retained by the former Soviet Union."

Nikita closed the front door and hurried down the steps to the waiting car. She hugged her faux fur jacket around her body before entering the vehicle. Sitting on the passenger seat a bit miffed at her husband's odd behavior she thought of asking him one more time what was all this nonsense about, but thought better of it. Nikita was well aware that she created this situation and even warned Michael that loving her this time was not going to be enough. Instead of speaking, Nikita buckled up and rested her head on the plush leather seat waiting for Michael to make the next move.

He started the car, put it in gear and said, "Gerstheim is a small town in the Rhine River Valley near the Vosges Mountains east of here. In 1939 two local boys shot at an advancing German tank from the church tower, the boys got away and the French Resistance was born."

"The reason I put the art in that canal was to get it away from Red Cell." Nikita confessed she was panicked and continued as Michael pulled into the surprising traffic of that time of the night. "I overheard a conversation during Red Cells' last days at Section One where they confessed to slicing the paintings out of their original frames, re-framing them and keeping them in Eschentzwiller, 88 kilometers north of the canal. I left several religious pieces at a local chapel and took great precautions with Walter's help, making sure the water would not damage them. Michael I didn't want you going to jail like Mick told me you would."

"They were fakes." Michael said, placing a hand on her knee, but still deep in thought.

"What. . . but Walter. . ." Nikita yelled.

"Kee-tah, we needed Red Cell to think they were real, we needed your impetuosity..." Michael said and peeked at her expression, she was now smiling so he asked, "What?"

"Are we outside of their surveillance?" She asked.

"You knew?" He was still more dumbfounded than before. "Yes, I scanned the car."

"I am a good actress Michael. Walter came clean with me when I approached him for his help." Nikita told her surprised husband, "Next time – You trust Me."

"You are correct, I am sorry Kee-tah." Michael apologized.

The lesson that night was learned by Michael and not Nikita, and now the couple needed to work in tandem. After all, the art was worth over $1.9 billion and Red Cell was not going to go gentle into that good night. The mission now shifted gears, it was time to lure the Terrorists to the proper authorities and put an end to the gravy train that kept them alive.

As 9:00 am approached Nikita called Mick from her car phone as planned, "Mick, Michael and I are going to spend the weekend in Gerstheim." Nikita said into the phone and was surprised at the answer she received, hanging up the phone and saying, "Hmm."

"What happened?" Michael asked, as the couple was about to descend from the Ferrari and walk into the roadside diner.

"He didn't mention the art pieces being fakes. He told me to continue with the mission as planned." Nikita was thinking as she spoke.

"No Kee-tah, they need to be led to the rest of the loot, they already know the art they have is not real."

----

The plot of land outside the unpretentious house at 14c Rue Habsheim in the Alsace township was overgrown with weeds, trees and bushes that had not been pruned in quite a long time. But the house that needed painting, blended perfectly with the surrounding dwellings and therefore disappeared into the ordinariness of it all. The village of Eschentzwiller was on a hill a few miles from the Swiss border, and at this hour of the morning bussed with locals milling about conducting their daily routines. Through the windows of the seemingly abandoned house, one could see the walls of the interior lined with paintings and drawings, and every flat surface covered with what seemed as worthless curios.

"Why did you tell me about the boys and World Ward II?" Nikita asked as they moved surreptitiously from the window incorporating themselves with the pedestrians at a nearby market, which was a tourist attraction, then crossing the street to a small hotel where they registered for the night aware of being watched by many groups.

"They were Gauguin's surviving heirs and became the keepers of the art, cataloguing, hiding and successfully smuggling a lot of the religious icons, porcelain, silver and ivory pieces to neutral ground bringing the booty through this town on their way to Switzerland. Alone they saved art from all over Europe that was on loan to small museums from the Gauguin Estate. Even after they were taken to Germany the boys managed to save Boucher's 'Sleeping Shepherd', Brueghel's 'Cheating Benefits its Master' and Teniers' 'The Monkey's Ball'.

Nikita watched fascinated as her usually silent husband enthusiastically described a 17th-century Flemish tapestry, and recited minute details of every piece he spoke about. He furthered that Red Cell knew better than to cut drawings out of their frames as Mick claimed, and assured Nikita that the frames of the originals probably were carefully undone and the works, in their entirety, were cautiously removed to the seemingly abandoned house.

The handsome man assured his pretty wife that the paintings of those sleeping shepherds, dancing monkeys and silent bowls of fruit worth an estimated EUR 2 billion were too valuable to alter. Michael continued telling Nikita of the desperation of the French boys during WWII as they witnessed the Nazis field soldiers destroy masterpieces such as La Haye's 'Madeleine of France, Queen of Scotland' and Boucher's 'Sleeping Shepherd'. The beautiful couple agreed that the obliteration of art was yet another atrocity of that war and an irreparable loss for the World. Thus their involvement in putting an end to Red Cell, history couldn't repeat itself.

/////

The hotel Nikita and Michael registered at was old, clean and charming, one of the many such inns usually found in the country villages of Europe. This particular one rested by divine design, cattycornered to the abandoned house full of stolen art and the town square. It afforded Nikita and Michael a perfect vista of the comings and goings of the area, thus keeping them informed and relatively safe. Michael entered the room followed by Nikita, walking directly to the window he drew the drapes, dragged a straight back chair to place it before the closed curtains.

While Michael was conducting his perusal of their new accommodations and surroundings, Nikita was running an inspection of her own checking out the bed for comfort, surprised at the hand made linens and aromatic flowers carefully placed by the antique bed. Michael turned away from the window and was transfixed by the exotic vision of his wife mundanely fascinated by the toilet, with its high tank and brass and wood pull. Their eyes met and she shyly lowered her blue ones remarking quietly about the beautiful porcelain sink sitting in the antique chest of drawers.

He stretched his arms calling her to him and remarked, "I thought you didn't like antiques."

She ran to his embrace and kissed him gently on the lips answering hoarsely, "But I do appreciate its beauty Michael, and this whole place is more than delightful."

Michael smiled and tugging at her he lay on the bed, and she followed happily. Nikita sat back up, removed his shoes and hers, and smiled again bashfully, for Michael was enjoying this domestic exhibition and she knew it. She then proceeded to plump-up the pillows, pulling Michael's from under his head, and then resting a lamb's wool wrap on his legs. Finally she served him a fresh glass of water from a pitcher sitting on the chest of drawers across from the bed and handed it to him along with a monogrammed napkin.

Michael took the glass, placed it on the table next to him while pulling Nikita to lay on him, and said, "I could get used to this domesticity. . ."

"Well. . ." Nikita confessed to Michael while she fumbled with the buckle of his belt, "I am no domestic diva, but if it you want we could play this game..."

The corners of Michael's mouth quirked and he asked, "Would you wear an apron for me?"

"And nothing else?" She asked, he nodded, "For sure. . ."

----

Mick Schtoppel and a slew of similarly clad men drove into the small town in a conspicuously windowless pewter colored van. Inside the vehicle, the tension could be cut with a knife as the serious individuals prepared for nefarious deeds. From a brightly colored tour bus Walter, Paul Wolfe, the Birkoff twins, George, Madeline and Adrian descended wearing cameras hanging around their necks and typically touristy-looking garb ready to impersonate sightseers visiting Gerstheim. Not far from the overgrown backyard of the little home, officers of the Interpol and the local authorities took their positions ready to do battle.

----

Michael and Nikita finished their lovemaking with the fun and the fervor that characterized that type of activity. Covering the sleepy Nikita, Michael sprang to his feet as if possessed and rushed to the window to peek at the outside. From shuttered eyelids Nikita watched the naked man and conjured up memories of beautiful moments before.

She leaned on an elbow and asked, "What do you see?"

"Plenty," Michael answered and walked back to the bed kissing her nose, reaching for his clothes that lay on the floor and adding, ,"Get dressed, the fireworks are about to start."

As Nikita moved to dress she answered, "Sometimes I think you have premonitions."

He was serious now, having lost the fun of minutes earlier, "There are no presentiments, just planning and timing. . ."

She sighed and held back a laugh, for Michael was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt with red birds of paradise and a bucket hat of the most hideous yellow Nikita had ever seen. His iron mask in comical contrast to his vacation-wear and Nikita wished that Michael could see the hilarious nature of the moment, but knew better than to even point it out.

"Be sure to wear your Kevlar vest. . . do you need help with it?" He asked.

////

Nikita walked behind Michael enjoying the view as he strutted towards the plaza wearing the loud and out of character shirt, he was focused and still wore his iron mask. He paused every few feet taking photographs of historical sights or pointing interestingly at whatever helped perpetuate their 'tourist' image. Nikita herself acted the visitor shopping for artesania and urging her husband to buy hand made chocolates from a kiosk nearby or snap a picture with the sleek camera. The couple blended into the sea of visitors to the picturesque town and confidently walked towards the tour group that still waited by the bus.

Not an eyebrow was lifted, not a word exchanged when the couple hand in hand melded into the group who followed an uniformed tour guide explaining in English the history of the sights they were seeing. The Schtoppel group watched the coming and goings at the piazza perched on top of a bridge, conspicuous as all get up in their dark garb, while searching unsuccessfully for the undetectable members of Section One. The local and global authorities, aware of Red Cell's activities, gathered in the outskirts of the village waiting patiently for orders to move in and take part in the conflict about to unfold.

Madeline with her hair in a high ponytail, her legs covered in stone washed jeans and her tee shirt boasting of 'Fun in the Sun' approached Michael and took his hand, thus signaling Nikita to move to Paul's side. Nikita's stepfather, who was wearing a baseball cap with the bill facing backwards, flung an arm around his daughter bringing her close and better able to communicate privately with her. The group moved as one, laughing and acting like the ugly American visitor that every townsfolk evade and doesn't quite remember after they leave their generous and fun fingerprints behind.

Paul whispered inconspicuously, "This is the only way Nikita. We know that we are risking our lives but this is the way Michael profiled it and I concur with his take that this offensive will bring beneficial long term results." He was watching her nod in agreement while pointing at something in the distance, away from any of the watchers, still pretending that they were tourists. "Are you wearing your Kevlar vest?"

Suddenly the air erupted in the distinct sound of fireworks, everyone at the piazza looked up searching for the colorful light show they were sure had begun, but there was no pyrotechnics. Nikita turned just in time to see the perfect dot of scarlet growing from the brightness of a bulls-eye to the wet dullness of blood as her stepfather collapsed lifeless in her arms. At the same time chaos broke around father and daughter and the believed fireworks turned to be the deadly shelling of battle. Bodies dropped like dominoes and survivors scattered to take cover, there was yelling, prayers and palpable fear.

In the aftermath, 7 tourist lay dead including. Paul, Madeline, Adrian and George, there were also some wounded. The fatality count of police and terrorists alike was up there with many-a-uniformed individual caught in the fragments of the strife. The authorities arrested the remaining factions of Red Cell there present and also those around the Planet.

Schtoppel, head bowed evaded the castigating gaze of Walter as he was led away to a waiting police van. Michael, wounded on his arm as he turned to guard Nikita now hugged her with his good arm as she cowered in her stepfather's blood wailing uncontrollably having lost another parent. All in all the Plaza looked like the cliffhanger wedding scene in 'Dynasty' where the Moldavian rebels attacked the church the day a Carrington married the Prince.

////

The authorities carted the terrorists off to an official looking building in the downtown section of the Capital City. The mostly wounded, all dark clad individuals sworn to uphold their ruthless leaders and remained silent as they were marched escorted into a secure room in the basement of the building. The men meandered around the cell not speaking to anyone, including each other, even after a couple of hours had passed since arriving at the strange cell.

Some of the terrorists sat on the floor with their backs resting against the cold smooth walls buried deep into their own private thoughts. Others relaxed with their eyes shuttered making their grimace extremely difficult to discern. Yet a large number of the men lit cigarettes and smoked, even though a lit sign announced the non-smoking policy.

The men were observed by hidden watchers that scrutinized their every move evaluating behavior, body language and so on, and knew the terrorists were aware that they were being studied. What bothered the watchers about the entire episode was that the detainees were supposed to be nonplussed and they were not, au contraire, these men were perceivably serene. A serious French speaking individual reported through an invisible communications device the mien of the prisoners and waited patiently for guidance from whoever was at the other end of the communicator.

A group of experts took notes, fidgeted with knobs and gadgets that measured the milieu and the uncooperative guests reactions. It was the keepers understanding that Mick Schtopel, who now sat quietly in a corner of the pen, was the leader of this faction of Red Cell, but a mysterious call dispelled that notion. An unidentified male voice explained to a supervisor the need to concentrate on uncovering the most subtle, elusive and fleeting hint of the identity of the head honcho.

The watcher reported that so far not one of the captives, including the bold headed Mick, seemed to be dominating the group. The caller made a recommendation and some suggestions that were really more of a mandate. The caller advised of his estimated time of arrival.

The interrogation of the prisoners commenced and one at a time the men were marched into a stark white room, with round walls and no furniture, except for a chair that sat solitarily in the middle of the room. The men would sit on the metal chair and asked to place their arms on the armrest and the legs against the chair legs and electronic locks would hold them immobile. The heads were secured as if by magic using a button that rested on the base of their scull and measured brain waves and such.

The inquiries were not impromptu, having every detail orchestrated by a slew of agents who moved like dancers through their prescript tasks. An amusing looking couple, who proved to be anything but funny, held unto taxi yellow attaché cases with all kinds of freaky gadgets they used without much thought. The short woman with matronly clothes and glasses, and the tall man with no facial expression, performed procedures and recorded data without asking one question.

The prisoners would then be taken back to the cell where surprisingly no one broke down, looked at the others or uttered a word, and so it went. The wounded captives were treated just before they reentered the cell, just another form of evaluation. If it was determined that they needed hospitalization, then they were escorted to the med-lab.

Determined resignation was the palpable mood among the members of Red Cell and indisputable stamina and patience was surprisingly the word among the captors. Who where they waiting for before starting the interrogations, or was it all a game to see if the terrorists would crack. The expected visitor was about to arrive and all his requests had been fulfilled, filed and now waited for his much-anticipated entrance.

///

The seeds Paul Wolfe planted throughout his life in the hopes that something beautiful would grow turned out to sprout nothing but weeds. Madeline continuously had stressed to the controlling man that sometimes the fertile fold he labored in could possibly yield an unwelcome bloom instead of the expected blossom. Paul didn't listen or maybe couldn't, so he forged ahead in the knowledge that even weeds flowered and had a purpose. Paul philosophized to Maddy that life, which was full of surprises, was also replete of design. Astonished Madeline realized that the white haired man she fell in love with held a glimmer of pollyannaism hidden in his crusty soul.

Paul watched through the breathing holes carved unto the walls of the dark crate he inhabited as his daughter Nikita went through the mechanics of grief because of his supposed death. For the past hour, after being placed in his pretend crypt by the operatives who processed him, Paul did nothing more than contemplate his life. He mapped a retrospective of the greed his stepdaughter perceived as his sole purpose, and memories of their life together floated through his mind. Madeline who rested in a similar vault next to his, played dead much better than her lover did, after all she insisted on taking a soporific that rendered her immobile and lifeless and Paul refused the magical tablets.

Paul watched how Michael approached the beautiful blonde and wrapped a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. How much Paul lamented not being able to tell Nikita the truths she found herself in; how much he castigated himself for having lied to the girl throughout their life. Paul had danced with the devil in order to keep his daughter safe, for he didn't consider Nikita his stepchild, and unnecessary promises made to Nikita's real father brought him to this place and time. Hopefully Michael would take over keeping her safe.

Recklessness and foolhardiness were not conducts that could have been associated with Paul during the length and breath of his life. A selfish sense of honor that he put before anything and anyone mapped every step of that journey and colored every sense of duty, which propelled him. The powers that be were always behind him, making sure he did not stray from the set path and the man never lost his way. Paul inhaled deeply in his temporary tomb; the battle in the small French town was his swan song, and soon he and those who 'died' with him, would become living ghosts. And Nikita would remain free as long as she was with Michael Samuelle.

----

Through a peculiar window that faced the enormous area below Nikita watched Michael walk away from the futuristic steel gray office he sat her at, leaving her with nothing more than a bottle of cold water. The place buzzed with the silence of a well-oiled machine, only the sounds of information being processed could be heard. Nikita smiled as Michael made his way across the spans of steel and glass, and she would have sworn she heard Carly Simon singing in her head.

Michael came back into her prospect from a blanched-lit hallway, truly the enormous room disappeared from view and tunnel vision rode shut gun to her racing heart from the transparent beauty that was this man. He immediately allowed everyone to see his assuredness but was not aware of his impressive allure or of his seductiveness, and although a bit shy everyone understood that Michael Samuelle was now in the house. Nikita smiled again and mumbled out of tune – 'You walked into the party, like you were walking unto a yacht'.

Nikita realized that one couldn't help but notice how his black Gautier trousers fit him nicely, and the navy blue sweater worn with that decisively elegant shabby chic way of his made his green eyes – blue. The sweater fit him admirably and she no longer missed the disheveled shirt he wore most of the afternoon with half its tail hanging out of the back of his jeans. Anything Michael wore was erotically appealing and even though the sweater did not allow a peek at the glorious neck that sported a very healthy tan, Nikita could see the black clad female operatives check him out as he strutted by them.

His hair was perfect, a combination of textures, a fusion of wondrous colors, an astoundingly perfect blend of sun kissed locks and even in this light one could see the distinctive russet, auburn, dark blonde, dark brown and silver and gray locks. Thick, curly, especially well coifed, hair that called to be touched – and touch he did, playing absentmindedly with the mane, digging his fingers through it every now and again. Nikita watched the damn curl that usually rested on his forehead try hard to escape the controlled hairstyle and fail; she was glad - for that curl was hers alone.

Nikita took a swig of the bottle of water she held and pondered further on Michael's appeal. She saw his style as a carefree combination of perfect elegance with a hint of rugged allure and she realized he carried it all stupendously. In view of this closely shaven Michael, it seemed to Nikita that his sometimes-scruffy style was indeed a conscious choice that he also wore well.

Nikita was enthralled by the gentleness he revealed, by the beauty he evoked, by the tone he gave to anything with his discomfort for adulation and his bashful constraint. In this strange milieu Michael was in his environment and was totally and unequivocally adorable and adored. So fittingly, Carly never rang so true... 'And all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner'; now what was that word she used – gavotte, something everyone did around Michael – gawk.

---

The voice spoke, the lilt thick, and Nikita from her vantage point would have sworn he hesitated, swallowed hard, vocalized with a tiny smirk on his face; timidly modest described Michael best, "Were are we?" She thought he asked, but she couldn't hear with the buzzing in her ears.

Birkoff answered hardly audibly and with a hint of discomfort saying something about operatives and egress points, taking off his glasses and popping a licorice into his mouth. Short moments of vicissitude passed that made Nikita opine that Michael thought it was taking an eternity to configure the rewards of the mission. She watched him shift from foot to foot, rock back and forth looking devoid of emotion as he spoke into a gadget he had placed moments earlier on his ear.

He was truly a magnificent specimen of a man, handsome but not pretty, tall but not gigantic, trim but not skinny and unaffected as all hell. And little by little, with the shyness still palpable, the man took command. The room of adoring operatives was his to do as he pleased without Michael having to open his mouth to speak; he didn't have to act. All he had to do was breath – he had plenty of oxygen available since everyone had ceased inhaling the moment he strutted in the suddenly warm locale.

A familiar voice bellowed from above Michael's station, "Michael talk to me." And Nikita saw Paul Wolfe for the first time in the strange environment smoking the dark cigarettes he had quit long before. He looked strangely at home and Nikita jumped back to hide when their eyes met for a moment; she was sure the reaction was a habit from her youth.

Moments later a young woman knocked on the door, entered uninvited and advised the blonde beauty that Michael wanted to see her. Welcome to the Real Section One, Nikita thought as she was ushered down a long hallway lined on both sides with precious works of art, some she recognized from her travels and schooling. She moved to touch a painting that she had surely thrown in the river and heard Adrian clear her throat behind her, so she turned and faced the gentile woman instead.

"I'll take her from here, thank you." Adrian said addressing Nikita's escort and the woman just smiled in response, and then, "Those are the real deal my dear."

Nikita smiled and weft her arm into the older woman's elbow, "Indeed. So Adrian, where are you taking me?"

"To see Michael of course." Adrian said and without missing a beat gave Nikita an instructive tour of the museum-like space.

///

(FOR MY OWN SANITY. . . EXPLAINING THE BABIES)

Nikita, guided by Adrian reached the one way mirrored room; the detainees still meandered around the cell silently, emotionless wallowing in self determination insuring they did not reveal their leader's identity. Michael stood intently observing each man's move and didn't even notice the blonde enter the room. Adrian moved quickly to the side of the counter where an equally serious George and Madeline manned the monitors and watched Birkoff at the keyboard. Paul walked in and moved to Michael's side.

Suddenly Michael turned and faced the room speaking to the group there gathered, "Gustav Pogue."

"Michael, what are you suggesting?" Paul asked.

"The man standing next to Mick is Pogue." Michael repeated moving towards Nikita and kissing her tenderly below her eye, his expression saddened Nikita and she didn't know why.

Wolfe added irate, "You are too distracted with Nikita to make any sense. Pogue is dead."

"Like you are dead Paul?" George said. "Hear Michael out."

"Pogue orchestrated the heists, he has all the loot that the former Soviets kept from the Nazis in World War II." The handsome man said.

Michael then moved to a console, pushed a button and gave a command. The man he'd described was escorted out of the room for a second time; no one including Pogue gave any signs of whether Michael was right or wrong. Madeline and her twins followed the escorted gentleman to a White Room for interrogation.

-------

Nikita was standing quietly in a room waiting for Michael to come and speak with her. Hours passed since he asked for her to wait for him and since he came to the conclusion that Pogue was alive. Of course, later Walter briefed her as to who Pogue really was and about the importance the discovery had on the situation at hand. Nikita was nervous, she wasn't sure why, but she was positive she didn't like being underground in the headquarters of the covert organization, especially since she had acted on her own trying to save Michael and Paul in the past and this move was not received positively by TPTB.

Walter came back into the room and told Nikita to go home and wait for Michael, but Nikita being Nikita didn't listen to Walter's request. She now sat patiently in her car outside egress waiting for Michael to come to the enormous concealed parking lot at the end of the passageway. Michael never came through the tunnel; instead she heard the distinct sound of his bike roar passed the space. Nikita gave silent pursue to her lover; afraid he would get to their house before her and be angry that she didn't listen to his request. Confused she realized Michael was not going to their home, and concluded that whole part of her life had been an illusion, like everything else was proving to be.

Michael Samuelle got off his sleek Ducati motorcycle and boarded a charcoal gray Range Rover, which took him speeding down the wet streets of Paris to a home in the suburbs. His mind was whirling with the occurrences of the day that culminated in his total disregard for Section criterion as he kissed Nikita under the watchful eye of the organization. Michael at this point in time didn't give a damn what anyone said or thought, for the life of his one true love, Nikita, was not worth much after Paul became a ghost. He was tired, but rest would just be short-lived naps he would simulate until he felt he could help Nikita escape, whether she liked it or not he was not going to allow them to reel the woman into the organization.

He turned the corner on a street in the upper middle class neighborhood, with its old trees and circular drives. Michael pulled in front of a home with beautiful landscape, a row of boxwood lining the perimeter of the yard. The afternoon penumbrae lighted the street and the house; the handsome man put the car in park, sighed, closed his eyes, turned off the engine, picked up a soft sided garment bag and got out of the vehicle. The moment all sounds from the automobile ceased the front door opened and a little boy ran to Michael's arms. The temporarily content man, after putting his suitcase on the ground, scooped the kid up and broadly smiled.

Nikita, who followed the SUV at a particularly suitable distance, haphazardly parked with the engine still running. She let out a distressed gasp at the surprising sight being played out on the front yard. The interior of the Porsche suddenly impossibly cold as she now spied a pretty brunette standing at the door of the house holding a little girl in her arms. The man encouraging the boy, who now stood behind him, to carry the heavy bag laughed and finally picking the luggage himself moved towards the house and the woman holding the young female child. Finally they all entered the house.

Nikita sat in the car weeping uncontrollably realizing this was Michael's real life. His words from long before rushing to haunt her, ". . .I live my life split in two. . ." She put the Porsche in motion and sped away from the house, ignoring the now pounding rain, disregarding all traffic laws. She felt her life wasn't worth a damn and she didn't care if she lived or died. She drove around for what seemed like an eternity, the tears as copious as the pouring rain outside and she couldn't remember how she had arrived at her old apartment that she lived in while at school.

Nikita entered the dark apartment, threw her keys, purse and coat on the floor, turned off the cell phone and serving a goblet of red wine walked to the balcony and stood outside. The night was cool, the rain had stopped and her still dark apartment disappeared into the background, all she saw were people on the street below - living. Nikita's thoughts were cataloguing the incidents of the past few weeks, recollecting all the minute events, somehow not afraid of the consequences she was sure where to come.

Nikita understood that the worst part of the position she was in, was the scene she had encountered at Michael's house. She needed to be sure of what she saw, needed the entire picture, the entire story, but she was sure she was not going to learn much since she faced a less than favorable standing now at Section One. Her father's company was now an underground covert organization; confused she wondered if anything in her life was real. All her friends certainly mad at her for being Paul's ruin, all her enemies waiting to make her pay for her derision, everyone wanting to retaliate against her for the duplicitous behavior.

----

The doorbell rang, which startled Nikita out of her reverie. She moved uncaringly and in unstable legs to the door, turning on a lamp and picking up her discarded possessions. Finally looking through the security screen to find Paul standing outside.

Nikita turned on beaucoup lights; she was like in a dream; the incidents playing amusedly before her and she still didn't give a damn. Nikita was hoping that the man would pull out a gun, shoot himself and do her a favor shooting her as well, but no such luck.

"What do you want?" Nikita asked, short and to the point.

"Well, your cell phone is off and since I couldn't communicate with you that way, I chose the second best thing – face to face." Paul answered.

Nikita moved to the phone and turned it on, showing Ops when the phone booted up. "Now you can leave." She succinctly uttered.

"No, we need to talk." Paul confessed; his voice and expression betrayed the reason for his visit. This man was not someone that would pussyfoot around what was important to him and Nikita understood that. So before he could say another word she blurted out the following revelation.

"Unless you plan to put me out of my misery, goodnight." Her 'I don't give a shit' attitude impressed her stepfather. "Go ahead just put a bullet to my head now." She cocked her pistol and handed it, butt first, to the amused man.

"I know you have us by the balls Nikita," Paul said pushing the gun barrel down and she un-cocked it, "But that is not the reason I am here. I have come to thank you, to form an alliance, to let you know that Section One is important to me also. I believe in its pure original raison d'être and I will do what is necessary to keep the dream alive, now that I am dead."

She didn't betray her surprise, and he continued, "I want you to know that I have ordered you to be put on ice as it where. Taking you out of play will insure you safety until everything gets back to the inceptive path." He took a wine goblet from the kitchen counter and poured some wine.

"Don't do me any favors, I don't want to owe you nothing." She answered angrily.

Paul ignored her, "I will insure you don't get recruited, I won't allow what just happened to Dechy, Pierce and Pollock to happen to you. I promise you no harm will come to you, you'll continue being my stepdaughter, keeping me on the straight and narrow. . . After all, isn't that the mission you are on, rescuing Section One?" Paul asked but Nikita still didn't betray her surprise.

"As I said father, don't do me any favors, be honest for a change instead."

"You come from good stock Nikita, someday I will be allowed to tell you more." Paul continued and now watched her with his own blue eyes. "I know you hold my future, my life, Section One in your sweaty little paws, so... What can I do for you in the mean time?"

"Are you pretending to like me?" Nikita laughed.

"No. . . we both know that is not the case; I love you but I never liked you. I am a practical man, I understand where I stand and I realize what the alternatives are, so. . . as if I didn't know, tell me what you want right now. Call it a show of good faith."

She misread Paul who wanted her to plea not to be recruited. Instead she thought why bother hiding what was obvious to both, "Michael," she said, "where else does he live?" Nikita asked.

Paul gave up his quest to hear her say she didn't want to be recruited, shrugging his shoulders he answered, "I owe you that much." Taking a gold pen out of his coat pocket and scribbling on a post-it note pad Nikita had next to the phone, he then in one gulp swallowed the wine.

Paul Wolfe walked to the door; turned slightly placing the sticky note on the security screen and without facing her whispered, "Thanks, for all you've done, I will do as you asked."

When the man swept out of the room in his undisputed elegant way, Nikita collapsed on the couch, her face quickly placed on her hands and a long sigh escaped her mouth, "Fuck," She said. At least now everyone knew where everyone stood. So, she lay down and quickly fell asleep, exhaustion winning over figuring out what to do next.

Less than three hours later her cell phone rang, "Josephine." A stranger's voice said and Nikita's hell started, she had been recruited into Section One the most covert antiterrorist group on the Planet, and there was nothing anyone could do for her now. Paul Wolfe made sure that she stayed away from Michael, her training intense and leaving her little time to ask questions or understand the reasoning behind her recruitment. She was sure however that her involvement, in spite of Michael's pleas to stay out of things, were the sole reason for her being up shit's creek without a paddle.

---

Nikita didn't have time in the three months that ensued to even go back to her apartment. She was sent on mission after mission, stealing sleep in the Section van, dressing in her quarters at Section, showering wherever she was. She was worn out, hungry, dirty and deflated, and tired of her team leader, a womanizing Latino named Ferreiro who kept hitting on her.

She had returned from a mission in Shanghai where the team got no field support, because as Ferreiro said they were running it cold since the area was sanitized, and this was what Section gave him to work with. She had survived this mission by the grace of God, or at least by the grace of whomever was watching over her at the time. She was surprised, for although she had experienced more than one very close call, her injuries where only of the emotional kind. She had not seen Michael in all these months and she truly preferred this as opposed to having to face him again with the knowledge of the children and the little woman and the not so little house. That kiss he gave her in front of everyone had been his way of saying goodbye, this she understood now.