Marco would have been very uneasy to know that Madeline was assessing his seductive qualities as well. He was handsome in a rugged way. His body seemed fine. She was not sure that finesse would ever be O'Brian's strong point, but his obvious virility made up for that lack. There were possibilities in that line, she imagined, but there would be time enough for those considerations later. Too bad Nikita couldn't.... Well, that ship had sailed with Nikita's glaring pronouncement that Michael had spent the night with her.

"That will be all, O'Brian." Madeline dismissed him.

"Yeah, okay," he replied as he rushed to take over the investigation.

Madeline considered what she had set in motion. This would be the first real opportunity that O'Brian and Nikita had for contact since his coming into Section a year ago. His training had been no problem, but the next year would be spent in grooming his psychological outlook to conform to Section Ones. He was still a little rebellious, but again he had no real choice. It had seemed politic to keep Nikita away from O'Brian since she was directly responsible for his being recruited. With Michael being at the heart of the investigation, it would be impossible to keep Nikita out of O'Brian's way. It would be interesting to see what dynamic developed between them.

Madeline had long begun to question her earlier wisdom of pairing Nikita and Michael. True, Nikita had brought him out of his depression over Simone, but she wasn't sure that Operations could handle Michael's having any other loyalty but to Section One.

She could see the difficulty that Michael was having with it. He was almost as remote and silent as he had been before Nikita had been recruited. Personally, she thought he was terrified at losing Nikita, so totally terrified that his actions almost guaranteed that he would.

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

Michael walked into the briefing area and saw that Operations was already there, pacing as was his usual mode. Six other C5 operatives surrounded the table, and Michael nodded at them as he took his place.

These were his peers and rivals to replace Operations when the time came. Michael forced himself to focus on the greater problem at hand, but he could not help but wonder at the providence that put them all in the present arena as if they were ancient gladiators commanded to fight or die. Operations would be constantly evaluating them all for 'oversight,' and Michael did not intend to make any mistakes.

Operations continued to pace and gave a sigh of relief as Madeline took her place at the table. "You have most certainly already heard that Korda Coriascue was lost as the result of a mission, and that Terrence Carrey is dead as well. In addition, Judith LaFontaine has been murdered. The loss of three Class Five operatives in the matter of two days is an unthinkable coincidence. It is still uncertain whether the threat is external or internal." Operations glanced in Michael's direction, and it was noted by everyone at the table.

Madeline said, "It is possible that Carrey's death was not a suicide. These deaths are all under investigation. Marco O'Brian will be in charge of this investigation. He will report to me. You are all to cooperate with him fully and not impede his investigation in anyway. Until the source of this threat is determined, be on your guard. We don't need to lose anymore C5 operatives."

The operative from the British substation spoke first. He was in his forties and prided himself on his resemblance to the royal family males. His public school voice resonated in the open area. "And 'who' is Marco O'Brian, pray tell?" He had no desire to leave his fate to what sounded like a mongrel Irishman.

Operations cut Dwyer short. "Normally, I would not dignify that question with an answer, but since the local C5 ops are well aware of who O'Brian is, I will answer. He is a former homicide detective, well-suited for this investigation. No further questions will be entertained about his background or circumstances of his recruitment."

"Will we be allowed to assist in the investigation?" asked Silvia Damico with her lilting Italian accent.

Operations was again terse in his reply, "Your assistance will be allowed only at the request of the investigating officer."

Silvia rolled her brown eyes at the operatives around the table and closed her mouth in a tiny moue. Her gamine appearance was deceptive, for Silvia Damico was a powerhouse at hand-to-hand combat. Her status as a C5 was recent, and Operations was dubious about the recommendation that had promoted her. Short, dark brown curls framed her piquant face, and she had every indication of having a real personality, which Operations distrusted, as a matter of course.

Madeline smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. Damico could be a wild card in future equations, she thought. She's a lot like Simone in physical attributes and personality. At that point in her plotting, Madeline remembered Silvia's sexual orientation. Still, she thought, there might be a way to keep Michael and Nikita apart long enough for them to survive. Once his strength, Nikita was now Michael's weakness, and Madeline was certain that Nikita would prove to be his or her own downfall. Strangely, neither circumstance was one that she desired to see. Too many resources had been utilized in their training and upkeep.

Madeline often felt the balancing act she had to perform to keep them functioning at their peak was becoming impossibly difficult and so tiring.

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

In spite of Madeline's inner conflicts, the briefing continued. "Any further questions?" Operations challenged his operatives.

"Do we have any details on Coriascue?" Michael asked. He would not be cowed by Operations belligerent attitude. He'd been on the receiving end of it too many times before this.

Operations removed his glasses and gave Michael a stern glance. "A report is due from the Balkans substation at 5PM. We'll meet back here at that time. We should also have some preliminary results from the evidence collected in Carrey's office and from the post mortem to tell us if Carrey committed suicide or was murdered. Until then, be on your guard. That's all."

Marcus Redmond turned to Desmond Black and said, "I'm watchin' you man. Don't you try anything with me."

Desmond Black sighed and shook his head at the jokester of the C5's. "Wouldn't think of it, Mark." He and Mark had been recruited to Section within months of each other and had risen through a necessary measure of good fortune and continued diligence to the C5 status. Desmond had always played the straight man to Marcus as they has ascended through the ranks. If there was anyone in the room Desmond trusted with his life, it was Mark. Both were Afro-Americans who had similar histories. They had both been recruited into Section One after small robberies that had gone bad. Section One training over the years had given them an education and polish that they probably would have never attained on their own in a still prejudiced society.

Section One, however, was an equal opportunity employer. If the blood was red, it could be spilled in the pursuit of eradicating terrorists around the world. Desmond and Marcus were obviously both qualified and had spilled their share of blood over the last seventeen years they had spent in Section. They were brothers in act, in shared goals, and in every way but genetics.

Michael had envied their relationship for years. The only operative Michael had ever deemed a friend in Section One had been Chuck, and he had watched him die on a monitor as a bomb detonated. Michael had seen too many operatives come and 'go' to allow anyone else the questionable privilege of being his friend, until Nikita had claimed it in spite of his efforts and hers.

Michael rose. Operations had dismissed them, after all. Pierre LeBlanc, Michael's countryman was already asking Damico out to dinner. Michael heard Silvia assent. What a sense of humor she had, he thought. Michael held out his hand to Isaac Agbenohevi and gave him a traditional Ghanaian greeting. Isaac smiled and tested Michael's grasp of the language a little more before Michael raised a hand and shook his head in surrender. The language of Ghana was not one of his best.

"Thank you, Michael. It is a pleasure to hear my language pronounced so well by one who was not born to speak it." Agbenohevi was a gracious and elegant man and somewhat reserved, not unlike Michael, but he did not appear to carry the emotional baggage that Michael did. Michael looked at the assembly of C5's and felt that he was the only emotional cripple in the room. Most of the operatives could have passed for professors or business executives, while Michael felt like a ghost in this room of vibrant people. He wondered if he were made of weaker stuff than the others. Had the rigors of Section not affected them? How and why was he so different? Why did he have to suffer so? Michael knew his soul searching could not be assuaged by pat answers. It was his punishment for his crime before Section. He knew he deserved no better.

Madeline watched Michael as he watched his peers. She was amazed to see the brief flashes of emotion that Michael was unable to hide from her seasoned eyes. Disdain for Dwyer, amusement at Damico, envy of Black and Redmond, pity and amusement for LeBlanc, and admiration for Agbenohevi were only too apparent to Madeline. So, too, was the withdrawal she saw in Michael's eyes as he compared himself to the others and found himself wanting. Oh, Michael, she thought, what have we made of you?

Operations in turn watched Madeline as well. He saw the remote look in her eyes that he imagined he saw whenever Michael was anywhere near her.

He chose to believe that she still had some remnant of feelings for Michael, and he would never forgive Michael for that. He knew it was an illogical thought process, but he didn't care. His and Madeline's relationship had been 'fine' until she undertook the last aspects of Michael's training--and took them too damn far.

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

From her vantage point at Walter's armory, Nikita could see the briefing area. All the Class 5 operatives had been called in, and Operations was going over what was known about the death's of Carrey and LaFontaine.

Nikita's elbows rested on Walter's work table, and her chin rested on her folded hands as she looked at Walter, who happened to be watching them with as much curiosity as she. "So have you heard anything, Walter? Does anyone know what's going on yet?"

"Nothin' Sugar. There's supposed to be another briefing at 5 with the prelim autopsy report on Carrey. O'Brian may have something from his investigation, too. Guess we'll have to wait and see like everybody else."

Nikita had a pensive look as she said, "I know, but I'm just worried, you know."

Nikita's eyes had not left Michael during the briefing. Walter knew exactly what she meant.

"You're worried about Michael? I uh heard you were his alibi last night." Walter leered at the beautiful blonde. He was thrilled when he'd heard through the grapevine that Michael had spent the night Carrey died with Nikita. His sugar needed a break once in a while, and it didn't seem to him that she had many. "I suppose the two of you were going over some mission pa-ram-e-ters."

Nikita smiled and told him, "Yeah, that's exactly what we were doing, Walter." Nikita could feel her skin flush as Walter grinned at her.

"What do you think, Walter? What's really going on here?" She still had a feeling of foreboding that disturbed her.

"Early days yet, hon. It'll take some time to sort all this mess. DNA tests take a couple of weeks. This is a first-time event around here, Nikita, but don't you worry about Michael. He's been around a long time, and he can take care of himself."

Walter's words of encouragement meant a lot to Nikita. He was the one person in Section that she had trusted over time with some of her secret concerns, and he had never betrayed her. Madeline has spoken truly in their first interview. Section was her family now, and Walter was her father figure or maybe more of a favorite uncle. Nikita's own family life had been dismal. She didn't remember her father and wished she could forget her mother. There hadn't been anyone else to her knowledge. The fact that her Section family consisted of a father/uncle, a brother, and a what--what was Michael in her Section family? Well, that was yet to be determined. She knew he cared, but there were still too many mysteries about Michael for her to pigeon-hole him.

The rest in Section were like distant cousins, around for short visits (missions). Operations and Madeline defied description in her view of the Section One family. There had been a time that Nikita had considered Madeline a mentor, but now she was more of a inquisitor.

"Looks like they are breaking up," Nikita said as she straightened to her full 5 feet-10 inches.

Walter could see her intention to seek Michael. "Sugar, give him a little space right now. He's under a lot of scrutiny, and he doesn't need any additional pressure. Know what I mean?"

Nikita sighed and nodded her head in agreement. "Yeah, I know." Nikita walked down the hall and headed toward her standby quarters. Well, she thought. I may need to give Michael some space, but I can find out what O'Brien knows. With this new destination in mind, Nikita smiled as she strode quickly to find the former homicide detective.

***********

Marco O'Brian was ensconced with Hector French in an extra office near the research lab. He was going over the plethora of evidence that had been collected thus far. "I've never seen so much 'stuff' from a supposed crime scene. Are you sure all this came from Carrey's office, Hector?"

Hector drew his slender frame to its full medium height, "Of course. I was a police officer myself, you know, and I know how to preserve the integrity of a crime scene. Everything is neatly labeled as you can see. I omitted nothing, because anything could be something of value in this investigation." Hector was offended by having a raw Section recruit placed in charge of the investigation. That position should have been his.

"Yeah, yeah. Spare me the lectures on forensics, Hector. I've heard of few of them already." O'Brian ran his hands through his hair again. Hector and his prissy mannerisms were already getting on his nerves. The little jerk had probably been a small town police officer and thought that prepared him for a real murder investigation. It was true everything was labeled, tagged and bagged, but O'Brian knew his sense of unease had been triggered by something, as yet undetermined.

He heard a soft tap at the door, which was followed by the entrance of a tall blonde. Marco caught his breath. He hadn't seen her this closely since she had recruited him a over a year ago. "Nikita." He didn't know what else to say.

"Hi, O'Brian." Nikita had the grace to blush under his wide-eyed gaze. "How's it going? The investigation, I mean." Her stance was awkward as she remembered how ruthlessly she had tricked him into Section One in order to prevent her own involvement in a murder investigation leading to Section. She'd seen the anger and hurt in his eyes as she revealed the frame-up that would blame him for the murder of a serial killer. Work for Section or die, and he had chosen as they all had--life at any cost.

"Sorry, Nikita. This area is off limits to all operatives, especially one who is the alibi for a possible suspect," O'Brian was officially correct, and he knew it. Moreover, he didn't want to be around Nikita--too many memories of his life before.

Nikita felt the rebuff, but nodded. "Sure. Sorry. I guess I'm used to sticking my nose in where it's not wanted. Uh, see you around then." she said as she slowly backed from the room.

After Nikita left the office, Marco punched the number for comm. "Get me Madeline, now." He waited a moment and the connection was made.

"Yes, O'Brian. What is it? Have you found something definitive?"

"Two things. One, I need you to keep operatives out of this office and two, I need a forensic pathologist down here--a real one. I'm a detective, not a scientist. There's too much evidence for me to sift through."

"Too much evidence? All right, your forensic pathologist has already been detained and is on the way. What operatives are invading your space, Mr. O'Brien? I assure you that is an easy fix." Madeline's curiosity was piqued. Was someone trying to tamper with the evidence already.

"Well, only uh, Nikita, so far, but I want to nip this in the bud. This space needs to be off limits." For some reason, Marco felt like a traitor for ratting on Nikita. That was totally illogical, too, he thought.

Madeline smiled, "No problem. I'll speak to Nikita privately, and make a general announcement as well." Madeline certainly knew Nikita's motivation and doubted evidence tampering entered into it.

"Thank you."

"Is that all, Mr. O'Brian?" her soft voice asked.

"Uh, yes." Marco disconnected and shook his head. That woman had a damn seductive voice, and she was reputed to be deadlier than Operations himself. No wonder her nickname was the 'black widow.'

*********

Michael was the first of the Class 5 operatives to join Operations at the briefing area. Operations nodded at Michael's arrival, but did not speak. Michael sat in his usual rigid posture and waited patiently as he returned Operations' nod. After an uncomfortable minute, Madeline joined them accompanied by O'Brian and a tall brunette. Madeline motioned for her to be seated, which she did with a sullen graceful movement. The woman looked at Operations with disdain and rolled her eyes. Michael fell under her mournful gaze next, and she was treated to his blank stare in return. Hm, she thought, wonder what his story is.

The remaining C5 Ops quickly assembled around the table. When their number was complete, Operations cleared his throat and began. "We are here to update you on initial findings in the death's of Terrence Carrey and Judith LaFontaine. The agency has loaned us Dr. Lopez, who is a noted forensic pathologist. The complexity of this situation demands the best and we have her for as long as is necessary. Luckily, her security clearance is sufficient, that we will not have to kill her once her findings are complete."

Operations brief attempt at humor fell on deadened ears. Lopez rolled her brown eyes again, and imagined she saw the tiniest twinkle in a pair of green eyes.

"Well, as I was saying, Dr. Lopez will now give you her findings."

Mandelita Lopez stood with a slow languid movement. "Well," she began, "I've had about fifteen minutes to go over the evidence collected by your people on site. All I can tell you is that LaFontaine died of a direct shotgun blast at very close range, and Carrey did not commit suicide. The paraffin tests done on his hands and clothes were negative. When I've had more time with the evidence and the bodies, I will no doubt be able to tell you more. Now if you will excuse me, I will go back to my duties here. I have no desire to spend anymore time here underground with you charming people than necessary." With this arrogant announcement, Lopez turned and left the briefing table accompanied by O'Brian, whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

Operations shut his mouth. Madeline blinked and allowed a minuscule smile to reach her lips. "Any questions?" he asked.

Michael asked, "What about Coriascue? Have we received a report on his death?"

"Yes, I was just going to cover that. Coriascue was ostensibly lost on a mission in the Balkans, however, no one saw him go down. It is under investigation as a murder. Whether it will tie in with the two here is unknown. That is all for now." As he turned to leave, Operations smiled and took Madeline by the elbow.

Nine Section One Class 5 operatives looked at their fellow operatives. Michael was the first to leave, buttoning his jacket as he did. One by one, nine people left the briefing area, each with their varying backgrounds and differing agenda, but they each had two common questions in mind, 'Was one of them a murderer?' and 'Was one of them next?"

***********

Waiting. I am waiting for the next one. He will be in my hands shortly, and I will prevail over his skills and his intelligence. Once again I will be superior. The elite tier one cadre will fall, one by one, until there are no more to stand in the way of my vision.

* * *

Marcus Redmond looked over his shoulder with caution as he took a familiar shortcut through the back corridors of Section One. A vague feeling of unease caused him to stop more than once. He was an operative who in the field had often relied on his instincts and 'gut' feelings.

Those intuitions, for want of a better word, had saved his life more than once. Marcus had other problems on his mind this day. He was going to visit Terri, who was still in detention, waiting to have her baby--their baby. Terri was not in detention because she was having a baby, but because she had betrayed Section trying to escape.

He had not known about the baby until he had seen her being escorted to detention by two security guards. The Section One grapevine had told him the rest of the details. Terri and he had been very discreet--more so than Michael and Nikita. The sexual tension between that pair consistently raised eyebrows. It was a pity they didn't have better control. Marcus guessed that Michael and Nikita would have to pay for their passion at some time, and he hoped the price wouldn't be as high as Terri's and his. Marcus no longer cared that Operations knew he was the father of Terri's baby. Operations had assured him that a superior home and family would be found for his child, but he had no soft assurances for Terri. Marcus knew exactly what Terri knew when she first decided to try to leave Section--she would be canceled if caught.

Marcus's last visit with Terri had been emotional. She had been resigned to her fate, but begged him to take the baby and flee after it was born.

Marcus was, in spite of his usual humorous outlook, a realist. He had told her what she asked was impossible, and she had started crying. It had taken all his strength and self-control not to promise her whatever she wanted, in order to make her stop. He was not looking forward to this visit either, but he cared for Terri and feared the end of her pregnancy would bring him face to face with how 'much' he cared.

Marcus did not expect the savage blow that felled him from behind and rendered him unconscious. He never felt the knife that slit his throat in one swift and neat stroke. As the blood gushed from his carotid arteries, no last thoughts of Terri and their baby crossed his mind. He was already dead, and the knife lay on the floor beside him.

* * *

The simplest thus far. I am invincible. I shall prevail. I need a better challenge to my skills than this. Who shall it be? Who shall it be? Someone comes! Oh, how rich. How absolutely rich!

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

O'Brian shook his head quietly as he followed Dr. Lopez back to 'her' office. In his mind she was one arrogant bitch. She had made it very clear on her arrival in Section that she did not intend to share the space with him.

"And where is 'your' desk, Mr. O'Brian?" she asked as she pulled herself to her full 5 feet 11 inches and sat on the edge of the desk he had been using.

"Well, until now 'that' was," he said revealing some exasperation in his voice.

Mandelita smiled. "You will need to find another space. I like this one. Its proximity to the evidence room and morgue are excellent. I do not intend to jeopardize the security of this investigation by having anyone from Section One near my files. In other words, I do not intend to breathe the same air as you do, anymore often than I have to do so. When I have pertinent findings, I will summon you for a briefing. Moreover, you can plan on a daily briefing and planning session at 6AM. Any questions?"

"Yeah, do I have to raise my hand to be excused, or do I just bow and back out, your highness?" However, the cocky O'Brian did not wait for an answer as he pivoted on his heel and with his characteristic swagger left her presence.

Lopez laughed aloud after he predictably slammed the door. These covert types were all alike in some ways and so different in others. The one true constant she had found from working around them in the last seven years was that they were never quite what they appeared to be. She had been educated in the best schools Europe and the United States, and why she had allowed herself to work for the federal government still eluded her.

Her first experience with the government had been a temporary assignment, but for the past five years, she had come to work for them exclusively. Her primary function was to 'handle' situations much like this. In her opinion, there were too many covert organizations, and they all were horribly paranoid. It was a miracle that Section One hadn't self-destructed before, considering that almost all their operatives were killers recruited from death row and lifers. The upper levels didn't appear to be much better either from what she had seen of Operations and Madeline.

Mentally she reviewed the intel she had been given after accepting the assignment. Operations was supposedly a dead war hero from the Viet Nam era. She wondered why he had chosen to assume this secretive existence instead of resuming the life he had before the war. Was he really so dedicated to destroying terrorists, or was he hiding something?

About His second-in-command, Madeline, Lopez knew little. Madeline appeared to be as big a mystery as some of the lower level operatives, and Lopez assumed that she had committed some heinous crime as well. She did not underestimate her, for Madeline had an aura of danger that was accented by her beauty. Her deep brown eyes had given away nothing during their introduction, and her constant Mona Lisa smile was unnerving.

They had met in Madeline's spartan office. The only life in the room was the green of several bonsai plants that were displayed in an sterile-appearing environment. Lopez had not decided if Madeline was alive or not. That might take some time to determine.

"I hope you will be comfortable here with us, and that the investigation will not take an inordinate length of time," Madeline said, as she observed the haughty demeanor that Mandelita exuded with every movement of her body.

"I am never uncomfortable five hundred feet below ground, and my investigation will take exactly as long as it needs to take. I do appreciate your desire that I be comfortable, but my requirements are few. I will need a secured office space and a place to sleep, food and water. That's it."

Ooh, a spark of life, Lopez thought as Madeline's eyes had flashed.

Madeline had looked at her for a moment as if she had wanted to throw her a bone because of the food and water remark, but Lopez saw her take a deep breath and apparently the impulse passed. Lopez chuckled at the memory. She doubted that anyone had ever bested Madeline in her own office, till now.

"We will be taking care of you, I assure you," had been Madeline's response.

Lopez had wondered then, if Madeline had made an assurance that her needs would be met, or that there was an underlying threat in that simple phrase. No matter, Lopez was here to do her job, and minor skirmishes with underground inhabitants were only part of the fun.

Lopez's thoughts turned to the Class 5 operatives that someone seemed bent on eliminating were more intelligent and polished than their lower level comrades, and because of this were twice as deadly. The silent, brooding one, Michael, intrigued her the most. He seemed to be challenging Operations in some understated way with his question at the end of the briefing. She had heard rather than seen the challenge in his voice as she had already left the table. She wondered which one of her peers was involved in the investigation of Coriascue's death. They might need to make contact and share intel.

Enough of this conjecture, she thought. Let's get down to hard facts and evidence. Slowly she began the tedious sorting of facts, fictions and the mountain of paper already collected on 'her' desk. She supposed that some might find the actual nuts and bolts of a homicide inquiry boring, but she saw it as a puzzle. If one piece of evidence didn't fit here, then turn it and look at it in another way. She meant to make all the pieces fit.

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

The evening was beginning to wear on everyone's nerves. Nikita decided to have a workout in the gym to rid herself of the excess energy that was building inside her. She was determined to give Michael the space that Walter said he needed. The night they had spent together seemed so long ago, and it had been only last night. So much had happened with the murders of Terrence and Judith. Michael had been held temporarily, and now he could even be a target. The results of the 5PM briefing had already filtered through the grapevine in Section One. They had brought in an Agency FP, and she had apparently made no friends at the briefing.

Not happy to be there, well, join the club Dr. Lopez. Join the club.

Nikita turned the corner that would lead her to the gym and stopped short at the sight of a body lying in a pool of blood. "Mark," she said aloud, but knew it was futile. No one survived having their throat cut in that manner. Nikita hit the emergency call that was only ten feet away. "Get O'Brian! There's been another one--Marcus Redmond."

Nikita paced the width of the hall until O'Brian came rushing into the area.

"Have you touched anything?" Marco asked.

Nikita's reply was an indignant, "Of course not!" The scene before her was all too familiar. The only difference this time was that she had neither seen the perpetrator, nor touched the weapon responsible for the murder. She could not help but remember the onslaught of feelings she had experienced the darkest night of her life. The man who had murdered the policeman had turned the knife on her. She still didn't know how she had managed to keep him from killing her as well. She supposed that fear had caused an adrenaline rush which had enhanced her strength and enabled her to wrest the knife from the huge bald man in that dark alley. She had still been holding the knife when the police came and arrested her.

Her bewilderment had been paramount as they had shoved her into the back of the police vehicle. The rest of her incarceration and trial had been a nightmare. The PD who defended her attempted to make her plead guilty, but she had refused. Life without parole had been her sentence, and so it still was. Only she was free to work for the government and kill on their behest, but there was no way she'd ever be free of Section. Madeline had spoken the truth again--in more than one way.

She had awakened in a white-tiled room looking into the eyes of a man. He had unbound her wrists, and she had cowered against the wall of cold tile,which had not chilled her as much as his green eyes had. His eyes had been mesmerizing as he had told her he wasn't going to hurt her.

Part of her had wanted to believe him, for she had suffered while in the women's prison. His words, "A woman with looks like yours, who can kill in cold blood," chilled her to the very marrow of her bones. Her hysterical denials had fallen on deaf ears, and the man, Michael, had become her trainer, mentor and seducer. While he never made love to her, he had seduced her to stay in Section, to do the job. He had succeeded extremely well, for her first kill had been to defend him.

Her feelings for Michael had bound her to Section. He had freed her once during a suicide mission, and she had 'existed' outside the Section for six months. Six months of looking over her shoulder, changing her name a dozen times, drifting from town to town and country to country had taken all her ingenuity and energy. There had been little freedom. Unwilling to trust anyone, she had been unable to make friends. And always the PDA and Michael's never-ending 'Nikita, are you there?' until she thought she would toss the damn thing into the Seine or the ocean, just to stop the annoying sound it made and the painful tug on her heart.

Her capture by the Freedom League had changed the equation. During her brief sojourn in their base camp, she had heard of a plan to attack Section operatives and that there was a mole in Section. Her fears for Michael and any other friends gave her the incentive to escape. She ended that night by saving Michael's life and seeing him again, but during a moment when his attention was diverted, she left without speaking to him.

She knew he would attempt to contact her again, and the debate in her mind continued. Would she answer? Should she answer? How could she not? Nikita had thought she would go mad waiting for his next call on the PDA. In spite of her fears of being caught, she had found her way back to her tiny Lyon apartment to retrieve it. Yes, she had answered and given him the directions to a deserted boat, where she had hidden.

She had been so weary, she had fallen asleep with a gun in her hands. She had been startled by the scraping of the handle as Michael had opened the door. It was reflex that she held the gun on him. After all that had gone before, she still hadn't trusted him not to hurt her. He had disarmed her quite simply by distracting her. He had then captured her arms and thrown her on the bed, but instead of hitting her, he had kissed her with a feverish passion that Nikita had known was real and not part of any mission profile.

"I thought I had lost you," had been his breathless avowal.

"You never had me," had been her challenging reply.

"Nikita, hey, Nikita!" Marco's sharp voice called her to the present.

"Yes, what?" Nikita blushed still remembering the short and passionate night she and Michael had spent on the boat.

"Where did you go? I mean I thought I had lost you for a minute there. You were in another world."

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I was in another world." Marco's use of the same words Michael had used had thrown her as well. It was an eerie feeling to hear the words in her mind and then hear them spoken aloud.

"Did you see or hear anybody, Nikita? Stay with me now. This is important. Tell me what you remember while your impressions are fresh." O'Brian had no idea what was wrong with Nikita, but he had to have his answers, and she could freak out on her own time.

"No, nothing. My mind was a million miles away. I was heading to the gym for a workout. All this had me pretty anxious, you know. Full of pent up energy. I needed to get rid of some of it. I turned the corner and found Marcus. I could tell he was gone from the amount of blood pooled around him. I hit the emergency call, and that's it." Nikita leaned against the wall, drained of energy. Would they be detaining her because she'd found the body?

At that moment, Hector appeared with his evidence case.

"Okay, hang loose, Nikita. We'll need a written statement later, and we'll need your clothes to check for blood," O'Brian told her.

"You want my clothes now?" Nikita asked.

"For the chain of evidence," Hector offered by way of explanation.

"Well, by all means." Nikita started methodically removing her clothes in the hall, and methodically folded them before throwing them at O'Brian. "Need my underwear too?"

O'Brian shook his head said, "I didn't mean right this very minute, Nikita."

Nikita stood in her pink bra and bikini glory. "Now you tell me," she said as she strode down the hall to her standby quarters.

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

More than anything, Michael desired access to the heavily secured psych-op files, and he only knew one person who might capable of accessing them without alerting Madeline. That person was Semour Birkoff, and that person owed him a favor or two. The reason for Birkoff's presence in Section One remained a mystery to most, but not to Michael.*** Birkoff was only 21 and had been in Section One for seven years. He had been an innocent brought in at Michael's insistence after a mission with Simone to take out a Russian Mafia family. The fourteen year old had been a member of that family. He had already shown the signs of genius, especially with computers. He had also shown signs of being abused by his family, and in spite of Simone's declaration that the unfortunate youth was 'acceptable collateral,' Michael had been obstinate and refused to leave him to the same fate as the rest of his family. Michael had been able to convince Operations of Birkoff's value, and he had been with Section since then.

Michael walked in graceful strides to Birkoff's station in Systems.

Birkoff gave him a bare glance of acknowledgment as he busily continued his work. "I need something, Birkoff," Michael said in his quiet accented voice.

Birkoff looked at Michael. "Yeah. What is it? I'm pretty busy."

Michael placed his hand over Birkoff's keys. "It's important, and I'm not even certain if you can do it," he said with a soft challenge in his voice.

Birkoff had an uh-oh feeling that Michael was going to ask him to do something problematic. It wouldn't be the first time, and Birkoff doubted it would be the last. "What, Michael? You know I'm pretty slammed right now with this investigation. I have to give O'Brian all the files on the C5 ops.

"Even the psych-ops files?" Michael asked.

"Yes, Madeline okayed it."

"Then all I want you to do is copy me everything you give to O'Brian."

"That's all?" Birkoff was incredulous at Michael's request. "You know how much trouble I can get into, if Madeline should find out?"

"You're the only one who can do it." Michael remained adamant. He couldn't sit idly while the investigation took place around him. He felt the need to control his destiny more than ever and did not appreciate being in a passive role. The C5 ops had all been warned to stay away from the inquiry, but that was not in his nature.

***See "A Look Back, A Look Ahead" by Marie

Birkoff considered his life in Section and the life he'd had before. He knew Michael had saved his life and brought him to Section at the risk of being canceled. He hadn't understood that at the time, but did now. He looked at Michael, his brown eyes blinking behind his tinted glasses and said, "Okay."

"Thank you." Michael knew the risk he was asking Birkoff to take and added, "We're even."

Birkoff nodded. "I'll contact you when it's done."

"Fine. I'll be in my office." Michael turned to leave, when he heard Birkoff rapid intake of breath.

"Damn! Michael, there's been another one.

"Who?"

"Mark Redmond.

"When? How?"

"Back corridor in area 14. Just now. His throat was cut. Michael, Nikita found him." Birkoff looked at Michael to see if he reacted. Michael was so controlled, but Birkoff had always had the feeling there was 'something' between them. Who could blame Michael? Nikita was beautiful and had a heart--something quite rare in their environment. He'd opened the door to Michael's office several times and had felt like the only bast@$d at a family reunion and definitely unwelcome.

Michael's heart gave a perceptible lurch. "Is 'she' all right?" His voice hesitated as he spoke each word.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Find out," Michael insisted in a quiet measured tone. Michael rubbed his chin, which always indicated he was upset. Occasionally, Michael's body language did reveal what he tried to hide most.

"O'Brian. Is Nikita okay?" Birkoff asked over the comm set. O'Brian's response made him giggle aloud.

"What?" Michael slammed his hand on Birkoff's desk. He was annoyed. He could see no reason to giggle. Another C5 op had been murdered, and Nikita had been found at the scene. With Nikita's history, he was very afraid she would be blamed automatically. He took a deep breath to attempt to regain his control.

"Nikita's fine, Michael." Birkoff snickered again. "Seems O'Brian told her they would need her clothes for evidence to test for any blood stains, and she took them off right there in the hall in front of O'Brian and Hector from Housekeeping. Then she walked off wearing only her 'pink' bra and bikinis."

Michael struggled again, this time to keep from laughing. The left corner of his mouth twitched, but that was the only outward sign that betrayed him. "Really?"

"Really." Birkoff's shoulders continued to shake as he turned to continue his work.

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. Mon Dieu! He loved her. She was an original. Only Nikita would take a request like that so literally. He was sure that she did it with style as well. Who would not love her? She was the reason he drew breath each day. If only....

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

Nikita strode down the hall toward Madeline's office. She was wearing a black tee shirt and fatigue pants along with clunky boots. It was all she'd had left in the closet of her stand-by quarters. Nikita was sorry that Mark had been murdered. For a C5 op, he had been an okay guy.

Nikita had decided he that was the father of Terri's baby by accident, when she learned that he was the only person allowed to visit her in detention. She had put the one and one together to get three for an answer. So it hadn't been an outsider at all as Terri had implied, she had thought. She wondered if someone would bother to let Terri know Mark was dead. She also wondered what Madeline wanted. She had already told O'Brian all she knew.

Madeline nodded as Nikita entered and with a graceful movement of her hand motioned for her to be seated. Madeline's smile did not reach her eyes as she said, "I see you found something else to wear. I am 'sure' that O'Brian appreciated the alacrity with which you responded to his request for your outer garments."

Nikita tilted her head and gave a smirking smile. "I think he did. In fact, I'm sure he was impressed." Sparring with Madeline could sometimes be fun. Perhaps, this was going to be one of those times. She decided to be proactive, "Madeline, why am I here? I've already given a statement to O'Brian. I'm sure they won't find any blood on my clothes, since I was never any nearer the body than five feet."

Madeline gave a feeble smile again and sighed. "Nikita, surely the manner in which he was killed gives you some idea of why you are here. He was killed with a knife, which was your weapon of choice before you came to us. There are some similarities." Madeline looked at the report on her computer screen. "He was killed with a large sharp knife, throat cut from left to right by a right-handed assailant."

Nikita bristled at Madeline's insinuation. "I'm right-handed, so now I'm a murderer. Tell me Madeline, have I done all the others, too? Have I suddenly turned into a serial killer? Is that what you're trying to say in that oblique way of yours?" Nikita was leaning across the desk and into Madeline's face.

"No, Nikita, I am only mentioning some interesting facts in this latest murder. It is more likely that someone is trying to cast suspicion in your direction. Whoever this killer is, he is not using the same technique with each kill, which indicates to me that he is not a true serial killer. He is casting suspicion in many directions which also indicates that we are seeking a very intelligent person. It is possible that he is delusional at times and feels he has some kind of mission. Obviously, it is also likely to be someone in Section One."

Nikita swallowed at the thought of such a one loose in Section One. "How will we ever find him?"

Madeline smiled at the thought of Nikita being involved in the murder investigation. "A very thorough evaluation of all personnel is in progress, Nikita. We will find him or her, have no fear."

Nikita leveled her gaze at Madeline. "So, this is someone 'you' missed on initial evaluation, and now we all have this 'big' problem."

"That will be all, Nikita."

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

Dr. Mandelita Lopez spoke into the recording microphone as she did the initial visual examination of Marcus Redmond's body. "The current victim ID# 3A is six feet 1/4 inches in length. Postmortem weight is 195 pounds. The body is well-muscled, with little body fat. There is an area of ecchymosis left elbow, also on the left lateral patellar area. The is a gaping wound of the anterior neck. Both external and internal carotids have been transsected, as well as the jugular veins. Obvious cause of death is massive exsanguination."

"Examining the facial area I find no other contusions or areas of ecchymosis. At the left posterior temporal area, I observe a 2 x 1 cm area of edema and ecchymosis. The right side of the cranium is negative." Lopez lifted the head to examine the posterior region. "Ah," she said, "the posterior cranium exhibits a large depressed skull fracture in the lower-occipital region. This wound in itself is severe enough to cause death. Apparently cause by a strike from a blunt object. I will fully examine the brain."

The sound and odor of the cranial saw cutting through the skull was always unpleasant to Marco O'Brian. No matter how many autopsies he had observed, it always unnerved him. The heat generated by the saw cutting through the skull caused an odor that reminded him of when the dentist drilled a tooth for a filling, only magnified. It was the odor of burning hair, and why burning hair and a bone saw were the same escaped him.

Lopez lay the top portion of the cranium aside and with delicacy and experienced hands felt beneath for the cerebellum and brain stem. She quickly transsected brain stem, thus separating from the brain from the stem, and lifted the brain free of the cranium.

"There is a subdural hematoma in the area of the cerebellum. It measures 3 cm x 4cm and impinges on the cerebellum which is displaced toward the medulla. Had the victim not had his throat cut, this could have caused his death as well."

Lopez placed the brain onto a scale. "The weight is 1.365 kg, within normal limits. Gross physical findings indicate that the victim was struck in the lower occipital region with a subdural hematoma resulting. He fell to the left and struck his temple. His throat was cut from left to right, indicating that whoever did it was right-handed. The throat incision is clean and took only one stroke. Postmorten lividity as well indicates that the subject fell to the left and was not moved. Subject's time of death according to liver temperature is approximately 1 hour prior to discovery. It is doubtful that anything else will be discovered, but the rest of the examination will continue as per normal routine." She picked up the scalpel to make the large incision to open the chest and abdomen like a book.

O'Brian decided he'd heard all he needed to hear. He could wait to read the rest of the formal report. "Well, Doc, I'm gonna do a little more detective work, and I'll leave you to continue your fun here."

Lopez's brown eyes narrowed at the appellation, 'Doc.' She had already asked him to call her Dr. Lopez, but he seemed determined to be obstinate. Whatever, she thought. At least I can leave this, abysmal subterranean world when this is over. He can't.

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

I need someone to chal been expecting Birkoff. "Sure, come in. It's been a long time hasn't it."

"Five years. Not since Simone. I was sorry to hear about her death Michael. She was an excellent operative and a good trainer, and she taught me a lot. I know you loved her and must miss her very much."

Sylvia sat down and leaned on her elbows across the desk from Michael as she gauged his reaction. His eyes grew shiny at her words, but there was no other sign of emotion. She wondered if she had said too much.

"Thank you, Silvia. I have tried to put Simone's death behind me, but it's not always easy or possible."

"How about some dinner, Michael? You don't look like you eat enough."

Michael looked surprised. "I thought you had dinner plans with Pierre."

Sylvia gave a grin and an exaggerated sigh. "He stood me up, mon ami. Maybe someone told him I only go to 'dinner' with men, but to bed with women. Who knows?" she said as she gave a slight shrug. "I would rather have dinner with you anyway."

Michael was tempted. Dinner with an old friend who wanted nothing from him and who couldn't be used against him seemed like an excellent idea. "I'm waiting on some intel," he said as he opened his hands in front of him in a gesture of 'what else can I do.'

Birkoff opened the door to Michael's office and saw him talking to the Italian C5 like they were old buddies. Michael was even smiling, something very rare for him. "Michael, I have that intel you needed."

"Thank you," Michael replied as he took the disc from Birkoff and lay it casually on the desk in front of him. "Anything else, Birkoff?" he asked as Birkoff continued to stand there with a puzzled look on his face.

Birkoff blushed. He knew he'd been staring at Damico. She really reminded him of Simone. Weird, he thought. "No, I'm back to Systems unless you need anything else, Michael."

"No, we were just talking about going to dinner." Michael stood and with his left hand buttoned his long jacket. With a casual sleight of hand, he pocketed the disc with his right. Sylvia stood as well. Birkoff preceded them as they left the office. Michael and Sylvia continued to talk in soft familiar tones as they walked down the steel halls of Section One.

As they rounded a corner, Nikita came striding from the opposite direction. "Michael. I was coming to see if you wanted to find something to eat." The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back. It was only too apparent that he already had plans with someone else.

Michael performed the introductions with ease. "Nikita, this is Sylvia Damico. Sylvia, this is Nikita."

"Nikita, what a lovely name. It's very nice to meet you."

Nikita swallowed as she took Sylvia's hand. "Very nice to meet you, too," she said. Lie, lie, lie said her heart.

Michael could see the emotions coloring Nikita's face. "We were just leaving for dinner. Come with us." Merde, he thought. Nikita has entirely the wrong idea about this dinner, but there is no way to gracefully explain that she has no reason to be jealous.

"Uh, no, I wouldn't want to intrude." No, I don't want to intrude. I just want to pull that curly died hair out of her head. I can't believe he is doing this. Walter said give him space. Well, he's going to have plenty of that now.

Sylvia, too, picked up on Nikita's embarrassment. "Please do. It wouldn't be an intrusion," she encouraged, but she had other thoughts as well. Yes, it would be an intrusion, because I haven't seen Michael in years, and he looks like he needs to talk to someone. Hmm, she thought. Maybe he needs to talk to someone about her.

"No, really. I just thought of something else I need to do before I leave. It's probably going to take me an hour at least. You two go on and have a great dinner, and I'll go back and finish up that, uh file I left undone." Nikita made a 180 degree turn and with long, quick strides retreated the way she had come.

Michael sighed. Sylvia looked at him with a quizzical expression on her gamine face. "Is this dinner going to cause problems for you, Michael? Nikita looked upset."

"What do you mean?" he asked trying his blank stare on Sylvia, who him too well.

"You know what I mean. Are you and Nikita involved? She did not look like a happy camper when she saw you with me."

Michael looked at Sylvia and said, "It's a long story."

"And complicated, I'll bet," Sylvia giggled.

Michael gave a slight nod of his head. "Yeah, that pretty much describes it," he said in a soft voice filled with ironic overtones.

"Well, my friend, dinner is what you need, and I have ears to listen." She patted his shoulder as Michael hit the elevator button to take them to the real world.

***********

Mandelita Lopez enjoyed being the center of attention, and she had everyone's attention. The briefing was a high level one, held in Madeline's office. The attendees consisted of Operations, Madeline, of course, and O'Brian. All of them, except for Lopez, were beginning to show signs of agitation.

The tension created by the murders had caused Operations to start smoking again, and although Madeline had given him several stern glances, he continued to ignore her and refused to stop his incessant puffing.

To say that Madeline was irritated by Operations' was smoking was an understatement. Inwardly she fumed, but outwardly she decided to stop giving him giving him her evil eye and maintained her usual equanimity. And now the prima donna Lopez had decided to play a game by keeping them waiting for her findings. Madeline recognized the techniques of a power play, because she had used them herself.

O'Brian drummed his fingers on the table in a gesture of impatience and then ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair. He wanted Lopez to stop standing around looking gorgeous and get the horse and pony show on the road, for pity's sake.

Lopez was a good judge of exactly how long to delay the preparations for her briefing. It was a power play she relished occasionally, and today she had indulged herself. She had rearranged her reports, asked O'Brien to adjust her chair to a more comfortable height and favored them all with her condescending gaze before finally beginning.

"I will give you my findings in each case, as well as summarize the report from the Balkans on Coriascue. Mr. O'Brian here will present any evidence that might point to our culprit or culprits. Madeline will present her profile of said culprit or culprits. Once these reports are given, I will be more than happy to leave your environment. The rest of the microscopic examinations, fiber examination and DNA tests will be performed at the Agency. We will, of course, maintain close and frequent contact with you in order to aid your internal investigation. Any questions, thus far?" She looked at her semi-captive audience. "No, then I shall continue."

"Please do, Dr. Lopez," came from Madeline.

Lopez smiled, "Victim ID# 1A, Terrence Carrey, was killed by a single 9mm gunshot administered through the mouth in an attempt to masquerade as a suicide. The negative paraffin tests rule this out. The exit of said 9mm resulted in a massive destruction of the cerebellum and disruption of the posterior cranium. Time of death was approximately 2240 hours."

"Victim ID# 2A, Judith LaFontaine, was dispatched by a shotgun blast at very close range. Time of death 1000 hours as evidenced by the video surveillance tape at her apartment."

"Victim ID# 3A, Marcus Redmond. died of massive exsanguination after having his throat cut. There was a blow to the occiput which could have caused death had he lived long enough. The body was not moved. Time of death has been readjusted to 1715 hours instead of 1605."

"The reason for the readjustment in time?" Operations asked.

"The temperature in the little-used area was cooler that first thought, it increased the rate of heat loss from the liver making it appear that he had died earlier."

"Then he had only been dead a few minutes when he was discovered by Nikita?" asked Madeline with a small smile of satisfaction that the arrogant forensic pathologist had made a slight error in judgment.

"Yes, I believe that is what I said. Now, to continue. The report from the Balkans was prepared by a colleague of mine and is fairly complete. Korda Coriascue was killed while on a mission. At the end of the mission, his body was found lying face down at the far perimeter of the mission area. He was found on autopsy to have been shot in the back with 9mm shells, none of which matched any of the weapons issued for that mission. It was, however, standard Section issue ammunition. Evidence is still being analyzed to determine if his death was a product of enemy or friendly fire. All operatives on that mission are under detention until a conclusion has been reached. Their investigation continues as does ours here."

Lopez paused and said, "Mr. O'Brian, if you will present your report of evidence collected until now please." Lopez relinquished her spot in the limelight gracefully.

O'Brian cleared his throat as he stood. He adjusted his tie and tried with futile movements to present a neat appearance. "Basically, until the fiber and DNA evidence is back from the Agency, I can't tell you much. We all know how they died, and we don't know who did it. Our perpetrator is using different methods each time with no pattern. The common thread is he's killing your high level operatives. A week ago you had ten, and now you got six. Looks like a trend to me. I'm interviewing everybody that had contact with the victims, anybody that didn't get along with them for any reason. In a place like this, that includes a lot of people. I'm no where near any kind of conclusions, except that you better keep better tabs on the Class Fives you have left." O'Brian shrugged and sat again.

Madeline needed no invitation to command the attention of the gathering. She stood and leveled her gaze at her audience. "I have had little time to prepare, but I am convinced of one thing. These murders have been committed by one who is very intelligent, possibly with some psychotic tendencies. He either feels he has a mission or is acting from personal revenge or both. He is daring, which leads me to think that he is arrogant enough to think he will not be caught, but we all know he will. He is also very familiar with Section routine. Two of the murders have occurred here in Section, so it is obvious that he or she is one of us. Any of these murders could have been accomplished by a female as well as a male given the training all our operative receive. This matter will have my full attention until it is resolved."

Operations took the floor. "My appreciation to all of you for your hard work this far, but it's not good enough. We have to stop this before we lose anyone else. I want these murders solved, and I want them solved yesterday."

Lopez rose to leave. "I will contact you as soon as I have more test results." She nodded to the group. "Thank you for a most interesting experience."

Birkoff's excited voice broke over the comm system. "Operations, there's been another death."

Lopez sank into her chair. She had wilted visibly at the news of yet another death.

It would seem that she was doomed to spend more time in Section One.

"You're not going anywhere, Dr. Lopez till this is over," Operations said with determination in his voice. She nodded an agreement in response.

Operations began pacing, "Who, Birkoff? Who?"

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

Michael drove with an economy of movement, as he did everything. Sylvia noted that the muscles in his face appeared tense, and he had said little during the drive to dinner.

"Italian, okay?" he had asked her as they had left the Section.

"Italian's always okay," she gave him an impish grin. His smile was feeble at best. Economical of speech, too, she thought. He's really tied in a knot. This is not the Michael I remember. He really needs to loosen up a bit, and I hope this dinner will give him a chance to do that.

Lorenzo's Ristorante was a small mom and pop establishment that served very authentic and excellent Italian cuisine. The owner greeted Michael like an old friend and the three of them conversed in his native language for several minutes before ordering.

Their booth was in a quiet corner, and it was a slow night. Sylvia was relieved when Michael ordered wine. Hopefully, he would feel free to talk to her. "I see you're keeping up your Italian. How many languages do you speak now, Michael?" she asked.

Michael gave a slight shrug, "I've lost count. It comes in handy."

Carolina, the owner's daughter, brought the wine, giggling as she sat it on the table. Michael's soft, "Grazzi," made her giggle even more as she walked away.

"Well, Michael, I see you haven't lost your ability to charm every female who sees you." Michael's seductive qualities had not diminished with time. He was still one beautiful man. While she would never be attracted to him sexually, she was able to appreciate him as she would any work of art.

"Except you," he said with a twinkle in his gray-green eyes, as he took a sip of the hearty red wine.

It was Sylvia's turn to shrug, "Well, what can I say, you're not my type."

Michael saw a brief, pensive look cross her face and asked, "So, are you involved with anyone now?"

Sylvia saw that Michael's face had softened and he seemed concerned about her.

"No, my last relationship ended a few months ago, and I've not been anxious for another one. Relationships are almost not worth the trouble, Michael. You know what I mean?"

"You said 'almost?'" he probed.

"Well, Michael!" she said in a more spirited manner. "I'm only human. I still want a relationship, but this was an outside relationship. It became very complicated. Trust was a big issue, and I had to end it, but it's even worse with an inside relationship. There's all the manipulation. Someone is always observing for weaknesses." Sylvia shook her head in semi-mock despair, for it was a well-known truth.

Michael's response was a soft, "Yeah." He took another sip of wine and watched the soft candlelight reflect off the crystal wine glass.

Sylvia watched as Michael appeared to be drawing inward. She asked, "Nikita? Tell me about her, Michael. She's lovely and obviously in love with you. How long have you been involved?"

Sylvia's questions made Michael want to groan. He wasn't sure he could stand to reveal the depth of his feelings and frustrations, even to an old friend.

Michael's eyes grew pensive as he studied his wine glass. "I guess it would depend on how one defines involved."

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

Sylvia's curiosity was piqued by Michael's nebulous answer. "Michael! How do 'you' define involved?" Michael's eyes held a plea not to be quizzed further, but Sylvia was too good a friend to allow him to continue to withdraw emotionally. She watched him sigh and look around the room. She watched as his eyelids blinked rapidly and as he stalled answering her question.

He sighed again and finally began to speak. "My 'involvement' with Nikita goes back to four years ago. It was six months after Simone's death (or at least that's what I thought). I was in a state of existence. I was not eating or sleeping. I functioned like a machine. Operations said 'do this,' and I did it. He said 'go there,' and I went. He said 'kill this one," and I did. I was as dead inside as one can be and still remain alive. I had no fear of death. I would have welcomed it, you understand?"

"Yes, Michael, go on."

"Madeline had tried to counsel me, but our past dealings left me not inclined to bare my soul to her. Then one day, Madeline informed me that I would have to be responsible for training a new recruit. It was Nikita.

"Oh my God! Michael, you're involved with your material! No wonder you're wound up like a violin string. Have you lost your mind." It was the number one rule that a team leader should never become involved with his material, especially a new recruit. Use them, yes, but never fall in love with one of them.

Anger flashed in Michael's eyes, turning them dark green. "It wasn't like that. Nikita was different from the very beginning. She was recruited because of her beauty and apparent ability to kill in cold-blood. She was still quite young--nineteen or so. She cried and claimed her innocence as I told her of her choices, but that is not unusual, I know. We began training, and she was quick to learn, very strong and very undisciplined. Operations wanted to cancel her at the end of her two years probation, but I defended her. He also accused me of being involved."

"If having a reason to breathe is being involved, or if having a reason to come to this place day after day and do what we do here because of Nikita's presence, then I am involved. If the only light in my heart and mind is the image of Nikita's face, then I am involved beyond the depths of any relationship I have ever experienced." Michael's eyes shone with unshed tears as he voiced the emotions to a friend that he had never dared to share with Nikita.

"Oh, Michael. I don't know what to say. I had no idea this had gone so far."

"The first year after her probation was a difficult one for us both. I chose her for every team that I could, so that I could control and protect her. There were times for mission profiles that I had to lie to her and manipulate her feelings for me. Do you have any idea what it was like for me to have to tell the woman I loved, that I loved her and then have her find out it was part of the mission profile? There were times when she hated me, and I hated myself."

"In time, I came to realize that she had been innocent of the crime that brought her to Section One's attention. By that time, it was too late. Nikita had become suicidal and was placed in abeyance without my knowledge, until it came time for a suicide mission and Nikita was one of the six abeyance pool members to be sacrificed."

Sylvia sat in speechless wonder. She didn't want to stop Michael now that he had opened his heart, and he was able to express the agony that consumed him.

Michael took another sip of wine as he continued. "I gave Nikita a PDA that I quickly programmed to send her a warning message to flee. After the triggered explosion consumed the target, the tactical team and I left. I had no way of knowing if Nikita made it out in time or not. And I did not know for another six months. She never answered my encrypted messages that I sent her on the PDA. I went through another six months of hell, never knowing if she were alive or dead. It was the nadir of my life."

"Ah, Signor Michael, here is the dinner I have prepared for you and the lovely young lady." They were served by Lorenzo's wife, Sofia, and the fragrant spices were like honey and ambrosia to the hungry operatives.

Sylvia sampled her pasta and clam sauce, "Mmm. It is heavenly, Michael." Sofia smiled and she left the couple to their dinner and conversation.

Sylvia contented herself with several bites of her dinner, then looked at Michael who looked exactly like a child dawdling over his dinner.

"Michael, she obviously didn't die, and she's back in Section. Go on please. If you're not going to eat, you might at least continue your story."

"Nikita was free for six months, but was captured by the Freedom League at the end of that time. During her time there she heard of a plan to kidnap a scientist, and that a mole inside Section had tipped them that we knew of the plan. She managed to escape, and at the site of the mission, I saw that she was alive for the first time, when she took out two of their operatives and saved my life. More hostiles came on the scene, and when my attention was diverted, she disappeared."

"That night when I sent her another encrypted message, she answered and gave me her location. I went to her that night," Michael hesitated. He had never told anyone about his first time with Nikita, and he wasn't sure he could tell Sylvia."

Sylvia stopped between bites of pasta and said, "Let's see if I get the picture. Nikita is supposed to be dead. You're both away from Section's prying eyes and ears. You're alone and together. Sounds like you had a hell of an opportunity for some wild and abandoned lovemaking. I hope you took advantage of it, Michael. Tell me you did, please!"

"We did," was all Michael could bring himself to say. The memory of their first time together still made him shudder. Making love with Nikita had been an intense experience that incorporated profound passion with an element of exhaltation. It had been all he had ever dreamed and feared.

Sylvia let a low squeal erupt. "I can see you're not going to give me any details about that, so how did you bring her back in Michael?"

Michael looked at her in gratitude and continued, "Before Nikita escaped from the Freedom League, they had made a video tape of her, saying she had cooperated. There was going to be a mission to destroy their base camp, where Nikita had been. Nikita went back there and hid in a sub-basement. At the end of the mission, I 'rescued' Nikita and brought her back."

"So did they buy your story? If she was supposed to be a prisoner for six months, she should have been in pretty bad shape."

Michael looked at his yet untouched dinner. "Nikita thought of that as well. Before I brought her back to the van, I beat her." Michael's voice faltered at this admission.

Sylvia patted Michael's hand in a gesture of comfort, "You had to do it. Surely you realize that."

"I know, but it broke my heart to do it. Less than 24 hours before I had made love to her for the first time, and then there I was beating her." Michael's eyes were shiny as he remembered the emotions that tore at him in that dark sub-basement.

"Hmm. The 'first' time? Michael, I don't remember anything in your profile about your being a monk. How long had you known her, for pity's sake?"

"Three years, but you have to remember, she spent most of that time hating me," he said with wry amusement.

"But you're together now?"

"No, not in the way you mean."

"No?" Sylvia's voice was incredulous. What was wrong with the two of them. Granted, inside Section liaisons were not condoned, but it 'could' be done.

"It's difficult to explain. Nikita doesn't understand the need for caution. She's full of life and passion, and she wants a 'relationship,' but we have been manipulated so many times. I've lost too much to Section One, I couldn't bear to lose her too. I asked her to be patient, and she got involved with the Spec Ops that handled her reprogramming. When he died on one of our missions, she blamed me. We have spent most of this year estranged. We lie to each other. Nikita always has her own agenda on a mission--save the innocents, which can't always be done. Now, Operations has upgraded her status and she is no longer my material. I can't protect her anymore. She is a tremendous operative, but still headstrong, and she doesn't always see the big picture. I don't trust Operations in his use of her, but I am powerless as long as she reports to him and not me."

"So you have not been together since she came back to Section? I find that difficult to comprehend, Michael." Sylvia had become so engrossed in Michael's story that she had stopped eating as well.

"Well, that is not exactly true. We were in deep cover on a mission for almost a week as husband and wife, under surveillance by the target as well as Section One. We made love once."

"Under surveillance? Well, that must have been a salutary experience for you both."

Michael smiled, "Actually, it was. We came to a sort of understanding after that, for a while anyway. But the lies and deceptions of Section came between us again. We were together again last night, and I had hope that our understanding was renewed, but after her refusal to come to dinner with us, I don't know. I know what she is thinking. She still has some insecurities and lack of trust. Who can blame her? Certainly not I."

Michael's and Sylvia's cell phones rang simultaneously. "Yes, all right. I'll be in."

Michael looked at Sylvia, "Another one. Let's go." Michael was back in mission mode and the gentle emotional man submerged.

"I'm not going anywhere without my dinner," Sylvia insisted.

"Sylvia, We don't have time," Michael said.

"Michael, have you never heard of a doggie bag?" she asked with a grin.

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

Nikita admitted to herself that she was in a major funk. Watching Michael go off to dinner with the petite Italian C5 op. was the contributing factor for her mood. Yes, she admitted he had asked her to join them, but she had been too stubborn to go. Now she had to suffer the pangs of jealousy, that she had not suffered when she once watched him ask Andrea Karsov out to dinner right in front of her. True, she had been a 'little' jealous, but she had known Michael was up to something, and she had been proven correct in that instance.

The problem this time was that Michael and Sylvia appeared to already know each other quite well. She hadn't seen Michael so relaxed with anyone since before Chuck had died. Nikita decided that Walter would have to serve his usual purpose in her life. He was the most reliable source of intel in Section One--at least the kind of intel she was seeking.

She walked into Walter's work area. The grizzled older man was replacing inventory from the last mission with swift precision. "Hi, Walter," she said as lvia Damico, for instance, what you do know about her?"

Walter gave a quick look at Nikita and said, "Sylvia? Came to Section about ten years ago. She was Simone's material, close to Simone and Michael, but transferred back to Italy about five years ago, before Simone died. Another one of the five percent club, if you ask me. Operations didn't like her attitude. He didn't think she took life in Section seriously enough, but she was such a damn good op. that he wouldn't cancel her. So they had an amicable agreement that she would be better back home in Italy."

"But she's a C5 now."

"Yeah, upgraded about six months ago from what I hear. So, Nikita, what's with the questions about Sylvia? Something's buggin' you, I can tell."

Nikita sighed because she knew she was too transparent, and Walter knew her too well by now. "She and Michael went out to dinner. They looked like old friends. I sort of wondered if there was more to the story." Nikita looked at her hands and studied them intently, avoiding Walter's knowing gaze.