I lust after Michael, dream about him, too--for all the good it does me. In fact, most of the women in this hell-hole do, too. I venture to say, even Madeline does, but whatever goes on behind those dead brown eyes of hers is a mystery known only to her. Sometimes, I even wonder if there's anyone home.

But I digress, back to Michael. We all know he's in love with Nikita. Amazing that the Super-spy stud of Section One would fall for a tall blonde with wide blue eyes--and legs that don't stop. I say (not out loud, of course) "What's wrong with me?" I'm a tall blonde with blue eyes and long legs--no, they're not that long, but they're not bad. I've had an admiring glance or two cast my way. I don't do much gliding around in low-cut tops and skirts slit to my waist---nope, usually it's black fatigues for me. I'm one of the common, nearly faceless grunts you see manning the backup teams.

Oh, by the way, my name's Marianne. And I lust after Michael. Oh, I said that already.

But something's wrong with Barbie, I mean Niktia. Actually, we all like Nikita, in spite of her tendency to watch out for innocents and the like, or maybe because of it. She's always been top notch on missions--unless a stray kid or cat runs across her path. But now she is one scarry bitch. She has eyes for no one, especially Michael.

And Michael has eyes for no one else.

Next to Madeline, Michael is the most mysterious person in Section One. We've all heard the rumors about his other life--you know the one with the wife and kid. How did he do that? And why didn't Nikita bust him for it? True love is just as mysterious, I guess.

I don't know anything about true love. You can't exactly count the miserable SOB that I married . . . and killed. Yeah, that's the reason I found my butt in this din of iniquity. Not that he didn't deserve killing. I'm sure you'd agree with me that he did. I finally got tired of his bouncing me off the walls. It took five years and having my jaw broken . . . twice, before I wised up. The judge and jury didn't see it my way. It must have been because I blew his head off while he slept in an alcoholic stupor. Yeah, I think that was the reason. Add to that a jury that was made of ten men and two WASPy women, who took time out from their Junior League meetings to send my sorry ass to prison.

Anyway, back to Michael. It really breaks my heart to see him so down. Yeah, I know with Michael it's a little hard to tell when he's down, given the usual give-nothing-away expression on his face. But it's his eyes, the way he looks at her that gets to me.

So, I went to him one day and told him anytime, anything I could do, I would. I guess it's my deep hidden romantic streak. Yeah, right!

"What do you mean?" he asked, giving me the blankest damn stare I'd ever seen. You'd have thought I'd asked him for his phone number or his left nut. I mean this guy is too damn cool for his own good.

"Uh, uh well, you know with Nikita," I said, looking around for surveillance cameras. Then all he does is give me a hard look and does that little back-step thing and walk away. Normally, I don't mind the back view--it's almost as good as the front one, but this really pissed me off. So, I called after him. To hell with surveillance. "Look super-spy, you can do this all by yourself if you want to, but some of us really care about Nikita, and we're afraid we're next."

Well, he stopped in his tracks and turned around. "You're the delegate?" he asked me.

"Delegate?" That confused me a bit. Oh, well, I'm a little slow sometimes. After all, I didn't have the benefit of Madeline's one-on-one tender care in my training period like Nikita did. Then again, sometimes it's better to be a plain face in the crowd. "I'm a delegate. Yeah, delagate of one."

The left side of his mouth twitched. I thought for a minute he was going to treat me to his little half smile, but no, not this time.

"I'll bear that in mind." Then backstep, and walkaway.

Jeez!

I looked around. I was more than a little twitchy. That little conversation with Michael could've been enough to bring me to Madeline's attention. Believe me, that is NOT a good thing.

Well, not much happened for a week or so. Missions were popping right and left, and I was pretty busy just trying to stay alive and not be left fodder for housekeeping. Oh, don't get me started on those guys. Hell must have a special place for people who enjoy their work the way some of them do. Come to think of it, they're already there. This is a special Hell for us all.

I had a day of down time after two hairy missions back-to-back. My life away from Section sucks almost as much as when I'm in Section. I won't go into that part of my life, except to say I don't dare have any friends, forget men--although it might be fun to bounce a few around the way my ex used to do me. Low profile, that's what I keep remembering. Keep a low profile, so I do.

Actually, I live for missions. I love killing the bad guys, knowing all the time that they deserve it for more than we're told in the briefing. Everytime I waste one, I know he's probably abused some woman or child along the way, and he won't be doing it anymore.

Basically, I slept for 23 of my 24 hours down. Wasting terrorists and making the world safer for democracy, not to mention women and children, is hard work. When I reported back, I was amazed to learn that Michael had gone rogue and Operations--another SOB I'd like to take care of in my own individual way--had ordered his cancellation. I'm real sorry I missed all the excitement.

I have never seen Operations and Madeline so hugely Pissed off. Absolutely made my day just hearing about it. They even assigned me to one of Nikita's teams to track Michael. Is there nothing that man can't do. Well, for the next two weeks, he ran rings around Section One, removed Old Mama Adrian from the popsicle unit---who even knew they had such a thing down here, and the coup de grace--kidnapped Nikita. That left Operations and Madeline positively foaming at the mouth. They were both so tense, I doubt they could've farted if they tried.

***********

The next thing ya know---Michael comes dragging a very limp Nikita right back into Section. "I'm back." Yeah baby! Michael is back. I mean two women standing next to me nearly fainted--not me, I'm stronger than that. Everybody stared. He has cojones of steel. There is absolutely, positively no doubt about that.

I don't know what kind of deal he worked out with Operations, but Michael was definitely back. Nikita, or a reasonable facsimile, was too, spending most of her time starring at a computer screen. When I say facsimile, I do mean a flat piece of paper with her likeness on it. She was colder than ever. Like nobody was really at home in this gal's noggin. Sort of like Madeline, only worse, because I remember how Nikita used to be. I think old Madeline was born that way.

So, everything is back the way it used to be. Michael's gonna go on missions. Nikita's gonna go on missions. We're all gonna go on missions. Operations and Madeline go around giving each other blank looks. I'm thinking, who's next? Not me, I'm gonna keep my head down, do what I'm told and definitely not fall in love with the Super-spy. Although . . . I can't help wondering what he was like . . . you know . . . in the sack. Nikita ain't talking. Hell she doesn't even remember now.

I don't know how long this situation can go on. You can feel the hate and tension vibrate in the air whenever Operations and Michael are in the same room. Very scary.

***

Only two days after Michael returned, a lot had already happened. Michael headed a stellar mission, and Nikita totally screwed up, was compromised and the target creep Faisal was after her. One of his hanchmen even attempted a hit in her own apartment. That did it. Operations ordered her skinny butt to secondary quarters, and she was actually placed under guard.

Then, later that day, I received an encrypted message on my panel. It was a request for the "delegate" to present herself at a secured location in the bowels of Section One. Me and my big mouth! I'd offered, now I was gonna have to keep my word. Not that my life is great--definitely not--but I did want to keep on living a little longer. What to do? What to do? I had a feeling that I wouldn't live long if I didn't keep my word. The Super-spy is not anyone I'd want to disappoint, if you get my drift.

So, at the appointed time, I'm there . . . and so is he.

He got right to the point, "I need a decoy for Nikita."

"Decoy? Anyway I get to stay alive in this scenario, Michael?"

"If you do as you're told."

"What do you want me to do?" I'm like shaking in my boots. Okay, do NOT want to disappoint this man. Yes, he'll probably kill me if I do. Then all of a sudden I can feel his pain, the torment, the urgency that he's feeling. It's not a good feeling.

"I'm taking Nikita tonight. I need you to take her place."

"I don't even know where she is."

He ignored me, "Meet me at ten. The rendezvous point will be on your panel at 9:45."

"Okay."

"If you betray me--"

I interrupted, "I know. You don't have to say it. I'm doing this for Nikita, Michael . . . and you, too," I added hastily. Who cares what he thinks about that statement?

"Thank you."

Well, at least he said thank you. I mean, you certainly can't fault his manners. "I hope it works this time."

A really strange look crossed his face. "I do, too," he said.

Poor guy, he's really got it bad. He's willing to die for her. That's some kinda love.

***

I spent the rest of the evening, checking my PDA, refreshed the batteries with Walter, who gave me a knowing look, or at least I thought he did. I'm getting more and more paranoid as the rendezvous time gets closer. There's not many people Michael can trust. Hell, there's not many people in this place anybody can trust. It's a world of dog eat dog, you know, survival of the fittest.

I was down, but I didn't know what to do, so I hung out, not an uncommon thing for me. What if the rendezvous place was more than fifteen minutes away? There were all sorts of "contingencies" to consider. That's a good Section word, you know? It means your ass is grass if you don't plan ahead. Michael is a master of contingencies and just about everything else, too. I'm not.

Nine-forty-four, and I am nervous as I head to a deserted hallway to check my PDA. Nine-forty-five: an address appears and it's close enough. I have just enough time to make it, if I race like a bat outta hell.

***

It's cold. My breath makes a cloud of white vapor as I exhale. When we were kids, we used to pretend we were smoking in weather like this. Now, I'm just waiting for the Super-spy to show. The address is a tall glass building, looks very industrial, not like anybody's idea of living quarters. I guess that's the point.

"You came alone."

I whirled around, and sure enough Michael had walked right up behind me, and I hadn't heard a thing. He must have some Indian blood as they'd say back home in Kentucky. "Of course, I came alone."

"Nikita will be down any minute. I'll tranq her. You'll take her place, keep ahead of her shadow team. Ready?"

"Yeah sure. I do shit like this for a living, remember?"

No sooner than I'd smarted off to the Super-spy, he shushed me. "She's coming."

One-two-three, Nikita came out of the building, turned to walk down the street. Michael tranqed her and drug her over to where I waited. We pulled her out of her jacket and I put it on.

"Don't look back," Michael warned.

Yeah, right, I took off as fast as my long legs would take me. Not running, just a long sloping stride like Nikita would do if she were off to meet some hotty at a neighborhood bar. Her shadow team --I heard them following me, but I was way ahead of 'em. I clipped into the nearest Metro entrance. I didn't look back. I didn't dare. I said a little prayer for Michael and Nikita . . . and then for myself.

I settled into my seat and started thinking--a dangerous activity for me. Sooner or later they're gonna know the Super-spy had help. And who're they gonna look for? Me? I'm the only tall blonde besides Nikita. I think if Madeline ever got ahold of me, I'd crumble pretty quick. I'm glad I don't know anything else about Michael's plans. The more I think about it, the more I think I'm gonna ride this baby to the end of the line. Then I'm gonna keep on going with my little hidden contingency fund.

I'm takin' Michael's advice. I'm not gonna look back.

Fini

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