This was a nightmare.

It was the only explanation.

He had nightmares all the time, surely this was another one. It had to be. It was not possible that he was careening through dark streets in a van driven by Birkoff, who, he knew, did not have even a Section made driver's license and whom, to Michael's knowledge, had never driven a vehicle that required anything more than a joystick to operate. In addition there was no one else in the van, and they were pursuing two nuclear warheads.

What exactly was he going to do if they did catch up with them? He wondered, clutching the chicken stick. Assuming they lived that long, he added to himself as the van clipped a stop sign on it's way around a curve.

"Middle of the road, Birkoff! Just stay in the middle of the road. It's 2 AM, there's no one else out here and if there is they deserve to die."

"Why didn't you drive?" Birkoff asked, clutching the wheel so tightly he was losing feeling in his fingers. He wished he could turn the lights on but then the truck that they were pursuing would see them.

"Because you got to the wheel first."

"I think they're turning up ahead."

Michael checked the coordinates, "There's an old airstrip that way, they must be heading for it. Slow down, we'll approach slowly and find a spot for the van."

~~~~~~~~~

It had started out innocently enough. The Section had received intel that a group known to them had purchased the warheads from a disenfranchised Russian soldier. They had tracked them to a warehouse just outside of a small town in Vermont, of all places. Satellite surveillance had shown that the devices were indeed there and intelligence gathering indicated that they were to be delivered to their final destination the following week. They had had plenty of time to prepare the tactical and get a team ready. Due to the serious nature of the mission a large group had been sent, 12 cold ops as well as Birkoff to run the sequences and Michael to coordinate the teams.

"Team one, you'll enter from the west side," Michael told them as they approached the site, "Team two, take the loading dock, team three, you're on the north entrance. Report anything unusual at once, everyone is expendable. We don't have an exact location on the warheads and this building has a lot of corridors and small offices, take your time and be thorough."

He had sat, relaxed, listening to the teams report as they penetrated the perimeter. "All quiet on the west, Michael" Nikita on team one had reported first.

"Same on the north." Ian added. "We're working on the lock now."

"The alarms have been deactivated." Birkoff told them, "There are no motion sensors and no cameras."

"Team two, report." Michael ordered quietly.

"We're at the fence," Ted told him, "cutting the lock off. We can't see the loading dock yet."

Nikita: "We're in."

Ian: "No sign of security."

Birkoff: "There should be two guards moving around and one by the warhead."

Nikita: "Still no sign of them, which direction should we head in Birkoff?"

Birkoff: "Go to the south, there is a large room about 45 feet from where you are, it's a likely location. Ian, take your team east."

All was quiet for a few minutes when suddenly gunfire erupted in their com-sets, "We're detected, Michael!" Nikita reported, "There are more than two guards."

Ian: "We're being fired on,"

Ted: "Michael there's movement on the loading dock, the lights are on."

"Get closer Ted, are they moving the weapons?"

"Give us a second."

"All teams, head for the loading dock."

Ian: "We're pinned down, it's going to take awhile."

Nikita: "They have us cornered, we're going to have to go out and around."

Ted: "They're moving! The door is opening and the truck is getting ready to roll!"

"Don't let that truck get by you, Ted."

"There are two support vehicles, send back-up."

"They're pinned down."

"Shit."

Michael listened in frustration as the teams engaged in a fierce firefight.

"They are rolling, Michael! They are past us! We took out the pursuit but the truck is rolling."

Michael and Birkoff had exchanged looks and leapt as one for the driver's seat, Birkoff was closer and soon was in hot pursuit, leaving the teams behind as they followed the truck containing the warheads.

~~~~~~~~~

"I think there's a field on our left, I can park the van there." Birkoff said, "Is it close enough?"

"Yes, the airstrip is about 500 yards further up. Just don't hit a damn cow."

"Cow?"

"This is Vermont, Birkoff, they have cows."

As the van pulled to a stop Michael stood and went to the back, pulling on body armor and assembling weapons from the weapons rack. Birkoff came back and pulled out a second vest.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked.

"I'm the only one here." Michael looked at him, thinking. If he got Birkoff killed he might as well just shoot himself and call it a day. However, he stood almost no chance of getting the weapons without back up and Birkoff had been training with Walter since the art gallery incident.

"Okay, come on. But stay behind me and stay out of the line of fire."

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

Birkoff followed Michael towards the tree line, which separated the field from the airstrip. In the distance he heard what might have been a "moo." He wasn't entirely sure since he'd never actually been near a cow before. It was a hot, moonless night. The air was still and humid, the kind of weather that made you feel like you were breathing through a wet rag.

They stopped just inside the trees. A small jet was parked on the runway, not far from them. The truck, which they had been pursuing, was parked next to it with a van between the tree line and the strip. There was a small, dilapidated hangar nearby. Six men were muscling a large crate into the cargo hold of the jet, a second crate could be seen already on board.

"Shit, move, Birkoff, they've almost got them loaded." Michael ran towards the van, using it as cover with Birkoff following behind. He came up against the van and moved cautiously around it, using it as cover, then darted towards the truck. Checking behind him Michael saw that Birkoff was still with him. Turning he brought his weapon up and began firing, using the truck as a shield. The men loading the crate immediately began returning fire. He could hear Birkoff shooting off to his right, three of their opponents fell immediately, the other three had jumped off the ramp and were using the plane's landing gear as cover. Michael aimed carefully and shot them, one by one. He had a bead on the third and final one when a movement to his left caught his eye. He turned, just in time to see the pilot step out of the hangar and fire. He felt a burning across his upper arm and stumbled, cursing, nearly dropping his weapon.

When he heard Michael Birkoff spun around from his position near the rear of the truck. A man near the hangar had Michael in his sights and was about to fire. Birkoff raised his weapon and fired. To his amazement the other man dropped like a stone. Michael turned and checked the plane. All six men were down. Signaling Birkoff to follow him he moved towards the plane. The six men were all dead. He knew he had only hit four so Birkoff had hit two, plus the one by the hanger.

"Do you think there is anyone on the plane?" Birkoff asked.

"We'll check but and we better check that hangar too."

Fifteen minutes later Michael was reasonably certain that no one else remained and he sent Birkoff for the van. When he returned Michael had Birkoff contact the Section.

Madeline took the transmission.

"We've recovered the warheads." Michael told her.

"Good, we'll send in the housekeeping team to pick them up."

"We aren't at the warehouse, they were moving them when we got there. Birkoff and I are at an airstrip about 12 miles from the warehouse with the weapons."

There was dead silence for a beat, "You and Birkoff."

"Yes."

"And the rest of the team?"

"Still at the warehouse."

Madeline stared at her screen, seeing Michael looking back at her, impassively.

'No,' she thought to herself, 'I am not even going to ask.'. To Michael she replied, "Report to Operations when you get back. We'll send transport for the team and the weapons."

"You heard?" He asked Birkoff

"Yeah, are we in trouble?"

"No, probably not much. We got the warheads."

"How long before they get here?"

"A couple of hours probably."

Birkoff nodded. They went back outside to keep an eye on the crates. It was only slightly cooler outside the van. Michael leaned against one of the crates, scanning the area. Birkoff sat on the ground beside him. Birkoff was tired and leaned his head back against the crate. Occasionally one of them would pace around the area then return to the weapons. Gradually Birkoff became aware of a noise approaching. He looked up, Michael was alert and looking towards the road.

"It's too early for that to be Housekeeping." Michael said, checking his weapon. "Take cover."

They waited tensely, hearing more than one vehicle approaching. Michael wished he could just leave, Birkoff wasn't up to much more of this but they couldn't abandon the warheads.

"They've stopped." Birkoff whispered.

"They're approaching on foot."

Ten nerve wracking minutes passed. Michael wondered if some of the terrorists had escaped the teams at the warehouse. He thought that he could make out a few shadowy figures moving around in the tree line but wasn't sure. Suddenly the area was lit up with floodlights and a voice boomed out,

"Federal agents! Drop your weapons! Come out with your hands on your heads!"

"Christ," Michael muttered, seeing the jackets on the agents, "it's the fucking DEA. What next? The IRS?"

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

"What are you going to do?" Birkoff asked.

"We're standing here with 7 dead bodies and 2 nuclear warheads, where the DEA goes the FBI can't be far behind, we'll pull rank. You have your ID?"

"Yes." Birkoff gulped. He'd brought ID with him every time he'd left the section but had never actually used it before.

"Just follow my lead, move slowly, leave your weapons here. It won't do us much good for them to discover we outrank them after they kill us."

"What about the van?"

"We keep them out of the van. If they do see inside make up some bullshit, they won't know what they're looking at anyway."

Michael stood and moved slowly into the light with Birkoff beside and slightly behind him. He had his hands in clear sight, slightly raised.

"Put your hands behind your head!" The voice called

"We're federal." Michael called back. There was silence.

"What agency?"

"NSA."

"NSA? Let's see some ID. Slowly, we have you covered."

Michael and Birkoff both reached into pockets on their flack jackets and pulled out leather folders.

A middle-aged man in a DEA Jacket moved towards them, a younger agent following. They kept Michael and Birkoff in their sights.

"Toss the ID to me." He said when he was about 15 feet away. Birkoff looked at Michael, who nodded. They tossed their ID to the agent. He picked it up, examining it closely, then pulled out a cel phone and made a call to verify it.

"We'll just stand here while we wait for the call back. You better hope that you check out."

"What's taking so long?" Birkoff asked Michael quietly fifteen minutes later.

"They'll have to verify him before they confirm the ID." Michael told him.

Just then the phone rang. After a brief consultation the older agent called out, "Okay, lower your weapons." He approached, "Sorry about that Mr. Lewis, but what the hell are you doing here? I'm Special Agent Foster. We were expecting to bust a shipment of cocaine. I have to admit I've never run across the NSA before." He was curious and hoped to be enlightened but neither of the young NSA agents offered even a clue as to why they were there. Foster kept looking at Birkoff. The kid had to be older than he looked.

"We prefer to keep it that way." Michael told him, "We ran into some unexpected trouble here."

"Is it just the two of you?"

"The rest of the team is cleaning up at another location, they'll be here soon. I'm sorry, we probably scared off your drug dealers."

"Michael." He turned in response to Birkoff's tense voice. His younger partner nodded towards one of the crates. Several DEA agents were approaching it.

"Please ask your men to stay away from the scene." He said to Foster, leaving no doubt that it was an order.

Foster looked as though he wanted to argue but did as Michael asked. "Birkoff, "Michael said, "Contact the team and let them know that the DEA is here. We don't want them to come in shooting." He added for Foster's benefit.

"So what's in the crates?" Foster asked when Birkoff had climbed into the van.

"I'm sorry that's classified."

"Of course it is. If you'll excuse me I need to check on my men." Foster went across to where a group of agents was huddled talking in quiet voices.

"Are they really NSA Foster?" One of them asked.

"Looks that way." He confirmed.

Funny, the younger one doesn't look like a super spook."

Birkoff returned to Michael's side. "I let them know, Simon checked, these guys really are DEA and they did have a bust scheduled for this location tonight."

"Good, let's send them on their way." Michael strode over to Foster and his men.

"If I could offer a sugestion Special Agent?"

"What is it?"

"You might want to clear out of hear before my team arrives, or you and your men will spend the rest of the night being questioned."

"Questioned?"

"We tend to be suspicious, you story checks out but my supervisor is a real tight ass and will probably want to hold on to you guys just for the hell of it."

Ten minutes later there wasn't a DEA agent in sight. Foster had checked with his superiors who had told him there was no point in hanging around since their own mission had been blown. Michael was keeping an eye on the road while Birkoff wandered around on the far side of the plane. It was very dark again since the DEA had taken their lights with them. Suddenly Michael heard a shot from where Birkoff was supposed to be, grabbing his weapon he sprinted in that direction and found Birkoff standing over the body. There was a neat gunshot wound in the side of the head.

"Good shot" Michael said.

"I heard a sound, I just... I just fired."

"Well, you hit the kill zone."

The two of them stood, hands on hips, staring down at the lifeless body. Birkoff finally spoke.

"It's a cow."

"It's steak now."

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