“Yes?” Nikita hit the intercom.

“Mr. Jones for you,” Birkoff announced from Comm.

“Father.” Nikita could guess why he was calling, but hoped her voice didn’t give her concern away.

“Things are stable again. It’s time,” Jones told his daughter.

“Time for what?” Nikita stalled, preparing an argument.

“Nikita,” Jones warned. “The deadline is approaching fast. Have you made your decision?”

“He still hasn’t been given a final test.”

“The sooner Section’s leadership is resolved, the sooner you can return to Center,” Jones asserted. “You have forty-eight hours.”

“Of course.” Nikita acquiesced and disconnected, not even noticing she was duplicating Michael’s standard response.

Nikita was frustrated at her inability to determine Michael’s commitment to Section. Increased activity prohibited any communication other than strictly business matters. Regrets were counter-productive; she had forty eight hours to develop and profile Michael’s final test.

Michael’s unmatched qualifications as well as her growing personal feelings for him were motivating factors in Nikita’s desire to see him succeed. To this end, she needed to devise a test he was certain to pass.

Michael was what Section needed to guide it into the future.

“You wanted to see me?” Michael inquired, entering the Perch.

“Yes,” Nikita answered, handing Michael a PDA. “I need you on a solo mission.”

“Of course,” Michael answered, looking down at the PDA. “Who profiled this?”

“I did. It was necessary. You know René better than anyone else, but you’ve been too close to the situation.”

Michael nodded.

As usual, even though he knew the target, Michael’s expression showed nothing, except for the merest flicker in the center of his constant green eyes. The target, René Dian, had been the leader of a now-dormant student political/activist group, to which Michael had belonged to in his pre-Section days. Mentor and friend to him, René had sheltered Michael’s sister when he was falsely arrested, thought dead, and secretly recruited by Section.

“René’s collateral, but no one else is. We need one hundred percent containment and zero exposure,” Nikita stated.

Deciding he wanted back into the game, René had planted a bomb at a government owned chemical plant. Acquiring him and disarming the bomb was the first and easy part of the mission.

The government wanted no one, including the guards on night duty at the targeted plant, to know a bomb had ever been planted. The one hundred percent containment, and reason for a solo operative, was the mission’s second and hard part. Or at least that’s what Nikita told Michael. Michael’s familiarity with the bomber made him the best candidate for the job. The solo mission made it the best test for Michael.

“I *can* send someone else, if...”

“I’ll be fine.” Michael interrupted, mask firmly in place.

‘I hope so,’ Nikita thought to herself as she watched Michael exit the Perch and stride over to Walter for his gear.

********

Once Michael cleared van access, Nikita got her own gear from Walter.

“You’re going out too?” Walter asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you’d better take this.” Walter handed her a tracker.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a new tracker. Frequency’s set to Section’s comm. units,” Walter explained. “As long as Michael’s wearing his comm. unit, you can follow him anywhere.”

“How’d you know…?”

“Been here thirty years, Sugar, you know nothing gets past me,” Walter evaded.

“Thanks, Walter.” Not wanting to lose any time, Nikita let her question go unanswered in favor of staying close on Michael’s heels.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to take some backup…”

“Walter,” Nikita cut him off. “The security guards are Center ops. Michael will take care of the target. I’ll be fine.”

Ten minutes after Nikita left, Jurgen came by munitions.

After explaining the reason behind her upcoming absence, Nikita had left Jurgen in charge. Uneasy about Nikita’s safety, Jurgen confided in Walter, and asked for the older man’s help. Since Nikita had never been in the field, both men believed she needed looking after. Thankfully, live missions had been completed and nothing was on pad for the next ten hours.

“I gave her the tracker.” Walter handed Jurgen his gear. “It’ll emit a signal you can follow on the PDA.”

“Thanks, Walter.”

“Yeah,” Walter returned. “Just make sure they *both* come back alive.”

Alone in the back of the van, Michael contemplated the mission. His sharp instincts, honed over a decade in Section, made it quite apparent there was more to this mission than he’d been told. In typical fashion, he had let nothing show and did not question his superior’s orders, but he *knew* this mission was a test to decide his future, or lack thereof.

Michael had every intention of failing his test and he knew just how he would do it.

Three-thirty on a cool Thursday morning.

Going dark for this mission, Michael switched vehicles ten miles before the target zone and drove an unlighted, black Section SUV on a narrow dirt path, ending at the north edge of the forest surrounding the chemical plant. Looking toward the east side, he sighted an empty, nondescript four door sedan with license plates belonging to René Dian. Driving around to the west side, well away from the sedan, Michael parked the SUV securely under cover, grabbed his gear, and proceeded along the west edge of the forest, past the south entrance to the building.

Continuously scanning the area, Michael finally sighted René at the southeast edge of the forest, looking toward the south front entrance of the one story structure, housing the chemical plant. René was using the surrounding forest as cover, standing behind the first line of trees, just outside the surveillance cameras’ range. As was his usual custom, René waited to ensure his plans and the bomb’s detonation would go off without a hitch.

According to the given intel, René had secured a clerical job six months ago at the plant, where, piece by piece, he’d smuggled in his bomb. Luckily for the employees and general population surrounding the plant, René’s resurrected group, L’Heure Sanguine, had been under Interpol’s surveillance for the past two years. A deep cover operative was part of the group membership.

At the monthly meeting Tuesday night, René had boasted that the bomb would be ready Wednesday morning, planted Wednesday night, and detonated Thursday morning. Arrogant, and certain of his plans, René informed the members that, as had been previously agreed, the bomb would be placed “where it would have substantial impact.” Detonation was set for six o’clock, just before sunrise, when much of the day shift would start arriving. René had originally planned on being late to work that day or calling sick but then changed his mind. He wanted to make sure no one suspected him so he could do this again somewhere else.

The plan called for René to leave the south entrance, with the rest of the employees, at day’s end Wednesday. He would then later circle back to the building’s entrance, using the forest as cover. During René’s employment at the plant, he’d learned his way around the grounds by taking long lunchtime hikes, claiming they were helping to keep him in shape.

Unknown to René, immediately after Tuesday evening’s meeting, the planted operative reported to his superior; Interpol reported to the Agency; the Agency handed the assignment over to Section One; Nikita, finding it to be the perfect test she sought, assigned it to Michael.

Four o’clock, Thursday morning; two hours to detonation.

Michael cautiously made his way through the forest toward the south entrance of the chemical plant building. Seeing that René’s attention was focused there due to the presence of the security guards’ stations, Michael took a circuitous route north to the back of the building. His black clad form melded with the forest and shadows of the starless night, helping him to remain out of both René’s and the security guards’ line of sight.

Michael gained entrance through the back door of the building by looping the camera’s surveillance feed - constantly running the same twenty second picture. Knowing René would plant the bomb where it would cause the most destruction, he headed straight for the main laboratory, with calm, noiseless dispatch.

Reaching the lab, Michael looped the camera’s surveillance feed from the top of the door, and entered the room. He found the bomb in a locked storage cabinet. A thorough perusal revealed that René hadn’t changed methodology in the last fifteen years. He uncovered a bag with 250 grams of semtex, wrapped in aluminum, surrounded by nails - the same configuration René had used all those years ago when he and Michael were student activists at the same university.

Once he dismantled the bomb, Michael made sure to cover any evidence that a bomb was ever there, ensuring one hundred percent containment and zero exposure. Returning to the SUV, Michael placed the now defunct bomb inside, and took off for the expected confrontation with René.

Section wanted his former best friend dead or alive, but they were in for a surprise.

Moving rapidly but quietly, Michael made his way to the southeast edge of the forest, where he had last seen René.

I can’t kill him and I can’t bring him in. To do neither fails Nikita’s test. So be it. At least my debt to René for raising my sister will be paid before my cancellation.

Finding his quarry leaning against a tree, Michael put away the mini night vision binoculars in a pocket of his flak vest, and moved to within five feet of his target.

“René,” Michael called out, keeping his weapon holstered. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t be using his gun.

Turning at the sound of his name, René Dian brought his gun up towards the direction of the voice. Gasping in shock, he thought he recognized the face behind the voice, but that man had been dead for over ten years. “Michel?”

“Yes,” Michael confirmed, stepping closer, unafraid of the gun now pointed at his head.

“I thought you were dead, we all thought you were dead. What happened to you?” René asked, lowering his weapon, shock still plainly visible in his features.

“It’s over René. I’ve disabled the bomb.” Michael ignored his old friend’s question, the story of his life post L’Heure Sanguine not something he was willing to discuss on his last night on this earth.

“What’s going on?” René asked, confused. “You suddenly reappear after fifteen years…why didn't you let me know you were still alive?”

“I couldn't,” Michael replied wearily. How could I tell him about Section One, the enemy according to their idealist standards?

“Why not?” René asked, his interrogating persona coming to the fore.

“I can't explain, and if I could, I'm afraid you wouldn't understand,” Michael evaded.

“Why are you here?”

Michael’s absence of speech and blank face revealed nothing.

René knew that stonewall look well. He would not get an answer from Michael about his activities since his supposed prison suicide, so he tried another approach.

“How did you find me?”

“The details are not important. I have access to…” Michael paused, knowing the possible danger of retaliation from René’s group, especially since he’d already decided René would walk away from this alive, “people ... in the community.”

“You're on the other side.” Realization dawned on René.

“Yes.”

“And you've come here to, what? Arrest me?” René asked angrily. He was finding it hard to believe that the man standing in front of him was the same man everyone believed had died a martyr for their cause all those years ago.

“No, I'm not here to hurt you, René.” Michael denied the accusation.

Meanwhile, by using Walter’s tracker and her night vision goggles, Nikita was able to follow Michael and stay out of sight. She approached from Michael’s right, close as she dared. The two men, concentrating intently on their conversation, didn’t see her. Unable to clearly make out their words, she nevertheless felt uneasy.

“Then please, tell me what is so important. Why *are* you here?”

“To ask you to stop.”

“To stop. It's ironic, isn't it? We always talked about them, the oppressors. And now, you are what I fight against - the police,” René returned bitterly. Shock wore off, to be quickly replaced by contempt for what he saw as his old friend’s corruption.

“Not exactly,” Michael hedged.

“I see little difference,” René returned contemptuously.

“A policeman has rules.”

“And you don’t?”

“No.”

From the tone of Michael’s voice, René knew pursuing this further would not be in his best interest.

“So, what now, my old friend?” René understood Michael didn’t plan on bringing him in.

“Get out. Find a new home. Stay low.” Michael counseled. It was the best he could do. Once Section found out that he’d let the target go, they’d send another team after René. There was no point in lying; housekeeping would know the truth when no body was recovered. They’d have to cancel him for disobeying orders, and he’d finally be free.

“My home is wherever people are oppressed.”

“They won’t look for you right away. I can protect you long enough for you to get away, but you have to do exactly as I say.”

“You mean sell out everything I believe in so I can save myself? Let the others be caught while I run? Please Michel! You know me better than that,” René threw out disgustedly.

Unbeknownst to Nikita, her own shadow wasn’t far behind her. Jurgen had used the signal from Nikita’s tracker to follow her and stayed back until she came to a stop. Once she did, Jurgen scoped out the location of all three members of this drama, and found himself a spot opposite Nikita, to Michael’s left. Judging from the way the conversation was going, it was a good thing he was situated to take a shot at René, Michael or both.

“Don't make me end it here.” But then again, perhaps this is best, a certain irony to die at the hands of the person that started me on my current path.

“What happens if you don’t bring me in?” René asked, the resigned tone in Michael’s voice finally getting past his anger and piquing his curiosity.

“Doesn't matter,” Michael declared, his tone ending any further discussion on the subject.

“They'll kill you,” René surmised. He took Michael’s ensuing silence as confirmation, and used it to his advantage. “Join us, Michel. Give your life some meaning again; or if death comes, give it some purpose.”

“It's not possible,” Michael returned, reconciled to his fate.

“I won’t stop fighting the oppressors,” René stated forcefully and without regret.

“Then you leave me no choice,” Michael responded quietly, seeing that René would not back down, would continue to plant bombs. There was nothing Michael could do for him, nothing he *would* do. René cannot not be allowed to continue and Section will see to it he is stopped. They are probably already awaiting his return home as a contingency.

“You either, my old friend,” René returned, bringing his weapon back up to point at Michael’s head.

Michael did not draw his gun.Death from René, or cancellation at Section. In the end it doesn’t matter. It’s over.

Whatever scant illumination existed in the black night formed dark shadows, and shed little light into the dense foliage surrounding the area. Four participants, with different goals, stood ready to play their parts in the ensuing confrontation - in what might have proved to be a major turning point for each.

René, once mentor and friend to Michael, wanted to escape alive. He preferred having his old friend join him, but will not allow Michael’s obstruction of his path to freedom.

Michael, disillusioned and resigned, was determined to let René escape unharmed, thereby failing Section’s test, and ending his life one way or another.

Nikita, realizing Michael's professional and personal value, had grave misgivings about his end goal. She followed him, hoping to avert any disaster.

Jurgen, while still in love with Nikita and aware of her attraction to Michael, looked out for both Michael and Nikita, for the good of Section.

The stage was set.

Michael and René faced each other, finished with their discussion.

Nikita (unaware of Jurgen’s presence) and Jurgen covertly watched the two, poised for action at any sign of trouble.

What happened next took place very quickly, causing each participant to act by instinct, without benefit of preparation or forethought.

Michael stood motionless, awaiting his fate. René hesitated before shooting his old friend.

Nikita, using René’s hesitation, pushed Michael out of the bullet’s path. René’s bullet found Nikita instead of Michael.

Jurgen’s bullet missed a moving René. Michael, in retribution for Nikita, killed René.

Silence.

Michael, afraid of what he might find, bent down to search for a pulse on the motionless Nikita, Jurgen right behind him.

Relieved at finding Nikita’s pulse, the two men immediately began to search her body for injuries.

Jurgen pushed Michael aside, unchallenged, and turned Nikita carefully. He spotted a bullet hole just below her ribs, and tore open her jacket. Thankfully, she was wearing her flak vest, into which the bullet had lodged, but not penetrated. No determination could be made on site as to possible damage caused by the impact.

Searching for some indication of consciousness, Michael studied Nikita’s face. His eye was caught by the dark stain on a rock under her head. Recognizing it as blood, he found its source under the back of Nikita’s hair..

Both men looked up at the same time, each indicating the injuries he had found, each concerned about Nikita’s condition. Jurgen gathered her into his arms and quickly moved toward Nikita’s van, followed by Michael, loathe to let her out of his sight. Housekeeping would sanitize the area and take care of the extra vehicles.

Once inside the van, Jurgen carefully placed Nikita on the nearest bench. Michael grabbed the first aid kit, gave it to Jurgen, walked to the front of the van, and pounded on the driver’s wall ordering him to go.

Jurgen had taken charge of Nikita, effectively blocking Michael’s participation. Anxious to know Nikita’s condition, but reluctant to ask, Michael let his eyes do the questioning. Blaming Michael for Nikita’s injuries, Jurgen’s answer was a venomous stare.

Accepting Jurgen’s obvious condemnation as his due, Michael moved as far as possible from the other two. But he didn’t need the censure in Jurgen’s eyes, he was doing a good job of censuring himself.

The need to make sure Nikita would be all right, was one of two reasons Michael returned to Section in the van. The other, was to accept his cancellation, as had been stipulated, for the failure of his test.

At van access, over half of Medlab waited for their injured leader’s arrival. Nikita was placed on a gurney, surrounded by Medlab personnel, who knew better than to prevent Michael and Jurgen from following.

As soon as the news of Nikita’s injuries spread, Section was in an uproar trying to separate facts from rumors. Security was called in immediately to help quell the ensuing panic, secure a private Medlab area for Nikita’s treatment, and block the secured area from any but authorized personnel.

Michael and Jurgen were forced to wait outside the secured area, where a distressed Walter joined them. Walter, not getting any answers, paced nervously. Jurgen, unable to stay long in one place, moved from seat to seat, occasionally shooting accusatory darts at Michael. Michael, impervious to Jurgen and the rest of his surroundings, stood immobile against one wall, section mask hiding his inner turmoil.

They waited.

Finally, the head physician came out into the waiting area. Anxious to hear Nikita’s prognosis, all three looked up at him.

“Nikita is blind,” The head physician announced dramatically before giving his prognosis. “However, we're fairly certain it's only temporary.”

“Fairly?” Jurgen asked.

“Most likely post-trauma,” he diagnosed, “and stress related.” He looked pointedly at the three men in the waiting room. “I’m confident once the swelling in the brain goes down, her vision will clear up. I’ll be more comfortable with the prognosis once I’m able to conduct a more thorough examination.”

“Why haven’t you done so already?” Jurgen asked.

“She wouldn't allow it,” came the frustrated response.

“She wouldn't…” Walter found his voice. "Why the hell not?"

The physician ignored Walter’s question, the answer obvious if you knew Nikita. He turned back to address Jurgen and Michael. With a professionally indignant air, he relayed his patient's demands. “Nikita ordered me *out* and the two of you *in.*” He pointed to Jurgen. “You first.”

Twenty minutes later a very weary Jurgen came out of Nikita's room, his emotions hidden behind a carefully blank mask, aware of Michael's eyes on him. Michael's own expression gave no hint of inner turmoil, but Jurgen was well aware that the pupil had far surpassed the teacher when it came to keeping feelings captive.

Needing time alone to process everything he had just heard and the resultant feelings, Jurgen blandly informed Michael that it was his turn to visit Nikita.

Michael merely nodded and turned to walk toward Nikita's room. Jurgen watched him leave, then sank down into one of the chairs lining the wall of the observation room.

Given what he now knew, he had no doubt that Michael and Nikita's meeting would be short. Jurgen knew full well that he was supposed to leave Medlab immediately and write his report of the mission.

Jurgen looked at the closed door to Nikita's room. Orders be damned. Before Nikita's instructions were carried out, he and Michael had *several* things to discuss. Until they did, he wasn't going anywhere.

Once he walked into the room, stride unusually slow and hesitant, Michael stood and looked at Nikita wishing things could be different. She was sitting up on the hospital bed in Medlab whites, having refused to lie down and give in to the pain or her temporary disability. A gauze bandage covered the right side of her temple, a stark reminder of the situation and his part in it.

“Michael?” Nikita had obviously heard the automatic doors slide open.

“Yes,” Even that one word sticking in his throat, Michael continued to drink in the sight of her knowing it was the final time.

Nikita leveled her open but sightless gaze towards the voice. Forestalling anything Michael might have to say she got right to the heart of the matter, “I’ve already filed my report.”

“I understand,” Michael returned quietly, waiting for his sentence. He’d not only failed his evaluation, but his actions had gotten the leader of Section One wounded. The one person who, under different circumstances, might have brought him back to the world of the living lay in Medlab because of him.

“I stepped into the line of fire, preventing you from shooting René,” Nikita continued in a rush, wishing once again she could see his reaction. She knew intuitively however, that this conversation could not wait until her sight returned.

“What…?” Michael asked in shocked disbelief as he marched over to Nikita’s bedside.

She knew he was right beside her, close enough to reach out and touch. Taking a deep breath, Nikita nodded slowly. “You passed your evaluation.”

“No…” Michael began almost in a whisper, his voice nearly cracking.

Pushing away a faint feeling of panic, Nikita cut him off, turning her face toward the sound of his voice. He had to understand and accept her decision. It wasn’t too late for them. She needed him professionally but even more importantly, she needed him personally. “Jurgen’s report will read the same.”

Silence greeted her statement but Nikita was not about to give up.

“Give me your hand,” Nikita stretched out one hand toward him while carefully removing the command key from around her neck with the other.

Automatically obeying her request, Michael’s mind swirled with the implications of both her words and actions. He watched as Nikita grasped his arm and dropped Section One’s command key into his outstretched hand.

“You have command,” Nikita declared firmly.

Tearing his gaze away from her damaged but still beautiful eyes Michael looked down at his palm. He knew she was offering so much more than just the command of Section One, but he couldn’t do what she was asking.

“Nikita…” Michael began, trying to put his feelings into words.

“You *have* command,” Nikita’s fingers tightened around his wrist, her voice an odd mixture of resolve and pleading. She had no intention of taking no for an answer.

“Why?” Michael asked softly, looking down at the key again.

“You know why,” Nikita replied just as softly, waiting for his reaction. It was the first time either one of them had voiced their feelings aloud.

“I do,” Michael acknowledged sadly, unable to resist the urge to reach up and caress her face with his free hand, longing for all that he would never know .

“And?” Nikita prodded, barely controlling the urge to lean into the gentle touch.

“I’m sorry,” Michael returned, reluctantly dropping his hand, guilt and regret showing plainly in his eyes. “You deserve better,” The three words conveying his feelings. Section deserved better. Even more importantly Nikita deserved better. After all, what did he have to offer anyone besides pain and death?

“So do you,” Nikita countered fiercely, relief at her feelings being returned only momentary. She understood the deeper meaning behind Michael’s words but refused to accept them.

Michael’s response was cut short as the head physician, weary of waiting, barged in. He informed the patient that unless she was willing to risk permanent blindness, he needed to examine her. Now.

Although acquiescing, Nikita sent Michael out with one last decree, “We’ll finish this discussion as soon as I get out of here.”

“Of course,” Michael answered without turning around, his words implying a promise he wasn’t at all sure he would keep.

Stepping out of the private Medlab room, Michael wasn’t surprised to find Jurgen waiting for him. Walter was nowhere to be found, undoubtedly a result of Jurgen’s prompting.

“Not here,” Michael stated, discontented with the lack of privacy. Nikita’s private guards were still standing watch.

“No, not here,” Jurgen agreed.

By silent, mutual agreement the two men made their way to one of the private, unmonitored training rooms. They had their usual blank faces on, revealing nothing of the tension between them.

Walter had already filled the appropriate people in on as much as they needed to know. Other than Walter, no one had even suspected a change of command was supposed to be the endgame of their leaders’ return from the field. As they watched them make their way through Section, no one questioned either man. Everyone simply assumed they were going to privately work out control of Section One.

Walter knew the truth behind the mission gone wrong. He also knew that Nikita couldn’t cancel Michael. With her father and his colleagues to answer to, there was only one way for this to happen.

Judging by Nikita’s injury and Jurgen’s barely suppressed fury, Walter guessed the truth would never make it into *any* official document.

Jurgen stepped aside to let Michael precede him into the training room. Expression carefully blank, Michael waited for his former trainer to begin the conversation.

Taking a deep breath to try to at least somewhat calm down, Jurgen began sarcastically, hands fisted at his side, “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

“Why bother?” Michael retorted mildly, knowing Jurgen wasn’t happy about his promotion.

“Oh, I think you deserve commendation,” Jurgen stated facetiously, crossing his arms over his chest tightly, lest he lose control. “You got what you wanted and paid back the brass for putting you on trial.”

“You don’t believe that,” Michael returned quietly.

“I believe that you got what you wanted,” Jurgen asserted. “As for getting Nikita injured, you might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”

Michael remained silent, letting the other man vent his anger.

“Your attitude is what nearly got someone killed. You just don’t give a damn about any one or any thing other than Section. Hell even your wife wasn’t as important!” Jurgen went on even as he noticed Michael’s eyes flashing in pain. The jab had hit its mark.

“He would have been caught,” Michael countered, his emotions too raw to dispute the more painful past Jurgen had brought up.

“So, you were going to take the coward’s way out? Let René kill you then hope that Section picked him up?” Jurgen, shaking his head, asked derisively. “Nikita made it so easy for you. All you had to do was cancel René. She knew you wouldn’t be able to bring him back to Section.”

Jurgen’s words confirmed the truth behind the evaluation. If Michael had any compassion, he would have completed the mission by canceling René himself, rather than bringing his former friend back to Section and the white room.

René’s intel hadn’t been necessary, they had all they needed from the undercover Interpol agent, and teams were already rounding up the other members of the group.

“I expected Section…” Michael began.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jurgen interrupted. “I’m going along with Nikita’s directive for her sake, not yours. It’s her ass on the line here, even more than yours.” He stepped closer to Michael, his expression grim. “But, the minute you step out of line, you’re finished.”

Vow made, Jurgen left the room, his anger not alleviated. He completed his report, as per Nikita’s instructions, and then left Section. He didn’t much care whether or not the new leader would have authorized his departure. He didn’t ask.

Michael left the room a few minutes after Jurgen and went straight to his new office, the Perch. Nikita would finalize the official transfer once she was released from Medlab. But he was certain that Walter had already informed the necessary personnel in Section of the change in command.

His assumption was confirmed when the permanent guards at the foot of the Perch merely nodded at him and stepped aside.

Darkening the window, Michael stared out over his domain. The Perch had been his goal for many years, but the victory seemed much too hollow. So many lives lost, so many more hurt in his quest. Looking down at the bustling activity, he asked himself, Was it worth it?

Although he’d been informed of the change in leadership, Birkoff was oblivious to the whole story behind it. He’d seen Michael ascend to the Perch almost half an hour ago, and then an agitated Jurgen leave Section a few minutes ago.

Birkoff sat at his console and contemplated how the new chain of command would affect him. A loud beep came from his computer interrupting his musings.

Once he read over the scrolling data, Birkoff punched the intercom to the Perch, “Mich…I mean…uh, sir?”

“Michael’s fine,” Came the answer, titles never a priority for Michael. “What is it?”

“The arms deal Sinclair’s been planning.”

“Yes?” Michael inquired. Sinclair was a small time arms dealer moving up in the business. His next deal would propel him to the big time. Section’s job was to make sure that deal never happened. Sinclair and his buyer were to be taken alive if possible, but they were acceptable collateral.

“He’s moved up the timetable,” Birkoff announced.

“When?” Michael asked. The meet was originally scheduled for three days from now.

“Six hours.”

“Send up the intel. I’ll write the profile.”

“Done. Who do you want me to call in?” Birkoff asked two minutes later, curious about Michael’s writing the profile even though now in charge. Guess he wants to have as much control as possibly over the first mission under his watch.

“You have the list.” Michael had sent it while awaiting the intel.

Birkoff looked at the names on his screen, more than a little confused. The roster Michael had given him consisted of abeyance and marginal operatives only. Considering the mission, this was not surprising. However, a team leader had yet to be selected.

“Yeah, but who’s leading the team?”

“I am,” Michael replied.

When Walter received the inventory for the Sinclair mission, he was also more than a little surprised. He might not have worried if he hadn’t been privy to some of the ‘behind the scenes’ intrigue over the last few hours.

Walter could understand Michael’s desire to both profile and lead the first mission under his command. But at the same time, he couldn’t help wondering if perhaps there was something more behind Michael’s decision than just a show of leadership.

In either case, a contingency was in order. Not to mention a visit to Medlab, Walter thought to himself as he saw Michael walking toward Munitions. He just hoped that the sedatives administered to Nikita earlier had begun to wear off. Walter shook his head. She’s not going to be happy about this.

After a brief glance in Walter’s direction, Michael picked up his gear in silence, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Walter took his cue from the younger man and pretended the same.

Walter waited until the team left Section and Michael’s new bodyguards returned from Van Access, and then headed for Comm. His gut was telling him something bad was going to go down.

Perhaps he was an old fool, too many years in Section feeding his paranoia. Maybe this mission *would* go down smoothly. “Yeah, right,” Walter mumbled to himself as he made his way to Comm. “Paranoia’s helped keep me alive for thirty years.”

He needed mission details, but he also wanted to keep his suspicions to himself and not raise any undue alarm - and he knew just the person to help him.

“Hey, amigo,” Walter greeted Birkoff. “What’s cooking?”

“Just the Sinclair mission,” Birkoff answered.

“Nothing else looks hot?”

“Nope.” Birkoff shook his head. “Good thing, too.”

“Yeah, with Michael out in the field and Nikita stuck in Medlab, that only leaves Jurgen to hold down the fort.”

“Not even,” Birkoff countered. “He’s gone. Stormed out right after he finished his report.” He glanced at Walter. “Man, I’d love to see what was in it.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to touch that one. That baby’s sealed for Nikita’s, or now I guess for Michael’s eyes only.”

“Good,” Walter stated, feeling his tension ease slightly. That was one worry alleviated. “When’s the mission goin’ live?”

“Two hours,” Birkoff replied. “Michael wants to take ‘em out as soon as the buyer arrives.”

“Two hours?” Walter repeated, turning away without another word, his thoughts preoccupied. Hope it’s enough time.

“Hey!” Birkoff called out, surprised at his friend’s abrupt departure. “Where you going in such a hurry?”

“Medlab,” Walter replied.

Puzzled, Birkoff watched as Walter departed in the direction of Medlab. He turned back to his monitor and stared at the mission profile once more, his mind running over the scenario. If Walter’s going to Medlab, it can only be to see Nikita. If Nikita is out of sedation, Walter will definitely tell her about Michael’s mission. If she hears about her new Section head leading a mission, she’s going to freak out.

Birkoff pulled off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. What a mess. He had no doubt that Nikita would do everything she could to stop Michael before the mission went live.

But blind and wounded, what could she possibly do?

Walter looked at his watch and glared once more at the closed doors of Nikita's Medlab room. He'd been pacing the corridor and he was rapidly running out of time. When he’d arrived in Medlab over half an hour ago, he’d noticed Section’s head physician, Dr. Ross at the nurses’ station. Walter had overheard Dr. Ross ordering the nurse on duty to page him as soon as Nikita signaled the nurses’ station that she was conscious.

Nikita’s private Medlab quarters had been quiet when he'd first arrived. Her two guards, posted outside the door to her room, had been the only other people in the immediate vicinity.

Finally, over an hour after Walter arrived there was some action. Walter was as close to Nikita’s room as the guards would allow when Dr. Ross had rushed past him. Two minutes later, Section's resident eye specialist had quickly followed, joining his colleague in Nikita's room.

Despite his impatience and increasing anxiety, Walter had been pleased to see that Nikita's private guards had thoroughly searched both men before they'd been allowed to enter. With her sight impaired, she was all too vulnerable.

With both physicians in attendance, Walter was now effectively shut out. With less than an hour left before the Sinclair mission went live, there was a very real chance that he wouldn't be able to speak to Nikita in time. ‘Screw that,’ Walter scowled. He sat in one of the chairs in the corridor and folded his arms. ‘Twenty minutes, then hell or high water, I’m going in.’

After fifteen minutes had passed, Nikita's primary physician finally walked out of her room. The man would have walked right past him, but Walter had waited long enough. He was at his side in an instant.

“Doc,” Walter grabbed the man’s sleeve.

The tall, dark-haired man looked at him calmly. “Yes?”

Walter jerked his head toward Nikita's room. “What’s going on in there?”

“Dr. Drake is examining Nikita’s eyes,” Dr. Ross informed him. He knew that his patient and Walter were close and didn’t see the harm of giving him the news.

“Any change?” Walter asked anxiously.

“Actually, yes,” Dr. Ross smiled. “We're using a new, fast-acting ocular injection, and she's responded very well, even better than we had hoped. Her vision is still blurry, but she *can* see. It's hard to predict how quickly her sight will return completely. She’ll start getting partial sight almost immediately. Full sight could return within the hour, or it could be several days.” He looked pleased. Medlab personnel were always pleased when their patients recovered, but in this case there was even more incentive. Not much hope of longevity if you screwed up the care of ‘the boss.’ “Dr. Drake is very optimistic about a complete recovery.”

“How soon can I see her?” Walter asked urgently, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Dr. Drake should be done shortly,” Dr. Ross answered. “But, I’m not sure Nikita’s up for company just yet.”

“It’s urgent,” Walter persisted. “Can you tell her I need to see her right away?” He glanced at the guards as he spoke, knowing that he'd never make it into the room without a formal invitation.

“Walter…” Dr. Ross began to protest.

“Doc,” Walter interrupted. “Now. Please.”

“I’ll tell her,” Dr. Ross relented, sensing the other man’s desperation.

Fifteen minutes later, after being thoroughly searched for concealed weapons, Walter was allowed into Nikita's room.

The patient was sitting up in bed, smiling at him. “Walter.”

“Hey Sugar,” Walter returned, relieved that she could apparently see well enough to identify him. “You can see me?” He asked for confirmation.

“You’re a little blurry around the edges,” Nikita grinned. “But yeah, I can see you.”

“That’s good to hear,” Walter attempted a smile.

Nikita peered at him carefully, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure anything *is* wrong.” Walter hedged, unsure of the best approach.

Nikita closed her eyes for a few seconds, as though she was trying to adjust to her unstable vision. When she opened them again, she stared at him intently. “Is it Section?” Nikita prodded.

Walter nodded, still trying to think of the best way to tell her of his concerns. “I need to speak with you about the Sinclair mission. The timetable moved up, it’s already gone out.”

“What's wrong?” Nikita seemed to pick up on his train of thought. “Where’s Michael?”

“He's leading the mission.” Walter replied, waiting for her reaction.

To his surprise, she merely nodded. “I thought as much.”

“You did?” Walter was confused.

“The first mission under his watch? I’d probably do the same,” Nikita replied then amended, “If I had his field experience, that is.”

Walter stared at her. “So, you’re not worried?”

“No.” She studied him briefly. “Why? Should I be?”

“Well, things did look kinda grim when you three came in…”

“It's okay, Walter.” Nikita interrupted, reaching out to pat his arm reassuringly. “Michael and I talked.” She smiled ruefully. “Not about everything, but it was definitely a start. He’s fine.”

“You’re sure?” Walter wasn't convinced. He'd seen Michael after that talk and the younger man hadn't seemed fine to him.

“Yeah Walter, I’m sure,” Nikita affirmed. “When does the mission go live?”

“In a few minutes.” Walter checked his watch.

“Well, then, I need your help.” Shifting her position slightly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“With what?” Walter watched her slip her feet into her boots and smiled faintly. She was already dressed in her own clothes. Apparently, she felt the same way about Medlab and hospital whites as most Cold Ops did.

Nikita looked up at him, “Like I said, things are a bit blurry and if I’m gonna have to lean on someone, I want it to be you, not a bodyguard.”

“Where do you wanna go?” Walter asked.

“The Perch.”

“Why?”

“I want to monitor the mission personally. And in private,” Nikita replied.

“All right.” Walter acquiesced, figuring he’d stay close himself, ready for even a *hint* of an anomaly. “It’s not like I could stop you any more than your doctors could.”

It was the strangest feeling, as though she was watching a badly focused television picture. One moment, things were so fuzzy that she could only make out vague shapes. Then she would blink, and everything would slam into focus so fast that it made her dizzy.

Nikita gripped Walter's arm a little tighter and let him lead her to the Perch. Despite his efforts to appear calm, she could feel the tension in his body, and she felt her own heart rate pick up speed in reaction. She trusted his judgment implicitly. If Walter thought that something was wrong, then something was wrong.

After negotiating the stairs, they reached Michael's new office. Finding it in darkness, Walter activated the internal lights (leaving it dark to outside view) which made Nikita's eyelids flutter involuntarily at the sudden intrusive glare. The sensation of looking through gauze faded and shapes became sharper. She let go of Walter's arm and took a few hesitant steps into the room, her vision growing clearer with every blink.

Nikita breathed a silent sigh of relief. Thank God. She had hated feeling so helpless, so dependent on everyone around her. Gesturing toward the wall screen, she glanced quickly at Walter. “Have Birkoff patch in the live feed...”

Walter nodded. While he headed for the intercom, Nikita turned back to the screen. As she turned, she caught sight of something on the desk-something that didn’t belong. She walked slowly toward the large desk, her heart beginning to pound unsteadily in her chest. As her gaze crystallized and focused on the incongruous item on the desk, she knew Walter had been right to be worried.

Lying on the desk was a two-worded note from Michael saying “I’m sorry” and next to it lay Section One's command key.

Birkoff monitored the mission from Comm as usual while Nikita and Walter monitored communications from the Perch. Nikita had given Birkoff explicit orders that no one, not even Michael, was to be aware of her and Walter’s monitoring.

Nikita and Walter tapped into communications just in time to hear Michael relay tactical changes to Birkoff. They were relieved to hear that it sounded like Michael intended to bring everyone home. Perhaps he’d changed his mind or they’d misunderstood his apology.

Sinclair’s base of operations was a warehouse in a remote, seldom used part of the docks. He paid the pier owner and the local cops good money to leave his place of business alone.

He also paid half a dozen mercenaries well to guard his base. Their job tonight was to cover the perimeter of the warehouse while Sinclair completed his deal.

The Section van arrived near the docks and stopped far enough away from the site to be undetected by Sinclair’s men. Michael ordered the two teams of six to remain behind while he surveyed the perimeter. Once he scoped out the scene and returned to the van, Michael made a few adjustments to the profile based on what he’d observed. The perimeter guards had no communication devices so they could be taken out concurrently before the fire-fight started. Just because he had his own agenda on this mission, it didn’t mean that any of the other operatives had to be sacrificed.

Michael’s new tactical changed the profile from an abeyance mission that’d trap team one in ground zero to one that would sustain minimal, if any, losses. He relayed the changes to Birkoff, who complied immediately. The new configuration would leave only Michael in the incineration zone, but with plenty of time to get out before the charges went off.

Several minutes later, using the buyer’s arrival as a distraction, team one fanned out. The six man team, in synchronized movements, dispatched the mercenaries guarding the perimeter and took their places with no one the wiser.

Under the guise of patrolling the area, the Section operatives began planting charges on the outside walls of the warehouse as well as in strategic areas around the perimeter.

Knowing that time was of the essence, as soon as the Section team hit their marks, Michael stealthily made his way into the warehouse, planting charges as he went. With Birkoff guiding him, he found the stand alone computer that contained a list of Sinclair’s network of contacts as well as potential buyers.

Birkoff was scanning the scrolling intel as it came in while Michael kept pace at his end. If the lists were comprehensive enough, there’d be no need to bring Sinclair in alive, thereby enabling an easier egress. If everyone was acceptable collateral, all Section had to do was set the charges and get out before the deal was completed.

Satisfied that the intel was sufficient for Section’s needs, Michael confirmed that the team had planted the charges while carefully making his way out of the warehouse.

On his way out of the warehouse, Michael’s comm. unit came to life. Team one’s leader reported in, “Looks like they’re about to wrap up the deal.”

“Team one begin egress, team two cover retreat.” Michael ordered as he ducked behind a cluster of stacked crates. They were a few yards from the warehouse, on the opposite side of the retreating teams. It was a vantage point that allowed him to watch the coming action, while remaining well out of the line of fire. Mission closure comes first. Michael reminded himself. Behind him was a clear path to safety.

Michael knew that as soon as team one broke their positions, Sinclair’s people would realize something was wrong. Team two’s cover fire served a dual purpose. The first was to cover team one’s egress. The second was to pin down Sinclair, his buyer and their people, thereby ensuring they got caught in the explosion.

As soon as the first shots rang out, Michael again spoke into his comm. unit, “Charges set for three minutes.”

Michael would remain where he was until the teams cleared the incineration zone, then meet up with the van at exit point Alpha.

At ninety seconds to detonation, team two’s leader reported that both teams cleared the incineration zone.

“Get to the van,” Michael ordered. “Now.”

Michael then remotely detonated the charges he’d planted on his way in and continued watching the scene. The location of the explosions effectively pinned the targets in the incineration zone, ensuring they didn’t get out before the rest of the charges went off.

Birkoff, tracking with infrared, immediately noticed that Michael wasn’t moving to the van after he’d detonated the charges. Since there were no other thermals around him and he was out of the line of fire, Birkoff couldn’t understand why Michael was still stationary.

“Michael, seventy five seconds,” Birkoff tried raising him via his comm. unit. “Why aren’t you moving?” He waited a beat. “Michael? Michael?” He yelled, staring at his panel, and realized that he’d somehow lost communication with Michael. Looking up at the darkened Perch, Birkoff hoped that Nikita could pull off a miracle.

Once the mission’s success was guaranteed by the initial explosions, Michael had shut off his comm. unit. He then remained behind the crates, waiting for the death that Nikita’s interference had so recently denied him.

He was tired of losing everything, tired of starting over. His parents, his friends, his wife and his son - all gone. He had nothing to offer except pain and death. The one person who was offering him another chance at life would be much better off without him in the long run anyway.

Sixty seconds and it would all finally be over.