---

They walked in together. Like young lions they came, confident and purposeful, matching stride for stride, not touching, but together nonetheless. There was danger about them, grace, and powerful unity. People who noticed, were caught by their beauty and consciously stepped aside to let them pass.

It was Michael and Nikita--he in malevolent black, she his opposite, in angelic white, both sporting sunglasses that shielded their eyes and all the secrets they kept hidden there.

Madeline noticed and she smiled. They were a team now--pulling together, twice as strong and deadly as either of them had been alone. Just as she had hoped they would become.

Operations was almost buoyant when he appeared for the briefing. He acknowledged Michael's presence with a nod of his head, then clicked on the main viewing screen.

"Our guest, General Nhan, has given us the location of a base inside Vietnam, near the Cambodian border. The last living American POWs were relocated there after the war. Originally, they were to be released, but they had been held for so many years, and were so badly treated, the Vietnamese government felt it was better to allow the West to believe they were dead, rather than endanger the on-going negotiations for Western aid. Our mission is to locate the prisoners and smuggle them out of Viet Nam. We have three weeks before Christmas, people, and I intend for those men to be home in time to share the holidays with their families."

Clicking off the screen, Operations continued, "Michael, I'm leading the tactical team. You and Nikita will go in under cover as Western journalists. You will meet your contact in Saigon and we will rendezvous at the coordinates shown in your PDAs. Walter, you're going as well."

Nikita looked over at Madeline and was somewhat surprised at the hawkish expression of anger on Madeline's face. Then she glanced over at Michael. He, too, seemed disquieted over Operation's announcement, but remained silent knowing there was nothing he could say about it.

Walter caught the subtle exchange of all the major parties. He folded his arms, pretended to study the table top and murmured under his breath, "Ohhhhhh shit."

"Did you have something to add, Walter?" Operations asked, casually. By his tone, Walter was sure Ops hadn't heard his comment.

"No, just . . . talking to myself," he gave Operations a fixed, toothy grin, before getting out of his chair.

"Fine. No mistakes on this mission. You won't like the consequences, if there are." Operations threatened, with a frown. "We load up at 0530 tomorrow morning. You're on close quarters standby. Dismissed."

It was late and Nikita yawned. "Are we done?" She asked Michael as he finished the final run-through of the mission parameters.

Michael nodded. Nikita noticed he looked tired as well.

"Good, because if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm---" she yawned again wider, "ah, I'm going to fall down."

Michael smiled faintly at her, and Nikita was suddenly not so tired after all. To see Michael smile was such a rarity, and she wondered if she could make him do it again.

"Walk me home?" She asked, with her lips pressed together.

"I heard that." Birkoff commented wryly, glancing at the two with a covert grin.

Michael put himself between Birkoff and Nikita and asked with a soft, menacing voice, "What did you hear?"

Birkoff caught the flash of warning in Michael's eyes, and stuttered, "N-nothing, honest."

"Michael, stop being such a bully." Nikita teased. She leaned over and kissed Birkoff on the cheek, who sat stock still and wide-eyed under Michael's gaze, somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

You trying to get me killed? " Birkoff hissed into Nikita's ear as she drew back. She smiled and squeezed his shoulder, "Night."

"Yeah, okay--good night." Birkoff replied, never taking his eyes off of Michael.

"So, what was that about?" Nikita asked, as she and Michael walked down the corridor to her quarters. Michael didn't answer and she was dismayed to see the "blank stare" was back in place. "Michael?" When he still didn't answer, she stepped in front of him to block his path.

"Oh, no you don't!" She said firmly. Grabbing him by his lapels Nikita pushed him, unresisting, against the nearest wall. "Talk to me!" she ordered.

Nikita stared into his grey-green eyes and saw messages written in them for which she had no decoding device. She watched as his eyes drop from hers and could almost feel them on her lips.

In a flash of sudden insight, Nikita realized Michael was jealous! Jealous even of Birkoff! The idea was comical but Nikita didn't dare laugh. Michael was jealous! It took a moment for the realization to sink in.

She thought about what he must have suffered through as Simone's husband, waiting in a tactical van, having to listen while his wife used her body to entice other men. Even though Walter said Michael understood it, Nikita realized it had to have been very, very hard. As hard as it had been for her, knowing Michael had seduced Lisa Fanning.

Nikita smoothed imaginary wrinkles off of Michael's sturdy shoulder's, then leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Birkoff is the brother I never had, and I love him. But I exist for you, Michael and only for you. You are the air I breathe, and if we weren't on Candid Camera, I'd show you just how much I need and love you." She moved away again to see his face so she could gauge his reaction.

Michael's expression changed in an instant, softening as she watched. She kissed her thumb, then stroked it across his lips, as if to wipe something away. But he understood the gesture as it was meant, a promise of a kiss at a later date--somewhere where it was safe.

"I thought you were going to walk me home?" Nikita smiled and playfully slugged his shoulder. It was their cue to continue down the hallway. If anyone had watched what had occurred, hopefully they hadn't seen anything worth noting.

"Paul!"

"Yes, Madeline?" Operations returned in irritation.

"Is THIS your new plan of action? When George calls, whom shall I say is running Section? You can't have been sanctioned to do this!"

Operations smiled, "Now, that's where you're wrong. I have George's complete blessing over this."

"Oh, I have no doubt! How much did you give away to get his "blessing"?"

"Actually, nothing. George owes me." Operations smile was sweet.

"You are operating on emotions and that's always dangerous and you know it!" Madeline folded her arms behind her back, and began to walk away from him.

Operations stood, went around his desk and blocked Madeline from leaving his office. "You, of all people, must know what this mission means to me," he said soberly. "I have to do this, Madeline. Of all the reasons I ever had for being in Section, the one that's driven me the most is the POW issue.

"Then your mind is made up on this?" She asked coldly.

"You know it is." He said firmly.

"Who's your backup?"

"This is a surgical strike. We'll only get one shot at it-there is no room for a backup team, you know that."

"Fine." She said with quiet anger and pushed past him.

"Madeline." There was a plea in Operation's voice. "Wish me luck?" She paused in her retreat, then turned and surrendered. Her dark eyes regarded him gravely, "You know I do."

Nikita sat in the booth opposite Michael and smiled at her surroundings. "You've eaten here before?"

"Every time they've sent me to Peking." He answered, waving over a waiter. The waiter bowed and smiled as Michael spoke to him in Chinese.

"Would you like me to order? Or do you have a preference?" Michael asked politely.

Nikita stared at the Chinese characters on her menu and shrugged, "You order-but not too exotic. I draw the line at eating pets."

"Pets?" Michael gave her a quizzical look.

"You know," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "Cats and dogs."

For only the second time since she'd known him, Michael laughed aloud. It took him several minutes to compose himself enough to order a meal.

For Nikita, the situation gave the feeling of deja vu. The last time they sat like this, in a booth in a fancy restaurant, Nikita had been given the task to get a PDA from another patron. Worried, she took a closer look at the people seated nearby. No one looked interesting from a Section point of view, however and so she relaxed.

Michael studied her face and smiled inwardly. Nikita's thoughts were so readable sometimes. He recognized the similarity of the situation as she had done, and paused a moment before reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a small box, decoratively wrapped. When he placed the box on the table in front of her, he wondered how she would react.

Her eyes widened and he saw a brief moment of fear and shock, before she shuttered her eyes and quipped: "Bomb? It's too small to be a gun."

Michael placed both elbows on the table, laced his fingers together and balanced his chin on the arch of his entwined fingers. He gazed at her with vivid green eyes--reminding her of an inquisitive cat-but didn't answer.

Nikita looked down at the tiny package and sighed, "Last time I at least got to eat first." She fingered the satiny ribbon, sadly.

"Open it, Kita." Michael said softly.

His use of his pet name for her, gave Nikita pause. Perhaps it wasn't something too terrible after all. She reexamined the box. It was a very small box--tiny in fact. About the size a ring would come in. The idea that Michael might be proposing marriage came and went back out again. That would signal the end of the universe as she knew it! Nikita sighed, however. It was a nice dream for the millisecond that it lasted.

With a huff, she plucked at the ribbon, shoved it aside and unwrapped the gilt paper. Inside she found a velvet covered box. (Perhaps she had been a little hasty about the proposal?)

With her thumb Nikita flipped open the box, her eyes wide with expectation. She smiled at the contents.

Nestled and standing at attention on his bed of white satin, lay her St. Michael necklace, whole once again. Other than a ring, this was the best gift Michael could have offered her.

"He's fixed!" She pulled the necklace from its box to examine it more closely.

"I asked Walter to repair him for you. He kept you safe for me. I thought the least I could do, was to return him to duty." Michael pulled the necklace from the box and placed it around Nikita's neck.

Nikita caught one of his hands as they finished hooking the chain and kissed its palm. "Thank you, Michael."

It was only a moment of normalcy, but both savored it. Tomorrow they would catch a plane to Viet Nam and continue the mission, but tonight they would have all to themselves.

As the two slowly rotated on the dance floor, Nikita sighed happily and rested her head on Michael's shoulder. Then she gave a short laugh of delight.

"What?" He asked, one hand stroking the smooth skin of her bared lower back as he rocked her gently in his arms.

"I feel just like Cinderella." Just as she said it, Nikita wanted to take it back. Cinderella's hopes had turned into pumpkins at midnight--it was too close an analogy to Nikita's real life. She didn't want to think past tonight and Michael's embrace. Just the thought of it was painful; Nikita dropped Michael's hand, looped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

As if he understood, he hugged her back and whispered in her ear, "We have all night. Let's go back to the hotel." There was a promise of more to come buried in his words and Nikita shivered in anticipation.

After quietly sweeping their rooms for listening devices, not uncommon in Chinese hotels that served Westerners, Michael showed Nikita the two concealed microphones near the telephones. Fortunately, no cameras were found, which was a relief to Nikita.

Michael turned off the lights and pressed Nikita against the wall with his hard body and a searing kiss.

By mutual consent, neither spoke. There was no real need. They embraced in the dark, in the silence of the room, and communicated through touch and taste. They made love silently, tenderly, wantonly, concealing their passion from eavesdroppers by rejecting the comfort of the bed--with its nearby phone--for the Oriental carpeting and pillows on the floor in the farthest corner from it-- and again in the bath, with the water running.

Forgotten in their silent heaven was tomorrow and yesterday; both banished with the rest of the universe for the night. For now--for tonight, there was only each other and bliss.

***********

Walter watched Operations closely and saw tension--or was it excitement? They had been over Cambodia for nearly an hour, and while jumping out of an airplane was old hat for the both of them, Walter was not looking forward to it: for one, the last jump he made, had landed him in a POW camp for six years, for another, hell--he wasn't as young an ass-hole as he used to be!

Nevertheless, he would jump. Walter looked out the open door of the cargo plane. Somewhere down in that entangled green hell were comrades-in-arms, perhaps, even men with whom he had served. He and Operations had few things in common, but they shared one obsession--accountability of the missing and captured men of the Viet Nam War. Even if they only found one man alive—it would be worth the risk.

* * *

Nikita clicked pictures from the open door of a reconditioned Army jeep. Michael sat in the front seat with their contact, a battle-scarred fifty-something, Montagnard farmer named Huang. He and Michael carried on in French for most of the morning. Nikita caught a word now and then, but languages had never been her forte. She contented herself with the beauty of the countryside and watching a rather animated Michael. He seemed almost relaxed, and she decided he was simply enjoying hearing his native tongue again. Occasionally she would catch his eye and they would exchange glances that spoke volumes. There was a closeness between them that had never been there before. Dare she believe it was trust?

Nikita smiled at him, and playfully clicked his picture. At that moment in her life, she felt grateful to be alive and to be with Michael. Somehow, even being in Section, didn't bother her anymore.

After a three hours, their driver pulled the jeep up sharply into a grove of palms and turned off the engine.

"We're here, Nikita." Michael said over his shoulder as he got out.

She looked up and realized within that moment Michael had shifted into machine mode. Instead of being upset by it, she realized that she, too, had shifted moods. She followed him as he followed Huang into the deep underbrush. They reached a small building nearly engulfed by the thick jungle foliage. Huang led them inside to where arms and clothing waited for them. What followed was a brief discussion between the man and Michael, then Huang left them alone.

Nikita changed out of her clothes into a green camouflaged uniform, while Michael inspected their equipment and communication gear. They worked silently, side by side, loading weapons and preparing themselves and their equipment. Personal thoughts had vanished as their training took over.

"Birkoff--comm check." Michael said into his headset and Nikita slipped her arms into her backpack. Michael gave her brief assistance by shifting the weight of her pack into a more comfortable position as he spoke.

Birkoff sat at his console, half asleep and feeling miserable with a head cold. "I hear you." He turned to look up at Madeline who was perched in Operations' control mezzanine. She nodded, and continued to pace, her arms folded tightly against her body.

"We are leaving for the rendezvous point. Comm check in one hour. Out."

"How far?" Nikita asked.

Michael shot an azimuth with his GPS, and pointed northwest, "Three miles to the rendezvous point. Let's go." He led the way, cutting through the jungle with a machete, while Nikita followed with her weapon drawn.

After about two hours of hacking their way through the vegetation, they stopped to rest.

"How much further?" Nikita slapped at the swarm of stinging insects that seemed to follow them everywhere.

"We are half way there." Michael handed her his canteen from which she took several long drinks.

"How long until dark?" Nikita suddenly realized how deep the shadows had become.

"Soon. I smell rain." Michael said looking up. No sooner than he had said the word, the sky opened up and the rain fell in sheets all around them.

After a half hour of walking in the soaking deluge, Nikita muttered, "Well, at least the bugs are gone. How much further? It's getting so dark that I can hard---"

There was a metallic ‘klatch' sound off to their right and Michael clapped his hand over Nikita's mouth and shoved her to the ground. They lay in the tall brush in the pouring rain while a Vietnamese soldier stood nearby. The distinctive noise had been him releasing the safety on his AK-47. Nikita remembered the sound from weapons training and Walter's tales of how the Green Berets preferred the Russian made weapon to their often unreliable M-16's. The only disadvantage as a weapon was the AK-47's characteristic noisy safety.

Michael slowly removed his hand from Nikita's mouth, as they lay quietly, waiting for the man to pass them by. They had orders not to engage the target until the entire team was assembled for fear the POWs would be moved or killed before they could be rescued.

Viet Nam, 1967

"Whiskey Mike! Do you read? Over!"

"Yeah, I goddamn f=g read you!" Walter muttered beneath his breath as he worked furiously with the det-cord. A moment passed before he grabbed at the hand-set of his PRC-77 radio to answer the call. "I'm going to blow it--move it or lose it!!"

The fire fight had become intense. Bullets shredded the surrounding foliage along the banks of the river. Walter threw himself to the ground trying to find shelter behind a fallen log, dragging his detonator with him.

There were shouts in English and in Vietnamese; cries for help; curses and screams.

Walter peered around the log to see the bridge he had to blow and was dismayed to see a woman and a young boy running across it. He watched helplessly as they fell on the bridge, pinned down by the vicious attack from both sides.

"Damn it!" Walter muttered underneath his breath, "Get off the bridge!" He watched, mentally pressing them to move. He had seconds to blow the bridge before the VC came across it. He could see them advancing and taking up positions. "Move!" He shouted it at them, but knew they couldn't hear for all the noise. He saw the woman get hit and the young boy desperately trying to drag her to safety.

"Shit!" Walter dropped the detonator, picked up his rifle and ran to the bridge. He reached the boy's side and helped him drag the woman across. It didn't take a genius to realize she was dead, she had a gaping hole in her head, but the boy was hysterical and wouldn't let go of her.

"Sorry--" Walter slapped the boy across his face to get his attention, then slung his slight body over his shoulder and ran for the near end of the bridge. "Let's go, kid."

They made it back to the detonator just as the VC made their run across the bridge; Walter welcomed them by blowing it up at the same moment. The explosion brought sudden quiet to the jungle as if everything had been stunned by it.

Spitting mud, Walter sat up. The little boy beneath him was nearly dry as Walter had covered him with his body during the explosion. The child lay there wide-eyed and shivering. Walter diagnosed shock but had nothing to cover him with.

"Sergeant!"

"Over here!" Walter called out.

Private Weldon dashed from behind a tree and dropped at Walter's feet. "Sarge! I can't find the lieutenant!"

"Take off your shirt." Walter ordered. Weldon looked at him questioningly, but started unbuttoning it.

"Do you know where the L. T. is?" Weldon asked again as he handed Walter his shirt.

Walter took the shirt and wrapped the boy in it. Unrolling the long sleeves, he used them to tie the shirt tightly around the child. "He was about twenty yards in that direction with Munson and Keith. Why?"

"Why? Sarge! This place is crawling with VC! I saw about twenty to thirty of them on this side of the river. We gotta get out of here!"

"Calm down before I shoot you!" Walter growled, as he picked up the child. "And grab that radio and my stuff."

The flustered, frightened private did as ordered and followed Walter away from the river towards where the lieutenant was last seen. They found him in minutes, dead, along with the others.

"Damn it. Now I gotta train another one." Walter mumbled grimly. "Nothing else to do but go back to camp. How much ammo you got left?"

"I don't know! Maybe half a clip!" Weldon nearly shouted.

"Look in that bag. I have four more clips--and for crissakes calm down. It's over for now."

His mouth dry with fear, Weldon pulled out his canteen and took a long gulp out of it. "Sorry, Sarge." he said a moment later. "This was my first real fire-fight."

"Congratulations." Walter said sarcastically. "Let's go."

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the Vietnamese soldier wandered away. As if on cue, the regular jungle noises picked up where the sound of pouring rain had left off.

Feeling it was safe to do so, Nikita started to get up, but was pressed back down by Michael's hand. "What?' She whispered, craning her neck around to try and see him. She could feel the tension in his body as he lay against her back.

"Something's not right." He said softly.

"Intuition?" Nikita asked with some surprise.

"No. Observation. Why are there guards on the perimeter?"

"To keep the prisoners from escaping, I imagine." She replied.

"Escape to where? From what we know of the treatment of prisoners, it's doubtful any of them are strong enough to try an escape, even if they had any where to go."

"So, okay. I give. Why the guards?"

Michael's voice sounded grim, "Perhaps, we were expected."

***********

"Count noses Walter," Operations ordered as he shrugged out of his parachute harness, "then do a radio check with Birkoff."

Operations pulled out a map and a GPA, made a few calculations and nodded. "Right on target. So far, so good!"

Walter returned with six men in tow. "We're missing Morrison. Everyone else is accounted for."

"We'll wait for five minutes--if he doesn't show, we'll try to pick him up on the way back." Operations said with no little irritation. "All right--I want that equipment set up. The middle of that open field--that's our landing zone. We need it illuminated. I want interlocking firing positions here and here to cover egress," he pointed as he spoke. "I want claymores on the perimeter. If we get those men here, I don't want casualties as we take off! Walter, you're in charge. Get the LZ secured!"

"How far from the rendezvous point are we?" Walter asked, unloading Claymores from a olive-drab canvas bag.

"Half a mile. It's as close as we dare. We can't afford detection, but we can't be too far away either. We have a three hour window of operation to get these men out of here. We're on radio silence, starting sequencing--now! Let's get to it!" Operations waved his team over and they set out into the jungle, leaving Walter and Strictland behind to set up the LZ.

"Damn it! I hate the rain!" Walter swore skyward as it began to pour. He set out the claymores in a semi-circle around the soggy landing zone, leaving one safe egress to the middle of the field.

Strictland was in the middle of the landing zone setting out the landing lights that would guide in the evac choppers when he first heard the noise: a deep, rumbling growl. "What the hell is that?" He said aloud, drawing his weapon.

"What?" Walter suddenly appeared out of the tree line that surrounded the field.

"Crap! Walter! You scared the holys---out of me!" Strictland re-holstered his 9 millimeter.

"Aren't you finished yet?" Walter griped.

"No! I'm a damn man short, if you'll remember! Where the hell did Morrison get to anyway?"

"Who knows. Could be hung up in a tree. Could be dead. All I know for sure is I saw his chute open. With luck, he'll turn up. I'm finished anyway. I'll help you." Walter readjusted his night-vision goggles and pitched in to help.

"What do we do?" Nikita whispered back.

"We get to the rendezvous point." Michael answered as softly.

"But if it's a trap. . . "

"We don't know that for a fact. I'll advise Operations--it will be his call to abort." Michael got to his feet and pulled Nikita to hers. "Come--this way."

They arrived at the rendezvous point within seconds of the other team led by Operations.

"Michael!" Operations jogged over leading his men. "So far, everything's right on schedule."

Nikita peered around Michael's shoulder and was surprised to see how pleased Operations looked. He was enjoying it! ‘He would!' She thought miserably, scratching bug bites through her soggy uniform. It was December, and jungle or no jungle, she was freezing!

"There may be a anomaly." Michael said softly. Nikita noted his stance. Michael was not looking forward to Operations reaction to the news.

"What do you mean, an anomaly?" Operations snapped.

Nikita shook her head and stepped back. ‘Nope, Operations wasn't in the mood to hear bad news!'

"I think we've been set up. They know we're coming." Michael answered.

"What makes you think that?" Operations growled.

"They've set out a perimeter guard around the compound."

"How many?"

"We saw one. . ."

"One? One man? One man isn't a perimeter, Michael. He could have been taking a piss for all you know!"

"He was armed and in uniform." Michael replied, standing his ground.

Operations paused a moment then continued, "All right. Forewarned is forearmed. Pass it down the line. Watch for trip wires and sentries."

"But if they know we're coming--" Nikita started to speak, but Michael turned suddenly and covered her mouth with his gloved hand briefly to quiet her.

"Let it go, Kita. Just keep your eyes open."

In the darkness no one saw Michael's thumb as it caressed her lips. Nikita nodded and obediently fell silent. Operations had charged off towards the camp anyway. She realized, as Michael did, no matter what, it was far too late to turn back now.

***********

The prison compound sat dark and silent in front of them. Despite Michael's assertion that there had been a perimeter guard, none were found. Instead of being pleased, Operations was suddenly more cautious.

"Michael--Nikita" Operations called them quietly to his side.

"Yes?" Michael asked.

"I want you two to recon the area. The rest of the team will await your findings from here."

"There's no need to risk both of us on recon. Nikita should stay here. If there's trouble, she will be of more use to you here than inside." Michael countered.

"No time for arguments, Michael. Take Nikita for backup!"

Nikita ended the debate by drawing her weapon and starting out in the direction of the compound. Having no choice, Michael grimly followed.

"Stay behind me. If we meet resistance, get back to the others and warn them." Michael ordered as he pushed past her.

The prison was a walled compound, made cheaply of grey, concrete blocks, and roofed in corrugated steel that was rusty brown from age and wear. There was an opening in the wall wide enough to allow vehicular traffic in and out, but the gate was open and unguarded.

Peering around the corner of the open gate, Michael noted there were four, rectangular, one-story buildings, laid out in a square, surrounding the center courtyard.

Nikita thought it looked deserted as she cautiously followed Michael inside the gate. Both were wearing night-vision goggles that painted everything an eerie, neon green. Michael used a infrared sensor to scan inside the inner courtyard of the prison. Nothing having body heat was detectable.

"Anything?" Came Operations voice in Nikita's ear. She pressed against her right ear, sending a pulse through her ear mike to signal "no".

With hand signals Michael indicated he was going inside the nearest building. Nikita nodded and followed him inside. They took turns taking point while the other covered. The interior of the building seemed to indicate it had been an administrative area. There were desks, chairs, and assorted, 1950's vintage, office furniture--but no personnel. Michael pulled off one glove and ran his hand across a scuffed wooden desktop. He found very little dust, indicating the building hadn't been abandoned long--if at all. He pulled his glove back on and waved Nikita back the way they had come.

The second building they searched looked as if it had been an infirmary and a kitchen. It was as empty as the first building, but left Michael with the feeling that it had been in use as recently as that day.

At the entrance of the third building, Nikita leaned over and whispered in Michael's ear. "I think we're too late. Everyone's gone. Would it be faster if I search the last building while you finish up with this one?"

"No. We stay together. Let's go." Michael pushed the outer door of the third building. It opened at a touch. Nikita felt a shiver go up her spine as they entered. It was as cold and dark as a tomb.

There was a center hallway, with doors at regular intervals on both sides of the hallway. Michael turned on an infrared flashlight that illuminated the area without giving off any visible light to give away their positions. He indicated he would take the first door on the left, and for Nikita to take the first door to their right.

Michael's door opened easily, although it looked to be a cell door, with a small observation hole cut at eye level. He cautiously stepped inside.

Nikita pushed against the door to her right. Like Michael's, it was unlocked. She used her infrared flashlight to illuminate the room. She saw a small metal table, and a closed and boarded window on the far wall. Then she saw a bed.

Michael made the same discoveries in the room he was searching and heard Nikita cry out a millisecond before he could give her warning. He ran to her assistance.

"Oh Michael!"

He caught her in his arms and held her for a moment.

Operations voice broke the silence in both their ears, "What's going on? What did you find?"

Michael took the precaution of closing the cell door before speaking. "Two dead." He said simply.

"We're coming in!" Operations returned.

"No. We haven't finished recon. Give us ten more minutes. This still might be a trap." Michael replied urgently.

"You have five!" Operations growled back.

"Come." Michael said, drawing Nikita out of the room. They quickly finished the room by room search of the third building finding the same results in each room--men, lying on their beds, dead, their throats all cut.

They left the building in time to see Operations and two other team members, Winters and Owens, enter the main gate. Michael and Nikita ran over to report their findings, while Winters and Owens fanned out to provide cover.

"We found twelve dead in that building. The other two buildings were deserted."

"And that one?" Operations pointed to the fourth.

"We haven't had a chance to search it yet," Nikita said softly.

Operations took off at a run towards the fourth building. Even with night-vision goggles, Nikita saw Ops was distressed. She started to follow, but Michael grabbed her left sleeve and stopped her.

"No. Get back out to the perimeter and wait." Michael said firmly.

"But. . ." She started to argue.

"Please. . . do it."

Nikita was startled at his words as well as his tone. Michael rarely said ‘please'. There was urgently in his voice, so she nodded and trotted off to the main gate.

Operations went grimly from room to room, with Michael silently following. Every man in every room had been systematically murdered in their beds.

From across the hallway, Winters swore and called out, "They haven't been dead long-- rigor hasn't set in yet." His words were punctuated by an explosion.

Michael picked himself off the floor a moment later and called out a warning. "Don't touch the bodies, they're booby-trapped!"

Operations grabbed Michael's arm and saw him wince. "You hurt?"

"Flesh wound. Winters is dead."

"This is all my fault," Operations said softly. "All my fault."

Owens suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Michael! I've found someone-alive!"

"Where?" Operations asked on the run. Owens didn't bother to answer, instead he led the other two men into the latrine at the end of the hallway.

They found a man weeping in the dark. He was a triple amputee, missing both legs below the knee, and one arm below the elbow. They looked to be old injuries.

Operations knelt down beside the man on the cold cement flooring of the malodorous latrine.

"What's your name?" He asked gently.

"You're American?" The man asked instead.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Lieutenant John Grant, United States Air Force," he chanted, as if he'd said it a million times before.

"What happened here?"

"Standing Orders," the man began to weep harder.

"Michael!" Nikita's voice broke over the comm net. "Get out! We've spotted movement on the perimeter!"

Operations swore, handed his weapon to Owens and picked up Lt Grant in his arms. "Abort! Everyone get back to the drop zone!

**********

While Nikita and the remaining team members covered them, Operations, carrying Lt Grant, Michael and Owens ran through the main gate of the prison and into the surrounding tree line.

"Nikita! Owens! Mandel! Hold this position for five!" Operations barked the order loudly. "Michael--you and the others come with me."

For the briefest of moments, Nikita saw Michael hesitate and knew it was because of her. "I'll be fine." She said for his ears only. "Go!"

Reluctantly, Michael turned and sprinted after Operations into the jungle. Nikita understood that if any of them were going to survive, they would all have to do what their training dictated. The mission came first--always. She was beginning to comprehend why.

Gunfire continued for several minutes before Owens commented, "I think they're trying to flank us. Start falling back--cover formation--go!"

One by one, they fought their way back to the LZ. Nikita realized, after a while, that their successful return had depended mainly on Walter's technology. Without their night-vision goggles, escape would have been hopeless. Fortunately, their pursuers were not as well equipped.

"Walter--I owe you a big, wet kiss!" Nikita said beneath her breath as the jungle opened into the LZ.

"And I'm holding you to it, sugar!" Came his sassy response in her ear.

She smiled, at his words and at the sight of their evac helicopter as it cleared the trees and headed into the LZ.

"You all right?" Michael was suddenly at her side.

"I'm fine. How are we doing?" She panted, looking around and trying to catch her breath.

"One dead, one missing." He replied mechanically.

Nikita shook her head sadly. "More than one dead, Michael. All those men! We were too late!"

"Go! Go help Walter with Lt Grant," Michael ordered, not looking at her. His attention was on the nearest avenue of approach to their position. Nikita nodded, envying how Michael could completely shut down his emotions, when all she wanted to do was have a good cry.

Nikita found Walter gently attending to the former POW lying on a stretcher, while Operations communicated with the incoming helicopter.

Just as the helicopter landed, three green flares lit up the night sky. Nikita heard Operations swear, as a wire-guided missile, fired from the tree line, impacted the copter and blew it to bits.

"Walter!" Operations shouted.

Walter instinctively handed Nikita the IV bag he had just hooked to his patient and ran.

"Wait--what. . .?" Nikita started to ask, but Walter was gone faster than a man twenty years his junior. She knelt over the man on the stretcher and tried to shield him as best she could from the fire fight that had suddenly erupted all around them.

Grant looked up at her with a face that was almost serene. "I knew it." He said softly.

Nikita frowned, barely able to make out his words. "What?"

"I'm dead."

"No you're not!" She said emphatically, bending lower.

The man touched her face with his one remaining hand. "Aren't you an angel?"

She cringed at a number of nearby explosions, "Ask me in a few minutes—I might say yes!"

It had been Walter's claymores going off. For a moment, the small arms fire ceased, but it proved to be a short lull; three Huey helicopters suddenly appeared overhead and began to strafe the field. The Vietnamese had made the most of American abandoned equipment.

"Okay! Damn it! Enough!" Operations growled. "Geronimo--Fox on Lima Zulu!"

Immediately, two Apache attack helicopters came out of hiding behind a treed ridge line. In a matter of seconds, the three Huey's were shredded by their mini-cannons and blown to bits by their Hellfire missiles.

As suddenly as it had started, the battle was over. Nikita watched as the two Apache's hovered protectively over them, as a second evac helicopter touched down. Relieved, she stood, her knees shaking, and looked around for Michael.

Nikita heard the danger before she saw it--a screaming growl. A tiger! Injured, and enraged, it charged Michael from behind. "Michael!" She cried out in warning.

Michael turned, calmly raised his .45 and fired, as Nikita had seen him do a hundred times--only this time his gun clicked on an empty chamber.

Nikita screamed, "Run!" but Michael stood his ground, knowing there was no where to go. Then suddenly the big cat seemed to hit an invisible wall, and fell dead at Michael's feet.

Nikita turned to see Operations standing behind her, with a raised and smoking AK-47.

"Let's go home." He said, grimly. "We're done here."

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

The evac helicopter flew across the Cambodian border and landed in a sheltered, secret airfield run by the CIA. Everyone from the Section transferred from the copters to awaiting transport plane, along with their freed captive.

Nikita helped Walter secure their weapons and equipment in the cargo area of the transport plane. One by one, the remaining team members dropped off their gear. Amazingly, only Winters and Morrison had been lost, and Michael had been slightly injured. Technically, the mission was a success. The mood aboard the plane was anything but jubilant, however.

"I'm so sorry, Walter." Nikita said gently, as she handed him the last weapon.

"About what?" He asked, as he shoved the last rifle into the gun rack and secured it.

"The men. We failed. We were too late to save them."

He sighed wearily, "I'm sorry too, Sugar. But we didn't fail completely. We saved one."

"But the others. . ."

"Sugar, I learned a long time ago, to take what I could get. I survived the war--I'll never know why, but I did. While I was in prison the one thing that kept me going was the hope that I wouldn't be forgotten. That someday, somehow, I would finally be free. I'm hoping that before they died, they were told we were coming."

"Why, Walter? Why would that matter?"

"It matters. It means they died knowing we never gave up trying to free them--even after thirty years. It means they weren't forgotten."

* * *

"Michael? We're not going back under our cover identities as journalists?"

Michael eased into the empty window seat next to her and shook his head. "No need to bother now. Our mission would have been to help the Montagnards smuggle the men out of the country, if our other plan failed."

"It didn't fail?" She added sarcastically. Despite what Walter had said, she felt the mission had been a total disaster. She saw Michael look over her shoulder, then back at her, with a message written there, a warning. She turned to see Operations as he passed down the center isle, his face grim. There was something else there too, she realized. A terrible sadness. For once, she felt sympathy for Operations, and regret for her words.

After Operations was out of earshot, Nikita turned to Michael. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. He did try, so hard. This must be so awful for him." She looked away just as her eyes filled with sudden tears. He had, after all, saved Michael's life.

"Kita."

Nikita felt Michael's fingers lightly stroke her cheek and turned towards him.

"Get some rest." He said, his eyes gentle and understanding. "It's a long flight back."

She smiled briefly, "I don't suppose we get to stop over in Peking?" It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it.

"Sleep," Michael said softly. His fingers left her cheek as he closed his eyes.

After a while, Nikita finally closed her eyes as well.

***********

Lt Graham opened his eyes on his homeland two days later. It wasn't as happy an ending as he had hoped for, but he took the news that his wife had remarried, with resignation. They would be complete strangers now, anyway. At least they had had no children together. He could start fresh without any encumberments or explanations.

He gave the man who had rescued him both the names of the men they had left behind in Nam, and his word that he would never divulge how he was freed. What was one more lie, in a war full of them?

It was a brave new world. He smiled to know an American had landed on the moon and was embarrassed at the scandals in the government. He was awed by the progress and the technology, and saddened that little else had changed. Every day a new war was reflected in a headline--in Bosnia, Afghanistan, Iraq--the lessons had not been learned.

But like Walter, he decided he would take what he could get. Thank God--to be free!

* * *

Operations sat at his desk. It was 3 a.m. He stared at the picture of himself that Simone had shown him years before and wondered what had happened to the man in the photograph and the promises he had made. Folding his arms on his desk he buried his head and wept.

* * *

"Help me! Somebody! Please!" Morrison begged at the door of his cell.

But no one came.

The End