---

Nikita was staring out the balcony window when she heard the knock on her door. It was Michael’s distinctive, measured rap.

Torn by surprise and joy, and a little fear, Nikita went to answer it. She checked the security screen to be sure her heart wasn’t imagining things, but it was Michael. Her fingers stroked his image on the screen as she opened the door.

“Come in.” Nikita held the door wide to let him in.

“No.”

‘No?’ Her heart cramped in her chest with disappointment. Thoughts of yesterday’s conversation with him in the hallway near egress, flooded back. She had both meant her words and not.

Her mind had meant them. She feared for who Michael would become if he wasn’t reinstated. She also feared for the teams. What she told him was true; he was a Class Five operative and when he was leading teams, they survived. Deep down, she knew Michael knew it too.

But her heart hadn’t meant a word of it. Her selfish heart wanted him-anyway she could have him. It would accept the melodrama of dying in his arms if it meant they could be together one more time.

‘No’

It was the wisest thing to do. To give him up. He had evidently made the decision for them.

Then he continued: “I just came by to tell you something. It’s not over. We will be together.”

Nikita watched in awe as he bent low and gently kissed her hand. His heart, it seemed, was just as unwise as her own. She smiled thankfully.

* *

“Nathan Bell-gunrunner.” Operations introduced the slide. “He’s been known to us for about five years. Until recently, his operation was too small to gain much attention. He started dealing in handguns, and rifles-but now he’s graduated into moving munitions and bombs for Abu Nidal.”

Continuing, Operations clicked the overhead, “With devastating results. . . as you can see.”

All the operatives noted the bombed out embassy on the screen.

“After the embassy bombing, Bell fled the United States, and is in hiding somewhere in the wilds of eastern Canada. Our job is to capture him and terminate his operation. Intel suggests he is a good candidate for green listing. We hope to use him to land bigger game.”

Operations turned off the screen and looked pointedly at Michael, then at Nikita, before continuing. “Your panels have been updated. Collect your equipment from Walter. Mode of operation at this point is surveillance.”

After the briefing, Nikita remained in Tac Ops to review her PDA. Michael appeared at her side just as she finished reading the profile. She looked up at him in despair. Her mission required her to be paired with another operative-to act as a newly wed couple out backpacking on their honeymoon. The other operative, Nils Swenson, was a recent transfer from Section Four, whom she had never met.

“They won’t even let us be together on the mission,” she commented quietly.

Michael nodded. Madeline had rewritten the profile, moving Michael to a command and control van outside the theater of operations.

Michael reached for Nikita’s hand and slipped something into it before leaving her alone. After he had gone, she opened her hand and found a candy heart. Written on it were two words: Trust Me.

* *

Operations looked down upon his kingdom and gave a slight smile before turning to speak to Madeline.

“Has Michael reacted to your change in profile?”

Madeline returned his smile faintly, “He’s protested it on the grounds that he’s a better candidate to accompany Nikita on this assignment. I agree in principle that he is. However, given the newness of their “separation”, I felt it was better to assign this to another operative. After all, at this stage, any operative will do.”

“What do you know about Swenson?”

“He’s been a successful valentine operative at Section Four for nearly two years. He’s basically on loan to us for the next six months.”

Operations grin grew wider. “A valentine op-does Michael know that?”

“He does.”

“More of your divide and conquer strategy?” Ops quipped, staring down at Nikita as she walked by.

It seemed to be a rhetorical question, so Madeline didn’t answer him.

“And Nikita-has she voiced her disapproval over the assignment?”

“No, and I don’t feel that she will. We had a discussion about Michael’s demotion. She was willing to back away if we would reinstate Michael. Now that we have, I don’t believe she will do anything to jeopardize his position. Michael, on the other hand. . . “ She left the sentence hanging.

“You don’t think he’s given up.”

“No. But as long as Nikita thinks their relationship will harm Michael, I believe she will keep him at arms length-at least for a while.” Madeline folded her arms across her chest and looked down at the activity below.

* * *

Michael stood outside of van egress along with four members of his support team. Nikita and Nils arrived soon after both dressed in civvies and sporting backpacks full of camping gear. Nils was a handsome blond, with very Germanic features, who towered over Nikita.

It was quickly apparent to all on the support team that Nils was infatuated with Nikita. Confused looks were cast Michael’s way, as if to ask how it was possible that Nils was still breathing. It was common knowledge in Section One that Nikita belonged in some capacity to Michael. As much as some would like to stake a claim to Nikita, no one had been so foolish to attempt to do so-until now.

Mission or not, every eye stared in wonder at Nils’ audacity, or his stupidity, to flirt with Nikita in front of the notorious Angel of Death.

Michael watched in silence, then turned his attention to his PDA in preparation to run his final checks.

“Swenson!”

All eyes turned to the speaker, a burly operative who stood with a companion, both of whom had their guns drawn.

Swenson turned at his name and went pale beneath his tan.

Nikita looked between the armed operatives, Nils, and Michael, who stood quietly to one side.

“What’s going on?” Nikita asked.

“Michael-“ the armed operative handed Michael a PDA. “There’s been a change in personnel. Swenson’s off line-Section Four has had him recalled.”

“Has Operations aborted the mission?” Michael asked as he watched Nils being led away in handcuffs.

“No. Your PDA has the new profile. Intel has upgraded the importance of the mission. You leave immediately. You’ll have to reconfigure en route.” The operative stepped away, pivoted on his heel and followed his assistant down the hall with Nils in tow.

Michael tapped in his code into the PDA and read the new mission parameters. Turning to Davenport, he spoke. “Mission will be delayed a hour. Meet me in TacOps. The rest of you, stand by.”

As he passed by her, a concerned Nikita snagged Michael’s sleeve. “Michael, what’s going on? Did you. . .”

“Be patient.” He said, and continued down the hallway.

‘Be patient? Be patient!’ Nikita’s thoughts nearly made her bite through her lower lip. ‘If Michael told her to be patient one more time, she was going to shoot him!’

She paced the hallway, oblivious to the others on the team. Most of them watched her, smiling knowingly. A few grumbled about favoritism, but not so loud as to let Nikita hear.

An hour passed slowly, then as promised, Michael and Davenport reappeared. This time, Michael’s black battle dress had been exchanged for jeans and a jean jacket over a black T-shirt. His mission gear had been replaced by a backpack and camping gear.

Nikita frowned at him as he passed her without speaking.

“Insert your panels and download the new profile. Davenport will take first team in my place.”

Michael gestured to the computer outlet in the wall across from egress. Obediently, the team lined up to take their turn downloading the new data.

Nikita was last in line, looking furious. Davenport watched her and was rather puzzled at her attitude. Then he glanced over at Michael, who was busy with last minute details of the new profile. Hearing the rumors about the two, he thought Nikita would been pleased to have Michael at her side rather than Nils. Where all the rumors just that? Rumors? He shook his head, then waited to lead his team into the van.

* * *

“I heard there was a change in the mission.” Operations made his way down the steps into Madeline’s office.

“Yes.” She sighed and pivoted in her chair to get up. “It seems Section Four sent Swenson out to us because he was under investigation for leaking information of the Sections to outsiders. Brandenberg wanted him physically out of Section Four until they could ferret out the details from an accomplice.”

“And they didn’t bother to tell us?” Operations growled angrily.

“Brandenberg said-and I quote-it was an internal Section Four problem and we had no real need to know since they planned this arrest from the start.”

“I’ll be sure and tell George about this. So much for his attempts to get the Sections to cooperate with each other! Who did you replace Swenson with, on the Canadian assignment?”

“Since the mission is our first priority. . . “ Madeline paused for a moment, “the best person for the job was. . .”

“Michael!” Operations snapped irritably. “Are you sure he didn’t plan this to happen in some way?”

“I don’t see how. Swenson was my choice for the profile, not Michael’s. If we didn’t know about Section Four’s subterfuge, why would he?”

Operations frowned, then sighed. “All right. Let the mission continue. We’ve wasted too much time on this as it is. Michael’s been warned and so has Nikita. Let’s hope they listened.”

* * *

Nikita sat unhappily in the van as they were driven to the underground airport access. She watched Michael, whose attention was glued to his computer, relay the profile changes to the transportation manager. Other than “be patient” he hadn’t spoken to her since the mission had gone on line.

She looked around and caught several of the other operatives watching her and smiling. Ordinarily, that in itself wouldn’t have bothered Nikita. The ones that were smiling were friends of hers. It was 'why’ they were smiling that bothered her now.

‘How could he?’ Nikita thought vehemently. ‘Trust him? Trust him to set up Nils in order for them to go on assignment together!’ she shook her head and turned so she couldn’t watch him anymore. She didn’t want to believe he had, but she no longer believed in coincidences in Section either. It was just too pat. Looking around, she knew the others thought so too.

She sat with her back to Michael for a long while until it became uncomfortable and she had to shift position. When she did, she looked over at him out of habit and caught him watching her. The air in the van nearly crackled with the intensity of his gaze.

Nikita stared out him for a moment, unable to defend against the attraction of those god-they’re-green eyes. However, when she noticed the others were just as interested in their soulful exchange, she dropped her gaze to the floor of the van.

The van slowed to a halt. The team began to disembark and headed towards the stairway to the airfield above them.

Nikita was second to leave the van, followed by Michael, then Davenport and the remaining members of his team. Just as Nikita started up the staircase, Michael called her back.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you read the profile update?”

Nikita frowned, “I thought I’d do that on the plane.”

Michael handed her his PDA, “We aren’t going with the team on the airlift-I’m flying us.”

Nikita gave the PDA a quick glance then handed it back. “Fine. Let’s go then.” She shifted her backpack into a more comfortable position and started up the stairs again. And again, Michael stopped her, this time by catching her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly.

“Wrong?” She stepped two steps back down and shook her arm loose from his grasp. “What’s wrong is you setting up Nils so you could lead the primary mission. I don’t want to be together, Michael. Not like this. Not when a man has to die for it!”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Nils.” Michael defended quietly.

“Oh no? It’s all one big coincidence, after your “trust me” and “be patient” routine? Madeline and Operations are right. We should break it off. It’s bad for business. Let’s go. I’m sure we’re on the clock.” Nikita turned and continued angrily up the steps.

Michael watched her sadly for several moments before his expression turned blank, sealing all his emotions inside.

* * *

Nikita slept most of the way to Canada. Sleeping was better than dealing with Michael. She left him alone in the cockpit of the small jet for the entire trip and only awoke once, when they landed in Iceland to refuel.

When they landed in Montreal, Michael taxied the plane into a private hangar and shut down the engines. Flying had given him time to ponder Nikita’s anger. From her point of view, based on her bitter experience in Section, seeing him as the villain of the piece was reasonable. Proving his innocence was going to be difficult and some part of him despaired that she would ever trust him. But he had to try.

He took off the headset, unbuckled his seatbelt and went to where Nikita was lying asleep across several folded seats. He watched her sleep for a long while; her hair was tousled against the tiny flight pillow.

“Nikita,” Michael’s fingertips lightly brushed her face and she instantly opened her eyes. “We’re here,” he said apologetically.

Nikita pulled back slightly, and nodded groggily.

“All right. I’m up. Let me clean up a little.” She scooted off the make-shift bed and went into the small restroom.

When she returned, Michael opened the door of the plane and extended the steps. Nikita grabbed up her backpack and tried to push past him. Michael held out his arm to stop her.

Nikita turned on him, furious and shoved his arm aside. Michael persisted, and shoved her back, this time against the bulkhead of the pilot’s compartment.

“Do we need to abort this mission?” He asked softly, his voice threaded by another emotion Nikita didn’t recognize.

“No.” Blue eyes bored angrily into jade.

“Fine.” Michael released her and let her leave the plane.

When Nikita got to the floor of the hangar, she noticed two ground crew members approaching to tend to the plane. When Michael stepped out of the plane, she smiled at him and slipped an arm through his. For a fraction of a moment, Michael had hope that she had relented, but then he understood the reason for her change of heart. To the world, she would play a part that said she loved him. Her eyes told him not to hope for more.

* * *

Nikita looked over a map of the area in which intel had suggested Bell might be hiding. It was heavily wooded and near public camping grounds.

Michael shifted into four-wheel drive on the jeep they were driving and headed down one of two major dirt roads leading deeper into the forest.

It was a beautiful late summer day, and while Nikita’s spirits were depressed, she couldn’t help but smile at the beauty around them. For a while, Section and all its ugliness seemed to disappear. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. All was pine scent and fresh air. It seemed the embodiment of freedom.

‘Freedom’ Nikita opened her eyes and frowned. She’d had freedom and had given it up-all for a man she couldn’t understand. For a man she loved, but didn’t want to love.

She stared at the scenery wondering if Michael wasn’t two people trapped in the same body. The Michael she loved seemed somehow caged within another Michael who was cruel, unpredictable, and cold. Sometimes, just to taunt her, the cold Michael would let loose his softer half but only for brief moments, before he would overshadow and absorb him inside again.

‘I had nothing to do with what happened to Nils,’ Michael had said. He had defended himself to her, something he rarely did. Usually Michael’s mode of operation was silence. She accused. He accepted her accusations without defense. Why was today any different?

‘Trust me’

Without warning her emotions boiled over into tears. Nikita tried to hide them by covering her face with her hands, but violent sobs defeated her attempt.

Without a word, Michael pulled the jeep off the side of the road into a stand of trees. Nikita unbuckled her seatbelt in a rush and staggered away from the jeep towards the trees. Michael followed.

“Ni-ki-ta. . .”

“No! No!” Nikita wept and pounded her fist against the gnarled trunk of a pine tree.

“Ni-ki-ta,” he said softer still.

“I’m so tired, Michael! I don’t k-know who to trust anymore-what to trust anymore. Call Operations and tell him I quit. Cancel me! I’d rather be dead than live like this anymore.”

“No.” Michael’s arms went around her and turned her towards him. “No,” he whispered against her hair. He held her tightly, letting her cry until she was exhausted.

When she quieted, he pulled back and held her face between his hands. “If you die, we die, Ni-ki-ta. I won’t live without you. You’re all I have left.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “You went on living after I left Section, Michael. You don’t need me to live.” She leaned wearily against the tree and scrubbed at her tear-stained face with the back of one hand.

“I went on living only because of Adam. Section took him from me, like they did Simone. I won’t let them take you too.” He stroked her hair tenderly.

Nikita shook her head. “It’s hopeless,” she whispered.

Michael closed his eyes, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out his automatic. He quickly chambered a round and put the gun into Nikita’s hand.

“Then do it. But kill me first.” He held the barrel against his chest with one hand and moved the other over hers to pull the trigger.

“No!” Nikita jerked his hand away, wrestled the pistol away from his chest and pointed it to the ground.

“Michael, what are we going to do?” she said hopelessly, pressing her face against his shoulder. “What can we do?”

“We can be together,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I will find a way.”

Michael’s mouth moved from her cheek to her mouth and kissed her with all the desperation they both felt.

* * *

“Oh, wow!” Birkoff gazed at the data on his screen in wide-eyed surprise. He ran the data again, before pulling the disk and bolting up to Operations private office.

“Sir!”

“Yes, Birkoff?” Operations said mildly. The grand signor of Section One was casually drinking coffee while he scanned the evening reports. The multiple screens on the wall behind him displayed an underwater scene of tropical fish, swimming in concert to Bach, playing softly in the background.

“Sir, I’ve just found something I think you should see.” He handed Operations the disk.

Operations set aside his coffee and took the disk as Birkoff continued, “It may impact the Canadian mission.”

Operations scanned the data quickly, frowned then nodded. “Birkoff, I want this verified by a few other sources.”

“I’ve gotten confirmation from two other sources. It seems to be valid intel sir.”

“All right. Good work. You may go.”

Birkoff bobbed his head and left.

Operations reread the data then turned and switched on his comm unit. “Madeline?”

“Yes?”

“Something’s come up. Can you come here?”

“I’m on my way.”

When she arrived, Operations waved her into a chair opposite his. “You need to look at this.” Operations gestured to the information on two nearby monitors.

“When did we get this?” Madeline asked as she continued reading.

“Birkoff just uncovered it.”

“Are you going to recall Michael?”

“Yes.”

* * *

“I think this is it,” Nikita said, as she lay on her belly on the damp forest floor. She observed a log house through night-vision binoculars. “There are two armed guards-make that three.”

“Four,” Michael soft voice whispered against her right ear. “Look east.”

“Got ‘em.” She said shifting her view. “What now, Michael?” She turned towards him in the dark.

“We go back to camp, report and get some rest.” He tucked several strands of her hair behind her ear, before gently kissing her cheek.

“What time do we have to be back here?”

“It should be quietest at 0300. I’ll slip in and set out the listening devices. I’ve already found the incoming landline and tapped into it. I’ll have Birkoff scan their data stream. It will be encrypted, but it will give him something to play with.”

Nikita gave Michael a faint smile, “I’m sure it will make his day.”

“Come.” Michael stood and pulled her to her feet. “It’s my turn to cook supper.”

They left as silently as they had arrived, hand in hand.

* * *

“Hmmm, smells good.” Nikita sat on a rock near the fire with her hands cupped around a camping cup full of hot spiced tea. She took a sip, then set the tea aside to briskly rub her arms.

“Cold?” Michael asked as he tended the fire under their meal.

“Yeah, a little. I didn’t realize it could get this cool in August.”

He stood and tugged off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. “This far north, it can even snow this time of year. It’s rare, but it happens.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him and savored the lingering warmth of his body from the jacket. She looked up at the patch of sky overhead that was sprinkled with stars. “It’s a pretty night.”

Michael looked up at the night sky and agreed. “It is.” He handed her a bowl full of food.

“Thanks.” Nikita took a bite and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Ohhhh! It’s wonderful! Who taught you to cook?”

"Mon pere.” Michael said. “He was an excellent cook. This is his recipe, in fact.”

“Is there anything you can’t do, Michael?” Nikita smiled and took another bite.

He fell silent for a long moment, then came and sat down near her.

“I can’t seem to earn your trust.” He said, his voice softly serious.

Nikita pressed her lips together then set aside her food.

“Michael. . . “

He leaned over, carefully touched his mouth to hers, then withdrew.

“I don’t blame you. Trust is a rare thing in the world. In Section, it’s nonexistent.” Michael said wearily.

“It’s just that . . . let’s be honest, Michael. I never know when to trust you. I never know what’s Section and what’s you.”

“How can you know, when I don’t even know myself anymore?” He said agreeing sadly.

Nikita frowned. He sounded so tired, so down. It was almost frightening to hear the doubt in his voice. For years she assumed he was totally fearless. She’d seen him hurt, even anguished, but never afraid.

“Michael, what’s wrong? Tell me.” She reached out and touched his cheek with the palm of one hand.

He covered her hand with his own and looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, and they know it. If you don’t trust me, then they will use that knowledge to destroy us both.”

“They can’t change the way I feel about you. I won’t let them.”

“What if they order me on another blood cover?”

Nikita looked horrified. “They haven’t, have they?”

“No, but that is one of a million profile scenarios they’re capable of. They want to separate us and they will lie to both of us about the other and put us in impossible situations that will cast doubt about our feelings for each other. They did it to Simone and me. They failed, but only because we trusted each other and only each other.”

“Your blood cover with Elena, was that Section’s way of dividing the two of you?”

“Yes and no. I’m sure they meant it as such, but they left the final decision to me.”

“You decided to do it? But why?”

“I hoped if I was successful, I would have a bargaining chip later on.”

“I still don’t understand.”

Michael sighed. “Operations thinks I covet his position. He’s wrong. It’s George’s job I want.”

“Oversight?” Nikita said surprised.

“Operations is the head of Section One, but he’s just as trapped in Section as the rest of us. The only chance at freedom, real freedom, is to be assigned to Oversight.”

“And when Operations let you take over Section-all of that, was to make points with George?”

“Yes.”

“Michael, why not just tell George about Adrian?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I tell George about Adrian then your involvement will come to light as well. George is just as ruthless as Operations. He’ll kill everyone involved. Operations knows this, and feels safe because of it. He knows that as long as you breathe, so does he.” Michael stroked her cheek tenderly.

“It’s a balancing act.” He said, continuing. “He can’t cancel you, because he knows I’ll kill him. He can’t cancel me, because he can’t be sure I haven’t a failsafe somewhere. And as long as I’m successful in my missions, he can’t permanently demote me without George getting suspicious. If I can get George’s attention often enough, it’s possible that he will see me as a candidate for his replacement when the time comes.”

“Instead of Operations.” Nikita added softly.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Michael . . . “ Nikita put her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” She whispered fearfully.

“I’ve spent the last nine years of my life playing it. First it was for Simone. Now it’s for you.”

* * *

Nikita put away the last of the cooking equipment while Michael covered the fire.

“You’d better go get some sleep,” she said, gesturing at their tent. “I’ll stand watch.”

“No,” he said, taking her by the hand. “We’re on our honeymoon, remember? If by some chance any of Bell’s men discover us, they wouldn’t expect to see anyone keeping watch.”

Nikita flashed him an embarrassed smile. “No, I guess not.” She let him guide her over to the tent.

The two tugged off boots and socks, leaving on their clothes against the chill. Nikita crawled into the double size sleeping bag and Michael followed after he turned off the butane lantern.

They lay together quietly in the darkness, both wide awake. Nikita could sense the tension in his body; it was as hard and taut as a bowstring.

“You really should get some sleep, Michael.” She reached out and stroked his cheek. He turned his face into her palm and kissed it. On some level, Nikita saw it as a plea.

Their current situation reminded Nikita of another mission not unlike this one. She smiled, then bit her lip as not to laugh before asking, “Do you need to relax tonight?”

Michael answered with his entire body and he pulled her beneath him and plundered her mouth with a hungry kiss.

‘I never knew I needed you so much.’ Michael’s words from the boat in Lyons came back to her as Michael slipped inside. While he was always a gentle, considerate lover, tonight there was desperation in him. He needed her and she held him close in answer to that need.

After he shuddered his release into her, he kissed her and whispered ‘merci’ against her mouth.

‘Merci-mercy’ Nikita wondered idly about the origin of the word.

Moments later, Michael fell into a contented sleep in her arms, his head resting trustingly on her breast. Nikita’s soul flooded with tenderness for him. He needed her-just as badly as she needed him.

They were together now, and together they would stay. If Simone could do it, Nikita told herself she could too.

'I love you, Michael,' she told him mentally. 'And I always will.'

Michael awoke before his watch alarm went off. As he got up, Nikita stirred.

“Are you sure you don’t need backup?” She asked, her voice cloudy with sleep.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”

Nikita lay there watching him dress in the dim light of a flashlight, feeling oddly like a wife sending her husband off to work. “Be careful,” she whispered as he left.

Going back to sleep didn’t seem doable, so Nikita got dressed and started a fire for breakfast.

Once Michael set out the listening devices, their primary mission would be over. Surveillance teams would gather data for a secondary mission-Bell’s actual capture. That meant she and Michael only had a few precious hours left to be together before returning to Section and business as usual.

Nikita turned on her ear mike. “Comm check, you there Birkoff?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Where’s Michael? I’ve been trying to contact him.”

“He’s out planting surveillance-he’s on radio silence.”

“Go stop him. Operations has recalled him. He wants him back immediately.”

“Why?”

“Under no circumstances is he to make contact with any of Bell’s personnel. Go get him, Nikita!”

The urgency in Birkoff’s voice was enough of an answer for the moment. Nikita acknowledged her orders, grabbed her weapon and night vision gear and went in search of Michael.

* * *

An exhausted and visibly worried Nikita followed Michael into Section from van access. Michael’s recall was both precipitous and unusual procedure. God only knew what it meant.

“Go turn in our gear and get some sleep.” Michael said quietly. “I have a meeting with Operations.”

They had discussed the ramifications of his recall in detail during their long flight back.

“They’re up to something!” Nikita had told him angrily.

Michael was almost resigned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Michael!”

“Nikita, we don’t know what this is about. It is most likely another mission.”

“I don’t trust them!”

Michael took her face in his hands. “No matter what happens we can’t panic. You have the codes to my failsafe-if anything should happen to me,” he stroked her mouth with the edge of his thumb and left the rest unsaid.

Nikita nodded knowing he was right. If they were to survive, both of them had to keep their heads.

“Just remember, no matter how I act, no matter what they assign me to do, no matter how things may seem, I love you. They will try to drive a wedge between us any way they can.” Michael warned.

“I won’t let them, Michael. I won’t.”

‘I won’t let them.’ Nikita watched Michael disappear around the corner on his way to meet Operations and wanted to cry for fear she might never see him again.

“Hi Sugar,” Walter said cheerfully. “I see you got back all right.”

Nikita nodded, but was distracted by watching Michael in Operations’ outer office.

“Walter, do you know why we were recalled?”

“Not specifically, but I gather from a few things Birkoff has said, the Canadian mission had to be revamped due to new intel.”

Nikita sank onto a stool in Walter’s office in profound relief.

“Thank God,” she leaned her head down on his workbench and buried her face in her arms.

“What’s up sugar? You look like you’re gonna faint on me.” He put a concerned hand on her shoulder.

“It’s nothing-really. Just tired.”

“Tired my ass, you’re worried about something, what is it?”

She shook her head and looked at Walter with a speaking expression.

“Okay,” he said, her message having been received. For anyone that might be listening, Walter continued, “Yeah, well, maybe you should get some sleep.” Then he squeezed her shoulder and whispered in passing, “I’ll tell you if I hear anything.”

* * *

“You sent for me?” Michael asked, upon entering Operations’ office.

“Yes.” Operations handed Michael a PDA.

Michael studied the data and commented. “We are after bigger fish.”

“You have a background in chemical engineering,” Operations noted, “and we need someone on the inside.”

“Do we have plausible access?”

“We’ve learned that Mr. Bauer has connections with Bell. He’ll make the introductions. You’re going to be his “new talent”. The bait will be the chemical weapon we took from Bauer last year.”

“Our target is larger than Bell-Abu Nidal?”

“That’s what the new intel indicates. At the very least, we hope to capture one of Nidal’s lieutenants.”

Michael nodded, and scanned the PDA a little more.

“This will be a deep cover assignment, Michael.” Operations continued, “You’re going in alone. This is the first time in years that we have been this close the Nidal’s operation. We have to be careful not to let him slip through our fingers again.”

“The chances of actually getting Nidal with this operation are small. He rarely comes out of hiding." Michael noted softly.

“True, but there is more to this assignment than Nidal himself. We’ll have a chance to attack his operation from the inside. Take out his scientists and technicians. Without them, his operation in chemical warfare will be set back months-perhaps years.”

“Have you told him?”

Michael turned around to see George standing in the doorway.

“I just did,” Operations answered. “Come in George.”

* * *

Michael pushed open the door of his office to find Nikita, asleep, her head cradled in her arms atop his desk. He secured the room, then watched her for several moments before deciding to wake her.

“Ni-ki-ta.”

She jerked awake as if startled. “Michael!”

He knelt at her side and smoothed back her hair, “Shhh. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Well?” she asked anxiously.

“It’s a change in mission,” he replied.

“When do we leave?”

“We don’t. . . “ he paused, then sighed at the puzzled look on her face. “It’s a deep cover assignment. I’m to go in alone.”

“When? For how long?”

“In four days. For as long as it takes.”

“What’s the mission?”

“I’m to pose as a chemist, infiltrate the chemical weapons lab that Abu Nidal is financing, and take out as many of his scientists and technicians as I can-using Bauer’s poison gas. If we’re lucky, perhaps even Nidal himself.”

“Where’s the lab?”

“Somewhere in northern Iraq, we think. Bauer will set me up with Bell, who can get me into the lab. I’m to get them to spend time and money on recreating the gas, then as soon as they are ready for production, release the gas inside the plant.”

“Michael-what’s your exit strategy?”

“It’s being worked.” He said simply. “You need to go home and get some sleep.” He stood and tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the door.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She asked.

“Yes. There is one thing. . .” He said, pressing her against the closed door.

For the second time, Michael kissed her inside of Section. It started as a velvety brush of lips against lips and ended as a fevered ravishment of her mouth. Michael ran his hands down her back and pressed her against him.

Nikita hugged him close. “You expect me to sleep after that?” She teased wearily.

He gave her a quick kiss against her neck and released her. “Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You going home, or staying in Section tonight?” Nikita asked as she opened the door.

“To my loft-I have a few things to do there before I leave.”

“Do you think it would ruin their day, if we had coffee together?”

Michael smiled faintly, “I hope it does. I’ll pick you up for breakfast.”

Nikita awoke to a kiss so thorough that she raised up to follow Michael’s lips as he moved away.

“Morning,” he said, handing her a small glass of orange juice.

“Do they know you’re here?” She asked taking a quick sip.

He nodded, seeming unconcerned.

“I’d better get dressed. No need to antagonize them too much.” Nikita downed the remainder of the juice, set the empty glass on her nightstand and shoved out from beneath the sheets.

“It doesn’t matter. No need to rush. Take three days, if you wish.”

“What?” Nikita stopped in mid-stride to the bathroom. “Michael, what is going on?”

“We have been granted three days, together.”

“Granted? But I thought. . . . but Madeline said. . .”

He stroked her face with his fingertips, staring at her as if memorizing her face.

“I induced her to change her mind.”

“How?” She asked emphatically.

He smiled faintly, and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Let’s say, I called in a favor.”

Nikita frowned even as his mouth moved to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, “Why does that scare me to death?”

“Shhh, go take a shower-breakfast’s getting cold.”

* * *

Three days later, Nikita sat in stunned silence as Birkoff sat in her living room and gave her the hard facts of Michael’s assignment. There was no exit strategy. Operations had sent him on what was essentially a suicide mission. Abu Nidal was the intended target, and a prize thought well worth Michael’s life.

“N-Nikita? You okay?” She felt something patting her cheek and opened her eyes.

A worried Birkoff knelt over her as she lay on the floor.

For the first time in her adult life, Nikita had fainted.

“Fine, Seymour,” she said dully. “I’ll be fine.” She allowed him to pull her to a sitting position. “Just a little tired I guess.”

“Sure.” He returned lamely, pushing the nose-bridge of his glasses upwards. “W-want some water, or something?”

“Why?”

“Because maybe you’re dehydrated or---“

“No, why Michael? Why him? Was he in abeyance?”

“No. He volunteered, Nikita.” Birkoff looked at her sadly.

Nikita stumbled over to the couch, with Birkoff’s awkward guidance. “He knew and he didn’t tell me!” Nikita vacillated between anger and grief. “There’s got to be a way to get him out! He’s too valuable to lose!”

Birkoff remained silent. Valuable-yes, but not when getting Abu Nidal was the end game.

“Did they send you to tell me this?” She demanded angrily, wiping tears away with the back of her hand.

There was no doubt as to the identity of 'they’. Birkoff shook his head. “I came because Michael asked me to. He wanted me to give you these.” He held out a small box containing three computer discs.

“What are they?” Nikita asked, beginning to cry anew.

“I don’t know. He just said to give them to you.”

She took and enfolded the box against her chest, curving her body around it.

“Can you get a message to Michael?” She asked a moment later.

Birkoff shook his head. “No. He has no com gear. Too dangerous. We’ll only know that he’s succeeded through satellite photos of the site and through our contacts in Baghdad.”

Nikita nodded as another wave of grief went through her.

Birkoff squatted in front of her and cupped her face between his hands. “You going to be all right?”

Touched by Birkoff’s obvious concern, Nikita patted his shoulder and made an attempt to get a hold of her emotions.

“I’ll be fine.” She said at length.

She got to her feet and Birkoff followed.

“I uh, have to go . . . “

“I know. It’s okay.” A faint smile flickered on her face, as she set aside the box of discs. “Thanks for bringing me the news here instead of at Section.”

“If you need anything. . . “

Nikita put her arms around him and hugged him. “I know. Thanks.”

Birkoff hugged her back and added, “Walter said he was going to try and come by later.”

Nikita nodded, then opened the door for him to leave. “Thanks, Seymour.”

“Sure. Later?”

“Yeah,” Nikita sniffed and swiped at another tear.

Birkoff nodded sadly and went down the hall.

Nikita closed her door and leaned against it, resolving not to cry, but her resolution lasted only until she picked up the box of discs.

She didn’t know what hurt more, knowing Michael was doomed, or knowing that he knew he doomed and didn’t tell her.

Nikita paced the floor of her apartment for two hours, sitting for bouts of hysterical crying every few minutes until she was physically exhausted. At the end, she sat down at her computer and slipped in the first disc and hit play.

Michael’s face, as he must have looked when he first entered Section One, suddenly appeared on the screen. The image began to speak. . . .

* * *

“Mr. Bell!” Perry Bauer greeted Bell with an amused grin.

“Mr. Bauer!” Bell returned the grin, and the two men shook hands briefly.

“So, what do you have for me?” Bell asked, seating himself on the edge of his hotel sofa.

“Not just ‘what’, but who.” Bauer said, lighting a small cigar and blowing a billow of smoke into the air.

“So, who?” Bell asked, a little suspiciously.

“I’ve heard you’re in need of a talented chemist for your weapons lab. . .”

“I am. You have someone in mind?”

“I do. His name is Michel Clery.”

“French?”

“Born and raised in Algeria, actually.” Bauer, took a nearby seat and casually crossed his legs. “He comes complete with a new nerve gas he’s invented. Interested?”

“Depends on the gas. You’ve seen it at work?”

“I have.”

“And Clery?”

“He needs a patron and a laboratory. I told him you might be interested in investing.”

Bell got up, lifted the edge of the curtain and looked out the window of the hotel.

Bauer sneered at him while his back was turned, thinking Bell was too nervous to ever amount to anything in the world of terrorism.

“Can you arrange an introduction-complete with a demonstration of the gas?”

Bauer got to his feet and massaged his earlobe with one hand and put out his smoke with the other. “It’s my whole purpose in life. When?”

“Tomorrow. What kind of demonstration?”

Bauer laughed. “Watch the international news at noon. There should be an interesting story involving a bank robbery in Bonn.”

“A robbery?

“Hey, why waste perfectly good poison gas?”

* * *

“It’s the end of my first month here in Section,” Michael began, with his hands clasped in his lap.

Nikita noted that he was unshaven, dressed in a ratty, white T-shirt, and looked barely in his twenties.

He stopped speaking, and looked away for several moments as if to gather his thoughts.

“Madeline suggested I keep a journal. . . .she didn’t explain why or what should be kept in it.” He paused again, and leaned his folded arms against the desk. A moment later, he lowered his face against his arms and wept.

Nikita reached out to touch the image, but abruptly, the screen went dark. When Michael reappeared, it seemed some time had passed. His face was thinner and bruised.

“I beat Jurgen at playing Go this morning. He wasn’t pleased, but I have learned that pleasure is no longer an option. If I win, they say I will stay alive. They must think that is important to me. Mon Dieu! Why should it be?”

Again the screen went dark, then another scene opened to the sound of a cello. Michael played with an intensity that Nikita envied. He seemed lost in the melody, drawing the bow back and forth like waves rolling gently ashore. He still looked like a boy, but there was hardness about him that hadn’t been there only ‘moments’ before. He spoke to the computer, this time in French, making comments and stopping to tune the instrument.

For several moments, Nikita wondered if Michael was speaking or reciting poetry. His French was soft and seductive and caressed the ear as pleasantly as did the strains of the cello. She closed her eyes to listen, her heart breaking over the sound of his voice. Everything about him was so beautiful, so painfully beautiful. . .

There was a knock at the door. Nikita clicked off the screen and went to answer it.

“Hey, Nikita,” Walter said in a sober reflection of his normal greeting.

“Hey, Walter.” She flashed him a weak smile before falling into his arms and falling apart all over again.

Walter held her with one arm and shoved the door closed with the other.

“Hey, let’s go sit down-you’re a little too big for me to carry,” Walter quipped, as he guided her over to her couch. It got the reaction he wanted. Nikita gave him a watery giggle and sat down.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffing loudly. “I’m a mess.”

Walter didn’t argue with her statement. Instead he reached inside his jean jacket pocket and pulled out a red bandana. “Here. It’s clean.”

Nikita took it and wiped her tears.

“Your nose too-that’s what it’s for,” Walter insisted with a gesture.

She blew, and giggled at the same time. When she finished, she apologized again.

“I’m sorry. All of a sudden, everything you say is funny. I think I’ve lost my mind.”

“No you haven’t, you’re having what the lab coats would call “a fit of hysteria”. Haven’t you ever wondered where the term “laughing hysterically” came from?”

She nodded.

“There you go. This is where it comes from. Feeling any better?”

She nodded again, leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

“Got any aspirin?” Walter asked.

“Yes, in the bathroom.”

“I’ll go get you some for your headache.”

She shifted her gaze to him. “How do you know I have a headache?”

Birkoff told me you were crying when he left you and that was hours ago. I don’t know about you, but when I cry that long, I get a headache.” He trotted up the stairs to her bedroom and disappeared inside.

He returned with the bottle, stopping in the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

“Here. Take two.” He shook out that number in the palm of her hand. Nikita popped them in her mouth and downed them with the water.

“Now,” Walter said, recapping the medicine bottle. “Have you had anything to eat?” He set the bottle down and slipped off his jacket.

Nikita weakly shook her head.

“You want bacon and eggs? Or Chinese?”

“I don’t have any bacon.” She replied softly.

“Fine, then we’ll call out for Chinese.” Walter pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “What do you want?”

* * *

“Want some more tea?” Walter asked.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Nikita said sadly.

“You haven’t hardly eaten a thing. I want you to know Section had to kill three terrorists this morning to pay for this meal. Better take a few more bites.”

“Oh, Walter. I don’t know if I can take this anymore.” Nikita got to her feet and paced lethargically across the room to the balcony doors.

“You have to, sugar. If you don’t, you’ll have wasted Michael’s life.”

“His life?” She turned with a frown.

“And mine, and probably Birkoff’s as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sit.” He ordered gently, patting the couch next to him.

“You think your life doesn’t affect anyone else’s? Michael’s seems to affect yours. Friendship and love are rare things, Nikita. More precious than gold. In Section, they’re rarer than virgins-I should know, I’ve been looking for one for years!”

She gave him a weary smile and leaned her head back against the couch to listen.

“You think Michael’s not coming back. Well, I’m here to tell you not to be so sure. The man loves you Nikita-it’s no big secret! If you were mine, I could guarantee, I’d be back!”

Nikita took his hand and held it to her cheek briefly but didn’t speak.

“I’m not leaving here until you promise not to do anything crazy.” He said soberly.

Nikita nodded.

“I mean it. Think of your reputation if it gets out I was at your apartment all night, if nothing else.” He coaxed her with a smile. “Though I admit, it would make me big man on campus if I did, but if Michael found out, I’d be the big, dead man on campus.”

“I love you, Walter.”

He gathered her into his arms and patted her back. “I love you too, sugar. So do a lot of people. Michael especially. Don’t give up on him just yet. I’ve seen him pull rabbits outa hats many times, with less reason than he has now. He’ll come back, sugar. He will.”

* * *

“Michael?”

“I’m here, Bauer.” Michael said, stepping out of the shadows.

“Okay, you’re in. After tomorrow’s demonstration, you’ll meet with Bell. Here’s the time and location.”

Michael took the note from Bauer’s hand and read it.

Bauer leaned against the balcony railing and tugged on his ear. “You didn’t bring ‘Sage’?”

The look that Michael gave Bauer was purely lethal and Bauer recoiled with a comical, “Oooooh! So that’s how the land lies! Makes sense now. You two were very convincing.”

“Are we done?” Michael asked in a clipped voice.

“Sounds like it to me,” Bauer replied with a chuckle, lighting up a cigar.

* * *

“No!” Nikita bolted upright on the couch from a nightmare. In the moments after she caught her breath, she faintly remembered Walter covering her before he left. She had been so exhausted the night before, he had left her on the couch with a pillow and blanket snatched from her bed.

The dream almost instantly faded, though she was sure it was about Michael. She combed her disheveled hair away from her face with her fingers and got to her feet with a groan. Michael’s discs remained on the table next to the computer. She got a glass of water for breakfast and sat down to explore them some more.

There were two type of entries-video and typed. Some entries were mundane, but most gave her greater insight into Michael’s mental state when he first joined Section.

April 10, 1986 (written) They want me to implicate my friends in L’heure Sanguine. Why? I built the bomb. They only planted it. I was responsible. The fault is mine. Will naming them save any more lives? Haven’t enough lives been ruined?

They won’t tell me what happened to Monique. She has no one! God forgive me-she can have nothing left except hatred of me.

Sep 5, 1986 (video) I’ve been in Section a year as of today. Jurgen says I am continuing to progress. He seems to believe I have an aptitude for languages, martial arts and weapons. I can’t help but be glad that I have no one left to mourn what I have become.

The picture went dark in an instant, but not before Nikita noticed that Michael was now wearing black.

October 9, 1986 (written) Does God keep score of those we hurt versus those we save? Will he count it for, or against my soul that I killed today to save others? And why was killing one man, face to face, so much harder than dozens with a bomb? Is one life more or less important than many? Is anything important anymore?

Dec 11, 1986 (written) I have an early evaluation tomorrow with the head of Section One. Whether that is good or bad, I have not been told, but I suppose whatever happens will be moot. Life or death-it hardly seems to be much of a choice.

Nikita frowned, remembering she felt much the same way when she was first placed into Section.

Dec 25, 1986 (written) Christmas Day. We killed fifteen today in Tel Aviv. Peace On Earth? This is my sister’s favorite time of the year. I have had vague promises made that she will be cared for, but I cannot trust anyone. I pray God exists and watches over her.

Jan 1, 1987 (written) A new year. That used to mean something. Here one day is the same as the next. No parties. No family. Just the job. Some days I do not even remember when I was born, much less if it is Monday or a holiday.

(No date) (written) I haven’t kept up with this journal as was intended. If nothing else, I suppose it gives me someone to talk to, even if it’s only myself. My life is a little brighter today, for several reasons, the most important of which is someone named Simone. I don’t think I have ever met anyone quite like her, in Section or without. Like sunlight, she dances over everything. She even made Madeline laugh! And me. Hers is the first real smile I have seen in over three years. I’d forgotten how beautiful a woman can be when she smiles.

How do I describe her? How can she be feminine and tough at the same time? Dark and almond eyed-a jokester and a lover. I feel as if I have finally awakened from a long dark dream.

(No Date) (video) I lost four men today. I lost. One mistake in timing. One moment’s delay. Expected collateral losses, is what Ops called it. More blood on my hands.

Michael covered his face with his hands and sat for several minutes before adding, “No more mistakes allowed in this life, Michel. You’ve made your quota.”

(No date) (Video) The video unit clicked on and blurred as Michael turned the screen towards him. Nikita smiled when she saw the cello. Michael played so beautifully. He had played a full two minutes before a knock in the background indicated he had company. He set aside his instrument, tugged down both sleeves of his blue sweater and disappeared from view.

“Hi.” (It was Michael’s voice in the background. He sounded pleased.)

“Hi!” (An accented feminine voice answered jovially.) Whatcha doin’ GI?”

Nikita couldn’t hear his response, only a feminine chuckle.

“Oh? What’s this?”

A face appeared. It was Simone. But not the Simone that Nikita remembered. This Simone glowed with a dimpled, impish smile, as she tossed her waist-length, glossy, dark hair over one shoulder and sat down in front of Michael’s computer.

“New equipment. A lighter version of laptop,” Michael commented, leaning down and peering over her shoulder. “I’m recording video at the moment.”

“Video-as in TV? Can I see?”

“Look into the screen and smile, then I’ll hit play back.” Michael responded.

“What shall I say?” She asked turning and poking his cheek mischievously.

Michael smiled and Nikita was stunned to see how it transformed his face.

“Veux parler francais?” It was a plea.

“Oui? C’est bien.” Simone continued on, bubbling up with laughter over some comment that Michael kept making in French against her neck. After a bit, Nikita realized Michael had been tickling Simone and had to catch her before she fell off the chair amid hysterical giggles. It was all for naught, when they both tumbled out of sight of the video screen and on the floor laughing.

There was a comical “Uh oh!” from Simone before Michael’s hand appeared to press a button and the screen went dark again.

Nikita paused the disc, wanting to ponder, no-savor the Michael she had just seen. So young. So full of life and happiness. He laughed! Had she ever heard him laugh before? She’d seen him smile, but only rarely. But laugh?

And Simone. Nikita had been told stories about Simone by Walter. He always referred to her as “the feisty little China doll”. Nikita smiled. The description certainly fit her.

Opposites did seem to attract after all. Simone was all life and joy to Michael’s subdued melancholia. Of course, this last scene he didn’t seem sad at all. Simone had managed to transform him.

Nikita felt a stab of envy over it. She wished she could have known Michael years ago--when he could still get silly and laugh. She replayed the last entry three times just to hear him.

It was then the depression from last night dropped on her like an anvil. To never see him like this was bad enough. But to never see him again, period? To be cheated out of his love just when she’d found it?

“No!” She said aloud. She wasn’t going to let it happen. Some how. Some way. She was going to get Michael out! She shut off the computer and picked up her cell phone.

“Birkoff? It’s Nikita. Can you come over after shift? It’s important.” Her voice was clipped.

“Sure.” He sounded a little unsure of himself. “What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Keep it to yourself.”

Birkoff heard the abrupt click as cell phone disconnected and made a little “ooh” with his mouth as he looked up at Operation’s glassed-in veranda. Nikita was upset and it didn’t take a computer genius to guess why. How did it go? Hell hath no fury like a woman . . . pissed? It was going to be an interesting evening, he could tell.

* * *

Michael arrived at the lab, three days later, under cover of darkness. While he couldn’t wear a tracker on his body, there had been one placed in his luggage. Section One at least knew where they had quartered him, even though they wouldn’t know exactly where the lab was. Not that it mattered. If things went according to the profile, Section One only had to wait for him to release the gas within the lab. Failing that, he was to find a way to pinpoint the lab for an air strike.

The first scenario was the expected one. It was hoped a major gas leak would bring pressure to bear on the government to curb such activity. Deaths of civilians caused by their own government always led to instability, especially those with an eye-for-a-eye mentality.

If they were very lucky, they might catch Abu Nidal. Failing that, Nidal might be forced to leave the country, and he was running out of safe havens.

“Monsieur Clery?”

“Oui. Tu parles francais.”

“Oui-“

And fluently too, Michael thought as he shook hands with the scientist who introduced himself as Dr. Charles Guillory, of Paris.

“Your file says you were born and raised in Algeria, but your accent is Parisian.” Guillory accused politely. He was an older man, plump, fifty-ish, with white hair and a goatee.

“Yes. I studied in Paris, under Renard.” Michael explained taking a chance and using a bit of truth to round out the lies.

Guillory nodded, clearly impressed. “I’ve heard much about him. Would you care to see our facilities this evening? There is a small late supper planned, where you will be introduced to your team, at eight o’clock.”

“Whatever you have planned will be fine. You saw the demonstration this afternoon?”

“Yes. From the news reports, the casualties were nearly 98 percent. Is that a constant kill rate?”

“Inside a facility, yes. Outside, given wind direction and strength, the rate lowers to around 86 percent.”

Guillory ran his ID card through the security reader and pulled open the door to allow Michael to go inside first.

“I’m curious, Mr Clery. If you have a successful weapon such as this gas seems to be, why do you need us?”

“The gas is not cheap to make and I need assistance to make it in large enough quantities to make a profit. And there are other reasons-there is a problem with shelf life. After two weeks the gas becomes inert-worthless. I have several ideas on what causes the problem, but I need help if I am to solve it quickly.”

Guillory turned on a bank of lights and gestured into the open room. “We are a little cramped, but with the damned Americans bombing the area every few days, we have had to make do. Our host, Mr. Hussein has been quite helpful in procuring whatever we need, and of course Mr. Nidal is very hands-on with his interests at this facility.”

Fifteen minutes later, the tour ended and Michael found himself in a car, seated with Dr. Guillory on his way to dinner.

As they bounced down the cobble-stoned highway, Michael's thoughts drifted briefly to Nikita. Would she have considered 98 percent casualties a fair price to pay to put Abu Nidal away forever? It was painful to know, she wouldn't. He hoped she knew he had nothing to do with that particular part of the profile. Years ago, he wouldn't have questioned it. Now he did, because he knew it was important to her.

The car pulled up in front of a respectfully sized villa, and a servant stepped out to open the car door. The host and hostess were the next to greet them, also French, named Jean and Marie Prejean.

“You have a lovely home,” Michael commented graciously. “I have an interest in architecture.”

The hostess was flattered and offered to show Michael around her home after dinner, which Michael accepted. It was always good to know the lay of the land, and what easier way than to have your enemy give you a guided tour?

The dining room was formal and large, with open verandas out into a lovely garden. Already seated were five people, four men and a woman. Dr. Guillory made the introductions:

John Sidwartha was East Indian, a dark, thin man, who regarded Michael with some suspicion, and had a weak hand shake. Mohamed Riged and Ali Alzid were Saudi, both rather jovial for Arabs and quite glad to meet a new ally.

Auguste Rochelle was Moroccan. While the others were young men, he and Guillory seemed to be the leaders of the group due to their age and experience.

The last member of the group was a young women in her late twenties. Dark-eyed, and attractive, she had her hair covered in the Muslim fashion, even though her dress was Western.

“This is my daughter, Savim,” Guillory said, smiling down at her.

Michael took her hand and bent over it, “Enchante.”

To her father Michael asked, “She works in the lab as well?”

Her proud father kissed her brow and bragged, “She has a doctorate in bioengineering from MIT.”

“Shall we dine?” Asked their hostess.

* * *

“Thanks for coming Birkoff,” Nikita said as he entered her apartment. “I need your help.”

As Birkoff seated himself on her couch she asked, “Want anything to eat?”

“Got any beer?” He turned in his seat to look at her.

She smiled. He wasn’t a kid anymore and he was making it plain.

“Yeah. Got beer.” She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles.

“Chips?” He added a moment later.

Nikita smiled to herself. Not a kid, but not quite ready to give up his junk food either. She tossed him an unopened bag of potato chips that she had bought just for him.

“Okay. Spill. What did you need to see me for?” He said as she sat down next to him.

“I want to work up a rescue profile.”

Birkoff sighed, but he had expected something like this. “For Michael.”

“Yes. I think it can be done. In fact, I think everything we need in already in place.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay. Michael’s mission is to go in and make sure they have a poison gas accident-true?”

“Yeah.”

“But he also told me, the secondary mission is to capture Nidal.”

“Also true. But that’s a long shot.”

“So, how was Section planning on getting Nidal out of the country, if Michael captures him?”

“There is a rendezvous point out in the country, north of Michael’s present location. We have several underground operatives stationed there. The plan is to get Nidal to a safe house under sedation then getting him to closer to the Turkish border so we can fly him out. But the chances of Michael actually getting him are next to nothing and everyone knows it!”

“If that’s true, isn’t it also true that if the safe house exists, Michael could also use it to get out?”

“Nikita-if Nidal isn’t an option, then chances are Michael will be just as dead as everyone else when he releases the gas at the plant.”

“Then somehow, the accident has to happen without Michael being there.” Nikita argued.

“Great idea. How?” he asked sarcastically.

Nikita got up and paced the floor. “I don’t know-yet. That’s where you come in.”

She turned back and sat down. “I want you to download everything about this mission to my station. TacOps, comm, contact points, everything.”

“I can’t do that without clearance, Nikita.”

“You can give me the mission profile, Birkoff. That’s a start. I intend on asking for clearance-even if I have to go to George to get it.”

“Are you crazy? Operations would cancel you in a heartbeat!”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

“Nikita!”

“Birkoff, either help me or stay out of my way. I will not let them sacrifice Michael for this assignment. Section needs him!”

“You mean you need him.”

Nikita knelt in front Birkoff and looked at him angrily, eye to eye. “How many times has Michael saved your life?”

Birkoff swallowed. “Several.”

“I think everyone on Red team and half of Section can give that same answer. This is more about me and Michael, Birkoff. In the end it’s about saving lives-operatives’ lives and you know it.”

Birkoff sighed deeply and nodded. “You’re right. Okay. I’ll give you what I think I can get away with. Just be careful Nikita!”

* * *

“Michel,” Simone leaned into the screen and kissed it. “Je t’aime.”

Nikita watched the moment-for that’s all it was-feeling like an intruder. It was a video message of love from Simone to Michael. A wife to her husband by this time. There were many such moments-either from Michael, speaking of his love for Simone, or Simone speaking of her love for Michael.

Nikita had to smile. She had thought to dislike Simone, as she had thought she would dislike Elena, or any woman that had garnered Michael’s love. Both women, however, would have been friends of hers in other circumstances. Elena had been sweet, unassuming, loyal-traits that Nikita appreciated. Simone had a comical sweetness about her. She was loud, mischievous, and totally in love with Michael.

Both women had brought out the best in him. With both, he had been gentle, loyal, loving-all things Nikita was learning about him, herself.

July 6, 1993 (video) It was Michael. Operations has asked me to enter into a blood cover with the daughter of a terrorist. To marry her. I haven’t told Simone I’ve accepted. It will be a violation of what we have pledged to each other, but I see it as hope for the future. This is an important mission, so important that it has the interest of oversight. If I am successful, I think I will be able to bargain for more freedom for both of us.

September 17, 1993 (written) Tomorrow I marry Elena. Simone has said nothing to me over what I must do, yet in her silence she supports me. It is only a mission, but we both know this could either save us or totally destroy us both.

December 22, 1993 (written) Elena is pregnant. I had not foreseen this possibility. How do I tell Simone? How can I? The one desire of her heart is to have our child. It is the one thing Section has forbidden us. Forgive me, my love. Forgive me.

Nikita sat back in her chair and paused the disc. She could only imagine how Michael must have felt. In love with one woman and having a child with another. And poor Simone! How it must have hurt her to learn of Adam’s conception. Nikita had to learn more and pressed the button to continue.

April 4, 1994 (written) I haven’t seen Simone in weeks. Elena has been unwell, and Operations has ordered me to stay with her until she is better. I wish I could say I hate Elena-I’ve wanted to hate her. But she is impossible to hate. She is as innocent as the child she carries inside her.

We are no closer to locating Elena’s father than we were before. I had hoped for a quick end to this mission. How long can Simone stand our situation? We do not speak of it when we are together, but I see the sadness in her eyes. What will happen when the baby is born? God forgive me, but I had hoped Elena would miscarry. I have no right to be anyone’s father.

(Undated video) (It was Simone. It took Nikita several hours to decipher her French.)

My love, forgive me, but I had to know your thoughts. I had to know I still had your love, despite all. (Simone briefly kissed the screen as had become her custom.)

I am glad that you do not hate Elena. But do not for my sake, wish ill on your child, Michel! Children are the only good things that man creates in this world. Yours will be beautiful! May I say ours? I want to pretend a little, my love, just a little. When it is born, I hope I shall get to see it. I have no hope to hold it, but to see it--that would be enough.

I love you, Michel. I have loved no other, and shall never love another.

I watched you while you slept tonight. I’ve missed you so. I pity Elena, as you should, my love. For while she has you in body, I have you in heart, and know my love is returned. Be kind to her, and love your child, as I will. As I love you.

(Undated video) It was Michael looking totally destroyed. Simone! They want me to go back to her. I can’t. Simone! This has to be a nightmare, please God . . . please forgive me! I can’t live without you! Come back-haunt me, but don’t leave me! It’s my fault-you wanted backup! Simone!

I took hours for Nikita to translate Michael’s words. Some things he said were so distorted by his grief that she could not make them out, but she knew through the content that Simone had been captured by Glass Curtain, and Nikita wept with him.

The last entry on the first disc was an undated video of Michael holding his newborn son.

My love, I have a son. I’ve named him Adam. He is beautiful, just as you said he would be. You wanted to see him, and here he is.

Oh, Simone! The only way I can live, is to pretend you are still at our home, seeing this. It is so hard to be happy-to play this part! I thought I couldn’t do this-then they put Adam in my arms. He’s so tiny, Simone! I didn’t know I would feel this way. I didn’t know I would have hope again. He is something to fight for. To live for. Thank you, my love for telling me so.

* * *

“Monsieur Clery,” Savim suddenly appeared at Michael’s side.

“Yes?”

“Here are the first tests results from the spectrograph analysis.” She handed him several sheets of paper, and stood by until he read them.

“This test shows some positive results,” Michael said, segregating one sheet from the others. “I’d like it run again to be sure.”

Savim took the results from his hand and smiled. “Are you settled into your quarters yet?”

“Yes. I’m quite comfortable. Your father is an outstanding host.”

She smiled. “Would you like to come to dinner this evening? It would give you a chance to discuss these results with my father.”

Michael sighed inwardly. Savim had been dropping not so subtle hints for days, that she was interested in him. While Michael could barely feign polite interest in her, he realized it was too dangerous to make enemies this early into the assignment, so he agreed.

“We dine late, around nine. I will have a car pick you up.”

“Thank you.”

It took Nikita several days to examine all the data on Michael’s assignment in order to come up with a viable profile. Timing would crucial. If she went in too early, Michael’s mission would be at risk-and she knew no one would give her permission to save Michael at the expense of the primary mission. If she went in too late, there would be no Michael to save.

Madeline was the first person she had to convince. She submitted her profile to her for review and Madeline was suitably impressed.

“I see a lot of thought has gone into this profile, Nikita. You have minimized the risk considerably. Perhaps Operations will agree.”

“All I ask is a chance, Madeline. I see no point in wasting a class five operative, if it isn’t necessary.”

“Michael volunteered for this assignment, Nikita. He knew the risks.” Madeline reminded gently.

“I understand that. But if there is a chance to complete the primary mission and recover Michael, I think it would be to everyone’s benefit.”

“Yours, especially,” Madeline commented dryly, as she casually pinned Nikita with her eyes.

“I won’t argue that Michael’s welfare isn’t my greatest concern. You know I have feelings for him, but this is more than my personal desires, Madeline. You aren’t going to sit there and tell me that Michael isn’t Sections greatest asset. When he leads teams, operatives live to fight another day. We need him. You need him.” Nikita insisted firmly.

Madeline flashed her a brief Mona-Lisa smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” Her body language indicated their meeting was at an end.

“Thanks,” Nikita murmured, as she left. ‘But you better do it quickly, or I’m calling George.’ She threatened mentally.

* * *

September 14, 1997 (video) "I met an angel today. My new training assignment. Her name is Nikita. She’s strikingly beautiful with an aura of innocence around her, despite having murdered a police officer in cold blood. Where does Madeline get these people?” (He sighed wearily.)

"It’s been nearly a year now since I lost Simone. It’s Adam that keeps me going-and Elena” Michael added, seeming surprised at his own words. “I’m constantly amazed at her patience with me. I know it’s hard for her, being alone so much, but she never openly complains. She’s a good mother to Adam and a good wife to me. But she’s not you, Simone. Though, I do have some measure of happiness, my love, I miss you every day.

If I could laugh, it would be at the irony of it all. I thought when I took this blood cover assignment that it would eventually mean more freedom from Section, instead it has bound me closer. I can’t leave Section without leaving my son. Perhaps Operations planned this all along.

I can’t even hope for the end of my blood cover anymore. When it does, I will be forbidden to see Elena and Adam ever again. I don’t think I’m strong enough to face that, Simone. Not without you.

Nikita nodded, remembering how deeply Michael had grieved for his son. It had been the catalyst that had finally brought them closer together.