![](http://www.thesplitpersonality.net/graphics/spacer3.gif"){kind=spacer}
ATTENTION: Stories marked with an * may contain material which would be better appreciated by those over 18. Parental Discretion is advised. This is your responsibility, not ours.
Michael entered Madeline's office with no expectations. He sat down when she gestured to the chair across from her desk, then locked eyes with her as he waited.
Madeline held Michael's gaze for a moment, but then she let her eyes flicker over the young man. He was dressed in his customary black, his cinnamon colored hair brushed neatly back behind his ears, his body motionless. Michael was a hunter, he knew how to be silent.
"You'll be working alone," Madeline began, without preamble. "Talk to no one but myself and Operations. Clearance level alpha blue."
"Understood," Michael replied. He was curious as to what the mission was, for alpha blue was top level security. Only once before had Michael been on such a mission. The three other operatives on his team didn't return to Section. One had died during the mssion, the other two had simply...vanished. Michael knew it had been a warning, as well as a lesson. He had learned his lesson well. Which was part of the reason he remained silent now, in spite of his interest.
"How did it go with Nikita this morning?" Madeline queried, going off topic for a moment. The blond operative had been sent off on her own mission as team leader, for the second time.
Michael let a smile curve his lips. "It went well," he replied. "Nikita's profile is good. The mission should be successful. No casualties expected."
Madeline nodded her approval. "Good." She held out a PDA. The background information you'll need is here. I'll give you the highlights."
As Madeline spoke she turned her monitor so that Michael could see the screen. It was blank at present. "A reknown biologist by the name of Phillipe Renault has accidently created an airborne virus that is a hundred times deadlier than Ebola. It could wipe out a country in forty-eight hours or less."
"Is he trying to sell it?" Michael questioned. He was stunned by what Madeline had told him, but let nothing show on his face.
"No," Madeline replied. "Renault has no interest in blood money. He's an unfortunate pawn. His virus doesn't even have a name, but its...existence is already widespread within the wrong circles. Our government doesn't even know about it."
Michael nodded. "But terrorist sanctions and mercenaries do," he guessed.
A smile tugged at the corner's of Madeline's mouth. Michael seldom disappointed her. He understood the game, and the players, almost as well as she did.
"A mercenary by the name of Syd Cantrell has kidnapped Renault's son. He's demanding the virus culture and the formula, in exchange for the child."
"He'll kill the boy," Michael stated bluntly. He knew Cantrell's profile. The man had no soul. Michael could relate to that.
"We expect as much," Madeline allowed. "Your mission is to retrieve the virus culture and the formula."
Michael blinked. "What about the child?" The question was out before he realized it.
Madeline studied Michael closely, but revealed nothing as she replied. "Save him if you can." She reached out and tapped a button on the keyboard. An image formed on the monitor screen. "This is a recent photo of Renault and his son."
"Nicola..." Michael whispered, as he felt his world suddenly shatter. He was no longer sitting in Madeline's office, but was standing beside a tiny grave.
"Yes, Michael," Madeline replied, her eyes locked on his face. She saw him grow pale, watched his eyes shade from silver-green to smokey-emerald, then watched as Michael reached out to touch the monitor screen, a fingertip brushing the image of the child's face. His hand trembled.
Michael closed his eyes but he couldn't blot out the image of the young boy's face. His son. The child he thought had died five years ago.
"Why?" he whispered, and nearly choked on the word.
Madeline knew what he was asking and she gave him the answer he deserved. The truth. "Children don't belong in Section One, Michael," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his face.
Madeline watched Michael's eyes flicker open, felt a glimmer of sympathy for the pain she saw shimmering there, but quelled it and continued.
"You and Simone were losing your edge. It was apparent that you could no longer function at the level expected of you with Nicola a part of your lives. Nor was it fair to your son. You or Simone risked dying on every mission, and this was no life for a child. So we have let Renault and his wife adopt Nicola, believing him to be an orphan. They couldn't have children of their own, but they love Nicola as if he were their natural child."
"Why Renault?" Michael asked, forcing the question out past the lump in his throat.
"He's a wealthy man, he can give Nicola a good life," Madeline replied. "The life he deserves," she added, pointedly. "It's for the best, Michael."
He nodded, tapping into that part of himself that was detached. Michael drew his control around him like a cloak, his eyes refocused and masked as he met Madeline's gaze.
"You're right," he said softly. "It's for the best."
Madeline tapped another button on the keyboard and the image of father and son faded. She smiled at Michael.
"Secure the virus and retrieve Nicola, if you can. Cantrell and Renault are to be terminated."
"Why terminate Renault?" Michael countered, his tone revealing his surprise.
"We can't risk his being kidnapped sometime in the future," Madeline replied, her tone cool. "He created the virus. The formula is in his head. It cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of any
Michael understood what Madeline was telling him. He even agreed with her. Yet he found it difficult to accept the profile. Nicola was too young to lose two fathers. Although Michael doubted that his son would even remember him. Nicola had been two years old when taken away. He looked at Madeline but said nothing. A moment later he stood up and headed for the door.
She stopped him. "Michael...can you do this?"
"Yes," he whispered, then he walked out without looking back.
Michael sat in his office, the shades closed, the light dimmed. He had studied the information on the PDA and had worked out a scenario. He should have been on his way but he sat in his chair, lost in memories. One in particular stood out.
When Simone had been in her ninth month, they had gone to a flea market. At one stand she had found an old teddy bear. It's white fur had faded to gray and one ear was missing, but Simone had been delighted for it reminded her of her first teddy bear as a child. She wanted it for their child. So Michael had paid a dollar for it and Simone had washed it and ironed its plaid tie. On the day Nicola was born, Michael and Simone had presented the bear to their son.
Nicola had been holding the bear in the picture that Madeline had shown Michael. His son still had the teddy bear that his natural parents had used to rock him to sleep at night. Michael had thought the bear lost. When Section had told him and Simone that Nicola was dead and buried, all events occurring while Michael and Simone had been out of the country on a mission, they had also claimed to have destroyed all of Nicola's possessions. Best not to have any reminders...Madeline had explained.
But it had all been a lie. Michael felt a tremor ripple through him. He was angry yet couldn't feel it. He felt cold and empty. Pain shimmered on the surface of his awareness, but Michael didn't let it touch him. No emotion. It would hamper his ability to do the job. So he pushed away from the desk, rose to his feet and left the office.
And as Michael walked through the corridors of Section the memories faded from his mind, leaving only darkness. But echoing in the silence of his thoughts was the melodic lament of a lullaby lost.
************
A watcher had been placed on Renault from the moment he and his wife had adopted Nicola. That's how Section had learned about the virus before anyone else. They had also learned that it was Renault's assistant who had leaked the information about the virus to Syd Cantrell. He had done it for money, ten thousand dollars. But he had been a fool, and now he was dead. Cantrell had slit his throat and dumped the body in the canal.
Michael used a tracking unit, equipped with audio, to keep watch over Renault now. He had in his car and parked on a private lane, about a hundred yards away from Renault's elegant manor house. The thought occurred to Michael that the home would be like a castle to a small boy, and a part of him was relieved that his son did not want for anything. Michael could never have given Nicola the luxuries that Renault could so easily afford.
It was so easy to lose himself in the memories that Michael had buried deep inside him. They rose to the surface of his consciousness like air bubbles breaking free. Bittersweet memories better left forgotten. Michael was reminded of this cold reality by a red light flashing on his tracker. Renault had an incoming call. Michael put the listening device in his ear and waited.
Cantrell spoke with Renault, telling the scientist to bring the formula and the virus culture to the the abandoned Library on Tre Mont Ave. Two days from now, at midnight. Michael continued to listen until Cantrell broke the connection, then he turned the key in the ignition and drove off. Two days wasn't much time to do what had to be done.
Michael returned to Section and had just stepped out of transport when he was cornered by Walter. "I don't have time," Michael said curtly, not even remotely interested in what Walter might have to say.
But Walter would not be deterred by the cold light in Michael's eyes. He stood his ground.
"Nikita's in trouble," he hissed, then felt a glimmer of satifaction when Michael froze in midstep. "You have to help her," Walter entreatied.
"My office," Michael whispered, turning to lead the way.
Originally he had been heading for Madeline's office to debrief. Once inside Michael went to his desk and pushed a few buttons in a drawer to offer them seclusion from the eye of Big Brother. Then he looked at Walter.
"Explain."
"You're familiar with the profile of Nikita's mission?" Walter queried.
Michael nodded. "Yes. I helped her with it," he replied softly. "What happened?"
Walter found it difficult to speak past the lump in his throat. "Nikita chose Collins to run the sequences," Walter stated.
"I thought she was taking Birkhoff?" Michael countered. That had been the original plan.
"He got called to work on something for Operations," Walter hissed. He dropped into the chair in front of Michael's desk and could almost feel Nikita's presence. In a sense it was her chair.
Michael studied Walter for a moment, saw that the old man's skin was ashen and his eyes shadowed, sunk in his skull. Whatever had happened, Michael knew Nikita wasn't dead. Not yet.
"Go on," he prompted, stealing a glance at his watch. The clock was ticking.
Walter took a deep breath then plunged into an explanation. "Collins went ballistic. No warning, nothing. He killed the other three members of Nikita's team and took her hostage."
"What does he want?" Michael questioned, as he moved to sit down behind his desk, hands folded in his lap. His eyes locked on Walter's face but revealed nothing of what he was thinking, or feeling.
"His freedom," Walter announced with a sarcastic chuckle. "Oh..and a million dollars. He wants it in thirty-two hours and counting or Nikita dies."
Michael didn't have to ask to know that both requests were refused.
"Where does Section stand?" he asked, diplomatically.
Walter's eyes shaded to gray. "Operations told Collins to do what he had to do. And that the moment he killed Nikita he was a dead man. That's it."
"Do we have a location?" Michael asked, feeling the heat of Walter's gaze upon him.
"No," Walter replied, shaking his head.
Michael was surprised. "Why not?"
Walter grimaced. "Let's just say that Collins could give Birkhoff a run for his money in the whiz kid department," he replied. "He's managed to block off all signals from incoming, and outgoing, transmissions."
"I see," Michael said softly. His intention had been to assign a two man cell to retrieve Walter and accept full responsibility for crossing the line and disobeying Operation's orders. But if they had no location, his hands were tied.
"You have to rescue Nikita, Michael," Walter entreatied. "I know you can find her. I know it." He locked his eyes on the young man's face and waited for a response.
Michael looked away from the intensity of Walter's gaze and replied, "I can't do it. Now...if you'll excuse me. I have work to do." Michael spoke in barely a whisper but it echoed in the room louder than a shout.
There was no mistaking the dismissal. Walter stood up, his eyes still locked on Michael's face. :::::I can't do it:::::: reverberated in his ears like a mantra, mocking him. Eyes turning to ice, Walter turned on his heel and left the office. He had been wrong about Michael. He had never been...never would be...part of the 5% club.
The moment Walter was gone, slamming the door shut behind him in a childish gesture of defiance, Michael turned on his computer, logged in, and began typing.
Nikita shifted position, trying to make herself as comfortable as she could. Which wasn't saying much since her wrists were in shackles and the chain binding them together was wrapped around a celing beam. Since they were in a barn with a loft, it was a low beam and thankfully the chains were long. So at least she could sit down, but it pulled her arms up over her head. She looked at the man holding her gun in his hand and pacing frantically.
"Collins..." Nikita began.
He turned on her in a fury. "Shut up!" Collins screamed, as he moved to stand before Nikita. One hand lashed out and caught her across the cheek, splitting open the already bruised skin. "BITCH!" He blamed her for Operations' refusal to give in to his demands.
"Don't be a fool!" Nikita hissed, wincing at the fresh pain in her cheek. Her entire body ached and throbbed. The result of trying to reason with Collins from before. "Give up now, Collins," she beseeched. "Or we're both dead."
"Go to hell!" Collins snarled.
Nikita saw his hand coming and tried to duck out of the way. But it was too late and darkness claimed her.
************
Michael stood in front of Madeline's desk. His hands were clasped before him, his face a blank slate as he gave his report.
"The exchange will be made tomorrow at midnight," Michael said softly.
Madeline nodded then picked up the CD that contained Michael's full report. "Are you ready?" she asked, her eyes locked on his face, searching for any and all signs that might reveal what he was thinking. But Michael's mask was firmly in place.
"I'm ready," Michael replied, then he waited for a dismissal.
"You've heard about Nikita," Madeline countered, knowing full well that he knew the details.
Michael almost smiled as he nodded. He was familiar with this game. "Yes."
Madeline leaned back in her chair then offered a cold smile. "You understand our decision?" she prompted.
"Of course," Michael replied, without hesitation. He held Madeline's gaze for a moment then said, "Is that all?"
"Yes," Madeline whispered. Her eyes lingered on Michael as he crossed to the door and was gone. Only then did she let a soft sigh escape her. Her job within Section One was vital to its function, and Madeline knew that she was very good at it. But sometimes, she didn't like it much.
As Michael glided down the corridor he was thinking about his conversation with Madeline. He did understand Section's decision. Perfectly. It was another test. Ever since Nikita's return after her six month stint of freedom, Michael knew that Section's eye had been focused on him more than ever. They still doubted his loyalty. Michael couldn't deny their right to be suspicious, he had given them reason to doubt.
What troubled him now was his suspicion that this particular scenario had been scripted from the beginning. Not what happened with Renault and the virus, but Nikita's mission and Birkhoff not being available. Michael's next choice would have been Simon over Collins, but he believed Nikita hadn't been allowed that choice. Michael had pulled Collin's file, which Nikita would not have been allowed access to either. He was rated number 1 for termination. Section hadn't expected Collins to return. And Madeline would have known his state of mind. Couldn't have guessed at exactly what Collin's would do, but they could manipulate him into certain parameters of expected behavior. How fortunate for them that Collins was so amenable to their manipulations.
Michael knew what the bottom line was. Section was testing him by making him choose. Nikita...or his son. A smile curved his lips. They just might be surprised by his choice.
Walter was at Birkhoff's station, discussing a new piece of equipment, when Michael strode over to them. Anger flared up in Walter's eyes, but it was wasted for Michael didn't even look at him. He focused only on Birkhoff.
"I need you to decode this for me," Michael said as he handed Birkhoff a CD.
"What is it?" Birkhoff questioned, even as he slipped it into the drive.
Michael blinked. "Something from my last mission. Might prove useful."
Birkhoff nodded, chewing on a licorice whip as he typed away. "Want me to run sims?" he asked.
"Whatever you think," Michael countered, then he turned to walk off. Only he found his way blocked by Walter.
"Why won't you save Nikita?" the old man challenged, not wasting time with niceties. He was furious with Michael and unable to hold his anger in check. Walter wasn't a machine. He couldn't emulate the other man's cold detachment. "Tell me, Michael?" Walter hissed, when the operative remained silent, his stare unblinking. "I want to know."
Michael turned his head, just enough to glance up to the second level. Operations was watching them. Looking back at Walter, Michael blinked, flickered his gaze over to Birkhoff, who was watching them both, then back to Walter again. He saw the pain and hurt in the old man's eyes but didn't react to it. Instead, Michael stepped around Walter and walked away.
Walter resisted the urge to chase after him, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "Bastard!" he hissed. He felt Birkhoff watching him and turned to glare at the computer whiz. It irritated him that the young man didn't seem broken up about Nikita either. Like Michael, Birkhoff just continued doing his job.
"There's nothing anyone can do, Walter," Birkhoff offered in his, and Michael's, defense. He knew that Michael could do some amazing things, but he was still human. He had his limits. They all did. Weaknesses that Section preyed upon. Birkhoff held Walter's gaze for a minute, feeling it burn into him. Then the old man turned away and stalked back to his station. Birkhoff heaved a sigh and returned to his work. As he brought up the code he became totally absorbed. This would prove to be a challenge, and there was nothing that Birkhoff loved more.
After leaving Birkhoff's station, Michael went about his duties. He had two missions in play that he was overseeing from Section, and he had been asked by Operations to debrief one of their new recruits. Once those chores were done, Michael made one more stop. Then he went to his office and logged on to his computer. A moment later he had tapped into the file that Birkhoff was working on.
Michael typed for a few minutes, then put a blank CD into the drive. He watched as the information was copied onto the disk, then he shut down the computer, placing the CD in his pocket. He needed to get a few hours sleep before his mission. Michael knew he had to be sharp.
But even as he headed for his quarters here in Section, Michael sensed that his slumber would be haunted by dreams.
And he was right. Memories of Simone and Nicola were interspersed with images of Nikita. Michael sat up, skin sheened with sweat, heart pounding in his chest as he shook his head to dispel the traces of his dreams. The explosion that had taken Simone away from him for good had blurred into the fiery blast that could have taken Nikita. The six months that had passed when Michael hadn't known whether the beautiful blond was dead or alive, had been an eternity.
Sliding out of bed, Michael headed for the shower. He had only slept for an hour, but there was no reason to lay back down. He would only dream again, unable to rest. Better to put what time remained to good use. But as he stood under the hot spray of water, Michael couldn't erase the echo of his own voice softly singing a lullaby.
And the image of himself, as he rocked Nicola to sleep in his arms, was as crystal clear. It took all of Michael's willpower to shatter the image. But the broken shards of memory seemed to cut into his heart, bleeding into the darkness of his soul.
Michael was at Walter's station collecting his gear for the mission. He could feel the old man's glare burning into him but did not respond to it. It was not the first time Walter had found reason to hate Michael, nor would it likely be the last.
Walter studied Michael as the young man arm himself. It intrigued him that the cold op had enough weaponry and firepower to wipe out a small country. A slight exaggeration perhaps, but only slight. Curious as he was, Walter didn't ask about the mission. He knew he wouldn't get an answer. But he refused to back off on another subject. Nikita.
"What is more important than saving Nikita?" Walter challenged.
"The job," Michael responded, not looking up from his task.
But he did react when he saw two other cold ops approaching. Their names were Reed and Baker and they were dressed in field gear. Michael handed Reed a CD.
"The information you need is here. Pick up the package, terminate the target then return. Report back directly to me. Understand?" Michael questioned.
"Yes sir," Reed replied, then asked, "Gear?"
Michael's eyes flickered to his right. "I've authorized the inventory, Walter has it." That said, Michael turned to pick up three C4 charges and slipped them in his vest pocket. He made to leave but stopped and locked eyes with Reed.
"Failure is not acceptable," he whispered, then he was gone.
Walter stared after Michael, more than a little confused by what had just happened. It was par for the course for Michael to assign teams to mission, but somehow Walter got the impression that this little scenario had been played out for his benefit.
Shaking his head, he looked up the inventory for Reed and Baker, all the while wondering if he would ever undertand the enigmatic young man named Michael.
"Not if I live to be a hundred years old," Walter grumbled to himself. And it was only then that he realized had had never really gotten an answer to his question about Nikita.
************
Michael knew that Renault was going to the Library to make the exchange with Cantrell. He got there first and reconnoitered the area and building, comparing it to the schematics he had pulled from the computer. He used a laser scope with infra red to survey the building as well. He wanted to locate his target. When he scanned the bodies, which numbered twelve, Michael was surprised by his reaction when he located Nicola. When he saw the infrared of the tiny body and beyond a sharp intake of breath he felt nothing. Michael was relieved. He had to stay in machine mode. There was no room for emotion, or error.
Overall the plan was simple enough. While Renault was making the exchange with Cantrell, offering a distraction, Michael would go in and rescue Nicola. Once the child was safe, he would take out his primary targets and retrieve the virus culture and it's formula. Putting away the scope, Michael headed back to Renault's house. He would follow the biologist on his trek.
Michael was parked and sitting on his motorcycle when Renault left his house and drove out of the gate in a dark blue mercedes. Michael started the bike and followed, keeping his distance. Renault made one stop, for a large coffee which he then drank on the way.
Once they had reached the library, Michael made a separate turn. It was time to move. Hiding the motorcycle in the back, Michael then proceeded to enter the library through the basement entrance, a small window on the south side. His scanning earlier had revealed that it was an unguarded section of building. The second reason Michael had chosen this route was because Nicola was being held in a room directly above it.
Getting from the basement to the first floor level was simple enough. Michael moved with the stealth of a shadow down the hallway, ducking into an alcove when a guard made to pass by. A moment later the guard was dead at his feet, his neck broken. One down, one to go. Cantrell hadn't been worried about placing heavy security around Nicola. After all he was just a small boy.
Michael approached the small room where Nicola was being kept. A reading room for children, according to the schematics. Somehow appropriate if not ironic. A guard stood in front of the door looking bored. Michael almost smiled as he rolled a quarter down the floor in the opposite direction, luring the guard to him. A heartbeat later the man was dead. Michael hid his body as well then continued on to the room. It took only a moment to use a laser pick to open the lock. Silently, Michael opened the door and stepped inside. He closed it behind him then reached in his vest pocket for a C4 charge. He placed it on the back of the door then turned to scan the room. It took only a moment to locate his target.
The boy was curled up in a bean bag chair, sound asleep. Michael glided over to him then fell to one knee. He tried to keep his cold detachment firmly in place but failed. Peeling off one glove, Michael let his fingertips brush over the pale cheek. It was soft and pudgy and beneath his touch the boy stirred.
"Nicola..." Michael whispered, and it was sweet-agony to say his name after all these years. It had whispered in his dreams for so long.
Nicola opened his eyes and blinked at the man looming over him. He was frightened for a moment, then recognized that this was not the same man who gave him food or yelled at him when he made too much noise. This man was different. A smile trembled on Nicola's small mouth.
"Come with me," Michael whispered, holding out his hands. He bit his lip to hold back a cry when Nicola willing stepped into his arms. Michael gathered him to his chest and stood up. He blinked back sudden tears as he felt the small body tremble against him.
"You're a brave boy," MIchael whispered, pressing his cheek to Nicola's and feeling dampness. His son wept, but they were silent tears.
"I want...my..daddy.." Nicola sobbed.
Michael closed his eyes, shutting out the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't afford to give in to them now. Too much was at stake.
"I'll take you to your daddy," Michael whispered. "Soon." That said, Michael made himself move. He headed out the door, closing it behind him, then made his way back towards the south exit. Michael had discovered a hidey-hole in the schematics and he knew that Nicola would be safe there until he could finish the rest of the mission profile. Moving swiftly, Michael tucked the boy inside the tiny space. He would be able to lock him in, which was neccessary so that Nicola didn't wander off into danger.
"I'll be back for you soon," Michael promised.
Nicola's tiny hands grasped at Michael's jacket. "I want Mister Bear," he whimpered. Then he tried to push his way out of the cubby hole.
"Mister Bear.." Michael repeated.
"Please...I can't leave Mister Bear!" Nicola sobbed, and his cries grew louder.
Michael pressed a fingertip to Nicola's lips to silence him. "Shhhh....I'll get him," he promised. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
When the boy nodded, his eyes shining with trust, Michael felt his heart contract. He quickly shut the cover of the hidey-hole then turned away. By rights he should head for Cantrell and the virus, but Michael found himself retracing his steps to the reading room. He had promised Nicola he would get Mister Bear. Once back inside the room, Michael crossed over to the bean bag chair. It only took a moment to spot the teddy bear. A lump formed in Michael's throat as he knelt to pick up the toy. It was the bear that Nicola had been holding in the photograph. The one that he and Simone had given him. A shudder ran through Michael and he felt his knees buckle. "No!" he hissed.
He could not let himself remember. Just then Michael sensed a presence. He pulled his gun as he whirled then bit back a cry as a bullet grazed his arm. Michael located his target, pulled the trigger and a body fell.
Plans had changed. Michael had a silencer on his gun, but the echo of the other bullet still filled the air. His presence would be known. Michael paused long enough to rip a strip of cloth from the tail of the dead man's shirt and he wrapped it around his arm as he ran, using his teeth to tie it off. He couldn't risk a blood spill which would alert others to his location. Taking a secondary route, Michael returned to Nicola's hiding place and handed him the bear.
He saw tear stains on the boy's face and, without thinking, bent to kiss them away as he had done when Nicola was a baby. Michael heard himself humming the same lullaby and wanting to gather the boy in his arms. To assure him that he would keep him safe. But that was a lie. Michael hadn't been able to protect Nicola. Not in the past.
Now would be different. "I'll be back," Michael whispered, then he pulled back, untangling Nicola's fingers from his jacket, and closed the cover of the cubby hole.
As Michael turned away his eyes glazed over. He detached himself from the memories and emotions that were clouding his mind.
Nothing had really changed. To him, Nicola was still dead. Focusing all thoughts on the primary objective, Michael ran down the hallway towards the main chamber where Cantrell and Renault awaited. It was time to do the job.
************
Syd Cantrell was surprised to see a young man, dressed in head to toe black, enter the main room. After hearing a gunshot, he had sent his men to check out the distubance. Three ex-mercenaries turned assassins. They were the best and should have eliminated any and all intruders. So instinct kicked in as Cantrell faced down the newcomer. He reached for Phillipe Renault, pulling the biologist in front of him as a human shield.
"Who are you?" Cantrell demanded of the stranger.
Michael locked eyes with Cantrell, his gaze never flickering. Ignoring the question, he countered, "Let Renault go."
"I don't think so," Cantrell drawled. He jammed the muzzle of his gun beneath the soft spot of Renault's chin, his finger hovering over the trigger. Cantrell could guess that the man in black was some government operative. One of the elite. Those agents that no one admits exists. A man who could kill as easily as Cantrell himself, and the terrorist saw death in the silver-green eyes that stared at him, unblinkingly.
"We both know why you're here!" Cantrell hissed. "The virus. I'm afraid I got to it first." He shook Renault. "You can have him though. Once I'm free and clear."
"Not an option," Michael whispered, and in that moment he pulled the trigger.
Phillipe Renault cried out as he felt the man holding him jerk. Then he felt something warm and wet in his hair and on face. Heard a thud as nearly toppled over as he was suddenly released. Turned and looked down, eyes widening in horror. Cantrell's eyes glared back at him, unseeing. There was a hole in the middle of his forehead. A third eye. Lifting one hand to his cheek, Renault then stared at his fingers. They were covered in blood. He swallowed hard as bile rose in his throat, then back pedalled as the man in black moved towards him.
Michael didn't look at Renault, his attention was focused on Cantrell. One look and he knew the terrorist was dead.
"Where is the virus?" Michael questioned, still not looking at Renault.
"In....in his pocket," Phillipe whispered. He was surprised that he could speak. His body shook as if he were suffering from palsy, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. Sweat broke out on his skin and Renault had to lock his knees to keep them from buckling. "Who....who are you?" he asked, as he watched the young man rifle Cantrell's pockets. He didn't receive an answer.
Michael found the virus culture and a cd which he concluded contained the formula. He placed them in a special container which he then zippered in the pack he wore on his hip. Mission profile was nearly completed. Only then did he turn to look at Renault.
Michael saw a man in his early forties, going slightly bald, wearing wire-framed glasses and trembling with fear. He felt no sympathy for him, but there was compassion.
"Come with me," Michael whispered, then he turned and walked away without waiting to see if Renault would follow.
It never occurred to Phillipe to disobey the order. He knew it was not a request, at least not to his mind. That the man in black and put away his gun didn't matter. Phillipe held no thought of running away. He was thinking about his son. Nicola was somewhere in this building. Phillipe would not leave till he had found him. So he ran to catch up with the man in black, stepping over dead bodies that littered the hallways.
Michael reached the hidey hole and opened the cover. He felt a shudder run through him when he saw Nicola's sweet face. The green eyes, so like his own, brightened as they alighted on him. But Michael shuttered his feelings, flicking them off like he would a light switch. He reached for the boy to lift him out of the cubby hole, but did not draw him close. Rather, he turned and handed Nicola off to Renault.
Phillipe was stunned to see his son. He cradled Nicola to him, tears flowing down his face. He squeezed the boy until Nicola protested that Mister bear was being squished. Only then did Phillipe ease his embrace, but he did not release his son. Over the cinnamon curls he locked eyes with the man in black.
"Thank you," Phillipe whispered.
"Say nothing to no one about this," Michael replied, his eyes flickering away from the intensity of Renault's dark gaze. "If you tell anyone...I will know. I will come for you."
"I won't say anything," Phillipe promised. He sensed that he should be afraid, yet found that his fear was fading. The man in black was a killer, but he was no threat to Nicola or himself. Of that Phillipe was certain.
Michael nodded then pointed to the exit to his left. "Go," he whispered.
Phillipe jumped to obey. But he paused to ask one question. "Who are you?"
"A ghost," Michael replied, without hesitation.
It was an answer that Phillipe was willing to accept. Still hugging Nicola to him, he turned and walked away.
Michael stood frozen, watching them go. The job wasn't over yet and he should have walked away himself. But he couldn't move.
Just when Michael was about to enforce mind over matter, he saw Nicola's head turn. The little boy stared back at Michael from over his father's shoulder. Mister bear dangled down Renault's back, one leg clutched in a chubby fist. Michael's heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with Nicola. And in that moment his son smiled. A ray of light and sweet innocence that was burned into Michael's memory.
He would carry the image to his grave. Then the moment was gone. Renault had reached the end of the hallway and he carried Nicola through the door. And out of Michael's life forever.
Finish the job....
The words echoed in Michael's head and he forced himself to move. He pulled a trigger out of the zippered pocket over his right bicep, then he headed down the east corridor. Once he was at the door, Michael pressed his thumb into the red button. The three charges he had set went off simultaneously. Closing his eyes, Michael heard the echo of the boom in every beat of his heart. And as the Library was engulfed in flames, Michael stood frozen, like a shadow trapped between the darkness and the light.
Walter had a silly grin on his face and he knew it. But nothing, and no one, could wipe it off. He was so happy that he nearly giggle with sheer delight as he accepted the weapons that Michael was turning in. He saw that the other man's mask was firmly in place, but that didn't deter Walter any. He leaned in close and whispered, "Thank you."
"For what?" Michael countered, tonelessly.
"Nikita is back with us," Walter countered, his tone giddy. "I know you saved her, Michael." He studied the other man's face, looking for a flicker of emotion, but Michael was the master of the blank stare. After all he had learned from the Mistress herself, Madeline.
Michael let his eyes lock with Walter's for a split second as he handed over the trigger. Then he glanced down in time to see a drop of blood drip from his sleeve onto the table top.
Walter saw it as well. "You've been hurt!" he hissed, reaching for a clean rag.
"It's fine," Michael whispered, even as he wondered when it had happened. He didn't remember being shot. Must have been a stray bullet from when he made his terminator run down the corridor to the main chamber of the Library. After leaving Nicola in the hidey hole.
But just then Michael saw a quicksilver flash of gray fur in his mind's eye and remembered that a bullet had grazed him when he had retrieved Mister bear. Didn't matter. The wound was insignificant. Michael didn't even feel the pain. He turned away from Walter and headed down the corridor. Operations and Madeline would be waiting for the virus and his report.
Birkhoff saw Michael gliding down the hallway towards him and he jumped up from his station to confront him. He had been awaiting Michael's return to ask him a question that had been burning in his mind ever since Michael had given him the CD to decode. Birkhoff didn't know how, but he did know that the code had been the means to by pass Collins's lock on transmitting data to and from his location. Birkhoff had figured that out after Nikita had been brought back to Section by Reed and Baker. Surprisingly enough, Operations hadn't commented on Nikita's return. Nothing was said, it was simply accepted.
But Birkhoff knew Michael had conducted the play. Now he wanted to know how. He would have figured it out in time, but hadn't been given the chance. Michael had planted a self-destruct virus in the binary code.
"How did you do it?" Birkhoff blurted out, the moment that Michael came to a halt. He shifted, impatiently, from one foot to the other as he awaited a reply. But none came.
Birkhoff heaved a sigh of frustration when Michael merely stared at him. "Come on," he entreatied. "You can trust me, Michael. I won't tell anyone."
"Neither will I," Michael whispered, then he stepped around Birkhoff and continued on his way.
"I hate when he does that," Birkhoff muttered to himself. But he accepted the fact that Michael would never tell, and returned to his station.
Operations stared at Madeline from across the room. The lovely brunette was seated at her desk, a cold smile on her face.
"So...we have the virus and the formula, Renault and his son are reunited to live happily ever after, and Nikita is safely back with us." Operations paused to remove his glasses and rub his eyes. "Michael is very clever," he said softly. "He found a way not to have to choose."
Madeline's smiled faded and a cold light glimmered in her dark eyes as she whispered, "But he did choose." She watched as Operations nodded then left her office. Then Madeline turned on her computer and went back to work.
Nikita stood in the doorway to Michael's office. She studied Michael as he typed at his keyboard. The black sling that should have been supporting his wounded arm lay on the desktop, neatly folded. A smile curved Nikita's lips as she entered the room. She had just been released from Medlab herself and was feeling almost back to par. Her muscles were a bit stiff, but the bruises she had suffered at Collins' hands were fading. But she didn't want to think about the dead man. Nikita wanted out of Section, if only for tonight.
She knew nothing of Michael's last mission, knew only that he had been wounded. A deep graze that had opened his flesh nearly to the bone, but to Michael that was paramount to mosquito bite. Walter had hinted to Nikita that Michael had been responsible for her rescue, but warned her not to mention it for Michael would only deny it. Nikita didn't care. Not this time.
"So...how was your day?" she drawled, pressing her palms to the edge of the desk and leaning forward to attract Michael's attention.
"Long," he replied, eyes never leaving his monitor screen. The two days since he had completed his mission and had seen his son had blurred into one for Michael. He hadn't slept since then for fear that he would dream. He wasn't ready to let his subconscious mind take control of his emotions.
Nikita sighed, wondering if she shouldn't just walk away and leave Michael to his brooding. But then she decided to take a chance.
"I was thinking of going out and grabbing a cup of coffee...or maybe dinner. Would you like to come?"
Michael stopped typing, hands freezing over his keyboard. He felt his throat working, then his mouth opened. A moment later words tumbled out. "I'd love to."
"Great..." Nikita replied, unable to hide her surprise as she watched Michael turn off his computer. Then he rose from behind his desk, buttoning his jacket as he moved to join her. She stared at the hand he held out to her, then smiled as her fingers clasped over his. The smile remained as Nikita let Michael lead her from the room. At the door she paused, reaching for the light switch.
"Leave it," Michael whispered. His office symbolized the present and Michael wasn't ready to discard it, even though he was taking a step into the future by having dinner with Nikita. Yet as they walked through the corridors of Section One, Michael heard the echo of a sweet lullaby in his head and the shadows of his past danced to the forgotten melody.
THE END
Send suggestions or comments to Shelly