The continual popping sounds of artillery filled a small room. Masked aggressors moved in coordinated synchronicity eliminating each target. Soon the room was reduced to a smoky environment in which deathly silence replaced former mirthful glee.

The signal for retreat had been given. One by one each figure withdrew, heading to transport and filling the van just one body short. Mentally conducting a head count, the team leader quickly concluded that one operative was indeed absent. Four pairs of eyes watched the flip of the cell phone, the voice hailing Housekeeping. Then all but one were on their way back to the Section. Back at base, Michael listened as the unfortunate team leader explained to Operations why the team had failed to secure the fallen operative's body.

"The hazy, chaotic environment proved too much for full extraction," came the reply.

Michael listened, knowing that though the statement was true, there was and never would be room for failure inside Section One. One man's death had turned a simple assignment into a possible political nightmare.

Operatives would have to act quickly to prevent tomorrow's news from being filled with opinionated suppositions as to the identity of the masked invader. Most of the facts could be explained or suppressed, but the Section would require total absolution. The body of the ill-fated field operative needed to be extracted before autopsy, before any identity could be established.

The medical examiner's office layout hung inches above the white-lighted table. Birkoff manipulated the image, turning it to give Michael full view of every exit, every potential place for sabotage. The solo mission was simple. Retrieve the body. Eliminate all evidence.

Los Angeles medical examiner, Katrina Whittaker had just begun her last autopsy of the evening. Her large boned, five-foot four figure hunched over the corpse. Shoulder-length auburn hair seemed odd contrast to her olive-colored skin. Exactly four freckles grouped themselves collectively at the space just above her left eye. A beautiful woman of twenty-eight, too short for modeling and too "bone-heavy" for ballet, she had always had difficulty finding acceptance for her extraordinary mental assets. Medical examining was only a stepping stone towards something bigger. Aspirations of clinical research, making a difference had definite appeal.

Lifting the hand of the John Doe below her, she marveled at its size before taking each digit and covering it with ink. Rolling the fingers over the report paper, a set of fingerprints emerged. She sighed looking at the young face below her. The ME's office was deathly quiet at this late hour.

Vinnie, the security guard, had checked twice with her before locking her in the basement level of the building. When she found a case challenging and stimulating, Katrina often worked late hours to follow the case to completion. The body in front of her was extremely interesting, and she hadn't even begun her internal examination. External examination had revealed a page or more of old lacerations and contusions invarious stages of healing. X-rays revealed history of broken bones, the remains of bullet shrapnel in the left deltoid muscle and external hip flexors. This body was a road map of brutality - history of a warrior.

The creaking of her laboratory door startled her from her observations. She reeled quickly to find a set of eyes peering through the tiny crack.

Katrina exhaled noisily, mentally slapping herself for her overactive imagination. Pulling the protective mask from her face, she wiped the line of sweat for her forehead with the sleeve of her medical jacket. Stripping the layers of gloves from her set of manicured nails, she knelt on one knee and motioned with one finger to the secret spy. A four-year old bundle of boy energy rushed through the door nearly knocking his mother to the floor with the force of his bear-hug. Pudgy fingers entangled themselves in the wisps of auburn hair escaping her tight ponytail. "I wanna go home!" he whispered confidentially, biting his lip and ducking behind the blond tangle of curls. Katrina brushed back the mess of hair.

"Mommy's almost done." Katrina promised, wiping the tomato stains that circled the boy's lips.

"Casey wants to go home." The boy shouted pushing away from his mother's hands and rounding the room, wailing his plea in increasingly louder high-pitched screeches.

Katrina stood, helplessly following the boy's path and chuckling in spite of herself. Movement behind her startled her and turning she found a black-hooded figure standing just inside the doorway. Katrina's head swung instantly back to Casey. Her throat felt constricted, and her body felt the surge of adrenaline that accompanies mortal fear.

Thoughts flung themselves furiously against her tightly lined lips. Nostrils flared and without realizing it her hands had come to shoulder level in an submissive gesture with palms open.

The figure remained motionless, and for a moment Katrina entertained the idea that this was a horrible visage resulting form the stomach-wrenching, grease-laden pizza that had provided both lunch and dinner just hours before. With one forward step the black creature of the night removed all previous doubts as to his presence.

Katrina bolted for her scalpel, but the tray seemed to explode as she neared it. A sickening realization settled over her as she saw the massive artillery leveled at her. Her mind registered that a bullet had been fired, but the sound had been so minimal that part of her doubted it.

Her blood seemed to be replaced with miniature bolts of electricity. Each muscle sporadically jerked under the shock. Casey had ceased his tantrums, and from the corner of her eye the young doctor observed him cowering beside the giant wheel of a gurney table adjacent to the corpse on which she had been working.

"Run Casey!" She screamed, hurling herself at the black hooded creature.

A sticky sweet sensation crowded her psyche and instead of the spark which fired every muscle to tension, she felt the beginning edge of darkness. Her legs were the first to go. She sank first to her knees, heard Casey scream, looked to the hazel eyes of her nemesis. Seeing Casey clear the doorway, Katrina felt the crush of the concrete floor rising to greet her.

Four years later Dr. Whittaker was actively involved in the cutting edge of research, just as she had always dreamed. The difference - research for Section One did not always follow the strict protocols of the outside world. Hers was now a world of experimentation - rats, mice, apes, men- it didn't matter the cost as long as the results were satisfactory. At first this lack of regard for human sanctity had bothered her, but eventually she became numb to it. The memory of Casey, the hope that he might still be alive, and the fury which she directed at her attacker had been enough to keep Katrina encouraged in her work at Section One.

A mother's instinct told her that her boy was still alive. She couldn't allow herself to entertain the idea that he had died in the massive explosion that had annihilated her office building that fateful October night.

Now she was on to something huge. The ability to dictate someone's every emotion through use of a microchip. Less than the size of a pinhead, the magical bullet could be placed in the limbic system. The microchip's initial job would be to measure responses to stimuli, and effectively map the flow of electrical activity associated with physiological responses to emotion. In a week's time Dr. Whittaker had successfully mapped the entire electrical path of her laboratory rats. Using her knowledge of the path, Katrina was able to stimulate whatever emotional response she wanted.

Rage, Fear, Desire, Pleasure. She repeated the study repeatedly, 'til fully satisfied that her hypothesis had been proven. Now she needed to test the chip's placement in the human mind... It would take longer, but the control of emotions could prove invaluable.

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

Fingers drifted aimlessly along the mantel, trailing patterns in a week's worth of dust. Absently rubbing the particles between her fingers, Madeline moved to open the large antique music box center stage on the wooden mantle. The outside was plain and wooden, belying the box's intrinsic beauty.

Closing her eyes as Shubert's "Serenade" drifted upward, she pictured the circular path of the ballerina. Opening her eyes - faceless beauty poised on pointed toe, doomed to circle forever in dance. The features of the face, though dulled and hard to distinguish, imparted a certain dignity through the uplifted chin and high-held fingers splayed with precision.

The mirthless melody added to her melancholy, and in some ways Madeline found herself associating with the trapped destiny of this dancer. Shutting the lid, the melody ceased as did the path of the dancer. The shrill shrieking of a cellular evoked only a slow blink on her part. Out of habit hands reached for the familiar "umbilical cord" that provided a never-ending link to Section One. Her eyes never left the ballerina as she answered the unwelcome intrusion.

Closing the instrument, she backed away from the mantel and allowed her eyes to drift to each aspect of her home before returning to the Section.

Michael met her nearly the moment she entered the Section. "You heard." Michael observed.

"Yes." Madeline answered. She paused outside her door, turning to regard Michael. "It's quite a break-through."

"What now?" Michael inquired.

"There will be a briefing with Doctor Whittaker. Research subjects will be selected from abeyance." Madeline raised an eyebrow seeming to consider the possibilities. "And we will see what will come of the good doctor's invention." Madeline finished with a slight, tight-lip smile.

Michael nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the sub-basement of Section One where the outside world did not exist, Doctor Katrina Whittaker paused for the first time in four years and wondered what to wear. The standard thread-bare lab coat, appropriately stained and acid-burned, would not suffice. Not having been outside Section One since her arrival, the calendar and clock provided her only concept of time. As it was she had lost four days' sleep in her excitement of the implanted chip and its possibilities. One look in the mirror confirmed the toll these weeks had taken. Deepened wrinkles crept from around her eyes and lips. Dark circles hung as puffy, smoke-colored hammocks under the dark brown eyes. Splashing cool water over her face didn't help the puffiness. Rifling through her suitableclothing, the black dress - too stuffy, the sun dress - too casual, she finally settled on a dark brown suit. Sweeping her hair into loose bun, she teased a few curly auburn tendrils to frame her oval face. A dab of eyeliner, powder and lip gloss and she gave herself an appreciative nod in the mirror.

Satisfied, she gathered her portfolio. Outwardly the five foot four frame appeared a paradigm of control, but inside her heart pounded a rhythm resonating loudly inside her ringing ears.

The elevator groaned seeming to have had no recent experience in sinking to such levels. Metal doors opened, and for a split second Katrina entertained the idea of running back to her quarters. Overcoming the mutinous thoughts, she stepped quickly inside the ominous metal cage and firmly pushed the base level button. Closing her eyes, she felt the lurch of the rising elevator followed by a sudden stop. Doors opened, and she emerged into the common area. Eyes traveled taking in every detail. Gun-carrying men and women with soulless eyes passed by her as though she were invisible.

Clutching her portfolio close to her breast, she charted the visual landmarks Madeline had provided.

Standing in front of the massive door, Katrina paused wondering if knocking would be appropriate. Her hand prepared itself, but behind her a voice startled her.

"You must be Dr. Whittaker." A flamboyant blond voiced cheerily, pressing the buttons on a key pad outside the metal door as she spoke.

Katrina looked at the woman, something about the combination of blond curls and oversized blue eyes reminding her of Casey.

"You are here to see Madeline, aren't you?" The woman spoke again - this time extending her arm through the now open doorway.

Katrina shook her head up and down and looked inward.

"Relax." The blond woman whispered, cradling Katrina's elbow and bringing her physically through the doorway.

Madeline looked up briefly at the sound of her door opening. "Nikita, Dr. Whittaker."

Nikita moved quickly to the chairs that were positioned affront Madeline's desk. Plopping into the straight backed chair, she slouched finding a comfortable place for her tall figure. Katrina remained rooted near the doorway with a white-knuckled grip on her portfolio. Nikita looked from Madeline to the slight frame of a woman in an out-dated brown suit. Madeline had already begun with the proceedings despite Katrina's alienated stance.

"Your research is very impressive Dr. Whittaker. We are very pleased." Madeline paused as the door behind Katrina opened and Michael's form filled the doorway.

Katrina looked up and over her shoulder. Instantly she paled and stumbled forward. Michael appeared momentarily baffled by the doctor's reaction as did Madeline and Nikita.

"I'm sorry!" Katrina managed with a tongue that felt as though it were suddenly twice its normal size. "You startled me." Katrina forced a smile to her lips and willed her wobbly legs to the chair next to Nikita. A steadying breath enabled her to remain rooted to her chair.

Mentally, she challenged her initial reaction. There could be no way of telling that this man who he who stole her life away. He showed no signs of recognition towards her. She averted her gaze, realizing that she had been intently studying the man since he has first entered.

"Nikita will be oversee your work, Dr. Whittaker. With Michael's help she will provide the appropriate personnel and make certain that the instrument you have created is used to its utmost potential." Madeline applied an appropriate smile, relaying her confidence to the group. Madeline nodded to Michael. They stood and exited the room together.

Katrina followed his path, trying to recognize something familiar about the strange man. A cool hand on her arm brought her attention to the young woman seated beside her. Katrina found herself only vaguely listening as the woman Madeline referred to as Nikita began to speak. Seemingly, the object of four year's hate has emerged physically in her life, and Katrina's mind had already begun to contemplate revenge.

"She recognized me." Michael asserted quietly as he rigidly walked beside Madeline's figure.

"She hasn't had human contact outside the laboratory in four years, Michael." Madeline stopped to regard Michael. "Don't let your guilt concerning Katrina's child interfere with this mission." She raised an eyebrow in warning then continued in her path leaving Michael to his thoughts.

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

"This is amazing!" Nikita exclaimed, looking at the electrical frequencies undulating on computer screen.

Each inflection every curve had been tagged with a specific numeric code. It had taken two hours to delineate one minute's worth of what Katrina called "pure emotion." The arcing line slowly spun on its axis as Katrina subjected it a slew of manipulations. The blue wave blinked three times before totally disappearing.

A loud crash of metal instruments invoked a startled reaction from Nikita who spun to look at Katrina. Katrina looked guiltily from the instruments to Nikita and shrugged. Nikita managed a small smile, acknowledging her own frustration.

"If the emotions aren't true the results will be flawed." Katrina sighed. "I need real-life reactions, subjects exposed to a range of emotional situations."

"What's wrong with the VR simulations?" Nikita propped herself on the laboratory table and peered through the pale yellow fluid in the beaker, turning her nose up at the foul smell.

"Simulations don't always provoke true reactions. They're generic in the sense that the subjects do not believe the scenarios to be valid." Katrina sighed, rubbing her temples and running one hand through her rumpled hair.

"I don't know about that." Nikita countered, placing the beaker on the table and picking up the small blow torch. "I've done several VR sims, and believe me, my reactions were genuine."

"Yes, but the subjects never reach a maximum threshold of emotional capacity." Katrina observed. "They progress only to a certain levels before logic...common sense reinforces that what they're experiencing is not authentic."

Katrina sighed, shaking her head. Removing the blow torch from Nikita's hands, she placed it on a nearby table. "It's a start, but it's just not 'real' enough. It wasn't a problem with rats...." She mused, studying a slide in the overhead light. "Rats don't possess the same sense of logic and reality that we humans do."

"So what are you saying?" Nikita asked, sliding off the lab table.

"I'm not sure." Katrina wandered around the lab, rubbing her face with both hands. "I need subjects who are.... connected, emotionally invested."

"Is there such a thing in the Section?" Nikita snorted, pressing a label over the video footage of their latest research.

"The subjects that you and Michael selected.... They don't seem to care about anything - much less each other. Their responses to extreme danger are artificial at best. Passion or pleasure - well that's definitely a dead end." Katrina snorted as she began to help Nikita apply labels.

"Subjects need have known personal biases or belief systems!" Katrina stopped abruptly, rubbing the remaining make-up from her eyes and literally pulling her hair. "Maybe... Ah, I don't know anymore." Katrina sank into a nearby chair, kicking at the fallen instruments and looking resignedly toward Nikita.

"Look, I'll see what I can do, Katrina." Nikita shrugged. "Maybe Michael can suggest..."

"What is your relationship with him, anyway?" Katrina interrupted abruptly, raising her hand to cover the bridge of her nose. Peering over her knuckles, she was gratified to observe the resulting thrill of shock that ran through Nikita's features.

"There is no...relationship" Nikita answered, forming "relationship" as if by verbalizing the word she could defile herself with a deadly disease.

"He looks at you." Katrina stated, emphasizing the word "looks" and leaning forward to analyze Nikita as she might study a specimen under a microscope.

"I'll think about what you've said, Katrina." Nikita replied evenly, grabbing her jacket and leaving the room without preamble.

Katrina watched the retreating form and fell backward in the chair. Chewing reflectively on her fingernails - something she had vowed never to do - the sour taste of various chemicals invaded her mouth. Immediately she switched nervous tendencies to twirling loose tendrils of her hair. With the lab quiet, the hissing of the Bunsen burner, the sucking sound of the chemical hood, and the ticking of the clock roared. Robot-like, she stood and watched fingers that seemed foreign dial what had become a familiar number.

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

Darkness... it isn't always simply the absence of light. Sometimes darkness is an all-pervading sense of evil - the type that sends shivers up your spine and makes every hair stand on end.

Nikita could hear Michael's labored breathing behind her, and in a way it was the only thing that was keeping her sane in this cramped, earthy tunnel. Suddenly, a powerful feeling touched her with almost physical presence. Stopping mid-stride, muscles tighened until her body was rigid.

"Keep going, Nikita." Michael's hand pushed gently on her shoulder.

"We should go back." Nikita began to physically shiver and suddenly felt the need to vomit. "We should go back." Her pitch rose, and she turned to face him.

"Nikita." His voice held a warning, and though she couldn't see his face she could imagine the consternation.

"No, it's all wrong, Michael." She grabbed for him, securing his arms in her frantic searching. She pulled him forward until she could feel his breath on her face. "I feel it. It's wrong." She insisted.

"What's wrong, Nikita." The growing sense of irritation colored the words, but Nikita heard nothing.

"We've got to get out of here." She pleaded, pushing past him and running for all she was worth.

Michael caught her arm some distance later, pulling her roughly to a stop. Neither got a chance to say much, because the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

Sprinklings of dirt from overhead rained down on them. The rumbling increased, crescendoing into a monstrous roar. Air rushed around them, pushing them into an unforgiving ground floor. Clinging to each other, neither dared to move. Bright light blinded them momentarily before the earth beneath them sunk several feet.

"Run." Michael instructed, dragging Nikita to her feet and pushing her forward.

The ground alternately rose and fell, making solid dirt feel like choppy sea water. Nikita found herself being repeatedly slammed into the sides of the narrow tunnel. At least the light from above gave them some sense of bearing, Nikita thought. A large downpour of dirt caused Nikita to reflexively jump backward. The back of her head connected solidly against Michael's chin. Dizziness resulted before darkness smothered her.

Nikita opened her eyes to a stranger's face. It took a few minutes to digest the surroundings, but she was sure that she was in the Section.

"You're very lucky." Nikita turned towards the voice and saw Madeline's form in the doorway.

"I don't feel lucky." Nikita returned, resting her aching head against the pillow.

"Your actions in that tunnel saved both yourself and Michael." Madeline offered, slowly approaching the side of Nikita's bed.

Nikita raised her eyebrows in response. Neither women spoke for quite some time. Sensing that Madeline was waiting for something, Nikita closed her eyes slowly and with a sigh obliged , "How's Michael?"

"He's recovering nicely, but I'm sure you knew that too somehow." Madeline stated, taking a minute to regard the eyes which opened in response to her surmisal.

Nikita studied Madeline for a moment, deciding how to play this 'cat and mouse' game. "When can I leave?" Nikita asked, settling on retreat as the best game plan.

"Tomorrow." Madeline answered.

Nikita waited until she was certain that Madeline had left. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she disconnected the various wires attached to her chest, and with a wince jerked the IV from her right hand. A quick look around the room found the clothes that she had worn pre-mission.

Pulling the oversize sweater in place, she engaged in a verbal sparing match with the doctor who insisted she stay the night. Pulling the jeans over her hips, the hissing of the door sounded behind her. She attributed the sound to the return of the disconcerting doctor and his promised reinforcements.

"I'm not stay..." She paused, taking in Michael's wounded form complete with sling and a stitched chin. "Staying." She finished.

Michael said nothing, merely performed an appraisal of his own on her body.

"Take it you're not staying either." She quipped, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her left arm.

"No." He shook his head only slightly.

Awkward silence hung between them for a moment before the question that seems to be bothering Michael made its way to the forefront. "How did you know?"

"Know?" She questioned, stepping closer to him.

"How did you know that the tunnel would cave in ?" Michael clarified.

Nikita considered the question for moment before shrugging. Her gaze fixed on Michael's chin, mystified by the delicate knots of black nylon.

Michael's hand went to the flaw, and Nikita's eyes flitted upward towards his. "I'm glad you're okay" She smiled and brushed past him.

Madeline was busily typing when her intercom beeped. "Yes." She answered.

"The implants are in place, and the units are receiving."

"Good. Let me know when it's complete." Madeline responded.

"How will I know when it's complete?"

"You'll know." Madeline effectively ended the transmission by depressing a silver button.

Rubbing her temples for a minute, Madeline leaned back in the chair envisioning the trapped ballerina, circling in graceful, perpetual motion.

A sustained burst of activity across her keyboard produced a view of Michael's Medlab room - empty. A scan of Nikita's room showed an abandoned bed as well.

Shutting the computer down, Madeline straightened her mahogany shirt and dimmed the lights. Alone with her thoughts, she danced the issues swirling inside her head, becoming the trapped ballerina - her box the Section, her music the pain of others.

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

"Where are we on this prototype of Dr. Whittaker's?" Operations strode into Madeline's office with hands plunged deep in his pocket. Repeatedly pacing the length of Madeline's desk, he studied her with barely concealed agitation.

"It's nearly finished." Madeline answered calmly, taking a moment to track his side to side motions.

"Nearly finished?" Producing a pack of cigarettes and lighter, he lit a cigarette and blew puffs of smoke that any chimney would envy. "The NSA would like to know when and how I can retrieve their agents, Madeline." He smiled tightly and paused in his pacing efforts. "I'm sure that you can appreciate the tension that this is causing for the Section."

"Even with Dr. Whittaker's prototype in place, we can not possibly ensure their agents' retrieval." Madeline warned. "We need to give Dr. Whittaker as much time as possible."

"I need specifics about what kind of time frame we're looking at here. A day, a week, a month ." Operations snapped impatiently, extinguishing his cigarette in a nearby ash tray and rolling his shoulders up and back.

"Of course," Madeline stood calmly, deliberately relaxing her posture and maintaining a soft volume to contrast his rising pitch. "These next few hours will be about exerting the maximum threshold of emotional capacity - pushing each operative to his or her limit."

"How?" Operations barked, increduously.

"It's all there." She offered him a disk and a superficial smile before returning to her seat. "Based on events that will be occurring in the next few hours, Section One will have all its needs to proceed with Operation Illumination."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael shrugged out of his overcoat, and sat expectantly at his desk. A glance at his watch confirmed that time was drawing near. It was Nikita's first away mission as team leader, and the team was due back within the hour. It didn't matter that it was two in the morning, there would always be something on which he could pretend to work. Sleep had not been an option, not since Nikita had left. His fingers flew rapidly over the computer keys, attempting to whisk pesky time away by occupying his mind with every detail of her mission. His door flew open, and his eyes lifted to find Birkoff.

Trace signs of annoyance colored Michael's greeting, "Yes?"

"Operations needs you to assemble a retrieval team." Birkoff announced, momentarily taking pause to regard the lack of response in Michael's exterior.

"The team in Columbia?" Michael questioned, dread rising a cursed serpent from the pit of his stomach.

"Nikita's team." Birkoff confirmed, since it was obvious Michael couldn't bring himself to voice those words.

Michael faded into the oblivion of his thoughts, recalling an exchange that the two of them had had just two days earlier. Knowing that this was her first mission as team leader, he had called her in early. It had taken her a full two minutes to answer the phone, and it sounded like she had dropped it three times before mumbling her groggy greeting to his "Josephine".

"Why haven't you left yet?" He had asked, circling in his chair to regard the time of 3:50 a.m.

"For Gosh sake, Michael, I had ten minutes left." Nikita had wailed.

"Get ready." Michael ordered, his voice not revealing the smile that had surfaced on his face.

Nikita had arrived at the Section fifteen minutes late -- intentional, he was sure. Sporting blue-speckled hands and face and smelling of new paint, she had walked briskly past his discerning eye. Her retort to him had been something to the effect of "foregoing the early bird theory for briefings."

He had distanced himself purposely from her the following days, not wanting to influence her decisions for the mission at hand, but secretly obsessing on every detail.

"Michael!" Birkoff's figure again appeared in his doorway.

Michael nodded and straightened his suit as he prepared for possibly the worst briefing in his history at the Section.

In less than thirty minutes a group of four settled in the briefing room, eyes all on Operations.

"This communiqué was received less than an hour ago from our away team." Operations nodded to Birkoff.

Static filled the room, and one could sense the desperation in each of the voices. A melody of terror with chords of despair, the mounting verse climaxed with the popping of gunfire and an end to the static.

Michael felt Operations' eyes studying him, hence he did everything possible to maintain his flat affect.

Operations' voiced droned ...."FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Columbia) is known for its kidnapping tactics in Columbia and there about. An ambassador's son was recently kidnapped while the family vacationed in a nearby villa. A team was sent to retrieve the boy, but it appears that our Intel on the situation was flawed. In short they were expecting us. Birkoff has modified the communiqué, weeding out the interference and focusing on communications issued by the team leader."

At the sound of Nikita's voice, Michael leaned forward. His features tightened, senses on overdrive. She sounded controlled and calm despite the background of chaos.

"It's not open for discussion, Lane, take Joshua!" Nikita's voice ordered.

"It's suicide to stay here." A male voice argued.

"Do it, Lane!" A clicking sound of a gun readied was heard. "Consider it an order."

There was a pause followed by the sound of repetitive gunfire.

"Team 2, how many hostiles?" Nikita's voice questioned, unwaveringly.

"Ten, maybe more." A voice answered.

"We should stay and fight" the voice Nikita had identified as "Lane" urged.

"For the last time take the boy and fall back to secondary location. GO!!" The fury in Nikita's interchange rang loud and clear even through the static-filled reception.

Operations looked at the surrounding group. "It is certain that the facility in which the package, 'Joshua,' was held captive has been destroyed."

"Charges were set and detonated approximately ten minutes after communication ceased." Birkoff surmised, nodding to the group of operatives.

"It is possible that Joshua and at least one of our team members are alive. Pre-mission, Nikita developed a secondary location, and we are banking on the fact that we have survivors. " Operations looked to Birkoff who continued, "It won't be easy. We're not even sure that we have live bodies. There have been no attempts to communicate since the last transmission."

"Surrounding areas for retreat?" Michael questioned, curtly as if the pace of the briefing was proceeding to slowly for his tastes.

"There's a couple of logical places, but not much chance of finding them." Birkoff answered, shaking his head to emphasize his point.

"Why not?" Micahel asked pointedly.

"Extraction will be difficult for two reasons. The explosion triggered a erupting geyser and a landslide of mud from the surrounding mountains."

Birkoff read the screen in front of him and turned to survey the group surrounding him. "It looks like this.." Birkoff paused in his narrative to produce a simulation of the explosion and landslide which had blocked egress. "I'd say we have a ten hour window for retrieval, after that chances for survival decrease exponentially each hour."

"Weren't they equipped with air transit?" One of the operatives asked.

"No." Birkoff answered. "The Intel that we received suggested a guard patrol of two guarding the boy in this facility." Immediately a small, unremarkable building appeared in three-dimensional form above the white-light table. "Nikita could have done a surgical solo, but she requested a back-up team."

"Based on what?" Michael queried.

"Weather patterns in the area." Birkoff chuckled nervously at the thought of what had inevitably saved at least part of the away team. Michael looked briefly at Operations who in turn shook his head slightly.

"Chance of survival." Michael questioned, wincing slightly.

"Difficult to determine." Birkoff answered, clicking away on the keyboard in front of him. "We're talking about ten minutes of missing time between Nikita's argument with Lane and the explosion." Birkoff scratched the side of his head and shrugged. "Anything could have happened, but we're working on the assumption that Lane and the package should have made it out alive with Nikita and the back-up team's cover fire."

The team dissolved each to there own activity, and Birkoff signaled Michael to stay.

"Based on the location of the explosives, I think it virtually impossible that Nikita could have placed them. It was an set-up from the start, but they didn't anticipate our fire power. Since extraction of the boy was inevitable, somebody decided to take down everyone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bone weary, Nikita brushed the stringy clumps of muddy hair from her face. Chipped fingernails filled with dirt grappled with the zipper on her huge overcoat.

Bare tree limbs swung bull-whip branches, and dark brown water swirled, constantly circling her body at mid- thigh level. Debris floated by creating a veritable obstacle course of loose floating foliage. Combat boots soaked with water and silt grew heavier with each step as she neared the point of exhaustion. Nikita crushed the five-year old limp body against her chest and tried to gain some perspective of her surroundings.

Night was fast approaching, though the all-encompassing grayness had dulled the horizon for some time now. The sounds of constant rainfall seemed to only reinforce the fact that she and this child were hopelessly trapped.

Ahead the sounds of sloshing water brought her to attention, and she raised her weapon in preparation. With a relieved sigh she lowered the weapon as she heard Lane's voice.

Lane appeared somewhat breathless. "The secondary location is nearly under water." He hunched over, catching his breath in rapid, swallowing pants.

Nikita looked at the lanky male nearly doubled over in exhaustion. His thick thatch of black hair falling forward to momentarily hide his blue eyes.

She nodded solemnly, unzipped her coat, and began to loosen the bands that held Joshua strapped against her.

"What are you doing?" Lane demanded between gasps for air.

"I need you to take Joshua and run ahead." Nikita instructed, not daring to look into the other operative's eyes. "The roof top is flat. You and the boy can wait there. I'm sure, by now the Section has sent a retrieval team."

Lane straightened fully, his sharp features highlighted further in a sudden flash of lightening. "You seem damn set on creating a martyr of yourself, Nikita." He sloshed towards her, face scrunched in disbelief. Throwing his hands up, he laughed sardonically, "Despite the fact that you're severely outnumbered, you give a command..."

He stopped short as Nikita's fist connected solidly with his jaw, causing him to fall backward with a splash.

"I'm in charge!" She spat vehemently. Part of her was still angry with Lane for staying behind during egress. "We're not the only ones who could have survived that explosion, and I need YOU to secure the "package" for retrieval." Her lower lip was quivering now, and she cursed the height of emotions that made her want to explode into tears.

"You're gonna stay behind?" He challenged. "In this!" He smacked the water that surrounded him, covering him almost fully in his fallen position.

He pulled himself upward, standing inches from her face with only the boy's body to separate them. This vantage point emphasized the six or so inches in height that he held on her.

"Being a leader isn't always about making the sacrifice." Lane stroked the tawny head half-hid inside Nikita's jacket before looking deeply into her wide-eyed stare. "It's about making the right choice."

They both jumped at the sound of gunfire sounding in the distance. Next came the dull roar of an outboard motor which most likely meant that their attackers were now approaching by boat.

"You were right about the other's escaping." Lane offered, turning his head to appreciate the advancing enemy. He straightened his shoulders, holding his body severely upright. "Be right about who stays here." He encouraged.

Turning away from him to fight back the well spring of tears that seemed intent on flooding her face, Nikita struggled to keep her voice steady. "I need you .... I need you to stay here."

Waves of water pushed around her, signaling his retreat, and with renewed strength Nikita defied the weary muscles that burned with every step. If sacrifices were to be made, let them be worth something. The small boy securely tucked inside her jacket stirred, and Nikita looked down to find wide-eyed brown orbits tracking her face. A tiny hand reached to stroke her neck, and she felt the boy snuggle closer. "Let it be worth something." She murmured.

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

Madeline's footsteps proceeded her, and by the time she cleared the laboratory door, Dr. Whittaker was nervously gathering herself. "You have seen the Operation Illumination profile and what it will require?" Madeline questioned.

"Yes." Katrina answered. Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, she wondered what it was about Madeline that made her feel like a four-year old child. "I'm not sure that you understand the primary function of the prototype chip." Katrina mumbled in the direction of Madeline's black leather pumps.

"What are your reservations, Dr. Whittaker." Madeline clutched her hands demurely in front of her, tilting her head slightly.

Whether Madeline's non-verbals were to show annoyance or to encourage her - Katrina couldn't tell. She lowered her eyes again to consider the question but could provide no legitimate answer.

"You don't approve." Madeline provided, stepping closer to the fidgeting doctor thereby forcing immanent eye contact.

"You may not realize what kind of damage that the continual re-routing of emotion may induce. These tests were meant to be preliminary in nature." Katrina objected, eyes flitting from Madeline's penetrating gaze to various areas in the room.

"Operation Illumination is a job that will not wait." Madeline answered slowly, dismissively.

"I can't be a part of this..." Katrina stuttered, " I'm a doctor." Her voice raised slightly. Locking eyes with her superior, Katrina felt her confidence returning, felt her lips tightening, and felt her chin rising in defiance.

Madeline studied the figure briefly before speaking. "Of course, you would have objections .... concerns about the use of the prototype. I admire your courage in bringing this to my attention." The smile that Madeline provided did nothing to calm Katrina. Madeline began to circle the laboratory, hands behind her back, taking in the sights and sounds as one might enjoy a walk in the park. Stopping abruptly before Katrina's still form, Madeline relayed, "I received word yesterday from Casey's mother."

Katrina's head jerked upward, and she searched the face in front of hers desperately.

Madeline continued with almost reflective attitude, "Children, especially little boys, are so .... fragile." She settled on the appropriate word, a thin smile veiling her lips yet failing to reach her eyes. "These children often fail to recognize risks. Yesterday's scrapes and bruises are soon forgotten in the thrill of learning to rollerblade....on a busy street." Madeline paused to magically produce a small snap shot, which she forced into Katrina's trembling hands.

Visibly paling, Katrina caressed the picture of a her Casey held in the arms of a strange woman. Captured in black and white, his small feet trying to commandeer the rolling wheels beneath him. "I will leave you now to decide what course of action you are willing to take concerning your prototype." Madeline turned to leave. "I will need to know by tomorrow morning - no later than five a.m." She added once through the doorway.

Katrina felt physically sick as she sunk to the lab floor, rocking back and forth on her heels and hugging the photo to her breast. Eyes closed to relive her final moments with her precious Casey. Turned her head to feel the pudgy hands entangled in her hair.

If Michael were the cause of her separation as Katrina believed, then he was also the cause for her son's existence. Her thoughts jumped to her friendship with Nikita - so fresh, so free. If she allowed them to proceed with this mission, there would be risk of not only psychological damage but physiological as well. In truth, she could provide stimuli that might ultimately kill them.

Based on recent reports and the resulting threshold of emotions, Katrina knew that there must be an incredible bond between Michael and Nikita. And now she would be responsible for destroying that flowering attachment.

Katrina absently chewed on her fingernails, but found the taste too revolting. In a daze she made her way to her quarters. Sliding in between the covers of her single mattress bed, she stared at the ceiling above. All night long she tossed the issues, trying to discover a middle ground but in her heart knowing that there was none. Madeline knew her business, and she knew before Katrina's early morning call what her answer must be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anxiously peering around the small room, Nikita slid from the Medlab gurney to slip on her still wet boots. She didn't bother with the laces, because getting out of here was more the issue.

Her first mission turned out to be quite a showdown -- losing her entire team but saving an innocent boy. Nikita vaguely remembered their retrieval.

Sitting on a rooftop, she had curled her body into a protective ball around her precious cargo - Joshua. Her first conscious thoughts were that of whirring chopper blades and an intensely bright light directed at her face. Her fingers numb with cold had closed over the trigger of her gun, and she had waited every muscle contracted in perpetual shiver from the pelting rain. Blurry vision closing on Michael's face inches from hers, Nikita had been only somewhat cognizant while she and Joshua were hoisted aboard the helicopter.

Most likely they would expect a debriefing, but Nikita was hardly in the mood. As she made her way to the exit, she concluded it must be the dead of night. A skeletal crew ran the com center, and not a soul was in sight. Darting in and out of shadows, she cleared the exit undetected.

Her apartment's warm familiarity greeted her. Thirty minutes in a scalding shower loosened her weary muscles. She didn't bother with a towel. On her bed was a huge terry cloth robe, price tags still protruding from one of the sleeves. The warm material soothed and dried her body, its texture in a way as comforting as its sky blue color.

A contented sigh passed her lips as she lowered herself into the mass of white, silk sheets. The comforter, six or more inches thick, was soft as velvet. Her head had scarcely hit the pillow before she fell in a deep sleep.

Maybe it was instinct or a sixth sense that awakened her with the thought of danger. Even with her back toward the door, she felt someone's presence. It was something that years on the street had inbred in her; no amount of Section training could provide this level of paranoia. Her hand slowly crept to the gun beneath her pillow.

"It's me, Nikita." A familiar voice re-assured.

She sighed and buried her head deeper in the pillow, feeling Michael's weight tip the bed.

"What time is it?" She mumbled, slowly curling her lower body away from him.

"Four thirty in the morning." He answered.

She offered an exaggerated sigh and turned face down into the pillow before turning to consider him. Hair uncharacteristically out of place, dark circles hollowing his features significantly, and a shadow darkening his jaw, Michael looked altogether different -- vulnerable.

"Did they call you?" she questioned, trying to assimilate all that was different about this stranger sitting on the side of her bed.

"No." He answered, not bothering to volunteer exactly how he had known that she would be home. Still clothed in wet field gear, a slowly expanding circle of wetness was spreading on the covers beneath him.

She turned on her back, draping one arm under the wet tangle of her hair while the other held the comforter fiercely towards her shivering body.

They hadn't been speaking much lately outside of what their jobs required of them - not that they ever had. His presence was on many levels shocking.

He turned to face her, and she flushed under his frank scrutiny. "I need you." He confessed so sincerely the words might well as been "I love you".

In shock Nikita pushed herself to sitting position, arms clasped around bended knees. "You don't need me Michael." She responded, shaking her head back and forth.

"You're wrong." One of his hands reached hesitantly to touch hers.

Nikita evaded his touch, regarding him like a caged cat. "Nothing's changed, Michael." She challenged, flinging back the blankets with a huff. Stalking into the living room, she flipped several light switches angrily. It seemed obvious that tonight of all nights would be the night during which she and Michael would come to terms.

Tightening the belt on her robe, she padded into the kitchen. The tin kettle was filled and placed over an ignited burner. The refrigerator, un-stocked, held only weepy celery stick , several, browning apple wedges, soured milk, and a partially-filled bottle of water. Biting her lip and looking at Michael's form unmoved from her bedroom, she realized that - now, more than ever -she needed him.

Returning to sit on the bedside, Nikita spoke softly, "I realized something out there...on the mission..." She paused, eyeing him and finding that he was studying her intently. "I sent a man, a good man, to his death. And I don't know I did that, Michael." She finished, covering the rising sob by clearing her throat nervously.

His breath caught uncertainly at her revelation; and the hand that reached for her somehow couldn't bear to touch her. He stood up stiffly, plunging both hands deep inside his pockets.

"How do you do it?" She turned bloodshot eyes upward to him, pleading for explanation.

Michael looked hesitantly downward at her. His own lips quivered ever so slightly as he turned from her burning question. "I do what I have to do...for the job... for the mission."

She nodded, expecting this answer. "What if you can't?"

"Who do you want to answer, Nikita? Your mentor or your ...friend?" He petitioned, softly.

"Which one of you needs me?" She replied, answering his question with one of her own. He knelt beside her, hands coming up to gently grasp her face as her tears fell uninhibited.

Simultaneously, the shrill pealing of a phone was echoed by the insistent whistling of the tea kettle. Michael held Nikita's face for a beat, gently brushing away her tears before answering his phone.

A few moments later found him watching as she poured two cups of tea. Answered her inquisitive look, he disclosed, "We're needed."

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

Inside the brightly lit briefing room, Nikita rested atop a table, back against the wall. Surviving on a couple hours of sleep, she found herself struggling to train her focus on the mission at hand. While the information was certainly intriguing, her heavy lids seemed to be losing the tug -of -war battle. Casually, she allowed a sideways glance towards Michael, finding him stiffly standing guard to her left.

From her juxtaposed position with Operations, Madeline discreetly observed Michael and Nikita, taking in their worn appearance. Operations also noted the war-weary poses of his operatives and paused in his narrative to regard Madeline’s take. She merely raised one eyebrow to note her concern.

“To outsiders Illumination facilities appear to be harmless self-help organizations meant for the very elite.” Photos of note-worthy men and women rotated above the white-lighted table as Operations identified each person by name and affiliation. “As you can see, by elite, I am referring to the overwhelming participation of political, media, and economical partisans.”

Operations held a handful of harmless looking brochures at eye level, sifting through them while Michael and Nikita observed. “‘Business and Your Marriage,’ ‘Building a Better Life,’ ‘Living Outside Your Means,’- these are just a few of the many lures that this group uses to bait new members.”

Throwing the brochures onto the table and pausing to find a cigarette, Operations instructed the operatives,. “Take a look.”

Madeline stepped forward, addressing both operatives as Operations lit a cigarette. “The seminars last two weeks, but the involvement generally continues indefinitely. These facilities are mostly located in remote forest areas where privacy is all but guaranteed. By the end of these weeks, 95% of their guests become active supporters of Illumination’s proposed philosophies.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Nikita yawned, stretching her weary muscles before slouching further in her position.

“The philosophies are the problem.” Madeline responded, turning to hold a look with Operations before coming to flank his position.

Operations drew deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke upward. “Not all terrorism is fought on battle fronts.” His cigarette became a smoking wand used to punctuate his words. “The battle for one’s mind can often be a powerful tool for propitiating world-wide control.”

“Are they implementing methods of brainwashing?” Michael queried softly.

“Yes and no.” Operations answered. “The NSA recently sent two teams on information gathering missions into various facilities. In one month’s time all of the agents displayed unusual acts of open defiance to their charges. Two of the agent’s lives ended under mysterious circumstances. The other two agents have returned to an Illumination facility in which they are being safe-housed. ”

Operations paused to produce photographs of a handsome looking couple on screen. “Rourke Mattingly and Helena Fisher. Both have high security clearance within the Agency. As such, both are privy to a host of classified intelligence that Illumination could use this to further their cause for one-world government. If Illumination is unable to gain the collaboration and expertise of these agents, efforts to encroach national security will for the moment be stymied. With each passing day these operatives are becoming more vulnerable, more suggestible.”

“Why not assault?” Michael wondered.

“There is some concern about the appearances of such actions. Don’t forget that Illumination’s range is far-reaching. They control assets in news, media, and government. They are well-funded, and more importantly well-connected. Most members are not shy about revealing their connection to Illumination; in fact, group membership is looked upon favorably in the outside world.”

“So what is our objective?” Michael queried.

“We need to retrieve the NSA agents. If this becomes impossible to accomplish, their deaths should look accidental.” Operations replied grimly. On cue the pictures of the agents immediately disappeared.

“Once inside the facility we will be unable to monitor communications. It's too risky. We won’t know the type of audience with which we are dealing.” Madeline inserted.

“What’s our cover?” Nikita asked, fiddling with the “Business and Your Marriage” brochure.

“You will be posing as a couple, of course.” Operations sighed, turning to regard each operative with flagrant reservation. “Because of the extreme vulnerability this situation will place you under, you will be expected to monitor each other at all times.” Though his words seemed directed at both of them, his eyes never left Michael. “The leader, Bruswar, will be lecturing at this seminar. He is a formidable foe and very persuasive.” Operations warned.

“Upon your return both of you will be isolated and subjected to intense re--programming.” Madeline interjected.

Nikita looked expectantly at Michael, and he held her gaze briefly before looking to their superiors. “What kind of protection will we have once inside?” Michael questioned quietly.

“You will have only each other.” Madeline answered with a slight smile. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “This will be extremely difficult on all fronts. The techniques Bruswar and his group leaders utilize are extremely advanced.”

“You will need to monitor each other’s behavior carefully. Should either of you exhibit signs of enculturation, it will be grounds for an immediate abort situation.” Operations stern voice admonished. “Walter has designed special wedding bands. Dislodge the stone, and the floating back-up teams will implement abort conditions.” Operations directed, handing each operative their respective band.

“So what - just leave the other there?” Nikita asked incredulously.

“No, that would be far too risky.” Madeline surmised. “Immediate cancellation would be necessary.”

Nikita’s mouth dropped open, and she turned to regard Michael who only looked straight ahead.

“We know the methods that this group uses now, and we feel confident that we have provided you with everything necessary to succeed in your mission.” Madeline ended her benediction, eye bowed and lips curtsied.

“The difficulty will lie in the extreme amount of mental stamina necessary. Beware of repetitive sounds, metered words, variegated temperatures. As you know these can all be used to decrease your alertness and lull you into a state of increased suggestibility.” Operations cautioned them. His eyebrows were drawn together and a slight line of worry soured his thin lips.

“Serve each other well, and be careful.” Madeline’s face brightened and she nodded to the operatives as Operations handed them their individual PDA’s. Operations extinguished his cigarette and promptly lit another before exiting.

Nikita sat there for a full minute before bringing her feet underneath her. Pushing off the table, she stood still for a moment, waiting for the muscles in her legs to solidify.

“I’ll go over the mission parameters and fill you in on the trip.” Michael offered quietly, taking the loosely held PDA from her fingers.

“No,” Nikita shook her head, retrieving the PDA. “You can’t have had much more sleep than I, Michael.”

“Michael is right, Nikita.” Madeline interrupted from the doorway. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

The mild annoyance Nikita felt at such a dismissal lasted only momentarily. In the last forty-eight hours she had only managed one hour of sleep. Nodding her thanks to Michael, she added. “You will get me if I’m needed?”

“Always.”Michael answered, gently taking the PDA and brushing past her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madeline followed Operations into his office, knowing that they would need to talk.

“Sometimes, I wonder how much more I can take of this.” Operations confessed upon hearing her enter.

Madeline came to stand beside him, keeping her eyes forward. Hands in his pocket, Operations observed the activity below.

Suddenly his shoulders visibly slumped under their burden, and he rubbed his temples with both hands.

Madeline placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, responding to his unsaid questions with quiet strength “I think that we have done everything possible to protect Michael and Nikita.”

He nodded then shook his head as if to doubt her. Hands came down to grip the table as he stared unseeing into the glass panel reflection of himself.

“Dr. Whittaker’s invention has provided us with a solution to this problem. Such timing is nothing short of magical.” Madeline offered softly, gripping his hand gently.

“Problem is...I don’t believe in magic.” Operations chuckled to himself, and turned to regard the guarded expression of the woman next to him. “Do you?”

“Do I believe in magic?” Madeline repeated, schooling her face into a neutral position and taking a deep calming breath.

“Do you believe in magic?” He repeated turning to face her, gray-blue eyes searching hers.

Madeline sighed, looking downward briefly before raising eyes fierce with determination to meet his. “I believe that Dr. Katrina Whittaker’s prototype will provide the equilibrium needed to combat the mind-lulling effects of Illumination.” She lifted her chin and smiled, “And furthermore, I strongly believe,” She paused for effect, nodding slightly “Michael and Nikita were the best team to send on this mission.”

Operations nodded appreciatively. Eyes watering slightly, he managed a “thank you.”

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

“Welcome to Illumination!” A cheery woman with a beaming smile that only accentuated her oversized teeth chimed. Her crisp blue uniform held the name Betty embroidered on the left chest pocket. Her animated speech continued “Please leave your bags with our attendants; they will place them in the appropriate mini-lodges.”

“In other words we’ll search every last thing you brought...” Nikita muttered confidentialy to Michael.

The main lodge was just ahead, and the itinerary that they were given placed most of their activities in or around the large log building.

Smoke from chimneys hung stagnant in the cool mountain air while sun and moon played hide-and-seek on opposite horizons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Candy-coated popcorn flew upward, arcing beautifully before entering the opened mouth below its path.

“Will you cut that out!?” An overly nasal voice broke the quietness of the room.

“Bob, one day, you’re going to get tired of having that steel pole shoved up your back side. Until then, give the rest of us a break.” A muffled voice replied through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Just do your job, Mateo.” Bob returned, turning with disgust from the over-sized man with yellow rings coloring his armpits, meaty belly protruding over a belt that was consistently too tight. It had been a daily source of amusement, observing the wide range of pitiful belts all straining and threatening to burst. ‘One good sneeze should do it,’ Bob thought glibly.

Mateo ended his part in the feud by making an obscene gesture in Bob’s general direction. Glancing to his right, Mateo openly observed the trim, straight-laced counterpart who was so engrossed in the host of video monitors. The blue tie that surrounded Bob’s thin neck was so tight the edges of his shirt collar stuck upward ‘Someday, this freak will get an ink stain on his shirt, and that will be the end of his mental fortitude.’ Mateo chuckled to himself envisioning Bob’s bulging biceps clasped around a monitor ripping it from its base while screaming about the injustices of ball point pens.

Bob observed the amused look on Mateo’s face, and wondered to himself what could be so amusing. He shrugged it off, by now familiar with the unconventional sources of amusement in which Mateo invested. Over the years Bob had grown just as accustomed to the fact that for some reason Mateo refused to participate in regular personal hygiene practices. The smells while obnoxious were easily eliminated by a squirt of Lysol air freshener. As Mateo threw another handful of popcorn in the air, the pungent stench of body odor dispersed. With a sigh of disgust, Bob’s hands closed over the Lysol can, and he sprayed the surrounding air.

Mateo watched the actions of his partner. “Clean freak,” He muttered, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the never ending quirks of his co-worker.

“Here they come.” Bob stated, inching his chair closer to the panel of monitors.

One by one the people filed into the auditorium, each taking their assigned seats.

“What do we have this week?” Bob questioned.

“Mateo’s pudgy fingers flew over the keyboard, typing furiously. After a sustained burst of activity, he paused, scratching his shoulder length greasy black hair. “We’ll know in a few minutes.” He glanced casually at Bob whose eyes were forward, watching on screen video the men and women below them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nikita’s headache was only worsening by the time she and Michael arrived for their session. Housed deep in the Arizona Prescott Forest, the decorators had obviously been going for a rustic look. The wooden seats were desperately uncomfortable, low to the ground and hard as rocks. Filled to its capacity and then some, the auditorium felt overly warm, making Michael’s arm draped around her shoulder acutely irritating. She told him so, and received only a hard look that basically said deal with it.

“Do you smell that?” Nikita wrinkled her nose, wiping at her watering eyes just before she viciously sneezed.

“I don’t smell anything.” Michael commented dryly as he surveyed the auditorium looking for bugs.

Nikita’s eyes wandered as well, and she leaned in to whisper. “Above us and to the left, mirrored panel.”

Michael smiled at her with oozing affection and whispered, “Two guys standing down front are carrying.”

She pulled back, smiling at him. “Got it.” She winked at him and began to fan herself with a make-shift fan made from a brochure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think we have three takers.” Mateo licked the sweetness of caramel from his lips and produced three enlarged pictures of guests.

“Profiles?” Bob snapped, taking only a moment to tag each member with an invisible marker.

“A couple women in their early twenties and a brunette in her late thirties.” Mateo returned.

“Go with the brunette. It appears that she's alone.” Bob informed him after a minute’s contemplation.

“Do you want to do the “infra-scan” now?” Mateo asked, reaching for a handful of popcorn and stuffing it into his mouth. The majority of the sweet treats fell in crumbles around him much to Bob’s distaste.

“You should have already done the scan!” Bob snapped, reaching past Mateo’s over-sized abdomen to punch a series of buttons.

Mateo mimicked Bob’s directive, holding his nose to accentuate the nasal tone.

“Uh oh, we got us something real strange here.” Mateo jerked forward, studying a small box highlighted on screen.

“What is it?” Bob questioned.

“Hold on.. hold on.” Mateo shifted in his seat and pressed a few buttons. “It’s a recorder, maybe a radio.”

Bob nodded, reaching for the phone.

“Wait.” Mateo seized Bob’s hand. “It’s her.” Mateo pointed to the blond woman that Bob had tagged earlier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nikita headache worsened with each passing breath of the nauseating smell. “You’re sure that you can’t smell that?” She asked Michael.

He nodded his response before advising, “It’s starting.”

Nikita shook her head and clapped with everyone else as the honorable Bruswar entered. A charismatic man, with thinning blond hair and sharp features, he spoke with a clipped, matter-of-fact voice that floated along in almost lyrical fashion. In the course of twenty minutes, Nikita had begun to lose interest in the political jargon that he was spewing. Needing a distraction, she flipped the tiny button on her miniature radio, discreetly placing the earphone into the ear opposite Michael.

Content with her secret and the music’s steady bass line, her crossed leg dipped up and down in time with the beat. Michael’s fingers curled around her shoulder, and she turned to offer him her most brilliant smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well?” Mateo probed.

“Bruswar wants to use her for the mind demonstration.” Bob’s eyes widened, and he gulped, looking to the crowd below.

“No kidding?” Mateo murmured, licking his lips nervously. “Because of the radio?”

Bob nodded. "Maybe he'll change his mind.”

Both men were quiet for some time, each seemed captivated by his own thoughts.

A red light flashed on Mateo’s screen. Accompanying this visual cue was a piercing beeping sound. Mateo looked to Bob with a questioning look.

“Show time.” Bob murmured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time passed quickly, and Nikita was paying no attention to the speaker. Mentally, she informed herself that she deserved this break, even if the Section hadn’t allowed for it. A sideways glance found Michael looking fairly drowsy himself. His eyes half-closed and never straying from the man in front. Following his line of vision, she regarded the now animated speaker and pulled out the mini speaker - just in time.

The man was pointing at her and Michael, motioning them forward. Nikita shook her head violently, but Michael’s hand firmly gripping her elbow convinced her in the end. With a sigh Nikita strutted down the auditorium stairway.

“I want to demonstrate the power of your mind and the power of human touch.” Bruswar announced to the audience, smiling broadly to reveal a broad gap between his front teeth.

Bruswar motioned Nikita to stand directly in front of him. Placing the palm of his hand across her forehead, Bruswar closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall backward on its axis. Nikita nervously averted her eyes to Michael who only looked on with disinterest and apathy.

“Look at me, and only me!” The leader spoke, eyes still closed.

Nikita blinked and pulled backward, but the leader placed a hand over her left breast and pulled her head forward inches from his own.

“Look at me.” The flat monotone voice held no emotion and the eyes that opened held no warmth, but suddenly she had no will to look from the deeply dilated pupils.

“You feel warm, and your body feels heavy.” Bruswar crooned, moving his hand across the tops of her breasts before drawing a line with his index finger from her belly button to the hollow of her neck.

It seemed impossible to locate the origin of his voice. Although the lips in front of her were moving, the sound she heard was inside her head. Heart rate accelerated, and soon beads of sweat accumulated over her upper lip. Felt the promulgation of sweat as it descended slowly trickling down the valley of her spine.

Bruswar’s hands moving up and down her upper arms barely registered. In slow motion Nikita experienced the sensation of falling weightlessly. The sensation seemed to last forever, and it was accompanied by the increasing pitch of “Sleep forever” heard only inside her head. Everything became a circus of bright lights and voices.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My God!” Katrina exclaimed loudly, breaking the dull monotony of the laboratory.

“What?” Operations whirled to face her, sounding highly perturbed at her sudden outburst. Things seemed to be going according to planned from his vantage point.

“She’s ... I.... Her.” Katrina’s fingers flew like wildfire over the scanner keys. “This can’t be right!”

“What can’t be right?” Operations demanded, looking warily to Madeline’s position across the room.

“Nikita’s EEG is nearly flat? ” Katrina responded in astonishment.

“Is she in a trance?” Madeline questioned, her interest piqued.

“Most hypnotic suggestions could cause a decrease in these types of waves, but they could not possibly achieve the levels that I’m registering. If I had only these to assess, I would say that she is nearly brain dead.” Katrina shook her head, looking from Madeline to Operations, seeking some kind of support or decision plan.

“I can overdrive the emotional capacity of the chip,” Katrina offered. “...Maybe trick her into re-surfacing.- similar to overdrive pacing of the heart.”

“ If it works, won’t that draw suspicion?” Operations wondered, tracing his jaw thoughtfully and never taking his eyes from Madeline’s.

“It may, but I think they’ll attribute the abnormality to some other physical predisposition.” Madeline responded, crossing her arms in front of her.

They both paused continuing to search each other for some sort of external cue of acceptance or permission.

Madeline nodded ever so slightly. “Either way we’re looking at a compromised mission - whether Nikita’s death or increased suspicion.”

“Do it.” Operations ordered without so much as looking at Katrina.

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

“Well?” Operations snapped, seemingly un-impressed by the flurry of activity Katrina evidenced. Both he and Madeline stood post, sentry-style, behind the frantic Dr. Whittaker. Katrina stopped abruptly, slouching in her swivel chair and chewing deliberately on the string of plastic beads circling her neck.

“I don’t know.” Katrina offered flatly, watching the screen in front of her.

“What’s this here?” Operations’ questioned, pointing to a multitude of multi-colored waves undulating in a splash of rainbow style.

“That’s Michael’s pattern.” Katrina snapped, rubbing her eyes and leaning forward to rest her head in her hands.

“Is it normal?” Operations pressed despite Madeline’s light touch on his shoulder.

Katrina sighed, tilting from the cradle of her hands momentarily. “It’s normal for him.” She replied quickly.

“How’s Nikita?” Madeline questioned softly.

“The pattern has better variability, but I’m waiting to see if she can keep it that way without my help.” Katrina stated, clenching her temples. “Problem is, what we’re seeing...” Katrina swiveled to face her seniors. “Has at least a ten minute delay from the events that induce them.”

“Why is that?” Operations smiled with an extremely false charade of politeness.

Katrina tilted her head slightly downward and sighed in obvious frustration. “The prototype chip senses a neural net. The pattern is composed of waves... alpha, beta, delta...” Looking upward at the unsure expressions she was receiving, Katrina stopped mid-sentence.

“And that’s what we’re seeing?” Operations looked at the various monitors.

“Yes.” Katrina answered, glancing over her shoulder at the activities. “Any and all anomalies activate an alarm. I have programmed certain interventions for each anomaly, but I prefer to be here.”

Operations sighed, visibly relaxing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Turning to Madeline, he grinned, “Looks like things are well under control."

Clearing her throat, Katrina shook her head “Problem is that I’m not even sure what kind of shelf life this chip possesses. Tomorrow, the next day, we could conceivably lose all ties with either or both Michael and Nikita.” Katrina offered bluntly.

Operations’ eyes narrowed considerably, and he lowered his torso until his face was level with Dr. Whittaker’s. “That would not be acceptable, Dr. Whittaker.”

Maintaining eye contact, Katrina stood her full height, and smiled tightly, “I remind you that this type of monitoring and wave-bending has never been done before. We have opened Pandora’s box here, and yet you want me to control the unknown.” Katrina pried her eyes from Operations’ piercing gaze and briefly acknowledged Madeline. “Well, it can’t be done. I can only work with what I know.”

Operations opened his mouth to say something, but Madeline’s arm looped through his stopped him short. “I think we all need a break.” She turned from Katrina to regard Operations, softening her request with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The tingling started in the tips of her toes and traveled upward in a blinding, pin-pricking tangle of neural activity. Each muscle contracted tightly. Her teeth clenched, and her jaw seemed tied to her chest. Her lungs were burning with their need for air, but for some reason she couldn’t remember how to breathe. She felt someone touch her arm, and the sensation radiated in ripple-like fashion. Then all at once she felt a grand sense of euphoria.

Her body jerked upright, gasping and swallowing air before she turned to vomit. Still gasping, she became aware of the many witnesses to her activity. A glance toward Bruswar found him positively pale.

He whispered something to Michael, and the next thing Nikita knew Michael was escorting her out of the auditorium. Stumbling outside the cool night air burned her aching throat.

Her mind was a daze of bright colors. Swarms of thoughts vied for her attention, but none got it. A giggle started in the back of her throat, when her eyes found Michael’s stern face. She tried to swallow the reaction, but the laughter just increased tenfold until soon she was clutching her stomach in agony.

Michael’s eyebrows creased, and his eyes saddened. Gripping her upper arm, he steered her towards their lodge.

“I’m calling for an abort.” Michael informed her in hushed tones.

Nikita only laughed harder, spinning recklessly from his grip and dancing in tight circles singing “You’re the Wind beneath My Wings” loudly off-pitch.

Michael stood for a moment evaluating the site to which he was privy. Glancing nervously around their perimeter, he strained to locate potential eavesdroppers.

All at once Nikita dropped to the ground. She blinked furiously, “I feel dizzy” She stated, folding her body in half to rest her forehead on her knees.

Michael grabbed the extended arms and hauled her to a standing position. Pushing her at arm’s length, he shook her slightly. Her head rolled like a broken doll’s before coming to face him. “Nikita.” Michael pressed, sensing her resistance decreasing.

She licked her lips slowly, and shrugged from his arms. Hugging herself, she considered her surroundings before asking, “What?”

“What?” He repeated, stepping closer to whisper. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She stated earnestly. Managing a smile that failed to convince Michael, Nikita brushed past him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside the surveillance room Mateo and Bob were trading theories on how the young blonde named Nikita had transcended Bruswar’s demonstration.

Bruswar entered the small room and tossed Nikita’s miniature radio to Bob. Turning to regard Mateo, he instructed. “Find out all you can about our guest Nikita.”

“Her husband, Michael?” Mateo wondered, half-turning towards his computer.

“I know all that I need concerning Michael.” Bruswar commented dryly. “I want her singled out, keep her away from the others for now.”

“Sure.” Mateo nodded, turning at once to start his activities.

“Bob, I want her radio equipped with audio and tracking.” Bruswar ordered coarsely, squinting at the captured face of Nikita still frozen on screen.

“When...” Bob started.

“As soon as possible, Bob.” Bruswar snapped, his dark eyes smoking with fury. “I plan to intimate myself with these two later tonight.” He continued absently to himself.

With that Bruswar left, and Bob and Mateo exchanged uneasy glances as each began their respective duties.

“First time I’ve seem him that rattled.” Mateo offered before nervously chugging the remainder of his Coke.

“First and last.” Bob offered, raising his eyebrows.

Unconsciously both men’s eyes went to Nikita’s face on the screen above them. Without a word, Bob depressed a few buttons erasing the visage.

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

The open sliding glass door created a band of moonlight cutting Michael’s seated form in half. Chin resting on one closed fist, he sat in relative darkness. An occasional breeze would filter through the room, ruffling the blinds and teasing the curtains into dance. The smell of pine hung a rich reminder that he and Nikita resided prisoners on a fifty acre preserved forest.

Shifting his position and in the process glancing at his wrist, he again re-played the events of the evening. Over and over he saw Nikita’s body falling backward. Her suitcase, unpacked, sat accusing him. Its silver buckle eyes highlighted in the moonlight. He turned uncertainly towards the knock at the door. Hands came to rest on the wooden arm rests of the padded blue plaid rocker. Again a knock was heard. Taking a deep breath, Michael walked to the door. Checking the peephole, he was surprised to find Bruswar behind the soft knock.

With an appropriately apologetic expression Bruswar accepted Michael’s invitation to step inside. “I’m sorry,” He stated. “But I just wanted to check on Nikita.”

“She’s not here.” Michael answered. Noticing for the first time how dark it was, he turned on an overhead light and motioned for Bruswar to take a seat.

Bruswar nodded and sat down in the blue plaid rocker. Immediately he took notice of the large suitcase center stage in the living room. “What did you think about the seminar today?” He queried, never taking his eyes of the piece of luggage.

Michael seemed to consider the question for a minute before sitting in a rigid wooden chair that was two sizes too small for his large frame.- the oversized couch was far too relaxing “I found it very interesting and in ways disturbing.”

Bruswar smiled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His dark eyes pinned Michael with their intensity. “Why are you here, Michael?”

“We’re here because of your relationship seminar.” Michael answered as his hand unconsciously began to stroke his jaw.

Bruswar seemed never to blink. His stare seemed a probe that went right through Michael. He stood suddenly, pacing slowly back and forth in front on Michael with measured steps. “You’re very good at what you do, and I could use a man like you.” Bruswar admitted.

“Why would you need a computer analyst?” Michael questioned, referring to his cover story.

Bruswar face half-turned towards Michael revealing the presence of a small smile. “Yes, I believe I do need someone with your expertise.” Facing the window, he seemed lost in his own thoughts observing the outside view.

Michael studied the man for a moment, before turning to the sounds of someone fumbling with keys outside his door.

Bruswar turned to say, “Ah, your wife Nikita.”

Nikita entered, and her eyes traveled uneasily between the men who stood facing her. “Am I interrupting something?” She asked, smiling uneasily as she took off her jacket.

“Not at all.” Bruswar beamed, striding forward with hand extended. “I just wanted to return something that you left earlier this evening.”

In his hand lay the miniature radio, the sight of it making Nikita blush. Before she could form an appropriate apology, Bruswar hugged her fiercely. Awkwardly she returned his hug, patting his back and exchanging a concerned look with Michael.

“I should apologize for interrupting.” Bruswar insisted, suddenly playing the part of a sorrowful sinner. “I’m sure that you must still be in shock.”

“Well...” Nikita started, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Of course you are...” Bruswar crooned, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “You must take tomorrow to recuperate. Someone in your condition should not have to endure the stress of another lecture.”

“My condition?” Nikita balked at the words, wondering if this was his idea of a planting a believable cover-up for the fiasco earlier this evening.

Bruswar shook his head, and brushed past her to the door. “I’ll hear nothing more of it. Tomorrow you’ll spend a relaxing day with one of my staff people.”

Nikita followed his path with her eyes, offering him a tight smile over her shoulder. Michael followed the man, locking the door behind him.

Off Michael’s look of consternation, Nikita tossed him the radio. “Here take it. "Sounds like tomorrow I won’t be needing it.”

“You shouldn’t have brought it.” Michael chided, tucking the radio in the outside pocket of her suitcase.

Nikita rolled her eyes and sulked momentarily before her curiosity got the better of her. “What was he doing here anyway?”

“He told you.” Michael answered, closing the glass door and locking it. “He was returning the radio.”

Something bothered Nikita about the whole scenario, but she decided that now wasn’t the time.

By the time she had showered and gotten dressed for bed, Michael was already tucked beneath the covers, lying on his back resting the back of his head in the crook of his arm. Climbing silently into bed, Nikita deliberately faced the opposite direction.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Nikita?” Michael questioned at long last.

“You mean about ‘my condition’!” Nikita retorted. If Bruswar or Michael thought that she was going to use pregnancy as some excuse for what had happened, they both he had another thing coming.

Michael turned his head on the pillow to look at her. Her back was to him.

Silence was his answer, and she returned the favor, snuggling further under the covers and assuming a fetal position.

“Nikita.” He whispered. “About tomorrow - we’re supposed to monitor each together.” Michael stated in hushed tones.

“Like you monitored me tonight.” Nikita challenged, shifting onto her back and staring him down as best she could in the moonlit room.

“What was I supposed to do?” Michael asked, gently stroking the arm nearest him.

“I don’t know ....tell him to stop molesting your wife!” Nikita hissed, shrugging from his touch and turning away from him once again.

Michael lay there for a minute, tension playing with the muscles of his jaw. It would be of little use to argue with her at this point.

Nikita sat up quickly, folding arms over her chest. “You were affected by him.” Nikita spat out, lifting her jaw defiantly. “Don’t deny it. You couldn’t protect me, because at the time you didn’t care.”

Michael listened to the words, letting their meaning sink in. Throwing back the covers, Michael sat on the edge of the bed.

Nikita watched the muscles of his back tighten and relax as he pulled his pants up and over his hips. She didn’t have to ask where he was going. She watched him dress in the darkness, and then he was gone. She sat there for a full twenty minutes before exhaustion won out and she collapsed holding Michael’s pillow in her arms.

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

The week progressed, and with it the tension between Michael and Nikita grew unbearable. Their verbal sparring became an almost hourly occurrence and centered mostly around items of progressive paranoia. “Where were you?” “Why weren’t you there?” “ You seem different” “What’s wrong with you?” - they became mutual mantras for the Section operatives. From the start things had not gone as planned. People in the Illumination facility denied having ever heard of the rogue NSA agents.

The chitter chatter of birds and the brilliant sun rise went unnoticed as Michael and Nikita once again circled their issues. This morning things centered around what Micahel thought to be a delusion diatribe.

“Why couldn’t this be a set-up, Michael?” Nikita challenged. “Think about it. The Agency heads are contaminated. Illumination needs to guarantee control of black Ops. We’re sent in to take care of a few “problems” and become infected with their philosophies.”

“We have no contact with the Section, Nikita. No way to verify this scenario.” Michael countered, pacing a wide circle around her.

“What if I told you I could?” She pressed urgently, waiting for his movement to stop. She stepped to his location and repeated. “What if I had a way of proving it?”

“How?” He questioned, apprehension and disbelief flickered in his eyes, but he appeared to be listening.

“Rourke Mattingly.” She answered, watching him closely as she unleashed her time bomb.

Michael stepped closer, lifting her chin to better read whatever was hidden behind those bright eyes.

“I found him. I found the NSA agent!” She smiled triumphantly, her hand coming up to clasp his.

“When?” He interrogated, clearly aggravated at this disclosure. His lips spread a thin, grim line, and anger blazed his hazel eyes black.

She opened her mouth to answer, but found the glowering expression to much to take. “I knew you’d react this way.” She defended, dropping his hand like it had seared her flesh.

Michael’s eyes shut and his shoulders slumped. The eyes he opened to hers were full of repressed rage. Resting a hand on either of her shoulders, he inquired, “How long have you known?”

Nikita bit her lip and swallowed hard. “Three days.” She returned weakly.

He released her abruptly, causing her to step back to find her balance. He paced a minute, refusing to engage eye contact.

“Michael, I trust him.” She insisted. “What he says makes sense.”

“You’ll excuse me if I question your qualifications in discerning with any clarity members of the male species.” He retorted.

Nikita steadfastly resisted the urge to slap him, instead stuffing her hands in her pockets. “This mission is about trust, Michael. If you honestly think that you can’t trust me, then we have to abort.” She answered simply.

“No.” Michael denied, instantly coming to life at such a remark.

“You’re scaring me, Michael.” Nikita raised a tentative hand to stroke his arm and tried not to reflect the pain she felt when he avoided her. “With Rourke we can escape without calling for an abort, and by doing so we can verify his story. ” She pleaded.

“That’s not the profile, Nikita.” He practically shouted. Taking a calming purifying breath, he continued in a calm, low meter. “We are to find and assassinate two rogue NSA agents. That is why we are here.”

“What if our information is wrong. What if we’re killing the wrong man?” She anguished.

Michael’s jaw tightened, and he looked coldly towards her. “Then call for an abort or leave with him, but I won’t be going with you. You’ll have to cancel me.” He challenged.

Nikita shook her head. Grabbing his arms, she pleaded. “Michael, listen to me. We’re way beyond mission protocols here” She cupped his face with her hands, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “Please trust me on this.” She pleaded

His eyes softened momentarily flitting between her eyes and upturned lips, but just as quick his face went expressionless and cold. “I don’t know who you are anymore, Nikita. Do what you have to do, and I will do the same.”

“I won’t be here when you get back.” She stated over her quivering lower lip.

Michael paused, his forehead wrinkling the slightest. “Yes, you will.” He brushed her lips with his finger and gazed longingly at her.

Nikita angrily stalked away from him, kicking leaves and pine cones angrily as she went. Holding aloft the ringed finger that could bring Section operatives to her rescue, she gritted her teeth, acknowledging that nothing short of death could make her leave Michael.

Sinking deep in thought, she lowered her war weary body on a fallen tree trunk. Snatching a handful of wild flowers, she absently de-petaled each bud. Dropping the soft petals in a growing heap on the ground around her. The cracking of a branch behind her caused her to jump. Scanning the area, she relaxed upon seeing Michael’s form behind her. “What do you want?” She muttered, not knowing if she was up for another fight.

Walking slowly as if a dream, Michael made his way to her position. He stepped over the log and sat to her left. Saying nothing, he picked up her left hand, studying first the ring and then her face. “We need to talk.”

She nodded mutely.

His eyes darted the perimeter, and his voice was low calm and sounded almost rehearsed. “I am here for a reason other than the agents. I’m supposed to be more involved than you. Operations and I designed it that way.”

Nikita squinted her eyes, trying to get past the barrier of his flat affect.

“You may be right about a set-up. I’m sorry that I’ve kept you in the dark, but I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.” Michael continued earnestly, grasping her left hand between both of his.

“So are we going to leave - check out his story?” Nikita asked, looking at her captured hand and finding her eyes losing their defiance.

“I’ll let you know.” He offered, refusing to meet her questioning gaze. “Not good enough, Michael. I’m leaving tonight with or without you.” She demanded, shaking her hand free of his.

“That’s not enough time!” Michael shouted, standing abruptly causing Nikita to react in fear. He was visibly shaking, and it seemed that he was fighting to keep his facade of control intact. He gently stroked her face and his eyes pleaded. “Please.” He whispered, kneeling to pull her in for a hug. She allowed the hug, but didn’t return it. “Tonight, Michael after the dinner.”

“All right.” He answered into her shoulder.

Pulling back, he smiled at her, and she smiled back at him, uncertain why they were both smiling.

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

Certain that Michael was not following her, Nikita met with Rourke in some old, abandoned stables some three miles away from the main lodge.

“What do you mean you told him?” Rourke exclaimed, kicking the decaying wood with his oversized boot.

“He’s going with us.” Nikita answered sheepishly, trying to avoid Rourke’s exasperated outburst.

“If Michael finds me, then he will kill me, Nikita.” Rourke sat down on a rotting log and buried his head between his knees.

“No.” She answered firmly.

“Haven’t you noticed the changes?” He sighed, looking up at her sadly. “ I bet he’s just like Helena was. Sets his watch a half-hour early to remind himself of meeting times. He misses meals, misses sleep, but he won’t miss a meeting with Bruswar. Am I getting warm?”

Nikita turned from the onslaught. “Michael is playing a part. He has to act a certain way to gain Bruswar’s trust.”

“You’re right about one thing.” Rourke paused, “He’s playing a part, and he’s playing you for a love-sick fool.” Nikita whirled to face Rourke, anger sparkling in her eyes. “You don’t know him.”

“I don’t.” Rourke accepted, nodding his head. “But I know the type, and so does Bruswar. Give Michael a worthy cause, and he’s hooked. Comfortable with rules set by others, willing to live and die by the book.”

“You’re wrong!” Nikita countered, shaking her head violently. “You’ll see tonight.”

Rourke nodded sadly. “Helena and I had been partners for ten years. We loved and trusted each other. She set me up and left me for dead, Nikita.”

"Michael's different." Nikita murmured, casting Rourke a sympathetic look.

The day passed slowly for Nikita. She chewed on her fingernail, trying to convince herself that trusting Michael was the right thing to do. Remembering Rourke’s words, she struggled with certain facts that no longer seemed to exist. Walking non-stop for hours, she could only reach the conclusion that Michael cared about her. She knew in her heart that he would never harm her. Content she rushed back to their lodge to ready herself for this evenings event.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael watched the continual stroking, the sound of a razor rushing through cream and up those silky legs. Every sound seemed magnified. With her miniature radio blaring in her ear, Nikita’s hips were swaying back and forth - the motion only adding to his discomfort.

The terry cloth robe would open just a peek to reveal the tops of her breasts as she lowered her torso with each down and up stroke. To add to his misery, she knicked herself. Soon she was licking her fingers to wipe away the blood before grabbing a cloth to blot.

Thank the gods that she finished and shut the door. The barrier blocked the humid heat that emanated, but did nothing to prevent the rising heat inside him.

She emerged in a pale pink gown with tiny embroidered red and white rose buds and a dangerous slit that revealed most of her left thigh when she walked. Her hair coifed with a few loose tendrils held a few sprays of baby’s breath.

She seemed somehow dissatisfied with the outfit, muttering to herself as she tried on different shoes. She settled on two choices. Standing poised on one foot and then the other, she tried to decide which was the better match. Unable to reach a decision, she turned at long last to acknowledge his presence.

“I know this is not your thing, Michael, but...” She shrugged, looking downward at the shoes and holding the hem line on her floor-length to mid-calf level.

Michael seemed to consider the options, but found his gaze wandering to her hips and breasts. After a few moments of silence, Nikita looked up expectantly.

Michael recovered enough and managed to point to the left shoe. Convinced, she nodded and went in search of its match.

“Just one thing.” Michael whispered, stopping her as she nearly passed him. Dropping to one knee and running one hand along her calf, he pinched the nylon material between his thumb and forefinger, snapping the material. Nikita felt the run as it ascended from her calf to her upper thigh.

“You have a run in your stocking.” Michael murmured against the soft flesh of her thigh.

Nikita bit her lip. “The seminar starts in less than an hour, Michael.” In her mind’s ear, the voice that she heard was high-pitched and tremulous.

“Well then you should get ready.” He smiled slightly, wrapping one hand around her foot and one behind her knee. She bent the knee and he slipped the shoe off. Kissing the top of her foot, he watched with humor her balancing act. All of her weight rested on the tiny sliver of a silver heel. The heel shook, grinding into the carpet as she struggled for balance.

“Michael!” She scolded , gripping his shoulders to steady herself.

He released the trapped foot. But remained on his knees.

His hands clasped her hips bringing them forward until her hips were brushing his face.

His breath was hot against the juncture of her thighs, and she suddenly felt the sweet invasion of his fingers. She groaned grasping his shoulders and wrinkling the material of his shirt in rhythm with his fingers.

His gentle probing continued as his other hand pushed the slight material in a bunch around her waist. His fingers were replaced with another sweet invasion, and her fingers gently pulled his head back and forth in rhythm with her hips. Soon her legs were weakening and her whole upper body nearly covered his back.

Hardly missing a beat, Michael rose, sighing deeply as he deposited her gently into bed. He stood at the foot of the bed looking at her, flushed and breathing heavily, dress around her waist - some remnants of her lacy underwear and stockings reminders of his assault.

He crawled over her, lowering his mouth to hers and sharing the flavor of her love.

His fingers curled around hers, pressing them oh so gently into the silky sheets below. His mouth covered hers with sweet kisses.

His alarm sounded, and Nikita groaned, “Don’t you dare leave me like this.” But his attentions never ceased. Hovering on the brink, Nikita cursed silently as another alarm sounded. He pulled away from her, despite her sounds of disappointment. Placing one last kiss on her forehead, he hurriedly left.

Nikita sank breathless back in bed. Closing her eyes, she re-lived the last few moments. Part of her was surprised at the passion Micahel still held for her. Raising her leg in the air, she spoke to the ruined stockings. “You have a run in your stockings.”

She giggled, rolling to hug a pillow into her chest. With a sigh she pulled herself from the bed and donned a new pair of stockings. Her hands smoothed the silk, and she that’s when she noticed her bare finger.

With a jolt she rushed back to the bed, smoothing her fingers over every wrinkle, tossing pillows and finally stripping the bed entirely. Anger flushed her face and made her hands tremble.

Michael had taken her ring.

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

Nikita sat on the bed, feeling numb in every way. Looking again at the empty ring finger, she allowed herself exactly two minutes of self-pity before hurriedly stripping and changing into dark pants and shirt.

Gazing in the mirror at herself as she tied her hair into a tight ponytail, the reflection of the abandoned shoes, rumpled sheets, and discarded dress taunted her. Repressing the rising sob, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. “Good-bye, Michael.” She told her image.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katrina awoke to the steady beeping of her monitor alarms. Rubbing her eyes, she squinted at the screen in front of her. Amazing what sixteen hours of sleep could do for one. Sliding her chair to the blinking monitor, she performed a series of internal controls. What she was seeing could not be true.

Moments later Operations and Madeline had joined her. Nikita’s pattern was back on -line, and it appeared that she was experiencing elevated levels of duress. Michael’s pattern, however, remained unchanged.

Katrina bit her lip and turned to demanding gaze of Operations. “It’s happened. One of them has sided with Illumination.”

“Which one?” Madeline demanded, splitting her gaze between the colorful screens.

Katrina pointed to a highlighted band of yellow on the screen. “This is new, and its significant because it suggests altered levels of consciousness and increased levels of suggestibility”

“What happens next?” Operations’ wrinkled brow belayed the calm tone of his voice.

“I can overdrive the chip, but we would risk extreme psychological damage and possibly irreversible physical damage.” Katrina offered.

“How long will that take?” Madeline inquired.

“At least five or six hours.” Katrina answered, turning to the computers and beginning to divide her attentions between three massive panels.

Outside the door Operations turned to Madeline. “How much of this is about Katrina’s history with Michael?”

Madeline seemed to consider the statement a moment before answering. “I don’t think the one thing has anything to do with the other.”

Operations lifted his chin and quirked his head towards the laboratory. “And the little boy.”

“Casey.” Madeline supplied.

“Yes. She knows that he’s alive.” Operations stated, reaching for his cigarettes.

“She knows.” Madeline answered with a tight smile.

“Good.” Operations commended, taking a moment to light the slim white cigarette.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nikita made her way silently to the rendezvous point, and looked sheepishly at Rourke’s emerging figure.

“Where’s Michael?” Rourke looked behind her expectantly.

Pushed a pair of gloves against her fingers, Nikita struggled with the next few words. “He’s not coming.”

Rourke regarded her for a moment. “Did you kill him?”

Nikita shook her head and raised saddened eyes to meet his. “Let’s go.”

Rourke nodded.

Absently Nikita regarded the rain that hid her falling tears. In a way it was symbolic that nature too should cry at her parting. Winds howled their sorrow and even the moon seemed lost in the darkness of swollen clouds.

Nikita jogged behind Rourke, sliding over the patches of muddy soil. “What about the dogs?” She whispered through panting breaths.

“We have a thirty minute window in sector three, but we have to hurry.” He answered over his shoulder.

They ran through the thick wooded area, swatting at the swinging branches and stumbling over the jutting roots. The moonlight created strange shadows and the barking of several dogs brought Rourke to a sudden halt.

Nikita pushed him from behind. “Why are you stopping?” She questioned.

“The dogs. Listen to the way that they’re barking!”

She shook her head, trying to hear what he heard. “They’re probably just scared of the thunder.” She stated,

“No...” He shook his head with certainty. “Notice the repeated short barks followed by an elongated howl.”

“She shrugged, “So.”

“How much did you tell Michael about our escape plan?” Rourke’s voice was escalating with fear, and Nikita noticed that he flinched at the very sound of raindrops.

Nikita shook her head, grabbing his jacket and shaking him gently until his darting eyes came to rest on hers. “Michael wouldn’t betray me.”

“You told him, didn’t you.” Rourke accused her.

“Let’s get to Sector three, Rourke.” Nikita offered, pushing him gently.

“Nikita.” He insisted, looking to her for reassurance.

“I didn’t tell Michael.” Nikita lied. “He’s at the meeting.”

Rourke heaved a sigh of relief and laughed nervously, “Dogs... I guess I’m just spooked.” He apologized.

Nikita nodded, smiling to cover her own rising fear.

A few minutes later they reached a clearing, and something about the openness and the accompanying quietness spoke to Nikita.

“Rourke, wait a minute.” She whispered. Her eyes searched the perimeter, but the crowded shrubbery made it impossible to penetrate the tree line.

“Is there a way around this?” She asked, crouching low to the ground.

Rourke mimicked her position and nodded his head. “Yeah, but we don’t have time for detours.”

“Can we wait for another window?” She pried, a gnawing fear growing inside her.

“It would be daylight by then.” He answered, dismissively with a shrug and nervous glance behind him.

Nikita pondered the options, her gut telling her to stay put while logic told her that this was a one time shot.

“Okay.” She squatted lower, settling in the leaves and using her finger to point direction. “We run like this.”

She drew the patterns and then stood. “And Rourke.. don't stop for anything.”

Halfway across the clearing four pairs of head lights illuminated. Nikita raised an arm to block the light and gasped as she heard gunfire. Beside her Rourke’s body moved like a marionette as his body became riddled with bullets. He sank a lifeless heap some fifty yards from her.

Nikita started towards his fallen body, but stopped short when a bullet whistled by her ear and another bit the ground at her feet.

Four men appeared. Three men that Nikita recognized from Illumination seminars and Michael all carrying guns lowered at her.

“What’s going on, Michael?” Nikita bit her lip, trying to fight back tears.

His expression was totally blank. “You need this, Nikita.” He answered, turning her away from him while he secured her hands.

“You’re crazy!” She shouted, pushing away from him and trying to flee.

He grabbed her, easily halting her progress and keeping her flailing extremities trapped against him.

Every thought that repeatedly slammed against Michael's skull resonated rage and frustration, yet for some reason all that registered was pleasure. Pleasure at the thought of giving Nikita to the cult leader -- Bruswar. The laughter he heard was his own -- empty and shallow -- but nonetheless his own. Felt his head fall backward on its axis, and bellowing laughter ensued.

Nikita’s face below his mirrored the horror that he felt but could not communicate.

“Michael?” She cried, screaming and pleading even, but try as he might he felt nothing.

He watched with gleeful mirth, not remembering a time that he felt more alive. The high was magnanimous, like flying with feet planted firmly on the ground.

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

It had been in his power to stop Nikita’s attackers, and yet he had done nothing -- worse he had thought the idea humorous. Head in hands that rested on knees, Michael waited outside her cell trying to formulate a valid reason for his actions. Bruswar had given him one more chance to “enlighten” Nikita. All he could think was that he must convince her of the error of her ways. He must get her to accept her grievous wrong.

Hearing the sounds of movement inside her cell, Michael straightened his shoulders and buttoned his jacket. Stepping inside the cell, he was shocked at what he found there.

Nikita had resisted her capture, fighting her captors tooth and nail. Her bruised and swollen face stood testament to that fact, and the sight of it shocked him. Though he could try and deny it, her appearance reached something deep inside him.

“I’m sorry.” Spewed from his mouth before he could think to restrain the words. Closing his eyes, he turned from the hollow form of the woman he once knew, knowing that two words could scarcely placate the ridge between them.

“Something’s wrong.” Nikita spoke in flat monotone, wincing in pain as she maneuvered a sitting position.

She had never been able to lie to him, and he had preyed on that. Over his shoulder he regarded her - trying to mask her pain with a front of bravery. Left eye nearly swollen shut and blood crusting her lower lip, she spoke to him.

“I’ve never seen you like that, Michael.” Forehead wrinkled and tears welling up in her eyes, she inwardly cursed the tremulous voice.

He turned to face her, face unlined smooth as silk.

“What was that?” She pushed herself slowly up the plastered wall until her face nearly paralleled Michael’s.

He averted his glance, not able or willing to give insight as to his response.

Michael’s gaze darkened, and his hands surrounded the creamy neck in front of him. She blocked his attempt and darted for the door, but he physically picked her up and hurled her to the floor. Loosening his belt, he stared menacingly at her.

Shaking her head, her mouth opened slightly as she saw the intent in his eyes. She slid on her elbows, backpedaling against the wall. He tracked her motions, allowing them.

“Don’t do this, Michael.” She clamored.

“Stand.” He spoke softly, but the threat was implied in the folded belt he gripped.

Eyes on the folded belt, she rose to her feet.

“Turn.” He commanded.

Soft cries rose uninhibited in the back of her throat, tears spilled over her cheeks as she turned.

Using his weight he pressed her against the wall as he used the belt to secure her hands.

“Michael, please.” She murmured against the cool white cell wall.

Turning her roughly he regarded her body unabashedly. Trembling limbs and knees that threatened to buckle.

“You don’t want to do this.” She closed her eyes, unwillingly to remember this picture.

Jumping at his first contact, she slid to the floor.

He responded by slapping her hard. The left side of her face went numb, and he jerked her to her feet.

Blood from her split lip poured over her chin dripping against the hand that held her chin. She watched his eyes focus on the growing red stain. His skin sullied by brilliant streaks of sanginous fluid.

He stepped backward, seeming to look at her for the first time -- bleeding and horrified.

“Nikita?” His voice sounded weakly.

Nikita watched as he clutched his head, sinking to the floor and writhing. Blood poured like a faucet from his nose. She knelt beside him, awkwardly trying to aid him. His gyrations turned violent and with one solid blow, Nikita tumbled backward. Her right shoulder took the brunt of the fall. A sickening popping sound was heard, and she felt pain like fire burning a trek down her affected arm.

Her eyes looked in horror at the raised boot meant to crush her skull. “MICHAEL!” Never had such a powerful plea escaped two lips. Her eyelids closed protectively and she awaited the blow that never came. Michael sat on the bed, rocking back and forth like a little child.

An hour passed before she had freed her arms. Stiff from restraint, she gasped as the aching muscles paid her for their time of restriction. Shock overtook her body, and her vision was blurry, her thought process hampered.

She regarded the rocking form of Michael, sobs still permeating from his shaking torso.

Her hand stroked his curly locks, resignedly, “Stay here, love.” He did not respond, only cried softly. She quietly lifted his ring finger and removed the stone implanted there, leaving without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What is going on?” Operations demanded with indignant rage. “Why isn’t he responding?”

“I told you these tests were preliminary in nature, but you wanted it done.” Katrina screamed, not caring that the man she verbally attacked held power to cancel her.

They stood for a minute, each maintaining a rigid position with tightly closed fists at their sides.

“What can you do?” Operations questioned,

“If I push him further, you should know that there will be irreparable damage.”

“Of what nature.” Operations launched.

Katrina remained silent, considering the question while biting her nails to the quick.

“This is about Michael and getting revenge, doctor.” Operations accused, stepping uncomfortably close to the doctor.

“This is about two people who may die because of your lies and anarchy.” Katrina formed the words, coating them with appropriate acid.

“Push, Michael. If we can’t get a reaction, then maybe we can at least force Nikita to save herself.” Operations nodded, tapping out a cigarette and turning to leave.

“How far?” Katrina questioned

“Whatever it takes.” Operations answered grimly.

Katrina laughed sardonically. “Of course.”

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

Nikita sat in the recovery van, devoid of all emotion, feeling emptiness like she had never felt before. Other operatives stared at her disheveled appearance, the way her limbs hung limply. With a start the van started to pull away.

“Stop.” Nikita whispered. The woman sitting next to her, looked briefly at her. But otherwise the sound went unnoticed.

“Stop.” Nikita stated, louder this time so that the retrieval leader cast a concerned look towards her.

“STOP!” Nikita screamed, instantly limbs became animated as she grabbed a nine millimeter from the table.

“We’re leaving.” The leader stated firmly.

“No.” Nikita denied his statement. Grabbing a communication set and various other items, she hurriedly readied herself for the mission. Looking each of them in the eye, she exited the van and started to jog toward her cells.

The flurry of activity in Illumination was suggestive of retreat, and no one paid much attention to Nikita. People were shouting, vehicles were being packed, and a mass exodus was ensuing. Unguarded the cell house was easy to infiltrate. Michael was crouched in a ball in her former cell.

“Let’s go, Michael.” She instructed.

The eyes he raised toward her were bloodshot and puffy.

Lowering her gun, she repeated the request with increased pitch.

“You won’t shoot me.” He murmured, closing his eyes sadly for a moment.

“You might be surprised what I can do.” She challenged, steel blue eyes trapping him.

He stood, approaching her position, but maintaining a safe distance as she loaded the chamber and pointed it squarely at his chest.

“Why?” He questioned. “Why did you come back here?”

They stood two statues, devoid of that which made them human. Hollow, broken, tired, dual shells in a stand off.

As if something had snapped in him physically, Michael became alive again. Kicking the gun from her hand, Michael grabbed her arms and shook her violently. She allowed the action, never taking her eyes off his. He stopped, and she slowly opened her eyes to lock with his. “You’d better kill me this time, Michael. Because I’m not leaving without you.” She licked her swollen, bloodied lips and waited for his answer.

He smiled widely picking up the fallen gun. “You shouldn’t have come back.” He leveled the gun, and she stared at the barrel, unflinching. “Do it.” She whispered, stepping closer until the barrel rested between her breasts.

Such was the sight that three Section operatives witnessed upon arriving. Venturing into the camp, they had tracked Nikita's movements via her comm set.

Their momentary distraction was all that Nikita needed, Taking advantage of Michael’s weakened condition. She plunged a tranquilizer dart deep into his neck. The eyes that turned towards hers held a flicker of disbelief. Grabbing the gun, she watched him as he fell backward.

“Mission over.” She offered flatly to the Section One operatives. Brushing past them, Nikita disappeared into the black forest night. The breeze was cool, and the air was drenched with moisture. The full moon hung a gigantic fire ball, seeming only a sad reminder of happier times.

“Two road diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled.... a mind not taken.” Nikita murmured.

THE END

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