The only way of finding a solution is to fight back.
To move, to run,
And to control that pressure. – Rafael Nadal
"You two on the north-west side," Michael grunted, nodding at three recruits, "And you on the south-east. Eyes sharp, ears tuned. If there's trouble, knock 'em out but do not kill. Listen for Nikita's affirmative."
"It's all on you, bitch," muttered Carlos, catching her shoulder as he stood up. Nikita grinned, showing an unnecessary amount of teeth.
The recruits filed out into the night, the hotel's stone-walled grandeur glowing like a lantern beside Central Park. Clothed in black bodysuits, they melted away. Only the soft crunch of commando boots hinted at the presence of alien forces amongst the normal night sounds of the city. Michael watched the muted glint of their silver earpieces weave through the darkness. The sound of two tech guys running over the program with the remaining recruit brought him back to his senses.
"I have an image of Bushkenov's suite. So you have to retrieve his key card, find the briefcase, take the drive and exit the building by the park side. Return to the function room until Carlos appears with the drive again and replace it just the way it was," said one of the men, breathlessly. He was staring at Nikita's curves.
"Uhuh, copy that captain," she muttered distractedly, fumbling with the clasp of her tiny clutch.
Michael watched in amusement. The girl could cave in a man's head and yet the mechanics of a small purse were lost on her. Sighing angrily from her perch on a makeshift seat in the empty van, she noticed the look on Michael's face and pursed her lips.
"You try closing the damn thing with a gun inside," she spat.
He raised his hands in truce, "You could go in unarmed if it'd be easier."
She blinked innocently, "Would you let me?"
The tech kid looked between them questioningly. Michael frowned. "Half an hour, Nikita. Clean and quick."
She finally managed to click the clasp in place and put on an expression of great disappointment, "Aw, you know how I love to get my hands dirty."
"Sir, Rivers and Carlos have just given the all clear on the north-west perimeter," the second techie reported, flicking through satellite images at light speed. "And...ditto on the south-east."
Michael steadied his breathing and smiled grimly, "It's show time. Good luck."
She jabbed him in the stomach as she passed, "No need Michael, luck is for amateurs."
I know why you're staying there.
You want to protect the other recruits,
Like you protected me. – Maggie Q (as Nikita)
Michael sat in the van, adrenaline shooting through him as he watched the tiny figure in purple velvet mingling with the guests in The Plaza lounge. Her easy grace both complimented the aristocratic furnishings of the so named, Oak Bar. Yet there was something minimalistically stylish about her figure that put the chunky cashmere lounges and gauche wooden interiors to shame. For not the first time, he found himself in awe of Amanda's powers of transformation. Watching her take a turn around the room, all eyes following her path, he found it difficult to observe any resemblance to the enraged, damaged creature they'd left to his lot almost 12 months ago.
So engrossed in her movements, he was caught by surprise when the techie changed the screen to monitor the other recruits. His much less interesting students were sculking around the perimeters, their uniforms making them one with the shadowy alcoves and dark corners. Somehow slipping into inexistence despite the brightness of Fifth Avenue or the still constant stream of traffic.
At the bar, Nikita walked with confident purpose and sauntered by her target three times to be sure of notice. He saw her legs the first, admired her chassis the second and smirked at her cocky grin on the third. Michael gritted his teeth. He told himself that the sex worker body language was just a part of the act. Compartmentalizing all emotion, he demanded focus.
"He's seen you, head to the bar," his gruff voice filtered into Nikita's ear.
She ordered some vodka and threw Bushkenov another sidelong glance. Perhaps the eyelash fluttering was overkill. Either way, the robust Russian made a beeline and fell into easy conversation.
"What a lovely watch," she gushed. He tapped the diamond studded extravaganza with pride.
"Solid gold, silver hands and the finest diamonds in the world. Family heirloom. Three centuries of the Bushkenovs," he reeled off. Nikita delicately touched it, leaning her head towards his.
He was so preoccupied with her closeness that he didn't notice his new companion slip one hand inside his pocket and retrieve a little gold card. Back in the van, Michael let out his a breath.
"Go to the room, Nikita, tell him you have to freshen up," he ordered with a slight growl.
"Exquisite," she continued, "You take good care of it, I presume?"
Bushkenov ran a hand through her hair in satisfaction, "I'd be happy to give you a firsthand experience of my care..."
"Nikita! Get the drive!" Michael barked.
"You are young," the Russian went on, "I'm certain you'll learn much. If you come with me – "
"Leave NOW!"
Nikita was just tittering some excuse when one Bushkenov guard stalked forward. "Vronin has been killed!"
"WHAT?" Bushkenov yelled, standing up with a clatter.
"Give me images of the perimeter. I thought I said no fatalities! Rivers! Rivers, come in! What do you mean they intercepted our radio? What? Get me Operations! Birkhoff! I thought you said our line was secure!...Well then explain the situation – damn, Nikita!"
Instinct told her to duck.
She leapt off the stool and into the pool of shrieking guests, grasping at the clutch. Cursing as her fingers slipped on the metal clasp, she ducked a bullet, scrambling on her knees towards the door. Bounding to her feet, she slid into the lobby, eyes darting left and right. Across the gleaming tiled floor, she scurried, the precious swipecard digging into her palm. A shriek. The receptionist fled as two new men entered the building, heaving MP7's. Darting into the nearest elevator, she pummelled the door close button, ignoring the only other man inside.
"How were we compromised?" she cried into her earpiece.
"They hacked our line. Where are you?" Michael's voice replied.
"I have the card, get me extraction in fifteen minutes at the service door," she said, straightening the constricting velvet around her thighs. "Think it's a bit too late to bother returning the drive now."
"You'll be dead in fifteen! I order you to – "
The doors pinged open and before she could move a step, the 'civilian' grabbed her arms, locking them awkwardly behind her back. The pressure on her wrists caused her to drop the clutch. The man's hot breath on her neck was quickly replaced with the cool point of a dagger.
The doors closed.
"You pretty. Bushkenov gonna have fun with you," he hissed into her ear. She berated herself for not suspecting him.
Nikita choked through the stranglehold, "I have your master's room card. Want it?"
The mercenary slackened his grip to look down at her wrists and in that moment, her stilettoed foot kicked back, catching him between the legs. He crumpled, moaning in agony. She grabbed the dagger and cut open her clutch. Retrieving the gun, a pistol whip flattened him as she hit the door open button.
Two barrels filled her sight.
She ducked, propelling herself into one man's knees, bringing him crashing to the ground. With a grunt, she flipped him in front of her. His comrade's bullets exploded into her human shield. She let the dead weight fall, launching the dagger into the shooter's chest and without turning back, sprinted for the royal suite.
"Michael!" she cried, throwing herself inside the first foyer and flicking on the lights, "Michael! Damn! Lost the signal."
Digging into her ear, she threw the useless earpiece aside and did a quick survey. Stepping forward, she noticed a private elevator and raised dubious eyebrow at the wastefulness. Despite the lavish French-renaissance designs almost screaming at her from the walls, floors and ceilings – she refused to be distracted. Time was of the essence and the seven foyers, three sleeping suites, study, two entertaining areas, pantry, library, gymnasium, walk in closet and bathrooms afforded far too many places a single small briefcase could hide.
She felt exhausted just running through the floor plan.
Frantically racing from room to room, Nikita struggled to remember what Amanda had told her. If the treadmill is raised, check in the gap between it and the floor. Look behind boarded up fireplaces. Check for false bottoms in drawers of the master bedroom and the desk of the study. Breathing hard, she reached behind the headboard of the king sized mattress only to find...nothing. Frustrated, she rushed back into the main living room.
Voices came from the large oval foyer. There was a rush of confused Russian. They seemed to be searching each room. Nikita swallowed panic and racked her brains for a hiding spot she hadn't yet checked.
Her eyes fell on the grand piano.
"Gotcha."
Retrieving a leather case from under its body, she ripped open the pockets and felt for any secret compartments. Zilcho. A layer of cold sweat dampened her skin.
" If that bastard has taken out the drive, it could be anywhere," she muttered angrily. Her eyes swept over the painting of a pompous fat lady in red, the chandelier and flat-screen TV. Michael would have told her to abort and get out of the building.
But as a rule, Nikita didn't like to listen very much to Michael.
Voices were so close they were now accompanied by heavy footfalls. They stopped outside her closed door.
Gripping her gun, she grabbed a black candelabra. She yanked at the door handle and jumped aside. Just as she expected, a magazine of bullets flew past the place where her head had been. The ensuing silence allowed her to register that there were two sets of breathing behind the wood of the doorway that separated her and the killers.
Three seconds passed like years but the first man's torso finally came into view and with one fluid motion, she smashed her object over his head. He crumpled to the ground and as his companion replaced him a well-timed bullet slammed him full in the chest.
Sliding back out into the public corridor, she rushed down the stairs and prayed that Bushkenov hadn't left the building. They had somehow known that the drive (or more importantly, the information on it) would be targeted. Logically, Bushkenov would have taken it out of its usual hiding place and put it in the only location that would be hardest to get to.
His body.
With an army of mercenaries protecting him, it would be suicide to attempt a grab.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered where the other recruits where but the thought was lost on her as she found herself in back in the lobby. The hotel was in lockdown mode. The flashing of police cars, the wailing of sirens and the armed officers at the three pairs of doors alerted her to another opportunity. She ducked behind a potted fern, its huge foliage hiding her form view. Peering through the leaves, she saw many of the mercenaries who had ambushed her being cuffed. So either the hotel, a civilian or Division called. But there was something off about it.
Nikita knew Division never liked to involve the authorities and any civilian would have only mentioned the men with guns. But the Lieutenant seemed to be ordering more of his men upstairs and into other rooms. They were still searching for someone. Bushkenov?
Just as she was convinced they were looking for the Russian, she saw him step forward and approach the commanding officer.
Darting from her position, she opted for a corner where she would be able to hear their conversation. Kneeling down behind the enormous fish tank on one side of the room, she looked over Bushkenov's suit only to have her suspicions confirmed. There were too many places he could have concealed it.
"Sir, we can offer you any protection that you need," the Lieutenant was saying, "Is there anything else you know about the woman? Any information you could give us?"
Nikita froze. Bushkenov nodded, "Young. Olive skin. Long, dark hair. American. Very dangerous."
"And are these armed men with her?"
"Yes. They were hired to kill me," the Russian's voice shook with fake emotion.
"Liar," Nikita hissed, realising he'd just turned in his own men to make her threat seem greater.
Meanwhile, he would walk out of here under state protection. With the drive. Hands still squeezed around her gun, her eyes followed Bushkenov being led away, his damned watch sparkling on his wrist. She turned her back and slid down the tank's side, assessing her options. The service entrance was on the other side of the building and there was no exit where she was, crouched facing a solid wall. The closest door was behind her, with the Lieutenant standing guard in front of it.
She was trapped.
"I'd like a word," came a voice close behind her. Nikita's heart stopped. She arched her head backwards for a better look.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" the Lieutenant yelped.
"Front door," Michael replied with a note of impatience, "My name's Stephen Ridges, I'm Vladimir Bushkenov's attorney. He's called for my presence and I was told you'd know which car he was in."
Nikita lifted herself until she could see the officer, then followed the line of his finger until he pointed to the cop car second from the front of the line parked on the curb. Michael nodded in thanks and turned towards the tank. In a split second move, he caught Nikita's eye and at the same time, seemed to mutter something under his breath. The next moment, the Lieutenant's Com Unit rattled and a voice noted a commotion on the south side of the building.
The opposite side.
Michael nodded imperceptibly and strolled out the door. As half the force were ordered away, she made her move. Slipping off her heels, Nikita leapt from her spot and whacked the commanding officer over the head. He fell to the ground without a sound. The transmitter buzzed from his belt and she whipped it out of its case.
"I repeat, Agent do you hear me?" came Birkhoff's voice, cutting through the static. In relief she stared out through the gold-gilded glass doors where officers stood unaware that their chief had just been knocked unconscious.
"You caused the diversion," she stated.
"You can thank me later Nikki, Bushkenov's about to take off and Percy needs that drive," came Birkhoff's voice, strangely serious.
She gulped, "How do I get to the car, there are still – oh."
Gunshots ripped through the air outside and Nikita ducked instinctively. But the bullet's were not aiming for her. The officers swivelled and focused all their attention on an unknown enemy shooting from the park trees. In realisation, Nikita bolted through the doors, sprinting behind turned backs towards her target's vehicle. The driver looked up in surprise and reached for his Com Unit.
At the same moment, Bushkenov drew his weapon.
A sniper bullet flew through the window and took out the driver, giving her just enough time to duck the Russian's shot, yank open the back passenger door and throw her second shoe at the target's head. It did no harm but as he raised an arm to deflect the pointed heel, Nikita reached forward and knocked his glock out of his hand.
Grappling with the bulky man's arms, she slapped him across the cheek and with a ferocity that Michael heard through his earpiece, demanded the flashdrive.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" the man whimpered as Nikita put the gun to his head.
"I'm not in the mood for games," she cocked the weapon and he cowered, "Now tell me where it is!"
Bushkenov opened his eyes with misplaced courage, "You can't shoot, only I know where it's hidden!"
Nikita grimaced, "Nice try. I know it's on you. You could be dead, I could do an easy search. Telling me would just save time."
The waver in his eyes told her she was correct.
"A girl like you?" he whispered desperately, "You wouldn't kill me."
"Don't flatter yourself."
Fear flashed across his face, "You move like the wind. I could give you a place in my guard! You would be treated well, I swear!"
She pressed the barrel harder against his temple, "Your guard? Turned in to the police to help frame me? Oh yes, treated very well...I'd rather die!"
"Get a move on, poppet, Mikey's feeling the heat back there!" Birkhoff's voice crackled through the Com. "Rivers is down and they've brought reinforcements. It's like the whole NYPD's come out."
Her fist came up under his jaw. As Bushkenov's head slammed back, she saw the glint of a chain. Adjusting the gun so that it forced his vulnerable neck skyward, she tore the silver from his throat and grinned as the small USB fell into her palm.
The moment of triumph was cut abruptly short.
She noticed a moment too late as the metal flew towards her. The blade penetrated her hip, shooting waves of agony up her whole body. The Russian seized the moment and grabbed the handgun, pointing it at her head.
"You could have joined me," he said, finger on the trigger. She blinked.
Bushkenov's head exploded on the spot. The headless body fell forward, drenching her in warm blood. Looking around in disbelief, she gaped at Michael's twisted smile, the smoking P226 still pointed at the spot where her target had sat. A large sniper rifle was at his side.
Before she could say thanks, he revived and grabbed the dead driver, throwing him on the pavement. Dropping into the seat, he footed the gas and they sped off.
Nikita was thrown back and stared at Bushkenov's body in horror. She could feel his blood smeared across her face, distorting a vision already blurred by the tears of pain she was trying to suppress.
"Paging Nikki, come in Nikita," Birkhoff's voice cut through her struggle. She reached down for the Com and lifted it to her lips.
"I'm here. Bushkenov's...dead. Michael shot him. We're alive. His driving us to..." Nikita gasped, nausea threatening to overwhelm her. In the rear-view mirror, Michael watched her clutch her stomach in pain. A flutter of emotion went from his gut to his chest.
"Did you – "
"I'm fine!" she choked, "What about Rivers? You said he was down – you said...is everyone okay? Did you extract them? Are they – "
"Nikita did you get the drive?" Birkhoff interrupted firmly.
The formal demand chilled her. Lives had been lost. Her own comrades may have been killed or at the mercy of the law. She was sitting in a stolen vehicle beside the corpse of a man whose jugular was bleeding into her dress. Her own dagger wound paralysed the whole left side of her body.
And all Birkhoff wanted to know was if she had gotten the stupid drive.
She rolled down the window and retched over the side of it. Biting back tears she spat out, "Yes, nerd. If I hadn't, I wouldn't bother coming back to Percy alive."
Then wiping away Bushkenov's blood with his own suit, she threw the Com into the night.
In this silent space,
I close my eyes and I can hear you say
It's alright.
But my world's such an empty place tonight.
Thank you sooooooooo much for all your support everyone! So Nikita wouldn't be Nikita if there wasn't action. This is the first time I've written action-y scenes so I'm SUPER nervous :S. Lyrics from "God only Knows" by Orianthi.
EDIT (Dec 30th 2011): new edited version had 60-70% changed. Much more description and instead of using a fictional setting, I researched a real hotel! So the plaza royal suite actually has 7 foyers, 3 bedrooms etc etc (a bit much, yeah?) - and a grande piano! So I HAD to use that instead of the bed thing I had before XD North side of the hotel borders Central Park/where Michael is. South side is the extraction point/where Birkhoff sends the police.