Black Ops Series: Going Under

by Ndfarmer80

It was supposed to be a simple training for the next few days. Out in the scorching heat of the Texas Badlands Michael learns quickly to expect the unexpected.

GOING UNDER

by NFarmer80

**Author's Note: I think I laughed at least 90% of the way through this script. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.**

ACT ONE

The plane landed at the remote air strip in an area south of Laredo, Texas. Michael gathered his bag and moved off the small jet on to the tarmac where he saw a black SUV waiting for him. The man standing outside the truck looked very much like a Section Agent, dressed in all black, shades, and serious expression. An attendant followed after Michael with the rest of his bags he needed for his two week long stay. He looked at the agent, handing him the card Operations had given to him to identify him to the waiting agent. On it was a code. If the agent was who he believed him to be, he would turn the card a certain direction indicating his authenticity. If he was not, Michael was authorized to shoot the man and get back on the plane.

The agent looked down at the card, then at Michael who continued to stare at him through the dark lens of his shades. He turned the card to the east, verifying himself. Michael took the card back and put it back in his breast pocket. The agent opened the SUV door and allowed Michael to climb inside. The agent waited for the attendant to finish loading the back of the SUV before he climbed into the passenger side. The driver, another nameless, expressionless agent started the vehicle and pulled away from the air strip, leaving the jet behind. Michael looked at his watch. He was due to call into Section in three hours during which time, he would be taken to the sub-station and introduced to the operative training him. He had little information to go on from the profile sent to him. He was not sure whether this was by mistake, or that the cell group he was going to meet were truly deep cover. Madeline had told him that the lead member was code named "Big Mama '' and the second in command was code named "Pinky". Their instructions were to bring him into their base and treat him as one of their own. Michael had no idea what that meant, but he hoped that it would at least include a comfortable bed and air conditioning. Coming from Europe's mild weather, the dry heat of the Chihuahuan desert was an unexpected and unwelcome change he was not yet used to. Already, he was sweating through his black t-shirt and dress jacket. He could feel lines of sweat sliding down the sides of his face as well. At least inside the SUV there was air conditioning, but he could still barely find relief against the unrelenting heat. He searched the side panel, hoping he might find a water bottle there, but there was nothing. He sat back in his seat and turned the air vents more in his direction. He wanted to ask the two men up front if they could turn up the air, but they seemed less concerned about his comfort. All three rode down the barren road in silence heading towards the substation.

The ride ended much faster than Michael thought it should. The SUV pulled into what looked like an abandoned gas station on the edge of a small town. The one agent on the passenger side got out of the vehicle and went around to open Michael's door. Michael looked curiously at the agent who only stood in silent expectation for him to get out of the vehicle. The driver got out as well and went to the back to remove Michael's things from the back of the vehicle. Silently, Michael watched as the men busied themselves with setting his items in a neat row in front of him before turning to get back in the truck.

"Is this where I'm supposed to be?" Michael could not help but ask. He was thoroughly confused.

The agent on the passenger side looked at Michael as he slowly, and reluctantly climbed out the vehicle.

"Wait here," he said.

"For how long?" Michael was more concerned than ever about getting heat stroked.

"They'll be here to pick you up soon."

The agent turned and got back in the vehicle. Within moments, the vehicle spun off down the road, disappearing over the horizon. Michael stood, feeling the heat beating down on his back like an angry nanny. He was growing impatient, and angry the longer he stood waiting for god knew who to come and pick him up. He looked at his watch again, noting that he now had two hours to check in with Section. He sat down on his suitcase and took off his jacket. He used it to wipe the sweat off his brow. The dust under his wing tips began to coat the shiny black leather in a fine brown skin. He looked over at the gas station and wondered if there was anything left inside that he might drink, or eat. His stomach was growling now, remembering that he had not eaten much that morning before getting on the plane. He had expected to be in a comfortable conference room having lunch catered in while he went over briefing notes and tactical maneuvers, not sitting on his suitcase in the middle of nowhere sweating his balls off. At about this time, back at Section, he would be in his office, typing leisurely away on a report, or designing a profile for a mission, or talking Nikita down from yet another ledge. After Jurgen died, she seemed less interested in speaking with him about anything else. She had questions about why, of all people, did Jurgen have to be the one to be sacrificed after all that he meant to Section? He was one of their most valuable trainers and Section just eliminated him like he was a green recruit. Michael could admit that he did not care much for his former mentor. The man had put him through hell more times than he wanted to remember, but he could respect him for what he tried to prepare him for. Jurgen might not have been the most gentle man to know, but he was above all things, honest. That was a rarity in Section, and because of that, Section had to kill him.

Michael looked at his watch again. The leather felt hot around his wrist. He was beginning to have trouble breathing. It felt as if the heat had become fire and was beginning to burn his lungs. He looked down the street on both ends and found only an empty road staring back at him. Whomever it was that was supposed to pick him up was late. Michael detested tardiness. The one thing that Section had drilled into him the most was the importance of being on time. One had to be on time. If you were ever late, it could mean the difference between going home on a transport van or going to the morgue in a body bag. He had always been one to honor punctuality above any other attribute. He might not have always been in a good mood, and maybe he did not always eat, or comb his hair for that matter, but he was never. Ever. Late.

Michael checked his watch again.

An hour and a half left before check in.

Michael stood to his feet. He was angry now. The sun was murderously hot, so much so that now his feet felt like he was stepping on hot coals. His silk t-shirt was wet and sticking to him. His deodorant had long since quit and slid off his body. His tongue felt dry in his mouth. He was beginning to wonder if he was somehow on an abeyance mission. What the hell had he done to be brought all the way out into the desert to burn to death?

In the horizon, something moved. Michael could not tell if it was a mirage or was there actually something coming towards him. He shielded his eyes with his hand and saw that there really was a vehicle heading his way. He felt his heart leap with hope as the vehicle came closer. Finally, a rusted yellow '82 Chevy Impala pulled into the gas station and parked a few feet from where Michael stood. The windows were blacked out in the four door sedan so that the driver inside could not be seen right away. In the blazing sun, it's all chrome wheels shined like mirrors. A large beast of a black man got out of the driver's side and walked towards him. Michael stood perfectly still, sizing the man up. He looked like a tree trunk being massive everywhere with muscles that stood out prominently under the red tank top he wore. His bald head glistened with sweat as he came up to Michael. His face was in a permanent scowl as his lips pulled back from large white teeth to speak.

"You Sammuelle?" he asked in a deep guttural voice.

"Yes, and you are?" Michael answered, studying his greeter carefully.

The large man studied Michael a moment with different colored eyes, one light brown, one curiously grey.

"I'm Zeke," the man said plainly as if this answered all of Michael's questions.

"Am I to go with you?"

Zeke turned on his heels and started back towards the car. He looked down at Michael's suitcases and bent to pick them up. Michael followed him, taking care to remain a safe distance from him. From the look of him, he could easily crush Michael with just one massive hand. He didn't want to give him the chance to do this. Zeke opened the trunk of the car and began loading in the luggage. Michael assisted with the last of the bags as there really weren't that many. He never traveled heavy, unlike Nikita who always seemed to want to bring her entire wardrobe with her on away trips. Zeke closed the trunk and walked heavily back towards the driver's side. Michael warily went to the passenger side and waited for Zeke to get in. Silently, the two of them got inside the car. Zeke started the vehicle and pulled out of the gas station. He turned on the air conditioner and cranked it up to full blast. Michael secretly praised the heavens for the welcomed relief of cold air against his chest. For a moment, he leaned his head back against the headrest and enjoyed the air. After his ordeal with sitting in the heat, he could not help feeling sleepy now. The heat had drained nearly all of his energy out. He fought himself to keep his eyes open, still very aware of Zeke driving silently beside him. There were no water bottles in the car. He didn't bother to look for them. He could only hope now that where he was going was at least nice enough to have clean running water to drink, and maybe a few fresh apples.

"We're here," said Zeke gruffly.

Michael snapped his head up from the head rest. He had not realized he had fallen asleep. He looked around his surroundings, seeing an unfamiliar scene rolling out in front of him. Residential houses lined the broken streets quartered off by chain link fences. Children rode bikes on the sidewalks while old ladies swept their porches free of debris. A pair of running shoes hung from a powerline crossing over the street. Three black men stood on the corner eyeing their car as they drove by. Michael could tell eyes were looking at the car, watching where they went. Everyone was watching them. He wondered where the hell was he.

Zeke turned down a side street heading Southeast. More houses continued, but they all seemed a little less populated. They were somewhat larger homes, built in the fifties with wider lawns and wider porches. The streets were a little more even with less potholes. There were no power lines in this area suggesting the wires were now underground. There was a nicer feeling on this street as opposed to the previous one they had just left. Michael wondered how it was that the difference could be felt just by turning a corner. They drove a block further before pulling up to a white and black ranch style house with a wide covered porch. A black SUV with shiny rims and a cherry red lowrider sat parked in the driveway. Zeke pulled the impala up on the curb in front of the house and got out. Michael hesitated, unsure if they were in the right place. He expected a high rise office building like the one Section used as their false facade. This place looked like someone's grandmother's house.

Zeke got out of the car and walked up to the bar covered front door. He banged on the door with a heavy fist.

"Hey Ma!" he bellowed.

Michael watched as Zeke yelled again for the person called Ma inside the house. Finally, the door opened and a large black woman stared back looking very annoyed.

"Boy! What the hell are you doing bangin on my door like you the police? You bet not have knocked my screen out again."

The woman looked like she could be Zeke's mother. Her large arms were bent in folds as she put her fists on her massively wide hips. Her long skirt covered much of her reaching all the way to the floor where a pair of nearly flattened bedroom slippers peeked out from beneath the folds. She looked past Zeke out into the car, then back at Zeke.

"Who is that?"

"That's Sammuelle," answered Zeke.

"How do you know that's him?" she asked.

"He was the only one standing at the pick up point."

"Did you verify him?"

"I asked him his name," said Zeke, his demeanor now looking more like an overgrown child than a monster.

"What the! Boy! How the hell is that verifying who he is? For all you know, you just brought an undercover to the house! Fool! Pop his ass in the skull and get back in this house!"

Michael's eyebrow lifted. Did he hear what he thought he heard? Michael looked down at his watch. Forty-five minutes til check-in.

"What if it's him?" said Zeke.

The woman looked at Zeke then stepped outside onto her porch. In her hand she held a revolver. Her face was set in a permanent scowl, much like Zeke's as she walked heavy footed up to the car. Her hair was buried under a multicolored head wrap. Michael sat up, realizing he had to do something quick or else he was going to be sitting in a hot car with half his head blown out the back. He reached down stealthily onto his right leg and reached for his own small caliber pistol. He pulled it from his ankle holster and drew it up to his side where the woman would not be able to see. As she approached, he angled the barrel up towards her sternum, ready to pop out a lung if necessary. If he could duck her first shot, he had an opportunity to drop her before she could reload.

"Who are you?" the woman asked roughly as she approached the car. She did not raise the gun yet. It still remained loosely dangling at the end of her thick right hand.

"I'm looking for Big Mama. Heard she lived around here. Do you know where I can find her?" said Michael, relaying the coded message he was told to deliver once he reached the base to verify himself. Quietly he cocked the gun.

The large woman looked curiously at him for a moment before smiling a somewhat toothless smile.

"No. I don't know her," said the woman. " But I heard she stays with Jack. Do you know Jack?"

"He's my cousin."

"Come inside. You can call him from the house."

Michael relaxed. He clicked the pistol's safety back in place and bent to put it back in his ankle holster. The large woman walked back up on the porch.

"Zeke, I swear 'fore Lawd you gotta be the dumbest nigga on earth. Help him get his shit in the house and come on. Hurry up, too. Pinky gotta be on a call in less than half an hour with him and if he ain't there all hell gonna break loose up in here and i ain't got no time to be dealing with all that bullshit!"

The large woman disappeared into the house still fussing. Zeke turned looking sheepish as he walked back to the car. He popped the trunk and pulled out all of Michael's bags. He sat them down on the curb and started back up the walkway towards the house. Michael looked at his things sitting on the curb, then back at Zeke, questioning him without saying.

"I would get my shit off the street if I were you. I wouldn't leave it out here," said Zeke over his shoulder.

"Are you going to help me with them?" asked Michael.

"You got it here, you can get it in the house."

The screen door slapped closed behind Zeke as he disappeared inside the house. Michael looked around at the nearly empty street, then looked at his things on the curb. He sighed heavily, already feeling the heat of the sun scorching his back, burning his neck. He pulled in the last of his waning strength and picked up his luggage to carry into the house. Even though the front door was only a few steps away, the walkway up to it felt like a mile in the heat. He had to take two trips to pull in his bags which only included a steel suitcase carrying all of his clothes, his equipment bag, his laptop case, and another duffle with all of his food prep cases inside. He landed his haul in the front area of the house. Inside, the house looked like any other house would. There was nothing about the normal looking living room that would make him believe that there was a Section base located there. Two young boys sat on the couch reclined with their feet up on the coffee table watching a football game. The next room over in the kitchen, Michael could see Zeke sitting at the kitchen table drinking a large glass of something red. Michael's attention stalled there as he looked with longing desire for the cool red liquid in the perspiring glass. His mouth felt drier than it ever had before. On the other side of the wall, he could hear the one called Ma speaking to Zeke. Slowly, he made his way towards her voice, venturing further into the kitchen. The boys on the couch did not bother to look up at him even though he knew he clearly was not someone that regularly turned up in a house like theirs often. He walked into the kitchen.

"I'm telling you, boy, you shouldn't have dropped out of school. You missed too many grades," Ma was saying as she prepared food. She was in the middle of pulling collard green leaves apart and throwing them into a large white sink. "You should know better."

"I'm sorry, Ma. I wasn't sure what to do," said Zeke, still sounding like a little boy.

"Excuse me?" said Michael.

"You gotta be more careful," Ma continued, "Not everybody out in the streets is your friend."

"Excuse me," Michael tried again a little louder.

"Ever since you got back from Bora Bora, you've been acting like you don't know your ass from your lips. All you've been doing is talking shit."

"Excuse me!" Michael shouted loudly.

"I know ain't nobody up in my house yelling like that," said Ma, not bothering to turn around. "Young man, get a drink out the refrigerator and sit ya narrow ass down at the table. Don't nobody yell up in my house like that unless they paying a bill and i don't see a dime of rent money in your hand."

"I'm here to see either Big Mama or Pinky. I'm from Section and I've been sent here for training. Now could someone please tell me where I can find either of them so I can be on my way?"

Ma turned around and looked at Michael with a steady gaze. She walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a cola from the line of them stashed on the middle shelf. She stomped over to the table and set it rather pointedly on the table and pulled the chair out.

"Sit ya ass down," she said and pointed at the seat.

Michael stared at the large woman defiantly. It had been a while since any one had spoken to him as disrespectfully as this woman was speaking. Normally, he would simply shoot her in her forehead, grab the soda and leave without looking back, but for some reason, he knew that he shouldn't. He, instead, obediently sat down in the chair and took the soda. They stared at each other intensely as he popped the tab and began drinking the cold cola. He took a very long drawl of the licorice tasting liquid, enjoying the cold burn as it washed down the back of his throat. After he had taken enough, he set the cola down on the table, and suppressed an air bubble belch that caught in his throat from the carbonated drink. Satisfied, the large woman returned to her collards and began plucking them apart once more.

"You're Michael," she said after a while of long, uncomfortable silence. "We've been expecting you."

"Are you Big Mama?" Michael already figured who she likely was just by the way she was handling the big monster called Zeke.

"Yeah. But you can call me. Arlene. I'm the head of Munitions. You need anything in the way of tools, come talk to me. I'll take care of you."

"I thought you were Lead."

"No, that's not me," said Arlene. "Pinky is lead. You'll need to meet with her shortly. Zeke! Take Mr. Sammuelle down to see Pinky. I'm sure she is wondering where you all are anyway."

Zeke stood up from his seat, pushing his chair back. The sound of the wood chair legs scraping against the linoleum floor grated against Michael's nerves. He took another swig of his soda, ending the last of it in a few gulps, and followed the large man down a corridor past two bedrooms and a bathroom. Zeke opened a back room door that led to a stairwell heading down to a basement area that Michael would not have known would be apart of the rancher. A small hanging light bulb on a string was their only light as Zeke maneuvered past two shelves with gardening equipment stuffed in them. At the back wall, Zeke uncovered a palm reader panel where he placed his right hand. The computer there read his palm and verified him. An automated voice announced his clearance and opened a false wall. Behind it, the familiar white and blue lights of Section's base shown. Zeke walked through without really waiting to see if Michael would follow.

Once inside, the doors to the false walls closed and locked. Zeke walked further into the underground bunker which now began to look more and more like a rough version of Section. He saw where there was the Munitions armory, the communications stations, technical, a briefing room, a lounge, training, and quarters. To his amazement, there was no command area, but he figured in a substation, there really was no need for a command area. All of their instructions came from a different Section base and relayed to them through video conference. There were several operatives working in the underground bunker, which, he also noted, was blessedly cooler than the house above them. The main floor of the bunker was empty with the equipment unmanned. Michael was used to seeing people doing things at Section. Seeing no one really around felt alien and a little eerie to him. He did spot two hispanic women busily screening what looked like an area of terrain on a computer monitor. They briefly looked up at Michael as he passed and said something in spanish to one another. Michael continued to follow Zeke, taking careful inventory of everything around him.

"Hey Pinky," called Zeke. "Got a sec?"

"What is it Zeke?" said a very tired, very war weary female voice.

"I got Mr. Sammuelle out here."

There was an audible sigh from the darkened office. Michael could see army boots propped up on an old cabinet desk covered over with papers and rolled tactical mock ups. Slowly, the boots pulled off the desk. From the darkness of the office, Michael first saw black boots, then grey and black fatigue pants, a cloth black belt pulled around a slender waist, muscular abs colored with caramel skin somewhat wet with sweat, a black sports bra top holding twin small round orbs, muscular arms, delicate wrists and hands, slight shoulders, slender neck, small ears, round face...Her cat like deep brown eyes looked him over quickly. She had a small nose with nostril that could flare instantly in her aggravation, but anyone would think her too cute to take her anger seriously. Her lips were somewhat small, fitting her petite face. Her hair was cut extremely short and colored a cinnamon red. An eyebrow ring fixed over her right eye. She was shorter than expected and built like a bulldog, a very pretty bulldog that Michael would not have minded being bit by a few years prior.

"Jaques?" she asked.

"Pinky." said Michael.

"Who the hell is Jaques?" asked Zeke looking confused.

"Code name, stupid. Like yours is Fuck-up."

Zeke sneered, but did not say anything back. Instead he turned and walked away, heading back towards the front of the bunker where they came in. Michael watched Zeke for a moment before returning his attention back to the little woman standing in front of him. He studied her for a moment. Section was in the habit of giving out code names that sometimes matched the person they assigned it to, but this time, he could honestly say that Pinky's code name did not fit her at all. He could see Big Mama, because why would she be anything else? But Pinky? He wondered how she managed to convince them of that one.

"The call is in about five minutes. You got your stuff?" asked Pinky as she turned on the light in her office.

"All of my things are upstairs in the house," Michael admitted. He had been so hot and thirsty that he had left his belongings and went straight for the comfort of the red drink Zeke was drinking in the kitchen.

"That's okay, you can use mine. What took you so long to get here? Your flight landed nearly three hours ago." Pinky sat down at her desk and began logging in to her computer.

"I stood outside the gas station for over an hour waiting for your guy to arrive," said Michael as he leaned over Pinky's shoulder at her desk.

Pinky looked up, mumbling something to herself before returning to what she was doing. She began dialing a phone number and typing in her credentials. She moved so that Michael could add his own credentials. A screen appeared connecting them to Section Communications Center. Within moments, an image of Operations appeared looking his usual perturbed manner.

"Good Afternoon," greeted Operations. "Glad to see you made it in well. How was your flight?"

"It was fine," said Michael in his usual calm manner. He knew by now he looked like he had been through hell, but he would at least try and put on that all went as planned.

"You look like hell, Michael. Everything okay there?"

"It's fine," said Michael.

"It's Texas in the middle of a heat wave, sir. I don't think he's used to it yet. Give him some slack," said Pinky, her tone sounding much more cheerful than earlier.

"Try a year in a Viet-Cong death camp and talk to me about heat," said Operations with a chuckle. "Regardless. Michael, you'll need to settle in quickly and review your next assignment. I've sent you there to the Outpost to continue more intensive Tactical training. I want you to work with Evelyn to come up with a profile for an upcoming mission I will be sending your way in a few days. Michael, you'll need to get up to speed with knowing the target area. Evelyn will have all the information you'll need. This will be a cold mission, so you won't need much to start with. We only want you to run a recon and gain intelligence on our target. I'll be sending you those notes as well to your email. Look out for that. In the meantime, learn all you can from Evelyn and her team. I'm sure they have already made you very welcome there. Good luck, and we will speak soon."

Operations were gone before any of them could say a word. Michael stood up. He straightened his drying shirt and leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles.

"Evelyn," said Michael, grateful to know her name was not actually Pinky.

"Yeah. You didn't think my name was Pinky, did you?" Evelyn said, smiling.

"Yeah, I kinda did, for a little bit. Course, I can't understand why your code name would be that."

Evelyn shrugged. "Guess it was a recruit thing. Somehow when I came out of Boot, I got called Pinky as kinda like a nick name and I guess it just stuck. Course, you can imagine how awkward it is to get called in now. Kinda wish they would give me a better code name instead of the one I got."

Michael couldn't help the slight kick of laughter. It had always been a mystery how code names were derived for each field operative. Sometimes their actual names were used if the name was generic enough. In the case of Nikita, he had chosen the name Josephine for her. He had always liked the way the name sounded and she looked more like a Josephine to him in the beginning than a Nikita. However, as time went on and they began to work more closely together, the name no longer fit her and started to become an area of contention each time he had to call her away from something she preferred much better to be doing. His own code name was given to him by Madeline, who for all he cared, probably thought it sounded more sexy than his own name Michael. He didn't care which name he was called by when it all resulted in the same thing. A slut mission. Of course, lately, he was thankfully no longer asked to do as many Valentine Missions as he once had before, and he figured he wouldn't be seeing as how he could be more useful in other types of missions.

"You could request a name change if you wanted," Michael suggested.

Evelyn shrugged again, which Michael was beginning to see was her answer for a lot of things. In this way, she was like Nikita, careless and uncommitted to anything fully. For the next two weeks, he was going to have to get used to the shrugs the same as he had with Nikita.

"Pinky is fine," said Evelyn airly. "I don't mind it too much."

She stood on her feet and walked out of the office. She looked back at Michael.

"Since you're gonna be here for a little while, I think it's best you get to know the base a bit. I'll take you on our grand tour."

Michael straightened and followed Evelyn out into the bunker main floor. He only half listened as she showed him all the areas he already knew and pointed out key instruments which were outdated at Section, but were still in use there. Michael struggled a little to remember how to use the twenty year old transmitters and recorders, coming to the realization that everything there at the substation base was going to be just as old. The only thing that seemed up-to-date was their online tracking systems and their intelligence databases. Section normally did not work with substations finding them too easily compromised if discovered, but in some cases, having a substation proved to be necessary in areas where a large corporate footprint made little sense and risked exposure. The small Texas station located close to the Mexican border, offered a base camp for deep cover field operatives to work surveillance and small strike operations without being detected by more larger and more organized factions. The smaller station could be manned by a smaller number of personnel and did not need a huge team of operatives to carry out smaller, less noticeable, maneuvers. Michael had been sent to this particular substation to strengthen his knowledge in guerilla maneuvers. He was already good, but both Operations and Madeline felt he could be better. In their twisted minds, they felt iron sharpens iron, which meant throwing him into the desert with an equally gifted tactician would produce for them a more well rounded field operative able to take on any assignment no matter what it entailed. When they came to the sleeping quarters, Michael noticed the line of beds with footlockers posted at the foot of each bed. At the end of the line, his suitcases were piled at the last bed marking it as his. Michael stared at the setup feeling a small prick of disappointment. He so wanted to lie down on a comfortable mattress, not a military grade mat.

"This is where everyone sleeps. Kinda reminds you of Boot, doesn't it?" Evelyn said knowing exactly what Michael was thinking.

"Exactly."

Michael pulled himself in, resolving to the fact that he was not there for comfort. None of them were. He could not expect to be treated like a diplomat and start whining about amenities he was never promised. This was a two week mission and that's how he had to view it. He was not there for pleasure and comfort. He was there to learn and learning often meant discomfort and pain. Jurgen had taught him that.

"Of course, you won't be sleeping here," said Evelyn.

She walked further down the hall, moving into a corridor that led even further into the earth. Michael was beginning to wonder how far back the bunker actually went. From the corridor, Evelyn escorted him into a more private room with a bed that was at least a little larger than the single metal ones out in the sleeping quarters, a dresser with a mirror, a desk, and a wardrobe locker. There was even an adjoining wet room where he could clean himself up in solitude.

"This is your room. I have the same one right beside you, but if you feel like you have to do some funny business in here, just know these walls are air thin. I can hear you."

Michael chuckled. He knew he would not ever think to try anything funny while training, plus it had been weeks since he had any business with anyone including himself. He highly doubted he would start while living there. Evelyn looked at him, gauging him once more as she finished up her tour. She started back past the living quarters and out to the main floor. She began leading Michael then to another area of the bunker, back past the conference room and her office. She used her palm and a key code to access another area of the bunker. A long tunnel stretched out as far as the eye would dare go. A small two person jeep sat parked. Evelyn got into the driver seat.

"C'mon. Tour isn't done yet."

Michael climbed into the passenger seat and Evelyn began driving down the tunnel.

"Where are we going?" Michael asked.

"To B Station. It's our transport area. We use a mechanic's shop as our cover. That way, anyone coming into work can look like they are working there. We don't like bringing people to Big Mama's house so we built this tunnel to lead over to a different location. We have another location being set up right now. A flower store, but it's not ready yet. It will likely be our Communications hub so that we can move most of the equipment we have down here over there. I don't like having everything all in one place anyway. It's too easy to shut us down that way. Just flip a switch and we're through. There are tunnels all through this city, running underground. We can pop up just about anywhere we need to and escape anywhere if one station gets compromised."

Michael knew this setup very well. It was the same setup Section had if ever something happened to their main station. There was always a fall back station they could escape to should Section become breached. It was a place only he, Madeline, and Operations knew about.

"Does everyone know about these stations?" Michael wondered now about the integrity of the group.

"Those who need to know, know. Those that don't need to know, don't know."

Michael understood immediately. It was a standard Section answer. He looked over at Evelyn.

"Why do I need to know?"

"I was told me to show you everything," said Evelyn as she drove. "I don't know why he wanted me to. I didn't ask him."

Ah, she's smart, thought Michael facing forward now. They drove for a few more minutes until they came to a stop at another door. Evelyn performed her same routine and allowed Michael to step into what looked like a parts storage unit. Evelyn pushed past him and opened another door that led into a garage bay. Inside the garage were cars of various kinds and a utility jeep. Two young black men were joking with one another, wearing grease stained overalls and boots. They looked over at Evelyn and Michael smiling at first, then turning serious when Evelyn approached them. They stopped what they were doing and focused on her.

"What's so funny fellas?" asked Evelyn.

"Nothing ma'am," said the first guy with dreads and still laughing eyes.

"How about you? You see something funny around here?" Evelyn looked at the other young kid who now looked like he might piss his pants.

"No ma'am. Nothing funny going on here," he said. His purple shades reflected in the sunlight streaming from the open bay door.

"Better not be, because you ain't got a whole lot to be laughing about, do you?"

"No ma'am," both boys said together.

"You've been here all morning and my jeep still isn't on the rack to be worked on. Did you even do the oil change?"

The boys tried explaining themselves, but only managed to garble out flimsy excuses why the work they were supposed to be there doing had not been done. Evelyn silenced them with an irritated wave.

"Hush! Just hush!" she screamed, then seemed to pull herself back in. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She slowly breathed out a long blow of tension. "Just close up the shop and head back to the house. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. You'll need to wash up and get presentable before coming to the table. We have a guest."

The boys started again with their excuses and were met with Evelyn's very annoyed silent response. They looked at one another then began closing procedures for the shop. Evelyn turned back to the door they had come through earlier. Michael looked at the two guys noticing they were speaking in hushed voices, blaming each other for not having completed their task. He turned and followed Evelyn back to the two seater golf cart and rode back through the tunnel towards the bunker.

Michael looked over at Evelyn, studying her a little more. He could tell she was someone that liked order, even though she might not always have it for herself personally. She was the type that liked for things to be done when she asked for them to be done, not put on a backorder list to be completed later. She could be humorous, but not too humorous as she knew too often the danger of being too friendly to those she led. She didn't mind being kind, but it seemed to hurt her a great deal when her kindness was taken for granted. He got the feeling that the two boys in the shop were ones that she felt particularly conflicted by and wanted nothing more than to simply move on to the next task without really dealing with their antics. Perhaps this was not their first time running afoul of her and she was beginning to grow tired of their excuses and of giving them chances to correct. He could almost guarantee that one of them would eventually end up in some kind of trouble.

The ride back to the bunker was relatively short. Evelyn excused herself to take care of business upstairs leaving Michael to move his things into the private bedroom. He unpacked his items, setting his equipment up so that he could continue contact remotely with Section before going into the small wet room. There was a switch to turn on outside the room to activate the ventilation system so that mold would not easily set up while the room was in use. Feeling more refreshed after taking a very much needed shower, Michael changed into another black t-shirt and cotton trouser pants before combing his wet hair back behind his ears. He checked himself one last time in his dresser mirror before heading upstairs.

Since his small tour with Evelyn, his palm information was now loaded into their security system allowing him to freely use their security features. He traveled back through the basement area and into the house where, even before he made it to the door, he could hear music being played and smell food cooking. He opened the door and immediately was thrust into a throng of bodies walking about the small house laughing and carrying around paper plates loaded with food. Many of them were young looking, no more than in their mid-twenties. He wondered if they were all operatives, or were they just random people walking into the house to gain a plate. He searched the faces, trying to find someone familiar. He half hoped to find Evelyn among them, but she seemed to be absent from the mob. The noise of the music was becoming incredibly loud the closer he moved towards the kitchen. Inside, he saw Arlene serving plates to eager hands and arguing about people not washing their hands. She thoroughly cursed one young man out who dared to ask her for another piece of fried chicken breasts.

"You get one breast like you got one nut sack! Get ya ass out my damn kitchen!"

The little guy with the one chicken breast hurriedly left out the back door into the backyard of the house, where, Michael realized, the music originated from. He ventured into the kitchen finding it hard to squeeze past so many shuffling bodies with loaded plates as they moved from the kitchen into either the front room where the television played or the backyard. Arlene continued to fuss with guests before she noticed Michael standing on the back wall looking around at all the black and latin faces swarming the house.

"Come on in here, white boy, and come get you a plate. I know you hungry," said Arlene, somehow louder than the noise of the music and all the people.

Michael cautiously pressed forward, excusing himself politely to those who he could not avoid bumping into, until he made it over to the counter next to where Arlene was stirring a large pot of cooking collards. The scent of them made Michael want to vomit. Arlene gave the oily green soup a final swirl with a large wooden spoon before covering it over with a lid. She reached for a plate already covered in tin foil and handed it to Michael.

"Find you a seat somewhere. Most everybody is out back. Pinky back there too."

Michael studied his heavy plate, wondering what sort of meal had already been prepared for him. He nodded his thanks and received Arlene's usual dismissal.

"Now get ya ass up out my kitchen, I'm still cooking."

A yes ma'am fell out of his mouth involuntarily. It had been a long while since he had ever encountered a woman as frightening as Arlene. The last he ever recalled even using the word ma'am was when he was a small boy in the children's home he was sent to after his parents died. In a lot of ways, Arlene reminded him of the nuns that took care of the younger boys. He still had nightmares of them pacing about the line of beds they slept on, black robes sweeping the wooden floors, their eyes searching each sleeping child scanning which one dared to be awake, all the while slapping a wooden ruler into their claw like hands. He used to lie very still, so still he was scarcely breathing, hoping that he did not catch a nun's watchful attention and bring her rancid breath close to his face.

Michael opted to move outside, eager to get away from the sour smell of the cooking collards in the kitchen. Outside, rap music blared from twin speakers standing at each end of a long fold out table. A guy with dual turntables and a crate stuff full of records was busy conducting the flow of the music as he listened for the right moment to introduce a new song with a similar tempo. The backyard was full of people, a whole lot more people than what were inside the house. The side gate was open allowing in more people greeting each other with a series of handshakes and side hugs. Michael scanned for a place to sit and found a seat on the end of a well worn picnic table. He uncovered his plate and assessed what it was that he got. It was a plate loaded with what he could only guess was all fried in the same grease. He had a fairly large piece of fried chicken breast, a generous mound of mashed sweet potatoes, green beans, blackeyed peas, corn on the cob, and cornbread. A metal basin sat in the middle of the table full of ice and a mixed selection of sodas and different brands of beer. Michael reached into the bucket and uncovered a bottle of ice cold water. He sat down and unwrapped the utensil pack included with the meal. The aroma from the plate pulled at him, demanding he eat, but his mind cautioned him about tasting something so unfamiliar to his usual pallet. He took a tentative bite of the sweet potatoes and considered the sweet molasses and peppery taste of them. He ate another bite, enjoying what he was tasting so far. He moved on to the green beans.

A person plopped down beside him. Michael cut a glance over and saw that it was one of the young men from the mechanic shop. He reclined against the table sitting the opposite direction and spreading himself out to take up as much room as his body would allow him to.

He was slight in frame which was only accented by the LA Lakers jersey he wore over top matching basketball shorts. His head was wrapped in a white and yellow bandana fashioned into a headband. His purple shades completed the look. He had an easy smile, one that did not show too many teeth. He watched the women passing by with kind dark brown eyes, occasionally winking at them and flashing his charming grin. They waved back at him, giggling in their coyness and whispering among themselves. Michael knew the silent interaction well. It had been one of many first mild flirtations he used when he was first asked to attract a woman. He learned later that it was the wrong approach. Instead of making him look approachable and appealing, he only came off as an arrogant jerk, which was what this little guy was working successfully at doing.

"Hey man, what's up," the young man greeted.

Michael remained silent, chewing slowly. Although he was enjoying the full bodied flavors that were assaulting his gentle pallet, he was quickly beginning to regret eating it as his stomach no longer was in agreement with the flavors. He took a long gulp of water, hoping that it might help settle things.

"Saw you with Miss E today," the boy continued. His eyes danced all about the yard no doubt landing on every woman present there. His head bobbed to the beat as he bit his bottom lip in consideration of a few of the women. "You new to the crew?"

"No," Michael answered. He tried the chicken, biting into the meat. Grease and juice squirted out unexpectedly making Michael jump a little.

"You from Section?"

Michael cut another look at the young fellow. By protocol, he knew he should not say anything to the kid, not with so many other people he knew were not Section Operatives around. He took another long swig of water, nearly emptying the bottle.

The kid continued to bob his head, now seeming more into the music than flirting. His open stance at the table agitated Michael even more. He wasn't sure what the trigger was. It could have been the heaviness of the flavored chicken, or possibly the insolent way the young man continued to bounce around on the bench causing sickening vibrations to ripple through him.

"What do you know about it?" Michael asked, testing the boy's ignorance. He knew the answer he should expect, that he knew nothing, but he already knew he was going to fail.

The boy shrugged, mimicking Evelyn's answer. "Not much. I just got on there really. Been in training for nearly two years now."

"If you've been in training for two years, you should know better then," said Michael through his clenched teeth. "It's one of the first lessons taught."

"Lesson? What do you mean by that?"

Michael quietly maneuvered himself so that he had a clear area to strike fast before anyone knew what had happened.

"I don't know anything about it and neither do you," Michael said, drawing slightly closer to the young man.

"Yeah you do man! We all Section up in this bitch, right?"

Michael did not bother to respond. He knew the kid knew what he said was true. All new recruits, from the moment they wound up in the white room to when they finally made it off the Farm, knew the first rule of Section was to deny there being a Section. Even if they were caught conducting a Section maneuver and wearing a sign that said they were an operative from Section, they were to deny any knowledge of its existence.

"You should really be quiet now,' said Michael warningly.

"Man you tripping for real. Why you trying to act like you don't know what's up? We all know you're with Sec-"

With lightning speed, Michael took hold of the back of the kid's neck and held him in a grip that applied pressure to the base of his spine. With another jerk, he could snap the boy's vertebrae slicing through his spinal cord at just the right spot to effectively kill him without anyone knowing anything happened to him. He held him dangling between life and death, deciding. At the moment, the boy only felt an uncomfortable tingling moving like an electric current through his body.

"Whoa! Hold up! What the hell is going on?"

Michael looked up and saw Evelyn walking up to them. Her expression was of annoyed concern. Michael let the boy go and returned to his massive plate. The boy began coughing uncontrollably and bent forward. Evelyn pulled him up by his ear and scolded him for being an idiot. She dug out a water bottle and tossed it at him. Still rattled, he missed the catch and dropped the bottle to the ground.

"Drink your water and take your ass back in the house," said Evelyn, pointing his way.

Still coughing, the boy picked up his water and shuffled towards the house. Evelyn turned her attention to Michael as he continued to try and choke down more of the potatoes even though by now, he knew it was no use. He was going to be sick later. Evelyn stood with her hands on her hips still dressed in her fatigue pants and sports bra top. Sweat was present all over her now signalling she had been outside in the heat for a while more likely organizing the event rather than enjoying herself.

"What the hell, Michael? I'm pretty sure you had good reason to want to snap Romeo's neck, but why here? With all my peoples here and shit? What the fuck went on?"

"He violated protocol. I was only doing what any one of you are *supposed* to do in the event of a security breach. Does he not know that, or is he just stupid?" said Michael, his tone low and even.

Evelyn sat down beside Michael close enough so that only the two of them could be heard speaking.

"He might be both, but that still doesn't mean you can lay him out on the lawn. I can't be having dead bodies stacking up like wood in my backyard."

Michael gave Evelyn a curious look.

"Look," Evelyn began. "I got a house full of new recruits and not a whole lot of support from the mothership. I gotta take what I can get, and if you come up in here and start snapping folk off because they broke protocol, it's just going to be me and you left, because I can guarantee you just about everybody up in here is in some type of code violation."

"Maybe if you all behaved more like an organization and less like a frat house, there wouldn't be so many issues," Michael seethed mainly because his stomach was now beginning to twist uncomfortably. "What kind of place is this anyway? I was sent here for training. I feel like I'm being pranked."

"Pranked," Evelyn scoffed. "I don't know what you came expecting, but if you haven't noticed already, we ain't in Paris no more, boo boo. You're in America, better yet, you're at the star end of the devil's anus. We buddied up right next to the Mexican border like two butt cheeks." She made a loud kissing noise with her mouth and laughed. "If it looks like we do things around here a little different, it's because we *have* to do things a little differently. If we didn't we would stick out like you do in all that damn black! You didn't bring *one* white t-shirt with you?"

Michael was still too annoyed and too sick to find anything Evelyn said amusing. Instead, he grimaced, his insides feeling like they were melting. He stood and grabbed another water, opened it and guzzled it quickly. Although the cold water helped to keep him cooled off, it did nothing for the melting feeling inside. Suddenly, he felt a very large belch and then a sinking feeling settled in the very bottom of his stomach.

"You okay?" Evelyn put a concerned hand on his shoulder.

Michael leaned over the table, pushing his plate away from his immediate senses. He was beginning to pant, sweat beading down his back, but it was not from the heat. He looked up at Evelyn, his eyes glazing over in his agony. Evelyn's expressive face looked

"The food," Michael swallowed down a wave of nausea. "You put poison in my food."

"That's just fat back."

"What the hell is fat back?"

"You know, fat! Fat back! It adds flavor. It's good for you." Evelyn looked over Michael's plate and plucked his cornbread from it. She studied it, noticing he had not taken a bite of it. "You gon eat your cornbread?"

Michael waved her off, pulling himself off the bench. He had to make it to the bathroom and quickly. His body was deteriorating fast. He needed to get to a bathroom to try and find some kind of medicine to combat the gruesome twisting happening to his stomach. The crush of people around him were both a blessing and a curse as he both bumped them out of the way and leaned on them for support as he made his way back inside the house.

"You alright there, sugar?" asked Arlene seeing Michael's wobbly frame pushing rudely through a throng of people.

Michael garbled something unintelligible as he swayed unsteadily down the hall.

"Well, look here! If you gone be sick, light a damn match!"

After some precarious stumbling about, Michael finally made it to his room in the bunker. He was dripping in sweat and his stomach cramped mercilessly. He crashed headlong into the wet room and began vomiting violently into the toilet. The constant torrent of nausea made him heave so forcefully, he thought he might pass out. When it was done, he fell back against the cool tile wall, gasping and feeling dizzy. Only a moment later, the wave returned and he was back over the bowl, praying that he would just die already. A few more heaves later, and Michael felt completely spent. He flushed the toilet and turned on the shower, allowing the cold water to douse him in hopes that it would help cool his body down. He lay in the water, clothes soaking and sticking to his frame, wishing he were back home in his loft apartment reading Victor Hugo and sipping Earl Grey tea. He could almost see himself sitting not in his own apartment, but in Nikita's listening to her collection of trance jazz fusion music, sipping a full bodied bordeaux, and watching her dance amid the swirls of colors she had decorated her apartment with. In his half fevered mind, he could hear the music softly caressing him as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Is he dead?" asked Zeke.

"Looks like it, " said Romeo.

The two men stood in Michael's bathroom looking at the soaking wet frenchman lying on the floor as water from the shower pelted his face and chest. Romeo frowned, assessing the sleeping man and the faint scent of sickness still lingering in the cramped bathroom. He reached over, careful not to get in the way of the shower, and turned the water off. Michael lay dripping, unaware of the water being absent. Romeo nudged him with one sneaker toe. MIchael groaned in response.

"Well, he ain't dead. He will wish he were though when he finally wakes up. That chicken must have fucked him up something terrible."

"He probably doesn't eat like that where he from," said Zeke, studying Michael's softly featured face. In the right kind of lighting, without the slight shading of stubble beginning to grow around his chin, he sort of looked like a handsome woman.

"Where the hell is he from then?" asked Romeo. He had never heard of anybody that had not had the same kind of food they had just eaten, or something close to it.

"Pinky said he's french."

Romeo looked at Zeke, surprised. "Paris french? Like Wee wee, woo woo french?"

"Yeah. She said he flew all the way over from Europe to come train with us. Said Section sent him here to learn guerilla tactics to prepare him for some big mission they got going on over there."

Romeo looked back down at Michael who was now beginning to breathe heavily again as if starting to heave.

"Fuck, he's gonna blow chunks again."

Quickly, Romeo turned the shower back on just as Michael rolled to his side and sent out another spout of vomit, which now was mostly spit and bile as there was nothing left in him to eject. Romeo twisted his face in disgust as Zeke backed out of the bathroom, unwilling to witness the scene as it made him want to become sick in turn. Once Michael stopped spitting up, he flipped over to his back, ignoring the water streaming down over his face. Romeo looked at Zeke with concern, then back at Michael on the floor.

"Yo, man I don't think he's gonna make it. We better go get Pinky. See what she wants to do about this."

Michael groaned again, an agonized moan that spoke volumes of how he was feeling.

"Go get Pinky. Hurry up! And Sanchez! He might need medical."

Zeke paused for a moment, considering what was happening, before leaving the room to find Evelyn and Sanchez, their resident medical officer. Romeo, not really wanting to touch a wet and sick Michael, cautiously leaned forward to pat him gently on the leg closest to him.

"Hey dude, just hold on there. Help is coming, okay. Just...you know...don't die or nothing. I don't do well with dead bodies, you know. I get nightmares. I can't even stand in a room with a dead body in a casket. I break out in hives."

Michael mumbled amid the water running over his face. Romeo reached up and turned the water off to try and hear him.

"What'd you say man?"

Michael mumbled again, his voice barely audible.

"I can't hear you, speak up."

"Come closer," Michael whispered.

Romeo leaned in closer to Michael, trying to hear what his lips were slowly moving to say. When he was within a breath, Michael's right hand shot up and grabbed him by the throat. With his other, he reached for his own pistol still strapped about his ankle and held it at his rib cage. He stood to his feet and jammed the barrel of the gun into Romeo's side hard making him whence.

"Where's Evelyn?" Michael breathed out, his anger at full measure.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Where's Evelyn?" Michael forced the gun further into Romeo's side.

"Alright! Alright man! She coming! I just sent Zeke to go get here! Damn! We thought you were dead!"

"You will be if she doesn't get down here in ten seconds."

"Ten seconds? It's gonna take her that long just to get out of the backyard! Shit man, do you not have any concept of time? Can I at least have like five minutes? Maybe she can get to the door or something! Don't kill me in ten seconds! See, it's just been ten seconds just now with me begging you not to kill me! Just wait a whole minute more-"

"Shut up!" Michael was tired of talking, and even more tired of the games being played. He wanted out and he wanted out now. He moved Romeo into the center of the room and twisted around so that he had him by the back of the neck once more.

"He's probably not used to the food. You know some people just don't take soul food that well," said a latin-american voice coming down the hall.

"He didn't look that great when he left," said Evelyn. "I hope he didn't shit all over himself."

They walked into the room and were faced with Romeo staring back wide eyed and shaking with Michael standing behind him looking dark and unhinged.

"Whoa," said Evelyn.

"Y'all, somebody come get this muthafucker!" said Romeo.

"Take me to your office," Michael demanded.

"Okay, let's just slow it down here," said Evelyn calmly, her eyes steady on Michael. She saw out the corner of her eye Sanchez began to pull her own gun she had hidden in the side pocket of her cargo pants. She gestured for her not to move for it. Sanchez relaxed but kept her hand at the ready to grab it if necessary.

Michael saw Sanchez and knew she was holding. He could tell Evelyn likely was holding as well, she just was not making any obvious moves to signal where her own gun was hiding. He calculated how many shots he could squeeze off before he caught one himself. He figured he could kill all three before Zeke showed back up. He might be able to barricade the door long enough to make an emergency call out to Section, but then it would be a miracle getting out of the bunker. He remembered the golf cart that traveled down the tunnels. He could escape on it and out one of the two cover stores, and...And then what? He was in the middle of nowhere in a place he neither knew or recognized much in it. He figured he could survive until someone came to extract him, but if he ended up with a bullet in him, he would have to figure out some type of medical care and there was no telling how far of a reach this group had in this region. Upon arrival, it seemed the entire neighborhood was watching him and the backyard seemed crowded beyond comprehension with people. Were they all operatives? Affiliates? Nocs? Informants? He couldn't know, therefore, he would have to treat everyone he encountered as a hostile until he could find his way to a safehouse where he could be picked up and taken home.

"Look, Michael, I know everything seems strange to you right now," Evelyn began slowly. "But you gotta listen to me. No one here is trying to hurt you, okay. We're your friends. We're all working for the same group. We're all Section, okay?"

"You're lying," Michael said through his teeth. He held tight to Romeo's throat. "If you were Section, there would be information on your profile. I would've been able to find you."

"My files are classified," Evelyn explained. "All our files are classified. Section doesn't have us on the database because it doesn't want us on the database. We're all deep cover operatives. We're guerillas. We aren't supposed to be seen or even known about. That's why we're out here in the sands of nowhere. We aren't supposed to be known. Not even to people like you."

"What do you mean people like me?"

"Level 5 Operatives. Level 6 Administrators, Level 7 Officers, Level 8 Controllers, Level 9 Operators...Anyone that has a blade of influence. Our orders come from Section. All of Section, not just Section One. We hit targets any and everywhere necessary. We do the dirty work for you guys so that you can target the bigger fish. Did you really think the objectives you hit were the only base of operation these terrorist organizations work from? Oftentimes they have pockets all over the place. We're the ones they call to clean all that up while you guys go in for the head honchos. We're deep cover because we have to be. It's the only way Section can work with other counter-terrorist agencies. If we get taken out, no one knows anything and nobody gets their hands dirty. They can all claim no affiliation. We're ghosts."

"If you know all of that, and you know what I am, why try and kill me?"

"We never tried to kill you, Michael. You had a bad reaction to the food, but that's about it. We're here to *train* you and for you to help us, but not for the mission you think you're here to do."

"What mission am I here to do for real?"

"Drop Romeo. Let him breathe, and come with me. I'll explain everything in the conference room. We're about to brief there anyway."

"How am I to trust you're telling me the truth?"

"She's telling the truth man! Let me go!" said Romeo.

"Shut up, Romeo! Look, Michael, if I'm lying you can kill him."

"What!"

"Shut up! Look at me Michael. Everything I've told you since you've been here is the God honest truth. I haven't said one thing to you that was false. I'm telling you the truth now. Let Romeo go and I promise, all you will ever hear from me is the truth. You're here for training and I'm going to train you, but there's something I'm gonna need from you too."

Michael considered Evelyn's argument a moment before letting Romeo go. The young man dropped to his knees coughing and hacking, grasping at his neck where Michael's hand had squeezed him. Michael looked down at the boy and felt a little sorry for using him as bullet bait. He truly did seem like he cared about his well being when he thought he was dying in the bathroom.

"Sorry," said Michael.

Romeo, still coughing, waved Michael away. Michael looked back up at Evelyn. She told Sanchez to meet her in the conference room, that she would be there in a few minutes. After some assuring, Sanchez conceded. She gave Michael a long hard stare before turning and leaving. Evelyn lifted Romeo to his feet and patted him on the back.

"You gone be alright there lover boy. Head on into Conference. I'll be there in a few."

Romeo gave Evelyn a pained expression before moving on. Evelyn turned back to Michael. He was rummaging through his suitcase to find a clean dry shirt. He pulled off the wet one he had on exposing his naked muscular upper body. Evelyn leaned in the door frame, allowing her eyes to feast on the half naked vision in front of her. His wet pants stuck to him and finished his frame for her. She lifted an eyebrow in interest.

"Got a little ass on you don't you," she said, not hiding the fact that she was watching him.

Michael continued to search for a shirt that would not be too hot to wear. He found one and shook it out to try and get rid of the wrinkles. His stomach still did not feel a hundred percent well, but at least he no longer felt nauseated.

"I'm not normally attracted to white boys," said Evelyn, still eyeballing Michael. "But in a pinch, you'll do."

Michael smirked. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," but Evelyn knew he didn't really mean it. "I hear you're a Valentine Op. What is that, exactly?"

Michael pulled on his shirt. He reached for a pair of pants and shook them out as well. He kicked off his wet shoes and unlatched the holster around his ankle.

"It's a certain type of operative for Section," he explained as he sat down on the bed to remove his wet socks. "We're used for covert missions to gather closely guarded intelligence and any other useful information that might be divulged as a direct result from forming intimate relationships."

"Intimate relationships? You mean having sex?"

"Yes." Michael pulled off his pants.

For a moment, he saw Evelyn's eyes grow wide from surprise before she turned her head respectfully. She crossed her arms and kept her gaze out towards the hall. Michael allowed himself a small smile, learning her bashfulness. He stood a moment more in his wet boxer briefs and t-shirt knowing that just the knowledge of him there was making her slightly uncomfortable. He decided to end her torture by putting on his pants. He turned to button up. When he turned back, he saw Evelyn had been watching him, eyeing his backside once more.

"So you fuck for data," Evelyn continued.

Michael found another pair of shoes and began shoving his feet into them.

"Yes. If that's what you want to call it. I don't necessarily use that word."

"Well what would you call it then?"

Michael finished putting on his shoes. "Gathering intel."

"What about the women?"

"What about them?"

Evelyn shifted a little, struck by how flippant Michael now seemed.

"Don't you like, care what happens to them? I mean, you sleep with them, they tell you all their secrets, and what, you just bounce?"

Michael considered the question then moved closer to Evelyn so that he stood nearly over her, looking down into her perfectly confused and a little horrified face.

"Yup."

"You never care about any of them?"

Michael could tell she was having a hard time stomaching the idea. He wondered, with her being so pretty, why she had never heard of the concept, or why no one presented it to her. Most women were pressed into it, especially ones that looked as innocent as Evelyn, but maybe that may have been the ultimate deterrent. She could not be believed as a Valentine Operative because her eyes always told what her heart was thinking. Maybe she didn't have the capacity to carry on such subterfuge and the weight of trying to make her do it would undoubtedly crush her. For all her outer roughness and brutish demeanor, she truly was a delicate flower.

"I can't say that I cared about all of them," said Michael, putting his hands in his pockets. "But some of them, I did."

Evelyn sank into thought, something Michael was learning fast that she did often. She, like Nikita, spent a lot of time in her head working through her own conclusions. He fought the urge to touch her cheek, to slide his finger under her chin and make her look up into his eyes. She had said that she did not lie to him, that she would not lie. There was more than just the mission to be considered. There was something else that she needed help with. As much as he wanted to leave this place and never speak of it again, he was curious as to what it was that she needed him for.

"Conference," Michael reminded

Evelyn seemed to snap out of her thoughts and peel herself off the door frame. She walked ahead of him and led him to the conference room where eight other people, including Arlene, Zeke, and Romeo sat waiting. Michael stood at the back of the room, hands still in his pockets, and leaned against the wall. Evelyn took her position at the head of the large mahogany table and addressed the room.

"Evening all. It's late, we've all had a very long day, so I'm gonna make this quick. First, let me start by welcoming a respected member of Section One. He came all the way from over the pond to sit with us for two weeks. We are to treat him as we would treat any one of our own family members here at this table. You don't fuck with him. If you do, you'll have to fuck with me. Course...given what just happened a few minutes ago, I don't think any of you will want to fuck with him anyway."

Everyone looked at Romeo, already in the know. Romeo half smiled half smirked in embarrassment.

"So," said Evelyn. "Everybody say hi to the white guy. Michael Sammuelle. He's going to be right hand for the next couple of days."

There were no welcoming hellos, but there were a few interested nodds bobbed in his direction. The woman called Sanchez continued to sneer at him while her counterpart, a woman whom he learned later was called Morales, looked him over in careful contemplation. Sanchez and Morales made up their Medical and Field surveillance unit while another latino male called Santino headed their database and intelligence information. Santino worked with another black man called Priest who took care of communications. Priest reminded Michael of a movie he once saw wherein a man walked about in a long dark coat and sunglasses indiscriminately killing people. He could not recall what the name of the movie was, but it was something that Nikita had once dragged him to go see. He had hated the movie, but endured it if only to get a few hours next to Nikita.

Rounding out their group was Tarek, the dread headed guy that Michael met in the mechanic shop. Romeo, the sprite wise-cracking guy that had the potential to be a charismatic heart throb as long as he never opened his mouth. Zeke, the large man child that Michael met earlier in the day, and Arlene, their munitions expert that seemed intent on kicking everyone out of her kitchen and telling everyone to sit their asses down. Michael nodded his greeting to them, realizing now that their disordered appearance was done on purpose. Sitting at the table, they all resembled the attentive faces of Section's operatives listening and learning the details about their upcoming mission. Michael listened as Evelyn began detailing their target and what information had been gleaned from both Section's database and their own intel gathered over the past couple of days before Michael arrived. He was impressed with how detailed the information they gathered from their reconnaissance had been, even burrowing down to connected agents in the Mexican Border Control who were paid to allow drugs to be smuggled into America. They weren't allowed to touch these officers, but they could press some of the smugglers if they could catch one of them to interrogate. The aim, however, was not to waste time on the smugglers. They had to find the manufacturing plants where the drugs were being produced. Once they located that, then they could start doing some real damage and maybe get close enough to get to their real target.

"Who is the real target?" Michael asked.

The entire room went quiet as if all the air ran out. Evelyn looked at Michael, her eyes telling him that there was a whole lot more to that question than what a simple answer would fulfil.

"Oscar Guillermo."

"You're going after the second in

command of the Guillermo Cartel?"

Evelyn nodded resolutely.

"Without Section support, you won't get within three miles of him."

"That's why you're here," said Evelyn.

"What makes you think I can get to him? I'm no more skilled than you are. "

"Because," Evelyn walked slowly around the table towards Michael, her eyes steady on him. "I think Section will do just about anything their prized pony will ask them if given the right type of leverage."

She stood toe to toe with him, looking up into his eyes with all the intensity of a mad woman. He had seen this look in another woman's eyes, a woman he had sent to the blistering cold tundra of Section 6 only to have her return and try and kill him for it.

"What leverage do you have?"

Evelyn gave him a knowing smile. "The kind that dictates countries. You see, while we may be small in number, we have very wide fingers and can reach anyone we need to reach if necessary. I think your Operations will jump at the chance to be the one to say he saved the President of Columbia from being assassinated by a coup. We get Guillermo's finances taken down, Guillermo has no money to fund his coup d'etat efforts, Section gets the credit. We end a billion dollar industry in one night."

"Your plan won't work."

"It'll work because you're gonna make sure that it does."

"What if I say no?"

Evelyn pulled her Glock 17 from where she had it stashed in a holster afixed to her back. She aimed the pistol at Michael and cocked it.

"You can die tonight."

"Wait," Arlene intervened quickly, moving up behind Evelyn and touching her shoulder to lower the gun. "Before you do something you'll regret doing. We need Section support."

Evelyn continued to stare at Michael, her gun level at his face. A moment passed before she lowered her gun finally to her side.

"Section won't touch Guillermo because of the money involved. If we remove the money, there won't be any reason for them *not* to take Guillermo and his cartel out. And they'll have to do it because the Columbian government will make it necessary to protect the president. The coup is set to eliminate him soon. We don't know when though. I have men in the field finding out that information now. We aren't monsters. Not like them. We're trying to end the reign of a mass killer. Isn't that what we are supposed to do? Protect the innocent from people like Guillermo? It's not enough to just eliminate the plants. We have to cut out the root so they don't grow back some place else."

"If all this is true and you know Section won't get involved, why ask me for help? Why not tell them what you know?"

"Two years ago, we told Section about Guillermo, but nothing happened. We told them that they were working with other terrorist groups funding their weapons and recruitment efforts. They didn't budge. We told them about their involvement with human trafficking. Nothing. They won't help me, but maybe they will help you. Their Golden Child. If you request support, they will send help and probably the necessary manpower to lead an assault on Guillermo's compound. We could then take him out, seize his assets and stop the money before it funds another nuclear hit or terrorist strike."

"You know if you do that, all of the cartels will come looking for you. They'll find you all out here in your little back yard bodega and wipe you out. They will declare war against Section."

"Not against Section", said Evelyn. She crossed back over to the other side of the conference table.

Michael did not hide his clear amazement at her insolence. He didn't think he could be any more surprised than he had been all day. It was barely midnight and he could honestly say he had been through more emotions in the past 24 hours than he had for the last six months.

"Against who then?" asked Michael.

Evelyn smiled. She opened a notebook and pulled out a sheet of paper. On it was an image of a skull colored all in black.

"What is this supposed to be?"

"Black Skull. A new organization created and designed by me, and currently in active status among counterterrorist agencies, the CIA, and the FBI in the Mexican/Columbian regions. So far, we have eliminated twelve FBI most wanted targets, recovered over nine billion dollars in drug money seizures, and freed nearly eleven hundred sex trafficked young girls kidnapped all over America and brought as sex slaves into Columbia. We are the shadow group that has yet to be discovered because we don't actually exist. It's the reason why you can't find us in your database at Section. We are no one."

Michael stared at the grinning skull staring hollow eyed back at him. He had thought he was coming to train in the dust of a small urban substation in Laredo, Texas. From the moment he stepped from the plane, until now, he had felt he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, with his underwear now permanently stuck to his ass cheeks, and the woman who he mistook to be innocent and gentle standing at the head of an old table looking like anything but, he realized he had been given the ultimate test by Section. If he didn't pass this one, there would be no returning.

"Funny thing about ghosts," said Evelyn as she walked back towards Michael. "They tend to show up in places that you don't always expect to see them. Four years ago, Black Skull began recruiting. We drew from every pool, including ones from Section. We met a remarkable operative. She became one of our most trustworthy and intelligent members as far as gaining intel for some of the most dangerous terrorist organizations. She went on a cold mission with Section to uncover information about Glass Curtain. The mission failed. She didn't pop up again until a year later. She was able to get one message out. Your wife, Simone wanted you to have this."

Evelyn handed Michael a piece of cloth stained with blood. Michael looked at it and recognized it instantly. His hands shook as he held the small piece to his face, breaking down. It was a small piece of the handkerchief she wore on their wedding day. She had used it to dab away the tears in her eyes when they exchanged vows. From that moment forward, she kept it with her on all her missions as a good luck charm.

"How did you get this?" Michael's voice was barely above a whisper now.

"Ghosts. They just show up where you least expect them to. She found a way to get in contact with us. Knew that you would know what it was and would know that she was still alive when you saw it. She had hoped that you would help her get out before they moved her again. As I said, we tried to ask Section for help, but they refused us. She disappeared along with Glass Curtain. Guillermo's cartel is one of their major financial backers and the sole reason why they became so heavily involved with human trafficking."

Michael could not hold back his tears, remembering the day Simone was ripped out of his hands once more by Glass Curtain. He sat down in an empty chair next to him and held the cloth tightly in his fist. Simone had been trafficked, probably by the same cartel that was funneling in drugs and bodies across the border and anywhere else they could trade them. Simone had been passed about like a rag doll, probably winding up in just as many beds as he had, only hers were not voluntary. They had planned to somehow get away from Section and live their lives free of its hand. She had said she had a way to get out of Section, and they were planning to, after their last mission. Then Glass Curtain happened and all their dreams and plans shattered to pieces leaving him cut, bruised, and bleeding with only his screams of horror to keep him company.

Evelyn stood close beside him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Instinctively, Michael leaned towards the comforting hand, finding its warmth shockingly soothing amid all the chaos that was brewing within him.

"Whatever it is you are feeling right now, think on it. Use it. We need it."

Michael closed his eyes, seeing Simone's face, her dark eyes shining back at him in her final moments. She had told him she loved him.

Evelyn stroked his hair, allowing her finger to linger over the ridge of his ear. She gently stroked the side of his face, then slipped a finger under his chin, lifting his face to meet hers. She then lowered her eyes on him, gazing deeply within him, finding his soul buried inside. She found the pain he kept within and carressed it sweetly with the sweep of her fingers against his jaw.

"Join with me, Michael. Help us get rid of the people that destroyed so many lives. That destroyed Simone's life."

Michael looked around at the other operatives standing in quiet anticipation of his answer. He turned his gaze back to Evelyn who continued with her motherly expression. He thought of Simone and the look in her eyes when he first found her.

It had been too late. She didn't know him anymore. They had killed her mind long before her body. He had asked her to come back to him, to love him again like before, but she knew she couldn't do that. She would never be able to love him like she did before. That's why she decided to die. That's why she left him with her final declaration of love knowing that she would never be able to return to him. Only as a ghost would she be able to reach him, to touch him with hands he could no longer feel.

Michael swallowed down the hard lump that was in his throat. He straightened himself in his seat, putting the handkerchief piece into his pocket. He folded his hands and leveled his red rimmed gaze with Evelyn. His stoic expression returned. He looked at her now with dead eyes.

"Okay..."

Evelyn smiled sweetly and looked down at Michael. She wiped away a lingering tear from his cheek as gentle as a mother would her son.

"Welcome to Black Skull."