Mission Fail
He said hello to me this morning…
I'm sure he was talking to me this time. There was no one else around us.
It had been months since I saw him at the airfield. Maybe a year passed? I couldn't tell. The days after that mission seemed to bleed into one another. Madeline gave me two options. Either I stayed with Section and continued to watch as the very thing that I wanted most of all slipped quietly away from my grasp, or check-out entirely and wait on the other side for the possibility that he might join me there. Of course, with the life that we all lived, there was no guarantee that I would be waiting where he was waiting…
I had not truly started thinking about my eternal soul until that very second in the White Room. With the gun resting against my temple and the picture of Michael staring back at me from the panel, I wondered if it truly mattered what choice I made in that very moment. I came back to Section for him, only to find out that I would never be with him. Madeline had said it plainly that he was meant for another, and they would do everything in their power to make certain that I never got close to Michael again. All that I could hope for was just a passing glance, or a kind smile directed my way from him. The option for a relationship was no longer available. I knew that the minute I saw Nikita. Certainly, he had other interests. I knew that, too. I could feel it stronger than I could see it. There was no mistaking what sort of interest Michael had with Nikita, even though Madeline made it seem like she wasn't the intended target either. She not might have been their pick for Michael, but he was not one to go along with their orders all the time. It was clear that his interests were not the same as Section's. He had a different goal in mind when it came to Nikita, and he was bold enough to challenge even the very head of Center to get what he wanted. And what he wanted wasn't me.
Maybe it was the meds I was suddenly forced to ingest after the Lopez incident, or maybe it was a side effect of the reconditioning I had to go through shortly after being placed on inactive status. After a while, I began to care less and less about living and just wanted to die.
Just die.
What life was left in me that burned for Michael was ultimately snuffed out that day in the White Room. Madeline saw that I would be utterly destroyed and maybe she even hoped that I would pull the trigger to get it all over with. There were days that I wished I did pull that trigger and just stop the madness that had become my existence. I wouldn't care about whose team I was on, or what woman was currently smiling in my beloved's face. I wouldn't care about his safety, or if he was able to complete his objectives.
I wouldn't care at all because I would be dead.
With every mission, I half hoped that I might find myself in front of a bullet, or go out in a blaze of glory like so many other operatives before me. I almost hated making it back to the Convoy. Even Taylor noticed a difference in my mood. He said I wasn't my usual snarky self. I was more morose and dull like life had been sucked out of me.
"It has, Taylor. I don't feel anything anymore. Food doesn't taste, the air is stale...I barely even feel cold."
"Oh c'mon, kiddo. It's not all bad. You're alive, aren't you?"
I looked back at Taylor with dead eyes, the same as just about everyone else at Section...The same as Michael.
"Well...You're here...And that's something," said Taylor. He patted my knee and gave me a small grin, or as much as he could grin.
Taylor was not the type to do much smiling. It was like his face didn't know the right muscles to use. So instead of smiling, he could only manage a strained look that hovered between immense pain and confusion. Come to think, there was only one time I had ever seen him laugh honestly, and at that time, the event would not have struck most as being very humorous. Taylor was a dark fellow, not just in his skin tone, but also in his overall demeanor.
I guess that's why I liked him.
After a while, I didn't care about being on any team. Being in General Ops meant that I got to experience a myriad of types of leadership. Some were by the book, hard-nosed, and methodical. Others were laid back, creative, and even somewhat careless in the way that they approached objectives. Some were militant and others were just outright maniacs. I saw squads behave like barbarians and others like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Even Evelyn Talbot's team was not above wholesale cruelty. She eliminated entire villages just to cover up her presence, and she had no qualms about decimating families to get to a target. Even though I never got to actually work with the Black Ops Division, I had no ambition to. I was happy when they passed me over to select Taylor to run a few rounds with them. When he returned, he told me all the horrors that he witnessed while in their employ.
"Sometimes I wonder if we're actually the bad guys."
Taylor leaned back against the Convoy truck while the rest of our team milled about waiting for our next instruction from Command. Our team leader was busy fussing with a broken communicator radio shot up from the short gun battle we all managed to survive. Well, all but our Mission Coordinator, Stephens. He was lying next to the radio with a bullet in his temple. Davenport's team was called in as a backup to help clear away the field and contain the area. While they were still sanitizing the area, we were left on standby, guarding the Convoy and extraction. For the moment, however, we weren't doing anything but waiting.
"It's a matter of opinion," said Taylor. "Does a bad guy really think he is a bad guy if what he believes he is doing is right?"
"If that's the case, then we're all subject to the same judgment we bring on everyone else."
"Amen."
Once returned to Section, I barely noticed any of the other operatives shoving past me. I walked with heavy feet over to Munitions to turn in my equipment. Walter greeted me with his usual inappropriate comments. I scarcely recall what it was that I said to him in response. Whatever it was, it must have told him all that he needed to know about my particular attitude. He received back my weapons and gave me a concerned grin.
"I wish I could tell you it gets better, kiddo. Just...Keep your chin up. Life isn't all bad. There's still some good in it...If you wanna find it."
I looked at Walter and noticed for the first time that he was a human being. All before I had only seen him as Section's perverted punchline to a joke that no one wanted to hear. After years of enduring his quips and salacious comments, his indecent propositions, and outright pornographic suggestions, I never recognized that beneath his lewd outer covering was a very sensible and caring man. Maybe it was his decades trapped beneath the rocks of Section buried within its caverns that made him nearly impossible to digest. Yet, like being forced to eat cream corn day after day, eventually, you get used to the slimy taste and just take it for what it is. Walter, by far, was possibly the oldest operative employed with Section, maybe even older than its founders, and yet, he remained loyal and devoted to it for his own reasons. Because he had seen so much of its crimes and punishments being played out like a tragedy over the years, it no longer surprised me that he found joy in being impossible. I understood it.
Michael walked past dressed in his black suit looking like the most beautiful Grim Reaper. His light eyes found me and held me for a brief moment before moving away. My heart leaped towards him as it always did and as I knew it always would. My eyes followed him towards the hall leading to The Perch. In his hand, he held a panel and was no doubt going to discuss the next mission. I watched him until he disappeared up the stairwell.
"You got some downtime coming up. What are you going to do?" asked Walter.
I snapped my mind back from my fantasies and smiled at Walter, a genuine smile. He raised an eyebrow in return.
"Maybe catch a movie."
"Didn't think you liked watching movies," said Walter. "Always thought you preferred the one running in your head."
I shrugged. "At least at the movies, the girl always gets the guy...Unless, of course, it's a tragedy. And then the girl doesn't even want the guy."
"Is that what the movie in your head is?"
I sighed and started out of Munitions. "No...The movie in my head isn't a romance or a tragedy...It's a horror show."
The next few missions came and went with me barely defining any difference between them all. Operations was chasing Red Cell again and falling behind in pacing. With every substation and sleeper cell we took down, the hydra grew another head someplace else. Before long, it was open season on all governments splintering them to set up a perfect storm of coups and hostile takeovers by opportunistic warlords. Mini wars were popping up all over Eastern Europe, Asia, and Africa. The former USSR had its own issues with assassinations, and the oil crisis in the Middle East was beyond repair with Saddam Hussein gaining more and more control of Iraqi territories. Agencies all over Europe struggled to try and keep up with the constant transitions, but they were being overwhelmed. They all looked to Section to try and supplement resources spread too thin across the continents. It was evident by Operations' mission maneuvers that we were also feeling the stretch. With too many operatives out in the field, everyone was being called upon and teams were constructed with any available operative not presently commissioned elsewhere.
I was supposed to have 72 hours of downtime after my last mission. Instead, I only enjoyed about 6 hours before I was called right back in. I barely set down my bag when I got the call. I took one last sweeping look at my apartment, still scattered with moving boxes that were yet to be unpacked, before turning slowly and back out the door. I ordered a sleep pod for the evening, figuring whatever mission I was about to go on next would likely have me waiting about there before it was to load. When I arrived at Section, I noticed that everyone there was racing about frantically. Communications was buzzing with mission coordinations while agents worked tirelessly to decipher encrypted codes from intercepted messages. Birkoff flitted from computer desk to desk barking directions and sometimes just pushing the agent at the computer out of the way so that he could do the work himself. I saw Michael across the atrium having a very in-depth discussion with Operations and Madeline. The three of them stood surveying the activity and comparing notes. From the hall leading to Systems, Nikita emerged with her panel looking both nervous and determined. She stood with the three and handed over her panel to Michael who took it without addressing her.
"You're needed at Briefing in ten minutes. Go ahead and put your stuff up in an available locker and head towards Systems," said Birkoff as he raced past me.
After my personal effects were secured, I sauntered back towards the main floor, surveying everything going on. I couldn't help to notice how everyone at Section seemed to be in a terrific hurry. Hardly anyone was walking at a normal pace. They all seemed to be stuck in fast forward. I made it to Systems with only a half-hearted urgency. There was something amiss at Section, something quite out of the ordinary. Once again, my stomach began to churn a little. I saw Mentz and Taylor standing just outside the doors to Systems, already dressed out as if they were about to board a Convoy that very second. I greeted Mentz and gave Taylor a quick hug before taking my place next to him.
"Who did they get leading this expedition unknown?" I asked.
Taylor smirked. "Your most favorite person in the whole wide world."
For a quick second, my heart danced right into my throat and stuck there with hopeful glee. Could it be that all my hopes and prayers were finally going to be answered? Did some light of fortune find its way to me and grant me one last chance to vindicate myself? Taylor must've caught the scant glimpse of hopefulness in my eyes. He made a scoffing sound and hooked his thumbs into the loops of his pants. Just then, down the hall, I saw exactly what Taylor meant by saying my most favorite person in the whole world.
The tall blonde favorite stalked towards us with a very serious look in her cold blue eyes. I nearly felt like puking right then and there. She scanned us all, raking us over with a look that reminded me of a doe questioning a pack of wolves as she approached them. I did not hide my own smirk, nor did I stop myself from a very obvious eye roll once she began speaking.
"Problem Vizcano?"
"The briefing's in thirty minutes and the plan's not finalized?"
I knew I should have just kept quiet. I knew that questioning the appointed authority would get me a longer look by Command should the team leader complain about it. I knew I was supposed to simply follow orders, but...I could see in Nikita's eyes that she wasn't at all confident in her role as a leader, nor was she equipped with the right kind of experience to understand how ignorant it was to not have the sequence fully worked through and all the contingencies verified before a final analysis was made and approved by Command. Going into a mission without anything being set was like throwing a bunch of rabbits in a pool full of piranhas. Whatever we were going to be encountering was going to eat us all up alive if we weren't going in properly prepared.
"The point is," Nikita continued, "if we all do our jobs we can accomplish the mission and come back alive. But we must work together, okay?"
The look on Nikita's face told me everything I needed to know about her. She had too much heart to be a true Section operative. She believed in true goodness too much and deluded herself into thinking that we were actually doing something for a greater good instead of the truth. Section didn't care anything about what the fuel rods might be used for. Section wanted the fuel rods for itself so that no one else of power could use them to control any further governments not already puppeteered by Section. As far as everyone coming out alive, that only remained to be seen as it was now becoming widely known that every team, regardless of their importance or status at Section, could be labeled as acceptable collateral should they find themselves in a dire situation. Whatever Section was truly up to, it did not care about expending operatives so long as it got what it wanted in the end. By the little speech that Nikita gave admonishing us all to look out for one another for us all to return safely, I could do nothing but laugh at her naivety. It wasn't going to matter if we all got blown to pieces. It only mattered that Section got possession of the fuel rods.
The rest of us be damned.
"Peter Stark," Operations began as he clicked up a 3D image of the man of interest on the hologram monitors at the center of the briefing table.
We all sat silently as Operations gave a quick rundown of who the target was and why the mission objective was important. The plan was to intercept a shipment of weapons as it traveled to its point of sale and capture Stark...alive. Operations began to say more, but I interrupted him, wanting a bit more clarity in the reason why we were doing something that was not the norm for a mission such as what was amounting to be a Search and Retrieval.
"We don't have a point of sale?" I asked.
"Not a precise one," Operations answered.
"Is that an intel failure?" I looked at Nikita for this one. She stared back at me, her blue eyes beginning to flare a little with heat.
"Given the time constraints, no." Operations answered, already looking quite annoyed with it all.
"Making an acquisition in transit is obviously a mistake."
I was not about to let Little Miss Sunshine off the hook. I wanted Operations to see what sort of person he was placing in charge of a small strike team. She was not experienced at all in leading a mission.
"You don't know what you're talking about," said Nikita through clenched teeth.
I held back a laugh at this. She was too easy to rattle. If she was as confident and controlled as she tried to make herself be, she would not have cared about what I said, or did, or moved, or passed gas. She would have simply let me move along and not said a word edgewise even after I pointed out the major hole in her supposed air-tight plan. She glared at me like an angry cheerleader that just got out flipped by another cheerleader. I was too busy relishing her obvious ire to notice anything else that Operations had to say. He closed the meeting quickly and dismissed us. I got up from the table eyeballing Nokia the entire way as she stared back at me seething.
"What the hell was that?" asked Taylor as we started towards the lounge to grab a last meal before the mission was set to load.
"If she is going to play team captain she has to get the damn mission parameters right. Who the hell goes after a target in transit without first verifying where it's slated to go?"
"That was Ops' call, not Nikita's."
"Don't matter. She's the one leading the expedition. She of all people should have been the one to question the Intel, not me. I'm just a grunt."
"Better be careful there, kiddo," Taylor warned. "You don't wanna ruffle any more feathers than you already have."
"Oh, don't worry about me. I wouldn't dare upset Section's Crown Princess. I just want the mission to flow as seamlessly as possible. No hiccups or surprises. Since it's her first time out as the lead, I'm sure this one is going to be a piece of cake."
A knock at my apartment door pulled me out of my spiral of worry and back into the present matter at hand. I went to the door, careful to take a good look at the security monitor angled at the front entrance. Taylor's dark brown eyes stared back at me as he offered a slight smile and wave hello. I undid all the locks and opened my door to allow him through.
"Hey, kiddo. Thought I would stop in to see how you were," said Taylor. His deep dark voice paired well with the long black leather trench he wore covering a steel grey sweater and dark brown slacks.
I stood a moment staring into nothing before finally addressing Taylor. I knew I looked a mess and by all accounts, I had reason to remain unkempt. After our mission, it was clear that we had failed in our objective. We didn't take out the target. We didn't bring in Stark. The only thing we did manage to accomplish was alerting Stark to the fact that someone was after him. In response, he disappeared into thin air leaving us guessing where he might resurface. The call was mine to make that night. I was told to take out the driver, but I stalled. Something about the order and the situation didn't feel right. My stomach churned gruesomely and my hands shook the entire time I sat holding my rifle at the ready. Even though I had the driver dead shot in my scope, I couldn't pull the trigger. By the time Nikita gave the order to shoot, the driver and Stark were well out of range. Taylor and Mentz remained on standby, waiting to be pulled into action. Once the SUV became aware of its danger, it maneuvered quickly and sped away, leaving us all chasing after it with bullets.
"I'm doing alright," I said in a much too far away tone. I crossed in front of Taylor and returned to my nest of blankets and discarded Kleenex tissues on the couch.
"You look like shit. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm sorry I didn't bother to put on my prom dress before you came over." I didn't mean to be snarky. The words just came out that way.
Taylor didn't budge. He only twitched his lips before moving to sit down in the chair beside me. His long frame filled out the chair nicely making him appear like he was sitting on a throne rather than a simple club chair. I couldn't help but admire how well defined his jaw and cheekbones were, and how beautiful they seemed under the sullen lights of my television and side table lamp. His dark skin melted into his black clothes as the surrounding shadows joined into him. If his eyes had been any other color other than dark brown, he would have looked unreal. For a split second, I found myself wondering over what sort of body lay beneath the shadows and fabric of his clothing. My eyes trailed over him slowly, taking him in, before jolting back awake. I was somewhat confused then by my distraction. Taylor was talking, but I could only see his lips moving and hear the sultry tenor of his voice. I could smell him from where he sat. It was a heady scent of amber musk and wood. Without wanting to, or even feeling in control of it, my mind continued to disrobe Taylor until he was left with nothing but his boxer brief shorts and Stacy Adams shoes.
"Did you hear what I said?" Taylor asked, his voice hovering between worry and annoyance.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I rubbed my head and then slid my hands down my face.
Even though I had just taken my anti-anxiety medicine less than two hours before, I felt like I needed to take another dose. My mind would not stop reeling from thoughts of the mission and of what Taylor looked like naked. I fell back into the cushions of my couch and let out an exasperated sigh.
"Command wants us to try again. He is setting up another mission for us to try and find a contact for Stark. We're expected back at H.Q. inside the hour."
"Okay. I'll get ready then."
I started to get up when Taylor grabbed my arm and pulled me back down to sit. He looked at me this time with far deeper concern and meaning than before. He clasped his hands in front of him as he propped himself up on his knees with his elbows.
"What's going on with you, Kiddo? You aren't yourself lately. You're usually much more focused than this. What's going on?"
"Nothing," I attempted to cover even though I knew Taylor was going to see right through my shield.
"C'mon Jess. I know you better than that. What's really going on?... Is it Michael?"
I made a scoffing sound and waved off the idea as unimportant, even though I knew he was dead on with what the problem was.
"No," I said quickly. "It's not Michael. I could care less actually."
"You don't just stop caring for someone just because they rejected you-"
"He didn't reject me. Madeline just made it so that I would not be working directly under Michael anymore, or ever from the sound of her."
Taylor stared at me a moment before saying anything. "Look, I know how much you wanted to be on his team. You've been working your ass off just to get the look from him, but...if you truly want to get back in his good graces, fucking up missions is not the way to go. It's a fast way to get you canceled."
"I wasn't trying to fuck up the mission. I just...It just didn't feel right. I didn't have a clear shot."
"Bullshit."
"By the time I got a good focus on the target, they had already moved out of range. It just goes to show that the mission was not put together well at all. We shouldn't have been trying to do an acquisition while the target was in motion. We should have just ambushed him at the point of sale. At least then, we would know who it was that Stark was selling his wares to and grab them both."
"True," Taylor agreed. "But that's not what Command wanted us to do. They wanted to grab Stark in his vehicle. We didn't do that. So who do you think the blame is going to fall on for the failure?"
"It wasn't my fault things fell apart," I contested uselessly. I could tell Taylor had other thoughts.
"Regardless, you're skating on very thin ice now. You have to watch your back at every turn now. There's a huge target on you."
My brow furrowed. "Target? I won't get blamed for this. The bodycam shows exactly what happened and anyone that views the playbacks will agree with me. The mission was flawed from the jump. It was more likely that it would fail than it would succeed. I followed the mission parameters. Nikita did not. If the mission failed, it was her fault that it did, not mine."
Taylor shook his head and stood to his feet. His tall, imposing frame cast a dark shadow over me putting to mind the ominous presence of the Ghost of Christmas Future.
"You think Command will see it that way?" Taylor asked.
"They would have to. They would know that Nikita was not following the set sequence, that she went off on her own plan and it undoubtedly failed. As far as I'm concerned, my delay to pull the trigger was well within my actions because Nikita was instructing me to do something that was not cleared by Section to do. What if the driver had been our guy and I just shot him?"
"You should have just followed orders, Jessica. You don't know what sort of trouble you put yourself in by not doing what you were told to do."
"But what I was told to do wasn't part of the plan-"
"It doesn't matter!"
I was a little alarmed at how ferocious Taylor suddenly was. I stared at him, unable to decipher the man that I knew him to be from the one that was standing in front of me. He ran a large hand over his bald scalp before tucking them both in his pockets. He started for the door.
"Hey…" I began and went to intercept him before he reached the door. "Look, I'm sorry. I just…I don't know. I just didn't know what to do then. I knew whatever I did it wasn't going to be right. If I followed orders I stood killing our target. If I didn't follow orders, I would be charged with being insubordinate. It was a lose-lose all around."
I held onto Taylor's arm, hoping he would not leave thinking that I didn't think about what I was doing. He was the only person outside of my therapist that had a good idea of how I felt about Nikita, but more than Dr. Thurman, Taylor knew how I felt about Michael as well. For a moment, I wondered if him knowing my true feelings didn't somehow affect the way he responded to me in some way. It was odd to see him suddenly act a little like a jealous friend rather than a concerned colleague. His dark gaze fell on me with more meaning than I think he wanted to convey. It was more than just concern reading in his eyes…
"Just be careful, Jessica," said Taylor in a near whisper. "I don't wanna see you get hurt."
Taylor opened the door and walked out of my apartment without looking back. I watched him disappear down the hall all the while disturbing confused emotions began tumbling about inside my head. I closed my door, shutting out everything that had anything to do with life, the mission, Nikita, and even Michael for that matter. I didn't want to think of any of it. I went to my kitchen and began preparing tea to help calm my nerves. As the water began to steep in the kettle, I glanced at a picture hanging just over my couch.
The picture was a collage of colors, melting dark blues, greys, amber, and black into a swirling pool. The odd shapes and angles created an abstract image that could not clearly be made out unless…
I squinted my eyes and looked at the picture again.
There was an image embedded somewhere inside the vortex. As the kettle began to slowly heat up to a fever pitch, I continued to look at the picture, now suddenly transfixed by the image that was gradually becoming clearer the longer I stared. Steam began to billow out of the spout of the kettle, further blurring my vision, but causing the image in the painting to emerge. Finally, the whistle blew loudly, screaming for attention. The image on the wall became clear. The eyes that stared back at me were not the crystal ones that I longed to see. These eyes were dark pools, like twin abysses gaping back with the intent to swallow everything around it whole. The shadows that crowded in around the image began to expand out and fold in on itself, fashioning itself into a familiar background. I could see what it was then, but more importantly, who the image was of.
I took the kettle off the red hot aisle and set it on a cool burner. I shook my head and laughed to myself. I should have known. Section indeed had plans for me, the same as they did for every other operative. I was no different than any of the rest of them. Section didn't want people. They had no need for a person with a personality and emotions, ideas, and interests of their own. They wanted robots. Puppets they could direct and program to do whatever it was that they commanded. They were experts at controlling minds both consciously and subconsciously. What they were doing to me, they likely were doing to every other operative as well, including Nikita. Probably for Nikita, they began with an experiment to control her by using someone who would be close enough to her to be able to direct her actions, yet far enough away that she would be forced to perform actions just because he asked her to. They did not intend for me to become enamored with Michael. I was intended for someone else and it was now evident who they wanted me to get close to.
I poured myself a cup and dunked a tea bag into the hot water. I could not stop chuckling as I returned to the couch and settled down under the blankets. They had in their plans for me to align with Taylor, an operative who was on the fast track towards becoming a team lead on his own merit. However, that was not my plan. No amount of subliminal input and suggestion would ever detour me from my one true destiny. I liked Taylor. He was a very good man, but all that I could ever do was like him.
I loved Michael...And nothing was ever going to change that.
