Battle of One
"We're in…"
A flash of light and smoke fogged up the View-Comm for a brief moment as the Strike Force Squad entered a dilapidated building. It was already destroyed by militants rampaging against Israeli occupation and bombs exploding near the building. The eight-man division made their way through the lower rooms, checking the interiors for anyone that would pose a threat and signaling clearance as they passed each checkpoint.
"Start up to level two," said Nikita over the Comm-Unit.
"Copy," said the team leader of the squadron.
He made a motion, signaling his team members to begin heading up the half-broken staircase.
Nikita Volker stood with her hands on her hips, looking at the image on the flat panel screens of the Strike team moving through the building, searching for their target. Her fitted dark gray pantsuit paired with her near platinum blonde ponytail gave her a threatening yet graceful appearance juxtaposes to the blue and green monitors surrounding her.
Seated in front of her, Lead Communications Officer Trent Hammett tapped on his computer and adjusted the signal so that the voices coming over the Comm-Units were more precise. He sat forward and steepled his fingers, listening intently. The seriousness in his eyes matched his deep mahogany complexion. On a separate monitor, a red dot indicated their target. It moved about a secured room guarded by two heavily armed men. The strike team shown in blue cleared the second level of the building and made their way to the third, where the target was positioned.
"Easy guys," said Nikita, watching. "Stay tight. Al Amin is right in the next room."
The strike team began to advance slowly up the staircase.
Michael Samuelle, Section's Chief Tactician and Profiler, walked into the Communications hub and surveyed the action. His light, opaque gaze swept the floor before coming to a halt at Nikita as she continued to monitor the mission currently in play. He looked up at the monitors, then at the intelligence scrolling on the computer monitors. He looked again at the monitors, then at Nikita.
"Steady. The target is moving around a bit too much," said Nikita.
"They need to move faster before Al Amin gets away." Michael moved further into the hub.
"I don't want them to alert any of the men that may be protecting Al Amin."
"There are only two at the door."
"Those are the ones we know about and could pick up," said Nikita. "There may be more in the room with Al Amin."
"Your intel should have told you that already."
"We had limited time to gather a full detail."
"It would have been best to wait to know what all the team would be facing before going in."
"If we waited, we would have missed our opportunity—He's on the move, get going!" said Nikita to the team.
In the monitors, the strike team moved forward quickly. They were stopped almost immediately by a stream of bullets as they entered the corridor. One team member fell backward after being struck in the thigh. Another team member pulled the injured operative out of harm's way while the rest laid down cover fire.
"Where is Al Amin?" Nikita shouted as she searched the monitors for the red dot indicating their target.
"We lost him...somehow." Trent busily tried to call up several other surveillance monitors and cameras in hopes of spotting the Shi'a cleric somewhere on the top floor.
"How did we lose him? He was just there!" Drummond, advance the team into the hall!"
"They can't move, Nikita," said Michael darkly. "They are pinned down."
"Take two and move to a secondary hall," Nikita instructed. "Get up to the roof."
"Negative," Team Leader Drummond returned. "The path isn't clear. We're stalled. We need to fall back."
"We can't fall back. Al Amin is in that building. We have to get him before he disappears. Move into the hall now!"
"Nikita." Michael's gaze grew very intense... "We will lose all of them if they move into that hall."
"This is why I said to move slowly. We must've hit a tripwire or something."
"They expected us... We need to abort."
"No! He's in that building!" Nikita's eyes were wide with fury as she searched the monitors for the red beacon now no longer showing on the screens.
"He's gone. Abort the mission."
Several more rattles of gunshots peppered over the Comm-Units, followed by the frantic screams of operatives taking hits as they attempted to begin a retreat back down the stairway. Team Lead Drummond returned to the radio and reported two casualties, with a third in critical condition.
"Do we have an Evac coming?" Drummond asked.
"Nikita, the Evac can be inbound in three minutes," said Trent.
Nikita stared at the monitors in disbelief. . She heard Drummond's hurried directions for his team to escape down the stairway and out the back of the building. The buildings surrounding them could be used as cover for their escape. Trent looked at Nikita, waiting for her response. Michael stood beside Nikita, watching her for a moment before reaching for the Communicator to relay an order. Nikita stopped Michael before he could pick up the Communicator and took it from him possessively.
"I'll do it," she hissed. "Evac is en route. Ninety seconds."
"Copy that," said Drummond.
Nikita dropped the Communicator and walked heavily from the hub and back across the atrium. Michael picked up a telephone and pressed a one-key dialer.
"Priority. Housekeeping is needed at the coordinates assigned to your panel. Confirm the order and send a sanitized report back to headquarters."
Michael ended the call and looked after Nikita as she stood in the center of the main floor. Her hands were on her hips as she blew out a loud sigh of frustration. She threw back a malevolent look at Michael. He stared at her with challenge and slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. The sneer on Nikita's face fell into a hopeful expression. Michael remained stiff as he turned from her and back to Trent to finish coordinating the strike team's extraction from Lebanon.
Nikita pulled her Comm-Unit from her ear and set it down on her desk. She breathed out a long sigh, hoping to expel out the massive cloak of tension that had draped itself over her shoulders during the failed mission. She could not help but feel enraged at the fact that once more, the Shi'a cleric had managed to elude her strike team again. This time, he was able to do it in plain sight of him. No matter how well the sequences were planned and rehearsed or how thought through each objective was conceived, the Hezbollah leader continued to evade capture by everyone sent after him.
The assignment was given to Section after UN Peacekeepers and the Israeli Armed Forces failed to neutralize their target and bring him under the law to be prosecuted for his many crimes against Israel and occupying forces. The Islamic militant faction had long since been at war with those whom it considered invaders within the Lebanese borders and those allied with them. For years the streets ran red, with many casualties being more of the refugee civilians than the military forces positioned to maintain control over the borderlands between Lebanon, Israel, and Syria. Elias Al Amin was only one of many generals responsible for several bombings and attacks against the Israeli troops killing and injuring many of them.
"We must take Elias Al Amin alive," said Dir. Karvenkovich. "He will lead us to many other generals that control the borders and give UN troops an advantage in containing this continued threat."
"Section One is still recruiting," said Director Jules of Section Two. "They are short on manpower."
"We can handle the assignment," said Nikita. "We would not need that many men to find and capture Al Amin. I'm sure I could put together a unit with what I have on the roster now."
"I'm quite certain that you could," said Karvenkovich. "However, due to your most recent experience and considering your recovery, we think it would be prudent to use a team from Section Two—"
"Section Two is good, however," said Nikita, looking directly at Director Jules. "They do not have the experience and knowledge that we have of the area. My field teams have been in Lebanon for quite some time, gathering intel. We are better suited for the job."
"Who will you send in to lead the team?" asked Director Jules. "I would hope you are not going to use Agent Samuelle for this extremely sensitive mission."
"If I were going to send anyone, he would be my first choice," Nikita fired back. She turned to Karvenkovich. "No. Agent Samuelle will be in charge of Profiling our target to figure out the best possible pursuit. I will send Agent Thomas Drummond instead. He is our most decorated Level 5 Field Operative, he is a veteran from the Philo Squad, and more importantly, he is familiar with the culture."
Nikita tapped up the operative file and displayed it for the rest of the Council to review.
"Drummond would be a good choice," said Dir. Karvenkovich. "His Strike team would be the best option for us to use to capture Al Amin."
"Then it is settled. We go in at the first available opportunity," said Nikita.
She was careful not to show too much excitement in her victory, knowing that Director Jules was seething on the other side of the hologram image.
"We will coordinate our intel with your Communications Department," said Karvenkovich. "We expect to be informed of your success very soon, Director Volker."
Nikita nodded.
Elizabeth made a mild complaint, not wanting to go to bed. Nikita gently pulled the stubborn six-year-old from the dining table, ignoring her pleas to stay up five more minutes.
"Enough, Lizzie. It's off to bed with you."
Nikita exhaustedly moved the whining girl towards the steps without much more direction past a one-word command. Elizabeth, noticing her mother's quick responses, pressed her lips into a pout and stomped up the steps heading for her bath.
Helmut watched on warily as he began to clear away the table of plates and glasses. Above him, he could hear further arguments and protests, and Nikita's not as patient answers back, giving more instruction rather than reason. The bath went quickly, with Elizabeth reluctantly following orders, silenced by her mother's piercing glare. Helmut finished piling the dishes by the sink and wiped down the dining table. Nikita tucked her daughter into bed and applied a swift kiss.
"I love you, you little brat," said Nikita with a soft smile.
Lizzie returned a sour face and stuck out her tongue. Nikita returned the rude gesture and closed the bedroom door. She descended the steps and made her way inside the kitchen, where her husband stood at the sink, beginning the wash. He was still in his work clothes, wearing a white-collar shirt and dark grey trousers. His light blonde hair was combed back from his freshly shaven face allowing all expressions to display on his face. Nikita was not entirely sure she liked the barren landscape of his face. She was so used to his mustache that he seemed naked without it.
"Everything alright up there?" Helmut asked as he began to rinse a dinner plate before loading it in the dishwasher.
"Fine," said Nikita within a breath. "You?"
"Just sounded like the two of you weren't getting along very well up there."
Nikita shrugged as she began rearranging the dishes already placed inside the washer.
"Nothing unusual. You know Lizzie doesn't like bedtime. She always argues."
"Yeah, well, it just seemed like she was her usual, and you were less than forgiving with her."
"What do you mean?" Nikita continued to rearrange the dishes even as Helmut was placing them inside the washer.
"You were very short with her. That's not very normal. Are you feeling okay?"
"I feel fine." Nikita stood upright and began studying the arrangement of the top rack.
Helmut put down the dish he was rinsing and touched Nikita's arm. He gave her a very concerned look making her stop arranging for a moment.
"I'm just worried about you, is all."
"I said I'm fine." Nikita started to return to the dishes when Helmut pulled her attention to him again.
"You're not yourself this evening," said Helmut. "What's wrong? Did something happen at work?"
"No." Nikita pulled away from her husband. "I really want to get done with the dishes."
"Nikita. Talk to me. What's going on?" Genuine concern seeped from Helmut's tone. He turned fully towards Nikita and abandoned his work rinsing.
"Nothing is going on. I just want to get the dishes done so that I can go to bed." Nikita's exasperation matched Helmut's concern.
"This isn't like you." Helmut shook his head.
Nikita rolled her eyes and rounded the washer and Helmut to get to the sink. She cut on the water and began rinsing the dishes herself, headless of the spray of water splashing them both. Helmut took a step back from the sink, allowing Nikita complete control over the washing process. He crossed his arms and studied her a moment, carefully choosing his words.
"You haven't been the same since…" Helmut let the words fall away.
"I'm fine. I've been fine," Nikita tossed over her shoulder. "The only thing that isn't fine is the fact that you won't help me to clean up the kitchen so that we can go to bed at a decent hour for once."
"This isn't about the dishes, Nikita. You and I both know that after you were rescued from being captured and tortured, you haven't quite been yourself since."
"I imagine you wouldn't be the same if you saw a man get his head cut off," Nikita returned menacingly. "I would think you might be a bit worse off than I am right now."
Nikita stacked the plates again in the lower half of the dishwasher and rearranged the top rack's glasses for the third time.
"Nikita, stop…"
Nikita continued to load more dishes into the washer, finding smaller slots to accommodate the remaining cups and plates left in the sink.
"Nikita…"
Unable to find any more slots to place another glass, Nikita pushed the first rack into the washer and began searching the bottom rack for any available spaces.
"Stop!"
"Why?" Nikita glared at Helmut.
"Because this isn't you, Nikita!"
"It is me," Nikita insisted. "It's been me this entire time—I don't know what you're talking about."
"You haven't been you since he came back."
"Sine who? Michael?" Nikita gave Helmut a curious look. "How does any of this have anything to do with Michael? How does my acting strangely to you connect in any way to Michael's return? I don't get it!"
Helmut relaxed back a little on his heels.
"You can't tell me that his return has not affected you in some way, Nikita. I can see that it has."
"Affected me how?"
"You're a lot less…tolerant," said Helmut, once more careful about his words. "You seem more stressed and preoccupied with work now more than ever. You're hardly ever at home, and when you are home, you're only physically here. You stay over longer at work. It barely seems like you want to come home at all…Or even be around me anymore."
"I don't know what to tell you, Helmut. My job is very stressful. It takes up a lot of my time. I can't avoid that."
"I understand, but…"
"But what?" Nikita pressed forward. "It's not like I'm running a Fortune 500, Helmut. I'm the director of a bloody counter-terrorist agency. The fate of the world is often in my hands. My hours aren't nine to five. I can't just quit working because you want me home at dinner time or ignore a weapons deal because you want pancakes in the morning."
"That's not what I'm saying—"
"Then what are you saying, Helmut? Because it sounds to me like you are expecting someone else other than the woman you got. You knew what I was when you met me."
"Actually, I didn't," said Helmut with a slight edge to his voice. "I didn't know anything about you and what you truly were. I didn't learn that until well after the fact. But by then, it was too late. I was already in love with you."
"You weren't in love with me. You were in love with the idea of me."
"Maybe that was the problem. I thought you were the same woman that you pretended to be with me. I never realized how different the two of you actually were until now. The Nikita that I knew before the rescue and the Nikita I see now are two different women."
Nikita leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms.
"There's nothing different about me, Helmut," said Nikita, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Maybe the only different thing is how you are suddenly treating me. Like I'm some fragile Faberge egg."
"I'm just trying to help, Nikita."
"I never asked for your help, Michael! When are you going to learn that?"
Helmut drew in suddenly. Nikita, noticing what she said, averted her eyes from Helmut and turned back to the sink. She closed her eyes, feeling a jumble of emotions begin to whirl within her and make her feel slightly dizzy.
"I'm not Michael…"
"I know that," said Nikita, unable to soothe the sharp edge to her tone. She turned back to Helmut. "I'm not trying to make you be him, either."
"Are you?"
Nikita bristled and pushed down an infuriated scream. She lifted from the sink and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Helmut standing alone and staring at the space she once was. He breathed out heavily, fury beginning in his fingertips and rising through his palms. He clenched his fist tightly, trying to hold back his anger. Nikita's last words shattered through him and tore at his heart with ragged edges. He reached down and pushed in the bottom rack, which was now overloaded with dishes. He attempted to dislodge a few plates when his hand grazed the sharp edge of a butcher knife, left standing the blade up. The slice happened quick, parting the skin across his thumb and producing a thin line of blood. Helmut jerked his hand back and inspected the superficial cut closely. He looked at the dishwasher again, then used his foot to jam the rack back into the machine. Nikita's words returned again, bringing with it a dose of reality. '
Helmut slammed the dishwasher door closed.