Mandatory Refusal
Nikita pulled up onto her elbows and blinked several times. The light in the room was unusually bright, causing strange halos to appear. She shook her head, trying to move from the fog that still clung to the edges of her consciousness. Somewhere in the room, a woman spoke excitedly, as if overwhelmed with anxiousness. Nikita squeezed her eyes tight again, attempting to focus.
"I've done that already! I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. You gotta give me something other than that! I've been sitting here with this lady who's been passed out for the past two hours, and I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do here! Where's Agent Quinn? Let me talk to her!"
Katya stood next to the bed, holding the telephone. Nikita's purse remained on the floor, its contents spread across the carpet. A bottle of medication sat open on the nightstand with a few pills lying next to it. Nikita read the typed writing.
Thiothixene. Take one 5mg capsule twice a day with water.
"Why the hell is she unavailable? I'm stuck in a freaking hotel with no idea what it is I'm supposed to be doing or where I'm supposed to be going. My contact never showed up. I've been riding around in a smelly ass cab for the past four hours. Some guy was in my room, threatening me, I think. I don't fucking know! Then Nikita goes all screwy, and now I'm in this hotel alone, and I'm scared, and I don't know what I'm doing, and I just need someone to help me out! Please! Please, just get somebody! I gotta get out of here!… DON'T TELL ME TO FUCKING CALM DOWN!"
Nikita placed her feet on the floor. Her legs felt wobbly, but she was sure they would hold her up if she stood. Katya continued to rant as Nikita got to her feet. She tapped Katya's shoulder softly, gaining her attention. Katya spun around, meeting Nikita eye to eye.
"Let me have the phone," said Nikita calmly, in a cracked voice. She held out her hand to take the receiver.
"You're alive!"
"Give me the phone."
Katya handed over the phone without another word. Nikita listened for a moment as the agent rattled off procedural duties before hanging up the phone.
"What'd you do that for? We need them to know where we are so they can come and get us out of here!" Katya scrambled to grab the phone from Nikita.
Nikita yanked at the base, pulling it free from its chord, then tossed it across the room. Katya stared at the disconnected line, then at Nikita. Her wild eyes searched the empty space as she tried to make sense of what was happening.
"Sit down," said Nikita.
Obediently, Katya sank onto the side of the queen-sized bed. Nikita scanned the room again, staring intently at the screens and paintings on the walls. Although there was little artwork in the room, plenty of other trinkets and odd containers were used to decorate the space. With the antique-like furnishings and Ottoman-inspired designs, a flat-screen television rested against the wall facing the bed. An ornate chest of drawers stood beneath it, offering plenty of storage, as well as inconspicuous places to hide objects. Nikita walked over to the television and stared into the black blank screen. Her dark reflection stared back, mimicking her movements.
"What are you—"
"Shhh."
"Wha—"
"I said be quiet," Nikita snapped.
Slowly, she turned and walked from the television, trailing her fingertips along the edge of the chest of drawers. Reaching the edge, she leaned to the side and peered behind the monitor at the black metal box containing all the connecting wires and power chords. Nikita saw the blue iridescent blue-iridescent light blinking among the twisted black chords behind the panel.
Nikita smirked.
"What are you doing?"
Nikita turned and smiled at Katya.
"You wanna go for some ice cream?"
"Ice cream? Nikita! We're in deep. Fucking. Shit! We don't have a contact. I mean, who was that guy that was in here a while ago?"
"It's been such a long day," Nikita breathed out. "I think it might be a good idea to just wind down and grab some soft serve someplace. I hear the pubs around here are pretty neat."
"What the fuck are you talking about? No, I don't want any damn ice cream! I want to get the hell out of here!"
Nikita went quickly to Katya, allowing her eyes to tell her what she could not say with her words. Katya drew back, noticing Nikita's sudden intensity.
"I think you are going to want to come and get ice cream with me right now." Nikita dug her nails into Katya's arm, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go. Grab your purse."
"Ow! What the hell! Nikita, what is going on?"
"I told you already. Let's go."
Nikita cast Katya a hard look before snapping up her own purse and heading for the door. Confused, Katya picked up her bag and followed Nikita out of the room. Nikita moved quickly towards the elevators, with Katya stumbling behind her in her bare feet.
"I forgot my shoes, Nikita. I have to go back."
"Don't worry about your shoes." Nikita pressed the button for the lobby.
"Nikita…"
The elevator opened. Nikita stepped into the car. Katya hung back, looking more than irritated at her lack of footwear.
"I'm not walking around this city with no shoes. I'm going back."
Nikita rolled her eyes in frustration and let out an exasperated gasp. She reached for Katya's arm and pulled her inside the elevator, nearly slamming her against the wall. Once the doors closed, Nikita spun on her heels and pulled her gun to aim directly at Katya's wide, blue eyes.
"The last thing that you want to worry about right now are shoes. When I tell you to move, you move regardless of what you are doing. You understand me?"
Katya nodded. "Okay! Okay! Chill!"
Nikita relaxed the gun and returned it to its holster.
"Jesus, you're intense," said Katya, not entirely under her breath.
Nikita straightened her jacket and tried in vain to smooth her hair back down behind her ears. Finally, the elevator settled on the Lobby floor and opened to allow them out. Katya started out when Nikita grabbed her arm, holding her back.
"You don't go out before me," said Nikita through clenched teeth.
"Why not?"
Nikita gave Katya another severe look, sending Katya back against the wall of the elevator.
"Oh, right. The profile," said Katya, remembering.
Nikita stepped off the elevator, followed by Katya, keeping her head low. They walked past the front desk. Nikita pulled out her phone and accessed the translator app. Approaching the desk, she found the young man she spoke with earlier and brandished a pleasant smile.
"Excuse me, where is your business services suite?" Nikita allowed the app to translate the words into Arabic.
The young man read the words and then responded to where the Business Center was within the hotel.
Nikita went quickly down the hall the hotel clerk directed, searching for the Business Center. Behind her, Katya padded barefoot on the cool tile floor. She mumbled a litany of objections and arguments about being barefoot. Her constant chirping grated against Nikita's nerves until she could not listen to another complaint.
"Would you please, shut up!"
"I'm sorry," said Katya, her tone suggesting the opposite. "I don't know how to do this, okay. I'm just trying to keep from shitting my pants."
"Try harder."
"We can't all be like you, Nikita. We weren't all born spies."
Nikita pushed open the door to the Business Center of the hotel.
"Neither was I."
"Bullshit," said Katya. "Everyone knows your dad was the head of all of Section. You were practically raised as a 007. Probably knew how to shoot a gun before you learned how to walk."
"Let's get something straight." Nikita turned to Katya, narrowing her eyes. "First, you know nothing about me. And what you think you know, you don't really know. Second, my father… never raised me. He is my father by title alone. You will refer to him as Mr. Jones and nothing more. Got it?"
Katya's expression sufficed as acknowledgment. Nikita turned and walked into the room. Two desks sat against opposite walls equipped with a computer and a land-line telephone. Between the two desks stood a copier/fax combination machine. Nikita went to the computer closest to the door and sat down.
"Block the door, so no one else comes in."
Katya nodded, pulled a chair in front of the door, and sat down. Nikita typed fast, hacking into the hotel's central web system and bypassing their server securities. After locating a back web channel, she sent a message to Michael's desk computer and waited.
"What are you doing?" Katya leaned forward to see, but found herself too far away to view Nikita's screen.
"There was a camera in our room. We were being watched."
"By who?"
"Section."
"So. Aren't they supposed to be watching us? To make sure everything goes to plan?"
"We want them to know where we are at certain times during the mission. But, on the other hand, we don't want them watching our every move."
"You think that guy put the camera in our room?"
"He put something in the room," said Nikita. "Something he knew would only affect me."
"Why just you? You sure he wasn't trying to do something to me too?"
"You're not the target. I am," said Nikita. "If you haven't noticed by now, this entire trip has been screwed up even before you got on the plane to come here. It's all been a big setup to kill this mission… and me with it."
"So, what do we do?"
"We carry out the mission as planned. Nothing changes."
"What about Section trying to kill you? If they don't want us completing the mission, then maybe we shouldn't."
"I'm going through with it. Section has tried to kill me before. This isn't anything new."
Katya breathed out a long sigh. She crossed her arms and legs, bouncing one naked foot in the air as she waited. Nikita drummed her fingers against her stomach, watching the monitor for any response to her message.
"Let's say they kill you. What happens to Section? Who do they get to direct it if you're not in charge?'
"They'll choose someone."
"Who?"
"Someone more fitting."
"Who the hell would that be?"
"Good question."
Nikita returned to the computer. A message typed across the screen.
ARE YOU THERE?
Yes, Nikita responded.
ARE YOU OKAY?
Yes…
RUSSO REPORTED YOU DEAD…
Mission is compromised… After this, will disconnect contact…
BEFORE YOU DO... USE A DEAD SECONDARY LINE… FIND AN OPEN CAFE'...ONE HOUR…
Nikita shut down the computer and stood to her feet.
"Let's go."
Michael stared at the words on the screen and breathed out a loaded sigh.
The feeling in his stomach made him want to sit down, but there was no time for that. Katya's frantic report made him worried that Nikita's worsening condition would end the mission before it actually began. She left, bringing none of the other medications that she usually took to stabilize her. The only thing she took was a bottle of anti-psychosis medicine to reduce the number of episodes she had while under intense stress. He was sure the reason Quinn insisted Nikita be brought along was to increase her anxiety, to make her lose focus. As a result, the mission would fail and eliminate both Nikita, Katya… And possibly himself.
Michael pressed the call button for Trent.
"Yes, sir?"
"Is Quinn ready?"
"They just finished with her. She's waiting in Containment Room C…."
Michael righted and buttoned his jacket closed.
"Sir?" Trent called back.
"Yes."
"Is it true? Is Quinn really trying to kill Nikita?"
Trent's question made Michael pause a moment, thinking over his own answer.
"If she is...It's not because she wants to… I'm with Quinn for a half hour. I do not wish to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary."
"What about Katya and Nikita? At their last check-in, Katya said Nikita was dead."
"Katya was mistaken. Nikita has checked in. She believes the mission is compromised, so they are both in Mandatory Refusal. We will not hear from them until the objective is complete. You'll need to prepare your team."
"We can't just leave them out there unprotected. We are sending them support, right?"
"Nikita will contact back once she has Al Amin in custody. Until then, there can be no assistance from us and no extractions until the mission is finished."
"Nikita! Slow down! I don't have on any shoes, remember!"
Nikita ignored Katya as she quickened her pace down the darkened streets of the city. Several pubs were advertising themselves to thirsty patrons, but none looked to have an Internet cafe' inside them. As the two women passed by, eyes followed behind beer steins and wine glasses. Katya stumbled and skipped along the pavement, trying to avoid sharp rocks and broken concrete shards. She pulled her leather jacket tighter over herself, trying to maintain a scant amount of warmth against the chilled night air. In front of her, Nikita appeared less concerned about her sore feet than she did about finding a place for them to contact Section One. After another block, a building advertising free Internet in neon yellow lights appeared among a grouping of darkened shops.
Nikita walked into the cafe and looked around at the tables hosting rows of computers. The cafe was nearly empty, with only three men standing at the back of the shop. Nikita nodded at the men. Then took a seat at a computer. Katya scooted into the chair beside her, tucking her frozen feet underneath herself. Nikita logged on and accessed a channel to make a phone call.
"Watch them. Make sure they stay where they are."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
"The way you look, I'm sure you'll have no trouble holding their attention."
Katya glanced over at the men warily, watching from the back of the room. The men smiled and waved flirtatiously. Katya returned a small uncertain wave.
"Nikita, I don't know about this. Those guys look like creeps."
"I'm sure you've handled guys a lot creepier than those men. So go over there and make some friends. Just be sure to keep them occupied until I'm done."
Katya stood up and tugged at her skirt, trying to make it longer. The cold tile made her already frosted toes feel like blocks of ice. She drew in a breath, attempting to regain what little composure and confidence she could muster after having much of it chipped by the evening's events. She wanted more than anything to return to the comfort of their room and crawl beneath the satin white sheets that dressed the twin queen beds. Even though Nikita said a camera was watching them and recording everything they said and did, she no longer cared. Being watched by a faceless camera was far less intimidating than the six pairs of eyes ogling her. She knew what Nikita thought upon seeing her and possibly from reading her profile. Looking how she did, it was assumed she was used to the stares and the comments that often came with the assumptions. In some ways, she was familiar with the lewd remarks and suggestive implications. However, it did not mean that she welcomed them or knew exactly how to navigate them. She wondered if the only reason Nikita thought she could maneuver herself around a group of men easily was because she could.
It was not the first time she heard of herself being compared visually to the statuesque blonde bombshell turned Section One Director. She heard the Communications Supervisor refer to her as Nikita 2.0 on more than a few occasions. She hated the name and all that it implied. Before she crested her sixth-month evaluation, rumors were already thriving about her involvement with several men at Section. Even when it was known that her interests were not directed towards any of the operatives inside Section, there was still the odd account of a date that never happened or comment made that was misconstrued. Once she learned she would be fast-tracked for the Damascus mission, whispers began concerning her etiquette sessions with Agent Michael Samuelle. Suddenly, they were more than teaching lessons. They were affairs being held under the guise of instruction. Demonstrations of polite conversation and the art of seduction were carefully hidden testaments to the growing passions between master and pupil. With Nikita married and out of the way, it was only a matter of time before Michael returned to his old ways. He held many a female's attention before in his prime. Being older did not dampen his appeal. If anything, the wild nature of his hair and the graying stubble along his chin made him all the more captivating. There wasn't a woman in Section, save a tiny pocket of dissenters, that did not find the matured version of Michael Samuelle more pleasing and intriguing than his former personifications.
But the rumors were only that—just rumors.
For all the time spent with Michael, there was not the slightest feeling of interest in her. Often, she felt more like a teachable lab rat about to be sent into a gauntlet than an object of desire. His analytical eyes scraped over her like lasers, scanning for imperfections and flaws that he could point out. He was cold and imposing, like a great stone wall that refused to be scaled. Even when she tried to loosen him up and make him less intense, her efforts only stiffened him and draw out his most critical assessment of her.
She dreaded sessions with Michael.
Each time she saw his name listed on her daily itinerary, she groaned. He barely used her first name while addressing her. The only reason he even bothered to know her name at all was because of the mission. He preferred to call her last name in keeping with Section's military-style address for most first-year recruits. She attempted to soften him by using the lessons she learned. Her slight flirtations and candid banter seemed to work on Master Barns and Whistler in Munitions. From them, she gained easier lessons and additional equipment to train with.
With Michael, she got nothing but his vacant, blank stare in response to her not-so-subtle come-ons.
Katya straightened and changed how she walked towards the three men, who noticed that she was heading their way. They tried to fix themselves in response and smile in welcome as the tall blonde approached them.
"Parles-tu francais?"
"Qui, mademoiselle," said one gentleman with a broad, near toothless grin.
The teeth that he had were almost black with rot. The smell of tobacco rolled from the folds of his clothing. The two men next to him smiled with equal delight. The much younger man of the three stood back a step. He wore a cable-knit sweater and slacks, along with a dark-colored turban. His deep brown eyes regarded Katya with both suspicion and interest as she moved closer to them.
You must exude a presence that is both menacing and attractive to everyone present. They have to want you. They may not even know why. They just do.
Michael circled Katya's chair. He spoke in a monotone that lulled her into a false sense of safety that was quickly interrupted by his hand suddenly gripping her right shoulder.
Do you see him? Now you must connect with him. Make yourself the only person he will ever see among everything and everyone else around him. He is all that you see. All that you want.
Katya closed her eyes and refocused on the young man standing in the middle of the group. He was not a bad-looking man. If they were not in an Internet cafe in Syria and were actually in a Starbucks in Southern California, she would have siphoned him out the second she stepped through the door. Instead, standing in bare feet, a mini-skirt, and her hair tossed haphazardly over her head, she knew she appeared as the poster child for a train wreck.
It doesn't matter what you look like, said Michael, quietly in her ear. All that matters is the aim. Your confidence and your concentration will cancel out any exterior hurdles. Be purposeful and direct. Remember. You're hunting him.
"Bonjour…"
Michael stepped inside the iron door of the White Room and clasped his hands in front of him. Quinn sat in the steel chair, her wrists and ankles clamped down, preventing her from moving. She stared back at him with hardened resolve, ignoring the searing pain that coursed through her body. The two marks under her eyes were telltale of the nerve stimulator device used by the Twins during their encouragement sessions. From the sweat pouring down her face and staining the cloth beneath the arms of her suit, the ordeal was uncomfortable at the least. Yet, Michael could see that Quinn's training prepared her well to resist the mild attempt at softening her. He would have to do more to get her to talk.
"We've already uncovered your involvement in slowly poisoning Nikita and her family within their home. In addition, we've isolated the chemical components that made up the hallucinogenic drugs you used to pump into the air system. Interestingly, it came from plants commonly found in South America to make ayahuasca. I'm sure you're familiar with it. According to your profile, you're quite adept at biochemistry and pharmacology."
"I'm adept at many things," said Quinn in a hushed voice.
Michael moved from the door and started slowly towards Quinn, keeping his eyes sharply on her.
"I know. It was one reason Madeline chose you. The two of you share a love of biochemical warfare. I would not have taken you for a poisoner, though. Your profile listed you as a. Her primary reason was to replace Birkoff with someone of equal or better talents than what he possessed. You came highly recommended from Center." Michael stood next to Quinn's seat and slipped his hands into his pockets. "You're very methodical in your actions. Calculated. Your data is always factual and cross-referenced. You maintain a very low percentage of error. Your work is almost near perfect."
Quinn frowned, then turned her head towards Michael. "Almost?"
"I'm wondering if part of the plan was for you to get caught. Your accomplice knows I would have to spend time with you. You will say whatever information you are prompted, allowing for another portion of your overall strategy to take place. I'll waste my time with you because you already know the extent to which we will go to break you."
Quinn swallowed and returned her gaze back to the door.
"You've been preparing for this for a while now. Testing yourself. You want to make sure you make it to the end divulging no information you're not supposed to. Your job is to tell me what I am supposed to know and act on. Make me believe that I've gained something by breaking you."
Michael turned and crossed to the other side of the chair, where a table stood. He looked at the instruments on the table with consideration, then back to Quinn.
"There was a time when I would move along this process as instructed. If I could get information through pain, I would inflict as much as what the body could tolerate just before dying. If this were all left up to me, I wouldn't bother with encouraging you to talk. I would simply put a bullet in your head and move forward."
"If you did that, you would never know what you want to know. You'd never know who my supposed accomplice is," said Quinn.
"If I look hard enough, I'm sure I will find enough breadcrumbs to lead me directly to the person I want."
"Everything that you think you know is not what it appears to be. Killing me won't solve your mystery or save Nikita from her fate… Or save Section."
Michael selected a needle.
"You're smart, Katherine. You've weighed the options and made your choice based upon factors leaning towards the position you took to arrive at your conclusion. You analyze all the data. None of this was ever personal to you. It was all part of a sequence of stages to which you followed beat by beat. Casualties were to be expected. It's simple arithmetic… Sacrifice the few to save the many…."
"Isn't that what we do?"
"I suppose. That was the original purpose."
Michael turned and stood behind Quinn's chair.
"I never wanted to hurt Nikita or hurt her family. I want to return Section to its former power… how it was before she took control. Section One has become weaker since she took office. We are no longer respected among world organizations. We are laughable now because we lose more missions than we succeed. The drive that once pushed us to greatness is gone because of her recruiting process and mission assignment changes. She gives operatives a choice to take assignments. Now that we work with the CIA and Interpol, there is no longer a reason to turn to us to solve the hard problems. We are exactly what Paul did not want and even further from what Adrian and George created."
Michael looked down at the top of her head, noticing the red marking on her scalp from full saturation. Quinn continued to sit upright, undaunted. Tiny beads of sweat dotted the sides of her temples and slid like tears over her jaw. The tips of her ears were red.
"I agree. Nikita's changes have disrupted Section's reputation. It would not be expected for all divisions to accept her changes and implement them. Section was the most clandestine organization. We were known for bringing down the criminals no one else could get. Without that, we are no better than any other agency."
"She took away what made us special. Different. It's why we must remove Nikita. If Section is to survive, she cannot be left in power. Even her father would not have allowed this to go on. He would have stopped her before she demoted the world's greatest authority to a charity case."
"If she is removed, what then? Who takes her place?" Michael rested his hands on the back of the chair.
"Someone will be appointed."
"Who?"
"Someone that should have been made head of Section a long time ago. It would only be right to set things right… The way they should have been instead of how they wound up. I have watched from afar the dismantling and mishandling of Section One and asked why circumstances were allowed to go on as they did. Why did George not directly interfere with what Paul and Madeline were doing? It wasn't until later that I understood why."
"Mr. Jones was Nikita's father," Michael finished.
"Yes. And because of that, she could not be eliminated in the conventional sense. Her involvement with you only complicated things. You were supposed to secede Operations and take over Section, skipping Madeline altogether. Trust me when I tell you, both Paul and Center wanted to keep you in place and tried everything to ensure that Nikita would be removed while you remained in position. But…"
"The sequence changed."
"Paul and Madeline knew as long as you remained loyal to Nikita, you would never accept taking command. They offered you the role long before you were ready to take it. You resisted. They felt it necessary to separate you from her in the only way that would make sense to Center, Oversight, and the rest of the Council. If they could prove that Nikita was unfit to take control of Section, then they could restore Section to what it was."
"Has this been the plan all along? To restore Section?"
"If you help me, I can have Nikita pulled out right now, and the two of you can return to your lives and never have to worry about Section ever again. You can offer you Sanctuary. You can be free. It will be as if you never existed here."
Michael turned and leveled his icy gaze on Quinn. He placed the needle on the table and clasped his hands in front of him.
"How can you promise that? You're not the head of Section or Center."
"No. But I know someone that can… And might if the two of you simply step aside. I can be so easy, Michael."
Michael stepped closer, drawing near enough to gaze deeply into Quinn's eyes. She pulled back slightly, unsure of his nearness. Michael reached for her hand and gently caressed the redness around her wrist.
"What if I don't want to escape with Nikita?" Michael's voice was a near whisper. "What if I would rather remain with Section?"
Quinn looked at Michael's fingers softly grazing over her skin. She leaned in close to him, moving her eyes up the length of his neck and across his face.
"What are you saying, Michael? That you want to stay at Section?"
"Yes."
"But you did so much to get out? Why the change of heart?"
Michael continued to trail his fingertips over her wrists, lightly touching her skin just enough to produce chill bumps up her arm.
"I've seen my life outside of Section, and it is not one that I want for myself… Or my son. Nikita might live without Section, but it is too much a part of who I am to just leave it. I can never leave Section. It is who I am. It is who I've always been." Michael moved in closer until his lips brushed the curve of her ear. "You understand, don't you? To both hate and need this place. For some, it is a horror that they need to be away from. For others, it is our salvation."
Michael pressed a button, releasing the bands around Quinn's wrists and ankles. Quinn looked down, surprised at her sudden freedom. She cast a confused look back at Michael.
"What are you doing?"
Quinn rubbed her wrists as she stood from the chair.
Michael pulled open the door to the hall.
Quinn looked warily at Michael, then started out of the room. Michael reached and touched her shoulder, stopping her once more. She turned to him.
"I was supposed to kill you tonight."
"Why didn't you?"
"You're more useful to me alive. Finish what you began."