Out Of This Time

Nikita closed the message window and disconnected the encryption module. She sat back in her seat. Michael's last sentence before logging off was haunting.

STAY FOCUSED... THIS WILL BE OVER SOON…

Soon…

It was Michael's favorite time assessment. For him, soon could mean a few days, a couple of weeks... Seven years. Or even some time, as little as a few hours. They were expected to meet their contact at a rendezvous point outside a palatial hotel where the gathering was held. Since it was an evening affair, both Nikita and Katya had to look at the part of "evening girls" to sneak past the guards unnoticed. With their contact missing and their clothing likely tainted with something to induce confusion, there was little option left for them to continue the mission.

THE CAMERA BEHIND THE TELEVISION WAS PLANTED FOR YOU TO FIND. ALL THAT YOU SAW YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SEE... DON'T TRUST YOUR EYES...

Focus, Nikita... Your life may depend on it…

Nikita pulled in a breath.

She stood and walked to where Katya continued to entertain the men, easing on her most welcoming grin. She waited for one of them to notice her behind the young twenty-five-year-old and gave a small wave.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," greeted one gentleman. He tilted his head respectfully.

"Mind if I borrow my friend here for a little bit?" Nikita draped an arm over Katya's shoulder.

"Of course," said the older gentleman. "So long as you bring her back to us."

Nikita smiled. "We'll just be a moment."

Nikita tugged Katya backward, ignoring her short pipe of protest. Once on the street, She loosened her grip so that Katya could yank her arm free.

"Do you always have to be so rough?"

Nikita marched quickly up the avenue, answering Katya with the sharp click of her boots against the pavement. Katya struggled to keep pace, trying to avoid sharp rocks and broken stones along the way. They reached their hotel and their room. Katya dropped heavily onto her bed, grateful to give the pads of her feet a break from the road. Nikita went to the television and reached behind the panel. She yanked out the cables tangled within the black metal box with a quick jerk, then grabbed the blinking device. She pulled and detached the device from the television and tossed it onto the dresser. A bright red light glowed menacingly back at them.

"Is that supposed to do that?" Katya looked on warily.

"Only if it is removed improperly."

"What happens if it is removed improperly?" said Katya, mimicking Nikita's tone.

"A signal gets sent to Section alerting them to a mission breach. We can no longer trust anything coming out of Section or affiliated contacts. You'll need to shed every sensor and tracker you have and dispose of it."

Katya looked at her luggage. "Right. Okay."

"Take off anything that was placed on you during Dress Out. That includes bio-tracers, locaters, and vital trackers. Anything that can send a signal out to Section."

"How will they find us?"

"They won't," said Nikita, already removing her own clothing. "We'll have to find them."

Katya stood for a moment, blinking and her mouth open in disbelief.

"Katya," said Nikita. "We don't have much time. Section will want to find out why that camera has been taken down. They won't give us a second to explain."

"They are going to kill us now, aren't they? They think that we've gone rogue, and now they are going to cancel us…."

Nikita moved quickly to Katya and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You can't think about that now, Katya. Right now, we have less than five minutes to find another room before Section sends in Housekeeping to erase our presence here."

"But you said they can't find us. If we get rid of all of our tracers-"

"They can still find us using Mother if they want to. You still have a tracer implant in your body. They won't be able to track me, but they can still find you unless we get it out."

Katya's eyes widened, seeing the intent in Nikita's gaze. She pulled out of her grip and backpedaled towards the head of the bed.

"You're not thinking about cuttin' me, are you?"

Nikita shook her head and let out a small laugh. She returned to removing her clothing and tossing them onto the floor. After taking off her bra and underwear, she gathered the clothes and camera and took them into the bathroom. She dropped the clothes into the tub, then walked naked back into the room. Katya watched as Nikita opened her suitcase and dumped the contents onto the bed. She searched through her purse and pulled out a switchblade. With a quick swipe, she peeled away the inner lining of the case and retrieved a small plastic bag hidden between the lining and the hardcover of the luggage case.

"What are you doing?"

"I always carry a Blank Bag with my luggage. Can't risk Section layering something in my clothes without me knowing. This way, I know they aren't going to be keeping tabs on me."

"They can do that?"

"Often,' said Nikita. "Especially if they think you might tuck tail and run."

"But they know I'm not running," said Katya.

"You already made yourself a flight risk before you even got here. Remember? Can't say you were completely to blame. You were put up to it."

Nikita checked through the rest of her purse, making sure there was a full clip in her baby Glock. She pulled out the clothes in the plastic bag, along with a billfold already packed with IDs, cash, a black leather bag, and other credentials. Nikita pulled an old PDA from the bag last. She put on the jeans and long sleeve shirt and checked the PDA to make sure it still worked.

Katya dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt. She shrugged back on her leather jacket and pulled on her boots.

"So, what do we do now?"

Nikita grabbed Katya's clothes and took them into the bathroom. She dumped the clothes into the tub and drew the curtain.

"We have to find another room," said Nikita as she walked back to retrieve the black bag. She opened the bag and selected a vial full of a clear liquid.

"They bugged this one, didn't they," said Katya.

"Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. Doesn't matter. All that matters is that we get off the grid. Immediately."

Nikita uncapped the vial and began pouring it over the clothing inside the tub. A strong, acidic smell rose from the clothing as smoke built up inside the tub. Nikita pulled the curtain closed and left the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the ventilation fan.

"Let's go. The Fire department will be here soon to put out the fire. We can use the hotel's evacuation to get out without being seen."

Katya grabbed her purse and followed Nikita out of the room as she headed to the back stairwell of the hotel. A moment later, alarms blared from the floor they were just on. Red and yellow emergency lights started flashing. Nikita pushed open the door to the ground floor and walked out into a hall, already filling up with curious guests. A hotel attendant spoke to the guests in the hall, guiding them out towards the hotel lobby, where they were then instructed by another band of staff to exit the hotel. Nikita pulled Katya along as they made their way out and back onto the street.

"Where are we going to go? Just about everybody around here speaks Arabic. We got lucky with those guys in the cafe," said Katya.

"Don't worry. I'll find someplace we can hold down tonight. We only have to have a spot to sleep for right now. Tomorrow, we will get up and find Al Amin. If we're lucky, we'll be leaving Syria by nightfall tomorrow."

"What if we're not lucky?"

Nikita pushed past a group of guests standing outside. A fire truck drove into the parking drive in front of the guest entrance and poured out a small fire team. On the third floor, the window of Nikita and Katya's room glowed yellow and orange as the flames quickly took over much of the room.

"I guess we'll just have to find another room."

Trent made his way down the back hallway. His blood coursed quickly through him, making his feet move faster than his legs could catch up and causing him to half stumble as he moved. He was sweating, knowing that time was not on his side. He made his way from Systems back to Communications with the new decoded data file collected from Quinn's desk computer. He was unsure what he would find on the file. From what he could infer from the agents in Systems, there was enough evidence on the file to bury Katherine Quinn in the deepest hole of hell. With Nikita gone on a mission and presumed missing until she contacted back, he was unsure how to handle the new information. With Quinn in containment and Michael seemingly unconcerned, he wondered if the information on the file mattered at all. In a day, he had gone from trying to protect Nikita and Michael from the Council to suddenly exposing them as unfit leaders to save Section. Now he moved to incriminate Quinn in her plot to eliminate Nikita as director of Section One. He knew the information on the file was damning. Yet, Quinn was already in the White Room being interviewed by the worst person to be questioned by. He had never been in the White Room with Michael before, but he heard stories.

And none of them were pleasant.

He was told Michael had his way of speaking whenever he first entered the room. He was quiet. Stalking. He preferred to study, and you could feel him watching you like a panther hunting its prey. You could tell he was hungry for the information resting in your brain by the opaque steadiness of his gaze. There was always something unnerving about the way Michael looked.. Like he was seeing you, but not really doing it in a way that could be considered humanely. It was always chilling and made Trent feel like he was being stripped of everything that protected him mentally from such an assault.

And this was just Michael standing in the room.

As he spoke, he moved, but you wanted him to keep moving. It meant he was still thinking about the answers, searching for what he wanted. An angle to strike. A space left unguarded. When he stopped moving, that was when one needed to worry. Something was said that caused him to pause and take a different stance. Although Trent never sat in the infamous White Room chair, he could imagine the torture those who sat had to go through when faced with both the Torture Twins and Michael. If they survived it, most were often left with indelible physical and mental scars. In contrast, others simply did the deed for Section and killed themselves, unable to handle the aftermath of their ordeal.

Trent drew in a shaking breath as his thoughts meandered over what sort of horrors Quinn faced. It was enough that she tried to sabotage a high-profile mission. That, alone, would have gotten her canceled. The fact that she also attacked Nikita and Michael's daughter…

He had not known that Elizabeth was Michael's daughter until he reviewed Nikita's medical file. The information was well hidden within physician speech and data analysis. However, anyone with a calculator and a brief history of the two operatives could easily piece together the clues. The fact that Nikita married so quickly after giving birth and then insisted on changes to the lifestyle of field operatives made perfect sense. She needed to hide her pregnancy from Section, linking it to Helmut instead of Michael. The one thing that she did not want to happen was for her child to be taken from her like they often did to operatives who sired children with other operatives. As long as the child was born to an outside source, Section would not take the child but would allow the other parent to raise the baby alone. The operative had the choice to either give up the child entirely or agree to abort to maintain their anonymity. Even when operatives tried to hide their children, Section discovered them and tore apart their families to show their power and control. This happened to Michael more than once. The only reason Michael was not found with a bullet in his brain was because of Nikita. She gave him the will to live and the strength to keep fighting.

For Quinn to challenge that was beyond suicidal.

Trent passed an operative in the hall, who attempted to avoid eye contact. Trent stopped the operative and turned him to face him squarely. The young man stared back with wide, surprised eyes. His mouth dropped open as though to speak, but had no words.

"Where's Michael?" Trent was not interested anymore in whether the operative found him repulsive, intimidating, or even the slightest bit annoying.

"In his office, sir," said the operative.

"Thanks."

"Y-yes, sir."

The operative hurried down the hall. Trent looked after him curiously before moving on to Michael's office. He noticed the rest of Section buzzed with activity. Everyone focused on the current mission, tracking incoming intelligence and surveying details gathered from field agents positioned around the city where Nikita and Katya were stationed. Already, operatives speculated that Nikita and Katya were dead or that Nikita murdered Katya during one of her manic episodes. There was a grim attitude throughout the agency, with no one daring to look directly at Michael or Trent. He guessed it was more because of their closeness to Nikita than any other prejudices they may have had. At the moment, he didn't much care what anyone thought of him or of the situation. The circumstances remained that Nikita and Katya were alone on a perilous mission, and no one at Section could help them in any way.

Trent rounded the corner and walked out onto the main floor. He passed by the Communications Hub and saw his team frantically working to keep up with data flow coming in from field agents. A maneuver was planned by the Israeli Armed Forces slated to activate within 48 hours. There was a break in communication between the IDF and the UN Peacekeepers, causing a rift between the commanding officials. Data shared between the two forces came under severe scrutiny when they discovered part of their plans was uncovered by Hezbollah militia and were setting up a counter-attack. Any actions taken by either party could be misconstrued as a declaration ballooning a proxy war into an all-out conflict that could endanger thousands living between the two borders. Section operatives were sent in to assist with the finer details of maintaining the peace and eliminating smaller targets that posed a threat. Capturing Elias Al Amin was only a tiny thread pulled to unravel a much larger blanket of intrigue. He was a connection to a vast network of arms dealers, helping to keep the Hezbollah army equipped with sophisticated weapons and timely intelligence to stay one step beyond their competitors. It was the reason that Section was called upon to eliminate him out of the equation and hoped to extract from him any other agents that worked alongside the Shiite militant group. The stakes were building as war appeared to be imminent despite efforts to garner a treaty. For Nikita and Katya, their part was growing in importance as both forces continued to receive misinformation concerning where Hezbollah leaders were and what their plans entailed. With the two in mandatory refusal and radio silent, all they could do was wait uncomfortably for any signal alerting them that Al Amin was detained and they were on their way back with him.

Trent crossed over the main floor and turned into the short hall leading to Michael's office. Ahead, he saw Michael's door was closed as well as the blinds. Trent halted a moment, noticing the closed door and the secrecy of the drawn blinds. This became a familiar phenomenon with Michael, who usually would leave his door or blinds open. Lately, he was hidden from view more often and left many at Section guessing whether he was even inside his office. Trent went to his office plenty of times, only to find him not there and had not been there the entire day. Before he could raise his hand to knock on the door, it opened abruptly. Trent jumped backward. He expected to see Michael standing in the doorway, but was met instead by Helmut, appearing less than amused. There was a fixed frown on his face as he started out of the door.

"Inspector Volker," Trent greeted.

"Agent Hammett."

"I didn't know you were here."

Helmut gave a half-grin. "Would it have mattered?"

Trent was unsure of how to answer. Helmut put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, young man. I understand. It's been a long day."

"Where's Elizabeth? Is she here with you?" Trent could not help but ask.

From all that was being rumored, it was not surprising that Helmut was there. However, it made the news of Nikita's botched mission even more disturbing. In the past, family members were called into Section for safe housing if it was a possibility that the operative on the mission would not be returning. In this way, the surviving spouse and loved one could be briefed, given all legal documents transferring assets and holdings, provided new identities and credentials, and then processed out. For Helmut, Trent doubted that the procedure would be as smooth as it had been for other families after an agent's untimely death. He was too engrossed in Section's politics and its divisional brethren to be allowed to walk free under a new identity. He was the head investigator for Interpol's Intelligence Unit and could not step down from that position. If he did, there would be far more questions for Section to answer than there were acceptable answers to give. There would be no processing Inspector Volker out, only absorption of him deeper into the bowels of Section.

Inside the office, Michael leaned against the edge of his desk. His arms and legs were crossed, and his head held a little low. He carried a morose expression, companioned with the darkened ambiance of his office. Helmut's strained smile alerted Trent to a feeling that he just walked in on a very serious and disconcerting conversation between the two men. The tension lingered like a dense fog in the room, causing Trent to delay entering.

"Elizabeth is in the officer's quarters on the lower level," Helmut said. "She is fine… And blissfully unaware of what is going on."

Trent nodded. By Helmut's words, he knew Michael had told him of the situation and what was being done, or more what couldn't be done. He assumed this was the reason Helmut appeared both anxious and angered. Trent figured he might be just as upset as Helmut if he knew his wife was shipped to a war-torn foreign country with an inexperienced operative on a highly dangerous mission to capture a man that an army was sworn to protect with deadly force. That was not to mention that his wife was also suffering from debilitating manic episodes that often left her unconscious or screaming out of her mind. The odds of her surviving were minimal at best, and all that Section could do was watch and wait for whatever the outcome before they made a move. The pulled smile on Helmut's face said more than a disagreement with Michael and the circumstance. It hid a very real threat to the entire organization if Nikita did not come back home.

"Now, if you will excuse me. I have a friend I must see about," said Helmut.

He moved past Trent and walked across the main floor. Trent watched the gentlemanly Inspector for a moment before turning back to Michael's office. Michael continued to sit against his desk, his expression full of his inner thoughts. He barely acknowledged Trent as he walked into the room and closed the door softly behind him. He held out the data file to Michael and waited for him to take it. Michael continued to hold himself as he stared at the floor.

"I take it he wasn't too happy about the way the mission is turning out," said Trent, relaxing the file to his side.

Michael was silent.

"Hey, look. I don't think you can blame the guy. I mean, it's his wife that is out there and—"

"What was the timestamp on the last stream intercepted by our field agents?" Michael stood and walked over to the bank of monitors on the far wall of his office. He stood with his back to Trent, tapping on his keyboard, accessing the information he just asked Trent a moment before.

"Sorry, man. I was just saying—"

"The timestamp."

Trent tensed his jaw. "21:55. Why?"

Michael typed some more and pulled up a feed between a field soldier of the Syrian Free Army and his commanding officer. The words were indiscernible at first, speaking in Arabic before Michael ran the feed through a translator. The message sent from the soldier to the officer detailed a weakened position in the city's northern region. An aerial attack was being formulated.

"We have less than thirty-two hours to apprehend Al Amin and get our men out of Syria before the aerial attack. Hopefully, the same information we received is also going to border patrols. They may get refugees out of the area before they are bombed, but I highly doubt it. This will be a focused attack."

Trent took a step forward.

"Against who?"

"We're not the only ones that know where Al Amin is. If we want him, we have to get him now. If we wait, we could lose Al Amin, any intel he may have, and any further details that could possibly stop a war from happening between the two countries."

"We could lose more than that," said Trent. "We could lose Nikita."

Michael dropped his gaze slightly, taking in the impact of Trent's words. Trent let out a loaded sigh and put his hands on his hips. He stood a moment, trying to think. However, all he could see was Katya's face on the security camera, looking more frightened than she ever did after speaking with Quinn. He could only imagine what sort of nightmare she was going through, being trapped in a hotel room with Nikita and having to deal with the unpredictable nature of her illness. Katya spoke of someone being in their room before they arrived. The man she described did not sound like anyone that came from Section One. However, from his familiarity with Nikita, he was someone that worked with her before.

Michael moved from the computers and sat down behind his desk. He began typing on his computer, his eyes staring intensely at the screen while a permanent frown fixed on his lips. Trent sat down in the chair in front of his desk and folded his hands on his stomach. He wanted to say words, to say something that could somehow bring sense to the world they were now living in, only he could find nothing that would ease them both. He, instead, set the file on the desk and waited for Michael to pick it up.

"What did Quinn say?"

Michael continued to type a moment before reaching for the file. He pushed in the drive and began reviewing the transcription.

"She did not say much. What she told us, we already knew. She was given the formula to create the drug used to aggravate Nikita's symptoms. She replaced her pain medication with another form of hallucinogens that caused the virus to become unstable. The goal was to make Nikita so unpredictable and unreliable that she would lose all trust with Section, and they vote her out of her position."

"Why would Quinn want that?"

"To gain power."

"Quinn never wanted power. If anything, she would rather have you as command. She respected you."

"Is that what she told you?"

Michael looked up from his computer.

Trent swallowed, realizing he misstepped..

"Not in so many words," said Trent, carefully. "She made it seem like she was trying to protect the both of you from the Council. That's why she wanted to hide what was really going on."

"You helped her…."

Trent shook his head. "No. I only pulled Nikita's medical file… But you already knew that. I told you that."

Trent felt himself shaking a little. The way Michael stared at him made his blood run cold. The glow of his monitor made his already glass-like eyes appear void and inhuman. Trent's mouth went dry, and the back of his throat burned suddenly with the words he wished he had never uttered.

"It is trivial," said Michael, his tone hollow. "Quinn would have found another way to get what she wanted without recruiting you to do her dirty work."

Trent released a breath of air that was neither relaxed nor decompressing. Instead, the breath he let go held all of his resolve and the last vestige of his confidence. He wasn't sure whether he needed to be offended by Michael's assessment of his involvement with Quinn as trivial or extremely relieved.

"Had I known what she was actually doing, I would have tried to stop her. Maybe talk some sense into her."

"It wouldn't have worked," said Michael, a bit too matter-of-fact. "She would not have listened to you."

"I think you have Quinn pegged all wrong. I think she really wants to do what's best for Section. She wasn't trying to deliberately hurt anyone. She's really a good person, just maybe a little misguided."

Michael stood from his seat and buttoned his jacket closed. He pulled the data file and tucked it in his pocket. Trent watched as Michael crossed over to his door and opened it. The vacant expression on his face suggested to Trent he was done speaking. It was time to go.

Trent stood and walked to the open door. His feet felt suddenly heavy, as if he were trudging through mud. He stopped at the door and looked directly at Michael. He pulled in a fortifying breath.

"I don't agree with what Quinn is trying to do. I never wanted to be a part of it, either. I did what I thought was right… For Section. Whatever I can do from this point on, I will… Because I want to do what is best for Nikita… Because I feel she is what's best for Section."

The corner of Michael's lips lifted slightly, and the look in his eyes softened. Trent nodded and started out of the office towards Communications.

"Trent."

He turned back.

"There is something that I would like you to do for me," said Michael.

"Name it, man."

Michael stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Trent. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the data file. He took Trent's hand and rested the file warmly in the center of his palm.

"I want you to gather the items listed in this file. Package it and send it express. I'll give you the address once you confirm you have the items. Tell no one what you are doing."

Trent looked down at the file in his hand, then back at Michael.

"Once I get everything, who am I sending it to?"

"Send it express to Mrs. Jones… From Mr. Jones. Don't worry. She'll know what it is and what to do once she gets it. Now hurry. We don't have much time."