Ep2: Tight
The convened operatives at the Briefing table appeared somber despite being updated about the assignment launching later that afternoon. Michael watched as the rest of the team filed into their seats and exchanged subdued pleasantries. Each agent up-linked their PDAs to the main system and awaited the meeting to begin.
After a few technical upgrades modifying the Briefing table, operatives could now download their specific assignments to their personal panel devices to review without having to report to Munitions and further disturb the always-preoccupied Whistler. Although the Munitions Head did not mind the interruption, Nikita thought it important to not have him drawn away from his design projects to sort out and distribute equipment and assignment panels to operatives as they prepared for their missions. Michael considered the upgrade both a blessing and a downgrade from having to hold a briefing meeting.
What purpose was there to explain what they could read for themselves?
Operatives could simply look at their mission assignments and learn the details from their panels. A meeting, no matter how inconsequential, was scheduled. Despite the upgrades, Michael detailed their objectives and reviewed the major points of attack with the team.
"It will be necessary for you to maintain the least amount of exposure while in play."
Michael waited for a response, but only heard silence. The mission was to retrieve a document from a computer containing the names of a few arms dealers connected to many global factions. Michael suspected the contract was one that the rest of Section's branches ignored or declined because of the simplicity of the assignment. It did not register as a grand necessity in maintaining world security. Yet, something as innocuous as a list of peddlers often proved to be the determining factor between regime changes and wars being fought. It was likely Nikita took the contract because she understood its importance and aimed to end something before it had a season to take root. Michael could not help but release a proud, inward smile.
Once again, Nikita proved herself to be more than just a Section One operative. She was the embodiment of what Section should have been. She was what Adrian saw when she envisioned the Section at its inception. With Nikita at its helm, Section freed itself from its murky past and introduce to the world a new version of Counter-terror Defense. As odd as it was, Nikita, the orphaned daughter of Section's corrupt Head of Center, became the mother of the new Section. In being so, she also became the most hated enemy to Section's existing old regime, who neither wanted a change in progress nor to support her new protocols. Even Michael doubted Nikita's established directives, pointing out the dangers in exposing much of Section's guarded secrets to other international agencies. In her stubborn way, Nikita always pushed back, highlighting the fact the reason Section often came at odds with other countries and their security personnel was because of the lack of information sharing between the two.
"There has to be a level of transparency between us and those whom we claim to support. If we keep vital information from the leaders, how can we expect to make any sort of difference in the way countries defend themselves against attacks?"
Michael looked over the team seated at the briefing table again. The group might as well have been a high school classroom. The only thing that had not changed significantly was the recruiting process. Although they did not dredge the depths of federal prisons to find the most debased humans alive, they still found young felons willing to serve a term in international defense to cut down their sentence. Others were drafted from the recruit pools of various agencies who either could not take prospective students because of limited availability, or found their skills and attributes incompatible with their programs. In short, Section took who they could get for as long as they could keep them, with a heavy emphasis on the reality of mortality being of lesser importance than the mission goals. Nikita wanted to change this, but found the other Section branches less pliable to her determined suggestion. All they would give her was the terms of employment which led directly to George's abandoned pilot release program… A program which she vehemently fought to keep in place at Section despite the hazards it posed.
"Questions?"
A hand went up, waving insistently.
"Yes?"
"What has happened to Director Volker? Is she still on her assignment?"
Michael set down the table's hologram controller, pointedly setting aside the assignment to address the question. He clasped his hands in front of him and leveled his gaze at the operative.
"Director Volker is presently deactivated until further notice."
"Why?" asked the operative.
For a moment, Michael was taken aback. The operative was dressed in a black hoodie, fingerless gloves, and a black knit skull hat covering straight black hair. Her dark eyes cut up towards him with an almost accusatory glance, appearing too much like another operative he once knew years ago.
An operative that should have been dead.
That was dead.
Michael blinked.
"Director Volker's whereabouts are under investigation," said Alex, suddenly appearing at Michael's side.
Michael turned, noticing Alex. He had not sensed her presence beside him before she appeared. He was certain she didn't simply materialize in front of the other agents. She needed to appear natural, even though Michael was sure she knew his awareness of the truth. She made less of an effort to give the illusion of a corporeal body when they were alone. More than a few times, he caught her programming glitch during the morning briefing. He thought more about his own program and how convincing it would be to an entity like Alex, who was already embedded within the framework of the Section's operational features. Alex's programming even had control of Section's security systems, allowing her to access Surveillance and monitoring whenever she pleased. She could appear anywhere, anytime… Just like Madeline could.
Despite this, Nikita still entered Section's Primary systems and transmitted a message using an elevated backdoor channel. It was a move that undoubtedly derived from Birkoff's genius. His knowledge of Section's systems far surpassed any other that dared to navigate the tangled code and near-impregnable firewalls. Michael understood why Birkoff was targeted by both George and Operations to harvest his mind. His death brought about a huge detriment to the agency. Michael always thought it ironic that after all that happened to Birkoff, all the sacrifices he made and the dangers he saved Section from, he would be remembered not as a boy wonder, but as a mad scientist murdered by his own creation. All that was left of him, fittingly, was an elixir of enlightenment, up-loadable like a program, and used as a hacked intelligence for anyone desiring to know what it is like to be cursed with knowledge.
"Director Volker has given command to Michael. He is now the operating Director," Alex answered.
"What happens if Director Volker returns? Will she be canceled?" asked another operative.
The rest of the table leaned forward, awaiting the answer. Their young minds ticked over the possibility of someone in management being treated like any other common criminal. The idea flushed over their faces and widened their eyes in interest. Michael swallowed the sudden flavor of bile that filled his mouth. The thought of explaining Nikita's fate once more to a group of waiting faces turned his stomach over. Before, it was enduring the ridicule of those who thought he sent Nikita to her death. Now, it was the look of suspicion as those gathered questioned how the Section's most capable field operative was left to assume command while their Director went missing in action.
"Director Volker is a matter handled by Spec Ops," said Alex, tabling the discussion. "The rest of you have your assignments. Your mission will load in three hours."
At this, the gathered team pushed back from the table and filed away, murmuring among themselves their continued debate about Nikita. Alex turned to Michael and handed him a panel displaying a ladder of messages inquiring about the crashed plane and the Interpol agents aboard. At the bottom was a message from an unknown sender stating there were three known survivors from the crash.
"We know that there were several men on that flight. Two of which we have already confirmed dead," said Alex. "The Sudanese official was extracted before Lambert's team went down. The U. N soldier was later found dead as well. The only other person not accounted for was Agent Volker. He was not found among the wreckage, nor was he recovered from the bunker."
"The investigation has not closed. He may yet be found," said Michael as he scrolled the message thread. It was clear from the conversation that Interpol was concerned about their missing operatives and was already in motion to locate them.
"Or it could be Nikita assisted in his escape and is hiding him out wherever she happens to be," said Alex. "If this is the case, we have more to be concerned about."
Michael turned to Alex. "I would say so."
He handed the panel back to Alex.
"I know you are secretly praying Nikita is successful in her crusade, but keep in mind, if Section goes down, so do you. Everything that you have worked for, even your son, will go to ruin."
Michael felt his chest grow tight. He turned away from Alex, hiding the tension becoming visible in his expression.
"As Section's Director of Operations, it is important that you keep the principal goal fiercely in front of you. Above all, even yourself, the Section must be preserved." Alex switched the screen to a different display and handed it back to Michael. "I'll coordinate the next mission. You concentrate on your task… Find Nikita… and shut her down."
Alex walked towards Communications, leaving Michael with the panel. He looked down and realized the display screen no longer showed a message thread from Interpol's communications. Instead, an aerial map of Syria showed on the monitor. Flight lines crisscrossed the screen. A single red dot pulsed in the lower sector of Damascus just inside the city's perimeter.
A beacon.
Screaming awoke Nikita, drawing her out into the darkness.
She tried to rise, but immediately knew she could not. Something hard kept her flat on her back, with barely enough room to lift her head. There was no sound aside from her breathing growing panicked as she slowly realized where she was and what happened to her. The closeness of her surroundings and the restriction of movement clawed at her thoughts and hurled her towards madness. Her breathing suddenly became much more labored, pulling at whatever air was left inside the cramped space. She wanted to push up, but couldn't. She was trapped with nowhere to move… Nowhere to go… No way to scream or call for help.
Who could hear her?
Who would listen?
Who would hear the cries of the dead?
Focus…
Nikita pulled in a breath and tried to settle her mind. The congested traffic of horrific possibilities continued to whiz back and forth in her brain, colliding recklessly into one another and exploding into even more terrified shouts. Her skin grew cold despite the surge of energy coursing along her nerves, urging her to move however way she could.
Focus…
She had to stop.
She had to think.
She was in this situation before, stuck in an uncomfortable twist for hours, waiting for a security system to reset. She did not mean to land as she had on the floor. She had to lie down to avoid triggering the alarms inside the containment room. She suspected the assignment was handpicked by Michael just to punish her for past transgressions. After all, they weren't exactly on the best of terms then. They were cordial, and he gave the appearance of indifference. However, she could sense there was a distance between his demeanor and his reception of her. She couldn't say that she was being very welcoming, either. The Section made it part of her conditioning to regard everyone as a threat, including those who claimed to love her. Love was a useless emotion and did not belong within the body of Section and its agents. It was best she left such notions as love, trust, and compassion in the very grave she was lying in.
"It's better to rely on your mind and what you know rather than what you feel. Emotions can guide you into places that often are not beneficial…"
Nikita watched as Madeline crossed over to her desk and eased down into her seat. She steepled her fingers, hiding the cruel maroon grin behind her ruby red nails.
Focus…
Nikita's fingers curled around a small, round object in her hand. She rubbed her thumb over the flat surface, realizing what the object was.
An old PF3 Comm Unit.
She pressed in the sides and listened as static crackled before a digitized voice broke the silence.
"This is a recorded message. I will contact you again in twelve hours. By then, you will know more about what is happening. You will then have to choose who you will save and who you must let perish.
"Right now, you are in a coffin buried four and a half feet underground. Your previous location has been marked and no doubt assassins are on their way to carry out erasure orders. You have been rescued by one of our covert operatives to assist with our mission. Her assignment was to get you to where you are now with the materials you will need to free yourself of your confinement and aid you to your next checkpoint.
"Your contact will meet you in Cairo, where you will exchange cases. You will need to be on flight 725 from Cairo to Brussels and then from Brussels into London, England. There you will meet your next contact. Information will be transmitted at that checkpoint with instructions."
Nikita nodded, already committing to mind the sequence. She understood how she would get out of Cairo and board the named flight. However, she couldn't determine how she was to get out of the grave. Once she was out of the grave, how was she to get to Cairo?
Where was she buried?
Was she alone?
"Nikita," said a curiously familiar digital voice.
Where had she heard it before?
"The weakest part of the lid is at its center. Concentrate all of your force there. You'll need to cover your face. Use your shirt to keep dirt and debris from getting into your eyes and mouth while you work. When the dirt comes, push it to your sides and pack it beneath your feet. Work your way up through the dirt, packing as you go. It will be difficult. It will feel like drowning. Stay focused and remember your training. When you are free, locate the B.O. B and make your way towards the nearest camp. You will see it on the horizon. You have three hours to make it to the surface before your air runs out. Good luck."
The Comm Unit went silent.
A small, red blinking light signaled the end of the message. Nikita felt around on her leg and found a pocket to slip the communicator into. Within the bracing black and claustrophobic closeness, Nikita positioned herself inside the coffin. From what she could tell, it was a simple wooden box and not traditionally used as a burial containment. From the pressure against the lid, she reasoned she was not buried for long. The dirt was still loose and shifting atop the grave. Since it was dry, she did not have to worry about wet mud drowning her before she could wiggle free from the hole. It would not be an easy feat, as the dirt would undoubtedly rush to fill in the open spaces she created. Unlike snow, she would have to work hard to keep the dirt away from any tunnel created while she dug.
Stay focused and remember your training...
Nikita slowly evened her breathing, measuring each breath with extended counts of thirty seconds between breaths so that her thoughts slowed and her body relaxed into readiness. She angled her arms so that each compressed jab maximized its impact and created a battering ram against the lid. She drew in a breath.
Counted to thirty.
Hit.
The doors opened to the White Room, revealing Katherine Quinn seated in the metal chair. She was tired from several hours of questioning that uncovered nothing worth reporting to Center as the cause of her insubordination. There was only one reason for her actions.
Quinn was in love with Helmut Volker.
Despite her actions before Nikita's full take over at Section, Quinn did not always use her cunning intellect, manipulative tactics, and calculated will to climb the hierarchal ladder at Section. She could fall in love with another and yearn for them. She appeared to be seduced by Operations, desiring to provide for him a companion and devoted right side in much the same way Madeline was to him. Treading dangerously in the murky waters that supposedly lead to his hardened heart, she discovered the impossibility of becoming another Madeline, no matter how willing she was to endure Operations' trials. No other woman couldn't match Madeline's cruel nature. She was trained to submit herself to her role as much as necessary.
They were all trained that way.
Quinn carried through her role to the very zenith of its requirements. She sat in the iron chair because she allowed herself to feel something other than ambition. She allowed her actions to be controlled not by directives, but by her own will to save someone outside of herself or the Section.
"Hello…"
Quinn lifted her head slightly, peering through semi-swollen eyes.
Michael stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He took a moment to regard Quinn, and the disheveled mess she became after being in Containment. Although the interrogation was mild, Quinn struggled to survive the inquiry. Where most others would have tested their limits to see just how much more they could endure before the truth expelled them, Quinn gave up her reasons for disobeying orders fairly quickly. She gave no further argument, which should have led her to either a quick release or an immediate cancellation.
"I'm sorry," said Michael.
Quinn did not respond verbally. Instead, she dropped her head. Michael took a step forward into the room.
"We believe we have located where Agent Helmut Volker was taken shortly after the assault. He was recovered by Allied Forces stationed along the Syrian-Israeli border, assisting refugees. He is receiving treatment before being transported to a hospital base in Cairo. From there, he will undergo further recovery before being sent home."
Quinn nodded slightly.
"Your insubordination will not go on your permanent record," said Michael, not wanting to extend the question. "I will attest that you were relieved of your duties because of some other controlling factors unrelated to the mission. You will be required to undergo evaluation, take mandatory downtime, and report for reconditioning training. After passing your assessment, you will be reactivated and restored to your former status in Section."
"You're going to lie for me?" Quinn's voice barely broke through the stillness of the White Room. She lifted her gaze towards Michael, allowing him to see exactly what she was saying.
Her dark brown hair fell limp around her face and down her shoulders. The soulful expression in her eyes shocked him momentarily. Before, she was a composite of Madeline, redesigned as a more efficient model. Katherine was the ideal operative many others were encouraged to imitate. She was field-worthy and adept. However, the matter of her heart never came into play for many years leaving that aspect of her untouched and untested. Were it the old regime, Michael would have been sent to conduct a final review of her resolve. He wondered why he was not called upon to test Katherine as he had done with others to see if she truly could cut off her desires and emotions to complete an assignment. He assumed the reason was that both Madeline and Operations were previously assured of Katherine's demeanor and held no further suspicions.
"I will do this. But you must also do something for me."
At this, Quinn positioned herself upright so that she could look at Michael straight on. A smug grin bled across her lips.
"Of course…"
Michael took another step forward. "You thought you were doing the right thing for Section—and you were. It's just that you had the wrong goal in mind. You ought not to think of what needs to be out of Section, but rather what still needs to be a part of it. Section One must survive. It is up to us to keep it breathing."
"That's funny," said Quinn. "I was always led to believe that you never cared anything about Section, and would be satisfied with seeing it topple. What's with the change of heart?"
Michael moved across the room, slowly keeping his steps deliberate. "I know it may seem like I don't want Section to succeed, but the truth is that without Section, none of us would be here. We would all be dead because of our crimes… or worse. Section has provided a life that we would not have had nor deserved."
"A life of servitude can't be what you envisioned when you accepted their offer," said Quinn.
"I'd much rather live in service to an ideal that I could believe in rather than die for something I can't justify," said Michael. His voice, although soft, carried through the air finding Quinn.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Exactly as I have already instructed." Michael slowly circled the iron chair arriving at the back of Quinn's head. "Take the downtime, pass your assessment, and complete the training and reconditioning. When you are done, you will return to Center where you will report your findings to Karvenkovich and remain there until contacted."
Quinn frowned. "You want me to spy on Center?"
"I want you to watch them," said Michael.
"And tell you what I see, am I correct in the assumption?"
"You'll let me know what's going on as it pertains only to Cirrus. Center has made a focused attempt at capturing this person for a reason. I want to know what that reason is."
"Center is just as secretive about their motives as we are. How would I be able to uncover this information for you?"
"Get close. Karvenkovich is private, but not impenetrable. I'm sure you won't have any problems appealing to his intellect and unique charm."
Quinn's expression was colored with suspicion. She tried to track Michael's movements across the room but lost him as he continued to circle her, staying just out of view.
"What do you expect me to do, Michael? Get into bed with him?"
"Of course not," said Michael. "I expect you to work as you have here. After all, you will be a representative of Section One. I certainly don't want to begin a reputation."
"Fine," said Quinn. "I'll be your puppet decoy while you try to save Nikita once again… Aren't you tired of having to come to her rescue? Do you know what's going to happen to her if she tries to take down Section like she says she wants to? Do you know what will happen to you if you help her?"
Michael pulled in close, resting his hands on Quinn's shoulders. He leaned down allowing his lips to brush softly against the tip of her left ear.
"I could have taken down Section any time that I wanted…You know that much is true. You also know I'm not helping Nikita. She has chosen her path… I have chosen mine."
Quinn considered Michael's whispered words. "What if I get caught? I will be canceled."
"I can cancel you now and you can avoid the wait." Michael raised and moved his hands from her shoulders. He rested them instead on the control bar positioned at the back of the seat.
"I never wanted to kill Nikita," said Quinn. "I thought it best she resign seeing as her condition was worsening. I wanted to give her more time to spend with her family… With you. I didn't know what was going on. Had I known, I would not have given the signal to down the plane Helmut was on or green-light the operative sent in to kill Al-Amin's assassin. The mission parameters did not have those details when it was first submitted for review, nor were they included in the final mission directives once everything was approved."
"I know you wouldn't have done a thing to hurt Helmut… or Nikita. You wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to her daughter."
Quinn attempted to turn towards Michael but found the metal bindings unresponsive to her intended movement. She turned her head as much as she could towards him.
"I figured with your release coming up and with Nikita's health rapidly declining, the only thing that seemed to be the best choice was to have Nikita tell you about Elizabeth so that you agreed to take care of her after she passed. Helmut would take over Section and you and your daughter could go away from this place. It didn't surprise me she made you the director. I assumed you would take the role for only a moment before surrendering it to Helmut."
"It would be the only way such a secession would be accepted by the Council. The only legal way," said Michael. He pushed his hands out to the levers, controlling the wrist and ankle bindings. "I am officially releasing you with no further prejudice."
The bindings around Quinn's wrists and ankles snapped open. Quinn rubbed the red ring around her wrists, wincing only a little at the twinge of pain greeting her as her first real taste of freedom since being taken into custody two days ago.
"If I'm at Center, you won't have a direct surveillance of what I'm doing," said Quinn. "How can you trust anything that I tell you will be the truth?"
"Because you have little reason or compulsion to lie," said Michael plainly. "It's not who you are."
"I see my profile supersedes me. You and I both know that under dire circumstances, an operative will go off profile if necessary."
Quinn glanced up at Michael. He circled back to her front and offered a gentleman's hand to assist her to her feet.
"I'm aware of that."
Quinn leveled her gaze at Michael, testing for a minute break in his resolve. Instead, she only received Michael's bland expression, revealing nothing further than the words spoken.
"I've read your profile, Michael. I know sometimes, you like to appear to play by the rules, when in fact, you are very much breaking them. Is that what you are doing now?"
"After your assessment, you will return to your quarters. An escort will come and take you back to Center, where you will begin an assignment there. Details will be sent by standard encryption."
"This is a dangerous game you are playing, Michael. I hope you know what you are doing."
Michael gently raised Quinn's captured hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her fingers. Moments later, the door opened, revealing two Control Officers ready to escort the ex-Communications Officer to Level Four—Medical.
"Adam?"
Michael searched for the young teen in the shadows in the foyer. After calling for Adam, he got a groan and mumble. Michael went into the kitchen to find something to eat after being reassured that the child was present. He had meetings and a flash mission that kept him in Section for a long time. He tried calling Adam to let him know he was going to be late, but only got to tell Adam's voice mail. Michael continued with his day, only checking a few times to see if his son responded to his message. After closing the office, Michael left the evening agents to care for the Section throughout the night.
Michael opened the refrigerator and found the previous night's dinner wrapped haphazardly in aluminum foil. He looked at the baked seasoned chicken breast and baked potato. He looked for another option but found nothing else to make a complete meal.
"What happened to Elizabeth?"
Michael turned with the chicken and potato balanced in his right hand. He pushed closed the fridge and brought the dinner to a microwave.
"Pop? What happened to Elizabeth? Did you find her?" asked Adam.
He stood just outside the perimeter of the kitchen, waiting for Michael to answer. His dark brown eyes followed Michael across the kitchen as he warmed the leftover dinner.
"Elizabeth has been moved to another family for her protection," Michael answered. He pulled out bottled water from a packaged set.
"Why wouldn't you let her come here with us? She was fine here."
The microwave beeped its resolution of the warmed food.
"Adam, I told you then. Some things will not be explained. They just are. We have to just accept them."
Adam's expression spoke of his confusion and refusal.
"How can we accept it? They just came in and took her. They could have taken me!"
"No, they wouldn't have taken you—"
"Why not? You don't know that! You're always telling me how evil the Section is. How I'm not to trust them. How dangerous they are. Why wouldn't they have taken me? You weren't even there to stop them. Just like you weren't there when they got me the first time—"
"Adam! Enough!" Michael slammed the microwave door shut.
"No, Papa. It's not enough. You're working for these creeps and you're just fine with it, even though I could have been lost to you again. Why are you so okay with it?"
Michael stared at his chicken and potato meal. Already knowing what it would taste like and hating its memory on his tongue. It was the only thing in the fridge to eat. He wished he could have found something more filling. Anything would have been better than the meal he presented himself. At the moment he selected it, he had no mind about it. The food was just what it was and so the choice was easy as he did not have to make it.
"You could have stopped it," Adam went on. "Why didn't you? Why didn't you tell them not to take Lizzie?"
"It doesn't work that way," Michael heard himself say. The words no longer felt as though they were coming out of him, but rather were lingering someplace near him.
"Why not? You say these things, but you never explain them? Why doesn't it work like that? You're the head of Section now, aren't you? Can't you tell them how things are supposed to work now? Didn't you choose to do this? For her?"
"None of us have a choice… Least of all, me," Michael's voice was barely audible. An odd tremble went through his bones, causing his hands to shake slightly. The pepper-speckled white meat and pale potato appeared gloomy against the silvery sheen of the aluminum. Its scent curled into his nostrils promising only sustenance, but nothing more. A bright sauce would help to liven the chicken. Butter and sour cream would moisten the potato. Shavings of bacon would embolden the tongue…
Have you tried, Michael? Really tried to crush out YOUR feelings?… You've succeeded with so many others. Why not her?
"I'll never understand you, Papa," Adam shook his head. "First you take us out of hiding and bring us back to the one place you promised we would never have to return. Then you risk your life to save the very person that caused our whole lives to ruin. You take a job that puts you back with the same people that you said kidnapped me and tried to kill you! They killed my grandpa! And then, after all this has happened, the one kid you seem to care about and treat better than you ever did me, you just let them walk in and take her away and you do nothing! Honestly, I do understand it. You're scared!"
At this, Michael looked at his son with a warning glare. However, his sharpened gaze did little to phase his son's already red-hot demeanor. His raven hair darkly silhouetted his frame against the soft warm light coming from the living room lamps. Michael wished he could see his face and yet did not want to as he knew it would only be Elena staring back at him.
"It can't be that you're afraid of the Section. If you were, you wouldn't risk everything to come back. So what are you afraid of? Is it her? Are you scared to do anything because of her?"
"Mind your tongue, mon fils," Michael hissed. "You forget, I'm still your papa—"
"Are you?" Adam took another daring step into the kitchen, drawing closer to Michael. The light from the oven illuminated the right side of his face bringing both his shadow and Elena into view. "Because growing up, I don't remember too much of you being around."
"I did what I had to do to protect you and your mother."
"You lied to us. How is that protecting us? I was still taken and my mother is dead."
"Adam, stop!"
"How could you protect us when you were never there? You faked your death to get away from us!"
"Adam…"
"WHY DID WE COME BACK HERE?"
Before Michael could stop himself, he was upon the boy in an instant. He grasped his shoulders and pulled him to his face so that their eyes met and the tip of their noses touched. He glared at him, his fingers digging mercilessly into the boy's flesh beneath the thick black fabric of his sweatshirt. Although the boy was stout at thirteen, he could feel him wilt slightly in his grasp as his eyes widened in fear. Michael searched the boy's eyes for something that resembled himself. For years Elena told him that Adam reminded her of him. It was the way he looked, the expressions he made, or the familiar absent-minded movements that mimicked his father. Michael used to spend hours watching his young son playing, unaware of his presence. Even when he was thought to be dead, he continued to watch Adam from afar, studying him to see if he truly was his memory. Sometimes he could see himself haunting his son's behavior, but moreover, he only saw Elena.
"I had no choice. I had to come back," said Michael in barely a whisper. "I don't expect you to understand the reasons. I don't expect you to understand anything that is happening. All that I expect of you is your obedience. I will ask for nothing more. Do as I tell you when I tell you. Later, I will explain it all, but not now."
"What about Elizabeth? What's going to happen to her?" Adam's voice was small, but still very much reticent.
Michael relaxed his grip on his son. "I will find her. Right now, she is safe where she is. There is no reason to move her. Not yet. There will come a time when we will all be together… As a family."
"Don't let them take her away forever, Papa. She's just a kid. She doesn't know what's going on. She's scared," said Adam.
"I know." Michael pulled Adam in and wrapped his arms around him. "And you're right. I am scared… Scared of losing you again… Scared of losing all of you."
"Then fight for us, Papa. Do everything you can to protect us."
Michael buried his face into his son's hair. Even though it had not been washed for days and the hair felt slick with oil, he took a deep breath in. His son's scent filled his lungs and renewed a strength lying dormant within. He felt Adam's arms wrap around him and squeeze in the way a son would a father he longed to hold forever.
"I will get us out," said Michael into his son's hair. "I will make it happen."
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