R.E.D
LFN fanfiction
Episode One: Road to PerditionMasked Syrian militia entered the ruined bunker. Their rifles aimed into the darkness, piercing the fog with white beams emitting from integrated lights within their scope. Blocks of rubble and shards of glass littered the concrete floor with bodies partially buried in the debris. The men on the floor appeared to be soldiers as well, dressed in black, unmarked uniforms with knit masks hiding their identity. Two men slumped in wooden chairs. They were blindfolded and had their hands tied behind them. They did not appear to be soldiers. They wore suits that looked ripped and torn, leaving them bloodied and haggard. They were killed with a single shot to the back of the head.
One soldier pulled back the knit mask of one of the fallen men. The face revealed was a young man in his mid-twenties. Despite wearing a Kevlar vest, his death came from a sequence of carefully aimed gunshots to areas in the upper torso not sufficiently protected by the armor. Whomever killed him, knew exactly where to target and did so with deadly precision.
"We've located the team," said the soldier into a Comm Unit mounted to his left shoulder. "Team Lead Lambert is down along with his entire squad. It doesn't look like any of them made it out."
"Do you have the Jaguar Team confirmed, K. I. A?" came the Field Command response.
"Affirmed. The Jaguar Team has been canceled."
"Are there any others apart from Lambert's team?"
"Yes. Two non-combatants. I think these are our missing Israeli ambassadors. They have been disposed of as a wet job. I'm sure further window dressing has been put in place to give enough credit for their method."
"There was," said Field Command, "But with the Jaguar Team dismantled, there won't be enough paperwork to handle the fallout. Proceed with Purge Protocols. Sanitize the site and return to camp."
"Copy."
The radio went silent.
"Good work," said Alexandra Shaw, Section's acting Head of Oversight. "Monitor the activity and alert me when they have returned to base. I'll need a full detail on the sweep. Include a full account of spent personnel."
The agent returned to his console and began working on collecting the requested data. Alexandra walked out of Communications and crossed the main atrium. She paused midway and turned her gaze up towards the looming dark silhouette watching from the shadowed windows of Command.
#
Michael smoothed the wrinkles from his trousers. The smoothness of the silk blend fabric felt too familiar underneath his fingertips. He hated the texture recalling his old skin. The suit brought with it all ghosts attached to the uniform.
There must always be someone in command… Someone to lead…
Michael dropped his head, barely able to endure the weight of his new mantle. There was a time when he would've shouldered the responsibilities of complete control of Section. He silently campaigned for it, so much so that he was all but officially named as Operations' successor. He was already being recognized.
But that was then…
Before Nikita…
He knew the organization he dedicated himself to was nothing more than an elaborate lie. He knew there were shadow groups controlling Section with no further purpose than the ultimate control of the world. Section horded an alarming collection of bio-weapon technology, nuclear warheads, weapons of mass destruction, and damning government secrets to use as leverage should any controlling nation dare to step out of line?
Section was not what it said it was.
None of them ever were.
Their primary objective was to protect the innocent and hunt the criminals. However, Section did just as much crime and destruction as the entities they blamed for their necessary actions. If innocents died, it was because terrorists made bombs to ignite in unarmed populations. It certainly was not because prior to the bombs going off, a secret meeting occurred, permitting the exhibition to test the validity of the explosives and the maximum casualty potentially caused. If a government official was assassinated, it was because an anarchist group attempted to topple the powers that be. It was not because the agency sworn to protect the official received a competing bid countering the original agreement and voiding the contract, allowing the murder to take place.
All we do here is politics…
Michael's first lesson at Section had nothing to do with his field and weapons training. Early in his career, he learned to navigate the slippery slope of Section's hierarchy and manipulate certain agents to gain leverage. It was a lesson his mentor Jurgen taught him above all else.
Any man can be beaten if you know where to strike… If you know his weakness…
Michael did well hiding himself in the beginning. He appeared to be impenetrable, even to Madeline, who took special interest in probing him intending to break past his hard exterior. He let no one in partially because he felt too broken to allow someone else to discover the full depths of his iniquity. He also knew it was dangerous to get close to anyone within Section. Everyone was a secret, and for good reason. None of them were saints. Least of all himself. It wasn't until he met Simone did he release a little of himself to another soul at Section. She seemed as broken and depraved as he was having murdered her husband to get away from the Triad families hunting her. She even carried the sword used to steal his life to give her the strength needed to make it to American soil, where Section found her lost in a refugee camp. She was strong and determined, a trait not always revered by Section. Her immediate obedience and compliance made her a top pick among team leaders, raising her status quickly through the ranks. The two met on a Honey Trap mission that nearly went sour, mostly because initially Michael and Simone did not have good chemistry. They appeared more like sworn enemies than good long-term friends. Although they eventually warmed towards one another and paired in subsequent missions, Operations and Madeline were none the wiser to the secret romance that sprouted between them. Before long, Michael and Simone were together both in and outside of Section, going as far as living together and constructing a life conducive to their occupation and providing cover stories for one another for their prolonged absences during overnight missions.
The ploy worked for a little while…
Then Simone became pregnant and their storybook life ended.
The following months felt like a nightmare movie playing in the background of Michael's consciousness. He was barely aware of himself, Simone, or the tragedy of their child. All that he could remember was stepping into the White Room and being clamped down into the steel seat. Moments later, he awoke in a loft apartment surrounded by packed boxes of his belongings. He had no memory of what happened to him, anything he did, or even moving. When he returned to Section, he could barely recognize the halls he spent three years roaming and discovering. He did not see Simone again for several missions until one day she appeared at the briefing table looking just as blank as he was. He attempted to speak to her, but she seemed despondent. Her eyes barely registered recognition towards him. Something happened to them both, but he could not remember what. Each time he tried, he was rewarded with a throbbing headache. Eventually, he simply stopped trying to remember and accepted that whatever happened to him had a purpose and whatever that purpose was locked away in Madeline's personnel file on her computer.
After months of probing and surveillance, Madeline finally won her game.
She discovered his weakness and beat him.
It wasn't long after Simone's death when Michael was presented a file for a new trainee. By then, he was waist deep in a Blood Cover mission as a way to draw out known terrorist, Salah Vacek. Michael was already married to the target's daughter and was forced to sire a child in order to draw him out. However, even with the birth of a new grandson, Vacek remained hidden. Michael hated his assignment and begged Madeline to send someone to murder him and make it look like Vacek, but Madeline refused.
"You wanted a family, Michael. Now you have one. Take care of them," Madeline said with a slick grin.
If he could, Michael would have put a bullet between her dark brown eyes then. He wanted to, but he could not deny Madeline's assertion. He did want a family. It was something he always wanted, but never seemed to grasp completely. It was always partially missing a component to make it complete. Elena and Adam, though he did not want them in the beginning, gradually became the one thing in his miserable life that he wanted to shield from himself and everything that he was outside of them. They were the only ones that got to see who he truly was, the man that he wanted to be instead of the man that he had to be. Elena never knew the monster she allowed into her bed each night, nor did she see the terror his presence often brought each time he darkened her doorway. She did not know of his lies, his threats, his deviled kisses and defiling touch. All that she knew was his love and adoration, his care and protectiveness, his honor and loyalty…
Or what she understood was his loyalty…
Were she ever to know how much he betrayed her, she would turn away from him in disgust and torment.
He wanted to turn away from himself, but there was no escaping the skin he was in. There could never be any change from the curse that would forever haunt him until the day his breath finally seeped from his lips. The only person he did not have to lie to, where he could be his true self through and through, was with Nikita.
Once more, he found himself fallen again into the arms of a kindred spirit and attempting desperately to hide the union from Section's ever-watchful eyes. Unlike Simone, who seemed content with remaining behind Section's iron walls, Nikita was always looking for a way out. She took every opportunity presented to escape Section. Despite Operations and Madeline's assessment, getting Nikita to kill and follow orders was never really the problem. She would do whatever was necessary to preserve her life. It was keeping Nikita in place that proved to be the hardest mission he would ever undertake.
Michael could see from the quick dart of her arctic eyes that her mind continually processed and analyzed her surroundings, searching for a hole or a break in security that might expose a pathway. It didn't matter how faint the possibility was, Nikita tried persistently to flee. Madeline did not have to tell him what he needed to do to ensure Nikita would not run or consider running if given the opportunity. Her weakness was exposed to him in the very first seconds of their meeting. She could have fought him off if she wanted. Even though he slammed her to the floor, he left a lot of his lower half exposed. A clever knee to the groin would have felled him quickly, leaving him crumpled and gasping. She could have found her way outside the room, and with any luck, sneak past the guards. She may have made it all the way to Transport before being stopped. All of her senses were awake and buzzing. His frequent visits were less about his curiosity about her and necessity to keep tabs on her whereabouts, as much as it was about keeping her from fleeing.
Each time Michael knocked at her door, he wondered if it would open. If it opened, who stood on the other side?
When the door opened revealing her heavily suspicious gaze turning swiftly into annoyed acceptance, he was both relieved and sorrowful. Michael was happy to know she was still there and did not take advantage of the perceived privacy of her loft apartment, but could not draw any measure of peace either. No matter how quiet the darkness surrounding her seemed to be, there would always be something watching from the shadows.
"Your meeting with the Head Council will begin in ten minutes," said the Communications Officer from the intercom speaker inside the Command room.
"Thank you," Michael responded.
"I'll have Conference prepped."
Michael sighed, feeling more than tired despite having done nothing strenuous aside from walking for much of the day. It was enough that he put on his old black suit, reprising his role as The Man in Black. He promised himself that he would never don the funerary uniform again. However, much like many other promises made, he could not keep it. He felt as if his entire life was nothing more than a broken promise. The silk sheen of the black suit wore well with the somberness it was married to, creating the perfect coupling to mask his monstrosity.
Down below, the Communications Hub continued to hum in its usual rhythm while agents went about their work in mindless routine. In Munitions, Simon Whistler busied himself checking equipment against his digital inventory and cataloging each weapon in its appropriate category.
"I prefer to use my own eyes and noggin," said Walter. "Computers are great and all, but they are prone to errors, if you ask me. At least I know what I'm doing and why I'm doing it if I'm the one doing it and not some infernal machine."
Michael reluctantly started towards Conference. His feet slowed the closer he got to the large area office as his mind clicked over bulleted points to report during the scheduled meeting. The pressing matter of Nikita loomed in the back of his thoughts, waiting for the moment the subject would inevitably be brought to the table. What could he say to the Council to appease them concerning Nikita?
As much as he understood Nikita, he couldn't put aside his resentment. Once more, he found himself protecting her by risking himself and everyone connected to him. She had to know that her decision to go rogue and target Center would affect her daughter's life more so than anyone else's. If Nikita made even one mistake in her quest, her daughter could be lost forever. She could be lost within the black hole of Section's many other nameless children over the course of the years. He hoped she would not know what it was like to lose a child to Section. He wanted to save her from that torture. However, it was yet another thing he could not fully shield her any more than he could himself. Nikita never had a chance of ever escaping.
There could never be a white picket fence…
A golden labrador…
A quaint farmhouse in a remote part of the Parisian landscape far away from the rest of the world…
A child…
"Are you ready?"
Michael looked up from his thoughts into the warm gaze of Madeline's digital expression. Her maroon smile pulled him the rest of the way into the present reality at the long wooden table stretching down the length of the room.
#
"I'm not going to hurt you… The world thinks you're dead… Suicide… This is your funeral…"
Nikita's eyes shot open.
Her right hand instinctively went under her pillow and grabbed the hilt of the hidden baby Glock. In an instant, the gun was aimed at the shifting phantom standing in the room's corner. Bright sunlight poured through the double panel window, bathing her sweat-drenched body lying on the hotel bed. Nikita blinked a few times, clearing away the lingering images, attempting to merge the nightmare into reality.
Nikita let the gun drop to the bed. She ran a hand over her forehead, pushing back the tangled mess of wet hair. She looked around the drab room, slowly recollecting the events that lead her to the dingy hotel and the oddly welcoming double-sized bed. A small analog television sat atop an equally unassuming mini-fridge positioned in the room's corner, just below a straining air conditioning unit. Well-worn yellow drapes flanked the window, offering nothing for privacy as light raced through the thin fabric. A four-sconce light fixture sagged in the center of the ceiling. Sunlight flooded the room, exposing their desperation for shelter and safety.
Their…
Nikita looked around the room again, taking careful inventory. She did not come there alone. Someone was with her.
Nikita moved off the bed and carried the gun with her into the bathroom. A light switch snapped on two overhead lamps above a simple plate of straight cut glass. A long blonde hair lay within the wash bowl sculpted into the white and gray formica counter. Nikita frowned. Her thoughts sifted through a jumble of mixed memories. The hair looked like it belonged to her, but she did not remember being at the sink. She looked into the glass and studied her appearance, hoping to race back time.
"Look at yourself. Admire yourself. See your beauty."
Madeline gently pulled away the errant strands from Nikita's face. Her touch felt as wispy as the hair.
"You can learn to shoot. You can learn to fight. But there's no weapon as powerful…"
Nikita touched her face, noting the etched lines deepened by years of struggle. The long hair that had once poured over her shoulders was cut short to above her collarbone. Her lovely cynical eyebrow, which she often lifted in judgment, now held a swollen gash. The bubble sweet pink lips, too often covered in sultry passion red, were now plump in a semi-purple bruise. Her bright sapphire eyes appeared to sink into the hollows of her face. The life that once was vibrant was drained from her, leaving the cold husk of her former self.
It finally happened, Nikita thought sadly. They finally got to your soul, too.
She drew in a breath and realized her injuries along her rib cage and down her sides. In the past, she could look forward to a few days in Recovery and some down-time meant to mentally calibrate her and give the semblance of care. Although the down time carried with it a mandatory psychological review, she could enjoy the remaining hours outside of the office creating a world she could accept apart from the nightmare her life had become.
Nikita painstakingly cleaned herself as much as her bruises would allow then returned to the bed. A black bag sat on the floor. Nikita considered it, recognizing it as a field bag packed with the usual standard equipment.
A field panel… Two spare clips… Black gloves… A universal credit card key for hacking accounts… A billfold containing several aliases…A collection of unmarked Direct Pay cards… Two burner phones… A change of clothing… Hair dye… Scissors… A Swiss Army knife…
Bubble gum…
Nikita pulled out a stick and studied the slim, sweet-smelling candy. It was her favorite kind. Strawberry. There wasn't a day spent at Section where she wasn't gnawing endlessly on the chewy confection enjoying how much the sound grated on Operations' nerves. Sometimes he would order her to spit out the gum only to become all the more annoyed at her more than purposeful direct obedience, firing the sticky wad right onto the Briefing table. She could feel Michael's tension each time she was openly defiant. She anticipated his summons to his office to discuss her attitude and precarious status.
"Don't think that anything you have done thus far will protect you from whatever they want to do with you," said Michael, his voice heavy with warning. "Try your best to conform."
"Is that what you do? Conform?" Nikita sneered.
"Yes," Michael said, his expression unchanged.
"I've never been one to do much conformism," said Nikita flippantly. She chewed her new stick especially loud, punctuating her point with a large, round bubble.
"You'll learn," said Michael.
"And if I don't?"
"You'll die."
Nikita huffed. "That again. Don't you all get tired of singing the same old song?" Nikita turned her gaze up towards Michael. "Don't you get tired of being their puppet? Do you even remember what it's like to think for yourself?"
Michael continued to look distantly into the space just behind her. She couldn't tell if he was thinking or if he was simply turned off for the moment. She sucked her teeth then blew out another bubble. Michael moved then, suddenly automated as he drew closer to where she sat in the chair. He extended his hand in expectation. Nikita pressed her lips together, resistant. Michael did not back away or change his position. He remained before her, hand extended, wordlessly imposing his will. Nikita bristled at the weight of his stare until finally relenting, pushing the gum out into his waiting palm…
The door rattled awake, drawing Nikita's attention. As the knob wobbled, Nikita raced back to the vanity sink and grabbed the gun. She pressed herself against the wall, keeping herself out of sight. The door opened with a groaning squeak.
"Damn that key. Who the hell uses keys anymore?"
A woman's voice echoed through the room, cursing again at the faulty door. Nikita listened intently, picking up the scent of passion florals and citrus intermingled with cinnamon. It was light and spicy, a fragrance she used to wear when she was younger and drawn to bright and lively aesthetics. The woman walked further into the room, seemingly ignorant of Nikita's presence as she fussed with two plastic bags heavy with takeout plates and drinks. She set the packages on the bed.
"Nikita? You in the shower?"
The woman turned.
Nikita stared, blinking hard as her mind struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. Her heat raced upon seeing herself, younger but still her image in profile. The woman turned and let out a sharp yelp seeing Nikita and the barrel of the gun leveled at her face.
"Jesus! Nikita, what the hell!"
"Who are you?" Nikita said in a lowered tone.
"Oh my God! You scared the shit out of me!"
"What are you doing here?"
"You were asleep, so I figured I'd go and get something to eat—Damn!"
"Who sent you?" Nikita took a step forward.
The woman frowned, confused. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Who are you?" Nikita's thumb pushed back the safety lever.
"What are you talking about, Nikita?"
"Who sent you?"
"I've been here with you this whole time. We were sent together by Section to take out al-Amin. Remember? We were both sent to kill a terrorist."
Nikita shook her head. Short memories of a lavish party and elegant dresses peppered her mind. The sound of glass breaking and radio static echoed in her ears.
Gunpowder…
The woman took a cautious step forward with her right hand raised in quiet defense.
"Do you not remember the mission? Remember me?"
A piercing ringing began in Nikita's left ear. Her heart sped faster, threatening to explode from her chest. Sweat sprouted across her forehead and wet under her arms. She shook as she tried to keep the gun steady.
"I don't…" Nikita began, but the words fell away quickly.
"Nikita…"
"Why do you look like me?" Nikita glared. She pushed back the slide on the gun and rushed forward forcing the girl back towards the bed.
Finding no more room to retreat, the woman fell backward onto the bed. She raised her hands in defense and screamed.
"Nikita! Calm down! Think!"
"The Operative is to assume that any information revealed under interrogation, no matter how insignificant, will result in the loss of innocent life."
Nikita shut her eyes tight and shook her head quickly, trying to dislodge the dizzying combination of memories criss-crossing in her mind. The girl on the bed looked like her, yet did not.
"I'm not in the habit of killing in cold blood."
"In this case, you might want to make an exception…"
Nikita looked down at the woman on the bed next to the two plastic bags containing takeout tray plates.
"In a manner of speaking, she possessed you… In body as well as mind…"
The girl looked like her, yet did not. There were a few defining details about her that Nikita slowly realized as she studied her. She mimicked her style, but also added points of flair that were clearly all her own. There was an artistry to her makeup and the design of clothing she chose bordered on eclectic, yet leaned more towards conservatism. She was not brazen or bawdy as a means to rebel against Section's constrained and monochrome uniform. She wasn't flashy or bombastic. She reminded Nikita of what Elizabeth might grow to become at that age.
"Your psyche profile suggests that by killing her, I can best exorcise her?"
"Yes.."
Nikita lowered the gun.
"Are we cool?" asked the girl.
Nikita nodded then took a step back.
The woman continued to lay back on the bed, hands raised in defense as she studied Nikita a few moments more. Slowly, she lowered her hands and sat up. She kept her eyes on Nikita and watched her move back against the vanity, setting the gun down on the counter.
"What happened? I leave you alone for a few hours so you can sleep in peace, then all of a sudden, you're about to blow my head off," the girl laughed nervously. "What's that all about?"
Nikita breathed out, trying to steady herself. The room spun sickeningly, pushing her further back against the counter. The woman rattled on about the market she went to get the food, the creepy vendor that sold her the plates… The odd looks she gathered as she shopped in the plaza…
"I didn't find anything that I could wear, I mean, nothing I might want to wear, but some of the dresses down there were kinda pretty so I thought we could…"
Nikita groaned. Noise filled her brain, sounding like the radio static from her Comm Unit. She gasped, trying to find her breath and words, but finding neither.
"Nikita?"
Nikita wavered.
Suddenly, the room began to close in as darkness filled the void until plunging her into an all encompassing blackness.
#
The Council members argued nervously about Nikita's message, threatening to bring down Section. Section Six and Four considered the threat nothing more than speculation, as the plausibility of Nikita's success in her threat was far below margins. Section Three opted to dismiss themselves from the meeting as they were presently handling another matter internally and agreed to leave the decisions up to the other Council members. Section Five appeared frozen in shock while Sections Eight and Nine sided with Section Two in the decision to pursue Nikita and erase her existence for good this time, so that she no longer posed any further threat.
"This is Section One's matter. They should be held accountable for this," Director Jules of Section Two said. "Had they taken care of Al-Amin's regime in the time frame given, we would not be facing an outside threat."
"Director Volker isn't an outside threat. She is one of our own," corrected Karvenkovich.
"All the more reason we need to make her capture and cancellation priority," said Director Jules. "She has access to Section's most secured databases. She can wipe us all off the map."
"She was allied with Adrian when she tried to dissolve Section. Why shouldn't we believe she isn't trying to complete that mission?" said the director of Section Eight.
"Although Director Volker was Section's Master File Custodian, her access has since been denied the second she removed herself as director and gave someone else command. Keys and encryptions immediately transferred to the new director," said Alex. "Unless given access, Nikita cannot enter any Section access points to retrieve personal data or extract information. Her credentials are now revoked and her accounts frozen. Even her child has been taken into protective custody until further decisions are made."
"What about Nikita's husband? Have we learned anything concerning his whereabouts and condition?" asked Section Nine.
"Agent Helmut Volker is still under investigation," said Alex. "We will assume he is among the dead from the plane crash."
"But, without his body, how can we be certain?" said Nine.
"We have enough intelligence to be confident in stating Agent Volker will not pose a threat to our operation."
"Who did Director Volker give command before leaving for Damascus?" asked the Director of Section Nine.
"Me," said Michael.
A resulting gasp and murmur spread among the gathered members. Michael looked down towards the table, not allowing the members to read his gaze. He listened intently, picking up on the side conversations between those gathered and their under breath whispers.
"Of course she would name him as the new Command," said Director Jules with a scoffing laugh. "The two of them are likely working together. I disagree with the selection. Agent Samuelle has shown he cannot be trusted. Especially when it involves her."
"I second that," said Section Eight.
"Should we forget his betrayal nearly a decade ago? He willingly defected and had Paul murdered. He has no loyalty to Section," said Director Jules.
The other members murmured in agreement.
"Agent Samuelle did indeed take a very risky course in his actions, but it was for a greater purpose," Alex extended.
Michael moved his eyes to Alex.
"The organization's head was involved in corrupt dealings with the Collective. They knew Phillip would never come out from hiding unless presented with a reason strong enough to expose him. Michael bargained his son to entice Phillip to uphold his personal integrity and prove his declaration to protect the truly innocent in front of his daughter."
"I move to strike Agent Samuelle's designation for command and vote to install a temporary head until a more suitable candidate can be found among us," said Director Jules.
"A suitable candidate has already been elected," said Alex.
"To be the director of Section, the candidate must show their absolute obedience and adherence to all Section protocols," said Section Nine. "Agent Samuelle has yet to prove himself."
"Michael, although he exhibited a perceived disloyalty to the Section, he has always worked within the Code of Conduct. His infractions can be overlooked given that his ends have always justified his means. I am sure I am not the first to point out that it may be necessary to bend the rules to get things done."
"A Class Five Field Leader can make adjustments to assignment parameters and it can be overlooked provided the mission meets its completion criteria. We do not have the same luxury. Because we deal directly with national security, we cannot make up our own rules of engagement to satisfy our own preferences," said Director Jules.
"I have been in service to the Section for nearly a decade," Michael spoke up, his tone sailing calmly over the rough waters of the Council. "I have carried a mission completion rate of 98.9 percent with a marginal factor of error of less than two percent. I have planned missions, directed assignments, trained agents, supervised team leads, designed weapons, improved efficiencies, and wrote into action several codes of conduct still being used to this day by many of your departments."
"Even at his age, when most other operatives are retired and deactivated, Agent Samuelle completed a highly dangerous extraction rescuing Director Volker with little to no resource or aid," Alex added.
"That mission was not approved by the council," Director Jules fired back. "If I recall, Agent Samuelle was brought in illegally to assist in an unsanctioned rescue to which he participated is the very reason he is even sitting in our presence today. His re-activation was as punishment for his insubordination."
"Agent Samuelle is a perfect example of the kind of operative any one of us would want leading our teams," said Section Six. "He is the reason why this organization has seen more success rates in his tenure than it has since its inception. Even Paul wanted to name him his successor."
"And Paul also plotted to cancel him," said Eight.
"Agent Samuelle is not worthy to be named Director!" Director Jules objected. "He is a defector and—"
"Enough!" said Karvenkovich, cutting Director Jules off before she could utter another word. "Director Samuelle will remain in office as head of Section One. He was given command by the former director and, in accordance with Section's Code of Secession. We are not to reverse his election unless shown irrevocable evidence of flagrant misconduct in his position. I trust Agent Shaw will support this decision and take full responsibility should Director Samuelle prove to be no better than his predecessor."
Alex nodded.
"I will also leave the matter of Nikita, her capture and disposal to Section One to handle internally. With Director Samuelle's intimate knowledge of Nikita and her habits, I'm confident a competent strategy will be advised the capture and resolve the matter in a quiet manner."
Once more, Alex nodded.
Michael turned to Karvenkovich and met his stare with an emotionless gaze.
"Let us move on to the other matters on the agenda," said Karvenkovich.
Although the matter was not completely resolved with the other opposing directors, they would not speak about their discontent. Karvenkovich continued his overview of global security and various contracts submitted to Section to carry out. Section Four was commissioned to work with Seven to manage ongoing conflict in the South American Region. Section Six was to continue surveillance of the North American Territories.
Section Eight was assigned to the Kurdish Conflict in Turkey.
Section Nine… Kenya.
Section Five… Mali.
Section Six… Central Asia.
Section Two…
"You will work with Section One to locate and bring into custody an international person of interest known only as Cirrus," said Karvenkovich. "I trust I can count on the two departments to work in tandem to find and diffuse this nuisance."
"With all due respect, Section Two does not need any assistance from One. They are already compromised and should concentrate on their internal catastrophe."
"Section One can provide whatever resources necessary to fulfill the contract obligations," said Michael. He turned to Director Jules. "I feel it best to allow Two to take the lead on this assignment. We will be available for support upon request."
Director Jules looked surprised by Michael's response. The old director's jaw slacked slightly, preparing to object but finding her words unnecessary. She stiffened, regaining herself and focused her attention on Karvenkovich and ignored Michael's very direct acknowledgment.
"Very well," said Karvenkovich. "We will reconvene at the close of the week to detail the measures taken, review your prepared schematics, and discuss any possible contingencies should initial parameters not meet mission requirements. This will be all."
The screens went dark ending the meeting.
"I will begin gathering reports on our available personnel and comprise a list of our unused inventory to submit to Director Jules," said Alex. She stood. "I will have the data compiled for your review by nine o'clock this evening."
"That won't be necessary," said Michael.
Alex paused and considered Michael. "We should at least submit a preliminary overview of our status."
"Director Jules will not request our assistance, therefore an overview will be unnecessary. We should not reveal any information pertaining to our status. It will only expose our weaknesses to those who might take advantage of the data. It will be better to only supply Two with the requested support and nothing more… We must protect Section One's assets as much as possible."
Alex smiled, then nodded. "Spoken as a true director."
Michael rose from his seat and started out of Conference. Alex followed and quickly caught up to his pace traveling side by side.
"On the matter of Nikita," Alex began. "I can compress a specialized task force to handle detection and ascertain any data pointing to her whereabouts. We can have her disposed of—"
"That won't be necessary," Michael said quickly.
"She has made a very serious threat against all the council members as well as the Head of Center. We should handle this expeditiously and with maximum repercussion."
"I will handle it on my own."
"I understand your feelings towards Nikita—"
Michael stopped. Alex, registering his sudden abrupt pause, also stopped moving down the hall then turned to face Michael.
"As director, you will have to make decisions that you may personally be against, but have to proceed because of the larger picture. We may not agree with what must be done, but it does not change the reasons why we must act in the manner that we must act. Paul understood this more than anyone having given up his family to keep them from being used as leverage to influence his actions."
"Paul gave up his family because he knew the man that he had become would not be someone they would recognize or know," said Michael. "It never changed the way he felt about his wife or his son. Most would say he became his most monstrous when he learned they were being directly threatened."
"Paul was a very complex man," said Alex, taking a step toward Michael. "He did things that many of us would question. However, he had a clear goal in mind and he moved toward that goal with strategic planning. He aimed to be Head of Section and let nothing stop him along his journey. I'm certain had he realized exactly what Nikita was, he would have eliminated her from his path long before she became a real threat."
"I've known Nikita for many years. I made it my assignment to learn everything that I could about her. I trained her. I taught her all that she knows. I made her what she is."
"That may be," said Alex. "But you and I both know, Nikita came to you under questionable pretenses. She wasn't what she said she was from the beginning. She fooled you then. What makes you believe she won't try and fool you again?"
#
The sense of being watched pervaded Nikita's senses, heightening awareness to its peak. She stilled herself, making sure she did not give even a twitch of consciousness as she tuned her ears to take in her surroundings and detect the smallest of indicators of the other's presence near her. She could smell the quiet scent of perfume lingering in the stale air. She felt the lumpy cushion of the mattress beneath her as well as the sweltering heat funneling through the opened window.
She was in a hotel room by the muffled sounds of the guests next door arguing in Arabic about a television show having been turned in favor of the local news.
A ceiling fan hummed above.
The other person remained just as still as she lay, matching her determination to remain motionless.
A cell phone buzzed awake, drawing both their attention.
The other woman hesitated answering before finally being drawn to the insistent buzzing. Nikita felt the bed move as the woman pulled herself off the bed and crossed the floor to find the phone.
"Hello?… Yeah… We're still here…. No… When I came in, she damn near shot me in the face… She acted like she didn't know me. She kept asking me who I was and who sent me… No, I only gave her the first dose… Sure…"
Nikita focused more, hoping to possibly pick up on the mumbled noise of the person on the other end of the line. The humming of the fan impeded her ability to listen to the other side of the conversation. She slowly peaked open an eye and saw the hazy view of the tall blonde standing by the vanity.
"I'll report in for debriefing in twelve hours, give or take a few minutes to finish up here… I'll need coordinates to the extraction point. I'm still inside the city perimeter's hot zone, so I'll need Convenience… No, no. I have a discardable babysitter… If I get caught, he can take the heat… Just don't forget to send the paroles over… Fine."
The blonde turned to Nikita and released a weighted sigh. She snapped the phone shut and walked purposefully over to the bed. In an instant, she whipped a hand across Nikita's face, waking her completely and collapsing the ruse.
"I know you're awake, Nikita. Get up."
Nikita glared back, already prepared to retaliate. The blonde moved back from the bed and grabbed another black bag from the small luggage closet. She tossed the bag on to the bed.
"What's this?"
"Trent told me you might have some problems reconciling things. After yesterday, you weren't exactly firing on all cylinders after we left Al-Amin's compound. He had me prep a Bug Out Bag with some very specific items."
"Yesterday?" Nikita frowned, unsure if she knew what the blonde was saying was true. She barely remembered anything about yesterday, or the events leading up to her being in the hotel room.
"He told me that if you appeared disoriented or began acting hostile, I should inject you with a stabilizing serum that would help you regain control of your memories and cognitive thinking. There are a few extra vials in the bag. It's a quick fix, certainly not to be used long term, but it's all I can offer you right now until we get back home."
"Home?"
The blonde stepped forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reached for Nikita's hand and touched her tenderly.
"When you first met me, I led you to believe I was a recruit just graduated from the Farm. I came with Alex as a volunteer for this mission. I was told I would get to meet you, but I had to follow along with whatever Alex needed me to do, even if it meant sabotaging you."
"So you're not…"
"I am named Katya Russo. That much is true. I trained with your profile as my initial schedule, but it was augmented to include several other profiles to make me a more well-rounded operative. There are a lot of things from my past that I don't quite remember, but… I think the reason for that was because I was never allowed outside of Section. I wasn't picked up off the street like you. I was born there."
Nikita's eyes widened.
"So you really do live in Section. Madeline showed me your file. Except for the van, seems you haven't been outside Section in seven years. That's not healthy."
"You killed a cop in cold blood. Don't tell me what's healthy," Birkoff scoffed.
Nikita shut her eyes tight. Images flashed in her thoughts, stabbing light into the back of her eyes.
"Birkoff, how do they find someone like Jerome?"
"They don't. They create him."
Nikita frowned, trying to piece it all together. "You mean he was a normal kid?"
"I highly doubt it," said Birkoff, shaking aside the idea that Jerome could have ever been normal. "Kids like Jerome are given a series of tests. If their numbers are high enough, they're put into the program."
Katya stood and walked back towards the vanity. She opened the closet and pulled down a smaller satchel from the upper shelving.
"A lot of us were bred at Section," Katya was saying as she worked through the satchel. "We were a part of a specialized unit begun first under George, but, after he suddenly abandoned the project, Madeline took things over. She kept us all in Section at first, studying and training us… Designing our skills so that we could outperform any of the existing top operatives Section had on its roster. The last thing that was needed was the memory database extracted from various hand-picked agents."
"The Neuro Scrape…"
Katya stopped a moment and looked up. "What's a neuro scrape?"
Nikita breathed out slowly, attempting to bring back her colliding thoughts and bring them back under submission. Her fingers pawed aimlessly over the compact panel device discreetly packed within her B.O.B.
"It was a device George used to extract our memories and knowledge… Our training and turn it into a synthesized injectable serum which he could then use to program operatives. It was like a quick fix to a two-year problem."
A look passed across Katya's face as she absorbed Nikita's words. After a moment of complete stillness, she resumed her rummaging through the bag.
"How did they train you?" Nikita sat up a little more. She was no longer interested in the bag.
"What do you mean?" Katya did not turn around.
"You said you were raised at Section and trained from my profile. You analyzed every mission, studied each maneuver… Documented my successes… and failures."
"Yes."
"So you had to know there was a procedure performed on me towards the end. A procedure that would have made anything that you studied up to that point obsolete, because, according to Section's Performance Archives, my numbers increased only after I underwent the Gelman Process." Nikita slowly moved off the bed. "So, I ask again. How were you trained? What profile did Section use to construct your specific schedule?"
"I told you. Your profile was used as more of a skeleton. The rest of the training came from other operatives chosen by George and Madeline when she took over the program."
"And when Madeline died, who took over the program then? Who brought you to completion?"
Katya turned around. "You did."
"How? There's only one me."
A slight grin surfaced on Katya's face. "Oh Nikita… There's so much you don't know about Section… So much more you need to find out. But the only way you're gonna know the truth, you're gonna have to start from the beginning."
"What beginning?"
"When you first entered the Section."
Nikita frowned, trying to recall the day she found herself at Section. She could remember the hard metal gurney she lay upon. The tight leather straps around her wrists retraining her… The echoes of her screams against the stark white walls…
Katya took a step forward.
"Not when you met Michael, Nikita. Before then," said Katya.
Nikita tried to remember what was before that moment, but couldn't. All that she could see was darkness.
All she could feel were walls pressed in close to her.
Smell earth…
Taste her breath coming back at her…
Wet heat…
"You have to start where it all ended and finish what you began all those years ago."
Katya opened Nikita's hand and pressed a small, round object into her palm. Nikita looked at the device, recognizing it, yet was not quite able to place where she knew it from.
"It's time, Nikita…"
"Time for what?"
Before Nikita could stop the motion, Katya swiftly pulled out a quick injector syringe and delivered the serum into Nikita's right arm.
"For you to die… Again…"
