EPISODE 5: EVADE
Trent moved from his seat to the gate. He checked his mobile phone again, using a satellite locator bracelet. The signal continued to show her stationary in one location.
Trent frowned at the result.
Nikita rarely stayed in one spot while awake. It would be unlikely for her to stay put and wait for Section to descend on her. She left the bracelet behind and went dark.
Completely dark.
There was still the locator on the mask.
Trent thought for a moment.
The line for the gate extended into the terminal as passengers moved through to their destinations. Trent stopped to check the location link on his laptop. He could easily know where Nikita was if it was in use.
Provided Nikita was the one wearing the mask…
A device like that could cause serious problems if left in the wrong hands…
Trent thought a moment before accessing the application for the mask's location beacon.
Can you imagine if someone wanted to use it to sneak up on someone else and kill them? You could frame anybody…
Trent looked around at the passengers crowding around him. The swarm of dark-clad women with only their eyes peeking from beneath their black hijabs suddenly became threatening. Trent's mind worked to dispel his fears of one of them being an assassin.
There isn't some code or fail-safe that prevents you from programming someone's face on it and disguising yourself to look like someone else…
A woman brushed past him as she moved into her place in line.
A device like that could be really scary if someone without morals gets their hands on it…
Trent closed the laptop.
If Nikita wore the mask, she would know how to keep it out of the wrong hands. She would take care of it so that no one else could get their hands on the technology. She was trained to do it.
What they were all trained to do.
No matter what the circumstance, protect Section assets with your life.
Trent knew this before he comprehended anything else during his Grunt days with Section. His depleting squad gave their lives to either complete a Section objective or protect something Section held a chief interest in. In the end, he often wondered if his friends' sacrifices were worth what was gained.
Did Section care about sending so many to slaughter for a nano-byte of data?
Trent adjusted his hoodie to hide his face as he waited in line. There was no need to think about it anymore. He was leaving Section for good. There was no escaping Section he was told. The only way out was through a body bag. If lucky, or cursed for eternity, it could be a lifelong sentence. He supposed he chose the cursed path, as he lasted far longer than most of the recruited team he came in with. There was no mourning for the people who found their release through a bullet or an explosion. He knew he and Jasmine were the only ones left when he saw their names on the cancellation report. Maybe it was because they were fortunate to be left at Section One with Nikita while the others were split into the other divisions. Nikita always made it a priority to ensure each operative returned to fight another day. She did not want to take high-risk assignments if unnecessary. She fought for their right to live.
She believed in them as people, not as commodities.
"Out of all the senior officers at Section, Nikita is the only one that I can truly say sees me for who I am as a person, not just as an operative," Jasmine said.
The two reflected on the turnover from Operations to Nikita as Director of Section in the Ready Room. Jasmine pulled on her vest and twisted a hair tie into her long black ponytail. Trent zipped up his tactical vest and checked the pockets to be sure all of his gadgets had a spot to rest before they left for Transport. Jasmine gave Trent a wry grin.
"She'd be the only one that would allow you to bring along unauthorized toys with you on missions," she pointed out.
Trent nodded. "But they aren't toys. They are inventions that could help us tidy up this excursion faster and get us. I just have to test them in a real-life scenario is all."
"Which is exactly why I think you lucked out on the draw. Try that shit anywhere else and they'd have you canned for insubordination."
"You make it sound like I'm in danger of getting fired," Trent scoffed. "If it works, I'm golden and probably won't see the field for a few months while testing and perfecting this thing."
Trent pulled out a small pen-like object from one of his vest pockets. He pressed a button on the side and a narrow blue beam stabbed into the air. Trent looked at his creation with both admiration and pride.
"What's it called?" Jasmine looked at the pen, admiring its sleek design and mysterious application.
"Haven't given it a name yet, but it's a laser."
"What's it do?"
"It's like a surgical knife, only cleaner. Can cut through just about anything. Maybe even metal. I've tested on a few materials, but…"
Jasmine grasped Trent's shoulder and gave him a reassuring shove.
"Nothing like real-world testing."
Trent snapped off the laser. "Exactly!"
Jasmine was right about Trent being fortunate.
Any other director would have thrown him into Containment and questioned his motives for creating such devices noncommissioned. He supposed after Birkoff's failed science project that nearly decimated all of Section, caution of the highest degree was taken for any inventions made without close supervision. Nikita too often left her chief scientists and tech inventors alone with their thoughts and allowed them free reign to come up with wild ideas and solutions. Nikita wanted to make it easier for operatives to complete their assignments.
"If I don't first ensure they return alive, why design a program that allows operatives to live a full life outside Section? There has to be a better way."
Nikita stared in hard defiance at the hologram screens of the Head Council. She looked like a white flame against the subdued digital heads. Trent remembered being very proud at that moment, knowing she was only speaking what others wouldn't dare. She was not the only one who disagreed with the careless expense of lives. She was the only director bold enough to make a stand.
Trent sighed.
The last few days of events seemed like a nightmarish dream he couldn't wake from. Every moment brought new anxiety like a carnivorous worm burrowing its way into his brain. The shielded faces of watchful women and wary Arabic men did not make Trent feel any better about being so obscenely different. Even with his hoodie covering much of his appearance, his imposing stature and telltale gait told on him even more than if he simply walked about in the airport with nothing on.
Jasmine followed the hooded man as he made his way toward the terminal gate. His profile was unmistakable. She knew who it was. But how could it be? She heard the reported deaths of Trent and Katya. They didn't make it out of the fire after the air strike. Section was involved in the assassination. Alex sent a Sanitation Team to remove their footprints from the scene. Only Nikita remained unaccounted for during the blast. Trent lay next to the Transport Van.
Dead.
"There can be no recovery," Alex said, when Jasmine came to confirm the news. The way Alex looked at her made Jasmine cringe.
Alex felt too much like her sister. There wasn't much difference between them. They might as well have been the same person. Only one had dark brown hair and Alex did not. Her hair appeared more honey blonde and sometimes strawberry, depending on the light. She was the lighter sister, supposedly the 'good' side of Madeline. From what Jasmine could tell, she wasn't much different except for minor details in her appearance and demeanor. Instead of being cold and mechanical, Alex was more fluid and deceptively warm. Like a venus flytrap, she lured with sweet words and comforting eyes that gazed into one's soul and seduced rather than repelled. Her calmness made her more appealing and gave the agents within Section the idea she would be a much better choice as a leader compared to their previous directors. Jasmine could see the allure. Compared to Nikita and now Michael, Alexandra Shaw was a welcomed breath of the cohesive competence Section One was used to following. She was exact and decisive, never wavering with her objectives and dismissive of outlying factors that neither impaired nor contributed to the successful completion of a mission. She was Madeline with a touch of Operations and a sprinkling of humanity to lighten the pallet and allow her dose of placating medicine to go down a lot easier. Although Jasmine found Alex much easier to digest, it still did not remove her disdain once given the order to find, detain, and erase Nikita… And anyone working with her.
That included the now-alive Trent Hammond.
Jasmine pushed forward, keeping her eyes on the tall man in front of her. She watched as he paused, checking his laptop before looking up to scan over the sea of covered faces. His eyes landed squarely on her and stayed with her in frozen realization. She knew he saw her. She could feel the heat coming up from her collar and coloring her cheekbones as their eyes met. Within paces, she was next to him, staring up into his warm, dark brown eyes.
He smiled.
"What brings you out this way?"
Trent's casual greeting gave Jasmine pause. She frowned, then repositioned herself, propping her fists on her hips.
"I could ask the same for you. Trent, what are you doing here? How are you here?"
It was Trent's turn to frown. "What do you mean, what am I doing here? I'm trying to catch a flight home. Isn't it obvious?"
"What's obvious is you're not supposed to be here," said Jasmine. She looked around warily, scanning the crowd for her team members. "You're not supposed to be anywhere. You're dead!"
"Come again?"
Jasmine took a step closer. "We all heard it over the Comms. You blew up in Damascus during the Al-Amin compound raid. We even saw it on the Visuals. We saw you burn."
Trent's confused expression did not change. Jasmine wondered if she was speaking with Trent or if he was some sort of hallucination brought upon suddenly by too much time spent in the Egyptian sun. She looked again out into the crowd, wondering if when she returned, the image of Trent would then disappear and she would then find herself speaking to a pillar in the terminal. She hoped this wasn't the case, although realizing she was slowly going out of her mind put the rest of the events leading up to the moment in more understanding. If she could rationalize the orders given by Alex and authorized by Michael to hunt down and kill Nikita was all just a fevered dream, she could find solace in the dissolve of her mind. At least then, she would not have to be responsible for whatever actions she took. It was all because of a demented psyche gone too long undiagnosed.
"Was my death confirmed?" Trent asked.
Jasmine returned to Trent, disappointed he wasn't a pillar. "The Sweep Team said the body found next to the Transport Van was you, although they couldn't definitively say it was you. The explosion took out you and most of the buildings. There wasn't much left to identify."
Trent nodded.
Jasmine sighed, realizing she would not wake from her nightmare. "So… If the body the Sweep Team found wasn't you, who was it?"
Trent looked over the crowd of people, suddenly realizing the reason Jasmine was in the terminal. She could tell he was scanning his surroundings, studying faces, and checking who might be doing more than waiting for their flight.
"During the mission, some men were sent into the party to assassinate me, Katya and Nikita," said Trent, still searching the crowd. "Nikita spotted her assassin first and warned me of mine. I'm not sure if they got to Katya. Al-Amin's men took her away before everything went down."
"So you don't know if Nikita is alive or dead, do you?"
"I think she is alive," said Trent. "We lost touch after the compound was attacked. I haven't seen or heard from anyone." Trent turned to Jasmine. "I suppose you are here for Section."
Jasmine smirked. "What gave you the first clue?
"Well," Trent breathed out. "Wearing all black in a hundred-degree heat isn't exactly the first choice of attire I would make. Plus, Cairo isn't on anyone's vacation destination list right now. There is chaos in the streets. Everyone here is trying to get out, not come in."
Jasmine nodded. "You're right about me being here for Section."
"Hunting a target?"
"You could say that. We are looking for someone deemed Priority."
"That's pretty intense. They only give Priority missions to Special Teams. Have I been gone so long that you've already ranked up?"
"Alex wanted me to lead the assignment because she thought I had the most experience with the target. I can make better predictions of where to find them."
Trent folded his arms and rested on his heels. His eyes landed squarely on Jasmine, raising her awareness a few notches. She lifted an eyebrow in response.
"Am I the target?"
Jasmine gave a small smile again. She missed Trent's matter-of-fact manners and his too knowing smile. She mostly missed how often he teased and irritated Quinn while they worked on missions together. Now they were both missing from Section and their absence was more than noticeable.
"You can't be the target. You're supposed to be dead, remember?"
"Then who are you hunting?"
Just then, Jasmine's Comm Unit came to life in her ear. The garbled voice on the other end spat out a sentence alerting Jasmine about a woman found duct taped in the back handicapped stall in the ladies' restroom. Airport security was in the restroom speaking with the woman. Jasmine listened to the rest of the message, then looked back out into the crowd.
"Your team found something, didn't they?" Trent interpreted.
"A woman tied up in the bathroom," Jasmine said, somewhat absently. "Airport Security is investigating…"
"Might be your target."
"No… Can't be. Our target wouldn't allow herself to be…" Jasmine turned back to Trent, her eyes widening. "Trent! If they find you, they will make sure you are dead and stay dead."
A sharp flash of shock crossed Trent's face. "Why? I'm dead according to Section's records. I'm not a factor anymore. Why would they come after me now?"
"Because," said Jasmine. "The body was never confirmed that it was you. It was only assumed since you were the only person scanned in the area at the time of the explosion. There weren't any other people around. If they find you here, they will kill you to make sure you don't try to leak any information. You're a walking security breach."
"Just let me go," said Trent. "You don't have to tell them you saw me. I will disappear like a fart in the wind. Hell, this place smells like cheese already. I won't be noticed."
More sounds rattled out of the Comm Unit. The woman found in the restroom was a flight attendant. She said her name was Carol Bonaventure… From Bridgeport, Connecticut…
I'm from Connecticut… America…
Jasmine's eyes widened. She pressed the button on the Comm Unit in her ear. "The target is in the building. Likely posing as the flight attendant Bonaventure. She's wearing a blue and white uniform for British Airways."
More crackling responded with a team member confirming the search. Jasmine returned to Trent, this time, finding him moving several people away and about to board the airplane. A ticket officer received passenger tickets, checked their boarding passes, and ushered them into the tunnel connecting the terminal to the waiting plane. Trent handed over a forged ticket to the officer.
"Trent! Stop! You can't leave," called Jasmine. She pushed her way through the line of passengers who in turn responded with angry objections. "Trent. You can't get on that flight. You know you can't."
"I can't stay here, either. If I do, you said it yourself, I'm good as dead. Let me go. I'm already canceled. Just let me stay canceled."
"I can't do that, Trent. I know you're alive. And soon, they will, too."
"Not unless you report it."
"I'm being recorded now! You know that. They probably have been listening to me this entire time. They know you're alive now. If you run, they will hunt you down and kill you. Don't get on that plane, Trent. Come back with me. I'll explain everything."
The Ticket Officer stared at Trent warily before handing him his ticket. He made a gesture to move along into the connecting tunnel. Trent frowned, deciding quickly then turned towards the gate.
"Trent! Come back with me. I can vouch for you. I will tell them you turned yourself in voluntarily, that you got separated and couldn't get back on your own. I can tell them you were trying to return."
"We both know that is a lie," said Trent. "And if they are recording you right now, they will know that whatever you say will not be the truth. If I go back with you, I'll just be counting the minutes until my execution."
"It's not the way you think it is there, Trent. Michael is Director now. He wouldn't—"
"Michael is just a Manchurian puppet for the Council. He's only in his position because Nikita put him there to ensure nothing happened to their kids and to keep Section regulated. But Michael has been out of Section too long already. They won't keep him in his seat for long. You know that. Michael might be Director, but it's Karvenkovich that's controlling everything."
Jasmine shook her head, not wanting to believe Trent, but knowing he was right. Michael was barely present at any of the briefings. It was Alex who did all the talking, giving the orders, and coordinating the missions. It was Alex that conducted the inquiry into Trent's death and assembled the Special Teams force to hunt down Nikita. It was Alex who was given protecting Section, not Michael. He seemed to work only as a consultant to give insight into what Nikita may try or her whereabouts.
Another message came across the Comm Unit informing Jasmine that the Pilot's Lounge was being searched.
"Trent. Come back with me. There isn't another way out of this. If the S&R Team finds you, they have instruction and clearance to eliminate you on sight. Anyone that is found aiding the target in any way is to be erased."
"The target is Nikita, isn't it," said Trent.
"Yes. We tracked her down here and we believe she has stolen someone's identity to get on a flight back to Europe. We are instructed to intercept her before she gets that far. Trent, if you come with me voluntarily, I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure nothing happens to you."
Trent smirked at this. "Jasmine, you know you can't make that kind of promise. As gracious as that offer is, I'm going to have to respectfully decline."
Trent turned around and started towards the gate.
"Where are you going to go? You can't hide. You know we will find you, no matter where you go."
Trent stopped. "If Michael can fall off the grid and disappear for seven years, I'm pretty sure I can too. You guys didn't even know I was alive until you happened to run across me. I won't make the same mistake next time."
"Trent, don't make me do this…"
Trent moved further towards the gate. Jasmine followed after Trent, watching his back as he stepped inside the connecting tunnel.
"Trent! Stop!"
Jasmine pulled her gun and aimed it at Trent's back.
Immediately, the ticket officer grabbed his radio and called for airport security.
Trent turned to face Jasmine. "You're not gonna shoot an old friend, Jazz. That's not your style."
Jasmine stepped closer, keeping her gun aimed true.
"I don't wanna do this, Trent."
"Then don't. "
"You know I have to. I can't let you get on that plane."
"You're not letting me do anything. I'm just getting on that plane." Trent's dark eyes suddenly became even darker as he steadied himself against Jasmine.
Jasmine shook her head. "It doesn't have to be this way."
"But it is."
"Trent—!"
Before Jasmine could make a move, Trent rushed at her.
Nikita noticed a sudden change in the room's atmosphere.
Two airport security officers entered the lounge. One approached a flight attendant and showed her a picture. Nikita got up from the couch and moved to the far end of the lounge. After finishing with the flight attendant, the officers went to another person to ask about the picture. Nikita moved closer to the exit while the men talked to the flight attendant.
The sound of a gunshot echoed inside the terminal, drawing everyone's attention. Nikita stopped near the door and pivoted to a computer bank stationed along the wall. The report of a shooter inside the terminal came over the radio as the security officers responded. The two officers ceased their search and ran out of the lounge. Nikita pulled out the phone device and turned off the mask application. The digital image of the flight attendant tied up in the ladies' restroom dissolved, leaving the thin film grid affixed to Nikita's face. She peeled off the mask and tucked it carefully inside the interior breast pocket of the uniform. Another flight attendant came close to Nikita and stared out towards the exit doors, unaware of Nikita's presence right next to her. She was a young Asian woman wearing a smart powder blue uniform with yellow piping down the sleeve and outlining the collar. Her black hair was cut into a simple symmetrical bob framing her round cherub face. Another shot caused her to jump nervously.
Nikita moved back from the computer, drawing the young attendant's attention. She stared, doe-eyed, at Nikita and looked almost as though she were about to burst into tears right then. Behind them, more flight staff raced about the lounge, suddenly set into motion by the sound of the gun. Questions in a myriad of languages filled the room, panicking some while others switched their thoughts from their flights to escape. The flight attendant next to Nikita began pouring out questions in Mandarin. Nikita could not follow the woman's stream of anxious rambling. Although she was proficient in many languages, Mandarin was not one of them. She was taught mostly romance languages, picking up a few lessons in Arabic and Slavic, due to frequent assignments scheduled in those areas. The Asian woman continued to speak to her as if she knew Nikita could understand her. Nikita shook her head and gave a sympathetic look.
"It's going to be okay. You take cover," Nikita answered in French, hoping the young attendant could understand her.
The attendant continued to look frightened, but shook her head despite the fear in her eyes. She turned back inside the lounge and hurried towards the back with the rest of the airline staff. Nikita went towards the door. Another flight attendant, this one Arabic, pulled her back into the room.
"We must stay inside here," said the attendant. "We can't go out while there is an active shooter in the building."
"But what if someone is hurt? Shouldn't we try to help them?"
The attendant shook her head. "The best thing is for us to stay out of harm's way. Let the airport security handle the shooter."
Nikita looked back at the door.
There were too many people inside the terminal. Already she could hear screams of women racing towards the exits. Outside the lounge doors, the airport was in chaos. Nikita grasped the handle and pulled.
It wouldn't budge.
The doors to the elevator held fast despite her pounding against them.
She pulled the fire alarm.
The doors slid open.
A tumble of men and women toppled onto the linoleum floor. All were coughing, choking. Their eyes were red from the gas bomb ignited within their midst. One man pulled her down with him to the floor, hacking blood and spit into her face.
Nikita screamed, seeing the life drain from the man's eyes.
Suddenly, she felt herself being yanked upward and thrown against the stone wall of the bank. Michael glared at her from behind the window of his gas mask.
"Theres nothing we can do," he yelled. "Focus!"
Nikita blinked.
The doors to the lounge reappeared. She tugged again and found them unlocked, releasing her from the lounge. Behind her, a chorus of attendants begged her not to go out into the fray, to close the door, but Nikita wouldn't listen.
She couldn't.
The shots fired inside the terminal came from one gate further down. Already, a mass of passengers were racing towards the exits, crushing one another in their attempt to save themselves. Nikita looked to the side wall and noticed an emergency panel.
A fire alarm.
Airport security ran past her towards the gate.
Nikita went to the alarm and pulled it. A loud noise blasted over the loudspeakers inside the terminal, awakening the rest of the airport to the trouble at the gate. A voice began speaking instructions directing passengers towards the exits. More security took action, opening emergency doors to allow passengers to safely exit the airport without further injuring themselves. Behind her, the rest of the staff poured out of the lounge and mixed in with the passengers being led out of the terminal. Nikita joined the crowd, staying with the blue suits of her flight staff. As they passed a side hall leading to personnel rooms, Nikita broke away and raced through the authorized personnel only door.
Until the threat was contained, the airport would be shut down. All flights not already out into the taxi lanes would also be grounded. Flight crews would be rounded up and accounted for. Depending on the threat, they would also likely be searched through security to make sure they were not involved directly or indirectly with the attack. There would be no flights heading out of the airport that night. She had to find another way home.
Nikita opened the Comm Unit and pressed a side button to send a message back to the previous communication.
AIRPORT COMPROMISED. NO FLIGHTS OUT. NEED MORE TIME TO RECONFIGURE. CONFIRM.
The message send indicator flickered red, then yellow, before turning green. A moment later, a response showed on the Comm Unit.
REROUTING CONTINGENCY B. STANDY…
Contingency B?
Nikita furrowed her brow. She had not heard of the protocol. Most Contingencies were given numbers, not letters. It was unlikely that protocols were changed since the time she left from Section. However, she could not put aside the fact she was no longer acting as the director of Section One anymore. Michael was now director, but even he was not senior enough to create new protocols in such short timing…
Michael…
Nikita wondered what he was doing at that very moment. Was he standing over the mission boards worrying about what would happen if she were found? Did he give the order to search for her after she made her declaration to the Council? Did he wonder why she did not tell him about her plan to take down all of Section? It was certain he knew she was planning something, otherwise, there would not have been any need to give her the Master Files from Section's vaults. He told her to keep them safe… For leverage.
At first, she thought he gave them to her to keep the Council from voting her out, but soon realized this could not have been the reason. The files would not have been any use to her if she were killed in action during a suicide mission. What leverage would she have gained with a bullet in her brain? The Master Files were still encrypted, which would not have made any difference in having them if she could not decode them. Michael went through great pains to give her the files and impressed the necessity for her to keep them safe, as she would need them later. With most things implied by Michael's cryptic words, there was much more that he was saying than what was initially heard. Could it be that her plan to eliminate the Council was not really her plan at all, but something Michael seeded within her, knowing it would take root and blossom later?
Nikita shook her head.
It was enough that her thoughts betrayed her often, remembering things that she never experienced. Birkoff's ghost continued to haunt her dreams, pulling out images and displaying them in her mind, daring her to see and feel what he felt and witnessed beyond what she would have known as herself. She never knew the young Einstein was so tortured and abused by Section keeping him locked away deep within its bowels like an experimental rat. Madeline toyed with his emotions, making him feel both frightened and aroused by her sadistic means. Others treated Birkoff as if he were a nerdy kid that knew nothing more than his computers and his science projects. They never suspected Birkoff of compiling information about each operative, their secreted deals and misbehaviors not readily caught by surveillance. Birkoff reported his findings directly to Madeline, allowing her to prescribe their particular demises according to their updated profiles. There were moments that Birkoff witnessed between Nikita and Michael that, thankfully, were not reported. Nikita did not know that Birkoff often spied on them when they ducked off to Level 4 to have some privacy. The emotions conjured viewing the two together made Nikita understand why the young Communications Officer seemed more irritable than usual. He barely spoke a word to Michael and did not joke as much with her as he once did when she was first recruited. She mistook Birkoff's silence as being shy, when in reality, he was brewing a horrible discontent towards Michael mainly, blaming him as the reason Nikita could not explore other options in Section. Birkoff was a few years younger than Nikita, but not young enough to be considered a child, whereas Michael was older and far more experienced with women and with the ways of Section. He had the double advantage of knowing how to manipulate women to fall fast for him, along with being her direct supervisor. She was his material, a term Birkoff held with disdain as it insinuated Nikita being property rather than a person. Birkoff never considered her material, nor did he think too quickly to believe Nikita had no choice in who she desired. He knew he was no match for Michael.
Not many were.
It amused him, Nikita learned, to see Michael struggle each time another suitor dared to challenge his authority over her. He guarded her jealously, becoming all the more wretched in his clandestine pursuit to win Nikita's attention back whenever he suspected her head turning. She was surprised to know Michael came to Birkoff requesting surveillance data be sent directly to him whenever she was assigned a Honey Trap Mission. She was pretty certain Michael had no idea of Birkoff's restraint and growing contempt as he performed whatever action asked and yet did not report any of it to Operations or Madeline.
Perhaps he knew that in doing so, it would not only get Michael in trouble with the deadly duo but also Nikita, an innocent bystander in his regard. Nikita could not be held responsible for Michael's manipulations, whether they be for his benefit or that of Section's. She was his material, after all. And there could be nothing said against her owner, as she was his to do with as he pleased.
Nikita moved further down the hall, following the location signs leading to the airport's unclaimed luggage locker. She had to find another disguise, and fast. The flight attendant she mimicked was identified, causing the airport security to search for her. Compounding issues, Jasmine and a team of Section operatives were also in the area, searching for a target. Running into the young operative was by happenstance, but it did not make her situation any easier. If they knew she was there, mission protocol dictated that higher threats be given priority to the primary objective. She was certain she was now Enemy #1, according to the Head Council in Section. If they weren't serious about eliminating her before, they were definitely focused on her now.
"Trent!"
Jasmine pulled the trigger.
Trent narrowly missed the shot as he lunged towards Jasmine. The Ticket Officer yelled into his radio for backup.
Trent sidestepped Jasmine as she lay on the floor and sprinted through the stunned crowd. Jasmine yelled for him to stop or she would shoot him. A second later, another pop exploded the air, whizzed past him and lodged itself into a nearby column. Airport security emerged from almost every corner of the terminal. The noise of the gunshots erupted a panicked stampede towards the exits. Trent felt himself both running and being almost carried through the crowd as the wave of passengers rolled forward in a chaotic torrent toward the doors.
Airport security drew their weapons as they appeared in front of Trent.
"Tawaquf!"
Trent plowed through the river of running passengers on his right side. Trent evaded a small squad of security guards temporarily stalled by the crowd. Trent raced down a moving conveyer path and hopped over a divider to cross to another level inside the terminal. Behind him, security and three black-coat operatives funneled through the crowd after him.
Suddenly, a loud fire alarm blared over the loudspeakers. Red lights flashed, drawing the attention of the lower-level passengers. Some stood in place, confused. Others looked with concern as they turned to the ticket officers to inquire about the noise and lights. Airport staff took action immediately, directing passengers towards exits and moving them away from the boarding gates. Some people attempted to board the planes anyway, only to be stopped by the officers. Arguments sprouted at the gates.
A woman yelled angrily at a baggage check agent.
Those just entering the airport paused, uncertain of what to do. A slow gathering of passengers made their way toward anywhere they considered safe. Trent threw on his hoodie and moved in with a mingled group of tourists dressed similarly to him. He watched as security juggled the need to calm worried passengers and direct them out of the area and diffuse angered guests.
Trent looked at his watch.
No plane would be leaving.
The airport would be shut down, which meant he would have to find another way back home. He looked around and did not see any black coats. He ducked into a restroom and went into the third stall. He pulled out his laptop from his satchel and quickly accessed the airport security cameras. Much of the terminal was congested with guests moving towards the exits. He spotted several black coats milling through the crowd, searching for him. Jasmine came into view, standing on the same level as where he was hiding. She appeared to be looking directly at him through the cameras. Trent frowned in confusion before realizing his position was being triangulated using a signal conversion detector tracking the transmission feed from the security system to his computer.
"You dolt, you forgot to put up a block," Trent chastised himself.
He quickly slammed the computer shut, being sure to cut the power so that he was offline and unable to be tracked that way. He tossed the computer back into his satchel and left the stall. He looked around the bathroom, searching for a vent. The only one he could find was too small to fit his body. He would have to go back out into the terminal and hopefully slip past Jasmine and her crew. With any luck, he could hide within the crowd and slip out of the terminal. Whoever pulled the fire alarm did him a favor, providing a means of escaping the Strike Team.
The passengers moved down another deck, heading for what appeared to be the lower garage area of the airport. Trent wanted to turn and see if he was being followed, but dared not expose his face.
Keep your eyes forward, head down.
Don't think. Just move.
If they run, you run.
If they stop, you stop.
Don't isolate yourself. Move with the rest.
Blend.
Easy for his mentor to say, Trent thought as he walked. He wasn't tall, black, with a winning smile. There wasn't much that Trent could do to not stand out. He was too recognizable. It was why he was never chosen for Daylight Hours. Dark missions were his preference. The night hid him well, all clad in black and appearing just as void as the shadows he stalked within. In the bright background of the airport, with its many semi-brown, tan, and cream-colored patrons, he knew he wouldn't remain hidden long. Eventually, he would be seen by someone.
"Stop! You are under arrest!"
Trent stopped, but only for a moment. He took a few more steps forward before hearing the man behind him repeat the order. He heard him add to someone else on the radio that he had the target in sight and gave his position.
Trent knew this was not airport Security.
He turned and looked at the black clad agent. Passengers backed away as the agent aimed his gun. Trent recognized the stone haired Frenchman. He felt it ironic to have the agent corner him, seeing as he could never catch up to Trent before.
"Sebastian. Fancy seeing you here," said Trent.
"I could say the same for you," said Sebastian, keeping his aim steady. "You're not supposed to be here. You're not supposed to be anywhere. You're dead."
"Yeah, I know. Jasmine told me," said Trent.
"Let's make this real simple. You come with me, and I won't have to drop you in front of all these good people. Sound good?"
"No. I'm afraid that doesn't sound to my liking. You know I don't play by your rules. I never did."
Sebastian chuckled. "You were always a little prick. C'mon, guy. Let's just get this over with fast, okay? You give yourself up. I get a pat on the back and maybe a few days down time and you get to cool your heels inside Containment. I hear it's a lot nicer than it was years ago. They actually give you hot meals now. Three of them."
"Hmm," said Trent with a half-hearted shrug.
"So. Do you wanna do this the hard way?"
"I always choose the hard way. You know that."
Sebastian let out a short laugh before moving forward to secure his shot. Trent quickly threw his satchel at the agent, knocking his gun away. In an instant, he was upon Sebastian and threw a knee directly into his sternum. Sebastian wheezed as air exploded from him. Trent clapped his hands at the sides of Sebastian's head, dropping him quickly. He quickly retrieved his satchel and the gun the agent dropped before barreling back down the aisle toward what he hoped was an exit from the airport. Another agent attempted to corner him off, shooting blindly at him. Trent was grateful the agent was not an excellent aim and only managed to shatter the large glass pane windows running alongside the aisle Trent was racing down. At the sound of the glass crashing, more passengers screamed and began running in all directions inside the terminal. This drew the attention of the airport security as they resumed their chase.
Trent hopped down another flight of steps, then collided into a wall of people trying to get down the escalator. Behind him, black coat agents and airport security yelled for him to halt. Trent abandoned the steps and hopped onto the dual handrail dividing the two escalator conveyors. He slid down and toppled to the floor of the lower deck. He felt his ankle twist, but there was no time to address the pain. The security and Section agents were hot on his tail and gaining ground as passengers moved out of the way. Trent looked to his right and saw he was on the same level as the tarmac. Ahead, out on the runway, several luggage transport vehicles roamed towards the waiting planes to deliver the luggage onto the scheduled flights. Trent aimed the gun at the window and shot out the glass. Shards rained down and pebbled the floor. Trent jumped out his alternative exit and onto the pavement. Passengers eager to escape the chaos flooded after him, bottlenecking the exit and blocking Security from getting out quickly. Trent looked back, not believing his luck. The crush of people unwittingly assisted his escape, allowing him to add distance between himself and the airport. He rushed up on a carrier left unattended by the driver and jumped into the driver's seat. He put the carrier in gear and pulled off, leaving a trail of unsecured luggage and a furious luggage attendant behind as he drove down the tarmac.
Behind him, the crowd and security bled further into the backdrop of the building. Ahead, two large commercial planes sat motionless at their boarding tunnels. Sirens pierced the air as police cars converged into the airport. Trent raced the carrier towards the wire fencing along the perimeter of the airport tarmac. The sound of sirens grew closer, threatening to end his gallant efforts. He pressed the gas pedal down to the floor, hoping to make the machine go faster, but it was already at its top speed.
Trent's heart thundered in his chest.
It was enough that Section was after him. Having the Egyptian police hunting him was a bit too much to consider. Once he got away from the airport, he would have to go into deep hiding and find another way out of Cairo.
If he got away…
The chain-link fence came into view just ahead. The open grounds of uncultivated land spread out on the horizon, offering little hope of freedom, but suggested more time to contemplate his next move. With the airport shut down, it was safe to assume Nikita was not faring much better and would likely have to remain behind as well. With any hope, he could catch up to her and maybe they could both find a way out of the desert.
Stay focused.
Don't give up.
Keep going—
Trent slammed on brakes.
Two large black SUVs skidded in front of him, blocking his path.
Trent raised his gun, prepared to go down in a hail.
Black coat agents poured out of the SUVs, followed by Jasmine. She pushed through the men and stood between them and Trent.
"It's over, Trent," she announced.
There were rows of metal shelves holding forgotten luggage. The bags looked to have been thrown into the locker. Some were damaged, handles torn off and dangling, while others appeared scraped by the metal. The hard cases fared better in the locker versus many of the soft cases, exposing various articles of clothing. Some looked to have been purposefully pulled out of the bags and left in a disarray after being tucked haphazardly back in. Nikita went down an aisle and looked for luggage that did not appear to have been dumped there recently. She checked the tags, learning the various flights and dates for when they were supposed to travel and where, only to have never made it to their final destinations. She wondered if the people missing their luggage knew that their belongings were trapped in a back locker room at the airport, where no one bothered to look. From the dates on a few of the tags, most were presumed lost for years.
Nikita opened a soft bag, already torn apart from having rested too long in the dark and dank locker. The clothing within was women's clothing. There were a few silk dresses, a cotton shirt, a pair of tweed pants, socks, and underwear meant for a much larger woman. The clothing style was Arabic, comprising long draping material with glorious beading sewn into the trimmings with golden woven rope. Nikita pulled out the dress and held it up to herself, gaging the size. It was much too big to look like it belonged to her, but she could get away with wearing it if she layered additional clothing underneath. She would be hot and sweaty, but it would effectively change her appearance enough to evade airport security. She searched through the rest of the luggage, looking for more items to put on, when suddenly she heard the door to the locker open.
Nikita froze.
Footsteps slowly made their way across the front of the aisle, searching.
Nikita dropped and squeezed herself flat atop a pile of luggage within the shelving.
"Copy. I'm inside the locker now," whispered a male voice into the radio. "Are you sure the message received confirmed Nikita's positioning?… Copy. Searching."
The footsteps moved down an aisle.
Nikita remained still, hoping she looked enough like rumpled clothing to be ignored. She pressed her head down further into the luggage, hiding the golden glint of her hair. She slowed her breathing to scant inhales, being sure to make the gentle rise and fall of her chest as invisible to the eye as possible. If the operative was using infrared detection, then her efforts would be in vain. However, from the basic manner in which the operative was searching each aisle, he not only trusted the information he was given about her whereabouts, but he was also a little careless in his execution. He didn't bother to check the upper or lower shelves at all, relying instead on his general awareness and what he could see at eye level. It was clear that he was a recruit, not too long out of training and likely out on his first away mission. Under any other circumstance, she would have the operative written up for his performance. At the moment, she was grateful for his ignorance.
The tall agent skipped the last two aisles and turned to leave the locker. Before he reached the door, he stopped.
"Yes?… All clear. The intel must have been faulty. There isn't anything here. Just old bags… Affirmed. I checked everything… Why did you find something?… Is it our target?… Trent? What's Trent doing out here?… I thought he was dead?… Copy, I'll meet you out on the tarmac in twenty… Well, it'll take me that long to get out of the airport backrooms… Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Just send a car and I'll meet you at the gate then… Fine…"
The young agent mumbled something under his breath.
Nikita pulled herself out from the shelving and crept towards the agent. His back was to the shelves as he fumbled about with something on his tactical vest. His gun was holstered at his side, but not secured. Nikita slowly moved into position just behind the agent and prepared to grab him into a chokehold. His tall frame was nearly five inches above her height, which meant she would have to reach up to wrap her arms around his neck, exposing her sides.
If your opponent is taller than you, be sure to press yourself up close to them as much as possible. In this way, they can't reach back and elbow you in the ribs…
Nikita remembered moving into position to act as her practice partner during hand-to-hand training. Michael stood off to the side of the mat, monitoring her progress. His stare was intense as he watched her sneak up and grab her unaware opponent, clasping her wrist as she squeezed her forearm tight around the opponent's neck…
Nikita checked her distance, then pounced.
The agent flailed, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught. He tried to reach backward and jab his elbows into Nikita's sides, but found he could not perform an effective hit. Quickly, the air pushed out of him as Nikita squeezed his throat. He gasped desperately and spun about, trying to throw Nikita off.
Nikita pulled up and used her free hand to yank the gun out of the holster. The agent grabbed at her arm and tried to wiggle himself down enough to bite her. Before he could pull her arm up towards his mouth, Nikita let go and shoved him forward, causing him to stumble. His hand went immediately for his gun, but only found the empty holster at his side. He stared in wide-eyed horror at Nikita as she pointed the gun squarely at his face.
"Director Volker!"
"Good afternoon, agent," Nikita greeted cordially. "Don't think we've officially met before. Are you a recruit?"
The young agent nodded.
"What's your name?"
"It's McFadden, ma'am," said the recruit. "Jasper McFadden."
Nikita nodded. "Well, McFadden. It appears we have a bit of a conundrum, don't we here?"
"Quite a bad one, ma'am."
"You were sent to find me and probably take me out. Would I be right?"
Jasper stared at the gun. He did not answer the question.
"In a training circumstance, I think allowing your gun to be stolen and pointed at you would be considered a failure, yes?"
Jasper nodded.
"If I were a real bad guy, you'd be dead right now, wouldn't you, McFadden?"
Again, Jasper nodded. His lower lip quivered.
Nikita considered the young agent's fear and lowered the gun slightly so that it pointed to a non-lethal body part. "Don't worry, McFadden, I'm not going to kill you. Relax. I know you're just doing your job. Albeit not a very good one, but still… That's neither here nor there in this circumstance. I'll agree to let this mild infarction slide, provided you give me some information. Lie to me once, and I will make sure you remain in Recovery for half a year. Understand?"
Jasper nodded.
"Am I the target?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Is Trent here as well?"
"Yes," said Jasper.
"Where is he?"
"Detained."
"What Condition is he?"
"None at the moment until his identity can be confirmed."
"They'll have him in Containment for a while," Nikita said, more to herself than for the young operative to know. "What Condition am I?"
"Eight."
Nikita considered the operative's words. At Condition Eight agent, she was considered rogue and up for cancellation no matter her rank. There could be nothing done to help her. Not even Michael could rescind the order. It was a stand-alone directive enacted by the Head of Center and overrode all other protocols.
But that time was different.
It was just her, not anyone else.
Not Michael.
Not Helmut.
Not Elizabeth.
This isn't going to be easy, my dear. You're going to be tested beyond your perceived capacity. You'll have to let go of everything you know to gain anything back…
Adrian's words echoed in her troubled thoughts. The elderly creator of Section regarded her tenderly and spoke to her as though she already knew what would happen in the end. Somehow, Adrian knew it would come to this moment when she would not be able to turn back the clock and undo all that was. She was now Section's enemy.
Priority One.
Section isn't like an animal with all moving parts connected to one brain. It's more like a machine. Each part has its function and may act independently of the central intelligence. To disable the machine, it's best not to try to attack it on the outside with all of its defenses up. That's just a waste of time.
Adrian moved around the garden, studying each bloom like a prowling huntress. She wielded the pinking shears like claws, waiting for the right moment to strike.
If you truly want to bring the machine down, you have to go within and dismantle its source of power… Nikita. I need you to get inside Section's main security vault and locate the Master File. It holds all of Section's key data files. It cannot remain where it is… Once the beast is felled… Then, and only then can we truly be free…
Nikita returned to the operative. She pulled back the safety and aimed the gun at his face.
"I need your clothes, your shield, and your panel."
"What for?"
"You don't need to know that. Just do what I ask and I won't have to end your term with Section earlier than expected. You seem like a promising operative. Hopefully, your talents can be of better use elsewhere."
McFadden obediently undressed while keeping a wary eye on Nikita. He tossed the clothes to her in a half attempt at distraction. Nikita allowed the clothes to fall harmlessly at her feet before taking a step forward to McFadden.
"Step towards the back of the locker, please. Keep your hands where I can see them."
The young operative moved slowly down the aisle where Nikita was hiding.
"What are you planning to do? Dress up like me and sneak your way out of here? There are cameras all over the building. They'll know it's not me walking away from this place."
"Keep moving."
Nikita found the phone device. Once they reached the back of the locker, Nikita instructed the agent to sit down on the cold concrete.
"Look up."
The young agent lifted his eyes toward Nikita and smirked. Nikita held up the device to the agent's face and held it steady as the device scanned the operative's features and loaded the image onto the phone. She then repositioned the phone so that the microphone faced the agent.
"Speak."
The agent looked warily at Nikita and shook his head. Nikita pressed the gun to the top of his skull.
"I don't have a lot of time to be persuasive," Nikita reminded. "I'd much rather you volunteer rather than have to be encouraged."
Nikita moved the muzzle of the gun into the agent's shoulder. The agent nodded, understanding Nikita's meaning.
"What is it that you want me to say?"
"Voiceprint confirmed," the device responded in a soothing feminine tone, not too much unlike Alex's voice.
The young operative looked at Nikita with some confusion as to what had just happened. Nikita stowed away the device and then took a step back, keeping the gun level with her prisoner.
"I'm sorry, Jasper," Nikita spoke casually, softening her tone. "This is where we part ways."
Jasper's eyes went large in fear. He opened his mouth to object, but was instantly silenced by a hard hit to the side of his head with the butt of his gun. He slumped unconscious to the floor. A line of blood trickled down his temple from where Nikita struck him.
She found two hijabs in the luggage and used them to tie the operative's wrists and ankles together. She used another to secure the knot before dragging his body closer to the shelving unit. She searched for a leather belt to fasten the ties to the steel, then found another bit of cloth to act as a gag and blindfold. After securing the agent, Nikita piled additional luggage around him, effectively concealing his presence at first glance. She was certain after he awoke, he would begin struggling to slip his way out of his entrapment and manage to free himself. He would then have to find a way to get out of the locker once he learned the door was locked. It would take hours, possibly for anyone to know he was there. By then, she would be long gone.
Are you sure you want to do this, Nikita asked herself as she dressed in Jasper's clothing? Although his boots were a bit too long for her feet, she substituted the missing length with some extra cloth pulled from the bundle that made up her first disguise option. She could adjust her gait later as she practiced walking about the front of the locker room.
You'll be going into a snake pit… There's no guarantee you'll come out of this alive…
Nikita pulled out the face mask and carefully affixed it to her face. She felt the grid activate and saw in her peripheral the color rainbow illuminate. The device acknowledged its readiness to accept the next input data. Nikita scrolled through the short selection of faces copied to the phone device. She pressed the photo of the young operative and confirmed the upload.
"Identification rendering complete," said the device.
Nikita pressed the audio converter and selected the voice sample from the operative.
Upload.
"Audio Sample Ready to use."
Nikita cleared her throat, listening for the sound of the agent's voice over her own.
"Recalibrating tone."
Nikita swallowed and tried again, speaking her name first, then Jasper's name.
"Voice rendering complete."
Nikita tested the audio once more, hearing her voice sound more like the agent's tone rather than her own. She pulled a skull cap from another partially opened luggage and tucked her hair beneath the woven fabric. She looked one last time back at the pile of luggage at the far end of the fourth aisle and considered the agent's fate. If he was from Section One, then his punishment would be mild. Reconditioning, an evaluation, and performance training would be all he would be tasked with before returning to the fold. Any other Section might not be as forgiving.
Perhaps it would have been better to put him out of his misery.
Nikita shook her head.
Her thoughts collided again, echoing the noise from beyond her mind. A slow ache began at the base of her skull and began its slow climb up the perilous network of nerves connecting her brain to the central nervous line. Nikita squeezed her eyes tight, pushing down the feeling of weightlessness beginning to take over. She grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.
The Comm Unit crackled a moment. "Jasper! Come in! Do you read? Come in!"
"Affirmed."
"Get outside to Gate 9. Egyptian military are en route. Three minutes."
"Copy. I'm on my way."