Chapter 18 Fetters
Alex leaned her head against the window of the transport plane, sighing tiredly as she stared out into the blackness of the night. Glad for the thick scarf she'd wrapped around her neck, she shrugged lower into the skimpy winter coat from Wardrobe, fighting another shiver. The C130 cabin was barely heated and virtually empty, aside from the three Humvees facing them and the lines of mostly unoccupied seats against the walls. Like some poor orphan sleepover, most of the girls lay slumped against each other on the floor, dozing or listening to their iPods. Only a few of them had remained belted in their seats as she did, avoiding each other and keeping to themselves. The general mood was morose and bored, but she sensed most of them were depressed or fearful of going back home to whatever had made them flee in the first place. Still they seemed to have resigned themselves to their fate, left with nothing to do but take advantage of the long flight to catch up on some rest. The overhead lights had been dimmed accordingly, and it was relatively quiet despite the drone of the huge engines carrying them over the North Atlantic toward home.
Home…now there's a relative term.
One of their two guards got up and stretched his back, his expression still on the alert as if one of them might try to take his pistol. She grimaced and shifted her attention back to her window, trying to picture Birkhoff's recent trip to the same part of the world. She could still see him dressed in that tux, hair all styled and colored and looking delicious. Her heart warmed at the thought of him and she smiled, realizing that now he was her family, their spacious house in the woods her home now. Missing him fiercely, she couldn't wait to get back to him and look into his eyes. It was way too soon, separating from him for this long and after only being married a few days. The only consolation she had was that he would be monitoring her once she landed, the satellite com he'd planted in the laptop in Moscow while on his last field op able to be activated by the signal switch he'd embedded in her Division phone. Of course it was a hidden signal, one which the other staff in Operations would never be able to detect.
Shifting uncomfortably, she stretched despite the handcuffs biting into her wrists again, further frustrating her. She tried crossing her legs for a change, deciding the skimpy shirt covered her even less with that kind of move. It was humiliating, dressing and acting the same way she'd once been forced to do, especially now that she was a married woman and had been free of life on the streets for years. She wondered why Division had felt the sudden need to send her on this op, whereas before they'd had virtually no interest in exposing any sex slave trade. She suspected that Amanda was using the opportunity to send her back in just to remind her of her roots. What a heyday she'd have, debriefing her upon her return with that analytical gaze studying her every reaction. Did she think she'd crumble under the pressure of undercover work? Or worse, did she expect her to use this disguise for Division's own form of sex slavery? Oh she'd heard stories of female agents going undercover and ending up call girls and mistresses just to avoid blowing their cover. Even Nikita had admitted she'd been forced to sleep with someone, as had Michael too. Was Amanda expecting her to do the same thing?
Well the answer is no, she decided, thinking of Birkhoff home by himself and probably missing her almost as much as she was missing him right now. She couldn't wait until they landed and she had a chance to activate her signal, knowing he'd be monitoring her op from back home. If only she could talk to him and let him know how afraid she was, not of the assignment but of being put in the position of compromising everything just to keep her cover intact. Amanda had assured her that this job would only last a few days, and she knew it could represent an opportunity for her to escape Division altogether. Birkhoff had warned her that the best way to get out was to find a way to fake her own death, thus gaining release from Division. But they had to be convinced that whichever dead body she chose to identify with was really her. It wasn't likely they'd send Roan all the way here to check the identity, so she was almost guaranteed the chance. Alone and unsupervised except for Shawn expecting her to call in at some point, she knew this was her chance. She could be dead and gone, as far as Division was concerned.
Unfortunately there was the problem of Birkhoff being expected to report back to work the same day she was due to arrive back. If she played her cards right she'd plant her things on her replacement and return before either of t hem were due back. Worrying about all the details, she prayed they were doing the right thing, still feeling a sense of dread as if something terrible was about to happen. She had to find a way out.
Closing her eyes, she prayed a one-shot request up to God for help, remembering her grandfather's fervent prayers, overheard when she was just a little girl. Somehow they'd always made her feel safe and protected, but that was a very long time ago.
Time passed slowly, but the next time she gazed out her window she saw lights far below, reassured that they would be landing in just a few more hours. Finally giving in to the sluggish demand for sleep creeping over her, she closed her eyes again, deciding a nap was in order. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to relax, her mind filling with images of her Birkhoff's eyes and the memory of his voice deep and soft in her ear. And she longed for the strength of his arms, holding her close. Resting her temple on the padded wall, she gave up resisting her exhaustion and fell into a light sleep.
'Who-hoah!" Birkhoff cried, shielding his eyes from the sight of Nikita's bare midriff as she pulled a shirt down over her head. "Could you notdo that, please?" he complained as he descended the stairs, keeping his gaze toward the opposite side of the room.
"I haven't decided where to put all my stuff," she explained as he went to his monitor and jiggled the curser to take it out of sleep mode.
"Well don't get too comfortable," he drawled, frowning at the results Shadowbot had pulled up. "Before you know it, Michael'l be home and you guys can find your own place."
"Yeah, hopefully," she sang, straightening from stuffing something into her overnight bag. "I'm looking forward to Alex's return too."
"Yeah, tell me about it," he sighed, sitting down to program another search. A thought came to him and he glanced up. "Actually anytime would be good for you to start—you don't need Mikey to look for a place."
"Ok, I get it," she laughed huskily, coming toward him while he studied the new search in progress. "Do Not Disturb the Newlyweds, right?"
"That's right," he drawled, frowning at her knowing smile as she came to stand at his side."What's so funny?"
"You are," she laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder for balance as she bent to his level and studied the scrolling results, "you old married man, you."
He snorted, glancing up at her. "Don't get me started, old friend," he sighed, flinching at the slap she delivered to his arm. "Ouch!"
"You deserve it—making that crack about my age!" she scolded.
"Well you and Mikey aren't getting any younger," he drawled, selecting some of the results. "At least I married the one I love….you two could take the hint."
"Believe me, we're nowhere ready for that kind of commitment," she sighed, shaking her head. "Not for a while."
"Well I for one highly recommend marriage," he stated, pulling up another search engine.
"Like you know anything about it—after what, one week?" she chortled.
"That's nearly two weeks, mademoiselle," he frowned, shaking his head. "There we were, just getting into the groove of it and poof—Amanda spirits Alex away to none other than the Former Soviet Union."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Didn't you just come back from there?"
"I did," he sighed, his eyes on his screens. "Let me tell you, they don't play nice over there."
"Like they do here in the Big City," she replied sarcastically.
He smiled, eyeing the floor to ceiling windows at his other side. "Which I why we moved out here."
"That remains to be seen—hey wait! Stop!" she ordered, squinting at the top window. "That one—the tracking map—I see something."
He maximized it, staring at the blinking red dot in the middle of the map. "Looks like Madam Senator is on the move despite her out of town status," he stated, zooming the street map. "She's headed out of the city, but not south toward home."
"Your little melt-away tracker seems to be working," Nikita gushed, rushing toward the couch to pick up her jacket. "Let's go—no time to waste!"
"Of course it worked—what do you mean 'let's go'?" he demanded, turning toward her. "What are you doing?"
"We're going to follow our dear Senator," she stated, shrugging into her coat. "Apparently she's called an emergency meeting for Oversight. She has to get back to DC, so time is of the essence."
"Hold the phone—I've got Shadownet tracking her moves and I'm already set up to hack any security zone she passes through," he informed her, frowning at her determined expression as she stepped into her boots.
"Grab your iPad instead and move it," she ordered, straightening to her full height. "We can't afford to let this opportunity pass, Birkhoff!"
He shot to his feet and strode toward her. "Opportunity for what?" he shot back, stopping to face her. "Wait, you're not seriously thinking—"
"No time to think," she smirked, shoving his jacket at him. "They're on the move so I'll drive while you trace her route. I'm thinking she has to get as far out of the city as possible, probably to some remote place along the Hudson. And there's no Washington security unit on her tail."
"Are you crazy?" he complained. "We aren't prepared for reconnaissance, let alone infiltration—"
"Oversight is finally meeting after all this time," she argued. "We've got to make a move if we want all their identities. Don't worry—you can stay in the car while I take pictures."
"Neither of us is going into that kind of situation," he argued, "not without proper prep and backup!"
She smirked, patting his arm. "It's ok to be scared—Nerd. Now let's go."
He stared at her retreating back in shock. "Yeah well maybe fear is a good thing, you ever think of that? It forces you to stop and regroup, become situationally aware?"
"Oh, so you're going to argue situational awareness? It's only surveillance, Birkhoff."
"Whatever it is, Division will be waiting for you," he warned. "Tell me you're not crazy enough to walk into a trap, please!"
"It'll be fine," she sighed, eyeing his iPad. "If you're not coming, then hand over your iPad."
"No way!" he shouted, shaking his head. "Look I don't know what's going on with you, but you've been on some kind of a bender ever since Michael left."
She planted her hands on her hips, eyeing him critically. "I'm trying to blow a hole that Michael and Alex can crawl out through—I thought that was the plan!"
"Of course it is but prowling around Oversight meetings is too dangerous!" he insisted, running a hand through his hair. "Look you know protocol as well as I do—we gather the intel, do the proper planning and reconnaissance and make sure we've covered everything floating around the senator's sphere of influence, all with team support and backup. It just goes without saying—"
"Birkhoff we don't have time for that!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "Oversight is running scared right now, and their panic puts us at a rare advantage."
He shook his head. "We need back up—otherwise it's just too risky."
"Then don't come—I don't need your help!" she cried, heading up the stairs. "Have a nice reunion with Alex," she called back down.
"Dammit—Nikita wait!" he yelled, grabbing his jacket and charging up the stairs after her. "You can't go alone, you hear me? At least call Michael—"
She whirled on him, stabbing a finger into his chest. "Michael will be too late, and so will Alex! Now are you with me or not, because if not then I'm going alone—"
"Alright, alright!" he growled, grabbing up his keys. "But this is insane, and you know it!"
She preceded him out the door, hurrying toward her car instead of his. He locked up and followed, eyeing his own car, which would be better for a faster getaway. Then again Nikita's car wasn't registered in New York like his, but New Jersey. He had to at least try to keep his new location secret.
"Thanks, Nerd," she smiled as he climbed in and belted himself, "I'd love your company."
"Don't thank me," he grumbled, grabbing the door rail as she burned rubber and started off. "This is the last time I go charging of half cocked with you anywhere, understand?"
"Got it," she smiled, pulling out onto the main road and quickly gaining speed.
He cringed, glancing her way. "Ah, PS the local cops just love to catch out of towners, so stay within the limits unless you want to get stopped."
She grinned, glancing over at him. "How many tickets you get already?"
He opened his iPad and pulled up the senator's tracker. "None of your business…once I get this baby rolling we're going to have a little talk about the future."
"Ooooh, sounds serious," she teased.
"No joking, I mean it," he stated, his eyes on the screen. "We're not going to work together if you're gonna be like this—we clear?"
"Alright, I'm sorry, but this is important."
"I know it is," he sighed, glancing out at the passing landscape. "But it won't do any good if we get ourselves maimed or killed."
"No, it won't," she agreed halfheartedly.
He glanced at her, shaking his head. "Actually I'm gonna have a long talk with Michael when he gets back...he's the only one who can do anything about you."
She glanced at him, her expression softening. "Sorry…I guess he is."
Alex slipped the flash drive into her cuff and expertly powered off the laptop. Glancing around the darkened room, she listened intently as she slipped it back into the drawer and got up. Heading for the window, she braced both hands on the bottom and pushed it back up, then carefully climbed out. Dropping to the cobblestoned alley, she checked her surroundings and started back toward the street, pulling her collar up and smoothing any concern from her expression. The wind blew around and through her, making her shiver as she strolled back toward the curb.
Please God, don't let anyone stop for me.
The other girl across the street nodded to her, turning to retrace her route as she too waited for a customer. Alex pushed back a few strands of hair the wind tossed against her eyes, glancing up at the angry sky. Stepping back as a bus charged toward her, she turned and watched the wave of water it blew up in its wake. Pursing her lips, she turned back just as a few drops of icy rain hit her head. In her pocket her work phone vibrated, so she pulled it out and frowned at the text message her 'pimp' sent her. Snorting at his request for an update, she felt the rain begin to shower down upon her. A few passing cars put on their wipers, and with a soft prayer of thanks she texted him back.
Nobody stopping…raining now. Check in with you later.
Snapping it shut, she headed back to the hotel, watching the other girl start off in the opposite direction. All she had to do now was work the hotel bar and let people buy her "drinks," an easy end to her last shift. She'd make some excuse about feeling sick and go to her room. After the bar closed she'd change and sneak out to make her way to the bus terminal and eventual freedom. She'd made contact, gotten the address and stepped into her role, copied the intel and gotten out safely so far. Unfortunately she hadn't found a Jane Doe in the morgue with whom to switch identities, so Division's plan was still set. Her rendezvous point was an abandoned airfield only 2km from the last bus stop, to which she would hike through the woods dressed as a teenage boy. She'd wait for the private jet, make the connection for a military flight back and return to Division by dinnertime.
Smiling at the bartender, she brushed the rain off her shoulders and headed toward the bathroom. Shoving the door open, she flounced toward the mirrors and leaned in close, wiping her smeared mascara away with her fingertips. As she did her memory flashed with memories of her escapade with Birkhoff in the ladies' room not too long ago. She smiled, feeling suddenly hopeful.
"Only a few more days, my love," she whispered, glancing down at her bared cleavage that resulted in the strategically placed push-up bra. Thank God you can't see me now, she thought, tugging up her
neckline. But when she imagined Birkhoff's eyes widening at the way she looked, she smiled brighter.
Then again maybe you'd like this look, she realized before she caught herself.
"Enough," she whispered in her native tongue. Turning away from her reflection, she squared her shoulders and started back for the bar.
I can do this—no, I will do this. Then I'll come home to you.
Michael reached for his cell phone, trying to focus on the number of the caller. With a tired sigh he pulled it open and hit the button. "Hey," he croaked, eyeing the other sleeping passengers around him.
"Michael—I don't know what to do! They've got Birkhoff!" Nikita cried, her voice hoarse with fear.
"What? What's going on—who's got Birkhoff?"
He frowned, listening intently as she explained what had happened. Withholding the urge to reprimand her for such a crazy stunt, he nearly groaned with frustration as fear rose up within him. "Ok—ok, calm down! Where are you both?"
"Division took him!" she screamed into the cell, alarming him with the news. Somehow they'd found out where Oversight was meeting, tried to secretly photograph the members but instead were discovered. Birkhoff had been out in her car, monitoring the situation but somehow he'd been caught.
"He'd hidden his signal so I don't know how they found him!" Nikita cried, her voice getting hoarse. "I've looked all over town and got help, but there's no trace of him. I know Division got him, Michael—we've got to do something!"
"How long has he been missing?" he croaked, finally moving to the back foyer by the restrooms.
"Since almost an hour ago," she cried, her voice catching. "This is all my fault!"
"Nikita, focus! If it was that soon then he's probably with Amanda right now," he realized, his heart pounding with fear at the thought of what Amanda might do to him.
"She'll cancel him, Michael!" she screeched, biting back a cry.
"Look the only way to get him out of there is a trade," he stated. "And I think you know what to use."
"You don't mean the black box?"
"We have to, it's the only way," he insisted. "Call Amanda and set up a swap, before it's too late. But you'll have to make sure the trade is protected, and find a way to get him out quick in case they change their minds. And tell them that if they don't deliver him safely you'll broadcast the entire contents of the box—that'll scare them into complying. You know how to set up a jack to the networks?"
"Yes, Birkhoff showed me just a few months ago," she shuddered, her voice breaking on his name."Oh Michael, if anything happens to him—"
"Don't go there—just put the call in as soon as you get off the line," he ordered, listening to her soft goodbye before hanging up. Starting back to his seat, he spent the rest of his flight imagining how he'd make Amanda pay for this, and for everything else.
Struggling to keep from passing out, Birkhoff felt his arms being jerked back as he was lifted to his feet. Groaning at the pain coursing through his body, he realized he was being dragged from the elevator and down a long corridor. Blood coursed down the side of his face and he couldn't focus his eyes for more than a few seconds. Weakness thundered over him, and he fought to stay conscious, staring at his feet in surprise as they dragged him along. His arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets and he felt overwhelmingly nauseous. Then suddenly he was being laid onto the floor in a sitting position while they yanked off his jacket. Lifting him again, they slammed him back into a chair of some sort as pain shot throughout his ribs. Gasping for breath, he felt his hands forced up and held in place while iron cuffs imprisoned his wrists. His ankles were similarly secured, but he was too dazed to care. The harsh lights knifed into his eyes, so he turned his head away and closed them. When he heard the sound of heels clicking on the tiles he cringed, remembering how Percy's shoes had made a similar sound just before the whipping began. But something was wrong with that picture. This couldn't be Percy, could it? Wasn't he dead?
A woman's perfume caught his attention and he looked up, surprised to find a stranger coming toward him. Focusing his eyes, he studied the petite black woman who turned to eye him soberly before she leaned over him and attached something to his left forearm.
"I like the naughty school girl look," he croaked, amazed to see her pinched lips relax. She met his gaze, a twinkle of interest in her eyes. Then she taped a lead to his other arm and he knew the situation.
"So we're playing truth or dare? Cool…I've got some truth for you…"
She glanced up momentarily, then turned her back to him. He heard the sound of metal on metal, a tray of utensils, he guessed.
"You nailed me out there," he drawled, feeling strangely numb, "fair and square…you've got skills."
She turned back to face him, her expression softening a bit before he continued.
"But when they're finished with you, they'll snap your neck," he warned. "I've seen 'em do it."
She paused, her expression showing her alarm. Then she stiffened and he heard more clicking heels. He felt his heart begin to pound at the familiar sound. Amanda…
"Seymour," she stated in a low seductive voice. "I see the boys gave you a proper welcome back."
He swallowed thickly, watching her as carefully as he could manage.
She glanced at the girl and nodded. "There's no need for standard procedure this time," she said in a deceptively pleasant voice. The girl backed away from him as he focused on Amanda's cool smile. "There are better ways of getting the truth," she stated, effectively dismissing her.
"Yes ma'am," she replied in a soft British accent, her heels clicking as she slowly left the room.
"Amanda, thank God," he gasped in mock relief. "Michael and Nikita forced me to do hacking and surveillance for them—they wanted me to decrypt the black box, threatening to kill me if I didn't help!"
She smiled indulgently. "Was that before or after you rescued them with your attack drones?"
He hesitated, feeling a chill run up his spine at her sinister smile.
"Come now, Seymour—you don't expect me to believe that line, do you? If I didn't know better I'd say you've developed some sort of hero complex, when you used to be such a selfish creature."
He ground his jaw, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "What do you want?"
"Nikita and the black box, of course," she said in a bored tone. "You're going to tell me where she is."
"Or what," he drawled, smiling at the irony of the situation, "you gonna kill me?"
She huffed and strolled toward the tray table, pulling off her dress jacket. "Seymour, you're much too intelligent to think that," she sighed, coming back to his side. "You're the Shadow Walker, after all!"
He dropped his gaze, hating the biting sarcasm in her voice. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away.
"You're more clever than anyone Division has ever seen, and more capable of course," she breathed. "Able to type at a speed of 120 words per minute!"
A strange swishing sound reminding him of Percy's whip alerted him just before something smashed down upon his right hand. Crying out in pain, he felt another blow before he could catch his breath. And he screamed again, falling back against the chair.
"Now 60," she declared matter of factly.
He was unable to prevent the scream tearing up his throat as a pain unlike any he'd ever felt gripped him in its icy hold. His hand burned and shook from the blows as he tried to catch his breath. Diverting his attention away from the intense pain shooting through his hand and up his arm, he tried to focus on her waiting expression.
"Tell me where Nikita is, or I'll keep going," she ordered.
He glared angrily at her, pulling against the fetters. "You might as well ask me where Carmen San Diego is 'cause I'm not giving up Nikki!" he shouted back.
"You know," she said calmly, coming closer and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "I can call Medical and have the finest surgeons from Division come down and fix that," she stated, eyeing him meaningfully.
"Forget it, bitch!" he growled, fighting to catch his breath.
She stared at him condescendingly, waiting.
"What!" he shouted against the pain, which eventually pressed him back against the chair.
She lifted a hand, wagging her fingers over her shoulder as if summoning one of her minions. A cart was wheeled closer, looking suspiciously like a dentist's tray complete with a long drill-like arm arching overhead. He shuddered inwardly, remembering the way that she'd yanked out the crown of his tooth to remove the bug Nikita had placed beneath it, all without his knowledge. At least Niki had apparently sedated him first. But this was Amanda.
"This," she announced coolly, pulling the arm toward him and reaching up to attach something that looked like a needle to its end, "is a cranial needle. I hear cancer patients love its success at removing brain tumors, but of course they've been sedated first."
When she glanced down at him, positioning it closer to his head he felt like screaming for help. But who would help him here at Division?
"Now, if you don't tell me where Nikita is I'll be forced to use this," she said calmly, shrugging her shoulders. "Otherwise I will have to insert it up through your nose, thus piercing your sinus cavity to enter the frontal lobe, where I will inject a paralytic. Then your most prized possession—your mind—will effectively wither and die."
He swallowed, staring at the needle while she fondled it and knowing he couldn't betray Nikita, Alex or Michael. He focused on her face, parting his chapped and split lips. "You're a psychopath," he accused, looking her in the eye.
She pursed her lips and straightened, turning to one side to pick up a roll of duct tape. A ripping sound preceded her measuring off a couple of feet or so, which she carried around behind him.
"You used to be such a selfish creature, but now you've suddenly developed a sense of altruism," she complained, stepping behind him. Reaching over his head, she suddenly spread the tape over his forehead and shoved his head back against the headrest. He groaned in pain, feeling his panic rise as she stepped around him and smiled eerily. Hiking up her skirt, she planted a knee between his legs and climbed up onto the chair, leaning over him and positioning the needle near his right nostril.
He tensed and gripped the arm of the chair with is good hand, staring at the end of the needle. To keep her balance she laid a hand high on his thigh. A sick feeling coursed through his loins at its position while she moved her face to within an inch of his.
"What is it about Nikita that so fascinates you?" she moaned, her gaze lowering to his lips.
He swallowed hard, pressing his head back to avoid her lips. "Please, Amanda—I can decrypt the black boxes for you, just like the engineer! He taught me how—"
"Surely you know it's hopeless," she scolded, her eyes gazing into his as she brought the needle closer. "Nikita would never look at you the same was she does Michael. He's first in line, always has been," she whispered, pulling the needle closer to his nose.
"Please don't do this," he choked, his chest heaving in fear. "Please—please don't—"
"How could you forget all that I did for you?" she breathed, guiding the needle into his nostril.
"Please don't do this," he choked as it went higher. The hand on his thigh tightened as horror and shame crashed over him, paralyzing him further.
"We spent all those hours together," she stated, her eyes drilling into his. Her lips parted, their dark red fullness moving closer to his. "Don't you realize that if it wasn't for me you'd still be a frightened little boy instead of the mature, handsome man you've become."
"What are you—talking about?" he managed to choke, closing his eyes as the needle moved higher, pricking the inside of his nose. Something dripped down the back of his throat as he fought the urge to choke.
"You know exactly what I mean," she accused as he opened his eyes again.
"Please—don't do this," he whispered, pleading for mercy.
She smiled and inserted it a fraction of an inch higher. "Say it, Seymour."
"Please don't! Please don't do this!"
She paused, her gaze blazing with a combination of hatred and fascination. "Don't do what? Make you go back in time, relive the time when you first came to me?" she whispered, her gaze lowering to his lips. "I could have taught you other things, Seymour, but no—you wanted Nikita. You betrayed me after all I'd done for you—"
"Amanda—" a voice interrupted, that beautifully feminine British accented voice which effectively made Amanda freeze.
"What!" she demanded, her voice hard and masculine, booming into the silence.
"Nikita's on the line," the girl said, her voice shaky. "She says it's urgent. I've got her on hold for you."
Amanda's gaze hardened and she pursed her lips. Then she slowly pulled the needle back. Flooded with relief and feeling her hand lift from his leg, he exhaled a tense breath in a raspy shudder. The needle withdrew all the way, an inch of its end dripping with his blood as fear gripped him again.
She gripped his arm and climbed off him while he shook involuntarily. Gagging from the blood and mucus coursing down the back of his throat, he stared at the ceiling, his head still taped down. All his attention focused on the sounds echoing around him—the snap of the latex gloves as she pulled them off and tossed them aside, her heels clicking away from him. Panic swelled throughout his chest as he waited, praying for deliverance and the chance to see Alex at least one more time before they finished the job, or miraculously released him.
Thank God for Nikita…somehow she'd tried to come through.
Her steps clicked down the corridor as she shouted back. "Sonya!"
Then he realized that the girl was still there. Trying to see her expression, he caught a glimpse of her horror-stricken face before she turned and left, her shoes also clicking on the tiles. He choked again, groaning in pain and wondering what his fate would be.
Alex trudged tiredly toward the office, her overnight bag still in hand as she prepared to sign in. Then a movement caught her eye down the hall and she turned, focusing on the young black woman leaning back against the wall. Studying her with concern, she noted her bent over posture, the hand she kept over her mouth and her wide-eyed expression. Hiding in the crevice next to the entrance to the restrooms, she looked to be in shock. Walking slowly toward her, Alex watched her straighten and smooth all concern from her expression.
"Sonya?" she said gently, stopping a few feet from her. Hoping she'd remembered her name correctly, she recalled being introduced to her as Birkhoff's new staff member just before leaving on assignment. "What's wrong?"
Sonya pulled away from the wall and pulled open the restroom door. Following, Alex caught up with her and touched her shoulder.
"Hey, it's me," she soothed, surprised at the frozen stance she'd assumed. Coming around to face her, she stared at her grief-stricken face.
"He was right," Sonya choked, shaking her head. "He said they'd kill me if I did anything wrong, and now they're trying to kill him!" she whispered.
"Who was right?" Alex prompted, staring at her.
"I can't believe it—I just can't believe it, though I've seen it with my own eyes!"
"What's happened?" Alex continued, guiding her toward the sofa. "Who are you talking about?"
"Birkhoff!" she gasped, shaking her head. "I saw—I saw what she was doing to him, after they'd beaten him up!"
"Birkhoff?" she gasped, gripping Sonya's arm. "What are you talking about, he's on leave!"
"Amanda's got him in the interrogation room torturing him!" she whispered, her eyes wild. "But don't tell anyone or she'll kill me!"
"Birkhoff's being tortured?" she croaked in alarm, realization dawning on her fogged mind.
"She had a needle up his nose, probably going for his brain!" Sonya hissed. "If Nikita hadn't called and I hadn't gone in there to tell her—wait! Don't go—"
"I'm getting him out of there!" Alex cried as she rushed toward the door.
"But Amanda's in her office talking to Nikita—she's bargaining for his release!"
She paused at the door. "Then stall her while I get him out!" she ordered, shoving the door open and rushing into the hall. Thankfully no one was around due to the late hour, and she prayed to get to him in time as she rushed into the stairwell.
c. 2012 by Christine Levitt
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