| Subject: Jericho I: Repost |
Author:
Anon
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Date Posted: 02:51:08 02/03/02 Sun
The Road to Jericho
It was mid-afternoon when Michael finished his debriefing with Madeline. He left her office and strolled with unhurried grace through Section down to the elevators. They were assigning him to full-time training duty. He hadn't trained a recruit in nearly seven years, ever since he made L-4. With the deep cover mission he'd been assigned to though, Madeline deemed it preferable that he serve in a capacity that allowed him to keep a normal set of working hours so that he could return home to Elena in the evenings.
Yesterday he had gone home to find Elena waiting for him. She had prepared a candlelight dinner and had donned a skimpy black dress that told him all he needed to know about the results of the tests she had gone in to see her doctor about. She was pregnant.
Madeline was pleased by the news. A baby would keep Elena occupied and happy and not question why Michael's job required so many business trips. Madeline congratulated Michael. "Excellent work. You're right on schedule."
A baby. Michael had responded with all the appropriate excitement of a newlywed and devoted husband when Elena broke the news to him. He had held Elena in his arms and kissed her. He whispered endearing words of love into her ear, placed his hand lovingly on her stomach then, after dinner, made love to her tenderly... just the way she liked it. Afterwards she had curled up around him, her head on his shoulder and drifted off to sleep. Michael, though, lay there for a long while staring up at the ceiling.
A baby. He and Simone had wanted a child. Section hadn't allowed it. "You know the rules," Madeline had said quietly in response to Simone's query. "There's no room in Section for children."
Simone had cried in his arms that night as he held her. He tried to comfort her with assurances that they didn't need children; they had each other.
"I don't need a child," Simone had cried, her tears hot against his skin. "I want a child. I want your child, Michael."
Michael hadn't known how to respond to that. He loved her even more for wanting to bear his child but they both knew from the beginning it was impossible. They belonged to Section. This point was cruelly driven home the following week when Michael was given the assignment to pursue, court, and marry Elena Vacjek.
"Simone?" He had broached the subject as they prepared for bed that night, wanting to know her feelings, but Simone had cut him off with a quiet plea.
"Let's not talk about it, Michael, please."
So they didn't. They tried to continue on as if everything was the same, but it wasn't. There was a silence between them that was slowly tearing them apart. During the day, everything appeared fine. Simone and he would report into Section and fulfill their duties. Then in the afternoons, he would go to meet Elena. As their relationship progressed, so did the hours they spent together. After a month, they were having sex.
Nights were the most difficult times to endure. Often he would come home in the wee hours, shower, then crawl into bed. Simone would be lying on her side of the bed with her back facing him. The first few nights he pulled her to him and Simone would, with a little reluctance, come to him. As his time with Elena increased, though, and he began to spend more nights with her, Simone became more distant. It reached a point where he would come home to find her sleeping in the spare bedroom and in the mornings, he would see the telltale signs of tears in her red eyes. "Simone," he would whisper, wanting desperately to comfort her, "She doesn't mean anything to me. You know that. This is just like any other valentine mission."
"No, it's not," she had answered, and there had been such defeat in her voice. "With other missions, the marks were just one-night stands, or at the most, two or three nights. You've been ordered to pursue and marry this woman." Simone had looked up at him with eyes that were swollen with tears. "It's not the same, Michael."
If Section had planned this mission to separate him and Simone, it was working. The tension grew between them, tempers flared, and then... Section pushed him to propose marriage to Elena. She joyfully accepted. Michael returned to Section three days later to find Simone waiting for him at his office.
"Congratulations." Her voice had been flat, her eyes blank. Michael remained silent for there was nothing he could say that would ease what his wife was going through.
The next day, he and Simone were assigned a simple reconnaissance mission. Simone was nervous, wary. Michael tried to calm her but she had withdrawn from him with angry eyes. "Something's not right with the profile," she said, pushing his hands away. "I think we should ask for backup."
Michael dismissed it. "Stop worrying, Simone," he said, reaching for her hand once more. "We'll be fine."
Temper flaring, Simone turned on him. "Don't patronize me, Michael. Stop treating me as if my opinion doesn't count."
"I never said that it didn't."
"Well that's damn well what it sounded like."
They stood glaring at each other. After a minute, Simone submitted angrily. "Fine. We'll do it your way." She turned then and walked out. That was the last thing she ever said to him. The intel on Glass Curtain turned out to be faulty. They were caught in an ambush with no backup and Simone was killed.
Simone. I'm so sorry, Simone. A deep endless ache churned within Michael's chest as he lay in the dark several nights later looking up at the ceiling of his and Elena's bedroom. His eyes stung with unshed tears as he rolled onto his side. Behind him, Elena stirred and he felt her arm encircle his waist. She moaned as she pressed her body next to his. Michael placed his hand over Elena's as his heart and mind grieved the death of Simone.
************
Chapter 02:
In his office, Michael unbuttoned his jacket and stared out the window into Section. It had been almost a year now since Simone died. Sometimes he felt as if he had died with her on that fateful day. For weeks afterward he kept waiting for her to pass by and tap on his window, as was her custom.
"Why do you do that?" he had asked her once in the privacy of their home. She had laughed and reached up to plant a quick kiss on his lips.
"I'm just saying hi, letting you know that I'm around."
Now every shadow that passed outside his office caused him to tense and look up, hoping to hear that little tap and see her smiling at him through the window. In the evenings, toward the end of his day, he longed to hear her knock on his door and see her open it and step inside. "Are you almost through?" she would ask.
"Almost," he would answer.
"Okay," she would reply, her lips curving into a smile. "I'll wait over at Walter's."
But that knock never came and no one tapped on his window. At night, he would dream of her and wake, expecting to find her next to him, then stare in confusion down at Elena's sleeping face.
"I feel for your loss, Michael" Madeline said to him the day after Simone had died. "But you have to move on. You have to think of the greater good."
He had stared back at her, unblinking and utterly empty. The greater good? What was that? The only thing in his life that was good was Simone, and now she was gone. Where was life's meaning? If he didn't feel so guilty that Simone had died because he had refused to listen to her, he would have put a bullet in his head and joined her in death.
"Michael, are you listening?" There was concern in Madeline's voice. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he lied.
I'm fine. Over the months, those two little words became his mantra. He said it so many times, after awhile, he even began to believe it. Life became one big mission, and he, was the perfect operative. He learned to shut off his pain, crumbling it into a tiny little corner of his being. There he kept it locked away, hidden from Section, from Elena, even from himself. Slowly he learned to box all his emotions in and became a machine: fully capable of carrying out all Section's orders while feeling nothing at all inside.
"Is something wrong, Michael?" Elena asked one night as they lay together in bed. Simone had been dead for one month, three weeks and two days.
"I'm just a little tired," Michael responded. "Problem at the office. Nothing to worry yourself over."
Elena raised herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. "Sweetheart, why don't you look for another job? I don't like the stress your present job puts on you."
Michael looked up at her and his eyes roamed over her face. She had dark eyes, but they were the wrong shape. Her hair was the same dark ebony, but it fell in soft waves where Simone's had been straight. "Don't worry about it," he replied softly, "I'm fine." Then, closing his eyes, he pulled her down for a kiss.
*
Michael reined his thoughts in as he sat down at his desk. He didn't want to think about Simone and the fact that she was gone from his life, or Elena and the fact that she was pregnant with his child. Instead, he logged onto Section's system and within seconds accessed the file that Madeline had forwarded for his review. A picture of a young woman showed up on the screen. Blond hair, blue eyes, strong cheekbones, and a wide mouth. He looked at her statistics and saw that she was 5'11, and weighed 138 lbs. Several photos were included in the file which he studied carefully, grateful he had something besides thoughts of Simone with which to occupy his mind.
The recruit's name was Nikita. She was nineteen years old, had been living on the streets, and had recently been convicted of murdering a policeman in cold blood. Good, he thought, she could kill. He flipped back to the pictures. Her hair was a mess, and there was a harshness about her. But if you looked carefully, which Michael did, you could see the physical beauty that lurked beneath. Yes, Michael thought solemnly, Madeline, as always, had chosen wisely. From a physical point of view, this Nikita had the beauty to lure and deceive. Fortunately for Section, she didn't seem to know how to use that beauty. If she had, she might have been able to charm the jury into believing her claims of innocence. It didn't matter now, Michael thought. He would teach her how to use her looks to Section's advantage.
As Michael read her psyche file, he recognized the reason why Madeline had chosen him to be her trainer. Nikita was emotionally starved for affection. Another victim of neglect. Madeline was expecting him to give her that affection, have her become dependent on him, and all the while mold her into the killing machine they wanted. He clicked through the photos once again, studying each one carefully, then reread her psyche file. Finally, after nearly two hours, he logged off, stood, and headed down to level three to meet his new student.
************
Chapter 03:
The metal door to holding room number two opened with a loud screech. Michael stepped into the brightly lit room, closed the door behind him, and quickly surveyed the area. His gaze immediately fell upon the young woman who lay on the examining table. The presence of restraints on her wrists indicated that she had fought back against her captors. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. Every once in a while she moaned and thrashed about as if fighting some demon that only she could see in her dreams.
Moving to her side, Michael looked down upon her face. Clear skin, clean features. The tank top she wore revealed shapely shoulders, firm breasts, a flat stomach. Drawstring hospital pants covered the bottom half of her body but he could see by her outline that her hips had a nice curve to them and her legs were long and straight. Yes, Michael thought, she had the right looks for a valentine op.
Cautiously, he reached over and released the restraints that bound her wrists. Reaching up he smoothed a hand over the frown that creased her brow. Long pale lashes fluttered upward and Michael found himself looking into pale blue eyes. She stared back at him a moment, unmoving, and he was struck by the childlike quality of her gaze. "Good morning."
His voice seemed to trigger an alarm in her. In one quick, agile move, she sprang off of the table and threw herself against the far wall. Terror filled her eyes as she looked at him. Michael straightened, keeping eye contact with her while he advanced with slow, deliberate steps. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly.
She didn't believe him. He could see it in her eyes and in the way her toes curled into the matted floor and her fingers dug into the walls behind her. Her eyes, wide and frightened, quickly scanned the room. "Where am I?" she asked.
Michael approached slowly. Fear affected people differently. Some people cried and withdrew into themselves. Others put on false airs. The most dangerous, though, were those whose eyes took on a wild, trapped look. Much like how Nikita's eyes were now glaring at him. She was looking for a way out and, not finding one, was prepared to fight.
"You're not in prison anymore," he explained, his voice steady as he tried to calm her. He would have no trouble subduing her if she attacked but he preferred to start their relationship on a less confrontational level. "The world thinks you're dead. Suicide. This is your funeral."
He took a photo from his coat pocket and handed it to her carefully. "Row 8, plot 30."
Nikita stared at him, then her gaze dropped down to the photo he was holding out to her. Dead? Hesitantly she took the picture and looked at it. There were a priest, a man and a woman -- strangers. She looked up and Michael was surprised to see tears form in her eyes as she clutched the photo to her chest and slid down to the floor. "My momma... didn't come?"
He backed away. She seemed like a mere child. The ache in her voice and the pain in her eyes were almost palpable. Michael quickly shut down the pity he felt rising within him. No. She was a killer. He stiffened his shoulders and began to circle around the room, increasing the distance between them.
"We've decided to give you another chance. This is where you'll train. This is where you'll learn. After two years, if everything goes well, you'll work for us."
Nikita looked at him, confusion filling her eyes. "Why me?"
"A woman with your looks, who can kill in cold blood..."
She rose quickly to her feet and began shouting, "I didn't! I didn't! I didn't kill anyone!"
Michael decided to test her. Turning, he began to exit when his trained ears heard the soft, quick, footfall of her feet as she sprang across the room. He turned back, blocked her upraised hand and flipped her neatly onto her back. He peered into her eyes and saw the fury blazing in them. Yes, he confirmed, she wasn't very good yet, but she had a killer's instinct in her.
"When you attack someone from behind, go for the kidneys," he informed her. "It disables and they can't fight back. Consider that your first lesson."
Nikita glared at him as he released her wrists and rose to his feet. "I don't... I don't want lessons!" she spat.
"We start tomorrow. 5a.m."
"And if I don't want to?" she threw back at him.
Michael looked down as she lay on the mat, her golden hair streamed out beneath her and her chest heaved in anger. He pointed a finger at her. "Row 8, plot 30," he said, then nearly smiled at the look of pure venom she directed toward him. Outside he stood a moment and evaluated his first meeting with Nikita. She was a beautiful woman who exuded both innocence and fiery passion and had the instincts of a killer. Yes, he thought, she would work out very well here.
*
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