| Subject: Priority Mail 48 |
Author:
Nikita507
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Date Posted: Friday, November 12, 05:48:34pm
In reply to:
Nikita507
's message, "Priority Mail 41+" on Monday, November 08, 06:23:57pm
Michael was running on pure adrenaline, and a two hour nap. He had gotten sleep while he waited for the contact lens that he had used to get into the elevator to develop fully. There was no problem with that lens and he was now standing outside the door that would lead to the condo that Nikita had hidden from all.
Now Michael was facing the pad and the date that he first met Nikita. He knew that date also. No one needed to tell him those six digits. He pressed the numbers into the pad and held his breath for a moment, worrying that Jason and Walter were wrong.
But they weren’t.
The door slid open when Michael was expecting it to just unlock and allow him to open it forward. He saw the darkness inside and stepped carefully while extended his hand out to the side to turn on the lights. He turned his head slightly and pressed the pad.
While the lights came up, Michael felt his whole body tremble with what he was seeing. He had expected to find some sort of sanctuary of warmth and of luxuries one would think would be available to a woman who could afford this condo.
Instead it looked like Section.
The main room had a large two story ceiling and there was a floor above that had an opening. With the décor that Nikita had selected, it looked like the perch without the glass walls. Michael stepped forward and saw that right underneath the perch area was a bank of computers, looking a lot like where Birkoff would work. He could swear that it was the same chair as he sat down and looked at the mass of lights that were blinking.
He had hoped that it would not be easy to get into the computers, but he tried the pin number that was used for the door and it half way unlocked. Nikita may have made the password easy, but it did prompt for a retina scan, which Michael provided with the contact lens that he still had in at this point. He set about opening up the browser and offering Jason the access into the network of machines that Nikita had working in her condo.
Michael stood up and turned and closed his eyes as he saw a metal door. He knew what was behind it. He yanked the door open and saw guns and other supplies that Nikita obviously had needed to pull off the things that the angel had. There were explosives there also. Michael knew that probably no one ever noticed the silent blonde woman who owned this condo. Michael turned and saw a small work bench, much like the one that Nikita had often leaned over to talk to Walter.
She had amassed a lot of supplies in a short amount of time. Michael hoped that Jason would find how she had done all of this. When they had gone digging after Nikki Samuels, Jason hit a dead end beyond the account that was drained for the purchase of this condo.
Michael wasn’t sure where he should continue to, but he naturally turned to the right and saw a room to the side that he knew would be the office. It was just as sparse as his office had been at Section. Glass desk with no drawers for any sort of private files. There were two chairs. The chair behind the desk was exactly like the one that he had and the one across from the desk was exactly like the one that Nikita often sat in while fighting with him or a few times the one that she fell asleep in.
There were little hints of life in the condo. There were a few green plants and there was a lot lighter than there was at Section. But still, it felt so sterile and Michael headed to the stairs, wondering what Nikita kept in the perch area.
When he reached it, he realized that it was just a very expensive sleeping loft, but it at least had some more personality. The first door he opened led to a walk-in closet that was filled with clothes, half of them black for obvious reasons and the other half a mix up of street wear, elegant gowns, and other kinds of costumes that Nikita obviously had needed to pull off the work of the angel.
At least none of the gowns looked like ones that she had worn for Section.
The bedroom area was not black and white and Michael was thankful. It was a deep chocolate brown and accents of orange. There was very little there, nothing that seemed to be personal at all. He was about to leave the room and call it a waste of a visit when he saw something out of the corner of his eyes on the night stand. It was as he turned to look at it, he realized what it was.
He had never been able to buy things for Nikita like he wished that he could, especially once they were functioning more as a couple. But after one mission that had him away for almost two solid weeks, Michael had come across this intricate storage box, probably used for jewelry. It appeared to be hand-carved and it was made out of a dark cherry wood. Michael had given it to Nikita and she had been struck speechless for a good twenty minutes.
That was what was sitting on her night stand.
It could not have been a mistake. Everything else lacked anything that seemed personal. But that box was personal and Michael moved to it.
He sat on the chocolate covers of the bed and placed the box in his lap before taking the lid off.
On the top were the wedding rings that he had used with Nikita on several occasions. Michael winced with pain as he remembered how he had told Nikita that she only had to obey. He placed them on the bed beside him and lifted out a piece of paper and opened it. He found that it was a copy of Roberta Wirth’s death certificate.
It was not the type of thing one would expect to see in a keepsake box.
Michael felt tears coming to his eyes as he shifted and saw a card that had been wrapped around something with a rubber band. He lifted the object and as soon as he did, Michael realized that it was a cell phone. Michael tried to pull the rubber band off, but it snapped as he pulled. He flipped the card over and saw the type font “Everett D’Octavi” and a pass code of “19472048169408”.
Michael opened the phone and saw that it was fully charged. He typed in the pass code and the phone automatically started to dial.
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