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Ploughing through the hanging layers of darkness she fought her way back to a state of consciousness. The first sensation that greeted her waking mind was the clenching of her abdominal muscles, followed by the contraction of her oesophagus as the bitter acid began its upward journey. As the bile rose in her throat, her mind exerted its limited control, forcing the foul liquid back to the depths of her heaving stomach. With her eyes closed tightly, she breathed deeply, focusing on each breath - imagining the oxygen entering her lungs, expelling the carbon dioxide. After several minutes the nausea dissipated to a more controllable level.
As her breathing slowed, she became more aware of other sensations. The floor beneath her was cold, the clothes on her body damp, and her mouth dry. With an effort that seemed almost mammoth in proportions, she lifted her torpid head and opened her eyes. She soon discovered that with her lids open or closed, the darkness was complete.
Her sluggish limbs fought her; she attempted to stand and collided with a solid metal object - a wall. Breathing heavily, to keep the resurrected nausea at bay, she leaned against the wall - waiting for her limbs to start working. For a while she didn't move, couldn't move; she leaned against the wall, attempting to focus her foggy mind. As she stood there, some part of her brain bleated a warning: I've been drugged.
Having been drugged before - on more than a few occasions - it was easy enough to recognize the residual effects. Her mind struggled to assess the situation: she had been drugged; was being held in a cold dark room and knew nothing of the people who held her.
'How the hell did this happen?' She couldn't quite believe it; this wasn't supposed to happen. 'When I was an operative: Sure. But I'm Operations now, this can't be happening.' Yet, even as she thought it, she recognized the futility of denial. It didn't matter that it shouldn't happen, because it had happened.
A stab of ice-cold fear replaced the disbelief and her stomach heaved for a very different reason. Fear motivated her into action; she moved from her perch against the wall and with her hands searching the way, she proceeded to map out her prison. Her fingers glided over the wall, finding little to comfort her - besides a few strategically placed hooks on the walls there was nothing in the room.
Alone in the darkness she felt an odd compulsion to talk to someone - she was about to yell out when she remembered her training. She had just displayed classic behavior for a kidnap victim: denial, frozen fright, compulsion to talk. That wasn't comforting either.
Nikita was no longer nauseous, she was, however, extremely cold and hungry. She didn't know exactly how long she had been sitting in the dark, but judging by her growling stomach - it was at least twelve hours. She had determined that after her earlier lapse she would show no weakness, and so in twelve odd hours she hadn't moved. Her body was protesting the rough treatment but the physical discomfort was easy to ignore. What was more difficult to put aside was her captor's decision to ignore her.
It was troubling that they hadn't begun their interrogation; it denoted a certain arrogance that she found frightening. They were acting as though they had all the time in the world. What if they did? It was a horrifying thought. Did they not know who she was? Or was she alone in the dark because they did know? Somehow she doubted an enemy that was skilful enough to capture her would be ignorant of whom they held. So they knew who she was; what else did they know? Probably too much.
But what did it matter? It didn't. She closed her eyes against the darkness, no longer interested in her surroundings.
"Exogenous depression." The voice seemed to rise out of the darkness - it was oddly familiar.
"Madeline?" A second too late she realized her mistake - no one was there, the voice a memory.
Nikita bit down on the desire to curse out loud. Her eyes snapped open and she carefully unwound her numb body, stretching her deadened muscles as she fought her growing anger.
How stupid was she? It was an obvious trap. I should have known, just when Section was stretched to the limit, a new terrorist organization materializes out of thin air and needs to be dealt with quickly. Being understaffed, I myself decide to lead the mission and voila! Captured.
Her internal rant was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Nikita found herself blinded by a light that made her eyes continuously blink. It was for that reason she never saw the kick coming - it hit her midsection forcing the air from her lungs. She attempted to roll away from the continuing blows, but having sat in the same position for hours, her limbs failed her. As the mysterious captor beat her to within an inch of consciousness, she wondered why she had ever thought being ignored was a bad thing. Then as quickly as it began - it stopped - her captor retreated and the darkness returned. Nikita gave herself over to the blinding pain that coursed through her body with every breath; she faded into unconsciousness.
Her body ached with each movement, but she kept her face expressionless; she limped around her cell awaiting the next visit. Nikita had been their guest for well over two weeks and her captors had alternately abused or ignored her - she was uncertain which she preferred. They had never spoken to her - never asked a question - Nikita wondered if that was because she had already told them everything they wanted to know. She had no idea how long they had held her before she awoke in the darkness - it could have been months. If they had held her for so long, they could know everything. Guilt closed in; what could she have given them? Whom could she have compromised? Whom could she have put at risk? What damage could she have done? Too much, too many, too many, too much.
The beatings and her own revolving questions had prevented her from getting much sleep; she slept only an hour or two at a time, and when she awoke, she never felt rested. She had lost her appetite and was constipated, but she was determined to fight off further victimization, though she believed it was likely to prove a losing battle. They had not beaten her for a long time - she was certain they would soon return.
As more time passed she became less certain and more tired. Moving to the wall furthest from the door, she settled her battered body down and closed her eyes. No sooner had she closed them than the door opened. With renewed strength she jumped to her feet, ready to fight her way out, unfortunately, her attacker was more than ready.
She felt a sharp prick in her neck. Reaching up, she felt the protruding dart and pulled it out - too late. Her body began to weigh her down and even as she tried to cling to consciousness, she felt it slip from her fingers.
Through her closed lids, her light deprived eyes were burning. Nikita felt the light searing its way through her eyes, embedding its white-hot talons in the soft tissue of her brain. She kept her eyes tightly closed and tried to raise her arm to shield them, but found it firmly restrained.
With the resulting pain throbbing through her brain, she lost all sense of time. Eventually, the pain faded and her eyes began to adjust. When they did, she opened them a crack and after blinking owlishly for a few minutes, took note of her new surroundings.
Everywhere she looked, she saw grey: the walls, the ceiling and the floor - all were the same - even the chair she was strapped into was the same monotonous color. It reminded her of the white room and she wondered if that was the intent.
The door before her opened; the once painful light above her barely penetrated the dense blackness. Though she strained, she could discern nothing in the dark shadow, but she felt eyes raking her form. After staring into the blackness for a few minutes, she refocused her attention to the restraint on her left arm - waiting patiently for the inquisitor to show him or herself. It was a long wait.
Eventually, Nikita heard the scrape of a heeled shoe as it came in contact with the metal floor. Her head snapped up and her eyes focused on the moving shadow as it stepped towards her from the darkness. The shadow took shape as a sleek figure cut itself from the black cloth, entering the light.
Nikita found herself staring into the clear green eyes of a twenty-something female, whose straight dark brown hair fell to her shoulders and shone in the light from the ceiling. The woman wore a fashionable black skirt suit, but no visible jewelry, not even a watch. She would have been tall without the excessively high heels that made her towering. Nikita wondered how she managed to walk in such things - they certainly didn't look comfortable.
"To inflict great suffering, one must know great suffering."
A small smile played on the full lips of the woman, but it didn't reach her eyes - not that Nikita was surprised. The voice on the other hand was a surprise; it was almost musical in nature. Low and soothing, it was the type of voice you might expect a mother to use whilst attempting to calm a small child, that, or the voice of a lover whispering sweet nothings in your ear. It was almost luscious.
The nature of the sentence, however, wasn't soothing, and staring into the woman's eyes Nikita was far from amused. The woman's eyes were hollow; there was no emotion within them, they reflected nothing. Nikita felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck but kept her face expressionless.
"Welcome. I trust that you have found our service up to your standards?" The smile remained, the eyes unchanged.
Nikita fought the urge to shudder.
"Do you have any questions before we begin?" The pause was brief. "I didn't think so." As if by magic, two men appeared from behind the brunette, they pushed a sheet-covered table, positioning it within easy reach of the woman, then took positions on either side. Nikita decided to name them One and Two. One was very tall with black hair, olive skin and deep grey eyes, built like a Greek God. Two was perhaps two inches shorter with blonde hair, bronzed skin and blue eyes, and built more like a wrestler. Though both were intimidating creatures, it was the woman between them that Nikita's eyes gravitated towards.
"Your name is Nikita, you were formerly a Center mole and are now in charge of Section One. The previous Operations died in an attempt to save the child of your lover. In exchange for the boy's life, your father, who at the time headed Center, turned himself over to the Collective and was executed. Stop me if I make a mistake."
Nikita's mind was reeling, how much did they know? Had she told them? What did they want?
"Before he turned himself over he elicited a promise from you, which lead to your taking the position of Operations. You are unhappy in the job and woefully under-qualified for the position."
Nikita's teeth ground against each other in reaction to the last statement.
"And in case you're wondering, you may call me Janet."
"I wasn't." Staring into those hollow green eyes, Nikita was surprised when she detected a glimpse of the amusement Janet felt as Nikita broke her silence. It was gone in a flash, but Nikita was certain it had been there.
"Are you familiar with the principles of torture, Nikita?"
The silence stretched between them and Nikita found herself uncomfortable under the younger woman's blank gaze, it reminded her too much of another pair of green eyes. She was tempted to close her eyes or give in, but either response would be seen as weakening.
"The slightest sign of giving in shall doom thee. It can be as simple as blinking, or grinding one's teeth." She let the sentence hang between them before continuing. "Under threat of pain, people will tell you whatever they believe you want to hear, it's critical that the questioner be able to distinguish between someone playing a role, and one who has accepted the reality of their situation. That is where your Madeline excelled. Such a brilliant strategist, the most formidable of foes; such a shame for the 'good guys' your father never recognized her worth." Janet moved towards the table, and as she reached it One and Two pulled back the sheet, displaying the instruments beneath.
Nikita watched Janet's delicate hands as they roamed the table fingering a variety of ghastly looking objects.
"Torture is an art form where few excel. Compared to the methods used by Section, mine are quite archaic, but I have always had a fondness for the old ways. The instruments have such a timeless beauty." Janet's hands hovered over an object for a moment before her left hand folded itself around it; she turned back towards Nikita displaying the metal object. "For instance, this instrument. The Pear."
The resemblance to a pear was vague at best, it reminded Nikita more of a vibrator, though it was rather intricately engraved and had what looked like a handle at one end.
Janet displayed the piece for a few moments before continuing. "This device was inserted orally, anally or vaginally."
With a quick movement of Janet's hands, 'the pear' expanded outwards and Nikita felt her internal muscles clench.
"When expanded it ruptures sensitive membranes and tissues, causing a great deal of damage inside the body cavity. It's quite painful." Janet turned slowly, returning the instrument to the table and then allowing her fingers to caress the metal briefly before selecting another.
Janet held within her hands a leather whip with multiple metal tipped tails; she moved forward holding the whip a few inches from Nikita's face. "This archaic device is called the 'cat o'nine tails,' rather vicious looking." With one quick flick of Janet's wrist the metal tipped tails slashed through Nikita's pants and into her right thigh. The resulting pain wasn't great, but an uncomfortable burning sensation lingered as Janet returned the whip to its place on the table. When she turned back towards her, Nikita was surprised to discover she was empty handed.
"The most effective weapon in any 'interrogator's' arsenal is knowledge."
Nikita watched as the other woman approached her, stopping within half a meter.
"Do you happen to know which of your fingers is the most sensitive?"
Nikita couldn't prevent her confusion from showing in her eyes. Janet's dead eyes held hers for a moment before she reached out and grabbed Nikita's index finger, with one swift movement she bent the finger back, breaking it with a sickening crack.
"That was one of your proximal phalanges."
Nikita's finger throbbed but the pain was manageable - her mask intact. Janet returned to the table; retrieved a bottle and an eyedropper, then took position in front of Nikita. Drawing some of the colorless liquid into the dropper, the dark haired woman then held it above Nikita's damaged hand. When the liquid connected with her skin the air was expelled from her lungs with one short scream.
"Hydrochloric Acid might not have been the right choice to get your mind off that phalange."
The eyedropper was returned to the bottle, and Nikita breathed a sigh of relief. Janet retreated and One stepped forward, throwing a powdered substance on Nikita's melting hand - after causing intense pain it neutralized the acid.
When Nikita regained control, Janet was once more in front of her, smile firmly in place, eyes as empty as before. Within her hands she held a stout wooden pole - the length of a pogo stick, about a hand in width.
"This is a ghotna. It comes from India and has but two uses. The first - and more common - is for the grinding of corn or spices; the second is for the grinding of a person's will. As a device of torture it is used one of three ways: either it is placed behind a person's knees and then they are forcibly bent over it; placed between the thighs and then the person's legs are tied tightly together; or rolled up and down the thighs with two people standing on top of it. They are all painful, but the last is excruciating and causes irreparable damage to muscles; whereas with a little attention your hand will be fully functional."
Not an old-fashioned pogo stick then.
Nikita looked deeply into the emotionless green eyes, feeling her hatred of the younger woman swelling within her. "I'm not telling you anything."
Janet's smile brightened briefly. "Did I ask you a question?"
The ghotna returned to the table and a truncheon took its place in Janet's hands. The dark haired woman stood for a moment, unmoving, before wielding the weapon against Nikita's ribs - pain followed in its wake. Nikita tried to relax her body and detach herself from the pain as the blows continued - each stroke of the truncheon agony. Nikita's body tensed, and pain shot through her as the truncheon found the whipped flesh of her upper thigh.
Her eyes tightly shut and her teeth grinding against one another, she endured the powerful blows in determined silence. Drowning in the sound of her heartbeat, she breathed deeply, keeping her eyes shut even after the blows stopped.
A few minutes untouched and she opened her eyes to discover Janet gone, One and Two's backs facing her. Two turned towards her and approached holding a number of leather thongs; he stood close but did not touch her. One soon joined them holding a scalpel; he pulled at the front of her shirt and cut his way down neatly, separating the halves, exposing her battered flesh. He then walked back to the table, returning the scalpel, before coming back and collecting a thong from Two.
One after the other, he firmly secured each thong around her midsection; while One secured the last, Two moved out of Nikita's field of vision. She heard Two grunt as if lifting a heavy object and listened as his footfalls brought him closer.
One had finished securing the thong by the time Two came back into her line of sight. Two carried a large container filled with what appeared to be water. He moved to her side, lifted the container above his head and deposited its contents on her.
It was just water, but when it came in contact with the leather thongs, they soon began to shrink - constricting her and her broken ribs. Nikita found herself screaming, her voice deafening in the enclosed space. She noticed Two had returned to his place just before she lost consciousness.
Nikita was welcomed back to consciousness with a stinging slap. Her eyes snapped open to find Janet back in position and the leather thongs gone, along with most of her clothes.
"It's really not that bad. Five ribs, the phalange, your left radius, right patella, a little torn flesh, some burns and bruising, hardly enough to warrant fainting. You really should work on your control."
With some effort Nikita managed to lift her head enough to look Janet in the eye. "Screw you."
The dark haired woman didn't even blink. "That isn't very ladylike language, perhaps you need adjustment."
With a movement of her arm, Janet drew Nikita's attention to the 'black box' beside her. Then she stepped back as Two came forward, attaching electrodes to Nikita's fingertips and ear lobes. He then took position by the machine. Janet smiled briefly, then turned on her heel and left while Two began his manipulations and Nikita resumed screaming. After what felt like hours, Janet returned and Two removed the electrodes from Nikita's quivering body.
"Did you know that a result of electroshock therapy is amnesia? When the patients' memories start to return they often provide useful information. If we were to shock you into amnesia, you'd no doubt inform us of your unfortunate childhood, your alcoholic/drug addict/whore of a mother, the time you spent on the streets. You'd stop when you remembered Section, but you'd have provided us with more than enough information to break you."
Nikita tried to spit in Janet's direction, but ended up just drooling.
"Of course, that is at a higher setting and focused in a different area."
Nikita closed her eyes and imagined Michael's beautiful green eyes in an effort to calm herself; a faint smile touched her lips but was soon wiped away.
"He's not coming. He's quite happy living his life with his son; he doesn't need you."
Nikita felt something tightening around her arm and opened her weary eyes to see a tourniquet in place and Janet drawing a syringe from an ampoule; the younger woman taped its side and expelled any air with the smallest depression of her thumb.
"Whhattareeyougivingme?" Even to herself her voice sounded slurred.
Having found a vein, Janet slid the needle in and slowly expelled the syringe's contents into Nikita's blood stream.
"Whaaat did yooo geeve me?"
"Heroin. It will kill the pain but shouldn't interfere with muscle control, sensation or intellect. Not like that's a concern of yours. You may feel a little nauseous."
For a while Nikita felt nothing, but as her blood vessels widened, she began to feel warmth spreading throughout her body. The pain, which had been almost unbearable, diminished as she became more detached.
Someone removed her bonds - she did not fight them. As they dragged her back to her cell she began to feel drowsy; an odd feeling of contentment consumed her. Nausea struck and she found herself vomiting, but didn't really care. She was dragged the rest of the way back to the dark cell, wrapped in a blanket and placed on her side - she fell asleep.
When Nikita awoke she found herself back in the grey room and Janet was drawing another syringe. Before she could object, she felt the needle pierce her skin; Janet ejected its contents and passed the syringe to Two, who stood to her right.
"No heroin this time. Atropine. It's time we talked."
"I won't give you anything." Nikita almost spat the words at the younger woman.
"I know."
Nikita allowed her head to rest on her chest, becoming more indignant, but unable to find enough energy to do anything else. "Then what's the point?"
"Does there have to be one?"
"Why the torture if you knew there was no point?"
"Because I can? How about, because I'm a terrorist?"
"Killing me won't change anything - Section will survive."
"You're quite right, which is why you're not going to die."
The revelation energized her; Nikita's head snapped up and she locked on to the empty green eyes, hoping for another glimpse of what lay beneath.
"You can't break me." She wasn't sure at first if she had said the words out loud, but even if she hadn't, they were written in her eyes.
"Actually I can - all it takes is time." Janet smiled almost kindly before she continued. "Lucky for you, my time is much too valuable to waste on extracting useless information."
Nikita was dumbfounded. "Useless?"
"Yes, I know everything I need to."
"I don't understand."
"Don't you ever get sick of saying that?"
Nikita allowed her anger to flow un-hindered. "Section is going to hunt you down and kill you." Nikita's eyes blazed, but Janet was unaffected; her smile actually widening as a brief laugh flitted from her throat.
"Oh please, they couldn't even find you and you're tagged - in what fantasy realm will they catch me?"
"If you let me go, I will find you."
Janet's voice was almost a whisper when she replied. "No, you won't, at least not until I want you to. Now, I've arranged for Section to 'rescue' you in little under two hours. I'll be leaving shortly. Is there anything I can get you first?"
"A gun." So I can shoot your ass.
"You can have one if you like, but it might be detrimental to your health when Section arrives and finds their hapless leader armed. Sure you want it?"
Nikita looked away.
"I didn't think so."
Nikita met Janet's eyes again. "I will kill you."
Janet's expression didn't alter. "More empty threats, Nikita?"
"A promise."
"Whatever. Now, I really must be going. Have a great life." Janet turned her back and began to exit - Nikita's voice stopped her.
"I know you won't let me go."
Janet turned back to face Nikita. "Now why would you say that?"
"I'm too valuable, I know too much - without me Section is vulnerable." Nikita watched as Janet's eyes widened, clearly displaying her astonishment.
"You actually believe that don't you? I am releasing you, Nikita."
"I don't believe you."
Janet's laugh filled the room. "You don't need to believe me - wait the two hours."
Nikita's voice took on a whining tone. "You can't afford to let me go."
"I can't afford not to."
"I don't understand."
"Can't you at least pretend you're in possession of a brain cell?" Janet sighed wearily. "Never mind - I'll explain. If I kill you, Section replaces you."
"And?"
"That isn't in my best interest."
"And my controlling Section is?" Now Nikita really was lost - how could her continued control of Section possibly help the bad guys?
"And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free." Janet's voice was low and soft, making the quote seem more like a chant.
"I don't believe it." That earned Nikita a real smile and she was surprised to note how warm it was.
"I know the feeling. A lot of things have happened in the last couple of years that instilled disbelief."
"Such as?"
"Mister Jones provokes Madeline, the chief strategist and brains of Section to commit suicide - then orders the cancellation of Michael Samuelle, Section's best operative. Hard to believe? It gets better. Thanks to your father's manipulation and disregard for his life following his partner's untimely end 'Operations' is murdered by the Collective, thereby making Section not only brainless, but heartless as well. Then, in a moment of sheer lunacy, Mister Jones hands himself over to the Collective and arranges for you to run Section One. Unbelievable? I certainly thought so, and I had all the information. I knew that what I had heard was the truth, and yet.....I couldn't bring myself to believe it. Do you know why, Nikita?"
Nikita gave a pained - but indifferent - shrug in response.
"Because despite everything I knew, I couldn't accept that my enemy was that stupid. Madeline and Paul were Section; it didn't make sense to kill them, certainly not to replace them with you. Unless you were better. That was rather unbelievable too, though certainly more probable than the head of Center being so delusional as to kill off his best operatives. And why? So he could satisfy a bizarre need to place his daughter in a position of power?" Janet shook her head, laughing lightly. "I brought you here so that I could see the truth for myself, and in seeing it - I realize my mistake. I gave your father entirely too much credit - he was truly insane. I see you for what you are Nikita; the best chance to destroy Section."
"You're a liar!"
"I am many things, but that doesn't change the truth."
"And what truth is that?"
"Section survived Bauer, Suba, Kessler, Philo, Enquist, Vacek, Chernov, Red Cell, Glass Curtain, Black March, the Freedom League, the Cardinal, Brutus - even the Collective couldn't destroy it. It survived Petrosian's insurrection, Adrian's revenge, George's treason, your father's lunacy, Madeline's suicide and Paul's murder. It survived all that, but Section won't survive you. Goodbye, Nikita."
Janet disappeared into the darkness beyond the door, leaving Nikita to consider her words. One and Two had, sometime during their discussion, packed everything up and left.
After about half an hour, a guard she had never seen before entered the room and untied her bonds. He led her back to her cell and locked it behind her. She did not resist, she didn't even think of resisting. Her mind was in turmoil.
"Section won't survive you."
What if it's true? No, I'm saving Section; I'm making it better, returning it to what it was meant to be. That wouldn't cause its destruction.
Voices from the past came back to haunt her.
"How can you be so ruthless?"
"Because the other side is ruthless. If we're not stronger, then they win and we lose."
It's not true. It's not true. It's not true. "It's not true. It's not true! IT'S NOT TRUE!!"
No matter how loudly she screamed the words - she was unable to banish the doubt that had taken root within her soul.
Section arrived within the hour.
Nikita wasn't certain if the pain was real or imagined, but it was relentless. Running her thumb along the unnaturally smooth surface of her scarred hand, she attempted to block it out - with little success.
Section's doctors had informed her that the hand was perfectly functional, but there were times when the pain was so excruciating it felt as though pieces of glass were boring into her bones. Now was not such a time - the pain merely a dull ache, uncomfortable but by no means debilitating.
She stood in the Perch, looking down upon Section while contemplating her obsession.
Janet.
It had been over two years since they "met" and Nikita still hated the woman with the intensity of a thousand suns. She had never hated anyone so much in her life; had never felt the desire to drown in someone's blood, but she felt it now - God help Janet if she found her.
And she would find her.
Nikita paced the well-trod boards of the Perch while she awaited Quinn's progress report. In the beginning of her tenure as Operations, she had had a chair brought into this office - following her capture she found she couldn't sit in it. She now preferred to stand, finding the comfort of a chair stifling not just to herself, but also to the general productivity of the whole of Section One.
In the last two years she had come a long way - at the time she was captured, Section One's success rate was a pitiful 31%; 66 teams had been reduced to 32 and not because of budgetary restraints. They had been on the brink of extinction. Not any more.
Her time in captivity had made a difference and one - she was sure - her captor had not intended. She had, at first, doubted her abilities and so had reviewed each and every one of her decisions, hoping to find within them some justification of herself. She had not been successful. She had found herself lacking, her decisions in some instances foolish. Though in many cases the fault was not hers, but the result of faulty information, still she could not completely exonerate herself. She had never felt so defeated nor been so depressed.
If not for her burning hatred of Janet she might have given up then and there. Her hatred empowered her; it gave her the strength and resolve she needed. With it, she became the leader Section One was sorely missing. She re-established order and though some decisions were against her moral code, she did not hesitate to make them.
As a direct result, Section's success rate was up to 63% and her 44 teams had a reasonable chance of surviving. If she ever found a suitable Second-In-Command that percentage would rise, perhaps one day even surpassing that of Paul and Madeline. She smiled at the thought.
Of course none of that mattered in the great scheme of things. Two years on and Janet and her assistants still eluded her. Section's technicians had managed to retrieve Two's fingerprints from the water container, they had her detailed descriptions of the three, and yet they could not find them - she could not find them.
There were times when she knew she was close, when she could sense Janet's hand in something. But for all Section's technology and know-how, they could never provide enough material to prove it - and Oversight wasn't about to fund the type of operation needed to bring Janet down without proof. The problem with Oversight was that they didn't understand the very real threat Janet and her people represented - they couldn't see it and wouldn't allow her to pursue the woman until they did.
There was no one in the world more dangerous than Janet. This woman had captured Operations; she had knowledge of Section's organization, history, and systems. Janet was dangerous - it was obvious! So why didn't anyone else see it?
Nikita stopped mid-stride when she heard a throat clear. She turned to find Quinn standing at the threshold with a PDA in one hand, wearing the slightly arrogant expression that was her annoying norm. Nikita didn't like the woman - Kate Quinn was a snake.
"Is that the progress report?" she asked curtly.
"Actually no, a Center operative just dropped this off. It's for your eyes only." Quinn held out the PDA.
Nikita took it and dismissed her, wondering if Quinn hadn't read it first - she wouldn't put it past her.
It was unusual to receive a message from Center in this manner, especially as she had received no notification of its impending arrival - it was intriguing.
She opened the only file contained on the PDA and found a jumbled mess of numbers and symbols. Slotting the PDA into her terminal she opened the file again, waited a few moments for the decryption process to complete and then began to read.
Five sentences were all it took for her to blacken the Perch and wish she hadn't removed that chair. She felt cold, as though her blood had turned to ice.
This can't be right!
She read it again, and then once more - it made no difference.
Strangely it was the fifth sentence she latched on to.
No evidence has been recovered.
There were three things she was sure of.
None ever would be.
Janet was involved.
And if she ever got the opportunity to destroy Janet, there was nothing she would not do, nothing she would not give and no one she would not sacrifice.
In Janet's case the end definitely justified the means.
Through a barely discernable mouth, he groaned in agony on the floor before her, no longer bound by shackles but by pain. Every visible inch of the man's body was a battered mess - a series of broken bones concealed only by bruised and bloated flesh - every breath a raspy torment.
Had she not monitored the process, Janet wouldn't have recognized the lump of quivering flesh as the vibrant young man brought in just a few weeks before. Janet supposed she should feel something for the shell of humanity lying in its own filth, but she did not.
There was a time when she would have pitied him, or at the very least been disgusted at her own participation in his destruction; but now - excepting a slight discomfort at having to inhale his foul stench - she felt nothing.
The man had been a wealth of information and had given his knowledge with minimum effort on their part. Unfortunately for him there was only one way to confirm his data; now he was no longer of any use to them.
Janet held her pistol firmly, bracing herself for the resulting recoil. She fired once - the bullet entered the man's brain behind his left ear - death as instant as it ever is. Not bothering to check his pulse - if he weren't dead, he soon would be - she left the room, confident it would soon be back in pristine condition.
She hadn't gone a meter before she heard someone calling her name. Recognizing the man's whining tone she continued without pause, forcing him to run in order to catch up.
"Janet. I've been looking for you," he managed to get out whilst breathing heavily. He wasn't what you'd call fit.
She didn't spare him a glance. "It appears you've found me." To her everlasting regret, he chose to ignore her caustic tone and continue.
"About the prisoner, I really think..."
She decided it best not to allow him to finish his sentence; they were entering dangerous territory. "I just put a bullet in his brain." Janet didn't need to look to know his chin was about to hit the floor.
"But, but, but..."
Noticing the tall well-defined frame of the dark-haired man heading towards her, Janet took the opportunity to get rid of the man beside her. "Always a pleasure to have these discussions, Richard, but you'll have to excuse me. Karl and I have business." She directed Richard's attention to the approaching man and then watched him turn a lovely shade of green.
Looking as though he was about to throw up, Richard nodded a little too enthusiastically before practically running in the opposite direction.
Turning her attention to Karl, Janet noted his slightly puzzled expression. "He wasn't feeling well."
Karl nodded as though that made sense. "Taken care of the prisoner?" He'd taken on his commanding tone.
"Of course," Janet meekly responded.
Aside from her team and a few select others, no one was aware of Janet's real role. It was her own decision, believing - quite rightly - that someone of her age and gender would not be respected in their world. In public, Janet played the role of the subservient - only in private did she dominate.
Karl took her arm and steered her back to their private quarters, all the while engaging her in insignificant conversation. Whilst pretending to find their conversation simulating, Janet paid careful attention to everyone they passed - searching for a glint of recognition.
Normally, Janet wouldn't have taken such a risk; she would have sent someone else - preferably someone who had never met her - but that hadn't been possible. So instead Janet had become a blonde and gained 10 pounds - much to her disgust - Karl declared it suited her, but she sincerely doubted it.
They finally reached their quarters and entered, Karl still maintaining his light grip as though she were his property. Taking a small device from his pocket, he activated it with a light touch and then nodded once.
"Richard should be online with Meyer." She smiled contemplating that conversation.
Karl nodded, now appearing slightly uneasy. "It might have been a mistake to kill the guy."
She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand.
He nodded his understanding. "We need to move; it won't take long before they realize the information I gave them isn't accurate."
Janet really hated it when he stated the obvious. "Oh gee, I thought we'd stick around a little longer, do some sightseeing."
Karl shot her an evil glance.
She sighed. "We leave in an hour. Meyer will arrive shortly after - the team will be here no more than an hour after that."
He looked annoyed; she had no idea why.
"What about containment?" he asked in a tone that matched his expression.
"It's taken care of."
"Will Richard still be coming with us?" a whining quality entering his voice.
That explained the annoyed expression - Karl had taken an instant dislike to the portly little man.
"I believe Richard can be of use to us; it seems a shame to deny ourselves the chance to obtain such a valuable resource."
His expression didn't alter.
Janet found it disappointing - however unsurprising - that Karl should allow his personal opinion of the man to cloud his judgement in this manner. Granted, Richard was an annoying little toad, whose loyalty could be bought with the occasional screw and a bottle of whiskey a month; but the man was a financial wizard who knew where six separate organizations kept their funds. You didn't pass up such an opportunity because the person who provided it made you want to shoot yourself in the head to avoid another evening in his company.
No. You smiled, spread your legs and allowed him to screw you because that was what was required. Preference, comfort, and principles were meaningless; you did what you had to, in order to win.
It was all about the game.
He deactivated the shield then smirked knowingly. "We're packed already. What did you want to do with our hour?"
Men could be so tiresome. If he thought this was a way to punish her for deciding to take Richard with them, he didn't know her very well. She smiled sweetly, "I don't know - what did you have in mind?"
He closed the distance between them to bestow a violent kiss, his grey eyes sparkling. She allowed him to take control and responded in the manner everyone expected - like she gave a damn.
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