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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.
He was out-numbered, outmaneuvered, and overruled. Despite all the evidence he had presented, the majority of the Oversight Committee had decided against his proposal, opting instead for mass suicide. Clearly they were all delusional.
Nikita running Section One made as much sense as the insane Mr. Jones running Center - oh wait, Mr. Jones had run Center and they'd supported him, too. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't in the wrong profession; he was obviously too sane for this type of work.
Of the eight other members of the Oversight Committee, five had voted against his proposal to remove Nikita from the position of Operations. Two of those were certifiably insane, two were new - probably not secure enough in their positions to go against the deranged two, but there was no excuse for the fifth, who fell on the pathetic excuse that she deserved another chance.
Regardless of the consequences.
Not for the first time, he wondered how these people had managed to survive childhood.
Their parents must have taken a prodigious amount of care of them. Probably kept them in bubbles so they couldn't grievously injure themselves. Shame really.
He was brought back from his musings by the gloating voice of crazy no. 1 - Gerald Masters.
"Right then, that's two in favor, five against and two abstentions. Motion is put-down. Was there any other business?"
Where to be buried?
"Section One still requires a Second-In-Command."
This came from one of the two abstentions and the only female member of the Committee - Sue.
Crazy no. 2 - Johnson was quick to agree. "Yes, yes. They've been without since that chap we appointed died. Damn shame that, showed a lot of promise."
And he'd still be alive if Nikita wasn't so incompetent.
"Unlucky affair." Masters.
"We gave Nikita the opportunity to appoint a new Second, did we not?" Sue handled the crazies with the patience and ease of long practice.
"Yes, but she has yet to make a decision." Masters. Two heads nodding in unison.
"She's been taking her time." This was the other abstention - Cress.
"These things take time; very important decision." Johnson again.
"She's had over a year," he couldn't resist injecting.
The two crazies glared in his direction before returning their attention to Sue.
"Curtis is correct," she said.
"It isn't any easy decision to make." Masters.
"It needs to be made." This from Cress.
He got the distinct impression it was scripted.
"Things can not continue as they are," he just couldn't shut up.
"I agree; more importantly so does Center." Sue shot him a meaningful look.
He understood it perfectly; he was to remain quiet for the duration.
"Our last appointment did not go well," Masters reminded everyone.
"We should give her six more months to decide and then, if she is still unable to recommend a candidate, we will need to decide for her," Cress responded in an even tone.
"Agreed?" Sue inquired - looking directly at Curtis.
Everyone nodded in agreement, including himself. He personally doubted a Nikita run Section would last six months, but he could not so openly contradict Sue - disagreeing would have been suicidal.
There was no quicker way to advance than a high mortality rate, but surviving was the real achievement. Jasmine had managed to survive and was now a level four cold operative about to lead her team on their sixth successful mission in a row.
"Hey Troy," she greeted, entering Munitions.
He looked up from the gadget he was tinkering with, smiling uncertainly. "Hey Jasmine, you look uncomfortable."
Jasmine was dressed for the mission - in a body-hugging barely-there black dress, killer stiletto boots and a butchered Bambi coat. "I am. Got my stuff?"
"Right here," he pointed to a number of small items on a nearby table.
Jasmine retrieved the items, placing them in her purse before removing her coat so Troy could place the transmitters on her back.
"Now let's fit your communicator and get you out of here." He smiled brightly.
Jasmine didn't think she'd ever get used to him - she kept expecting Walter to appear with one of his patented leers. She missed him; she wasn't the only one.
"Has my team collected their equipment yet?"
"Everyone but Simon." He smiled with sympathy.
Jasmine resisted the urge to curse. Simon was a ten-year veteran; a good operative, reliable in the field but insubordinate off. She probably should have reported him but he never jeopardized a mission, was an inspiration to the other members of her team and was often responsible for their success.
Besides, he had his moments; his outlandish tales, depicting the many virtues of the gray-haired Nazi and his psychotic partner, were always amusing. His bizarre dream of returning Section One to the bad old days and tales of the old regime's "second coming" were so entertaining that his occasional acts of insubordination were almost worth putting up with.
Almost.
"I'm sure he'll be along shortly." She managed to sound convinced.
Troy looked doubtful, but didn't comment.
She collected her coat and headed to van access swearing that if Simon was late this time she would, at the very least, issue an official warning. She arrived to find the rest of her team waiting and nodded a greeting to each.
There were five operatives in her team, Simon, Cassidy, Mitchell, Kevin and Lore. Cassidy - petite blonde, class two operative with two years experience - would be working the target this mission. Mitchell - a giant of a man with shaggy brown hair, class two, three years experience - would be on extraction with Simon. Kevin and Lore were the newest members of her team. Kevin had been with them three months - it was Lore's second mission. Kevin was their field tech; Lore would act as back up.
With ten seconds to spare, Simon wandered down the corridor and joined her at the door. The clock hit zero and when the door opened, he was the first into the van. He promptly sat and fell asleep. Cassidy and Mitchell sat on either side of him and spent most of the trip in animated conversation, pointedly ignoring Kevin and Lore who sat staring at their shoes.
Jasmine wasn't worried; though divided off the field, her team was efficient, focused and solid while on missions.
They got the job done.
What does it matter if they don't get along?
After almost five years in Section One, Kate Quinn was still running Comm. It wasn't where she thought she would be, but considering the current leadership, it was to be expected. Quinn knew she wouldn't even be running Comm. if Nikita ever managed to find a competent replacement; luck and some preemptive action had eliminated any chance of that.
Quinn had built herself a rather impressive power base despite - and in some cases because - of Nikita's dislike of her. The operatives that worked beside her were loyal, understanding - as Nikita did not - that Quinn would not be stuck in Comm. forever - or even much longer.
In the first two years of Nikita's reign operatives had died left, right and center; there had been little faith in the leadership. And less respect. Nikita's determination to protect new recruits and forge an impossibly idealistic Section had been of immense benefit to Quinn. New recruits and substandard operatives were protected and given numerous chances, at the expense of the more experienced, battle-hardened "veterans" - the backbone of Section One.
Inexperienced and incompetent operatives endangered both lives and missions; gone were the days when a team leader could cancel them on the spot. Instead, they had been forced to pull double duty, take extra risks, and do it while carrying the useless team member's dead weight.
Many good operatives had died in the process.
Few had been impressed with the new leadership, including most of those "recruited" from other Sections and related agencies. Had there been one among them willing to take command, or had they then been willing to support Quinn, Nikita's leadership would have ended on the spot.
It was not to be.
When Nikita was captured, Quinn had sincerely hoped the terrorists would do her a favor and put a bullet in the blonde's head. Once again, fate dealt her a bad hand. A rival group had given Section Nikita's location and they had been forced to rescue her.
With Nikita's return to duty, Section One underwent some changes - within a month mission success rates were up, casualty rates were down. Senior operatives found themselves in improved positions, with increased chances of survival. It was not enough; few changed their opinions of Section One's leader.
What the changes did improve was some of those operatives' opinion of Section One's previous leadership. Nikita's new regime appeared so similar to what had come before her rise to power that it was difficult not to think of it.
A person's memory is subjective - we remember what we wish. What often happens, when people are dissatisfied with what is before them, is that they look to the past; with time they will see what they want to - something better.
Those who had once barely endured the previous leadership now looked with kinder eyes upon Paul and Madeline. Two people who had been so universally hated while alive, in death were touted as the very epitome of all that was good and just in Section's world. People remembered them not as they were, but as they desired them to be.
Paul and Madeline's newfound popularity was a godsend for someone as closely associated with one of them as Quinn herself was. Because of her association, she found herself accepted among those operatives; they respected her, trusted her and, most importantly, they would support her.
Only a matter of time.
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