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Adrian Vetti.
He would never forget the name; never forget the man.
He would never forget the man's fate.
He could still see him - on the couch in Kristoff's office - right hand swollen beyond belief; two barely visible holes; bloody threads falling from his gums; his face streaked with red tears. The Terciopelo had bitten Adrian only once and delivered with its venom the most gruesome of deaths - his body had died piece by piece.
A black mouthful of blood had signaled the end of the man's suffering and anguish - punishment for his betrayal; it was too long in coming for Daniel's taste.
Daniel had feared both Kristoff and snakes ever since - twenty-one years later he was still haunted by the image. Kristoff was long dead, conveniently killed by Section over fifteen years before. But snakes were everywhere - he was looking at one.
Andrew, turning pink and grinding his teeth with enthusiasm, was coiled and ready to strike.
It was both fascinating and unsettling for Daniel as he watched Janet baiting the man.
"Andrew; I was wrong. You were right. Are we happy now?" She was snide, condescending and obviously so.
Daniel didn't believe the words any more than Andrew did.
"No." He looked about ready to burst a blood vessel.
"Such a hard man to please - I said you were right." She smiled sweetly.
"You didn't mean it." He was beginning to turn purple.
"You could tell? I thought I was an excellent liar." She managed to sound disappointed.
Daniel suppressed a smile.
"My fifth grade drama teacher told me I had the makings of a real star." She jutted out her bottom lip, looking truly forlorn.
She'd been home schooled and drama had not been a part of the curriculum - Andrew was only too aware of that.
"Scott." Though Andrew's body was tense and his tone angry, he had yet to raise his voice.
"I'm sorry, what about him?" She was at her desk, absently leafing through files which she had had Daniel create a few hours before.
"The meeting." Andrew looked about ready to send the files and their owner across the room.
Daniel marveled at his restraint, self-preservation was the ultimate motivator.
"Meeting?" She looked up with a puzzled expression and then, as though she'd only just remembered; "It's not for a month."
Andrew took a deep breath, his hands clinched in fists. "Bring. It. Forward." Each word was clipped.
Andrew was allowing his frustration to show just a little too clearly for his taste; Daniel moved to stand closer to Janet.
She caught the movement and winked at him.
"It's not for a month." She dropped the file she was holding, leaned back in her chair and directed her full attention at Andrew, as though deciding the time for play was over.
"You are being unreasonable." His tone was more controlled, but his frustration was still rather poorly concealed.
"It suits me." No smile this time.
"It really doesn't," Andrew snapped.
Janet lifted an eyebrow in response.
He immediately backed down, doing his imitation of reasonable. "I really think we should meet with him."
"And we will. In a month." Her tone was even, deadly calm.
"Daniel?" Andrew pleaded for assistance.
It was so rare that Andrew involved him in conversations that this decision to include him now took Daniel off guard. "I really wouldn't know," he responded lamely.
Janet shot him a serene smile. "Have I told you you're a genius?" Her tone was light but her eyes told another story.
"Only twice this week, but then it is only Monday." He kept his face blank.
"You're both mad," Andrew hissed.
Daniel couldn't resist; "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Andrew's voice had risen, files were sent flying across the room - he faced Daniel, but the question was probably directed at them both.
"Andrew." Her voice was chilling.
Andrew immediately turned back towards the desk - Janet was standing.
Andrew seemed to deflate before their very eyes. One look at Janet's face seemed to drain him of his anger and replace it with fear. He sat down, took a deep breath and then spoke so softly Daniel could barely hear him.
"We need to bring the meeting forward."
"The others would never agree to it," she said in an even tone of voice.
Andrew nodded once. "We could still meet with him."
Sounding somewhat bored now. "Is it really necessary?"
Andrew drew himself up. "I believe so."
Janet sighed loudly. "Then arrange a meeting and talk him down."
Andrew wasn't the type of person who knew when to quit. "We should both go."
"I see no reason for that."
"He's about to go to war." Andrew didn't sound the least bit annoyed, his perceived victory working wonders for his temperament.
"He's not quite that stupid." She smiled.
A little louder now. "He's frustrated, he doesn't have enough information and frankly neither do I."
Daniel enjoyed "indignant Andrew."
Janet was beginning to sound weary. "It's how it has to be, make sure he understands that."
"If we just..."
She cut him off. "No."
"I really think..."
And again. "Andrew." This time her tone was harsh. The conversation was over.
Andrew wisely decided to call it a day. "Understood." He got up to leave.
"I haven't offered you my congratulations."
Andrew looked confused.
Daniel added "confused Andrew" to his like column.
"Anna's pregnancy," Janet intoned.
"Ah, right." There was a touch of relief in his reaction.
"Congratulations." She even managed a realistic looking smile.
Andrew seemed a little taken aback. "Thank you," he managed before practically running from the office.
Janet sat down, turning her seat to face the window. After a few moments' silence. "What do you think?"
Daniel was sure she had already made up her mind, but played along. "He's already arranged that meeting."
"Undoubtedly." She seemed to be expecting more.
"He's going to betray us." He was certain.
"He already has."
Daniel wasn't surprised. "Should I take care of it?"
She turned her chair back till she faced him. "Wait till after the consortium meeting. This could very well work in our favor."
He would have preferred not to wait so long, but trusted her judgment. "Both?"
She nodded. "Mentz as well."
He'd already given the task some thought. "Peters and Allen?" They would be acting as Andrew's protection.
She sighed. "A regrettable loss."
There was only one other contingency. "What about Anna?"
She didn't answer immediately, instead focusing her attention on the bookcase residing on the left-hand wall. For a minute she simply studied it, then in a low voice she replied. "Her husband talks in his sleep."
He understood. "And she's the type that listens."
Janet gave him a half-hearted smile and turned back to the window.
He took it as a dismissal.
"Be careful." Her tone was warm.
He smiled in response. "It's my middle name."
She laughed softly. "I thought it was James."
"It's an honorary type of thing." He reached the door and pulled it open.
"Daniel." She stared out the window, sounding miles away.
"Yes?" He suddenly felt uneasy.
"About Anna."
Her tone turned unease to nervousness.
Another risk?
"Yes?"
"Make it quick."
She has to reach him. She needs to hurry. Time is running out. She knows it, but she doesn't dare go faster - every time she does, she trips and falls. Every time she falls it becomes that much harder to get up, to keep going.
She can see him; he is lying face down in a mass of rubble, just a few meters in the distance. She slows her pace, approaching with caution, carefully weaving her way through the broken furniture, construction material, and blood-caked bodies. If she falls again she is certain she will not be able to get back on her feet.
She has reached his side. She grabs an arm, pulls him over on to his back. His eyes are closed, his face a mass of bruises; she feels for a pulse but cannot find one.
Please God, no.
Suddenly his eyes are open; he stares at her, pain etched in every feature.
"I'm here, it's going to be alright. I'll get us out of here." She tries to lift him and falls to her knees - gravity and exhaustion keep her there. She cannot give up; he needs her. "I'm going to save you, I promise."
He looks confused. "But you're too late."
She is staring into a pair of lifeless eyes; one half of his face is a bloody mass, the other a picture of agony. He is dead; she has failed.
There is a noise - cackling, evil.
She turns in the direction of the noise - nothing but shadows. Darkness closes in; she attempts to ward it off but is unsuccessful. It comes closer; there is something within it, something evil.
She looks for something to defend herself; everything she grasps turns to ash in her hands.
The darkness consumes her.
There is nothing and then there is grey - it is all encompassing. She is in a room, sitting in a chair - alone. There is a door, it opens; someone is there, they are watching her - she feels their eyes.
She must escape; something horrible will happen if she does not, she cannot stay here. Her friends are going to die.
She stands, looking for some other way out - there is none.
She cannot move.
Someone is holding her - two men, tall and strong with vice-like grips.
There is a woman with dark-hair; blood trails down her face from two gaping holes where her eyes should be. She is speaking but the language is foreign.
The woman laughs; she sounds like a hyena.
Pain.
Black.
A voice. "He is dead."
Who? Who is dead?
She tries to remember - there is a face with lifeless brown eyes.
Red.
Death.
Someone is beside her - she is in the Perch.
Paul.
Blue eyes meet.
"What happened here?" She needs to know.
He smiles. "You did."
Her father. "You alone."
Laughter.
Screaming.
It is she.
Her sheets are drenched in sweat, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. With each waking moment, the details of the nightmare fade from her memory but an overwhelming sense of loss remains. Hot tears flow freely down her checks.
From previous experience she knows there is no point trying to get back to sleep so she kicks off her covers and heads to the bathroom of her Section quarters. She turns on the taps, allows the water to run down the drain for a few moments and then splashes some on her face. She washes away the dregs of sleep, hoping to wash away her guilt along with it.
Looking at the drawn face in the mirror she wonders - not for the first time - what has become of her. It is not a face she recognizes, it belongs to someone else - some stranger who pretends to be her. The same stranger, who orders people to their deaths and allows the deaths of innocents to serve some greater good - it isn't real; she cannot be responsible for such horrors.
And yet it is she - this stranger in the mirror.
She is the person who, just the day before, ordered someone to kill a four-year-old named Katie. She chose to allow a cute little blonde girl, with blue ribbons holding her pigtails in place to die.
To die so that a thousand just like her could live - for the greater good. It was important; it was necessary.
Bullshit - just more excuses.
All meaningless when she has to look herself in the mirror at four in the morning. Her efforts seem pitiful, everything she has done is wasteful and without purpose. She allowed a child to die, actually ordered an operative to murder the girl. It doesn't matter that a terrorist was using Katie as a shield; it doesn't matter that if they allowed him to escape thousands more would die.
It doesn't matter and it never will.
But at four in the morning she wants to believe that it does matter, that she did all she could - she made the right decision and Katie had to die. More than anything she wants to believe she could not save Katie. If she couldn't save Katie, maybe she couldn't save him either, and if that were true, she could stop blaming herself - then maybe the nightmares would go away.
She needs them to go away. She needs sleep - she needs relief.
I cannot continue living like this. I can't.
She is heading for an early grave. She knows it. She believes it.
I need help.
But there is no one left.
All gone; all dead.
A heart attack had claimed Walter over a year before.
Birkoff...
Jason...
Michael...
She was surprised it had taken so long; Karl had been back a whole six hours before he came barging into her office with his self-righteous wrath.
"You killed them!" he thundered upon entering.
There was no point in responding; he hadn't bothered to ask a question.
"What were you thinking? Were you thinking? This could jeopardize everything! We've worked so hard, then you go and throw it all away - why? Because he wouldn't sleep with you anymore or something?" He waited.
He was waiting for an answer to his latest question - she was somewhat amused. "I'm not quite so pedestrian."
He seemed quite pleased with her reply; she didn't waste time wondering why.
"You had him killed though?" He paused long enough for her to acknowledge his question with a nod of her head. He sighed loudly. "Janet, what the hell is wrong with you? We needed him; we needed Scott and Mentz as well, I'm guessing they weren't just caught in the crossfire. Why?" His tone was positively whiny.
"Their deaths will help not hinder our efforts." She kept her own tone neutral.
He looked doubtful.
She repressed her desire to shoot him in the head, deciding it probably wouldn't do him the least bit of harm. "Red Cell will certainly go to war now."
"With us," he moaned.
It's official! I am surrounded by morons.
"They will blame Section."
"What makes you so sure?" A child's challenge.
Why do I bother?
"Ad tristem partem strenua est suspicio - one is keen to suspect a quarter from which one has once received hurt," she lectured.
He disliked such responses and became more agitated. "How can you be sure this will work in our favor?"
"Because we can control the outcome." She smiled brightly, picturing him six feet under.
He gave her a vacant look in return. "Since when?"
"Our assistance has been requested." She spoke to him like she would a four-year old.
I really don't like children.
"By whom?" He'd plastered on his confused expression.
She was getting tired of his whiny tone. "Red Cell."
"How did they even find out about us?" He looked at her accusingly.
Stupidity breeds contempt.
"Either Scott told them or Andrew did."
"Andrew?" The vacant expression again.
She smiled. "Scott put them in touch."
"How long?" Now he was worried.
"Not long enough to matter." She waved a hand in a dismissive manner.
"How much do they know?"
Like a dog with a bone.
She sighed. "Little, and nothing important." If he were punishment for misdeeds in a former life, she had to have done something truly deplorable.
He nodded, looking thoughtful. "This will affect the timetable."
It was doubtful he'd be winning a Nobel Prize anytime soon.
"We are ready."
He began to pace - he seemed to find it easier to think while marching in a rhythm. "It's risky. The odds aren't in our favor."
"Then lets improve the odds," she said standing. She wondered briefly if idiocy might be contagious.
"How?"
"Patience is a virtue." She grinned, feeling anything but cheerful.
"Don't start that shit. I need to know." He came to stand in front of her.
Looking deeply into his eyes, she smiled brightly. "I have a meeting." She could smell the sickly sweetness of his cologne.
"Janet." He reached out, his hand briefly caressing her cheek before coming to rest on her shoulder.
If stupidity were contagious, her I.Q. would surely drop a few points with the contact. "I have a meeting," she repeated.
He sighed deeply - a sad expression claimed his features.
Not this again.
She shrugged off his hand, turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
She'd been given eight weeks, used seven and was still no closer to finding him. If she didn't locate him soon, Jasmine was certain to be headed to Abeyance - if not cancellation. She hadn't expected it to be easy, but she hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult either; she had hit so many dead ends it was a wonder she didn't have a concussion. Michael and his son had disappeared - it was as though they had never existed.
"Anything promising?" she asked Mitchell, for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
He sighed, running a giant hand through his shaggy hair. "More of the same - a few possible."
Better than nothing.
"Well?" She was impatient.
"Guy in France rescued some people from a fire, didn't want publicity. A guy in hospital in Germany, lots of scars and no memory of how he came by them. Three contacts swear they saw Michael in three separate states in America. Another four contacts insist he's in various countries in Europe. One claims Michael is living in Australia. And then we have the contact who watched Adam play soccer in New Hampshire - USA."
"Right. No doubt our most reliable contacts. What are the other sources like?" She dreaded the answer.
"Doctor at the German hospital and the other I got from the net." He grinned sheepishly.
"Uh-huh." Abeyance here I come! "We'll check them all out."
Her phone started ringing; she answered on the fourth ring, "Yes?"
"Report," Operations' cool voice ordered.
Perfect timing.
"We have a few leads, we are following them up."
"You haven't found him." She sounded disappointed.
"No, but it..."
Operations cut her off. "I don't need to hear excuses."
Jasmine repressed a sigh. "Right."
"Do I need to remind you of how important this mission is?"
Operations asked, and Jasmine was prompt to respond, "No, Ma'am."
"Get it done."
"Yes, Ma'am," Jasmine said to the dial tone. She felt drained of energy. She turned to find Mitchell staring at her, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Operations is not impressed with our lack of progress," she told him.
"What does she expect?" Simon announced himself by asking.
Jasmine was sick of Simon; for the last week all he'd done was criticize Operations and make a general nuisance of himself.
"I'm sorry?" she replied acidly.
"What does she expect?" He willfully misinterpreted her.
"I'm not deaf. What did you mean?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
She remained silent.
"Michael's a pro, if he doesn't want to be found we are not going to find him."
"Your point?" Maintaining control was difficult.
He shrugged. "I just made it. This is a waste of time. Why are we searching for her old boyfriend anyhow?"
He's probably right. "We follow our orders."
"Whatever." Simon sat down next to Mitchell.
"Go get packed you're going to check out some leads here in Europe," she said, her tone now harsh.
He stood. "Yes, Ma'am."
"You'll get an ID and report back; you will not engage, you will not expose yourself. Got it?"
He grinned. "I'm not to expose myself, yep, got it."
"Cassidy will be going with you," she continued.
"Always a pleasure to work with a beautiful woman." He winked at Mitchell and then left the room.
He'll be the death of me.
Jasmine sighed. "Lore and I will check out the sightings stateside," she told Mitchell.
He mumbled an acknowledgement, keeping his head down in order to hide a smile.
Winter was fast approaching; the leaves on the surrounding trees a collection of red and golden hews. The air was crisp. Michael stood leaning against a tall oak, watching Adam play soccer with a couple of friends nearby. It was slightly cold in the shadow of the tree, but some habits died hard and Michael would always choose shadows over the warming sun.
Lately he had become more relaxed - less observant - more the father and less the operative; but he would always be cautious, some part of him forever on alert. He swept his eyes over the surrounding area, his custom every five to ten minutes, and was shocked by the sight of her.
He hadn't seen her enter the park, nor had he seen her take a seat on the bench nearby. But there she was, sitting on a bench not ten yards away from him - somehow managing to make her black pants suit look casual, even with the matching black scarf and dark FBI style glasses.
She didn't belong, and yet, to the average observer she would not have seemed out of place. Michael probably would have dismissed her himself had she not seemed to be staring directly at him. Her attention captured his.
Shivers traveled up his spine, he scanned the park, looking for other operatives, but was unable to detect any and unnerved because of it. Bringing his eyes back to her, she no longer seemed to be looking in his direction, but he couldn't be sure. She seemed to be waiting for something and he suspected that something was himself.
He looked back towards the impromptu soccer game - Adam was still there - then closed the distance between the strangely familiar woman and himself. She didn't turn in his direction, but when he was within a few feet she spoke.
"You were much too easy to find Michael."
He had thought she was familiar before but when he heard the voice, he knew. "Janet."
She turned her face towards him and slowly reached a hand up to remove her glasses. Green eyes met green. "I'm touched you remember." She smiled warmly, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"I was unlikely to forget." Sixteen years on, he remembered it like yesterday. One of his first missions; one of his first mistakes. Michael forced himself to smile back at her and closed the small distance to bestow the expected quick kiss on each cheek. He then sat down beside her, turning his eyes once more to watch Adam.
"Section is looking for you." Her glaze wandered the park in the deliberately casual way of one well trained.
Michael considered her words for a few moments. "Purpose?"
A wan smile. "Recruitment."
"Who?" Michael had a sinking suspicion he knew the answer.
"Operations."
She spoke the name with little - if any - emotion, but that did not lessen its effect on Michael. It was as though she had kicked him in the solar plexus. He watched as Adam kicked the soccer ball from one end of the field to the other, happily unaware that his world was about to be wrenched out from under him.
Again.
Michael's limbs felt heavy. "Why?"
"She requires a second, you are the most qualified." Janet's eyes continued their survey, while her words continued their assault.
"Why now?" His voice seemed unusually calm to his ears.
Would Nikita really do such a thing?
"Pressure from above."
"Reason?"
Who is this emotionless robot managing to ask such questions in that calm, clear voice?
"Lack of confidence in Operations' abilities."
He turned to face Janet, tracing every line of her face for any indication that what she was saying wasn't true. It was a wasted effort and it didn't really matter; he was already convinced. "How long do I have?" His voice broke.
On some level he had always expected the day would come, but just because Nikita's betrayal was expected didn't make it any less painful. He felt as though Nikita had stabbed him in the heart.
"Two days at the most." Janet turned and met his eyes.
"What are you offering?" Michael knew her well enough to know she hadn't come all this way just to give him a warning.
"Payment."
A single word can communicate so much.
His eyes found Adam.
He would never understand; I would never forgive myself. I cannot go back.
He nodded once.
Janet indicated the continuing game. "We don't need to leave straight away; he can play a little longer."
Michael didn't reply.
They watched his son play soccer in the dreary Park that only an hour before had seemed so beautiful to Michael's eyes.
"He's gone," Jasmine announced in a tired voice.
"Then he was there?" Nikita didn't bother keeping the impatience from her own.
"Yes, not two days ago," Jasmine confirmed.
"Any indication of where he went?"
"Negative."
"Any indication that he knew we were coming?" Nikita prodded.
Jasmine sighed. "He's not here."
"Return to Section," Nikita ordered in a cold tone.
"You don't want us to..."
She cut Jasmine off. "You're not going to find him. Come in."
"On our way."
Nikita ended the transmission by banging her hand hard against the console - a sharp, biting pain traveled up the length of her arm.
"Damn him," she said angrily.
He'd deserted her yet again. She felt betrayed. She felt an overwhelming need to break something, to tear the world apart with her bare hands. Michael had to know she would never break her promise unless it was absolutely necessary.
Section needs him - I need him - and he's run away.
Away from Section, away from her - she hated him for his cowardice. She had given so much and asked so little; how could he abandon her in her time of need? How could he do this to her? How could he be so selfish, so uncaring - so Michael.
"Just like old times." She laughed bitterly.
There was no point in raging about it; no sense in wasting her energy screaming about the injustice of it all, weeping over his betrayal. There was too much to do for her to indulge in such luxuries as temper tantrums, not when necessities such as sleep were difficult to accommodate.
He was gone and she had work to do.
She had a briefing in an hour, a report to complete that Oversight needed yesterday, two active missions she was supposed to be monitoring, a failed mission she had to investigate, a dozen reports that had needed her attention for over a month - and more arriving every hour. She had proposals to consider - to approve or refuse and, thanks to Michael's disappearing act, she now had to find a Second-In-Command.
She had no time to rage, no time to weep. She had to work.
That is what she did. She reviewed the failed mission, sent the profiler to Abeyance and would have marked the team leader for cancellation had he not died during the mission. She read over two proposals - rejecting both, briefed the team on the new mission, kept one eye on the missions in progress and managed to review 11 of the 12 reports that had been waiting a month - plus four that had arrived within the month. She even managed to draw up a list of four possible candidates for her Second.
Nine hours later - twenty-one hours since her day began - her eyes were closing despite her best efforts; she knew she should call it a day. There was however that last report - it was last for a reason.
She opened the file and scanned it quickly. She already knew what it said, Quinn had given an oral account - somehow it was more real in print.
I was wrong.
It hadn't been Janet. It was a group called Black Order - in Section's systems for over twenty years - and no one had considered them a threat.
Not exactly no one.
Someone had gone to the trouble of wiping the organization off the face of the planet, and they did it using Section methods. Someone wanted Section to be blamed; someone didn't want to be noticed. Immediately she thought of Janet, but then dismissed the idea.
The woman couldn't be everywhere at once - Janet wasn't responsible for everything.
Black Order had previous run-ins with Red Cell, but no one else - they knew of. Section had dealt Red Cell an almost fatal blow a few years back; Nikita doubted they had recovered enough to manage something of that scale. It was a mystery, one they needed to solve.
You're not going to solve it tonight.
She closed the file, logged off and left the Perch for the tangle of her sheets.
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