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Date Posted: 13:36:51 01/22/04 Thu
Author: Cyanide
Subject: Chapter Six. (R18)
In reply to: Cyanide 's message, "Acephaly." on 20:12:12 01/21/04 Wed

She'd gotten unbelievably lucky at the worst possible time. Somebody up there had it in for him, he was sure. There was now no chance Butler and Mendoza would vote for Nikita's removal - she had destroyed Red Cell.



Butler had already called to inform him of his change of heart.



"We can't very well replace her now, can we?" Butler had said. "I'm sure you agree," he went on to add.



Butler was wrong - Curtis didn't agree and he never would.



It was a fluke. A lucky break Nikita had little to do with.



Far from convincing him that Nikita was an intelligent, talented leader, the destruction of Red Cell had convinced Curtis that Nikita was a complete moron - so far out of her depth that she was treading water. It was only a matter of time before she drowned, taking Section One with her. Luck couldn't hold forever; the other members of Oversight were fools if they couldn't see it.



Red Cell had been planning their attack for years - probably five - and Section hadn't any idea until they received an anonymous warning. How did that denote good leadership? How did that make Nikita worthy of the title Operations?



In his opinion it didn't, but he was very much alone.



There was no possibility of the Oversight Committee removing her now, even if Center would allow it, and he doubted they would. No. They would place their lives in Nikita's slippery fingers and their survival would depend on luck alone. Lady Luck was a fickle mistress. They'd be dead inside a year.



Curtis had sacrificed too much to allow that to happen. He had devoted the majority of his life to Section; his blood, his sweat and tears were shed in building it. He had given up his life, his past and his future for the course. He'd watched others die for it; he'd mourned their deaths. He couldn't stand aside and allow her to destroy it.



While others crossed their fingers and hoped for the best, he was going to find another way - any way. He sat in his starkly lit office considering his options, they were few in number - all legitimate avenues were closed to him.



He considered the illicit ones. Looking at them from every angle, he weighed the pros and cons before rejecting all but one. Armed with a working strategy, he went about putting it into action.



His hand shook as he picked up his phone; he fumbled while attaching the scrambling device. He took time dialing the number.



The man was quick to answer. "Yes."



"Owen?" His voice seemed higher than normal.



"Curtis?"



"Yes."



"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Owen's voice was like soft velvet.



Now or never. He breathed deeply. "I need you to find someone for me."



"What sort of someone?"



"Your sort of someone."



Owen paused for a moment. "Send the details."



Curtis had the file ready and waiting; he hit send and waited impatiently for Owen to digest it. Just when the silence was becoming unbearable, Owen spoke.



"Interesting." Owen stretched out the word.



"Heard of her?" He knew he sounded too eager.



"No. That's what's interesting." Owen laughed softly. "Sure she's a player and not just a drone?" He asked a few moments later.



Curtis was beginning to think he'd made a mistake. "My Intel is limited."



"You're telling me." Owen sighed.



"You don't think you can find her," he ventured, almost hoping Owen would say he couldn't.



"I didn't say that," Owen quietly responded.



"Well?" Curtis prodded.



"It will be difficult." Owen dragged out each word.



"That is why I called you," he snapped.



Owen sighed. "I have a list of items."



Curtis smiled - Owen was predictable. "Send it. I will see what I can do."



"I'll contact you when I have something."



"You do that." He concluded the conversation, hung up and removed the scrambling device from the phone.



He felt as though he'd just run a marathon - his stomach was a fiery ball of anxiety.



He had taken his first step down an extremely dangerous road. What if the path lead to a future that was worse than the one he was trying to avoid? What if...?



There is no other option.



Sometimes the devil is the only one open for business.





**********************************************************************************************************************



She hadn't left Section in over two months and had spent the majority of that time in Comm. Quinn was sick of Comm., she was sick of Section, but mostly, she was sick of Nikita.



Nikita had decided no Comm. operative would leave the premises until after they had restored and then reviewed Red Cell's entire database. Not the easiest of tasks, it was made more difficult by Nikita's insistence on hourly progress reports and continued visits to inform them their efforts weren't good enough. Morale was at an all-time low.



Under the circumstances, Quinn thought her team was doing exceptionally well; they had restored over 90% of the data, which was more than anyone should have expected, considering its state. Unfortunately Nikita wasn't just anyone, she was in charge and she wanted it all. The last ten percent was lost forever; there was nothing Quinn could do about it.



Nikita wasn't to be reasoned with, however; humoring her, Quinn had left four members of her team on the impossible task of retrieving the irretrievable. Everyone else, herself included, was reviewing Red Cell's database. It was a slow and mostly boring task, most of the information trivial and utterly useless. However, their orders dictated that every piece of data had to be viewed - Quinn didn't really feel like spending time in Abeyance for disobeying Nikita's order.



Currently Quinn was reviewing the security checkpoint records. Page after page listing time, date, personnel - their security clearances, fingerprints and pictures - for each checkpoint they passed through. She'd been looking at files for over four hours. She was bored, she was tired; she was seriously considering walking up to the Perch and shooting Nikita in the head.



She'd moved on to the next record before something clicked - the man's face was familiar. She'd been reviewing files for weeks; a familiar face wasn't uncommon, but this one raised alarm bells. There was something about him.



She went back, reviewed the record again. Nothing stood out. And yet...



She ran a quick search for other records. There was only one. His exit.



He had entered the base, stayed four hours and left the base the same day. He had passed through only one checkpoint, he had never visited the base before, and yet his clearance was high. That was unusual. His face was familiar.



Why do I know you?



Quinn decided to run his prints and see if she got lucky. She moved on to the next record; not expecting the computer to find a match anytime soon, she was surprised when the computer beeped almost immediately.



A match?



The fingerprints of Red Cell's one time visitor - Daniel Reilly - were a perfect match for Janet's second assistant.



For some reason, Quinn really wished she'd been a little less observant.





**********************************************************************************************************************



She sat in darkness staring out at a starless sky, softly tapping her fingers on the window ledge without rhythm. The house behind her was deceptively quiet, affording the illusion of solitude.



Janet found the illusion comforting. It allowed her the rare pleasure of relaxing, whiling away an evening of sleeplessness, imagining how the other half lived. She wondered what it was like to live such lives of ignorance - was it truly blissful or simply mundane?



She found it intriguing, contemplating possible answers and considering where - had circumstances differed - she might have fit within that world, if there was ever a place there for her. It was an enjoyable way for her to pass the time - ignoring the demands of her world.



As always her illusion was shattered sooner rather than later.



"Quid agis, dulcissime rerum?" (How are you, sweetest of creatures?) Daniel greeted from the door.



Though his presence was not wholly unwelcome, Janet released a dramatic sigh before responding, "Quid me alta silentia cogis rumpere?" (Why force me to break this pent-up silence?)



"I've brought you a present," he announced, switching to English.



Janet turned from the window to face him, tracing his form with her eyes. "Is it by chance an exceptionally rare and exceedingly fine bottle of my favorite vice?" she asked smiling.



"Why yes, it is," he replied; she could hear the smile in his voice.



"In that case, you may intrude." She raised a welcoming hand.



He strode farther into the room with his usual self-confidence. She heard him place a heavy object on her desk, before he came around the desk and placed a gentle kiss upon her upturned cheek. He plunked himself down on the blotter on her desk, leaning forward, hands on his knees.



He smiled widely. "Heard a nasty rumor about you."



"Oh?" she inquired with studied neutrality.



"I was informed, by a reliable source, that you slithered to the depths of depravity and patronized the village cafeteria Monday last." His tone was grave, but he was smiling.



"When in the throes of starvation, what can one do but rush madly towards the first eatery that comes within view?" she responded in as serious a tone as she could manage.



Daniel had a fondness for the dramatic; his mouth hung open and his hand came to rest upon his heart. "But such an eatery?" He even sounded shocked. "What of your reputation?"



Such moments of levity were now so rare; she had come to miss them. "When demise is the probable consequence, one must dispense with one's snobbery and lunch with the masses."



He gifted her a number of tutts before condemning her actions with words. "Utterly reprehensible behavior Janet!"



Janet had missed him. "Horresco referens (I shudder to think of it) - I can hardly believe I allowed myself to do it."



He laughed loudly.



"How was your trip?" she ventured.



"Decidedly inconvenient." He smiled without enthusiasm. He leaned forward. "There are bags under your eyes," he accused.



She could hear the concern in his voice - she examined her fingernails. "It's the lighting," she lied.



"I was watching on the monitor," he stated.



"Then it's the monitor." She didn't change position, didn't look up. Her tone alone carried the implicit warning, the laying down of boundaries; he was entering an area where his presence was unwelcome.



He sighed heavily. "Semper eadem." (Ever the same.)



"What will you do when this is finished?" she hadn't meant to ask.



"Same thing I do now," he quickly replied.



She looked up. "You could retire, you know; you're a rich man."



He shook his head. "I'm useless without you ordering me around; I wouldn't know what to do with myself."



"Very funny Daniel." She paused. "I'd really like you to consider it," she added quietly.



"Consider retiring?" He appeared surprised.



"Luck doesn't last forever, and you've had more than most," she informed him.



He laughed softly. "I'd die of boredom out there in the "real" world. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."



"You are irritating at times." She smiled.



"I know," he replied, in a singsong voice.



She abruptly changed the subject. "What news from the front?"



"Another base destroyed. Doesn't look good for our friends at Red Cell." He grinned.



"Damn shame that," she said, laughter in her voice.



"Whatever is the world coming to?" He continued grinning.



"Securus judicat orbis terrarum." (The verdict of the world is conclusive.)



He laughed again. "So, did you do anything of note while I destroyed Red Cell single-handedly?"



"A number of things, but only two that would interest one such as yourself," she responded.



"I've a feeling you just insulted me." Hand back on his heart. "Shoot."



"I've secured a new ally," she told him.



He shrugged his shoulders. "Coming out of the woodwork aren't they?" He yawned. "So what was interesting?"



She smiled sweetly. "I've advanced the timetable."



He didn't say anything at first, just stared at her with a surprised expression. Finally he spoke, "I think you had better tell me more about this new ally."



She laughed, "Pull up a chair."




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Replies:

[> [> Okay, a couple of things... -- Shanola, 22:51:19 01/25/04 Sun

First off, I have to say that the extra spaces between paragraphs is throwing me off somewhat and the occasional bold word is distracting.

The beginning is a little torture heavy, which I can't even believe I'm saying as most of my own stories are torture heavy all the way through.*g* Still, I found myself wondering why you didn't just tell us it was Nikita being tortured in the first part instead of trying to hide her name. There were a lot of 'she's in there and I don't think it would have hurt anything if you'd used Nikita once or twice.

I am not sure that leather thongs would really tighten up enough to break ribs or even seriously constrict ribs. I think leather stretches when it is wet and then stiffens as it dries. I've seen/read about Native American indians using wet leather around the ankles, wrists and throat of their victims, to stake them out in the sun. As the leather dried, it slowly choked the victim to death. You've got it a little different in your story so you may want to check on it. And I could be wrong, too.

Now, as for the actual storyline....

I'm hooked. You've got me thinking. I'm trying to figure out which side Janet is on and if I like her or not. Is she working for Centre? Is she out for herself? What are her goals? Is is something completely different than what I'm thinking? I have to keep reading to find out. Which is good. =P

At first I thought Janet was a little cliched...you know, the Evil Badguy/girl happy to torture people for no reason. But as I continued to read, I changed my opinion of her.

And that is cool.

I wasn't immediately gripped by the story but it slowly reached out and took me in. I'm reading...so where's the rest?

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[> [> [> Well then...(r) -- Cyanide, 15:57:47 02/02/04 Mon

First off, I have to say that the extra spaces between paragraphs is throwing me off somewhat and the occasional bold word is distracting.

Sorry, I was lazy and posted the code directly from another page.

The beginning is a little torture heavy, which I can't even believe I'm saying as most of my own stories are torture heavy all the way through.*g* Still, I found myself wondering why you didn't just tell us it was Nikita being tortured in the first part instead of trying to hide her name. There were a lot of 'she's in there and I don't think it would have hurt anything if you'd used Nikita once or twice.

Hmmm, well I'll read it through again and see if I can eliminate a few of those she's.

I am not sure that leather thongs would really tighten up enough to break ribs or even seriously constrict ribs. I think leather stretches when it is wet and then stiffens as it dries. I've seen/read about Native American indians using wet leather around the ankles, wrists and throat of their victims, to stake them out in the sun. As the leather dried, it slowly choked the victim to death. You've got it a little different in your story so you may want to check on it. And I could be wrong, too.

I'm fairly certain I am right on this, but my being wrong is not unheard of. *g*

At first I thought Janet was a little cliched...you know, the Evil Badguy/girl happy to torture people for no reason. But as I continued to read, I changed my opinion of her.

I am glad as that was a concern of mine.

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[> [> [> Ooops....(r) -- Cyanide, 16:04:52 02/02/04 Mon

Also should have said that the leather thongs did not break her ribs, her ribs were broken before they were put on.

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