|Subject: Whispered Identities - Chapter 161
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Date Posted: Tuesday, November 16, 08:08:39pm
In reply to:
's message, "Whispered Identities - Chapter 151 & forward" on Wednesday, October 20, 08:23:26pm
Nikita returned to their room from her walk; she closed the door and wandered through the suite.
She walked out onto the patio and peered beyond the courtyard to the garage area. Three men were dashing towards a Ranger Rover. The vehicle bolted from the garage compound and headed down the entrance road. Nikita strolled back into the suite and into the bedroom; she pulled off her outdoor clothes and slipped into a pair of leather pants and a bulky pullover; she released her hair from the pony tail, undoing the clasp from the hair and allowing it to fall onto her shoulders. She sat before a vanity mirror and began brushing the golden strands.
Why am I feeling uptight about this place....getting a bad feeling all of a sudden. Michael has promised to perform one computer job for Dalton, then....we will be leaving.
She tossed the brush on the vanity stand and stood looking around the bedroom.
I’ve got to do something constructive....get my mind on something.
She walked to the door and strolled down the hallway; once downstairs, she entered the media room where she sat at the same computer Michael had used earlier to create their bank accounts. Nikita booted up the computer and logged into MSN Explorer; she typed in her user name aussiegirl to access her Hotmail account. Rows of email messages awaited her, mainly junk mail. Then she spotted three messages from Terry Blake, the former CIA operative Nikita had worked with in the Bahamas. Nikita opened the first email.
‘What on earth has happened to you Nik? Have you dropped off the face of the earth? The rumor mill has it you did a runner. Please answer - I’m worried about you my friend.’
The second email from Terry was a few weeks later.
‘Still no reply from you. Now the rumors on the spook grapevine say you met up with the Frenchman, the hunk you trained. Is this really true? The rumors say you both did a runner from MI-6 and Interpol is hunting you. Geeze Nik! What on earth for!!! Please let me hear from you!’
The third email followed.
‘Okay, rumors have been confirmed. You are both wanted by MI-6 and Interpol for aiding terrorists and that the Frenchman laundered money. OMG Nik! If this is true - I hope the guy is worth it! Even if the sex is the best you ever experienced - it is only sex - can you believe me saying that! My friend - I’m so scared for you. Please let me know you are at least safe!’
Nikita sat re-reading the emails from Terry; tears welled up in her eyes.
Terry had been a good friend, well, maybe not real close but....they had worked together and connected. And she couldn’t reply.....someone might trace it.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks on her sweater sleeve. It was true, she hadn’t questioned why she was with Michael....well, maybe a few times....but as soon as she looked into those incredible eyes of his.....and admittedly, at his body....the questioning disappeared. There was no questioning why anymore....she loved him....so deeply she was scared to death. She had never felt or given herself to anyone like this before. But what lay ahead in life for them? When she was with Michael, she felt safe, protected.....and yearnings for a so called normal life penetrated her thoughts. God, she would love to have Michael’s children....and raise them in a normal home life.
Nikita raised her right arm and brushed away more tears that streaked down her cheeks. She moved the computer mouse to delete all the messages contained on her account - including those from Terry.
The Interpol computer technician sat staring lazily at his screen; he reached for his coffee and sipped. Suddenly a red flashing signal blinked in the upper right corner of the monitor: someone was accessing a flagged email account. The technician grinned.
“Well, let’s see who we’ve located.....not very smart of you....ahhhh...aussiegirl. Must be a lay user....doesn’t realize that by signing on, I can trace you. So aussiegirl, your hotmail sign-on page contains an ‘x’ field that records you IP address and with a little work, I can trace your internet provider also. Very careless....hummmm.....IP number 22.154.877.93...now I just trace this to locate the ISP. Ohhhh....this is interesting.....a private satellite uplink.....hummmm....in Portugal.”
The technician swung his chair to another computer to bring up intel on who requested the email trace.
“Okay....so MI-6....Declan Quinn or a Mr. Sloan....big poo-baaas with MI-6 want to know where you are.....ahhh....aussiegirl. Okay, all in a day’s work.” He grinned.
In London, Declan Quinn paced up and down in his office; Sloan sat twitching and smoothing his hair nervously. The phone rang and Quinn grabbed the receiver.
“Yes! What? Yes....I’ll give you my MI-6 code number....then transfer the intel...thank you.”
He sat down in front of his computer and watched as the Interpol information scrolled onto his screen; Quinn grinned.
“Well....well....seems someone was careless....the blonde agent....Samuelle’s piece of ass.”
Sloan jumped up from his chair and darted to the screen. “My gawd....what a piece of luck! I thought we’d never locate them after they disappeared in Spain!”
“Get in touch with Rene Laval. As soon as we obtain more information on the exact location of the computer IP, send him in.”
“What if the locale is hot....possibly an unsecure location?”
“Prepare different profiles for him....he is after all an old friend of Samuelle’s....so regardless of where they are holing up....Samuelle should welcome him.” Quinn grinned. “I think we are getting just that much closer to the million dollars reward.”
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