| Subject: CHRISTMAS PAST 3 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 15:09:33 01/24/02 Thu
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Christmas Past 1" on 15:26:51 01/22/02 Tue
* * *
Operations paced irritably behind the conference table.
“Our target is Mahnmet Abu--an Islamic resistance fighter who made a name for himself by his propensity for mass murdering his enemies and their entire families under flags of truce or the guise of cease fires. Since war crimes were rampant on all sides of the recent Bosnian conflict, Abu is no better or worse than most of the combatants.”
“Why is Section One being involved?” Michael asked quietly.
Operations smiled bitterly, “Because his life is the price of the negotiated peace. Markovic is one of the strongest leaders on the side of the Serbian faction and NATO believes his cooperation is vital to keeping the peace we brokered at the Wright-Patterson peace conference. Unfortunately for Abu, he had Markovic’s entire family slaughtered, two weeks ago. Now Markovic is threatening to violate the negotiated peace unless his terms are met.
“And his terms are?” Nikita interjected.
“The immediate execution of Mahnmet Abu. If the assassination isn’t forthcoming, Markovic will encourage his faction of the Serbians to retaliate on his behalf. That would start another round of an eye for an eye—and that would mean the end of the peace.”
“Won’t killing Abu create a similar need for retaliation on the side of the Muslims?” Michael asked.
“Not if we make it look as if one of his own allies did the killing.”
“Do we have a man in place to take the fall?” Michael asked again.
“Yes.” Operations clicked the holographic screen. “This is Saladin Koslin. He’s an arms dealer who has a reputation for being ambitious. Abu has relied on him in the past for arms shipments from Afghanistan, though there is no love lost between the two. Both men are scheduled to meet in three days to conclude an arms deal. NATO wants the shipment stopped. Killing Abu and framing Koslin for the murder will make everyone happy: Markovic keeps the peace, we stop an illegal arms deal, and NATO remains an innocent bystander. Michael, I want a profile in my office in an hour.”
“This should be a surgical—“ Michael began.
“Agreed. This briefing’s over. Michael I’ll see in an hour, the rest of you are dismissed.”
Everyone stood to leave, with Nikita rising the slowest. She waited to accompany Michael to his office. They walked there in silence, where both waited to speak until Michael could secure the room.
“Operations called a few hours after you left.” Michael began in explanation.
Nikita nodded, and folded her arms. While it showed in her expression, she voiced no disappointment. She had long since learned not to count on anything, when working for Section—not even Christmas.
“Do you need any help with the profile.” She offered.
“No. Thank you.” Michael sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. His demeanor had switched to machine-mode, out of necessity. With a small sigh, Nikita nodded and got up to leave.
“I’ll be in Section, if you need me.”
“There’s no need. I’ll call you in, if I need you.” Michael said, speaking over the top of his computer screen. He glanced at her briefly, nodded a goodbye then went back to work.
Nikita was vaguely hurt that he could shift gears so fast. ‘But’ she thought, ‘that’s Michael—take him or leave him.’
“Fine.” Nikita said with a quick nod. “Later, then.”
Michael nodded absently, already totally absorbed in his work.
Nikita returned to her apartment and exercised for the next several hours. It was after midnight when she finally decided she was exhausted enough to sleep. Even then, it took an hour to fall asleep because of thoughts of Michael. Lying there in her lonely bed, Nikita missed him terribly. Being with him, sleeping with him, had become a powerful addiction in a very short time.
* * *
“Morning, Birkoff!” Came a cheery voice from behind.
“Nikita?” What are you doing here?” Birkoff hardly looked up from his workstation.
“It’s almost Christmas! What are you doing working?” She teased, leaning over his console.
Birkoff flashed her a strange look, then gave out a huff and a shrug of his shoulders before going back to his keyboard.
There was a rattling of paper and Birkoff looked up once again. Nikita placed a small, beautifully wrapped package in his lap.
“What’s this?” He looked at the package, then back at Nikita with a puzzled, half-pleased expression on his face.
“Well, . . . it’s not a bomb. The rest you’ll have to figure out for yourself, when you open it.”
Birkoff’s young face broke out into a grin as he started to tear the paper. Then he stopped and looked up with great concern on his face.
Nikita’s expression asked what was wrong and Birkoff looked contrite, “I didn’t get you anything, Nikita.”
She laughed and ruffled his short hair with both hands. “I don’t care. I didn’t expect you to. Open it.”
Birkoff, relieved of any guilt, tore the paper some more and revealed the latest, and most popular computer game on the market.
“Oh wow!” He stared at the box with total joy on his face. “How did you know? I mean, how’d you find one?”
Nikita laughed again, “It wasn’t easy--but I do have some connections.”
“Thanks, Nikita! Really!” He laughed as he eagerly scanned the box’s contents.
She blew him a kiss and left to find Walter.
Nikita found him in his workroom, soldering.
“Hi, Walter.”
“Sugar!” Walter grinned broadly. “Ah! Stop right about . . . there!”
“What? Nikita stopped just inside the doorway.
“Perfect!”
Nikita smiled, but wondered what in the world Walter was up to.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Walter said in partial explanation.
“I know,” Nikita said, “Here.” She held out a book-sized, rectangular present.
“For me?”
“For you,” Nikita answered, “and for the benefit of all the ladies in your life.”
Walter quickly opened the box and found a gift set of cologne. He unscrewed the top of one of the bottles, took a whiff and liked what he smelled. “Oh, that’s the good stuff, all right! Thanks, Sugar!”
“Merry Christmas, Walter.” Nikita said, as she started to leave.
“Hold it! Don’t move.”
“What?”
“I have something for you, too.” Walter said with a wide grin.
“Really? For me?” She asked as he handed her a small box.
“For you--sorry, I didn’t get a chance to wrap it.“
Nikita opened the box and found a set of lacy-silver earrings, set with colorful bead-work and tiny feathers.
“They’re called dream-catchers. I made them for you.”
“Oh, Walter! They’re so beautiful!”
“Well, . . . “ Walter said modestly.
“No, really, Walter--they’re gorgeous!”
He smiled wickedly. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
Walter pointed upwards to a small clump of white berries and green leaves.
“Mistletoe?” Nikita asked, slipping an arm around Walter’s shoulders.
“Hey! It’s traditional--and I’ve always been big on tradition.” He gave her his widest, most lecherous grin.
Nikita took Walter’s face in her hands and planted a wet kiss on his lips. Walter playfully dipped her backwards, before a voice behind them broke it up.
“Uh, umm?” It was Birkoff, trying not to laugh, “Walter, if you’re not too busy, Operations needs to see you in his office.
Walter righted Nikita, and released her. “Bah, Humbug! Okay,” he added with a long-suffering sigh. “See you later, Sugar?”
“Sure.”
Nikita and Birkoff watched Walter as he made his way toward Operations’ office.
Nikita felt a quick tug on the sleeve of her sweater. She glanced at Birkoff, who was both smiling and pointing up at the hanging plant-life.
Nikita folded her arms and pretended to misunderstand. “Yes?”
“My turn?” Birkoff asked hopefully.
“Your turn?”
He nodded with a grin.
“Okay.” Nikita placed her hands on Birkoff’s cheeks and pulled him close. Birkoff shut his eyes and blushed a little with anticipation.
Nikita smiled, then kissed his forehead chastely. She received a disappointed, “Ahhh, Nikita!” for her trouble.
She laughed, then relented and kissed him gently on the mouth.
“Better?”
Birkoff gave her a silly grin in return.
“Can you tell me where Michael is?” She asked softly.
Birkoff jumped backwards two steps and looked around. “Michael! Where?”
Nikita laughed briefly. “No Seymour, he’s not here-- but I was hoping you could tell me where he might be.”
Birkoff let out a little ‘whew’, and answered, “I’m not sure, but if you wait a few minutes, I’ll find out.”
“Thanks.”
Several minutes later Birkoff reappeared. “He’s already on his way to Bosnia. He flew out about two hours ago.”
“What’s the mission profile? Why wasn’t the rest of the team alerted?”
Birkoff shrugged, “I don’t know. Michael’s gone solo--it’s need to know, only.”
Nikita’s heart sank with disappointment. Bosnia meant there was no way he’d be back for Christmas. It was all she could do, not to start bawling.
I’ll call you, if I hear something,” Birkoff said quietly, gently touching her arm. He looked concerned and Nikita realized, with a slight jolt of dismay, she had inadvertently allowed her feelings to show.
“S’okay,” she said, attempting a smile. “Well, I’m off duty, so I guess I’ll go enjoy what’s left of the day. Got a ton of things to get done.” She slipped her coat on and adjusted the collar. “Later?”
“Sure.” Birkoff promised.
Nikita sat in her car on the street for an hour trying to decide what to do with herself. The streets were nearly deserted. Everyone was snug in their homes, with family and friends gathered around.
She leaned her head against the steering wheel. “Oh, Michael. You’ve been gone less than five hours and I miss you like you’ve been gone fifty.” A tear escaped and Nikita wiped it away angrily.
“Stop it! Just stop it, Nikita!” She ordered herself. “You’re not the only one spending Christmas alone--so stop it!”
There was a gentle tap on her side window, and Nikita turned her head sharply to see who it was. An elderly man, poorly dressed, and obviously homeless, was trying to get her attention. She rolled down her window to see what he wanted.
“You okay, lady?” He asked, his breath making a cloud that fogged her side mirror. He looked genuinely concerned.
She sniffed, wiped away a tear, and tried to smile. “Sure, I’m fine.”
“Well, if you need a little cheering up--” he handed her a colored flier. “We’re serving up Christmas dinner over there on 4th Street. You’re invited, if you’d like to come.”
Nikita started to thank the man and politely refuse, then she thought of Kim and others like her. She had a smoked turkey sitting in Michael’s refrigerator, and all the fixing’s to go with it, and no one to eat it.
“Hey, thanks.” Nikita looked at the address on the flier and folded it in half. “Thanks, I think I will.”
“God Bless you then! See you there!”
Nikita walked into the 4th Street Mission and was nearly lost in the noisy crowd. She found someone that looked like they were in charge.
“Uh, hello?” Nikita gave the woman an uncertain smile.
Hi. Can I help you?” A harried woman behind a counter struggled to balance a platter of sliced meat against her hip.
“Looks like you’re the one who needs some help--here, let me get this side of the platter.”
Together the two women carried the heavy platter into the dining hall and sat it on a serving table.
“Thanks! That was heavier than it looked.” The woman gave a short laugh. “Now--can I help you?”
“Actually, I kind of thought I’d like to help--I have a car full of food--turkey, mashed potatoes, pie, and such. Can you use any more food?”
“Already cooked?”
“Yes--well, the turkey is smoked--if you have a microwave, it just needs to be warmed up.” Nikita said, taking off her gloves.
“Honey, you’re an angel sent from heaven! We are up to our ears in hungry families this year and I was beginning to worry we were going to have to turn some of them away. Yes, of course! By the way, I’m Nina--you’re?” She leaned closer to hear over the noise and reached out a hand.
“Nikita.” Nikita shook the pre-offered hand.
“Well, hang one and I’ll get a few people rounded up and we’ll unload your car for you.”
Nina watched the young woman as she spooned mashed potatoes onto a little girl’s plate and wondered who she was. She didn’t have the attitude of the average Christmas volunteers, who felt they had done their duty for mankind and to God for providing their services on Christmas Day. (Not that their service wasn’t welcome or important, it was--but it was only once a year, and hardly a sacrifice.) Usually they “braved” the dirt and the smells, the drunks and the addicts, to do their good deed for the year, but they did so, carefully. It was evident in their reluctance to actually talk to or touch anyone. They wanted no more involvement than the time it took to serve the food, feel good about themselves, and return home, where hunger and cold were only passing thoughts.
But Nina watched her latest volunteer with appreciation. Nikita chatted with each person, giving each one a smile. When a little girl’s hair wouldn’t stay out of her face, Nikita fashioned a pony-tail for the child using a barrette she’d taken out of her own hair. That the child’s hair was unwashed, and probably full of lice, hadn’t fazed Nikita at all!
“How we doin’?” Nina asked, handing Nikita another large bowl of mashed potatoes.
“Fine--I think we’re running out of gravy, though.” Nikita pointed to an empty bowl.
“That happens every year--gravy and meat always run out first. I’ve got plenty of butter and margarine though, so we can hand that out instead. You going to stay through dessert? The shelter kids are going to put on a Christmas play.”
“Sure. Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Nina smiled at her enthusiasm.
“Oh, I’ll be glad to stay after and help clean up, if you need me.” Nikita offered.
“Thanks, that would be a great help--you’d be amazed at how many people have to ‘rush off,’ once the food’s gone.”
Nikita smiled with understanding and nodded. For herself it would be a blessing, not to have to return to an empty apartment, and besides, she was genuinely enjoying herself. She even felt oddly at home. The faces were different, but she recognized the stories behind them: the mildly retarded, the unwed mothers, the runaways, the alcoholics, the dopers. There were families too, down on their luck, or broken by divorce or abusive spouses.
She looked for Kim, but realized she was probably still enjoying her motel room for the week. ‘Perhaps, tomorrow,’ she thought, ‘I’ll go see how she’s doing.’
“Whew! Well, that’s done!” Nina said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Want some coffee? There’s a sliver of pie left too.”
“Coffee would be fine.” Nikita replied, putting away the last, large pot.
Nina gestured for Nikita to sit down, then filled two cups and brought them to the table.
“You do this every year?” Nikita asked, taking a sip.
“Yep--and year round as well. I work here full time.”
“It must be a fulfilling job.”
“Yes, sometimes--it can break your heart, too.” Nina said thoughtfully. There was a brief pause, then she continued. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“Like what?” Nikita took a quick sip to hide her discomfort over being asked a question.
“What made you decide to join us this evening?”
Nikita frowned at her coffee cup, then said, “Truth?”
“Yeah, truth.”
“I came because I didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”
“You have no family?”
“No, no family, except . . . for my husband. He was called away suddenly.” Even as she said it, Nikita wasn’t sure why she’d said it. Maybe it was because she wanted it to be true; maybe she simply wanted a shoulder to cry on.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Will he be back soon?”
“I don’t know. He has a dangerous job . . . “ Mentally, she was screaming at herself for bringing the subject up, but the words continued to tumble out.
“Police officer?” Nina asked.
“Military.” Nikita said softly.
“I’ll be sure to remember him in my prayers. What’s his name?”
“Michael.”
Nina smiled, “You love him a lot.”
Nikita couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat, and had to respond with a nod.
“My husband spent twenty years in the Marines. You get used to the life, but you never stop missing them when they’re gone. But you’re off to a good start--keeping busy, keeps your mind off being alone.”
“I guess I’d better go. It’s almost midnight.” Nikita said, softly, getting up to rinse out her cup. Nina got to her feet as well and offered her hand.
“Thanks again, for your help tonight. And feel free to come and visit anytime--we can always use another pair of hands.”
“Thanks, I will.” Nikita said. Then surprising herself, she hugged Nina, who smiled and patted her gently on the shoulder.
“Anytime.” Nina repeated. “Merry Christmas.”
* * *
Eastern Europe, 0230 hours, Zulu Time
“You the package?” The pilot asked, giving the man before him a curious once-over.
“Yes.” Michael said, shouldering his equipment.
“You’ve been briefed?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s load up. This isn’t going to be a picnic.”
Michael sat down in the belly of the small cargo plane and rechecked his equipment. There had been two major glitches on this mission, both beyond anyone’s control--the weather, which had delayed his flight, and problems with his com gear due to increased sunspot activity. So far, however, the mission had not been scrubbed.
Operations had been blunt, “Kill him and don’t get caught.” The short planning time that NATO had given them, and the difficulty of getting in and out of the country, had made sending in entire team too difficult, and in Michael’s estimate, too dangerous. The odds of returning the entire team had been less than one in one hundred, so Michael had convinced Operations that he must go in alone.
“Sir, we’re over the jump zone.”
Michael’s thoughts returned to the present. He nodded, hooked up and stood in the doorway. The wind was bitterly cold; it made his eyes water. He closed them and jumped into the frigid night air. Fifteen seconds later, the cargo plane exploded overhead, showering flaming pieces of shrapnel onto the nylon canopy of Michael’s open parachute.
* * *
“Sir!” Birkoff bolted abruptly into Madeline’s office. Operations turned in annoyance.
“What is it Birkoff?”
“We’ve lost Michael.” Came the breathless answer.
“What?” Operations looked as shocked as he sounded.
“His drop aircraft was shot down last night.” Birkoff said, his young face pale with the news.
“Has it been confirmed?”
“Yes sir. It was friendly fire--a French anti-aircraft battery mistook the plane as Serbian in the no-fly zone.”
“Oh my god,” Madeline said softly.
“Call everyone in.” Operations ordered tersely. “Madeline--I’ve got to call George.”
She nodded absently.
Operations pushed past Birkoff, who stood unsure of what he should do next.
“Birkoff, you can return to your station. I’ll take care of the recall.” Madeline said quietly, picking up her phone. Birkoff thought of Nikita and was relieved that it would be Madeline and not himself that would have to break the news to her. He bobbed his head to acknowledge Madeline’s order and left.
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