| Subject: Abandon Hope 4 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 15:57:41 02/02/02 Sat
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Abandon Hope" on 15:37:56 01/28/02 Mon
“Well, that was easy.” Ivanovich looked at the young woman, face down on the table, and blew a cloud of smoke in her direction.
Mauvais chuckled and took another sip of his drink as if nothing had occurred. “I’ll have her taken down below. Don!” He cupped his hands and shouted to two men seated several yards away.
A blond deck hand who was playing cards with another, raised his head in response.
“Yeah?”
“Please, take the young lady here, down below and secure her in her room.”
“Right.” He flung his cards face down and slapped his opponent playfully on the top of the head. “You look at those cards and I’ll toss your arse overboard to the sharks!”
“Yeah, like you have a hand worth that!” The other man snorted and took a long draught of beer.
“I mean it!” Don retorted with a flip of a finger in his friend’s direction. He trotted over to where Mauvais had pointed and leaned down to pick the slender woman out of her chair.
“What’s this? You sure look familiar, sheila.” Don lifted Nikita’s sunglasses to get a closer look.
“What’s wrong?” Mauvais asked, only slightly curious.
“Well, gov, I could swear I’ve seen this bird before.”
“Where?”
“That’s just it—I can’t remember where exactly, but I’d never forget a face that beautiful.”
“She looks a lot like the Russian girl. Maybe that’s the connection. Just get her down below. I want her settled before our customers arrive.”
Don shrugged, picked up the slender blond in a fireman’s carry and hauled her inside.
“Michael—“ Walter’s voice sounded in his ear.
“Yes?” Michael sat with Stillman inside the Prince’s yacht, on its way to the rendezvous.
“Nikita’s mobile cam is down, but before it went—they’ve drugged her.”
There was a slight pause before Michael returned, “It was expected. Anything else?”
“No.”
“We rendezvous with them in two hours. Keep me and the back up team informed as to what is happening to Nikita, as best you can.”
“Will do.”
A moment passed, then Walter came back online.
“Michael—“
“Yes?”
“I’ve got Operations on B channel . . . and he ain’t happy. What do you want me to do?” Walter said with trepidation.
Michael closed his eyes briefly but his voice was calm, “I’ll take it. Switching to B channel.”
“Michael?” Operations voice sounded like a volcano ready to explode.
“Yes?”
“What the hell is going on down there! I’ve got intel from all over and none of it matches the profile!”
“I had to change the profile.”
“You know the protocol for end game procedures better than anyone. Why wasn’t I kept informed?”
“There was no time. . .”
“My ass, Michael! You’d better start remembering your priorities at “home”. In case you forgot, I am still in charge of Section One! I want a run down of the current situation, and I want it now!”
Michael ran one trembling hand through his hair as Stillman looked on with questioning brown eyes.
Operations had played his Queen, putting Michael in check. It had only been a matter of time. Michael was left with an impossible choice—to save one love he would have to risk another. He couldn’t. What was worse, Operations knew it.
Michael quickly explained the profile, ending with, “We will have Ms Popovich in our hands within two hours, and will be able to recover our operative as well.”
“No. Nikita stays. I want an operative on the inside.”
“And her exit strategy?”
“She stays--until I decide we have enough intel to shut Ivanovich down!”
There was no room for argument and Michael knew it.
“Are we clear on this?” Operations said sharply.
Michael felt his heart turn to ice. “Yes.”
* * *
"Come on, come on! Time to wake up."
Nikita moaned and tried to roll away from the voice pounding in her ear.
"Hey! I said get up!"
Nikita sat up suddenly, shivering and wet from being doused with ice water.
"Dry off and put that on."
Blue eyes met blue eyes and Nikita gasped with recognition.
"Now, I know where I've seen you!" Don Otway snapped his fingers as he saw Nikita's face turn a shade paler. "You're that damn, crazy sheila that took off running the other night!"
Nikita was too groggy to chance answering him. The cat was already too far out of the bag. She rubbed the water out of her eyes and ignored him.
"What the hell made you run off like a scalded kangaroo?"
"Where am I? What's going on?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Otway frowned. "Anyway, get that on. I'll be back in five minutes."
Nikita looked down at "that" and discovered it was a two-piece swimsuit.
"Michael?" She whispered aloud. There was no answer. She looked at her watch. Surely someone was listening in on one of the channels.
"Walter?" There was still no answer, and Nikita began to worry the water had somehow caused damage to her comm unit. After several more tries, she decided that it was too late to matter. Michael and Stillman would be aboard soon, if they weren't already.
She only had one fear--that Otway might have seen Michael in Doyle's Pub and would put two and two together. He seemed as drunk as he claimed that night. Hopefully, it wasn't all an act.
Shivering, she dried off and changed into the suit, if for no other reason than to give in to curiosity. Why in the world did they want her in a bikini? There was no longer any pretense that she was still on board for a photo assignment!
Otway returned as promised and behind him in the galleyway, Nikita could hear several women softly weeping. She mentally crossed her fingers that Lena was among them.
"All right, here's what's going to happen. You're going topside to meet a few people. If you behave, you'll get out of here. If you don't, you'll wish you had. Oh and one last thing: I wouldn't try to get your suit wet by jumping overboard. It's miles and miles of shark infested water in every direction. Do you understand?"
* * *
"Walter, have you been able to contact Nikita?"
"Nothing! Not a damn thing! Either they've discovered the comm unit, or it's down. I'm getting nothing on all channels."
"Keep trying." Michael said softly.
"Yeah." Walter murmured, his voice full of worry and frustration.
"Michael, we can't do this!" Stillman yanked off his burnoose. "We can't just leave her---especially not without a working comm unit!"
"We'll have to find a reason to get close to her, so you can palm her a replacement."
Stillman sat on the edge of his deck chair and held the crumpled headgear between his hands. "We've got to let her know what's going on. She's going to think she's collateral."
"I know," Michael said, staring out to sea. "I know."
* * *
Stillman did his best to be an excited playboy, but his heart wasn't in it. He finally fell back and allowed Michael to do the talking.
"His Highness would like blondes and redheads in his harem. Have you a selection to choose from?" Michael asked, continuing his role as the Prince's aide.
"I have five blondes and two red heads." Mauvais answered, gesturing to the long line of women standing on the deck. He indicated for the brunettes to be taken back below. Most went quietly, a few began to cry harder.
"And your price for each?"
Ivanovich stepped into the conversation at that point. "Let the Prince choose first. We can discuss price afterwards. In such matters, business can wait upon pleasure."
Michael searched for Nikita and found her at the end of the line. She stood, arms crossed and angry; a tigress among terrified lambs.
"Is four the amount you wish to purchase at this time?" Mauvais inquired, watching the "Prince" wandering down the line, examining his potential brides-to-be.
"His highness would like to know if any of these are virgins." Michael interjected, as he and the others continued in Nikita's direction.
Ivanovich roared with laughter, and began to choke on his cigar smoke. "Virgins?" He shook his head, "I can guarantee they are beautiful and female, but they do not come with a pedigree. If you want a note from a doctor, you will have to have them examined yourself."
"Does this mean His Highness only wants virgins?" Mauvais sounded a little concerned that his deal might be evaporating before his eyes.
Michael sought to console him as his eyes found Nikita's. "It means he wants virgins for his wives. However, if none of these prove to be pure, they will be added to his harem as concubines. You must understand. His wives must bear his heirs. There can be no bargaining on this issue."
Nikita looked immensely relieved to see him, making Michael's heart sink further. If he could only have a moment to explain, to assure her that somehow he would come back for her--but there were too many eyes and ears.
Mauvais's smile returned, full force. He lifted Nikita's chin with the tip of his finger. "So tell me, Nikita. Will you be a bride or a bride's maid?"
Her blue eyes narrowed, but she resisted answering.
Michael took a deep breath and said the words he knew would destroy her. Green eyes begged blue to understand. 'Trust me' they pleaded. 'Just once more.'
"His Highness has decided that Nikita is not what he desires after all."
Michael saw her eyes flash blue with surprise, then darken with confused anguish.
"However," Michael cued Stillman with a wave of one hand, "His Highness would like to sample what he will be missing."
Stillman stepped in front of Nikita and gazed down at her with sorrowful brown eyes, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her lustily.
Nikita squirmed and struggled, while her audience laughed at the Prince's antics.
Hating himself as he did it, Stillman plunged several fingers inside her swim-top. To the casual observer, he was copping another feel. He prayed that Nikita would understand that it was only to pass her a replacement comm unit, but he got his face soundly slapped anyway.
Michael quickly jumped in to separate them, and conclude their business.
Stillman nodded at Michael--'package delivered', and Michael returned it--'it's time to leave'.
The sooner they got Popovich's granddaughter to safety, the sooner they could work on getting Nikita free as well.
"His Highness is feeling rather charitable today. We will take all of these, with the exception of Nikita. If you will have them delivered to His Highness' yacht, we can go and discuss price and payment."
Mauvais gestured to Otway to take Nikita below. She struggled only long enough to catch Michael's eye. Her whole expression was aggrieved and demanding to know "why?"
He turned away, his green eyes lowered to hide his frustration at what was happening and his helplessness. Nikita would find the comm unit, he told himself. Then, he could explain--if she would trust him enough to listen, one last time.
Nikita watched the door to her small cabin slide shut and heard the click of the lock. She ran to the small porthole but saw nothing but ocean within view.
‘Abandoned in place’. Even as she thought it, she didn’t want to believe it. Michael said he would find another way!
Nikita looked around her small prison, mentally cataloging everything that was a potential weapon. There wasn’t much, not even a mirror. She dug through a small dresser and found all the drawers empty, but she did find her purse on top. She checked through its contents and found all in order, including Walter’s “magic” box of tampons, still wrapped in cellophane.
“Well that’s something at least,” she muttered to herself and she dropped onto the small bed.
‘No,’ she told herself, ‘Michael said he would find another way—something must have happened to change things!’ Then a small dissenting voice added, ‘Then why won’t anyone answer on comm?’ ‘Because it’s down, that’s why!’ she argued back again.
If her comm was down, Nikita realized, Section must know it. And if that was the case, they would have tried to give her another unit.
“Ken!” Nikita suddenly realized what all the juvenile groping had been about and slipped her hand inside her bathing suit top. She felt panic for a moment when she didn’t immediately find it, but when she did, she smiled ruefully for the slap she’d given him. “Sorry Ken. I owe you supper when I get out of here.” She quickly divested herself of the faulty comm unit, and replaced it with the new one.
With her fingers mentally crossed, Nikita whispered,“Walter?”
“Sugar! Thank God! Are you all right?”
“So far, but I’ve been compromised. I need to talk to Michael.”
“I’m here.” Michael interrupted softly. “What do you mean, you’ve been compromised?”
“Remember the man I met in Doyle’s Pub? Well he’s here and he’s recognized me. In time he may mention it to Ivanovich or Mauvais and they will want to know how I went from rags to riches overnight.”
Michael groaned inwardly. He thought Otway was a minor player. Perhaps it was concern over Nikita, or perhaps her sense of humanity was rubbing off, but Michael fought his first instinct, and allowed him to live. Now he realized that he should have been more through in his “housekeeping.” But how were either of them to know Otway and Ivanovich were connected?
“There will be someone listening to your channel around the clock, Nikita. I am working on an exit profile. As soon as Popovich has been placed in a safe house, I’ll get you out.”
Nikita smiled. He had said “I’ll get you out.”
Not “Section will get you out—I’ll get you out.”
* * *
“Who are you?” Lena Popovich asked fearfully, still rubbing her wrists after her restraints had been removed.
“My name is Michael,” he said in Russian.
“Are—are you here to help me?” She asked with hopeful surprise on her face.
“Da. Your grandfather sent me.”
The girl threw her arms around Michael’s neck with immense relief. He immediately moved away, gently breaking contact with her with the pretext of picking up a nearby cell phone of the table.
“We will dock in Sydney, then you will be taken to the airport and flown home. First, however, you might want to speak to your grandfather so he will know that you are safe.” Michael punched several buttons then handed her the phone.
The tearful conversation between Lena and her grandparent lasted well over fifteen minutes. Michael listened carefully to every detail, hoping for any information that he could later use. He watched Lena pace the room, as she spoke. Even her walk was like Nikita’s, he thought bitterly.
Lena was free and Nikita was left in her place. The mission had ended just as Operations had profiled it—with one potentially lethal difference--Otway.
Michael stepped out on deck and watched as an orange sun began to set on the Pacific. They had another hour to make shore and off load the women. Once that was accomplished, he had to convince Operations that Nikita had to be retrieved before her identity was discovered. Retrieved and not canceled, because he knew that would be Operations most obvious choice.
“Spaceba—thank you.” Lena said, appearing at Michael’s side and handing him the phone. “My grandfather says many thanks.”
Michael slipped the phone inside his pocket without comment. He leaned one hip against the boat railing and continued watching as the sun dipped lower into the horizon.
Lena stayed at his side, watching him, and wondering who he was and why he had helped. She watched the sea breezes ruffle his hair and found herself fascinated by the curls that framed his handsome face. He turned finally, to face her. His eyes were olive-green and intense as he spoke.
“Lena, did you know where you were being taken?”
“No, not really.”
“What about the others? Did you get to speak to any of them?
“Yes. A little. My English is not so good. Is it important?”
“We were only able to free some of the women. We would like to free the rest. Anything you can remember might be of help.”
Lena thought for several moments, then shook her head. “They didn’t tell us anything. Not why we were taken, or where we were going, but one of the girls said she thought we were going to the Middle East.”
“Which girl?” Michael asked hopefully.
“She is not here.” Lena returned sadly.
“Why the Middle East? Did she explain?”
“They brought clothes—head scarves, long skirts.”
Michael nodded, the clothing was consistent with the Middle East—but it was also consistent with a lot of other cultures. If Muslim, it could mean anywhere from Indonesia to Egypt.
Time was running out. And for the first time in his life, Michael didn’t know what to do next.
* * *
“Hey, sheila, the boss would like a word with you.”
Nikita was roused out of a sound sleep by a light being switched on in her face. Otway leered down at her and cupped one large hand over her left breast. “Unless, you’d like to play a little first?”
Nikita weighed her options and decided not to start a fight she couldn’t finish.
“I’m on my period—still wanna play?” She asked sarcastically.
Otway made a face, “No, I’ll pass for now. Anyway, get dressed.”
“You gonna watch?” She asked not moving.
“Hey, if I can’t play, I’ll settle for the consolation prize.” He sat himself on the edge of the bed and waited for Nikita to get up.
Nikita huffed out a sigh, and kicked the covers back, clipping Otway in the side, and nearly knocking him from his perch.
“Do that again, and I’ll break something of yours!” He growled, holding his side.
Nikita smiled nastily, and proceeded to dress, then went to the dresser and picked up the box of tampons and waved them at Otway. “Can I have a moment alone in the bathroom?”
He gave a disgusted sigh, “Guess so—but hurry up.”
Nikita went into the small adjoining bathroom, and unwrapped Walter’s box of tranq darts. She slipped two of them into a pant’s pocket, and hoped they wouldn’t be immediately needed. She wished she dared talk to Walter, but with Otway just outside the door, she didn’t want to take the chance—even with a toilet flushing.
Otway pounded on the door. “I didn’t say you could spend your life in there!”
Nikita suddenly opened the door, banging into Otway’s nose in the process.
“Shit!” Otway grabbed for his nose to see if it was bleeding. It wasn’t.
Nikita watched him smugly then quipped, “I’m ready now.”
“Bitch!” Otway backhanded Nikita, knocking her to the floor.
Momentarily stunned, she was unable to get out of reach when he grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to her feet.
Feeling her bruised cheek, and bloodied lip, Nikita didn’t resist any further. Now she knew the limits of Otway’s patience. There would be time later for a rematch.
She stood still as he roughly cuffed her hands behind her and shoved her into the narrow passageway. Suddenly she heard Walter’s voice in her ear.
“You all right, sugar? If you can’t answer, cough twice.”
She responded by coughing twice.
“Okay—just wanted you to know I’ve been listening in. You won’t be alone, Sugar. Either Birkoff or I will be listening in round the clock. Just hang in there—and when you can talk freely—just say my name.”
Nikita nearly smiled with relief. It was only a voice in her ear. Real help was miles, and hours—perhaps days away by now—but knowing she hadn’t been abandoned by her friends was great comfort.
Otway brought her into a larger cabin, where Mauvais was seated on a couch and Ivanovich was seated at a small wet bar, drink in hand.
Nikita found herself stuffed unceremoniously into an upholstered chair, opposite of Mauvais, who immediately protested upon seeing her split lip.
“What the hell did you do to her face?” He demanded of Otway, who was still rubbing his fingers across his nose to check to see if his nose was going to bleed or not.
“She tried to escape,” Otway defended angrily.
“In the middle of the Pacific Ocean? I’ve told you before, no bruises on the merchandise! Now we’ll have to wait until she heals!” Mauvais lifted Nikita’s face and examined it closely.
“It does not matter, “ Ivanovich said to Mauvais. “By the time she’s conditioned, the bruises will have healed.” He turned his attention to Nikita who snatched her face out of Mauvais’s hand and leaned back defiantly into the chair.
“Ah, Ni-ki-ta.” Ivanovich slipped out of his seat and approached her. “An interesting fact has come to my attention. Perhaps you can clarify some confusion on my part.”
Inwardly Nikita quaked, but her blue eyes met his steady gaze. She willed herself to show no fear, and took a deep breath.
“My employee, Mr. Otway has an interesting tale to tell me. He says he saw you peddling your wares in the streets in King’s Cross, just the night before we met. Is this true?”
Nikita laughed derisively, but didn’t answer him. She tried her best to look unconcerned.
Ivanovich smiled pleasantly, pulled out a cigar, clipped the end of it, and placed it between his teeth. “No, matter,” he said, with a mumble, as he struck a match and lit the end of the cigar. He puffed on it a few times as he casually shook out the match. “I am a patient man. I am sure you will tell me, when you are ready.”
He nodded at Otway, who went to the door and waved in another man, pushing a small cart. On the cart were several small vials, and hypodermic needles.
Nikita remembered with a rush of fear her long ago conversation with Chandler when he had explained his plans for her future. Heroin! It only took a week, he had said. And then, she would do anything—literally anything for her next fix.
Walter cried out, “My God! What are they doing to her?”
“What’s happening?” Birkoff rushed over and plugged in his headset. He briefly yanked it out again as Nikita’s screaming pierced his ears.
“Get Michael!” Walter ordered Birkoff. “Now!”
* * *
“Michael?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s Adam! Can you come home quickly?”
The urgency in Elena’s voice was disturbing, kicking adrenaline through Michael’s tired body. It had been over twenty-four hours since he had left Nikita’s side, and closer to thirty-six, since he’d had any real sleep.
“What about Adam?” He asked, keeping his voice calm for her sake.
“He’s been hurt---we’re at the hospital! We were at the playground. An older boy knocked him off the slide and he hit his head. He’s unconscious!” She said tearfully.
“I’ve just returned—I’m in my car on the way home. What hospital?” He replied, downshifting. It was a lie. He had been on his way to Section to try to bargain for Nikita’s rescue.
“We’re at St Joseph’s—oh, Michael hurry!”
“I’ll be right there.” He abruptly ended the conversation and called into Section to report to Operations.
“I will be delayed.” Michael said, as he pointed his car towards the hospital.
“Why?” Operations growled in response.
“Something’s happened to Adam. I have to meet Elena at the hospital.”
“Is it serious?” Operations asked more calmly.
“I don’t know,” Michael said, knowing Operations’ concern was more likely over the mission than any real concern about his son.
“Keep me posted.” The conversation ended there.
* * *
Michael found Elena seated in a crowded emergency room, kneading her purse nervously between her hands.
“Where’s Adam?” Michael asked softly, enfolding his wife in his arms.
“In x-ray. The doctor recommended a MRI. He thinks it is a concussion, but he doesn’t know how bad it is yet. Oh, I’m so glad you’re home.” Elena hugged him tightly, burying her face against his shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. “Little boys all have hard heads.”
She smiled, as he had wanted her to. They looked around for two chairs together, found them, and sat to wait for the doctor to return.
“You look tired,” Elena said, brushing an unruly curl from his forehead with wifely concern. She leaned against his shoulder, and wrapped one arm around his shoulders.
“Just a little jet-lag,” he replied, resting his chin atop her head. He looked across the room at the clock on the wall, and remembered in that same instant--Nikita. Part of him was anxious to leave; another felt guilty for even thinking about it. He couldn’t leave, not until he knew Adam was safe.
He listened as Elena explained in detail what had happened and was relieved to know that it was simply a playground accident and not some sinister plan of Section’s.
A half hour passed slowly. Michael rubbed his eyes and tried to stay awake.
“Would you like some coffee, Michael? I’m sure it can’t be much longer. I can go get it for you, if you’d like.”
“No. That’s all right. I’ll go. Walking will help wake me up. Would you like some?”
“No. I’m fine.” She rubbed his back for a brief moment, until he stood. “I’ll be right back.”
A moment’s search found a pop and a coffee machine. Michael dropped in several coins and waited for the cup to fill. He had just taken a sip when his cell phone rang.
He glanced around and withdrew his phone.
“Yes.”
“Michael?”
“Yes, Birkoff. What is it?”
“It’s Nikita. She’s in real trouble.” Birkoff said in a near whisper.
“Michael!” Walter briskly interrupted.
“What’s happened?” Michael felt another jolt of adrenaline to add to the caffeine.
“It’s Nikita. They’ve started doping her with hard drugs—heroin’s my guess, but I don’t know for sure. We’ve got to get her out of there now, Michael.” Walter kept his voice down, and Michael knew it was to keep the intel from Operations.
“Do we have a fix on the yacht’s position?” He said with a calmness learned by years of training.
“Yes. We think the destination is somewhere on or near the Arabian Peninsula.”
“I have a priority mission conflict. Arrange for transport for me by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll call you in an hour or so with details.”
“Understood.” Walter broke contact and turned to Birkoff. “Keep talking to her, Birkoff, as long as you think she’s conscious. Don’t leave her alone for a second.”
“I won’t.” Birkoff promised. “What can Michael do?”
“I don’t know. But I trust he’ll find some way to get her out of there.”
Michael slipped his phone wearily into his coat pocket and leaned against the coffee machine, trying to clear his head enough to think. He saw Elena appear in the hallway, and wave at him. He dumped the half-full cup of coffee in a nearby trashcan and went to see about his son.
The doctor stood in his green operating scrubs, holding a clipboard.
“Mr. and Mrs. Samuelle? I’m Dr Bell.” He and Michael briefly shook hands.
“Your son has a concussion—a mild one, but we want to keep him overnight for observation. This is only routine. I feel sure you’ll be able to take him home in the morning.”
Elena smiled in relief, “Thank you, doctor. Can I see him?”
“Of course. I’ve had him moved to pediatrics, room 110. He’s asleep. If you’d like to stay the night with him, just ask a nurse. She can get you a comfortable chair to sleep in.”
“Michael, I’ll stay with him.” Elena said, looking up into her husband’s weary face. “You go home and get some rest. I’ll tell Adam you’ll see him in the morning.”
“You’re sure?” Michael asked, stroking her hair over one ear.
“We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll come first and kiss him goodnight.” Michael answered, taking her arm and heading towards pediatrics.
* * *
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