| Subject: Abandon Hope 5 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 08:49:40 02/03/02 Sun
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Abandon Hope" on 15:37:56 01/28/02 Mon
* * *
Nikita lay quietly in bed, feeling the warm lassitude of the drugs roll over her like a blanket. A small part of her felt dismay at what was happening—it nagged at the fringes of her subconscious. She should be afraid—of what? Sometimes she just couldn’t remember . . . she floated, cozy and secure. Sometimes there was a gnat of a noise that buzzed and spoke in her ear.
“Nikita? Are you there?” The tiny voice spoke again.
“Uh, huh,” she answered. She chewed on the end of several stands of hair then curled the wet strands absently around one finger.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay. Feel good.” She looked at the ceiling, wondering why it was moving like that.
“Nikita, Michael is on his way. Do you have any intel?” Birkoff sat at his console and ran one hand nervously over his short-cropped hair. He was running out of things to say and a voice to say it with. And he was loosing heart.
Twenty hours had passed since Nikita was first injected with the narcotics. They never let her get completely free of the drugs before they would come in and administer a little more. It kept her passive and talkative.
Fortunately, Birkoff had been able to engage her in a conversation of the mundane. Her abductors took note of their conversations--to them, quite one-sided--and decided the drugs were to blame for her wanderings.
Often Nikita would drift off to oblivion in mid-sentence. For Birkoff it was a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he could rest his voice while she slept, and a curse, because he feared each time, she might not wake up again.
Birkoff looked up and saw Operations staring down at him with a frown, and wondered what Michael had said that had convinced Ops to allow a rescue attempt. Or perhaps, it had been Madeline’s call. She was there as well, watching him, her arms folded across her chest.
Birkoff gave her a brief nod, to acknowledge he had seen her. She smiled her Mona Lisa, not-quite-a-smile.
‘Brief, but somehow comforting’, Birkoff thought, then rubbed his head again, mentally chastising himself for being more tired than he realized. He yawned, and hoped Walter would show soon for his shift.
* * *
“Do we have a location yet?” Michael asked, holding his cell phone with one hand, while typing on his laptop with the other.
“Yes. The yacht docked at about six this morning. So far, Nikita hasn’t been moved.” Walter answered, from his seat next to Birkoff’s.
“How is she?” Michael asked after a short pause. His fingers rested on the keys as he awaited Walter’s answer.
“She says she’s fine. . . but she’s in the early stages of withdrawal. In a few hours, she’s going to be pretty bad.”
Michael didn’t need to see Walter’s face to know he was concerned. Every word was pregnant with quiet anguish. Walter had first hand knowledge of withdrawal and what it could do. Viet Nam had left him with both emotional and physical pain—pain that had driven him into hell of drugs for several years. He was clean now—but the memories of those lost years hung heavy in the air. He knew better than anyone what Nikita was going through.
“Is she rational?”
“Yes, for now. She keeps asking for you.”
“I know. With preparation of the mission—every time I’ve had a chance to speak to her, she’s been asleep or incoherent.”
“She’s awake now—I can switch you to her channel, if you want.”
“Yes.” Michael said simply. He waited a moment to be sure Walter had left the net. “Nikita?”
“Michael? Is it you?” Her voice sounded hoarse, like she had just awakened.
“Yes. How are you holding up?”
“Uh—I’m f-fine.”
Every word was a lie. Michael could hear the pain, in each little catch of her voice. And he could hear her shivering.
“It’s cold,” she muttered, rolling her body into a ball. “J-just a little cold.”
He could see her in his mind’s eye, as she had been during the War. Strong and brave against the pain and the fear. “I’ll be there soon,” he whispered.
She chuckled, “It’s a date.” A moment later she began to cry.
* * *
The house was a large stucco villa, surrounded by high walls and security systems, but no exterior guards. It graced the side of a large hill in the outskirts of Lebanon, with several of the fabled cedar trees surrounding it.
Michael watched from another house further up the slope. His night-scope gave him a few details of the house where Nikita and the others were being held. Everything was in place and ready—only Ivanovich was still in the dwelling, along with Mauvais.
Michael began to pace and silently curse their lingering. He could do nothing until they left.
Convincing Operations to rescue Nikita had been difficult. As Michael had expected, Operations’ first choice had been to cancel Nikita before she broke.
“If I cancel her, they will get suspicious and dig deeper. If Nikita and the others are all freed together, her significance will be decreased.” Michael argued.
“That still doesn’t solve the problem, Michael. I still need someone on the inside. I need details of his organization. To get that, I need access! We would have had this over and done with two years ago, if Nikita hadn’t interfered with Chandler!”
“Nikita is in imminent danger of being compromised. If that happens--if she breaks--it will ruin the profile I have in place.”
“What profile?” Operations asked, suddenly more interested.
Michael gave Operations a quick briefing on Stillman’s performance as the Prince. “Stillman was convincing. So convincing, that we have made arrangements to meet in a month to purchase other “brides” once the “prince” gets bored with the ones he has. I also made it clear that there might be other Prince’s just as interested as Abdullah.”
“Stillman’s cover isn’t deep enough to sustain this charade.” Operations argued.
“It is deep enough for us to get several valentine operatives inside. If Stillman’s cover fails—we let it be known he’s an eccentric millionaire—his money will still spend just as well. I doubt Ivanovich will care in any event—as long as he makes a profit.”
Michael watched Operations pace. It was thin, but thinner profiles had succeeded and at this point, thin was all they had. They couldn’t afford to have Ivanovich disappear inside his organization once again.
“All right. At the moment, we don’t have time to argue.” Operations relented finally.
“Once I have freed Nikita, the local authorities will be sent in. The Israeli’s will be given a terrorist scenario—they will investigate. The other women will be freed and no one will be the wiser. Ivanovich will still be free to negotiate with Prince Abdullah for future brides, and eventually we will learn his entire organization.
Meanwhile, we will be able to free the remaining women he currently holds captive, and that will force Ivanovich to kidnap more women to provide for the Prince’s future orders. If he’s rushed, there’s room for mistakes to be made. ”
“Do it.” Operations had finally agreed, but he wasn’t happy about it. Nikita would still be a thorn in his side!
* * *
“Michael. . . Michael . . . Michael. . . .” Nikita chanted his name through the pain. She trembled. She begged.
“Help me. . . please. . .“ She sobbed in a dark corner of the room, hiding like a feral animal and chained like one.
“Sugar—please listen. Michael’s close by. You’ve got. . . “ Walter’s voice came close to breaking. He swallowed his memories, and continued. “You’ve got to hang on for just a little longer.”
“Why won’t they give me some more? Just a little more.” She cried, for an exhausting few minutes. And Walter wanted to cry with her. Even when Michael freed her, she still wouldn’t be really free. Not for days—maybe, even weeks in detox. He shuddered at the memories.
“I’m here, Sugar. Just hang on, just a few minutes more.”
* * *
An hour after Ivanovich was safely out of the way, Michael slid down a cable and landed silently on the roof top. Clad head to foot in combat black, he dropped a small equipment bag at his feet as he unhooked himself from the cable.
“Arrived, first mark.” He said quietly, checking the time on his watch. Its blue fluorescent face showed it was nearly three in the morning. The raid was scheduled for three ten—he had twelve minutes to find Nikita and get her to safety before the Masad sent in their patrol to investigate the house.
“Nikita is five meters to your left—upstairs bedroom. There is a sensor on the door and the window—pretty standard stuff.” Birkoff’s hands tapped across his keyboard. “Go.” He said.
Michael anchored himself then rappelled over the side of the roof. He stopped inches from decorative wrought-iron railing that surrounded the balcony. The ground was still a good twenty meters further down.
He slipped out of the climbing harness, and knelt to deactivate the security alarm on the balcony doors. As he worked he asked, “How’s Nikita?”
“Hurry,” Walter answered hopelessly. “Just hurry.”
* * *
He found her curled in a corner, shaking and incoherent.
“Nikita, it’s Michael.” He whispered, touching her face.
“Nooooo,” she wept like a child. “He left me. He left me. He isn’t coming back.”
He cut through the chain that kept her imprisoned with bolt-cutters. Then reached in his vest pocket and pulled out a small hypodermic and an elastic band.
“Talk to her some more, Walter.” Michael whispered, tying the band around her arm.
“Sugar, it’s almost over. You’re almost home.” Walter said softly.
Michael snapped a chem-lite and shook it. The blue-white light was just enough to enable him to find a vein. He injected her quickly, then replaced the empty needle into his vest pocket along with the elastic band.”
He held Nikita across his lap, rocking her and stroking her hair, as he waited for the medicine to take effect. Quieting her tears, as he had his son’s, only days before, he held her close, kissed her and promised that all would be well.
“Nikita?”
“What?” She spoke so weakly, Michael could hardly hear.
“We have to leave now.”
“Can’t leave—have to wait for Michael.” She murmured.
“Come—I’ll take you to him,” Michael pulled her quickly to her feet then dipped to catch her weight over his shoulder. He carried her to the balcony and slipped her into the rappelling harness.
“Time?” Michael called out to Birkoff as he lowered Nikita and himself to ground.
“Four minutes—Masad is already on their way. Bergman’s parked in the black Audi on the corner. He’ll have you both to a safe house within three minutes.” Birkoff said, suddenly feeling crushed by exhaustion. “How’s Nikita?”
“Asleep, and out of pain, for now.”
Birkoff watched as Walter folded his arms on the console and buried his face in them. “Yeah,” he whispered, watching Walter, “for now.”
Michael reached the parked Audi only seconds before the Israeli commandos arrived and stormed the house. He carefully placed Nikita in the rear seat and shut the door. Then with gun drawn, he went to the driver’s side and ordered Bergman out of the car.
“W-what the . . . ?” Bergman saw the barrel of Michael’s Ruger 9mm pistol pointed at his head and slowly raised his hands in the air.
“Get out of the car,” Michael said with lethal softness, “now.”
Bergman knew the reputation of the man speaking and didn’t hesitate. “Sure, whatever you want.”
Michael assisted Bergman in getting out of the car, patted him down for weapons, found his gun, and took it from him.
“Now, go.” Michael said, waving Bergman on his way with his Ruger.
As the puzzled Bergman shrugged and began to walk away, Michael got in the car and drove away.
“Walter, switch to B channel,” Michael ordered as he drove through the darkened streets.
“I’m here,” Walter answered.
“I need medical assistance for Nikita. I’ve had some difficulty with the safe house and need an alternate location.”
“There isn’t anything inside Beirut,” Walter replied. The closest is in Israel—but without passports, you’ll have trouble getting across the border. I can get them to you, but not tonight. The best I can do is find you a hotel for the night and have a courier get you out of there in the morning.”
“Fine. I’ll need someone from medlab to give me instructions for tonight.”
“I can tell you anything you need to know.” Walter said firmly.
“How long will the drugs keep her pain free?” Michael asked.
“Several hours—but based on the program they had her on, she’ll be in bad shape by tomorrow afternoon.”
“What can I expect?” Michael asked, looking into the rearview mirror at Nikita’s motionless body.
“It depends, people handle withdrawal in different ways, but most everyone gets extremely ill—vomiting, tremors, violent headaches, hallucinations—feeling cold. She’ll be violent one moment and meek the next. Michael, she won’t be herself at all. Expect anything. She’s capable of killing you—so don’t trust her. And don’t listen to anything she tells you, either. It will be the drugs talking, not Nikita. It’s important that you remember that.”
“How long will it take to get the drugs out of her system?”
“Days, Michael—even then, the craving doesn’t go away. But she should be over the worst of it in 36 to 48 hours.”
“Is there anything I should do?”
“Keep her warm, keep fluids down her, and try and keep her quiet. Restrain her, if necessary.” Walter paused, then added, “It’s not gonna be pretty.”
“You have the hotel reservations yet?”
“Yes—and I’ll be standing by, if you need any help.”
There was a long pause then Michael said, “Thanks Walter.”
The room was large and isolated. Walter had booked nearly the entire floor around them. “In case she gets noisy,” he had explained.
Michael carried her into the room and put her in bed. He ordered some food for himself, ate, then lay down next to Nikita and following Walter’s instructions, handcuffed her wrist to his own.
“Get as much sleep as you can. You’re going to need it.” Walter said. “Call me when she comes to.”
* * *
Nikita awoke with a start. Her dreams had been dark and disturbing, leaving her disoriented and confused when she opened her eyes.
At first she wasn’t sure whether to believe Michael was real. He lay asleep, with his head cradled on one arm against the pillow, and his other arm draped across Nikita’s. She watched him for a full minute before deciding to touch him to be sure of his existence. When she moved her arm to reach out to him, she discovered her arm bound to his.
Michael immediately awoke, and pushed himself up on one arm to look at her.
“How do you feel?” He asked intently.
“Where are we?” She gazed around the room, then back at him. “And what’s this?” She asked, meaning the handcuffs.
“I didn’t want to lose you again.” He said, with a faint smile. “Are you all right?”
“Just tired. How did I get here?”
“I retrieved you last night.” He reached into his pocket for the key to the restraints and unlocked them.
Nikita sat up and nearly fell over. “Dizzy,” she mumbled in the way of explanation. Michael put out a hand to steady her.
“Do you think you can eat anything?” He asked, hopefully.
“I think so. I’d also like to a have a bath.” She ran her hand through her hair and grimaced. “I’d like to wash my hair too.”
“The bathroom is there,” he said, pointing at a nearby door. “What would you like to eat?”
“Anything—Michael, God, I feel like I have rubber legs.” She said, trying to stand.
Without a word, Michael slipped an arm around her waist and helped her across to the bathroom. He sat her on the closed toilet seat and turned on the bath water.
Nikita smiled at him, feeling silly having him do such mundane things for her. After all, this was Michael, a class five operative, for pity’s sake!
“Thanks for coming back for me,” she said, tugging her shirt over her head. She got it halfway off then got entangled. Michael came immediately to her aid, and pulled her free of it. If it bothered him to see her half-naked, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed almost clinically detached, and helped her off with the rest of her clothes in the same way.
“I’ll be back. I’m going to call and order some breakfast. Call me if you need me.” Michael said, handing her a small bottle of shampoo.
Nikita nodded and leaned back in the warm water to wet her hair. She felt as if she had in inch of crud all over.
It’s a wonder Michael doesn’t jump up and run in another direction!’ She thought to herself, as she lathered her hair. She hadn’t been allowed a bath in days.
* * *
Feeling cleaner and a little more human, Nikita came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
Breakfast had arrived and Michael insisted Nikita have it in bed.
“I’m not an invalid,” she argued. “I’ll be fine.”
Michael didn’t dismiss her argument, but he didn’t relent either. Nikita found herself wrapped in blankets with a tray in her lap.
After a few bites of breakfast, Nikita asked, “Michael, where are we?”
“Lebanon.”
“As in the country?” She asked in amazement.
“Beirut, to be precise.”
“The last few days are hazy. . . . did we conclude the mission?”
Michael gave her a brief rundown of all that had happened.
“Ms Popovich is safely home with her family.” Michael said soberly.
“And Ivanovich?”
“Still active but targeted.”
“Then why did Operations allow you to get me out?”
Michael took one of her hands in his and traced a pattern over her palm with the tips of his fingers. “You were compromised.” He returned simply.
Nikita let loose with a snort of laughter. “Why not just cancel me?”
Michael expression changed fractionally, but Nikita caught it.
“You were sent in to kill me?” The hand, Michael held, changed into a fist.
“No.” Michael smoothed it open again.
“But that was Operations’ first choice.” It was a statement, not a question.
Michael’s green eyes blinked once, but he didn’t respond to Nikita’s supposition one way or another.
Nikita pulled her hand free of his. “I just don’t understand you, Michael. Why can’t you just admit that’s what Operations wanted? It’s like you want to protect him, or something.” She shoved back the tray and the blankets, got out of bed, then began to pace the floor, still wrapped in only a towel.
“Isn’t there anyone in Section with the guts to stand up to him? How did he get so much power over everyone, anyway?” She jerked the towel off her damp hair and tossed it onto the floor in frustration.
Michael watched her silently. It was beginning, just as Walter had told him it would. First came general irritability. In a couple of hours irritability would turn to anger, then anxiousness, and finally acute pain. And there was nothing at all he could do to stop the course of it—nothing at all.
“Well, when are we getting out of here?” She asked, petulantly.
“Soon.” He responded, knowing that to move her anywhere now was impossible. At least here he could keep her safe and contained while she fought her way through withdrawal. Walter had said 36 to 48 hours. He prayed Nikita was strong enough to shake the habit. If she wasn’t,
Operations would assuredly use it as another excuse to have her canceled. Fear of that, had made Michael avoid the “safehouse”.
Nikita was strong, and Michael believed she would come through this crisis, if given the opportunity. And he intended that she get the opportunity, without interference from Operations or the Section.
* * *
“Michael!” Nikita looked at him in alarm, then bolted for the bathroom. Michael knelt and held her head as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
When the first bout of illness subsided, she started to cry. “It’s happening again—God, I don’t think I can go through this again. Michael, isn’t there anything I can take?”
“No. The drugs have to work their way out of your system.” He wet a bath cloth and handed it to her.
“But you gave me something last night. Can’t you give me some more? Just until we get back to Section?”
“No.”
She started to retch again then pleaded, “Michael—please?”
“There isn’t anything to give you, Nikita.” He tried to hold her, but she squirmed away, with angry tears. “I won’t leave you,” he promised.
“Why the hell not? You left me behind on the boat!” She shouted, pushing him away. “You and your precious Section just wrote me off! This wouldn’t have happened to me if you hadn’t have left me!”
“Nikita. . . “ Michael tried to calm her.
“No! Damn you—leave me alone!” She slapped him twice before he caught her hands in his.
Anger turned to hysteria, and Michael had to wrestle her to the floor and dodge both feet and arms, as she attacked him.
“I hate you! If you hadn’t have killed him—I’d be free!” She screamed through tears. “I’d be free!”
Michael felt her body suddenly relax, as if she had exhausted all of her strength. He eased off her, and watched as she curled herself in to a trembling, sobbing ball on the bathroom floor.
Walter had warned him of this too—that it would be the drugs talking, and yet, every word was the truth and it convicted him. He left her for a moment, to get a blanket from the bed to cover her. He mentally willed her to be strong. She had to do this on her own. He was helpless to assist her now, except to accompany her through the pain.
* * *
Hours passed like centuries. One moment Nikita was pleading, the next she was cursing. Michael sat with his back against the closed bathroom door, his bare feet planted firmly on the cool tile floor, warily watching her. She sat, half-naked, slumped against the side of the bathtub, staring at him with a half hostile, half glazed expression on her face. Her hair was tangled and damp from tears and sweat.
The bathroom floor was spotted with blood from Michael’s split lip—the result of Nikita’s unsuccessful bid to get past him. She was surprisingly strong, despite her illness. Michael could only hope it was a good sign.
“Michael.” Her voice was wavering and contrite. “Help me, please?” She started to cry again, but softly. “Please, help me.” She slid over until she was lying on her side. “Please. . . . “ She wrapped her arms around her naked shoulders and shivered.
He scooted closer and tried to cover her with the blanket. She crawled to him and laid her head in his lap.
“Michael, I love you—“ she sobbed. “It hurts so much.”
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I love you’—the words were daggers into his heart. He watched her relax a little more and hoped she might sleep for a while
“Want some water. . .” She said wearily, her eyes drifting shut.
“All right.” He said, gently stroking her hair off her forehead.
Michael eased her onto the floor, folded a towel into a makeshift pillow and tucked it under her head. “Lie still,” he said, “I’ll get you some water.”
Nikita waited until he had gone into the bedroom for a glass, then crawled over to where her jeans were lying on the floor. She shivered with pain as she searched feebly for Walter’s hypodermics that were still in her pockets.
If one would put out a two hundred and fifty pound male, two would certainly put her out of her pain. . . .
* * *
Walter looked at his watch for the fifth time in five minutes wondering if the plane was ever going to land. In the past week he had been to Australia, then back to Section, and now was on his way to Beirut. He was still stunned that Madeline had been the one to smooth his way. He never would figure that woman out, he thought. ‘Not in a billion years.’
“I think it’s an excellent idea.” She’d said, when he first proposed going to help Nikita through withdrawal. At the time Walter thought it might have been to take over for Michael, but no one mentioned Michael returning, and when Walter mentioned it as an additional reason to go, Madeline just smiled faintly, shook her head and said it wasn’t necessary for Michael to return right away.
‘Yep—not in a billion years. . . ‘
Walter listened a moment before knocking on the door. It was quiet inside. Hopefully that meant that Nikita was asleep.
Gun drawn, Michael carefully opened the door. He looked both surprised and genuinely relieved to see Walter.
“How is she?” Walter asked briskly, entering with a black medical bag in one hand and suitcase in the other.
“She’s about the same.” Michael replied. He put down his gun and picked up a glass. She’s in the bathroom.”
“I thought you might like some help.” Walter said by way of an explanation as he put down his suitcase on the bed, and began to open it. “I brought her some clothes—your passports—“ he handed Michael a nightgown.
There was a plaintive cry from the bathroom, and both men immediately responded.
They found Nikita trying desperately to open the cardboard tube that concealed the tranq dart. Her first attempt had failed--in her haste she had grabbed one of real tampons along with a tranq dart. It lay shredded on the floor.
Walter immediately realized what she was trying to do.
“No, Nikita!” He reached for her hand, but she pivoted away from him and managed to kick out with one foot, knocking him backwards into the door.
Michael tackled her bodily, pinning her the floor with one arm, while the other engaged in a waving battle to capture Nikita’s free hand, and the tranq dart that she clutched in her fist.
“No!” She screamed furiously, her body bucking beneath his as she struggled to get free. Fury turned to more tears and he pried the hypodermic out of her hand and tossed it aside.
Michael held her down until she finally lost the strength to continue. Walter picked up the tranq, injected its contents into the sink and tossed the empty shell into the trashcan.
“Okay, first things first,” Walter said with a sigh. “Let’s get her dressed and in bed.”
Michael nodded, gently pulled her into his arms and lifted her off the floor.
He carried her to the bed and eased her down on it. She continued to cry softly and didn’t resist.
While Walter set up a telescoping IV pole and bag, Michael dressed her in the gown Walter had brought.
“Is there anything we can give her?” Michael asked, watching Walter swab her hand and insert the IV needle.
“No. Coming down off ‘horse’, you gotta do it cold turkey. Best thing we can do for her, is keep her warm and hope she can sleep a little.” He opened his medical kit and took out a stethoscope, and blood pressure cuff. Then he retrieved several large, flat rectangular bags, filled with what looked like water. One by one, he located a small wafer inside the bag and pressed it until there was an audible click. Instantly, a chemical reaction began inside the bags, crystallizing its contents, and generating heat.
Walter handed them to Michael. “These are hot, so don’t put them directly on her skin. Between the blankets and sheets will do. They’ll keep her warm for several hours.” While Michael did as requested, Walter took Nikita’s vitals. She gazed up at him, her lips blue, her pale face misted with the sheen of perspiration.
“Hey Sugar,” Walter said sadly, sitting on the edge of her bed. “We’ll get you through this. Just close your eyes and try to sleep.”
Obediently, Nikita slowly closed her eyes. Walter sighed and looked over at Michael, who was lying on his side next to her, gently stroking her hand. He was struck by Michael’s grief stricken expression.
“It’s not your fault, Michael.” Walter said emphatically.
Michael looked up bleakly, and nodded. After a moment he sat up, cross-legged on the bed. Still caressing Nikita’s hand, he asked, “Why are you here?”
“What you really mean is, how the hell did I talk them into coming.”
Michael nodded and Walter shrugged.
“I haven’t a damn clue. All I know is, Madeline said it was ‘an excellent idea.’”
Michael looked at Walter and frowned.
“Yeah, it worries me too.” He paused for a while, then asked, “I meant to ask, how’s Adam?”
Michael looked more hopeful for a moment then answered, “He’s fine.”
“That’s good. And Elena? Where does she think you are, now?”
There were several emotions that Walter saw cross Michael’s face, but the one that stood out the most was guilt, and Walter instantly wished he hadn’t asked the question.
“She thinks I’m in Pakistan, following up on a possible lead about her father.”
Walter sighed to himself, ‘well, in for a penny, in for a pound’. “Are there any leads on her father?”
“No, not yet.” Michael stared down at Nikita’s hand in his and fell silent.
Walter thought about the multitude of questions he’d like to ask Michael, but was damned sure he shouldn’t. Like ‘what the hell was he going to do about Nikita?’
“Does she suspect? Nikita, I mean.” Walter asked quietly.
“No.” Michael’s voice was soft, but spoke loudly of his torment.
Michael loved Nikita. There was no doubt in Walter’s mind that he did, and yet he also felt guilt over betraying a woman who should have been just a mission.
Many people in Section were in awe of Michael’s capacity to keep a cool head. His exploits under fire were legendary and he was thought to be the “perfect machine”, the “company man”. That he was a brilliant operative was an understatement, but Walter had long since discovered that this young man was no unfeeling machine. True, it had taken a while to come to that conclusion. Michael was not an easy person to know—in truth, Walter didn’t think anyone really knew Michael well, not even Nikita.
It was Simone that finally made Walter realize that Michael was human. She succeeded in drawing out Michael’s affection by seducing him with laughter and a good heart. And when she was gone, it was as if all of Michael’s life force had gone with her—until Nikita.
Michael’s relationship with Elena continued to be an unknown quantity. Walter had met her several times in the course of the past several years. She was an attractive young woman, plainly in love with her husband, and Michael seemed to treat her with the utmost tenderness whenever they were together, but when they were apart, Michael seemed to be able to completely forget that part of his life. Like a well-worn coat, he put her on and took her off with ease—or so it seemed.
Then Adam was born and soon after, Michael met Nikita. After that, Walter realized, Michael began to come apart at the seams emotionally. He was continually torn by his loyalty and affection for his child, and its mother, and the passion and protectiveness he felt for Nikita. There would be no happy ending to this story, Walter thought dismally—for anyone.
* * *
Nikita slept for an hour before she stirred again, this time in the clutches of a drug-induced nightmare.
“Mama. . . .please can I come home?” Nikita waved one hand in the air, restlessly.
Michael, who had been staring out the window at the street below, returned to her side.
Walter had been lying on the floor on a sleeping bag, reading a paperback. He instantly put it aside.
“I didn’t Mama! I didn’t!” Nikita bolted upright in the bed, wide-eyed. “I didn’t!”
Walter stepped carefully into the conversation, “I know you didn’t, Nikita.”
She looked past Walter and tearfully begged, “ I want to come home, Mama. Please, can I come home?”
Michael sat on the bed and maneuvered behind Nikita so that she was encircled by his arms, with her back supported by his chest. Instead of calming her, as he meant to do, Nikita cried harder and began to fight against him.
“No! Don’t touch me! Mama! He’s touching me!”
Walter frowned. Michael looked both hurt and confused, but didn’t let go.
“But mama, I didn’t do anything!” Nikita looked at Walter with unseeing eyes, then curled up into a ball in Michael’s arms and sobbed.
Walter got to his feet and walked a few feet away from the bed, his arms folded tightly against his chest.
“Ah, geez—“ He turned around and watched Michael’s face in time to see the dawn of understanding come up in his eyes.
She hadn’t been dreaming of being accused of murder, Michael finally realized. She had been trying to defend herself against her mother’s lover, only to be blamed and tossed out of her home.
Michael laid her back upon the pillows and gently stroked her face. “Shhh, Nikita. It’s not your fault,” he whispered, his heart broken for her. Molested, abandoned and falsely accused. She had been right. She never belonged in Section. And now that knowledge was doubly hard to accept.
* * *
Nikita opened her eyes and turned her head to see where she was. She saw Walter first. He was seated on the floor next to her bed, with his head nestled atop his folded arms, resting on the edge of the bed.
“Walter?” she said with genuine surprise, her voice sounding hoarse.
Walter looked totally exhausted and continued to sleep.
Nikita felt a hand cup her face and turned to see who it was.
“Michael?”
“Yes?” He gently lifted her and held a glass of water to her lips. Nikita hesitated for a second then gulped it all down.
“Did someone beat me up, or what?” She asked with a weak smile.
“You don’t remember?” Michael asked, laying her back against the pillows.
“I’m not sure—bits and pieces—where did Walter come from?” She lowered her voice to keep from disturbing him.
Michael set aside the glass, then slipped his arms along side Nikita’s sides until his hands rested beneath her shoulder blades, palms up. Tired green eyes bored into her weary blue ones.
“How do you feel?” Michael asked seriously, searching her face for any sign of pain.
“Tired—a little sore,” she replied, lifting one hand to touch the three-day growth of beard on his face. “Michael, are you all right?” She glanced briefly at Walter, then back at Michael. “You both look terrible.”
Michael turned his face against her hand, tenderly placed a kiss in the center of her palm, then laid his head against her breast and closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds, leaving Nikita alone to sort out the rest of the story for herself.
Epilogue:
Nikita walked into Section with a tan jacket slung over one shoulder, and munching an apple. She returned Birkoff’s relieved-to-see-her smile, blew him a quick kiss and a three-fingered wave then continued on through Section until she reached Walter’s work area.
“Hi Walter,” she called out with a wide smile.
“Hey Sugar!” He hugged her, for once not caring if anyone saw him do it. She returned it with affectionate gusto.
“I never got a chance to thank you,” Nikita began.
“For what?” Walter asked, releasing her.
“For Beirut,” she said more seriously.
“Hey, I got to see you in your birthday suit—I was justly compensated!” He teased, trying not to dwell on how awful it had been.
Nikita smiled again, “Walter—if you had been a gentleman, you wouldn’t have peeked.”
“What are friends for?” He quipped back, trying to look innocent.
She slapped his shoulder playfully then looked around with uncertainty.
“Have you seen Michael?” She asked hopefully.
Walter shook his head and regretfully lied through his teeth, “Operations sent him on a mission—need to know only.” ‘A mission that consisted of rejoining a neglected wife and son’ Walter thought bitterly.
Nikita nodded, her lips pressed together in disappointment. “Thanks, Walter.”
“Sorry Sugar,” he replied and meant it.
He watched her leave for Madeline’s office, a little less ebullient than she had arrived.
It was back to Section and business as usual.
The End
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