| Subject: The Anguish of Angels 4 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 16:22:13 01/07/02 Mon
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "The Anguish of Angels (Sequel to Shadow of Simone)" on 22:01:11 01/02/02 Wed
* * *
Nikita listened into the conversation in the next room. “Looks like a picture perfect mission, Birkoff.” She said leaning back in her chair. “Maybe the easy way wasn’t mined after all.”
* * *
“Well General, it’s good to have met you once again!” Operations grinned and turned to the two agents that stood in the doorway. “Take him away.”
The elderly soldier suddenly realized there was more wrong than his heart and tried to struggle against his captors as they strapped him to the gurney. Drugged unconscious, two Section operatives dressed as ambulance personnel quickly ushered him out of the hotel and on his way back to Section..
Operations remained behind, walked over to the balcony to view the Eiffel Tower, bedecked in lights that hung like jeweled necklaces against a velvet gown. He casually poured a glass of wine from the crystal decanter off the General’s table and toasted the night sky.
“Checkmate!” He said pleasantly and aloud.
“Not quite.” Came a soft, familiar voice from behind.
“Michael?” Operations said hopefully as he turned around.
“Yes.” Michael stood in the doorway of the room, gun drawn and pointed at Operations. With his free hand, he tossed an envelope at Operation’s feet.
“What’s this?” Operations asked, not taking his eyes off of Michael.
“Read it. I’ll wait.” Michael said coldly.
“You going to kill me afterward?” Operations asked calmly.
“Yes.” Michael’s voice was lethally soft.
* * *
“Ohmygod!” Nikita said, cupping her hands over the surveillance earphones on her head.
"What is it?” Birkoff asked. He had to duck when Nikita tossed the earphones at him.
“Michael!” She ran to the balcony.
“Wait! Where you going?” Birkoff followed her.
“To stop him! Stay here!” She slipped off her shoes, dropping them as she ran.
Birkoff watched helplessly as Nikita slung one shapely leg over the railing of the balcony, to swing over to the adjoining room’s balcony. He couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening, and returned to listen in on the headphones.
He heard the tearing and rustling of paper and very little else.
“Is it true?” Michael said at length.
“That Simone was my daughter? Yes. At least, it’s possible she was.”
“Are you saying, she was a liar?” The tone of Michael’s voice was enough to freeze the blood in Nikita’s veins as she stood out on the balcony listening. She edged nearer the open balcony doors, her pistol slippery with sweat.
“No. I’m not. But all the proof she had was this picture and the word of her mother.” Operations said calmly.
“It was enough proof to let her have Etienne!” Michael said taking another step into the room, his gun still trained on Operations.
Nikita could see what was going on in the reflection of one of the panes of glass in the open French doors. The curtains fluttered as a gust of wind caught them and pushed them inside the room a moment. Nikita used the cover to slip inside the door, and stand between the curtain and the door.
Operations was now so near she could touch him.
“So, you are going to kill me because I let you have your son?”
“Simone would be alive today if it hadn’t been for you. She was your daughter! Why didn’t you let her go! Why couldn’t you have let her out of Section?”
“I offered--she refused.” Operations replied quietly, dropping Simone’s letter on top of the nearby table.
“Liar!” Nikita flinched, hearing cold rage in Michael’s voice.
“It’s no lie. I offered. She wouldn’t take it. She wouldn’t leave you behind.”
“You bastard! You made it a condition? Her freedom or me?”
“The Agency made it a condition. It was the best I could do.”
“No!” Michael’s voice cracked, and took aim.
“No! Michael!” Nikita shoved Operations to the floor a microsecond before the bullet from Michael’s gun hit her square in the chest.
She fell back, like a rag doll, knocking over the table before hitting the floor. Her blonde hair splayed in a golden arch around her head, as she lay on her back in perfect repose.
“Nikita!” Michael’s shout was so agonized that Birkoff flung the headphones onto the floor. He didn’t want to hear anymore.
Operations picked up Michael’s gun. It fell from his hands when he ran to Nikita’s side and gathered her in his arms.
“Kita! God, oh God! Please! No!” Michael held her close, buried his face against her neck, and wept.
Operations watched a moment, then turned as Birkoff skittered into the room.
Both turned their attention back to Michael, who raised his head and softly begged, “Do it. Please do it.”
Operations hesitated, raised the gun, only to have Birkoff suddenly press the barrel of the gun downward. “Wait! She’s alive.”
“Ow!” Nikita groaned and pressed her hand to her chest. “That hurts!”
Michael kissed her through tears. She was alive! But how?
Nikita slid her hand inside her shirt and something metallic slipped out and onto the floor. It was the lower half of the angel medal, broken off at the waist. Michael’s bullet had severed it and been deflected.
“Take him!” Operations said grimly, as two more operatives arrived on the heels of Birkoff.
Michael didn’t resist. Instead he gently laid Nikita on a nearby couch and put his hands behind his back for them to handcuff. As they led him away, she turned her face against the couch and sobbed, while Birkoff tried in vain to comfort her.
* * *
“Michael.”
Michael sat slumped in the chair in the middle of the white room, his hands locked in the armrests. He raised his head and looked at Madeline who stood before him in a neatly tailored suit. In her hand, she held a hypodermic injector.
He regarded her calmly, his face almost serene. His life was over now and he had resigned himself to what must be. He only had one regret and that was leaving Nikita. But at least he was leaving her alive.
“Yes?” He replied. He couldn’t even hate anymore and found that odd.
“If Nikita hadn’t been successful in her mission, I wouldn’t be very happy with you at the moment.” Her voice was professionally firm, but strangely, not angry.
“Can I see Nikita?” He asked hopefully. There was so much he needed to tell her before he died. He smiled faintly, realizing the priest had told him the truth. Love was indeed, all that everything was about. Even knowing he was going to die, probably in the most painful way that Madeline’s talents could devise, it paled in importance to the knowledge that he had been loved by two women such as Simone and Nikita. He’d been so wrong. There was a God and Michael was suddenly humbled by the knowledge that despite all he had done wrong in his life, God had still blessed him beyond anything he deserved. “Please. Can I speak with her?” Grey-green eyes pleaded with brown ones.
“No,” Madeline said, stepping forward and pressing the hypodermic against his bare throat, “I’m afraid not.” Immediately, Michael’s head fell forward against his chest.
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