Part 56 - Language - again! -- The New Alternate Universe of La Femme Nikita

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Date Posted: 17:06:00 06/21/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Part 56 - Language - again!
In reply to: Lila 's message, "The Beginning 52 and up" on 16:53:51 06/21/02 Fri

Part 56

�Mr. Birkoff,� Madeline said, �My office.�

Birkoff glanced at the intercom, fear gripping his intestines. He hadn�t heard her voice for a few days, and hadn�t minded at all. He knew he�d been careful in his message to Walter, but why else would she summon him? He reached for the coke that was sitting next to his computer, ignoring that it was warm and flat, and poured it down his throat. Breath. �I�m on my way,� he said.

He had been there long enough to negotiate the mazes and find his way to her office. The door slid open, and his footsteps clanked along the metallic steps into her lair. Rubber-soled shoes, next time, he thought. She hadn�t even deigned to glance at him yet, so he walked to her desk and sat cautiously in the chair facing her.

�Ahem,� he said, clearing his throat, �You wanted to see me?�

Eyes still on her computer screen, she said, �A moment, please.� Her fingers tapped quickly along the keyboard, stopping for brief moments, more tapping, stopping. Birkoff could feel the sweat gathering on the back of his neck. Madeline nodded at the computer screen, and then turned her attention to the frightened young man sitting in front of her. Birkoff felt her eyes examining his every pore.

�I didn�t think it would a cause a problem!� he blurted out.

Madeline smiled calmly, �What wouldn�t, Mr. Birkoff?�

Oh god, oh god, oh god, that wasn�t why she wanted to see me. �Uh� I didn�t finish reviewing that intel from Gail yet. I should have, I�m sorry.� Birkoff focused his eyes on a spot on the wall behind Madeline, hoping he wouldn�t notice that he wasn�t looking at her.

�I see,� she said, steepling her fingers. She looked down at her desk, and held a piece of paper. �Do you know what this is?� she asked.

Breath, breath, breath. �No,� he said, swallowing.

�It�s a hard copy of the analysis I asked you to perform. It�s quite good.�

Birkoff shifted in his chair, �Uh, thanks,� he said.

She handed him a small CD and said, �I would like your opinion on the security of this profile. On my desk in two hours, please.�

Birkoff snatched it from her, and said, �Yes ma�am!� He was up the steps, moments from safety, when he had the sense something was hanging in the air. �Is that all?� he asked, turning to face her, wishing he had quietly exited.

�We�ve been expecting Walter. Telling him where you are was not necessary.�

�I� uh... don�t know what you mean?� he stammered.

Madeline smiled benignly. �Nothing happens here, or with our people, without us knowing. Please try not to forget that.� She moved her eyes back to the computer. �You may go.� The door swooshed closed behind him.

************

Holding a small flashlight in his teeth, Michael studied the topo map, determining how much further to their refuge. It was just a few more kilometers until he could allow Nikita to rest. He folded up the map, dropped the flashlight into his hand, and turned off the small light.

�Ni-ki-ta,� he whispered, �Not much longer.�

She was leaning against a tree, breathing deeply, trying to fill her lungs with more oxygen. If she could get a few deep breaths maybe she�d make it. Nikita nodded, and followed Michael.

He veered off the path they had been following and were now on the uneven forest floor. Each step was slow going, tripping over roots, stones, each one keeping their �oofs� and groans to themselves. Nikita willed herself not to cry. She was so damned tired, and although she didn�t want to say anything to Michael, she was sure she had a fever.

�One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other,� she told herself. She had once taken some of her students hiking, and halfway during the ascent she realized she had chosen a trail that was much too difficult for some of them. Their mantra had become, �one foot in front of the other.� It worked miracles on even the least athletic children, and she smiled at the memory. Everyone happily tore into their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the summit, chattering away, full of boasting, as if they had just conquered Mt. Everest.

The memory leaving her, Nikita found herself overwhelmed with sadness as well as exhaustion. She had so loved being a teacher. The children gave her so much, and they didn�t even realize it. A laugh, a smile, a frown, she loved everything about them. They just wanted to learn and understand, and be loved. Just like herself, she realized.

She kept her eyes focused on Michael. While she presumed he stumbled over every root and vine that she had, he maneuvered his way through the brush like a fox. Never breaking stride, never seeming to lose his cool. She watched him, his body, fluid motions, no edge, all of him alive with moving forward - sublime.

Her heart beat in synch with his footsteps, her entire being entwined with his. But the sadness persisted. She didn�t know what the future held, but she was sure she couldn�t simply return to school after having abruptly disappeared and behave as if her absence was normal. �Yeah, my summer was good. I traipsed around half the world, being chased by bad guys, and met the man of my dreams, oh sure, he needs a lot of work, but then, who doesn�t?� she heard herself say to Mrs. Reynolds, her classroom neighbor. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, laughter about to erupt. Maybe Robert Ludlum could have come up with a better response.

�Why Mrs. Reynolds, isn�t that a new hairstyle?� she would ask, and then mask in place, turn towards her room, ready to teach for another year.

�Whoa girl,� Nikita muttered, �Get a grip.� She knew she couldn�t go much further and hoped they were almost there. She wanted to ask, but she wouldn�t. Michael gave new meaning to the words suffer in silence, and she would be damned if she was going to act the pathetic woman. No way.

Nikita saw Michael raise his arm, his hand opening, motioning her to stop. She waited. He turned his head left, right, left again. He motioned for her to move next to him, and she complied. �It�s just over that ridge,� he whispered. �Can you make it?�

�Yeah,� she said, trying not to lean her full weight against him, but failing. �I�m fine,� she said, pulling hers body away from him, standing as tall as she could. �Lead the way.�

************

�Fuck,� Walter said, opening his eyes, noting he was still sitting in the armchair in Philippe�s study. He squinched his eyes together a few times, attempting to focus on the desk in front of him. He had planned to leave for Paris right after he had received Birkoff�s email, but the booze had snuck up on him. Just as well, no sense in rushing in to a scenario unprepared.

Walter found a bathroom and lowered his head under the sink faucet, drinking as much water as he could stand. It had been so long since he had a hangover, he couldn�t exactly remember what to do. He opened the medicine cabinet, searched through the bottles and found some aspirin. He poured five in his hand, popped them in his mouth, and chewed. Old habits die hard, suddenly treating the hangover was old hat.

He walked back to the office and sat down in front of the computer. Birkoff�s message to the Risk group gave him a location in Paris. Obvious, Walter thought, Paul�s entire operation must be there. Walter smacked himself on the forehead and then instantly regretted it. �Son of a bitch,� he muttered, rubbing his eyes �Orange juice.�

After wandering a while, opening doors, peeking into rooms, Walter found the kitchen. It was opulent, grand, the kind of kitchen staffed by several people, and one rarely seen by its owner. Walter rummaged through the refrigerator and found the magical orange liquid that cured all hangovers. At least his.

He stood by the refrigerator and emptied the container into his mouth. Swallowing rapidly, he already felt better. He placed the empty carton on the counter and looked out the window. Hell of a nice spread. He stood for a few moments, letting the orange juice and aspirin work its magic, when he thought he saw movement on the horizon. He couldn�t be sure if it was a trick of the new morning sunlight or something more sinister.

Walter abruptly left the kitchen and returned to the study where he�d left his weapon. He sat at Philippe�s large desk, and having no other plan, sat and waited with his gun.

�You should put the gun down, Walter,� Paul said.

Walter narrowed his eyes, and pointed the gun at Paul, a clean shot between the eyes was all it would take. �Give me one good reason,� he said.

�Besides that you are surrounded and would be immediately killed?� Paul asked.

�Yeah,� Walter said, �I know that reason, I need another one.�

�Nikita?� he asked.

Walter shook his head. �You�ve been jerking me around since the day you showed up in London. Spun this giant tale about Philippe and the General, drugs, and mind control and the safety of the free world. I said I was in because the cause was right.� Walter kept his gun steadied on Paul, his eyes scanning the room quickly. �You�ve played me like a fucking violin, and I don�t appreciate it.�

Paul studied his craggy friend, knowing he would pull the trigger if need be. �I want you for Section,� he started.

Walter frowned and replied. �A, couldn�t you just ask, and B, why the hell get Nikita involved in all of this? She�s an innocent.�

�Let me finish,� Paul said. �I don�t ordinarily ask.� Paul lifted his hand towards his jacket pocket.

�Ah, ah,� Walter said, waving the gun.

�Smokes,� Paul said.

�Slowly,� Walter replied.

Paul slowly dropped his hand to his pocket and removed the pack. He showed them to Walter, and Walter nodded. Cigarette lit, he continued. �You have a certain expertise that we could use. I should have asked you a long time ago.�

�I�d have said no,� Walter said without hesitation.

�You�re dead you know,� Paul said.

Walter smiled, �I may have one hell of a headache, but I�m still breathing.�

�That�s how it works. You don�t work for Section. You die for Section.�

�Explain,� Walter said.

Paul gestured towards Walter�s computer, �Log on to your local newspaper. You�ll see what I�m talking about.�

Walter eyed Paul, pushed his chair away from the desk, and stood. �You do it, my hands are occupied,� he said, glancing to the gun in his hand.

Paul walked over to the computer, typed a URL into the web connection, and stepped back for Walter to see.

�Stand right there,� Walter said, �Hands where I can see them.� He glanced down at the computer screen to see a picture of himself staring back at him. �Local icon dies in explosion,� read the headline.

�What the fuck?� Walter said.

�Die for Section,� Paul repeated, as he nodded his head.

A small crack appeared in the window, the tranquilizer dart hitting Walter just as his finger squeezed the trigger of his gun. His bullet missed Paul�s head, but caught him squarely in the chest. Walter smiled as he lost consciousness - one for Bobby.

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Part 57 - NC 17 -- Repost Fairy, 17:08:59 06/21/02 Fri