Nikita awoke to find Michael's arms around her. They were nestled like spoons, and his right leg was insinuated between her two thighs. She luxuriated in the pure contentment of the moment. Since undergoing intensive therapy with an outside psychiatrist, Michael had spent more and more of his nights at her apartment. In fact, he had spent nearly every night with her in the past month, with the only exceptions being when he or she were on missions. Michael was still in the process of coming to terms with his fears of loss, but he seldom had the nightmares that had been the hallmark of his life alone.
Operations and Madeline continued to monitor their performances on missions, and Nikita knew that her and Michael's survival, both as a couple and as Section One operatives, depended on the flawless execution of each mission profile to which they were assigned. Nikita considered awakening Michael so that they could take an early morning run, but she knew they would never make it out the door in their running gear, at least they hadn't yet.
Nikita's comfortable morning lassitude was interrupted by the jarring ring of a cell phone. Nikita jumped, and Michael was awake instantly. They simultaneously reached for their cell phones, which were now both ringing. A terse "Come in" was what they both heard. There was no explanation, and no explanation was needed. The command was enough.
Nikita and Michael, galvanized by Operations's and Madeline's calls, raced to the shower and to the coffee maker, respectively. It was a sign of their growing awareness of the other's habits. Michael needed coffee first. Nikita needed the shower first. Michael also heated water for Nikita's tea, as he started the first of his many cups of coffee the propelled him through his busy days.
Nikita rushed her ablutions and joined Michael in her kitchen. They both knew there was no time today for more than a brief hug and passionate kiss.
"The water should be boiling in a minute, Nikita," Michael said as he released her from his embrace.
"Thank you," Nikita sighed as she removed the towel from her hair, and she busied herself with preparing her morning cup of tea. She sighed a little, as she watched Michael race to the shower. This call-in had an ominous feel to it, and her intuitive senses were resounding.
Forty-five minutes later, scrubbed and caffeined up for the day, Michael
and Nikita
entered the briefing
area. Operations was there, pacing as usual. Madeline
was there, as well, giving no indication of the circumstances for the call-in.
Operations was clearly agitated, and the reason was apparent as soon as he spoke, "Birkoff is missing."
In her utter disbelief, Nikita responded impulsively, "What you do mean, Birkoff is missing?"
"What do you think I mean, Nikita. He's missing. He went out last night
and has
not returned. He
is not anywhere that we could expect him to be," was Operations' terse
reply.
Nikita leaned back in her chair in stunned silence. Birkoff was missing.
What
could have happened
to the young computer whiz? He was the closest thing to a little brother
that she'd ever had.
Michael, who never visibly lost his composure, asked quietly, "Have we
received
any demands?"
Operations shook his head. "He's been out of our sight for at least 12
hours.
That's plenty of
time for his kidnappers to make their demands."
"Maybe he's not been kidnapped," Nikita suggested. "Maybe he's just AWOL."
Michael cast a warning glance at Nikita. "Where would he go? He lives here
on
site."
Operations said, "Exactly! His personal contacts have not seen him either.
If fact,
he was supposed
to meet one of them last night, and he never called, which I am told is
unusual for him.
I'm very afraid we have to assume the worst. Birkoff has been
kidnapped by one
of our enemies, and we have very little time to find out who and
where."
Nikita swallowed convulsively as she realized that Birkoff didn't have
the intensive
training and programming
that cold ops. did. How long could someone like Birkoff hold
out under extensive
interrogation and torture. Not long, she guessed.
Operations' instructions were brief and to the point. "Michael, find him.
Develop
a profile and extract
him. If you can't extract him, cancel him. We can't allow someone
with Birkoff's knowledge
of Section's inner workings to be interrogated and cracked."
Operations turned
on his heel and left the briefing area.
Madeline looked at Michael and Nikita, "Time is of the essence. No one
wants to
cancel Birkoff.
We need him too badly."
Michael and Nikita rose as one to go to Michael's office. Nikita asked,
"Where
the hell, do we
even start, Michael?"
Michael looked at Nikita with his blank stare. "I have an idea," he said
softly. At
her raised eyebrows
and puzzled look, he shook his head signifying that he would say
nothing else for
the moment.
After the pair reached Michael's office, Michael activated the descrambler
that
secured the room,
so that they could talk privately.
Nikita slumped in the chair across from his desk. "All right, Michael,
tell me.
What's the idea?"
Nikita was impatient and anxious as well.
"I think it may have to do with his father." Michael was rapidly tapping
on his
computer. He seemed
to be in control, but Nikita was stunned by this sentence.
"His father! What do you know about Birkoff that I don't. Well, I mean
I don't
know very much,
and I know what he first told me were lies, but..." she sputtered.
Michael sighed and stopped his key strokes. He looked at her with emotional
green eyes and said,
"I'm responsible for Birkoff being in Section One."
Sensations returned--pain, darkness, vibration and the inability to move.
Where
am I, he asked himself.
He struggled to remember. I was on my way to Gail's apartment, and
what? What happened? His head pounded miserably as if the arterial
blood flow desired a way to escape the confines of his body. I've
had a concussion, he thought. I've been unconscious. Wonder
how long?
Slowly, the memory of driving along the parkway returned, and he visualized
the
gray sports vehicle
starting to pass. It swerved and ran me off the road, he remembered.
Then nothing till now. I've been taken by one of Section's enemies.
Do they know I'm missing? How long has it been? Where are they
taking me? The questions flooded through his mind in a roaring torrent.
He struggled against his bonds, but was unable to free himself. Man,
he thought, where are Michael and Nikita when you really need them?
They're probably shacked up at Nikita's apartment doing who knows what
to each other.
Birkoff knew he would have to depend on his own devices to remove himself from the mess in which he found himself. He knew just how unlikely it would be for Section to bargain for him. Oh, he knew his value to Section One, but they never bargained, at least they hadn't to his knowledge in the last eight years.
Section One had allowed Simone to vegetate in a Glass Curtain cell rather
than
bargain for her
return. Operations had not even told Michael that she was being held
prisoner. Birkoff had often wondered how Michael had been able to
continue as if nothing had happened, and he had often wondered if Michael
had forgiven Section for that one. No, he doubted that the trait
of forgiveness was a big factor in Michael's emotional makeup.
Birkoff tried to remember his training, as in "What to do if you are kidnapped."
The sensible answer
came to him, ‘Escape. duh!' Oh, but how? At any rate, he could
continue to waste his energies trying to free his bonds, or he could at
least wait until they let him out of the vehicle in which he was confined.
He didn't have a lot of choices currently, and he knew it.
The vehicle began to slow imperceptibly at first, then with a grinding of the brakes and a bump, it stopped. A man's voice shouted, "Quickly, get him out of the van and into the house!" Rough and impatient hands pulled Birkoff out of the van and stood him on his feet, which were numb from being tightly bound. He collapsed to the ground and was pulled roughly to his feet again, only to collapse again.
Stronger hands grabbed his jacket collar and dragged him. Still blindfolded
and
bound hand and foot,
Birkoff was at their mercy as they relentlessly pulled him over the
uneven and rocky terrain. Finally, Birkoff felt himself being dragged over
a couple of steps and a door sill. At last, maybe he would be able
to find out who had kidnapped him.
He was shoved down on his knees and the blindfold was whipped off his head.
There was not a
great deal of light in the room, but it was enough to blind Birkoff for
a few seconds. The voice he heard stunned him.
"Hello, brat," said a voice filled with soft derision and little affection.
Birkoff blinked his eyes and shook his head. "Uncle Nick?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yes, my murderous, loving little nephew. I have found you, and now
you will
pay dearly for what
you have done to this family." Birkoff's eyes had adjusted to the
light level in the room, and he could see Nikolas Birkoff and that he had
aged beyond his 52 years. His face was haggard and a round
puckered scar marred the left side of what had once been considered a handsome
face. His hair was completely white, making him look even older.
"Most of all you will pay for your father's death, little Seymour."
With this
pronouncement, the
angry older man slapped Birkoff across the face. "You will finally
pay for your betrayal." Nikolas spun on his heel and made as if to
leave the room. "Keep him bound for now," he barked at one of the
rough-handed guards. And for pity's sake, keep him away from
the computers!"
"I don't have time to go into it now, Nikita. We have to find Birkoff. He's a liability, whoever has him, but if his family has found him, they won't leave him alive long." Michael continued to access files, as Nikita slumped in her chair.
She took a deep breath and let it out in an exaggerated manner. "What
can I do?" Michael continued his computer search and didn't
respond. "Michael! Talk to me. At least tell me what
I can do to help."
Michael glanced up at Nikita, "Get ready. If I find what I expect,
we will need to
move quickly.
We will have to go in alone. There won't be time to assemble a larger
team. Understand?"
Michael was in the well-known machine mode, and Nikita recognized that
she
would not get any
more from him until he was ready. "Of course. I'll see Walter
now." Nikita rose and left Michael's office without a backward
glance. Michael nodded without seeing and maintained the steady pace
of his search.
Nikita strode into Walter's armory and asked, "Have you heard about Birkoff?"
"Sure, Sugar. Everybody's heard. Any news? How soon is the team leaving?" Walter started pulling artillery from the back shelves.
"No team, just Michael and I are going."
Walter raised a gray eyebrow. "Just you and Michael, huh? That guy gets all the luck. What's the deal? Why just the two of you?"
"I"m not sure. He's on to something, but he thinks it has to do with Birkoff's family." Nikita leaned closer to her old friend. "Do you know anything about his family, or how he came to be in Section?" she asked.
"Birkoff? No, all I know is that Michael and Simone came back from a mission dragging a kid with them. Operations raised absolute hell and threatened to cancel all of them, but when he saw how talented Birkoff was, well, he changed his mind."
"That's all?" Nikita had been in Section for four years, but there were levels and levels of knowledge that remained hidden. Each time a piece of the puzzle was revealed, she felt strangely elated, but cheated as well. Would she ever know them all, she wondered.
"That's all I know. He's been here ever since. You know that much, Sugar."
"Thanks, Walter," Nikita said as she raised her eyebrows. She was
more confused than ever. Michael ‘and Simone' had brought him
into Section. That didn't sound like the Michael she knew.
It must have been Simone's influence on him. He must have been a
different man then, one she wished she could have known before the pain
had overtaken his life.