La Femme Nikita

Dangerous When Crossed

Part B

Part 15

"Exx, we may have a problem here." Wye was standing in the bedroom doorway, a tray loaded with food in his hands. 

The female torture operative rolled over and smiled at him lazily. "The only problem I can see is that you're way over there, and I'm here." She patted the empty spot next to her invitingly. "So how about bringing your sexy self right on over and we can correct that little thing?" 

Wye felt a jolt of lust and wanted nothing more than to toss aside the tray, rip away the sheet that concealed her sweet curves and bury himself in her warmth. But he had astounding willpower and could exercise amazing control over his responses when he so chose. 

And while he accepted his female counterpart as the alpha of the pair, he was still her partner. And what he had to tell her might well be a matter of  their life or death. 

He set the tray down on the night stand and offered her a sandwich with the crusts neatly trimmed off. She smiled at him from under the fringe of hair that fell into her eyes and conceded the point to him. "Very well, cowboy. I'll eat and you can tell me why you think we have a problem." 

"Is it safe?" 

"Isn't it a little late to be asking that? We, or rather, I spoke too freely not to face cancellation if I hadn't switched on that little gadget Walter left behind in the ward room during that last mission." 

"You confiscated that anti-scan?" 

"Of course," she said primly. "Waste not, want not!" 

"Excuse me?" 

She shook her head. "Never mind. I always activate a screen when we're here." 

"What about my quarters?" 

Exx held herself very still. "Yes," she said slowly, thinking over the times spent in his rooms and the conversations they had held. "Yes, I see what you mean." 

"That's not the only thing. When you had the stomach virus..." 

“’Thought.’ What we thought was a stomach virus," she corrected. 

"What we thought was a stomach virus," he concurred, "and you fainted in my arms,” he rubbed his chin over her hair, “I refused to leave for Three until I knew you were going to be all right. I'm sorry. I know you told me to be wary of Madeline, but..." He shrugged helplessly. 

"You forget how long I have known Madeline. She did not rise to head  Section without learning how to put two and two together and somehow making it come out five. You're right, this may make things difficult." 

Wye sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he  repeated. "And there's another thing. When she came to my quarters. I...I told her that if it ever came to a choice between the two of us, I would do whatever was necessary to keep you alive!" 

She put her arms gently around his shoulders and pressed a tender kiss  to the spot at the nape of his neck where the skin was the softest. "Not your fault. Madeline knew before she spoke to you that there was a connection between us. It happens. Trainees often develop an attachment to their mentors. She just didn't know it was mutual." 

Wye looked around at her, a question in his dark eyes. 

"When you were in Medlab." She was going to leave it at that. 

"And the only way they could get you out was to threaten to have me canceled?" 

Exx actually flushed. "You found out about that?" 

He nodded and cupped her shoulder, sliding his fingers over the warm flesh there. 

"Obviously, someone in MedLab does not take me seriously." She threw back the sheet angrily and began reaching for her clothes. 

"You going somewhere, Sweet Pea?" He ducked in time to avoid her fist, grinning. She was attached to him! 

"I'm going to cancel someone! And if you ever, ever call me Sweet Pea again, I just may do you as well!" 

"Ohhh, I love when you talk dirty to me!" he teased huskily. "Later, sweet lady. You can do all that...later! Just do me, now!" 

And he tumbled her back on the bed.                                                                                                        

****

Birkoff shut down his computer with an inordinate sense of relief. It had been a long day, a day from hell. Everything that could have gone wrong had, hitting the fan left, right and center. 

On top of all the crap that had been going on, the comm op who annoyed him most in the world had come sauntering in, acting as if he had the world on a string. 

Hungry and aggravated, Birkoff sneered at the back of Hillinger's head, hoping the younger operative would just *start* something. But of course his bete noire was so involved with the tracking he had been assigned that for once he wasn't even tempted to hassle the senior op. 

So the head of comm was just itching for a fight when Davenport found him. Aware that they were never alone in Section, the cold operative kept his tone casual. 

"I heard there was a bit of a dust up in comm this afternoon." 

Birkoff gave Davenport a disgruntled look and dragged down the turtleneck of the sweater he was wearing. "You might say that," he snapped. 

The burly cold op hissed at the imprint of fingers that encircled Birkoff's throat. "Son of a bitch!” he swore. "I'll kill whoever did that!" 

"I don't think so. It was Wye." 

Davenport paled. "Shit, man, what'd you do to get him pissed at you?" 

"That's right, it's my fault isn't it?" Birkoff ran a hand over the fuzz that covered his head and snarled, "I don't want to talk about it!" 

A large fist bunched the front of  the comm op's sweater and dragged him close. "Someone hurts you, my friend, I want to talk about it! What made that man want to kill you, Birk? You're the most harmless person I know!" 

"Gee, thank you very much! There's nothing like being told you're a wimp and a half! Look, it was a misunderstanding, okay? Can we just forget about it now?" 

Davenport thrust his face close to Birkoff's, trying for the most intimidating scowl he could muster. It didn't have quite the effect he had in mind. 

The head of comm dissolved into a fit of nervous giggles. "I'm sorry, Dav! I'm sorry! You...you look like a constipated Winnie the Pooh!" 

Davenport's mouth dropped open. He was an operative who was fast gaining a reputation  second only to Michael as someone not to be messed with. People in Section trod warily around him. 

Except, it seemed, the operative who stood before him. He gave Birkoff a pained look. "I look like Winnie the Pooh?" 

"A constipated Winnie the Pooh," Birkoff corrected, helpfully, suddenly feeling much better. "C'mon, I'm starved! Buy me dinner and I'll tell you all about it!" 

**** 

In the commissary, Walter was nursing a cup of Section's atrocious coffee. He had been up since the day before, working up some inventory for Davenport's team. Most of them were waiting in the ready room for the 'go'. 

His eyelids felt as if half the sand on a beach had found its way under them, and as if they weighed a ton as well. He rubbed them with the heel of his hand and struggled to keep them open. Absently he sipped at the sludge in his cup. Things in Section One were getting just too freakin' interesting. 

He leaned back and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a breast pocket. Shaking one loose, he took it between his lips and patted his jeans, searching for his lighter. 

A lit match touched the end of his cigarette. The munitions op drew in a deep lungful of the acrid smoke and slid back in his seat. "Thanks," he said as the heat wrapped around his vocal cords, making his voice more gravely than usual. He let the smoke dribble from his lips. Then he looked up and groaned. "Shit! I have been in weapons for thirty-six straight hours! I don't know nothin' about nothin'! And I haven't seen anything either!" 

The figure before him stood quietly rolling the match stick between his fingers. "I need your help, Walter." 

The senior weapons operative of Section turned gray. 

Part 16 

Christopher was lurking. It was not part of his job description, and he did it poorly, but nonetheless, he lurked. 

He hadn't been uncomfortable slipping that powder into the target's food. He had done it before at Madeline's command, and on Operations' orders as well. It was an unknown perk of his job. 

Then he had found out who the target had been, and very nearly used his favorite carving knife to cut his own throat. He had dosed Exx! 

He tried to unobtrusively make amends by providing her with the most tempting dishes he could devise. And when her counterpart had been returned to Section, severely hurt by that madman in Three, Christopher had filled his fridge with all manner of goodies. 

Perhaps, if the torture twins ever found out that he was involved, they would remember him kindly. 

Since it was Section policy to keep all intra-organizational activities of that nature in strictly 'need-to-know, for your eyes only' caches, Christopher had high hopes that his part in Exx's 'illness' would never leak out. His gut, however, more uncertain than his mind, was churning out acid on a continual basis. It persisted in reminding him periodically that if she, or the brute who never left her side these days, were to find out, he wouldn't be running Dietary any longer. 

He would be canceled. Painfully. 

Imagining the elaborate send off his colleagues would give him cheered him somewhat, but Christopher mourned his premature demise. The greatest chef ever to grace the kitchens of Section! He truly did not deserve such a fate! He sighed deeply. 

And he lurked. 

He was lurking as Wye approached the senior weapons operative  who sat nursing a cup of coffee. He watched as Wye lit Walter's cigarette. And he swallowed heavily as Walter first sat bolt upright, and then relaxed back into his seat. 

And when two sets of eyes found him as he tried to hide his bulk behind a pillar, there was no need for him to duck away. His overwrought nerves got the best of him and he hit the floor in a dead faint. 

**** 

Walter's mouth dropped open when, for no apparent reason, the head of Dietary turned sheet white and suddenly passed out. 

"Do you have any idea what that was all about?" he asked the interrogation operative who sat next to him. 

Wye returned his glance to the munitions op. His eyes were so cold that Walter involuntarily scraped his chair back away from him. And when Wye smiled, Walter gulped and got to his feet, deciding he was too old for this shit anymore. 

The interrogation operative put a stilling hand over Walter's. "That," he nodded to where a cadre of Christopher's underlings were trying to drag him into the kitchen, "is of no import. Exx will deal with it in her own time. I need to know if you will help me." 

"Well, sure, man. What is it that you need?" 

Wye wondered if the older man was becoming senile. "Walter," he said patiently, "I've already told you. Is this feasible?" 

Realizing that Wye was serious about the items he had mentioned, Walter sank back into his chair, giving it extensive thought. "No, I can't make it for you, but I know a place on the outside that does exquisite work. It'll take a while, but I can get it ordered for you. The only problem might be the design; I may be able to sketch what you've described. Let me sleep on it and I'll give you my answer in the morning. How does that sound, amigo?" 

Wye started. He had often heard Walter call Birkoff 'amigo', but this was the first time, in his entire life, that anyone had ever called him friend. Knowing it was just a meaningless phrase, still he found himself touched by the gesture. 

"That sounds...very good Walter. Thank you. Please, finish your coffee." 

Another operative joined Walter as Wye rose to leave. "Hey Walt! How they hangin'?" 

"Bill! Good to see you, my man! How are things in Housekeeping?" 

Wye stifled a smile as 'Bill', Guillaume, began regaling the weapons operative with the latest messes he had to clean up: not only what Exx had left of the Three munitions op, but what his own trainee had vomited at the sight of it. 

He was pushing the door from commissary when it was pulled open from the other side and he stumbled into the two operatives who were about to enter. 

"Wye!" Birkoff cringed and backed away. 

Davenport confronted the torture operative, thrusting his face close to Wye's, and once again attempting the intimidating scowl. "You hurt my friend!" the cold op snarled. 

Wye glanced at the head of comm. The burly operative placed himself between Birkoff and the man who had nearly succeeded in choking the life out of him earlier. 

"I did, didn't I?" Wye agreed mildly. "It seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Birkoff. I am still not quite myself." 

"It's okay. No harm done." Birkoff just wanted to get away from the interrogation operative, who intimidated him more than almost anyone else in Section. 

Davenport wasn't quite so willing to let bygones be bygones. Although he had a healthy regard for the man who stood before him, he was not about to let him assault his friend without knowing it would cost him, if there should be a next time. 

"Try something like that again, Wye, and I'll make you sorry you ever came to Section!" 

"You're more than welcome to try, Davenport. Just keep in mind that if I still wasn't recuperating, your...friend would not be standing next to you in one piece!" 

"Oh, yeah? You want to step outside?" 

“Davenport!” Birkoff whispered, “we are outside!” 

The cold op physically moved the smaller man out of the way. 

“I’m going to clobber you, torture man!” 

Wye's eyes lit up. He began peeling off his jacket. "You and what army?" he demanded. 

"Dav, please, no!" Birkoff tried to get between the two bristling males. 

"Birk, stay out of this!" 

The two operatives circled each other, seeking an edge, an opening, filled with too many frustrated male hormones to see their macho posturing for what it really was. Lips were curled, challenges issued, promises of physical harm uttered. 

And then a voice dripping with ice cut through the fog of testosterone that surrounded them. “Gentlemen?” 

Guiltily, they straightened and backed away, trying to look innocent and harmless. 

And then the over-head address system blared to life. “Davenport, report to van access. Davenport to van access please.” 

Relief written large upon his face, the cold op squeezed Birkoff’s arm, cast an apologetic glance at Wye, seized the page as the lifeline it was and disappeared. 

“Mr. Birkoff, isn’t there someplace else you need to be?” 

“Yes ma’am!” Thankful that the contained rage in her eyes was not directed at him, Birkoff eased past the torture operatives, and  the door to the commissary swung shut behind him. 

Wye stood before his mentor, trying for an abandoned puppy dog look. He sneaked a quick peek at her and could tell it wasn’t working. She was more annoyed with him than he had ever seen her. 

He sighed. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I? I imagine you’ll want to punish me for such unseemly behavior.” 

“How did you guess? Would you care to explain what that exhibition was all about?” 

“Ummm, boys will be boys?” he volunteered hopefully. As aberrant as it seemed to him, he found her furious demeanor highly arousing. 

Anger was in her eyes, but something else as well. Her lips were parted and her breathing was rapid. 

“Not good enough, Wye. Not nearly good enough! I want you in The Dungeon! 

“NOW!” 

Part 17 

As soon as Davenport entered the mission van, the door slid shut behind him and the vehicle rocketed off. There were five other operatives on this mission, four of them unknowingly in abeyance, and the fifth his actual back-up. 

“Nikita, what are you doing here?” he blurted in surprise. 

A crooked grin kicked up the corner of her lush mouth. “Just a little moral support, Davenport.” Her blue eyes signaled a warning and he tightened his lips on the numerous questions he had for her. 

“Are you going to brief us, Davenport?” a compact, well-muscled brunet asked. 

“Sure thing, Dimitri. This is a highly secretive, two pronged mission, ordered by Oversight itself. Prime has been given this opportunity to redeem Section Three and will be handling the American west coast aspect of it. While they are tackling the target in beautiful downtown Burbank, we have been assigned the target in New York.” He glanced at his watch. “We should be arriving at Orly in approximately fifteen minutes, which will give us plenty of time to catch our flight on the Concord.” 

“We get to fly the SST? Ain’t that a hoot and a half!” Pliskin spoke dryly. A hulking animal of a man,  with a beetling brow and tufts of dirty blond hair that stuck out at odd angles, the task of making him appear harmless seemed insurmountable. “What are the odds of us surviving this hoe-down?” 

The level 3 cold op blew out a breath that would have ruffled the hair in front of his eyes, if he allowed any hair to grow. “I’ve been authorized to inform you that if all goes according to plan, you will no longer be obligated to Section. You may either remain in New York or travel to anywhere in the world that strikes your fancy.” 

“This sounds like bullshit!” a third operative said sarcastically. “How we supposed to survive? On love?” 

“No, Petrov.” Davenport spoke through gritted teeth. “After we have completed this project, I will turn over the sum of $20,000 to each of you. What you choose to do at that point is solely your own concern.” 

The Greek grinned, displaying strong, blindingly white teeth. “Hokay, buddy! This idea I like fine!” 

“Yeah, right.” Davenport turned to glare at Nikita when she surreptitiously kicked his ankle. He reached inside his padded vest and pulled out a rectangular piece of paper,  which he began unfolding. When he was finished, it proved to be a three foot square diagram of a West 57th Street block in New York City and the building that housed their objective. Spreading it upon the floor of the van, he pointed out access to the various elevators, stairwells and exits and told each man what would be required of him. 

It wasn’t a complicated mission. The targets were civilians, and anyone else who got in their way was acceptable collateral, to be terminated with extreme prejudice. The authority of Section had, unwittingly, been challenged, and while the targets might be singularly powerful men in their field, in the shadowy universe that housed the anti-terrorist organization, they were less than the dust beneath Section’s chariot wheels.  

Briskly the operatives stripped off their mission clothing and replaced it with conservative business suits. By the time the van was coming to a rolling stop in front of Departures at Orly Airport, they had transformed into the epitome of the drones who did the scut work of the media field,  down to their black leather attaché cases. 

The sextet made it unchallenged through the metal detectors, thanks in large part to Walter’s marathon session in weapons. He had produced a prototype of a plastic gun which could ‘shoot for twelve miles and throw rocks the rest of the way’ as he phrased it. The bullets were a little harder to smuggle through, but he had come up with a solution to that headache as well. 

The six operatives sat two by two behind each other, with Davenport and Nikita bringing up the rear in order to keep a weather eye on the men they were overseeing. Nikita managed to have an unobtrusive word with the flight attendants. She informed them that the four men she and her ‘husband’ were traveling with were new members of AA and under no circumstances were to be offered anything even remotely alcoholic. 

She had actually worked with the two Greeks before they were placed in the abeyance pool. Dimitri and Petrov were really quite effective operatives. Their major problem was that they were lovers, and Section, like most organizations, had a don’t-ask-don’t-tell-and-if-you-do-we’ll-cancel-you policy. Unfortunately, the men had made their preference more than clear. 

They also had a surprisingly poor tolerance for alcoholic beverages, and a couple of Ouzo’s made them embarrassingly affectionate. 

As for the other two, they just got downright nasty, and Nikita decided they could all live without visiting the fascinating world of airport security. 

She slid into the aisle seat next to Davenport, who leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Just who’s running this mission, Nikita?” 

The blond operative flashed him an apologetic smile and murmured, “Sorry, they’re all yours from now on!” 

“Thank you so the hell much! Y’know, if I had my choice, I’d be back home! I hate flying in these paper-thin SST’s!” 

“Me too!” she responded. “I’d much rather be making dinner for Michael right about now!” Nikita sighed and fastened her seatbelt. 

Davenport made sure the airsick bag was in the pouch of the seat in front of him, then stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get to 35,000 feet!” 

Nikita watched with awe as Davenport dropped into an easy doze. “Wish I could do that!” 

She listened absently as the flight attendants instructed the passengers on the use of the seat belts, oxygen masks, seat cushions which were also flotation devices in case of an emergency water landing, and ordered everyone to have their seats in an upright and locked position and their tray tables put away. Use of cellular phones was strictly prohibited while the jet was in the air and this was a non smoking flight. Screw with the smoke detectors in the lavatories and they’d throw the culprit’s sorry ass off in mid flight! 

Ahead of her she could see Petrov and Dimitri huddled under a blanket they had requested. The smaller Greek had his head resting on his lover’s shoulder. God, she hoped they didn’t do anything too unSection-like, such as trying to join the mile-high club, and get them all detained at Kennedy for lewd and indecent behavior! 

The jet began rolling down the runway, its folded back wings and needle-point nose slicing through the air. A final burst of speed and its wheels left the ground. Nikita gripped her fingers together, twisting painfully, her knuckles a stark white. She hated takeoffs! And then a strong, masculine hand slid over hers, warm and comforting. Turning her head, she met Davenport’s brown eyes, understanding radiating from them. 

With a sigh of relief, she relaxed in her seat and waited for them to reach cruising altitude.

Part 18 

The Concord touched down at JFK International Airport some four, uneventful, hours later. Blending with tourists, business types, and other, assorted travelers, the team from Section One disembarked without incident and proceeded to the rest rooms to freshen up. 

Davenport sent Green, the most innocuous-looking of their group, to hail a cab. Average height, average weight, average coloring. Nothing drew the eye to the man, which made him so ideal for the mission. He was the one who would actually snatch the target. 

If he was so unlucky as to be seen, it wouldn’t matter. Half the men in New York City could meet his description. As could a fair number of women! 

He was unidentifiable. As long as he didn’t open his mouth. Once he started speaking, he would be nailed in the proverbial minute. Having been raised in the back streets of Naples, it wasn’t his accent, which was barely noticeable, that caught the ear. It was the filth that he spewed forth. His name on the streets hadn’t been Gutter Mouth for nothing. 

That was what jeopardized his position in Section. They had discovered that, handy as he was with a knife and garrote, he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He had been tagged more times than could be safely permitted because of his volatile language. 

So now he was in abeyance, with one foot on a banana peel. Not being a stupid man, he was aware he was treading on quicksand. 

Green stepped off the curb and raised his arm to attract the attention of the line of taxis. The first one drove past him to pick up a couple who had just exited the terminal. 

He gritted his teeth and signaled the next in line. 

That cab also by-passed him, and this time he swore softly. 

When the third taxi also ignored him, he shouted obscenities after it, in Italian, English, Spanish and Iranian. He was covering all bases and  wanted to be sure the driver understood what he was saying. 

A hand gripped Green’s arm just above the elbow, pinching a nerve and numbing all feeling from his shoulder to his fingers. 

“What?” asked Davenport softly. 

“Son of a bitch, they keep driving by! What am I, chopped liver? I’ll cut his @#$% throat!” 

Davenport increased the pressure on his arm. “You aren’t supposed to draw attention to us, Green!” He nodded to Pliskin. The huge man grinned, displaying a wide gap between his front teeth. An ear-splitting whistle emerged and as if by magic a cab appeared before them. 

The driver took one look at the monster who had summoned him and tried to correct his error in judgment, gesturing toward a family group that stood nearby. “They are my fare!” 

Pliskin jerked open the front door. “Too bad, Petunia, we got you first!” He casually placed a hand on his hip, catching the edge of his suit jacket, pulling the material back to reveal the snub-nosed automatic he wore tucked in his waistband. 

Surrendering to the inevitable, the cabby popped his trunk and the Greeks tossed the attaches into it. At Davenport’s signal, they slid into the front seat of the cab, smiling winningly at the driver. 

He swallowed hard. 

Green got into the back seat, still swearing under his breath, but taking care to keep his arm out of  Davenport’s reach. Pliskin entered after him and then the team leader squeezed his bulk in. Angling his body carefully, he held out his arms to Nikita. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sit on my lap,” he said apologetically. 

“Hey man, she can sit on...mine, any day!” Pliskin leered. 

Nikita ducked her head and gingerly settled onto Davenport. “You’re such a pig!” she told the other  man. 

The driver was having minor hysterics by this time. He would lose his license! He would lose his medallion! He would get a ticket! His cab would be impounded and his wife and seven children would starve because he had no means to support them! 

Nikita listened until he began repeating himself and she grew bored. Squirming around on Davenport’s lap, she managed to extract a fat wallet from a pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Will this take care of your wife and seven kids?” 

The cabby’s eyes became saucers. “Seven? Did I say seven? I meant eleven! Yes, I have eleven little ones!” 

“Sure you do,” she muttered under her breath. “Well, I’m sure this will more than compensate you for your trouble. If there is any,” she said in a warning tone. 

The hack wasn’t born yesterday. He knew when to back off. Besides, once he got this fare to West 57th Street, he could call it quits for the day! 

**** 

The mission team climbed out of the cab, shaken by the number of potholes that the vehicle had managed to find and run through. 

Dimitri handed out the attaches and they each gave their suit jackets a brief tug. Having been hand made in Section’s own sweat shops, the suits shed wrinkles efficiently. 

The cab sped off and as one they tipped their heads back and looked to the top of the building. Each operative adjusted the almost invisible ear piece of the communicator that was standard issue. It would be their lifeline, keeping them in contact with Birkoff. 

“Well, Stevie,” Davenport murmured under his breath, “you’re about to meet your worst nightmare!” 

Nikita casually unbuttoned her shirt, revealing an enticing bit of violet lace that lovingly embraced  the swell of her breasts. Glancing at the team leader, she said softly, “This is why I came along!” 

Reluctantly, Davenport had to agree that her curves were more alluring than anything he or the other men had to offer. 

At least to a heterosexual male. Dimitri and Petrov drew some admiring glances of their own, although when the shorter operative found his partner looking back, he gave him a sharp poke in the ribs. 

“Sorry, baby,” Petrov whispered contritely. Dimitri just continued to glare. He was not about to forgive him anytime soon. 

Nikita ran her hands through her hair, tousling it, and then approached the security booth in the center of the lobby. “Mmmm, hi!” she said in a throaty voice. She leaned close, fluttering her lashes at the guard who sat there. He looked up and his jaw dropped. 

Before him was the softest, most gorgeous blond he had ever seen. She looked as if she had just risen after a night of uninhibited passion, and her blue eyes were examining him with hot intensity. He had always hoped that by leaving his apartment door ajar, a beautiful girl would one day wander in, but it had never happened. Now he wondered if his luck was about to change. 

“Hello to you, Beautiful! What can I do for you? Rob a bank? Kill someone? Have your children?” 

Nikita couldn’t prevent herself from giggling. The guard was so sweet. And so...young! Getting back into mission mode, she informed him of her appointment with the head honcho in... She checked her watch. “Exactly five minutes!” 

“What’s the name?” 

“Birkoff?” she sub-vocalized. Birkoff’s voice was a sibilance in her ear. He had it covered. 

Nikita told the guard. It was a fictitious name. And of course it was on the sheet of visitors cleared for the day. Birkoff had done his job well. 

“Ah, Angelface, it’s going to be tough. His office is in the penthouse! You’re going to have scramble to make it! The fastest way is to take the express elevator. Hold on, I’ll get one especially for you!” 

While he was briefly away, the five men slipped into an elevator that was just disgorging its passengers. They began the long ride to the top floor, knowing Nikita would be waiting for them when they arrived. 

**** 

Five operatives entered the penthouse offices of the network that was working hard to become a challenge to the top three. For a time it seemed that this upstart station was closing in on them, but now it merely looked as if they were shooting themselves in the foot. 

Section’s statistical department didn’t give them much beyond the new viewing season. 

It had been decided that Pliskin, with his distinct looks, would only be a hindrance in such close quarters. He remained outside the plush offices, ready to discourage any inquisitive employees. 

While the Greeks kept the receptionist distracted with small talk, the remaining three operatives quietly made their way to the office of their target. Nikita poked her head in, making sure he was alone. She gave him a saccharine smile and let Green slip in passed her. 

“What--what is the meaning of this?”

“You’re coming with us, Stevie.” Davenport said softly as Green injected the CEO with a drug that would render him helpless but not unconscious. They waited the fraction of a minute it took to take effect, and then let Green usher him out of the office. 

Allowing him time to reach the elevators, Davenport and Nikita strolled slowly, casually, through the corridors. 

They had made it down to the lobby and were about to get in the limo that Birkoff had had the foresight to order for them when the mission went sour. 

The smitten guard had gotten word that the CEO had been precipitously escorted  from his office. He bolted out of the building, brandishing his weapon. 

Green shoved the target into the limo and everyone piled in after. Pliskin yanked the driver out of the car and flung him aside, taking his place just as the guard fired a shot. He grunted and hissed an oath, but threw the car into gear and sped off with a screech of tires. 

“Pliskin, can you get us to the airport?” Davenport demanded. 

“Sure thing. I know this burg like the back of my hand!” The operative coughed and wiped blood away from his mouth. He knew he was in a bad way. He also knew the other members of his team were depending on him for their lives. 

It felt good to be an asset for a change, and not a liability. 

He slowed the car to a more discreet speed and got them over the 59th Street Bridge. Birkoff had hacked into the NYPD computer system and was feeding the police false information. 

There was no sign of the men in blue. They had a clear run to the airport. 

If he could just hold on that long... 

Part 19    

The Section operatives remained on the alert. Until they arrived at the airport too many things could still go wrong. 

Dimitri looked into the back seat. "When do we get our money Davenport?" 

"There is no money," the team leader said in a very quiet voice. "You all knew that, didn't you? Section never expected any of you to survive. You were supposed to be shot by the guards or the cops. And failing that..." 

"You were supposed to cancel us?" 

Davenport nodded tiredly. He looked at Nikita. "How did Michael live with himself after one of these missions?" 

She shrugged and turned her head to watch the concrete stanchions whip past them. "In Section, you do what you have to do." Her voice was husky. "What are you going to do, Davenport?" 

Before he could answer, Green began screaming. "Madonna mia! We're gonna fucking die!" 

The limo was speeding up and veering to the right. Pliskin slumped forward, his breath rattling in his throat. Petrov wrestled him to the side and managed to kick his foot off the gas pedal. He grabbed the steering wheel and contorted himself enough to slow the vehicle down and ease it onto the shoulder. 

Davenport was out of the limo and yanking open the driver's door before the car had come to a complete stop. "Pliskin! C'mon, man, don't do this!" His fingers scrabbled for a pulse in the bull-like neck, but could find nothing. "Help me get him out!" 

The big man was dragged out of the limo and the level 3 op locked his fingers together and began compressions in a desperate attempt to restart the dying operative's heart. 

"Davenport!" 

He ignored the command. 

"Davenport!" This time two sets of hands pulled him back as Nikita spoke again. "There's nothing you can do. This is arterial blood! He's gone! And we have to get out of here before someone notifies the police!" 

Dazed, he sat back on his heels and looked at the rest of his team. "Goddammit! He was too good to go like this!" He staggered to his feet. "Help me get him back into the limo." 

It took all five surviving operatives to move Pliskin's dead weight. Dimitri slid behind the steering wheel and eased the vehicle back into traffic. All they needed to do now was follow the signs and they'd be at JKF. 

Nervously, the Greek kept glancing at Davenport through the rear view mirror. "What now, man? What do we do now?" 

Nikita kept silent. This was Davenport's call. As team leader, it was his task to pull things together when they fell apart. 

The burly cold op caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of his eye. The target was cowering in a corner, trying to get as far away from these cold-eyed assassins as he could. Davenport caught him by his tie and jerked him so close his breath fanned his face. "You miserable fuck! I lost a member of my team because you couldn't leave a good thing alone!" 

"Davenport?" 

He tossed the frightened man away from him. "Head for the airport. Follow the signs for Tower Air. Since they shut down, that should be the safest place. Birkoff should have transport waiting for us there." 

"What about him?" Petrov nodded toward the cooling body of the big operative. 

Davenport had himself under control once more. "He stays with the vehicle. Take his weapons. Walter would be majorly pissed if they fell into civilian hands! Nikita? Does that wallet you were flashing have enough to cover a decent burial?" 

She nodded. 

"Then leave a grand in his passport." 

"And us, Davenport?" 

The dark eyes of the cold op were frigid. "I don't have $20,000 to give each of you. Nikita, give them what's left in the wallet." 

Without a protest she did as he ordered. "This is $5,000 Davenport. What will you tell accounting?" 

His lips twisted in a savage snarl. "I'll tell 'em we were mugged!" 

**** 

Dimitri eased the big car into the deserted area by the Tower Air Terminal. He stepped out of the limo and pocketed his money. "Davenport, it's been a pleasure. We'll probably never see you again, but..." 

Petrov seized the cold op in a bear hug. "We never forget you, man. You ever in Thessaloniki, you come see us, hokay? Is small town on bay on east coast of Greece, we buy nice inn there!" 

"You bet your ass I'll stop by! If I'm ever in the area." 

And then the Greeks were gone. 

Green pulled the target out of the limo after him and shoved him in Nikita's direction. She caught him in time to keep him from landing hard on the tarmac. The foul-mouthed operative considered Davenport seriously. "I learn to keep my mouth shut, I promise!" He kissed the cold op on each cheek. 

"You don't and Section will find you, sure as sh...!" 

"I know, I know!" he grinned. "Ciao, man!" Green faded from sight. 

Davenport looked at Nikita, weary down to the bone. "Let's get this miserable piece of scum back to Section!" 

A Lear jet taxied around the hangar and rolled to a stop a dozen yards away. Davenport gave Pliskin one last glance before grabbing the target's other arm and he and Nikita hustled him into the waiting jet. 

The jet was a speck in the cloudless sky, pointed home to Section, when New York's finest found and surrounded the abandoned limo. 

**** 

Davenport cuffed the target to his seat. Then he gave him another injection guaranteed to keep him docile for good measure.  "And if you even look like you're trying to get up, I will blow your freakin' head off! Got that, Stevie?" 

He jerked his head toward the rear of the jet. Nikita joined him, her eyebrow raised in question. 

"I need some answers, Nikita," he said softly. 

Reluctantly she agreed. "If I have them." 

"Fair enough. First, if Birkoff could get the limo for us, and this jet, why weren't we given suitable transport to begin with?" 

"Birkoff didn’t get back on duty until after we landed at Kennedy. Hillinger was involved, up to his teenage butt, trying to suck up by proving how frugal he was. The rest is inscrutable Section policy. Four operatives from the abeyance pool were part of our team. Section wanted to make sure that the odds were stacked against them from the beginning.” 

"But they were decent operatives!" 

She shrugged. "The Greeks were gay, the Italian had a mouth on him, and Pliskin was so conspicuous a blind man could spot him at midnight." 

"So for those reasons, Section decided to dispense with their services?" 

"For those reasons. For no reason. Section is arbitrary to say the least." 

Davenport nodded and rubbed his hand over his shorn scalp. Absently it crossed his mind he'd need to shave when he got back to his quarters. 

"Okay, this scum. Why does Section want him, and what do we do with him when there's no more use for him?" 

"I don't know for sure. Section can be a rumor mill, but there are more rumors flying around now than ever before. But the long and the short of it....?" Nikita turned cold eyes on the suited target, whose head was lolling back against his seat. A thin trickle of drool dribbled down his chin. 

"He's trying to get us all canceled!" 

Part 20 

Madeline was waiting at van access when Davenport and Nikita returned, hauling the target along, none too gently, after them. The last injection Davenport had given him had worn off sometime during the flight, and the two operatives were quite eager to be rid of him. They stopped in front of the psych op and waited. 

A smile so faint it barely moved her lips deepened the lines around her bittersweet chocolate eyes. "Welcome to Section One, Mr. C. So pleased you could accommodate our request for a visit!" She lifted a finger and a couple of operatives peeled away from the wall to relieve the pair of their...guest. "Take him to processing," Madeline ordered softly. 

"This is an outrage! I demand to be released! I demand an explanation! I demand to see the man in charge! I'll sue your asses off! Get your hands off me!" 

One of the operatives rolled his eyes and applied pressure to the spot where Mr. C.'s neck and shoulder joined. His tirade stopped mid-demand and his legs folded under him. The other operative grinned. "What d'ya know! The Vulcan neck pinch really does work!" 

They disappeared around a corner, towing their visitor by his limp arms, debating the merits of a vampire slayer as opposed to a sentinel in the protecting of mankind. 

Madeline looked after them, a disapproving frown marring the normally smooth line between her brows. "I really must restrict the amount of television these people watch during their down time!" 

She put the thought aside for further consideration at a later date, and turned back to the surviving members of the team that had been sent out. 

"When do you want to debrief, Madeline?" Nikita asked. 

The head of Section glanced at the brooch watch she wore pinned to her lapel. "Will half an hour suit? That should give you both time to freshen up." She pointedly eyed Davenport’s suit. 

They parted company. 

Madeline returned to her office. She had just had a fish tank put in, and she found it amazingly conducive to clearing her thoughts, watching them swim gracefully through the clear water, and feed. 

Nikita went in search of Michael. She had a bad feeling about this mission they had just completed, and she really needed to see him. Talk to him. Feel his fingertips gently stroke hers, making love to her hand. A tremor of passion ran through her. 

Davenport was still dressed in the blood-soaked clothes he had worn while trying to resuscitate Pliskin. He was relieved Madeline was giving him a chance to get out of them. It felt decidedly disgusting to be wearing that suit. He just hoped he'd make it to his quarters before anyone saw him. 

He should have known his luck wasn't that good. 

As he stepped out of the lift he heard running footsteps and his name called. "Dav! You're back! Why didn’t you stop to see me?" 

Reluctantly Davenport turned to face his friend. "Hi, Birk. Did you miss me?" 

Birkoff couldn't answer. He was too dumbfounded by the sight of the blood covering the cold op. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, like a beached guppy, but no sound came out. 

Until finally, "Blood! Oh God! You! No! Blood! Blood!" 

"It's not mine, Birk; it's not mine!" he hastened to reassure his friend. And he wrapped his huge fist around Birkoff's upper arm and dragged him off to his quarters. Birkoff still couldn’t get out a coherent sentence. "I'll tell you all about it as I change!" 

**** 

Madeline punched the button for the direct line to The Dungeon. It rang for what seemed like a long time before Exx picked it up. "Yes?" The tone of  her voice was clipped, just the slightest bit breathless. And not at all pleased. 

"I hope I haven't interrupted anything!" Madeline said, too sweetly. 

"Of course you haven't, Madeline! Wye and I are on company time; we never spend that frivolously! What can I do for you?" 

Madeline made a moue at the receiver. Somehow, she rarely seemed able to catch her premier torture operative at a loss. "Our plan is falling nicely into place. I need you and Wye here immediately." 

"Very well. We'll just shut down The Dungeon and be in your office in ten minutes." Exx cut the connection before Madeline could protest. She rolled her shoulders to get the kinks out and stretched her arms high over her head. "Come along, Wye. We've got to get dressed. Madeline wants to see us." 

She scooped up her clothes while Wye stepped out of the Iron Maiden he had done some tinkering with: all the iron spikes within its confines had been removed, making it an extremely cozy spot for an assignation. And he had just convinced Exx to sample its amenities! Damn! If Madeline’s call had only been five minutes later! 

His unrelieved erection so hard he was aching, he stifled a sigh and began pulling on his clothes. He had had such high hopes for this afternoon. Of course, it had taken him a while to get back into Exx’s good graces after the macho posturing with Davenport the other day. She had frog-walked him down to The Dungeon and set him to the most disagreeable tasks she could find. 

The worst of it was that she knew him so well, every job she lined up was one he was guaranteed to hate. 

But what she chose was also something that would not tax his strength. 

No wonder why he lo...why he was so fond of her. Even when she was angry with him, she cared for him. 

She was completely dressed and waiting when he stooped to tie his shoes. 

"Be right with you!" he huffed, his stamina still not quite what it had been. 

"No rush," she murmured as she walked behind him. His trousers molded to the curve of his backside, and her hand lovingly caressed the taut lines. "Let me just give you a hand with that." 

He could hear the smile in her voice. "I always know you're there for me!" 

"C'mon, cowboy. If Madeline finds out we were having a mad, passionate quickie in the Iron Maiden, I don't think she’ll let us last much beyond dinner time." 

Before she could reach for the light switch by the door, Wye's long fingers closed around her arm and he pulled her back to him. "Madeline can wait! It’s been too long! Kiss me!" he ordered. 

Her blue eyes glittered behind the glasses she wore but didn't really need. "What?" 

"Give me your mouth! Kiss me!" This time his tone was cajoling. 

She let her nails trace the high lines of his cheek bones, then cupped his jaw, drawing his mouth closer to hers. Her breath whispered over his lips, which parted involuntarily. "You have such a witchey, wicked mouth, Wye!" She sighed and licked his lower lip, then sucked it gently into her mouth. Rubbing her lower body against his, she could feel his arousal jutting against her abdomen. 

"I don't think that was one of my better ideas," Wye gasped as Exx began trailing kisses along his throat. He froze as he felt her fingers fumbling with the front of his trousers. 

"Actually, it was a honey of an idea!" she replied as she freed him. 

"You should have told Madeline we needed fifteen minutes! We don't have time for this!" he moaned. 

"I think we do!" she replied as she sank down to her knees. She let him feel her teeth along the length of his erection. “Don’t move a muscle!” He trembled uncontrollably. Daintily she ran her tongue over the tip of his quivering flesh, where a drop of his essence had gathered. 

“I've always wanted to know what you taste like!" 

Part 21 

Exx came to an abrupt halt outside the door to Madeline's office and turned to her counterpart. His glance swept the corridor, then settled on her, a question in his dark eyes. Her touch on his sleeve was so  soft that he could barely feel it. 

"What is it?" He wanted desperately to call her his sweet lady, but the odds of being observed and overheard were too high, and the danger too great. 

She ran a gentle thumb over his lower lip. "Be wary. Let me do all the talking, unless I give you the sign." Exx moved a lock of hair behind her ear and Wye nodded. 

Her hand folded into a fist, she rapped smartly and the head of psych bid them enter. Exx walked in with Wye on her heels. So close on her heels that he actually stepped on them when his mentor suddenly stopped. 

"You tired of the window?" Exx asked. 

"Yes," Madeline remarked casually. "It was too restful. It was putting me to sleep!" The hologram window that R&D had developed for her was gone. In its place was a large, fresh water fish tank. A chunk of driftwood with some live vegetation clinging to it occupied a corner, affording the smaller fish a place to hide. The other end displayed a fanciful grotto with tiny mermaids peeking around the columns. Gravel on the bottom graduated from pale blue, to indigo to violet, with smooth, multicolored stones scattered at random. "This is much more interesting. I was just about to feed them; come watch." 

Exx and Wye approached the tank. It was only then that they saw a plastic bag filled with red and gold minnows and drab-colored guppies floating at the top of the tank. A long fingernail pierced the plastic and tore a hole in it. Efficiently, Madeline tipped the opening and allowed the small fish to escape into the larger area of the tank. 

A flash of muted coral and a hapless minnow vanished, only its tail evident as a fish the size of Wye's palm began dining. Its gill slits rippled and scales spilled out. The Albino Oscar went after another of the feeder fish. A long, thin, blunt-snouted Pike grappled with a Jack Dempsey, and their prize separated. A Red Devil hung suspended in the vegetation, waiting for an unwary guppy. 

In a matter of minutes, the predators had decimated their meal. A couple of young crayfish that had yet to grow claws cleaned up the debris that littered the bottom. Madeline scattered in some flakes for supplemental nourishment. 

A very satisfied smile tilted the corner of her mouth. 

"There's nothing more relaxing than watching creatures in their natural habitat. This works much better for me than that view of trees and flowers! So pedestrian, you know!" 

"Uh, yes of course Madeline." Wye mumbled. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the Pike, whose mouth gaped slightly, revealing a minnow tail sliding down its gullet. The torture op swallowed hard. 

"Indeed. Watching one living thing tear another apart always does it for me!" Exx remarked dryly. "Are we here for a specific reason, or simply to admire your pets?" 

A tap on the door distracted Madeline before she could respond and  Davenport and Nikita walked in. They settled themselves around the psych op's desk. "Have a seat. I need to debrief this team and then we'll go into what our intentions are for the delightful Stephen." 

"That sounds almost...Victorian, Madeline. As if our intentions toward him could be anything but honorable." Exx sat in a chair Wye placed for her in front of the fish tank, but angled so she could keep one eye on the head of Section at work. Her counterpart stood behind her, a hand unobtrusively stroking and kneading the muscles in her shoulder. He made no pretense of his interest in what Madeline was doing.

"Tell me what happened to the members of your team," Madeline demanded shortly. She walked around to the other side of her desk and drew out her executive chair. Settling herself in, she folded her hands on the blotter and waited. 

Davenport drew in a calming breath. Although it had been more years than he liked to remember since he finished his training, the woman before him still had the power to scare him spitless at times. Cold, ruthless and thoroughly intimidating, she was not someone to screw with, literally or figuratively. Trying to curb any mannerism that might betray the state of his nerves, Davenport recited the particulars of his mission, just as he had rehearsed it mentally during the endless flight back into Orly. 

"Everything went fine until someone tipped off the guard in the lobby that a kidnapping was going down. He started shooting. Pliskin took a ‘pill’ that went in just below his shoulder blade and cut through his lung. There was bloody froth," he explained, to clarify his reasoning. "It also must have ripped an artery. It took him about half an hour to bleed to death." 

"I don't need a blow by blow description of his wounds, Davenport,: Madeline snapped, fastidiously curling her lip. 

"Yes ma'am. We were doing about sixty-five when he slumped over the wheel. Dimitri tried to stop the limo, but it was careening out of control. His head went through the windscreen and...Um, no description you said, Madeline?" 

Tight-lipped, she nodded. 

Davenport ran a hand over his face. "Petrov went a little nuts when he saw all the brain matter on the glass." He cast an apologetic glance at the psych op. "Sorry. Anyway, he drove us into Kennedy and once we were behind the Tower terminal, he pulled out Dimitri's gun and used it on himself.' 

"What?" 

"It was a real mess! Are you sure you want to know, ma'am?" 

This time Madeline gritted her teeth. "Never mind! Continue!" 

"Well, Green tried to take advantage of my distraction and make a break for it, so I shot him. In the back. There was just a tiny hole, you could hardly see it, but I think I blew a chunk of his liver out! The exit hole was huge!” 

And he grinned. 

Madeline raised her eyebrow at that inappropriate reaction. 

"Well, I never liked the guinea wop anyway!" Davenport said by way of explanation. 

"Nikita." 

"Yes, Madeline?" 

"Is that how it happened?" 

Nikita opened her blue eyes very wide, looking surprised and perplexed. "Of course it is! It has to be! Everyone here in Section knows Davenport couldn't lie to save his life!" 

"Yes, this is true," Madeline agreed reluctantly. "Still..." 

Two pairs of eyes returned her gaze innocently. Hands resting quietly in their laps, neither gave away a thing. 

Madeline was not happy. She glanced over at the torture twins, who had listened with rapt enjoyment to the description of blood and gore. Should she sic them onto the two operatives who sat before her? 

No, she decided. She had more important things to worry about right now. She would deal with the disaster unleashed by the CEO of that insignificant network first. Once that was taken care of, she would have all the time she needed to consider the way this mission went down. 

And she needed to know how Thomas, the Prime of Section Three, was treating his visitor from Burbank. He had mentioned letting Three’s valentine ops play with Peter for a while. She looked forward to hearing how it devolved. 

Having a target screwed until his brains fell out was a singularly Three retribution. 

Madeline smiled. And the temperature in the room felt as if it had dropped by twenty degrees. 

Part 22 

Davenport and Nikita sat, watching Madeline, waiting for the signal that would release them from the tension that coiled around them like a poisonous snake. 

The head of Section was quite prepared to wait as long as it took to crack the facades they presented. She knew there was something off about the mission they had returned from. Davenport's recital of the disposal of the operatives who had been in abeyance was too pat, too...neat. 

Her people, even the ones Section no longer had a use for, just didn't let themselves be canceled that easily. 

Something was decidedly peculiar about the way Pliskin had 'died'. 

Before her stony gaze could break either of the two operatives before her, Wye began shifting uncomfortably. 

“What is wrong with you Wye?" Madeline demanded harshly. She was distracted by the fidgeting of the male interrogation operative. 

"I'm sorry, Madeline, I'm just not...not feeling..." Wye's voice was strained. He took a wavering step around Exx's chair and then crumpled at his mentor's feet. 

Like a shot, Exx was on her knees beside him, searching for a pulse in his throat. 

"Is he all right?" Madeline asked as she stood and approached them. 

Exx sat back on her heels and made a disgusted sound. "I forget that men aren't as resilient as women. I've pushed him too hard. Do you mind if I get him back to his quarters?" 

"Actually, yes. I do. I need to speak with you immediately." 

Exx's blue eyes, behind her plain glass lenses, shot sparks. "You have a funny way of showing it!" 

With a flick of her fingers, Madeline gave the two cold operatives permission to leave her office. 

They didn't need to be told twice. The door closed silently behind them. 

Exx searched Wye’s pockets for the vial that was always with him. She shook a pill out into her hand. "Would you pour me a glass of water please?" 

Surprisingly, Madeline did as she was asked. Exx slipped the caplet between Wye's lips and then held the glass while he sipped. "Sorry," he whispered. She squeezed his arm. 

"Now, what, exactly, do you need us for, Madeline?" 

The head of Section selected a dossier from the hanging files in her desk and handed it to Exx. The torture operative examined the cover sheet. "Stephen C.? Should this name be familiar to me?" 

"He's the CEO of a minor television network. Along with his California associate, he has set in motion a plan to destroy Section." 

"I'm sorry, Madeline, I don't understand how a civilian could endanger such a powerful organization." 

"You don't need to understand it. You just need to come up with a solution to bring his meddling to a halt." 

The senior torture operative stood briskly, rubbing her hands together and smiling. "Has he been brought to the White Room yet? And how far do we get to go with him?" 

"Exx, he cannot be injured! He must not have a mark on him! He must have all memory of the time spent here erased, and he must be left with no idea we even exist!" 

Exx’s mouth was twisted in a thin line of disgust. "Excuse me, Madeline? Isn't this something that's more in psych’s field of expertise? We," she gestured to include her counterpart who was leaning up on an elbow, "torture people. This is what we do. We don't mollycoddle them;  we don't treat them with kid gloves! We sure as sh...ooting leave them something to remember us by!" 

"You succeeded very well with The Man, Exx. Section needs the same results with Mr. C." 

Exx ran a distracted hand through her short blond hair. To Madeline's amazement, she seemed somewhat at a loss. 

"I had some clue as to how I wanted to deal with that situation!" Exx said, bemused. She flipped through the pages of the dossier. "I don't know what tack to take with this man..." She stilled, her eyes fastened on something on the page before her. 

Wye watched her patiently. He had picked up on her signal to cause a divertissement, and so had pretended to a weakness that wasn't totally feigned. He enjoyed his mentor fussing over him, even though he knew it to be a ploy to draw Madeline's attention to them and away from  the cold operatives she was debriefing. For some reason, Exx wanted Nikita and Davenport out of the room. 

Now he watched, and waited to see what else she would come up with. She was the brains of their team. Whatever she chose to do, he would back her. 

Softly, he said, "You knock 'em down, I'll stomp on 'em!" 

Exx's eyelids flickered, the only sign that she had heard him. 

She looked up at Madeline, tapping a grainy photo that was included in the file. "Who is this Peter? And can we get images of him burned onto a CD?" 

Madeline's bittersweet chocolate eyes lit up. "Peter is the head of the California division of that network. You've come up with something?" 

"Perhaps, perhaps. I'd like to speak to Mr. C before I make a final decision, if you have no objections? Wye, what are you doing down there on the floor? On your feet..!" she bit her tongue, shocked that she had almost slipped up and called him 'cowboy'! 

And it was as if he knew! His face reddened from suppressed laughter, although it might have been from exertion. He groaned theatrically and staggered to his feet, grabbing her arm with one hand to steady himself. 

And surreptitiously running his other over the firm curve of her backside. 

Part 23 

Exx was almost to the lifts when she realized that her counterpart was not his usual half pace behind her. She wheeled around, to spot him some distance way, flipping shut his comm unit. 

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to join her. “Is there a problem?” 

Wye looked a trifle flushed, and immediately Exx feared for a relapse. She reached out to press a cool palm against his cheek. 

The male torture op jerked back, avoiding her touch  “No, uh...Actually, I’m...I need to see someone about something that’s come up. Would this be all right with you?” 

Exx felt her insides freeze. She knew no man stayed in her life for any substantial period of time, but she was usually able to maintain for longer than a matter of weeks. 

She came to the conclusion that Wye didn’t want to be her material any longer. Fully aware that Madeline was holding the lure of a promotion before him, it seemed to Exx that he intended to leap at the possibility. 

All this flashed through her mind in an instant, and then the lead interrogation operative of Section One drew in a deep breath. “Of course. I have no further use for you. You are dismissed.” She turned to punch the call button on the lift. 

“Where will I find you?” Wye asked, unaware that he was about to be cut free to follow a different path. 

“Is it really necessary that you know?” 

"Well, yes it is!” 

Her eyes were shuttered. “I need to order some supplies on Sub-Level 5.” 

“How long will you be down there?” the male op inquired further. 

She shrugged. “As long as it takes, I imagine.” Ice dripped from her words. 

Before he could question her further, she stepped into the lift and the doors slid shut to conceal her from his view. 

Wye ran a hand that was not quite steady over his jaw. What had just happened? 

“Wye!”  The head of munitions was striding toward him. “I been looking high and low for you, amigo! It’d be nice if you picked up your messages once in awhile!” 

“Sorry. I just received the last one you left and was about to go looking for you. What’s the news?” 

Walter smiled broadly, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “That little something I sketched for you? Well, I was able to get a friend of mine on the outside to make it up for me!” 

All Wye’s attention was focused on the older man. “You’ve got it?” 

“I’ve got it! It’s going to cost you big time though!” 

Wye waved that consideration aside as if it was the least of his worries. He took the velvet pouch Walter was dangling before him, his sensitive fingertips tracing the outline of the objects within. “I owe you, Walter!” 

“That you do, amigo! That you do!” the weapons op called after Wye as he bolted into a waiting lift and prepared to track down his mentor. Whistling off key through his teeth, Walter rocked back and forth gleefully, and then decided to head for the Comm to share this latest bit of intel with Birkoff. 

If he could find his friend there. Birkoff was no longer consumed with his computers as he once had been.  The head of comm seemed to be spending more and more of his downtime sharpening his people skills. 

And truth to tell, Walter was happy to see the younger man happy. 

**** 

Exx had made the selections with her usual rapid efficiency. The items her department needed would be on their way to the ward room and The Dungeon within an hour. 

She could have ordered the supplies via her computer from the comfort of her quarters, but she needed to be doing something, anything. 

She had no desire to return to the upper levels of  Section right then; she wanted to consider her relationship with her male counterpart. 

The target languishing in processing would be in no hurry to meet her, and she still had to decide what images she wanted Birkoff to burn into a CD. The formula Chem developed under her direction had predisposed The Man to believe that He was passionately in lust with Operations. Now The Man was so busy romancing the nominal head of Section He no longer had any interest in interfering with the chain of command. 

Those tablets would work very well on this meddler also. 

And the target would likewise be given something else to occupy all the time he so obviously had on his hands. Something to pique his libido, perhaps? 

Absently, Exx made her way down a stairwell that led to the bottom-most sub-level of Section, which contained the generators and machines that powered the massive organization. There were no lifts to this level; operatives were not encouraged to visit, although many used its byways for trysts. The lighting flickered uncertainly, and she wandered through the maze of corridors, effectively getting herself lost, for unlike Wye, her sense of direction was not the most dependable. 

Deep in thought, her normally sharp instincts failed to warn her of the shadowy form that followed her, keeping her in his line of sight, but always staying just out of hers. 

Exx’s early life, while not as brutal as her counterpart’s, had not prepared her for tender feelings. Born in a  mid-sized city in a mid-sized country where life was held extremely cheap, she lived an unremarkable life until it was discovered that she had a light touch for dispensing torture. A natural, it was almost as if she could stroke an exposed nerve and create unbearable pain. 

Her masters had taken advantage of her single-minded delight in her work, and had encouraged her to subvert her sex-drive into various forms of torture. 

Still in her teens when she had been recruited to Section, she had retained her virginity, although the interrogation head she was vetted to relieved her of it before her first week had passed. A sadistic individual whose attentions had resulted in injury to a number of promising valentine operatives, he had not taken her seriously when she said no. 

It wasn’t too long afterwards that Section discovered it was in need of a new torture head. 

And Exx, finding that the organization she now belonged to had no objection to the occasional sexual indulgence, sampled a smorgasbord of pleasure, only to discover as she rose higher and higher in her department that she achieved greater enjoyment from her work.  

Until, that is, a certain trainee came into her life ending a long, barren stretch. 

Exx was at a loss to name the emotions Wye roused in her, but experience had taught her never to question gratification if came her way, to indulge while it lasted. And since it never lasted long, she was prepared to walk away from it without a backward glance. 

Except now, for the first time in her life, she wasn’t willing to walk away. 

Slowing her gait, she came to a firm decision. She and Wye could conduct a  long-distance relationship. Other couples did: Madeline and Prime for one; The Man and Operations for another. 

Although perhaps those weren’t the best examples. 

Immaterial. She shrugged. Wye was hers and she would not allow him to leave her life! 

Turning sharply on her heel, Exx began to make her way back to the stairwell. She had taken only a handful of steps, however, before she came to a halt. 

The passage she faced was filled with darkness. A glance over her shoulder revealed nothing but wavering shadows extending to the limit of her vision. Exx swallowed hard. She hated the dark. 

Stiffening her spine, she tilted her chin up and began her journey in search of the illusive stairwell. It would not look good on her record if Madeline discovered her premier torture operative had gotten herself lost in the bowels of Section. 

And then a hand came down heavily on her shoulder. Exx reacted as she would to any threat: she attacked. 

And drove her elbow hard against a flat, male abdomen. 

Part 24  

“Oooff!” 

Self defense was not Exx’s primary discipline. Which was not to say  that she hadn’t learned how to defend herself. Although in the normal course of events she tended to rely on her reputation to stand between herself and anyone who tried to get up close and personal, she did wield a mean elbow, and her knee had been known to incapacitate an operative twice her size. 

She also knew when to avoid a confrontation, and when to stand her ground. This time she chose to face whoever had the temerity to accost her. 

“C’est moi, Exx! It’s Wye!” 

The premier torture operative curled her hands tight by her side, struggling to resist the fiery urge to smash her fist into his face. Priding herself on the control she could effortlessly exert, she had already lost it once and slapped her trainee so hard she had left bruises. She was determined not to succumb to the temptation to do so again. 

Such an action was not worthy of a department head. Besides, beating on him every time he startled her was not conducive to a long-term relationship. 

“Why did you follow me?” she huffed. 

Cautiously, the male torture op closed the distance between them. “Exx, in the time I’ve worked with you, I have never known you to come down here and not get lost.” 

“What?” 

“Didn’t you think it odd that I always insisted on accompanying you whenever you needed to blow off steam; those times Operations or Madeline or some unforeseen event wouldn’t let you do your job the most efficient way?”

Exx was stunned. And nonplused. The facade she presented to the world was so flawless that no one in Section considered the fact that she would not be able to competently do her job if she allowed any feelings to get in the way. So of course, they believed she had no feelings. 

None of  her superiors ever picked up on the passions she carefully kept buried so deeply that she herself almost forgot she had them. None of her peers had; certainly none of the operatives she had trained. 

But this one man had seen beneath the layers, had cared enough to be sure she made her way safely back to the upper levels of Section without revealing to anyone her abysmal sense of direction. 

She sighed. He was too good an operative to be kept tied to her like a wayward child. 

She would have to release him to find his own future. Perhaps she would be a part of it. 

“I’ve been doing some serious thinking,” Exx told her trainee as she gestured for him to take the lead and get them back to the stairwell. “You have progressed faster than any other operative I have ever trained. I can accelerate the program and have you ready to function on your own in a couple of months. Less if you prefer.” 

Wye’s lips were pressed so tightly together that white lines edged the corners of his mouth. “So, you no longer want me.” 

His mentor stopped and grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in like talons, shaking her head grimly. “I will always want you. That is not the point. You are one of the best. I have no right to keep you here when Madeline has promised you better things.” 

“Do you think I put any reliance on that woman’s promises? Or are you using that as an excuse to be rid of me? Is what Uno did to me clouding your perception of me?” He turned away and resumed a steady pace down the corridor. 

“What Uno did matters only to you. It does not make you less of a man, or less of an extremely competent operative. I won’t be the one to hinder your progress. You can have your own department, mentor your own trainees; you’re that good! But not here, never here in Section One. This is mine until the day of my death, however Section sees fit to accomplish that.” 

“I will not leave ...you.” 

Baffled by his refusal to even consider the possibility of a promotion, Exx suddenly came to a halt again. “Shouldn’t we have reached the stairs by now?” 

Despite the dimness of the lighting, she could see amusement in his eyes. “I was wondering when you’d notice.” 

“Wye...!” She was getting irritated. Here she was, for the first time in her life trying to do the right thing by a trainee, and he was casually taking  them deeper into this sub-level than she had ever been, effectively getting her so lost she could starve before she found her way back up. 

Wye’s fingers slid up her arms, fondled her shoulders, then encircled her throat. His thumbs stroked the curve to her chin and gently tipped her head back, forcing their eyes to meet. 

Mesmerized, she could barely speak. “What are you doing?” she whispered hoarsely. The tip of her tongue peeked out to moisten lips that had gone dry with excitement, expecting him to kiss her. 

“This is what I needed to see the man about.” Wye held up the maroon velvet pouch, a sweet chime sounding as the objects within clashed. Parting the drawstrings, he withdrew what looked like a series if rings joined by multiple slender chains, red-gold in color. He took her left hand and slid the rings onto her fingers, forming a deceptively fragile-looking weapon. 

Exx’s eyes were enormous, and she couldn’t catch her breath. No one had ever given her a gift before, especially one so suited to her nature. 

Wye was reaching into the pouch again. This time, the rings he took out were larger. He placed these in her palm and waited. 

The head of interrogations stared first at him and then at the rings in her hand. A trembling finger stroked the brass circlets, taking note of  the prongs that unobtrusively extended  from various points on each ring. 

Carefully she placed the rings on Wye’s left hand, never taking her blue eyes off  his dark ones. Neither said a word. 

Knowledgeable male fingers began working on the buttons that fastened her suit jacket. As each came undone, the material parted a little more, until finally it hung open. His large hands covered her breasts, kneading the soft flesh, gentling abrading her nipples. 

Taking her shirt in both hands, he tugged and a rending sound shattered the dark silence that surrounded them. The tattered  cloth dangled, unnoticed, from her shoulders. Exx leaned back, letting the wall support her suddenly boneless weight. 

Wye shed his jacket and shirt, and stooped to accommodate her shorter stature, nuzzling the bare flesh of her abdomen. His lips kissed and nipped their way to her breasts, which were covered in a lacy black demi bra that emphasized the paleness of her skin. He drew a nipple deep into his mouth, suckling strongly, biting down with just enough force to demonstrate his control. 

A breathy sound escaped Exx. She felt hollow and empty and wanted desperately to be filled by the one person she trusted more than any other. Her fingers threaded through Wye’s thick, dark hair as she urged him to continue feasting on her breasts. To her dismay, he released her nipple and she moaned a protest. 

But the male torture operative was not finished with her. He blew softly on material dampened by his mouth, and her nipple peaked to pebble hardness. The fingers of one hand caressed their way up her inner thigh to find the hot, wet heart of her. He tore the scrap of silk that shielded her femininity and was finally able to put his hand on her. 

While two fingers entered her slick channel, curling and stroking, encouraging lightning to shoot through her being, his thumb rubbed the tiny knot of nerves, leaving her gasping and quivering. 

And then he was on his knees before her. His tongue replaced his thumb and she spontaneously combusted. 

Before Exx could recover any sense of self, her male counterpart was back on his feet, smoothing her skirt up with the palms of his hands, lifting her to her toes. He braced her against the wall and spread her legs wide, his body fitted snugly to hers. There was a brief rustling of clothing and then he signed in relief as his turgid length sprang free. 

Wye bent his knees and surged upward, impaling her on his rigid shaft with a single, smooth stroke. He moaned and twisted his head, desperate to catch her mouth, as his body fell into the ancient rhythm. Helpless for once, Exx  was forced to accept the pounding of his body into hers as he held her motionless. His lips were ravenous as they sought to feed off the sweetness of her mouth. 

He licked and bit and sucked as his hips bucked wildly out of control. Then, with an almost silent cry, he began spilling himself, his orgasm so powerful it unexpectedly pulled her along after him. 

Unable to remain standing, Wye sank to the floor, turning so his back was to the wall, cradling his mentor in arms that trembled from the aftermath of their passion. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asked in a husky voice, his throat sore from the effort not to howl like a banshee while he came. 

Exx rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “We get cleaned up and head on back to the wonderful world of real life, I guess.” 

“That’s not what I meant!” 

She pressed a tender kiss to his jaw. “No, I know. We’ll need to be very careful. Madeline is aware that we’ve developed an attachment. She may do nothing. On the other hand, if she realizes how deep it goes, she may decide to separate us.” 

“How deep does it go?” he asked curiously. He knew, for his part, that without her in his life, he had no life. 

Exx regarded her lover seriously. “Deeper than I ever anticipated, than I ever imagined! When Operations first told me you were mine, I had no idea how literal that would be.” Her eyes were somber. “I’m not an easy person to live with. I am unforgiving and I am cold.” 

Wye snickered involuntarily. “Not from where I’m sitting!” 

She cuffed him gently and relaxed into quiet laughter. “Wicked cowboy!” 

“All I ask is to be allowed to remain in your life!” 

“I grant you that freely!” 

“And in your body?” he asked slyly. 

“Oh yes!” she replied dreamily. “Definitely in my body!” 

**** 

Wye tried to straighten his mentor’s clothing, but her shirt was too badly torn, her stockings were shredded and her panties had gone missing. He settled for folding the edges of  her shirt together and buttoning her suit jacket securely over it. Hopefully no one would look too closely and see how disreputable the normally impeccably dressed head of interrogations appeared. 

His hand eased into a pocket, to finger the scrap of silk he had hidden there when Exx had obligingly turned to look for his shirt. A hot smile tilted his lips. He would keep that memento close to him, for those nights when he had to sleep alone. 

“So, what do we do if Madeline decides to separate us?” 

They had reached the stairwell and were on the landing between levels. 

“We make damned sure it doesn’t come to that! Section is like life---nobody gets out alive!” 

“I’d like to try,” Wye said wistfully, pulling her into her arms for a brief kiss. 

“Me, as well.” Exx disentangled herself and staggered as her foot missed a step. Her left hand had snagged on something and pulled her off balance. “What...?” 

Wye held up his hand. The knuckle duster he wore was caught with Exx’s. 

The male torture op showed his mentor...his lover, how the tiny prongs on each ring could join the brass knuckles together, linking their hands. Linking their lives. 

Linking...perhaps more? 

Part 25 

The door of the lift slid open and Wye stepped first out into the corridor of the level that contained their living quarters to make sure no operatives were about to see the state his mentor was in. 

Normally the most self-contained of all the department heads, at this moment in time Exx was a walking disaster area. Her clothes were in severe disrepair, an ear piece of her eyeglasses  was bent at an odd angle, her hair looked as if she had backed her way through a bramble bush, and on her throat, just below her ear, was a livid bruise. 

All right, who was he trying to fool? It wasn’t a bruise, he informed his complaining conscience; it was a love bite. There, was his conscience happy now? 

And of course, the corridor was not empty, as it should have been at that time of day. Michael was standing there. And for once the Level 5 cold op’s patented blank stare was nowhere to be found. His mouth ajar, his eyes almost falling out of his head from shock, nothing could have startled him more than the sight he beheld. 

Except, perhaps, discovering Madeline and Operations indulging in a passionate interlude. He shuddered, not even *wanting* to contemplate what something like that could entail! 

Instead he watched as Wye tenderly handed the woman he worked under out of the lift and curled her hand around his arm. Glaring at Michael as if he *dared* him to make a comment, the male torture operative prepared to escort Exx to her quarters to remedy the damage he had done to her clothing. 

Exx freed herself from the hold her trainee had on her. She stepped forward until she stood toe to toe with the cold op, a rare grin curving her kiss-swollen lips. Passion was still simmering within her. Involuntarily, Michael backed away. 

“We understand each other, I see,” Exx remarked casually. 

Ruefully, Michael returned her grin. “It would seem so. I was never a threat to you, you know. Not after all you did to help me get my Kita back. I am now, as always, at your service!” He took her hand gently in his and raised it to his lips. A soft kiss brushed the back of it. 

“Tu es tres francais, Michel! You’re just *so* French!” One of the most feared operatives in Section laughed flirtatiously. 

“Turn her hand over and kiss her palm, and I will be forced to hurt you!” The male torture op at her side spoke through clenched teeth. She addressed Michael in the familiar?

Michael’s eyes were almost a verdant green. “I am no danger to you, Wye. I have my own lady waiting for me. But a word to the wise...? Madeline has been having Section torn apart looking for you. We are running short of time...” 

“Again?” Exx demanded, trying to free her hand from Michael’s hold. “She has *got* to learn to manage Section’s time better. I don’t like being under pressure like this!” 

“Makes it hard to do your job?”

“Makes it almost impossible to do my job!” she retorted. “Give me back my hand!” 

“But you haven’t failed yet, have you?” Michael taunted, intrigued in spite of himself by the heated aura surrounding her. He ignored her command. 

“Of course not!” She was affronted. “I *am* Exx!” 

“Well, you’d better get your...self in some semblance of order and go see Madeline before she does one of us a violence.” This time the kiss the Level 5 operative placed on the back of her hand was decidedly sensuous. The head of interrogations shivered. 

“We *do* understand each other,” Michael smiled. “A bientot!” 

Wye was silently steaming. This woman was *his*! No one else in Section had seen the precious metal concealed beneath all the protective layers of camouflage. And by God, no one else was going to have the opportunity to get at her now! 

His mentor was hurrying him down the corridor to her quarters, almost at a run. She fumbled in her attempts to key in her access code, then hustled Wye into her sitting room. Twisting the additional deadbolts she herself had installed, she armed the anti-scan and then threw herself at her lover. 

“Kiss me!” she demanded. 

Wye was only too happy to comply. Her mouth was ravenous on his as she crowded him back against her door. Almost climbing his body in order to get closer, her fingers twisted in his hair and her legs wound around his waist. 

He could taste blood on their lips. 

His large palms edged under her skirt, supporting her. He flexed his fingers, teasing the shadowed cleft between her naked buttocks, driving her passions even higher. 

“We don’t have time for this!” she gasped as she wrenched her mouth away from his, sliding down his body and ripping the buttons off her jacket in an effort to undo them. 

“No, we don’t,” Wye concurred as he shrugged off  his coat and suit jacket and flung them aside. He didn’t bother with anything as civilized as unbuttoning his shirt; he tore it off, the buttons flying helter skelter over the floor. 

“I need to contact Birkoff immediately!” Her shirt hung off one wrist. Seizing his waistband she dragged him after her into the bedroom. While she stepped out of her skirt and half slip, Wye unfastened his trousers and let them pool at his feet. 

“We are going to wind up *so* dead!”  He tossed her onto the bed.        

“You stayed at Three too long! If you start talking Valley speak, I’ll have to cancel you!” 

“If Madeline finds out what we’re doing, you won’t have to: she’ll do it herself!” He followed her down, covering her petite body with his hard, muscled form. 

“Screw Madeline!” She licked at his ear. 

He entered her welcoming heat with one smooth stroke. “Not if I have a choice!” 

**** 

It was over too quickly. They had both been too hot to exercise any form of restraint. Wye had barely begun moving in her when she came apart in his arms. A minute later and he was following after her. 

Stunned, Exx watched her lover as he huffed like an out-of-control steam engine. “What was that?” 

“Hell if I know, but I want a rematch!” 

“Oh yes! But not right now!” She groaned as she rolled over and picked up a ‘link’ from her night stand. It took her a couple of tries before she could punch in the correct code, and she glowered over her shoulder at the operative in her bed, as if it was his fault that she was so frazzled she couldn’t tell which end was up. 

She felt Wye’s lips caress their way from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck. Well, perhaps she wasn’t *that* frazzled. 

Then the line opened up. “Birkoff,” the operative on the other end identified himself. 

“It’s Exx. Stop moaning Seymour, you knew I was going to need you again.” 

Wye worked his way around her body, scattering random kisses, until he was able to settle himself between her luscious thighs. Then he began to pay tribute to her sultry core. 

“I’m not going to wind up dead, am I? Because I have a lot to live for this time around!” 

“Ohhh! *What*?” Exx had lost track of her conversation with the comm op. By shear force of will she snapped back to the present and replayed his last words. 

Hmmm, now that was interesting. Who...? Ah yes, Wye had mentioned something about an altercation with Davenport after the torture operative had manhandled the head of comm. This was definitely something she would need to file away for another time. One could never tell when an errant bit of intel like this might come in handy. 

Exx smiled. Wye, choosing that moment to look up, flinched. 

“Listen, same deal as the last time,” Exx informed the head of comm. “I need you to burn a CD for me.” 

“Oh man, not Operations again? He’ll be worn out!” 

“Now, now, Birkoff, no need to be snide. No, this time I think we want to go with something a trifle more esoteric. I don’t like this man very much! Meet us in The Dungeon  in half an hour.” She severed the connection. 

“Well at least that’s fifteen more minutes than you gave us the last time,” Wye griped. 

Exx ignored him and  entered a new series of numbers on her comm unit. She wriggled as Wye’s warm breath began to follow the line of her backbone this time. “Madeline, I understand you’ve been looking for us? How am I expected to do my job if you keep hounding me? I have Birkoff working on a new CD and everything should be in readiness within the hour. Have the target in the White Room by that time. May as well give him something to remember us by!” 

“Exx!” Madeline’s tone was exasperated. “I *told* you: no damage, no memories!” 

“Yes Madeline. Whatever you say, Madeline.” Exx severed the connection. “Three bags full, Madeline!” 

“Exx!” Wye exclaimed. “I’ve never seen you like this before!” 

She scowled at him. “I’ve been ill!” she declared, nettled, in an attempt to explain her uncharacteristic behavior. “And I... Never mind. Now let’s take a shower and get down to The Dungeon. You know Birkoff is just dying to get his hands on the computers I have there.” 

Wye froze in the act of standing, and then sank back onto the bed, his face pale. Exx returned from the bathroom when she found he wasn’t behind her as usual. 

“Wye, what’s wrong?” 

“I...my clothes. I tore them off to get at you! They’re ruined! We won’t have time to get back to my quarters for more!” 

“Is that what’s worrying you, Wye?” She ran her fingertips along his cheek, then cupped his jaw and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ve got it covered, cowboy.” 

Wye was trying to plot the best route back to his rooms with the least chance of being spotted by anyone. Her remark distracted him and he looked at her blankly. “What?” 

“Just a few things I personally smuggled up from Supply.” She threw open her closet door. 

There, hanging neatly next to the somber outfits she wore to work, were a man’s suits.  Unrelieved black. Three of them. 

All in Wye’s size. 

Part 26 

The man secured in the chair in the White Room was on the point of entering middle age. He had a slight oriental cast to his features, and due to his exotic heritage, his hair was still thick and lush, without a trace of gray. Although that could have been the result of  one of the many products now available for men. The charcoal gray Brooks Brothers suit he wore was much the worse for wear. The operatives who escorted him to the place he was now in hadn’t taken kindly to his vituperous threats and demands, and had enjoyed roughing him up.

Now he was a prisoner of this highly uncomfortable chair. 

A door he hadn’t noticed before swung open and the woman who had ordered him taken to processing entered. She was quite striking looking, in a cold, contained way, and to his discomfort, he found himself with an extremely hard erection. 

It had to have some deep, psychological meaning, this fact that the only way he could get his rocks off was by being in the presence of an extremely powerful woman. 

This woman exuded more power than anyone he had ever known. 

“Stephen.” She nodded at him, her voice a warm contralto. Shivers ran up his spine and his arousal became almost painful. 

“Where am I? Who are you?” 

“You are in Section One. And I am Madeline. All you see here belongs to me!” 

The businessman paled. “What is this place?” he demanded. 

“This is the most covert anti terrorist organization on the planet!” 

“Oh my God! You’re going to kill me aren’t you? That’s why you’re telling me this!” 

“Not at all, Stephen. I may call you Stephen, mayn’t I? If I wanted to have you canceled, as you seem so hell-bent on canceling us, I would have had my operatives destroy you in your penthouse offices.” 

“What are you going to do to me then? If you let me go, I’ll bring Interpol  and the CIA and...and every other law enforcement agency under the sun after you!” 

“But how will you find us?” she asked reasonably. 

“I’ll find you! The route your people used! The building they took me into! It showed excessively  poor judgment for them not to blindfold me! Aren’t you ashamed to have such incompetent people working for you? Not only do I know where I am, but they actually let me go to the bathroom! You won’t even be able to humiliate me by making me urinate all over myself!” 

Madeline’s lips didn’t move, but somehow her eyes smiled. In spite of his empty bladder, the target felt the urge to clamp down on his sphincter in reaction to the fight or flight reflex. 

“Really, Stephen. You must come into contact with such foolish people! If you could retrace your journey and bring the police to the building you *think* you entered, they would find themselves in an abandoned apartment building off the Boulevard San Michel. And as for allowing you bathroom privileges...” 

A tap on the door interrupted her. “Ah. That will be someone I have every confidence you will *not* be enchanted to meet!” She opened the door. 

A man of average height, dressed in severe black, entered. Behind him was a frumpily dressed young man with very short brown hair and tinted, round-framed glasses. 

“Do you need to be here, Birkoff?” 

The head of Comm held up the mini CD he had burned for Exx and waggled it under Madeline’s nose. “I guess so!” he assured her cockily. 

Madeline narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if he was worth the trouble of catering to. But then, competent computer geniuses were so few and far between. She shrugged off the matter and turned back to the CEO. 

“Wye, this is Mr. C. He runs the network that is trying to get us canceled! Stephen, this is an associate of mine. He will try to convince you of the error of your thinking.” 

With a final smile over her shoulder, the head of Section left the White Room and made her way back to her office, where she knew a close-up, full color view of the proceedings would be relayed to her monitor. Without being physically involved, she would have the pleasure of watching her torture operatives do what they did best. 

She settled into her executive chair and waited. 

It didn’t take very long. 

“Are you comfortable, Monsieur?” Wye asked. He received a glare and a curse in response, and sighed. Before anyone could move, he casually backhanded the CEO across his mouth. “You will answer me please.” 

The target snarled at him. “I don’t think so! You can go ahead an kill me; I don’t have a goddamned thing to say to you! Now you better let me the hell go or I’ll make your life so fucking miserable you’ll wish you were dead!” 

Birkoff leaned over Wye’s shoulder. “Guess he doesn’t know we’re all already dead!” he remarked. 

“And he doesn’t realize that I can make his dying *very* painful!” Wye  bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile, and the target began to sweat. Although he was a powerful man in his own little media world, and had ordered more bloodless coups than he could readily call to mind, he had never been physically threatened. 

And  he had no tolerance for pain. 

Then he decided that they had to be bluffing. He was an important man! He screeched, “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea how important I am? If you hurt me you will be hunted down like dogs!” 

“Wow!” Birkoff whispered. “People in the real world really do talk like that!” And he snickered behind his hand. 

Wye gave him a look that was filled with disgust. Then he turned back to the man in the chair. “What you fail to understand, Monsieur, is that no one on the outside will know what has become of you. You will just be...gone. There will be no ransom demand, for we don’t want money. You will vanish as if you had never been!” 

The door to the White Room had quietly opened, and now was violently slammed shut. “Oh, you are just *so* poetic, aren’t you Wye?” A petite blond in unrelieved black had entered the room. 

Exx strode over to where her counterpart stood. “Who gave you permission to proceed in this manner?” she demanded. 

Birkoff backed away. Wye’s color became high. “I was given orders...” 

“When will you ever learn? The last time you obeyed someone else’s orders it nearly got the both of us killed!” She slapped him so hard a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Never mind, you’re useless, like everyone else Madeline has ever given me! Get out of my sight!” 

Wye touched a hand to his mouth. His eyes grew bitter. “Of course.” And he left. 

“Birkoff, get me a drink for this poor man! What would you like, sir? Whiskey, brandy, vodka? Good grief, I can’t believe what they’ve done to you! They’ve gone too far this time!” 

“No, no, water will be fine.” the beleaguered CEO stated, confused but  grateful that someone was finally coming to his aid. “Have you no control over your people? I could have been killed!” 

Exx took the doctored drink from the head of comm and held it to the target’s mouth. “No, no, it would never have gone that far! They’re like children! They need to be supervised every minute. I’m sure you understand how it is! You can be certain they will all receive appropriate recompense for this! I am just so *very* sorry! I’ll have to send for the keys to get you out of this chair!” 

She continued to fuss over him as she poured that drink, and then another, into him. 

“I can’t understand why I’m so thirsty!” He gulped down a third glass and nodded his desire for one more. It wasn’t until the fourth was half finished that she felt satisfied with the results. 

“Maybe it was all those salted pistachio nuts Walter was feeding you!” she murmured under her breath. 

The CEO sat with a glazed look in his eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a trout on dry land. 

“Birkoff,” she ordered softly, “give me the PDA.” 

The comm op loaded the mini CD into a brand new PDA  and handed it back to the torture operative. The new formula that Chem had whipped up for Exx left the unfortunate target so disoriented that he didn’t realize he was looking into a miniature screen that ran a series of images in a loop. The entire procedure lasted approximately ten minutes, longer than the original one, but the new programming altered his orientation on a permanent basis, with no need for further chemical or visual intervention. 

Then the tiny electronic wonder shut itself off. 

The target slumped in the chair, his eyes rolled back in his head. 

Exx rose gracefully to her feet and dusted her hands off. “Well, not as physical as I could wish, but, we take our pleasures where we find them.” 

Wye silently re-entered the White Room. “Did it go according to plan?” He came to a halt beside her. 

She reached up to gently touch his torn lip. “Yes. He’ll have no memory of being here, no idea of why he has developed this sudden predilection! It’s just a matter of waiting until he regains consciousness to see how well he’s absorbed it. I’m very proud of you, Wye; you did an excellent job!” Exx nodded at the surveillance camera that had observed and recorded  the entire episode. 

In her office, Madeline caught the signal and buzzed for MedLab to send someone to the White Room to return the hapless CEO to the specially prepared cell to await the results of this development. 

And then she called Housekeeping. The White Room would need a once over before it was its pristine self again. 

**** 

Birkoff left before Housekeeping could arrive, anxious to find Davenport. He knew  the cold op would be interested in hearing what Exx had devised for  the target his team had brought in. And he wanted to examine the facial hair his friend had started growing: a luxurious mustache that followed the line of Davenport’s mouth into a goatee. Birkoff wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. 

MedLab was just freeing the CEO and strapping him onto a stretcher to get him out of the interrogators’ vicinity when Guillaume poked his head around the door of the White Room. He was almost afraid to let his trainee come in. Then he saw that Wye was accompanying Exx this time, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Still, he couldn’t resist an encompassing look around the room, amazed that not a single drop of blood had been spilled. 

Oops, he spoke too soon, there was something on the floor. But it was such a miniscule amount of blood. He decided in this instance that a cursory wipe down would be more than sufficient.  

However, it wasn’t until Exx and Wye left the room that he began to whistle happily as he instructed his trainee in one of the easier aspects of Housekeeping. 

Part 27 

The operatives known as the Torture Twins made their way down to the commissary. Wye’s mouth was kicked up in a wry grin. 

“I never thought I would get to play ‘good cop/bad cop’!” 

“And did you enjoy yourself?” 

“Mmmm, until the moment you slapped me. I wish you had told me you were going to do that.” 

Exx shook her head. “Your response wouldn’t have been as genuine if you had any inkling of what I planned.” She looked at him curiously. “Did you really think I would embarrass you in front of another operative, that way?” 

“You’re a very good actress. For a minute I thought you really did have no use for me.” 

“Oh, I have plenty of uses for you!” She waggled her eyebrows salaciously and considered them one by one. After a moment she continued. “It goes without saying that there will be a commendation for your file. Your conduct in the White Room was exemplary! I was most impressed with the flush you called up.”

“Really? You liked that?” He was inordinately flattered. “It’s just a matter of holding my breath and compressing my diaphragm.” 

Exx patted his arm, pleased with his initiative. “Well, you did an excellent job of it.” 

The two torture operatives entered the commissary. They picked up trays and joined the line to select their meal. 

“Goulash!” they heard a disgruntled operative mutter to the op who stood beside her. “Again!” 

Her companion grinned sourly. “It’s Thursday, isn’t it? Christopher always makes goulash on Thursdays!” 

Wye regarded his mentor. “Perhaps you should have a word with Christopher. I’m sure you could talk him into changing the menu for once!” 

There was a loud clatter from behind the counter. Platters of cole slaw, roasted potatoes and noodles were tumbled on the floor. All eyes curiously regarded the head of Dietary, who had passed out once again, this time landing in the salad. Bits of lettuce and shredded cabbage clung to his hair, and a long curl of radichio hung off his nose. 

A satisfied smile lit Exx’s eyes, although her mouth remained immobile. “Score two for the interrogation team!” 

The commissary was normally crowded at this time of day, when most onsite operatives opted to dine in. However, the two figures dressed in black had no trouble finding an empty table. In fact, one was hastily vacated for them. 

“There are advantages to being with the head of interrogations!” Wye murmured as he began to eat. 

“Yes? Want to tell me about it? Stud?” Exx drawled. 

Wye eyes seemed to catch fire. He put a bit of his dinner into his mouth, his lips closing suggestively over the tines of the fork. Then he slowly withdrew the utensil from his mouth. He lowered his eyelids until his long lashes fanned his cheeks, then slowly raised them to look directly at his mentor. 

Exx nearly strangled on the bite of bread that went down the wrong way. Before God and all of Section, her trainee was flirting with her! 

**** 

Madeline switched on the monitor to observe the cell their ‘guest’ had been taken to. She knew it would be a while before he emerged from the daze induced by the drug Exx fed him. 

It didn’t matter how long it took. None of them were going anywhere. 

Prime had sent her word that his target was happily ensconced within the confines of Three, having displayed a surprising partiality for bondage and discipline. Thomas’ valentine operatives were having the time of their lives; they loved nothing more than introducing an alpha male to the delights of being spanked, by a woman. 

Of course, Newhouse, Three’s primary valentine op, was just waiting for the ideal moment to introduce himself, and his vast repertoire to the West Coast head of that production company. A massive Viking of a man who sailed both sides of the lake, he was looking forward to some really intense male bonding. 

Peter was definitely going to be kept too busy to interfere with Section’s business for a very, *very* long time. 

And if he ever dared to poke his nose into the anti terrorist organization’s affairs again...

The psych op watched avidly as the Red Devil made a snack of an unfortunate goldfish, and licked her lips.

Madeline returned her gaze to the monitor. She was interested in seeing where her primary torture operative’s devious mind had gone this time. 

In spite of what Operations thought, Madeline was fully aware that he had become entangled with The Man. 

Who had Exx selected for the target? Or perhaps Madeline should wonder...what? 

**** 

Birkoff found Davenport lounging comfortably in his quarters. The head of comm had stopped by the commissary and brought enough dinner for both of them, although it never failed to amaze him how much the burly cold op could consume. 

Davenport’s dark eyes smiled at his friend. “How’d it go Birk?” 

“Like you would not believe! Exx actually slapped Wye!” 

The cold op winced. “That’s one lady I would *not* like to get riled at me!” 

“I hear you, Dav! But they were just playing good cop/bad cop!” 

“Yes?” He stretched out an arm leisurely and filched one of Birkoff’s fries. “So tell me what else happened down there.” 

The head of comm shrugged. “Madeline showed up after the target was strapped in the chair in the White Room and made her usual ‘head of Section’ threats, and then Wye came in and started questioning him. If our lives weren’t on the line I could almost feel sorry for the troublemaker; he was so confused by the whole experience that he had no idea if he was coming or going! 

“Hey!” Birkoff was suddenly off on a tangent. “You know why semen is white and piss is yellow?” 

The cold op looked confused. “Huh?” 

Birkoff repeated his question and then taunted his friend. “C’mon Dav, you have to know the answer to this!” 

Davenport realized he’d get nothing further out of the younger man unless he played along and responded to his question. “No, I *don’t* have to know! Okay, you want to explain it to me, Sherlock?” 

And Birkoff grinned hugely. “Well, semen is white and piss is yellow so you can tell if you’re coming or going!” And he collapsed in a fit of giggles. 

Davenport just scowled at him. “We are not amused!” he said haughtily. 

The smaller man regarded him fondly. “Yes we are!” 

Davenport darkened his frown, fighting to keep his response sober, but not having much luck. “Would you just finish with what you were telling me?” 

Birkoff gave him a wink and continued. “Well, Madeline left Wye alone in there with him and he smacked the poor fool right across the face!” 

The cold operative shuddered. “Ouch! I bet that smarted!” 

“And then....” Birkoff drew it out as long as he could, but this time his friend was determined to out-wait him. The comm op twisted his mouth into a moue and surrendered as gracefully as he could. “And then Exx came in and started tearing into Wye for acting on his own. *She* hit *him* and ordered him from the Room, and then fell all over herself apologizing to the target.” 

“Man, I wish I could have seen that!” 

“Un-fucking-believable, let me tell you!” 

“How’d she get him to take the formula?” 

“Walter helped with that. He pretended  he just kind of ran into the target while he was being held in processing, and Walter sat with him, acting like he really couldn’t understand how something like this had happened and how shocked he was about the whole thing! The usual bullshit!” 

“Don’t tell me he actually believed that Walter wanted to be his best friend in the whole wide world!” 

“You got it!” 

Davenport was speechless. “Walter?” he repeated. “*Our* Walter?” 

Birkoff sniffed. “Don’t forget, he used to be a cold op before he transferred to weapons!” He leaned closer and cupped his mouth, although there was no one to overhear their conversation. “I also hear that at one time he was a valentine operative! And you know how good an actor *they* have to be!” 

“I’m sorry, Birk, I know he’s your friend, but I just have a hard time visualizing that!” 

The head of comm smirked at him. “Just ask Michael, if you don’t believe me!” 

“Umm. No thanks.” Davenport sighed. “Just finish your story, Petunia.” 

Now it was Birkoff’s turn to gape at the cold op. “*Petunia*?” 

Davenport waved his confusion aside. “Just something I picked up on my last mission. Finish the freakin’ story, all right?” 

The head of comm looked as if he’d like to pursue that line of conversation, then changed his mind. There would be plenty of time to finish questioning his friend when the problems at Section were behind them. 

“Exx’s idea was to have Walter feed him a bag of salted pistachio nuts. By the time he was taken to the White Room, he was so thirsty, he would have been willing to drink just about anything. She got four glasses into him and then made him watch the CD I put together on her specs.” Birkoff primmed his mouth, drawing attention to his full lips. 

“You’re going to tell me who it is this time, aren’t you?” Davenport demanded. “Last time you made me wait until it was all over! C’mon, Birk, don’t make me beg!” 

“Oh, but you do that so well! No, no, I’m just kidding! I’ll tell!” Birkoff was laughing helplessly. His sense of humor was more than slightly skewed. “D’ja ever see that Roddy McDowall movie, the one with a really young Elizabeth Taylor?” 

The cold op was disappointed. “That bozo gets to be in love with Elizabeth Taylor?” Well, there was no justice! He *was* depressed! 

“Uhh, not exactly. Let’s just say that Lassie Come Home will take on a whole new meaning for him!” 

Davenport’s eyes bulged. His lips parted, he tried to speak,  but nothing emerged. 

And Birkoff just kept on laughing. 

You did *not* cross Section’s lady of the thumbscrews! 

Part 28 

It was a duck soup mission. The odds of the CEO of the small, inconsequential network being returned to his penthouse offices without causing a major disturbance were figured by the statistical department to be better than balls-on even. The most senior of Section’s cold operatives was given the green light to see him back to his Manhattan headquarters. 

Deciding to make this into a mini holiday, Michael chose Nikita to accompany him, and he made reservations at the Pierre. They would spend a long, luxurious weekend in the Big Apple, maybe taking in a Broadway show, maybe stopping by to inspect the Hard Rock Cafe, maybe doing things a ‘normal’ courting couple would do. 

Or maybe they would just spend the three days making wild monkey love. A grin replaced his normal blank stare. Yes, Michael really favored that idea. 

And then it would be back to the real world of Section. Ah well... 

It went off without the slightest hitch, even considering the fact that the target insisted they stop at the borough dog pound. 

He had developed a sudden, overwhelming desire to adopt a dog. 

A sardonic grin twisted Michael’s lips as he escorted the target into the nondescript brick building. He was privy to the scheme to prevent the CEO from causing more trouble for Section. He could almost feel sorry for the man. 

His life was definitely going to change! 

Outside, Nikita waited, keeping a surreptitious watch over the area, her hand resting casually over the pistol tucked in her trousers. Walter had made sure his Sugar was well-armed. 

Inside, the target found there were no collies available. There was, however, a blond, silky-haired Afghan, a sweetheart of a  hound with a muscular body and long, elegant legs bred to chase down her quarry. A stray who had been discovered running loose in Central Park, she had been rescued a couple of weeks earlier, but if she wasn’t adopted out soon, the staff would be forced to euthanize her. 

Coincidence? Perhaps. Perhaps not. 

Either way, it was love at first sight. 

The CEO was restored to his offices, fawning over his newest pet. Messages were scattered on his desk, but he ignored them and the almost shrill demands of his executive secretary to know where he had been for the last few days. 

“Away,” he murmured distractedly, waving a negligible hand in her direction. “Just...away. Hold all my calls! I’m going to be very busy!” 

He closed and locked his door. 

His secretary cast a murderous look at the door. “And Peter can’t be reached either!” she shouted after him. “*Men*!” 

**** 

The day was finally at an end. The rats, the sleaze, the scum, the slime, in other words the general population of Section One were all secured in their own burrows or dens or holes. The corridors were deserted save for the pair who casually made their way through the level that contained their living quarters.

“Well, we certainly made the Caspar Project pay for itself,” Wye remarked as he strolled along with Exx’s hand tucked snugly in his own. 

“Yes, but it’s getting old. I’ll have to devise something...fiendish, for next time. I only hope Madeline isn’t going soft on us. She keeps forbidding us to leave any marks, and that’s taking all the fun out of this job!” 

“What happens now?” Wye asked. He stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. 

“Now?” She sighed softly. “Who can say? Section has avoided disaster by the skin of its teeth. Madeline has decided to take a wait and see attitude. George is still trying to avoid questions about Uno. And I understand Operations will have no trouble convincing The Man to use His considerable influence to deflect any further undue interest in Section. An interview with His son might be used as a bargaining chip should the need arise.” 

“I meant...what happens with us?” 

Exx’s eyebrow rose until it was lost in the fringe of hair that covered her forehead. Tenderly Wye brushed the hair to the side. “What did you want to happen, with us?” she asked, holding on to his wrist. 

“I want us to be together.” 

“We are together. Madeline is so pleased with our performance that she’s willing to grant us our heart’s desire!” 

“And what is your heart’s...desire?” 

She turned to face him. “You, Wye. Might I ask what your desire is?” she inquired, almost hesitantly. 

“I’d like to move in with you.” He stated it matter-of-factly. 

“My quarters are too small.” 

The male torture operative’s mouth twisted wryly. He had known it was a long shot, but it had been worth a try. She might enjoy sex with him, but he hadn’t really expected her to agree to share the intimate, day-to-day aspect of living together. Maybe someday... 

He noticed suddenly that they were in a corridor neither of them generally used. “Umm, have you gotten lost again, Exx?” 

“I *never* get lost on this level!” she huffed. She stopped at a door, seemingly chosen at random and keyed in an access code. 

“But these aren’t your rooms.” He followed her through the door into rooms that were larger than either of their quarters. 

Exx couldn’t resist slipping a hand inside his waistband and squeezing a taut cheek. “No,” she said, leaning into him. 

“They’re ours!” 

~End~

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