"What do you mean, he’s run away again? Space! We’ve got to find him! And fast!"

The clock was running on Davenport’s last mission. He needed to find Connor. But now, at the worst possible moment, he needed to find Sasha, too.

Little did he know that if he could have found one, he would have found the other.

***

The man formerly known as Operations left Connor alone. Connor took the opportunity to check out the immediate environs. The room was painted white. Hence, the name. White Room.

Luckily for him, Connor failed to grasp the significance of the room. Even if he had, it was doubtful that he would have imagined the bad man meant to kill him in cold blood. Escape seemed difficult. He didn’t know where he was. He had no idea how to get out of the room itself, much less Section One.

He searched the walls for a door, finally spotting it. Giving the door a tug, he soon realized that it was locked. He was locked in. Why? Didn’t the bad man know that he was only a little boy?

Suddenly he heard a strange tapping noise. Very rhythmic, as if it were a message of some sort. Connor cocked his head attentively, listening to the noise carefully. He looked up at the ceiling.

At last, thought Sasha. "Here! Up here!" Sasha whispered to Connor.

Connor stared at the little boy whose face was barely visible. Sasha was good at hiding. It was the reason he had survived as long as he had. Sasha was adept at climbing through the ventilation ducts. Even a secret place like One had to have ventilation. But few operatives were as determined as Sasha to escape, to want to brave the ductwork. And none of them would have been small enough to elude detection by the system.

"Stand on the chair," Sasha commanded the younger boy.

Sasha found Connor quite by accident. He was trying to get out of Section, and he thought he had finally found a way. But once he saw Connor, and once he realized that this was the little boy Davenport was describing, he couldn’t leave him there. Unlike Connor, Sasha knew exactly what happened to the people who entered that room. It was a very bad place to be. For anyone. But for a child....

Sasha helped Connor as much as he could without revealing his presence to the system. Connor stretched on tiptoes, and bit by bit, he eventually made his way into what might literally be called a crawlspace.

Boy, would the man who wanted to hurt Connor be surprised when he came back. Sasha laughed to himself.

No, there were too many surprises within Section for one more to make any difference.

***

Surprise was indeed a relative term. Michael was surprised when he jumped down from the ventilation shaft and landed inside Van Access. But he was positively stunned to find his wife, the mother of his children, waiting impatiently for him.

"What the--?"

"You took the long way, didn’t you, Michael?"

Nikita sounded more exasperated than anything else, and there was no way anyone might have suspected the same woman of nearly crying her eyes out several hours before.

Michael looked furious. "I should have known you were giving in too easily, Kita."

"We can argue about who’s right later. There’s someone coming," said Declan tersely.

Birkoff crept out from behind Michael’s back and stared at the man he honestly thought he would never see again. "Declan!"

Declan’s eyes flickered, but there was no other movement. Putting a finger to his lips, Declan indicated that everyone should be quiet.

All at once, the source of the approaching footsteps became visible. It was a woman. A beautiful, graceful, statuesque woman. Of uncertain age. It was Aspacia.

"He sometimes hides in here. It’s one of his favorite places. He thinks he can get outside this way," she said over her shoulder to someone not yet seen.

"He’s right," replied a voice that was very familiar to both Michael and Nikita.

Davenport came into view, peering into the dimly lit tunnel. No one. "Do you know if he’s ever been in the ductwork, Space?"

Nikita felt torn. Here was Davenport, the man Madeline swore would help them. But he wasn’t alone. She had no idea who the woman was, or if she could trust her. She continued to blend with the darkened surroundings, and when Davenport finally left, followed by Aspacia, Nikita knew they would have to find a way to get him alone. And quickly.

"I wonder who they were talking about, Michael," she whispered in a puzzled tone.

"Me," said Sasha, peering down at them from his place within the ventilation shaft.

Nikita’s eyes sifted through the growing darkness. "Who are you? And what are you doing up there?"

"I’m Sasha," declared the little boy, as if that were self-explanatory.

"And one of you is my real father...."

"...the son-of-a-bitch who left me here to rot!"

Nikita smiled and said, "Sweetie, we don’t know a thing about you or your father. But I’m sure he wouldn’t leave a little...boy...like you here." It was abundantly clear to everyone that Nikita’s hesitation was caused by an unbelievable urge to say "hellspawn" instead of "boy".

"Sweetie? I’m not your sweetie! Jeez!"

"Michael..." Nikita said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Madeline told me we should contact Davenport. She said he would help us get Connor back. But he seemed to be looking for this boy. Why do I get the feeling there may be strings attached?"

Michael barely parted his lips to expose his teeth. You couldn’t really call it a smile. "Probably because there are."

Declan watched the interaction with ill-disguised impatience. Being back inside Section One was doing nothing to improve his mood. The risk of discovery was a very real one. But he felt like he was the only one taking it seriously. Finally, he couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

"Maybe you two can get your old jobs back. You seem right at home here. Nothing like old times to bring back those happy memories, eh?" Declan knew he was being unforgivably sarcastic, but he couldn’t help it.

Sasha lowered himself down from the shaft, landing lightly on his feet, much like the proverbial cat. Now they could all get a good look at the boy. He was short for his age. Though he was five years old, his height, or lack thereof, made him appear much younger. But his command of the English language went way beyond that of the average five-year old.

When he saw these people, his first instinct had been to run. But running no longer seemed a viable option. He wanted to get out of Section One, but he had a feeling he might need them. Maybe he had something they were looking for. Maybe they could do a trade. Everybody wanted something. That was one lesson he learned well in his limited experience on this earth.

"What the hell are you staring at, lady?" Sasha snarled.

Nikita couldn’t help but stare. The boy had long brown hair of an indeterminate shade in the dim light, and his eyes... His eyes were dark, but it was hard to tell what color they were without better light.

"Michael?" Nikita called to her husband nervously. She wished that Madeline had prepared them for this. It didn’t occur to her that Madeline didn’t know about the child. She assumed that Madeline knew everything Davenport knew, by virtue of their intermittent phone contact over the past few years.

Michael moved closer to his wife, placing a hand on the back of her neck, as Declan had done earlier. "Kita," he said, seemingly reading her mind, "he’s not mine."

Nikita turned to him, tears blurring her forthright sapphire gaze. "How do you know?" she asked huskily.

Declan stepped forward, grasping the boy’s chin in his hand, attempting to direct what little light there was towards the boy’s eyes. "Let’s settle this right now."

Sasha looked daggers at Declan, his eyes sparking with an intensity rarely, if ever, found in a child. "Get your hands off me, you freaking asshole."

Declan met Sasha’s eyes evenly. His voice frigid, Declan said, "Now I know you’re no son of mine, boyo."

"Why? Cause I got the balls to stand up to you, potato man?" Sasha taunted.

"No, you--"

Michael tapped Declan on the shoulder. "Put a muzzle on him and let’s go. We’ve been in one place too long. We’re going to get caught."

"Where do you want to go? I know this place better than anyone."

Michael sighed at the boy’s arrogance. "I’m sure you do. But we’re looking for someone."

"Who? Davenport? I know where he goes. To meet his girlfriend. He doesn’t know I know. But I do," the boy smirked.

Michael hated to admit it, but they could use any help they could get. They needed to find Connor as soon as possible. There was no telling what Operations might do to him.

"Yes, we need to find him," Michael agreed. "But we’re also looking for a small boy. His name is Connor. He’s--"

Sasha grinned unrepentantly. "You mean this one?" He signaled to someone hiding in the ventilation shaft. Within a few seconds, Connor reluctantly dropped the requisite number of feet to land in a heap at Declan’s feet.

"Connor!"

Birkoff moved to pick up the little boy, but he froze the moment he heard Declan gasp.

"Christ!"

Everyone looked at Declan. "What?" asked Birkoff.

The little boy who identified himself only as Sasha had stepped into the sole light illuminating the tunnel. It might not have been apparent to anyone but him, but all at once, Declan knew who the boy’s father was.

Sasha held himself stiffly, as if he feared certain discovery. "You got something to say, potato man?"

"Bloody hell."

Birkoff was so still, he looked as if he were carved from stone. Even he could see that the boy resembled him. But how? Why?

"How could something like this happen?" he asked of no one in particular.

Sasha rolled his eyes mockingly at Birkoff. "Jeez, this is my longlost father?"

Birkoff drew back, immediately running into Declan, who stood a few paces behind him. He glanced helplessly at Declan, whose own expression remained largely unreadable.

Michael took advantage of Birkoff’s momentary lapse in concentration to regain control of the situation. "Birkoff, I need a diversion. Now. Give me a minimum two- minute pocket. Declan, you’re with me. Kita, go find Davenport."

"But Michael, we’ve got Connor. Let’s get out now. No one’ll ever know we were here," Birkoff protested.

"Operations is still a threat. He knows where we live. If we don’t neutralize that threat...none of us can ever go home again." There was a terrible silence following Michael’s statement as they all absorbed what that meant.

"Kita said that Madeline wants us to find Davenport. There has to be a reason. We won’t find out what it is sitting in Van Access. Move."

Moving together, almost as one entity, pulling the reluctant Sasha along with them, the group strode to the entryway to Section One, pausing for a moment before it splintered into three groups.

Declan followed Michael to the right, towards Operations and the Deck. Nikita peeled off to the left, heading for the sub-levels to locate Davenport, taking Connor with her. As for Birkoff, he suddenly found himself alone with a son he never knew he’d fathered.

Birkoff plugged his panel into a free-standing computer terminal, trying to look inconspicuous. Which was made all the more ridiculous by having a five-year old boy at his side.

Birkoff started typing in line after line of code, using one of the access codes he’d appropriated. He thought it especially ironic that the mainframe now identified him as Greg Hillenger. "Thanks for the help, Greggie," he muttered under his breath, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand.

He couldn’t afford to think about the boy standing next to him. Not now. None of them had that kind of time. But the boy had other ideas. And he was not used to being ignored.

"Hey, what are you, the resident computer geek?"

Birkoff didn’t acknowledge the comment, but his fingers trembled as he continued to key in information that would mislead Section’s computers and buy Michael the time he needed.

Sasha kicked Birkoff in the shin, producing a wail of pain from the former Comm op. Birkoff held onto his leg, willing himself not to react angrily. This was his son. God, it was. His real, honest-to-God, flesh-and-blood son.

Sasha spat at Birkoff. Birkoff wiped the spit from his face and resumed typing. His real, honest-to-God, in- your-face son. Who was behaving as if a little Thorazine and a bit of psychotherapy wouldn’t hurt.

When he finished typing the last line of code, Birkoff hit ‘enter’ and stood there, clenching his teeth. As soon as the program started to load, he whirled around to face Sasha. "Look, kid, you got problems? We’ve all got problems. Right now, our biggest problem is getting out of here alive. That matters just a *little* bit more to me than whatever the hell is on your mind."

Sasha frowned. "Ha! Some father you are! You don’t even know how to talk to your own kid!"

"Yeah, well, I’ll let you know the minute you say something I want to respond to."

Birkoff looked sharply at his watch, glancing back at the monitor. "If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do. If you want to live to be the malignant little drug addict you’re probably meant to be, then come with me. If not, stay here and enjoy Section One. They just *love* dysfunction."

Sasha looked confused. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. His real father was supposed to discover just how wonderful Sasha really was. His real father was supposed to realize just how much he regretted missing his first few years. He wasn’t supposed to be able to match wits with him. He wasn’t supposed to reject him.

Sasha expected Birkoff to beg him to come live with him and be his real little boy. Then he would laugh in his face and reject him. For all the years that he’d left him in this stinking hole to fend for himself.

No way. Birkoff looked into the velvety soft chocolate eyes so like his own. He could be forgiven for thinking that the boy actually had other, more tender emotions. Buried somewhere. Deep within. Very deep. Then he remembered the words that spilled so easily from the five- year old’s mouth.

Sasha stared back, not wanting to feel the connection between them. But there it was. That feeling of knowing Birkoff. As if it were more than just a familiar face. A voice. A way of speaking. "You don’t want me?" the boy asked, as if puzzled by his own question.

Hell, no, I don’t want you. I don’t even know you. I need a little boy who swears like a truckdriver to come into my life and turn everything upside down like I need a hole in the head. Yet Birkoff found it almost impossible to look into those eyes and say those words to that face. "I-- " he began.

All at once, the boy looked frightened. "Well, I don’t need you either," he said, pressing his clenched fist to his eye.

Was he crying? Birkoff’s heart softened. Maybe this would work. Maybe...

"Have you seen my mother?"

Birkoff shook his head gently. "I don’t even know your mother."

"Doesn’t matter anyway." The little boy, if you could call him that, seemed discouraged by events. It wasn’t every day he met his father. Met and lost him all in one day. Oh, well, you couldn’t lose what you never had.

"Do you have a girlfriend like Davenport?"

"Not exactly," Birkoff hedged.

As if he’d peered inside Birkoff’s brain and brought his worst nightmare to life, Sasha paled. "Oh, shit. You’re not gay, are you?"

Birkoff didn’t answer.

"No way. I finally find my real father and he’s not only a useless computer dweeb, he’s gay?"

The only visible sign that Birkoff heard Sasha was the way his nostrils flared.

A voice behind Sasha said, "That’s right. You got a problem with that, boyo?"

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" Birkoff’s newfound son sneered.

Declan gave the boy a withering look. Grown men had been known to soil their skivvies when Declan directed that look at them. But this...this little boy, apparently five going on fifteen, laughed.

"You’ll have to do better than that, potato man. You’ve seen where I live."

Declan shrugged. Then he casually pulled out his gun, pretending to examine it. "I don’t have time for this crap. Should I shoot you now and be done with it?"

The boy’s eyes, so like Birkoff’s, widened. "Y-you c-can’t d-do that! I’m a little boy!"

"Says you. You don’t act like any little boy I’ve ever seen. On Earth or in Hell."

Birkoff pulled on Declan’s arm, whispering, "Please...don’t. He’s just a kid."

Declan raised an eyebrow at that. "More like the devil, if you ask me." He sighed and put the gun in the waistband of his black leather pants. "You’re safe. For now, kid. But don’t let me hear you badmouthing Mr. Birkoff here again...or your ass is grass."

For the first time since they’d met him, Sasha acted his age. "O-okay," he said, his lower lip quivering, again, not unlike his father.

"Are you a cold op?"

Declan fixed the boy with a classic blank stare. "What makes you think that?"

Sasha gulped. "I-I d-didn’t mean anything by it. Honest."

Declan turned to Birkoff, his storm-grey eyes full of laughter he dared not express. "Nikita found Davenport. Michael wants you. He’s in Comm. Bring the kid."

"He’s in Comm? Jeez, what the hell’s he doing there? He might as well advertise that he’s in Section!"

Declan frowned and said dryly, "I dunno, Sey. Did you always argue like this when you were given orders? No wonder Ops wanted to cancel you."

Sasha glanced from one man to the other. "Um...what kind of a name is Sey?"

"Short for Seymour. Why?" Birkoff pulled his panel away from the computer terminal.

The little boy scowled. "Your name is Sey-mour? Ugh...."

"Thanks," Birkoff said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What should I call you? Dad?" the little boy asked, couching his question in the quavery tones of the innocent.

Birkoff’s eyes narrowed. But it was Declan who replied. "That, my little friend, is Mr. Birkoff. Till one of us tells you otherwise."

"Well, I just meant...what should I call you at home? You know, where you live?"

"If I don’t get to Comm in the next thirty seconds, we won’t have a home. And what makes you think you’re coming with us?"

Sasha’s mouth dropped open. "You wouldn’t leave me here?"

"Give me one good reason why I should take you home with me," Birkoff demanded.

"Cause I’m your son!" Sasha shouted.

"I said a good reason." Birkoff shook his head. "Let’s get the hell out of here now, Declan."

The two men walked around to the left, heading for Comm, seemingly oblivious that Sasha was following them. "Hey! Wait up! I’m coming, too!"

Declan leaned over and whispered to Birkoff, "He’s following us, Sey." Birkoff surreptitiously touched Declan’s hand, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. "I had a feeling he would."

***

Birkoff sat down at his old workstation, firing up his old computer. It was an odd feeling being in Comm again. At Michael’s directive, he started hacking into the mainframe, placing a virus that would activate when they were ready to leave Section. "Hillenger’s still a fool. He never updated the firewalls I built. This is so easy, it hurts," Birkoff quipped.

Suddenly Sasha was at Birkoff’s elbow. "You need any help with that?"

Was there no end to the little boy’s arrogance? Birkoff sighed. "Not really. But thanks."

Sasha studied his father’s profile, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue peeking through his teeth. "I know how to do that."

"What?" Birkoff asked absently. "Work a computer?"

"Nope, go around the gates that make up the firewalls. This one is easy, on account of you were the one that made it."

Birkoff turned his head and stared at his son. "You know how to get through firewalls?"

Sasha nodded. Was there actually some use or some importance to the stuff that Operations had forced him to learn at such a young age?

"Come here," he beckoned. A moment later, the little boy managed to clamber up onto Birkoff’s lap. He sat on Birkoff’s lap, his tiny fingers straining to reach the keys until Birkoff boosted him forward a bit. "Show me how you’d get through these firewalls."

Sasha’s hands flew over the keyboard. Within a few minutes, he had navigated his way successfully through a pattern of firewalls that Birkoff himself erected about seven years before.

"Do you actually understand what you’re doing?" Birkoff asked, certain that there must be some other explanation for the boy’s uncanny abilities.

Sasha nodded solemnly.

When he left Comm, it was with a certain sense of regret. Birkoff was sure that this was a place whose time had run out. In more ways than one.

***

Nikita heard Michael approach before she actually saw him. "Michael...over here."

He made his way carefully through the darkness that was the rule in the sub-levels. This was sub-level 4. A place oft used for trysts and the like. Now Nikita stood next to her prey, Davenport. Connor looked up at the big man in awe. He had never seen anyone that big in his entire life.

There was a beautiful young woman at Davenport’s side. Michael waited impatiently for someone to explain. When no one volunteered, he jumped on Davenport himself. "Madeline told us to get in touch with you. Why?"

"I want out of Section."

Michael blinked, but didn’t speak. Davenport was vaguely unnerved by Michael’s reaction. He’d forgotten how compelling those blank stares could be.

"This is Cassidy. I want her to come, too."

Michael cocked his head, as if listening to something no one else could hear. He was probably just thinking, but he could be terribly enigmatic without even meaning to be.

"Why should we risk our lives to get you two out?"

"It’s George. He’s running One now. He’s gone crazy, if you ask me. And tomorrow morning, he wants to start sterilizing all the female field ops."

Nikita stared at Davenport in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Davenport nodded. "It’s true. Cassidy is supposed to go first."

"Okay," said Nikita, chewing on her lip, "but why the sudden attack of altruism, Dav? You defended Michael once or twice in the past, but when it came down to it, you were always a Section man."

Davenport’s near-black eyes flickered back and forth, from Nikita to Michael and back again. "I love her." He felt vulnerable, confessing his feelings to Michael and Nikita, as if he were being forced to prove himself. But he understood their need to be sure of just where his loyalties lay.

He avoided looking at Cassidy, but he could feel her warm grey eyes upon him. "I want a shot at what you and Michael have, as rare as that is. But George wants to cut her up so she can’t have kids. I-I can’t let that happen. I just can’t."

Since that was pretty much how Michael felt about anything untoward happening to Nikita, he was more than favorably disposed to helping Davenport and Cassidy. "I would love to help, but..."

"But?"

"We have limited space. We’ve already picked up extra people. There may not be room for both of you. How do you feel about that?"

Was this a test? Well, if it was, Davenport was more than ready. "Look, I told you, I love her. I can’t stand by and watch this happen to her. So if you only have room for one of us, take her. Please." Davenport’s eyes were pleading with Michael.

Michael nodded. But Cassidy spoke for the first time, trying to change Michael’s mind. "Sorry, Michael. I realize you don’t know me from a hole in the ground, but I won’t go without Dav." She gazed longingly at the man in question, a slight flush tingeing her cheeks.

"Even though he’s willing to make that sacrifice for your own good?"

Cassidy blinked back a tear or two. "Yes."

Davenport struggled to make Cassidy understand, but she argued back that he was the one who originally wanted to leave Section. They wrangled back and forth noisily, their love for one another all too evident to Michael and Nikita.

Nikita glanced at her husband, and he nodded, a gentle sweep of his lashes indicating acquiescence. Holding up his hands for silence, Michael said firmly, "We don’t have time for this. We all go."

Davenport would have cheered, but he had one more favor to ask. Michael never showed emotion at Section, if he could help it, but Davenport was beginning to push his luck. "What is it?" Michael asked, almost disclosing his exasperation.

"Well, there’s this kid. Sasha."

"We noticed," Nikita said dryly.

"You’ve got to take him, too."

"Why?"

"Well, cause...cause...he’s Birkoff’s son." Davenport then went on to explain his theory of how the powers that be running Section concocted a program to genetically engineer the creation of super-operatives, starting with specimens collected from their best operatives, without their knowledge or consent.

"I feel bad for the kid. He never knew his mom. She was an abeyance op who was canceled right after delivery. He never knew his dad. Cause his father didn’t have anything to do with conception. I’d be the first one to admit, Sasha’s an acquired taste. But dammit, Michael, the kid just grows on you."

Nikita looked amazed, while Michael simply couldn’t believe that anyone could speak so highly of Sasha. Perhaps Davenport meant another child.

"He’s smart as a whip, too. Damn, bet you could have knocked Birkoff over with a feather when he found out he had a son." Davenport looked so pleased, Michael hated to disabuse him. But he did.

"Hmm...I don’t know if surprise would be the right word. The boy’s a bit hard to take. Except in small doses."

Davenport laughed. "Sounds like Madeline."

Nikita glared at Michael. "You coached him to say that, Michael."

Michael looked blankly back at Nikita. "I don’t know what you mean, Kita."

She exhaled a long, deep breath, as if she were concentrating on trying to lower her stress level. With a careless glance back at Michael, she said evenly, "We’ll take the boy with us. Maybe we’ll find a pack of wolves on the way home that are missing a cub."

"Are we ready to move on to Operations?" Michael asked, as if Nikita hadn’t spoken.

Nikita’s heart sank. Things had been going so well, but she had seen the parade of Section ops go by, as they began to mobilize against the small ragtag group of operatives. There would be no reasoning with Operations. The man only understood force.

Well, when push came to shove, so did she.

Before Michael went to confront Operations, he ordered Birkoff to search for any available intel on Davenport, Cassidy, and Sasha. "It’s not that I don’t trust them, but we need to know exactly what Section knows."

"Do we have time for this, Michael?" Birkoff sounded worried.

"Just do it," Michael commanded tersely.

When Birkoff turned back to the keyboard, he saw that Sasha had appropriated the computer. For a small boy, he already had a massive ego. Or so it seemed. Perhaps it was just an act. Maybe inside, Sasha was just a terrified little boy, striking out at any available target, sensing instinctively that his father would be most vulnerable.

"I need to use the computer now," Birkoff said firmly.

Sasha replied, "But I can help."

"I don’t need your help right now. Right now, I need you to get off the computer." Birkoff was surprised to see tears spring to Sasha’s eyes. The little boy slid off Birkoff’s lap and stood next to him for a moment, before retreating a little further away.

Great, now he’d made him cry. He’d never forgive him now. For making him lose face. How were they ever going to forge some kind of relationship? He knew nothing about Sasha or his life here. But he could use his imagination. It couldn’t have been good.

Tapping into the mainframe again, Birkoff searched for any available intel on Davenport. Nothing new. Nothing alarming. He entered Sasha’s name, abruptly realizing that he didn’t even have enough information to do a decent search of the database. "Um...Sasha?"

There was a barely audible sniffle. "What?"

This is going to sound stupid, but I’m your father, and I have no idea what your last name is. "What’s your last name?"

"Birkoff. Isn’t that your name, too?" Sasha asked tentatively, temporarily abandoning his role as the devil’s right hand.

"Yeah," Birkoff said softly. He didn’t know why, God knew he’d had enough heartache to last a lifetime, but there was something about this kid that got to him. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t asked to be in Section any more than Birkoff had. Relationships had been founded on less than that.

He found a file that detailed the true circumstances of Sasha’s conception, and it was every bit as horrifying as he’d thought it would be. Which was probably why it was so carefully buried in the deepest recesses of Section’s mainframe.

He was right. The abeyance op who delivered Sasha was not someone he knew, and she was canceled right after giving birth. That explained a great deal about Sasha’s feral nature. He never had a chance to bond with his mother, or anyone else, for that matter. It was a good thing that Davenport had found him two years ago. If he hadn’t intervened, even in his minimal way, Sasha would have been lost forever. As it was, Birkoff had someone to thank for taking care of his son, as best she could. Aspacia. His dear friend Space.

Moving right along, Birkoff made good time searching through the remainder of the intel on Sasha and Davenport. But when he hit Cassidy’s file, there was a blanket ‘Access Denied’ stamped over everything. Gaining access to the file was not a problem. The reason for access being denied was the problem. It had all the earmarks of a file sealed by TPTB, in this particular case, Operations.

"Michael, this could take more than a minute," Birkoff said, alerting Michael so he could re-allocate his time if necessary.

"How long?"

"Depends on how hard it is to crack into the file."

"I could do it," Sasha declared proudly.

Birkoff grew exasperated. "Look, just sit over there and be quiet, okay? You’re a kid. Try acting like one."

"Why?"

That stumped Birkoff. He couldn’t think of a single good reason. "Never mind." He began hacking into the encrypted file, and slowly but surely, the hidden intel started to come up.

What he saw startled him. So much so, Birkoff turned pale. "Michael?"

"Yes, Birkoff?"

"Cassidy isn’t who we think she is."

Michael blinked. Davenport was in love with the woman. This was a complication he didn’t need.

"Who is she?"

"God, this is unbelievable. Even she doesn’t know who she really is."

Michael frowned. "She’s that important to Operations? Tell me more."

Birkoff turned his face away from the computer and cupped a hand over his mouth. "Damn."

"What is it?" Granted, it didn’t take much to scare Birkoff, but Michael suspected that whatever he’d found out, it was vital that Michael know all of it.

"She’s...related to someone."

"Who?" Michael’s eyes flashed. "George? Operations?"

"No, one of us."

When Birkoff faced Michael again, he had tears in his eyes. "She’s Declan’s twin sister."