Warning: Explicit sexual violence in the following installment. Readers sensitive to violence of a sexual nature - please do not read.


The guards dragged her into a basement room and tied her to a chair. The large abdomen, moustache man arrived and stood before her.
"You are English? American? Why are you here? This building is off-limits...why have you entered this building?"
Dana said nothing, trying desperately to gather her thoughts.
The man struck her face; blood trickled down her cheek.
"Speak! Western whore!"
He struck Dana repeatedly until she felt numb; her swollen eyes began to close.
"I.....I....I'm a journalist....I think I stumbled into the wrong building.....!"
"Yes a journalist and western agent! Where is your fellow agent....the man with the cold eyes!"
"What! I....I....don't know what you.....!"
"We know of you....where is the other agent and who are you working for!"
"Please! I don't know what you are talking about!"
"You would prefer to die! Talk! Where is the other agent!"
"No agent...I'm a journalist...you can see...look...my press identity card...I.....!"

The man grabbed Dana's hair and pulled her head back. "You will tell us...it is just a matter of time....which I do not have much of...save yourself...your fellow agent has abandoned you!"
"No...no....he....!"
"You are just his whore....a western agent whore! He cares nothing for you - you would die for him!"
"No, please....don't....!"
"He has you only to phuck! You are nothing to him!"
"Noooooooooooo.....!"
"So whore...you will not talk! Well, after my men are finished with you...you will talk then!

The large abdomen man motioned for the guards to untie Dana's hands and strip her clothing. She fought desperately as the men ripped her shirt and jeans away. They threw her onto the floor and two guards held her down while a third ripped off her bra and panties. She screamed, "Nooooooooooooo! Please, help! Michael!!!!!"

The large abdomen man shouted to the guards. "Stop! You call out Michael...who is this Michael - the agent who phucks you! Where is he and who does he work for!"
He stood over Dana's naked body. "Speak! Bitch!"

Dana squinted up at the man and spat at him. "Phuck you pig!"

With that the man kicked her in the stomach and she screamed out in pain. The man motioned to the guards to hold her and extend her legs. He unbuckled his pants and drew out his small penis. He bent down to enter her. Dana peered through her pain at the man, "Hey sh!t head, what you think you can do with that little thing!"

The small man rested his large abdomen on Dana and attempted to penetrate her. She could smell his foul breath as he tried to push his soft member into her. He looked up at the guards and pulled away.
"I have had her first...it is your turn now."

Dana struggled frantically, but the men held her pinned to the floor. One of the guards who had held one leg began unbuttoning his trousers. This time a much larger penis appeared - hard and engorged. Dana screamed, "Don't do this! Please - no!!"

The guard grinned and plunged into her; she cried out in pain. The other guards laughed and shouted in Arabic about who was next. The guard pumped into her repeatedly, exploding as he came. Another guard pushed the first away and pulled his member out. Dana scrambled to pull away and began crawling across the floor. The men pulled her back and threw her on her stomach. Then one guard placed her face down over his lap as the second guard stroked himself and plunged into her opening. Dana cried out again.
"Nooooooooooo....please....noooooooooo!"

After awhile, her body became like a rag doll - no longer able to fight them, each one inflicted as much sexual damage as possible. No part of her body was safe from their hate.

After all the guards had raped Dana, they threw her battered body in a corner. She could not move; blood seeped from her opening, her eyes were swollen and closed; blood oozed from her mouth.

The small man directed the guards to place her on the chair. Dana slumped over, unable to sit upright. A guard pulled her head back as the small man breathed into her face.
"So now....whore...where is the other agent!"
Dana felt herself slipping into unconsciousness; only the man's foul smelling breath kept her from passing out.
"Why are you willing to die for him? He cares nothing for you!"
Dana struggled to recall Michael's haunting words, '......don't love me....people who care for me get hurt - die...."

Meanwhile at the consultate building, Michael had noticed a lounge room opposite him. He slipped into the room and spotted coats and jackets hanging on a rack.

He quickly put on an overcoat and returned to the receptionist. Smiling, he leaned into the dark haired woman.
"I am late for the meeting and don't want to create a disturbance, is there another way into the boardroom I can take?"
The woman smiled, "Ahhh, yes sir...there is an adjoining room to your left - you can enter the boardroom from there."
"Thank you."
Michael reached over to the woman's neck and promptly rendered her unconscious. Discarding the coat, he darted into the adjoining room and peered around the doorway into the boardroom, spotting the Mujahideen leader, three Afghan terrorists from Al-Qaeda, Nikos Agilo, Stephan Meracles and six security guards. The Mujahideen leader was talking on a cell phone and then rang off.
"Gentlemen, our Libyrian colleague has been delayed - a journalist has been found in the building - we will wait for his arrival, then conduct our business."


Michael turned and pressed against the wall. 'Dana! What had happened!'

Just then Michael heard Stephan Meracles shouting, "This is all wrong! I told you about the agent and still you want to meet!"
The Mujahideen leader spoke, "Calm yourself. If the agent is coming here - we are prepared for him. He will not leave alive."
The leader pressed an intercom and six more security guards appeared running down the hallway.
Michael crouched behind a large wooden desk. 'If he was to eliminate his target, the C-4 was the only way.'

He pulled the explosive out and pressed in the detonator, setting the charge for 60 seconds. Just then he spotted Meracles and Agilo leaving the boardroom and racing down the hallway. Michael glanced back at the boardroom; the other men still remained seated as the auxiliary guards entered the room. Michael rolled the C-4 along the floor into the boardroom and darted away. He sprinted for the egress point and as he approached the exit, a loud explosion shook the building. The impact sent him sprawling onto the ground. He looked back at the building which remained intact except where the boardroom used to be. Michael ran for his car when suddenly he spotted Stephan Meracles crouching behind a cluster of overturned rubbish bins. He raced to Meracles as the man struggled to his feet. Michael jumped over a bin and kick-boxed Meracles to the ground; he pulled his revolver and aimed it at Meracle's head.

"Thought you had escaped? Sorry!"
"No! Don't shoot me - I'm a wealthy man - name your price!"
"No pay-off this time - the price you pay is this bullet - it's for Katerina, who you treated very badly."

Michael pulled the trigger and Meracles fell to the ground - dead. He looked around quickly, searching for Dr. Agilo - he was not to be seen. Michael ran back to his car and raced away from the site.
He punched in the number of Dana's cell phone; it rang, over and over.

Dana's cell was in her discarded jeans; it rang until one of the guards pulled the phone out. He pressed answer, "Yes...if you want your friend...well, she is...." He laughed.

Michael immediately signed off on his cell and pressed the accelerator of the Citroen. The car roared through the streets of Amman.
He cursed himself for allowing an innocent to undertake such a job as this.

Dana lay naked on the cold floor. The guards had tired of repeatedly raping her and stood around smoking. The small man had left the room and was reporting to his superiors.
"The woman has refused to divulge any information about him. We do not know his name, where he is or who he works for."
The grey-haired man walked slowly to the small man. "Imbecile - you let a woman defeat you - how many men have taken her! You disgust me!"
"She will not talk."
"Use other means - electric shock!"
"Very well...but she is...ah, strong. She will not talk."
"Now! Electric shock! Go!"

The small man returned to the basement room and ordered Dana tied to the chair again. She slumped over, half conscious. A guard in a lab coat entered with electric shock equipment. He took a hose and sprayed Dana with water, then hooked up the machine. It hummed with electrical current as he walked up to her. The small man bent over Dana's limp body; grabbed her face and shouted.
"You will die in this room! Tell me where the agent is and who he works for. Why die for him! Tell us who he is and you will live. If you think he will save you, you are mistaken!"

The guard who had answered Dana's cell looked worriedly at the other guards. They said noting of the phone ringing and the guard had tucked it in his jacket.
Dana fought to pull her mind back to the present. When the repeated rapes and beatings had got bad, she had put her mind in another place. They could destroy her body, but they did not possess her mind. Michael would come and save her.

The small man motioned for the electric shock to be place on Dana's head. Her body jolted with the current; she did not cry out; she felt no pain now. She felt herself drifting away - leaving the room - floating into the air.

The small man grabbed her head and slapped her face. "You idiot! You have killed her! The current was too great!"

The guards stood around; some moved to the other side of the room. The small man felt for a pulse - there was none. He directed a guard to untie her hands and roll her body in a blanket.

Michael parked the Citroen on a side street and raced to the white building.
He clutched his automatic weapon and fought to contain himself. As he approached the entrance way he had used the day before, he spotted two men carrying something wrapped in a blanket. He ducked behind a landscape tile and watched. The men placed the contents of the blanket in the back of a covered truck but not before Michael spotted an arm protruding from the blanket. And as one of the men pushed the package further into the truck, the blanket pulled away to disclose Dana's naked body.
Michael gasped in horror. He knew she was dead - he was too late. He felt bile rise in his throat; he fought the urge to shoot the men before him; he fought the urge to enter the building and kill every person who appeared before him.

Michael crouched down, breathing deeply. He had no explosives to destroy the viruses on site; the contents would have spread over the city and killed innocent victims - more innocents he had allowed to be killed.

The men jumped into the truck and began pulling away. Michael raced back to his car and followed the truck to the outskirts of the city. The truck pulled into a treed area next to a river. Michael parked his vehicle behind some rocks and darted to the truck in time to see the men pulling Dana's body out and dragging her to the fast flowing river. The men tossed her body down the bank into the water as Michael ran up to them, his weapon spraying the men with bullets. Their bodies fell over the bank into the river. He bolted to the river and scanned the water for any sign of Dana's body - there was none - the water had taken her away.
Michael ran along the bank, hoping for any sign of her - she was gone.

He stood watching the water and feel to his knees - crying.
"No...why...why have I allowed another innocent to be killed! First McTavish and now - Dana! Why could I not protect them!!"

Michael drove back to the hotel and packed up everything. He loaded the computers and both his and Dana's luggage into the trunk of the Citroen when a Peugeot pulled up, parked and a man quickly raced into the hotel.
Michael immediately recognized Dr. Nikos Agilo; he slipped into the hotel and followed Agilo to his room. As the doctor was inserting the keycard into the door, Michael walked up behind him and pushed the man into his room. Michael pointed his revolver at Agilo, who stood shaking.
"No! No - don't shoot me! I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

"Thank you," replied Michael. "When is the virus shipment leaving and what is the destination?"
"Please...don't hurt me! Please....!"
"I'm waiting for your answer."
"The viruses are being shipped tomorrow morning by plane, over Syrian airspace. The destination is northern Afghanistan to the Al Qaeda. Please don't hurt me.....!"
"What airfied are they landing at in Afghanistan?"
"In the north...ah, I think...Daulat Yar...a small airstrip."
"Why were they not shipped today?"
"What! I....well...there was a journalist...she...the schedule was changed!"
"Departure time tomorrow?"
"I....I...let me think....ah....!"
Michael pointed the gun at Agilos' head.

"No! No....a....a...truck will take them through Amman tomorrow to a discreet, secure airstrip. Noon tomorrow the truck leaves! They the plane flys directly to Afghanistan!"
Michael stared at Agilo. "You have told me everything...truthfully?"
"Yes...of course, now you don't have to kill me, right...you got the information you need! I've been honest with you!"
"And the name of the locale in Afghanistan?"
"I told you the name...Daulat Yar - in the north!"
"Just checking your accuracy."
"Oh, huh...yes...good...I have told you everything. So now you can leave....!"
"You didn't offer to buy me off," leered Michael.
"What! No...you are an agent for some government, right! You chaps can't always be bought off!"
"No. But you must pay the price - the price of a bullet - for a woman who died bravely today."
"What the hell! I had nothing to do with that journalist's death! It's these Arabs! They don't care for anything....!"
"An eye for an eye - you die."

Michael pulled the trigger of his revolver, the silencer muffling the sound. Agilo's body crashed to the floor, blood seeping from his head. Michael quickly surveyed the room and slipped out the door. He darted down the stairwell and returned to his car. Clutching the steering wheel, he gunned the vehicle and headed into the night.

A week had passed as Nikita sat at the computer in Helmet's main office. She worked away, compiling possible scenarios of action in her search for Michael. Helmet paced up and down the room.
"Please reconsider this....this...utter insanity you are undertaking, Nikita! To race off to heaven knows where in the middle east....leaving your two children...this is total madness!"
Nikita said nothing; she continued inputting information into the computer and waiting for the replies.
"Nikita! Are you listening to me!" shouted Helmet.
"No - I'm not listening anymore. I spoke with Dr. Leslie earlier and he will see me in two days and advise about the mission Michael is on."

"Leslie may know what the mission is but he knows nothing of where Michael is or what he is doing - remember - dark approach and mandatory refusal - you do remember what those terms mean, don't you Nikita!"
"Yes I do, Helmet."
"And asking Dr. Meracles to look after the babies - what are you thinking....I mean, not that she isn't capable...it's just unfair to ask the woman to do this...just because they are Michael's children!"

"Helmet...calm down. I've made my mind up and I'm going. I talked to the doctor about feeding the babies and he has advised me what to do."
"Well, at least let me come with you...to help."
"Thanks - but no...I'm doing this myself."
"Why? And what makes you think you will succeed this time. Look at the first mission to find Michael - you discovered nothing and made yourself ill."
"I was pregnant." She looked up and grinned. "Twice pregnant - this time I will be better focused without all those hormones running amuck."
"Hormones! That's what this is about - hormones."
"What do you mean?"
"You...you want....you are not satisfied living here with me...I mean physically...you need to be satisfied sexually - right....is that what this is all about?"

Nikita got up, went to Helmet and put her arms around him. She whispered, "Helmet - this has nothing to do with you or sex hormones. I've told you how I love Michael. He is the father of my children...and we deserve to be together and...will be together. You have been the most wonderful, caring and generous man I have ever known. I will never be able to thank you for what you have done for me and the children. You are so special to me."

Helmet stared intently at Nikita. "Not special enough. I try not to love you, Nikita.....I'm sorry, I always will."
"You know the reason I don't want you to accompany me on this mission? Well, if...if, something was to happen to me...I want you to bring up my children. I've already signed the necessary documents. The children will be yours, Helmet. You've told me many times how you love them like they are your own."
"I look at your babies and see you Nikita."

Nikita kissed Helmet. "I am so sorry I cannot be there for you...what you want."

Helmet walked to the window. "You will travel to Rhodes in two days? Very well, you best travel in the jet. I'll have the pilot and crew ready. I trust you have discussed your equipment needs with Walter."
"Walter is pissed at me...like you. But I need both of you to be strong - for me."

Tears welled up in Helmet's eyes as he turned and walked towards the office door.
"I'll check with Walter - make sure you have everything you need."
Helmet left the room. Nikita returned to the computer and sat staring at the screen.
'Was this insanity? Leaving two tiny babies, motherless. Chasing a phantom across the middle east.'

She knew Michael would be almost impossible to trace if he was on mandatory refusal. But she felt deep in her soul...she could find him.
Nikita closed her eyes and Michael's face drifted before her.
He was reaching out to her. His hands were caressing her cheeks, her breasts, her abdomen and then she felt him touch her lower. She moaned and twisted on the chair.

Her eyes shot open, while she shook her head.

'Helmet was correct - she so desperately wanted to feel Michael again; feel his body taking her to incredible heights of passion. Passion so intense she would almost lose consciousness.
Nikita rose, walked to the patio door and strolled outside. She sipped on a bottle of spring water and smiled to herself as she visualized their meeting - Michael would be furious that he had been found. Such a perfectionist...always executing the job perfectly. But then they would be together again - making love....

Nikita took a long sip from the bottle, then grinned to herself.
'Poor baby...he had not been with a woman since making love to Katerina on Mykonos and that was months ago. He would indeed be ready to expend his pent-up sexual energies. Michael was a sexual animal...his needs always great.'

Nikita sat the bottle of water on a table and smiled.
'Well, Kita....if you want to get laid, you better stop this daydreaming and prepare for the journey.'

She returned to the office and continued inputting information searches into the computer. Nikita arrived on Rhodes two days later.
Saying goodbye to Walter, Helmet and Katerina had been very difficult. But saying goodbye to her two babies had been the worst. She had almost changed her mind. Both children had cried repeatedly, sensing something was wrong.
She had spend her last hour before departure, alone with the babies; nursing them, hugging and kissing them. She had wept and sang to them; whispering gently, the reason for her leaving: 'I will find your daddy and then we can all be together.'

Nikita had opted to take a helicopter to Rhodes from the mainland.
After landing, as she drove to Dr. Leslie's villa, she recalled how different her last visit had been. Helmet had expected them to become a couple; she had felt miserable - from deceiving him, the pregnancy and wanting Michael.

As she drove into the driveway, Dr. Leslie and two men stood waiting for her. Leslie walked quickly to the car and as she exited, he wrapped his arms around her, giving her a tight hug. Nikita kissed him on both cheeks and smiled.
"Thank you so much for seeing me."
"I've been looking forward to this. You look beautiful as ever." He turned and directed the two men to unload her luggage.
"My resources and intel are yours...anything I can do to help you find Michael."
Nikita squeezed Dr. Leslie's hand. "Thank you....but I....I'm so sorry about McTavish. I understand he was your nephew and you were very close."

Leslie looked ahead as he led Nikita through the villa and into a lounge. "Yes, he was like a son, really. Well, I felt that way...don't know if he did....but...."
Dr. Leslie ushered Nikita to a chair. "Would you like some refreshments - a drink?"
"Nothing thank you."
Nikita could see the pain on Dr. Leslie's face as he struggled to fight back tears.
"I am sure he felt the same towards you," said Nikita.

"Ahhh....I don't know...he was more interested in fast cars and the ladies, I'm afraid. I was hoping he would learn to be a good operative, being with Michael Samuelle. The encrypted email only stated that he died bravely, performing on the mission."
"No information on how he died?"
"Nothing. I only hope he didn't suffer."
Nikita looked away. 'Michael hadn't been able to protect the young man...the fact he had died on Michael's watch....he would be desperate to complete the mission - to avenge the young man's death. She knew Michael - he would not hesitate to kill all those involved.'
Dr. Leslie picked up a phone. "John, would you please bring that newspaper and file I left on my desk. Thank you."
"I have some new information that could prove useful."
A tall, thin man in his forties walked into the lounge and handed Leslie what he had asked for. He turned to Nikita.
"May I get you something - a drink or something to eat?"
"Thank you, maybe a bottle of water," she smiled.

The man returned shortly with two chilled mineral waters and glasses. He placed them before Nikita and Dr.Leslie.
Leslie opened a manila folder and pulled out a copy of the Guardian newspaper.
"This story appeared yesterday in the London Guardian, written by a journalist....a...ah....Dana Delancourt. What she describes has the signs of the mission Michael and Stewart were on. Now how she obtained the information - who can say. The story was sent to the newspaper on a time delay."

"A time delay?" queried Nikita.
"Yes, she apparently wrote it a week or who knows how long ago. Sent it to her newspaper on an encrypted, time delay. The newspaper could only access the story on a specific date - yesterday. But as I explained when we spoke earlier - the mission to trace bio-chemical weapons from here in Greece to the middle east, was the mission Michael and Stewart were undertaking."
"This reporter, ah, Delancourt...how could she access that sort of intel?"
"Good question. I am sure Michael Samuelle would never divulge anything. However, if Stewart got himself entangled with a woman....well, he was not trained properly as an operative to....how should I say it...keep his pecker in his pants."

Nikita smiled. "You think this lady reporter seduced him?"
"Only explanation I can think of."

Nikita thought to herself, 'Oh, oh, that would really make Michael mad.' She looked intently at Dr. Leslie.
"So if we....or I...can get in touch with this journalist, perhaps I can obtain information where she last saw Michael."

Leslie handed the newspaper to Nikita. "The paper states they cannot contact her. They are having the Canadian Embassey attempt to find her."
"Canadian Embassy?"
"Yes, she is Canadian, working for the British newspaper. Apparently, an excellent investigative journalist; won many awards for stories she had published."

"You think she is traveling with....with Michael?"
"I doubt it. You know the man better than I do but if he's on mandatory refusal, he's not likely to involve an innocent."

Nikita looked at the photograph of Dana above her story. "She is a good looking woman. Hummm, beauty and brains."
"Yes, she is attractive. But I have further information that came into our hands last night."

Leslie handed Nikita a file, containing two photographs and biographies - one on Dr. Nikos Agilo and the other on Stephan Meracles.
"Both of these men were found dead in Amman Jordan - shot through the head."

Nikita inhaled in shock. "Stephan Meracles...is he...related to Katerina Meracles?"
"Yes, her ex-husband. He ran the family shipping business from Thessaloniki here in Greece. The other man, Dr. Agilo also had a connection with Katerina Meracles. She worked with him at the hospital in Salonikia. Agilo was actually Syrian by birth, but lived and worked here in Greece."
"I think I met this Agilo on a flight to Madrid. I'm sure it's the same man. I told Helmet about him - he bragged alot and mentioned the Basque separatists. Helmet could find nothing on him. And Katerina is on Ibiza with Helmet and my children. She told me about her ex-husband. She hadn't seen him for years - he treated her very badly - abused her, physically and mentally."
"He was known to be a womanizer and high-roller. Well...no more."

Nikita rose and walked to a large window overlooking the sea.

"Do you think the two men are connected - involved in something?"
"I may be reaching here - but my guess would be bio-chemical weapons."
"Katerina worked with Agilo - she has quit her postion but...."
"Don't worry Nikita, I am sure Katerina Meracles has nothing to do with the weapons. She spoke to me over a month ago about leaving her position. She told me about Agilo never being on hand and acting suspicious when he was at the hospital. The stress of her job and her affair with....ah...."
"Michael - yes, I know about that. We have talked."
"You are very gracious to allow her to see and remain with your children, Michael's children."
"I have great respect for her, we have become very close."

Nikita stood in front of Dr. Leslie. "Do you think Michael shot those two men? You stated you thought they were involved with the bio-chemcial weapons."
"Nikos Agilo was indited for illegal manufacture of virus strains five years ago. His case was dismissed due to lack of evidence. He had expensive tastes which being a medical doctor couldn't support. Stephan Meracles, he would do anything for money and excitement. As for Michael Samuelle killing them - you tell me Nikita. He is certainly capable; would he kill them in cold blood - I don't know."

Nikita returned to her chair and took a long drink of water.
"Yes, Dr. Leslie, he would kill them in cold blood."
"As I thought, my dear. But you must want to freshen up. I'll have John show you your room and we'll have a light dinner in an hour - how does that sound?"
"Wonderful. And thank you again for helping me."
"No problem - only one thing though."
"What's that?"
"Please call me Ian, Dr. Leslie sounds too formal."
Nikita smiled, "Okay - Ian."

Leslie escorted Nikita from the room and gave John instructions to show her to her room.

The next morning, Nikita sat with Dr. Leslie on the patio overlooking the sea. She sipped her coffee, then looked up at Leslie.
"Dr. Leslie...or, Ian...I am so sorry about McTavish. I was trying to think about how he might have died. I'm sure he didn't die in vain and he must have been attempting to further completion of the mission."
"Perhaps...I may never know unless Michael Samuelle reports back. I must admit to knowing very little of the protocol of Section One or Center. Remaining on dark approach and finalizing a mission on mandatory refusal is indeed a puzzling concept to me."
"Section and Center have their own means of obtaining results."
"By forcing their agents on compulsive, suicidal missions? I don't understand."

"I think MIchael is trying to keep your operation under deep cover by not communicating directly with you."
"Well, it's true I in no way have the resources of Section. I'm sure they were having to improvise many times on this mission."
"Ian...ah...may I ask you a difficult question....and if you feel it inappropriate to respond, I'll understand."
"Ask away."
"Who hired your agency to perform this particular mission?"

Leslie smiled and rose, walking to the other side of the patio.
"My dear, you know I can't answer that question."

"Sorry, can't blame a girl for trying," laughed Nikita.
"Michael Samuelle does not know either...he may not have accepted the mission if he had."
"Ohhhhh...the plot thickens," quipped Nikita.

So, Nikita...where are you going to start your search - in Syria?" questioned Leslie.
"Yes, I'll fly to Damascus - the last destination you had for Michael and McTavish."
You will have a difficult task ahead of you....your Michael will not leave any trace of where he has been."
"I know but I'm hoping for a little extra help."
"From whom?"

"My father, the head of Center."
"Yes, I recall Helmet telling me who your father is. He must be delighted being a grandfather...has he seen the children yet?"
"No....I.....ah, haven't exactly invited him."
"I see. Well maybe the children will bring you closer to your father."
"I doubt it. I informed him I was coming here and then heading to the middle east. I expect him to contact me when I reach Syria. (she paused, feeling uncomfortable speaking about her father.) Ah...I wonder if I might use some of your facilities? I would like to contact the Guardian newspaper in London....try to find out more about the reporter who filed that time delay story and where she is staying. I think she is the key to where Michael is traveling to now. How and why she filed that story - which is obviously relating to the mission Michael is on - well....she is a key."
"By all means, use any of my facilities. John will assist you."


"Thank you. I'll leave tomorrow for Syria. I'm fortunate to have Helmet's jet at my disposal so I don't have to bother with commercial flights."
"Yes, Helmet's business is somewhat more prosperous than mine - he can afford the private jets." He laughed.
Just then, Leslie's assistant brought out a cordless telephone to the patio.
"There is a call for Nikita Jones. Would you care to take it here madam or inside?"

Leslie walked over to Nikita, "Take it out her my dear, I'll set things up with John for you."
He directed the assistant to hand her the phone and the two men entered the villa.

Hello. Oh, it's you. No...I thought it might be Helmet. I wasn't expecting to hear from you until I reached Syria. I know....but I'm not going to sit here and argue with you. I fully understand what it means to leave my children in the care of someone else. You of all people should understand what that means!"

Nikita listened to the man on the other end of the phone.

"Father! Please just listen for once! I'm doing this, with or without your help. If you want me to bring up my children without a father, then don't help me find Michael. And if you want to ever see your grandchildren, then help me! This may sound like blackmail and that's exactly what I intend it to be. You owe me! You stole my life my making me live in Section, now I want some payback!"

Tears welled up in Nikita's eyes.
"Fine.....thank you. What I need is a back trace on the last encrypted email Michael sent to Leslie from Syria. I'll have it sent immediately and you can get back to me with the specific location from where it was sent. No, he's only sent two encrypted messages since arriving in Syria. I have a new lead regarding a story that appeared in the Guardian in London. A reporter was following a bio-chemical weapons story.....obviously the same mission Michael is on. She seems to have disappeared and her embassy is attempting to locate her......no, father....I don't know how she found out about the story or if it's even connected with Michael's mission! Why do you say that! Why would she be traveling with Michael? Yes, I know he thinks I've been killed....how and why he came to believe that is still a mystery. Unless, of course, you know something!..........alright.....sorry. I'm sorry....but I have no reason to believe Michael and the reporter are together. Look, I'm going to have Leslie send you the encrypted messages and if you could get back to me today....I'm flying to Syria tomorrow morning. Fine...thank you. Talk to you later."

Nikita clicked off the telephone and placed it on a deck table. She walked to the edge of the patio and stared out at the sea.

'Michael.....I'm not dead! Please don't let anything happen to you before I find you! If you are with another woman...that's okay....I understand.....I love you....I'm coming....I will find you!'

That evening, Dr. Leslie and Nikita sat eating dinner when John brought a videophone to the table, placing it before Nikita.
"Madam, there is a call for you."
"Thank you, John."
She looked at the screen and put on the headset as Leslie got up from the table and made motions to leave the room. Nikita waved him back to his seat.

"Yes, Father....no we were just finishing dinner. No, that's fine. What did you find out? Two different internet cafes...but why would he be using public computers? The Mujahideen....so they could be involved? Yes, Dr. Leslie told me of the warehouse bombing...no doubt it was Michael and McTavish. Dr. Leslie has come up with intel on a Dr. Nikos Agilo and Stephan Meracles....could you run a back trace to determine possible association with the virus shipments? Contact me on my cell in Damascus as I leave tomorrow morning. No, I have Helmet Volker's jet at my disposal. Is that everything? Thank you...I will expect your call in Damascus. What? Yes, I'm fine...I feel fine. Oh, and thank you. Goodbye."

Nikita clicked off the videophone and smiled at Leslie. "My father is trying to trace the encrypted emails Michael sent but I'm afraid they were sent from public internet connections so no way of tracing the IP address if Michael doesn't use his computer online."
"It is good your father is trying to assist you."

Nikita laughed, "Well, I blackmailed him. Told him he couldn't see his grandchildren if he didn't help me."
"He must care for you, Nikita."
"I don't know. My story is a long, complicated one as far as my father is concerned. In short, he never wanted Michael and I to be together...my father has plans for me to work in Center....be his....ah, successor or something."
"Well, that is a lofty goal....you should be pleased he wants you for that postion."
"I don't want it. Working in this business is the last thing I want in life."
"Having children would certainly put a different light on things."
"Yes. The only thing I want is to be with Michael and have the two of us raise our children, free from Section, Center and my father."
"Leaving your children must be very hard."
"The worst....I almost changed my mind looking at them before I left. I talked to Katerina and Helmet last night. The babies are good...feeding well and...crying alot."
"They miss you."
"Yes....I....would you excuse me. I feel like going for a run and maybe a swim...you see I'm trying to get in shape again."
"Certainly - you didn't eat very much...was the food not to your liking?"
"No. It was wonderful...I just am not that hungry. Thanks."

Nikita got up and returned to her room. She changed into jogging shorts and tank top. She started up the hill from the villa, walking, then slowly jogging. She attempted to force the guilt of leaving her children from her mind. As she increased her pace, she thought, 'If you have found someone else, Michael....well...why am I starting this search....I only want to...want you to know you have two wonderful children.'
Nikita increased her pace up the hill, sweat beading on her body.

Shortly after Nikita left, Dr. Leslie's assistant entered his
office, where the doctor sat reading and smoking a cigar.
"Sir, a delta call has arrived. Would you like to take it here or in comm?"
"Here will be fine."
Leslie picked up a phone connected to a video display. "Yes."

The head of Center, Mr. Jones', image appeared on the screen.

"Mr. Jones, we speak again. No, she has gone for a run. But I must say how distasteful this is having to deceive her. Your daughter is very intelligent in addition to being beautiful. I would prefer if I could be completely honest with her."

Mr. Jones' image showed him shaking his head. "No Leslie, when I hired you for the Rijeka mission in addition to the first small mission regarding money laundering, I expected your complete confidentiality."
"Yes, but now I can't help but feel you had an ulterior motive...namely Michael Samuelle. When you hired me for the money laundering mission and I informed you of Mr. Samuelle's presence on Rhodes, suddenly the virus mission is offered me!"
"The Rijeka virus mission required an operative with high qualifications...your other staff do not possess."
"Is that the only reason?"
"Why are you questioning my motives? Dr. Leslie you are a businessman...in the business of anti-terrorism. When I heard you hired Michael Samuelle, that he was not dead and had re-surfaced, I offered you the mission because I knew he could perform and execute the endgame."

"Mr. Jones, I feel you wanted Michael Samuelle in order to keep him away from your daughter. You knew the mission was highly dangerous and that Michael might be killed....then your problem would be solved!"
"My problem?"
"Your daughter loves this man...she will travel to the ends of the earth to find him and....she has given birth to his children...your grandchildren...how can you still want him dead?"
"Leslie - this conversation is at an end. I am attempting to assist Nikita in locating Mr. Samuelle. Whether she finds him is another thing. She will return like the first attempt to locate him - with nothing....then she will eventually realize what her roll is - to run Center."
"She has children! Surely, you understand that makes everything different!"
"Leslie - I understand you lost your nephew - I am sorry for your loss but my daughter and I are different - we have been placed on this earth to serve a higher being."
"A higher being! What! You mean God!"
"No...not God. But it is our destiny. You could not understand. I will expect you to maintain your confidence about my association with this mission...after all, you are a businessman and expect to be paid."
"Jones...look...what difference is there...you said you were helping her."
"I appear to be helping. My assistance will only be peripheral...then it will end. Nikita cannot possibly find Michael Samuelle by herself."
"Mr. Jones, perhaps, you under estimate your own daughter."

The next morning Nikita hugged Dr. Leslie. "Thank you again for your help."
Leslie looked away and swallowed. "I only wish I could assist you more. You going off by yourself doing this.....well...you are a very brave lady."

"I'm driven," she laughed. "I'll call you when I reach Damascus and keep you posted on what I find."
"Please let me know daily - where you are and what you find out."

Leslie clung to Nikita's hand; she looked down and smiled. "I'll try...thanks again."
"Be safe...and take care of yourself...after all, you have two little ones waiting for you."

Nikita started to pull her hand away, but Dr. Leslie hung on to it.
"I'll be okay....trust me...Ian...I'll be fine."

He released Nikita's hand and she slipped behind the wheel of her rented car. As the vehicle disappeared down the driveway, Leslie thought to himself, 'Oh my dear....God be with you....you have no idea what lies ahead of you.'

Nikita arrived and settled into her room in Damascus. She proceeded to set up her computer and put her things away. As she walked to the window, the hotel phone rang.
"Hello. Yes...Mr. James, thank you for returning my call. I am at the Meridian...yes, we could meet in the bar...at seven pm. (she smiled) I'm the blonde...not too many of them in Damascus. Good see you then."

Nikita sat at a corner table in the Meridian Hotel bar. Two different Syrian men had approached her asking if they could buy her a drink. She had replied her husband, a professional boxer, was joining her shortly; the men had quickly departed. At ten minutes after seven, a dark, long haired man in his mid-thirties, with spectacles stood at the bar entrance. He scanned the room and spotted Nikita, then quickly made his way over to her.
"Hello. Are you Nikita Jones?"

Nikita extended her hand. "Yes, and you are Hamish James from the Guardian?"
"Yes, how do you do. Sorry I'm a bit late. Damascus taxis are a tad different from London ones...I mean dealing with them."
"The middle east is indeed a different world," smiled Nikita.
"You have been in Syria before?" questioned James.
"No I haven't...Afghanistan but no where else in the middle east."
"Well, a beautiful woman like you must have to watch out for herself," blushed James, obviously taken with Nikita's beauty.
"I've learned how to handle myself."
"Yes...indeed," he smiled. "So I was talking to the Canadian Embassy about trying to locate Dana Delancourt. So far, no luck...she seems to have vanished. Her hotel room had been stripped of her clothes and luggage - no trace."
"What do you think...is she in hiding?"
"Hummmm....I doubt that. Not like her. Especially when her story appeared a few days ago on the encrypted time delay."
"Is that form common for filing stories?"
"Not really...but someone like Dana...well....she is different...likes the dramatic. She could be anywhere still chasing down further information about the same story."

"You said, when we talked a day ago, she last talked to you in London about travelling to Palmyra...that's a tourist historic site, correct?"
"Yes...mentioned she was meeting friends there. But look, if you are trying to find this man...what did you say...your brother? Well, she could be with him. Maybe he's helping her."

At that moment, James' cell phone rang. "Yes, Hamish James here. What....yes..of course. At the Embassy...you want me to....I guess...certainly."
He closed his cell phone. "Oh my God! The Embassy says a body was found in a river in Amman Jordan...they think it might be Dana! I have to fly there and identify the remains!"
"Amman...that's where....when are you leaving?"
"I guess...well, soon as I can get a plane...."
"May I come with you...there might be a lead on my brother."
"Certainly...let me call the airlines...see if I can get us tickets.
The next day, Nikita and Hamish James flew to Amman Jordan and entered the Canadian Embassy. After introductions and verifications of who they were, a embassy personnel took them to a make-shift morgue. Hamish James identified Dana's body and quickly rushed from the room.
Nikita stood looking at the ashen face of the woman.
'You have met a very tragic death....what were you doing to bring this about? Were you with Michael?', she whispered to herself.
Nikita joined James outside and the two were lead to the ambassador's office.
"Mr. James, I am sorry to bring you here like this but we needed verification that this was Ms. Delancourt."
"Yes...it's just a shock...seeing her like that! She was such a vibrant person...so alive...a wonderful person. The best investigative journalist the Guardian had...she left Newsweek chasing down a story...that was her specialty...stories with international intrigue. She won so many journalism awards...she was amazing!"

Nikita watched James closely. The ambassador motioned to an assistant to re-fill their coffee cups.
"Did you know her personally, Mr. James?"
"Personally? You mean...were her and I....involved?"
"Well no...that's not our business...we will attempt to locate next of kin."
"She was a woman of the world...loved life. And I'm sorry to say, no I was not involved with her...not that I didn't try...I wasn't her type, I guess.....she preferred men who were dangerous."
"Dangerous?" queried the ambassador.
"Men who lived dangerous lives....definitely not me."
Nikita looked away, staring at a large landscape painting of Canadian mountains - a storm brewed over the mountains. 'I know of such a dangerous man...', she thought to herself.

The ambassador broke into Nikita's thoughts.
"We have used our own intelligence operatives on this case..the Jordanian government prefers to remain uninvolved. We have located a building where we think Ms. Delancourt was held captive and tortured. This is the address. I am informing you of this because sometimes the media can expose more information than diplomatic means can. Feel free to investigate. The building is deserted now but we discovered electrical devices used in torture."
"What! You are saying she was tortured! Why! Surely not for her story!"
"Mr. James....this is the middle east...one must look twice at all pictures...then look again...all is not what it seems. I trust you will keep us advised of your findings."
"What! You expect me to find out what happened to her?"
"No - but I'm sure you will be writing a story about her death - correct? Just keep us attuned to your findings."

Nikita started to get up, "Thank you for your information. I am sure Mr. James will keep in touch."
She pulled on Hamish James' arm and he rose, dazed. "Yeh, yes....sure...in touch."
Nikita and James left the embassy and walked out into the daylight.
"Can you believe that - she was tortured!", exclaimed James.
"Do you have the address of the building...we should go and check it out."
"What! You want to do that? Well, okay...here...sorry...this is all a little overwhelming for me. I'm a news editor used to sitting in an office in London."
Nikita hailed a taxi and slid into the backseat, next to James. They were heading for the white building - the building where Dana had met her death.

Michael had driven immediately to the Amman international airport. The only flight he could obtain was to Tehran, Iran, from there he had connected on a junket flight to Kawalpindi, Pakistan. Entry into Afghanistan from Pakistan would prove easy but first he must obtain a four wheel drive and attempt to contact an underground arms dealer for a missile to destroy the virus shipment in northern Afghanistan.

He sat in his stifling hotel room, working on his computer.
He pulled his sweat soaked shirt over his head and reached for a bottle of warm water. The temperature in the mountains of Afghanistan would offer relief to this suffocating heat as the fall equinox and approaching winter would soon be here.
As Michael punched in codes to obtain intel on illegal arms dealers, a name suddenly appeared before him - he recognized the name as an undercover Section operative. The man had been in deep cover for over seven years for Section but had not been utilized on any missions for over five.
Michael connected his comm set to his computer and typed in the special codes for communicating with the man. Although Michael had never met Cole Davenport, he had heard of him. His intel had proved valuable in the early days of fighting the Taliban in Afghanistan. Michael stared at the final communique directed at Davenport - the man could be anywhere in the middle east and time was of the most importance.
Michael had calculated that the virus shipments must have arrived in Daulat Yar already. He must act quickly before they were dispersed to their prospective buyers. He had contemplated travelling immediately to the site but without any means to destroy the shipments, had abandoned the plan.
Michael typed the last coded message to Davenport; he would have to wait for a reply. In the meantime, he would make arrangements for the four wheel drive and supplies to travel into the mountains. He grabbed a clean t-shirt and set the anti-bugging device on alert in his room. Once outside, the intense heat bore into his body.

He walked towards a market square, dodging the throng of people who crowded into the market. He purchased some fruit and made his way to a water fountain where he sat eating the fruit and watching children jumping into the refreshing water. The squeals of delight from the children, as they dove into the water, brought back memories of his time with Adam. They had taken Adam to a sandy beach; it was a hot summer and Elena had suggested a picnic. Michael recalled trying to show Adam how to swim but the small boy was frightened of the waves and ran crying to his mother. Michael had walked up to the child as he clung to his mother; Elena shaking her head, 'He is too young Michael....when he is older, teach him to swim then.'

Michael watched the children jumping into the fountain. 'Adam would be old enough now....wherever he was.' He had surprised himself how he had taken to fatherhood; he relished every moment with his son - all too brief. And if Nikita had lived, their child would be a few months old now....had the child been a boy or girl?
'Oh, my God Nikita! Why did you die! And with our child!'

Michael shook himself and rose, making his way back through the marketplace. As he maneuvered through the crowd, a young man on a bicycle lost control and crashed into a stand of vegetables - the produce flew everywhere. The stall operator yelled at the young man, flinging cabbages at him. Michael attempted to help pick up the produce but the stall operator yelled not to touch anything.
Michael stepped away and suddenly the memory of the bombing in the marketplace in Afghanistan came rushing back.
He had been with Nikita...she had been killed; he had suffered a concussion and gone wandering in the mountains. But...why had he not tried to find her remains? Had her father buried her? He recalled Dana asking these same questions but the memories were so distorted. He vowed to return to the same marketplace in Afghanistan and trace what had happened. Nikita's father would want her remains to be taken care of. After the mission, he would contact her father and ask where she was buried. Center and Section would not have left her behind - dead. They always wanted missions tidied up. Why could he not remember more?

Michael returned to his hotel and enquired where he could rent a four wheel drive. After making arrangements for the vehicle to be picked up Jallalabad, he went out again and stocked up on supplies for his trip into Afghanistan.
The next morning, Michael lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
'When would this mission end....two people had died; he had not protected them. Such a waste of life; their lives meant more than his and yet he was still alive - why? And when he completed the mission - what then?'

He sat up and reached into a leather case:

A picture of a playful Nikita smiled back at him. Every time he looked at this photo, he could smell her skin, her hair, feel her body with his. He closed his eyes as his mind floated with the memory of Nikita. He felt himself grow hard as he recalled her loving him.

The pain in his groin increased as he got up from the bed and walked naked to the bathroom. Michael stood looking at his face in the mirror - all the women he had been with since Nikita's death had not helped at driving her apparition away. He had been ashamed at visualizing Nikita as he lay in the arms of these women; thrusting into their bodies; attempting to release his life force. But sexual release had only temporarily obliterated the haunting face of Nikita.
Michael reached into the shower and turned on the water. He stood as the cold liquid poured over him; he bowed his head: 'Nikita....I can't live without you - I have no reason to keep living...when this mission is over....I too will die.....'

Michael walked from the shower and sat before his computer. He called up the codes he had sent to Cole Davenport: a reply scrolled across the screen. Davenport was in Pakistan and would meet him that evening in Kawalpindi.
As the hours ticked away before Michael would meet Davenport, he downloaded map co-ordinates for the central highlands of Afghanistan.
The huge Hindu Kush moutains formed a barrier between the northern area and the rest of the country. The trek into the mountains to locate the site of the virus shipments would not be easy. Many small airports dotted the country and no doubt one of them had been the destination of the plane flying with the virus shipments from Jordan.

The village of Daulat Yar was tucked into the folds of the towering mountains. The area had far more vegetation in the form of meadow-steppes than the area he had hidden out with the rebels. That area of the southern plateau had been barren and dry.

Michael had not left his room all day and realized now how hungry he was. After dressing, he left his hotel and located a small cafe. He sat eating a curry, washing it down with a beer, when he looked up to see a man with worn jeans and leather jacket approaching him. The man had a shaved head and wore dark glasses. It was Cole Davenport.
"Well, mately, you are too easy to find - wanting to get blown away or something?" he laughed.

Michael motioned for him to be seated. "How did you know I was here?"
"Chrissake man, I've been waiting all day for you to leave your bloody room! And in this sh!t-hole of a town - you have a woman up there with you?"
"No."
"I just about crapped when I got your Section communique. I thought they had forgot all about me...not that I mind...I have a few other irons in the fire, so to speak. Good little money makers...had to do something waiting for Section to give me a mission."

"I don't care about Section - I don't work for them," replied Michael.
"Wooooooooow....okay then! So, now I'll put on my other hat - namely my main business - supplier of all types of weapons. This country is amazing - I can get my hands on anything and sell it to whoever wants it! What are your needs?"
"You are not going to ask me why I want the items?"
"I don't give a sh!t! I trust you have american dollars or british pounds....I don't take visa or mastercard." He laughed loudly.
Michael looked around the near empty cafe, took out a piece of paper and scribbled three words and pushed it towards Davenport.
Three Stinger Missiles

"No problem - what gauge?"
"Portable - I will be packing them over rough terrain."
"Where do you want them delivered?"
"Inside the border of Afghanistan."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.....now that may be a little more difficult - not impossible but...let me think."
"Is there a problem?"
"No! I love a challenge! Look, I have to fly into Afghanistan with....ah, never mind with what...but we could fly the beauties into any airstrip you want! How's that sound?"
"Very good. I have a time frame...very tight. I need this to happen immediately."

"Hummm...I can't get it together any faster than two days, maybe three."
"Two days maximum."
"Okay, but it will cost more cause I have to include a partner...he has knowledge of where to find the product."

Michael pulled out his PDA. "Give me your bank information and write down the amount."
Davenport scribbled an amount on the same piece of paper Michael had used. $300,000 US. Michael scanned the scrap of paper. "Pricey."
"$100,000 a piece, including the flight and my partner."
"Your bank information?"

Davenport wrote some numbers on another piece of paper and Michael tapped in the numbers and dollar amounts. He handed the PDA to Davenport to confirm the transaction and leaned closer.

"If you double cross me, I will kill you."
"Hey! No problem...this is business. Meet me at this airport outside Kawalpindi at 7am on Wednesday...two days from now...okay."

Hamish James and Nikita sat in the taxi outside the white building in Amman. Nikita opened her door and motioned for James to follow.
"Sorry...I don't thnk I have the stomach for this," he mumbled. "I'm a news editor not a reporter...I just delete sentences and correct spelling. I'll wait here for you."
"Fine. But if I don't return in half and hour, come in and get me," she smiled.
"What! Why wouldn't you be returning...the embassy blokes said the building was empty... You better be careful!"
"I'll do my best. Good thing I changed into my....an, plimsoles," grinned Nikita.
"Yes, high heels would not do. See you shortly."

Nikita smiled as she darted towards the building. Upon reaching the main entrance, a security guard held his hand out. Nikita flashed him a government security pass and the guard motioned her inside.
As she moved through the building, she picked her way through the empty hallways, and came to some narrow stairs leading to the basement. She darted down the dark staircase.

Then, what she spotted turned her stomach - electrical torture equipment.
'Was this where the journalist had been tortured? And if she was...how did her body end up in the river? Had this journalist, Dana Delancourt, got too close to the terrorists and their bio-chemical weapons? She must have stumbled upon them and they grabbed, tortured and killed her.'

Nikita stared at an overturned chair, picked it up, touching the stained wood. 'Who were you Dana Delancourt? Were you working with Michael on this mission? It's not like him to involve an innocent...unless....'
Nikita pushed the thought from her mind. She returned to the next level and noticed an open courtyard. As she walked into the yard, she inspected the ground: pieces of broken wood lay scattered around. She picked up a splintered section.
'Humm, looks like wood from a shipping palette.'
She scanned the horizon towards downtown Amman. 'Just what was here?'

When she returned to the waiting taxi, James grinned, "So you see enough! Can we go now?"
"Enough of this site but I want to inspect the Yugoslav Consulate where that bombing took place."
"What has that got to do with Dana's death?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry to drag you along but...taxis seem a little scarce in this part of town."
"Yes, they are. Okay, let's go...then...well, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"
Nikita smiled, "You should report your findings to your newspaper, then head back to London, don't you think?"
"I suppose...but, I...would very much like to get to know you better, have dinner with me?"

Nikita smiled, then leaned over and gave the taxi driver the address of the Yugoslav Consulate.
"We'll go to this address now, please."

The taxi sped away into the Amman traffic. As the cab approached the Yugoslav Consulate, the driver turned to Nikita.
"The police will not allow you here....there was an explosion."
"I have security clearance from the government. Please wait here with Mr. James."
The driver shrugged and turned the engine off.
"Sure you don't want to accompany me on this inspection, Mr. James," asked Nikita.
"Hamish - call me Hamish, please...and no thank you, I'll wait."

Nikita made her way to the remains of the building. Three uniformed policemen stood guard at what had been the entrance of the building. Nikita flashed her phoney identity card at the officers and they waved her in. She smiled to herself, 'must remember to tell Helmet how good his id cards are.'

She picked her way over the rubble of concrete and wood. The main force of the blast had taken place in what appeared to have been a boardroom. Nikita inspected the charred walls and noted where bodies had obviously fallen from the force of the blast.
"Hummmm...a small explosive, primitive with probably a short timer. Is this your handiwork, Michael? If so, you could have used some of Walter's special bombs for this mission."

As she looked around and out through a large hole in the south wall, she pondered, 'What is the connection between this bombing and Dana Delancourt being tortured?'

Nikita returned to the taxi and slid into the back seat. Hamish James smiled, "So, can we go and have a drink now and then dinner?"
Nikita directed the driver to return to her hotel. "Oh, I'm sorry Hamish...I'm rather tired and should report to my family about my findings."
"You found something...about Dana? Or your brother?"
"No, nothing and that's what I need to report."
"Well, give them a call, then we can go for dinner."
"Sorry, no thank you."

James looked crestfallen as the taxi weaved through the Amman traffic. When the cab pulled up to Nikita's hotel, she opened the door as James reached over and clasped her arm.
"Look, ah....Nikita....I don't get to meet beautiful women like you everyday and I would be so honored if you would consider having dinner with me. Someone told me many months ago I should take more risks when it came to women...and she would know. She told me once that women go for dangerous type of men...well, that's not me but I....well, I can take a risk....by asking you to have dinner with me."

Nikita smiled and took James' hand. "Whoever told you women prefer dangerous men?"
"Dana...Dana Delancourt...she loved danger. Maybe that's why she died."
"Maybe. So how well did you know her? I mean, if I'm not being too personal."
"I didn't sleep with her, if that's what you mean. I was not her type...but she was beautiful and so intelligent, she won many journalism awards. I guess I had a little crush on her...I'll miss her. And for her to die the way she did."

James turned away from Nikita and bowed his head. Nikita stroked his shoulder. "She sounds like she was a good friend to you...I'm sorry...to have died so tragically. Will you be alright?"
James turned back to Nikita, "Please have dinner with me."
"I'm sorry Hamish, I really need to get some rest. I am leaving very early in the morning."

  "Going where?" queried James.
"I...ah, more stops throughout the middle east. I'm so glad to have met you."
She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek, then brushed her hand lightly along his face. With that she quickly exited the taxi and entered her hotel.

Once in her room, she threw her shoulder bag onto the bed, noticed the message flasher on her computer, and booted up the stored messages.
One message was from her father, the other from Walter. Nikita immediately grabbed her cell phone and punched in the number to reach Walter.
"Yes...oh, hi Sugar - how are you?"
"You called me Walter, what's the problem?"
"No problem, just wanted to talk and see how things are going."
"Walter, cut the crap, what's wrong!"
"Well, so much for small talk....I..."
"Walter!"
"Okay, okay...Helmet was going to phone you later but he was called suddenly to Ireland again, so I thought I would..."
"What is the matter - are the babies okay...are they...!"
"The babies are great...it's just that...well, Katerina has left. After she heard about the death of her ex-husband, then she pushed Helmet for more information and he kinda mentioned that maybe Michael was involved in the guy's death..."
"What! Oh my God!"
"Anyway, she left...said she needed to get away. She wrote you a letter...I can scan it and send you an encrypted email or read it - whatever you want."
"Scan it Walter...send it now, please."
"Sure...and look Nikita...the babies are fine, the nanny is doing great with them and I spend more of my days playing, bathing and trying to feed them. Helmet does too - we hardly get any work done."
"Thanks Walter, please send her letter."
"Okay Sugar, and you take care...be careful...and oh, it's great your father is helping you."
"Yes, please send the letter Walter."

Nikita clicked off her cell phone and walked to her computer; she sat staring at the screen as the email appeared.

Nikita: Your wonderful babies are healthy and doing well - albeit missing their mommy.
After hearing of the death of Stephan and Michael's possible involvement, I decided I need some time by myself. I'm very sorry because I made a promise to you to watch over your children. I hope you will understand.
Helmet has hired another nanny to care for the babies - she is excellent and dotes on them. I understand why you are searching for Michael. Our time spent together opened my eyes to understanding what a soul-mate means.
I know you will find Michael and the two of you will be re-united.
Take care and return soon with Michael to the wonderful life the two of you have created.
Katerina.

Nikita stared at the glowing computer screen. She would miss Katerina; some had questioned her leaving her babies in the hands of a woman who had been Michael's lover. They had not spent time with Katerina and come to know her. She would trust her own life and that of her children with this special woman.

Nikita's thoughts were interrupted by the beep of her cell phone. She looked at the display: it was her father.
"Father. You called me earlier - what news do you have for me?"
"I am sorry Nikita. I have no further intel to offer you. I'm afraid the trail ended in Syria. You were fortunate in discovering further information from the Guardian newspaper. Has it lead to anything?"
"No, not really...just that a reporter died in a tragic way - she was tortured and killed. I think she was getting too close to the Mujihideen and whatever they were doing."
"So, you have no further leads?"

"Nothing - but I can't help but feel the journalist was working with Michael."
"Working or involved with him, Nikita?"
"I don't know...if she was...it's academic now...she died, maybe trying to help Michael."
"Nikita, please return to your children. Your search is turning out to be fruitless - you have responsibilities now - two tiny babies that need their mother."
"You don't think I realize that!", shouted Nikita. "Every minute I am away from them kills me! Look, I can't talk any more...I'm going to hang up. Goodbye!"

Nikita flung the cell phone across the room and fell onto the bed. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she reached for a bottle of sleeping tablets. Washing down two pills with water, she lay back on the bed and listened to the sound of the traffic below. Within an hour, she drifted into a heavy sleep.

Nikita had drifted into a heavy sleep.
She found herself back at Dr. Leslie's villa on Rhodes. It was very dark as she slipped from her room and made her way to the outdoor pool. She dropped the terrycloth robe to the cold tiles and slid her naked body into the pool. The cool water felt good as it surrounded her. She swam on her back and looked up at the stars in the ink black sky. She pictured the tiny faces of her babies, laughing, crying and reaching out to her. She was mad to think she could find Michael...he had found another woman...now a dead woman...was he mourning her death as Katerina said he had mourned her apparent death? The journalist had been attracted to dangerous men - that was Michael - very dangerous. She had been attracted to that too...and the way he loved her...his touch...his....

A continuous beeping penetrated the night...a distant sound...incessant, beep, beep, beep. Nikita fought to regain consciousness. She sat up, unaware of her surroundings; the pills making her heavy with sleep. She swung her legs off the bed and followed the sound of the beeping. It was her cell phone, lying on the floor. She reached down and grabbed it;peering at the display: it was Walter.
"Ahhhhhh. hello? Walter? Is that you? No, I was sleeping...no I don't know what time it is...what...hang on a minute."
She placed the phone on the bedside table and walked to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she placed her head under the cold water tap. Nikita grabbed a towel and dabbed her wet hair; she returned and picked up the cell phone.
"Sorry Walter, I need to wake up."
"You okay Sugar? I can call back if...."
"No...I'm okay now...what's up?"


"I had a coded call from Dr. Leslie. It was for Helmet but he gave me the message when I told him Helmet was in Ireland."
"What does it say?"
"Well," sniggered Walter. "Leslie looped into Center's hard-wired decryption codes...you know the ones your father was using to trace Michael's computer."
"Yes, the IP address and then trace the location."
"Well - Michael used his computer...in Pakistan...the other day - Kawalpindi, Pakistan."
"Pakistan! What would he be doing there?"
"There's more, Nikita."
"What!"
Walter was laughing, "Oh your father will sh!t bricks if he finds out!"
"Walter - what else."
"The bombing at the Yugoslav Consulate in Amman - there were some heavy dudes meeting there...big-wigs from Mujihdeen, El Quaeda, and who knows who else."


"I visited that site today in addition to a building where the Canadian embassy suspect the journalist was tortured. I found an outdoor courtyard with what looked like remains of wooden palettes - shipping palettes."
"You think Michael bombed the Yugoslav Consulate, Sugar?"
"I don't know. But I bet if airline records were checked, we would find that Michael either arrived or departed from Amman immediately after the bombing."
"He could be using any name, Sugar."
"I know. Look Walter, it's late but can you get me booked on the first flight out of Amman to somewhere in Pakistan. Helmet's pilot returned to Ibiza with the jet. I'll find my way to Kawalpindi."
"Sure..I'll get the new...her name is Mary...she's a whiz with booking flights!"
"Mary? One of Helmet's newer employees, Walter?"
"Yes, her and I have become, well, good friends."
"Sure Walter. And thank her for doing this."
"Ahhhh, I will. Now you take care of yourself, okay?"
"Walter...why do you think Dr. Leslie looped into Center's codes? Why would he want to do that?"
"I don't know Sugar...but if your father told you he couldn't find out anything about Michael, he was lying. The information was there."
"Thanks Walter. I'll call you when I'm at the airport...leave a message on my cell about the departure time please."
"Sure thing...now get some more sleep."
"I will - thanks and good night."
Nikita clicked off her cell and put it on message mode. 'I will sleep now Walter...I will.'

Michael sat in the small rental car outside the airport as designated by Davenport. He had utility bags stuffed with supplies for a journey into the mountains of Afghanistan. Within an hour a small plane flew overhead and landed on the dusty airstrip. Michael stood beside his vehicle as the craft taxied to a stop.

Davenport dropped open the cargo door of the plane and waved to Michael, who jumped into the car, wheeled it up to the aircraft and began throwing the utility bags to Davenport. Michael tossed the car keys on the seat and jumped into the plane. Davenport grinned.
"One of those disposable rental cars, right!"

"Yes. Do you have the stingers?"
"Just like you asked for. And I checked my bank and the money has been transferred like you promised. Very efficent - your employers must have deep pockets to fork out that kinda dough."
"Yes," replied Michael.
He had spent several hours the night before tapping into terrorist bank accounts and transferring sums of money into a non-registered Swiss account and then transferring the $300,00 into Davenport's bank.

They strapped themselves into the small seats and the plane took off. Once they were airborn and heading in the direction of Afghanistan, Davenport took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Michael.
"No, thank you."
"Oh, right, you never smoked. Say....what ever happened to that knock-out recruit you were training - that hot blonde. Last time I was in Section, you had her going through her paces - a real spitfire, that one! She ever make it? Or did she get cancelled?"

"Who do you mean?"
"Come on! You not telling me you forgot the hot blonde! How many trainees you get like her, huh! Let me think, she had a strange name for a woman...ah, what was it....?"
"Nikita."
"Yeh, that's the name....so she make it?"
"Yes, she was an operative."
"What...like a female valentine op or something?"
"No, a level five."
"What! You kidding me! She went up the food chain fast! So, ah, you and her...did you?"

"Enough discussion about her."
"Okay, sure thing. Touchy subject I guess...she get it on with someone else...boy I wouldn't have minded a roll in the sack with her! Bet she would give a blow job that would jerk a guy's nuts off!"
"I said enough. How long before we arrive in Jallalabad?"
"Not long...less that an hour. Say, you need any help on this mission? I'd be honored to work with you actually."
"I need no help. Thank you."

Within the hour the small plane landed at an airstrip in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. As the plane taxied, Michael peered out the window.

"Would you remain here with my supplies until I pick up the four wheel drive?" questioned Michael.
"Yeh, sure thing." Davenport laughed. "You trust me not to take off with your stingers and stuff?"
"Your pilot will accompany me into town. I don't believe you know how to fly this plane."
Davenport laughed. "Too true! No problem - bring back some beer will you."
"Possibly."

Davenport motioned for the pilot to go with Michael. They jumped into a taxi and headed towards Jalalabad. Within half and hour, they returned in a Land Rover and Michael pulled the truck up to the side of the plane. The pilot and Davenport helped Michael load the stingers that were housed in wooden crates, into the rear compartment of the vehicle. Michael tossed the utility bags into the rear seat. Davenport extended his hand to Michael.
"Good luck, man. If anybody can get the job done, it's you - whatever you are after. Communications are primitive here as you no doubt know - no cell phones or internet but I see you have a portable satellite to connect to the DOD, so if you need anything, give me a call - you have the number."
"Thank you."

Michael slid behind the wheel of the Land Rover and drove northwest in the direction of the mountains. Davenport stood waving and turned to the pilot.
"There goes one of the best operatives in Section, the CIA and MI5 combined - the man is a legend. Good luck, my friend."

Michael drove into the central highlands, a region of deep narrow valleys and mountains. As he gained altitude, the temperature cooled off and when he pulled the Land Rover over to check on a camp site for the night, he studied his supply of gasoline. He would have to locate a further supply to carry atop the vehicle as once he entered the mountains, no gasoline would be available. He peered through his binoculars and decided to drive to a grove of trees ahead about five kilometers, and make camp for the night.
After setting up a small tent, he started a single burner stove and heated some stew. He used a headlamp to light his way around the camp. After eating he turned the lamp off and stared at the sky overhead. No city lights obscured the milky way; shooting stars raced across the heavens and in the east, a moon cast a bright glow over the landscape.
Michael estimated two more days driving until he reached Daulat Yar. There was a small airstrip west of the village and he calculated that the virus shipments should be there: hopefully, they had not been moved. Without Section or other intel, he had no way of checking.
He pulled his sleeping bag out, deciding to sleep under the stars rather than the tent.

As he lay in the bag, a gun at his side, he continued to watch the stars and again as had happened repeatedly, Nikita appeared before his eyes in the heavens.

Michael whispered to her, 'I will be with you....when this mission is complete...then we will be together.'
He clutched his gun to his chest.
Nikita had flown into Lahore, Pakistan on a commercial flight out of Amman. A hastily booked hotel in the center of the city had been made and now Nikita flopped down on the hotel bed. The intense heat of autumn had sapped her energy. She picked up the phone and called room service for six bottles of water. As she lay awaiting the arrival of the water, her thoughts turned to why Dr. Leslie had deceived her when she was at his villa. He must have had some connection with Center, possibly doing some work for them? Otherwise, looping into Center's decryption codes would have been impossible....and why inform her about finding Michael's computer IP trace? If he had wanted to do that - why not when she was at his villa?

There were too many questions....and especially about her father lying. Was he trying to prevent her finding Michael? No doubt the answer to that was - yes. He would go to any length to keep her and Michael apart.
There was a knock at the door and Nikita took the bottled water from an attendant. She took a long drink from the bottle and picked up the phone again.
"Yes, can you get me travel information on how I journey to Kawalpindi and if possible, rent a Jeep there. Thank you, I'll wait for your call."

She smiled to herself. 'Working freelance was not as easy as having everything in place like at Section...commerical flights, hotel bookings, car rentals.....'

Nikita reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone, punching in the numbers for Walter at the villa on Ibiza. She flopped down on a nearby sofa.

"Walter....yes, I arrived in Lahore and hope to leave for Kawalpindi maybe tomorrow. Any more news from Dr. Leslie?"
"No Sugar, nothing. Say, how are you doing?"
"I'm fine...it's hot here...ah, Walter...my father is no doubt trying to thwart my attempts to find Michael....but...well, he won't succeed."
"Ahhhhhh...yes, of course Sugar....say, the nanny has the babies right here - you want to talk to them?"

Nikita laughed. "Yes, let them cry and scream at me!"
She could hear the sound of a baby gurgling on the phone and then Walter speaking again, "That's my best girl....she looks so much like you Sugar."
"Sounds like me too....incoherent. Sorry about the last phone call, I had taken a sleeping pill. So put Marko on the phone."
The sound of a crying baby could be heard and Walter shouting over the wailing.
"That's the big man...complaining! He asked me before where the hell his mother was and when she was going to change his diaper!"
"Tell him I'll be home soon with his daddy and his pappa can change the diaper."

The hotel phone rang. "I have another call Walter, take care, I'll call when I reach Kawalpindi."
"Yes, sure....look after yourself, Sugar."

Mr. Jones sat in his office at Center. He reached for his phone: "Get me Quinn at One."

"Quinn - I have a special assignment for you. On checking our data bases, I see Section has a dormant operative in Pakistan by the name of Davenport, Cole Davenport. I want you to contact him and set up a private conference....and Quinn, the call must have all the buffers available. I want no decryption codes or possible access to the call - understand. And you were correct at informing me of Leslie breaching our codes. That incident is being dealt with."
"Yes, Mr. Jones. I'll get on it right away."

Later that day, Jones pushed the received button on his display. Davenport's image appeared.
"Cole Davenport...this is Jones at Center. I have a mission for you."
"Wow! It doesn't rain but it pours! I thought Section had forgot about me."
"What do you mean by the rain and pouring comment?"
"What! Oh, nothing...nothing at all. What can I do for you?"
"Quinn will forward all the specific details but I want you to accompany a female operative into Afghanistan. She will resist your help but explain to her about the restrictions on women and the additional dangers traveling alone in a muslim country."
"Right...so why is she going into Afghanistan? I just returned from there...what's the attraction? Am I to assist on the mission or just watch out for her?"
"She is searching for a notorious terroist...but she must not locate him."
"Really? So why is she chasing him....sorry, I'm a little confused."
"She is in love with him but he will destroy her."
"Ohhhhhhhkayyyyy...why not just call her back?
"Quinn will give you further details...your job is to travel with her and bring her back to Center."
"Very well - so who is this operative?"
"Nikita...Nikita Jones - my daughter."
"WHAT! Your daughter! But sir, she....it might be a little difficult persuading her to.....!"
"Mr. Davenport, I understand what motivates you more than performing a mission and that is money - I will pay you $1million US when you return with her."
"Ahhhhhhhhhh, yes, that is definitely a motivator. You have my attention, sir."

Nikita sat in the car rental firm in Kawalpindi. The clerk stood shaking his head, "Madam, you do not understand, we have no vehicles capable of travelling into Afghanistan."

"I had one booked, a travel agent in Lahore made arrangements for a Land Rover plus I was to be given supplies for a trip overland."
"I am sorry...we have no vehicles."
"When will you have a four wheel drive available?"
"It is difficult to say...we are a very small center here."
"Can you call your office in Kabul or Kandahar and book a vehicle there?"
"I have tried that, there is nothing available."
"Here is my hotel, call me when one is available - I'll pay double the price."

Nikita left the rental office and attempted to hail a taxi - there were none. She began walking back to her small hotel. As she entered her room, her cell phone rang: it was Walter.
"Walter! I'm glad to hear from you."
"What's wrong Sugar! You sound upset."
"I can't rent a four by four, there are none available and travel into Afghanistan is impossible without one."
"Where the hell are you going to start looking anyway?"
"I was hoping Dr. Leslie had another trace on Michael's computer IP....but nothing, right?"
"I tried getting in touch with Leslie; his staff say he went sailing and has no communication aboard."
"That's strange, everyone has radio communication on their boats," puzzled Nikita.
"Yes, it is strange...but what I was calling you about is - you will have to pick up a statellite communicator to use your computer and make outside contact using a DOD satellite. There is no cell or internet service in Afghanistan."


"Oh gawd, yes! Now I remember from when I was here for Section. We used Section's satellite communicator. Damn! I should have made arrangements to bring one from Rhodes."
"Sorry Sugar. I can get one shipped on a commercial flight but it will take awhile."
"It will take at least a week Walter....ah, maybe....well, maybe I don't need any communication devices."
"Nikita! Are you crazy! You will be out in the middle of Afghanistan, running around in the mountains with no bloody communications - are you crazy!"

Nikita bit her lower lip and fought back a rising tide of tears. "I know Walter, it's just...I felt like I was getting closer...I know Michael is not that far...I can feel it."
"Look, why not travel to Kandahar and stay there until I can send you the satellite communicator. The Canadian and American military are stationed there so maybe I can have it flown in on a military flight."
"Okay Walter...you are correct, of course; I would be foolish to venture into the country alone without communications. Oh, and...thank you for looking out for me."
"Sugar, I understand passion...and that's how you feel about Michael, but...you have to always remember your little ones waiting for you...be safe, okay?"
"Yes, thanks for reminding me."
"Good, now let me get to work on the satellite communicator."
"Bye Walter...you are very special."

Quinn tapped into a secure line in Mr. Jones' office.
"Sir, I have further intel on Nikita's whereabouts. I was just about to forward it to Davenport."
"Good. Where is she?"
"She is traveling to Kandahar in Afghanistan. She apparently has no communication devices so is awaiting the arrival of one."
"I see. And the surveillance tap on all the cell lines from Volker's residence is still secure?"
"Yes, I've used a layered matrix so no detection can possibly be made."
"Good. Inform Davenport to get to Kandahar and make contact with Nikita.
"Yes sir."

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