![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaybee65Title: Succession
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Rating: Probably a hard R, for sexual situations and violence.
Pairings: Contains Madeline/Paul (Operations) and Charles Sand/Madeline as well as references to Adrian/George, but this doesn't fit comfortably into "shippy" categories.
Length: The whole thing is 120k-plus words. There are 31 chapters, which are distributed among four "Parts."
Warning: Michael and Nikita do not appear in this story, except as minor references at the very end.
Summary: Set during the 1980's, this story traces the events that ultimately led to the overthrow of Adrian as leader of Section One and to her replacement by Paul Wolfe (Operations).
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
debbiebiv and ms_cecicat for the encouragement and to mscyanide for the betaing!
This story was conceived as a sequel to another story I wrote several years ago, entitled "Intersections." You don't need to know anything about that prior story to understand what's going on in this one, with the exception of a few things:
1. In my version of the organization during the 1970's and 1980's, Adrian is the founder and leader of all the Sections. However, as a practical matter she devotes herself essentially full-time to running Section One (the biggest and most important of the Sections). She leaves the administration of the other Sections to her lieutenant (and sometime lover), George.
2. Paul Wolfe is recruited into Section One in the mid-70's, and quickly becomes one of the top operatives there. Madeline, in contrast, is originally recruited into Section Two, where she is given a long-term undercover assignment posing as an assistant to one of Section's targets in order to gather intel. Despite working for different Sections, Paul and Madeline meet on a mission and commence a short-lived romantic affair, which Madeline eventually ends for reasons that are more or less irrelevant to the current story. Walter is the only other person who is aware of this affair.
3. Unbeknownst to Adrian, George chafes somewhat under Adrian's leadership and carries on several special projects in the other Sections that he keeps Adrian in the dark about. Madeline discovers the existence of these projects by accident, and is thus unwillingly drawn into George's somewhat ambiguous plans to eventually ease Adrian out of command.
And that's where the prior story left off. And now, on to Chapter One of Succession:
Part One - 1983
Chapter One
The car rolled slowly at first. Then it picked up speed, tires humming on pavement as it plunged downhill.
Hands thrust into her coat pockets, Madeline watched the car careen off the curve of the road, over the embankment, and then out of view entirely. In the darkness, she couldn't see the two forms strapped inside -- nor could they, drugged and unconscious, see her watching. Yet their presence was the only thing she was fully aware of; unable to pull away, her mind traveled with them, leaving her body behind. When she heard the car splash into the river, she felt the icy water as it rose to surround and claim them. It was everywhere, black with silt, filling her lungs and chilling her skin. But just as she sank, helpless, to the murky river-bottom, she shivered and returned to herself.
The car that had just been pushed into oblivion belonged to her. The elderly man in the passenger seat was her teacher, mentor, employer -- and target -- of the past eight years. As for the dark-haired woman behind the steering wheel -- that was Madeline. Or so the authorities would find when they tried to identify the bodies. The Section had made sure of that.
She waited, ignoring the sharp wind that cut against her face, until her companions motioned that it was time to leave. The two men turned and began to trudge uphill; mutely, she fell in step with them. The men moved slowly, unhurriedly, their faces blank with the boredom of those to whom murder was a dull routine. She matched their pace and mirrored their expressions, turning her back to the river and what it contained.
At the crest of the hill, they reached a van parked alongside the road. She entered the rear; the men slammed the door behind her and took their own seats in the front. They pulled away with a jerk and a roar of the engine, leaving the scene behind.
The scene of her death. Or rather, her second death. Of how many to come, she had no idea.
She had learned of her fate a mere ten hours earlier. With her target having announced his retirement the day before, her mission was complete. Thus her identity -- the one that she had spent the past decade creating, cultivating, growing attached to, living -- became, overnight, nonfunctional. Superfluous. And so, with a phone call that afternoon, the Section told her that her life was over. That she would walk away and become someone else altogether -- that she would die, and be reborn. She would be expected to change existences the way other people might change clothes -- casually, and without sentiment.
That old life, the one she was abandoning, had been full of falsehoods and treachery. It was fitting, then, that she would end it with one final act of betrayal. Retired, her target would no longer provide new intel; but so long as he lived, his knowledge was a source of power to the Section's enemies. Hence he would die -- and at her hands. It didn't matter that, after all those years, she had grown rather fond of him, despite her disgust at the nature of his work. It didn't matter that he was one of the few people who had ever been kind to her -- that he trusted and cared for her, and had tried, in his own way, to help and protect her. It didn't even matter that she had spent more time with him than with any other person in her life -- that in certain respects, he knew her better than almost anyone alive. It was her job, her duty, to kill him. And so she did.
She approached him from behind, syringe in hand, injecting him in the neck before he could cry out. He slumped to the floor almost immediately, but, for a few split seconds, his eyes remained open, struggling to focus on her as she stood above him. She watched him for those last few moments, transfixed by the sequence of emotions that played across his face: first shock, then fear, then hurt, then, lastly, to her surprise, admiration. Admiration, she imagined, for the fact that she had fooled him so thoroughly and for so long. Perhaps he felt it made her worthy of the knowledge he had passed onto her -- or perhaps he knew, as she did, that a part of him would always survive in her. Finally, he smiled, closed his eyes, and lapsed into unconsciousness.
His death was painless, even peaceful. She supposed she owed him that. He was fortunate, in the end: a man who had caused others indescribable torment, he met his own end without suffering. She doubted that she would be so lucky.
The van began to slow, weaving its way through traffic as it returned to the city. How long had they been driving? She had dozed off to sleep, missing most of the journey. Now, it appeared, they were back in Paris, on their way to…she wasn't quite sure. No one had told her what her new assignment would be, how long it might last, when it would start.
The van turned, made a sharp descent into an underground tunnel, and then stopped. She held her breath, waiting. One of the men turned back to look at her.
"Welcome to Section One," he said.
***
Lisa Birkoff frowned and read the text on the computer screen for what felt like the thousandth time, mentally parsing the code that persisted in its maddening refusal to do what she wanted. After hours perched on the tiny chair, she'd lost feeling in her thighs, so in a halfhearted effort to get the circulation moving again she swiveled the chair back and forth a few times. It squeaked painfully, so she stopped.
"Hey, Lisa," said a voice from behind her shoulder.
Startled, she jumped and swung around. Walter looked down at her with a bemused expression.
"What are you still doing here, kiddo?" he asked. "It's two a.m. -- you're supposed to be getting your beauty sleep."
She leaned back in her chair and gave him a tired smile. "I'm trying to teach myself a little computer programming. But I've got to do it during the off hours, when I won't get in anyone's way. Otherwise our computer gurus chase me off."
"Are you kidding?" Walter scrunched up his face. "What are you giving yourself extra work for? It's not like they don't give us enough to do already."
"Well," she said, "that's kind of the point. I need some sort of skill so I can get the hell out of fieldwork. Increase my life expectancy. That sort of thing." She forced a dry laugh.
"Ahhh, smart gal." He nodded and clapped his hand on her shoulder. "That's how I got into Munitions, you know. I figured I'd better find some sort of specialty that kept me in here where it's safe. Or relatively safe, that is," he corrected with a chuckle. "Great minds think alike, huh?"
She grinned. "Yeah, I guess so." Turning back to her monitor, she continued, "Anyway, I'm writing a program to speed up the data transmittal between the security sensors and our mainframes. I've almost got it, but there are some bugs that are driving me crazy."
He pulled over a chair and sat down next to her, squinting as he examined the screen.
"I'll be damned," he said admiringly. "You taught yourself how to do this without any help?"
"Yeah," she said, feeling a blush heat her face. "But it's really not that hard. You just have to be persistent."
He shook his head. "Look, Lisa, don't be modest. If you want to survive in this place, you've got to trumpet your successes as loud as you can. Why, when I...."
Walter continued his story, but Lisa found herself distracted by the sight of three figures crossing the floor nearby. The two men she recognized as Housekeeping goons -- the kind of people who gave her crawling goosebumps when she ran into them in isolated corners of Section. But the woman walking alongside them was a stranger -- a stranger who held herself with a curious, aloof air, yet whose gaze swept across the room like a spotlight, inspecting every angle.
"Who's that?" asked Lisa.
Walter blinked. "Who?"
"That woman with Parsons and Bell. I don't remember seeing her before, but she doesn't have that freaked out look that the rookies always do."
Walter turned to follow Lisa's gaze. His eyes widened at the sight.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
"You know her?"
"We've met."
"So, c'mon, who is she?" asked Lisa, intrigued by the grimness in his tone.
He hesitated for an uncomfortably long time.
"The only person I've ever met who I think might belong in this place," he said, finally.
Puzzled, Lisa opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but Walter held up his hand.
"Shh. Not now. They're coming our way."
As the group approached, their conversation became audible.
"We'll show you to your quarters for now," said Parsons. "Your team leader will come for you in the morning to take you to your orientation."
The woman nodded and then, looking up, caught Walter's eye. She held his gaze for a few moments -- just long enough to demonstrate that she recognized him -- but turned away without expression.
Lisa and Walter watched until the three were again out of earshot.
"Man, I don't know what she's doing here," said Walter, "but whatever it is, it isn't good."
***
It was eight a.m. sharp. Paul reached for the buzzer, then hesitated. He placed his hand against the wall and leaned there for a few moments, taking long, slow breaths to ready himself.
Adrian had given him less than twenty-four hours' notice of the arrival -- and identity -- of his new team member. During that time, he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't worked. Instead, he just paced -- first in his office, then all night in his quarters -- his emotions whipsawing from elation to anxiety, from anticipation to apprehension.
For the past three years, ever since Madeline had banished him from her life, Paul had been trying to put her out of his mind. To that end, he had turned to his work, attacking it with a newly-found intensity. When that wasn't enough, he also turned to other women, with equal intensity, and in numbers he lost count of. They had all been beautiful and engaging, and he had thoroughly enjoyed their company. Yet still, when he noticed a slim brunette of Madeline's height on the street, he often found himself staring, heart pounding, caught up in the forlorn hope that he could at least glimpse her again. Of course, he never had.
Now, without warning, she was here in Section One. Assigned to his team, no less. He couldn't decide if he was thrilled or sickened at the prospect.
Clenching his jaw, he reached for the buzzer and rang it, and clasped his hands behind him to wait. The door opened almost instantly; startled, he took a step backwards. Then their eyes met, and he steeled himself for what would happen next.
They held each other's gaze, but neither of them spoke. She seemed to be waiting for him to start; he was at a loss for what to say. He searched her eyes, examined her expression, trying to judge her mood so that he might determine the best approach. What he saw -- a tightness in her face, a strange light in her eyes -- surprised him even as he recognized what it was. It was that same anxious excitement that was causing his stomach to churn, except better disguised: an uneasy balance of jubilation and trepidation, forced beneath a thin veneer of feigned impassivity.
Seeing his own feelings reflected in her expression gave him a burst of courage. He moved toward her, and she backed away, allowing him entry into the quarters. He closed the door and stood watching her, intent on reading every trace of emotion that passed, however faintly, across her face. When he rang the buzzer, he had expected to find the woman who had dismissed him so coldly -- instead, he saw someone at war with herself.
He took a step closer, intending to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, to crush her body against his, to run his hands through her hair and down her back, to bend down and press his lips hungrily against hers -- to do everything he had dreamed of doing were he to see her again -- but, once more, she moved away. She glanced at the floor for a few seconds, and when she looked back up her expression was transformed: calm, controlled, indifferent.
"I take it you're my team leader," she said.
His stomach contracted as if he had been slammed with a punch. "That's right," he answered dully, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. He had been wrong in his assessment of her emotions a moment ago. Three years had passed, and she had moved on, even if he hadn't. He had been reading in her eyes what he wanted to see, not what was there.
She took a military stance. "Then I'm ready to begin my orientation."
"Well, then," he answered, turning toward the door to hide his disappointment, "come with me."
***
Footsteps sounded along the metal stairs leading to Adrian's office, and then a knock tapped against the open door. Adrian ignored it and continued to read her report. Her visitors were several minutes late, and that would not do. They would wait, as a reminder of the virtues of timeliness.
She finished four more pages and finally looked up. Paul and Madeline stood just outside the office, waiting side by side with their hands clasped in front of them. Their matching posture caught Adrian off guard; their identical expressions left her vaguely unsettled. While it was no doubt unconscious on their part, their stance looked almost practiced, like a deliberate show of strength. In the shadows outside her doorway, they stood like grim sentries, waiting silently -- not for her summons, but for something indefinable.
She pushed that thought away. "Please, both of you, come in and sit down."
Paul nodded at Madeline to go first, and the two entered the room and seated themselves in the chairs in front of Adrian's desk. In the light of her office, their differences showed -- that appearance of unity melted away like the illusion Adrian now knew it was. Paul sat more restlessly than usual; he shifted positions every few moments, nearly radiating anxiety and discomfort. Madeline kept her hands folded on her lap and her spine straight, at attention. Her face was blank -- blank, but not wholly unreadable. She stared, a bit too intently, at an imaginary spot on Adrian's desk, in an obvious effort to avoid looking at Adrian's eyes. She was afraid, Adrian decided. Good. Adrian intended to keep her that way. An operative with her particular brand of training needed to be kept firmly under control.
"Good morning, and welcome to One, Madeline," Adrian said. "I trust you slept well."
"Quite well, thank you."
Madeline looked up and smiled, shifting into a pleasant demeanor as suddenly as if she had flipped a light switch. Adrian bit back an urge to grimace. Perhaps that sort of pseudo-warmth fooled some people, but its manufactured nature set Adrian's nerves on edge.
"The quarters are temporary, until we make arrangements on the outside. I hope it's not too uncomfortable in the meantime."
"Not at all." Again, that smile. It flashed, then faded too quickly.
Adrian drummed her fingers on her desk, long enough to make the waiting uncomfortable, until she saw a hint of nervousness return to the young woman's eyes. She then took a exaggerated breath and frowned.
"Your status here is a bit difficult to categorize," she said, speaking slowly so as to appear reluctant to raise the subject. "At Section Two, you were an experienced operative, already Level Five." She paused, allowing the fact that she had used the past tense to sink in. "However, the work we do here is quite different from what you've been used to. Under the circumstances, I concluded a demotion was, regretfully, necessary. Henceforth you'll be recategorized as Level Two."
Madeline blinked but said nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, Adrian saw Paul shift suddenly in his seat.
"Please don't take it in a negative way," Adrian continued, ignoring Paul's reaction. "It's not intended as a reprimand or a punishment. It's merely a recognition that you lack a certain type of experience."
"Of course." The agreeable demeanor had vanished; Madeline's tone was all business. Cold as it was, Adrian actually preferred it. At least it was honest.
"There is one special matter, however," she said.
Madeline arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Thanks to your assignment at Section Two, you've developed a rather unusual expertise. As a result, in addition to your other duties, I'm assigning you to take on the project of modernizing and streamlining some of our intelligence gathering procedures. In particular, with respect to the interrogation of captives." Adrian smiled. "I thought you might enjoy doing some work that's more familiar to you."
She studied Madeline for a reaction. To her disappointment, there was none.
"I'm glad my prior training will continue to be of use," was all Madeline said, her voice quiet.
"Your educational background also suits you for profiling, which I anticipate will eventually become your primary duty. However, before you can begin doing that, you need some field experience. That's why you've been assigned to Paul's team."
Adrian nodded at Paul, for the first time acknowledging his presence. His posture hadn't lost any of its tension.
She turned back to Madeline. "Working with a familiar face should be reassuring, don't you think?"
"I appreciate that," said Madeline, once again switching on that artificial warmth.
Adrian repressed a cynical roll of her eyes and determined that she would shut that pretense of pleasantness off for good. Madeline would have to learn -- the hard way, if need be -- that Adrian couldn't be charmed, couldn't be manipulated -- that, indeed, things would go much more easily for her if she dealt with Adrian forthrightly, without any charade that she was anything more than what she was: a monster, to be entrusted with some of the Section's ugliest tasks. There was a place for her in the Section -- a respected place, even -- if she would learn to live within her limits. It was time to start setting them.
"You need to be aware," Adrian said sternly, "you and Paul will have a very different relationship from before."
Madeline stiffened. The warmth faded, as Adrian intended that it would.
"When you helped Paul escape captivity in the Ukraine, you were colleagues. Equals. Now, you'll be his subordinate. Is that going to pose a problem?"
"No."
Adrian turned back to Paul. "Have you given any thought to what her first mission should be?"
"I think Tripoli would work."
"No, that's more than a month away. I suggest Vienna."
"Vienna?" He scowled. "That's just four days from now. She needs more time for training."
"Time is a luxury for the indolent and the unmotivated. Four days should be quite more than adequate. After all, she isn't completely inexperienced, you know."
He fidgeted in his chair, his reluctance obvious. "We're likely to come under fire. She doesn't have any combat experience."
"Well," said Adrian tartly, "if you doubt her abilities that much, perhaps I should assign her to another team. I believe Charles has an opening."
"That's not what I meant." Paul stole a look at Madeline, who was regarding him with an expression that Adrian felt certain was resentment. "I just want to make sure that she's integrated into the team smoothly."
Adrian chuckled. Paul was so transparent, especially when he resorted to platitudes. "Paul, I appreciate your desire to protect your team members. It's truly noble. But here, as you well know, we must all learn to fend for ourselves. Besides, I'm sure Madeline doesn't want to be coddled, now does she? She won't make it back to Level Five very quickly that way."
Paul started to open his mouth to reply, but apparently thought better of it. Next to him, Madeline looked furious.
"Very good," said Adrian, satisfied that she had yanked their leashes adequately. "Vienna it is."
*********
To go on to Chapter Two, click here.
Fandom: La Femme Nikita
Rating: Probably a hard R, for sexual situations and violence.
Pairings: Contains Madeline/Paul (Operations) and Charles Sand/Madeline as well as references to Adrian/George, but this doesn't fit comfortably into "shippy" categories.
Length: The whole thing is 120k-plus words. There are 31 chapters, which are distributed among four "Parts."
Warning: Michael and Nikita do not appear in this story, except as minor references at the very end.
Summary: Set during the 1980's, this story traces the events that ultimately led to the overthrow of Adrian as leader of Section One and to her replacement by Paul Wolfe (Operations).
Thanks to
debbiebiv and ms_cecicat for the encouragement and to mscyanide for the betaing!This story was conceived as a sequel to another story I wrote several years ago, entitled "Intersections." You don't need to know anything about that prior story to understand what's going on in this one, with the exception of a few things:
1. In my version of the organization during the 1970's and 1980's, Adrian is the founder and leader of all the Sections. However, as a practical matter she devotes herself essentially full-time to running Section One (the biggest and most important of the Sections). She leaves the administration of the other Sections to her lieutenant (and sometime lover), George.
2. Paul Wolfe is recruited into Section One in the mid-70's, and quickly becomes one of the top operatives there. Madeline, in contrast, is originally recruited into Section Two, where she is given a long-term undercover assignment posing as an assistant to one of Section's targets in order to gather intel. Despite working for different Sections, Paul and Madeline meet on a mission and commence a short-lived romantic affair, which Madeline eventually ends for reasons that are more or less irrelevant to the current story. Walter is the only other person who is aware of this affair.
3. Unbeknownst to Adrian, George chafes somewhat under Adrian's leadership and carries on several special projects in the other Sections that he keeps Adrian in the dark about. Madeline discovers the existence of these projects by accident, and is thus unwillingly drawn into George's somewhat ambiguous plans to eventually ease Adrian out of command.
And that's where the prior story left off. And now, on to Chapter One of Succession:
Chapter One
The car rolled slowly at first. Then it picked up speed, tires humming on pavement as it plunged downhill.
Hands thrust into her coat pockets, Madeline watched the car careen off the curve of the road, over the embankment, and then out of view entirely. In the darkness, she couldn't see the two forms strapped inside -- nor could they, drugged and unconscious, see her watching. Yet their presence was the only thing she was fully aware of; unable to pull away, her mind traveled with them, leaving her body behind. When she heard the car splash into the river, she felt the icy water as it rose to surround and claim them. It was everywhere, black with silt, filling her lungs and chilling her skin. But just as she sank, helpless, to the murky river-bottom, she shivered and returned to herself.
The car that had just been pushed into oblivion belonged to her. The elderly man in the passenger seat was her teacher, mentor, employer -- and target -- of the past eight years. As for the dark-haired woman behind the steering wheel -- that was Madeline. Or so the authorities would find when they tried to identify the bodies. The Section had made sure of that.
She waited, ignoring the sharp wind that cut against her face, until her companions motioned that it was time to leave. The two men turned and began to trudge uphill; mutely, she fell in step with them. The men moved slowly, unhurriedly, their faces blank with the boredom of those to whom murder was a dull routine. She matched their pace and mirrored their expressions, turning her back to the river and what it contained.
At the crest of the hill, they reached a van parked alongside the road. She entered the rear; the men slammed the door behind her and took their own seats in the front. They pulled away with a jerk and a roar of the engine, leaving the scene behind.
The scene of her death. Or rather, her second death. Of how many to come, she had no idea.
She had learned of her fate a mere ten hours earlier. With her target having announced his retirement the day before, her mission was complete. Thus her identity -- the one that she had spent the past decade creating, cultivating, growing attached to, living -- became, overnight, nonfunctional. Superfluous. And so, with a phone call that afternoon, the Section told her that her life was over. That she would walk away and become someone else altogether -- that she would die, and be reborn. She would be expected to change existences the way other people might change clothes -- casually, and without sentiment.
That old life, the one she was abandoning, had been full of falsehoods and treachery. It was fitting, then, that she would end it with one final act of betrayal. Retired, her target would no longer provide new intel; but so long as he lived, his knowledge was a source of power to the Section's enemies. Hence he would die -- and at her hands. It didn't matter that, after all those years, she had grown rather fond of him, despite her disgust at the nature of his work. It didn't matter that he was one of the few people who had ever been kind to her -- that he trusted and cared for her, and had tried, in his own way, to help and protect her. It didn't even matter that she had spent more time with him than with any other person in her life -- that in certain respects, he knew her better than almost anyone alive. It was her job, her duty, to kill him. And so she did.
She approached him from behind, syringe in hand, injecting him in the neck before he could cry out. He slumped to the floor almost immediately, but, for a few split seconds, his eyes remained open, struggling to focus on her as she stood above him. She watched him for those last few moments, transfixed by the sequence of emotions that played across his face: first shock, then fear, then hurt, then, lastly, to her surprise, admiration. Admiration, she imagined, for the fact that she had fooled him so thoroughly and for so long. Perhaps he felt it made her worthy of the knowledge he had passed onto her -- or perhaps he knew, as she did, that a part of him would always survive in her. Finally, he smiled, closed his eyes, and lapsed into unconsciousness.
His death was painless, even peaceful. She supposed she owed him that. He was fortunate, in the end: a man who had caused others indescribable torment, he met his own end without suffering. She doubted that she would be so lucky.
The van began to slow, weaving its way through traffic as it returned to the city. How long had they been driving? She had dozed off to sleep, missing most of the journey. Now, it appeared, they were back in Paris, on their way to…she wasn't quite sure. No one had told her what her new assignment would be, how long it might last, when it would start.
The van turned, made a sharp descent into an underground tunnel, and then stopped. She held her breath, waiting. One of the men turned back to look at her.
"Welcome to Section One," he said.
***
Lisa Birkoff frowned and read the text on the computer screen for what felt like the thousandth time, mentally parsing the code that persisted in its maddening refusal to do what she wanted. After hours perched on the tiny chair, she'd lost feeling in her thighs, so in a halfhearted effort to get the circulation moving again she swiveled the chair back and forth a few times. It squeaked painfully, so she stopped.
"Hey, Lisa," said a voice from behind her shoulder.
Startled, she jumped and swung around. Walter looked down at her with a bemused expression.
"What are you still doing here, kiddo?" he asked. "It's two a.m. -- you're supposed to be getting your beauty sleep."
She leaned back in her chair and gave him a tired smile. "I'm trying to teach myself a little computer programming. But I've got to do it during the off hours, when I won't get in anyone's way. Otherwise our computer gurus chase me off."
"Are you kidding?" Walter scrunched up his face. "What are you giving yourself extra work for? It's not like they don't give us enough to do already."
"Well," she said, "that's kind of the point. I need some sort of skill so I can get the hell out of fieldwork. Increase my life expectancy. That sort of thing." She forced a dry laugh.
"Ahhh, smart gal." He nodded and clapped his hand on her shoulder. "That's how I got into Munitions, you know. I figured I'd better find some sort of specialty that kept me in here where it's safe. Or relatively safe, that is," he corrected with a chuckle. "Great minds think alike, huh?"
She grinned. "Yeah, I guess so." Turning back to her monitor, she continued, "Anyway, I'm writing a program to speed up the data transmittal between the security sensors and our mainframes. I've almost got it, but there are some bugs that are driving me crazy."
He pulled over a chair and sat down next to her, squinting as he examined the screen.
"I'll be damned," he said admiringly. "You taught yourself how to do this without any help?"
"Yeah," she said, feeling a blush heat her face. "But it's really not that hard. You just have to be persistent."
He shook his head. "Look, Lisa, don't be modest. If you want to survive in this place, you've got to trumpet your successes as loud as you can. Why, when I...."
Walter continued his story, but Lisa found herself distracted by the sight of three figures crossing the floor nearby. The two men she recognized as Housekeeping goons -- the kind of people who gave her crawling goosebumps when she ran into them in isolated corners of Section. But the woman walking alongside them was a stranger -- a stranger who held herself with a curious, aloof air, yet whose gaze swept across the room like a spotlight, inspecting every angle.
"Who's that?" asked Lisa.
Walter blinked. "Who?"
"That woman with Parsons and Bell. I don't remember seeing her before, but she doesn't have that freaked out look that the rookies always do."
Walter turned to follow Lisa's gaze. His eyes widened at the sight.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
"You know her?"
"We've met."
"So, c'mon, who is she?" asked Lisa, intrigued by the grimness in his tone.
He hesitated for an uncomfortably long time.
"The only person I've ever met who I think might belong in this place," he said, finally.
Puzzled, Lisa opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but Walter held up his hand.
"Shh. Not now. They're coming our way."
As the group approached, their conversation became audible.
"We'll show you to your quarters for now," said Parsons. "Your team leader will come for you in the morning to take you to your orientation."
The woman nodded and then, looking up, caught Walter's eye. She held his gaze for a few moments -- just long enough to demonstrate that she recognized him -- but turned away without expression.
Lisa and Walter watched until the three were again out of earshot.
"Man, I don't know what she's doing here," said Walter, "but whatever it is, it isn't good."
***
It was eight a.m. sharp. Paul reached for the buzzer, then hesitated. He placed his hand against the wall and leaned there for a few moments, taking long, slow breaths to ready himself.
Adrian had given him less than twenty-four hours' notice of the arrival -- and identity -- of his new team member. During that time, he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't worked. Instead, he just paced -- first in his office, then all night in his quarters -- his emotions whipsawing from elation to anxiety, from anticipation to apprehension.
For the past three years, ever since Madeline had banished him from her life, Paul had been trying to put her out of his mind. To that end, he had turned to his work, attacking it with a newly-found intensity. When that wasn't enough, he also turned to other women, with equal intensity, and in numbers he lost count of. They had all been beautiful and engaging, and he had thoroughly enjoyed their company. Yet still, when he noticed a slim brunette of Madeline's height on the street, he often found himself staring, heart pounding, caught up in the forlorn hope that he could at least glimpse her again. Of course, he never had.
Now, without warning, she was here in Section One. Assigned to his team, no less. He couldn't decide if he was thrilled or sickened at the prospect.
Clenching his jaw, he reached for the buzzer and rang it, and clasped his hands behind him to wait. The door opened almost instantly; startled, he took a step backwards. Then their eyes met, and he steeled himself for what would happen next.
They held each other's gaze, but neither of them spoke. She seemed to be waiting for him to start; he was at a loss for what to say. He searched her eyes, examined her expression, trying to judge her mood so that he might determine the best approach. What he saw -- a tightness in her face, a strange light in her eyes -- surprised him even as he recognized what it was. It was that same anxious excitement that was causing his stomach to churn, except better disguised: an uneasy balance of jubilation and trepidation, forced beneath a thin veneer of feigned impassivity.
Seeing his own feelings reflected in her expression gave him a burst of courage. He moved toward her, and she backed away, allowing him entry into the quarters. He closed the door and stood watching her, intent on reading every trace of emotion that passed, however faintly, across her face. When he rang the buzzer, he had expected to find the woman who had dismissed him so coldly -- instead, he saw someone at war with herself.
He took a step closer, intending to reach for her, to pull her into his arms, to crush her body against his, to run his hands through her hair and down her back, to bend down and press his lips hungrily against hers -- to do everything he had dreamed of doing were he to see her again -- but, once more, she moved away. She glanced at the floor for a few seconds, and when she looked back up her expression was transformed: calm, controlled, indifferent.
"I take it you're my team leader," she said.
His stomach contracted as if he had been slammed with a punch. "That's right," he answered dully, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. He had been wrong in his assessment of her emotions a moment ago. Three years had passed, and she had moved on, even if he hadn't. He had been reading in her eyes what he wanted to see, not what was there.
She took a military stance. "Then I'm ready to begin my orientation."
"Well, then," he answered, turning toward the door to hide his disappointment, "come with me."
***
Footsteps sounded along the metal stairs leading to Adrian's office, and then a knock tapped against the open door. Adrian ignored it and continued to read her report. Her visitors were several minutes late, and that would not do. They would wait, as a reminder of the virtues of timeliness.
She finished four more pages and finally looked up. Paul and Madeline stood just outside the office, waiting side by side with their hands clasped in front of them. Their matching posture caught Adrian off guard; their identical expressions left her vaguely unsettled. While it was no doubt unconscious on their part, their stance looked almost practiced, like a deliberate show of strength. In the shadows outside her doorway, they stood like grim sentries, waiting silently -- not for her summons, but for something indefinable.
She pushed that thought away. "Please, both of you, come in and sit down."
Paul nodded at Madeline to go first, and the two entered the room and seated themselves in the chairs in front of Adrian's desk. In the light of her office, their differences showed -- that appearance of unity melted away like the illusion Adrian now knew it was. Paul sat more restlessly than usual; he shifted positions every few moments, nearly radiating anxiety and discomfort. Madeline kept her hands folded on her lap and her spine straight, at attention. Her face was blank -- blank, but not wholly unreadable. She stared, a bit too intently, at an imaginary spot on Adrian's desk, in an obvious effort to avoid looking at Adrian's eyes. She was afraid, Adrian decided. Good. Adrian intended to keep her that way. An operative with her particular brand of training needed to be kept firmly under control.
"Good morning, and welcome to One, Madeline," Adrian said. "I trust you slept well."
"Quite well, thank you."
Madeline looked up and smiled, shifting into a pleasant demeanor as suddenly as if she had flipped a light switch. Adrian bit back an urge to grimace. Perhaps that sort of pseudo-warmth fooled some people, but its manufactured nature set Adrian's nerves on edge.
"The quarters are temporary, until we make arrangements on the outside. I hope it's not too uncomfortable in the meantime."
"Not at all." Again, that smile. It flashed, then faded too quickly.
Adrian drummed her fingers on her desk, long enough to make the waiting uncomfortable, until she saw a hint of nervousness return to the young woman's eyes. She then took a exaggerated breath and frowned.
"Your status here is a bit difficult to categorize," she said, speaking slowly so as to appear reluctant to raise the subject. "At Section Two, you were an experienced operative, already Level Five." She paused, allowing the fact that she had used the past tense to sink in. "However, the work we do here is quite different from what you've been used to. Under the circumstances, I concluded a demotion was, regretfully, necessary. Henceforth you'll be recategorized as Level Two."
Madeline blinked but said nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, Adrian saw Paul shift suddenly in his seat.
"Please don't take it in a negative way," Adrian continued, ignoring Paul's reaction. "It's not intended as a reprimand or a punishment. It's merely a recognition that you lack a certain type of experience."
"Of course." The agreeable demeanor had vanished; Madeline's tone was all business. Cold as it was, Adrian actually preferred it. At least it was honest.
"There is one special matter, however," she said.
Madeline arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Thanks to your assignment at Section Two, you've developed a rather unusual expertise. As a result, in addition to your other duties, I'm assigning you to take on the project of modernizing and streamlining some of our intelligence gathering procedures. In particular, with respect to the interrogation of captives." Adrian smiled. "I thought you might enjoy doing some work that's more familiar to you."
She studied Madeline for a reaction. To her disappointment, there was none.
"I'm glad my prior training will continue to be of use," was all Madeline said, her voice quiet.
"Your educational background also suits you for profiling, which I anticipate will eventually become your primary duty. However, before you can begin doing that, you need some field experience. That's why you've been assigned to Paul's team."
Adrian nodded at Paul, for the first time acknowledging his presence. His posture hadn't lost any of its tension.
She turned back to Madeline. "Working with a familiar face should be reassuring, don't you think?"
"I appreciate that," said Madeline, once again switching on that artificial warmth.
Adrian repressed a cynical roll of her eyes and determined that she would shut that pretense of pleasantness off for good. Madeline would have to learn -- the hard way, if need be -- that Adrian couldn't be charmed, couldn't be manipulated -- that, indeed, things would go much more easily for her if she dealt with Adrian forthrightly, without any charade that she was anything more than what she was: a monster, to be entrusted with some of the Section's ugliest tasks. There was a place for her in the Section -- a respected place, even -- if she would learn to live within her limits. It was time to start setting them.
"You need to be aware," Adrian said sternly, "you and Paul will have a very different relationship from before."
Madeline stiffened. The warmth faded, as Adrian intended that it would.
"When you helped Paul escape captivity in the Ukraine, you were colleagues. Equals. Now, you'll be his subordinate. Is that going to pose a problem?"
"No."
Adrian turned back to Paul. "Have you given any thought to what her first mission should be?"
"I think Tripoli would work."
"No, that's more than a month away. I suggest Vienna."
"Vienna?" He scowled. "That's just four days from now. She needs more time for training."
"Time is a luxury for the indolent and the unmotivated. Four days should be quite more than adequate. After all, she isn't completely inexperienced, you know."
He fidgeted in his chair, his reluctance obvious. "We're likely to come under fire. She doesn't have any combat experience."
"Well," said Adrian tartly, "if you doubt her abilities that much, perhaps I should assign her to another team. I believe Charles has an opening."
"That's not what I meant." Paul stole a look at Madeline, who was regarding him with an expression that Adrian felt certain was resentment. "I just want to make sure that she's integrated into the team smoothly."
Adrian chuckled. Paul was so transparent, especially when he resorted to platitudes. "Paul, I appreciate your desire to protect your team members. It's truly noble. But here, as you well know, we must all learn to fend for ourselves. Besides, I'm sure Madeline doesn't want to be coddled, now does she? She won't make it back to Level Five very quickly that way."
Paul started to open his mouth to reply, but apparently thought better of it. Next to him, Madeline looked furious.
"Very good," said Adrian, satisfied that she had yanked their leashes adequately. "Vienna it is."
*********
To go on to Chapter Two, click here.