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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).
Chapter Sixteen
As she turned the corner, Adrian spotted the three operatives waiting at the conference table. She could feel the intensity of their mood even from across the room; it felt as if a humming electricity filled the air, growing stronger as she approached. It clung to her like the heaviness before a thunderstorm, so thick she nearly had to push her way through it.
The energy seemed to swirl everywhere, but it flowed from a precise point: a spot between Paul and Madeline, where they leaned together in conversation so closely their heads nearly touched. Their voices were low, too muted for Adrian to hear, but their faces bore expressions of acute concentration, of a mutual absorption so rapt it seemed almost arrogant in its exclusion of their surroundings.
When Adrian reached the head of the table and took a seat, they pulled apart and turned toward her attentively -- emerging from their communion with a smooth, synchronous movement. Madeline gave her a curt, professional nod; Paul simply sat, watching her with a pallid gaze, punctuated by slow blinks.
Adrian smiled at them politely, and turned to do the same to Walter. He sat across the table from the other two; unusually silent, he wore a grave expression that contrasted starkly with his bright shirt and gaudy turquoise medallion.
"Since you called me out of my meeting," Adrian began, "I take it you've learned something about our captive's condition?"
"Yes, we have," answered Madeline. Although her voice was calm, her dark eyes were filled with a subtle disquiet. She held Adrian's gaze for a moment, then glanced at Walter.
Walter reached into a box next to him. He withdrew a small, rectangular object covered in a black plastic casing; placing it on the table, he looked up nervously at Adrian.
"What is that?" Adrian asked. It looked like a component that had been stripped out of something else, with long, protruding wires that dangled loosely from the sides.
"Medlab removed this fun little doohickey from our guest," said Walter, his words light, but his tone grim.
Removed it from him? Surgically? That's what Walter seemed to be saying, but it didn't make any sense.
"And it is?" she asked.
"The case contains a battery and a radio receiver. They found it implanted under his collarbone." He reached toward the object and ran a finger along the wires. "These here have microelectrodes attached -- they came out from the battery, traveled under his skin along the neck and scalp, and then went into his brain."
"Into his brain?" Adrian sat back in her chair. "In order to…?"
"To zap the poor bastard with an electrical current."
Adrian stifled the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, Walter, I grasped that much," she said. "But to what end?"
He held up his hands as if warding off the question. "I'm here to tell you how it's built. As for what it's used for, that's witch-doctor stuff."
His words hung uncomfortably in the air for several moments. He looked away, staring at an empty seat toward the far end of the table.
Eventually, Madeline cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "The electrodes were placed so as to stimulate a variety of emotional centers in the brain," she explained. "When switched on, the electrical current would induce mood changes."
"Thus explaining his unusual behavior," said Adrian.
"Precisely."
Adrian stared at the device. How revolting to think that such a barbaric piece of equipment had actually been implanted in a human being. Then she frowned: there was a fact that didn't quite fit into the puzzle.
"What's the purpose of the radio receiver?" she asked, turning back toward Walter.
He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, that's the best part. It allows someone else to send signals to it, telling it which electrode to turn on. Kind of like changing TV channels with a remote control."
"Or controlling a robot," Adrian murmured, a feeling of horror sweeping through her veins.
"Not quite," Madeline interjected. "It triggers strong emotions, but doesn't entirely supplant the subject's free will."
"Then what is its purpose?"
Madeline paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. "Performance enhancement, I believe."
"Performance enhancement?" Adrian repeated, not quite certain what Madeline meant -- or, more accurately, not quite certain she wanted to know.
"Imagine how motivated an assassin would be if you could push a button and send him into a homicidal rage," said Madeline. "Or how convincing an undercover agent would be in his role if you could generate genuine emotions." She moved forward in her chair, her expression growing more focused. "You could even give someone on a suicide mission an extra boost of courage."
As Madeline leaned toward her, Adrian found herself drawing back, repulsed by the unperturbed -- almost admiring -- tone that had crept into the other woman's voice.
"That's monstrous," Adrian exclaimed.
Madeline regarded Adrian blankly for several moments, but then a subtle change took place within her eyes. Deep inside, a look of calculating, mechanical coldness grew, as if a long-dormant creature had stirred to life in some pitch-black cavern.
After a long silence, Madeline spoke. "That's the theory behind the device, at least," she said. "But it's apparent from our captive's erratic behavior that it's far from perfected. In fact, I doubt they had any real control over his reactions."
Adrian swallowed, forcing back an acid taste that filled her mouth. No matter how well-conditioned and obedient Madeline had become, she was still thoroughly cold-blooded -- and no matter how many times Adrian reminded herself of that fact, its demonstration never lost its impact.
"It's far from perfected now," Adrian said, recovering her composure by focusing on the immediate problem. "But they'll succeed eventually?"
"Perhaps. Given enough time."
Adrian drummed her fingers on the table. "Could they do this to someone without his knowledge? A sleeper assassin, for example?"
"I'm reluctant to speak in absolutes," Madeline said, "but it's hard to imagine that the procedure could escape the notice of the subject. It requires neurosurgery and recovery time, as well as adjustment and testing of the battery and the radio after implantation. In addition, there would be noticeable side-effects whenever the device was producing a current." She paused, frowning. "However, a knowing participant doesn't have to be a willing participant. Someone could be forced to submit to it."
Forced to submit to it? Somehow, that seemed even worse than being an unwitting victim.
Adrian laughed. "This is how they have to motivate their members? So much for the strength of their ideology." She shook her head in disgust. When none of them reacted to her remark, she turned to Paul. "Have you noticed odd behavior out in the field? Any signs they've tried this out on anyone else?"
"No." He stared at her impassively. Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, he looked bored. But the flicker of awareness in his eyes, the slight tension in his features that brought out faint lines in his face, hinted not of boredom, but of contempt.
It was a contempt she had seen before -- that had been growing increasingly visible over time. A contempt she knew she needed to respond to -- but hadn't quite yet decided how.
In any event, now was not the time to deal with it. Turning away from Paul, she leaned her chin on her hand, her mind sifting through their options. She straightened again when an idea began to emerge, crystallizing slowly.
"Walter?" she asked, a small smile curling her mouth.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Could we jam their signals and interfere with the communication of the commands?"
He nodded. "Sure, probably, if we outfitted our teams with the right equipment."
"Could we send our own signals?"
"Could we what?"
"If we knew the right frequency, could we send our own commands to their operatives? Could we control their reactions -- encourage them to surrender if we attacked, for example?"
"Oh, boy, I don't know." He shook his head. "Trying to make that work could get pretty complicated. I think it's a long shot."
"My, my, Walter," she said with a chuckle, "you don't usually let that discourage you. Or is it only in the pursuit of female company that you're so dogged in the face of overwhelming odds?"
He opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it again, his face turning crimson.
"Walter," she announced, "I want you to begin testing means to control the signals to this device. Madeline, your assignment is to gather as much information as possible about how it might actually affect the subject. I want both of you to report back to me in a week, and we'll decide how to proceed from there."
Madeline exchanged a quick glance with Walter, then smiled politely. "Actually, I'm already somewhat familiar with the topic."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? A bit of leisure-time reading?"
Madeline showed no reaction. "The Soviet doctor who pioneered the technology is someone I had occasion to work with during my undercover assignment for Section Two," she said blandly.
"Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten?" Adrian said, unable to keep the distaste out of her voice. That prior work for Section Two was something Adrian had only reluctantly authorized. Still, there was no denying it had given Madeline highly useful skills. "Would you be able to conduct such research here?"
"By myself?" Madeline asked. When Adrian nodded, she shook her head. "No. I'm not a physician. I do know enough to supervise a team working on such a project." She frowned. "However, I'm not certain that it's possible to--"
"The doctor in the Soviet Union," Adrian interrupted. "What's his name?"
"Her name. Dr. Zinaida Ulanova, at the Moscow Neuroscience Institute."
"Could we get access to her research? Do we still have sources close to her?"
Madeline's frown deepened. "I don't believe so. And her data will be guarded quite closely. It will be difficult to break into her offices to retrieve it."
"Why don't we just bring her in?" asked Paul impatiently. "Why waste time trying to duplicate her work?"
Madeline turned to stare at Paul, her expression first startled, then uneasy.
"Bring her in?" asked Adrian. "For interrogation?"
Paul gave a dry laugh. "For recruitment. Let her lead our research team. That way we'd be ahead of Red Cell instead of trying to catch up."
A pioneer in Soviet mind control experimentation -- doing her work for Section? Unthinkable.
"I'm not certain there's a place here for Dr. Frankenstein, Paul," Adrian said scornfully.
"Who better to tell you how to kill the monster?" His steady gaze was a silent challenge.
She held his look for several moments. "What if she can't bring herself to kill it?"
"She won't sabotage us," said Madeline. She looked directly into Adrian's eyes -- her posture rigid, her expression tight, as if she were bracing herself for a blow.
"You're certain of this?" Adrian asked, eyeing Madeline with suspicion. Madeline's body language nearly screamed that she was lying; Adrian wanted to know why.
Paul and Madeline exchanged a look -- they seemed visibly to switch gears, to shift back into that focused connection of before. Transformed, composed, Madeline turned back toward Adrian.
"Dr. Ulanova is a perfectionist," she said. "If there's a way to counteract the device, she would want to find it herself. She's the ideal person to lead our research efforts. In fact, having her work with us would likely cut our development time in half."
Adrian studied the two of them. She had been seeing this type of interaction more and more frequently of late: Madeline deferred to Paul's suggestions; in return, he allowed her to argue his case for him. A few years ago, when Adrian had still seen Paul as the prime candidate for her successor, their behavior would have troubled her. Now, with his status much more ambiguous, it was merely intriguing.
She had grave doubts about the wisdom of Paul's idea -- indeed, she suspected that Madeline did, too, despite her eagerness to support him. Nevertheless, allowing them to proceed would be an interesting experiment: a test of whether Madeline would admit the truth when the doctor inevitably failed, or whether this habit of defending Paul was dangerously ingrained.
"Well, then," Adrian said, smiling brightly, "if you're that confident, then by all means let's use her. I'd like the two of you to put together a profile to bring her in by the end of the week."
They both nodded.
"After she's here," Adrian continued, "you'll take full responsibility for her, Madeline. You'll be her trainer, her mentor, and her supervisor. And you'll report directly to me on the progress of her research. Understood?"
Madeline's face was a mask of calm resolve. "Of course."
"Excellent," said Adrian, standing to leave. "And good luck."
***
Paul pushed open his office door and stepped aside, allowing Madeline to enter first. He caught a fleeting whiff of fragrance as she passed, but it disappeared as she swept through the door and toward her usual chair at the table. She sat, crossed her legs and smoothed out her emerald silk skirt, then looked up at him expectantly.
He took the seat across from her and leaned his elbows on the table, examining her. Her hair fell in carefully styled waves to her shoulders, its dark color contrasting with the rich, cream-colored fabric of her blouse. The blouse was cut provocatively low, yet actually revealed nothing, aside from the necklace that shone against the skin below her neck. The necklace matched her earrings, which in turn matched her watch -- everything meticulously selected, painstakingly put in place. The fastidious attention she lavished on her appearance gave her an elegance that even older operatives lacked: it allowed her to present herself as composed, unruffled, serene -- even at times when he was certain she wasn't.
Times like now.
"You don't think it's going to work, do you?" he asked abruptly.
She cocked her head and looked at him, her eyes soft pools of darkness. "I don't think what's going to work?"
"Recruiting that Soviet doctor. I could tell you thought it was crazy."
She gave a noncommittal shrug. "The probability of success is low, at best. Dr. Ulanova has a difficult personality, shall we say."
He frowned. "Then why did you support me?"
She didn't answer for several moments -- her expression grew distant, as if she were trying to compose an answer. Finally, she took a long breath and spoke. "Your idea is our only hope of achieving Adrian's objective. If we tried to recreate the research using only Dr. Ulanova's files -- even supplemented by my memories from four years ago -- it would take too long. We'd be so far behind Red Cell there would be no point even trying." She smiled faintly. "You hit upon the only solution."
"Then why didn't you just tell her it couldn't be done?" When she looked at him as if he had lost his mind, he laughed and shook his head. "I know, I know."
So Adrian wanted the impossible. That was hardly anything new. What was surprising was how often they actually managed to give it to her.
As he shifted in his chair, the muscles in his lower back tightened with a dull ache; grimacing, he rose to his feet and began to pace. No longer comfortable sitting for any length of time, he had recently replaced his desk with a computer stand that allowed him to work while standing up. The meeting table and chairs he left as a courtesy to others -- mostly to Madeline, who spent more time in his office than anyone else -- but he could never sit there for long. Long ago, back in high school when he thought he was indestructible, he had wrenched his back in a violent football tackle. Recovering after several months, he promptly forgot about it; but now, years later, the injury had come back to haunt him. It was a troubling mark of advancing age: a sign that his days in the field, chasing after men in their twenties, would have to end. To be replaced by what was the question -- albeit one that he tried not to ask himself too often.
"All right," he said, rubbing his chin in thought as he walked back and forth, "you already have a fair amount of intel about this woman -- what's our best extraction scenario? Can we get to her when she's out of the country, at a conference or something?"
Madeline's lips twitched. "She doesn't travel." Her tone suggested a barely suppressed amusement, as if there were a great deal more to her statement than the words themselves revealed.
"Never?"
"Never. Not even out of Moscow." She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, her demeanor relaxing as the conversation shifted away from Adrian and into the comfortable routine of profiling. "In fact, from what I remember about her, she spent all her time either at the Institute or at home."
He sighed. "Fine. So we'll have to do an extraction in-country. What's the security like at the Institute?"
"Tight."
"At her home?"
Her brows furrowed. "I'm not sure. I'll have to find out where she lives. But most likely it's in a block of apartments -- not the easiest place to send a team unnoticed."
"Then we'll have to intercept her on her way from one to the other."
She nodded slowly, but she looked vaguely dissatisfied. She sat still for a moment, then her expression lightened. "There might be a simpler way," she said, her voice filling with pleased realization.
He stopped pacing. When she adopted that self-satisfied air it was usually very good news. "Yes?"
"Egran Petrosian. He knows her, at least casually. He could lure her out to a meeting."
"Hmmm. Wouldn't that put his cover at risk?"
"He's a clever man. I'm sure he can come up with something plausible. I'll contact him through the standard channels tomorrow."
"All right." He nodded. "Actually, I've been hoping to get another assignment with him. He still owes me money from Havana."
"Money? For what?"
"Oh, that's right." He laughed in embarrassment. "You wouldn't know. I forgot you didn't go with us on our, uh, excursion that one night."
She gave him a teasingly disapproving look and rose to her feet. "I'll forward you the profile as soon as I firm up the details with Egran."
"Wait," he said, reaching across the table to touch her arm as she turned to depart.
She raised her eyebrows.
"I've been going over the Matsuda scenario. I have some new data, and I'd appreciate your input before I take it to Adrian."
She flashed a split-second smile and sat down again. "Of course. Let me take a look."
He crossed the room to retrieve a file, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she waited. She looked relaxed, at home, settling into the familiar routine that they'd created over the past couple of years: sharing their work, tossing ideas back and forth, working together to create profiles that surpassed anything else produced in the Section. She spent so many hours working in his office that she had adopted one of the chairs as her own, moving into his space with a cozy sense of intimacy.
A professional intimacy, that is. They no longer shared any other kind. While she had never openly broken off their romance, had never asked him to stop coming to stay with her at night, somehow he had known that he was no longer welcome. That she was closed off to him, except in the narrow arena of work.
There, however, their relationship flourished -- in fact, it intensified, as if all of the energy they previously put into their love affair had been channeled into the smaller universe of the Section, concentrating and magnifying in the process. Over time, they had developed a kind of symbiotic cohesion -- their new relationship became comfortable, natural, inevitable, as if there had never been anything else. She became the only person who understood the workings of his mind, the only person he truly trusted -- and vice versa.
It was a sad irony: had they maintained their romantic relationship, the professional one -- the one he now cherished so much -- might not have deepened as thoroughly. He knew it, accepted it, and realized it was probably for the best. Still, looking at her now, he felt a pang of mourning for what they had -- a wish that somehow, some kind of balance could have been possible.
Gripping the file in his hand, he returned to the table. Dwelling on the past was foolish. He wouldn't succumb to wishful thinking when what they had come to share was so valuable: a joint addiction to the game, an unshakable sense of teamwork, and a growing faith in the rightness of what they were doing. A faith that had nothing to do with Adrian and her rigid Cold War ideology. Indeed, the Cold War had never truly satisfied him. While it was comforting to know that there were distinct teams and clear rules, the fight had often seemed so pointless, pitting one self-interested empire against another. But with the shift in power away from the Soviets and toward organizations like Red Cell, he knew he was facing real evil. Madeline recognized it, too; it showed in the righteous concentration that filled her face when they drew up their battle plans. There were real monsters out there, now, and it was their calling to stop them.
It was a calling far more important than the personal needs of any individual -- the two of them included.
***
Outside Section, the sun hadn't yet risen, and a hard winter rain fell onto the darkened streets. As Madeline made her way along the sidewalk, the wind whipped chilly sheets of water in every direction; it surged under her umbrella in powerful gusts, threatening to wrench it inside out.
After only four blocks, the front of her overcoat was soaked completely through. Fine droplets of water stung as the wind drove them into her face. The morning walk from the metro station to Section had turned into a losing struggle against the elements -- one rendered all the more miserable by the thought that her visitor from the prior evening was still sleeping, snuggled warmly under thick layers of bedcovers.
When she finally arrived at Section, it had rarely seemed so welcoming. With cold hands, she unbuttoned her coat and shook out her umbrella, spraying drops of rainwater across Section's main access area. She folded the umbrella and walked down the hallway. Her wet boots squeaked on the floor as she dripped water in her wake.
Rounding a corner, she saw Adrian striding purposefully down the corridor. There wasn't a drop of rain on the other woman's well-coiffed head; the alert look on her face was that of someone who had already been awake and productive for several hours.
Adrian nodded. "Madeline."
"Good morning," she replied. She hesitated, wondering whether she should wait for a more formal opportunity to meet with Adrian, then decided against it. "May I speak with you for a moment?"
"Certainly. I'm on my way to Procurement -- why don't you walk along with me?"
Adrian commenced a vigorous stride down the hallway, and Madeline struggled to match the pace without slipping in her wet boots. As they progressed, Adrian smiled at several other operatives, then glanced sideways at Madeline.
"What is it you wished to discuss?"
"It's the research project with Dr. Ulanova."
"Yes?"
"Integrating her into Section may require a considerable amount of my time, at least for the first several weeks."
"Of course. I'd already taken that into consideration." She nodded at another passing operative and turned back toward Madeline. "You'll be exempt from field assignments for the next fortnight at least. You will, however, continue with your full load of profiling and interrogation work." Her gaze sharpened, her expression both expectant and challenging. "I trust that won't be too burdensome?"
"Not at all. Thank you."
"Well, that was simple enough, wasn't it?" They continued in silence for a few moments, and then Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything else?"
Madeline swallowed nervously. "Yes, there is." She had opened the conversation with the simple request -- the one that made no sense to deny. Now, however, it was time to raise a more complicated subject.
Adrian's smile had frozen, rendering her face stiff, mask-like. "Please, go on, dear," she said.
"In order to conduct her research, Dr. Ulanova will need to work on the R&D levels within Section."
"Of course."
"I'm expected to supervise this work, and yet I don't have security clearance to access those departments."
"Ah." There was a long pause, the squeaking of Madeline's boots the only sound. "You raise a valid point. I think it might be necessary to raise your security rating to Class F. That should rectify the problem."
Madeline nodded, relieved that Adrian had agreed so readily to change her status, instead of finding an excuse to find fault with Madeline's qualifications.
"In fact," continued Adrian, "a Class F rating will give you clearance for a great deal more than the R&D levels. You'll be cleared for roughly ninety percent of accessible areas." Adrian gave her a strange look -- part amusement, part something Madeline couldn't quite place. "You'll have the highest clearance of any of the other Level Five operatives, you know. Higher than Paul, even," she said. "I suppose this calls for congratulations, of a sort."
Madeline said nothing, uncertain of how to respond.
"Actually," Adrian said, "I've been considering this reclassification for several months now. It's time for your role here to mature and evolve -- you need to be much more involved in our research and support activities. I think that's where you'll flourish."
"I hope so," Madeline replied warily, surprised at the warm tone of voice her superior had used.
Adrian gave her a slow look up and down, then smiled to herself, as if at a private joke.
"Tell me, Madeline. You've been here at One for four years now -- and part of the organization for how long? Sixteen years?" When Madeline nodded, Adrian continued, "After all this time, you must have developed some ambitions. Where do you see yourself in the long term?"
Madeline hesitated. It was critical that she say the right thing -- that she manage to sound acceptably diligent and loyal, with appropriate goals, but without posing a threat. She glanced at Adrian, trying to judge her mood, and saw an uncharacteristically sincere interest -- Adrian's expression looked almost encouraging. Still, a platitude seemed safer.
"I'd like to help guide the Section into the future in whatever way I can," she finally said, using the most serious tone she could muster.
Adrian's face tightened. As safely vague as Madeline thought her answer had been, she had apparently said something wrong.
"Let's not get too ambitious, dear," said Adrian icily. "You need to leave the guidance to those who are better suited to it."
Madeline's face heated in a flush; to hide it, she looked away.
Adrian placed a hand on Madeline's shoulder. "I think it's time I gave you some very frank advice."
Madeline forced herself to look back at Adrian, wiping all signs of her apprehension off her face.
"Leadership belongs to those who set a good example for others," Adrian said loftily. "And that's not just professionally, but in every aspect of their behavior. I'm afraid you haven't demonstrated that quality yet."
There was nothing to say to this. Madeline stared down the corridor, keeping her expression blank.
Adrian gave Madeline's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You've made remarkable improvements in your work over the past four years. I'm extremely pleased with your performance, as demonstrated by my decision to increase your responsibilities. However…." Adrian withdrew her hand. The movement made Madeline flinch. "What kind of moral tone do you think it sets for the Section when you take a different young man home with you every week?" The gentleness had vanished, replaced by frosty disdain.
Fighting to keep down a surge of resentment, Madeline took a long, careful breath before answering. "I don't know that it's anyone's business," she said coolly, looking Adrian directly in the eye. "I'm not coercing anyone."
Adrian made a "tsk" of disapproval and shook her head. "You see, this is precisely why you aren't meant for a leadership role. If you were, you would instinctively know that in an organization like ours, where we demand that our operatives follow orders even at the risk of death, the leadership must be seen as beyond the weaknesses of mere mortals." Her voice grew stern. "Leaders can't engage in behavior that is even remotely unseemly. The fact that this needs to be pointed out to you demonstrates that you aren't the right sort of person to wield that kind of power."
Madeline stared at a spot on the floor several steps ahead, her anger controlled only by her dazed shock. It was unbelievable. Adrian was opining on morality as if she were a Victorian missionary's wife instead of the woman who routinely sent Madeline out on valentine missions -- and yet somehow she had succeeded in making Madeline feel ashamed.
Adrian's expression softened. "I'm not telling you this to be cruel, Madeline. It's simply an objective observation -- something that you need to know about yourself. If you understand your limitations, then you can be satisfied doing what you can do well."
"And what would that be?"
"You can do the work that no one else has the stomach for. Focus on that. Accept it as who you are." Adrian smiled. "After all, if you try to be someone you're not, you'll only wind up destroying yourself."
************
To go on to Chapter Seventeen, click here.
Previous Chapters
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).
As she turned the corner, Adrian spotted the three operatives waiting at the conference table. She could feel the intensity of their mood even from across the room; it felt as if a humming electricity filled the air, growing stronger as she approached. It clung to her like the heaviness before a thunderstorm, so thick she nearly had to push her way through it.
The energy seemed to swirl everywhere, but it flowed from a precise point: a spot between Paul and Madeline, where they leaned together in conversation so closely their heads nearly touched. Their voices were low, too muted for Adrian to hear, but their faces bore expressions of acute concentration, of a mutual absorption so rapt it seemed almost arrogant in its exclusion of their surroundings.
When Adrian reached the head of the table and took a seat, they pulled apart and turned toward her attentively -- emerging from their communion with a smooth, synchronous movement. Madeline gave her a curt, professional nod; Paul simply sat, watching her with a pallid gaze, punctuated by slow blinks.
Adrian smiled at them politely, and turned to do the same to Walter. He sat across the table from the other two; unusually silent, he wore a grave expression that contrasted starkly with his bright shirt and gaudy turquoise medallion.
"Since you called me out of my meeting," Adrian began, "I take it you've learned something about our captive's condition?"
"Yes, we have," answered Madeline. Although her voice was calm, her dark eyes were filled with a subtle disquiet. She held Adrian's gaze for a moment, then glanced at Walter.
Walter reached into a box next to him. He withdrew a small, rectangular object covered in a black plastic casing; placing it on the table, he looked up nervously at Adrian.
"What is that?" Adrian asked. It looked like a component that had been stripped out of something else, with long, protruding wires that dangled loosely from the sides.
"Medlab removed this fun little doohickey from our guest," said Walter, his words light, but his tone grim.
Removed it from him? Surgically? That's what Walter seemed to be saying, but it didn't make any sense.
"And it is?" she asked.
"The case contains a battery and a radio receiver. They found it implanted under his collarbone." He reached toward the object and ran a finger along the wires. "These here have microelectrodes attached -- they came out from the battery, traveled under his skin along the neck and scalp, and then went into his brain."
"Into his brain?" Adrian sat back in her chair. "In order to…?"
"To zap the poor bastard with an electrical current."
Adrian stifled the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, Walter, I grasped that much," she said. "But to what end?"
He held up his hands as if warding off the question. "I'm here to tell you how it's built. As for what it's used for, that's witch-doctor stuff."
His words hung uncomfortably in the air for several moments. He looked away, staring at an empty seat toward the far end of the table.
Eventually, Madeline cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "The electrodes were placed so as to stimulate a variety of emotional centers in the brain," she explained. "When switched on, the electrical current would induce mood changes."
"Thus explaining his unusual behavior," said Adrian.
"Precisely."
Adrian stared at the device. How revolting to think that such a barbaric piece of equipment had actually been implanted in a human being. Then she frowned: there was a fact that didn't quite fit into the puzzle.
"What's the purpose of the radio receiver?" she asked, turning back toward Walter.
He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, that's the best part. It allows someone else to send signals to it, telling it which electrode to turn on. Kind of like changing TV channels with a remote control."
"Or controlling a robot," Adrian murmured, a feeling of horror sweeping through her veins.
"Not quite," Madeline interjected. "It triggers strong emotions, but doesn't entirely supplant the subject's free will."
"Then what is its purpose?"
Madeline paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. "Performance enhancement, I believe."
"Performance enhancement?" Adrian repeated, not quite certain what Madeline meant -- or, more accurately, not quite certain she wanted to know.
"Imagine how motivated an assassin would be if you could push a button and send him into a homicidal rage," said Madeline. "Or how convincing an undercover agent would be in his role if you could generate genuine emotions." She moved forward in her chair, her expression growing more focused. "You could even give someone on a suicide mission an extra boost of courage."
As Madeline leaned toward her, Adrian found herself drawing back, repulsed by the unperturbed -- almost admiring -- tone that had crept into the other woman's voice.
"That's monstrous," Adrian exclaimed.
Madeline regarded Adrian blankly for several moments, but then a subtle change took place within her eyes. Deep inside, a look of calculating, mechanical coldness grew, as if a long-dormant creature had stirred to life in some pitch-black cavern.
After a long silence, Madeline spoke. "That's the theory behind the device, at least," she said. "But it's apparent from our captive's erratic behavior that it's far from perfected. In fact, I doubt they had any real control over his reactions."
Adrian swallowed, forcing back an acid taste that filled her mouth. No matter how well-conditioned and obedient Madeline had become, she was still thoroughly cold-blooded -- and no matter how many times Adrian reminded herself of that fact, its demonstration never lost its impact.
"It's far from perfected now," Adrian said, recovering her composure by focusing on the immediate problem. "But they'll succeed eventually?"
"Perhaps. Given enough time."
Adrian drummed her fingers on the table. "Could they do this to someone without his knowledge? A sleeper assassin, for example?"
"I'm reluctant to speak in absolutes," Madeline said, "but it's hard to imagine that the procedure could escape the notice of the subject. It requires neurosurgery and recovery time, as well as adjustment and testing of the battery and the radio after implantation. In addition, there would be noticeable side-effects whenever the device was producing a current." She paused, frowning. "However, a knowing participant doesn't have to be a willing participant. Someone could be forced to submit to it."
Forced to submit to it? Somehow, that seemed even worse than being an unwitting victim.
Adrian laughed. "This is how they have to motivate their members? So much for the strength of their ideology." She shook her head in disgust. When none of them reacted to her remark, she turned to Paul. "Have you noticed odd behavior out in the field? Any signs they've tried this out on anyone else?"
"No." He stared at her impassively. Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, he looked bored. But the flicker of awareness in his eyes, the slight tension in his features that brought out faint lines in his face, hinted not of boredom, but of contempt.
It was a contempt she had seen before -- that had been growing increasingly visible over time. A contempt she knew she needed to respond to -- but hadn't quite yet decided how.
In any event, now was not the time to deal with it. Turning away from Paul, she leaned her chin on her hand, her mind sifting through their options. She straightened again when an idea began to emerge, crystallizing slowly.
"Walter?" she asked, a small smile curling her mouth.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Could we jam their signals and interfere with the communication of the commands?"
He nodded. "Sure, probably, if we outfitted our teams with the right equipment."
"Could we send our own signals?"
"Could we what?"
"If we knew the right frequency, could we send our own commands to their operatives? Could we control their reactions -- encourage them to surrender if we attacked, for example?"
"Oh, boy, I don't know." He shook his head. "Trying to make that work could get pretty complicated. I think it's a long shot."
"My, my, Walter," she said with a chuckle, "you don't usually let that discourage you. Or is it only in the pursuit of female company that you're so dogged in the face of overwhelming odds?"
He opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it again, his face turning crimson.
"Walter," she announced, "I want you to begin testing means to control the signals to this device. Madeline, your assignment is to gather as much information as possible about how it might actually affect the subject. I want both of you to report back to me in a week, and we'll decide how to proceed from there."
Madeline exchanged a quick glance with Walter, then smiled politely. "Actually, I'm already somewhat familiar with the topic."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? A bit of leisure-time reading?"
Madeline showed no reaction. "The Soviet doctor who pioneered the technology is someone I had occasion to work with during my undercover assignment for Section Two," she said blandly.
"Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten?" Adrian said, unable to keep the distaste out of her voice. That prior work for Section Two was something Adrian had only reluctantly authorized. Still, there was no denying it had given Madeline highly useful skills. "Would you be able to conduct such research here?"
"By myself?" Madeline asked. When Adrian nodded, she shook her head. "No. I'm not a physician. I do know enough to supervise a team working on such a project." She frowned. "However, I'm not certain that it's possible to--"
"The doctor in the Soviet Union," Adrian interrupted. "What's his name?"
"Her name. Dr. Zinaida Ulanova, at the Moscow Neuroscience Institute."
"Could we get access to her research? Do we still have sources close to her?"
Madeline's frown deepened. "I don't believe so. And her data will be guarded quite closely. It will be difficult to break into her offices to retrieve it."
"Why don't we just bring her in?" asked Paul impatiently. "Why waste time trying to duplicate her work?"
Madeline turned to stare at Paul, her expression first startled, then uneasy.
"Bring her in?" asked Adrian. "For interrogation?"
Paul gave a dry laugh. "For recruitment. Let her lead our research team. That way we'd be ahead of Red Cell instead of trying to catch up."
A pioneer in Soviet mind control experimentation -- doing her work for Section? Unthinkable.
"I'm not certain there's a place here for Dr. Frankenstein, Paul," Adrian said scornfully.
"Who better to tell you how to kill the monster?" His steady gaze was a silent challenge.
She held his look for several moments. "What if she can't bring herself to kill it?"
"She won't sabotage us," said Madeline. She looked directly into Adrian's eyes -- her posture rigid, her expression tight, as if she were bracing herself for a blow.
"You're certain of this?" Adrian asked, eyeing Madeline with suspicion. Madeline's body language nearly screamed that she was lying; Adrian wanted to know why.
Paul and Madeline exchanged a look -- they seemed visibly to switch gears, to shift back into that focused connection of before. Transformed, composed, Madeline turned back toward Adrian.
"Dr. Ulanova is a perfectionist," she said. "If there's a way to counteract the device, she would want to find it herself. She's the ideal person to lead our research efforts. In fact, having her work with us would likely cut our development time in half."
Adrian studied the two of them. She had been seeing this type of interaction more and more frequently of late: Madeline deferred to Paul's suggestions; in return, he allowed her to argue his case for him. A few years ago, when Adrian had still seen Paul as the prime candidate for her successor, their behavior would have troubled her. Now, with his status much more ambiguous, it was merely intriguing.
She had grave doubts about the wisdom of Paul's idea -- indeed, she suspected that Madeline did, too, despite her eagerness to support him. Nevertheless, allowing them to proceed would be an interesting experiment: a test of whether Madeline would admit the truth when the doctor inevitably failed, or whether this habit of defending Paul was dangerously ingrained.
"Well, then," Adrian said, smiling brightly, "if you're that confident, then by all means let's use her. I'd like the two of you to put together a profile to bring her in by the end of the week."
They both nodded.
"After she's here," Adrian continued, "you'll take full responsibility for her, Madeline. You'll be her trainer, her mentor, and her supervisor. And you'll report directly to me on the progress of her research. Understood?"
Madeline's face was a mask of calm resolve. "Of course."
"Excellent," said Adrian, standing to leave. "And good luck."
***
Paul pushed open his office door and stepped aside, allowing Madeline to enter first. He caught a fleeting whiff of fragrance as she passed, but it disappeared as she swept through the door and toward her usual chair at the table. She sat, crossed her legs and smoothed out her emerald silk skirt, then looked up at him expectantly.
He took the seat across from her and leaned his elbows on the table, examining her. Her hair fell in carefully styled waves to her shoulders, its dark color contrasting with the rich, cream-colored fabric of her blouse. The blouse was cut provocatively low, yet actually revealed nothing, aside from the necklace that shone against the skin below her neck. The necklace matched her earrings, which in turn matched her watch -- everything meticulously selected, painstakingly put in place. The fastidious attention she lavished on her appearance gave her an elegance that even older operatives lacked: it allowed her to present herself as composed, unruffled, serene -- even at times when he was certain she wasn't.
Times like now.
"You don't think it's going to work, do you?" he asked abruptly.
She cocked her head and looked at him, her eyes soft pools of darkness. "I don't think what's going to work?"
"Recruiting that Soviet doctor. I could tell you thought it was crazy."
She gave a noncommittal shrug. "The probability of success is low, at best. Dr. Ulanova has a difficult personality, shall we say."
He frowned. "Then why did you support me?"
She didn't answer for several moments -- her expression grew distant, as if she were trying to compose an answer. Finally, she took a long breath and spoke. "Your idea is our only hope of achieving Adrian's objective. If we tried to recreate the research using only Dr. Ulanova's files -- even supplemented by my memories from four years ago -- it would take too long. We'd be so far behind Red Cell there would be no point even trying." She smiled faintly. "You hit upon the only solution."
"Then why didn't you just tell her it couldn't be done?" When she looked at him as if he had lost his mind, he laughed and shook his head. "I know, I know."
So Adrian wanted the impossible. That was hardly anything new. What was surprising was how often they actually managed to give it to her.
As he shifted in his chair, the muscles in his lower back tightened with a dull ache; grimacing, he rose to his feet and began to pace. No longer comfortable sitting for any length of time, he had recently replaced his desk with a computer stand that allowed him to work while standing up. The meeting table and chairs he left as a courtesy to others -- mostly to Madeline, who spent more time in his office than anyone else -- but he could never sit there for long. Long ago, back in high school when he thought he was indestructible, he had wrenched his back in a violent football tackle. Recovering after several months, he promptly forgot about it; but now, years later, the injury had come back to haunt him. It was a troubling mark of advancing age: a sign that his days in the field, chasing after men in their twenties, would have to end. To be replaced by what was the question -- albeit one that he tried not to ask himself too often.
"All right," he said, rubbing his chin in thought as he walked back and forth, "you already have a fair amount of intel about this woman -- what's our best extraction scenario? Can we get to her when she's out of the country, at a conference or something?"
Madeline's lips twitched. "She doesn't travel." Her tone suggested a barely suppressed amusement, as if there were a great deal more to her statement than the words themselves revealed.
"Never?"
"Never. Not even out of Moscow." She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, her demeanor relaxing as the conversation shifted away from Adrian and into the comfortable routine of profiling. "In fact, from what I remember about her, she spent all her time either at the Institute or at home."
He sighed. "Fine. So we'll have to do an extraction in-country. What's the security like at the Institute?"
"Tight."
"At her home?"
Her brows furrowed. "I'm not sure. I'll have to find out where she lives. But most likely it's in a block of apartments -- not the easiest place to send a team unnoticed."
"Then we'll have to intercept her on her way from one to the other."
She nodded slowly, but she looked vaguely dissatisfied. She sat still for a moment, then her expression lightened. "There might be a simpler way," she said, her voice filling with pleased realization.
He stopped pacing. When she adopted that self-satisfied air it was usually very good news. "Yes?"
"Egran Petrosian. He knows her, at least casually. He could lure her out to a meeting."
"Hmmm. Wouldn't that put his cover at risk?"
"He's a clever man. I'm sure he can come up with something plausible. I'll contact him through the standard channels tomorrow."
"All right." He nodded. "Actually, I've been hoping to get another assignment with him. He still owes me money from Havana."
"Money? For what?"
"Oh, that's right." He laughed in embarrassment. "You wouldn't know. I forgot you didn't go with us on our, uh, excursion that one night."
She gave him a teasingly disapproving look and rose to her feet. "I'll forward you the profile as soon as I firm up the details with Egran."
"Wait," he said, reaching across the table to touch her arm as she turned to depart.
She raised her eyebrows.
"I've been going over the Matsuda scenario. I have some new data, and I'd appreciate your input before I take it to Adrian."
She flashed a split-second smile and sat down again. "Of course. Let me take a look."
He crossed the room to retrieve a file, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she waited. She looked relaxed, at home, settling into the familiar routine that they'd created over the past couple of years: sharing their work, tossing ideas back and forth, working together to create profiles that surpassed anything else produced in the Section. She spent so many hours working in his office that she had adopted one of the chairs as her own, moving into his space with a cozy sense of intimacy.
A professional intimacy, that is. They no longer shared any other kind. While she had never openly broken off their romance, had never asked him to stop coming to stay with her at night, somehow he had known that he was no longer welcome. That she was closed off to him, except in the narrow arena of work.
There, however, their relationship flourished -- in fact, it intensified, as if all of the energy they previously put into their love affair had been channeled into the smaller universe of the Section, concentrating and magnifying in the process. Over time, they had developed a kind of symbiotic cohesion -- their new relationship became comfortable, natural, inevitable, as if there had never been anything else. She became the only person who understood the workings of his mind, the only person he truly trusted -- and vice versa.
It was a sad irony: had they maintained their romantic relationship, the professional one -- the one he now cherished so much -- might not have deepened as thoroughly. He knew it, accepted it, and realized it was probably for the best. Still, looking at her now, he felt a pang of mourning for what they had -- a wish that somehow, some kind of balance could have been possible.
Gripping the file in his hand, he returned to the table. Dwelling on the past was foolish. He wouldn't succumb to wishful thinking when what they had come to share was so valuable: a joint addiction to the game, an unshakable sense of teamwork, and a growing faith in the rightness of what they were doing. A faith that had nothing to do with Adrian and her rigid Cold War ideology. Indeed, the Cold War had never truly satisfied him. While it was comforting to know that there were distinct teams and clear rules, the fight had often seemed so pointless, pitting one self-interested empire against another. But with the shift in power away from the Soviets and toward organizations like Red Cell, he knew he was facing real evil. Madeline recognized it, too; it showed in the righteous concentration that filled her face when they drew up their battle plans. There were real monsters out there, now, and it was their calling to stop them.
It was a calling far more important than the personal needs of any individual -- the two of them included.
***
Outside Section, the sun hadn't yet risen, and a hard winter rain fell onto the darkened streets. As Madeline made her way along the sidewalk, the wind whipped chilly sheets of water in every direction; it surged under her umbrella in powerful gusts, threatening to wrench it inside out.
After only four blocks, the front of her overcoat was soaked completely through. Fine droplets of water stung as the wind drove them into her face. The morning walk from the metro station to Section had turned into a losing struggle against the elements -- one rendered all the more miserable by the thought that her visitor from the prior evening was still sleeping, snuggled warmly under thick layers of bedcovers.
When she finally arrived at Section, it had rarely seemed so welcoming. With cold hands, she unbuttoned her coat and shook out her umbrella, spraying drops of rainwater across Section's main access area. She folded the umbrella and walked down the hallway. Her wet boots squeaked on the floor as she dripped water in her wake.
Rounding a corner, she saw Adrian striding purposefully down the corridor. There wasn't a drop of rain on the other woman's well-coiffed head; the alert look on her face was that of someone who had already been awake and productive for several hours.
Adrian nodded. "Madeline."
"Good morning," she replied. She hesitated, wondering whether she should wait for a more formal opportunity to meet with Adrian, then decided against it. "May I speak with you for a moment?"
"Certainly. I'm on my way to Procurement -- why don't you walk along with me?"
Adrian commenced a vigorous stride down the hallway, and Madeline struggled to match the pace without slipping in her wet boots. As they progressed, Adrian smiled at several other operatives, then glanced sideways at Madeline.
"What is it you wished to discuss?"
"It's the research project with Dr. Ulanova."
"Yes?"
"Integrating her into Section may require a considerable amount of my time, at least for the first several weeks."
"Of course. I'd already taken that into consideration." She nodded at another passing operative and turned back toward Madeline. "You'll be exempt from field assignments for the next fortnight at least. You will, however, continue with your full load of profiling and interrogation work." Her gaze sharpened, her expression both expectant and challenging. "I trust that won't be too burdensome?"
"Not at all. Thank you."
"Well, that was simple enough, wasn't it?" They continued in silence for a few moments, and then Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything else?"
Madeline swallowed nervously. "Yes, there is." She had opened the conversation with the simple request -- the one that made no sense to deny. Now, however, it was time to raise a more complicated subject.
Adrian's smile had frozen, rendering her face stiff, mask-like. "Please, go on, dear," she said.
"In order to conduct her research, Dr. Ulanova will need to work on the R&D levels within Section."
"Of course."
"I'm expected to supervise this work, and yet I don't have security clearance to access those departments."
"Ah." There was a long pause, the squeaking of Madeline's boots the only sound. "You raise a valid point. I think it might be necessary to raise your security rating to Class F. That should rectify the problem."
Madeline nodded, relieved that Adrian had agreed so readily to change her status, instead of finding an excuse to find fault with Madeline's qualifications.
"In fact," continued Adrian, "a Class F rating will give you clearance for a great deal more than the R&D levels. You'll be cleared for roughly ninety percent of accessible areas." Adrian gave her a strange look -- part amusement, part something Madeline couldn't quite place. "You'll have the highest clearance of any of the other Level Five operatives, you know. Higher than Paul, even," she said. "I suppose this calls for congratulations, of a sort."
Madeline said nothing, uncertain of how to respond.
"Actually," Adrian said, "I've been considering this reclassification for several months now. It's time for your role here to mature and evolve -- you need to be much more involved in our research and support activities. I think that's where you'll flourish."
"I hope so," Madeline replied warily, surprised at the warm tone of voice her superior had used.
Adrian gave her a slow look up and down, then smiled to herself, as if at a private joke.
"Tell me, Madeline. You've been here at One for four years now -- and part of the organization for how long? Sixteen years?" When Madeline nodded, Adrian continued, "After all this time, you must have developed some ambitions. Where do you see yourself in the long term?"
Madeline hesitated. It was critical that she say the right thing -- that she manage to sound acceptably diligent and loyal, with appropriate goals, but without posing a threat. She glanced at Adrian, trying to judge her mood, and saw an uncharacteristically sincere interest -- Adrian's expression looked almost encouraging. Still, a platitude seemed safer.
"I'd like to help guide the Section into the future in whatever way I can," she finally said, using the most serious tone she could muster.
Adrian's face tightened. As safely vague as Madeline thought her answer had been, she had apparently said something wrong.
"Let's not get too ambitious, dear," said Adrian icily. "You need to leave the guidance to those who are better suited to it."
Madeline's face heated in a flush; to hide it, she looked away.
Adrian placed a hand on Madeline's shoulder. "I think it's time I gave you some very frank advice."
Madeline forced herself to look back at Adrian, wiping all signs of her apprehension off her face.
"Leadership belongs to those who set a good example for others," Adrian said loftily. "And that's not just professionally, but in every aspect of their behavior. I'm afraid you haven't demonstrated that quality yet."
There was nothing to say to this. Madeline stared down the corridor, keeping her expression blank.
Adrian gave Madeline's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You've made remarkable improvements in your work over the past four years. I'm extremely pleased with your performance, as demonstrated by my decision to increase your responsibilities. However…." Adrian withdrew her hand. The movement made Madeline flinch. "What kind of moral tone do you think it sets for the Section when you take a different young man home with you every week?" The gentleness had vanished, replaced by frosty disdain.
Fighting to keep down a surge of resentment, Madeline took a long, careful breath before answering. "I don't know that it's anyone's business," she said coolly, looking Adrian directly in the eye. "I'm not coercing anyone."
Adrian made a "tsk" of disapproval and shook her head. "You see, this is precisely why you aren't meant for a leadership role. If you were, you would instinctively know that in an organization like ours, where we demand that our operatives follow orders even at the risk of death, the leadership must be seen as beyond the weaknesses of mere mortals." Her voice grew stern. "Leaders can't engage in behavior that is even remotely unseemly. The fact that this needs to be pointed out to you demonstrates that you aren't the right sort of person to wield that kind of power."
Madeline stared at a spot on the floor several steps ahead, her anger controlled only by her dazed shock. It was unbelievable. Adrian was opining on morality as if she were a Victorian missionary's wife instead of the woman who routinely sent Madeline out on valentine missions -- and yet somehow she had succeeded in making Madeline feel ashamed.
Adrian's expression softened. "I'm not telling you this to be cruel, Madeline. It's simply an objective observation -- something that you need to know about yourself. If you understand your limitations, then you can be satisfied doing what you can do well."
"And what would that be?"
"You can do the work that no one else has the stomach for. Focus on that. Accept it as who you are." Adrian smiled. "After all, if you try to be someone you're not, you'll only wind up destroying yourself."
************
To go on to Chapter Seventeen, click here.