Fic: Succession, Chapter 10/31 (La Femme Nikita)
Title: 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 Ten
Madeline placed her hands on the edge of the pool and hoisted herself out, dripping water along the sun-warmed cement as she headed back to her lounge chair. Walking slowly, she reached up to her hair, squeezed out the moisture, and ran her fingers through the wet strands to smooth them back from her face.
She heard a noise and turned to look toward the sliding glass doors leading into the house. Demetrios emerged dressed in black swim trunks, a fluffy towel draped around his neck. He strolled toward her and pulled off the towel, tossing it onto the chair next to hers and revealing his muscular torso. The color of the trunks set off the bronze of his skin, which in turn contrasted with the dark hair that lightly covered his chest.
"I thought you went into the city with Geoffrey to set up the accounts," she said, surprised at his arrival.
"I let one of my assistants take him. I handle the negotiations, not the paperwork." He smiled slyly. "Like you, it seems."
She returned the smile, acknowledging his observation, and sat down on the lounge chair. She adjusted her towel and stretched out lazily.
He ran his gaze along her form, making no effort to disguise his interest.
"You know, you're very fair-skinned. You have to be careful in this sun."
"Good point," she replied. She glanced up at the sky. "In fact, my sunscreen probably washed off in the water. I should put more on."
She sat up and reached for the bottle on the table next to her, but he leaned over and took it from her hand.
"Here," he said. "I'll get your back. Turn around."
She changed positions, and he sat on the chair behind her. She heard him squeeze the contents of the bottle onto his hand and rub his hands together briskly; a faint scent of coconut wafted into the air. Then he touched her back, spreading the sunscreen across her skin with large but surprisingly soft hands.
"You don't really need Geoffrey, you know," he said casually, working the lotion into her lower back with slow, circular strokes. "Yes, he has some useful administrative skills, but you could hire someone to do that."
"Of course," she answered. She closed her eyes as her muscles relaxed under the steady movement of his fingers. "I know that."
He reached for the bottle again. This time, he squeezed the sunscreen out directly onto her upper back and shoulders; it felt cool at first, then warmed as he used his entire hand to massage it in, slipping his fingers underneath the shoulder straps of her swimsuit.
"But, you see," she explained, looking down to give him better access to her neck, "he's completely loyal. He'll never cheat or betray me, and he'll do anything I ask without complaint. You can't hire someone like that."
He rubbed the back and sides of her neck with his thumbs, then returned to her shoulders and back. He ran his hands up and down languorously, even though the sunscreen was long since blended in.
He leaned in closer to her. His chest pressed against her back.
"How are you so certain of his loyalty?"
"Because he loves me," she answered.
He chuckled, tracing one finger along the edge of her ear. "And you're not above using that."
She opened her eyes and turned around to look at him. "No. I'm not," she admitted, feeling a strange pang of guilt, as if she were confessing to something real. "I'm not above using anything."
He examined her through long, dark lashes. "I didn't think so," he said softly. "I could see it in your eyes the moment I first saw you. We're much the same that way."
His statement should have pleased her, indicating as it did that she was that much closer to gaining his trust. Instead, however, she found it vaguely disturbing. He saw a kinship in her -- and she wasn't sure that it was entirely based on her portrayal of Annette Pierce.
She hesitated, briefly disconcerted, but then forced herself to caress his face. He leaned in to kiss her, his lips as soft and supple as his hands. She returned the kiss and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders as he pressed and moved against her.
Again, she should have been pleased at how quickly things were moving, relieved that he was easier to seduce than she had anticipated. But as his hands began to roam across her body, she found herself overwhelmed by a feeling of revulsion -- a feeling so powerful that she could barely contain it -- so strong that it went beyond disgust, turning almost to panic.
She struggled to resist a deep desire to shove him away from her as violently as possible, but the harder she tried, the more his touch sickened her. The reaction was dismaying and completely inexplicable. Over the past few years, she had completed countless assignments just like this one, all of them without difficulty or even a second thought. No matter how repulsive the target -- and Demetrios was far from the worst -- she had always been able to maintain focus, deriving satisfaction out of how easily she was able to render even the most arrogant man under her control. Her feeling of superiority at being able to manipulate their weaknesses -- her knowledge that even as they thought they were in control over her, she was leading them to their ultimate destruction -- made even the most revolting experiences tolerable. Her contempt for them was all the motivation she needed to spur an enthusiastic performance.
Yet now, when she reached for that contempt, she found herself thinking of another performance: one that had taken place only two nights before. Charles, too, had believed in her pretense. He, too, had wanted her, had responded to her touch -- had, for a time, been under her control, even without her intending it. He had the same essential weakness as Demetrios and all of the others. Should she feel then contempt for him, the way she did for them? Should she despise him for the fact that he had succumbed to her performance -- that, except for one lapse on her part, he never would have known the difference? Who was the contemptible one, really? Demetrios? Charles? Or herself?
She wasn't certain that there was an answer to that question. As it rang through her mind, the edges of reality and pretense started to blur irreparably, placing her in a netherworld with no escape, because there were no longer any boundaries to cross. There was no exit, no refuge -- no longer any distinction between the inside and outside, between ally and target, between performer and performance. There was simply a mechanical response: objective, automatic, distant. It was pure activity, free of questions, doubts, and stray thoughts. As she allowed it to take over, her disgust abated and her focus returned.
***
Paul entered the conference room just moments before Adrian's arrival. As she seated herself at the head of the table, Paul took his usual chair to her right and nodded a brief greeting to Jules in the chair beside him.
Directly across the table sat Madeline. He would have smiled at her, but he knew there was no point. As always in these meetings, her focus was completely on Adrian; her posture was rigid, her expression stiff and defensive. Armor on, Paul always thought of it.
Next to Madeline was Charles, who stared intently at the table. He had looked up at Adrian as she entered, but he dropped his gaze almost immediately afterwards. Paul watched him keenly for a few moments, trying to catch his eye -- but Charles remained studiously fascinated by the tabletop. Paul stifled a scowl. What a coward. A real man would acknowledge the presence of another. Even -- no, especially -- a rival.
Then again, it might be a blessing. Paul wasn't certain that he really wanted to see the look in Charles's eyes this time -- not during this mission, not knowing what the profile called for Charles to do. Better that Charles avert his gaze altogether than gloat; if Paul were to see the slightest hint of smugness or satisfaction, he doubted that he could control himself.
Enjoy it while you can, he thought, glaring across the table. The mission's almost over.
"Has the surveillance been productive?" Adrian asked, wasting no time with preliminary matters. She directed a steely gaze at Jules, who sat slumped in his seat.
Jules straightened up and cleared his throat. "Yes. We've monitored the residences and offices for the past three weeks. With that, plus the information Charles and Madeline have gathered personally, I have tracked down virtually all of the buyers."
"Not the suppliers?" She looked displeased.
"Ahhh," began Jules, glancing toward Charles and Madeline with a helpless expression.
"I've convinced Demetrios that it would be to his advantage to eliminate his former suppliers," Madeline interjected, ignoring the grateful look that Jules shot in her direction. "That way they won't start doing business with his competitors. He's been taking them out himself. As a result, there's been nothing for Jules to track."
"How very considerate of him to do our work for us," Adrian said dryly. "What's our next step?"
She directed the question at Madeline, not Jules or Charles, even though both of them, technically, were senior.
"I believe there are a few more customers we haven't identified yet," Madeline replied, her speech brisk and businesslike. "But I'll have access to that information shortly."
A faint smile curled Adrian's mouth. "You've taken him in completely, then."
She leaned forward and clasped her hands together on the table, her attention concentrated wholly on Madeline, as if the three men in the room had disappeared. Madeline returned the gaze, matching Adrian's intensity. The two women seemed to be holding a private conversation, on a level beyond words; it was an exchange Paul had never seen between the two before -- not hostile, or suspicious, just focused.
"Thanks to my pricing recommendations," said Madeline, "he's increased his profits by fifteen percent. He was impressed enough to ask me to review his customer files to see if I have any other suggestions. Absent complications, I should have that data within ten days."
"Excellent." Adrian sat back again. Her focus widened, taking the entire table back within its scope. "I do believe you missed your calling, Madeline. You should have gone into business. It's almost a pity that Section intervened."
Paul smiled at the thought, and Jules laughed genially. Madeline, never one to react to Adrian's attempts at humor, did nothing. Charles, in turn, continued his somber examination of the table. It was odd, Paul reflected. Charles usually gazed at Madeline with wide-eyed adoration -- today, however, it was as if he couldn't stand to look at her.
Adrian's smile faded. Paul watched as she shifted her attention to Charles -- her focus again narrowing, but this time in assessment, not communication.
"Charles." Her voice was soft, but held a hint of underlying sternness.
Charles looked up immediately. Whatever his problem, it wasn't absentmindedness.
"Will we be able to seize the accounts of his customers?"
"Yes," Charles answered. "Everything's in place to drain their assets as soon as you give the order."
She studied him a bit longer. Under her gaze, his face hardened and grew resentful, revealing a simmering anger that Paul hadn't imagined the man being capable of. Did stoic Charles actually have a temper? Aimed at Adrian, no less. Paul's estimation of him jumped up a few notches, as did his curiosity.
After a moment, Adrian seemed satisfied. She turned to Paul.
"Please begin the process of readying the teams. We'll set the nineteenth as our target date."
"Yes, ma'am."
She looked at each of them one by one.
"I want to commend all of you on your performance on this mission," she said. "You've worked extremely hard, and it's paid off. I couldn't be more pleased. Especially with you, Madeline," she added. "Both the profile and your execution have been flawless."
Paul and Jules smiled in response; Charles nodded glumly. Madeline, without changing expression, looked Adrian in the eye.
"Thank you," she said.
As she held Madeline's look, a flash of something passed across Adrian's face. If Paul hadn't known her better, he would have sworn it was affection. But then it vanished, and he decided that he had imagined it.
Adrian stood. "We'll meet again as soon as Madeline has obtained the customer data. Thank you for your time." With that, she turned and left the room.
Jules stretched and rose slowly. Smiling, he looked over toward Charles and Madeline.
"Thank you for doing such a thorough job placing the transmitters," he said. "You know, most operatives put them someplace stupid. But yours, perfect. I could hear everything so clearly. Oh, la, la." He winked and strolled out of the room.
With a look of cold fury, Charles stood, shoved in his chair, and walked off. Madeline stared at the floor.
Why, that little French pervert, thought Paul, as the meaning of Jules's words struck him. He's going to regret that.
The sound of Madeline's chair scraping against the floor distracted him from that train of thought.
He stepped in front of her before she could leave the room. "Join me for dinner?"
"No, thank you, not tonight. I'm a bit tired."
Paul examined her carefully. She looked more than tired, he concluded. In fact, she looked exhausted -- beneath the deceptively healthy-looking Mediterranean tan, there was a hollow look in her face and dark shadows under her eyes. Still, he hadn't had time with her in weeks, with her constant travel, and he missed her company terribly.
"I'll take you someplace quiet. Just a simple meal and a nice bottle of wine." He grinned in his best enticing manner. "I promise to have you home before midnight, so you won't have to worry about the coach turning into a pumpkin."
He waited, expecting her usual sarcastic retort. Instead, she just stared at him.
"I think I'd rather stay home. Thank you anyway."
"Let me cook for you then," he said, growing puzzled by her lack of reaction. "It'll be edible, I promise. Not like the last time." He smirked, remembering how amused she had been at his disastrous attempt at a roast.
"Some other time."
This wasn't mere fatigue. When tired, she always fended him off with witty barbs; he would pretend to be stung, but would give her the space she needed. But this…this wasn't tired. It was empty.
"Madeline, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm tired. That's all."
She started to walk past him; he caught her arm and gripped it.
"Is he hurting you?"
She looked faintly confused. "What?"
"Demetrios. If he's hurting you, I'll kill him."
He stared at her, his gaze locked with hers, trying in vain to penetrate through to her thoughts. He watched in dismay as her expression turned brittle.
"No, he's not," she said dismissively. "You need to stop overreacting." She looked at his hand where it grasped her arm. "Paul? If you don't mind?"
Defeated, he let go and watched her depart.
***
Pretending to be occupied with the report she clutched in her hands, Lisa sat at a table within view of the door to the conference room. She flicked through the pages, watching out of the corner of her eye as they all arrived for their meeting: first Jules, then Charles, Madeline, Paul, and finally Adrian. Brilliant -- everyone she wanted out of the way, all conveniently locked in a single room for at least a half hour. It seemed there was a God after all. Or at least someone up there who liked her, and she wasn't about to be choosy over who.
The instant the conference room door closed behind Adrian, Lisa shot up from her seat and hurried down the hallway. She had been waiting for an opportunity like this for weeks. Not that it had taken that long to crack Madeline's password -- Section's security conventions weren't really all that hard to figure out, thanks to Jules's lax attitude. But Lisa didn't dare log on as Madeline when the other woman wasn't on Section premises. If some geek noticed that she hadn't checked in that morning -- but was signed on to one of the workstations -- that could certainly complicate things. Not good at all.
So Lisa had waited anxiously as Madeline made trip after trip to Greece. One, then another, then another; every time Lisa thought Madeline was finally going to spend more than an hour or two at Section, she seemed to be headed to the airport again. Then, to torment Lisa even further, the few times when Madeline had been in the building, she had spent all her time on the computer -- precluding Lisa from logging on at the same time.
It was beyond frustrating. In desperation, Lisa had resorted to a sort of informal surveillance, watching impatiently, trying to will the other woman to get off the computer, to go do something else. Anything else. Didn't she ever get hungry? Or just want to take a break? It was as if she weren't even human.
Well, thank God for meetings. Now, finally, it looked like she would have her chance. Even better, the meeting got everyone else who might pose a danger out of the way as well.
Arriving in one of the lesser-used computer rooms, she slid into a seat at a terminal in the corner, where no one would be able to watch over her shoulder. There was a camera, of course -- as there were in all of the main work areas -- but Lisa knew it wouldn't be able to capture the information on her screen. The only way the sysadmin would notice anything unusual would be if he were specifically checking Madeline's computer activity and comparing it to the camera footage of her location. It was a possibility, of course: in Section, you could never completely rule anything out. But the admin on duty was lazy; without Jules breathing down his neck, he tended to spend his time playing computer games.
Let's just hope he's racking up a high score today, she thought, smiling to herself.
Her mouth dry with anticipation, she began typing. First, the logon screen. She tapped in the password, hit enter, and waited, her stomach turning in nervous somersaults. Several seconds passed, then boom! She was in, and the directories available to username mer120683 scrolled down the monitor.
God, there were dozens and dozens of them. Some of them were familiar to Lisa, like the collections of intel on target organizations and their members. Others were more mysterious: cryptic acronyms and abbreviations, bland sounding names that could be almost anything, and occasional ominous-sounding titles like 'Mortality Trends'. She could spend days just trying to figure out what everything was.
Unfortunately, she didn't have days. Or even hours. She scanned the directory names hurriedly, and then she finally spotted it: Personnel Database F. She selected it and waited for nearly a minute while it loaded, jiggling her knee up and down nervously. What was taking so long? She looked around the room, half expecting a squad of black-clad goons to storm in to drag her off to the White Room. But nothing so dramatic materialized. The handful of other operatives in the room continued to type quietly at their own workstations, oblivious to the breach of security taking place next to them.
Finally, the first record appeared: Abrams, David M. When she realized that she had the correct database, she nearly cheered. Licking her lips, she took a deep breath and typed seven letters in the search box, then hit the return key once more.
She watched the cursor blink as the search command cycled, ignoring the twinge of apprehension that ate at her stomach. She really wasn't doing anything wrong, she tried to reassure herself. After all, she was only looking up the one file: a file that she had every right to look at anyway. She wasn't violating anyone's privacy, wasn't prying into anyone's secrets -- why, when she thought about it, she wasn't really looking at confidential information at all. How could it be?
She had almost succeeded in calming herself down when the record appeared on the screen -- and the twinge of apprehension turned into heart-pounding anxiety. There it was, in stark orange letters.
Birkoff, Lisa J.
Level: 2
Induction Date: 15 Nov. 1976
Rating: 12
Skills Code: W, E
She stared at the record blankly for several seconds. Now that she'd found it, she wasn't certain what to look at. There were so many subfiles to choose from: annual reviews, team leader evaluations, aptitude test scores, psych evaluations, and dozens more. With only a short window of safety before she had to start worrying about Madeline departing the meeting, she could only choose one thing. But what?
It had to be something simple. That eliminated all of the evaluations and test scores: those, she would need more time to interpret -- and to modify, if she dared. She frowned, aggravated, but then finally made her selection.
Personal Data
There wouldn't be anything there that she didn't already know, but she found herself curious, wondering how much information they had really collected about her background. How did they even find her in the first place? Was it an accident, or had she been selected for recruitment ahead of time?
The file opened and she began to read, skimming the file's contents as quickly as possible. Birth date, birthplace…they even knew what elementary school she attended. It was thorough, all right: there wasn't a detail of her former life that seemed to have escaped their notice. She had to admit it was impressive, in a frightening sort of way. Her paranoia about the passing time increased, so she started skipping paragraphs. However, toward the very end of the file, an entry caught her attention.
Next of Kin
Parents: Deceased
Siblings: 3
Spouse: N/A
Children: 2
She stared at the screen, frozen, her hands poised motionless above the keyboard -- all worries about the approaching deadline vanishing beneath the churning ocean of memories that opened up around her.
She closed her eyes and found herself back in that room, eight years before. Lying in the bed in Medlab, emerging from sleep still groggy from the painkillers, she had barely been able to comprehend the doctor as he spoke.
"You need to choose now," he had said, his expression apologetic. "I can bring them in again if that will help."
He did, but it didn't help. Seeing them only made the choice all that much more impossible. She couldn't do it, couldn't choose between them, couldn't decide which one would have the life of freedom and which the life of servitude. How could she? So they had made the choice for her. No one ever told her what it was.
She opened her eyes again, blinking back the moisture that welled up in the corners, and kept reading. Jason. He was the lucky one, it appeared -- placed for adoption, given a normal life with a supportive family and middle-class trappings. The file didn't contain many details, but what little there was seemed reassuring.
Then Seymour. She gulped back the lump in her throat, and read.
Status: Maintained in Test Facility, Level 16.
She read the line, disbelieving, over and over.
Level 16? Level 16, in Section? She knew that Section was raising him as some sort of experiment, that eventually he was expected to become an operative, but she had thought it would be in a home somewhere. Or a school. Not in the building, like a lab animal.
All this time, she thought, a searing burst of rage enveloping her. All this time he's been here in the same fucking building. For more than eight years. How dare they.
Unable to read any further, she abruptly closed the file and terminated the computer session. She sat, staring at the blinking cursor, as her mind spun in a haze of shock, disgust, and fury.
All this time, and no one had told her. Someone was going to pay for that.
***
Paul remained in the conference room long after Madeline had departed, leaning against the table and staring blankly at the door. He couldn't leave, couldn't even move; his body seemed sapped of energy, his mind wandering in listless circles.
There was something seriously wrong. But wrong in a way that confounded him, that defied his attempts to identify it. Wrong in a way that left him with a feeling of helplessness and dread.
Madeline had been through difficult missions before. She had been through tiring missions before. There had been occasions -- more often than he would like -- when she wanted time to herself. But no matter what, he had always been able to find that little spark of life -- that subtle acknowledgement that what they were doing, the risks they were taking and the sacrifices they were making, was worthwhile. Exhilarating. Even fun, in a strange sense that perhaps only the two of them could understand.
This time, however, there was nothing. She responded like an automaton; there was no sense of mischief, no wicked delight in the impending downfall of their opponent, no delicious anticipation of triumph -- none of the things that he adored about her, that bound them together inseparably. Those things were gone, and it frightened him.
Something had happened to her on the mission, he was sure of it. Demetrios must have hurt her -- if not through outright violence, then some other sort of abuse. There was no other way to explain her behavior: the distance, the emptiness.
Her denials didn't reassure him. In fact, they only made him more suspicious. Actually, now that he thought about it, everyone at the meeting had been acting out of character, save him and Jules. There was Charles, alternately dispirited and angry. Stranger still, there was Adrian, unusually pleased with Madeline, yet harsh on Charles. It didn't make sense.
What the hell was going on with this mission? Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Even more, he didn't like not knowing.
Madeline wasn't going to tell him. He certainly couldn't ask Charles. Adrian was out of the question. Which left him nowhere. Or did it?
There was Jules, after all. Jules and all that surveillance -- the surveillance that the little twerp had made that smug crack about. If Paul could get access to it, that surveillance might just allow him to find out what was going on for himself. Once the mystery was solved, he could decide what action to take.
With a burst of determined energy, he strode out of the conference room. He crossed the main floor to Comm.
"Jules."
Jules spun around in his chair. "Mmm?"
"I need to review the surveillance recorded on Demetrios. Set me up on one of the monitoring stations."
Jules made a wry face. "We have over ten weeks' worth of material, recorded twenty-four hours a day at multiple locations. Do you plan to listen to it all?"
He frowned. "No, of course not."
"Then what are you looking for? Just tell me and I'll get it for you. I'm sure I can find it for you faster than you can yourself."
Shit. He couldn't tell Jules what he was after -- but then he couldn't very well listen to every single tape, either. He sighed in exasperation.
"Just give me the tapes where Madeline is with Demetrios."
Jules frowned in confusion. "What do you need that for?" But before Paul could answer, he smirked. "Ohhhhh, so you want to engage in some recreational listening, hmm? Why didn't you say so, mon ami?"
Paul stared down at the man in disgust. Jules's neck, only inches away from Paul's hands, would be oh-so-easy to snap. But not quite yet. Instead, he forced a cold smile.
"Just set things up at the monitoring station, and let me know when it's ready."
"Consider it done." Jules chuckled. "I think you'll find it very enjoyable. I know I did."
************
To go on to Chapter Eleven, click here.
Previous Chapters
Part One
Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Seven
Chapter Two
Chapter Eight
Chapter Three
Chapter Nine
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
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 Ten
Madeline placed her hands on the edge of the pool and hoisted herself out, dripping water along the sun-warmed cement as she headed back to her lounge chair. Walking slowly, she reached up to her hair, squeezed out the moisture, and ran her fingers through the wet strands to smooth them back from her face.
She heard a noise and turned to look toward the sliding glass doors leading into the house. Demetrios emerged dressed in black swim trunks, a fluffy towel draped around his neck. He strolled toward her and pulled off the towel, tossing it onto the chair next to hers and revealing his muscular torso. The color of the trunks set off the bronze of his skin, which in turn contrasted with the dark hair that lightly covered his chest.
"I thought you went into the city with Geoffrey to set up the accounts," she said, surprised at his arrival.
"I let one of my assistants take him. I handle the negotiations, not the paperwork." He smiled slyly. "Like you, it seems."
She returned the smile, acknowledging his observation, and sat down on the lounge chair. She adjusted her towel and stretched out lazily.
He ran his gaze along her form, making no effort to disguise his interest.
"You know, you're very fair-skinned. You have to be careful in this sun."
"Good point," she replied. She glanced up at the sky. "In fact, my sunscreen probably washed off in the water. I should put more on."
She sat up and reached for the bottle on the table next to her, but he leaned over and took it from her hand.
"Here," he said. "I'll get your back. Turn around."
She changed positions, and he sat on the chair behind her. She heard him squeeze the contents of the bottle onto his hand and rub his hands together briskly; a faint scent of coconut wafted into the air. Then he touched her back, spreading the sunscreen across her skin with large but surprisingly soft hands.
"You don't really need Geoffrey, you know," he said casually, working the lotion into her lower back with slow, circular strokes. "Yes, he has some useful administrative skills, but you could hire someone to do that."
"Of course," she answered. She closed her eyes as her muscles relaxed under the steady movement of his fingers. "I know that."
He reached for the bottle again. This time, he squeezed the sunscreen out directly onto her upper back and shoulders; it felt cool at first, then warmed as he used his entire hand to massage it in, slipping his fingers underneath the shoulder straps of her swimsuit.
"But, you see," she explained, looking down to give him better access to her neck, "he's completely loyal. He'll never cheat or betray me, and he'll do anything I ask without complaint. You can't hire someone like that."
He rubbed the back and sides of her neck with his thumbs, then returned to her shoulders and back. He ran his hands up and down languorously, even though the sunscreen was long since blended in.
He leaned in closer to her. His chest pressed against her back.
"How are you so certain of his loyalty?"
"Because he loves me," she answered.
He chuckled, tracing one finger along the edge of her ear. "And you're not above using that."
She opened her eyes and turned around to look at him. "No. I'm not," she admitted, feeling a strange pang of guilt, as if she were confessing to something real. "I'm not above using anything."
He examined her through long, dark lashes. "I didn't think so," he said softly. "I could see it in your eyes the moment I first saw you. We're much the same that way."
His statement should have pleased her, indicating as it did that she was that much closer to gaining his trust. Instead, however, she found it vaguely disturbing. He saw a kinship in her -- and she wasn't sure that it was entirely based on her portrayal of Annette Pierce.
She hesitated, briefly disconcerted, but then forced herself to caress his face. He leaned in to kiss her, his lips as soft and supple as his hands. She returned the kiss and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders as he pressed and moved against her.
Again, she should have been pleased at how quickly things were moving, relieved that he was easier to seduce than she had anticipated. But as his hands began to roam across her body, she found herself overwhelmed by a feeling of revulsion -- a feeling so powerful that she could barely contain it -- so strong that it went beyond disgust, turning almost to panic.
She struggled to resist a deep desire to shove him away from her as violently as possible, but the harder she tried, the more his touch sickened her. The reaction was dismaying and completely inexplicable. Over the past few years, she had completed countless assignments just like this one, all of them without difficulty or even a second thought. No matter how repulsive the target -- and Demetrios was far from the worst -- she had always been able to maintain focus, deriving satisfaction out of how easily she was able to render even the most arrogant man under her control. Her feeling of superiority at being able to manipulate their weaknesses -- her knowledge that even as they thought they were in control over her, she was leading them to their ultimate destruction -- made even the most revolting experiences tolerable. Her contempt for them was all the motivation she needed to spur an enthusiastic performance.
Yet now, when she reached for that contempt, she found herself thinking of another performance: one that had taken place only two nights before. Charles, too, had believed in her pretense. He, too, had wanted her, had responded to her touch -- had, for a time, been under her control, even without her intending it. He had the same essential weakness as Demetrios and all of the others. Should she feel then contempt for him, the way she did for them? Should she despise him for the fact that he had succumbed to her performance -- that, except for one lapse on her part, he never would have known the difference? Who was the contemptible one, really? Demetrios? Charles? Or herself?
She wasn't certain that there was an answer to that question. As it rang through her mind, the edges of reality and pretense started to blur irreparably, placing her in a netherworld with no escape, because there were no longer any boundaries to cross. There was no exit, no refuge -- no longer any distinction between the inside and outside, between ally and target, between performer and performance. There was simply a mechanical response: objective, automatic, distant. It was pure activity, free of questions, doubts, and stray thoughts. As she allowed it to take over, her disgust abated and her focus returned.
***
Paul entered the conference room just moments before Adrian's arrival. As she seated herself at the head of the table, Paul took his usual chair to her right and nodded a brief greeting to Jules in the chair beside him.
Directly across the table sat Madeline. He would have smiled at her, but he knew there was no point. As always in these meetings, her focus was completely on Adrian; her posture was rigid, her expression stiff and defensive. Armor on, Paul always thought of it.
Next to Madeline was Charles, who stared intently at the table. He had looked up at Adrian as she entered, but he dropped his gaze almost immediately afterwards. Paul watched him keenly for a few moments, trying to catch his eye -- but Charles remained studiously fascinated by the tabletop. Paul stifled a scowl. What a coward. A real man would acknowledge the presence of another. Even -- no, especially -- a rival.
Then again, it might be a blessing. Paul wasn't certain that he really wanted to see the look in Charles's eyes this time -- not during this mission, not knowing what the profile called for Charles to do. Better that Charles avert his gaze altogether than gloat; if Paul were to see the slightest hint of smugness or satisfaction, he doubted that he could control himself.
Enjoy it while you can, he thought, glaring across the table. The mission's almost over.
"Has the surveillance been productive?" Adrian asked, wasting no time with preliminary matters. She directed a steely gaze at Jules, who sat slumped in his seat.
Jules straightened up and cleared his throat. "Yes. We've monitored the residences and offices for the past three weeks. With that, plus the information Charles and Madeline have gathered personally, I have tracked down virtually all of the buyers."
"Not the suppliers?" She looked displeased.
"Ahhh," began Jules, glancing toward Charles and Madeline with a helpless expression.
"I've convinced Demetrios that it would be to his advantage to eliminate his former suppliers," Madeline interjected, ignoring the grateful look that Jules shot in her direction. "That way they won't start doing business with his competitors. He's been taking them out himself. As a result, there's been nothing for Jules to track."
"How very considerate of him to do our work for us," Adrian said dryly. "What's our next step?"
She directed the question at Madeline, not Jules or Charles, even though both of them, technically, were senior.
"I believe there are a few more customers we haven't identified yet," Madeline replied, her speech brisk and businesslike. "But I'll have access to that information shortly."
A faint smile curled Adrian's mouth. "You've taken him in completely, then."
She leaned forward and clasped her hands together on the table, her attention concentrated wholly on Madeline, as if the three men in the room had disappeared. Madeline returned the gaze, matching Adrian's intensity. The two women seemed to be holding a private conversation, on a level beyond words; it was an exchange Paul had never seen between the two before -- not hostile, or suspicious, just focused.
"Thanks to my pricing recommendations," said Madeline, "he's increased his profits by fifteen percent. He was impressed enough to ask me to review his customer files to see if I have any other suggestions. Absent complications, I should have that data within ten days."
"Excellent." Adrian sat back again. Her focus widened, taking the entire table back within its scope. "I do believe you missed your calling, Madeline. You should have gone into business. It's almost a pity that Section intervened."
Paul smiled at the thought, and Jules laughed genially. Madeline, never one to react to Adrian's attempts at humor, did nothing. Charles, in turn, continued his somber examination of the table. It was odd, Paul reflected. Charles usually gazed at Madeline with wide-eyed adoration -- today, however, it was as if he couldn't stand to look at her.
Adrian's smile faded. Paul watched as she shifted her attention to Charles -- her focus again narrowing, but this time in assessment, not communication.
"Charles." Her voice was soft, but held a hint of underlying sternness.
Charles looked up immediately. Whatever his problem, it wasn't absentmindedness.
"Will we be able to seize the accounts of his customers?"
"Yes," Charles answered. "Everything's in place to drain their assets as soon as you give the order."
She studied him a bit longer. Under her gaze, his face hardened and grew resentful, revealing a simmering anger that Paul hadn't imagined the man being capable of. Did stoic Charles actually have a temper? Aimed at Adrian, no less. Paul's estimation of him jumped up a few notches, as did his curiosity.
After a moment, Adrian seemed satisfied. She turned to Paul.
"Please begin the process of readying the teams. We'll set the nineteenth as our target date."
"Yes, ma'am."
She looked at each of them one by one.
"I want to commend all of you on your performance on this mission," she said. "You've worked extremely hard, and it's paid off. I couldn't be more pleased. Especially with you, Madeline," she added. "Both the profile and your execution have been flawless."
Paul and Jules smiled in response; Charles nodded glumly. Madeline, without changing expression, looked Adrian in the eye.
"Thank you," she said.
As she held Madeline's look, a flash of something passed across Adrian's face. If Paul hadn't known her better, he would have sworn it was affection. But then it vanished, and he decided that he had imagined it.
Adrian stood. "We'll meet again as soon as Madeline has obtained the customer data. Thank you for your time." With that, she turned and left the room.
Jules stretched and rose slowly. Smiling, he looked over toward Charles and Madeline.
"Thank you for doing such a thorough job placing the transmitters," he said. "You know, most operatives put them someplace stupid. But yours, perfect. I could hear everything so clearly. Oh, la, la." He winked and strolled out of the room.
With a look of cold fury, Charles stood, shoved in his chair, and walked off. Madeline stared at the floor.
Why, that little French pervert, thought Paul, as the meaning of Jules's words struck him. He's going to regret that.
The sound of Madeline's chair scraping against the floor distracted him from that train of thought.
He stepped in front of her before she could leave the room. "Join me for dinner?"
"No, thank you, not tonight. I'm a bit tired."
Paul examined her carefully. She looked more than tired, he concluded. In fact, she looked exhausted -- beneath the deceptively healthy-looking Mediterranean tan, there was a hollow look in her face and dark shadows under her eyes. Still, he hadn't had time with her in weeks, with her constant travel, and he missed her company terribly.
"I'll take you someplace quiet. Just a simple meal and a nice bottle of wine." He grinned in his best enticing manner. "I promise to have you home before midnight, so you won't have to worry about the coach turning into a pumpkin."
He waited, expecting her usual sarcastic retort. Instead, she just stared at him.
"I think I'd rather stay home. Thank you anyway."
"Let me cook for you then," he said, growing puzzled by her lack of reaction. "It'll be edible, I promise. Not like the last time." He smirked, remembering how amused she had been at his disastrous attempt at a roast.
"Some other time."
This wasn't mere fatigue. When tired, she always fended him off with witty barbs; he would pretend to be stung, but would give her the space she needed. But this…this wasn't tired. It was empty.
"Madeline, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm tired. That's all."
She started to walk past him; he caught her arm and gripped it.
"Is he hurting you?"
She looked faintly confused. "What?"
"Demetrios. If he's hurting you, I'll kill him."
He stared at her, his gaze locked with hers, trying in vain to penetrate through to her thoughts. He watched in dismay as her expression turned brittle.
"No, he's not," she said dismissively. "You need to stop overreacting." She looked at his hand where it grasped her arm. "Paul? If you don't mind?"
Defeated, he let go and watched her depart.
***
Pretending to be occupied with the report she clutched in her hands, Lisa sat at a table within view of the door to the conference room. She flicked through the pages, watching out of the corner of her eye as they all arrived for their meeting: first Jules, then Charles, Madeline, Paul, and finally Adrian. Brilliant -- everyone she wanted out of the way, all conveniently locked in a single room for at least a half hour. It seemed there was a God after all. Or at least someone up there who liked her, and she wasn't about to be choosy over who.
The instant the conference room door closed behind Adrian, Lisa shot up from her seat and hurried down the hallway. She had been waiting for an opportunity like this for weeks. Not that it had taken that long to crack Madeline's password -- Section's security conventions weren't really all that hard to figure out, thanks to Jules's lax attitude. But Lisa didn't dare log on as Madeline when the other woman wasn't on Section premises. If some geek noticed that she hadn't checked in that morning -- but was signed on to one of the workstations -- that could certainly complicate things. Not good at all.
So Lisa had waited anxiously as Madeline made trip after trip to Greece. One, then another, then another; every time Lisa thought Madeline was finally going to spend more than an hour or two at Section, she seemed to be headed to the airport again. Then, to torment Lisa even further, the few times when Madeline had been in the building, she had spent all her time on the computer -- precluding Lisa from logging on at the same time.
It was beyond frustrating. In desperation, Lisa had resorted to a sort of informal surveillance, watching impatiently, trying to will the other woman to get off the computer, to go do something else. Anything else. Didn't she ever get hungry? Or just want to take a break? It was as if she weren't even human.
Well, thank God for meetings. Now, finally, it looked like she would have her chance. Even better, the meeting got everyone else who might pose a danger out of the way as well.
Arriving in one of the lesser-used computer rooms, she slid into a seat at a terminal in the corner, where no one would be able to watch over her shoulder. There was a camera, of course -- as there were in all of the main work areas -- but Lisa knew it wouldn't be able to capture the information on her screen. The only way the sysadmin would notice anything unusual would be if he were specifically checking Madeline's computer activity and comparing it to the camera footage of her location. It was a possibility, of course: in Section, you could never completely rule anything out. But the admin on duty was lazy; without Jules breathing down his neck, he tended to spend his time playing computer games.
Let's just hope he's racking up a high score today, she thought, smiling to herself.
Her mouth dry with anticipation, she began typing. First, the logon screen. She tapped in the password, hit enter, and waited, her stomach turning in nervous somersaults. Several seconds passed, then boom! She was in, and the directories available to username mer120683 scrolled down the monitor.
God, there were dozens and dozens of them. Some of them were familiar to Lisa, like the collections of intel on target organizations and their members. Others were more mysterious: cryptic acronyms and abbreviations, bland sounding names that could be almost anything, and occasional ominous-sounding titles like 'Mortality Trends'. She could spend days just trying to figure out what everything was.
Unfortunately, she didn't have days. Or even hours. She scanned the directory names hurriedly, and then she finally spotted it: Personnel Database F. She selected it and waited for nearly a minute while it loaded, jiggling her knee up and down nervously. What was taking so long? She looked around the room, half expecting a squad of black-clad goons to storm in to drag her off to the White Room. But nothing so dramatic materialized. The handful of other operatives in the room continued to type quietly at their own workstations, oblivious to the breach of security taking place next to them.
Finally, the first record appeared: Abrams, David M. When she realized that she had the correct database, she nearly cheered. Licking her lips, she took a deep breath and typed seven letters in the search box, then hit the return key once more.
She watched the cursor blink as the search command cycled, ignoring the twinge of apprehension that ate at her stomach. She really wasn't doing anything wrong, she tried to reassure herself. After all, she was only looking up the one file: a file that she had every right to look at anyway. She wasn't violating anyone's privacy, wasn't prying into anyone's secrets -- why, when she thought about it, she wasn't really looking at confidential information at all. How could it be?
She had almost succeeded in calming herself down when the record appeared on the screen -- and the twinge of apprehension turned into heart-pounding anxiety. There it was, in stark orange letters.
Birkoff, Lisa J.
Level: 2
Induction Date: 15 Nov. 1976
Rating: 12
Skills Code: W, E
She stared at the record blankly for several seconds. Now that she'd found it, she wasn't certain what to look at. There were so many subfiles to choose from: annual reviews, team leader evaluations, aptitude test scores, psych evaluations, and dozens more. With only a short window of safety before she had to start worrying about Madeline departing the meeting, she could only choose one thing. But what?
It had to be something simple. That eliminated all of the evaluations and test scores: those, she would need more time to interpret -- and to modify, if she dared. She frowned, aggravated, but then finally made her selection.
Personal Data
There wouldn't be anything there that she didn't already know, but she found herself curious, wondering how much information they had really collected about her background. How did they even find her in the first place? Was it an accident, or had she been selected for recruitment ahead of time?
The file opened and she began to read, skimming the file's contents as quickly as possible. Birth date, birthplace…they even knew what elementary school she attended. It was thorough, all right: there wasn't a detail of her former life that seemed to have escaped their notice. She had to admit it was impressive, in a frightening sort of way. Her paranoia about the passing time increased, so she started skipping paragraphs. However, toward the very end of the file, an entry caught her attention.
Next of Kin
Parents: Deceased
Siblings: 3
Spouse: N/A
Children: 2
She stared at the screen, frozen, her hands poised motionless above the keyboard -- all worries about the approaching deadline vanishing beneath the churning ocean of memories that opened up around her.
She closed her eyes and found herself back in that room, eight years before. Lying in the bed in Medlab, emerging from sleep still groggy from the painkillers, she had barely been able to comprehend the doctor as he spoke.
"You need to choose now," he had said, his expression apologetic. "I can bring them in again if that will help."
He did, but it didn't help. Seeing them only made the choice all that much more impossible. She couldn't do it, couldn't choose between them, couldn't decide which one would have the life of freedom and which the life of servitude. How could she? So they had made the choice for her. No one ever told her what it was.
She opened her eyes again, blinking back the moisture that welled up in the corners, and kept reading. Jason. He was the lucky one, it appeared -- placed for adoption, given a normal life with a supportive family and middle-class trappings. The file didn't contain many details, but what little there was seemed reassuring.
Then Seymour. She gulped back the lump in her throat, and read.
Status: Maintained in Test Facility, Level 16.
She read the line, disbelieving, over and over.
Level 16? Level 16, in Section? She knew that Section was raising him as some sort of experiment, that eventually he was expected to become an operative, but she had thought it would be in a home somewhere. Or a school. Not in the building, like a lab animal.
All this time, she thought, a searing burst of rage enveloping her. All this time he's been here in the same fucking building. For more than eight years. How dare they.
Unable to read any further, she abruptly closed the file and terminated the computer session. She sat, staring at the blinking cursor, as her mind spun in a haze of shock, disgust, and fury.
All this time, and no one had told her. Someone was going to pay for that.
***
Paul remained in the conference room long after Madeline had departed, leaning against the table and staring blankly at the door. He couldn't leave, couldn't even move; his body seemed sapped of energy, his mind wandering in listless circles.
There was something seriously wrong. But wrong in a way that confounded him, that defied his attempts to identify it. Wrong in a way that left him with a feeling of helplessness and dread.
Madeline had been through difficult missions before. She had been through tiring missions before. There had been occasions -- more often than he would like -- when she wanted time to herself. But no matter what, he had always been able to find that little spark of life -- that subtle acknowledgement that what they were doing, the risks they were taking and the sacrifices they were making, was worthwhile. Exhilarating. Even fun, in a strange sense that perhaps only the two of them could understand.
This time, however, there was nothing. She responded like an automaton; there was no sense of mischief, no wicked delight in the impending downfall of their opponent, no delicious anticipation of triumph -- none of the things that he adored about her, that bound them together inseparably. Those things were gone, and it frightened him.
Something had happened to her on the mission, he was sure of it. Demetrios must have hurt her -- if not through outright violence, then some other sort of abuse. There was no other way to explain her behavior: the distance, the emptiness.
Her denials didn't reassure him. In fact, they only made him more suspicious. Actually, now that he thought about it, everyone at the meeting had been acting out of character, save him and Jules. There was Charles, alternately dispirited and angry. Stranger still, there was Adrian, unusually pleased with Madeline, yet harsh on Charles. It didn't make sense.
What the hell was going on with this mission? Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Even more, he didn't like not knowing.
Madeline wasn't going to tell him. He certainly couldn't ask Charles. Adrian was out of the question. Which left him nowhere. Or did it?
There was Jules, after all. Jules and all that surveillance -- the surveillance that the little twerp had made that smug crack about. If Paul could get access to it, that surveillance might just allow him to find out what was going on for himself. Once the mystery was solved, he could decide what action to take.
With a burst of determined energy, he strode out of the conference room. He crossed the main floor to Comm.
"Jules."
Jules spun around in his chair. "Mmm?"
"I need to review the surveillance recorded on Demetrios. Set me up on one of the monitoring stations."
Jules made a wry face. "We have over ten weeks' worth of material, recorded twenty-four hours a day at multiple locations. Do you plan to listen to it all?"
He frowned. "No, of course not."
"Then what are you looking for? Just tell me and I'll get it for you. I'm sure I can find it for you faster than you can yourself."
Shit. He couldn't tell Jules what he was after -- but then he couldn't very well listen to every single tape, either. He sighed in exasperation.
"Just give me the tapes where Madeline is with Demetrios."
Jules frowned in confusion. "What do you need that for?" But before Paul could answer, he smirked. "Ohhhhh, so you want to engage in some recreational listening, hmm? Why didn't you say so, mon ami?"
Paul stared down at the man in disgust. Jules's neck, only inches away from Paul's hands, would be oh-so-easy to snap. But not quite yet. Instead, he forced a cold smile.
"Just set things up at the monitoring station, and let me know when it's ready."
"Consider it done." Jules chuckled. "I think you'll find it very enjoyable. I know I did."
************
To go on to Chapter Eleven, click here.
Previous Chapters
Part One
Part Two
Chapter One
Chapter Seven
Chapter Two
Chapter Eight
Chapter Three
Chapter Nine
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six