Chapter Thirteen 1999 With a careful snip, Madeline removed the unwanted sprout that had sprung rebelliously from the side of the juniper. She leaned forward, examining the other plants intently, searching for signs that their inner nature threatened to make them grow in uncontrolled directions. They were such small things to need such constant attention. But without it, without her unrelenting scrutiny, they would quickly attempt to revert to their natural state, to develop in the way that they wanted, instead of the way that was best. It was an unending struggle, requiring repeated maintenance. But she attended to them faithfully, patiently, every day. After all, she knew -- even if they didn�t -- that they were trapped in a limited universe. In such an artificial environment, natural impulses were dangerous -- sometimes even deadly. And so she made sure all such impulses were stopped, cut off. During the Markali mission, however, she had been too distracted to tend to them as she should. Neglected, all of them had subtly rebelled, each one showing hints of unruly desires. Of wants, needs, and instincts that, if expressed, would weaken them. How had she allowed this to happen? Her mind had been elsewhere -- wandering, lost somewhere in the past. Unacceptable. The past was useful only for the lessons that could be drawn from it -- mistakes to be avoided, behavior to improve, experiences and patterns against which to compare the present and from which to predict the future. Valuable for that, certainly, but nothing more. Revisiting the past was a frivolous indulgence -- a failing of people with nothing better to do. Even the present held only limited value. Nothing in the present could be changed -- only observed. It was critical to be aware of it, to note every passing detail, but there its use ended. She had long since learned that it was only the future that truly mattered -- the future, alone, could be controlled, even if only to a degree. And so she inhabited the future -- living in a world of sims, probabilities, contingencies and plans. With these, the future could be anticipated, influenced, channeled, molded, narrowed -- at times even avoided altogether. The future had meaning; the future offered purpose. The future, therefore, was precious -- for while it contained both threats and promises, it never held regrets. She lifted the leaves of the last plant on the shelf and inspected them closely. They seemed healthy enough. She relaxed, feeling a clarity of mind she hadn�t experienced in weeks. Her ability to concentrate had finally returned. Now, once again, the plants were pristine and perfect -- placed back on the path of what they could become, if guided properly. Finished, she straightened and closed the glass cabinet door, locking it securely. She frowned slightly as the pointlessness of that practice occurred to her. It made no sense to lock the cabinet -- there was no one likely to steal or harm the plants inside. No one likely even to want to look at them, aside from herself. Yet she did it -- indeed, felt compelled to do it -- just the same. It was almost as if she were locking the plants in instead of keeping any intruder out. She smiled to herself at the irrationality of the habit. Someday, she told herself, she would leave the cabinet unlocked. Just not yet. 1980 After smoothing out her skirt with unconscious nervousness, Madeline reached for the door and rapped lightly. Stepping back, she waited, staring absentmindedly at the gilt letters on the door. Of course, Dr. Etienne Petit, whose name the letters spelled, didn�t exist. His �clinique de chiropratique� had served as the meeting place for the Parisian undercover operatives and their handlers for the past four years. She had visited this office untold times, but never before with such a feeling of dread. It had built steadily during the long metro ride across the city, surging sharply as she walked the two blocks from the station to the building that housed the office, virtually paralyzing her as she climbed the creaking flight of stairs to the third floor. Now, she stood, motionless, awaiting entry. To receive a sentence of death, she had no doubt. By consorting -- in public -- with another operative, she had engaged in a gross violation of her cover. It was inexcusable. Unforgiveable. Idiotic. And now, she would pay the price. She couldn�t even be angry with her executioners -- for being so foolish, she deserved to die. By the time the door finally opened, she was completely numb -- so numb, in fact, that she didn�t even recognize that it was Adrian herself who answered and ushered her into the room. It was only when the door closed and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder that her senses slowly began to return to her. Adrian stood beside her; George and another man waited several feet away. Three people, just to meet with her? A tribunal, perhaps. She hadn�t expected anything quite so formal. She looked at each person one by one, struck by the contrast in their expressions. Adrian appeared relaxed, almost friendly. George seemed vaguely nervous. The other man -- dressed, oddly, in a denim jacket and bandana -- looked petrified. �Hello, Madeline.� Adrian's tone was gracious, as was the smile on her face. �Thank you for coming to join us.� �Hello Adrian,� she replied respectfully. She looked at George and nodded. �George.� �This is Walter, one of your fellow operatives.� Adrian gestured toward the other man. �He works with me in Section One.� �Pleased to meet you, Walter.� Walter nodded silently, his face so pale Madeline thought he might faint. �Please, dear, sit down,� Adrian said. Madeline reached for one of the heavy chairs at the long conference room table, but stopped as George rushed to pull another one out for her. Smiling in thanks, she sat, but then quickly frowned, blinking, when the sunlight from the windows hit her directly in the eyes. While she shifted in the chair to try to find a position where she could avoid the glare, the others took their own seats -- Adrian to her immediate right, at the head of the table, George and Walter on the other side. Adrian folded her hands atop the table and regarded Madeline with surprising warmth. �Well, Madeline, we�ve never really had the opportunity to get to know one another. I�m afraid I�ve let George monopolize your time.� Madeline smiled politely. �I�m sure you�re too busy to meet with every operative in the Sections.� Adrian shook her head. �Oh, but you�re not just any operative. After all, you managed to rescue my top team leader from some rather dire circumstances. I owe you my thanks.� Madeline looked at Adrian carefully, cautiously, trying to detect any sign of insincerity, any hidden threat. But she saw nothing but gratitude in the woman�s face. �Not at all,� Madeline answered, relaxing faintly. �I was just doing my job.� �Indeed.� Adrian raised an eyebrow. �I�d say you did quite an outstanding job. Not only helping Paul Wolfe escape unscathed, but recruiting Egran Petrosian at the same time. All on your own initiative. Very impressive.� �Thank you.� She took a deep, slow breath in relief. Perhaps she had jumped to the wrong conclusion regarding the purpose of the meeting � instead of being disciplined, it seemed she was being commended. She had been overly paranoid -- they might know nothing of her meetings with Paul. They had been extremely careful, after all. �By the way,� Adrian asked, leaning forward, her tone casually curious, �how did you manage to recruit Petrosian? He seemed surprisingly willing to switch sides.� Madeline's eyes darted briefly toward George as she remembered how his messenger had blown her cover and precipitated events, but then, controlling herself, she looked back at Adrian. �I seduced him,� she answered calmly. �Did you? And that�s all it took?� Adrian sat back again, an amused expression filling her face. �You must be quite talented. We�ll have to be sure to put your remarkable skills to the proper use in the future.� A chill settled over Madeline as she realized that the other woman was mocking her. �It seems you�re an even more extraordinary operative than I�d realized,� Adrian continued, no longer bothering to conceal her sarcasm, which sliced like ice through the warm air of the room. �Of course, George has been trying to tell me that for years. I see I should have listened.� Bewildered at the turn the conversation was taking, Madeline looked across the table at George. His expression was odd, almost pained -- a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. He quickly looked down at the table, avoiding her eyes. Adrian smiled beatifically. �There�s just one problem.� Madeline braced herself. Here it comes. �I think you know what it is.� Of course she knew what it was. But she hadn�t spent years as an interrogator only to fall into such an obvious trap. She forced an innocent expression. �You�ll have to be more specific.� Adrian nodded. �Of course.� She turned to Walter. �Walter? Why don�t you tell Madeline what you saw?� Walter stared at the polished wood of the conference table, looking as if he might be sick. He could barely speak; his voice hardly rose above a whisper. �Paul Wolfe has been surreptitiously�� he paused and cleared his throat nervously. Madeline�s muscles tensed as she watched him struggle for words. ��going to observe his son, Stephen,� he finished. Madeline blinked, completely stunned. �How is it, do you think,� Adrian asked sweetly, �that he�s managed to find a son he isn�t even supposed to remember that he has?� Madeline was speechless, so frozen with shock that she wasn�t sure if she could even form a coherent sentence, much less explain herself. �I thought you might have some insight that you could share with us,� Adrian continued. �After all, aren�t you supposed to be somewhat of an expert in these matters?� As Adrian watched her intently, she felt as if she were being circled by a bird of prey. It was dizzying, disorienting, and completely terrifying. She opened her mouth but couldn't seem to put words together. �I see you�re having some difficulty speaking right now. Perhaps I can be of some help.� Adrian smiled once again. Her words were scrupulously polite, even kind, but her manner conveyed a lofty disdain, like that of the lady of the manor addressing a scullery maid caught stealing pieces of the tea service. �As I�m sure you�re aware, we went to a great deal of trouble to make Paul Wolfe forget that he ever had a son -- to ensure that there would be no distraction that might interfere with his dedication to the Section. And yet now, years later -- and coincidentally right after he meets you -- he miraculously remembers Stephen -- and what�s worse, has been secretly watching him.� The smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a look of cold fury. Coming from someone so delicate-looking, so fragile, even, the intensity of Adrian's anger was all the more frightening. �Now, all I ask from you is one thing -- an explanation as to why I shouldn�t have you cancelled this instant.� There was no explanation to offer. And for a moment, Madeline didn�t care. Let them cancel her. But then, slowly, as her terror gave way to a dull acceptance of her impending demise, it occurred to her. She could tell them the truth. Or most of the truth, mixed with one critical lie. She swallowed nervously, but then jutted her chin out in defiance. �Because I helped you eliminate a distraction, not the other way around.� Adrian frowned; her eyes narrowed slightly. �Explain,� she ordered coldly. �His memories were starting to return on their own,� Madeline explained, doing her best to control her voice, to keep it from wavering. �For the moment, they were limited to nightmares and a vague sense that something was wrong. But if I hadn�t intervened, he eventually would have remembered everything -- including what Section One had done to him.� She gave Adrian a knowing look. �I didn�t think that would be in anyone�s interest.� Adrian studied Madeline, and her expression shifted, subtly, from hostile to wary but intrigued. �Go on.� �So I put him through a process that reinforced his programming. I eradicated the memories thoroughly, eliminated all of the problems that were causing the nightmares, and made everything as good as new -- perhaps even stronger than before. With one difference.� �Stephen.� Madeline nodded. �Memory modification doesn�t work perfectly. Strong memories -- the ones with the greatest emotional significance -- simply won�t be erased. Not permanently, anyway. At least not without causing unacceptable levels of brain damage as a side effect.� �I see.� Adrian frowned again, but this time it was in thought. �He was going to remember Stephen sooner or later, no matter what was done to him. So I didn�t even try to eliminate those memories. Instead, I allowed him to remember, but gave him a plausible cover story to explain the memory loss. One that didn�t implicate the Section.� �Which is?� �That his memory was temporarily impaired by trauma from his Vietnam experience.� �And he believed that?� �Completely.� Madeline paused. �I understand you�re concerned about distractions, but many years have passed since he was recruited. He understands he can never have Stephen back in his life.� Adrian nodded slowly. She no longer looked hostile, or even suspicious. �As for the other memories,� Madeline continued, �I�ve ensured they won�t return.� �What other memories?� A look of confusion passed across Adrian�s face. �Of the POW camp. He still believes he only spent fifteen days in captivity.� �Oh, that,� Adrian said dismissively. �We modified those memories because so much of Phan�s questioning focused on trying to make Paul guilty for leaving Stephen behind. But now that he�s remembered Stephen, that hardly matters anymore. You needn't have bothered erasing those memories.� �That�s the only reason you made him forget the seven years?� �Yes, of course. Why?� �I thought�.� She paused, about to mention the man whom Paul had killed -- the man she had assumed worked for the Sections. But before she could do so, she caught George�s eye. He was looking at her with such intensity, with such focused concentration, that his gaze nearly scalded her. She stared for several seconds, unable to look away. Then, slowly, covertly -- and gravely -- he shook his head. George�s quiet signal threw her into complete confusion. Trying to compose herself, she shifted her focus to Walter, hoping that looking at someone neutral would give her time to think. But the motion of her head brought her eyes back into the path of the sunbeam shining into the room; it blinded her with a searing flash of light, making her feel not only disoriented, but also strangely vulnerable. As if she were in a spotlight. Or a rifle scope. With horror, she remembered that George had been very quick to make sure that she sat in that particular seat. Right in line of sight through the window. Her mouth suddenly dry, she turned back to Adrian. �No. Of course that would be the reason. I don�t know what I was thinking.� She glanced back at George, heart pounding. He nodded and smiled. Adrian examined her for several moments. �So you did this to protect the Section?� �Yes.� �Then why did you keep it secret from us?� Adrian�s voice grew faintly sharper. �Because what I did was unauthorized,� Madeline answered, grasping at the most plausible reason she could think of. �Because I didn�t know who had been in charge of the original modification, and I didn�t want to be seen as accusing them of incompetence.� Adrian laughed softly. �Well, it just so happens that the person in charge is sitting right here. George, are you offended by the fact that Madeline had to go back and fix some problems?� �Not at all,� he answered, his tone richly gracious. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair with a relaxed posture. �You see?� Adrian smiled. �You should have come to us right away. Next time, I expect that you�ll do so.� �Yes, ma�am.� �Good.� Adrian took a deep breath. �Well,� she said, her voice once again warm, �this has been most enlightening. And I must say, I�m quite relieved. For a moment, I thought you had interfered out of some sort of righteous anger over the fact that Paul had been separated from his wife and son. But how silly of me -- I forgot with whom I was dealing. You�re not exactly sentimental about loving families, are you dear?� This final insult caught Madeline completely off guard. She tried to stifle her anger but failed, her face flushing with bitter rage. And then she saw it -- the look of triumph on Adrian�s face -- and realized she had been deliberately baited. Tested. And she had failed. Her anger had given her away, had made it clear that she had indeed restored Paul�s memory of Stephen for personal reasons, not out of any regard for the Section�s interests. In fact, she had lied about Paul remembering Stephen -- ironically, it was the one memory that had not been showing up in his nightmares, had showed no signs of ever returning. And now Adrian knew. Adrian looked at Madeline imperiously. �Madeline, Walter, thank you for your time. You�re both dismissed.� Adrian watched Madeline and Walter depart in silence, intrigued but disturbed by the exchange that had just taken place. When the door closed, she rose from the table and strolled to the window, looking out at the bustling sidewalk below, trying to gather her thoughts. Madeline�s story -- told in that silken tone that she seemed to employ so effortlessly -- had been completely plausible and utterly convincing. For a few moments, Adrian had even believed it. But then, on instinct, she had tested the young woman, pushing the one button that Adrian knew was likely to provoke a response. And with a single look of shock and outrage, Madeline had betrayed herself. So Madeline was lying. About how much, Adrian couldn�t be sure. About her reason for restoring Paul�s memory of his son, certainly. Perhaps about everything. Not that Adrian could prove it -- there was no real evidence. She simply knew. The question was whether the lies had any real significance. That they meant that Madeline -- of all people -- had formed an emotional attachment to a fellow operative was beyond any doubt. A great surprise, to be sure. But aside from that, was there any real import? Madeline was correct about one thing -- enough time had passed that Stephen no longer posed the same threat to Paul�s loyalty. Indeed, in the months since he learned about his son, he had made no effort to meet with him, strictly limiting himself to furtive, distant observation. Whatever Madeline�s motive, it seemed that being exposed to Stephen hadn�t done Paul any lasting harm. However, there was one other, more worrying question: had being exposed to Madeline done Paul any lasting harm? Emotional attachments, Adrian knew, could go both ways. And what would be more natural than for Paul to form a bond with the person who had rescued him from almost certain death? But that, if the case, would be an unmitigated disaster. Adrian could think of no one, in any of the Sections, who would be a worse influence on Paul than Madeline. As necessary as people like Madeline were to the continued functioning of the Sections -- to the performance of some of the uglier tasks that fell to them -- such people could never be allowed anywhere near a position -- or person -- with influence. Their amorality was a poison; they needed constant monitoring and restrictions lest they corrupt everything they touched. For Paul to be exposed to -- or worse, influenced by -- such a person could undermine everything Adrian had hoped to achieve by training and mentoring him. Indeed, the possibilities were almost too dreadful to contemplate. Paul�s drive and ambition, combined with Madeline�s ability to objectify almost anyone, could turn the Sections into something unspeakable. From Adrian�s hand-picked standard bearer for the future, Paul could instead become the destroyer of everything she had created. This could not be allowed. But how to prevent it? The obvious answer -- to keep them as far apart as possible -- had an undeniable appeal. But there were also significant risks. Kept apart too many years, they might idealize each other -- and then, once Adrian had passed on power to Paul, reunite, their attachment stronger than ever. Or even worse, a forcible separation might provoke active resistance or even rebellion. Indeed, knowing Paul�s character, such a reaction was more than likely. Thus the other answer -- the counter-intuitive one -- might be the better choice. Instead of separating them, she could unite them -- but in circumstances that would drive them apart emotionally. After all, if, as the saying went, familiarity bred contempt, perhaps they needed to spend some time together. Time under Adrian's supervision and control. Turning away from the window, Adrian looked at George. He, too, had risen from his chair and stood, watching her carefully, as he aimlessly toyed with his watch. �I must admit, she showed a great deal of creativity and initiative,� she said. �Yes, quite,� George answered. He looked unsure of himself, as if he weren�t certain what Adrian wanted to hear. But he then straightened his posture, seemingly growing in confidence. �You see? That's what I meant when I said we needed operatives whose ambition is for the Sections, not for themselves. She was looking out for our best interests.� �Oh, I agree, her ambition isn't for herself. That much is quite clear.� She paused, glancing out the window again, and then looked back at George. �That professor she�s been reporting on -- he�s getting a bit advanced in years, isn�t he?� she asked. �Not so much that, but he is ill. It makes him seem older than he is.� �Do you expect him to live much longer?� �Not more than two or three years.� �What do you plan to do with her when he dies? Assign her to another mission?� George frowned, looking surprised at the question. �No, actually. I was thinking I might use her to help manage things internally at Two or Three. She�s very organized -- I think she�d be of great assistance.� �When he dies, I want her transferred to One,� Adrian said bluntly. �To One?� He raised his eyebrows, unable to conceal his shock. �I didn�t think you liked her.� �Likes and dislikes really have nothing to do with it,� she said. �I think she�d be an outstanding profiler. And she might be able to modernize some of our interrogation practices. I�d even be willing to give her a staff and budget.� �I see.� George nodded, but he didn�t look particularly happy. �It�s your call, Adrian. But I think she�s better suited for the other Sections.� Adrian smiled. �Well, we�ll find out, won�t we?� Madeline walked rapidly down the hallway, uneasy with the way the meeting with Adrian had ended, but relieved that it was at least over. And that she was alive after all. For the moment, at least. She had been caught in a lie � and then simply dismissed. Not knowing her punishment -- and she was certain there would be one -- was almost worse than receiving the sentence right then and there. Left to her imagination, it loomed menacingly from the shadows, waiting to strike when she least expected it. And then there was the question of what would happen to Paul -- and to Stephen. Would they stop Paul from seeing him? Probably. Picking up her pace, she silently cursed herself. Her attempt to help Paul, to give him a gift, would instead cause him more pain. It would have been better for him never to have known about Stephen than to remember and then lose him. Foolishly, she had tried to make things right, to fix the past -- but had only succeeded in ruining the future. She would never make that mistake again. She had nearly reached the stairway, nearly escaped to the outside, when behind her she heard footsteps running to catch up with her. She ignored them. Her mind was now focused on short-term goals: stairs, street, metro, home. People, including the one running after her, were simply too much to deal with at the moment. �Madeline,� Walter called out breathlessly. She kept walking, starting down the stairs. Just as she was about to take the first step, she felt him catch her arm. �Look, Madeline,� he said, pulling her to a halt, �I am so sorry.� She turned and looked back at him without expression. �You have nothing to apologize for.� She started to move away, but again he stopped her. �Oh, yes I do.� A mixture of guilt and indignation twisted his face. �This isn�t right.� She continued to stand, silent, waiting for him to let her go, not wanting to hear what he had to say. Not wanting to hear anything. Just wanting to get away. But he didn�t let her go. Instead, he gulped, controlling himself, and began to speak. �Ever since Paul came into the Section, I�ve been monitoring him,� he explained. �They told me to make sure that he didn�t come across anyone from his past -- not just Stephen, but others. They told me that if anyone recognized Paul, their life might be endangered. So I agreed and followed him around -- but I�ve hated myself ever since. And this -- what I just saw in there -- this is the last straw. No more spying for me. Ever.� Madeline looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. What did he want from her? Forgiveness? Absolution? He didn�t know her, and he had no right to make any such demand. Looking back at him, she spoke as coldly as possible. �Why are you telling me this?� �Because I just wanted you to know.� Walter sighed, shaking his head, his eyes brimming with tears. �I should never have told them about Paul going to watch Stephen. They were lying -- it didn�t endanger Stephen at all. I should have just left things alone. I�m sorry. I don�t expect you to forgive me, but I just had to say it.� For a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy. He was as much trapped by circumstance as she was; he, too, seemed to be eaten by guilt. Still, he was a stranger. She would not let him see that she was afraid, or vulnerable, or hurt. �Don�t apologize to me,� she said blandly. �Whether Paul Wolfe sees his son or not isn�t my concern.� Walter shook his head and rolled his eyes. �Okay, look,� he said. �You can use that �I did everything for the good of the Section� crap all you like with George and Adrian. But I didn�t just fall off the turnip truck, you know.� �What do you mean?� she asked, growing slightly apprehensive. �I�ve been following the man around, remember?� �Oh.� Of course. The realization of what he meant hit her with dull ache in the pit of her stomach. They had taken so much care to deceive her surveillance -- but hadn�t realized that he might be watched himself. He had been so sure that it wasn�t Section One policy. But she should have known better. �Yeah, that�s right. I know all about his visits to you.� He lowered his voice conspiratorially. �And I haven�t said a word about it to anyone. I�ve got a list of people he�s not supposed to see -- and since you aren�t on it, I figured it was none of George and Adrian�s business.� A surge of gratitude swept over her -- briefly. Then a doubt arose. �Are you the only one monitoring him?� He shook his head. �I don�t know. Probably not. I do have another job. It's not like I can tag after him twenty-four hours a day.� �And if someone else reports what we�ve been doing, he�ll be disciplined, won�t he?� Walter looked reluctant to answer. �Probably,� he admitted, after hesitating. �Well, then, I�ll have to end it,� she said grimly. He stared at her in shock. �What?� �I am not going to be his downfall.� �Don�t say that.� He squeezed her arm more tightly. �Look, I can help you hide it. I can help create enough diversions to cover his visits to you, as long as we work together. It's the least I can do after all of this.� How she wanted to say yes, to accept his help and be grateful, to grasp some happiness for herself. But she had learned her lesson. That kind of happiness could only be short-lived. She would not jeopardize the future -- or the vows she had made to herself -- for the sake of such a selfish, fleeting joy. Instead, she would consider the consequences and choose what was best. Happiness could be postponed -- as long as it took. Her decision made, she took a deep breath. �No,� she said. �No?� he repeated, his tone incredulous. �If I wanted your help, I would have asked for it,� she said sharply. �If you want to assuage your guilt, use those diversions to allow him to continue observing his son. Don�t waste them on me.� He stared at her, frowning, for several moments; he looked hurt by her words, confused by her coldness. Finally, sounding dubious, he spoke. �Okay, whatever you want.� Releasing her arm, he passed around her and started to head down the stairs. But then he paused. �You know, I don�t know you very well, but I hope you won�t get offended if I give you some advice.� She shrugged and kept her face blank. �Go ahead.� �You�ve got to do something for yourself, too. If you deprive yourself of all pleasure, all joy, all human connections, this place is going to get you. It�s going to eat you alive, and pretty soon there won�t be any you left. There�ll just be a shell, with nothing inside but the Section.� Calmly, she looked him directly in the eyes. �What makes you think that�s not what I want?� An expression of horror and disbelief filled his face. �You can�t mean that.� She regarded him wordlessly, unblinkingly. �Jesus Christ,� he said, shaking his head and disappearing down the stairs. Departing the office, George closed the door behind him with a bit too much force. It slammed, and the sound echoed up and down the hallway, making him wince nervously. Adrian, still inside, would probably think him angry because she had turned down his invitation to join him for drinks. But it wasn�t anger that boiled over inside of him -- it was anxious energy. He had dodged a dangerous bullet -- just barely. Sighing, he turned away from the door to leave, but stopped short when he saw a figure at the other end of the hallway. It was Madeline, standing at the top of the stairs in a posture that looked almost forlorn. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight -- it had been almost fifteen minutes since Adrian had dismissed Madeline and Walter from the meeting, and Madeline should have long since departed. Indeed, given the nature of that particular meeting, he would have expected her to flee the building with utmost haste. In her place, that�s what he would have done. Nevertheless, since she was there, it provided an opportunity. An opportunity to do something he should have done long before. �Madeline,� he called, starting toward her. She turned to look at him and waited until he caught up to her. When he drew closer, he frowned in shock at her appearance. Her normally composed visage was marred with fatigue, and her eyes were heavy with something he couldn�t quite identify. Sadness, perhaps, or resignation. Did she realize, he wondered, how close she had come to death? How he was poised, with just a motion of his head, to signal the sniper positioned across the street to send a bullet through her heart? He was certain that she did -- her evasion of Adrian�s question, just in the nick of time, had demonstrated that she understood his warning. No wonder she looked dejected. Such a close encounter with mortality might tend to depress one�s mood. �I�m glad you�re still here,� he said, catching her by the elbow and steering her down the stairs. �There�s a caf� around the corner � let me buy you a coffee.� She nodded, but without much enthusiasm. �All right.� They descended the stairs and exited the building, emerging onto the sidewalk, which was lit with the late afternoon sun. Turning left, George stepped around a street vendor and his portable cookstand; Madeline followed dutifully alongside him. As they walked the block to the caf�, George attempted to lighten the atmosphere with idle conversation -- a comment about the weather, a recommendation that Madeline see a new art exhibit, a question about the necklace she was wearing. Her responses were pleasant but forced, their interaction strained but polite. Arriving at their destination, he gestured to a sidewalk table. They sat, gave the waiter their order, and then fell into an awkward silence. Arms folded, Madeline looked down at the table as if its well-worn texture were the most fascinating thing in the world. George cleared his throat. �You do realize, don�t you,� he said, with a casual tone that belied the seriousness of his words, �that you would have been killed had you started to describe what happened in that POW camp?� She looked up sharply, her eyes full of restrained intensity. �Yes,� she answered and then swallowed rapidly. She kept her arms crossed tightly across her chest. He shifted in the too-small wooden chair, crossing one leg over another and folding his hands in his lap. �Your death would have been easy enough to explain away -- an attempted assassination against Adrian by a terrorist with rather poor aim, and you the unfortunate innocent bystander who got in the way. Adrian wouldn�t have ever suspected the truth.� Her eyes dropped again briefly, but then she looked back up with a faint look of defiance. �So why didn�t you?� �Kill you?� She nodded. �You demonstrated that it wasn�t necessary.� George gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. �I don�t wish you any harm, you know. If you�re intelligent enough to keep quiet, you have nothing to fear from me.� Unfolding her arms, Madeline leaned forward as if she were about to speak again, but pulled back as the waiter approached with their coffee. The young man took his time, joking and grinning as he set the cups down; both Madeline and George forced smiles and laughter. But as soon as the waiter turned his back, Madeline�s smile vanished. Frowning, she added sugar to her coffee and stirred deliberately, and then set the spoon down on the saucer with a loud clink. �That man Paul Wolfe killed -- I thought he worked for the Sections. But that wasn�t it, was it?� �No, he didn�t work for the Sections.� George paused, blinking. �He worked for me.� Madeline said nothing in response, but he could see the question in her eyes. A question that, if he wanted to enlist her help, it was now time to answer. He took a sip of his coffee, set it down, and then shifted again in the uncomfortable chair. �You see, Adrian and I don�t always see eye to eye. About several things.� He glanced away briefly, reflecting on just how many such things there were, but then returned his gaze to her face. �One of the areas where we have a difference of opinion involves recruiting,� he explained. �Adrian believes that good operatives are born, not made. She wants to recruit people in her own image -- zealots, moralists. People with strong views and deeply held principles. But I know better.� He leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. �What we need are people who believe in nothing. People who can be molded -- who can be trained to be loyal to the organization, and to the organization alone. People like you.� Madeline arched an eyebrow at his last remark, but kept silent. She reached for her coffee cup and slowly began to finger the handle. �Adrian has had her way with Section One,� he continued. �And perhaps that�s for the best. But she�s left the others -- especially Three -- to me.� He leaned back again, relaxing slightly. �Now, Section Three, as you know, is an organization of assassins. By its nature, it requires operatives without moral qualms -- ideally, without the capability for independent thought whatsoever. Robots who follow orders. And a number of years ago, I found the perfect source of such operatives.� He smiled sadly. �The trouble was, it was a source that Adrian wouldn�t have approved of. And so I never told her. I lied about where I was finding those men.� Madeline�s eyes widened, and she took a long sip of her coffee. �I found some freelance recruiters, of sorts,� George said, picking up his spoon and playing with it idly. �They traveled around the world, picking out candidates for me. And as it turned out, the best all came from the same place � the POW camps in Vietnam. All we had to do was pay a modest price per head, and the Vietnamese were happy to hand them over, no questions asked. They didn�t even know who they were handing the men over to -- but I doubt they really cared, to be honest.� He frowned in thought. �Adrian would have had no objection to recruiting from those camps, per se. But she wouldn�t have liked the type of POW I selected. You see, they were all men who had broken under torture. Men with military training and combat experience, but who had been crushed psychologically.� He set the spoon down and looked Madeline directly in the eye. �Those men were -- and still are -- my best assassins. They�ll do anything -- and I mean anything -- without hesitation, without question. Of course, the war eventually ended, and I�ve had to develop new sources, but I still use the lessons that I learned then -- to get the best operatives, choose those who are weak, or disturbed, or troubled somehow, and expose them to violence.� A faint expression -- maybe distaste, maybe apprehension -- filled her face. �Is that how you pick all of your candidates?� George chuckled. �You mean, is that how I picked you?� When she didn�t reply, he smiled. �Do you really want to know the answer to that question?� She looked down at the table, her expression a mixture of anger and shame. He took a deep breath. �In any event, my recruiting efforts were going quite well, except in one camp. There, one of the POWs kept on interfering -- keeping my recruiters from properly identifying the weak ones. And then -- even worse -- he killed one of the recruiters. Needless to say, I decided that camp was too much trouble, and so we declined to do any further business there. It didn�t really matter -- the other camps were just as productive. I wouldn�t have given it another thought -- until the unthinkable happened.� �The unthinkable,� Madeline murmured. George could see from the mildly nauseated look on her face that she knew exactly what was coming. �Yes.� George laughed bitterly, remembering. �One day, Adrian thrust a file at me, saying she had found the perfect operative to succeed her at Section One. You see, she had been paying the Vietnamese camp officials, too.� He sighed. �I don�t think I need to tell you who that operative was.� She shook her head silently. �You can imagine my dilemma,� he said. �Section Three was full of men he had been imprisoned with for years. What if he recognized one of them? And mentioned it to Adrian? It would make things very unpleasant. To say the least.� He took another sip of his coffee. It had grown lukewarm; with a scowl, he set it down. �I tried to persuade her not to recruit him, but she wouldn�t listen. I told her he had strong family ties; she told me to break them. And then it occurred to me. The best way to break his ties to his family -- especially to his son -- was to manipulate his memories. Why not make him forget his years in the POW camp at the same time?� Madeline nodded slowly. �I see.� �And so I brought out Phan, and found Willie Kane, and with some of our psychological experts, we created alternate memories. I gave Adrian some excuse as to why it had to be done, and she never questioned it. We let him keep some recollections of his wife -- they had known each other since childhood, so it was impractical to make him forget her altogether. But it was easy enough to program him to think she looked like one of our operatives, and have that operative pose for surveillance that would persuade him to hate her. The son and the seven years, however, we erased entirely, and replaced with an alternate history.� He shrugged. �Maybe not quite as vivid as the real thing, but good enough to be persuasive.� �For a time,� she corrected. �Precisely,� he said, nodding. �For a while, it seemed to work. But then problems started cropping up. He was acting strangely, and -- just as you later confirmed -- my experts told me he might be recovering his memories. So I decided that the only safe thing would be to have him dead. Of course, I couldn�t just kill him -- it had to be something that wouldn�t arouse Adrian�s suspicion. A death during a mission, for example.� Madeline frowned and glanced away uncomfortably. �When he was captured by the Soviets, I thought I had been saved. I was sure he would be dead and my worries over. And if you had followed protocol instead of trying to be creative, he would be,� he said sharply. She straightened her posture and hardened her expression. �Thanks to my intervention, he�ll never remember those seven years or any of those fellow prisoners. I�ve eliminated any threat he might have posed to you. There�s no longer any reason to want him to die.� He raised his eyebrows, taken aback by her sudden vehemence. �Oh, yes there is. Perhaps not for me -- you might be right about him no longer being a danger. But for you, there�s a very good reason to want him dead.� Growing pale, she asked, �For me?� �Yes, for you.� He paused. How to explain this? Perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning. �I hand-picked you to be recruited. Do you know why?� �No.� She shook her head. �Why, to become my successor, of course.� She frowned for a few moments, puzzled. �As second-in-command?� He laughed and leaned back in his chair. �Good heavens, no. My aspirations run higher than that. And yours should, too.� He smiled and shook his head. �No, I plan to run the Sections one day. And if you make the right choices, you can, too -- eventually.� �But what about Adrian?� He picked up his spoon again and turned it over, studying it intently. �Ah, well,� he said, hesitating slightly, �Adrian�s a superb leader -- a genius, really. She�s an idealist -- a visionary. The perfect person to start an organization like this, to build it up from nothing -- but not the best to lead it into the future, to allow it to mature.� He set the spoon down and looked back at her confidently. �For that,� he said, �one needs a pragmatist. Someone comfortable with ambiguity instead of bright lines, someone capable of establishing rules, routines, bureaucracies. Someone like me. And you.� Madeline said nothing, but she shifted in her chair, her expression growing vaguely uncomfortable. George leaned forward, lowering his voice for emphasis. �Paul Wolfe represents Adrian�s way -- the road we don�t want to go down. Adrian recruited him to prevent people like you from taking over. He�s your rival, not your ally. By helping him, you only hurt yourself. Now do you understand?� He hoped that she did, but instead she looked as if she had been slapped in the face. �I--� she started, but then stopped, looking away for a few seconds. She closed her eyes briefly, and then returned her gaze toward him, her expression again calm. �I see. That�s very interesting.� He frowned, unsure how to read her reaction. She seemed so�noncommittal. But of course. She didn�t understand why he was telling her this, didn�t realize that they could help each other -- that they needed each other�s help, in fact. He had to explain that, too. �We�ve very nearly reached the time when Adrian will no longer be an asset to this organization,� he said slowly, drawing out the words. �When she�ll be a hindrance to its future growth. When that time comes, I intend to take over.� A look of utter shock filled her face. �You�re going to overthrow her?� �No. You will.� She looked dumbstruck, as well she should. He smiled. �I cannot be seen to be involved directly,� he explained, shaking his head in emphasis. �You see,� he paused, somewhat uncomfortable at sharing this information, but realizing it was necessary, �Adrian and I have known each other many years. I � I want to make certain that no harm comes to her. It would kill her to know that I was involved in taking away her proudest creation. And so she mustn�t know.� He paused, gathering his thoughts. �The rebellion must therefore come from the ranks,� he said firmly, �from disgruntled subordinates. But at the end of the day, I�ll be in charge of a new layer, a bureaucratic structure in between the Sections and the people who fund us. I�ll depose her, but from behind the scenes. And by helping me -- by being my proxy, in effect -- you can benefit.� At this, Madeline�s mask completely slipped off; her expression grew openly astonished. �You care for her, and yet you�d do this to her?� George frowned. How could he explain this to someone who had never been in his position? To someone so young that she had never had to make such hard choices, never had to hurt someone she loved? �It�s for her own good, and the good of the Sections,� he said intently, not quite sure which one of them he was trying to convince. �I cannot allow her to destroy what we�ve created, or to destroy herself, just because she can�t adapt to changing times.� Madeline regarded him quietly, her eyes dark mirrors reflecting back at him. Did she understand after all, or was her expression an accusation? He couldn�t tell. �Sometimes,� he said sadly, �the highest form of loyalty is betrayal. But then you wouldn�t understand that, would you?� In response, she simply blinked and looked away. 1999 Paul sat uncomfortably in his car, observing Corinne being taken -- completely broken and destroyed -- into the mental hospital where she would spend the rest of her days. Watching her, knowing that he was responsible, pained him, ate at him with guilt. But it was not just because of Corinne�s fate, horrific as that was -- it was also because of what he knew his actions looked like. He knew what George and Madeline -- who was he kidding, probably the entire Section -- thought. They had made it unmistakably clear that they believed his real target was Corinne, not her husband. The unfortunate thing, the thing that tore at him inside, was that they were right. Just not for the reason they thought. For years, his sources had been telling him that Corinne, of all people, had terrorist affiliations, that she was the one behind her husband�s growing flirtation with such groups. At first, he refused to believe it. But over time, the reports had accumulated to the point where he could no longer deny the implications. Even then, however, he had ignored it. Because of his prior relationship to her, because he had loved her, once, he simply couldn�t bring himself to hurt her -- despite her later betrayal, and despite his outrage at what she had done to Stephen. It was a line he wouldn�t, no, couldn�t, cross -- regardless of duty, regardless of logic. It was pathetic, really. He preached to his operatives daily how they couldn�t allow personal issues to affect their performance -- and yet, again and again, it was his own biggest failing. After all these years, he still hadn�t been able to change that. Maybe it couldn�t be changed; maybe he hadn�t tried hard enough. Whatever the case, it had almost led to disaster. When he learned that Markali was about to be put into a position of power -- and that Corinne�s Badenheim contacts were poised to draw him into their inner circle -- he had almost panicked. He had allowed the problem to grow to the point where it was almost impossible to contain -- by the time he was willing to act, drastic steps were required. So, finally, he set aside his feelings and did what was necessary. Madeline should have been proud of his achievement -- except that, ironically, he couldn�t explain it to her. Nor could he explain it to George. Corinne, his ex-wife, a terrorist sympathizer? They would have thought him completely mad, obsessed with revenge to the point of irrationality. So, instead, he chose a slightly more acceptable explanation -- manufacturing evidence against Markali himself. He knew that neither George nor Madeline really believed it, but it was just plausible enough that they let him proceed, however reluctantly. He suspected that the two of them had been discussing the mission behind his back -- at times, their statements to him had sounded far too in synch for it to be a coincidence. And there was something else, as well, something both reassuring and worrying at the same time: the files retrieved from Markali�s campaign had indeed shown evidence of extensive links back to Badenheim -- evidence that he knew couldn�t have existed. Evidence that he, in fact, had been intending to plant -- and that he suspected someone else had planted for him. Had it been Madeline, covering his back? George, wanting to ensure that Center didn�t ask too many unwelcome questions? Or both of them, up to God knows what? The prospect of Madeline and George conspiring about something gave him chills -- especially given what he and Madeline were planning for George. Their behavior during this mission struck him as a real-life twist on that scenario -- and it disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. Once they put their plan in full play, he would be leaving himself completely at Madeline�s mercy. He trusted her, of course -- implicitly. But then Adrian had trusted George, too, he reminded himself -- just as implicitly. History repeats itself�, he thought with a shudder. God, he hoped not. Adrian had once given him advice about selecting a second-in-command. She had always been so ready to dispense advice -- even if she didn�t apply it to herself. The advice, however, was often sound. Choose someone who brings you balance, who complements you and makes up for your weaknesses, Adrian had said. Well, he had done that. Without question. It must be someone who accepts that you are in control -- who believes in your leadership, Adrian had added. Was that the case? Yes, there was really no doubt -- Madeline had demonstrated that countless times, in countless ways. Certainly she tried to influence him -- sometimes even to manipulate him -- but she always, unfailingly, deferred to his final decision. Even when it was wrong, he recognized in retrospect. Finally, Adrian�s last piece of advice: If your second keeps secrets from you, it�s the beginning of the end. Here, he disagreed. Every partnership, every relationship, had secrets -- sometimes even dark ones. They were a necessary evil, he believed -- and the longer-lasting the partnership, the more that was the case. What really mattered was whether your partner would stand by you in the end. That was what Adrian missed -- that was what had destroyed her. And that was what would save him. He smiled as he remembered how the saying about history repeating actually ended: first as tragedy, then as farce. Yes, that was probably true. This time, it would be a farce. And the joke would be on George. His mind returned to the present, and he looked back at the scene unfolding outside his window. Watching Corinne mentally disintegrate hurt, despite his knowledge that she was no better than any of their other targets. Indeed, in the back of his mind, it puzzled him that both Corinne and Stephen had become involved with terrorists. What were the chances, really, that all three of them would independently fall into the same secret world? Infinitesimal. He wasn�t blind -- either Section or Section�s enemies had to have a hand in that. But he didn�t want to know the details. Some things it was better not to know. It was better to have unanswered questions than answers that brought regrets. Indeed, his only real regret was that he hadn�t been able to be a real father to Stephen, or to protect his son better. As for the rest of his life, he felt he was an extraordinarily lucky man. He had been given the opportunity to make a real difference in the world -- in fact, he had saved it several times over. How many people could say that they had accomplished the same? And then, to make things perfect, he had done so side by side with a woman whose brilliance, bravery and beauty still dazzled him. An infinitely frustrating woman, to be sure, who always tried to push him away whenever he seemed to be on the verge of getting truly close, but even that-- her very need to resist -- he found completely addictive. Of course, she kept him at arms-length only because he allowed it. He had learned, over the years, that, despite her frequent coldness, whenever he made a serious effort, those barriers would crack -- just a little, at least. He was confident that, ultimately, he could remove them entirely if he wished, if he were determined enough. He knew that however much she convinced herself -- and tried to convince him -- that she wanted to reject him, she was incapable of doing so. Whenever he had forced the issue -- given her an opportunity to end things irreparably, she had never been able to go through with it. No, in truth, they were bound together inseparably -- and somewhere, on some level, he was sure that even she knew it. But now was not the time to force the issue. It was better -- safer -- if things remained sporadic, indeterminate, even occasionally uncomfortable. As much as she seemed to worry about being his weakness, he knew that she was perhaps endangered even more. He was a man with many enemies -- he didn�t want her to become a target of retaliation any more than she already was. So he would wait. Occasionally, he would pursue her -- and allow her to reject him -- because he knew she unconsciously craved the reassurance that he still cared for her. But he would wait -- until their enemies were defeated, until they were truly safe -- and then, he would claim what was his. What was theirs. Some form of personal happiness, even if so long deferred. He gave one last sad look at Corinne, and then turned away forever. The past was the past, and couldn�t be changed -- but he had the future to look forward to. The End.