Chapter Three 1999 George had read the Markali profile three times. The first time, he was confused; the second, disbelieving; and the third, furious. The elaborate plan was completely unnecessary if the goal were merely to take out Markali: any number of contrived scandals could have done that. This plan -- dependent on so many different pieces coming together perfectly -- could only be justified if the goal were something more. Something he strenuously disapproved of. He snatched up his telephone with a frown and dialed Madeline�s number. �Hello, George,� she said smoothly. She had obviously been expecting his call. �This is completely out of hand. It was bad enough when I thought he was going after Markali out of jealousy for marrying his ex-wife. But I see the goal is to make her pay, too. That�s completely unacceptable, and you know that.� �I wouldn�t be so quick to judge his motivations,� Madeline countered. �There is a logic to the approach.� �Logic?� he asked mockingly. �You know, over the years you�ve raised defending him to an art form, but I think this one surpasses even your talents.� �Markali is extremely popular in a country where dirty politics is the norm,� Madeline explained, ignoring George�s comment. �The only way to get rid of him without arousing public suspicion of a set-up is to have it be a family matter. Unfortunately, that means that she has to be sacrificed. I don't see any alternatives. I truly wish I did.� George grunted. As much as it galled him, she was probably right. But then she always managed to find such persuasive, utterly convincing reasons to justify even Paul�s most self-serving behavior. Sometimes George wondered if she didn�t sit up at night trying to come up with them. �Well,� he said, changing the subject, �was Nikita your idea?� �No.� �She�s completely wrong for this, you know. I�ve read her psych evaluation �- she won�t be able to do it.� �We�ll see.� Madeline was completely noncommittal, as usual. He found it an admirable trait -- except when it was aimed at him. If George could have reached out through the telephone and slapped her, he would have. Instead, he opted for a verbal blow. �It�s almost as if he�s lashing out at women on this mission �- driving his ex-wife insane, forcing Nikita to do valentine work.� He paused, timing his next statement for maximum effect. �I�d be careful if I were you, my dear. You never know when he might start blaming you for his problems.� The line was silent for several moments. George smiled -- he knew her well enough to recognize when he had succeeded in rattling her composure. �As you can see, I�ll need some help from you to set things up.� Madeline steered the subject back to the mission, but her voice had chilled slightly. �Of course. Everything will be prepared.� He smiled again. �I�m always here to help, Madeline. With any problem you might have.� 1973 �Now, make sure you don�t touch anything unless I tell you to,� Perry, the computer technician, warned. It was obvious from the sharpness of his tone that he considered Madeline and the other recruit following him around the room to be technological morons, capable of causing disaster with a single brush against a keyboard. Madeline looked over at Christine, the other recruit, and rolled her eyes. Christine winked in return. George had recently instituted a policy requiring all operatives to be given at least rudimentary computer instruction, but the policy had encountered resistance from the technical staff. �Well, let me ask you, then,� Madeline asked, her tone innocent, �is it a problem that I was playing around on that terminal over there while we were waiting for you to show up?� �Playing around?� A look of horror swept across Perry�s thin face. �I just wanted to see what it would do,� Madeline said with a shrug. �Which terminal?� Perry�s voice cracked in panic. �That one,� she answered, pointing across the room with a frown of mock concern. As Perry rushed over to inspect the terminal�s display, knocking over a chair in his haste, Christine covered her mouth with her hand and snorted with laughter. Madeline hadn�t touched the terminal, as Christine well knew. Madeline kept a straight face, but turned to Christine and arched an eyebrow in amusement. Now that Madeline had ended her solitary academic studies and joined the group training sessions, she had developed more of a rapport with the other operatives. There were still barriers -- her young age foremost among them -- but she had developed a cordial relationship with most of the recruits, as well as a reputation for a dry sense of humor. It was a relief to her to be less isolated, even if none of them were truly friends. It was also a relief that none of them seemed to know anything about her history -- to them, she was simply a rather precocious recruit, not a criminal or a monster. Indeed, by burying herself in her training, she had almost begun to forget her past herself. �Well,� Perry said, straightening up with a relieved look, �you didn�t do any harm. But don�t ever, ever do that again!� �Oh, absolutely not. I�m so sorry.� Perry took a deep breath. �Okay. Now, most of the stuff you�ll need to see is downstairs, so follow me.� As Perry began to head toward a flight of stairs in the corner of the room, the main doors opened. He suddenly stood stiff at attention, yanking up the belt of his slightly sagging jeans. Madeline followed his gaze and saw that George had entered the room, accompanied by a well-dressed, red-haired woman with an air of authority. �Hello, Perry,� George said. �I wanted to show Adrian our new purchases. Are you busy?� �I was about to give these two a tour of the facilities, but that can wait.� �No, no, there�s no reason you can�t do both,� George insisted. �You wouldn�t mind having two of our recruits tagging along, would you, Adrian?� �Not at all,� Adrian answered graciously. �I�m always delighted to meet our operatives.� George stepped forward and gestured toward Christine. �This is Christine. Christine, this is Adrian.� Christine offered her hand, and Adrian shook it warmly. �So glad to meet you, my dear. I�ve heard such good things about you.� George then turned to Madeline. �And this is Madeline.� Madeline began to extend her hand, but stopped short when she saw the withering expression on Adrian�s face. �Oh, yes, the � arsonist. Among other things.� Adrian gave Madeline a look that could only be described as revulsion. There was a long silence, and then, clearing his throat uncomfortably, Perry began to lead them toward the stairs. George followed, and then Christine. But before Christine could step down, Adrian gently caught her by the arm and gave her a small smile. �If I were you, dear, I�d let Madeline go down the stairs first.� Madeline froze in place. Adrian�s calculated cruelty -- executed with a beneficent smile and a sweetly patrician tone -- was somehow terrifying. She felt herself go white as the woman�s hawk-like eyes examined her, coldly assessing the impact of the remark. It wasn�t until George walked back up the stairs and touched her arm that she realized that she had been holding her breath. �I completely forgot, Madeline -- Wilson had asked if you could join him for an extra session on the shooting range. He seems to think you�re ready for some rifle practice. He�s probably waiting for you now.� Madeline blinked several times to recover her composure and then looked at George. He had lied, a fact which was no doubt obvious to everyone. But she was grateful nonetheless. �Thank you,� she said, trying to control the tremor in her voice. �I�ll go straight there.� She glanced in Adrian�s direction again, flinching inwardly when she saw the look of knowing triumph in the other woman�s eyes, and exited the room. Adrian returned to her office, fighting a powerful urge to wash her hands after meeting Section Two�s youngest recruit. Madeline had been even more disturbing in person than Adrian had expected, with that emotionless expression, that cool, controlled voice, and those eyes -- almost black, reflecting nothing. Adrian had been unable to bring herself to touch the young woman�s extended hand, unable to help herself from bringing up her dreadful background. But she had been both surprised and pleased to see that her behavior provoked a reaction. The girl did at least feel fear -- and that meant she could still be controlled. With a slight shudder, Adrian forced the memory of the encounter from her mind and sat at her desk. There was a pile of files to attend to, as always. She glanced at them in an effort to decide where to begin, when one folder caught her eye. �Potential Recruit -- SE Asia,� the label read. Adrian reached for the file and began reading. Lieutenant Paul Wolfe, U.S. Army. He had been captive in Vietnam for the past seven years, much of it in solitary confinement or undergoing unspeakable torture. He had never broken, and his example had inspired the same level of resistance from every single one of his fellow captives. Although not the highest-ranking officer held in his camp, he had been regarded as the de facto leader, and his captors had made him suffer for it. Adrian read every word in Wolfe�s file with rapt amazement. She knew -- knew without even having to see the man � that he was the one, the successor that she had been searching for. To have assumed moral leadership of over one hundred men, despite his low rank -- and to have survived for seven long years doing so -- he had to have a strength of character that was unsurpassed. A man like him -- someone who had resisted the enemy without wavering even once -- would know, instinctively, how important Section One�s work was. This man knew the enemy and knew what evil was -- and he had shown that he would not compromise with either one. He was the perfect antidote to the cynical young people who increasingly made up the organization�s ranks, the natural leader for the next generation. George would resist, of course. He always argued against recruiting operatives with strong principles -- he saw them as headstrong and difficult to work with. As capable as George was, that was his one weakness. Indeed, if she left things up to him, he would fill their organization with people like Madeline -- amoral creatures who would turn the Agency into a soulless bureaucracy. Thank God, Paul Wolfe could save them from that. �I�ve been very pleased with the progress of your training,� George said, leaning back in his chair. In fact, he was more than pleased -- she had turned out to be everything that he had hoped for. Madeline looked back at him, wearing the standard polite expression that she used during all their interactions. �Thank you.� �In fact, I believe you�re ready for your first assignment.� George picked up a file folder from the table and handed it to her. �This is your profile,� he announced. �Study it carefully. You'll need to memorize everything in it, as you won�t be able to take it with you.� Madeline opened the folder and began leafing through it. �We�ve enrolled you under a false name as a university student in Paris. The details of your identity and background are in the file. You�ll be leaving in three days. Esther will give you some clothing and other belongings to pack before you depart.� Madeline looked up at George with a puzzled expression. �What is my mission?� she asked. The file contained background information on her new identity, but nothing else. �For now, your mission is to establish your identity. And to meet your handlers when ordered to. Nothing more.� George paused, wondering whether to tell her what the nature of her mission really was, how critical -- but dangerous -- it would be, but then decided it was premature. �That will be all.� She stood and turned to leave. As he watched her, he reconsidered his decision. He might not be able to provide her with specifics, but perhaps some sort of warning was appropriate. �Don�t get too comfortable with your situation,� he called out as she exited the room. �Section may not ask much of you for the time being, but that will change.� George set his teacup down with a clatter, scowling at the file spread out on the table before him. He shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead. �This Wolfe isn�t a good candidate. He�s too obstinate, too headstrong. We won�t be able to work with him.� Adrian smiled and took a sip of her tea. George was so predictable. She had anticipated almost every word of his objection. �That�s what makes him perfect. I want a leader, not a follower, George.� George�s frown deepened. �And he�ll resist -- or try to escape. He hasn�t seen his family in seven years -- do you think a man like that would just abandon them?� �We�ll just have to convince him, then, won�t we?� George looked away, his expression sour. That look, combined with the faint shadow that darkened his cheeks where he needed to shave, made him look surprisingly old for his age -- old and tired. All the more reason why they needed new blood, Adrian decided. �I want him, George,� she said firmly. �Do whatever is necessary to persuade him to join us. If the family is a problem, perhaps we can break that bond somehow. What if he found out that his wife was unfaithful?� �But she wasn�t.� �Why should that get in the way?� Adrian gave George a pointed look. George sighed. He was still resisting. As fond as she was of her second-in-command, perhaps he needed to be reminded who was in charge. �We have means, George. Use them.� She used the coldest tone she could summon. He nodded silently and drank again from his cup. By the sag in his shoulders, she could tell that she had won this battle. However, it wouldn�t hurt to make her point completely clear. �By the way, George, I don�t want to hear about any convenient accidents or suicides. I know you don�t approve of recruiting him, but it�s my decision.� She smiled at him warmly, recognizing that her assertion of authority had registered when she saw the momentary flash in his eyes. �I�ve tolerated some of your choices for recruits,� she reminded him. �You�ll have to do the same with mine.� Home. The thought of returning home filled Paul�s heart with a joy that he hadn�t felt in seven hideous years. He had barely even been able to think about home after the first year or two of captivity -- the longing and loneliness had become too hard to take. But now, he was going home. It made the years of suffering worthwhile -- the torture, the loss of friends to starvation and disease, the taunting by his captors as the war turned against the Americans. All of those memories would disappear as soon as he got home, he was sure of it. He grinned and joked with his buddies as he waited in line to climb into the trucks that would take them out of the camp. The mood was upbeat and jovial, despite the knowledge that they were on the losing side. �Man, the first thing I�m gonna do is eat a big T-bone steak, french fries, and a chocolate sundae,� an emaciated-looking private said, bouncing up and down with excitement. �I�m going to one of those all-you-can eat places. They�re going to have to drag me out of there,� laughed another prisoner. �Food? Shit, you boys are pathetic,� said another. �I�m going to find some hot mama and make love, not war!� The line of soldiers laughed raucously. Paul couldn�t remember the last time he had heard such laughter -- genuine laughter, not the bitter laughter of men trying to forget their misery. The line moved ahead as the POWs continued to climb into the trucks. Paul stepped forward with them, but turned as he felt a tap on his arm. He looked to see a Vietnamese guard standing next to him. �You come with me,� the guard ordered. �What?� �Phan wants to talk to you.� �Well, Phan can go fuck himself. I�m not a prisoner anymore, remember?� The guard pulled out a pistol and held it to Paul�s face. �You come with me,� he repeated. A silence hushed the line of men as they watched to see what Paul would do. The guard�s hand trembled, and a bead of sweat slowly trickled down his temple; he looked nervous, as if a sudden movement or loud noise might provoke him into shooting. Not wanting to endanger himself -- or the other men who were so close to escaping this place of horror -- Paul backed down. �Fine. I guess Phan wants to give me his goodbyes personally. Hold a place for me in the truck, boys.�