Chapter Six Madeline stood on the wooden bridge, watching her reflection in the pond as the koi fish swam serenely underneath. Crossing the bridge, she moved on, her shoes crunching on the path beneath her. She approached a bench near a waterfall and took a seat to begin her mental preparation for her meeting with Nikita. The last time she had seen Nikita, Madeline had been in a dire situation, about to flee and start life as a fugitive. Yet her very powerlessness had given her the freedom to speak her mind -- to tell Nikita what she really thought of her, and to announce proudly that she was seizing control of her own future. Little did the two who had been sitting in judgment of her know how frank she was being. In fact, it had given her a certain thrill to speak the truth and yet still deceive them. Now, having amassed power beyond what she could ever have predicted, she again had the upper hand. And yet that fact once again restricted what she could say. She would have to revert to her old way of managing Nikita -- a judicious mixture of truth and omission. She was not looking forward to this meeting. It would bring back too many unpleasant memories -- memories of her betrayal by the organization that she had devoted her life to, memories of years of being on the defensive, with her life literally hanging on the whim of a petulant child. For three years, Nikita had judged Madeline and found her wanting. Nikita had made little effort to hide this fact or to disguise her contempt. It showed in the verbal slaps in the face that Nikita had delivered with alarming regularity. The first time it had really registered with Madeline was in the aftermath of the assassination attempt against Paul. "I found out what it was like to be you," Nikita had said, as if being Madeline were something despicable. And again, when they were forced to recruit Greg Hillinger: "I think you go to bed each night hoping someone will screw up so you can make your hard decisions." Such comments, coming from an idealistic young operative, would have been easy to shrug off. But coming from someone whom Madeline suspected to be an internal affairs agent for Center, they had been immensely disturbing. What kind of reports and recommendations, Madeline had started to wonder, was Nikita sending back to Center? Did those reports reflect that much hostility toward Madeline? Toward Paul? Did Nikita truly have no understanding of how hard Paul and Madeline worked, how they struggled to do an extremely difficult job? If so, and if Nikita's reports were to be a significant criterion on which they would be judged, they were in grave danger. It had taken Madeline a surprisingly long time to come to grips with this. She, in her loyalty to the organization whose principles she had adopted as her own moral code, had clung to a na�ve belief -- that, regardless of George's personal animosity toward Paul and Madeline, Center would judge them fairly and objectively. After all, it had accepted their takeover from Adrian and had allowed them to run Section One unmolested for years. But with Nikita's presence, the foundation for that trust had started to crumble. A good soldier, Madeline resisted seeing the signs for as long as possible. But it had finally become too obvious for her to ignore. Her years of devoted service and self-sacrifice meant nothing. Her loyalty meant nothing. Her unhesitating willingness to lay down her own life -- to give up anything if it would serve Section One -- meant nothing. All that mattered to Center was whether Nikita -- self-righteous and moralistic Nikita -- liked her or not. This was not only unjust -- it was unbearable. It had taken Paul even longer to accept this reality. Long after Madeline had sunk into the depths of a profound pessimism, fatalistically certain that her lifespan was near its end, he had remained convinced that there was a way to salvage the situation. She disagreed, but, as ever, was willing to help him try. And so they tried. And tried again. At first, Paul believed that they could create a 'win-win' situation -- by setting up George for removal, Paul and Madeline could move up and out of Section One, allowing Center to install Nikita's favorite, Michael, as the new Operations. When George managed to resist being dislodged, it became even more critical to neutralize the threat that Michael posed. That, too, had proven to be more difficult than expected. Subjecting Nikita to the Gelman process was an act of sheer desperation. Paul had hoped that by controlling Nikita's mind they could not only cure her of her obsession with Michael as the potential savior of Section, but perhaps even favorably influence the reports that she sent back to Center. That had been worse than a failure -- it had emboldened Michael into challenging them directly. Although Madeline couldn't deny that working with a logical, refreshingly unemotional Nikita had been a distinct pleasure -- while it lasted. Nikita had truly had the potential to be a remarkable operative, if only she had been able to shut off her weaknesses. It was their aborted attempt to assassinate George that, finally, had brought home to Paul the pointlessness of trying to continue. Every effort they made to save themselves had just brought them that much closer to cancellation. And yet, Madeline reflected with amazement, Paul's natural optimism had turned that string of defeats into ultimate victory. On her own, she never would have considered leaving Section One. She identified with Section to such a degree that such a thing would have been unimaginable. It took Paul to remind her that it was not the entity that she served, but the cause. And the cause could be -- and now was being -- served by other means. She looked at her surroundings and took a deep breath. Who would have thought, in their darkest hour, that she would now be here -- of all places? Life was certainly full of surprises. Of course, another surprise had come after she made her escape -- a revelation that made a mockery out of all of her attempts to understand Nikita. She learned, to her chagrin, that despite all of her careful observation and analysis, she had been completely in the dark all along. It was a humbling realization. Humbling and infuriating. When she received word that the real Mr. Jones was the man she and Paul had once known as Phillip, and that Nikita was Phillip's daughter, Madeline had been appalled. Incredibly, Phillip had thought that he had a right to pass on the Agency to his daughter as if it were a feudal fiefdom. This notion offended Madeline so greatly that she was unsure whether she would be able to hide her disgust upon seeing Nikita again. But hide it she must. If Nikita continued to attack their teams -- or, worse yet, if she exposed them to their enemies before their preparations were complete -- she could pose a serious danger. Madeline would need to be her most convincing with Nikita, regardless of her feelings -- and regardless of the past. She looked up as one of her employees approached. "She's arrived," the woman announced. "Thank you," Madeline responded. "I�ll be in momentarily." ****** As the hood slid off Nikita's head, she shook her hair free and opened her eyes. A tall man in a black, mission-style outfit stood in front of her, holding the hood and watching her carefully. "Please wait here. It won't be long," he said politely and walked away, closing a door behind him. She found herself in a study in what seemed to be a private home. Light shone softly through partially opened curtains on the far side of the room, while bookshelves lined the opposite wall. The study was decorated in a spare, precise style, but each carefully-chosen piece of antique furniture clearly cost a fortune. At one end of the room was a long table bearing several different flowers. All of them orchids, of course, Nikita noted. She tensed her muscles involuntarily. There was no doubt whose room this was. But the d�cor was nothing like either one of Madeline�s previous offices. It was neither inviting, like the 'dungeon', nor cold, like her later office -- rather, its tasteful formality conveyed the impression of wealth -- and power. Nikita wandered over to the table and inspected the orchids. All of them displayed vivid colors -- oranges, bright yellows, deep crimsons. They seemed rather dramatic for someone whose persona was otherwise so restrained. Unseemly, almost. Without warning, the door opened and Madeline entered noiselessly. Dressed in an elegant, dark tailored suit, she appeared exactly as she had at Section One. She looked as if she had been plucked from the past and placed in a time machine -- or as if she were a ghost from one of Nikita's nightmares. She smiled mildly at Nikita and closed the door behind her with a quiet click. Nikita couldn't bring herself to speak or respond. She simply stared. She had expected Madeline to look different -- to have aged, or chosen a new style of dress. That she hadn't was somehow disconcerting. Noticing Nikita by the long table, Madeline finally spoke. "Do you know anything about orchids, Nikita?" "No, not really," Nikita answered, not quite sure what to make of this attempt at small talk. "Aren't they carnivorous, or poisonous, or something?" "Certainly not," Madeline said, looking offended. Madeline strolled toward Nikita and stopped next to the table. "There are thousands of varieties of orchids, found all over the world. It's one of the most adaptable flowers in existence." She looked at the plants fondly, and then turned her head to look at Nikita. "They have to be inventive to survive and propagate. Primarily, they rely on deception and manipulation." Nikita stared at the orchids for a moment, faintly disturbed by Madeline's description. "You sound like you think they're intelligent." Madeline gave Nikita a half-smile and continued. "They have symbiotic relationships with their pollinators. Each orchid becomes whatever its pollinator is most driven to find -- food, a mate, an adversary --" "An adversary?" "The flower tricks the insect into attacking it and getting covered in pollen." Madeline�s gaze focused sharply on Nikita, and Nikita took an involuntary step backwards. "You see," Madeline continued, her voice pleasant but her eyes cold, "hatred or fear can be used to control just as much as love or desire." Nikita tore her eyes away from Madeline's stare, and looked back at the orchids. They no longer looked beautiful. Instead, they seemed somehow menacing. Much like their owner. Nikita wondered if she, like some hapless insect, had been similarly manipulated. The thought was unnerving. Madeline watched Nikita carefully and smiled, seemingly satisfied that her words had had the desired effect. Her voice then turned softer, almost soothing. "Each orchid is perfectly adapted to capture its target. They represent the standard that I strive for when developing a profile. Having them here helps me concentrate on my work." How classic of Madeline to have a utilitarian reason for growing flowers, Nikita thought. She doesn�t admire their beauty -- she admires their ... efficiency! Shaking her head to dispel this thought, Nikita decided to get down to business. "Why did you save Walter?" "He's an old friend who was in trouble. It was the decent thing to do." "You've never done anything because it was the decent thing to do, Madeline." Madeline's composed expression revealed no discernable reaction to the insult. She responded quietly. "The team that you captured and tortured to death was the same team that rescued Walter. Was that the decent thing to do, Nikita?" The comment stung. Nikita lashed back. "I had to find you. I'm not going to let you destroy Section." Madeline smiled indulgently. "That's not our purpose." "Then what is?" "To do the work that Section is failing to do." ****** "Quinn?" Jason asked, his voice worried. "What is it?" Quinn answered with a slight groan. She was tired of being interrupted with the questions of incompetents. "There�s a call coming in for Operations from Oversight. What should I do with it?" Quinn frowned. "I thought Operations was at Oversight. Why would they be calling for her here?" "Well, that's why I'm asking what I should do." Quinn paused. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael approach. "Put the call on the intercom," Quinn instructed Jason. "I'll answer." Jason tapped his keyboard and nodded at Quinn. "Hello, this is Kate Quinn, the head of Comm. I'm in charge in Operations' absence, and I have you on the intercom here with my colleagues. Is there something we can do for you?" "Where is Operations? She isn't answering her cell phone." Quinn, Jason and Michael exchanged looks of concern. "Operations told us that she had been summoned to a meeting with you." "That's incorrect. There was no such meeting." "I heard her on the telephone," Michael interjected. "She did receive a summons from Oversight this morning, or so she believed." "And who is this?" "Michael Samuelle." "Michael Samuelle. Very interesting. Well, welcome back to Section One, Michael Samuelle. But please, can someone check Operations' tracking device to see where your leader has disappeared to?" "The signal's being blocked," Jason answered. "Then she's been lured into a trap," Michael said grimly. "She's in serious danger." "Then trace the phone calls to Operations," said the voice over the intercom. "I want to see where this call originated from." Quinn pulled up the telephone records and looked through the listing of calls. There had only been one call to Operations that morning. At first, it looked legitimate, but after a few minutes' analysis she recognized that it wasn�t from Oversight. It was from the outside. Someone faked a call from Oversight? Quinn stared at the screen nervously. How could they do that? She became even more nervous when she realized how. It had to be someone with extensive knowledge of their systems and protocols. Someone who had once been inside. Oh, my God! Nikita was right. It is them. It has to be. Quinn kept typing, not quite ready to break the news to Oversight. What could she possibly say? Then a thought occurred to her. If Nikita had been lured away, it was no doubt in retaliation for her capture and cancellation of the team in Colombia. If she knew Paul Wolfe, he would tear Nikita limb from limb for a stunt like that. Which meant that Nikita, conveniently, wouldn't be coming back -- and that someone would have to replace her. That person could be Quinn. Or, she thought dourly, it could be Michael Samuelle. If Nikita had been captured by Section One's former-leaders-gone-rogue, Oversight very well might want an experienced cold operative like Michael to deal with the bloody war that would inevitably follow. But what if Oversight could be convinced that it was Nikita who had gone rogue? That she had voluntarily gone out -- in violation of Oversight's orders -- and launched a delusional quest for individuals who were dead? In such a case, Oversight would be more likely to turn to Quinn -- Quinn, who had always been reliable and, more importantly, who wasn't burdened by an emotional attachment to Nikita. And who knows? If Paul Wolfe were out there, he might appreciate a favor. Quinn smiled. Her decision was made. She deleted the record of the phone call from the system. She didn�t have time to do it thoroughly, but she could go back later and take care of that. "Sir?" she asked. "Yes? Have you traced the call?" "Yes, I have. Or rather, I verified that there was no call." Michael looked at her sharply. Quinn continued. "I believe that she programmed her phone to ring, and that she was merely pretending that there was someone on the other line. That is, if Michael is even telling the truth about what he witnessed. He seems very anxious to make us believe that she's been kidnapped, when there isn't evidence of any such thing." She smiled triumphantly at Michael, ignoring the threat in his eyes. "And what would be the purpose of this?" "It's an excuse for her to go on an unauthorized mission in search of her deceased predecessor. To avenge her father's death, or some such thing. She's been obsessed with it lately." There was silence on the line for several moments. "That sounds very serious. I'd like to be quite sure of this before I decide what course of action to take. Jason, would you please recheck those results?" Quinn stared at Jason, trying to hide her terror. She hadn't deleted the record carefully enough to hide it from a thorough search. She watched Jason type for several minutes. Suddenly, he stopped. He looked cautiously over at Quinn, and then back at his screen. He cleared his throat. "Um, sir?" "Yes?" "There was a call to Operations this morning. It was made to look like it was coming from your secretary's office in order to get past our security screen, but it appears it was actually from the outside. It looks like Operations was lured into a trap." "Interesting. Quinn, how is it that you missed this?" Quinn sat in a silent panic, trying to concoct a plausible excuse. Perhaps she could just plead incompetence. "Uh, sir?" Jason spoke again. "Quinn didn't miss the call. She tried to delete the record." "Michael?" "Yes, sir?" Michael answered, his gaze drilling through Quinn. "I understand that you may not be formally affiliated with us anymore, but would you be able to escort Quinn to the White Room? I think she has some explaining to do." ****** "To do the work that Section is failing to do," Nikita repeated Madeline's words, her anger rising. "We're not failing to do anything," she snapped. "Except mistreat our operatives." "Let's talk about that, Nikita. Your new, enlightened management style." The flash in Madeline's eyes was the only sign of her sarcasm. Refusing to be cowed, Nikita glared back at her. "Of course, I'm not there in person anymore, but from what I hear," Madeline lingered over the word, letting Nikita know that she still had sources in Section, "your 'humane' administration still practices cancellation, still kills innocent collateral, and still employs its operatives by threat of force." "You're wrong. We don't recruit by force anymore." "Really? Where do you get your recruits, then?" "They're mostly transferred from the other Sections." Madeline laughed out loud. "Oh, Nikita, please. Where do you think they get their recruits?" Nikita stepped closer to Madeline, feeling her face flush with rage. She took a deep, trembling breath before she spoke. "You and Paul created the policy of forcibly recruiting criminals. That never applied to the other Sections. That's why my father wanted to get rid of the two of you -- because you had turned Section One into something evil. But when he succeeded in ousting you, you killed him in revenge." She stared at Madeline, eyes burning, bracing for the final confrontation. But no confrontation was forthcoming. Madeline looked at Nikita for a long time, her expression unreadable. She then looked away, exhaled with a long sigh, and turned back toward Nikita. "I brought you here," she said very slowly, "to try to avoid a senseless war between our two organizations. But you're laboring under so much misinformation that I'm beginning to suspect that it's hopeless." Something in Madeline's voice surprised Nikita. The older woman seemed tired and resigned. Nikita's anger subsided. "Why don�t you try me." Madeline regarded Nikita for a moment. "All right," she said, gesturing to a chair. "Please, sit down." Nikita sank into the red and gold cushion of a nearby chair as Madeline sat in the matching chair across from her. "Would you like some refreshments?" Almost magically, Madeline's expression had shifted into that of the gracious hostess. As many times as she had seen it, Nikita never failed to find Madeline's ability to transform herself that way fascinating. "No, thank you." Madeline crossed her legs and placed her hands on her lap. She regarded Nikita thoughtfully before she began to speak again. "Since you seem to blame Paul and me for everything that you dislike about Section, perhaps you need to know what we were and were not responsible for. Otherwise, your misimpressions will stand in the way of any productive communication." "Go on." Nikita could think of plenty of ugly things that they were unquestionably responsible for, but she kept that thought to herself. "Think, Nikita," Madeline urged. "You're familiar by now with what the other Sections do. What about Section Four? Those children didn't volunteer to join. Do you think a humanitarian set that up?" "No. Section Four is monstrous." "And yet Paul and I had nothing to do with creating it." Nikita nodded in acknowledgement. "That's true. That was George, not you." "George? Do you think George had the authority to establish a new Section without prior approval from Center?" "You're saying that my father...." Nikita�s voice trailed off in horror. Her point made, Madeline quickly moved on. "Tell me Nikita, under your command, can operatives resign from Section One?" "No. Oversight would never allow that." "Then how is their service at Section One not forced?" Nikita had no answer. "So in reality, forced recruitment continues even now that Paul and I are gone." Nikita nodded. "In that sense, anyway." "If that�s the case, why do you assume that we were responsible for creating the policy?" "Perhaps I shouldn't," Nikita admitted reluctantly. She was beginning to find this exchange rather tiring. "And Adrian, since I know you're so enamored of her -- what was it that she told you that she objected to at Section One?" "Your support for tyrants like Saddam Hussein. Your pursuit for control over the world. Your disregard for innocents in your so-called 'quest for the greater good.'" "In other words, our external actions. Our policy decisions. But did she ever criticize the way we ran Section internally? The fact that we cancelled operatives, or used abeyance teams?" "No." "Well? Why do you think that might be?" Madeline�s expression was deceptively benign, but her gaze was piercing. Nikita answered slowly, sadly. "Because she set up those policies when she created the Sections." "Very good, Nikita." Madeline leaned back in her chair with a smile. They regarded each other quietly for a few moments. "So next you're going to tell me that you didn't kill my father." "Of course we didn't."