Chapter Two

Taking a deep breath, Michael tapped lightly on Nikita's door. He had finally worked up the courage to go to her apartment and declare his undying love, to pledge to no longer trick and manipulate her, to get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness -- but where was she? She wasn't answering the door -- was she ignoring him? Had she given up on him in frustration over the cold, cruel way he abused her emotionally and twisted her feelings to serve the (admittedly just) ends of their ruthless-means-using masters? Sighing, he turned to leave -- but paused. No! He would not be kept from her side any longer!

Lifting and tensing the supple but strong muscles of his well-developed thigh, he kicked the door to the apartment open and strode determinedly inside. He stood in the centre of the room, smouldering with a musky sensuality as he ran his hand through the soft dark locks of his hair, beads of sweat forming on his perfectly chiselled brow and dripping down to his slightly stubbled but firm jaw, which he clenched and unclenched in fierce determination to defeat all obstacles to his eternal love. He slowly unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and flexed his gleaming pectorals -- until he realized that she wasn't home. Merde! All that wasted effort posing!

He relaxed and flopped onto the couch to wait, looking in vain for a magazine -- anything -- to pass the time until the love of his life returned. Nothing. Well, what could you expect from someone who didn�t have much of an internal life? So he stared glumly at the walls. Stared. Glumly.

Funny, he thought. Why does she have all those black magic marker dots on her walls spelling out basic tips for healthy living?

Before he could ponder this question any further, the door opened -- no wait, he had kicked down the door -- two figures stepped through the opening where the door once stood. His heart leapt with joy -- Nikita! But then his heart landed with a dismal thwack -- and Mick. Ugh.

He watched as they set down the five dozen shopping bags they each carried -- and then, his Section-trained and mission-honed powers of observation noticed something deeply disturbing. Eerily ominous. Fearfully frightening. Spookily scary.

He jumped up and seized Mick around the neck, lifting him bodily into the air and shaking him about like a little -- but bald -- rag doll.

"Where did you get those black magic marker stains on your fingers?" he demanded.

"Aaaccchhhherrrrrarghhhhhh," Mick gasped, strangling.

Michael opened his hand and Mick plummeted to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"You will answer," Michael said, bending over Mick threateningly. "Or you will die."

"Michael!" Nikita screamed. "No -- what are you doing? How could you attack this poor innocent man, you big bully? You are at least 10 inches taller than he is; your hair is thicker and longer than his is. Your muscles ripple so much more than his do. You wear your jeans down lower on your hips than he does, with a backside so much tighter and firmer than his is. Your green eyes twinkle so much more than his do...hang on, just what colour are your eyes, Mick?"

The only response that Mick was able to give was a small pained groan, which increased to a pained scream as Nikita whirled around to stare at Michael, inadvertently standing on Mick's hand with her 12 inch spiked heel CFM boots with the gold lame faux fur trim in hot fluoro blue. She continued with her tirade, "And how did you get in anyway? I had Walter install an anti-Michael-cold-cruel-operative locking device on my door so that you would be unable to enter my apartment and break my heart once again with your cruel, cruel lies and your callous, uncaring behaviour!"

Rushing towards her with a song in his heart, Michael stopped before her and slowly caressed her cheek, grabbing her other hand with his and doing some sort of little hand-dance thingy as he replied, "Oh, my one true love. The light of my life that gives me hopes to carry on. You light up my days and fill my nights with song. Didn't you know that the anti-Michael-cold-cruel-operative-locking device is rendered useless in the face of a true and powerful love? Wild horses couldn't keep me away from your glorious beauteous side now that I have decided to reveal all my love to you."

He continued to gaze into her eyes, continuing the hand-dance thingy as the faint strains of the hokey-pokey could be heard emanating from his nose. It was a little known fact by Section operatives that Michael, along with all the other super-spy attributes that he had been given by god, could also whistle whole symphonies with his nose with little effort on his part. It truly was a gift from the heavens.

A groan from the slumped form of Mick startled the lovers' manoeuvres mid-hokey, as they guiltily sprang apart. Their eyes spoke volumes between them as their minds echoed the unspoken words 'later, we need to get rid of the dork.' They moved as if one, their hands continuing the hand-dance thingy, all the while looking at Mick, when he suddenly spoke.

"Oy, Spyboy, what's the big idea hitting me and interrupting my planned tryst with my luscious cream-filled tootsy roll!"

Michael regarded Mick as he would a buzzing fly, and contemplated tossing the man out the window so that he could return to hand-dance ecstasy. But then he remembered - by destroying the door, he had rendered it impossible to lock Mick out, to keep him from returning over and over again like an annoying flare-up of - well, some thoughts are better left unfinished.

Michael sighed and turned toward Nikita. "Let's go get some coffee," he said, his emerald-green eyes brimming with unspoken meaning.

Then he turned back toward Mick. "You. Wash all the magic marker dots off the walls, or you will die."

Mick gulped and nodded.

************

"Birkoff," Walter said in a low voice as he sidled up to the bespectacled young computer genius. "I need some help."

Birkoff looked up from his work, his mouth full of half-chewed Oreo. "Walter, I'm busy. A certain website," he said, shivering in disgust as he looked up at the Perch, "is getting so many hits that our servers are overloaded. The whole system's slowed to a crawl."

Walter leaned over and whispered in Birkoff's ear. "Michael and Nikita are in danger."

"Yeah, what else is new?" Birkoff scowled. "They're covert operatives, remember? They go out on missions, get shot at, come back with bullet holes that miraculously leave no scars on their gorgeous, tanned bodies, you know the routine."

"No, not that!" Walter whispered more insistently. "They're in danger from them," he explained, jerking his head toward the Perch.

"Oh, why didn't you say so?" Birkoff sat up straight, a look of worry filling his face.

"I want you to do a search on all active missions and see what Madeline's using the drug I just gave her for. Search on 'chloral hydrate' and 'coffee' and tell me what you find."

Birkoff's fingers clattered nimbly over the keys. Suddenly a series of file entries spun wildly down the computer screen, faster and faster, until Walter began to grow dizzy looking at it.

"Hey, Walter, can you narrow the search down a little bit?" Birkoff asked. "All the active missions involve chloral hydrate and coffee."

"Okay. Try 'chloral hydrate', 'coffee' and 'Michael'."

Again Birkoff typed and hit his enter key. "Uh-oh," he said. "This is quintuple encrypted. I'm gonna need a password." He sat back in his chair, thinking. What kind of password would Operations or Madeline come up with? Something devious. Something ambiguous. Something misleading. Something so obscure that no one would ever figure it out.

Taking a wild guess, he typed 'password'.

"It worked!" he cried. Then when he saw the contents of the file, his jaw dropped in jaw-droppingly awestruck awe. "Oh, my God, Walter. This is the Cubic Zirconium file! The one with all the secrets! We�ve hit the mother lode!"

He scrolled through the contents, unsure where to begin reading. 'Marilyn Monroe's Role in Kennedy Assassination' said one entry. 'Whereabouts of Elvis' said another. 'Area 51 Autopsy Results and Bowling Tournament Scores' said yet another.

"There!" said Walter, looking over Birkoff's shoulder. "The entry that says 'Diabolically Evil Plan to Keep Michael and Nikita Apart for No Good Reason Other Than Our Own Sick Amusement'."

Birkoff clicked his mouse on the entry and scanned through the results. "This is terrible! First, they�re subliminally conditioning Nikita so that she cares about chocolate and shopping more than she does about having sex. But even worse, they're going to slip sedatives into Michael's coffee to make him groggy, weak, sleepy, and --"

"Unable to perform!" Walter finished, gaping in horror.

************

Davenport wriggled uncomfortably and tugged at the bodice of the hot pink waitress uniform that squeezed his waist just a teensy bit too tightly. He glanced at the restaurant's staff and customers who lay bound and gagged on the floor, and then, with a sigh, brushed a stray hair of the platinum blonde wig he was wearing out of his face. When were Michael and Nikita going to show up at Michael's favourite coffee hangout? Davenport had already been waiting for hours, and he wasn't sure that he could take wearing nylons for much longer.

No one told me they'd be so hot! he thought angrily.

Of course, it was his own fault he was wearing the nylons, after all. His instructions had clearly called for one of his female team members to don the waitress disguise, but Davenport had ignored the profile. You see, Davenport had something to prove.

I can outwit Michael, he thought to himself. I know I can do it! No one believes me anymore, but I know I can!

Hearing the door to the restaurant squeal on its hinges as it opened, he peered anxiously out into the dining area. God, he hoped it wasn't another innocent bystander that he was going to have to subdue and drag into the kitchen. The last one had given him a nasty run in his hose.

Seeing the new arrivals, he relaxed. Ahhh, Michael and Nikita, taking their usual booth. Finally!

He started out toward them with his normal, manly swagger, but then remembered his disguise and switched to a dainty sashay.

Do waitresses sashay? Or are they too busy? he wondered. Oh, well, no time to think about it.

"Hello, there," he greeted them in his best falsetto, batting his eyelashes at Michael flirtatiously. "What'll ya have today?"

"Coffee. Two." Michael was so entranced with Nikita, and with twirling a lock of Nikita's silky hair in his brawny but sensitive fingers, that he didn't even look up at Davenport. Davenport felt strangely...hurt.

"With cream?" he asked breathlessly.

"Black," said Michael, still not looking up.

"Alrighty then," Davenport said, and sashayed back to the kitchen.

He poured two cups of coffee and took out the bottle of liquid that Madeline had given him. Okay, he thought, frowning in concentration. Now, I'm supposed to pour the liquid from the bottle into Michael's coffee. He turned the bottle upside-down over one of the cups and then frowned even harder. Why isn't this stuff pouring out? Hmm, maybe this bottle top thingy is in the way somehow....

"Idiot!" came an exasperated voice behind him. "Let me do zees since you are too stupide!"

He turned to see a thin woman with spiky red hair glaring at him. "Hey," he said, "I know you! Aren't you Andrea?"

She continued to glare at him balefully, her hands perched on her hips.

"Wait a minute... you�re dead!" he said, frowning.

"Mon Dieu!" She rolled her eyes. "Don't you know, zees eez LFN? No one dies -- we merely deesappear for a while unteel we come back in a new form -- like a long-lost seebleeng or a dangerously-misprogrammed hologram!"

He cocked his head in bewilderment. "But...you're not in a new form. You've come back as yourself!"

"Well, tie me down and brand my pretty little ass," she said, switching into an appalling imitation of a Texas twang. "Okay, okay, I'm not Andrea, I'm her clone, Luandrea. Luandrea from Lubbock. Is that better?"

"I guess so...."

But then she pursed her lips in thought and switched back to her French accent. "But wait. Errol Sparks came back from zee dead as eemself. Eef eet eez good enough for eem, eet eez good enough for me! Forget zees clone nonsense."

"Man," he said, shaking his head, "make up your mind."

Her eyes flashed in fury. "Enough! I must ave my revenge! Give me zat bottle so I can drug Michel!"

"No!" he cried, holding the bottle above his head. "I'm going to do it. I have to prove that I can do it without screwing up!"

Andrea began leaping in the air to try to snatch the bottle away, as Davenport ran frantically away from her -- and straight into a table. The bottle flew from his hand and smashed into a wall, its contents spilling out irretrievably.

"Look what you ave done now, imbecile!" Andrea shrieked.

"Ohhhhh, you are in such trouble now, Madeline is gonna be so pissed with you," Davenport breathed in a sexy husky whisper as he unconsciously reverted to his role as a beautiful waitress.

"Wiz me! It waz you, you imbeeezzilee!" roared Andrea, her accent becoming even more gutteral as her rage increased. "But wait, maybeee we can subzitute zomezing else. I know, I ave ere in my utility belt zat I borrowed from ze set of zat ozer show Weetchblade. It containz two azprin, three ticky-tacs, and a chamomile tea bag." She continued on excitedly, "It will not take me too long to whip up a little subzitute now that will work just az well." And off she went to make her evil concoction for our poor unsuspecting heroes.

By this time, Davenport had lost interest in what she was doing, having caught a glimpse of himself in a shiny coffee pot and realised that his lipstick shade was all wrong. Cherry Red clashed something awful with Hot Pink! And so he rushed off to his handy make-up bag for a suitable replacement.

************

Madeline paced her office restlessly, which was no mean feat as she was wearing her bestest, highest, most uncomfortable CFM pumps today. Oh, how she longed for the comfort and softness of her pink bunny slippers! But she needed the added height today. It was so much fun when she was taller than Operations, it gave her a little edge of power, and it thrilled her as well cause he didn't like it when she was taller than him. And besides -- the big CFM pumps showed up so well on the cameras.

She stopped her pacing to stand motionless in front of her plants. Just staring at them. Looking hard at them. Really looking at them, and she frowned when she realised that there were a series of little black dots on them. She gasped in horror and then counted to ten and then to twenty to hold in her anger when she recognised what it was. It was subliminal messages! Somebody had played a reverse psychology trick on her! She grabbed a magnifying glass that she had saved from that time she was looking for Leon and stared hard at the leaves.

It seemed that the words were random thoughts directed entirely at her. Trying to influence her decisions, and that wasn't good. Icy rage settled in her blood stream as the words came into focus.

Just then, the door to her office slid open.

"Your order, madam," said Christopher as he made his way carefully down the steps, balancing an enormous covered tray -- so enormous, in fact, that it almost didn't fit through the door.

"My order?" asked Madeline with a puzzled frown. "What order?"

"Why, my special Triple Chocolate Rum Fudge Chocolate Cream Espresso Super Duper Dark Chocolate Decadence Cake," he said, as he set the tray on her desk and removed the shiny metal lid with a flourish. "Or rather, three of my special Triple Chocolate Rum Fudge Chocolate Cream Espresso Super Duper Dark Chocolate Decadence Cakes." He beamed with pride. "I had no idea you appreciated them so much."

She shook her head. "Christopher, I'm sorry. But I didn't order these, and there's no way I'll be able to eat them. You know I don't eat sweets."

Her words seemed to strike him like physical blows, as his smile vanished, his eyes filled with tears, and the corner of his mouth began to tremble uncontrollably. "You mean this is just some sort of sick joke? You sent in an order, got me excited over something challenging to do, made me work and slave for hours to get these utterly perfect, and all for nothing? Just to test me? The way you test everyone else? I thought I was different - that I had earned a certain level of respect. But apparently not. Apparently not." He shook his head angrily, disappointedly.

"But Christopher--" she started, about to explain that she wasn't the one who had sent the order, that both of them were the victims of this nasty little prank -- but then she saw the tears rolling freely down the man's face and hesitated.

He started to sob. "It's not fair! I'm a chef, a real chef -- I went to the best schools, apprenticed in the finest restaurants, mastered the art with my own tears and blood -- and look what I�ve been reduced to! Every night, Operations orders the same thing. Coq au vin, coq au vin, coq au bloody vin! And you! How much creative satisfaction do you think I get from cutting up fruit slices and celery sticks day after day?"

"But--"

"Just once," he gasped, "just once I thought someone finally appreciated my talents! But no. It was too much to hope for." He collapsed into her chair, hid his face in his hands, and started to bawl like a baby.

She regarded his crumpled form with increasing alarm. For a moment, she considered taking out her gun and cancelling him on the spot -- if only to stop the ear-piercing wails that echoed harshly off the cold, sterile walls of her office. But no, that wouldn't do. Operations liked his coq au vin -- really, really liked his coq au vin -- and would be quite difficult to work with if he were to be deprived of it.

She placed a comforting hand on Christopher's shoulder. "Christopher," she said quietly.

He looked up, tears staining his cheeks.

"Would it make you feel better if I took just one bite?"

He nodded, sniffing softly.

She picked up the fork, dug into the side of one of the towering pastries, and swallowed a mouthful of Christopher's piece de resistance.

Velvety chocolate smoothness. Creamy swirls of delectable sweetness, balanced with a biting hint of rum-and-espresso-aggression. Chocolate chips, chocolate chunks, chocolate hunks -- rivers and streams and pools and waterfalls and lakes and oceans of luscious, sinful chocolate. Stars combusted, solar systems whirled, galaxies spun -- all throughout that dark chocolate ribbon known as the universe. She closed her eyes and held her breath as she was overpowered by a shudderingly rich fudge-ecstasy and swept away into a bittersweet cocoa paradise.

As she fainted dead away, Christopher leapt just in time to catch her.

Back in Comm, Birkoff and Walter huddled in front of Birkoff's computer, watching the scene in Madeline's office unfold.

"Okay," said Birkoff. "One down, one to go. Let's just hope the tobacco substitute you rolled into Operations' cigarettes is just as effective."

************

Meanwhile, back in the Perch, Operations paced slowly around, taking long slow drags of another of his endless cigarettes. Perhaps paced wasn't quite the right description. He danced...no, not quite right either. He languidly looped loiteringly...still not right. He floated, yeah that was it, floated around his office. He could fly! Another one of his before-unknown hidden talents was finally emerging, and like, man, I mean like, it was so rad!

And the walls, oh, the walls were, like, I mean, like totally pretty -- awesomely pretty, actually, as he flew towards them to caress them with his hand. Ohhhhh, his hand was just so cool! It was suddenly almost transparent and he could see the blood and veins and all that icky, yucky stuff oozing around. Oh My God -- his eyes were turning into x-ray eyes! How cool was that -- another talent. He contemplated that thought for another millisecond and then a brilliant flash of light appeared above his head in the shape of a light bulb! Of course, now that he had this x-ray eyes thingy coming to him, he should be able to perve on the sweet delectable form of his darling secret love Maddy!

Oh yes, that was the idea, he would be able to feast his fill from his eyes on her gorgeous body without her knowing -- that'll be fun. Taking another long, slow toke of his ciggie, he grinned evilly at that thought. But then, hey -- wow man -- there was like all these like really awesome little dots on his wall. And man, they were moving and changing colour and everything. Like, oh wow it was so cool; they were changing into little hearts. Little red hearts with words printed in them. Maddy and Paul. Paul and Maddy. And a little arrow through them all. And like awesome man, they were floating all around him. Like love around him. Like love was in the air. And, like all of a sudden it was like a huge symphony with drums and stuff and a song was blasting through his mind. The music reached a crescendo as the song blared from his mind-speakers.

'Love is in the Air,
Everywhere I look around.
Love is in the Air,
Every sight and every sound
And I don't know if I'm being foolish
Don't know if I'm being wise
But it's something that I must believe in
And it's there when I look in your eyes�'

He shook his head to rid it of that god-awful song. But hey man, like, it was so beautiful up where he was. Like so, hey, like who really cared. He floated towards the walls once again as the little black dots seemed to form words, words that seemed to leap out and grab him. Which they were, cause they were also talking to him. Man -- it was just so cool that another hidden power was that he could talk wall. It was, like, a really, really hard language to learn, and like, he knew it really, really easily. Wow man, the words were so...profound!

Oh, his head started to ache. So many rules -- so little time to care. He then smiled evilly to himself once again as his x-ray eyes kicked in again. Floating towards his Perch exit, he flew his way towards Madeline's office. She'd be really impressed with his new secret powers.