Chapter Five

Madeline glanced at her watch, noticing that she and Operations had been staring menacingly out the Perch windows for a full twenty minutes.

"That's probably sufficient to boost operating efficiency for the next several hours," she remarked, turning to leave and return to her office.

"Wait," called Operations. "I want to check Nikita's status again before you leave. If the reverse subliminal programming succeeds with her, I want to expand it to the rest of the Section."

"Well," she said, looking sceptical, "it's still an experimental procedure, and the effects aren't permanent yet. Any exposure to countervailing agents could produce anomalous results."

She walked to a computer terminal along the wall and began typing commands to bring up the surveillance in Nikita's apartment.

"Countervailing agents?" asked Operations. "Such as?"

"Such as...." she started, and then her eyes widened when she saw the scene in Nikita's apartment, where Michael and Nikita were in the midst of the heated throes of passionate ecstasy. "Such as that!"

Looking over her shoulder, Operations clenched his fists angrily and turned red with rage.

"Look at this!" he yelled. "I thought this procedure was supposed to keep them apart! This is worse than if we had done nothing!"

Madeline shrugged. "I warned you that using the process might provoke Michael into desperate action. Now we've lost control over both of them."

They both winced as the volume of noise from the surveillance began to reach a crescendo. "Oh, Michael!" screamed Nikita through the computer speakers. "Yes, Yes, YES!!!!"

"For God's sake, turn the volume down!" Operations cried out, covering his ears in pain. "That screeching is enough to wake the dead!"

"Too late. It already has," came a familiar voice from behind them. "Or at least the cryogenically frozen."

"Adrian!" they gasped in unison, whirling around in horror to face their nemesis.

Adrian lurched stiffly into the Perch, her arms stuck out in front of her like a mummy, as she slammed deliberately into the walls in an attempt to chip the ice off herself.

"I'm sure you must regret the decision to keep me alive," she said with an air of aristocratic superiority, marred only by the icicle hanging from her nose.

"I'll take care of that mistake right now," Madeline spat, as she lunged toward the other woman.

The two women struggled for several moments, trying desperately to pull each other's hair. But Adrian couldn't bend her arms to get a grip, and her hair was too slick with ice for Madeline to take a firm hold. Just as they were about to give up on the hair pulling and commence clawing each other with their fingernails, where Adrian, not having had a manicure in quite a long time, had a considerable advantage, they both stopped in their tracks, incredulous, as a previously unimaginable level of unearthly shrieking began emanating from the computer speakers.

"Miiiiiiiiiiikuuuuuuuuuuulllllllllllllll!" Nikita screamed in ecstasy.

"Good Lord," said Adrian in astonishment, "it sounds like they're killing a cat!"

"No, I think it's a monkey," said Madeline.

"No, it's Nikita," said Operations.

"Michael's killing Nikita?" Madeline asked hopefully.

"No, no, no, it's Nikita shrieking as if she were a cat being killed."

"A monkey, you mean," corrected Madeline.

"Monkey, cat, it doesn't matter!" snapped Adrian. "The real question is, what are they doing?"

They all tilted their heads sideways to try to get a better view.

"I have no idea...." started Operations, but then he suddenly straightened up as a brilliant idea seized him. "Madeline!"

"What?" she said, tilting her head to the other side, mesmerised by the scene that was unfolding on the computer monitor.

"Quickly! Switch this video feed to the web-cam channel!"

With a shake of her head, Madeline snapped herself out of the hypnotic state the view of the surveillance had put her in, and quickly typed the necessary commands to switch the video feed so that it was being broadcast over the live web-cam site. Suddenly, the orders skyrocketed, money pouring into their secret offshore bank accounts in hurricane-like torrents.

"My God," exclaimed Operations appreciatively. "This is incredible!" He then frowned and scratched his head. �Why have we been trying to keep them apart all this time?"

"We'll have to make a note never to do that again," Madeline agreed. "Why, together, as a team, they�re our most formidable resource!"

Adrian looked over their shoulders, spotted the readout of payments rolling into the web-cam accounts, and gasped.

"This is what you�ve turned my beloved Section One into?" she hissed. "A purveyor of online porn?"

Operations waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, don't worry -- Section One still does missions against the terrorists. Madeline and I have just, uh, 'borrowed' the computers for our own little venture."

"Your own venture? You mean you're taking this money for yourselves?" Adrian was aghast. She snatched Operations' cell phone out of his jacket pocket before he could react. �That's it -- I'm going to call George and have this entire sordid operation shut down."

"Wait! You don�t want to do that."

"Why?"

"Because...because...because we'll split the profits with you 50/50!"

"What?!" Madeline whirled to look at him in fury.

Adrian hesitated, staring at the readout of exponentially exploding credit card orders. "Well...as long as it doesn't interfere with missions, maybe it's not so terrible...." she murmured. Then she brightened. "You know, 'porn' is such a crude term, isn't it? All the really enlightened people call it cyber-erotica."

Operations smiled. "I know I do."

"But Paul!" Madeline said through gritted teeth, clutching his arm so hard that he winced. "What about the Philippines?"

"The Philippines are nothing! Look at those orders piling in! At this rate, even with only half the profits, we'll be able to afford Australia! And we'll still have money left over for you to corner the world market on orchids."

This seemed to placate her, and she released her grip. "Really? And I won't have to share any of them with her?" She jerked her head over toward Adrian.

"Oh, please, you can have the orchids - they're so nouveau-riche," scoffed Adrian. "I'm going to corner the market on roses."

"Roses?" Madeline laughed. "How very traditional. Like sensible shoes and bulky cardigans and--"

"Enough, ladies!" Operations interrupted. He turned to Adrian. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"Well, Paul," said Adrian, extending her hand, "I think we can do business. I see I taught you well."

But just as they were about to shake hands and seal their agreement, the electricity cut out and all of Section's systems froze -- including the computers taking the credit card payments. As they looked around in panicked bewilderment, Operations' cell phone began to ring ominously. Adrian hastily offered it back to him, and he took hold of it gingerly, as if it were a poisonous snake.

"Hello?" he answered nervously. "Mr. Jones? Um, why are you calling?"

Adrian and Madeline exchanged concerned looks. Mr. Jones? This couldn�t be good.

"Our computer resources seem unusually bogged down?" Operations asked. "And you're coming here to investigate yourself? That hardly seems necessary." He paused. "I see." He then hung up, his face pasty white with trepidation.

Before he could even open his mouth to explain to the other two what was going on, a bald man in a lime green silk shirt with matching red trim and silver spandex skin-tight pants strode cheerfully into the Perch, a scantily-clad woman on his arm.

"Mick Schtoppel?" cried Operations and Madeline in disbelief.

"To the vast multitudes." He smiled. "But you two, from now on, can just call me Boss. Oh, and this is my assistant, Aurora. You can call her, well, Aurora."

"But why are you revealing your identity?" Operations asked suspiciously. "Why, the only person we know who you know who knows you that we know of is George, and George...." he gulped nervously.

"Is safe and sound in Oversight," finished Madeline, with a confused frown.

"That's right! We haven't killed him yet!" said Operations. "So why are you here?"

"Well," said Mick, or Jones, that is, "I've been observing the goings-on here at Section One for quite some time now. And I must say, things have gotten completely out of control. I'm going to initiate a thorough review. Of all personnel," he added threateningly.

Operations and Madeline looked at each other in apprehension. They were going to be reviewed? But they hadn't had time to trash all of the incriminating files!

Madeline reached up to her hair, checking to make sure that she had remembered to hide the cyanide capsule that she always wore there in case of just such a situation. Her fingers touched something, and for a moment she relaxed, but then she noticed it was the wrong shape. It was...too large somehow. With two crunchy outside layers, and a cream-filled centre.... Damn! She'd accidentally snatched up one of Birkoff's Oreo cookies that morning.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" said Adrian with disgust. "You can't do a review of anyone!"

Mick stared at her, wondering who this strange woman was who was standing in a pool of melted ice. He didn't remember any such person being in the script that Centre had given him. And he'd memorized the scene thoroughly. Stroll in pompously -- check. Mock Madeline and Operations -- check. Introduce Nikita as his secret spy -- oops, forgot that part! Well, he had Aurora here as a substitute. But confront strange, half-frozen elderly lady? No, he would have remembered that. He harrumphed to himself in irritation. He required scripts dammit! He wasn't one of those ridiculous improv people. They were an embarrassment to the craft, really.

Adrian turned to Operations. "This isn't Mr. Jones! I know Mr. Jones."

Mick started to laugh nervously. "Of course I'm Mr. Jones! Don't listen to that senile old lady!"

"No, he's not," insisted Adrian. "And in fact, I know who he really is. He's an actor named Martin Henderson. An actor with a career he'd rather forget about, isn't that right?" She turned to him with a knowing leer.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.

"In your younger, poverty-stricken days," Adrian said tauntingly, "you worked under the stage name Long John Silver, starring in a little production entitled 'Treasure Island: XXX Marks the Spot.'" She smiled. "As I recall, you were famous for your really, really, really, really long...."

Operations' and Madeline's eyes widened.

"Pegleg," Adrian finished with a smirk.

"No!" he gasped, hiding his face in his hands in mortified humiliation. "How could you know this? I've kept it a secret for so many years!"

"Indeed, Adrian" said Madeline, raising an eyebrow, "how could you know this?"

Adrian blushed slightly. "George is a cinema aficionado."

"Well, if you're not Mr. Jones," said Operations, "give us back our electricity, dammit! We're losing valuable credit card orders!"

"All right, all right," said Mick/Jones/Martin/Long John Silver, removing a remote control device from his pocket and pushing a button to switch the electricity back on. "There. Are you happy?"

But before anyone could answer, the electricity switched off yet again. Or, rather, it flickered. Spookily. As eerie synthesized organ music played from nowhere in particular.

Suddenly, in the doorway, Jerome appeared, dressed in his best The Omen-imitation outfit, as several spotlights of strange, coloured light flashed and strobed, and fog from dry ice swirled mysteriously about him.

"No!" shrieked Operations and Madeline, clutching at each other in terror. "Don't hurl us across the room, or give us inexplicable nosebleeds, or vaporise us on the spot!" they begged.

Adrian looked at them as if they had lost their minds. "Good heavens! Whatever is the matter with you two? It's just a lovely little boy!" With that, she began walking toward him. Jerome moved his glare from Operations and Madeline as he observed the strange old lady walking towards him. He didn't like her smile, which did look quite odd as Adrian was still partly frozen, so he turned his death-ray glare eyes upon her. But by some strange quirk of fate, all that appeared to happen was that all the ice still left on her body miraculously melted, and she was once again immaculately coiffed and dressed. And clutching a dainty cup of Earl Grey tea.

Surprised by this turn of events, he turned his death-ray glare back upon Madeline and Operations, cause he liked to scare them. And it worked. Madeline gave a little shriek and hid behind Operations when she realised that Jerome was looking at them again. A nosebleed was most unattractive after all, and clashed with the day's ensemble. Noticing that they were both quivering slightly in fear, Jerome decided that messin' wit their minds was an opportunity that he just couldn't pass up. He turned his most lethal, ominous, spookily scary glare upon them, the one that caused his eyes to flash red, then yellow, then green, and spoke to them both in a deep voice that was once again electronically modified and sounded a bit like Cher in that song she sang after Sonny died.

"Don't annoy me you two. Remember, I know what you are most afraid of. But perhaps now is the moment to just reveal the truth to you both. Yes, Operations, it is true. Your greatest fear will be realised if you dye your hair snow-white again. It will all fall out, but not before causing all of Section to go blind. And, you, Madeline, just don�t make me mad or I will throw all the men in Section across the room, causing you to scream their names and run across to them in ridiculously high uncomfortable CFM pumps and then try and undo their ties. And you know how hard that is for you!" He smiled evilly as he noticed that both Madeline and Operations blanched even whiter at his diabolical threats. He then continued, "Now run down and get me some milk and cookies. I feel like sitting down and talking to this nice old lady. She reminds me of Red Riding Hood's grandmother, and I'm hungry!"

As they both ran to do his evil bidding, the sounds of maniacal laughter could be heard echoing throughout Section. And it seemed to be following them, which it probably was, cause the evil scary little Jerome had some really strange funky powers!

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

Meanwhile, down in Munitions, Walter was unaware of the strange developments that had occurred in the Perch, and was extremely worried about, oh, a lot of stuff. What if Birkoff found the computer file that was hidden deep in Section's archives under the secret name 'Missing twins -- the introduction of'? Had Michael and Nikita been able to understand the encrypted messages that he had set up on their panels? I mean, it was a brilliant hidden language, after all. Nobody would think of deciphering Pidgin English. It was just so tough! But he was afraid that the text was maybe just a bit too complex. With all the stuff going on around Section at the moment, he had forgotten to give our heroic duo the code breaker. And what would happen if Madeline and Operations found out that he had been helping Michael and Nikita keep secret rendezvous'? It was bad enough that he and Birkoff had escaped punishment for disabling Section's leaders for a few hours. He just knew that they would be getting it when they least expected it!

But the thing that was worrying Walter the most was one thing that kept going around and around in his mind. Something that was just troubling him so much that he didn't seem to be able to concentrate on his job. And that was a problem, cause if anybody in Section loved his job, it was Walter! It was a question that, alas, was destined to remain unanswered, despite repeated requests. But despite knowing this, Walter was unable to stop himself from wondering. Just why do all the sets and props and ideas from LFN keep ending up on all these new shows? And why did TPTB decide to screw over all the HR's and TR's? Walter shook his head in perplexion, cause it was never going to get solved!

Suddenly, all the lights in Munitions dimmed down to a romantic flicker and soft soppy, mushy love music started to play softly from somewhere up above, and Walter was shaken out of his reverie as a soft voice suddenly uttered, "Hello, Walter."

"B-B-Belinda?" he stammered. Then his expression hardened. "No, you're just another one of those damned holograms, aren't you?"

"No, I'm very real -- and I've come back for you." She walked toward him and grasped his hands lovingly.

"But you went out on an abeyance mission! How--"

Belinda laughed. "Oh, Walter! Don't you know what abeyance is?"

"Sure," he said, nodding angrily. "That's what they do to people who are too decent to become Section's killing machines."

"No, no," she said, smiling. "That's just what they want you to think, so the other operatives won't get jealous. Actually, those of us sent off on abeyance missions get smuggled away to Section's secret resort in Tahiti for some desperately needed fun in the sun."

"What?!" Walter asked, unable to believe what he had just heard. "No way can this be true! Why do the operatives who screw up -- not that you screwed up, sweetheart, you were just too good for this place - get sent to a resort, when the hard-working ones get stuck here? Like me????"

"Well," she said with a shrug, "I guess they figure that the operatives who keep their performance levels up are just fine, but the ones who are slipping need a little vacation. But anyway, I'm all rested up -- and back to be with you!" She threw her arms around him and gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek.

"You mean, if I had started making mistakes on the job, or slacking off, I would have been sent to Tahiti to sip Mai Tais?!" he gasped.

"Yeah, kind of ironic, isn't it?" Belinda winked. "Next time, we'll have to screw up something at the same time so we can go together! You wouldn't believe the beaches! Sand as white as snow!"

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

"So why are you dragging me to Section One again?" Quinn demanded, as George pulled her by the arm down the halls of Oversight toward the exit, Greg running to keep up behind.

"First of all, you're my daughter," George answered.

"Yes, I got that part the first time you explained it. And geek boy here is my cousin, God help me."

Greg gave her a nasty look.

"So, in order to make sure that you take over Section One instead of Nikita," George continued, "we have to fool Jones into thinking that you're Nikita. First, we'll transfer you to Section One. Then, we'll secretly arrange to give both of you plastic surgery so that you can switch places. It's quite simple, really."

"But what if I don't want to be an Amazonian-looking blonde?" Quinn pouted. "I get hit on by computer nerds enough as it is!"

"It's a small sacrifice to take over the organization, don't you think?"

"I'll really get to be the boss? And I won't have to sleep my way to the top, the way I was planning?"

"If you impersonate Nikita, it will all be handed to you on a silver platter, my dear," answered George.

"Well..." she said, pondering the situation, "I really would have preferred sleeping my way to the top. But I guess this will do."

"Uncle George?" Greg asked, panting as he ran to keep up. "There's something I don�t understand."

"What is it?" George snapped.

"I understand why Quinn would agree to switch places with Nikita, but why would Nikita agree to have plastic surgery to become Quinn? I mean, what does she get out of it? She loses her shot at taking over, she goes from being a hot blonde to a boring--"

Greg suddenly shut up as Quinn shot him a withering look.

"That's actually a very perceptive question, Gregory," George answered, nodding in approval. "In return for her cooperation, I'm going to give her her freedom. With Michael."

"You're going to let Nikita and Michael loose? I don't think Operations and Madeline will be very happy about losing their top operative."

"Well, they won't have a choice in the matter. I'll tell them it's a pilot program to test whether operatives can adjust to being returned to the real world."

"And won't they be suspicious when 'Nikita' doesn't seem to mind being separated from Michael? And when Michael goes off happily with Quinn?"

"Oh, they'll just assume one of their endless series of diabolically evil subliminal programming experiments finally worked. They'll be thrilled."

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

"All right," said Davenport, frowning at the computer screen. "According to the tracking device, Michael and Nikita are... at Nikita�s apartment!" he exclaimed. "I never would have thought of looking there! Thank God for technology!"

"Ooh, zees eez perfect!" cried Andrea, jumping up and down and squealing in excitement.

"Now," announced Davenport confidently, "we can sneak into the apartment, place your formula in Michael's coffee, and I will become the best and bravest and most esteemed operative in all of Section One! And you'll have your revenge! Buahahahaha!!!!!"

Grinning evilly, as he was getting really good at evil grins, he started to stride out of the restaurant.

"Wait!" said Andrea, grabbing him by the arm to stop him. "Zere eez plenty of time for zat!" She ran her hand up and down his leg, delighting in the feel of the nylon beneath her fingers. "First," she said, licking her lips seductively, "I want Waitress Davenport to take my order. I promise I weel leave you a beeg teep!"

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

Jerome frowned sharply as Madeline and Operations deposited a third tray of milk and cookies in front of him.

"I'm sick of milk and cookies. I want candy. And I told you I wanted a joystick installed at this computer so I can play video games!"

"You're psychic," Operations muttered. "Why don't you use your powers to play the video games?"

"I heard that!" Jerome said threateningly. "You do want to keep your hair, don't you?"

Madeline sighed. "Why is it," she asked dejectedly, "that you only pick on us? You don't have them running around catering to your every whim," she said, nodding at Adrian, Mick, and Aurora, who were cheerfully munching on the milk and cookies.

"Well, that's because they're not my parents. But since you are, it's your job to cater to my every whim," he answered smugly.

Madeline scowled in disgust. "We're not your parents! In fact, you don't have parents, nor did you have a real childhood," she taunted him. "That's why you'll never be normal, never be--"

Operations jabbed her in the side with his elbow. "Um, Madeline, darling, I think we need to talk. Why don't we step out into the hallway here?" He seized her by the arm and pulled her hurriedly out of the Perch.

"I've had quite enough of that brat," Madeline hissed. "Enough is enough. Let him conjure up his own milk and cookies. I have work to do!"

"But Madeline," Operations said sheepishly, hanging his head a bit, "he's right. We are his parents."

"That's ridiculous!" she scoffed. "I think I'd remember being pregnant. I would have had to buy a completely new wardrobe. And maternity clothes are so unflattering."

"Um, remember how you had that really strange annual physical about eleven years ago? Where they 'accidentally' injected you with a sedative and you woke up a couple of hours later with a mysterious abdominal scar?"

"Yes," she answered suspiciously.

" Well, I ordered the doctors to have one of your eggs removed so that we could create a test tube baby. And that baby was Jerome."

"You what?" she gasped in horror. "How could you?"

He grasped her by the shoulders and looked at her intently, his cold blue eyes flashing, well, coldly. And really intently, in that skin-crawlingly villainous kind of way that only he could manage -- with the right kind of lighting, of course. "We're the perfect leadership team, right?" he asked.

She nodded. Of course. No one could compare to their perfection, their complete synchronicity! Especially not those ungrateful upstarts Michael and Nikita. No one ever called them Siamese twins, after all!

"Well," Operations continued, "it occurred to me that our offspring would combine our best characteristics and thus become the perfect operative! The true future of Section - us, fused into a single brain!" He grinned maniacally.

She looked back toward the Perch fearfully. "But -- but -- he's demonic!"

Operations shrugged. "What do you expect? He is our son, after all."

"And he hates us!"

"Oh, that. I think that's just a phase. Of course, it'll get worse for a while when he becomes a teenager. And then he'll bankrupt us when he goes to college. But after that, I swear, things will be perfect! He'll rule the world, and we can look on with pride!"

"He'll rule the world?" she asked.

"Of course!"

She paused thoughtfully. "Will he do it efficiently?"

Operations laughed. "With your genes? Somehow I think that will be his top priority."

A sudden look of determination filled Madeline's face, and she walked off purposefully.

"Where are you going?" Operations called out, running to catch up with her.

"I'm going to get him candy, a joystick, and a terrorist captive to torture to death. I think he mentioned something about wanting to see someone die." She beamed happily. "I should have known he was mine!"