CI5 Operational Control

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Author's Notes: Many thanks to Chya and Jill for their comments and encouragement, and to Dixiechic for her input - as well as the Dutch courage!



~*~



Malone watched the activity in the operating theatre with an impassive face. Only his steely grey eyes betrayed his concern and worry as he observed the surgeons battling to save the life of Sam Curtis, one of his best agents - brutally and senselessly gunned down just minutes previously.



In a nearby operating theatre, another team of medics were repairing another wounded CI5 operative - but Chris Keel's injuries were more temporarily disabling than life threatening.



No, it was the life of Sam Curtis that was Malone's prime concern right then. He had been brought into the hospital with no heartbeat or respiration and - judging by the epicentres of the large bloodstains on his shirt - at least one shot had hit his heart.



Not that the people under his command hadn't ever been hospitalised before - and, indeed, Agents 4.5 and 3.7 seemed to be particularly prone to getting injured in the line of duty – but this latest incident was beyond Malone's belief.



From what he had been able to understand from the unusually hysterical Agent Backus who had witnessed the whole thing, Keel had actually shot Curtis in cold blood.



Not that he was cynical, but Malone was having more than just a wee bit of trouble getting his head around this. Curtis and Keel were so close, they were like brothers. Sure, they argued and bickered - and had, on occasion, been known to come to blows - but shooting each other? That was most definitely not their usual type of horseplay.



Unable to watch anymore, Malone turned away with a heavy sigh. Wearily, he walked to the waiting room near the operating theatres.



Tina Backus - her normally olive coloured skin pale with shock - was crouched tensely on the edge of a chair, hands covering her face. She looked up as her boss entered - her eyes tense and anxious.



"How are they?" she asked in a shaky voice.



Malone sat opposite her. "The surgeons have just started operating. We'll know more in an hour or two, I should imagine." He looked at her with almost fatherly concern. "And, how are you feeling now, Miss Backus?"



"Better," she said with little conviction. "I don't know why I lost it like that - I guess I just...."



"We all have momentary lapses," the CI5 commander interrupted benevolently. "And, let's face it, today's events have been somewhat unusual by anyone's standards. Do you feel up to telling me the whole story?"



She took a deep breath. "I guess so." She closed her eyes for a second, trying to get that afternoon's events straight in her head.



The three of them had been on a routine low-key security escort - a politician who had been receiving death threats. She and Curtis had walked him from his office to where their car was parked - Keel was supposed to be bringing up the rear.



When the first two gunshots were heard, they naturally assumed they were being ambushed. She shoved the politician into the back of the car and covered him with her body. She saw Curtis run around to the other side of the car, to get in and drive away.



Two more shots were fired. One ricocheted off the roof of the car. She heard Curtis say: "Chris, what the hell.........?" before a third shot sent him sprawling.



Then - silence. Still, eery silence, broken only by her pounding heart beat.



Backup risked a look up, raised her head slightly. No sign of Curtis - she guessed he was hit, hoped it wasn't too serious.



She then got to wondering what was happening with Keel and why he wasn't firing back at whoever had opened fire on them.



She heard footsteps approaching the car, looked round, felt a flood of relief as she saw Keel approaching. But, her relief quickly turned to puzzlement - and fear - as she noticed the vacant expression on his face - almost like he was in a trance as he walked past the car.



Telling the politician to stay down, Backup quickly got out of the car.



"Chris, what the hell are you playing at?" she angrily demanded, rapidly coming to the conclusion that he had been the one who had been shooting at them.



This revelation had her so stunned, she failed to react in time to prevent Keel from shooting the already badly wounded Curtis again.



Hesitantly, she drew her own gun and shot Keel in the left thigh. He staggered, but otherwise didn't react as she stood, shocked by what she had been forced to do.



It was quite some seconds before she realised that Keel seemed totally unconcerned about the bullet she had put in his leg. In fact, he was just standing there, the gun now pointed at his right temple, the hammer of the weapon clicking onto empty chambers as he repeatedly pulled the trigger.



Recognising that he had completely lost it, she ran to him, tried to take the gun from his hand. Still with that frighteningly blank facial expression, he struggled with her, resisting her strongly.



"Sorry, Chris," she said eventually. "But, this is for your own good!" She brought her foot round in a sweeping motion until it made contact with his already damaged leg, sent him tumbling to the ground. His head struck the road, knocking him out cold - but he wasn't her main concern now, as she turned to Curtis.



He was unconscious and his shirt was already saturated with blood. It didn't take long to establish he wasn't breathing.



"So, I kept up with CPR until the ambulance got there," Backup concluded shakily. "And the rest - you know." She shook her head, still clearly bewildered. "I still don't understand how Chris could even think of doing anything like this! I mean, it's not like him at all - you know it as well as I do."



"You don't have to defend Mr Keel to me, Miss Backus," said Malone. "But, whatever the reason for this aberration - you do realise that his career with CI5 is well and truly over?"



"Sir, there has to be an explanation....." Backup began to protest. Even after what she had been through, she flatly refused to believe that Chris Keel had suddenly turned - and on his partner, of all people. He just wasn't the type.



Malone gave her a stern and unpleasant look. "An explanation?" he echoed with contempt. "Such as?"



She blushed, realising he had her in a corner. "Stress - maybe he's had some sort of breakdown?" she suggested despairingly.



"Then, he definitely shouldn't be kept on the payroll!" Malone snapped. "Miss Backus, I don't want to believe the worst of him any more than you do, but the fact is, Mr Keel deliberately tried to cold-bloodedly murder Mr Curtis - his partner, his friend - and I want to know why."



"And, you think I don't? My God, Sir - I have worked with these men for so long, I know them better than I know my own family! I had to shoot Chris because I had no choice in the matter - he had a choice about shooting Sam, and I want to know why he made the choice he did!" Emotionally drained, Backup sat back in her chair, looked up at the ceiling. "I just can't believe any of this is happening. I keep hoping it's just some bad dream and I'm going to wake up from it any second."



Malone didn't acknowledge this, but he knew exactly what she mean - he had been feeling like this for a couple of weeks now. First of all, three agents had all inexplicably committed suicide with days of each other, and now this!



"You said something about Mr Keel pointing his gun to his own head and pulling the trigger, even though there were no bullets left in his gun?"



Backup nodded. "It was like he was working on auto pilot - like, he wouldn't stop until he'd actually blew his head off." She looked at her boss. "Sir - the suicides. Flynn, Cameron...."



It was a lifeline - a chance, albeit an extremely thin one - to save Keel's neck, and they both knew it.



Malone nodded. "How well did Mr Keel know Flynn, Cameron and Porter?"



Backup shrugged as she tried to contain her excitement. "About as well as anybody else in CI5, I guess," she said, standing up. "I'll go check it out."



"I'd rather you went home, had a hot bath and a good rest," said Malone. He held up a hand for silence as she began to protest. "You've been through a lot today and I want you at work bright and early tomorrow because I have a sneaking suspicion that we are going to be very busy for the near future."



"But, sir - what about.......?"



"That's an order, Miss Backus!"



She sighed and turned to go. "Okay!" She looked back, beseechingly. "You'll let me know when.......?"



Malone nodded. "The second Mr Curtis and Mr Keel come out of surgery."



Slightly reassured, Backup walked away. She knew Malone would have somebody at CI5 HQ checking on a connection with all the weird happenings of late - something she should be doing herself, but Malone had a point. She was worn out. Plus, she had just noticed the bloodstains on her clothes - Sam's blood! She shuddered as she thought of the bullets striking his vulnerable, fragile flesh, tearing through muscle and bone, rupturing blood vessels.



She forced these thoughts from her mind - a long soak in the tub was just what she needed – and she had a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge. A nice quiet night in for a change.



~*~



It was gone midnight before the surgeons finished operating on Keel. His partner was still in surgery - and would be for some time by all accounts. The prognosis for Curtis was not looking good - and a neurosurgeon had been called for.



Malone looked with discompassion at Keel as he lay in a drugged up slumber in ICU.



"How soon before he's able to talk?" Malone asked Keel's doctor - a small, middle aged man called Chambers.



"Ostensibly, as soon as he's recovered from the anaesthetic," said Chambers. "He sustained a head injury which has resulted in cranial bruising and mild concussion, but his mental and cognitive functions shouldn't be impaired.



"What about his leg?" Malone could see that the afflicted limb was being held together by steel pins and looked as if it would be very painful indeed once Keel was awake.



"The bullet splintered the outer edge of his femur and ruptured some minor blood vessels. He will be in some discomfort for several weeks, but at least with the pins in his leg, he will have greater mobility than if he'd been put in a cast and he should be able to start physical rehabilitation more or less immediately."



"So, when can he be moved?"



"Within the next 48 hours," said Chambers. "Just as soon as we're sure there are no after-effects from the head injury."



Malone shook his head. "I want him moved sooner than that - he has a lot of questions to answer."



"Which he won't be able to do if he's still traumatised," the doctor persisted. "His body has just experienced a massive shock to the system. He needs rest."



"Oh, he'll have plenty of time for resting," said Malone. Right after his formal dismissal from CI5! He sat next to Keel's bed as the doctor left the room.



He would get the answers he needed - even if he had to break the rules to get them.



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



In the operating theatre, the neurosurgeon finished scrubbing up and looked at the X-rays of Sam's broken body.



"It's a tricky one," he said to his colleague Barton, who had called him in for a consult.



"That's why I called you," said Barton. "It's too close to his spine for my liking - and you're the expert."



"Expert, yes." The specialist looked again at the X-rays and the location of the bullet in Sam's spinal column. "Miracle worker, no." He moved over to the operating table, held out his right hand. "Scalpel."



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



Consciousness returned slowly to Chris. For several minutes, all he was aware of was the buzzing in his head and the unrecognisable blurred jumble of shapes before his eyes. As he tried to focus, his head began to ache, forcing him to shut his eyes with a groan. Weakly, he raised a hand to his throbbing head, puzzled as to why something seemed to be gently tugging at him. Concentrated hard to focus, ignoring the pain in his head as he realised he had a cannula in one of the veins in the back of his hand, attached to an IV line.



What the hell was going on?



As his perceptions came back to him one by one, he could make out the soft, regular beeping of an ECG monitor, smelled that atypical stench of antiseptic that was the same in medical establishments the world over, rightly guessed he was in a hospital.



But, why? Had he been hurt? Like - obviously! Judging by his aching head and the sharp pain zipping through his immobile left leg, he'd suffered some kind of injuries. Had he had an accident? He wasn't sure, dredged his brain for his last waking memory.



The last thing he could clearly remember was the escort job with Sam and Backup, walking the politician out to the car. And, that was it - nothing else. Nothing to tell him what had happened - just a big blank.



He was suddenly aware of not being alone. Slowly and painfully turned to look to his right. Felt slight relief to see Backup sitting beside the bed. He weakly attempted a smile, was rather put out when she didn't smile back.



"Why did you do it, Chris?"



This question further puzzled him. He had expected her to be full of concern, asking him how he felt, maybe mopping his fevered brow and fluffing up his pillows - not asking him abstract questions in an obviously hostile way.



"Why did I do what?" Chris was starting to feel like he was in the Twilight Zone - nothing made sense and things were becoming increasingly bizarre. "Backup, what are you talking about? What's going on?"



She looked at him with disbelief. "You telling me you don't remember?"



"Remember what?" Chris realised he was at a disadvantage flat on his back, tried to get up but pain and dizziness forced him back down. "You're not making any sense."



"I'm not making any sense? What about you yesterday?" she growled.



Chris was getting tired of this. "Are you gonna stop talking in riddles and give me a straight answer?" He looked round, despite the pain in his head. "Where's Sam? Is he here?"



"They're just finishing in the OR now," she coldly informed him. "They're trying to get a bullet out of his spine."



Chris felt like he'd been slapped in the face. Sam was hurt? Had they both been shot by the same guy? "What? Is he gonna be okay?"



"You shot him, Chris!" Backup snarled. She got to her feet, walked out of the privatre room jauntily.



"I what?" Completely forgetting his injuries, Chris tried to get out of bed to follow her.



He was unconscious again within seconds.



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



Backup found Malone just as Curtis was wheeled out of the operating theatre and along to ICU. She caught sight of his face - almost hidden by surgical tape, breathing tubes and wires attached to monitoring equipment - a deathly pale shade tinged with blue. She had to stop herself from gasping out loud.



"I thought I told you to go home, Miss Backus?" said Malone, looking unusually bright and alert, considering it was about 3am.



"I did, but I couldn't rest," she replied, looking distractedly at her ailing colleague. "How is he?"



"We're just about to find out," said Malone as the surgeon Barton - in bloodstained operating greens - approached them. "Well?"



"Well, he's still alive," said Barton wearily. "But, for how long, I can't honestly tell you. If he makes it through the next two hours, he's in with a fighting chance. He sustained a serious chest wound - the bullet entered his right shoulder, cracked the sternum and grazed his heart on the way out. Luckily for him, he appears to keep himself in excellent shape and, if he recovers, the injury to his heart shouldn't cause any lasting damage or health problems."



"What about the other bullet?" asked Malone, getting the impression that Barton was saving the worst until last.



"It's still in there." Barton was almost apologetic. "It was too dangerous to get to it. Mr Chapman, the Neurosurgeon, felt that removing the bullet would cause permanent damage to your man's spinal column."



"But, you can't just leave it in there," said Backup. "It could kill him, or paralyse him, or...."



"With the swelling of the wound area, he will suffer some form of paralysis to a greater or lesser degree," said Barton. "But, as I say, we will know more about the full extent of his injuries in a few hours' time - hopefully, he should start to pick up after the blood transfusion."



"Can I sit with him?" asked Backup. "Hold his hand, or something?"



"He wouldn't know that you're there - he's in deep post-operative shock, coupled with the trauma of his injuries, it could be several days before he recovers any sort of awareness," said Barton. "Effectively, he's in a coma."



Malone turned to Backup, noticing how the colour had once again drained from her face. "You heard the man, Miss Backus. You'd be far greater use to Mr Curtis - and CI5 - if you were actually doing something constructive. Since you can't seem to rest - why don't you get in contact with his next of kin?"



With a sinking heart, she realised her boss was right - didn't stop her feelings of guilt and inadequacy, however.



~*~



Operations was intrigued to receive a video link from CI5 - usually, communications between the two organisations consisted of memos and intercepted Intel.



"Hello. Paul," said Malone. "Long time no see."



With his usual non committal coldness, Operations nodded. "Harry. This is unexpected."



"Quite," said Malone with a certain degree of awkwardness. He cleared his throat. "I thought I'd never have to do this, but I'd like to call in that favour you owe me."



Operations smiled, although it didn't reach his flat, emotionless eyes. "Of course," he said, remembering the deal they had struck almost thirty years ago when Malone had saved his life in Vietnam. "What can I do to help?"



"Basically, my organisation is on the brink of collapse. Three of my operatives killed



themselves recently and last night, one of my men damn near murdered his partner, who may yet die of his injuries."



Operations nodded, made a sympathetic noise. "I know - we've been monitoring your



communications centre."



This information did not unduly surprise Malone - it was a routine Section One procedure. "I'm starting to strongly suspect that foul play is afoot."



"So?"



"So, I know that Section's intelligence resources far outstrip even CI5's. I want to get to the bottom of this whilst I still have an organisation - and living personnel - to command."



"I'll send over two of my top operatives plus my best computer expert," said Operations. "You can have them for as long as it takes."



"Thank you, Paul," said Malone. "Much appreciated."



"Then when their work is over, we're even," said Operations with meaning.



Malone nodded. "Absolutely." He cut the link. He didn't like Operations, had never liked him - could see right through him - but knew that the debt would be honoured.



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



Backup sat at her computer terminal in a daze. Although she was unable to rest, she was extremely tired and imitable because of it. The slightest things were annoying her - the download time on her computer was too slow, the desktop program had an irritating sound every time she touched the mouse, her chair squeaked at the slightest movement - and, most of all, she was having a bad hair day.



She must have sprayed a gallon of hairspray on but her hair still kept falling into her eyes, refusing to stay put. Stupid thing to get irritated about, she knew, as she stood up with a growl of frustration, went over to look out of the window, hot tears escaping from her eyes.



Malone joined her. "Go home, Miss Backus," he suggested kindly. "We can cope here for a while."



"I told you already, I can't rest - I'd just be pacing round my apartment finding fault with everything, including my goldfish."



"I didn't know you kept goldfish?" Malone seemed genuinely interested.



"I went to a funfair with Sam and Chris about a month ago? Sam won it on one of those stalls where you have to throw the balls into the glass jars." Backup smiled. "He wanted to name it after you - said there was something about the look in the eyes. But, Chris came up with the name Sushi." She looked at her boss with tired, tragic eyes. "Why have things turned out like this? It just doesn't make sense!"



He put a supportive arm around her. "I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this," he said with surprising gentleness.



"Obviously not!" she sighed. "I screwed up yesterday and I'm an emotional wreck today! Maybe I ought to resign."



"Miss Backus, you did not 'screw up'!" Malone admonished.



"I stood there and watched Chris shoot Sam! I'd call that screwing up!"



"Let's face it, that was the last thing you were expecting to happen, wasn't it?"



She shook her head. "One of the first things we're told when we join CI5 - 'expect the unexpected'. And, I didn't!"



"Well, if you're apportioning blame, don't forget Mr Curtis. By all accounts, he just stood there and let Mr Keel shoot him, did nothing to defend himself," said Malone with brutal reasoning.



Backup looked at him, her dark eyes flashing with anger. "Why don't you go to Sam's bedside and repeat what you just said, Sir?" she hissed. "Maybe you'll make him so angry it'll bring him out of his coma!"



Malone laughed softly. "That's better - I'd rather have you angry than self-pitying. Now, go home and get whatever rest you can. And, on the way, why don't you drop in and have a counselling session with Dr Lockhart? After the events of the last 24 hours, you do need to have some kind of psychological debriefing."



"I suppose you're right," she agreed with reluctance, marvelling at how her boss could be sympathetic and supportive one second, taunt her to the point of violence the next, then turn business-like in the next breath. Being so self-possessed, she didn't like admitting she needed any sort of help - and, if she had a bad experience, her usual way of unwinding was to talk things over with friends and a few bottles of wine. Friends like Sam and Chris.



So, yeah - maybe a counselling session was needed.



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



Michael drove the Section vehicle through the maddeningly busy streets of London, trying to find CI5 HQ. Nikita was in the passenger seat next to him and Birkoff - jetlagged - was asleep on the back seat.



Michael hated London. Of all the cities in the world, he hated London the most, second only to the artificiality of Beverly Hills and Hollywood. To him, London was one of the biggest, crowded, dirty, smelly, polluted cess pits he'd ever been to. Maybe it was the Anglophobic Frenchman in him.



"So, what's this Malone guy like?" asked Nikita, breaking his moody train of thought.



"Ex-CIA, highly respected in the Intelligence community," said Michael with a shrug. "He's the third man to command CI5 since its formation in the early 1970s - he's a tough man, so are his agents. Of course, CI5 is isn't as covert as Section One, so they don't get away with as much as we do."



Nikita pulled a face - she had asked for a rundown on Malone and Michael had given her a brief critique on CI5 as a whole.



"I know Malone and Operations have a past ," Birkoff said sleepily. "He saved Operations' life about thirty years ago in Vietnam."



Nikita's frown deepened. "I hate him already!" she muttered with venom.



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



Chris awoke with a start. He'd been having his usual nightmare - the massacre on his wedding day - only this time, with a big difference. A difference that really bugged him.



As he stared upon the face of the man who had killed his wife, he found himself looking at a face he knew almost as well as his own - Sam Curtis.



But, how could that be? He hadn't known Sam back then. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him.



As he raised his aching head to find out why his left leg hurt so much, he remembered his earlier conversation with Backup.



"You shot him, Chris!"



Those words, and the angry accusation with which they were delivered, had cut deep. He still couldn't work it out - why did Backup think he'd shot Sam? That was the last thing he'd ever do. He would shoot himself before hurting Sam.



Or, had he shot him in self-defence? Had Sam gone crazy, shot him in the leg, leaving him with no choice but to shoot back? It would explain the weird twist to his nightmare, if nothing else.



If only he could remember.........



Maybe if he could see Sam, it might help. Talk to him, find out what happened - that's if he was in a fit state to talk. From how upset Backup was, Sam had to be in a pretty bad way.



Chris carefully sat up. He looked down to inspect the pins in his leg - sonofabitch! He hoped he wouldn't have to go near anything magnetic.



He pulled the IV line out of his hand. It began spurting blood, so he removed the cannula and put pressure on until the bleeding stopped.



Then he discovered another problem - he was wearing one of those hospital gowns that opened out at the back, leaving nothing to the imagination. He'd just have to hold it together the best he could.



As he opened the door to his room, he encountered the biggest problem of all. Two fully armed CI5 agents blocking his way - Tanner and Smith. He didn't have to say anything - one look at their hard-set faces told him he wasn't going anywhere fast.



He hobbled back to the bed, contemplating another means of escape. The window?



But, after taking a good look out, he came to the conclusion that climbing out of a 4th floor window with a broken leg and increasing dizziness in his head wasn't such a good idea.



Anyway, just what were Smith and Tanner doing out there? Was he under arrest or something? They obviously weren't there to protect him from harm.



"Okay," he muttered to himself, resignedly lying back in bed. "Now I'm starting to get freaked out."



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



He wasn't the only one. Backup felt decidedly uneasy as she entered the office of Dr Lockhart, the department's psychologist. Lockhart was a plain, tired looking young woman who - although supposed to be highly experienced in her field - didn't inspire much confidence in Backup.



Not that she particularly hated shrinks - but she was too independently minded to let someone analyse her thoughts and feelings and tell her how she should be handling things.



Lockhart was droning on now about how she should turn her guilt into a positive emotion, how she shouldn't get uptight. This, of course, just made Backup feel even worse and increasingly uptight. The shrink could see this.



"I want you to try something for me," she said eventually. "A relaxation technique - I think it might help." She got up and closed the blinds in the office.



Backup also stood up, started edging to the door. "I don't think so, Dr Lockhart. I've taken up enough of your time already. I really have to be on my way........."



"It'll just take a minute, I promise," Lockhart insisted, steering her over to an armchair, making her sit down. She positioned a lamp stand in front of her. "It's a simple technique to use in times of stress." She switched on the lamp. "It's all about focussing."



Backup blinked as she was bathed in a cool blue light. "Focussing on what?" She began to get a bad feeling about this.



Lockhart flipped a switch on the back of the lamp and the bulb flicked on and off at a fast rate, causing a strobing effect.



Within seconds, Backup was in a trance and powerless to resist.



Satisfied that her subject was in a deep state of hypnotic suggestibility, Lockhart turned away, unlocked a drawer in her desk, took out an IV pack. She connected the IV to a vein in Backup's left arm, making sure the flow was just right before taking a micro transmitter from the drawer, switching it on.



"Okay," she said. "Her mind is yours. Tell her what you want her to do."



~*~



As Nikita took in her surrounds, she had to admit she was impressed. Considering CI5 wasn't as subversive as Section, she could see that everything was very well run and the operatives were the best of the best - not quite up to Section's standards, however, because CI5 allowed its people to have a certain degree of freedom and humanity.



She even found herself - grudgingly - liking Malone. He was stern, yes, and spoke to people as a drill sergeant might, but he was also human - something Operations most definitely wasn't.



Even Michael seemed more relaxed as Malone showed them round Headquarters. He was still distant and non-committal, but Nikita could detect a certain degree of admiration in his eyes as he looked round the elaborate set up, noticed the instant and genuine respect Malone's people had for him - respect that Operations never had, and never would have.



Only Birkoff seemed unimpressed as he checked over the computer equipment.



"Is this the best you got?" he complained, pulling a face at the obviously inferior technology.



Malone shot him a contemptuous glance.. "Young man, I'll have you know that CI5 has access to technology that most law enforcement and government agencies would kill to get hold of!" he snapped, incensed at being spoken to in such a way by one who was no more than a schoolboy.



"Section was using this level of technology when I was in diapers," said the computer geek nonchalantly. He rummaged around in the back pack he was carrying, took out a laptop and an interface. "Hopefully, these should be compatible with your mainframe."



Nikita smiled as Malone's jaw dropped even further. "You'll have to forgive Birkoff - he lives for his computers," she said with sisterly affection for her young colleague.



"So, what can you tell us about the problems in your organisation, Mr Malone?" asked Michael, frowning at Nikita - a silent reminder to let her know they were there to complete a mission, not to make friends.



Malone placed a thick manilla file on a nearby desk. "John Cameron. Seventeen days ago, with no warning, this man - who was in A-1 physical and mental health - woke up one morning and blew his brains out whilst still in bed.. Three days later........." He put another sizeable file next to Cameron's - CI5 personnel profiles were extremely thorough documents. "....... Steven Flynn - again, having no mental or physical abnormalities to warrant any drastic actions - jumps off a railway bridge and straight under the 345pm express to Peterborough."



Nikita winced as the leafed through Flynn's file. "Messy."



Malone slapped a third file down. "And Malcolm Porter. Everything, again, was fine up until about a week ago, when he too decided to blow his head off with his service revolver. Three perfectly healthy mentally competent young men. One unexplained suicide, I could perhaps tolerate - but three, all within days of each other, is indicative of something sinister. Especially when one considers yesterday's events."



Michael nodded. "One of your men shot his partner."



"That is the most unbelievable thing of all," said Malone. "Agent Keel is impulsive and impetuous - but most definitely not the type to turn on his own partner in such a way."



"What about psychological profiles?" asked Michael.



"They're all in the personnel dossiers." Malone - with some regret - put Keel's file down with the other three. "If you want any elaborations on the information therein, you could always have a word with Doctor Lockhart - she's the department's Chief Psychiatric Officer."



"And, where would we find her?" asked Nikita, feeling the urge to go off wandering on her own.



"She has an office on the floor below."



"I might go see her now," said Nikita. "Talk with her woman to woman," she added with meaning, seeing Michael make as if to go with her.



"Don't be too long, Nikita," said Michael quietly. "I need help going through these files." This was a lie - and the three Section agent knew it - he liked keeping Nikita on a very tight leash, and just because she was well away from the confines of Section, he didn't want her getting any funny ideas. She had tried to escape before - and London was the perfect place in which to lose oneself.



Nikita smiled innocently. "You won't even notice I'm gone." Her tone of voice made Birkoff glance up from his intricate task of interfacing his laptop with the CI5 mainframe. The young man knew that tone of voice only too well.



So did Michael - it meant trouble.



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



However, trouble seemed to find Nikita that day with very little effort on her part.



She knocked on the door of Lockhart's office and walked in. As the doctor looked up, for a few seconds it was like they were having a competition to see whose jaw could drop the most.



Nikita recovered her composure first and hastily began backing out of the office.



"Sorry, wrong office," she said, quickly walking away, a fearful wobble in the pit of her stomach as she got into the elevator and pressed the button for the underground car park.



Her heart pounded as she tried to remember where the Section vehicle was parked, her encounter with the psychiatrist momentarily distracting her train of thought.



For now, all she could think about was getting as far away from Lockhart as possible. She found the car, got in, found her way out of the car park and onto the street without really knowing where she was going.



She had seen Lockhart somewhere before - and, from the surprised look on her face, it was pretty obvious that she had recognised Nikita too. If only she could figure out where she had seen her - and why it freaked her out so much.



"Nikita, what's going on? Where are you?"



The quiet voice in her left ear made her jump - she'd forgotten about her comlink. Michael was checking up on her. She thought fast.



"I changed my mind about talking to the psychiatrist," Nikita lied smoothly. "I thought I'd go see Agent Keel first - see what he has to say for himself."



A long pause - just to let her know he was far from convinced. "Okay, keep me updated."



"Sure." Nikita refrained from adding a facetious comment about Big Brother - even though that was the way she felt every second of every day, even in her sleeping moments, there was no escape from Section.



Section that was it! That was where she'd seen Lockhart before. A few weeks ago, in



Operations' office, looking down from the observation window. Nikita remembered the face because, unlike the almost robot-like expressions of most Section operatives, Lockhart's face had been strained and full of emotion.



And, it was surely no co-incidence that Lockhart was here and CI5 was experiencing such chaos. Nikita wasn't completely sure what was going on, but she knew that she had to get to Agent Keel before anybody else did.



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



After Nikita had fled, Lockhart fumbled for her micro transmitter, spoke into it hastily.



"I've been compromised! What should I do?"



There was a long pause before the flat, emotionless voice replied: "Are you sure?"



"A damn Section agent has just walked into my office! And, yes, before you ask - she did recognise me!"



"She?" Another contemplative pause. "Has she told anyone else?"



"I don't know," said Lockhart in despair.



"Make sure she's dead," she voice instructed her before the connection was cut.



Stomach churning, Lockhart picked up her mobile phone, dialled a number from the notepad in front of her.



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



Chris could feel his stomach doing back flips - and it wasn't because of the concussion he was still suffering from.



Smith had earlier come in with some clothes, told him to get dressed. He'd asked him what was going on, but Smith had merely shrugged and said: "Don't ask me."



So, Chris has got dressed, gingerly easing the baggy jogging bottoms over his left leg, thankful at least that whoever had been in his apartment and raided his wardrobe, they'd been considerate enough to choose something that wouldn't exacerbate the pain in his leg.



That was still mystifying him. Right then, the fact that he couldn't remember getting shot in the leg was even more scary than not being able to remember shooting Sam.



And, why had he been allowed to get dressed? Obviously, he was being moved to a nice uncomfortable internment cell at HQ prior to a harsh debriefing, the facts of which he wasn't sure he would ever be able to reveal because he didn't have a clue what they were.



If he could just see Sam, if only to see for himself just what his condition was. He was imagining all kinds of things - Sam in a coma, Sam in pain, Sam scared and alone - and, worst of all, Sam brain dead.



For about the hundredth time that morning, Chris tried to remember the previous day's events, concentrating hard to find the slightest indication that he had shot Sam.



His unhappy musings were interrupted by Smith and Tanner, who purposefully entered the room.



"We're moving you," said Smith with discompassion. "Get up."



Still feeling more than a little weak and exhausted, Chris stood up, decided to come along quietly. Even so, Tanner took the precaution of twisting his arms behind his back, tying his wrists together with one of those plastic strips used for securing wheel trims to car wheels.



"Is that totally necessary?" Chris growled, wincing as the plastic dug deep into his flesh.



"Why - was shooting Sam totally necessary?" asked Tanner brutally. "I thought he was supposed to be your mate?"



Chris twisted his head round to look into Tanner's unrelenting eyes. "Could've said the same thing about you, Rob!"



Smith shoved him roughly towards the door. "Get moving!"



As they left the room and frogmarched him down the corridor towards the elevators, Chris began to realise just how painful his leg was, sulkily thought to himself that at least they could have provided a wheelchair for him. No worries about escaping - didn't feel as though he would get too far if he did try to make a break for it.



Some odd noises behind him made him turn round - albeit with agonising slowness. Tanner and Smith lay unconscious on the floor. What the........?



Standing over his fallen colleagues was a dark clad vision of beauty. He found himself staring into a big pair of blue eyes, in a face surrounded by a sheet of pale blonde hair. Reactions impaired by shock and the ongoing effects of the painkilling injection he had been given earlier, Chris just looked at her uncomprehendingly.



The blonde eventually broke the spell as she pocketed the electric stunner device she had used to knock out his custodians, spoke to Chris in a calm but authoritive Australian accent.



"If you want to live, come with me."



After another glance at the two unconscious agents on the floor in front of him, Chris did not need telling twice.



~*~



At last Backup had been able to get some sleep. She wasn't sure what Dr Lockhart had done to her, but it had worked and, almost as soon as she got home, she had fallen asleep. She had barely curled up on the sofa before her eyes were peacefully closed.



However, her slumber was far from peaceful. She experienced a ferocious nightmare that she could not seem to wake up from.



She was being chased down endless dark corridors. She couldn't see her pursuer, but no matter how fast she ran, she could hear his rasping breath, feel the heat from his body, smell his body odour. She couldn't stop running - knew he would grab her and commit unspeakable atrocities on her.



Except for whoever was chasing her, she was alone - totally on her own. Nobody came to her assistance, increasing her fear, despair and helplessness. Terror completely filled her as she felt his hand grab her - dragging her into the darkness...................



Next thing she knew, she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, bathed in perspiration, breathing wildly. It took her several seconds to realise that it had only been a dream, she was okay, nobody was really coming after her, she was safe.



Shakily she stood up and went to get a glass of water to calm her nerves. Halfway to the kitchen, the phone rang. She tutted and picked it up.



"Hello?"



"Tina, this is your control voice. Do you understand?"



"Yes," Backup whispered. She went back to the sofa, zombie-like, and sat down. "Yes, I understand."



"Good, because I want you to listen very carefully. I know you're feeling scared right now because he's coming after you. I can make him go away for ever. Would you like that?"



"Yes!" Backup began to tremble as though she could feel her pursuers presence again.



In her office, Doctor Lockhart hesitated for the briefest of moments then began to relay instructions to Backup.



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



The elevator seemed to descend with agonising slowness. Chris - his hands still uncomfortably bound behind his back - took a good look at the blonde who had rescued him. Her supermodel looks belied her athletic frame and the expression in her eyes told him she had led a hard life.



"So," he said eventually. "Just who are you?"



"My name's Nikita - I'm from Section One," she said non-committally.



"Well, I didn't think you were the Avon Lady!" Chris growled, aggression masking his fear at the new twist to the plot. He knew all about Section One - or 'The Assassination Bureau' as it was popularly known - but what did they want with him? Did they have something to do with yesterday's events? Were they the reason Sam was lying in a state near death?



"Where are you taking me?" he asked.



"Somewhere safe," she replied briefly.



The Ice Maiden cometh! Chris mentally quipped. He tried to give her a charming smile, despite the fact he was feeling more than a wee bit scared. "Where's that?" he asked sweetly.



Nikita didn't reply. She twitched impatiently at the slowness of the elevator.



"Look, wherever you're taking me, whatever you're planning to do with me - at least let me see Sam, my partner," Chris implored. "I know he's in this hospital somewhere."



"Why - so you can finish him off?"



Chris sighed. "Not you as well! Backup, Malone, Smith, Tanner - and now you! Why does everyone think I shot Sam? If you knew anything about me, you'd know that'd be the last thing I'd do. Sam's my partner, my best buddy - after all we've been through together, I'd gladly die taking a bullet for him!"



"Physical evidence seems to suggest otherwise, Mr Keel," said Nikita coolly.



"Look, lady!" he snarled, his deep set blue eyes boring into hers. "My partner could be dying - whoever shot him - and I would like to see how he's doing for myself." He switched to an appealing expression. "Please?"



She frowned. "Two minutes," she said with a reluctant sigh. "Then we're out of here."



Chris smiled - the old Keel charm had worked again. He waggled his bound hands and looked pointedly down in their general direction.



Nikita knew what he was getting at, but she wasn't that soft. "Don't push your luck!"



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



Nikita at least had the forethought to stand behind him to disguise the fact that his hands were tied as they cautiously entered the Intensive Therapy Unit.



"Okay," she murmured in his ear. "We find him, have a look, then we go."



Finding Sam was easier said than done - Chris overlooked him twice because he was attached to so much medical equipment. He was on a ventilator, he had IV tubes in both arms, a naso-gastric tube, drainage tubes from the wound sites and wires connected to various monitoring devices - it made him look more Frankenstein's Monster than human being.



Chris felt his breath catch as he stared - shocked - at his partner.



"Sam!"



He made to go to him, but Nikita tugged on the plastic strip around his wrists.



"Come on!" she urged him. "You promised."



"I can't just leave him! Not like this!"



"You have to," said Nikita. "You have no choice." She began dragging him away, noticing they were getting curious and suspicious looks from the medical staff. "You can see he's getting the best care possible."



Chris glanced at her, a cynical sneer on his face. "You're obviously not familiar with the British NHS!" He kept glancing back as Nikita practically manhandled him out of the ITU. Hang on in there, Sam! he silently begged his partner. You aint gonna die unless I'm there with you!



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



Nikita had parked the Section vehicle as close to the main hospital building as possible, but they still had quite a walk to reach it.



Before they got there, they found their path suddenly blocked as a Nissan Micra screeched to a halt in front of them. As Nikita swiftly pulled him away and started walking in the opposite direction - causing fresh waves of pain to zip through his leg - Chris noticed Backup in the driver's seat. He turned back as she got out of the car.



"Backup, what's going on?"



His stomach lurched as she drew her gun - realising that, with a broken leg and bound hands, there wasn't an awful lot he could do to defend himself.



As her finger tightened on the trigger Chris noticed the vacant look on her face - like she was sleepwalking or something. The expression worried him - and then some!



He dived to one side - a split second before she repeatedly fired the gun. He landed heavily, jarring his leg, the pain nearly causing him to pass out. He lay there for a while, breathing deeply, trying to shake the nausea and the fuzziness out of his still aching head.



A full minute later, he realised it was eerily quiet and risked a look up. He couldn't see any sign of Nikita, but Backup still stood there, her gun now pointed at her own head. She had used all the bullets in the clip, but she still squeezed the unmoving trigger with increasing pressure, that same vacant look on her face.



With extreme effort, Chris got to his feet, hobbled over to her with caution. He held out his left hand.



"C'mon - give me the gun, huh?" he said gently as she appeared to be both deaf and blind to his presence. "Backup? Come on, you're scaring me."



Chris was so busy focussing on Backup, he didn't notice Nikita had snuck up behind her, the stun gun in her hand.



Backup went down without a whimper.



"She'll be alright in a few hours," said Nikita in response to his appalled expression as she led him over to the Section vehicle.



Bemused, Chris hobbled alongside her. "Yeah, but........"



"She's just tried to kill you," Nikita reminded him.



"Yeah, I know, but........"



Nikita looked at him in consideration. "Do you know her?"



"I thought I did," said Chris. "I've worked alongside her for the past three years."



"You must have really pissed her off," Nikita observed.



"Yeah." With guilt and concern, he glanced over at Backup, remembered how hostile she had been with him earlier. "And, I wish I understood why."



"Maybe we can work out the whys and wherefores along the way?" Nikita unlocked the vehicle, opened the door for him.



"Where are we going?" asked Chris dubiously.



"Somewhere safe. Get in." She still held the stun gun, with which she gestured for him to do as she bade.



Gritting his teeth as he had to put his weight on his injured leg, Chris looked pointedly at the vicious weapon in her hand. "I hope I never piss you off."



~*~



Malone had never been one for keeping an even temper, but nobody had ever seen him so angry as he was at that moment in time - ranting and raving - practically foaming at the mouth.



Everything had been fine until he had received a call from the Royal Docklands Hospital to say that three of his agents were being treated for shock and minor burns, Keel had escaped, and he had apparently been helped by Nikita.



Of course, Michael had been one of the first to feel Malone's wrath. After all, he was supposed to be responsible for Nikita.



He took it with his usual air of detachment as he stood in Malone's office. The CI5 boss was pacing around like a cornered wild animal.



"And then, I understand that your colleague used the same device to knock a third CI5 agent senseless before helping Mr Keel to escape - in a Section vehicle!" Malone was saying in a very loud and disapproving voice. "Are all you Section people so casual about obeying orders?"



Inwardly seething, Michael fought to maintain his quiet demeanour. "We have had many problems with Nikita," he admitted, his mind working furiously on how to keep Nikita out of Abeyance - once he had caught up with her, of course!



"Problems?" Malone thundered. "The woman appears to be a one-person disaster area!" His desk intercom buzzed and he punched the 'reply' button irritably. "I told you not to disturb me!"



"I just tapped into the CCTV at the hospital," said Birkoff - an unperturbable veteran of the angry side of Operations when things weren't quite going to plan



"Not now!"



"Sir, I really think you ought to take a look at this," Birkoff persisted.



"Birkoff, put it through," said Michael, ignoring the poisoned daggers glare this got him as he looked at the computer monitor on Malone's desk.



Malone forgot his animosity towards the Section agent as he watched the jerky images on his screen. He blanched at what he saw.



"If anybody wants me, I'll be at the hospital," he eventually declared, standing up.



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



For several seconds, Sam seriously thought he had died and gone to Heaven. He felt as though he was floating on a fluffy cloud - and an angel with golden blonde hair was leaning over him.



The hallucination didn't last long and when the pain started it took his breath away. He began to panic, arms thrashing out, terrified as he started getting flashbacks about the shooting.



He calmed down as his body was overwhelmed by a warm numbness, felt his senses slipping away. The flashbacks continued, however - powerless to fight against them, his tortured mind playing everything over and over again, like a video stuck on action replay.



He sensed movement nearby, his left hand unconsciously grabbing for a gun that was not there. He felt fingers close around his own hand, tried to jerk it away, felt another gentle hand caress his brow.



"It's alright, Mr Curtis. You're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you."



The voice was female, calming - and a little husky. He opened his eyes to find the blonde angel sitting on the edge of the bed he lay upon. She was wearing surgical scrubs and a stethoscope was slung around her neck. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth.



"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr Curtis," she said with perfect diction of the kind only taught at a very expensive finishing school.



Sam closed his eyes. "That's what my boss calls me - and it gets on my nerves. Call me Sam." He noticed the ID tag pinned to her uniform, just above her full, firm left breast. "Nurse Practitioner St John." He pronounced it 'Sinjin' which pleased her obviously aristocratic roots as she smiled again. "So, have you got a first name?"



She nodded. "Yes, thank you." Gave him a teasing look as she pushed back the sheets to check the dressings on his wounds.



Sam laughed - but not for long because it hurt. "So, what is it then?"



"Mireille."



"Nice French name,"he said, wondering if he was seriously ill. Because with beauty like that, she was the sort of nurse who was solely used to boost the morale of patients who were dying.



"My mother was French." She looked at him in a business-like manner. "And, now you've tried chatting me up, shall we get down to business and see how you're recovering?" She put an electronic thermometer in his left ear for a couple of seconds, then looked at the display. "Temperature's quite high, but you have got a fever, so that's only to be expected. Are you in much pain?"



"Shoulder's killing me," said Sam.



"You've got quite a lot of muscle damage there - if it gets too bad, I can up your painkillers. How's your breathing?



"Feels like Pavarotti's sitting on my chest."



"Cracked sternum - breathing's gong to be pretty difficult for a while. Plus your heart was grazed." Mireille took his left hand again, adopted a gentle attitude. "Do you remember what happened to you?"



Sam nodded, closed his eyes in a long moment of pain. "Oh yes - I remember!" he said with bitterness. Something he wasn't going to forget in a hurry - being gunned down by his own partner! "So, what exactly is the damage?!



Mireille hesitated. "Well, one of the bullets hit your abdomen - that mostly caused tissue and muscle damage, nicked a couple of blood vessels, but missed your vital organs. The other bullet was the one that did the most damage - it tore a path through your right shoulder and chest, exiting through your ribcage on the left hand side - that's where you got the injury to your heart. That should fully heal in time with no ill effects, as long as you get plenty of rest."



Sam looked at her steadily. "Which doesn't explain why I can't move my legs," he said quietly.



Mireille looked away. "You have a bullet lodged in your spine, it's too dangerous to get it out. You're in spinal shock right now, caused by swelling of the wound area."



Sam started to feel sick. His already pale face drained of what little colour it had left. "So - am I going to be able to walk again?" The fear was evident in both his voice and eyes.



"It's too early to say for sure," said Mireille, her voice low and sympathetic. "By rights, you shouldn't have survived the shooting at all - you were clinically dead when they brought you in here. The swelling to your spinal column is blocking out nerve impulses, effectively paralysing you from the waist down. We're hoping that when the swelling subsides, the feeling will return to your legs and, with physiotherapy, you'll be as right as rain."



"And, if I'm not?"



"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Just rest for now - okay? You've been through a hell of a lot the last couple of days." Mireille caressed his head - as one would do to a child - as Sam closed his eyes, exhausted.



She sat and looked at him awhile, taking in his boyishly handsome face and his well developed body, especially the six pack - evident even under the surgical dressings. Mireille found herself thinking that she could easily have more than a nurse/patient relationship with him.



*******************************************8



Down in A and E, Backup was feeling sorry for herself - and not a little confused. She had woken up to find herself alone in a cubicle with absolutely no idea how she had got there - and had, understandably, panicked somewhat. She hadn't felt much better when a nurse came to her aid and told her that she had been attacked in the hospital car park.



That was the puzzling part. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep at home - Malone had given her a few hours down time. How had she ended up at the hospital?



She looked up as Malone entered the cubicle. The CI5 boss looked none too happy.



"How are you feeling, Miss Backus?" he asked with a noticeable lack of sympathy.



"Like I been hit by a truck," she replied with caution, aware of his mood.



"But, that's not exactly what happened - is it?"



"That's the trouble," Backup said despairingly. "I can't remember."



Malone put a laptop onto the cabinet next to where she lay. "Let me jog your memory for you."



Backup watched the screen - with growing horror - as she saw herself on CCTV shooting at Chris before trying to put a bullet in her own head. She blanched, began to shake.



"No!" she protested hoarsely. "That's not me - it can't be!" She looked at Malone with fearful eyes. "I don't remember any of this!"



"The camera never lies," Malone quipped, almost callously. "You tried to kill Mr Keel, who was in no position to defend himself, as you can clearly see from these pictures."



Backup shook her head, bewildered. "No - I wouldn't do that! Sir, you know I wouldn't! Where's Chris anyway? Is he okay? I didn't hurt him again, did I?"



"It seems not," said Malone. "Although he is now on the run, aided and abetted by a Section One agent!"



"Is that her?" Backup shuddered as she watched herself being stunned by Nikita. She turned back to her boss. "Look, Sir - I don't know what's going on - but look at me there, with my gun to my head. That's exactly how Chris was after he shot Sam!" The realisation hit her. "Oh my God, I tried to kill myself!" She hung her head, breathing deeply. "I think I'm gonna be sick!"



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



Chris shared her sentiments right then. He was still concussed, his leg throbbed unbearably and Backup's actions had scared him so much, he was feeling quite ill if he was being truthful to himself. Nikita wasn't doing much for him either.



After seemingly driving round the city for hours, Nikita stopped the Section vehicle in an underground car park. They both got out.



"So, what now?" asked Chris, all too aware that his hands were still bound.



Nikita looked round, trying to get her bearings. "Section has a safe house somewhere around here."



They made their way up to street level. Chris looked at her dubiously.



"You sure about this, lady? You do know where we are?"



Nikita looked up at a nearby street sign. "Brewer Street. The safe house is closeby."



"This is Soho - it's one of the most notorious red light districts in the Western world?"



"Ahuh, I know." Nikita smiled thinly. "I have been here before, Mr Keel."



"Chris, the name is Chris," he said wearily. "Only my boss calls me Mr Keel - and he aint exactly my favourite person right now."



"Here we are." Nikita stopped outside a shabby doorway. The sign above the door read 'The Luv Shak' - and it didn't take a genius to work out that it was a sleazy hotel of the type that prostitutes used for 'business'.



Chris looked at her, shook his head. "You gotta be joking!"



"I don't have that kind of sense of humour." Nikita shoved him into the dingy poorly illuminated interior.



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



The room was small, badly maintained and smelled strongly of damp, drugs and God knows whatever other nasty substances got deposited in such a flea pit.



"Make yourself comfortable," said Nikita. She started to free his wrists using a penknife. "We're going to be here for some time."



She was taken completely by surprise as Chris sprang and pinned her against a wall, hands around her throat, body pressed against hers to prevent a struggle.



"Okay!" he hissed menacingly. "You got some explaining to do - now!"



~*~



Sam awoke from another feverish nightmare to find Backup sitting by his bed. She was looking pale, tired and extremely strained, but she tried to smile as she looked into his haunted eyes.



"Hey, Sam - how you doing?" she asked with excessive brightness.



"Legless," he replied, deadpan. He wasn't really surprised when she turned away in disgust. "Bad joke - right?"



"Bad attitude!" Backup gently admonished. "Which, I guess, answers my next question."



"Which was........?"



"I was hoping the doctor was wrong and your weren't paralysed after all."



"Backup, I've got a bullet in my spine!" Sam noticed something, frowned, beckoned for her to come closer. "Have you picked up a stalker or something?"



She shook her head. "Not that I know of - why?"



"Well, there's this weird looking kid standing outside in the corridor and he seems very interested in you."



Backup sighed, closed her eyes. "Glasses, very short hair, dressed like a Sociology student - right?" she said, not even turning round to look through the half open door to the private room.



"Something tells me you've met him before," said Sam, grateful for this piece of intrigue because it momentarily distracted him from his pain and the constant breathless feeling in his chest.



"That's Birkoff - he's a pain in the ass," said Backup dismissively. "It's a long story."



Sam winced as he tried to settle in a more comfortable position. "Well, it's not like I'm going anywhere, is it?"



She glared at him. "Unless you stop the self-pity, I'm not going to tell you anything!"



"Alright - if it makes you happy!" Sam put on an exaggerated wide eyed smile for a few seconds. "Is that better?"



Backup scowled. "Is that the best you can do?"



"Yes."



She sighed. "Birkoff is under orders from Malone to keep me under close surveillance."



Sam was silent for a while. "I'm going to have to ask why - aren't I?"



"I've been suspended from duty."



"You?" Sam was totally disbelieving. "Suspended? You never put a foot wrong, no matter what." He shook his head, wondered if his pain medication was too high. "Why have you been suspended?"



"I took pot shots at Chris," said Backup. "Allegedly."



"Well, I know this already," said Sam with a puzzled frown. "I heard you had to shoot him in the leg after he shot me - but, from what I understand, that's a clear cut case of self-defence, surely?"



Backup shook her head. "No, Sam - this is something different. It happened yesterday. I wouldn't have believed it, except the whole thing was caught on CCTV, because I honestly can't remember a thing about it. He was unarmed and his hands were tied behind his back but I shot at him anyway."



"So............. So, is Chris okay? You didn't kill him, did you?" Despite the fact Chris had brutally gunned him down, Sam couldn't help but feel concern for him.



"As far as I know, he's fine," Backup assured him. "He's on the run - he was helped to escape by a Section One agent."



"Section One? The Assassination Bureau? What the hell have they got to do with this?" Sam was starting to feel like this all sounded like the plot to an extremely tacky movie or TV show.



"Malone decided to call them in - because of the suicides? Apparently, Section's boss owes him a favour from way back, so he sent over three of his people to help us out - one of whom is out trying to find Chris and his new Section girlfriend. The third one........." Backup made small gestures with her head in Birkoff's general direction.



Even though it hurt like hell and caused him to cough painfully, Sam couldn't help but laugh. "You're having me on - he's Section One?"



Despite herself, Backup laughed too. "I think he's more to do with the strategic, technological side than anything else. I know he was seriously getting on Malone's nerves at Headquarters - so I guess he was glad of an excuse to get him as far away as possible for a while. He's only been following me around for about four hours but he's annoying the hell out of me already."



"I can understand that," said Sam, wondering how a runt like that ever got into Section.



"And, that's not all," said Backup - now worried and contemplative. "After I tried to kill Chris, I turned my gun on myself - would've succeeded if I hadn't been out of bullets."



Sam looked at her with concern and disbelief. He shook his head. "You wouldn't....." He was lost for words, knew she wasn't the suicidal type, no matter how much pressure she was under. "No!"



Backup shook her head. "I've seen the CCTV footage - it was exactly the same thing Chris did after he shot you." She took hold of his hand, absently playing with his fingers awhile before continuing in a small voice. "I'm scared, Sam. This whole business is really frightening me."



"Me too," he admitted in a soft voice - although his reasons were slightly different to hers.



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



It had taken Nikita several minutes to persuade Chris to let go of her. He had removed his hands with extreme reluctance, gingerly sitting himself on the sagging bed, rubbed at his sore and aching leg.



"So, come on," he said. "Start talking." He watched her like a hawk, still not trusting her an inch - he knew fine well what Section people were capable of.



She leaned against the wall, hands on hips in a defiant manner. "What do you want me to talk about?"



Chris glared at her. "Okay - so far this week, I've been shot, told that I shot my partner, I've been suspended from duty, treated like a criminal, been shot at by somebody who's supposed to be a friend, then you came along and brought me to this goddamn fleapit - and I'm just about running out of patience! You're Section One - right? So, have I been targeted for termination or something?"



"If that was the case, you'd be dead already," Nikita coldly assured him. "And, so would your colleagues - especially the one who was shooting at us."



"Shooting at me!"



Nikita shook her head. "Shooting at us." She displayed her left sleeve, which was sporting a brand new bullet hole from where one of Backup's shots had just missed hitting her. "Unless your friend Backup is an extremely lousy shot - which, let's face it, wouldn't have helped her get into an organisation like CI5."



Chris glowered. "I take it that's some kind of compliment?"



Nikita shrugged non-committally. "I know that CI5 and Section expect similar standards from their operatives."



"Except CI5 believes in saving lives rather than destroying or obliterating them!" Chris sniped.



Even Nikita couldn't argue with that one.



"But, you - you're different," he continued. "You're not like the other Section robots I've come across. What gives?"



"Don't know what you mean." Nikita shrugged and looked away.



"Yes you do. You saved my life back at the hospital - Section don't do that for just anybody."



"We're not all bad," said Nikita, looking at him with shy eyes, provocative and slightly alluring.



Chris smiled, despite himself, warming to her. "I'm gonna need some more convincing. Like, why don't you tell me why your organisation seems to be interested in me all of a sudden?"



"Don't flatter yourself, Chris," said Nikita. "It's CI5 as a whole. Your boss Malone asked my boss to repay a debt of honour."



Chris frowned. "Explain?"



"Three of your agents have recently committed suicide - seemingly without good reason. The other day, you shot your partner......"



Chris scowled. "Thanks for reminding me!"



".............and then you get shot at yourself," Nikita concluded. "You're just one link in the chain."



"So, where do you fit in?"



"I think I might just have found the connection. Thing is - I'm not sure exactly how they fit in to all this."



"That makes two of us then." Tired, Chris leaned further back against the wall that the bed was pushed up against.



"Why don't you lie down and get some rest?" Nikita suggested.



He shook his head. "I'm alright," he said, though he was anything but. He looked at her as he tried to stop his eyes from closing of their own accord.



Nikita smiled with more than a touch of affection and benevolence. "Look, you're tired and you're in pain. I don't know how long we'll be safe here, so it makes sense to get whatever rest you can."



"I told you, I'm alright!" Chris repeated with aggression borne of weariness. He tensed as she tossed over a gun which landed on the bed next to him. He checked it over - it was in perfect working order with a full clip of live bullets.



"You don't trust me," said Nikita. "To be honest, I don't blame you. I'd be the same in your position."



"You're not afraid I might start taking pot shots at you? Or, maybe I might take my own life like Cameron and the others?"



Nikita produced another gun, placed it on her lap. "I think that makes the odds a bit more interesting, wouldn't you?"



Carefully, Chris lifted his left leg onto the bed, lay back against the damp, smelly bedcovers, wondering if he'd need delousing or a tetanus jab at the end of all this.



He fell asleep without realising it.



~*~



Despite the fact he was still extremely weak and on heavy doses of painkillers, Sam couldn't rest - every time he tried to sleep, he was tortured by images of the shooting.



He still couldn't believe it. He and Chris had been through so much the last few years - he had lost count of the amount of times they had saved each other's lives, selflessly and without second thoughts. Even in their off duty hours, they were there for each other.



Why would Chris suddenly turn like that? There was no doubt he had intended to kill him - Sam's injuries were evidence of that, they might have killed a lesser man.



In fact, as he became aware of the pull of dead weight on the small of his back from his lifeless legs, Sam found himself sincerely wishing that Chris had killed him.



The bullet was still in there. His doctor had told him it had caused the soft tissue around his lower lumbar region to become infected, hence the swelling. There was a 50/50 chance that, once the swelling and infection were under control, the feeling would return to his legs without the need for further surgery to remove the bullet.



But, leaving the bullet in there meant that there was the danger of it shifting and causing further damage at some time in the future. Surgery could prove just as risky and could result in permanent disability as well.



The way he looked at it, he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.



Unhappily, Sam's eyes strayed to his left. Backup was dozing on a chair next to his bed. She was going through a hell of a time herself - but at least she could physically walk away from it all if she wanted to.



Sighing heavily, Sam stared up at the ceiling. In his entire life, he had never known such misery.



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



Chris sprang upright into a sitting position, gun pointed out to his right like an antenna as he felt a hand on his shoulder.



"It's only me," said Nikita in hushed tones. "You were having a nightmare."



Chris shrugged her hand away - more angry with himself than her. He'd let his defences down, showed a weakness that she could maybe manipulate.



"So, who's Theresa?" she asked casually.



Eyes clouding over with grief, Chris turned away from her. "None of your damn business!" he growled, realising he had shown her more than just a weakness - he had now started talking in his sleep, and had probably given her a running commentary on what happened on his wedding day. Nikita did not pursue the matter, guessing she was touching a raw nerve. She walked around the shabby room awhile to shake the tiredness from her limbs. She stopped to look out of the window.



A second later, she was helping him to his feet with a sense of urgence.



"We have to leave," she said. "Now!"



Still not fully awake, Chris reluctantly allowed her to help him stand up. "What's going on?"



"Your boss has decided to pay us a house call."



Chris swore, now completely awake as he limped to the door, ignoring the protesting pain from his leg, stiffened by his few hours' slumber. "He on his own?"



"Seems to be," said Nikita. "But, there'll be sharpshooters somewhere, I should imagine."



"Or, maybe he'll just let Backup loose again!" Chris muttered to himself as he opened the door. The dimly lit corridor seemed empty - sounds of prostitutes and clients committing various perversions with each other coming from the other rooms. "Let's go."



"Wait." Nikita put a hand on his arm. "Are you sure it's safe?"



"Sure I'm sure," he said impatiently. "Let's get going, huh?"



They left by the rear fire exit, edging along the dark, quiet alleyway.



"So, where now?" he asked her in a whisper, knowing how sounds carried at night.



Nikita looked at him and smiled thinly. "How's your sense of smell, Chris?"



"Why?"



"Well, did you know that the Maquis - the French Resistance - in Paris spent the entire duration of World War Two hiding out in the Parisian sewer system?"



Chris looked at her. "You're not suggesting................?" He grit his teeth. "I know - you don't have that kind of sense of humour!"



They both momentarily froze as their escape route was suddenly illuminated by a car's headlights.. They quickly dived for cover, huddling together in a nearby doorway.



"Don't get any ideas," said Nikita, body pressed close to his.



"Don't worry - I got better things concerning me right now," Chris replied, catching the raised eyebrows look she gave him. "And, no - I'm not gay!"



"You might as well give yourselves up and come quietly. There's nowhere to run."



Malone's voice seemed even louder than usual in the confined space of the alley.



"Don't get the wrong idea, Nikita," said Chris as he put an arm around her neck, gun pressed against her face. He shuffled back into the glare of the headlights, keeping his back to the wall, knowing that Malone wouldn't be alone and there were probably guns trained on him from all angles.



"Mr Keel, don't be silly," said Malone with bored disdain, as though addressing a frequently naughty child. "Put her down!"



"Why - so you can gun me down?" Chris snarled. "Is it your turn now, sir? I mean - Backup's failed, hasn't she?"



"Believe me, the second time she shot at you, she was acting well outside of my orders," said Malone, silently acknowledging reports from the various CI5 marksmen hidden around the alley that none of them could get a clear shot.



"No? Whose orders was she taking then?" Chris frowned as he realised exactly what his boss had said. "And, what do you mean 'the second time'?"



Malone took a long look at his face, half-hidden by the shadows - came to the conclusion that Keel genuinely didn't have a clue what he was referring to. "Miss Backus is the one you have to thank for your broken leg. She shot you after you shot Mr Curtis."



Chris started to feel sick as he was overcome with bewilderment. "This isn't happening to me!" he whispered, half to himself.



Nikita felt the arm around her throat relax slightly. The natural thing would have been for her to break loose and let the marksmen blow Keel away. But, they had come this far together.......



"The car," she murmured.



"Huh?"



"Malone's car." Nikita sighed as he made an uncomprehending grunt. "We need a vehicle, don't we? Get your brain into gear, for Christ's sake you pathetic moron!"



"Have you ever been married, Nikita?" he asked as they edged closer to the car.



"Unless you count for undercover purposes, no," she replied. "Why?"



"I'm not surprised. You're some ball breaker - know that?"



They were nearly at the car now. Chris tightened his grip on Nikita.



"Anyone tries to follow us, she goes back to Section in a body bag!"



"Mr Keel, you're not going to get away with this," said Malone disparagingly. "Why don't you just give up now before the casualty list gets any higher?"



"Why don't you toss over the car keys?" Chris suggested. "Or, the casualty list will get higher!"



"You'd better do as he says," said Nikita. "He means it." She caught the keys that Malone threw.



"You'll have to drive," said Chris, shoving her in through the passenger door. As she clambered into the driver's seat, he gave a hiss of pain due to his haste at following her in before he became an easy target for Malone and his marksmen.



Nikita looked at him in concern. "You okay?"



"Just get us out of here!" he snapped, hands clutching his painful left thigh.



Nikita shook her head as she quickly reversed the Mondeo out of the alleyway. "This has been too easy," she mused.



Chris glanced at her. "Now you're having doubts?"



"Look at it," said Nikita as she swung the car onto the road, headed north. "Nobody's following us, no roadblocks, we're not being shot at. Don't you find that suspicious?"



"Not really," Chris replied. "All CI5 vehicles have GST trackers - plus, I can hear a chopper overhead. They know exactly where we are."



"So, why are we running?" asked Nikita.



"I thought you Section guys got a reputation for making like Houdini," said Chris with a shrug.



"Does the phrase 'Chinese Whispers' mean anything to you?" she said with a sigh. She then realised what was bothering her. "And, where's Michael?"



"Who?"



Nikita didn't have the opportunity to answer as a hand was suddenly placed on her shoulder from behind and the cold metal of a gunbarrel was pressed into the base of her skull. She tensed with fright but managed to keep the car on a straight path as that all-too familiar quiet voice came from the back seat.



"Stop the car, Nikita."



~*~



Reactions dulled by pain and fatigue, Chris gingerly twisted round to point his gun at their unexpected back seat passenger.



"Why don't you drop the gun, pal? Keep your hands where I can see them?"



Michael coldly ignored him, kept his gun exactly where it was.



"It's alright, Chris," said Nikita. "He's just bluffing. He wouldn't kill me."



"Don't be so sure, Nikita!" Michael hissed, squeezing the trigger until it clicked back once.



"Well, that's fine - but, you know as well as I do that with the speed I'm doing now, nobody would survive if this car crashed - which it unavoidably would if you were to shoot me in the head," said Nikita with surprising calmness. "And, in case you've forgotten, our mission parameter didn't specify killing anyone this time round."



"Nor did the mission parameters specify anything about you going off on your own, failing to keep me informed of your actions," said Michael. "Do you realise when Operations hears about his, you'll be in Abeyance?"



Nikita shrugged. "It's happened before." She glanced in the rearview - looking straight into his beautiful blue-green eyes. "So, you haven't told Operations yet?"



"I thought I'd give you a chance to give me a reasonable explanation first," said Michael. "Have you got one?"



"I'd be interested in finding that out myself," said Chris, folding his arms and looking at her expectantly. "You've yet to give me a straight answer about why you're so keen to keep me alive."



Nikita was silent for several seconds, concentrated on her driving as she contemplated. She didn't want to voice her suspicions about Dr Lockhart without knowing exactly why she was so dubious about her, didn't want to open up a can of worms, or maybe prompt Michael to alert Operations. After all, it wouldn't be the first time Michael had full knowledge of things and was just setting her up to take a very big fall.



"I'll tell you," she said eventually. "I just need Birkoff to check something for me first." She let go a big - but silent - sigh of relief as Michael reholstered the gun.



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



Guns were playing a big part in Sam's nightmares as - yet again - he was tortured by memories of being shot. This time, he could actually feel the pain as the bullets hit him - burning, tearing, grinding their relentless way through his body.



And Chris - he just stood there, a vacant expression on his face - almost as if he didn't really see him, or was looking right through him, almost like he was in a trance or something. That scared Sam more than his actual injuries - it was like Chris wasn't himself, somebody else, a robot even.



With a shock, he realised Chris was standing over him, looking down at him. Panicking, Sam tried to get away, the fear of further injury very real, especially when he noticed the PPK Chris was holding in his right hand.



"It's okay - it's me, Chris," said Keel, seeing his partner's panic. "Calm down - I'm not gonna hurt you."



"Funny - these bullet holes in my body say something different," said Sam in between desperate gasps for breath. In his panic, the pain in his carved up chest was increasing and he was all-too aware that there wasn't an awful lot he could do in the way of self-defence and evasive action.



"Sam, you got to believe me when I tell you I honestly don't remember anything about shooting you the other day."



"I do!"



Chris sighed, looked away, unable to bear the hatred, fear and accusation on his friend's face. "Curtis, you know I'd never do anything like that to you! Unless............"



"Unless what?" Sam grunted.



"I don't know! But, whatever was going on the other day, that wasn't me!"



"Strange," said Sam. "When I was lying on the ground, bleeding to death, I could have sworn I saw you standing over me with a smoking gun in your hand!"



"You know what I mean, damnit!" Chris desperately searched for a reason. "I dunno - maybe I had a breakdown or something!"



"Maybe you're about to have another one now. Maybe you ought to get out of here before you shoot me again."



"That's a good idea!"



Ignoring the pain in his leg, Chris whirled round at the sound of Backup's voice. Almost unconsciously, he pointed his gun at her. Hesitantly, she fumbled for her own weapon.



"Want to try again?" he asked her coldly.



"Could ask you the same question," said Backup. "Why are you here, Chris? Don't you think you've done enough damage already?"



"You obviously haven't." With his free hand, Chris gestured to his injured leg. "I just found out you did this!"



"You mean you don't remember me doing it?"



"The only thing I remember is you taking pot shots at me yesterday!" Chris growled.



"I didn't know about that until afterwards," said Backup defensively



"What's that supposed to mean?"



She sighed. "I don't remember shooting at you yesterday - okay?"



"Sure you don't!" he snarled. "You don't remember trying to kill yourself right after as well, huh?"



"Do you remember what you did after you shot Sam? You put your gun to your head and pulled the trigger, Chris! So, don't go..........."



The sharp ringing sound made them both turn towards the bed as they realised something was very wrong.



Sam's ECG had gone flatline!



"Get a doctor!" said Backup urgently as she pressed the call button next to the bed.



Helplessly, Chris stood by. He felt horrified, wondered if their arguing had caused this somehow. He really had killed his partner this time. Oh God!



Mireille came rushing in from the nurses' station. "What happened?" she asked.



"He just collapsed," said Backup. "He was fine one minute, then all of a sudden........"



Mireille used the intercom by the bed. "Crash team, Room 331 - now!" She began chest compressions on Sam. "Could you two leave the room, please? You're in the way!"



Two nurses and a doctor came in with a crash cart.



"Sudden cardiac and respiratory failure," Mireille said, keeping up the chest compressions. "He's been down for about ninety seconds."



"Okay," said the doctor, taking over. "Increase his fluids, he needs Atropine, start bagging him and get a theatre on standby. His abdomen's rigid, looks like a massive internal haemorrhage." He grabbed the defibrilator paddles. "Charge to 200. Stand clear!"



Chris turned away as his partner arched with the surge of electricity coursing through his body. He felt decidedly worse as he walked out into the corridor just in time to see Malone coming along. The CI5 commander fixed him with a steady gaze.



"I do hope you're going to come quietly this time, Mr Keel."



Chris sighed, hung his head. He was totally shattered after the events of that week - and, judging by the frantic activity in the nearby hospital room, he had well and truly killed the last person in his life he had still cared about. What did he have to lose?



He looked up at Malone, smiled with weary resignation, clear blue eyes full of pain and fatigue. "What is it the Brits say? 'It's a fair cop'?"



"Wait," said Backup as they walked off.



"Miss Backus, I thought you were under suspension," said Malone. "And, where's.........?"



She narrowed her eyes. "Yes - but, I don't recall you saying anything about being confined to my apartment or anything," she said quickly, not pausing for breath - or for Malone to get a word in edgeways. "I think I've come up with some sort of explanation for this whole damn business - the suicides, me and Keel going temporarily loopy........"



"At least you didn't manage to kill me," said Chris sombrely, grief pulling at his chest.



"Sam's not dead yet," said Backup, feeling somewhat responsible for Sam's current condition herself because she hadn't backed down from the argument with Chris, or at least taken it outside. "But, look - I had a look at my medical notes earlier, and something's just clicked."



Malone tapped his left foot against the floor with impatience. "Please get to the point, Miss Backus, it's been a very long night."



Night? Briefly glancing at her watch, she realised it was almost 6am! "I didn't make the connection until I was watching the medics working on Sam just now. The doctor administered Ketamine, so he could put in an endotracheal tube."



Chris shrugged, wondering where this was leading to. "So?"



"So, Ketamine is an anaesthetic drug, but used in low, controlled doses, it can leave a person highly open to suggestion through an altered state of consciousness similar to an hypnotic trance," said Backup. "When I was brought into the ER here yesterday, they found traces of Ketamine in my blood - well, according to my notes, anyway."



"You were drugged when you shot at me - explains a lot," said Chris, nodding. He suddenly caught on. "So, I was drugged as well! Is that what you're saying?"



Backup shrugged. "Maybe - like you said, it would explain things, wouldn't it?"



"So, let's go take a look at my medical records, then." Keel suddenly remembered the deep shit that he was in, turned to look at Malone with more than a touch of insolence. "If that's alright with you, that is, Sir."



"It's worth checking out, certainly!" Malone grunted, doing a good job at disguising his relief at finally discovering the faint glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel that could bring an end to this whole unpleasant business. "But, don't think that this lets either of you off the hook - you're still facing some extremely serious disciplinary charges. Both your suspensions from duty still stand."



They both nodded, realising this was the closest they would ever see to a compassionate gesture from their boss.



Their incredulity at Malone's sidestepping of his own stringent code of practice was soon forgotten as the medical team rushed Curtis towards the nearest elevator.



"What's going on?" asked Chris anxiously. "Where are you taking him?" He looked at Sam - his heart was going again, but he couldn't breathe unaided and the surgical dressings covering the wounds were heavily bloodstained.



"He's haemorrhaging badly," said Mireille. "It looks like the bullet in his spine has shifted. We're taking him for a CT scan now, then off to Theatre as soon as we have a clearer picture of what's going on inside."



"Come on, Chris." Animosity forgotten, Backup gently put a restraining hand on his arm. "Looks like they got it all under control.. He'll be okay."



Chris shrugged her hand away. "Easy for you to say!" he growled. "You weren't the one who shot him!"



"As Miss Backus said, Mr Curtis is in good hands right now," Malone interjected. "I think you both need to devote your time and attention to your immediate dilemma. If your theory is correct, I'm rather interested in finding out how somebody managed to administer some form of mind altering drug to you both. This is a major breach of CI5 security - if you're right about this, Miss Backus."



"How about in food or drink?" Chris suggested, trying to put all thoughts of his dying partner to the back of his mind. "It's easily done."



Backup shook her head. "Ketamine can only be administered by injection or IV," she said. "I researched it on the Internet not so long ago. To get the dose just right to get the desired hypnotic effects, it takes somebody with extensive medical knowledge."



They all jumped as Nikita unexpectedly came up behind them.



"Extensive medical knowledge - like your Doctor Lockhart, for example?" Nikita suggested.



~*~



Malone looked at Nikita like she was mad.



"Dr Lockhart?" he repeated with undertones of disbelief. "That's impossible - her background was thoroughly checked prior to her appointment as Chief Psychiatric Officer. If there was any doubt at all as to her integrity..............."



"Well, there's a big one that you obviously missed," said Nikita. "She's connected to Section."



"Connected - how?" asked Malone, still not sure if he should believe her.



"That's it - I'm not totally sure," she said. "I've asked Birkoff to access Section's database to see what he can find out."



Backup realised the annoying little nerd wasn't there - she hadn't noticed before. "I wondered where he'd got to."



Chris looked at Nikita with accusation. "You knew! All this time, we've been chasing around London, and you knew exactly what was going on!"



"Not for sure," said Nikita. "Not until she mentioned the drugs just now. I've seen Lockhart before - in Section - it's all starting to fit into place now." She looked round as Michael joined them. "I just want your assurance that you knew nothing about this, Michael!" There was a threatening hint in her voice as her eyes probed his impassive face for any betrayal - she knew him well enough to detect event he slightest nuance or deviation in his facial and vocal expressions now.



"I didn't know anything about Doctor Lockhart and Section," he said quietly.



Nikita believed him. "Well, Operations obviously did!" she said grimly. "He was deep in conversation with her just over a month ago - and she certainly recognised me when I walked into her office yesterday morning."



"So, why didn't you mention any of this before now?" asked Chris.



"Because I wanted to be sure before exposing her," said Nikita. "Besides, which, I spooked her enough, she sent your friend Backup after me with a loaded gun, didn't she?"



Backup frowned. "Don't get you." She had taken an instant dislike to this cool, super beautiful, self-possessed blonde bitch - and now the cow was hurling wild accusations in her general direction.



"Yesterday in the hospital carpark," Nikita explained. "It wasn't just Chris you were trying to kill - quite a few of those shots were deliberately aimed at me."



Backup turned away with an enigmatic smile. The way she felt about Nikita, she didn't need to be hypnotised into killing her.



"And, far be it from me to point out the blindingly obvious,"said Chris, "but shouldn't we be on our way to Lockhart's place now, to arrest her or something?"



Malone glared at him. "Don't tell me how to do my job, Mr Keel!" He tutted as his mobile rang. "Yes, what is it?" He moved away to give himself some privacy.



After a few moments' of 'hmm'ing and 'haa'ing, he turned back to the others.



"It appears that Doctor Lockhart is, at this moment, on the roof of this very building and is threatening to jump," said Malone with some degree of annoyance.



"That's original," said Nikita, glancing at Michael who was his usual outwardly unfeeling self. She looked at Malone. "I suppose we'd better go try and talk her out of it?"



Malone glowered - he was being told how to do his job again! "Yes, I suppose so," he said with aggressive undertones, moving towards the elevator with the two Section agents. "Miss Backus, as soon as you have news of Mr Curtis' condition, I want to be informed immediately."



Backup shook her head. "No way - I want in on this," she said.



"Me too," Chris added.



Malone glared at them. "Do I have to keep reminding you that you are both suspended from duty, and........."



"Look, after what she's done, messing with our minds, I'd at least like her to give some sort of explanation," said Backup.



"Alright," said Malone with a sigh. "As observers only - got that?"



Chris nodded. "Absolutely." As he had stood there in the corridor, he had become increasingly aware of his injured leg, which was still bleeding, and knew that whatever happened, he wouldn't have the strength to do anything but observe. In fact, he hoped this wouldn't take too long because he felt like passing out before too long.



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



On the way up to dealing with the increasingly disturbing Dr Lockhart, Birkoff had provided Malone with a rundown of her activities.



It seemed that under the guise of a routine psychological debriefing, she would used strobe lighting to induce a trance-like state, reinforced by IV Ketamine and then Operations would 'programme' them with suggestions, via a secure transmission frequency.



Most disturbing of all was that in the two months Lockhart had been with CI5, 90% of the entire payroll had received 'counselling' from her at least once - including Curtis, Keel, Backus, Cameron, Flynn and Porter. The suicides had been a test, or experiment, to see just how powerful this technique was.



Birkoff had also found out that she had a two year old son, a guest of Section according to the most recent Intel he could get.



What horrified Malone the most was that Operations had double crossed him - betrayed his trust, played him for a mug. And, the bastard was untouchable - practically. Only George, his immediate superior, could do anything to stop him. But, would he? Come to that, how did one get hold of the elusive George?



Nikita wondered how Lockhart would be dealt with. Taking her back to Section would mean immediate cancellation - but, maybe that would be better than what lay in store for her at CI5's hands. But, there was her son to consider.



So far, the spectacle hadn't attracted any attention from the media and there were few curious onlookers. The police were keeping a low profile - a helicopter circled the area and an Inspector and two constables were on the roof, keeping their distance from Lockhart who was teetering precariously on the parapet.



"Dr Lockhart, I'd prefer it if you didn't do anything silly," said Malone. "The game's up - but jumping off this roof isn't the answer. Why don't you get away from the edge and we can talk this over rationally?" With agonising slowness, he almost imperceptibly edged towards her.



Lockhart seemed not to hear as she looked over the edge of the roof, her hair whipping around her face. Her expression was bland, as if there was no one home. Inside her head, she was replaying images of her beautiful boy. A single repetitive sentence went through her shattered mind: "Oh my God, they've killed Kenneth!" Her sweet little boy.



"Something tells me she's in la-la land," Chris muttered as he observed the zombie-like shrink.



"Maybe she's been taking her own medicine, so to speak," said Backup.



Lockhart finally acknowledged her company, turning her tragic gaze on them. Her eyes searched for the only one who might be able to understand - unable to look Backup or Chris in the eye after the heinous acts her 'research' had forced them to do. Her eyes locked on Michael.



"He's dead. He was cancelled. My baby was cancelled - my little boy Kenny. I'm sorry - I'm so sorry."



The blonde Nikita and the old goat Malone were inching towards her, planning to make a grab for her as she spoke. As her eyes found Chris in a silent request for forgiveness for what she had done to both him and Sam, she took a step backwards, one of her feet finding thin air, the other soon to follow. A manic smile appeared on her face as she allowed herself to fall bakwards, her last words said in an exhilarating scream:



"Tell Operations I'll see him in Hell..............................!"



It seemed to take forever for the ground to rush up and meet her and put her miserable existence to an end. She could clearly see Backup looking over the edge, arms that were too late to catch her reaching out with desperation. Maybe she should have taken the time to deprogramme her. The girl was a ticking time bomb. Too late now.



She hit the very hard ground with a crunching splat. In the instant before she died, her brain registered a scream from above - Backup, had to be.



Malone put an arm round Backup as she shook uncontrollably. "Come on, Miss Backus - it's over - there's nothing any of us could have done. Maybe it was better that she ended it this way."



As he led her away, Nikita and Michael took a look over the edge of the roof. Nikita winced.



"Poor bitch."



"She was doing it for her son," said Michael softly.



Normally, Nikita would have expressed surprise at his unusual sensitivity, but she knew how much he still missed his own child Adam. Briefly, her hand held his - just for a couple of seconds. He turned to look at her with just a hint of gratitude in his eyes.



Malone looked at them with a mixture of regret and anger. "You do realise I'm going to have to tell George about this, don't you?"



"He won't do anything!" Nikita grunted. "He never does!"



"Operations is as expendable as the rest of us," said Michael. Nikita gave him a weary, cynical look.



"Keep telling yourself that, Michael - one day I might believe you." Gracefully, Nikita turned her back on him, began walking off. "Let's go wake up Birkoff and get back home." She looked at Malone with a distinctly sheepish expression. "No hard feelings, Mr Malone?"



Malone smiled charmingly, knew that Nikita was yet another of Section's unwilling victims. "Of course not - although you might want to tell Operations something different."



Nikita laughed - a hard, ironic edge to her mirth. "Oh, don't worry. He knows I don't exactly regard him with any kind of affection. See you around."



As he watched her pert, twitching backside disappear into the darkness of the night, Malone found himself thinking that he certainly wouldn't mind meeting her again.



Below on the ground, a few curious onlookers ghoulishly observed the corpse of Doctor Lockhart, her grey matter mingled with blood and bone on the cold, hard ground beneath her. They noticed a look of peace on her face - almost as if she was glad the end had come.



~*~



One long month later, Sam had progressed to getting around using a walking frame. He loathed it, complained it made him feel - and look - like an old man, but at the spinal injuries rehab centre in Hampshire, at least he wasn't the only one there having to get around in such an undignified way.



His recovery had been more rapid than was expected - aided mostly by Mireille, with whom he had developed a rather intense relationship once he had been discharged from the Royal Docklands Hospital. Whether or not their relationship would last the distance was yet to be determined, but they were rather enjoying each other's company a lot whilst they had the chance.



When Mireille was not able to be with him, Sam was never short of other visitors - mostly from CI5.



He was hobbling around the grounds of the rehab centre now with Malone and Backup, taking in the autumn sun.



"So, my physio reckons another week, and I can graduate to crutches," said Sam, giving his walking frame yet another distasteful glance. "A bit more dignified than this thing."



"You're lucky you've made it this far, Mr Curtis," said Malone gravely. "You came very close to being in a wheelchair for the rest of your life."



Sam winced, again briefly reliving the horrors of the shooting and its consequences. "Yeah, don't remind me," he muttered grimly.



"That would have been just unimaginable," said Backup, glancing at him playfully. "Could you have imagined the havoc that would have caused, Sir? He's bad enough driving a car - but put him in a wheelchair, and you got a recipe for disaster."



Sam returned her look with narrowed but mirthful eyes. "You're lucky I need both hands to keep my balance, Backup - otherwise, I'd have thumped you!"



Backup's smart assed retort was averted by her mobile ringing. "Excuse me a moment." She walked a discreet distance away to answer the call.



As Malone and Sam walked on, they were approached by a familiar figure. They both stopped.



Sam looked at Chris with an air of wary indifference, inwardly noting how strained and unhappy he looked. Felt sorry for him, but was reluctant to show it.



"Sam, we need to talk," said Chris softly. "Clear the air - you know?"



Sam hesitated. They hadn't spoken since he had collapsed in the hospital, and he had flatly refused to see Chris whenever he had wanted to visit him. He had been fully debriefed, knew that Chris had been under some kind of mind control, therefore hadn't been responsible for his actions. But it didn't take away the frightening fact that he had shot him - the pain and the nightmares would be there for a very long time to come.



"I suppose," said Sam with caution. The trust they had both so carefully nurtured between them over the past few years was all but gone - but, despite this, Sam missed his partner like crazy, felt the loss of their friendship even more than he had the use of his legs. And, now he was learning to walk again, where was the harm in trying to repair the damaged bonds between him and Chris?



"I'll leave you to it," said Malone, walking off, leaving agents 4.5 and 3.7 standing looking at each other sheepishly.



"So," said Chris eventually, breaking the awkward silence. "I guess I oughta start by saying sorry, huh?"



"For what - shooting me, or not coming to visit me in my hour of need?"



"As I recall, I was told you didn't want to see me even if hell froze over."



Sam shrugged. "So, when was the last time you listened to me?" He sighed. "Chris, look - I know it wasn't entirely your fault - all this business - okay? I'm just having a hard time coming to terms with everything, including having to learn how to walk again. I guess nearly dying does that to you."



"What d'you mean 'nearly dying', Curtis?" Chris smiled wryly. "As I recall, you flatlined on me at least once back there."



Sam laughed gently. "Well, you and Backup were giving me a headache with all that arguing - had to do something to shut you up."



"Hell of a way to get yourself noticed," said Chris sombrely. "You scared the hell out of me."



"Makes us both even then, doesn't it?" For the first time in weeks, Sam looked directly into his partner's clear blue eyes. "So, how about it, then?"



"How about what?"



"You think you can hold out for another couple of months until I'm back on active duty? Or, has Butch gone and got himself another Sundance?"



They laughed - both knowing everything would soon be back to normal.



"It's not a new Sundance I'm looking for right now," said Chris. "This - uh - nurse friend of yours? The blonde with the curves and......... everything?"



"Mireille?"



"Yeah - has she got an identical twin sister? Or, even an almost as foxy friend who's looking for someone? So long as she's tall, blonde and got the same sort of curves - know what I mean?"



Sam shook his head, laughed again. "You need a cold shower, mate!"



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



Deep in the bowels of Section, Operations sat deep in thought. It had been several weeks now since his failed attempt to bring CI5 under his control, culminating in the not-altogether accidental death of Doctor Lockhart's little boy Kenny, who had been held in a Section safe house in Colorado. Lockhart's suicide had been almost predictable - saved him the trouble of getting someone to do it for him.



However, as he was aware, his troubles with CI5 were far from over. Knew that, given the chance, Malone would have his balls - he wasn't the sort who forgot or forgave in a hurry, even though he had had a few weeks to simmer down - Malone was a very real and hostile threat.



And, the only way to deal with any threat, no matter how small, was to eliminate it. He picked up his phone, dialled a number, waited for the connection, smiled coldly when a female Transatlantic voice answered.



"Hello?"



"Hello, Tina. This is your control voice.



The End