HEADQUARTERS, TORONTO

 

April Dancer, sitting in her leather chair around her own revolving round table, at headquarters Toronto, had been a tightly wound spring for the past hour or so.  Sitting, wide open for any communication with Illya; she had “heard” nothing; then suddenly a burst of agony that made her scream, an eerie echo of his own.  She put up her shield quickly, blocking any further transmissions.  Dear God, she thought shakily, that was beyond endurance even second hand.

Five minutes later her console warbled.  She stabbed the acknowledge button so hard the plastic cover flew off. “Mark?”

“Yes, Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate is here, but this is Agent Etheredge.  We have the situation pretty well in hand.  Mr. Kuryakin is being evacuated immediately.  Mr. Slate says to please make ready the IC and have your best toxoligist standing by.”  Here he paused listening to directives from Slate.  “We need further instructions for handling personnel involved in this incident.  There are three whom Mr. Slate feels should accompany us to headquarters.”

“Agent Etheredge, please put Mr. Slate on.”

“Mark? How is Illya?”  April demanded.

“I don’t know yet, Luv.  He should arrive there within ten minutes.   I will be bringing three people with me; two females, one male.  The rest of the leadership on site should be able to handle the situation from here.  Please contact Mr. Waverly for further information on the following people; one young woman, calling herself only Nikita; one male known only as Walter; and last but certainly not least, one female by the name of Madeline.  Seems to be a dearth of last names in this place.  We should arrive within the hour. Slate out.” 

 

 

                                    SECTION ONE

 

Mark directed the remaining two of his team to secure Madeline and usher her into the van waiting outside this curious complex.  Then he turned back to Nikita and Walter. 

“You realize, I know very little about your organization.  Therefore, I have to make a decision on how to handle the two of you.  You will be taken to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters here in Toronto.  I assure you, we will proceed with kid gloves until this situation is made clear.  You may bring with you anything necessary for your comfort in the next day or so, providing the securing of said articles includes no weaponry, and can be located in two minutes.  Do you have any questions.”

Nikita walked towards the door, passing within three feet of Mark.  Walter watched tensely, knowing something was coming.

She stopped in the doorway.

“There’s nothing I need from this place.”  Then she exploded into action.  Her maneuver had shown her where his weapon was, under his jacket, left side.  This she relieved him of in one blurred move, and grabbed him expertly, immobilizing him as easily as if he were a novice.  The weapon came up under his chin.  A cold voice hissed in his ear.

“I lied.  There is one“thing” I intend to take with me.  Listen well, Mr. Slate.  I don’t know what your plans are for me or for Walter.  But there is one more person who will accompany us out of this place.  His name is Birkoff.  Walter, get on the comm and tell Birkoff to get himself here somehow.”

“Nikita, I…”

“Walter, just do it!”

“Listen Miss No Last Name,” Mark said calmly, “I’m not familiar with the mode of operations here at all.  This will go much better if you release me right now.  I will agree to take this third person.  Please reconsider this tactic, and let’s move.  I don’t know how much time we have.”

Nikita released Mark, throwing him bodily away from her.  His own weapon remained pointed menacingly at him. 

Shaking his head, Walter moved to the wall-comm and thumbed the mike.  “Birkoff, can you respond?”

“Sure, Walter, but what the hell is going on?” came a young male voice.

“Never mind that just now.  Can you get yourself down here to the interrogations room pronto?”

“The shields are down here, Walter.”

“Well, work around it Kid.  Just get your skinny behind here fast!  We’re making a break for it.

“That is what we’re doing, right Sugar?”

Mark said nothing.  This was going badly, but he was quite sure things would ultimately work out his way.  There were far too many Command personnel waiting for him outside.  Then again, he’d seen this young woman in action.  The only thing he could do was hope the “escapees” would move quickly and get them all the hell out of here.  They were running out of the borrowed time arranged so well by the personage named George.  Soon more players would assemble, and then the game would take on new twists.  ‘Reason with her,’ he thought. 

“Nikita,” began Mark in his most personable voice, “we truly are running out of time.  Whoever arranged this rescue mission gave me a limit of approximately 45 minutes to get in and get out.  We’ve about reached that limit.  Whatever you have in mind, I think our getaway should be foremost in consideration.  I have transportation standing by.  We will offer you sanctuary, if that’s what you feel you need.  I give you my word as a gentleman.”

Nikita listened to Mark’s speech, trying to weigh too many unknown factors.  She felt like she wanted to take his advice, but all her training, all her years of living on the knife edge of death, stood in the way of an easy decision.  She looked askance at Walter.

“Do it his way Nikita.  You know the U.N.C.L.E. isn’t on the same wavelength as Section One.  You just risked everything to free a man who belongs to his organization.  Please, Nikita, put away the weapon, let’s get our favorite nerd and vamoose!”

“OK,” she closed her eyes in resignation, and lowered the gun to her side. 

Mark made no move to take back his weapon.  He hoped she’d take it as a sign of trust. 

A slender young man with a buzz cut appeared in the doorway.  He stopped short at the sight of Operations crumpled on the floor and the blood drenched room.  “Glad I missed this party,” was his only comment.

“Are we ready to roll?” Mark inquired.  “Nikita? Please, let’s agree to vamoose, as Walter put it.”

 

Mark led the three of them, without further incident, to his promised transportation.   Nikita vowed she’d never see the inside of that Hell again.

  

 

                        U.N.C.L.E. HEADQUARTERS, TORONTO

 

It was a busy evening in Admissions and Security.  First, the arrival of an ambulance carrying Illya Kuryakin roared into the secure underground parking lot located under the complex that housed the third largest headquarters in North America. Number Three, Section One, a Miss April Dancer, was there to meet that one personally.  Her presence and the identity of the injured man carried in by stretcher, was enough to set the facility grapevine humming.   

This was followed by the arrival, not ten minutes later, of a team of two field agents accompanying one woman, whose appearance was less than pleasant.  Sticky with dried blood from her hair to the tops of her shoes; Madeline was led into Admissions.  The team of agents delivered her to Medical also, for a thorough cleansing and an even more intensive scan for foreign objects and substances. 

Lastly, a van pulled into the lot, disgorging a somewhat sheepish Mr. Slate, accompanied by three unknowns; two in the same condition as the woman preceding them.  These last four walked into admissions, then to the Med Lab for similar treatments, except for Slate, of course, who was still trying to figure out a decent explanation of how he’d been disarmed, and why the astonished guard at Admissions had had to relieve the bloody young woman of Slate’s personal weapon. 

“Where can I find Miss Dancer?” Mark asked the girl pinning on his badge. 

“In Med Lab,” she answered.  But as he walked away, she stared at his receding back and recalled him with a few carefully chosen words.  “Uh, Mr. Slate, sir, you may want to report to Med Lab and have yourself checked out.  There’s an awful lot of what looks and smells suspiciously like a certain vital bodily fluid on the back of your suit.”

“’It’s not mine Carrie.” 

Over the intercom came April’s voice.  “Mark, get down here now, please.”

Entering Medical, Mark found April and Dr. Gottstein, their resident expert on toxicology, standing just outside a curtained enclosure.  He was shaking his head. 

“I don’t recognize the agent or agents employed here.  We need further data from the source.  Ah, here is Mr. Slate.  Perhaps he will have brought a further unadulterated sample of the drug!”  And turned expectantly to Mark. 

“You did think to bring that didn’t you?” April said tensely.

Oh, this just gets better and better, Mark thought to himself. 

“Circumstances being as they were, I feel lucky to have escaped in one piece.  No, I did not get a sample.  Yes, I feel like a complete fool for the second time in two hours.  And the only saving grace is, I think you can get your sample within an hour, providing the ghost of penetrations just past can work further wonders.” 

“Damn sloppy Slate.” Came a rough whisper from behind the curtain.

“Keep your voices low, and make sure no one interrupts us for a few.” Mark whispered to April and the doctor.  Treading softly, and insinuating himself between the flaps of the curtain, Mark moved to the bed.

“No drugs, Mark.  Need lot of sleep.  No more drugs.” 

“Don’t worry Illya, I’ll see to it.” 

Mark stepped out and said quietly to April, “Post two sentries and have someone clean up the dark haired one…..Ooops, sorry Luv.  This is your show isn’t it?”  Between Mark Slate, April Dancer, and Napoleon Solo, all three in posts of tremendous responsibility around the world, such gaffs occurred regularly. 

“You’re forgiven Love.” April replied with some amusement.  With Illya safe and on the way to sound, she felt her equilibrium recovering swiftly.  All three walked into the corridor.  April spoke to the hidden intercom in the walls.  “Security?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Are the three guests presentable yet?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Three bags full.”  Slate finished the rhyme.

 

 

                        BENEATH THE HIMALAYAN MASSIF

 

On the other side of the world, deep in an ultra-secure underground facility, factions of THRUSH and one member of the EWI came together to discuss recent events.

If any UNCLE operative worth his or her salt had seen this group of individuals, their hair might have stood on end.  Three members of the Supreme Council were in attendance.  The other two, making five THRUSH altogether, were the head of Operations Far East, and the Chief of Security for the entire Eastern Hemisphere.

  No one could have named or placed the sixth member who sat at the head of the table.  Not even the others who sat in descending order of importance from him, knew him, or could even have described him. A hood and deliberate tricks of lighting obscured his face.  It was this sixth member who spoke first.

“We have failed.  The fool we briefly controlled sent operatives to assassinate our intended asset.  Kuryakin remains alive.  The assassination attempt failed, and the group who was to hold him has lost control of the situation altogether.”

“But our preliminary reports have yet to come in,” protested the Chief of Security.

“Nevertheless,” the deep voice boomed, irritated, “It is as I have said.  This exercise has not been a total loss, however.  We have learned that Kuryakin has a child.  And that, my friends, will work in our favor.”     

“We’ll work up scenarios immediately.  How fast do you want us to move on this?” inquired the Head of Operations.

“I must confer with the other members of my group before taking any action on this matter.  I will get back to you as soon as possible.  Make no further threatening moves in the interim.  Oh and Gentlemen, and Madame, please do us the honor of staying as our guests for the time being.  We regret any inconvenience.   ”

The figure stood, turned and walked out the door.  The conference under the mountain was at an end.

If that august group of nasties could have read their departing visitor’s mind, they would have been less than eager to pursue the next logical course of action.

Furthermore, their “host” thought with some amusement, they had no choice but to stay.

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

 

 

            A SHORT CONVERSATION WITH MADELINE

 

 April Dancer, Mark Slate and Dr. Gottstein walked down the long corridor towards the main Security Holding Area.  As they walked, Slate looked at his former field partner’s profile, trying to gage her reaction to this entire affair.  He also tried a gentle probe to read her mood and intentions.  He was firmly rebuffed.  All right, Mark thought, words will have to suffice.

“April, can we pause here a few moments and talk about options?”

“What options are you referring to, Mark?” April did not stop, or even slow her progress down the hall.  “There aren’t many I’m willing to consider, really.  She will tell me, one way or the other, just what drugs were used.  And why this happened in the first place.  And why, in the first half-hour of his interment, was he so viciously disfigured.”

“Easy Luv, don’t go in there with guns blazing.”

“That’s funny Slate.  I thought that’s how this whole thing began.  No, I want answers and I want them now!”

“Hold up Dear.” Mark managed to reach out and take her arm, halting her furious progress. “Let me fill you in a bit about the people we’re going to see.”

Mark gave her a blow-by-blow account of the action in Section One.  He also gave his impressions of the foursome waiting in UNCLE’s gentler version of an interrogation room.

“So, you think I’d get a lot further a lot faster if I asked my questions of the other three?”

“Their names are Nikita,Walter, and Birkoff, April.” Mark said, trying to humanize them in her mind.  “They are not hostiles.  Please remember that.  Ah, excuse us Doctor for a moment, will you?”

“By all means.”  And Gottstein distanced himself.

“All right Mark.  Go ahead with whatever’s sizzling in that shrewd brain of yours.  I’ll try to calm down and be human.  I’m just so bloody angry!”

“I know Dear.  Hear me out.  Remember, I’m good at first impressions.  Here’s one of them.  The young woman, Nikita, has the “shine”.

Mark and April had decided to refer to their mental capabilities as “the shine” years ago, borrowing the term from “The Shining”, by Stephen King, a novel and movie they’d enjoyed immensely. 

April digested this in silence.  Mark continued.

“Both Nikita and Walter are sincere in their wish to leave Section One permanently.  As I said in my account a few minutes ago, Nikita blew away the two interrogators that made such a mess of our dear Mr. Kuryakin, and Walter all but decapitated the one they call Operations, who is the Big Cheese there.  I’d say they pretty much burned their bridges on the way out.  Further more, I’d say Alexander Waverly wouldn’t mind recruiting those two.  I’m willing to bet that between them, we can glean a great deal of useful information.  In my opinion, the ice-maiden, Madeline, will be a total waste of time as far as reliable info goes.  And lastly, we have no idea of the protocol agreed to by Waverly, in regards to Section personnel.”

“OK, ok, ok.  I get the picture.  And I’m calm now.  Well, calmer anyway.  Despite your recommendation, I do intend to question Madeline.  We’ll split them up for questioning as usual.  Want to take a crack at the girl, Mark?”

“One of my many specialties!” He grinned and bowed as she continued on her way to the Holding Room. 

 

It was April Dancer’s first real look at the four captives.  She paused outside the room and activated the live video.  First, with no sound, she studied the grouping and attitudes displayed.  Sitting at a small table in the corner was a very lovely dark haired woman, sipping a beverage out of a cup, otherwise very still, staring at the far wall.  Her demeanor suggested she thought herself apart from the world.  April suspected she would be most difficult to approach, as Mark had indicated, and was glad she’d taken this opportunity to observe without being seen.  Well, she knows she’s being observed of course, April thought.  I think I’ll adopt the same aloof attitude to begin with.  This woman is steel cloaked in velvet.  I must establish my authority quickly once inside. 

Next she turned her attention to the other three.  The young woman, Nikita, seemed a summer’s day compared to Madeline’s night.  Long blonde hair caught and reflected the bright overhead lights.  April had a good view of the face.  Also beautiful, but not the classic beauty of Madeline.  A most arresting face.  Perfect symmetry, the first requirement of true beauty, was present here.  April trusted her intuition, especially during first impressions, as Mark did.  She knew she’d find Nikita likeable.  But remember, she told herself, Mark’s debrief indicated a talent for deception.  She had rendered him helpless and run the end-game in the interrogation room of Section One most effectively.   

Next, she scrutinized the older man.  Here was a face she could read immediately.  Here was someone she’d trust given a quarter of a chance.  Seen only in profile, as he spoke to the young man seated close by, she couldn’t see the sparkle in his eyes, but she knew she’d see it there as soon as she spoke to him.  That’s Walter, she told herself, the guy who backed Nikita in her precipitous actions. 

The third person was a very young man.  Mark could supply little about this one.  He’d been a late comer to the party.  He looked to be somewhere between 18 and 21.  Twenty-two at the most, she mused.  The only thing they knew about him was that Nikita considered him a friend; someone to take out of Section at all costs.  OK, then, maybe a bit of sound would go well with the picture.  And she hit the button to activate it.

 “….told you, Birkoff, I don’t know what to expect.” Walter was saying.

“Is Operations dead?” a very soft-spoken inquiry.

“Nah, worse luck.  And ya know, I couldn’t bring myself to kill the bastard while I had the chance, either.”

“Jesus, Walter.  You really burned our bridges on your way out didn’t you.”

 April smiled.  It was the same phrase Mark had used just minutes ago.

“Hey, Sugar,” Walter turned to Nikita, “Help me convince this conservative, non-violent computer nerd that there wasn’t much else I could do would ya?  Nikita, Come on Sugar, cheer up, we’re out.  Hell, we may even have a future.”

April liked the warmth she heard in that voice. But, enough, she told herself, let’s join the wake.

She summoned security personnel to usher Nikita, Walter and Birkoff to separate cells.  Once they were present, she indicated to the team leader to open the door, and motioned the team in first, followed by Mark, and her last.

“Good Morning.” April said formally.

The only real response she got was from Walter, who grinned and returned the greeting.  Yes, the twinkle was there.  The other three at least looked her way.  Nikita looked directly into her eyes, with a tug at one side of her full mouth trying to suggest a small smile.  The huge expressive eyes looked worried.  Ah, yes, the other member of her team, her partner, if UNCLE’s information was correct, had been shot down yesterday.  She needs to be told his status.    April wished she’d mentioned this to Mark before stepping in.  Well, he’d think of it. 

Once she’d shook herself loose from that blue-eyed regard, April gave her attention to Madeline.  Midnight in her eyes too, April thought. 

“We will be isolating you, and asking for some information in a moment.  This will not be a long session.”  April motioned for the security force to take all but Madeline out.   Once this had been accomplished, she remained standing in the middle of the room.  Only herself, one guard posted by the egress, and Madeline occupied the cell now.   

“First things first, Madeline.  We need to know the general properties and the chemical composition of the injection given to Mr. Kuryakin.”

“I gave Mr. Slate the general description.  It is a nerve-induction enhancer.”

“There are other components as well.  Please enlighten me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”

“Chemistry is not my forte, Miss Dancer.  I am an advisor to the head of operations in my organization.”

“I don’t believe that one either.”  April noted the use of her name.  She made a mental note to find out if it had been disclosed by someone else, or if this woman was familiar with UNCLE’s personnel roster.  Either way, it made her uncomfortable, as she was sure it was intended to. 

“It is immaterial to me whether you believe me or not,” the soft, even voice of Madeline floated to her ears again.  “This state of affairs will change as soon as my organization learns of my presence here.”

Hold your temper, Dancer.  Give nothing. 

“This preliminary interview is at an end.  We’ll chat again.”  April turned smoothly and walked out the door.  So much for an aloof attitude, she thought with much chagrin.

Alone for a brief time in the corridor, she gave vent to her frustration.

 

“Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate has requested your presence in Admissions and Security’s Disarmament room,” a fresh-faced messenger said breathlessly, having run the entire length between two opposite ends of the floor.  “He says it’s something you’ll want to hear immediately.”

“Alright Mark, make my day.”

“I will, Luv.  See this?”  He held up a vile of yellow liquid.  “Our guest Nikita, brought a sample of the drug they used!  And this,” he held up a small disk, “contains the visuals on the assassination attempt and kidnapping, with all audio frequencies employed before, during and after.  She brought that too.”

“Well, she’s certainly earned her porridge.  Where is she, Mark?”

“The clever girl requested permission to see Illya for a few minutes.  Now April, don’t give me that look.  She’s disarmed completely.  And if there’s anything I’m sure of this morning, it’s that she intends him no harm whatsoever.”

“You always were a tender fool Mark.”

“Ouch.”

“Never mind.  I’m “sure” you’re right this time.  Would you please go down to Medical anyway, and collected her after her few minutes are up.  I’m going to take the sample to Mr. Valmont in the Lab, and see what comes up.  Then please Mark, tuck her in her cell and get some rest.”

Illya Kuryakin lay in the specially fitted hospital bed in a private room in U.N.C.L.E.’s medical ward.  His pale face partially obscured by the bandages covering the wounds, he looked vulnerable and alone.  Nikita slipped in quietly, and stood at his bedside.  She took the cold hand lying atop the blanket and stroked it gently.  Again the powerful sensations passed through her as they had in the bloody interrogation room.  This time she didn’t jump at all, just took a deep breath and calmed herself.  Within moments, the torrent subsided. What remained was a fierce desire to protect him from any further harm.  She was surprised at the depth of this feeling for one she didn’t even know.

“I’m sorry, I wish I’d been quicker.” She spoke in a quiet whisper that would have sent delicious chills up the listener’s spine if he had been conscious.

She looked down at the hand she held gently in her own, observing its long elegant fingers.  A large, expressive hand.  A strong, supple hand; a poet’s hand, or a musician’s, she thought. And looked at the face lying on the pillow.   The damage caused by hastily removing the probes would heal eventually.  He’d probably have bruises for a long time, since so many blood vessels were disrupted.  She remembered seeing him on the sidewalk outside the bank.  She wondered how successful he’d been as a field agent, with a face that would certainly stand out in a crowd.  He must have had trouble blending in.  Strong, determined jaw and sensuous lips; I love the space between the ear and the beginning of the jaw, she mused.  Stop Nikita, stop please.  But still she leaned down to kiss the uninjured spot. 

Illya stirred, moaned and squeezed her hand slightly. 

“Stop them.”  Barely a whisper.  If she hadn’t been bending over him, she’d not

have heard.  “Stop them, oh God please no.”  More agitated, stronger.  Then something in a language she didn’t recognize at all.  Not Russian, no, she spoke that passably well.  “Nikita, help me.”  She straightened up quickly, sure of what she’d heard and checked his monitors.  They showed him still in deep sleep, or was it sedation?

The door to the room opened, and the doctor who’d admitted her stepped in.  

“Was that him speaking?” he asked sotto voice.

“Yes.” She replied simply.

“Anything coherent?”

“Not really.” She lied.  “Sounded like a bad dream to me.”

The doctor checked the monitors, as she had.  “That’s not possible at this level.  Excuse me, but you’ll have to leave now.  I need to make a thorough check.”

“Of course.”  Nikita started away.  Illya held her hand a little tighter and repeated:

“Help me.  They mustn’t touch her.”

Suddenly Nikita knew exactly what it was he needed help with and who mustn’t be touched.  She paled noticeably as images flew through her mind.  He means his daughter, she thought, and a kind of sick fear suffused her.  And I know from which quarter the danger will come.  No doctor was going to boot her out of here until she reassured him (somehow) that she’d understood.  Said doctor was making disapproving noises, and threatening gestures.  She ignored him. 

“Illya.” The name rolled off her tongue, tasting sweet.  “Illya, I will.  Don’t worry.  Please don’t worry.”  Dear God, what an effect this man had on her!  The desire to hold and comfort was nearly unbearable.  Who are you?

The hand relaxed, and she placed it back on the coverlet gently.

“Now please leave, Miss, or I will call security.”

“No need.  Thank you for letting me see him.”

She walked out to find Mark Slate sitting, head lowered, clasped hands tightening and relaxing rhythmically. 

“I need to speak to someone with the authority to take immediate action.”  Nikita spoke as if there were no choice in the matter.  Despite himself, Mark admired the steel in that voice.  He didn’t, as a rule, go for strong women, but he’d make an exception in this case.  Even if she’d bested him physically and taken his weapon, he’d still love to get to the bottom of this one.  Dear Lord, he chided himself, Slate, get your mind out of that mode. 

With urgency, but in a different tone of voice she said, “I need to speak with Alexander Waverly, Mark.  It needs to be now, tonight.”

Mark wondered briefly how she got that name.  Then realized she’d probably know a lot about their organization’s structure from files and briefings at Section One. 

“Well now, I suggest you start with Miss Dancer.  Whatever urgent request or information you wish to impart or receive, should go through her.”

“It needs to be Mr. Waverly.”  Nikita repeated stubbornly.

“Come along, then.”  Mark said wearily.  “I guess this night is going to get longer yet.”

 

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

 

A dubious April Dancer watched as Mark put through the call to Waverly.  It was approaching four a.m., but somehow she knew he’d still be there.  From time immemorial, he had been there when most needed.  Why she’d allowed this call, she didn’t know.  This had better be good.

The link went through.  Nikita was introduced to Waverly.  She plunged in.

“Sir, there is a threat that must be dealt with right away.  Is this link secure?”

“Young woman,” came the gruff reply, “you have no right to declare a threat or question out security at this point.”

Undaunted, Nikita continued almost as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Mr. Kuryakin’s daughter may be in grave danger, Sir.  He certainly seems to think so.  And since he cannot come and speak for himself, he asked me to take the problem directly to you.”

Silence on the New York end.  Slate and Dancer stared at Nikita as if at a new species.  “Shine” she might, but to speak this way to their superior was absolutely unheard-of.  Even Napoleon Solo at his most brazen had never spoken thus to him.  The next few words shocked them even more.

“Ah, I see.  Yes.  Miss Dancer?

“Sir.”

“Who else is in the room with you at this time?”

“Mr. Slate, Sir.”

 “Excellent.  Tell the young lady that action will be taken immediately.”  And he closed the link without the customary formalities, only to reopen a few seconds later.

“Miss Dancer, can Mr. Kuryakin be moved to this headquarters within the next 24 to 48 hours?”

“I’ll have to ask his physicians, Sir.”

“Inquire, Miss Dancer, I will hold.”  Another unprecedented breach of protocol, April thought.   She called Med Lab, made the inquiry, and heard the doctor give a fifty-fifty chance of safe movement, the odds improving, if a delay of 48 hours would be satisfactory.  She relayed this to Waverly.

“Arrange it, Miss Dancer.  I want both you and Mr. Slate to come as well, and soon.  It’s time to put all the eggs in one basket, as it were.” A pause.  “Bring the young lady I just spoke with, with you.”

“Sir, I…”

“I’m sorry Miss Dancer, Mr. Slate, but consider this a Code Five directive.  Waverly out.”

Stunned silence reigned for a few minutes, as April and Mark considered the implications of Code Five. 

Mark turned to Nikita.

“You know, you’ll really have to provide Mr. Waverly with a last name.  Otherwise he’ll address you as “young lady” for the span of your acquaintance.”

As a reward, Nikita gave him his first smile.

April sighed.  “I have a lot to do.”

 

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

 

BENEATH THE HIMALAYAN MASSIF

 

“They are moving,” the woman said tonelessly, eyes closed.  “The body-guard, and the girl are in motion.  They are vulnerable.”

“What is their location?”

“Two miles from the home, heading southwest.  No one is following or preceding them.  They are alone and vulnerable.”

“Excellent.”