| Subject: Chapter Four |
Author:
grit kitty
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Date Posted: 19:01:09 03/12/01 Mon
In reply to:
grit kitty
's message, "Learning Birkoff" on 18:56:34 03/12/01 Mon
~~~
FOUR
A week later, Nikita called Jason to her glass box.
She leaned against the railing, her back to the glass panes. Jason felt exposed, as if all of Section One stared at him along with Nikita.
“Jason. I was worried about you.”
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and bore her examination of him. This time, he guessed she wasn’t looking for traces of his brother in him, but for the obvious signs of stress, neglect, incompetence. He’d seen his reflection in the bathroom mirror this morning. Hair, with a mind of its own. Stubble. Dark circles. Wrinkled clothes.
“I, uh, I think I’m comin’ down with somethin’. A cold, maybe.”
“Oh, it’s not a cold, Jason.” Nikita drew in a noisy breath. “I’ve had the Psych department observe you.”
His spine stiffened. This was bad.
“I’m just, just in a slump. That’s all.”
“Do you know what today is?”
His eyes darted one way and then the other, thinking hard, but finding no answer. Glib had abandoned him days ago. He stuck with simplicity. “No.”
“This is the anniversary of your brother’s death.” Nikita’s hands found and worried each other. She spoke soberly. “Rather than allow everyone in Section die, he sacrificed himself. It was a painful death, but quick. He’s resting in a grave under your name.”
Jason’s mouth fell open, a soft ‘oh’, nothing more.
“Your performance in the past few weeks has slipped. Your numbers are down, you make obvious mistakes. I’ve had to assign Quinn to check everything you do.”
“I’m sorry. I, I…”
Nikita smiled sadly. “I told you, I was worried about you. Was. Now, I think with the right help, you’re going to be all right.”
He blinked. He knew confusion was plastered all over his face, there for the world to see.
“I thought you’d never mourn for Birkoff.”
That strange, bitter pressure in his gut moved, made him nauseated, gagged him.
Nikita pushed off from the railing and approached him, her hand out. She gripped his upper arm with firm pressure. “It’s time you got to know him.”
~~~
Nikita personally escorted Jason to a small, white room. A simple metal table and chair stood, utilitarian and stark in the middle. A boxy machine and a stack of discs sat on the table, wires trailing off the edge.
“I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed. Take as long as you’d like. Just close the door when you’re done,” said Nikita, her voice neutral.
Jason watched her leave the room, walking though the doorway and quietly closing the door behind her, leaving him standing mid-way between the wall and the table, lost.
He could imagine what waited for him. The machine was a simple projector, the discs filled with complex images and audio information. Jason resisted an urge to batter the equipment and miserly pile of plastic circles away and instead forced himself to walk to the chair, pull it out, and sit down. He looked at the discs. None had labels. He spread them out, mixing them up with swipes of his hands, and then counted them. One, two, three…
My brother’s life has been summed up in thirteen discs.
One.
Light projected onto the curved, white wall, flickered and slowly resolved. White on white, a vague form of browns and grays loaded and loaded and became a sharp image of Birkoff, bare-faced, sitting in a steel chair, not like the casual, utilitarian seat Jason sat on, but a chair with wires and restraints.
Audio feed invaded the room with quiet clarity: the disembodied voice of Paul Wolfe, Operations, called out hard questions and Birkoff answered, sounding like they stood next to him.
“She said she heard them mention Kiev. I had to delay the mission to check it out.”
“And?”
“It was false, not even close.” His feet paddled up and down, but he remained calm, pale.
“Do you think she deliberately misled you?”
“Well, she was dazed, in pain. Who knows what she…?”
“Birkoff! Do you think she deliberately misled you?”
His chin came up. “I don’t have an opinion that.”
A loud buzzer jumped both brothers. Jason watched Birkoff’s expression fall, defeated.
“Yes, I think she did.”
A woman walked into the frame and began stripping the wires from him.
“You did the right thing, Birkoff,” said Operations.
Birkoff’s head came up from studying the floor. He stared to a point over Jason’s right shoulder, his face stony and his eyes broadcasting both resentment and self-disgust.
“Yes,” he said. “Sir.”
Two.
Projected, dark light. Comm. Birkoff sat at his station, calmly issuing directions for a mission. He wore rectangular, amber-tinted glasses.
“Go deeper. I’ll coordinate with other units.”
A flattened voice talked back to him. “A description would be nice.”
“Still no update. A male, under twenty is all we know.”
“Could it be a child?”
“It’s possible.”
More Comm babble. Details of the mission, getting the job done; at last, confirmation on the target came through
“Are you sure this is the one? He doesn’t look eighteen to me.” The speaker crackled.
“That’s got to be him. Kill him.” Birkoff looked unflinchingly into the upper monitor. His expression never changed. “Do it. Kill him.”
Jason shivered, and hit stop quickly.
Five.
Comm, different angle. Jason could see Birkoff clearly; he looked like a teenager. No glasses, faced marred with a spot of acne. Behind his right shoulder, he could just see Michael and Operations. Birkoff spoke to someone out of the camera’s range, a low purr Jason identified as Nikita.
“Didn’t you just go shopping?”
Nikita’s voice, faint. “Couldn’t find anything.”
“Uh-oh! She’s hot for the guy!” Birkoff teased her easily.
“Up yours, Birkoff!”
Birkoff grinned, a mega-watt smile. Jason felt his face respond helplessly, grinning right back at the wall.
“Anytime, babe, my number’s in the book!”
Nine.
Comm, the back corner, a different configuration than Jason has ever seen; the old Paris facility again. Birkoff sat, working as always, glasses reflecting light from the monitor. A tall, blonde woman approached him.
“I'd like you to give Walter a message for me.”
Birkoff glanced around, then shrugged. “Give it to him yourself when you get back.”
The woman looked down at him. “You know I'm not coming back.”
Birkoff looked down, bit his lip. The woman demanded his attention with a gesture.
“Tell him he's the best man I've ever known,” she said intently. “Tell him I love him...and it’s not such a bad thing to die on the happiest day of your life. Will you tell him that for me?”
Birkoff stared at her a moment, mouth open. He swallowed, and softly said, “Sure.”
“Thanks.” The woman seemed satisfied, and walked away.
Eleven.
Comm. Always Comm, thought Jason. Different clothes, different glasses or hair, but always Comm. This time, the camera angle was low and wide, the picture not quite so clear. He saw people move about, tried to pick out his brother.
Birkoff entered the projection from the right, striding right through the middle of the image, his movements crackling with energy, his brow furrowed, continuing until he disappeared on the left side. Jason’s mouth opened, stunned. He’d seen the exact energetic swing and determined expression…in the mirrored doors of the elevator at the job of his old life. Jason remembered how it’d felt, to be energized, nearly jogging to the elevator in anticipation of a tight negotiation, the feral joy of a boardroom battle about to play...
Birkoff’s image reappeared, a tape in hand and accosted a young, dark-haired man sitting in Comm.
“Nice try!” snapped Birkoff.
“What?” said the young man, looking confused and innocent. “Are you talking to me?”
“You’re the one who tried to kill me.” Birkoff loaded the tape as he spoke.
“What are you talking about?” Jason’s gut yelled liar!
“What am I talking about?” echoed Birkoff mockingly.
He pushed the tape home with a decisive move and then leaned down, invading the other’s personal space. “It’s called ‘black track’. It shows what you tried to do.”
Birkoff stalked away and pointed to an overhead monitor as information began dumping in a long scroll of code lines.
“Right here, you cut the surveillance loop and gave away my position.” He pointed to another display. His voice was righteously angry. “You knock out my monitor, then you send me out to get killed!”
The dark-haired man stood up. Birkoff moved forward aggressively and stood nearly nose-to-nose with his adversary. Jason found himself leaning forward in his chair.
“You didn’t know we could do that, did you, resident genius!”
Birkoff’s fixating stare shifted focus, and Operations’ profile invaded the frame.
“He’s the one who screwed up in Bucharest.” Birkoff’s voice was stone. “I covered for him.”
Jason felt his lips pull tight in satisfaction.
~~~~
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