| Subject: In the Shadow of Simone 2 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 15:10:21 12/18/01 Tue
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "In the Shadow of Simone - Sequel to Redemption" on 23:28:26 12/17/01 Mon
The cabin showed no sign of the carnage that had happened around it only a week before. Nikita peeked inside the window to assure herself it was deserted, then expertly picked the lock and let herself inside.
Though not large, the cabin seemed comfortable enough. There were a total of three rooms--the living area, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The living area had a tiny kitchen that Nikita was relieved to find was stocked with some food. Whichever Aryan Brother owned the cabin was most likely dead and his family was too busy grieving to worry about a piece of mountain property--at least for a while, Nikita hoped.
Nikita dumped her backpack inside the door and set about making her new home livable. By that evening, snow had begun to fall and Nikita stood shivering at the bedroom window to watch it. The only source of heat was the fireplace, but Nikita was afraid someone might see or smell the smoke and investigate. She’d been cold before many times on the street, at least here, she had a roof over her head.
“It’s not a bad little cabin,” she said, talking to her unborn child. “It’s got food, and water from a well, even electricity--if I get brave enough to start up the generator. It has everything, except your father.” She sighed, wondering how Michael was doing. Was he alive? Dead?
She watched the feathery snow as it sifted down through the trees. It was both beautiful and lonely. Nikita felt as if she were the only living thing remaining on the planet.
“Tomorrow, we buy us a radio,” she said, rubbing her hand over her still flat belly. “And we look for a job.”
* * *
“What’s she doing?” Michael asked over Walter’s shoulder.
“Wait--I’ll freeze that and enhance.” Walter squinted at the screen in concentration.
“Well?”
Walter looked over at Michael out of the corner of his eye and frowned. Michael seemed worried. He hadn’t stopped pacing for the past hour. Realizing he hadn’t responded yet, Walter muttered, “Hang onto your shorts a sec. It’s one of the yellow pages in the phone book.”
“Can you get a shot of the page?”
“Maybe. . .if you’d give me some time . . .” Walter’s voice had an edge to it.
“Just do it!” Michael snapped.
“Look Michael,” Walter said grimly, “First of all, I don’t like spying on Nikita. Can you at least tell me what you’re looking for? Where it concerns Nikita, you know you can trust me.”
Michael looked pained and rubbed the bridge of his nose in agitation. “She went on a two-week vacation, but she didn’t report to Section where she was going.
It looks bad, when you fail to report those kinds of things.”
“And you think, she’s split the scene?” Walter asked point blank.
Michael didn’t answer, although his silence spoke volumes.
“Oh, geez--” Walter said, with great concern. “Why would she? Why now? She aced this last assignment--hell, even Operations is bragging on her!”
“Just find her, Walter. I have no answers for your questions.”
“After I find her, then what? You cancel her?” Walter asked angrily.
“No. I bring her back. Alive.” Michael’s voice was as soft and wistful as his expression. Walter nodded, realizing that Michael was telling him the truth.
“All right. This is as good as it gets.” The photograph was fuzzy from being enlarged. “I suggest we go to her house, get her yellow pages and compare it with the picture on the screen. Who knows, maybe she wrote something down, dog-eared a page, or tore one out.”
“Make a hard copy and let’s go.” Michael was already out the door, before Walter could move.
The yellow page that Nikita had been looking at had been a listing for travel agencies. It took time, but Michael systematically checked each company cited on that page. After five unsuccessful visits, he found the one that recalled seeing Nikita.
“And you’re sure this is the woman you saw?” Michael asked the man behind the desk as he held up Nikita’s photo.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure. She’s drop dead gorgeous, isn’t she?” The young man said, with a wide smile.
Michael pulled out his fake FBI identification. “She’s also wanted for bank robbery.”
The smile slid off the man’s face, “Bank robbery? Her?”
“Yes. Can you tell me where she was traveling to?”
“Ah, well, I think so. I-I’ll have to check my records. . . “
”Did she pay with cash?”
“Well, yeah. Now that you mention it--I thought it was odd. Most people pay by credit card. Do you mean, she paid us with stolen money?”
“It’s possible.”
“It’s already been deposited in our accounts.”
“Don’t worry about it. If the information you provide us leads to an arrest, you will be eligible for a reward offered by the bank.”
“Really? How much?” The man’s silly grin was back.
Michael could see dollar signs in the man’s eyes, and it irritated him. “It all depends on her arrest and if the money is recovered or not. You’ll be contacted as soon as we find her.”
“Great! Well, I’ll be back in a few minutes!”
* * *
“She’s in Colorado.” Michael said into his cell phone, on his way to the airport.
“Good. Contact me when you find her.” Madeline answered.
“Of course.” Michael said before clicking off the phone.
* * *
Nikita crawled back into bed after her third trip to the bathroom that morning. Whether she had morning sickness or the flu she didn’t know--either way, she was miserable. She tried to get back to sleep, but was so cold, and achy, she couldn’t rest. Finally, after watching the blowing snow from the bedroom window for several hours, Nikita concluded that no one in their right mind would be out in such a storm and it should be safe to build a fire. She dressed quickly, and ventured outside to get some firewood.
Michael landed the small jet on an isolated mountain airstrip frequented by NSA and FBI pilots in their pursuit of drug smugglers and terrorists. A four by four truck sat near the runway with his gear already inside.
“Looks like you got here just in time,” commented his local contact, “we just shut down the runway. Too much snow coming down to keep the runway clear. If you need a quick exit, you’re going to be limited to ground transport, probably for the next 36 to 48 hours. We’ve got a strong cold front stalled out over the mountains and up slope conditions. Gonna get a lot of white stuff out of this one.”
Michael nodded, and took the keys of the vehicle from the man’s outstretched hand.
* * *
“Okay---that’s got it.” Nikita muttered to herself, her breath still condensing into clouds of white mist as she spoke. Flames licked tentatively at the dry wood, crackling, and smoking just before suddenly roaring upwards, filling the room with heat and light.
For a long while Nikita sat in her coat and boots, in front of the warmth of her fire. She was tired and still feverish, but the fire was such a comfort, she debated on whether to return to bed, or sleep on the floor in front of it.
“What do you think?” Nikita said, her eyes heavy with sleep, as she absently rubbed her belly. “You warm enough in there?” She yawned, then made her decision. Taking off her boots and jacket, Nikita retreated to the bedroom to strip the bed of its sheets, blankets and pillows. The fire would need stoking during the night, she thought; might as well be close enough to do it quickly and lose less sleep.
* * *
The snow continued falling all night, with the wind blowing it into drifts several feet high. Having left his vehicle stalled a mile back, Michael’s chest felt on fire; his broken ribs, only taped, ached with the cold, but he kept walking. He was playing a hunch, the only one he had. If Nikita wasn’t where he thought, he had no other leads, or hope for any, without Section’s “help”. But he had no intention of having Section help him find a corpse, because if he couldn’t find Nikita on his own, within the next few days, they were both as good as dead.
He spotted the cabin and took out his night vision binoculars and searched the area. There was no sign of occupancy, no lights, but he could smell wood burning and it was nearby. He tried to see if there was any smoke coming out of the chimney, but the snow was falling so heavily he couldn’t see any.
Michael approached the cabin with care. If Nikita was there, it was no assurance she wouldn’t kill him on sight. If she wasn’t, well the cabin had recently witnessed a firefight in which its owner was killed. Whoever was in the cabin might not be exactly friendly towards strangers.
Wincing at the stress to his broken ribs by the simple act of chambering a round, Michael moved carefully through the trees towards the side of the cabin that had no windows. His fingers and toes burned with the cold and he shouldered his way against the wind as it whipped around the corner of the cabin.
There were two entrances to the small house. Michael tried the rear exit first, with no success. It seemed to be bolted from the inside. He moved stealthily around the cabin until he got to the front porch and door. The door had a regular locking doorknob; Michael tried to turn it, but found it locked as well.
Quickly disabling the lock and tightening his grip on his gun, Michael carefully inched the door open. An instant later, he saw something catch the light as it fell, and instinctively grabbed for it. He caught the glass an inch before it impacted with the floor. It was Nikita’s homemade burglar alarm--a glass she’d balanced on the doorknob. But the save caused him to land chest first on the floor, and although he made only a slight thud on the heavy carpet, an incredible pain exploded through him, knocking the breath from his lungs.
While he was still struggling to catch his breath, Michael opened his eyes into the beam of a flashlight. He put up his hand to block the light and saw Nikita standing over him in the glare, with one shaking hand holding the light, the other holding a gun.
Nikita stared down into Michael’s face, half in terror, half in despair. She hadn’t been gone five days, and already Section had tracked her down. She kept the gun on him, as she inched her way towards the door to see if Michael was alone or not.
He made no attempt to move, or speak. Instead he lowered his arm, then his head to the floor.
Waving him away from the door with the gun she still held in front of her. Nikita pushed it closed as Michael weakly shoved himself away from it.
"Your weapon! Drop it!" Nikita shouted.
Michael's gloved hand, placed it on safety, laid it carefully on the floor and tried to push it to her. The carpet kept it from moving very far.
Nikita reached down and swiftly knocked it out of Michael’s reach.
“Get up!” She stepped away from him to allow him plenty of room.
Michael tried to lift his head, and failed. His ears began to ring and he managed only to roll his head to one side.
“Are you . . . all right?” He asked, his voice a bare whisper. His eyes slid shut and he made no other sound.
“I’m not buying it Michael, so you can give it up. I said get up!”
He didn’t move.
“Damn it, Michael! I mean it! Stop playing games with me! Get! Up!”
Still, he didn’t move.
Nikita stood in the darkness of the cabin, for nearly ten minutes, unsure whether to trust Michael being conscious or not. Finally, she touched him with one hand. When he didn’t react, she felt for a pulse. It was weak and thready and she put down the gun.
“Michael?” She carefully searched him for wounds, and found the heavy tape wrapped around his chest and waist.
“Damn it, Michael! Please!” Nikita stood up and paced into the kitchen, then back again. Section knew where she was--she had to leave! But Michael! She started to cry in frustration. She had to leave, but had nowhere to go. She had to leave, but couldn’t in the storm--and even if she could, she couldn’t leave Michael like this!
Nikita went into the bathroom and snatched some tissue off the roll to blow her nose.
“Damn you!” She said aloud, addressing anyone who might be able to hear. She returned to the living room and carefully dragged Michael closer to the fire.
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