Chapter 3: Fading light

The door had been replaced, Michael noticed, but his practiced eye could make out where the hinges had sheared off from the sheer force of the blow it had taken. It had flown into the apartment with a force usually associated with SWAT teams and battering rams, but he knew the truth: it was a type-two cyborg. The impact still showed in the cracked and splintered wood the latch’s striker-plate had been attached to, and from the marks, it looked to be from someone about five-foot-two, just a tad bit short for most police agencies. 
Inspector Peters stepped past Michael to the living room, looking around the room and visualizing the bodies where he had witnessed them before.
“There was a man and a woman here, guns in hand. Forensics says they were the first to die, both from two-round bursts from a forty-five caliber sub-machine gun. They provided cover for the person behind them, your lady-friend Emily Lanstrom.” He walked to the doorway and pointed at some freshly-spackled spots. “She fired six times from her nine-mil, striking with two rounds about chest-level, the others going wide and up, likely as she fell backwards from her own wounds from the forty-five. “
Michael could see it in his mind. The pictures had been left out, but the drawings made things clear enough. Rick and Katherine had reacted instantly to the threat, but their backs had been to the door, preventing them from doing more than draw their guns. Emily had been talking to them, and in the scant two seconds of action thus far, had drawn down and fired, wounding one of the attackers before she had been hit.
“The ones over here had it a little better. With the narrow hallway, they were out of sight long enough to set up and start a return fire as the others came through the door. Another attacker was hit, we’re not sure by whom, and went down in the hall outside. The attackers didn’t stop, though, and it was only a few more seconds before everyone in the apartment was killed. It was fast, Michael. The neighbors said the whole thing from the door to the silence afterwards was about ten seconds. No one saw anything, as they were all too scared to move. We tracked blood down the stairs to the back alley, but there was a fairly common car waiting for them, and we found it at the airport, scrubbed clean. Not even a hair to go by.”
“Yeah... I’d have expected that much.”
Michael wandered around the room, gazing over his few belongings that he had shared with Emily. Their picture together was on the mantle above the small fireplace, and this he put in his backpack after a long, lonesome glance. “I need to get a few things, the rest the landlord can sell to pay for the cleanup.”
He stepped into the bedroom, the contents tossed from the police investigation, and collected his other pictures from the desk. The one of Tanya, smiling in that warm way she did only for him, and so much more after they made love. The two he had kept of Jamie, one from their time on the range, and the one in her dress while playing her guitar, the things that had meant so much to her. 
There really wasn’t much else of personal value to be salvaged. Nothing else really mattered to him as much as the photos, because the one thing he could not replace was their faces in his mind, something that faded a bit at a time when the living left the dead in that point of time, the one that no one could ever go back to no matter how much they wished. That’s what photographs are for, really. The life and memory of a person preserved for as long as the photo remained and the people who shared that life lived. Such things, Michael had learned, were priceless and impossible to get back once lost.
It only took a few minutes, as sad as it seemed, and after packing away the last of the items Michael stepped to the corner and placed his hand on the surface about shoulder height. Stretching his fingers wide apart, he measured off seven lengths and made a mark with a marker. The nightstand lamp made a handy hammer, knocking a large hole in the wall at the mark, from which he pulled two large zip-lock bags. One contained numerous papers and documents that comprised his and Emily’s identities, the other a large sum of American Dollars and a key ring with several keys.
“This should be enough.” 
Inspector Peters had watched on in silence, slowly gaining the understanding that his friend was leaving, disappearing into the anonymity that could serve a person such as his friend so well.
“Where will you go? What will you do?”
Michael smiled softly as he shouldered his pack, feeling more comfortable now that he was starting on his way once again. A man like him could only find real safety while on the move and unpredictable. 
“Two people got out of this apartment alive. One will be almost impossible to trace. The other is a creature of habits if you know where to look. I’ll start there and see where it takes me. Once I have the help I need, I’m going to wage terrible war on the ones who did this.”
“You’ve been remarkably cool about this entire thing. I realized that you knew who it was, but your tone suggests that what you are proposing is going to lead to your end.”
“There is no end, really. My fight is going to destroy me, but I’ll have the knowledge that those I fight will no longer be in the safety of the shadows.” Michael stopped in the doorway, gazing one last time at the room where he had found love once again. “Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve faced this Fate. Maybe this time she’ll get it right and finally kill me.”
The light switched off, setting another part of his life that he hated to lose into darkness.

Michael had not been to Saint Petersburg since the third month of his time with the CIA NOCs, several years after the fall of the Soviet empire. Tanya had led him around the usual tourist spots, looking entirely natural and at home in the place from which her parents had managed to escape so many years before. She had been beautiful then, he now realized, and the desire to have her walking beside him at that moment put an enormous weight on his heart. 
The morning wore on and he found himself sitting by the pool of the Tauride Garden, watching the happy couples enjoy the warm sunshine and pleasant breeze as they walked the paths. It was a distraction, as was all that he was planning on doing most of the day, but the only place he could find Sof’ya Grishenko opened only very late at night, and for only the most disreputable persons. Michael could only hope his name would carry some weight. 
The time finally rolled around, just after midnight, and Michael tossed a sandwich wrapper in an alley trash dumpster before stepping to the plain door in the brick wall, one that lacked an outside handle and had a little window slot to be looked at from behind. Three sharp knocks got a doorman there, after a time, and two eyes peered through the slit at the business-suited Michael Christiansen.
“What do you want?”
In spite of his Russian being a touch rusty, something his morning of practice had cleaned up to an extent, Michael spoke his with a German accent, the better to keep a cover he knew well enough.
“Business. There’s someone here I need to speak with regarding services they render.”
The eyes glanced over him, certainly thinking he was police, if there were still any brave or stupid enough to show their faces there. “Wrong door.”
“The spring in Murmansk is not nearly as pleasant as here, is it Sergeant Iosef Novikov, deserter from Afghanistan in nineteen-eighty-four, spent the rest of your life so far hiding out as Dmitri Popov, a farmer’s orphan from the Ukraine. I know about you, Novikov, because I know a lot about this place and it’s people, and especially it’s secrets. Secrets I promised your boss to keep quiet about the last time I was here on business. Should I assume the ‘understanding’ I shared with him is no longer to our mutual benefit?”
The eyes had flinched at the mention of the information. Michael’s info was from the CIA files that he and Tanya had scoured when they were here before, needing to gain entrance and access to contacts, and striking a bit of a devious deal with the owner. There were times Michael cursed his incredible memory for detail, but times like this made him glad he wasn’t ordinary.
“I need to confirm this.”
The shutter closed and Michael waited while the thug certainly was calling his boss, describing a man with German accented Russian and a penchant for being too obvious. The wait was only two minutes, then the door opened and the man waved Michael inside.
“The boss would like to speak with you.”
“I’m flattered.”
Another guard met them at the end of the hall and escorted Michael through the stairways to a room overlooking the barroom below, the best place to watch the action in one’s domain. A third guard stepped forward to pat Michael down, but he waved him off, slowly removing his weapon from his shoulder holster and handing it grip-first to the man. Michael was then shown into a lavishly decorated office, complete with a rather seductively dressed “personal assistant”, trimmings for the business-savvy man behind the heavy oak desk.
“Michael Christiansen... Or should I call you by the name you went by before, a Hans Wagner, was it?”
“Names are like clothes to people in my business, Mikhail. We wear them for a day and then discard them when they’re dirty or worn out.” He stepped forward and offered his hand, which the large Russian hesitantly shook, unsure of just what this man was being so friendly about.
“I remember your visit with Tatyana well, Michael. It is so rare to find someone with the audacity to stand up to me, especially when working from a position of weakness. I can honestly say that I respected her from the moment she walked in my door.”  His eyes showed a trace of what Michael had always found in those Tanya “dealt” with. Respect and a bit of attraction to her, her feminine wiles more effective than any weapon of war. “Tell me, how is she?”
“She’s dead.”
It was a surprise to Michael’s host. It wasn’t often that information like that did not reach his ears. “I’m sorry. It’s strange that I had not heard of her passing, but you have my sympathies.”
“Thank you. The circumstances were not exactly publicized in the papers, being that it was the CIA that arranged it, but the circumstances were fairly complicated. Needless to say, I avenged her death.”
A moment’s silence lapsed while Mikhail Lebedev pursed his memory for the event. “Ah! The unfortunate ‘accident’ of Deputy-Director Rathbone. I must say that was well done, friend, and never was there a more deserving man.”
“He turned her over to a butcher to be slaughtered, it’s not something I could let go so easily.”
“A man who will dispose of his subordinates with no regrets is a man better suited to plowing fields and raising cattle.”
Michael hoisted the glass of water the secretary had poured in salute. “I agree entirely.” A sip of cold water calmed the nerves that he just realized were screaming for caution in the face of someone who used information as weapons. “I felt nothing as I watched him burn, Mikhail. In spite of it being revenge, I felt nothing.”
Lebedev watched Michael’s eyes, seeing the truth in them that reflected his words. A man such as Michael Christiansen had emotions and the anger such a man could unleash was incredible to behold. A man with emotions and the skill to use them... One did not live to regret crossing someone like that.
“So... What brings you to my establishment? Are you looking for some hardware again? If so, I have a fresh stock of untagged SEMTEX, courtesy of a friendly wholesaler.”
Interesting bit of information, and if Michael was still searching for the bombers that had nearly killed Jamie and himself two years earlier, he might be interested.
“Not hardware... for now, at least. I need to speak with Sof’ya Grishenko.”
“Sonya?” Surprise was evident on the mobster’s face. “I haven’t seen her in quite some time. Looking for her is a risk I’ve never been willing to take. I’m sure you can understand, given your history with her.”
“I don’t have a choice in picking my dangers. I need her help.” Mikhail was a skilled liar, but he had his tells. His hands had stopped moving at the mention of her name, convincing Michael that she had been there to see him recently. 
“She tried to kill you last time you met here.”
“We had a disagreement over the price.”
“A disagreement that cost me considerably when I had to replace the mirror behind the bar. Do you know how few century-old bar mirrors there are left in Russia?”
Michael smiled, knowing that it was a story seldom told, and only between close associates. Why would a businessman tell a story about the CIA tearing up his bar, especially when it was so far-fetched. “You seemed to have recovered well enough after the unpleasantness of that evening.”
“No thanks to you and your lady friend. And to Sonya.”
“Sonya is certainly someone who is better to be friends with. We’ve come to an agreement since then, Mikhail, and I don’t think there will be any trouble this time when you tell me where she is.”
The host’s eyes narrowed slightly as Michael called his bluff. She was there, and he was protecting her.
“She’s in danger. We both are. I can’t stress that enough.”
The man thought about it for several long moments, feeling out Michael’s body language for the deception that experience told him must be there. Michael Christiansen was being direct and seemingly open about his motives, something he instinctively questioned but knew enough to believe was possible. Were it someone from the FSB or Mossad, or even MI-5, he would not have listened with a sympathetic ear, but with Americans it was different. They could be entirely genuine people at the strangest and most dramatic moments, and this was what he felt from Christiansen. 
“She’s hiding out in a room downstairs. Iosef will show you the way.” He stood to shake Michael’s hand again. “Please take care of her, Michael. She’s the only family I have left.”
“Family?”
The man smiled softly at some memory long passed before sitting back down and turning to look out the window at the city. He did not have to elaborate, nor did he want to. He had shown enough weakness this day.
“Thank you, Mikhail. I’ll repay the favor some time.”
There was a soft grunt as the door closed between them, impossible to define as either a scoff or acknowledgement. It churned in Michael’s head as he followed Iosef through the winding passages that made up the back-scene of the club, tripping soft cautions in his head in spite of the trust he was willing to place in the man.
The warnings were pushed back in his mind when they stopped by a blank wall, the only decoration an old Soviet hammer and sickle plaque that was tarnished with age, and age that was obvious once Michael saw the date on the bottom- January 1944. The end of the Nazi siege on Leningrad must have seemed like a good time to start things anew, though he doubted any of the people then could imagine how hard the forty or so years of Communistic rule would be. Iosef pushed in on the center of the hammer’s head. A pin moved and a latch clicked inside the wall, releasing a spring-loaded door that swung inward. 
The room beyond had once been a hideout and storage, the rough walls and oaken timbers a testament to the age that the lavish furnishings and modern conveniences attempted to cover. It was comfortable enough, but had a dark, prison-like flavor that velvet and gold trimmings could never truly conceal.
On the couch was his friend, the only one he had left. She’d suffered a rough series of nights the past few weeks, but the fact that the empty bottles were some distance from her suggested she had already started moving forward on her own. Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as he thought.
“Sonya...” He knelt beside her, gently shaking her shoulder in what he hoped would be a non-threatening manner to her. “Sonya... Wake up, it’s Michael.”
Her beautiful eyes opened slowly, her mind digesting the words as it struggled to wake up. A glance at his face gave her pause, but it was quickly replaced by a lightning reaction, her body jolting upright and out of his reach, a scowl and knife suddenly appearing as if from thin air. She was fast, so very fast, and it was only Michael’s planned reaction to back away that saved his life. His retreat made her freeze and reconsider his moves, the only chance he could have counted on.
“It’s okay, Sonya! It’s okay, it’s me.”
“You’re alive! You’re alive and they’re all dead!”
The fear in her face was mixed with a heavy dose of anger.
“I know they’re all dead. I was almost as well.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing the massive bandage. “They tried, Sonya. God knows I’d be dead, but a friend helped me.”
“You’re not on their side?”
She suspected he was behind it all. They had been friends for some time now, but there were things that neither could get out of their blood, namely suspicion. As fast as the attack had happened it could only suggest an insider’s knowledge.
“Sonya, if I planned this, you would not have escaped with the girl.” He gave her his most honest face, hoping she might fall to it. It might seem disingenuous to use a trick on her but he really did not have the time to work on her. “I got lucky, that’s all. The cyborg they sent to kill me was inexperienced against people with our skills and knowledge of how they are built.”
The knife lowered slowly: still dangerous, but no longer threatening. Her eyes seemed to soften as a minute ticked by in silence, her mind working everything she knew about him to re-evaluate his threat potential, finally coming down on the side of temporary trust. She’d be watching him closely for any sign of betrayal. God knows she’d had enough in her life. 
“What happened, Michael?”
Michael settled gently into the sofa, his elbows on his knees, his hands propping up his chin as he adjusted back into thinking the entire affair through. 
“I was jumped right after the rain started, on my way back from the meeting with the detective. It’s my fault. I missed a key warning and ended up in knife-range of her when she attacked. She was fast, faster than you, but I managed to get her. I tore myself up pretty bad on her knife in the process, though, and passed out on the street. The next thing I knew, I was in the detective’s house, treated for my wounds, and his news of the raid on the apartment burning in my mind.”
The feelings surged forward again, in some ways even more violently, and it took every ounce of his fortitude to keep talking past it. Sonya could see it clearly but he didn’t care. They were too long of friends for emotionalism to be awkward between them.
“I checked out the scene later. Emmy... She died with her gun in her hand and empty casings on the floor. The others were much the same. All of them fought to defend what they believed in. I loved Emmy. Through all of the madness I put us all through, she was the one that held me firmly in place. And now she and all of the others are dead because of my past. The agency... I don’t know why they did it, but they did. Damn it...”
Michaels face showed his sadness, but here was something in his aura that told Sonya that he was not feeling what he showed. He seemed to understand that as well, showing confusion at the confliction inside him.
“I’m angry... I know I am, but every moment since then has been filed with a calm and reserved acceptance of what happened. It’s as if I don’t have the strength to show my rage. I feel it but can’t express it.”
His friend stepped slowly to the sofa and settled in, keeping distance between them. “Maybe you are tired. The last time you felt that angry took a lot out of you, and caused more pain. Perhaps your body and mind do not want to go through that again, or perhaps they’re saving you from yourself.”
It made a little sense, perhaps. The body and mind can do strange things in an unconscious effort to protect their selves.
“I can’t let this go unanswered. I can’t roll over and simply accept my friends being murdered.”
“I know, Michael.” Sonya’s own pain was evident in her quiet and reclusive state. “Right now we need to think. There will be plenty of time to unleash your rage later. They don’t know what they’ve started.”
A soft laugh followed a long sigh, a sign from Michael that he was ready to turn his life over to the Fates once again. “I’d bet they think they do, but they don’t really know. They saw what I can do but it was never really directed at them, and so they never came face to face with me.”
“And you’d like me to be by your side?”
Michael looked at Sonya and saw her pained expression, the first real opening into her soul that he’d even been allowed to see. She needed her revenge as well. Friends and the family-like atmosphere they bring was so rare and fleeting in their line of work. To have it stripped away like it had been required justice to be met out in spades. Neither of them were really cut out for espionage anymore- their emotions ruled them to such an extent that being impartial was no longer possible. 
“If you’ll help me. I can’t do it alone, but I also can’t ask you to do so without a warning. Every time we cross their path, we’ll be fighting for our lives. The ending will likely destroy us both just as much as it destroys them. My luck can’t hold out forever, Sonya, and when it fails it will be spectacular. If you value your life, you’ll refuse the offer.” 
She seemed to take that information to heart, thinking about it in silence for a long time, time Michael used to close his eyes and relax his body into the couch, wishing for just a little relief from the continuing pressure in his heart. Even beside a friend he could feel the anger inside him, building without any regard to the fact that something was preventing him from releasing it. 
“Michael? What kind of ending do you envision? When will it be enough?”
“I’m not entirely sure. First I want to know why they killed Emmy and the others. I also want those that did it dead.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, his heart pounding a bit harder in a sudden release of his violent nature, a nature that dripped through his calm demeanor. “Lastly, I want Lorenzo to regret he ever came after me.”
Sonya was not prone to feeling intimidated by anyone. Her training and lifestyle had hardened her to the point where it was almost impossible to make her feel uneasy with a direct confrontation. At that moment, however, Michael’s eyes sent a chill down her spine, and the long-forgotten sensation nearly pushed her away from her offer to help him, as she was entirely uncertain as to his level of control. He had come close to losing it in their last mission, only being reeled in by Emily’s hold over him. Unrestrained, he was unpredictable.
“I’ll join you, but on one condition.”
“And that is?”
Her eyes filled with a determination and she stared him in his, making sure he understood her perfectly. 
“That regardless of the situation, if I tell you to stop, you listen to me. I can’t afford for you to turn on me. If you go off the deep end, I will kill you to save myself.”
That wasn’t something he wanted to hear from his only remaining friend but it was understandable given his history. “I can go along with that.”
“Good...” Sonya stretched her back and then rubbed her face, working to wake the rest of her body and mind up the normal way. “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you want to do?”
“I guess I’d like to know what happened after you jumped out of the bathroom window.”
“It’s a short story.” 
Sonya walked over to her backpack and pulled out a towel, quickly stripping and stepping into the nearby bathroom and shower. She wasn’t the modest type when it did not serve her needs, and the view was lost on Michael, whose interests were narrowly focused for the foreseeable future. He leaned against the bathroom doorway to listen to her continue the story.
“The girl and I were in the bathroom, playing with her hair style for when she met up with her parents again.” Sonya basked in the warm spray for a silent moment, wishing it would wash away the emotionally charged layer that seemed to surround her. “The shots sounded, I saw Rick and Katherine go down, and I hesitated a second, fighting my urge to draw and come to their defense. I decided that I had to protect the girl, so I kicked the door shut and locked it, then shoved her out the window onto the roof.”
“I know that was hard to do.” He meant the abandoning of her friends, leaving them to their deaths, in order to save someone she barely knew. 
“It was...” The water stopped flowing and Sonya toweled off, wrapping it around her slim figure for the walk into the other room. “The girl didn’t freeze up on me, though, and we made it to my apartment without anyone following us. I waited a day for the information to come down on everyone, and when you never were reported killed, I figured you had a hand in it.”
He watched her dress, noting in her body language how reliving the memory of it was affecting her. The way her arms tensed up, a reflex action she countered with flexes of her hands and slow, deep breaths. It was all very subtle but he could see it. 
“I figured that if you were behind it, you’d be waiting for me in France, so I gave the girl some money, bought her the plane ticket home, and sent her off. I went underground after that, disappearing off of everyone’s radars until I surfaced here at my uncle’s. He was the only person I could trust.” She pulled her hair loose from the collar of the t-shirt she had pulled on, flipping the wet strands aside with some of her returning confidence. “I had not figured on you coming here and talking your way past him.”
“I was honest with him. I don’t think he quite knew what to do with someone who didn’t lie to his face.” Michael smiled a little at the humor in it.
Sonya smiled back, her blue eyes warmed a little by the feelings of friendship returning. She wasn’t alone anymore. “Most likely not.” 
“So...” Michael turned his mind to current plans. “We now have two major objectives to achieve.”
Sonya flashed a questioning look, unsure what could be as important, or more so, than revenge. “Oh?”
“The girl. Her parents killed themselves two weeks after she disappeared. There’s no one left to go home to.”
“Ёб твою мать...” Her expression clearly reflected the epithet, blaming herself for not taking the girl there herself. “I’m sorry, Michael. I should have watched over her more carefully.”
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t know, and you did what you felt best. The only question is whether we can find her again.” He was already thinking about the trip back to France. He wasn’t exactly invisible there, at least not without a carefully crafted identity. Not only was ‘Michael Christiansen’ a persona non grata in the technical sense, but his trip back to Paris with Jamie had left several bodies lying around and increased the volume of the local river to the tune of one sedan. Keeping under the French radar would require more than just papers and cheery thoughts. Then again, it could also make for a good bit of practice for getting into Italy.
“I will speak to Uncle. He will help us.”
“Yeah, but at what price?”
Sonya smiled and brushed her hair back with her fingers, a move Michael found strangely reminiscent of a shampoo commercial he had recently seen.
“I’m his favorite niece. It won’t cost much more than a smile.”

Ferro Milani winced from the shooting pain in her arm. The bullet had gone straight through, hardly slowing as it passed through flesh and bone, making the pain intense but short and following it with the numbing of her limb as her mind phased out the distraction. 
The firefight was intense, as heavy as she’d ever seen. Her squad lay dead or dying around her, their eyes screaming at her in agony or desperation. Her own cover was a mere compact car and the bullets ripped through it like knives, spraying fragments of glass and plastic and metal all around her. Her gun was empty, the slide locked back on the empty magazine, the spares already exhausted. 
She had never really considered how her last moments would be, her personality conflicting with the daydreaming nature that was required for such frivolous thoughts. Right now, however, it seemed like it was the only thing that could go through her head, blocking out any thoughts on how to escape her fate. The car would explode, a lucky bullet would rip through her chest, or maybe she’d burn alive in the gasoline that was now leaking from the car’s tank. Her heart beat mercilessly in her chest and pumped the adrenaline from her fear through her body and it felt good. It was a searing sensation that stood in stark contrast to the calm, cold body she normally existed within. Every day, all day, she was cold and emotionless, the epitome of efficient work that made her the best in her field. People trusted her to be their guidance behind the scenes and to make things happen when they needed to. It was important work.
But right now Ferro could only feel the contrast. She had missed out on so much because of her personality. Love was long in the past, back when her heart had still been human rather than machine. The event that made her who she was had broken her in two, and the stronger, machine-like part had continued on to eventually become a working, functional person in spite of missing so important a part of herself. There was a brief moment of weakness when that bastard Michael Christiansen had broken through to what remained, but even that was two years in the past. The few moments of warmth she had felt in her soul had vanished with him that night, never to return. 
A bullet ripped through the car right next to her head, reminding her of what was going on around her. Still, she had regrets that now flooded her mind. Among them were her words to Michael, the ones that had probably made up his mind to leave that night. She had begged him to stay with her in that moment of weakness, but her words came out a threat, one that he could not afford to take less than seriously. His lips brushed hers, she tried to shoot him, and then she gave in, wishing for the first time in as long as she could remember that she could feel what her body and mind so badly needed. Gratification, satisfaction, and warmth... Things she had been avoiding in anything other than a professional way. Michael Christiansen had broken her. 
A final bullet ripped through the car and through her, pitching her body forward onto the concrete. Ferro’s body went numb from shock. She could not move and the helplessness that sunk in brought tears to her eyes, flashing a few more regrets through her mind. The one that lingered was the smiling, determined face of Michael. His presence brought at least a little comfort to those around him, knowing that he had their back regardless of the costs. Such a man was rare. She just wished she could have seen him once more.
Loud shots sounded for several moments and then everything became still. The echoes faded and the wind blew gently, clearing the smell and haze of the gunfire out of the darkened warehouse. If there was a sound of death, this had to be it. 
Footsteps moved closer, a few empty casings from her Five-Seven skittering across the floor with their distinct sound. Hands grabbed her vest and pulled her upright, leaning her against the car again, and her eyes struggled to focus on the person. The worried face of Michael Christiansen was there and Ferro’s heart skipped, sending a short pain through her body. The pain was a relief. Perhaps she was not as dead as she felt inside.
“Ferro...”
“Michael?”
“Don’t talk. I’m going to help you.” His hands pressed against her chest to slow the blood flow, spreading warmth into the places he touched.
“Michael. Don’t leave. I can’t be without you.”
Michael smiled, his eyes sending a calming feeling throughout her. “I’ll never leave you again, Ferro. I promise.”
She smiled. It felt wonderful to be loved once again. Tears streamed from her eyes as she started to cry, her sobs coming uncontrolled from somewhere within her.
The feeling of finally being human again was cut off sharply by a bloody cough, her heart stopping after having kept her alive as long as it could. Ferro’s last thought was a scream of denial. It wasn’t happening to her....

Ferro’s eyes opened slowly to the familiar shadows of her bedroom, the pre-dawn gloom having yet to muster enough strength to filter through the blinds in the windows. Her arm was asleep under her stomach as she lay on it, and moving it resulted in the sharp pin-pricks of her nerves waking up, making her wince fully awake. 
The covers were strewn everywhere and the room smelled of sweat and something else, a smell that she vaguely remembered was her own arousal. Her body felt restrained and tight in spite of her freedom, a state she could only guess was her repression. It was in these moments that Ferro felt the regrets that come from being the penultimate professional woman. Her free time was almost non-existent, the apartment quiet and still when she arrived home, and the rare moments she longed for someone next to her had grown harder to ignore. 
The trim body climbed from the cocoon of blankets and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, the slightly chilly temperature she kept her apartment at sending goosebumps across her exposed legs and arms, the sensation making her wish she had worn something more than a nightshirt to bed.
Still, she thought as she washed her hands and rubbed the eyes that looked back at her from the mirror, she didn’t look like the mid-thirties she was turning. Maybe thirty-two, which was fortunate: professional women didn’t lie about their age. Even a little gray was a sign of experience, though she figured she was still a few more years away from that. A shower, minimal make-up, and a careful brushing of her fine, straight hair made her even harder to guess at reestablishing the cold, hard edge she had carefully cultivated over the years. 
The coffee had brewed by the time she stepped from the bedroom in her suit, the morning news sounded from the small television on the counter, and Ferro started to relax into her persona, the night’s dream forgotten but for the feeling at the end. The memory of Michael Christiansen made her mind work in concert with her professional persona, similar to how it had in her feminine one, though the reaction was different. She wasn’t a believer in coincidences. When your life and career are based on spinning and revealing lies from the smallest of information, you find it difficult to believe anything simply “just happens”. Something stirred up her memory into creating a dream about him.

The thought occupied the drive to the Agency but subsided into the background of her mind as she stepped into the office and looked at the stack of folders on her desk, every one of them a different report from a different operative about people they’d eventually capture or kill. In the two years since Torino, the agency had changed into a different entity. Still hiding behind the scenes, they were actually more aggressive in pursuing the personal agendas of politicians who backed them in the way a master might feed and cage an aggressive and partly-tamed hunting dog. Setting them loose to chase down the prey with minimal regard to the damage they might cause, so long as it didn’t reflect on their house.
“Good morning, Ferro.” 
Priscilla walked into the office and set a report on the stack, flipping her blonde hair back with a gentle smile. 
“Good morning, Priscilla. How is the schedule this morning?”
“Things are looking pretty light today. Carlo is due out of the hospital today. Aya has been cleared by medical and Bianchi, so we’ll be taking a look at how she functions without a handler. Alessandro and Olga will be taking her out to hunt down a few low-level captures.”
“Hmm.” The report was fairly complete on both. The wounds Carlo had sustained assaulting Christiansen’s apartment were only serious enough to ensure several weeks in the hospital and another month of light-duty. Ricardo, Aya’s handler, had not faired as well. To her credit, the cyborg woman had kept herself emotionally in control until the agency jet had landed in Rome and the helo ride to the agency was complete, in spite of escorting her handler’s corpse the entire way back from Amsterdam. After that, the young woman had broken down, destroying her bedroom and breaking nearly every plate, bowl, and glass in the commissary, to the shock of everyone in attendance. It had taken five guards to hold her down long enough to sedate her, the tears in her eyes more real than anyone could understand. Ricardo had been a real bastard towards her, but even there had been love. At least Aya thought so.
“I want a back-up team nearby in case she loses control. Retire her if necessary.” 
Priscilla blanched a little at the cold way it had been said. Killing a cyborg was not a simple task, doubly so with the capabilities of the third-generation units. There were really only a few ways to kill them and injuries would be sustained in the efforts, something that Priscilla suspected Ferro was casually tossing aside as someone else’s problem. 
“I’m going to talk to the Chief. I’ll also be checking on Aya’s practice time today, so tell her to take her time on the range.”
“Of course.”
Ferro quickly glanced through a stack of folders, shuffling them in to some order only she understood. “I’ll be in Lorenzo’s office.”
A nervous wave was the response from the blonde as the Ice Queen breezed out of the office.
“Bye...”

Chief Lorenzo’s office was cold, Ferro thought, or perhaps it was the ambiance that the man seemed to have. He was always serious, rarely nostalgic, and as appropriate for a man of his skills, perpetually distant with the thoughts that kept him ahead of his enemies. He had taken Ferro in and placed his trust in her... A trust she had only ever broken once. She swore to herself that it would never happen again. 
“Good morning, sir.”
Lorenzo looked up from his report and sipped from the coffee that he had ordered earlier. “Good morning, Ferro. How was the drive in?”
“Just fine, sir. It looks like rain later on this afternoon, though, so you’ll probably want to keep things close to the office today.”
“Hmm.” He finished the report and signed it, setting it aside to move onto the ones that Ferro was bringing to his attention. “What are today’s details?”
She handed him the first folder, the report on Aya. “Cyborg Aya Gallo has been cleared for limited deployment duty. She has range practice this afternoon and a short mission with Olga and Alessandro tonight. I’ve already arranged for a back-up team to be in-place and ready to retire her if necessary.”
“Such a waste...”
Ferro could not tell whether he was referring to retiring the cyborg or the loss of Ricardo. He may not dwell on the loss of his subordinates but Lorenzo could certainly appreciate the loss of effective agents. 
“Let me know how she does. I’ll feel considerably better when I’m certain she won’t repeat the incident in the dining hall.” Lorenzo had been in the hall at the time and watched as the slightest accident by one of the other cyborgs had catapulted Aya into an uncontrolled fury, one which the conditioning could only focus on the numerous inanimate objects in the room. The eyes of the other cyborgs had gone wide and he could only reason that they were all wondering if they would suffer a similar fate at some point. 
“Yes sir. Also, this letter was delivered just as I was walking in the office. It’s addressed to you.” She handed over the letter to the confused look on Lorenzo’s face. It was not often that he received unofficial letters in this manner. 
The envelope was a plain legal size and bore the typical markings of a special courier. It had been sent from the courier’s Lyon branch, remarkable only for its connection to the French TGV line. The plain white letter inside had only a single sentence on it, neatly printed in a fourteen-point font. The simplicity of it confused him enough to read it twice more, letting his mind chew on it for answers.
“Hmm.”
“Sir?”
Ferro took the letter as he offered it and the simple sentence confused her as well.
“Odd... ‘I am coming soon.’ I don’t understand.”
“It was not delivered by mistake. The person who sent it did so intentionally. A joke perhaps?”
 Ferro shook her head, having a gut feeling about this message. “No. It’s a threat, or maybe a warning. Regardless, there is only one person I can think of who would send a message like this. He obviously feels that our knowing will not hamper his work.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back to ponder her remark. “Christiansen...”
She nodded, slipping the paper back into the envelope. “I’ve never been one to question your orders, sir, but perhaps it would have been better to not anger him. He had kept his word about our secrets, and he posed no real harm to us.”
“He’s instrumental to our plans. True, it may have been better had Aya succeeded in terminating him, but his escape has provided us with an invaluable item we would have had to search for otherwise. Using him is simply a means to an end.”
“A man like that is not someone you can afford to take risks with, Chief.”
He nodded, understanding her concern but knowing his plan was considerably against Christiansen’s favor. 
“Even a mad dog can be useful, Ferro. I have no doubt that he is seething inside at what we’ve done, and it will blind him. We will use him, but will not give him any chance to truly harm us. Establish a solid perimeter and extend an active lookout for him with the police and transit authorities. He’s already in the country, so I want him found quickly.”
“Yes sir.”
Ferro’s instincts were telling her that Lorenzo was not taking Christiansen seriously enough, a mistake that others had lead them to the gates of Hell. She could only hope that Lorenzo really was ahead of Michael in this game.

“What took you so long? I thought for sure that you would miss the train.”
Sonya adjusted herself in the comfortable seat of the TGV and tossed a pack of chocolate candies that she had picked up during their train swap. Michael settled in and caught the packet with his magazine and then started to read it.
“”I had to send a letter and make a couple of phone calls. I figured I’d rattle Lorenzo a bit to keep him warmed up. It so easy to get complacent at times, you know.”
“You love to grab the lion by the balls, don’t you?” Her smile told him exactly what she really though of that attitude.
“If I had to take a guess, I’d say that he thinks I’m mad enough to act foolishly and fall into any trap he sets. That kind of thinking leads only to underestimating your opponent. Believe me, I know. Ian Amherst only reacted to my expectations once, and even in that he was quite a handful. Lorenzo has numerous quality brains at his disposal, the muscle and technology to back it up, and almost unlimited resources to fund it all. As I said before, Sonya, we will be fighting for our lives every time we cross their paths. If I ever underestimate him, it’s because he’s found a path or resource I could not anticipate.”
She could see that he was using all of his skills in this endeavor and was staying incredibly calm about it all. It was much the same as the first time they had met, though Tanya had done almost all of the talking then, which is probably why the fight had erupted in her uncle’s bar. Tanya was strong and Michael was following behind her meekly, but with his eyes constantly evaluating the situation and making plans. The difference between the Michael now and the Michael from almost six years earlier was in how he had become a leader. He still evaluated everything, but his experience made for a faster reaction with ready-made responses. The fact that he had so much planned out gave him time to conceal his tells, making him hard to anticipate and react to.
“Hmm.” 
“What?” He looked up at Sonya, intrigued by the tone of her voice.
“Oh. Nothing, really. I was just thinking about that fight in my uncle’s bar. Tanya started it all with her brash manner and refusal to work with me for what she wanted. You, however, were backing her up and remained quiet and timid until things went south. What I saw after that was both compelling and frightening. I never thought someone like you could move like that.”
Tanya’s name pulled a string in his heart and made him wince a little from the pain. He had let her go long ago, but there was still a part of him that loved her and that part reacted every time he remembered.
“Tanya didn’t keep me on her wing for my good looks. My fighting skills are something I rely on when my brains and my gun fails me. It’s just the way I do things.”
“Hmm.” 
Michael flipped through the magazine but the pages merely acted as a backdrop for the thoughts in his mind. Lorenzo was going to have to wait until they found the girl. He simply could not afford to drop his search for the one thing that stood as a legacy for the people he had lost.