It had been a fairly normal morning so far. Answering the phone, typing letters for Mr. Tuttle, making sure all the right things got done at the right time. The office was a laid back sort of place. Hectic wasn’t something Mr. Tuttle knew the meaning of, but he did expect a certain level of productivity. Nikita felt that she fit in well here. She liked her boss, and his wife liked her. She knew how important that was if she wanted to keep her job. The phone rang, and she answered, “Tuttle Inc. How may I help you today?” she said in perfect English.

"Hi there Maggie! This is Muriel." She sounded cheerful enough, just one of the girls. Nikita of course knew this was not true, just as surely as her name was not Maggie. She was getting so used to living in a world with things that were not true that she wondered occasionally what sense there was in the whole concept of honesty, but at least she felt safe here.

"Will old man Tuttle let you come out to play for lunch today?" It was phrased like a question, but it wasn't really, it never was. It was a demand, and Nikita's life depended on the right answer. She had traded a red cage for a red, white, and blue one, and the secure knowledge that she was doing the right thing

In her most friendly voice, she replied, “I can get away for about thirty minutes today. Where would you like to meet?”

"Oh, the usual, say 12:30?" They were on a public line, as everyone in Arizona was, so they spoke in codes and vagaries. Nikita looked at the time, added the minutes to 12:30, and got 1:15. "The usual" meant finding Muriel remotely at the drugstore and following her to another location, and meeting her there. It wasn't much, in fact if Muriel's cover was blown it was nothing at all, but anyone new in town could at least be noticed. If they were there at all.

“See you then.” Nikita hung up the phone. She was sure she pulled off acting normal until it was time to leave, but it wasn’t easy. These meetings with Muriel were always nerve wracking.

At 12:50 she went into the women’s room and locked herself in the stall then began to concentrate on finding Muriel in the drugstore. There she was, over by the cosmetics. She watched as her FBI contact perused the cold cream, picking one up, read it then placing it back on the shelf. Muriel waited until she was alone on the isle then left the store. She strolled down the sidewalk, stopping to window shop occasionally, gazing particularly longingly at a pair of cute black heals with bows on the front. Slowly she made her way to a café, doubling back on her path a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t being followed. When she sat down, she checked her watch, and Nikita saw that it was 1:06. She had just enough time to get there.

Unlocking the door, Nikita went out and told Mr. Tuttle that she was going to lunch, she would be back in a half hour. She hurried out of the building, and hailed a cab. After she had told him the street address she sat back and took a few calming breaths, avoiding looking forward so she didn’t have to talk to him. She thanked him and handed him his money with a nice tip as she got out of the cab, and joined Muriel at the table. When the waiter came around she ordered a club sandwich and black coffee, then looked at Muriel and smiled.

"Right on time Maggie, good to see you haven't lost your touch," Muriel said, with a broad, vulpine, fake smile. It had taken Nikita a little while to learn that the smile was fake, and that Americans smiled all the time out of some strange compunction. It had taken her some time to get into the habit herself.

The other thing that Muriel did all the time that was just as bothersome as the big fake smile was choosing to call her Maggie. The long "a" sound does not come easily to the Russian tongue, and Muriel insisted on it to keep Nikita in practice. It was unnecessary, like the smile.

Muriel ordered a BLT and a cup of coffee, and after the waiter left she turned the conversation in a more serious direction, without ever losing that smile. "Turns out your country needs you, dear. This one, I mean."

Nikita had learned how to maintain the smile as well. Even when she felt like yelling for them to just leave her alone, the smile did not falter. The waiter brought their coffees and left. Nikita took a sip of the black liquid as she watched Muriel over the rim of her cup. She care fully set the steaming cup back down, so as not to spill then looked back up at the woman with the fake smile. “How may I serve my country?”

"There's this G-Man in Phoenix, Mags," Muriel said, leaning in close over her coffee. "A real looker I hear, but I haven't laid eyes on him yet. He needs someone with your skills, and they won't tell me why. Look him up on Monday at the Sheriff's office there."

Cocking her head, Nikita leaned in as well. “Mur, do you mean, I have to go there?” she whispered.

"Of course, you goose!" Muriel's vulpine smile flashed with actual humor, and no malice. She didn't seem to harbor much actual malice for Nikita, but the relationship was strained anyway, due to circumstance, allegiances, suspicions, and Nikita's value. Muriel was assigned to Nikita in part because Nikita was a valuable resource. That added more layers to the power struggle between than an onion had, but each layer stank enough to draw tears.

"You're still mine, now, and don't you forget it," she said with a smile. "Now you have this other thing that we need you to do - working with Agent Reid. I don't think we need you to watch him: we're still busy watching you, and your hands are full already. Keep me happy, keep old man Tuttle happy, keep our handsome Agent Reid happy... Your swamped, doll."

They don’t ask much of me, my new country. The sarcasm made her lips twitch, and her smile became even more plastic. “I have juggled many things before, in my life. I will be fine now.” The sandwiches were brought to the table, and Nikita wrapped hers to take back to the office with her. “How will I know Agent Reid?”

"Reid? He's a cross between a cowboy and a g-man, I hear." Muriel managed to say both "cowboy" and "g-man" with equal disdain. She was a woman working in intelligence, and contempt for the affectations of the male species was part of the job. "His office is at the Sheriff's office here in Phoenix. If you ask for him, you'll find him." She watched Nikita wrapping up her sandwich and said "I'll get lunch, Mags."

“Monday at the Sheriff’s office, got it. Gotta run doll.” Feeling a bit impish Nikita pecked Muriel on the side of each of her cheeks, “Thanks for lunch.” She had no qualms about letting the agent get her lunch. Nikita knew the tab was covered by the American tax payer anyway. She quickly walked out the door and hailed a cab back to her office thinking about what Monday would bring. Would she have to call in sick, or would she have time to race away on her lunch break again?