Nikita my dear...

I hope you are able to keep your perspective with the drugs Ozerov gave you. Remember I love you. Be certain to exercise caution when reacting to circumstances around you, as paranoia can make unreal things seem more real than they are. I'm doing well here, but I am concerned for your safety, even though the world's safety depends on your making rational decisions in your irrational state. Hey, you remember the circus? I can't believe it!

I was certain they had 'rearranged' your mind so you would not remember your days in the circus and your horrible disfiguring accident at my hand. I thought I would never again be able to mention our days and nights traveling with the national circus, carousing with the sideshow freaks and witnessing disturbing acts between people and animals - things the internet can never properly convey, because you have to be there to understand the love that can exist between circus performers whether they be human or animal, or both.

My trip to Moscow has opened up a pandora's box of memories little bird. The smells of the circus never really leave one's memory - upon my arrival to the caravan, the first thing I noticed/remembered was the overpowering smell of animal urine, and I wondered how I wasn't offended by it when I was a performer - there's no escaping the lion spray and funky old elephant smell that permeates the big top - every rope, canvas, trailer, costume and bleacher seat begins to take on the funk of the animals - the sweat, the hot dogs, the popcorn grease, the cotton candy stickiness, and the peanuts seem to soak their way into the air around the event and create some other worldly place - a place where so many amazing feats of athleticism and animal trickery are performed - wowing crowd after crowd, town after town, year after year...

It was the happiest time of my life Nikita - to be sneaking off with you behind the tent at the end of the show, our impassioned trysts in the folds of the tent, always watchful for your father, as he would have both our heads if we were caught - we were so young and beautiful - our bodies so perfect and tight and smooth - there's no stopping nature, and around all of those horny circus animals... who could blame us for having our own private circus sideshows...


And then the accident...we were invincible and young, and you wanted me to show you things.. we were the darlings of every town the circus traveled to - fame and fortune were certain to shine upon us, and we pushed the envelope to make our show more spectacular every week - I begged you to use the net, but your confidence was so strong, and I foolishly expected you to keep focus, even though we had just gotten through driving one another to hazardous distraction out back of the tent moments before our routine....The fall devastated me inside as much as it disfigured your leg - I lost my confidence, and once that happens, a trapeze artist can no longer 'perform' in public - (This is not the time for innuendo jokes, but know I thought of a few at that last sentence...)

You were sent away for rehabilitation, but during the month you were away, you were 'reprogrammed' to forget all memories of the accident and me - upon your return, you were a changed person - I was relieved in one sense, as you didn't remember the accident, but your complete amnesia about me was hard to accept. I made a promise to myself that I would be a friend to you as your injuries kept you from being able to socialize. I brought you lunch and spent every spare minute with you, never letting on we had a connected past - I was overjoyed we were able to start a new relationship after thinking I had 'lost' you forever. Our attraction quickly blossomed, and before long we were falling in love. Grigori and your father made a decision we could not be together. It crushed me when you were sent away to Greece.

In my despondent state, I was approached by Grigori (whom I always thought was an odd type of person to own a circus) and he talked me into becoming a spy for our country. What a long strange trip it has been since then.

It is well known that circuses have a high percentage of social outcasts and genetic mutants - It is not well known that circuses are usually run by spies - such a simple and clever cover - the owner can move from town to town, making contacts that seem innocent enough - They visit old 'friends' and meet new ones over dinner and drinks - Shows are a great meeting place for undercover agents who have to keep their cover - they can meet in the crowds and talk at length with no chance for detection. blah,blah, you already know this...

My training advanced quickly, as I had no lover to distract me. I was schooled in the ways of the spy, from learning the impeccable manners of the social elite, to becoming lethal toward anyone who crossed me. Before long, I was passing along low level, non-critical information at the circus - over time, the information became more sensitive and my 'errands' riskier.
Within a year, I was a well trusted operative for Grigori. I missed you, but over time, my work took on a significance that made your memory more distant.

My first kill was accidental - well, not really an accident, but I wasn't planning on hurting anyone. I was in Oostburg, and was to meet a woman named Guinevere at an old working windmill. When she showed up, she was very flustered. (and beautiful) She was under the impression she had been followed - I climbed to the lookout window at the top of the windmill and didn't see anyone, so we exchanged the packages we had for one another. We made small talk for a few minutes, and my eyes kept drifting to the soft curve of her breasts below her blouse. Her wavy blond hair stopped just short of her nipples, and they were staring back at me - she called me on my wandering eyes, and I blushed in shame.

She moved a step closer to me and took my hands and said, "I'm not sure why, but I think I want to kiss you" ... I closed my eyes and smiled, and within a few seconds, she had pressed herself up against me - we began to make out there in the windmill - our clothes were well on their way off when the door burst open and an odd looking little man with a limp ambled into the windmill yelling for me to get my hands off his wife. I think he was as shocked as I was when he realized my hands weren't in near as compromising a place as hers were, and she wasn't letting go. Awkward...

Without missing a beat Guinevere yells "you little bastard - I told you to stop following me!" He runs to the near wall, grabs a pitchfork and begins to charge the two of us, yelling at the top of his lungs "DIE BITCH"! It was like he was in slow motion, and he had this gimpy gait, but he was picking up speed and I was wondering if we were going to be impaled together in eternity. Guinevere let go of me just before he reached us and jumped back, which left me in the path of the pitchfork. I was thinking 'thanks bitch', but I managed to avoid the tines and grab the handle, flinging the small man over toward the grinder wheel - his shirt got caught in the turning mechanism, and he could not free himself before the gears had picked him up and pulled him into the grinder - It's amazing how much grain one little man's blood can contaminate...

Turns out the little man was a crazy stalker from the pub Guinevere worked at, and was not her husband, boyfriend, friend, or even somebody she wanted around her. It was an unfortunate end, and we had to leave him for the farmers to clean up, as the information we had exchanged was not to be compromised...(at least not any more than it would have been had we not been interrupted...)


Ah, but that is all just one story from a past that happened so long ago Nikita - I wax poetic when I think of those times, and am curious why you now remember the accident - do you remember our love? The reprogramming they put you through is supposed to be permanent, but it excites me to think you may be able to remember our young love and the times we shared in the circus....

Getting back to the present, Marco has recovered from the bookstore incident a few months ago, and is doing his best to discover where you are now. He is said to want your head on a platter after the beating you gave him. The irony is that he is one of Konrad's down the line distributors, and may be unknowingly involved in the distribution of Sanctity, as It seems to be synthesized into the coke Konrad is distributing now. Are you able to keep your thoughts in order? How is Ozerov? Any ideas on how to get the antidote for celtox? You must find a way to get this information out of Konrad - how is his failsafe setup - who releases the flu if he is killed? who is in charge of that virus....

Hang in there NIkita - My thoughts are with you frequently now that I am near the circus again. Pretend we are on the high wire tonight, floating through the air, smiling...

S