October 18th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Alessandra De Luca had no idea what time it was. The room where she was being held lacked windows, and there were no clocks to answer the question for her. That was by design, of course. Her captors did not need her to know what time it was. They told her when to sleep, when to wake, and when to entertain her clients. Her entire world was controlled for one purpose: to service the needs of others.

The windowless room that comprised her world was, in theory, comfortable. She had stayed in worse hotels over the years. She had a bed and a bathroom, and any food, clothes, and cosmetics were provided. If she was hurt by a client, her wounds were cared for, and her general health was maintained. Naturally, this only lasted only as long as she was of use to her captors.

The clients made her skin crawl. Exclusively men, and almost all of them, wealthy Arabs. They all shared a taste in women, and she matched it exactly. To them, she was a fetish plaything; a toy to beat, to fuck, and to abuse to their heart's content. It was a transaction made far above her head, and she never saw a penny. In truth, she was little more than a well-kept pet.

She wasn’t here by choice, but then, none of the girls were. Like the others, she had been taken from Europe against her will. She had been drugged and smuggled over borders until she had arrived in the Middle East. As far as she knew, she was somewhere in Saudi Arabia’s capital city, Riyahd. Her existence was now a commodity to be used and expended.

That existence alone was the most bitter falsehood of all: Alessandra De Luca was not even a real person. Her entire identity was a fiction and a fabrication; a cover created and inserted into the world to serve a purpose; to allow an intelligence operative to move freely into the criminal underworld without detection.

Everything had gone wrong, and she was left to suffer the consequences. The plan had been to use her as bait to tempt the traffickers into the open. They would allow her to be taken and that would allow them to trace the group’s pipeline back to its source. Once they had enough information, they would sweep in and set her free, rolling up the operation in the same fell swoop. She was never supposed to end up here. 

It had been weeks since she had heard from her handlers. Somewhere deep inside, her heart still held the vain hope that they would be coming to free her. With each passing day, and each lecherous client she had to service, that hope faded even further into blackness. 

There had never been any plan for her to have to sleep with the clients in the execution of her mission. No matter how important the outcome, there was no way she would have signed on to the operation if that had been the case. Everything they knew about the organization told them that they would have time to intercept her before she would have to do anything with any clients. 

That had never happened.

There was a knock at the door that roused her from her melancholic introspection. The knock meant only one thing: a client. They were the only ones who knocked. It wasn’t a respect for her privacy, but rather a call to task. It was time to perform.

Standing slowly, she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror beside the bed. Her blonde hair and bold makeup were perfect, despite her terrible mood. The black silk negligee was covering just enough of her body to entice attention rather than provide any real digntiy. The woman looking back at her smiled, but there was no light or life in her eyes anymore. It had been six weeks, and that had left her long ago. Closing her eyes, she exhaled and centered herself in the moment. Burying a little more of her soul, she fixed the false smile on her face and approached the door.

Opening the door, she found her client was waiting, his expression brightening immediately when he saw her. The man was, like so very many of her clients, Arab. He was of medium build and wore smart Western suits despite the desert heat. Unlike some of them, however, he wasn’t quite as aggressive. It was a small but significant mercy in her line of work. 

The man smiled as the door opened, his eyes drifting up Alessandra’s body until his eyes met hers. Despite his intent to be charming, it made her skin crawl. “Somehow Habibti, you manage to look far more beautiful every time that I see you,” he smiled, his Saudi accent thick and husky.

“It is only for you, Sayyid,” she purred back, her smile not slipping a fraction of an inch. “Would you like to come in? I was waiting for you.”

The man nodded, and Alessandra offered him her hand. She led him into the room and towards the bed that dominated the center of the space. She glanced at the drinks cabinet, “Can I get you a drink?”

The cabinet was only to be touched when a client was in the room. While they were evidently located in an Islamic country, the usual rules did not seem to matter here. They existed in a world beyond rules and decorum, a place where money mattered more than faith or law. Here, even the most outwardly devout client seemed to enjoy flaunting the tenets of their own faith, especially when given the opportunity for a little depravity.

“Pour me a whiskey,” the man answered.

Removing his jacket, he took a seat on the foot of the bed. His gaze followed Alessandra as she glided across to the cabinet and prepared his drink.  “Would you mind if we just talk today?” he asked gently. “I am quite tired.”

“Whatever you desire, Sayyid,” she replied, sitting back primly beside him as she handed him the tumbler. “Whatever you desire.”

“My name is Hassan, you know this, my darling.”

“Of course… Hassan,” she replied demurely, the smile slipping slightly.

The man reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. “You look so sad, my desert flower. Please smile for me, I will never hurt you.”

Alessandra forced a smile to her lips. It was an affectation, but it appeared real enough after practice. It was easy to see that Hassan did not believe her, but he did not seem to want to break the fantasy. Some men simply wanted to use her, and some, to hurt her. Others, like this man, wanted something more akin to the girlfriend experience; a fantasy where they imagined, just for the moment, that she actually loved them.

”My day was truly a bore,” Hassan sighed, stippling the whiskey as he stroked the fingers of his other hand along her naked thigh. “I had two Iranian imbeciles try to sell me short on drilling equipment for a new field expansion. They think that Hassan is new to the business world!” He scoffed.

”I’m sure you didn’t let them get the better of you,” Alessandra crooned, her fingers dancing along the man’s forearm.

Hassan Al Darhudi was an arms merchant, from what she had learned. He always presented himself to her as though he were a legitimate businessman, a facilitator in the oil industry. Somehow, it was as though he wanted her to think well of him, rather than know the darker truth. Ironic, for the client of a brothel.

Al Darhrudi allowed his hand to slip between her thighs as he talked about his business. Alessandra forced her mind to drift as she felt the man’s fingers graze against the fabric of her panties. Even to this man, she was little more than a plaything. A toy to be used as he saw fit. Any sign of resistance or reluctance was brutally punished by her masters.

No matter how repulsive his touch felt, she had learned not to show it. She had learned to suffer many indignities with that same empty smile on her lips. She had even learned to pretend to enjoy it. They hurt her less when she acted as if she enjoyed it.

The man had just started to complain about Iranian cuisine when there was a muffled bang followed by low staccato rattle out in the corridor beyond her room. Al Darhrudi paused, seemingly confused by what he had just heard. Alessandra, however, recognized the sound of suppressed gunfire almost immediately.

Batting his hand away, Alessandra jumped up from the bed and grabbed her silk robe from the dresser. She kicked the stiletto pumps off of her feet. Someone was shooting their way in, and she wanted as much mobility as she could muster. Realizing that being barefoot in a gunfight was a poor decision, she stuffed her feet into a pair of slippers.

“What is going on?” Hassan asked, furrowing his brow. “Come back here to me, my darling.”

Alessandra felt her heart beating harder as the gunfire drew closer. She shot the man a dirty look, “Be quiet.”

“You… what?” the man balked, his expression darkening as he tried to process her shift in tone.

“Keep your head down and stay the hell over there,” she ordered, yanking the metal railing from her wardrobe to use as a makeshift weapon. Quickly, she darted across to the wall beside the door and waited, the improvised staff in hand. 

As the gunfire drew closer, Hassan finally seemed to realize what was happening just outside the door. While his money and status might have convinced him he was a powerful man, the threat of impending violence revealed a plain and ugly truth. Like a coward, he scrambled for cover behind the bed, leaving his sexual plaything to stand between him and the oncoming gunmen.

As she waited, Alessandra strained to hear what was going on outside in the corridor. Whoever it was, they were keeping their communication too low for her to hear any accent or language. It was possible that it was a rescue mission, but she almost daren’t not allow herself to hope. In equal measure, it was also possible that it was a rival organization come to take over or to wipe them all out. 

No matter who was about to come through the door, Alessandra was not far enough gone to lie down and accept her fate. There was every chance that they would kill her, but she knew that she would rather die fighting than allow her purgatory to continue.

Without warning, the door to her bedroom burst open and a soldier burst into the room. The man’s weapon was raised as he jabbed left to clear the blind corner. Reacting on instinct, Alessandra dropped low and swept the man’s legs with the rod. Stumbling forward, the soldier’s rifle fired, sending a stream of bullets into the wall and shattering bottles in the drinks cabinet beside the bed.

Without waiting for him to hit the floor, Alessandra was already moving, and she leapt on the man’s back, pinned his arms to his side with her knees. “Who the hell are you?” she growled, shoving his head into the carpeted floor.

“Amerdfjfh,” the man mumbled into the carpet.

”What the hell did you say?”

Before he could repeat himself, Alessandra was scooped off the man by a large arm that wrapped around her torso and pulled her away in one swift motion.

“Get off me!” she screamed, kicking out for anything in range, connecting with something hard behind her. 

“Hey, calm down ,kid, we’re friendlies. We got you.”

“Get off me!” Alessandra screamed, writhing within the unrelenting grasp of the man who was holding her off the ground.

“Hey,” the huge body yelled in her ear. “FRIENDLY… honey, you’re safe now, we got you.”

 

 

May 28th, 2014 -  Nice, France

 

Ryan Knight was nervous, but then, he always was before an operation. It didn’t matter how many times he went out in the field; he always got the same pregame jitters right before kickoff.  It reminded him of something one of his old instructors had once told him; nerves were often the best asset an Intelligence Officer could have. Nerves meant that you were taking the job seriously and took the time to prepare. It meant that you were aware of the danger and focused. Ryan had known more than enough Operations guys who had cut corners and let their guard down; they never seemed to last very long.

At twenty-nine years old, he had been with the Central Intelligence Agency for the last eight years. Recruited directly from college, he had attended The Operations Directorate’s six-month course at Camp Peary, Virginia.

Ryan Knight would be the first to tell you that he was no chiseled Adonis. Like most Intelligence Officers in the Agency, he was a pretty average guy in almost all respects. The truth was that it benefited him far more greatly than any Hollywood action movie would ever dare to portray. Supermodels and big buff action men tended to draw far more attention than the girl or guy next door. Standing at five feet seven inches tall with a little optimism, he was often seen as the kid brother of the Paris Field Office. He would never be James Bond, but it made him just right for James Bond’s job.

The old town district of the city of Nice was heaving with tourists. All around, they were out enjoying the pleasant early summer weather on the French Riviera. They filled the shops, the cafés, and the sidewalks of the Mediterranean destination to capacity. At the moment they were filling the tiny square in front of Nice’s Cathedral of Saint Réparate. 

The Agency´s target today was Abbas Ahmad, a Lebanese terrorist responsible for a string of attacks throughout Southern Europe and North Africa. Ever the noble Jihadi warrior, Ahmad frequently sent others to do his dirty work for him. Choosing instead to spend his time throwing threats at the West from a position of relative obscurity. They were in Nice today because he had made a crucial mistake.

“Target will be on you in sixty seconds.”

Ryan clicked his tongue twice to acknowledge the radio transmission, the sound being picked up by the bone-conductive microphone located in his left ear. He smiled at the woman behind the counter in the little ice cream shop as he accepted his frozen dessert, “merci.”

Exiting the shop, Ryan turned north along Rue du Pont Vieux and started walking north through the heaving foot traffic. He wasn’t entirely sold on the ethics of this part of their mission, but to date, it was the only chink in the armor of Ahmad’s terrorist network; his family. 

Little did Abbas Ahmad’s loyal zealots of know, but their devout leader had two children with his French mistress who resided in a cozy apartment on the French Rivera. It was a snippet that had cost them a valuable asset, but it had given them their first real opportunity to target the terrorist in months.

Ryan pushed his shades back on top of his head as he walked, allowing them to hold his blonde hair out of his eyes as he scanned the crowd ahead of him. In a loose blue linen shirt and a pair of jeans, he was invisible to the passers by that flowed around him.

“Red tank top, tan shorts, kid is on her left wearing a blue dress,” the disembodied voice intoned without emotion, “Watcher Two has them one two zero meters your twelve o’clock, Foxtrot. Snatch location four zero meters, white van.”

“Foxtrot, Acknowledged,” Ryan muttered to himself as he licked the ice cream.

Just ahead of him on the curb, he spotted the idling florist’s van and slowed his walking pace.

“Target five zero meters, coming to you now, should be visual.”

Ryan glanced ahead and spotted a brunette woman in a red tank top holding the hand of a little girl as she walked along the sidewalk. She matched the intel package for Ahmad’s girlfriend, Marianne Laurent, perfectly.  “target sighted.”

“All callsigns confirm status and standby to execute,” the voice in his ear intoned.

“Bravo, good to go.”

“Alpha, Confirm.”

“Charlie, standing by.”

“Gamma, 10-4.”

“Echo, on target.”

“Foxtrot, ready and waiting.”

“Hotel, Roger.”

Ryan nonchalantly licked his ice cream as he closed the distance to Laurent. The woman was chatting casually to her child as she strolled south along the road. The van door cracked open just a few inches as they drew closer, in preparation for the snatch. Ryan adjusted his pace slightly to ensure that he intercepted the two as they arrived at the correct point.

Like planetary bodies in space, the van door, Laurent, and Ryan all aligned in a perfect moment. Turning, Ryan raised a hand as if to wave at the woman as he called out, “Ah, Ca va, Marianne!”

Confused, the French woman faltered and looked his way at precisely the same moment that the van door slid open and Ryan’s other hand shoved her backward into the interior. Scooping up the child under his arm, he followed her into the vehicle, and the door slid smoothly closed behind them. Without a pause, the vehicle started and lurched away from the curbside to join the flow of traffic. The entire operation had taken three seconds to complete.

Fighting the rocking vehicle, Ryan held the young girl out of harm's way as the other operative in the back bound Laurent’s hands and feet with zip ties.

“One, this is Charlie, package secured.”

“Excellent work, Charlie, RV as planned for handoff.”

“Charlie copies.”

The young girl cried out and reached out for her writhing mother, but Ryan hushed her and held her close, keeping the struggle out of her view. The other operative reached down and stuffed a rag in the woman’s mouth before injecting her with a syringe.

Nobody noticed the abduction on the narrow medieval street of Nice’s old town. It was over so quickly that few had time to process what they might have seen. Before anyone could put the pieces together, the florist’s van was lost in the busy traffic of the French Riviera city.

 

 

The warehouse by Nice Airport looked about as dilapidated and run down as one might expect of a property that was sandwiched on the thin strip of land between the mouth of the Var river and the airport’s refueling depot. At one point, it had been used to store fertilizer, and it still managed to smell vaguely of ammonia.

The door opened as the van approached, and rolled smoothly closed behind it once they were safely inside. The Agency’s Operational Command Center had been set up here a few days earlier, having been driven down from the Paris Field Office in a series of nondescript vans. By nightfall, be on its way back north again with no sign that it had ever been there.

Once they stopped, Ryan eased himself out of the van with the small girl in his arms. She was calmer now, but she was still clearly unsettled by what was happening. Behind him, two techs stepped forward to assist the other officer in unloading Marianne Laurent’s limp form.

Setting the girl down on her feet, Ryan knelt down beside her and checked her over.  She was unharmed, but seemed a little shaken by recent events. The child’s dark, wavy hair seemed to be the only thing she had inherited from her Lebanese father, and it stood in stark contrast to her pale, creamy skin and Gaelic features. She appeared to be no older than four, way before the point of comprehending what was happening to her. Unlike her father and potentially her mother, she was innocent in all the dark deeds, and Ryan intended to keep her that way. The little girl smiled back at him shyly.

 Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Ryan fixed what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face.  “You’re going to be ok, sweetie. Tout ira bien, ma chérie, oui?”

The little girl looked uncertain but nodded slowly after a moment. Ryan gave her hand a squeeze and smiled. After a moment, the girl smiled back at him and seemed to calm slightly. A female tech approached and smiled down at the little girl before looking across at him, “I’ll watch her for you, Mister Knight.”

“Thanks, Jen,” Ryan nodded, standing up and giving the little girl one last wave before walking over to the command area.

They had Laurent strapped to a gurney in a curtained-off space by the command area. When Ryan arrived, a medical tech was injecting her with a cocktail of drugs that would counteract the sedative they had given her on the ride over. Beside her, Ryan’s boss, Greg Edwards, was tapping his foot impatiently as he watched on.

“Wish this shit didn't take so damn long,” he muttered as Ryan approached. “By the time we get what we need, Ahmad might already be in the wind.”

“We don’t want to kill her,” Ryan pointed out. “That would be unnecessary, given the stakes.”

Edwards shrugged, “Not a huge loss, she has to know who he is.”

“They often don’t,” Ryan pointed out, watching the woman as she started to stir. “The kid is being looked after.”

Edwards scowled and crossed his arms impatiently, “Good, we put the fear of God in mom here and get her to fess up to Ahmad’s location, then we can call it a day.”

Ryan held his tongue. He knew the man would never actually dare to harm innocents, but he was aware that he planned to threaten it. While distasteful, it was the dark grey of their world that often called for bad things to be done in the name of the greater good. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was necessary.

While their job mandated that they walk in the shade, Ryan Knight always insisted that he kept one foot in the light. In his eight years with the Agency, he had seen what happened to Operations Officers who strayed too far from the path. He had seen what happened even to the best plans.

Laurent began to stir as the sedative’s grip faded. Slowly, her eyes began to flutter.

Edwards stepped forward and started to lightly slap the woman’s cheek in an effort to get her attention, “Wakey wakey, Marianne, are you with us?”

The French woman seemed to focus more as her eyes widened in shock. “My daughter? Where is she? What ‘ave you done with ‘er?” she croaked, struggling against her restraints.

“She’s safe, for now,” Edwards answered, “Where’s Abbas Ahmad hanging out these days?”

“I don’t know who…” she was cut off as Edwards slapped her cheek again, this time significantly harder.

“No, that’s the wrong answer,” he sighed and shook his head. “Let’s cut to the important bits, shall we? We know who he is. Obviously, to lie for him, you know who he is. We know that he’s hiding out somewhere in town when he visits you, so save us some time and tell us where, or very bad things are going to happen to people you care about.”

Marianne Laurent’s face went through a transformation as Edwards' words began to permeate through her narcotic-fogged mind. “I will never betray Abbas, you will ‘ave to kill me,” she spat.

Edwards shrugged and glanced over at the man standing beside him. “Then I guess it’s time for extreme measures, we’re gonna go pull some fingernails off the kid.”

“You’re bluffing,” Marianne replied, a hint of nerves showing through her brave exterior.

Edwards didn’t seem to notice the horrified look on Ryan’s face. “I’m afraid that I am not,” he clarified casually. “Tell me what I want to know, or this will get real ugly real fast. Your daughter Béatrice is in that room with one of my people. She’s ok for now, but if you don’t play ball, she won’t stay that way for long.”

“You ever heard a four-year-old scream in agony?” Edwards asked, looking over at Knight, a nasty sneer crossing his lips.

Ryan fought to maintain a neutral mask despite his revulsion at the very idea. “I… have not.”

Edwards looked back at Laurent and shrugged. “C’est la vie, as you French say, eh?”

The woman seemed conflicted for a moment as her eyes flicked between the doorway and the two men. Ryan knew the look; it was the same look that a cornered animal had when it was trying to decide which fate was better. Whether it was better to have a quick death or make a desperate bid for freedom and potentially die in the process. 

After a moment, Laurent’s shoulders sagged against the gurney, and she closed her eyes. “Don’t…please. I will tell you,” she whispered dejectedly. She glanced over at Ryan, her eyes almost desperate, “If I tell you, you must ensure that my son, he is safe.”

“He’s with Ahmad?” Edwards interjected, “Where?”

“Promise?” Marianne begged, “Please, or I tell you nothing.”

“Sure,” Edwards shrugged, glancing across at Ryan. “We’ll make sure Martin’s safe, and little Béatrice too.”

Marianne looked up at the rafters and seemed to utter a silent prayer. “They are at my apartment; 1883 Rue d’Italie, fifth floor, apartment twelve.”

“You’re sure he’s there right now?”

The woman nodded, tears in her eyes. “Forgive me, Abbas,” she murmured, “mes enfants…”

Edwards strode over to the technician manning the drone control station. “Did you get that?”

“Yeah,” The tech confirmed. “We’re heading there now.”

Ryan walked up behind them as their small recon drone flew low over the red-tile rooftops of the city, with the neo-gothic towers of Basilique Notre-Dame de l’Assomption in the background. It was a beautiful view of the historic Rivera city, but one that few would ever witness.

“Nice spot,” Ryan observed as the drone swept past a chimney and began to approach a building. “Is that the one, on the left?”

“From what she said,” Edwards offered. “Fifth floor, apartment twelve,” he prompted the tech.

“According to building plans, that is… this one,” the man indicated with his finger on one of the screens as the drone focused its attention on a tall balcony window. “I have movement inside.”

“Shall I get the team ready to go?” Ryan asked.

The camera zoomed into the living room of the apartment, and the picture began to adjust to the gloom. Inside, a bearded man was playing with a toddler while a TV played in the background.

“We got a match?” Edwards asked, ignoring Ryan’s question as the camera highlighted the man’s face and a row of images began scrolling on another monitor. Within seconds, the screen flashed green as Abbas Ahmad’s profile flashed up.

“Confirmed on target, Ahmad,” the tech agreed.

“Ok,” Edwards grinned, slapping the man on the back jovially. “We have an asset in the airspace?”

“Sure do,” the man agreed. “Got one in transit from Naples. In range for the next seventeen minutes.”

“Are we not going to mobilize…?”

“Send it, authorization gamma twelve ultima.”

Ryan balked as he watched the tech switch screens to a targeting reticle. “Are you kidding me, Greg? Who the hell authorized us to use an armed asset in French airspace? What about the collateral?”

Edwards looked unapologetic. “If we send in ground assets, we risk him martyring himself and killing even more civilians. This way, it’s contained, and nobody gets hurt. I have command authority here.”

“But we promised her…” Ryan insisted, looking back at Marianne Laurent, “He’s an innocent kid, Greg.”

“Shit happens,” Edwards shrugged, turning back to the monitor. “I would rather some terrorist’s kid get caught in the crossfire than any of my guys, send it Steve.”

“Roger, rifle one,” the tech responded impassionately.

Ryan watched in horror as the camera view began to track down towards the apartment building as the missile launched by the orbiting Reaper drone screamed towards its target. The drone camera on the other monitor captured the moment the entire corner of the building was vaporized in a blinding flash.

Marianne Laurent could not see the computer monitors from her position on the gurney, but she watched the color drain from Ryan’s face as he watched the missile destroy her home. Somehow, she knew what had happened, and the woman wailed at the top of her lungs. Elbowing the medical technician, she lunged from the gurney, her hands still bound, and rushed the men with a look of pure hatred in her eyes.

Without missing a beat, Edwards drew his pistol and shot the woman in the head. Her body snapped back as though yanked by a rope, and she crumpled to the floor like a boneless puppet.
The gunshot echoed through the open warehouse, its sound leaving in its wake a deadly silence.

“What… the fuck!” Ryan spluttered, his eyes darting between Edwards and the crumpled body of Laurent. “What the hell did you do?!”

The man reholstered his weapon and shrugged, “You saw her; she was going to pose an imminent risk to our safety.”

“She was unarmed, Greg,” Ryan spat. “Unarmed and restrained.”

“Reports are a funny thing, huh?” Edwards chuckled, glancing at the drone tech. “Right, Steve?”

“Uh, yes, Mister Edwards, ah, sir,” The tech replied dutifully, pointedly refusing to look at the body not six feet away from his chair.

“What about the kid?” Ryan asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. “What are you suggesting we do with the little girl in the other room that you just orphaned?”

Edwards’ expression was neutral and unmoving. He glanced casually over at the dead body before returning his attention to Ryan. The man seemed unaffected by the events that had just transpired. He shrugged and raised an eyebrow,  “The way I see it, she died in the apartment with her father and brother.”

Ryan blinked as he took in what the man had just told him. His eyes drifted towards the burning wreckage on the monitor before looking back at the senior officer. In his eight years with the agency, he had never heard anyone even suggest such a thing. “What?”

“You heard me,” Edwards repeated evenly. “Are we going to have a problem, Knight?”

“No, sir,” he replied carefully. “No problem.”

“Go tell them to start packing up,” Edwards ordered, waving his hand dismissively at Ryan. Without waitin for a reply, he turning back to the control station and focused his attention on the screen as the technicians performed a damage assessment of the strike.

Ryan stood frozen to the spot for a moment, his eyes watching as the pool of blood behind Marianne Laurent’s head expanded slowly on the concrete floor. After what felt like an eternity, he turned and walked away. He could barely process what he had just seen, the image of the strike and the sudden, violent death of the French woman had stunned his system.

Once he was out of sight of the command area, he ran a hand through his hair and frowned. He had just witnessed murder, and nobody seemed to be remotely surprised by it. What was worse was that he was apparently expected to accept this chain of events and continue as though it were a normal day.

Their mission had been to capture Ahmad, not to kill him. So many things about this outcome felt dangerously wrong. They were far beyond their parameters, and he was almost positive that the strike had been a criminal action. There was no possible world in which this had been authorised by their station chief.

The girl.

The little girl that Ryan had helped to deliver alongside her mother was sitting just a room away and had no idea that her entire family was now dead. As far as he could interpret, Edwards seemed to imply that he was going to have her removed to neaten things up. There was no way he could allow this to happen. Ryan turned and set off for the side office where the girl was being held. He had no plan, but he was certain that he was going to ensure the girl was safe. Suddenly, it seemed like the most important thing in the world.

The technician that was watching the girl looked up as Ryan entered. She raised an eyebrow, “What was all the fuss outside?”

“Nothing,” Ryan shrugged. “Look, we’re good here. Edwards told me to tell you that he wants a hand outside now that we’re breaking down command.”

“You got it, Mister Knight.” The woman nodded, blissfully unaware of what had just taken place in the main room. Ryan waited for her to leave before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone. Stopping the recording function, he stared at the phone in his hand. He hadn’t known what to expect when they had directed surveillance onto the target house; he certainly hadn’t expected what had occurred.

Working in intelligence had taught him to be skeptical of anything unusual or strange and to document anything that smelled funny. There was no doubt that this operation had been borderline from the very beginning; that wasn’t entirely unusual. It had, however, gotten worse as time went on. 

When Edwards had initially suggested grabbing Laurent to force her to divulge the location of Abbas Ahmad, Ryan had been suspicious enough to start recording. It was a habit instilled into him by their station chief back at the US Embassy in Paris, Tom Spencer. A veteran of the cold war, Spencer had taught Ryan one important fact of life in the Central Intelligence Agency: shit rolled down hill. In a game of political oversight, shifting blame, and questionable moral choices, Tom Spencer’s golden rule applied: Cover your ass. Whether it was a backup piece or a recording device, always come prepared. Emailing a copy of the file to himself, he swapped out the memory card before stuffing the phone back into his pocket.

Moving across the room, Ryan checked the latch on the window. The warehouse was a single-storey structure, and the office was located on the western side, facing towards the river. The old window frame had been painted shut years ago, but with a generous application of force, he was eventually able to get it to move.

“Can I see Mama? I want my Mama,” the little girl asked innocently.

Ryan grunted with effort as he forced the stubborn window open wider. “Soon, honey, soon. We gotta go take a little trip first, ok?”

“Ok,” the girl beamed happily. “Can we get ice cream? My mama was going to take me to get ice cream today.”

Ryan’s heart clenched at the child’s youthful ignorance. She had no idea that her mother was lying dead not a hundred feet away in the next room. She had no way of knowing that she was the last survivor of her entire family, and it broke his heart into pieces.

“Chérie, we’ll get you all the ice cream you can eat,” Ryan agreed, glancing cautiously out of the window. The drop was only the height of the wall, he could make it out of there just fine. “Come to me, honey,” he called, beckoning the child over. “We’re going to go get you that ice cream, but first we need to play a little game, ok?”

The girl got down from her chair and walked over slowly before allowing Ryan to lift her up. “Steady, little one, ok?”

He carefully lowered the girl out of the office window until her feet were touching the floor. “Be a good girl and hide here for me, ok?” he asked. “Stay quiet till I come to get you. Can you do that for me?”

The child nodded, “I’m really good at hide and seek,” she beamed.

“If you win, I’ll get you any ice cream you want, ok?”

The girl grinned back at him, and Ryan closed the window and latched it. He didn’t know how long he would have, but he needed to get the hell out of this place as soon as possible. There was something badly wrong about the way Edwards had acted, and he knew they were miles off the mission parameters as set in their briefing.

All that mattered now was that a child was going to be murdered in cold blood to cover up the death of potentially dozens of innocent civilians, and on the soil of a sovereign allied nation to boot. He wasn’t going to let them do it.

Fixing a neutral expression on his face, Ryan stepped back out into the main warehouse and closed the door behind him. The operations center was a hive of activity as technicians were busy breaking down equipment and packing crates. The body of Marianne Laurent had been removed; the only remnant of her death was a blood stain on the concrete floor. 

Edwards himself was nowhere to be seen; he was likely on the phone with Langley, accepting praise for his successful kill of a wanted terrorist. Ryan wasn’t sure how he planned to spin what had happened, but the truth was clearly not going to be playing a central role in the retelling of events. Turning, he set off towards the front door of the building, keeping his walk unhurried and casual.

“Hey, uh, sir?”

Ryan turned and spotted one of the technicians, “Chris?”

“Are you flying out or driving back with the vans? Steve wanted numbers for the jet.”

“Flying,” he shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I’m not spending ten hours in an enclosed space with Gary. I’m just going to grab something in town before we head back. Tell him that I’ll be at the hangar by four, ok?”

The man grinned and walked away. As he did so, Ryan released his grip on the pistol in the back of his waistband and relaxed; it was nothing. A dozen more steps, and he was outside. Closing the door behind him, he jogged around the exterior of the warehouse until he was outside the office window. The child was nowhere in sight, and his heart lurched violently.

“Béatrice, où es-tu ,chérie? Where are you, honey?”

“I’m here!” the girl giggled, crawling out from behind a barrel. “Did I win?”

Ryan sighed in relief, “Yeah, you sure did, cherie. Come on, let’s go get that ice cream, huh?”

Taking the child by the hand, he walked quickly back out to the main road and away from the warehouse. No matter what happened from this point on, he was not going to let anyone hurt this girl. No matter the crimes of her father, she was an innocent; she deserved to live. There was no way he was going to stand idle when every alarm bell in his head was screaming that this entire mess was wrong.

He had no idea what he was going to do next. There was no protocol for what had just happened. No training scenario or guideline to help him. His gut was telling him to run, and he followed it. They would run, they would run far, and he would sort this mess out, somehow.

 

Well, they would sort it out after ice cream, probably.

 

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May 28th, 2014 -  Nice, France

The clock on the outside of the Gare de Nice-Ville train station was reading a quarter to four in the afternoon when Ryan led his small charge across the broad plaza at a brisk walk. He had gotten ice cream for Béatrice as promised, and they had ridden the city’s tram network for half an hour to throw off any initial pursuit. In that time, He had received several missed calls from members of the team. It was clear now that their departure had been noticed.

He had left his cellphone on a northbound tram after they had disembarked and changed to a bus. It was this bus that had eventually dropped them in the square across from the station. Thankfully, little Béatrice was more than entertained by the changing scenery to remain compliant enough. How much longer that was last was anyone’s guess.

The time had given Ryan time to assess his situation. The killing of Abbas Ahmad, Marianne Laurent, and her son were crimes, that much was clear. There was no conceivable way that they could be justified as an operational necessity. Edwards had intimated that he would falsify reports, and the others in the command center had seemingly been willing to go along with whatever coverup was decided.

It was clear to Ryan that escaping that situation was his only choice. That they had planned to kill the girl to clean up that mess was all the knowledge he needed to be running with her now. The first and most important step he had to take before he could do anything about clearing their name and presenting his evidence was to get out of town, and quickly.

Ryan had yet to work out where he was going to go and what he planned to do when he got there. At this point, he was operating purely on training and hoping an idea would come to mind as he followed that protocol. Once you added juggling a small child to that mixture, it threw a spanner in most ready ideas.

He had to get them out of Nice; that was clearly the first and most important objective. Losing any surveillance and putting distance between himself and any subsequent pursuit would buy him time to evaluate his options. Once he had that time, he could work out what the hell he was doing, if that was even possible.

Ryan frowned as he looked at the departure board mounted high in the station foyer. It was late on Sunday afternoon, which was clearly not the best day to travel. As such, the list of departures was more sparse than he would have liked. Other than the half a dozen local trains leaving within the next hour, there were only three long-distance trains on the board.

Two of the trains to Barcelona and Frankfurt were departing in over an hour, and that was far longer than Ryan was willing to wait in such a public space. Every moment they remained in Nice was a minute in which they could be caught. Departing as soon as possible was necessary, and that left only one option remaining, which was to depart in twenty minutes. Ryan wished that it was going anywhere else in the world.

The final remaining train was a TGV Express service that was leaving at a quarter past five. It was traveling through the French alps to its final destination of Milan, Italy. On the surface, it was perfect for his requirements; a large European city with a lot of opportunity to disappear and reset while he worked out what to do next. The only problem was that for Ryan, Milan held a great deal of baggage. Baggage that he had hoped that he would never have to unpack.

Ryan cursed under his breath before glancing down guiltily at the small child by his side. Béatrice Laurent was watching the stationgoers with the rapt interest of a child, and was paying him no notice at the moment. He was glad that she was still somewhat overstimulated by the day’s events; it meant that she was a lot easier to drag around without major complaint.

Ryan glanced back at the departure board and sighed. It was almost as if fate was pushing him back to Milan. He knew that he had no other options if he wanted to get out of town quickly and make it a good distance away from Nice. On the bright side, at least he knew the city fairly well. Far too well, in his opinion.

Shaking his head, Ryan squeezed Béatrice’s hand and led her across to the ticketbooth. After a brief wait, it was their turn at the desk. The worker, a Frenchman in his fifties, looked up from his computer before raising a Gallic eyebrow at Ryan, “Can I help you, Monsieur?”

“One adult, one child for the Milan train, please.”

“The seventeen fifteen?” he asked, checking his screen. “Will that be First or second class?”

“First,” Ryan offered. “Which platform?”

“Track one, Monsieur, the front of the train for your seats.” The man looked down at Béatrice, and his eyebrow twitched. “Have you any luggage to check?”

“No, it’s just us,” Ryan replied flatly, doing his best to seem casual. “Day trip.”

“Certainly, sir, you will want the return ticket?”

Realizing that a negative would seem more strange than a single man traveling with a little girl and no luggage, Ryan nodded. “Ah, yeah, sure.”

The clerk nodded and rang up the tickets. Ryan slid cash across the desk, not wishing to use his cards at the moment. After a moment, the clerk smiled thinly and slid a pair of tickets across the desk to Ryan.

“Oh, can I get a pair of tickets for the Frankfurt train, too, please?” Ryan asked. “Adult and child, one way. Pay by card?”

The clerk gave him an odd look, but rang up the ticket before handing him the additional ticket. “‘ave a pleasant journey monsieur, whichever you take, au revoir.”

Taking the tickets quickly, Ryan escorted his young charge back out toward the platforms. The other ticket bought on his card would likely flag to the Agency. If they bought it, it might buy him some valuable time. Every little helped in their circumstances.

“Where are we going?” little Béatrice asked as they walked. “Are we going back to Mama yet?“I’m hungry. When is it time for dinner?”

Ryan’s heart clenched, “Your Mama wanted me to take you somewhere, we’re going on a little trip, an adventure, isn’t that fun?”

The girl seemed to consider this for a moment. “I like adventures.”

“We’re going to have dinner on a train, isn’t that exciting? We’ll eat dinner, then we can sleep, and we will wake up in Italy!”

Béatrice looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling. “Is my Mama coming?”

“Ah… later,” Ryan bluffed. “She has some things to do with your brother first, then she’s going to follow us, ok?”

Ryan felt awful lying to the girl, but he simply couldn’t think of a good time to explain to her that her entire family was dead. He certainly couldn’t broach the subject until they had far more privacy than even a train provided. Children could be extremely resilient, he knew that, but they were also potentially extremely vocal. For now, he hoped. That a few little white lies wouldn’t hurt too much.

He knew that eventually he would have to tell her the truth. She was four years old, she was at an age where she could reason and ask questions. She was going to start getting suspicious soon if he wasn’t able to explain things to her. Hopefully, he could manage to get them somewhere private first.

The sleek, blue and silver express train was waiting on the platform as promised. Finding the right car, Ryan got them both onboard before locating their seats towards the rear of the first carriage on the upper deck. It was a quieter area, and one he knew they would both be needing. They had a long journey ahead of them and a long night.

Why did it have to be Milan? As far as Ryan was concerned, fate had a cruel sense of humor. In his moment of need, it was Milan that was presented as his one shot at salvation. The one place he had avoided for his own sake, the one place that filled him with shame.

He had last visited the great Italian city many years ago, right at the start of his career with the Agency. He had been so green back then, so full of hope and patriotism. He had been so ready to do what his country asked of him, so excited to get his foot on the ladder and gain experience. He should have been a hell of a lot more careful about what he signed up for.

The city held memories, but it was one person in particular that he was afraid to see again after all this time. A woman, a very special woman that he had once grown close to. In many ways, she had come to know him better than he knew himself. She had helped him when he knew nothing, guided him when he was lost. When he had left for his mission, he had failed her, and it ashamed him. 

Perhaps this was fate’s way of telling him that it was time to get over himself. Maybe it was time to pay her a visit in this time of need. If fate was sending him to Milan, it meant to send him to Francesca Ricci’s door. Afterall, the child sitting beside him would need help, more help than he could provide. Glancing over at Béatrice, Ryan knew that the right thing wasn’t always the easiest decision.

At five fifteen precisely, the train pulled out of the station and began its journey eastward towards the foothills of the Southern Alps. As they began to accelerate out of Nice, Ryan allowed himself to relax for a moment. He knew that they were far from safe, but he had bought them time, and sometimes, time was all you needed.

The train left the urban sprawl of the French Riviera and accelerated into the rolling hills beyond. Ryan Knight had no idea what was going to happen; he just knew that it was enough that they were alive. He had acted without thinking about the ramifications to himself or his career. As soon as Edwards had pulled the trigger on Abbas, his priorities had shifted. It only took one glance down at the child beside him to tell him that whatever it was, it was the right thing.

Ryan closed his eyes and mentally evaluated his situation: By now, he would be listed as missing, and they would suspect, quite rightly, that he had taken the child. This would be elevated to a search, and they would be operating on whatever information Edwards chose to put forward. That meant that there was every chance that some or all of the events of the day could be put on Ryan to deflect attention.

He had no way to prove that Edwards had not acted without authorization, but it was extremely likely. As such, going directly to his superiors without hard evidence was out of the question. He needed to find a neutral intermediary that he could use to test the waters back at Langley. Perhaps, with their help, he might have a better idea of what course to take going forward. 

The cell phone that he left on the tram and the ticket for Germany would throw them off for a short while, but it would not work long-term. Eventually, they would manage to access CCTV and work out which train he boarded. That might be today, or it might just be late enough that it would be the next morning. Regardless, with a ten-hour journey ahead of them to Milan, it was more than possible that they would be waiting when he arrived.

Ryan ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was tired, but he knew that this mess was only just getting started. Looking down at the girl beside him, he smiled. He had no idea why he had done what he did, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. For the first time in his career, perhaps even in his life, he felt a powerful urge that he was barely able to comprehend. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that protecting this girl was worth everything he had.

 

 

September 2nd, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Regaining consciousness felt like swimming through syrup with only a vague recollection of which direction was up. Alessandra blinked and groaned as the world around her slowly returned to light and color. Her head was spinning, and her mouth felt as dry as the New Mexico desert. Whatever they had given her, it had been strong stuff.

When she felt slightly more alert, she eased herself up onto her elbows and tried to focus on the room she found herself in. She was lying on a bed in a space that resembled a small hotel room. Unlike a hotel, this room lacked any windows, meaning that her ability to tell time or location was severely hampered. The room was furnished in pinks and golds, and the trim seemed more gaudy than stylish. There was a wardrobe along one wall and a door that led, she presumed, to a bathroom. The room’s other door looked like any normal hotel door.

They had drugged her; it was the only thing that made sense. The last clear memory she had was the nightclub where she had been waiting to make contact with the traffickers. She remembered flashes of other memories: a vehicle of some sort, a loud throbbing sound, and a metal room. The drugs had certainly done their job; she had no idea where she was or how long it had been since she had been taken.

She had no idea how long it would be before the team struck and set her free, so she had to play the role of startled, groggy innocent. Whoever had left her here likely had cameras watching, so she needed to act appropriately at all times unless she was positive that she was alone. She should be timid, scared, and weak from her ordeal; it was what they would expect.

At least one of the three she didn’t need to fake; her entire body felt weak and disjointed. Eventually, she managed to ease herself upright and slipped her feet over the edge of the bed. The floor under her feet was carpeted and soft, a strange feeling for what she was guessing was equivalent to her prison cell. Somehow, she suspected it wasn’t for her personal comfort.

Making it to her feet somewhat unsteadily, she padded across the carpet in her stocking feet and examined the door. There was no peephole, and the slip chain and deadbolt were both missing. All that she found in its place was a keyhole, one she suspected only locked from the outside.

Staggering into the bathroom, she flipped on the light, blanching against the harsh brightness. The girl looking back at her looked a mess; she was still wearing traces of the makeup she had put on last, and her hair was pointing in several directions at once. She was still wearing the same dress she had worn that last night; a deep green babydoll dress in a sparkling metallic material. She was almost sad to see there was a tear in the skirt. Her skin was bruised around her upper arms and wrists, and her stockings were torn. Whoever had moved her had not done so gently, it seemed.

Splashing water on her face, Alessandra tried to assess the space around her without being obvious about it. The bathroom was small but reasonably appointed; it was already stocked with toiletries and cosmetics, seemingly waiting for her occupancy. Leaning forward, Alessandra made as if to brush aside a smudge on the glass with her fingertip. The reflection touched her nail as she did so, telling her that the glass was a two-way mirror. Whoever these people were had a well-oiled machine in place, one far more sophisticated than they had predicted in their planning.

The plan for Operation Orsino had been fairly simple; she was to play a transgender student in Rome. She was to attend parties and clubs where she would become known. Rome had been one of the cities in which girls had vanished, so it seemed a likely hunting ground for the traffickers. Once they took notice, they would allow them to take her and start moving her through the organization’s pipeline. That would lead them to the group's network. Once they had, the team watching over her would strike.

Her handlers had prepared her for the possibility of being drugged, but the reality was beyond any expectation she might have had. Alessandra swallowed hard, biting back a wave of nausea. The reality was unpleasant indeed.

Cupping her hands under the tap, she gulped down water to soothe her rebellious stomach. As she did so, she spotted the bruising on her wrist. The color was fading, suggesting the bruise was several days old. Had she been out that long?

Alessandra’s hand absentmindedly reached for the small scar on her thigh where the GPS tracking chip had been embedded. The tiny device had limited battery life and had to be charged wirelessly, and it only lasted for a week. If she had been gone long enough for bruises to be healing, its small battery could already be drained flat. If that was the case, it was all she could do to hope that they had tracked her location before it stopped transmitting.

A thought made Alessandra’s blood run cold: Did the battery die before she reached her present location? If it had, did the team shadowing her manage to follow, or were they even aware of her current location? If they had lost her, how would they pick up her trail? The very idea that she might be out here on her own was a sobering thought, one strong enough to clear some of the narcotic fog from her mind.

Wandering back through to the main room, Alessandra sat down on the end of the bed. Her safety net was gone; she was entirely off the reservation now. If her identity as an intelligence officer was discovered, it was highly likely that she would be killed. That meant that her only recurse was to keep her head down and sink herself into the role of Alessandra De Luca, college exchange student and transgender woman. Anything short of that, and she risked it all.

They would come for her, she knew it. It could be as little as a matter of hours, and she would be free again with this entire ordeal behind her. They had plans and contingencies for every eventuality. To the CIA, this was nothing but a speedbump, a slight misstep that could be corrected on the fly. They would come for her.

They would come, wouldn’t they?

They had to come…

Alessandra was scared. She had not felt fear like this since she was a child. Every sense seemed heightened, and her skin prickled against the chill of the air conditioning. She was in real danger, and she was going to face it all by herself.

A set of keys rattled in the lock, making Alessandra jump. Her heart lept and she fought the urge to whimper in fear as the door swung open. The light outside in the corridor was bright, but she could just about make out a tall, stocky figure of a man standing in the doorway.

They had to come…

 

 

May 29th, 2014 -  Near Turin, Italy.

Ryan Knight snapped awake with a start, his hand reaching instinctively for the pistol tucked into his waistband. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and his skin felt clammy. He gulped down air as he tried to calm himself, as images of clawing hands and shadowy figures still hung in the edges of his vision. Pushing the damp hair out of his eyes, he began to recognize the train car and remembered where he was. For a second, his mind had taken him back to a far darker place.

“Rienne?”

Ryan looked down and spotted the worried expression on little Béatrice’s face. Her hand was hovering near his arm as though she was almost afraid to touch him.

“It’s ok, chérie,” he smiled, trying to reassure her, still breathing heavily as he recovered from his nightmare. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Are you ok?” the girl asked earnestly.

“I’m fine,” Ryan shrugged dismissively. “I had a really bad dream, and now I’m doing a lot better.”

The girl nodded slowly, seeming to accept the explanation, “I have bad dreams sometimes; they’re scary.”

The lights in the train were dim, and it seemed as though most passengers around them were sleeping. Outside the window, dark shapes flew past as the train hurtled onward through the night. Finally feeling more normal again, Ryan brushed a lock of hair out of the girl’s eyes affectionately, “Bad dreams suck. Just remember that no matter what, they can’t hurt you, you know that, right?”

Béatrice nodded and yawned theatrically, “My Mama told me that dreams can’t hurt big girls. Sometimes, I still want a cuddle when I have a bad dream. Do you want a cuddle?”

“I uh, I…” Ryan stumbled as the girl cuddled into his side. “Uh, thanks.”

“It makes me feel better, and the scary thoughts go away,” Béatrice offered, leaning her head against him. “Where are we going?”

“Uh, Italy, I think,” Ryan offered, checking his watch. “We’re on our way to a really special place; it's all an adventure.”

“Where?” the child asked, climbing up and looking out of the window at the darkened scenery as it sped past.

Where exactly? Ryan wondered to himself. He did a little mental arithmetic and ran through the options before settling on the only choice he had, the only choice that made any sort of sense.

“Well, first, we are going to go to a place called Milan in Italy. After that, maybe Switzerland.” Won’t that be fun, Béa?”

“My mama calls me Béa,” the little girl grinned brightly. “Where is Swizzyland?”

“It’s Switzerland,” Ryan repeated. “It’s just above Italy and next to France; it has lots of mountains.”

Béatrice looked thoughtful, “Like Mount Blanc? That’s the best mountain.”

The kid was smarter than Ryan had given her credit for; he would have to take that into consideration. Dealing with children like this was something entirely outside his realm of experience. Was he supposed to treat them like kids or little adults? Did she still need diapers changing, or was she too big for that?

“Yeah, like Mount Blanc,” Ryan agreed. “But Switzerland has a lot more of them. It’s a really pretty place.”

“Mama will like Swizzland,” Béatrice declared

Ryan felt a stab at his heart. The coming days would be difficult for the girl as she adjusted to her new reality. He had no idea how the heck he was going to explain to a four-year-old that her entire family was dead, but it had to happen, sooner than later. That was for her own good, whether it hurt in the short term or not.

Beyond that difficult conversation, he had no idea what he was going to do to care for a small child, nevermind doing so and protecting them both at the same time. Regardless, he was going to do his best; he owed her that at the very least. She had suffered enough, and he would not allow her to face any further hardship. Wrapping his arm around the girl, he settled back down and closed his eyes. As Béatrice cuddled into his side, Ryan felt a strange sense of warmth spread through him.  No matter what happened, he would make sure she was safe for the rest of her life.

 

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May 29th, 2014 -  Milan, Italy

It was just after seven in the morning when Ryan and his small charge arrived at Milan’s Lambrate station. The smaller suburban stop had far less security and presented another deviation from their expected behavior. Ryan had to assume that by the time they arrived, the people looking for them would have worked out which train they were aboard and its arrival time into Milan.

To that end, arriving at Milan’s central station on time would have been an extremely reckless move. Instead, they had changed trains at a small town thirty miles outside of Milan before arriving into the city on a regional service that stopped at smaller suburban stations. Ryan was hopeful that their change in routine would give any welcoming party the slip.

It was still early in the morning when they disembarked the train, and the rush hour crowd was not yet filling the platforms. After the regal comfort of the first-class express, the smaller commuter train had been bumpy and loud enough to ensure they were both wide awake.

Making their way into the station building, Ryan evaluated their immediate requirements: food, luggage, and communications. Now that he had time to think, he had to make sure that they looked like normal travelers. A young man and a child with no baggage or personal effects certainly looked unusual to even the untrained eye. Anything unusual was certain to attract the attention of Law Enforcement.

While the Agency likely would not tell national police agencies why they were looking for individuals, it was not beyond expectation for false notifications to get pushed. Local cops might not approach them, but they would certainly report back to command on such occasions.

As they walked through the station, Ryan spotted a man checking a cellphone. When he was done, the man pocketed the device and wandered casually towards a coffee shop by the entrance. Accelerating their pace, Ryan intercepted the man’s path and bumped him just enough to snatch the device without being noticed.

“Mi scusi,” he smiled, holding up his hands in apology. “Mi scusi.”

The man turned, clearly about to berate Ryan until he noticed the small girl holding his hand. Changing his mind, the man shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. Grinning to himself, Ryan slipped the man’s phone into his pocket. At least having the child around disarmed people somewhat, a surprising benefit.

There was a small travel shop on the concourse where Ryan was able to buy a small backpack and some items to keep Béatrice entertained: a coloring book, pencils, and a stuffed horse that the girl was presently squeezing delightedly. It wasn’t much, but it made their travel look far more intentional and routine. A kiosk on the concourse netted a baseball cap and some shades for Ryan. It was a small change, but he knew that it was enough to make facial recognition slightly harder if anyone was looking for him.

A small cafe just outside the station entrance was open early, offering breakfast to sleepy travelers. Ryan took the opportunity to head inside. While they had eaten on the train, it was obvious that his small charge would soon become increasingly grumpy if not fed.  More importantly, he had no idea when they would next get an opportunity to eat.

Ordering a selection of pastries along with fruit juice and a large coffee for himself, Ryan settled them both into a small booth near the rear of the cafe. It was quiet back here, away from the chattering customers already occupying the place. It allowed them to blend into the background while keeping an eye on anyone entering or leaving the establishment.

Sipping his Capuchino, Ryan allowed himself a moment to relax. They had made it to Milan and, for the time being, had managed to slip the net of any potential pursuit. It would certainly catch up to them, he was more than aware, but now that they had time. It allowed him to plan their next steps more carefully.

As the caffeine seeped into his tired mind, Ryan thought back to the nightmare on the train. It had been the first of its kind that he had experienced in years; he had thought that they were behind him. It seemed that the activities of the past twenty-four hours had managed to bring things back to the surface. Where once those nightmares had threatened to end his career, now, they could end his life if he didn’t get himself under control.

Watching Béatrice as she munched happily on her pastry, Ryan knew that he had a reason to keep it all together. No matter what happened to him, this child did not deserve any of what was happening to her. She deserved to be at home with her mother and her brother, living her life like a normal child, not out here with him as an orphan on the run.

It was only because of this girl that he was reluctantly coming to terms with his impending reunion with Francesca Ricci. He had not seen the woman in many years; after the failure of Operation Orsino, he had been far too ashamed to return to Milan. He had longed to see her again, but his shame had kept him away, a shame he carried even when the nightmares had subsided. In many ways, Ryan Knight felt like he had failed her.

The little girl across from him was enough for him to put aside his reservations and consider what he had once considered an impossibility. Given their circumstances, Francessa might well be their only reasonable hope in a world that seemed determined to fight them. That was, if she would even talk to him.

Pulling out his newly acquired cell phone, Ryan began to search for his old friend’s address.

“Where are we going next?” Béatrice asked as she stuffed a chunk of pastry into her mouth sideways.

“That depends on my friend,” Ryan admitted with a frown, gesturing with the phone. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, and I don’t know if she will want to see me.”

“Why not? Did you miss her?”

Ryan sipped his coffee and considered the question, “Yeah, I guess I did. But I thought I was upset about something, and that made me embarrassed. So I didn’t want to see her for some time.”

“Why were you embarrassed? What did you do?” The girl asked with all the tact of a sledgehammer.

“I uh, it’s a long story,” Ryan admitted. “But she was, is, really important to me. I’m pretty sure she can help us.”

“What’s your friend like?” Béatrice asked as she inhaled more pastry.

Ryan wondered how to phrase the answer. “Well… Francesca is a… businesswoman… She’s very good at her job, too. Uh, she makes people happy.”

“I want to make people happy when I’m older.” Béatrice beamed.

Ryan grimaced, “Not like her, you don’t.”

 

 

Francesca Ricci’s establishment was nestled amongst the most exclusive fashion houses of Milan’s Quadrilatero Della Moda. It was ironic, Ryan considered, that one of the most exclusive brothels in Italy was the least financially predatory business on the block.

“I really must be desperate,” Ryan muttered as he rang the buzzer. They were waiting outside a nondescript black door sandwiched between designer boutiques on Via Alessandro Manzoni. All around them, shoppers wandered along the boulevard with no idea what lay just behind its unassuming facade.

“Come posso aiutarla?” A distorted voice asked politely as it crackled through a speaker above the doorbell. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Francesca, tell her…,” Ryan looked up at the camera that was discreetly built into the decorative frame. “Tell her, Knight to Bishop Four.”

There was a pause before the voice answered simply, “Momento.”

A few minutes later, the door buzzed and clicked open to allow them entry. Pushing the door open, Ryan led Béatrice into the cool, air-conditioned interior. The foyer was tastefully decorated in cream tones and featured only a pair of leather sofas sitting along the wall with by a small end table. Thankfully, it was not presently occupied. A staircase filled the far end of the hallway and led away to parts of the house unseen.

Ryan was not sure what exactly he had expected, but his mind had conjured up far a seedier image of Signora Ricci’s establishment. The space was cool and calm, and felt far more like the waiting room of a doctor’s office than its true purpose.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Ryan asked the girl, leading her across to the sofas. “Why don’t you get your book out while we wait for my friend, huh?”

“Ok!” Béatrice beamed, hopping onto the sofa and digging into her backpack. 

Ryan marveled at the girl’s resilience. It had only been the prior afternoon that she had been snatched off a busy Nice street with her mother. Looking at her now, you would never believe that she had narrowly avoided being murdered along with the rest of her family. Reaching down, Ryan tucked a lock of hair behind the girl’s ear and smiled.

“I never took you to be the paternal type,” A voice called from the top of the stairs.

It was a familiar voice,  a voice Ryan had not heard in many years. Despite that, it was not one that he could ever truly forget. Following the sound, Ryan caught sight of the trim figure of Francesca Ricci descending the stairs in her spiked Minollo pumps. Despite the time that had passed, the woman had not changed a single bit.

Signora Ricci was a stunningly beautiful woman who carried herself with impeccable poise and elegance which gave her a spectacularly effortless air. Every movement she made was measured, and every expression carried endless subtle meaning. To be in her presence made one immediately aware that she was someone to be treated with the utmost respect. A respect that was not without consequences if it was crossed.

As far as Ryan knew, Francessca Ricci was somewhere between forty and sixty years of age, and the woman maintained herself in perfect shape. Having come up from a childhood in poverty, she had turned to prostitution out of necessity. Unlike many, however, she had risen through the world’s oldest profession with the pace of a Ferrari at full throttle. Before long, she was running her brothel and had brought the art of the Courtesan back for the richest and most influential clients in Northern Italy.

Francessca was wearing a crisp white blouse and a black knee-length pencil skirt that must have cost at least several thousand Euros. As usual, her makeup was perfect and her dark curls cascaded across her shoulders. She cut the image of a successful businesswoman who was in perfect control of every element of her femininity.

Francesca descended the stairs, her fingertips clasped together in front of her, an amused smile fixed on her ruby lips. In a single moment, Ryan felt ashamed that he had stayed away for so long. Seeing his mentor again filled him with more comfort than he ever imagined.

Ryan stood as she approached.  “Francesca, it’s good to see you. Ah, it’s been too long, I guess,” he smiled awkwardly as he stood. Glancing back at the now busily coloring child, he pointed out the approaching woman. “Béatrice, this is my friend, Francesca.”

“Bonjour!” Béatrice beamed.

“She is… yours?” Signora Ricci raised a delicate eyebrow questioningly as her eyes flicked to Béatrice, a smile spreading on her lips.

“No, she isn’t, but she is the reason why I’m here,” Ryan admitted. Look, I know it’s been a long time, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. We’re in a bit of trouble. Can we talk somewhere in private?”

Francesca clicked her fingers, and a pair of women in smart cocktail dresses appeared from seemingly nowhere. They approached and remained silent, waiting patiently for Ricci’s instruction.

“Aria, Isabella, please take little Béatrice here for refreshments. Use our space and keep the others out. I need to speak with the Signore alone. Please see that I am not disturbed.” Francesca paused and turned to Ryan, “She speaks French, yes?”

Ryan nodded, and Francesca gestured for the women to take Béatrice with them.

Ryan knelt down and squeezed the girl’s hand. “Hey, I need to talk to my friend here for a moment; these ladies are going to look after you for a few minutes, ok?”

“My mama said I’m not to talk to strangers,” Béatrice pointed out nervously, eying the two women uncertainly.

Ryan glanced up at the two and smiled, “They work for my friend here. They’re good people; they will look after you. I promise I won’t be long, ok?”

Béatrice hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly.

Ryan looked up at the two women and nodded. Reaching out, one of the women took Béatrices hand and led her through a doorway and out of sight. Ryan felt more than a little apprehension about letting her go, but knew that it was for the best. What he had to say to Francesca, he didn’t need little ears overhearing.

Waiting until they were alone, Francesca directed Ryan to follow her as she ascended the stairs. “So, what is it that I can do for the CIA today, Signore Knight?”

Ryan smiled awkwardly and shrugged, “Probably a lot, but that is part of the problem at the moment. The CIA and I are not really on speaking terms right now.”

Francessca paused and glanced over at Ryan, concern replacing her earlier pleasant expression, “What did they do?”

“Couldn’t it be something that I did?”

Francessca smirked and shook her head, “I like to think that I got to know you fairly well, Mia Caro.  You arrive on my doorstep with the bambina in tow. You are in trouble, yes, but I suspect it is not of your doing. Although I do recall that you were most adept at causing it, no?

“Perhaps,” Ryan scratched his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Unfortunately, this time, you’re right. I’m on the run, and the Agency is looking for me;  the girl is why. It’s a huge mess, and nothing makes a lot of sense. I’m out of options, and I have nowhere else to turn,” Ryan admitted as they reached Francessca’s office.

The room was elegantly decorated with wood-paneled walls and rich mahogany furniture. It was a design that made the room feel old and expensive. Behind the broad leather-topped desk, a tall bay window looked out over a park's lush greenery beyond. It was hard to believe that they were still in the center of one of Italy’s largest cities and not instead, in a stately home in the country.

Francesca guided Ryan toward a less formal seating area to the side of the office and waited until they were comfortable before allowing him to continue his explanation.

“We were going after her father, Abbas Ahmad. He was a Syrian national and a real bad dude. We snatched his mistress and kid to squeeze her for his location. She gave him up, and that was when we were meant to go get him. It would have been easy; he was alone, his guard was down; real simple. The problem is that’s when our team lead took matters into his own hands. Rather than follow procedure and send in our team, he called in a drone strike on French soil.”

“Algeria?”

Ryan shook his head grimly, “Downtown Nice.”

Francesca’s eyebrows shot up. “Merda, do you mean?”

Ryan nodded, “Yeah, Edwards, my direct senior, and the guy in charge of this operation, leveled a downtown apartment building to take out one guy. He took out his infant son, and God knows how many innocent civilians in the process. To cap things off, he murdered the guy’s girlfriend in cold blood afterwards and was prepared to kill the daughter too.”

Recognition flashed across Francessca’s face as she put the pieces together, “So, Béatrice, she is this man’s child? And you have her because?”

Ryan’s expression darkened, “she became a loose end.”

Francesca frowned, her crimson lips pursing as she contemplated the implication.  “What can I do to ‘elp?”

“Honestly?” Ryan sighed. “I don’t know, Francesca. I don’t even know why I came to you, I didn’t even know if you would remember… or be willing to even see me.”

“How could I ever forget you?” Francesca replied gently, her expression softening.

“We were at the train station, and I saw Milan on the departure board… I don’t know,” Ryan shrugged. “I thought that maybe you might be able to help me, to help us. Maybe help us find a way out of Milan, and help with… her. I have no idea what I’m doing with a kid.”

“I’m not a travel agency. I am but a simple businesswoman,” Ricci shrugged nonchalantly.

Ryan inclined his head and smiled, “We both know that you’re far more than that, Signora Ricci. How many young girls have you smuggled out of sex trafficking rings, helped them find a way out of that shit?”

Francesca’s lip quirked in response. “A great many, but alas, it is never enough.” 

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come,” Francesca called out.  A young man appeared carrying a tray of coffee that he placed on the table beside them before vanishing discreetly back the way he had come.

Francesca picked up the cafetiere and glanced at Ryan. “I took the liberty, you do look rather exhausted.”

Ryan smiled tiredly and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “Honestly, I don’t know what to do, Francesca. I’ve gone rogue from one of the most powerful intelligence agencies in the world and taken this kid, this little girl. I have no idea what they’ve told the higher powers back in Langley, but I can only assume that they’re coming for me. I have to try and find someone who will listen, someone who will take what I say seriously. To do that, I need all the help I can get. I cannot let her be hurt because of this.”

“It is right that you did not, and I would expect nothing less,” the woman agreed, handing him a cup of steaming dark liquid. “Does she know any of this yet?”

Ryan shook his head, “No. She’s not really processed what happened, and she didn’t see any of it personally. She thinks we’re taking a trip and catching up with her mom later. I’ve not had the privacy or the time to explain any of it yet, even if I felt like I was able to.”

“What is your plan?”

Ryan sipped the coffee and allowed the caffeine to seep into his tired mind. “I don’t have much of a plan. I do have a parachute, an escape fund of sorts, in a bank in Zürich. I suppose my objective is to get hold of that and drop off the map for a while. Once I’m static, I can work out what to do.”

Francesca nodded, “Traveling with a child will be difficult, especially if they put your descriptions out to Interpol and local police. A man and a child traveling alone attract attention from the authorities.”

Ryan sighed, “I had considered that.`

“I could talk to my contacts and see what I can do to ‘elp. As it stands, you are distinctive, that much we cannot avoid.” Francesca frowned for a moment, then shook her head. “I could… no, you would not go for it.”

“I’m willing to consider a lot,” Ryan admitted. “I’m into this for the long haul, whether I want to or not. I made my choice, and I’ll stand by it. I’m not empty-handed; I have a recording of the ops center. It’s not much on its own, sure, but it’s something.” Ryan made a face, “The bigger problem is that Edwards is my superior; he’s bound to have a tidy story all zipped up nice and neat. I’m, well, I’m damaged goods. If I made it back to the US alive, I'd likely end up in a dark cell somewhere… I’m no good to Béatrice then.”

Francesca smiled sympathetically, “A tough position indeed. You do not like the simple paths, do you, Mia Cara?”

Ryan sighed, catching her meaning, “No, I don’t think I do.”

“You know, I did perhaps hope to hear from you, after your assignment was completed,” Francesca poked gently. “I did not expect to be told all of the things. I understand how your people work. I had, however, wanted to know that you were alive and well.”

Ryan did his best to hide the shiver that ran through him, “It got… complicated. I wanted to reach out, but things became… I’m sorry.”

“You were not just a job to me, I think we became close, you and I,” Francesca added. “ I did miss you.”

Ryan swallowed the lump forming in his throat and nodded wordlessly. He had buried the events that had first drawn them together all those years ago. Coming here to Milan and sitting across from the woman that he had grown so close to was bringing back painful memories.

Francesca Ricci had been both a mentor and a friend for him, a confidant and a teacher. After what had happened during Operation Orsino, a part of him had longed to rush to her once again, to tell her everything and seek her comfort. His shame, however, had stopped him dead in his tracks. His shame had made his hand freeze every time he tried to call her number. Burying that shame, burying the emotions, and the trauma had been the only option available to him that made it hurt less. Doing so had included never seeing or speaking to the one person on the planet that might have helped him make sense of it all.

“I’m sorry.”

Francesca’s expression held no judgment or anger. It was the same gentle patient look that Ryan remembered from all those years ago. It was clear that she wanted to know what had transpired, but she had enough tact or experience to know that he was not prepared to talk about it yet.

“You will stay here with us,” she announced with finality. “We will work out what to do next, yes? I will not have you or the Bambina going off, how do you say? Half-cocked?”

“I don’t want to bring this down on you,” Ryan shook his head. “I really… I shouldn’t have come here. I could drag you and your people into this shit storm.”

Francesca waved her hand dismissively, “Nonsense, I will not hear of it. I have handled more than enough stupidity from criminal syndicates trying to force their way into my business; this is not an immediate concern. I also have more than enough contacts in the Carabinieri to see anything official coming from Kilometers away. You are safe here, at least in the short term. I will not take no for an answer.”

Ryan sighed, “After ghosting you as I did, I don’t deserve this.”

Francesca stood and placed her hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “Mia Caro, I would never turn away someone in need, especially not you.”

 

 

October 18th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.

“Hey, FRIENDLY…” the voice attached to the huge body that was holding onto the wriggling form of Alessandra De Luca yelled. “Officer Knight, you’re safe.”

As her heart thumped against his ribcage, Ryan Knight began to feel his grasp on reality returning to normal. Blinking back the red mist, he began to recognize the American operator hauling himself to his feet in the middle of the room and the tattooed tree trunk arms that were holding on to him.

“You’re safe now, Knight; we’re here to get you out,” the voice offered in a more soothing tone. “Are you hurt? Do you need medics?”

The pair of arms set Ryan back down on the ground and let him go with the caution of someone handling live explosives. Ryan turned and looked back at the owner of the arms and shook his head slowly. “No, I’m not hurt, I’m… are you really here?”

The man holding onto him was a well-muscled soldier wearing jeans and a T-shirt underneath his body armor. While most of his face was hidden by a thick red beard and an old, worn baseball cap, he somehow still managed to look surprisingly gentle. At that moment, the lips nestled within that beard were doing a more than passable attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, we’re here alright. Langley sent us to get you. It’s all over, kid, ok?”

Ryan swallowed and nodded uncertainly, his arms wrapped around his belly defensively. He could still feel his heart beating and his muscles tense, his body unwilling to relax as he stood trembling by the door. “How did you…?”

“Find you?” The man finished. “They tracked some of the customers here. This dump was our third target tonight; at least we scored even if they didn’t, huh?” The man paused for a moment and seemed to reconsider his attempt at humor with an apologetic grin. “I uh, sorry. Hey, you got anything more substantial to wear? It’s not so warm outside.”

The request seemed to refocus Ryan’s mind on the present moment, and he tugged the waist tie closed on his robe sheepishly, “No, I uh, I never got to go outside, so I don’t really have anything like that.”

The man seemed to process the information, and the look on his face shifted to anger. He nodded and turned to speak to one of the men who had arrived at the door. As he did so, Ryan spotted one of the others restraining her former client on the bed.

“We should bring him with us,” he pointed at the prone figure, wriggling in his indignity. “He’s Hassan Al Darhudi. I know a bunch of people back home would really like to talk to him.”

“Copy that, Ma’am,” The operator nodded, barking an instruction to his teammate. “Ok, let’s get you moving.”

As they exited the room, Ryan could see more men like his guardian clearing rooms up and down the long corridor. He had never actually seen it when they had brought him here, as he had been drugged at the time. The only space he knew was within the walls that had been his prison.

A doorway at the end of the corridor led out into a small lobby with a bank of elevators. The far wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling glass panels, providing a breathtaking view of the Riyadh skyline at night. It was the first time that Ryan truly understood where he had been for the last six weeks.

“Zero, Five One,  We have passed Athena. I say again, we have passed Athena. Requesting Exfil on Alpha,” the soldier spoke into his radio. The man paused for a moment while he waited for an answer.

Ryan was mesmerized by the twinkling lights of the city below. With how quiet it had been in his cell, he had always assumed that they were held somewhere on the outskirts of the city. What he hadn’t considered was that they were merely far above street level. That they were so brazen to keep them all locked up here in the middle of a city was a terrifying realization.

“Copy Exfil, Five One proceeding.” The man replied before steering Ryan towards the bank of elevators. Keying his radio again, he spoke to his teammates instead. “Ok, guys, fallback tothe  roof for Alpha extract, we’re Oscar Mike.”

“What about the other girls?” Ryan asked as the elevator doors closed behind him. “What happens to them now?”

The soldier removed his glasses and rubbed a pair of weatherworn eyes. “Saudi cops are incoming, we’ll be long gone before they bother us. The others should be safe, I guess. Honestly, I don’t know, our mission is you.”

“Why did they forget me?” Ryan asked, his voice trembling. “It was never meant to… I…” tears rolled from her eyes as she released the pain of the last six weeks. Every hand that had touched her, every violation that she had suffered seemed to burn her very skin.

“Hush now, I got you, kid,” the soldier murmured, his expression softening as he wrapped her in his arms. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

Alessandra allowed herself to cry into the man’s shoulder as the elevator rose up through the floors. The pain and relief that coursed through her body were sending a complicated wave of emotions through her system. She wanted to cry, to excise the horror of her experiences, and yet, her response to the trauma ashamed her.

Her mind told her that she should be Ryan, that she should be the man that they all knew she really was. The silk, the perfume, and the cosmetics were not fooling any of them. She was an intelligence officer, and this was just an assignment. Ryan Knight wasn’t weak; he wasn’t a victim. 

Somehow, convincing herself of that reality was so very difficult to embrace at the moment. Being Alessandra de Luca still felt far less humiliating. Alessandra could be saved, she could cry, and she could ask for help. Ryan, however, had to be strong, and she simply didn’t have it in her.

The elevator doors opened, and the soldier gave her a reassuring squeeze before hoisting her up into his arms. Alessandra wanted to protest; she wanted to feel more shame that he was treating her like a broken doll. Overwhelmed by shame, relief, grief, and elation, she did not have the energy to fight back. Instead, she wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and leaned into his chest. 

She could worry about all of this later, now that she knew there was going to be a later.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

May 29th, 2014 -  Milan, Italy

Milan’s Piazza del Duomo was baking in the blistering midday sun. Almost every square foot of the grand square was clogged with tourists jostling for photographs of the ancient city’s sights. With Béatrice at the house with Francesca, Ryan found it far easier to move about without a small child holding him back. Even if just for a short while, that allowed him to start the search for answers. With the situation they now found themselves in, information could save their lives.

Ryan had changed his clothes and was now dressed like any number of tourists wandering the city streets. With his cargo shorts, T-shirt, and a floppy sun hat, he was about as non-descript as it was physically possible to be. In his hands, he held a map of the city sights, a piece of tourist tat that acted as set dressing. It was something designed to help him blend in with the American and European travelers who were blindly wandering around, their noses in phones and guidebooks.

Ryan dialed a number into a cheap prepaid cellphone from memory and put the phone to his ear as he strolled across the square. If his call was traced, then CCTV footage of a packed sea of tourists would make identifying him so much harder.

“Sutherland.” A voice answered.

“Hi Pete, how are the kids?”

The voice on the other end didn’t miss a beat, “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Want to tell me what the word on the grapevine is?” Ryan pushed, hoping that the man would give him the opportunity to explain. “I can tell you if any of it’s true.”

“Let me get somewhere a little quieter, and we can talk about your homework, Sarah,” the man answered cryptically. From the background noise, it sounded as though he was on an aircraft. There was rustling on the line before Ryan heard the sound of a door closing. 

“Right, I’m here,” Pete Sutherland answered. “You stirred up a real hornet’s nest with whatever the fuck happened down in Nice. The stink from the French authorities is so bad, even us gundogs are getting splashback. The State Department is leaning on Langley, and they want your ass real bad. They have my team is on its way to Milan to join Rome Station and elements of your lot from Paris.”

The Company was already in Milan. It was very likely that they had been waiting for them at the station as Ryan predicted. While it was something that he had expected, knowing it for certain validated his decision in the moment. Just how close they were now was yet to be determined.

“So what’s their story?”

The man chuckled, “That you assaulted a senior officer, ordered a drone strike on a friendly nation, and went off the rails while taking Ahmad’s surviving child and vanishing into the night. Their working theory is you’re on someone else’s payroll. How much of this is true?”

“I have the child, that much is true,” Ryan admitted. “If I hadn’t taken her, then she would have been dead before we made it back to Paris.”

Sutherland tutted, “If that’s true, then they’re all singing a tight song. What did you do to piss them off?”

“I called them on it,” Ryan admitted. “I have an audio recording of Edwards authorizing the strike.”

The man chuckled, “Kid, you sure know how to put your foot in it. You know that they’ve convinced everyone that you’re public enemy number one.”

“They’re keeping everything in-house, right? They’re not involving local authorities?”

“Right,” Sutherland agreed. “That’s what my boys are coming in for. Rather us come after you than the Carabinieri cornering a CIA Officer on the ground in yet another friendly country. Your images got put out to local authorities, but on observation only.”

“They tell you anything so far?”

“That you were expected to arrive, but you never got off the train. Not sure why they expected you to just step into their arms.”

“Edwards,” Ryan growled.

“You safe, kid?”

“Yeah, Pete, I am. I’m out of sight and leaving Milan as soon as I sort out some business. I’m not telling you where.”

“I wouldn’t tell me either,” the man chuckled. “Look, for what it’s worth, I do believe you. You call if you need help. Remember, I still owe you one, kid.”

“Stay safe, Pete,” Ryan murmured affectionately, ending the connection and tossing the cell in a nearby trash can.

As Ryan walked down the steps to the Metro station below the square, he considered the old soldier’s words. He was being used as a patsy, and Langley had clearly not authorized the hit. As bad as it looked, they were the best circumstances he could have found himself in. What he did not know yet was why.

The Company had played host to enough trigger-happy officers over its lifetime, but very few were insane enough to fire a missile at an allied nation. Edwards’ claims had been strange; he had offered an excuse that he did not want to risk lives by sending in a ground team to snatch the terrorist. The problem was that it was their entire mission goal. It was almost as if he didn’t want to risk the man being taken alive at all.

As he stepped onto the metro train, Ryan had a sudden and terrifying realization. They had never known the children’s names, and yet despite that, Edwards had referenced them specifically. They had known that Ahmad had two children with his mistress, Marianne, but beyond that, they had no details. The first time that Ryand had heard the names Martin and Béatrice had been from Greg Edwards’ own mouth. Ryan always read the briefing material, and there had been no reference at all; that meant that he had information that they as a team had not

Boarding the subway, Ryan took a seat as the train accelerated away from the station and into the darkness. Closing his eyes, he pictured the operations room and the events that had taken place. There had been five of them in the room at the time of Laurent’s death: himself, Edwards, Steve Carter, the drone tech, Anders the medic, and Nate Christansan, one of Edwards' main guys.

While there had been more people involved in the operation, those who were direct witnesses to what had gone down were limited; had that been intentional? Other than himself and Edwards, three people had been in the room to witness the drone strike and the shooting. According to Sutherland, they had corroborated Edward’s false version of events. If that was the case, Christiansan, Anders, and Carter were involved in whatever was going on, or Edwards had enough on them to force them to toe the line.

Clearly, if they were trying to burn him, then they had something well worth hiding. If the kill wasn’t sanctioned by Langley, then it was to serve a different and more personal purpose. If Edwards didn’t want him taken alive, then Abbas Ahmad knew something that could not be repeated, something dangerous to Edwards himself.

Ryan slipped his memory card into a new cellphone and pulled up the file before slipping in his headphones.

“Confirmed on target, Ahmad.”

“Ok, we have an asset in the airspace?”

“Sure do.”

“Send it, authorization gamma twelve ultima.”

“Are you kidding me, Mike? With his kid and all those civilians there?”

“We send in assets, and we risk him martyring himself and even more civilians. This way, it’s contained.”

“But we promised her… He’s an innocent kid, Mike.”

“Shit happens, I’d rather some terrorist’s kid bite it than any of my guys, send it Steve.”

“Roger, rifle one.”

Ryan pocketed the device and sat back to ponder what he had heard. Why was an armed asset even present in friendly airspace, and how the hell did the French not know about it? On top of that, Edwards had specifically vetoed the idea of a ground team because of the risk of martyrdom. That was never Ahmad’s style; the man was a stone coward according to his Agency profile. When you added the fact that he was playing with his infant son, there was almost zero chance he would take such action. The way it seemed, Edwards had intended to kill him from the moment the operation began.

The real question was what was motivating Edwards to silence Ahmad. It was beyond doubt that he needed to prevent him from talking, but the reason was as yet unclear. What was abundantly clear, however, was that taking Béatrice had been the right choice.

 

 

It was a little after one in the afternoon when Ryan made it back to Francesca Ricci’s place. He hated calling it a brothel, even if that was what it was. Somehow, even though it was consensual, it still managed to remind him of the events in Riyahd. Unlike his experiences, the women and men who worked for Signora Ricci all did so voluntarily, and they were paid extremely handsomely for their talents.

None of Francesca Ricci’s employees would be caught dead on a street corner or getting down in the back seat of an Impala in a poorly lit alley. No, this was a different world when it came to paying for sex. No matter how well you dressed it up; companionship, spiritualism, it was still sex for money. A lot more money.

Entering the property through a rear door to open avoid running into any of the clientele, Ryan found his way through to the house’s private kitchen. Unlike the rest of the carefully curated decor of the establishment, the space had a warm and familial air that was worlds apart from the building’s central purpose. Knowing how Francesca operated, he expected that this was entirely purposeful.

In the kitchen, Ryan found Francesca’s two assistants sitting with Béatrice at the large central table. The girl had a glass of milk and a plate of cookies beside her, and she was gleefully describing a drawing to the two women. Rather than interrupt the moment, Ryan remained outside the doorway, watching the scene before him. She was happy, despite the horror of the last twenty-four hours. He felt truly awful that he was going to have to shatter that life into pieces.

“She has been as good as gold,” Francesca offered, appearing beside him in her uncanny, silent manner. Ryan wasn’t sure how she often moved so quietly despite the viciously spiked pumps she wore.

“I have to tell her the truth,” he admitted, still watching the child drawing happily. “The sooner I do, the sooner she can begin to process what happened and move forward.”

“And just what does that future entail?”

Ryan glanced over at the woman beside him and shook his head, “You know that I don’t have the answer to that.”

“You cannot destroy her world a second time,” Francesca warned.

“Yeah,” Ryan sighed, watching the child. “I know.”

At that moment, Béatrice glanced over and caught sight of him watching her.

“Reine?” she called, waving happily.

“Ryan,” he corrected, walking over to the table. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m drawing a picture of us on the train,” she proudly told him and turned the paper around. The image showed stick figures of what he assumed were meant to be himself and Béatrice holding hands above what could only be described as an impressionist's recreation of a train. It was adorable, even if it wasn’t the most visually accurate depiction. Seeing it made what he had to say to the girl even harder.

“Hey, can I have the room, ladies?” he asked, addressing the two women.

“Of course,” the one he assumed to be Isabella replied politely. “We shall be outside if you need us.”

Ryan smiled his thanks and took their place beside Béatrice, his heart thumping in his chest. He hated what he was going to have to do, but he hoped she was young enough to not fully appreciate the weight of it yet. Lord knows, he hadn’t been afforded the same luxury.

“Hey, how is the drawing?”

“I drew us on the train,” Béatrice smiled proudly, showing Ryan the image. “When are we meeting, Mama?”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Ryan began hesitantly. “Something bad happened when we were in Nice. It means, well… It means that you won’t be going home again.”

Béatrice looked confused. “But what about Mama and Papa?”

Ryan sighed and rubbed his temples. “Your mama and papa are, ah… in heaven, chérie.”

“Heaven?”

“It… It means that  they’re sleeping for a very long time and they won’t wake up again.”

The girl frowned and looked down. After a moment of staring at the coloring pencil in her hands, she looked back up at Ryan and inclined her head. “Will I go to heaven with them?”

“Not for a really long time,” Ryan offered, trying to control his sudden desire to cry. “Not for many, many years until you’re very old.”

“Oh,” Béatrice answered flatly, her face a mixture of uncertainty and confusion. “So I won’t see them?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Ryan replied weakly.

“Where will I live? Will I have to live on my own?” 

“No, gosh, you’re…” Ryan froze, looking down at a pair of bottomless, hopeful eyes that bored directly into his soul. They were the same eyes that had stared at him with fear in the back of the van in Nice. The same eyes that had gazed up at him on the train to Italy, and they were the same eyes that now hoped for an answer.  “You’re going to be living with me.”

“Forever?”`

“I ah…” Ryan frowned, his heart thumping inside his chest. Francesca’s words were bouncing around inside his mind like atoms inside a reactor. “I…  We’ll be going somewhere new to live together, a really big adventure.”

The girl seemed to ponder the idea for a minute, “What about Martin?”

“I’m sorry, honey, but Martin is with your mama and papa in heaven.”

“Oh,” the girl replied sadly, “am I going to be lonely?”

One sentence fractured Ryan’s heart into pieces. There were many things he had been trained to resist, that he had learned to deflect and avoid. He had learned to limit his emotional processing, but one sentence from a four-year-old girl shattered all of that. Leaning forward, he enveloped the child in his arms and hugged her to his chest. “No, Béa, you won’t be lonely. I’ll be there for you, I promise.”

 

 

Francesca Ricci’s personal residence was located on the far side of the park from the Bordello itself. The apartment was spread across two floors of a four-storey building that was situated above another of the district’s many fashion emporia. Ryan wasn’t sure of the property values in the area, but it seemed somewhere equivalent to living on Rodeo Drive.

It was the first time that Ryan had visited Francesca’s personal residence. In his previous interactions, she had come to them, and not the other way around. As closely as they had worked during his first operation, he had never once been granted access to her personal life. He suspected the child sleeping peacefully upstairs was part of the reason why this had now changed.

“What did your friend tell you?” Francesca asked.

Ryan shrugged and stared at his wine glass. They had retired to her sitting room after dinner. It was the first time he had been able to let his guard down in almost forty eight hours.

“As far as I can tell, it doesn’t reach the Station Chief, but Edwards is dirty for sure.”

“How so?”

“The strike he called in is now being put on my head. That means that everything that happened in that room was off the books,” he sighed, gazing out into the darkness beyond the window.

“Can you contact his superiors?”

Ryan nodded, “Sutherland thinks that the Chief will listen, I’m going to put out feelers in the morning; try and arrange to meet with him. Tom’s a good guy, I think he will listen to the truth.”

“If they accept your version of events, what then?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan admitted. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Francesca glanced up at the ceiling and raised an eyebrow, “And the girl?”

Ryan didn’t have an answer for that. He wasn’t sure what would become of her. There was every chance that she might be returned to a relative in Nice or a home would be found for her elsewhere once things had calmed down. It would be difficult, but she would adapt; kids always did.

Behind the practical considerations, there lurked a tiny voice that asked a question that Ryan had no desire yet to answer. What would happen if Béatrice could stay with him? He had risked everything to protect the girl, and somehow, it had created an unusually tight bond between the two of them. It had been scarcely a day, but Ryan felt closer to the girl than he had to anyone before in his life.

“What are you thinking about?” Francesca asked.

Ryan shook his head, “Her, myself, and everything that I’ve done. I have no idea what drove me to grab the kid; I just felt this overwhelming urge to make sure she was safe. It seems silly, but all of a sudden, I had one focus.”

Francesca smiled slightly and nodded, “Perhaps an unusual reaction from someone in your line of work. I think, however, that I know you well enough to say that it was entirely in character for you, Mia Cara.”

Ryan frowned at his companion’s choice of words, “Not now, Francesca.”

Francesca’s lip quirked. “You never did tell me what happened with your mission. What was it, Operation Orsino? So apt a name for such an enterprise.”

“I’m still alive, sadly,” Ryan frowned, draining his wine glass. “Does that answer your question for you?”

“Perhaps,” Francesca replied reluctantly. It was clear that she wanted to know more, but seemed willing to wait until he was ready. How long that would last, Ryan had no idea. He was never really able to keep secrets from her before.

“You and the Bambina, you can stay with me until you have your answers, capisci?”

Ryan felt a mixture of relief and guilt,  “I really am sorry that I just turned up on your doorstep after all this time, Francesca. You deserved answers, not me turning up after years with trouble on my heels. Thank you, Francesca, I really mean that.”

Francesca stood and regarded him for a moment, a gentle smile on her lips, “It may have been years since I see you last, but that does not mean that I did not think of you. You were quite hard to forget, Mia Caro.”

 

 

September 20th, 2007 -  Milan, Italy

Ryan Knight stepped out of the car and regarded the domicile before him with trepidation. The house was rather typical of rural northern Italy; sandy stone walls with tall shutters and creeping vines that were doing their very best to reclaim the structure. It was a rather innocuous appearing place to prepare for an undercover operation.

Behind him, the car pulled away without a word from the driver, leaving Ryan standing on the driveway by himself. He had no luggage; he had been told that everything he needed would be provided on site. Given the nature of his assignment, that fact alone filled him with trepidation.

This was his first assignment from the Agency; an undercover assignment on special attachment. Big shoes for a newly minted Field Intelligence Officer, it was the sort of job that could make his career, and equally, break it. This was his chance to prove himself. Now that he was standing here, however, he was not entirely sure that this was the right way to do it.

“Are you going to come in or will you wait out here all day?”

Ryan snapped out of his daydream and looked over towards the house. There was a dark-haired woman standing in the doorway with an amused look on her face, “Signora Ricci?”

The woman smiled, “Signore Knight? You may call me Francesca.”

“Ryan,” he offered, stepping forward and offering a handshake. The woman was beautiful, but he had difficulty placing her age. From what he could tell, she was somewhere between thirty-five and fifty, but it was hard to say with any real certainty. She was tall and had smooth olive skin. She was wearing a pair of black slacks and a silk white blouse over a trim athletic figure that belonged on a model. If what he had heard about her was true, then this woman was not one to be trifled with.

“You will come in?”

Ryan nodded and followed the woman inside, entering the cool shade of the atrium. The house was decorated rather pleasantly, although it lacked the personality of a home that was actually lived in. The woman led him through to the living room before stopping at a drinks cabinet. Reaching in, she selected a bottle of wine and pursed her lips. “Your bosses have not skimped on the selection.”

“They don’t tend to worry about saving money,” Ryan conceded as she handed him a glass.

Francesca Ricci turned around and regarded Ryan quite openly as she sipped her wine. For a moment, she simply absorbed his form, her eyes freely roaming his body, her expression analytical but neutral, “You are aware of what this mission requires of you?”

Ryan swallowed and nodded, “Uh, yes, I know what it involves.”

“You have ever crossdressed before? Perhaps as a child?” Ricci asked, tossing aside any pretense of delicacy.

Ryan colored up and shook his head, “Ah, no.”

Ricci raised an eyebrow and inclined her head; the gesture reminded Ryan of a hungry predator working out how to best start on dinner. “You are prepared to do everything I ask of you, the clothes, lessons, tasks; all of it, yes?”

Ryan knew what she meant, and he had already agreed to it long before he left the United States. He knew why he was doing this, but it still felt strange and unbelievable. Despite that, here he was, preparing to accept something he was still convinced was doomed to failure. The reasoning was good, even if his confidence in himself was not.

The entire operation centered around the illegal sex trade and its connection to major Middle-Eastern players in the money world. Sex trafficking was a heinous crime by any measure, and one that was rampant the world over. In this particular case, the network was tied to incredibly influential people with information and reach. Its client list was one that would open doors for the Agency’s other operations in the area. Dismantling and ending the network’s operations were, at its core, a side benefit and not the main objective. 

Unlike many groups of this type, this organisation dealt specifically in one type of girl that their clients desired; ones that were born as boys. It seemed that certain figures with extremely deep pockets really had extremely specific sexual desires. Networks like this were notoriously sinuous and difficult to track back to their true core. The only way that worked was to insert an operative and trace them along the pipeline. Naturally, a female Agent wasn’t going to cut the mustard when it came to infiltrating a group of this nature. It was for this reason that Ryan now found himself in Signora Ricci’s clutches.

The plan was simple for everyone that wasn’t called Ryan Knight: take a male agent with androgynous features and the correct build, and give him the knowledge, looks, and training to pass himself off as a transgender woman.

This woman, under the legend Alessandra De Luca, would be dangled for the group to snatch. At that point, she would be followed closely by the support team until the group led them all the way back to their source. It would be difficult, and it would be dangerous, but it had the potential to do a great deal of good.

Why had he agreed to do it? It was easy for Ryan to admit that it was an opportunity to prove himself; to show that he was capable in the cutthroat Directorate of Operations. More importantly, it was a chance to do good; to take down influential people who caused harm to America and save innocent lives.

Ryan swallowed and gave Francescca Ricci an uncertain nod, “Let’s do this.”

 

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May 30th, 2014 -  Milan, Italy

Ryan waited nervously as the payphone rang. He was standing in the back of a tiny convenience store that was located inside the tram station at the Piazzale Lagosta, in Milan’s northern quarter. The place was heaving with commuters and tourists, which made it ideal for getting lost in a crowd.

“Hello?”

“Ah, hey, Tom, it’s Ryan, Ryan Knight.”

Ryan heard the line go dead for a moment before Paris Station Chief Tom Spencer returned, his voice sounding irritated. “Where are you, Knight? We’ve got a real mess here, and I need you to come in, no games.”

“I’m in Milan, but you already know that,” Ryan pointed out, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The small store was quiet, but he couldn’t be too careful. “I want to meet. I have evidence to clear my name.”

“We can talk about that when you come in, Knight,” Spencer replied. “How are you doing?”

Ryan knew the call was already being traced, so he did not allow himself to be drawn in by pleasantries. “There’s a bench by the sculpture in the Library of the Trees. Meet me there at ten and come alone. I have evidence that will prove my innocence and solve this whole mess. I can’t and won’t come in till you do.”

Ryan could hear Spencer grinding his teeth over the line. It was an old habit the guy had never really managed to shake. “Fine, ten o’clock, are you alone? Where’s the girl, Ryan?”

Ryan hung up the phone and left the store without answering. He knew precisely how long it took to triangulate a phone call, and what he had given them was likely enough to get within a few blocks. There was no point using a cellphone, even if it was an unregistered prepaid device; the GPS unit could be remotely activated within seconds, making hiding almost impossible.

He had to assume that Edwards was working with the rest of the station. That would mean that they would be acting on whatever narrative that the man decided to spin. Regardless of what he had said, Ryan knew that Tom Spencer would not come alone, but he had to expect that. Agency policy would have it all mapped out, and he had a plan for that already lined up. He just hoped that Sutherland was telling the truth.

Keeping the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, Ryan left the shop and joined the sea of travelers. His timing had been correct; when he joined the sea of travelers, he found the next outbound tram already waiting at the platform. Less than thirty seconds after he boarded, the doors hissed closed, and they were rolling out of the station. If they had managed to track his location, he’d be long gone before they could work out what had happened.

That Tom Spencer was here in Milan was to be expected, but it gave Ryan an opportunity. While hardly what one would call sensitive or considerate, Spencer was, without fail, a fair man. If Ryan could convince him of the truth, he would fight his corner. The Paris Station Chief was an Agency veteran, having worked in East Berlin back before the Wall came down. He had served his time and had risen through the ranks to his present posting. He didn’t tolerate failure, but more importantly, Ryan knew he didn’t tolerate corruption.

Ryan wasn’t sure if Spencer was behaving any differently than usual, but a brief phone conversation was about as useful as playing poker with a master. He had no doubt that if there was foul play, Tom Spencer had no connection to it. If he could prove that he was telling the truth, then had had a chance to salvage his career and his freedom. The tricky part would be managing to separate Spencer from anyone associated with Edwards without getting shot first.

 

 

April 16th, 2008 - Paris, France.

“Come?”

Ryan eased the office door open and stepped into the domain of Chief of Station Tom Spencer. He had arrived at the US Embassy in Paris, France, only twenty minutes ago. Upon his arrival, he had been directed straight here to see the man in charge of the Central Intelligence Agency’s station within the diplomatic mission. Apparently, Mr. Spencer was expecting him, and he did not tolerate tardiness.

Ryan did his best attempt at standing at attention without actually standing at attention. The man seated behind the room’s single desk had short-cropped dark hair that was starting to thin on the crown. His physique reminded Ryan of a former athlete who had retired, fathered two children, and liked to grill a little too often. Despite that, the man held himself with a quiet, firm confidence that was easy to see.

“Ah, Sir, you wanted to see me when I got here?”

Spencer looked up from a stack of paperwork on his desk and seemed momentarily irritated by the interruption. “What’s with the getup?”

“Sir?”

Spencer gestured at Ryan with a half-empty coffee cup, “You, the damn monkey suit. You going to a funeral or something?”

Ryan blinked uncertainly, “They told me… downstairs?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, “God damn comedians always trying to yank my chain and jerk around the new kids. I swear this place is more and more like a god damn creche every year.”

Ryan did not reply. He was almost certain that one was not required, but he was more concerned with irritating his new boss. As it turned out, arriving in a suit and tie as had been suggested by his referring officer had seemingly manage pissed off the Station Chief, he didn't need to assist matters.

“If you’re going to work for me, you wear whatever you want, you hear me?” Spencer explained, draining the remains of the coffee mug. “We might be in the Embassy here, but we don’t go around dressing like those State Department goons downstairs. The fastest way for someone to peg you as an American is to dress like one, so get out, go grab a coffee, and watch some people. Dress like a local, or if you suck at that, dress like a tourist. Whatever the fuck you do, don’t dress like you work for the US Government.”

“I uh, yes, sir,” Ryan nodded.

Spencer stood up and straightened his trousers. “First overseas assignment?”

Ryan hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, “No, sir.”

Spencer furrowed his brow and flipped through a number of files on his desk before picking up a plain manila folder and leafing through it. “Graduated from the Clandestine Service Trainee Program in  April 2006, you had good marks there. Based stateside at Langley, then… Orsino?”

Ryan licked his lips and nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Drop the damn ‘sir’ bullshit,” Spencer sighed, “The office weenies and State Department dipshits call me Sir, Company calls me Tom. We don’t do formality here, despite what Langley keeps insisting on. I’m Tom, or Mister Spencer if shit needs to get put in a report. Stop acting like such a snotling; this isn’t your first assignment, so quit acting like you just rolled out of kindergarten, yeah?”

Ryan nodded, not particularly wanting to be called a snotling again. Tom Spencer flipped through a few more pages before showing the pages to Ryan, they were run through heavily with black bars, obscuring information. Spencer raised an eyebrow, “This mess is all shades of redacted. Want to explain why a rookie got tangled up in something like this?”

“Operation Orsino, si…Tom,” Ryan swallowed. It had barely been a year since his first assignment with the Agency, but he was still dealing with the personal fallout from it. Convincing his superiors that he was ready for a posting abroad had taken a lot of work and a good deal of lying to his therapist. He certainly was not prepared to screw it up now.

“I’m not sure I can say, Tom, it was marked Secret, SCI.”

Tom Spencer waved a hand dismissively and dropped down on the faded sofa across from his desk, and hooked an ankle over his knee casually. He gestured for Ryan to take a seat in one of the nearby chairs. “Kid, you think I was born yesterday?

Ryan pursed his lips, “No, Tom.”

“When I got your file from Langley, I pegged this bullshit straight off the bat. Barely two years with the Agency and a redacted Op on your file? I’ve seen this shit my entire career,” Spencer sighed, waving the file at Ryan. “You bring in a bunch of bright kids, and the good idea faeries toss them into the grinder because they don’t know any better. Use them up and burn them out early. Some make it outto  the far end, most don’t. Either way, all of them carry scars. It’s easier if they quit or die so you don’t gotta pay out on the pension later.”

The frank admission stunned Ryan into silence, only capable of nodding in response.

Spencer’s expression softened, almost sympathetically, “I called home and got the Sensitive Compartmented Information clearance to read in on this chucklefuckery. It sure is quite the weird one, even by our lofty standards.”

“That is not quite how I would characterize it,” Ryan sighed.

Spencer dropped the file on the sofa beside him and leaned forward. He fixed Ryan with a sympathetic look and pointed at the office door, “Out there is the real world. It’s nothing like the Farm or Langley, and it doesn’t give a fuck how you got there. If you let it, it will eat you alive and spit out the remains.”

He looked over at the file and shook his head, “That file is nothing to be embarrassed about, and it sure as shit doesn’t hurt your standing with me. What that tells me is that you survived something that would break any reasonable person. It would tear them apart at the seams and leave them a jibbering mess. Despite it all, you completed your mission in a fit enough state to ID a person of interest and decked a fucking operator in the process. I like that kind of officer. Is that who you are?”

Ryan blanched as the memories flashed across his mind, “I think so.”

“You think so, or you know?”

Ryan nodded, “Yeah.”

Tom Spencer stood and offered the young officer his hand, “Welcome to Paris, Ryan.”

 

 

May 30th, 2014 - Milan, Italy

The upper floors of the Porta Nuova Shopping Mall had been surprisingly easy to access for Ryan. There had only been a few simple card readers and absolutely no alarm system to alert security to a trespasser’s presence in the office portion of the building. Ryan was continually astounded by just how easy it was to move through an urban environment when one had a little motivation and a good helping of corporate complacency.

The Mall was important in this case, because it overlooked the Biblioteca Degli Alberi Milano, a broad park in the center of Milan. Named ‘The Library of the Trees’ in English, it was a wide modern space with few places that could act as cover or concealment; the ideal place for a meeting of spies.

Conducting this sort of field operation was entirely outside of Ryan’s wheelhouse when it came to experience. He had been trained in field operations by the agency, but the era of running around on your own conducting spycraft was a long dead relic of the Cold War.

In today’s rapidly evolving digital sphere, intelligence operations generally involve dozens of people, from drone operators to support teams, all to cover the operative’s back. Nobody played the old games anymore, nobody except the likes of Tom Spencer. 

Ryan was far too young to remember such adventures of spycraft; the Berlin Wall had been down for sixteen years by the time he joined the Company. All of his knowledge of the Wild West of intelligence operations had come from the agency veterans, the guys who lived through it themselves. Officers who never let their cover slip and lived long enough to talk about it.

It was fieldcraft of that nature that Ryan hoped would buy him the opportunity that he needed. While he suspected that Tom would catch on, he knew that Greg Edwards scorned the old ways. His direct superior was a modern man who saw the world very differently, and it was going to be important to use that against him. Ryan and Edwards were exactly the same age, but the other agent had managed to progress further up the Agency hierarchy while Ryan had floundered, barely able to keep his job in the wake of Operation Orsino. That mission had changed his career path in ways he had never expected; it had even changed his life.

Ryan took off his hat and rubbed his eyes. That operation nearly cost him his career and his future. He had done everything the Agency had asked of him, and they had left him broken and damaged in the aftermath. It had taken everything he had to pull himself back into shape and to recertify for the field. He had experienced his fill of therapists and psychiatrists thanks to that mess.

The vacant office that he had chosen to set up his observation point in was on the tenth floor of the structure. Leaning back against a filing cabinet, he rested his binoculars on the edge of a desk and watched the park before him. If he could speak to Spencer alone, Ryan knew that he had a chance to prove his innocence once and for all. Outside of Tom, anyone else could potentially be working with or for Edwards. That meant he had to be very selective in who he trusted. His plan was risky, but it was going to work. All he had to do was wait.

 

 

12th June, 2008 - Paris, France

“I hate this fucking airport.”

Ryan glanced over at Tom Spencer as he sat behind the driver’s seat of their car. “Why this one in particular?”

“I have no idea, but it drives me crazy in the most special of fucking ways,” the man grumbled. “Charles De-Gaule is just unpleasant; Hot, busy, convoluted, and messy. Could be that it’s French, that doesn’t help either.”

Ryan smirked and returned his attention to the pickup area. “Remind’s me of Atlanta. I swear I thought I’d gotten trapped in time there once.”

“Airports suck,” the older man agreed. “Nothing quite like visiting Berlin and dodging the KGB in Tempelhof, though. I swear they were better at picking you up than a New York cabbie.”

“Was it as wild as the stories?”

Spencer nodded, “A different time, kid, a different time. We were on our own back then, and we had to think on our feet. Now? Jeez, this shit is too easy. I guess the stakes are different; more criminals and fewer state actors. It makes the entire thing a whole different game. Everyone’s so freaking tied up in paperwork and risk assessments that nothing risky ever gets done anymore.”

“So the 80s; that was just you, a gun, and a pack of smokes?”

“Something like that,” Spencer grinned. He sipped his coffee, and his expression became more serious. “We operated on our own. Sometimes that meant that there was no way out, certainly not in a hurry. It wasn’t possible to have a team nearby or an extraction plan always. You had to make your own plans, make your own rules.”

“Like an escape chute? I heard guys talk about that.”

Spencer made a face, “That’s just smart practice in this line of work. What I meant is that you had to operate in a world that had to be presumed entirely hostile. You could not trust other people unless you knew them well, and even then, they could turn in a heartbeat. Your plans had to have plans, and your backup had a backup. Never make it simple, never make it obvious, and always keep people guessing; even your own side.”

“Sounds like a paranoid nightmare.”

“Yeah,” Spencer sighed. “It was.”

Ryan spotted their target leaving the terminal and walking up to a waiting sedan. “Alexi’s on time.”

Spencer started the car and eased out into the flow of traffic. “I’ll put a twenty on it now, he’ll stop by his favorite brothel, then he’ll head for the Embassy like always. This motherfucker is predictable.”

“So why are you out here rather than letting us do it?”

“I like to get out from behind the desk,” Spencer shrugged as they followed the darkened BMW from several cars back. “If I spend too much time there, I’ll get fat and lazy. If I assign myself anything too dangerous, then Monica will kill me.”

“Your wife?”

“Yeah,” Spencer grinned. “She knows that I can’t ride the desk, but she made it pretty clear that I’m too old and slow to get into any more gunfights.”

“She seems like a smart lady.”

“Don’t let her hear that,” Spencer chuckled as they turned onto the Autoroute. Accelerating up to speed to match the traffic around them, the man glanced over, “What about you? Got anyone at home?”

“Didn’t you read my file?”

“What do you take me for, the CIA? This is called a conversation, we exchange words like human fucking beings.”

“No, I’m single.”

“Not looking?”

Ryan shrugged, “Not really.”

Tom Spencer looked over and made a face, “No girl… or guy?”

“I’m not gay,” Ryan snapped more harshly than he would have intended. “I like women.”

“Hey, you do you, bud, I just figured, with… You know.”

Ryan clenched his jaw. They hadn’t spoken about Orsino since that first day in Spencer’s office. He had thought it forgotten, but apparently it was still on the man’s mind.   “Just because it happened to me, doesn’t mean it was something I wanted.”

“I didn’t mean… Look, I’m sorry, kid,” Spencer offered. “I just meant that it didn’t bother me, either way.”

“I’m not really into anyone,” Ryan blurted out, before he could hold himself back. “I mean… I’m just busy, I guess.”

Spencer followed the BMW off the Autoroute and onto a surface street in the Paris outskirts, “You know, I’m not entirely shocked that that’s how you feel after something like that. What happened to you, I wouldn’t have wished it on my worst enemy. Hell, I’m shocked you’re coping this well.”

“That’s the thing,” Ryan sighed. “I’m not.”

They followed the BMW off the Autoroute and down onto surface streets as it drove towards the outskirts of Paris. After twenty minutes, it led them into an industrial district in La Courneuve. After ten more minutes, the vehicle pulled up in front of a nondescript building. Their target got out of the car and approached the door. After waiting a moment, the door opened, and the man disappeared inside. Two minutes later, the vehicle departed.

Spencer pulled over a few doors down and shut off the car. “What next?”

“We wait for him to leave?”

“Nah, let’s go have a little chat,” Spencer smiled. “I find Russians like to talk a bit more when their pants are around their ankles.”

“I thought we were doing observation only?”

“Technically,” Spencer pointed out as he got out of the car. “But he’s going to be a lot more willing to tell us who he sold all those SA-15 missiles to when he’s here than when he’s back at the Embassy. Are you afraid of doing some improvising?”

Ryan climbed out and shut the door, “I’ll follow your lead, boss." 

Walking over to the same building that Alexi Arkadinov had disappeared into, the door was nondescript and clearly reinforced. It was obvious that it protected far more than an office building or a warehouse. Tom Spencer hit the buzzer and waited. After a moment, the speaker crackled to life. “Oui?”

Spencer slipped into fluid French, “I’m here to see Etienne, tell him it’s Tom Spencer.”

There was silence for a moment before the door eventually clicked and swung open. The sound of dull, distant electronic music was immediately evident to Ryan’s ear from somewhere within the building. Inside, a large man wearing black regarded them with suspicion, “Monsieur Dubois is busy at the moment; you can wait inside.”

The man led them through into a lounge area that was presently occupied by a number of patrons. Inside, the largely male clientele were being attended to by women in various states of undress. As he watched the girls flirting with their clients, Ryan couldn’t help but feel his skin crawl. The electronic music, the soft lighting, and the strong scent of perfume in the air was all painfully familiar to him and it was evoking emotions he had worked extremely hard to suppress.

“You good?” Spencer asked as they sat down in a booth. “I know this probably can’t be easy for you, but the job has to be done.”

“Some warning might have been nice.”

“Eh, that would be making it easy.” Spencer shrugged. “You can’t always prepare yourself for things in the real world. Traumas and phobias that you can’t control will get you killed. It’s for the best to learn that now rather than when it really matters. ”

Ryan nodded but kept his mouth shut. The man was correct, but it did not make him any more comfortable with the situation. As he watched one of the customers paw at a girl, he couldn’t help but feel those same disgusting hands on his own flesh.

As a topless waitress passed by, Spencer waved her down, “Hey, do you know who my boss Alexi is with today?”

“Alexi?” the woman frowned.

“Tall, bald, big, overweight guy with a mustache,” Spencer described. “Came in like ten minutes ago.”

The woman smiled in recognition, “Oh, yes, he is with Margot, they are down in room ten, Monsieur.”

“Thanks, doll,” Spencer nodded, slipping a €20 note into the woman’s panties. “Bring us a couple of single malts, ok?”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“That was far too easy,” Ryan frowned as the woman departed, wiggling her entirely exposed bottom as she went.

“These girls aren’t hired because they’re security consultants,” Spencer pointed out. Plus, we’re already inside, so we must be good. This is a members-only joint; no riffraff allowed.”

A few moments later, the waitress returned with their drinks. After she left, Spencer held up his glass in toast, “Here’s to sitting in a Paris brothel, waiting for a Russian arms dealer to be in an appropriately compromising position.”

“Not where I expected my career to take me,” Ryan admitted, taking a sip of the amber liquid in his own glass. “How long do we wait?”

Spencer grinned, “I think now is about right, don’t you? Bring your drink, we’ll look like customers.”

Standing up, the two made their way through the lounge and into the rear hallways that led to the private rooms. After a short walk, they found room ten. Spencer gripped the door handle and put his ear to the door. He listened for a moment, grinned, and swung the door open.

Inside the room was a scene that Ryan could have lived his entire life without ever seeing. Arguably, he wished that he had never seen what lay within.  Inside, Alexi Arkadinov was naked and strapped to a vertical metal frame. The woman, Margot, was standing beside him, her black leather bodysuit and thigh-high boots making it quite clear what role she was taking in their activities. It was an image made only more incongruent by the large pink phallic object that was strapped to her crotch.

“Alexi, you don’t call, you don’t write,” Spencer grinned, his arms open in greeting.

“This is a private session, Monsieur! You have to leave!”

Spencer held up his hands to placate the irate dominatrix, “We’ll be a few minutes, we just need to have a word, and then we’ll be out of here. Why don’t you grab a snack or something?”

The woman huffed and marched out of the room, likely heading off to find security. Spencer wasted no time as he picked up a riding crop off the bed and approached the restrained Russian. Slapping the crop against his hand, he raised an eyebrow. “How’s business, Alexi?”

“Who the hell… what is… let me go!” The man balked, struggling against his restraints. “Please, I’ll give you anything, just don’t kill me.”

“Ah, we don’t want to kill you,” Spencer snorted, slapping the crop against Arkadinov’s testicles. “Oops.”

The Russian grunted in pain, his eyes rolling back in his head, “Please, I beg you!”

“SA-15 short-range surface-to-air missiles. Who are you selling them to, and who did you steal them from?”

“I don’t know what you’re… youch! Argh, stop, please!” the man screamed as Spencer slapped him again.

“Wrong answer… let’s be a little more truthful, huh?”

“Ok, ok, pizdets! Please stop!” the man begged. “I have the missiles, yes, but I did not steal them, I buy them… Commander Ivan Volkov of military unit 55443, he is my contact.”

“Where are they?”

“Please, I am just business man!”

Spencer whipped him harder, and the man squealed like a stuck pig. “God, ok… they are in my warehouse in Bratislava, Stará Ivanská Cesta 221.”
“Wasn’t that easy? See?” Spencer smirked. “You can get back to your little party now.”

Turning back to Ryan, Spencer handed him the riding crop and gestured towards the door. “Come on, let’s get going before the reinforcements arrive. I think old Alexi here is going to have a fun time explaining his little predicament.”

Following his boss out into the corridor, Ryan closed the door behind him and jogged to catch up with Tom Spencer.  “That was a little unorthodox.”

“Sometimes, we can fuck around for weeks, surveilling and building a case. Waste tens of thousands of dollars and get nowhere. Other times, we can apply a little leverage and have the same result in a fraction of the time.”

“Is it ethical?”

“I don’t kill anyone that doesn’t deserve it,” Spencer shrugged as he pushed open a fire exit and led them out into the alleyway behind the club. “As for ethics… Those missiles could be sold to terrorists and used to kill thousands of civilians. A little slap and tickle is a small price to pay to save lives.”

“What about the law? policy?”

“Tom Spencer’s golden rule: Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Never do it angry and sure as shit never kill unless you absolutely have to do it to save lives.’               ”

Ryan pursed his lips, “I’m not sure I ever want to have to make that decision… to kill someone, angry or not.”

“That’s what makes you one of the good ones, kid,” Spencer agreed as they made it back to the car. “Never change that.”

 

 

May 30th, 2014 - Milan, Italy.

Ryan spotted the first signs of activity in the park about twenty minutes before the arranged meeting time. He had to give it to the Agency guys; they were as good as he had expected them to be. Unfortunately for them, when you were trained with the same playbook, it was nowhere near as effective as they hoped it would be. It was no surprise to Ryan; he had expected Tom Spencer to come with backup, and he had not been disappointed.

It didn’t hurt that Sutherland and his guys were being spread out around the area for quick response. Not a single one of those men looked anything like the local Italian population, and their tourist garb did not help matters. Hiding a squad of former special operators that had more in common with Venice Beach gym rats amongst the fashionable locals was never going to be exactly possible. 

After watching them for around ten minutes, Ryan felt that he had a reasonable grasp of who the CIA officers were and where they were located within the park area. They had spread out to cover the meeting location in a fairly standard perimeter, with at least four sets of eyes on the designated spot and a group of roaming units to rotate out. It was subtle, but it was formulaic and predictable.

Tom Spencer himself appeared a few minutes before ten and made his way to the prearranged meeting place. Ryan smiled to himself from his nest as he watched the man move. If you didn’t know Spencer, you could be fooled easily into thinking he was a tourist out to enjoy the balmy weather, such was his casual movement. He knew that even at this distance, the man’s senses were tingling with every fibre of his years of experience.

Taking his eyes off the lens for a moment, Ryan dialed the preprogrammed number for Spencer’s cellphone. Through the binoculars, he saw the man casually reach into his pocket and answer the call.

“Knight, you’re not here,” The man pointed out with a hint of annoyance.

“I’m right on time,” Ryan replied, smiling to himself. “I see you brought friends, so I’ll keep this quick. Please answer the phone, Tom.”

He saw Spencer check the blank screen of his phone as he ended the call. Dialing the second programmed number, he watched the man’s head swivel in the direction of the prepaid device that Ryan had left under the side of the nearby bench.

Tom Spencer picked up the phone and answered the call, his calm body language only betrayed by the annoyance in his voice, “What kind of games are you playing, Knight?”

“I needed you off the party line, Tom, you know that. Do me a favor and take a walk, please.”

Tom Spencer sighed, “Fine, where am I going?”

“Straight ahead,” Ryan replied, his eyes fixed on the binoculars. “Head for the mall across the street and take a walk along the concourse, lower level.”

Spencer ended the call, his brief flash of annoyance showing Ryan that he had managed to unsettle the veteran’s plans. He knew full well that even if they had managed to grab the new call in time, they had no chance of pinging its location. Ryan had to give Tom Spencer credit; the man was experienced enough to hide his annoyance and resume his casual pace as he made his way toward the mall. 

Ryan stowed his binoculars and let himself out of the office before heading for the door that led down into the mall below. If he calculated this correctly, the disruption to routine would unsettle the team’s surveillance plans for a short period of time. Whether it was long enough to meet with Tom Spencer in private or not, was an entirely separate matter.

 

 

The main concourse of the Porta Nuova Shopping Mall was bustling with shoppers. Being one of Milan’s most popular shopping destinations, it was no surprise at all that even at ten in the morning, it was bordering on capacity. The mall provided several major advantages as an alternate meeting location for Ryan; it was easy to vanish in the crowds, and it had a roof. In a modern world of drone and satellite surveillance, malls were purpose made for modern covert meetings.

Making his way along the busy upper level, Ryan stopped at a coffee bar overlooking a stairway down to the lower promenade. Ordering a drink, he leaned against the railing to wait for Tom Spencer to pass by. He knew that it would not take the Agency long to adapt to his play, but he calculated that he should have enough time to intercept his boss and do what he had to do.

Ryan was waiting for about ten minutes before Tom Spencer’s distinctive form passed beneath his location, making his way through the mall as instructed. With no predefined meeting location, the man was walking aimlessly through the shopping center with no hurry. While to others, he appeared casual, it was easy for Ryan to see that the man was on heightened alert. Descending the stairs, Ryan joined the crowds and followed his boss from a safe distance.

After a minute or so, Spencer stopped and gazed into a shop window at a display of watches. Ryan knew the trick; he was throwing off any potential tail by pausing, causing someone to either continue and lose the tail or stop and be easier to spot. Choosing the third option instead, Ryan made his approach.

To his credit, Spencer spotted Ryan before he even managed to get within ten feet and turned to face him with an expectant frown.

“Keep walking,” Ryan ordered, turning back toward the flow of pedestrian traffic.

“I’m not amused by the games,” the Station Chief growled, falling in alongside him.

“I told you that I have evidence to clear my name,” Ryan replied, “I just needed to talk to you away from the pack of dogs.”

“The cloak and dagger bullshit doesn’t exactly scream innocent, kid,” Spencer growled quietly. “You’d better have something real conclusive.”

“How about an audio recording of Edwards requesting the drone strike, giving his authorisation before he executed Laurent in front of me? Yeah, I have it.”

The Chief glanced over at Ryan, “You actually have that?”

“I do.”

“This way,” Spencer growled, turning into a side passage that led towards an employee area.

Ryan followed Spencer as he slipped through a service door and into one of the center’s back passageways. After a few moments, he stopped in a service corridor and turned to face him.

“You’ve got this on you? You can prove that this wasn’t you?” Spencer asked, his eyes searching Ryan for any sign of a lie.

“Ryan pulled out an SD card and handed it to his boss. “I can.”

“Fuck,” Spencer growled. “Who?”

“Edwards is behind it as far as I can tell,” Ryan offered. “Christiansen, Anders, and Carter were all present, so I can only assume that if they backed his play, they are involved in whatever he is. As far as I can tell, they needed Ahmad dead. They didn’t want any chance of him surviving. The only reason you make sure they’re dead is…”

“So they can’t talk, shit,” Spencer cursed. “Kid, you’ve put me in a hell of a position. “I’m going to have to call Langley into this if we have … damn.”

“What?”

“Edwards and Carter are here right now,” Spencer sighed. “CTC Europe has the screws on this. They don’t want any media attention. I have the remnants of the Nice operation and a SOG team to bring you in or put you down, maximum prejudice. If I call the dogs off you, then it might well alert them that we know, god fucking damn it,” he cursed, giving the ceiling a look that would have made it shrivel up and die if it had not been made from reinforced concrete. “This is a grade A fuckstorm, Ryan.”

“I know Tom, I…” Ryan offered. “I didn’t know what else to do. They were going to take care of the kid and sweep it all under the rug. I couldn’t let them…”

“So she is safe?” Spencer asked, before nodding to himself. “You did good, kid. They…damn, you did real good,” he added, “Yeah, that really is on form for you, isn't it?”

“She’s safe,” Ryan promised. “She’s with an old friend. Look, let me get out of here,” Ryan offered, feeling a great deal of relief that Spencer was listening to him. “I’ll go back into hiding, and you can run this up the chain once you get somewhere more secure. When things are calm, you can contact me where Orsino began.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed before his lips quirked into a smile, “Milan… Damn, it makes perfect sense now. We had no idea why you chose to come here of all places, but now I get it. How is that old hag doing?”

“She’d kill you for calling her old,” Ryan grinned. “She’s well. She’s been far too kind to us. We didn’t deserve it.”

“Ricci was never the sort to leave a stray out in the cold,” Spencer smirked. “She was like that when I first met her in ‘91.”

“Wait, you knew her?” Ryan balked.

“Briefly,” Tom shrugged. “Small world, gorgeous woman, vicious mind.”

Tom Spencer clasped Ryan on the shoulder and gave him an almost paternal smile, “Enough time for memories later. You need to get going, kid. I can play interference and run this up the chain when I get out of here. I should never have believed this shit. I’ll get the tape to the DOO, and I’ll contact you when the coast is clear. We can sort this out.”

Click

The sound of a pistol’s hammer cocking is universally recognisable to anyone who has ever handled a firearm. It’s often a movie trope that the bad guys will cock their pistol right before threatening the hero, but in reality, many professionals carry with one in the chamber and the hammer down if the weapon allows it. To some, however, it truly is just a dramatic way to get someone’s attention very quickly.

Ryan and Spencer both tensed when they heard the sound reverberate off the breezeblock walls of the corridor. Turning, Ryan spotted Greg Edwards pointing a Sig pistol in their direction. Steve Carter was just behind his shoulder and was equally armed.

“Edwards, put that thing away,” Spencer ordered. “I’ve got him now, he’s agreed to come in. You will stand down, do you hear me?”

“I’ve heard more than enough,”  Edwards replied quietly, a slight smile on his lip. “It's pretty clear that the jig is up, Tom.”

“Greg, put the gun away, that’s a fucking order,” Spencer snapped. 

Edwards, however, made no move to comply. “Tom, I’m really sorry. You’re a great boss, but unfortunately, you’ve stuck your foot in the middle of something, and I can’t let that happen. I know you understand how this works.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me?” Spencer growled, his voice low and his posture tense.

Edwards shook his head sadly and raised the gun to Tom Spencer’s head. As he did so, Steve Carter interrupted his concentration by opening his mouth.  “Hey, boss, we’re going to have company real soon, the man offered, glancing around uncertainly. “Team is moving in.”

The comment caused a momentary distraction that made Edwards glance away from Tom Spencer for a fraction of a second. That distraction was minuscule, but for the station chief, it was more than enough opportunity. With catlike reflexes, Spencer went for the Colt pistol that he kept inside his jacket. Almost as fast as he recognized what the man was doing, Ryan started to go for his own weapon.

The sound of the gun going off within the confined space of the corridor was deafening. Three shots struck Tom Spencer in the torso in rapid succession, almost deafening Ryan in the process. Steve Carter raised his weapon to fire, but before he could manage to pull the trigger, his chest exploded, a forty-five slug from Spencer’s piece ripping through his ribs like a fencepost.

Ryan returned fire at the two men as he ducked down and grabbed Tom Spencer by his shirt collar. Losing off more rounds, he managed to drag the man into cover behind a nearby dumpster. Bullets whipped past, and slammed into the concrete blocks, sending sharp chips of material flying in all directions. Reaching out past the dumpster, Ryan fired blindingly back at Edwards before withdrawing his hand as quickly as possible.

He had no idea where Edwards and Carter were, or if the second man was even still upright and in the fight. Either way, it did not matter. The cover he had was awful, and there were so few options to improve his chances. With such tight confines, it was only a matter of time before someone got a lucky shot.

Looking down at Tom, he found the man in terrible condition. He was bleeding profusely from three lurid wounds to the chest, one of which was bubbling as air escaped from his lungs with each breath. Somehow, despite his vicious wounds, the man’s grip on his pistol was firm and true.

Ryan applied pressure to the bubbling wound and reloaded his pistol one-handed, “Come on, I got you, Tom. Stay with me, ok?”

“Get out of here, kid,” Spencer growled, grimacing through the pain. “I’m done. You need to save yourself. You stick around, and they’ll kill you.” 

“I’m not leaving you, Tom.” Ryan shook his head. “You’ll be ok, it looks worse than it is.”

The man coughed, blood splattering his lips. “I’m fucked up, I know it. I’m not walking out of this one, but you can. Get out of here, that’s an order.”

Reaching over with shaking fingers, Tom Spencer took Ryan’s hand and pressed the SD card back into it. “Keep this, I’m not going to be able to… damn it,” he coughed violently. “Promise me you’ll kill that son of a bitch for me. Right now, though, follow a damn order for once and get the hell out of here.”

Ryan worked his jaw and considered defying the man. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted an exit door forty feet away down the corridor. “Can you cover me?”

Spencer grimaced and nodded. It was barely an inch of movement, but his eyes remained fixed on Ryan’s. “Go, kid… I’m sorry.”

Ryan reached over and squeezed Tom’s hand, giving him one last long meaningful look. Squatting down, he braced himself and took a deep breath. When he was ready, he leaned out and fired two rounds up the corridor towards Edwards’ position. As soon as he did, he sprang out of cover and took off at a dead sprint for the exit.

The forty feet to the door felt like a mile to Ryan as he ran. Every footfall felt like it was stretching further away, and each breath felt like he was inhaling fire. Bullets smacked off the walls around him, sending sparks and chips of concrete flying through the air. Behind him, he heard the crack of Spencer’s old iron and fought the urge to look back over his shoulder.

Ryan hit the door at a run, his body slamming into it with enough force to splinter the wood around the lock. Bursting with the impact, the door gave way, sending him tumbling out into the corridor beyond. The door led to another corridor, and Ryan wasted no time in running as fast and as far as he possibly could. He hated to leave Tom behind, but he knew that the man was already dead, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. Every second that he remained, more and more of Edward’s men would close in on their position.

Instead of mourning the man, Ryan followed Spencer’s instructions and ran for his life. The network of service passages that served the shopping mall were like the central nervous system of the human body. He had no real idea where he was going, but he suspected that eventually, one would lead outside. His plans were in the wind now, and there was no way that any of them would listen to him anymore.

He had met with Tom alone, and only he had left the meeting alive. There were no cameras, and ballistics wouldn’t matter. Edwards would sell himself as the desperate hero who arrived just too late to save their late boss. Ryan would have their deaths placed on his tally, and they would kill him on sight.

Finally spotting a fire escape, Ryan shoved it open and barreled out into the blindingly bright mid-morning sun.

“Don’t move, kid.”

Ryan froze, the pistol still in his hand, not daring to turn toward the voice, “Pete?”

“That’s right. Now don’t you make this difficult for me, huh? Drop the gun and put your hands on your head, real slow.”

“I can explain, I promise,” Ryan hissed, holding the gun out at his side by the pistol grip. “He’s going to try to kill me.”

“Who?” Pete Sutherland asked, moving around to where he was in Ryan’s line of sight. The man must have been covering the exit when he burst haplessly out and into his grasp. The man’s pistol was trained squarely and comfortably at Ryan’s chest, despite his familiar tone.

“Pete,” Ryan pleaded. “Edwards… he just killed Tom. He shot him right in front of me. Tom got Carter in the mix-up, and I took off… I was giving him the proof.”

“Not what he’s saying on the radio,” the operator pointed out dryly. “You know I got to take you in. We can sort this out later as long as you come quiet.”

“You can’t do that, Pete,” Ryan insisted. “Look, I have something for you. I’m going to reach inside my pocket, ok?”

“You move ever so slowly, you hear me?”

Ryan nodded and slowly reached into his pants pocket to retrieve the SD card that he had given to Tom Spencer, the one that was now caked in his dry blood. Slowly, he offered it over to the man. “This… this is a copy of my recording from the ops room. Give it a listen, you know our voices. I haven’t exactly had time or access to spoof this. It shows Edwards ordering it all.”

“Back there?” he gestured back into the mall. “He just shot the Paris Station Chief in cold blood. He’s going to pin this entirely on me because he’s rogue. Pete, you know me; I am not the kind of guy to be in league with a damn terrorist.”

Sutherland reluctantly took the card and slipped it into his own pocket. He lowered the pistol but kept it gripped in a low ready position. His eyes bored into Ryan’s for a minute as if trying to assess the validity of what he was saying. Eventually, he shook his head and sighed, “God fucking damn it. Ok. Get the hell out of here, I didn’t see shit.”

Ryan’s body flooded with relief. “Thank you, Pete, I… I won’t make you regret this, I promise.”

Pete Sutherland lowered his weapon and reholstered it inside his waistband. He looked over at Ryan, his expression softer, “The girl, she’s doing ok, isn’t she?”

Ryan nodded, “Yeah, she’s good, Pete. She’s why I ran. She’s why I did all of this. I can’t let them hurt her.”

Pete smiled, and Ryan realized that the loving father inside the grizzled soldier was showing his relief. “Keep her safe, ok? Be good to her.”

“I will, I promise.” Ryan agreed before turning and jogging away down the street.

 

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October 19th, 2007 - 40,000ft Over the Mediterranean

Ryan Knight was sitting at the far back of the cabin aboard the Company Gulfstream as it cruised westward, high above the Mediterranean Sea. Beyond the drone of the jet engines, it was relatively quiet in this part of the aircraft, and nobody was disturbing him, a circumstance that suited him just fine. Elsewhere in the jet, people were celebrating the successful conclusion of the operation or getting some much-needed sleep on the long flight to Aviano Airbase in Italy. 

It didn’t feel like a success to Ryan. By all quantifiable metrics, the mission had succeeded in achieving its objectives. They had tracked the traffickers, and they had ended their operation. In doing so, they had acquired significant financial and client data that leveraged significant capital for the Middle East Division. It was, despite what had happened to him, somewhat of a coup. All it told him was that in the grand scheme of things, he was an acceptable casualty.

The last six hours since his liberation had been a blur of activity for Ryan. The helicopter that extracted them from his prison had transferred them to SUVs out in the desert under the cover of darkness. After that, they had driven to a safehouse on the outskirts of the city, where they had arrived just before dawn.

The safe house had been basic, but it had given Ryan the opportunity to change out of Alessandra’s clothes and to take a shower. He still had her long hair and sculpted nails, so the plain grey tracksuit that they had given him failed to make him feel much more masculine. By this point, Ryan was so used to behaving like a woman that he was struggling to discard the act and behave like his old self again. No matter how hard he had scrubbed, the person looking back in the grubby bathroom mirror had still looked like a young woman.

After an initial round of debriefing, they had left the country aboard an Agency jet out of King Khalid International airport. Taking off just after six in the morning, they had been airborne for around three and a half hours already. After landing in Italy, they would fly onward to Lakenheath in England for fuel before the Atlantic crossing that would take them all home.

Ryan had barely slept more than fifteen minutes since his rescue, and he couldn’t manage to find sleep even now. Outside the window, he could see lights twinkling in the distance, highlighting cities along a faraway coastline. Down below in the inky darkness, millions of people were sleeping peacefully in their beds, their days only just about to begin. They were living their lives, untroubled by the nightmare he had barely survived. How he wished he could be one of them at that moment in time.

“I thought you might want some breakfast?”

Ryan turned away from the window and looked up at the owner of the voice. Above him, the bearded soldier from his rescue was holding something out toward him.

“What is it?” he asked tentatively, glancing at the foil-wrapped object.

“Kabab tabei,” The man explained, tossing the roll to Ryan. “Kinda like a Haji breakfast burrito; One of the terps at the compound, his cousin makes some seriously mean ones.”

Catching the roll in his surprise, Ryan carefully unwrapped it before taking a tentative sniff. Sensing nothing horrific, he bit into the roll and chewed; it wasn’t awful. The soldier dropped his bulk into the seat that was facing Ryan as he unwrapped his own roll and took a large bite. Chewing for a moment, regarding Ryan thoughtfully, “You ok, kid?”

Ryan wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He had yet to really process what had happened during Operation Orsino. Truth be told, he didn’t presently have any real desire to reflect upon it unless he was forced to. “I guess so.”

“You don’t look it, kid.”

“My name is Ryan, I’m not a kid.”

The man smiled, “I don’t mean no disrespect, Officer Knight. My oldest is approaching your age; it’s a force of habit.”

“You have children?”

The man grinned and nodded, “Sarah, Jenny, and Michael. They’re the bane and joy of my life. The best thing I ever did for this world.”

“Thank you,” Ryan offered, “ well, for saving me.”

“It’s what we do,” the man shrugged, extending a hand to Ryan. “Pete, by the way, Pete Sutherland.”

Ryan shook the spade-sized hand attached to an arm so broad it resembled his own thigh. “How do you manage to do this job with kids at home?”

Sutherland shook his head and glanced out the window for a moment. “I spent my entire career doing what Uncle Sam told me to. I went where they sent me and shot who they told me to shoot. I don’t have a lot of transferable skills for the civilian sector. When Langley offered, I said yes. It’s better than working in some crummy office gig in Tulsa or working construction till my back gave out.”

“What about the risk?”

“My wife’s more than used to it,” he admitted. “She married a SEAL; that’s as much of a calling as wearing the trident itself.”

Ryan was silent for a moment, uncertain what to say. He knew his job was dangerous, but without a family of his own, he really hadn’t considered how others might feel about their line of work.

“You know, when they told me about this whole gig, I didn’t think…” Sutherland trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess that I wasn’t what you expected,” Ryan offered with a sheepish smile. He knew exactly where the man’s mind had gone, and it was more than a little embarrassing.

“Yes and no,” the man chuckled. “I went in there expecting one thing and… shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to offend you or nothin’,” Sutherland cautioned. “I guess I expected a guy in a dress or something equally fake. Makeup and prosthetics and shit,” The man stroked his beard and shrugged, “You’re a lot like my eldest, Sarah. Even now, like this, you remind me a lot of her.”

Ryan felt his cheeks flush at the meaning of the comparison and chided himself for such an emasculating response. He was more than aware that people were treating him strangely; they had been since his rescue. For many of them, it was their first time seeing him like this, as Alessandra. Even now, in this halfway house, this mix of genders, he leaned more toward the feminine. It was as much a habit now as it was an act, something he had learned and would need time to unlearn. He had needed to give himself over so fully to his portrayal that he was still uncertain where the real him and Alessandra blended into one being.

Sitting here across from the grizzled bastion of masculinity that Sutherland represented only made him feel all the more feminine. Ryan pushed the loose hair out of his face and tried to square his shoulders more assertively, “I didn’t get a lot of chances to, since… You know.”

The man shook his head and smiled. “Even that, you don’t even see it, do you?”

“What?” Ryan frowned.

“When you got all shy suddenly, you looked away and hooked your hair behind your ear. My Sarah would always do that when she was embarrassed about something.”

“I’m not a woman,” Ryan blurted out. “It’s just a costume, just for the job. I did this… I had to do this.”

Sutherland held up his hands in surrender, “I’m not implying nothing, ok? I just, well, I’ve been doing this shit a long time, kid. I may pull triggers for a living, but you learn a lot about people doing a job like this. Sometimes a lot more than you want to,” he explained. “People are at their most honest when the chips are down. That’s all I’m saying.”

Ryan wasn’t sure what to say in response to the man’s comments. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the subject himself.  He had barely begun to process the horrors of his experiences during the past month and a half, but he knew it would not be a smooth return to his old life. There was no way on earth anyone could experience what he had and walk away unharmed; it was impossible.

What he refused to admit was what Pete Sutherland had so aptly identified in his battlefield psychology. When it had been his turn, his moment to stand, he could not. When he had been tested, pulled to breaking point, and left without hope, she had protected him. Alessandra had survived Riyahd, not Ryan Knight. She had managed to keep him alive, but how much had it cost him to ask for her help?

Turning away, Ryan looked out over the inky blackness of the Mediterranean and doubted.

“I’m sorry,” Sutherland offered more quietly. “Clearly, you’ve been through hell. We got read into the Op pretty late, but what I read, this whole shit is a fucking mess.  You got tossed into it and left to swing when they fucked up. It isn’t fair, not even close. Look, I want to tell you something, if you’ll let me?”

“Go on, stick another knife in,” Ryan sighed.

“When we hit that place tonight, we were hoping to find a prisoner, a victim. It had all gone fucking wrong, and we got called in to clean up their mess and rescue you. That’s what we do, most of the time, we’re the solution to other people’s fuckups. When we kicked in that door, and Kyle went inside, I saw this banshee, this freaking valkyrie, swoop into action and deck one of my best guys. Dude’s former Delta; he’s a tough guy, and he went down like a sack of shit. She was filled with fire, with fight, and anger. She wasn’t a victim, no matter how much she was a prisoner.”

“I’m not a she,” Ryan glowered.

Sutherland waved his hand, “Not my point. No matter what happened to you, you never gave up hope. It never broke you, and you came out fighting at what you thought was the very end. You faced it on your feet, and you earned a bunch of respect from my guys when they heard. What you are doesn’t matter… who you are, does.”

 

 

May 30th, 2014 -  Milan, Italy

Ryan made it back to the apartment just after midday. While blood no longer stained his clothes, he could still feel Tom Spencer’s life force coating his skin. After leaving the mall, he had stolen a change of clothes and taken a circuitous route through the city to throw off any possible surveillance before finally deciding it was safe enough to return to Francesca’s apartment.

Finally safe inside, he was at long last able to let his guard down and relax. He had begun the day with a solid plan and hope that he might get himself out of this mess, only to have everything torn apart at the seams right before his eyes. Now, a good man lay dead, and he was worse off than he had been before. He was only glad that Francesca was taking care of Béatrice today. In his present state, he was in no fit state to entertain a child, no matter how much he cared for her. 

Slumping down against the wall, he was hit by the full weight of what had just transpired. Tom Spencer was gone. He had been more than just his boss at the Paris Station; he had been the man who took a chance on a broken agent after the conclusion of Operation Orsino. He had seen potential in Ryan, potential that the Agency had been prepared to throw away. They had used him for their own benefit and discarded him. To them, he was a resource; to Tom, he had been potential.

Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent himself from crying for Tom Spencer. Ryan knew that Tom had left behind a wife, Monica, and two kids, Jane and Peter. His family back in Paris would never see their father or husband again. Ryan had met them at more than one embassy function, and even now he could see their faces in his mind. Greg Edwards might have pulled the trigger, but Ryan knew that it was he who had put Tom in the position to die.

Making his way into the bathroom, Ryan stripped out of his clothes, dumping them where they fell on the tiled floor. Turning on the faucet, he stepped into the shower. Leaning forward, his hands pressed against the tiled wall, Ryan drowned his pain in the scalding hot steam. As he watched the last traces of Tom Spencer’s blood wash away in the swirling water by his feet, he promised himself that he would make the man’s sacrifice count for something. No matter what happened in the future, he would avenge his mentor, and he would see that no harm came to little Béatrice.

That beautiful little girl had no part in this nightmare. This bloody, unforgiving mess was not of her doing, and Ryan would do what it took to protect her. He could not allow her to lose anyone else. Too many people had died for this insanity, and she was not to become one of them. After the day’s events, it did not feel overly dramatic for Ryan to believe that if it came to it, he would lay down his own life before he allowed anyone to harm her.

Stepping out of the shower twenty minutes later, Ryan heard movement somewhere out in the apartment. Drying off quickly, he grabbed a robe off the door and checked his pistol before slipping out into the hallway, the weapon raised, but tucked tightly into his chest. He heard the sound again, a footfall and a scrape. Advancing slowly but quietly, he moved along the corridor.

The dining room and kitchen were both empty, and Ryan heard a flutter from the far end of the hall. Entering the Living room, he swept the space quickly before stopping dead as he faced the main living space. Francesca was sitting comfortably on one of the large leather sofas, her legs crossed comfortably as she read a fashion magazine.

“You can put your gun away, Mia Caro,” she offered by way of greeting, not even glancing over in his direction. “Your morning was no success?”

“How?”

Francesca looked up and raised an eyebrow, “Nobody who had a good morning takes a shower with a pistola.”

Ryan walked over, lowering the weapon, “My Station Chief is dead, and I’m even further from proving my innocence,” he sighed, sitting down beside her and placing the weapon on the coffee table next to her steaming cup of black coffee. “For a moment, he believed me, but Edwards got to us. He shot him dead, and the only other witness died in the gunfight; now anyone who might have believed me will think that I’m guilty of his murder too.”

“I’m sorry,” Francesca offered sincerely, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “What will you do now?”

Ryan shook his head, “There isn’t much that I can do. I gave a copy of the recording to a friend, but other than that, I’m out of real options. Edwards is the only survivor of what happened, and he will convince the Agency that I killed two fellow officers. On top of everything else, they won’t need much convincing; they’ll shoot me before they listen to anything I have to say.”

Francesca cursed under her breath, “What is it you Americans like to say, you are between a rock and a hard place?”

Ryan smiled sadly and nodded, “I don’t want to bring this down on your head, Francesca. We need to move on, get out of your space, and not drag you into this mess.”

“Ridiculous,” she waved a hand dismissively. “I will do as I promised; I will get you your paperwork, but I fear it will not be enough on its own.”

“How so?”

“A man and a bambina traveling alone; it is something that draws the attention of the authorities,” she mused. “No matter how good the documenti, it will draw unnecessary scrutiny, I fear.”

Ryan knew she was right. After what had happened, they would expect him to flee Milan as soon as possible. To lie low would place far too much risk on Francesca and her people. While the CIA might have elicited her help in the past, they wouldn’t even hesitate to destroy her if they discovered that she had helped him or Béatrice.

“I’m going to have to leave. I’ll have to take my chances with whatever paperwork you can get me,” he sighed. “I’ll take Béa, and we’ll head north, maybe Switzerland.”

Francesca gave him a long and interrogative look. “You care for her, do you not?”

“More than I thought possible,” Ryan sighed. “Am I insane?”

“No, Mia Caro,” Francesca smiled. “You care for her; it is only natural. I did always think you would make a wonderful parent one day.”

“I’d have to date for that,” Ryan chuckled darkly. “I never really had the drive, especially not after what happened. I guess being a father was never on the cards for me.”

Francesca paused for a moment, her expression fracturing slightly. “That… is not what I mean, Mia Caro. Perhaps, however, una madre in this case, it could solve your problems.”

Ryan tensed up at her words. He would have been lying if he said he had not considered the idea himself, but unlike Francesca, he had dismissed it out of hand. The idea of being anything close to Alessandra again was almost too painful for him to consider.

“I know it might be difficult for you, Mia Caro, but it could allow you and the bambina to travel far more easily. The sight of una madre and the bambina, it is so common; people, they will not look twice.”

He knew that she was right, and he hated it. The Agency was looking for a man and a child. Nobody would bat an eye at a mother and daughter anywhere in the world. After what had happened that morning, he had become a priority target for the agency. One that they would not stop chasing until he was dead or in their custody. He also knew that Edwards would do his best to make sure that it was the former if he could, and that it would mean the same end for Béatrice.

No matter how much the idea hurt, Ryan knew in his heart that he had to do what was right for Béatrice. “Ok,” he sighed, “you win.”

“It is not about win or lose,” Francesca replied softly. “You are uniquely equipped to take advantage of this. Doing so, it can be to the benefit of both of you.”

“I…” Ryan swallowed, his throat dry. “I know you’re right, but I don’t want to, not after last time.”

Francesca took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Mia Cara, I think you punish yourself more than you should. When we work together those years ago, I see someone beautiful, someone who was capable of so very much. I saw someone who was so very real.”

Ryan cast his mind back all those years. He wished he could explain to Francesca exactly what it was about the idea that terrified him, but he could not bring himself to utter the words. What he had experienced had changed him; it had nearly torn him to pieces. Try as he might, he knew that she was right. In all of the scenarios he had mapped out, he could not see a viable path forward without it.

“Ok,” he nodded. “But not until I have explained this all to Béa. She’s been through enough already. This will only confuse her more if I surprise her.”

“Sensible,” Francesca nodded. “I will not hurt you, Ryan, I promise. You understand that, yes?”

Ryan swallowed. “Yeah… I do.”

 

 

“Fetch for me some basil, please.”

“Uh, which cupboard is that?” Ryan frowned, uncertain where Francesca kept her herbs and spices. They were making dinner, which was a strangely normal activity after the day that Ryan had been through. Francesca had declared that they would have a normal evening together, a time to slow down and relax in what was a complicated and stressful few days. Ryan knew it was for Béatrice as much as it was for him, but he appreciated it more than he knew.

“Cupboard? What do you take me for?” Francesca scoffed as she stirred the sauce, “I am Italian, I only have the fresh herbs. The pot by the window, it is on the left. Pah, Americans, no culture!”

“Look, I’m more of a takeout pizza or instant noodle kinda guy,” Ryan admitted, following her instructions. “When I do cook, the basil comes in one of those little glass jars.”

“Ba-sil… not this bay-zil,” Francesca scolded him. “Fetch it, come on.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and made a face at Béatrice. This, in turn, made the child giggle gleefully. It was a sound that Ryan was really starting to love, especially considering what she had been through. It was a sign that she was still in there, that there was a chance she could heal from this painful event. He would make sure that she had the best chance possible. Following Francesca’s instructions, Ryan cut fresh basil leaves from the plant and placed it on the cutting board for Francesca to add to the sauce as she desired.

“With a little one, you are going to need to learn to cook,” Francesca continued. “Fast food, it is not good for the bambina.”

Ryan glanced over at Béatrice, a look of uncertainty flashing across his face,  “That sounds awfully long-term.”

“You cannot stay in hotels and eat in restaurants forever. She is a growing child; she will need good, healthy food, as will you.”

“This whole mess feels a lot bigger than I imagined, “Ryan sighed. “I am not prepared for this.”

Francesca smiled, “It is always so terrifying, but you adapt.”

“I hope so,” Ryan admitted.

Francesca lifted the pan off the stove and began to serve the risotto pollo she had been cooking. “You will do fine, I have no doubt you will find your way in time. You may stumble, but that is parenthood.”

“Parenthood is a big word.”

“It is,” Francesca agreed as she handed Ryan loaded plates. “But like a good risotto, it is the sum of its parts. By themselves, they are not so much, simple even. Put them in a pan, and you tie them together, that is when it becomes something special.”

“Food metaphors I can work with,” Ryan chuckled.

After serving the food, the three sat down together to eat. It was the first home cooked meal that Ryan had eaten in days, and for the first time, he started to feel a modicum of normality. Francesca was right; taking the time to slow down and have a personal moment was so very necessary, more so now than ever.

It was not just the turmoil of the last few days that had plagued him, but the last seven years that hung over him like a shadow. If Ryan was honest with himself, it was a feeling of discomfort that he had known for a very long time. Somehow, sitting here with his mentor and Béatrice, he was starting to feel the smallest shard of hope.

This version of Francesca was extremely new, too. When he had gotten to know her, all of those years ago, the woman he came to respect was one of hidden tenderness and many secrets. To the public, she was the model of perfection. Her hair and clothes, her movement and her speech were all carefully crafted to create an image that demanded respect. Nobody crossed Francesca Ricci, not willingly. The woman he had come to know was one of surprising empathy and tenderness. Behind the image she curated, she cared deeply about others and wanted the best for them. 

She had been brought on to help Ryan prepare for his role, but their relationship had gone far beyond that. She had shown him true care and kindness, a tender guiding hand as he found his way through what proved to be an uncomfortable and difficult process. Together, they had created a wonderful person. Alessandra de Luca had been kind and compassionate; she had brought joy to even Ryan. Part of the shame he felt in seeing Francesa again was that he was truly ashamed of what he had allowed to happen to her loving creation.

Since his arrival on Francesca’s doorstep with little Béatrice in tow, Ryan had seen yet another facet of the woman. Beneath the businesswoman and the mentor, he found the love of a mother. She cared deeply for the little girl, almost as much as he did. Ryan could feel that care in her guiding hand, helping to prepare him for something that he was woefully unequipped to handle.

“This is good,” Ryan admitted, sipping his wine. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Francesca.”

“Non è niente, it is nothing,” the woman waved her hand. “I am glad to ‘elp, you know that. I am only sad it will not be for so long. When all of this silliness is over, you must come again, we have time to make up, you and I.”

“If we make it out of the far end of this thing in one piece, I would love to,” Ryan admitted with a frown. “I waited far too long, I am sorry. I just don’t know if we have any real chance of seeing the far side of this mess.”

“Pessimism, it only makes the outcome the more certain,” Francesca pointed out. “A little optimism, it goes a long way.”

Ryan knew she was correct, but with the uncertainty that lay ahead of them, it was difficult to find hope that he might live to see that better future. What it would look like, he had no idea at all. With so many things going wrong in the last few days, hope was a luxury he could not rely upon.

The return to Alessandra loomed ahead of Ryan like a spectre. He knew it was necessary, that it was even a good idea in their present circumstances, but he was still terrified of the prospect and the ghosts that followed. A mother and child would blend in far easier than a single man with a little girl, but that woman had a past that was hard to forget.

What that might do to Béatrice and their future together, he did not know. However long they were together, he was dedicated to keeping her safe and happy, no matter the cost to himself. Whether that was as Ryan or Alessandra, it did not matter. Somehow, that she might understand, that she could accept, Alessandra felt like the most terrifying question of all.

“You look lost in thought,” Francesca prompted after they had finished eating.

Ryan nodded, “I am. I have a lot to think about and so very little time to do it. You know what, included.”

“What are you saying?” Béatrice asked, furrowing her little brow. “I don’t understand.”

Ryan had been speaking English with Francesca and had almost forgotten that Béatrice did not understand the language yet. “Just grown-up things, Béa,” Ryan offered in French. “We are talking about something I have to do.”

“What’s that?”

Francesca smiled at Ryan and took the opportunity to begin clearing the table. Ryan got up and moved around until he was sitting beside Béatrice. He paused for a moment to consider his words carefully.

“Béa, you know how we’re going to go on an adventure soon?”

The little girl nodded thoughtfully as she manipulated the limbs of a doll Francesca had given her in strange and unusual directions that would give a gymnast a headache. “Yes?”

Ryan smiled, “Well, you’re going to live with me, and we’re going to be… well, like a family, of sorts.”

“What do you mean?”  Béatrice asked cautiously. “Like a new papa?” she asked slowly, as if considering the idea in real time.

Ryan swallowed the lump in his throat. The girl’s words cut through his heart like a bullet. Maybe she was young enough to wrap her head around it? Maybe she could adapt?  He hesitated as he worked out how to articulate what he had to say, the explanation suddenly uncertain in his own mind, “Something like that, ma chérie. We are going to have to play a game of pretend, at least for a while.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ryan scratched his neck, “Well, we have to hide from some bad people who don’t like us very much. It’s a little complicated, but soon, well, soon I’ll be a girl… just like you. 

The girl looked him up and down and frowned, “But you’re a boy?”

“I know, but I’ll look like a girl,” Ryan offered.

“Okay,” Béatrice allowed slowly. “So you’re going to be like my new mama?”

Ryan’s heart thumped, and his mouth felt dry. Somehow, saying the words felt like committing to something he was utterly unprepared for, “Well, yes, we’re going to pretend that I’m your mama. I know I can’t replace her or be anything like that, but we need to pretend, so we can stay safe. Do you understand?”

The girl thought for a moment, “Pretend?”

“We will use new names, and we will pretend to be a mama and a daughter. That way, the bad people don’t find us.”

“But not really?” Béatrice frowned. “So you won’t stay with me?”

“Oh no, I will,” Ryan insisted. “I promise that I will never leave you, ok? No matter what happens, we are together, ok, chére?” 

The girl seemed uncertain but nodded, “I think so.”

“It’s going to be confusing, I know, but it’s to help, I promise. I’m going to be here for you, all the time. You’re never going to be scared or lonely again. We’ll get away from the bad people, and we can work out what to do then, ok?”

“Okay,” Béatrice agreed more happily. “I like you, Riene.”

Ryan decided not to correct her this time. Smiling, he stood up before leaning down and kissing the girl on the forehead. “Be good for me and play for a little, ok, chérie?”

In the kitchen, Ryan found Francesca waiting by the sink, her expression soft and understanding. “It is good that she is so young. At her age, they adapt so much more easily.”

Ryan wiped tears from his eyes and smiled weakly, “I know that’s true, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”

Francesca handed him a glass of wine and softly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “You know it yourself, this is not your first time on this particular path, mia cara.”

Ryan knew that she was right, even if admitting it was hard for him to do. His first time along this path had defined the start of his career with the Agency, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, Francesca’s idea was likely the only solution with a significant chance of success. His only fear was that it might coincide with the end of his career, too.

Sipping the wine, Ryan thought about the first time that he had walked this path with the woman beside him. Playing the role of Alessandra alone had never actually bothered him. He knew who he was and why he was doing it. He was serving his country, and he was helping to save lives; that was motivation enough. Now, though, that was a different matter entirely. Now, his safety and the safety of Béatrice relied upon his ability to bring a very damaged girl back from her long slumber.

Ryan’s biggest concern was whether he could overcome what damage lay entwined with Alessandra like vines that strangled a rose. The trauma, the horror that he had experienced in Saudi Arabia, had changed him, and putting Alessandra away had helped him to move forward. Alessandra had been his only shield against the nightmarish experience, and to pack her away almost meant that it had happened to another person. It hurt all the more because he had liked who he had become when he was her. The idea of returning to a version of the girl who had experienced so very much pain was terrifying. Could he last long enough to get them to safety?

“Look, Francesca, I can’t pretend that this is going to be easy for me,” Ryan admitted, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Please, go slowly with me? I don’t… I’m not sure I’m as resilient as I once was.”

Francesca frowned but held her tongue. Ryan knew that she was dying to ask him more about what had happened, but she had enough tact to know that it was a painful subject for him. “Ryan, I promise, I will not make a fool of you. We will work at a pace that is comfortable for you, and if you need to stop, we can.” 

“Don’t promise something you won’t be able to deliver,” Ryan chuckled darkly.

Francesca hesitated for a moment, as though considering something, before pulling Ryan into a hug. Rubbing his back, she brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled kindly, “Get some sleep, bright and early tomorrow, we bring back the beautiful Alessandra.”

Ryan sighed and nodded, “Perhaps someone a little different this time. I’m going to have to be her for… a while.”

 

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September 28th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Alessandra lay curled up on the bed, its sheets wet with her tears. The man had left an hour ago, and still, she felt his presence in the room and on her skin. He had been the first, and yet she knew there would be many more just like him. She did not know his name, but she believed that he was one of her captors. He had said nothing as he violated her, except to grunt in pleasure as he did so.

A line had been crossed, and no matter what she did from that day forward, she would never be the same person ever again. Her head and her throat hurt from crying, but somehow, there was still pain left inside that she could not manage to dislodge by any means. Her body hurt, and her soul was bruised.

She had told herself that she had to be brave, that she had to play the role until rescue, but she wasn’t sure that was going to happen. None of it was meant to have gone this far, they promised her. They had told her that she was safe, that she was protected. It all felt like a lie now. A disgusting, dirty lie that had ruined her.

She no longer felt like an adult, but rather, a lost child longing for the comfort of her mother’s arms, for anyone to tell her that it would be ok, that she could get better. None of this was meant to happen; nothing like this should ever have happened to her. The grim reality was beginning to finally set in now; she was alone, and nobody was coming to save her.

“It does get easier,” a soft Russian-accented voice offered. “Eventually, you learn to control them, and it is not always so bad.”

Alessandra flinched at the sound and looked up to find a skinny blonde girl standing at the end of the bed. The girl was dressed in a pale pink silk robe, her legs bare and her face heavily made up. Despite her appearance, her eyes told a different story. No amount of lashes and makeup could hide the haunted depths within. Depths that told Alessandra without a word that the girl spoke from bitter experience.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “Who are you?”

“Anja,” the girl offered. “May I sit?”

Alessandra pulled herself upright and hugged her knees to her chest, nodding slightly. The girl smiled in response and walked around before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I am trapped here like you.”

“You are?” Alessandra was surprised. She had been here for days, and she had not met another soul beyond her captors. She would have imagined she was alone if not for the occasional faint screams and sounds of sex she could hear from beyond the walls. “Why are you…?”

“Here?” Anja asked, her lip quirking slightly. “They told me to make sure you are ok, that I had to teach you.”

“I’d rather just die,” Alessandra glowered, letting her head drop back against the headboard of the bed. “I’m already dead.”

“I wish I could say something to make it better, but I cannot,” the girl admitted. “It is all we can do to survive.”

“I don’t think…” Alessandra began slowly. “I don’t think I was prepared for what it would be like. When he…” she shuddered. “It hurt so much.”

Anja regarded the girl for a second and frowned, “You mean to say that you had not… You were a virgin?”

Alessandra blushed and nodded slightly, unable to look the other girl in the eyes.

“Oh my darling,” Anja sighed. “I am so sorry you had to experience a man this way for the first time.”

“I didn’t want to experience one at all,” Alessandra whimpered.

Anja frowned, “You are… lesbiyanka?”

“No, I’m…” Alessandra paused, uncertain as to what she should say. “Honestly, I'm not really sure about anything.”

“This is not the best way to learn about yourself,” Anja conceded.  “I promise you, sweetheart, a man who loves you is a far more enjoyable experience. Back home in St. Petersburg, I had a boyfriend… he was good to me.”

“Do you miss him?”

Anja nodded. “I was foolish, and I got myself into trouble with the wrong men to pay for my surgery. Look at where it has landed me.”

“Your… you mean?”

“I think we all are,” Anja admitted sadly. “They seemed to pick us especially. Pretty trans girls are what these men want. There is the added benefit that we are not so missed when we disappear.”

“I… What will happen to us?”

“I wish I knew,” the girl admitted, her finger tracing circles on the bedsheet. “All I know is that we do what we must to survive. That much was made very clear for me when I arrive.”

“How long have you been here?”

Anya shrugged, “I do not know, not accurately. Perhaps a year? Maybe longer. Time is a little hard to tell. I do my best to be liked, to be useful. I suspect eventually even I will outlive my usefulness. What happens then, I do not know.”

Alessandra looked over at the other girl. If she had met her on the street, she would never have known that the girl was also born a boy. She was pretty and had fine elfin features, despite the gaudy makeup. With her waifish Russian figure, she could have easily been a model on the catwalks of Paris in another life. 

It was easy for Alessandra to recognize and understand her plight, given what she went through to prepare for this assignment, even if she could not personally resonate with her internal sense of self. This girl, as far as she knew, wanted to be like this, and as far as she knew, so did she. 

Ryan desperately wanted to confide in her, to tell her how wrong this was, that it was all a huge mistake, but she knew better. Alessandra had to keep control, even in these darkest moments. She had to stick to her cover or death was almost guaranteed. She had to be the same as Anya; she had to be the girl that this woman was trying to sympathise with.

“Does it get… easier?”

Anya reached over and stroked Alessandra’s cheek, brushing strands of loose hair behind her ear, “No, it does not, but you do, however, get used to it. Whatever way you look at it, that is some relief, I suppose. If there is the right man, sometimes you might even get some pleasure from it.”

Alessandra shuddered as she was reminded of the grunting guard that had violated her, “I don’t want to enjoy any of it, I can’t.”

Anya sighed, “I will give you one piece of advice, one piece that took me far too long to learn. Always act as if you like it. No matter what happens, no matter how bad, fat, stinking, or rough, they were the best fuck you ever had.”

Alessandra grimaced, “I’m not that good an actor.”

“You will learn to, or they will get rid of you,” Anya offered sadly. If you cannot act like a good little pet, you are useless to them.”

“Worse yet,” Anya continued. “No matter how much you learn to be their perfect little doll, there are clients here that want to hurt you; it gets them off.” “Whatever they do, act like it hurts and play the frightened little girl. There’s a good chance that they won’t try any harder, and it will be over much quicker. Do not fight back,” she ordered, hiking up her robe to show Alessandra a jagged scar carved into the flesh of her milky white thigh. She smiled sadly as she traced the outline of the scar, “Never fight back.”

 

 

May 31st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

Ryan gazed at the building across the street from him with thinly disguised suspicion. Francesca’s driver had picked them up that morning and driven them across the city to a beauty salon that she had on retainer. According to his mentor, appointments at the establishment were by referral only, and it maintained a policy of total discretion for its wealthy clients. Despite this, he still felt an overwhelming sense of dread and embarrassment.

“You are going to stand here all morning?” Francesca asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’m just scoping the place out,” Ryan shrugged. “Checking exit routes.”

Francesca tutted, “This is not a CIA operation, this is a beauty salon. Tell me you did not bring your gun?”

“I am being hunted by an intelligence agency that thinks I committed multiple murders and acts of terrorism,” Ryan pointed out dryly. “I promise that I won’t shoot any stylists, deal?”

Francesca threw up her hands and muttered something unintelligible in rapid Italian as she set off across the street. Ryan wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it meant, but he was positive that it wasn’t remotely polite. Not wanting to tempt fate or her patience any further, he buried his reluctance and set off after her.

The reception of the salon was clean, bright, and clinically minimalist in design. It almost gave the impression that one was arriving at an upmarket hospital rather than a place of beauty and pampering. Behind the front desk, a pretty young woman was seated, and she smiled politely as they arrived, “Buongiorno, Signora Ricci. I can bring you straight through. Giulia is already waiting. Can I get you anything to drink before you start?”

“Capuchino, grazie,” Francesca replied, barely pausing as she made her way directly past the reception desk. “Two.”

“I might have wanted booze instead,” Ryan opined dryly.

“Nonsense,” Francesca waved her hand. “It is early, and there is much to do. You will be complaining enough without good coffee. Do not be a baby.”

The receptionist flashed Ryan a sympathetic smile as he followed in Francesca’s wake. Did she know why he was here? Ryan wasn’t sure, but he blushed crimson all the same.

Following Francesca, Ryan was led through to the rear of the Salon and up a flight of stairs. They entered a sweet smelling room that centered around a large padded table with a hole at one end. Inside, a stout woman in her late fifties was mixing up something in a pot. The scent was instantly familiar to Ryan, and he immediately regretted not getting alcohol.

“Ciao, Giulia,” Francesca announced as she breezed in. “I have for you, your victim.”

“Not pulling any punches, huh?” Ryan winced.

The woman turned around and looked Ryan up and down like a butcher assessing a side of beef before the carving. Nodding, as though satisfied with what she saw. “Bongiorno, Signore,” she offered, continuing to stir the pot. “If you wish to undress and lie on the table, I will not be a moment.”

Ryan glanced over at Francesca, who simply smiled and shrugged, “I thought I would stay for moral support. I have already seen more than enough of you, Mia Cara.”

Ryan blushed at her use of the feminine term of endearment and glanced nervously over at the technician who was busy stirring her simmering pot. The woman hadn’t reacted, or she was being paid more than enough to not care. It barely lessened his already extreme embarrassment.

Seeing Francesca was clearly not planning on leaving, Ryan reluctantly began to undress. It was true that she had seen far more of him than anyone else, but it did not make it any less embarrassing. During his original transformation into Alessandra, she had been heavily involved. During their time together, he had become so comfortable in her presence that being semi-nude around her felt normal.

That had all changed after Operation Orsino. When everything had gone wrong, and he had been subjected to all that had befallen him, his own body began to disgust him. Ryan stopped going swimming and even visiting the gym. Anywhere that changing clothes or nudity in a semi-public setting might be required became something to be avoided at all costs.

Finally naked, Ryan lay down on the table and made himself as comfortable as he could. Which, under the circumstances, was not particularly comfortable. He was glad, at least, that Francesca gave him the smallest dignity of a towel over his bare buttocks. He wasn’t naive enough to expect that to last particularly long.

“Ok, the wax, it is ready,” the woman announced, walking across to where he lay. “You have had the wax before?”

Ryan nodded as much as he could with his face down, “Yes.”

“Then you are used to it,” the woman observed as she began to slather the warm wax along the back of his legs. After applying the cloth strips, the beautician allowed the wax to cool for a moment before unceremoniously ripping the first strip from his body in one clean motion.

“OW, FUCK!”

“Calm yourself, darling, this is necessary,” Francesca chuckled from behind Ryan’s shoulder. He didn’t need to see her to know the woman was delighting in his present torture; he could hear the mirth in the tone of her voice. Never let it be said that beauticians did not have more capacity for torture than the CIA’s own enhanced interrogation experts.

“This wasn’t exactly fun the first time around,” Ryan complained into the table. “I forgot how much it hurt.”

“Eh, it gets easier after the first strip,” Francesca shrugged. “And you have let yourself go. If you had maintained your routine, then this would be nothing but quick maintenance. Regardless, hairy legs would pair terribly with your dress. Beauty is pain, Bella; get used to it.”

“I am not wearing a… ow… dress,” he grumbled bitterly as the technician tore away another strip. “I’ll be a damn girl again, but I am not going to be some fashion doll again like the last time.”

“This is true,” Francesca chuckled. “I do not think the way you used to dress would be suitable for a young mother.”

Ryan was glad he was facing the table as the crimson flush colored his cheeks. He didn’t need to see Francesca to know the woman was smirking away behind him; at least one of them was finding his humiliation amusing. The thought cast his mind back to the clothes that he had worn the last time as Alessandra. He was certain that he had no desire to reprise the overly sexual stylings of his former cover identity. Whatever Francesca had in mind, he would work to moderate it, at least for his own sake. 

As much as he was uncomfortable with the idea of what they were doing, he also knew that it made sense in a strange sort of way. He had done this before, which would make his life considerably easier and mean that he was far less likely to make a mistake. Secondly, there was no way that the men looking for him would even think of this as a possibility. Anything they did not expect was an advantage he sorely needed.

Ryan’s greatest fear was what this return to womanhood would do to his memories. When he had buried Alessandra away, he had left as much of the pain and torment as he could with her. Reopening that wound was an unknown factor at a time of great risk. Whether he could maintain his clarity and operate as a hundred percent was a total unknown.

Truth be told, even with a new name and identity, the entire thought of returning to womanhood frightened him almost as much as Alessandra’s experiences did. What he had gone through with her would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

It took the sadistic technician, Giulia, thirty minutes to remove every hair below Ryan’s eyebrows. After she was finished, his body was left pink, raw, and utterly hairless. Completing her task, she left without as much as a word.

Sitting up, Ryan wrapped a towel around his waist and sat awkwardly, hugging his abdomen. The sensation of losing what little hair he had felt unfamiliar, and his skin still felt overly sensitive from the aggressive process. “I do not want to do that again in a hurry.”

“You know yourself, it is a lot easier once the hard work is done. You were not particularly hairy, but it was still a long time, no?” Francesca offered, placing a small bundle of clothing on the bed next to where Ryan was sitting, wrapped in a towel.

Ryan eyeballed the clothing suspiciously before looking back up at Francesca, “Straight in at the deep end, huh?”

Francesca smiled sympathetically, the mirth no longer present in her expression. “I think if you get yourself into the correct frame of mind, the rest of this will be easier for you, Mia Cara. The sooner we are done here, the sooner I can start on your new documents and get you back to the little one.”

Béatrice; she was his entire motivation for doing this hairbrained insanity. Without her, he would take his chances as Ryan Knight, come what may. For her, he would suffer whatever indignities Francesca wanted to inflict upon him if it meant that he could keep the child safe. It had been a little over forty-eight hours since they had fled Nice, and already, he felt a strong connection to the girl. The motivation to keep her alive and safe was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, now even stronger than his own dignity. It was a feeling that he was still struggling to understand.

 “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Ryan sighed reluctantly.

Francesca excused herself and closed the door to the treatment room behind herself, allowing Ryan a little privacy. After seeing him largely naked on the waxing table, it seemed a little superfluous, but he did appreciate the gesture all the same. Both of them were more than aware that Ryan would need no help to dress in the clothing that she had left for him.

Reaching down, Ryan examined the items left for him with no small amount of trepidation. Crossing this line again felt different when it was no longer for an assignment. He had done what had been asked of him for the Agency and to help save lives. Once his mission was completed, he had never touched women's clothing ever again. Doing so now felt somehow more sinful; this wasn’t for an assignment, this didn’t have the protection of being for a greater cause than himself.

If he did this now, it would be because he chose to do it. No matter how sensible it might be, given the circumstances, he had a choice; he could take his chances with Béa as a man, or he could choose this instead and make their lives far easier. The real question was, easier for whom? Despite his familiarity with the garments in front of him, Ryan had never felt more uncertain.

Gingerly, he picked up the flesh-colored panty and sighed. He had been familiar with that particular item the last time and was not particularly excited to reacquaint himself. It was some form of dancers' belt, an item of clothing designed to flatten and contain his genitals. With a mental shrug, he slipped the item into place and took care of rearranging matters downstairs until he presented a smooth and more feminine front.

It turned out that Francesca had gone easy on him as far as the panties and bra were concerned. Both items were thankfully plain and comfortable rather than the more lacy variety that Alessandra had been forced to wear. They presented very little challenge to his familiar fingers, but they certainly represented a line in the sand to his fragile psyche. What surprised him the most was that it was a far easier line to cross this time around.

That first time Francesca had assisted with his transformation into his cover identity as Alessandra De Luca, she had thrown him in at the deep end. To get him comfortable in time, she had trussed him up in the frilliest and most feminine attire imaginable. It was, in her words, just as important that he felt as feminine inside as he appeared on the outside. For that assignment, it had been all too successful.

Ryan regarded his body in the mirror with some skepticism. He had never really considered himself to be particularly feminine in his appearance, but the reflection staring back at him told him an entirely different story. The person in the mirror had slim shoulders and a slight flare to their hips that wasn’t typical of a male body. On top of this, the overall hairless appearance and a flat crotch, when combined with the impression of breasts that the bra gave him, made him look far more female than he remembered.

The face on top of that body still seemed like his own, but after finger-combing his shaggy hair into a more feminine style, he began to see faint traces of the old Alessandra peaking through once again. Alessandra… it had been so very long since he had seen her eyes looking back at him.

Wrapping himself in the provided robe, Ryan took a deep breath before letting himself out of the room. Outside, Francesca was waiting nearby. When she heard him, she looked up and smiled. “Not so hard, once you get the hang of things, is it?”

“A different sort of difficult,” Ryan admitted, crossing his arms. “I feel silly.”

“You do not look it, Mia Cara,” Francesca smiled reassuringly. “Come now, you have an appointment next with the stylist. Your hair, it is not long enough for what we need, so I have arranged for them to give you hair extensions. These will last you far longer than a wig might, even one that is glued on. It will also give you a little more freedom, I think. Far less for you to worry about under the circumstances.”

“In for the whole pony then, I guess,” Ryan sighed. “Look, thank you for making this easier on me; I know I seem reluctant and like I don’t care, but I really do appreciate what you are doing to help me.”

Francesca cupped Ryan’s face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “Mia Cara, I know that this, it is a lot for you; that much is not lost on me. It is for the best, I think you know this in your heart. You will adapt far quicker than you believe. Some people, they are made for certain pathways, yes?”

Ryan frowned. “You tried to tell me that I’d be better off this way the last time. I’m pretty sure that my mind hasn’t changed on that subject.”

Francesca shrugged in that distinctly Italian way that said so very much in a single gesture. “Believe what you like, carissima; I think, deep down, there is a part of you that this is right for. No man would have been able to portray Alessandra so well with so little ‘elp.”

Ryan remembered exactly what she was referring to and flushed, “I don’t have the luxury of working that out right now. I have people looking for a kid and me to take care of. What I want doesn’t really matter.”

“You will,” Francesca smiled ominously. “Even if this is not your path, you will still have plenty of time to think about it. Do not rule out other possibilities, that is all I am saying.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine, lead on, before I have a burst of common sense.”

Hair extensions, especially the type that were attached strand by strand, take a great deal of time to install. As such, Ryan was left in the care of the salon staff while Francesca returned to running her empire. While the stylist worked, other technicians arrived to shape his brows and manicure his nails. With everything that was happening, it was hard for Ryan to not get lost in a blur of ever-growing femininity. Rather than try to resist it, Ryan gave in and allowed himself to go with the flow.

Sitting in the stylist’s chair as he felt the gentle tug on his hair as the woman worked, Ryan felt calmer than he had in a long time, certainly since the beginning of this nightmare. Being pampered was relaxing, even if the end result was one that filled him with anxiety. As each new change was inflicted upon him, Alessandra got closer and closer to the surface. Whether it was his hair, his brows, or the way the lengthened gel nails made his hands look slimmer and more graceful, Ryan was struggling to not allow her back in.

Francesca had been right, but then again, she always was. Even the simple act of dressing in a more feminine way had reawakened long-forgotten behaviors and mannerisms in Ryan that he had thought lost far in the past. As painful as it was to his sense of self as Ryan Knight, it did make what was happening slightly easier to tolerate.

The laborious work of attaching extensions was finally completed by three in the afternoon. By that point, Ryan’s new, longer hair had been cut and styled, transforming his scraggly mop into blonde waves that extended down past his shoulders. His eyebrows, which had never been particularly expansive before, had now been trimmed back into delicate arches that softened his face and opened his eyes.

When the stylist finally revealed the results, the young woman in the mirror looking back at Ryan caught him by surprise. While he had seen himself as female in the past, it was still a shock to see her staring back at him. Alessandra had become a vessel for so very much pain in his life,  a personification of what had happened to him long ago. What disturbed him the most was that, despite that, he was still somehow glad to see her again.

Try as he might, he could see no trace of Ryan Knight looking back at him in the mirror. The woman who was staring into his soul was all too familiar to him. She carried a great deal of pain within her heart, pain that had nearly brought Ryan to his knees once before. Pain that had to be banished along with the girl to give him a chance at life.

Ryan’s emotions clashed as the memories he had suppressed for years came crashing back in a tide of unending sorrow and pain. His past mixed with strange feelings of comfort that swirled around each other like turbulent eddies at the confluence of two mighty rivers.

As he stared at his reflection, tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Alessandra De Luca had been buried to take away the pain. Now, she could feel it all too well once more.

 

 

October 20th, 2007- Joint Base Andrews, Washington DC.

The first thing that Ryan noticed as he stepped off the aircraft was the wind. October had arrived in Washington DC, and it had brought an unseasonably deep chill that caught him off guard. Having spent the last five months in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, it was a shock to the system.

“Ma’am, are you ok?”

Ryan snapped out of his daze and looked up at an airman wearing a high-visibility jacket. It was only at that point that he realized he had been standing stationary at the bottom of the jet’s steps and was now by himself. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he muttered, crossing his arms against the chill.

“Do you have any bags, Ma’am?”

“No,” Ryan shook his head. “It’s just me.”

“Roger that, Ma’am. You have yourself a good day,” the airman grinned before jogging up the steps and into the now-empty cabin.

Ryan frowned and set off walking towards a line of waiting SUVs. The man’s behavior was strange, but then, after the last few months, he barely understood how to act like a human being anymore. Perhaps the man was just being polite?

“Feels weird being home, huh?” Sutherland asked, shouldering a large kitbag as he fell in beside him.

“More than I expected,” Ryan admitted. “What are you guys doing now?”

“I’m going for a beer with the boys, and then I’m dumping my shit and heading for the airport. If I’m lucky, I get home in time to tuck my youngest in.”

Ryan smiled fondly at the image of the grizzled soldier rushing home to be with his children. It was something so normal that it felt out of sorts with his current world, detached from their dangerous reality. It was a sort of normal that he desperately wished he still had to experience himself.

“I can’t begin to thank you enough, Pete,” Ryan began, looking away for a moment. “You saved my life, I won’t ever forget that.”

“You don’t need to thank us, kid. I’m sure as hell glad we could get you out. Nobody deserved that, it was…”  ” the man shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t envy you.”

Ryan faltered, “What do you mean?”

“I get to go grab a beer and see my kids,” Pete grinned, repeating himself. “You have to go do who knows how many hours of debriefing and bullshit back at Langley; Not my problem.”

“You guys don’t have reports?”

“People write reports about us, they include us in them, and our bosses write plenty of the damn things. Me? I kick doors,” the soldier grinned. “Best place to be in the hierarchy.”

Ryan nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a far better deal.”

“When do you get to go home?”

“No idea,” Ryan admitted. “When they’re done with me.”

“Who’s waiting for you?”

“Nobody,” Ryan admitted, as they arrived at the line of SUVs. “It’s just me.”

“No boyfr…girlfriend?” Pete asked, shaking himself mid-sentence.

Ryan let the slip go; he was too tired to worry about it. “No.”

“Folks?”

Ryan shook his head, and the old soldier frowned, “I’m damn sorry. Don’t be alone, not after something like this? Ok? It won’t do you any good.”

“I think a little bit of alone might actually be pretty nice,” Ryan admitted. “People have been the problem this entire time. I haven’t been alone for the last two months; the change might be good.”

“Don’t be a stranger, ok?” Sutherland offered.

Ryan smiled with more energy than he felt, “Yeah, and thank you, again.”

Sutherland set off to join his men while Ryan climbed aboard the SUV that would return him to Langley. He had meant what he said; somehow, he knew he would stay in contact with the old soldier after all of this mess. The man had shown him compassion and kindness when he needed it the most. He had not treated him like a stranger or a confusing creature like some of the others.

Slumping down in his seat, Ryan closed his eyes and tried to find sleep. Being back in the States did not feel like being home. If anything, he strangely longed for that quiet house in the Lombardy countryside. It was the only place he had felt wanted in years.

As the vehicles pulled away and set off across the tarmac, Ryan began to wonder what Francesca Ricci was doing now that he was gone. Had she been told about what had happened to him? Had she returned to her normal life in Milan and forgotten all about him?

During their time together, they had grown rather close. He had felt a strong connection with the woman, one born of friendship and respect. She had been so significant in the creation of Alessandra de Luca that she had almost taken on a maternal role in the girl’s life. Now that it was all over, would she even care about Ryan Knight?

Ryan felt a wave of shame wash over him at the thought of Francesca seeing him as he was now. There was no way that he could face her after what had happened; he had failed so completely that she would never forgive him for what had happened. He had taken her beautiful creation and allowed her to be ruined by the hands of terrible men. All her hard work had been desecrated and soiled; what remained was a shadow of the confident and capable young woman who had left her care.

It saddened Ryan, but he knew that if he was to get over his experiences, he would have to pack Alessandra away. Sadly, that meant that he would have to leave Francesca with her. He knew that if he saw her again, she would only remind him of their time together. A time when he had found something… different. Francesca was a part of Alessandra’s life, and that made him feel strange. He was not sure if it was shame or temptation, but he knew that if he saw her again, he would never be able to allow Alessandra to stay buried.

She had to stay there; it was the only way.

 

 

May 31st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

When Francesca Ricci returned to the salon later that afternoon, she was directed to a private room at the rear of the building. Inside, she found the young agent sitting alone on a sofa. The girl was curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. The tear tracks on her cheeks and the look of sorrow in her eyes told Francesca everything she needed to know. Without uttering a word, she could already tell that the man who had arrived on her doorstep two days prior was no longer present. In his place, her precious Alessandra had returned to her, although it was clear that she was in a great deal of pain.

Sitting down beside her, Francesca gently rubbed the girl’s back and waited for her to stop crying. She was amazed at the transformation that had taken place. While the physical changes were not significant, the person inside the skin had shifted entirely. While she was clearly deeply troubled, she looked a lot more real.

After a few minutes, Alessandra seemed to collect herself and wiped her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Francesca lovingly stroked the girl’s cheek, “Shhh, amorina, you are safe now, I am here.”

Sniffing sadly, Alessandra looked up at the older woman, her eyes red and puffy. “I thought I could do this, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I don’t know if I can handle this again.”

Francesca wrapped her arm around Alessandra and drew her into her shoulder. “I know that you can do it,” Francesca affirmed softly. “You can do it for yourself and for the bambina. I know that this hurts, but you do it because it will make things better for you both, I promise.”

“It’s all coming back to me,” Alessandra sighed dejectedly as she wiped her eyes. “The memories, the nightmares. It’s almost as if it all happened yesterday.”

“I thought it might,” the older woman nodded stoically. It had not escaped her that the girl had even reverted to Alessandra’s lighter, more feminine vocal register. “There is nothing wrong with that. You deserve to find answers to your questions. Bottling up your feelings never helps to resolve them.”

“I have to be strong for Béatrice,” Alessandra sniffed. “I can’t let her down. How can I keep her safe if I’m falling apart?”

Francesca helped her to her feet and hugged her tightly, “I do not think you are falling apart. I know you, you have the strength for this. You will find your feet, and you will be strong for the little one.”

Guiding her over to a chair, she helped her to sit. “Come, let me take care of your face and get you dressed so we can get a photograph for your paperwork. The sooner we are done, the sooner we can go and introduce the bambina to her new mama.”

“You must think I’m totally insane,” Alessandra sniffed as she dropped down into the chair heavily, “utterly insane.”

Francesca smiled and shook her head. “No, Mia cara, I do not think you are insane. Perhaps you do not yet see it yet, but to me, it is as clear as day.”

“That I’m out of my head? Lost my mind?” Alessandra smiled manically up at the heavens. “This whole thing is totally insane. I’m just going to confuse the poor girl all the more when I get her settled somewhere safe.”

Francesca scoffed as she sorted through the makeup bag, “You still convince yourself that you will take care of her before handing her off to a new home. Who, where? You would send her to an orphanage?”

“No,” Alessandra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “No… I… I have to find her...”

“What do you have to do?”

The girl frowned, “I have to find her a real family.”

Francesca walked across to the young woman and turned her towards the mirror in the room. “You are her real family, Carissima. You may not be linked by blood, but you were prepared to give your life for her. You risk it all to protect the bambina; that is what true family is.”

“I don’t know the first thing about being a father,” Alessandra shook her head. “When we’re safe, when I go back, I don’t know where to start.”

Francesca smiled. “I believe you will make a wonderful parent. In many ways, you already are one, Mia Cara. I think perhaps, though, that father is the wrong word.”

Alessandra shook her head, “But I’m not… that,” she insisted. “I told you before; I’m not a girl.”

Francesca tapped the girl on the shoulder as they stood looking into the mirror. “You have to remember, I spent a great deal of time with you as Alessandra before you left for your assignment. I know you better than I think you wish to know yourself.”

“That was just for work,” Alessandra countered quickly, averting her eyes from her reflection. “It had to be done to protect my cover.”

Francesca shook her head, “I remember being asked to help this awkward boy become a beautiful young woman for her assignment. Much to my surprise, I did not need to do as much work as I expected. Once you got over your hangups, it all came so very naturally to you, mia cara.”

Alessandra shrugged, “Some people are good at acting.”

“That was no act,” Francesca shook her head, her large earrings clinking softly against her neck. “Just like when you take the bambina, you act on instinct. You do the same thing now, and in time, you will see that.”

“But I’m not doing anything,” Alessandra frowned.

“My point exactly! Here you sit before me, and all I see is una donna, a woman. If you put a man in a skirt and give him long hair, he is still a man. You bella, are no man.”

“Nature and biology would disagree with you,” Alessandra countered with a snort, doing her best to sit in a more masculine manner,  “I’ve got pretty strong evidence to the contrary.”

Francesca shook her head, “You work in intelligence, and yet, you cannot see that people are far more than they appear?”

“Sometimes they’re exactly what they seem,” Alessandra pointed out. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she frowned. “Sometimes they need to be.”

 

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August 20th, 2007 -  Milan, Italy

Alessandra slid the dress down over her body and smoothed it into place. Getting dressed up for dinner was the last thing she wanted to do, especially after a long day of marching back and forth in heels so high that she feared having nosebleeds. Unfortunately, her taskmistress, Francesca Ricci, wouldn’t have it any other way.

The dress was a short blue floral sundress that came down to mid-thigh, with thin spaghetti straps that reached across her shoulders. It was undeniably a pretty dress, and it looked concerningly good on her. It was something that made her feel more than a little uncomfortable.

Alessandra regarded her reflection in the mirror and frowned. The girl looking back at her was rather pretty, and she was still struggling with how that made her feel. On one hand, she loved how she looked, from her blonde hair flowing freely over her shoulders to her subtle but elegant makeup. On the other hand, it troubled her that she could look like this, worse yet, that she enjoyed it.

The progress she had made at Signora Ricci’s hands was astounding. In only three weeks of her intensive coaching, she had managed to learn so very much. More than she had ever expected to do. It was so much progress that they had moved up her operational start date to the following week. What troubled her more than the impending mission was that she was beginning to feel comfortable this way. She knew it was wrong, but she pushed those feelings aside.

Alessandra was about to slip her feet into a pair of three-inch stilettos when she changed her mind. When Francesca had instructed her to dress for dinner, she had expected her to continue the day’s heel practice. With her feet still aching from the day’s activities, she threw caution to the wind and selected a pair of pretty flat sandals instead. Francesca could tell her off if she wanted to, but she was going to allow her poor feet some rest. She had already more than mastered sashaying around in the terrible torture devices; a few hours would not harm her progress.

The house that the Agency was using for their work was located just outside the northern Italian city of Milan, nestled within the beautiful Lombardy countryside. Here, the light seemed to hold a different quality, and the world seemed just a little more desaturated than back home in America. Time felt slower, and life felt more meaningful.

Stepping out onto the patio, the air was still warm and heavy from the heat of the day. Dusk was just beginning to creep in around the edges as shadows grew longer. It was a beautiful evening, and it made the assignment feel more like a vacation.

Alessandra spotted her mentor standing on the patio with a glass of wine in hand. She was wearing an elegant white maxi dress that looked simply divine against her tanned olive skin. Alessandra was irritated by how the woman somehow always managed to look so effortlessly stylish. At least, she would if she actually cared, that is.

Alessandra coughed lightly to gain her attention, but Ricci was aware of her presence already.
“You are not wearing heels,” she pointed out, by way of greeting, without turning around. “What good is your practice if you do not dress appropriately?”

“How did you?”

“Know?” Francesca asked, turning around and raising an eyebrow. “I do not hear the heel, but the flat slap of you not learning.”

Alessandra poured herself a glass of wine at the table and shrugged. “Surely,” she postulated, “it is a more diligent test for me to maintain my posture and walk correctly without their assistance? You ran me ragged today, and I think I’m going to explode if I have to hobble around in another pair of stilts.”

Francesca smiled and nodded slightly, “Tutto Bene, I will let you off this once. You are indeed making excellent progress,” she conceded. “As far as I can tell, you will be more than ready in time for your operation.”

“I can’t believe that I’m actually here doing this,” Alessandra mused as she lowered herself into a chair, smoothing her dress behind her as she sat. “None of this feels real.”

“Because it is not,” Ricci answered as she joined her. “The entire reason for this project is to create a falsehood. Although I will admit that you certainly blur that line a little.”

Alessandra inclined her head. “How so? Beyond the obvious.”

Francesca waved a hand in a very Italian manner, “Not because your Central Intelligence Agency wants me to turn a boy into a beautiful girl.  Rather, because with you, it was so easy to accomplish.”

Alessandra did not know what to say, but Francesca continued unabated. “The process of making a young man look like una donna… a woman, it is not so hard. It is makeup, hair, tape, and clothes. With the right clay, you can teach a monkey to smoke cigarettes.”

Alessandra grinned, “Are you mixing your metaphors, or are you calling me a monkey?”

Fancessca smiled and shook her head, “No, not a monkey, but I think you made my work so easy.”

“That’s just what a guy wants to hear,” Alessandra mused. “Fantastic legs, great ass, easy to look like a girl.”

“Your looks are a small part of it, yes, Mia Cara,” Francesca agreed. “The more difficult part of this assignment was to get you to behave like a woman and thus to think like one. In your case, your biggest asset, it is your mind. It is not taking me anywhere near as much work as it might to get you to behave properly.”

Alessandra considered the thought, “I’m sure my bosses will be pleased. Make sure you put that in my performance report.”

“No, Alessandra, that is not what I mean,” Francesca replied evenly. “You have a natural femininity that was easy to unveil. I think it is less that you are a good actor, more that this is something that comes so easily to you.”

“But I’m a man,” she insisted.

“You think people are really so simple?” Francesca raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes the way someone is born is not who they are truly meant to be. Sometimes, all it takes is a push for them to find their true path. To me, it is clear that you are meant for so much more than being a man, Mia Cara.”

Alessandra could not bring herself to look her mentor in the eye. Looking down was entirely the wrong decision too; all she saw was a pair of tanned, smooth legs crossed demurely under her skirt. Looking out over the countryside beyond the garden, she blinked as strands of her hair blew across her face. Unconsciously, she tucked her hair back behind her ear and frowned.

She wasn’t meant to feel like this, and she was more than a little ashamed that Francesca had noticed it too. The feelings that she was experiencing were deeply unsettling and more than a little terrifying. She was meant to be a man, yet she was starting to feel far more comfortable this way. The scariest part was, that if she was honest with herself, she had never felt more alive than she did in those last three weeks.

She had no idea what it all meant, but she knew that she had to focus on her work before anything else. Her personal life and identity crisis was a secondary consideration here, and one that could wait until she returned from her mission. Perhaps she might take some time and explore her feelings in private, where she could unpack things in safety. That felt like the responsible thing to do. Until then, she would let nature take its course; it was clearly a benefit to her.

 

 

May 31st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

The car made its way slowly through the dense traffic of Milan’s afternoon rush hour. While outside the world was a chaotic miasma of noise and engine fumes, the air-conditioned interior of the Porsche Cayenne was cool and tranquil by comparison.

Ryan gazed idly out at the pedestrians on the sidewalk as they passed by, lost in his own thoughts. Leaving Alessandra behind had been a defence mechanism, one to protect him from the torment that she had faced in Saudi Arabia. Releasing her now, even for a higher purpose, felt like she was lighting a fuse that could detonate at any moment. Sitting on an emotional time bomb felt quite uncomfortable indeed.

“What are you thinking about?”

Alessandra turned toward Francesca and shrugged, “Everything and nothing.”

“My girl, you look as though the world is ending. Is it really so bad?”

Alessandra shook her head, which elicited an entirely new feeling as her hair grazed her bare shoulders. The sensation was still unfamiliar, but it reminded her of a time so very long ago. “I recognize how this will be tactically beneficial, but it doesn’t mean that I’m comfortable with doing it yet.”

Francesca snorted, “Tactical? That was your CIA talking. I want to know how you feel.”

“And you know that is a complicated question,” Alessandra replied. She made a face and plucked at her top to highlight her point. “As strange as this is, I don’t feel uncomfortable, exactly. This may not be for work, but it is for a purpose, I guess. I can do what I have to do to make sure that Béatrice is safe. I will cope with whatever else follows, I have to.”

Francesca reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Alessandra’s ear and smiled. It was a very maternal gesture, and it reminded her of the special time they had spent together so very long ago.

“I ‘ave sent your photographs off to my man. He says he will have your documents ready by morning.”

“What names did you put on the documents?” Alessandra asked. She was curious to know what her mentor had picked, but she was equally nervous for some reason.

“You are to be Sabine and Amélie Garnier,” Francesca replied. “French citizens with Cartes d’Identité to match. You have permanent residency paperwork already filed through my Swiss contact and a place waiting for you in the town of Interlaken.”

The girl raised her eyebrows, “You don’t mess around. How good are the documents?”

“All authentic,” the woman replied coyly. “I have my sources.” 

“I wonder how Bé… Amélie will take it.” Sabine pondered aloud, adjusting herself to her new legend. A small part of her pointed out that it was not a legend this time, but rather, had every possibility of being their new identities going forward. It was an idea that carried a little too much permanence for her mind at the moment, so she pushed it aside.

Regardless of her own feelings, at least in the short term, she would need to embrace Sabine Garnier if she was going to give Béatrice any semblance of a normal life. The idea still terrified her, but it was not an impossible objective. A dark thought at the back of her head told her that it might be a one-way journey, but she suppressed the idea violently.

“Bambini; they are adaptable,” Francesca opined with a shrug. “She will adapt to her changing circumstances with the right support. I have no doubt that you will do right by her. I think, however, that it is you who are more worried about how she will take to her new mama?”

Sabine grimaced at the idea. “I can’t replace, I can’t comprehend even taking that role, Francesca.”

“No woman is born a mother,” she pointed out. “You grow into it, you become la madre with time.”

“You forget the important part; I’m not a woman,” Sabine pointed out.

Francesca shot her a look, “Why do you fight this so hard?”

“You know what I am, Francesca. You possibly more than anyone else in the world.”

Francesca Ricci sighed with exasperation. Reaching over, she took Ryan’s hand and squeezed it between her own. “I know how you were born, Mia Cara, but I like to think I have come to know you better than simple genetics. The person I came to know those years ago was so much more than that. I think even you grew to have your own questions.”

Ryan remembered exactly what she meant and squashed the memory as firmly as he could. “That doesn’t matter,” he replied flatly. “This is a job; to get us to safety. Just like before, I will do what I have to do, nothing more. I can’t think about that now.”

Francesca frowned but remained quiet. Ryan could tell that she did not approve of his answer, nor did she believe him. He wanted to tell her what horrors he had seen and just what that experience had done to him. He wanted to tell her that at one point, he had truly accepted that he was Alessandra, that she was who he was meant to be, heart and soul. He wished he could explain why he could never allow that to happen again.

The journey back to Francesca’s apartment took another thirty minutes in the heavy traffic. It gave Sabine more time to go over the details of the new Identities that her mentor had secured for them. They were fairly shallow identities, but legitimate, which made them fit for purpose.  They would not stand up to any serious investigation, but they did not need to. Nobody was going to be digging into the past of a random mother and daughter traveling across Europe.

An identity package from the Agency was far more comprehensive; it had friends, relatives, favorite colors, and foods. Things that had history and could be verified. It helped to protect Intelligence Officers from outside scrutiny. Alessandra had parents; she had siblings. It was all part of the act to provide authenticity to the cover. Anyone checking into her would see a real person with a life. For Sabine and Amélie Garnier, it would be up to them to create that history together. It was a daunting task.

The car arrived back at Francesca’s apartment a little after four that afternoon. By the time they arrived, Sabine was feeling incredibly nervous. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Sabine paused to smooth out her skirt. The brief gesture allowed her a moment of hesitation before following Francesca as she set off towards the main house. She was surprised by just how nervous she felt about the upcoming reunion. Somehow, this felt more consequential, more real than before. The idea of rejection scared her more than she was prepared to admit.

It was not that she was afraid of being seen as a man in women’s clothing; she knew all too well how she appeared to the outside world. What she feared was far longer lasting and far more important to her. Despite facing drug lords, terrorists, and armed criminals in her career, what she feared most was the acceptance of a child.

They had only been together for a little over forty-eight hours, and yet, Béatrice meant the world to her. When the little girl's life had been threatened, she had acted without thinking about the consequences. It was possible the girl had relatives in Nice, but there was no way she would have made it to them alive. Edwards was going to kill her to neaten up his messy kill; that much was obvious. Before Sabine knew what she had done, she knew that she was willing to lay down her life to protect the girl.

Family had always been a complicated subject for Ryan Knight. Raised as an only child, he had struggled to make friends with his peers, and yet he had never felt particularly lonely. He had been close with his parents and his mother in particular. All of that was ripped away from him when his parents were killed in an auto wreck in his freshman year of college.

Suddenly alone in the world, he had thrown himself into his studies, hoping to find meaning elsewhere else in his life. All that changed just before graduation when he was approached by a professor, one who happened to be a recruiter for the Agency. Given the offer, he had jumped in with both feet. Perhaps it had been a search for a new family, a way to cope with the loss of his parents, but it had given him a sense of belonging once more.

Working for the Agency unlocked a new drive in Ryan. The work was exciting, and he excelled in his training. He threw himself into his work; it wasn’t healthy, but it wasn’t particularly unusual for those working in the intelligence world. Ryan dove into his job because he was capable of helping others in a way that he hadn’t been able to help himself. That drive had ended with Operation: Orsino.

Back in Nice, Ryan had not paused to think of the ramifications of his actions. He had grabbed Béatrice and run because it was the right thing to do. Now, even his agency family was gone, and he was alone for the first time in nearly ten years. She realized now that she needed Béatrice to accept her, because they were all that each other had in the world. Without her, nothing mattered anymore.

Glancing down at herself, Sabine nervously checked her clothing again. She was dressed simply in an ankle-length cream linen skirt and a white peasant blouse. It exposed the tips of her shoulders, leaving her new blonde hair to brush gently against them every time she moved her head. Francesca, as promised, had tidied up her face for her passport photographs, but she had done little more than conceal her redness and apply a little light daytime makeup. She felt positively underdressed in contrast to her memories of Alessandra’s extreme femininity.

Reluctantly, she followed her mentor into the apartment and up the stairs. Inside, they found the he assistant, Isabella, waiting patiently outside Béatrice’s room. At first, the young woman did not seem to recognize Sabine, but after a moment, her eyes went wide as she put two and two together.

Francesca smiled thinly, “Sabine here will be taking Signore Knight’s place going forward. I trust this will not leave this apartment, si?

The woman nodded before giving Sabine a quick once-over with her eyes. “Of course, Signora. To tell the truth, I would not believe it if I did not know, the truth. Molta carina.”

“Quite so,” Francesca agreed. “How is the Bambina? She has been good?”

“Una angioletta. She has been so very good,” Isabella nodded. “She is taking a nap at the moment after her lunch.”

Sabine smiled her thanks and left the two women to talk as she quietly entered the bedroom. Just as described, Béatrice was tucked up in the large bed, sleeping peacefully. For a moment, Sabine stood and watched the child in awe. The beautiful little girl was blissfully unaware of all of the horror that had surrounded her for the last few days. Of the death and carnage that had followed her. Standing there, gazing down at her serenity, Sabine promised herself that she would protect her, no matter what transpired.

Walking across to the bed, she knelt beside the sleeping girl. Reaching out towards the girl, she froze, almost afraid to wake her. After a moment of indecision, she reached forward and gently brushed the hair from her tiny face. Slowly, the child opened her eyes, a look of puzzlement crossed her face before her eyes widened in recognition. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and stared,  “Reine? You’re really a girl now, like me?”

“Just like I told you that I would be,” Sabine smiled. You can call me Sabine now, chérie.”

Béatrice paused mid-stretch and her brow furrowed, “Does this mean you’re going to be my new mama?” she asked uncertainly.

Sabine’s heart wrenched at her words. She wanted to say no, she wanted to explain why she couldn’t, but the words would not leave her lips. “I…I should… I ah, I guess I am for now, sweetie. I will take good care of you, and I won’t let any harm come to you.”

“Will you read me stories?” she asked innocently. “My Mama used to read me stories.”

Sabine smiled and kissed the girl’s forehead, and drew her into a hug. “Absolutely! I will read you stories every single night. You have to promise something for me, though, ok? You need to be a good girl and do what I say, all right? The world isn't a fun place sometimes, and I may need you to do something quickly without asking too many questions, ok?”

Béatrice nodded uncertainly, “Like clean up my toys and brush my teeth?”

Sabine grinned uncertainly and nodded, “Yeah, like that, ok?”

“Ok!” The girl beamed.

Sabine couldn’t help but return the smile as she booped the little girl on the nose. The giggle that burst forth from the child did something fundamental to her heart that she couldn’t begin to describe.

Just outside the open door, the two other women were watching the interaction from a respectful distance. Francesca was amazed by just how much of the old Alessandra had resurfaced in such a short amount of time. The awkward and withdrawn young man who had arrived on her doorstep was long gone; instead, a familiar girl took his place.

She was very different from the old Alessandra; that much was evident. Francesca did not know what had happened to her during her mission all those years ago, but it was clear that something had gone badly wrong. There was a look in her eyes that relayed the same unspeakable trauma that she recognized from the girls she had helped. A dullness, a lifelessness that tried so desperately not to feel anything at all in case it hurt her again.

As a consultant hired on for the operation, she was outside of the circle of people that needed to know any details after it’s conclusion. She had however, been able to piece together enough information from her own sources to find out that things had been far from clean. When she never heard from Alessandra again, a small part of her had feared the worst. It was a grief she had carried with her for years. 

Despite that, here she was again, the same girl she had sent away on a dangerous mission many years before. Whatever had happened, she had been lost, but in her moment of need, she had turned to Francesca for help. She had never imagined that she would see Ryan Knight ever again, but to see him arrive on her doorstep with a child in tow and the world in pursuit? Somehow, that was such an Alessandra thing to do.

The younger woman, Isabella, leaned over toward her boss and lowered her voice, “You are sure that is the same man who came to us on Monday, Signora?”

Francesca smiled as she watched the scene before them unfold. Glancing across at Isabella, she shrugged, “I do not think she is anymore, if she ever truly was. Tell me, does that look like anything but a mother’s love to you?”

 

 

October 20th, 2007, Langley, Virginia.

The journey back to the Central Intelligence Agency’s headquarters in Langley, Virginia, took around an hour. It was a journey hampered, as always, by the constant weight of traffic in the nation’s capital, Washington, DC. Ryan had looked out on the familiar Potomac scenery as they drove and barely felt a thing. He had hoped that seeing home again might have helped. That seeing those familiar brands, shops, and scenes might have given him some small element of comfort. The reality was that it barely managed to move him at all. Somehow, everything felt tainted now; a crop blighted and damaged before the farmer’s eyes. An invisible disease that was running riot within the blood of an otherwise healthy-looking animal.

They had told him that things would feel better as time passed, but he had no idea when that would begin. That right now, in the immediate aftermath, it was totally normal to feel the impact more acutely. After all, even now, it had only been a little over twenty-four hours since his rescue. When he closed his eyes, he could still smell the mixture of sweat and perfume that had dominated his senses in that prison. Perhaps in time, with distance, he could start to feel normal again. That he could manage to find some way of putting it all behind him. He had no idea how he was going to do that.

After their arrival, Ryan had been escorted away by his handlers and ensconced in an interview room for his full and meticulous debrief. It had been strange, being back here at the headquarters of the world’s most powerful intelligence agency. Before Operation Orsino, Ryan had thought them almost infallible. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that missions never went wrong, but for some reason. He had never expected that it would happen to him. He had been proud to work for the Company, to be part of helping to protect the United States of America and her interests. The truth was, the sheen had gone off now, and he was seeing a different, colder version of the organisation he had loved.

“So, this guy, Hassan Al Darhudi, the target picked up in the rescue. Tell me about the time you spent together?”

Ryan took a sip of water before placing the paper cup back down on the table top. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. They had been debriefing Operation Orsino for four hours, and he was barely able to keep himself upright.

It was operational policy to debrief an officer as soon as was reasonably possible to ensure that any memories or recollections were as fresh as they could be. That meant that often there was no chance to rest beforehand. For Ryan, it meant reliving extremely recent and painful events.

“He was a client,” Ryan replied with a sigh, “Just like the others. Nobody told me anything about him. I just recognized him from intercepts we had for the region.”

Did he reveal anything during your conversations? Did he tell you his name?”

“Just his first name, he liked me to call him Hassan.”

“What did you do together?”

“What do you expect?” Ryan sighed. “And he liked to talk, too.”

“Do you think he was fond of you in particular?”

Ryan bit back the remark he had intended to say and instead shook his head, “He wanted the girlfriend experience; he wanted it to feel like we had a connection, a relationship; some element of romance. He didn’t give a shit if I actually liked him in return. It was purely transactional.”

“So when you weren’t talking?”

“What do you think?” Ryan snapped.

“Relax, it’s for the record, you need to state it clearly,” the interviewer pointed out. “I don’t make the rules, and I’m not here to judge.”

“He would fuck me,” Ryan answered flatly, refusing to look up from the paper cup on the table. “He liked to pretend that I was his girlfriend and he would fuck me, whether I wanted to or not.”

“Noted,” the interviewer replied. “And how did you recognise him?”

“It wasn’t written on his cock, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The interviewer gave Ryan a tired look, “Specifically, for the official record,” he repeated, stressing the word official.

Ryan was reaching a point of exhaustion where that emphasis meant little to him. The emotional weight of reliving his torment and degradation had run him into the ground. Swallowing the last of the water, he crushed the cup and tossed it at the trash can across the room. “He matched an intercept that we had been shown regarding players in the area. I remember things, he reminded me. After some subtle questions, he confirmed my suspicions.”

“You were still cognicent enough in the moment to perform that analysis? Even when you thought you had been lost and abandoned. Why?”

Ryan shrugged, “If I acted like I still had someone to report to, then I still had some hope that I might get out of there. Acting like it wasn’t all over gave me something to believe in.”

The man smiled sadly and nodded, “Understood.”

“And then, the report from Special Operations Group dovetails into here nicely,” The interviewer noted. “I think we can leave this here.”

Ryan nodded tiredly as he stood up, “Yeah, thanks, I guess. Look, am I still needed, or can I get the hell out of here? I’ve not slept properly in a couple of days.”

“There’s a car waiting to take you home, Officer Knight,” the man offered. “They’ll be out front when you’re done.”

Ryan nodded and left the interview room before the man could say anything else to detain him further. He shoved his hands in the pockets of the hooded sweatshirt and set off along the corridor. He had no real direction in mind, but he wanted to put as much distance between himself and that damn room.

As he walked, Ryan felt the strangest sensation of emptiness, as though he was losing something now that Orsino was over. The idea of starting to return to his normal life, to Ryan Knight’s life, should hae been exciting. For some reason, it felt almost hollow.

The first and most important part of that was his physical appearance. He was still wearing the same sweatshirt and pants that he had been given in Saudi Arabia, the ones that replaced Alessandra’s flimsy negligee and gown. They felt strangely rough and bulky against his skin, especially after so long in softer, more form-fitting attire. 

His hair, tied back in a low ponytail and stuffed down his collar, felt oddly lifeless and uncomfortable against his neck. His face felt bare without cosmetics, oddly incomplete. In the several months he had spent as Alessandra, Ryan felt almost at home in her skin; the idea of returning to Ryan right away felt scary. Perhaps, in his current mental state, he should maintain some stability, at least in the short term.

Walking out into the lobby, Ryan gazed over at the white Alabama marble of the memorial wall. One hundred and forty stars that represented officers fallen in the line of duty. It was always a sobering reminder to anyone in the Operations Directorate that one day, theirs could be alongside them.

Ryan knew just how close he had come to joining them. The events of Operation Orsino had come close to killing him more than once. Worse still, there had been more than one occasion where he had considered doing it himself. For a while, it had been preferable to what was happening.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Ryan walked over to the metal detector and stepped through. There was nothing metal on him, and he had no bag to put through the scanner, so the guard waved him forward. Taking his badge out of his pocket, Ryan swiped it on the scanner and stood before the lens mounted at head height.

The device buzzed, and a red light illuminated. Ryan swiped his card a second time and centered his face on the scanner. The device buzzed and flashed red a second time.

“Ma’am, can I see your ID please?” A uniformed security officer asked, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.

Ryan felt his heart sink. Closing his eyes, he sighed before handing the card over to the officer. The man looked down at the card and frowned before looking back up again and squinting at Ryan. “Is this your ID, Ma’am?”

“Yes,” Ryan sighed. “It’s just long hair, for an assignment.”

“You are Mister,” the man emphasised. “Ryan Knight?”

Ryan sighed and nodded, “Call Director of Operations Rawlings,” Ryan murmured. “He’ll explain.”

The guard seemed to hesitate for a moment before slowly nodding. The man gave Ryan a strange look before stepping over to the phone at his desk and dialing the internal number for Ryan’s boss. After a few moments, he spoke into the receiver before glancing over at Ryan and looking confused. Eventually, the man nodded and replaced the receiver before walking back over to Ryan.

“I uh, you’re good to go, Ma’am… I mean, uh, sir… uh, Ma’am, yeah.” The man handed Ryan his ID badge back before hitting the bypass on the exit terminal to allow Ryan through. 

Ryan smiled awkwardly in thanks before quickly shoving the ID back into his pocket and exiting through the security gate. The experience was humiliating, but it was made worse still by the man’s insistence on referring to him as a female despite his knowledge to the opposite. Was it that obvious?  What about him gave everyone the impression that he was female despite clear evidence to the contrary?

A black SUV was waiting outside the entrance when Ryan came down the steps. Climbing in the back, Ryan slammed the door behind him. The driver looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Where to, Ma’am?”

Ryan sighed and held his tongue. At this point, it seemed as though it was easier to go along with it for everyone’s sake, at least for now. Having another awkward exchange with the man would only make for a more awkward drive. He was likely never going to see the guy ever gain anyway.

 “Park Run Drive, The Lofts,” Alessandra offered, pulling her hair out of the elastic that had kept it tucked into her sweatshirt. “Thanks.”

“You look worn out,” The man offered, pulling away from the kerb. “Busy day?”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” she sighed. “I haven’t had a wink of sleep since Europe.”

 

 

May 31st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

The quiet evening air was still and warm on the balcony of Francesca’s apartment. Sabine leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the nighttime sounds of the city to wash over her like the surf across the sand. She was tired, both emotionally and physically, and she knew that this was only the very beginning. Folding her legs underneath herself, she blew out a breath she had been holding since she awoke that morning.

“You look tired,” Francesca observed, pouring a glass of wine from the bottle she had just retrieved. “It has been quite the day, has it not?”

Sabine opened her eyes and accepted the proffered glass, “Yeah, something like that.”

Francesca sat down across from her and sipped from her own glass. “I speak to my man while you were putting the little one to bed; he will have the papers for me by mid-morning. I should have you on a train out of Milan by the early afternoon.”

Sabine frowned. She knew that moving on was smart, but she had almost gotten used to being around Signora Ricci once again. The feeling of kinship and connection she felt around the woman was hard to leave behind, especially now. It also meant that it would just be her and Béatrice again. She wasn’t sure if she was capable of being a parent, male or female. How was she going to protect her and unravel the conspiracy against them at the same time?

“What are you thinking about?”

Sabine sighed, “I don’t know how to raise a child, never mind move through the world on my own like this. That part alone scares me. I have so much to do, and somehow, I have to raise her at the same time. On top of that, we’ll be alone, just the two of us. I know that leaving is necessary to protect you and us, but I would be lying if it didn’t terrify me all the same.”

“It is not easy,” Francesca agreed. “Nobody is prepared to be a parent, but you learn as you do it. It is what we all do; There is no right way, and there are many wrong, but you will make do. Be glad she is old enough to use the bathroom by herself.” 

“You might have a point there,” Sabine grimaced. Her expression changed, and she eyed Francesca suspiciously. “You know a lot about kids. You never told me you had a child?”

Francesca smiled sadly, “I was a mother, once.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sabine offered meekly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You did not; I offered it,” Francesca replied softly. “Being a parent is something nobody can be prepared for. No matter how long you plan to look after the child, you will be her parent, for she has no other. You must feed her, keep her safe, teach her, and be her companion. You can and will manage, because I have faith in you. You are a smart girl.”

“But I’m not…”

“Why are you so opposed to the idea?” Francesca challenged, a hotness overcoming her for a moment. “Why is it so bad to even consider the idea? Is being a woman so offensive to you?”

Sabine balked and found herself unable to reply for a moment. She moved her mouth wordlessly for a few seconds before finally finding her tongue, “I…it doesn’t… but Orsino finished and… I…” She frowned. “I can’t.”

Francesca gazed over at the young woman opposite her, “You never came to see me after your mission was over. Why was that? I would have liked to have known that you were ok. I had thought that we grew close, you and I. You never even sent me a message.”

Alessandra’s expression darkened. She looked way out across the rooftops for a moment before finally looking back at her mentor. “I wanted to,” she offered quietly. “I missed you so very much, but I knew that if I reached out, I wouldn’t want to let you go. If I didn’t let you go, I couldn’t let Alessandra go too.”

Rather than reply, Francesca stood up and walked over before sitting down beside the younger woman on the sofa. Resisting the urge to reach out to touch Alessandra, she spoke gently, “I did not expect the CIA to give me a detailed explanation of its business; that was never part of our arrangement. I had hoped to find out that you were ok; we grew close, you and I.”

Francesca sighed, “It was only months later that I find out from my contacts in the region that those bastardo were taken apart. That their entire organization was ripped to pieces and that your CIA was responsible. At the time, I feared the worst; I feared for a long time that I had lost you.”

A tear rolled down Alessandra’s cheek. She glanced at the older woman who had helped her so many years ago. The woman who had coached and prepared her for a role she had never expected to take on. A role that had changed her life. While the girl she became had scarred her for life, the memories of Francesca had been happy ones.

“Everything started out as planned,” Sabine shrugged. “I undercover as intended, everything went to plan. I was at college in Rome and socializing as we expected. Eventually, the traffickers found me and pulled me into their network. Everything was going fine until it wasn’t.” Sabine sighed and wiped her eyes as she steeled herself to continue. 

“They lost track of me for a month and a half. Somewhere between Istanbul and Riyadh, they lost my tracker, and I was gone. At that point, I was just a lost girl with no control, no backup, and no way out. They had total control of me, and if I had resisted, I would have died. That meant that, I,” she swallowed. “I… had to do things… for men, terrible things.”

“Oh, Mia Cara,” Francesca whispered, reaching out and squeezing the girl’s hand. “I had no idea, no idea at all.”

“By the time they found me, I had given up hope, given up any dream of ever going home again. I existed day by day, client by client. My world had closed in around me, and it was all I could do to wake up every day.”

“What about when you were rescued?”

Alessandra smiled darkly, “It was all classified immediately. All the better to hush up a botched operation. Even then, I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. How could I tell people that I was raped and abused? That men used me as a sexual plaything? I felt  unclean, damaged, and beyond any sort of redemption.”

“The truth is,” Alessandra admitted, looking up at Francesca. “I always wanted to see you, but I was ashamed. I truly believed that I had failed you, failed what we had created together. I also knew that If I had any hope of trying to get past all of this, Alessandra ha to go away. If I saw you again, there was no way I could make that happen. After all, you helped to create the girl that…I… became.”

Francesca remained silent but squeezed Alessandra’s hand supportively. She knew that any words at this point were a waste. Allowing the girl to say her piece mattered more.

Alessandra drained the last of the wine from her glass, “When you were coaching me, it almost began to feel real: The person I was portraying felt normal to me, she felt authentic and so very natural. Once I was lost and I was all by myself, when I had to…sleep with men. The only way I could mentally survive it was by letting myself become Alessandra entirely; I embraced her as my identity as a female. It wasn’t because I thought that it was somehow better to be raped as a woman than a man; I can safely say it’s awful regardless. The truth is, somehow, when I allowed myself to be her, I felt like me. It was a small, strange comfort in that hell; she gave me a strength that I had no idea that I possessed.”

“When I got home, I was ashamed of what had happened, of what I had to do. The only way I could survive was to bury her deep, to pretend it had never happened. I put all the pain on her, and I packed her away like an old coat until the following winter. It was my way of coping, of trying to crawl out from under the shame and the nightmares. 

“How did that feel?”

Alessandra smiled sadly, “It worked for a short while, but eventually it started to gnaw at me. It never stopped gnawing at me, really; Alessandra, the mission, all of the men. I tried to live around it, to avoid those feelings, but it never really worked. I’ve thought about her ever since.”

“My poor bambina,” Francesca sighed, hugging the girl tightly as tears began to overwhelm her. “I am so sorry. I would have been there for you if I had known. My god, I wish I had known...”

“It’s my job… It, well, it was my job,” Alessandra choked out between sobs.

“Your job was to stop them, not to become another victim,” Francesca insisted. “Your own people, they abandon you to become yet another victim of these monsters. That was not your fault, never.”

“I wish that I could stop blaming myself,” Alessandra shrugged. “This whole current mess, it brought everything right back to the surface for me. That brings up a bigger problem; now that I’m her again, I cannot hide from what happened to me. It’s making me question my ability to keep Béa safe.” 

Francesca took her hands and looked directly into the girl’s eyes. “May I make a suggestion?”

Alessandra nodded reluctantly.

“Do not close this wound again,” Francesca insisted. “You must allow it to heal properly, or it will hold a grip on you forever. There is no running from shadows; they are a part of us. It is only by exposing them to light that we finally are free. Allow this new start, this new life ahead of you, to heal and make you whole again. You and your bambina, you will make a good life for each other, it can heal the both of you.”

Sabine frowned, “You make it sound like I’ll be this way forever.”

Francesca smiled, “This is only something you yourself doubt, Mia Cara.”

 

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December 14th, 2007 -  Bethesda, Maryland - United States.

“How are you feeling today?”

Ryan Knight sat across from the psychiatrist as he considered his words carefully. While there was a veneer of privacy protecting what he said in these sessions, reports on his readiness were making their way back to his bosses at Langley. HIPAA was rather flexible on privacy when your employer was the Central Intelligence Agency.

He was sitting in a comfortable-looking consulting room with a Navy doctor at the Bethesda Naval Hospital, talking about his feelings. These were sessions that were Agency mandated after his return from Operation Orsino. They were sessions that would decide the future of his operational status and whether or not his first mission was his last.  Ryan knew that his supervisors saw what damage they had done to him. He knew that they were more than aware of how their mistakes had harmed him. Even then, they would discard him like used trash if it suited them. He was loath to let them win, to let this disaster take his career from him.

Ryan shifted in his seat, “I’m ok, I guess.”

The woman raised an eyebrow but said nothing as her eyes flicked back to her notebook, her pen starting to move.

Ryan mentally shook himself and uncrossed his legs, adjusting his posture to be more masculine. “I mean, I’m ok; there’s not a lot to say about that. I’m not having the nightmares as often, and I guess that I feel kinda alright.”

“As often? So they’re still occurring?” she probed gently.

“It was tough,” Ryan conceded, but I’m getting through it.”

The woman leaned forward and gently placed her notepad on the table between them. “Ryan, tell me the truth, please. I won’t write this down, and I certainly won’t pass this on to your bosses. I’m worried that you’re dissociating.”

Of course, Ryan was dissociating; what reasonable person who experienced what he had would do otherwise? There was so much pain and trauma wrapped up in the events of Operation Orsino that he could barely think about Alessandra or what had happened without reliving every single excruciating moment in vivid detail.

“This still affects you far more than you’re letting on,” she stated bluntly. “I can still see all the same trauma hallmarks present that I find in other survivors of sexual assault. Most notably, those who are avoiding dealing with painful memories. The best way to approach this is to return to those core memories and work through them methodically. Pretending all of this happened to someone else isn’t going to help you; separating the personality of Alessandra from Ryan won’t make this any easier. It happened to you; you need to recognize that.”

“I’m not a girl,” Ryan stated flatly.

The doctor nodded slowly, “sexual assault can happen to anyone, male or female.”

Ryan glanced up at the kindly expression on the psychiatrist’s face and frowned. He desperately wanted to talk to her, but if he told them everything that had happened, they would remove him from the field permanently. There was no way they would allow someone so messed up to work again.

The truth was, what had happened to him had damaged him; that much was obvious. But the damage had caused cracks in the surface that he could not heal. What lay beneath that surface was an entirely different matter.

“I was read in on the operation,” the psychiatrist nudged. “I know everything that you went through. For any human being, that places a great toll on them both mentally and physically. I fully expect you to be carrying trauma from what happened; betrayal, shame, self-hatred; all of those emotions are valid and authentic. Not a single one will keep you from the field if we work together. To do that, you have to let me in. Only when you do that can we can work on this and help you.”

Ryan thought about Anja and the other girls who had been liberated when they finally caught up to the traffickers in Riyadh. Would they be sitting here in a modern hospital, comfortable and safe with a top psychiatrist to help mend them? No, they were left alone to find their ways home and cope with whatever was left of their spirits. Abandoned in a foreign land with no money, no help, no SOG team to take them home.

“I buried her,” he admitted quietly.

“Who?”

“Alessandra.”

“Your cover identity?” she queried.

Ryan nodded, “This all happened to her, not to me.”

“Your cover identity isn’t real,” she reminded him softly. When you separate what occurred to your cover from yourself, it’s an example of traumatic dissociation. You’re letting that part of you contain the pain so that you can escape it, rather than address it.”

Ryan made a face, “If it’s just a cover, there’s nothing to dissociate from.”

The doctor looked displeased but said nothing.

“I’m sleeping better, and I even went out the other day with no problems,” Ryan pointed out. “I stopped in the mall and got coffee.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she smiled. “But that doesn’t change the fact that your comfort is conditional on pushing the experiences away rather than addressing them.”

Ryan’s face twitched, and he felt his pulse quicken. She was right, but he couldn’t even begin to admit that. Keeping her away solved more than just one problem. If he wanted to keep his job, he needed them all to go away.

During his time in captivity, he had allowed himself to become Alessandra. It had allowed him to begin to cope with all the terrible experiences that had occurred. Somehow, however, it seemed that opening that door had flipped a fundamental switch within his psyche. One that seemed far more comfortable as Alessandra De Luca than Ryan Knight. He knew that the name was just a cover, a false veneer, but it had answered questions he had yet to dare ask. What that meant, he was not entirely sure. It was, however, the first time in his life that he had felt as though his maleness was… false.

 

 

June 1st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

Alessandra awoke from the depths of a nightmare, gasping for air. She was tangled in a knot of sodden sheets, her heart beating like a jackhammer. Her eyes shot to the bedroom door that lay open on the far side of the room. She had left it open the night before for precisely this reason. The door was open, which meant that she was safe; she was not back in that prison cell in the desert. It did help, but it barely dampened the tendrils of darkness that clawed at her mind.

She lay panting in the bed for a moment as she gathered her breath. She had not experienced a nightmare this powerful in many years, not since the immediate aftermath of her captivity. Thanks to the day before, the memories were fresh again, the emotions raw and bleeding. It did not matter that those events were in her distant past; she still felt the hands of those men on her body as though it were barely a day before.

Sabine ran her fingers through her damp hair, which was an unfamiliar sensation, she thought. It had been a long time since her hair had been this length, a different life. So was the chest rising and falling as she panted within the top of her satin nightgown. No matter how many times she saw herself as a woman, she was still amazed that it was really her. Would she ever truly be able to separate this version of herself from the woman who was held in the satin cell?

Regardless, Sabine was going to have to confront that fear if she was to weather the storm ahead. Perhaps Francesca had been right; perhaps she had been hiding away from that darkness rather than dealing with it. Packing Alessandra away and returning to being Ryan had been a refuge, and a comfortable one at the time. Ryan had provided a simplicity and stability that she desperately needed when her world had been torn apart. He was safe, boring, and he did not make her question everything about herself. He had allowed her to carry on with her life as though every element of her spirit had not been violated.

In the cold light of morning, this entire enterprise seemed insane. Here she was, back in the shoes of the one person that she did not need to be right now; a broken girl, haunted by her past. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, that broken girl seemed to be the best chance she had of slipping the clutches of the Agency with Béatrice in one piece.

Somewhere in the apartment, Sabine heard the clink of cutlery and realized that others must already be awake. With a sigh. She swung her legs out of the bed and pulled herself to her feet. Wrapping herself in a robe, she finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Even here with no makeup and scruffy hair, she still somehow seemed normal. Shaking her head, Sabine turned and set off toward the sounds of life.

“I was wondering when you might join us,” Francesca smiled from the table as Sabine walked into the kitchen. The older woman was sitting nursing a large cup of sweet-smelling coffee, while across from her, Béatrice was happily munching on a slice of toast.

Sabine smiled and ruffled the grinning child’s hair as she lowered herself indelicately into a chair beside her. “Good morning, sweetie.”

“Good morning Ri… Mama Sabine?”

That one word struck Alessandra in the gut like a bullet. For a moment, she froze, simply staring down at the child beside her. Shaking her head, she snapped herself back to reality and smiled, squeezing her shoulder. “I uh, did you sleep ok?”

“The bed was nice,” Béatrice declared, her voice muffled by a mouthful of toast. Sabine smirked slightly as she turned back to Francesca. “Thank Nonna Francesca for letting us stay in her lovely apartment.”

“Nonna?” Francesca scoffed. “I would not put up with that if it were anyone else.”

Sabine smirked as she poured herself a cup of coffee, “Would you deny a child?” The look Francesca returned told her that the only reason she was tolerating such an honorific was for that express reason. 

Taking a long drink from her mug, Sabine closed her eyes and allowed the caffeine to warm the connections in her tired brain. As rough as the night had been, she was still here, and that was something to remember. Whatever happened to her now, it was her story to write, not theirs.

Her conversation the night before with Francesca had likely been a major contributing factor to her poor night’s sleep. She was almost positive that it had helped to reopen old wounds. Regardless, despite the pain, it had been surprisingly cathartic. Somehow, while she still felt the grip of darkness and the pain of the memories, a small voice inside told her that she was far better equipped this time to handle it.

“You did not sleep so well, I think,” Francesca observed.

“Not particularly.”

“I heard you… Well, I heard,” Francesca offered with a sad smile. “Is that sort of thing a regular occurrence?”

Sabine shook her head, “Not for years. I guess yesterday threw a spanner in the works.”

“I can imagine,” Francesca offered sympathetically. “It cannot be easy for you, given the circumstances.”

Sabine shrugged, “I guess it was necessary, as much as I don’t like to admit that. As usual, you were right.”

“It is not about being right or wrong,” Francesca pointed out. “I truly believe that this will help you in both the short and long term.”

Sabine sipped her coffee and frowned. She hated how easily she had slipped back into this persona. Her name might have changed, but she still felt like Alessandra underneath the surface. She still felt like the girl who sacrificed her soul to save a terrified boy.  That damage felt raw again, barely healed by the years that had passed. Perhaps shutting it off had only paused the hurt?

“Mama Sabine?”

Sabine glanced down at the child beside her, “What’s up, Chérie?”

“You’re very pretty,” the girl offered earnestly. “Will I be pretty like you when I’m bigger?”

Alessandra was floored by the comment at first; she wasn’t sure what to say to the little girl, or how the comment made her feel. The idea of the girl wanting to look like her when she was older did not seem to fit into her psyche. She looked over at Francesca for help, but was met with a shrug and a smirk. Shooting her a glare, she turned back to Béatrice and smiled, “You’re really pretty now, sweetheart, ok?”

“But will I be when I’m big? Like you?”

“I uh…“ Sabine frowned, “Uh, sure.”

The past, she realized, was not to be her only challenge; it would seem.

 

 

“Those clothes are not going to help reinforce the correct mentality, you know this,” Francesca pointed out from the bedroom door, as she watched Sabine dress.

“I’m not dressing to attract anyone,” Sabine pointed out. “This time, I need to be more practical, and I need to be able to move around freely. Plus,” she added, regarding her reflection in the mirror. “You reinforced the correct mentality in me more than enough the first time around.

Sabine was wearing a pair of jeans and a simple grey t-shirt that she had borrowed from Francesca’s wardrobe. Naturally, they were exuberantly expensive designer brands, but that did not matter for her purposes. What was important was that they were easy to move in, comfortable, and ordinary. That was something she needed far more than feminine reinforcement at the present moment. What bothered her the most was that she still looked more than female enough in the simple, unisex outfit.

Francesca held up her hands and made a face. “Be my guest, you clearly know more than I do.”

“Don’t do that,” Sabine accused, wagging a finger in her mentor’s direction. “Your guilt trip routine isn’t going to work on me this time around.”

The older woman chuckled and leaned against the door jam. “What are you going to do? They are looking for you, yes?”

“I have to check in with my contact to see if there’s been any movement on the recording that I gave him. That, and I’m going to see if I can get him to throw them a false lead while we slip town. It might buy us enough time to drop off the radar.”

“Is that not a big risk? While they are here in Milan?”

Sabine shrugged as she slipped a pair of sunglasses on her head, using them to hold back her hair. “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I have to try and learn what I can, while I can. They’re not going to let this drop, so I need to be prepared.”

“Do you think he will want to help you?”

“He could have captured me, but he chose to let me go,” she offered, tucking her pistol into a small leather handbag that she slipped over her shoulder. “I have to try.”

“This version of you, she did not exist last time. You seem more level-headed now, Mia Cara.”

“I’m a different person; a lot of years and a whole lot of suffering have seen to that,” Sabine replied quietly. “Now I have a mission and a clear objective that I can focus on, it’s keeping me in one piece. I have to keep Béa alive, keep myself alive, and prove my innocence; I’m target-focused.”

“You are different from last night also,” Francesca observed, her tone softening. “Are you sure you can do this? The nightmares…”

“That’s the difference between ghosts and the living,” Sabine smiled sadly. “The ghosts only hurt when I close my eyes.”

“Prophetic,” Franceca nodded. “But remember, we all close our eyes at some point.”

“Hopefully not before I get out of Milan today,” Sabine agreed, checking her reflection in the mirror.

“This man, what will he think of the new you?”

Sabine’s eyes softened for a moment as she seemed to drift off to another time and place. The memories were painful, but one always seemed to pull her back to the real world, one memory that didn’t hurt quite like the other one. A memory that had been a moment of hope, “Who do you think pulled me out of that hell the first time around?”

 

 

Walking alone through the centre of Milan was a surprisingly uncomfortable experience for Sabine. While she had been in public many times before as Alessandra, this time felt markedly different. Her clothes were more casual and unisex in appearance, and her makeup was more understated than the character of Alessandra de Luca. In all, this version of herself felt like exactly that: a version of herself. Somehow, that made the prospect of failure feel far more costly somehow.

As she traveled, she slowly began to feel more comfortable with what those around her were seeing. Men noticed her, women seemed disarmed around her, and not a single person gave her a strange look. It was more than obvious that all they saw was a casually dressed woman, despite her personal anxieties. Truth be told, many other women were wearing similar clothing, and while hardly what one would describe as curvy, her figure was slim enough to pass muster.

Parco Sempione, the location she had chosen to meet with Pete, was a wide wooded park nestled within the heart of Milan’s old quarter. It reminded Sabine a little of Central Park in New York, but admittedly, it seemed to have far fewer homeless drug addicts scattered about. To her benefit, while a great deal of Milan was covered by cameras, this ancient park was a relatively dead spot, and it was one that she planned to use to her advantage.

Pulling out her cellphone, Sabine ensured she was out of earshot of any passersby before calling Peter Sutherland’s number.

“You have kicked one hell of a hornet’s nest,” Sutherland offered by way of greeting.

“I told you it was a damn mess,” Ryan sighed. “What are they saying?”

“That you killed a fucking station chief, that’s what,” Sutherland growled. “You’re listed as shoot to kill now, kid.”

Sabine cursed under her breath.

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Uh, nothing,” Sabine admitted sheepishly, realising that she had slipped back into Alessandra’s more feminine register far easier than she had expected. Coughing, she lowered her voice, “Look, what about the recording?”

Sutherland sighed, “I listened to it, kid. What exactly do you expect a gundog to do with something like that? March up to the Director on the seventh and just hand it to him and explain that this is all some big misunderstanding?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ryan sighed. “Can’t you run it up to someone above Edwards? Counter Terrorism Command Europe or Operations?”

“CTC Europe are running point on the ground now, and they’re not known to be big on listening,” Sutherland pointed out. “Knight, what are you up to?”

“What?”

“I can hear it in your voice, kid.”

Sabine sighed, “Are you still in the city?”

“Yeah?”

“Parco Sempione, there’s a gift shop just north of the Sforza Castle, thirty minutes?”

“You’re gonna get my ass PNG’d, kid,” Sutherland sighed. “Fine, thirty minutes, and this had better be damn good.”

Sabine ended the call and slipped the phone back into her bag. Letting Peter Sutherland in on her plan was a risky gamble on paper, but she knew that deep down, she could trust the man. He had been there for her during her darkest moment, and while they had never been what she would have called friends, they had stayed in touch over the years. The old SEAL was a man of honor and a straight shooter; If he believed her innocent, he would do anything in his power to help her. It was her duty to make sure that he did not share Tom Spencer’s fate for doing so.

It was nearly thirty minutes later when Sabine spotted Peter Sutherland arriving at their meeting point. She had found herself a good spot on a nearby bench on the far side of the walkway and was casually reading a guidebook like any other tourist. While the man was dressed casually, his muscled build and shaggy beard set him apart from the casual tourists and Italian locals all around him. While the casual observer would likely not notice anything untoward, to a trained eye, it was obvious that he was not a civilian.

Sabine watched for a few minutes, ensuring that the man had not been followed. Admittedly, any watchers would likely be far better at fieldcraft than the old soldier, but she was confident enough that he was alone. Once she was satisfied, she closed her book and tucked it under her arm as she set off casually across the square.

Sutherland was pretending to examine a display of gaudy-looking hats at a tourist stand when Sabine made her approach. He was glancing around as he browsed, doing his best to look as casual as possible. To a civilian, it was likely doing its job, but to Sabine, he looked rather jumpy.

Walking up alongside him, she picked up a stuffed bear with a silly moustache and an Italian flag and examined the trinket. Looking over at Sutherland, she smiled, “I’m not sure that hat’s really your style, Pete.”

Sutherland jumped at the sound of her voice, “Sorry I don… huh?”

Sabine chuckled, “If you’re this skittish, you really are alone, aren’t you?”

“Why are….” Sutherland shook his head and turned to look at her properly, “God damn it, I knew it.”

Sabine swallowed her desire to question the remark and jerked her head to the side, indicating that they should start walking. Sutherland took the hint, and the pair set off walking. When they were sufficiently far away from prying ears, she looked up at the soldier and smiled. “It is good to see you without you pointing a gun at me, Pete.”

“I still might,” he offered. He frowned, looking her up and down, “Are you going to explain why you’re a chick again?”

“They’re not looking for a chick,” Sabine pointed out, trying to make it sound like a tactical decision. “And I… have the experience to keep it that way.”

“Yeah, I suppose you do,” Pete admitted with a raised eyebrow.

Sabine gave him a long look and shrugged, “I’m feeling pretty outnumbered at the moment. This, well, it gives some breathing room; time to prove that I’m not guilty of what they said. A young man and a little girl traveling alone tend to stand out. A single mom doesn’t.”

“Yeah, that actually makes sense,” Sutherland agreed. “They have BOLOs out through Interpol for you and the kid, so it’s a good idea. I’m just surprised to see you do it again.”

“Not my first choice,” Sabine offered.

You’re not guilty either,” Sutherland pointed out. “I listened to your recording; Edwards sounds guilty as hell, and you have no motivation for it. It’s a diplomatic shitstorm, and it might get him canned, but it doesn’t prove any of what happened with Spencer and Carter. Edwards has you sold pretty well as a traitor on that.”

“I was talking to Tom, telling him everything that I told you,” Sabine explained sadly. “He believed me, and he was going to help. It just turned out that Edwards had followed him, hoping that it would lead him to me. They caught up to us in a service corridor, and things went bad. It was a shitty place for a gunfight; there was no room to get anywhere. Tom was hit right out of the gates, and it was pretty bad. He knew he was dying, and he bought me what time he could.”

“I saw where it happened,” Sutherland agreed. “Nasty spot.”

“I just have to prove the conspiracy, and it unravels his entire story.”

“Yeah, before they shoot you.”

“Fuck,” Sabine frowned. “How the hell am I meant to take care of a kid and investigate this guy?”

Sutherland shook his head, “You’re not. You keep your head down and get out of Italy with the girl. You go to ground and work out what to do when you’re far away from here. There’s no sense in you being on the wrong end of a gun over this; Edwards will have people shooting to kill, and they’re not going to give you a chance to talk.”

“I’m aware,” Sabine sighed. “The longer I leave this, the more time he has to clean up his mess and hide the trail. There’s something going on here, something more than what we’re seeing. This is deeper than some shady dealings. The guy made damn sure that Ahmad couldn’t be taken alive and talk; that has to mean something.”

Sutherland put his hand on Sabine’s shoulder to stop her walking. A strange look crossed his face as he looked down at her. “Look, Ry… shit, I can’t call you that, looking like you do,” he shrugged apologetically. “They’re going to kill you before you can get to the bottom of this shit. This smells real bad. The sort of thing the Agency cleans up without discrimination, sort of bad.”

“I’m not a little boy, you don’t need to protect me, Pete.”

Sutherland looked her up and down and smirked, “No, you’re not, are you?”

“I uh…” Sabine blushed, “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” the man smiled gently. “I remember this terrified young woman who took a metal bar to a former Delta Force operator who was breaching her room in the dusty hell hole that she had been kept prisoner in for nearly two months. The young woman who cared more about the other girls getting out than herself. Now she grabs a kid and sets off to unravel a criminal conspiracy? You haven’t changed much, kid.”

“I’m not a woman,” Sabine scowled, lowering her voice.

“I know what you started out as, and I know what I met in Saudi,” Pete shrugged. “I also know who I’m looking at right now. I have no idea what is going on in that head of yours, but you always seemed a lot more real like this. All the other times we met, you always seemed so hollow, lost, and empty. I told you once that you remind me of my Sarah, I still believe that.”

“I didn’t come here for dime store psychoanalysis, Pete.”

“That’s a freebie,” Sutherland winked. “I am serious, though; you have to run, and run far.”

“I can’t just cut and run. The guys back at Langley won’t take him in off that recording alone; I need more.”

“Then let me dig.”

Sabine shook her head and sighed. “No, I can’t ask that of you, Pete; you have kids back home.”

The older man smiled, “So do you too now.”

“I… fuck,” Sabine sagged, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t know how to be a parent. I can barely manage to be an adult, especially now.”

“Get out of Milan, then work the problem,” Sutherland offered. “I’ll keep this tape to myself for the time being. There’s no point alerting Edwards and the others to the recording too early and showing your hand. That way, you got more time before they start burying shit. As long as they think you’re the one on the run, they’ll miss the obvious. Once you start to fuck them, I’ll drop this on them to finish the job, ok?”

“Yeah, thank you.” Sabine smiled weakly. “And thanks for not taking me in back at the mall.”

“What? And risk missing this again? Not likely,” the man chuckled. “Only you could manage to be on the run from the CIA and slip, trip, and end up a skirt.”

“I’m wearing jeans,” Sabine frowned.

“Now.”

Sabine rolled her eyes, and Sutherland laughed out loud. It was a loud guttural bark that befitted a man his size, and it managed to startle a nearby pair of Japanese tourists.

“Seriously though, is this… a thing now?”

Sabine shrugged weakly, “I don’t know.”

“It does suit you, kid.”

Sabine glanced around the park as tourists passed around them. Not a single person saw anything odd about her appearance, and that still surprised her.  While it was true that she was not wearing anything particularly feminine, she knew that people still saw her as female without question. Even now, her friend seemed to think that this version of her was more normal than her real self.

“Am I crazy?”

“Which bit?” Sutherland asked. “Running across Europe with the kid of a terrorist while dodging corrupt intelligence officers, or the chick bit?

“Fuck; both, I guess.”

“Yeah, you are, on both counts,” The man chuckled. “Crazy seems to be your wheelhouse, though. Do you have a way out of town? Out of the country?”

Sabine nodded. 

“Good,” he smiled. “Don’t tell me where you’re going, but do drop me a line when you find something, and we can go from there. Chances are my guys will be running with this thing for some time, so I’ll sound the boys out, ok?”

“You think they’ll side?”

Sutherland grinned, “Scott still remembers you.”

Sabine frowned, “Which one was Scott?”

“The Delta guy you laid out with a metal pole.”

Sabine grimaced, “Oh, yeah, doesn’t hold a grudge, does he?”

“You kidding?” Sutherland smiled slyly, “That guy has the hots for women who can take him in a fight. I’m pretty sure he’s still in love.”

Sabine made a face but remained silent, instead gazing out across the park as the pair walked on. She remembered the other men on Sutherland’s SOG team; she would never forget their faces. Those men had been her angels; they had saved her from a fate worse than death. That one of them found her attractive gave her conflicted feelings, ones too complex for her to wish to unravel.

“Look, this shit is way above my head, kid,” Sutherland admitted. “You can do this, I know you can. I’ll run interference for you as best I can; gonna give ‘em a false hint or two, ok?”

Sabine stopped walking and turned to face the man who was risking so very much to help her. Gazing at him for a moment, she gave in to her impulse and hugged the man, “Thank you, Pete, I can’t say it enough. Don’t screw yourself over, though; think about Helen and the kids. I’ll… no, we will make it, ok?”
The big man squeezed her back and ruffled her hair with his paw, “Get yourselves safe. I got your six, girl.”

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

December 21st, 2007 -  Bethesda, Maryland - United States.

“Here you go, uh, sir?” the barista smiled uncertainly as she handed Ryan his takeout coffee cup. Before he could even offer his thanks, the woman was gone to serve the next customer waiting for their order in the packed coffee shop.

With the run-up to the holidays, malls across America were about as busy as they were going to get, and the Westfield Montgomery Mall in Bethesda, Maryland, was no different. With his takeout coffee cup in hand, Ryan stepped back out into the relative calm of the busy concourse. He had no desire to be here, and yet he had to admit that his boss and psychiatrist had a point: If he didn’t get over his hangups and anxieties, he was going to be more than useless at his job.

He wasn’t looking to buy much, if anything at all. Having no family and very few friends made holiday shopping much simpler these days, but shopping was not why he was here.  He was here for exposure therapy, trying to get used to spending time around people again. Most importantly, to try and adjust to life as himself, as Ryan Knight again. 

After getting back stateside, Ryan discovered that busy spaces bothered him far more than they used to. Interacting with people here felt strange, uncomfortable, and confusing after spending nearly three months undercover. Long periods of which consisted of nothing but isolation, interspersed with violence and violation. 

When he wasn’t riding a desk at Langley or seeing his psychiatrist at Walter Reed, he was visiting places like this mall. In their own way, they helped to condition him to handle people again.

Finding a bench out in the middle of the mall’s concourse, Ryan sat and sipped his coffee and allowed the wave of humanity to wash over and consume him. Being home was good, but the events of Operation Orsino had made him realise that in many ways, this wasn’t really his home at all anymore. He lived here, and he had been born here, but it wasn’t his home. At the moment, there was a quiet house in the Lombardy countryside that called his name.

Ryan caught his reflection in a store mirror and blanched. Uncrossing his legs, he readjusted his posture to appear more masculine. He was still struggling with removing all remaining traces of Alessandra from his day to day life. He had trimmed his nails, and he wasn’t shaving anymore, but he had yet to cut his hair. He knew he needed to, but a small part of him was reluctant to chop it all off. As it was, he kept it tied back in a low ponytail and stuffed into his shirt collar. It made him feel more normal, even if normal now felt strange. Who would have imagined that it would feel strange to be acting like himself?

Ryan Knight, Field Intelligence Officer for the Central Intelligence Agency, now felt more like a cover than Alessandra De Luca did to Ryan’s core sense of self. After all the time he had spent as her, she somehow felt like the more genuine person. He knew that it was a form of post-traumatic stress, an after shadow of his time spent in both Italy and Saudi Arabia. The truth was,  it felt like wearing shoes a size too small; no matter how much he adjusted, he could not get comfortable.

The psychiatrist had told him not to bury Alessandra, that he should avoid pushing all of his bad experiences away and locking them down. She told him that he had to face what had happened and center the blame on his captors rather than internalising the shame that he felt. The reality was that this was far easier said than done. 

Somehow, the idea of accepting that he had been systematically raped and abused by men over and over again felt impossible to reconcile in any meaningful way. To accept such a reality would mean he was a victim, someone who hadn’t been able to stand up for themselves. Being a victim of something so heinous, being forced to take an active part in his own humiliation and subjugation, or face death; this simply couldn’t have happened to Ryan Knight, CIA Officer. 

Alessandra could be the victim; she could feel the pain. Alessandra could cry and scream and vent her anger, frustration, and hatred towards those men. Alessandra could come to terms with what had happened to her and find peace, if he let her. The truth was, Ryan didn’t want to know who he would be if she managed to find peace.

“You look miserable,” a voice observed. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

Ryan looked up and saw a man standing at the end of the bench, his own coffee cup in hand. The man was looking at him and seemed surprisingly genuine for a total stranger. “I’m sorry?

“Mind if I sit?” the guy asked casually, gesturing at the empty end of the bench.

“It’s a public place,” Ryan shrugged. “Be my guest.”

The man sat down and sipped his coffee before looking across at Ryan, “You seemed distracted back there, and now I see you staring off into the distance like there’s something eating you. Feel free to tell me to eat shit, but you seem like you’re in a bad place.”

“Never thought I’d run into a coffee shop psychiatrist,” Ryan replied sarcastically. “Not to be blunt, but why do you care?”

The man smiled ruefully, “My sister killed herself a couple of years ago. She used to have the same look on her face all the time: Blank, hollow eyes, and jumpy. Call me stupid, but I promised I’d talk to people that I saw who looked like that. That I’d tell them that it was ok.”

Ryan blinked, “I’m not suicidal.”

“I never said that you were, but you are dealing with a lot,” the man offered. “I’m Tim.”

“Ryan.”

Tim nodded, “Good to meet you.”

The two sat in silence for a moment before Ryan looked over, “You’re not going to ask me what’s going on?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Ryan frowned.

“What would that achieve?” Tim asked, sipping his drink. “You’ve probably had plenty of people ask what’s wrong. I’m just going to tell you that it’s ok, and that’s it.”

Ryan couldn’t think of anything to say, so he sat in silence, drinking his beverage. The knowledge that someone realized something was wrong and was willing to tell him it was ok was surprisingly comforting. The man had no idea what he was wrestling with, but he cared enough to say something was more moving than he could have imagined. “Thank you,” Ryan offered, giving the man a slight smile.

Tim grinned back, “That’s better. You look pretty good when you’re happy.”

“I uh, thanks,” Ryan blushed. “You know, for saying something. I had no idea what that might actually do.”

Tim nodded, “My pleasure.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, “Here, if you ever want someone to talk to, give me a call.”

Ryan must have looked shocked because Tim suddenly held up his hands, “I’m not hitting on you, god, that would be such an asshole move. What? See a woman stressing out about something big and using being nice as a move? God, Emma would have killed me for that! Seriously though, if you just want an ear, I’ll listen.”

Ryan flushed pink with embarrassment. This man somehow saw him as female, even now? He was disturbed and troubled by the revelation. He was using his normal voice, and he wasn’t wearing any makeup. Sitting there in a hooded sweatshirt and cargo pants, he wasn’t dressed particularly femininely either. The only choice he had that might lessen the embarrassment was to lean into it for a moment and extract himself from the situation.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” he offered, accepting the card. “Emma sounds like she was a good woman.”

“The best,” Tim smiled. “Look, I won’t keep bothering you, but feel free to give me a call if you want a non-judgmental set of ears, eh? I promise to never hit on you ever.”

Ryan smiled and relaxed his posture into Alessanda’s, “I’ll hold you to that, Tim.”

“See you around, Ryan,” Tim offered, doffing an imaginary cap before tossing his empty takeout cup into the trash. With one last grin, he walked away into the crowded mall.

Ryan sat in shock for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. As he did so, he fingered the card that was given to him by the strange man. Tim had been nice, more than nice, to him for no conceivable reason. A stranger had gone out of his way to give a fuck; that alone was a first for Ryan. 

What bothered him more was that even when he was trying to be himself, he seemingly still managed to appear female to others. The man had not seemed confused or doubtful of his sex; he had even seemed playful. The idea of a man flirting with him made Ryan’s skin crawl. As he sat there, he felt a flush of cold terror as he recalled the violations that the hands of men had wrought upon him. 

Ryan drained his coffee and disposed of the cup before heading off towards the mall exit. He didn’t bother to correct the way he was walking or try to force Alessandra out of his gestures. At that moment, he just needed to leave.

 

 

June 1st, 2014 -  Milan, Italy.

Sabine returned to Francesca’s apartment shortly after midday with fewer answers but a good deal more clarity than she had expected. It was obvious now that Milan had answered all the questions it could; remaining here could only serve to harm them further the longer they stayed. Her presence put Francesca and her people in danger, and she could not permit that. As much as she wanted to stay in the familiar surroundings and fight back with an ally beside her, she knew that to do so would bring unnecessary danger to their world.

Sutherland was right; she had to get out of town and find a better base to operate from. As Sabine Garnier, she had the opportunity to break their trail and flee with Béatrice to a place of relative safety. They would have the breathing room they needed to take a more reasonable pace. How she would manage to get anything done with a small child in tow, she wasn’t entirely sure.

When Sabine got back to the apartment, she found Francesca waiting for her with a pair of packed suitcases and an excited preschooler. While she knew that it was time for them to go, the finality of the scene made her far more emotional than she had expected.

“Your meeting went well?” Francesca asked, straightening one of Amélie’s pigtails.

As good as it could,” Sabien shrugged. “As much as I hate the idea, now is the right time for us to get moving.”

“I have your tickets here for Zürich and a hotel for you once you arrive,”  Francesca explained, patting an envelope on the side table. “Both are in your new name. You have the contact number for my man there, yes?”

“I do,” Sabine smiled. “Say goodbye to Nonna Francesca, ok chérie?”

“Bye-bye!”

Francesca hugged Sabine tightly. “Cheeky girl, I will miss both of you a great deal. You will take care, do you understand? I want to hear from you when you get settled in.”

“I’m so sorry it took me this long to reach out,” Sabine sniffed, feeling tears run down her cheeks. “I was so caught up in myself that I couldn’t see past that. I should have been here sooner.”

“Shush,” Francesca soothed. “That is in the past, and what is past is behind us. What matters to me is that you came to me when you were in need.”

“Our time together back then was special,” Sabine smiled, “I have a lot to do, a hell of a lot to work out, but I promise you, I will be back, ok? Sooner than later, as long as I survive.”

Francesca smiled and kissed Sabine on the forehead, “Do not be dramatic, you will be fine, I know it. Now take care of the bambina, and you do not do anything stupid.”

Sabine nodded, “Yeah, I will.”

Francesca gave her a final squeeze before breaking off the hug and turning to retrieve something from a drawer in the sideboard. Turning to Sabine, she handed her a small gift-wrapped box with almost reverent care. “I have something for you, Mia cara,” she added, her voice husky with emotion. The look on her face was more serious than Sabine had ever seen.  “You must promise me that you will only open this when you have decided your future. Before you ask, I do not mean the immediate one in Zürich, but the rest of your life. I trust that you will know when that time comes.”

“Okay…” Sabine replied cautiously as she accepted the box. “I’m not sure when that’s going to be, but thank you, Francesca. You’ve done more for us than I had any right to ask for. Thank you for trusting me and for everything.”

The woman smiled, “This, you do not need to thank me, Mia Cara, you were never a burden to me. I am glad to offer the help, and my door will always remain open; you and this little angioletta are always welcome here.”

Béatrice beamed happily at Francesca’s words, while Sabine felt a strange warmth. It was a feeling that she had last known before the death of her parents. The idea that she had stayed away from Francesca for so many years now felt like one of the greatest regrets of her life. She felt a true love for the older woman, a connection that she knew would be there no matter where she went from here. In a way, she knew now that they would be anchored here in Milan, no matter where in the world they traveled. At that moment, she knew that if she survived this chaos, she would return here to right the wrong of her absence.

“It may be later than it should have come, but I am glad I can give a new life to two people who truly deserve it.”

“We appreciate it, don’t we, Amié?” Sabine prompted her small charge.

“Thank you, Nonna Francesca!”

The older woman rolled her eyes. “Go on, you two, or you will miss your train.”

Sabine pulled out an envelope from her bag and handed it to Francesca. “Hold this for me. If anything happens to me, send it, please?”

“Nothing will happen to you, Mia Cara,” Francesca declared firmly. “You can collect it from me one day.”

Sabine smiled, “Consider it insurance. Should I need to leverage some negotiating power, I have a little something up my sleeve; the ops room recording, and it’s addressed to CNN’s news desk.”

Francesca smiled. “I knew you were not a stupid girl.”

Sabine hesitated for a moment before smiling thinly, “That is as yet to be determined.”

A chime from the doorbell interrupted Francesca’s response, and she smiled regretfully. “That will be your car, let me know when you are safe, yes?”

“I promise,” Sabine offered, stepping forward to hug her mentor tightly. “Goodbye, Francesca, for now.”

Francesca embraced her for a moment before pulling back and kissing both her cheeks. “Take care of yourselves, do you hear me?”

Sabine nodded and wiped away a tear. “Come, Amélie, let’s go, ok?” she sniffed, taking the child by the hand.

On the street outside, a sleek town car was waiting patiently by the curb. On seeing them exit the building, the driver immediately came over and assisted with their bags.

“Where are you headed today, Signora?”

Sabine helped seat her young charge before returning her attention to the driver, “Milan Central Station, please.”

“No problem, Signora, I will take you straight away,” the man smiled politely.

Sabine climbed into the car alongside Amélie and secured her seatbelt before settling back in her seat as they pulled away from the curb. As she watched the building disappear behind them, she felt a lump in her throat. There was a very real chance that she would never see Francesca again. The idea of having things in her life that she missed felt new and unusual. It was a different feeling from Ryan’s detached existence.

Sabine started slightly as she felt a tiny hand worm its way into her own and squeezed. Looking down, she caught a pair of deep chocolate brown eyes gazing up at her in wonder and concern.

Sabine smiled at the girl and squeezed back, “Our adventure starts now, Chérie.”

“Where are we going?”

“Zürich, it’s in Switzerland.”

The girl frowned, Zoo rick?”

Sabine chuckled, “Something like that, Chérie.”

“Are we going to live there?”

“Probably not,” Sabine admitted. “But somewhere near there, soon enough.”

The girl seemed satisfied with the answer, but Sabine herself was far from convinced of her own answer. What was their future going to hold? Would they stay more long-term somewhere in Switzerland? The idea of staying anywhere long-term in her present circumstances scared her more than it should, but she saw no other choice at the current moment. Until their reason for running was over, she had little choice but to treat it as their expected future.

Naturally, Milan’s Central Railway Station was not their intended final destination, but Sabine did not want their driver to know that. Any connections that linked directly between herself, Francesca, and their onward journey would only serve to make the life of anyone looking for them that much easier. As a marked woman, it was lazy fieldcraft to take a straight line when she had the time to zigzag. It was with a pang of sadness that she remembered that Tom Spencer had taught her that particular lesson.

The private car dropped them off at the station door. After collecting their cases, Sabine led them through the concourse and out the far side again to the taxi stand. Here, she loaded them into a city cab to a random city center location. Once they arrived there, she hailed a second cab to take them onward to their final destination.

By changing direction and vehicle several times, it made it far easier for her to spot any tail that they might have acquired. In addition, it made the act of tracing their route, origin, and destination all the harder for anyone investigating their movements. It added an additional hour to their journey, but in Sabine’s mind, it was worth the trouble. Once she was satisfied that their trail was complex enough, she gave the driver their true destination: Milan’s Northern Porta Garibaldi train station. 

The pair that walked into the station was a far stretch from the awkward duo that had first set foot in Milan. The two now appeared to all the world like any other mother and daughter setting off on a journey together. While the idea still terrified Sabine, she knew that it was a role she needed to play, not just for Béatrice, but for herself too.

The northbound Swiss IC2 Express train to Zürich was not set to depart for half an hour, so Sabine found them seats in a cafe located by the platform. One thing she was learning quickly was that small children were a lot more amenable when they were well fed. A drink and a pastry would tide them over until they boarded the train. It also had the side benefit of getting them out of the main concourse areas in case anyone was scanning camera footage for matching pairs.

“Are you excited?” Sabine asked, settling them into a table in the corner with their refreshments.

Amélie beamed and nodded, “We’re going to Sw…izzyland!”

“We are,” Sabine agreed. “I promise that I’ll find somewhere that you’ll be safe and we can try and settle down into some sort of routine. I know all this travel is tough for you.”

“Will I go to school there?”

Sabine was not sure how to answer that question. It spoke of an uncertain future where her presence and role were yet indeterminate. “Next year, chérie, when you’re bigger.”

The girl seemed to ponder this proclamation. “Okay.”

“We have a lot to do before that point,” Sabine sighed, sipping her coffee. “I have to work out why some mean people are being bad.”

“What did they do?”

“They uh, they hurt some people,” Sabine answered softly. “You should never hurt other people unless it’s to protect yourself or someone you love. Do you understand, Chérie?”

Amélie nodded but looked uncertain. Sabine could not bring herself to tell the child any more at that moment, nor explain just how involved those people were in her own plight. Maybe one day she could tell her the truth when she was old enough to understand.

Sabine cursed herself. There she was, making plans again when they faced an uncertain future. She kept making the mistake of acting as though she would still be in the girl’s life at these various points in the future. It would be a long time before she was old enough to comprehend senseless murder, and there was no plausible way that Sabine would still be part of it.

Somehow, every moment that Sabine spent with the girl made her doubt her own plans to find her a real home and a permanent family. Every time she told Béatrice, ‘when you’re older,’ it became a little bit less of a brush off and a little bit more of a promise. The real question was, could she ever hope to keep it?

Looking down, Sabine caught sight of the gift-wrapped package resting in her handbag. She had no idea what was inside, but knowing Francesca, it was probably something monumental. That would be typical of her, she mused; Francesca was always so positive about her future, so very convinced she was right. Sabine, well, she wasn’t so sure herself.

The woman had already given them so very much: new identities, safe passage, a destination. She had even given them the clothes on their very backs. From nothing, Francesca Ricci had created two entirely new lives from the debris of tragedy. Granted, a suitcase full of women’s clothes would not have been her first choice, but under the circumstances, it seemed to fit.

As the two ate, Sabine considered her role in Béatrice, now Amélie’s, young life. This girl was old enough to understand concepts, but she was as yet, entirely dependent on her as an adult. The title of mother felt wrong, despite how she appeared to all the world. Even parents felt like a struggle at this stage of affairs. She was, however, determined to be the best guardian she could possibly be for the girl. Nobody would harm her while she still drew breath. At least that was something she almost felt comfortable doing.

The two ate in silence for a moment, the buzz of chatter and ambient sound around them filling the air. Sabine hadn’t felt hungry, but she had forced herself to eat the pastry. It was as much for appearances as it was to settle her restless stomach. She had never been much of an eater. Sometimes she had to physically remind herself to eat food any given day. With no family or housemates to consider, she rarely ate at consistent times.

Amélie shifted in her seat and looked momentarily sheepish, “I need to go toilet.”

Sabine looked over at the girl before glancing across at the women's restroom beside the counter and felt a jolt of nerves. She had used women's restrooms before, but for some reason, every slight thing seemed to tease at her fears of discovery at the moment. As it was, there was no way that she or the child could use the men's room, so it was not as though she had any other options.

Standing up, Sabine collected their luggage and led her charge across the cafe and into the restroom. Inside, it was quiet, save one occupied stall. Without waiting for instruction, Amélie skipped across to a stall and closed the door behind herself.

“Are you going to be ok in there by yourself?” Sabine called, uncertain as to what she should do. “Do you want any help?”

“I’m a big girl, mama. I can go pee-pee all by myself.”

Sabine felt a strange warmth in her heart as the girl called her mama. She knew that she wasn’t actually her mother; that was physically impossible. There was no reason why the title should feel good to her, but it did. The thought gave her a sudden burst of guilt and shame, something she was starting to get far too accustomed to at the moment. The feelings were increasingly complicated, and she hated that she was forced to confront them again.

A toilet flushed, and a woman exited the other stall, sending a bolt of fear through Sabine far stronger than any she had felt while working for the Agency. The woman, however, seemed incapable of detecting the interloper in her private space and merely smiled at Sabine in greeting.

“She is yours?” The woman asked, looking at Sabine in the mirror as she washed her hands.

“Uh, yes,” Sabine offered weakly, “She’s four.”

The woman smiled, “A good age. They’re starting to become more independent and need us less. Just hold onto that feeling until she turns fifteen.”

Sabine nodded and smiled half heartedly, “I can imagine.”

“I’ve had two,” the woman grinned. “I have the battle scars from all the sharp tongues!”

As casual as the conversation was, Sabine felt more than a little uncomfortable being a part of it, especially given their location. She knew that it was entirely irrational, but a part of her was convinced the woman would see through her at any moment. That if Sabine dared to act like Amélie’s mother, the woman would scoff and declare her a fraud on the spot.

“I’ll do my best,” she smiled politely.

“Well, I hope you have a nice trip, wherever you’re going,” the woman offered, drying her hands.

“Uh, you too,” Sabine replied awkwardly as the woman left the bathroom.

One thing Sabine had never been comfortable with, when she first became Alessandra, or this time, was the way women held casual conversations in such private spaces. Were they just being polite to her? Did they know? Was she doing this correctly? It was all a little too complicated for her, especially under the current circumstances.

As Sabine stood by the sink, she realized why she was feeling so nervous, despite her prior experiences. In the past, when she first became Alessandra, she had the cover of her mission and official sanction; if someone found out, it was all for the job. Here and now, things felt considerably more real; the consequences could ultimately result in their deaths should she fail, and her own humiliation at a minimum.

A strange feeling tickled at the back of her mind that made Sabine feel decidedly unsettled. Somehow, she suddenly found it desperately important that nobody saw through this version of her; that if they did, she would somehow cease to exist. Shaking her head, Sabine realized she now too needed to use the facilities. Deep internal reflection could wait; her bladder was calling. Slipping into a stall, she took care of business before anyone else decided to arrive and strike up another conversation.

Stepping out of the stall, Sabine washed her hands and regarded her reflection in the mirror. Her blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and her makeup was light and barely noticeable. She was dressed in tan canvas shorts and a pale blue T-shirt. They were casual traveling clothes that suited a young mother in the heat of the Italian summer. It was so very far from the overly feminine vision that Alessandra had portrayed, but somehow it managed to feel more difficult for Sabine.

She had tried so hard to run away from the young woman in the mirror. Pain, fear, doubt? Closing her eyes, she let out a breath before reopening them and staring back at herself in the glass. No matter how hard she tried, Alessandra De Luca could not be hidden or pushed aside. Somehow she knew that allowing her to return this time had been a permanent decision; No matter what she did, Alessandra’s issues would have to be addressed if she wanted any hope of peace in her future as anyone.

Burying her feelings would not change the past, but perhaps she could change the future. Sabine Garnier and her daughter Amélie were going to live. She would get over it, and she would face what was to come as best she could.

Behind her, a toilet flushed and a door latch scraped before the second stall door opened, and Amélie joined her at the sink.

“You remembered to wash your hands,” Sabine grinned at the child. “Good girl.”

She could have sworn the four-year-old rolled her eyes at her. “Of course I am, that’s how big girls go pee-pee.”

“Come on then, big girl,” Sabine grinned, ruffling the child’s hair. “I think we have a train to catch.”

The walk to the platform was a short one, and the pair soon found their northbound train to Zürich. The train was  idling and ready to board, so they were able to find their seats and stow their luggage with plenty of time. Ahead of them lay a three and a half hour journey through the Alps. It would take them out of their comfort zone and into a new world of experiences. It was one that both terrified and excited Sabine.

“Are you looking forward to seeing the big mountains?” Sabine asked as she helped Amélie to settle herself into her seat with her coloring book. It continued to amaze her just how resilient the girl was, despite her experiences.

Amélie nodded, “Can we play in the snow?”

Sabine chuckled to herself, “I’m not sure we’ll get snow down low here in the summer, but maybe in the winter, ok? Or we can go visit the mountains sometime.”

There she went again, Sabine kicked herself, idly making future plans she was not sure that she could keep. As much as she cared for the child, she would have to remember that one day she would have to give her up to a more permanent home. She was not her parent, and she had no right to the role. The very least she could do was, in the meanwhile, give the girl hope; at the moment, it was all she had to offer.

 

 

September 2nd, 2007 -  Milan, Italy

“They’re staring at me,” Alessandra hissed under her breath. 

Francesca Ricci rolled her eyes and tutted with irritation, “Not for the reason you believe, Mia Cara. They stare because you are a beautiful woman, nothing more.”

They were walking along the promenade that overlooked the cerulean waters of Lago De Como. They had traveled north to the town that was the lake’s namesake so that Ryan had an opportunity to expand his experience interacting with the general public as Alessandra.

When Ryan had first arrived at the Villa, he and Francesca had worked together in private to perfect the initial version of Alessandra until Ryan had become comfortable playing her role. Once they were both satisfied with his progress, it was time to take the next step: public spaces.

It was one thing to perfect makeup techniques or look the part, but it meant nothing at all if Ryan could not manage to play the role when he was faced with the general public in real life. For his mission, he was going to need to be comfortable around large groups of people and more charged environments. That required exposure and experience. While he knew it was vitally important to the mission, Ryan was adamant that he hated the entire thing.

“It feels weird, I don’t like it,” she hissed.

“You will need to get used to it. This is how people look at women,” Francesca explained, adjusting her wide sunhat against the glare from the lake’s surface.

“I’m not exactly used to that,” Alessandra admitted sheepishly. “I keep thinking they can all tell. I’m waiting for them to laugh and point at me like some carnival sideshow.”

Francesca scoffed at her student’s remark. “There is no way that anyone will look at you and know that there is a man under that skirt, she affirmed, looking at Alessandra over her designer sunglasses. “I know it, and even I doubt it, more than not.”

Alessandra blushed furiously at her teacher’s words. It was not the first time that Francesca had praised her appearance, but she still felt uncomfortable all the same. She was wearing a pale blue tiered skirt that reached down to just above her knees with a white suntop that was decorated with small blue flowers. With a pair of high-heeled sandals and a small handbag hung over her shoulder, the outfit left her feeling extremely exposed, especially with the attention she was attracting from men.

This was not her first outing in public, but it was most certainly the largest. The first few times that Francesca had taken her out were short errands to the local village or to a quiet bar. Walking here along the Como marina, Alessandra was acutely aware of the brevity of her clothing and the sheer number of people far more acutely than she ever had before in her life. If it was possible, her senses were more wired than her time at the Farm when she was a raw recruit to the Agency.

Despite her uneasiness at her current presentation, the scenery around Como was breathtakingly beautiful. To the north, steep mountains rose up on either side of the lake, mere foothills compared to the towering Alps on the northern horizon. The town itself was old and expensive, a true gem of northern Italy and one favoured as a destination by the wealthy. Whether it was the cafes or the designer outlets, it was not a place for the tourist on a budget.

“Why are they so forward?” Alessandra asked quietly, smiling weakly as a man passed them, tipping his cap.

“They like to get the attention of the beautiful signorina,” Francesca smiled. “They want you to know that they notice. To them, it is a compliment on your beauty.”

“Random guys don’t just say hello to random women on the street back home.”

“Ah, but they do,” Francesca pointed out with a look of amusement. “Remember, you are experiencing this for the first time. For your American women, especially the pretty ones, this is often an infuriatingly normal thing.”

“Ugh,” Alessandra grimaced. “No thanks.”

“You will need to become more comfortable with being viewed as attractive to men, perhaps even to flirt back. I do not expect it to be easy for you straight away,” Francesca hesitated momentarily. “Unless you are, perhaps, Omosessuale?”

“Omo, come again?”

“You know,” Francesca shrugged coyly. “To favor the boys.”

Ryan shook his head firmly, “No, I’m not gay. I like girls.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow but remained quiet.

Alessandra crossed her arms haughtily. It was an act of embarrassment, and one she had intended to square her shoulders and make her look tougher. Unfortunately, it only served to elevate and emphasise her false bosom, something which made the attention of nearby men all the more obvious. With a huff, she uncrossed her arms and lowered her head. “I wish that I were ugly.”

“No, you do not, Mia Cara,” Francesca replied, putting her arm around Alessandra’s waist. “You are inexperienced, and it is terrifying. Not only are you being confronted with the attention of these corneo stronzo, but you are also moving through the world without the experience of even a little girl. I know this is new, but this is why we do this. You will get used to it, and I promise, they have no way to tell the truth. We will get coffee, and we will sit. Once we are done, we will walk, maybe ‘ave lunch, and then we will leave. I can promise you, no ‘arm will come to you while you are here. If any man bothers you, tell him vaffanculo.”

“What’s that mean?”

“To entertain himself with his own hand, you know?”

Alessandra blushed crimson. The idea of flippantly insulting some random man felt beyond her current levels of bravery. Then again, given the outfit that Francesca had made her wear, she was more afraid that those very men would go home to do exactly as instructed with images of her body in their heads.

“This will suit us nicely,” Francesca decided, spotting a waterfront cafe beside the harbor. Without waiting for Alessandra, she made her way into the open-air seating area and selected a table shaded by a large linen umbrella. Removing her sunhat, she ran her fingers through her long, dark hair to fluff it up.

“Keeping up with you is quite the mission at times,” Alessandra observed, smoothing her skirt carefully as she sat down across from her tutor.

“You are a smart girl, you keep up well,” Francesca shrugged. “I am not one to dilly dally. I make up my mind, and I take what I want; it is a waste to do otherwise.”

“So I’m learning.”

Francesca smiled wolfishly and winked at her. It was a far more playful side of the woman that she was only just starting to see. Their conversation was interrupted momentarily as a waiter arrived to take their orders. Once he was done, he departed politely to leave them to their conversation.

“So are you so afraid now? Or are you going to take what you want?”

“I don’t want this,” Alessandra pointed out.

“You do not want to succeed at your mission?” Francesca raised an eyebrow.

Alessandra rolled her eyes, “Obviously, but I mean… I don’t want to be good at being a girl, not for any other reason, that is.”

“You are a natural talent, I must admit,” The woman mused. “Why does it shame you so?”

“It’s… wrong.”

“To feel that way? Do you say that about the people you are doing this to ‘elp?”

“Just because they’re transgender doesn’t mean that I have to be,” Alessandra fired back. “I don’t have any kind of problem with people who are born whatever which way, that’s not my problem. They’re real people with real feelings, and that’s totally different. For me, this is just a job; a mission.”

Alessandra sighed, “I only agreed to this because it was the first chance I had of a real overseas mission. It had the chance to get me on the ladder at the Agency; it means nothing more than that.”

“Many men, they would not agree to such a thing even if you paid them a million dollars,” Francesca pointed out with a slight smile. “They would never dream of it.”

“Well… maybe I’m just comfortable in my masculinity,” Alessandra replied, suddenly feeling quite silly as the words left her mouth.

The older woman’s lip quirked, but she didn’t reply; the point had easily been made for her. Alessandra threw up her hands and sighed, “It’s just a costume.”

“Not many men would be quite so natural, or quite so beautiful,” Francesca pressed gently. “The way you have taken to this, it is different, I think. When I first meet you, there was a shy, withdrawn boy. Now look at you, a beautiful, outgoing woman with spirit and character. It might be for a mission, but I would not close the door on it so quickly.”

Alessandra crossed her arms and frowned, “What are you suggesting?”

“I am not suggesting anything,” Francesca held up her hands. “All I am saying is to have an open mind, there is no shame to consider your options. I do not know Ryan Knight, not really. Who he is beyond this assignment might well be different. The man who arrived and the woman who sits before me now are two very different people. It is more than an act; You, Mia Cara, are happy.”

The waiter’s return with their drinks prevented Alessandra from responding to her tutor immediately. As much as she wanted to tell Francesca that she was wrong, she knew that would be a lie. She was happier, that much was true, despite her desire to deny it off hand. The version of herself that she was portraying felt easier, it felt more fitting, and it scared the hell out of her.

“I’m not saying that you’re right,” she admitted slowly. “But I don’t hate it.”

Francesca smiled as she sipped her coffee, “That is all I ask. I am not here to demand you declare to the world that you are transessuale. All I ask is that you do not close your mind to it.”

“That’s… a little dramatic,” Alessandra breathed. “I never said anything like that.”

“You are portraying it, no?”

“That’s beside the point.”

Francesca smirked, “I would say it is entirely the point.”

“As I said, I don’t hate it,” Alessandra admitted, hooking her hair behind her ear. The long blonde tresses currently adorning her hair were a very expensive set of extensions that had taken hours to fit when she first began her training. “There are parts that I like a lot more than others. The high heels, for example? Hate that.”

Francesca laughed, “No woman who is being honest with herself likes them beyond what they do for her rear end. “Womanhood is more than the clothes.”

Alessandra bit her lip, “Is it weird to say I feel like I can be more honest? More expressive?” She sighed and  bit her lip for a moment, “It almost feels like I’m allowed to do anything that feels natural, and it’s ok now.”

“That is sadly more the fault of society’s gender roles,” Francesca agreed. “But I think you are more expressive. Since we work together, you do seem more at peace with the world.”

“Is it weird?”

“No.”

Alessandra sipped her coffee to buy herself a moment before answering. What had been an innocent conversation had put her in a rather difficult position. Confronting her feelings was something she had avoided for a long time. The death of her parents, her childhood; they had all been things she had wanted to leave far behind.

Yet somehow, here she was, confronting something that might well be core to her very existence. Was she admitting to herself that she was thinking about it? Perhaps… was that so bad?

“I think…” Alessandra began cautiously, her eyes laser focused on reaction from her mentor. “I think perhaps it is worth considering.”

Francesca nodded, a kind smile on her lips, “Good girl. That is all I ask.”

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

June 1st, 2014 -  Lago Maggiore, Italy.

The express train wound its way northward as the Lombardy countryside gave way to the Italian Alps. Beyond the window, the sun was sparkling off the surface of Lake Maggiore as they raced along, barely forty feet above the water. Despite the fact that they were running for their very lives, Sabine did have to admit that it was a spectacular view.

Much to her gratitude, little Amélie had been glued to the window for most of the journey so far. The child’s curiosity had made Sabine surprisingly happy. Each delighted comment and every excited question felt as though she, too, was experiencing the joy of travel for the very first time. It certainly made her feel much closer to the girl.

For as short as their time together had been, Sabine knew that she cared a great deal for the child. She was, however, woefully underprepared for the role of parenthood that now fell squarely upon her shoulders. If Béatrice had been her own offspring, perhaps she would have had time to grow into the role, to learn how to be a parent of any kind. As it was, they were both learning this together. She just had to hope she wasn’t making a total ass of it.

The truth was that being a parent had never really been on the cards for Sabine. Growing up, Ryan had been told so many times that one day he would have his own family, that he would find a girl, settle down, and have some kids. In reality, the idea had never gained any real substance. After Operation Orsino, the entire thought of sex, children, or relationships had left her mind entirely. She had no desire to get that close to anyone ever again. Somehow, she had become comfortable with the idea of being alone.

Sabine gazed out of the window as they swept away from the lake and started to roll through the outskirts of a town nestled in the valley beyond. Their future together was going to be rocky, but she would take Francesca’s advice and not plan too far ahead. For now, it was her and Amélie. What that would look like in a month, six months, or a year, she had no idea at all. The girl needed love and care, and she needed to make sure they were both safe. That much, she could manage.

“How old is she?”

Sabine looked around and found an older lady sitting across the aisle looking at her. “Pardon?”

“Your daughter,” the lady prompted with a smile. “She is so beautiful, how old is she?”

“Uh, four,” Sabine offered, uncertain why the woman was engaging her in conversation at random.

“I have a granddaughter her age,” the lady offered. “I am Anna. I am traveling home, yourself?”

“Oh, we’re on holiday; just traveling a little,” Sabine admitted.

The lady nodded in understanding, “You two are alone?”

Even Sabine was aware enough to understand the polite question in the woman’s tone; she was asking where Amélie’s father was. It was a sloppy mistake in preparation, but Sabine had to admit that she had entirely failed to consider a father in her cover. After all, a father implied birth, pregnancy, and conception, all things that crossed a mental bridge that Sabine was ill-prepared for.

“I uh, he’s not in the picture,” Sabine blushed.

Anna smiled sympathetically, “I understand, dear. Men can be pigs, can they not? At least you have your little darling. The two of you are traveling to Zürich?”

“Yes, for a few days, then north to Germany. Eventually, we have to head home.”

“French, yes?”

“Oui,” Sabine smiled.

“Ah, I am Swiss, Zürich is home for me,” Anna admitted. “My grandchildren live with my daughter in Milan.”

“Quite the trip.”

“It is not so bad with the train, I do like the view.”

Sabine smiled politely and allowed Anna to talk on for a few moments as she described her grandchildren and her journey to visit them. She seemed like a pleasant enough woman, and she was more than happy to listen to her talk. As she did, however, she recognised the need to flesh out her legend for future encounters.

Sabine had not been prepared for how much people seemed to be willing to speak to those they saw as fellow parents, especially mothers. Something about her apparently encouraged others to talk to her, whether she wanted them to or not. Talking involved questions, and so far, she had few answers.

Who was Sabine Garnier? Where had they come from, and what was their story? The identities given to her by Francesca had little depth, but it would not stop her from establishing something boring and appropriate. Perhaps a dead husband? An awkward admission like that would shut down questions more than quickly enough; death had a way of doing that. Admittedly, the idea of a husband of any kind made Sabine feel more than uncomfortable enough. That people assumed it so easily gave her unusual feelings that she was struggling to process.

Relationships had never been high on Ryan’s list of priorities. During high school, he had had few friends and even less interest in dating. A quiet kid was nothing unusual. A small part of him had expected that to change when he got to college, but the death of his parents had turned him inward once more. After Operation Orsino, any pretense of a future including romance had been thrown by the wayside.

Sabine considered Francesca’s words for a moment. Her mentor had told her that allowing herself to heal would change her for the better and open up her future. To Francesca, that future was female, despite Sabine’s protestations. Would that female version of herself be able to find love? Would she even want to? Sabine shook her head; she was beginning to go insane. Even she was beginning to see versions of the future where she was still stuck like this.

Glancing over at Amélie, she smiled. Any time she was able to spend with that darling girl would be worth it. She was not sure that she loved the child, but she was positive that she cared for her very deeply. Their intense adventure had cemented their bond in unexpected ways.

The train slowed as it swept into their first stop in Switzerland, the Southern town of Bellinzona. At first glance, it looked little different to the sunwashed Lombardy landscape, but it was possible to see the Swiss influences starting to show themselves in the architecture of the ancient fortress town.

The train rolled to a stop in the station, and the doors hissed open, permitting passengers to alight, and new travelers boarded for the onward journey north into Switzerland. The town also marked the train’s final stop before it began its transit of the mighty Gotthard rail tunnel that bored deep below the Alpine massif to the north.

“Are we getting off too?” Amélie asked as passengers filed past their table.

Sabine shook her head, “No, petit lapin, we still have a long way to go before Zürich. We have to go through a really big tunnel first.”

“What’s a tunnel?”

Sabine frowned and considered the question. “Well, a tunnel is a big hole dug in the earth; roads and railways go through them to take people from one point to another when there’s something in the way.”

Amélie made a contemplative face and nodded. “Like a bridge?”

“Yeah, like a bridge, but underground.” Sabine grinned.

“What if you have a bridge in a tunnel, is it going over or under?”

Sabine paused, a frown etched into her features, “You know, I don’t actually know… if I ever find an engineer, I’ll ask, ok?”

“Ok,” Amélie nodded, seemingly satisfied by the response. Sabine smiled to herself; the world truly was a simpler place to children.

Once all passengers were aboard, the doors hissed closed, and the train began its smooth, quiet acceleration out of the station. Europe had one thing going for it, Sabine mused. Compared to the trains here, Amtrak back in the States was like riding in a covered wagon by comparison.

As they left town, their speed picked up as they swept onward along the valley floor. Settling in, Sabine started flicking through a paperback novel she had bought in the station back in Milan. It was a generic romance novel; not something that she would typically read, but it was something that fitted her cover identity. 

The book had been something she picked up as a prop, a fitting token to carry around in hand to play the role, but she had gotten curious and started reading the novel. While the plot was somewhat predictable, Sabine had to admit that she was beginning to find herself identifying far more with the protagonist, an exhausted single mother working two jobs. Somehow, that seemed to fit with her current predicament far more than she would have preferred.

Reading had always been something that Sabine enjoyed. Even as a child, she had loved to read a new book and vanish on an adventure. She had lost that for a while after Orsino, but with time, she had managed to find her way back into the world of fiction. Like so many things, it had offered her an escape from reality. Books allowed her to let go, to experience the lives of others and feel what they felt for a brief time.

Would she have chosen this particular novel in normal circumstances? Perhaps not. Once upon a time, she had done her best to stick to manly topics like war, adventure, and science fiction. It was something that had seemed right at the time, something that had felt like Ryan’s interests. As complicated as this enterprise was, perhaps her sojourn into the life of Sabine Garnier might permit her to broaden her literary horizons. It might not land on romance, but she was pretty sure she didn’t actually care for war memoirs.

Sabine had barely finished the first chapter when she felt the pressing urge to answer a call of nature. Closing her book, she glanced up the aisle. It would probably be prudent to visit the restroom before they hit the tunnel itself. Picking up her bag, she turned towards Amélie, who was focusing intently on her coloring book.

“Come, Amélie, let's go to the toilet, huh?”

“Aww, I was colouring,” Amélie pouted, looking up at her with a pair of huge innocent eyes. “I want to colour, I don’t want to go toilet yet.”

“I could keep an eye on her?” Anna offered, hearing the child’s protest.

“No, I should…” Sabine frowned, caught between her desire to keep the child close by and her knowledge that dragging a four-year-old through a busy train mid-tantrum might draw some unwanted attention to them. Finally, she acquiesced to practicality and nodded, “Ok, fine, thank you, I won’t be long.”

Anna smiled,  “It is not a problem, we will be right here.”

Sabine ruffled the girl’s hair affectionately, “Be good for Mama, ok, Amélie?”

The little girl smiled happily and returned her attention to the coloring book she was currently reinterpreting with great vigor. Sabine looked over at the older woman and nodded her thanks before setting off down the carriage.

The idea of leaving Amélie alone, even for even a moment, felt strangely wrong to Sabine. She knew that the girl was going to be safe; she was with someone reasonably responsible, and they were trapped inside a sealed metal tube traveling at over a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. Where exactly could they go? Somehow, that knowledge did not manage to ease the worry that she felt creeping into her heart.

Sabine managed to find a free bathroom two carriages down past the closed restaurant car and shut the door behind herself. Sitting, she took care of her business and pulled up her shorts before washing her hands at the sink. As she dried her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

The woman looking back at her seemed different under the harsh light of the swaying train bathroom. She seemed smaller, more fearful, and softer. This was getting too easy, too comfortable, and she was starting to worry. Would she be able to return when it was time?

She searched for any sign of Ryan Knight, any hint that he was still in there somewhere. A part of her needed to see him, to be reassured that he was still there under the surface. That even after all of this, she might find him again when she needed reminding that it was all just an act.  With every passing moment, every interaction or experience, she felt him slipping further and further away despite her efforts.

She had avoided Allesandra because she knew just what pain she still felt. She knew the deluge of unresolved pain, fury, and hatred that seethed just beneath the surface. The emotions were difficult for her to wrap her head around, even now. All she knew was that avoiding it somehow felt easier when she was Ryan. Now? The firewall was down, and it was all right there waiting for her in the dark.
The worrying part was that she was starting to realize that her pain had been only a part of why she had run so very far from Alessandra. Ryan had been the bulwark, the breakwater that had held back far more troubling thoughts. Without Ryan, there was nothing to stop her from liking this. There was no masculine pride to shy away from the femininity that lurked just out of sight. Finger-combing her hair back into place, she unlatched the door and slid it open.

Before she was able to exit the bathroom, Sabine was slammed backward into the rear wall by a massive bulk that drove the breath from her lungs. The force moved with such violence and size that she barely had a chance to recognize that a person and barged into the bathroom with her, a person who was clamping a large hand over her mouth.

Recovering her wits, Sabine lashed out with a kick to the man’s instep that was largely ineffective thanks to her position. Her spacing was limited, and she was woefully outmatched by the large man who was pinning her against the wall. Even still, she made enough room to lash out with a few quick punches that made the man step back slightly.

Before she was able to capitalize on the space, the man rammed a fist into her gut and drove the air from her lungs for a second time. Sabine doubled over, gasping for air as the man stepped back fully, giving her room for the first time since the fight had begun. Before she could regain her composure, she was dragged upright by her throat and held against the wall. “This is the one, yes?”

“Yeah, that’s her. That bitch boarded with the child,” Another voice from the corridor replied. “Make her tell you where the man is or where they are meeting him.”

Sabine was just alert enough to recognize the men’s Lebanese-accented Arabic. In this world, that could only mean that they were probably connected to Abbas Ahmad’s terrorist organisation, Nar Alhuriyaat, in some way or other. Why they were here and looking for her or Béatrice, however, wasn’t immediately clear.

“Where is Ryan Knight?” The man barked in thickly accented English. “Where you meet him?”

“Fuck you,” Sabine growled, wriggling for purchase enough to free a limb.

“You tell me where we find him, or we kill kid, then I fuck you raw. Maybe if you are lucky, I will grant you death when I am done, fucking whore,” the man leered, licking her cheek.

Sabine felt a wave of revulsion flood her body as the man’s hands held her immobile against the wall. Her guard had been down here aboard the train. She had been sloppy, thinking herself safe aboard the train. It had been a fatal mistake, and she had let herself get distracted by her personal baggage. 

A cold wave of fear rushed through Sabine as she struggled for breath: If these men had followed her to the bathroom to lie in wait, then that meant that they had followed them from the train station. If they did not recognise her, then they must have recognised Béatrice, which meant that they knew exactly where she was sitting.

When these men had boarded and how they had known to look for her, she had no idea. The truth was that at the moment, that did not matter in the slightest. The man had her entirely overclassed in both size and strength. The confined space of the bathroom limited any opportunity she had to counter that advantage with speed or agility.

The smell of the man’s breath and the vicelike grip he had on her neck was too much for Sabine’s senses to take. As she struggled for her life, she felt a rush of terrible memories course through her mind. Memories that transported her back to the horror of her gilded prison all those years ago. A wave of cold horror suddenly fired adrenaline through her struggling body. 

The carriage was plunged into sudden darkness as the train flashed into the entrance of the Gotthard rail tunnel at close to one hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. Taking advantage of the sudden darkness, Sabine lashed out with her foot and landed it on the man’s instep with far more force than she had hoped for. It wasn’t a disabling strike, but it caused enough pain that the man eased his grip and stepped back slightly.

The movement was all the opening that she needed. Twisting her hips to open the space, Sabine drove her knee up and into the man's crotch. As he doubled over with a grunt of agony, she grabbed his head with both hands and slammed it into the mirror, shattering the glass and the man’s nose with a sickening crunch.

The man crumpled to the floor of the bathroom, a bloody, unconscious mess. His bulk almost pinned Sabine in place, but she was able to dodge free in time to not be stuck between him and the toilet as he fell. Outside in the corridor, something metallic glinted in the newly illuminated lights as Sabine spotted the newest threat: the man’s accomplice, brandishing a wicked-looking knife.

The second man lunged towards Sabine with his blade extended in his hand. It was an awkward and unskilled attack that forced the man to overextend beyond his crumpled colleague. As the man jabbed out, Sabine lunged forward inside the man’s guard, twisted around, her back to the man’s chest. This allowed her to grab the knife arm and wrench downward in the confined space. The man screamed as his arm snapped, the knife clattering to the floor as it fell from now useless fingers.

Taking advantage of the man’s pain, Sabine snapped out with a vicious elbow to the man’s ribs before twisting away and hitting the man with quick left-right jabs that left him stunned and staggering.

“Fuck you, fucking bitch,” The man gasped, reaching out for Sabine with clawing fingers. The man roared and came at Sabine with primal rage, his eyes bloodshot and wide as he lunged across his companion’s crumpled body.
Twisting around within the confined space, Sabine managed to dodge the man’s clumsy attack and allowed him to slam into the far wall beside his fallen comrade. Momentarily stunned, the man propped himself up against the sink for a moment, allowing Sabine to lash out with a knee to the man’s head.

Swaying, momentarily stunned, the man wobbled and tried to catch himself against the bathroom wall. Darting forward, Sabine reached up and wrapped her arm around the man’s neck and cinched him into a headlock. Kicking out the man’s knee, she pulled him back and twisted as they fell.

The pair landed heavily. For Sabine, the fall was cushioned by her proximity to the carriage wall. The man, however, landed awkwardly across his comrade’s body, the force of the fall snapping his neck with a sickening crack.

Releasing the dead man’s body, Sabine pulled herself free as she dragged much-needed oxygen into her lungs. Her body hurt, and her heart was racing as she tried to regain her composure as quickly as possible in case there were more men still coming.

Stumbling across the bodies, Sabine dragged herself into the corridor and glanced in both directions. There were no other immediate threats, but that did not mean that this was over. Whoever had come for her knew that she was on the train with Béatrice. If they were aware of that, then there could be more waiting for her elsewhere on the train.

Sabine mentally replayed what the men had said while she panted for breath, propped up against the narrow corridor.  The men had asked her where Ryan Knight was; that meant that they had not seen through her current appearance.

If that was the case, then they had to believe that she was a friend or ally that Ryan had tasked with taking care of Béatrice. After all, leaving the child was what a smart field operative would do. They would find somewhere safe to stash her or leave her with a trusted confidant; it was safer, and it would mean that they were free to work the problem without the impediment of a small child underfoot.

Sabine wasn’t sure if it was a genius move or dangerous sentimentality that had prevented her from doing that very thing. She could have very easily left Béatrice with Francesca while she led her pursuers away from them both. There would have been nothing to link the two together, and they would likely have forgotten the girl entirely. As smart as it was, she had not once considered doing such a thing. Somehow, that had now saved their lives.

If the men had followed her here, then they had to know that she would be heading to Zürich. That meant her entire plan had to be placed on hold until she had a clearer picture of the threat ahead of them. There was no way she could compromise her onward journey and eventual plans if she had a tail. 

Wiping her lip, Sabine winced as she spotted the blood on the back of her hand. Firstly, she had to clean up her mess before anyone raised the alarm here on the train. The last thing she needed was the authorities asking questions.

Pulling herself to her feet, Sabine reached over and checked the two men’s pulses. The second man was dead, but she had expected that after feeling his neck snap. The first man, his face a bloody mess from the broken mirror, was still breathing, and that presented a problem.

Sabine hated the idea of killing a defenseless man, but she understood the gravity of her situation. If the man was able to report back to his bosses, she could be in serious trouble.  She certainly could not afford for them to connect Sabine Garnier with Ryan Knight. An image of little Béatrice flashed into her mind, and she knew there was no choice at all.

After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the man’s head and snapped his neck in one smooth motion. Dropping the body to the floor, Sabine cursed herself and this entire terrible situation. She hated what these people were forcing her to do, but she was never going to allow them to hurt Béatrice.

Catching her reflection in a patch of unbroken mirror, Sabine spat and cursed. She was bleeding from her lip, and her T-shirt was streaked with blood.  Wiping her chin as best she could, she straightened her clothes and hair as best she could. She frowned. There was no way she could manage to go unnoticed after what had occurred. She had to change that as quickly as possible if they were going to buy enough time to get off the train.

Finding her handbag where it had been knocked to the floor, Sabine found her pistol safe and secure within. It had been useless during her deadly struggle, but she was glad to have it now that she knew that a threat was present. Even drawing a firearm in such a close-quarters fight could have gotten her killed, even if it hadn’t alerted others onboard to their struggle.

Gathering up the attacker’s knife, she stashed it away beside her pistol and slipped the bag over her shoulder before exiting the toilet. Closing the door behind herself, Sabine flipped the mechanism to the locked position and set off back along the corridor. It would not prevent the discovery of the bodies for long, but it should buy her enough time to leave the train before they were discovered by a cleaning crew at their final destination. By the time that happened, she was expecting to be long gone.

Who the men were was a mystery, but it was clear that they were connected to her current plight. They were Arabs, and they were Lebanese, based on her brief assessment. That immediately drew her mind to their target in Nice, Abbas Ahmad. If the men were connected to Nar Alhuriyaat, his Freedom’s Fire group, that meant that there was a significantly bigger connection between Edwards and Ahmad than she had initially believed. If Ahmad was dead, then who was pulling the strings now, and why were they looking for her?

Edwards needed her dead; she had seen too much, and she knew that he was dirty. If Ahmad’s men were here too, then their goals were aligned, and that was a major problem. The revelation brought the events of Nice into question and made her question exactly what had happened.

Sabine’s disheveled appearance drew a number of surprised looks from passengers as she passed by them, but she was laser-focused on her current objectives: to find Amélie and make sure there were no more threats aboard the train. If people noticed a little blood, it wasn’t her primary concern at the moment. On the end wall of one of the carriages, she spotted a route map. After exiting the tunnel, the train would make two stops before arriving at its final destination in Zürich, Flüelen, and further north in Arth Goldau. It wasn’t Zürich, but she clearly had to take precautions now that their route was potentially compromised.

Spotting an unattended sweatshirt on a seat, Sabine quietly grabbed it as she passed. She hated stealing, but she needed to hide her bloody shirt. Reaching the far end of the carriage, she slipped it over her head and pulled her hair free of the neck opening. It was large, far too large for her body, but it covered her bloody shirt and the wicked bruises that were beginning to form on her arms.  Reaching down to mid thigh, it looked a little silly on her, but it was more than enough until she could manage to change her clothes properly.

Pausing in the end compartment of their carriage, Sabine glanced at her reflection in the dark glass and grimaced. She was far from perfect, but she looked far less like she had just killed two men in a bathroom stall. At the moment, that was the best she could manage. Wiping under her eyes to remove some traces of mascara that had run, Sabine finger-combed her hair and sighed. When had she ever been this vain?

Convinced she looked as normal as she could manage, Sabine hit the door button and entered the carriage. As she walked, she scanned the other passengers as she passed. They ranged from young to old, and from business travelers to tourists. To her relief, none matched the men who had attacked her. That did not mean that they might not be located elsewhere in the train.

When she finally made it back to their table, she was relieved to find that Amélie was still coloring away, blissfully unaware of what she had just gone through a handful of carriages further up the train. Slipping back in beside her, the girl glanced over and smiled, “Look what I did!” showing her the rather interpretive image of a house.

“That’s great, Chérie,” Sabine smiled quickly. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” Amélie replied, her grin slipping to a frown as she took in Sabine’s appearance. “Does your lip hurt? Did you have an accident?”

“It’s fine,” Sabine said, squeezing the girl’s knee. “Just an ouchy. “You go back to your drawing, I want to see it when it’s done, ok?”

The girl nodded uncertainly but seemed to accept Sabine’s answer as she returned her attention to the paper.

Turning to the older woman across the aisle, Sabine dispensed with pleasantries.

“Did anyone follow me when I left the carriage?”

“No, what do you…” The older woman began, “ Mein Gott, what happened to you, dear?”

“I slipped in the bathroom,” Sabine lied quickly, waving her hand dismissively. “The train his a bump and I went over hard, I got soaked and hit my lip; big mess. One of the conductors lent me a shirt.”

“Oh my dear, that is just awful,” the woman exclaimed. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Sabine lied, “It was my fault, it was just an accident.”

“As long as you are sure,” Anna frowned uncertainly. “That does look rather painful.”

“Looks worse than it is,” Sabine shrugged. “Did anyone leave after I did?”

“Maybe?” Anna furrowed her brow. “Two men left after you and the conductor came past. Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to speak to them about the water in the bathroom,” Sabine lied. “Nobody else?”

“No, I don’t think so,” the woman admitted.

Sabine nodded, “Good, maybe I’ll catch him when he comes back past. It’s no real rush.”

The men had been seated in this carriage, that much was clear. They had waited for her to leave, and they had followed her as their primary and seemingly only target. They had unrestricted access to Amélie, but as far as she could tell, they had left her alone. It was lucky, but it reminded Sabine that allowing Amélie to be out of her sight was a foolish mistake, and one she would not repeat again.

From what the men had said and how they had acted, it was beginning to seem as though they had spotted her at random and were chasing down a lead. There was a good chance that they had not been certain and were trying to confirm their suspicions. That meant that there was a really good chance that they had yet to report in to their superiors. It was possible that they had placed men at different transit hubs, waiting for her to make a move. Whether that news was good was yet to be determined, but she had managed to buy herself some valuable time. 

Would they find out that she was heading for Zürich? It was a certainty, given enough time. They would never hear back from their men, and they would back trace her movements from there. It did however, buy her time in the meantime. If she could get into the city and leave before they started looking for her, then she could change direction and break the trail.

Sabine smiled to herself as she remembered her old mentor’s advice: A trail was easiest to avoid when you knew that it was there. Once you did, it became a game of cat and mouse. Once the mouse was aware, they could change the rules and set a trap for the cat.

But who was the cat really?

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

18th August, 2008 - Paris, France.

Ryan Knight sipped his beer as he watched a boat float past on the Seine from his spot on the terrace above the river. It was hot, even at seven in the evening, and the riverside Parisian bar was already packed with the after-work crowd, all trying to relax after a hard day in the French capital. As far as international postings went, he mused, there were far worse options he could have been landed with.

“Starting to get a feel for how we do things now?” Tom Spencer, Paris Station Chief, asked as he lit a cigarette across the table.

Socializing with his direct supervisor was certainly something new for Ryan, but it was not entirely unpleasant. Tom Spencer had taken Ryan under his wing since his arrival at the Paris station and was making it his personal project to fix what the older man saw as ‘the flaws of the modern CIA’. For Ryan, it was a significant change from his earlier career but not an entirely unwelcome one. In the short time that he had been stationed in Paris, the veteran Intelligence officer had quickly become someone that Ryan trusted.

Ryan shrugged, “It’s not what they taught us at the farm, but it certainly gets the job done.”

“Damn straight it does,” Tom nodded. “They’re teaching you kids total crap these days. Sure, it gets the job done when everything goes to plan, but it doesn’t count for shit when everything goes ass over tit.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it.”

Spencer snickered to himself as he took a hit from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke into the warm evening air. “When I first started out,” he began, gesturing with his cigarette, “Hell, for most of my long ass career, you were on your own most of the time. You had to cover your own ass, and you made shit up as you went along. A hell of a lot died, but a good number of us made it out the far side alive. It was sink or swim, and you had to work the problem.”

“Operations these days are a totally different beast,” he shook his head. “Now, you have surveillance, cover teams, alternate routes, and plans to cover any eventuality. Something goes wrong, they fall back on any number of prearranged scenarios and plans. It works when things are in your control, but it’s useless when it goes off the rails.”

Ryan frowned, “None of that helped me in the slightest.”

“When it does go bad, it goes bad in a hurry,” Spencer agreed somberly. “That shit in Saudi was a fucking mess. It’s a direct product of this fucked up new approach they have back at Langley. They don’t bother teaching you guys to fend for yourselves anymore. When things go south, you’re in real trouble.”

“We do get trained to operate independently,” Ryan pointed out. “Admittedly, we aren’t sneaking microfilm into the sports section and dodging communists by the duckpond anymore.”

“It’s not just that, you cheeky shit,” Spencer smirked. “There’s operating alone, then there’s operating by yourself. One of those is designed to work with top cover and a team off on the sideline. It’s entirely different when you’re all by your lonesome, with nothing but your sense of humor to back you up. It requires a different mentality and a willingness to compromise.”

“How so?”

“When you’re on your own, you have to be paranoid,” The older man pointed out. “Not like tin foil hat, there’s Aliens in Area 51 kind of paranoid, but pretty close. Remember, we work in a world where someone literally is out to get you, so it’s kinda expected.”

“You might have a point,” Ryan agreed. “Wait, are there aliens in Area 51?”

Spencer shook his head, “Nah, just weird shit we stole from the Russians and the Chinese.” Spencer sipped his drink and looked thoughtful for a moment, “In all seriousness, sometimes it all goes to shit, no matter how hard you try. Maybe someone turned, and they got your identity, and now they’re coming for you; It’s not a matter of how good you are, but just a matter of how the dice landed that day. When they know you, you have to stop being you. Behaving like they expect will only make you easier to predict. When they can predict you, you’re fucked.”

“So, don’t behave like myself?”

“No, don’t behave like you’re in the damn CIA,” Spencer shook his head. “Do something irrational, unlikely, or just straight up weird. Sometimes, you gotta make what looks like the dumb choice because they won’t expect it.”

“What’s the difference between something that is dumb and something that just looks dumb?”

Spencer ran his tongue around his teeth inside his lips, “That’s the big question, because it changes for every damn situation. Sometimes, it’s not following protocol that would seem smart and just going direct from A to B. Sometimes it’s stopping when you should run.”

The man finished off his drink and replaced his glass on the table, “I had this one job in Berlin maybe twenty, twenty-five years ago. I was pretty green back then, and someone flipped on us. They leaked a whole bunch of names to the KGB’; some sources, some officers. Naturally, they passed that shit to their buddies in the East German Stasi. They knew I was a Company guy, and they knew our playbook as well as we did. If you did what the handbook told you to do, then they would be sitting there waiting with a bullet for you when you got there.”

“So what did you do?”

“What my own mentor told me,” Spencer grinned. “I stopped acting like a spy and started acting like a criminal. Imagine them as the cops and that you’re a bank robber; start trying to get away with shit rather than acting like the damn good guys.”

“So, break the law?”

“No, well, yes,” Spencer chuckled. “It’s a little bit more complicated than that. You need to learn to act like you actually want to get one over on them, that beating them is a game, not an objective. Learn how your enemy operates and fuck them over by doing the opposite. Make them believe you will do one thing, then change direction; smoke and mirrors.”

“So, like, rather than running for safety, run deeper into their territory?”

“Exactly,” Spencer pointed a finger at Ryan. “When they had my details, I could have made a dash for the checkpoints and tried to get back over into West Berlin. The thing was. They would have got me at the wall if I had tried. What did I do? I found a good bar further East and sat it out getting drunk off my ass.”

“Isn’t that risky?”

“Only to my wallet,” Spencer grinned. “Predators expect their prey to run. When it doesn’t, it throws them off. Learn what throws your enemy off, then do it. When they can’t predict you, you survive. If you can survive long enough, you can get a shot at winning.”

 

 

June 1st, 2014 - Zürich, Switzerland.

Every fiber of Sabine’s body had told her to get off the train and change direction. Her plan was clearly rumbled, and her intended destination was compromised. Standard protocol would be to do as she had when she was heading to Milan: Get off, change trains, and make her way into the city from a different direction. It was the smart choice, but it was also exactly what she was meant to do. Instead of doing what was smart, she was watching with a lump in her throat as the train slowed to a stop at Zürich’s central station.

Protocol aside, Sabine knew that she was being followed, and that changed everything. She knew that eventually, those who were looking for her would learn that their men had failed to report in. They would look into it, and discover that they boarded a train to Zürick and then they would find the report of two stiffs found on a train. That would send up alarm bells, and the entire operation would up sticks and make its way north in pursuit. By messing around, changing direction, and taking an indirect route, she only ensured that she would still be there when they arrived.

At the moment, Sabine knew that her main advantage was speed. The less time she spent in the city, the more difficult she would be to track down. If she were gone by the time they arrived, the cold trail would be all the more difficult for them to follow. Right now, she was here for two things: her parachute and a plan.

Located in a safe deposit box in Zürich, Sabine had a secret cache that she had put away for emergencies. The cache contained money, identity documents, and other personal items that she might need if she were ever required to drop everything and flee. The present circumstances most certainly qualified as an emergency.

Not every Field Intelligence Officer kept a personal parachute, but the smart ones certainly did. It was something that had been instilled into her by Tom Spencer when he took her under his wing during her early days in Paris. It was one of many vital lessons that were now helping to keep her alive. Lessons that made her miss the man even more.

Leaving their cases at the station, Sabine and Amélie caught a cab to the Credit Suisse branch on St Peterstrasse in the heart of the city. Nestled amongst designer shops and tourist foot traffic, from the outside it appeared to be a normal branch of the Swiss brand. Inside, however, was one of the company’s Safe Deposit Branches.

Sabine had changed as soon as they were off the train, and she was now wearing a lavender floral maxi skirt and a long-sleeved white cardigan over a camisole. It was more feminine than she would have liked, but it helped to cover up the developing bruises on her limbs. With a fresh application of cosmetics, any traces of her facial injuries were wiped away.

Leading Amélie by the hand, Sabine approached the reception desk inside the air-conditioned foyer of the bank and smiled at the attendant.

“Good day, can I help you?”

Sabine withdrew the key from her handbag and placed it on the counter. “I would like to access my box, please.”

“Certainly, Frau…?”

“Garnier.”

The man nodded curtly and scanned the key with a small handheld device. “Box 4390, if you would follow me, Frau Garnier.”

“Where are we going?” Amélie asked, holding on to Sabine’s hand as the man led them past rows of desks and towards a staircase.

“I have something that I need to pick up. This is a safe place for keeping special things,” Sabine explained.

“Like your favorite toy?”

Sabine made a face, “I uh…sure, something like that.”

The clerk escorted them downstairs and along a plain, unremarkable hallway. They passed through two sets of locked metal gates, which the Clerk opened in sequence, before they finally arrived at a small room at the end. The room contained a single desk with a computer terminal and a large locked steel vault door.

“Frau Garnier, your key, please,” The man asked, extending a hand.

Sabine handed the man her key, and the man scanned it at the computer before inputting a code of his own. As he did so, the door behind them issued an electronic bleep before latches could be heard sliding back into their channels.

“Your key, Frau Garnier,” The man offered simply, offering the key back to Sabine. “Your box will be on the left, aisle five. Once you have it, you will find a viewing area at the front of the vault. Please press the buzzer by the door when you wish to leave. Do let me know if you need any further assistance.”

“I think I’ll be fine, thank you.” Sabine smiled politely, taking the key, and leading Amélie forward and into the now open vault door.

Inside, the vault was laid out like a server room with long, faceless rows of boxes filling the space. Walking to the fifth row as directed, Sabine quickly located box 4390 and inserted her key into the lock. Opening the door revealed a long rectangular box that slid cleanly out of the recess as she withdrew it.

“What’s that?”

“That’s my secret box,” Sabine explained, carrying the box across to one of the tables along the front wall of the vault. “It’s where I keep my special things.”

“Your toys?”

“Grown-up toys and special memories.”

Amélie plopped down onto one of the chairs and watched with interest as Sabine unlocked the box. 

Lifting the lid, Sabine examined the contents within. The box contained four passports flagged for Ireland, Germany, Canada, and Australia. She did not bother opening them; she knew exactly what names and photographs lay inside. At the moment, Ryan Knight’s documents were of little use to her. If she needed them, she could come back when the time was right.

Beneath the documents, there were a number of bundles of cash in Dollars, Euros, and Sterling. In total, they added up to just over a hundred and twenty thousand US Dollars. It was a rainy day fund that Sabine had squirreled away from her parents' life insurance, her meagre government pay, and the bonus she had been given for Operation Orsino.  Admittedly, they had called it an operational bonus, but at the time, it had felt more like a payoff to buy her silence. It was only fitting that she turned what she had always considered to be blood money into something positive. Now, there was a chance that money could help her and Amélie to survive.

Slipping the money into her purse, Sabine withdrew the small leather case beneath it. Unzipping the case, she checked the contents that she expected to find: a small sub-compact Glock 43 pistol and spare ammunition. It was an emergency piece, very much illegal across Europe, but incredibly useful to have should she need it. Rezipping the case, she added it to the items she would keep.

At the very bottom of the deposit box, almost hidden under a collection of papers, Sabine spotted a piece of photograph paper that was lying upside down against the metal surface. Frowning, she picked it up and turned the photograph over. She hadn’t remembered putting any photographs in the box, but the image staring back at her was quite the surprise; it was an image from her childhood. It showed a young Ryan standing on a wooden dock with his mother and father.

It was a photograph from one of their family vacations back when he was fourteen or fifteen years old. They had taken a road trip to Colorado, and it was one of the few truly happy memories she had always kept within her heart. A moment in time when she had shared true joy with her parents, before everything had started to go wrong.

Her parents…

A tear fell from Sabine’s eye as she wondered what her mother and father would think if they could see their wayward child now. What would they think of what she had done with her life? What would they think about what had happened to her? Would they be ashamed to know that she was galavanting around Europe dressed as a woman with a small child in tow?

“Why are you sad?”

Sabine wiped her eyes and looked down at Amélie. “I found a photograph of my Mama and Papa. They died a long time ago, and it reminded me that I missed them a lot.”

“Like my Mama and Papa?”

Sabine sat down beside the girl and put an arm around her shoulders, “Yeah.”

“So they went to sleep too, in heaven?”

Sabine’s heart clenched as she was comforted by a four-year-old, “Yeah, they did.”

Sabine stiffened as she felt a small pair of arms wrap themselves around her midsection. Looking down, she saw Amélie hugging her tightly. “Don’t be sad.”

“It’s just a memory,” Sabine admitted, showing the girl the photograph. “This was my Mama and Papa. This was me when I was fourteen, about ten years older than you.”

Amélie took the photograph from her hands and traced the three figures on the paper with her finger. “But if you were a girl then, why did you become a boy?”

“Huh?”

Amélie pointed at the figure between Sabine’s mother and father, “You were a girl?”

Sabine looked more closely at the figure and frowned, “I don’t...”

“But you look like now,” Amélie insisted.

Sabine looked at the picture more closely and examined her younger self with more scrutiny. Teenaged Ryan was standing between his parents on the dock of the cabin up at Eagle Lake in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. It had been years since she had seen the photograph, and she had forgotten what she looked like at that age. A small part of her mind told her that she had tried to forget it for some reason.

Young Ryan was smiling back at the camera; he looked happy, carefree, and undamaged back then. It was a version of herself she barely remembered anymore. He was wearing a pair of Aqua swim shorts and a black tank top. It had been an outfit he had always worn for swimming because he was reluctant to swim topless. Sabine decided not to unpack that small fact.

Between his parents, with his long blonde hair damp from the lake and hanging loose around his shoulders, it was hard for Sabine to deny what Amélie had seen. The slim, short figure looked more like a young flat-chested girl than a teenage boy. It was the first time she had seen herself in that light, and it was more than a small mental shock.

“I guess I did a little,” She admitted quietly, her thumb stroking the edge of the photograph.

“So you were a girl, then a boy, and then a girl again?”

“I uh, no…” Sabine frowned. “I’m… Look, we have to go. We can talk about this later, ok, Chérie? Allez, come on.”

Sabine glanced down at the passports on the table and fingered them thoughtfully. They were a ticket to freedom as a man, as Sam Thomas, Peter Kent, Joseph Adamson, and Michael Bauer. None of those names were known to the Agency; she could easily disappear and never be seen again. The temptation was strong, but she needed this cover for the time being. Moving around with a child, as Ryan had been difficult, and that meant that it would be equally difficult as any man. For now, Sabine Garnier was useful… more useful than any of those names.

Reluctantly, Sabine returned the passports to the deposit box and closed the lid with a sigh. If she ever got free of this mess, she could come back for them, and they would still be here. A small voice in a dark and sorrowful corner of her mind spoke up. It told her that she was allowing her only real way back to manhood to slip through her fingers yet again. Reluctantly, she ignored the voice; this was something she had to do, for Amélie, for their safety, for answers.

Picking up the photograph, Sabine slipped it into her purse with the other items. In her line of work, sentimentality could get her killed, but there were some things that she was not willing to let go. Now more than ever, she needed to hang on to who she really was.

Locking the box, Sabine returned it to its slot in the wall before latching the small door. Returning the key to her bag, she slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Come on, little one, let’s go get you some dinner, huh?”

“Chicken nuggets?”

Sabine pressed the door buzzer and looked down at the little girl beside her, “Really, chicken nuggets?”

Amélie grinned and nodded excitedly. It was clear that her mind was made up, and there would be no directing her to anything more sensible. Sabine sighed and shook her head, “Fine, come on then, chicken nuggets it is.”

 

 

Sabine listened to the phone ring and wondered if she was doing the right thing. She was standing on the balcony of their hotel room a little after nine that evening, and she worried that she was making another mistake. She knew that calling this soon was foolish, but she had to have answers before she could plan her next steps.

“You know, I’m pretty sure you just like talking to me at this point,” Peter Sutherland chuckled as he answered the call.

“How did you know it was me?” Sabine frowned.

“Who the hell else is calling my personal number on random burners at all hours of the night?” The SEAL scoffed. “What’s got your panties in a bunch now?”

Sabine opened her mouth to comment, but realised that the expression actually fitted far too well at the moment, “Has any news about my movements come in?”

“No,” Sutherland replied, sounding slightly confused. “Why?”

“I got out of Milan today, and I had two guys board the same train as me; military-age males. They were looking for me, and they thought I knew something about the location of Ryan Knight, given that I was with the girl.”

“Oh boy, that’s too funny,” the man laughed. “Did you whip it out and show 'em?”

“Pete!”

“Sorry! The man chuckled. “No, we have nothing as of yet. As for as everyone here, they still think you’re in Milan. They’re working traffic cams at the moment, trying to track your movements, and they haven’t got shit.”

As much as Sabine felt uncomfortable about her return to womanhood, she had to admit that it seemed as though Francesca’s plan was working exactly as intended. With how much counter-surveillance she had conducted, there was little chance they would ever know where she had been.

“You don’t seem particularly worried about what I told you,” Sabine pointed out.

“What am I meant to say, huh?” the soldier asked.  ‘Aww, poor little girl, are you ok, sweetheart?’ You’re here talking to me, which means you handled business like I knew you would. Plus, I’ve seen you fight, remember?”

“They’re not going to be reporting back to anyone,” Sabine admitted. Slightly peeved that the old soldier was right once again. “I wanted to check if they had had a chance to report in or tell anyone what they had found. If they were just following a lead and didn’t have time to say anything yet, I might still be ok.”

“I’ve had eyes on Edwards and his boys for most of the day,” Pete explained. “They’ve not done anything odd, and he’s not gotten any unusual calls. Probably the goons didn’t want to call home till they had something valuable to report. Real question is why would Lebanese muscle be trying to track you down?”

“I think they’re Freedom‘s Fire,” Sabine admitted. “They fit the profile, and they’re clearly not Agency or professionals. I think whatever Edwards is up to, it involves a deeper relationship with Ahmad’s organization than we initially assumed. Either he’s running the show, or he’s in deep with whoever stands to take the top spot now that the big man is out of the picture.”

“Possible, very possible. There’s no sniff of anyone like that down here. They’re all still talking about this like it’s you vs the world. No mention of Ahmad or Nar Alhuriyaat here. You get any intel off them?”

“Phones and IDs, nothing much. The IDs were reasonable fakes, and the phones are burners,” Sabine admitted. “Nothing good but some numbers that I can’t trace.”

“Keep 'em, they might be useful when you get something to work with,” Sutherland offered. “I think you’re still secure down here. Take precautions, though. You and the kid are safe, right?”

Sabine glanced back at Amélie, who was sleeping peacefully on the bed behind her, “Yeah, we are, Pete,” she smiled. “We took a little diversion, but we’re going to get back on the road again tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure that I didn’t need to look over my shoulder.”

“Yeah, I get you, kid,” the soldier replied. “Keep yourself safe. You going to be on this number for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Sabine agreed. “At least till something else happens. If I change it, I’ll text you the new number, ok?”

“Yeah, good. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. I sounded out the boys, by the way. They think it all smells real funny, too. I can’t say they’re on team Knight yet, but they’re not going to blow your head off on sight, ok?”

“That’s something,” Sabine smirked as she leaned against the balcony railing. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Just wait till I tell Scott that the love of his life is back. The boy will swear his allegiance on the spot.”

Sabine sighed loudly, “I’m hanging up now, Pete, stay safe.”

“On the flipside, Kid.”

Closing the connection, Sabine pocketed the phone and sighed. She hoped very much that she was doing the right thing. Nothing seemed to be going to plan, and she was making it all up as she went along. Every single decision she made felt like it carried more weight than the last, and all of them took her further away from everything she knew. 

Glancing over to look at the little girl, Sabine smiled to herself. Béatrice was worth it, no matter the price she had to pay in return. She owed it to the girl to insulate her from this waking nightmare and allow her the chance to remain innocent. 

 In such a short time, she had truly come to care for the child in ways she never imagined possible. She knew nothing about parenting and even less about womanhood, and yet, here she was playing the role of surrogate mother. She felt unworthy, but she knew that she had to try her best; Béa deserved the best.

Sabine stepped back inside and walked across to the sideboard before pouring herself a glass of whiskey. Dowing it in one go, she poured herself a second glass before dropping heavily into the armchair in the corner of the room. She was tired, more tired than she could remember in a long time, and she knew that their troubles were far from over. Despite this, she felt strangely positive for the first time in days. She and Amélie were safe, and the girl seemed to be adapting to their frantic movement better than she had imagined.

Thinking of Amélie made her think of Francesca. She felt guilty now that she had waited so long to reconnect, but she was eternally grateful that she had done so. Despite their flight from Milan, she finally felt like she had roots somewhere in the world. That somewhere, she finally belonged and mattered. Whether that was Sabine or Ryan, she was not entirely sure. That the question even needed to be asked was more than troubling enough.

Sabine replayed her conversation with Peter Sutherland over again in her mind. It seemed as though Edwards still had his attention focused on the south and Milan rather than tearing up camp to head for Zürich. That meant that either the two men had yet to be missed or that their location was still unknown.

Time was a currency in their predicament, and for once, it felt as though she finally had some in hand. The decision ahead had two forks; in one, she could flee and settle somewhere quiet with the girl and try to live a normal life. On the other hand, she could turn the tables and fight back. Truthfully, there was only one answer that held any water.

There was no way she could live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, nor could she allow Béatrice to grow up the same way. The only choice available to her was to fight back. It gave them the best chance of a real life and the best chance of surviving this mess in one piece. Once they did, they could make decisions about the future.

Sabine paused, her glass halfway to her lips. She was making decisions and declarations that assumed that she had no plans of returning to being Ryan Knight once this nightmare was over. Somehow, every decision was predicated upon the assumption that she would still be Sabine and that she would stay with the girl.

Glancing across the room, Sabine watched the small sleeping form on the bed and felt a strange warmth spread through her heart. She cared deeply for the girl that she had whisked away from the jaws of death. She did not understand fully how she related to those emotions, but after being so alone for so very long, it felt a little bit like the love she had once shared with her parents.

Sabine crushed her eyes shut and gulped down the last of her whiskey. She could not love the child; it wasn’t right. She had to say goodbye eventually for her own good, no matter how much the idea was beginning to feel like a knife to her heart. It was the right thing to do to ensure that she had a loving home and a family. That she could have a place to one day heal from the trauma that she had experienced. In time, she would forget Sabine and live a happy and normal life.

Raising a hand to her cheek, Sabine brushed away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. The idea of leaving the girl felt wrong, and she knew it, but she had to put her own feelings aside and think of Béatrice’s best interests. There was no way that she could have a happy life with her; she needed someone normal, someone without the damage that lurked beneath the surface of Sabine’s fragile mind.

Why did she hate the idea?

Why did it fill her with sorrow to think of ever being apart from the child ever again?

Sabine suddenly felt extremely lonely. Picking up her cellphone, she dialed a number before putting the device to her ear. The device rang three times before it was picked up. “I hope I’m not waking you,” Sabine murmured.

“Not at all,” Francesca replied, a warmth in her voice that made Sabine’s worries feel suddenly so much smaller. “You and the bambina, you are safely in Zürich?”

“A speedbump or two, but we’re ok,” Sabine admitted, deciding not to mention the men on the train. She reasoned that there was little that Francesca could do about it, and she did not need the worry. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I am glad to hear yours also,” Francesca replied, her tone noticeably lightening. “My apartment, it is a little quiet, somehow that feels strange now.”

“I know what you mean. A couple of days, and everything feels so strange.”

Francesca chuckled, “Your world, it has changed a great deal indeed, Mia cara, that is no surprise. You have taken to it again so well, I am proud of you.”

“Nothing much to be proud of,” Sabine frowned.

“I do not blame you for not returning,” Francesca offered. “Knowing what I know now, seeing you again, I am just sorry that I did not know, I would have found a way to reach out. You did not deserve to be alone at a time like that; nobody does.”

“I survived.”

“You should have thrived, not just merely survived,” Francesca scoffed with a hint of anger. “No family, few friends, and failed by the country that you give so much to protect? That is the real travesty here. You did not deserve that. I wish I had been there.”

“Maybe we have that future?”

“This I want,” Francesca asserted. “Whatever happens in your immediate future, know that you will forever have a place here if you want it. I know that a lot must happen, but keep that knowledge, please? I know we did not spend long together, but you became someone very important to me, not just a job. When we reconnect, when you tell me what happened,  I feel as though I failed you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sabine murmured weakly, “There was no way you could have known… hell, I hid it all.”

“No more, do you understand?” Francesca insisted. “There will be no more secrets between us, si?”
Sabine smiled, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” Sabine admitted. “I can’t go to Interlaken, I can’t run, I know that much. They won’t stop looking for us.”

“I did not think you would,” Francesca admitted. Sabine could hear the smile across the phone line. As much as it frustrated her that the woman seemed almost clairvoyant at times, it was surprisingly reassuring that someone knew her so well.

“I’ve got to end this, one way or another. I owe it to Béatrice, I owe it to all those people killed.”

“You owe it to yourself, too,” Francesca pointed out. “Do not forget that. You deserve peace.”

“At what cost?”

“One you will gladly pay in time, one that will repay you in years to come,” the woman answered cryptically. “Go to bed, Mia Cara, it is late. We will talk soon.”

“Good night, Francesca,” Sabine murmured. “It was good to hear your voice.”

“And you, ciao, bella.”

Sabine closed the call and stared at her phone with a half smile on her lips. Somehow, after a single phone call, she felt so much more certain about her chances. Knowing that someone out there in the world gave a damn about her gave her more confidence than she could have imagined. She was going to work this problem, and she would do her job; for Béatrice, for Francesca, for Tom, and… for herself.

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

June 2nd, 2014 - Zürich, Switzerland.

Sabine was propped up in bed scrolling through her cellphone as she browsed the morning news. There had been no mentions of a shooting in Milan, and there were no public alerts out about her or the child. Both were good news, but it only served to confirm what she already suspected: that the Agency was keeping this entire mess under tight control until it cleaned house.

That aside, it was positive, because it meant that it was far less likely that a random stranger would recognise a photograph on the television. On the other hand, it was equally bad as it meant that the Agency would be coming for her a lot harder the next time she crossed paths with them.

Regardless, as things stood, she had a relatively clean break. As long as they left Zürich that day, they were reasonably sure of some breathing room from pursuit. If she were alone, she could move far faster, but with a child in tow, she needed all the extra time she could get.

Sabine was startled when a small body wriggled over under the duvet and snaked a pair of arms around her thigh. Lifting the bedding, she found Amélie gazing up at her with wide innocent eyes, “Bonjour!”

“Morning, bed bug,” Sabine smiled, putting down her cellphone. “Did you sleep ok?”

Amélie yawned and nodded, “I like the big bed, it’s snuggly.”

Sabine stroked the girl’s hair and gazed at the room around them. It was a good hotel; not the Oriental, admittedly, but it was more than comfortable enough for their present needs. With cash not being on their list of current problems, it allowed her another deviation from their expected behavior. Protocol would dictate that she stay somewhere cheap and anonymous, a place where they would be invisible; somewhere that would not ask for cards or ID. The Zürich City Plaza was none of those things, but then, she had a clean identity to use and the image of a casual tourist to maintain.

“When we find somewhere more long-term, you’ll have your own bed.”

“Will I go to school there?”

“Sure,” Sabine nodded. Internally, she cursed herself; there she was, making more permanent plans. It felt easier and easier to say, but it was so very hard to swallow.

“What will it be like?” Amélie asked, leaning against Sabine.

“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “We have a lot to do first, before we get there. I hate dragging you around everywhere. This can’t be easy for you, huh?”

“It’s ok,” Amélie admitted sadly. “I miss my brother, and I miss Mama.”

“I know you do, Chérie,” Sabine sighed, a lump in her throat.  “I would give anything to bring them back to you. Maybe one day, when you’re older, I can explain this in a way that will make sense to you. Hell, I wish it made sense to me.”

“Bad men want to hurt us?”

“How did you?”

“I’m four, I’m not stupid,” Amélie pouted.

“I guess not,” Sabine shook her head. “Yeah, bad men. But I’ll keep you safe, you understand that, right? Nobody is ever going to hurt you as long as I’m here.”

“So you won’t leave me?” The girl asked quietly. “You said to Nonna Francesca that you wanted to find me a real home.”

“I uh…” Sabine balked, sitting up straighter in the bed. “I didn’t mean that quite that way.”

“I don’t want to find a new home,” Amélie answered earnestly. “I want to stay with you.”

Sabine wasn’t sure what to say. She had so little experience with children and being a parent. For a four-year-old, Amélie seemed startlingly certain about her opinions and seemed far more aware than Sabine had given her credit for. Changing her approach, Sabine decided to treat her more like an adult.

“I don’t know if I can keep you,” Sabine offered softly. “Wouldn’t you want a nice home with a mother, a father, and maybe some brothers and sisters? Somewhere safe to grow up and learn? Somewhere normal?”

Amélie shook her head, “I want you, I like you.”

Sabine sighed, “You won’t be safe with me, Chérie. You would be better off somewhere where people aren’t trying to look for us. On top of that…” Sabine hesitated. “You know that I’m not really a girl, right?”

Amélie furrowed her brow, “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not,” Sabine repeated gently. “This is just so we can move around easier. People were looking for Ryan, but they were not looking for a girl. To everyone, they see a mother and a daughter, which means we can be safer.”

“You’re a much better girl than you were a boy.”

Sabine almost choked, “I uh, I’m just pretending. You know what pretending is, right?”

“Like make-believe?”

“Yeah,” Sabine nodded, “Pretending is where you act like you’re something else, but it’s just make-believe for a reason.”

Amélie sat up and scrunched up her face, “Non.”

“Non?” Sabine raised an eyebrow, “I can promise you, I am.”

The little girl shook her head, “You behave more like a girl.”

“Oh, well, I guess you’re the expert,” Sabine chuckled. “I guess, for now, it helps. But it won’t be forever.”

“You should,” Amélie declared defiantly, “Girls are much better.”

Sabine swiveled her legs out of the bed before looking back at the child, “Oh, I should, should I? I’ll make sure I take note of that. For now, though, I’ve gotta pee.”

“Big girls sit and wipe front to back,” Amélie chorused.

Sabine rolled her eyes as she headed for the bathroom. She was not expecting to be ambushed about her identity by a preschooler first thing in the morning, nor was she quite ready to consider it herself. This parenting gig was almost as much trouble as taking on the Central Intelligence Agency.

Shutting the bathroom door behind herself, Sabine approached the sink and leaned against the counter. Staring into the mirror, she squinted at her reflection in the glass. Even like this, she still looked concerningly female, despite her lack of makeup or feminine clothing. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail and was sticking out at odd angles from a restless night of sleep.

Stripping out of the T-shirt and Panties that she had worn to bed, Sabine looked away from the traitorous glass and turned on the shower. Waiting a moment for the water to warm, she stepped under the jets and allowed them to pound into her tired muscles. She wanted to dive under the shower fully and immerse herself in the steaming hot water, but Francesca had been insistent; she was not to get her extensions wet for the first 48 hours. Reluctantly, she soaped up and washed herself down.

As she showered, she thought about the child sitting outside in the bedroom. She had grown unusually close to her over the last several days, closer than she would ever have imagined she might become with another human being. Whether it was the trauma they shared from their flight from danger or their shared status as orphans, something had bonded them at a primal level. Sabine felt more than simply responsible for the girl’s safety; she wanted her around. She yearned to make the child happy.

Whenever Amélie asked her about something, or Sabine took the time to teach her or explain something, she felt a moment of deep pride as the girl understood and grew. Was this what parents felt? Did they take an active joy in their child’s development and progress?

The idea of keeping the girl was a pipedream, one that she knew she could never allow herself to entertain. The sensible thing to do was to keep her safe until she was able to find her somewhere permanently, somewhere safe. She had to keep her job focused on getting them to safety and finding the girl a real family, as she had promised.

The seed of a feeling was beginning to grow within Sabine that made her feel decidedly uncertain about that plan. At a primal level, she was starting to realize that she wanted to stay with Béatrice. Somewhere deep down, she was beginning to imagine a life together, and she was excited about the idea. It was a feeling that surged every time she helped the girl learn, whenever she held her hand or earned one of her beautiful little smiles.

What if she wanted to be the girl’s… parent for real?

As it stood, on paper, she was in fact Amélie Garnier’s mother, but that could not last. Would she one day become Ryan Knight’s daughter? Was it possible, in the unlikely event that she managed to clear her name, that the Agency would allow this to continue? Allowing herself to hope could only end in tears for both of them, she knew that. The truth was, however, that the more she told herself it was never going to last, the more she began to want it.

Tom Spencer would have had an answer for her, she realized. He would have understood her predicament and known exactly the right thing to tell her. So would Francesca, but the truth was that neither of them could help at the moment. Here, they were entirely on their own. They had nobody else to turn to and only their wits to keep them alive.

Sabine’s mind flashed back to her escape and evasion training during her time at the Farm. Alone in the woods in the middle of the night, no compass, food, or map, but… Sabine frowned and stopped washing in the middle of soaping her leg. She had not been alone during that exercise; she had been with a friend. A woman that she had met during her induction into the Agency, a woman she had leaned on as much as she had her. A woman that at this moment, was in Paris.

It was an insane idea, but somehow, the idea of returning to Paris felt like exactly the thing that Tom Spencer would have laughed at and called a fantastic idea. It was so insanely stupid that it was probably one of his top suggestions. By returning to Paris, their base of operations, she would be in the one place that they would never look for her. Nobody in their right mind would do such a stupid thing.

Most importantly, Paris was where they all lived. That meant that not only would she be able to potentially access her own apartment, but she could gain access to Edwards' residence, too. The man would be halfway across Europe tracking her down, while she would be breaking into his apartment to search for evidence. She was right, it was an incredibly dangerous idea, but it was potentially the best one she had to date. She was going to need help if she was to pull this off, and she knew exactly who she would need.

 

 

March 12th, 2006,  Camp Peary, Virginia.

Ryan crept forward and settled down into the shadows beneath a tall oak tree. He rubbed his eyes, trying to encourage them to focus better, but his exhaustion was beginning to get the better of him. They were in the middle of a night exercise to locate and penetrate an enemy compound, but he was starting to get turned around in the endless woodland of Camp Peary. They had been up since four that morning, and now, it was a little after midnight. He was cold, tired, and he wanted it all to be over.

Better known as the Farm within the intelligence community, Camp Peary, Virginia, was formally referred to as Armed Forces Experimental Training Activity Center. The facility played host to the Clandestine Service Trainee Program, where recruits from the CIA and other US Intelligence agencies underwent their training.

At the moment, Ryan was just about hanging on by the skin of his teeth. He had been recruited out of college by one of his professors, and somehow, to his very great surprise, he had made it through the vetting and recruitment process to join the Central Intelligence Agency. Once there, he was filtered by his skills and psychological profile before being sent off to join the Directorate of Operations.

“Knight, is that you?” a voice whispered sharply through the darkness.

Ryan’s head snapped around and spotted a dark shape hunched a few yards away. Squinting, he was able to make out a shock of dark hair and a pale face. “Patterson?”

The shape moved forward at a hunch, followed by two other figures in the darkness. “Thought that was you,” Claire Patterson, one of the other trainees, grinned. “Real cold out tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, just a little,” Ryan agreed as the others drew close enough for him to make out their faces. Patterson was accompanied by two other women. He recognized them from lectures and training, but he had never spoken to them outside of general platitudes. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” A short blonde smiled back, her breath misting in the air before her. The other woman, a stocky brunette, just nodded a greeting and kept her jaw firmly set.

“This is Sarah Harding and Monica Scott. They’re both DIA.”

“Defense Intelligence Agency, huh? Cool.” Ryan nodded.

While they had not been told to segregate into groups based on their parent agencies, it had happened somewhat organically. While staying at Camp Peary, the candidates were split into two dorms, one for the men and one for the women. They had communal showers for each dorm and otherwise spent all of their time together. When not sleeping or washing, they ate together in the mess, and they worked together during training and classwork. With cliques forming between the various parent agencies, along with those with military backgrounds and civilian, it was starting to feel a little like high school at times for Ryan. Admittedly, there were just a few more guns than at his last school.

“So what’s the plan?” Patterson asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going in the right direction,” Ryan admitted. “The assholes I was grouped up with ditched me and took off east; they were convinced it was the right direction.”

“They’re going to be a bit damp then,” Monica piped up. “That’s the York River.”

“I tried to tell them that,” Ryan sighed. “The big one, Davis? He’s convinced he’s a Navy Seal, and he claimed he was following the moss and the moon, or some shit.”

“Men,” Monica muttered under her breath, just loud enough to make Ryan’s cheeks color slightly.

“Nah, we’re not far, if my math is right,” Claire offered. “We came from the north, which means if we keep the Beaverdam Pond on our left, then we’re going to be a couple of hundred yards away. The compound should be dead ahead.”

“Want to work together?” Ryan offered hopefully. “I’m a little turned around, and my idiots decided they preferred washing out, literally.”

“Yeah, sure,” Claire nodded. “I saw you on the range, you’re pretty good with a pistol, might come in handy if we bodge this thing.”

“Fair enough,” Ryan agreed. “Lead on then.”

The small group moved through the woodland with renewed confidence. While they had been split into groups by their instructors, the real objective had been mission success. Wildly different personality types had been grouped together to cause division and sow conflict between the candidates, a psychological game to increase the difficulty of what was potentially a relatively straightforward objective. One made far more potent by the exhaustion stripping away normal civil behavior.

Patterson had been right; they had been little more than a few hundred yards from the target compound, a fortress built from shipping containers and plywood that looked surprisingly Middle-Eastern for the Virginia woodland. Stopping the group just inside the woodline, they settled down to observe their target.

“What do you think?” Harding asked, her eyes scanning the compound. “I don’t see any cameras.”

“Doesn’t mean that they’re not there,” the other DIA candidate, Scott, opined dryly.

Patterson withdrew her pistol from its holster and checked that the weapon was loaded with the simulation rounds that they were using for the exercise, “One way to find out. Anyway, if we find anything in there, I can take care of it. Better that they didn’t find out who hit the place than not see us coming.”

“She has a point,” Ryan nodded. “If we’re fast, we can be in before it matters, solve it on the fly, and clean up afterwards. This whole thing is about getting us to improvise under stress, right?”

“Sounds good to me,” Harding shrugged.

The group took a moment to prepare themselves and check over their equipment. Once they were satisfied, they set off down the slope and out of the treeline. The compound itself was only fifty feet from the edge of the trees, and they covered the distance quickly and quietly. No alarms sounded, and no guards were spotted.

Once they were against the white painted walls of the containers, they started moving along the edge until they reached the corner. Patterson, leading the way, took a moment to peek briefly around the edge before darting back into cover.

“Two guards at the entrance, about sixty feet away. They’re not looking this way, but they’re going to be a problem.”

“No other ways in?” Scott asked.

“Solid wall,” Patterson shook her head.

Ryan glanced up. “The walls are only single container height, we could go over?”

“Not bad,” Patterson agreed. “Scott, Knight, you guys boost me up, and I can give us a hand, ok?”

The two candidates got themselves into position and created a stable platform to lift Patterson up. Carefully climbing up them, she reached up and grasped the top edge of the container before pulling herself up and over the top. Vanishing from sight, she reappeared moments later, her head and shoulders silhouetted by the moonlight. One by one, with the help of Patterson, the remaining three silently climbed up to join her atop the container wall. Remaining prone on top of the metalwork, they observed the inner spaces of the compound.

The space was roughly the size of a football field and was laid out with containers, portacabins, and old junk cars to resemble a small town in some far-off desert nation. There were several fires burning in oil drums, and shadowy figures could be seen patrolling within the walls.

“Where do you think the briefcase is?”

Ryan shook his head, “Not sure, what about you two?” he asked, glancing over at the two DIA candidates.

Harding bit her lip and squinted out into the darkness, “Most of the guards are making repeated passes by the prefab on the far left, the one with the barrel fire. If it were me, I’d put it in there.”

“That’s a fair bet,” Scott agreed.

“Ok,” Patterson nodded. “Let’s move. Stay quiet as long as we can, and we might have the element of surprise if we need it. I still don’t see any cameras, but play it safe. Scott, Harding, drop down and work over there low, I’ll go with Knight up here, and we can make a pincer.”

The two DIA candidates nodded and slipped down into the compound and vanished into the darkness. Claire Patterson rolled over to face Ryan and offered him a hand up. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ryan nodded, accepting the hand up. The two stayed hunched low as they moved along the top of the containers. “Those two seem to listen to you. I thought the DIA guys were super standoffish.”

“The guys, maybe,” Patterson whispered back. “The women? We’re already at a disadvantage with the instructors by virtue of being female. It makes us a bit more practical than you guys running around waving your dicks around trying to be the alpha.”

“Fair point,” Ryan conceded, cautiously stepping between two containers. “Stop, guard ahead.”

The two hunched down and stayed motionless as a guard in black fatigues strolled past beneath them, a rifle slung over his shoulder. After he had moved on, the pair resumed their progress. “You seemed to be getting ok with the guys before, what changed?”

Ryan made a face that was unseen in the darkness. “Nothing really changed; most of them were always massive a-holes. I just wasn’t willing to stomp around Chesapeake Bay all night until they realized that they were wrong.”

“The staff wants to weed out those who can’t play well with others,” Claire whispered. “That’s why they always force different cliques and groups together during these exercises; it forces us to overcome and complete the mission regardless.”

Ryan held up a hand to indicate stop, and the pair fell silent. A quick hand signal indicated two guards below them. Claire gestured over the side of the container and hesitated for a moment before miming sleep.

Ryan nodded his understanding and followed Patterson’s lead as she slipped silently off the edge of the container and crept closer to the pair of guards. The two men were standing on the edge of the pool of light cast by a barrel fire outside the target building. Both men were talking at a low volume and seemed to be relatively relaxed. From what Ryan could hear, it was about a recent football game that the pair had bet money on.

Approaching silently, Ryan took the man on the left and Patterson took the right. On her nod, he leapt forward and wrapped an arm around the neck of the man while his other hand covered the man’s mouth. In less than 10 seconds, the man went limp in his arms. Easing the man down so he wasn’t hurt, Ryan took the man’s weapon and cleared the action before tossing it under one of the nearby cars. Glancing over to his right, Ryan saw that Patterson had done the same thing.

The darkness moved behind her left shoulder, and Ryan drew his pistol quickly, aiming for the target as it came forward into the light. Almost as quickly as he did so, he lowered his weapon as he recognized the shapes of Scott and Harding. Turning his attention back to the target building, he waited until he felt a tap on his shoulder before moving forward.

The interior of the cabin looked like a typical office on a construction site with several desks, filing cabinets, and a station holding a still-warm coffee pot. On a table in the center of the office, a silver metal briefcase was lying untouched, as if placed waiting for their attention.

Harding stepped forward towards the briefcase before her partner Scott held out an arm, blocking her path, “Wait,” she whispered. “Something’s not right about this.”

“Too easy,” Patterson agreed. “Where is everyone?”

“Nah, room’s too small,” Scott repeated, her eyes squinting as if measuring by sight alone. “Outside, it was forty feet; in here, it’s missing like ten.”

“You sure?”

The woman nodded, her eyes scanning the space warily.

Ryan glanced over at a bookcase set against the wall on the left side of the office. The floor in the office was old linoleum, its surface weathered by many feet over the years. There was mud tracked into the space that was smudged across large areas of the floor, except for an arc that traced back to the edge of the wall. “The bookcase, it’s a door,” Ryan muttered to Patterson under his breath. “Don’t look over.”

“Trap?”

Ryan nodded, “Probably. You see any power cables running in here?”

“Outside, on the left,” Scott offered.

“Head back outside, give me a ten count, then cut it. Then cover us.”

Scott nodded and casually made her exit from the office. Ryan withdrew the spare pistol magazine from his belt and emptied the bullets into his hand. Looking over at the others, he glanced at the briefcase and inclined his head towards the door. “As soon as the power goes out, it won’t affect us, but it will affect them. Grab the case and get out of here with Scott. We’ll cause a fuss and follow behind.”

Harding nodded, and after a few more seconds had passed, there was a fizz and the red light on the coffee pot went out. Harding ran for the case and snatched it off the table. As she did so, Ryan snatched a clipboard off one of the walls and jammed it under the foot of the bookcase.

Turning, he followed Harding and Patterson as they made their exit. Almost exactly at the same moment, Ryan heard a loud thumping and a yell from behind them. Without stopping to find out who it was, he raced outside to find the others waiting for him, briefcase in hand. Tossing the handful of bullets into the barrel fire beside the cabin, he gestured at the top of the containers. “Up there, let's go!”

The group hopped into a car and pulled themselves up onto the containers. As they did so, the rounds in the fire began to cook off with loud pops and cracks behind them. Ryan ran as hard as he could, following the others as they vaulted gaps between the containers and continued their run back the way they had come. Behind them, loud yells and barked orders could be heard from the startled guards as they struggled to comprehend what had just happened to them. Reaching the end of the row, they dropped down onto the grass.

As soon as Ryan’s feet touched the grass, huge floodlights exploded to life, bathing the entire area in white light, “Endex. All trainees, End Exercise."

Ryan stopped dead, protecting his eyes from the blinding lights. Beside him, the others were doing similarly. A few moments passed, and a group of figures stepped out of the darkness and into the pool of light. All of them were wearing the black fatigues of the training staff.

“Whose bright idea was that shit?” the Chief instructor, Barret, asked as he strode forward, a deep scowl on his face. The man was in his late fifties and held a passing resemblance to the actor Sam Elliot. At the moment, his moustache was twitching with irritation.

“I uh, it was kinda a team effort, Sir,” Claire offered, speaking for the group. “We didn’t really have a leader as such, we kinda made it up on the fly.”

“You made that stunt up? Really?”

“Yes, sir,” Claire nodded, glancing at the others. “We had to improvise, and when Trainee Scott spotted that the room was too small, we figured that it was part of the exercise.”

“I have never had to be let out of my observation room on this exercise before,” Barret huffed. “Two of my men knocked out cold, improvised use of explosives, and damage to the training center… I should fail the lot of you.”

Barrat glared at the group for a moment before sighing, “That is what I would like to do; however, I am afraid that I cannot. Much to my irritation, you were the first and only group to actually make it out with the package during this rotation. On top of that, you managed to bamboozle the drill staff and put two former seals to bed.”

“What Mr Barrat means,” One of the other instructors offered, glancing at the Chief, “Is that you demonstrated the exact elements of flexibility, adaptation, and teamwork that we wanted to see from tonight. You might have caused a mess doing it, but we technically didn’t tell you not to. Plus, Anderson and Kent will get over their little nap.”

Claire’s worried expression shifted to one of mirth, “Yes, sir.”

“There’s a truck waiting on the main road,” Barrat waved a finger vaguely over his shoulder. “Get out of here and get some sleep before I decide to make you clean up your mess.”

Ryan’s heart began to settle as he realized that they were not actually in trouble. With Barrat, you never really knew. The old man was a hardcore veteran of the Company, and he did not tolerate any stupidity. Setting off after the others, he made his exit before they could blame him for his creative use of simmunitions.

“Man, you got yourself knocked out by a bunch of girls?” One of the drill staff joked. “You’re slipping, dude.”

“Man, they came up behind us out of nowhere, it was kinda hot though.” Another voice chuckled.

Ryan kept his head down and did not show any reaction. It was clearly a mistake; he had been working with a group of women, and he was not particularly tall. Correcting the man would cause more embarrassment than it was worth. Setting off at a Jog, Ryan caught up to the others before they had made it past the edge of the compound and fell in step. It did not matter to him that they were women; they had been equally capable in every way. Plus, it was the first time on the course that he had felt like an equal team member rather than an afterthought. He could do far worse.

 

 

June 2nd, 2014 - Near Basel, Switzerland.

Another train and another window. The countryside flashed past as they sped through the French countryside on their way north. They had changed trains at Basel in Switzerland before finally boarding a Paris-bound TGV.

It was true that flying would be faster, especially now that they had good, clean identity documents, but the increased level of scrutiny at airports made that an unattractive prospect. More importantly, if they flew, there was no way that Sabine could bring a weapon with her. Airlines tended to frown upon that sort of thing, especially without any paperwork.

Returning to Paris seemed like a foolhardy decision on the surface, but the more she had thought about it, the more it felt like her only realistic option. While the idea had come to her in the shower, it was one of only two possible angles of attack that were available to her. 

On one hand, she could infiltrate a terror cell in Lebanon and target the Ahmad angle directly. It was less valuable from an intelligence standpoint, given the likely power dynamic at play between Edwards and the now-dead terrorist. Secondly, and most importantly, it was going to be considerably more difficult and dangerous to do as a white woman with a child. Difficult to the point of impossible without the assets of the Agency behind her.

The other option, the one that had seemed so unlikely, was to go after Edwards directly. Edwards. Whichever way she cut it, he was the center of this entire mess, and it was the best place for her to find a real clue. While he was jetting around Europe chasing her tail, he would not be in the one place that she might find answers: his apartment in Paris. 

With French identity documents and her familiarity with the city, she had a good chance of moving around with relative freedom. While the Agency was likely keeping the search for Ryan and the child to themselves, there was every possibility that their images had been circulated to local law enforcement under any number of false pretenses. While it was far less likely to hit, given her current appearance, there was still the chance that little Amélie might be recognized.

“Are you excited to go back to France?” Sabine asked, tucking a lock of hair behind Amélie’s ear.

The little girl looked thoughtful, “I am, people speak funny in Italy and Swizzyland.”

“Do you know why that is?” Sabine asked.

“They speak Swizzyland?”

“They speak different languages, yes. They speak Italian in Italy, and in Switzerland, they speak Italian, German, and French.”

“That sounds confusing.”

“Yeah,  I don’t know about that one,” Sabine grinned. “But it works for them.”

“You’re American, do you speak American?”

“We speak English in America,” Sabine corrected.

“How do you speak French then?”

“I speak a lot of languages for my job,” Sabine pointed out. “English, French, German, Italian, some Arabic.”

“My Papa used to talk Arabic when he was on the telephone,” Amélie offered sadly. “Was that why they took Mama and me? Was Papa a bad man?”

Sabine felt a lump in her throat as she watched the child grapple with what had happened to her. Reaching over, she hugged her into her side, “It’s complicated,” she admitted carefully. “He did some really bad things, and he was friends with very bad people. What happened to him and your Mama was wrong, though.”

“Does that make me bad, too?”

“God, no, Chérie, never,” Sabine gasped. “You’ve done nothing wrong at all, I promise. What happened was not your fault. I can’t bring them back, but I promise, I won’t let anyone ever hurt you. You know that, right?”

Amélie nodded uncertainly, “Does that mean I don’t have to go away?”

Sabine bit her lip and glanced out the window at the speeding scenery. She wanted to say no, she wanted to tell the girl that she would never have to worry ever again. She wanted to tell her that she would never feel scared or lonely, that she would always be there for her. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sabine tried to think of a valid reason to avoid what she wanted to say. She had known the girl for scarcely five days, yet in that time, she had become the child’s sole protector and guardian. She had saved her from certain death and crossed a continent to protect her.

“Mama Sabine?”

Sabine opened her eyes and saw an expectant little face looking up at her. “I uh, I don’t know what the future holds for us, Chérie,” she admitted quietly. “A lot of things could change, or they might not. I would very much like to stay with you, if I can. I don’t know if that’s right, or even sensible. Heck, I don’t even know if it’s even allowed. It all depends on what you want, and I need you to understand that it might not be our choice in the end.”

“Is it because of the bad people?”

“I hope not,” Sabine smiled. “Maybe the good people, the ones that don’t know we’re good too. When they do, and it’s all over, they might want you to live somewhere better.”

“I don’t want somewhere better, I want you.”

“You don’t even know where, hell, I don’t even know where that would be.”

“I don’t mind,” Amélie opined. “We could live anywhere.”

“Well, if I have a job still, maybe we’d have to live…” Sabine hesitated. She was letting herself get carried away. Maybe, she was starting to hope.  “We’ll see.”

“Ok,” Amélie grinned.

“Why don’t you do some coloring?” Sabine offered, nudging the book open on the table before them. “They’ll be serving lunch soon. I bet you could finish that picture before they do.”

The idea seemed to distract the girl. More importantly, it distracted her from a conversation that was proving extremely difficult for Sabine. Doing as she suggested, Amélie returned to her coloring book and continued reinterpreting a flower in her own vision. 

Sabine enjoyed watching the earnest concentration with which the girl worked. It reminded her of an earlier, easier time. A time when she had been so blissfully ignorant of the world around her. The child’s world was a small one and mercifully so. The world outside was cold and cruel. It was the least she could do to try to minimise the pain the poor girl had already suffered.

Sabine crossed her arms and hugged herself. She wished she had someone who could do the same for her. Here she was, alone in a terrifying world with people trying to kill her. Worse yet, she was prancing around in women’s clothes again. What confounded her the most was just how quickly it had all come back to her again. By that morning, being Sabine was already feeling like second nature for her again. It had been years since she had done it, and now, she was finding her groove so easily that it was becoming concerning.

She had dressed that morning in a blue floral maxi skirt and a white long-sleeved T-shirt. Her makeup was minimal but pretty, and her hair was twisted up into a bun behind her head. She looked casual and put together; a casual mom and her daughter traveling home to France. It shouldn’t be that easy, nor should she look the way she did. It all felt so strangely comfortable, which made it far worse. The way she moved, talked, and acted all told the world that she was a woman. Not a single person that she had interacted with seemed in any doubt of that fact.

At least nobody had tried to hit on her yet. That part of Alessandra’s more overt femininity was something that she did not miss. The first time around, Francesca had made her accept the behavior and use it as practice. She had begrudgingly flirted back and feigned interest in any men who approached her. After that, well, she had never wanted to be near one again in that regard.

Things were different this time; she was stronger, and she had a real purpose now. No matter what came, she would handle it because it was the only way that she could see a future for herself and Amélie. She would succeed this time because she wanted to… and that was a powerful feeling.

She wasn’t afraid of anything as trivial as men’s attention anymore. Plus, this time, she could shoot them if they bothered her.

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

14th September, 2009 - Paris, France

“Hey, Knight, you got the Wozniak file?”

Ryan looked up from his computer screen, “Uh, I handed that over to Edwards last night; he should have it.”

Without even a word of reply, the interested party vanished, leaving Ryan’s cubicle undarkened by their presence. His attention irreparably disturbed, he rubbed his eyes and swiveled aimlessly on his chair for a moment as he cleared his mind. He had been combing the accounts of a front business all morning, and he still saw nothing remotely suspicious in the data. Accounting swore up and down it was dirty, but the data didn’t mean a thing to him.

“You look like you’re fit to up and call it a day already,” A female voice chuckled.

Ryan opened his eyes and squinted up at the figure standing in the entryway to his cubicle. “I’m sorr…Holy shit, Claire, is that you?”

The woman grinned at Ryan and jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the station Chief’s office. “Mister Spencer told me that I could find you hiding over here. How long has it been? I see they got you working like a common stiff.”

Claire Patterson was quite the sight to behold. A classmate of Ryan’s at the farm, the two had bonded during the grueling process. With a lean swimmer’s physique, Claire always had the look of an athlete about her, despite never participating in anything more sporty than the occasional run when she felt guilty about dessert. She wore her hair in a short, kicky style that reached the nape of her neck, and her features always seemed to hold a youthful joy. As far as Ryan could see, she had not changed a single bit.

Ryan stood up and hugged his friend, “God, it’s so good to see you. How are you doing?  Wait, are you here in Paris now, or are you just visiting?”

Claire nodded, her smile broad as she returned the embrace, “Yeah, I just got in this morning. I’ve been assigned to Paris Station here with you guys now, so you had best get used to having me around.” Glancing over her shoulder at Spencer’s office, she grimaced, “Your boss is a bit of a hardass, though, isn’t he?”

“Tom? Ah, you get used to him,” Ryan waved a hand. “He’s a good guy with a lot of good lessons to teach. He’s just got one of those personalities that takes a bit of getting used to.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Claire shrugged. “Hey, have you eaten yet? I’ve not had a thing since the flight. Do you want to grab a bite?”

Ryan glanced back at the report on his monitor and reached over to lock the workstation, “Yeah, I‘d love that. I can deal with this crap later.”

Grabbing his jacket, he followed his friend out into the corridor and set off toward the elevator. “God, it feels like forever since I saw you last. Where have you been?”

“They had me bouncing around embassy stations doing this and that,” Claire shrugged. “Ireland, Japan, and I did six months in Australia.”

“Busy,” Ryan agreed as he hit the call button for the elevator

Claire made a face, “Kinda, but it’s been a whole lot of grunt work mostly. They haven’t given me anything good yet. I heard you got an undercover job right out of Langley. I’m dying for details. Can you share anything?”

Ryan bristled, “No, not really.”

The pair stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor of the embassy. Claire looked mildly disappointed but nodded her understanding, “Yeah, I figured you couldn’t. That’s the biz, right? I’m kinda hoping that I can get some action now that I’m here on a more permanent duty. I hear you guys are fairly busy.”

“It’s something alright,” Ryan agreed. “We’re not Frankfurt or Vienna, but we do a lot with Counter Terrorism Command.”

“Still, it’s good to be here,” Claire pointed out as they passed through the security checkpoint. “Feels good to get my feet down somewhere more permanent. Let’s me actually have more to my life than one freaking house plant.”

Ryan grinned. He knew his friend had grown up in rural Wisconsin with a large family. Traveling for their jobs made setting down roots a very difficult prospect, and one that made many long for a comfortable long-term posting.

Exiting the Embassy, they made their way across the busy Place de la Concorde and ordered lunch at a cafe just off Rué de Rivoli. While not as flashy as the many eateries closer to the Seine, it was a familiar haunt for Embassy staff. Most importantly for the Paris station team, it was considerably quieter, and the staff were vetted by the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Intérieure of French Intelligence.

“So,” Claire began as she poked at her salad. “I know you can’t tell me about this Op’ you snagged, but I did hear some rumors when I was back at Langley.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, “Rumors?”

“I heard some talk that an operation went majorly sideways the year before last. It was some cooperation between Middle East and Finance. Apparently, that caused a real stink up to the seventh and nearly got a rookie officer killed.”

Ryan bristled internally but did his best to remain impassive on the exterior, “No? Doesn’t ring any bells.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? I heard your name mentioned a few times. You know how leaky things are back home, especially when there’s decent drama.”

Ryan drained his coffee cup and put it back down with more force than he had intended, resulting in the cup hitting the tabletop with an audible clap. Wincing at the noise, he held up a hand, “Fine, yes, maybe it was. I still can’t, and more importantly, don’t want to talk about it, ok? It’s not you, Claire. I just, it was pretty rough.”

Claire smiled sympathetically, “I won’t bug you for answers anymore, but I heard you were caught up in something shitty. I just wanted to know that you were ok.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Ryan pointed out.

“That’s not what I said.”

Ryan shook his head, “I’m doing better than I was. Let's just say that it’s been a long road and the gas stations suck.”

Claire reached over and squeezed Ryan’s hand over the table. “Dude, I remember how you were when we were at the farm together. Of all of us, you had your shit locked down tight. The other guys treated you like crap, but you just kept on slogging through it and kicked ass. You certainly helped me.”

“You were doing fine on your own,” Ryan pointed out. “I’m pretty sure it was you who dragged me through that night infiltration.”

“That’s cos my ass grew up country, not in some suburban development, like you,” Claire grinned. “Seriously though, you really do seem different, and not good different.”

“What do you know?” Ryan asked, “Or rather, what do you think you know?”

Claire spread her hands on the tabletop, “Undercover operation went bad, and the officer involved sounded a lot like you. Something about Saudi  and sex trafficking.”

“That about sums it up,” Ryan admitted. “Meant to be a dangle and snatch, only, rather than pulling me and closing the trap, something went south, and I got lost. I was in the wind for a month and a half before they got me out.”

Claire breathed out quickly, “Jesus, that sounds shitty. Was it… Bad?”

Ryan blushed and looked away, “Yes.”

“I don’t need to know any more unless you ever want to tell me,” Claire offered. “Shit like that can eat you up if you don’t share it or get it out some way. Either way, it’s your choice, and I’ll respect it, but always know that I’m here if you need it. Till then, it’s case closed, and I’ve forgotten already.”

Ryan smiled gratefully, “Look, maybe one day I might tell you what happened. Right now, it’s still something that I’m processing as best I can. On top of that, it is classified, despite this place being all sieve-like as per usual.”

Claire nodded, “It always is. Welcome to the CIA, I guess.”

Ryan signalled for a waiter to pay their bill. “This crap aside, it will be good to get to work with you finally. Do you know your tasking yet?”

“DDI, Directorate of Digital Innovation," Claire replied, pretending to buff her nails. “They’re letting me be a digital super spy.”

Ryan shook his head as he handed the waiter his card to pay the bill. “That does sound like you. Maybe they’ll let you out into the field occasionally to see how us Ops Schmucks do it, huh?”

“Once in a while, for bad behavior,” Claire smirked as she shouldered her handbag.

“I’m sure they’ll let the mighty Claire-bear out of her dark cupboard once in a while.”

Claire went immediately red at Ryan’s use of the nickname, “Shit, you can’t use that name in front of anyone here, or my rep will be dead,” she pleaded. “I told you that nickname in confidence.

“What, and find out that the Admiral calls his daughter by a pet name?” Ryan grinned. “Anyway, you told me that fair and square, but sure, your secret is safe with me.”

Claire rolled her eyes at the most overused expression in the CIA. “I don’t trust you, but I can’t kill you.”

“I won’t harm your hard-earned reputation; you can do that by yourself,” Ryan winked. “Speaking of which, we had best be getting back before Tom goes from hard ass to pain in the ass.”

Claire hesitated for a moment, “There was one thing I did want to say, before we head back and have to act like professional governmental types again.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed, “Go on?”

Claire looked at him for a moment, her eyes flicking over him analytically, as though she was sizing him up for some unknown reason. “You know, I did hear one more thing about that job. It didn’t come easy; I had to drag it out of a guy over a lot of drinks and tickets to the Commanders. He said something about the agent on the operation being a chick.”

Despite his training at the farm and the unorthodox lessons of Tom Spencer, Ryan’s poker face was still woefully inadequate when it came to certain topics. His tell was small, but it was more than enough for Claire Paterson’s eyebrows to shoot up, “I would have loved to have seen it, you know.”

 

 

June 2nd, 2014 - Paris, France

There was something about being back in Paris that felt like a homecoming to Sabine. Having grown up in the United States, she had never even owned a passport until she went to work for the Agency. To her regret, her first experience of overseas travel had been the nightmare that was Operation Orsino. It was certainly not the best way to experience the world.

After that, she had bounced around a few embassy stations and made a few trips before she was finally posted to Paris. With no family at home in the US, she went where the Agency sent her, never really considering anywhere a permanent stop. Little did she know that the French capital would come to mean so much to her.

For Sabine, Paris was the first place that had felt like she belonged as an adult. She understood the people and the culture; it made sense to her. It was such a busy city, a melting pot of cultures and a vivid tapestry of art and music, things that she dearly loved. One thing she did not miss, however, was the traffic.

Outside Paris’ eastern station, the Gare de Lyon, the roads were choked with vehicles. This was not unusual at this time of the afternoon, but today it seemed especially bad. Their train had arrived at four thirty, and despite nearly twenty minutes having passed, they had yet to cross the River Seine, which flowed less than a block away. Thankfully, their destination was not particularly far, if they ever got moving, that is.

Ordinarily, Sabine would have used the Paris metro to navigate the city like most of its residents. Like Subways the world over, it was a fast and efficient way of covering the city. That being said, it still had its dangers, and at rush hour, it was packed to capacity. With their present circumstances and a small child in tow, she had not wanted to take the chance. In addition, surface streets made it considerably easier to spot any tails than a crowded subway system.

As they finally moved further from the station, the traffic began to ease, and they crossed the river heading south into more the residential parts of Paris. It was amusing for Sabine to watch Amélie as they drove. It was clear that the little girl was incredibly excited to be back in France, and it was her first time in Paris. As they drove, she remained glued to the window of the cab, taking in all the sights and sounds of the city.

Briefly, Sabine wondered what it might be like to properly show her the sights of Paris; to take her to see the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower, to visit Notre Dame or any of the other beautiful sights of the French capital. Just to spend time together and soak up more of her childlike awe as she took in the world around her would be a delight. The idea gave her a surprising feeling of warmth. Maybe if they got themselves out of this in one piece, a few days might not hurt.

Clear of the densest traffic on the main thoroughfares of the city, they made better progress. After twenty minutes, the driver dropped them off at their destination, a budget hotel on Rue De Tolbiac.  It wasn’t their actual destination, but it was a generic enough location to warrant no special interest should the man be asked about any unusual passengers. A mother and a daughter heading from a station to a hotel were of no interest to a man who saw forty or fifty passengers in a day.

Their true destination was only a short walk from the hotel on a quiet residential street dominated by white fronted mid-century apartment buildings. It was a street that could be found all over Paris, its pavements lined by cramped parking and buildings just tall enough to block out the road noise from the traffic passing a short distance away.

Finding the correct building, Sabine located a familiar buzzer and hesitated for a moment. She was making a huge gamble, and she knew it. Both Tom Spencer and Francesca had always told her to trust her gut, and at that moment, her gut told her that she needed help.

If her objectives here in Paris were to be successful, she could not complete them by herself. She needed someone inside the Agency, but without a connection to the Nice operation. She needed someone who would trust her, despite her current appearance and circumstances. Whether that was possible was going to become clear in the next five minutes.

Pressing the buzzer, she waited for several nerve-wracking seconds before it was finally answered with a crackle of static, “Allo?”

“Hello, Madame Patterson?” Sabine asked in French, hoping that it disguised her voice more than normal. “I was sent by a friend of yours. I need to speak to you about a matter of great importance, he said that you can be trusted.”

“Uh, sure…” the voice replied, a hint of wariness more than evident. “Come up, I guess.” A moment later, the buzzer rang out, and the door clicked open.

“Where are we going?” Amélie asked, following along with Sabine as they took the stairs up to the third floor.

“We’re going to see a friend of mine, remember? I’m hoping she can help us.”

“Is she like Nonna Francesca?”

“No, nothing like that,” Sabine shook her head, a slight smile on her lips. “She works with me, and I’m hoping she’s not going to turn us in to the bad men.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because technically, she should,” Sabine admitted with a deep sigh. “I’m hoping she believes us instead.”

“Will she believe me?” Amélie asked earnestly.

Sabine smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair, “Anyone would believe you, Chérie.”

Finally reaching the third floor, they found apartment thirty-nine a short distance down the hallway. Reaching over, Sabine hit the doorbell and stood back, her hands clasped non threateningly in front of her, where they were visible to the person inside.

After an excruciatingly long moment, the door unlocked and opened part way as a woman with short dark hair stared out at them suspiciously. She looked at Sabine for a moment, clearly not recognising her, before glancing down at Amélie with a slight frown. “Can I help you?” she asked slowly in French.

Sabine smiled sheepishly and switched to English, “I really hope so, Claire. I think you’re about our last hope.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t…?”

Sabine sighed and rolled her eyes, “Put the gun away, Claire-bear, and let us in; I’d rather not have this conversation out here in the corridor.”

Claire Patterson’s eyes went wide, “Ryan? What the… is that you?!”

Sabine blushed and nodded, “Yeah, I, uh, it’s me. Look, I can explain everything, but can you let us in first?”

Claire nodded slowly, unable to take her eyes off Sabine as she opened the door wide. With her other hand, she slid the Glock pistol she had been concealing back into the rear of her waistband. “What the he…ck is going on?” she corrected herself, glancing quickly down at Amélie again. “You’re a priority kill/capture. What the heck are you doing back here in Paris?”

Sabine hurried Amélie inside and closed the door behind them. Once they were safely inside the apartment, she leaned back against the door and nodded. “Yeah, I know that they’re looking for me. It’s been a complicated week. That’s why, well, this,” Sabine admitted, gesturing at her body.

“I’m going to circle back to that gorgeous skirt in just a second,” Claire raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming that this little angel is Béatrice Laurent? Do you want to explain exactly what it is you did?”

Sabine knelt down beside Amélie and gave her hand a squeeze, “Chérie, this is my friend Claire, she’s the one we were coming to visit.”

“Bonjour,” Amélie offered uncertainly, trying to hide slightly behind Sabine in a sudden fit of shyness.

“Hey there, cutie,” Claire offered, giving the girl a smile before looking over at Sabine, “This you’re going to have to explain in very painful detail, because my head is spinning six ways to Sunday.”

Sabine straightened Amélie’s shirt and gave her nose an affectionate boop with her finger, “Hey, why don’t you go into the living room over there and get your book out? If you finish that cat you’re working on, you can show it to Tante Claire.”

“Ok,” Amélie beamed, grabbing her backpack and skipping through to the sitting room at the end of the corridor.

When she was gone, Sabine stood up and faced her friend, “Thanks for not getting weird about this, Claire.”

“Oh, I’m plenty weird about it,” Claire shook her head slowly. “Do you wanna tell me why you decided that this was the right moment to rock out with your frock out? Like, you’re on the run from the CI fucking A, Ry… fuck. 

Claire grinned and rolled her eyes, “I can’t keep calling you Ryan, looking like that. Sure, I know some girls are called Ryan, but it doesn’t look like it fits you right now. What are you using?”

“Sabine Garnier.”

“Sabine,” Claire mused. “That does seem a little more normal. “I’m guessing she’s not going by her legal name either?”

“Amélie Garnier,” Sabine admitted.

“Cute,” Claire observed. “So where were we… oh yes. You were going to explain what the heck is going on? They could have my job and throw me in jail just for failing to report that I’ve seen you, never mind helped you,” Claire pointed out tersely.

“I didn’t do what they said,” Sabine held up her hands. “It’s all a lie; Edwards is filthy dirty. I have proof that he called in the strike, and I was there when he killed Tom.”

“Jesus,” Claire cursed. “All they told us here was that Chief Spencer and several other people were dead and something about a terrorist bombing in Nice. There’s a whole mess about a kid being taken and you being responsible for all of it. CTC Europe took over, and it’s been need to know ever since.”

“Edwards killed Tom in cold blood,” Sabine explained. “He shot Marianne Laurent and ordered the strike that took out Abbas Ahmad. He was going to kill the kid, too, but I grabbed her and ran.”

“That’s wild,” Claire admitted. Tom? Really?”

“There is something rotten in the Paris office, and Tom paid with his life. He believed me, and he died because of it. I showed him proof; I have a recording of the strike and the murder of Laurent. It’s not concrete on its own, but it’s something.”

“When they told us, I didn’t know what to think; no matter what the hell they said you did, you’re not that kind of guy,” Claire made a face. “Well, you’re not… at the moment any kind of guy. Do you want to explain that part?”

Sabine blushed, which was an achievement, because she felt as though her cheeks had been glowing with embarrassment since her friend had answered the door. That Claire was still entertaining her made it important that she was as honest as possible. “Do you remember when you first got to Paris, you told me that you wished that you had gotten to see who went undercover on Operation Orsino? Well, take a good look.”

Claire’s eyebrows went up, “I mean, I had an idea, but it was nothing like this. Did you really look like this during that mission?”

“Not quite like this,” Sabine admitted sheepishly. “My cover back then was a lot more, well, more.”

“More than this? Damn,” Claire looked surprised. “I know that my friend Ryan is under there, but I’ll be damned if I can tell. You really do make it look effortless. How are you doing that?”

“It’s not, I’ve just had a lot of practice,” Sabine muttered with a sigh. “Preparing for Orsino was a lot of work and, well, I learned too much about stuff I didn’t wish to,” she added, plucking at her skirt.

“In this case, they had my photograph out to local law enforcement, and they were searching for me. You know that a lone guy and a child draw way more attention traveling than a mom and a daughter. Nobody’s likely to ask questions about why she’s with me and whether I’m really her father.”

“You don’t look like anyone’s father at the moment,” Claire grinned. “So go on, from the top. I want to know all the sordid details of this crap, or I’ll be dialing the director’s office.”

“You don’t have his number.”

“Director of Janitorial at the embassy,” Claire shrugged. “Get on with it.”

Over the next twenty minutes, Sabine retold the entire tale of their ordeal, from the beginning of the operation in Nice to their arrival in Paris that afternoon. She left no detail undisclosed and no event unclear, including the incident with the two men aboard the train. Somehow, being able to finally share it with someone who she knew understood the work was a significant relief.

“Look, I’ll totally understand if you don’t want to help us,” Sabine offered after she was done telling her tale. “Just please give us a head start before you call it in, for old time’s sake, eh?”

“Call it in?” Claire repeated, as though the words tasted strange in her mouth. “You have got to be kidding me. There is no god damn way that I’m letting them hurt a kid or get away with this bullshit. Fuck ‘em all.”

“So that’s a yes, you will help?”

“Sure as hell,” Claire nodded.

“You want to hear the tape?”

Claire shook her head, “No, I trust you, and trust doesn’t require proof. If you say you have it, then we’ll get it to those that will listen and nail this dickhead to the wall. Anyway, I have all the proof I need; nobody in this world is insane enough to feed me that much bullshit and turn up in a dress to do it.”

“Skirt,” Sabine clarified.

“Whatever,” Claire waved a hand. “For real though, how’s the kid handling all of this?”

“Not well, but better than I could have hoped,” Sabine admitted, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the living room. “Her world is a mess, and she’s aware enough to know that. I’m really not coping so well with it.”

“You seem to be doing ok,” Claire offered. “At least what I saw seemed pretty normal.”

“These days, I have no idea what normal is,” Sabine sighed.

“I know that for sure,” Claire agreed. “Seriously though, I’m really happy that you’re alive and you’re doing ok. You did the right thing; I’m not sure if I would have been brave enough to do the same.”

Sabine shook her head, “It wasn’t bravery. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” Claire nodded. “I’ve seen enough in this job to know that by now. Come on, let’s go see this cat masterpiece. I think I want to get to know the little angel if you’re going to run around calling me Tante.”

 

 

Claire Patterson’s apartment was not large, but there was enough room to put Sabine and Amélie up in her spare room without it being too much of an imposition. While it was significantly smaller than Francesca’s palatial abode back in Milan, it had a more homely familiarity that put them both at ease. Amélie had been quite taken with Claire after she got over her initial shyness. Already an aunt to her sister’s daughter back in Norfolk, Claire knew all the right things to say to butter up a precocious four-year-old. In no time at all, the pair were as thick as thieves, much to Sabine’s own amusement.

They had eaten well, and Amélie had been put to bed a little after eight that evening. It was a routine that Sabine was starting to get used to, even as strange as that idea might have seemed to her less than a week ago. Even sharing the large spare bed felt somewhat more familiar than she had imagined.

“Here you go,” Claire returned from the kitchen with two glasses of wine, handing one to Sabine as she sat down on the sofa beside her. “We can talk business now the little tike is down for the night.”

“Thanks,” Sabine sighed. “You’re really good with her.”

“I had practice,” Claire smiled. “Suzie was her age only a couple of years ago. I got to fill her full of sugar and let her loose on her parents every time I went home to visit. You seem to be doing pretty well yourself.”

“I’m making it up as I go along,” Sabine sighed. “A few hints and tips here and there, but it’s mostly a big improv exercise.”

“Yeah, that’s parenting,” Claire agreed, sipping her wine. “What’s your big plan then, now you’re here, and I didn’t call the dogs in on your ass?”

“Log into the system, pull Edward’s address, and pay it a visit. That’s my first stop.”

“I can get you that,” Claire nodded. “I can probably get into the Paris camera networks too; provide you some eyes while you work.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate the backup, thank you, Claire.”

“I do,” Claire nodded. “You’d do it for me if you could do anything more dangerous than open your email.”

“Harsh, but fair,” Sabine grinned. “That’s what we have you guys and the geeks in Science and Tech for.”

“If only I could find a man who wanted me for my mind as much as my body,” Claire groaned theatrically.

Sabine sipped her wine, “I always thought you had a pretty steady stream of applicants.”

“Yeah, but not many that stick around,” Claire made a face. “Too many of them are scared of a smart woman.”

“Men are really very fragile,” Sabine admitted absentmindedly. “Everything is about their ego; their sense of masculine pride and prowess. They won’t pee next to another dude for fear that someone might think they’re gay because they were close to another man. It’s all a fragile act, trying to project just how big and manly they are. Naturally, a smart woman would intimidate some douchebag without anything real to offer.”

“That sounds so strange coming out of that body,” Claire shook her head. “Are you sure that Ryan is really in there?”

“Of course,” Sabine frowned. “I don’t see the problem; that’s just how men are. Inside knowledge and all that.”

“Honey,” Claire offered gently, “That’s not really an observation a man would make about other guys… at least not a straight one.”

“I’m not gay,” Sabine asserted.

“I didn’t say you were,” Claire corrected, twisting on the sofa to look at Sabine more directly. “Can I just say something, something really out there and not have you exploding on me?”

“Go on,” Sabine narrowed her eyes.

“Well,” Claire began slowly, sliding back a few inches on the sofa. “I’m just going to say this, consider it a third-party observation. I’m not a shrink or anything, but there is something really hinky going on here.”

“Hinky?”

“Weird, strange, unusual, odd,” Claire waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not the point. My point is that this is really fucking weird, Sabs.”

“I still don’t like that nickname,” Sabine made a face. “Yeah, it is weird though, really weird, even for me.”

“You’re not acting,” Claire said flatly. “I don’t think this version of you is an act.”

“Of course it is, it’s a disguise,” Sabine frowned. “It’s just a bit much to take off, kinda.”

Claire shook her head, “That’s not what I mean. It’s the way you speak, move, behave; it all just feels female.”

“It’s meant to?”

Claire sighed dramatically, “You’re being obtuse. I mean that your whole presence just feels female. None of this feels like an act to me.”

Sabine’s expression darkened, “I had to get good at it, or I risked being killed. That kind of incentive burns it into your head.”

“Orsino,” Claire nodded.

“Yeah, that.”

Claire reached out and squeezed Sabine’s arm, “All the years that we worked together since then, and you never did tell me anything about it. That wasn’t secrecy, that was shame, wasn’t it?”

“In so many words,” Sabine nodded gravely. “Pretty much everything you heard about it was true. One of the worst kept secret in the Agency, I guess. For me, that meant years of therapy, and I was never the same person ever again.”

“No, you weren’t,” Claire agreed. “The Ryan Knight that I’ve known for the last six years was nothing like the guy that I went through the Farm with. I guess after a while, I got used to that version of you, and I accepted that people change. I never knew just how much of that was because of those assholes.”

“Most of it,” Sabine admitted, a look of bitterness on her face. “Some of it I created myself in my shame.” 

“How long did you do this for, back during Orsino?”

“The girl thing?”

Claire nodded.

Sabine thought for a moment, “I guess, three weeks of training initially. After that, I was on mission for about a month before I got taken. After that, they had me for six weeks or so. I guess maybe three, three and a half months?”

“And for over half of that, you were a prisoner, right?”

“Yeah,” Sabine replied quietly. “Not exactly a good time.”

“You don’t need to answer this,” Claire began slowly. “Did anything bad happen to you while you were in there?” Like… assault?”

Sabine chuckled, which was something that caught the other woman entirely off guard. “Yeah, I don’t think assault quite covers it,” she admitted darkly. “The first night I was there, they raped me. It was one guy, and he did it and then left, like it was nothing more to him than a chore he had to finish. After that, they did it four or five other times in the first few days, until I stopped resisting them.”

Claire reached over and squeezed Sabine’s hand but stayed silent, her eyes glassy with tears.

“After that, it was made very clear to me that if I didn’t allow the clients to do to me as they pleased, that I would be raped, killed, and dumped in the desert. I had no choice but to comply,” she smiled weakly. “If I wanted to live, I had to sleep with dozens of men. I tried to count once, but I can’t remember, not properly.”

“Fuck,” Claire breathed. “What the shit… I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t something that I wanted to advertise,” Sabine sighed. “I wanted to put it all behind me, to bury it and get on with my life, Ryan’s life.”

“Ryan’s life?”

“I became her; my cover,” Sabine admitted. “When I was training for the operation and during that first month in Rome, I started to feel comfortable as Alessandra, my cover. I felt far too comfortable; hell, she began to feel like freedom, like real happiness. Once I was in that place, that hell, I let myself become her fully and completely. It made it a little bit less… no, that’s not right.”

“What do you mean?”

Sabine frowned, “I told myself that I let myself become her, because being fucked, beaten, and abused by men hurt less if I thought of myself as female. That if it was happening to her, it wasn’t really happening to me, to Ryan Knight. Somehow, if I became her, if I became someone separate, it didn’t hurt me.”

“I think the truth is that shit fucked me up so much that I couldn’t hold on to him anymore. I don’t think I ever fully got him back,” Sabine admitted, a look of surprise on her face as she realized what she was saying. “When it was all over, and I got back home, I buried her, I buried Alessandra. I told myself that all of this happened to her; that if I locked her away, then the pain would go with her.”

“It didn’t, did it?” Claire offered quietly.

Sabine shook her head, a look of blank shock on her face, “No, I’ve lived with it ever since.”

“You were a victim,” Claire said softly. “None of this is your fault.”

“Doesn’t really make much difference to the end result,” Sabine pointed out.

“No, but healing trauma means you need to blame those who are responsible, not yourself. You need to absolve yourself so that you can start to recover.”

Sabine looked uncertain for a moment, hesitating as though there was something close to the surface that she dared not admit, even to herself. “I’m not sure that I want to know who I am if I  recover.”

“Does it matter, really?”

“I guess not,” Sabine conceded reluctantly. “It terrifies me in ways I never truly imagined: Doing this again, it’s brought it all back to the surface. Things that I managed to suppress are back, and they won’t be quiet when I need to focus most of all. I’m scared it’s going to get Amélie hurt.”

“You really care about her, don’t you?”

“I do,” Sabine smiled slightly. “Weird, huh?”

Claire slid over and wrapped her arm around Sabine’s neck, “Not that weird at all, girl.”

“I’m not… a girl,” Sabine offered, more weakly than she wanted to.

Claire shook her head, “You turn up on my doorstep asking for my help with the world on your heels. You’ve snatched this little girl from the jaws of death and refuse to let anyone hurt her like some wild ass mama bear that’s gonna whap anyone that gets near your cub. A cub, that I might add, absolutely adores you.”

“Screw the cute skirt, hair, and makeup; it’s the rest of you that screams woman to me, not some bullshit you can put on and take off. It’s your mannerisms, your voice, your essence, it just screams female. I don’t give a crap how many times you tell me it’s a disguise; it’s so very clearly the missing piece.”

“Missing piece?”

“Yeah, the missing piece,” Claire nods, waving a hand at Sabine. “There was always something off about you. All the time we knew each other, you just seemed… unfinished.”

Sabine shook her head, “Claire, come on, not now. I don’t need this.”

“Clearly you do,” Claire pointed out dryly. “You’ve been dying under this mountain of shame about this stuff forever. Not just the awful, horrible, evil parts, but the rest of it too; the girl stuff. You’ve been killing yourself with shame because deep down, you love it.”

“No,” Sabine murmured. “No, it’s not…”

“When we first met, you were so different from the other guys in our class. You got on so well with the other women and me that I always figured that you were just gay or something. Either way, you were safe, so I let you in where I never let guys before. We became really tight friends, and I learned more about you. You weren’t gay, shit, you weren’t really into anyone at all, were you?”

“Admittedly no,” Sabine conceded. “That doesn’t mean anything, though.”

“I think it means your head was so damn mixed up trying to work your own ass out, that you couldn’t work out whose butt you preferred,” Claire smirked. “You turn up at my door looking like a completely normal woman, and somehow, it’s not that strange. Why? Because now that I’ve seen it, it can’t be unseen; it’s like turning on the light for the first time. This fits you in ways that I didn’t have words to describe before. You don’t just look natural, you look like you.”

“I… uh.”

“I won’t push,” Claire insisted, “but please, for the love of god, just consider it, ok?”

“I can’t afford an emotional breakdown while I’m trying to fix this mess, Claire,” Sabine pleaded.

“Did you ever consider that you reject this so hard because you attached womanhood to what happened to you? You attached that pain to the girl beneath the surface, and now any sight of her causes you pain. You worked so hard to drag bits of Ryan Knight over her that it’s actually hurting you more to hide it all.”

“It doesn’t suck,” Sabine conceded. “Help me get through this all, and I promise, if I’m still alive and not in federal prison, I’ll give it serious thought, deal?”

“Deal,” Claire nodded. “Now finish your wine and get your butt to bed. Tomorrow, we’re going to commit lots of crimes, and you need your beauty sleep.”

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

March 18th, 2008 -  Bethesda, Maryland - United States.

“I want to talk about your sense of identity.”

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was almost positive that they made the chairs used in psychiatrists’ offices harder by design as an interrogation technique. It was the sort of thing the CIA often did to detainees; techniques to keep them on edge and make them more willing to talk. Given that they were Navy doctors, he wouldn’t put it past them.

He had been coming to the Walter Reed Military Hospital in Bethesda ever since he got back from Saudi Arabia the year before. The sessions with the shrink were mandated by the Agency, so he had little choice but to go. Naturally, that meant that reports from them ended up on the desk of the Director of Operations, Christian Rawlings, back at Langley. Despite the failures being the Agency’s fault, it was still Ryan who had to prove that he was sane enough to work.

“What do you mean about my identity?” Ryan frowned.

The psychiatrist checked her notes, “You told me during our last session that you ‘allowed yourself to become Alessandra’. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I was just talking,” Ryan shrugged. “I suppose it was like make-believe, you know? If I pretended to be her, then it made staying in character easier. When those men were doing stuff, I didn’t break my cover.”

“That is not quite what I was referring to,” the psychiatrist replied carefully. “When you told me about this, you mentioned it in reference to your initial training to portray the character. That during this time, when you were preparing with… who was it again?”

“Signora Ricci.”

“Yes, Signora Ricci, that you felt like you were becoming Alessandra. When you were later in captivity, you said that you gave yourself over to the feminine version of yourself fully to help you cope with what you were experiencing.”

Ryan felt himself blush, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

The psychiatrist inclined her head, “What did you mean?”

“I didn’t mean that I was her,” Ryan balked. “I just pretended because it made things easier, that’s all.”

The psychiatrist placed her notepad down on her lap and sighed, “Ryan, I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk about things that might be embarrassing for you. As you know, I already handed off my readiness report to your bosses. As far as I am concerned, you are about as prepared as you can be to return to work. You understand what happened, and we worked through healthy methods to cope with that trauma. This is not something I will be reporting to them; this is just between you and me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Ryan snapped, “I’m not her.”

“Perhaps not her, but another version of yourself, perhaps,” the psychiatrist soothed. “Some of the things that you have described show clear hallmarks of Gender Dysphoria, do you know what that is?”

Ryan frowned, “No.”

“Do you know what transgender means?”

Ryan blushed more deeply than he imagined possible, “I’m not… that’s not what I am.”

“You’re not transgender? Is that what you were going to say?” The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so convinced?”

“Because I don’t want to be a girl,” Ryan balked. “I didn’t dress up in my mom’s stuff, I didn’t want to play with dolls when I was a kid. I was just normal; nothing strange or unusual. Just because I’m not the most macho guy ever, that doesn’t mean I want to be a chick all of a sudden.”

The doctor pursed her lips, “That isn’t the only way to be transgender; there are a multitude of expressions and pathways. You do not have to exclusively express your gender identity at a young age to be trans or play with certain toys. There are many who either do not have the language to express themselves or choose to mask to better fit in with society around them.”

The psychiatrist smiled kindly, “Some people can have a moment of discovery or an awakening experience where feelings that are long held but not truly understood begin to make more sense. I believe this latter category fits what you have told me.”

“I’m not Alessandra,” Ryan repeated, lacking more conviction than he felt. “She was a character; a cover identity, nothing more.”

“I think,” the psychiatrist began carefully. “When you explained that you retreated into the female persona to protect yourself, I believe what really happened was different.” The woman sighed and looked sad, “I believe what you experienced fractured the veneer of maleness that formed your surface personality. Within the core personality, a personality without a name or sense of self grasped onto Alessandra because it fitted her the best at that moment.”

Ryan sat in silence. He wanted to deny what the doctor was saying, but the reality was that her words made far too much sense to him. He wanted to consider what happened to him a conscious choice, a decision born out of necessity. He wanted to believe that letting himself retreat into Alessandra was something he had done to protect his male pride, not that he preferred it, not that it had felt more real than anything he had ever experienced.

“I think I’d like to go,” Ryan murmured quietly. “I’m sorry, Doc, I appreciate your time, but I just remembered I have something in my diary.” Getting up, he collected his jacket and made for the door without looking back.

“Ryan, you’ll be here next week, right?”

“Ryan?”

“Mister Knight?”

 

 

June 3rd, 2014 - Paris, France.

Sabine opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling above her. It was another new ceiling in an entire week of new ceilings. It was the first day that she could remember having awoken naturally. Given the stress that she was under, that was a fair achievement. The truth was, she felt far more rested than she had in a long time.  A warm presence beside her reminded her that Amélie was still there. During the night, she had wormed her way over and was now snuggled up beside her.

Smiling, Sabine put her arm around the sleeping child and stared at her. She was such a brave girl, surviving everything the last week had thrown at her. She had a resilience and a strength that made Sabine herself want to be more than she felt capable of being.

 In her own way, Amelie was helping to keep her strong as well. In many other variations of the same world, Sabine was reasonably sure that she would have come apart at the seams trying to get through this mess. Somehow, that little girl had given her the strength and the will to fight, to hold firm, and to see them through this hellscape.

Could she ever be enough for this angel? Sabine was not sure she was capable of being the kind of person that Béatrice Laurent deserved. She had lost so very much in her young life; there was no way that she could ever be enough to make a difference. Even if she had the chance to keep her, to make a life with her, she was a mess. A fractured spirit running from the demons of the past.

What if she did not need to run?

Sabine slid carefully out of bed, taking care not to disturb Amelie’s sleep. It was still early, and she knew the girl needed her rest. Tiptoeing out of the room, she closed the door carefully behind herself before padding along the corridor towards the bathroom.

Once inside, she latched the door and turned to face her reflection in the mirror over the sink. The woman looking back at her seemed different somehow. She was not sure if it was the conversation the previous night, or just a growing familiarity with her new reflection, but rather than frustration, she felt something different.

Try as she might, Sabine struggled to find Ryan Knight in the mirror. She knew that he existed, that much was a clear fact, but the evidence was not particularly supportive of that conclusion. Her skin was clear and makeup-free, and as yet, unblemished by any stubble or roughness that belonged on an adult male face. Her features were smooth and soft, her lips parted slightly in her concentration. The reflection looking back at her appeared female. Whether it was her hair or some other feature, she found it difficult to deny that reality. As much as she wanted to hate it, she did not.

Burying Alessandra had been wrong; she was starting to understand that now.  The previous night’s conversation had leveled a new and imposing question: What if she had tried to lock away the wrong personality all those years ago? What if it had been trying to be Ryan Knight that had locked her in years of limbo? Somehow, as strange as the idea seemed, it made a painful sort of sense.

“Hello Alessandra,” Sabine murmured to her reflection. “Are you in there?”

Her reflection did not change, but somewhere deep inside, she felt the smallest blip of happiness as she spoke the name out loud. Reaching up, she removed the band that was holding her hair up and let it fall down around her shoulders. Finger-combing her hair, Alessandra tucked a lock behind her ear and smiled at her reflection.

A wave of guilt rushed through her, snatching the smile from her face, but Alessandra squashed it back down. She should not feel shame in her own appearance; there was nobody telling her what to do. She looked the way she looked, and there was nothing wrong with that.

She needed to treat her life like a case at work; without a dispassionate analysis of all of the components, there was no way she could manage to form a clear picture of what was taking place. While she was no analyst, it was impossible to work in the field without being able to assess intelligence as it came in. Her life was a case, a case she had to solve if she wanted to escape the past. She would need to see all of herself, not hide parts behind shame or guilt.

She had always run away from Alessandra. She was not sure if it had been a misguided sense of masculine shame or the humiliation and horror of what had happened to her in Saudi Arabia, but if nothing else, she vowed to end that. She would allow the chips to fall where they landed, and she would form a clear picture before making any decisions. It was the sensible thing to do, and it would give her fresh information to work with. 

Amélie deserved her clear head, and in the fight, it was the only way that they would stand a chance in this terrible world. Putting aside her drama meant a safe future for both of them. There was no way that she could give less than a hundred percent for the girl.

Turning away from the mirror, Alessandra stripped out of her clothes and turned on the shower. After waiting for the water to warm, she stepped inside. As the water hit her body, she felt a sharp jolt of sadness as it flowed across her chest. This was a new feeling, not one that she had recognised before in any meaningful way. Somehow, for the first time, she knew what it meant; she was sad.

Running her hand over her torso, she felt the flatness and froze, a lump in her throat. She was saddened by an absence that shocked her more than it scared her, an absence that she had not understood until she allowed Alessandra to return. Her flat chest felt wrong, and she knew that now. Standing here under the water, with no assistance or shape from her bra, she felt like less than a woman, and for the first time, that actually bothered her.

 

 

“It’s about time you joined us,” Claire smirked as Sabine entered the kitchen thirty minutes later.

Sabine had taken the opportunity to wash and condition her hair now that enough time had passed. The travel and chaos of the last two days had left it at less than its best, and she felt decidedly better for it. Now freshly dried, styled, and wearing clean clothes, she felt cautiously positive about the day ahead. If she was going to apply her new philosophy of allowing things to happen, then she might as well start from the skin outward.

“I borrowed your shampoo, I hope that’s ok,” Sabine asked, sitting down at the kitchen table beside Amélie.

“Sure,” Claire shrugged, “Want breakfast?”

“Breakfast!” Amélie grinned happily.

“I think she voted for us,” Sabine chuckled. “Has the little monster been up for long?”

“About ten minutes. She’s been as good as gold, haven’t you little one?” Claire asked, making a silly face. “Tu as été bon, oui?”

“Oui, très bon!”

Claire placed a mug of steaming fresh coffee in front of Sabine along with a plate of bread and fruit. To Sabine’s stomach, having existed on hotel and restaurant food for forty-eight hours, it looked like it was heaven-sent.

“I might have logged into the back end of the Embassy system this morning,” Claire offered, sipping her own coffee. “Got you an address.”

“Anyone know you went in there?”

“No, entirely untraceable,” Claire shook her head. “I spoofed an existing account from admin, so even if they do detect the inquiry, it won’t flag to the Company or me.”

“That’s what we pay you for,” Sabine sipped her coffee. “Admittedly, to do that to other people. What did you get?”

“Apartment 12, 339 Rue de l’Annonciation, cross of Rue Raynouard. That’s over in the 16th District. That’s not exactly a cheap place to live.”

“Not on a government paycheque,” Sabine pursed her lips. “Where’s he finding the money for something like that?”

“You ask me? Nothing good.”

“Probably not.”

Claire joined them at the table, her own coffee in hand, “So what’s your plan?”

“I get in there and check the place out,” Sabine explained. “I need to find anything that will link him to Abbas Ahmad or his people. If he hasn’t got anything there, then maybe wherever else he might be operating. If this address is officially linked to him, then he won’t take a crap where he sleeps. He’s not stupid; he will have somewhere else for anything shady.”

“That area is covered in security and traffic cameras. I can probably get a pretty good overwatch. Unfortunately, anything that close to the embassy district means that I won’t be able to fly any drones, though.”

“It feels good to be doing something proactive,” Sabine smiled, feeling a burst of hope. “This actually feels like I can do this.”

“You can,” Claire agreed. “You’re good, you always were. If we work together, then we can beat this mess and get back to whatever normal looks like.”

Sabine frowned, “I don’t think I’ve had time to work out what happens after, if there is one. There’s been so much chaos, upheaval; I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“With her, though, right?” Claire nods in the direction of Amélie.

Sabine looked over at the child as she watched a cartoon on the TV set in the corner of the kitchen, occasionally gnawing on a piece of bread. “If I can.”

Claire reached over and squeezed her hand, “Letting yourself hope hurts, doesn’t it?”

Sabine nodded, unable to form words. It was impossible not to admit to herself that she wanted that outcome now. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to keep the girl forever and build a life together. Whether she could was another matter entirely, and one that could break her heart in two.

“Let’s finish this, then we can work on the after, huh?” Claire offered. “One fight at a time.”

“I’m going to go get dressed,” Sabine announced, draining her coffee. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Standing, Sabine deposited her dishes in the sink before leaving the kitchen as quickly as possible, before she broke down in front of the others. Her emotions were utterly unstable at the moment, and she had no idea why. She needed to maintain her focus and work the problem, not risk it all by having a crisis in the middle of an international incident.

Closing the bedroom door, Sabine stripped out of her night clothes and started to dress for the day. Paris was hot during the summer, frequently as hot as northern Italy, so her choices were limited by the weather. What made it worse, was she was not sure what to wear.

It was not a simple matter of vanity; Sabine knew that she had a job to do, and how she dressed would impact that significantly. Alessandra had dressed to entice and to be seen; that had been part of her assignment and entirely by design. As a man, Ryan knew how to dress when working in the field. He knew how to disappear into a crowd and to avoid flashy or overly stylistic clothing. In intelligence work, grey meant operational success. The stylish spy was a total fiction created for television.

Sabine did not have a broad selection of clothing, and what Francesca had provided was more casual and feminine than she might prefer. From her meagre supplies, she managed to find a pair of plain dark grey slacks and a black blouse in a softer, stretchier material. With a pair of low-heeled ankle boots, it seemed like a reasonably suitable outfit.

Putting her hair up into a ponytail, Sabine regarded her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. The woman looking back at her looked surprisingly normal, even if her nerves were more than visible. It still astounded her that she looked this way, even without all of the makeup and clothes that had dominated her experiences as Alessandra. It made everything feel so much more normal, and it was terrifying new ground for her. 

It was one thing to portray Alessandra, or even a version of Sabine that helped her to evade detection. It was another matter entirely to be back here in Paris and preparing to do her actual job, rather than an undercover assignment. Here and now, this was not a cover; this was who she really was, meeting in a violent conflict with who she appeared to be. This was who she had to be if she had any chance of a future at all. 

Leaning forward, she dug through her meagre cosmetic collection and started applying light daytime makeup. She had done so in the past to keep up appearances and play a role, but this time, she did so because she wanted to. A part of her wanted to look normal; women wore cosmetics. Another part wanted to look prettier, to give her cheeks some color, and to disguise the slight bags under her eyes from the inconsistent sleep of the past week. Mostly, she did it because she wanted to, and it felt surprisingly good.

She was nearly done when a knock at the door disturbed her as she was finishing her mascara. “Come in?”

Claire eased the door open and popped her head inside, “I was just coming to check… damn, look at you.”

“Is this ok, do you think?” Sabine asked uncertainly, turning so Claire could see her clothes. “I’m not really sure about what I should wear while doing the job, you know? It’s one thing to run away from people trying to kill you, another to go unnoticed and work in low visibility. I never really got that side of the class at the Farm.”

Claire stepped into the room and leaned back against the wall as she crossed her arms casually. “You didn’t do a bad job at all, to be honest. You look like you work in some office somewhere, but nothing too flashy, nothing dramatic. It’s woman going to work, not trying to pick up guys, not that that stops them,” she rolled her eyes. “The clothes will let you move and conceal a weapon, and the shoes are sensible. Women’s fashions aren’t exactly designed for clandestine work, but we make do somehow.”

“It’s a whole different world to me,” Sabine murmured, finishing her mascara, “But I need to do this, and I’m going to get it right.”

“Here,” Claire offered, placing an earpiece on the dresser next to Sabine’s makeup bag. “This will let us communicate when you’re there.”

“You steal these?” Sabine asked suspiciously, eying the device.

“Steal? Me?” Claire looked aghast, her hand to her breast like a southern damsel. “I would never do such a thing. I just hadn’t returned them yet, so I figured I’d put them to good use first.”

“Perfect,” Sabine grinned, standing upright and inspecting her handiwork. “What do you think? Good enough?”

Claire shook her head, “You look great. I know you don’t like hearing it, but you’re far too pretty to be a guy.”

Sabine stared at her reflection for a moment before turning to look over at her friend. She gave her a small smile, “Thank you, maybe?”

Claire’s eyebrows went up, “That’s a different tune from last night.”

Sabine blushed and shrugged, “Don’t go reading too much into it. I guess you got me at a vulnerable moment. I suppose that I decided to just take each day as they come. I have enough to focus on at the moment that I cannot afford to be taking up valuable headspace worrying about what I look like. If that happens to be female, it’s not really so bad, is it?”

“Smart,” Claire agreed. “Focus on one thing at a time and work the problem. This can wait till you’re done, but when you are, we’ll be having a real big chat, ok?”

Sabine rolled her eyes, “Yeah, sure, mom.”

 

 

Crossing Paris by herself was considerably easier for Sabine, even if she did miss Amélie’s company more than she realised. The girl was staying with Claire at her apartment while she investigated Edwards. If she made it out of this in one piece, she would have to make it up to Claire for having her wear the hats of babysitter and operational surveillance at the same time. 

Traveling across Paris once again made Sabine feel normal again, at least until she caught sight of her reflection in the window of the metro car. Seeing her current visage looking back at her was still taking some getting used to. In Italy, it had felt different; a role that she had been playing. Here and now, back home and doing her job, it made it all feel suddenly so very real. 

Sabine disembarked the metro at Passy Station on the right bank of the Seine, near the Pont de Bir-Hakeim. After that, she had made her way south over surface streets through the sixteenth arrondissement, an area dominated by the beautiful limestone architecture of old Paris. The area was upmarket and wealthy, notably more so than the south of the city. For Edwards to afford to live here, he was more than certainly supplementing his income. That Langley had not spotted this fact was extremely surprising.

The walk to Edwards’ apartment took less than ten minutes, being less than a kilometer from the metro station. The apartment was located along a narrow street just off the main thoroughfare, overlooking the courtyard of a small church.

Sabine slipped the earpiece into her ear and switched the device on as she walked, “Radio check.”

“Five by five, Watcher has eyes.”

It felt good to be part of a team again, even if it was for something far off the books and dangerous. It gave Sabine a confidence that she had not felt in a long time, especially considering recent events. Knowing that Claire was looking out for her made her feel powerful.

 “How are we looking, watcher?”

“All clear, all quiet, target building is fifty meters to your twelve O’clock.”

It was around midday, which meant that foot traffic was fairly light in what was a predominantly residential area. Approaching the door, Sabine ran her finger down the list of doorbells and rang several at random. Her hope was that at least one might be home to answer, despite the time of day.

“Oui?” a voice crackled over the intercom.

“Bonjour, livraison pour vous.”

A moment later, the buzzer sounded, and the door unlatched. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book to defeat the entrance systems for multiple residency buildings. When you found a buzzer entry, you rang the apartments at random. When one of them picked up, you told them you had a delivery or a package. The chance of someone expecting something in this digital age was high, and human curiosity was even higher.

“I’m inside,”

“Floor plan for the building shows apartment twelve is on the third floor, front of the building,” Claire explained. “Thank god this city digitised all its planning years ago.”

“I’m going to check the mail first,” Sabine murmured, scanning the boxes for the correct one. Spotting the box for the correct apartment, she was pleased to find it full. Edwards had been away for around ten days, like her; that meant that it was unlikely that he had a partner or roommate living with him. She did not want to find a nasty surprise once she found her way into his place.

Picking the lock was quick work, and in no time she had the simple device defeated. Withdrawing the bundle of letters, she closed the mailbox and set off for the stairs. Taking the letters served a dual purpose for Sabine: Firstly, letters contained information, which was valuable in any investigation. They could help to reveal bills for storage units, rented spaces, or properties, and even bank statements. Secondly, holding a stack of letters in somewhere, like an apartment building, made people believe that you had a legitimate reason to be in a place. After all, why else would a stranger be walking the hallways of a building carrying their mail?

One of the downsides of Paris was that a lot of the older buildings lacked elevators. While that was not something that would fly back home in the States, here, it was considered entirely normal. While three floors were no problem to ascend, it did mean that the building had one way in and one way out; never ideal.

Climbing up to the third floor, Sabine found the apartment exactly where Claire had indicated, towards the front of the building and on the southern side. The front door of Edward’s apartment was original to the building, which would likely make entry a little easier. Most of the buildings of this type in more affluent areas of Paris were strictly controlled in terms of interior renovations. That meant that the door was likely fitted with the standard Mortise deadlock, an older and more sturdy design, but one that was relatively easy to bypass with a little experience.

“I’m here, making my entry now,” Sabine muttered. “Still clear?”

“Nothing but the locals,” Claire answered over the earpiece. “Delivery van visited the pharmacy, but nothing else so far. The coast is clear.”

Placing the bundle of letters on the floor, Sabine took out her lockpicks and set to work on the door. Initial investigation revealed it to be a fairly sturdy modern five-lever device, and the mechanism was slightly sticky.

“You must be out of practice; it’s taking you forever.”

“It’s got several false gates. You’re always welcome to come down here and do it yourself,” Sabine muttered, finally hitting the last remaining latch and twisting the tensioner. “I’m in, going quiet.”

“Copy.”

`Stowing her tools and the letters in her handbag, Sabine drew her pistol and slipped through the front door of the apartment. Not checking for an alarm was a risky move, but one she made based on her best estimation. Edwards was Agency, so he would be prepared, but he was also crooked. Spies and rogue spies had one thing in common: neither wanted curious police officers or landlords entering their apartments when they were away to deactivate an alarm system. It was far more likely that he had a different sort of system in place to protect his home.

Being careful to move quietly and slowly, Sabine advanced into the corridor, her pistol held low, ready as she scanned the space around her. The entrance hall was relatively wide and had a tall ceiling, which was common in this type of building. Along the right side, a sideboard and a coat stand were standing. Otherwise, the space was empty.

Sabine looked around cautiously, scanning for anything out of place. It was then that she spotted a grey trilby sitting at a jaunty angle atop the coat stand. The hat looked stylish, elegant, and quite at home on the stand. It was, however, entirely out of place if anyone knew the occupant. Gregory Edwards had never worn hats in all of the years that Sabine had known the man, and he certainly had no eye for fashion. Stepping forward carefully on the hardwood floor, she reached out and removed the hat as quietly as she could. Underneath it, she found what she was looking for: a small bundle of electronics wired to a black box with a wireless antenna. Carefully locating the power switch on the side of the box, she turned the device off and let out a sigh of relief.

While a spy or a criminal would not want anyone entering their apartment for something as pedestrian as a burglar alarm, they would want to know that someone was in their private space when they were not around. In the olden days, this could be a hair taped to a doorjam or fishing wire attached to something breakable; a visual indicator that the space had been entered. In the modern era, this could be far simpler. The device on the coat stand was a sound sensor attached to a wireless transmitter. It was likely rigged to send a ping out to Edwards' cellphone if the sound of someone entering his apartment was detected while active. It would not stop an intruder, but it did not need to. All he needed to know was that it had happened.

Proceeding cautiously, Sabine cleared the apartment and searched for any further devices or sensors that might give her away. The space was large and airy, with elegant modern furniture. It had two bedrooms, a large bathroom, a living room, a dining area, and an attached kitchen. For central Paris, it was practical palatial.

Finding three more sensors, Sabine felt relatively sure that she had defeated Edwards’ security system. She did not care if the man found out after the fact that she had been present, but wanted to be on the safe side in case the man had any more of his friends in Paris who could get to her before she was done with her investigations.

“I’m clear, found four sound devices and one vibration, location is secured.”

“Still clear on the exterior, watcher has no eyes interior,” Claire replied over the earpiece. “He seems a little paranoid, don’t you think?”

“If I were up to no good, I would be too,” Sabine pointed out as she opened the refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. “This guy’s diet is awful.”

“How so?”

“Beer, vodka, processed meats, and cheese. I don’t think he’s doing much entertaining.”

“Yuck,” Claire offered. “I’ve been running an online sweep of our little friend while you’ve been getting your hands dirty. Watches a lot of porn, orders takeout regularly. He visits a number of gambling websites, but he never bets to excess based on what I can find. I didn’t manage to get access to any of his banking yet.”

“That would be fairly helpful,” Sabine agreed. “I suspect anything relevant will be offshore, which might complicate matters.”

“I’d need to know where to look, which lands on your desk,” Claire noted dryly. “So do me a favor and find anything financial and I can do some digging.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Moving through to the living room, Sabine checked through the space. There was little of interest to their investigation, but she did note that Edwards' taste in cinema leaned heavily to action and large-breasted heroines. Her earlier assessment that the man lived alone was more than verified by the general appearance of the apartment. While it was neat and well furnished, it had clearly never seen a woman’s touch; men's magazines covered the coffee table, and golf memorabilia littered the sideboard.

“Other than bad taste, there’s not much here,” Sabine tutted. “This guy is a serious bachelor.”

Claire chuckled in the earpiece, “The guy always seemed like a douchebag at the office. I’m not sure many women would want to date him.”

Sabine moved through to the master bedroom. The space was less tidy than the main areas, and there were clear signs that Edwards had packed in a hurry before their trip to Nice. Items of clothing were dumped on the unmade bed, and a dresser drawer was left partly open. 

“I wasn’t ever really on chatty terms with the guy, but I never heard of anything myself,” Sabine admitted. Pausing, she frowned, “Actually, I never really talked to any of the guys about that kind of stuff.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Claire offered, her smirk evident even over the earpiece.

“I’m ignoring you, I’m working.”

Pulling open the bedside drawer, Sabine rolled her eyes as she spotted two boxes of condoms. It seemed that any women who did visit Edwards only did so for the night. Somehow, that felt fitting, knowing what she knew of the man. She was about to close the drawer when she spotted an estate agent’s letterhead on a piece of paper beneath a pile of condom wrappers at the bottom of the drawer. Gingerly fishing the letter out with two careful fingers, she unfolded the paper and read through the document.

“I might have something here,” she murmured as she read the letter. “It’s from an estate agent… It’s about an… oh, yeah, this is a good hit.”

“What do you have?”

“Property acquisition in the Port of Gennevilliers, warehouse purchased last year.”

“Address?”

“44 Route du Móte deux et trois.”

“Standby… Got it,” Claire announced. “Yeah, that’s north of here in Gennevilliers. Riverside warehouse, formerly belonging to a building supply company. Square footage suggests it’s not a small facility.”

“Anything on the ownership?”

“Exportations Parisiennes SARL purchased the property last year… Paris Exports, that’s real generic for a shell corp,” Claire offered. “I’ll run that company for banking and financials and see if I can start tracing money.”

“Copy, keep me informed,” Sabine answered. The property could be extremely relevant. She had expected that the man might have a second apartment or a property somewhere for more illicit activity, if her hunch turned out to be correct. She had not expected to find an industrial property that could reasonably handle serious commerce. The Port of Gennevilliers was the largest French river port and the second biggest of its type in Europe. A great deal of boat and barge traffic passed through on its way north to the port at Le Havre on the Channel coast.

Moving to the man’s closet, Sabine knelt down and started examining Edwards’ shoes. “Watcher, what materials did that building supply company handle when it was open?”

“Primarily lumber, why?”

Sabine smiled as she held up a pair of boots and examined the sole, “I think we can confirm that location, he’s got sawdust in the tread of his shoes.”

“Good catch, I’ll… stand by.”

Sabine paused and waited for Claire to reply. The silence stretched for what felt like minutes, but in reality was less than ten seconds. “Threat detected, car just arrived in a hurry with four men, and they’re coming in the front door. Fighting-age Arabic men wearing heavy jackets. I think our guy was more paranoid than you expected.”

Sabine cursed under her breath and grabbed her bag, “I’m leaving now.”

“Looking for alternative exits.”

Sabine grabbed the letters and stuffed them into her bag before slinging it cross-body, “How long do I have?”

“Sixty seconds at best.”

Sabine made it to the front door and exited out into the corridor at a run. By the time she got there, she could hear footfalls slapping against the tiled staircase. “I don’t particularly want to wait to find out if they’re here for me, so down is out. I’m going up, get me something fast.”

“Single staircase, no other… wait, there’s roof access. You should be able to get to the adjacent buildings.”

“This was not how I wanted to get my steps in,” Sabine huffed, taking the stairs two at a time as she climbed to the sixth floor. “Anyone else turn up, or is it just our four?”

“Only the four. Looking at satellite imaging now, you should be able to go west. The next two buildings are flat roofs, and the third has a rooftop garden. You should be able to locate a way down there.”

Sabine finally reached the top floor and found the roof access door. To her dismay, it was securely locked with a chain and padlock. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of running feet and raised voices getting closer. Realising that she was out of options, Sabine drew her pistol and covered her face. Pulling the trigger, the sound of the gun going off in the confined space was deafening. Thankfully, the padlock shattered, and the chain fell free. Shoving the door open, Sabine climbed out onto the roof before slamming it closed behind her.

Like so many of the buildings in the area, the roof was lined with lead. Other than the small flat portion around the access door, the roof surface sloped away towards the front and rear of the building. Carefully watching her footing, Sabine turned west and started making her way across the rooftop toward the next building.

 “I’m out,” Sabine called, vaulting over an AC unit. “Any change?”

“I got you on camera again. Continue west, watch for the drop. Wait, look out!”

Without waiting, Sabine ducked down and tucked herself in behind the air conditioner. As she did so, she was just in time to avoid a burst of gunfire that ricocheted off the unit and the wall ahead of her, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings with a violent slap. 

“I think we answered the question of whether or not they’re here for me,” she grunted, leaning around the unit and firing back towards the rooftop door.

“The odds weren’t exactly low,” Claire offered. “You seem to attract that kind of attention.”

Sabine ducked as more rounds peppered the brickwork above her. As the gunfire paused, she leaned out from behind her cover and took aim. One of the men stepped out and aimed his machine pistol at her hiding space. Before he could pull the trigger, Sabine squeezed hers, hitting him squarely in the chest with three bullets. Without waiting for the men to recover, she climbed up onto the vent and leapt up and over the adjoining wall, rolling onto the roof just in time to avoid the swarm of bullets that followed hot on her heels.

“Three left, one down,” Claire intoned impassively. “Shots fired have been reported to the Gendarmerie; best move it, girl.”

Sabine pulled herself up and set off running along the rooftop. Behind her, more bullets slapped off the brickwork as the men pursuing her fired wildly. She needed to make distance and find a way off these rooftops if she had any hope of escaping the scene. The French police were no slouches, and being Paris, they would likely have an air unit on scene fairly quickly. Once that happened, her chances of escaping fell dramatically.

Clearing the next roof quickly, Sabine dropped down onto the flat rooftop beyond and landed in a flowerbed. “Door should be on your right up ahead,” Claire offered. “Be aware, you’re out of my sightline.”

Sabine located the aforementioned door, but discovered to her dismay that it was a fire escape-style door with no exterior controls. Even if she could shoot the mechanism, there was no clear way to open it from the outside. Kicking the door in frustration, she cursed, “Damn it. Find me another option, this one’s no good.”

“Copy, keep going, next one has more access, you might be able to make entry there.”

As Sabine stepped out from behind the wall, a burst of gunfire sent her diving for cover behind a raised flowerbed. The men had finally managed to catch up to her, and they had her cornered in the rooftop garden. Two had dropped down while the third was still standing on the previous rooftop, doing his best to keep her pinned in place while his two accomplices worked their way towards her.

Sabine returned fire but ducked quickly back behind the planter as return fire from the man on the roof honed in on her position. Reloading her pistol, she glanced towards the front of the building. She had seen a tiered terrace as she dropped down, and a terrible idea was beginning to form in her mind.

“What’s over the front of this building? I saw a drop level, right?”

“Yeah, one floor down, there’s a wide balcony,” Claire explained. “Then a lower terrace below that.”

“What’s on them?”

“Garden furniture, plants, and a trellis on the top one.”

“Oh boy, this is going to suck.”

You’re not thinking of doing what I think you are, are you?”

“Got a better idea?”

“Not at the moment.” Claire conceded. “Be careful.”

Sabine adjusted her grip on the pistol and made sure she was secure and ready to move. Dropping prone, she rolled out of cover low and appeared in an unexpected position. The tenth of a second advantage was all that she needed. Aiming her shot, she fired twice and dropped the man standing silhouetted on the roof.

Coming up to her feet, she fired several shots at the advancing men as she sprinted for the front of the building. Taking a step up onto a small bench along the railing, she jumped up and over the edge. Sabine fell through the air before landing hard on a wooden table on the balcony down below. The furniture splintered on impact, and the landing temporarily knocked the wind out of her lungs.

The impact had hurt far more than Sabine had expected. Her hip was on fire, and she was almost positive that she had cracked a rib or two. Despite the pain, the adrenaline of the gunfight gave Sabine enough energy to pull herself upright and begin extracting herself from the remains of the table.

“God damn, are you ok?”

“Could be better,” Sabine grunted, wincing in pain as she pulled herself up on a garden chair. “I didn’t exactly stick the landing.”

“I saw. Drop to the next one should be easier; the balcony door is open. Move fast, the coast is clear.”

Sabine holstered her pistol and climbed more carefully over the railing before dropping down to the terrace below. This time, with a bit more care and aim, she managed to land on her feet with no additional injuries. As Claire had identified, the balcony door was open, allowing her to dart inside the apartment and out of sight. Luckily, whoever had left the balcony door open was not home and had clearly never anticipated intruders using the fifth-floor terrace as a method of entry. Slipping quickly through the apartment, she made it out into the hallway and into the staircase beyond.

“I’m out, heading down to street level now,” Sabine called out, jogging down the stairs despite the pain.

“The two remaining tangos are still on the roof; they have no idea where you went and what to do,” Claire offered. “Local Law Enforcement is arriving now, exit street level and head straight across the road, go North past the church.”

“Copy.”

Sabine reached the ground floor and stopped briefly to check her reflection in a pane of glass beside the entrance. She looked disheveled, but not entirely beyond redemption, despite her experiences on the roof. Dusting down her clothes, she straightened her blouse before taking off her handbag and slipping it more casually over one shoulder. Reaching up, she removed the hair tie and finger-combed her blonde hair down around her shoulders. It was not much, but it changed her facial shape at a casual glance.

Taking a deep breath, Sabine stepped out of the door and set off along the sidewalk at a casual pace. It took all her concentration to trust Claire and fight the urge to scan for threats. Instead, she kept her sightline in the middle distance and crossed the road and set off past the church as instructed. Behind her, blue lights and sirens were filling the street as police cars screamed to a halt outside Edwards’ building.

All around her, pedestrians were gawping at the evolving spectacle and pulling out their cellphones to photograph the scene. Not a single one of them paid the blonde woman a moment of notice as she slipped past them and walked away, carefully disguising the slightest of limps.

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