•Prologue•

1918

     It was a cold night, the brisk winter air bit at her skin, she stood at the gates of the grand palace of the Romanov estate in Yekaterinburg Russia.

     The snow fell peacefully, yet the scene around her was anything but.

     Men shouted, guns raised, torches burning, and Sophia? She waited patiently, going over her plan and tuning out the loud voices of the wrathful Bolsheviks all around her.

     She silently slipped through the crowd, weaving through bodies until she reached the gates. She hastily got to work. Within minutes, unlocked the gates, allowing the violent revolution to finish her work, destroying the Imperial family forever.

•••

     "Anna Rustov, I need a train." Sophia said flatly to the man. He looked down at her from his booth.

     He looked her up and down before turning his attention back to the papers in his hands.

     "Do you have travel papers and passport?" He asked unconcerned by the well-dressed woman traveling without a companion and with no luggage, in wee hours of the morning. Sophia leaned in, to whisper into the booth. It was nearly dawn, word of the Tzar's death had not traveled yet.

     The man leaned forward. She opened her mouth as if to begin a sentence, instead she took him by the collar and pulled his head into the cold metal bars. His nose crunched as she repeatedly wrenched him forward. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

     Blood oozed from his freshly cracked scull. Sophia grimaced; she did have some scruples about killing, but she pushed them aside for now. 

     She reached through the opening in the metal bars once more, snatching a ticket from the desk, the red puddle slowly growing around the unmoving clerk. 

     Sophia ran, wiping her bloodied hand on her bodice, hoping no one would notice the wet stain against the dark fabric. She slowed as she approached the train, the steam and whistling growing louder. A young man in uniform leaned against the train, head drooping low against his chest in apparent drowsiness. She walked past him into the carriage of the train. She had to get out of Russia as fast as possible. 

     The German Empire was close, if not currently in shambles. The war continued to rage, despite the United States slow response to the conflict. Though last Sophia had heard, Wilhelm had called retreat, Austria-Hungary was in shambles, and the Ottoman Empire fallen. It was still a war-zone, but one she could use to escape.

     She was given a job by the newly empowered Soviet Party. Lenin himself, had tasked her with hammering this final nail into the Romanov tomb. For it was a tomb, a large, ornate structure built on the bones of Russian men and women, sacrificed for the hubris of an impotent emperor during the War to End All Wars. The train whistle screeched as she sat, the young conductor jumped to his feet, startled by the loud sound. 

     The few other travelers mostly dozed, one old man read a small red book with a hat sat low on his forehead. She pretended she didn't track the movement of the man's head as he glanced up at her, or the small boy softly mumbling in his sleep, resting on his mothers lap, or even the light flutter of sound that came from below the seat to her right--likely a rat. Sophia simply turned her head to the left, gazing out the window to the dimly lit train platform on the other side of the tracks. A man stood under the flickering gas light, shadows danced at his feet. 

The train gave a lurch as it began its dangerous journey to the border, then to Germany if the way was clear, beyond that, the US, where she would wait for new orders. 

 •••

1920

    Sophia walked though a door leading into the kitchen, a chef was shouting orders and screaming at the kitchen staff. Sophia put on her apron and immediately began to prepare the platters for serving. She smiled through her teeth when she laid eyes on the young woman who shared her job, Margaret. Margaret was an unknowing victim in the game Sophia played.

     "Anna! You're late," Margaret said as greetings, "Mr. Stewart will be so cross with you." Mr. Stewart, otherwise known as William Stewart, was the Head of Whitehouse Staff. He never approved of Sophia, always had an eye on her. She had to admit he had good instincts. 

     While originally she had been ordered simply to keep an eye on the proceedings of the house, how many people worked there, how many guards were on duty, she now was ordered to make a move on the president. It would need to be soon, she could only keep Mr. Stewart at bay for a short while longer. His imposing questions grated on her nerves, always inquiring about her family and where her accent hailed from--despite her attempts to disguise it.

     Communists were under attack in America, Sophia had much to fear from Mr. Stewart's growing suspicions. Even if he couldn't prove she was Soviet, the simple accusation would be enough to gain unwanted attention of the FBI. Sophia bushed the thought aside. 

     Mr. Stewart pushed through the door shouting, "Quickly now, Quickly!" He clapped his hands and the head chef whirled around glaring at him. 

"Perfection cannot be rushed no matter who snaps at her heels," the chef, Sigrid Nilsson, never tolerated the hostilities of Mr. Stewart. This mattered little to Sophia, but she still found their exchanges entertaining. 

     Chef Nilsson had taken a liking to the young Anna Walters--Sophia's alias--likely due to the both of them being immigrants to the country. Sophia took the two plates for President Wilson and his wife, one with mushrooms, one without, and turned to Margaret with their shared cart. Sophia, as smoothly as she could, opened the secret latch on her ring and dusted the plate on the left--the plate meant for the President, who disliked mushrooms. 

     Sophia's plan was going well. It was like any other night for the staff, and would stay that way until morning, when the president failed to wake. Sophia and Margaret lead the way into the hall, followed by the grumbling Mr. Stewart and the sommelier with a bottle of chilled wine. They passed room after room, until the party was stopped by a man in a dark, well-cut suit. 

     "Excuse me young man," Mr. Stewart began with forced calm, "We are on our way to serve the President and his wife their supper, if you don't mind--," He was cut off by two men walking up behind him.

     "The President will be dining outside of the Whitehouse tonight, sir," The man said calmly, bringing his eyes down to myself and Margaret. Margaret's hands began to shake, nothing like this had happened before. Sophia swore to herself: somehow, they knew about her plan. She couldn't be sure how much they knew so she could only act shocked and confused.

     The agent was Melvin Purvis, a relatively young officer at 28, just three years older than Sophia. Melvin had been told of a Soviet infiltrator in the Whitehouse, he knew that there would be an attempt on the President's life. Special Agent Purvis suspected who the spy was. 

     Agent Purvis directed the group to a sitting room, a guard opened the door and the four shuffled in, each glancing nervously around at the room, four men in uniformed suits stood in opposite corners of the ornately decorated room. Purvis looked at each of them, pausing at Sophia, who forced a look of timid confusion across her face. His eyes narrowed as he searched her face. Sophia gazed into his eyes, doing her best to imitate a scared rabbit. 

     "Miss, if you will," Melvin rose a hand directing her toward a table with two chairs on the opposite side of the room. Sophia looked toward it, glanced back at him, then quietly stepped to the table. The others were ushered out of the room. Not good. "They will be questioned in a separate room. I am going to be conducting your...interview," He paused, a tactic likely meant to put her on edge. They couldn't know that she had planned for the possibility of discovery. Sophia planted evidence of Soviet and communist support in Margaret's home. Hidden documents and paraphernalia that Margaret would not notice, but any inspectors would uncover.

     "What..." Sophia paused, she had to keep her wits about her, act natural. "What exactly is going on?" The agent sat across from her. He now had a red file in his hand. Sophia scanned the room, the four large windows would likely be her only option for escape when this turned sour. Her mission was assuredly a failure now.

     Agent Purvis didn't speak as he placed the folder on the table. He simply looked up at her and chuckled. Then he finally spoke, "As I am certain you are aware, Madam, there was to be an attempt on the President's life tonight, and we believe you are the would-be assassin." He opened the file, her stomach flipped. It was a picture of Sophia, dressed in a casual dress, walking into the Russian antique shop where she was given her instructions, and the poison.

     Sophia simply gasped, "I--I could never! There simply must be a mistake." She rushed the words out nervously, "I am no Communist sir, I was simply shopping for my home." Sophia's hands shook in earnest now, this was not how her story would end. 

     Agent Purvis stood and walked to her side and leaned against the table, Sophia forced fearful tears into her eyes. He paused, then reached down to her grasp her shaking hand, and pulled it up to inspect the ring she had on her right ring finger. Sophia's heart gave a lurch as he ran his finger over it. 

     "Der'mo," She muttered in Russian. His eyes widened, but he was too late, she reached under her skirt and brought up the knife she had strapped against her thigh. She flipped Melvin around and pressed the knife to his throat before the other men in the room could come any closer.

     "Back away," she said glaring at the men. They all stopped fast. "Now that we have the formalities out of the-" She was interrupted by the sound of Agent Purvis' laughs. 

     "Sophia Malcov," He said, a grin in his voice. Sophia's grip tightened around the knife, no one had spoken her true name in two years. "It is a pleasure to finally put a face to the infamous name." Sophia didn't have time for his stalling. She stepped back, inching closer and closer to the window.

     "On whose orders have you come here?" The petulant man was grating on her patience. she needed to escape.

     "You are not in a position to ask questions." Sophia stated calmly as the four men took another step forward. Sophia would have to break the glass to flee, drawing unwanted attention. There was no time. 

     Her back hit the wall, she brought her leg around and swept Agent Purvis off his feet, falling face-first into the stone floor. With her blade, she shattered the window and leapt out, her arm snagging on a sharp shard of glass. Her feet met with soft grass and she rolled, somersaulting to her feet again and took off, knife still in hand. It was 8:00 by now, the sun had set but the sky was not completely dark yet. She barreled straight for the tall, metal fence. She had to get out quickly. 

She clamored over the iron barrier and landed on her feet. She glanced back to the house, at least ten men now ran from the building, one jumping down from the broken window. She turned and ran, she needed to get to the safe house. Then she would need to flee the country. 

•••

     Sophia walked the streets of Washington DC. The streets growing quieter as the hour grew later. The gash on her arm had just barely stopped bleeding, but her short, cuffed sleeve was now stained a deep red. Carriages and cars passed her by occasionally; every time, Sophia would dart behind a tree or around a corner. Her hair now fell loose around her in midnight waves. A couple approached, walking hand in hand down the rough granite path. 

     Sophia needed new clothing, anything but the Whitehouse uniform which was likely to get her spotted. 

     As the couple neared, she readied herself. Steeling her mind for what she was about to do. Survive. Just as they passed to her left, she attacked, striking the man in the throat with her hidden blade. She left the blade protruding from his neck, he slumped to the ground. She turned to the woman in a flash. She managed to get to her just before she screamed. Sophia covered her mouth with one hand and trapped the woman in a suffocating headlock. 

     The young lady struggled, scraping at Sophia's arm that was firmly locked around her. She fell to her knees, hysterically gasping for breath, but unsuccessfully. Sophia fell with her, keeping her grip tight. The woman's movements became labored, her grip on Sophia's arm slowly growing weaker and weaker until she stopped moving at all. Sophia held her still, she knew that to kill a person this way, she had to keep her from breathing for a while longer.

     She looked to the man, he stared at her, blood gurgled out of his mouth while he desperately clutched his throat, oozing blood in spurts. Sophia frowned, she did not like this slow death. She walked over to him, bending down and picked up the knife. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to meet the man's. His eyes were wild with fear and panic. She winced, then brought the knife down on his chest, passing through the gap in his ribcage and into his heart. 

     Sophia stood. She didn't have much time--

     Bang.

     Sophia fell back a step and caught herself. A sharp, searing pain rang through her body, it was a pain she recognized as a gunshot wound. 

     Bang. Bang. Bang

     This time, she fell. She fell hard. Her scull made a vicious crack as it hit an uneven path. Her vision was little more than a blur of white light and cobalt shadows. She felt the pain in her chest and stomach, everything was fuzzy however. It felt as though her mind was slowly slipping away from her body.

     Just as she felt as though she was slipping away, her mind was centered. She groaned as a blazing pain shot through her. Sophia's eyes came into focus again, landing on the bloodied, bruised face of Agent Purvis. 

     A muddled voice rang through her ears, "I said hold your fire!" It sounded as though he was yelling from under water. "We need her alive you damned fool," Then he turned his attention back on Sophia. It was his hands that pressed on her abdomen, unsuccessfully trying to stop her bleeding. "Sophia Malcov you are under arrest for murder, espionage, and the attempted murder of the President of the United States--" 

     Sophia cut him off with a weak laugh, choked by the blood now coating her lungs. 

     What a pitiful way to die. She thought to herself. 

      Once again, her mind seemed to separate from her body, the last tie to her body was a slow, penetrating beat that grew weaker with every passing moment. Time seemed to slow around her, her mind blissfully clear for once in her life, untethered by emotion. The beat, her heart--she realized--did not beat again, but she hung. She balanced, her mind still alive, but with no feeling, nothing holding her to the ground. Then suddenly...nothing.