As she walked out the door of St. Joseph's Catholic Church, Beth Reynolds – SARAH WALKER! – saw a black Lincoln Towncar come around the corner and pull up in front of the church. As it rolled to a stop, the right rear door swung open.

She got into the car – and there was Art Graham, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. "It's good to see you again, Ms. Walker," he said.

"Director Graham," she replied.

"So you know who I am, yes?"

"Father O'Halloran filled me in pretty well," Sarah said. "I have to ask, though, before anything else – what did he mean when he said he was an asset handler?"

"Simply put," Graham stated, "it means that he is the contact for foreign agents in Boston who work for us. There's two members of Russia's FSB – or, if you prefer, the KGB – one French DGSE agent, and one Israeli Mossad agent, all of whom are in Boston, and all of whom are on our payroll. Father O'Halloran oversees all their operations."

Sarah nodded. "I see. But I always thought that the CIA only did international operations."

"That's correct," Director Graham replied. "Technically, this is not an operation. We have compromised several of their agents, and so they work for us, providing foreign intelligence to us, and providing false intelligence to the foreign agencies."

"Interesting. So, is that the kind of work I'll be doing?"

Director Graham looked shocked. "Oh, good heavens, no. You're far too valuable for that."

He steepled his fingers, looking over them at Sarah. "We have plans for you to be what we call a deep cover operative. This goes beyond standard field agent work. It's why you've been given a different name – that is who you 'are', and you take on different 'covers' for different missions. On one mission, you may be Sarah Walker, on another mission, you may be Natasha Fatale."

She looked back at him. "I assume I won't be chasing down a moose and squirrel, though, sir."

Graham smiled. "Quite right. I'm impressed that you got the Rocky and Bullwinkle reference."

"I used to watch it on Saturday mornings with my fat- oh, god dammit."

"Yes," Graham said, shaking his head. "You have to completely forget everything. You have a new childhood, a new past to relearn. Now, I would imagine that something as innocuous as watching Saturday morning cartoons with your father is perfectly fine, but it needs to be part of Sarah Walker's past."

"Understood, sir."

For the rest of the drive to Boston's Logan Airport, she didn't say much, just listening as Graham explained to her some of what was going to happen. At Logan, she boarded a private jet, with no markings save for its identification code. That jet flew her to Langley Air Force Base, where she was met by another Lincoln. This one took her to a farm in the middle of Virginia horse country.

"You'll be staying here during your training," the host informed her and seven other recruits who sat in the living room of the huge old farm house with her that evening. "You are free to move about the property; however, if you leave the property, you leave the CIA. If you wish to become part of this program, you must do exactly as we say.

"There is nothing planned for this evening except for dinner at 7:00 PM. After that, lights out will be at 12:00 midnight. Physical training begins at 6:30 AM; you are expected to be up and on the front lawn at that time."

He picked up a small garbage can. "Before going to your individual rooms, please deposit your cell phones in this can."

There were a few grumbles about that, but those recruits with phones complied. Sarah didn't have a cell phone, so it wasn't a problem for her.

In her assigned room, she was shocked to discover not only her laptop computer, but all of her books and her entire wardrobe. There was no Internet connection for the computer, but she was still pleased to have it.

Dinner that night wasn't very impressive, but it was edible, and it was filling. Sarah was in bed, asleep, by 10:00 PM – the earliest she had fallen asleep in months.

She woke at 5:30 the next morning, went to the kitchen, and had a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. By 6:00 AM, she was on the front lawn, doing martial arts exercises to stretch and warm up.

By 6:30 AM, all seven of the other recruits had joined her. They were dressed in a variety of different outfits – tracksuits, basketball shorts, workout clothes. As a result, when the man in battle dress uniform walked into the morning sunlight on the front lawn, he stood out.

"Good morning, recruits," the house host said. "This is Gunnery Sergeant Martin Adams. He is a twenty-two year veteran of the United States Marine Corps, and is a drill sergeant at MCRD Parris Island. Gunny?"

"GOOD MORNING, RECRUITS," the man boomed. "We don't have much time, so I'm going to give you the quick and dirty version of the procedures that you will follow while under my command. When I say, 'Good morning, recruits,' you will respond with, 'Good morning, drill sergeant, sir!' So, Good morning, recruits!"

"Good morning, drill sergeant, sir!"

"That was pathetic! GOOD MORNING RECRUITS!"

"GOOD MORNING, DRILL SERGEANT, SIR!"

"Better, but still weak. When I give you an order, you will respond, 'Yes, drill sergeant, sir!' When you speak to me, your sentences will begin with 'sir' and end with 'sir.' Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"You learn quickly! Now, let me make something clear. If you think you've seen Marine Corps boot camp because you've watched Full Metal Jacket, then you have another think coming! I will make Drill Sergeant Hartman look like a god damn pansy! Is that clear?!"

"SIR, YES, SIR!"

"Good! Now let's see what kind of pathetic group of losers we have here!"

He stepped in front of the first recruit, a Latino man who looked to be two or three years older than Sarah.

"Recruit Alberto Juarez!"

"SIR, YES, SIR!"

"Why do you want to be in the Central Intelligence Agency, Mr. Juarez?"

"Sir, I want to prevent another 9/11, sir!"

"Oh really. And do you plan to do that by your god damn self?"

"Sir?"

"Don't just sir me! You tell me right now, do you plan to go into Afghanistan, and find Osama Bin Laden by yourself, or will you be part of a larger good?!"

"Sir, I wish to be part of the larger good, sir!"

"Then stop being such a selfish son of a bitch, Juarez! Your goal should not be to prevent another 9/11, your goal should be to work with this country to make it safer! Do I make myself god damn clear?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Gunny Adams moved down the line, similarly interrogating each of the recruits. When he came to Sarah, his eyes were almost even with hers – he was only about half an inch taller than her.

"Recruit Beth Reynolds!"

She didn't say a word.

"RECRUIT BETH REYNOLDS!"

Sarah remained silent.

"GODDAMMIT, RECRUIT, SAY SOMETHING!"

"Sir, I am not Beth Reynolds, sir!"

"LIKE FUCKING HELL YOU'RE NOT BETH REYNOLDS! I'VE SEEN YOUR FILE, I'VE SEEN YOUR PICTURE!"

"Sir, my name is Sarah Walker, sir."

"BULLSHIT! YOUR NAME IS BETH REYNOLDS! SAY IT! TELL ME THAT YOUR NAME IS BETH REYNOLDS!"

"Sir, I can't do that, sir, because it would be untrue, sir."

"GOD DAMMIT, REYNOLDS, GET YOUR ASS ON THE GROUND AND START DOING PUSH-UPS! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE GET UP UNTIL I TELL YOU TO STOP!"

Sarah didn't move. She just remained standing, staring into the drill sergeants eyes.

"REYNOLDS, IF YOU DON'T GET ON THE GROUND RIGHT FUCKING NOW, YOU'RE GOING TO BE BREATHING THROUGH A GOD DAMN HOSE!"

"Sir, I am not Beth Reynolds, sir."

Adams moved faster than a snake. His left fist flashed upwards, catching Sarah under the chin and knocking her to the ground. Stunned, she lay there for a moment, aware of Adams moving to stand over her.

"GET UP, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! GET UP, AND SAY THE WORDS, 'SIR, MY NAME IS BETH REYNOLDS, SIR!'"

Sarah just lay silently on the ground for a moment, collecting her breath.

"GODDAMMIT, REYNOLDS! I WILL DESTR-"

She moved swiftly, faster even than Adams had when he punched her. Sarah used her arms to propel herself off the ground, using years of various martial arts trainings to sweep Adams off his feet with the movement of just her left leg. He tried to correct his fall, but Sarah kicked out with her right foot, hearing bone snap as she made contact with his arm.

Adams hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. He lay there, sucking in oxygen, cradling his left arm, as Sarah got to her feet. Murder in her eyes, she stared down at him.

"Sir. My name is SARAH WALKER. SIR."

"That's enough!"

The now-familiar voice of Director Graham floated across the front lawn. The eight recruits snapped to attention, including Sarah. Behind her, Gunny Adams groaned as he struggled to his feet.

"You all, every single one of you, just failed," Director Graham said, a note of irritation in his voice.

"Except for Sarah Walker. She was the only one who did not respond to a name that no longer exists. She refused to answer to that name, instead maintaining her cover.

"A deep cover operative must be able to maintain his or her cover, no matter the circumstances. From what I saw here, the only one of you with the ability to do that is Ms. Walker.

"The other seven of you will be escorted from here back to the Langley Training Facility. You still have the opportunity to become field agents; however, it is a serious mark against you to be dismissed from this training program."

Director Graham paused. "Thank you for your time. You're dismissed."

They all headed for the house, seven with looks of shock on their faces, and Sarah trying desperately not to smile. "Ms. Walker!" Director Graham called, stopping her.

She stopped and turned to face him, as he walked toward her. Gunny Adams walked behind him, gingerly cradling his arm.

"I don't want to compliment you too much, but that was a very impressive display," Graham said. "However, I would recommend a little less force in the future."

Sarah grimaced and looked at Adams. "I'm sorry about the arm, sir."

He waved off the apology with his good hand. "I should've been prepared," he replied. "But then, so should have you been prepared when I punched you. Let that be a lesson."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

He looked at her with an appraising eye. "I think you'd make a good Marine, Walker."

"Thank you, sir."

Graham chuckled. "Don't you dare, Adams. Go have the host take you to get that arm taken care of, and stop trying to steal Agent Walker."

Sarah's eyes widened. Agent Walker.

Graham saw the look on her face, and interpreted it correctly. "That's right. From this point forward, you are Agent Walker. You will answer to that title, and you will be addressed by that title. If anybody refers to by 'Walker' or by any other title from this point forward, you may feel free to correct them."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, I want you to understand something, Walker."

"Agent Walker, sir."

Graham smiled. "Of course. Agent Walker. You must understand. This was the easy part. From here on in, everything gets more difficult. I believe that you have what it takes to handle it. The question is, do you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm ready."

Graham nodded. "Good. You'll spend the remainder of the day here, being briefed on CIA policies and procedures by staffers who will be coming in from Langley. Tomorrow morning, you will accompany them back to Langley to begin further training. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good," Graham replied. "Welcome to the Central Intelligence Agency, Agent Walker."