Moscow. 2000.

I slowly sipped the bitter, hot drink by the window of the secluded and entirely ordinary café. Rain had been sliding down the glass pane for the past forty minutes, but I was still able to make out the figure of the man I was patiently waiting for. The heavy scent of burnt coffee beans and the gentle clinking of ceramic mugs combining with the low conversations of the other patrons was oddly calming and tranquil, allowing my pulse to maintain a steady pace and myself to give off the façade of being someone entirely ordinary. My hands were wrapped tightly around my own mug as memories of the man I was trailing, and the Gold Room flooded back in unpleasant and nausea-inducing waves. I didn't even know his name, never having taken the time to learn it, but he had stood aside whilst I had been tortured for over a year and that ignorance could not and would not go unpunished. He may have simply been working in the Red Room out of necessity, I knew that highly intelligent scientists had been 'recruited' into the programme. Recruited just being a word to use instead of forced. Regardless, I was not about to let him go on with a normal life as a banker whilst I lived in crappy cash rented apartments and occasionally took low-money jobs that usually consisted of me, in a brunette wig with brown contacts, threatening people who owed money. It was extremely boring and mundane, but an enemy of the KGB makes it her daily responsibility to stay below the radar. Russia may have moved on politically in the eyes of the world but domestically, there were groups still loyal to the old days and I would be top of their list for destroying the Scorpion and Black Widow programmes.

I watched as the scientist, age showing clearly on his face, ran from the bank to his car, hunched over to fend off the rain. He got in and slammed the door, his profile becoming blurred through the heavy downpour. I quickly swallowed the last of my drink, left some change on the table and stepped out into the rain, marching across the road and to the driver's window, giving a light tap on the glass. He unrolled it without looking at me, instead cupping his hand against the rain so he could light a cigarette. As the lighter failed to spark, he groaned in annoyance and looked up at me, realisation dawned on his face as he recognised me. I smiled sweetly down at him, my coat preventing anyone else from seeing my face.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it? You seem to have done okay for yourself. Your eldest son, he's off to University next year, isn't he?" He couldn't answer me but instead nodded slowly. I offered my most sincere smile as I rummaged in my coat pocket and found a lighter.

"Keep it. I've no need for it anyway. I hope your son makes something of himself." I allowed my expression to change to one of malice, and the man responded accordingly, fear apparent on his face as he hesitantly took the lighter from me. "I wouldn't want him to end up like his father." I nodded again, tapped the door frame and walked back across the street. I lowered my hood further over my face as the explosion from the car sent a shockwave of warm air to break the cold and then the acrid smell of burning rubber. I smiled to myself, this game really was too easy. His cause of death would be indeterminable, the accelerant in the lighter would burn at the temperature of aviation fuel fire. Ruining all traces of DNA and identification from his body. Brittle bones would be all that was left, and they would crumble to dust under anyone's touch.

I turned briefly to watch the flames engulf the car, burning furiously against the heavy rain. General passers-by had quickly taken out their phones and were calling for emergency services and they continued to run towards and flock around the burning car, as I headed in the opposite direction. Head down and mind on my next target.

I smirked slightly at the false burgundy passport that had my boarding pass enclosed, I held both in a firm grip as the passenger jet began its decent. Emiline Mercier was travelling from Moscow to New York, having done her fine art trip of Europe, she was heading into one of the most culturally diverse cities in the world to explore its own artistic history. I, however, am visiting for a very different reason. I hadn't worked entirely alone since I'd escaped Belarus and Yuri was the best fraudster I knew. I had five different identities under five different nationalities thanks to him and it was his latest one that would get me face to face with a man I hadn't seen in years.

Senator Warren had not aged gracefully. Liver spots dotted his skin where thick hair used to be. A five-year old's memory isn't the most competent one, but I knew it was him as soon as he had stepped into the foyer of the five-star-hotel. A young secretary scurried after him, listing off the extensive number of things he had to do that day. I sat in the waiting area, enjoying the feeling of the plush cushions under my fingers. The whole building oozed wealth and it was something I was not used to. However, I blended right into the opulent surroundings and the well-dressed patrons who frequented it. The black dress I had donned was a well-made fabric with concealed pockets that kept my small blade hidden. It hugged my knees as I got to my feet to follow him and the curved neckline made it look like I was any other working woman. I had decided to keep my hair scraped up in a high ponytail, my unbrushed hair was knotty and its errant curls didn't look the neatest, but it wasn't my biggest concern as I slipped into a yellow taxi behind the black sedan that Senator Warren had gotten into with his obedient secretary.

I trailed him around the city all day. Following him to various luncheons and meetings. He may have retired from his full-time post, but his political influence was still strong. I sat three tables away from him whilst he laughed with old co-workers, his voice was booming, and I couldn't help but smirk as he bragged about how well retirement was treating him, how the various risks he had taken throughout his career had paid off. The grumbles of his associates suggested they didn't share in his joy. Eventually his secretary slipped away, and I quickly got up to follow her to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I caught my reflection in the mirror and smirked at my changed appearance. My red tresses had been concealed under a straight blonde wig and the coloured contacts had changed my eyes from cold grey to mossy green. Emiline Mercier was undeniably pretty and she was all the conference hall's seven CCTV cameras would pick up, a young fine art student simply travelling the world to satisfy her wanderlust.

Sometimes I forget I'm only seventeen. I can't help but wonder what other seventeen-year olds think about and what they do to occupy their time. I would imagine it's simple and drab things like college and fashion trends and boyfriends. I often feel so much older than the truth, but you have little choice when you're forced to grow up exceptionally fast. I enjoyed the sound my heels made as I sauntered over to the taps and poured a glass of water, opening the small red star charm on my bracelet and tapping the contents in. It dissolved instantly, leaving no trace of its existence. There were a few milligrams at most, but I had been assured it was potent enough to do the job.

Senator Warren's secretary came out of the cubicle, humming a song to herself as she began to wash her hands. I slipped up behind her and pressed a finger into her ribs, I knew it would give her the sensation of a knife blade being pressed against the skin, but I would rather not have to use my weapon unless necessary. She gasped, and her hands shot up in surrender as she watched my reflection in the mirror.

"I don't have any money." She sputtered, I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her autonomous response.

"I'm not here to mug or rob you. I just need information." She shook her head; her own blonde up-do beginning to come undone.

"I don't know anything. I swear."

"Do you know your bosses home address?" She nodded vigorously, and I offered my best sincere smile.

"Then you have exactly what I need." I kept my finger under her ribs as she scribbled the address down on a paper towel with her expensive fountain pen before I took it and crumpled it in my hand. I sighed as I removed the pressure from her back.

"There, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" She smiled shakily, opening and closing her mouth like a fish gasping for water. I picked up the small glass and offered it to her.

"What do you want with him?" She questioned as she lifted the glass to her lips. I smiled sweetly, leaning against the marble counter top, waiting patiently.

"We have unfinished business."

"He's a good man. Honestly, he's a bit abrupt but he's a good ma…" I swiftly caught the glass that fell from her hand as they both flew to her throat that was turning redder with the passing seconds. Her eyes began to match the colour and as she fell to her knees a small tear of blood escaped her brown eyes. I arched an eyebrow as she exhaled her final breath and went still on the marble floor. I had never seen the poison work before, but Yuri had said he had it on good faith that it was undetectable once it was in the system. The post mortem would reveal that her trachea had developed small porous holes, like acid burns, allowing vital oxygen to escape and that she had most likely died in pain, but they would never know what, or who caused it.

I stepped over her body and unlocked the bathroom door, checking the empty hall before I ran into the main dining area, screaming for help in French, putting on my best show of crocodile tears and as the staff and other patrons ran towards the bathroom I slipped through them all and out into the streets of New York.

Senator Warren had not lied when he boasted how well his retirement had been treating him. The gated mansion was grand and ostentatious, but my main concern was the highly technical security system that prevented me from gaining easy access to the grounds.

"Paranoid, Senator?" I asked myself as I knelt in front of the system and examined the nine-digit buttons. Fingerprints were easy enough to lift during the day and even easier at night. Someone who had this much security was most certainly worried about keeping things out and something told me that no one went through the elaborate metal gates without him buzzing them through.

I pressed the button of my suit in the palm of my hand and the strips lit up on each arm and each leg and the small Scorpion emblem on my left shoulder. The UV light exposed the oils left behind from his fingerprints as he'd pressed the same four buttons every day. 1-9-8-9. I pressed them myself and smiled proudly as the gates rolled open. I pressed the button again and the lights on my suit went out as I walked up the long driveway. I could feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through my system, but I forced out shaky breaths and mentally told myself to keep calm and collected. I had already reached his front door by the time he had gotten there himself to peer out over his now dark and silent front yard. I listened as he went back inside but didn't lock the door and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I slipped inside and clicked the lock behind me, better to make sure he can't get away easily, though I can't deny it is more fun when they try to run.

I followed the quiet sound of a TV set until I saw his head, sat at a large sofa watching some kind of frivolous show. The large bottle of half-empty Scotch on his coffee table and the empty glass suggested he'd had a rough evening. I rounded the sofa until he caught me moving in his peripheral vision. He made no attempt to reach for the phone next to him but simply sat and stared at me, the lights in the room were dim and I kept my face concealed in the shadows. I took my work very seriously but now and then I had to find ways to amuse myself and little clichés like making a dramatic entrance helped to keep me amused. I stayed silent, we both knew that I was the one in the position of power, he was an old man and I had been injected with every kind of enhancement serum that the Red Room had at hand. It would take someone much stronger than him to beat me.

"Have you come to kill me?" He questioned quietly, and I couldn't help but chuckle lightly.

"Is there really that many people trying, Senator? That explains the extensive security system."

"I know I'm not the most popular in D.C but…" I help up a hand and closed my eyes as his speech trailed off and the low murmur of the TV show was all that could be heard.

"I don't care about D.C. I don't care about your career or how popular you were."

"Then who are you and why are you here?" I arched an eyebrow at the demanding tone that laced his questions.

"Nikolai and Alyona Marakova." I whispered, for a second, I thought I hadn't spoken loud enough but he swallowed nervously and readjusted his hands in his lap.

"I don't kn…"

"You know exactly who I'm talking about so don't give me that bullshit." I said through gritted teeth.

"They were…just two people I helped in the 80's."

"What happened to them?" I questioned, my face still concealed in the shadows.

"They died, a robber broke into their home and killed them. There's a lot of organized crime in Washington Heights. It was no different back then." So that was the lie that he'd spun for the media. A home invasion gone wrong.

"What happened to their bodies?" I asked as memories of the night began to return to me as they so often did in my nightmares.

"They were buried, I saw it to myself. They had been assets to this country and they were laid to rest as such. All four of them."

"Four?"

"Their daughter, she was five. She died as well." My own hands curled into fists and the pressure in my palm lit up the strips on my suit, revealing my identity to the ageing man.

"Did she now?" His face dropped as I took a step closer to him.

"You're alive." He stated.

"You knew I was alive. Because you know how they died, they never died because of a 'home invasion'. They were murdered by the KGB along with my unborn sibling and you helped them, didn't you?" He remained silent as I moved closer and sunk into a brown leather armchair

"I look quite different, don't I?" I asked rhetorically. "I mean, it has been –phew – how many years has it been, Senator?" He stayed silent as his eyes flickered to his phone and back to me. I sighed and took my gun from its holster and screwed the silencer into the barrel before shooting the socket. He jumped violently, and I smiled again.

"It's been eleven years, Senator. That's how long. Eleven years since everything I had was taken away from me." He held up his hands in defeat but admitted to nothing.

"It was you, wasn't it? You killed Karen?"

"Was that her name? I didn't take the time to learn it to be honest. It all seems so irrelevant once I've decided that they're going to die. She really should have done her research before she started working for you."

"What do you want?" He asked, trying to sound authoritative, instead it came out as more of a plea.

"I want you to admit what you did. But first I have a few questions for you. If you answer them all truthfully then this will all be over soon enough. But if you lie then I will have to get…creative." I couldn't help but laugh at myself at the thought of how manic I must have sounded to the man sat in front of me. But he nodded regardless and so I got back to my feet.

"Firstly, let's establish a few things. One, you worked for the U.S government. Two, you swore to protect me and my family from the KGB. Three, you failed." Senator Warren nodded slowly.

"Ok, so first question. Why did you kill my parents?"

"I didn't. You've already said that. It was the KGB, I kept up my end of the deal and your father kept up his. There was no reason for the KGB to have found you." I nodded at the truth of his statement.

I sighed in annoyance. "And yet they did. And you know what else has bothered me for the past eleven years? All the years of my captivity in a secret compound where they trained me to be…this. They were all in full uniform. During the Cold War, KGB soldiers were in New York in full uniform and no one spotted them? No one reported them? I remember my neighbours and they were all nosy as hell, so someone saw something but they all kept quiet. Why was that?"

"I wasn't even in New York that night. I got the call when I was in D.C for a presidential dinner."

"You were the State Senator for New York; do you honestly expect me to believe that you knew nothing about a group of fully dressed KGB officers coming into your city?" Senator Warren shook his head and I sighed once again as a headache began to encroach across my temples.

"I didn't want to have to do this, because more than anything else, it's really tiring. But I don't have all night. I've got a flight to catch in the morning, so we really need to hurry this along." I closed my eyes and reached into his memories of that night, and the nights leading up to it. I didn't know what I was looking for, it was like searching through a rubble pile of memories, looking for a diamond of clarity, but eventually I found it.

I spun on my heels and raised my gun to his head, I had a perfect shot and my finger rested over the trigger.

"You gave them a flight path in your private jet over New York airspace because they paid you off? Was my family's life worth no more than $2 million?"

"You don't understand." He said quietly. "They threatened to hurt my family."

"And you promised to protect mine!" I shouted for the first time that evening, making him jump and surprising myself, I very rarely let my emotions get the better of me, but I could see my own hand shaking.

"Look, I didn't know they were going to kill your parents. They said they just wanted to talk to them, ask them why they left. I was just the messenger."

"Are you genuinely stupid? They were the KGB, you were at war with the USSR, you knew what they did to defectors. And yet, for $2 million, you temporarily forgot all that."

"I did what I had to do to protect my family."

"And I'm just doing what it takes to avenge mine. You may have just been the messenger, Senator but I do believe in shooting the messenger. Do you know why?" Senator Warren shook his head, I smiled and pulled the trigger, the bullet silently leaving the barrel of my gun and landing directly in the bullseye of my target. I watched as he choked on his own blood where the bullet had gone straight through his neck and I slipped the gun back into its holster.

"It sends a message." I murmured to myself.