Location Unknown, 1978

Anna wakened early, in the lifeless, darkest hour just preceding dawn. She had not slept very well. Sometimes, one does not sleep well when one is expected to be tested, and the subject matter is unknown. Instead, she lay awake all through the long, dark, hours-thinking-thinking-thinking. She suddenly felt very alone. Alone in a bitter way, she hadn't felt since she was a small girl in Canada. She didn't feel as brave as she did yesterday. The tears pricked her eyelids as she lay there alone in the faintly greying darkness. She dared not let herself cry like she wanted to for two reasons. She knew it would do absolutely no good. And she was afraid that Director Donely would notice her red eyes. So she got up, and she tamped all her feelings down deep while she ate the breakfast that was left on a tray in her room. Anna forced herself to swallow a cup of tea and then dressed and then sat and waited with the odd feeling that years had passed since she had sat with Ivan in the common room, thinking that the Arcana behind them.

Suddenly she remembered a Russian joke that Ivan had once told her. "A bear is driving through the forest. He sees a burning car. He gets in… and burns!"

She was surprised to hear her own laughter, and it was loud in the silent room. She hadn't understood the punchline then. Many things that Ivan said were lost in translation. So she had rolled her eyes while he laughed until his sides ached. But suddenly, it seemed uproariously funny now that she was choosing to undergo another test.

Ivan. She thought with a sigh.

She took a moment to pray he wasn't worried about her. She hoped someone had told him where she was. She wished desperately that he was there to give her some piece of sage advice that would calm her nerves or a joke to make her laugh. Just being able to reach out and squeeze his hand for assurance would be welcome. She just wanted him near more than anything. But, on this morning of her day of fate, reality pressed on her too sharply, barking at her heels like a mad dog. She was looking at the day before her with no past and only an imagined future. As far as she could look back, since the death of her beloved parents, life was drab and colorless. As far as she could look forward was just the great unknown.

"And I just have to go on living because I can't stop," Anna said out loud, in a strange kind of panic. She went on living and living when so many she loved were in the grave. There was an unfairness to life that was always weighing her down. She shook her head as if she could physically clear her mind of the burden if she tried hard enough. She opened the curtains and saw the rising sun had clouded over, and a dismal, drizzling rain was beginning to fall.

There was a knock at her door; Anna looked at her watch. It was half-past seven, and she knew it was time. There were two muscle-bound men at her door with a blindfold, and she could do nothing but commit herself to the process. Her day of destiny had come.

Her heart acted strangely on the way to the secret destination. She was placed blindfolded in a waiting car. She tried to calm herself by counting the number of turns and pauses they made on the way. She knew that wherever she was being taken, it was far away from the city. She could tell by the long stretches they drove in one direction. Eventually, the car stopped. She was helped out and her blindfold removed. She blinked into the bright light and tried to bring her eyes into focus. Before her was a large metal building, one of the largest she had ever seen. Director Donely and a man she didn't recognize were standing there as well.

Sean took a moment to speak to Anna before he began her newest test. He rested his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"Welcome to Purgatorium. This is a real test. In this business, distractions can get you killed. What you did earlier this week in proving your tradecraft was impressive, but you need to get the same results under extreme stress. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I will stay focused and not get distracted."

"And remember, you can stop at any time with no negative consequences to you at all."

"I understand."

"Good luck." He dropped his hands and took a step back.

The color went out of Anna's face, leaving it pale as ashes. Her hasty assertion had no sooner been uttered than it was questioned in her own mind, but she must stand by it now. Anna walked up to the large metal building. Inside, to her surprise, was a house, a complete clapboard house with a door and windows. Dr. Vasiliev approached her and gave her a standard WSB-issued tool kit.

"Agent Devane. There is important research locked in that house that you must retrieve. Once you have it and bring it out, your test will be complete." he said

Anna looked at the house skeptically. There must be more to it, she thought to herself. Walking up to the front door, she studied the lock, and once she selected the correct tool, she got to work. In seconds she was inside. The house was furnished modestly with a table and chairs and bed. Pictures hung from the walls, and across the room was a cast-iron puzzle safe. She brushed her nervousness aside like dead leaves and confidently walked up to it and laid her hands on the cool metal.

THUMP! CLICK!

There was a loud sound behind her, and she whipped around to find that the front door was closed, and she could hear the sound of a key being turned. They were locking her in. The sound of breaking windows on all sides of her pierced her ears. She ducked and covered her head to protect herself from the raining glass. Through the broken windows came incendiary devices that flashed with fire. As she looked left and right, up and down, it was all fire. She wasn't masked, so she started to inhale the heat. Every breath got hotter and hotter. The flames licked over the tablecloth and bedding and set it alight. The smell of acrid smoke filled her nostrils. Her lungs burned at the huge gasps of air she was sucking in, choking slightly on flecks of ash. Automatically her hands came up to waft the smoke away from her vision. She was locked in, and they had set the house on fire. She tried to stop the flow of panic that streamed through her. Her first urge was to pound on the door and scream for help, but then she remembered her task.

Director Donely's words echoed in her mind. She would fail if she didn't get the contents of the safe out. They wanted her to panic, to give in to the distraction, but she steeled herself to complete the mission. It was a surreal feeling: wanting to do something, knowing what to do, but second-guessing herself. As she looked left and right, up and down, it was all catching fire. Oddly the flames didn't bother her. It was the smoke that gave her the most trouble. She saw a bowl of water in the sink and began to tear off a piece of her skirt. She dipped it into the water and wound it around her mouth and nose. She felt instantly better and grabbed her tools, and got to work.


Director Sean Donely was never nervous. He was always confident and self-assured, the king of his castle and all that he could see. But as he watched the house in front of him go up in flames with Anna inside, a cold chill ran through him, and his face turned ashen.

"Do you know what you are doing, Vasiliy?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"You wanted to test her completely. The rescue team is waiting. As soon as she calls for help, they will retrieve her. She just needs a few moments to recognize that she can't do what you've asked and remove herself from danger. She, and we, have to know her limits."

"It won't look good if I'm responsible for burning our best recruit alive," he muttered.

"You won't be held responsible. She signed all the proper paperwork. And just wait. She'll call for help."

"She's something special, Vasiliy. I just have a feeling…" His words trailed off as the structure was completely engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke poured from the hangar.

"What if she can't call for help! What if she is already unconscious?" he asked as his blood pressure rose.

Suddenly without warning the roof of the house collapsed. Sean found himself running as fast as he could towards the structure. The fire was so hot he couldn't get very close.

"GET HER OUT! GET HER OUT!" he yelled, but then he stopped, and his mouth gaped open at what he saw.

He could see Anna through the smoke, dragging herself from underneath the porch through a foundation vent and away from the flames. A shower of burning cinders fell over her, and she brushed them away like they were mosquitos landing on her skin. Her skirt caught alight, and she stopped to swat the flames out with her hand before pulling her singed body away from the house. Anna staggered to Sean and handed him the ledger. She unwound the damp cloth from around her head and asked, "Did I pass?" before violent coughing stole all the words from her.

Anna wanted to feel relieved, but she had trouble focusing enough to understand all that was being said as chaos swirled around her. Then she lay down on the ground, completely exhausted. She felt something wet and cool running down her eyes, across his closed eyelids. There were hands holding her up, moving her somewhere. She didn't care who the hands belonged to or where she was being taken. All she cared for was the fact she could breathe. She gulped down the oxygen, feeling the fresh air, tasting the rain, and then fell unconscious in a dead faint.

Sean stood over her in stunned silence as the safety crew worked to place her on a stretcher; the rest were engaged in extinguishing the remaining flames. Dr. Vasiliev stood with his hand over his mouth in shock. He passed his hand over his eyes and then came and clapped Sean on the back.

"Do you know what this means?" he said excitedly.

"Yes," Sean said hollowly. He felt exhausted himself.

Vasiliy immediately took charge of the situation, barking orders to everyone and no one.

"Take her to the infirmary at once! Let's hope she will revive."


Ivan paced frantically. It had been over 24 hours, and she still hadn't returned. Twenty-four hours since she had followed him, on their way to celebrate her success only to have her vanish seemingly into thin air. No trace of her could be found in the Academy Hall or on the grounds of the estate. Failing to discover the truth behind her absence, conjecture and gossip ran riot. All sorts of explanations were hinted at or manufactured-most of them ridiculous enough. He had sought help in every corner, and yet no one seemed concerned by her absence which willed him with suspicion. He had tried everything to find out where she was and what had happened but at every turn, he heard a word that made him incandescent with rage.

Classified.

He finally sought refuge in his room so that he could think. He needed to think. Maybe he had missed a clue; maybe she would walk through his door any minute, smiling and apologetic for making him worry so. Or what if...

RING! RING! RING!

He reached for the phone and fairly shouted "YES!" into the receiver. The deep voice on the other end was one he didn't recognize, and it did not identify itself.

"Ms. Devane is in the infirmary. We don't know how she got here or how she came to be in the condition she is."

CLICK

The line went dead before he could demand any answers. He slammed it down and reached for his coat, and was out the door as fast as he could go. He had to get to her.

The waiting was agonizing. He had no idea how much time had passed, how many times he had paced the room, how many cups of tea had been offered and refused. A kindly nurse had ushered him away from her hospital room to a bright, airy sitting area with potted plants and vases of flowers, and that didn't provide him with a moment's relief from his turmoil. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and met his tortured eyes, but there was nothing to be said. In his heart, he felt like Anna's doom, earthly and unearthly, was sealed.

From what he could glean from overheard conversations was that Anna was incredibly lucky to be alive. Thankfully, she had two bruised ribs, but not broken. However, she also had a gash below her shoulder blade and resulting in damage to flesh and bone. She had received a nasty blow to the head; luckily, her skull appeared intact, and they had stitched her split scalp. Her other injuries were all superficial – extensive bruising, cuts, abrasions, and burns. She was suffering from smoke inhalation and needed oxygen. They had done everything that could be done for her, it was expected that she would be unconscious for some time to come, and now, once again, it would be a waiting game.

When could he see her? The doctor shook his head. It wouldn't be possible. He would just have to wait. Ivan was beyond being polite. He had to see her. It was not a statement; it was a threat. Every inch of him was ready to fight. He stepped forward and demanded again to see her. A silent battle waged, and, momentarily, the doctor stepped to the side, shrugged, and indicated that he should follow; he didn't even think twice.

The sight of her was shocking to him. A bandage crowned her head. Her left arm was black and blue and swollen, and crisscrossed with tiny red cuts and dotted with burns. What he could see of her neck and collarbone was also bruised; the same went for her right arm. Her left was bandaged from her fingers up to where it disappeared beneath the sleeve of her gown. He could only imagine what handiwork the covers concealed. Who knew what horrors she was revisiting under the influence of pain, the fever, and the opiates flooding her system?

Her breath was shallow and ragged, and she was pale, and it was a grey pallor. She looked so small, laid out in the hospital bed, and his heart ached. Why did it have to be her? Why not him? Why had he not been a gentleman and followed her to her room instead of going ahead? Nurses came, did what nurses do, and left them alone again. At his age, he no longer believed in God, as such, nor did she to the best of his knowledge. But that didn't stop him from praying to anyone or anything that would listen – please, please, please. His hand covered hers, and then he picked it up carefully, trying to avoid disturbing the hoses and tubes that covered her like vines. He didn't know what to do, so he told her a story, speaking softly in French. He recited her parts of the Chanson de Roland as much as he could remember, and he squeezed her hand and stroked her cheek. "I'm here, Anna… Don't worry, I'm here…" Every fiber of his being he concentrated on willing her well.

Hours later, he felt the first twitch of her fingers, clasped gently in his. It was like being rooted back into the ground; reality swept in on him, his contact with her like a lightning rod in a storm.

Her lashes fluttered open, and she looked at him with confusion. "Ivan?..."

The voice was quiet, tired, worn, but nevertheless beautiful music to his ears. The shock, the relief, stunned him for a moment, the vulnerable look on his face all too telling. But the minute he caught sight of her brown eyes, he snapped back to his usual form like elastic.

"Bon Nuit, la belle au bois dormant…" he smiled at her.

She tried to smile back, then grimaced, "Oww… everything hurts…" Her voice was hoarse and cracked as she spoke. But he was so grateful that she was conscious.

"I'm sure it does… It looks like you've had a pretty tough time of it… Try not to move…"

"What happened?... And where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, but I'd rather you try and tell me what happened… What can you remember?"

Ivan was there looking at her with intensity and worry, and compassion. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"I can't," she said so quietly he had to strain to hear. "It's classified."

"So you aren't going to tell me about what happened?" He let go of her hand, stood up, and began pacing the room.

"After everything you went through, everything we have gone through together, you won't tell me what they did to you?" he said incredulously.

"I can't. But I completed the task. At least I think I did." She said wearily. At first, she was too weak and too happy to notice that Ivan looked so grave and then, as subtly, and coldly, and remorselessly as a fog stealing landward, fear crept into her heart.

"Why are you angry at me?" She asked; her voice was tremulous, but Ivan's heart hardened.

Ivan was a long while in turning round, then looked in her eyes. Emotion curled around his heart until he could no longer contain it.

"Angry! Y-yes, I'm angry. Because you s-scared me. I thought you were k-killed for all I knew. And they did this to you! This is the hallowed Bureau we are supposed to s-swear allegiance to?" he was trembling and growing almost incoherent with the violence of his emotion. "Well, damn them! Do you hear me? No one would give me any information on your condition, just that there had been a mishap. They call this-," he gestured at her bruised and broken body, "a mmm-MISHAP!"

"No one did this to me. I agreed to it," her voice grew stronger as her own temper rose to match his. "I knew the risks. I'm not helpless, Ivan. I don't need you looking out for me. I'm fine on my own."

"If you're f-fine on your own, then I'll leave you alone." He walked towards the door with the intention of not looking back. He saw red in the passion of his anger, and he wanted to hold onto it for a long while. But he couldn't manage it. He turned at the door to look at her one last time.

Anna's spirit suddenly felt as shattered as her body. Her refusal to tell him her ordeal and his anger at her silence clouded the sweet, perfect understanding that had always existed between them.

"Please! Please don't go. I didn't mean it. Don't leave me," said Anna, tears were streaming down her face. Her hand reached out to his but dropped suddenly. She was too weak. Then she let out a shuddering sigh that filled the whole room. She had never before minded being alone in her whole life. Now she dreaded it.

And just like that, his furry melted like snow. He was at her side once again, her hand in his. He brushed aside the tears that flowed freely and whispered soft words of apology into her ear. He didn't mean to be so harsh, but the depth of his feeling for her demanded it. She clung to his hand with all her strength, and that exertion was too much for her fragile body.

"Please stay with me,' she pleaded, "Until I fall asleep."

"I promise, Anna." he said soothingly, "I'm here. Why don't I recite something for you? Close your eyes and rest."

Once she was certain he would stay, she relaxed and closed her eye obediently, "I just want to hear your voice," she sighed.

"Alright. Let me think…," His mind reached out for words to say, and William Blake was the first his mind conjured, so he began.

"O Rose thou art sick.

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night

In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy:

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy."

He looked at her face and saw that sleep had already claimed her. There was a slight smile on her lips, and her breathing was deep and even. He had no intention of leaving. There was something that was very clear in that moment. He understood in his soul he was no longer a free man-forevermore, he would be in the power of this pale girl in the hospital bed.