Prologue

October 18th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Alessandra De Luca wasn’t sure what day of the week it was. The room where she was being held lacked windows, but the timing of her clients gave her a reasonable grasp on the time of day. Here, her entire world was controlled by her shadowy captors and their designs upon her body.

Alessandra De Luca didn’t even really exist; she was a cover identity for an Intelligence Officer on assignment. The problem was that her assignment was well and truly off the rails. It was never meant to have gone this far; she was to be dangled for thor targets; a prize for her “masters” to covet. They would allow the traffickers to take her to one of their main locations, unwittingly confirming the extent of their pipeline. At that point, she would be rescued and the entire organization burned to the ground.

Her people, the ones she had trusted to rescue her, had let her down and she hadn’t heard from her handlers in weeks. She still hung onto the hope that they were coming for her, but with each day, and each client that hope faded.

The room was comfortable enough; she had a bed and food, clothes, and cosmetics but she was little more than a well-kept pet to her captors. The clients were the worst part; they were wealthy men who had one specific taste and she matched it exactly. In her initial briefing, there had been no plan for her to ever actually sleep with them; it should have all been over long before then.

There was a knock at the door to her room; the only people who knocked were clients and the man was expected. He was like the others; interested in what she was rather than who she was. Unlike some of them, however, he wasn’t as aggressive. Standing slowly, she checked her appearance in the wall mirror. Her blonde hair and bold makeup were perfect and the black negligee was covering just enough of her to entice attention.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, centering herself in the moment and burying a little more of her soul. Fixing a smile on her face, she approached the door and opened it. Her client was waiting, his expression brightening when he saw her.

“Somehow you manage to look more beautiful every time I see you.” he smiled, his Arab accent thick and smokey.

“Just for you sir,” she purred back, her smile not slipping. “Won’t you come in?”

Taking the man by the hand, she led him into the room and towards the bed.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the drinks cabinet that was only to be touched when a client was present. Ostensibly, it was a dry country, but places like this operated on their own rules.

“Pour me a whiskey.” the man asked, sitting on the foot of the bed.

He watched her glide across to the cabinet and prepare his tumbler of single malt. “Would you mind if we just talk today?”

“Whatever you want sir.” She replied sitting primly beside him. “Anything you desire.”

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

“Of course… Hassan,” she replied demurely.

The man reached out and cupped her cheek. “You look so sad, my desert flower, please smile for me.”

Alessandra forced a smile to her lips, it was real enough after a lot of practice.

She could tell that Hassan didn’t believe her, but he didn’t seem to want to break the fantasy. Some men wanted to use her and hurt her, others like him wanted more of the girlfriend experience.

Hassan was about to speak when there was a noise in the corridor outside. He seemed confused, but Alessandra recognized the sound of suppressed gunfire immediately.

Jumping up from the bed she grabbed her silk robe from the dresser and kicked off the pumps on her feet.

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

Alessandra rolled her eyes. “Be quiet.”

“You… what?” he balked.

“Just keep your head down and stay there,” she ordered, yanking the metal railing from her wardrobe to use as a staff. Quickly, she darted across to the wall beside the door and waited, the metal rod in hand. The gunfire drew closer and Hassan finally realized what it meant. Like the big man his money convinced him he was, he cowered behind the bed.

As she waited, Alessandra strained to hear voices out in the corridor. Whoever was out there were keeping their voices too low to hear. It could be a rescue, but it could equally be a rival organization coming to take over or wipe them out. Whoever it was, she had no intention of being taken without a fight.

Without warning, the door burst open and a man came in quickly, weapon raised as he wheeled left to clear the blind corner. Reacting on instinct, Alessandra dropped low and swept his legs with the rod. The rifle went off, sending a stream of bullets into the wall and shattering bottles in the drinks cabinet.

Without waiting, she was on the man’s back and pinning his arm. “Who the hell are you?” she growled.

“Amemdfjfh,” the man mumbled into the carpet.

Before he could repeat himself, she was scooped off the man by a large arm that wrapped around her torso. “Hey, calm down, we’re friendlies. We got you.”

“Get off me!” she screamed, kicking out for anything in range.

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

 

 

Chapter One - Mission Creep

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 those same pregame jitters before kickoff. The bigger the assignment, the worse it was. He was thankful for it; it meant he took the time to prepare. He had known ops guys that cut corners and let their guard down and they never seemed to last long.

At twenty-nine years old, he had been with the CIA for eight years. Recruited directly out of college, he had attended The Operations Directorate’s six-month course at Camp Peary Virginia, colloquially known within the Agency as The Farm.

Ryan Knight would be the first to tell you that he was no glorified Adonis. Like most Inteligence Officers in the Agency he was pretty average in almost all respects and the truth was that it benefited him. Supermodels and big buff action men tended to draw far more attention than the girl or guy next door. Standing five feet seven inches tall with a little optimism, he was often seen as the kid brother of the Paris Office. He’d never be James bond, but it made him perfect for James Bond’s job.

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

Their target today was Abbas Ahmad, a Lebanese terrorist responsible for a string of attacks throughout southern Europe and North Africa. Ever the noble Jihadi, he sent others to do his dirty work choosing instead to spend his time throwing threats at the West from a position of obscurity. They were in Nice today because he had made a mistake.

“Target will be on you in sixty seconds.”

Ryan clicked his tongue twice to acknowledge the transmission, the sound being picked up by the bone-conductive receiver 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.”

Turning north along Rue du Pont Vieux, Ryan scanned the crowd ahead of him from the anonymity of his sunglasses. He wasn’t entirely sold on the ethics of their mission, but to date, it was the only chink in the armor of Ahmad’s terrorist network; his family.

Little did his loyal zealots realize, but their devout leader had two children with his French mistress in a Boujee Nice apartment. Finding that factoid out had cost them the life of one of their own; they owed it to him to make it pay off.

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. 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, blue shirt.” the disembodied voice intoned, “Watcher Two has them one two zero meters your twelve. Snatch location four zero meters, white van.”

“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 pace.

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

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

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

“Bravo, good to go”

Charlie, standing by.”

“Echo, on target.”

“Foxtrot, ready and waiting.”

Ryan nonchalantly licked his ice cream as he approached Laurent, the woman chatting to her child as she strolled casually south. The van door cracked open just a few inches as they drew closer. Like planetary bodies in space, the van door, Laurent, and Ryan aligned right on time. Ryan turned and raised a hand as if to wave at the woman and called out, “Ah, Bonjour Anna!”

Confused, the French woman faltered and looked his way at the same moment that the van door slid open and Ryan’s other hand shoved her backward into the interior. Scooping the child under his arm, he followed her into the vehicle, the door slid smoothly closed behind them and the vehicle lurched away from the curbside. The entire operation had taken three seconds.

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 for her writhing mother but Ryan shushed her and held her close. 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 long anyone could put the pieces together the Florist’s van was lost in the busy traffic of the French Rivera city.

 

 

The warehouse by Nice Airport looked about as dilapidated and run down as one might expect of a property sandwiched on the thin strip of land between the Var River and the perimeter fence. At one point it had been used to store fertilizer and it still smelled vaguely of Ammonia.

The door was opened as the van approached and was rolled smoothly closed behind it. The operations command center was a temporary affair that had been driven down from the Paris Field Office the night before in several vans and would, by nightfall, be on its way north again.

Ryan eased himself out of the van with the small girl in his arms while two techs assisted the other Officer, Mike Edwards, in unloading Marianne Laurent’s limp form from the van.

Kneeling, he pushed the hair out of the girl’s eyes and smiled what he hoped was a comforting friendly smile. 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. The girl appeared no older than four, way before the point of comprehending what was happening; she was innocent in all the dark deeds of her father and Ryan intended to keep her that way. The little girl smiled back at him shyly, what was happening to her hadn’t even entered her mind. “You’re going to be ok sweetie. Tout ira bien ma chérie, oui?”

The little girl looked uncertain but nodded. A female tech approached and smiled politely at the little girl. “I’ll take her Mister Knight.”

Ryan thanked her and stood, giving the little girl one last smile before walking across the warehouse to the curtained-off area where they had Laurent on a gurney. A medical tech was injecting the woman with a cocktail of drugs that would counteract the sedative they had given her on the ride over. A frustrated Edwards was watching on, tapping his foot impatiently.

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

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

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

“They often don’t,” Ryan observed. “Kid is being looked after.”

Edwards smirked. “Perfect, we frighten mom and get her to fess up to Ahmad’s location and we can call it a day.”

Ryan held his tongue. He knew the man would never actually dare harm innocents, but he knew 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 he walked 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.

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

“Wakey wakey Marianne, are you with us?” Edwards asked coldly as he lightly slapped the woman’s cheek a few times to get her attention.

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.

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

“I don’t know who…” she was cut off as Edwards slapped her cheek again, this time 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, you know who he is, and we know that he’s hiding out somewhere in town. 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 Knight. “Then I guess it’s 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 I’m not,” Edwards clarified casually. “Tell me what I want to know or this will get real ugly. 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.”

“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 Operations Officers. Ryan knew the look. It was the same look a cornered animal gave when it was trying to decide which fate was better; a quick death or a desperate attempt to escape. Laurent’s shoulders sagged against the gurney and she closed her eyes. “Don’t… I’ll tell you,” she whispered. Looking over at Ryan, she looked almost desperate. “If I tell you, you must ensure my son 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 now?”

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

Edwards strode over to the technicians 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 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.

“Nice spot,” he observed as the drone swept past a chimney and began to approach a building. “This the one?”

“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.”

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 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.

“Send it, authorization Gamma twelve Ultima.”

Ryan balked as he watched the tech switch screen to a targeting reticle. “Are you kidding me, Mike? With his kid and all those civilians there?”

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

“But we promised her…” Ryan insisted, looking back at Marianne Laurent, “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.” the tech responded impassionately.

Ryan watched in horror as the camera began to track the missile from the orbiting Reaper drone down towards the busy French street. The drone camera on the other monitor captured the moment the entire corner of the building was vaporized.

Marianne Laurent couldn't see the screens from her position on the gurney, but she watched the color drain from Ryan’s face. 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 hatred in her eyes.

Without missing a beat, Edwards drew his pistol and shot her dead.

“What… the fuck!” Ryan spluttered, his eyes flicking between Edwards and the unmoving body of Marianne Laurent. “What the fuck did you do that for Mike?!”

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

“She was unarmed, Edwards…” Ryan spat. “Unarmed and bound.”

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

“Yes, Mister Edwards.” The tech replied dutifully, pointedly refusing to look at the body.

“What about the kid?” Ryan asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. “What do we do with the orphan in the other room?”

Edwards’ expression was even and unmoving as he calmly glanced at the office door and back to Ryan. “She died in the apartment with her father and brother.”

 

 

The high-speed TGV intercity express rocketed through the French Countryside towards the foothills of the Southern Alps. Ryan had no idea what he was doing, but one glance at the sleeping child beside him told him that it was right.

After Mike Edwards’ chilling proclamation at the ops center, he had acted without thinking about the ramifications to himself or his career. While everyone was distracted, celebrating their success and preparing to depart Nice, he had snuck away and spirited little Béatrice out of the warehouse. At four years old, she didn’t understand what was happening, but she did recognize Ryan. There had been some difficult questions about her mother, but as with many children, a good story had satisfied her enough to be compliant.

He had barely had a plan when he bought them tickets on the train to northern Italy. The attendant had been more than a little suspicious of a young man with a child and no luggage, but thankfully his American passport had been a sufficient distraction.

As they cruised east at over two hundred kilometers an hour, Ryan Knight had no idea what he was going to do. He just knew that it was enough that they were alive.

The small human beside him stirred. “Where are we?” Béatrice asked, rubbing her eyes.

“We’re going on a trip, little one; we’re visiting a really exciting place.”

“Where?” the child asked, climbing up and looking out of the window at the scenery speeding past.

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

“We’re going to Switzerland, Béa, won’t that be fun?”

“My mamma calls me Béa,” the little girl grinned brightly.

Ryan felt a stab at his heart. The next few days and the new reality would be difficult for the girl, but he had to hope they could make it somewhere more discreet than a crowded train before she did anything to get them caught.

 

Chapter Two - Run Rabbit Run

May 29th, 2014 - Milan, Italy.

It was just after seven in the morning when Ryan and his charge arrived at Millan’s Lambrate station. The smaller suburban station had far less security and presented another deviation from their expected behavior.

Ryan had to assume that the powers that be knew he had left Nice aboard the train to Milan. Arriving at its destination would have been far too reckless. Instead, they had changed at a town thirty miles outside of Milan before arriving at a smaller suburban station on a regional service. Hopefully, their change in routine would give any welcoming party the slip.

It was still early, and the rush hour crowd wasn’t yet filling the platforms as they made their way into the station building. As they walked towards a cafe 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 his path and bumped the man just enough to snatch the device without being noticed.

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

The man, oblivious to what had happened shook his head and waved a hand dismissively.

Grinning to himself, he slipped the man’s phone into his pocket and continued onward with Béatrice in tow.

A single man and a small child were quite memorable to travelers, especially when neither had luggage. It was also a major warning sign to those whose job it was to look out for potential kidnappings. Rectifying that problem, at least in the short term would help to lower their profile. It also had the side benefit of distracting a four-year-old; an age not known for their ability to entertain themselves on journeys.

It was early, but many of the stations' shops were already open. A few stops at the typical retailers found in stations around the world secured them enough for a good cover. A small rolling case for Ryan and a small pink backpack for Béatrice stuffed with crayons, a coloring book, and a doll she had wanted. Having grabbed sunglasses and a baseball cap, they now looked far more like tourists than unprepared escaped fugitives.

Diverting their progress into a small cafe that was opening to offer breakfast to sleepy travelers, he ordered them breakfast and settled them into a booth at the rear. For the first time since fleeing Nice, he felt finally able to relax. On his own, slipping his pursuers’ net would have been a simple task, but with a four-year-old in tow, he was severely hampered. Sipping the rich Italian coffee, he allowed the caffeine to seep into his system and revive his tired mind.

He didn’t have a lot of options to proceed, but he knew they needed to vanish. Traveling with a child that wasn’t his own and that was lacking documents was incredibly risky and was likely to get them caught. If he wanted to get them somewhere safe, he would need help. In Milan, there was only one person he could turn to; a woman he hadn’t spoken to in years; Francesca Ricci. He cleared his head and focused on the moment. Right now she might be the only person in Milan that could help them. Whether she would be inclined to, was another matter entirely.

Pulling out his new cell, he began to search for his old friend’s address.

“Where are we going next?” Béatrice asked as she swirled a chicken nugget in tomato sauce.

“That depends entirely on my friend. If we can go to visit her then we will go on a big trip to Switzerland.”

“What’s your friend like?” Béatrice asked as she shoved an entire nugget into her mouth sideways.

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. How appropriate it was, Ryan considered, that one of Milan’s most exclusive brothels was situated amongst the fashion houses that also fucked people for extortionate amounts of money.

“I really must be mad,” Ryan muttered as he rang the buzzer. They were waiting outside a nondescript black door sandwiched between designer boutiques on Via Alessandro Manzoni. Beyond them, shoppers wandered along the boulevard with no idea what lay beyond the door.

“Come posso aiutarla?” A distorted voice asked politely. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Francesca, tell her Knight to Bishop Four.”

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

A few minutes later, the door buzzed and clicked open. Cautiously, Ryan led Béatrice into the cool, air-conditioned interior. The foyer was tastefully decorated in cream tones but featured only a pair of leather sofas sitting along the wall by a low table. Thankfully, it wasn’t currently occupied.

The room was quiet and nobody initially came out to greet them. It was actually the first time Ryan had visited Signora Ricci’s bordello itself, so he wasn’t entirely sure of the protocol.

“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, you wouldn’t believe that she had narrowly avoided being murdered by the CIA along with the rest of her family. Ryan tucked a lock of hair behind the girl’s ear and smiled warmly.

“I did not take you for the paternal type.” A warmly accented voice called from the top of the stairs. Ryan turned and and spotted the trim figure of Francesca Ricci descending the stairs in her spiked Minollo pumps.

Francesca Ricci was a stunning woman. As far as Ryan knew, she was somewhere between fourty and sixty years old and yet remained in perfect shape. Having come from 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 Milan. Dressed as she was now in a crisp white blouse and a black knee-length pencil skirt that must have cost several thousand Euros, she cut the image of the successful businesswoman as her dark curls cascaded around her shoulders.

“Francesca, it’s been a long time,” he smiled standing. 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.

Ryan shook his head. “It’s complicated. Can we talk somewhere, alone?”

Francesca clicked her fingers and a pair of women in elegant cocktail dresses appeared from a doorway and waited patiently for her instruction.

“Aria, Isabella; please take little Béatrice here for refreshments.” She paused and turned to Ryan, “she speaks French, yes?”

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

Waiting until they were alone, Francesca gestured back up the stairs. “So, what can I help the CIA with today Mister Knight?”

“Not the CIA, I’m afraid, Francesca, I’m currently… self-employed.”

The woman smiled thinly, “I get the impression I don’t want to know more, but I find myself wanting to know about your little companion?”

“She is why I’m no longer with the Agency,” Ryan admitted as they entered her office on the second floor. The room was elegantly decorated, its white walls ornately trimmed and the furniture a deep mahogany. Behind the broad desk, a tall bay window looked out over a park's lush greenery beyond.

“We were after her father, a known terrorist. The Officer in charge decided that her two-year-old brother, her mother, and a dozen innocent civilians were acceptable casualties.”

“What about her?”

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

Francesca frowned, her crimson lips pursing as she contemplated the implication before responding with, “What do you need?”

Ryan settled into one of the antique chairs before the desk. “New papers, a way out of Milan, and help with… her.”

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

Ryan inclined his head and grinned. “I know you’re more than that, Signora Ricci. How many young girls have you smuggled out of sex trafficking rings?”

Francesca smiled in response. “A great many, but alas, never enough.”

There was a knock at the door which Francesca acknowledged with a wave of her hand. A young man appeared with a tray of coffee that he placed on Ricci’s desk before vanishing discreetly.

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

Ryan smiled tiredly and nodded. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do, Francesca. The Officer in charge of our operation ordered a drone strike on a friendly nation just to kill this guy. In doing so, he killed the wife in cold blood and orphaned this girl. He was set to neutralize her too to bury the evidence. There was no way I could stand by and allow it.”

“It is right 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?”

Ryan shook his head. “No, she’s not really processed what happened and she didn’t see any of it. I’ve not had the privacy to explain any of it yet.”

“What is your plan?”

Ryan sipped the coffee and was delighted by the rich earthy tones for a minute before replying. “I have an escape chute in a deposit box in Zurich. I’m hoping I can get to that and drop off the map somewhere. Maybe we work this out and… I don’t know yet.”

Francesca nodded, “Traveling with a child will be difficult, especially if they put your descriptions out to Interpol. A man and a child traveling alone are very distinctive.”

Ryan sighed, “I had considered that.`

“I could…” Francesca frowned for a moment then shook her head. “You wouldn’t go for it.”

“I’m willing to consider a lot,” Ryan admitted. “I have a recording of the ops center, but it’s not much. Edwards is my senior and he’s bound to have a tidy story. I’m damaged goods and a junior officer. If I made it back to the US alive I'd likely still end up in a dark cell somewhere… I’m no good to Béatrice then.

Francesca stared at him for a moment as though calculating something. “How much are you willing to sacrifice for her?”

Ryan stared at the coffee in his cup before looking up at the woman across from him. “I never thought I’d say this, but everything.”

 

 

Ryan entered the kitchen to find Francesca’s two assistants sitting with Béatrice at the table. Unlike the rest of the carefully curated decor of the establishment, the kitchen had a warm and family feeling to the space. With a glass of milk and a plate of cookies beside her, the little girl was gleefully describing a drawing to the two women.

“Reine?” she asked, spotting him.

“Ryan,” he corrected, though felt a slight twinge at the irony of the correction. “How are you?”

“I’m drawing a picture of us on the train.” she proudly told him and turned the paper around. The stick figures of Ryan and Béatrice holding hands above an impressionist's idea of a train only cemented the decision he had made ten minutes earlier.

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

“Of course, we’ll be outside,” the one he assumed to be Isabella replied politely.

Ryan sat down 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.

“Ma chérie, something happened before we left Nice. It means that you won’t be going home again, you’re going to be living with me from now on.”

Béatrice looked confused. “But what about my mama and my papa?”

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

“Heaven?”

“It… It means… they’re sleeping for a very long time and they won’t wake up. They want you to live with me, I’ll be taking care of you.”

Béatrice frowned, “like a papa?”

Ryan swallowed, “Not quite sweetie. We’ll be going somewhere new to live together, a big adventure.”

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

“Martin is with your mama and papa in heaven.”

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

Ryan’s heart broke, “No chérie, you’ll never be lonely, but we are going to have to play a game of pretend, at least for a while.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, to hide from some bad people that don’t like us. It’s complicated, but soon… soon I’ll be a girl…like you.

“But you’re a boy.”

“I… won’t be, soon.”

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

The girl’s words wrenched at Ryan’s already bleeding heart. “Something like that chérie, but for now, I need you to be brave ok? You’re going to stay with Francesca and her friends for a little while.”

“Okay,” Béatrice agreed more happily. “I like Auntie Issie and Ari.”

Ryan smiled and stood up, before leaning down and kissing the girl on the forehead. “Be good for me, chérie.”

Out in the corridor, Ryan found Francesca waiting for him, her expression was grave. “It is good she is so young, they take it easier.”

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

Francesca reached out and squeezed his arm. “You are, Mia cara, you are.”

 

Chapter Three - Putting A Brave Face On It

Ryan missed little Béatrice more than he imagined he would. For the first time since their flight from Nice, they were separated and he wondered just what his little charge was doing.

“You are ready?” Francesca asked, her tone was gentle, recognizing that Ryan was more than a little apprehensive.

He looked up and smiled nervously. “I guess I am. Are you sure it’s really come down to this?”

Francesca sat down beside him on the sofa and squeezed his arm. “You said it yourself; a young man and a child would be too visible to your former employer and be of memorable curiosity to those you meet along the way. A single mother and her child are far less visible. Do not forget, this isn’t your first time on this particular path Mia cara.”

Ryan knew she was right; it wasn’t his first time. He had first met Francesca seven years ago as an Agency rookie keen to prove himself to his superiors and to save the world. Never the biggest man, Ryan had been of similar stature to many of the women in his class at the Farm. Just like them, his size hadn’t held him back during his training. He had fought for his place and he had graduated to Operations Officer status alongside them.

A few months into his career, Ryan and a group of other officers had been encouraged to volunteer for an assignment to infiltrate a trafficking ring operated by a group of Saudi businessmen. Those men and their clients had an interest in a particular type of girl for their twisted pleasures. Having experienced a far less agressive puberty than many of his male colleagues, Ryan had been well suited to the task.

It was then that he had been introduced to Francesca. She had been heavily involved in saving vulnerable women and girls from sex trafficking in Italy and had been readily willing to assist the CIA in its eradication of the group. She had been partly responsible for the creation of the young woman who had managed to slip past the criminals' defenses to bring them down from the inside.

Once he had been extracted at the conclusion of the mission Ryan had avoided thinking about Francesca. Like her, he had put the young woman she had helped to create behind him; she had become too painful for him to remember. Alessandra, his cover identity had been his only shield against the horrors he had experienced when the mission went badly wrong. It hurt more because he had liked who he had become.

The idea of returning to a version of the girl that had experienced so much pain was terrifying. He knew that Francesca’s idea held weight; as a young woman with a small child, they would be next to invisible. The disguise would give him a layer of protection that even his masters in the CIA would not predict. Could he last long enough to get them to safety?

“I think it’s best,” he admitted, licking his suddenly dry lips. “I think it’s best if we get on with this before I chicken out.”

Francesca nodded sympathetically. “I won’t make a fool of you, I promise. I think it is time we bring back Alessandra.”

Ryan’s mind was filled with memories that the name brought back. Clearing his mind, he focused on the woman across from him and nodded. “Perhaps someone a little different this time. I’m going to have to be her for… a while.”

 

 

“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 it in the tone of her voice. Never let it be said that beauticians didn’t hold more power for torture than the CIA’s own enhanced interrogation experts. Currently, Ryan was face down at a treatment table suffering the painful indignity of a full body waxing at the hands of a brutal Italian sadist.

Francesca had brought him to a beauty clinic that was on retainer by Francesca’s organization. According to his taskmistress, they were frequently used when they needed to change a girl's appearance before passing her along their pipeline to a new life elsewhere. At that very moment, an older Italian lady was systematically and unsympathetically removing every shred of body hair from Ryan’s body.

“This wasn’t fun the first few times,” Ryan muttered into the table.

“Come now,” Francesca replied, her voice almost bubbling with mirth, “Hairy legs would look awful in your dress, beauty is pain, bella.”

“I am not wearing a… ow… dress,” Ryan insisted bitterly as the technician tore away another strip.. “I’ll be a damn girl again, but I am not being some fashion doll like last time.”

“This is true,” Francesca chuckled. “I do not think it would not be suitable for a young mother to be dressed like you used to.”

Ryan blushed into the table. He didn’t need to see Francesca to know the woman was smirking behind him. He remembered the clothes he had worn as Alessandra and he had no desire to repeat the overly sexual stylings of his former cover. As much as he was uncomfortable with the idea of what they were doing, he also knew that it made sense in a strange way. This was a cover he was familiar with and it would not be something he would be expected to do, what man would? Any authorities looking for the two of them would look for a man and a child, not a woman. They would be dismissed out of hand by even more studious observers.

Truth be told, it didn’t frighten him as much as the memories of Alessandra did. What she had experienced would haunt him for the rest of his days. When she was packed away, he could hide from those emotions, those memories. Now it would not be so easy to ignore.

Once the waxing was complete, Francesca led Ryan through to a small changing area just off the treatment room where a small pile of clothes awaited him on a bench. He eyed the clothing suspiciously before looking across at the woman. “Straight in at the deep end huh?”

Francesca leaned against the door and smiled sympathetically, the humor 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. Plus the sooner we are done here, the sooner I can get started on your new paperwork and get you back to the little one.”

Béatrice; the whole reason he was doing this he told himself; it was nothing more than that. He would suffer whatever indignities Francesca wanted to inflict upon him if it meant that he could keep the child safe. It had been twenty-four hours and already he felt a strong connection to the girl, a drive to keep her alive and safe that he struggled to understand.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.” he agreed quietly.

Francesca excused herself and closed the door to allow Ryan a little privacy. After seeing him largely naked on the waxing table, it seemed a little superfluous but he appreciated the gesture. He also knew that she was aware that he would need no help dressing in the clothes she had left for him.

Ryan eyed the pile of clothing suspiciously for a moment before untying the silk robe he was wearing and letting it slide to the floor in a pool of fabric. The sensation was strange but not unfamiliar as it slid across his body. He wasn’t sure if the chill he felt was the sensation or the temperature change.

Reaching down, he examined the items left for him. Ryan didn’t believe he was female; he did not have a deep dark suppressed identity that he was holding back., nor did he believe that he had been born in the wrong body. He had done what he had for the Agency and once completed, he had never touched women's clothing again. Doing so now felt almost 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 was because he chose to do so. No matter how sensible it might be in the circumstances, he had a choice; he could take his changes with Béa as a man or he could choose this instead and make their lives easier. The real question was easier for who? Despite his familiarity with the garments in front of him, Ryan had never felt more uncertain.

Gingerly, he picked up the flesh-colored gaffe and sighed. He had been familiar with that particular item the last time and was not particularly excited to reacquaint himself. 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. The panties and bra were both thankfully plain and comfortable garments and nothing too outwardly girly. They presented very little challenge to his familiar fingers but they certainly represented a line in the sand to his psyche. What surprised him the most was that it was far easier to cross than the first time.

The very first time Francesca had assisted with his transformation into Alessandra De Luca, a young transgender woman designed specifically to entice Saudi businessmen, 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 too successful.

Ryan regarded his body in the mirror with skepticism. He had never considered himself to be particularly feminine in his appearance, but the reflection staring back at him told him otherwise. The person in the mirror had slim shoulders and a slight flare to their hips that wasn’t typical of a male. The overall hairless appearance coupled with a flat crotch and the impression of breasts that the bra gave him skewed his conclusion toward the feminine end of the spectrum. His face still seemed like his own, but after finger-combing his hair into a more feminine style, he began to see faint traces of Alessandra peaking through once again. Pulling on the robe again, he tied it around his waist and left the changing room.

Francesca was waiting for him when he stepped out. She smiled and gestured towards the door. “I have arranged for a stylist to give you hair extensions. These will last you far longer than a wig might, even one that is glued on. It’ll give you a little freedom I think. Far less for you to worry about.”

“In for the whole pony I guess.” Ryan shrugged before pausing and touching Francesca’s arm. “Thank you for making this easier on me; I know I seem reluctant and like I don’t care, but I do appreciate it.”

Francesca cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “Mia cara, you may feel a little reluctant now, and that is to be expected. I would be lying if I told you that this is easy. I will tell you however, I think it will become a lot easier in time. Some people, they are made for certain paths, yes?”

Ryan frowned. “You tried to tell me I’d be better off this way the last time. I don’t think my mind has changed.”

Francesca shrugged in that distinctly Italian way. “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 Allessandra so well with such little help.”

Ryan remembered exactly what she was referring to and flushed. “I don’t have the luxury of working that out.”

“You will,” Francesca smiled ominously as she led him through to the hair technician.

Hair extensions, especially ones attached strand by strand, take a great deal of time to install. Ryan was left in the care of the salon while Francesca returned to running her empire. While the hair technician worked, other women arrived to shape his brows or take care of his nails. Lost in a blur of femininity, Ryan simply went with the flow.

Francesca had been right. He shouldn’t have been surprised by that fact, but it still seemed to jump out at him regardless. Even just the underwear beneath his robe had reasserted a little of Alessandra and made the entire process a lot easier for him to handle. The women in the Salon certainly didn’t seem to be that surprised by their androgynous client. Either they were well briefed, discreet, or simply did not mind. Regardless, they treated him like any other female client and in doing so, began to reawaken old memories in Ryan’s head.

By the time the stylist was done and his new longer hair had been trimmed, Ryan's normally floppy surfer locks had been transformed into blonde waves that extended past his shoulders. His eyebrows, never particularly hairy before, had been trimmed back into delicate arches that seemed to open his eyes far more than his look of surprise could accomplish.

The young woman looking back at Ryan in the mirror caught him by surprise. He had a reasonable idea of what he would expect as the day went on. What seemed to frustrate him the most was his lack of difficulty with what he saw reflected back at him.

Try as he might, he simply could not find Ryan Knight in the mirror anymore. The woman looking back at him was all too familiar and carried a great deal of pain within her heart. His emotions clashed as the memories he had suppressed for years came crashing back, mixing with strange feelings of comfort that swirled around each other like turbulent eddies at the confluence of two mighty rivers.

 

 

September 28th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Alessandra lay curled up on the bed, its sheets wet from 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. A line had been crossed and no matter what she did, from that day forward she would never be the same again. Her head and her throat hurt from crying but somehow there was still pain left inside she could not manage to dislodge. She wanted her mother, she wanted her team and she wanted to go home; this wasn’t meant to happen.

The bed shifted as a body sat down beside her. “It does get easier,” the soft Russian-accented voice offered. “Eventually, you learn to control them and it is not so bad.”

Alessandra raised her head to look at the young woman sitting stiffly beside her. Anja had been here a year. The darked haired girl was practically a veteran of this twisted horrid game. The look in her eyes told Alessandra that she didn’t believe a single word she was saying but that she desperately wanted to.

 

 

May 29th, 2014 - Milan, Italy

Francesca returned a short while later to find the young agent sitting alone on the floor of the changing room. Even without speaking, she could tell that the young man who had arrived on their doorstep that very morning was long gone. In his place, her precious Alessandra had returned to them. She was sat in the corner with her arms hugging her knees to her chest. The tear tracks on her cheeks and the look of sorrow in her eyes told her everything she needed to know without a single word.

Kneeling, she rubbed the girl’s back soothingly and wiped her tears with a finger. “Shhh amorina, it will be ok.”

Sniffing, she looked up at Francesca, her eyes red and puffy, and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You know you can do it,” Francesca affirmed softly. “You can do it for yourself and for the bambina. I know it hurts, but you do it because it will make things better for you, I promise.”

“It’s all coming back,” she sighed, wiping her eyes with the tissue proffered by Francesca. “Things I didn’t want to think about.”

“I thought it might,” the older woman agreed stoically. “There is nothing wrong with that. You deserve to find answers to your questions.”

“I have to be strong for Béatrice,” the girl sniffed. “I can’t let her down.”

Francesca helped her to her feet and hugged her. “It is possible to do both.”

Guiding her over to a chair, she helped her to sit. “Come, let me take care of your face and get you dressed so I can get a photograph for your paperwork, then we can go and introduce the bambina to her new mama.”

“You must think I’m insane,” the girl sniffed, “utterly insane.”

Francesca smiled and shook her head. “No, Mia cara, I do not. Perhaps you do not see it yet, but to me, it is as clear as day; you love her.”

 

Chapter Four - Mama Knows Best

The car made its way slowly through the dense traffic of Milan’s evening rush hour. While outside, the world was a mess of noise and engine fumes, the air-conditioned interior of the Porsche Cayenne was cool and tranquil in comparison.

“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?” the girl asked, unable to resist the urge to play with her new hair.

Francesca smiled, noticing the gesture. “You are to be Sabine and Amélie Garnier; French citizens with Cartes d’Identité Nationales 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, I have my sources.” the woman replied coyly.

“I wonder how Bé… Amélie will take it.” Sabine pondered aloud, adjusting herself to her new legend. Not legend, she realized, her new self. Alessandra had been a legend; a cover. It carried too much history to take into a new future. If she had any hope of giving Béatrice a normal life, she would have to become Sabine Garnier, at least in the short term. The idea still terrified her, but it wasn’t impossible. 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. “She will adapt to her changing circumstances with the right support. You I know will do right by her. I think however you are more worried about how she will take to her new mama?”

Sabine grimaced at the idea. “I hate to replace…. but… it feels like the right path? For her sake?”

Francesca nodded. “Corretta, yes; for the both of you I think. I caution you, however; to proceed down this path without the intent to carry through might cause bigger problems for her and yourself down the line.”

The young woman frowned but remained silent. She knew Francesca’s words were true even if she wasn’t prepared to admit them to herself yet. The waking part of her brain told her that this was a disguise, a front. That it was simply a cover to get them to safety. The depths of her psyche told her a different story; a story in which both she and the child would need Sabine Garnier.

 

 

Sabine stepped out of the car and smoothed her skirt. The brief moment allowed her to hesitate only slightly before following Francesca back into the cool air-conditioned interior of the house. They had arrived back a few moments earlier, and after only a little cajoling, she had been encouraged to confront her fears head-on.

Sabine wasn’t afraid of being seen as a man in women’s clothing; she knew very well how she appeared. What she feared was far longer lasting and far more important to her. Despite facing drug lords, terrorists, and armed criminals in her career, she feared the acceptance of a child more than all of them.

They had only been together for twenty-four hours, and yet that child, Béatrice, meant the world to her. When the little girl's life had been threatened, she had acted without thinking. Perhaps she had relatives in Nice but she never would have made it to them alive. Sabine was convinced that Edwards would have her killed to neaten up his messy kill.

Ryan however had nobody to miss him. His parents had been killed in an auto wreck when he was in his Freshman year of college. When he was later recruited by a professor to join the Agency, he jumped in with both feet. The work became his life; it wasn’t healthy, but it wasn’t unusual either in the intelligence field. She realized that she needed Béatrice to accept her because they were now all the other had in the world. Without her, it simply didn’t matter anymore.

Glancing down, Sabine nervously checked her clothes again. She was dressed simply in a ankle-length cream linen skirt and a white peasant blouse. It exposed the tips of her shoulders leaving her blonde hair to brush gently against it, tickling as she turned her head. Francesca as promised had tidied up her face for her passport photographs but had done little more than conceal her redness and apply a little light daytime makeup. She looked normal and it was confusing to her.

Upstairs, they found Isabella waiting patiently outside Francesca’s office. The young woman’s eyes went wide as she recognized a shy Sabine following along behind her mistress. A sly look of appreciation crossed her face and she grinned. “I would not believe it if I did not know, molta carina,” she murmured.

“Quite so.” Francesca agreed. “How is the Bambina? She has been good?”

“She has been angioletta, so very good. She is sleeping at the moment after her dinner.”

Sabine smiled her thanks and left the two women to talk as she quietly entered the office. Across the room she spotted Béatrice sleeping peacefully on an ornate Chaise Longue by the room’s large window. Kneeling beside the sleeping girl, Sabine reached out towards her but stopped, almost afraid of waking her. After a moment of indecision, she reached forward and gently brushed the hair from her face. The child opened her eyes and looked puzzled for a moment before her they widened in recognition. “Reine? You’re a girl like me now?”

“Just like I told you I would be,” Sabine smiled. You can call me Sabine now, chérie.”

Béatrice sat up and stretched, “Does this mean you’re my new mama now?”

Sabine’s heart went out to the girl at that moment. “I… for now, sweetie, I suppose I am. 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 would read me stories.”

Sabine smiled and kissed the girl’s forehead and drew her into a hug. “Absolutely! I will read you stories every night, just as long as you brush your teeth.”

Outside the open door, the two other women were watching the interaction from a respectful distance. Francesca was amazed away by just how much of the old Alessandra had resurfaced so quickly. She didn’t know what happened to her after the mission had ended, but she knew it hadn’t been good.

“You are sure that is the man that came to us this morning, Signora?” Isabella whispered to her boss.

Francesca smiled as she watched the scene unfold. Looking across at Isabella she shrugged. “It was, but I don’t think it is anymore; I do not believe she ever was. Tell me, child, does that look like anything but a mother’s love to you?”

 

 

October 18th, 2007 - Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.

“Hey,” the huge body yelled in her ear. “FRIENDLY… Officer Knight, you’re safe.”

As her heart thumped against his ribcage, Ryan Knight began to feel his grasp on reality returning. Blinking back the red mist, he began to recognize the large American hauling himself to his feet in the middle of the room and the white skin of the arms holding on to him.

“You’re safe Officer Knight, we’re here to get you out. Are you hurt?”

Ryan looked back at the owner of the arms and shook his head slowly. “I’m… I’m fine…”

The man holding onto him was a well-muscled soldier in Jeans and a T-shirt underneath his body armor. While most of his face was hidden by a thick red beard and a ballcap, he somehow still managed to look kind. At that moment the lips nestled within that beard were doing a more than passable attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Langley sent us for you, it's all over, ok?”

Ryan swallowed and nodded. He could feel his muscles unwilling to relax as he stood trembling by the door. “How did you…”

“Find you? They tracked some of the customers here, this was our third target tonight. Third time lucky eh?” The man seemed to reconsider his attempt at humor. “Here, let’s go.” he offered guiding Ryan towards the doorway and into the corridor.

As they exited the room, he 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 bound and hooded at the time. The only space he knew was within the walls that had been his cell and torture chamber.

A doorway at the end of the corridor led to a small lobby and a bank of elevators. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed that they were high up among the skyscrapers of the Arab city.

“Zero, Five One, Have package, extracting her now, Alpha or Bravo?” the soldier growled into his radio. He seemed to wait a moment while he waited for an answer. Ryan was mesmerized by the twinkling lights of the city below. He had always assumed that they were somewhere far outside the city for it to be so quiet at all times. What he hadn’t considered was that they were just far above street level.

“Copy Bravo, heading for the roof now.” The man replied before steering Ryan towards the elevators.

“All callsigns, fallback to roof for Bravo extract, we’re Oscar Mike.”
“What about the other girls?” Ryan asked as the elevator doors closed behind him. “What happens to them?”

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. They should be safe.”

“Why did they… forget me?” Ryan asked, his voice almost that of a scared child. “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 wrapping her in his arms. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you now.”

 

 

May 29th, 2014 - Milan, Italy

Later that evening, Sabine sat alone with Franscesca in companionable silence while Béatrice was sleeping peacefully upstairs. It was the moments like this one that reminded her of the time so very long ago when the woman across from her had played the roll of mentor. Francesca had been like a mother to her in a way. They were not blood, but she cared deeply for the woman and deeply regretted avoiding her for so long. Sabine stared into her wine glass for a moment, losing herself in the vivid tones of the beverage. Under the flickering light of the fire, the red hue shifted and swirled before her eyes.

“What am I doing?” she asked suddenly, looking up at Francesca. “What crazy pill did I take that made me think any of this was a good idea?!”

The woman smiled, “I believe that you acted on instincts you did not know that you possessed.”

“Go on?”

“You have to remember, I spent a great deal of time with you as Alessandra before your assignment. I know you better than I think you wish to know yourself sometimes.”

“That was for work,” Sabine countered quickly, shifting awkwardly on the sofa. “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. I did not need to do as much work as I expected; once you got over your hangups, it all came naturally to you, mia cara.”

“Some people can act well.”

“That was no act,” Francesca shook her head, her large earrings clinking softly. “Just like when you take the bambina. You act on instinct; just like now.”

“But I’m not doing anything.”

“My point exactly! Here you sit and all I see is la 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 would disagree with you,” Sabine countered, sitting up and unfolding her legs that she had unconsciously tucked beneath herself. “I’ve got pretty strong evidence to the contrary.”

Francesca shook her head and smiled. “You work in intelligence and yet, you cannot see that people are more than they appear?

“Sometimes they’re exactly what they seem. Sometimes they need to be,” Sabine sighed darkly.

Francesca hesitated for a moment before looking over at the young woman opposite her. “You never came to see me after Operation Orsino was concluded, why was that?”

Sabine’s expression darkened. “Things did not exactly go to plan.”

Francesca moved from her chair until she was sitting beside the younger woman on the sofa. “I do not expect the CIA to give me a detailed explanation of its business, but I would have liked to have known that you were okay. I only find out it is over from my contacts in the region knowing that those Bastardo have been shut down.”

A tear rolled down Sabine’s cheek. She glanced at the older woman who had helped her become Alessandra De Luca so many years ago. The woman who coached and prepared her for a role she had never expected to take on; a role that had changed her life for the worse.

“They lost track of me for a month and a half,” she admitted quietly. “Somewhere between Istanbul and Riyadh. I… had to do things… for men.”

“Oh, mia cara,” Francesca sighed, squeezing Sabine’s hand. “I had no idea.”

Sabine smiled darkly, “I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I had therapy for a lot of years and I certainly never wanted to see you again. You created the girl that…I became.

She sighed and drained the last of her wine. “When you were coaching me, It almost began to feel, right; the person I was portraying felt normal to me, she felt authentic. Once I was lost and on my own, when I had to…sleep with men. The only way I could mentally survive it was by letting myself become Alessandra fully; I embraced her as my identity as a female. It was still awful, but it was slightly less awful than If I had to do those things as a man. When I got home, I disposed of her and pretended it hadn’t ever happened. I thought I had at least, but that didn’t work; I’ve thought about her ever since.”

“My poor bambina,” Francesca sighed, hugging the girl tightly as tears overwhelmed her. “I’m so sorry. I would have been there for you if I had known.”

“It’s my job… It was my job.” Sabine choked out between sobs.

“Your job was to stop them. Your own people, they abandon you to become another victim. That was not your fault.”

“I wish I could stop blaming myself,” Sabine shrugged, “This… It brought it right back to the surface for me. When I’m her again, I can’t hide from what happened.”

Francesca took her hands and looked directly into the girl’s eyes. “May I make a suggestion?”

Sabine nodded reluctantly.

“Do not close the wound again; you must heal it properly or it will hold a grip on you forever. Allow this new start, this new life, to heal you and make you whole again. You and your bambina, you will make a good life for each other, it can heal you both.”

“You make it sound like I’ll be this way forever.”

Francesca smiled, “This is only something you yourself doubt, mia cara.”

 

Chapter Five - To Parts Unknown

“I have here your tickets for Zürich and a hotel for you. After that, you make your way south to Interlaken, you have the contact number for my man there yes?” Francesca fussed, straightening one of Amélie’s pigtails.

“I do,” Sabine smiled. “Say goodbye to Nonna Francesca, ok chérie?”

“Bye-bye!”

Francesca hugged Sabine tightly. “Cheeky girl. You take care, both of you, do you understand? I want to hear from you when you get settled in.”

“I will,” Sabine smiled, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “As soon as we’re settled, I promise.”

“I have something for you, mia cara,” Francesca added, her voice husky with emotion. She produced a small gift-wrapped box which she handed to Sabine. “Open this when you have decided your future, not just the immediate one, but the rest of your life; you will know when.”

“Okay…” Sabine replied cautiously as she placed the gift into her bag. “Thank you, Francesca, I really mean it.”

The woman smiled. “It may be late, but I am glad I can give a new life to two people that 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. “Once we’re gone, send this for me.”

“May I ask what it is?”

Sabine smiled. “It’s a recording of the ops room during the operation to capture Ahmad, care of the Director. It should solve some problems.”

Francesca smiled. “I knew you were not a stupid girl.”

Sabine shrugged. “That is as yet to be determined.”

Exiting the SUV, Sabine gave her friend one last smile before taking Amélie’s hand and leading her up the steps to Milan’s northern Porta Garibaldi station. They had a long way to go, but they now knew where they were going. Unlike their arrival in Italy, they now looked like any other travelers navigating the busy station concourse. With luggage in hand, they appeared to all the world like any mother and daughter taking a vacation.

As their northbound Swiss IC2 Express to Zürich was not set to depart for half an hour, Sabine found them seats in a coffee shop near the platforms.

“Are you excited?”

Amélie beamed and nodded, “we are going to Sw…izzyland.”

“We are,” Sabine agreed. “We’re going to our new home in a really pretty town in the mountains where there will be lots of nice people and things to do.”

“Will I go to school there?”

“Next year, chérie, when you’re bigger.”

The girl seemed to ponder this proclamation. “Okay.”

“It’s going to be a big adventure indeed.” Sabine agreed, sipping her coffee. She glanced down at the gift-wrapped package in her handbag. She had no idea what was inside, but knowing Francesca, it was something monumental. The woman had already given them so much; new identities, safe passage, a destination, and the clothes they were now wearing. From nothing, Francesca Ricci had created two new lives from the debris of tragedy. Granted, a suitcase full of women’s clothes wouldn’t have been her first choice, but under the circumstances, it seemed to fit.

Her mind drifted back to the conversation the night before. Simply existing as a female again was difficult for her; it brought terrible memories back to her at a time when she most needed to focus. She knew there were other options, but she had chosen to go along with this one of her own free will. What did that mean? She wasn’t ready to answer that question, but looking down at… her… child seemed to make it worth it. Little Amélie was so brave, Sabine only hoped that she could do right by the girl. She above all deserved to be happy.

Amélie turned around and looked sheepish, “I need to go toilet.”

Sabine glanced across at the restrooms beside the counter and steeled her nerves. No time for her to worry about her own jitters, she couldn’t well take a small child into a men’s room dressed as she was. Steeling herself, she led her charge into the women's restroom. The small facility was thankfully unoccupied and clean. Without prompting, Amélie ran into a stall and closed the door behind her.

“Are you going to be ok by yourself?” Sabine called, not sure what she should do. “Do you want any help?”

“I’m a big girl mama. I can go pee-pee all by myself.”

Sabine rolled her eyes at the declaration and felt a strange warmth in her heart as the girl called her mama. She knew she wasn’t actually her mother, but she hoped she could learn to be a close approximation for her.

Stepping out of her own stall, Sabine washed her hands and regarded herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair was back in a bouncy ponytail and she was casually dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. It was a young woman who looked back at her; she had tried so hard to run away from that woman for many reasons. Pain, fear, happiness? Closing her eyes, she exhaled before reopening them and stared back at herself in the glass. Alessandra De Luca was dead, but Sabine Garnier and her daughter Amélie were going to live.

 

 

The express train wound its way north and deeper into the Italian Alps. The sun was sparkling off the surface of Lake Maggiore as they sped past along the coastline. Amélie had been glued to the window for most of the journey since they had left Milan and it had been a welcome distraction for Sabine.

She was apprehensive; this was the start of the rest of their lives and it was the first time that she had to worry about another person beside herself. Little Amélie was holding up well but she knew that in time the girl would struggle with the events that brought them together. She hoped that she could provide enough foundation to ensure that it was as painless as possible when it happened.

She cared a great deal for the child, but she was also woefully unprepared for the role of motherhood that now fell upon her shoulders. If she had been her own child, 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 together.

The train left the lakefront and curved eastward as it swept through Bellinzona and began its long transit of the fifty-plus kilometer Gotthard Tunnel. Above them, thousands of feet of rock formed the high mountains of the Alps, their peaks reaching up to touch the very sky.

As the lights flicked past the darkened window and Amélie settled in to nap beside her, Sabine thought back to her first operation with the Agency.
Operation Orsino had been where it all began; she had never even questioned her gender before that assignment. Like many a guy, she had been insulted to be considered suitable for the role of playing a transgender woman. The opportunity to prove herself had forced her to volunteer. Ironically, she smiled to herself, to prove her manhood.

In Francesca Ricci’s careful hands, she had become a whole new person. As time passed, what had been a legend, a cover, had started to feel more real than she was prepared to confront at the time.

Of course, the mission had gone horribly wrong. She had been left to fend for herself in servitude to vicious masters and she had confronted terrible things she was told would never ever happen. She had taken refuge in the identity she had resisted so hard and allowed herself to become Alessandra De Luca fully. Rape was still rape, but she somehow could better cope with sleeping with a man if she saw herself as a woman.

After she had been rescued by Ground Branch operatives she had gone through extensive counseling before she had been finally declared fit for duty again. They had wanted to let her go; damaged goods fit only to be cast aside, but she had fought to keep her place.

She had agreed to that mission to prove her mettle; that she was capable, that she was man enough.In the wake of it’s disastrous conclusion she had wrapped her trauma up neatly in Alessandra’s sense of self and buried her where she could no longer feel the pain.

She glanced at the sleeping child beside her and brushed the hair from her eyes. Somehow, this angel made it all worthwhile. In a moment of terrible cruelty, she had found someone to care for, someone who needed her to protect them when it mattered most of all. She didn’t care what the agency did about Edwards or his men, but she did care about the girl that would be her daughter.

As the train blasted into daylight in Erstfeld and began the seventy-kilometer journey north to Zürich, Sabine made a decision. The past no longer mattered. The horrible things that had happened to Alessandra De Luca would not hold her back. She had a decision to make that would affect the rest of her life and she would not allow the evils of man to dictate her path. She owed it to Amélie and she owed it to herself.

 

 

Stepping off the train at Zürich’s central station, Sabine felt a sense of great relief. The trail that connected Ryan Knight to Sabine Garnier was now nonexistent. With a dead end in Milan and no onward journey for the man and child, it wasn’t likely they would now be found. She couldn’t let her guard down, not fully, but she knew now that she could relax and allow herself room to breathe.

While their train onward to Interlaken would depart from the same station, Sabine had a task to accomplish in Zürich before they left. Taking a taxi from the station, she had the driver take them to one of city’s Safe Deposit Banks. The Swiss were internationally known for their discretion and as such, her possession of the box key permitted her access to the vault without further question or proof of identity.

“Why are we down here Mama?” Amélie asked as they followed the clerk down the broad marble steps.

“I have to collect some things before we head south, ok chérie? I played hide and seek a long time ago to make sure I had left something for a rainy day.”

“Like a piggy bank?”

Sabine smiled, “Yes, exactly like a piggybank. I have some money that will help us on our adventure.”

“When we get to where we’re going, will I have my own room?”

“Sure you will sweetheart, all to yourself.”

The vault door was opened for them by an attendant who stepped aside to allow them the privacy to access their possessions.

“You’ll be there too, right?” Amélie asked uncertainly.

Sabine knelt down in front of the girl and hugged her tightly to her chest. “I will never leave you alone again, I promise.”

Tousling the girl’s hair, she stood and took out her key before inserting it into the lock on the small metal door. Removing the inner box, she placed it on the table in front of them and opened the lid.

Inside, the box contained one of Ryan Knight’s emergency parachutes; a cache of documents, funds, and resources that would have allowed him to vanish in a hurry.

Removing the items from the box, Sabine placed them on the table in front of her. She had ten thousand Euros, fifteen thousand US Dollars, two Irish passports, and one German. Last but not least, there was a Glock 19 handgun with a spare magazine and a box of ammunition. Keeping it out of sight of the child, she stuffed the gun, ammo, and the money into her handbag before placing the passports back into the deposit box. She didn’t even need to look at them; they wouldn’t be of any use to her now. A little voice told her to take them with her for the future, but she ignored it.

She was about to close the box when a scrap of glossy paper slipped from one of the passports. Removing it, she examined the paper; it was a photograph of a man, a woman, and a young boy. The three people looked happy, three people from a different lifetime. Sabine stared at her parents' faces, burning them into her mind before she slipped the photograph back into the passport. She knew she couldn’t keep it, as much as she wanted to. It was a link back to Ryan Knight and a rookie mistake. She chuckled to herself; she must have set this cache up before Riyadh.

“Are we done, Mama?”

Sabine turned to Amélie and smiled. “We’re done here.”

 

 

It was dark and quiet when Sabine stepped out onto Bahnhofstrasse outside Interlaken’s train station. Despite being back in the same direction, the slower train had taken longer than their journey from Milan. She yawned, hefting her sleepy charge on her hip and wheeled her case out onto the street. Thankfully their hotel was only a short walk away.

They were checked in with little trouble and soon settling into their small but comfortable room. Amélie, the poor darling, had barely crossed the threshold before she had passed out. Once she had tucked the girl in, Sabine slumped down on the room’s chair and allowed her eyes to close. It was truly fate that her phone would rouse her almost immediately.

“Garnier,” she answered groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“You keep to your legend I see.” Francesca chuckled over the connection.

“Whatever you may think of me, I am a professional,” Sabine yawned.

“Just checking in, you should have arrived by now?”

“I barely just sat down. Amélie is sleeping and my feet are killing me.”

“I am glad to hear it, mia cara. My man, he will contact you tomorrow morning to make arangements. He has the number of your burner phone. Let me know when you get a new one, ok?”

“Francesca,” Sabine began, her voice catching, “You didn’t need to do this, you know?”

There was a sigh and a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “Even before I knew what that assignment did to you darling, I felt responsible for who I had unleashed upon the world. When you and the bambina came calling desperate for my ‘elp, well, it was the least I could do.”

“Thank you.”

“You call me when you are properly settled. Be a good madre to her Alessandra, do you hear me?”

Sabine felt her throat catch, “goodnight Francesca.”

Hanging up the phone, Sabine watched the little girl sleeping on the bed. She squeezed her tired eyes shut and allowed the tears to silently fall down her cheeks. Her life was so different now and it scared her beyond all sense and reason.

The sight of the small sleeping form on the bed made her heart surge with love. For the first time, sitting there in the dark she could see a future ahead of her. She had been alone for so long that she had almost forgotten how to love. That girl had lost everything and she would never let that happen again. A strange pang pulled at her heart as she watched the girl sleep and a tiny part of her soul smiled. She didn’t know what the future would hold but she knew that she would face it together with her daughter.

Coming to a decision she hadn’t expected, she reached into her bag and pulled out the gift that Francesca had handed her outside the station. Carefully unwrapping it, she found a plain wooden box. Inside, there were two pill bottles and a handwritten note.

“Alessandra,

By now you have made a decision about the rest of your life and I believe I can tell which one it was. You’re a smart girl, you know what these bottles contain. If you choose to take them, I can make sure you have what you need to see this journey through.

Be strong, and be brave for little Béatrice. I know you will be the mother that she needs, and she will be the daughter you deserve.

ama sempre
Francesca.”

 

Epilogue

10 years later - May 28th, 2024 - Interlaken, Switzerland.

“Mama, I can’t find my shoes, have you seen them?”

Sabine Garnier rolled her eyes as she buttered a Brötchen in the kitchen of her small apartment.

“They are where you always leave them liebchen; somewhere off the end of the sofa where you fling them after you get home. Come now, you’re going to be late for school.”

The dark-haired teen came skidding into the kitchen with one shoe and wild hair.

“Found ‘em,” she grinned. “One of those for me?”

“Of course,” Sabine smiled, automatically snatching a brush and attacking her daughter’s hair as she stuffed the roll into her gaping maw.

“You remember I have a date tonight, right? You’re ok with staying with Lina and her parents for dinner?”

“God, you act like I’m a kid mama. It’s ok, really! Go! Dieter is a wonderful guy and you deserve to be happy, ok?”

Sabine blushed, “Well, that’s perhaps true… but still, I don’t want to impose on you.”

Amélie shook her head and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Mama, I get it, but I’m happy for you, really. You’ve always put me first, now it’s your turn.”

“I’ll pick you up afterward, ok?” Sabine called as her daughter sprinted out of the door.

“Tschüss Mama!”

Sabine sighed at the vacuum left by her daughter’s whirlwind departure. She would never understand how that girl managed to do so well in school. Picking up her coffee cup, she walked across to the balcony and absorbed the view as she sipped her beverage. The air was still and cool that morning, she could never get over how beautiful their home was.

Sabine glanced down and smiled to herself as she spotted the curve of her breast within her robe. Even after all these years it still brought her happiness. She had never expected to find herself on this path, but life had different plans for her. Gone was the broken girl who had lost all hope, gone was the pain and the shame that had weighed her down.

She had given everything to protect a child, and that child had grown into a wonderful young woman. Sabine was finally at peace with her soul and it delighted in each new day.

It had surprised her when Dieter had entered her life. He was a wonderful man who had helped to heal the last of her wounds with his tenderness and care. The man loved her for who she truly was and simply adored Amélie as if she was his own child.

Finishing her coffee, she set about getting dressed for her day, she had a great deal to do. According to Adelheid, Dieter had sought her advice for an engagement ring. That he, a policeman, had thought that her best friend could keep a secret like that baffled her.

Sabine had an appointment to get her hair and makeup done that afternoon before he arrived to collect her for their ‘surprise’ date at their favorite restaurant. She wasn’t going to disappoint Francesca Ricci by looking shabby on such an important day.

Frau Sabine Weber; it had a certain ring to it.

 

The End.