PROLOGUE
Eleven years ago
Not everyone can say they’ve attended their own funeral.
A pedant might argue that everyone does attend their own funeral. As ever, the devil is in the details. Everyone does indeed attend their own funeral, but unless there’s something to that afterlife business after all, no one can actually say they have.
Except for me.
It’s a strange feeling, watching your coffin being lowered into the ground. Even stranger is knowing there’s someone inside it who’s going to have your name for all eternity. Except it’s no longer my name.
God, it’s cold. I’d stamp my feet to get the circulation going, but even with snow to muffle the sound, it might attract unwanted attention. In this cotton wool silence, the handful of people around my grave could be the only human beings for miles around. An occasional raucous cry from the crow in one of the trees whose bare branches scratch at the grey sky adds to the cliché playing out before me.
Elizabeth is dead, long live Elizaveta…
Even though the name’s so similar to my own, it still sounds foreign. Russian, to be precise, and that country is where I’m heading in a few short hours.
“You aren’t supposed to be here.”
Tell me something I don’t know. If I hadn’t given in to temptation, I wouldn’t be, and I’d never have known he came to say goodbye. Oh, not the pompous idiot with the nerve-grating nasal whine standing beside me. I mean him, the man who used to be the centre of my world, and who’s now the sole mourner at my interment.
“Who was she?”
William Matthews—the idiot—shrugs. I sense it, even though I’m not looking at him. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to waste a moment looking at him when this is my last sight of the lover who still owns my heart.
“A vagrant. We got lucky—she was close to your age and height, close enough to be convincing when they found the remains after the fire.”
The lack of emotion in his statement makes me shiver, for which I’m grateful. If I were to stay in this business, would I end up like him? I’d like to think not. And the fire—is state-sponsored arson a crime in this country? Probably not, if it’s deemed to be “for the greater good”, a cause they use to justify any action necessary to protect the nation from its enemies.
This time, it’s the posthumous conscription of an unknown, unmissed stranger. Her body was burned to a crisp in an abandoned building, where I’d supposedly been seen after a spurious missing person’s report was filed. No thought for the woman herself, or the child she’d once been, with endless possible futures ahead of her. The whole concept of what they’ve done leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I hate that I’ve been a part of it. If I’d had any idea…
“And my dental records?” I already know what the answer’s going to be.
“Doctored to match Jane Doe’s rather dubious dental work, of course. Don’t worry—we’re very thorough, as you should be aware.” The supercilious tone is almost dismissive. “Your new identity is beyond foolproof.”
It had better be, otherwise this mission will be over before it starts. “So what happens next?”
In my mind’s eye, I see the eyebrow rise, accompanied by a slight adjustment made to each cuff, the flicking away of an invisible piece of lint. “You know what happens next, my dear. Transport to the theatre of operations.”
And the first test of my fake passport and other documents. It’s all a game to men like the ice-cold pen-pusher standing beside me. It’s a game they play in the shadows, without rules, where the only goal is to win. At any cost. It’s been my way of life for so long, ever since my stellar performance at Oxford attracted the attention of my lords and so-called masters. I was the ideal recruit for them—parents dead, no extended family to speak of… no connections close enough to bother asking questions.
To think I’d once found it all so thrilling, revelled in the adrenaline pumping through my veins as we saved the day one more time.
But this… this is my swansong, my last mission, and when it’s done, assuming I make it back alive, I’m finished with this half-life. I agreed to take the assignment because of him, the man standing beside my grave. I agreed because I’d been convinced it was over between us.
That he’s here now doesn’t make sense. Not to me, at any rate. I can’t help but wonder why, when I didn’t mean enough to him alive for him even to tell me he wanted to end our relationship. My instincts are telling me that’s a rabbit hole I really don’t want to go down.
The situation is what it is. I volunteered to go deep undercover in Moscow because, at the time they asked me, I had no reason to stay and every reason to go. Besides, it came with the not inconsiderable carrot of a new start afterwards. I reinvented myself for the mission, and I can do it again when I return. Especially with the substantial bank balance and generous monthly stipend they’ve promised I’ll receive for the rest of my life. An unexpected benefit, but only if I make it back alive.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do when you come back?”
The lackey’s cautious tone tells me the question is loaded. I shrug. I haven’t thought that far ahead, and for very good reason. “Take some time off… brush up my French… smell the roses. Who knows?”
“Write a book?”
My memoirs? No chance—there’s no way I’ll willingly dredge up everything I’ve done in defence of the realm, when I’ve tried so hard to forget it. “You can be a good little lapdog, Matthews, and inform them I won’t be telling all. As far as I’m concerned, when this is all over, none of it will ever have happened. It’ll be fresh start, one that gives me a clear conscience and wipes out the past. Not many people have that chance—I intend to make the most of it.”
Doing what, I have no idea—what I told Matthews was the truth. No sense in making any plans, though, in case I don’t come back. People like the ones I’m going to mess with mean business, and the business is always dirty.
I take one last look towards my grave, and that now solitary figure—strong and tall, pride in every line of the body I knew so well—beside it. He looks so lonely. Even though there’s nothing I can do about it, my heart beats a little faster with the hope that I was wrong, that maybe he still cares after all.
Have I made a monumental mistake in taking on this mission? Doubt nibbles away at the back of my mind, but even if I have, it’s too late to stop this juggernaut now.
Though he broke my heart, he’s the one part of my past I can’t bear to leave behind, but I have to. In spite of everything, I’m still insanely in love with him. I always will be. At one time I even thought… Nope, not going there, some things are best left the stuff of dreams. I made this choice, and now I have to live with it. Far better for him to believe me dead and gone. He can move on with his life now, rather than waiting to welcome home a corpse.
The impatient sigh beside me tells me I’m out of time. I take my last look—he’s bending to pick up a handful of frozen soil, and as the crow caws one last time, he drops it into the grave. I watch him leave. His steps are slow, almost resigned, and in keeping with the veil of sadness wrapped around him.
Only one thing remains for me to do. Although my heart will never let him go, I have to say the words in my head. It’s the only way I can make the break final—if it works. The last words I’ll ever say to him, though he’ll never know.
Goodbye, Fawkes. I love you.