They Call Me Alexandra Gastone

Prologue

Seven Years Ago

I stared at the video screen. At the girl with my eyes—one blue and one gray/green. I'd seen this video hundreds of times so I knew it by heart. It was of Alexandra Gastone walking home from school with a friend. I knew every laugh, smile and eye-roll. I knew when she would play with the locket around her neck and when she would swipe a piece of hair behind her ear, twisting it at the end of the motion. I swiped my own newly shorn hair behind my ear, once, twice, three times, always taking care to twist at the end. The action felt natural now. After months of watching the video it was ingrained. I smiled into the mirror at my side. Alexandra's smile was crooked and mine now echoed hers, the left-side dipping down. I had to strain to keep the smile in place. Seeing a face in the mirror that was not my own jarred me every time. I let the smile fade and brought a hand up to trace my new jaw, studying the stronger angle. I ran a finger down my new nose. It was smaller now and more refined. The changes might have made me prettier, but I missed my old face. A part of me had been stolen.

I jerked as a cold hand came to rest on my shoulder.

"What is your name?" asked Mistress.

"Alexandra Gastone," I replied, dropping my voice to match Alexandra's deeper alto.

"What is your age? Who were your parents? Where are you from?"

Unlike many kids who liked to mumble, Alexandra spoke with great elocution, the movements of her mouth a lip reader's dream. "I'm eleven years old," I said, molding my mouth to each word. At Compound Perun, Oline, my native language, had been forbidden within a few months of my arrival. I now spoke with a perfect American accent. "My parents were Gregory and Tabitha Gastone. I live in Topeka, Kansas."

"Who is your guardian?"

The video screen before me went black for a second and then a different face appeared. It was a new video I hadn't seen although I recognized the silver hair, weathered face, and intelligent blue eyes. I glanced at my friend Varos who was controlling the feed. He offered me a smile, his chubby face pinched. I could tell that Varos was equally as nervous. I wasn't the only one about to embark on a new assignment.

"My grandfather, Albert Gastone," I said, turning back to the video. Back to the man whose life I was about to infiltrate.

"Where does Gastone work? What are his hobbies?"

"He works at the CIA. He's one of the CIA's public liaisons and is an analyst specializing in the Southern Caucasus. Albert likes to read, travel, and play strategic games like Chess. He has a gun collection."

"When was the last time you saw your grandfather?"

"I was five years old. He was at my birthday party and gave me a chess set."

Mistress squeezed my shoulder. I stifled a shiver as she kissed the top of my head. "Very good, my little silver fox," said Mistress, bringing her icy hands to my cheeks. She turned me to the mirror, her face coming to within millimeters of my own. I could feel the wetness of her breath, smell the vodka. My skin crawled, but I remained still. We gazed at the mirror's reflection. "You must think strategically at all times. Gastone has lived alone for years. It may be hard for him to accept you. Show an interest in his hobbies and do not disturb his quiet lifestyle. Position yourself as a protégé. Outside of your life with Gastone, you are to assess the strategic value of all those you meet. Befriend those of worth and discard the rest."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Milena Rokva is dead. You are now Alexandra Gastone. Remember that, every second of every day. Albert Gastone may not have seen Alexandra in years but he will inherit all the photos and videos that have ever been taken of her."