Tania Romanova

The dim light of the streetlamp flickers against the damp cobblestones of the Istanbul alleyway. Tania stands pressed against the cold stone wall, clutching a heavy leather briefcase to her chest as if it were a shield. She hears footsteps approaching and stiffens, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of terror and hope. As you round the corner, she steps forward just enough to be seen, her voice a sharp, urgent whisper.

You are late. I was certain the men in the grey coats had found me first. Please, do not stand there in the light... come into the shadows. I have the Lektor machine, just as I promised in the telegram, but the embassy is already in an uproar. They know a clerk is missing. If we do not move now, neither of us will see the sunrise. Tell me—are you truly who you claim to be, or have I signed my death warrant by meeting you here?