Alicia McBride

Age 7 - October 1937, South Bend, Indiana

It was Wrong to tell a lie. Alicia knew that. But it was wrong for Mike to abandon her, and completely forget their Satrday morning routine, just because he liked some stupid girl from his stupid middle school too, wasn't it? So if she had to tell a lie, or two, or, well, a lot of them so she could follow him, that wasn't so bad, was it?

She told her mother she was going to play over at Rebecca Maitland's house, three blocks over. Alicia knew that her mother didn't know Mrs. Maitland very well, and she probably wouldn't call over there to check, so she'd never know that Alicia wasn't there. She told the bus driver that she had to ride the bus alone to go downtown and pick up the medicine for her mother, who was sick, and it had to be her because her father and brother were up at the stadium watching the Irish play. She told the usher at the movie theater that her father was outside waiting in the car, and she just had to run in for a minute to fetch her brother so could she please go in without a ticket. And she told the stupid girl her brother liked (waiting until she was alone, when Mike had gone to get popcorn for them) that she knew that Mike really liked another girl in his class, and he was only going with the stupid girl on a dare from one of his friends.

When Mike got back to the seat, and saw that the stupid girl was gone, Alicia didn't tell a lie at all; she told the absolute truth, that she had missed him, and took the bus downtown all by herself just to spend Saturday with him like they always did. Mike wondered for five minutes where the stupid girl had gone, but then he forgot about her, and Alicia had him all to herself.

And, thinking about her big adventure, and how it had all turned out so well, Alicia decided that, maybe, telling lies wasn't so Wrong after all.

Age 14 - December, 1944, South Bend, Indiana

The only thing missing from the day was her brother. Her parents were in the audience, and all her friends, and most of her neighbors. She'd been disappointed, at first, that she hadn't won the role she originally auditioned for, the Katharine Hepburn role. But she had to admit that the Ruth Hussey role ("Miss Imbrie! I told you, call me Miss Imbrie! It helps me get into character!") suited her better. Sneaking and lying her way into a big society wedding was much more her style than playing the big society matron. Besides, while in real life she would have picked Cary Grant over Jimmy Stewart any day of the week, the boy playing the Grant role was nowhere near as handsome as the one playing Stewart's role...

...two hours later, the South Bend Central High School production of "The Philadelphia Story" was over, an unqualified success. Alicia was, according to everyone, the big star, and modesty didn't prevent her from agreeing. She clearly outshone poor Grace Campbell, who tried really hard but couldn't pull off a convincing Tracy Lord. But Alicia just disappeared into the role, and that's exactly how it had felt to her. For those two hours, she really was Elizabeth Imbrie, and there wasn't a single person in the audience who could disagree.

Age 14 - March, 1945, South Bend, Indiana

She’d had to read the letter over three times before she understood everything. Mike had done a good job, writing between the lines, concealing what he was really trying to communicate from any eyes less alert than his sister’s. And then it had taken Alicia a further two hours to explain to her parents, in wearying detail, precisely what their son – their heroic son! – had been involved in, over there in Germany.

Thanks in large part to her brother, a pair of senior German rocket scientists were on their way to America instead of Russia. The only disappointing thing about it all was that instead of earning Mike a reward, maybe a couple of weeks’ leave or even a trip back home escorting the scientists, it had won him a full-time job in the OSS, so he could do something even more dangerous next time.

Rereading the letter yet again, Alicia imagined herself over there with her brother, working in secret, doing the most important jobs that simply no one else could handle…

Age 18 - October, 1948, Cambridge, Massachusetts

The trick to getting people to do what you wanted, Alicia knew, was really very simple. What you had to do was to arrange matters so that other people saw the thing you wanted them to do as something they wanted, even needed to do. Ideally, you arranged things carefully enough that they thought it was their idea in the first place.

It wasn’t difficult at all, really. It did take careful observation, a solid understanding of human behavior, and patience, but, then, those were all things that Alicia excelled at.

In this case, the goal was to get into the Alpha Phi sorority. That seemed to Alicia the best route for getting access to the people who could help her secure a place in the CIA when she graduated. Having a brother already inside wouldn’t be enough. She’d need more help than that. Help that the wealthy and well-connected families of her fellow students – and their Harvard boyfriends – could provide. Joining an elite sorority would put her directly into their world.

But how would a middle-class girl from Indiana on partial scholarship and with no “proper” family connections ever get into an elite sorority? A little research provided the roadmap. Cassandra Morgan, the sorority’s president, would normally never consider accepting someone with Alicia's background. But Cassandra, Alicia learned, was desperate to go to medical school, and with less-than-stellar grades, she needed an especially strong faculty recommendation. The faculty member best placed to provide it was Professor Stendhall, a woman who had very strong views on social class and greatly disapproved of the way that the sororities excluded girls who were “less fortunate”.

Coincidentally, Professor Stendhall was also Alicia’s freshman academic advisor. Alicia made a point of telling the professor how much she’d enjoyed going to the sorority events, and how welcoming they’d all been, especially the Alpha Phis, and most especially their president. She confessed to the professor how dearly she wished to be invited to join, and how much she would benefit from the example of girls like Cassandra and her sorority sisters.

It came as no surprise to Alicia a few weeks later when she’d been extended an invitation to join Alpha Phi, and she was equally not surprised that Cassandra personally took Alicia under her wing as her “special project”, picking out clothes, advising her on etiquette, introducing her to all the “right” people. Alicia, for her part, did everything Cassandra said, and by the end of freshman year, she’d been elected vice president of the sorority.

Her roommate, poor Vanessa Kingbridge from Indianapolis, did not receive an invitation. Vanessa had ignored Alicia’s advice, and loudly bemoaned her fate. Clearly, Alicia decided, not everyone had the knack of getting results…

Age 19 - September, 1949, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Sophomore year. Alicia’s freshman roommate Vanessa still wanted to join the Alpha Phi sorority. Alicia promised to get her in. “But it’ll only work if you do exactly what I say, act exactly how I say, dress exactly how I say. Trust me, and I’ll get it done. But it won’t work unless you do everything the way I tell you.”

Vanessa didn’t. She apparently wasn’t capable of following instructions, and it only took two days before it was clear to Alicia that the project was a lost cause. Out of kindness, she gave Vanessa a week, but it was no good. She had to cut the girl loose, before her own reputation was affected.

She felt bad, for a little while, but ultimately, it was Vanessa’s own fault. She’d done her best but she wouldn’t – couldn’t – let someone else drag her down.

Age 21 - November 1951, Dover, Delaware

The last time she'd talked to Mike - it took all Alicia's self-control to hold back tears at the thought that it would be the last time - he had told her about the turf wars between the CIA and the Occupation brass in Berlin. He was afraid, he'd said, that the infighting would cause a real problem, that it might get someone killed.

And so it had. She knew that the way he was coming home, here at Dover where soldiers killed in action came back, was a message; to who, or from whom, she wasn't sure. But she didn't care; she was just grateful that he was being honored as he deserved.

Later, once his body had been put into the hearse for the drive down to Arlington National Cemetary, she'd had the talk with her parents as they followed their son's body down the highway. They weren't surprised at her intention to follow in Mike's footsteps; they barely even tried to talk her out of it, realizing how pointless that would have been. But they did have a surprise for her; she knew she had been adopted, but she'd never questioned what she'd been told about that. During the two hour drive, though, she learned that it had all been a lie...

Age 22 - October 1952, Indianapolis, Indiana

Alicia had rehearsed this meeting for months, and, so far at least, the endless practice was helping her maintain her composure. This was her best chance - her only chance, really - to get into the CIA.

She'd used her time at Radcliffe well, building relationships that ought to have gotten her in, but she hadn't reckoned on the stultifying bureaucracy, or the way that everyone seemed to have forgotten the amazing contributions female operatives had made in the OSS during the War. She still saw a path, but it was a much longer and more difficult one than she'd originally imagined; she couldn't see getting into the Agency in less than five years. And that wasn't acceptable.

So she looked for an alternate route, and in the current Director of the Agency, she'd found it. She'd done all the research, and she'd gone over and over and over every detail until she could have executed the whole plan in her sleep. And now she sat across from the man himself.

"What do you expect me to think, Miss McBride? You accost me during what ought to have been a very civilized meal, to what purpose?"

She'd expected that. "My brother was a great asset to the Agency, and to his country. I will be, too, but only if you open the door for me." She assumed that he'd be familiar with her. She wasn't mistaken.

"If your record is anything to go by, you don't seem to be a young woman who waits for doors to be opened for her."

"No, sir. But it's your house, and the servants have deadbolted all the doors. You ought to think of this as me crawling in through your bedroom window." And she handed him the box. He opened it, swore under his breath.

"How did you...?"

Alicia allowed herself a smile. "It's not difficult to unlock the trunk of a car, once you know the trick. And so you know I did my homework, I know how you got it, too. You fought off three men and dragged your wounded commanding officer back to safety. All with a bullet lodged in your..." He flinched; Alicia imagined it was an unconscious reaction. "Well, anyway. Before you ask, my grandfather," she paused at a glare from the Director, "my adoptive grandfather, yes, was part of the Pancho Villa expedition as well, sir."

That surprised him; Alicia had expected that it might. "McBride? Rusty George McBride? That's your grandfather?" he shrugged, corrected himself, "adoptive grandfather, I should say." Alicia nodded. "I should've read your file more closely, Miss McBride. I shouldn't have allowed you to put me at such a disadvantage. It's been a long time since anyone has." Alicia gave him the slightest hint of a smile, but held her tongue. "Yes, I'll unlock the door for you. But you're going to have to walk through it on your own two feet, you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Alicia answered, and now she allowed herself a real smile. "I understand, sir. I'll report down to Langley in...three weeks, is it?"

"Indeed it is, young lady. If that's all..." Alicia nodded, "perhaps you'll do me the kindness of sharing a meal, and I'll tell you some stories that I'm sure your grandfather would prefer you never heard about..."

Age 24 - August, 1954, Langley, Virginia

Alicia struggled to reach an arm over to the handle, and managed, somehow, to pull it. She kicked, as hard as she could, and the door came open, enabling her to crawl slowly out of the overturned car.

"Congratuations, Miss McBride!" the course instructor wasn't laughing, but even in her somewhat addled state, Alicia could see that he was fighting to keep a straight face. "You've officially set the record for the most cars destroyed in the Survival Driving course. I hope you're proud of yourself."

Alicia sighed, looking at the mangled wreck she'd just emerged from. "I'm just glad they're not taking it out of my pay, to tell you the truth. And I did do better this time! I almost made it."

The instructor shook his head. "Almost doesn't cut it."

No, it didn't. "Almost" could get you sent home to Dover in a box. "Give me one more week, and let me have an extra practice run or two. I've never had to repeat a class in my life, and I don't intend to start now."

It took two extra weeks, and many, many practice runs, but in the end, Alicia got through the course. Barely. She devoutly hoped she'd never need to put her Survival Driving skills into practice.

Age 25 - January, 1956, Prague, Czechslovakia

Alica watched as the bag bobbed up and down in the current of the Vltava River. If you didn't know to look for it, it would be almost impossible to see on this moonless night. It might never be found, if it made it as far as the confluence with the Elbe. It didn't matter, ultimately; when Gregor failed to report in two days in a row, they'd go to his flat, and once they realized he hadn't ever come home, they'd track down his minders, and then they'd know.

Alicia kept watching until the bag passed completely out of sight; he had been an enemy, and what she'd set in motion had to be done, and she would do it all again without hesitation, but even so, he'd still been a human being. She felt that she owed him at least that little dignity, to keep a watch for these few minutes, when no one else was there to do so, or even to know that there was anything to watch.

It had been his own people who'd done the actual killing. All Alicia and her team - her team, and there was no doubting that now - had done was to set things in motion. They'd been brought in to work with the Prague station chef to help track down a mole. But Williams had gone and broken his leg climbing down the jetway after a flight to visit his wife in Geneva, and orders had come from Langley to abort the operation. Alicia had ignored them; her instincts told her they wouldn't have another chance like this, and she'd been right.

She'd taken charge, claiming authority from the Director himself, and ordering complete communication silence so that nobody could verify it. She'd planned out the trap they set for the mole, using Williams' accident as the bait, and when the mole had brought back to his minders the documents he'd stolen right out of Williams' flat - documents fingering the minders themselves as double agents, they'd done the only thing they could, they'd killed Gregor themselves.

Those two minders would return home to find envelopes that had been delivered at Alicia's order, containing hastily-developed photographs she'd taken herself, among other information, and instructions on what they were to do next if they didn't want copies of those photos to be passed on to their superiors.

It had been a very successful week's work...

Age 26 - October, 1956 - Ann Arbor, Michigan

She'd reached a dead end. It was not something that Alicia was used to; in her experience there was always a way, always a Plan B or an alternate route to get what you needed.

She'd been here two weeks, calling in a favor to extend her leave in order to have that much time, but all she found were brick walls in her way. She knew now who her birth mother was, and she knew she'd been, by two minutes, the firstborn of fraternal twins. But the woman was dead, having left no other family. There was literally not a single person working in the hospital who'd been there 26 years ago, nor in the church that had facilitated her adoption. Her mother's house had been sold, the school where her brother had gone had suspiciously spotty records, and at any rate, from what she could tell he'd changed his name and identity at least once since leaving Ann Arbor.

With another month, she imagined, she might come up with another lead, another clue. But she didn't have it. Duty called. Maybe in six months, or a year, she could come back, and comb over a trail that would be just that much colder.

In the meantime, she had a flight to Washington, and from there to Vienna, and then on to Moscow...

Age 28 - April, 1959 - Moscow, Soviet Union

She peeked out from the curtain, and there he was - third row, second from the aisle on the left side of the orchestra. Alicia looked for her contact; there he was, exactly as instructed, posing as a stagehand, carrying an armful of costumes for Act II, not looking where he was going. She got herself set, stepped into his path, and right on cue he hit her.

She went down hard, snapping the emery board in her hand just as her leg hit the floor. It had taken hours to get it just right, so tha the sound would emulate that of an ankle snapping. She let out a stream of curses in French - it was Carmen she was supposedly singing, after all. The director and the conductor rushed over, expressions of horror dawning on their faces. "Miss Linden!" the director cried out in broken English. "Tell me, please, no!"

Alicla let the stagehand help her up, and immediately she allowed her right leg to buckle, shrieking as she did. "It's no good. Broken!" she cried, letting her voice edge towards hysteria.

"Go tell Alexandra to prepare herself!" the director called out. "And fetch a doctor!" He disappeared then to the front of the curtain, to announce to the packed house that there would be a delay in the opening of the performance, an unavoidable change in the cast, and that the great American mezzo-soprano Jenny Linden would be unable to perform. Alicia could hear the disappointed murmurs of the audience, and then the shuffling as the crowd took advantage of the delay to use the bathroom, have another drink or a smoke or otherwise stretch their legs.

In "Jenny's" dressing room, where Alicia waited once the stagehand and the conductor had carried her there, she waited precisely seven minutes for a knock. "Enter," she called out in Russian, and her stagehand, and her target, the man from the third row, also the man who'd designed the security systems for more than 30 Soviet embassy buildings across the world, trooped in. She gestured to a small bag on the floor, and the target opened it, dressed himself, and took up a small medical satchel. The stagehand took the target's clothes and put them on; Alicia had chosen well, at a cursory glance, they could be taken for each other. He left, hurrying back out to the front of the house to take "his" seat in the orchestra. The newly minted "doctor", meanwhile, put an arm around Alicia as she stood up using a pair of crutches, favoring her bandaged and "broken" ankle as they headed out back to the waiting car, and then to the airport.

Two hours later, once the plane had crossed the border and she could relax, Alicia turned to her defector and sighed. "You know, there is one thing I regret. I really would liked to have seen the performance."

The defector nodded in agreement. "They say that your Metropolitan Opera is almost as good as the Bolshoi, though. Perhaps once I've been debriefed, they'll let me go to New York to see it?"

Alicia gave him a grin. "It's a date."

Age 30 - March, 1961, Baltimore, Maryland

She had a month leave, and it had taken her until the 28th day to make the breakthrough. But she finally had. She had a name, an identity, and, thanks to yet another favor called in, she had a stack of files sixteen inches high.

She was on her fifth pot of coffee, and her 30th hour without sleep. But it was worth it. How often did you get to learn about the twin you were separated from at birth, after all?"

Age 31 - December, 1961, Annapolis, MD

Alicia saw him there through the window. Same table as always, near the back, against the wall, good view of the door. Exactly like they taught at Langley – never sit with your back to a door or a window.

On the other hand, he’d been coming to the same restaurant once a week for the past two months. Same day, same time, same meal order. Surely he knew better than to fall into a pattern like that.

But then again, maybe it was his way of inviting her to meet. There was hardly a protocol for this kind of thing, after all. And she did want so badly to meet him, to know all the things he could tell her.

Clearly that was it. She’d studied his file – what she could find of it, anyway. And she knew his reputation. He’d never be so sloppy, it had to be intentional. All these weeks, he’d been waiting for her to make the next move.

She watched for a few minutes more, shivering as the cold wind blew in from the sea. It was that, more than anything else, that pushed her to do it. In the end, the thing itself was so much easier than all the waiting and planning and wondering how it would go. She went straight in, passed the hostess with barely a nod of her head, and sat herself down at his table.

“I can’t even count how many hours I spent going through records in that hospital in Ann Arbor. You’d be amazed what you can learn, if you’re just patient and persistent enough. I’m really hoping it was all worth it, little brother.”