Dear Ms. Morgendorffer,

Your latest manuscript, "Ides of Spring", has been accepted for publication, pending minor revision. Enclosed is your manuscript with the recommended edits, along with our standard publishing agreements and contracts. Please review the recommended edits and submit your revised manuscript and/or rebuttals within 30 days of receipt. Please sign and return the publishing agreements with your revised manuscript.

Thank you for choosing Literature in Action.

On a personal note, I'll miss Melody Powers. However, I understand that as a young author, you wish to move on to other things. Thank you for providing a proper end story for the character. I wish you the best in your future endeavors and hope this will not mean the end of contributions to our magazine.

"You're kidding me," Melody said to The Director. "My retirement starts in a week."

The Director ran his hands over his smoothly shaven head as if it still sported long-lost hair. "Then you have an incentive to complete the mission quickly."

Melody dropped down into a chair and said, "Give me the details."

"I think you recognize this man," The Director said, passing a dossier to Melody.

Her face darkened as she opened the folder to a portrait photograph. "Grigory Perchenko. So the bastard made it out of the Leopard Station. I'm sure an old hardline communist like him doesn't appreciate the new order in Russia."

"That's why you're going in. He's planning to take control of an ICBM launch facility and decapitate the new government. The communists plan to step in to the resultant power vacuum."

Melody shook her head and asked, "Isn't this really an internal Russian problem?"

"Yes, but our source in the KGB doesn't know who in the organization to trust with the information. So, he came to us for help."

"Does this source have a name?"

"Pyotr Demidov."

Melody felt a simultaneous cold chill as her heart started to race. "Pyotr…"

"Pyotr," Melody carefully said to a handsome man seated in a small restaurant in Moscow.

He paused for a moment in surprise before rising and pulling the seat on the opposite side of the small table out for his guest. In Russian, he said, "Melody, please, be seated."

Back in his seat, Pyotr said, "I heard that you were no longer in the toy business."

"You know how rumors are," she answered while struggling not to betray the unease in her stomach.

"I'm pleasantly surprised to learn that they were misguided." The KGB agent picked up a menu and presented it to Melody. "I've not ordered yet. Please, join me. On my company's expense account."

She opened the menu and started to read, glad for the break in conversation.

Pyotr raised his, relieved at the chance to settle his nerves after Melody's surprise appearance.

Kneeling beside his still body, the cool skin of their contact's wrist told Melody that she didn't need to check further for a pulse. A faint motion behind Pyotr confirmed to her that they'd entered a trap. Pistol in hand, Melody dropped, twisting and leaning forward to get a clear shot around her partner's crouching form. The sound of her gunshot seemed particularly long, until Melody realized that the sound of her gun melded into that of Pyotr's firing a fraction of a second later.

Melody's target gasped and collapsed forward, machine pistol clattering on the pavement. The thud of a body hitting the ground made her twist around to see Pyotr lowering his handgun and a second failed assassin bleeding behind her. Melody said, "I think we're now in each other's debt."

Pyotr looked back at Melody's target and said, "Our lives are each other's."

The many different implications of his statement caused her heart, already pounding from adrenaline, beat faster. Scanning the area for more threats and controlling her feelings, Melody said, "We'll have to get into the launch complex the old-fashioned way."

Unaccustomed sweat cooled his hand before Pyotr touched the shoulder of the unforgettable woman kneeling next to him. "The southwest approach will be the least expected."

Her breath caught a moment before she asked, "Why is that?" knowing she probably wouldn't like the answer.

"That is where the attack dogs are kenneled."

Wearing a dark gray, hooded coverall, Melody slowly crawled from a shallow ditch to the fence surrounding the kennel. Similarly clad, Pyotr crawled beside her, holding a small box. Moving with precision, she placed the small, ratchet-assisted cutters against the chain link fencing and held a rag around it as she worked. The cloth silenced the slight twang as the steel wire parted and she moved to the next section. Once a small hole was open in the fence, Pyotr placed the box against it and opened one end, allowing a perturbed tabby to escape. The two agents slid back to the ditch as the guard dogs started to loudly bark at the cat running alongside their cages.

A guard exited the blockhouse at the end of the kennel and looked around, rifle at the ready. The cat bolted past his feet and around the building. The guard grunted a laugh and rapped the kennel fencing with his rifle butt. "Shut up! It's only a cat, you stupid mongrels!"

The guard stepped back inside the building and closed the door. Melody started to rise up to sprint across the compound when she felt a kiss on her cheek.

"For luck," Pyotr said. "I saw that in an American movie."

Melody half-smirked and replied, "I better not find out that you're my brother."

"Sorry, comrade. Those days are over," Pyotr said to the deceased guard as he pulled him out of sight. "And you're not bringing them back. Good riddance to the party and good riddance to you."

Stepping around Pyotr, Melody moved to the next door. She put up one hand when he returned, pointing to thin sliver of light under a door.

He moved to provide cover while Melody kept low and opened the door. She rolled inside the room and scanned the makeshift video studio. A tripod-mounted camera was still pointed at a plain desk with the hammer and sickle on the false wall behind it. Slumped forward onto the desktop was a man in a business suit with blood seeping away from his head.

Following a fast check for tripwires or other triggers, Melody stepped around the desk to see the man's face. "Grigory Perchenko," she said unemotionally.

Looking at the tape slot in the video recorder, Pyotr said, "Empty. It would appear that Mr. Perchenko was only a puppet. One that is no longer needed."

Melody pulled a bloodstained sheet of paper from Perchenko's hand and read it. "The best kind of scapegoat is one that you've made sure can no longer talk. If this is what was recorded, he was planning to destroy Moscow and then state that he would 'rescue Mother Russia from the fools that allowed it to happen.'"

Pyotr said, "So somebody else is planning on doing the 'rescuing'. I'm sure they'll report that Mr. Perchenko died a valiant death and that 'it is with great regret' that they have to step forward to take his place."

Moving to the door, Melody said, "We still have a missile launch to stop. We can worry about who was pulling Perchenko's strings later."

In the mountains of Montana, Melody carried two cups of coffee onto the deck of a comfortable cabin and placed them on a table. She took a seat while Pyotr followed carrying two plates holding scrambled eggs. After setting both in place, he gazed around. "A beautiful view, Mel…Louise."

"It is, Steven," she replied, still also making an effort to remember their new identities.

He stepped behind, placing his arms around her shoulders and kissing her neck. "Even better with someone to share it with."

She sighed and raised one of his hands to her lips. "Someone you can trust."

"It's been so long since I'd felt it."

They spent a couple minutes like that, gazing at the peaceful morning scene. Finally, he reluctantly let go and stepped around to his chair.

Sitting, he reached for his cup and said, "I wonder now how many of our missions were real?"

Holding her cup in both hands, Melody/Louise said, "And how many of us died to protect our agencies' funding?"

"I've killed many out of a sense of duty, but my Bureau Chief was the first one that gave me a sense of justice."

"I'm sure we'll never hear an explanation of why my Director died beside him in a missile silo in Siberia. I think his death will be the only one I'll never regret."

Pyotr/Steven raised his cup in a toast. "Here's hoping the Cold War is truly over."

Melody/Louise raised hers. "And that nothing arises to replace it."