The Blind Spy by Alex Dryden

no doubt, had business of one kind or another in Odessa. Odessa had once belonged – way back in its history – to the Ottoman empire, the Porte of the Sultan, and the Turks still plied their trade here. But there were no tourists on the boat at this time of year. Odessa was a seaside holiday destination that burst into life in the spring and summer. Now, in January, the boat was only half full.
    After taking a casual look at the passengers nearest to her, Anna didn’t look around any further to spot who it was who was tailing her. She just waited quietly in the line. She’d seen nobody observing her on the boat but, nevertheless, she knew now. The line shortened and she neared the front – and the border post. She wondered if they would act now before she was through. Most likely they would wait, she thought. Those would be their orders, she was now sure of that too.
    At just under six feet in height, and with long legs that might easily give the impression she was an athlete or a dancer, she was taller than most of the others in the line. And she was evidently a lot fitter, more alert. Any other person feeling they were being watched would have been nervous, would have looked around, wanting to be sure, to see the evidence. But Anna didn’t just act the part of unconcern – she was supremely aware of the danger of her situation – she actually was unconcerned. In her core, she knew any anxiety now would interfere with the clear passage of her thoughts. Hers was a cold awareness.
    She distrusted belief and suspicion. They were the crevices into which the credulous and ignorant fell. For an operative, they might easily prove fatal and for a long time Anna had left such things to others. Belief-and disbelief, for that matter – she viewed as a decadent luxury for those free from imminent threat. And suspicion was just another fallible mental process that confused fact with fear. Fear was the enemy, in any walk of life, but particularly in hers.
    Now, as she reached the head of the line, the Ukrainian border guard almost snatched her false American passport, then studied it closely and made a great play of staring at her face. It was a face that men stared at without such an excuse; a face with a pronounced bone structure that took the eye from her curved, full mouth over a fine Slavic nose to the high cheekbones on either side, and then to her eyes, deep blue and penetrating, so that the guard found he could not look back into them for very long. She had blond hair, cut to the top of her shoulders, and it hung in a single thick fold. She stared back at him and, for a moment, he felt as if it were she who was deciding whether to admit him in to her country, rather than the other way around.
    But though she stared back at him, she barely noticed him. The danger – if any existed at this moment – was behind her, not from the guards at the post. They would be Russians behind her and who were watching her, not Ukrainians. Hers was now a purely animal reaction, tensed, ready for action. It was a sense that existed somewhere beyond her five regular senses, that bypassed unreliable mental processes and was hard-wired to certainty. Someone was watching her and they were watching her, not like the guard, for how she looked, but because they were under orders to follow her.
    After much exaggerated raising of his eyebrows and rocking back in his seat, without a smile the border guard finally allowed her through and on to the territory of Ukraine.
    She casually slung her backpack over her shoulders and looked ahead towards the town. Beyond the border post, there was a wide boulevard that ran perpendicularly along the whole length of the quay. On the far side of the boulevard, she saw a small cobbled lane that ran up a hill through the old port and into the town. She crossed the boulevard and entered the lane.
    With the knowledge that she was being watched came a sort of calm. She now let her mind relax and her tensed muscles