It seemed that Natalia would be undercover as a ballerina for a long time. Their actual performances were never more than once a week, but their assignments were every evening. Some party or another was going on that the girls were expected to attend. The ballet company was on the move, first through other Soviet countries before going to the West. Natalia supposed this was to make sure they were tested before be allowed to work somewhere with more freedom.
This was not the first time Natalia had left her homeland, but the other trips had been short and uneventful. Mostly, Ivan had people he wanted to meet and they wouldn't or couldn't come to Moscow. The meetings were clandestine, and brief, so Natalia had seen little of the world as they hurried back to Moscow to claim never to have left it.
Now, with more time to explore, Natalia was amazed by how different life was in these places. Things that affected the rest of her country had never been directly part of her life, not with Ivan to take care of her, and certainly not in the Red Room, but she knew how common they were for her fellow Russians.
Not that she was given much in the way of free time. Madame B kept them busy, training all day and going to parties late into the night. They were given specific assignments at each party. Sometimes it was as simple as coaxing a secret out of a particular individual, sometimes it was something more complicated, like convincing a mark that they had known each other previously in order to gain unparalleled trust.
Natalia had no problem completing any assignment she was given. Some of the girls struggled, she was pretty sure, but no one mentioned anything in her presence. No one was sent home, so they couldn't have been doing terribly. Still, Madame B always seemed happy to see her, which must mean she was doing better than the others.
Weeks passed and she didn't see the Winter Soldier. It was hard to remember what made her a human being, not just their tool, without anyone to talk to. She flirted with people at the parties but could never share something that was actually true about herself. Covers could be more effective if she included some facet of her own personality, she had been taught, but felt it was too risky here.
So, Natalia retained her first name and nothing else about her life. Her ballerina self was born in a small town far from Moscow, to proper proletariat parents. It was a great honor to be selected by the Bolshoi and to travel to Moscow to be trained. Her parents were very proud of her achievements. It was good to be able to show those bourgeoisie Europeans and Americans what a common Russian girl could do.
Talking about her parents and her life in provincial Russia was an entertaining exercise in creativity. She was always careful to ask the person to whom she was speaking where they came from before referring to her place of birth, to be sure she didn't accidentally make herself from the same place. If necessary, she could always claim that her birthplace was such and such, but she had been raised by an aunt in another town and remembered the first place poorly.
Mostly, though, she spoke about dancing. That was what everyone wanted to hear. So she talked about when she'd started, how she had been selected, the grueling nature of the art, what flexible positions her body was capable of achieving now. That last one was only when it was necessary for some calculated effect, of course.
Once they left the Soviet Union, she no longer saw Alexei Shostakov. That was relief. Madame B had given her a specific assignment regarding him, and she had a sinking feeling that it wasn't just to continue smoothing over their introduction. He was a valuable mark for a closer look at the Russian government, and Madame B was the sort who wanted to know everything. She wasn't satisfied with merely working against other countries, not when presented with an opportunity to influence her own.
Natalia had learned this by being conveniently early to all her debriefings with Madame B. She would arrive in time to hear her wrapping up the previous meeting. It wasn't always useful information, but it definitely gave Natalia a strong impression about the headmistress of their program. She was motivated and ambitious, which were admirable traits in the service of Mother Russia. Less admirable was Natalia's feeling that Madame B had little concern for the consequences of her actions.
Debriefings were nearly daily, since the missions were that often. They were small missions, of course, but Natalia went almost every afternoon to tell Madame B how the previous evening had gone and to receive her orders for that evening. Since Natalia was always early, she sat demurely outside Madame B's office and maintained her cover well enough not to arouse suspicion. No one would suspect ballerina Natalia of being overly intelligent or worry about her eavesdropping. She didn't expect this ruse to work on Madame B, of course, but it was easy to go unnoticed when she chose to be.
One afternoon, after doing this for over a month, Natalia had to struggle not to perk up at the mention of the Winter Soldier. Unfortunately, Madame B was on the phone, so she only had half of the conversation to overhear. Something about an official planning to defect, to be stopped by their best asset. Madame B spoke of the man's whereabouts and Natalia was delighted by her good luck. The Winter Soldier was coming on a mission here!
Natalia was almost buzzing with energy as she went to the party that evening. More good luck – Madame B had given her a simple task. She worked through it easily, then told one of the other girls she felt ill and was going home. Naturally, good Russian agent that she was, she did go home, making sure she was seen by several people along the way.
Once in her room, she changed out of her party dress into her tactical gear, and slipped out the window. Moving silently through the streets, she hoped to find him just as he was finishing his mission. Then they would have a bit of time together before he had to return to his masters. Ideally. If not, well, it would be nice to see him again, regardless. Even if it were only for a moment.
There! He was perched on a fire escape, motionless behind a sniper rifle. No one else would have noticed him – she did because she was looking and had overheard how he was to proceed. A little early, then, she thought, and melted into the shadows. She would hate to mess up his work.
The official in question was heading toward his car and she glanced away, listening for the gunshot. Instead, she heard a sing-song voice and small footsteps. Looking back quickly, she cringed at the sight of a little girl running toward the man.
"Poppa!" the girl cried happily.
"My little Snowflake!" the man replied, holding out his arms just as the gunshot went off.
It had all happened very quickly – no wonder the Winter Soldier had missed. The official's arm was bleeding but he was definitely not dead. He was accompanied by some men, unfortunately, and they were running and shouting and pointing toward where the Winter Soldier was – or had been. Already, he had disappeared.
Across the street, the mark was making a run for it, foolishly leaving the others behind. Natalia sprang into action, following him. He was panicking and unfocused so she was confident in her ability to catch up. It was just too bad that he'd had the presence of mind to bring his daughter.
Out of nowhere, the Winter Soldier dropped gracefully to the ground not two meters away. "Need some help?" she offered nonchalantly in English.
"You shouldn't be here," he replied sharply.
"Nice to see you, too," was her teasing response. She understood why he would be on edge, but hoped he wouldn't see her presence as a hindrance. Her instincts in these kinds of situations were nearly as good as his, after all.
"Get the child out of the way. I'll take care of the target," he ordered.
Pleased to be involved, she smiled as they ran after the official and his daughter, who had disappeared down an alley. Natalia was not particularly familiar with this part of the city, but she ran on ahead and around to block their escape. Once they were cornered, the Winter Soldier slowed his approach.
"Do you really want your daughter to witness this, Ivanovich?" he asked in Russian, his tone cold despite what he was actually offering. Most operatives would have just killed them both and been done with it.
""Don't hurt her," Ivanovich begged.
"She's in no danger. Widow, take her away," the Winter Soldier told her.
"Come, little one," she said as soothingly as she could to the child.
"No! Poppa, please!" the girl cried.
Extricating himself from his daughter's embrace, Ivanovich looked at them resignedly. "Go with her, dear one," he said.
Natalia took the girl's hand and turned her away from her father, trying not to think of Ivan. Would someone ever be sent to kill him? If she kept advancing in the Red Room, might it be her?
"She shouldn't have been here," the Winter Soldier muttered, though it was unclear to whom he was speaking. The tell-tale sound of him stabbing his mark was deafening and Natalie pulled the little girl closer.
"It's okay, little one," she lied.