Victoria Grayson had been the first to get on and select a seat. It was June 1942. Alistair had sat in the back row of the vehicle, from where he could observe his new recruits’ behavior. They were headed to a country estate not far from Washington, D.C., known as Station S. The country house and grounds had been commandeered to be used as a facility where candidates were evaluated for their psychological soundness to work as covert operatives in enemy territory. Alistair suspected that half of the group on this morning’s bus would be returning to OSS headquarters at week’s end, having failed the first leg of the weeding-out process. But Alistair was sure that the five he planned to keep a special eye on would not be on that bus. Victoria Grayson in particular.

Though he possessed a little black book thick with details that had led to his interest in her, Alistair had first laid eyes on Victoria Grayson in the gymnasium at William and Mary College, where he watched her participate in the one and only fencing match that he had ever witnessed. It was May 20, 1940, and the bout was not a competition of record, but a farewell occasion for students and members of faculty to witness, for the final time on the piste, the amazing skill and footwork of their acclaimed fencing star.

“She would have won gold in foil at the Olympics, you know, if the Games hadn’t been canceled because of that stupid war,” said a student to his male companion as they trooped over Alistair’s feet to sit down next to him in the last seats close to the sidelines. Except to mumble an apology without a glance at him, they paid him no mind. Alistair took pride in being about as noticeable as a pigeon on a rooftop. In his line of work, his invisibility was an asset.

Alistair felt in a maze of ignorance as he tried to follow the twirls, ducks, thrusts, feints, ripostes, lunges, parries, and explosive attacks of play. Watching the two young women compete, he was in awe of the expertise required and felt sure his fellow audience members were right—that Victoria would have made a name for herself even on an Olympic stage. He at least knew that points were scored by the player touching the opponent’s torso with the tip of the sword coated in a black substance that left a dot designating a “hit.” By the end of the match, Victoria Grayson’s form-fitting jacket showed four black marks to her competitor’s five. She had won the bout. Applause grew louder as, after the opponents’ final salutes, mask under her arm, face glowing with perspiration, Victoria turned and raised her foil to the audience who’d given up their Saturday morning to pay tribute to a school champion.