She gave herself a mental shake as she exited the locker room. Don’t let it get to you. They’re just trying to throw a spanner in your tests.

Making a shallow dive, she led off with her right arm into an efficient freestyle, her body slicing through the cool water. During her last rehabilitation, she’d spent hours in the pool to work her major muscles in a weightless state to keep in shape while her body mended.

Some agents were ungainly in the water, but Elise prided herself on her physical versatility, a versatility which had garnered unique assignments all over the globe.

At the end of the lap, she performed a flip turn and reversed direction. Sixty-three more laps to go. As she ping-ponged from one side of the pool to the other, her mind drifted over the possible scenarios MI6 had up their sleeve next. Mental hardiness contributed to half the test—or more.

Twenty-two minutes later, Elise hoisted herself from the pool, water cascading off her body onto the deck. Nigel stood a meter to her left. She looked up.

“Knives are next.”

Pure barry. Sarcasm dripped through her. She was exhausted for her most precise test.

Elise rose and grabbed two towels before heading to the locker room, wrapping her long red hair in the thick cotton to absorb the excess water, then pulling it up into a messy bun. Wet hair could distract her when she needed to concentrate.

Dressing speedily, she tucked her own special knife, the sgian dubh her grandfather had given her, into one of her boots and returned to the range. One never knew when a sharp wee dirk would come in handy. These “tests” were not fair and tended to attack one’s area of greatest vulnerability.

Comfortable in her perennial black leather trousers and jacket, she made her way to the range. An enormous pinwheel with an attached dummy lay affixed to a turntable. Elise rolled her eyes. Carnival knives? Hardly a challenge.

Her fingers closed over the metal shaft closest to her on the table and balanced it in her hand, taking its measure and weight. Not bad. Let the games begin.

“Are you ready, Agent Taylor?” Nigel asked through the PA system.

“Aye,” she called, giving a curt nod toward the mirror.

The pinwheel started, moving slowly at first, then picking up speed. The key to hitting her target was to focus on the central portion of the dummy, not its outer parts. She was allowed three attempts.

Elise squeezed the metal shaft with her finger and palm, stepped back on her left foot, drew back her arm, and let the knife fly. The blade whizzed through the air and struck the dummy an inch to the left of the “center heart.” She grimaced.

A fatal blow. For a first toss, it was pure dead brilliant—but not good enough for her way of thinking.