The young British agent who was being sent to Russia was, in many ways, Dasha's polar opposite. First of all, becoming an agent had never been in her plans. Emily Hogan had been introduced to the "Chief" by chance, and they had dated on and off for a while, their dating not amounting to much more than boring dinners and unsatisfactory nights afterwards. As the relationship died of natural causes, Emily resumed her regular, urban, boring life. A series of incidents including meeting and spending time with another agent, this one careless enough to let her into what he was doing, ended up leading her back to the "Chief".<br/><br/>Miss Hogan was less than happy to be included in the Secret Service's payroll, but between working for them and having her brains blown out for knowing too much, it wasn't a difficult choice. After some hesitation, the young lady moved back to London and started working as a secretary in an office - a prudent and risk-free cover - as keeping in touch with the Secret Service. Her main assets were her appearance and her prodigious memory. Standing at not much more than 5', with honey-blonde hair, sweet brown eyes and a rosy complexion, she couldn't seem less menacing.<br/><br/>Her young and innocent looks - giving her less in appearance than her actual 24 years old - encouraged people to talk to her, and her immense patience helped her listen for hours and hours until she picked up on something interesting. Whenever she did, her ability to reproduce a conversation like a tape recorder made her a pretty valuable asset.<br/><br/>It was that second characteristic - and maybe the first one, as well - which had made her a suitable agent for the current mission. Her jobs were to look cute, to keep her eyes and ears open, and to provide whatever information required by the British Secret Service. She was to write affectionate letters to her "Aunt Molly" every other week, and to use her fellow agent in case some emergency information reached her hands. She also had to keep an eye, or both, on some Russian agent, but - maybe prudently - the details about said agent would only be provided once she set foot in Russia.<br/><br/>It was definitely an intelligent idea. Emily would never have agreed to step into the ship had she known what she would be up against. The idea of a ship by itself was already very unpleasant. She understood that her personal preference would not be taken into account, though. It was a long and miserable trip, and the young British "nurse" felt relieved as she helped her "patient" out of the ship and into the cold air. Drawing a deep breath, she took a long look around. Great. I'm gonna hate this place.<br/><br/>With a deep sigh, she touched her fellow agent's arm and appeared to help him to a sidewalk. Calling for the first cab she could see, she let the man do the talking. It was part of her cover to be unable to understand much more than basic greetings in Russian. As the cab took the path to the hotel, the two passengers spoke to each other in English, only fragments of conversation reaching the driver. "... write to my aunt and tell her we've made it safely...", "maybe after we rest...", came the man's voice, "...feeling better?", the girl murmured softly.<br/><br/>And so they would keep this soft and uninteresting conversation all the way to the hotel, where they had to rooms reserved right by each other's side - 611 and 613. Excusing herself, the "nurse" entered room 613 to unpack and get rid of what she called "ship stench". With a deep sigh, Emily undressed in front of the mirror placed at a corner. Looking at her rosy skin, her small breasts, narrow hips and petite frame, she let her hair down from the ponytail it had been in. "Welcome to hell, Em."