Julie worked for the NSA. More specifically, and importantly, she was the assistant to Omar Hemingway. No one knew of her liaison with Cutler, which was about as illicit as it could get, being that Julie was married and, by all accounts Cutler had sifted through, quite happily. That was the fiction Julie spread around cheerfully and adeptly. In fact, her husband was gay and in the military; theirs was a marriage of convenience.

She had her own key and key card, arrived via the underground parking garage, never at the same time as Cutler, and always in some form of light disguise: a wide-brimmed hat, one of several wigs, a scarf tied around her head Audrey Hepburn–style. She liked the wigs best—even while they were making love. She had always aspired to long hair, she said, but found the care and feeding of it too time-consuming.

Cutler laughed at Carson in his outlandish turban, holding answer cards to the side of his head as he matched them “psychically” with hilarious questions, then welcomed Julie, wrapped in a Turkish bathrobe and smelling of lavender and violets, back into bed.

The DVD came to an end.

“Stream something from Netflix?” Julie asked.

“Not tonight.” He was sated in every way a man can be, and clicked off the smart-TV with the remote. “I’ve been watching screens all day.” He passed a hand across his eyes. “I’ve had enough.”

Julie, compliant, nestled down in the crook of his shoulder. She was a petite redhead with a foxy face, an enviable figure, and a mighty attitude that could stand up to her boss’s bluster. It often seemed that Hemingway did his best to make her cry. Maybe it was a test of some kind. In any event, he had never succeeded.

“How’s Hemingway’s frame of mind? Since the Seiran el-Habib op blew up, I mean.”

“How d’you think?” Julie said. “He’s pissed at everyone and everything. Especially Luther St. Vincent. He thinks chain of the Lebanon brief came directly from POTUS to St. Vincent, who tossed it over to him, and believe me when I tell you that my boss does not like taking orders from him.”

“Has he threatened to pull our contract?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” Julie lifted her head to peer at him. “You do great work for him. Why would you even ask that?”

“I met with him this afternoon. He certainly is a cagey fuck.”

Julie laughed. “I’ll be happy to deliver the compliment.”

Cutler poked her affectionately. “Don’t you dare!” He shook his head. “But this Lebanon brief—I asked him why Red Rover was being given a different brief instead of taking another shot at Seiran el-Habib.”

“And?”

“He told me Seiran el-Habib has vanished. He’s in the wind again, lost without a trace or a whisper.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“Maybe he’s lost faith in us. Maybe he’s given the el-Habib brief to another firm. Right now, I honestly don’t know what to believe. If you get even a whiff of what his thoughts are, I’d appreciate a heads-up.”