“Well, I know it’s in the written literature you received,” Bugsy said. “With your stuff disposed of, your next step is to go through those doors. You’ll stop at two different showers. We’ll have someone in there to show you the ropes. The idea is to get rid of as much outside dirt and bacteria as we can. When that’s done, you go through another set of doors, where we have clothes and shoes and gear for you on the other side. Once you’re physically inside the Annex, that’s where you stay until you’re cleared to leave. Any questions?”

Penn cocked his head. “Seriously?”

“The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be on the other side,” Bugsy said.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

SALLY LAMBERT ANSWERED THE APARTMENT DOOR EVEN AS TODD McElroy was reaching for the knocker. Her intent was to startle him, and judging from the way he jumped, her effort had succeeded. “This had really better be very goddamn important. I don’t do three a.m. anymore.” As the editor in chief of the Washington Underground, she understood that news broke at all hours, but this was ridiculous. And the fact that Todd had refused even to give her a hint over the phone pissed her off.

Todd breezed past, into her living room, without acknowledging her words. “I’ve never encountered anything like this before,” he said. “Do you have any tequila?”

Sally glared at him from the tiny step-up foyer, the doorknob still wrapped in her hand. Tall and gaunt on any day, Todd looked especially bony in his Sheldon Cooper T-shirt, cargo shorts and Birkenstocks. With his unkempt hair and wispy three-day beard, it was impossible to look at him and not recall Scooby-Doo’s best friend, Shaggy.

“No, I don’t have tequila. Why are you here?”

He plopped himself into her secondhand scratchy beige sofa. “You always have tequila, Sals. If not, I’ll take whatever you’ve got. I think we’re in deep shit.”

What had started in her gut as anger was morphing into concern. In the five years she’d known Todd, she’d never seen him like this. She pushed the door closed, stepped down into the dining room and padded across to the kitchen. He was right, she always had tequila. She grabbed the bottle out of the fridge and a slightly used juice glass off the drain board. She handed both to Todd and watched as he pulled from the bottle.

Helping herself to the threadbare chair she’d purchased at the same yard sale as the sofa, she put a hand on his knee. “Talk to me, Todd.”