It was a small greeting card — the kind you usually send with flowers. This one had a picture of a wedding cake on the front, with an African-American bride and groom at the top.

“It’s my engagement present,” I said. I felt a little sick to my stomach.

When I opened the card, I instantly recognized the precise block letters of Kyle’s handwriting.

TO ALEX:

YOU’RE WELCOME.

— K.C.

Chapter 95

AFTER FIVE DAYS of lying low with Mitch in the West Virginia woods, Denny got the call he’d been waiting for. Then it was another several days for reconnaissance in DC before they were good to go. It wouldn’t be much longer now, just a little while and he’d be a free man. A very rich, free man.

The door banged open behind him as they came out onto the roof of the National Building Museum.

He turned around, and Mitch held up a hand.

“My bad,” he said.

“Just shut the damn thing and come on,” Denny said, harsher than he meant to.

It wasn’t as if the noise really mattered. The museum was closed for the night, and the nearest threat risk was the twentysomething mope sitting downstairs at a ground-floor security desk, watching horror movies on his laptop. It was more about having spent one too many nights sleeping elbow to elbow in the old Subaru with Mitch, living off of canned food and listening to him yammer on about the “mission.”

He shook it off and walked over to the southwest corner of the roof to look out.

Traffic on F Street was light for a Friday. There was a slight breeze, with the promise of showers for later, but so far everything was quiet. The first limos would start pulling up in front of Sidney Harman Hall — or just “the Harman,” to the locals — in about fifteen to twenty minutes.

Mitch came along and waited silently behind Denny as he unrolled the canvas tarp. Then Mitch set out his gear and started assembling the M110.

“You mad at me or something, Denny?” he said finally. “We got a problem?”

“Naw, man,” Denny said right away. There was no sense in making him uptight tonight. Especially not tonight. “You’re doin’ great. I’m just ready to get this one done, you know? A little overeager. My bad.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Mitch nodded once and went right back to business. He flipped down the bipod, set the rifle on the ledge, and put his eye up to the scope. Once he’d adjusted the buttstock against his cheek, he could start dialing in.

“We’re working in a range tonight,” Denny said, keeping his tone nice and easy now. “Cars are going to be stopping all up and down the block.”