“One fun fact: One summer, when I was kid, I stayed at my grandparents’ on the eastern shore. Had this job driving cars across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Believe it or not, some folks cannot handle driving that four miles. Too long, too high. Panic attack. So the state paid us to drive them across in their cars. Then we’d wait for another anxiety case going back the other way. Back and forth, back and forth. A lot of miles. Not much distance … . And you?”

“Nothing all that exciting.”

Washington University in St. Louis, the Woodrow Wilson School, and then straight to the DI. She assumed he knew the circumstances of her departure from the Directorate of Intelligence.

“And now, this,” she said.

“Could you please be more vague?” he asked and laughed.

“Don’t think so. But, I’m sure you know …”

“Yes, I do. I did my research. And as deputy director of the Bureau I would not ask you to disclose classified information. But it must be fascinating—maybe disconcerting?—to sift dirt from dirt.”

“Never had it put that way. Just trying to help the DCI stay ahead of the bad P.R., which—”

“Never seems to end.”

“Never seems to end,” she repeated.

“And how do you feel about that?”

The appetizers arrived. A straw was sticking out of the crab and corn chowder Grayton had ordered. There was writing on the paper wrapper covering the tip: “Beware of warnings in soup.” Grayton showed it to Lancette and drew a plastic pouch from his pocket.

“See? I was serious.”

He placed the paper in the bag and sealed it. He wrote “Exhibit A” on the pouch. Smiling, Grayton asked the waiter to deliver it to Michael in the kitchen.

Fun and games, Lancette thought.

“The last week must have been hard on you,” she said.

“Yes, a tough one. Unfortunately, those in our profession do not have the luxury of grieving during such times.”

It’s not our profession, she said to herself.

“I wish that everything could shut down for a while, so we could—”

“Feel?” He started the soup.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Grayton pointed the spoon at her.

“There’s still a lot to do,” he said.

“Did he do this on his own?”

“Probably. Usually the case.”

“But usually we know the name,” she said.

“That is right.”

The waiter returned to their table.

“I have a message from the kitchen,” he said. “‘There’s no crime, if there’s no evidence. Flush.’” He held out two empty hands and then left.

Lancette ignored the joke.

“Did you work much with President Hanover?” she asked.

“Sure. Not much one-on-one. But meetings on terrorist threats. Budgets. International crime. Gun stuff. I know Mumfries better.”

“Why?”

“Coordinated a lot with him when he was running the intel committee. He was always supportive of us in the community, understood our work.”