“We’re both searchers, aren’t we?” he asked. His smile was slightly skewed, but warm.

“Yeah,” she said. “Two of a kind.” She drove off.

It was past one o’clock. A tail light was out; her car was rattling more than usual. She knew she could not pass a DWI test. She drove slowly.

Could she like this jerk? Was he fishing for something? Was he or one of his buddies in the community—god, she hated that euphemistic term—concerned about her conversation with Walters? Hell, the last thing this bunch was—this collection of spies, saboteurs, covert warriors, satellite watchers, and clandestine managers—was a community. She had to tell someone about Walters. Should she inform Wenner of her trip to the bar? It probably violated several regulations. Was it improper use of official cover for nonofficial purpose? Or was it unauthorized assumption of duties?

Tending to weeds—she had never before explained her work that way. Not the same as growing something, she thought. Perhaps certain people were fated to clear space for others. Yet is that what she really wanted to do with her life, why she had gone to expensive schools, why she had put up with all the bullshit of “the community”? It’s time to think, she told herself. Once all this—whatever “this” may be—was over.

She passed the Lincoln Memorial, crossed the bridge, and noticed a car close behind her. She tried to determine if there were any lights on its roof. She could not tell. She checked her speedometer; she was under the limit. She tapped her brakes. The car behind hers—it was a four-by-four—remained close. On the other side of the Potomac, she followed the signs for the George Washington Parkway. The four-by-four took the same exit. On the parkway, Lancette stuck to the right lane, hoping the other car would speed by. It switched lanes and began passing her. She turned on the AM radio.

The four-by-four slammed into the Dart. The impact threw her away from the wheel. The tires beneath her hit the gravel of the shoulder. She lunged for the wheel. Her car was heading for a steep embankment that led to a slip of water. She pulled hard to the left. The Dart regained hold of the road.

Lancette looked to the left. The four-by-four was pacing her. The windows were tinted. She could not see the driver. The four-by-four plowed into her again and pushed the Dart to the edge of the road. She punched the accelerator, held the wheel tightly, and stayed on the road.

The four-by-four pulled back and then crashed once more into the Dart. Lancette’s car skipped across the road toward the embankment. She heard the sound of the two cars grinding against each other. She heard herself yelling: “You fuck! You fuck! You fuck!” She felt her car losing the road, flying across the shoulder, toward the water.