“For some reason,” he said, “Jake Grayton recently has taken a very personal interest in Ms. Lancette.”

“Well, there might be several reasons for that,” Addis said.

Her expression changed for a moment, but he could not tell if she had smiled at him.

“But at this particular moment in the history of the known universe,” Addis said, “we don’t know much, do we?”

“We know five people are dead,” Dunne said.

“Six,” Addis said. “You probably forgot Hanover.”

He immediately regretted saying that. He was feeling irritated, frustrated. There’s too much to process, he told himself.

“What do you want me to do?” Addis asked.

“Two nights ago,” Dunne said, “a car tried to run her off the George Washington Parkway.”

Addis touched his forehead. She nodded.

“Nick, we’re not seeing it all,” Dunne said. “But it’s deep. They got the paperwork piling up on my desk, like they want to keep me inside the office. We have nervous nellies across the river. We’re adding to the District’s body count. And someone wants Ms. Lancette face-down. I’m going to poke around. Will you look after her tonight?”

“He insists,” Lancette said to Addis. “I stayed at a friend’s last night, but she left town on business today.”

“Glad to,” Addis said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

Addis stood up so Dunne could get out of the booth.

“So where are you going?” he asked Dunne.

“To our favorite bar.”

Lancette started to speak: “On your—”

“You’ve had enough excitement for the week,” Dunne interrupted. “You and Nick stay at his place tonight. I’ll check in later.”

He started to walk to the door and then turned around.

“And how was New Orleans?” he asked Addis.

“That’s another story,” Addis answered.

Dunne said good-bye, and Addis sat down across from Lancette.

“A few questions?” he asked.

“I have nowhere to go,” she said.

She told him about her job, about her past at the Agency. He remembered her run-in with the Agency brass.

“And I remember yours,” she said, “back when Mumfries was chairing the committee. Honduran business. Guess we have something in common.”

“Yeah, we’re both on the same shit-list at Langley.”

“Well, I happen to know there is no list. It’s really a small metal box containing index cards.”

He smiled at the joke.

“You’re going to stay on at the White House?” she asked.

“For the time being.”

“But they gave you time off to go to New Orleans … . I saw your picture in the paper … with your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said.

“Right, an ex. Just friends?”

“I don’t know. Just echoes.”

Lancette said nothing in response.

“You like Cuban food?” he asked.

“Yes. Reminds me of the Agency’s most foolish days.”

“Good.”