Addis figured it was his turn to step in. James had not yet noticed him. He stepped up to the desk. The porter recognized him, and it showed.

“James,” Addis said, “I’m Nick Addis. It’s important. We don’t have a lot of time. Dr. Walters is doing some important work for us.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure of it,” James said. “You sure it’s okay?”

“James, the President knows we’re here. Want me to get him on the phone, so you can speak to him?”

“Oh, no, no … I suppose it’ll be okay. You just got to show me what you take, alright? Cause I can’t leave the desk.”

“That’ll be fine,” Addis said.

“Can I keep this?” He held up the cable. “To show to Mr. Reynolds when he gets back.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t,” Lancette said gently. “See these markings.” She pointed to a string of letters and numbers at the top of the page. “That’s sensitive communications code. We can’t let that out. I shouldn’t have even let you look at this. But we can trust you, right?”

“Yes, ma‘am. You know, I was in the Navy. Served on a sub out of San Diego. Back in’sixty-three. We had nukes. Worked in the kitchen. But got all those security talks. I wrote my momma and couldn’t say where we were.”

God bless the national security state, Lancette told herself. “So then you’ll understand. Thanks, James.”

He reached under the desk and handed her a key. “It’s for the apartment. He’s in two-seventeen. And it’s also for the storage area down on the second basement floor. Same key. You got to go way back and then turn right. Okay?”

They nodded their heads.

“And you’re going to come back and show me what you’re taking? Maybe leave a note for Mr. Reynolds, okay?”

“We will,” Lancette said.

“The President thanks you,” Addis said.

Lancette and Addis walked down a carpeted and poorly lit hall. The smell of cleaning solvent was strong.

“You’re a very good liar,” he said.

“Must be something in the water at Langley.”

“You cooked up that cable on your own?”

“Yeah.”

“And the building manager? You knew he was gone?”

“I called, got his name, and was told he was tending to a family medical emergency.”

“And I was the insurance.”

“A first-rate policy. Hope you don’t mind being used.”

Not by you.

“This is very impressive,” he said.

“We call it tradecraft.”

“Sounds like you’re making furniture or pottery.”

“Just tapping the devious child within.”

She opened the door to the apartment and flipped on the light. Nothing in the living room seemed unusual. Two walls were lined with bookshelves. On another, three framed Ansel Adams posters were hanging. A book on Native Americans was on the coffee table.